#Lucy's scrawlings

[some-bunniii]

ayo some luci angst just popped into my head, like….

imagine Lucifer falling in love with an employee at the hotel but their soul is owned by alastor and like?? luci is not happy about that.

*slams google docs on table, opens random 1.2k wrd snippet #234* behold…

x: GN!reader, no use of y/n

EDIT: read the full fic here

“What is this?” 

Lucifer had asked suddenly, his pupils dilated, trained on something against your throat. 

You sat on the edge of your bed, thumbs rubbing together in a soothing motion as you watched him move closer to you. Gulping, you parted your lips to speak.

You didn’t get a chance to say anything, before his hand gingerly lifted towards you. His nail grazed against your collarbone, and heat blossomed underneath your skin from his touch. 

‘Please, just stop here,’ you silently begged, eyes squeezing shut as his finger rested against your figure, ‘don’t ruin this moment by digging any farther.’

Your reaction only spurred him, however. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, his pupils thin slits now as he watched you.

Slowly, his finger trailed upward, skin brushing softly against yours as he traced the invisible force only a powerful demon could see. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, every movement of his only quickening its pace. 

Until his hand stopped, right in the middle of your neck, and you felt a sizzling against your skin. The heat was becoming too much, and you wanted to pull away from his touch. You didn’t, instead, you tensed, deathly still before him.

A soft golden light illuminated from Lucifer’s palm, as his fingers wrapped around an invisible object. A shadow formed in his grip, and he tugged at it, that glow in his palm growing stronger.

Backing away, he pulled a long, thin chain from your figure, it snaked from your throat as it followed his grasp.

He yanked it harshly, as if trying to free you of a parasite that found a home deep in your bones. But it only dragged across the floor, refusing to dislodge itself from your body.

A thick, metal collar snuggly encompassed your throat. The chain locked tightly against it, a vivid reminder of your poor decisions.

Lucifer’s palm slid across the cold, metal links. Eldritch magic seeped from its form in the shroud of thick fog. Archaic symbols danced at the edge of your vision as its glow illuminated Lucifer’s unreadable expression.

The chain was a sickly green, its harsh glow an annoyance to his eyes. It was embedded with a dark, chilling magic. Whispers of untold horrors and ancient curses coiling around you, promises of a fate worse than death. 

Lucifer could practically smell it, that red demon's aura as it encircled around your frame. A twisted signature, practically scrawled across your forehead like a stamp of ownership.

Oh, the audacity of a person to take such a kind, selfless soul and rip it away from its owner. 

You weren’t some dog to be beckoned at the flick of a wrist. You were so much more than that, you deserved so much more than that. 

Yet here you were, the clasp around your neck like a shadowed hand, softly squeezing the life out of your eyes. He could see it, clear as day.

Small, white horns protruded from his head as he clenched the chain tighter. He tugged it once, twice, as if testing its durability. You leaned back slightly, the chain becoming taught between the two of you.

That collar around your throat kept you locked in place, as you watched him turn the chain in his hands. For a moment, Lucifer’s figure melded into the horrid shadow of your owner, and your eyes widened in fear at your delusion.

You could see it, feel it. Your stomach brushing the stained carpet beneath you with that haunting figure bent in a sickly, twisted angle in front you. That chain wrapped around the radio demon’s hand as he threatened you with terrible acts if you failed to stay in line.

Seeing your face contort into pained anguish only caused Lucifer to bare his teeth slightly, the sharp edges glinting in the light.

Seeing it so deeply entwined with your very being only further spurred the king’s anger. It seeped quietly from him, his grip tight against the chains as if trying to snap them with his bare hands.

“Who did this?” He hissed, his gaze boring into yours. He wanted to hear you say that demon’s name, wanted to hear you confirm the truth that was so obvious in front of him. 

You knew he wasn’t angry at you, but still you bowed your head slightly. Averting your gaze from his pleading eyes, shame slowly clawing at your stomach. For a moment, you felt like throwing up. Wanting to rid yourself of the terrible feeling that was seeping into your skin.

You felt like crying, or throwing yourself into his arms. Wanting to melt into his hold, and be told again and again that everything would be alright. That the most powerful man in hell would come to your rescue.

But, deals that bartered in souls are a much more difficult magic to conquer.

Fighting the urge to collapse into his embrace, you steeled yourself. Hands planted against your knees, back straight in a pathetic attempt to have some kind of power in this moment. 

Your eyes sullenly traced across the harsh links of the chain, its form all too familiar by now. Yet, it still caused such grief in your bones no matter how many times you looked upon it over the years.

Slowly, your eyes shifted to meet his gaze. Your lips curved into a frown at his expression, and your predicament.

How were you supposed to tell the love of your life your soul didn’t belong to you? That you were trapped in a deal of your own making? 

Curse that little fine line in your deal that kept your mouth sealed shut, that prevented you from uttering his name.

“I-I..” You desperately tried to speak, to tell him the truth, but that invisible hand that pulled at your tongue forced your silence. Tears pricked at your eyes, the desperation in them evident as your attempts to explain only died behind those pretty lips of yours.

As your mouth shut in frustration, Lucifer’s anger only heightened. His eyes flared into a blood-red glow, a harsh change from that soft yellow radiance you often found yourself lost in.

He pivoted harshly away, his voice contorting into a snarl as he stalked out of the room. His overcoat appeared atop his shoulders, and it swished behind him as he moved. 

Lucifer’s thoughts were too tangled with the images of his claws wrapping around the deal-makers throat to sit there and console you.

The tears that had threatened to spill finally rolled down your cheeks, your lip quivering as your eyes lingered on the doorway he had just exited. His thoughts too mangled with the image of his claws wrapping around the deal-makers throat to sit there and console you.

Placing your face into your hands, you sobbed quietly. 

Oh, how that regret had begun to consume you as you continued to wallow in your self-pity. 

Regret, for thinking that giving away your soul was a simple feat. That somehow, you’d still be happy after the fact. 

Regret, for falling in love when you knew the deal that kept you to that deer demon’s side would never allow you to enjoy such a fleeting emotion. No matter how hard you clawed to Lucifer’s soft embrace, that chain would always be there to drag you back. 

Those soft whispers of affections, of promises you couldn’t keep. Knowing, one day, that constant-smiling demon could play his little games and tear you away from your lover’s hold forever.

Oh, what a lovestruck idiot you are. 

thoughts?? this is just an interesting concept to me and i rlly wanted to share it with you guys! i woke up at like 4:30 am today and was like ‘what if..’ and this is what came of it haha

and mmm alastor makes a such a good bad guy too depending on the context x)

[b14augrana]

Portrait

When Alexia decides to give into her curiosity and sit down at one of the street artist stalls stationed on a busy Parisian road, she leaves with something more special than a self portrait.

Alexia Putellas x reader

masterlist

Warnings: straight fluff and bad translations but dont worry its only short x

A/N: ALE RENEWED WE CAN ALL REJOICE!! 🙏

The strong Parisian sun beat down on the heads of locals and tourists alike as they walked down the crowded streets. You were perched on a stool, staring intently at your canvas as you gently painted the smile lines of a lovely old lady that stopped by your stall.

You loved your job for this very reason. You knew how hard it was to love yourself from your own perspective; you hoped to do every individual person’s beauty justice with your paintings.

Of course that wasn’t enough income on its own so every morning you found yourself in one of the local bakeries either working behind the scenes or at the front counter. Baking and painting were jobs you loved and found so similar because they both resonated with your desire to indulge in art wherever you could find it, and to you they were the simplest forms of art.

“And… I’m done. Here’s your finished portrait, madame,” you said with a smile, lifting the canvas off the easel and gently setting it into the woman’s arms.

“Je ne peux pas te remercier assez, ma chérie ! C'est beau, merci,” she replied, admiring it with tear-brimmed eyes hidden behind her glasses. You said your goodbyes and watched her walk off with a grin on her face, and then you picked up a fresh canvas and placed it on your easel.

You didn’t have time to shake your head at the many smudges of paint on your clothes as another person approached you.

“Hola!” a woman’s voice spoke, making you look up curiously. Standing before you was a blonde woman smiling slightly, gesturing to the stool behind the easel. “May I sit?”

“Of course,” you nodded, returning her smile and swirling your paintbrush in some fresh water as you prepared to paint her. “You’d like a painting, no?”

“Yes please. Also, forgive me for saying hola — I forget that I’m not in Spain,” she laughed, inciting a giggle from you.

“It’s okay. I do the same when I’m outside of France,” you added, dipping the paintbrush into some fresh paint before grazing the canvas. “So, you’re Spanish.. what’s your name?”

“Alexia. I’m here for a holiday, because I’ve finally got some time off work,” she explained with a huff. You smiled behind your easel, painting the woman’s chiseled bone structure with intricacy as you added to her face.

You liked her already. You had barely said anything to her, but something about her was genuine.

“Are you with anybody?” you asked, curious to know more about her. She nodded her head, “Only two other people, my friends Lucy and Ona. They’ve gone on a wine tasting date, which is why I’m here.”

You laughed softly as you rinsed your paintbrush. “And you? Do you have anyone to go wine tasting with?”

“Next question,” Alexia responded, smiling through laughter. You began to paint her eyes and faintly outline her nose.

The rest of the time you spent painting every detail of her face flew by as you two talked and got to know more about each other. You learned that she was a professional footballer and lived in Barcelona, which you thought was very cool. She asked about your life and you told her that you were a born and raised Parisian who spent the rest of her days at home or in the bakery. You weren’t really concerned about yourself though; you were busy looking at her, and not for the purpose of the painting.

When you had completed the last strand of hair and placed the last freckle on her portrait, the sun had dried most of it already. As she stood up and picked her purse up, you flipped the canvas around and scrawled something on the back with a slight smile.

“There you go. Thank you, Alexia,” you said, handing her the painting. She gasped quietly as she admired it, and she looked at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. “Thank you, chica!”

Even after she pulled away, her perfume clung to your skin like glue. It smelled sweet but not overwhelming… like coconut and caramel with an undertone of musk and vanilla hints. It smelled exactly how you imagined it to smell.

As you said goodbye, you didn’t reach for a fresh canvas. Alexia turned away, holding the newly painted canvas in her hands with her head down, her eyes fixed on it. She stood stagnant for a moment, scoping out every detail, and then she turned it over.

“Llámame, hermosa :)” was written on the back, followed with your phone number and a quick sketch of a flower bouquet. She immediately turned her head to glance at you over her shoulder, but you were occupied with someone else.

When she turned back around, a smitten smile was plastered across her face and she couldn’t help but feel giddy to get back to her hotel.

After another second, you looked up from your canvas, your eyes completely skipping the person sat in front of you and wandering over to the direction that she had walked in, watching the blonde woman disappear down the street.

“Est-ce que tu vas peindre ou quoi?” an irritated voice snapped from behind your easel.

“Désolé!”

[woso-dreamzzz]

New Girlfriend II

Lucy Bronze x Teen!Reader

Ona Batlle x Teen!Reader

Summary: Ona's tipsy

It's hard to hate Ona.

You kind of wish you could regardless of the truce you have going on with her.

She's over all the time. She's always in your house and your face and you hate that she asks about school.

It was always Keira's job to help you with your homework. You miss Keira a lot which is probably why you stick heavily to her side when your Mum hosts a bonding night for the team.

You sit next to her and let her give you a hug that you sag happily into. You used to see Keira all the time but it's Ona that you see more often now.

It's strange but you're working on it because you think your Mum is really in love with Ona and she's so happy so you're sucking it up.

It doesn't mean that you don't stick to Keira whenever you can.

Originally, you thought it would get you some respite from Ona but it seemed that even Keira had a good relationship with her so, as you sat at the kitchen table, leaning against Keira as she helped you with your homework, Ona appeared out of seemingly thin air.

Her cheeks have a red kind of sheen that you know comes from the alcohol in her glass. She's a little tipsy, just like most of the girls in the house.

"You're so smart," She giggles as you scrawl down the equation Keira explains to you," Both of you. So smart." She breaks off into a fit of giggles and Keira leaves your side to guide Ona into a chair.

"How about we sit down?" Keira says as she takes the drink from Ona," And have some water."

Ona's giggling again and it's a little unnerving. She reaches across the table and holds the hand you're not using to write. Another wave of giggles. "You're so smart. Is it hard? Being smart all the time?"

"It must be," You mutter," Because this is my birthday party and I'm stuck doing homework."

You hadn't really wanted to do anything for your birthday. You didn't have any friends at your new school (the accent of your spoken Spanish tended to put people off) but your Mum took any excuse to get a bit tipsy without consequences and the team had ended up around your place to 'celebrate' which really acted as a dual celebration of the big one they just had over Real Madrid.

"That's sad," Ona says," I wasn't good at school. You're doing it in a different language."

You sigh softly, shaking your head in amusement as she continues to talk earnestly to you, making sure to keep eye contact so she's sure that you're understanding her.

"Lucy's so proud of you, she tells me all the time."

That shocks you a little bit. You hadn't really considered what your Mum and Ona talked about when you weren't there. Truly, you had imagined that their time was taken up by kissing.

"I want you to like me," Ona continues, still giggling and completely flushed in the face," How can I make you like me more? Arcade? Food? Food! Let's order food!"

"Let's not order food," Mum says as she approaches. She's not as tipsy as Ona is but there's a little flush to her skin. "Because then we've got to pay for everyone's."

"No!" Ona says with that dopey smile that she always gets when your Mum is holding her. "Just for the birthday girl." She looks at you again. "Ooh! Let's get cake!"

Mum laughs, leaning down to whisper in Ona's ear about something.

Keira, who you thought would be fairly awkward around the couple, just shakes her head fondly. "You two are gross," She declares with a laugh, confiscating both of their drinks. She's the most sober person in the house. "You're already lovey-dovey at practice."

Mum laughs. "This is my house, Kei. I can be lovey-dovey if I want."

"You're scarring her!" She says," Look at her!"

You've got your nose all wrinkled up in disgust and Mum leans over to pinch at her cheek.

"Don't lie, Kei! She loves this!"

You push her away in annoyance and try to throw your pen at her but you're caught off guard by Ona hugging you tight. You didn't realise she was such a sentimental drunk.

"You're so smart."

Oh, she's back on that.

"Lucy, tell her she's smart!"

"Very smart," Mum says. You're trapped by Ona so can't escape when Mum places a big, wet kiss on your cheek and then grabs you in a headlock. "My smart little girl!"

"Mum!" You cry out," Let go! Come on, let go!"

"No!" Mum laughs," You're a proper teenager now! My little birthday girl!"

"It's your birthday!" Ona exclaims like it's the first time she's heard the news," I got you a gift!" She pats wildly at her pockets before coming up empty. "Lucy, where's my gift?"

Mum's only half paying attention as she rubs her knuckles against your hair as you fight to get away, tears of laughter streaming down your cheeks. "Er...I don't know? I think you called it an experience?"

"Ah! Ah!" You had to admit (begrudgingly), Ona jumping up and down in triumph was kind of cute. "We will go to the beach! There is an arcade there! A big one! Bigger than the one here!"

It stumped you for a moment. Your love for arcades wasn't something that you talked a lot about but clearly, Ona remembered. She's smiling at you now and you tear your gaze away to look at your Mum.

"Really? And you're okay with going?"

"I'm going to the beach," Mum says," You and Ona can waste all the money you want but I'm working on my tan."

Ona sticks her tongue out. "Buzzkill."

[the-jules-world]

thoughts on the Pevensies returning home

Peter Pevensie was a strange boy. His mind is too old for his body, too quick, too sharp for a boy. He walks with a presence expected of a king or a royal, with blue eyes that darken like storms. He holds anger and a distance seen in veterans, his hand moving to his hip for a scabbard that isn't there - knuckles white. He moves like a warless soldier, an unexplained limp throwing his balance. He writes in an intricate scrawl unseen before the war, his letters curving in a foreign way untaught in his education. Peter returned a stranger from the war, silent, removed, an island onto himself with a burden too heavy for a child to bear.

Only in the aftermath of a fight do his eyes shine; nose burst, blood dripping, smudged across his cheek, knuckles bruised, and hands shaking; he's alive. He rises from the floor, knighted, his eyes searching for his sisters in the crowd. His brother doesn't leave his side. They move as one, the Pevensies, in a way their peers can't comprehend as they watch all four fall naturally in line.

But Peter is quiet, studious, and knowledgeable, seen only by his teachers as they read pages and pages of analytical political study and wonderful fictional tales. "The Pevensie boy will go far," they say, not knowing he already has.

His mother doesn't recognize him after the war. She watches distrustfully from a corner. She sobs at night, listening to her son's screams, knowing nothing she can do will ease their pain. Helen ran on the first night, throwing Peter's door open to find her children by his bedside - her eldest thrashing uncontrollably off the mattress with a sheen of sweat across his skin. Susan sings a mellow tune in a language Helen doesn't know, a hymn, that brings Peter back to them. He looks to Edmund for something and finds comfort in his eyes, a shared knowing. Her sons, who couldn't agree on the simplest of discussions, fall in line. But Peter sleeps with a knife under his cushion. She found out the hard way, reaching for him during one of his nightmares only to find herself pinned against the wall - a wild look in Peter's eye before he staggered back and dropped the knife.

Edmund throws himself into books, taking Lucy with him. They sit for hours in the library in harmony, not saying a word. His balance is thrown too, his mind searching for a limp that he doesn't have, missing the weight of his scabbard at his side. He joins the fencing club and takes Peter with him. They fence like no one else; without a worthy adversary, the boys take to each other with a wildness in their grins and a skillset unforeseen in beginner fencers. Their rapiers are an exertion of their bodies, as natural as shaking hands, and for the briefest time, they seem at peace. He shrinks away from the snow when it comes, thrust into the darkest places of his mind, unwilling to leave the house. He sits by the chessboard for hours, enveloped in his studies until stirred.

Susan turns silent, her mind somewhere far as she holds her book. Her hands twitch too, a wince when the door slams, her hand flying to her back where her quiver isn't. She hums a sad melody that no one can place, mourning something no one can find. She takes up archery again when she can bear a bow in her hands without crying, her callous-less palms unfamiliar to her, her mind trapped behind the wall of adolescence. She loses her friends to girlishness and youth, unable to go back to what she was. Eventually, she loses Narnia too. It's easier, she tells herself, to grow up and move on and return to what is. But her mourning doesn't leave her; she just forgets.

