#I will manage to avoid all of the fools that haunt the reputation of this site like ghosts

[noaltbruh]

Bucci gang and jealousy 🤭

(A/n. Hell yeah, Summer time's back 😎)

Giorno 🐞

Giorno isn't used nor enjoys showing a lot of emotions, both negative and positive ones. As his significant other, however, you'll get the chance to see layers of his feelings most people don't even know they exist.

Even though most of the time, this is a good thing, as he will try to show you how happy and grateful he is for having you by his side...Nobody is perfect, not even golden boy himself.

Now, he doesn't get jealous often. He deeply trusts you and knows that you will never leave him or perhaps tries to convince himself that it would never happen . Besides...He's the literal Boss of the Mafia, people know better than to try and steal his darling.

If some fool tries to make a move on you, Giorno will attempt to behave himself, he doesn't want to cause a scene, especially not in a public place and with the reputation he has to maintain.

A bad look or a fake cough should usually be enough to scare the...Ahem...Other person away. This boy can go from pure charming angel to "May God have mercy of you- oh wait, I'm God". Nobody wants to mess with that.

If they were too insistent, however, Giorno will let his Dio side show, placing himself between you and the unwanted presence, whispering some sort of threat quiet enough for you not to hear it clearly, but to definitely achieve what he wants.

"I suggest you take your departments in this instant, otherwise the situation might get a bit...Messy, e non vogliamo che ciò accada, do we?"

If he's already in a bad mood that day, he might even call out GER to intimidate them more. That pretty much never happens though, don't worry about it too much.

These were situations in which getting jealous is justified...But does he ever get unnecessarily jealous? For example...If you have a very close friend you often hang out with?

That...Might be a problem.

Like I said, Giorno doesn't like showing you this side of him...But this poor boy does have quite serious abandonment issues, the thought of losing you to someone else haunts him one too many times.

He'll want to meet your closest friends, saying that it's only fair for a boyfriend to learn about your 'other' loved ones, even though that's platonic love. It's obviously just an excuse to observe them and make sure they don't try anything funny with you.

Let's not forget about Giorno's natural talent of reading others. Once he's sure that they have no ill intentions, he'll let you go out with them as much as you wish, he even thinks it's good for you to have someone who keeps you company aside from him, since he's often away because of work.

Please, do spend time with him when he's home though, just give him the love he couldn't have while he wasn't by your side, he needs it.

"Let us dedicate this night to ourselves, va bene, amore?"

He may get a little jealous of some members of the team as well, especially if you all live together.

If you manage to notice his...Annoyance, reassure him that you only have eyes for him, that no matter how much you care about your teammates, he is the one you decided to give your heart to, and no one will ever change that.

Your relationship with him is his first approach with anything romantic, he's experiencing many different feelings all at once, jealousy is just one of them. Give him some time to elaborate it and everything will be alright.

Bruno 🤐

Bruno, similarly to Giorno, is not prone to jealousy. He is quite popular with the ladies, but just like you know he would never try to do anything behind your back, he has faith that you're just as loyal to him.

I don't think he has much dating experience (being a Mafioso surely doesn't give you much time for that sort of thing), but he's more mature than the boy, and will avoid threatening the uhm...Unwanted presence, yeah.

If someone tries to make a move on you, he will give them a fake, small smile and quickly think of an excuse to get away from them as soon as possible.

"We're very sorry, but we're quite in a rush at the moment, perhaps you could ask someone else for directions, mh?"

If the other person still doesn't leave...Boy, Bruno has the patience of a Saint, but you can start to see him struggling. His expression will get more serious and dark, as he directly makes eye contact with them, and holds you a bit closer to himself.

"I do not believe this...Insistence is necessary, would you please do what I said, and let my darling and I go? Thank you"

He will quickly go back to his usual well composed, romantic and polite self as soon as the two of you are left alone. He will let you go a bit if he feels like he's being too overbearing, and will give you one of his beautiful smiles of reassurance.

You're left to wonder how he manages to just keep his cool even in situations like this one.

Aside from this inconvenience, you're good to go!

Bucciarati knows very well that everyone holds special people in their life aside from their romantic partner. He's happy to see you hanging out with your friends.

He might ask you to meet them, but genuinely because he's curious about what sort of people his darling likes to spend time with aside from him and the gang.

Speaking of them, he's totally cool with you bonding with each and every member. He's glad to see you blending in with their dynamics, like you've always been a part of the squad.

However, he does get a bit worried when he's forced to be away from you for a long period of time. He will check on you multiple times through a day to make sure that you're okay, and to know who's been keeping you company while he's not with you. He's so subtle about it that you won't even notice.

He'll give you his full attention once he's back, and will probably organise super fancy date for the two of you, so that you won't be able to focus on anything but the beautiful man in front of you.

On top of this, he unconsciously plays favourite while dividing the group in teams. If a mission requires all of you to participate, you can be sure that he will do anything to keep you close to himself.

"Don't worry S/O, tutto ciò che devi fare, is to stay by my side~"

Mista 🔫

Now, there are people in the gang who are more jealous than him, but you still shouldn't mess around too much, be careful.

Mista might be chill and all, but dude is 18, he's gonna get jealous sometimes and you can't do much about it, that's how it is. I'd say he's in the middle when it comes to easily getting jealous, although he does lose his cool quicker than the two above him.

If a dude is trying to make a move on you, he may try not to immediately shove them away brutally. He'll give them the benefit of the doubt, and then tell them to leave.

"Uhh...Compare, I think you got the wrong person there, she's my date, go bother someone else"

If that really was a misunderstanding, then the night will just go on like nothing happened. If they don't care, however, there is no place for politeness, and you can be sure as hell that they won't like what's coming.

"I TOLD YOU TO LEVARTI DAL CAZZO, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, TESTA DI MINCHIA?"

He says, as he probably kisses you a biiiit more intensely than usual to assert dominance. You don't really blame him for acting like that, you're used to him raising his voice or reacting harshly towards people that bother him.

Only in very rare circumstances, especially if he's had a bad day, he'll take out his gun to further scare them away. Pretty sure nobody would want to mess around with the girlfriend of a dude carrying a gun around like it's a telephone.

As for your friends...Eh. I mean, he surely doesn't like if he thinks you've been spending more time with them than him, but he probably won't do it directly.

"Ah, you're hanging out with that dude again? Heh, sure you don't like them more than you like me? Is it because they smell better?"

It's usually enough for you to get the hint and actually think about how much time you've been spending away from him. If you cancel your plans to stay with him, he won't openly tell you, but he's definitely happy that you did.

When it comes to the Bucci gang, he trusts them and knows they wouldn't try to snatch you away from him. Of course, he drags you along all of the not so legal things him, Narancia and Fugo are up to on a daily basis, but he still makes time for just you two.

After all, even though he's busy after they've taken over, Mista still has got some free time, and makes an exception to the rule "Bros before hoes" from time to time.

"Come on bambola, let's watch something together! Uh? Nah, not with the others, just you and I"

Narancia 🍊

JEALOUSY JEALOUSY.

Look- just, just watch his past. Can you blame him? This baby went through so much, his abandonment issues are higher than his voice pitch. Narancia genuinely loves and wants what's best for you, he'd give his heart and soul to make you smile.

However, he just can't bear seeing you with someone else for long, his mind will soon start telling him that if he doesn't do something, he's going to lose you, just like he lost...

He's the most jealous boy of all, and also among the ones with the shortest temper, so I'd keep an eye out for him, if I were you.

Is someone is "trying to take you away from him", things will get messy really quickly, especially because he...Uhm...He's not very intimidating at first. He will shove away literally anyone that's even just looking in your direction.

"Che cazzo guardi? I'm their boyfriend, got it?!"

If they don't care about his warning, and try to do something as outrageous as even just touching you with the point of their finger...This boy has a knife on himself, and he sure as hell isn't afraid to use it.

Whether you try to stop him, it's up to you, if you decide not to do anything about it, soon enough there would be a dude running away from the two of you with a huge ass cut on his wrist, almost like Narancia was trying to cut off his hands.

"DO YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST TOUCH THEM AND GET AWAY WITH IT?! THEY. ARE. MINE."

Expect him to hold your hand...Or just you in general for the rest of the day. He won't let anyone get slightly close to you.

It's no big surprise, but he also gets worried when he sees you spending time with someone that isn't him. It isn't just jealousy, this boy's self esteem is incredibly low. He knows he can be annoying, loud or childish, and he constantly fears that you're just going to leave him for someone better.

Unlike Mista, who does try to be a bit more subtle about it, Narancia just doesn't know limits. He'll tell you about how he's feeling without any unnecessary words.

"You don't...Like them more than me, Right? I...I didn't mess up, did I?"

Same thing applies for the gang, especially since he knows who he's 'competing' against, even though the others aren't actually interested in you and just see you as a friend.

Honestly, when you always find yourself compared to someone like Bruno or Giorno, it is pretty hard to believe that you can actually keep up with them.

But thankfully, unless he's on a mission, this baby boy is always around to make sure that you're not spending too much time away from him. And by 'too much time'...I mean 24 hours at best.

He's happy to see you're friends with the others, but he definitely looks forward to being alone with you the most. He just needs to feel you close to him and him only.

"Come oooon cucciola...Don't go with Mista and Trish, tell 'em an excuse, stay here with me! Please? Pretty pretty please??? We can do anything you want! I promise! Just...D-Don't leave"

He keeps his words, and spends the entire time cuddling and filling you with kisses, as you do some activity of your choice. When he says anything, he means it.

Fugo 🍓

This dude is a ticking bomb when it comes to jealousy. He's among the ones that deal with their emotions in the worst possible way, especially anger. His quite jealous nature doesn't help in the slightest.

Sure, he is more well mannered than Mista and Narancia, but in practice, he lacks the patience that he needs in order to deal with jealousy attacks in a not alarming way.

His anger issues have gotten better ever since you started dating, but he still has a long way to go for sure.

If he noticed someone subtly (or not) trying to flirt with you, Fugo will genuinely make an effort to behave well and maintain his formal façade and language.

"I believe there was a...Well... Misunderstanding. You see, they're already taken, I apologise for the confusion"

You almost can't help but be surprised as to how well he managed to keep his cool. You know the blonde prefers to avoid catching other people's attention and maintain a low profile, but it'S still quite out of the ordinary.

...That is, of course, if the other person decides to listen to him and leave. If they act as what he had just said doesn't matter, that is when things really do get out of hand.

You realize something bad is about to happen, when you see him standing up from his chair, or slowly taking a small step further the unwanted presence.

"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU? ARE YOU BRAIN DEAD? DO YOU JUST NOT UNDERSTAND MY LANGUAGE? THEY HAVE NO BUSINESS WITH YOU, CHIARO?!"

Ahhh...Sweet lovable Fugo.

He apologise immediately after for his outburst, he's genuinely trying to get better, but when it comes to someone getting in the way of the two of you...He just can't accept it.

He'll ask for your forgiveness like he has just killed your entire family and he expects you to despise him. Please reassure him a little, and then you can go back to your date.

He also gets kinda worried when he's forced to be away from you for too long, especially since he would probably play a very major and key role in the organization as a strategist.

There may be times when he just can't be by your side, and he can't help but wonder what you might be up to. This boy is paranoid, are you feeling neglected? Ignored? What can he do about it?

Similarly to Bruno, he often checks on you to see who you've been hanging out with, and promises you several times to make up for the lost time once he manages to get a day off.

If he is at home though, and he notices you hanging out quite often with other people, he'll start to grow anxious, but is too shy to actually tell you. He thinks he'll come off as too overbearing if he does.

"Oh...Alright, have fun with them, we'll...Uhm, go on a date another time, don't worry about it"

He's probably forcing a sad smile in the meantime. It's enough for you to convince you to cancel your plans to stay with him. He'll try to convince you to go, but you probably won't listen.

I'd say that when it comes to the gang, the only ones who worry him are Mista and Narancia. Not because they'd try to take you away from him on purpose, but these two are just way too sociable and would probably befriend a wall if they could. It doesn't help that they're around the most.

He will keep you a bit closer to himself when you're all together, but overall, he tries to trust them, trust you, and convince himself that you're not going to grow tired of him.

His alone time with you is probably perfectly planned and crafted, he wants every moment you spend together to be perfect, to make sure that you're enjoying yourself and his presence.

"This night...There will be only us. Nobody to bother our serenity, no missions to take care of, just...You and I. Non ti sembra magnifico, tesoro?

Abbacchio ⏮️

He's the most closed off and harsh member of the team, but you can be sure that the love he feels for you is authentic, and he wouldn't dare to think about leaving you or replacing you with someone.

He has very few people he genuinely values in his life, and he won't let anything nor anyone snatch you away from him. He has already lost someone because he wasn't careful enough, he refuses to commit the same mistake twice.

...At the same time, however, his ego is too high for him to actually admit or even act as he's jealous. He'll try to brush off any sort of annoyance caused by other people like it's nothing, but damn does he absolutely want to kick the shit out of anyone who dares to check you out.

Although it is extremely rare that someone would try to mess around with the partner of an edgy dark goth, some fools might decide to test their luck...And miserably fail.

He won't day anything, his freezing stare is enough to make the other realize that they're definitely bitting more than they can chew. Anyone with a bit of self consciousness would you the two of you alone.

It is probable that you didn't even notice what just happened, Abbacchio always kinda has this resting bitch face when someone approaches him even slightly, it's nothing new to you.

If the 'nuisance', in a moment of compete craziness, pretends not to see him, his deep tone of voice will end the job for him.

"Leave, now."

Nothing more, nothing less.

He will go on with your date like that interference had never happened. He didn't even think about just how much it came off as threatening, it just felt...Like the right thing to say, and so he did.

He doesn't believe it's jealousy, just the mere desire to 'protect' you. Anyone would have reacted like that.

However, Abbacchio truly does respect your boundaries, as he needs them too. He never bats an eye when your friends ask you to spend the night together and is genuinely happy to see how many people treasure and care about you.

"I have some work to attend to anyway, take your mind off some things and enjoy yourself, I won't go anywhere"

At the same time, he feels very comfortable and calm in leaving you with his coworkers. He knows that the idea of them bring more than friends to you would never cross your mind, and he's also sure that nobody out of them would try anything funny. They're either too smart, or too stupid to do so.

The only times when he might start to feel a bit more dense regarding the subject is when he's unable to see or just be in contact with you for more than a week. Nervousness starts kicking in as his mind begins to imagine some...Not so nice scenarios.

You'll notice that he's slightly more physically affectionate than usual when he comes back, and despite how much he hates to say it out loud, he will express his desire for some...Well, more private moments.

"Forget about them, I'm everything that you're going to need tonight, fidati di me, amore"

Trish 🎙

Jealous Trish is pretty funny ngl.

Now, even though she does close herself off when she's not comfortable around someone, she's usually quite easy-going and emotional. Unlike what you might think or expect from a teen girl, she doesn't get jealous often.

She has more social awareness than most of the boys though, and she also has an image to maintain, being a pop singer. You cannot risk to meds up your reputation because someone looked at your partner in a way you didn't like.

Although I believe she would be quite the overprotective girlfriend, probably always holding your hand in public or initiating some other form of physical affection so that people won't get too close.

If someone does, however, you honestly have nothing to worry about. She's quite self conscious and knows how not to snap when faced with unwanted situations and people.

She's quick to step in and gently pushes you aside, away from the source of discomfort, faking a smile.

"Oh! I'm very sorry, what is it that you said again? My partner and I couldn't hear you"

She acts rather passively-aggressively. All she wants is to put the other person in a scenario that is so awkward that they won't be able to say anything back.

She's quick to dismiss them and probably forgets about it soon enough. She knows paparazzi are ready to jump out of every corner as soon as they can spot drama.

This also means that, if push came to shove, she wouldn't waste another single word on that person, she'd simply grab you by the hand and get you away from them as soon as possible.

"Urgh...Some people just don't know their space, do they?...Well, not that I blame them, who wouldn't want to have you as their partner, dolcezza?"

She's also the type that will never admit to be jealous under any possible circumstances. She does turn red and tries to act casual about it if you tried to bring it up, which honestly makes her look adorable.

She isn't also the type to get jealous of your friends, being a singer takes a lot of energy and keeps her very busy, she knows you're gonna have other people in your life aside from her.

If she's home, however, she won't demand you to stay with her alone, but she will go out with you most of the times. Your friends like having you around, and she likes to be around them.

A friend of yours is a her friend, after all!

"You're seeing them again today? Awesome! Come on tesoruccio, let me think of a good outfit to wear! Wait...How about matches outfits?"

She's super chill and happy about you bonding with the gang. Honestly, she can't think of anyone who would try a move on you, they all know they're going to get their ads swayed in place if they do.

But on a more serious note, Trish cares very deeply about them, she wants you to feel like an actual part of the family and always joins in your chaos if she's around.

You two do go on dates quite often when you actually get the chance to, though. Trish loves to look at you in the eyes and takes huge pride in being your girlfriend.

"Well, where would you like to go tonight? Me? Oh, I'm fine with everything! It's been a while since I last saw you...I just want to be by your side right now"

#jojo #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #jjba golden wind #jjba part 5 #jojo vento aureo #jojo's bizzare adventure vento aureo #jojo golden wind #buccigang #giornogiovanna #giorno x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #bucciarati x reader #bruno x reader #narancia ghirga x reader #narancia x reader #guido mista x reader #jjba mista #mista x reader #pannacotta fugo x reader #fugo x reader #leone abbachio x reader #abbacchio x reader #trish x reader #trish una x reader #trish jjba #narancia jjba #mista jjba #abbacchio jjba

[blacctheangrypope]

I fear that by saying this I will jinx it, however, I have found an overabundance of neat folks on Tumblr which pleases me to no end. Of course, there will always be trash incarnate resting their grubby little hands on this site, but it seems I've mostly managed to avoid them which is nice. =•)

#I am painfully aware of how this will not last if I decide to go deeper into this lil land #but please let me live in bliss untill that horrifying day comes #I fear it all #yet I no longer feel terror alongside that #mayhaps if I try hard enough #I will manage to avoid all of the fools that haunt the reputation of this site like ghosts #of course #this will not help me in the longrun for I much prefer the Tumblr app to the Tumblr site #however I genuinely have no clue if it sounds weird or not to refer to Tumblr as an app even if it is one #the issue is that I havent been on here long enough to actually know that much about the unspoken rules #but also I fear if I stay here long enough to learn the such #I will no longer have my vision clouded with bliss and hopefullness similar to that of what a small child possess dreaming of a future world #and I will not only be fearful #but understanding #with knowledge that will have its icy gold grip on me until I perish like any simple commoner would #I remaim in the state of being where I am vaguely aware of the cruel path ahead that patiently waits for me #however am foolishly ignoring that the road I am actively jogging towards is the one I will end up on if I continue #the jog itself is a very light jog of course #but it isn't standing still #I will get to my destination eventually

[wri0thesley]

Nat... 👉👈 since requests are open can I please request some Gojo fluff? If you need a little inspo maybe like, reader and him meet after they were abroad for a mission or something? I'm in love with this funky man and I just wanna give him kiths

sweet tooth - gojo x reader, sfw, 2.5k

the early bird catches the worm. or the cake, you guess.

(just a lot of talking about food tbh . . . i dont get to write pure sfw fluff much, thank u for letting me indulge in my jjk brainrot NFJVND. gn reader! )

You know as well as anyone how little free time a jujutsu sorcerer has. You’ve spent most of your past few years rushing around from place to place, calling it a good night’s rest when you manage to fall amongst your coverings before the clock strikes three in the morning. You think this probably has to go double for somebody in such a constant state of being needed as Gojo – but still, he’d shown up outside your room this morning, bright and early, and said; “We’re going out!”

He hadn’t mentioned that you were still clad in pyjamas, your hair still a mess about your face, eyes still sleep and shadowed. You had jumped out of bed at the knock, of course – you’re used to being needed at the drop of a hat – but there is nothing at all in the way Gojo is looking at you to suggest there’s any kind of danger brewing.

He got in last night at the same time as you, after an exorcism had dragged on longer than expected – you know this. So how is his skin still glowing like moonlight, his voice still so bright, his hair still falling over his blindfold in that effortless perfectly-styled-without-being-styled way?

If he’s slept, he’s gotten the same hour and fifteen minutes you’ve gotten.

“Not even a warning?” You sigh, stifling a yawn. “I haven’t had time to clean my weapons or anything--”

“Woah!” Gojo’s grin doesn’t fade, but he holds up his hands as if he’s trying to avoid a savage attack. “Just you and me. No curses, promise. You won’t be needing those.” He cocks his head to the side. “Unless you wanna try and take me. I think you’d lose!”

Your brow furrows. You know you’d lose, and so does he.

“Have you seen the time?” You ask him, instead. You don’t question why or how he’d gotten into the hallway to stand like this outside of the room you’re renting in Tokyo for a while. You’ve learnt after knowing him for a while that what Gojo wants, he gets – besides. If he’d sweet-talked your landlady into letting him in, you couldn’t blame her for falling for his charms.

He sticks his head into your room and turns his face towards the clock on the wall, ticking merrily away, mocking you. You had hoped, after last night, the next time you saw a clock the hour hand would be well past twelve again. He pulls back.

“Now I have.”

“. . . aren’t you tired?”

Gojo shrugs, maddeningly. Half of what he does is irritating to the highest degree – the other half makes your stomach do strange somersaults that you try and push away. Getting a crush on Gojo Satoru is just going to lead to disaster. Although at this point, you have to admit to yourself that it’s more a case of ‘having a crush’ – there’s not much denying it, when he twinkles at you like this.

“You’ve gotten a good hour of beauty sleep,” he chirps. “Not that you need it. Let me take you out!”

You’re still focussing on the compliment, slipped into his words as if it’s as simple as breathing, when he enters your room full-on and is opening your wardrobe.

“H-hey,” you say, weakly. He’s rifling through the rack without a care in the world. “I—I can dress myself--”

“It’s quicker if I do it,” he replies, pulling out one of your favourite shirts. “Here, catch--!” Your reflexes allow you to not make a fool of yourself in front of him. “The colour of that one’s pretty! It’ll look nice on you.”

You’ve had more clothes piled into your arms before you can blink. You guess that Gojo must know his way around clothes – you’ve seen some of the brands and price tags of things he wears – but you can’t help but be a little flabbergasted by just how casual he is about everything. Maybe it’s the fact that your brain is still short-circuiting after being woken up earlier than you were expecting.

He finishes and walks over to you.

“I’ll wait outside.”

“W-what a gentleman,” you manage, and he throws his head back and laughs, and the laugh feels like it lodges warm in your chest. “After waking me up, bursting into my bedroom--”

“I’ll pay for everything,” he promises. He saunters out of your room, pulling the door closed behind him, calling; “I’ll make it up to you, promise!”

You stand there for a few more moments, still struggling to process the whirlwind that is Gojo’s presence in your life – half joking, half serious, half making you think that maybe you stand a chance, when he calls through the door;

“I can’t hear you moving!”

You jump. You wriggle out of your nightwear, your cheeks heating up, as you snap back;

“You said you were going to wait out there, not that you were going to press your ear to it and listen like some kind of stalker--!”

–

You stare in confusion at the fancy window in front of you, decorated with swirling cursive in gold. From outside, you can see into the establishment – the white scrollwork chairs, the cake stands, the menus standing up in their pale white leather covers. The early morning sunlight from outside is reflecting off a perfectly organised display case teeming with tiny little perfectly formed cakes.

“If you were craving something sweet,” you say, eventually, “surely there was an easier way to get it than this.”

Gojo grabs your arm cheerfully, pulling you towards the entrance of the patisserie.

“Well, I got the first sweet thing I was craving,” he ticks it off with his other hand. “But then I had one of my patented brainwaves.” He elbows you. “Put them both together!”

“I’m not feeling very sweet after you interrupted my sleep,” you mumble, but you know that there’s no real bite in your words. You hope Gojo doesn’t notice the reaction that you have – you know he’d never let it go. You often don’t know how to respond to his flirting – he has a reputation, after all, and you are just . . . you.

“We had to get here early, anyway,” he says, as he stands before the counter. The man in the apron and chef hat behind it recognises him immediately, lighting up – you wonder how much money Gojo spends on expensive patisserie. Everyone knows he has a sweet tooth. “They sell out of some of the best stuff well before ten!”

Gojo knows exactly what he’s doing as he points out various desserts from the display case, the man falling over himself to get the – frankly absurd amount of sweets – carefully packaged up for him. You’re not surprised, knowing Gojo, about the cute animal-shaped cakes that he chooses, the smiling bears and cats with ears made of sliced strawberries. You’re a little more surprised by all of the fancier pieces he chooses that you don’t recognise, but you don’t have much time for dwelling on it.

Spoils in hand, you peer further into the establishment to choose a table.

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” Gojo says cheerfully. “We’ll find somewhere outside to sit. It’s such a nice morning!”

You don’t miss the grin he shoots you as he says ‘morning’, the sidelong tip of his head as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll scold him again for interrupting your sleep. You do no such thing, content to be pulled along behind him again as he goes off in search of a place to enjoy his spoils.

People just tend to be pulled along by Gojo’s magnetism, you’ve discovered – and you are, hopelessly, no different.

He finds a quiet bench in a shady corner of one of the local parks; the only other people going past occasional elderly, walking their little dogs. He pats the wooden frame of the bench next to him, smiling.

“You’re not going to make me eat all of this by myself, huh?”

