lunxrstellx

[lunxrstellx]

Crybaby

Soft!Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Some mild swears, nothing spicy... for now.

Summary: Every time Mattheo sees you cry and falls in love with you for it.

A/N: This is my first fic EVER! I was too excited to get it proof read by my bestie so all mistakes are my own. Check the tags at the end for a funny surprise.

Word Count: 7,300+ (Sorry, I went crazy)

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Mattheo had never been one of those who could be influenced by tears. With who his father was he learned very quickly as a child that tears equated to weakness, and weakness was never allowed. 

Even at times where previous flings had sobbed after being tossed aside or cried for cuddles after sex, it didn’t move him. After all, he’d always made it clear that he wasn’t a romantic. He’d have his fun and move on, he never gave any indication that it would be more meaningful than that. Because of this he’d been called a “cold hearted bastard” more times than he could count. 

Which is why the first time he saw you cry he swore something was wrong with him. Seeing your puffy, red cheeks, your quivering, plump bottom limp and wide, watery eyes he felt like someone sent a stinging hex right to his gut. Your eyes were trained right on a laughing Enzo. 

Now it wasn’t completely uncommon for Enzo to make a girl cry. After all, he too would flirt his way into one of their classmates beds from time to time. Though Enzo prided himself on having a kind, prince-like persona publicly, so he kept all of his trysts and crying ex-lovers deeply hidden from public view. So it was unusual for Enzo to be seen with a crying girl in public, right in the middle of the hallway near the potions classroom. 

The closer Mattheo got the clearer he could see that you had not actually cried yet. Your eyes were full of unshed tears, and by the look of your puffed up cheeks and bitten bottom lip you were clearly attempting not to cry. Oddly to him, this didn’t lessen the weird sensation in his stomach. It only made him slightly angry at his friend for a reason he couldn’t even name. 

Your eyes flickered to him for a brief moment before settling back on a smiling Enzo. 

“Fine,” you said in a defeated tone, “You win. You can borrow my notes for Transfiguration. But this is the last time Enzo!”

Enzo’s smile widened as he picked you up in an embrace and spun you around. Immediately your face brightened and your giggles echoed in the empty hallway.

“That’s my favorite Hufflepuff!” Enzo teased, ruffling your hair, “Next time just agree before you lose another bet and turn into a little crybaby.” 

Your giggles turned into a playful pout, “Hey! You cheated! You have longer legs than I do! And the staircase moved on my way down! You’d cry too if you ran as much as I did and still lost.” 

Enzo let out a chuckle and shook his head, “Well maybe don’t propose a race next time. It was your idea after all. I play quidditch love, there isn’t a world in which you win against me.”  

“Whatever, I’ll win the next bet, you’ll see!” 

You stuck your tongue out at Enzo and turned around, walking away from Enzo much more cheerfully than Mattheo expected for a girl whose eyes were bursting with tears when he walked into this hallway. 

“In your dreams love!” Enzo called after you, earning a swift middle finger from behind your back. Mattheo stopped behind Enzo, pure confusion over witnessing the entire interaction between you two. The assumption that you were one of Enzo’s fangirls or jilted ex-lovers was clearly off the table, but he still couldn’t make sense of the welled up tears in your eyes.

“Girl trouble Enz?” Mattheo hummed, curiosity thoroughly peaked by you and the strange feelings you brought on. 

Enzo, now aware that Mattheo had witnessed the entire exchange smirked, “Nah, nothing like that. She’s just fun to tease, is all.” And with that Enzo ducked into the Potions classroom, leaving Mattheo not entirely satisfied with the answer. Nonetheless, he brushed off his gut feelings and whatever thoughts swirled in his head. He likely wouldn’t have an opportunity to interact with you again, he and his friends never kept one girl around too long, even if she was entertaining. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he followed after Enzo to their table in class. 

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When Mattheo entered the Slytherin common room after smoking in the Astronomy Tower he was not prepared to find you on the couch with Enzo, this time actually crying. Though you were also laughing hysterically because Enzo happened to be tickling your feet. 

“How dare you! How dare you say I’m not your favorite Slytherin!” Enzo chided, gleeful smile on his face as he tickled the sock covered soles of your feet. He slowed to a stop, holding your ankles in his lap to keep you from escaping. 

“I didn’t say you weren’t!” You giggled, voice breathless because of your laughter, “I said I don’t know the other Slytherins so I can’t pick a favorite!” 

Enzo smirked, “Not good enough!”, and with that he resumed tickling your feet. Your laughter and squeals bouncing around the common room. 

Mattheo couldn’t help but stare, he and the guys never brought girls to the dorms, and certainly never sat together in the common room. Your yellow skirt and robe were a beacon in the dark and cold that was the Slytherin common room, Salazar Slytherin himself would have a conniption if he saw a giggling Hufflepuff on the couch. And yet, there you were with Enzo, both laughing as if this was not peculiar at all. 

“Say it! Say I’m your favorite!” Enzo demanded, his fingers still torturing the pads of your feet. 

“Okay!” You laughed, “Enzo is my favorite Slytherin!” You were attempting to wiggle your ankles free from Enzo’s grasp and escape the tickling torture but Enzo kept an iron grip, not satisfied with your answer. 

“And?” 

“And I’ll always share my notes with him!” You squealed, completely out of breath from all the laughter. Enzo, seemingly satisfied with your answer finally released your feet, which you immediately tucked under your lap, still wheezing from laughter. 

“Enzo,” you huffed, “You’re a spoiled brat, you know that?” 

“You love it, crybaby.” Enzo winked. His head turned and noticed Mattheo staring at them, still trying to make sense of the scene before him. “Mattheo! Come here, meet my little Hufflepuff!” 

Mattheo strode over and sat on the chair opposite to them, eyes flickering between the two of them. The addition of his presence made you seem more shy now, as if you were embarrassed to be caught with Enzo like this, you refused to make eye contact with him and your cheeks were a little blushed. 

“Y/N this is Mattheo, Mattheo this is Y/N. She’s my transfiguration partner and the cutest girl in Hogwarts.” 

Your blush seemed to bloom even redder from the compliment. But your eyes shyly made contact with him and a soft smile graced your face. 

“Hi, ignore Enzo, he’s just trying to get into my good graces after tickle torturing me and making me tutor him for two hours.” 

Mattheo muttered a low ‘hello’ and quietly trudged to his room, door slamming with much more force than he intended. His heart was pounding and he felt surge of envy towards Enzo. 

Enzo was right, you were cute, and even though your face was streaked with laughter induced tears and wild hair from wiggling on the couch, Mattheo thought you looked adorable. He’d never thought that tears could be cute before, but there you were with a soft smile and bubbling laughter. These thoughts and feelings were all new to him, it made him feel suffocated and embarrassed, but he was Mattheo Riddle for Salazar’s Sake! Mattheo Riddle doesn’t run from anything, let alone cute girls. Yet he knew he couldn’t just sit there under your pretty gaze and risk making a fool of himself. Enzo would never let him live it down.

Outside in the common room he could hear you ask Enzo if you said something wrong. Now he felt like an asshole, of course you were too sweet to think he was the problem. Mattheo closed his eyes and flopped onto his bed. He could hear Enzo comfort you, saying ‘Mattheo’s just an ass’ and offering to walk you back to your dorm. 

For whatever reason, hearing that made him sort of agitated. He wanted to walk you to your dorm, and he’d be his usual charming self and make you laugh and blush, then you’d direct your smile at him and maybe that’d make him feel better. Maybe he’d even kiss you, and that thought warmed him in a different way. Mattheo groaned, just thinking of kissing you burned his mind with other ideas, less innocent things with you, where your sweet, shy smile turned into something sultry and pleading, he could feel his dick harden and more thoughts bloomed, each one more tantalizing than the last. 

Mattheo’s door opened and Enzo walked in with Theo following behind. Theo just looked at him, nodding casually before turning to his side of the room, but Enzo’s eyes were dancing with mischief, a Cheshire grin already etched into his face. 

“Very smooth, Matty-boy.” Enzo teased. 

Mattheo fixed him with a glare, he hated when anyone called him Matty. “Don’t call me that, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Enzo’s smile widened, eyes alight, “Oh no? You don’t want to talk about how cute, little Y/N said one sentence to you and you ran off?” 

Theo’s head shot up at that, looking between his two dorm mates with mild interest. Theo always had an uncanny way of reading Mattheo, which right now really irked him since Enzo was stirring the pot. 

“I didn’t run off, I’m tired.” Mattheo grumbled, “Why did you even bring her here? We don’t bring flings here.” He had a feeling there was no such relationship between you and Enzo, but he couldn’t help but try and fish for more information.

“You brought a girl here?” Theo asked incredulously, his interest now fully invested.

Enzo rolled his eyes, “She’s not a fling, we’re friends. We were doing homework together after we got kicked out of the library.” 

“Didn’t seem like homework when you were tickling her.” Mattheo grumbled, the memory flashing in his mind with a new wave of annoyance. 

“You were tickling a girl here?” Theo echoed. 

“Jealous?” Enzo directed at Mattheo before he turned to Theo, “Theo, she’s a Hufflepuff and so much fun to mess with. It’s not like that.”

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I flirted with her?” Theo drawled. Mattheo’s head snapped to Theo, he could feel acid in his throat thinking of Theo flirting with you. Theo’s eyes were already on him, eyebrow quirked, his expression knowing. Mattheo glared back at him and turned away, he knew he shouldn’t care what Theo or Enzo did with you, but he did, and that pissed him off more.

Enzo laughed wholeheartedly, “Sure, but if you’re not serious she’ll sniff out your bullshit. When I first met her I flirted with her for her notes and she stepped on my foot so hard I had to go to Madam Pomfrey!” 

Theo chuckled, “Alright, so she’s off limits then.”  

“You’re fucking right she is. I actually do want to be friends with her, I don’t need you assholes scarring her for life with your flirting. It’s already going to be an uphill battle with how hellish Draco and Pansy can be.”

“So we’ll be seeing more of her?” Theo questioned, and for once Mattheo was glad for Theo’s inquisitive nature, the same question burning in his mind. He wanted to see more of Y/N, his mind flickering back to those not so innocent thoughts. 

“Yeah, probably.” And with that, the conversation seemed to be over, Mattheo’s lack of talking not going unnoticed by his two friends. They shared a look, coming to the exact same seemingly impossible conclusion: Mattheo had a crush. 

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Enzo’s casual affirmation was an understatement, as the next day he invited his Hufflepuff to sit with them in the Great Hall at breakfast. She was smiling up at Enzo when he brought her over, then turning her smile to all of them at the table. She shot Mattheo a shy smile and wave before settling between Enzo and Blaise. 

Pansy and Draco both offering indifferent greetings before turning to each other and continuing their conversation. Theo, Blaise and you began an intense discussion about potions, Enzo offering a comment here and there while he ate breakfast. Mattheo could only look around at his friends in confusion, his group not known to be friendly with people outside of Slytherin, or even with others in Slytherin for that matter. Draco and Pansy being the worst of two but they barely even acknowledged you and continued what they were doing. Blaise and Theo were known to be standoffish and yet here they were joking with you about potions. 

“They know her, dumbass.” 

Mattheo’s eyes shot to Enzo across from him, his face looking smug. Everyone else was so wrapped up in their conversations they didn’t hear what Enzo had whispered. 

“What?” Mattheo asked.

“You look confused,” Enzo clarified, stopping to take a bite of his Apple, “They all know her, she’s been in all of our classes since second year.”

Mattheo nodded in understanding, eyes flickering back to the sweet Hufflepuff, who had now drawn Pansy and Draco into the conversation, the five of them debating whether or not Professor Snape used shampoo. Her face was glowing with happiness, every time she laughed he could see the flutter of her full lashes. His mind echoed the strange desire to count each lash. 

He liked her laughing. The two times he’d seen her teary he thought she’d been cute, the frustration tears from chasing Enzo and the tears from laughing too hard, it was easy to find her adorable, but seeing her carefree and laughing filled his chest with yearning, he wanted her light to shine on him, even just for a moment. Yes, he much preferred her like this, hopefully he wouldn’t have to see her cry for a long while. 

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Mattheo didn’t know how many different ways someone could cry until he met you. 

Now fully adopted into his friend group he’s seen you cry over something with each of his friends and it confused him. He always assumed crying meant a person felt sad, that there were no other reasons to cry. The first time he saw tears in your eyes he added exhaustion as an acceptable reason to cry. Then he added laughter after the common room tickle incident. He figured that’d be it.

Until he found you and Pansy swaddled in blankets in her room listening to a muggle artist named Olivia Rodrigo and eating ice cream. He’d only stopped by to return a book he borrowed from Pansy the week before, he knocked and the door cracked open and he saw your tear streaked face and Pansy huddled on the floor, her face was turned away from him but he heard her sniffles. 

He fumbled out an explanation about the book and you accepted it from him with a small smile. After the door had closed he heard the music blast to full volume. 

He’d never thought Pansy would ever cry, she’d always felt like such expressions were beneath her. He was also very much confused on why you were crying, which made him worried something had happened to both of you. It wasn’t until later that Theo and Enzo told him that Pansy and Luna had broken up and you had decided some girl time was much needed to “feel your feelings” and listen to sad songs.

He’d never considered sympathy crying, but there you were with Pansy, sharing her pain. He admired you for it, your kindness knowing no limits.

The next day Pansy threatened to cut off his dick if he ever told anyone he’d seen her cry, though he was honest and said he actually hadn’t seen anything, and she seemed comforted by that fact. After Pansy seemed to be lighter almost, and she became as protective of you as Enzo, which became clear after Adrian Pucey cornered you in the hallway to harass you for a date. Enzo broke his nose and Pansy sent a hex that had Adrian vomiting hair clumps for a week. Mattheo would deny it but he also paid Adrian a visit after the hex had worn off and threatened a whole lot worse than a broken nose and a gross hex if Adrian so much as breathed in your direction.

The lust Mattheo felt for you still burned but there was something else, something new to him. Something that made him want to comfort you and protect you, to have you look for him for safety. Now, he didn’t just want your body, he wanted your undivided attention. 

Mattheo tried to brush off these thoughts. He was no romantic, you were too sweet and nice to get wrapped up in something with him. As soon as it ended, you’d be crushed and Pansy and Enzo would likely make him suffer for hurting you. He told himself he just felt this way because you were friends, and friends is what you’d have to stay to be safe from him. 

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Quidditch hardly interested you, Mattheo found out. Occasionally you volunteered with Madam Pomfrey and you’d seen enough quidditch injures to give you too much anxiety to watch the game. So whenever he and the boys played you’d skip up to them with boxes of baked goods to wish them luck and left on your merry way to watch the infirmary so Madam Pomfrey could supervise the game.

Surprisingly, Draco had been won over through his stomach. His indifference morphed into a kind of bland acknowledgement until he’d gotten the first good luck treats of the season, then he became outright friendly towards you. But when he’d caught the snitch the first time that year you’d made the whole team a whole fleet of chocolate lava cakes and candied fruit. Draco had sworn all of it was for him but after that he had taken on a kind of pseudo-brother relationship with you.

Conversely, you and Blaise bonded over your distinguished and varied adoration of books, often times swapping between yourselves. Blaise alleged that you were the only one he could read around because you weren’t “a distracting idiot” like Enzo and Draco or “an eternal gossip” like Pansy, but Mattheo could see that Blaise just had a soft spot for you like everyone in the group. Every time they went to Hogsmeade together you and Blaise would peel off to Flourish and Blotts, always coming back with more books. Of course, Blaise being chivalrous meant you never carried your own books despite your protests. The more time they spent in Hogsmeade the longer your books would get passed around to be carried until they always landed in Mattheo’s hands. Though he didn’t mind because you would smile sweetly at him when they returned to Hogwarts and thanked him for carrying your books. 

Yes, Draco and Blaise had become like brothers to you. So when Madam Pomfrey rushed them to the infirmary both bruised with multiple broken bones Mattheo had seen all the color drain from your face.

None of the team was allowed to be in the infirmary so the last thing he could see was your crushed expression and tears welling up in your eyes. Theo, Pansy, Enzo and him had paced outside the hallway until Madam Pomfrey had shooed them away to go rest, telling them they could visit in the morning. 

Mattheo had hardly slept the entire night. His two friends unconscious and battered and your crestfallen face had haunted him. As soon as he could reasonably leave the dorm he rushed to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips upon seeing him, knowing he had not rested but allowed him to visit anyway, despite it still being too early. 

Draco and Blaise laid in their beds, looking much better than when they’d arrived. Whatever Madam Pomfrey had given them was slowly repairing the bones and easing the bruising on their bodies, their sleeping faces looked peaceful so it was clear they weren’t in pain. In between the two of their beds was you, huddled into yourself on a chair. 

Hearing Mattheo approach had made you lift your head from the floor. Your eyes were puffy from exhaustion, your usual bright smile gone and replaced by a mournful frown. You were wearing the same clothes from yesterday so he knew you’d stayed by their side all night and likely not slept. 

He stood in front of you, not sure what to say and as he looked at you he saw fresh tears gather in your eyes and your lip was trembling. Before he could say anything you’d lept from the chair and wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly as silent sobs wracked your body. 

Mattheo had never been hugged like this. He was fairly certain he’d never been hugged ever. But here you were, clinging to him and crying into his chest. His heart ached feeling your tears soak into his shirt, you couldn’t keep your sobs silent anymore, now fully weeping on him. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on top of yours. 

He just held you as you bawled. Though this situation was less than ideal it felt good that he could be here for you, comforting you. Your body was enveloped in his and he was reminded how small you were, so fragile but so strong at the same time. He wondered how long you’d held yourself together before he got here. That thought made him embrace you tighter, at least he could be here for you now. He told himself he’d keep holding you until you were ready to let go.

Your sobs had turned into little whimpers and sniffles, but you didn’t let go of him. Your head stirred underneath him and he looked down at you, seeing you staring up at him. Your wide eyes glassy and cheeks red, dried tear tracks on your face. The word beautiful flashed through his mind, somehow no matter what you did you always managed to look perfect to him. 

“T-thanks Matty,” you voice quivered, “Er, I mean Mattheo.” Your cheeks were already red from crying, though Mattheo desperately wanted to believe they got a little bit pinker.

“You can call me Matty.” His voice was somewhat hoarse and raspy from fatigue. Her lips quirked up slightly and then she sighed and closed her eyes. 

She slowly unwrapped her arms from him and dropped them to her side, looking back at Draco and Blaise. His body felt empty and cold after you let go, he felt the urge to pull you back but stifled it, as exhaustion was currently winning over his body.

Mattheo looked around and saw a spare blanket and two pillows. He quickly grabbed them, dropping them on the floor between the two beds with his friends. He sat on the floor, with one pillow behind his head against the wall. He pat the spot next to him and down you came, sitting next to him with the other pillow behind your head. He spread the blanket over the two of you and your head came to rest against his shoulder. His eyes closed and then sleep claimed the both of you.

He woke up to a flick on his forehead. He was still propped up against the wall with you ully leaned against his body, still dozing. Draco stood in front of him, the obvious perpetrator of the flick against his head, he was changed out of the hospital clothing but had various bandages and wraps on his body. Blaise was next to him leaning against the hospital bed he’d been spent the night in in, displaying a similar number of bandages. Both of them wearing smirks on their faces aimed at Mattheo and the Hufflepuff curled against him.

“Cozy?” Draco teased. 

Mattheo rolled his eyes with a smile, clearly his friends were alright if they were feeling up to making fun of him. 

“She stayed here all night for you dopes and we were tired,” Mattheo grunted, “Clearly you’re both feeling better though.” 

His friend’s teasing smirks fell and they looked guiltily at the sleeping girl. 

“Y’know she’s going to fuss over us when she wakes up.” Blaise admitted, Draco nodded with a sigh.

“She’ll probably cry.” Draco sighed. Not one of the three boys were looking forward to seeing their friend cry.

“I’ve gotta start carrying around some tissues for her,” Mattheo blurted. Blaise and Draco laughed at that, nodding in agreement and joking the whole group should start carrying some.  

The boys’ laughter stirred the Hufflepuff and she blinked her tired eyes open. At seeing Blaise and Draco awake and standing in front of her she shot right up, discarding the blanket on the floor.

“Blaise! Draco! Oh thank Merlin! How are you feeling? Are you supposed to be standing up? Do you need water? I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey to clean your bandages!” You rattled off, mind clearly spinning off with things to help the two injured Quidditch players. Luckily Blaise grabbed your hand, pulling you from your thoughts.

“We’re fine. Madam Pomfrey is letting us go today. We’re coming back everyday for the next week for the medicine and check ups.” Blaise seemed to sooth you with this, you nodded absentmindedly. Without your brain taking over you really looked at Draco and Blaise and, just as the boys predicted, you started shedding tears. You grabbed both boys and pulled them towards you, both giving you a half hug as you cried. Through your sobs you started babbling your relief about how they were both okay and making them promise to never have to come here half comatose they way they did. 

In the span of a couple of hours your waterworks had turned from fear to relief and Mattheo was glad to see his friends being fussed over by someone so sweet and caring. Your tears were short lived, as Blaise and Draco did their best to make you smile. Your sniffling turned to giggles when Draco’s stomach made a loud gurgle and he moaned about being starving, in typical dramatic Malfoy fashion. 

You had stepped away to thank Madam Pomfrey for allowing you to stay and taking care of your friends. Though the older woman swore it was her job to care for all students and softly chided you for sleeping on the floor even she seemed to fall victim to your charm, hurrying you out the infirmary and promising to see you next time you volunteered. 

“Mr. Riddle, a word please.” Madam Pomfrey said before he could follow you, Draco and Blaise out the door. He nodded to his friends that he’d catch up with them, trying not to think too hard about your worried look.

“I do try not to meddle in my student’s affairs,” Madam Pomfrey started, “But my dear apprentice has been here since midday yesterday and hasn’t eaten anything or slept, aside from your two hour nap on the floor,” the older woman gave a quick glare, “so if you’d please make sure your girlfriend eats and goes straight to bed, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Mattheo nodded dumbstruck, a satisfied Madam Pomfrey led him out the door. 

Girlfriend. Madam Pomfrey thought you and Mattheo were dating. Mattheo once found dating any one repulsive, but he thought about your sweet smiles and angelic laughter and suddenly the idea of dating was inviting, so long as he was dating you. And that was terrifying thought, Mattheo didn’t think himself boyfriend material, but the idea of seeing you date anyone else, or Merlin forbid one of his friends, made him nauseous. He conceded that maybe these feelings would fade after some time, after all, you didn’t give him any indication that you wanted to be more.

Taking Madam Pomfrey’s words seriously he met up with you, Blaise and Draco. After all four of you were fed he suggested they all get rest, Draco and Blaise didn’t argue, their exhaustion kicking in from their injuries, but you pouted, not wanting to go back to your own dorm alone. Mattheo wasn’t immune to your puppy dog eyes so he offered his own bed so you could be with everyone. Draco and Blaise shared a knowing look, but you beamed up at him and happily trotted along with them to their dorms. 

Enzo and Theo were still sleeping, likely to be out until afternoon so as quietly as they could Blaise and Draco went to their own beds, passing out shortly after pulling their blankets around their bodies. 

You shed your large yellow knit sweater and yawned, smiling sleepily at Mattheo. He smiled and tilted his head to his bed, offering it to the kindly Hufflepuff. After removing her shoes she slipped under the covers, he could tell she was struggling to stay awake. 

“Are you coming to bed too?”

Her question made his neck feel hot, she looked at his innocently, eyes fluttering. If he got in that bed with her, he knew he’d never let go of whatever feelings were developing for her. He slowly shook his head, ready to lie to her and say he wasn’t tired, that he was going to go shower or study or literally anything other than get into his bed with her.

“Please Matty?” You pouted. Merlin, he was a goner. He sighed softly and slipped under the covers with you, trying to keep a respectful distance. This whole situation had his body burning and mind in overdrive. You smiled happily and let out a small giggle, wishing him goodnight and then allowing sleep to take you.

Truthfully, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep. His mind and body kicked into chaos at the proximity of the beautiful Hufflepuff. But he was actually tired, and your soft snores helped him relax and he was able to fall asleep as well. 

That sleep was short-lived, as he only slept for about two hours. When he woke up you were completely tucked into his body, still snoring, with his arms wrapped around you. Luckily, everyone else was still completely knocked out. Against his urges he detached himself from your cuddling, thanking whatever higher power that no one witnessed the intimate moment, and slipped into the bathroom for a cold shower to cool his fevered skin. 

The next day, he went to Hogsmeade and picked up a single green handkerchief with a snake and his initials embroidered into the fabric. He’d never tell anyone but he always kept it in his pocket, just in case.

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Mattheo knew Theo didn’t care for his birthday, after his mother had passed his father became cruel and he never had another birthday. When Enzo had mentioned it in passing at dinner, Theo had told you himself he didn’t celebrate it. 

Mattheo, now attuned to your expressions, saw a glimmer of sadness flickering behind your eyes, followed by a flash of determination. You hadn’t said much after that, but he saw the gears in your head turning. 

A week later on Theo’s birthday Enzo had dashed into the common room, asking all of them to follow him to the Room of Requirement. The whole walk there was tense, Mattheo could tell by Theo’s expression that if it was a big party he was going to be pissed. You were mysteriously missing most of the week, or dashing away quickly so he assumed you had planned something, with Enzo’s help of course.

When they pushed into the room there was no party. Instead there were soft string lights hanging from the ceiling, a fire going in an intricate stone fireplace and a swirling emerald green carpet guiding them further into the room. Just a few steps further and there you were, covered in flour and wearing an apron with splashes of food stains. In front of you was a table with only seven seats set, a cacophony of steaming food on top.

Mattheo and his friends had their mouths agape, trying to take in the extravagance around them. They knew you loved to cook, having been on the receiving end of endless, delicious desserts. But never before had you cooked an actual feast for them. He looked to Theo, who was not looking at the lights or the fireplace or even the food, his deep gaze on you. 

Mattheo saw a nervous smile take hold of your face and watched your hands tug on each other, clearly nervous about Theo’s reaction.

“Um… I made it,” you pushed out, “I remembered you said once you missed your Mom’s cooking so I made a bunch of Italian dishes. Y-your Mom probably made them better but I did my best. I even made Mostaccioli! I remember you said it was your favorite…” Your nervousness getting the better of you. No one said anything, all looking at Theo for his reaction. 

Theo strode up to you, his face not showing anything, and he pulled you into a hug. Theo, who hated unnecessary touching, was hugging you. Mattheo even swore he heard Theo mumble “I love it.”

When your arms came around Theo’s broad back Mattheo got a glimpse of your face. Your eyes were closed, tears leaking out of the corners and a soft, peaceful smile on your face. 

Mattheo didn’t know what to call these types of tears. It felt bigger than the other ones he’d seen. These tears felt sweet and sad at the same time, like you and Theo had a secret understanding. Looking at you and Theo embrace felt like a private, raw moment, but he couldn’t look away. He decided to deem these: bittersweet tears. 

Theo let you go and you chuckled and wiped the sides of your eyes. You beamed at everyone and invited them to sit down and eat. 

And as Mattheo sat down next to you, with a messy apron, covered in flour and a cheery grin on your face, Mattheo couldn’t help but think you more radiant than he’s ever seen you. 

And even though Theo refused to share the Mostaccioli with any of them, it was easily the best meal of Mattheo’s life, love and attention baked into everything you made. His friends more carefree and happy than he’d ever seen them, laughing and joking. 

When you left to get the cake you made that was cooling by the room’s kitchen area Theo leaned over to him and whispered, “If you don’t make a move soon, I’m going to marry that girl.” Mattheo froze like a deer in headlights, but Theo just grinned at him and sipped his champagne. 

Mattheo tried to ignore Theo’s words but they sat heavy in his mind. Ever since he started carrying around a handkerchief for you, he barely even noticed other girls. He can’t even remember the last time he accepted a girl’s invite to her dorm. He only ever thought about you, and instead of fear and uncertainty now he only felt warmth and longing when he imagined you and him together. It surprised him how much he wanted all of it. He wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to have you laugh at his jokes, to smile at him, to worship you in any and every way you’d let him. The realization that he was completely smitten with you pierced through his whole body. Theo was right, you had to be his.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Finding you alone was damn near impossible, Mattheo found out. If it wasn’t his own friends it was literally everyone else in the entire castle. Apparently your light touched everyone at Hogwarts, as every time he tried to get a moment to ask you on a date someone would appear and ruined the moment. 

At first he didn’t mind. When the Weasley twins approached you with a new invention, something they called the Zinger Wing Giggle Ball you had been too excited to test it for them. Even Mattheo would admit a ball that flies around making teasing, sarcastic remarks and giggling was funny. Even more so when it scared the daylights out of Mrs. Norris and chased her all through the halls calling her “a dirty flobberworm with legs and a tail”. You, of course, had felt bad for Filch and his tattle-cat but even so, you couldn’t help but laugh along too.

Then there were the professors, Mattheo didn’t realize how much volunteering you did for everyone. Professor Sprout requesting your assistance with the odd plant in the greenhouse or Hagrid wanting you to come witness whatever mysterious beast he’d found that week and log their abilities. Even Snape, who never seemed to like any of his students, would approach you for helping him stock his precious ingredients closet. How you made time for anyone was beyond Mattheo, but he was determined still.

His friends seemed to be the worst of all, they seemed almost determined to not let him have a moment alone with you. No matter where he was with you at least one of them would appear. When he’d finally gotten tired of it he gathered them all and told them he was trying to ask you on a date, a real ’not Mattheo being a fuckboi’ date, by Pansy’s words, not his. Of course with who his friends were and how fiercely protective they were over you, they grilled him for over an hour about his intentions. When they were finally satisfied galleons passed around into Theo and Enzo’s hands. Those fuckers had placed bets amongst themselves on whether or not Mattheo would ever figure out his feelings and ask you out. If Mattheo wasn’t so annoyed he’d be a little touched that his two best friends had faith in him. 