Lucy remains bright, carrying a happier song than her sister. She dances endlessly, her bare feet in the grass, and sings the most beautiful songs that make the flowers grow and the sun glisten. Though she has grown too, shed her childhood with the end of the war. She stands around the table with her sister, watching, brow furrowed as her brothers play chess. She comments and predicts, and makes suggestions that they take. She reads, curled into Edmund's side as his high voice lulls her to sleep with tales of Arthurian legends. She swims, her form wild and graceful as she vanishes into the water. They can't figure out how she does it - a girl so small holding her breath for so long. She cries into her sister, weeping at the loss of her friends, her too-small hands too clumsy for her will.

"I don't know our children anymore," Helen writes to her husband, overcome by grief as she realizes her children haven't grown up but away into a place she cannot follow.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Things Learned and Unlearned Ch. 11

Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)

Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁

Chapter Warnings: Blowjob, oral (f. receiving), sort of dirty talk, praise!kink if you squint.

Word Count: 4,418

A/N: Here's Ch. 11. I so appreciate all the love and support you're all giving this series. Hope you enjoy the latest installment. ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Y/N had a very hard time falling asleep that night. The bed was too big, the room was too dark, and there were strange noises around the room that she never even noticed when she was wrapped up in Dean's arms. 

She missed him. And the more she missed him, the guiltier she felt for hurting him. She knew, of course, that he would never force himself on her. That wasn't what she'd meant, but she saw now, that was exactly how it sounded to Dean. 

But she'd been genuinely curious and very worried about the expectations that went along with being a mistress. She knew if she said no, Dean wouldn't ignore her wishes and just attack her. But she'd wondered if there was a limit on how often she could refuse before she got tossed aside. 

Not that she imagined she'd be saying no or turning him down very often…or ever. All the man had to do was kiss her, or touch her lightly and she was gone. But all of the unknowns of this life he was asking her to commit to, still terrified her.

She hated the uncertainty of it all. When it was only the two of them, there were no uncertainties, everything was perfect. But they couldn't simply exist outside the world they lived in.

And the reality was that the world they lived in wouldn't bat an eyelash at Dean for keeping a mistress, but as his mistress, her entire world and place within it would be forever changed and she couldn't ever go back.

She simply had to decide if a finite amount of time spent with Dean was worth infinite ostracism from society. What would she do when Dean was done with her? Would she simply move into someone else's bed? Would she sell off her beautiful Tiffany's bracelet so she could go without a new protector for a little longer?

Her questions and their fearful answers kept her tossing and turning all night. In the morning, a soft knock at her hotel door pulled her easily from her restless slumber. 

She wrapped her dressing gown around her and opened the door a crack. Outside a young maid bobbed a curtsy and handed her a sealed envelope. 

“Just arrived for you, ma’am.”

Y/N took it, and called the maid back as she turned to leave.

“Could I please have a cup of coffee with scones and jam?”

She knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep anymore, so she might as well start her day. The maid nodded and hurried on her way.

The letter had obviously been hand delivered, since there was no return address or postage stamp on it. But she recognized Jessica's writing on the envelope.

Y/N sat in the green chair and tore it open.

Y/N smiled softly as she read the letter and then quickly scrawled a note, accepting the invitation, at the bottom of the page.

She put the letter in a fresh envelope with Jessica's name on the front, and gave it back to the maid when she came with her breakfast.

"Can you have a messenger take this back to 1511 Riverside?"

"Yes Ma'am." The maid said with another quick curtsy and a friendly smile.

After breakfast, Y/N bathed, and dressed in a simple day gown that she didn't need help to get into, and sat down to read. But her mind was far too distracted to concentrate on it.

She thought about going for a walk through the gardens, but it was a particularly frigid day and the idea didn't really appeal to her. 

So, for most of the day she stayed bundled up in the green chair, with a book that she paid no attention to, open in her lap.

Darkness came early, the winter sun setting before the evening had truly even begun. Y/N lit one small lamp, leaving the room dimly lit. Lord knew, she didn't need the light to read.

A delicious supper arrived and she picked at it, somehow both hungry and slightly nauseous at the same time. 

Finally, not long after the clock struck eight, Y/N decided to simply go to bed and possibly make up for the terrible sleep she'd had the night before. 

However, as she was about to stand up, a knock at the garden doors startled her. 

Dean stood on the other side of the doors as the wind and snow swirled around him. Y/N went to the door hesitantly at first, but then hurried the last few feet, wanting to let him in out of the cold.

She opened the door and waved him in. A gust of wind and snow followed him into the room and Y/N shivered. Dean closed and locked the doors behind him. Then he pulled the thick, heavy, velvet curtains across the doors to better keep out the cold.

"Freezing out there tonight." He said as he stomped his boots and shook his head lightly, knocking loose a few more fistfuls of snow. 

When he was finished, silence enveloped them and the tension expanded between them. Finally Dean waved to the unread book Y/N still held in her hands.

“Didn't mean to interrupt you.”

Y/N shook her head and walked back to the chair, setting down the book before perching on the edge of the seat 

“No, I wasn't really reading.”

More silence stretched between them, making Y/N wring her hands in her lap. Eventually she couldn't take it and the words just burst out of her as she looked up at him. 

“I'm so sorry, Dean. I never meant to make it seem like I thought you were some kind of monster.”

Dean shook his head, a few more snowflakes falling to the ground as he strode to the chair and dropped down onto his haunches.

“No Y/N, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten so angry. I just…” He trailed off, looking to the side and then at the floor. “I need you to tell me something honestly.”

Dean's voice sounded  unusual - strained and tight. Y/N nodded. “Of course.”

He looked back at her, his eyes level with hers. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, before letting the words tumble slowly out of his mouth.

“Have there ever been times-” He dropped his gaze again, staring at her lap. “Have you ever…said y-yes, when you meant-”

“No.” Y/N said firmly, shaking her head. She cupped Dean's cheek and raised his gaze back to hers. She felt her heart clutch at the look of fear that he tried to keep out of his expression.

“God no, Dean. Never.” She felt tears gather at the look of profound relief that spread over his features. Had he spent the whole night and day worried and guilty he'd done something wrong?

She leaned forward and pressed a petal soft kiss to his lips and then rested her forehead against his. 

“I will always want you.” She said quietly. “It never stops actually. It's slightly inconvenient.” 

Dean exhaled a chuckle. “Tell me about it, sweetheart.” 

She was happy to hear his voice closer to normal and she kissed him again briefly, before rising from the chair and moving past him. 

She shook her head. “It's just…those women last night, they…”

She turned back to face him where he still crouched by the chair. “They were all talking about their lives and they made everything seem so…” 

She took a deep breath, searching for the word. “Transactional.” She finished, her shoulders slumping as her breath rushed out. 

Dean nodded slowly as he rose to his full height and walked towards her, pausing with barely two feet between them.

“Well,” he said quietly, “I suppose the truth is that, a lot of the time…it can be sort of, transactional.” He shrugged gently. Y/N nodded and looked at the floor.

Dean stepped even closer and raised her chin with his fingertips. “But that's not what I want with you.” He said, his voice adamant.

He sighed softly and his face was earnest as he spoke. 

“Look, I buy you things, and spoil you a little because…” He shrugged. “Because you deserve to be spoiled. You deserve beautiful things.” 

He let his knuckles trail down her cheek. “And I can give them to you, which makes me happy.” 

He cupped her cheeks in both hands and stared directly, and fiercely, into her eyes, taking in a deep breath. “But you don't have to…” He exhaled slowly. “You don't have to earn them. Do you understand?”

Y/N nodded and felt her heart ease slightly. But she bit her lip; something was still worrying her.

“I need you to tell me something honestly.” She said, echoing his earlier words.

“Of course.” He said, echoing hers with a slight smile.

Y/N began wringing her hands again, not sure how to word her question.

“Doesn’t it ever bother you that…I mean does it annoy you that you can't…or, I mean, that I won't…let you…bed me properly?”

Dean's eyes widened and then his expression settled into a frown. He opened his mouth to answer and then shut it again. 

He was quiet for a moment before stepping closer and taking hold of Y/N's hands in his to stop her squeezing and rubbing them over and over.

“Look,” he said, his voice low and deep, “I'm not gonna lie and act as though I don't wanna…” 

His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. “...don't wanna take possession of all of you, every inch of you. Or pretend like I don't wanna bury myself so deep inside you that I forget my own name.” 

His voice was rough now and his eyes blazed with heat, making Y/N's core clench and her body ache a little. 

“But,” he exhaled roughly. “I understand. I realize that…no decisions have been made about your future. And you don't want to commit to such a permanent action when this may be a temporary situation.”

Y/N was immensely grateful for the way he understood her. She never would have been able to say it so concisely.

He continued with a smile. “So, I can wait. There's no rush, and I'm perfectly happy with what we have here and now.” 

Without warning, he yanked her flush against him and she gasped as he breathed against her lips.

“Speaking of the here and now, are we finished this here fight now?”

She chuckled breathlessly as he tilted his head so he was almost kissing her, holding back slightly, waiting for her answer.

She nodded quickly. “Yes, god yes.”

That was all he needed to hear for him to crash his lips down on hers and simply inhale her. His fingers bit into her hips as he tried to press her even tighter against him.

She pushed his heavy coat off his shoulders, sending his suit coat with it. Grasping frantically, she was tugging on the buttons of his waistcoat and then his shirt, desperate to feel his taut skin and firm muscles under her fingers. 

Dean pulled away with an annoyed growl to unlace his boots and kick them off. The task was made more difficult by Y/N's refusal to stop running her hands over his shoulders and back while he crouched in front of her. 

Finally his boots were off and he stood up quickly, driving Y/N backwards, till he could slam her against the wall.

“Sorry.” He said gruffly, but Y/N shook her head. 

“Doesn't matter.”

She pulled at his hair as he bent his head to suck bruises into her neck.  He pushed open the sides of her dressing gown and cupped her breasts through the thin silk nightgown underneath, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples.

“Dean!” She shouted as he tugged on one roughly.

He pushed off her dressing gown completely and then pulled the straps of her nightgown down over her shoulders, so that it slipped down her body and settled at her hips. He dipped his head and nipped at her breast, making her gasp before he smoothed over the spot with his wide tongue, and the gasp turned into a moan.

Dean’s voice was harsh as he spoke against her skin. “Goddamn, I missed you last night. Did you miss me?”

Y/N did her best to answer but it mostly came out as a whimper when he pushed her nightgown up between her legs, pressing against her soft mound, and warming the silk under his hand.

He chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I think you missed me.”

He pressed the material of the gown more tightly against her, rubbing at that overly sensitive button through the silk. The incredible feeling of the material, so soft and wet, as Dean rubbed it against her, quickly had her standing on tiptoe, grabbing at Dean’s shoulders for balance. Dean took away his hand but quickly slid his knee between her legs and pushed it hard against her aching core 

She knew what she was doing this time, and quickly began riding his thick thigh, rubbing back and forth on it, occasionally lifting herself an inch or two and shuddering at the impact when she pushed herself back down against the hard ridge of muscle in his leg. 

Dean raised the pooled silk at her waist and lifted it off over her head, tossing it aside. As she rode him, he trailed his fingers across every inch of her flushed skin. 

Finally he slipped his middle finger into her slick, swirling the rough pad of his fingertip against that magic button only a handful of times before she was exploding, shaking with her release. He held her against the wall for a long time, kissing her, licking and nipping at different parts of her naked body. 

He eventually eased back slightly when she could stand on her own, tilting his head forward to kiss the tip of her nose. 

As her heart fluttered at the sweet gesture, a thought entered Y/N’s mind and it wouldn’t leave. Dean’s head was dipped slightly, kissing the tops of her breasts. She ran her fingers through his hair and then spoke softly into the silky aftermath surrounding them.

“Dean, would you explain something to me?”

Dean murmured against her breast, making a sound in the affirmative.

“Could you explain…I think I know, but I’m not sure…” Her hesitation brought Dean’s gaze up to hers, and he arched an eyebrow. “Um…what exactly does it mean if I say I want to ‘get on my knees for you’?”

Dean’s eyes were nearly obliterated by his black pupils spreading over his mossy green irises. His breathing was slightly shallow as he spoke.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Last night some of the women were talking about being ‘on their knees’. Some of them seemed to like it, some of them didn't, so I thought I’d ask what it means.”

Dean’s jaw ticked and his whole body was hard. She could feel the telltale evidence of his desire as it pressed through his pants and into her thigh.

“What do you think it means?” Dean asked, his voice rough.

Y/N felt herself blush. “Well, I’m not sure, but it seemed like a way to pleasure you.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, it’s,” he cleared his throat, “it’s referring to you being on your knees in front of me, so I can…” He seemed to struggle for a minute, swallowing several times. Finally he cupped her cheek, and ran his thumb heavily over her lips.

“I’d use your mouth instead of your body, for pleasure. I would…push in and out of your mouth instead of…” He cupped his hand between her legs. “Instead of here. 

He licked his lips. “We’ve already done something similar before, I mean you’ve put your lips around me, and that was…incredible.” He shook his head. “But this would be a little more intense.”

Y/N nodded. “And it gives you pleasure? Can it make a baby?”

Dean shook his head and then clarified. “I mean, yes it would give me immense pleasure, and no, you can’t make a baby that way.”

Y/N bit her lip. “Then I want to do it. Would you help me? Tell me what you want, what I should do?”

Dean closed his eyes. “Yes, I can tell you. But,” he opened his eyes again quickly and smoothed his hands over the curve of her hips. “Y/N you don’t have to do it. I don’t want you to think, just because you heard those other women talking, that it’s something that’s…expected of you.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, Dean I want to…” She kissed him softly and spoke against his lips. “Don't you enjoy giving me pleasure? With your mouth?”

Dean groaned roughly. “Yeah.” He croaked, his eyes closed.

“Then let me do the same.”

She pulled back from him a little and he opened his eyes again to stare deeply into her for a moment. Finally he backed away, nodding slowly. When he was a few feet away from her, he crooked his finger at her.

“Come here, and get down on your knees.”

Y/N felt a slight shiver race through her body as she stepped forward. She knelt slowly in front of him; the plush wool rug was soft under her knees.

Dean reached out to trail his fingertips down her jaw. Again he rubbed his thumb across her lips, softer this time. He dropped his hand and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth before continuing his instructions.

“Open your mouth.”

Y/N dropped her jaw into a small O, but Dean shook his head. “No, wider.”

She stretched her mouth open wide and Dean nodded. “Stick out your tongue.”

Y/N felt a little odd, but she did it, and the look in Dean’s eye was worth it. His body, towering above her, was hard and thick with rigid muscle and he looked primitive, like something wild and untamed. 

He stepped closer and reached out his arm. “I’m going to show you what to do using my fingers first.” 

He took two thick fingers and laid them against her tongue. She tasted the saltiness of his skin and began drooling. Dean pushed his fingers in and out a few times. Then he pressed them far back in her throat and she gagged a little. 

Dean pulled them out quickly. “Are you alright?” 

Y/N nodded and wiped away the drool on her chin. “I'm fine. Keep teaching.” She said with a mischievous smile. 

Dean's eyes glowed with approval as he continued.

“This time, I want you to lick my fingers, roll your tongue around the tips of them, and suck on them, lightly at first, then harder as you pull off.”

She nodded, understanding immediately, thinking of all the times Dean had done exactly that to her little bundle of nerves - sucking softly and then tighter and tighter until the pleasure spiked in her blood and she exploded into a million pieces.

God, I want to give that to him. She thought as she closed her lips around his fingers again.

She did as he directed and as she pulled off of his fingers with a pop, she could feel the way heat and wet pooled between her thighs. Pleasuring Dean was making her desperate for more of him.

Dean nodded at her, his eyes nearly black. “That's good. Very good.” He whispered.

He licked his lips, his eyes hooded as he looked down at her.

“Take off my belt.”

Y/N reached up and opened the buckle before sliding the long, supple piece of leather from around his waist. She touched the button on his pants and looked up at him, a question in her gaze.

“Yeah, take them off, underwear too.”

Y/N slid his clothes down over his hips and thick thighs, releasing his rock hard shaft to slap loudly against his lower stomach.

Her mouth began watering as she leaned forward to take him between her lips. She flicked her tongue over his tip, since she always loved it when Dean used his tongue like that on her. 

It seemed to work for him too, because he groaned and bit into his bottom lip. She stretched her lips around his girth and slid down his length reveling in the harsh groan that seemed torn from Dean's throat.

His shaft was much wider and thicker than his fingers had been and her lips fit very tightly around him. She moved slowly up and down on him as she got into the feel and rhythm of it. 

Dean tangled his fist in her hair as he coaxed her to take him a little deeper and then a little deeper still. 

His voice was a harsh rasp. “Drop your jaw, sweetheart, I think you can take a little more.”

He hit the back of her throat and made her gag again, but as he tried to pull back, she pushed further, taking the last inch of him down her throat. 

She pressed her nose against the springy hair at the base of his shaft for a moment before pulling off of him with a gasp. She coughed a couple of times, but then sank back down on him again. 

“Y/N,” Dean ground out through gritted teeth. “look at me. I want to see your beautiful face while you take every inch of me down your throat.”

She looked up at him and felt more pleasure sing through her veins at the look of absolute, aching need on his face. She bobbed up and down on him faster and faster. He was hitting the back of her throat over and over, but she didn't gag again. 

He rubbed his thumb across her cheekbone, and shook his head, his voice barely more than a growl. “You're so goddamn beautiful, sweetheart. So perfect.” 

He thrust into her mouth hard and fast three times. Then he pushed on her shoulders. 

“I'm almost there, Y/N.”

He pulled out of her mouth but she wanted to feel him explode against her the way she exploded against him. 

So she sank back onto him just as his hips jerked forward. Suddenly she felt warm liquid shoot out of his shaft, filling her mouth. She swallowed quickly, but a lot of it still spilled out of her mouth and down over her breasts. 

Watching Dean shuddering above her, his face fixed in an expression of pleasure so intense it almost looked like pain, she slipped her hand down to rub against that aching bundle of nerves, trying to relieve the intense throbbing that watching his pleasure had caused.