“It’s enough for eight people,” you say, sighing and resigning yourself to your fate as you take the place. He’s lucky you have a sweet tooth too; if he’d brought someone else, they’d probably be shirking back in horror at all the sugar. “You could probably eat it by yourself anyway.”

He pouts.

“I want to share it with you,” he says, cajoling – his fingers hover over one of the smaller cakes, a perfect bite-sized morsel. You try not to think about the elegant lines of his fingers and the power behind them as he plucks it up and offers it to you. “This one’s really good.”

You bring up your hand to take the sweet from him, but he laughs as your fingers bounce away from him, not quite able to get a purchase.

“Let me feed you,” he says to you, and blood rushes to your face all over again.

“I—I can feed myself,” you say, swallowing thickly. Gojo’s smile, on full, sculpted lips, makes butterflies crash into one another in the pit of your stomach.

He brings the treat to your mouth and he’s right, it does look really good. It’s a neat little roll cake, small in Gojo’s fingers, with the green colouring so many sweets you’ve eaten in Japan have been – you hope it’s not matcha, knowing the flavour will surprise you and Gojo will probably laugh, but you open your mouth in defeat and let Gojo pop it in there. His fingers linger a little too long against your lips, his expression fluttering so quickly you don’t quite catch it.

If you didn’t know better . . . you’d say that he had just fought back a blush.

“Is it good?” He asks, and his voice sounds a little strangled. You bite down on the cake, the juice of the strawberries coating your tongue – it is matcha, but the flavour is offset by the sweetness of the vanilla and fruits, and you’re glad about it. You nod enthusiastically, and he laughs.

“I told you!” He taps your cheek. “I know what I’m talking about!”

“You’re so smug,” you tell him, unable to hold back the laughter that’s bubbling out of you. Alright, maybe he woke you up too early and maybe he’s dragged you outside and maybe he’s been haunting your daydreams for months now, but . . . you think he means well. And you can’t deny that the sun is shining and the cakes are really delicious.

“If you were me,” he says, stretching out his arms over the back of the bench, “you would be smug too.” You shake your head at him, but he has a satisfied smile on his face. “Feed me one!”

“Are you going to let me?” You ask. “Or are you just going to bounce it away with your Infinity to make fun of me?”

You hover over the selection yourself, considering what to choose for him. In the end, you go for one of the mini slices of mille crepe cake, reasoning with yourself that even if it’s unusual to be eating so much cake this early, at least crepes are a traditional breakfast. Gojo obediently opens his mouth wider as you lift the slice.

You falter.

“You really want me to feed you?” You ask him, unsure. He laughs, grabbing ahold of your wrist – you almost start as he takes a bite from the treat, his lips tantalisingly close to your fingers. Another bite, and the cake is gone (you’ve never seen slices of mille crepe so small – but then again, judging by the eye-watering amount Gojo paid for his spoils, you’d never be able to afford to buy from a place like that).

“Mm,” he smacks his lips together. “It’s good.”

You swallow, noticing that there’s a smear of the cream between layers at the corner of his mouth. Gojo notices you staring, and quirks his lips into a smirk. “You’re staring,” he says. “I know I’m gorgeous, but--”

“You’ve got . . .” You say, awkward, motioning to his face. Somehow, it feels too intimate to lean forward and dab it away yourself – he’d asked you to feed him, after all. If you did it of your own accord. . .

“Huh? Oh,” He moves one of the arms casually draped over the bench to his face, and you think he is going to wipe it away – but instead, he hooks his thumb under his blindfold, pushing it up casually so the light hits the swirling colours in his eyes.

You’ve seen them before, of course – you’ve seen Gojo at work, after all – but they’re still a surprise, a bright moment of swirling starshine dropped on you when you’re least expecting it. Your stomach does that flip-flop again, the one that you try so hard to ignore – but when he’s looking at you like that, curious and smug all at once, you don’t really know how to handle it.

You’re glad you’re in a secluded spot. There’s nobody to see the embarrassing display of you not quite knowing what to do with yourself.

“You can get it,” he says to you. “I don’t mind.”

“I—”

“Look.” His other hand rises, cups your face, thumb ghosting across the same spot on your cheek that he’d tapped earlier. “I left icing sugar on your face. I’ll get that, and then we’ll be even.”

(Did he do that on purpose, you wonder? You wouldn’t be surprised.)

Your hand is trembling as you reach for the cream. You try and force your fingers to be still as you lean in closer to him, eyes concentrated, as you wipe the little splotch of cream from his mouth. You’re so close you can see galaxies in his eyes, the fan of white lashes, the way that his throat bobs when he swallows as if he’s nervous--

Nervous? Gojo? That can’t be true.

“I got it,” you breathe, though you don’t move. Your faces are so close together. You could lean forward, just a bit, and meet his lips with your own. Gojo’s eyes stay trained on you, not faltering in the least. His thumb is still on your cheek. Your own finger hasn’t moved from the corner of his mouth.

“Wanna know what it tastes like?” Is that a falter, in his voice? You’re stuttering all over the place, but Gojo--

“I’m not gonna put that in my mouth after it’s been on your face,” you tell him, without moving. Your heart is beating ten to the dozen. Gojo’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says – and he breaks the distance himself, and suddenly he is kissing you. The hand on your cheek cupping your face into his, the other hand going about your waist, holding you tightly against him like he’s been wanting to do it since the moment he woke you up that morning.

(The mille crepe cake is delicious, you find out, from the lingering taste on his lips. Next time you two go there in the early morning rush, Gojo buys two slices.)

#writing #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sfw #please take this from me so i dont have to look at it anymore fnjkbgfnb #this just made me... hungry.... #magnolia-penn #jjk writing tag

[itsmyara]

Playing Cards (SFW Fanfic)

Pairing: Chrollo/Machi (yep!)

Word Count: 1.7 k

Warning: Hisoka acting psycho.

Note: I've recently talked about Kuromachi with @takkarulz and it reminded me of this VERY old fic. It was supposed to be the first chapter of a story about Hisoka's first mission with the Troupe but I don't think I'm gonna continue it. Oh, and it was originally written in Portuguese, so maybe something got lost in translation. I hope not but sorry if it did!

The prey was aware of the bloodlust that emanated from his pores. Hisoka was bored when he felt that random aura and left in pursuit. Granted, it wasn’t a strong aura, but the relative abstinence made him lower his criteria. Any less-than-a-minute fight would offer some relief. The prey was already running ahead, looking back at him now and then in despair. He was sweating, breathing heavily, tripping over his own feet. It was a shame. Even so, the predator felt that in that aura there was an impulse to try to fight back, a courage that could spring from adrenaline and give him some precious extra time to live.

He focused entirely on instilling fear in him, as a favor to awaken that trace of hidden strength, and as a favor for his own sadism.

Fear and death roamed the desolate streets at night, accompanied only by concrete walls, garbage cans overturned by mangy dogs, and abandoned souls, drunken and empty, who wouldn’t dare to approach the source of that terrifying bloodlust.

Hisoka's expression was already inhuman.

The victim turned a corner, looked around, started to run faster. Perhaps he was close to home and struggled to reach it, with that false feeling that at home he would be safe. Poor fool. The predator licked his lips, he wouldn’t allow the prey to gain distance from him. In fact, he didn’t intend to let him free for too long.

Thirsty for action, Hisoka dashed and jumped to reach him faster but when he was in mid-air, something stopped his body, suspending it far from the ground, and a third presence was revealed. A woman fell gracefully in front of him and as soon as her feet touched the ground, her hands pulled a thread, making him realize that the trap had tightened around his body.

The pink-haired woman boldly stepped between him and his victim, and when she looked up and glared at him, her blue eyes were unfazed by his bloodlust. The victim stopped for a moment to try to understand what had happened, but he wasn't stupid enough to stay.

Soon it was only he and her.

Hisoka smiled and sought a comfortable position within her trap. It was worth exchanging the weak prey for that woman who either mastered zetsu very well or knew how to take advantage of his distraction to catch him. Either way, she was incomparably stronger.

“Well, well... and who are you?” His voice sounded mischievous as his eyes sparkled, studying her carefully.

She kept him in her threads without difficulty, as they crossed the deserted street trapped to the side of two buildings, forming a web that closed around him in the center. A spider web. She was skilled and agile to prepare that engineering in such a short time. Besides this, she also had that delightful demeanor. So under control. So cold. So full of an unshakable self-confidence. It wasn’t someone to be thrown away. Maybe he would keep her to play with, little by little, instead of killing her at once.

“I have a message from the boss,” when she said those words, Hisoka understood and closed his eyes. He definitely would have to save her for later. “Midnight at the sanctuary of St. Levi. If you’re too busy hunting mice, you will suffer the consequences.”

A crooked smile grew on the magician's face. Suffering the consequences was what he wanted the most, but not in the way they used to apply them.

“Will the boss be there?” He asked, but his question was ignored.

“I think you can get out of there alone.”

It was the last thing she said before disappearing into the night.

There was a possibility that Chrollo would attend the meeting, but there was also the possibility that it would end up being just another spiders’ meeting that would kill him with boredom at once. He had recently joined the Phantom Troupe for a single purpose, and so far he had successfully avoided childish robberies and meaningless missions, no matter who showed up to try to intimidate him.

An Ace of Hearts took shape between his fingers and he used it to slash the tangled threads that held him. To his surprise, not all of them broke on the first blow, demanding one or two more hits for him to break free completely.

He thought that maybe this time it would be worth it to show up at the meeting if she were there.

***

Their current hideout was a mansion away from the city and with a reputation for being haunted. The abandonment of the building made it cold and fragile, but there was a certain beauty in all those aged memories left by the corners, and in the way nature was taking over the place little by little. In a few years, the creeping plants will probably take it over completely.

Machi entered through the backdoor absolutely quietly, just in case. Soon she realized that there was someone in the basement and she walked down the stairs, equally silent, to find Chrollo sitting on an old wooden chest. By candlelight, he analyzed something on a table in front of him.

“Fascinating... whoever lived here, was someone impressive. It is not by chance that this house has a reputation for being haunted,” he whispered when she approached but kept his gray eyes fixed on the objects spread on the table.

In that room, Machi noticed opaque crystals, rusty metal objects that were supposed to serve very specific uses, animal skulls with horns, and some books so old and yellow that she thought they would turn to dust if she looked at them for too long. She stood next to the boss and realized that what captured his attention were cards, similar to a playing deck, but more numerous and richly illustrated even though -- like everything in that basement -- they were in dull colors.

“Did these objects serve any ritualistic purpose? They must be flooded with nen,” the energy of the place was somewhat obscure, and she thought that maybe this is why he felt comfortable there.

“I haven’t found any trace of nen in this basement,” he said, causing a brief expression of surprise in her. Fascinating, really.

Chrollo finally looked at her, his expression calm and pleasant. His eyes were more mysterious and dark than the energy of the place. By far more fascinating. Eyes that caused her the same feeling, again and again, after so many years.

Perhaps because she was so close that he could feel that commotion inside of her, or perhaps because he was feeling comfortable in that environment, he placed one hand on her waist, while the other held some cards.

“Sit here with me, as we used to do when I read to you,” he said, invoking the past and leading her gently so that she sat on his right thigh.

The memory stirred the feelings inside her even more. She was so young when she found him, a beautiful, intelligent and kind boy, as young as she was, who talked to her, played with her, and cared for her. Chrollo was always different from everyone else. He had ended up awakening in her still innocent heart that dream that he was a prince charming and that they would marry someday, even marriage being such an abstract concept in Meteor City. It turned out that the commitment she had made to him was far greater than that of a marriage.

Enjoying the moment, she rested her arm around his shoulders and studied the cards ahead more closely now.

“Are these tarot cards?” She asked, vaguely recognizing a couple of drawings.

“Yes, it’s the most valuable thing I’ve found here. The style is so unique, each card is a work of art by itself.”

Her eyes met an Arcana and she leaned over to pick it up, almost instinctively. The Fool, with his extravagant clothes and gestures, looking at the horizon from the edge of the abyss, projecting himself to it with nothing to hold him back -- from the infinite fall or from the flight to the horizon. Her intuition led her to believe it would be the first option.

“How was it with him?” Chrollo asked, noticing the card she was looking at so attentively.

“He's strong, I ended up having to set a trap with more aura than I've expected,” she replied almost automatically, only managing to return the card at the end of the sentence.

“He wouldn't have listened to you any other way.”

"No," she confirmed, and then they looked at each other. “The decision is yours, danchou, but I wouldn’t trust him.”

“This is why you didn't bring him here. You’ve decided to wait until tomorrow.”

Chrollo hadn’t told her to take Hisoka to him, he had left the option in the hands of her interpretation. Since the magician was one of them, he belonged -- in theory -- to that place with them, and it would have been natural for her to invite him. But it wasn’t.

Machi knew that sometimes Chrollo let her interpret his orders because he trusted her judgment. And in addition to not having taken him to the boss, she also left promptly so as not to be followed.

“You have been more receptive to new members before,” he said softly.

And the fact that he pulled her to him gently to place a kiss on her temple softened his speech even more.

“Sorry, he seemed to have a special interest in you,” she spoke in a slightly serious tone. Intuition. Concern.

Something that made him snicker as his free hand touched her hair.

“Don’t worry too much, Machi.”

That was the end of the subject brought up by the card. Soon he would touch her thigh and his hand would roam her body. Soon he would show her how comfortable he felt, to the point of allowing himself to enjoy the tenderness that Machi dedicated to him right from her lips, her skin, and her embrace.

#kuromachi #chrollo #machi #hisoka #chrollo lucilfer #machi komachine #machi komacine #hisoka morrow #chrollo x machi #machi hxh #chrollo hxh #myarawrites

[dirt-cup-draco]

George x Reader- Because I Want You

hey! if you are still taking requests (i love your writing btw) i would like to request a george weasley x reader. where she’s friends with the twins and she’s on a date with a boy and the twins ruin their date and he confesses his feelings, ending in fluff. thanks! hope you are well! 💓

“Why are you-” Fred started, motioning to your neat outfit.

“Dressed up like that?” George finished, eyes wide and adoring. 

You rolled your eyes, your friends were nosy and you knew if you told them the truth they would pester you to no end. “None of your business,” You argued as Fred laughed, George frowning. 

“She’s going on a date,” Ginny smirked.

“Ginny!” You scolded, swatting her. “I didn’t want them knowing!” 

“And why is that?” Fred prodded, George still silent as his frown grew more severe. 

“Because!” You reasoned. “You two always have some stupid plan and it always messes up my life,” 

Fred pretended to be hurt but George’s heart ached a bit at your words. You thought they were just there to screw up your life? It hurt almost as much as the fact that you were going on a date and hadn’t wanted to tell him. He understand that he and his brother could go too far but he had hoped that you were still able to confide in him. He thought you two were close. 

“Right then,” George coughed, “We better get to lunch then, leave Y/N to her date,” With that, the chaotic twins excused themselves, George gripping Fred’s arm and dragging him away as you narrowed your eyes. George was acting weird. And Fred was following along? Something must be wrong. 

“Oi, what’s got into you then?” Fred asked, “If you’re so upset about her going on a date, just tell her how you feel,” He guessed as his twin scowled at the fireplace in their common room later that night. 

“Keep your voice down!” George scolded, eyes darting around at the empty place. Everyone was using their weekend to the fullest and we was sulking while his brother gave him a pep talk. 

“What have you got to lose?” Fred asked as his brother looked uncharacteristically sad. 

“Her,” He admitted, biting his fingernail as he thought of all the possible ways he could be rejected by you.

“What if she feels the same?”

“You don’t know that,” George shot back, daring his brother to argue. 

“No, I dont,” Fred cursed himself for not knowing where you stood. “But we could find out,” He began, an idea forming in his head. “If she has the worst date in history she’ll never want to go on a second one with this bozo and then you’ll sweep and boom! instant hero,” 

“No...” George said softly as his eyes widened. “Fred that’s awful...that’s- that’s brilliant!” He hopped up, grabbing his twin’s hand and pulling him up from the couch. “Let’s go!” He exclaimed, grabbing his coat and dashing towards hogsmeade. 

--

It had started with your date, Dean Thomas, accidentally spilling his glass of butterbeer on you. He apologized quickly, trying to wipe it up before you interrupted, using a simple charm to clean up. 

“Sorry Y/N, don’t know how that happened,” He chuckled awkwardly as you both tried to pick up where your conversation had ended abruptly. After another near mishap with butterbeer, the two of you had decided to take a walk around Hogsmeade and maybe visit Zonkos. 

Then Dean had tripped miraculously on nothing, nearly sending a display toppling on you. He had been red faced and apologetic, making sure you were alright. After that you decided to go to Honeydukes. 

As fate would have it you were both talking easily again, Dean even grabbing your hand at one point. Things were starting to mend themselves when the poor boy slipped, tugging you down with him. “Merlin, I swear I’m not usually such a klutz, Seamus must have given me his bad luck for the night,” 

“No worries,” You said airily but you had to admit the date hadn’t been going well. Was it a sign? You’d been hesitant to say yes in the first place but Ginny had reassured you Dean was a great guy, just not the one for her. She held no bad feelings for the boy and if you wanted to say yes you could. 

You had exited the shop, deciding to walk to the shrieking shack. Maybe keeping things simple would cure the date from it’s bad reputation. Dean was embarrassed but kept his cool and you admired it, keeping hold of his hand so he didn’t feel too bad for the way things had gone. 

You had managed to salvage things, the rest of the night going swimmingly as you sat a fair distance from the legendary haunted house. You had talked under the moonlight, shoulder pressed to his as you spoke about your classes, likes and dislikes. Dean had turned towards you, a hopeful look in his eye as he fell quiet. 

He was going to kiss you. You were nervous, you hadn’t kissed someone for a while, not really looking to date. What if you were a bad kisser? Before he could kiss you however he was pulling back with a sudden jerk, yelping.

“Alright?” You questioned. 

“Y-yeah, sorry it just felt like something hit my head...” He trailed off, looking around him in confusion. He didn’t find anything satisfactory and turned back to you, “Now where were we?” He tried to bring back the mood. 

It failed however as there was the distinct sound of something bouncing off the back of his head, a pebble falling to the ground as Dean cried out again. “What in the world?” 

After shaking off the mystery pebble, he tried kissing you once more before he was being pelted with several pebbles, some even missing their target and hitting you. You both jumped up, trying to avoid the rocks. 

“It must be that damned house!” Dean hollered, “This date is cursed! Sorry, Y/N!” He shouted over his shoulder as pebbles continued to follow him as he raced towards Hogwarts. The second he was gone from your sight it seemed the chaos ended. You were speechless. 

“This date is cursed!?” You repeated to yourself, kicking the ground in frustration. “What rubbish!” 

You fell back onto the ground, feeling.. confused to say the least. You had thought it had been going well. Sure things had been a bit odd but not enough for Dean to leave you here alone... 

Suddenly a familiar voice was calling, “You alright?” 

You looked up to find George, a curious look on his face as you nodded. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Dean left... The whole night was chaos!” You started to rant, not even stopping to think. “It was going fine until his butterbeer practically flew off the table onto my lap! And then he barely tapped a shelf at Zonkos and the entire thing nearly fell on us! We went to Hogsmeade and he fell and took me with him. It was craziness Georgie! And then we were just sitting here and it was so good and out of nowhere-”  You froze. 

George was being awfully silent. You narrowed your eyes as you looked at him again and he was just standing patiently in a new jumper his mom had made for him, hair neater than normal. What was he doing here in the first place? 

“Please tell me you didn’t,” You started, knowing he would understand. A nervous smile broke out on his face and your heart sank. “George Weasley I cannot believe you! Fred, where are you, you coward? Come out now! I want to properly scold the both of you!” You were livid. 

“Fred left, chased Dean off,” George admitted, that smile wiped from his face as he looked at you sheepishly. 

“Why?” you asked, “Why George? I expected this from Fred but not you... I thought you knew when to draw the line and not go too far... But this, this was too far,” You shook your head, not knowing what else to say. You shoved past George, more upset than you’d been in a while. 

“Wait, Y/N, let me explain,” He pleaded and you spun on your heel, jabbing your finger in his chest as your eyes threatened to release the tears you were desperately holding back. 

“What could you possibly have to say?!” You asked. “What makes this better George? What justifies you ruining my date?” 

“I wanted it to be me,” George gulped, suddenly feeling like this might have been a  not so brilliant plan as you looked at him with anger and worse, disappointment. 

“Excuse me?” You asked, not knowing quite what he meant. 

“I wanted to be the one on this date, I was jealous of Dean. You looked really pretty, you still do, and hearing that you didn’t want us knowing because you thought we might muck it up hurt. I wanted you to trust me and be able to tell me you were going on a date. I let it get the better of me and I did just what you said I would... I’m sorry Y/N,” George said truthfully, knowing he couldn’t possibly pull himself out of this hole. 

“George... I do trust you. I just don’t exactly like talking about my dating life with you...” You paused.

“Because?” George could see you trying to work through your unfinished sentence. You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose as you began to pace. He couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or not. 

“I don’t like dating around, never have. It feels useless,” You explained. “It feels useless because I don’t ever like the guy, my heart is set on someone else but tonight, with Dean, I thought I could move on,” Your voice cracked and George felt infinitely worse. 

“Can I ask who it is?” George asked carefully, knowing he was definitely one of the last people you wanted to talk to right now. It was a miracle you hadn’t hexed him yet. You laughed but it was brittle and sharp, going straight through George’s heart. 

“You idiot, don’t you know?” you bit your lip as you finally looked him in the eye, holding his gaze as he pulled meaning from your words. 

“S-since when? Why didn’t you tell me?” He gasped.

“Same reason you didn’t tell me, I s’pose.” You gave a watery chuckle and George grinned. 

“You mean it?” He asked. 

“Yes, I mean it. My heart is yours you fool,” 

George gathered you in his arms, kissing you like he’d been wanting to do all day and all night long. You grinned against his lips but then surprisingly, bit him. 

“What was that for?” He asked, puzzled. 

Your smile was saccharine and sinful. “Just a warning, never do anything like that ever again, I don’t care if you want to get my attention, just ask for it next time,” 

“Yes ma’am,” George gulped as you kissed him again, soothing his now slightly sore lip. 

“Now lets go back to Hogwarts, I’ve had enough chaos for the day, you can take me on a proper date next week,” You sighed but intertwined your fingers with George’s.

It had been a foolish idea, but you were secretly pleased now that you had George, the only positive of a miserable night. 

“Should Fred worry?” George asked as you two walked back, hand in hand. 

“Oh yes, he should worry a lot,” You smiled and George couldn’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up. You were something else but he adored you and he couldn’t be happier.  

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george x reader #angst #fluff #anon #ask #anon ask #request

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Innocence Lost || Michael Gray x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “ 2 & 7 from the prompt list. Perhaps for Michael? Don’t worry prompts just are tough since you can’t read anyone’s mind but you’ll come around. Every idea is different. I’ve been writing fan work for about six years and I still suck at prompts.” (Love you so much, thank you for your support, I’m so sorry for being late, hope you don’t hate me) Summary: n.2 & 7 from my prompt list: "He’s driving me crazy” +  “It hurts so bad I can’t breathe”

Warnings: angst, swearing, virgin reader, a little smut

Author’s notes:

First of all, this is awfully long [3967 words], but I really loved writing it, my favourite piece so far, thank you so much for requesting!

Paragraphs written in italics are flashbacks.

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and I spent a whole holiday without Wi-fi, moreover, writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

Let me know what you think and tell me if this is what you expected  ♡

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

“Y/n, please, you can’t keep this up, you need to eat” For the umpteenth time in a row, your best friend’s voice reached your ears from behind the locked door of your room, but, again, you just ignored her and the loud thuds produced by her small fists colliding with the dark wood, your watery eyes remained fixed on the window facing your messy bed, as your attention was totally reduced to the meagre sun rays feebly filtering from the curtains. Your mind somehow managed to isolate itself from the surrounding world, until those deafening screams and noises waned in your numb eardrums and your empty y/e/c irises disappeared behind your heavy eyelids, covered in evident violet veins alarmingly in relief under your deathly pale skin.

Once more, you inexorably drowned in your haunting memories leading your already faint breath to break, while a muffled sigh slightly escaped your bluish lips in desperate need of hydration. In a matter of seconds you fell in a fugue state, still far from sleeping, yet just as far from being awake, and then you saw him again: his piercing green eyes, the sharp features of his wonderful face, his soft lips always contracted in a harsh line; you perfectly remembered every single inch of his glorious figure, to the point that the illusive vision evoked by your exhausted brain looked so real, that you thought to be able to finally touch him, as your hand instinctively lifted from the mattress, agonizingly digging in the stale air, but never coming near to graze the actual object of its fondest desires.

Before you could at least try to avoid it, you found yourself retracing the course of your relationship with Michael for the millionth time, an acute wave of pain spread through your chest, stealing another excruciating moan from your throat.

The familiar ring of the small bell, specifically hung above the door, reverberated in the room, announcing the presence of another person in your mother’s shop.

You raised your head, already smiling at your new customer, and looked in the direction of the entrance, more than ready to help whoever it was find the perfect material for the making of a high-quality suit, still, when you realized who actually walked in your store, your heart skipped a beat and you felt cold drops instantly forming on your forehead.

“Good morning, sir, h-how can I help you?” With a courage you never knew you had, you almost stuttered those words, incapable of taking your eyes off the magnetic ones of none other than Michael Gray; your blood froze on the spot, your mother had always begged you to keep yourself out of the way of the infamous Peaky Blinders, she’d always said they were dangerous people and no good would’ve ever come from getting involved with them in any way, and that terrifying awareness had you panic even more under his penetrating stare, while you kept hearing your mum’s apprehensive tone echoing inside your mind.

