#never will they have to be burdened or push through endless sorrow again.

[nikoisme]

Nothing like a story where the happy ending is death aaghh

[wxndswept]

You think you can drown the sorrow away, Yuuki? You cannot. The ocean of your grief will not be stilled by tears or silenced by the numbness of denial. The raw truth is that you must now live with the crushing reality that you failed to save Lyza. Her absence is a void that swallows you whole, a void that no amount of self-deception can fill. Every moment you were delayed, every second you hesitated, has become a dagger twisted into your heart, a relentless reminder of what you could have done, what you should have done. Her voice, her laughter, her very essence is now a haunting echo in the corridors of your mind.

Had you been just a bit earlier, had the cruel hands of fate spared you a sliver of time, could you have changed the outcome? Could you have intercepted the shadows that encroached upon her, seen through the veil of her despair, and saved her from the depths of her suffering? These questions gnaw at you, ceaselessly tormenting your every thought. You are left to wrestle with the agony of infinite 'what-ifs,' each one a fresh cut to an already bleeding soul. The silence of the answers you will never know is a torment all its own, an endless night with no dawn in sight.

And so, you are left to grapple with the ghost of your failures, the unbearable weight of the could-have-beens. The pain you feel is not just in the loss, but in the cruel certainty that you will never have the answers you so desperately seek. The guilt will cling to you, a constant, suffocating presence that you cannot escape. It’s a punishment that you must endure alone, for it is not just Lyza who is lost, but a piece of yourself that will never be whole again. The burden of what you could not change will be your cross to bear, a legacy of sorrow that echoes through every corner of your existence.

Oh. She's crying.

".... I know. I failed her, twice. Lyza being here is both my fault, and not because of me. It's my fault because I didn't take her seriously. I toyed around with her wanting a fun fight, and got her stuck over here. I got so wrapped up with chasing girls that I couldn't see her pain. As much as I want to say it was because I was too focused on myself, or Trailblazing... that's a lie. I pushed her to the side and she ended up being consumed by that power she tried to suppress."

"Even when I had a chance to help her, to save her from what she became, I... I hesitated. I was so afraid of hurting her at first that I almost died. Lyza's so special to me that even when she was like that, I couldn't bring myself to actually hurt her from inside that mud. Maybe a part of me still wanted that fight, but even when I did get together... even when I did find that blue unstable Origin Wing, I still... I still hesitated. I had the ability to save her, and... she died in front of my eyes. At least I thought so at the time. I thought I killed her. In reality, I had sent her to something similar to hell, but..."

"Every time she leaves me, I wonder if she's coming back. When I see her, I wonder if she's real. I don't know how to live with this, I don't know how to deal with this! I already feel like I'm coming apart at the seams... and this...? I just don't know. I don't know how to bear it."

[angusbyrne]

Angus hadn't really expected rejection, but Alison's agreement still left him with relief. It was always a comfort, knowing he had her on his side. It was also a comfort to know there was at least one person on Woodrow House grounds who he didn't have to strongarm. "That's settled then," Angus said, releasing his hands from the hold they had on each other. He tapped the side of his fist against his knee. "We'll touch base in the morning," he continued, reverting back to a very classic Business Speak. That was the fault of the way every other part of him had partially relaxed. His brain had to make up for it somehow.

When she apologized, he shook his head. "It's completely fine. I want to know how you're doing," Angus said, almost a little lightheaded from the consistent candor he dealt with in speaking with Alison. He told truth after truth. There'd never been much reason to hide from her, with a few exceptions. "I'm glad you told me." When she faced him, he almost knew it was coming. Her follow-up. The dreaded how are you holding up? Not dreaded because it came from her, specifically—or maybe a little bit because it came from her. Angus sucked air in between his teeth, pressed his lips together, then shrugged. "That odd miserable thought here and there," he started, then stopped. He turned the question over in his head. How was he holding up?

"I think," he continued, which was odd in and of itself. Think. Angus always knew. "I believe I'm handling it all both better and somehow worse than I would have anticipated." Angus was devastated by Uncle Richard's passing, of course. He was family to him; he'd been family to Angus' family. It felt like a bad dream. It felt like something that could be undone if he just concentrated very hard on waking up. It felt like he could make deals, with God and with himself, to make it all go by faster. If he pushed it aside a little longer, his body could get through the week five steps ahead of his mind.

But it also felt like there was scar tissue somewhere, in a place deep inside of him; something that protected him. He'd suffered incalculable loss before. Maybe his body couldn't process more of it. It muffled his ever-present irascibility. He was, in turn, numb and then desperate. A pendulum's swing. Prayer seemed to be the only answer. O Lord, we call upon You in our time of sorrow, that You give us the strength and will to bear our heavy burdens until we can again feel the warmth and love of Your divine compassion. Endless negotiation, even with the Almighty.

"Quite frankly, the logistics of what has to be done or accounted for after someone's passed has been a help. It's good to keep the mind busy." Uncle Richard had primarily taken the reins on figuring out the most important things for him years ago. At 14, Angus was woefully ill-equipped to handle it himself no matter how much he tried. "Maybe the sooner we're back in the office, the better I'll feel overall." An implied question: when did she think she would return to her work there? Angus wouldn't go forward with anything without her.

Alison wasn't sure what she expected in response. Angus had a particular way with his words that often surprised her, usually pleasantly though not always. In this case, and perhaps influenced by the desperate prayers she was repeating in the safety of these cold walls, she almost expected to be scolded. It felt ridiculous to expect it, but the feeling lingered all the same. She was being foolish, she was being selfish, she was being irresponsible. It was what she was doing to herself, so why wouldn't Angus treat her the same? They were similar in so many other ways, weren't they?

As he spoke her finger continued to move the ring on opposite hand. The movement had started with purpose but continued now without as she listened. Wondering how Angus would turn a comparison to neanderthals into something that could course correct her. She glanced over at him, a slight raise to her eyebrow meeting his rueful look. Something that might have been a laugh between them on a different day. In a different week.

The first option he posed sounded fantastic, she gave a small tilt of her head as she looked down to her clasped hands again as though she were considering its merits. But then the genuine of the two options came and it did surprise her. A totally normal thing for two adults to do, but it caught her off guard in its sentiment. It wasn't just, you should work out it will make you feel better. It was let's go together. The movement of her hands pausing, she looked to him again. Was she going to cry? No. No, she was fine. " Yeah, okay, " She nodded. Stunted for a moment to feel the care that she so often saw directed at the others, directed towards her. Not that it was uncommon, just that she was extremely aware of it in that moment. " I think we could find some time for that. "

A brief moment she considered hugging him. Or resting her head on his shoulder. Or any other outward show of affection. But she didn't. Instead she came back to her own a moment later. " I'm sorry, I came in here and just completely bombarded you with my nonsense. " She said, looking at him but actually looking now. How was he holding himself. What was weighted on his shoulders. Was there anything she had missed. " How are you holding up? " After today she thought she'd lose it the next time someone asked her that, but she asked all the same. A promise in a question. She'd show him the same fairness he'd shown her. She'd try to.

[doyouremem8erme]

not sure if i like this drabble enough to post it on ao3 but here's some marcy angst i wrote last night!

warnings: self hatred, heavy angst, ptsd

sand castles built tall in between the tides

636 words

It’s been a year.

Things haven’t gotten easier.

Marcy still wakes up in the middle of the night, screaming and sobbing like she’s dying all over again, crying softly into Olivia’s arms as she tries to fight off the memories. There are still days when the pain in her chest and back is so overwhelming that she can’t bear to leave her bed. Even on the days when Yunan takes her outside in her wheelchair, to let her see the mountains and forests instead of being trapped inside all day, Marcy stares, almost dully, for hours, at the landscape she would’ve found a thousand things to say about, once upon a time.

But that was before the toads attacked Newtopia, before Andrias revealed himself as a monster, before he thrust a blade through a child’s body, before he brought her back only to break her all over again.

You didn’t deserve any of this, Olivia would tell her, trying to calm her down enough for her to have a much-needed bath that her fear of water prevented her from taking.

You didn’t deserve any of this, Yunan would tell her in those early days in hiding, when her chest was still swaddled in bandages and she was in too much pain to talk.

You didn’t deserve any of this.

Marcy tries to take it to heart. Andrias had known what he was doing far too well, led her straight into her place in his plans without suspecting for an instant that he had an ulterior motive. Marcy had thought this place had everything for her, but in the end, all it did was tear her apart. She lost her valuable last years of childhood to a war that was never her own, had been ruined and broken over and over.

When Marcy told the newts this, tears streaming down her scarred face, they only could hold her close, because there was no denying that it was true. She’d lost her innocence to the endless danger, very nearly lost her mind completely after the Night had forced its way into her consciousness to take control.

It’s not your fault, Anne would say, whispering into Marcy’s ear as she cried herself to sleep.

It’s not your fault, Sasha would say, even as she was still trying to forgive herself, just like Marcy was.

It’s not your fault.

But that doesn’t make it any better. Even if she were to forgive herself, the truth remains that this was very much her fault, all along. She brought this suffering upon herself, these months of fear and blood, and she can’t disconnect the blame from herself. Somehow, she still believes that she deserved this.

So she goes about her life the only way she can, doing her best to ride out panic attacks and nightmares, pushing down thoughts that she’s a burden on those around her, who care for her despite what she’s done.

Marcy stares out the window of the cabin she shares with Olivia and Yunan, at the stars and the crimson moon, with the feeling of a life stolen from her resting on her shoulders. Anne and Sasha visit often, but she prefers to be quiet. Not alone, though, never alone. After weeks in and out of consciousness in the rejuvenation chamber, and the long, painful days forced to sit still in Andrias’s throne by the Night, she refuses to be out of earshot from any of the others.

Marcy hates herself for feeling so weak, but she can’t help it. She feels like she’s been thoroughly shattered by what she’s been through, each experience chipping away at her distant, bright self from before she’d found the box. But now, that Marcy feels like she’s a lifetime away, replaced by a new Marcy who feels nothing but sorrow.

[wallgirl]

The Little Nereid Part 17

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 1,800

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful. Loving someone like Poseidon is not easy period, let alone as your first love. But Dynamene is young and naïve, and all she wants is a chance to be at the sea god’s side.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. Graphic violence parts 15 and 16.

Updated regularly; will have about 20 parts total.

Warning for this chapter: references to injury and blood, largely at the end of the chapter. Avoid if squeamish.

—

Am I dead?

It was the first thought to arise as she woke out of a thick haze. Tiny motes of dust drifted before her, but when her eyes tried to focus on them, they seemingly disappeared. Had they been there at all?

She blinked rapidly to clear her vision. Before her was an endless expanse of black, completely impenetrable and all encompassing. She instinctively knew that it went on forever, despite not being able to see anything besides her own pale body. She felt some sort of tepid liquid beneath her feet - was it water? - but couldn't bring herself to look down past her shoulders. She remembered in horrific blurs what had happened to bring her to this place, and feared what she might see there.

But I don't feel any pain. Could it be...? Dynamene looked hesitantly down at herself.  Her white peplos stretched clean and untorn across her intact chest. She pressed her skin hesitantly, but felt no pain. It was as if the wound had never existed.

Now that she had gotten her bearings, she turned about in hopes of spotting something, anything, in the endlessness. Is this purgatory? Dynamene knew that when deities perished, so did their souls. Their consciousness ceased to exist along with their body. I think, therefore I am. I must not be dead. So what's going on? A neutral silence did nothing to sate her curiosity. Is this it?

Seconds ticked by with no change. A feeling of dread sunk in her chest. No, this can't be it. I still had so much I wanted to do.

I was such a fool.

She thought of her family, and her final argument with Ianeira. I'm sorry. I should have listened. She pursed her lips as she fought back tears. If this is the end, I apologize. I didn't mean to hurt you all. I wish I could change it. I wish I could see you again.

Then, suddenly, there was something bright that stood out against the void before her, a long, long ways away. It seemed to call to her in the distance with its brilliant white light. With nothing else to do and no answers to her questions, Dynamene ran toward it. Her feet splashed through the black water, droplets lit by the faint glow emanating from her being.

She stopped, breathless, after what might have been a few seconds or a few hours. The something had taken on the shape of a person, a bit taller than her, and with their back largely turned to her. Dynamene stepped forward cautiously, allowing their features to come into focus.

It was him, standing there before her in the black. His body emitted an eerie white glow, just like hers. She stood in bewilderment for several moments. She could only see the edge of his cheek with the way he was turned, no other part of his face. Dynamene was at a loss. "Why are you here?"

There was no answer. He didn't even move. Was he really there? Was it just a figment of her wounded body's imagination? She curled her fingers uncertainly as she considered reaching out to see if she was merely hallucinating.

Then his face tilted slightly towards her, making it clear he had heard her. Still, he refused to show himself to her entirely, and Dynamene's eyes widened. There was something in the bowed angle of his head...

Are you ashamed?

As if trying to dispel the notion, he finally stepped to face her completely. His colors looked washed out in the white glow, while the faint shadows traced the edges of his face. It seemed he was at last in a place every bit as fittingly ethereal as he was. But he continued to remain silent, and Dynamene's gaze shifted away in frustration.

"You're the one who brought me here. So why have you come now?" She couldn't veil the accusation in her voice. "I tried to tell you. But you didn't stop. You killed me."

Here in this endless vacuum of existence, Poseidon held no power over her. She was already on death's door, that much seemed certain. He couldn't harm her now. Dynamene was free to speak her mind completely. "Why didn't you believe me? Did you call me to your room just to kill me?" There was more bite to her tone now. "Was my love only a burden to you?" Her accusations echoed across the space.

His gaze finally flickered to meet hers. She felt no joy from it, only a strange sensation of tired defeat. Her shoulders slumped. "I suppose I'm going to disappear forever now, aren't I?" She twisted her peplos with guilty hands. "And I... I brought it on myself. I didn't listen to my family. I didn't see... I didn't understand. They'd warned me."

Nothing in his somber expression changed, but the shadows had deepened across his face. He took a single step closer to her, and she looked up at him with a miserable expression. Then he lifted one hand to clasp over hers, stilling her worried fidgeting. "I didn't mean to bring you here, Dynamene."

Her lower lip trembled, and she had to look away as he continued. "I thought you were a fake sent to replace the real you. I thought someone might've abducted you. I couldn't hear your heartbeat; your appearance had changed; I sensed strange magic about you."

So you didn't mean to hurt me, yet... "So your first response was to maim?" Dynamene pulled her hands away. "You would've lost the only chance to find me if your theory had been true."

"I-" Poseidon's words came to a stop mid-breath. It was the first time she'd ever heard him halt in the midst of a sentence. She turned her eyes back to him in confusion. He looked at war with himself; what was it that he'd meant to say? He took a moment to settle on a fitting response as his expression smoothed back out into stoicism. "I allowed my rage to get the better of me."

Her mouth nearly fell open. Poseidon was admitting fault. He had just, before a mere Nereid, confessed that his emotions had got the better of him.

Emotions spurred on by the thought that she might've been harmed.

She looked away as she absorbed this. The little motes of dust had returned, flickering gently in their light. They danced in little waves, fading in and out of sight. Poseidon had gone against the appearance he fought so hard to maintain for her. He cared about her. His heart had thawed at last, just as she'd wanted.

But there was no change within her heart except something bittersweet that ached. Her bleak expression remained as she looked up at him.

"Do you not forgive me?" He asked in a hushed voice. A vulnerability she didn't recognize had crept into his words.

Dynamene pursed her lips, thinking desperately about how to respond. Do I forgive you?

I... I think I do.

I do forgive you, but it doesn't change the way I feel right now.

That terror I experienced, that agonizing pain... You say you didn't mean to inflict it on me.

But how many countless others have you taken in the same way, with no regret? Your own brother, the Titans... People who have wronged you. People who would do you harm. And people who you perceived to have slighted you. Now I finally understand it all.

You did them the same harm, and you didn't feel anything.

"I forgive you," she whispered, but the words were meaningless. This wasn't about forgiveness. Something nameless had changed beneath the current.

He lifted his hand to gently smooth back her unruly bangs. His dark eyes drank in her face, even as she remained largely unaffected by his gesture. The girlish infatuation of before was completely extinguished. Now disappointment prevailed in her eyes.

But regardless, his feelings were unchanged. Now, for the very first time, they were truly alone. He finally admitted his desire for her to himself, even though he still didn't understand it. And as he leaned down closer to her, his eyes closed for the first time as he allowed himself to become immersed in his emotions.

And despite her disillusionment and sorrow, she loved him yet. A man of ice who had thawed only for her. Allowing him to enfold her in his embrace, her lips met his.

Two beings of light, entwined in the dark.

---

Dynamene gasped, a ragged, excruciating sound. Poseidon drew back in shock, staring down at her with sharp eyes. She coughed violently, wracking her thin body with the effort. Poseidon quickly lifted her shoulders to help clear her airway. Lifewater dripped from her lips, tainted red with his own blood. It was then that he understood what had happened. Before, when he had bit his lips in anger...

His blood was reviving her. Poseidon immediately bit his lip again and kissed her once more, pushing his blood into her. He forced several breaths of air into her, desperately willing her to keep breathing, before moving back to monitor the effect.

The flesh around her wounds had stopped disintegrating, though they were not healing. She gave another gasp for air, then fell silent.

He wasn't going to give up. He removed one glove and tore through the skin of his finger with his teeth. The gash began to drip blood, and he held it above her open mouth. As drop by drop ran down her throat, she began to move once more. He squeezed his hand, willing the blood to run faster, to hurry her revival.

After many agonizing seconds, Dynamene's eyelids twitched. Her bleary eyes opened slowly and focused on him. The sound of dripping lifewater stopped.

Poseidon exhaled. He rebandaged her chest, pulled her back into his arms, and stood. She was healing. She would live. Now to get out of this forsaken place and back to the palace. She would need more medical care as soon as possible.

Dynamene's eyes remained open, but she said nothing. Even if she had wanted to, her body wouldn't have been able. Her drowsy gaze didn't leave his face once. Something was ending now, but for however long as they had, she just wanted to drink him in. Poseidon... Her Poseidon. Just hours ago, this would have been a dream come true. Now, where had that exhilarated part of her gone? Had it remained behind in the blackness of that silent space? Had their conversation even taken place, or was it just a feverish dream?

What's changed?

No, I don't need to ask. I know.

Just let me enjoy this while it lasts. While I can still see you so close like this, and be in your arms, without any regrets.

She allowed her sore body to rest limply against his, and despite the speed at which he moved through the water to bring them home, her gaze never wavered.

---

We're going to the end now. I can't believe it. This is my longest fanfiction ever. I've gotten to know Dynamene so well. I don't think she'll leave my mind, even after the fic is finished.

I spent the most time on this chapter because I had a very specific mood for it in mind that required a lot of editing and re-writing. I let it sit for a few days before going back and putting more meat into the gaps. That's how I prefer to write - get the important stuff out first, and garnish with detail later.

There was this song by Kaskade that I thought about a lot with this chapter. It's called Borrowed Theme. Maybe I should've titled this chapter that, but that feels a little childish. The title kind of references a different song, anyway lol

[hoodedicequeen]

Rewritten 3 - Helene x Avitas

There will be a Helvitas happy ending - it’s just a little... misleading

This fic contains an excerpt from one of my previous fics.

***

Helene Aquilla could rely on only one soul to push her through the aftermath of the war. She had no one left but two friends who valued each other far more than her, an infant who could barely walk, let alone console her, and him.

Musa of Adisa’s friendship was the only thing that held together the thin strands of willpower she had left. Not her will to serve the Empire; she had that in copious amounts, but her will to live. 

She spent much of her spare time with him, riding through the countryside, laughing in the moonlight, reminiscing over the lost. Musa never allowed her to forget those she had loved. He urged her instead to think of all that they had brought to the world, the fire that they had ignited within her that raged on still, alive and strong. His view of the world gave her hope, his friendship slowly remaking her. And yet, it never seemed to be quite enough. 

After dancing with him at the Moon Festival, she felt that it should be something more.

As the two of them strolled through the palace gardens weeks after the occasion, Helene stopped abruptly, meriting a questioning glance from the Beekeeper. 

“Do you ever regret loving her?”

Musa’s expression grew pained. “I will never regret loving her. I only regret not loving her enough.”

Helene placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, remembering their conversation from a year before; shortly after they had taken back Antium. You will regret it for all your years. She understood him now. Understood him so clearly it hurt. “I never want to make that mistake again.”

Musa turned to face her, grabbing her hand in his. His smile was more beautiful and true than any of the ones he’d offered her before. “What are you implying, Empress?” He stepped closer to her.

Their lips were suddenly just a hairsbreadth apart. She could feel his breath mingling with hers. 

“You are a bleeding idiot,” she said, closing that miniscule distance, and crossing an endless sea of emotions and doubts in the process.

***

Avitas Harper was dead. He knew it with utmost certainty and acceptance. No one could have survived such an injury as the one that had been inflicted upon him. No healer nor singer could have altered his fate. Yet he wasn’t in the Waiting Place, and he certainly wasn’t on the other side.

An odd figure lingered by his head, barely visible, as if it were a reflection of a reflection. Almost nothing at all. The figure disappeared a second later, and then reappeared, slightly more solid than before.

“I am Rehmat.”

Rehmat. The jinn queen who lived inside Laia. But what was she doing with him, in death?

“You are not dead, child. You are being given a choice.” Rehmat’s voice was as faint as her form. “In death, awaits your mother and father. Your lost comrades in arms. In life, awaits Helene Aquilla.”

Harper stared at Rehmat disbelievingly. “Why are you here? You should be with Laia. You should be aiding her in battle.”

“Most of my power lies with her. But a small fragment, activated a year ago when you defied the Nightbringer, lies within you still. I am a projection of that fragment.”

Rehmat immerses him in the memory:

“Set her down, Captain.” He enters Helene’s quarters, and the Nightbringer gestures to her bed. “And then leave.” He settles her onto the bed. He tries to do so carefully, but her grimace displays that he could not prevent an inevitable strain from falling upon her wound. The expression pains him deeply. He backs away. “I will not leave her,”  he says. He straightens and looks the Nightbringer in the face without flinching.

The moment seemed like so long ago, and yet he remembered it clearly. He could recall every detail of every moment he’d shared with Helene, good and bad. His choice between life and death, between Helene and whatever lay on the other side, had been made from the moment Rehmat proposed it.

“If what you say is true, then I can go back to her.” He felt like crying out in joy.

“Yes. But as I said, you carry only a fragment of my power. The withdrawal process from your current middle state will take time. Months. Up to a year. But if you wish to return to life, I will send you directly to Helene Aquilla.”

“Yes.” Avitas had never been so sure about anything ever before. Well, except for his love for Helene. “Please give her back to me. I wish for nothing more. I will wish for nothing more for the rest of my existence.”

“Humans have never been wantless creatures.” Rehmat chuckled darkly.

“Goodbye, Avitas Harper.”

***

Harper awoke suddenly to find himself standing in the palace gardens of Antium. 

Further down the garden path stood two figures - lovers - sharing an embrace. Musa, and a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Helene. The way her body curved, the color of her hair, the gentle clash of beauty and ferocity in her form, features he knew and loved with utmost clarity. But Helene would never fall for Musa’s shallow charms, his obviously fake smiles. 

Avitas had never thought of Musa as a bad person, but quite suddenly, the man’s very existence irritated him.

It was then that he realized that he was deluding himself. That it was, indeed, Helene who stood with Musa. 

Harper knew he should be nothing short of grateful that Helene had found love, that she was happy. But all he felt then was a heart-wrenching sorrow.

Had Helene moved on days after he had gone into the middle state, or had it been weeks? Months? He knew that she had loved him, that he loved her, but it was possible that her love had been born simply from the desperation of war, a need for companionship. He could clearly see that she was no longer burdened by that need.

If he interfered, and Helene did have lingering feelings for him, he would hurt both her and Musa. And if her love for him was naught, then he could only hurt himself. 

Harper turned away and began walking out of the garden.

Humans have never been wantless creatures.

Rehmat was right. For though he had been given another chance at life, though he had gotten to see the woman he loved, he still wanted more. 

***

Helene removed her lips from Musa’s at the sound of leaves rustling behind her. There had been no winds, not even the slightest of breezes.

She regarded Musa’s hurt expression for only a split second before turning and  bounding silently towards the intruder. He was a fool if he thought he’d be able to assassinate her that easily. 

It was only when she’d tackled him to the ground and held a knife to his throat that she realized that his back had been turned to her, that he had not seemed to have any intention to harm her at all.

It was but a moment later that she realized who he was. 

“Av- Avitas?”

“Helene.” He allowed himself a weak smile, his eyes, for once, revealing everything that he felt.

“No. Avitas Harper is dead.” She pressed her knife to his throat; he made no attempt to resist her. “What are you?”

“Emifal Firdaant, Shrike.”

No unholy fey creature could possibly know of the words they’d shared. She had whispered them to Harper and Harper alone. And he had whispered them back to her with his dying breath.

“But I saw you....” No. She didn’t care what she had seen. Avitas was here. Her Avitas. 

She kissed him. Kissed him with all of the pain she’d felt in losing him. Kissed him with the passion of all the kisses they should have shared in the past year. 

But he didn’t kiss her back. 

And when she followed his gaze to Musa, to the Beekeper’s pain at the thought of all that could have been had Harper not returned, she understood. 

“Musa...” She understood, and still, she could do nothing. 

The Beekeper walked away.

***

The next morning, a small scroll appeared in the palm of Helene’s hand. She saw but a glimmer of wings upon receiving it. 

Consider your favor to me fulfilled, as you have granted me a six month leave to Adisa to assist with rebuilding. Spend time with Avitas Harper. If I was given a second chance with Nikla, I would let nothing get in my way. I know you are a much better person than I, and would not be so eager as to do so. Therefore I am removing myself from your path. Best wishes.

***

Musa, 

I doubt I will ever be able to thank you enough for all you have done for me over the past year. Your hope, your kindness, and your irritating disposition are signs that the Skies have yet to completely condemn me. You deserve all the happiness in all the worlds, and we both know that it does not lie with me. You deserve much more than to be an unwilling Empress’s second choice. But our time together was much too short, and I desperately wish that we can remain friends. I will be damned by the ten bleeding hells if you run away forever without so much as a goodbye.

Empress Regent,

Helene Aquilla

***

Upon the completion of her letter, Helene began wandering the palace in search of Harper. 

She found him in the baths.

“Where is Musa? Why are you here?” His expression gave away nothing. But his eyes - they told a story all their own. They were laced with unending desire, and an equally deep abyss of sorrow.

Instead of giving him an explanation, she found herself pulling her hair free of its crown and stepping towards him ever so slowly. “You know why I’m here.” 

The words were an echo. The start to a conversation they’d had there before.

“But I need you to say it. Please.”  

“I’m here because it’s been a year since you’ve kissed me, since you’ve held me, since I’ve seen you at all. And when I saw the light fade from your eyes, I knew that I’d never love the same way again.”

“Helene.” He stepped closer, and whispered her name in her ear. He whispered it again and again, falling into sobs as he did, for he had thought that what they were starting would never be possible again. 

She replied with his name, a mere breath falling from her lips. Filled with sorrow and endless joy alike. 

“Avitas.” 

[justjeonday]

Let Me Know | jeon jeongguk

In which you and Jeongguk have broken up, but he can’t bring himself to move on. He keeps it all hidden beneath a forced smile, only crying when he’s alone, ridding himself of thoughts by practicing for hours on end, but a man can only take so much pain until it all becomes too much.

“Love blooms like cherry blossoms but burns and becomes ashes.”

- 𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌; let me know - BTS

- 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌; jeon jeongguk x reader

- 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙; 5,4K

- 𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌; PG-13 

- 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊; angst, break up, idol AU

- 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘; self inflicted torture to numb the feeling of heartbreak?? (gguk intentionally makes himself gasp for air), exhaustion, very brief mention of not eating, mild depression, pining, gguk has a broken heart :( 

- 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘; wow...I had so much fun writing this, and it also made my heart ache. This is inspired by the lyrics of the song, and I definitely have a new appreciation for it after writing this fic - the lyrics are absolutely beautiful, as always when it comes to bts’ music. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! feedback is always appreciated <3

this is a part of the bulletproof bingo event created by @ficswithluv​! I’m very grateful for this opportunity, I think it’ll help me improve my writing a lot! thank you to all admins for your hard work!

and of course, a big thanks to Zoe for helping me finish this and beta-reading it! I don’t know what I’d do without you <333

 Jeongguk awakes, eyes closing tightly at the sun hitting his face as he reaches an arm out to hug your waist and pull your warmth against him - but it falls with a thump on top of the mattress.

You're not there.

He opens his eyes to see your side unoccupied, the bed feeling cold and empty without you next to him. It hits him just as hard as the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that day.

You're not his anymore.

Jeongguk's heart breaks a little more as he reaches over to grab the pillow and hug it close against his chest, the smell of your shampoo still lingering, albeit faint, on the soft cotton. It reminds him of the mornings you spent together. The way you'd both lay in bed for an extra hour just holding and breathing each other in before lazily getting up to make breakfast. You love Sundays, and he has come to love them too. However, with you gone, they feel more dull than ever.

Tears sting in his eyes despite the warm feeling the memories with you bring, knowing he'll never experience that again - that you'll be nothing but a memory in his mind.

It still doesn't feel real. He has now spent two months in a cold bed, still sleeping on the left side of it and waking up expecting you to be right there next to him. Two months since the two of you were no more, two months since you broke his heart.

The moment feels blurry, like it had been a dream - a painful scenario created in his head.

Jeongguk presses the combination of numbers on your lock, expecting you to be laying on the couch reading just like you enjoy doing on Thursday nights like these while you wait for him to arrive. However, as he steps in, you're nowhere to be seen, and the TV isn't on like it usually is considering you don't like the silence when you're alone.

His eyes scan the apartment as he closes the door behind him, the clicking of the lock sounding through the space as it returns into its frame. After kicking his boots off and shrugging off his jacket, he walks further to look for you. His first thought is that you've already gone to bed, but it fades as he sees you on the balcony with your back facing him as you look out over the city.

The sight of you, his love, makes his heart flutter. He walks up to the glass door, sliding it open slowly not to startle you - but even that makes you jump slightly, causing you to turn quickly to find the source of unexpected noise.