Finally Dean's breathing began to return to normal and he groaned again as he looked down at her, covered in his seed.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. You're a vision like this. The most beautiful creature I've ever known.” 

He saw her hand between her legs and the way she bit her lip as she chased her climax and his expression softened. 

“It's alright, baby.” He said, pulling her hand away and helping her to her feet. “I'll take care of you.” 

He led her into the bathroom and began to run a bath. While the tub filled, he wet a cloth and wiped away the remnants of him from her skin. 

Then he turned her so she faced the tub and pressed his big hand against the middle of her back, bending her over to rest her hands on the side of the tub.

She felt his fingers slip between her folds to find her button and circle it lightly. But then he lowered himself down and sank his mouth into her her from behind. 

Within seconds she was screaming out another climax as Dean held her tight against his mouth. As it receded, she slumped over the side of the tub, her hands and hair dangling in the water.

Dean made quick work of shutting off the taps, tying her hair back out of her face and then helping her step into the tub on her wobbly legs.

He settled her back against his chest and washed her completely with slow, soft strokes. When he was finished, they soaked in the warm water for a little longer, until Y/N felt like she was boneless and floating. 

Dean finally stepped out as the water cooled, and then bent slightly so Y/N could reach up and wrap her arms around his neck, letting him lift her from the tub. As he carried her to the vanity seat to dry her, she shook her head.

“You know, you indulge me a little too much. I'm going to get far too used to being spoiled and pampered.”

Dean grinned at her and then caught her lips in a warm, slow kiss. “Good.” He said, dipping his head to place soft kisses below her jaw. “That's exactly what I want. You should expect indulgence and pampering.”

He finished drying her and braided her still damp hair; he didn't bother dressing either of them again and simply laid Y/N down naked against the cool sheets. He warmed her up as he climbed in beside her and pulled her close. 

They were quiet for a little while, and Y/N was close to drifting off when Dean pressed his lips to her temple and spoke softly. 

“Thank you for tonight, sweetheart. It was incredible; you are incredible.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, looking up at him, so he'd kiss her. He took the hint and his lips pressed against hers only briefly, just a fleeting brush of his lips, but as she looked up into his soft, mossy green eyes, Y/N knew beyond a doubt, something that she'd suspected for a long time.

This man is the love of my life.

The thought made her stomach clench and her heart hurt as Jessica's voice came back to her, the warning ringing in her ears. 

"I just want you to know the truth of the situation, so you don't go into this time with Dean holding on to some kind romantic notion. He is who he is and you can't change that.”

Y/N felt her aching heart sink a little further as she laid back down on Dean's chest, one question plaguing her.

What am I supposed to do now?

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

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Dean Fics Only:

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Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

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[onas-batlle]

like daylight (part 1/?)

pairing: lucy bronze x ona batlle

warnings: none

synopsis: When you are both eighteen, anything your soulmate writes on their skin will be reflected on that of your own. Words in swirly, glowing, shimmering gold, these markings will link you forever to the one soul that is destined to intertwine with yours.

a/n: the soulmate au begins! this is kind of an intro chapter, so fair warning this first part will have a lot of keira x lucy (while they don't do anything romantic, they are in a relationship), and ona only makes one (brief) appearance. anyway, I hope the whole thing isn't super confusing, and ignore any mistakes lol.

Ao3 Link

When you are both eighteen, anything your soulmate writes on their skin will be reflected on that of your own. Words in swirly, glowing, shimmering gold, these markings will link you forever to the one soul that is destined to intertwine with yours.

It was the 27th of October, and Lucy lay stretched out on her bed on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, her mind a mess of thoughts as she grappled with the excitement of potentially being able to get in contact with her soulmate in only a few minutes.

11:57… 11:58…

She knew that it was probably going to be a girl; that realisation had already occurred and been faced head-on several years before that day, and she found that she was more concerned with whether or not her soulmate would also share her love of football than their gender identity.

She glanced at the clock again. 11:59. Lucy flopped her head back down onto her pillow and let out a groan at the slow-moving minutes, it almost seeming like the seconds were trapped in molasses. She hated to admit it, but Lucy had secretly been a romantic all her life and the idea that someone was out there in the world, crafted to fit with her exactly, was something that she had treasured forever.

12:00. Midnight.

As soon as the clock struck midnight, she eagerly grabbed a marker, pondering what her first message to her soulmate should be. She couldn't introduce herself by name - the magic didn’t allow that - so instead she tentatively wrote ‘Hi’, and waited for a response. When it didn’t come for an hour, she supposed that maybe her soulmate didn’t notice, or was busy.

When it had been a few months, she supposed that maybe her soulmate was a bit younger than her, and that was fine, she could wait.

Three, four, five, years passed and soon Lucy accepted that maybe she was just one of the unlucky ones who didn’t have a soulmate. Neither of her parents had lost hope, always having faith that one day her skin would be covered in words of gold, but after the third year ticked past, Lucy had resigned herself to the fact that there was no one written in the stars for her. Not that she cared for that fate stuff anyway, she often told herself.

So she fell into Keira. Keira, who was about as cynical as she was. Keira, who dismissed the soulmate stuff and said that they could write their own destiny. And Keira, whose hands were always covered in golden scrawls of unintelligible German. They loved each other as best as they could, anyway.

Lucy was twenty-five when a word showed up on her palm - bright and glowing gold. She kept it from Keira and hid in the bathroom to study it. It was a simple word - in Spanish, of course - Hola in loopy, curly writing. A small smiley face was dotted at the end of the word, and Lucy knew that it was for her.

So she did have a soulmate after all. One who was likely to be quite a bit younger than her, but a soulmate nonetheless.

Excitement flashed in her gut before she immediately felt guilty. Here she was, crouched in the bathroom, giddy with happiness, while her girlfriend was out in the lounge unassuming. Keira had chosen her despite knowing she had a soulmate of her own, so Lucy ignored the writing on her hand and exited the bathroom.

“You good?” Keira spoke, and Lucy just nodded, tucking her hand into her pocket. And if Keira noticed that she seemed a bit off for the next few days, she didn’t say anything.

A few more words came from her soulmate. A ‘cómo estuva tu día?’, and a ‘espero que estés bien!’ There was even some Catalan, which clued Lucy into the fact that her soulmate was from Catalonia, probably Barcelona. But as much as it pained her, Lucy ignored it all.

After that, Lucy’s soulmate didn’t write again.

A few months later, Lucy was in France. France which bordered Spain. Spain which was where her soulmate was from. She had always been drawn to Spain, even before finding out her soulmate was Spanish, but she urged herself to ignore it and just focus on football. She still had traces of gold - numbers and scrawled words, sometimes a sentence - but most of the time it was kept to a minimum.

She did know that her soulmate had tattoos though, several pieces having been marked into her skin for weeks until they faded, and several weeks where she was forced to wear long sleeve shirts to hide the swirling lines on her bicep that made up a map of the world.

She remembered one time when she awoke and went to take a shower, spotting yet another piece of inkwork. It was a lioness, glowing brightly on her shoulder blade, and Lucy had to choke back a laugh at the irony. She was unsure if her soulmate knew who she was, but their souls were intrinsically linked, so she shouldn’t really be surprised.

Keira eventually found out about Lucy’s soulmate, of course. She always knew when the fullback was keeping a secret, and it was stupid to assume that she could have kept something that big under wraps.

During one of the England camps, Lucy was walking to breakfast when someone suddenly caught her wrist and tugged her down a hallway, the English woman unable to stifle her small scream of surprise. When she finally got her bearings, she focused on Keira stood in front of her, a frown on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Lucy questioned, blinking in confusion at Keira’s expression, the midfielder’s eyes boring into her, unimpressed. Keira just let out a sigh at her question and grabbed Lucy’s hand, turning it over so her palm was facing down, revealing the glittering gold words on the back of it.

“Why not,” Keira read out and dropped Lucy’s hand, who had the decency to look a little sheepish. “Don’t think you went out and wrote this in gold ink by yourself, did you?” the midfielder stated and levelled the fullback with a pointed look. Lucy opened her mouth to respond when Keira sighed again and uncrossed her arms.

“Luce, I’m not angry. I mean I have a soulmate too. I just wish that you would’ve told me.” 

“I’m sorry. I- I don’t really know why I hid it from you, because you told me about yours and it was fine. It was shitty of me,” Lucy responded, hanging head slightly. She never meant to hurt Keira, after all.

Keira graced her with a small smile and shook her head before waving her hand to dismiss Lucy’s words. “Well, at the end of the day, we picked each other, didn’t we?”

Lucy was relieved to hear those words, glad her moments of weakness had not ruined their relationship, and so they went on with their lives, mostly unchanged. There was always that niggling thought in the back of her mind though, the one that belonged to a hopeful little girl who wanted to find the one person that had been made especially for her. But she was not a little girl anymore, and she had Keira now, so Lucy shoved those traitorous thoughts aside and tried her best to focus on her current relationship. The one that she chose .

When was twenty-nine, Lucy found herself back in Manchester. The return was mostly for Keira - the distance having put a slight strain on their relationship, and truthfully, Lucy had felt a little bit homesick anyway.

She’d always enjoyed just simply watching football, and naturally, she loved to take notice of the skills of other players who played alongside and against her.

It was the Manchester Derby when she spotted her , the right back for the other team. She was small but quick and hurtled up the right wing with a passion that Lucy hadn’t seen in a long time. While United did lose the Derby, the unnamed player still marched up to all of the City players, jaw set, and offered them a handshake in thanks.

Something tugged in Lucy’s heart as the short woman made her way around all of Lucy’s teammates, and she watched on until she was standing directly in front of her. 

“Good game,” the player spoke, extending her hand in front of her and tilting her chin up to meet Lucy’s eyes. The English fullback, almost involuntarily,  dragged her eyes over the features of the other defender, drinking in the constellations of freckles that dotted across tanned skin, the shiny brown eyes that were filled with a fiery determination, and the full lips that were currently pressed into a firm line. 

“Oh!” Lucy exclaimed as she realised that had been looking for a bit too long and reached out to grasp the other woman’s hand. “You guys had a good game too!”

As their skin made contact, the English woman flinched momentarily as she swore she could feel sparks pass between them and mentally berated herself at the physical reaction. An odd look passed across the other woman’s face, and before Lucy could even blink, she was gone, but not before the City player caught a glimpse of something tattooed on the departing player’s right hand.

She stood, stock still in shock for a few minutes until Keira came up to her and tilted her head inquisitively, before leading Lucy off the pitch and down the tunnel. She enquired about the player afterwards (“sizing up the competition are we Bronzey?”), and she was told that her name was Ona Batlle and that she was from Spain. The mention of that country caused Lucy’s stomach to twist, and she told herself off for the hope that flickered in her stomach at the idea that she could have just met her soulmate.

When home, she opened her phone to look at Ona’s Instagram, just to figure out if the other woman had those tattoos that had shown up on her own skin for a short period, but one glance at Keira who was washing her hands in the kitchen had her closing the app. She couldn’t go there. It wouldn’t be fair.

The next couple of years passed rather uneventfully, in terms of her personal life anyway, but soon she found herself starting to feel the boredom again, Manchester City not really ticking all her boxes anymore. 

Lucy wanted to win, win something big like the UWCL, and City just wasn’t cutting it. When she got the offer from Barcelona her first instinct was to immediately agree, but she had to pause to weigh the decision that she was facing.

Firstly there was the thing about her soulmate. She hated that that was the first thing her mind went to, but she’d spent several years grappling with her relationship with Keira and with the potential person that was predestined for her, so moving to Spain - which could place her within meeting distance of her soulmate - could cause all sorts of problems. The second thing she had to consider was that she might have had to do long distance with Keira again, but that was quickly forgotten when the midfielder told her that Barcelona wanted her as well. 

After a few weeks of discussion, they decided to make the move to Barcelona.

Several months later, after an amazing Euros that left them Champions of Europe, Lucy and Keira packed up to go to Spain. All seemed to have been going well - they were winning their games, and they were settling in well, but over the weeks, the romance between them came to a grinding halt and they found their relationship evolving into something merely platonic. It only took a few more weeks until it all came to a head.

Lucy came home from the shops one day and saw Keira standing there, waiting for her with red-rimmed eyes and a sniffle. She didn’t even have time to reach out to ask what was wrong before Keira spoke, a distressed look painting her features.

“Lucy, I’m sorry.”

It was silent for a few beats, but Lucy knew what words Keira was about to follow up with before she even opened her mouth to speak them.

“I’ve met my soulmate.”

The words hung in the air, and for some reason, it was relieving. They had only really been glorified roommates the past few months, anyway, and suddenly a weight felt like it had been lifted off Lucy’s chest.

“I know that I said soulmates are bullshit and we can choose who we want to be with but..” Keira trailed off and bit her lip. “Her name is Laura, and she’s lovely, and Lucy I think I would hate myself if I didn’t even try.”

“We haven’t done anything, by the way. I would never. It wouldn’t be fair to you. Even if we haven’t really been all that romantic lately, I wouldn’t betray you like that,” Keira rushed to get out, eyes beginning to fill with tears. 

Lucy offered her a small smile. “Keira, it’s okay. Honest.”

They parted ways amicably, and while she did feel a bit sad that she no longer had a companion to spend her time with, she was okay. And when Keira posted a photo of her and Laura to her close friends’ story, Lucy was the first to like it.

A few more weeks passed, and it was only then that she allowed herself to even think about her own soulmate again. They hadn’t written to each other at all since Lucy had ignored the messages all those years ago, but the random doodles and numbers didn’t once cease. Her mind still lingered on that one Manchester United defender she had shaken hands with while she was still at City, but it had been so long now that she’d kind of abandoned the idea, so Lucy just decided to park that theory for the time being.

And then came Lucy Staniforth’s wedding.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Tommy and Lucy read Lizzie's letter and meet with Michael after his return from America.

Word Count: 5,823

Warnings: Smut, blowjob, polyamory, references to pregnancy, and an unhappy marriage.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 6: A Display in the Dark

“Fucking hell.” 

That was the first thing that passed Tommy’s lips when he was done reading the letter Lizzie had given Lucy to pass onto him. Lucy watched him toss the pages of closely-scrawled words onto his desk, ripping off his glasses to set down beside them. 

She’d read the letter over his shoulder, squinting at the various spelling and grammatical errors throughout. Lucy wondered if maybe Lizzie had been drunk while writing at least some of it. She didn’t remember any of the work that she’d done as Tommy’s secretary being so sloppy.

The contempt which seemed to bleed out through the words scrawled on the pages was a stark contrast from the apologetic, saddened Lizzie she had spoken to not even an hour ago. But she supposed that she shouldn’t be all that surprised. That was how Lizzie was: sweet one moment, then wrathful in the next.

And to think that they all called her two-faced.

“I can’t really say if that was what I was expecting or not,” she commented, turning to look out the window at the darkened grounds. “What do you want to do about it?”

Tommy leaned back in his chair to rub at his eyes. He looked exhausted, dark circles swelling beneath his blue irises. “Nothing right now.”

She frowned. “Nothing? She’s talking about divorce, Tommy.”

“Yeah. If I don’t change.” His hand dropped to fold with the other in his lap, thumbs twiddling. “I don’t think that I can, Lucy,” his voice was quiet. She drew in closer to him, his distress serving like a beacon that summoned her to climb into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his forehead. 

“You shouldn’t have to just to make her happy.” If she really loved him, she’d have loved him as he was, rather than demanding he change everything about himself just to please her. It baffled her that Lizzie couldn’t understand that.

Tommy dropped his face to rest against her collarbone, thumb circling around her hip bone after his hands came to rest on her waist.

“So what do we do?” she asked, nose pressing into his soft hair. “Let her leave? I’m not saying that I wouldn’t be opposed to it, but it’ll kick up all sorts of other problems…”

“I know,” he sighed, the puff of breath warm on her skin. “I’ll talk to her first. See if I can think of something to at least indulge her for a little while.”

“She acts like she’s living some horrible, deprived life.” She looked around at the enormous, ornate room they were seated in. Lined with bookshelves and expensive furniture with custom-made paintings hanging on the walls. “Outside of your love, it’s not like she wants for anything here.” 

“Every time that I think she’s getting better, that she’s starting to accept…things, she slides back to where she was before.” He leaned closer into her. “I don’t know what more to do for her. I’m not sending you away, and I can’t pretend to feel about her in a way that I don’t.”

“Mm. She’d probably know you’re pretending and just get more angry about it, anyway.” Lucy started to stroke his hair. Her gaze drew back to the letter still laid out on the table, eyeing in warily. “I am surprised that she didn’t try to demand that you get rid of me.” It had been a notable omission in the letter, considering she knew that it was a spot of deep contention for Lizzie. Maybe, just maybe, that was a sign of some miniscule of progress. 

“She knows that’s not an argument she’s going to win.”

Lucy leaned back just enough to be able to cup one of his cheeks, smiling a little in spite of herself at his eternal protectiveness over her. “Is it terrible that knowing that makes me happy?”

He shook his head, arms tightening around her. “She flat out refused to apologize for what she said about you, did you know that?”

“I figured as much.” She thought back to her latest chess game with Lizzie; how Lizzie had notably apologized for Charlie overhearing, but not for what she’d actually said. 

“You’re not terrible,” he asserted firmly, leaning in to kiss her. “Not even a little.”

“Well…” she smiled against his lips. “I have killed quite a lot of people.” She giggled between kisses at the approving purr that came from his chest. 

“And your point is…?”

She laughed at his unbothered tone, kissing him back more firmly, humming when one of his big hands found its way into her hair. 

“Let’s not worry about her anymore right now,” Tommy whispered, tugging her closer.

A pang of remorse crackled through her at how easy it was for both of them to put Lizzie out of their minds. But then Tommy’s tongue slid into her mouth, and she became guilty of the very thing she’d moments ago been feeling ashamed of. 

“It’s late,” he murmured, arms squeezing around her. “Let’s go to bed.” 

She nodded in agreement, kissing him once more before climbing from his lap, biting back a grin at the way he chased her with his lips, a small whine leaving his throat. Taking hold of his hand, she pulled him up out of his chair, starting to lead the way around his desk and to the door. 