“Miss? Is everything alright?”

Only when that unbelievably deep voice rocked the air around your body, you understood you must’ve got lost in your thunderous thoughts, probably looking like a complete fool, so with a simple toss of your head you eventually forced yourself to put aside your fear and smile once more, even though you just wanted to run away from that uncomfortable situation. “Yeah, I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Please, tell me what you need and I’ll do my best to make you leave satisfied” Those words frenetically tumbled out of your mouth as your nervous fingers moved a strand of your hair behind your right ear, where you had previously pinned a graceful white and blue orchid, like you used to do every day. You saw an amused grin forming on his face, his vigilant orbs studied your shape, following each movement you made with flaunted audacity. “You want me to leave that bad?” The earlier trickle of concern in his tone was now replaced by pure irony, and you felt your cheeks wildly burn realizing how wrong that choice of words was.

“Oh my God, no! That’s not what I meant, I-i was... I was-” The young man’s crystal laugh interrupted your humiliating rambling, causing your flushed face to turn literally purple with embarrassment, suddenly the tip of your shoes became the most interesting thing in the world for you, until a solid hand gently gripped your chin, guiding you to lift your gaze, before it left your skin and cautiously reached for the flower held amidst your locks. “Hey, it’s okay, I was just joking” a tender smile still decorated his lips while he toyed with the delicate blossom between his fingers, examining it like it was something he had never seen before “Why do you wear this in your hair?”

Your nose automatically scrunched up at that silly question and you glanced at him almost in disbelief. In the space of a moment your wild heartbeat regularized, suddenly he din’t look like a dangerous gangster anymore, in your eyes, for that brief instant, he became just a weird boy in your workshop. 

“I like flowers” Michael chuckled in amusement again because of your disarming naivety, and his attitude seriously started to get on your nerves, he was pissing you off with his impertinence, plus you didn’t understand what he was laughing at. “Explain to me what's so funny, so I can laugh too” When you comprehended how your tone came out a bit grumpier than you expected, your eyes went wide with dread since you immediately remembered who you were speaking to. Still, nothing bad happened; he simply tried to stop giggling in your face as both his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“No need to get all worked up, honey, I only think you’re cute”

Pure shock contaminated your features due to those words, your cheeks heated again in distress, yet he didn’t move an inch, continuing to look at you from beneath his full lashes; there was something indecipherable in his gaze, something that made your stomach flinch with an unknown feeling. “You what?” Your voice rose of a few octaves, making you sound like a complete psycho, Michael, on the other hand, simply ignored your hysteric question and took up his absurd speech. “Would you have dinner with me tonight, miss?” Your trembling body unconsciously curled up on your left side, while your pupils berserkly moved under your closed eyelids and your mind kept reliving those bittersweet flashbacks. Actually, that day you had gently declined his first invite, under the pretext of not knowing him well enough, “you don’t even know my name, sir”, you had said, hoping to dissuade him from that odd whim; too bad for you, Michael Gray always knew exactly what he desired and rarely changed his mind nor gave up, especially when it came to intriguing challenges like you were. In fact, after your first encounter, he began to come to the store at least three times each week, on the pretence of ordering all sorts of rich fabrics for he needed new suits, and every morning he made sure that a bouquet of fresh white and blue orchids was dropped off your workplace. With the passing of days, no matter how hard you had tried not to, you fatally started to enjoy his company: he made you laugh like no one else did, and he was so kind and caring, that you soon forgot about his bad reputation, on the contrary, you could hardly believe that he was some vile criminal, since around you he just behaved like a normal boy, full of life and hopes. Eventually, he managed to persuade you to go out with him three weeks later, and after your first date, many and many others came, until one night he took you dancing in a lovely place down town. Needless to say, Michael was an absolute disaster on the dance floor, still he was there with you and kept making a fool of himself only to see you have fun; you perceived it in his stunning eyes, how happy he was from just knowing that you wanted to be right there and then, with him and him alone. And when he first kissed you, that same night in the middle of the ballroom, pulling you closer to his chest after a clumsy pirouette, in that exact moment, you knew, beyond any doubt, you had hopelessly fallen for that man. The mere thought of all those cheerful times brought an involuntary smirk on your face consumed by sorrow, but it was quickly overshadowed by your last memory together, which was for you both the most painful and blissful memory of all. The small lights, emanated from the fireflies Michael had caught for you, literally enchanted you, it was unbelievable how the simplest things could be so dazzling. A few days earlier, he had told you about his previous life, when he was nothing more than an ordinary farmboy with a normal family and a special talent for the mathematics, he had told you about how he loved to spend time with his little brother, playing ball among those endless fields or trapping glow-worms in old jam jars. For this reason, he had finally decided to bring you there, because he wanted you to know who he really was, aside from all his money and power, he needed you to love that part of himself too. So you found yourself comfortably sitting on a large towel in the middle of the green English countryside, your back was pressed against his torso and his arms were vigorously wrapped around your waist.

“What’s on your mind?” Your soft voice broke that unearthly silence first, you heard him giggle from above your shoulder before a quick peck was left on your cheek, followed by the tip of his nose tracing an electric path from your jaw to the bottom of your neck. You felt his face sink in your smooth skin as he took a deep breath, inhaling your fruity scent as much as possible, then a long wet kiss at the height of your throat inflamed your flesh with no mercy, until his libidinous mouth paused its work, in order to give you the sincere answer you were waiting for. “I want to make love to you”

In a single sharp movement you rolled onto your other side, desperately grabbing the edges of the sheets with your hands, almost like that was the only chance you had to keep yourself from falling again into the darkest abysses of your brain, but you couldn’t wake up, that noxious slumber seemed to keep you hostage. Grieving wailings filled the room, and your lungs easily run out of air, when the last lethal recall implacably came.

“So beautiful, so fucking beautiful” Michael groaned, while his dilated pupils greedily drank each drop of your naked shape unsteadily laying under his, he watched in rapture your soft chest frantically raise and lower and your plump lips incapable of holding back uncountable whimpers, due to the lustful stroking of his fingertips inside your core. Your misty gaze never left his, as your foreheads eagerly pressed against each other, he kissed you with unbearable urgency once more, your fingers hungrily entangling his short hair so to keep him close. Yet, when you finally felt his tip rub against your centre, a mindless fear took over you, causing your mouth to abruptly depart from his; your eyes, impregnated with pure dismay, started to ravingly seek the spot where your bodies were about to connect, before Michael lifted your chin with tenderness, driving you to catch his preoccupied stare. “Hey, we don’t have to go further if you’re not feeling like doing it, love” He whispered while making your noses lovingly cress one another, you blinked multiple times in attempt to regain a minimum of lucidity and then placed one of your trembling hands on his cheek. A tremendous amount of chaotic thoughts were wildly dancing in your dizzy head: suddenly, the awareness of the fact that he was involved in nasty affairs struck terror into your heart all over again, moreover, it would’ve been a terrible scandal, if it ever got out that a girl from a good family had slept with someone out of wedlock, especially someone like him. But, more than anything else, you kept wondering how that whole thing was going to end; afterall, you had always heard rumors about him being an absolute womanizer, he seduced only to abandon, that was what everybody said in Birmingham, and you were completely petrified by the idea that he could treat you that way as well. Still, you knew your love for him was strong, and you firmly believed that love was nothing without trust. “I want this, I swear, but...” Embarrassment lead you to look away while pronouncing those last syllables and your voice died in your throat, but, despite that, Michael was able to read you like an open book, so he hurried to cup your face and briefly peck your lips, in order to make you restore your confidence. He wanted you to feel safe in his arms, he wanted you to give yourself to him without any change of heart, since only then you would’ve been truly, completely and utterly his. “Just keep looking at me, okay? It’s me and you, y/n, nothing else matter now. Only me and you” You nodded your head yes, definitely allowing him to go on, and, while you were sinking in the mesmerizing green of his irises, he began to gently thrust into you, always paying attention to all your facial cues. A dull ache soon radiated through your lower abdomen and legs, having you tense up under his weight, as your thighs instinctively tried to shut.  “Relax, babygirl” a shower of small kisses covered your face, his warm tone caressing your ears “I need you to tell me if it gets too much, got it? I’ll stop at any moment”

As soon as you gave him your consent afresh, he entirely drowned inside you at a placid pace, irreversibly taking your innocence; a wrenching whine forcefully rolled down your tongue because of that horrible sensation, inducing Michael to tauten his muscles for a second and then start to pull out right away.

Watching you suffer caused him physical pain, he could actually sense a grievous burden achingly worm its way through his ribs; that’s how he realized he loved you dangerously. “Wait, Michael” Your wavering voice, together with your calves still held around his hips, temporary succeeded in keeping him from breaking that intimate connection, your nails digging in his forearms to prevent you from crying. “Stay with me”  You pleaded again, yet he seemed determined to ignore your prayers, as his head vehemently shook in disapproval and his waist fought your legs’ resistance. “I’m hurting you! I can’t-” Michael was not able to end his sentence for your lips impetuously collided with his, you needed him to stop blaming himself for such a natural thing; sweet caresses enveloped his marked cheekbones in a dire effort to calm his nerves, while you knowingly borrowed his former words. “Please, I want you to make love to me” After that night, without a single word, Michael Gray inexplicably disappeared from your life. A moon passed, yet not once he came to your shop, nor he wrote you a letter in order to explain the reason behind his disgusting behaviour, he just continued to avoid you, always staying away from the places where he knew he would meet you, pretending not to spot you among the crowded streets of the city. It was as if the entire world had fallen on your frail shoulders, you couldn’t quantify the cruel grief tearing your soul apart. “Y/n! Y/n, you have to wake up!” Mary’s screams rudely dragged you back to reality, only then you heard the immoderate sobs and weeps uncontrollably erupting from your throat; you looked up at your best friend, who had somehow managed to pick the lock of your chamber, and you noticed raw terror shining in her orbs, her fists squeezing your arms hard enough to leave a mark. “L-leave me alone” You muttered with hot tears still streaming down your face. Even though you were well conscious of your extreme bad attitude towards her, you couldn’t handle any physical contact in those moments, you only craved loneliness. “No, I fucking won’t! Now, tell me what the hell is going on with you” Her aggressive tone brooked no argument as she showed no signs of letting go of you, at least not until you spat it all out. “I can get no peace, I see him! Every time I close my eyes, I see his damn face, I hear his voice. He’s driving me crazy” You snuggled up, burying your head between your flexed knees, finally allowing your cry to explode altogether.                                                          *****

“Mr. Gray, I’m so sorry, I tried to stop her, but she won’t listen!” From his comfortable armchair, Michael abandoned his work only to glimpse at his assistant with one eyebrow raised in a sceptical expression.  Yet, soon he understood what that poor man was talking about, since Mary furiously broke into his office, bravely sending him eloquent death glares. With his usual arrogance pouring out of every hole, the boy brought a cigarette to his mouth, lighting it in a quick move, before he dropped his secretary a hint so to be left alone with the lady. “I have business, no time to talk” Michael tried his best to sound as unemotional as possible, he kept smoking slowly, savouring every rush of grey smoke, and staring at the girl in front of him with a destabilizing sense of superiority. “You don’t need to talk, you screwed bastard! You just have to listen!” In the blink of an eye, Mary reached for him behind his desk, rabidly gripping his naive shirt collar in order to push him closer to her livid face. She knew perfectly well who she was growling at, he could’ve ruined her at any moment and that was a risky choice, but her dearest friend was going to pieces right beyond her eyes and she had to do something about it. “She’s slowly fading away and there’s nothing anyone can do, ‘cause you fucking destroyed her!” Michael forced himself to bear her gaze, despite the devouring guilt growing inside his stomach. “She at least deserves a bloody logical explanation, so she can finally move on. I swear to God, Michael Gray, if you don’t go there and talk to her, I’ll find a way to fuck up your pathetic life, if it’s the last thing I do”                                                              *****

A light knock on the wooden jamb distracted you from your thoughts again, you simply moaned with annoyance in response, laying on your bed with your back to the open door. “I told you to leave me alone, Mary” You murmured at the limit of your strength, but, half a minute later, you heard someone clear their throat in a very familiar way, and you just couldn’t believe your ears. Without a second thought, your back escaped the control of your mind, hastily leaving the mattress; in the space of a moment, you found yourself standing in front of him. The air around you seemed to freeze on the spot, you stopped breathing, he was there, for the first time after more than a month. Your heart was atrociously split into two: part of you only wanted to throw your arms around his neck and hold him tight, still, your other half hated him for the hell he had deliberately put you through. “Go away.” Your stone-cold remark hit him right in the gut, he looked in horror at the state into which you had fallen, conscious of being the one to blame for all the pain he had caused you; before he could notice, he sensed a salt drop fall from his lashes and directly hit the floor, but he didn’t move, unable to regain control of his paralyzed body. “I said, go away!” This time you couldn’t prevent yourself from hysterically shouting in his face, starting to throw several punches at his chest, both of you were now at the mercy of your own rage. Coming out of his momentary trance, Michael promptly grabbed your wrists, partially interrupting your fierce outburst; feeling the touch of his bare skin on yours inexorably had goosebumps cover every inch of your figure, it was like getting sparked a thousand times in a row, you kept wondering how you were staying on your feet without falling to the ground. “I’m here to talk” That mind-blowing sound filled your ears, causing your craw to painfully close up, he kept his watery irises locked with yours, waiting for you to say something, but your only answer ended up being a forceful shove, which allowed you to free yourself from his grasp. “Talk? Really?!” a bitter laugh left your sternum as you incredulously put your hands through your tousled locks “What exactly did you want to discuss with me? How disgusting you are for mercilessly betraying a person whose only mistake was loving you, eh?” Truth was hard to handle for him, he was aware of what a horrible thing he had done to you, still, he wished he could make you understand he had acted that way for a reason. Michael lowered his gaze in discomfort, until your roaring voice echoed through the walls once more. “Look at me! I want you to see what you’ve done” you took a few steps in his direction, getting riskily close to him, while your mad stare never left his features. “I am shot to pieces because of you” Your index finger roughly hit the middle of his pecs for a brief instant, then you distanced yourself of about three feet, overwhelmed by that terrible mess made of a million contrasting feelings bloodily fighting into your head. “It hurts so bad I can’t breathe” That was nothing more than a whisper, cracking under the weight of your excruciating emotions; for the umpteenth time that day, all the air in your lungs somehow vanished for a few, interminable, seconds, leaving you to tremble before his immovable silhouette. That heartbreaking sight stirred something in Michael, something so strong, that he finally reacted to that unbearable situation. “I fucking did it for you! I did it to protect you from a man like me, y/n! What do I really have to offer you, eh?” Shock took over you while you watched him gesticulate, wildly hitting his own torso multiple times in between his yells. “Blood, death, destruction, that’s what I am. And I can’t drag you down with me, y/n, ‘cause I love you too much to be this selfish!” He fell on his knees, fully depleted by his own sorrow, and he wearily leant his forehead onto your womb, heavy sobbing through the veils of your nightgown. A round minute went by without you exhaling a single sigh, you tried and process what he had just said, swiftly repeating it all to yourself. Eventually, your fingers gently began to caress his hair in attempt to put an end to his loud weeps, never before you had seen him cry, never in a thousand years you had thought that moment would ever come. “I love you too, Michael, and that’s why you can’t decide for me”  Your right hand softly cupped his chin in order to make him look up at your eyes. “You just have to let me stay by your side”

tag list: @namelesslosers, @shadow-of-wonder, @spidey-pal

#peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x oc #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders preference #michael gray #michael gray x reader #michael gray x oc #michael gray one shot #michael gray smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders #michael gray imagine #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders one shot #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #john shelby #alfie solomons #arthur shelby #finn shelby #isaiah jesus #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders headcanon #tommy shelby smut

[anxietyavocado]

Rats Don’t Dance by tohrushat (AnxietyAvocado on ao3)

A Yuki and Kakeru ficlet for @floraltohru

Yuki always hated the story about the girl who kissed the frog and turned him into a prince for two reasons. The first one was that he could hardly go a day without his self proclaimed “fan club” calling him a prince, which resulted in those who didn’t like him as much making frog noises whenever he walked down the hallway. The second one was that he always figured it should be the other way around - the prince was just a facade, and the animal was what mattered. The animal showed who you really were.

If Yuki were to be turned into an animal, he knew it wouldn’t be a frog. It wouldn’t even be a rat, no matter how much his family believed in the zodiac. No, Yuki Sohma knew that he would have the unfortunate fate to turn into a bull - specifically a bull in a china shop.

It might have surprised anyone who knew him. Yuki was tall and slim, with long fingers that seemed to be made for spanning a piano (although the girls who followed him around had other, less appropriate ideas of what those fingers could do), and a perceived grace that everyone - even the people who didn’t like him that much - envied. And yes, he was an accomplished martial artist, and he fairly looked like he was floating when he walked down the hallway. But the unfortunate truth of the matter was that when he truly needed to be graceful, Yuki was as clumsy as a bull in a china shop.

He frequently knocked things off his desk when he got agitated. He always managed to knock things over in the kitchen on the rare occasions that he cooked. And most horribly of all, he couldn’t dance to save his own life.

That last was a fact that he tried to keep hidden from his classmates. Over the years, many girls - and even a few guys - had asked him to dances, and every single time Yuki turned them down. This had earned him a reputation as an aloof and distant person that no one could ever hope to be worthy of, but it wasn’t that complicated. It was just that Yuki knew if he stepped out on a dance floor, he would embarrass himself so thoroughly that he would probably die on the spot and spend the rest of eternity haunting the school gym.

This act had served him well over the past few years, but as a senior and the Class President, Yuki was now obligated to not only set up and decorate for the school’s Prom, he had to attend to crown Prom Queen and King.

So he couldn’t avoid it.

Which meant he needed a date. And to learn how to dance.

That was how he ended up in the storage room of the Student Council office, huddled in a corner, watching videos about how to dance when Kakeru Manabe walked in.

“Woah, Yun-Yun,” he said, spinning on his heel to face away from him. “Lock the door next time!”

“It’s not like that,” Yuki replied irritably. “It’s… research.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Kakeru asked with a laugh.

Yuki scrambled to his feet and shoved his phone in his pocket. Of all of the co-workers to find him in here, Kakeru was the one he wanted to encounter the least out of everyone. The loud-mouth Vice President would surely start spreading stories about what he thought he saw the minute he left the room, and Yuki knew that something like that would undo all of the good work he had tried to accomplish and absolutely decimate his reputation. And unfortunately, that same loud-mouth was blocking his exit from the storage closet.

“What’s it going to take to keep you quiet?” he muttered.

The other boy turned to face him, leaning against the door frame with one shoulder, arms crossed and a ridiculously self-satisfied smirk on his face. It was insufferable, how smug Kakeru looked while he stood there.

“Tell me what you were doing.”

“No.”

“Fine, then I guess the whole school will hear about how their loveable Yun-Yun likes to get it off in a storage closet to… let’s see - what would sound better? Muckbang videos or sexy ASMR?” Kakeru grinned at him.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“Oh my god, yes I do,” Yuki groaned. “You are the literal worst human in the known universe.”

“So then tell me the truth.”

Goddamnit. There was no way he was getting out of this, Yuki realized. “I was… trying to learn how to dance.”

The howl of laughter that his words were met with were an assault on his ears. The sound, much like the rest of Kakeru was overdone, outlandish, exaggerated, too much all together. Why must everything be so over the top with him? It’s like Ayame all over again, theater-level flourishes and loud voices and just… too much. Taking up too much space. Using up too much oxygen. Being too much of everything.

But, Yuki considered, that also meant too much confidence. And as he had been perfectly happy to prove during meetings, Kakeru had just enough confidence to dance and not look like a fool no matter what he was doing.

“Teach me,” Yuki said, voice colored with desperation and more than a hint of self-loathing. “Please.”

The waiting was torture. Absolute, all encompassing, hellish torture. Standing there staring with as much pleading as he could put into his face, Yuki waited for Kakeru to answer him. In an environment as competitive as their school, he had just handed his Vice President enough power to ruin him, take him out of whatever political game you could call high school student government, ruin his reputation, and make the rest of his life in this town a living hell. And terrifyingly enough, Yuki wasn’t sure what the other boy would do. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this vulnerable with someone, and it felt as though his soul, his very being, was scraped raw, exposed and unprotected.

Two things happened.

The first was that he realized that Haru might be right and that he was too dramatic for his own good.

The second was that Kakeru cracked a smile at him and said, “Sure, but I have conditions. First - I don’t wear a dress. And as cute as you looked that one time, you don’t wear one either. Second - you buy me dinner. And third…”

“What’s the third one?” Yuki rasped, waiting for the axe to fall.

“Don’t expect me to put out after the first date,” Kakeru said with a wink.

Ten minutes later, Yuki was still standing in the doorway to the storage closet, Kakeru long gone, still wondering if the boy was serious. He didn’t know if he hoped he was, or he wasn’t.

He was leaning toward the first one.

#fruits basket #fruits basket ff #fruits basket fanfiction #yuki x kakeru #yukeru

[thedoctor1002]

Idk, I never posted one of my fics here but guess I'll try ~

Also, English is not my first language so feel free to correct me QwQ

Fandom: Psycho-Pass -season 1- (is this still a thing?)

Characters: Kogami Shinya, Sasayama Mitsuru, OC

Prompt (it was in Italian, so I'll translate): write a story using three among these words: cloud, dusk, thunderstorm, storm, hull, bay, shelter, sail, night

Title: Log date: 2110/02/28 (Friday) 22:04

---

The lights of the bay flicker dynamically before your eyes.

They dance hypnotically, of the same cyan colour of your office’s walls, but with a whole different beat. They drink the red and white trails from the traffic, they shatter and multiply in the tears of an inclement rain. I know how much you hate it, you just can’t stand going on recon with an umbrella. On the other hand, I love it.

Rain brings us close together under the waterproof cloth and I manage to observe details that neon lights often hide from me: the precise way you part your hair, the last few drops of the jasmine perfume on your jacket, your long lashes. Shion thinks they’re fake. We always fight over it, can you believe me?

After all, you’ve never been the kind of woman to wear such frills. 

A notification arrives, the acid light of your impalpable PC breaks through the sacred dark from where you pretend you don’t see me. It digs your silhouette and paints you like a ghost on the huge windows of the Public Safety Bureau.

Your jet-black hair lay on your back like varnish pouring over the white silk of your blouse.

“Pulling an all-nighter, Inspector Matou?” I ask casually, exposed. With you, after all, I always am: you’re the only one that can shush my shitty jokes.

But this time you laugh slightly: nothing more than a spike, a trembling breath that shakes your ribs and lips.

“The forecasts say that the storm won’t stop until tomorrow morning,” you tell me, sitting at your desk, “also, I’ve been delaying this paperwork through all week, it's about time I get it done. Might as well do some overtime and get rid of it, don’t you think?”

“You’re such a workaholic.” I label you, realizing how lucky I am being allowed to do it: Ginoza, that prude, would have never let it slide “You should leave some for the rest of the precinct: make 'em earn their wages.”

A tired smile crosses your face as you tap your fingers on the keyboard. It’s so clear you’re trying to avoid my glance.

You used to look for it.

You looked for my eyes at briefings, in that discrete way that eventually shocked everyone. You looked for them among alleys, as soon as you heard a gunshot or the chocked sound of a fight.

And when you found me, it felt like a 7 miles free fall.

“How are the legs going?” I dare to ask. I see the hollow structure of your new shins below the hem of your pencil skirt. They swing a bit underneath the glass of your desk. You didn’t lose your damn tic, your right heel shakes like the needle of a sewing machine even when you seem calm.

You shrug and drink the bottom of an already empty glass of water.

I shouldn’t have asked. It breaks my heart, to see you like this.

You don’t give me an answer and massage the back of your knee with a sigh. Lately, I feel like you’re avoiding me.

You’re turning back into the one you were before: uncompromising, cold and distant. I wonder if the bunch of ingrates downstairs have been calling you Dobermann again. I wonder if you’re still as relentless.

You worry me: your stress level is getting darker and darker. You don’t want old Kasei to take issues with you, not again.

I can imagine how you must have felt, the night when this mess happened.

You most likely got pissed, if I do know you.

I mean, did they really think I got away on my own? I bet you never doubted me: no one knows an Enforcer better than its Inspector.

“Runaway?! Have you lost your minds?” Sasayama?!”

Those were the first words you said when they rescued you. You spoke them way before cleansing your lungs from the rotten water of the river, way before asking Masaoka if you’d have ever got back to feeling your lower legs. They hurt like hell and you had to pull them around like sandbags.

“They got him” you panted, holding tight on your mentor’s coat “They took him away, I tell you!” The one that kidnapped him wasn’t a latent criminal. The Dominator didn’t activate, not even when they shot me. Please, believe me. Check on the log files, please.”

Crime coefficient: 0.

I know that bug still haunts you.

Cause, after all, it’s can’t be anything else: who on earth is that Makishima to fly under the Sibyl Sistem’s radar? Who can fool a network that knows your crimes before you do? And how is it possible that the silhouette that kneecapped you and threw you into a river could possibly be innocent?

You haven’t lost your mind, Inspector: the Dominator betrayed me, too.

Don’t think I don’t know how pitiful must have been, the next three days.