And now, here he was. There were no classes today, and almost everyone in the castle was at Hogsmeade. He knew you were somewhere, his friends confirming you weren’t coming that day and had chosen to stay behind. He’d looked for you everywhere, he had even bribed a younger year Hufflepuff with chocolate frogs to check if you were in your room. It felt like another day of failure for him. It was two hours before everyone would come back, he knew that it would be impossible to get you alone after that. He dragged his feet up to the astronomy tower, hoping to take a quick smoke to clear his head. 

But he heard a familiar sniffle from the stairs. As quietly as he could he peaked out from the staircase and there he spotted your familiar tuft of hair and bright yellow knit sweater. He approached you, nerves bursting in his body until he felt his stomach drop. You were crying.

“What happened?” Mattheo questioned. His voice made you jump and when you looked at him, he saw your familiar puffy, red cheeks and watery wide eyes. 

“Hi Matty,” you said softly, “Its nothing. Just something stupid.” You sniffled, trying to wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater. He pulled out his handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to you. You looked at him gratefully and accepted it, wiping your face with the soft, expensive fabric.

“You’d never cry for something stupid.” He corrected. He could remember every instance he’d seen you cry, nothing had ever been stupid about them. He sat next to you on the floor. You sighed, twisting your fingers nervously.

“Someone called me a Slytherin whore.” 

Mattheo could have gotten whiplash with how fast his head snapped to you. Mattheo tried not to let his fury show. He really tried, knowing that his anger could potentially scare you. 

“Who?”

“…Does it matter?”

“Who?”

“It’s not worth it.”

“Who?”

He didn’t mean to take a tone with you, but he was trying to figure out what asshole he was going to beat the shit out of. Then he’d let his friends have their turn.

“Adrian Pucey.”

That son of a bitch. That idiot couldn’t learn the first time. Screw the quidditch team, they’d find another chaser. When Mattheo was finished with him Pucey wouldn’t be able to go near a broom for at least six months. 

“Is that what people think of me?” 

Mattheo was so focused on his rage he didn’t even see you deflating at his side. As he looked at you he realized you weren’t just hurt by Pucey’s words, you believed them.

“No, no one believes that. No one with a brain anyway.” Mattheo assured you. He would cast his anger aside for now, you needed him more.

“I just-“ you groaned, holding your face in your hands, “I know I can be… clingy and a crybaby and maybe I do spend too much time with you guys, but I feel like you guys are my best friends and I like being around you guys and I feel like you guys like me around or maybe you just tolerate me but I feel like that shouldn’t make me a whore and I-“ Mattheo had let you babble long enough. He held your face in his hands and turned your head so you could look at him head on. 

“Listen to me,” He demanded, “You are not a whore. Nothing you do or say could make you that. Understand?”

You nodded in his hands. 

“We do like you being around because we like you. You aren’t clingy or a crybaby. Do you cry? Yes. Is it a perfectly normal reaction? Yes. You’ve made all of our lives better. Pansy has someone she actually likes to do girl stuff with. Draco knows someone outside of our fucked up group and his Mom cares about him. Theo had one of the best fucking birthdays of his life since his Mom died. All because of you! Don’t let some asshole that I’m going to punch in the teeth make you feel like you’re anything less than a ray of sunshine of every single life you touch.”

Mattheo hadn’t realized your hands were cupping his own. You were smiling at him, eyes watery, he wiped a stray tear off your cheek. Your glassy orbs flashed with vulnerability.

“What about you, Matty? Have I made your life better?”

“Better doesn’t even begin to describe what you’ve done to my life.”

More tears were flowing from your eyes but before Mattheo could wipe them away with his hands you threw yourself into his arms, toppling him over and kissed him. 

Any thoughts in Mattheo’s head flew out the window as soon as your lips touched his. Your delicate fingers holding his face lovingly and your soft lips pressed against his own. He brought his hands up to your waist, lightly caressing the skin there that was exposed by your shirt and sweater riding up. The a flurry of peace flooded Mattheo’s body, it was as if his entire being was releasing a sigh of relief, a single thought echoed throughout his body: finally.

Unfortunately, youpulled away, your cheeks flushed. Mattheo was laying on the floor underneath you so you ended up right in his lap, which, looking from his point of view, was so fucking tempting. 

“I’m going to marry the fuck out of you.”

Mattheo meant it but blurting it out had not been his intention, his brain still reeling from the kiss. Nonetheless, you giggled, airy and light like a tinkling bell.

“How about a date first, Matty?” You teased. 

“It’s a start.” Mattheo sat up, pulling your legs tighter around his waist so he could pull you even closer to him. Your fingers started to entangle in his hair and he looked up at you, pure adoration in your eyes, “Do I get to call you mine now?”

“I’ve been yours Matty.”

He hummed happily, pulling your face down to kiss you again. 

[lunxrstellx]

HOW NOT TO DATE A SLYTHERIN

part one of five

↬ being harry potter's sister wouldn't make dating theodore nott any easier - which was why you tried to hide it

↬ sfw; only fluff this chapter; wc: 3.4k; cw: none; secret relationship trope, potter!reader, griffindor!reader

The chill of the night air bit at your exposed cheeks as you climbed the final steps to the astronomy tower, your breath visible in faint puffs. Winter had arrived particularly early this year, chilling your bones even now, on the last weekend of october. The school lay quiet below, the golden glow of the countless windows no longer having given in to the darkness of a cold autnumm night.

You pulled your robe tighter around you, wincing at the faint creak of the wooden door as it swung open by the push of your hand. You knew you shouldn't be out after curfew- your brother was usually the one breaking rules and making trouble- but the pull of him was irrestible. He, who’s voice cut through the haunting silence like a knife.

“I was starting to think you wouldn't show.”

You froze mid-step, your heart leaping to your throat at the familiar voice. Even though you had been expecting it. Theodore Nott was was leaning casually against the stone railing, his pale face bathed in the cold light of the moon that sharpened every dip and curve in the prettiest way. A light smirk was curling at the corner of his lips, his usual cigarette dangling from his pink lips. His green slytherin tie was loosened, his robes slightly crumpled, as if he’d wandered here on a whim rather than planned this meeting. But you knew better. Theo rarely did anything without careful thought.

“I had to make sure the coast was clear,” you replied, trying to copy his nonchalance. His dark eyes followed you closely as you crossed the space between you, coming to a halt a few feet away from the railing to keep some distance between you and the abyss. It was funny how you could ride a stick of wood regularly, tens of meters in the air, but looking down a great height with steady floor under you feet had nausea creep up your chest.

You tried not to shift under his prying eyes. Being eyed up by Theodore Nott was a rather particular feeling. Every time you met his eyes, you felt like he was staring right through you, blowing through every cover, every mask, every wall you had ever shielded your true self with and assessing it with disarming precision. As you returned his stare, his smile widened a little and he puffed on his cigarette. “You’ve gotten better at sneaking around, though. Tell me, do the Potter genes include an innate sense of rule-breaking?”

“And here I was, thinking I was your ‘good girl’,” you replied, quoting his teasing nickname. A rare laugh escaped his throat, more of a huff, really, that he hid in his hand holding the cigarette. You eyed it reproachfully.

“You’re going to die at a very young age, Theo.”

Slightly puzzled, he looked down at you, blowing smoke into the air and holding out an arm to beckon you closer. Answering the silent invitation, you let him nudge you towards him gently, the cigarette-free hand pulling you closer by the waist. “Is that a threat, cara? Because I could think of no better way to die than by your gentle hands.”

The charming bastard got a hold of said hands that were shivering slightly from the cold as you had forgotten to put gloves on, and pressed a gentle kiss onto your palm, carefully watching your reaction. You could only pray he took the flush on your cheeks as a symptom of the cold rather than your flustered reaction to his Italian.

“That's not what I meant,” you frowned, indicating the cigarette between his slender fingers. “What I meant was that you’re going to smoke yourself into an early grave.”

God, the way his eyelashes caught the few too-early snowflakes melting hopelessly on the ground. You gave a high-pitched tone of surprise when suddenly, he surged forward, pulling you even closer and trailing kisses up your jaw to your ear. “Tell me you’d hate that,” he whispered and you gave him an incredulous look he couldn't see.

“Of course I’d hate that!”

Before you could say anything else, Theo discarded the cigarette over the railing. Though you had no time to follow the tiny glowing ember on its way down, because just a fraction of a second later, his lips crashed into yours and you let out a startled squeak. Feeling him smile against your lips, you kissed him back in a weak attempt to take the initiative. He allowed you to play, but the movement of his hands, the caging of his arms and the way he beckoned your mouth open so easily proved his underlying dominance. Theo just wasn't beatable at kissing.

This was what you had been looking forward to all day, sitting through transfiguration, charms and defense against the dark arts, all subjects you had without him, stealing longing glances over dinner and quickly looking back as to avoid drawing the attention of your friends or brother to the silent exchange.

As the kiss got more heated, Theo’s fingers curled into your sides, spinning you around so you were with your back to the railing. Miraculously, you couldn't bring yourself to care. All there was in this microcosm of the two of you was him, you and the feeling of his lips on yours. One hand of his cupped your jaw, angling it slightly back to gain best access to your throat. As his lips trailed down the expanse of it, nipping, kissing and sucking, you found yourself snapping out of your theo-kiss-induced haze and pulled away aprubtly.

Panting, you covered Theo’s lips with one hand and he raised his eyebrow at you. He did that well, his eyes alone could make your stomach flutter. But you didn't give in. “Theo, what if someone sees marks on my-” You're were a little embarrassed about the subject matter, breaking off mid-sentence, and glared at his shit-eating grin, invisible behind your hand. “Well, I mean-” You were blushing. Oh god, you were blushing like crazy.

“Did you not enjoy that, cara?” Theo whispered seductively, carefully prying your hand from his mouth and kissing it gently. His eyes glinting with mirth, he looked at you challengingly.

“Of course I did!” you said, exasperated and embarrassed at the same time. You hated it when Theo took advantage of your unfamiliarity with intimacy and relationships. “But nobody can see!”

You expected him to tease you some more, so you were surprised when he merely breathed a long sigh and pulled you into his chest. Immediately, you buried your nose in his robes that smelled of him so deliciously. Smoke, old wood, a hint of mint, bookshelves. You felt him breathe your scent in as well, nose buried in your hair, and laughed lightly, but he didn't join in. His voice was a whisper, hard to make out.

“How long do you think we can keep this up before someone finds out?”

You didn't want to answer the question.

Something picking at the back of your hand snapped you out of your drowsy state. Still tired from last night, you had dozed off a little in history of magic, but as soon as you caught the culprit of the picking at your hands, a hardly suppressed smile pulled at your lips. It was a little paper bird, and the fancy handwriting clearly indicated it as a note from Theo.

You waited until Professor Binns turned his back to the class to write on the blackboard, before carefully slipping the note into your lap, shielding it from Hermoine who sat next to you, taking notes. When you carefully folded the note open, you were greeted by Theo’s elegant handwriting.

If you keep chewing on your quill like that, I might lose my ability to concentrate.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you glanced sideways at him, where he sat a few rows behind your brother who had his head buried in his folded arms, fast asleep. Theo was leaning back in his chair, his quill poised lazily over his parchment as though he had been diligently taking notes, instead of composing witty distractions. His lips curved into a light smirk when your eyes met, and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say, Well?

You hastily scribbled back, your handwriting looking sloppy and slanted next to his. Maybe I'm trying to distract you. Someone’s got to keep you on your toes, Nott. With a flick of your wand, the note floated subtly back to his desk, and you could barely contain a smile as his brows lifted in amused surprise before he began to write again.

Turning to the blackboard to copy the notes, you felt Hermoine's eyes on you and looked up from your parchment. She was eyeing you suspiciously. “What are you smiling about?” she whispered, sparing a nervous glance at the professor. “Nothing,” you answered, hastily grabbing the next messenger pigeon out of the air before it could enter your friend's vision. You could practically feel Theo chuckling at your unlucky predicament.

But Hermoine turned back to Binns once more to listen to his sermon and you stuffed the bird into your back subtly to read it after class and away from prying eyes.

“You’d be a half-decent Chaser if you didn't spend half the match showboating,” Theo drawled, his tone so casual it was clearly meant to provoke.

He leaned against the headboard of his bed, arms crossed as he regarded you with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. You, meanwhile, were sprawled across the emerald-green bedspread of his four-poster, arms tucked behind your head like you owned the place. At his words, you shot up immediately, propping yourself up on one elbow. “That's rich coming from the guy who winks at the crowd every time he scores- what’s that, part of your technique?”

The slytherin dormitory was quiet, except for crackling of the enchanted fire in the corner and the endless string of your playful teasing. Theo and you had the room for yourselves today as his mates were in Hogsmeade and Theo had stayed behind with the excuse of homework. As if he hadn't already finished all his work like the flawless O-grader he was.

“And anyway, I don’t see you scoring against Gryffindor’s defense without half your team clearing the way for you.” you teased, attempting to get a rise out of your ever calm and collected boyfriend.

But Theo’s smile only deepened, and he leaned forward just slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing lilt. “Jealous of my stats, are we, Potter? It’s not my fault you lot rely on your Seeker for every win.”

“You-” you started, your eyes narrowing, but his soft chuckle cut you off. You tossed one of his pillows at him instead, grinning when he caught it effortlessly. “Just keep laughing, Nott. You’ll regret it next match when I leave you in the dust.”

Suddenly, you felt his hand close around your ankle and shrieked as you were pulled towards him with alarming force. Before you could comprehend the shift in his behavior, he jolted forward as well, hovering over your body, sprawled out defenselessly underneath him. A light smile played around his lips as he took in your shocked expression with satisfaction and he brought a gentle hand up to your chin to tilt it upward, giving him access to your neck.

Theo dipped his head down to trail ghostly kisses down to your shoulder, muttering against your skin: “Are you sure about that, tesoro? Because I think you’ll have to work on your reaction time a bit before you can beat me.”

“Sneaky bastard,” you said, but couldn't suppress a high-pitched moan when Theo suddenly buried his teeth in your shoulder. Embarrassed by the sound that had slipped from your lips, you threw your hand over your mouth and blushed when he chuckled darkly into your neck.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he teased, looking up at you through his long dark lashes. Your pointed glare and flushed cheeks were answer enough.

When Theo broke out into a hearty laugh, you attempted to scowl at him, but it was hard when you were half in wonder by the sound of his laughter you got to hear so rarely. All the years you hadn't known Theo except for that one slytherin boy, you thought he couldn't laugh. When he did it for the first time with you, talking in the library over a muggle book you both had read and neither of you could talk to anyone else about, that was the first time you felt a flutter of butterflies rummaging in your stomach in his presence.

Awestruck by the sound of his laughter, you realized you had spaced out for a moment. Theo’s cackle had faded into a soft smile you could only reciprocate. His handsome features were painted with a gentle brush by the light of the fire. “You should laugh more often,” you said, not for the first time. “It’s beautiful.”

Theo hummed amused and leaned on his elbows to hover only a few inches above you. At this angle, his dark curls fell into his eyes, obstructing the view somewhat, so you reached up to run a hand through them. Savoring your touch, he closed his eyes and when he opened them, they held an implicit hunger that made you gulp. “I like your laugh too, tesoro. Love it, in fact,” he murmured, lips barely an inch from yours and you were itching to close the space in between. “And what I also love is y-”

Something banged at the door and both of you shot up, startled. As you stared at it unmovingly, the chatter of boy’s voices now unmistakably being heard through the closed door, Theo, the ever-quick thinker, jumped off the bed and beckoned you to follow. You shot up, heart thrumming with horror, scrambling onto your belly and rolling under Theo’s bed as far back as possible. With one quick glance to check if you were okay, that you answered with a silent thumbs-up, Theo got to his feet and walked over to the door, opening it.

“Theo, you bloke! Why did you lock the fucking door?” you heard a voice that sounded very much like Mattheo Riddle's shout. Several heavy steps resounded against the wooden floor and from under the bed, you could make out four pairs of shoes, undoubtedly belonging to Riddle, Malfoy, Berkshire and Zabini.

“I was studying,” Theo said, annoyance shimmering through his voice. “I prefer to do that undisturbed.”

You silently thanked the heavens that you and Theo had actually been studying before and therefore supplanted convincing evidence consisting of books and parchment. But suddenly, another realization dawned on you and your stomach curled with dread. Your parchment was up there too, with your handwriting and your name on it!

Theo’s eyes had also fallen on your parchment and he casually strolled over to his bed to collect it, concealing it with his and setting it aside. He felt annoyance rise within him and tried to keep it at bay. Of course his mates would barge in unexpectedly early in the exact moment he was about to confess his love to you. Clearing his face of any resemblance of emotion, he turned back around, leaning against his bedpost and trying his best not to worry about you, squeezed under his bed.

“You’re early,” he remarked, raising one brow. A memory almost made his lips twitch, of you trying to imitate the way he was able to raise one brow.

The boys threw glances at each other, some wary, but Blaise laughed. Only now did Theo notice his bleeding lip, and the others didn't look better of. Damn. He was really distracted when he hadn't even noticed it until now, when he always counted on his flawless perceptional ability.

“Who did you brawl with?” he sighed, though amused, looking directly at Mattheo who raised his hands in defense.

Draco nodded his way, dapping at a cut above his eyebrow with his shirt. “Mattheo picked a fight with Potter and some of his mates and we had to flee the scene before the old McGonagall caught us. Potter and Weasley got detention though.” He laughed in malicious joy and Theo's lips twitched slightly at the thought of you rolling your eyes under the bed.

“Potter’s sister wasn't with them though,” Enzo pondered, swapping out his slightly bloody hoodie for a clean one. When his head ascended from his collar, hair slightly disheveled, he was met with four pairs of raised brows. Well, three pairs plus one.

“What do you care about Potter’s sister?” Mattheo grinned wolfishly and Enzo rolled his eyes, chucking his bloody hoodie at him that got Mattheo right in the laughing face. Over that, he thankfully missed the subtle clench of Theo’s jaw at hearing him say ‘Potter’s sister’ in such an invidous tone.

Enzo, evidently, didn't like it either, which didn't help Theo’s irritation that he hid behind a mask of indifference. “She’s actually quite nice,” Enzo retorted, rolling his eyes at Mattheo’s and Blaise’s teasing whistles.

“Where’d you talk to her?” Theo asked, making his words sound so utterly indifferent nobody picked up on his sudden focus on the subject.

Under the bed, your heart did a little leap when you realized why he was asking. Though Theo was no outright jealous person, you sometimes caught him stealing glances at your male friends, voice tightening subtly when he talked about them. Anytime you teased him for it, he denied it, of course, saying jealousy was irrational and for fools because he knew you would never even glance at them. Hearing his inquire, you made a mental note to taunt him with it when this was all over.

“The library,” Enzo said, sitting down on his bed and taking one of his novels off the shelve. “I’m lousy in Arithmetic, as you know, and she isn't.”

“I’m surprised she even talked to you,” Blaise said as he magically fixed his lip in the mirror, making sure it looked flawless and untainted. “From what I gather, she’s the biggest goody-two-shoes in school, and a Griffindor ontop of that, why would she associate with a Slytherin?”

Enzo only shrugged, and Mattheo let out a loud groan as he longed himself at his bed that creaked under his impact. “Merlin, why are we still talking about Potters? There is so much more interesting stuff to talk about. Like what Theo has been doing today. Or who.”

He threw a teasing smile Theo’s way who raised his brow nonchalantly. “I told you, I was studying.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mattheo yawned, but kept his gaze fixed in his friends indecipherable expression. “You’re already five steps ahead in class, every assignment this year you got back with an O, what would you need to study for? Not to mention, you’ve been sneaking out more lately, and I bet it’s not ‘cause you’re dating Filch.”

Theo returned his stare unblinkingly, keenly aware of the fact that you were listening to every word. “So what if I am?” A slight smile graced his lips as he leaned his head against the bedpost. “Can't I fuck who I want?”

“Sure,” grinned Mattheo, unrelenting. “But you haven't done a lot of sleeping around for the last few months, from what I can gather. Seems to me like your man-whore-heart finally rests in the hands of only one unlucky girl.”

“Your audacity calling me fickle when you’ve slept your way through every willing girl in our grade is obnoxious,” Theo sneered, making the other boys laugh and directing the conversation towards the ravenclaw girl who’s heart Mattheo had broken just yesterday. With the other boys distracted, Theo dared kneeling down, pretending to tie his shoelaces while at the same time peering into the dark under his bed.

His eyes met yours in an instant as you raised your brows teasingly, and as he rose to his feet, Theo could hardly suppress a little smile that dared creep upon his face.

[lunxrstellx]

fave tommy series!!

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: holy shit it's over

part 26: reset

word count: 3,407 tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread | @rubyxx16 | @bellabarnes1378 | @johnmurphys-sass | @strangeobsessed

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

It was just past noon when you entered the betting house, the familiar hum of the Blinders' daily grind in full swing. The chaos of the morning’s business dealings settling into a lull. Tommy sat behind his desk, speaking quietly with John and Arthur, his sharp eyes scanning the room as usual. Your arrival was met with nothing more than a subtle glance, a knowing acknowledgment. You were already a part of the furniture, as integral to the operation as the ledgers carefully tucked away.

Today, though, the tension was palpable. A new shipment had arrived, and the logistics of it all were weighing on everyone. You spent the morning coordinating with the men, ensuring the distribution routes were set, and making sure their contacts were loyal—loyalty being a currency the Blinders didn’t often take lightly. The risks had grown larger, and there was no room for failure.

Tommy had given you full control of the day-to-day, trusting you to act on his behalf, a responsibility you’d earned over the past months. The work had initially come in bursts—small tasks here and there, conversations with men on the docks, reports on deals—but over time, it had grown into something more. Tommy had seen in you what he needed all along: someone who didn’t just follow orders but made the right calls on your own.

Most important of the aspects that you unknowingly displayed: you showed no resistance to the world that welcomed you. There was no part of you that sought change—only progress.

You walked across the room, your heels clicking against the worn floorboards. Your presence didn’t command the room the way Tommy did—there was no need for grand entrances. The Blinders didn’t need to be reminded of your role; they had already learned it.

“Everything set for today?” Tommy asked without looking up, his voice the kind of deep, calm authority that left no room for doubt.

You nodded, stepping into the back room to check on the paperwork. It was all in order—accounts balanced, the deals set to move smoothly, the men in place to ensure it all went without a hitch. You came to understand the business quickly, and as you sorted through the ledgers, you felt a sense of pride in it. It was a strange thing, working for Tommy Shelby, and yet, it had begun to feel like a place you belonged. More than that, it was a place where you had a voice—a voice that was respected. No longer did you cling to the shadows. The light found you, and from there, it was only a matter of keeping the flame burning.

Outside the back room, the brothers were starting to gather around the table. John had a glint of mischief in his eyes, already looking to stir things up. Arthur, for once, seemed quieter than usual, lost in his own thoughts. And Finn—Finn, the youngest, watched you more closely than he would have dared before. There was something different in the way he looked at you now—respect, maybe, or perhaps even something more.

He wasn't the same since the incident outside the bookshop. A change that didn't go unnoticed, but it was overlooked by Tommy who attributed it to the numbing years of a growing boy in the business.

You walked back into the main room, placing the papers down with a calm efficiency.

Arthur caught your eye as you moved to join them, giving you a nod of acknowledgment. It was rare for him to show his approval so openly, but it was clear to everyone in the room that you were more than just Tommy’s confidante. You were someone who stood alongside him, someone whose decisions were just as binding as his. That, alone, was an anomaly.

“Everything set, love?” Arthur asked with a grin, always the one to break the tension. Tommy, too, had come to see that Arthur wasn’t just the wild card—he was the heart, even if he sometimes acted out of impulse.

You glanced at Tommy, catching the slight nod he gave you. His approval was silent, but it was there.

“It’s all in place,” you said, your voice steady and subtly confident. “The new shipment will be at the docks by tonight. We’ll need to make sure everyone’s on time for the distribution. The last thing we need is another delay.”

The brothers shifted, murmuring among themselves, clearly pleased with how you were taking charge. The weight of Tommy’s expectations was always there, but you learned to bear it. You were used to the tension now, the constant weight of your role, the subtle pressure from Tommy, and the way the brothers looked to you for answers when he wasn’t around.

“We’ll handle it,” John said with a chuckle, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Ain’t no one better for the job than us, right?”

You nodded with a smirk. You didn’t need to say much.

As the brothers continued to discuss the logistics of the day, you stood back, your eyes drifting across the room. Finn's stare caught your eye again, and you motioned for him to join you in an empty office. You sat down quietly while he stood rather stiffly.

"How are you?" you asked plainly.

"Business as usual." His responses were always short.

"Finn," you sighed with the soft shake of your head. "I told you why it happened that way."

"I know."

"And yet, you're upset with me."

The briefest look of anger flashed over his eyes before it disappeared back into his face of apathy. He shrugged. "I know."

You stood, placing your hands on his shoulders with a gentle squeeze. You didn't want to continuously placate him. It was understandable—his frustration. His mistrust. He thought he'd let you and Tommy down by letting you leave with Bingham that day.

Finn's eyes searched yours for the explanation he was looking for. "Tommy doesn't think I can handle it."

"And can you?"

"I know I can."

You grinned, a touch of playfulness and amusement. "Then I trust you to prove it."

After a few seconds, he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief that you could say something so simple.

"Come with me to the new shop. You can run the books if that's what you want. Show Tommy you can handle running my business." You raised an eyebrow, hinting at all he could accomplish.

It wasn’t just the business side of things that had changed. Tommy showed an immense amount of proactivity. He took all of Bingham's properties, turned them into new places for the Blinders to conduct their business. As for you, once Bingham's old bookshop was handed over, it was put in your care. He knew what it meant to you—having another place to run to if you ever needed it.

Finn nodded with a curt grin. "I'll take care of it."

You learned to be tough, to be assertive, but you also learned when to step back and let the brothers handle things. There were times when Tommy needed your voice, and there were times when he needed you to be his eyes and ears. In the silence of the Garrison or the betting house, amidst the noise of the world outside, you knew that this was where you belonged—for now. It was a strange thing, being with the Blinders, but it was something you’d come to embrace.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The Garrison was alive with noise. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, glasses clinked, and the familiar scent of whiskey hung in the air. The Shelby family had gathered as they always did, a moment of respite from their usual chaos. Tonight, however, the atmosphere was warmer, more relaxed. Even Finn had allowed himself a smile as he sipped his drink.

You sat beside Tommy, as you always did now. Over the past months, the unspoken distance between you had dissolved. You became more than just Tommy’s right hand—you were part of the family. The Shelbys treated you like one of their own, with the same loyalty, the same grudging affection. And Tommy, for all his coldness, let you in—let you see the man he was beneath the armor he wore.

The conversation had shifted to the usual tales, wild stories of old schemes and new faces in the streets of Birmingham. But as the laughter continued and the family reveled in each other’s company, Tommy’s gaze fell on you, steady and intense. He watched you for a long moment, almost as if lost in thought. There was something different in his eyes tonight—a flicker of something that you couldn’t quite place. Neither of you ventured past the comfortable silence. Even though the others knew there was more to this relationship than the business, you both kept the briefest amount of distance as if it was better to keep the intimate details a secret—something sacred to be saved for your eyes alone.

Arthur raised his glass , his voice louder than usual. “To Tommy and y/n—may the world fuckin' burn at your feet.” He paused, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And to Shelby Company, Limited.”

Everyone murmured their agreement, clinking their glasses together in a unified toast. Even John, whose usual cynicism had softened in recent months, smiled as he raised his own drink.

Quietly, you slipped into the back room, hoping to find a moment of solitude. The noise from the pub had softened into murmurs, and the lamplight flickered as shadows stretched across the floor. You always needed a break from all the noise, just a moment to breathe. But you hadn’t expected to find Polly waiting in the corner, a glass of whiskey in hand, watching you with those knowing eyes.

You paused in the doorway, feeling a momentary hesitation. Polly wasn’t just a sharp observer—she was someone who understood the weight of the world, someone who had seen it all. And you weren't sure if you wanted to be seen right now.

"Come in, love. No need to stand there like you’re hiding," Polly said, her voice soft but firm.

You entered quietly, closing the door behind you. You glanced toward the table, uncertain whether to sit. Polly, as always, didn’t rush you. She didn’t need to.

With a resigned sigh, you took a seat across from Polly. Her gaze never left you, not in a way that was judgmental, but more like she was watching for something you weren't yet ready to admit.

After a long pause, Polly took a sip of her whiskey, then placed the glass down with deliberate slowness, her eyes never straying from you.

“I’ve been watching you and Tommy,” Polly said, her tone light but filled with the weight of experience. “It’s not lost on me, you know.”

You didn’t look up. You didn’t want to. You could feel the words swirling in your mind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say them. You fidgeted with your sleeve, the rough fabric doing little to ease the anxiety creeping up in your stomach.

Polly continued, as if she’d already known the thoughts racing through your head. “You two are different from how Tommy was with Grace.”

You stiffened. Tommy never brought up Grace, and you did all you could to avoid thinking about her. You paid Tommy the same courtesy, leaving Ezra in the past ever since that day at the cemetery. You knew, though, that there were times he wanted to ask. Those moments when you were too quiet or lost in thought. Polly always seemed to find a way to pull the past back into the present.

“I know he loved her,” Polly said softly, almost to herself. “But business always got in the way. It always does with him. Even at their wedding, he was conducting business.”

You stayed silent, your chest tight as the memory of Grace resurfaced. Standing in the shadow of that history, you knew there was no easy way to compare yourself to Grace, not even now.

“But with you,” Polly’s voice cut through your thoughts, “it’s different. You’re part of the business, yes. But you’re also part of him. And that’s something he doesn’t give to just anyone. I have a feeling that if business were to intrude on your time with him, you'd be at his side if only to make sure things were done the right way.”