“Wait,” he came to a stop. She watched as he gathered up the pages of Lizzie’s letter. His hand was still clutched firmly in hers, meaning that she was pulled along with him when he went to the fireplace. Kneeling, Tommy started to feed the first page of the letter into the cheerily crackling flames, watching it catch and start to blacken and curl at the edges before tossing it the rest of the way into the inferno. He divided the pages evenly between the two of them, and together they fed page after page of Lizzie’s letter into the fire, watching as the messy scrawl and resentful black words were swallowed up and eradicated completely. 

“Feeling better?” Lucy asked, leaning her head against Tommy's shoulder, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. 

“Yeah,” he kissed her hair, then doused the fire. Taking her hand again, he stood. “Come on.”

They made it back to her room in record time, Tommy practically pouncing on her as soon as the door was shut. Lucy giggled as his mouth crashed down onto hers, cupping both sides of his face while his hands ran all over her. The warmth of his palms burned through her clothes, grabbing at the swell of her hips, then making their way up to squeeze her clothed breasts. Her thighs pressed together as an ache began to build between them. Movements quick, if a little fumbling, she set to work at getting him out of his clothes.  

His chest rumbled under her palms once she’d pushed his button-down off of his shoulders and slid the undershirt over his head, smoothing her hands across his naked skin. He’d been hard at work getting her own clothing unfastened, and it did not take long for her to be entirely bare before him. Arms going around his neck, she let out a rasped moan into their kiss as he palmed one of her breasts with one hand, thumb running over her hardened nipple. 

“Tommy…”

“I know. I know. Come here.”

She hadn’t thought it possible for them to get any closer, and yet somehow he managed, hand on the center of her back pressing her tighter against him, and then he began to walk them with somewhat staggering steps in the general direction of the bed. 

He groaned lowly when her hands slipped lower to cup the growing bulge in his trousers, giving him a soft squeeze that had him bucking into her hand. The backs of her legs knocked against the mattress, and then he was laying her down gently onto it, catching himself with his hands planted on either side of her head as he lowered himself on top of her. 

The groan he released into her mouth as she hitched her legs up around his waist was delicious. She could feel his bulge pressing into her belly, his mouth moving more insistently on hers while his hands roamed her body. A whine left her lips when he pinched one of her nipples, legs tightening around him. He groaned again against her mouth, migrating from her lips to her neck, and she suddenly found herself very annoyed that he was still wearing his trousers.

As he moved to lavish her breasts with his mouth, she ran her fingers calculatingly down his strong back, feeling the shift and flex of his muscles as he moved over her. He was exquisite. The most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Hands moving lower, she circled her fingers around his belt loops and pulled him closer, giving an impatient yank to his belt buckle for good measure. 

Tommy chuckled, tongue encircling one of her nipples before drawing it into his mouth. She jumped when his hand found its way between her thighs, testing her wetness with two fingers. 

“Impatient,” he tutted at her whimpering and pushing her hips closer to his hand, trying to get his fingers to go deeper inside her. 

“Tease,” she shot back, glaring playfully up at him. The wolfish grin splitting his face only grew, eyes dancing deviously with it. His thumb rolled across her clit, and she made a rather undignified sound, back arching. “Tommy, please.”

“Mm, but what if I want to keep you like this?” he cocked his head in mock contemplation, long lashes fluttering innocently against his cheekbones. “Keep you squirming and begging for me…” he grazed his lips across her cheek and curled his fingers inside her, just brushing up against the spot that had her head tipping back with a soft sigh. “That’s it…” his lips ghosted over her cheek as he leaned in closer, drawing his fingers out, slowly trailing them up and down her folds. Then slowly sinking them back in. At her moan and back arching, he pressed his body closer to hers. “That’s it.”

“You could at least take your trousers off,” she pouted, reaching around to give his clothed ass a squeeze. Her gaze went to the sizable bulge still pressing into her thigh. “Aren’t you uncomfortable?” 

His hips shifted a little, no doubt feeling the tightness of the fabric constraining around his bulging cock. Sneaking her hand between them, Lucy cupped him in her palm, feeling the weight and pulse of his flesh even through the thick material of his clothes. A low grunt left Tommy’s lips, erection pushing into her hand. 

Lucy grinned, but her triumph was short-lived. His fingers retracted from her cunt, both hands seizing hers, pinning them to the mattress by her head.

“Behave,” he growled, with no real weight or threat behind the word. Lucy smirked up at him, turning her hands to instead thread their fingers together, angling her head up to kiss him. 

“No.” Soon as he was distracted by the press of their lips together, she squeezed at his hands, tightened her legs around his waist, and gave a strong twist to her hips. Rolling them so that he was the one with his back to the mattress. “I don’t think that I will,”  she whispered against his mouth, taking his face in both of her hands. 

Tommy’s eyes widened, surprise quickly melting away into delight. She felt where their chests were pressed together as his breath caught, hands going to her waist and lips curling upwards. Showing no complaint at her sudden seizing of the reins, he merely drew her closer, encouraging her to grind down onto him. 

She indulged him for a moment before becoming impatient again, rising off to pull free his belt and push his trousers and shorts off. Tommy obediently lifted his hips to help her, and it wasn’t lost on her how he let out a soft sigh of relief as his cock was freed from the straining material to bob against his stomach. Red and throbbing.   

Wrapping her palm loosely around him, thumb teasing at the weeping tip, she maneuvered herself to kneel between his legs. Tommy propped himself up on his elbows, watching as she eyed her prize where it pulsed in her hand. 

Fixing her gaze squarely on his, she leaned forward, and licked a stripe across the tip. With a groan, Tommy tipped his head back, eyes fluttering closed as she gave just the tip of him a few sucks. His mouth dropped open when she started to take in more of him, breathing deeply through her nose to help relax her throat. 

His groans only encouraged her to keep going as she set to work. Even when he hit the back of her throat and she almost gagged. One of his hands weaved through her hair, resting gently on the back of her head and helping guide her bobs on his cock. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grunted, erection twitching heavily on her tongue. “Don’t stop. Just like that. Ohhhhh…” a drawn out, delicious sound left his lips at her movements. 

It did not take long for her to start to feel the tension mounting in his thighs, his noises growing louder and more guttural as he neared his peak. Bracing her hands on his thighs, she gave him one last long, hard suck, and then pulled off completely. Tommy made a sharp whining sound, head raising slightly to peer down at her with lust-drunk eyes. Lucy smiled, climbing onto the bed to straddle him again, taking his cock back into her hand. 

Sitting up, he looped an arm around her shoulders, their faces so close that their noses brushed. Tommy’s mouth was open, eyes blown wide. Lucy felt something in her stir at the sight of him so needy. 

“Tell me you want me,” she requested, leaning into him, eyes fluttering when one of his hands flattened out at the center of her back, holding her close. His huge erection twitched in her palm.  

“I want you,” Tommy groaned, her hand tightening around his cock at the same time that he spoke. “I always want you.”  He traced the shape of her bottom lip with his thumb and she closed her eyes, turning her head to kiss his fingertips. Their foreheads came to rest against each other, and she started to guide him inside of her. 

Eyes closing at the stretch of taking him, she gripped at his shoulders, Tommy pressing kisses to her collarbone and thumbs drawing circles into her skin while she got adjusted. Lucy buried her face in his neck. He smelled like a smoky campfire in the middle of the woods at night, warm and welcoming with an edge of danger and melancholy.  

Locking her fingers in his hair, she gently tipped his head back, angling her face down to kiss him softly, and starting to move. Tommy groaned, gripping onto her thigh, fingers pressing into her skin tight enough to probably leave bruises. His eyes gazed into hers, fluttering when she traced over the sharp lines of his jaw.

There was nowhere in the world where she felt safer than in the circle of his arms. There was always such a gentleness to the way that he handled her. A tenderness. Like the mere thought of hurting her was too much for him to bear. 

She had never felt so loved. So cherished. So wanted. Whenever her insecurities started to get the better of her, all it took was this. The joining of their bodies. Their very beings molding together. His hands on her and his eyes looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the entire world. Hips moving in time with hers, slow and deep as they worked together to bring them both to the peak of pleasure. Making love in such a way that it was impossible for her to doubt the existence of his feelings for her. 

“Tommy,” she croaked out, hips still rolling into his, every bounce on his cock sending her nerve endings alight. His arms flexed, helping to support her weight. Their mouths were both open, moaning into the dark air of the bedroom, the bed frame starting to creak under their bodies. Lucy’s walls fluttered and tightened, the familiar warmth of an approaching orgasm building in her lower belly, clit twitching. 

He brushed some hair that had fallen forward out of her face, cupping her cheek gently. A guttural groan left his chest when she took a moment to pause between thrusts just to grind on his cock, her eyes rolling at the pressure that doing so put on her clit. At this angle, his thick tip was pressing into her most sensitive spot. Taking hold of one of his hands, she guided it down until his fingers were at her clit, his digits immediately starting to rub in tight little circles. 

Lucy’s breath stuttered in her lungs, back arching to press her breasts even more firmly against his chest. He growled lowly, thrusting his hips up more sharply into her, pressing down hard onto her clit. She cried out, the band inside her snapping, firelight exploding behind her eyes as she came. 

Tommy caught her in his arms as her muscles gave way, clutching her close with a hand still on her back and the other cupping the back of her head. His hips continued to buck up into her, drawing out her orgasm while he approached his own. Lucy burrowed against him, letting him guide her through her high, gasping softly at the sensation of his cock swelling larger within her. 

Grazing her teeth across his freckled shoulder, she felt more than heard Tommy moan, and then he was leaning back, staring into her face, nuzzling their noses together. He kissed her hard, pumping in one last time, gasping her name out into her mouth as she felt his cock pulse and start to release a heavy load inside of her. 

Cupping his cheeks, she watched his face when he came, grunting softly with pleasure, eyelashes fluttering while he gazed at her. She gave an experimental little bounce on his still emptying cock, earning herself a louder, deeper moan from him. Eyes slipping closed, his hands grabbed at her hips to keep her still.

“Too sensitive,” he mumbled, starting to pepper kisses along her shoulder. Lucy hummed, immediately ceasing all movements to instead just snuggle him. Her arms wound around his neck, stroking his hair, lips finding his cheek.

Slowly, he reclined them both back onto the pillows. Lucy gingerly slipped off of his softening cock, and Tommy drew her in close to his chest, his fingertips starting to trace along her back. The skin was a mess of scars. Yet another gift Luca had given her during the three days she’d spent bound in the basement of a church with him. The cat o’ nine tails he’d whipped her with had done its job well, the pale skin twisted and marred.

She hated looking at it. Hated even thinking about it most of the time. All it did was remind her of those tortuous days. Not to mention made her feel so repulsed at her own reflection she could barely look in the mirror without gagging. 

And yet Tommy’s gentle, adoring touch on them helped soothe some of the disgust she felt towards herself. Despite her best attempts to hide them from him, he’d seen all the scars that covered her body more times that she could count. Never once had he indicated even the slightest revulsion towards them. Under his gaze and hands, she almost was able to feel beautiful.  

“You okay?” His voice interrupted her thoughts, and she wondered if he had been able to sense her getting lost in her own head again.

“Yeah,” she said, getting more comfortable on his chest. Tilting her head up, she looked into his blue eyes, seeming to practically glow in the otherwise darkness of the room. With the passion of desire clearing from her head, thoughts about the future—and their current roster of problems—were making themselves known again. “Tommy, what are we going to do?”

“About Lizzie?”

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I can’t give her what she wants, and I don’t know what else to do to make her happy.”

“Me neither.” Their voices were quiet despite it only being them in the room.

“Maybe if I sit her down and try to explain a couple things to her…” Tommy suggested. 

“What kinds of things?”

“Just…how things are in my head.”

Lucy pushed herself up slightly on her arms to get a better look at him. “You’ve tried to let her in on multiple occasions. She always either ignores you or changes the subject.” It drove Lucy absolutely batty, to have to listen to Lizzie whine and cry about how Tommy ‘never let her in’ when she herself had seen him on multiple occasions try to open up to Lizzie, only for Lizzie to show no interest in what he was actually attempting to communicate to her. It was no wonder that over time he’d more or less given up any attempts at emotionally connecting with her. 

“Yeah,” his chest went up and down with his sigh. Lucy stroked his skin in sympathy, wishing terribly that there was something–anything–that she could do to make it better. 

“I’m sorry.”

His head angled down to look at her, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. The arm around her tightened, bringing her closer so he could kiss her forehead. “You make it all easier, you know.” His lips moved against her skin as he spoke before drawing back to look into her eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She felt herself flush, looking bashfully down, busying herself with trailing a hand through his chest hair. “You’d survive.”

“No,” his voice was deadly serious, Her gaze snapped back up to his, eyes wide. “I don’t think that I would.”

Her brows drew in, lips parting, head cocking a little to the side. She reached for him, both hands resting on his cheeks. He leaned into her touch, eyes sliding closed, a hand covering one of hers. “Tommy…”

“It’s alright,” he kissed the center of her palm. 

“I couldn’t survive without you either.”

He gave her a look of deep understanding, kissing her softly on the lips. “C’mere.”

She let him pull her back into snuggling against him, closing her eyes with a soft sigh at how warm and comfy he was. 

There was a sudden change in the weight on the bed, as a tiny little figure hopped up onto the mattress, searching for a warm place to join in the cuddle pile. 

At the sudden, unexpected arrival of the cat, Tommy yelped in a way so unbecoming of one of England’s most feared gangsters that it sent Lucy into a fit of giggles. Trouble meowed, tail flicking back and forth, little paws picking carefully over the comforter towards them. Lucy kept on laughing, pressing a hand to her mouth to try to stifle it as Tommy scrambled to pull the blankets up around them.

“It’s just Trouble, love,” she snickered. 

“Where the hell did she come from!?” 

“She must’ve been hiding under the bed or something.”

He stared at her with wide, horrified eyes. “Do you think she was watching us?”

“Probably.” She raised an eyebrow when Tommy seemed to shrink a little into the pillows. Trouble padded over to her, purring when Lucy started to give her scratches under the chin. “You’re fine with other women watching us fuck, but the cat is where you draw the line?”

He just harrumphed in exasperation, raising a hand to rub down his face.  Lucy rolled her eyes fondly, giving him a kiss in the center of his chest before turning her attention back to their cat.

“Hey, sweetie,” she cooed when Trouble rubbed her head against her palm. She then settled herself against Tommy’s side opposite where Lucy was laying, curling into a tight ball against him with a purr. 

Like mother, like daughter, Lucy thought with a small smile as Tommy dropped his hand to pet Trouble’s back. She let her head rest back onto his chest, stroking over his ribs. 

“She better mind the claws this time,” Tommy muttered, but made no move to push Trouble away. Lucy bit her lip to try to stifle a grin at the memory of Trouble climbing over his bare chest one night to get close to her. She’d woken up to him yelping in complaint of the scratches the cat had left in his chest, Trouble meowing back at him defiantly when he tried to scold her. 

Tommy’s fingertip found the underside of her chin, tilting her head up. 

“Oh, you find this amusing, do you?”

“Mhm.” She pressed her still smiling lips together.

He snorted, shaking his head, unable to fully keep the amusement out of his eyes. “The fucking cheek I get in this house, I swear…”

Laughing, she stretched up to kiss him once more. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Polly was already at the Garrison when Lucy arrived with Tommy and Arthur. Pacing from side to side like an irritable cat, black cigarette clutched between her fingers, she eyed them warily upon their arrival and subsequent movements to go stand by the bar. 

“You armed?” she asked them. At all three of their answers to the affirmative, Polly pursed her lips. Lucy raised an eyebrow at her request that they put their weapons behind the bar in case tempers flared. While Arthur irritably dumped the bullets in his gun out and then tossed the empty weapon onto the table, Lucy looked to Tommy for instruction, ready to follow his lead on whether or not he acquiesced to Polly’s request. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached into his suit jacket and removed his gun from its holster, turning and setting it on the bar behind him. Lucy mimicked his movements, hoisting herself up on her arms to perch on the edge of the bar next to Tommy, reaching behind her to lay her gun down next to his.

She busied herself fishing a cigarette from her pocket and lighting it while Tommy talked to Polly about the dream he’d had of a black cat. Which, according to Polly’s teachings, meant that there was a traitor close by. Polly’s face remained immovable the entire time. She had told them Michael was telling the truth when he said he didn’t betray them, but they would never be able to fully trust Polly when it came to Michael. She might lie to protect him. Or her motherly love for him could cloud her judgment. 

Lucy was living proof that Polly’s perceptions of people weren’t always entirely correct, after all. 

There was the sound of a car approaching outside, and Polly went to the front door to greet her son and his new wife. Tommy’s hand landed on Lucy’s thigh, smoothing up and down, warm even through the thick fabric of her trousers. She scooted a tad closer to him, until her thigh just barely brushed against his shoulder when he was leaning against the bar, sensing that he was in need of the closeness. 

Polly came back in with Michael and Gina right behind her. Lucy took them both in with a careful, analytical eye. 

They looked well. Michael had his hair slicked back, a fine beige coat draped over his suit. His face was the same as it had been the day he left for America, but his eyes were different. Colder. Harder. More guarded. 

His wife, Gina Gray–formally Nelson, Lucy’s hasty research on her had revealed– stood beside him in her expensive furs. Blonde curls were styled carefully around her face, lips pressed in an eternally smug expression. 

Lucy hated her from almost the first moment she laid eyes on her. 

Snobbishness seemed to ooze from her, looking at them as if they were scum on the bottom of her shoe. A smirk danced across her lips, eyeing Tommy up before turning her gaze to Lucy. Her eyebrow raised as she zeroed in on the closeness of Lucy’s thigh to Tommy’s shoulder. Lucy stared back at her challengingly, half daring her to say something. Gina’s eyes met hers unflinchingly. Lucy cocked her head. 

Little girl wants to come play with the gangsters, now does she?

Gina finally broke the silent stare-down, looking back at Tommy. Lucy kept her gaze focused on her for a moment longer, then returned to assessing Michael, who had started talking almost as soon as he and Gina had entered. Lucy wondered if he thought that if he could get a head start on the conversation, then he could control where it went. 

