fictitious imagines

It was a little too easy to slip inside your quaint little house. You need to be more careful. You were at an all day appointment with your dad. The perfect time to check up on you. There's an urgency that overrides all reason. A deep need to see this area of your life that you seem to hide.

You don't need to hide from me. There's no need to be afraid that you'll run me off. You're never too much. Your life may be full, but I wanna be in it. And if I need to help you uncomplicate things, I will.

I worry about you, Y/N. I worry about your safety mostly. You take care of your dad, but who take care of you? I'm here to step in. I'm here to save you, by any means possible. From anyone, even yourself. You say you've got everything under control, but I've been thinking about a backup plan.

Your living room is ordinary but the natural light just pours in. I can't help but imagine the way the morning sun would kiss all your features. Like, when we were picnicking at the park. The sun illuminated every single freckle; the rosiness in your cheeks.

I'm trying to take in every detail; locate clues about who you are. I run my finger across the spine of a book you have discarded on the couch. Lapvona by Otessa Moshfegh. You've been begging me to read it with you. I've already finished it. Not my typical read, but you've been enjoying it all the same. I love that we talk about books, music and art. Not the typical shallow chatter you'd get, chatting someone up at the bar. I know you watch TV, but never mention it. Not that it matters much, but I wonder what you watch when you want to turn your brain off.

Your room, is by far the coziest in the house. I can still smell your perfume lingering in the air. Something fruity with just the tiniest hint of earthiness. I've smelled it on you, each time we have embraced. So inviting, it intoxicates me.

Your bed is unmade and lived in, and it takes everything I have not to throw myself into it. Your sheets are soft, like you. Everything about you is just so damn soft. I can't help but imagine holding you in this bed and tracing little circles on your back until you fall asleep. I want to be where you feel most safe.

The only way to deliver the journal, was in person. Bright and early, with a coffee in tow. Her favorite, black with milk and cinnamon. The journal was carefully wrapped in a maroon and gold, with a nice pen tucked into the boy. The journal itself was a nice one. Far better than any Mooney's has to offer. Sturdy green cover and nice thick pages, read for her beautiful thoughts.

In particular, id hope you'd fill it up with thought's of me, Y/N.

His knock was a confident one, as he stood up straighter on the porch.

The door opened a crack and her warm face was partially revealed.

"Joe," she breathed.

He leaned into the door frame a bit and lifted up his arms. "Came bearing gifts," he smiled.

Something's off. Something's not right. Her tireless warth has been replaced by hesitance. What're you hiding, my love?

"Joe, thank you," she breathed shakily before gently opening the door wider and slipping out. The door softly clicked behind her.

She hung her head in shame momentarily before looking up. Her hair fell away from her face to reveal more bruising. Deeper bruising.

Joe immediately lead her to the wicker chair on the porch before kneeling down and grabbing her hands.

"what happened?" He said as he placed the coffee in her hands.

"I think it's time to put Dad in a home. I can't handle all on my own," she sniffled. "He kept asking for my mom. And he got confused and angry and he shoved me and I-i fell. But he-he doesn't mean it when he lashes out."

Her lip quivered before she hastily took a sip of coffee. Joe hasn't taken his eyes off her. Behind his calm demeanor, rage and concern were under the surface.

She placed the coffee on the arm of the wicker chair and sighed deeply.

"Hey," he said as he gently took her face into his hands. "I think you're doing the right thing. If he's more than you can handle, it's probably best to put him in a place where there is staff that is equipt. You are one person, Y/N."

"You don't think I'm selfish?"

You are living proof that good people exist. I love that you are so kind and genuine. But I want to protect you from anyone that's a threat to your beautiful heart. I would protect you from anyone. Anyone. Even from your dad. Even from yourself.

Joe just shook his head.

"Thanks for the coffee by the way," she smiled.

"There's one more though," he beamed before setting the wrapped gift on her lap.

Her eyes widened and she gingerly plucked the pen up before unwrapping the journal. She breathed in sharply, in surprise. Her eyes softened.

"Joe, thank you."

She suddenly leaned forward and met Joe with a kiss. Soft at first, but she was soon running her fingers through his curls. Her tongue ran across his bottom lip in slow agony before being met with his. His hand found the side of her face and ran his. thumb gently across her jaw. He broke away before placing another soft kiss on her wanting lips.,

"You're always coming to the rescue," she said breathlessly.