You finally looked up, meeting Polly’s steady gaze.

“I have another feeling,” Polly continued, her tone quiet, “He wants more from you. More with you. He just doesn't know how to say it.”

“Is this one of your visions, Pol?” you asked with a smirk. “Or has Tommy been whispering about me?”

Polly smiled, but it was a smile that held both understanding and something more, something deeper. “Not a vision. Maybe it's women's intuition, or maybe I'm just not as blind as you choose to be. I think he’s more serious than you know. And he’s not going to push you. But I also think he’s waiting for you to decide.”

You leaned back in your chair, tilting your head playfully as you always did.

"All he has to do is ask, Pol."

“Exactly the answer I'd expect from you,” Polly said with an accepting nod. “I only hope he has the balls to do it.”

Polly gave you a reassuring look before walking toward the door.

“The boys and I are betting on when it will happen. Be sure to let me know if it happens before midnight.”

As the door closed behind Polly, you laughed to yourself. You sipped your whiskey slowly, and as it trickled down your throat, you breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

When you stepped back into the main room, Tommy's eyes fell on you immediately. You took your seat beside him, cigarette already between your lips as he held the match for you.

You could sense the eyes continuously glancing over at you. The boys were never subtle. They were watching. They were waiting.

Without a word, Tommy reached under the table, sliding a small gold ring from his pocket. He placed it on your thigh, his fingers brushing against the smallest part of your skin that revealed itself from beneath your skirt. The gesture was almost imperceptible to anyone else, buried beneath the noise of the celebration, but to you, it felt like the room had fallen silent.

The ring was simple—no grand flourish, no extravagance. It was exactly the kind of sentiment you would have expected from him. He needed no grandiose display of affection, just a ring and the comfortable silence.

You looked down at the ring and slipped it over your index finger, turning it slowly with a soft smile. You turned to Tommy who looked straight ahead towards the end of the table. After a moment, he turned to face you, his expression still. As he stared, you heard his voice in the back of your mind, the question that needed to be asked.

Marry me.

You slowly stood, your chair scraping across the floor. The eyes of the family turned toward you, the sudden movement drawing their attention. There was a short silence as they all waited.

“Excuse me,” you said with a brief nod of your head.

Tommy watched you walk towards the door, his jaw tight, his gaze unwavering. No one spoke, not until Tommy stood up from the table and walked after you.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Outside, the cool evening air hit you like a rush of clarity.

The door opened behind you, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was Tommy. His presence was a constant now, one that you had learned to rely on, even when everything else felt uncertain.

He stepped beside you, not speaking at first, just letting the silence stretch between you. His hands were in his pockets, but you could feel the tension in his posture, the same quiet patience he always had.

"I didn't want to ask in front of everyone."

You turned, taking a long drag of your cigarette before blowing a plume of smoke into the air, but you didn't respond.

Tommy’s lips quirked slightly at the corners. He had expected resistance, but your silence told him something else. Without a word, he reached for you, pulling you into him. He threw your cigarette to the floor, and the moment his lips met yours, your chest seemed to collapse into him, your heart pounding with something deeper than desire.

When he finally pulled away, your breath was shaky. Tommy knew just how to unsettle you—be unpredictable. It was the only way to shake someone like you who knew how to anticipate everything.

“You want me to ask you out loud, don't you?” Tommy asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your smile was small, but there was a raw honesty in it, something Tommy had never seen from you before. “Well, I'm not going to ask you,” you whispered with a giggle. "If we weren't standing in the middle of the filth of Birmingham, I would've given you shit for not getting down on your knee."

Tommy nodded with a smirk, a rare look of contentment crossing his face. There was no need for grand gestures or declarations. Not here, not now. This was enough.

"Very well then." He took your hang and removed the small ring, still loosely hanging from the tip of your finger. He held it up between your faces, his eyes suddenly turning serious.

It finally settled in your mind that he was being sincere. While neither of you would ever be the type to be sentimental in front of the others, here—in the privacy of the moonlight, he was more than willing for you only.

"Marry me, y/n. I'm afraid I won't be able to do this without you, and that's something I wouldn't admit lightly."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Even now, Tommy Shelby, with the menacing tone."

You reached for the ring, but he pulled his hand back. "Not yet."

Both your gazes turned serious and still as he dangled the ring in front of you.

"I said it." Tommy moved in closer until his lips hovered just above yours. "This ring isn't going on your finger until you answer."

Your eyes searched his, and in his stare you found all you needed to give the answer you both wanted. But, even now, you couldn't resist bringing back the silence that started this story. Thomas Shelby finally learned to tell you what he wanted without the unspoken strings attached, and now, here he was, standing before you—not as a broken man seeking a dream. He was asking for you because you were the one he wanted.

And damn anyone who would expect him to accept anything less.

You took his face in your hands. He eased forward, anticipating a kiss of acceptance, but you pushed further until your lips grazed the edge of his ear.

"Yes, Tommy, I will marry you."

Tommy's lips brushed against yours in the briefest of moments. A cloud of contentment enveloped you in the midst of the Birmingham chill, at last hinting towards the oncoming spring. He slipped the ring over your finger and admired it.

The doors to the Garrison burst open, and Arthur lurched forward before abruptly halting in his tracks. He looked at the two of you and his face twisted between bewilderment and joy. One by one the family peered out the door, each with a growing smirk before they all collectively groaned. Polly won the bet, and they knew it wouldn't be long before they had to pay up.

Arthur cleared his throat, walking up with his hand held out. "Is this the part where I say 'congratulations'?"

Tommy smirked and shook his hand.

Arthur's face slowly dropped. "Tom, we got a call. It's from Ada. Said she got a letter."

"From who?" you asked, almost forgetting all together what just happened. Instead, you focused on the serious tone in Arthur's voice.

Tommy's face slowly grew cold, but still, he held your hand firmly with the subtlest squeeze.

Arthur spoke slowly, "She got a black hand, Tom."

Tommy turned to you, and for a moment, he allowed you to see that he didn't forget. This was the beginning of your future with him, but not only that—this was the beginning of a new game.

[lunxrstellx]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

EPILOGUE

word count: 2,424

tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread | @rubyxx16 | @bellabarnes1378 | @johnmurphys-sass | @strangeobsessed

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

It was late, the two of you alone in the dim quiet of the study, a night that felt heavy with unsaid things. Tommy sat across from you, elbows resting on his knees, a cigarette between his fingers, eyes half-hooded and distant. The faint lines of exhaustion showed on his face—exhaustion from the work, the world, and perhaps, from you.

The silence had settled deep before he finally broke it, voice low and rough. “Arthur and John had a talk with you about Grace, didn’t they?” His gaze held you, unyielding, though there was a tension around his mouth, a crack in the armor.

You nodded, meeting his stare head-on. “They did.”

You didn't think it was odd at the time. It only seemed natural that they would approach you with a topic, as sensitive as it could have been. Admittedly, they didn't say much, and, as expected, you didn't respond in the way they'd braced themselves for. They tried to be gentle, knowing fully well that whatever lie ahead was something no one had expected. And still, you couldn't help but smile as they walked away. You still weren't used to this level of care. Though it was foreign to you, you accepted the gesture anyway.

Tommy looked away, drawing in a long breath, the cigarette smoke curling up between you. “I'd hoped we could talk about it alone...” He trailed off, and you caught the faintest tremor in his hand as he stubbed out his cigarette. After a beat, he added, “You ever think I don’t feel as much for you because of her?”

It was a question that carried weight—Tommy rarely invited vulnerability, rarely opened himself to any perception of weakness. He was offering you a window into his mind, no matter how tightly he guarded the door.

Your voice was calm but sharp, so sure in how you'd respond when this conversation eventually came. “I didn't agree to marry you because I thought you loved me more than her, Thomas Shelby.” You leaned forward, holding his gaze. “Just like you didn't propose because you thought Ezra was anything less than he was to me. You'd do well to remember that. But if you have any doubts, say it now, and we'll bury it for the sake of the day.”

He met your stare, his hand clenching into a fist before he forced it to relax. His eyes softened, a flicker of vulnerability that was almost painful to witness. “I wanted more. Only I didn't. I couldn't step away from all of this, not really. I used to say that the storm would find me. Maybe that was an excuse. But you're not asking me to step away. I invited you in, and now, you're in it beside me.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the tension between you like a pulse, rhythmic and alive. Then you spoke, quieter, but unwavering. “And that's how it's supposed to be. If I didn't love you the way I do, then a storm would be a fleeting moment. But here I am, bracing myself for whatever weather finds you—finds us. Because that's what people do when they love each other. They don't cast the lightning away. They hold your hand and remind you it'll all be over soon.”

Tommy's gaze dropped to the floor, and for once, he seemed at a loss. “It’s not easy,” he admitted, voice barely more than a whisper. “I still feel like there’s parts of me left with her that I can’t reclaim.”

You softened, reaching out and resting a hand on his, grounding him. “Then let those pieces be lost. We can't be ghosts chasing after the forgotten pieces we've left behind forever.”

He looked up, a flash of something almost desperate in his gaze, as though your words had struck a nerve, revealing a raw edge he couldn’t protect. “It’s you, you know.”

A quiet filled the room, and you saw the shift in his eyes—the recognition of a truth he could neither deny nor escape. He leaned forward, closer, his voice a rasp.

“You’re not a replacement, love. You’re the storm as much as you are the calm aftermath.” Tommy reached for you, pulling your waist before pressing his cheek deep into the fabric of your shirt.

Taking a deep breath, you tangled your fingers in his hair as you felt him breathe against you. "How did we get here, Tommy?" You whispered.

He didn't respond at first, knowing the answer wouldn't be so simple. But when he finally spoke, the single phrase revealed every truth behind what came to be.

"I called, and you answered."

Your hand found the back of his neck, and you held on, letting the silence speak what words couldn’t. There, in the dark quiet of the night, Tommy Shelby was finally yours, fully and without reserve. The ghosts were laid to rest, a whisper in the past as he turned toward what was real, toward you.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The small chapel was filled with muted whispers and glances, everyone acutely aware of the atmosphere—a mix of expectation and undeniable tension that seemed to follow you and Tommy wherever you went. This wasn’t just a wedding, not in the traditional sense. It was a statement, a promise made in defiance of a world that had tried again and again.

Arthur stood near the front, his gaze bouncing between you two with an expression that was hard to read. There was a protective edge to it, something almost brotherly. He’d been there through every dark night and hard-fought victory, and though he would never admit it aloud, Arthur found himself feeling strangely proud. He’d watched Tommy transform from the ruthless strategist he’d always been into a man softened, if only slightly, by you.

Polly, seated in the second row, leaned forward, her gaze razor-sharp as she took in the sight of you in your gown. Her fingers wrapped lightly around her cigarette, though she’d promised to put it out before the ceremony. She was the only one unafraid to say what was on her mind, and Polly knew exactly what she was seeing—two people who, against all odds, had found their equal match.

Ada sighed, her eyes studying the subtle interplay between you and Tommy. “Not gonna lie to you, Pol. Didn't think we'd be back here so soon after Grace,” she whispered. There was a quiet awe in her voice, a recognition that her brother—who had once vowed to never love anyone the way he loved control—had found something, someone, he couldn’t control, yet could trust. “But you were right,” she added, almost to herself. "He looks different."

"He looks whole." Polly stubbed out her cigarette on her heel. "With y/n he's not looking for some ideal life. He's learning to appreciate what he's already got."

The ceremony began, and as you and Tommy exchanged vows, your words were soft, almost inaudible, but there was no need for volume. Everyone present could see the conviction in your eyes, feel the weight of unspoken promises. This wasn’t a flowery exchange of empty words; this was raw, stripped of sentimentality.

Finn leaned toward Michael with a bemused expression. “If Tommy mucked up his vows, you reckon she'd hold a knife to his throat?” he jested, only partially kidding as he knew you were more than capable.

Michael shook his head slowly, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don't tempt fate. If she'd do that to Tommy, imagine what she'd do to us for messing up her wedding day.”

Finn's eyes widened a bit as he watched Tommy reach for your hand. The action was subtle, just a brush of his fingers against yours, but it was enough.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Arthur watched you from across the room, leaning against the bar with his drink in hand. He hadn’t said much all night, a fact that had earned him curious glances from Polly and a few wary looks from Ada. But he wasn’t ignoring them; his mind was elsewhere, lost in thought as he observed you with his brother.

As the reception began, the tension relaxed, but only slightly. John sidled up to him. “Think this’ll change him?” John asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

Arthur glanced at him, then back at the couple. “Nah,” he muttered. “That's not what he wants. Not what she wants either.” He watched as you leaned in, your hand lightly resting on Tommy’s arm, your eyes fierce but warm, as though reminding him of something only he knew. “Pol and I used to say she could either break him or make him unstoppable. No doubt about that now.”

He had always known Tommy was capable of love—he’d seen it in fleeting moments, hidden under layers of steel, shielded by calculated silence. Arthur knew Tommy better than anyone; he knew what it looked like when Tommy cared for something, truly cared.

“Look at ’em,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head in quiet disbelief. He took another sip, glancing sideways at John, who was studying just as he was. "Like a fuckin' painting."

John smirked, his brows knitting together. “You're getting all sentimental, aren't you?”

Arthur let out a dry laugh, looking at him as if he’d asked the most obvious question in the world. “Look closer, mate. Tommy don’t trust easy, you know that. But you see the way he looks at her? Like he’d damn well tear apart anyone who tried to take her from him.” Arthur shook his head, a glint of admiration in his eyes.

John glanced back toward you and Tommy, and for the first time, he saw it—truly saw it. The way Tommy’s hand moved toward yours instinctively, the way he tilted his head, listening intently as if your every word held some kind of answer. It was in the little things, and they both knew how much those little things mattered.

As the night wore on, Arthur found you alone by the window, staring out into the darkening sky. He hesitated for a moment before approaching you, clearing his throat softly to get your attention.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice gruff but gentle.

You glanced over your shoulder, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Wouldn't be normal if you didn't.”

Arthur stepped up beside you, his gaze following yours out the window. He scratched his beard, casting you a sidelong glance.

“You remember the first thing you ever said to me,” he started, his tone unusually reflective. “Told me to take two steps back while you held a bloody knife to my bollocks. If someone had asked me back then if I ever thought we'd be here, I'd spit in their face.”

You laughed softly, remembering the moment quite well. “This is as much of a shock to me as it is to you, Arthur.”

“You asked before how Tommy would show you what possessing him would cost and all that,” he started quietly. “Did you ever get your answer?

"It was never about being paid even though that's how I made it seem," you sighed, closing your eyes briefly.

He chuckled, the sound low and almost disbelieving. “You finally admitting that out out? Could've fooled me. Could've fooled all of us.”

"It's always been about the truth." You absorbed his words in silence, your gaze softening. "People are so quick to say what they want if it's something valuable but not him. Tommy would never tell the truth about what he wanted. Doesn't often grace anyone with that truth. What I truly wanted was for someone—anyone, not just Tommy—to look me in the eyes and realize that happiness is not found chasing a better life. It's in the moments where you see what's in front of you, whatever it's worth, and to want nothing more than time to simply be. Whether that meant wanting me or something else, that was his decision."

Arthur let out a deep sigh, his voice dropping even lower.

“I don’t know how long it’ll last,” he admitted, his tone somber. “This life we lead, it don’t exactly lend itself to happily ever afters.” He paused, his gaze steadily refocusing on you. “But if anyone can keep him on the right path, it’s you.”

Your smile was small but genuine, a quiet acknowledgment of his words. “Thank you, Arthur. But who would you really be without this life?”

Arthur nodded, a flicker of relief passing through his eyes. “Ain't that the truth. Just make sure you hang around. 'Cause if you walk away, he’ll be right back where he started—maybe worse.”

As he started to walk away, you called him back. You leaned against the wall, the small smile fading into something more sentimental and somewhat somber. "I mean it, Arthur. Thank you."

He turned, slightly confused at your tone.

"For finding the truth for me."

"You know, I was just following Tommy's orders," he said with a soft chuckle.

"Yes, but you told me in a way that showed me you cared. Could've been cruel, you know that. You're perfectly capable."

Arthur lowered his drink with a grimace that was foreign to both of you. He approached you again and placed a firm hand on your shoulder. He didn't say anything else. He squeezed his hand gently before turning away. For once, he felt a flicker of hope—a rare, fleeting sense that maybe, just maybe, things would turn out all right.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

As the night came to a close, you and Tommy quietly walked upstairs to the bedroom. Once the door shut, he watched you sit in front of your vanity to take off the many pieces of jewelry draped around your neck. And after a moment, you felt his hand on your back, slowly taking them off for you with care.

You closed your eyes with a heavy sigh and rested your head against his chest. He wrapped his arms snuggly around you, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your shoulder.

"Are you ready, Mrs. Shelby?" Tommy whispered against your skin.

You chuckled, turning to face him. You placed your hand gently on his cheek, catching the full depth of his eyes in the moonlight. "Ready for what, Mr. Shelby?"

Tommy's lips touched yours so faintly and then a second time to savor the feeling. With one hand, he removed the pins in your hair until the locks cascaded around your shoulders. He studied your face, tracing every line and shadow.

"For whatever happens next."

[lunxrstellx]

The Test of Time - Tommy Shelby (smut)

This is an idea I have been playing with for a while. It is very dear to me, so I hope it'll also be to you! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: When Professor Shelby meets his new student, he's instantly fascinated by her, not understanding why he feels this connected to her. But the second their hands touch, both feel themselves thrown back in time, meeting centuries ago. It seems like love will always stand the test of time.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, lots of fluff, mentions some war time stuff and blood, small breeding kink, professor x reader relationship, age gap

Pairing: Soldier!Tommy x nurse!fem!reader / Professor!Tommy x student!fem!reader (3.7k words)

4th of August 1916, Northern France

The air was sticky, his hands were muddy, dry, and heavy. He had to blink more often than his eyes liked, worsening the headache he had been plagued by for months. A shaky exhale left him, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut to try and keep calm. There was no way out, he was stuck, below the ground, and if there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was panicking – at least not if he wanted to stay alive. He couldn’t risk being shot for going against a command, for being frightened like a boy.

Voices echoed through the tunnel, ringing in his ears like another bomb going off in the distance. They had to work fast. They had to work precisely, otherwise they’d eventually be buried by the dark soil, swallowing them whole as the enemy won the battle. 

“Shelby!” A raspy voice ripped him out of his panicked state, he was shoved, forced to move faster, to keep on digging even though his hands were bleeding and the blisters kept growing. He had to keep digging, had to keep digging, had to keep digging. Before the darkness would swallow him whole. 

February 2024, Birmingham 

The sound of his shoes meeting the ground echoed through the empty hallway, eyes set on his black iPhone. It was too fucking early for his liking, silently cursing his faculty for forcing him to hold these early morning classes. Not once had he met a motivated student who wanted to talk about the First World War with him at 8 am, and as much as Tommy disliked the students he found himself surrounded by, he couldn’t blame them for being tired.

If he could, he’d occupy all afternoon classes, wanting to discuss his research topics with those who were actually interested in modern warfare, strategies, politics, and so on. And yet he knew the chance was slim, forced to back down and make room for those who taught the mandatory classes. 

With a sigh leaving him, Tommy stepped into the room he taught in every Tuesday morning, putting down his bag and shrugging out of his coat before he lifted his gaze. He was still on his own, wondering when the handful of students would pour into the room, probably seconds before class started. 

Tommy plopped down on the uncomfortable chair, he placed his laptop down – hoping that he could at least catch up with the morning news while still being engulfed in silence. He tried to focus on the words, tried to cling to the information he was fed, though without any luck, interrupted by the sickly sweet “Morning!” echoing through the room. 

His eyes found an unfamiliar pair, not used to being greeted this enthusiastically in the morning. It took him a second to reply, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the woman. She must have been young, and yet he instantly found himself drawn to her gorgeous features, the soft hair he wanted to feel beneath his fingertips. 

“(Y/n), right?” She had emailed him about a month ago, warning the professor that she’d have to miss the first two weeks of his course due to some family trouble. Back then he hadn’t cared about her missing out on it, it was on her to catch up with his teaching anyways, but now he couldn’t help but wonder how he had managed to miss out on having her around for even just a second. 

“That’s me! Sorry again for my absence, Professor Shelby.” He shot her a small smile, not daring to speak up as his throat grew tighter. What the fuck was going on with him? Tommy felt as if he was drowning, as if the cold ocean was soaking through his black clothes, sticking to him to add more weight to his frame. He didn’t know her, knew only her name, and yet he felt strangely connected to her. 

He needed to get a grip, needed to redirect his focus before he’d forget his surroundings and the information he was supposed to pass on to his students.

……

“Professor Shelby?” (Y/n)’s voice echoed through his office, making a small smile tug on his lips as his eyes found hers. She stepped into the room, carefully closing the door behind herself before she walked up to him. Wordlessly he pointed towards the chair placed close to his table, piercing blue eyes watching her sit down.

“I have to say, I’m impressed, (y/n). You’re the first to ever score 100 on this essay.” The smile that grew on her lips left Tommy choking on his air, forcing his eyes away from her face. It had been a selfish move to invite all students to his office hour, telling them that he’d like to give them each some verbal feedback. But deep down Tommy didn’t give a single fuck about his students, at least not about the others, having eyes only for her. 

“I wanted to leave a good impression, especially after missing out on so much.” He was forced to look at her again, shooting her another smile as he reached the essay out for her to take. His heart started racing the second her fingers touched his, vision growing blurry, unable to notice that she was going through the same confusing sensations. 

“Help! We need help!” The screams echoed through the tent, ringing in her ears as she watched the soldiers move closer. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the soldier whose face was covered in blood and mud, forcing her to run towards them. 

“Place him down over there, quick!” Panic was flushing through her. No matter how many soldiers she had helped before, no matter how many lives she had saved, (y/n) couldn’t help but fear these moments when she held their lives in her hands. She needed to work quickly, and couldn’t wait for the other nurses to return from their visitations, there was no time to lose. “I need you to hold him down.” 

Her eyes met a pair of piercing blue ones, momentarily robbing her of any air left in her lungs. She had to redirect her focus, bloody fingers trying to clean the soldier’s cheeks as the handsome man held him down. No words were spoken between them, she needed to concentrate, needed to stop the soldier’s bleeding. Feeling the other man near did something to her, something unfamiliar she hadn’t ever felt before. 

“Here, I need you to bite down on this.” She pushed a wooden piece between the guy’s teeth as she reached for her tweezers. A deep inhale of air was sucked into her lungs. Even though it wasn’t the first time she was about to pull a bullet from somebody’s skin, (y/n) couldn’t help but feel nervous. Before she could even try to move, she felt the handsome man’s hand on her knee, softly squeezing the flesh to try and wordlessly support her. She could do it, and could help the hurt soldier, especially with the support of the man who was sitting close to her. 

“Alright, this will hurt.”

“Uhm,” Tommy had to clear his throat, blinking a few times before his vision began to clear up. (Y/n) was still sitting close to him, wearing the same confused expression as Tommy. Both stared at one another for a few moments, wordlessly, before she grasped the essay. Her eyes flickered down to the paper, trying to recollect her thoughts. 

“Thank you again for this, I think it’s best if I leave now.” He didn’t get a chance to reply, could only watch her disappear before he could even try to speak up. Tommy’s heart was still racing, mind not understanding what had just happened.

Had this been some trick of his brain, something he had read about in a book or seen in a movie? And yet it didn’t explain to him why the woman had looked just like (y/n), and why (y/n) had been just as dazed as he had been. 

It took Tommy a while to move, shaking his head as he drowned the last sips of his now cold coffee. He needed to get out of his office, needed to grab a few pints with some friends, anything to distract himself from what had just happened, and from (y/n). 

……

“Here, let me.” She watched him light his match, stepping closer to help her light her cigarette. Both blew out the blue smoke, watching it dance in the warm August breeze. Tommy was covered in soil, hands and face dirty, just like his hair, and yet neither of them seemed to care, wanting to feel one another close.

It had been days since she had helped his fellow soldier, making it through the night and all the following ones, left to survive with a big scar gracing his cheek. Ever since that day, Tommy and (y/n) had searched for one another, needing to learn more about the one they couldn’t stop thinking of. 

“Do you miss home, Tommy?” (Y/n)’s whispers rang in his ears, loud enough to distract him from his surroundings, the shots going off in the distance, the calls, and cries. He was sure that no matter where he’d be, no matter who he’d be surrounded by, if (y/n) was close, he’d always find himself focused on her. 

“Always do.” A hum left her at his reply, unconsciously moving closer to him, breath getting stuck in her lungs as his arm found its way around her waist. Their eyes met, his piercingly blue and full of pain and sorrow, hers filled with questions, longings, and confusion. She watched his gaze flicker down to her lips, taking another drag of his cigarette before he dipped his head down. 

(Y/n) didn’t dare move, silently praying that he’d kiss her, that he wouldn’t pull away, wrapped in darkness’s comforting veil. But before he could move, they heard the calls growing louder, forcing all soldiers to return to their positions. Their eyes met once again as he stubbed his cigarette out, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and disappeared.

(Y/n) woke with a gasp, hands pressed to the warm mattress she had been sleeping on for the past hours. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing, still focused on the dream she had just been forced through. Ever since she had experienced that strange moment in Professor Shelby’s office, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him, of what her mind had pushed her through – what had felt like a memory but couldn’t be one. And now she was dreaming of him, her professor, and yet he wasn’t a professor, at least not in her dream.

She needed to talk to him, or at least touch him again to figure out of it had been a trick of her brain or something that would happen again. He had looked just as confused, dazed even, unsure what had happened the second their hands had touched. Perhaps she could speak to him after class, or show up at his office, whatever it took to be close to him again. 

……

“Professor? Do you have a moment for me?” He had disappeared too quickly after class for (y/n) to even try to catch up with him, forcing her to wait a few hours before she could turn up at his office. She watched him take off his round glasses, leaning back in his chair as a soft “Of Course” left him. 

For a few moments, they were engulfed in silence, eyes wandering over one another’s features, wondering how to express what they were plagued by. But even though (y/n) tried her hardest to speak up, she couldn’t, throat too tight, mouth too dry. Professor Shelby broke their silence as he cleared his throat, rising to his feet to slowly move towards (y/n). 

He kept his distance and leaned back against his desk, and yet she felt him close. Though not close enough, feeling herself pulled towards him like a puzzle searching for its last missing piece. With a sigh breaking through him, he reached his hand out for (y/n) to take, watching the hesitation tugging on her features. 

“It’s alright, I don’t understand it myself, but I guess it’s on us to figure this out. Whatever it is.” Her teeth ran along her lower lip as (y/n) stepped towards him, letting go of one last exhale before she carefully grasped his hand. 

“Look at me, (y/n). I’ve got you, I’m alive.” His voice rang in her ears, watching the tears drip down her cheeks as she stared up at him. She clung to his hand, cursing this very war for pushing these unfamiliar emotions through her. God, she had counted the hours, had lost hope, sure that Tommy was no longer alive. And yet here he was, alive, breathing, not even bleeding. 

She hastily took a step away, eyes wide, lips parted. He had his eyes focused on his hand, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Neither of them dared to speak up, not understanding what was happening, why these things that felt like memories were pushed through their brains. Only slowly did the professor dare to lift his gaze, studying her panicked features.

“What is happening? What is that?” (Y/n) choked on her words, torn between confusion and the pain she felt deep inside of her. It felt as if she was grieving something or rather someone. A pain she was so unfamiliar with, she couldn’t even understand what it was trying to tell her, what she was plagued by. 

“I don’t know, (y/n).” He spoke her name all too softly, sounding just like it had in her head moments ago. With wide eyes she kept studying him, needing to feel what had happened again, still not believing that this was something but a trick of her brain. All he did was watch her, eyes following her every move, even as she came to a halt in front of him, standing far closer than moments ago, he didn’t dare move. If there was one thing Tommy wanted to avoid, it was scaring her. 

“Can I try something?” Their eyes held contact as (y/n) murmured the words, waiting for his spoken consent before she moved. A quiet “Yes” left the professor, wondering what she was about to do, not expecting to feel her soft lips meeting his.

“You have to be quiet, love.” His raspy voice left her buzzing with excitement. Tommy had her pressed against a car, swallowed by darkness. Their lips met carefully at first, with her arms slung around his neck, and his hands placed on her waist. Neither of them could hold back, deepening the kiss within seconds as they hoped that no other soldiers, nurses, or commanders would find them. 

“Don’t stop, please.” He had taken over the kiss, forcing her down on his desk to stand between her thighs. Both were torn between the pictures their minds were painting and the feeling of one another’s hands exploring their bodies. Whatever it was that had pushed them together, they didn’t want to break the spell, needed to keep close. 

“Will you let me have a taste? Ever since I saw you for the first time I wanted to get my mouth between those pretty thighs of yours.” Her eyes were wide, lips parted to try and suck some air into her aching lungs. (Y/n) could only nod her head, forgetting how to speak, how to express the emotions she so desperately wanted to explain to him.

With their eyes holding contact, Tommy undid her trousers, pulling them down her legs before he pushed her damp panties to the side. The groan that clawed through him at the sight of her bare cunt left her walls clenching around nothing, needing to feel his fingers, his mouth on her. But the second he brushed two fingers through her slit, collecting drops of arousal, she found herself stuck in another memory. 

“Oh god, oh god. Right there.” Her eyes rolled back into her head, pressed against the mattress of the bed she hadn’t been lying on for years. It had been hours since they had returned from France, not daring to leave one another’s side once, hours they had spent hiding away from those who had waited on them for years, only focused on exploring their bodies without needing to worry about curious bystanders. His tongue brushed along her folds, moaning at her taste as his arms tightened their grip on her thighs. 