When Tommy ordered Michael to sit down, he ignored him. Lucy’s eyes narrowed to slits at the blatant disrespect.

The boy had forgotten his place.

He should have come in there crawling on his hands and knees, begging them for forgiveness. Already he was extremely lucky to not have been greeted with a razor to his throat upon his arrival in England. 

Instead, he stood there, and told them all about how he had come so close to betraying them, but oh, no, they should be grateful. They should be proud. Because his precious, smug little wife had stopped him. Even though he said it himself that he had already betrayed them in his heart. 

Did he really not understand how significant that already was?

Did the idiot really not see how with every word, with every second that he continued to ignore Tommy’s order that he sit his ass down, he was only digging his own grave deeper?

“I told you to sit down, Michael,” Tommy finally interrupted. It wasn’t quite a snarl, but it was close. He’d clearly taken note of the blatant dismissal of his authority just as she had. 

Michael went quiet. Then reached over to pull out the nearest chair to him at the table Polly had sat down at. But before he sank into it, he looked up at Tommy, and for a brief, sliver of a second, Lucy saw a look flash in his eyes of such ice-cold contempt, it could have given her frostbite.

It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, but she knew that she hadn’t imagined it. She had felt the chill, the instinctive break-out of gooseflesh across her arms. The prickling at the back of her neck. 

Danger was close by. Right in front of them. 

There was an enemy in the room with them. Her gaze flickered briefly to Gina once more. Maybe even more than one. 

The chair creaked, barely audibly, as Michael finally lowered himself into it. Gina leaned against the pillar beside him. 

Tommy spoke slowly, each word carefully plucked, commanding Michael to tell him what happened on the ship in Belfast. 

Lucy’s eyes narrowed as they listened to Michael’s story of how the Billy Boys had boarded the ship he and Gina had been on. They’d been offering a deal, Michael said, to help destroy Tommy. But then the IRA had interrupted them. He failed to elaborate on what happened with the Billy Boys and the IRA before Captain Swing took him captive. 

When Polly tried to prompt Michael into actually saying that he did not deal with the Billy Boys, he gave her no straight answer. Instead he deflected with a weak smile, reaching for Gina’s hand, and announcing that he and Gina had gotten married because Gina was pregnant. 

The whole room filled with stony silence, everyone looking expectantly to Tommy for his verdict.

Slowly, he nodded. “Okay, Michael. I believe you. Welcome home. Congratulations. Just remember…your unborn child has witnessed what you said…”

“Thomas!” Polly exclaimed, horrified.

“And it will be born accordingly.” 

Michael just about launched himself out of his chair was a furious roar, impeded only by Arthur calmly stepping between him and his brother. Polly jumped from her seat. Tommy just blinked calmly, not moving. 

Lucy burst into hysterical, mad-sounding cackles. 

Even as Michael spat vitriol at Tommy from over Arthur’s shoulder, Tommy hardly even batted an eye, merely raising an eyebrow at his cousin. Lucy's unhinged cackles began to subside into quiet giggles. From behind Michael, she saw both Polly and Gina shoot her disturbed, puzzled looked. She just grinned, swaying back and forth delightedly, raising her cigarette to her lips. 

She failed to see what all the fuss was about. If Michael was telling the truth, then he ought to have nothing to worry about.  

The instructions that Tommy gave Michael regarding what he was to do next seemed only fair. He’d lost their company a lot of money. And yet Michael’s look of fury didn’t fade. Entitled cunt. Did he really think that they wouldn’t make him pay them back what he owed them? 

It was Gina who ended up drawing her husband away. Crooning in her harsh American accent, the smug expression that had wavered only briefly at Tommy’s threat back firmly in place. Polly stormed out the door after them, expression hardened when she looked at Tommy before leaving. Arthur locked the door behind them. 

Tommy grabbed his gun from behind the bar, passing Lucy hers so she could tuck it away into her suit jacket. The three of them gathered around the table in the center of the empty pub to debrief, Arthur meticulously sliding the bullets back into the chamber of his revolver while Tommy poured some whiskey. 

“What do we think?” Arthur asked. 

“If anything I’m more suspicious of him than I was when he came in,” Lucy took the glass Tommy offered her. “I don’t like how he deflected with Gina’s pregnancy there at the end.”

“Yeah. He never did answer Polly’s question, did he?” Arthur snorted, shaking his head, gaze going to his younger brother. “Tom?”

“So we’re all in agreement,” Tommy said slowly. “We don’t trust him.”

“So what do we do next?” Arthur asked, fingers pausing where he’d been about to slide the final bullet home in its chamber. 

Tommy cleared his throat, pursing his lips together. His eyes met Lucy’s, and she sighed. 

“Just suspicious words aren’t going to be enough to convince Polly,” she concluded.

“We keep him on a tight leash, for now.”

They all unanimously agreed. Michael would hate every second of it, but they needed to be sure. 

Lucy thought back to the landmines she and Tommy had dug out of the garden, little specks of dirt still wedged in deep under her nails, and shivered.

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[emeritusemeritus]

One for George and y/n: Easter egg hunting at the Burrow with all the Weasleys (George's siblings and their children)

Such a cute idea! 🖤

Warnings: Minor swearing, mentions of pregnancy, cute Weasley fun and fluff.

Words: 1.3k

Easter Bunny's gift.

Easter at the Burrow was always one of the things you looked forward to the most, especially now you had children of your own with George.

Ever since the first grandchild had arrived, Molly and Arthur had started a wonderful tradition of a magical Easter egg hunt on the land surrounding the house.

Your daughters were 5 and 3, both now at the age that they took the egg hunt very seriously, especially as they were essentially competing against their cousins. George had given them tips before hand, because of course he had, and you'd arrived at the Burrow with two very excited children. And a very excited husband, who had been to set up the race with Arthur earlier that morning, no doubt putting his own mischievous twist on the egg hunt.

The wonderful thing about Molly and Arthur having seven children was that as you all grew up, the number of family members inevitably doubled and then tripled, at least. Siblings, spouses, children, cousins; everyone packed in to the space you'd always loved, the heart of the family- the Burrow.

You were immediately greeted by most of the Weasley siblings and their partners, the kids all chasing each other and giggling in glee with squeals of delight echoing through the open fields. Bill and Fleur, Ron and Hermione, Harry and Ginny, all of them stood around tables of food and drink that you knew Molly would have agonised over all morning. You couldn't see Percy or Audrey but you could see little Molly and Lucy running around with Victoire, Rose and Lily and so assumed that they were around somewhere. It was always funny to see the entire family gathered together, the sea of Red hair only broken up by a few blonde and brunette children running around.

"Rory! Poppy!" Dominique squeals in excitement, spotting your daughters and immediately falling into an excited conversation that was almost too high for adults to hear, their excited squeals and giggles so loud it almost made you wince. She pauses briefly to flash you a smile, missing her two front teeth. "Hi aunt y/n, hi unky George! Come on, Granny's got toffee!"

Now child free, George smiles at you as he takes your hand and leads you down the path towards the Burrow, greeting his family with warmth. You mingle through the crowd until you make your way inside, offering Molly some help in the kitchen.

"Oh y/n dear, you just get prettier!" She says with a wide and motherly smile, approaching you with hands outstretched as she pulls you in for a tight hug. She's all dressed up in her most vibrant colours, a glittery beret clip in her hair with the signature apron tied around her waist.

"Right, almost time!" Molly says with delight as she steps outside, giving Arthur a little nod who claps his hands together and smiles, walking off towards the back lawn.

You shoot George a little smile as you look over at your daughters, huddled together with the other cousins almost bouncing with excitement. Molly had made a ridiculous number of little eggs for the children, some with chocolate, marshmallow, toffee, everything that would keep your girls up way past their bedtime if they ate too much.

"Right Weasleys," Arthur says, taking lead of the gaggle of excitable children. "Two rules only. Number 1, share and be mindful of your cousins, we want everyone to have fun. Number 2, grab as much as you can! Ready... set.... Go!"

Just as Arthur said the words, a little firework shot up into the sky which transformed into the shape of a bunny in the sky, the words 'this way' scrawled out next to it as it moved towards the start line that Arthur had made. Your mouth opened in disbelief and turned towards your husband who was putting his wand back in his pocket with a mischievous grin. He turned to you and gave you a little wink, little butterflies erupting in your tummy at the look even after all these years.

With a resounding squeal of excitement, the children ran off, following the rabbit, each of them clutching their little baskets ready to swoop on the eggs that had been meticulously placed by their grandad. You watched and laughed as they giggled, all of them picking up little eggs and slinging them into their baskets.

Some were suspended in the air by magic, others tucked into trees and the ground as normal. George had jinxed the tree near the border to rain eggs when the kids ran under it. You laughed as you watched Hugo and Albus scream in sheer delight when they stepped under the tree and hundreds of little eggs rained down on them, dropping into their baskets. They immediately called the girls over to look at what had just happened, all fo the adults watching beginning to laugh when the girls also squealed out in delight as the eggs rained down on them.

"Y/n, can you please watch Louis whilst I go to the loo?" Fleur said from beside you, her French accept as strong at ever, holding out baby Louis, his little blanket covered body making him look like a beautiful little bundle.

"Of course I can," you say with a smile, readily accepting your youngest nephew into your arms, he was crying a little, whimpering and trying to break free from the blanket. Fleur thanked you profusely as she handed over her youngest before walking quickly back to the house.

"Ssssh, it's okay sweetheart, your mummy will be back soon," you coo, assuring little Louis as you rocked him in your arms. He was beautiful, a little patch of striking blonde hair beginning to grow on his head. You adjusted his blankets just slightly to keep his fingers in and swayed with him in your arms as you watched your daughters giggling from higher up the field. The enchanted bunny firework had started dancing around the kids, dodging them and attempting to steal their eggs making them all giggle.

When you looked down at Louis, he was asleep, his eyes closed and looking the definition of comfy, all snuggled in his warm and soft blanket.

"I'll never get over how much that suits you," you hear your husband say, appearing behind you, looking down at the baby in your arms.

"Oh yeah?" You smile, looking up at him as his arm slips onto your shoulder, his lips descending upon your hair to press a gentle kiss just above your ear.

"I think it's your best look," he pauses, "though I do like you pregnant too."

"Well... I'd say you're in luck Mr Weasley," you say with a glint in your eye, watching as his eyes light up even more than the kids collecting their chocolate once he realises what you were telling him.

"What do you think? I think a little boy would be a nice addition," you say, looking down at the sleeping little boy in your arms, imagining one of your own.

"I'll have a word with the Easter bunny," George says with a smirk, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, both of you sharing a little moment.

"No way Hermione," you hear from the side, Ron's dead set voice drawing your attention away from George.

"Oh come on Ron!" Hermione says, getting frustrated with him. "For Hugo and Rose."

"You're not transfiguring me into a bloody rabbit!"

[novelizt]

THIS LOVE CAME BACK TO ME ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ fluff with a little angst, friends to lovers (everyone can see it)

SYNOPSIS ➺ you're back in town. as promised, lockwood welcomes you with open arms. the only difficulty was the fact that you kissed the last time you saw each other.

WC ➺ 4.8k

DISCLAIMER ➺ fem! wedding planner! reader, and i try to write a more descriptive kiss scene (i apologize in advance), the trio has been aged up to about 18-19, and lockwood calls reader 'sweetheart' but in a totally (not) platonic way.

WARNINGS ➺ profanity (one curse word), reader is briefly jealous of lucy, QUILL KIPPS, description of pools and being underwater, a little suggestive but nothing graphic

NOTE ➺ here's the beginning of my 1989 TV sonfic collection!! (full collection masterlist will be out on oct 27.) belly and jeremiah's pool kiss popped into my head while writing. do with that information as you will. this also came out fluffier than i intended it to be. @t2sh0 , here's one of your favorite 1989 tracks turned into a fic, i hope you enjoy 💙

Anthony Lockwood had a way of charming people. You knew you were a goner the second he flashed his teeth at you.

In the eleven months you were employed in Lockwood & Co., you hoped that the subtle touches over case files or the longing glances across the table meant the same to him as it did to you.

That said, you weren't sure what to make of it when he did kiss you—right before you boarded a plane out of the country. You tried to imagine it to be as magical as you dreamed of, but the only impression it left was a confusing one.

Did he kiss you out of pity? Did he do it because you might never come back? Did he do it because it was a spur of the moment thing?

Luckily, your studies distracted you enough to give you some peace. It's only when the world settled into night that you pondered it over and over again, until you agonized over it enough to cry yourself to sleep.

Your contemplations still haunted you as you lugged your bag off the conveyor belt, actually breathing in London air for the first time in three years. When you centered yourself, you scanned the crowd and found your name scrawled in messy, familiar handwriting. The person that held the sign hadn't aged a day.

Lockwood looked older than he did when you first met him, but, now, he had grown into himself. His smile remained unchanged. It speared you in the heart, just like it did the first time.

"Hello, stranger." He was first to speak.

"Hi," you said. You considered adding a witty remark but found that you couldn't conjure one up as quickly as you used to. Instead, you smiled to fill in the awkward silence.

He returned your grin but it didn't reach his eyes. You didn't say anything else before he lowered the sign and held out his arm. You let out an uneasy laugh as you shrugged your bag off your shoulder and onto his.

Even if your mind grappled for something to start with, small talk didn't pick up like how you imagined it would. How could it? The last time he walked beside you, you two were different people. At least, you were.

You were never going to be the kids who bumped fists or laughed at jokes only you two knew again. You were never going to be his partner in crime the same way you were years ago.

Your talent had nulled, leaving you with the only choice to pursue a new life elsewhere, in another country. You knew you had changed, but did Lockwood? The uncertainty was a stake between you. He was acting like nothing was wrong, which made it difficult to gauge whether his lack of speaking was on purpose or he was as lost as you were.

He had taken the side of the walk closest to the road—like he always did. You remembered that he said it was the "most gentlemanly thing to do in the presence of a lady." You called bullshit, but you found yourself softening 'round the edges thanks to his chivalry.

You paced a ways behind him, watching his back and the swish of his coat tails. Like a dagger to the heart, you realized that his coat was new.

"What happened to the trusty old boy?"

It was your first attempt at a conversation. You hoped your voice didn't quiver.

Lockwood slowed his pace to fall in line beside you before shooting you a confused look. Realization hit shortly after. He pinched the lapels of his coat. "You mean my old coat?"

"Yeah." You smiled, forcing yourself to make it convincing. "What happened to it?"

"Lost it," he explained. He chuckled with a far-off look in his eye. It was a fond memory by the looks of it. "Smeared in plasma. There was no salvaging it. Why, you miss it?"

"A little bit," you lied.

He had kept you warm under that coat on more than one occasion. You knew where the seams unraveled, and you knew what he put in each of its pockets. You missed it terribly, and it wasn't even yours. Just like a certain someone. It was pathetic, really.

If he had caught on to your disappointment, he didn't show it. Instead, he teased you with a smile. "Life goes on, sweetheart." He closed the space between you to nudge your arm, just like the good ole days. "There's plenty of coats in the sea."

You stiffle a laugh behind your hand. The endearment had brought the butterflies in your belly back to life. Three years and that hadn't changed at all, and only Anthony could make you chuckle over a bad joke. "Yeah? Where did this one come from?"

He shrugged, pursing his lips. "I haven't got a clue. George and Lucy got it for me."

George, you knew. He was the grump who refused to say one good thing about you but didn't hesitate to make you lime pie when you were in low spirits.

Lucy . . . Lucy was new. Her name had made your hair stand. "Lucy?"

Lockwood snapped his fingers. "Ah, that's what I forgot to tell you." He looked both ways before taking your arm and crossing the street. Portland Row was standing right in front of you, but it felt different now that you knew that someone else was occupying your old room. "Lucy Carlyle is our newest recruit. A Listener. A bloody good one, at that."

He looked elated, so you knew she was doing good for the agency. Something about the way he talked about her made your heart sink.

You were still coming up with a reply when Portland Row cracked open and George Karim's face entered your periphery. He wasn't the type to smile widely, but you took the minute tilt of his lips as an attempt at one.

Perhaps the trip had warped your senses because that was probably the most enthusiastic you'd ever heard him. "About time you came back, trouble."

Aww, he remembered you. The sentiment comforted you more than you cared to admit.

—

Lucy Carlyle's eyes widened the moment Lockwood introduced you. Something finally clicked for her, yet you didn't know what it was. All you really did was shuffle awkwardly and utter a feeble "nice to meet you."

"Oh my God . . . You're the agent they can't shut up about," she grinned.

Lockwood's nettled eyes darted to you. "'Can't shut up about' is being generous."

"Come off it," Lucy scoffed, swatting him away as if he were nothing more than a mosquito. "I was wondering if your name was some weird code. "You-know-who would know what to do", "I'd kill to have her help right about now." Ugh! Now it makes sense!"

Lockwood set his fists on his hips, licking his lips in search of an alibi. "George brought you up more often than not."

George shot him a glare—one that threatened to break the biscuit rule. "Because you'd start. Then you'd talk even louder if I told you to shut up."

"You were part of the conversation regardless."

"Well, she wasn't! You just couldn't quit your yap—"

Lucy kicked out one of the chairs at the table. You smiled gratefully as you took the seat, the boys' bickering melting into the background.

"Are you rejoining the agency?" Lucy asked, propping her elbow on the table. "I'm on the brink of going insane, so I could use a friend. One that doesn't think it's normal to walk around without a shirt or trousers."

You graced her with a gentle laugh. "That's the boys for you, but I'm afraid not, no. I no longer have the Talent to stay in this line of work..." You look down at your hands, remembering the countless stars you wished on to fix you. None of them granted your wish. Your Touch never came back to you. You'd abscessed over the same issue countless times before but now that you were back, you were writing a new chapter of your life. You clenched your fist with reborn determination. "Lockwood promised that I would always have a place here while I get back on my feet, and it would be lovely to be friends with you. Right now, I'm looking for places to bring my other skills. Just because my abilities changed doesn't mean the world will wait for me to get used to it."

When you looked up, you were surprised to not only find Lucy's glazed eyes on you, but George and Lockwood's, too. George coughed into his fist, turning away and finding interest in the kettle. Lockwood's brows furrowed, etching lines of sadness across his face. Lucy tried to plaster on a smile.