You couldn't imagine my delight, when you invited me to a mid-day picnic after you poured your heart out to me in the stacks at Mooney's. I'd wanted to kiss you, so desperately, but heroes wait for their moment.

And you are a vision here in this bustling park, the pale blue sun dress and the same ole tote that you sling over your shoulder. You are a vision. You're effortless, in a way that people try to emulate but never quite measure up to.

You blush and babble as you unpack a spread of cheese, crackers and fruit. As you unpack, your most prized possession tumbles from the depths of your tote: your journal. You've mentioned in passing, that you draw and write in there and its the only time you feel like you can be yourself. I am Captain Ahab and your journal is my white whale.

"Oops," Y/N says while quickly stuffing it back in. Its a deep green with tattered corners but she touches it with such tenderness.

I hope you can be yourself with me, Y/N. I hope you can tell that I'm here to save you. I'm here to take care of you.

It was an absolutely perfect day: the picnic, the train back to our little part of New York City, the leisurely ride home, kissing you on your porch.

Your lips were so soft, Y/N. They're almost a drug. The way I got lost in the moment and buried my hands into your soft hair. Pulling away, you looked up at me with a look that only can be described as vulnerable. Beautiful. I wanted to take you right there. But instead I stroked your cheek with my thumb and reassured you that I had a wonderful time. That I couldn't wait to see you again.

When you texted me later that night, you pulled me out of my reading. But you are always a welcome distraction.

"Thanks again for the beautiful day together. Wanna grab a drink later this week? PS. I lost my journal, maybe on the train? I'm bummed! Does Mooney's sell blank journals?"

I don't answer because I immediately plan on buying you one and bringing it to you in the morning. A nice one. And each time you pour your soul into its pages, you'll think of me.

It was irresistible grabbing it out of your bag on the train. Your attention was on the loud commotion to your right. In an instant, it went from your bag, to my backpack. Hidden under the picnic blanket.

Maybe I'll buy you a new bag, one with a zipper. I don't want anyone pickpocketing you. Anyone could grab your wallet and get your personal information. I just wanna keep you safe. Not everyone is going to have your best intentions at heart. But I do.

I've been worried about you, Y/N. This is just my way of checking on you. I'm sure you're worried about overloading me. About having too much baggage, but you could never be too much for me. The more I read, the more fascinated I became.

I learned from your journal, new things but also things I only suspected. Like, that your dads care overwhelms you sometimes. Even though you love your dad dearly. That you worry that it might be time to put him in a home, even though your heart couldn't bear it. That your brother resists helping you, even though you work round the clock. That you miss your mother. And rereading The Outsiders makes you feel more connected to her.

Your art is always so gestural. So much feeling.

My heart stopped when I saw that you even wrote about me.

You wrote about meeting me at the shop. Our coffee together. And even about eating bodega sandwiches in the stacks of Mooney's. How I made you feel safe at that moment.

*Just a disclaimer. With dementia, confusion and fear can sometimes result in aggression.

I did it. I fucking did it. But why am I surprised? There is absolutely no fighting fate. You are my fate Y/N.

I'll admit I was surprised when you asked me to coffee. I was flattered but mostly because I know that you want this to. And I am far too weak to fight my impatience. It was over coffee that I got to know you on a level that Instagram didn't quite give me.

Not only were you an artist but you are an incredibly kind. You're a caregiver for your dad that has dementia. Which incidentally is how the book got ripped. But even after that admission, you still smiled and shrugged it off. "He just has his bad days," you said. There are so many flawed people in this world. But you still see beauty in everyone don't you?

I'll admit that I have a thing for creative types. It's irresistible when someone sees potential to create something out of nothing. But you're kindness was the final hook sinking its way into my heart. 

It took everything I had not to slide under the table and worship the altar of your thighs. Right there in that shitty pretentious coffee you were so excited about.

But instead, I asked to walk you home. And imagine my great relief to know you were only a 15 minute walk away.

"Y/N" Joe said as she reached her porch. "Keep in touch okay? I want to know how our book is doing."

This earned a delicate but warm laugh from her.

"Of course."