“I guess you’ve always tasted this sweet.” His words drew tears to her eyes, overcome by a wave of unfamiliar emotions, set on drowning her. Tommy kept moving his fingers as his tongue explored the spots she needed him to touch, choking on his name. She needed to hold onto him, needed to bury her fingers in his skin, but her fingers couldn’t move, could only cling to the edge of his table. “My pretty girl, fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” 

“What a sight for sore eyes, I’m a fucking lucky bastard.” Tommy’s raspy voice filled their shared bedroom. He leaned back in his chair, chest bare, legs stretched out. Smoke left his nostrils, eyes set on her naked frame. She walked closer with a smirk on her lips, enjoying the way he marvelled at her, how he watched her every move. “I don’t deserve you, my pretty wife.”

His wife? Them, Married? Fuck, if these flashes were truly memories of their past life, she couldn’t help but thank whoever had pushed them together once again. Another shot at this life with Tommy by her side, another shot at this life with a man she had loved in other centuries. Love that would always stand the test of time. 

“I need to be inside of you, will you let me fuck you?” (Y/n) pulled Tommy in for a kiss, groaning into his mouth as she felt his covered bulge rubbing against her sensitive cunt. Their kiss was all tongue and teeth, growing more heated by the second, while Tommy’s impatient fingers freed his cock. He parted from her to roll a condom down his cock, and yet their eyes never broke eye contact. “Last chance to stop this, I need you to tell me you want this too.” 

“Oh fuck, of course I want this, Tommy. Fuck me, fuck me like you’ve always fucked me.” Her glassy eyes met his, both were clearly overcome by the emotions they still needed to adjust to. He pushed into her slowly, fingers interlaced with hers to hold her close. There was no need to adjust, it seemed like their bodies remembered one another the same way their minds did. 

“Forever mine, I will never let you go.” Tommy rasped his words into the darkness as he fucked her into their mattress. He couldn’t help but admire her, needing to take in every inch of (y/n), silently hoping that tonight he’d get to fuck another baby into her. Her moans left him smirking, fingers rubbing her pulsing bundle in sync with his thrusts, needing to push her over the edge any moment now. 

She didn’t allow herself to wonder what their life together had been like, and how many children they have had together – at least not at that very moment. All (y/n) could concentrate on was the feeling of Tommy fucking her ruthlessly, cock forcing her walls apart with every thrust. 

With her forehead pushed against his shoulder, (y/n) moaned his name, already close to letting go. Both were shaken up by what kept on happening to them whenever they touched one another in another place, bringing up memories that felt like they were straight out of a movie. It was unfamiliar and confusing, and yet it was anything but scary, no, it left them filled with excitement, needing to learn more about one another and the life they had once shared. 

“It’s alright, love, cum for me, cum on my cock.” Tommy’s gritty voice left her choking on her gasps, letting go with a moan. He kept on snapping his hips, enjoying the way she clenched around him, how she trembled from her intense orgasm. All because of him. With his thoughts set on (y/n), he came, letting go with a groan. 

For a few moments, neither of them parted from one another, holding on before he slowly pulled away. Neither of them spoke as they redressed, caught in their thoughts. Only as Tommy pulled her in for another kiss did (y/n) allow another smile to tug on her lips. 

“If you’ll allow it, I want to love you in this lifetime too, hold you close like we were destined to be.” With tears once again welling up in her eyes, (y/n) pulled him in for a breathless kiss. 

Tommy had his eyes set on her sleeping figure, hand stroking her hair. His thoughts were torn between the memories of the tunnel, of the darkness he hadn’t been able to escape from for long. But it had all been worth it, because of her, because of the woman he had married, the woman who was the mother of his children. And if there was one thing Tommy was wishing for, it was getting the chance to love her in all upcoming lifetimes too.

[lunxrstellx]

A Girl in the Men of Letters || Thomas Shelby x Winchester!Reader

Pairing(s): Winchester!Reader x Thomas Shelby, Minor Dean Winchester x Castiel

Universe: Peaky Blinders + Supernatural 

Summary: When Dean and Cas’s daughter (Reader) is left home alone in the bunker, she discovers a door that leads to the dangerous world of 1920s Birmingham. It doesn’t take her long to meet the one and only Thomas Shelby, who is quickly captivated by her Winchester charm. Will Reader fall head over heels for Tommy too or will she recognize the dangers of the Shelby family and stay away?

Rating: Mature (18+)

Word Count: 6.0k

Warnings: unprotected sex (p in v), age gap relationship (reader is in their 20s and Tommy is in his 40s), fingering, swearing, drinking, mentions of underage drinking, alcoholism 

A/N: WOOO! My first smut??? Are we really here??? Oh my god….

Read it here under the cut or on AO3

You were never supposed to go snooping around the bunker without your dad, his boyfriend, Castiel, or your uncle, but when did you ever listen to the rules anyway? You were an adult, you shouldn’t have to follow rules set by your dad all the time. It felt silly and childish. Yet, here you were, sitting by yourself in the bunker, not doing anything.

Since Castiel had gone missing, and the angels were out to get your family, your father pretty much kept you under lock and key. You were in the library, staring at another book about angelic lore and the words were no longer making sense to you. You slammed the book shut and groaned in annoyance. Uncle Sam and your dad had been gone for five days so far. You were starting to go stir-crazy. This is what led to your exploration of the bunker alone. 

A lot of the doors in the bunker were unexplainably locked. They had been since before your family had arrived at the bunker. You and your family had no idea how to open the doors, and after some monsters crawled out of a previously locked one, your dad forbade you from opening any that didn’t open on their own. What your dad didn’t know is that you found an old key ring a few weeks ago stashed in one of the boxes in the library when you were researching vampires with Uncle Sam. Now that no one was here, you could actually see where they might lead. The last locked door that opened was an accident. A witch from the 1980s came through the door and gave your family quite the trouble. Eventually, Uncle Sam and your dad were able to catch her and dispose of her, but not before she nearly took you out with a few of her spells. You didn’t know what would be waiting for you on the other side of the new locked doors, but you hoped it would be something to spice up your days.

None of the keys on the ring you found were labeled, so you just had to guess where they might fit. You hoped they fit into any doors at all. You would hate if you went to all the trouble of hiding the key ring just for the keys not to open any of the doors in the bunker.  The first door you tried was at the end of the hall where your bedrooms were. It didn’t unlock with any of the keys, so you moved on to a door near the entrance to the kitchen. No luck there, either. You were becoming slightly frustrated, but you pushed forward. Two more doors down another hall didn’t open. You were starting to think maybe your worst fear was true, that the keys didn’t open any doors in the bunker at all. That is until you tried door number five. The first key didn’t work, and neither did the second. However, when you placed the third key up to the lock, it slid perfectly. The sound of the key turning and the mechanism unlocking filled your heart with excitement. Finally, there was going to be something to do while your Uncle Sam and Dad were gone. Surely, your adventure into this door wouldn’t be more than a few hours. They wouldn’t even know you were gone in the first place. You pushed open the door with all your might and were disappointed when you were met with a small, dark coat closet. Really? A coat closet? You thought to yourself. Was this all there was to it? Just an entryway into someone’s dusty old coat closet? You thought surely there had to be more to it, so you filed through the coats hanging up. They were women’s wear and what you assumed was stylish for the time period, though very different from your regular clothing. You could hear muffled talking coming from somewhere on the other side of the closet, and you were just dying to know what was out there. You took one look back at the bunker before slipping on one of the coats and a pair of creme-colored high heels. 

On the other side of the coats was a large wooden door; the detailing looked old and pretty. The door itself looked old and heavy. You shut yourself into the closet, leaving the bunker behind, and walked forward into the new door. You opened it slowly and quietly, not knowing what was going to be waiting for you on the other side. You jumped out of your skin when you were almost immediately met with the sound of a woman’s voice. “My my, the men of letters don’t usually send women; what do I owe the pleasure?” Her voice was raspy yet smooth, with a thick accent that you couldn’t quite place. She was sitting in a chair across the room from the closet. She was eying you closely. She may have sounded somewhat friendly, but she was definitely still assessing whether or not you were a threat. She was older but still had a fire in her eyes. She was smoking a cigarette and was waiting patiently for an answer. 

You dusted off the front of your coat, not that it did you much good, in an attempt to look more presentable to the woman in front of you. Of course, she thought you were from the men of letters; they must have some connection to every place the bunker leads. “There have been some issues within our organization and so some of our records have not been kept orderly. I’m here to check up on how things are going.”

She seemed to believe you. “Dreadful. I hate the man they usually send anyway. It would be much nicer if they sent you from now on. I’m guessing I’ll need to fill you in on some of our operations since your data has been lost?”

You nodded. “That would be wonderful, Ms–”

“Everyone around her calls me Aunt Pol.”

“Duley noted. That would be wonderful, Aunt Pol.”

You now noticed the second presence in the room you were in, who Aunt Pol had been talking to while you were in the coat closet. A man, leaning against the door, smoking a cigarette, much like Aunt Pol was. He caught your attention immediately. He was decently older than you, you being in your early twenties, but that didn’t really seem to matter. His eyes were a crisp blue like the sea and his hands were worn in the same ways yours were– what years of hunting will do to you. “You’re free to leave, Tommy. This is women’s business,” Aunt Pol said with a smile. 

Tommy blew the smoke out of his chest. He eyed you carefully. It was a look you recognized from your work. He was trying to get a read on you. “I’d like to hear what the lady has to say for herself, and I’d love to know how you explain our business, Aunt Pol,” Tommy replied. He took another puff of his cigarette. 

The air was heavy with smoke now. You did your best not to let the smell bother you. Aunt Pol smiled at you this time. “Why don’t you have a seat–”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n, why don’t you take a seat, and we can talk business? Tommy, you can stay if you so please,” Aunt Pol gestured vaguely to the couch across from her spot in the chair she had been perched in. 

Tommy began to walk over from his place near the exit. “I wouldn’t miss this meeting for the world,” he said.

| < ♥️ > |

After your meeting, you let yourself fall into this world. There was something charming about Tommy that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His voice was smooth, and his accent was thick. You found yourself hanging on every word that came out of his mouth. Aunt Pol was quick to notice your feelings toward Tommy, but she said nothing. She was curious how it would all play out. You were now in a pub, your system buzzing with cool liquor. You were no stranger to drinking. You had been drinking since far before the legal age of twenty-one. You were barely past twenty-one now, but that didn’t matter with Tommy, not with him, not within this pub. The legal drinking age was definitely lower, and no one even questioned your presence in the space. What you did notice people questioning was Tommy being seen with someone substantially younger than himself. You felt the creepy eyes of the older patrons of the pub tracing your curves. You grimaced and tried to drown the feeling in whiskey, something you learned from your dad, but it wasn’t really working this time. You and Tommy were standing at the countertop, receiving free drink after free drink from the barkeep. He was no fool. He also noticed the looks that you were attracting from around the bar. No one dared look at him the wrong way, but that didn’t mean they left his dates alone. Wordlessly, Tommy wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. He was almost using his body to block yours from view. His fingertips ever so slightly pressed into your skin. You felt heat rise to your cheeks but said nothing. Another drink was placed in your hand as soon as you finished the one you had. 

“Tommy!” A voice cut through the crowd. “Who do you got here?” You turned your head to look at the person speaking, but Tommy’s arm kept you from fully turning around. Two men were looking between you and Tommy: a younger man with a cigarette in his mouth and a slightly older man with a thick mustache. “Does she have a name?” the younger one asked. He was the one who had originally called out to Tommy, too. 

“Boys, this is Y/n. Y/n, these two are my brothers, Arthur and John,” he explained. 

You smiled at them both. “Lovely to meet you.”

John grabbed the cigarette from between his teeth and grinned. “Where did you find a fast woman like her? Don’t see her type around the city often.”

Tommy’s eyes darted around. No one was paying much attention to the brothers’ conversation. “Would you believe the Men of Letters sent her?”

Arthur laughed. “Those bastards sent an angel like her? What changed?”

“New management,” you said with a smile. 

“I’ll drink to that,” John replied. 

Tommy gestured to a door off to the side of the bar. “Let’s take this somewhere more private.”

“Agreed. It’s crowded out here tonight,” Arthur started. 

“Probably all the patrons staying extra long to gawk at your girl, Tommy,” John said with a laugh. 

You felt Tommy’s fingers grip your hip a little bit tighter at John’s words. You were surprised by his interest in you. It was no surprise that you were interested in him– he was everything that a girl could dream about. Handsome, powerful, rich, and mysterious? Sign you up. However, you found his interest in you a little shocking. You didn’t know what he could possibly see in you. Still, you didn’t mind being the object of his affection for the time being. You were interested to see where it would lead you.

| < ♥️ > |

You and Tommy were the last ones in the pub. Even his brothers had long gone home. Tommy was behind the bar, pouring himself yet another glass of whiskey while you leaned on the countertop. Your whole body was fuzzy, and your heart felt like it was about to burst every time you made eye contact with Tommy. The alcohol in your system was not helping how much your little crush was affecting you. His eyes trailed up and down your form. “What? What are you staring at?” You asked.

He seemed slightly taken back by your boldness. “You’re the only thing to look at in here, love.” He took a small sip of the drink in his hand. 

“It’s late,” you started, “I should be getting back home.”

Tommy shook his head. “No can do, Dove. Aunt Pol is definitely asleep by now. Your only option is to spend the night in Birmingham.”

“But where would I stay here?”

“Well, seeing as you are drunk and we’re the only ones left in the pub, you can spend the night at my house. I’m not letting you go anywhere else alone. It’s too dangerous,” He said. His mind was already made up. 

“I guess I will accept your invitation then, Tommy. Lead the way whenever you’re ready,” you replied with a soft smile. 

| < ♥️ > |

Tommy insisted that you take his bed, and he would take the couch, no matter how much you protested. He showed you to his room; it was quaint and quiet. The only noise that could be heard was a bit of movement from the world outside. You shrugged off the coat that you had stolen from Aunt Pol’s closet all those hours ago. You could feel Tommy’s eyes watching you closely. You didn’t feel like there was much to show– you were wearing a simple T-shirt and shorts with one of your dad’s flannels draped around your shoulders. Still, Tommy’s eyes searched the little bits of your skin that had been revealed. You pretended not to notice. “Thank you for giving me a place to stay. It’s very kind of you.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you out in the cold, Love.” His words were simple, but you could tell that he genuinely meant them. 

“I’m not sure what exactly I’ll wear to bed. I didn’t plan on spending the night here,” you replied. Tommy had already put on a nightshirt while you used the bathroom when you first arrived at the house. His eyes flicked between you, and the shirt draped across his chest. 

Without a word, he pulled the shirt up over his head. He held the fabric out to you, a small smile on his face. “This looks like it will fit you,” he said. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as your eyes scanned over his bare chest. His muscles were toned, and his skin was scarred and tattooed. A familiar warmth rushed to your core at the sight. Tommy’s appearance utterly took you. You didn’t know where to look as you took the shirt from his outstretched hand. Everywhere felt like too much, but your eyes settled on a tattoo on the upper part of his chest. “Oh, that? I have tattoos older than you, Love.”

You smiled at him. “I have one tattoo myself.”

“Really? Care to share?” He asked.

You, without much thought behind the action, pulled your shirt over your head, revealing the anti-possession tattoo that graced your chest. Every hunter needed one; you were no exception. That didn’t matter to Tommy, though. His eyes traced your newly exposed skin. With the hand that had the shirt in it, he reached out and traced the inner circle of the tattoo, taking a step closer to you. His breath was quiet and steady. Yours was louder and more breathy. This did not go unnoticed by Tommy. His hand moved from your tattoo to your upper arm, gently pulling you closer to him. “Tommy?” You questioned quietly.

“Hush, Love,” he replied. He brushed your hair out of your face with his hand and leaned in, firmly pressing his lips to yours. Your stomach was doing flips, but you chose to ignore it. You dropped the shirts in your hands and wrapped your hands around his neck, losing your fingers in his hair. Without breaking the kiss, Tommy slowly backed you up toward the bed. When your legs hit the edge, you squeaked in surprise. He chuckled lightly at your reaction. Tommy gently moved his hand to your back and guided you down onto the bed, only briefly breaking the kiss. Once you were properly on the bed, Tommy positioned himself over you and connected his lips to yours again, even more passionately than the first time. His hands were on either side of your body, trapping you on the mattress, but you didn’t really mind. You placed your hands back in his hair, ever so slightly pulling on the ends. He nearly growled at the contact, moving his lips from yours to leave a stream of kisses on your neck. “T… Tommy…” you moaned as he started nipping at the skin on your sweet spot. 

He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips. He would do anything to hear it again and again and again. He continued his exploration of your upper body, biting not hard enough to leave marks but just enough to make you moan his name. He pulled away for a moment and sat up; you whimpered at the loss of contact. “You can’t be making pretty sounds like that, love… That’s dangerous…” He helped you sit up just enough that he could take off your bra. As soon as it was off, his eyes were exploring the newly exposed skin, hungry for more of you. “Fuck… You’re gorgeous…” The words rolled right off his tongue. He didn’t even think about it. You blushed slightly at the compliment. Suddenly feeling slightly exposed, you tried to cover your chest with your hands and arms. Tommy instantly wasn’t having that, he grabbed each of your arms and pinned them to the bed. “Don’t hide from me, Y/n… I want all of you.” His face was only a few centimeters from yours, the words hushed, almost just a breath that came out of his mouth. 

“Okay…” You replied quietly, still feeling a little unsure.

Tommy caught on to your nervousness, moving his hands to be next to yours instead of pinning them. “You’re okay, Love. You tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

You shook your head, “No. I want this. I want you…” Your blush grew, but you didn’t attempt to hide your face. You kept your eyes trained on Tommy’s.

He smiled softly, gently connecting his lips with yours again. One of his hands moved to your face, cupping your cheek. The kiss was passionate but gentle. You smiled into the kiss, hardly able to contain how happy you were to be experiencing this, to be experiencing Tommy. He broke the kiss and began working to unbuckle his pants. You blushed even redder at the idea of what was coming next, but you were thrilled. He threw his pants and boxers to the side, and the sight of him nearly took you out. His hands found their way to your hips, and he grabbed the waistband of your shorts, his eyes flicking up to yours. “Are you okay with this, Love?”

You nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

He made quick work of your shorts, pulling them down and throwing them somewhere else in the room that didn’t matter to either of you. He chuckled a little bit at the sight of your underwear. “My… Someone’s wet…” He teased, gently rubbing your core through the thin fabric. You couldn’t hold back a moan. “All this for me?”

He quickly maneuvered his fingers underneath the fabric, finally making contact with your dripping center. “Fuck Tommy…” you moaned as he began to move his fingers.

“Oh yeah? Does that feel good, Love?” 

“You feel so good, Tommy…” You breathed. 

“You are the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen… keep making those pretty little noises and saying my name, Love…”

“T… Tommy…” You mumbled. It was almost hard to hear you said it so under your breath.

“You can be louder than that, Love,” he stated. 

“I need you… inside me…” you moaned. He pulled his fingers away almost instantly, and you whimpered again at the loss of contact. “Tommy…”

Without a word, he pulled your underwear down your legs and threw them into the dark abyss of a room. He lined himself up and looked you in the eye. “You’re sure?” He asked.

You nodded. “Yes, Tommy. Please… Please, for the love of God, fuck me…”

He chuckled lowly, almost growling. “I think God left us a long time ago, Love…” With that, he slowly pushed himself inside you. He gave you a couple of seconds to adjust before he began moving, but it felt so good it didn’t even matter once he started. Your moans quickly became louder and closer together. You couldn’t hold them back.

“Fuck fuck fuck… Tommy…” The words tumbled out of your mouth like a prayer.

He looked at you, his eyes dark. “You feel so fuckin’ good, Y/n…”

“Fuck… Tommy, I’m close…” You whispered, feeling your climax building.

“Me too,” he replied in a similar hushed tone. “Cum for me, Love.”

You moaned again at his words, feeling the knot inside your stomach build and then release into the best orgasm you think you’ve ever experienced. You were breathing hard, and Tommy wasn’t far behind you; you felt his cum enter you. After he finished, also breathing hard, he let himself drop down on top of you, laying his head on your chest. The room was quiet, and you felt at peace with Tommy lying on you. You ran your hands through his hair, and he wrapped his arms around your waist. You close your eyes, feeling the most relaxed that you think you’ve ever felt. There was just something about being with Tommy that made you feel safe. His breath slowed and steadied; yours did, too. You let yourself fall into a deep, peaceful sleep in Tommy’s arms. 

| < ♥️ > |

The next morning, you awoke with Tommy’s arms wrapped protectively around you. He was still asleep when you woke up. The rise and fall of his chest was steady and soft. It was the first time that you had seen him look truly peaceful. You smiled at his resting form. He slowly opened his eyes, raking them over your exposed skin before meeting your eyes. He smiled back at you. You think it’s the first time you’ve seen him actually smile. “G’mornin’.” The word falls from his mouth. His accent was thick with his morning voice. God, this was a sound and sight you could get used to. 

“Morning…” You replied, a soft look gracing your features. 

“How are you, Love?” He asked. 

“Good. I could stay like this forever.”

The idea brought that smile back to his face. You wanted to see it over and over again. “You’ll have to come back the next time the Men of Letters have business with us. I’d be happy to have you as my guest again.”

“That won’t be difficult… The Men of Letters like me a lot…” you lied through your teeth. You felt a small pang of guilt for lying to Tommy after you two had become so close, but you knew you couldn’t tell him the whole truth… there was no way he would believe you. 

“I can see why,” He mused, gently playing with the tips of your fingers.

“All the screaming stops when I’m with you…” you said quietly. 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What screaming?”

“I’ve seen a lot,” you started. “I’ve seen a lot of people die. I’ve heard a lot of screams, a lot of death rattles. Normally, when I lay in bed and close my eyes, I hear the screams of all the people I couldn’t help or I couldn’t save, but… with you, the world is quiet. I don’t hear the screams anymore…”

You assumed Tommy continued to play with the tips of your fingers in an attempt to comfort you. It was a sweet gesture that made your heart go soft. “I can’t hear the shovels when I’m with you, so I guess we’re even.”

“The shovels?” You asked.

Tommy sighed. “Troubles from my time as a soldier… I always hear shovels coming against the far wall. Usually, they break through before the sun rises, and I am jolted from my sleep, but not last night… not with you.”

“I’m glad I could bring you a little bit of peace,” you replied, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers. “I could get used to waking up next to you…”

Yet again, Tommy flashed a smile at you. It made your heart swell. “We’ll have to do this again sometime soon.”

“I would love that,” you returned his smile. He gently placed a kiss on your forehead before pulling away from you and getting himself out of bed. The lack of warmth saddened you that this caused, but you were made curious by Tommy sticking his hand out toward you. You sat up in the bed and reached your hand out to his. He swiftly pulled you from the bed into a warm embrace, his arms draped around your midsection, his forehead leaning on yours.

“We should get you back to Aunt Pol’s house,” Tommy said in a hushed tone. “Get you home. You’ve already been here much longer than you originally planned. Someone on the other side of that door is bound to be worried about you.”

You sighed, leaning up, stopping just before your lips touched his. “Just one more kiss for the road… something to remember the night by…” you said before grabbing him by the back of his neck and smashing your lips onto his. 

| < ♥️ > |

You hung the coat you had taken back up; you felt like it was only right. You could hear Aunt Pol and Tommy talking through the door. You couldn’t make out what exactly they were saying, but you could hear Tommy’s low, raspy tone through the wood. It made it so hard to leave. You let out a soft sigh. What was the harm in staying a little longer? You were about to walk back out into Aunt Pol’s sitting room when you heard voices on the other side of the Bunker’s door. Your heart nearly stopped. Your family must have gotten back from their hunt. You quickly opened the Bunker door and fled through it, fumbling to lock it behind you with the keys. “Y/n!” Your dad called, “Y/n, we’re home!”

Once the door was shut and locked, you brushed off your pants and briefly ran your fingers through your hair, trying to make sure that you looked presentable. When you felt ready, you ran down the hallway and made your way to the main area of the Bunker, a large smile on your face. Your dad and your Uncle Sam both were smiling brightly at you as they came down the stairs. “Oh, Y/n, there you are,” Sam said, still beaming. 

“Sorry, I was all the way in my room… What’s got you two so happy?” you asked, genuinely curious about their current state.

“We have a surprise for you,” Dean replied.

“Oh?” You questioned.

“Come on in!” Dean called.

Suddenly, Cas was standing directly in front of you; his smile was also wide. “Castiel!!” You cheered, engulfing him in a hug. Since he and your dad started dating, he has become like a second father to you. You had been so worried about him since he had gone missing, and you were thrilled to have him back. He hugged you back tightly, his arms wrapped around your back, gently swinging you side to side. 

“It’s good to see you, Y/n… I’ve missed you,” he said quietly.

“I’ve missed you too… so much… I know my dad has too…” You pulled back from the hug so you could look him in the eye. You couldn’t stop the huge grin on your face. “This is a huge win for us. We have to do something to celebrate having Cas back.”

“Drinks are on me tonight. Do we feel like going out, or do we just want to get something from the store and watch a movie or something?” Dean asked, rubbing his hands together. 

You laughed. You knew his go-to was to get a drink, but he hardly ever bought you a round when he had one. “I’m included? I’m honored,” you teased.

Your dad rolled his eyes. “So what are we feeling?”

“Probably safer to just get something from the store and stay in,” Sam replied. His face looks a little more gloomy than it did before. “Going out would be fun, but I don’t think it’s worth the risk right now.”

Dean sighed. “I hate that you’re right.” Dean ran his hand through his hair. “Cas and I will run and get drinks from the local convenience store, and then we can all have some and pick a movie to watch together. Sound like a plan?”

“So I’m still trapped in the bunker?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Dean let out another sigh. “We’ve been over this–”

“You were just talking about going out to a bar, and now I can’t even go to the store?” You snapped back. “I am tired of being in here. These walls get boring after a while, Dad.”

“Guys, let’s not do this,” Sam intervened, “We just got Cas back. This is a happy moment. It’s safer for you to stay in the Bunker, Y/n, but I’ll stay here with you while Dean and Cas go get the drinks, so you're not alone this time, okay?”

It was your turn to sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll stay here. You better bring back something good to drink.”

“I always pick the best drinks!” Dean replied.

“Untrue,” you responded, completely deadpan. 

“Cold,” your dad answered. “Come on, Cas. Let’s go.”

| < ♥️ > |

You, Cas, Sam, and Dean drank mostly beer and sat around the Bunker’s TV, watching movies into the early hours of the morning. Things felt almost normal again. You missed this; you really missed Cas. Now that he was back, things were starting to look up again for Team Free Will. You waved goodnight to everyone around 3 am and headed for your room. It was about the same size as the other bedrooms in the bunker, but you had really taken the time to make it your own. You had painted the walls your favorite color; there were thrifted decorations lining the walls and a cozy comforter covering your bed. You turned off the overhead light and turned on your bedside table lamp as you got ready for bed. You changed yourself into your pajamas and decided you wanted to run to the kitchen for a glass of water. 

On your way to the kitchen, you pass Tommy’s door. You stopped at it for a brief moment, thinking about the events of the last day, and you blushed. You missed Tommy already, but you knew it would probably be a while before you could see him again. Your family was all back in the bunker, and they were definitely going to notice if you disappeared for hours on end. What you weren’t expecting was a soft knock coming from the door. You almost thought you were mistaken, that the sound wasn’t real… but then it happened again. You sprinted down the hall, back to your room, and grabbed the keys to the door as quickly as you could without being too loud in your footsteps. You fumbled briefly with the keys as you tried to open the door but eventually managed to unlock it and quietly pulled it open. On the other side, you were surprised to see Tommy. He looked tired, slightly bruised, and bloodied, though you had no idea what from. “Sorry to bother you at home, Love,” he said, his voice deep and grainy. 

You looked both ways down the hallway. There was no signs of life. No one else in the bunker seemed to have been stirred by the knocking. You were in the clear (at least for now). You grabbed Tommy’s hand and pulled him all the way into the hallway, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not a bother. Never will be. What happened to you?”

The door shut quietly, leaving you both standing in the bunker. Tommy looked out of place. He didn’t fit the aesthetics of the bunker at all, but that didn’t matter to you in the slightest. He was perfect in your eyes, even if he was from a different time. “Doesn’t matter,” he replied. “I just needed to see you after the day I’ve had.”

Without saying anything else, you pulled him along quickly, taking him to your room. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in when the door shut behind you both. Tommy chuckled. “Based on how you’re acting, I’m assuming we’re not alone in this place.”

“Far from it,” you replied. “My parents are here, as well as my uncle.”

“Oh Christ…” Tommy muttered. “So your whole family are Men of Letters then?”

You felt another pang of guilt, similar to the one you had felt last night. You hated that you had to lie to him, but you felt like it was the safest option. “Something like that.”

“We’ll just have to be extra quiet then…” Tommy said. He closed the gap between the two of you, resting his hands on your hips. He pulled you closer by your hips, his lips hovering over yours. The only sound that could be heard was the noise of you both breathing. You put your hands on either side of his face and took the plunge, connecting your lips to his. One of his hands instantly started to slip under your pajama bottoms, causing you to moan quietly against his lips. He pulled away slightly, putting the pointer finger of his free hand up to your lips. “Quiet Dove… Wouldn’t want anyone to hear us…”

Suddenly, there was a knock at your door. “Y/n?” A voice called through the heavy wood. It was your dad. Your eyes went wide. 

“Fuck!” you whispered. “You have to hide.” Tommy pulled away from you, and you were so close to whimpering, but you did your best to hold it together. “Just a second!” you called through the door. You grabbed Tommy by the hand and led him over to your bathroom. “Go in and lock the door. Turn off the light.”

He didn’t argue with you, though you could tell by the look on his face that he had some thoughts about your plan. You shut the door behind him and watched the light turn off from the crack under the door. You did your best to straighten out your clothes and hair before putting a smile on your face. You walked back over to your door and opened it, greeting Dean with that smile. “Hey, what can I do for you?”