"You're very brave. I wouldn't know what to do if my Talent started to fade," Lucy said, hoping the vote of confidence would do what she intended it to.

You appreciated the sentiment but the sorrow in the recess of your mind would always stick at the mention of Talent. "Thank you, Lucy. And you don't have to worry about that right now. From what I hear, you're the best Listener in London." You placed your elbow on the table then set your cheek on your palm. "Tell me, what is the most horrendous thing you've heard?"

—

"I wouldn't mind sharing a room, really."

Despite Lucy's willingness, Lockwood refuted it. "Nice as you are, Luce, half the things you keep up there will unsettle her. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

You shook your head, an amused smile on your face. "I was an agent, too. It takes a lot to bother me, Anthony. I didn't turn into a wuss just because I've been out of the country."

"Yes, well," Lockwood flourished his hand. "She keeps a jarred skull swimming in sludge with her. Letting you witness that tragedy would be unjust of me."

"I can handle it," you reassure positively. Skull in a jar sounded intriguing. The bigger question was why Lucy kept it in her room, but the was a question for another day.

Lockwood shook his head. When he crossed his arms, you knew the meeting had been adjourned.

"Are we really surprised?" George whispered to you on the way upstairs.

You chuckled and shook your head. "Not really."

—

The only reason you were familiar with Lockwood's room involved chess matches at the most ungodly hours of night. When insomnia had troubled you, you'd come right down, plop the board in the middle of the bed, and play until one or both of you would slump over.

You wondered if he was itching to even the score from three years ago, but you were surprised by the order in which he put his room in. Lockwood wasn't one to worry about a mess, but he was conscious enough to put it away that day. It was the tidiest you'd ever seen the place.

The only stain was the chessboard on the bed and your luggage that had taken over the ottoman at the foot of said bed.

When you rounded on him to ask, he presented you with a smug smile. "We have a lot to catch up on. What better way than over a game of chess?"

You crossed your arms, shifting your weight onto one leg. "Because I won last time?"

"And that," he admitted, shuffling over to his side of the bed and claiming the white pieces. "You know me so well, sweets."

You shook your head in a beguiled way, charmed by his truthfulness. "You're so predictable."

His eyes lit up, like they always did when he was presented a challenge. "See if you can say the same when I check your king."

"In your dreams, Anthony Lockwood." The bed dipped as you sat on your side, mentally prepping yourself to spend the night humbling him whilst trying not to stare at the motions of his hands for too long.

He moved the first pawn, and the game began.

You were so immersed, you missed the book folded open on his bedside table. In it was highlighted: 'the best way to beat jet lag; stay awake for as long as you can.'

—

You finally had a foot in the door three weeks after arriving in London. Sure, it wasn't glamorous and you spent more time advertising yourself than making money, but it was progress nonetheless.

Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, but the fact that Quill Kipps was also a resident in these parts completely went over your head. You received your reminder when he had reached for the book you wanted for you. It took a little effort not to sneer at him—muscle memory.

You wouldn't have obliged but Kipps had already started a conversation. "Thought I'd never see you here again, trouble." As nasty as he usually was, he didn't show it. Dare you say he was civil? He even smiled at you. Chills. "Does Tony know?"

You clutched the book to your chest, disconcerted by how kind he was being. "He does, yeah. I'm staying with him until I can afford a place of my own."

"Figures," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. He was looking a lot like himself. "I'm surprised he hasn't popped the question."

Your jaw tensed. You had a sudden urge to thunk him over the head to get his mind back in order. "That's because there is no question to pop, Kipps." You looked away, mustering the last of your patience. "My Talent faded. I plan weddings for a living now. I don't have much of a name here yet so business is quite slow."

You didn't see his face change but you sure heard it. "Sorry to hear that..."

"Me, too. I guess."

"Don't give me cheek. I quit because my Talent faded, too."

Your eyes bugged out. The admission was like a carpet being pulled out from under you. "You're kidding."

He chuckled morosely. "I wish I was. I'm trying to find my way but it is challenging."

"With that attitude, of course it is."

Kipps snorted, squaring his shoulders. It didn't do much. He looked as punchable as he usually did. "You sound like him."

"I don't think so. He has more to say about you than I do. He makes me look nice."

Kipps nodded, giving you an invisible tip of a hat. There was a period of brief silence before he opened his mouth again. "Say, the complex I live in has a vacancy on the third floor. If you're interested, I can give you the address."

You tapped the cover of your book, mentally tallying the pros and cons before shrugging. "What's the harm in asking? I have a yellow note in my bag, let me fetch it.

"I'll come along. I'm about to get my books checked anyway."

You allowed him to follow you to your table and bade your tense farewells after he had scribbled down the address and the custodian's telephone.

—

It was no mystery that Lockwood had caught wind of the momentary interaction. You were unaware of how, but he had ways, apparently. He caught up to you on your walk home.

"Was he bothering you?" was the first thing he asked.

He came out of nowhere, so it was reasonable that his voice made you jump. You didn't expect to be intercepted at a cross-walk, of all places. With one look at his face, you relaxed then resumed your steps. "Who are you talking about, Lockwood?"

"Kipps," he said quickly. "was he bothering you?"

"Oh," you look down at the yellow note wedged in the cover of your book. "no. He just gave me a referral for a flat."

Lockwood disappeared from your periphery. For a moment, you thought that would be the end of it, but then you remembered that whenever it involved Quill Kipps, he would never keep his nose out of it. Lockwood returned to your side not long after. "You're staying in Portland Row," he said with the conviction of a hundred unspoken confessions. "You don't need rubbish referrals."

"I can't room with you forever," you replied. You faltered because of the hurt on his face. You must have imagined it because he was back to normal in a blink of an eye. You steeled yourself. "Lockwood & Co. is a psychical agency, not a rental place. And I have weddings to plan. I need more space."

"We can make room in the library," he bargained.

You halted in your steps, raising a brow at him. "You've never seen a proper wedding planning if you think that little room will suffice. You need that space for your case documents."

"We can move them to the office," he insisted, stopping in front of you. He thought a smile would work but you didn't budge, even after he showed you his best grin. "We can make it work."

You sighed, exasperated. The street was empty, so you had nothing else to preoccupy your mind with. "Lockwood... I can't plan weddings in the same house George rants about the Problem in."

"I really don't see the issue there."

He sealed his lips when you narrowed your eyes at him.

—

If Anthony Lockwood was anything, it was petty. A few nights later, he deposited himself in the seat beside you and decided to made your business his business.

"I think the ivory looks better with that shade of violet."

You cocked a brow at him, flipping to the next page of your photo book. "Pray tell, what are you doing here?"

With an unmoving smile, he said, "Learning a thing or two about wedding planning, so I can gauge just how much room you need."

"Lockwood... You don't have to be here."

"Oh, but I do," he retorted. "Lest you make a hasty decision, like living in a flat with Quill Kipps."

He flinched when you shut the book. The cold stare you gave him was just as paralyzing. "I won't be living in a flat with Kipps. He'd be living in the floor below mine. And for your peace of mind, this isn't a hasty decision. I'm only staying here until I can afford to rent my own place."

He bit the inside of his cheek. "Why do you have to go? We're perfectly happy here, aren't we? George knows your favorite recipes, Lucy's ecstatic to have another girl around, and I— well, I . . ."

"You . . . ?" Hope, like you've never felt before, rushed through you. Your ears could hear a pin drop with how attentive you were then.

Much to your disappointment, he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. "I would hate to lose a friend."

It was flattering, truly, but you were hoping for more than that. Perhaps an indication that the kiss three years ago had actually meant something. When he said nothing about it, you reverted back to assuming your affections were unrequited. Dejected, you thumbed at the pages of the photobook.

"I won't be leaving soon, and we'd still be friends when I move somewhere else," you reassure. You found it hard to get the words out. There was a prickling feeling behind your eyes you tried to bat away. You turned your attention to the flower options splayed on the coffee table. You were seeing, but you weren't absorbing anything. "I'll be here a while so you don't have to worry."

"Right..." He sounded even more dejected than you. You fought the urge to look up at him with every fiber of your being.

Your heart fell when he got up and abandoned you in the library. Even if you were surrounded by photographs of weddings—the happiest day of some lucky people's lives—you couldn't find a drop of joy when Lockwood had taken all of it with him.

—

The thing about realizations were that they always came late. Especially for someone as dense as Anthony Lockwood.

When he had turned the events of that night over in his head, he realized that he had been a fool. He was saying something, but he wasn't actually getting a message across. For someone who valued verbal affirmation, you must have felt alienated.

He had resolved to apologize, and apologize thoroughly. He had put on his best suit under his coat and picked his best shoes (the only ones without plasma burns) before heading to the site you told Lucy you were heading to that day. He sacrificed his five turns in the biscuit rotation to get the information from her, but he couldn't be too mad about it when he finally laid his eyes on you.

You traded your usual trousers and blouse in for a dress. Not that you weren't pretty in trousers and blouses, but the fact that your dress was white altered something in his brain. Something was wrong with him. Could have been anticipation. Could have been the terrible urge to get down on one knee.

He shook his head, putting that idea on the back burner. He was there to grovel for forgiveness. He had to apologize before all else.

Lockwood, with reborn inspiration, approached. Striding closer and closer—eyes trained on you.

Only one thing was on his mind, and that one fact may have been the cause of his downfall, because he hadn't seen the toy at the lip of the pool before it was too late.

Your face grew further and further until his body had broke the surface of the water. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. All he could see was blue. All he could feel was the cold. A sharp inhale hurt. Opening his eyes stung.

Once his feet reached the bottom of the pool, sense returned to him. He kicked off, gasping for air when he reached the surface. Another splash forced him to shut his eyes.

Then he heard it: The frantic way you were calling his name.

Your hair was matted to your head and drips of water slid down your face, yet, you looked as majestic as ever. You were a vision. His voice had been stolen, perhaps his heart, too (as if it wasn't already).

He regained feeling in his face when you set your hands on his cheeks. Then the world came rushing back. The splashing of water, the commotion that caused passerbys to run, and your voice that called to him above all that.

"Anthony? Anthony! Oh, heavens, are you okay?" You smoothed the hair away from his eyes. He wondered if you knew that it made him love you even more. "That was terrible fall. Are you hurt? Bleeding?"

He shouldn't be enjoying your doting when you were so obviously stressed over his condition, but how could he think straight when you were at arm's length—just this close to touching lips with him.

And you were touching him. Your palms were warm on his cheeks, cozied up under his ears. You could feel him smile if you wanted to.

It was no place or time to think about kissing you. He had talked himself out of it countless times before, but his restraint crumbled the moment he witnessed your teeth sink into the plush of your bottom lip.

He knew it was your nervoud tick, but his mind went blank. He seared every detail into his memory before he threw caution to the wind.

He found your waist, clutched your dress, and drew you to him with the urgency that had been restrained for years.

He's not sure whether you kissed back right away, but he did know that you were. Just as eager as he was.

With ignited confidence, he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Your fingers carded into his hair and you clung to his shoulders for stability.

It was painfully obvious that Touch was your specialty. Every brush of your fingertips set fire across his skin. He wouldn't forget it, even if he tried. His arms wound around you, his palm finding the back of your neck to hold you fast to him.

For a second, you parted. He caught a glimpse of your dazed eyes and ephemeral smile before you brought your lips down on his once more. You could very well be the death of him.

The belief grew stronger as you grew bolder, shifting to be able to wrap your legs around him. Squeezing your thighs against waist and warranting a gasp. You felt the rumble against your lips and beneath your fingers, earning a smile.

You would have done so much worse if a rigid scoff hadn't cut through the lavender haze.

He pulled away. You blinked, still encroached by the spur of the moment. The smell of chlorine polluted the space between you, but that only made your senses heighten. You were staring at Lockwood as water clung to his lashes. He was smiling at you, and you were smiling just as much. His thumb drew circled into your waist, and your fingers grazed the nape of his neck. It was chilling, in the best way.

The scoff came again, stealing your attention. Both of you looked up at the hotel manager with sheepish grins.

"Hello, sir," Lockwood started, amping up his charm with a disarming laugh. "Contrary to what you may be thinking, this didn't happen in purpose."

The hotel manager didn't buy any of it. He raised a practiced brow and regarded Lockwood with a frown that rivaled a wishbone.

There was no corporate talk that would get you out of this. You chuckled, patting Lockwood's back for the good try, but you already knew security was on the way.

"I take it that you're not hurt?" you murmured to Lockwood.

"No. In case I am, would you like to take my shirt off and take a look for yourself?"

You two had to walk home in soaked clothes, but you did take him up on his offer. Excitedly, too. Suffice to say, he didn't have a bruise on him.

—

You and Lockwood had returned to your roots; a peaceful game of chess. You had the upper hand on the board but Lockwood felt like a winner just seeing you in his shirt.

"Just in case it wasn't clear, I'd like to be more than friends," he said. He had lost another bishop but he was fine with it because you smiled at him.

"Yes. I know that now, Anthony."

"I don't want to just be friends with benefits either."

You snorted, amused. "I understand that, too."

He didn't move a piece until you looked at him. "It would pain me if you moved out. Three years apart was bad enough."

Your gaze softened and you reached across the board to hold his hand. He was the one who laced your fingers together. "I won't be going anywhere."

"Good," he chirped, eyes alight. "because I've already began moving the shelves into the office. You can have the library for work."

Even with your best efforts, you couldn't help but laugh. He bent toward you, wishing he could bottle the sound. "You are ridiculous, you know that?"

"I do," he said, inflating his chest. "and I'd like to be your lover as well."

You cocked a brow. "Would you?"

He squeezed your hand lightly, eyes shining with determination. "I can hear you thinking, sweetheart. What do I have to do to get you to say 'yes'?"

If he hadn't stolen your heart already, the way he raised your hands to his lips and planted a kiss on each of your knuckles would have. His eyes never strayed, honey brown eyes placating yours.

"Sweetheart?" he hummed, pleading for an answer.

You drew out the silence for a little longer. You felt that it was fair for him to suffer, just for a little while. He was the catalyst for years upon years of emotional turmoil.

But he had resolved it all with another kiss, this time on the sweet spot on your wrist—just over your racing pulse.

You were kind enough to put him out of his misery. "Kiss me again."

You were weak for how he smiled then.

"Gladly," he whispered, sliding the board aside and sending the chess pieces toppling to the floor to fulfill your request.

Your complaints were squashed down by his lips. He'd never forget the way you laughed as he tackled you into his bed.

Well, it was yours now, too.

NOTE ➺ did you notice that everyone calls reader 'trouble' but lockwood calls her 'sweetheart' 👀👀 i want what they have.

i have so many ideas lined up for my boy, but i just don't have much time to write them. life got busy lol.

anyway, this is the first of many 1989 TV songfics!! master list for the whole collection will be out on 1989 TV release day, I promise. i'll do my best to finish more wips because you can never have too much anthony lockwood.

i've also been thinking about making a tag list but I'm not sure how to go about that...

as always, don't be shy to leave some feedback, constructive criticism, or cute lil comments! i love raving about my boy 💙 i hope you enjoyed this one, because this isn't the last of me!

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

[gayandfairycore]

Marmalade and mischievous mornings

Summary: spending a morning in 35 portland row, regular shenanigans ensue between the four of you.

Word count: roughly 800 words(?)

A/n: this is my first time writing for lockwood and co. So I hope I did the characters justice! Feedback is muchly appreciated but please do be kind, This is not proof read.

The smell of toast, and marmalade filled the little kitchen at 35 Portland row, the comforting yellow light of the kitchen casted a warm shadow over the inhabitants of the house. The thinking cloth white, and yet covered in inky black doodles, and words scrawled messily down on the white tablecloth. the biscuit crumbs that seeming always found home on the table had began to make your arms itch as you sat next to your friends around the table, a warm cup of tea in hand.

As an ever drying pen is left uncapped, and discarded. The soft linen curtains blew in the mid morning air a conversation started to arise between the group of four. The conversation went a little something like George rattling on about the case they had just completed, Lucy calling the fact that it was clearly was not a low level type one and was actually very strong type two and that George was getting rusty on his research skills.

you couldn’t help finding it a bit funny that everyone around the table were in their pjs having a slow morning like usual to rejuvenate themselves after exhausting nightly escapades.

you couldn’t help finding it a bit funny that everyone around the table were in their pjs having a slow morning like usual to rejuvenate themselves after exhausting nightly escapades.

you couldn’t help finding it a bit funny that everyone around the table were in their pjs having a slow morning like usual to rejuvenate themselves after exhausting nightly escapades.

you couldn’t help finding it a bit funny that everyone around the table were in their pjs having a slow morning like usual to rejuvenate themselves after exhausting nightly escapades.

you couldn’t help finding it a bit funny that everyone around the table were in their pjs having a slow morning like usual to rejuvenate themselves after exhausting nightly escapades.

you couldn’t help finding it a bit funny that everyone around the table were in their pjs having a slow morning like usual to rejuvenate themselves after exhausting nightly escapades.

George had yet again refused to wear trousers, Lockwood a plain white tshirt on, as opposed to his regular suit and cut tie. Lucy an oversized shirt, and some comfy shorts, you having adorned something quite similar to Lucy. opting for a band shirt, pj shorts and some fluffy socks. It didn’t look like only last night three out of the four had almost died, in fact it looked as if the four of them had just had a slumber party.

Sadly it wasn’t a slumber party, instead they spent majority of last night running for their lives in a panic, away from a powerful ghost that they were unprepared to face. so majority of the group were surely going to be aching for the next few days.

munching down on a piece of toast and sipping your tea, the warmth from the chipped glass radiated to your hands, the steam from your tea momentarily being inhaled. a soft smile graced your features as you sipped your tea, Lucy and George’s bicker had yet to be stifled.

When you joined the agency Lockwood had actually warned you to usually just tune them out, that’s what he did. It made you laugh originally but dwelling on it now you’ve decided tonight you’ll pull him aside an ask him to teach you to tune out the friendly bickering.

“clearly you’re just a bit rubbish of a ghost hunter then!” George yelled, clutching his biscuit as he swung out his hands, shrugging his shoulders.

“Rubbish?!” Lucy exclaimed in faux outrage, a piece of buttered toast hanging from her mouth as she spoke the gravity of her exclamation declining as it came out muffled by the aforementioned toast.