Makishima isn’t real. Forget it, it was just a delirium. You were in shock.

It was the trauma, dear. It was a breakdown. It was burnout syndrome.

You’d use some holiday, darling. Take a week. Take two. Go somewhere far, no, better: just stay at home. Go to therapy. Keep yourself busy, don’t think about it. Work. Also, don’t work: it wears you out!

They put you back on your feet in less than six hours, but nobody allowed you to join search parties. Heaven forbid your stress level getting any darker. Heaven forbid that yet another good Inspector gets demoted among those damn Enforcers. But, still, in the whole IT section, there wasn’t a single nerd that could get that night's logs. That's one funny thing, ain't it?

Woman, sometimes I wish your damn head wasn't that hard. I wish you didn't follow the Forensics to get a lift, so soon after the deed.

At least, you could have listened to Kogami. Shit, didn't you see how pale he was? You didn't even need the Dominator to read him, his stress level was mindblowing!

You should have believed him when he told you you didn't want to enter that alley. First off, it was already full of other detectives and analysts. I have no idea what kind of business you had to do in there. Second thing second, Kogami has an eye for certain matters. Do you think he didn't notice I’ve always been all over you? Not gonna lie, maybe I told him about you, once or twice.

But no, of course, you had to get in.

The software that taught you how to walk on those carbon stilts made you stand your ground and bark a "For fuck's sake, Shinya, move!" worthy of the Dobermann’s reputation. Even those who hadn't been called out made way.

But your new legs didn't hold you, when you saw what they had made of my corpse.

I'm sorry, Katsumi, I never wanted to upset you like that. 

You know how much I would have rather have a more heroic death. I don't know, like, in the middle of a shooting, saving the day. It would have been much classier, less tacky, less trash. I think I deserved it, that's all.

You stop typing and rub your temples. You shelter what’s left of your lipstick behind your hand. I wish I could kiss it off, instead of watching you consume it in a ruby red halo in the notch between your thumb and your index.

You lift your eyes only for Kogami, who’s passing by your office like a nurse in its night shift.

“So?” he asks in a whisper, putting more care in that question than I could have ever done. More than anybody could have ever done, because he’s the only one that gets you, right now. You two seem like the only ones who lost something.

You shake your head slowly, staring at the monitor and the dangerously high Crime Coefficient on the display.

“It's not working” you wail softly, misty-eyed. I can’t believe it, is it still you?

“They’re gonna kick me out anyway, if it doesn’t lower quickly” you continue, with that realism of yours. I used to call you a jinx for that but, at the end of the day, you always got our backs. “It’s for the best if I just resign. I’m gonna keep what's left of my dignity, at least.” 

The dark profile of my best friend looks through me, as he sits on the armchair next to mine. He would like to say something, a word of encouragement maybe, we all know it in this damn room, but numbers shut our mouths. 

“You could become an Enforcer” he proposes.

Goddammit, Shinya, did we work with the same person? Katsumi as an Enforcer?

And there you go, shaking your head. You hold your face in your hands and let your raven hair hide your visage. 

“Can you imagine me, following orders? I do know how to work, I can do it better than three-quarters of our colleagues and I’ve never had problems remarking it. They’d eat me alive if they had the chance. Dogs celebrate on the corpses of lions.”

“But lions remain lions and dogs stay dogs.” Kogami finishes, stealing my lines. 

I notice the slight trembling of your finger, as you tap your touchpad to send that last confirm.

In a few moments, the system will have your resignation registered. Your profile won’t unlock your Dominator anymore and in a few days time, just enough for you to collect your belongings, you won’t even manage to enter the office.

Who’s gonna explain to old Kasei that there's more of your stuff here than in your apartment?

I’d ask you what do you plan on doing with your life, but tonight’s decision seems definitely brave enough to call it a day.

I look at the tabs you open in your browser, they mirror in the windows behind you.

Air travel.

Argentina, Cuba, States, New Zealand, Germany, Kenya. You go around the world in 80 seconds flat, you multiply your chances and spread them all through the air in front of you, in a complex diagram that doesn’t lead anywhere.

I never wanted to take you away from your home, you don’t deserve this. 

You cover your eyes with a hand and use the other one to pick a random selection from your atlas.

Greece.

“Well, at least it’s on the sea.” you wrap up, condensing in a handful of words the only satisfaction you can find in starting a brand new life.

You two stare at the transparent screenshot of your flight, the countdown on the web page seems way too joyful.

“It’s so exciting, Katsumi Matou! Check-in your luggage. Your journey will begin in: 06 days: 17 hours: 34 minutes: 21 seconds”

20.

19.

18.

Seconds pass by, in complete silence.

“Do you think it would be a burden to him?” you ask Shinya, “Do you think he’d understand?”

Who would have guessed that a cynic one like yourself could believe in the afterlife? I wish I were here to ask you. I wish we could have spoken about life, death, sex, about things long gone and things yet to be.

His hand squeezes yours gently, as he looks at you in the eye, hoping to stop the train to Paranoidland from setting off.

“It’s not your fault” he reassures you as he can: the both of you wouldn’t make the average person’s empathy.

But he’s right, though, it really isn’t: I know you’ve done anything you could. It’s always been like that.

“Maybe I owe him” you draft “Even if they don’t believe in Makishima, maybe one day I could have proved he exists.”

The teal of your Psycho-Pass would suit you wonderfully, if it wasn’t a description of your mental health.

What could you possibly do in these conditions? You’d have ended up in a cubicle, filing loss and theft reports. You would have never made it to the dossiers, surely not to those of such a controversial case. Making you end up in a study room would have been my final bullshit. I’m happy with your choice, really. I would have loved visiting Europe someday.

“Don’t talk nonsense.” Kogami rebukes you, externalizing what I’ve been thinking all along: “I’m going to look out for your man: your team has already given way too much. I’m gonna find him, Matou, cold case or not.”

You nod, but it’s clear you don’t believe him. I can read through you, you’re a terrible liar.

I don’t think you don’t trust him, most likely you’ve done the math and figured that working on an independent case is far too difficult for an Inspector, let alone for an Enforcer.

And there it is, my fall. After an exhausting chase, you finally look into my eyes, even though -according to Shinya- you’re most likely staring at the void.

Despite being used to such races, believe me, I’ve missed you.

“I’m just so sorry.” you finally whisper, giving me a bitter smile. 

Try and stop me, Ginoza, tell me once again how inappropriate it is: I don’t mind anymore. I get up and I don’t hesitate while holding you and leaving a kiss on your hair, shamelessly.

“I’m going to grab some coffee” I announce, walking backwards to the door like a shrimp, just to look at my dearest friends a bit longer. “I’d get you one, but I’m short on coins. Maybe next time.”

“See you, Inspector.”, Kogami greets you, leaving alongside me.

“Be good.” you wave back, as we were all to meet again tomorrow.

Walking through the dark alley, I can hear an excerpt from our last conversation through the opaque glass of your office.

“You’re jerk, Sasayama!”

I can hear you laughing out loud, through the crackly recording. You laughed at my gall, with that warm, strong, sweet voice of yours, mocking me. Admit it: mine, after all, were the only compliments that could make you blush.

It’s incredible how we managed to joke even inside a car that was taking us on a crime scene. To an external eye, we might have looked disrespectful. Truth is I’ve always feared death so much I just had to laugh at the reaper.

“Oh, come on, what would it take? Come with me to the Precinct’s New Year’s dinner, the 17th is around the corner!” I kept annoying you, as you were too busy driving to mind my dumb flirt attempts. I still can’t get how we never had an accident. “Be good, Katsumi, give me a joy to live for!”

“You could always ask Shion, you know? You always give her more attention, after all.”

I hear the subtle sound of the wheels stopping, the parking brake cracking and it’s like Ogishima’s outskirts appear before my eyes, in that same January night. That place gave me goosebumps, but I would have hated if you understood it.

“Here we are” you announced, with still a bit of resentment in your voice. You unlocked the passenger’s door and I remember I left your Dominator in the car’s trunk: I didn’t want you to follow me. Not that time.

“You scare me when you pay so much attention” you commented, noticing how serious I got “will you tell me why are you insisting so much to keep on searching? Kogami got the guy. Tomorrow we go, we arrest him and it's thank you, next.”

My answer has been recorded as a distant and muffled noise, but I still can trace it: “He’s not the one, I tell you. I have another suspect, but I need a more solid base. And you’re staying, Inspector.”

“Staying?! You’ve gone crazy!” you laughed, locking the corporate sedan behind you “If something were to happen to you, or worse if you didn’t come back, Kasei would…”

“I said you’re staying: it’s dangerous.”

“Sasayama, our work is dangerous,” you replied, contemptuous, understanding that clearly among the gear I brought I didn’t count yours and going back to the car to get it “One more risk won’t make a difference: if I have to drop dead, it can either be here, at home or god knows where.”

“Will you join me for the precinct’s dinner, though?”

And here is a sequence that the voice recorder surely can’t have grasped, but that I could remember even in a thousand years. You cast an outraged glance over me from above the trunk’s door, panting through a half-smile. You shook your head, tucking your hair behind your ear. And finally, after refusing my invitations since 17th November, during lunch break, you smiled shrugging.

“Deal, come on, just make way” you sighed, as your heels echoed on the wet concrete “Still, you’re a jerk.”

“I recorded it: you have no excu-”

The audio file interrupts.

End of recording.

#anime #manga #fan art #fan work #fan fic #fan fic writing #fanfiction #fanfic #psycho pass #psychopass #OC #original character #oc fanfiction #one shot #oneshot #oneshot fanfic #sasayama #kogami shinya #sibyl system #makishima shogo #first fanfic #translation #anime fanfiction #wattpad #efp fanfiction #fan writing #fanwriter #writer #writing

[porrimalovesstories]

A Love Story

dedicated to: @taylorswift, @taylors-flutterby @cruelafterglow and @swiftonic13

I hope you like the stories.

I know the birthday is tomorrow. But hey, it is nice to have it ready, isn’t it?

Beta readers: @maybeillride and @taylors-flutterby

His songs: @taylorwift “So It Goes”,  “Dancing With Our Hands Tied”  “Enchanted”  and the Beatles, “Old Brown Shoes”

PART I: HIS STORY

He was simply standing there, watching her. Had he been able to, he would not have breathed. He was afraid that she would notice his presence, and disturb her process of thinking. She could have been writing a masterpiece, a record breaking song and because of him, she could never finish it. He would never forgive himself if that ever happened.

He had seen the similar image two months ago. Only at that time, she had been standing in front of a a display case contained with something blue; if he recalled correctly, it was a glass flask with a shape of a mouse and a snake.

Now, she was sitting at the piano. Instead of blue, the light that hit her face was pale yellow, coming from the lamp table on her left side. She did not wear any make up and her no longer bleached hair was tied to the back.

Her face had been haunting him since that night, coming to his dreams uninvited, making him unable to think straight every time he heard her name.

Had she not been the one who conquered music charts for ages, it would have been easier.

But how to forget somebody, whose face, voice and name is the talk of the town? Everywhere you go, she is there. At the cinemas, in the radio, television, newspaper.... even internet.

He scoffed. Especially the internet. He stopped reading the comments after he had read somebody call her a liar for the tenth time. This is not the way to get to know her, he thought at that time. If he ever had a chance to get to know her. If he actually did, he wanted to start with a clean slate.

A fool's dream, he told himself many times. A dream that had been shattered by images of her and her new boyfriend, which were plastered all over the place.

Suddenly she turned around. She must have heard his scoffing. “Oh, sorry. I didn't wake you up, did I?”

He cleared his throat. That pale face gave him a smile. He wished she had not done that. That smile was forced. It made her face look eerie. “No, you didn't. I have to wake up early. My flight to London is in about... oh,” he checked his watch. “Four hours.” Which he hoped it was not.

“Oh. I will be the only one that stays, then.”

“Yeah, I wish I could stay longer,” he sighed. He really did. “But I have nothing else to do here. And I kinda miss my dog.”

“You're a dog person.”

Why does it sound like it is a crime, he wondered. “Yeah....”

“I am more like a cat person.”

“My father made a documentary about Bastet once....”

“No way!” her eyes widened.

“Not exactly about Bastet, it was more about The Cult of Ra....,”

“Oh, I think I saw that movie. Isn't it the one with that Oxford Egyptology Professor … what was his name again? Oh, I would love to meet him and talk about Bastet.”

And just like that, she started telling him what she liked about the movie (he told her, she made someone at home very happy; he also made a mental note to ask his father the name of the professor) and then about the habit of her cats. One of them in particular, liked to sit in her favorite jeans – the one she normally used for traveling because it was comfortable – as if her cat had known that she would leave. “You know, I think cats are the most independent creatures. They never listen to you. They always do whatever they like.”

“Maybe because they are the descendants of the Goddess of Lion, the protector of Ra, the God of sun?”

“I've been saying that! Thank you,” those blue eyes got brightened, but then, she sighed. “I sound like an old cat lady, don't I?”

“Yeah, a bit,” he winked. “Are you sure you only have two cats? You know, just checking...”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips were smiling. Oh, those lips... he turned his face away. He really should have not thought about her. Her lips or any part of her body.

“Hey, you want some coffee?” she got up. “I could make a mean coffee.”

“I prefer tea, actually.”

“Georgia must have some tea somewhere. What do you like?”

“Peppermint tea, but I prefer hibiscus tea, if we have them.”

Her face was twisted. “Is that even a tea? Ugh. Stay away from me if you drink that colored water, otherwise I'll lock myself up in the attic.”

He laughed. Ah, this woman.... even in the days where everybody seemed to have found bad things about her, she still managed to joke around and brought laughter. “You are so overly dramatic, you know that?”

She looked at him. And for the first time, he saw something in her face that he could not really explain. It was as if the light had just brightened her face and the cloudy look in her eyes was disappeared. Perhaps that is how an angel looks like, because nobody can look that beautiful and breathtaking.

“When do you have to leave?” her question saved him from continuing glaring. One more second, perhaps his jaws would have been found on the floor.

“The flight is in four hours, but I prefer to leave a bit early. So perhaps I have two hours?”

“Then we should have our breakfast.”

Before he knew it, he was sitting at the table, eating some pancakes that she had made. Perfect round golden pancakes. They smelt so wonderful he drooled. “This is so good,” several times he commented it while shoving the pancake into his mouth. “So good. Maybe you should thinking about opening some cafe,” he teased her. “God, this is so good.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, I might. You know I love baking, right? I am very good in making cookies. My fans love it.”

“You sell cookies to your fans?” soon after, he felt goddamn stupid asking that question. Of course she didn't, you idiot. That look of shock on her face.... god, even if the earth had swallowed him, it would not have been able to save him from this embarrassment. He felt his cheeks hot. They must have been burning red by now.

“I make them some cookies when they come to my house and sometimes cake.”

To avoid any further embarrassment, he preferred not to ask any question.

“You must have known it, it is all over the media,” she continued, still in disbelief.

“I don't read that kinda stuff,” he swallowed the last piece of the pancake. A big chunk. He would rather not be able to speak than to say the wrong words.

“'That kinda stuff'” she quoted the words, “is actually part of my life.”

Those words hit him hard. He realized now how strong the blows that she had received lately. Even as an outsider, he was unable to stomach reading the comments toward her under any article, video, or post on twitter or Instagram. Imagining on her position: treated as less than a mere object, that was analyzed from every possible angle, accused, dragged, and spat on without any consideration or whatsoever... god, that had got to be hard.

Honestly, had he been her, he would not have known how to survive it, let alone, standing here in the kitchen, fixing some breakfast for a stranger. He would have spent days drinking, or using her words, locking himself up somewhere in the attic...

“I know, people think that I used my fans for marketing purposes only. But they are wrong. Fans are very important to me, you know, to develop and to enrich my music, to grow in it. I love having them in my house and talking to them. Listen to them, exchanging ideas, sharing experiences.”

He cleared the rest of the pancake with his green tea. “You are not afraid that they are being obsessed, and thinking of you as more than an idol? I mean, some might think that you are their girlfriend, or imaginary married to you?”

“Yeah, of course. I am not stupid. I take precaution against that. Learning a bit about martial art, and carry around some first aid kit.”

“Any planning to make a new album? When you have a plan to invite your fans to your house, give me a call; I'll drop my schedule and fly to you.”

She looked at him. Those blue eyes flickered.

And he felt stupider than before. That was the worst pick up line he could come up with. Was it too obvious?

“It is not easy to be seen with me,” she turned her face away. Now, those eyes were again covered with soft misty cloud. He hated it. That look made her impenetrable. It took her away from him, blocked his view with thick walls, and made her even more unreachable than before.

“Your new boyfriend apparently doesn't think so,” he growled. He realized, he sounded like a jealous ex, but he did not care.

“So you did read that kinda stuff.”

Yeah, he had. And it had almost killed him (now who was being overly dramatic, he wondered). Seeing them together, walking on the beach, on the street, at the cafe... some thought it had been a publicity stunt... yeah, he wished, somebody had told his heart that. Because every time he saw them together, he felt as if something had stabbed his chest with a flaming knife. It was hot and painful.

“Yes, I did; but I stop reading things about you after awhile.”

“Why?”

“Why I read, or why I stop reading them?”

She shrugged. “Both, I guess.”

What to say? How to say it? He wondered. Honesty? Lie? “I saw you at the MET, and I was curious,” he decided to be honest. Not entirely. Because how to say to a girl, that you are interested in her, because she reminds you to morning sky, to the time where you can be yourself and see things clearly? “All I could find is accusation, insults, name-calling – to put it lightly – so I stop. I just think it is not a way to get to know you or anybody else in general.

“I know, we are in a business, which image and reputation are very important. We can't afford to make any wrong step. We always have to fit in the image that either we create or others create for ourselves. But how far will we go? What are we willing to do to keep that image?

“My mother gave me a book, when I told her that I wanted to enroll in the drama school. It's a play from Tennessee Williams, Sweet Bird of Youth...”

“Oh, I love that movie, you know, with Paul Newman?”

“I am not sure I watched it,” he tried to remember it... The Sting, check. Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid, check. Exodus, check. The Young Philadelphians, check. The Hustler, check...nope, not Sweet Bird of Youth. He made a mental note to get that movie somehow.

“What I want to say is, I suppose, my mother wants to remind me not to lose myself, just like Chase Wayne in the play, not to sacrifice everything in the sake of fame and reputation. Or perhaps like the Princess, not to lose our self-confidence and understanding, only because we care too much about what people might say about our arts.

“Especially in the time in which we are living. We are given the tools and opportunity to have a direct contact with our public. To hear what they have to say: either it's criticism or praise. But the question is how far are we letting them form us; how far are we letting them validating our arts, or even our existences?

“How do we tell the difference between criticism and insults? Between praise and ass-kissing? Are we going to dance to their music, or are we going to dance to our own, even with the risk, that nobody will want us anymore?”

“And? Did you find the answers of all those questions?”

He shook his head. “That's why I take the book wherever I go. You know, as a reminder.”

She sighed.

Don't do that. He begged in his mind. It was hard already to talk to her, trying the best he could not to sound starstruck, let alone to hear her sighing like that. He drank his tea hastily with a hope that it would calm down his heartbeat.

He forced himself to focus by looking at his watch. One hour to go.

“Have you been in Vesterbro before? Because if you can stay a bit longer, I can show you around....if you haven't...”

Her question almost made him jump. No! Yes! He meant, no, he had never been in Vertebro before. Doing some hours of shooting and interview were not the same with being in a place. And yes, of course he would stay longer. “When will you fly to New York?”

“Oh, I don't know if I return to New York. I might fly back home to my parents. In a week or two.”

“Let me check my schedule,” he took out his phone, checked his calendar, “Hmh, I will have to be in New York in ten days. Probably, my agent will call me Tuesday for the confirmation. So, yeah, I can stay. I rather feel uncomfortable to leave you alone, actually.”

“Mr. Allen is here and I can call my brother to come.”

Mr. Allen was her head of security. A six feet two man, all muscles, short hair cut with eyes like an eagle's. He did not say much, and always in alert. But when he talked, his voice was warm and the way he laughed, he-he-he, it changed him somehow into an adorable bear.

And her brother... he never met him. But surely he shared the same features with his sister. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall and slender, full lips, and skin like porcelain... he wondered, if her skin was as smooth as the porcelain... and he wondered how she smelt. Because now, the kitchen smelt mix of melted butter, vanilla, sugar and flour... good, and made his mouth watery... and she smelt of all of those, but certainly she would not use that combination as perfume. On second thought, he did not mind it at all.

Their eyes met.

He wanted to apologize for staring at her, but a shy little smile at the corner of her lips changed his mind. Obviously, she liked him staring at her like a starstruck boy. Otherwise, why would she invited him to stay longer? “I'll contact the airline. You have any idea what to do later?”

“Nope,” she sipped her coffee. “No coffee, no idea.”

He chuckled. Did she have to be funny as well?

That day they spent most of the time at the house, planning what to do and where to go. She talked about parts of Vesterbro they should visit, like Riccos kaffebar (the best coffee shop ever, she said.), or Blomsten, a cafe she always visited when she was in town.

“I can call the owner; they can close down the cafe just for us.”

“Where's the fun in that?” he asked.

“I can't go out without causing any spectacle, it is like the circus comes to town, and for the moment, I am the biggest circus there is.”

“Hmh,” he looked at her up and down, “as long as you are the snake lady, I am fine with it. All fierce and sexy....” he bit his lower lip. Shit, that was too fast. Her eyes were wide open. Shit, shit, shit. Now, she would get angry, and this spontaneous holiday would get ruined. He might as well prepare to call the airline again for a changed schedule and get his ticket back. He flew to London after all.

“You know what,” some extra lines appeared on her forehead. “I think you are more Jack London than Tennessee Williams. I mean, T.W was more flamboyant, but actually struggling, inert, and swallowed his angers and frustration and turned it into masterpiece. But you, you are more like that church-goer-son-in-law kinda type, but wild and hunger of adventure, just like Jack London.”

“Is that so? What are you, then? The 21st Tennessee Williams, who changes her struggles, angers and frustrations into masterpieces?” He smiled.

Her face looked thoughtful.

It was difficult for him not to sigh. How can she even look more beautiful? As if, there was a soft layer of air that covered that face. He could not tell, whether it was remorse or sadness, but the image he was witnessing right now, reminded him to the face of the woman in Monet painting, holding umbrella, under the bright blue sky, but clearly fighting against the wind.

Graceful. That would be the word. Neither remorse nor sadness, but graceful, just like Lady from Orpheus Descending: a woman who tried to live bravely and honestly, even when the world around her was crumbling down. And who was he? Val? A wanderer, a vagabond, who tried to make a place of his own in that crumbling world?

He smiled. “You are,” he braved himself, “Tennessee to me.”

She smiled. Those eyes turned into two small lines, and her nose cringed.

He felt his heart miss a beat. Was that her genuine smile? Had he really made her smile?

“Don't be too serious, London. My songs are good, I admit; but not so good that can be compared to Tennessee Williams'.”

“Did you just call me 'London'? As London with his Big Ben or ….”

“Ha!” she choked. Obviously, her coffee had entered the wrong throat. “Jack London, silly boy. Jack London, not London with his big....” she stopped her sentence. Now, her face was bright red, realizing what she was about to say.

“Tsk,” he winked. A pity, but, “I can accept that. It is an honor to be compared with Jack London. But don't call me 'boy',” he pointed at himself, “Twenty five years old... two three years younger than you, give or take?”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

Yeah what? That he was younger than her or that she would not call him 'boy'?

Before he could ask, her phone rang. She gave him a sign not to say anything. Then she got up, and left him. Whoever on the phone was, it must have been a very special person, because he did not see her anymore until dinner time. After dinner, she excused herself to go back to her room; he could not do anything else, except saying, “Of course.”

The empty room looked even bigger now that nobody was there, and the traces of the party had been cleaned up. The books, the furniture were back to where they had been before. At the corner, beside the fireplace was a painting of a huge black and red snake: a copy of a famous Danish contemporary artist's work. Georgia went ballistic when she saw it. It was not because of the painting itself, but it was whom that painting was given to. Whoever bought that painting was no longer a friend of hers. And they would better be careful to say or do, because Georgia would make sure that they would go to hell and back.

Georgia's reaction had made him relieved. She had friends. Real friends who stood by her no matter what happened.

“Something interesting about the painting?” her voice made him turnaround. She stood at the end of the stairs that led to the sleeping rooms above. In her right hand was a big glass of red wine, and in her left hand was a green guitar. He wondered, how many guitars did she own or bring with her? Because two days ago, at the party, she had played with a pink guitar.

“I was thinking about Georgia's reaction.”

“Yeah, she is very protective sometimes,” she sat down and put the wine glass on the table. “It's nice to have a friend like Georgia.”

He nodded. “But you were also cool. I would kick whoever gave that present out of my life.”

She shrugged. “What's the point? I can't do anything right these days anyway. What are you reading?”

“Oh, a script my agent sent me a week ago. An English tradition, a story about the kings and queens.”

“Interesting?”

“Very. Only, I am not sure if I can play the character, which was once played by Fiennes. The shoes are  too big to fill in.”

“Ralph or Joseph?”

“Does it matter?”

“But that's the challenge, isn't it? To make a character as your own, for better or worse.”

He wanted to ask, how did she know, when a thought came to him. She had made it in her own world; she had started from the scratch. Of course she knows the meaning of struggles in the world, that is dominated by big money and people who are not exactly kind to beginners and women.