“Everything alright? I could have sworn that I heard someone else’s voice in here…” 

You gulped. “What? No… There’s no one else here. Just me getting ready for bed. I did have my TV on, though. Maybe that’s what you heard?”

Dean’s eyes searched your face. You knew he was trying to read you to see if you were lying. You held your ground. “Yeah, maybe that’s all it was. Let me know if there’s any trouble though, alright, Y/n?”

“Of course, always…” 

“Goodnight, Y/n,” Dean replied with a yawn.

“Goodnight!” You shut your door behind your dad and locked it, taking a big deep breath when you couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore. Tommy let himself out of the bathroom, chuckling softly at your performance. 

“I can’t believe you would lie to him like that,” Tommy teased as he walked over to you, resting hands back on your hips. “Where were we?”

You cupped his cheek, smiling brightly at him. You hate that you had to hide something as big as a lover from your family, but there was something about Tommy that made you not care about any of that. When you were with him, you could just be you. Not a hunter, not a Winchester, just you. “I believe you were about to kiss me again, Tommy…”

You smiled before he leaned down, once again connecting your lips to his.

-- END --

tags: @anijamess @weaponizedvirtue @deanwinchesterbrainrot

[lunxrstellx]

Reader POV.

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rough Desires - Tommy is always gentle with you, but you crave something with more ferocity. 18+ Only.

The Stable Girl's Sacrifice - Tommy Shelby is forced to confront his feelings when you take a bullet meant for him.

Shadows & Vows - When Tommy discovers bruises on your skin, a fierce protectiveness awakens within him.

Jealous Heat - It's a dangerous game making Tommy Shelby jealous, but you play it so well. 18+ Only.

Sleep vs. Sex - Tommy wakes you up in the middle of the night because he needs you. 18+ Only.

Buried - Buried beneath the earth, Tommy's only hope lies in your relentless determination to bring him back.

Lean On Me - When you're hurt during an incident at the Garrison, it's Tommy who notices and takes care of you.

Do You Know What Happens To Naughty Girls? - Where discipline sets the stage for an intense power play with the Shelby brothers. 18+ Only.

John Shelby x Reader

Bite Me, John Shelby - "Wait, I didn't mean literally!" You get more than you bargained for when you playfully challenge John Shelby. 18+ Only.

Obsession - John Shelby owns you, and he isn't going to let you forget it. 18+ Only.

Alfie Solomons x Reader

His Serenity - After Alfie has a bad day, you help him find peace in your own, sensual way. 18+ Only.

Head Over Heels - A business meeting with Alfie Solomons when Alfie has anything but business on the brain. 18+ Only.

Main Lydia Masterlist

OC Interview - Lydia Shelby

Things Lydia would love if she existed in 2024.

Multi-Chapter Fics.

Queen Of Kings - Nellie Ensor never expected to return to Small Heath, but fate had other plans. After her father's brutal murder at the hands of a ruthless gang, Nellie inherits the family business—a prize many would kill for. Torn between selling it off for safety and honouring her father's legacy, Nellie decides to stand her ground. Navigating a world steeped in danger, she finds herself entangled with the notorious Peaky Blinders. As threats loom and loyalties are tested, Nellie must find courage to protect her father's dream and carve out a place for herself in a world where survival is never guaranteed. In the heart of Birmingham, amidst the smoke and shadows, a legacy is about to be reborn.

Behind Enemy Lines - Fearless journalist Florence Fletcher is on a mission to expose the Peaky Blinders, but her relentless pursuit pits her against the dangerous and captivating John Shelby. When a greater threat looms, they must join forces, turning enemies into uneasy allies. Amidst the chaos and intrigue, sparks fly and forbidden passion ignites. Can they survive the shadows of Birmingham's underworld and find love, or will their secrets destroy them?

Blurred Lines - Florence Fletcher has always been a thorn in John Shelby's side, but when he finds her drunk and vulnerable on a night out, his protective instincts take over. As he steps in to help her, the hard edges of their contentious relationship start to blur, uncovering unexpected depths and hidden feelings.

[A modern spin-off of Behind Enemy Lines]

The Rook - Seeking refuge from his turbulent life, Tommy Shelby finds solace in The Rook, a quiet pub on Birmingham's outskirts. There, he meets Rosemary King, a barmaid whose sunny disposition offers him an unexpected sanctuary. Her kindness and warmth begin to thaw his hardened heart, creating a bond that takes the gangster by surprise. But peace is short-lived when Tommy's enemies track him to his hidden refuge, putting both The Rook and Rosemary in jeopardy. As danger looms, they must navigate the threats together, testing the strength of their growing connection. Can Tommy protect his newfound sanctuary, or will his criminal life shatter the fragile peace he's found?

[lunxrstellx]

☘︎ cillian : masterlist

Main masterlist here.

Notice: This will be updated once every new post is posted. Last Update: 13th of August, 2024

CILLIAN MURPHY - As Himself ✯ Birthday - smut ↳ Cillian arriving on his birthday back to your shared home after an exhausting Oppenheimer work. ✯ While You're Interviewing - smut ↳ Giving Cillian a head while he's having an online interview.

THOMAS "TOMMY" SHELBY - Peaky Blinders ✯ Attention - smut ↳ You're a jazz singer and you were invited to Tommy's brother's wedding and you caught his attention. ✯ A Peaky Blinder - fluff ↳ You encountering an assaulter while drinking on the Garrison pub. ✯ Fainting - angst & fluff ↳ How they react when you faint. ✯ Protection - angst & fluff ↳ You were protecting your son, Charlie when Billy Kimber's men ambushed your shared home. ✯ Dirty Diana - smut ↳ After the war, you and Tommy were separated leaving you in London alone with no money at all. ★ Bait - angst ↳ Reader went out partying and the Shelby family's enemy attacked her. ★ Welcome to Burlesque - smut ↳ Tommy attends to this new burlesque club and he didn't expect to see you there. ★ Phone Call - smut ↳ Tommy receives a phone call in the middle of having sex with his wife.

JONATHAN CRANE / SCARECROW - The Dark Knight Trilogy ✯ Unsaid Feelings - smut ↳ Jonathan Crane is your psychologist and you're starting to have feelings for him in which you thought was wrong. ✯ Rivals - smut ↳ You and Crane are both fighting for the asylum's new head of the psychologist department. ✯ Love Potion No. 9 - smut ↳ Attempting to make Doctor Jonathan Crane be in love with you using your love potion.

LENNY MILLER - Anna ✯ upcoming

ROBERT FISCHER - Inception ✯ upcoming NEIL LEWIS - Watching the Detectives ✯ My Rockstar Boyfriend - smut ↳ Neil explaining the meaning of his favorite song in an interesting way.

[lunxrstellx]

brattyspence's masterlist

tags:

fluff: 𖤓

angst: ★

smut: ♡︎

the goods:

(its pretty empty here! im working on it!)

wedding date (part. i.) 𖤓 | 1.9k words [in which spencer offers to take reader to their sister's wedding as a fake date]

u up? | s.reid 𖤓 (18+) 1.5k words [in which early season!spencer is reluctant to request nudes from reader]*

safe and sound | s.reid 𖤓 <1k words [in which post-prison!spencer is always falling asleep in reader's presence]*

virginia is for lovers | s.reid 𖤓 1.1k words [in which model!reader soft launches her relationship with spencer]

sober thoughts | s.reid 𖤓 1.9k words [in which drunk, pining reader tries to flirt with spencer]

sugar lips | s.reid ♡︎ 1.2k words [in which early season!spencer is reluctant to request head from reader! same universe as 'u up?' but can totally be read separately!]

asterisk denotes fics w/ gender-neutral reader!*

[lunxrstellx]

Between letters.

When reader has been acting weird lately, Reid thinks she's going to break up with him but she's actually terrified because she has to give him some life-changing news.

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

category: angst/fluff

warnings: Reid is hopeless, reader is a little mean because she doesn't know how to deal with the stress of her secret. Both must work on their communication. English is not my first language (if i forget something let me know, this is my first time doing this)

word count: 2.6K

a/n: Hello! Thank you to everyone who took the time to read what i wrote with so much love. I have written books, stories, poems but never a fanfic and i must admit that i enjoyed this a lot. Well, without further ado i hope you enjoy this and let me know if you liked it.

It is said that we should wait for good things. But it is so difficult to wait for them when we find ourselves in such a deep abyss, where we believe that the only thing we need is that warm ray of joy to get us out of the pond, to save us from dying in agony.

Spencer needed that warm ray of joy after Maeve's death. He desperately needed to feel alive again, but he had to wait what seemed like an eternity for you to come into his life.

Yet every devastating event like that leaves wounds that bleed into scars, some take perhaps too long and as the blood pours out, it destroys hope.

That's what happened to Reid. Because the day Maeve died, his hopes of having a wife and children, of having a family, died with her…

You came along a couple of years later. You admit that winning Spencer over was something that took time, it was slow but it was worth every second.

You were also thankful that he wasn't like the other jerks you dated before, who thought you would die for them just because you were the one who made the first move.

And that was the difference between you and Spencer. You never let that get you down, you kept trying until you found the one. Who knew it would be someone with three PhDs? Your trusted tarot reader, duh. But you didn't believe it, the guy seemed too perfect to be real.

But there he was, spinning around in his swivel chair when you first walked into the BAU bullpen.

"Who is he?" you asked with a curiosity you hadn't experienced in years.

"Oh, that's Spencer. One of our resident geniuses." The sweet Penelope Garcia cleared up your doubts.

The name tasted so sweet on your lips, it sounded so right. That was the day you decided he would be for you.

Spencer.

Well no, he actually thought you were a little crazy for staring at him so intently from a distance. And he thought you were weird, but he was too so it just made both fit together like puzzle pieces.

Of course you needed some extra help. You were trying to win over someone who hadn't dated in a long time and was also a bit reserved. Luckily for you, Morgan's advice scared him off so you followed JJ's, although it also helped that he was definitely mhm curious? about you.

The relationship seemed to be going great, both loved each other and he couldn't imagine his life without you. But if Spencer Reid had learned something in his life, it was that happiness lasts much less time than pain.

You were acting a little weird around him lately, you were irritable and he definitely knew you were hiding something.

"I think she's going to break up with me." One day he decided to confess his feelings to Morgan, when they were alone in the conference room.

Morgan frowned and dropped the current case file onto the table. “You’re kidding, right?” But with no response, Morgan knew otherwise. "Reid. She loves you so much it makes me a little sick.”

Reid remained with his worried expression. "She's slow to respond to my texts, she avoids me, and there's definitely something she's not telling me.” He counted your recent actions on his fingers before crossing his arms.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're profiling her."

Reid frowned. "What? Of course not." Yeah, that means of course yes.

Morgan shrugged. "Just talk to her or ask the girls, they should know something." This time he gave some good advice, not like the ones he used to give you.

Reid did as Morgan told him, but absolutely no one knew what was going on with you. Although everyone agreed that you were definitely hiding something.

You took a sip of coffee. "I watched that movie last night. People said it was really funny but I found it boring, although I admit the plot twist made me cry.” Yes, lately many things made you cry and it wasn't because of your moon in Pisces.

Anderson nodded. "Exactly! I couldn't even finish watching. I fell asleep."

“Anderson, would you excuse us for a minute?" Reid's appearance was a surprise, his insistence on talking to you wasn't.

"Of course, see you later." Then once Anderson left, Reid stood in front of you.

"What's wrong?" He got straight to the point, not like the previous times.

"Me? Nothing's wrong, I'm perfectly fine." But the drumming of your fingers on your coffee glass gave you away.

"Oh, of course." He crossed his arms, oh no, it seems his infinite patience turned out to be finite.

You immediately took a defensive stance. "Yes. I was perfectly fine before you came to interrupt my conversation with Anderson."

"About movies?" He didn't say it, but you knew he thought it was a nonsense, at least now that he was definitely irritated.

“Yes!" Your outburst earned you a few glances from the other agents. But both were too wrapped up in the tense conversation to deal with them.

"Sure, you have time to talk to other people about movies, but you don't even say a damn good morning to me.” You had to be careful what you said, you were in unfamiliar territory now, as Reid didn't usually swear.

"You're overreacting." Yeah... That probably wasn't the most brilliant thing you've ever said, but you were trying not to give away your secret, at least not yet.

“Overacting?” He was offended by your words. “You talk to everyone in the building except me. You used to spend as much time with me as possible, did I do something wrong?” A hint of fear and insecurity crept into his annoyed tone.

You shook your head. “Of course not.”

He put his hand on your shoulder. “Then tell me what’s wrong.” His tone was firm, but not harsh. Although it was obvious that he wasn't making a request of you.

"Spencer, I already told you that nothing is wrong with me." You emphasized the nothing.

He exhaled in frustration, he was 90% sure that this would work. "Fine! Then don't tell me anything." His patience had run out and he wasn't going to beg you anymore. It had been a week like this and he couldn't take it anymore, so he let go of your shoulder and walked away without even looking at you or giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

Everything was dark, you reached for the light switch and then the spotlight illuminated your apartment. It was a less warm space without Spencer there.

You sighed before throwing your bag on the couch and closed the door.

You stood there for a couple of minutes staring at the lonely space. Well since you became Spencer Reid's girlfriend there weren't many lonely nights, mornings or afternoons.

You would definitely prefer him to be here right now, rambling or mumbling a foreign language movie to you. But for now you had to keep your secret, and that meant keeping Reid away.

The growl of your stomach snapped you out of your mind, so you headed straight for the fridge. But the smell of something made you nauseous, so you immediately ran to the bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach on the toilet.

Yes. You had to hurry to sweeten this horrible memory with a concerned Spencer who would hold your hair and rub your back while you threw up.

After dinner and take a warm shower, you were tired enough to do anything else, so you settled into bed to sleep. But your brain had other plans…

"You look... not very awake." Tara commented as soon as you dropped your coat on the back of your chair.

"I only slept three damn hours," you nearly growled before throwing yourself into the chair and running your hands over your face. You needed a liter of coffee.

Tara stopped typing on her computer and looked at you. "Is this something to do with your strange behavior the last week?" When she got no response, she said your name seriously.

You pulled your hands away from your face. “I…” you began to fiddle with the rings on your fingers, the burden of unspoken words beginning to weigh on your shoulders. "God, why does everyone suddenly care about my fucking life?" You opted for annoyance as the perfect disguise for your vulnerability.

"Hey. None of us want to bother you, but we care about your life because we are your friends and we love you." Tara used a serious tone, like a scolding, but there was genuine affection behind her words. "Besides, Reid is suffering because of your attitude."

A pang of guilt hit your chest. “I don’t want to hurt him.” You whispered.

“I know.” She walked over to your desk. “But you’re hurting him, even if you don’t mean to.”

You swallowed before looking up. "It's just that there's something..." You took a deep breath, this was harder than you thought. "Things are changing, things are definitely going to change if I say this, it's going to be real and I don't know how to feel about it. I need someone to tell me what to do, because I feel so lost."

Tara placed one of her hands over yours. "Well, if I'm going to help you, I need you to tell me what's wrong." Her voice was warm.

"I want Spencer to know first." But your half-hearted answer was enough for her to know.

"In that case you should tell him, because none of his PhDs include mind reading." She made a little joke that actually made you smile.

"Yeah, I know. He'll probably solve everything out like he always does." Then you looked straight at his empty desk, at the nameplate: Spencer Reid. "But I want to give him a surprise, something that will make him happy. I can't just walk up and say hey…” Then you forced yourself to close your mouth when you realized you were going to say more than necessary, although in reality Tara already had her suspicions.

"Okay, I'll help you." She sounded very determined and you really appreciated her help and that she wouldn't question you as much as the others.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You spun around in your chair and then had an epiphany, but not like the Taylor Swift song. "Crossword!" Your excitement got you the looks of several agents in the bullpen, luckily one of them was Tara.

"With a secret message?"

"Yes. It's literally the best way." You said excitedly.

But in your mind everything was easier than it really was.

You ruffled your hair as you forced yourself to think more, giving you a splitting headache. "When did I think this would be a good idea? Doing a crossword puzzle for the average person is easy, but not for a genius with an IQ of 187." You dropped your head onto your desk.

"You need help."

"But who's as smart as Spencer?" You muttered defeated, still with your head hidden between your arms and the wood of the desk.

Someone ruffled your hair. “Mhm. Tesla? Einstein?”

You immediately raised your head, only to see the famous Derek Morgan. “They’re dead.” You snorted.

Morgan raised his hands in peace. "Hey, what's the bad mood, baby girl? I just answered your question." He let out one of his signature laughs.

You rolled your eyes. You wished you could turn off some damn switch that was responsible for making you so easily angry. God, WHY? You were starting to get desperate.

"Blake!" Another epiphany, you were really on top of it. You didn't even explain it to Tara, you just ran to the parking lot to get your phone which you had forgotten in the car.

Alex Blake was happy to help you put together a crossword puzzle for Spencer. Although she warned you that he once solved one in about five minutes.

Yeah, well, you were going to take the risk.

Once the crossword puzzle with the secret message was ready, you set out to find Reid.

As you were leaving Garcia's office he was getting out of the elevator, but he didn't even notice you. He continued on his way and god, why did he look so attractive?

"Spencer." You caught up to him as he walked up the stairs.

"Not now, I'm busy." He replied with a seriousness not typical of him.

"With what?" You frowned.

"I said I'm busy." I didn't even look at you as he continued walking to the conference room.

You called out to him, but he ignored you. “We need to talk.” You said seriously, raising your voice.

He turned to look at you, with an expression that betrayed nothing of what he truly felt. "I said I'm busy, we'll talk later." That didn't convince you. “I have to do a geographic profile and you have to work on victimology like Hotch asked you to.”

He stopped in his tracks immediately, freezing halfway. He had never experienced anything like this before, but he knew well what we need to talk meant.

The end was near? You were beginning to doubt and he was very sure, only that he would delay it as much as he could.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You were about to give up, but you really needed him to know. So you resorted to plan B.

"Derek Morgan, my favorite person in the world." You appeared in front of him, with a big smile.

Morgan let out a light laugh. "Yeah sure, what can I do for you, gorgeous?"

"I think Spencer is upset with me."

"He definitely is." He said it without hesitation and it definitely didn't help the state of your aching heart.

"Okay..." You handed him the crossword puzzle. "Could you please give him this for me?"

He picked up the crossword puzzle. "If you think he's going to forgive you for avoiding him for a week just by giving him a crossword puzzle that he'll finish in two seconds, you might be right."

"Just give it to her, okay?"

"Of course. But in exchange for Penelope being the godmother.”

You immediately frowned, but you reacted a little late because Morgan had already left to deliver your order.

From your desk you watched everything. From how Morgan entered the conference room to give Spencer the crossword puzzle to how the bastard answered it in five minutes. When it took you like three hours to do.

But the best part was when he realized the secret message and ran out of the conference room.

But when he saw you, his quickened steps took on a much, much slower pace.

"Tell me what's true." His low tone sounded like a plea.

A slight smile appeared on your face. "Yeah. That's why I've been acting weird, you know I can't keep secre-"

Your words were cut off when his lips met yours. In a kiss so sweet and soft that it was enough to dispel every single one of your doubts.

A few seconds later, he pulled away from the kiss, leaving you wanting more.

He caressed your cheek with his thumb. "You didn't have to do a crossword puzzle to tell me you were pregnant."

"I wanted to surprise you." You whispered.

A smile that could light up this whole town formed on his lips. "I love you so much." He then kissed you warmly again.

And so it was that the foundations that had crumbled with Maeve's death slowly re-emerged. They began to build themselves again with your arrival and now with this news, their foundations were stronger than ever, because at last he was going to have the family he had dreamed of for a tortuous time.

🏷️ @floraisunwell

[lunxrstellx]

Masterlist

Fluff: ❀ Angst: ❆ Smut: ♥

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Stay Happy ❆❀ In the midst of a case, thinking it's safe after they've caught the criminal, you go into the crime scene alone to inspect the place, only to be taken hostage by a second unsub nobody knew about.

Germs ❀ Everyone is shocked when the genius germaphobe drinks directly from your water bottle, you even more so when it was actually just a plot.

No Germs Found ❀ You and the team are back in Arizona on another case, and when an amazing unfortunate mishap takes place at the front desk, everyone is forced to share rooms with each other.

Snow ❀ To say he's worried when he wakes up alone in the middle of the night, only to see you laying in the snow outside, is an understatement.

It's Romantic ❀ When Spencer learns that his girlfriend is also an avid reader after visiting her apartment for the first time, something she's kept from him for reasons unclear, he is ecstatic. And a little concerned, when he reads one of your 'romance' books.

Late-Night Genius ❀ During a late night in the BAU, reader finds Spencer hunched over his desk muttering to himself about the deranged killer on the loose, and decides that in the midst of all this carnage, he needs someone to look after him, too.

Germaphobe, Too ❀❆♥ You hate germs more than anything else in the world, and Spencer is so very much in love with you, so he's always trying to help you in any way he can — little does he know, that maybe you're feelings about the situation are a little bit different.

How To Never Stop Being Sad ❆ After the death of your parents, you have nobody to talk to, nobody to turn to for help. Spencer wants to help, but how can he when you don't want him to?

Soft as a Feather ❀ (coming soon) You and Spencer have decided to keep your relationship private, but when he comes into work with a lipstick mark on his neck, everybody's asking questions he doesn't know how to answer... at least, that's until you come in and leave a strangely familiar kiss mark on his cheek.

[lunxrstellx]

Don Quixote de la Mancha - Prof!Tommy Shelby (smut)

Since my mom is currently directing Don Quixote as a theatre play, I had to write this story, inspired by her version (well, hers is without the smut, of course hahah). Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader has joined a group travelling through a new country, a vacation where she crosses paths with a handsome literature professor.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, oral

Pairing: modern!prof!Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (3.7k words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

The air had an almost sticky touch to it, forcing sweat to pearl on (y/n)’s forehead. Her eyes were focused on the window close to her seat, watching the unfamiliar landscape blur by. Even though she tried to focus her eyes, her heart couldn’t stop racing, wanting to look at the man who sat close to her.

The group had been travelling for the past three days together, strangers who were experiencing a new country, wanting to spend some time away from home. It had been a desperate attempt to disappear from the home (y/n) no longer felt comfortable in, needing a change of scenery. 

And then her eyes had met his, in front of the tour bus, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The man - Tommy as he had introduced himself later on - had an awfully mysterious, intriguing touch to him, luring (y/n) closer with every shared glance. She had tried to stay away from him, not wanting to make a fool out of herself, but yet he always found her, striking up another conversation that forced heat through her veins. 

She had learned a lot about him, about the literature professor who specialised in older literature. He was everything she wasn’t, and yet (y/n) couldn’t help but long for his touch, wanting to cross paths with him at any given chance. 

“Alright, listen up, guys! We’ll arrive at the arena in a few minutes. I’ll give you about an hour to explore on your own, and then we’ll grab some lunch together.” Their tour guide, Michael, forced her out of her thoughts, eyes snapping to the front, watching him speak with the small microphone pressed to his lips. Before her mind could register what her eyes were doing, (y/n) found herself looking at Tommy. His blue eyes met hers, leaving both smiling before she quickly averted her gaze, looking out of the window once again. 

Excitement flushed through her veins as she focused on the nearing arena, a place she had been wanting to visit for years, finding interest in old historic buildings, wanting to experience what life had been like all these centuries ago. The bus came to a sudden halt, forcing a few other people to murmur in protest, already fed up with the bus driver who had an almost too relaxed touch to him. 

“Please, go ahead.” Tommy waited for (y/n) to pass him before he followed her down the rows, stepping out into the warm morning. Both reached for their sunglasses, not daring to break the silence as the guide walked them closer to the arena entrance. She felt Tommy’s eyes on her, with a cigarette placed between his lips and his sunglasses managing to hide the eyes she could drown in. “Do you mind if I walk with you, (y/n)?”

Her heart skipped a beat whenever he spoke her name, too soft, too calm, too lovingly. An unfamiliar sensation she’d probably never get used to. 

All (y/n) could do was shake her head, whispering a quiet “Of course not”, followed by a bright smile. The two started walking, chasing the distance, not wanting to spend any more time with the other people who annoyed them a tad too much. No words were spoken as they started to explore the sight, smiling whenever their eyes met, just for a few seconds, seconds that felt like years passing by, trapped like oblivious lovers. 

“Come, I want to show you something.” Her eyes wandered to the hand Tommy had reached out for her to take, eyebrows raised in a challenging manner. And with a few chuckles rumbling through her, (y/n) softly grasped his fingers, allowing the professor to pull her through the arena.

……

“Don’t you dare, Fred. I told you too much bread isn’t good for you.” An annoyed sigh left (y/n) as she watched the elderly couple, watching the wife pull another breadstick from her husband’s grasp. Exhaustion clung to (y/n)‘s system, exhausted from the heat burning down on them, exhausted from the bickering going on around her, exhausted from the tension her body had clung to as Tommy had pulled her through the arena, murmuring history facts to the amazed woman. 

“Do you think he’s ever allowed to speak up?” Tommy’s whispers left (y/n) laughing, shaking her head as she took another sip of her drink. A sip she instantly regretted, almost choking on it as Tommy’s hand found her knee, supporting himself as he reached for the bottle of water. Heat flushed through her, clinging to her body as if it was trying to warm her from inside out, saving her before she’d freeze to death.

He was the fire made to protect her trembling body, and she was the wood made to fuel his heat. 

“I doubt she has ever heard his voice before.” Her teasing reply forced a similar laugh out of Tommy, smiling into his drink. She felt a few pairs of eyes on them, meeting the tour guides pupils from across the table, unable to ignore the smirk tugging on the man’s lips. Fuck, whatever Tommy was doing to her was seemingly overly obvious to those that watched them whenever they interacted. And yet (y/n) didn’t find it in her heart to care. 

“Tommy?” Tim’s voice forced their attention onto him, the young boy who had joined the tour with his mother. “What’s your favourite book? Have you ever read one about this place?” 

“It’s probably Don Quixote, have you heard of this story, Tim?” With awe laced in her gaze, (y/n) watched the interaction unfold, hanging onto Tommy’s every word. Tim could only shake his head, waiting for the professor to keep on talking. “It’s a story about finding beauty in our everyday life, about imagination, and about breaking your routine.”

“Mom?” Tim turned away from Tommy, stirring up a conversation with his mother about the book, allowing Tommy’s eyes to wander back to (y/n)’s features. She couldn’t avert her gaze, couldn’t rip herself free from the grasp he had on her, whatever it was, she felt herself falling deeper and deeper, losing grasp on her life like Alice had, tumbling further down the rabbit hole. 

“It’s fascinating how easily you manage to impress him.” A grateful, almost proud smile tugged on Tommy’s lips, murmuring a soft “Thank you, love”. (Y/n) could only hope that the upcoming days won’t pass by all too quickly, slipping through her fingers like sand, unable to stop time from tugging her along. 

……

The stars twinkled in the sky, leaving (y/n) wondering what people living centuries ago must have seen up there, the brightness her eyes will never experience. She was sitting on a bench, arms wrapped around her knees, pressing her thighs against her front. The laughter of the others echoed through the air, making a smile tug on her lips.

For the first time in weeks, perhaps even months, she felt calm, relaxed, an unfamiliar sensation she had been aching for. Life had been too hectic lately, unable to catch her breath as she stumbled from one place to the other, set on pleasing those she looked up to.

“May I?” Tommy pointed to the empty spot next to her, cigarette once again placed between his soft lips, hands holding onto two bottles. She nodded with a smile shot his way before her eyes found the sky once again. He opened the bottles with his eyes set on (y/n)‘s side profile, looking at her with the same gaze she was shooting the dark sky. Full of adoration. Full of intrigue.

No words were spoken as he pushed the bottle into her hand, shuffling closer without her noticing. The two relished in their silence, finding comfort in the sound of laughter shaking up the night from afar. It was a moment so special, (y/n) could only hope she’d forever remember this. 

Only as she felt Tommy shuffle around did (y/n) begin to notice that she was trembling, shaking like a leaf dancing through the cold autumn air. Her head moved towards him as he pulled his sweater over his head, wordlessly pushing it over her shoulders. His scent engulfed her, a hint of his cigarettes, of his cologne that reminded her of old books and a warm winter feeling, a scent so unfamiliar, (y/n) couldn’t help but snuggle further into the soft fabric. 

Slowly Tommy moved his arm around her shoulders, placing it on the back of their bench. With heat rising to her face, (y/n)’s body began moving, sitting close enough to lean her head against his chest. A warm feeling flushed through both their systems, momentarily slowing down the upcoming seconds, allowing them to relish in their body contact.

“Do you see any constellations?” He whispered his words into her ear, forcing goosebumps to rise on her skin. She heavily swallowed, looking at the sky for a few more moments before she tilted her head towards his face. Tommy’s lips were close to hers, it’d be too easy to share a kiss, a similar thought Tommy found himself guided by, moving closer. 

With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) stayed still, praying to the stars above that he’d kiss her. Tommy’s lips were close to touching hers, close to sharing a kiss both would think of for days on end. 

“Professor Shelby?” One of the others called for him, interrupting their moment, forcing an annoyed groan out of Tommy. He let go of her with a short “Excuse me”, rising to his feet to walk back to the group. (Y/n) found herself watching him for a few more seconds before she turned her gaze back towards the sky, unable to swallow down her sigh. 

Perhaps time wasn’t in her favour tonight, perhaps the stars twinkling above in the sky weren’t her lucky ones this very night. Whatever it was, it left her heart longing for him. 

…… 

„It seems like you and the professor get along quite well.” Michael’s voice was laced with a teasing undertone, leaving (y/n) to roll her eyes. She shook her head with a smile, turning from the guide to focus on the scenery surrounding her. Waves were clashing to the sea, mixing the sand littering the beach with other rolling in, telling tales of places her eyes had never been fortunate enough to admire just yet. 