"Hi," Jeongguk smiles.

You sigh. "Hey."

"You okay?"

"Uh..." you start, not really sure how to continue as you turn back to watch the city lights. "Yeah, I'm fine."

You're not fine.

Instantly he knows something's up, worry blooming in his chest as he walks up to stand next to you.

"What's wrong?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed. "Talk to me."

You breathe out, letting your head fall back as you try to keep it together. You'd been feeling like this all day, constantly finding yourself having to fight back the tears. You knew this moment was bound to happen sooner or later, but still, you dreaded it.

"We..." you stop, swallowing to keep your voice from breaking as you continue on. "We should take some time apart from each other." You say, eyes still not meeting his.

Jeongguk feels as if his heart stops, his breath getting caught in his throat. "Wh-What?" He stutters, searching for your gaze as you look down at your hands hanging over the railing.

The whole situation feels unexpected to him. He thought everything between you two was fine. Did he do something wrong? 

He feels panic arising, quickly replacing the worry that found home inside his ribcage.

"I need to find myself," you speak, now gaining the courage to look into his eyes. "And you need to find you, and figure out who you are."

His beautiful eyes. Big brown eyes with countless amounts of stars sparkling in them, those eyes you've gotten lost in over and over ever since the two of you met years ago. Those soft eyes, and the wrinkles that form around them when he smiles - nose scrunching in happiness.

Your heart aches as you look into them, feeling tears sting in your eyes. You didn't want to do this. The last thing you'd ever want to do is hurt Jeongguk. Your sweet Jeongguk, your bunny, your happiness and your warmth. Your everything.

This has been the hardest decision you've ever had to make, but you know it'll be better this way.

You can’t help but feel like the two of you rely on each other too much for happiness and well-being, whenever there's a problem or when something is weighing you down - you always search for a solution in the other. You're grateful to have him, someone you can go to and feel better - you really are. But you found yourself wandering off inside your mind one day while waiting for him to return from work, wondering what life would be like without Jeongguk. He's been your light ever since the two of you met, the morning that dawned after a night that seemed to be endless.

You realised right then and there that, without him, you'd be nothing - everything would be dull. And as your mind wandered even further, questions started popping up in your head.

Do you love yourself? Yes, because Jeongguk has taught you to. Are you happy? Yes you are, because you have Jeongguk.

Are you really happy with your life? Do you wanna stay like this forever?

With Jeongguk? Yes, you want to stay with him forever. With life? No, you want to be genuinely happy, and you want to be independent in that - and be able to say that you've found true happiness, because and for you, not anyone or anything else.

You'd asked Jeongguk that same day; are you happy? Do you love yourself?

"Yes, because of you."  He had replied, an unintentional reflection of your own answers.

His response should've made you happy, it should've made your heart flutter - but because of your concerns, you simply couldn't feel that way.

"What do you mean?" Jeongguk asks, voice weak as he hears his heart beat in his ears. "What's wrong?"

It pains you to do this. Like nothing else ever has.

"We're too dependent on each other," you explain. "We need to find happiness on our own, we need to learn how to love ourselves - on our own."

'On our own.'

At that moment, when those words left your mouth - that's when the ground beneath him shattered. That's when his world fell apart. When the stars shining above faded and the sun in his sky disappeared - leaving him lonely with a single grey cloud, and a world that became sombre.

What went wrong? What did he do that made you leave? Could he have done something to prevent it?

As Jeongguk recalls the moment, he feels a weight push down on his chest as he lays on his back, making his breathing heavy. Tears are now welling up in his eyes, running down the sides of his face and making his pillow wet. His hands come up to run over his face as he closes his eyes, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself from sobbing too loudly. If he gives into the pain, he knows it'll be too hard to swim back up to the surface again - too difficult to put his mask back on and start the day off like nothing's wrong.

He’s been keeping it inside since it all happened, only crying and letting it get to him when no one's around. He doesn’t want to worry anyone, since he’s well aware they have their own burdens to deal with - not wanting to put any extra weight on anyone’s shoulders.

Jeongguk sucks in an erratic breath before getting out of bed, his body heavy as he walks over to throw yesterday’s clothes on before wiping his tears with the back of his hand and leaving his room as quietly as possible, wanting to avoid conversation with anybody. He manages to leave the dorm unnoticed, thankful the members are deep in sleep because of the late celebration that was held last night after their recent release of the new album. He wishes he could enjoy it, he really does - but without you everything feels meaningless, empty.

Twenty minutes later, he arrives at the bighit building, bowing politely to everyone he passes on his way to the practice room despite the sorrow weighing him down - making it difficult to pick his head back up again.

He’s able to breathe out as he enters the studio, a quiet void surrounding him as he leans back against the door. He feels relaxed here, only thanks to the fact it's his escape - his way of numbing the pain, even if it's just temporary.

He's been coming here every day since the two of you broke up. Tour is slowly but surely approaching, and there are several new choreographies to learn. Jeongguk and the rest of the members had been practicing them for a few months now, and even though Jeongguk knows every single move like the back of his hand - he still comes here everyday to perfect and improve them. He wants everything to be perfect on stage, a single mistake making him doubt himself for the rest of the concert.

You know this very well, how hard he is on himself. You were the one who could make him feel better about himself, reassuring him that everything was fine even though he might've messed that one move up. What would he do now that you were gone?

However, practicing has gotten another purpose now, to simply act as a distraction for him - to get you out of his mind as he moved along with the beat. To get to that point where the oxygen burned in his throat, his chest falling up and down quickly as he tried to catch his breath while laying flat on the floor.

And that's exactly how he finds himself many hours later, shirt damp with sweat and sticking to his chest as he falls down onto the floor, his legs weak. He almost gasps for air as he looks up at the ceiling, loud music still playing through the speakers. Even though the room is completely empty, it almost feels crowded, like the air is pushing in on him, like it's suffocating him.

It feels terrible, but he finds himself relishing in the self-inflicted torture. It almost works as an antidote, ridding his mind of you - and during those few seconds, he feels free, and his body feels weightless.

But then it fades and small pieces of thoughts and memories slowly re-enter his mind as he catches his breath, the weight of sorrow gradually pushing down harder and harder over his ribcage once again.

Usually, after a tough session like this, he'd drive back to your place and spend the rest of the night with you - hours filled with cuddling and sweet kisses as the two of you find comfort in simply being close to each other. He misses it. It feels empty without you, and his days feel excruciatingly long.

Being close to you, admiring you - he won't get to do it anymore.

He wonders if you miss him too, if you're hurting too. Are you thinking of him right now? Are you longing to hold him, just like he’s longing to hold you? He saw the look on your face when you told him you wanted to break up, he saw that you too found it hurtful. But why would you do it if you didn't want to? He can't really grasp the reason why. Couldn't you find happiness together? Wasn't it enough? 

Wasn't he enough?

Jeongguk closes his eyes, trying to paint a picture of your face in front of him but the image in his mind is far from vivid. He can still remember everything, your beautiful eyes, your soft lips and how they felt against his own, your hand gestures you use so often as you speak, every single detail is still there, but the image is faint. He wants to reach out and run his thumb over your cheek bone, he wants to touch you - but he can't as you're slowly fading. It's torture, because even though your face might become more dim as the time without you increases, he's certain he'll always remember you and always compare you with everyone else. Compare the pink of your lips to others, compare how your eyes sparkle as you smile to others dull ones.

You'll always be it for him. You'll always have his heart.

Click.

The sound of the door opening brings Jeongguk back to the practice room despite the loud music already playing, his head turning to see Jimin walk in.

"Oh Jeongguk-ssi, I didn't know you were here!" Jimin says, smiling.

Jeongguk gets up from the floor, not really in the mood to chat or make small talk. He walks over and turns the music off, only now realising it’s dark out.

Jimin furrows his eyebrows in concern, slowly walking up behind Jeongguk. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," Jeongguk replies, voice cold - more than he intends for it to be.

Jimin can tell something's up, and he's well aware that the two of you broke up - but for what reason, he has no idea. Jeongguk is usually really happy to see Jimin, always teasing and joking around with him - exclaiming 'Jimin-ssi' every time he enters the room. But ever since you two broke up, there's been this heavy energy around him pushing him down. He hasn't been eating as much as he usually does, and Jimin has never known someone who loves food as much as Jeongguk does -  so seeing it naturally causes him concern. Jimin notices it all, he notices the way Jeongguk tries to hide it, but that's just how he is, he doesn't wanna trouble anyone else with whatever feelings he might have.

It's not the best trait of his. Eventually, it'll all become too much for him to handle on his own. Jimin dreads that moment has come.

"Jeongguk-" Jimin starts, but he's quickly interrupted.

"I'm fine!" Jeongguk says, his voice loud this time as the words echo through the silent room. "I'm fine," he repeats, now quieter as if he's trying to convince himself.

But he can't. He's not fine, and he knows it. He can feel his body getting weaker by the second, wanting nothing but to fall down and lay on the floor again - but at the same time, he feels like dancing more, he wants to move until he feels that burn in his throat again. The burn that numbs the pain of being without you, the heaving of his chest that forces him to focus on breathing instead of the bitterness your absence brings.

"Jeongguk," Jimin tries again, conscientiously deciding to continue when there's no reply. "I know you're struggling, but keeping it all in won't make it any better."

Jeongguk only listens, still standing with his back facing the older.

"You should talk to someone about it, anyone - just get it all out."

"I can't," Jeongguk mumbles, feeling as if someone is squeezing his heart with all their might.

Thinking about it over and over is one thing, but having to talk about it out loud would ruin him - it'd hurt even more. He'd have to accept it. Accept that you're no longer with him, that he won't get to kiss and hold you close again.

"Gguk," Jimin says, placing his hands on Jeongguk's shoulders.

The name sounds foreign as Jimin says it.

Gguk. That's what you always called him, except for when you were annoyed at him - only then voicing his full name. The memory makes Jeongguk want to smile and break down all at the same time.

It's too quiet, he's too still - and he feels the pain slowly seep back into his heart. "I can't," he repeats, but in a whisper.

"Why?"

Jimin makes Jeongguk turn to face him, only now seeing his glossy, tired eyes. How his lips quiver and how his skin seems unusually pale.

There’s so much pain, too much for him to handle.

"It hurts, hyung," Jeongguk sobs as everything he's been keeping inside bursts, his head falling to land on Jimin's shoulder. "It hurts so bad."

Jimin embraces him, a bothersome feeling appearing in his stomach at the sight of Jeongguk this way. His dear Jeongguk, having his heart broken for the first time.

You were his first love. You changed his life, and Jeongguk thought he had reached the peak of fortune even before you came along, but it turned out he hadn't. You quickly became someone he valued, that someone he had dreamt of - that someone he could give all his love to. But you're not next to him anymore. You're not laying next to him in the morning to accept his lazy kisses. There's no one next to him running their fingers over his back, connecting his birthmarks with light touches of a finger - creating constellations over his skin.

He thought he'd have you forever. Trying to imagine his life without you, it just came up as nothingness in his head - blank and pointless.

Jeongguk doesn't want to admit to himself it's over. If he tries hard enough, he's sure he could pretend this was just another day, finishing up at work to go home to you and hold you in his arms. But that wouldn't be fair to you, and not to himself either. Deep down he knows it, he knows it's over - that the two of you are no more. But he feels as if he's stuck at the end of a finished sentence, just before the punctuation mark. He wants to jump over it, but he can't bring himself to take that leap, that leap to move on from you and what the two of you had.

He's heard many times, in books and movies the two of you have watched together, that first love is something you'll always remember. So surely, there's no hope for him. He won't be able to move on from you no matter how hard he may try to.

He's certain he'll never find a love like that again. He's certain he won't find someone like you, who could make him as happy as you did.

Jimin softly runs his hand over Jeongguk's hair, thinking of what words to say next that could make him feel better. But his thoughts are halted when Jeongguk slowly pulls away from him, his breath irregular as he grabs his phone on the desk behind him before he starts walking towards the door.

"Jeongguk, where are you going?" Jimin asks, worry evident in his voice.

"I need to see her."

Jimin instantly starts walking after him. "You shouldn't."

"I have to see her," Jeongguk says, now exiting the practice room.

"I really don't think it's a good idea, Jeongguk," Jimin warns, having to jog after him to keep up.

Jeongguk only keeps walking, hastily passing staff in the corridor - not bothering to bow or greet anyone this time.

"Jeongguk, stop. You're not thinking straight."

He turns as Jimin grabs hold of his bicep tightly, keeping him from getting further.

"Let go."

He doesn't, his hand only tightening as his fingers dig into the skin.

"Let-"

"What are you gonna do? Huh?" Jimin asks, voice stern as he looks into the younger's eyes. "It's over, Jeongguk. You can't just go over there and see her, you don't have the right to anymore. It'll only make everything worse for the both of you. Seeing her will only make things harder than what they already are."

Jimin's words only cut deeper into his wounds and even more tears start falling from his eyes, creating wet paths down his pale skin. He groans out loud as the pain takes over once again, hands coming up to tug at his hair as he shuts his eyes tightly - trying his best to cope with the seemingly endless suffering.

"I just need her to let me know," he chokes, eyes opening to meet Jimin's.

"Let you know what?"

"That it'll all be fine, that I'll be fine," Jeongguk sobs. "I need her to let me know it's over."

"It's already over Jeongguk, don't you know?" Jimin says, concerned as his eyebrows furrow.

"It's all so blurry in my head I can’t remember anything clearly," he says through erratic breaths. "I need her to tell me it's all over, so I can move on. It hurts too much, I can't stay like this - I need to find peace."

"I'm not sure if it's-"

"Hyung," Jeongguk interferes with a desperate look in his now red and puffy eyes, taking a firm hold of Jimin's shoulders. "Please, I can't take it anymore."

Jimin sighs, his head in conflict with his heart. But after a few seconds, his grip on Jeongguk's arm loosens hesitantly.

After a last glance at Jimin, Jeongguk turns to continue towards his car - hurrying off to see you.

For the last time.

You're sitting at your kitchen table with your laptop in front of you, head resting in your palm as you try to come up with the right words for your essay. You've been sitting here since 10 PM, for almost an hour now, yet your document remains empty. It's almost funny how much it resembles your life at the moment.

Empty.

He's gone.

Jeongguk. Jeongguk. Jeongguk.

It’s all you've been able to think about.

You push the thoughts of him to the back of your mind for probably the eleventh time these past thirty minutes. You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting up straight in your chair as you feel your back ache.

You would've opted for the couch, but that would only bring you more burden. His scent still lingers on the fabric, the memories of him in your arms planting light kisses over your face all too fresh in your mind for you to face.

Two months, and still, you couldn't sit on your own couch. Pathetic.

You're weak. 

You've done this to yourself. Everything about your relationship with Jeongguk was fine, but it felt wrong to rely on each other that much. You were raised to be independent, raised by your parents to be strong and stand up for yourself, to do what's right.

You longed to be with him again, to feel his skin under your fingertips - to feel his lips against yours and his hot breath against your skin as his face finds home in the crook of your neck as you hold each other close. But the timing wasn't right.

You want to be able to say you truly love yourself, that you're content with the person you are and that you're genuinely happy - without the influence of anyone or anything else.

Maybe fate will bring the two of you back together in the future, when all is right. You hope it will. Oh, how you hope it will.

You knew how big of a risk you took while making that decision, that it could ruin everything good you had together. But you felt it was the right thing to do, not only for your own sake, but for his as well. The both of you need to find yourselves, before you search for someone else. Perhaps Jeongguk even more than you, since he didn't have as much time as you for self-searching before you found each other, the reason being how early in his life he started to work.

Ten more minutes gone, and your document remains blank.

You need to stop thinking about it. You need to stop thinking about him.

You run your fingers through your hair before putting your focus on the display in front of you. A sudden inspiration hits you and you exhale in relief as your fingers start pressing the lettered keys.

But a sudden sequence of knocks against your front door interrupts you.

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

The universe really doesn't want it to work out for you, does it?

You get up from your seat nonetheless, walking over and unlocking the door before pulling it open. The person standing in front of you almost makes you choke on air, taking a step back in surprise.

Jeongguk.

You simply stand in front of each other, the rest of the world fading as silence surrounds you. It's only the two of you now, eyes meeting for the first time ever since that night when you last saw each other.

You notice he's been crying, his eyes glossy and swollen. It makes your heart ache.

You caused this. This is all your fault. It’s your fault he’s hurting.

Your vision becomes blurry as tears collect in the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall. But you don't let them, blinking them away and swallowing the sobs back down.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, your voice weak even though you try your best to sound okay.

Who are you trying to fool? You're not okay.

You haven't been ever since that night on the balcony. It takes all of your willpower not to throw your arms around him, apologize and let him know it’ll all be okay.

Jeongguk's bottom lip starts quivering again at the sight of you. You’re right in front of him, but he can’t touch you - he can’t embrace you even though that’s all he wants in this world.

"I miss you," he utters with a broken voice.

You don't know what to respond with, but your mind wanders to a place where it shouldn't be - making unwanted words linger on the tip of your tongue.

I miss you too. Please come back.

You can't say that. It goes against everything that's happened.

Jeongguk turns as he hears the sound of keys rattling, knowing very well it's the building inspector that comes every eveing close to midnight to make sure it's peacefu. It's the sound you'd faintly hear outside the door when you had movie marathons, or when you just laid on your couch talking until the AM.

Jeongguk, to show respect and reassure that everything's fine, turns to bow to the man as he walks past - but as he does he's ridden of all strength, and it causes him to stumble forward and fall to his knees on the floor.

Out of habit to care and make sure he's okay, you gasp as you rush up to him and get down to sit on your knees in front of him - grabbing a hold of his shoulders to support him as his head hangs with exhaustion.

You’ve seen this before. This is how he gets when he overworks himself, when he neglects sleep or food because of work. It pains you to see him so weak he can’t even stand up.

All you want is for him to be okay, to be healthy and happy.

"Jeongguk," you say, voice laced with concern. "Hey, look at me."

His eyes flutter closed as you cup his face to hold his head up, and you feel him lean into your touch.

"What are you doing?" You ask, shaking lightly to get his attention.

He only lets out a weak groan in response, falling into your embrace and letting his forehead rest against your collarbone. You’re sitting in the middle of the hallway with a weak man in front of you, completely helpless with no one to call out to for help.

You look around to see that the inspector is long gone, probably in the elevator already on his way to inspect the last few floors.

Shit.

"Jeongguk?" you say to gain his heed again, letting him lean on you still.

"Mm?" he mumbles, voice rough.

"Are you not taking care of yourself?" You ask, guilt and sorrow creating a knot in the pit of your stomach.

You hear him as he starts to sob, tears running down and dripping off his nose - falling onto the fabric of your shirt, causing it to become damp. "I miss you so much."

"I know Jeongguk, I know," you hush, fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I love you so much it hurts, all I want is to be with you.” He cries. “Why did you let me go?”

Your heart squeezes tightly at his words, tears once again welling up in your eyes. You can’t help but let them fall this time, but you wipe them away quickly. You need to stay strong for him, and for yourself. If you let yourself fall down that hole, you won’t be able to trust yourself - th hurt could make you do something you regret.

You could take it all back and go back to the way you were before, but you know it's wrong. You can't play with his feelings like that. You need to stay true to your words and find yourself before giving your relationship with him another chance.

No matter how much it hurts to see him like this, and how much it hurts to be away from him - you need to stick with what you've said.

He gathers the strength to pick his head up and look at you, his face dangerously close to yours. Only a few centimeters and you could feel those pink, soft lips against yours again.

"Do you miss me, too?" He whispers, tears still running down the curves of his cheek.

You look away to avoid his gaze, his sad eyes, the stars in them faded - it hurts too much to see them that way. You find yourself caressing his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb, wiping the wet paths away. "Of course I miss you, Gguk. But we can't let it change anything, not right now."

"When?"

"When you've found yourself, and when I've found me - when we've figured out who we are as people, who we are without each other. Maybe we can try again then, if fate is on our side."

"Really?" He sniffles, breathing now a bit more steady as he sits up straighter.

You look into his eyes again as you let your hands fall from his face.

"Only on one condition," you say.

He looks at you with tired, but hopeful eyes. "Anything."

"I want you to take care of yourself. I want you to eat and rest well, and please don’t overwork yourself. Be focused on yourself, and on your own goals - and I don't want any of it to be influenced by me. And if you find someone who makes your heart flutter-" you pause, noticing how he opens his mouth to oppose you.

He wants to tell you he won't find anyone else, that he'll wait for you until the both of you are ready. But you speak again before he gets the chance to.

Besides, he shouldn't. If that's what you want, then he'll accept it if he finds someone special.

But no one will compare to you.

"- then I want you to explore that and see what it could turn into - maybe they’ll be your soulmate.” You smile at him. “I want you to have fun with your friends and spend time with your family. If you can do that for me, maybe we'll start over and try again in the future when we know who we are."

Jeongguk feels the weight finally lift off his shoulders and how his heart starts beating more easily at your words. Still sitting on the floor outside your apartment, he looks at you - and it doesn't hurt as much.

He feels free.

Everything is going to be okay.

He’ll still miss you, still miss waking up to you, kissing you, hugging you - but he can live with that. You’ll always be in his heart, and he’ll always be in yours.

You have each other.

"Promise me?" He says, holding his pinky out.

You look down, unable to hold back the small smile spreading on your lips.

You hook your pinky with his, looking into his eyes once again - seeing a spark of hope shining in them.

"I promise."

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Numb | Tom Holland x Male!Reader

Words: 9091

Warnings: Smut and negative thoughts?

A/N: Sit yourself down for this one. This is loooooong! It’s completely different from what I usually write. Still had an absolute blast writing it. 

Check out the request description below!

Requested by: @idwithoutthesuperego​:  Ok, but a fic where tom sells his body for money because he just needed the money and reasons. And male reader's friends buy a "night" with him without telling reader after a bad breakup. But they just click, and MR kinda falls in love n wants to do the "i'm gonna date you and get you out of that life". But tom is just like "i dont believe in people anymore and im destined to die in some alley being used". This is oddly especiffic, but is something i would just love to read about if u can, plz.

Oh, and if you consider being a good soul and wirtting a fic for my ask, PLEASE make a happy ending hahaha My heart wouldnt be able to handle that drama without the happiness

Tears dry up. Eventually. Suppressing the pain. Left with unanswered questions. For weeks they bothered your conscience. Hang around your neck like a millstone. A burden on your soul. Pondering. That’s what you’re left doing. Your day to day life slowing down to a grinding halt. Everything went on auto-pilot. While your mind pondered over every moment of what could have been. What if… And, if I…

 Circling in your mind forever. Sleep didn't come easy. Nor did any desire for anything. Friend and family kept summing up the logical steps of coping. Stages of grief. "It'll pass." Those little sentences stuck with you. “It’ll take time.” Each and everyone kept repeating it. But what value did it have? What lessons could you take from those words? For you are left with an empty house. An empty couch. An empty chair. And an empty place beside you. Alone. Trapped within your own mind.

 Pondering over every thought and every memory.

 That feeling of nothingness. It’s strange at first. You manage to go on with your life. Sleep returns at night. And waking up wasn’t at painful as it was at first. You couldn’t put your finger on it. But it could be described as numbness. Everything went on autopilot. And feelings were shut off. Barricaded behind layers of overthinking and mind-boggling thoughts. No sense of desire anywhere. The impact of a broken relationship was far worse then you imagined.

 Just comfortably numb.

 "This will do you good." Your friend tries to convince you again. Pushing the flyer into your hand. “For a moment, try to think ab-...” The words reach your ear in waves. Disturbed by sounds coming from somewhere close by. Ringing in your ears. Folding open the flyer, you see some sort of menu. You squint again, slightly intoxicated by the last few beers. This wasn’t some ordinary menu, like a Chinese take-out restaurant. You feel your blood boiling. Heart racing in your chest cavity. You peel your eyes from the fat printed letters. “Men of your choosing."

 “Give it a shot." Your friend nudges you against your shoulder. Seeing the fury in your eyes building, as you look up. "I choose this one for you." Pointing to a loosely attached picture. "He looks nice, doesn't he?"

 “Why would you…?" You mumble, shaking your head in disgust. “Get out.” Tossing everything his way. “Just get out…” Pushing yourself up from the couch. Pacing back and forth across the room, before turning into the kitchen. Raking your fingers through your hair. Letting the cold water from the tap, run across your face. Why do people keep meddling in your business? It's exhausting. A sudden burst of rage and anger courses through you, but it ebbs away as quickly as it came. Leaving you feeling defeated and numb again. Falling back into the kitchen chair. Gaze fixated on the moonlight illuminating the scenery in front of you —mind blank.

 Footsteps approach from behind you. You’ve heard the door open and close. You assumed your friend left. But an unknown voice calls to you. "Hey…"

 "You can go." You respond instantly; without looking,  waving him away. "Please." Releasing an unintended long sigh. Sinking deeper into the chair. Your gaze fixated on the endless void in front of you.

 "I can't." The voice says calm and controlled. "I'm booked for the entire night."

 "I don't care." Shrugging your shoulders. "Please just leave me be. Tip yourself on the way out, wallet is in my coat." You just sit there, sulking in your own misery.

 It's quiet for a good moment. You guess he's probably still there. Standing a few feet behind you.

“You’re awfully calm for a situation like this.”

 "Right…" You chuckle to yourself. “Thanks.”

 "Your friend told me." Hearing his footsteps approach instead of fading away, sending you an uneasy feeling down your spine. "It's ok…" You hear him right behind you. “He means well.” Your body jolts up in the chair, as his hands rest upon your shoulders. His hands just rest. Nothing more. Yet you feel every touch of his finger, every point of contact upon your body. A weird sensation. Even more, as his thumbs begin pressing and rolling around the lower part of your neck. Rubbing your skin. Slowly massaging your sore muscles. A sudden involuntary grunt escapes you.  "I know it's difficult."

 "I… I don't know if… I…" You try to shake the thought of it out of your mind. It conflicted deeply within you. Yet, his touch. So simple, yet strangely satisfying. A different kind of emotion began to rise. Something that had been locked away, far and deep.

 "Please…" He says with subtlety and kindness in his voice. And as he moves past you. The man came into view. Your eyes are somehow captivated by first sight. As he sinks down onto his knees. A thin smile cracked his wistful glance. "It's going to be okay."

 He looked so young, yet worn in a way you couldn't put your finger on. A sorrowful face you had never seen. Long, brown curls gracefully tumbled down his head. The contours of his face were absolutely stunningly shaped. The thin lips and sharp jawline. A work of art. A little imperfection on his right brow. Small hairs rebelling against the flow. Yet his face drained with a gaunt stare. The eyes didn't fool you. Set deep into his face. Small and brown, caramel-like of color. They showed little signs of life left in them. Hollow. Like a flame died out long ago. A spark long lost. A view into the past what once used to be. It lost its touch. It’s humanity...

 Yet, somehow you feel magically drawn to those sorrowful and silent features. Most fascinating, almost hypnotizing. The moment of eye contact was unexpected long. His touch sending you back reality.

 With both his hand on your inner thigh, slowly rubbing his way upwards. The touch of his fingers sends shudders through your systems. They felt so warm. You close your eyes for a moment, shielding your crotch. A moment of insecurity. You couldn't do this. This feeling. Your body, its sending signals you haven't felt in ages. "I… I… don't think I'm ready for this, I'm sorry…"  

 “I get that.” He says, while with one hand lifting your chin. You feel his soft fingers on your cheek. The first touch of a man in months. Your heart flutters excitingly.  And before you open your eyes to meet his. His lips tenderly grace yours. For a brief moment, they join each other. Soft as a cushion, and so warm. It happens quickly. But you want it to last forever. As he disconnects, his dark brown eyes stare at you with compassion. "Your body is, though." He smiles thinly, interlacing his fingers with yours. Gently rubbing down onto your growing bulge.

 “W-Wh …” You stutter and try to protest. But your hands pull back slowly, bit by bit.

 He seats himself back on the floor, spreading your legs apart. Positioning himself closer. With care, he begins to remove your belt. Halting at the first button of your pants. "Try to relax."

 You hesitantly look on. As the zipper opens up. Latching both fingers on the band of your underwear, he slowly pulls in down. Removing your pants, revealing your member, semi-hard. Waiting for the action.

 Leaning forward, he tilts his head and slowly begins working. One simple touch and you were gone. This soft, warm tongue, stroking gently along your length. In a matter of seconds, it's standing full mast. Wrapping his fingers along the base, he continues at a slow pace. Meanwhile, your heart was beating like crazy against your ribcage. You're breathing fastened and irregular.

 “W-What’s your name?” You interrupt. His eyes connect with yours as he looks up through his laces. But doesn’t respond. “P-Please…” You whimper softly.

 He stops, holding your length in one hand. “I’m Tom.” Wetting his lips as he watches you struggle. “You doing alright?”

 You nod quickly, struggling to get your words out. Swallowing the lump in your throat. “T-T-T…om”

 But before you manage to utter another word. He brings his tongue in contact with your tip. Keeping eye contact with you. With a few simple licks, slicking it wet with his saliva. The sensation of his tongue working his way round and round your tip was tantalizing. But the sudden, slide of your tip past his lips and down into his mouth was heavenly. Your body tenses up, hip bucking into his grasp. Moaning his name in response. With your hands clamped to the side of the chair, your fingers digging deep into the wood. Turning your knuckles white, the muscles in your arm cramping up as you can't hold up. You shudder from pure bliss. Only a few strokes up and down with his hands combined with his mouth made you groan deeper and deeper.

 Your eyes widen as he suddenly stops. He rises to his feet, keeps his gaze at you, and with both hands lifting the hoodie over his head. And as the hoodie came off, your eyes hunger for every bit of exposed skin you could possibly find. Giving you a glimpse of a well-trained body. A sneak-peek of a six-pack. Broad shoulders, pecks shining through the shirt. Leaving a much revealing, loosely hanging shirt on his figure. But you feel somewhat caught the moment you get eye contact with him again. His expression was painful to watch. You could almost sense his disappointment. His misery. It's only then you realize the shame. The realization hits you that you view him as an object. As lust.

 "It's ok." Seeing his eyes soften before you, followed by a small smile.