“It's like when I sing a cover version of a song, I have to make sure that the song stays true to the original and at the same time add my own interpretation to it. Quite tricky, to be honest. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Do you sing?”

He snorted. “Only under the shower.”

She started picking her guitar's strings. “Like this song, “I am so lonesome I could cry” from Hank Williams. It was Hank's, but played by Elvis, it became Elvis's. The emotions Elvis put in that song... God, I wish I had an ounce of it.”

“And it will be yours, when you play it?”

“Oh, their shoes are definitely too big for me, and I will not even dare to try it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. Sometimes we just have to know where our borderline is. And this is absolutely mine. Never touch Hank Williams or Elvis Presley,” those eyes suddenly became blurry. “I used to think, you know, if I expanded my borderline to widen my horizon, to include everybody, every wishes, everything would be fine. Now, I don't know anymore,” she smiled, clearly forced. And he hate it. “So, what are your most favorite songs?”

“Old Brown Shoes, The Beatles,” he answered without thinking.

“Good choice,” she started playing the tune.

Soon enough, they sang the song. As they looked into each other eyes, the lyrics felt more like mantras than lyrics. Declaring their loves, promising to each other that nothing would be the same anymore for any of them.

Or at least in his part. Each lyric was true. He was in love with her. She had stolen his heart since the first moment he saw her and he hoped, that he would not be too late, or that she would not be too late to realize how he felt about her. And he made a promise to himself, he would help her escape the zoo called social media and the press.

He found himself sitting beside her when the song ended. Their faces were so close their noses almost touched each other.

“That was a good song,” she whispered. Her warm breath touched his face.

He wanted to kiss her, desperately. Those red cherry lips were very inviting, and his blood was boiling. From the look in her eyes, she wanted it too. But he knew. She had a boyfriend. The last thing he wanted was to give her a feeling of committing a cheat...unless she made the first move. Till then, he would wait.

Slowly he withdrew himself. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, George Harrison, my favourite.” He stood up. He would better go now. He was not sure if he could control himself, if he stayed beside her any moment longer.

She caught his hand. “You were right. We should go out and have some fun tomorrow. I'll talk to Mr. Allen how to do it.”

Her finger tips were rough. The scars from guitar's strings obviously.

“Yeah, we shall do that,” he touched her finger tips with his. Smiling, he said, “Let's have some fun.”

*

After breakfast, Mr. Allen gave them tips and tricks to avoid being recognized in public. No credit card,  no fancy clothes. Plain jeans and t-shirt would help a lot. Hats and sunglasses could help, but not necessary. People did not always wear them. And tourists attractions were recipes for disaster. It would take only one person to recognize her, and soon enough Vesterbro would be infested by hordes of paparazzi and god knows what else.

Mr. Allen would contact some people who knew some people to make sure that no journalist caught wind about her present on the street of Vesterbro.

He felt silly, realizing he only had some pound and Euros; she had only American dollars. No danish crown.

But Mr. Allen did not become her head of security for nothing. He was prepared. He always is.

Then for the next days they explored the town. It took some time to get her relaxed and not to look over her shoulder every time somebody came to them. Especially on the first day. When she walked with her shoulder slouched, her head down, and she refused to have any eye contact. At first, he thought about having a conversation about the history of Vesterbro or Denmark in general, when he realized, he did not know much about it. Besides, she might have interest in Egyptology due to the fact that she had cats. Who could tell that she had interests in history?

The thought had somehow waken him up. He knew nothing about her apart from the 'news' he read about her in the media. A mere image, that was created to serve one thing: business. Now that the image had been tarnished, what would she do? Would she hold on dearly to it, create something new or try to find the truth in her?

He hoped, she would choose the last one. And he would be there. Whether as a friend or more.

As the time went by, she was more relaxed. Nobody had approached her for signature or selfies. That was a good sign. Whether nobody recognized her, they did not care, or the Danes were simply too polite, he was not sure. Whatever it was, he hoped that it would last.

Because he loved seeing how she changed. Just like early dawn, when the sun slowly rises up on the East, her eyes started lightening up anything she gazed upon. The blushes on her cheeks were as rosy as the sky touched by the soft red shimmering light of the sun. He could not stop smiling as he saw her laughing.

How to describe the way she laughed...hmh, it was loud and high pitched. She threw her head backwards, and her slender body shook. Then, the longer she laughed, that high-pitched noise got higher and he could not hear the sound anymore. But the thing that took him the most was her eyes. Her eyes got smaller, but the light that shone from them was like the eyes of a child at the Christmas morning, sitting beside the Christmas tree, opening her present.

Oh, he would give anything to keep her laughing like that.

He would also give anything to spend the evening with her just like what they did after the long day of sight-seeing. Sitting on the sofa, with legs stretched, either – they talked about the beauty of Det Ny Theatre building, the books they saw at a second hand book store, called, Ingmars Hjørne  named after Ingmar Bergman, according to the owner.  He did not want to imagine what kind of books they sold, but she spent quite some time, talking to the owner, ordering some books) – or vigorously trying to find the recipe of kanelsnegle (which was a cinnamon roll) they ate during coffee break, or the hvedebrød (something he did not even bother to ask. He could not pronounce it, let alone had the idea to make it). He also loved being together in silence. He read his script, meanwhile she would be at the piano or having guitar on her lap and started strumming. Either singing some songs and writing some new songs, it did not matter.

What mattered was he was there with her. Alone. She, one of the biggest pop stars that is, the most wanted – both in the positive and negative meaning – was alone with him, in a rented house, somewhere in the center of the capital city of young tourists such as themselves. It was almost a dream comes true moment. Maybe it was.

Tomorrow, he would have to leave to London. She would probably stay. He did not know when they would have moments like this again. If they would have, that might be the more precise words. She would return to her boyfriend, and he... oh, it would sound pathetic, but he would probably focus on scripts and books that either he chose or his agent sent to him.

“You are quiet,” her voice startled him.

“I am not sure what you mean. I am always quiet when you play.”

“Yes, but your head thinks, so loud, even Mr. Allen can hear it.”

“Oh, Mr. Allen can hear even the drop of a needle at the square market, if that needle is aimed at you.”

“That's true,” she put her guitar aside. “So tell me, what were you thinking about?”

He closed his book. “Our time together and how fast it went by,” he put his head on the back of the sofa. He would miss it, that was for sure. “I know, Mr Allen has done a very good job, and I am sure I have nothing to worry about....”

The end of his sentence hanged on the air. They looked at each other. He realized he did not need to finish it. The look in her eyes told him she had the same thought. Neither he nor she wanted the days to be over.

He wished he could tell her the only thing she had to do was to ask him to stay, and he would have done it. It would be a lie, and both of them knew it. He had some schedules in London waiting, and she had schedules of her own and a boyfriend....

The thoughts made his chest hot.

“You call me if you come to New York?” her question was almost like a whisper. Obviously, they had been on the same page.

He nodded. “Hey...,” he put down his book and came to her as he saw tears roll down her cheek. “Hey...,” but before he reached her, she already ran into his arms. He held her tight. He wanted to tell her a lot of things. The promise that he would visit her in New York or any place she had her concert, or that he would call her day and night until she got bored hearing his ring tone, how much he was going to miss their days together, how much he missed her... but all those words sounded empty in his ears.

Her warm body rubbed his like flint and steel being rubbed against each other and sparked fire. He closed his eyes as he felt his heart beat faster and his lower body part got hardened. For a moment he wanted to apologize, but as she seemed not to have been bothered by it, he tightened his embrace.

Slowly she raised her face. Tears were still rolling, but she smiled. “Thank you for being here. I had such a good time.”

“We should do it again some time.”

“If you come to New York...,”

“Or you come to London....”

“You know what they say, I might write some songs about you.”

“Cool. Nobody writes any song about me before.”

“Don't say I didn't warn you.”

“Fair enough. I have been warned,” he wiped off the tears on her cheek. “I take that as a challenge.”

They spent the evening by sitting side by side; he read and she strummed her guitar. When he said goodnight, she continued sitting.

On his bed, he laid wide awake, listening to the sound of piano she played. So haunting, as if she was questioning herself about many things. How he wished to go down and sit beside her, trying to convince her that she could rely on him on many things. Everything.

But he knew, by doing so, it would look as if he questioned her ability to deal with the problems herself. She is a woman. She knew her own strengths and her weaknesses. She did not need a man to babysit her. When she needed any help, she knew how to get it. And when the time came, he would be there. He would make sure that she knew she could count on him.

Until then, he would wait. He smiled. Yes, he would wait.

*

Her face was as pale as the morning moon as she bid him farewell. She had not slept, she said. She had written some new ideas for some songs. Teasingly she told him, they were about him. He smiled and said, he felt honored already.

She gave him a goodbye present wrapped in green paper. “Open it when you are in the car or in plane,” she said as she handed it to him. “Go,” as he was about to say thank you. “You can thank me later, but only if you like it.”

Her figure was getting smaller as the car drove by. Her blond hair shimmered under the soft light of the sun. Wrapped in pale pink cardigan, she looked frail. But as she walked inside, he saw her walking with straightened body and head upheld high.

He smiled. As frail as she might seem, he would not dare to cross her. She was different from the woman he had seen a week ago. If that figure was only a small part of her, a woman who had been fighting for her whole professional life to be on the top, he could not imagine how she would look like when her fighting spirit returned.

Slowly he opened the present. A card with a picture of cats (his smile widened, of course, what else?), and a hard cover edition of The Iron Heel from Jack London. On the card it was written, “This is my favorite book. Let's talk about it when we see each other again. Call me.”

On the book's first page, she wrote, Don't let me be a Meredith of any story, spoiling every chance of joy. Tennessee (TNS).

He closed the book and turned around. He could not see the house anymore. But he knew, she would be waiting. Or if he was lucky enough, she would come to him. And when she did, he would be ready.

*

#love story #taylor swift #call it what you want #the beatles #old brown shoes #enchanted #dancing with our hands tied

[ikonislife]

Home.

-Hoseok (J-hope) x female reader

-Friends to Lovers softness

-“How could I fucking hate home when to me, you’re home!”

“I like you.” There was an ease in the way he sighed so contently that sentence as if matter of the heart had always been weightless. It was as if all the pain of unrequited love, all the sorrow of heartache since the beginning of mankind had always been effortless and thoughtless as a breath. It was almost beautiful… Almost.  As you stared up above, leaning back in the patio chair with your feet up on the railing of your apartment’s balcony, the sky had been inky and far too bright for the heaven to shine through, your eyes glossed over with, hell, you didn’t even know what it was. Nonchalant, unimpressed, light? For so long you’ve harbored feeling for Jung Hoseok, the man so beautiful in all of his duality that had left you breathless since you were both learning the alphabet. To you, he was Hobi, bright as the sun and happier than a field of sunflowers in full bloom. No honey in this world could compare to his sweetness, how caring he had always been and how beautiful his soul will always be. 

“Good one, Hobi.” You bit out in a near mirthless chuckle, “Say it a few more time and I might actually believe you.” 

A sip of green tea to calm your soul, though no longer piping hot as the moment Hoseok had handed to you, warm enough to keep your blood running. You’ve never believed it, your Hobi, sweet and lovely, the kind of man you bring home to your parents could be anything else but that. His reputation preceded him, and it too made it back to your little neighborhood, one he had left in pursuit of the bigger and better. His kid brother raved about the amazing life he had led, the people he made friends with, and the girls… You felt your heart clenched as Chanwoo words flourished with excitement of the amazing dates, how beautiful the girls were, and the fun they had. Your little naive heart could never, didn’t dared dream to compete with. You couldn’t believe the preposterous stories but now, you wondered if you had simply refused to open your eyes to the new world, a world you had lost your Hobi to, all because you couldn’t deal with the fact that he had changed. 

You never spoke a word of it, not during the many phone calls you shared, not even when he came home to visit. Gone were the leather jacket and styled hair Chanwoo and Hoseok’s friends had spoken so fondly of, gone too was the many terms and slangs hopelessly lost on your foolish self they had used to describe a much cooler version of your childhood friend. He came home the dorky Hobi you remembered with stars lighting his eyes and a warm fire in his soul. He reminded you of freshly baked apple pie on a cool autumn night, cuddling up beside the glowing ember of the fire place and hot cocoas. Your heart thrown for a loop and for the first time in your life, his hug felt like a lie. 

You spent that week doing a song and dance about your daily life, all in a big effort to avoid him, doing your best to feel a bit of normalcy with the storm brewing in your heart. Did your best too, to stay out of his way once your company had decided you outgrown the little niche this corner of the world and sent you right into the vibrant life of the big city, his city. Millions of places life could’ve sent you but life’s funny in its own twisted sense of humor, it likes to watch people suffer and life had never taken a favor with you. Nothing could’ve prepare you for the day your company had placed you right into the lap of Jung Hoseok, an apartment all paid for just one floor away - you were F103 and he, F203. Funny thing too, apartments are, it was nothing more than a bigger, better, glorified version of your old bedroom. Sure the space was yours, sure the freedom was there once that front door close but deep down, it truly never was, will never be. Fact of the matter was you shared a roof with hundreds other tenants just as you had shared a roof with your siblings. One major difference, you had traded your annoying brother stomping away at your ceiling for Hoseok and his morning stomp from being late for work was the very least of your concerns. Every late night private party, every morning fuck, every single time he forgotten to close his window (a nasty habit he got since he was a mere baby, gotten sick countless time yet lesson never learned), you were suddenly reminded of how little you really know the man you thought was your best friend, just how much lied he had fed you every Thanksgiving, every Christmas, and just how little you mattered to him.

“I’m so into you, it scares me a little.” The words vibrating through that alluringly deep voice, yet it did nothing to comfort the turmoil in your heart. Your dress swayed in the soft breeze of a mild autumn night, a year now since you’ve learned to live with the baggage that come with Jung Hoseok. Though the soft moans and creaks of bed haunting your nightmare no longer manifest often, courtesy of a very very awkward conversation, the damage was done. You’ve learned to accept, and you’ve adapted even if the progress made barely considerable. 

“Alright cut it out. I know you’re into mocking me and all but. What do you think you’re doing?” But you weren’t a fool. You too a different woman than the innocent childhood best friend Hoseok left behind for the glamour and felt the need to put up a facade for, to lie to. You’ve been duped for far too long to take anything Hoseok say at face value. You’ve dreamt of the day you hear those words, the fanfare and lightness left from the dissolving of all the suffering through years of unrequited love. But this moment, hearing the little confession, it brought nothing but the fire of hell upon your soul, souring your inside, and searing your skin with disgust. 

“Well you say if I say it a few more time you’ll believe me.” Perhaps the sentiment was earnest, as earnest as fuckboy Jung Hoseok could manage… God, you hated that word. Fuckboy… or rather, you hated that your dear best friend had gotten boiled down to how smooth his lines was and how amazing the heaven his tongue provided could be. His beautiful soul withered away with pointless small talk and his wonderful, magnificent mind lost to the moans of momentarily gratification. 

“Might. I said might.” You corrected, half way hopped out of your chair before facing him with a grimace, a sharp pain in your chest. “And are you insane? You can’t just casually say something like that and expect me to… to what? fall to my knee? willingly add my name to your long laundry list? suck your dick? let you fuck me till I can’t distinguish up from down?” Your chest puffed up, eyes redden and for the first time in a long time, Hoseok was scare. He was truly fearful because the last time anguish had flashed so painfully in your eyes despite your best effort of hiding it behind anger, he had told you of his plan to move away.

“Jesus, Y/n. Is that how you fucking think of me?” His hand reluctantly reaching forward yet before it could sooth your raging soul, you had slapped it away in complete disbelief. “Is that all I am to you? A loser that will do anything to get in your pants?” There was no denying the hurt spreading through his veins like wild fire, searing every bit of his skin with disappointment… Disappointment that he was no longer Hobi in your heart. 

“What do you want from me, Hoseok? You can’t really expect me to still be that gullible girl patiently waiting for every phone call, bated breaths and anxious heart counting down the day until you come home? You’ve lied to me for so long so why should I believe anything you have to say. I don’t even know who you are anymore, Hoseok.” 

You bit out bitterly and Hoseok remained silent, what could he say when every word that came out of your mouth was true. He loved having your attention, craved it to a point where he was willing to make a fool out of you fearing that the new him would drive you into the arms of someone else. He was selfish, yes, so incredibly selfish but it was all because he wanted you all to himself. But at the same time, he loved the new him, stains and all its hell fire glory. The party made him feel alive and for once, he wasn’t nerdy Hoseok waiting for his best friend and her fiery soul to come rescue him from the playground’s bully. People paid attention to him because he was Jung Hoseok, not because he was Y/n’s best friend, Y/n’s little pet, Y/n’s boy toy or whatever else jealousy had conjured up. He was cool, he made women swoon and men envious. With a well-placed smirk and a few charming words in that sultrily deep voice, the world was at his feet. For once he was the man. He knew lying was wrong, but he wasn’t ready for you to learn of the new him. Fearful that disgust would replace the love you had for him twinkling in your lovely eyes. 

“No… Don’t say that, please. You know me, I’m me, I’m Hobi.” Oh the desperation in his heart, if he could tear it out of his chest right moment and present you with the truth, he would. But ripping his heart out would also mean ripping you out of his soul because truly, you own his heart. He clutched your hands in his trembling ones, tear had begun to dot the length of his lashes. “Hmm? Y/n… It’s Hobi.” He pressed your palm to his cheek, nuzzling in close as he always did but this time, desperation drawn out a small kiss and placed it delicately on your wrist over your tiny bee tattoo. He had nearly forgotten how much trouble you had gotten into, drunk out of your mind, paired with the foolishness of 16 years olds agreeing to get a matching tattoo with him. He’d have a sunflower and you’d have a tiny bee. You had insisted that he was as bright as the sunflower and you, nothing but a small bee lingering, drawing from her flower friend’s brightness and strength. If Hoseok really did have his way that night, you would have the sun dainty on your wrist and he, the humble Earth. You were his sun, his warmth, and his everything. 

“Stop, Hoseok. I know you hate being Y/n’s dorky best friend Hobi, just as certain as I know you hate home.” You voice wavered at the sentence you’ve for so long despised, denied, and suppressed even if you knew it was the truth. You knew home was always too small for Jung Hoseok and he deserved the world, but you didn’t let yourself believe it. Because for Jung Hoseok to conquer the world, it would’ve meant he left you behind. 

“How could I hate home, hmm, Y/n? How could you even say that?” You couldn’t remember the last time you had saw him cry… The tear streaming down his cheeks and how his hands still clutching so tightly on yours as if fearful you’ll dissipate the second he let go. “How could I when… When…” The word choked in his throat, a ragged gasp was all that escaped when he truly realized just how angry you were. Never before had he seen the light behind those beautiful eyes darken so, and to be here, to know he was the reason, he dimmed out the universe inside your soul, it was terrifying. 

“When what? When what, Hoseok? Spit it out!” Your feeble little heart no longer able to contain the surge of emotion rising at an exponential rate. It exploded with the vigor of watching him laughing away with his exes, of hearing those vulgar words fallen from his lips, of crying yourself to sleep to the moans of faceless and nameless, of realizing that after all these years… You still love him.

“You’re home, Y/l/n Y/n. How could I fucking hate home when to me, you’re home! I fucking love you, what about that is so hard to understand?”

The very next second your lips were on his and the world melted away. The distant between home and this new hectic life of yours no longer exist, line blurred between Hoseok and Hobi, and suddenly, ceased to exist too was the anger in your heart. Hoseok stiffen under your unexpected touch but soon melt into the way your lips desperately moulding against his, gentle fingers dancing across his chest and rest against the sharpness of his jawline. He stilled himself, reveled in the delightful taste of your lips - bitter of the tea mingling with the faded sweetness of your chapstick.

“Then why did you left me…” Forehead resting against his, your eyes fluttered shut as tears of sorrow hot against your cheeks. Your hands still flushed against his skin and soft kisses bloomed on his lips. “Why did you lie?”

“I never meant to hurt you. I wanted to take you with me but this city life, it changed me. And before I could catch my breath, I had turned into this person that I wasn’t sure myself if I could still be love.” Though tears no longer raining down those beautiful features, his voice trembled under the insane rollercoaster of the last few minutes. “I wanted to change so badly, want to be a better man, a more befitting man for you… But all this, I fell in love with the party, the loud nights, and the clothes but I never once wanted to be known for my laundry list. I just wanted you but before I know it, I could see the confusion, the disappointment in your eyes.”

“I would’ve love you no matter what. I’m angry because you felt like you had to lie to me, as if we hadn’t shared most of our lives together. Am I that, that…” You wanted to ask all those questions lodged in your heart from hearing those words being spoken about your Hobi, and if you had truly been such a horrible friend, he thought you’d judge the new him. 

“Shh, no, baby. Don’t. Don’t blame yourself for what I did.” All the self-doubt, all the self-pity, the confusion harbored, festered in your heart hushed out, washed away with the moment his lips returned to yours. “I just thought, if I act and make myself look like the way I used to, that I could somehow convinced you that I’m the same person. That was the only reason why I lied, I just wanted you to look at me the way you used to.” He reveled in the way you leaned in so close, body heat warming, dispelling the shiver running down his spine and let his arms snaked around your waist.  

“Hoseok, there’s nothing wrong with changing and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel judged for being yourself. Everyone has to grow up someday. I changed, even though I insisted upon being the same boring person all these years. To me you’re Hobi, no matter what. I don’t care if you change your hair, your clothes, your face, deep down you’re still my sunshine. Nothing will ever change that, nothing will truly change who you are inside. I just wish you had been honest with me.” You let your hands rested at the nape of his neck, fearing that the second you let go, he’d just disappeared into the late night moans and the cold sent off the next morning as his late nights do their walk of shame. “I loved you for so long and I thought coming here, giving into my hate for this new you would finally let me move on but…” You word trailed off, the thought of him fucking another girl, of the bliss on her features as he worships her body, and the way she gets to touch him… It lit a fire in your heart and not in the way you wanted it to. Then you thought too of how much these girls that had thought they got the best of him, went on living their days not knowing just how amazing it would be if Hoseok had decided to worship their heart and soul the way he did their body. 

“I don’t think I can ever make up for what I put you through. Just thinking of you and another guy…” Breath hitching, his jaw clenching tightly as the ball of anger in his chest unravelling picturing you under a faceless, nameless guy. “Let alone hearing, knowing…”

“But you know what the funny thing is?” Your question dispelled the jealousy and envy in his eyes as they soften at the sound of your voice, once more lingering on your soft smile. “Hearing you… Them, made me realized just how fucking jealous I was. It forced this part of me that wanted so desperately to hate you into defeat and I just, I want to be them, I want to be the one that make you moan, make you smile. It forced me to come to term with just how fucking hopelessly in love I still am with you.” Thumb petting over the soft skin of his cheek, you let yourself relearning the sharp features and soft, plush lips of the man you were still desperately in love with, the man that you now knew in love with you. 

“So, what does this mean for us now?” He sighed, heart finally content, soul basking in the solace it deserved.

“Well, we have a lot of catching up to do, and all the missing time to make up for… I suppose you’ll have to spend the night, maybe the weekend too seeing how it’s Friday night.” Idly drawing circles atop his tone pecs, you mulled over the plan for the weekend and how suddenly none of your plan seemed to matter anymore. Everything seemed so pale in comparison now that the possibility of lazing in bed with Hoseok, morning breath and bed head and all, was possible. 

“Oh, can we do those brunch things with like alcohol and like eggs and bacons too? I’ve always wanted to do it!” For a split second, it was as if you were both 17 once more, hanging out on a Friday night trying to figure out where the weekend will be spent now that Hoseok officially had his license. The pure excitement in his eyes and the way his smile beaming so brightly, it made you wonder if there really ever was another version of Hobi. 

“Okay, when they say alcohol, you know they meant like mimosa right… Not tryna get drunk at 10 in the morning here.” You heed a warning, knowing full well just how drunk your sunshine could get when he really wanted to. 

“I know, just excited. I always wanted to do this with my girlfriend.” A kiss placed delicately on your nose, Hoseok couldn’t stop the smile blooming on his lips, overjoyed that one was mirroring on yours too. 

“Girlfriend? I- Wow…” You sighed dumbly, repeating the word you had only dreamt of. The reality of the last mere half hour hadn’t yet settled in your erratic heart. Who would’ve thought when Jung Hoseok called you up for a Friday hang out to reminisce the past that you would’ve ended the night kissing the man you’ve been dreaming of. Now that his little confession had been made, it wasn’t so strange after all that someone as popular as he was would be bored on a Friday night, calling up his childhood friend.  

“Yes, you’re my girlfriend. I’m your boyfriend.” He said matter of fact-ly, tugging you closer into his embrace as the piercing wind of the night began to pick up. For a second, neither of you said much, letting the content soft breaths warming each other to echo through the night lit with sight assaulting neon signs. You both were so far from the moonlit nights of the small town you’ve fallen in love with one another in. Yet the longer you remained in each other arms, even as he led you back inside to the warmth of your bed awaiting, the realization that the place and time matter not for as long as you got love for each other finally settled in your heart. It’d be a long way till all those lonely nights, painful nights could truly be forgotten but you had an inkling that with Hoseok by your side, healing will too be effortless. 

#bts #bts scenarios #jhope #jhope scenarios #jung hoseok #hoseok scenarios #j-hope scenarios #j hope #j hope scenarios

[ficdirectory]

Somewhere Inside (Disuphere series #4) Chapter 44

(To listen, click here) - 12:57

When the knock sounds on the front door of Grandpa’s cabin, Jesus doesn’t know he’s going to move until he does.  Dudley’s at his side.  