“He’s clearly into you, but it seems like you’re not the only one charmed by him.” Her eyes wandered to Tommy’s features, watching him interact with Tim’s mom. The woman had an overly bright smile on her lips, clearly trying to flirt with the man who tried to turn from her every few moments. (Y/n) couldn’t stop her laugh from clawing through her, forcing Tommy’s eyes towards her. 

“(Y/n), come here!” Tommy’s voice lured her closer, leaving Michael behind as Tim’s mom tugged her son away from Tommy with an annoyed face. He reached for (y/n)‘s hand, pulling her to the spot where the ocean waves rolled onto the beach, momentarily wetting their naked feet. “And if a god will wreck me yet again on the wine-dark sea, I can bear that too, with a spirit tempered to endure. Much have I suffered, laboured long and hard by now in the waves and wars.”

“Where is this from?” (Y/n) whispered her words, looking at the professor with awe laced in her gaze. Tommy turned towards her, smiling at (y/n), unable to stop himself from admiring her. 

“Homer’s Odyssey. I always find myself drawn to the way he described the sea, the stories most of us have long forgotten.” Once again the atmosphere around them began to crackle, forcing their hearts to race, making blood sing in their ears. Tommy’s hand found it’s way to her cheek, giving (y/n) the chance to pull away before he’d finally close the gap between them - at least that is what she’s been hoping for. 

But Tommy didn’t move closer, all he did was stare at her, trying to burn the sight of her face into his memory. Slowly he let go of her, leaving her standing as he picked up his shoes, walking back to the group. They were about to board the bus once again, driving to their hotel for this night. 

(Y/n)’s body forced her to move, grasping his wrist before this moment could slip through her fingers. She was guided by a sense of confidence she had never felt before, looking into his challenging eyes, waiting for her to move. Without another word being spoken, (y/n) pressed her lips against his, tasting the chewing gum he had chewed on a few minutes ago. The kiss was short, interrupted after a few seconds by her pulling away from him with a smile.

And with the squeeze of his hand, (y/n) let go of him, moving towards the bus as if the past moments hadn’t happened. She felt Tommy stare at her, heard the soft, raspy chuckles leaving him as he slowly began to follow her.

……

“Tommy, hi.” Her whispers filled the night, echoing through the hallway connecting their rooms. Tommy stared down on her for a few seconds, before he wordlessly closed the gap between them. She guided him back into her room without parting from him, moaning as their tongues met slowly, exploring one another’s mouth. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for quite a while.” His confession forced her to hide her face in the crook of his neck, allowing his hands to wander down her sides, pushing her even closer. “You’ve bewitched me, I don’t want to part from you.”

“Then don’t, don’t let me go.” (Y/n) pulled him in for another kiss, gasping in surprise as his hands found her behind, squeezing her soft skin with an unfamiliar kind of urgency, luring her back till they reached her bed for the night. Tommy’s lips began to wander down her throat, sucking on the spots that coaxed low moans from her, passing the moments she used to work on the buttons of his dark dress shirt. “I want to touch you, I need to feel you close.”

“You can have me however you want, love. So desperate for my touch, so needy.” With goosebumps covering her body, she was pushed down on the mattress. Her shirt was pulled from her, exposing her naked upper body to the man with overly piercing eyes. Tommy didn’t dare break eye contact as he pushed his shirt down his shoulders, hands working on his belt. “Tell me what you need, talk to me.”

“Mhm I want to taste you, been dreaming about sucking you off.” She felt her heart skip beats at every low groan leaving the man, watching him step out of his trousers before he reached for her hand. No further word was spoken as (y/n) dropped to her knees, staring up at Tommy. His veiny hands freed his cock from the confines of his dark underwear, already twitching in his grasp. Her tongue darted out to lick away the pearly drops of precum bearding his red tip, leaving Tommy gasping in surprise.

(Y/n) parted her lips for him, taking as much of him as she could before she slowly pulled back, tongue stroking his bulging vein. Tommy’s groans echoed through the room, a sound so strong, (y/n)‘s walls began to clench around nothing. She bobbed her head with urgency spurring her on, determination to push the professor over the edge within a few short minutes. 

“You’re doing so well for me. Look at the mess you’re making, pretty girl.” Her heart swelled at the praise, eyes momentarily fluttering close as she tried to breathe through her nose, taking him further down her throat. Tommy’s hand found her head, guiding the bobbing motion with moans clawing through him. “Your mouth will be the death of me.”

Her hums vibrated on his skin, watery eyes flickering up to meet his darkening ones. He was staring down on her, like Lucifer punishing sinners he had lured into the darkness, and like the sinners forever trapped in Lucifer’s realm, (y/n) never wanted to part from the professor again. 

“Fuck, I’m close, love.” Tommy warned her, head rolling back to release another throaty moan. (Y/n) kept bobbing her head, not daring to pull away, wanting to swallow every drop he was about to fill her cheeks with. 

The professor came with a groan, tightening his grip on her, painting her cheeks white. He watched her swallow, watched a smirk tug on her lips, a sight he couldn’t help but chuckle at. (Y/n) was pulled to her feet within seconds, pushed down onto the bed without a warning. Tommy pressed her down, hands tugging her damp panties down her legs, making room for him to nestle between her thighs.

“I bet you taste so sweet.” His whispers made her arch her back, eyes fluttering close as Tommy’s tongue found her folds, eating her out like a starving man, clinging to her as if she was the tree of all life. His tongue left her trembling, hands grasping the bedsheet all too tightly, about to rip holes into the fabric with her nails. 

(Y/n) choked on his name, one hand finding it’s way to his hair, tugging on his roots. She needed to feel him as close as possible, praying that this moment would last forever.

“Don’t be quiet, let them hear how good I’m making you feel.” Tommy’s command was met with a moan leaving (y/n), reverberating through the room. His fingers joined his tongue, pushing into her to prepare her for his aching cock, needing to bury himself inside of her any moment now.

With his fingers curled against her sweet spot, (y/n) found her breaths growing shallow, unable to breathe through the racing by moments. Tommy was set on making her scream, set on making her moans as loud as she could, heart swelling in a sick sense of pride as he felt her move closer and closer. 

Any moment now she’d cum, any moment now she’d give in with her sobs leaving her and her fingers tugging on his roots all too eagerly. And he wanted to feel it all, wanted to hear every sound he’d never forget. With their eyes meeting, Tommy managed to push her over the edge, giving in without being able to hold back.

His fingers fucked her through her high, eyes squeezed shut, nails scratching at whatever she could feel. A sight so admiring, Tommy didn’t find it in his heart to blink just once. 

“Tommy,” she gasped his name, whining in protest as he pulled away. “Fuck me, please, I want to feel you, all of you.”

“Let me get a-“ he was interrupted by the kiss she pressed against his lips, kissing him a few times before a soft “I’m on the pill, I want to feel you” left her. He stared down on her for a few seconds before he nodded his head. 

Their lips met again as Tommy pushed into her, making both moan in unison. Their hearts were racing, jumping and skipping beats every few seconds, adding even more anticipation to it. His hips met hers with every thrust, burying him deep inside of her, wanting to stare down on her with his now dark eyes, finding joy in the lust glimmering in her eyes. A sight so raw, a sight so pure. 

„Shit, Tommy, don’t hold back, please.” Tommy didn’t reply, he tightened his grip on her side as his other found her throat, eagerly pinning her down. The way he choked her had something almost lovingly to it, not daring to hurt her, though fully set on heightening her senses. His thrusts became faster, more urgent, chasing their second high. 

He didn’t give her a warning as he let go of (y/n), pulling out of her to flip her around, face pressed into the warm pillow she had been laying on. Tommy pushed back into her from behind, forcing his cock deeper and deeper. 

Both were close to giving in, bodies trembling, hearts racing. Her trembling fingers found her pulsing bundle of nerves, circling it with urgency, set on cumming any moment now. Tommy’s curses gave her the final push, clawing through him as if Genesis was speaking through him, the voice of God guiding all those who were able to pick up on it.

“Oh god, fuck, Tommy.” (Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut as she came, allowing her orgasm to flush through her system, poisoning her every vein. Tommy gave it a few more thrusts before he came, pulling out of her just in time to paint her skin with his heat, leaving marks for eternity. 

“Will you stay?” Her whispers filled the room, ringing in his ears as he carefully cleaned her up. Their eyes met, making a smile tug on both their lips. 

“Do you want me to?” Tommy sat down next to her, pulling (y/n) into his chest, allowing her to listen to the racing beat of his heart. With a kiss pressed to his throat, she murmured a soft “Of course”,allowing him to tighten his grasp on her. 

"Love, as I have heard say, sometimes flies and sometimes walks; with this one it runs, with that it moves slowly; some it cools, others it burns; some it wounds, others it slays." – Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes

[lunxrstellx]

I’ll Be Waiting (Thomas Shelby x Time Traveler! Reader)

I HAVE NO FREAKING CLUE HOW TO WRITE FOR TOMMY. I'VE ONLY SEEN CLIPS ON YOUTUBE. I'VE YET TO WATCH PEAKY BLINDERS SO PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DON'T HATE ME. ALSO, THIS IS MY FIRST EVER x READER FIC FOR A CILLIAN CHARACTER.

Warnings: I don't know how to write time travel fics so this is gonna be long. I also don't know how to write Tommy. So, enjoy.

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I had a strange memory from when I was nine years old where I made friends with some kids I never saw again. My parents decided that for winter break, we would visit England for a farmer’s market. I found it boring at such a young age that I ran off when my parents weren’t looking. I got lost in the crowd and when I made my way out, the layout of the town had changed and the market disappeared. I assumed I went down the wrong street. It was dirtier, polluted clouds of thin smoke escaping chimneys and falling down onto the street.  My memory was fuzzy but instead of cars, there were horse-drawn carriages. My nine-year-old self had roamed around the city. It was like I had been taken to the 1890s. I learned from my dad’s obsession with history. To add on, it smelled like it, that was for sure.

Then I got hungry. But with no money in hand, I sat on the sidewalk trying to fight the hunger off. I was only nine and the thought of stealing an apple from the nearest crate crossed my mind. I didn’t have to steal the apple though. Some little kid, around my age, or even older, appeared before me with an apple in hand. I was hesitant to take the apple, of course. I wasn’t dumb, I had common sense when I was a kid. Yet, I took it. I felt like I could trust the kid. The apple wasn’t poisoned. It managed my hunger. I thought the kid would leave afterwards since I had said my thanks. But he didn’t leave and stayed with me.

And what do you know? 

I ended up spending the whole day with the kid. I couldn’t remember their names, but there were two who stuck in my memory. The boy who gave me his apple and his older brother, who was called Arty or something. You couldn’t blame me for trying to remember, I was a young one and didn’t care. My adult memory was blurry.

My parents finally found me, worried sick and was kissy-wissy, trying to hug me. I was fine, completely untouched. Apparently, I had been missing for hours. I told my parents I was with my new friends, but when I turned around to point them out, they were missing. I never thought about it again and assumed it to be a memory.

The only thing that lingered with me was the bright blue eyes from the boy who gave me the apple.

Then I saw the eyes again. Only the next time it happened, I was fifteen years old. 

Once again, my parents thought it was fun to go back for the winter market. And it was boring for me. I was only a teenager. A teenager who was rebellious. And sick. I had a fever when we went, yet my parents dragged me out even though I was a little drowsy on medication to keep my fever down. I ended up running away again, this time to enter a  bar. I had heard Europe had different age restrictions. 

Somehow, I wound up finding myself back in the smelly part of town again. It was cold, as always, and the market disappeared. I couldn’t find my parents or the hotel. I was stuck roaming around wherever the heck I was. I couldn’t remember. I was too drugged up on name-brands medicine to even focus on my surroundings.

Then I found that kid again, only he was older, and he found me. Those eyes though remained the same and they pierced my soul.

Much wasn’t said. He was quiet, kind of gentle, and slightly intimidating. He was a  lot different than the small boy I met six years ago. He took me onto the street, far from the alley I was slumped in, and got me washed up in a horse drinking trough. He dunked me in it, trying to clear my head up, but it felt like he was trying to drown me. 

It didn’t work, of course. He didn’t drown me and I lived throughout the night. I got a taste of real whiskey he stole from a pub for me. It burned my throat, and my soberness. The rest of the memory was blurry, but I remembered a deep, soothing voice keeping me calm all night, and a strong arm wrapped around me. 

I spent the other day with him too, but only until the afternoon. By then, I had lost him and instead found my parents who claimed I was missing.

The old framed photos in the crate were dusty. My thumb prints were scattered all over the thin sheet of glass protecting these vintage photographs from the 1920s. The photo was monochrome, an image of a man with his arm around the waist of someone else. They looked kind of like me, only the image was blurred out, I couldn’t tell. The crates the photos came in were packed up in Birmingham in 1919 and were due to be delivered to me this very day. Whoever sent them knew who I was. They had my name, my age, and even my birthday down. Whoever it was, they knew me too well.

Another photo seemed to prove me crazy.

It was me, smiling and holding my hand out towards whoever was taking the photo. You could see the hand under the tarp that was sticking out. It was one of those classic photos, the vintage kind that included gunpowder. 

I was a little older, around 29 years of age. I felt old. I had moved to England since my childhood memories prompted me to do so. Seeing as these crates came from Birmingham, I decided to take a vacation.

The ride wasn’t too long and before I knew it, I was searching for where the crates had come from. I scoured every crook and nanny, every pub, every building and had no luck. No one had any history of the crates. Tired, I sat down in an alley that seemed so familiar to me, like I had been here. But it was a burning memory, something of a false dream from my childhood.

I closed my eyes for a second. It was just a quick close and open, a blink if you will.

I wasn’t where I used to be. Or when I used to be. The cars driving by were old models, the very first, the motor cars as they called it. My jaw dropped. People walked by in old fashion that was beyond my time. One man was even wearing a monocle. An officer was on a horse and his voice was loud as he yelled at some people. It was insane! It was like I was ripped out of my time like a page and taped somewhere else!

I screamed and scrambled out. Bystanders stared at me strangely. Their eyes wouldn’t move off of me. They knew I didn’t belong here and they kept staring. I wasn’t dressed like it was the 1920s. I stepped out onto the road in a panic. It was like a movie. Was I in a movie?

With my mind trying to solve the puzzle, I didn’t see that I stepped into the street out of panic. I didn’t see the car. It honked at me. I was taken out of my thoughts, but like a deer in the headlights, I couldn’t move, frozen with fear as that car approached me. Which was stupid of me, because just mere seconds ago, I was running around, but now that I saw the car, I was frozen! It was there that I realized, I left the oven on before I left. 

A strong grip grabbed my arm right before I was about to get hit and pulled me onto the sidewalk. I doubted I was going to get hit since the car was slowing down. The man in the car was yelling at me for acting so stupidly, but I was too entranced by familiar bright blue eyes. I nervously swallowed. I had only seen those beautiful eyes in my dreams, my memories that were just too foggy.

“Um, hi?” I replied. “D-do we know each other or something?” He sighed.

“We do.” My jaw felt like dropping. His voice made me tremble. Clearly, genetics did him good. The little kid I remembered from what was a fever dream to me, had grown up.

“Do you remember me?” I asked softly, tilting my head. Was it all real, those dreams? The man heavily sighed.

“I’ve been waiting,” he replied. “But if we’re gonna keep talking, (Name) and reminiscing, I’d rather do it somewhere else.” 

“Can you, uh, explain on the way what the heck is happening here!?” I exclaimed in a lowered voice. It was clear Bright Eyes wanted this to be under the covers. Something was scaring him. I needed answers and I wasn’t settling for a no. Without a word, he grabbed my hand and dragged me off, causing me to yelp lightly.

“You keep doing this, from nine to fifteen, to right now, no matter how old you are,” the man explained. “I can’t comprehend it, but you keep coming back, and it’s clear you don’t belong here. Who are you really?” I sighed.

“Apparently you know my name.”

“I know who you are, (Name). I wasn’t asking that.”

“Then I can’t answer.” Bright Eyes sighed. He continued to lead me through this  old fashioned town. It didn’t feel dreamlike and very real. It smelled very real, like horses and smoke. My heart raced, realizing this was all real. I looked over to the man holding my hand.

“D-did I time travel?”

“You did. And I don’t know how long you’re going to be here, so you’ll be staying under my protection until this sorts itself out.” I nodded, listening to his words, then I gasped.

“I’ll be what?!”

Two whole weeks. That’s how long I was stuck living with Thomas Shelby. I wasn’t stuck living in a shed while figuring out how I slipped through time and how Tommy was connected to me. I had my own room in his house. No one bothered me at all. The house felt empty even though his family was big and felt alone. I rarely saw him. It was different when we had dinner. It’d be just the two of us because he didn’t trust anyone else with me and he talked a lot, his eyes lighting up whenever he saw me. And when his icy gaze met my eyes, my heart would flutter. 

Then one night, I had to ask the question.

“So um, Tommy, why did you let me stay?” I asked, breaking the silence. Tommy stopped eating, but quickly picked it up again. He was sitting next to me, but typically he sat across, at the head of the table. Dinner was too quiet. Tommy came home without a word, ignoring me until dinner finally arrived, and even then we didn’t talk. Not until now.

“I let you stay because I felt the need to,” he muttered. His focus was on the soup his aunt cooked. She had asked what I liked and made it for dinner. Something was up. “You were lost, I knew you, and I lended a hand. If I didn’t know who you were, I would’ve left you in the streets.” I scoffed.

“I met you twice before,” I said. “Why take me in regardless? Judging by the way you are with other people, you don’t seem to like people, only your family and me.” 

His body language completely changed.

Thomas sat up, sighing. He put down his spoon. I saw his jaw tighten, like he was about to spill all the secrets of the universe, and he deeply inhaled, his chest expanding. I nervously swallowed. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

“You came in,” he said, “a long time ago when we were young. I didn’t think much about it, (Name). I just thought you were a ghost. And it turns out you are with those sudden disappearances. You keep coming back. You haunt my mind.” My cheeks flustered.

“Even now?” I asked. Did he believe in fate? I wanted to ask about that.

“Even now.”

“Tommy?”

“Yes?” 

“Do you like-.”

“Yes, I do like you,” he replied. My heart skipped a beat. Was he messing with me? “I like you a lot. How long did it take you to come up with those words? I’m not one for feelings, but I know you and I have been having them. I’ve come to realize that I developed feelings for you.” My jaw dropped. He admitted it, and it was like he was reading my mind. He was sitting so close to me, I bet he could read my mind. 

“Do you feel the same?” he asked. His hand slowly moved, placing itself on mine. I didn’t flinch or push it off. “I didn’t read you wrong?” I sighed. I knew if I fell for Tommy, I wouldn’t have reason to return to my timeline, assuming that was possible. “Do you?”

“I do.” That was it, my confession. His eyes lit up. 

“Are you telling the truth? Are you being honest?” he asked, leaning in. The cigarette scent that followed Tommy filled my nostrils. I blushed.

“I am being honest,” I said. “Completely, Tommy.”  I put my hand on top of his, and we had a stacked hand sandwich going on. Of course, Tommy pulled back and held both my hands. For someone so cold, he was warm. My cheeks heat up to match the same temperature. 

Words weren’t said for what followed in the next moment. It just happened. I couldn’t stop it.

I leaned in and Tommy was leaning in, causing the obvious to happen. My lips softly touched his. I thought it’d be a small kiss, but it wasn’t. Tommy cupped both my cheeks, bringing me in closer. His lips were gentle, kissing me back with passion. I couldn’t control myself, practically melting at his touch and kissing Tommy back. There was a moment where time seemed to stop. It was just Tommy and I, kissing and holding each other.

Then he pulled back, his lips lingering towards mine. 

“Whatever happens, I’ll still love you,” he whispered, causing me to blush. I slowly nodded. “If you slip back, I’m gonna be here still, and I’ll be waiting for you to come back.” My heart fluttered. I could tell he was being genuine. So I kissed him, holding my lips against his before pulling back.

“I love you too,” I said, smiling. “I’m not going anywhere. I  don’t think time could keep us apart.”

[lunxrstellx]

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The Unexpected Visit Masterlist

Thomas Shelby X Filipina Reader

Summary: A modern Filipina woman had accidentally traveled through time and found herself in Birmingham, in 1999.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 (Coming soon)

[lunxrstellx]

wine or wine not | s.r

spencer reid x bau!reader

a/n: i think i love writing buildup to smut than actual smut, but i hope you guys like this lmk what you think. this was requested with the prompts "look at me when you come on my fingers" and "muttering compliments kissing down their body" and it was so much fun to write aaaaahh, my requests are open so please send more!!! guidelines in pinned <3

summary: you're hopelessly pining after spencer at a rossi party, and when you run into him in the kitchen when you're getting a refill and he asks if you want to explore the mansion with him, who are you to say no?

cw: 18+ minors dni pls, fingering, p in v, nipple play, soft!dom!spence, spencer being ridiculously hot its criminal, ooc penelope but it was for the plot, pining idiots, wine cellar sex wine cellar sex wine cellar sex, public sex, morgan and prentiss being dumb, rossi being a smug lil shit, a dumb ass title sorry i didn't know what else to name it lol

wc: 4.1k

★・・・・★・・・・★・・・・★・・・・★

these days rossi was always finding some reason to throw a party at his mansion. you’re not exactly sure what it was tonight, a birthday? an anniversary? regardless, you and the team appreciated the excuse to unwind, dress up, and have non murder related fun.

the sun is setting over the rolling hills the mansion is perched on, and you’re sat at a table with the girls— penelope, jj, and emily discussing penelope’s latest dating escapade. you’re trying hard to pay attention, you really are, but it proves to be difficult when you’re focused on the man showing magic tricks to the kids across the room.

you look on yearnfully as spencer pulls a coin from jack’s ear, all the kids are laughing and cheering and he has the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

“hellooo?” penelope waves a hand in front of you dramatically, “i’m getting to the good part and you’re off in space!”

you jolt back to the present, “sorry pen, i’m listening i promise. so he shows up to your door with maple syrup and feathers?”

“YES, anyways so then he’s like i have a proposition for you…” penelope continues her story but you can’t help but zone out again. your eyes drift back to boy genius as he finishes another trick for little henry before rising up to his full height. it’s in that moment his eyes meet yours and softens as he offers you a small wave. 

you return the gesture back which causes the girls at your table to look in the same direction and they come to a glaring conclusion too quickly.

“ah, that’s why you’re not paying attention. too busy ogling mr. houdini over there.” jj remarks.

“i am not!” you scoff.

“oh you so are,” emily says, “when are you going to let yourself feel your heart’s full content.”

“first of all, i can’t stand you. second of all, it’s not worth it. he would never feel the same about me.” you say as emily rolls her eyes.

this time penelope interjected, “oh don’t be so cynical. you haven’t even tried how could you even know?”

but you did know. it’s not that spencer didn’t like you, he treated you the same as any team member, but that was just it. you wanted him to see you as more. during cases you would try to impress him or make breakthroughs in the hopes he would tell you ‘good job’. a couple times you brought him coffee when you got yours, just to hear him say your name and thanks. work conversations rarely seemed to move past small talk, but you’re a little sure that’s on your part because he just made you so nervous. and like, he’s a profiler. so you’re sure to some degree he knows how you feel, and it just makes you regress into your safe hole even further because you think he’s being nice by not acknowledging it and saving you the embarrassment.

the girls knew about your harbored crush for a month now, since the last bau drinks night you got a little too truthful during truth or dare. you were much younger in comparison to your colleagues, so they offered their sympathies at your unrequited love and tried to get you to come out more and let loose.

which is one of the reasons you’re sitting in rossi’s living room, wine glass in hand, as morgan recounts the craziest date hes ever been on. the other reason, which you wouldn’t admit to anyone, was so you could admire your (not) lover from an acceptable distance and not risk embarrassing yourself.

so here you are, two glasses deep, rising up from your spot on the floor telling everyone you’re going to get a refill. your heels click against the hardwood floors all the way to the kitchen where you just so luckily run into the (your) man of the hour.

“hi.”

you were looking down at your feet as you walked to the kitchen, your head snapping up to meet the voice, “hi spencer.” you said softly.

“if you’re looking for more wine, i think emily just grabbed the last bottle,” you must have outwardly deflated as he continued, “that bad out there?”

“only so much wine can get me through penelope’s sexcapades and derek’s crazy one night stands.” you joke.

he chuckles back, “oh i know, why do you think i’m hiding out in here?”

you laugh again before an uncomfortable yet strangely comfortable silence falls between you both. unknowingly you both take turns gazing at each other, indexing the others features as if this moment would be the only chance you got.

you’re about to take your loss and leave when spencer speaks up again, “you know, i wouldn’t put it past rossi to have a secret wine cellar somewhere.”

“honestly, you’re probably right. what kind of italian just runs out of wine.”

spencer pauses slightly before saying, “do you want to see if we can find it?”

you look at his eyes again and catch a glint of mischief? concern that you’re wine-less? whatever it is, you take the bait.

“i’m game.”

—

rossi’s mansion was humongous. it was well known that he was loaded from his years in the bureau and multiple book deals, but holy shit, the rooms just seemed never ending, and none of them were a wine cellar.

“i don’t know spence, i'm starting to lose hope, and debating to revoke rossi’s italian card.”

you’re both in one of the many studies and are about to leave to find another room, when spencer notices a smaller door next to the study. he slowly opens it and peaks inside to find a descending wooden staircase. he looks at you with a smirk, “i think we just found it.”

he holds the door open and gestures you to enter first, following shortly behind you as he shuts the door. he makes sure to check that it’ll still open even after it’s shut, and you both relax a little seeing it still unlock. you move down the stairs, gripping the handrail and praying you don’t trip over your heels and fall to an embarrassing demise.

spencer descends a step behind you, trying so hard not to let his eyes wander down your bare back to the curve of your hips. once he steps off you both go in opposite directions to explore. you take in the vast amount of shelves and wine racks, taking note of how it seems to be separated by year and by type. running your fingers over the labels, you’re intrigued by a shelf with the year you were born, and pause in front of it. you reach up to a shelf that is just a smidge taller than you, hoping to grab the neck of an old wine bottle.

even in your heels you’re struggling, attempting little hops to try and reach. you’re about to give up when you feel a warm hand on your right hip, while an outstretched arm on your left seamlessly grabs the bottle and brings it down to you, “careful sweetheart, don’t wanna break that pretty head of yours.” spencer says lowly.

excuse me, what the fuck did he just say.

you inspect the bottle he so kindly brought down for you, but it’s a futile effort. you can’t even remember why you wanted to see it. all you can think about is your hands clamming up, sending threats to the wine bottle it’s holding. your mind is fogging up fast, and you’re trying to order your brain to say something instead of going mute while he’s still an inch behind you. with his hand on your hip still.

“oh god,” you start shakily, “you scared me spence.” you angle your body to the left so you can attempt to show how unbothered you are and look at his face.

good save (not).

he’s staring down at you with a hint of a smirk on his lips, like he’s keeping a secret from you. his eyes are intently focused on you when he speaks again, “just didn’t want you to get hurt. s’all.”

with his close proximity, you’re sure he can hear your heart beating through both of your chests, hell it was so loud they could probably hear it upstairs. he’s still got you caged in front of him when he continues, “any particular reason for this bottle?”

“yeah no, i just, wanted to see what bottles of wine he had from the year i was born.” you answer, watching as spencer moves back to give you space when you turn to face him.

he nods, “did you know that wine is associated with the greek god dionysus?”

“no i didn’t, actually.”

“it’s really interesting,” he moves forward a tiny inch, “they call him the patron god of wine, but a lot of people often forget that he’s also the god of fertility and ecstasy.”

oh. “ecstasy?” you whisper confusingly.

“yes, he believes when you drink wine it gives you emotional and physical pleasure.”

“how does that even work?” you nervously laugh.

spencer reaches his arm above your head, never breaking eye contact, and grabs two wine glasses by their stems, “you wanna find out?”

with only so many words, you give another nod. he uncorks the bottle with ease and pours out two glasses, with his having a little less than yours, most likely due to his slow but steady return to drinking casually. clinking your glasses, you take a big gulp hoping it’ll satiate the building nerves. but you’re watching the way his fingers wrap around the glass, his veiny hand showing prominently and you’re unable to focus on anything else.

“you know, i’ve been running something of an observation the last few months.”

you take another small sip, starting to feel less nervous, “oh yeah, what about?”

“you.”

it took everything in you not to spit your drink out all over his suit. 

“me?”

he nods after another sip, “i’ve been watching you, and not in a creepy way i swear. but i’ve been keeping track of your habits; how you take your coffee, your tells when a case gets too much, things like that,”

that didn’t seem overtly terrible to you, you knew spencer was an observer of his environment, always seeking out patterns to aid his predictions. you’re about to speak when he cuts you off.

“i’ve also been noticing how you seem to change, when i’m in your presence.”

you feel like the sweat and nerves are just oozing out of you at this point, and he continues his verbal taunt.

“i’ve seen your breathing rate get faster,” he moves a step forward, “how your cheeks rise with the faintest red, kind of like right now,” another step forward, “and how you try to avoid looking directly at me because you think i’ll find out everything if you do.”

the room has to be at least a thousand degrees at this point, heart beating so fast it’s probably gone to the moon, and your brain just unable to have any coherent thoughts at the realization that maybe you weren’t as subtle as you thought.

he takes one final step to close the gap between you and delicately places two fingers on the pulse point of your neck, “i couldn’t figure out your heart rate from afar,” he pauses to count, “but now that i know it, i can come to my conclusion.”

the air in your lungs has all but escaped, nowhere to be found. “and wh- what is your conclusion d- doctor reid?” your voice betraying you by dripping with anticipation.

“that i make you nervous. do you agree? do i make you nervous?” he says while you feel the hot breath of his whispers ghosting on your lips.

your mouth opens to say something and then shuts, because what the hell are you supposed to say? any and all logic has left the room, but the last working neuron works to make an unthinkable conclusion of your own. there is no way.

spencer moves his fingers to grip your chin between them, guiding your face to look directly into his copper eyes, “i asked you a question angel, do i make you nervous?”

you’re cornered, “y- yes.”