 But it's only a split second before he's back at you again. You can't help but peak past his face down into his shirt. Past his collarbone, onto his muscular torso. God…  

 You snap back to reality, feeling his hand reach for yours. Pulling it from your side. "Hold my hair."

 "W-What…?"

 "Fuck my throat." Sliding his mouth over your member again. Slowly picking up pace. "Go on." He gurgles. Keeping eye contact the whole time.

 “Why are you doing this, Tom?” You ask with a slight tone of disappointment. "You seem so out of place." Lifting his face from your member. "Terribly out of place."

 "Please don't (Y/N)." The mention of your name makes you blush.

 "No, Tom. This isn’t right." You point at his shirt. “Let me look at you.”

 "Wha…-" He sighs, hanging his head down in shame. "No, please don't."

 "Tom, I mean no wrong." You couldn’t help yourself. You could foreshadow what was beneath that shirt. Being in that sort of business took its toll. You caught a glimpse of it when he got rid of his hoodie.

 His gaze was stuck to the floor for a moment. Contemplating on his actions. Before taking to his feet. Slow and defeated. Averting your gaze before turning around. With crossed arms, he takes the corners of his shirt. And pulls it over his head. Waiting for your reaction. You swallow the lump in your throat once again. Seeing the small spots of discolored skin on his back. The bruises. Some larger than the other. Some bright red, the others darkened. The words stock in your throat, feeling the tears well in your eyes. The thought of him suffering by the hands of others made you sick. The poor thing.

 You rise to your feet, closing the distance between you and him. Gracing your fingers on the bruises. “Do they… hurt you?” Tracing your fingers down his side. Partly feeling the muscles under your fingers. But the fact that he didn’t answer your question made you more than worried.

 “Promise me one thing, (Y/N)…” He stops your hand from trailing along the side of his figure. Resting his hand on yours. He’s glowing. Warm to the touch. You can’t help but close the distance. Placing your other hand on his hip.

 With a thin smile, he turns around. Your eyes take in every inch, from his pecs to his abs. A breathtaking body stood in front of you. Strong and masculine. But not too big. "God…" You awe. "You're g-gorgeous-..." Your throat falls dry at the sight. You feel flutters deep down. “I… I’m sorry.”

 “It’s okay.”

 Small bruises dotted down his side. Dark from color, pain from long ago. "Tom…" You mutter worryingly. All the time you awed at his body, he averted his eyes. Looking aside. You now understand why. As your eyes sink lower and lower. You spot the bulge in his pants. Impossible to hide. "Are you…" Not finishing your question because of the obvious. The red rushing to his cheeks.

 He still nods in acknowledgment. "I…I… never had this happen before.”

 “Do you…” A finger on your lips silences your words. Stepping very close to you, spotting his watery eyes up close.

"Yes! Yes, I do!" He confessed, with tears welling in the corner of his eyes. Shaking as he struggles to get his words out. "But promise me…that when…” His nostrils flaring. “-This will never work (Y/N)…" Smashing his lips into yours. You didn’t want to listen to his words. None of it. His arms reach around you, pulling you in. Wrapping your own around him, feeling every part of his skin. Pressed tight against him. Ripping the remaining clothes off your body. You just wanted to feel that perfect body. And so did he, roving his hands all over yours.

 Every kiss has a raw intensity. There’s just too much skin and too few hands and tongues to worship it all. Both your bodies collide against each other completely naked. His firm and rigid cock pressing against your skin. It glides through your hand as wet as it can be. Tom jerking you off at the same time. Moans and grunts fill the room. Tom’s member too slippery to even get a hold of. The sight of it makes you weak in the knees. The chair behind you topples over from your vicious play. As you stumble out of the kitchen. Against the doorpost, over the couch. Towards the bedroom.

 Together you fall onto the mattress. Rolling back and forth. An intense play of hands and lips. Dry humping against each other. You both can't get enough of each other. His lips kissing every inch of skin. Forcing his weight onto you, making you lay flat on your back. He arches back, and sensually starts grinding his pelvis onto yours. Rubbing your balls and cock together into a soaking wet mess. He must have done this hundreds of times. It looked so smooth and sensual. Moaning softly as he held both of your members together. With gentle hands, but a firm grasp nonetheless. Thrusting both cocks through his hand. His fingers teasing the ridges along the lengths. Spreading the pre-cum with the pad of his thumb. Looking at his face, he's so concentrated that you once again get caught staring at him.

 Both moaning, the air is thick of pheromones, the smell seeping into your mind. Both wanting it badly. As he locks eyes again, he smoothly reaches round with one hand. He seemed really flexible, propped on his knees. Arching backward as he lifts his ass up, guiding your tip to his entrance. A slight resistance gave way, allowing you to slide far and deep into him. The moment you sheath yourself into him deeper and deeper, you watch on as he shudders. Contorting his face. Both hands cling to your chest. With both his hands resting on your torso, the fingers dig deep and hard into your skin. Feeling his shaking and shuddering throughout your body. He closes his eyes for a moment, moaning your name in pleasure. And sinks further forwards to your chest. Panting heavily. After regaining himself, he adjusts his hands on your shoulder. And locks lips with yours. "Y-You… f-feel amazing." Moaning into the kiss. The praise turning you on immensely. Growing impossibly large inside of him.

 And so he slowly begins grinding his hips back and forth with your shaft deep inside him. Feeling yourself widen him further and further. Tom’s moans become long and raw. Sitting up straight again, he takes one hand and forces your cock deeper into him. Reaching further and deeper. While trying to clench his cheeks around you. Hitting different and deeper spots. The sudden increase in pressure and warmth were becoming too much. Not only for you. You see Tom's mouth fall open, gasping for air, his eyes shut tight from ecstasy. His other hand caresses the skin of his neck.

 Your grunts become shorter and shallow. You’re a lost cause. Your mind is blank, completely lost at the sexual pleasure coursing through your body. Racing towards your climax. Both hands clinging to his hips, but your strength wasn’t helping much.

 Tom could feel it coming. Your balls churn. A pent up force, craving to be released. And all it takes is a look into each other’s eyes for you to fill him up. And before you tip the point of no return. He picks up the pace. Making sure to milk every drop by clenching his cheeks harder on you. A loud gasp follows. Shuddering your body to the very core. Your hands dig deep into the side of his hips. The splashing inside is intense as you cum, spilling all over. And Tom just keeps riding. Until you just turn limb. Gasping out his name.

 "Felt good?" He asks, breathing heavily, watching his chest heave up and down. A smile on his face. You again realize what a beautiful person he was. His body atop of yours, glistening with sweat. And a damn cute smile.

 “Out of this world.” You pant, laying your head to rest on the cushion. “You’re incredible.”

 "Good." Cupping your cheeks with both hands and kissing you. The smile on his face was larger than you'd ever seen. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." You notice a sudden sparkle flaring in his eyes. Something igniting deep within.

 "How about you…?" Eyeing his erection. "You didn't blow your load." Wrapping your arms around his neck. Pulling him towards you for a slow and passionate kiss.

 "Don't you worry, I did enjoy it very much." He smiled. "More then I should." Pushing strands of hair from your forehead. "I was close…" He confesses softly.

 "Then why didn't you keep going?"

 "Because that would hurt you…" He blushed.

 "How?"

 "You can't just keep going if you blow your load. At first, it's really sensitive, but then it becomes increasingly itchy, to a point it feels like it burns. Quite painful."

 You're both lost in each other’s gaze. As he falls beside you, curling up to cuddle. Tom resting on your chest. Your fingers playing with the brown silky smooth curls of his. "What can I do to make you feel good?" You whisper to him.

 "You already did." Pressing a soft kiss on your lips. You can't help but notice the way he smiled. It's wholesome. To the point of a complete cuteness.

 "Tom, I want you to feel good too." Slowly tracing your fingers up and down his spine. "Because that smile suits you."

 "But, I don't want to hurt you (Y/N)." He looks up with a growing expression of worry on his face.

 "It won't, Tom." Cupping his cheek. "I want to feel you."

Through all the glistening sweat and wetness on your bodies. You feel his length grow against your thigh. Yourself following along. "Give it to me, baby…" You whisper close to his ear.

 Tom helps himself on his knees. His member standing fully erect, ready for you. A jolt of excitement shoots through you at the sight. It's been forever since you've been pleasured since your break up. Something you actually look forward to now. So you roll onto your knees. "Wait…" You look back at Tom. "Turn over."

 On your back again, eager and waiting, Tom takes you by the hips. Reeling you in. Positioning himself behind you. And turns you on your side.  “This is most comfortable for you.” Kneading your ass cheeks with gentle hands. Captivated by your hole. “Alright?”

 You can’t help but chuckle at his carefulness. How soft and tenderly he was approaching you. Putting a cushion under your hips. Rearranging the sheets. Therefore receiving a semi frowned questioning look from Tom.

 “Sweety, I know what you’re going to do.” You give him a reassuring smile. “I’m ready.”

 “Trust me, if you do it wrong, it’ll hurt like hell.” Giving you a little kiss. “I wouldn’t want that to happen.” You stare at each other for half a second. You draw a deep breath, dizzy with anticipation.

 He moves one leg aside, revealing your entrance. A little gasp of excitement leaves, as you feel his tip slowly slide at your hole. “Please tell me if it hurts.” He asks. You nod eagerly. His hands grip onto your hips, the pressure on your entrance increasing. You lick your lips and suck in another deep breath.  You stifle a groan as you feel your sphincter grip the head of his cock. You’re legs feel numb. You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling, releasing a silent moan.

 He holds the moment your face contorts even the slightest, waiting for you to adjust. Slowly accepting his length. Every inch he enters you, you hear his grunts become heavier. Your warmth and light wetness guiding him deeper. “Y-You’re tight.” He moans, trying to regain this breath. “Fuck…” Wiping the sweat from his face.

 Your dick is throbbing, there was no other way to describe it. Pressed against the sheets. No stimulation but only the motion of his thrusts. Stimulated by his presence. His looks. His thrusts. You're breathless, staring at his physique. He is masculine, but not too much. So complete. The view of his muscles tensing and relaxing. Utterly mesmerizing to watch. Even as he begins to move back and forth. Sweat breaks out all over your body at the first couple of thrusts. Very slow and lovingly.

 Stretching your further as he goes in. His breathing slow and ragged. He pushed deep. Reaching far inside you. Warming places you didn’t know you had. The feeling of his dick fully inside you was driving you to the point of an unexpected climax already. The rigidness of his cock, rubbing your insides. Making you shudder to your very core while praising his name. Your cock already leaking on the sheets.

 The pressure inside you rising faster than ever before. It’s impossible to think straight, his pace was slow and passionate. Yet, you only feel his cock hitting your insides. You grip your sheets, whimpering uncontrollably. You only manage to utter his name, squirming under his pressure. The cum just starts pouring out of you, uncontrollable amounts soaking the already wet area. Tom follows up with another thrust, making you squirt even further. You moan long and hard, feeling your entire body shudder from the release. “Holy s-shit… Tom.” You sputter.

 As you open your eyes, you watch Tom hunched forward. Panting heavily. Eyes clenched shut. "Tom…?" You ask. He holds his hand up to you. Signaling you to wait. After he regains himself again, he positions himself further above you. You hear his hot ragged breath, tightly hugging his hips against your ass cheeks. Cock buried deep inside you. “F-Fuck, (Y/N)…” He grunts. “That was hot…”

 He takes a moment to gather himself again. You do the same. Catching your breath and calming your senses. You wait for Tom to move again.  Before he does, he starts to pepper your body with wet, hot kisses. Moaning your name softly as he begins to roll his hips.

 Goosebumps shoot across your skin at the mention of your name. A sudden yelp escapes your lips, grabbing his attention immediately. To your surprise, you feel a moist sensation touching your cock. You gaze at your member, while it hardens without touch. Only by a few thrusts from his shaft.

 “Shit…” He grunts as he wraps his fingers around your length. An awkward position, but he manages. Stroking your cock, coated by your own cum, slow and steady. Completely captivated by it. You sense it's turning him on immensely, as you feel him thicken inside you.

 You release a silent moan as your mouth falls open. Feeling his girth stretch you even further. The ridges rubbing you in unexpected ways. After a few strokes, he loses his grip, licking the wetness from his fingers, one by one. You watch as he sucks each of his fingers dry in his mouth. “Fuckin’ hell...” He groans. “That’s really good." Leaning in, he lands his lips on yours. "I'm getting close, baby." He moans into the kiss.

 “Go for it.” You whisper into his ear. Holding him close. “Blow your load for me.” As he picks up pace. Desperate for release. His cock feeling incredibly hard inside you. Swelling even further at the mention of your dirty talk. “Blow it all inside me.”

 He grunts deep and hard into your ear. Rolling his hips faster and faster into you. “C’mon, baby.” You encourage him. Feeling his cock grow inside you. His breathing quickens, as does his momentum. Rutting into you faster than before. Not relentlessly, but with a comfortable pace.

 Already widened and stretched from before, you feel his cock hitting you deep again. Each time he hits your thrust back, hitting that same spot, you feel the sensation ache in your cock. Twitching from pleasure. “R-Right there, Tom.” You gasp again.

 He shoots a look at you, realization hitting him that you’re getting close again. “Keep going.” You moan out loud. Not a moment later, you feel him pulse inside you. With a cry, he thrust once more, deep and hard into you. You lift your ass to meet his thrust, his balls slap against your skin. The splashing inside you as he cums is so intense that you feel it spilling down your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. Watching him pump load after load into you. Your cock twitches, barely holding on. As your insides were coated.

 He just pulls out, like a plug of a bathtub. You gasp of relief, feeling the wetness seep outwards.  Drops of wetness fly from his still erect member as it bounces upward. Giving a quick tug on your legs, so you end on your back again. Spreading your legs.

 You’re out of breath for a moment. Not sure what he was going to do. Watching your own dick spring back into view again. All wet and swollen. With force, he pulls you to the side of the bed and kneels down. His fingers wrap around your member. As he suddenly starts suckling on your balls. It's strange ticklish feeling at first, but combined with his firm grasp on your length, and strokes, it became more than that. Your balls begin to churn. Gripping the sheets around you, your head falls back onto the mattress, overwhelmed by this quick handling.  

 “T-Tom!” You cry out. “God!” You plant both your feet on the mattress. You shut your eyes tight, pressing your head back into the mattress, thrusting your hips into his grasp. But he doesn’t slow down.

 “Tom!” You burst out, not only in words. Your eyes widen, gasping out loud as he rubs down hard on your shaft. Cum jets from your swollen cock. Stroking you hard, milking every last possible drop.

 It's only hazy from thereon…

 You’re not sure if you passed out, but it felt like you sprayed the ceiling with your load. The next moment you open your eyes, you find Tom cuddled up against you. Just some sheets covering a few parts. “Did I pass out or…?”

 “You didn’t.” He chuckles, looking up at you with a smile on his face. “You dozed off very shortly after. I don’t blame you.” He sniffles while tracing a finger up and down your chest. You wrap your arm around him. Just living in the moment. "I'm so happy, your friend picked me." He whispered to you. That comment stuck with you.

 "Thank you, Tom." Pressing your lips on his forehead, tasting a taint of salt. Picking a few strands of hair from his forehead. Cuddling together in the safe comfort of each other. The sharing of interests you had in common. Followed by simple chatter about the things in life. Making each other laugh. Having a good time. For once, in a very long time, you felt whole again. His smile. His presence, something felt right. Something clicked.

 And it's that sort of thing you just can’t get enough of. Your eyes are glued to him. The heat rising in your system. That flutter in your stomach. It hurts. In a good way. He is everything you ever wanted in a man.

 You love him.

 All cuddled up against each other, it falls to you how sticky everything actually really his. His skin glistening with sweat and wetness.

 “How about we freshen up?” Rustling your fingers through his curls. “Shower is big enough for both of us.”

 “Good idea.” His lips meeting yours in agreement. "I'll gladly join you."

 Being close to together, naked, warm water, and soap. Things get heated again. You don't know how long you been in the shower. And you don't mind. Because for the time, you felt the rush of living again. Being alive. Receiving praise. Kind words whispered into your ear.

No denying that his smile was infectious. A smile that wouldn't disappear, you noticed. Tom was a whole different person to the one that stepped in earlier tonight. Deep down, you could feel that this version of him was the real him. Loving, caring, passionate.

 And no matter how dangerous shower sex was told to be. You did it. And more. Memories burned into your mind forever.

 You take a moment longer to rinse off the sweat and wetness under the steaming hot water. Recollecting those wonderful moments again. Tom already out. You can't seem to shake your smile. This was right. This is how life should be.

 Turning into the bedroom with your towel wrapped around your waist, your smile drops immediately. "Where you going?" He hastily pushes his phone back into his pocket. Tom was already dressed, ready to put on his jacket.

 "I have to go." He mumbled, avoiding your gaze. His smile nowhere to be seen.

 "Please, just stay."  This moment was bound to happen. But you weren’t going to give in. You’ve seen enough people leave through that door. "Stay with me."

 "I… I… can't… I need to go." Checking the time on his phone.

 "You don't have to do this, you know. I can-" But midsentence, you're cut off.

 "Don’t… (Y/N).” His voice skips a beat. You’re pretty sure you could see tears welling in his eyes. You have to fight to keep them back as well. “P-Please…” He stutters, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Don’t make this harder than it already is."

 "Tom, it's doesn't have to be this way."

 "I warned you. It can't be helped." He sobbed. An hour ago, the man standing in front of you was majestic, beautiful, and full of life. What remained now was nothing of that. Hunched shoulders and hands stuffed into his pockets. Eyes wet from tears.

 "I'll take a chance."

 "Please, stay out of it. Just leave me be. Forget about me."

 "Oh no, I can't. Not in a million years. I'll get you out whatever shithole you got yourself into." You’re just glad he didn’t walk right out. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to follow him. Something was holding him back.

 "It's not worth it. It can't be fixed."

 "Everything takes time to heal."

 "Not me, not me." He snickers. “I… I need to go.”

 You rush to your drawers, pulling fresh clothes out as fast as you can. "Wait, I'll bring you wherever you're going."

 "You'll get into trouble if they see you."

 "I don't care." You quip while jumping into a pair of pants.

 "But I do!" He cries. “I do!”

 "The feeling is mutual." You growled. With your shoes and jacket on, you interlace fingers with his. Dragging him outside. And as you open the door, the pizza delivery shows up. “P-… Pizza delivery?” The man hesitates, looking at the both of you weirded out. “Here.” You shove a bill of cash into his hands. "Now, go!" He instantly rushes off onto the street. With screeching tires, the little scooter darts back up the road. In a big arch, you toss the pizza inside, cheese, and all flying everywhere before you close the door behind you.

 The car ride was uneasy, to say the least. No music. Only darkness and the rain hitting the windshield. Sometimes a finger, pointing you in the right direction. You appeared mad. To say you weren't was a misconception. But not at him. And what kind of music was even appropriate at that moment? Your mind was conflicted. You could just drive the opposite direction. Away from it all. He would be save.

 Would he?

 You couldn’t judge if you didn’t know where he was living. What if they came after him? That would endanger you as well. No, this required a different approach. This needed planning. God, you were in a state to do anything.

 Breath in, breath out. Calm yourself down.

  Hope.

Was it misplaced hope

?

 Hope for a happy ending.

 But hope is the worst of all evils, for it prolongs the torment of men. Words from an old book. Spoken by wise old men as they say. But in the end, the truth runs from the first to the very last word. How naive could you be? Deep down, you knew this was impossible. His words spoken earlier that evening kept circling in the back of your mind. Yet, you cling to that glimmer of hope. Those words in the shower. Those moments together. This couldn't be it?

 You hoped not.

  “Stop here.” He says. “It’s down that alley.” Pointing to a small flickering light in the distance. You could only get a glimpse as the windscreen wipers came by to clear the pouring rain from your window. You spot the outline of a figure standing there. "Turn around the moment I enter that alley. Don't come near.”  

 “I need your number.” Pulling out your phone. But he had already opened the door. “Tom!” You hissed, leaning over to passenger’s seat. Barely in time to get a hold of his arm. “How can I find you?” The wind and rain washing into the car. You have to blink once or twice to keep the rain out of your eyes. “Tom?!”

 “T-Thank you for tonight, (Y/N).”

 "No! Tom!" Tears welling in the corner of your eyes. Awkwardly constrained by your seatbelt, struggling to get a firm grasp on his hand. "Don't do this!" Your fingers begin to lose their grip on his hand, the rain hitting you relentlessly. This sting of pain. You felt this moment before. Slowly slipping away from your fingers. "Not like this!"

 "I'm so sorry…" And with a tug, he pulls his arm free, slamming the door into your face.

 You scream from the top of your lungs. Tears rolling down your cheek, you fumble with the seatbelt. But it won't open. Tears cloud your vision, anger raging from deep within. Forcing you to watch him run through the rain towards that accursed alley. You let your fury loose on anything in range. Until you're deprived of energy. Resting your forehead against the steering wheel. Watching the tears fall from your cheeks. You lost.

 A knock on your window makes you jump. “G-Hello?” A thick accent calls out to you. Your eyes spot the contours of a man. His face closing in on the window. His features unpleasant to the eye, looking like a common fugitive. Not with the best intention. "You zhould not be ghere.”

 So many things raced through your mind. You could just mash the door against his burly, ugly set face. Giving you an advantage to whatever came next. But… What would you achieve with that?

You nod quickly and steer your car the way you came. Driving around mindlessly. Gaze fixated on the horizon.

 It’s been minutes, hours, and days. They’re as grueling as you could possibly imagine. Tormented by your own thoughts. How could you save Tom? You couldn't admit to yourself that you actually knew nothing. There's only a location. That's all.

 Taking a few days off only makes it worse. Sleep doesn’t come at all. Falling back on drinking makes no difference. It only forces out the anger. Until the tipping point of intoxicating takes over your senses.

 Until your eyes spot the flyer, you’re hands tremble as you gaze on the picture of Tom. In all fairness, there wasn’t even a name mentioned. Only a number, like a damn menu. You scramble for your phone, shaking with nervousness. It takes a moment for the number to connect, until you hear a lady’s voice call out the name of the business.

 “Ehm… Hello, I… want Tom, p-please." You stutter, sweat breaking out across your body. While your fingers play with the edges of the picture. Gaze stuck on the picture of Tom. It remains silent on the other end of the line.

 “He doesn’t work here.” That single comment makes your blood boil. The thought that some filthy businessman groping him was sickening.

 “I meant number 26.”

 “I don’t know either. Anyone else?”

 “JUST GIVE ME FUCKING TOM!” You scream from the top of your lungs. “How hard can it be!”

 "I'm afraid I can't help you, sir." And the line disconnects. You're fumingly mad. Realizing your failure.  Gritting your teeth, you barely able to control yourself. Your thoughts sink deeper, and deeper in desperation. You could pull each and every single hair out of your skull out of frustration. Kicking chairs over and destroying stuff didn't satisfy in any way. Only the pain halted you momentarily. This couldn't be the end. You wouldn't let it end this way. You can't.

 You can’t let him go.

  - - - - -

From around the corner, you watch the alleyway. It’s been days. You thought this through countless times. Overthinking is what they call it. Days on end. If Tom was there, you needed to take a shot. You have to do something. What else is there to live for anyway? That is one way to boost your morale you chuckle to yourself. You take one last sip from the bottle before putting in back in your car. Releasing a hiss as the strong liquor burns its way down your throat. In a weird way, it makes your head clearer. Calms the nerves. Brings peace to your mind. Boosts your confidence. If only for this moment. You double-check the surroundings. Everything's in place.

 With confidence in your step, you lock your car around the corner and make your way down the street. You straighten your collars before sheathing them in the pockets of your jacket.  It takes quite a few steps to get there. The man on the corner of the alleyway can’t help but notice you. Trying casually to walk towards you. And as you approach the man, you notice he’s definitely one size larger than you. It surely wasn't the man that warned you in your car. This one had a more pleasant and kinder look to him. "G-Hey you…" He nods at you. "You ghot businez here?” Speaking with the same Eastern European accent as the other.

 You halt in front of him. Taking a moment to answer him, trying to keep your nerves in check. While looking calm at the same time. “I’m here for this.” Revealing the flyer from your pocket. “Is the manager in?”

 “Da, but why zhould I let you through?”

 You sigh with discontent. Revealing a stack of money from your pocket. "Here." Handing him twenty or so bills. "Don't bother me anymore." And take the gamble by walking past him. You hear a whistle behind you. Just as you are about to turn into the dim-lit alleyway, another man halts you. An impressively large man. You weren’t small either. But he towered over you, by far.

 “Got any on ya?” Surprisingly, this man wasn’t Eastern European looking or sounding at all. Holding your hands up beside you, you shake no. But the man still searches you. Keeping an eye on you at all costs. Mumbling to himself a few things. "Follow me."

 Through the dark passage, you’re led towards a metal door. Only a dim light above it shows the entrance. The rest is barely visible. The man engages the locking mechanism and opens the door. Through a series of corridors and stairs, you get the impression of this operation. A series of rooms, followed by cells. Giving you an inside look of how dilapidated and horrifying the building actually is. Your worst nightmare just becomes a reality. It's beyond belief how Tom managed to survive in these conditions.

 You try to keep your gaze fixated on the man in front of you as you follow him. But you desperately hope to see Tom here somewhere. What if you don't get out of here… alive? You draw a deep breath and focus on what’s next. A sudden halt at a room, makes you jump a little. “In here.” Pointing inward to an older lady behind a desk. "Make your request." He grunts, crossing his arms as several other people in the room watching you enter.

 “How can I help you, sir?” The woman kindly asks you. You recognize her voice from the phone earlier this week.

 “Alright.” You say, unimpressed. “Cut the middleman.” Turning around to the large man. “Bring me to the manager.” His gaze far from friendly. From the corner of your eyes, you see the nearby, you guess guards, take a step closer. Some whispering to each other. As the large man takes a few steps towards you. Ending up so close to you, he’s literally looking down on you. The smell of smoke and sweat hinted at your nostrils. His warm, foul breath fanning onto your hair.

 “Why should we… little one?” He growled demeaningly. Not a smile in sight. “You walk into here with loads of cash, and demand to see the manager. What is so important you have that you need to see the manager?” Crackling his knuckles close to your face. His hands were large, fingers short but fatty. Stained by all kinds of things you rather wouldn’t know about. “For all I know, you were never here, to begin with…”

 “Excellent threat." You sniffle, revealing a stack from your pocket. As you do in the process, you hear guns being cocked. "Here." Stuffing the stack into his pocket. “Problem is, my burly friend…” You gaze up to him, forcing a grin on your face.  “I didn’t wander in here unprepared. You see, If I don’t return within… let’s say… the next two hours-…” Letting the moment sink in. Eyeing the people in the room. Everyone eager listening in on your little conversation. “-shits going down.”  

 “What did you call me?” His hand resting upon your shoulder, leaning down.

 “Do you call the shots for your boss?” You tilt your head slightly. Looking at him with a playful smile. “I don’t think he’ll appreciate the news I have regarding his ratline from Europe.”

 The man looks past you, nodding to the lady behind the desk. Returning his gaze to you.

 "Not willing to take the risk, hmmm?" You joke. Behind your back, you hear several whispers. The eyes of the man shot back and forth between the lady and you. Before pushing you down the hallway again. Again leading you through some corridors, down the staircase. Ending up in a luxurious room.

 Behind a desk sat a figure, so bulbous and fat, you’d never seen anything alike. Gold rings on his meaty fingers. The room decorated in some sort of Russian style. The left wall accommodating a series of monitors. Probably surveillance. But as you keep your eyes longer on the screens, you see the prostitutes. Man and women. You try to keep a straight face. “I heard interesting things about you, young man…” The blob of a man behind the desk mutters.

 “I always thought Russians started with a drink, before doing business.” Keeping a straight face.

 The flesh of its body bounces and flays around as it laughs loudly. Signaling the large man to pour the glasses. He couldn’t even do it himself anymore, his fat little arms limiting his movement. “Nasdrovia!” You both cheer and cling the glasses, chucking the content.

 “Let’s talk business.” The man says with a thick voice.

 "I have intel, concerning the safety of your cargo." You glance over to the guards. "Can we get the room to us.” Looking at the Russian for a confirmation.

 "Give him a minute." He waves at you with his fat fingers. "Continue." The large man that led you here hesitates. Keeping his eyes on you. "Go!" The Russian shouts again, waiting for the door to close.

 You take a deep breath. And focus on the conversation. The details are important. Focus.

“You need to relocate within the next… 24 hours.” Checking your watch. “They’re on to you.”

 “How do you know?” He burst out laughing. “Do you have any evidence? Because my business is at an all-time high. My man and woman are booked like never before. I even have a new shipment comin-”

 "Container #556121 on the SSE Georgia has been snitched." You say with a reassuring tone. "Go ahead. Tell me if I'm wrong." He has a distrusting look on his face, hesitant to believe you. But still goes ahead to unlock his drawer, revealing a sort of book and a laptop.

 Bluff. Neither the name of the ship or the number was anything close to what you were supposed to say. Through all the nerves, you just made something up. You just simply couldn't remember what the police told you. Your heart pounded in your chest. It's now or never. Everything depended on the next few minutes. On that little wire, you were carrying. The strength of your arms. Your will. And above all, the speed of the police. Your fingers tremble as you grab your watch. It's bound to happen at any moment.

 What happened next went so fast. It's all a blur. One distant gunshot set off a chain reaction. You jump over the desk as the door behind you swings open, blood splatters all across. The razor-thin wire detaches from your watch, and you swing it around the neck of the bulbous man. His fat little arms couldn’t reach around. Shielding behind his humongous chair and body, you restrain him. You watch the bullet impacts on the wall near you as the guard curses loudly. The fat man’s arms flap around.  “Tell me about Tom, you fat fuck!” You shout. “I need to know!” Tightening the wire. With your “Where is he!?” Bashing his head from behind. “WHERE IS HE?!”

 The man fights and struggles heavily, barely able to breathe—coughing and desperate for air. The giant oak chair the man sat in, shook and trembled on the floor by the man's panicking movements. Screeching back and forth. His spasming legs hit the desk to the floor. Sending loads of stuff flying. The man points his finger to the guard. “K-K-Kill T…Tom!” He gurgles to the guard. The words reach your ears moments later, processing what the man just said. You panic as the guards suddenly darts off, grabbing his phone.