Pearl’s out of the bedroom for the first time all day.  She looks rough.  Wrecked.  Red, swollen eyes.  Pale.  Exhausted.  Devastated.  The bedroom door is closed behind her, and Jesus knows Pearl has told Francesca to stay put there.

The knocking is constant.  Irritated.  Jesus can see her through the window.  It’s definitely Pearl’s mom.

“Jesus, what are you…?” Pearl asks, but when he turns to look at her, Pearl falls silent.  

“Levi, go hang out with Francesca,” Jesus directs softly.  But there’s no movement behind him.  Jesus is pretty sure Levi couldn’t move if he wanted to.

Pearl is in no place to deal with her abusive as hell mother today.  But if Jesus knows anything, it’s that he’s capable of dealing with a ton of stress.  It actually feels normal to him.  So, even though his body’s still killing him.  Even though he’s still not even close to okay.  He can deal with this.

“Mariana.  Dominique.  Please.  Go hang out with Francesca.  Take Levi and Pearl, too.”

“No, Pearl’s staying,” Pearl objects, her hands shaking, even as Cleo is in her arms.  “She’s my mother.  I brought her stress here.  I can deal with her.”

“You asked her to stay away and she didn’t listen,” Jesus points out.  The knocking is getting to him.  Between Dominique and Mariana, they have managed to encourage Levi to come with them, with promises they can all watch some Disney movie together.  “Please trust me.  I can deal with her.  Just go wait.”

“Fine,” Pearl nods.  

Jesus is vaguely aware of Pearl going into the bedroom.  Of the fact that he does not hear the bedroom door close behind her.  Knows Pearl is listening.  (Knows it’s her right.  It’s her mom, but Jesus finds himself with his fingers crossed behind him that he can do a good enough job warning Pearl’s mom away.  That she doesn’t end up coming in here.)

But Jesus is nothing if not determined.  He walks to the door, taking deep breaths on the way.  Dudley’s right with him.

Unceremoniously, Jesus yanks the door open.  Glares at Pearl’s mom.

“What?” he asks, sharp.

“Jesus,” she smiles.  “I’m Carla West.  Pearl’s mom.  Is she here?” Carla asks, friendly.

“She doesn’t wanna see you,” Jesus insists, voice low.

“So, she is here,” Carla says, arms crossed. The act is already falling away. “I need to speak to her.”

“No.  You need to get the hell out of here.  You need to leave Pearl alone,” Jesus warns.

“Are you threatening me?” Carla scoffs.  “You sure fooled everyone, didn’t you?  You sure fooled my daughter.  With the poor, missing kid act.  You’re so traumatized, right?  Well, I have news for you.  We all go through tough stuff,” Carla insists, lowering her voice.  “That doesn’t give you the right to treat my daughter the same way Chris Mitchell treated you.”

Jesus’s eyes flash.  “Get out of here.  Now.”

“Maybe you have Stockholm Syndrome, like all the news reports claimed.  But you know what?  That’s no excuse,” Carla rants quietly.

It’s how Carla keeps lowering her voice and glancing around as her true colors show that makes Jesus think of his own moms.  It’s Francesca’s observation that Pearl’s mom, and theirs, are alike.  And it’s the mention of the news.  All of it, in combination, gives Jesus the idea.

“There’s a thing I’ve noticed about small towns being here,” Jesus tells Carla softly.  “People talk.”

Carla’s nodding, “Absolutely.  They do, and--”

“Gladys...Gary...Steve and Sue…” Jesus lists everyone he’s ever heard Pearl mention from this area, drawing a trail away from Pearl.  Away from Levi.  Jesus doesn’t want Carla knowing they are the ones he got all of his information from.  “Oh, and that nice girl Jolly, at the post office.”

“They all agree with me!” Carla snaps.  “A daughter should return her mother’s calls!  Not change her number--”

“--And,” Jesus interrupts.  “That means I know things.  A lot of things.  About you.  Things that would really suck for you if they ever...I don’t know...went public?”

Carla crosses her arms.  “You know nothing,” she spits, her full contempt showing.

“You think?  What do you think?” he asks Dudley.  “I mean, if you’re willing to risk...say...your local news finding out what local gossip is saying about you anyway?  Keep harassing Pearl.  Watch what happens.”

“Whoever you’re getting information from is full of shit.  No one will believe you,” Carla says, still super pissed, and super quiet.

“Maybe they didn’t believe me Before,” Jesus challenges, looking Carla in the eye. “When I was just a kid with zero power. But I’m a man now.  And I have a name.  And, believe it or not?  People believe the hell out of me when I speak.  Because I tell the truth.  Even when no one else will.  When no one else can.  So, I mean, if you wanna test that theory of yours, be my guest.”

“You hate the press.  You’ve never done a single interview since you’ve been back.  You wouldn’t start now.  You’re terrified of cameras,” Carla sneers.

“Doesn’t have to be on camera,” Jesus shrugs.  “The written word holds plenty of power.  Social media.  Your local paper?  People read that all over here.”

Jesus sees it the minute he has her.  The way fear flickers in Carla’s eyes.  How instead of stepping back, she steps forward - toward him - a threat on her lips:

“You wouldn’t…” she laughs, mocking.

Dudley moves in front of Jesus, growling.

“You ever harass Pearl at home?  You ever intimidate Levi in town?  You do anything to bother them at all...and everything I know about you?  Is gonna become everything everyone knows about you.  If you see either one of them in town, you’d better walk the other way.  Or it’s out.” Jesus assures, taking his own step toward Carla.

“You know what?  Fine.  I’m done with getting the middle finger from my daughter.  I’m done.  Keep your little expose to yourself.  Pearl doesn’t have a mother anymore.  And she can thank you for it,” Carla says, walking quickly down the steps.  She turns in the driveway, and calls, “And if I never see Levi again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Hey!” Jesus calls, remembering something.  “Key!”

“What?” Carla asks, exasperated.

“The key to Pearl’s cabin.  If you’re serious?  I want it.” Jesus insists.

Something is pelted at him and Jesus flinches.  It lands several feet short, in the grass.  Sends Dudley out to retrieve it.  It’s a single key on a stretchy band that can be worn around a wrist.

Dudley brings it back.  Drops it in Jesus’s hand.

“Thanks, Dudley,” Jesus says, scratching his head.

Jesus stays at the door, watching until she gets in her car and drives out of sight out on the main road.  Then, he closes it.  Leans against it.  Locks every single lock.

Then he goes to the bedroom door and knocks, an all clear.

Jesus is glad to find it closed.

Pearl opens it, worried.  “Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah.  She’s gone.  She’s not gonna bother you guys again,” Jesus reassures.

Francesca butts in, beside Pearl.  “Levi’s sick in the bathroom.  He locked the door.”

“Well, give him space, all right?” Jesus offers.  “Let’s all take it easy. Or keep busy.  Whatever we need to do, you know, for self care.  I gotta get away from this bedroom door for self care,” he tells Dudley.

Jesus is just a little shocked when Pearl follows him out to the living room.  “Seriously.  What did you say to her?” she asks, perching on the edge of the coffee table.

“Just threatened her with what I figure is her worst fear…” Jesus shrugs.

“Rats?” Pearl exclaims, her eyes wide.

An unexpected laugh bubbles out of Jesus.  “No.  I mean, I’ve heard Fran say how your mom’s like ours.  And our moms’ worst fear is anyone else finding out what they consider private family business.  Judging from your mom’s reaction, I was right.”

“You threatened to...what?”

“Go public with what I know about her,” Jesus says, matter of fact.

Pearl’s eyes get big.  “Jesus, you promised Levi.  You promised me.  The Avoiders code of conduct.  Was that all a lie?” she asks, devastation evident in her voice.

“Pearl.  No,” Jesus explains calmly.  “What I told your mom was a risk.  A calculated one.  I would never out your stuff.  Or Levi’s stuff.  I threatened to tell what I knew because - with people like her? - their reputation is the most important thing.  I knew she’d agree to leave you and Levi alone if her reputation was threatened by the right person.”

“You manipulated her,” Pearl comments, breathless.

Jesus shrugs.  “I had four and a half years living around a massive manipulator with a giant ego.  I know how to deal with them.”

“Thank you,” Pearl nods, wiping her eyes with shaking hands.  “God, thank you.”

“Jesus?” Francesca interrupts.  “Levi doesn’t wanna come out of the bathroom ‘cause the thinks Pearl’s mom is really still here.”

“Okay.  Thanks for telling me, buddy,” Jesus says.  He hopes that soon, the little lurch his insides do when he hears Francesca talk will not be a thing.

Jesus clicks Levi’s name on Messenger, and the video chat option.

In seconds, Levi’s face is there.  Almost a twin of Pearl’s.  Pale.  Devastated.  Shaken.  His eyes look haunted.  

“She’s really gone,” Jesus reassures simply.  “You don’t have to stay in there.  Come out here with us.  Please.”

In response, the screen goes dark.  Levi ends the call.  But minutes later, Jesus hears the door open.  Levi, Mariana and Francesca all venture out together.  Levi, casting nervous glances.

“She’s not gonna bother you guys again.  If she sees you in town, Levi?  She’s gonna walk the other way.  And…” Jesus reaches in his pocket.  Withdraws Carla’s key.  “I got this from her.”

Pearl’s mouth drops open.

“She just gave it to you?” Levi gasps.  “‘Cause that’s it.  That’s the key she used Wednesday and today…”

“Here,” Jesus offers it to Pearl.

“Levi, will you unclip it?” Pearl asks.

(Jesus doesn’t miss how Pearl didn’t ask him to do it.  Is glad that even after all this, she remembers he’s dealing with his own trigger, too.)

Levi unclips the key from the stretchy blue band.

Pearl tosses him something else, encouraging him to clip the key to it, and taking the blue band for herself.  

“A cow keychain?” Levi asks, still nervous.

“He’s a stress cow,” Pearl says, like this should be obvious.  “You put your key on him and then you can squeeze him whenever you’re nervous.”

“Wait.  My key?” Levi asks, incredulous.

“Well, you live there, too.  For the last six months I’ve been saying I’ll get you a key and I still haven’t done it.  Now it’s even better.  You have one.  She doesn’t.” Pearl offers a sad smile.

“She’s not coming back to scare us anymore, is she?” Francesca asks.

“No, she’s not.  And I’m very sorry she did that,” Pearl says.  Jesus can see her shudder a little.  “Ugh, I hate that she was inside the cabin for so long.  I feel like I have to go next door and disinfect everything…”

“What if she found, like, personal stuff?” Levi asks.  “If she looked through and found...I don’t know...something…”

Jesus doesn’t know why, but Levi telling him about the phone he had as a third grader flashes through Jesus’s mind.  The one with the video Carla took of him.  Jesus casts Levi a sympathetic look.  Wishes he had thought to make her turn over anything she had taken from Pearl’s cabin.

“We can walk next door together.  You can double check.  Make sure she didn’t take anything,” Pearl offers.

“We’ll come with you for girl power,” Francesca offers, nodding at Dominique, who has just joined them as well.

--

When they’re gone, Mariana sits on the couch with Jesus.  He’s waiting anxiously, having sent a question mark to Levi, hoping he’ll find all his stuff still there, including the old phone.

Levi finally sends a thumbs up.  And Jesus feels like he can breathe.

“I’ve been meaning to ask...or...I guess not ask...but...check in.  If you wanna tell me anything…” Mariana hedges.  Jesus can tell she’s struggling to make sure she doesn’t ask him any questions.

“Triggered,” he offers.

“Yeah?” she asks, sad for him.  “But you handled Peanut Butter Cookie like a boss, though,” she says, proud.

“Yeah, well, it’s family.  Hell, if I’m gonna let some…  If I’m gonna let her hurt our family.”

“I’m protecting you, okay?  Always,” Mariana tells Jesus seriously.

“Yeah…” Jesus manages, letting out a shaky sigh of his own.  “Okay.”

#fic: somewhere inside

[therumbellehappyendingaward-blog]

Chapter 4 writer: @barpurplewrites​

PROMPT: CAKE

AO3: HERE

Belle, (and wasn’t it telling that he could think of her as Miss French in his own mind), had respected his refusal to have anything to do with her or their child. She had not sought him out again and had made no attempt to speak to him when their paths crossed. A faint smile would appear on her lips, only to flicker and fade in the face of his stony glare.

He had not done so well at avoiding her. Even in such a small town, with their business so close to each other, it should have been a simple thing to never catch a glimpse of her. And yet he saw her everywhere; the pharmacy, the grocery store, the park, the diner, the docks, the hospital. Each sighting showed him how her belly was rounding out more and more as their child grew within.

If he was close enough he would sometimes glean a snippet of information. At the pharmacy he overheard her espousing the wonders of the rose scented lotion for keeping her expanding skin suple. In the grocery store he heard her laughing at the amount of pickles she was consuming these days. An apparently idle enquiry to one of the nurses at the hospital while he was undergoing his regular check-up revealed that mother and baby were doing well.

His nights were haunted by dreams of domestic scenes involving Belle and their child. In sleep he was happy, a proud father, and sometimes a loving husband. The frustrated tears that wet his checks when he woke irritated and shamed him more than the idealistic fantasies his subconscious wove. He’d already driven one child away, what did he have to offer a second?

No matter how much he snarled at himself that he’d done the right thing in rejecting Belle’s offer to know their child, he couldn’t help but remember that odd sense of hope that had filled him when he’d made his donation.

It that hazy painful time after Bae had walked away for good, he’d somehow found a spark of hope inside him that propelled him to the fertility clinic. As awkward and embarrassing as that appointment had been he’d felt a sense of contentment that now there was a chance of a second child of his coming into the world.

In those peaceful days he’d envisioned his donation going to a happy couple, one that may allow him some small part in the life of the child he had helped to give them. Once bitten twice shy in romance, he would never allow himself the foolish pain of that sort of entanglement again, but in his nebulous day dreams he saw himself taking the role of uncle to the child. His money was the only thing anybody had ever wanted from him and he would be willing to provide plenty for the child’s well being if, once in a while, he was allowed to spend time with them. It would be the sort of relationship his withered heart could manage, with little danger to himself he thought.

The guilty and shame had not taken long to consume him. How dare he try and replace Bae? What sort of monster was he to dare to dream of a second-chance? If a miracle occurred and Bae returned home how would he feel to see his papa holding the hand of a replacement child? He forced himself to forget all about his moment of madness at the fertility clinic and pushed his traitorous fantasy deep into the recesses of his mind.

Belle had dragged that fantasy sharply into the light, and with it so much more. He couldn’t deny that he had felt something for her the moment she stepped into his shop. He told himself that it was the possibility she offered of a friendship, however fleeting, untainted by his reputation and nothing more. As long as he didn’t think about holding her in his arms or wiping away her tears he almost believed himself.

Faced with the offer of everything he had wanted he had shoved it away, too scared to risk the happiness that could come from it. Happiness never lasted, he knew this, knew only to well how bitter the dashed hopes and disappointment would make him. There was so little left of him he’d be turned to dust when everything broke and was torn away from him again.

He’d done the right thing; pushed her away before he could become attached; showed her what a beast he was before she grew to resent him and walked away.

It was the no nonsense Mrs Lucas who inadvertently gave him the metaphorical kick up the backside he needed to see what a fool he had been.

Almost a month after he’d driven Belle out of his shop he was seated in the diner at eleven in the morning, long before Belle would enter for her lunch. He’d been indulging his sweet tooth recently, a sure sign that he was more depressed than he was admitting to himself. Today he was trying to soothe himself with strawberry cheesecake.

Granny Lucas huffed at his order and shook her head; “Nope, that’s the last slice and it’s reserved.”

Gold arched his eyebrows; “How can a slice of cheesecake be reserved?”

She peered at him over her half-moon spectacles; “Because Belle is craving it and her little babe’s sweet tooth is more important than yours.”

He blinked and nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. The proud words of how much the baby was like him already could not be permitted to bubble out of his mouth. Granny’s eyes narrowed at his lack of argument, but she nodded curtly; “I’ll give you a minute of two to think about want you want.”

She was talking about dessert, but his mind was on Belle and their child. They were more important; more important than his sweet tooth; more important than his fears and cowardice; important enough to risk his heart for?

Yes.

It was so simple. Belle and their baby were the most important thing in his life. And he could share their lives, if he could make amends.

The breath caught in his throat as he gasped at his epiphany. He couldn’t change the mistakes of his past, but he could damn well make sure he didn’t repeat them. He rose from the table and left the diner at a calm and measured pace, which didn’t explain why the door slammed behind him, or why he was out of breath by the time he reached the corner.

Panting he leaned against the wall and caught his breath for a moment before starting off towards his shop. He needed to talk to Belle, but how to go about it? Belle’s book! The precious book her mother had read to her. He still had it. It was repaired now and looked rather good if he said so himself. He would return it to her and ask if they could talk. He dithered on the sidewalk. After his behaviour it might be wise to offer an apology gift. A slight smile tugged the corner of his mouth as he turned on his heel and began to walk with purpose to the bakery.

“Good luck with the meal.”

Belle waved her last patron out of the library and leaned against the circulation desk with a sigh. The mere thought of the lamb dish that Archie was determined to perfect turned her stomach. She adored lamb before she conceived. She idly rubbed her belly and wondered if she’d enjoy it again once baby was born.

“All you want is cake and sweets isn’t little one?”

And cake they would be enjoying very soon, but right now Belle had an important errand to run. Once the library was locked up she turned left instead of right and marched with as much determination as she could muster towards the pawnshop.

She was fuming with herself when she realised she’d walked out of the pawnshop without her book, but the rejection had been hard to swallow. There had been some hopeless romantic part of her soul that clung to the idea that Gold would come around once he’d had time to process the news. She had rather dropped it on him after all. She wasn’t so much of a romantic to expect love at first sight, but she’d hoped that he’d show an interest in the child he’d helped create.

As disappointing as he reaction had been, it had been a relief to have finally told him. She’d gotten herself so worked up over the idea, imagining countless scenarios, both good and bad. To finally know his opinion on the matter cleared her mind and allowed her to focus on planning for the baby’s arrival. To do that she wanted her beloved book back.

The door rattled as she tried to open it. She growled under her breath at the closed sign. How dare he shut up shop on the very day she had decided to be brave and face him again? Insufferable man! She rattled the doorknob again and huffed.

“Miss French?”

She tensed at the sound of his voice. Her damn hormones had her craving more than cake recently, and a Scottish brogue had fuelled more than one fantasy. She turned around slowly, mindful of her bump, and fixed him with what she hoped was an aloof glare.

“Mr Gold. I have come for my book. I don’t care if you have restored it or not. I want it back.”

“Of course. I was about to bring it across to the library. I had an errand to run first.”

With a smirk he held up a box from the very expensive bakery. Belle willed her stomach not to rumble audibly. She’d treated herself to a single slice of cake from that bakery. It had been the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, but it had been a mistake. There was no way she could afford to spend that sort of money every time she had a craving. She kept her face composed, not willing to rise to his showing off.

The smirk slid off his face and he gestured towards the door of his shop.

“If you’ll allow me?”

Belle stepped to one side, so he could unlock the door. Gold fumbled the keys, odd he’d not struck her as the clumsy sort.

“I’m, erm, I’m glad you came by. I was erm, was hoping we could talk.”

He’d also not struck her as the stammering sort.

“You made your position very clear. I can’t imagine what you feel we have to talk about.”

Her sharp tone surprised her and caused him to flinch. Good; serves him right. She defiantly held her chin up as he raised his hard eyes to her face. If he thought he could snark and snap at her then he better be ready for a taste of his own medicine, because she’d had almost a month to think of all the things she wanted to say to him.

“I was hoping you’d let me apologise for being a cowardly fool,” – he gave the box a little shake, - “I bought you cake.”

Belle stomped her foot and refused to feel childish for doing so; “You really think some cake will make me listen to you? You were horrible to me!”

Gold’s eyes flared, and he snarled through gritted teeth; “Yes I was, but that’s our child you are carrying, and I’d like to be a father to it!”

His voice may have started as a low snarl, but it had raised to a shout. A shout that was clearly heard down the quiet street if the shocked gasp from Mrs Nolan was anything to judge by. Gold and Belle both gave her tight lipped smiles as Mr Nolan hurried her by them before she could begin prying and nosing into their business.

Gold took a deep breath; “Might we continue this inside away from the eyes and ears of the town?”

Belle sighed. She already knew that Mary-Margaret couldn’t keep a secret, that was as common knowledge as Gold’s beastly reputation. All of Storybrooke would know by dinnertime. She sighed again and stepped inside the pawnshop.

#finish this #group yellow #barpurplewrites #rumbelle

[sherlockxreader]

Broken (SherlockxReader)

Broken (SherlockxReader)

Request: Hello ! May I request a Sherlock x Reader where they were in a relationship before he faked his death, and, just like John, she didn’t know he was alive. So could you maybe write about how he tells her and her reaction, please ? - anonymous

Author: Nyla (i-had-a-halo-once)

Words: 2639

Warnings: Cursing

Pairings: SherlockxReader (romantic), LestradexReader (platonic), slight JohnxReader (platonic)

A/N: I totally fell in love with this request. As it so happens, I was listening to a song that fits this oneshot pretty well, but I hesitated in adding the lyrics to the story. So the song is called “Oh My Love” by Silver Trees. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! - Nyla

___________

Two years. It had been two years since the day your world shattered and you couldn’t quite piece it back together. Two years. And everything — oh, God, everything had changed.

Outwardly, however, you were an impressive detective whose future certainly held promotions and awards. For you had chosen to continue pursue law enforcement after that tragic day, convinced it was somehow all your own fault that Sherlock Holmes had chosen to jump off a roof and end his own life. Worst of all, he had called John, and then you, begging for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

You still had nightmares of that fatal phone call and the events following it.

And you were haunted by a ghost no one else still saw.

So when you came striding into your office after chasing down another false lead on a murder case, you wore a mask of calm. “Hey, Y/N,” came the voice of your partner, none other than Greg Lestrade. You nodded at him in acknowledgement.

“Anything new on that missing persons case?” You questioned, sitting down. You noticed a coffee cup in front of you and carefully tasted the coffee. Hot, but not too hot. And, of course, the way you liked it.

“We have about a million of those,” Greg answered. “Care to elaborate?”

“You know. Young girl. Teens. Tourist?” You prompted, raising an eyebrow. He shot you a smirk, and you rolled your eyes at him. He was teasing you, as usual. You knew it, and smiled faintly.

“Nope. You know how these things go, Y/N.”

And it was true. You did. Only one out of ten missing persons cases usually ended up getting solved. The other nine… Well, you could only guess what happened to those poor souls. And it wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Hmm. What about that murder case with the silver knife?” You asked absentmindedly, checking your work email briefly. No updates.

“Nothing. The forensic team is still analyzing the evidence.”

“Mmm,” came your distracted response. You had turned to the mess that was stacks of unread papers on your desk, and was rifling through it, looking for something specific, when a quiet sigh caught your attention. You glanced up at your partner, seeing his hesitant, but thoughtful, expression. You knew exactly what, or who, was causing that sigh, and you didn’t really want to ask, but you couldn’t help yourself. “Let me guess. Anderson?” You asked quietly, resisting the urge to kick yourself. You knew bringing up Anderson was effectively to bringing up him, but you still asked anyhow.

Greg caught your look, but nodded anyway. “It was a new theory today. You know, it wasn’t that insane when you think it through, Y/N.”

“We all know what happened,” you replied shortly, avoiding his eyes. “No amount of theories or regrets will bring him back.” Your tone had a dangerous edge to it, and Greg acknowledged the hinted warning.

Sherlock had been everything to you, and about a year after your fateful meeting, a relationship had slowly developed. Neither of you had really acknowledged it, preferring to dance around any mention of liking each other, until Sherlock had simply demanded to know if you were free at a given date to go with him on a date. Startled, you had questioned him, and he had looked up at you, and said, “A date. Which is what people do when they like each other, is it not?“ Laughing, you agreed to go with him. After that first “date”, you two had become a couple, albeit unofficially. And you hid the relationship from the public — Sherlock refused to risk your reputation as a good person. Perhaps he knew what had been coming, because shortly thereafter, the media deemed anyone with a close relationship to him “dangerous” and a “potential criminal”.

And then, ever since his death, you refused to talk about him. It was just easier not to. And then your changed personality drove even John away. While he didn’t talk about Sherlock to anyone but his therapist, you had shut yourself off from him. You slowly stopped picking up his calls and answering his texts, and eventually, they stopped coming.

That was six months ago.

“Y/N,” Greg continued in a gentle tone, “you of all people knew Sherlock—”

“Don’t!” You snapped, slamming shut the file you had open and looking at him. “Sherlock Holmes is dead, and God willing he will stay dead. And so will everything concerning him. And tell Anderson that too. It may not be Anderson’s fault, but he still has no right stirring up things that affect other people too. So good fucking riddance to that bastard to John Watson, and to that fool Anderson.” You took a deep breath, trying to regain your calm and composure, your eyes fluttering shut with the effort.

Silence hung heavy in the air with Greg watching you cautiously. You slumped back into your chair, suddenly ashamed of your outburst. Greg wasn’t Anderson, and he had been so supportive of you and helpful. He didn’t deserve the way you had just yelled at him.

You swallowed, and looked up. “Greg, I’m sorry,” you finally whispered. “I just… It wasn’t directed at you. I just need to let him go. Sometimes I wish I never had met him.”