And I appreciate you keeping your promise Y/N. I'm not a big fan of texting but I'm constantly looking at my phone hoping your name pops up. I love it even more when you find a little excuses to come into the shop. For book recommendations to read your dad. Just because you were in the neighborhood. I know you want this.

Which leads me here, at the strip of stores across from your house. Where I've been all day, watching over you. I don't mind really, I know you've been stressed out with your dad. And I want to be here for you. I worry about you; your safety. And if you're taking care of others who's taking care of you? That's where I come in.

Joe had to admit that watching you was fascinating. His particular favorite bit had to have been seeing you dance through your living room window. The older gentleman she was dancing with had to have been her dad.

What were you dancing to? The Drifters? Otis Redding? The Beatles?

He glanced up into the window to see if she had returned to the living room. He was sitting on a rickety bench in the shadow of an alley. The absolute perfect place for her silent protector.

A car pulled up into the parking lot of space and a figure popped out, clutching a cellphone. The light of the cell phone illuminated the figure to reveal a young guy in his mid twenties.

Who the fuck is this?

He made his way into the house and Joe got up almost reactively. He relaxed the muscles in his body as he walked across the street pretending to be walking home.

But suddenly Joe's phone vibrated.

"You busy? Wanna grab a drink? Maybe go on a walk? Feeling a little stir crazy." - Y/N

"Sure, be there in 20."- Joe.

Relief coursed through Joe’s whole body. Although he wasn’t happy about a random man came waltzing in so late, he was glad you could sense his desperate need to see you. 

20 minutes later Joe knocked on her door and wrung his anxious hands. He was hoping to get a glance at this mysterious gentleman. Before he could dwell, she gently opened the door and smiled. 

“Joe, Hey,” she whispered. She casually waved at her male visitor and nodded before slipping out of the door. Her visitor was sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to the TV.

“Sorry, for texting so late. I was needing a little bit of company. And you’re good company” she was dressed in a faded pair of Rebook shorts and an old Smokey the Bear shirt. Her black cardigan reaching mid thigh. She looked so cozy and comfortable. The kind of outfit he imagined she’d wear around their apartment on a rainy day. Her sitting by the window and him in the kitchen making her tea.

I just want to hold you. Keep you safe.

“Everything okay?” Joe asked before gently placing a hand on her shoulder. It was than that he got a better look at her face. She looked absolutely exhausted. The hint of a bruise covered her jaw. 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Dad just had a bad day today. My brother offered to come over and give me a little break so I could get out of the house. Today’s just been a doozy.”

Did he hit you Y/N? I thought you guys seemed so happy dancing in the living room. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore because I’m here. And I wanna keep you safe. Even if its from you dad. Even if its from your own good nature. 

Anger bubbled up underneath the surface but Joe nodded and grazed her jaw gently. “I-I’m sorry you had a tough day. But hey, I have an idea. There’s a bodega by my shop that has fantastic sandwiches. Why don’t I get us some food and we can hang out at the shop? Ya know, have some peace and quiet.” 

Her response was an abrupt but warm hug in response. He could hear the tiniest of sniffles before she pulled away.

“Thanks,” she breathed.

“Lets get you that food,” Joe smiled.

It was well after midnight in the basement of the bookstore. The scent of glue coated the air, lingering with the smell of dust and old paper.

He had just put the finishing touches on your book. And now the real work began. He instantly found your Instagram. It was mostly art peppered with a few selfies.

You're an artist huh? Mostly water color and charcoal. You don't need me to tell you that you have raw talent.

Joe's mind immediately flashed to somewhere far away in the future. You at your easel, all relaxed and paint smeared as you work. While he reads to you. Hopefully something you treasure just as much as The Outsiders. The Great Gatsby? Othello? Great Expectations?

Instagram was more art than selfies but the selfies that you posted were intentional. Y/N with a friend. Y/N laughing with a cup of coffee in her hands.

You want to seem fun and interesting, but you don't have to try.

Her most recent post was a selfie, posted only a few hours earlier. The standard mirror shot except you were absolutely swimming in the oversized sweater that you wore. It barely reached the middle of her thighs. Which instantly made Joe's breath hitch.

Did you know that I would maybe look you up? Were you at least hoping I would discover you? Because I'm here Y/N. I'm paying attention. I just hope you save these kinds of shots for me in the future. You don't need validation from strangers on the internet, you have me.