 “Noooooo!” Storming off towards the door, fueled by rage. Blinded by anger. Falling over several items on the floor. You regain your footing and continue to run towards the door. Turning the corner without a second thought.

 A bright flash. A high pitched noise. A ringing in your ear. A wince of pain, tearing into you, forcing every thought out of your mind, paralyzing your body. Only by a deep groan. Your eyes are blurry, your vision doubles as you stagger on your feet. Trying to blink it away didn’t help. You feel the pain worsen. Deepen. Sharp pain lances at your abdomen. Another flash close by. Jerking your body around.  Excruciating pain. It all happens with such force. It sends you stumbling backward. Your hands reach for the doorpost, trying to remain afoot. Holding on for life. But strength ebbs away. Your limbs feel numb. Fingers shaking, losing its grip. Slumping down to the floor, onto your knees. Everything hurt. Sharp, deep, unstoppable pain. Each exhale of breath stings your insides. Chocking the breath from your lungs. Your vision blurs, slowly turning red—darkness pressing in.

 But it wasn’t your vision turning red. It’s the pool of crimson red blood forming under your hands. Warming your pale, cold hands, oozing from your wounds. Panic hits. You’re short of breath, experiencing extreme difficulty with breathing. The cold gripping you. Your words strangled by the welling of warm blood, filling your throat. “T-Tom…” You manage to bring out in faltering gasps. Draining the last bit of energy left in you. “T...o...m…” Before your arms give in. Your head slamming against the crimson tainted concrete.

 Then silence.

 Silence.

 …

 …

 ...

 Is death near?

 …

 …

 ...

 That ringing noise in your ear. Coming closer.  Your head felt heavy and painful. As you slowly regain consciousness. You blink a couple of times to readjust to the intense light blinding your eyes. After a moment, you notice the light that shines in your eyes are rays of sunlight. Your try uttering a few words. But your throat was as dry as the desert, and rough like sandpaper. Forcing out an awful cough. "Am... I in heaven?" Your voice sounding croaked and harsh. Followed by another coughing fit. Your lungs hurt. A sharp pain lancing in your chest. Contorting your insides. Everything hurts. Each movement you made, your bones and muscles ache in response.

 “Sir?” A calming voice of a woman called to you. “Sir, how are you feeling?”

 “Terrible.” You cough, struggling to breathe. “Where am I?”

 “The hospital.” A young woman in nursery clothing showed up in your field of view. “You’re in good hands.” Everything looked pale white. Painfully white to the eyes. “You’re going to be fine.”

You have difficulty in paying attention to her. Your vision doubles, sound dissipates. She was trying to say something, but you couldn’t follow it.

 “The man that saved you is here.” Shaking your arm. "Sir..." Trying to keep you from passing out. "Look.” Helping you up. Your eyes slowly adjusting to the light, taking in the room. Loads of flowers decorated the space. Accompanied by colorful cards on the wall. “He stayed by your side the moment you came in. We could-"

 Her words fall to deaf ears. You couldn't believe your eyes. Blinking repeatedly. You try to sharpen the image. The tears welling in your eyes, not helping a bit.

 “This is heaven.” You mumble. The woman stops and looks at you. Giggling at your comment. Sitting there beside you, resting his head against the side of your bed. Eyes shut, snoring softly with his coat wrapped around him. "T-To…m…"  You try to say, falling into a terrible cough.  

 He jumps a little in his seat by the touch of the nurse. Rubbing the sleepers from his eyes, taking a moment to gather his bearings. But that moment you make eye contact. “(Y/N)!” He cries out. You can’t believe your eyes.

 “It’s really you.” You cough while trying to sit up. Tears streaming freely down your cheeks. "T-Tom!"

 "I can't believe it!" He snickers. Diving onto you, his arms closing around you, sobbing against your neck. You remain like this for a while. Deep in his embrace. Tears, only tears. But tears of happiness. You couldn’t remember when you experienced those.

 “T-Tom…?” You’re afraid to ask but needed to know. “Is… is it over? Is it done? A-Are you free...?”

  “Yes…” He nods, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Yes, I am. You did it. It's over." Cupping your cheeks with both hands, kissing you like you never been before. Euphoria. Blessed. Relieved. You feel alive.

“I cried myself to sleep that night (Y/N). Thinking I would never see you again.”  

 You nod. "I felt so lost without you." Knowing precisely what he meant. "I was so scared, Tom. I… I… thought I… was d-dying." Your body shakes at the thought and recollection of that moment. "It all… happened-d… and… I… I… m-missed you… so m-m-much." The sobs turn into long wails of emotions running freely.

 "It's ok." His arms reach around you, hugging your fragile body close to him. Letting all the tears flow freely. Crying in each other’s arms. "We’re going to be fine.”

 You hold him close, not ever wanting him to go. Locking eyes with him again. The reality of him beside you was heartwarming. That wonderful smile. It filled you with joy and happiness. But the questions burned at the back of your mind. "The nurse said you were the one who saved me? How…?"

 "I found you..." Enveloping your hands in his, pressing kisses to your cold fingers. "-on the floor." His eyes turn red, the tears running down his cheek. Crying for a moment, before he continues.

"A-A-After I heard the first shots close by, everything went so fast. I... saw guards being shot, and I ran… I knew something was wrong. I heard more shots. And… that’s when I turned the corner… I found you..." He weeps. "One moment you were there…" His blood-red eyes look at you with terror. "-the other I realized you were… close to… d-dying in my arms."

 You can't help but kiss him, hold him close. Comfort him as he wailed softly.

"Poor thing." The tears rolling down your cheek. “It’s going to better from here on out. I promise, Tom. I promise you.”

 "I love you (Y/N)." He whispers. His watery eyes lock with yours. "I love you with all my heart."

[reawritesthings]

my heart ✿ kiara cerrera ✿

summary: unlike you, kiara was accepted for being gay and welcomed you with open arms, after your parents get suspicious of you spending time together you call it off leaving kiara with a broken heart. 

Gif by @rudypankows

based on the song ‘my heart’ by christopher

words: 2.2K

warnings: mention of homophobia and angst. 

a/n: if you ever feel what reader is going through just know that you aren’t alone and be proud of who you are. If you ever need to talk or anything, my dms are always open for you guys. i hope i wrote this professionally. 

so tell me how to find another you, baby, i've looked underneath the stars

As night hit the blue haze of day to reveal the stars. Kiara always felt that this was a sign of another day of broken pieces. Like an old photograph, Kiara couldn't accept the rugged lines that interfered with her heart. The wind blew through her curly locks as she memorised each word you spilled, each laugh and worst, the thing she loved the most about you, your forest green eyes that sent anyone to a home of reassurance. 

You warned Kiara, you told her that this longing train of love would stab you both in the back. Without any warning, Kiara felt a streak of light coming from the skies above. The winds gushed through her skin forming shivers to run down her spine. 

She was lost, lost in the depth of her own heart that stopped beating the minute you left her in the moonlight. Afaird of telling yourself, admitting who you really are made Kiara wonder why the world was against them. Loving another human shouldn't have to come with harm, hate and dishonour. Regardless, of your gender or ways to your heart shouldn't interfere with the greatest force on his earth, love.

Kiara doubted herself, she couldn't breath knowing you were with someone else, in someone else's arms that weren't made to hold you. Kiara's hand gripped the long grass that trapped her in a neutral position, forcing her eyes to absorb the stars that weren't shining like they did. 

She did look again, looked for someone to fill her void of heartbreak that you created with words that weren't meant to praise you. Her friends introduced her to many different Tourons but, they weren't you. 

She looked for another you, another shilloute that match the curves you embraced. A laugh that could light a whole tree of lights when power is missing. A soft voice of reassurance when she felt she didn't belong. A touch that could melt away any evil that lured their way into her life, a song that would emphasis the love that the two of you shared. 

Kiara's eyes closed, letting the painful memories possess her mind with lurking thoughts that never knew could be her worst enemy. If another you was out there, someone in the streets or the big city, a light will guide her but living on this side of North Carolina, you'll be lucky to get a decent night sleep.

you threw me in the deep end, without a fucking reason

You've been acting off with Kiara all week, dodging her calls, lying about being busy. You hated it, you wanted to run into her safe haven but, the thunderstorms blocked your path. The lighting wasn't agreeing with your love, nor was your parents.

Coming from a family, a religious one where love was only acceptable for the male and female made you feel trap in your own home, where you should feel the most safest. The countless times your parents have lectured you about finding a boy, was barbaric. They didn't interest you, you wasn't fascinated by their witty attitude or their penises. 

You were curious, always have been. You hated being unsure of your own identity, afaird that people won't speak to you, or even look at you. Meeting Kiara that fear automatically disappeared, she made you feel accepted, and loved. Her own family welcomed you with open arms, they were proud that their daughter found happiness. Why couldn't yours? 

Lazily around in your room, flicking through the endless pictures of Yourself and Kiara a knock startled you, quickly closing your phone. 

"It's me." Kiara's voice smoothly entered the room, filling your body will excitement yet pain. 

"W-what are you doing here?" You stuttered out as Kiara welcomes herself into the room, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

"You have been avoiding me? Why?" Kiara was always straight to the point, she didn't use excuses. If she wanted something, she would get it. If something was on her mind, she would tell you regardless if your feelings were hurt. 

"I haven't? I've been busy with my family.." You lied as your nose twitched. Kiara rolled her eyes. She wasn't stupid, she figured you out in a matter of seconds. Your nose only twitched when you were lying, even though you hated how smart she was of made you love her even more. 

"Don't lie. I know you, you may think I don't but I see you, baby girl." Kiara grinned as she knew that nickname was one of your weaknesses. 

"Sh. My parents can hear you." You spat, pulling her closer to you as you didn't want your parents to hear the conversation nor see her. 

"What's going on?" Kiara's playfulness died down as she looked at you. She could feel the tension in your eyes as she slowly trace your arm, giving you that reassurance that you wished your parents gave you. 

"I-I I can't do this anymore. We, Us, we can't see each other anymore, Kie. I can't disappoint my parents. They suspect something and I can't let them know about me." You breathed out, letting that out was burdening you all day as you didn't know the right way to say how you were feeling. 

Kiara was taken back a little, she wasn't expecting those bullets to hit her. She didn't know how to even reply or react. "Baby girl... I understand that. Your parents will come around, 

"Kiara, I'm being serious. We can't do this anymore, I don't love you. I don't know how I feel, I feel like I'm drowning in my own mind and I can't seem to swim. Everything is crashing down and you charming me isn't working." You blurted out, stinging yourself as you let those words leave your mouth. 

"You don't love me?" Kie choked out. Mental flashback started to trap Kiara into a haze of memories that you both shared, they all seemed to be lies. 

"I'm sorry, Kie. I can't do this anymore. You have to go, forget me." You pleaded, not even making the eye contact as you were a coward. 

"How can I forget you? I fucking love you, Y/N. I love everything about you. Look me in the eyes and tell me that what you felt wasn't real? If you can tell me that these three months were a bunch of lies, I'll leave and never speak to you again." Kiara protested, letting tears fall onto her thighs that now was a safety blanket for her tears. 

You wanted to wipe away her tears, take all the pain that you trapped her with a simple kiss. But you couldn't, you couldn't do it. No matter how much your heart wanted her, your brain is the reason you are functioning. 

Taking a deep breath, you looked Kiara in the eyes. You looked at her brown eyes fade into a puddles of water, this was going to be the last time you see her big brown eyes. The last time you were going to run your fingers through her locks. 

"It was never real." You spoke, looking at the love of your life pick herself up from your bed not even giving you a satisfaction  to redeem yourself. You watched her leave, the last memory you had of her was her tears engraved in your covers. 

Not even a last kiss goodbye or a touch to reminisce the lovely memories you shared, it was a simple look that would haunt you forever. 

and tell me how not to be jealous, baby, when I see you dancing in his arms

Kiara was mesmerised by the gown you were wearing for midsummers, a soft greenish-blue gown made of satiny fabric, long and loose. A semicircular collet made of silk. Your entrance was known, people were aware when your presences lured them to stare. The puff of wind swept through your hair before it vanished into the forest to provoke the leaves.

Kiara, of course attended the gala. She didn't want to but, hearing that you were going made her thoughts change like a child. She saw you, all of you. Infatuated by your beauty, she wanted to pull you inside and kiss your lips. The agony of knowing you weren't hers haunted her as she pleaded with the universe to have one dance, with her true love. 

You were glowing and a smile was glued to your face. You blocked out the pain with the alcohol that JJ managed to sneak in, it was rich whiskey that would drown your sorrow after one gulp. 

"May I have this dance?" A tall, brownish hair boy tapped your shoulder. You simply nodded downing the whiskey as you puffed your hair up. Taking his hand you felt disgusted, it didn't feel right. His hands were soft like Kiara's, they were rugged. His palm was sweaty, but Kiara's palm was tender.

You missed her touch, missed her thumb gently brushing against your hand as she whispered sweet things in your ear. When the boy dipped you, your eyes were fixated on Kiara, she was looking at you. 

You quickly removed your eyes for her gaze meeting the strangers, you simply smiled. You didn't feel anything when you were dancing with him, he never said much nor even smiled. A twirl made you chuckle, but your heart made you angry. Another twirl surprised you as you let out a laugh, a laugh that wasn't loud, it was mellow. 

"I like your laugh." He stated, holding your waist as he pushed your body closer to his. You should be feel butterflies, not caterpillars. You should be luring him to kiss you but, you didn't. You stare at him, trying to find something to love, to kiss but there wasn't anything. 

The pain in your eyes as you nuzzled your head in his chest as the song dimmed, made you think of all the times you and Kiara would dance. It was slow nor romantic, it was upbeat and sexy. 

She taught you to twerk, grind and freestyle. You never got the hang of them but Kiara liked the way your body moved with the music. The way her hands mistakenly ended up on your hips as she guided you to her body. 

"I can't watch this... Pope, I can't fucking look." Kie pleaded as she went to stand beside Pope, who was working the party. 

Pope understood the pain of watching someone you loved, with someone else. He always hated when JJ would flirt with Tourons, just so he can score every nationality. 

"We can leave... we don't have to stay here." Pope reassured her placing his hand on her shoulder. 

"Why do we fall for people who always end up breaking our hearts?" Kie murmured as she looked at you, swaying your body with his. 

"Because we love the idea of them, they suck us in when we need them the most. They use our vulnerability for their self confidence. They don't know they are doing, but, it hurts." Pope whispered as he pulled Kie in for a tight squeeze, slowly moving her side to side. 

"As long as we have each other, we will be fine." Pope huffed as he noticed JJ walk up to them both, with a huge grin on his face. 

"Here we go..." Pope whispered as he forced a smile on his face. 

I never knew loving you would break my heart 

Kiara never saw you after midsummers, you didn't even hang out with the Pogues or attend the parties. You vanished from their lives, JJ was heart broken that his other half disappeared. They were both the crazy types when it came to parties. You were his pair in every drinking game and now, he had Pope. 

Pope was great but he couldn't even handle drinking Coke, let alone beer. Kiara wasn't there, she was present but her soul wasn't intwining with the others. She was barked against the tree, where you both shared your first kiss. The hammock that swayed behind her was the first time you said I love you's. 

If Kiara could take back the day she meant, knowing the outcome she wouldn't of gone there. She would have picked another girl who was here for the weekend. But you stood out, you weren't desperate for someone. You didn't even make yourself available to anyone, you simply hanged with JJ and got drunk. 

And that's how her body began to lure to yours, wanting to trap you in her embrace and never let you go. The alcohol that consumed them both, didn't even warn them about the consequences about the reality of two girls being in love. 

It wasn't your fault, nor hers. It was the world they lived in. It was toxic, cruel and unkind to humans like them. Kiara loved the world and always protected it, always recycled, managed to keep litter off the beaches and waters. 

The world should be thanking her, not tearing her apart. Why couldn't the world accept everyone? We are still the same people. Our hearts beat the same minutes, our brain works the same but, when it comes to loving another human.. why is there so many rules? Everyone should be allowed to love who they want to love, why couldn't they let them be in love? Why was loving you so hard?

[marmolady]

A Ride to Remember (Estela x MC)

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Endless Ending.  As Estela continues to help Taylor along her road to recovery after freeing Vaanu's essence, she shares with her a bittersweet part of her life in San Trobida.

Word Count: 3255

Chronology: carries on from ‘The New Taylor’, precedes ‘Inheritance’.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove 

“Okay, sit naturally, with your back straight, and I’ll adjust the stirrups to the right length.”

Taylor shifted her position on a small, grey horse until she was comfortable. “Well, I’m up, and I haven’t fallen off yet, so I guess that’s a good start.”

Estela chuckled as she fiddled with the saddle. “We’ll take it slow. It’s good for your core strength and your balance, which will be really important for you. I read that it’s actually helpful for your circulation and for relaxing . The movements should sort of gently work your joints and muscles, and I think your spine too. As low-impact exercise, it’s pretty hard to beat-- unless you fall off.”

“I’ll just… try and avoid that, then.” Taylor patted the horse’s neck, swallowing her nerves. She’d ridden a freaking yeti; this should be a piece of cake. “Pepper here is the friendly one, right?”

“Ha. Right. Better him than this asshole,” Estela said, while, as if on cue, the dark bay horse she was beside made to take a chunk out of her. Reflexively, she moved out of the way. “They call this one ‘Miel’. It means ‘honey’, which is exactly what she’s not.”

“You know, I’m seeing that. I’m guessing she’s the one who threw you back when you were a kid?”

“Of course. I’m sure it’s a memory she treasures.”

A little laugh made Taylor relax into her seat. This outing had been coming for a few days; her physical recovery had been going well, thanks in a large part to her very attentive and encouraging personal trainer. Taylor could feel the progress taking place within her body; something that she’d not long ago feared had stalled. There was a way to go yet, but… the climb to get there no longer felt insurmountable. Putting the focus on complete relaxation and actually getting some undisturbed sleep had done wonders.

Estela clicked her tongue, and as Miel moved forward, Taylor gave Pepper a little squeeze.

“Okay, buddy. I’ve got this.”

The movement beneath her took a little getting used to, but as Taylor sat straight, she realised that her core really had been strengthened in those past weeks. No doubt she’d be tired by the end of the ride, but for someone who just a couple of months ago couldn’t even sit up by herself, this was an achievement.

Estela grinned. “If you do fall off, I’ll try and throw some ninja moves so I can jump down and catch you.”

“Hahaha. You are absolutely hilarious. This is a cakewalk.” Let’s just keep it at a walk though. To be safe.

“I know. Nothing you can’t handle.” Estela brought her horse so she was walking parallel with Taylor’s. It was wonderfully weird to see her wife out here in the San Trobidan countryside even after all these weeks. But now, it could never be home if Taylor wasn’t there. “There are a few different tracks I used to take from here; we’ll probably get around to a couple more before we head back to La Huerta, but I figured the shortest trail is probably our best bet for now. There’s a really nice lookout spot in this one as well, so you can take a break if you need it.”

The trail meandered through thick primary forest, the shade of canopy bringing a drop in temperature that could be felt in an instant. All was quiet but for the calls of birds and the steady plodding of hoofbeats. That this could exist in a place so war-ravaged was startling to Taylor, and she could quite imagine how such a slither of peace could become a lifeline.

“You used to come out riding here a lot?”

“Yes,” Estela said. “It was one of the few useful things I could do when I was a kid. Seňor Ruiz loved these horses, but when he became involved in the war, he didn’t have as much time for them. When I was about twelve, and then… pretty much until Mom died, I kept the horses exercised and groomed, and Tio would get me off his back. Mom was quite friendly with Seňor Ruiz as well; she used to do this with me whenever she had the time. Obviously, with everything that was going on, I mostly felt like I was trapped. Riding was freeing. There were trails off the beach and up into the hills; I could disappear for hours. Sometimes I needed that. To just take those hours away from a world that seemed to be falling down around me.”

“I’ll bet. It must have felt like a whole different world out here. Has it changed a lot? Everything else seems to have changed so much for you… this place looks like it’s never been touched.”

“It’s the same. I could probably take another shot at jumping that log if I was so inclined.”

“So you didn’t stubbornly come back and try again?”

Estela’s eyes sparkled at the tease. She shrugged her shoulders. “It was a way off where I usually ride. But, yeah, I did jump it later. Not on Miel, though-- on Pepper. I’m stubborn, not an idiot.”

Taylor laughed. This wasn’t so hard. She had a distinct feeling that her butt and thighs would be killing her the next day, but it was enjoyable. At the slow pace, her body relaxed into it.

“But, no. This part hasn’t changed a bit. It’s stupid, but it makes me feel sad. Everything is as it should be, except my mother isn’t in the picture. This was her thing. What she did to unwind.”

The mood changed, taking a turn for melancholy. Estela winced apologetically. It wasn’t fair on Taylor; this was supposed to be about her recovery, not looking backwards.

“I’m… guessing you haven’t done this… since your mom died?”

“No. No, I couldn’t. To begin with, it would have been too painful. Then I’d managed to push myself into rebellion, and if I wasn’t helping-- really helping, this time--, I was training my mind and body so that I could take my revenge on Rourke.” She looked back at Taylor with a bittersweet smile, sorrow still lingering behind her eyes. “I didn’t realise how much I’ve actually missed doing this.

“Thank you for sharing it with me. It really means a lot. I feel like, slowly, I’m being woven into the tapestry of the real world… and it’s because of you; what you’ve given me. I know so much of it is painful, but you’ve not held back from me--”

“I want to feel your touch over every part of me. You know that, right?” Estela flushed a little, but didn’t avert her eye contact. Taylor’s gaze was full of love, and she returned it. “It makes it all easier to bear. And this kind of intimacy helps you, then… it’s important.”

“Yeah, I know. Just… I appreciate you letting me be that person.”

Estela’s lips curved to a smile. She didn’t need to be thanked, not for that. “I love you, Taylor.”

“I love you too.”

 Coming out at the other end of the thickest part of the forest, the sun was blinding. A downed tree had cleared all that stood in its wake, and now made for an easy post to which the horses could be tied. Having offered both horses a piece of apple, Estela helped Taylor join her atop the vast log so they could enjoy the view over the jungle-fringed coastline.

“Wow. It really is beautiful.”

“It is,” Estela said wistfully, staring out into a hauntingly familiar horizon. “It’s kind of a miracle it is still as untouched as it is. Around a lot of the edges of the forest, it’s all been destroyed. Of course, people would go into the forest to hide-- I know my mother and I did. When people are scared for their lives, why should they care about protecting a few trees? But a lot of it’s still okay. Us and the jungles. We’ll rebuild and get stronger.”

She frowned. Maybe something could be done to help. The resources available to Aleister through Rourke International could do a world of good here. It was difficult to bring up. Something would be asked for in return, something Estela was adamant she wouldn’t-- couldn’t-- give. As much as she fought it, though, she felt the burden of responsibility. If it could be as simple as taking Aleister and Grace out here and showing them why her home was special…. That time was coming soon.

“It’s weird to think, in just a few days we’re going to have Aleister and Grace here. Worlds colliding all over again.”

It wouldn’t be just a friendly visit. She’d had Aleister badgering her far too long for that to be the case. She knew. He had a burden to force upon her, as if sharing it would somehow distance himself from Rourke. As if cold, unfeeling money could in any way ease the suffering that had been caused. Aleister could take guidance about righting his father’s wrongs without tethering Estela to that name. After all that company had taken, it owed her that much.

“Hey,” Taylor said soothingly, her voice as gentle as the expression in her blue eyes. “They care about us, about you. Whatever conversations anyone might want to have, no one can force your hand. Only an incredibly stupid person would try, and that’s neither of them. They just want to be here for you.”

Only because of my blood. As soon as the thought came to her, Estela pushed it away stubbornly. However she thought about Aleister’s intentions for Rourke International and that blasted fortune, she did know that both he and Grace cared for her. And they cared for Taylor. And Jake. They must do, for it would take a brave person indeed to be in Aleister’s shoes and face an introduction to one Nicolas Montoya.

“I’ll have to tell Tio some more nice stories before then. I don’t know if my ‘warts and all’ approach to sharing our experiences on La Huerta have painted my poor half-brother in the best light.”

At that, Taylor chuckled darkly. Meeting the approval of Tio Nicolas had been a mighty intimidating feat to take on, albeit worth it a thousand times over. “Aleister did so much to keep you safe in the fallout, even under threat of your wrath. I think Tio of all people could appreciate what a challenge that must have been.”

“I’m lucky to have so many people looking out for me,” Estela said quietly. Then, as if she had no control over it, her tone became harsh, defensive. “But I don’t need looking after. Not with anything from Rourke.”

Taylor looked at Estela with aching affection, and saw it returned, the storm clouds clearing under a tender gaze.

“I’m doing it again,” Estela said sheepishly.

“Yeah. And it’s okay.” Taylor took her wife’s arm and held her. There was a whole lot Estela was working through right now, and she would not have her do it alone. “Maybe you could use a date with that old punching bag.”

Estela exhaled heavily. “That thing’ll be a pile of frayed string by the time I’m done with it.” She leaned closer, touching her forehead to Taylor’s, closing her eyes. It’s okay. You’re in this together. Look how far you’ve both come already? “You are amazing, you know? Taylor. You really are.”

“On a good day,” Taylor chuckled. Her whole life had been an erratic ride of peaks and troughs, of glorious highs and despairing lows. It hadn’t suddenly become easy once the world was restored and she was home with her soulmate.

“On a bad day, you’re even more,” Estela said solemnly. “You never give in.” She blushed slightly. “It’s one of the things I loved about you first.”

Taylor came away so she could press a gentle kiss to Estela’s nose. “And you still loved me when I could barely leave my bed. When I had no freaking control over my bladder,” she laughed. “And I couldn’t have sex without falling asleep after five minutes. It’s… starting to feel like we’ve made it. It’s like our future is actually possible. I don’t have a damn clue what it’s gonna be, but it’s gonna be us.”

“Yes. You and me, forever.” Estela took Taylor’s face in her hands, and brought her in for a deep and lingering kiss. God, Taylor; I’d go through every heartache a thousand times over for a day with you, a day like this. “Come on, mi amor,” she said airily as she came away, riding that wonderful high. “It’s about time those old horses got some real exercise. Let’s take them down into the sea.”

“Oh god, why do I feel like I’m about to get really wet?”

Estela smirked. “You better hold on tight, then.”

 _________________________

 2011

 The bay horse, Miel, flicked her ears back, responding to the tension feeding from the young woman atop her back.

“You expect me to want to leave… to just turn my back on everything that’s happening here. What if I refuse?”

“You’re a minor, Estela. You could dig your heels in and refuse to leave, but your uncle won’t make a revolutionary out of a fifteen year old girl. Nicolas wants you out of here as much as I do.”

Estela bit back a retort. No, he doesn’t. He would let me be useful. “I thought you cared about this place… these people.”

“Don’t.” That tone of voice didn’t come out very often, but even Estela knew better than to argue with it. “My child being killed in this war won’t make things better. You are bright, and determined, and compassionate. I won’t have your light snuffed out before it even has a chance to shine.” Olivia shook her head. “You are too precious. To me, and to all you care about. You finish your education, you grow and you learn, and then you will have more to offer. Then, it will be your choice. But while you are a child in my care, I need you have faith in my judgement.”

How, when it’s taking you away from me? Estela chewed on her lower lip,fighting to keep her tears at bay. Who would make you smile when you had the whole world in your shoulders?

Olivia must have felt the emotion in her daughter, for her voice trembled when she spoke. “The thought of being away from you is… torture. I don’t know how I’m even going to breathe knowing you’re so far away, knowing that the violence here could escalate at any time. But I have to do this, mija. I would not put us through this if it wasn’t desperate. But it is, and I am. If working on Rourke’s island for a year means that you come through this all, alive, there is no question.”

“I’ll miss you, Mami.”

“I know, Estelita. Mi preciosa. But we’ll get through this. One week at a time, and I won’t ever let you forget that my heart is home with you.”

Choking on the lump in her throat, Estela spluttered a sob, and roughly wiped tears from her eyes. “We’ll get through this,” she murmured weakly. This will pass. She had to believe it, she had to try,for it was all that would keep aching loneliness from taking root in her heart. For everything her tio was fighting for, she’d be strong. For her mother, she’d be even stronger.

“Come now, my star.” Olivia reached and stroked her daughter’s face, tenderly caressing away the tear-tracks that Estela’s harsh brushing had left behind. She cupped her cheeks and chin, adoring her. “If these are the memories I’m taking away with me, I’m going to need to see your beautiful smile.”

What is there to smile about--?

“Mija, this is our time. You and me, holding on together. So, I’m going to race you. One end of Cala Paraisa to the other. I’m not going anywhere with you under the delusion that your mother can’t leave you in the dust.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry you’re gonna be stuck on that island, stewing in the knowledge that I kicked your ass out here.”

Olivia scoffed exaggeratedly. There it was; there was her smile. “Fighting words!” She petted the grey horse’s neck. “What do you think, Pepper? We can take them?”

With a roll of her eyes, Estela clicked her tongue, encouraging Miel to walk forwards. This hurt. This really hurt. But her mother was right; they couldn’t let this time be taken from them. This was theirs.

“I think you and your horse are dreaming. We start at that driftwood-- are you ready?”

The still of the quiet cove gave way to the pounding of hooves and the whoops and hollers of mother and daughter at play. One last time.

[kaetastic]

HISTORY UNFOLDS. 1/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

summary: A favour that is pending to be fulfilled calls Y/N to Birmingham, from a very old friend. However, the youngest Shelby soon discovers her past with his deceased brother, John, and the one who had ordered the murdering, Luca Changretta.

word count: 14.6k (i did that)

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, smut, profanities, age gap (read note) 

note: okay, so- i was kind of pissed that we barely have finn content. anyways, i wanted to clear a few things about this writing. it is set place in season 4, john died and luca changretta has arrived for his vendetta. finn is 18, the reader is 37. the reader’s last name is stein :D hope you don’t mind, enjoy and have a good day!