“Take a break, Y/N.” Greg said softly. “You need it. Come back tomorrow if you feel like it, but don’t force yourself to.”

“But the murder case—”

“—can and will wait,” he cut you off. “Yes, I need my partner, the best goddamn detective in this agency I know of, but not when she’s distracted by the grief she’s been suppressing over the death of the man she loved. So go home, go to a therapist, or whatever the hell you need to do to cope, but take care of yourself, Y/N. And when you’ve managed to pull yourself back together, come back here.”

Greg’s gaze was hard, but truthful, and after a brief but silent battle of wills, your eyes finally dropped to your desk. “Alright, fine,” you conceded with a mumble and a heavy sigh that indicted you knew who was in the right here and it wasn’t you, and you rose to your feet. You picked up your long trench coat, flipping your computer off and grabbing your phone before moving for the door.

“I’m doing this for you, Y/N,” Greg called after you. You turned your head to glance at him, knowing he was sincere. “I want what’s best for you, but throwing yourself into this type of work without a clear mind isn’t it. Not when you need a clear head to stay alive.”

You nodded silently, then pushed open the door your hand was resting on and navigating a path through the maze of desks placed in your way. Though you felt eyes following you, you never looked back.

Your neutral expression you fought so hard to keep was cracking.

Just a little bit.

___________

Nighttime had claimed the city for its own when you left the shiny building housing the government agency you had found your calling in. After Sherlock had…left…you had continued on your chosen career path. Despite the many arguments you and the sociopathic genius had gotten into over it, you had decided to continue being a cop. Maybe it was to atone for the sin of never suspecting Sherlock was suicidal that you did so.

The streets were emptying, now mostly filled with giggling young couples who were filled with a couple too many drinks making their way home. Young, like you and he had been the night you met. Naïve, like you had been when you had fallen for him. Happy, like you two had been together.

A quiet sob escaped from your unsuspecting lips. The tears that stung your eyes simply refused to go, and you had given up trying to wipe them away. Maybe Greg was right; maybe you really did need to just let yourself grieve. To let yourself shed the tears that hadn’t been shed at his funeral, or the endless times you had found yourself staring at the shiny black headstone that marked the place where he rested.

Sherlock hadn’t taken many things with him when he fell, not even his cellphone. Like so many other things, such as the thoughts and feelings of others in his life, he had discarded his phone on the rooftop. He had also left behind John’s heart to heal, at least.

But not yours. No, Sherlock Holmes had taken your heart with him when he fell. And you had never gotten it back.

Your hand was already rising to cover your mouth as more sobs found their escape into the cold, wet air of night-ruled downtown London. You had chosen to leave your car behind and take a night walk, feeling relatively safe since your gold DI-in scripted badge marked you as someone to leave alone, despite your gender. And if the badge wasn’t warning enough, then the black gun hanging in full view at your hip certainly was.

You fought the urge to scream and cry like a little girl. After two years, your bottled-up emotions refused to be repressed any longer and struggled to escape through the trembling fingers pressed over your mouth to silence yourself once again. Tears ran freely down your cheeks, however, and you couldn’t stop those even if you had tried.

Maybe a drink was what you needed right now. You made a beeline for the bar you had spotted just now, your footsteps slightly more hurried once they had an actual destination to carry you to. You found yourself opening the door a minute later, and noticed a little table in a corner overlaid with heavy shadows, and immediately headed for it. Not five minutes later, the waiter came with a question and left with your answer.

The first drink was emptied quickly. You were one of three patrons gracing the bar with their presence, and was grateful that their attention was captured by the telly. You didn’t want anyone privy to the drowning of your grief in a drink or two.

Halfway through the second drink, when you were still completely sober, footsteps drawing near caught your attention. It was most likely your waiter.

“I hope you’re planning to remain sober, Y/N, otherwise this conversation will be harder.”

Every fiber of your being froze. You knew that voice, you heard it every night in your nightmares. And you had heard it for real two years ago when it apologized for the following actions of its owner.

Slowly, you overcame your paralysis, raising your head. Your eyes traced his shoes up to his hands and his shoulders, and then, finally….

“My God,” you whispered as your eyes met a supposedly dead man’s for the first time in two years. A small — and was it nervous? — smile played on his lips as Sherlock met your gaze evenly.

And behind him — the man you blamed for his death, his expression far more nervous than Sherlock’s. John didn’t smile.

“So you’re still a cop.” Sherlock stated quietly. Almost judgmentally.

You slowly rose to your feet, cold fury seeping through your body and freezing your gaze. Both men took an involuntary step back at your look. “How dare you, Sherlock Holmes, come marching in here all high and mighty and judge me for what I’ve done instead of explaining what you did. To me. To all of us.” You took a deep breath, fighting back the almost overwhelming urge to scream and rage at him.

“Y/N, I will explain. I swear,” he answered immediately, all traces of humor gone. Then, hearing your strange wording, frowned a little in the adorable way you had originally fallen for— No. There was no way you were going to let yourself fall for him again. “All of us?” He questioned.

“Like bloody hell you will. And yes, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, all of us.” You threw money down on the table, and pointed to the door. “Outside. Now.” Your furious gaze would not be questioned, and the two men, both of whom were known for being independent and unable to be intimidated, knew their best plan would be to follow your orders without question. A criminal was one thing, but a pissed off girlfriend and best friend was a different matter entirely.

So they followed your orders quickly. You followed them, and let the door slam behind all three of you. “Alleyway.” You snapped, and seeing John about to protest, diverted your cold glare to him. “Or we can easily make this a very public scene.”

John kept his mouth shut.

The minute you were all hidden from prying eyes, you forced yourself to take a deep breath. Sherlock started to talk, but you whirled on your heel and the ringing sound of a slap echoed in the alley. Tears were threatening to make their sequel appearance, and this time, you didn’t fight it. “I loved you, Sherlock!” You cried, but your tone now held deep seated grief that was only just starting to reveal itself and anger. But most of all, your voice contained bitterness. Bitterness and utter heartbreak. For a split second, your hands came forward, as though you wanted to touch his but couldn’t quite bring yourself to. “I thought you were dead, and I blamed myself! For two years, I’ve grieved the man who I thought I failed to save when he needed it the most! And you know what that’s done to me?” You cried again, tears starting to find paths down your face.

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but you beat him to it, your hands dropping. “It broke me, Sherlock. I have been going insane, and I can’t hide it anymore. Greg all but fired me because he told me I needed to move on. And Anderson, that heartless bastard, he plagued me. He followed me around every day if he saw me, until I stopped going near that street unless I had to, sprouting theories about how you were still alive. About how you were coming back for me. And, by God, I almost believed him.” You shook your head helplessly. “Then the memory of your broken and bruised body, or what I thought was your body, would flash into my mind and I would know — you were gone. The love of my life was gone and I, a law enforcement officer, failed at my duty to both my job and my heart. I failed you.”

For the first time in two years, you allowed yourself to fully break down. Your shaking hand covered your mouth and you sobbed. You cried for everything you had lost, and now you cried for the pain of being lied to and deceived about the worst event you had ever faced.

“I loved you, you bloody fool!” You managed to choke out. “And you — you betrayed me.”

“Y/N, I did it to protect you,” Sherlock answered softly. “If I hadn’t faked my own death, than you and John and everyone else we cared about would be dead.” He pulled you into his arms, and you resisted.

“Anderson may be a fool, but he was right about one thing,” Sherlock continued. You pulled back to look up at him, confusion dancing across your features. Still, to him, you looked beautiful. “I came back for you. And John. You two are my family.”

“Sherlock…” You whispered, and he pulled your now-unresisting form into his in a comforting, strong embrace.

All the same, a small part of your mind wondered if it really was coincidence that led to his return at the same time you were investigating a murder that clearly had Moriarty written all over it.

For now, you were just glad Sherlock was back.

Even if you knew he wasn’t being entirely honest about his reasons for returning.

[imaginebeatles]

Art and Obligation | Chapter 20

Pairing: John/Paul

Rating: Nc-17 (PG-13, for this chapter)

Set in: 1820s (au)

Summary:  John Lennon works as the apprentice of a well-known portraitist and is tasked to do the picture of the young Mr. Paul McCartney. He is the son of Jim McCartney, a wealthy and powerful landowner, and has the reputation of an arrogant, spoilt brat with a pretty face, who has a way of wrapping anyone around his finger. But soon John finds that things are not as straightforward as they may seem.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles and this is fictional. I do not make money off this.

Author’s note: Here it is! I hope you’ll like it! At least it’s a relatively long one. 

For John it felt strange to be back in Liverpool, to be back to doing his regular job with the same old people, and live in the same old house again. So much had changed during those two weeks of travelling with Paul, none of which he had shared with anyone yet, knowing it would be too dangerous, especially for Paul. And even if it wasn’t, he knew no one would react positively to the news of their newly established relationship. Yet, he fell back into the rhythm of the day with ease, and managed to keep ahead of his work, despite the many times his mind drifted off to more pleasant things, such as the image of a brown-haired young man with pretty doe eyes that were glazed over with lust as he lay under him in his Parisian bed, his head resting on a fluffy white pillow, while his pink lips trembled with need as he whispered his name in a voice that made the hairs on John’s arms stand up, even if he could not actually hear him. Occasionally, he would pause in his work to scold himself, needing to focus on what he was working on, only to take up the fantasy later in the privacy of his own room.

Mr. Edwards had been proud when he had shared the news about Mr. Arpin and his willingness to take him on as an artist and see what he could do for him. He had patted him warmly on the back as he had congratulated him, telling him how he had always known John’s talent would get him somewhere, and how John could always come to him if he needed anything. Stuart had felt happy for him as well, though there had been some tension between them when he had told him so. John could understand why; he knew how much Stuart wanted recognition for his work, and if there was anyone who deserved that, it was him. But being the good friend and kind soul he was, Stuart hadn’t said anything of it and had merely smiled before he had turned around to pour them something to drink in celebration of the good news.

Although everyone around him appeared more than impressed by the news, however, having also received delighted felicitations from other people, such as Cynthia, but also his aunt Mimi, who had barely ever shown any interest in his choice of career, John did not share their enthusiasm. Not that he wasn’t grateful for the opportunity. He was well aware of how lucky he was, and was incredibly happy that his career was developing into the direction he had always hoped it would, but his mind kept drifting to other matters that kept him occupied.

He had not heard from Paul at all since they had arrived in Liverpool and Paul had brought him home. He had helped John carry his luggage out of the coach, and wished him goodnight with one last gentle kiss in the shadow of the carriage, where no one would be able to see them, before he had climbed back inside and had driven off to his own home, leaving John standing on the pavement with a goofy grin on his face that he would not normally admit to if someone were to accuse him of it. They hadn’t spoken since, and neither had Paul shown up to work on his portrait that Wednesday afternoon, which left John disappointed, but mostly worried, wondering what his father could possibly have wanted to discuss with him that would warrant Paul to come home a day early. He could only imagine it had something to do with his future marriage, but Paul had said himself he still had two months to find himself a wife before his father would do it for him – months Paul had intended to spend quite differently from what his father wanted. Apart from that, he had no idea what else it could be, seeing as he barely knew anything about the family that was not already known to the larger public, leaving him with too few and yet too many options at the same time. In truth, all he knew was that it had to have been something serious, as Paul had gone rather pale when he had read the letter, but apart from that, he was clueless.

He had attempted to find out more by asking innocuous-sounding questions to various people, of whom Stuart, Cynthia, Mr. Edwards, Aunt Mimi, the postman, a police officer, and even Dot, were just a few, but that had proven to be a fruitless endeavour. He had asked Richard as well, who, as he had learned from Stuart, had needed to sail out again a lot sooner than anyone had expected, and whom he had sent a long letter explaining what had happened in Paris, while leaving out every little thing that could point to his and Paul’s growing relationship with meticulous precision, before asking if he knew anything that could be the cause of their early departure. Of course, the fact that Richard was at sea made it so his letter would not reach him for a while, but he figured it was worth a try. The man had an ear for gossip, something he had failed to appreciate before.

For now, though, he had come to accept that if he was to learn anything about the McCartneys that he could trust to be more than just highly imaginative hearsay, it had to be through Paul himself, who appeared to be too busy to speak with him. He preferred that explanation to the other possibility that would often plague his mind in the early morning hours when the world was fast asleep and his deepest thoughts and worries would come out, that possibility being that Paul was avoiding him, or maybe didn’t care for him at all. “Just sex.” The two words would swim through his head as he lay wide awake in his bed, haunting him, making him twist uneasily under the covers in an attempt to block them out and get more comfortable, only to fail.

One evening when he couldn’t sleep and he had spent about an hour and a half worrying about Paul and his failure to show up for their usual appointment, he got up from his bed, pulled on a robe to keep himself warm, and walked over to the small desk at the opposite side of the room, where he searched for the small package of matches and struck one to light a candle, letting the warm glow of the flame light up the desk, before he sat down. Letting out a deep yawn, he pushed some papers away to clear some space, and pulled open one of the drawers to get himself some paper to write on, only to find it full of unfinished drawings of Paul, some good, some bad, most of them beautiful, which John had to admit was not because of his own skill, but the beauty of the man himself. The recent ones he had made in Paris were in there as well. John smirked to himself as his eyes fell on the one drawing he had done of Paul naked, memories flooding back that caused his crotch to give a slight tingle. He ignored it, and pushed the papers aside in search for an empty sheet, which he found somewhere between the countless drawings. He laid it out on the desk, rearranged the drawings into stacks, and closed the drawer, before grabbing himself something to write with. He didn’t think of what he wanted to say or how to say it, and simply started writing, putting the words down as they came to him, not thinking about them, but letting them flow.

 Paul,

I hope you are doing alright. I haven’t heard from you in a while, and considering how things were when we last saw each other, I’m worried about you. I hope you’re okay and that the issue with your father, whatever that was, is resolved. I miss seeing you. I wish you were here. Please tell me you are okay. I need you.

With love,

John

 He felt silly for writing it, for putting his feelings down on a page like this, making them appear all the more real, without even knowing whether Paul felt anything similar to the way he felt, never mind the fact that Paul most likely wouldn’t think it was his place to know about the issues between him and his father. And why would it be? Paul had had, for as far as John could tell, numerous affairs in the past, so why would this one be any different? If it truly was, as Paul put it, “just sex, no harm done”, he had no reason at all to be sharing personal issues like that with him. Olivier had been one of Paul’s short-lived affairs, and he had said so himself that “Paul doesn’t do that sort of thing”,  so why would that change now? He wasn’t anybody special. He wasn’t incredibly handsome, especially in comparison with the types of men Paul usually took to his bed. He wasn’t rich. He wasn’t upper class. He wasn’t intelligent or successful, or anything like that. He was a poor, failing, amateur artist with money problems who worked as an apprentice for a portraitist, and whose master had offered him a room out of pity because he could not afford anything by himself. There was nothing he could offer Paul. Nothing. He would be a fool to believe that he could be anything more to Paul than “just sex”. Sending a letter such as this… And besides, he knew couldn’t send it. It’d be dangerous for the both of them if this letter was to be read by anyone else but them.

He considered writing another letter, one less soaked in sappy romance, something more reserved, polite, platonic, but he decided against it. If Paul felt the need to discuss anything with him about what was happening, he would do so on his own accord; writing him a letter to urge him would not help. If anything, it would make him more reluctant to do so. Sighing, he folded up the letter, blew out the candle and stumbled his way back to bed, holding out his hands in front of him to make sure he did not bump into anything on the way, and knelt down to stuff the letter under his mattress, safe and out of sight, before he crawled back under the covers. Needless to say, he did not sleep well that night.

          “Are you still working on that thing? You’ve never been this slow with any of your other works.” John frowned at his friend’s words and caught sight of him from the corner of his eye. Stuart was standing with his hands behind his back, studying the unfinished canvases that rested against the wall. He appeared to be looking at one canvas in particular, although John couldn’t see which one. Still, he could make an educated guess. For now, though, he ignored him while he finished the careful stroke of yellow paint he had been working on, forming a neat curl of hair that framed the young lady’s face on the unfinished canvas before him. Once finished, he sat back in his chair, nodded at the young lady to tell her she could move again, took the rag that lay draped over his lap and started rubbing the paint off his brush as he glanced up at Stuart to see what he was talking about.

“I mean, I understand you have to work carefully, but you’re nowhere near finishing it and you’ve been working on it for weeks!” Stuart said, gesturing at Paul’s portrait, which John had to admit was taking far longer than it normally would. Still, it was slowly coming along, and even though it wasn’t yet finished, John could see it was going to be one of his best works, the quality of the unfinished portrait being striking in comparison to the canvas he was working on at the moment.

“Well,” he said, laying the rag back down and dipping his brush in the lighter yellow to bring detail in the locks of hair he was working on, mixing it with a hint of light brown to get the exact colour he wanted, “normally I’m not working on a portrait for the McCartneys. They are quite demanding, in case you had forgotten.”

“Oh, I hadn’t,” Stuart said with a chuckle, “but still, though. You could have finished this one weeks ago and get a similar result, couldn’t you? Or at least up to a point where you would need only a few more brushstrokes?”

“I don’t think Mr. McCartney would appreciate me finishing the portrait weeks before the deadline, Stu. He’ll think I didn’t take it seriously. Besides, I don’t mind taking my time with it. There could have been worse portraits to do than this one.”

“You like working on it, then?” Stuart inquired, suspicion in his voice.

“Of course. It is my job, isn’t it?” John answered, trying to sound as unaffected as usual, but he could see by the look on Stuart’s face that he remained unconvinced. He pretended not to notice, though, and quietly went back to work, smiling politely at the young lady as she resumed her pose. Luckily Stuart didn’t say anything further about it either, and went back to his own easel to continue his own work as well. Still, the silence on the matter of the McCartneys did not last long.

“Do you think he’s coming then?” Stuart asked after a short while. “He’s usually here on Friday afternoons, isn’t he?” John shrugged and continued working on the portrait, not even looking at his friend in the hope he would let the conversation rest. Naturally, he didn’t.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t though, you know. Perhaps he is busy, but even if he’s not… They barely show any regard for others, the McCartneys; either they feel like coming and they do, or they don’t and then they just… don’t.”

“I know, Stu.”

“Especially Paul McCartney. He-“

“I know, Stu!” John repeated, more harshly than he had intended. At least it got Stuart to remain silent for a while. But still John was certain he could see a tiny little smirk on his lips, careful and barely there, but still obvious enough for him to pick up on from the corner of his eye. He hoped, however, that it had only been his imagination, knowing that if there was anyone apart from Richard who could find out about the nature of his relation to Paul, it would be him. Stuart knew him better than anyone.

He hadn’t even meant to come across as harsh as he had, but in reality he was worried about Paul, and with every day that passed without a word from him, the worse it got. His absence last Wednesday couldn’t be that easily explained by saying that it was due to his family, or even his haughtiness – after all he knew how serious Paul took his appointments, seeing as he hadn’t even been prepared to cancel one for some highly fulfilling morning sex. If there was anything Paul didn’t act on, it were whims. He didn’t think Stuart would understand that, however; most of his opinions on Paul and the McCartney family in general seeming too fixed to be able to change.

The minutes ticked by as John continued working on the portrait in front of him, his mind occasionally wandering off to other places, only to be brought by back by Stuart asking him stuff, or by Mr. Edwards who came in to check on them and see how they were faring, before going back to his office. After a while – he couldn’t be certain how long – he had given up on the hope that Paul would show that afternoon, the doorbell still not having rung, and he couldn’t help but be disappointed.

Not long after, however, the doorbell rang anyway, but John did not react, being too focused on his work to even notice it when Stuart got up to answer the door. Still, his ears pricked up when he heard the sound of mumbling voices coming from the hallway, one of them sounding suspiciously similar to Paul’s voice. He reasoned it was his mind playing tricks on him, but the slight animosity in Stuart’s voice as he spoke to the unknown man made him doubtful. Not long after, he could hear Mr. Edwards descending the stairs to meddle in the conversation and tell Stuart off for his attitude, his loud booming voice being impossible to miss even through the thickness of the walls. Stuart muttered some protests in reply before the conversation finally quieted down to a silence. John looked up in curiosity when the door opened and Stuart and Mr. Edwards came back in, the unknown man following closely behind.

“John, Mr. McCartney is here to see you,” Stuart said, his voice almost a grumble, and John’s body momentarily tensed up in surprise at the name. Sure enough, Paul was standing in the doorway, his hands behind his back, looking as handsome and immaculate as always, with his cheeks and jaw cleanly shaven, hair perfectly combed, and his suit well pressed. His expression was as cold and serious as during their first meeting, and if it hadn’t been for the slight hint of a smile that pulled at his lips when their eyes met, John would have thought all that had happened over the last few weeks had been a dream, there being no hint of recognition at all in Paul’s expression or mannerisms other than that barely noticeable hint of a smile. He quickly rose to his feet when he realised he had been staring.

“Mr. McCartney! I-I didn’t think you were coming this afternoon,” he told him truthfully, and swallowed the lump in his throat as he realised that might have come off as a tad impolite. Judging by Mr. Edwards, who was frowning at him in disapproval, he certainly thought so. Paul, on the other hand, only stared at him, his face expressionless.

“Not that you aren’t welcome here, of course, Mr. McCartney. I am sure Mr. Lennon was just about finished with the young lady, weren’t you, John?” Mr. Edwards said, saving a situation that did not need saving, but Paul thanked him anyway and John was quick to turn to the young lady who was still sitting in her seat, her eyes moving from the one man to the other in curiosity.

“Yes. I erm… we were just done for today, weren’t we, Miss Marsh? Mr. McCartney, please take a seat, I will be right with you. Miss Marsh, if you could go with Mr. Sutcliffe, he will see you out,” he said and both Paul and the young lady did as he had said. Stuart, however, shot a couple more curious looks between him and Paul, before he led the young lady out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaving them.

Mr. Edwards made some polite conversation with Paul as John switched the portrait on the easel with Paul’s and got himself a couple of clean brushes to work with. He then took his seat as well and started to prepare everything. From the corner of his eye, he could catch glimpses of Paul, and he watched him silently as he spoke with Mr. Edwards. Every once in awhile, their eyes would meet and John would smile at him, while Paul pretended not to notice. He remained perfectly calm and serious as he discussed the weather, his trip to Paris, and John’s artistic talent with Mr. Edwards, praising him in a way John hadn’t heard before, and it made him feel strangely proud. Paul seemed to notice, his eyes sparkling kindly whenever their eyes would meet. Thankfully, Mr. Edwards did not appear to take any note of the wordless conversation that was going on between the two young men and continued his own conversation uninterrupted.

“Mr. McCartney? Shall we get started?” John asked once he was ready, and Paul nodded as he turned away from Mr. Edwards and towards him, his legs uncrossing as he moved into the usual position with surprising ease. He didn’t appear to notice the dumbfounded expression on the painter’s face as he came to sit exactly how John wanted him without any assistance as was usually required, and waited patiently for him to begin. Mr. Edwards, realising he wasn’t needed any longer, excused himself from their presence, and vanished through the kitchen door, leaving the two men to themselves at last with the reassurance that if either of them needed anything, they could come to him. Again Paul thanked him and John pushed his momentary surprise away and dipped his brush in the paint to begin.

For a while it remained quiet between the two of them, both men glancing nervously at one another while John worked on the portrait, being careful with his brushstrokes as he began to get a feel for it again, the strokes, angles and curves feeling foreign yet familiar. Every picture felt different and it had been awhile since John had last allowed himself to draw him. Neither of them knew what to say or do, and it wasn’t until John noticed Paul smiling to himself that he found his voice again.

“What?” he asked, subconsciously copying Paul’s smile.

“Just that it’s been awhile since you last called me ‘Mr. McCartney’. It sounded strange coming from you now,” Paul explained, his smile widening. John, though glad to see Paul acting freely towards him again and get some indication that what had happened between them had not been his imagination, rolled his eyes in return.

“You were the one who insisted on me addressing you properly the first time we met. If you hadn’t, I might not have needed to.”

“I didn’t say I necessarily disliked it,” Paul replied with more cheek than John had expected from him. He stared at him for a moment, before his lips pulled up into a smirk, his hand pausing in its work.

“Maybe I should continue to call you that, then, Mr. McCartney.”

“I still prefer you calling me Paul, though.”

“As you wish, Paul.” Paul chuckled at that and shook his head as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back and out of his face, while at the same time messing it up. Still, it looked as perfect and immaculate as before, but John figured he might be too biased to make any objective observations like that. Not that he thought Paul would mind it if he did, seeing how much he appeared to care about his appearance. John supposed it was a class thing. He cleared his throat before turning back to his work, forcing his eyes away from the gentleman before him in favour of his responsibilities.

“I meant it, you know. I hadn’t expected you to show up today,” he said after a momentary, more comfortable, silence.

“Because I didn’t show up last Wednesday?”

John nodded, but kept his eyes on the canvas. “That, and you’re late.” Paul sighed and for a moment it remained quiet between them to the point where John thought that had been the end of their conversation. But then, Paul suddenly began to speak.

“I should have let you know I was unable to come. I needed some time. For myself. To think.”

“Because of your father?” John inquired, turning his head to Paul, who was staring down at the floor, his fingers knotted together in his lap. He looked deep in thought, but nodded at the question.

“He’s found me a wife.”