Joe could almost feel your soft thighs desperately wrapped around his waist. His hands playing with the hem of your sweater.

The soft chime of the bell signaled the arrival of another customer.

Oh, hello. You. You. You. With your impossibly sweet smile and magnetic doe eyes. 

Her frame was draped in a black sundress that clung to her body, still making her curves known. Her arms were wrapped around a book, almost protective. She made a clear beeline for the counter.

“Hi, I’m Y/N” she said almost apologetically. Her finger gently traced circles in the spine of the book.

God your hands look so soft. 

“I noticed your store had a large collection of older books. I was hoping that also meant you did book repairs?” She gently laid a well loved copy of The Outsiders by SE Hinton on the table. The cover was separated from the spine, almost as if it was purposefully torn.

Why this book? Did you read it in school and just love it? Does it hold a special memory? 

“You don’t wanna replace it?” Joe cautiously asked.

I know you don’t. I’m just curious as to why. Why go to all of this trouble for a book you can get anywhere? You care about books; Things Y/N. I can tell. You appreciate things.

She shook her head vehemently. “No, I’m hoping to salvage this copy if I can. It...was a gift from my mother. It uh, someone- well, it got ripped,” she said as she quickly cast her eyes down. Her face fell a little as if she was replaying a sad memory. 

Who’d do that? A friend? Relative? A boyfriend? I can assure you, they don’t treat you like you deserve. Like, I hope you’ll let me in time. 

Joe cleared his throat and gingerly inspected the book closer. A pretty clean tear aside from a few slightly crumpled pages. Flipping through the pages quickly, he noticed passages underlined in pencil. Which, only fueled his curiosity more. 

 ”I should be able to fix this up for you,” he smiled.

Relief washed over her entire face as her body relaxed. “Thank you SO much. Uhhh?”

“Joe!” he offered a little too eagerly.

“Joe, you are a lifesaver. You have no idea. I spent hours on youtube looking at book repair. I bought a boning tool, the glue, and an awl. But...I realized I should just leave it to a professional,” she said with an almost embarrassed smile.

“I admire your dedication to SE Hinton,” he chuckled.

“She deserves only the best!” She laughed before adding, ”Genuinely, I appreciate it. I just can’t bear to part with it. How much do I owe you?”

No need to thank me. For you, I’d do anything. 

“It’s on the house,” Joe smiled.

“Oh, no,” she said with confused expression. “I couldn’t possib-”

“I insist,” he said with a wave of his hand.

She smiled but the confused expression still remained. “Why?”

Because you already have me wrapped around your finger. 

“I’ve got some downtime and this won’t take long,” he said confidently.

I’d stay up all night, repairing whatever. Let me take care of you,  Y/N. 

Her expression softened and she nodded, “Thank you Joe.”

“Don’t mention it. Just write your information down for me and I’ll let you know when its ready for you.”

Ugh, I’m SORRY for how shitty this is. Might make a part 2? Idk, but I’m in the mood for intense, protective John. 

Make no mistake, Y/N was not an ideal bar maid. For one, she was as clumsy as the day was long. And for two, she was beautiful. Lovely enough that Arthur worried it would cause trouble. However, after Grace left, it softened his resolve. A female around the place was actually quite nice. But really, it was her pluck and sunny smile that won him over. 

Her first night she managed to knock 3 pints off of the bar, earning a round of thunderous laughter from the patrons and Arthur. She shook her head and laughed it off. “OI, I’m new eh? What do you expect?” 

But after awhile, she got into the rhythm of things and became quite good. Slinging pints, bantering with the regulars and always seemed to keep busy in one way or another. John was never one to be shy, but he always glaced at her before he headed into the back room with his brothers. Seeing her flushed from work or smiling at a customer caused a heat in the middle of his chest. He especially looked forward to when she made her way to the back room. 

She always fussed over them but it came from a place of kindness instead of fear. “Alright gentlemen,” she said as she came into the room. “Got a round for ya!” She carefully handle each of the Shelby’s their beer and greeted them with a warm smile. Johns was the last of the Shelbys to receive their paint. Her hand accidentally caressed his and he detected a faint blush. On the other tray, she set carefully onto the table. “Arthur said you lot would be coming round. Wasn’t sure if you’d had supper so I made some hand pies for you last night.” “Thank you,” Thomas Shelby said as he grabbed one. “Best investment I’ve made here,” Arthur joked as he raised his mug. She waved him off with a smile as she made her way back into the crowded bar. She was just so kind, he thought. A ray of sunshine right here in the Garrison. 