Part 2 | Part 3

Muffled thuds stomped against the ground. The heavy gait they trudged through the still air that had been spurted with blood was that of a crackling of thunder, ready to split the land into two. Weaving against one another like ruffled locks of hair, the piercing grass blades obeyed with every force that pressed onto them; the bed of green and yellow compressed into a hefty brick. Just like millions of menacing syringes pointing into the clear sky as if defending soldiers of the ground creatures walk upon, the patchy grass was ready to embed their toxins into bloodstreams. Despite the steel gun’s stomach filled with clanking bullets; men drowned in blood and bodies resting upon the ground as if it was up for display, the sky played with the merry rays of light. 

A staggering sigh fell off her lips as her thumb caressed the chilling metal of the syringe that cried for help in her suffocating grip. Pressing into her head was the bulging intricate lines of the artwork on the tree, the leaves danced with every kiss of the wind. Almost as if it was calling the men that brushed their fingers over the trigger, painting the walls of the camp with dying blood. Blood of those wounded; blood of those who’ve saved countless lives of bleeding soldiers. Fear was the bandage that sloppily wrapped around her chipping heart. War was more than terrifying. It had been for the soldiers prancing around the land of blood. It had been for the wives and children back at home. It had been for their dogs who would stare at the door, waiting. Especially when sizzling barrels that were loaded with merciless ammunition were hunting for the sole survivor who had managed to flee away from their execution. She was outnumbered, guns to a single, used syringe. 

Pressing her lips as tight as she had locked the door of her house that must’ve been drowning in layers of dust before she had hurled herself into the waging war, the battle that raged inside her sliced and butchered every thought of her making a minuscule noise. Even a slight push of both of the breathing organ could lead a body to stand as shooting practice. Y/N glanced down to the stainless steel syringe, neck-craning like an ancient spine of a parasol. Streaks of red stroke her arms as if her body was a the counter where the butcher’s knife met with the poor animal, the foul smell encroached her potency to breathe even though it was something she had already gotten used to. Well, she was forced to. However, she could not digest the fact that the liquid used to run through someone’s body, aiding them to breathe and live. The staining blood shook its leg, waiting to decompose on her freshly scrubbed apron.

If it wasn’t enough of the stark red glazing on her body, beads of the warm liquid coated her tongue as her teeth stabbed into it as if she was scooping up a plot of dirt to nurse another plant. Just like that back at home. Despite her menacing situation, she hoped deep down that the neighbours she placed her trust on, had taken care of her plants. Dread engulfed her body. A tremble waved through her quivering, overcooked noodle knees when the sound she despaired, trickled into her ears. Murmurings slithered behind her unstable feet like a starving serpent, brushing against her skin frequently with its uncomfortably slick scales, spiralling up her leg as it flickered its tongue, tasting the air for nourishment. Fear.

A string of rough mumbled words from a language she could not point out, poured into the silent air. Not long after, grumbles followed the statement before shuffling of feet rubbed against the compacted grass that once used to be a gorgeous, wide field. Now, it was no different than the streets of a run-down city, pressed as tough as the stone bricks that made up most of the homes. It holds the burden of carrying the names of murderers- killings in the name of their country.   

Seconds ticked as hours. The sand trickled down the sleek glass as if crumpled soil had poured out of a cracked pot, one by one. It was agonizing to watch the substance from one side of the tent dive down to plaster down the walls; painting it as if a circus. The faint blotches of clouds that painted the fresh sky seemed to take its time to allocate to another area. Even though it felt as if her heart had been tugged out of her chest cavity to sing a song extremely close to her ears, Y/N tried her best to compromise her chest heaving; forcing her lungs to reuse the same air once again. On the other hand, the only question that remained in her head, blaring persistently was, for how long?

Before she knew it, a whirling of metal echoed through the still, open field. With modicum movements, her head reluctantly turned to face the man who dangled her life over the thin thread-like a puppet. Her throat became parched. Every bubble of moisture that was once the reason she could talk, evaporated from her mouth as death sat in the waiting room, reading the latest paper while he waited for her with great patience. Just like he was with everyone else.

“Found ya.” In broken English, an aged man with a revolver in his grasp snickered. Like a vicious serpent, his tongue flickered to slap his lips as if he was a child, sloppily shoving food down his throat. The scars that trekked down his face reminded her of the newly purchased china dinnerware she had placed on the top of the highest shelf for display, which unfortunately had all met their sorrowful ends; till this day, she pondered how the day would’ve gone if she hadn’t had nimble fingers. All she could see behind his eyes were suppressed anger; an unnecessary need of vengeance. The uniform he wore similar to that of a burlap sack, a boring beige. Despite the prominent lines of age that created a path on his face, the grip he held onto the firearm did not waver- the mouth of the revolver yawned between her eyes.

Birds chirped in the air like an orchestra, their singing was innocent- a gentle melody and a tune that was in sync so perfectly even though their volume stood on the same height. It rained over the bloody land, almost as if it was meant to cleanse the mess humans have created. While the half elevating bunk of the planet cheered with another passing day of joy, the latter was dancing in a bath of terror. This was it, this was the end of her line. If she had only listened to the incessant amount of warnings by several different people and the endless nagging from her friend who she looked back now, spoke only of truth, she wouldn’t be at gunpoint by a man who seemed to be thrice her age. Not to forget his face that looked as if it had a ride under a meat butchering blade. Just as she was, stubborn and blinded by the need to be right, Y/N had decided to oppose. What did she achieve? Nothing, but she was confident that her pride was tucked safely.

Fisting her hand into a ball with immense pressure that pierced her fingernails into her palm like a bed of nails, blood oozed out, seeping onto the dirt as nourishment; the glass chamber of the syringe let out a woozy crack. The only supply the abused land will ever get during the heinous battle would either be from astringent sweat plunging from the soldiers, the haunting lake of blood or the fitful rainfall.

With her eyes squinted shut and toes curled, the prayers she chanted in her head tugged the circular rope around her neck tighter, decreasing the diameter of the hole. Plucks of fibre dug into her skin, the voice in her head amplified- her call for someone. Religion was something the volunteered nurse did not insert in her life as much as some targeted individuals, for she found it irrelevant and obstructive to things such as routine and the words one would utter. However, she stood in front of the enemy, knees trembling with fear, calling out for a God she didn’t believe in seconds ago.

It seemed the trickling of sand had halted, the glass had scattered across the red floor, embedding itself into the decrepit wall. The elongated time that was predicted by a gypsy woman was a lie. The words she had believed once it had fallen from the woman’s lips. She was nothing but a hoax. Y/N acted oblivious to the idea that she would see death prematurely might’ve been because she had scribbled her name on that card- calling upon her death wish with limited time.

During the nauseating ride over the bumpy ground towards the slashing air, Y/N held no doubt that what she would soon see would be an image she would not be able to wipe off her head. However, she had doubted the countless possibilities that could have dropped upon her. Never did she see an ancient man that might as well be her grandfather, aim his revolver towards her.

It was only humane of her to wish that she would walk out of the vile battle in one piece. Everyone did so. But, it seemed that the gardener had tended to pluck out the most ravishing flower that would bring a bag’s worth of money.

There. An agonizing slow-paced train sauntered past her. Even though Y/N was stationed far away from the fields before, she was recently moved to another tent where she was slightly closer towards the bloodbath. And the bangs and slicing of the air with an agile speed from firearms were still new sounds she was getting familiar to since previously, the most she had heard was that of an accidental gunshot. Followed by a spine-chilling bang, was a piercing crack. It had not waited for a second to fall into the uniform pace of the noise. Like a collision of fist towards a drenched plot of soil, the sound rang through her ears. Then, the noise of an agile collapsing hefty object was absorbed by the starving land. Her eyes shot wide open. Immediately, she checked her body for a pool of blood to make sure that even if there was no pain, her body would’ve surely rotted by blood loss. But no, it was not her that had a bullet had flown through.

A thud was muffled by the layers of blood covered by yellowed–stained grass. The sword-like object sunk into the ground as an indent that was to be created by the soldier. Once her eyes had landed onto the corpse that would scar a hole on his head until his body would be part of the land he used to breathe upon, tracks of emotions overflowed through her. Speckles of worn off skin circled the gushing orifice, the crimson blood bursts out to paint the ground. Finally adding colour to his sorrowful uniform. The stream of blood that trickled down his nose reminded her of the water pipe at her house that needed fixing.

Snapping her head to face the hero who had tugged the barrier away from the early end of her life, saving her, a twinkle of relief gushed over her. With a pistol in his hand that was down one bullet, he let out a staggering breathe of air. The smearing of dirt across his cheeks had made it seem as if he had rolled his head over a land of flaky dirt with a splash of water.

“Tommy.” The man was pulled away from the trance at what he had just done.

Letting out a slight smile, he lent out his arm for her to grab, “Come on, get up, the others are still here. Just don’t forget to pay that favour, Stein.” Y/N nodded before grasping his arm. How could she ever forget the man who had been the reason she still had a future?

Obnoxiously boisterous rings from the telephone bounced off the walls of the spacious, palatial hotel room. The vibration of the wooden table under the machine sounded like incessant drumming of crying droplets from the clouds against a pane of glass. Blaring from the vent was frigid wind, kissing the exhausted pair who rested under the thick covers that were meant to shield them from the cold. It seemed it had not done its job.

Warmth radiated from the body that rested an inch away from her, a broad back that had been splayed with taut muscles, occupied the other whole half of the bed. The scent of sandalwood lingered on her sheets. The gentle caress of the cotton blanket was getting warmer. Her leg shifted to find a chillier spot under the blanket, accidentally brushing a pair of legs. An exhausted sigh brushed over her lips when the phone would not rest, continuing to dance on the table.

Since it was a bright and clear morning, Y/N had to cover her bare body, because the window that expanded the whole wall offered a jaw-dropping view of the city. The surrounding buildings might’ve not defeated the towering height of the hotel she stayed in; however, it is never a bad idea to stay safe. Before dashing across the wide window, she had tugged the diaphanous silk robe that was thrown haphazardly over the lampshade above the side table. As if the ringing had been a test for her morning patience, she stomped towards the machine with a huff- trying her best to prevent herself from making too much sound as she liked the sleeping guest to proceed with his needed, peaceful slumber. The frozen air had coated the wooden floor during the night, with every step she took, it kissed her feet like bites from a kitten. It sent shivers up her spine since the only thing that covered her body was a thin layer of silk.

Snatching the phone, she mumbled underneath her breath, not allowing the frigid air to get to her, “Paris, 146.”

The sudden desperate need for a gulp of water coated her tongue, the crying from her head caused the woman to softly tug on the wire connection so she could reach the pitcher. While she poured herself plain, old boring water, she waited for the other side of the line. A stream of water trekked down her throat; she thought it was a wrong call.

“Is this Y/N Stein?” The voice was so familiar, hoarse and raspy. She could smell the cigarette.

“Who’s asking?” Whispering under her breath, Y/N’s feet brushed against one another as all she wanted to do was jump back into the warmth of the bed. Y/N shot a glance at the body that laid peacefully in the blanket while took a sip of the refreshing water. The late-night activity had left her parched.

“Thomas Shelby.”

“Tommy?”

A hum vibrated into her ears, “Remember that favour back then?” Y/N hummed, fingers caressing the wire, twirling it and curling it into loops as she replayed the memory. “I heard that you were in France.”

“Still am, though, words spread quickly.” A chuckle was emitted from the other side of the line.

“Come to Birmingham,” This was it, the only time Thomas Shelby had made contact with her, despite him being her life saviour. Even though it had been eight years since they had last seen each other, there was never an attempt from both sides to invite one another for a reunion. Although a part of her had missed the middle brother who was six years a junior to her, the sudden recall of the man that she had done the most to wipe him off her memory by drowning herself in oceans of the strongest liquor, which had unfortunately failed (she had thought of the intriguing idea of possible brain trauma but what had halted her was if she wanted to forget the joyful memories). “And oh, bring some souvenirs.”

Without refuting the order, Y/N placed the phone back to where it resided. She let out a low chuckle at his words, finally piecing it all together after the call had ended. The wires were being watched.

“What a sight to wake up to,” A husky voice stated in a thick French accent, slicing the empty air into two loaves. Averting her attention towards the bed, her eyes landed on the male who leaned against the headboard, his elbows pointing up in the air- sporting his flexing muscles on display. The chestnut-haired male wore an irritating yet charming smirk that ran across his face, his pearly teeth glittered under the sunlight. It was possibly one of the reasons why he was in her room.  “Come ‘ere.”

As she ambled- the prominent raising peak underneath the sheet was evidence that his eyes were running down her figure shamelessly as sinful thoughts ran in his head. She swayed her hips before halting beside the bed. Shrugging the translucent sheet off her shoulders, the robe pooled around her like mercury, exposing her at all her glory. It was not the first time he saw her naked. And it was only hope that it would certainly not be his last. The worry she had not too long ago of being seen by strangers from the opposing building had been thrown out of the window. Tugging the blanket off, his tongue ran across his bottom lip while he devoured on the sight, his eyes trained on hers as she indulged the throbbing shaft.

“Ah, fuck me.” A wanton moan fell off her lips at good-morning sight, already desperate for the bulging veins to caress and drag against her walls.

“So the lady says.” He groaned as the warm feeling of last night engulfed him. Strings of moans and groans like that of the night before rebounded from the walls.

Chatter and bickering hopped around the circular table. The chandelier that stood above them created wavering shadows with every muscle they moved. Warm and dim yellow rays coated the bodies. Even though sunlight shone inside the house, there was still a need for the electricity to be utilized. The men who did not have the privilege to sit on the chairs but have the opportunity to observe the constant feud watched the circle of people endlessly hurl words onto one another. Well, it was mostly between the pair of blue eyes and the distraught aunt.

The wallpaper was rich in green, a bland colour as a background to the contrasting blaring blue ceramic plates that sat above in the shelves. A faint knock rapped the wooden door. Since a battle was being undone in the room, the sound of the guest was engulfed by an unsatisfied individual on the table. The tension inside the room was palpable even though a door stood between Y/N and the conversers.

Running her eyes on the walls, she tried to spot something interesting along the hallway which she could get lost into. However, all she could think of was the souvenirs she had brought all the way from France; the long-awaited reunion of an old lover. She wouldn’t call it nervousness, she would never admit to such a label. So she went with the assumption that it was the jitters. The patiently waiting-woman couldn’t help but wonder if Thomas had told everyone about her or if she was going to be the surprise that leads to heart attacks. Just like at the pictures, a play of her memories with the middle brother pulsed with every beat of her heart.

After a few seconds had passed, her hands were quick to snatch at the pocket watch that was stuffed in her pocket. The door was yet to open. Turning back to look at the men she solely trusted, the English shrugged his shoulders- not comprehending to why they had not been in the room. Raising her hand in the air once again, she rapped the door. As if a sword had run through the thick air that was beginning to suffocate the arguing chests, silence barged through the doors. Enlightenment to the skulls that would’ve snapped into fragments.

“Finn, get it.” Bopping his head to his brother’s instructions without any bicker, the youngest dashed towards the door. Thomas took a puff of his cigarette, the swirl of smoke inhaled into his lungs, warming his chest.

An antagonizing slow creak blurted in the air, glueing all the eyes onto the unexpected guest. Questions sprinted in Polly’s head. Was it someone he had been expecting? He had looked calm and collected, though, that was just how the second oldest Shelby was, after the war. His face like a brick wall, only chips of cement could sputter out of his mouth while his face remained stoic. By the voices in the air, her doubt had been correct. It was hard to believe Thomas would do such a thing, inviting someone- most likely a stranger to a business meeting which should have only consisted of the closed Peaky Blinders, without informing others. It was something he rarely did if the other times were eradicated where he proceeded with his plan without informing the family. Oh, that was most of the time. There was no extra chair for the guest. The most understandable reason was Thomas wanted to introduce an ally that he has been hiding for God knows how long. Even that brought steam to puff out of Polly’s ears. Her eyes threw a glance at her nephew, whose back was facing the door, only taking frequent puffs of his cigarette. What game is he playing?

“Is Thomas Shelby here?” Finn did not help but notice the towering bodies behind her figure and the humongous bags they held- not even quiver, which should be a sign that it might’ve been an attack of sort. A slight tint of red stroked his face as his fingers brushed over the holster in his jacket. She was either a woman of power from the men behind her or she was nothing but a spoiled lady. Although he did deal with women with power from day-to-day bases, which was more of observing the women Tommy would tangle with, there was something that enchanted her ambience. A spell cast onto him.

Taking rapid glances at his appearance as he turned around to look at his brother for an answer, it was as if she could see his character like a display, seeing through him transparently. Not a bad suit, hair combed extremely cautiously and the face of a babe. She quirked an eyebrow, an interesting yet perplexing combination. Although he did look very familiar, Y/N didn’t bother to prod much into the idea as she sees faces every single day.

Finally facing her once again, he nods at her question. The slight opening of the door only allowed her to view the wallpaper and a head from the boy’s lanky shoulders, he shot his inquiry, catching her off-guard, “What’s your business with Tommy?”

Believing what he was doing was the right protocol, Finn proceeded with the short interrogation; even though it felt like it was being reverted to him every time he took a rapid glance at the men behind her, “Why? You his bodyguard?”

The recently changed boy to a man, wrinkled his nose, gaze focused on her as he tried his hardest to read her, much to his dismay, every item his eyes grazed over, it had only caused him to go in a loop. The array of golden rings decorating her fingers like a twinkling Christmas tree, caused him to assume that she might’ve been a lady flaunting with money. However, the endless list of questions Finn had thought of caused him to be nauseous as the acidic liquid elevated his throat. Where would she get her money from? “I’m not, I’m his brother. Will you answer the question or not?” Blaring across her mind were countless of possibilities that she could’ve said to respond to his question.

But, the bucket of water splashed across her blackboard, flooding it with a thick layer of glazed liquid, obstructing her ability to see all of the answers when his tongue had run across his bottom lip. Oh no. This was the youngest brother John had told her about during the rare days where they could sit back while others guarded. Her mouth gaped open to respond to his question; however, the deeper she swam in the mess, the harder it was for her to remain in search.

Finn raised his eyebrows, arms crossed to lean against the door frame- emitting a slight cocky aura which Y/N could not help but find slightly amusing and magnetic. Before he got back to his more respectful position when it felt like he was being judged by the accompanying man, Finn’s mouth gaped open to press the trigger again. Despite the voices in his head reminding that he was a Shelby.

“Just let her in.” Glances were thrown from the ladies, definitely not expecting the unexpected guest who would interrupt the meeting to be a female. What was she? The freshest whore Tommy had indulged in? If it wasn’t for Thomas’s interruption, she would’ve surely needed a seat for the torturing investigation. Somewhat not grasping the idea of how his brother knew of the guests’ gender, Finn followed the command without a word, opening the door wide open for the guests.

“Wait here.” Y/N’s voice of superiority caused soft trickling of fingers to brush up Finn’s spine. Since the door was blocked by Thomas’s body, no one could see who the individual was, unless they decided to take a risky side peek. However, the three men that stood next to the wall, obeying the command, with three massive bags in their grasp, had directly caused everyone to be pushed to the edge. What was Thomas planning? The corners of Tommy’s lips curled up once distant clicking of heels echoed closer towards his ears, but never a smile, never since Grace’s death. The door creaked back shut. Moving aside, Tommy revealed the woman that caused everyone to get riled up. The ones who stared at her with a slight recognition of her familiar face had finally pieced it all together once he had announced the guest. Finn took his newly given seat at a table, an honour, a prerogative. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wooden chair to watch the scene unfold.

“Thomas Shelby, it’s been a long fucking time.” A satisfied line sported on Tommy’s lips.

“Everybody, this is Y/N Stein, all the way from America. Was in my unit before she decided to desert us all.” The youngest in the room eyes’ widened at the sudden collision of information which leads him to be dunked into a mass of an ocean, it was overwhelming.

An amused huff escaped her lips at his obvious lie he had just hurled out on new pairs of eyes, well, it was half-lie and half-truth. Although it was not entirely a lie, he had just scratched off the surface, which without deeper context, it would’ve been an easy misunderstanding, “Close your fucking mouth, Tom,” Noticing that the rest of the group did not get the note, Y/N finished to defend herself. “I had to leave for some issue.”

Thomas rolled his eyes at her horrible attempt to drift from the topic, he was amused at how she was trying to humble herself, “Saved John’s life and off she went to Germany to spy for the fucking British Secret Service.”

Slapping his arm, Y/N stood flabbergasted that he had spilt her past during the war. Lizzie watched the interaction with vigilant eyes, alcohol was thrown onto the fire behind her eyes- feeding the voracious element. It was not just her though.

“Y/N Stein. It’s been so long since I’ve heard the name.” Shooting up, Arthur pulled the lady into his arm. He held on for seconds, not a thought of his wife would be roaring with confusion and jealousy flew passed his head as he embraced the reunion. During the bloodshed, the Shelby brothers had enjoyed her company, especially after John had fallen into a terrible condition, making them closer than ever. Even though the middle child was nowhere near his station, she had decided to aid him because it was the bloody war and every soul was worth it. “Those American had been rubbin’ their accent on ya, haven’t they?” The former war-nurse smacked his arm with a laugh, her head thrown back at his observation. Despite her exhausting agile trip, she had always found herself to be enlightened by the eldest. An electrifying thunder was zapping between Lizzie and Linda as they side-eyed the intimate reaction.

“What can you do when you’re surrounded by New Yorkers, amirite Arthur? Jeremiah,” Noting that there was short of one particular person she had hoped to meet, she raised the question she thought she wouldn’t even have to ask. Even during such a bloody time, John’s presence was always prominent and he had radiated an ambience no one ever could. Well, no one she had ever met so far. He could be a nut-head at points but he was always there for her when she needed someone. A shoulder. It was too quiet without him being in the room. “Where’s John?” The room had ebbed to silence once again. Wearing long faces that met with the floor, everyone had suddenly found the ground to be engaging.

After a few seconds which passed like an ancient and a decrepit train, Arthur amplified his voice to answer since no one had dared to reply, “He, uhm, he’s gone.” He stuttered while he fiddled with the rough pads of his fingers, knowing well the history the pair had. Tears welled up on his eyes even though he had bawled a lake-full of water not too long ago. A familiar ringing sunk into her ears as if she had been plunged into the dark abyss of water. No light shone down, terrified of what the deep beyond holds. Every frantic snap she made with her body, she was faced with the same darkness, her accompany, her watcher. The water had muffled her potency to hear, taunting her with indistinct chatter. Words she could not even make out.

“Oh.”

The rubble of fallen cylindrical death piled up like an insubstantial building as if struck by artillery. Before putting an end to the flaking red ashes, Tommy took his last puff, stabbing his cigarette into the glass ashtray. Crying out for help, it wheezed to permanent sleep, “Anyways, Y/N is here to aid us during this… turmoil,” The abrupt and direct change to business from Tommy had piqued her interest even though the bandages wrapped around her heart were draping down so loosely. Polly let out a chuckle of disbelief, gaining a warning glance from Thomas.

There was a switch in the man that flipped. However, she didn’t prod much into the point she had noticed since he had served four bloody years on the battlefield. Four torturous years of seeing blood and as for him, the narrow tunnels he had dug out for hours with crumbling dirt and sludge. “She will be assisting in the area of her expertise, firearm.”

“I will?” Y/N inquired with furrowed eyebrows. The woman who possessed dark bags under her eyes, leaned back into her chair when something seemed off-putting; her eyes watching like a hawk, so vigilant and persistent to dig deeper into the resurfacing secret. Never had Thomas mention her before, well, never did he talk about what had happened during the bloody war either. When Thomas had called her which was the only contact they had made, he had not written a letter informing her of details. She had understood his reason for not directly telling her over the telephone line; however, a scribbling of a letter would’ve allowed her to prepare to what was coming. Then after two days of the contact, Y/N had left whatever business she had in France to men she had trusted; she cruised on a boat towards her desired destination with no idea on what she was about to face. “Oh, yes, I will.”

Shoulders suddenly tensed, not at all expecting for her to be someone they had thought. Even the eldest Shelby stared at her in shock. The woman who wore the navy blue dress, that was not thriving in England, with an exquisite fashion of gold that embellished her figure, was part of a gun trading business? Although the thought died down slightly when their eyes glanced at the three men in splendid suits that came in with her, it still had shaken them to the core.

Ada elevated her eyes to find any points she could note from the woman’s appearance, noticing the fading trail of a handful of tattoos painting her skin. It was a smear of ink on her neck, although, it had only peeked out when she would shrug her shoulders. Tilting her head at her inked hand, Ada’s eyes squinted at the drawing that resembled what had cost her brother’s life. Before she could take another good view to confirm her suspicion, Y/N’s hands were then stuffed in her pocket for warmth. The Shelby made accidental eye contact with the woman she had been staring at.

An amused smirk sported on Polly’s lips as she took a sip of the warm liquid. There were many, multiple times Tommy had managed to baffle her; however, this, this was crossing his imaginary line by a great distance, “We already have enough guns.”

Tommy mumbled, not bothered to look at his aunt, “Pistols. Y/N here, have something much more... predatory.”

“Although I haven’t brought the lot of them, I’m sure my boys can handle an urgent call,” The three men stomped their way towards the table with a gesture of her finger, their gait shaking the ground like an earthquake. The hats they wore tilted to the sides, somehow still resting upon them despite it being hanging off the edge. Bulging through the material of the bag could’ve been assumed as useless sticks; however, if the straps were to be tugged open by the wrong audience, it could’ve been the cause for someone to be thrown behind bars that they would have to call home. “Got me the good batch of Rifles, Machine guns and Shotgun.”

The legs of the table shook, quivering at the abrupt weight pressed at the top of its head. Tremors vibrated through the wooden table before Y/N’s men tugged the sealed straps with such ferocity and strength. The bottle of rum danced to the beat, the liquid slammed into the container walls of the glass cup like the highest tide of the day. Flabbergasted at how the atmosphere had altered from a choking tension to amusement with a simple addition of a person, Linda could not believe it. Especially by the fact that it was a woman who had run the whole syndicate.

“Why more firearm? ‘Tis a vendetta of what? 15?” Arthur inquired.

Thomas nodded, he paced towards the table, fingers brushing over the chilly metal, “Heard that he’s involving Sabini’s men too, not just for vehicles. All he wants is his bullets to end up in us, reserved royally by the avenger himself.” 

“These are my most trusted men,” Y/N uttered once Thomas threw a glance at her. Her head was held high as she watched them pluck the straps open to reveal the stack of firearms that had been stuffed in the bag. Pride torched in her body as she watched eyes glint. Nodding her head at each figure, she listed, “Gavin, Connor and Dante.”

“Italian name.” Polly blurted as her droopy eyes from the medication she had been consumed, peeked at the blare of reflection from the guns. Narrowing her eyes towards the man who backed away from the table to stand beside his boss, Polly quirked an eyebrow. The olive skin of the Italian had been painted with his raven untamed locks. The voice urged at her to keep a hairs’ breadth distance between her fingers and her gun that was tucked in the waist of her pants’. She barely knew the woman and she managed to drag an Italian into the Peaky Blinders’ meeting.

“Yes, he fell onto my plate when there were... mishaps,” Y/N declared. The man whose broad shoulders were squared intensely stared into Polly’s eyes, his head held up high as her glare did not quiver him. “He also teaches me some Italian from time to time. Although, I don’t have much time for that lately, do I?” The claimed Italian shook his head.

“You brought an Italian here,” Polly exclaimed prodding onto the point to why she was even speaking. Was Tommy calling for his death wish? “How do we know he isn’t part of that buffoon of a mafia?”

Before Y/N could even inquire her question, Tommy interjected, “Polly,” Having to see his friend being grilled alive by his aunty was not a pleasant sight that he would tolerate. Especially since this was also meant to be a business conversation; professional. Tommy sighed, “We can trust Y/N.”

“Clearly you do,” His aunt grumbled, flicking her cigarette case with a clash before lighting it up with haste as if the longer she thought about this ridiculous plan, the more ludicrous it will be. Although the time went passed by at an antagonizing pace, Polly would have rather have to go through with Tommy’s past, foolish acts, rather than watching him place all his trust onto a sole woman. “He could be passing information back to him.” 

“Polly, that’s enough,” Tommy instructed with slight superiority in his voice. Polly glared at her nephew before smoke eased her mind. “I’ve heard words flying about that they have made a deal with Sabini, we must stay alert. Finn, go show the men their lodge, the building I had pointed out today while passing and Y/N’s also. I’ll send someone to check the guns, tomorrow, midday.”

Finn’s eyes widened at the job he had been assigned to, glancing at Isaiah who shrugged his head with a faint smirk that he would always wear. This was his chance to prove to Tommy that he was worthy of becoming a Peaky Blinder; that he was ready as a soldier ready to be deployed. 

“Isaiah, you tag on.” 

“Tommy, it’s not a fucking field trip,” Before Tommy could justify to why sending Isiah was a good idea, she had cut him off. “No, I swear to God, if I see a Peaky behind me I’ll use him as a shooting target. Plus, put a little trust on your brother, won’t ya?” Noticing the peculiar glances thrown between Arthur and a blonde lady, Y/N spoke up as she lit a cig. “What? Oh, the God part. Yeah, would’ve believed in him if it wasn’t for the war.”

Linda clenched her jaw at the insolent woman who had used the name in vain. Tommy took a second of pondering, before nodding reluctantly. Was it a good idea? However, he believed with the presence of the three, clearly strong men she had brought, she was safe. A catastrophic debate was set off in his head, questioning if he should risk sending a car to follow them. He signalled his head towards the three exposed bags. Isaiah paced towards the bag, strapping it to a close, ready to be handed back to its owner, “Oh, keep it here, my storage is full at the moment.” 

Y/N stared at the bags as it was being strapped, a faint and faded voice whispered with an ever so lightly volume to take one for safety even though a pair of frigid metal were tucked safely in her coat. The voice had warned her of a premonition that reeked of imminent disaster where her two pistols were of no use, “Although, I’ll take this one.” Grabbing the straps on one of the bags containing the sole rifle, she slung it across her shoulder. Without a word, he bopped his head as a silent order towards the two men to proceed with the command.