“A wife? But I thought you-“

“Change of plans. It happens in my family. I-I needed some time to consider some things. To consider us. Her. Jane – that’s her name – she arrived at the manor last Tuesday morning with her father to arrange everything. The rest of her family is coming later when we’re ready to announce our engagement. I don’t know when they want to do that, but I don’t doubt they’re planning to do it soon. They want us to marry this winter. Early February, I suspect.”

“Early February…”

“Hmm… she- she’s a nice girl, though. Pretty, clever, accomplished – everything you could want in a wife. Her mother’s side of the family even has ties to the royal family.”

“Right…” John mumbled as he paused again in his work and lowered his brush, resting his hands on his thighs as he looked down at himself, trying to control his breathing as he listened to Paul’s words, trying to take it all in, while attempting to figure out what he was feeling.

“She…” Paul started, but he cut himself off before he could continue that sentence.

“She what?” John demanded, glancing up at Paul to lock eyes with him, being shocked to see not a shimmer of emotion of his face. He merely took a deep breath before continuing.

“She doesn’t have any illusions. About me. About us.”

“She knows?!”

Paul nodded.

“Did you tell her?”

Again Paul nodded. “It wouldn’t have been fair towards her if I hadn’t, John. She deserves to know what she is marrying into. And besides… I knew she would understand. I wouldn’t have told her otherwise. But letting her marry me without knowing exactly who she would be marrying and what kind of relationship she could expect… I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t have been fair.”

“But this is,” John snorted, making Paul frown.

“You knew this would happen someday, John. I told you this would happen.”

“That you did.”

“John-” Paul tried, but the other man shook his head, telling him wordlessly to not even bother explaining himself. To his surprise, Paul complied. He nodded and sat back in his seat for a short while, waiting for John to say anything, but when he didn’t, he rose up to his feet and straightened his clothing.

“Maybe,” he said, “maybe it’d be best if I left. My father told me to inform you he wishes the portrait to be finished a couple of weeks sooner. I suspect in time for the engagement. He will be in touch with you soon.”

When John did not respond, neither verbally nor physically, Paul nodded to himself, gathered his belongings and started to head for the door. Before he could lay his hand on the doorknob to turn it, though, John spoke up.

“Is this it, then? Just like that?”

Paul froze at the words, but when John ordered him to turn around and face him, he did as he was told, more out of habit than because he wanted to. John had gotten up as well, and appeared threatening as he stood beside his easel, legs spread, knees slightly bent, shoulders broad and head held high. Yet his eye shimmered sadly back at him, revealing the hurt behind the wall of anger.

“You are just going to leave me like that? As if I were a drunken mistake you shouldn’t have made in the first place, ready to be thrown aside when it becomes inconvenient for you?”

“I don’t want this either, John. I don’t have a choice!“ Paul retorted, trying to keep his voice down to make sure no one heard what they were talking about. John shook his head.

“You always have a choice.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?”

“No. You don’t. You’re an artist. You’re working class. You can marry whomever you want, whenever you want. You can do anything, but I…! I can’t. I have obligations, responsibilities, not only to myself, or to Jane, or even to my father, but to the whole family, to Jane’s family, to all those people on our estate, who work for us, who depend on us. They depend on me! I can’t simply refuse for no good reason. If I could, oh believe me, I would, but that isn’t possible. This isn’t a good reason. I don’t expect you to understand, but you have to accept that.”

Paul had barely noticed it that John had been coming closer to him deliberate step by deliberate step, and only realised how close he was when he was standing right in front of him, locking him in between him and the door. He had been about to open his mouth to add something, but before he could make a sound, John had closed in on him all the way and his lips had sealed onto his own in a piercing kiss that knocked all the air out of his lungs from surprise and made his head spin as he momentarily forgot how to think, the issues they had been discussing vanishing from his mind as swiftly as if a switch had been turned in his mind.

It was their first kiss since their hurried goodbye in the shadows of the carriage that previous Sunday, and Paul had almost forgotten how hot John’s mouth felt against his own, how rough his lips and unshaven jaw were against his skin, and how he could feel his blood pulse through his body as their tongues locked together. His hands came up to wrap themselves around his neck, pulling him closer and refraining him from pulling away, needing every bit of contact as urgently as a dying man needed water. He could feel one of John’s hands on his hips, locking him against the door, while the other vanished into his hair, pulling him closer with a violent tug, being just as starving for contact as Paul was.

“I need you with me, Paul,” he grumbled against his lips, sounding almost angry, and when Paul shook his head, John felt as if someone had ripped out his heart and dropped it in a bucket of ice water, their kiss breaking.

“We can’t, John,” he said, his breathing coming out in short gasps against John’s spit-slick lips. His fingers, meanwhile, tightened their hold on John’s neck, refusing to let go.

“Please, Paulie,” John muttered and kissed him again, and he was certain he could feel Paul’s lips curl up in a smile against his own as their bodies melted together.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Just for now. Just for now.”

Previous Chapter

#fanfiction #beatles fanfiction #mclennon fanfiction #BEATLES SLASH #The Beatles #McLennon #JohnxPaul #John #Paul #au #pg-13 #Art and Obligation

[5hfanfiction]

Sixth Sense

The group consisting of five: Camila, Lauren, Dinah, Normani & Ally decided to book at the creepiest place while they were travelling. Well, not that it was their choice. They mainly just couldn’t agree on which hotel, room or cabin to rent until when they went to a decision all of their choices were either already fully booked or only had slots for three people left.

It made Camila feel uneasy the most. Basically since out of all the five of them, she was the one who would hide under the blanket whenever they would watch a horror movie during their movie nights and would spend the following days sleeping with the lights on or avoiding places that ghosts appeared on in some of the scenes.

“Don’t worry, Walz. You can just cuddle up to Lauser here whenever you’d get scared. She a brave one.” Dinah, one hand on the steering wheel, the other pointing to Lauren who was sat behind her, suggested, with a disapproving Mani on the passenger seat, who swatted her arm away upon hearing her.

Camila, of course, didn’t reply while Lauren subtly looked at the rearview mirror to see how her girlfriend would react.

“Let’s not think about that right now. And I’m sure we can always pray and everything will be alright.” Ally, who was kind enough to be the mediator to the two quarelling girlfriends decided to seat between them to somehow reduce the tension, advised, always the one with the most faith out of all of them.

“True that.” Dinah seconded, nodding. Mani, on the other hand, smiled her trademark smile that looked like a smirk because she was not sure if the Polynesian was really sincere she agreed with Ally or was just playing with their friend.

A little later, the song on the radio changed to one of their group’s favorite songs and Ally excitedly ordered Dinah to turn up the volume to which the blonde easily obliged.

Well, I had me a boy, turned him into a man I showed him all the things that he didn’t understand Whoa, and then I let him go

Ally led their sing along, perfectly synchronizing the tone of her voice with the song.

Mani and Dinah joined her by the second stanza, and Camila, no matter how she tried to be consistent with her resolution yesterday that she’d not join in on anything that would seem like she wanted to forget her squabble with Lauren and just forgive her, also sang along starting with the pre chorus. By the time the chorus came, all five of them, including Lauren, were already singing their hearts out.

Ex’s and the oh, oh, oh’s they haunt me Like gho-o-osts they want me to make ‘em all They won’t let go Ex’s and oh’s

“I told y'all we should have just went with the basement room of that other hotel.” Dinah, one hand holding her bag stood still infront of the building when they arrived, looking not as brave as she was on the way there. Camila, who was standing beside her was biting the tip of her thumb, already nervous.

“Hey, guys, that song in the car. That gho-o-osts they want me. What if that was some kind of sign?” The smallest of them blurted out her thoughts.

“Ally!!!” Camila, Dinah, and Mani immediately cried in unison.

“Come on. Either we go in there or sleep in the car. We still have a long drive tomorrow so I doubt you want to be cramped inside that small box of a vehicle.” Lauren, true to what Dinah described her earlier, walked ahead of them and entered the building first. The rest of the girls looked at each other first before following their raven-haired friend.

On their floor, Mani and Dinah quickly occupied the room for two that they reserved, which left Ally, Camila, and Lauren no choice but to take the other one. The three discovered, to Camila’s dismay, that there were only two beds available, one king-sized and one solo. Thankfully, Ally made the initiative to walk to the king-sized, placing her bag at the foot of it and Camila followed. Lauren, since it was obvious, occupied her bed on the other side.

When they had all their stuff settled, they came down to the hotel’s restaurant to get dinner. As if there was an unspoken rule to not let the girlfriends sit beside each other, Ally sat beside Camila while Mani and Dinah followed Lauren on the other side of the table.

The girls each checked the menu and to Camila’s pleasure, despite the hotel’s scary reputation, they still had the good sense to put pizza on their carte.

Other hotel guests were also present in the restaurant and so far everything felt at peace to the girls. Before the beautiful waitress came walking to get their orders, that is.

“Good evening, beautiful ladies. May I have your order?” The attractive blonde with blue eyes asked pleasantly with a disarming smile. Camila was taken with her approach that after Ally, Dinah, and Mani had ran down their choices, she gave hers with an equally pleasant smile. But when it was Lauren’s turn and suddenly the waitress’ smile became brighter, Camila’s expression turned into a frown.

“How about you, hottie?” The blonde faced toward Lauren. Camila wasn’t sure if Lauren was really oblivious or was just trying to be dense but she didn’t like it that instead of simply giving her orders, Lauren asked more questions regarding their dishes, which seemed to Camila like she was prolonging the conversation.

“Is that all? I can list all the extra quirks you like for your food and tell the kitchen folks to do them for you.” The waitress persisted. Good thing Lauren declined with a simple, “No, that’s all. Thanks anyway.”

When the waitress left, Camila decided to let her thoughts slide and just focus on the conversation that was going on between Ally, Dinah, and Normani.

“We should reach Georgia by tomorrow and there we can stop at some good spots. Take some pictures, eat, anything.” Camila heard Dinah tell the other two.

“I’m excited. I’ve never been on a roadtrip this long and I feel giddy just thinking about the things we can do.” Ally added cheerfully.

They went on for the next few minutes, Camila and Lauren alternately joining un, discussing some possible locations they could visit while Mani typed them down on her phone for reference.

When the beautiful blonde came back with their food, though, Camila went back to her sore demeanor earlier.

“And here’s for the one with the most beautiful eyes here tonight.” The waitress complimented Lauren as she was serving the green-eyed girl’s food, having finished with the four other girls’ first. This time, Camila saw Lauren got the hint as she saw her cheeks turned red.

“Are you usually that generous with compliments for your guests?” Camila couldn’t help it and asked the blonde, tone laced with undisguised venom. “If you are, why not turn that generosity into food so maybe we’d have real use for it. Great idea, huh?”

Camila saw Lauren frown in her peripheral but decided to ignore it and just continued glaring at the blonde until the poor one averted her eyes and excused herself meekly.

“What was that for?” For the first time that day, Lauren spoke directly to Camila and also for the first time, Camila acknowledged her.

“She was obviously flirting with you and I had the compassion to save you from an unnecessary situation.” Camila said, looking to Lauren’s eyes.

“You didn’t have to be so rude.”

“Well, she wouldn’t let up and it’s not like you were doing anything to stop her either.”

Lauren huffed out an incredulous breath at what she heard her girlfriend say. “I was being polite.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what you always say.”

Suddenly a realization hit Lauren. “Is that why you were not talking to me? You’re jealous again?”

“No! I was not talking to you because you managed to come late at our monthsary date even if I reminded you days ago.”

All patience Lauren had been holding the past few days left her and she replied angrily. “God, Camila. I was busy reviewing for finals and shit and I didn’t forget. I was too tired so I fell asleep and woke up late. I did not do it on purpose.”

Instead of replying, Camila just stood up from the table while mumbling, “I’m not hungry anymore.”

The four girls watched as Camila walked out through the entrance, a mixture of concern, sadness, and regret within them.

They did not see, though, when Camila went back a few minutes later and sat at a table away from them, a look of uncertainty and dread on her face, until they were finished eating amd were heading back to their rooms.

The next few hours went relatively peaceful, with no more further spats between the brunette and the raven-haired girl. Actually, as they were already in their respective rooms, Camila became silent. The two didn’t pay much attention to it and attributed it to her foul mood.

By 11PM, as what Camila’s wristwatch told her, she was still wide awake. She could hear Ally’s even breathing beside her so she knew she was already asleep. Lauren was laid facing away from her, making no movement so Camila concluded she was most likely asleep as well. Camila kind of envied them in that moment because she was not even close to feeling sleepy, the guilt over her outburst in the restaurant nagging at her and the take-out food Lauren brought for her was staring at her on top of the bedside table. That and the fact that all rumors she heard about this hotel, of ghost sightings and eery history was keeping her imagination running amock. Not once had she sworn she saw a shadow move at the corner of the room but when she turned to look there was nothing there.

She managed to ignore that but then a few minutes later, she heard a door creaking, the sound sounding much like those in the horror movies, with scrapy, lingering sound like the door hadn’t been used in a very long time. She could easily disregard that as someone who just came inside their room but when that continued happening every minute, no sound of footsteps following them, she became paranoid.

What was that? Could that be Mani and Dinah fooling around with each other, feeling insomniac like her as well? She dismissed the thoughts rightaway for she read their messages at their group chat wishing them all a good night’s sleep and telling them they were already going to bed.

Not long after, but most definitely felt like hours to the brunette, she heard footsteps walking back and forth infront of their room, and the faucet going in their bathroom going off on its own, Camila admitted she was scared.

She fidgeted in her spot, tossing amd turning, not sure how she’d be able to relax given the circumstances let alone sleep while her roommates are still fast asleep. Thirty minutes more passed when she decided her peace of mind was more important than her pride, she stood up and walked to the other side of the room.

She felt the bed dip as she sat on it, her girlfriend’s body dipping as well with the weight so she moved carefully as she laid down beside her before wrapping her right arm around Lauren and hiding her face behind her back.

“Camz?” Lauren’s raspy voice broke the silence.

“I’m scared, Lo. The faucet, door creaking and footsteps. There are ghosts here.”

Lauren turned around to face her, one hand caressing Camila’s cheek. She seemed to be taking in the sounds of their surroundings before she stood up and went inside their bathroom.

The fear that left Camila shortly when she was beside Lauren immediately came back but Lauren was quick to return so she didn’t have to dwell on it for long.

“That faucet’s ours, I think it’s broken. But, Camz, I didn’t hear the door and the footsteps.”

“But you were asleep,” Camila replied, looking to her girlfriend’s eyes that had the power to take away her fear with just one look.

“I was not. I - I couldn’t sleep either.” Lauren admitted.

Upon hearing that, Camila’s guilt from earlier came back. “I’m sorry. I was being irrational and I got really jealous.”

“Shhh. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that.” Lauren silenced Camila’s apology with one finger over her mouth. “It’s okay, babe. I’m sorry, too.”

Camila gave Lauren a sweet kiss on her lips before snuggling up to her chest, feeling a lot lighter and less scared. Soon enough, she noticed she hadn’t heard the eery sounds again and she fell in a deep slumber.

Needless to say, they had a new seating position the following day. It was Mani’s turn behind the wheel and Dinah sat in the passenger seat. Lauren was still behind the driver but this time, Camila was cuddled beside her, while Ally was beside the brunette.

Dinah, being her usual dorky self was muttering absurd jokes that made them either cringe or laugh, which Camila reacted by nuzzling her face on Lauren’s shoulder. It was during one of those times while Dinah was looking at the raven-haired girl that Lauren mouthed a silent, “Thank you.” To which the Polynesian replied with a soundless “You’re welcome, Lauser.”

***

A/N: I hope you all got that. 😊

I had this idea because my friends and I are going to this place in two weeks and we still haven’t booked a room to stay at so I jokingly suggested this haunted place. All purely a joke because I’m like Camila in this fic in all things ghost related and would NEVER willingly go anywhere with real ones.

As always, thanks for reading. Love you all!!

wattpad: litaddict02

-PAT

#UPDATE #one shot #AU #camren #camally #norminah #laurinah #angst drama #romance fluff #submission #Sixth Sense

[celticnoise]

This is what Celtic fears could happen;

We spend big in a transfer window; instead of posting a surplus on fees – which we have in the last few years – we make an actual investment in the team and spend more than we bring in. We go into Europe and get a tough draw. We lose early, and drop from the Champions League into the Europa League. We get a tricky draw. It costs us. We lose and for the first time in over a decade we are out of both continental competitions before the Group stages. Anger at the manager for the failure swells. The club is engulfed in squabbling. The league form suffers. Fans start to desert the team. The club gets set to post major losses and the board meets to debate where to start making cuts, cuts which will weaken the squad which is already in turmoil. Fan sites start screaming for major changes and the word “boycott” is mentioned. It begins to look as if season ticket numbers will drop off, which will destabilise the club further, necessitating more cuts.

This is the House of Cards Theory King espoused. How realistic is it?

Well, let’s start with the uncomfortable fact that it could happen. It is not impossible.

In fact, when you consider how tough it is to get through to the Champions League Groups you’re really only talking about one major slip, in a single tie, before we’d be 90 minutes away from seeing our club shredded and the pieces blowing in the wind.

This is not simply King planting beanstalk beans.

Let’s look at two new theories here. The first is causality.

Where King’s grand construct falls down is that for the full scale of Celtic’s collapse to take place we have to take the initial risk and overextend. Trace the effect – Celtic’s dominance collapsing – back to the cause, and what you’d find was a club that emptied its bank to chase success and then failed.

His scenario only really becomes plausible if we’re not sitting on all that money.

If we continue to run the club sustainably – and if we have a cash surplus in the bank – we can cope with a season out of Europe without major cutting back. We could probably survive two of them in a row, and if we sold a key player in each one the club’s financial position probably wouldn’t be all that bad at the end of the second.

That cash is our insurance policy.

Let’s look at the second theory; affect heuristic.

This is what we all suffer from to a certain extent.

When we analyse a situation we do a risk versus reward calculation.

We believe this to be a rational endevour, but affect heuristic theory says we suffer from an unconscious bias by which our emotions interfere with the thought process. We ascribe a higher probability of an outcome to the things we want rather than to those we don’t, and subsequently a lower probability to things which worry us than is realistic.

Put differently, if an outcome makes us happier, or feel more secure, we asign that a greater chance of happening than one which doesn’t, and at times it doesn’t even matter if there’s evidence to support the outcome we don’t want.

Thus believing the Brexit lies – and thus voting for it – can be more easily explained.

If you ask fans what the risks are of spending more money they will minimise the potential dangers.

If you ask a board member what the risks are they are likely to overestimate them.

That’s because we care more about the team than the money in the bank whereas they have to think about all possible outcomes, and have a less optimistic view.

Who’s right and who’s wrong?

Which is the right path and which isn’t?

Who says anyone is right? Who says anyone is wrong?

To weigh the odds properly there’s another factor that has to be taken into consideration; the risk of doing less than is required. The risk that the team is run into the ground, that players who leave aren’t properly replaced and that the whole enterprise goes backwards instead of forwards.

A weaker team has less chance of going through four rounds of European qualifiers.

A weaker team has less chance of winning trophies.

A weaker team will draw less fans to the stadium.

That can also lead to a domino effect.

A House Of Cards style collapse then becomes just as likely as the surplus is eaten into in order to plug gaps in the finances.

Underinvestment costs too.

Missing out on a Champions League group stage bounty reduces our income from anywhere between £10 and £20 million.

Losing the league title means we never even get the opportunity to grab that bounty.

Failing to make nine in a row whilst vast sums sit in the bank will not be seen as a prudent decision.

It will be viewed as a disastrous one, and perhaps even as an act of sabotage.

I’m not saying I subscribe to that, but when you consider how it would look to the average fan all manner of ideas would blossom and spread. There is already a perception that this board is broadly supportive of Old Firm Inc. This would elevate that idea to the level of Fact for a lot of our supporters … and they would not forgive those running the club.

I worry that our board has become so distant from the fans that they don’t see this at all.

Our healthy bank balance and the strength of this club has been built on momentum.

That momentum has been steadily building through the last nine years, from 2012 onwards, and Lawwell can give himself all the brownie points and ribbons he wants but the truth is that the huge upturn in finances was only evident after Rodgers’ appointment.

It’s not that long ago that Celtic Park was half empty on European nights.

He would be a fool, a complete fool, to think that scenario will not be repeated. If our momentum comes to a stop, if nine fails to materialise, if we’re back to Year Zero with a financially doped club at Ibrox celebrating a title, and especially if they are adding it to those won by Rangers whilst our club sits mute having lived with the lie for seven years, that’s more than possible.

Lawwell is in real peril here. His reputation would be obliterated if this went wrong.

His standing amongst fans would drop to below that of the Kelly’s and White’s.

I said at the time that his self-congratulatory sneering at the candidates we didn’t even consider for the manager’s job was something with the potential to haunt him forevermore. It infuriated me at the time because it was so arrogant, so dismissive of very real concerns amongst fans and so cynically done … but it was also monumentally stupid, damaging both to his reputation and the club itself. He would be unable to remain here one minute more in the event Lennon fails.

Nine in a row is not just a once in a generation chance.

We did it at a time when we had an exceptional club which was the best in Europe at its peak. We also had one of the greatest managers of all time at the helm. Their own nine was won by a juiced up club living on more financial dope than has ever been administered in Scotland; at the height of it they considered trying for Ronaldo. That’s how ridiculous it got over there. That’s how large they were living, all of it unsustainable, all on the bank’s dime, in a period where that was still possible.

The chances of us ever having an opportunity like this again are between slim and none. I would estimate the possibility of it in our lifetimes at zero. I would estimate the possibility of it after we’re dead and gone at about 1%.

Nine in a row is a one shot deal. Miss it and it’s gone for good. Ten is the slate-wiper for them and the ultimate vengeance for us.

It repays everything we endured during their nine. It won’t reverse the two big lies but it will render the survival one almost moot as we close in on all their records with a better than average chance of reaching 55 before they can lay claim to it. Their much vaunted “most successful club” nonsense is placed in within reach in short order.

If we’re not prepared to challenge those lies, there will at least be some consolation in defeating them in the record books, by vaulting ahead of them anyway.

All of it is imperilled at this moment in time, and there is a growing perception that this board is dragging its feet by not doing what has to be done to ensure that all of those things don’t slip out of our grasp. I understand the board’s calculation. I do not support it. I will not endorse it. It looks smart from where they are sitting but they’ve underestimated the consequences should their gamble fail. It would plunge us into exactly the sort of crisis they want to avoid.

If they don’t put us on a sound footing for the second part of this campaign the murmurs in the stand will grow with every bad performance. If those bad performances turn into bad results and we slip behind in the title race they are going to see real fury amongst the fans before this season even ends, whilst the games are still being played.

If we fall significantly behind, that fury is going to erupt full scale until it engulfs the manager and the boardroom and especially because we shouldn’t even be here. Mistakes at the strategic level have led us to this, from the club’s total failure to press real reform on the SFA to their tolerance of some of the most toxic lies ever foisted on the game.

From the moment Sevco crawled out of Rangers grave it was blatantly obvious that the only way they were ever going to get close to us was if a board over there resorted to exactly the kind of financial skulduggery that sunk the last one like a stone.

We should have safeguarded sporting integrity in 2012, by closing that door forever.

We should have demanded the introduction of Financial Fair Play regulations, as the ultimate insurance against a similar crisis.

There is a reason they call it Financial Fair Play; it has two purposes, one of which is to stop clubs amassing huge debts which endanger them and the football associations they belong to. The other reason is that financial doping is a form of cheating. That’s why we call it doping.

What is the point in some clubs living within their means if others are allowed to overtake them by risking their own health and the wellbeing of the game itself? Their club believes that if it spends what it doesn’t have now it can recoup everything down the line if they pull us off the summit and take our place there. We know that the risks are enormous but we only get to gloat if they fail. If they succeed, then all bets are off. Everything is up for grabs.

Tonight our squad is weaker than it went into this window. Ten days in – one third of the window gone – and with our league lead all but evaporated, with a strong looking club at Ibrox capable of matching us blow by blow, we’ve gone backwards.

That is the reality of where we are this evening, and only by dealing with reality can we properly analyse the risk-versus-reward ratio. Are there risks attendant in pushing the boat out? Yes, there are. But there are risks attendant in failing to do so too, and they are far greater.

Some will say this is panicking. It is not, unless you extend that definition so that it would take in those urging the evacuation of all those Australian towns in the path of the massive fires burning over there. Moving out all those people is expensive and difficult, but it is the right thing to do. It is the rational thing to do. It is the only viable course of action. The fires may change direction and those towns might not burn to the ground. There’s a chance of that. But you wouldn’t gamble on the possibility, would you? Not with so much as stake.

This board thinks hoarding money is the safe course of action.

That’s affect heuristic in a nutshell.

Their own biases are preventing them from making the right choice here.

If those Australian fire chiefs were crossing their fingers and hoping for the best they’d lose their jobs.

The politicians endorsing that course of action would be run out of town on a rail.

You get the impression that our board might not even realise there is a problem until the flames were lapping around their ankles. We’d be in real trouble well before that though, and when the window closes our opportunity to change the course of events goes with it.

I hope to God someone is talking sense to them. I hope Lennon is screaming it at them. For he knows as well as anyone what lies at the end of the dark road down into defeat; ignominy, disgrace, the probable end of his managerial career at the top level. To forever be known as the guy who blew it. The guy who let a rookie beat him, in spite of unassailable advantages and a Treble Treble winning team. Even if the board don’t get it, he certainly does.

Our new quiz is out, where you get to be the SFA official in a number of scenarios …. click here or on the link earlier in the piece … and please share.

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