“why’s that?”

“spencer..”

“is it because you’re thinking of me the same way i think i about you?” his thumb starts tracing the outline of your lower jaw. he’s pressed right up against your chest, his other arm covertly moving to snake around your waist. the way you lean in subconsciously towards him, paired with your silence is all the confirmation he needs.

the pad of his thumb traces your lower lip, dragging it downwards a little. there’s a hitch in his breath when his eyes flicker from your lips back up to meet your eyes again. he quietly mumbles, “can i?”

your eyes widen slightly, relishing in the way his arms are holding you firm and steady. this was about to really happen. you’d been pining after him all this time, believing you were destined for unrequited love. but as spencer stands in front of you, looking at you as if he’d been poisoned and the only antidote is your lips, you can’t help but wonder if there’s been a similar weight on his side that’s been holding him back too.

so you nod once again, and trust your voice this time, 

“yes.”

you’re fully expecting him to go into it full force, and kiss you like a man starved. but he lets the premonition bubble for a little longer as he so agonizingly leans down and closes the gap, teasing you with the ghost of his lips on yours without making contact. he waits a moment, and just as he predicted your subconscious betrays you again and you impatiently lean up in an attempt to meet your lips together. spencer can’t help but smile before he softly pressed himself against you.

the feeling of his mouth on yours is something you can only describe as cosmic, like a star exploding into a supernova, emitting a powerful and luminous show of energy. it’s all consuming, the light reaching every neuronal end of your body and electrifying it ten times over. your hands reach up to tangle in his curly hair and he lets out the faintest whimper, spurring you on to grab it more earnestly.

spencer loses all restraint. his hands begin furiously mapping out your body, running up and down your back, reaching down to grasp a handful of your ass. he moves his hands down further to grip your thighs, effortlessly lifting you to sit on the counter behind you. spencer slots himself between your legs and continues kissing you, his mouth marking a hot trail to your neck as he mutters between, “is this okay?”

“please don’t stop.” you moan softly.

his fingers move to deftly slide the straps of your dress off your shoulder, mirroring the movement on the other side while continuing to work his down your neck. he slides the dress far enough down to expose your chest, immediately taking the swollen nub into mouth and running circles around it with his tongue. you let out a sharp gasp at the sudden warmth, whimpers leaving your throat. he repeats the motion to the other one as you cradle his head closer in an attempt to keep him there, as if spencer had any plans of leaving.

he moves his mouth back up to meet yours again, in a lust filled attack sending shock waves straight to your core. you move your fingers to work the buttons of his dress shirt and spencer moves his hand further south and under the hem of your dress, something you don’t notice until his thumbs are rubbing circles onto the plush of your inner thighs. it makes you falter on his last button as he pushes your legs farther apart,  inches closer to where you desperately need him.

spencer looks directly into your eyes as his thumbs reach up to hook onto the side of your panties and slowly move them down your legs. he groans outwardly at the resistance caused by your slickness, “all this for me, baby?”

you’re rendered speechless watching spencer and his ministrations but he continues, “you are so goddamn beautiful, you know that?” his fingers are less than an inch away from your cunt, “i see you walk around the office in those tight pants, your hair and makeup all done, and those blouses jesus,” he reaches your entrance and dives in to collect your wetness, you brokenly moan as he begins to spread it all over. “couldn’t tell if you hated me for the longest time.”

“c- could never hate you.” you whine.

“i know baby,” he slides his middle finger into your hole, “just imagine the fun we could’ve had if we figured this out earlier. but it’s okay, we have all the time now.” he sets a steady rhythm before inserting his ring finger, actively working you towards a barreling orgasm.

“spencer, fuck, oh god.”

“you’re so fucking wet, bet you’re gonna come soon, right? gonna make a mess on my hand?” he baited.

you’re in shambles, one hand deathly squeezing onto one shoulder the other turning white from the grip you held on the counter. the moans won’t stop falling out of you, he works his fingers so skillfully within you it’s impossible to hold any resolve when he curves upwards and hits that spot.

your head tilts back, reeling from the intense pressure coil building inside you, the peak about to hit you any moment now. spencer uses his free hand to move your head back down, “look at me when you come on my fingers.”

that was all it took for the white hot to ravage through you, engulfing every sense and leaving you breathless. he continues moving his fingers through your orgasm, watching as you come back down to him. you don’t waste a second reaching for his belt to unfasten it, slipping your hand down to palm him through his boxers. he moans in your ear as he feels you slip inside, your small hand moving up and down, and getting impossibly harder when you take your hand back up to spit on it to then return to your movements.

you take the moment to lean into his neck and leave bites of your own, finding his sweet spot right behind his ear and sucking hard. spencer’s hands have taken a spot on your lower back beneath your dress, pressing so hard with his fingertips you know there’ll be evidence of this night tomorrow.

“spence..” you mutter in the crook in the neck.

“yeah baby?” he whispers back.

“can you fuck me now?”

he preens at your boldness, and wastes no time pulling his pants and boxers down enough to fully free himself. he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter before pulling his length out and giving it a few strokes. he lets it glide between your folds, gathering your wetness as lubricant as it hits your clit. both of you are panting hard realizing the anticipation has led to this moment. spencer positions himself at your entrance, never breaking eye contact with you, and watches your face drop into a perfect ‘oh’ as he pushes in.

spencer is absolutely wrecked as he hears your breathing pick up, reveling in the vice grip your cunt has on him. you’re no better above him as you’ve broken eye contact to stare at where the two of you connect, watching as he disappears into you and the feeling of being so full overtakes you and you’re letting out soft expletives. he bottoms out and stalls for a minute, waiting for you to signal that you’re okay for him to move. in the time he’s waiting, he takes a moment to really look at your face, how absolutely ruined you look, your cheeks are deeply flushed, hair flying in every direction, and he can’t help but tell you, “you look so pretty.”

your eyes soften as you gaze back at him and nod slightly, and he pulls back all the way to ease in again experimentally. once he hears you moan out loud at the movement, and feels you tighten even more around his cock, he loses any and all restraint he’d been holding onto this entire night.

his hips pick up the pace in harsh snaps to your core, sending ripples of pleasure all over you. your arms are wrapped around his neck attempting to pull him impossibly closer to you, “spencer…fuck…” you drawl with a whine.

“i got you baby, gonna take good care of you, promise,” he says back in between grunts. the sentiment causes you to squeeze on his cock again as he attempts to continue, “if you keep…fuck…keep squeezing me like that i’m n- not gonna last long.”

one hand in his hair and the other leaving dark red scratches on his back, you feel your second orgasm of the night hastily creep up on you. he can tell you’re close and quickens his pace as he thumbs your clit. you moan his name out once more before reaching your peak, feeling like your body is on fire as he continues to fuck you through it. 

spencer feels his own release building up, “wh- where should i..?”

“inside, i’m on the pill just please come inside me.”

it was more than enough for spencer’s movements to stutter as he released his hot load in you, groaning out loud as he finished.

he slows to a half, still hilted inside of you but softening post orgasm. you’re both breathing heavily as you look up at each other and take in the other’s fucked out faces. spencer presses a chaste kiss to your forehead before resting his own on it, “that was..”

“intense,” he quirks his eyebrows at you, “in a really really good way.” you add quickly.

he smiles down at you, “i wasn’t kidding, what i said earlier. i think about you an embarrassingly high amount each day. i’d love to take you out and make this a real thing.”

“yeah?” you gape incredulously, “thought i was the one embarrassing myself if you were able to notice all those things i did when you were near me.”

he laughs, “no, no it was endearing, definitely made it easier to be as forward as i was tonight knowing you wouldn’t freak out.”

you’re about to respond when you hear the door to the cellar open, you’re both hidden from view but know it’s only a matter of seconds before someone catches you. you both look at each other in panic as spencer pulls out of you, tucking himself back in and zipping up his pants. you grab your panties from the floor and begin to pull them up your legs when he notices his come dripping down your thighs. he swiftly gathers the release on his fingers and shoves it back inside you, causing you to let out a near pornographic moan as he pulls up your underwear all the way.

“did you guys hear that?” a voice sounding like emily said.

“see this is why i don’t do big houses like this, too many creepy ass noises.” morgan.

“mansion,” rossi corrects, “and for a couple of profilers, you both are stupid if you don’t know what that sound was.”

your eyes widen to match spencer’s, you’ve been caught.

“was it a mouse or something?”

“no more like, bunnies,” he joked with an innuendo, “come on, i found the bottle i was looking for, let the bunnies do their thing so they can leave and go home to do whatever it is bunnies do.”

“you’re a weird old man david…” emily muttered.

the door closes and you both let out a big breath, and burst into a fit of laughter, “how the hell are we gonna show our faces to him on monday?” you whine.

“that is a monday us problem,” he starts, “but right now, i think it’s time for me to take you home.” he winks.

two stuffed bunnies show up on yours and spencer’s desk on monday. you’re both redder than a tomato as rossi chuckles when he walks by. prentiss and morgan are still confused.

[lunxrstellx]

A House In Nevada - Spencer Reid

(loosely based on A House In Nebraska by Mother Cain & this TikTok)

Summary: It had been five years since that house, and yet they are still plagued by what happened and what could have been—or maybe what still is.

Masterlist!

Teenage!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Season one!Spencer Reid x Female Reader Season ten!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Angst⏳ & Fluff 💌 Ending

Word count: 11.3K

Warnings: Timejumps, Humor, Explicit Language, Sexual Content, Emotional Struggles, Mental Health, Romance, Emotional Angst, Unresolved Love, Religious Themes, Sexuality, Purity Culture, Family Struggles, Feelings of Inadequacy/Worthlessness, Tenderness/Comforting Themes, Emotional Angst, Heartbreak, Grief/Loss, Depression, Abandonment, Anger, Guilt, Regret, Trust Issues, Betrayal, Alcohol Consumption, Relationship Drama, Emotional Vulnerability, Intimacy, Happy Ending.

1997, June

 As they lay together on the worn, dirty mattress, the threadbare cloth covers barely shielding their bare skin from the biting cold, their breath escaped in faint plumes of fog. The air was still, save for the quiet aftermath of their shared intimacy, their hearts beating in rhythm as they tried to catch their breath. Spencer lay on his side, his sharp features softened in the dim light, his hazel eyes studying her with quiet reverence.

(Y/N) stared up at the crumbling ceiling, lost in a maze of thoughts that seemed to drift aimlessly between everything and nothing. Her expression was serene, though a flicker of curiosity played on her lips. Spencer could have stayed like this forever, just watching her, memorizing the contours of her face, the way her hair fanned across the mattress like a halo. He was so captivated that he didn’t realize she had turned to look at him until her voice broke the silence.

He blinked, caught off guard, and quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, my love. What did you say?”

She didn’t seem bothered, her affection for him evident in the patient smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Her pupils, wide and dark, gazed at him with a love so deep it made his chest ache.

“I said, can you imagine if we just had sex and there are rats in here?” (Y/N) repeated, her tone light and teasing, as though the absurdity of the thought amused her.

Spencer’s brows furrowed as he processed the question, and then the familiar spark of intellectual excitement lit up his face. “Well,” he began, propping himself up slightly on one elbow, “it’s actually quite probable. A house like this—abandoned, in a state of disrepair—is the perfect habitat for rats. They’re remarkably adaptable creatures, you know. The brown rat, Rattus norvegicus, for example, is known for its ability to thrive in urban and rural environments. They’re incredible climbers and swimmers, which means even if the house is difficult to access, they—”

“Spence,” she interrupted, a soft laugh escaping as she reached up to place a finger against his lips. “I was joking. I meant it’s kind of gross, not an invitation for a lecture on rat biology.”

His mouth closed, his cheeks flushing as he realized he had once again gotten carried away. “Right. Of course. Gross. I mean, they are gross, objectively speaking, but…” His voice trailed off, and a sheepish smile broke across his face.

She chuckled, her laughter warm and affectionate, and leaned up to press a soft, lingering peck to his lips. “Never change, genius,” she whispered as she pulled back, her forehead gently resting against his.

He relaxed into her embrace, the faintest hint of a smirk still lingering on his lips. “I wasn’t planning to.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

“Who’s occupying your mind?” Elena’s teasing voice broke through the quiet, snapping her out of her daydream. She flinched, startled, before quickly turning toward her best friend. To hide her reaction, she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, taking a long sip and deliberately avoiding Elena’s knowing gaze.

“No one,” she replied, the words tumbling out far too quickly to be convincing.

Elena raised a brow, her smile widening with that playful, smug look she always got when she was sure she had hit the nail on the head. “No, you’re definitely thinking about him again,” she said, her voice teasing but laced with an undeniable knowing.

(Y/N) felt her face scrunch involuntarily, a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubbling up inside her. Of course, Elena was right. She was always right about these things, and yet admitting it out loud still felt like an impossible task.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said defensively, gripping her coffee cup a little tighter as though the action could somehow help her hold onto control. “It’s been five years since I went to that house.”

Elena leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she absentmindedly swirled her tea. “Five years, sure. And yet you still think about him all the time,” she quipped, her smile widening. “Don’t deny it—you still love him.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Her breath hitched, and her chest tightened painfully. The truth was suffocatingly close, hanging in the air between them, but she wasn’t ready to face it—not now, not ever. She scoffed, the sound sharper than she intended, a thin layer of defensiveness slipping over the raw feeling inside her. “That’s not true.”

Elena’s smile softened, but the certainty never left her eyes. She took another sip of her tea, shaking her head gently as if she were humoring a child who couldn’t see what was plainly obvious. “You can say whatever you want, but I know you. You’ve never stopped loving him, and you probably never will.”

She felt the weight of those words sink deep, settling in her chest like an unshakeable truth. She looked away, her gaze falling to the steam rising from her coffee cup. She could feel Elena’s eyes on her, steady and patient, waiting for some sort of admission. But she couldn’t speak. Instead, she stayed silent, and in the stillness, her silence spoke volumes.

It had been five years since she’d last been to that house—since she’d last seen him. Five years that hadn’t dulled the ache, the quiet longing that still lingered at the edges of her thoughts. She hadn’t forgotten the way things felt there—the rush of memories, the pull of a love that had once felt like home. And no matter how hard she tried to move on, something inside her still ached to return, to walk back through that broken door.

But instead, she sat there, silent, pretending to be fine.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1999, November

Walking the familiar route to their house, the late teenage couple wandered through the trees, overgrown bushes, and the sprawling farmland. The path was a quiet escape from the world, the sounds of nature surrounding them. But today, the conversation between them felt heavier than usual, a tension in the air that neither of them could shake. They walked side by side, their pace in sync, but the weight of the moment seemed to stretch out between them.

Spencer glanced over at her, watching the delicate bounce of her necklace as she walked. The sight of it, swaying gently with each step, brought an odd sense of calm to his racing thoughts. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quiet but carrying a vulnerability that he rarely showed.

“Do you think your father will ever accept me?” Spencer asked, his gaze drifting away from her face as if the question itself was too much to look at directly.

She didn’t answer immediately. She kept walking, her eyes trained ahead, but her lips pressed together in a way that meant she was thinking carefully. When she did speak, her words came with an air of practiced nonchalance, the way she always deflected difficult questions.

“A man who thinks that schizophrenia is caused by worshipping the devil?” Her voice was steady, but Spencer could hear the underlying pain in it. He knew it wasn’t just a rhetorical question; it was the painful truth that shaped her relationship with her father. Her father had always been a strict believer in God, attending church without fail and pushing his beliefs onto her and her mother. But that same faith had no room for understanding Spencer’s reality, especially the fact that his mother was struggling with schizophrenia. The two worlds couldn’t have been more different, and the divide between them felt insurmountable.

She sighed, her breath visible in the cool air. “He already thinks that I’ve had sex and I’m not his perfect little girl anymore.” There was a bitter edge to her words, something Spencer had heard before. She had told him how her father believed that every time a woman had sex out of wedlock, a part of her died. A petite mort, as Spencer had corrected her when they first discussed it, a small but cruel idea that made her relationship with her father even more strained.

Spencer stopped in his tracks, his heart aching at the thought of her carrying that weight. He reached out, cupping her face gently in his hands. He felt the need to erase the hurt from her eyes, even if just for a moment.

“You are perfect to me,” he said softly, his thumbs brushing over her skin. “And that’s all that matters.”

The words lingered between them, a promise that, despite everything they couldn’t control, Spencer would always see her as she truly was. Perfect, flaws and all. The weight of the world lightened, just a little, as they stood there in the quiet of the countryside.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

“Spencer?” The soft, familiar voice of Diana, Spencer’s mother, broke through the haze of his thoughts. He had been sitting in the small, sterile room of the psychiatric ward where his mother stayed, his gaze fixed on the window, watching the cold, winter air swirl outside. The holiday decorations in the ward were bright and festive, but the cheerfulness did little to ease the weight pressing down on his chest. He had come to visit her during Christmas break, as he always did, returning to his hometown to spend time with her. But today, something felt off—distant, even though he was right there in the room with her.

“You’ve been looking out that window for the past ten minutes,” Diana’s voice came again, gentle yet full of concern. Spencer blinked, momentarily disoriented, before he turned his attention back to her. Her eyes were filled with the kind of tenderness that only a mother could offer, the kind that always made him feel safe, even in the most uncertain of times. Snapping back to reality, Spencer tried to brush it off, offering a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m alright, Mom,” he said, his voice steady, though it carried the faintest trace of exhaustion. He didn’t want to worry her, didn’t want to add to the weight of her already constant concerns about him. She carried enough as it was, and the last thing he wanted was for her to see the cracks in him, to see how tired he truly was.

But Diana didn’t miss the subtle tension in his posture or the way his eyes seemed distant, as if the weight of the world was pressing against him. She had always known when something was off, even if Spencer tried to hide it. She had raised him, after all—her perceptiveness was something that had been honed over years of navigating her own struggles.

“You are my perfect boy, Spencer,” Diana said softly, her voice laced with warmth and unwavering love. Her eyes locked onto his with a quiet intensity, as if she was trying to press the weight of her words into his heart. “Always remember that. No matter what happens, no matter what you’re feeling, you are my perfect boy.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the kind of truth only a mother could give. Spencer’s throat tightened, a lump forming as the rush of emotions he had been suppressing all day threatened to surface. His mother, despite everything she had been through, still saw him as perfect. It was a reminder, both comforting and painful, of the love that anchored him even when he didn’t feel worthy of it.

Spencer nodded slowly, his chest tight, and for a moment, he let himself believe it—let himself feel the warmth of his mother’s love, allowing it to wash over him. Even if he couldn’t always see the good in himself, she did. And for that moment, that was enough. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2000, December

“Spence?” (Y/N)’s voice echoed through the broken-down house, the sound bouncing off the peeling walls and creaking floorboards. The house, if it could even still be called that, had seen better days long before they had claimed it as their own. The paths leading to it were worn bare, the grass never daring to grow back after countless trips in and out. It was theirs in a way no one else could understand—crumbling, imperfect, but filled with memories that made it feel like home.

The familiar groan of the warped front door announced her arrival, but there was no response. Her heart gave a strange, uneasy flutter as she stepped inside and climbed the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath her weight. Reaching the second floor, she paused in the doorway of their bedroom. The dirty mattress lay on the floor as always, the cotton sheets doing little to mask the years of wear and stains.

But what caught her eye was the letter sitting atop it, her name scrawled in Spencer’s familiar handwriting. The sight sent a chill through her chest.

Lowering herself onto the mattress, she reached for the letter, her fingers trembling as she unfolded it. As her eyes scanned the words, a heaviness settled over her, the room suddenly feeling colder and emptier. It was Spencer’s words, and she already knew this letter would change everything.

My dear (Y/N),

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write, and I’m not sure where to begin. You’ve been my everything, (Y/N). My light when the world felt dark, my calm in the storm. Loving you has been the most incredible, life-altering experience I could ever hope for. Being with you has taught me things I never thought I’d learn—about trust, about vulnerability, about love. Not the kind of love that comes and goes, but the kind that stays, the kind that roots itself so deeply that no force on earth could ever truly uproot it.

You’ve always had this way of making me feel seen, of looking past all the things I try to hide, and loving me anyway. You made me feel like I could be more than I ever thought possible, just by being at my side. Your laugh—God, your laugh. I’ll never forget it. It’s the kind of sound that could soften the edges of the hardest day, the kind of thing that made me believe there was still good in the world, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

I want you to know something: you are unforgettable. You are the type of person who leaves a mark on everyone you meet, but the mark you’ve left on me feels permanent like it’s carved into my very being. You’ve taught me how to be brave, how to let myself feel things I was always too scared to feel. And I’ll never stop being grateful for that.

I don’t know if you’ll ever truly understand how deeply you’ve been loved. But I hope you feel it when you think of me. And I hope one day, you’ll forgive me for not being the person you needed me to be.

You are, and always will be, the greatest love of my life.

Forever yours, Spencer

(Y/N) broke the moment her eyes reached the end of the letter. The words blurred together as tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking the paper in her trembling hands. She cried as she read it, cried harder as the weight of its meaning sank in, cried until her chest ached and her breaths came in ragged gasps. The silence in the house, once a comforting backdrop to their life together, now felt suffocating, pressing in on her like a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

Sliding off the mattress, she curled into herself, clutching the letter as if holding it tightly could somehow bring him back. Her sobs echoed through the empty house, filling the space he had left behind. The walls, which had once witnessed laughter and whispered dreams, now bore witness to her heartbreak, to the shattering of everything they had built together.

Hours passed, but the ache only grew. She lay on the filthy mattress that had been their refuge, their sanctuary, but it felt hollow now, nothing more than a pile of fabric and springs in a house that wasn’t home anymore. Spencer had promised he’d never leave, and that promise had been her lifeline. But now he was gone, and with him, he had taken the pieces of her heart that she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back.

And that was what broke her.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

(Y/N) wandered aimlessly, her feet carrying her without thought or direction. The wind whispered through the trees, the sky above painted in soft hues of twilight. It wasn’t until she stopped, standing in the middle of a dirt road, that she realized where her walk had led her. Her heart sank as she recognized the familiar broken house in the distance, its silhouette stark against the fading light.

The house stood there, just as it had five years ago—weathered, battered, yet defiant. She stared at it, the memories flooding back uninvited. That house wasn’t just wood and nails; it was a monument to everything she’d shared, everything she’d lost. She didn’t even realize she had started walking toward it until her hand brushed against the old wooden fence.

“Hey, Bertha,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tapped the doorway lightly. It was a habit Spencer had started, a silly gesture he’d done every time they came here, like greeting an old friend. Now it felt like a ghost of the life they once had, a bittersweet echo that made her chest tighten. The front door hung open, as if inviting her in, but the thought of stepping inside made her stomach churn.

Meanwhile, across the abandoned cornfields, Spencer approached the house he had avoided for years. The sight of it sent a pang of guilt through him. “Bertha,” he murmured softly, the name falling from his lips like an old prayer. “You look the same as always.” The wind rustled the cornstalks around him, but all he could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He had spent so long convincing himself not to come back, and yet here he was, drawn to the house like it was calling him. Each step felt heavier than the last as he crossed the field, memories of laughter and love resurfacing with every inch closer.

Inside the house, (Y/N) wandered the familiar halls, running her fingers along the walls that once echoed with their shared whispers. Everything felt smaller now, the weight of time and grief pressing down on her. She paused by the window, looking out toward the fields, when movement caught her eye.

Her heart froze. Someone was walking toward the house.

She blinked, thinking her mind was playing tricks, but the figure grew clearer with every step. Her breath caught when she realized who it was. Spencer.

Anger flared in her chest, hot and overwhelming, overtaking the shock and sadness that had lingered for years. Without thinking, she stormed down the stairs, to the back door, the closest exit to the cornfields, her steps quick and purposeful. The broken screen door slammed behind her as she crossed the yard, her eyes locked on the man who had haunted her dreams and her nightmares for so long.

Spencer stopped in his tracks as the figure approached him, the fiery determination in her stride unmistakable. His chest tightened as he recognized her, her beauty still undeniable even as anger radiated from her like a storm.

“You’re not allowed here,” (Y/N) said, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and pain. Her lips quivered, betraying the tears she was fighting to hold back. “You made that decision when you left me.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he took her in. She was more beautiful than he remembered, though time had etched a hardness into her expression he hadn’t seen before. “(Y/N)...” he breathed, his voice soft, full of longing.

Seeing her was like a punch to the gut and a breath of fresh air all at once. He had thought about this moment a thousand times, but none of his imagined scenarios had prepared him for the reality of standing before her again.

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I have no right to be here.” He took a tentative step closer, his eyes searching hers for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything—but all he found was the raw wound he’d left behind.

(Y/N) shook her head, tears finally spilling over. “You don’t get to just show up here, Spencer. You don’t get to walk back into my life like nothing happened. You left. You left without a word, without an explanation, and you took everything with you.” Her voice cracked, the weight of five years’ worth of pain spilling out all at once.

“I know,” Spencer said again, his own voice breaking. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to offer some kind of comfort, but he knew he had forfeited that right. “I know I hurt you. I know I can’t fix this. But I—I had to see you. I had to come back.”

“Why?” she demanded, her voice sharp and desperate. “Why now? After all this time, why would you come back here, to our place, knowing what you did to me?”

Spencer looked down, his hands trembling at his sides. “Because this is the only place that ever felt like home,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Because you’re the only person who ever felt like home. And I’m sorry—God, I’m so sorry for what I did to you. But I had to see you, even if it’s the last time.”

(Y/N) turned away, her shoulders shaking as she tried to compose herself. The words she had dreamed of hearing, the apology she had desperately wanted, had finally come. But the wounds were still too fresh, the scars too deep.

“Spencer,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words and shattered dreams. And yet, for a moment, they simply stood there, two broken souls in the shadow of the house that had once held all their love.

Spencer couldn’t help himself—his gaze was caught in a rhythm he couldn’t break, oscillating between the cross resting against her chest and her eyes. Her eyes, which held a depth of emotion he wasn’t sure he deserved to witness. The silence stretched between them, heavy yet familiar, like the comforting hum of a favorite song long since forgotten but never truly lost. It was a silence they had shared countless times before, but now it carried the weight of all that had been left unsaid.

She noticed, of course. She always noticed him. With a quiet sigh, she reached up and gently fiddled with the cross around her neck, a small, almost imperceptible movement that spoke volumes. The motion seemed to ground her, steadying her breath, easing her tumultuous emotions just enough to let the words come.

“He’s dead,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper but cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. “He passed two years ago.”

Spencer didn’t need her to say more. He knew who she meant. Of course, he did. Her father had been an unyielding presence in her life, a looming figure who had defined so much of who she was and who she fought to be. The news hit him like a sudden wind, unexpected and jarring, even after all this time.

He took a hesitant step forward, closing some of the distance between them, the broken-down fence still standing as a barrier between them. His eyes softened, filling with a sadness that wasn’t just for her loss but for all the ways he hadn’t been there to share the weight of it. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, before finally speaking.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity and regret.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Spencer wished he could say more, could offer something that might ease the ache he knew had settled in her heart long ago. But what could he say? I should have been here? I shouldn’t have left? I should have stayed to hold you through it all? None of it felt like enough, not now, not after all this time.

Her hand stilled on the cross, her fingers curling around it protectively, almost instinctively. She nodded once, acknowledging his apology, but the pain in her eyes told him it wasn’t enough. It never could be.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hello, Diana,” (Y/N) greeted softly, stepping into the familiar, quiet room with a gentle smile. It was a ritual now, one that had been born out of a promise made long ago—a promise to Spencer during their teenage years, back when the world felt a little smaller and their love a little bigger. He had confided in (Y/N) about his fears, his guilt over leaving his mother alone, trapped in her own thoughts and memories. It was a promise (Y/N) never wavered from, even after everything had fallen apart between them.

Diana looked up from the worn pages of her diary, her face brightening with a smile that could only be described as maternal warmth. “Oh, my gorgeous,” she said, her voice full of affection. “Don’t you look lovely?”

“Thank you, Diana,” (Y/N) replied, her smile widening but tinged with a subtle sadness she couldn’t quite shake. Sitting down beside her, she glanced at the familiar handwriting scrawled across Diana’s open journal. The pang of guilt hit her like it always did—memories of Spencer, of the house, of the way she’d left things with him, still fresh in her mind despite the passage of time. She tucked those thoughts away for now, focusing instead on the woman in front of her. “How are you today?”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Diana said, her tone light, though her pen never stopped moving across the page. “Spencer is back in town.”

The words were delivered so casually, almost offhandedly, but they landed like a thunderclap in (Y/N)’s chest. Her breath hitched, and she froze mid-movement, her fingers curling tighter around the strap of her bag. Spencer. Back in town. The name alone was enough to set her world spinning, the memories rushing in before she had a chance to stop them. The broken-down house. The letter. His face when they had confronted each other just days ago.

“Oh?” she managed to say, keeping her voice as even as possible.

Diana looked up at her then, her expression soft and content, as if Spencer’s presence in town was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes, my boy’s home again. He always comes to see me when he can. Such a thoughtful son.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) murmured, her throat tightening as she forced a smile. She glanced at Diana’s diary again, the pages filled with fragments of a life she had once been so deeply entwined with. A life that now felt impossibly far away.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Your mother already has a visitor,” the nurse informed Spencer gently as he approached the front desk, her voice soft and professional. Spencer paused, surprised. It was rare for anyone to visit his mother; she wasn’t close to many people, and Spencer himself was usually the only one who came regularly.

“That’s not possible,” Spencer replied quietly, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t trying to challenge the nurse—more so, he was questioning himself. Who could it be?

The nurse glanced at her chart, her tone still sweet as she clarified. “A (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

Spencer’s breath caught, his body stiffening as the name hit him like a wave crashing over jagged rocks. Her. Memories of (Y/N) surged to the forefront of his mind: the house, the letter, the confrontation just the day before. Even after all these years, the mere mention of her name haunted him.