Finn shot up with the idea that he would take the bag off of Y/N’s shoulder, to only tower over her figure with his lanky height. No words fell from his mouth when the task was simple: Be a gentleman. Finn’s lips wavered, opening and shutting as if he had something to say. Suddenly, his ability to construct a sentence had been hurled out of the window. The only female Shelby couldn’t hold back her amused chuckle at Finn’s lack of ability and practice on the opposite gender. Finn gazed into her eyes, Y/N’s eyebrows clashed into one another, furrowing in impeccable confusion to why he was acting so peculiar.

“We keep this at Charlie’s yard, yeah?” Since Johnny picked up the bag containing a whole load of shotguns, it had caused his shoulder to slump down from the hefty weight. Isaiah with his own set of weight quirked an eyebrow. Getting a simple nod from Tommy, the two men left the room. When the youngest had already dashed towards the door with pink cheeks from embarrassment, Tommy called, halting the boy’s huge strides, “Finn.”

With his great reflexes the flying car key that hovered from one side of the room to the other, fell into the palms of his hands. Finn stared at it with awe, a twinkle in his eyes of amazement and disbelief. It was not always every day when Tommy would hand his keys to the 18-year-old boy. The opportunity for him to drive a car felt exciting, especially when the key to it is in his hands, “You take care of the car or else you won’t be seeing the sun tomorrow.”

The sun yawed, exhausted at the tiring task it would do every day- repeatedly without a stop, unless, it was the end. The ball of flames crawled down; pleading help from his friend once more. Painted with streaks and lines of red, the sun had spread its largess across the warming yellow sky. A call to those who stood awake.

“So you sell guns?” It had been slightly intimidating with three men sitting at the back who if they were to protect the woman, they must’ve committed nasty work. Every so often, Finn would remember that they had snatched the straps with such strength that he began to ponder whose blood had been spilt on their hands, supported by the fact that they work with firearms. It was to the point Finn had to loosen his tie, sweat clamouring on his chest.

It was when Y/N had ordered for the direction to change to a new route, the youngest Shelby didn’t bother to prod. So he had done as he was told, however, it was only the three men that had gotten off the vehicle. Although it wasn’t his ill-intention, he had eavesdropped on the exchanged words between the boss and the daunting men. It was something along the lines of making calls and warehouses. Finally, Finn was left alone with the woman sitting by his side. Once the newly man had cleared his throat, he decided to pick up a conversation with the woman; not liking the present of a heavily-pregnant, awkward silence. No communication happened between the pair despite them sitting next to each other for nearly an hour as the sun had set. The only noise that made way to play a melody was the rough drumming of the engine, unnecessary bumps and screaming from the civilians who had not cared for their rest.

“I do, yeah,” Y/N let out a chuckle at his obvious question, Finn nodded. Tapping the steering wheel to an asynchronous rhythm, he tried his best to eliminate the idea of making a slight mistake. Not will it only cause an ending to his life by his older brother, it would cost Y/N’s also. With the sudden thought that popped in his head, his palms were drowning in sweat. Not a good idea. “You in the Peaky Blinders?”

Although it might’ve been a stupid question since he had worn the signature cap, Y/N had to flow with the questions thrown back and forth; not liking the silence between them. A hum was muffled by his throat, “I am,” A huff came from the engine as the vehicle entered a path where the roadwork was not so great and smooth. “So, were you a nurse when you were in the war? Not assuming that you could’ve been anything, of course, working in the war offices for example or a cooker. I just thought you were a nurse because that was pretty common.”

Darkness cast over the vehicle as a gigantic red-bricked house shielded the car from the blaring moonlight. A chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips when Finn had finished his rambling, turning her body towards the boy whose face was splashed with red paint; she found it adorable, “I was in fact, a nurse. You guessed correctly.”

“Medals?” If it wasn’t for Thomas’s words about wounding the car, Finn would’ve glanced at the woman, which was a horrible idea because his face was crimson from already displaying all his red pumping and running veins.

“Turned them to these.” Blaring into his eye were sparkles like that of a smear of twinkling stars, iridescent gold shimmers stirred in the gems, despite it being a golden ring, the gem still captured his eyes with its dark brown backdrop. 

An awkward silence filled the ambience once again.

The inquiry played against Finn’s ears, “What exactly is the issue you all are currently facing that made Tommy call me?” There were a hundred of ways he could answer her, maybe structure it so she would be satisfied. However, he was made clear by no other than Tommy that it be he who would do the elaboration over the plan with her.  

“Tommy said he’ll talk to you about it, didn’t want me to mess something up.” The lady who was twice his age chuckled, shaking her head at the older brother’s actions.

“Typical Tommy, always hogging the queen piece to himself.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

“You seem close to my brothers,” The chestnut-haired boy stated an obvious inspection. “When you heard that John died, you looked devastated.”

“A blunt observation said as a statement without holding back.” Y/N quirked her eyebrows, tilting her head in slight amusement. Trying her best to not chuckle at the blushing boy, “Have they taught you no manners, boy?” Y/N liked that her words had brought up such a reaction. Something she had never witnessed. Most likely because she had always been with men. Tinting his cheeks with a darker splash of red, she could see that we were trying not to take a peek at her.

“I’m not a boy,” Finn gritted his teeth, the clench in his jaw could’ve snapped his teeth into fragments of mints. “I’m a man. I’m a Shelby, I don’t need manners.”

Y/N’s eyes blinked at his response, “Even the serpents of politicians have some manners, what would that make you?”

Heavy breathing fell from his nostrils, his clench on the steering wheel tightened as he felt himself being belittled. Never had he been treated like this, if his now-deceased brother was excluded, especially from a female.

Noticing the air had gone still, Y/N mumbled, turning her attention to her window on her side, “You know, Tommy had saved my life during the war,” She stated, her eyes watched as the boats danced over the gentle crashing of waves on the canal before they had entered another route. “I’m practically in debt to him.” Even though she knew she was possibly going to be off the line, her mouth had not halted. “Tell me, Finn, you wear that hat like a tiara. Are your cuts and scars hidden?”

It seemed Y/N had hit a soft spot, “Are all your bags at the place?” Finn pursed his lips, teeth clawing back as he tried his best to not unleash what he wanted to hurl back at her.

Y/N hummed, “I did not only bring three of my men you know? With this line of work, I must be out of my mind to do such a thing.”

Before Finn could agree with her factual statement, an exhausted huff came from the back of the car. The speed that it once sprinted through declined, halting the vehicle to the side of the road, underneath the shadow of a building. Glowing down with faint rays of light, the moon’s spotlight had only glistened over the road. Flickers from the street lamp was a battle cry, an indication that war was striding over.

Finn scowled at the inconvenient breakdown. Already irritated, his hands rested over the heavy door, ready to grab a can of petrol to feed the starving car.

“Don’t!” Tugging his collar down to slam his back into the cushion of the seats with her hovering over him, a familiarized sound Y/N had gotten used to, had swept through the air before grazing the glass. Two cracks banged through the empty street. A chorus of shatters sprinkled the floor as a decoration. Shattering into a million prickling fragments, the flooring of the car was now like a bed of snow made up of pins. Finn laid under her with a gaped opened mouth, breathing heavily when his ability to breathe was restricted for a short second.

He gritted his teeth, the infant glass shards caressed his face. The claws dug into his skin before diving down, his face like a mountain as their blades provide a safe landing like an ice axe. Never was it a good idea to take a peek at your enemies who had been targeting you with a rifle; however, Y/N had only taken a glimpse before they decided to brush their finger against the trigger. The car that had suspiciously rested in the corner of the building with men in impeccable suits and a homburg hat was the only thing Y/N needed to know what was to follow.

“We’re being ambushed.” The woman declared, stating the obvious. Blood sprinted down her body, her heart strenuously pumping to supply. Her eyes widened as the adrenaline rushed through her body.

A string of thoughts ran through Y/N’s head. Then, it all clicked together like a flawless combination for a gun. Rummaging her fingers through her lanky coat, she pulled out what looked like a cigarette case. Finn gazed at her object before darting it towards her as if she had gone mental. She flicked it open with ease despite the dripping sweat that painted her hands, to reveal the reflecting mirror. Without a conscious thought, she shifted to find a better angle. There. Once her mirror had spotted the prominent shadow figures, their hats peaking in the air as if a shooting target, she let out a light chuckle. As light adjusted, the corners of her lips curled down when her eyes grazed over the machine gun they had dragged out, throwing it on the hood of the car. However, it seemed they had been watching through the scope the entire time as another sole bullet swished to fracture the now dead street lamp. The light dimmed down. Standing under the shadow provided by the blocky building, Thomas’s car was hidden away from the spotlight.

Finn’s shoulders tensed as the shatter of glass echoed through his ears once again. The terrible music would drive him to insanity. Even though he was in a tight situation, he couldn’t help but think about what Tommy would’ve thought about the minuscule yet probably visible scratches from the glass shards. Not to mention the vehicle that would need heavy repairing. He was dead meat. Not to forget that he was the one who decided to take a shortcut towards her lodge- the shorter route with horrible scenery. What a way to show an outsider Birmingham. 

“Listen to me, Finn, alright?” The younger boy gazed into her eyes, his mind deteriorated as Y/N hovered over his body upside-down, with an inch of distance between them. Strands of her swirly hair kissed his skin, tickling it with slight grazing. Her eyes were captivating, enchanting him into a place he had never been to; a place he wished to stay forever. Realizing he had not answered her question while he was lost in his thoughts, he nodded with a gulp. “Good, I need you to stay low,” With her superior voice, she commanded the young boy, shivers crawled up his spine as his mind travels to other words she could utter. “Don’t get out, stay here and raise the bag when I tell you to. You understand?”

Her breathing and voice breezed over his face, casting a spell on him just like the white powder he would sniff to ease his mind, “Yes, I mean yes.” Noticing that the pitch of his voice was a bit too high, he cleared his throat, lowering it deeper. Before he could process her words, he had given in to an order he didn’t like. What was he supposed to do? Actually, stand down? He’s a Shelby for fuck's sake. Although cheering in his head agreed with the idea, the cuts on his face played a taunting game. With ever slight contraction of his face’s muscle, his skin tore apart wider. But what was he thinking? He had never been in a situation like this. If he was, his brothers would be the one to step in front.

With minimal movements and sounds, Y/N reached the handle, cranking it down. Shutting her lips and eyes as she opened the door, a faint begging in her head hoped that a sound would not be produced. Much to her dismay, a creak resounded from the rubbing of metal. The silence was too good to be true, the promise it uttered was broken. A series of banging boomed even though they could barely see anything. Embellishing the black car, bullets whirled through the metal to pierce the back seat.

As cotton was thrust up into the air, Finn curled into a ball, hands against his ear. Indistinct chatter from the corner of the building was followed by fusses. Like running a wooden stick against an odd, wavy metal sheet, the loud noise they made as they had reloaded the machine gun for another round of massacre echoed through the still air.

If they had been slightly more precise or weighed with more luck at a random shot, they could’ve already put Y/N in a vulnerable state. A scowl sported on Y/N’s lips, men like them have been given a horrible plan. Sure it might be a good thing for her since she is currently being targeted, victory should never be celebrated until the deed is over. Even though they might get a good shot from the bottom of the vehicle, it seemed their scrawny little brains were only present for a lazy kill. To bring two heads on silver plates, served to the King which should be more challenging than this.

Tommy’s car was not too far away from the wall of a building with Y/N’s side of the car facing the wall. An advantage for her to sneak out of the vehicle. Also benefitting from the shadow that cast over the car, the rays of light shone upon the opposite side as if they stood under a spotlight, giving her a better chance at an angle she could work with.

Landing on the floor with gentle movements like a cat, she crouched down before opening the back door. Finn, who had already twirled to his stomach, watched as she successfully dragged the bag from the back seat, “Y/N,” He whispered, calling out her name as if a lost child to his mother. She snapped her head to face him. “I can’t just wait here while you out there.”

Nearly moved by his thoughtfulness, she stared at him blankly before realizing a fault, “Ah, right,” A twinkle sparked on Finn’s face when it seemed she had given him the chance to participate. However, it diminished when she had tugged her coat to reveal her silky shirtwaist, to only pull out a pistol from her shoulder holster. It then made home on his palm; before he could tug it out of her hand, she stared dead-centre in his eyes. “Remember, don’t even try to look at them. Tommy will hang me if anything was to happen to you.”

Even though he was disappointed he had been treated like a mere child who was being watched by his brother’s friend, he nodded in understanding. Shivers crawled up his spine once again as the tone of her voice brushed against his back with frigid touches.

Strapping the bags open, the scent of leather filled her lungs with a tinge of metal lingering on her tongue. The rifle was lodged on her lap. Thrusting the safety lock back into the bag, a clash banged onto the stone pavement. Thankfully, it was overlapped by an abrupt commotion at the end of the block.

“Finn, take this,” Handing the leather bag to the young man, she watched as he pulled it into the vehicle. “On my signal.”

Like a duck, Y/N waddled towards the back tire. Her golden compact mirror in her left hand while her rifle in the other, she positioned the mirror to see the two individuals under the moonlight. They stood behind the hood of the car with a machine rifle propped on a tripod, the dagger-like ends pierced into their vehicle.

“Now.” As soon as the order was given, Finn, who had rested on his back, raised the slightly flimsy bag into the air. The men who waited for any sign of movement or life caressed the trigger without any hesitation. A long chain of bullets commenced an open fire. If the bag was a creature, it would’ve been murdered with the third bullet which flew through its heart. Not caring to why the shadow had not yet slumped into the seat, their guns continued to ring through her ears. Y/N hovered her finger over her trigger as she angled the scope to her desired spot. Finn’s breathing became heavy as the bullets rammed through the material as if it wasn’t even there. He hadn’t heard a crack from hers yet. Before he had the chance to call out her name as if to wake her up from her dream. A clap echoed through the road.

Bouncing off her rifle, the bullet sprung into the still air like rice on a drum. Twirling like a prestigious ballerina, its toes peaked below, thrusting its heavy body ever so slightly. A heavy thud echoed through the dark alley. The motionless body rested onto the ground with a gushing volcano between his eyes.

Indistinct clutter bounced off the walls. The other man who had watched his accompany fall onto the frigid ground grasped the pistol grip. Y/N’s body snapped to lean against the tire, the rifle rests on her chest as the ballistic man intensely pulled on the trigger. In her head, she was on her knees as she could not risk shifting back into the car for safety. Even a millisecond without the protection of the tires, she was exposed to the gunfire. A wince fell off her lips as a clash of bullet met with the ground before reflecting to ting with the brick wall.

For Finn, it felt like hours; however, the boy had not experienced the bloody rain of war. Before she knew it, the raining of furious bullets had halted. A groan of irritation echoed from the corner of the building. The gun must’ve overheated. Peeking over her shoulder to take a rapid glance at the corner, the man had disappeared. Without a second thought, she grasped the ball grip before flicking it shut, reloading the ammo. Squinting her eyes, she hovered her scope over the tires. Another clap resounded off the walls. A cry burst from the tire that had begun to sink the balance of the car onto the ground. There was no angle she could shoot the man if she hadn’t moved from her position, hasty stomping faded away from the scene.

“Fuck.” Y/N uttered under her breath before she made a sprint towards the running body, her fingers wrapped around the other pistol in her holster. The rifle she had used was thrown to clash against the floor.

Noticing the haunting silence, Finn made a silent prayer before he sat on prickling seat. Through the smashed glass, the dagger-like ends met to a point for him to see the woman running away from the car, “Y/N!” Finn yelled at the top of his lungs, not caring that he might’ve had a bullet targeted on him.

“No! You stay there!” She ordered before running over the bridge that curved over the canal. Leaning against the wall of the building, she took a peek at the gun that sat on the hood of their Model T. When entering the firearm business, an eye that twinkled with gold could read the gun as if it was a person. And read the gun she did. It was a Benét-Mercié. A French design. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took a glance at the man she had murdered.

His eyes stared into the moonlight, the art she had indented between his eyes was a masterpiece. She had been around and fraternize enough men to note that he was an Italian. She had hopped around with a fair few amount of Italians to reassure her assumption. Although the machine rifle they had used was the gun utilized in the war, it had left her perplexed. Even though the location of her business was in free land America and she had a twinge of experience with the machinery, she could not comprehend to how they had gotten a French gun. Overall, what was an Italian doing with a French gun?

A groan from the narrow alley trickled into her ears, remembering that there was another one to complete the pair. Y/N sauntered with light steps as if a predator had finally spotted its meal for the day. Hasting towards the man, Y/N heard a curse uttered under his breath. Tugging out his hair in frustration, his hairs swirled around his fingers like a whip. His neck nearly snapped as he looked at the peak of the wall, separating him from his ability to escape the madness he had entered.

Finally noting her presence, he turned around to face her. The dread overflowed his eyes as he glanced at the corpse of his accompany. She narrowed her eyes as he pushed himself into a damp corner, cowering away from her. It was as if he was shrinking, a prey to her. To a woman?

“Who sent you?”

For a few seconds, his staggering breathing was the snaring to the incredibly busy road. However, his hands moved swiftly to grab the pistol he had safely tucker in his holster. Y/N’s fingers moved faster. Another press to the trigger and a bullet made home in his arm. An agonizing yell roared through the alley, a pair of legs did not hesitate to start running towards the direction she had sprinted to. The hole in his sleeves made a garnish to his plain suit, the red staining like wine. Red, ancient wine. Kicking the pistol out of his grip, Y/N held her gun’s on his head. Sweat swam down his face as his body made place on the floor. He clutched his hand, squeezing the gushing wound. It was burning like a blister had been rubbed over.

Making her way towards the wounded man, she harshly tugged on his hair, “I said, who sent you?”

He quivered as the cold kiss of her gun pressed on his temple, a battle of whether he should answer her or not was thrown out of the window once he realized he was standing over a string between life and death. Except, he had never seen her ever before. A pathetic yet desperate thought made to his non-existent head. There was hope that this woman was of no power, just another whore to the Shelby’s. Even though he had just witnessed his accompany fall onto the floor with a hole between his eyes, he had tried his hardest to lie to himself that it was all that young Shelby’s doing. In no way was he about to give in, “Sabini! Darby Sabini!”

However, it seemed his tongue had slipped the wine glass onto the floor. A bullet submerged into his skull, snapping his bones into fragments as a burst of blood splashed onto her face, “Y/N.” A gentle voice called her from the entrance of the alley. The woman who had been in the business for several years had to the gentle tone in her life. Unfortunately, it was only resounded by people who had fork-like tongues. Serpents.

This time, it was like a caress against her arm with care as if she was fragile glass. Nothing she had heard of, “Finn.” The young boy stared at her with wide eyes, the gun he held in his hand was clearly of no use anymore. Like an unnecessary amount of jewellery worn on women’s whose husbands danced with the devil, the beads of blood dotted against her skin. Finn glanced at the slumped body. There was only white in his ajar opened eyes, the colour that usually adds an indication of identity had rolled up towards his brain.

Finn liked to believe it was an instinct because he had one older sister; although, a part of his heart opposed to agreeing with the belief. The boy dashed towards the woman, gripping her arms with a slight tug; not too much force to hurt her, “Are you alright?” Turning her left and right to check for any wounds, he was relieved when there was no hole to indicate a bullet had plunged into her.

“I’m quite alright, just a little parched.” Finn chuckled at her sudden appearance of amusement despite her being covered in blood. It must’ve been her careless head to forget the merciless weather Britain possessed, her frigid, shivering hand, made way to rest on his face. Like accidentally electrifying oneself, the boy jumped at the freezing contact.

She tugged her hand away once she had noted the slight tick from his muscle, it was probably uncomfortable on him. Grabbing the two frozen hands into his own, the size of his hands had practically covered hers in one go. Rubbing his gloved thumbs in circles on her exposed palm, he looked down at her to gaze into her eyes. His height towered over her, “You didn’t bring gloves.”

“I noticed,” She mumbled. There was an unexplained glance at his lips. He did too. Without a word, Finn removed one of his hands from hers, leaving the other to warm her up. He tugged out his handkerchief from his jacket’s pocket to wipe the crimson red from her face. Although he had tried his best to not get pulled into her eyes or lips, he had lost. In the midst of wiping the droplets that rested on the corners of her lips, he could not move a muscle.

There were roars in his gut that he couldn’t help but to notice their protest to crawl out of his stomach and to shove him onto her. Although he had pulled himself out from the incredibly enchanting place, she had walked away towards the slumping corpse before he had the chance to proceed. Disappointment engulfed him. The dancing handkerchief tangled with the chilly wind, the white cloth had been stained like a spill. It quivered in the air like a surrender flag, a reminder to him that it was her who walked away, leaving him alone with the fabric he had brushed her skin with. “You know these men?”

“Looks Italian to me.”

“Said Sabini sent them.” Y/N glanced to face his reaction.

“Well then, aren’t they fucked.”

Ringing resounded off the walls of Tommy’s room. Seconds ago, it was tranquil with the indistinct sleep-talking by the clock. Now, all he could see was red. The darkness that confined and comforted him during the night glistened with the light rays from the radiating moon. Glueing his eyes onto the white ceiling, he waited patiently for the noise to stop so he could claim the rare times he would be able to sleep. Even though the air was suited freezing to his content, his seething anger for the attention-calling object warmed the covers for him. The sheets were no longer comfortable. Running his clammy hand down his face, there was always something stopping him from achieving what his heart desired; although, he just wanted a snooze because he had started to notice that he had looked mental (comments by nearly everyone who had the courage to, seeped through his day). Irritation coated his tongue. Bitterness hopped around his mouth when he realized that there were some fortunate people out there who were fast asleep. Then, there was him. A groan left his lips as he had finally been pushed to the edge.

When the hope of silence had not been met, Thomas hurled the blanket off his body. A flood of haphazardly thrown pillows that covered with his comforter caused annoyance to tug onto his ears. His patience had slacked down with a blink of his eyes. Narrowing his eyes onto the obstructive machine, the corners of his eyes were blurry with fuming anger. Almost yanking the telephone with his immense strength, the machine palpitated on the wooden table, swaying left and right like a dancer. Who could blame him? Someone had just disrupted his sleep.

“What?” Tommy sneered with murder dripping from his mouth. His tense grip on the phone could snap the metal in half. Although he wouldn’t usually pick up the telephone with such anger since the line of his work is practically embedded into him, this night, his thoughts were chugging faster than he could swallow down a pint of beer. His head was restless.

The stress in his eyebrows evaporated once a familiar silvery voice echoed through his ears, “Tommy, we’ve been ambushed. Two men.” Even though his grasp onto the metal remained with a constant force, the heat he had concocted sprung into the air once he had realized he could’ve lost two people within a night. His immunity to the frigid floor deteriorated, the floor pierced kisses as if it were incessant stabbing into the numb soles of his feet. 

“Whose men was it?” The clock on the wall of his house groaned, its arms dancing in coordination as it watched the man’s ears fume with anger like a furious train once a familiar name fell off his little brother’s lips.

“Sabini.”

A breathy exhale sunk into the phone, Tommy’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to digest the situation. The rumours were true, yet, he sent his guests off without any protection on his side. How could he assume that her three men were enough? He should’ve let someone trail after them, despite her objections. There was already an overflowing amount of issues thrown onto his plate, “Where are you now?”

“Y/N’s lodge. Said that it’d be safer for me to stay at hers for the night.” Finn twirled the wire of the telephone, the door of the bathroom had been closed for a while. 

Tommy hummed in agreement. The late timing of the day restricted his ability to construct words, especially with the fact that another meat had been thrust onto his plate. An exhausted exhale muffled the other side of the line, “Well, she’s right. If those men do not crawl back to Sabini with your head, they will double everything up. I’m sorry to say this Finn, but you’ll have to spend the night there,”

An indistinct mumble escaped Finn’s lips. Before the boy could place the phone back to where it resided, his brother spoke up once again, “Where’d you sent them off to?”

Without any additional word to the vague question, Finn answered with the assumption that there was someone who dared to listen to their conversation, as always, “Y/N had her men come in, showed them the canal.”

“The car?”

“No opened garage, so they made one open up.” A creak from a door trickled onto Tommy’s ears from Finn’s line. 

“I should have sent Isaiah to drive her home.” Before Finn had the chance to react, his gaze flicked towards Y/N. Although it was inappropriate for him to let his gaze linger on her, he couldn’t help but stare at awe. The golden edges of the dress-robe enchanted the translucent material that draped over her shoulders. A faded feminine voice in the distant mumbled incoherently to Tommy’s ears. The man could only make up some words, stitching them in a sentence before the voice was slightly more pronounced. 

“Finn, go clean yourself up, I’ll clean those wounds in a second.” A minute of silence passed. Finn let out a hum once she quirked an eyebrow at him for his confirmation. It was a wonder to how easily she had him with a glance. His eyes followed the woman’s figure before she disappeared into the sliding door of her room.

“Wounds?”

“Nothing serious, just cuts.” Deep down, Finn knew it would not be a simple task to remove the tedious glass shards that penetrated his face. A part of him shook its head, not agreeing with the idea that it would be painless. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning.” The call then ended. A shiver tremored through Thomas as he finally realized how chilly his room was. His feet paced faster before he threw himself onto the bed. Within a tug, all the items that scattered over the floor sat back to where it resided. Although the comforter was as soft as he could remember by his late wife’s choice, soft would not be the one to comfort his restless head while two significant people of his life had just been ambushed. Not a wink of sleep decided to greet him.

Staring down at the bustling street even though the moon had made a clear appearance in the night, men had women around their arms as they stumbled down the road. A half tipsy smile was worn on their faces. Y/N watched the lively road, trails of cars and strings of people occupied the area. As she leaned against the window with her arms crossed, she pondered over the saddening news that had cracked over her head like a spoiled egg. There was regret in her chest that roared actively without rest for years- screeching at her to make the simple contact. Now, she could give herself in as she had not landed her ears onto the thought. Despite the day ageing old, the city never sleeps. Oh, how she wished she could see him for the last time. 

Coating her tongue was the ancient red of champagne. Swirling the cup after every dashing thought that sprinted across her head, her attention had reverted towards the day that didn’t seem to want to find an end. A creak of a door echoed through her ears. Pulling her eyes away from the mesmerizing street, she was met with a freshly showered Finn.

Since he had been forced to stay down and not participate in the killing, there was no spill of blood on his suit. It was ideal because the woman did not want to pressurize another shop to open for her to only end up doing a shopping spree. However, it was not the same case for Y/N as her outfit had been splattered with red. So, she wore the other silky shirtwaist she had brought from her recent trip to France

“Hope you don’t mind me using that soap.” The boy mumbled. Thrown over his arm to dangle like a swing was his patterned, green tie, resting above layers of his other clothing that he had decided was not of use to wear. Left in his white shirt and his olive green suit-pants, he scratched the crook of his neck as he wore a sheepish smile at the poor decision he had made. What could he have done? It was the only available option. 

“Absurdly not,” Y/N uttered. As her eyes lingered longer than it should’ve been, she gestured towards the abundant of couches for him to rest on. “Come on, take a seat, I’ll get the stuff.”

Finn rested the clothing on the head of the couch, eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she had hastily placed the cup onto the coffee table before dashing away into her room. He plopped down onto the couch that was richer than the liquid resting in Y/N’s cup. His hands sat on his thighs as he watched her disappear into her bedroom. 

“So, uh, Ms Stein,” Like those pesky squirrels that would dominate the trees in New York with an acorn attached to their hands, the woman rummaged through her bedroom as if she was to find a treasure. Her fingers dug deep in the bag, hands grabbing onto objects that might have possessed the shape of the items she had visualized in her head. As her hand had brushed against a paper-like box, she was quick to yank it out of the bag. “You married?” 

The absence of response had caused the peaks of Finn’s ears to tint red at his pathetic question. Who was he to question her? They were barely even friends. Heck, he had just met her. But she did save him, does that mean something? Peeking her head out from the bedroom with the item in her hand, she narrowed her eyes.

“You see this?” Holding her hand up in the air, she twirled her hand around to show the boy her empty fingers, all her rings had been removed. She thrust the flimsy item onto the glass coffee table, a faint noise resounded by the minuscule object. Entering her room once again, her arms plunged in the massive leather bag to find the next item in her imaginary list. “I would’ve probably been at Rome maybe if that dirtbag had not cheated. Happily married,” Y/N let out an amused chuckle at the absurd thought. ”What a joke.”

“Oh.” Finn mumbled under his breath after realizing he had thrown himself into a hole he could not climb out off. If she had been in the war with Tommy, of course, she had at least been married once. What was he thinking? The air was heavily poured with furious yelling from the road and Y/N’s struggle to get the desired items out. 

“Also, call me Y/N, we’re friends now right?” Finn hummed in agreement as he gawked at the abundant amount of medical items bundled up in her arm. Shock overflowed in him when he realized she had brought all of this in her bag.

“Had you brought all of this? Is it a nurse instinct?” A chuckle echoed from the room, causing a smile to plaster on Finn’s face when he had achieved what he had in mind. A sparkle blared into his eyes when the shiny metal reflected the light rays to him. Beaming his eyes at the off-putting objects, Finn had suddenly become nervous, “Why did you tell me to head to bath first? Wouldn’t it be better if you had removed these first?” His fingers hovered over the glass that embedded his face, decorating his skin like jewels on a mistress’s extravagant dress.

Noticing that his feet could not rest on the ground as his legs bounced incessantly, Y/N held back a laugh, “Needed a clean surface,” She kneeled next to the coffee table and widened her arms, the items clashing with the tables- letting out a horribly written tune. “We wouldn’t want to risk with infections now, do we?”

It was that tone again, he had hated it deeply but all he could do was swallow it before it would climb out of his throat to only be splattered across her face. Finn nodded, oh boy, was he in for a ride. 

Finn sat on the couch with his fingers digging deep in his knees as the frigid tweezers plucked out the daunting pieces of glass. He sat on the couch with his white shirt on, his suit hung up on the coat rack. The blaring air conditioner caused shivers to crawl up his spine; however, thanks to the glass being plucked out of his skin, his body had created enough warmth to heat him up like a fireplace. Iron coated his tongue as his teeth sunk deep into the muscle. Although he had expected about only half a dozen worth of glass shards, it seemed it had beat his expectations to ruin.