“I am not rubbish, george karim! how many times have I come to your rescue? Hmm. You wouldn’t call me rubbish then!” The brunette persisted pointing her half eaten toast piece at him her eyes glared at the boy.

Knocking the piece of toast away from himself, “that’s different!” He retorted as slumped back in his chair slightly coy smile adorning his features.

“Oh is it?” The brunette raised her eyebrows her voice no longer yelling, George gulped quietly slumping impossibly deeper in his chair at the girl, her voice lowered in a warning. The same warning voice she used when they had first met. Watching the scene play out from across the table, toothy grin on your face as you admired your friends, your eyes caught Lockwoods. majority of his face hidden behind a crumpled and tea stained newspaper.

You watched as he shook his head at his friends antics, chuckling into his tea cup. Your eyes meeting in a silent melancholic comforting moment.

your attention only moving when you heard your name called, ”cmon y/n back me up!” Lucy’s expecting gaze told you that you had missed something.

Your eyes darting between the pair nodding unsurely and feigning confidence as you replied with an “oh yeah, absolutely what she said.” Before tilting your head in subtle exasperation taking a large sip of your tea, to mask your embarrassment of admiring Lockwood so much that you had managed to tune out the pair.

“No! Y/n how could you!” George exclaimed mock outraged taking over his expression as he slumped back in defeat, Lucy’s laughter filled the air, a lost expression passed over your face as you glanced between the pair, Lockwood pulling you into his side to answer your unspoken question,

“she just stated she’s the better researcher than him, and that anyone would agree she could do it with her eyes closed.” Lockwood smirked stifling a chuckle as he let go of your arms “and you just agreed with her”

The boy smirked, flicking out his news paper with flourish.

Your mouth formed a ‘o’ at the revelation, before a cocky smirk overtook your face “I mean George may be a the best researcher- No offence, Luce-” you pause, looking at their confused and impatient faces with a coy smile hands in in the air as you point to them.

“But what I want to know is, whose the best ghost hunter?” Leaning back in your chair you watch as chaos ensues clasping your hands tigether like you were an old villain

“I’m sorry?”

“Excuse me?”

Both Lucy and Lockwood exclaim, the latter dropping his news paper onto the table and the force shaking and spilling his tea.

A silence formed over the room, as George watched as his competitive friends began to turn on eachother in friendly competition.

“No offence Lockwood, you may be a prodigy and all that but it’s got to go to Lucy!”

“Y/n!” Lockwood exclaimed his eyes darting wildly as his mouth agape

George reclining in his seat as he stifles a laugh lockwood whirling around to face the boy attempting to look serious and upset.

“George- do you think this is funny?!” The ebony haired boy exclaims, as a chuckle breaks midway through his facade as he speaks.

A mischievous grin adorns George’s face as he replies “I do actually I think this is very funny!”

“Lucy cmon back me up here!?” Lockwood pleads his hands together in a prayer eyebrows raised

“Sorry Lockwood!” Lucy retorts “But y/ns right I’m just the superior ghost hunter.” The girl replies straightening her posture and flipping up imaginary jacket cuffs.

A plan begins to formulate in lockwoods mind “Well if it’s like that then” he states before pulling you into him and tickling you

Between bouts of giggles you exclaim “lockwood! Lockwood! No! Oh cmon!”

His fingers never stopping their assault at your side no matter how much you try to wriggle away, he only stops tickling you to bargain

“Say that I’m the best ghost hunter you’ve ever known!”

Struggling to breathe through your laughter you chuckle out an estranged “No!”

Lockwood smirks “Alright then.”

His fingers moving at your sides painfully fast breathlessness taking over you, as tears well in your eyes loud laughter fills the kitchen.

pouting your lips you exclaim in defeat“okay! Okay! You’re the best ghost hunter I’ve ever known!”

Lockwood stops his assault at your sides smiling and slinging his arm over your shoulder before he taunts the brown eyed girl

“see Luce, there’s only one person here whose the best ghost hunter-“ mischievous looks are shared between you, George, and Lucy. As you move yourself from under the arms of the boy.

Lucy exclaims a “sorry Lockwood! But it’s not you, george get him!” And with her exclamation both you and george begin to ambush the boy flinging your body onto his back watching as he loses his footing. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck like he was giving you a piggyback.

“Ah- uh oh!” His yells voice high pitched and shrieking laughter fills the room despite the mess that had somehow accumulated over the time you had been in a tickle fight.

The spilled tea over old newspaper clippings a spilled tub Or marmalade staining the thinking cloth

As the sound of a camera flashing momentarily blinds both you and Lockwood as you both come toppling down the wooden floor your body above lockwoods.

Bashfulness blooms in your chest “oh uh sorry-“

Lockwoods narrows his eyes in disappointment “No it’s quite alright” he murmurs. Moving to sit up on his elbows a look of surprise takes over his face as you turn to look behind you

Your two friends about to dog pile you both both you and Lockwood exclaim almost at the same time “George, Lucy you don’t have to do this!”

The two share a glance at eachother before flinging their bodies onto you both collectively collapsing your attempts to get up. groans leaving you and Lockwood at the added weight.

[oraeliaa]

Mortem Obire

Chapter 1 is up! This is a new project I've been working on, a Dark Academia Supernatural Ghoulcy AU - summary below!

Link

Summary

When Lucy MacLean starts studying in the town her father went missing in, so many years ago, she does so with a mission - to find answers. Why did he leave her and her brother? Was he a man struggling with the mental load of raising two children after the loss of his wife, or was there something more?

When she’s sent to do a profile on a nocturnal, elusive archivist, however, she finds more than she ever could have imagined. Why had so many people gone missing, all around the same time? Who was this Moldaver figure, their name scrawled in the corner of so many ancient newspapers, and why does Professor Cooper - frustrating, arrogant, handsome - insult the authors of the classics like he knew them, over a hundred years ago?

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Janthony

barbie dolls: Anthony Lockwood x you

word: 3k ish

summary: Anthony has a secret admirer who can't seem to figure out his middle name

warnings: you rude bike, also eat twizzlers bc I associate twizzlers with bikes and before you say anything no it doesn't have anything to do with Juno leave me alone, Lockwood's parents death mentioned, mentions of blowing heads off, you'll probably cringe at the one note I did write but I'm just four squirrels stacked on top of each other what more do you want from me, George and Lucy are certified haters but it's in a loving way

The first note confused him. Lockwood went out to get the mail but he paused when he reached the gate. There, tied to the pole, was a flower and a small piece of paper. He gently untied the ribbon.

Lockwood initially thought it was for George. His initials scrawled across the top of the paper made him reconsider. He read the note and realized he had just gained a secret admirer.

With that, the notes kept coming. Some had poetry describing his looks, some had a gift waiting in the mailbox, and some were just a good old-fashioned letter. All of them were signed the same.

‘Lukewarm regards,’ and then his full name was written out. His middle name was always different. It was Jacqueline, Jordan, Jack, Jason, and James, but his admirer’s favorite? Janthony. The first time he read it Lockwood had laughed. The second he chuckled. By the third time, George was calling him Janthony every time he got the chance.

George easily found out, seeing the notes and growing population of flowers in the kitchen. He saw Lockwood’s smile when he came back from getting the mail. He thought it was cute.

Lockwood wanted to respond and wanted to see you. But it was entirely impossible. He felt like he was trying to catch smoke, with the lights off and his eyes closed. Every time he would stare out the window and watch the gate, the second he left to use the bathroom when he came back there was a note waiting for him. It was entirely impossible how fast you moved. Lockwood thought it was silly that it was harder to catch his admirer than it was to catch a ghost. He started tying notes to the gate himself, in response to yours. They would disappear with a new one. You became pen pals with extra steps.

Once George asked him what he thought his admirer looked like, it was a flabby attempt at trying to see if Lockwood could be swayed by physical appearance. Lockwood had sighed and stared out the window, all dreamy. ‘it doesn't matter, they're already the most beautiful person to me.’ George gagged.

Eventually, Lucy moved in and Lockwood was still chasing his smoke. Lucy and George started conspiring who they thought it was. George said the old woman down the street. Lucy said the post-boy. With a lot of frustration boiling inside of Lockwood, he decided he would stay up all night, staring out the window. He felt like a child trying to catch the tooth fairy.

Lucy accompanied him, George saying there was no point before tucking himself into bed. So Lucy and Lockwood stayed up the whole night, staring out the window. Lockwood was more determined. Lucy would get up every once and a while to make sure they were fed. Eventually, as the hours went on, fog settled over the street, and they started losing hope. Lockwood was struggling to keep his eyes open. Lucy was still hyped up on her handful of pixie sticks she had no plans of going to sleep. She knew Lockwood wouldn't make it through the whole night. He fell asleep with his legs thrown over her lap. Lucy kept her eyes trained outside, ignoring Lockwood's snores.

Just as the sun was peaking over the horizon she saw movement out in the fog. There you came, rolling around the corner of the street on your bike. You had a sweet aura about you. Maybe it was your small smile tugging at your lips, maybe it was the twizzle sticking out the corner of your mouth, maybe it was your sweater. Whatever it was Lucy wanted to be friends with you, know your every thought, know your favorite color and drink. She wanted to look across the room to make sure you heard something and thought what she did. At first, she just assumed you were some innocent bystander, riding your bike out for fun. Then you stopped by the gate. Flicking out your kickstand with your ankle as you dismounted. Lucy's grin grew as she realized she was witnessing Lockwood's admirer while he was passed out.

You pulled out a box out of your backpack. You dropped it into the mailbox and tied a small note to the gate’s pole. As you got back on your bike, Lucy slammed her palm on the window pane. Your head shot up, making eye contact with her. Lucy gave you a bright smile, waving rapidly at you. You pressed your finger to your lips before turning back and riding your bike off into the fog.

When Lockwood finally woke up he looked out the window and slumped when he saw a note. He heard Lucy in the kitchen. Lockwood flung himself into the nearest chair.

“We missed them, again.” He muttered, defeated.

“Correction. You missed them, again. I saw them just fine.” Lockwood gaped at Lucy. George joined them looking between their faces.

“The hell happened to you two?” George asked, pouring himself orange juice.

“I saw Lockwood's admirer and he didn't because he was snoring away,” Lucy said with a proud grin. Lockwood shook his head.

“Are they hot?” George asked. Lockwood snapped his head at George.

“George.” He said in a scolding tone.

“Yes,” Lucy said with a smile.

“Lucy.” Lockwood glared at them both.

“Oh, you're just pissed you didn't get to see them yourself,” George muttered. Lockwood shrugged.

“Next question,” Lockwood muttered. Lucy clicked her tongue.

“Are you going to go get the mail?” Lucy asked. Lockwood shook his head.

“It'll just rub my failure in my face.” Lucy sighed at him, leaving to get the mail herself. She brought back the box and note among the junk mail. She gently set the box and note in front of Lockwood’s pouting face. He stared at it for a moment before sitting up. Lockwood first read the note, a disgustingly beautiful letter that made him flush. He was worried about opening the gift. It could easily be a tarantula though he doubted you'd do that. Lockwood steeled himself pulling the lid off the box.

He found a leather-bound journal, with his initials in gold paint on the front. Lockwood opened it to find your handwriting.

‘For your wild mind, Dear Anthony Janthony Lockwood.’ sealed off with a little heart next to the words. He traced over the lines with his fingertips. Lockwood flicked through the pages, maybe you left another note. He reached the back cover and slumped at nothing but the stamp from the craftsman. George stared over Lockwood's shoulder, picking up the journal himself.

“Your wild mind?” George muttered in a teasing tone. Lockwood sighed.

“I told them about how I used to journal as a kid and I just couldn't bring myself to do it anymore after my parents passed. So it's actually quite thoughtful.” Lockwood let out a loud sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh look at that,” George muttered. Lockwood sat up, trying to look at what he was pointing at. George moved the book away from him, showing Lucy.

“Oh, hey, look at that.” She nodded approvingly before taking a sip out of her mug.

“What? What is it?” Lockwood asked, looking between them. Maybe he missed a note. George turned the book around, showing him the stamp. Lockwood shook his head, slumping again.

“It's the manufacturer, it's handmade in town.” Lockwood sighed again, ignoring George. He already knew that. “Meaning they'd have to get it done personally, a handmade custom journal done in town.” Lockwood stared out the window.

“Meaning, you could go ask the person who made this who your admirer is,” Lucy stated, trying to make it more plain for Lockwood. Lockwood paused, looking over at them. He looked back out the window.

“We have a new errand on the itinerary today.” He muttered.

They found the bookbinder easily, the logo stamped in the back of his journal. When they got inside it was small and dark but it felt warm. There were books along most of the walls and a desk in the back. Lockwood, George, and Lucy made it to the desk and waited silently. There was a small silver bell on the side, next to the register. George reached out and rang it before Lucy could stop him. While the group quietly argued over the politeness or ringing a bell, an old man's head popped out from around the corner. He was balding and looked mean. Lockwood explained to him the situation, asking who asked for the journal to be made.

“You must be Janthony. I told them I wasn't doing nothing for free. I have a card for you.” The old man pulled an envelope out from under the register and held it out to Lockwood. Lockwood thanked him and quickly ripped into it.

Paperbacks

Candle wax

Bookshelves

Reading by themselves

Books in a pile

Your next clue is held by a vampire

Lockwood pressed his lips together. It appears his one more errand has turned into two. Lockwood dragged them across town to the Library. He paused when he realized he didn't know any vampires nearby. George called him an idiot and stalked off to a bookshelf. Lockwood glanced at Lucy. She shrugged. They waited patiently as George walked over to them again, a book in his hands. He flashed the cover. Dracula. George flipped the book upside down and flipped through the pages. Another letter floated to the ground. George looked up at Lockwood with an ‘I told you so' before heading back towards the shelf.

Lockwood yanked the letter off the ground, before tearing into it. He scanned over the words quickly. The letter was taken out of his hands by Lucy.

“This one’s lamer than the last,” Lucy whispered. Lockwood glared at her, taking the letter back.

“Don’t be rude.” Lockwood folded the letter. Lucy sighed, placing her hands on her hips.

“Well glad we’re off to Satchell’s. We needed to go anyways.” Lucy muttered, just as George joined them.

“This might be a strange question, but was there something left here by someone?” The cashier stared at him blankly. They raised an eyebrow.

“Another place, I kinda wished I went and got the mail every morning,” George said, following after them.

When they did make it to Satcchell’s, they split up instantly. George and Lucy split up the list of things they needed. Lockwood busied himself by reading the back of the closest item to him. Eventually, Lucy and George returned to Lockwood with their arms full of supplies. He led them to the register, greeting the cashier as they left the products on the counter. Lockwood paid the cashier before speaking up about something that wasn’t about the weather.

“Possibly for an Anthony?” Lockwood asked. the cashier shook his head.

“No, don’t think so.” The cashier said as they bagged the items.

“Try Janthony,” George muttered, he meant it mainly as a joke but no one laughed.

“For a Janthony?” Lockwood asked, avoiding eye contact with the cashier. The cashier looked up at him.

“Yeah actually.” They reached under the countertop. They stuck out a letter to Lockwood. Lockwood recognized the handwriting on the back. Lockwood thanked the cashier, handing the bags to George and Lucy. They all headed towards the door, standing by the wall as Lockwood stared down at the letter. He smiled at the name on the back. He laughed at Janthony at first, then he hated it mostly because of George, and now he was finding it a symbol of your care. You probably thought it was a joke too, but every time he read it in your handwriting he wanted to hear it from your mouth more. The letter was passed around the three of them, George groaning. Lucy shrugged, handing the letter back to Lockwood.

“Another errand across town, why couldn’t they just tell you their name?” George complained. Lockwood pressed his lips together. He lightly smacked George in the chest with the letter.

“Well off we go, George. On an adventure, to find my caring and loving penpal who has done nothing to you.” Lockwood said, walking off in the direction of where the letter described. Lockwood heard George groan again.

“I personally found it cute Lockwood likes them so much he’s willing to travel all across the city just to maybe see them.” Lucy declared, clasping her hands behind her back with a pep in her step. George scoffed. Lockwood shook his head.

“But you see, I’ve already seen them. I know what your little lover looks like and you don't.” Lucy said the Lockwood with a mocking tone. ; Lockwood felt his face warming.

“Firstly, not my lover. We’re peculiar pen pals. Secondly, I have no opinion on their looks. I’ll love them until my last breath exits my lungs. I’ll smile at their voice until my hearing vanishes from old age. My heart will sing at their words until it pumps its last beat.” Lockwood explained, keeping his fast pace. Lucy and George stopped abruptly. Lockwood heard the lack of their steps, turning around. They stared at him.

“What?”

“How can you speak that way about them and then say you aren’t lovers?” Lucy muttered. Lockwood shook his head. George huffed.

“You’re so whipped. I'm not sure if you two actually talk I can handle it. You’ll be drooling the whole time. I’ll have to pick up your jaw to sweep under it.” he whispered, angrily. Lucy nodded.

“Truly, they’re already insufferable. Not sure if I could resist the urge to blow my head off if they kiss.” Lucy said, tossing in an eye-roll. Lockwood felt someone could cook an egg on his cheeks. Lockwood opened his mouth before closing it. he spun around, his coat adding a flare. He stalked off, hearing George and Lucy following after him. They stepped through the door of Arif’s, the bell ringing above them.

Lockwood felt anxiety pull at his stomach. He clutched the letter tighter. George pulled the letter out of his hands and stared at the side of his face.

“Why is your face doing that?” George muttered.

“I’m not sure what to do. The letter just tells me to come here, not where to find the next clue.” Lockwood said, glancing around the shop. No one was behind the counter. There was only one other person in the room, a man sitting in the back hunched over paperwork.

“Maybe we are at the last clue. Maybe they’re here, Lockwood.” Lucy muttered. “I think that's them over there.” She pointed over at the balding man in the corner. Lockwood faked a laugh.

“Please take this seriously.” He whispered. Lucy sighed, placing her hands on her hips. Geoge tutted.

“You should ring the bell, Lockwood,” George muttered. Lockwood steeled himself, marching to the counter and ringing the silver bell. A head popped out from behind the curtain that led to the back. Lucy let out a small gasp. She leaned into Lockwood’s ear.