The meeting didn’t stay a meeting for long and eventually the Shelby clan was as merry and drunk as the rest of the patrons. Drunk or not, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over to her. He usually found her laughing and joking with people, but  this time, his fell upon a scene that made him see red. A regular had his hand gripping her backside and the other gripping her arm. Without a moments hesitation, he shoved off his stool and made his way over to them. Tommy glanced over at the scene also and followed his brother. 

“Billy,” She pleaded. “You best get your paws off me. I’M not on the menu” She sounded calm but John detected notes of fear. “Come on darlin’ just a quick trip into the alley,” he said with a slur. Before he could breathe another word John grabbed his shirt with both hands and growled, “You don’t TALK to her like that. And you don’t fucking touch her! Don’t EVER fucking touch her again” John was trembling with rage. He had a half mind to knock his head clean off.

“John,” Y/N said with a slight shake in her voice. “Don’t. Just-just, I was telling him he had enough and needed to leave.” 

Arthur came running up and looked intensely to Y/N. “You alright?”

“Arthur, she was just telling me that he needed to leave.” John said carefully as he finally glanced at Y/N. Arthur yanked the man up and dragged him out of sight. 

“You alright?” John said gently as he led her to a chair. "Arthur can manage for a bit.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said timidly as he rubbed her arm. “I-I can manage alright.”

“I hated to see him touching you like that,” John admitted. He looked up and his eyes looked directly into hers.

She shrugged. “When men drunk, sometimes they turn into pigs. Trade off ya know, working as a bar maid.”

“But not with you,” he said firmly. “Not with you,” he repeated more quietly as he shook his head. 

 “When’s your next shift?” 

“Tomorrow...why?” she mused.

“Well,” he said straitening his tie. “I’m gonna look after you.”

“But I barely know you!” She broke into a blush that about made his heart stop.

Aunt Pol had hired on the great niece of his maid Mary to keep an eye on Charles. It almost pained Tommy to se Charlie Nestled in her arms. She stood right were grace should be. But Charlie looked content, so he swallowed the lumped in his throat every time he passed them. She gave him a warm comfort that he couldn’t. 

It’d been a few weeks and Tommy had been busy with work. Buch of back door deals and contracts. For once, he’d come home at a reasonable time. As he pulled into the drive way, he’d noticed Charlie’s bedroom was lit up. 

There was a curiosity that came over him. He quietly shut the door and snuck into the house as quiet as a thief. As he climbed the stairs, he heard faint voices. Faint but happy,

Tommy stood outside the door, he quietly exhaled. He voice was so light and gentle. Full of care.

“Are you ready?” She cooed. “Alright, Once their was an angel named Grace that visited earth every night. She slipped down from the heavens, right here to Birmingham every night. She paints the night sky with stars every night. With a golden paintbrush, she waves it above and the skies turn dark and the stars appear.” 

Charlie let out a happy little giggle.

She continued, “When the work is done she takes a walk country side. Because there is a boy she visits every night as he sleeps.”

There was a hitch in Tommy's breath. 

“As this lucky little boy sleeps, she places a kiss on each of his cheeks. And she whispers, “I love you darling, so much so, I painted the sky just for you.”

Tommy carefully looked through the crack in the door to see Y/N gently brushing the hair out of Charlies eyes. He had a drowsy smile on. “Does Mummy really do that?” 

“Every single night my sweet boy,” she said as she stroked his cheek. “Now off to bed love. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” But it was too late, Charles was already lightly dozing.

She quietly dimmed the lights and quietly opened the door. Her eyes fell upon Thomas Shelby and startled a little. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she whispered clutching her chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you she breathed.”

“Do you tell him that story everynight?” He said with an icy gaze.

“I uh, Well, yes. I hope that’s okay. He misses his mum so dearly. I well, I thought it might help.” She looked down nervously and glanced back to the door. No doubt trying to keep an ear on the boy.

“Please,” Tommy whispered, “Please continue. And Y/N....Thank  you.”

With a startled look on her face, she nodded. “Of course.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said as she opened the door to her room. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Shelby.”