“Ow!” He let out the familiar wince. Gritting his teeth so harshly, it was enough for it to wear off like brittle bricks. Despite his luck on trying to concoct a more painful site on his legs by pinching it, his mind always redirected to the obnoxiously close distance between his scarred face and her hands. It was chilly like the night’s wind not too long ago when they were in the ominous alleyway. However, in the comfort of her hotel, it was warm and cosy. Every so often, the metal of the equipment would kiss him, tugging out the embedded fragments. Due to the close proximity, Finn could not help but sniff out the silky scent of lavender. He wasn’t too sure if it was from him but it had comforted him through the excruciating pain.

Y/N huffed at his incessant amount of wincing. She could not believe he had not yet tolerated the pain despite having to pull out a couple already, “Stay still, won’t you?”

The tweezers that rested in her fingers rested over his shoulder. Every time she had gone anywhere close to his face with the equipment, he would flinch away- a repeated task she would have to repeat by shifting closer to him. She rolled her eyes once he had moved a couple of inches away from her. 

“How can I? It bloody hurts.” Finn scoffed, his hands pinched his leg as he tried his best not to touch his face that was still home to a couple of glass shards.

“I swear if you move again.” Y/N declared, her hands ready to remove another fragment from his face.

With another yank of her tweezer, he let out the wince before shifting away. If he had repeated this at least three more times, he would meet the ground as it was the edge of the seat. Frustrated at his actions, her hand landed on his thigh, a bit too close to his liking as her leg was thrown over his so she could ground him on one place. Now practically shoulder to shoulder, Y/N gently rested her hand on his chin. His eyes that gawked at her actions were forcefully beaming at the other side of the room as she restricted his movements, “I told you. If you move, I’ll make a scar on your face and it will not be a good mark for that future girl.”

Before he knew it, she was once again, pulling out another shard. This time, it was different. Her hand made place on the side of his unwounded jaw, making sure he had not flinched. It was like a breezy kiss of a windy day in Birmingham, the scent of the lavender flower swirled through his nostrils. A distraction at the incredibly close interaction. However, before she could pluck out another piece, he pursed his lip. A slip of a giggle rung into the air.

“What’re you laughing at? You big dork, stay still.” Finn mumbled an apology. Trying his best to transform into a serious man, Finn’s back shot straight up. Y/N pulled away, an irritated reaction wore on her face as he had just made her multiply her effort due to his height. It was better when he had his shoulder hunched forward, giving her an easier access to his unfortunate face. He noticed this and pressed his lips shut, attempting to not allow a laugh seep through the cracks of his lips. If it wasn’t for Y/N’s agile pull, she would’ve costed real damage.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m laughing.” Finn gave up, a few beads of tears fell down the side of his face as he began to go insane.

“You’ve gone mental,” The pair chuckle as Y/N clamped onto a rather large piece. Pondering if it was because he had laughed at nothing, which might’ve worn her patience off, the extraction of the massive glass compared to the rest was slightly more painful. When he had let out the annoying wince, she had let out a huff. “Don’t be such a baby, it’s just a pinch.”

His flickering eyes snapped towards her, “I am not a baby.”

“And I’m not a woman.”

“Plus, I think your nurse hands are getting rusty after those years.” With his eyes shut tight, he waited for her to inflict damage from his insult. The tweezers stood a hair’s breadth away from his skin. In an agonizing pace, he opened his eyes to look at her reaction. She stared at him with mouth gaped wide open in disbelief. She could not believe he had just insulted her fine work.

“Hey!” She smacked his arm, Finn let out a laugh to cover the pain. His fingers worked deep to massage the area of tremoring pain. “Fine, you do this by yourself, then.”

Hurling the tweezers onto his palm, she shot up from the couch to walk away. A part of her wanted him to try to clean himself up as she would wander around the room aimlessly. She wanted to hear him whine like the little boy he is. With his length fingers, it curled around her wrist in one go. The warm contact sparked the fire before she was tugged to land on his lap. With a huff, she stared at him with eyes of an owl. Once she realized how incredibly close the distance between them was, she resisted. Trying to tug away from his intense grip, keyword- trying, his grasp held a strong force to keep her in place but not too immense to kiss bruises on her skin. The racing of her heart pumping sang a song in her ears. The sudden close proximity had left in her in a state of shock. How does she respond?

“I won’t be able to do it,” Finn mumbled, his arms resting on her lap before it slithered around her waist. “You do it.” His fingers bloomed open, the kissing of the chilly metal was heated with the warm air. In an antagonizing slow pace, Finn took his time to curl open her fingers so he could squeeze in the tweezer in her grip. Leaning back into the couch, he clenched his jaw before readying himself to go through the torture once again. 

Part 2 | Part 3

[retvenkos]

time // theseus scamander

Harry Potter: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them - Theseus Scamander x Platonic!Reader, Angst to Fluff

A/N: so i just really wanted some angsty theseus, and this is what i came up with. i actually really like what i have, here, and i kind of want to expand on the idea. let me know what you think! should it be a friends to lovers, slow burn?

Summary: You had taken care of Theseus Scamander after many a heartbreak, but none of them had ever left him quite as destitute as Leta Lestrange. Just three weeks ago they had been engaged. Then you blinked and he was left to cancel venues and file away invitations that would never be sent. Your heart ached for him.

“Scourgify,” you muttered the cleaning spell quietly as you walked through the apartment, careful to not make a sound. The light emanating from your wand painted your surroundings in melancholy shades of blue. You walked through the familiar surroundings deftly until you came to the lightswitch you were looking for. You flipped it on, and the apartment filled with a warm, orange light.

The man you were looking for sat on his couch, his usual composure gone, his hands cradling his head and messing his curls.

“Theseus…”

“So you didn’t believe me when I said I had it together?” There was no bitterness to his tone. Just pain; pure, undiluted pain.

“You had the entire Ministry fooled, but I know you better than that.”

You had taken care of Theseus Scamander after many a heartbreak, but none of them had ever left him quite as destitute as Leta Lestrange. Just three weeks ago they had been engaged. Then you blinked and he was left to cancel venues and file away invitations that would never be sent. Your heart ached for him.

This one would take some time.

You rounded the couch slowly, your eyes assessing the situation, taking stock of the damage he had inflicted upon himself. Bottles of Firewhiskey… boxes of wedding plans…

Then you saw it.

His vows.

It was always like Theseus to be prepared. It didn’t surprise you that he would already have them drafted, waiting to be added onto at the last moment.

You cleaned up around the shrine he had created, picking up bottles, straightening weddings favors and possible guest lists while leaving a wide circle around the parchment that had caused his spiral into ruin. His eyes never seemed to leave it, the blue irises searching it as though looking for some way to identify who had written it. It was almost as if the Theseus Scamander that sat before it now couldn’t recognize the words that had once been his own.

“I really was going to pack it all up”—his hands fell to his sides—“but some of it isn’t mine to give away.”

You thought about pointing out that ghosts can’t pack up their old belongings and that leaving things for the dead to find could be dangerous, but you kept quiet. A battle with a grieving man is always one you’d lose.

Besides, Theseus was a seasoned soldier in battles of the heart. You doubted there was a heartbreak he didn’t know.

“You don’t have to get rid of it all, right now.” You crouched down in front of him and put a comforting hand on his knee. He stiffened beneath your touch but you didn’t pull away. “Let’s just make sure no one trips on broken glass.”

He stood with a laboured sigh and you breathed in relief. The first steps were always the hardest. Theseus could push himself through anything as long as he could stand. From the moment he had lost Leta he fell beneath the crashing waves of sorrow. This was him coming up for air.

--

“Theseus is lucky to have you as a friend, (Y/n). I don’t think he’s eaten in weeks.” The secretary smiled at you sweetly as she let you pass. You nodded at her as you made your way deeper into the Ministry, through doors that were supposed to be for staff only.

The Ministry of Magic was a fast moving train. If you hesitated for just a moment, you were off schedule and left far, far behind. Theseus was good with time. He could break it up into sections, parsing everything out so that he had enough of it for everything. He always had a watch on his wrist, ready to take action at just the right moment. Everything in his life was at the right time, right on schedule.

Grieving did not have a timetable.

Theseus made time for it, anyway, trying to bend it’s will to fit his life. He always had time for Leta, even in death. But grief was not as patient as she was. It didn’t understand that he had to put in extra hours or work through lunch. It arrived at his doorstep unannounced and demanded to be heard.

You knew what time meant for Theseus. You knew what grief meant to your oldest friend. You kept him on schedule. You refused to let him fall off the train.

He was sitting with grief when you found him at his desk, his hands shaking as he tried to finish a report. They were always his least favorite part of the job, but ever since Leta, it was the only thing the Ministry trusted him with.

They promised to reevaluate him after two months to see if he was ready to be back in the field. He had promised that by that time, he would be ready again.

You sat the sandwich down in front of him. He looked up at you, and you tilted your head.

He nodded. You smiled.

“I still have a month before evaluations.” He was hesitant, almost as if he thought you would laugh at the idea of him getting better before that date looming over him. He still had trouble meeting your eyes.

You waited for them to settle on you.

“You’ll be ready.” Your voice was sure and steady, filled to the brim with belief. “I promise.”

His lips twisted into something like a smile. How many days since he had last felt joy?

--

“I got you something.” You sat down next to Theseus on the worn steps of the Scamander household, a small box in your hands. Your knees knocked together in the small space. He didn’t seem to mind.

You knew that parties were still sobering for him, without Leta on his arm, and when he could, he’d remove himself from the crowd. You didn’t blame him, festivities are hard to partake in if you don’t feel like you deserve them. You also knew that if he had the option he wouldn’t have come out at all. But Newt was in town and Theseus had passed his evaluation. The Scamander family was desperate for good news and they jumped at the opportunity.

“You didn’t have to.” He was looking in the eye and it gave you hope.

“That’s what makes me such a good friend.”

He smiled where there was once laughter, and it was enough.

You watched as Theseus took his time with the small parcel, his hands thoughtful as they untied the ribbon, almost as though he was remembering a time that once was, where he opened a gift in the steps of his childhood home, knocking knees with a friend. You bumped him with your shoulder. His smile turned wistful, then, the warmth of it reaching his eyes.

“Open it,” you said, and your words were gentle with him.

He pulled a silver pocket watch out of the box, his hands ghosting over the chain, admiring the careful craftsmanship. The warm light of the Scamander home left it gleaming, the muffled ticking on the second hand filling the still air comfortingly.

He opened the top of the locket gingerly, almost as if he knew what picture you had put there. He saw it and didn’t breathe. The ticking was louder, now. You were painfully aware of his silence beside you.

“Leta…” he whispered her name, his voice trailing off and his eyes combed the picture. The way her hair fell on her brown cheek, the way her eyes glinted as though holding a secret.

His smile faltered as a tear ran down his cheek.

“It’s so she’s always with you, right on time.” Your voice was low, comforting. “She loved you, Theseus.”

He was thoughtful for a moment, the way he always was, and when the moment passed, he shut the locket, holding it in his hands like he held the world. It was a heavy burden on his shoulders.

“I think I loved Leta as much as she would allow.”

A sadness clung to him, the kind that follows acceptance.

“Then I suppose the trick is finding someone where the limit is endless.” You closed your hand over his. His eyes met yours and he nodded.

You smiled.

[margarethelstone]

Our Sleeves Were Wet With Tears | Chapter 5

Chapter 5 / Read on AO3!

It wasn't a big laugh, or a loud one. She didn't burst into it with the usual enthusiasm and force, and the tears that flew down her cheeks when she'd closed her eyes were by no means caused by her cheerfulness. Her laughter was not contagious, the corners of her lips almost not curling up instead of almost reaching her ears as it was usually the case.

She did not open her mouth wide like an idiot, the rim of her teeth barely showing at all.

It was a small laugh, a cautious laugh. A tired, wary chuckle let out by someone just as careful and weary – and yet, still willing to grasp at the fragile threads of happiness and answer accordingly.

"What are you saying?" she asked in a hoarse voice, once again raising her arm to wipe away the seemingly never-ending tears. "That's not the point at all."

Her breath caught for a second, making her trail off at the end. Her ugly sobbing might have stopped and she was no longer wailing; however, that didn't mean that she had regained her composure, and certainly not in full.

She  was still feeling out of place, wrong and miserable, wishing for more than she knew she could get at this moment in time. Taichi's reaction to her question had taken a toll on her as well, leaving her far more exhausted than any crazy race to his cram school ever could, the seemingly endless silence feeding her already enormous fears even further.

He sure had taken his sweet time before answering, no doubt falling into another of his internal monologues that he was never going to share with her.

Certainly, he hadn't needed all those minutes to come up with a reply that he'd given her at last.

Never good at reading people in general, she sure knew him long enough to realise that.

For even though his eyes were turned away from her and hers were misty with tears, she had not stopped watching him for a second. The shock that showed on his face when she gripped his hand in hers; the pain that replaced it when she uttered her question and then grew as she urged him with despair to answer it.

The disdain that she knew was not for her but for himself, the disbelief and reluctant hopefulness that came afterwards, though for what reason, she could in no way tell yet.

She’d watched him battle with himself, focused and attentive, intent on catching the slightest change in him. For the most part, she couldn’t see much more than his back and what little she could glimpse of the side of his face, and yet, that only made her resolve grow stronger, as she harnessed all of her senses to help her in that task.

There was no sign too small, no change too insignificant.

She knew he would not tell her the details of his sorrowful soliloquy, and so she made sure she deciphered as much of his thought without him having to do so.

"Why, Taichi? Why do you do everything alone?"

No, that part of him surely hadn't changed.

And it would not be fair of her to ask that of him.

Not yet, anyway.

So she didn't ask, instead listening closely to all that he had to tell through his gestures and not through his words. The way his hand trembled when he'd pulled away from her grasp, as if uncertain whether or not he even wanted to – the way in which he slouched in guilt after turning away afterwards. His uneven breath. His twitching fingers. The words he muttered under his breath without realising what he was doing.

"Pathetic," he mumbled with spite. "Put on the pedestal," he added with grief. "There's no guarantee she would have done so", "Honest doesn't equal right," he continued, his words less and less distinct by the syllable, and yet not bumbling enough for Chihaya to mishear them.

"Can't fall for that again."

It was clear that it was no longer a monologue, but a heated, resolute discussion he was holding with himself. Chihaya listened closely as more sounds left his barely parted lips, trying to figure out the meaning behind them, while she eyed him carefully in search of the signals that might help her guess the parts he wasn't voicing. Every time she caught an alteration, she felt like she was discovering a new land; every tiny gesture that seemed to reflect his inner thoughts held more value to her than the greatest of human treasures.

Aware of his natural unwillingness to open up to others, she felt blessed to find any substitute, as poor or insignificant it might seem.

The hope.

The doubt.

The longing.

The fear.

The terrible weight of the burden he had taken upon himself and refused to share with anyone, the hardship and pain he still refused to talk about.

The barely noticeable hint that he would still push her away if she'd tried to console him now.

Once she'd begun her observation, it wasn't hard for her to gather where his thoughts had gone. The name of Arata made an appearance a few times, much as it was expected; she heard him speak her own more times that she was ready to accept. She wanted to believe that it was not the only thing he was thinking of, that there was still room in his heart and mind for memories more pleasant, or at least, less ambiguous, than those.

She breathed a sigh of relief upon picking up the name of Mizusawa.

She stiffened after hearing of Fukui.

Her own thoughts betrayed her then, and for a short while, she forgot her resolution to ignore all but the acts and words of Taichi. As much as she hated herself for it, she couldn't not think of their other friend. Yes, she hated herself, despised the weakness of her will that would once again fly from the boy by her side to the one that was away, even if this time it was in direct connection to Taichi and their extraordinary talk.

She'd told him that there was no choosing between him and Arata. That if their story had played out differently, she would not have abandoned him, wouldn't have forgotten him any more than she'd forgotten the other. That she would have fought her way through the karuta world and dragged Arata to help her with it, only so that she might see him again at some point.

And she meant it. Every word of it, every exclamation she had thrown at him had come from the very core of her heart, supported by the steadfast belief that it was exactly what she would have done.

She needed him to believe her; she feared so badly that he would not.

And yet, there was nothing more she could have done as of now, except to shift her attention back to him and make sure it didn't drift away again. After all, the time they had was precious, all the more so for how little there was left of it. Every second that passed brought them closer to the end: the end of this conversation, the end of the time they could still share.

Eventually, the moment would come when they would have to say goodbye.

This day, this afternoon, was all that they had.

It was the one thing that Chihaya had no illusions about.

So she watched, and she listened, constantly fighting her desire to hasten him to reply. There was still so much she wanted to tell him, all the more so because she knew he would never ask for any of it himself – and yet, every time she came on the verge of speaking, something seemed to hold her back. Whether it was shame or wisdom, a guardian angel sent to guide her or a newly born consciousness and subtlety that was all her own, no one could tell at this point.

All Chihaya knew as of yet was that no matter how important her explanations might appear, giving Taichi the time to weigh his own opinions was more important still.

***

Now back in the present, she still gazed at him softly, only looking away when she was forced to wipe away another one of her rebellious tears. She knew that his eyes were fixed on her as well and that this time, he was not going to shift his gaze, either. Instead, he kept looking, returning the warmth that she had tried so hard to convey, his hesitant smile growing as she scolded him playfully for missing the point of her question.

She sniffed and blew her nose. He grinned and shook his head.

And just like that, it no longer mattered if she had managed to touch upon all the issues that had seemed so crucial to her mere moments ago. And not because the subject had lost its importance, but because she now felt that it simply wasn't the right time. Even if they'd had more of it – if the sky had been painted with orange and gold instead of purple and blue, darkening with every breath that they took – she still would have held back from broaching it.

They were tired; they were lost.

They were weak and vulnerable, already having said more to one another than they had in a month and with sincerity they had not displayed in a lifetime. Adding anything more would have meant making the burden even heavier – and who could tell how much more they were still able to shoulder.

She had almost broken him once; she was not going to risk doing that again.

"Sorry," she heard him say then, right as she was about to voice a thought of her own. She shook her head in turn, but Taichi went on, "No, I am. I know there was a deeper meaning behind your words. My opinion still stands, though. I am better-mannered than he is."

As confused as she was, Chihaya couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at him. "How can you be so sure?"

"Have you met my mother? Just think of what she would do if I weren't."

At this she laughed again. Though not one bit louder than before, her laughter had lost some of its wariness, resounding in the air much more sonorously – and when she glanced at Taichi again, she saw that his own smile had reached his eyes this time. Another wave of warmth seemed to engulf her as she realised this, giving – no, strengthening the hope that the message from Arata had rekindled in her.

Ensuring her that her optimism had not been naivety.

Far as they were from their recovery, she at least dared to believe that they truly were on the right track now.

"We should probably head home soon," she heard Taichi speak again, the faintest trace of hesitation echoing in his voice. "It's getting dark, and I still have a lot of work waiting for me at home. I bet that you do, too. Is your knee any better?"

Not even trying to fight the reflex, Chihaya rolled her eyes with exasperation.

"How many times do I need to tell you that it wasn't bad to begin with?" she asked. "It's just a cut. I'm not expecting you to carry me home, you know."

"Bold of you to assume I'd offer it," Taichi parried.

"You've already offered me your help unnecessarily today. Expecting it to change now would be unreasonable, wouldn't it?"

"I guess that depends on how you look at it. I'd say that your ungratefulness is daunting enough to kill any man's good will."

Before she could even think of a proper reply, Taichi stood up from his seat and reached for the bags that lay next to him. After the little exchange they'd just had, Chihaya was sure that he would only take the one belonging to him and let her carry hers on her own; and yet, even now, he still seemed determined to help her in any simple way he could.

And so he now stood, with the two bags hung over his shoulders and a hand extended towards her in order to help her get up. Almost on instinct, Chihaya frowned and rolled her eyes again...

...but she took his hand anyway, holding onto it with much more force that the simple action of rising required.

If Taichi was willing to aid her, she was in no position to argue.

And she didn't want to, either.

"I'll walk you home," he said as he loosened his grasp on her fingers the next moment, as if the sentence could only have been uttered after the physical contact between them had ended. And yet, his tone was not a hesitant one; he wasn't nervous or abashed. There was no rush behind his words, no indication that he'd only said them because he'd felt that he should.

Instead there was calm and confidence, simplicity and sincerity that could not be underestimated on this particular day. Unlike so many times in the past, Chihaya realised that he was saying what he wanted to say and not what he thought was expected of him.

Even if she had wished to part with him sooner, she wouldn't have been able to reject him now.

So she smiled and nodded, before following him obediently towards the playground gate, falling into step with him as soon as she had crossed it. Once again she was tempted to ask him to return her bag to her – and once again, she fought the temptation bravely, aware that arguing her case would lead to the opposite of what she hoped to achieve, which was to unburden her friend.

And so she said nothing.

They walked in silence, both of them too busy with their own thoughts to try and strike another conversation that they most probably wouldn't manage to finish before reaching Chihaya's house; and yet neither could fully refrain from the furtive glances cast at one another whenever they thought the other person wasn't looking. The shallow cautiousness failed them soon, of course. Their eyes met, their breaths hitched. Their cheeks flushed with the faintest shade of pink.

And yet, they did not look away any more. Responding with smiles rather than frowns, they chose to show their joy in the place of unwanted nervousness, determined to make the most of the time they still had left.

They both knew that it wouldn't last, that, come tomorrow, the so undesired feeling of awkwardness would take over them again, to some degree at least. They would pass each other in the corridors and even though they both hoped they'd manage to greet the other more politely, a nod and a smile would be all they might expect; they'd meet at the train station occasionally but fail to exchange more than a few words.

And somehow, it was fine. Because for the first time since Taichi's confession, they could hope that the distance they had built was not that of resentment and sorrow, but of mutual respect and readiness to wait. It was an agreement. A mature decision each of them had made, knowing that not only was it the right path to choose, but the best possible one, too.

A choice only available thanks to the shared understanding and trust that allowed them to believe that it was, indeed, only for some time.

All the way, Chihaya itched to reach out for her bag, as she counted steps and seconds until it would be appropriate to ask Taichi to return it to her. Every time the temptation reappeared, she forced herself to wait; to hold on for another moment, praying that her patience would be enough to get her through it. And not because it was particularly important that she maintained her composure at the moment – being as they were now, he probably wouldn't have responded with anything but a playful remark and a definite rebuttal of her request.

It wasn't a big deal.

It didn't require a heroic effort on her part.

And even if she had failed, she knew that it would not have been of much harm, either, not when they both had finally reached their peace.

Still, it was important to her. She knew Taichi was deep in thought and that, even if the interruption she was about to make wasn't going to vex him, it would still be a hindrance, a glitch in the process that was happening in his mind. More than ever, Chihaya wished to be considerate; she'd resolved to be before she'd come to see him and then held onto her choice as they had talked. And yet, it would have lost all of its meaning if she had stopped now.

Focused on her own internal struggle, she failed to pay attention to the distance they covered. Having stayed half a step behind Taichi before, she nearly walked into him when he'd halted before her house and turned around to face her, and then jumped back when she realised how close she was standing.

She was answered with a raised brow and a lopsided grin. She replied with a mumbled apology and a huff on her part.

And yet, that was all that was to be said. Silent they stood, eyeing each other carefully, expectantly, their gazes shifting towards the Ayase household and then back to one another, neither finding the words appropriate for this moment. Suddenly conflicted, Chihaya clenched her fists anxiously, at the same time completely missing the fact that the boy in front of her was no more confident than she was.

It was obvious that neither of them wanted to part...

...and still, they both realised that they needed to.

And that the sooner they did, the lesser was the risk of ruining what they had built.

With a deep breath, Chihaya finally reached out for the bag in his hand, ready to voice her gratitude for his help. She smiled as she indicated the sack, her fingertips brushing against the strap while her mouth parted slightly in order to say-

"Thank you for coming to see me today."

That was definitely not what she was going to say.

She blinked repeatedly, her eyes once again fixed firmly on the amber irises so full of appreciation and zeal as she realised that she'd been, once again, beaten to her own speech. Judging by the amusement that reflected on Taichi's countenance, her surprise was apparent, and so she looked away instinctively, feeling her own face grow hot for no reason whatsoever. She still couldn't help but peek at him, however, and therefore, was able to see that the entertained expression was barely a veil that covered emotions far more meaningful and profound.

She couldn't recall a day in their lives when he had looked at her like this.

"Thank you for letting me stay," she replied simply, knowing that any variation of "it's nothing" would have been shot down by him immediately. "And for offering to talk later. And for staying and listening, and helping me with my cut and my bag and all that."

"It's nothing," he answered and she almost burst out laughing hearing his words.

She managed to swallow it back somehow, however, even despite her effort Taichi still caught the change in her expression and chuckled to himself, upon realising what he'd just done. She used the opportunity to reclaim the bag she'd been grasping.

Taichi let her. Then inhaled deeply, slowly, before adding, "Seriously though, I'm glad that you came. You... you've given me a lot to think about, I guess."

Chihaya's smile grew a little more wistful. "I'm glad, too."

She saw Taichi open his mouth, only to close it a second later, clearly unsure of what to say next – or maybe not what but if to speak at all. Curious, she tilted her head to the side and watched him patiently, awaiting the moment when he'd come to a decision on his own.

What might it have been that he still needed to tell her?

Anything in the world, she answered herself quietly. After all, there are so many things that I haven't told him, even though I wish I have done. It's only natural that the same would go for him.

The things she hadn't told him.

Just what were those things?

I quit the club.

I haven't accepted Arata.

I can't lose you.

Well, she supposed she hadn't really touched upon the first one. The second she had spoken of, if only partially. And as for the third...

...she could only pray that he would read between the lines and realise that truth by himself.

He was the smartest student in their year for a reason, wasn't he?

"I really should be going," Taichi said at last. Only slightly disappointed, Chihaya nodded in understanding. "I wasn't joking about the work at home."

Chihaya smiled encouragingly. "I thought so. You were supposed to be back hours ago, weren't you?"

"Yes. Though I'd already let my mother know that I'd be delayed."

"So she won't be angry with you?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Taichi responded with a shrug. "But maybe she will be a little more understanding than usual. Still, there's no need to try her patience unnecessarily. I... I guess I'll see you at school?"

Again, she nodded. Taichi returned the gesture and, not waiting for another reply, he turned on his heel and set off towards his own house, his hands finding their way to his pockets as he walked farther and farther away from her. Chihaya watched him in silence for a few moments, glad to see the spring that seemed to have returned to his step.

And then, before she could think better of it, she cried his name loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear.

"Thank your mum from me, will you?" she called out again when she saw that she'd got his attention. "She will understand!"

Even in the distance, she could easily discern the astonishment that reflected not only on his face but in all of his features. She was also happy to see that the expression was quickly replaced by another chuckle of his, and grinned brightly at the sight, her heart swelling at the thought of where their conversation had brought them.

It was a long way that was before them, she had no doubt about that.

But that evening, that second, she realised that however difficult, it would still bring them to a happiness neither of them could now think of, perhaps in the form neither of them expected.

And she had no doubt about that, either.

Author’s note: and here ends volume 1!

It’s been so much fun, guys, I can’t thank you enough for all the enthusiasm you’ve shown. The story is far from finished, though, so look out for volume 2 (coming out as soon as ALL art for it is done)! And if you want to keep in touch and make sure you’re up to date, please check out the official Our Sleeves Discord Server.

See you soon, I hope!

[kat-hawke]

Reimposition

 (Follow [Legacy], runs in conjunction with [Like So Many Grains of Sand] & [Defibrillation])

Suspended in the nothingness, a cold burn raged from within, feeling as if she was being torn apart from the inside out. The screams of agony were drowned out by the white noise that rang in the ears, the note climbing higher and higher as the intensity of the pain grew. Building up, it felt as if it would finally end, the pressure of the vacuum in her core threatening to burst until it all suddenly vanished, and the palms of her hands were planted against the floor of a carriage.

Gasping for air Kat fell back into the cushioned seat and against the wall, a hand resting on her throat as she hastily glanced around. For once, she was alone in the speeding vehicle, no slamming of a cane or cryptic words from the mouth of a ghost. Instead, a pocket watch had been left on the seat where Charles had always appeared, and once her thoughts cleared enough to move, Kat didn’t hesitate to snatch up the timepiece.

Less than a minute remained until time ran out, thirty seconds. As the second hand ticked backward, she looked towards the still shifting, the non-euclidean world beyond the carriage window. A shaky exhale and the feeling of a burden lifted. She could finally escape this purgatory, move on to whatever afterlife awaited. For a moment, her mind lingered on those she’d leave behind and how she failed them, but eyes peeled back to the face of the watch.

The second hand neared the end, ticking from the last five seconds. Three, two, one...

The hand froze in place, the timepiece stopped.

“No...” Kat breathed out.

Muscles in her face twitched as her anger began to boil, the grip on the watch tightening as she shook it and tapped it against the palm. “No!” She shouted, vigorously shaking the timepiece now as she felt cheated.

“No! It’s not fair!” Her voice cracked, and the watch was slammed into the floorboards, shattering into several pieces. The sole of her boot crushed what remained as rage clouded her vision, the tears of anger and sorrow welling along the bottom eyelid.

Elbows propped on the knees as she threw her head forward, fingers collecting in the mess of raven hair as she sobbed in anger. Contemplating if this was, in fact, her afterlife and not a purgatory, sentenced to relive her mistakes, betrayals, and second guess for an eternity. It wasn’t until the carriage came to its abrupt halt that her attention returned to her surroundings.

The world outside was breaking apart, into specs of white dust, floating upward into the beyond as if caught in a breeze. Curious, Kat stepped out of the carriage, watching the sight across the inverted city in awe, before she realized it was getting closer at an alarming rate.

Boots dug into the cobblestones as she began to flee, but the effort was in vain. Within seconds the street and buildings around her began to peel away in flakes. Panicking, she reached out for something, anything, but instead found her hand and arm disintegrating in the same manner. In the blink of an eye, the entire limb was gone, and soon after, the rest of her body followed, her scream of fear echoing out into the empty white space.

“We had a deal.” A voice similar to her own, and familiar, called out from the unknown. “And it’s time you’ve held up your end.”

“That’s rich, seeing as how you’ve failed to hold up yours,” Kat responded in what felt telepathic. Without a physical form, she couldn’t tell if she was looking around the blank space or if it moved around her.

The mirrored voice began to laugh menacingly as it took form. The floating black shadow slipping into view, it’s dark violet eyes set on Kat as a sharp finger wagged in the air. “My end was to prevent you from dying, which you didn’t make easy over the years.”