“That’s them.” Lockwood felt his stomach drop and his heart palpate. He was looking at the kindest person he's ever talked to. He suddenly felt very real. A real human with the chance of being judged. A real person who was extremely vulnerable with someone all because he’d only ever seen their handwriting. and now he was looking into your eyes, knowing you knew more about him than both his friends standing next to him combined. He was right, though. You were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He felt a sense of dread wash over him, you could easily insult him right now. You could easily crawl over the countertop and strangle him. Or worse, judge him. Lockwood felt his cheeks heat as you smiled brightly at him.

“I see you’ve found me.” Lockwood felt the tension in his body release, his shoulder drop. That's what you decided to do when you first met him, smile. Lockwood felt his own smile peak at his lips.

“I did.” He muttered, glancing down at the letter in his hands. You stood across from the other side of the counter.

“Are you disappointed?” You asked. Lockwood’s head shot up, staring at you shocked.

“I could never be dissapointed by you.” You scoffed at him.

“My my you're even cheesier in person.” Lockwood laughed at you, giving you a one-shouldered shrug.

“Are you? Disappointed that is?” Lockwood asked, staring into your eyes. Lockwood noticed his friends had left, sitting at a table. They were staring at him blatantly.

“No. You’re-“ you paused. “You’re, well, Anthony Janthony Lockwood. What isn’t there to like?” Lockwood snorted at his fake middle name. He was right again, Janthony sounded much nicer falling from your lips than George’s. Lockwood jumped at the sound of the owner yelling at you. He mentioned something about not paying you to stand around. You handed Lockwood a donut. He quickly paid you.

“You know, now that we’ve met face-to-face. Would you accompany me on a date?” Lockwood avoided eye contact with you, staring at the doughnut.

“I’d love to.” Lockwood released a breath. He relaxed his shoulders.

“Oh thank god.” You laughed at Lockwood, handing him his change. He smiled at you. Lockwood felt his body heat when your fingers touched. You waved Lockwood off and walked to the table with George and Lucy pretending to gag.

“Glad you met your lover, can we go home now? I'm tired.” George asked. Lockwood nodded.

“Yes, we’re going home now.” Lucy shot up out of her chair, dashing out the door. Lockwood and George were quick to follow. When Lockwood passed the windows to Arif’s he triumphantly pumped his fist. The next morning he found the details of your date tied to his front gate in your handwriting.

[pulpman2]

The Signed Confession

“Just sign here, honey,” said Lucy Loner, private eye, “I promise you, you, this will make our trip to the cops a whole lot easier - for you!” Hughey looked at the auburn-haired detective quizzically and indicated his cuffed wrists. “Here, I’ll help you, sweet cheeks,” said Lucy brusquely, steadying her prisoner’s arm with one hand and thrusting a pen between his fingers with the other. “Now just make your mark. Every word is just as you told me.” Hughey sighed but realised it was too late to change his mind now and reluctantly scrawled his signature on the paper in front of him.

“Well done, honey.” Lucy told the disconsolate looking man as she took the cuffs off. She smiled as for a moment, Hughey looked optimistic. “Sorry, baby, all this means is you have to be cuffed behind your back now. It’s a long ride to the precinct.” The gangster-turned-state bowed his head, a mixture of shame at being captured by a woman and guilt at betraying his buddies. Lucy left the young man to his thoughts and concentrated on securing Hughey’s wrists together behind him. “Ok, let’s go.” she told her captive after he was bound, and the pair shuffled out of the female detective’s office.

AI images created via Microsoft Bing.

[woso-dreamzzz]

New Girlfriend

Lucy Bronze x Teen!Reader

Ona Batlle x Bronze!Reader

Summary: You adjust to your Mum's new girlfriend

Lucy rolls over in her sleep, blinking awake slowly.

She jerks away when she comes face to face with you.

"It's two in the morning!" She whisper-yells," How did you get in here?!"

"Are you sleeping with Ona Batlle?"

"What?!"

You roll over onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. "Well...you're not sleeping with Keira anymore."

Lucy groans, wiping a hand over her face. She'd recently given you the sex talk (you had just turned thirteen and she'd decided it was time) and was now regretting it.

"Did you really sneak in here to ask me that at...Two in the morning?!"

You ignore her question. "And everyone online is speculating about it. You drive her to training a lot. Are you sleeping with her?"

"This isn't a conversation we need to be having."

"How long have you been sleeping with her?" You ask," You were all cosy after the World Cup and she's been around her a few times. Are you sleeping with her?"

"Do you really need to know this?"

"I'd like to know if my mother's sleeping with someone regularly," You reply," Especially if that person comes around as often as Ona is."

"Go back to your room," Lucy orders," It's too early. I'm too tired. We'll talk later."

Only...she doesn't talk to you later and you grow more suspicious of Ona every time she comes to visit.

You're sitting at the kitchen table, answering questions on your mind-numbingly boring homework worksheet.

Mum and Ona are cuddled up together on the sofa before Mum gets up to get more popcorn, ruffling your hair as she passes you to get to the microwave.

Your eyes track her as she goes so you don't even notice Ona until she's standing in front of you.

She looks a little awkward as she smiles. "How is school?"

You don't quite know what to think of her since your revelation that she and your Mum were kind of sleeping together. So, you just offer her a blunt answer. "Fine."

She nods once, suddenly stumped at having to carry on the conversation.

You don't offer her any leeway and go back to your question, scrawling something randomly. You sweep your textbooks into your arms and whistle for Narla, retreating into your room.

"Why do you keep coming in here?!" Your mum demands that night when she wakes up to find you on the other side of her bed.

"If you and Ona are sleeping together," You say, ignoring her outrage," Does this mean we have to move? Or is she moving in with us? Keira used to live with us."

Mum rolls over and screams her annoyance into her pillow. "Do we really have to have these conversations when I'm trying to sleep?"

"Well, maybe, if you stopped avoiding them when you're awake then we wouldn't have to do them now."

She swats at you with her pillow. "Where is this coming from? Why, do you not like Ona?"

"Would it matter if I didn't?"

"You were all for Ona before you realised we were together."

"Because I thought you were making friends," You admit," Is she going to be here all the time?"

"Go back to bed," Mum says like every time you drift into a conversation she doesn't want to have with you," It's too early for this."

Mum gets sick a few weeks later and takes the day off training. Usually, this means you take the day off school because it's too far for you to walk and, with Mum ill, it means she can't drive either.

You've already begun to plan your day off (you got a new video game from Keira for your birthday and are ready to try it out) when the front door opens and Ona walks in.

You didn't even know she had a key.

"Hey," She says," Are you ready to go?"

You frown. "Where?"

"To school? Lucy called me to pick you up."

You send a wounded look over to your mother, who has made herself comfortable on the sofa and doesn't look to be moving for the foreseeable future.

She waves you away with her hand. "Off you go. Don't you have that test today?"

Begrudgingly, you change into your uniform, grab your bag and moodily follow Ona out to her car.

"So," She says, drumming her fingers against the wheel," Are you prepared for your test?"

"We don't need to make small talk," You say bluntly, staring out the window.

She's silent for a moment, no sound over the gentle hum of the car.

The light turns green and she takes a left turn instead of a right.

"You're going the wrong way," You say with an eye roll, slumping in your seat.

Ona fishes her phone out of her pocket and throws it at you. You glare at her but catch it, typing in the password she tells you to.

"Your school should already be saved," She says as she takes another turn, taking you further and further away from school," Dial them and put it on speaker."

Ona makes up an excuse that you're sick just as she pulls up in front of an arcade. She gets out and you stumble after her.

"I'm meant to be at school! You told Mum you'd take me to school!"

"Yes," Ona says," I did but I thought we could spend the day together."

You give her a look and cross your arms over your chest. "I have a test today."

"That you actually want to do?"

She's got you there but you refuse to give her satisfaction.

"I don't have money."

"I do."

You narrow your eyes at her and huff. "Fine! But I'm not going to be happy about this!" It's a complete lie. Mum doesn't like arcades. She says that they're stealing all your money so she rarely lets you go and it's even rarer that she gives you money for them.

You lose yourself in repetitive pinball and penny machines for hours, collecting tickets and taking great satisfaction in absolutely thrashing Ona at air hockey.

Your fun day almost makes it so you can forget your anger at her. Almost.

She gets you pizza and a drink and you find yourself sitting opposite her in a booth at the very back.

"You're not my mum," You tell her eventually," And I'm not calling you mum."

Ona beams at you and you hate that you find yourself smiling back. "I don't expect you to."

"And I reserve the right to have first dibs of Mum's bed," You continue.

It's an odd request but Ona takes it in her stride. "Okay."

You stare at her through narrowed eyes. "My test went fine," You say eventually," You dropped me off fifteen minutes early and waited around till I entered the building. You picked me up. We talked. We're civil. Cool with you?"

"Sounds good."

[ssadumba55]

The Gang Dealing with a New Traumatized Toy! Reader

Request: headcanons for Toy Story, specifically platonic separate headcanons for Woody, Jessie, Buzz and If you can then also Bo Beep with a 13 y/o toy gender neutral reader that comes to Andy's room pretty traumatized from their last home. (because they've spent their live in a home with abusive parents towards the child that owned them) They tend to flinch at almost everything and is very scared of yelling and/or loud noises, but somehow feels safe when they're with Woody/Jessie/Buzz/Bo and doesn't want to leave their side because they feel protected and at home when they're with them?

tw mentions of ab//se, both physical and verbal

General Headcanons for What Happened Before You End up In Andy's room

It had been a long road to get to Andy's room in the first place. Back at your old owner's house, you'd been a gift to the sweet little girl, Lucy, from her mother.

It was one of those rare moments when she had actually been happy. From the moment you were unpackaged and she held you, you knew you loved her more than anything else in the world.

Late nights were spent hidden under beds or in closets, being clutched to her chest. Any loud noise made the two of you flinch. It was your job to be the protector, so you tried your best. But there's only so much a toy can do

The other few toys strewn in the room appreciated your efforts though, they had been in torment far longer than you

The best times for Lucy was when she went to school, because there she was away from her parents and their harsh words and even harsher hands

Everyday you waited eagerly by the window for her to come home. You didn't get the same luxurious daily escape, but you were grateful she did.

One day, she never did come home. A stranger in a vehicle pulled up and came in the house. She talked to Mom and Dad, told them that your little girl could never come here again. Something about bruises found at school...

You never saw her again. It took a while, but eventually Mom and Dad gave all the toys, including you to a thrift store. You sat on the shelf grateful that your little girl got out but sad you couldn't go with her

"Mom! Oh! Mom! Look!" A little boy lifted you from your shelf with all the gentleness and reverence only a kid could show a treasured toy. He excitedly held you up

"That's just the one you've been looking for!" A woman smiled, ruffling her boys hair affectionately. You felt sick. You knew what happened to kids behind closed doors but your face did not move

That day, you became Andy's toy. He rushed home, scrawling his name on the bottom of your foot carefully

You were still waiting for the other shoe to drop

Woody

Woody is a natural protector, so it isn't farfetched that you immediately latched onto him when you first arrive in Andy's room

Even though you appear much younger then the rest of the toys in your new home, it’s obvious to all of them that you’ve been through much more. The most obvious sign being the little flinches you have when loud noises happen

It's Woody's job to ensure the safety of all the toys in the room, including you

He doesn't mind that you're basically his shadow at all, if you're on your own at any point he may even offer you to come along with him

Sometimes, you like to hide in the closet or under the bed. It's quiet. It reminds you of safety. Woody always makes time in his busy schedule to join you. He never asks why you do it, he just joins you to make sure you're okay

Some of the other toys can be a little mean without realizing it, he always makes sure to set them straight when he hears someone talking about you, it's not your fault you are the way you are

One day, you work up the nerve to tell him what happened with your old kid. And he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. Promises that as long as you're in Andy's room you'll never have to worry about that again

He calls you his little deputy, and if you're feeling particularly down he may even let you wear his hat

Seriously, he adores you and you adore him just as much! He is such a softie, even though he tries to pretend he isn't. If you want or need anything he will get/do it for you.

Jessie

Jessie is a traumatized toy, so she knows another traumatized toy when she sees one. She will definitely latch onto you before you can latch onto her

When she finds out your trigger is loud noises/yelling, she tries her best to keep her voice down (which is hard because she likes to be loud), she knows what it's like to have to suffer through something that makes you feel that way and she doesn't want you to have to feel that way

If yelling or loud noises are unavoidable, then she will find a safe quiet spot or offer her comfort. Holding your hand, an arm around your shoulders, whatever you need.

She will absolutely let you tag along with whatever she does, she might even teach you how to do some things.

And to comfort you, make you feel less alone, she'll tell you about Emily. When you're comfortable, you tell her about Lucy. And the two of you commiserate in old owners together, even if it's not exactly the same

If there's ever a situation where you need to be in a tight space or a box, you always offer the same comfort back to her because she does so much for you.

She will never make fun of you or push you out of your comfort zone if you don't want to be, she'll just be there cheering you on when you do feel like making progress.

And she's a hugger, so hugs will always be given. She loves having you around more than anything and would do anything to make sure you feel safe in Andy's room.

Buzz

Buzz isn't dumb, but he can be a little clueless so when you first start following him around everywhere/clinging to him, he might be more than a little confused.

He might even find it a little annoying or weird, but overtime (and potentially with his friends' help) he will definitely realize that you do it because you feel safe around him

Despite knowing he's a toy now, being your safety net will fill him with a sense of pride and duty, knowing that he's fulfilling his destiny as a space ranger

He makes you a little helmet, not only so you can be like him but so you can use it to muffle/tune out loud sounds that you don't like or that scare you

And he'll make up space stories to calm you down if you happen to freak out a little or get super anxious.

The journey to recovery is a long one, but he wants to make sure you're comfortable and safe during it.

He will also hype you up and remind you how strong you are, especially in moments when you feel like everything is too much. He believes in you and he's proud of you for coming such a long way.

If you eventually feel comfortable telling him why you're upset, the idea of parents like that would keep him up at night. He had no idea people like that could even exist, having always been Andy's toy.

He reminds you all the time that they can't hurt you ever again and that you're safe now

Bo Peep

She will adore you and feel so honoured that you feel safe around her, even though it isn't a huge surprise, after all she is a nursery lamp. It's her job to stand watch and make children feel safe.

Her soft voice and gentle demeanor are definitely what draws you to her, she never yells and as a result you feel safest with her because of that

If other toys are yelling or things become too overwhelming, she'll take you far from it and count sheep with you until you feel better

She will sing lullabies to you too if you ask her too, she doesn't mind being a comforting figure for you.

When she finds out the reason you're upset and guarded, all she'll want is to protect you. To shield you from everyone and everything that has ever hurt you and to make you feel better.

She never lets you out of her sight, the two of you spend long amounts of time together, talking or playing with her sheep. You love how calm she is compared to everyone else in the room.

She always seems to know something is wrong, before you actually say anything is wrong. It's like she can read your mind.

And if nightmares are a problem, she'll stay up with you all night just to make sure you always have someone to support you/in your corner.

She knows you need time to heal and she's grateful you decided to include her in that journey

[karl-raccoon-in-a-teacup]

mango + 7, atsulucy + 9, lemon futon + 4 and 14, ada kunichuu + 6, bramcraft + 2, fukumori + 15

Bestie if I knew you were gonna send me so many I would have sent you more in return. Damn.

Anyways

Mushiango: 7. Which one is the worse driver

It's Mushitaro. I'm not saying he can't drive, but I would like to point out that between him and Ango, one of them has the ability to erase their traffic violations, and the other we have canonically see driving with no problems, therefor I'll let you do the math on this one.

Atsulucy: 9. Which one swears more

See you think I'd say Lucy no questions asked, but honestly I think it's a tie. Lucy tries to avoid cussing in her work environment, meanwhile Atsushi's probably encouraged in his work environment, so in the end I think it balances out.

Lemon Futon: 4.What they do on date night

Hm... I think they either switch it up so each person gets a turn deciding for each date night (Kajii usually drags Katai out places like dinner or the opera, Katai usually decides on movies they can watch or food to order in) and/or date night becomes cuddle nights.

14. What nicknames they call each other

Bean Bag immediately came to mind as something Kajii calls Katai so I'm absorbing that into my personal canon. Kajii probably has sooo many nicknames for Katai, honestly, the most I get from Katai is a sweet petname or two. Darling, love, etc etc. Kajii swoons over-dramatically every time and Katai regrets it every time (but, well, not really).

Kunichuu: 6. How they decorated their bedroom

Kunikida was insistent their room be practical and efficient and neutral, they could always change things up later in life when they were more certain of what they wanted and not just two 19 year olds getting their first space. And while the organization and well-keptness of the room remains...

Well. Chuuya found a cheap pack of those glow-in-the-dark star stickers, and while they started as a joke to see how long it'd take Kunikida to find each one (not just on the ceiling, hidden in corners or just behind furniture) they've both grown fond of them, now.

Bramcraft: 2. What their love letters look like

Not sue about canon/post-canon (especially with. Y'know) but pre-canon? Bram writes The most dramatic, flower, purple prose cursive you've seen in your Life. His letters are essentially poetry, endless and going on and on and calling Lovecraft all sorts of wonderful and beautiful things, never less than two or three pages.

Lovecraft's are cryptic, short, and written in ink. They are always mildly damp, smell like either saltwater or fish, and to most sound more like indecipherable scrawlings than notes of love. But Bram understands them, and treasures each and every one.

Fukumori: 15. What they would change about each other

Oh boy. Okay, so

The thing about Fukumori is they both love this city, both believe in a greater good for this city, and both know this about the other. They just wish the other would agree with their way of going about it.

Fukuzawa thinks Mori's actions are too cruel, too bloody, and in the end that the Port Mafia is not what this city needs. Mori believes the Armed Detective Agency is too ineffective to save the city from true threats, in the end, believes them too soft and that, in the end, Fukuzawa will go with his heart and not his mind.

It's a shame, really, both of them think. Their mutual love for this city, their recognition of one another's dark pasts and bloody hands, are part of what draw them to each other. Yet their different way of handling these are what will inevitably drive them apart.