Seeing his reaction, the nurse hesitated before offering, “If it’s an issue, we can revoke her visitor privileges—”

“No,” Spencer interrupted, his voice soft but resolute. “You don’t have to do that.” The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for (Y/N). But curiosity gnawed at him, refusing to let go. “How long has she been visiting my mother?” He already suspected the answer, but he needed to hear it.

The nurse rechecked her records, her answer landing with a weight that Spencer wasn’t entirely ready to bear. “Five years.”

“Five years,” Spencer echoed under his breath, the words heavy with guilt. She’s been visiting her for five years while I—

He cut off the thought, straightening slightly. “Can you take me to her?” he asked, his voice quieter now. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go—perhaps to see (Y/N) with his mother, to understand the depth of her loyalty. He didn’t intend to interfere, but the pull was undeniable.

The nurse led him down the familiar hallway to Diana’s room. From the doorframe, Spencer stopped, lingering awkwardly in the shadows. He stood there, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned against the threshold, watching.

Inside, (Y/N) sat beside Diana, their hand resting gently on hers as they spoke with warmth and care. Spencer could hear her voice, tender and soothing, as she asked Diana about her day, her writing, her dreams. It was the kind of care Spencer had promised himself he’d always provide—but (Y/N) had been the one to keep that promise, even when he hadn’t.

The sight made his chest tighten painfully. He watched her, her dedication shining brightly, as he stood rooted in place, grappling with the bittersweet reality before him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I didn’t think you’d still visit her,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying the weight of years unspoken as he saw (Y/N) leaving the psych ward. She had been engrossed in her thoughts, her keys jangling in her hand, when his words stopped her in her tracks.

“Unlike some people, I keep my promises,” she shot back, her tone sharper than she intended. Bitterness bubbled up from the place in her heart he had broken all those years ago. But underneath it, there was something else—something softer, yearning. She didn’t want to keep fighting, didn’t want to keep holding this grudge. What she really wanted was to fall into his arms and let his familiar scent wash over her, to be enveloped in the safety they once knew. Instead, she turned and began walking toward her car, forcing her feet to keep moving.

Spencer hesitated but followed, his steps careful, his presence lingering just close enough to be felt. “(Y/N)…” he said, her name falling from his lips like a plea. Hearing him say it again felt like a punch to the gut and a balm all at once—a bittersweet reminder of the life they had shared.

She froze for a moment before taking a deep breath and speaking, her voice trembling slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me why you left, Spence? Why didn’t you tell me yourself? If anything, I would’ve understood.” She turned to face him, the hurt she had carried for years spilling into her words. Her eyes, usually so bright, were now heavy with questions she had been waiting far too long to ask.

Spencer’s face fell, guilt settling in his features like a storm cloud. “I was young and dumb,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought… I thought that leaving you a letter would hurt less than having to look you in the eye and tell you I was leaving.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing down at the ground. “But I see now that it was cowardly. That it was wrong.”

“Spence…” (Y/N) said, her breath hitching as tears threatened to fall. She looked at him for a moment, the ache in her chest threatening to pull her apart, before shaking her head softly. “For someone with an IQ of 187, that was the dumbest decision of your life.”

She turned and began packing the trunk of her car, her hands busy to distract from the storm of emotions threatening to consume her. Spencer watched her, his heart pounding in his chest, wishing he could undo all the pain he had caused. All he wanted was to reach out, to hold her, to make things right—but he knew that forgiveness was not his to take. Not yet.

(Y/N) slammed the trunk shut with a little more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the stillness of the lot. Spencer flinched at the noise, his heart sinking further into his chest. He hated the space between them, the invisible wall that felt insurmountable despite the years they had shared.

“Is there even a point to this conversation?” (Y/N) said, her voice cracking slightly despite her best effort to keep steady. She turned to face him, crossing her arms as if it could shield her from the vulnerability she felt under his gaze. “I mean, what’s the point, Spencer? You left. You decided I didn’t deserve the truth, and now you’re here like nothing happened.”

Spencer took a step closer, careful not to overstep the boundaries they had silently drawn. “It’s not like that,” he said earnestly, his voice shaking. “I—I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just…” He paused, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the words. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. For everything.”

(Y/N) let out a bitter laugh, brushing a tear away angrily before it could streak down her cheek. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything, Spencer. Sorry doesn’t erase the fact that you left me with nothing but a letter, no answers, and no closure. Sorry doesn’t take away the years I spent wondering what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Spencer interrupted, his voice stronger now. He stepped closer again, his eyes pleading. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I left because I was scared, because I didn’t think I could be enough for you. You deserved someone better, someone who wouldn’t bring all their baggage into your life.”

(Y/N) shook her head, disbelief mingling with heartbreak in her expression. “You didn’t get to make that decision for me, Spencer. I loved you. I still—” She stopped herself, the words catching in her throat. Taking a step back, she turned away from him, staring at the car as if it could offer an escape from the storm of emotions.

Spencer hesitated, unsure if he should press further or give her the space she needed. “Do you really think I don’t know how badly I messed up?” he asked softly. “Every day, I regret leaving. Every single day, I think about you—about us—and wonder if I made the biggest mistake of my life. Seeing you here… it only confirms what I’ve always known: I’ll never stop loving you.”

(Y/N) turned away from Spencer, her chest tightening as she fought back tears. She couldn’t let him see the vulnerability in her eyes, not yet. Hugging herself, she took a shaky breath before speaking.

“Spencer,” she began, her voice trembling, “I need time. Time to process this. Time to figure out if I can trust you again.”

Spencer nodded, his hands clenched at his sides. “I understand,” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her tear-filled eyes meeting his briefly. “You hurt me. You left without telling me why, and now you’re saying the things I’ve wanted to hear for years. But I don’t know if I can believe them.”

“I’ll wait,” Spencer promised, his voice steady despite the crack in his heart. “As long as it takes.”

(Y/N) nodded, turning toward her car. Spencer stayed rooted in place, watching as she walked away, each step making his chest ache. All he could do now was hope she’d find a way back to him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elane didn’t even bother to knock before stepping into (Y/N)’s home, her face a mix of disbelief and urgency. “You went back to that house?” she asked, her voice laced with incredulity. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the texts (Y/N) had sent—Spencer was back, and apparently, he wanted to make things right after everything he had done.

(Y/N) sat on the edge of her couch, her elbows resting on her knees as she buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Elane,” she mumbled, her voice muffled and tinged with exhaustion.

Elane crossed her arms, her expression softening as she studied her best friend. She could see the storm of emotions brewing in (Y/N)’s chest—the confusion, the longing, the anger, and the vulnerability that came with someone reopening a wound that had never fully healed.

“You obviously have to take him back,” Elane said simply, as though the answer was glaringly obvious.

(Y/N)’s head shot up, her eyes wide with shock. “Take him back? Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Elane replied, unflinching. She knew exactly what (Y/N) was thinking. She had been there when Spencer left, when (Y/N) had crumbled under the weight of his absence. Elane had seen her at her worst—crying herself to sleep, replaying every moment of their relationship, searching for reasons in the silence he’d left behind. “Listen, Vi, I know how much he hurt you. Believe me, I know. I was the one holding you together when he walked away. But I also know that I haven’t seen you truly happy in a long time. As much as you hate to admit it, he makes you the happiest.”

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, her gaze dropping to the floor as she twisted her fingers in her lap. She hated how right Elane was. She hated how the mere mention of Spencer’s name stirred something in her chest that felt dangerously close to hope. Rising from the couch, she turned away, heading toward her wine cabinet. “I need a drink,” she muttered, reaching for a bottle of red wine.

Elane chuckled as she watched (Y/N) fumble with the cork. “Typical,” she teased, sinking into the couch. “Wine fixes everything, huh?”

(Y/N) flashed her a sarcastic smile as the cork finally popped free. “It certainly doesn’t hurt.” She poured them each a glass, handing one to Elane before sitting back down.

Hours later, the room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. The wine bottle sat empty on the coffee table, and the two women were slumped against the cushions, giggling uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay, but seriously,” Elane said, clutching her stomach as tears of laughter welled in her eyes. “I genuinely thought you only kissed him that night. And then you casually drop the bombshell that you went to that creepy abandoned house everyone thought was haunted to—” She broke off, unable to finish the sentence through her laughter.

“To have sex,” (Y/N) finished for her, rolling her eyes but grinning despite herself. She brought her glass to her lips, shaking her head at the memory. “What can I say? I was bold.”

“Bold? That’s putting it lightly!” Elane snorted. “You were reckless! But, honestly, I have to give you credit. That’s some next-level teenage rebellion.”

(Y/N) shrugged, her grin turning mischievous. “Hey, I wasn’t the only one with game, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, Vi, I know. You had all the game. I mean, haunted house hookups? That’s iconic.”

The two dissolved into another fit of laughter, their voices echoing through the quiet of the late-night hour. For a moment, the weight of Spencer and all the complicated emotions he carried with him was forgotten. It was just two best friends, a bottle of wine, and a shared history of mistakes, triumphs, and the kind of memories that made life feel a little lighter.

“But seriously, Vi—what are you so scared of?” Elane’s voice softened this time, the playful edge gone. She leaned forward, her glass cradled between her hands, and looked at her best friend with genuine concern. “You know I’ve got you, no matter what. Just talk to me.”

(Y/N) stared at the deep red swirl of wine in her glass, hesitating. Her fingers traced the rim as though the motion might distract her from the emotions bubbling to the surface. Finally, she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared he’ll leave me again.” She swallowed hard, as if forcing the words out made them easier to bear. “I don’t think I could survive that pain a second time.”

Elane’s chest tightened at the vulnerability in (Y/N)’s tone. She shifted closer, placing her wineglass on the table so she could focus fully on her friend. “Vi,” she said gently, waiting until (Y/N) looked up at her. “Trust me, Spencer could live a hundred lifetimes and still never forgive himself for what he put you through.”

(Y/N)’s lips parted, but no words came. Elane pressed on, her voice steady yet full of warmth. “He’s not just some guy, okay? You landed the one man on this planet who is actually in touch with his emotions. He’s not just sorry—he’s hurting, Vi. Probably just as much as you were when he left. Maybe even more, because he’s carrying the guilt of knowing he caused it.”

(Y/N) blinked back tears, the weight of Elane’s words sinking in. Deep down, she knew Elane was right. Spencer wasn’t like other people. He felt everything so deeply—he always had. That was part of what drew her to him in the first place. And part of what made losing him so unbearable.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said softly, her voice tinged with cautious hope.

Elane smiled, her signature confidence shining through as she reached out and placed a comforting hand over (Y/N)’s. “Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” Her tone was light, but her touch was steady, grounding. “Look, I can’t promise it’ll be easy, or that he won’t screw up again. But I know you, Vi. I’ve watched you fall apart and build yourself back up. And if anyone’s worth taking a chance on, it’s Spencer.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, her chest tightening with a mix of fear and possibility. She glanced at Elane’s hand covering hers and felt a flicker of reassurance. The knot of doubt inside her didn’t unravel completely, but it loosened just enough to let a sliver of hope shine through.

“Thanks, Elane,” she whispered, giving her friend a small, grateful smile.

“Always, babe,” Elane said, squeezing her hand. “Now, finish your wine. You’re not getting out of a second glass just because I got all deep and emotional.”

(Y/N) laughed, the sound light and cathartic. For the first time that night, she felt like maybe—just maybe—things might turn out okay.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been days—agonizing, sleepless days—of overthinking her decision without Elane’s steady presence to nudge her forward. Now, standing in front of Spencer’s childhood home, where he always stayed during his work holidays, (Y/N)’s mind was still at war with itself. Every instinct screamed for her to turn around and leave, to abandon the idea entirely. Her knuckles hovered near the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of how terrified she was.

Before she could gather the courage, the door creaked open, and there he was. Spencer stood in the doorway, looking like he was on his way out—keys in one hand, wallet in the other, his worn satchel slung over his shoulder. The sight of him made her breath hitch. He hadn’t changed much, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Oh… Viv,” he said, his voice gentle, as though her name was a fragile thing he was afraid to break. The sound of him calling her by that nickname—Viv—hit her like a freight train. He hadn’t called her that since before their relationship fell apart, before those nights spent sneaking off to the old house together, before everything unraveled.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how just standing here in front of him could undo all the walls she’d built. Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

“No, not at all,” she lied, her voice shaky but determined to sound convincing. She toyed with the small cross necklace around her neck, her thumb rubbing against it in a nervous rhythm she couldn’t stop. But Spencer saw right through her; he always could. His gaze lingered on the anxious movement of her fingers, and she could see the understanding in his eyes.

(Y/N) wanted nothing more than to run. To turn and walk away, pretend this moment hadn’t happened, and let the fear swallow her whole. But her legs refused to move, leaving her frozen in place, rooted by a strange mixture of longing and dread.

“Here, come in,” he said softly, stepping back and holding the door open wider, an unspoken invitation. The warmth of his voice almost coaxed her forward, but her eyes darted to the keys and wallet in his hands, to the satchel on his shoulder. He’d been heading out, clearly on his way somewhere. She couldn’t impose—not like this.

“No, it’s alright,” she replied quickly, shaking her head. Her voice came out softer than she intended, almost apologetic. “You’re busy. I’ll… I’ll come back another time.” She began to turn away, retreating down the driveway toward the comfort of her own childhood home. But before she could take another step, Spencer’s voice stopped her.

“I’m never busy enough for you,” he said, his tone so earnest it nearly broke her.

She paused, turning back to him. His lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, his eyes searching hers with a patience that felt as familiar as it was disarming. The door was still open, a silent testament to his willingness to let her in, no matter how unexpected her arrival.

(Y/N)’s gaze flickered between his face and the hallway behind him, the path that led to the familiar comfort of his home—a space that once felt as much hers as his. Her feet felt heavy, as though crossing that threshold would mean crossing into a territory she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

Spencer waited, unmoving, giving her the space to decide but never pulling back his invitation. There was no rush, no pressure—just the soft warmth of his gaze, steady and unyielding.

After what felt like an eternity, (Y/N) took a tentative step forward, her fingers still trembling as they brushed against the doorframe. She didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t trust her voice not to crack under the weight of her emotions. But Spencer’s smile grew just a fraction, as if he understood the monumental effort that single step took.

And with that, she crossed the threshold, her heart pounding in her chest, a thousand fears and hopes colliding all at once. Spencer gently closed the door behind her, the quiet click reverberating through the stillness of the house.

They stood in the living room of Spencer’s house, the air heavy with the silence that stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. The quiet felt like an old song—one they hadn’t heard in years, but somehow, the melody still lingered in the spaces between them, a bittersweet reminder of everything they once were. It hung there, unresolved, yet full of everything they hadn’t been able to say.

(Y/N) fidgeted with her necklace, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the chain, a habit she had when she was nervous. Spencer noticed the small gesture—how it had always been her way of grounding herself when she didn’t know what to do. He wanted to speak, to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. He just watched her, waiting, as she took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I came because I wanted to talk,” (Y/N) said, her voice soft, almost fragile as it broke the silence between them. There was an earnestness in her tone, a vulnerability Spencer wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Spencer stayed silent, his heart racing, his mind spinning. He wanted to reach out, to say something, but the words were trapped in his chest. He watched her carefully, his eyes tracing the contours of her face, every inch of her looking both familiar and foreign to him now.

(Y/N)’s gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes searching his face with an intensity that made his chest tighten. “I think I want to try again,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of the words could shatter something between them if she spoke too loudly. “Try us again.”

Her words lingered in the air, fragile and hopeful, yet underscored with a quiet fear. Spencer’s throat went dry, and though he longed to say something, anything, he didn’t interrupt. He let her continue, silently urging her to say what she needed to say.

“But I need you to know,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion, “that things won’t be the same as they used to be.” She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment, as if the reality of what she was saying weighed too heavily on her. “We’re not the same people we were, Spencer. I’m not the same.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and exposed, but Spencer didn’t move. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his gaze softened, and something in him—something buried deep within—finally broke free.

“I understand, Viv,” he said, his voice low, steady, but filled with emotion. His heart pounded in his chest as his hand slowly reached up, trembling ever so slightly as he cupped her face in his palm. His touch was tentative, as if afraid of breaking the fragile moment between them, but she leaned into it instinctively, her eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his hand soothed her.

(Y/N)’s hand moved to his wrist, her fingers gently wrapping around it, grounding both of them in that quiet space. She held on, as if she was afraid to let go, afraid of what might slip through her fingers if she did. Her eyes met his again, desperation and hope mingling in the depths of her gaze.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet filled with an aching plea. She nodded softly, as if surrendering to the vulnerability, to the possibility of what could come next.

Spencer’s breath hitched, and without thinking, he leaned in, his hand still cupping her face, and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as though both of them were testing the waters, unsure of how much they could risk. But then, as their lips met fully, the hesitation melted away, and something deeper, more desperate, surged between them—a longing for something they couldn’t quite name but both knew they needed. It was a kiss that spoke of loss, of hope, and of the delicate threads that still connected them, despite everything that had passed.

In that moment, the world outside of the living room seemed to disappear. It was just the two of them, lost in the kiss, in the emotion that wrapped around them both, binding them in a way words never could.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2008

Three years had passed since that life-changing kiss, and somehow, their love had only deepened and matured, evolving far beyond the fleeting, sweet highs of their high school days. Spencer couldn’t help but marvel at how their connection had grown into something profound, a bond forged by time, trials, and an unwavering devotion to one another.

As the late afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and pink, Spencer guided (Y/N) carefully along the overgrown trail leading to the abandoned house they had stumbled upon eight years ago. Back then, it had been their secret haven—a sanctuary where young love blossomed and the weight of the world couldn’t touch them. Now, it was about to hold an even more cherished memory.

(Y/N) clutched Spencer's arm, her steps tentative as she let him lead her while the blindfold obscured her vision. Her excitement was palpable, the corners of her mouth curving into a radiant smile despite her slight protests.

“Spence?” she asked, her voice bubbling with curiosity. “Where are we going? You’re being so mysterious.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Patience, Gorgeous. No peeking, I mean it,” he teased, his tone playful but gentle.

(Y/N) huffed a dramatic sigh, trying—and failing—to suppress her grin. “Fine. But you know I hate surprises.”

“And yet you’ll love this one,” he replied with quiet confidence, his free hand sliding to the small of her back to guide her over a patch of uneven ground. Finally, they arrived at the perfect spot, the very place they had once etched their initials into the weathered wood of the porch railing.

Spencer positioned her carefully, his heart pounding in anticipation. He couldn’t believe the moment had finally come. As he stepped back, his knees met the soft, wild grass, and he knelt, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. The weight of the ring inside seemed to carry every unspoken promise he’d ever made to her, every dream they’d shared. Attached to the box by a slim, delicate chain was a small keychain, and hanging from it was an old-fashioned key, one that glinted faintly in the golden light.

He adjusted the blindfold slightly to ensure it stayed secure before speaking, his voice tender.

“Okay,” he whispered, his tone brimming with emotion. “You can take it off now.”

(Y/N)’s fingers moved to the blindfold, her motions careful, as if savoring the suspense. When she finally pulled the fabric away, her hazel eyes met the sight before her. The familiar, broken-down house loomed behind Spencer, but it was framed by the ethereal glow of the setting sun. And there he was, kneeling on one knee, his kind brown eyes gazing up at her with a mixture of love, hope, and nerves.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The velvet box in his hand creaked open, revealing the delicate, sparkling ring nestled inside. Her gaze shifted to the key dangling from the attached chain, realization dawning.

“(Y/N),” Spencer began, his voice steady yet filled with raw emotion. “From the moment we met, you’ve been my everything—my anchor, my inspiration, my best friend. I can’t imagine a future without you in it. This house holds so many beautiful memories of us, and now it’s ours. I want to build even more memories here—with you, as my wife. Will you marry me?”

Tears brimmed in (Y/N)’s eyes, spilling over as she dropped to her knees in front of him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling with joy. “Yes, a million times yes!”

Spencer laughed softly, relief and happiness flooding him as he slipped the ring onto her finger, the perfect fit. Then he unhooked the keychain from the box and pressed it gently into her hand.

“It’s the key to the house,” he said, his voice filled with quiet excitement. “It’s ours now.”

(Y/N) stared at it, overwhelmed by the gesture, and then at the house behind him. “It’s ours finally,” she whispered, her voice breaking. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

1998, September

As they lay together on the worn, makeshift mattress, the faint glow of moonlight streamed through the broken windows, casting a silvery hue over the room. (Y/N) shifted closer, her head resting against Spencer’s chest, her fingers lazily tracing the seams of his shirt. The world outside faded into the background, leaving only the quiet hum of their breathing and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.

“But in all seriousness,” (Y/N) began softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “what would you name your daughter?”

Spencer stilled for a moment, caught off guard by the question. Then a soft, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair. “Harper,” he answered, his voice gentle. “After Nelle Harper Lee, the author of To Kill a Mockingbird.”

(Y/N) tilted her head up slightly, her hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Harper,” she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue like a melody. “That’s... really beautiful. Strong, but sweet. Like it’s meant to belong to someone with a kind heart.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I’ve always admired the way the book captures innocence and courage. It feels... timeless. And if we ever had a daughter, I’d want her to have a name that means something.”

(Y/N) smiled, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before resting her head back on his chest. “You’re always so thoughtful,” she murmured. “It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Spencer flushed faintly at her words, a shy grin breaking through. “What about you?” he asked, eager to shift the focus. “What names have you been thinking of?”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, biting her lip as a soft blush dusted her cheeks. “Magdeline,” she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I’ve always thought it was beautiful. It’s classic, but it feels... special. Kind of elegant.”

Spencer’s smile grew wider as he turned to look at her, his brown eyes warm and full of affection. “Magdeline,” he repeated, as if savoring the sound. “It’s stunning. It sounds like a name for someone destined to do something extraordinary.”

(Y/N) let out a soft laugh, her cheeks burning as she hid her face against his chest. “You always know how to make everything sound perfect.”

He laughed too, the sound vibrating against her. “It’s not hard when you’re the one I’m talking to,” he teased gently, his fingers brushing against her cheek, coaxing her to look at him.

Her heart fluttered, and for a moment, they were caught in each other’s gaze, the air between them charged with unspoken words. Slowly, Spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss that was as sweet and hesitant as their first.

When they pulled away, (Y/N) rested her forehead against his, her cheeks still flushed. “Maybe we’re thinking a bit too far ahead,” she whispered, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

“Maybe,” Spencer admitted, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it’s nice to think about, isn’t it? Imagining a little Harper or Magdeline running around, smarter than the both of us combined.”

(Y/N) grinned, her fingers lacing with his as she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her voice filled with a warmth only he could bring out. “It’s really nice.”

And in that moment, amidst the broken-down walls and the chaos of their teenage lives, the future felt less like an abstract dream and more like a tangible promise—a love story that was only just beginning.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2015

The house stood in front of them, a testament to the years of work they had poured into it. Once broken down, abandoned, and forgotten, the structure now stood proudly as a symbol of all they had built together. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow on the new windows, freshly painted walls, and repaired roof. It wasn’t perfect yet—not by a long shot—but it was theirs. And it felt like home.

(Y/N) wiped a hand across her forehead, the sweat of hard work glistening on her brow. Her overalls were covered in streaks of paint, and her sneakers, which had once been white, were now stained with dust and dirt. The room she stood in—the living room—had come a long way since they first stepped foot in this place. The broken windows had been replaced, and the cracked floorboards had been carefully sanded down, then repainted. The mismatched furniture they had collected from thrift stores and flea markets now made the room feel cozy, lived-in. It wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect.

(Y/N) turned to look at Spencer, her gaze softening as she watched him carefully adjusting the placement of a new windowsill. The warmth of the afternoon sun caught in his hair, casting a golden glow over his features. His face was covered in a light dusting of sawdust, but his eyes—those deep brown eyes that always held that mixture of curiosity and affection—shone brighter than any material thing could. The man she had fallen in love with all those years ago was standing right in front of her, and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Together, they had done all of this. They had created something beautiful out of what was once broken.

“Think we’re finally done with this room?” Spencer’s voice broke through his wife’s thoughts, his usual playfulness coloring the question.

(Y/N) smiled, crossing the room toward him. “Almost,” she replied, wiping her hands on the faded towel that hung from her belt loop. “We still need to finish the kitchen, and don’t even get me started on the backyard.” She shook her head, laughing softly.

Spencer grinned, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’ve got time,” he said, his voice warm with satisfaction. “I’m just happy we’re finally here. I’ve never felt more... at home, you know?”

(Y/N)’s smile deepened, her heart fluttering at the simplicity of his words. This was more than just a house—it was their life, their future. They had rebuilt this place together,wooden panel by panel, just like they had rebuilt their relationship over the years.

“You’re right,” she murmured. “It feels right. It’s like it was meant to be ours.”

Spencer met her halfway across the room, his arms slipping around her waist. He kissed the top of her head, his voice a quiet murmur in the calm of the room. “I think we did a good job.”

(Y/N) nestled into her husband’s chest, allowing herself to just be for a moment. They’d worked so hard to get here, and sometimes it still felt surreal. There were days when they’d wanted to give up, to walk away from the stress, the setbacks, the exhaustion. But now, looking around at the space they had turned into their own, (Y/N) couldn’t help but think that the struggle had been worth it.

Just then, the sound of tiny footsteps echoed in the hallway. The unmistakable sound of their daughter’s voice reached them before she appeared in the doorway.

“Mama! Dada!” Magdeline’s voice, high and full of excitement, made (Y/N)’s heart swell.

Spencer’s face immediately lit up with a smile as he looked toward the door. “Hey, kiddo,” he called out, his arms opening wide in invitation. “What’s up?”

Magdeline came bounding into the room, her chubby little legs carrying her with more energy than one would think possible for a three-year-old. She had her mother’s curls and her father’s eyes, and at that moment, she was wearing an adorable apron—too big for her tiny frame—that (Y/N) had gotten her for Christmas. Her hands, however, were covered in chocolate.

“I made cookies!” Magdeline said, a proud grin on her face as she held her hands up, showing them off as if they were some sort of treasure.

(Y/N) burst into laughter, her heart melting at the sight of her daughter. “Oh, did you now?” she asked, standing up from Spencer’s embrace and crossing over to her. “Where are they?”

Magdeline pointed excitedly toward the kitchen, her grin never fading. “Over there!”

Spencer scooped her up into his arms, kissing her cheek. “Well, you know what they say—cookie bakers are the best workers,” he teased, his voice light and affectionate.

(Y/N) laughed, her eyes sparkling with affection as she walked into the kitchen, Spencer and Magdeline trailing behind her. The kitchen had come together in the last few weeks, with new cabinets, countertops, and even a small breakfast nook where they could sit and eat together. It wasn’t large, but it had everything they needed.

Magdeline led them to the counter, where a plate of homemade cookies sat. The cookies were a little lopsided and covered in an uneven amount of frosting, but they were beautiful in their imperfection.

“These are amazing, sweetie,” (Y/N) said, her voice full of pride as she took a bite of one. The chocolate was rich and sweet, just the way they both liked it.

“Thank you, Mama!” Magdeline said brightly, her hands flapping excitedly as she bounced on Spencer’s hip. “Dada, have one too!”

Spencer gave her an exaggerated look of mock horror, making her giggle. “Are you sure they’re not going to make me turn into a cookie?” he asked, pretending to hesitate before taking a bite.

Magdeline’s giggle filled the room, and for a moment, the three of them were caught in that perfect bubble of happiness—the kind that only comes from simple, quiet moments.

After they had finished the cookies, the three of them worked together on the house, as they had done every weekend for the last year. Spencer worked on the trim in the living room while (Y/N) painted the kitchen cabinets. Magdeline, always wanting to help, had her own “tools”—small plastic hammers and paintbrushes that she used with exaggerated care.

It was far from glamorous. The work was tiring, the room often too hot or too cold, and there were still so many things to finish. Yet every time they stepped back to admire their progress, it felt like the house was slowly becoming something that could hold them all—their love, their future, and the memories they would create.

Spencer set down the last of the trim and came to join (Y/N) in the kitchen. He put his arm around her as they looked at their progress.

“I think we’re almost there,” he said softly, kissing her temple.

(Y/N) smiled, leaning into him. “Yeah, almost. But it’ll be worth it.”

Spencer sighed contentedly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It already is. Look at us. We’ve built something beautiful. And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

(Y/N) turned to face him, her eyes soft. “And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They stood there for a moment, holding each other, watching as the light outside began to fade and the first stars appeared in the sky. The house was theirs. They had transformed it from the broken, abandoned shell it had once been into a place that was full of life.

“Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?” (Y/N) asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Spencer smiled. “All the time.”

“I’m glad we’re doing this together,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “This house... this life... it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Spencer kissed her gently, his lips lingering as he held her close. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted too.”

Just then, Magdeline came running into the room, her little feet slapping against the floor as she grinned widely. “Look, Mama, Dada! I finished!”

(Y/N) laughed and turned to Spencer. “She’s our little renovator.”

Spencer grinned. “She’s already better than we are at this.”

(Y/N)’s heart swelled with pride as she scooped her daughter into her arms, kissing her cheek. “I think she might just be the best of all of us.”

As they stood there in the warmth of their kitchen, their little family together, it was clear that this house had become something more than just a structure. It was a testament to their love, their resilience, and the future they were building together.

Magdeline Lee (Y/L/N)-Reid, with her infectious laugh and her boundless energy, was a living symbol of everything they had fought for. She was the light that filled the rooms, the hope that had carried them through all the hard days, and now, she was growing up in a home filled with love—a home that was their very own.

And as they turned out the lights for the night, ready to rest before the work began again in the morning, they knew that this house was just the beginning. There was so much more ahead of them. And they would face it all together.

After all, they had built it from the ground up.

And it was perfect.

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