“Looks like you’ve failed. Deals off.”

“Ah, hardly.” The shadow waved off. “Technically, you mortals are so fragile from the inside out. Alive, but only just.” Two of its sharp fingers pinched the air, leaving only a hair of space between them as it’s legless body floated closer. “The deal was alive, never said anything about conscious.”

“And you allowed the corruption of an Old God to seed and run rampant? As far as I’m concerned, we’re done.”

“That was your own doing!” The shadow spat out as it quickly closed the distance, it’s faceless form inches from Kat. “I warned you not to play in that part of the void, yet you poked and prodded, opened the door, and let the Old one into your mind. Don’t blame me for that, I may be timeless, but I’m not that strong. Or at least I would be had you upheld your end of the bargain. You never did tell the Void Priest why you kept her around.”

“You know how much I fucking hate sand... “Another familiar voice called out from nowhere, both Kat and the shadowy being glancing upward to try and place it.

“Riley?” Kat questioned under her breath. “No. No, that can’t be right. She’s been gone for months...”

“Another lost cause.” The shadow chimed in. “I’m tired of being cheated out of what is owed and subjected to the menagerie of weak-willed mortals you coil around your fingers.”

The empty space shifted in the blink of an eye and turned into a harrowingly familiar sight. The Freehold Arena. In the change, Kat found herself in a physical form once more, in the thin leather outfit she had been forced to wear at the time. Looking downward, she discovered her folding sword in one hand.

“There won’t be an Admiral to save you from the ring this time. Pity, that.” The being taunted as the rolling cloud of its form shifted, donning a mirror image of the Director, the body and attire pitch black and eyes remaining the deep violet hue. Its own weapon lifted, pointing at Kat from across the ring as it slowly circled.

“You...” Kat spoke slowly as she began piecing things together. “You think you can take my form, my body, and ascend yourself on your own.”

The dark mirrored image shrugged one shoulder as the circling came to an end. “I believe it was you who said so yourself; trust others takes too much time, easier and more efficient to do it yourself. If you’re not going to respect our deal...” Turning Kat’s own words against her, the shadow rushed across the arena.

In the split second of judgment, Kat braced herself and the swords locked together, the sound of steel on steel piercing the air as she stared down the image of herself over the blades. Both exerted force, near equally matched as either refused to falter.

The sky above twisted and shifted without warning, the clouded sky vanishing and an inverted woodland replacing the once blue sky. The forest was akin to the conscious space of Alyssa’s blade. Both Kat and the shadow were distracted by the sudden change, looking upward in the moment of confusion.

Her adversary took advantage, kicking her leg out from beneath her and bringing the sword around. Leaning back, Kat narrowly dodged the attack, the razor edge of the blade making the briefest of contact with her cheek, drawing a small amount of blood.

Rolling backward, Kat sprung to her feet and parried a second attack, taking the window of opportunity to counter, slicing the jet black arm by a hair. Pushing back the shadowy being unleashed a relentless onslaught of hasty attacks. With only the one weapon, Kat was forced to time her defenses, the steel colliding in a few block blows as she maneuvered backward, pivoting on a leg to dodge the other attacks.

Their dance of blades seemed endless; one after another, they pressed each other. Scrapes and nicks of the blades across their bodies and taunts and sharp words were slung between blows. The ground within the arena began to crack with small fissures, glowing both dark and bright from beneath the earth.

Another spark-throwing parry overhead and everything froze, neither could move, or look around. The silence was overwhelming before the ground trembled uncontrollably, and the whisper of Riley’s voice sounded again.

“Kat, I don’t have a lot of time, so I need you to hear me in there, alright? You have to survive this. You have to come back. I don’t want to drink alone for the rest of my miserable life, so I’m going to need you to survive like you always fucking do. I lo— Lady, get off me!”

Time resumed, and the inverted woodland above blinked out of existence. Kat’s arm continued in the follow-through, circling around before forcefully kicking the shadowy being away to create some distance.

“Riley?!” Kat called out, glancing around in confusion.

“Nobody here, but you and I.” The dark mirror image answered, rushing Kat again.

Stepping to the side, she avoided the attempt at impalement, raising her own weapon to slash upward from the bottom. Her attack failing as the earth shook and fissures grew again and sent them both staggering to the side, hands scratching at the ground as she fought to stay standing.

“She’s crashing again!” Another unknown voice shouted from nowhere.

As the tremor ended, it was Kat that rushed her mirror image this time, forgoing an attempt at impaling and using her momentum to slash horizontally. Another failed attack as the being parried, staggering Kat and brining its sword overhead.

With her free hand, Kat caught the incoming blow by the being’s wrist, following through by pulling the arm down and across, elbow to elbow she pushing up from the ground and rolled over the being’s back. Tucking the sword against her chest in the movement, Kat utilized the momentum to land a mighty swing, her arm extending as the roll concluded and the blade making contact with the mirror image’s midsection.

As the sword pierced the body and cleaved it into two, the shadowy creature dissipated into the original cloudy form again, screeching in pain.

“Cranial swelling will never go down at this rate.” The unknown voice spoke, from nowhere, over the pained wails of the creature.

The Freehold arena began to crumble and break as chunks of the earth floated toward the sky or collapsed into the unknown depths below, the dark and light glow flashing erratically from each fissure.

“You can’t kill me!” The creature of shadows cried out as it retreated and vanished from view. “I will get what is owed.”

Ignoring the vocal threat, Kat dropped her weapon and moved out of the way of flying chunks of earth. Panicked again, she searched for an exit but found nothing. The ground beneath her boot gave out mid-step as another fissure opened up, nearly swallowing her whole. Fingers clawed into the dirt as she scrambled to pull herself free until loose earth slammed into the side of her skull, and her frantic hold on the ground was broken.

“I’m sorry...” Riley’s voice echoed quietly amidst the chaos as Kat tumbled into the unknown depths. 

[ @alyssa-ward​, @blue-eyedraven​ ] [ Alluding/brief mentions: @saelkath-alzarah​, @preyontheweak​ ]

( [Chapter I] [Chapter II] [Chapter III] ) ( [pt.I] [pt.II] [pt.III] [pt.IV] [pt.V] [pt.VI] [pt.VII] [pt.VIII] )

[melon-kiss]

Screaming, Pt 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Link to the part on AO3

____________________________

I hear voices over the black fog of my unconsciousness but I can’t be sure they’re real. I think it’s the doctors. They try to revive me. I hear that I have a stable pulse and I breathe. Good. Or whatever.

When I open my eyes, I’m sweaty and frightened. My T-shirt is so wet it changed its colour to dark grey. My hair is sticking to my face. My eyeballs go from one side to another in an utter madness. I notice it’s already dark outside. Doctor Mike lights up a small lamp on my nightstand. I think he suspects me of being scared of darkness. I’ve never been. Now he’s right. He says comforting things, like: “You’re safe now” or “I can see you’ve been tortured”. But “torture” doesn’t even cover it. I’ve been through a vivisection. Sherlock gutted me out and now I  know for sure he did it on purpose.

I fight insomnia for very long hours. When I manage to fall asleep, I hardly find any rest in it.

I toss and turn endlessly. It never gets better. The bed sheet is too hot or too cold. The dreams I have are horrifying. All the memories I’ve kept safely tamed resurface and haunt me. Suffocate me with their weight. They’re my burden now.

They burn me out. They wreak havoc. I feel every cell in my body ache as I remember the pain of all the words unsaid, all the moments not lived. I see the bright blue eyes, always looking through. I hear the voice. It lies to me. Does it, though? It says: I... I love you. And again, quieter: I love you. It hurts because I’m sure it’s insincere. It couldn’t be any other way. He’ll never love me like I want to be loved. He can’t give me safety and protection. He can’t support me. He can’t be with me. He can’t be with me. He can’t be with me.

I scream. The hot air rips my lungs into shreds. My voice is hoarse and piercing at the same time, it echoes in the entire building. I scream as though being cut in two; a primal shriek finds its way out of me. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane - otherwise the pain would be unbearable. I want to be dead. I scream so loud the night staff comes to my room every fifteen minutes to wake me and assure me I’m safe but it doesn’t take long for the circle to go around again. They finally give up and inject something into my arm. The dangerous mix of fear and pain is numb now. It doesn’t vanish; it’s covered with a warm fluff of the meds. It’s there. He’ll never love me the way I want to be loved.

My eyes are stuck on one point on the ceiling. I want to scream but I can’t.

 * * *

 The cold late-autumn air lashes my face when I place my foot outside the door. I wrap the scarf tighter around my neck. It’s difficult to keep yourself warm when there’s not much of the fat tissue in your body.

My therapist says it’ll get better. I don’t know. I don’t think he tries to lie to me. I choose to believe him. He also says that I’ll never fully recover. My psyche is broken beyond repair. LSD killed me and didn’t do it at all. All I can do is to try to make the best of it. “Regaining your memory was the most important part,” he said once. “And you’ve succeeded in it.” I think he hopes that there’s a chance for me to get back to my old self in that. I’ve lived with my missing memories for over six months and today is the first day I feel good enough to leave the house. I’m going to face death. Many deaths.

I walk down the London streets and the air soaks up in my lungs. It’s cold but in a pleasant way. The hot air gets out of me with carbon dioxide. I breathe in the chill oxygenium with my eyes closed. I relish the moment. I never know when my brain will snap and turn everything into endless sadness. I don’t have fury attacks anymore but instead, I wake up in the middle of every night, screaming. The scream eventually turns into cry. I curl up in my bed and wait for the pain to let go. It never really does but its level decreases to the point I’m able to live with.

Being yourself. What does it even mean? Whatever I do, I’m me. I’m me when I walk down the London streets, heading to work. I’m me when I jump out of my bed and choke someone. I’m me when I throw up because my body cannot contain the anxiety caused by my fugue. I’m me when I scream my head off in the middle of a night. I’m me when I kiss someone I love. I’m me when I cry because I couldn’t be more broken. I’ve learned to simply accept whatever comes to me. This is who I am. A mess. Fixing me is a job for a lifetime.

I’ve been missing the lab. I throw myself into work because it helps me soothe the suffering. The relief is temporary but whatever works, right? I love the sound of the glasses clinking against each other. I love how my brain focuses entirely on bringing out my scientific knowledge and it almost resembles the mind I used to have. These are the moments when I know the old Molly Hooper is still there. She didn’t die because she always wins.

 It’s almost dark outside when I turn off the lights. I take a short look around to make sure I’ve cleaned everything up. I push the door open and fix the handbag on my shoulder. I walk out into the corridor, pale-y lightened with the cold hospital lamps. I raise my head up and freeze.

He freezes as well. He’s changed; weaker, sadder. His blue eyes widen and I can see his breathing stops. His mouth are open in an utter shock. He’s speechless but doesn’t look away. He swallows with difficulty.

“Molly.”

The soft whisper fills out the space of the corridor. I begin to get dizzy and my heart rate quickens rapidly. I take a small step back and cling to the door behind me. I’m close to hyperventilate. He makes a move towards me but I start visibly shivering in response.

“Molly...”

He’s filled with guilt which adds a fair weight to his movements. His eyes, usually cold and focused on looking through his mind palace, are mild, even glossy. His eyebrows frown in worry. I’m sure he pities me. I don’t need his pity. I slide down the door and sit on the floor with my legs pulled to my chest. I see his coat getting closer with a corner of my eye. My body trembles strongly. I let out the tears.

“Leave me alone,” I whisper.

He stands in place for a while and walks off eventually. When he’s no longer in the range of my eyesight, I curl up on the floor and cry. He can’t be with me.

 * * *

 I’m slightly cheerful on my days off. The winter is pretty ugly this year; it doesn’t look like the ones I remember. No fluffy snow and colourful lights. But maybe I’ve just gotten too old to see them? I think it’s sad. We become adults and forget all the beauty we’ve had as children. We forget that the key to happiness is not only in winning the jackpot but also in seeing the little things and enjoying them. In finding a four-leaf clover and thinking: “Today I’m going to be lucky”. In hearing your mum is going to make your favourite biscuits because she loves you so much she could do anything to see a smile on your face. I sound like The Little Prince, don’t I? When your brain tries to find its way back to sanity, you happen to have a lot thoughts. Trust me.

I deliberately step into every grey, muddy-snowy-watery puddle and smile. My shoes will get soaked up for a while but I enjoy this childish activity until I can. I just hope my groceries won’t slip out of my shopping bag to fall into one of these snowy monsters. I think about the small but pleasant stuff: like ordering a pizza and watching a film. My brain loves turning into tapioca. Well, it doesn’t, I do. I also bought brownies and can’t wait to stuff my stomach with them after the pizza box is empty. For a moment I think of the poor person who would have to go through my stomach content if I killed myself tonight, and then shake it off. I don’t want to die but I don’t have much of a will to live as well. I’ve learned not to joke about suicide around other people, though. It turns out death is a difficult matter for normal human beings. I wouldn’t know, I’ve always been very practical about it. It doesn’t scare me that much. Well, maybe a little because I’ve never been through this. They say I have but I don’t remember a shred from this moment. I’ve regained a memory of being strongly hit in a head in my house but then... it’s all darkness. The next thing was the hospital ceiling and the conversation The Three Horsemen of Madness had in my room.

I’ve loved watching trash telly (and not only this) because it keeps my sadness and insanity at bay. I’m well aware of that. My therapist didn’t have to tell me this but he did it anyway. He even asked if I wanted to do anything about it. I didn’t but he says (because the matter obviously wasn’t dropped) it would work out for the best because a broken heart cannot be mended by watching stories about other hearts being healed. I thought he was supposed to help me keep my post-LSD psyche under control but it seems I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I look back at the memories I’ve retrieved, I can’t help but think... maybe this craziness has always been with me? The way I sewed my happiness with his skin, desperately, utterly, unconditionally, obsessively... Omnipresent but invisible. Courageous - with a rabbit heart. The smallest spark of hope I’ve ever seen kept me by his side. Maybe LSD only sped up what was inevitable: a nervous breakdown. Although I wasn’t really weak. My heart just popped, heavy from all the sorrow it has carried for five years.

Now, after being completely broken, I’m learning to live in a world without him. I don’t blame him - after all, it was me who asked him to leave me alone. I thought he would fight for me but I’m glad he didn’t. My insanity would feed on the scraps he would throw me, reliving the annealed wounds with a red-hot steel. He doesn’t come to Bart’s or maybe he does but he’s good at avoiding people. And sometimes, when everything seems fine and I’m home alone (which is always), I fill out the silence with singing. I choose the saddest songs I know and sing. I bet my neighbours have had to call an ambulance to save their bleeding ears at least once but I’m a psycho. I can do whatever I want because I don’t care.

I’ve recently watched Eclipse and I sing a song from its soundtrack under my nose when I unlock the door. The door clicks and I enter my completely dark house. I don’t turn on the lights and enjoy the fact that it’s already dim outside but it’s too early for the street lights to turn on and shine into my kitchen. I stand in the entrance room and soak in the emptiness. It fills me out and seeps into my bones. This is where my body find its way to the state of default. I put my shopping bag away on the floor and untangle my winter shoes. After that I move the groceries into the kitchen, almost tiptoeing, as though afraid of waking someone up.

I take off my coat and scarf, putting them down on the kitchen counter. I start unloading my shopping bag, thinking about the pizza I’m going to order. I’ve gained some weight, maybe a little too much but that’s all right. I couldn’t care less about my body. If I had to worry about my appearance as well, I would definitely kill myself.

“My love has concrete feet, my love’s an iron ball, wrapped around your ankles, over the waterfall...”

“If I didn’t know better, I would think it was on purpose.”

A glass bottle of a carrot juice slips out of my palm as I jump in a complete horror. My socks soak in the sticky liquid but I can barely seem bothered by this. I turn on the heel and look at the utter darkness in my living room. The same moment the street lights turn on and a beam of weak light falls on his face as well. I feel my body trembling. I want to back out but there is no escape - he could catch me any time. Not that he would but the fear takes over my mind.

“You... you broke into my house?” I ask, panting. A panic attack is around the corner.

“I entered your house without your knowledge,” he replies, utterly steady. “There’s a difference-“

“What are you doing here?” I put on a tough act but we both know it’s a ruse. I don’t care. I don’t want him to break me again. I might never recover.

“I came to see you.”

I scoff.

“You could do it the normal way.”

“Would you meet me, then?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

I’m pressed against the refrigerator and I feel a pain in my back as the metallic door resists to my spinal bones. He makes three steps forward. He takes off his gloves and shoves them into his coat pockets. He takes if off as well, with no rush, and throws it away on my couch. Without unlocking our eyes, he approaches me. I’m sure I’ll tip over the refrigerator in a second because he’s so close there can’t be more than a foot between us. He stops. My head is dizzy and I feel like throwing up but then he squats and begins to collect the shreds of glass bottle from the floor. I’m sweaty but relieved. The tension leaves my body and I exhale loudly.

It catches his attention. He looks up at me.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

I scoff again.

“It doesn’t matter.”

I turn around to face the kitchen counter and find paper towels but they’re on the opposite side. I glare down and see that the juice is everywhere but my socks are completely soaked up, so it wouldn’t be smart of me to walk off to the bathroom for a mop. Besides, I could step into the cracks and that was not the point of his help.

He finishes and throws the glass away. He remembers very well where my bin is. After that, he wordlessly goes to my bedroom and comes back with a pair of dry socks. I can see that he spread a bit of the juice on the floor but his gesture successfully disables my frustration. He sticks out his arms towards me. I hesitate. What is he planning to do? I slowly reach out to his arms but he slides them under my armpits and lifts me up over the juice, placing me on my small kitchen island. Then he disappears in the bathroom and comes back with the mop. He wipes out the floor. Not a word slips out of his lips.

I slowly take off my wet socks, watching his every move. I put the dirty socks away next to me and reach out for the paper towel. I dry my feet out while Sherlock cleans up my kitchen floor. Even my old self would say that only a lunatic would find it possible. Cheers to all of us, crazies. I put away the used paper towel as well and put on my new socks. I start to swing my legs a little bit as Sherlock finishes the cleanup. He walks off to the bathroom to rinse off the mop for the last time and comes back to me. I can’t look away somehow.

“Thank you,” I say in a hoarse voice. I clear my throat.

“I’m sorry,” he replies. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, nor be an intruder.”

I shrug.

“It was just a carrot juice. I’ll drink more water, then.”

My legs swing more and more intensively. I know what it means and so does he, so I force myself to stop because a smirk crawls up on his face. I feel my cheeks burning up and I instantly regret tangling my hair into a pony tail. This is probably the most normal thing that happened to me in about nine months.

He places his hand next to my left thigh and leans on. I feel his perfume and something in me shivers. My heart rate goes wild but I cannot force myself to look away. He puts his palm really gently on my right cheek and his face is so close I can see every pore on his skin. I give in and let out a quiet exhale. I close my eyes and my body is fulfilled with warmth as his lips lock with mine. He moves a little to stand fully in front of me and takes my face in both of his hands. His lips open more and more eagerly as he doesn’t see any objection on my side. My legs clench around his waist, I throw my arms around his neck. I pull him closer but it’s difficult to say whether I’m motivated by the kiss or the simple need of a hug.

I feel awaken. My body’s warm, pulsing with every beat my heart does. For the first time in many months I feel alive and I relish this moment because I know that in a minute, everything will end.

And it does.

I push him away a little too hard. He has to take a step back to prevent a fall. The passionate fire turns into anger.

“Don’t do it.”

I feel a twinge in my chest seeing pain in his eyes. He looks as if I just crushed his last hope. His blue eyes are tired, miss their old spark. I hate myself for pushing him away and feeling the way I feel.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” I hiss through my teeth.

“What doesn’t?”

“Us.”

He winces and shifts nervously.

“What?”

I clench my palm into a fist and press it against my forehead, leaned forward. A forgotten suffering comes back to me. I’ve buried it so deep inside I was certain it was gone but it’s been waiting for me. A battle I didn’t want to fight starts right here and right now. And I, again, want to be dead and dead only. I close my eyes so tightly it almost hurts as does every cell in my body.

“We don’t make sense,” I utter after anticipating a less painful moment.

He starts breathing quicker. He’s as lost as he’s never been before. I imagine that’s how he looked like calling me to save me. Helpless in the face of the truth.

“How could you have fallen in love with me, then? ” he asks, hopelessness taking over him. “Despite all the pain I’ve caused you, all the things I’ve said...”

“I suppose love is a kind of madness,” I say, my unseeing eyes focused on one irrelevant point.

“Your love is illogical, since I’ve always been an utter cock.”

“Not always,” I reply, smirking weakly. “But we don’t love for the logical reasons. We love despite all the illogical ones.”

We fall silent. I enjoy my most sane moment for several minutes. It can disappear anytime.

“I love you.”

I raise my head up. It feels like my heart skips a beat.

His eyes gaze at me with pain I’ve never seen on his face. He almost pants, his arms are unfolded. He’s like a living target. He’s just showed me where to shoot and I stretch my bow, aiming for his chest.

“But you cannot give me the love I want,” I reply, my voice stifled. I finally sigh in exasperation. “We’re far two different. It would be a disaster of a relationship. Can you imagine yourself cleaning our flat every Saturday, planning our wedding, putting our children to sleep? Because this is want I want. But it would only hurt us more.”

“I can change,” he says.

I scoff.

“And that’s the point,” I respond. “I don’t want you to change. I love you the way you are. I love every part of you. But you cannot love me. You couldn’t have loved me before and you can’t do it now.”

“I think I’ve loved you long before,” he says in a weak voice.

I am... sorry. Forgive me.

You can see me.

You do count.

I’ve always trusted you.

Thank you.

The one person who mattered the most.

I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper.

You look well.

I’m worried about you, Molly.

I love you.

I gaze at him almost breathless. I blink and make myself utter a response:

“I love you, too,” I whisper. My eyes fill with tears. “But you cannot make me happy... Sherlock.”

His name tastes sweet in my mouth. I’ve missed saying it. Now I glance at his lips and think about the moments we shared a few minutes ago and back then in the hospital. I could share them with him forever. I would never get bored of him. But there would be times when he would forget about my presence in our flat, when he wouldn’t listen to me, chasing a lead. When he would be lost and I couldn’t find him.

And now... me with my mood swings and moments of insanity striking when the least expected. With my broken mind. Unfixable. Fucked up.

He suffers and this time, I’m the one to blame. I’ve broken the unbreakable man.

“I’ve turned you into something you’ve always hated,” I say. “You’re weak, you’re an easy target. You’re emotional and vulnerable.”

“As I’ve always been,” he replies. “You’re my strength.”

I wince.

“Strength? Sherlock-“

“You’re my strength because you’ve helped me understand myself better than anyone. I’ve never had to pretend with you. And... and back then in Sherrinford, when I realised how much pain I’ve caused you... no one ever has made me realise so much of me with so little words as you have. You are the reflection of my sensitivity. With you, I’m no longer myself.”

He begins to slowly get closer.

“But... But this is my point!” I protest. “It’s not a good thing becau-“

“It is a good thing because... what does it really mean - being myself?” He stops at less than a foot from me and scoffs. “I am myself in every minute of my life. I won’t miss my old self, though. I was a completely blind moron, who couldn’t appreciate people around him. And you’ve managed to look behind this curtain and see the man I am now. You’ve taught me to be who I am now.”

He smiles, lifting only one corner of his lips but he knows. I try to back out and escape his look but I feel that I don’t want to. My body is slowly giving in. It is so warm. It feels so good. I love him so much.

“But the old Molly may be no longer there. I’m a mess now,” I mumble, trying to avoid his gaze.

He cups my face in his palms again and places our foreheads together. I can’t resist. I don’t want to resist. I lose control over my head and I’m not even worried. A pleasant wave of chemicals floods my body and they’re better than any of the antipsychotics I’ve taken in the past nine months. I’m still a mess. I know that Sherlock will regret his decision one day when a switch in my brain goes off and I’ll stand at a rooftop (flashbacks will kill him, though). But I’m tired of trying to be normal.

“So am I. When I found out that Eurus had attacked you... I was both furious and hurt. I was torn. I still feel guilty over the fact that I couldn’t have prevented this and that she could have killed you. I was ready to bring hell on Earth. Maybe you’re a mess... but you’re also somehow a piece of puzzle that’s missing from my messy life.”

I feel the warmth of his breath on my face, the softness of his hands on my cheeks. His curls tickle my eyelids. I so weak.

“Oh, come on,” he whispers, “just give in already.”

I giggle and lose myself completely. I want to scream... but everything I do speaks louder than words.

[justthatamount]

Dear Mom and Dad,

It’s been a year since I came out by now. You don’t seem to be trying as much as I’d like. The fault of this of course, lies partially on me. I realize you don’t fully understand how much this weighs on me. So I’ve decided to attempt to explain how I feel every day of my life. You're going to have to imagine a little bit but I’m sure it’ll be possible. 

Imagine living in the wrong body. Of course you still are you. It's not something you can choose. After all you were born that way. Every day you’re called by a name that isn’t yours and every time you hear it you want to vomit. The sound of it alone sends a sinking feeling in your chest; it's a pressure you can never get rid of. Day by day you have to keep moving. It almost feels like an insult only its the people you care most about doing this to you. Everywhere you go there's no escape you’re trapped at every turn. You’ve always been told you’ll be accepted for you but you’re afraid. But at the same time you can’t take it anymore one more day and you’ll lose it. You can feel the weight of the unwanted body parts hanging on your chest. Along with them comes not just discomfort but emotional pain cutting deep like a knife. You never asked to feel this way but there’s no escape. You’re dragging around an invisible weight pushing in on you from all sides but the most you can do is hide it. 

It gets worse day by day. Everyone expects you to be someone you just can’t be. So you do your research, you prepare. The threat of falling too deep looming just around the corner. You need to tell everyone what you’ve been feeling but you feel if you do they’ll hate you. They might feel as though they’re losing you. While in reality you just can’t keep hiding anymore. You do it in one sweep desperate to get it off your chest. After all you’re not ok and just ignoring it isn’t going to fix things. Your friends are accepting and ready to support you through every difficult twist and turn. Your siblings love you and may not care too much. When you work up the courage you tell the people you’ve been fearing the most, your parents. It’s scary your literal life is on the line. The feelings aren’t something you can just shrug off anytime you want after all. But you won’t back down. So you tell them well partially you’ve decided to not be fully honest to make them feel less like they’re losing you. You’re told you’ve been accepted. All you can feel is releaf this burden you’ve been caring for so long may finally be lifted.

Weeks go by though and nothing changes. You ask to change your name, something that’s weighted so heavily on you for so long. You’re rejected though told to wait until you’re put through therapy. Fear grips you the anxiety you’ve also been fighting surging up in your chest. But you can take it. After all a few more weeks is something to hope for a door in the endless cycle you’ve been trapped in. When you get there it’s nothing too big. You fear telling her things after all so many things could go wrong. But you’re moving forward slowly. You can’t push it away though home is no longer a safe space. It hurts so much feeling battered by something you thought you were going to escape day by day. You don’t correct them after all aren’t they trying hard enough? So you take it into your own hands. It’s not safe, you know that but you can’t handle seeing your own body. It’s only temporary you tell yourself. After all, the only person to truly accept you promised help. A binder is something you’ve needed for a long while. To get rid of the body parts that aren’t yours. That don't belong that aren’t you. That are causing you pain. For now three sports bras is enough to get through the day. It leaves painful marks along your sides and breathing becomes painful. But with the releaf it brings from the crushing weight you don’t want to give it up.

Then things change course. You have to ask your parents for help on the releaf. So you text your Dad knowing if you do it in person you’ll back down. You fight, he feels it’s permanent, you try and explain. After all there’s nothing to regret here it's just cloth no more permanent than a bra but so much more life changing. In the end you slip up telling him a little of the pain this has been putting you through. You talk with your therapist and a glimmer of hope appears once again. Dimmer this time after the last. So you move forward the weight never leaving but now you’re beginning to see a future where it might.

Of course your hopes are crushed once again. They don’t ask your opinion. Your parents don’t do their own research. No measurements happen. But rather you receive a cheap clasp binder that does almost nothing. With a promise of a better one in the future. Days pass though and then weeks the hope fades again and you’re left worse off than before. At least before there was a glimmer of hope but now all you see is being told they’re trying but seeing no progress. Fear grips you on the thoughts of confronting them about it. So instead you get a haircut, wear baggy clothes and learn to handle it yourself. Time and time again you’re told they’re trying but you never see it. 

A year of struggles go by. You can’t handle it being there all the time. But where else are you going to go? After all you’re losing the will to do the things that normally bring you joy. You turn to sleeping to escape hoping that you can manage until school begins again and the weight leaves a little. Every morning you’re forced to see your body, the one that’s wrong. The one that doesn’t belong to you and there’s nothing you can do about it.  After all, how can you be sure you’re not wrong? What if you’re just being selfish? It can’t be that bad you’re just weak and overreacting. If it was really a big deal you would do something about it.  Are constant thoughts that plague your mind. You can’t shake them after all, what if they’re right? If your own parents won’t even try with you maybe you shouldn’t be either. But you made a promise you wouldn’t give up so you don't, you just keep moving. 

You’re told that your parents are just attached to the name. You can’t understand that after all that name isn’t you. It’s brought you so much pain and you’d much rather leave it behind behind but the people who are supposed to care for you won’t let you. They feel attached to someone who held it long before you but you aren’t them. To you it’s just a title forcing you to be someone who’s already long gone. You never knew them and you aren’t them. But you don’t have a choice in the matter. Everytime you hear it you feel like the name matters more than your own happiness. You can’t keep living that way just barely getting by hoping that something will change. But it doesn’t. You decide a year is long enough after all you can’t take it anymore.

So draft a letter, telling them of your sorrows in hopes they might finally understand. The weight dragging you down as you shake tears blooming in your eyes. This is how it is for me. Home doesn’t feel happy for me anymore. This isn’t just a phase or something that will go away if you try to ignore it. This is literally something that makes it almost impossible to be happy. All I’m asking from you is to use my name, not the one you wish wasn’t as painful as it is.

This is who I am. I’m Robin, your son. 

I hope you can understand.

Finally done with the letter I feel terrible. I might end up just printing and sending it to them.