#because when she’s in love she would do anything for them. climb mountains drown in seas etc

[pinkfey]

thinking about ursula when she’s in love

[daechwitatamic]

Its been xx months maybe over a year? since you completed What Was Hidden and I still regularly wonder what Taes thoughts were when he spoke with oc on st Patricks day.

Ykw anon it will be one year in November and I freaking miss them so here you go.

Below the cut – NSFW (but not explicit so don’t come in here expecting smut lol) no minors, Taehyung’s POV of the St. Patrick’s Day party in Chapter 14 of What Was Hidden. Probably this cannot stand alone without reading the series.

Warnings include alcohol consumption, cursing, vague references to Tae’s car crash, kissing and implied sex, angst. unedited so if you see a typo lemme know.

WC: 1700

(banner by @itaeewon)

Sure of It - Tae POV # 7

“I’ll never look back and think maybe I didn’t love her.”

That’s what Taehyung had told you, months ago, before everything fell apart.

And he stands by it, even on the days he’s sure he hates you.

He was sure he hated you when your silence had let him down, was sure of it when he blocked you on insta, was sure of it when he saw you on campus and felt acid roil behind his bellybutton.

He was sure of it when you’d flirted with that idiot right in front of him, was sure of it when he’d called you a coward, was sure of it when you’d lied straight to his face and claimed you didn’t want him.

He hated you. He hates you.

He’s just waiting for time to do its thing and take the sting from it, the same way time slowly took the intensity from his flashbacks and nightmares.

He does what he can to distract himself, in the meantime. That’s what he’s doing on St. Patrick’s Day weekend – distracting himself, one shotglass at a time.

He’s never understood why his hyungs go so big for an Irish holiday – for Yoongi, he thinks it’s a bit ironic, just for a laugh. But Taehyung thinks Jin actually really likes the holiday for whatever reason, and so he finds himself in his packed living room sometime after midnight, awash in green lighting, noticing an ass in a tight green dress.

He knows that ass.

He knows that ass well.

(He misses that ass. But that might be tequila talking.)

He stands at the edge of the dancefloor, hovering between the kitchen and the stairs, and watches you dance with Bridget.

For a second, he doesn’t hate you. For a second, the slanted funhouse he’s lived in since he walked away from you rights itself, and he stands on even footing.

Then the beat changes up and your eyes meet his across the dancefloor, going wide with recognition. He clutches his sweating beer bottle tightly and watches as something hard slides over your face. You down your drink, sending the bottom of the red plastic cup skyward, and turn your back to him.

Move, Taehyung thinks to himself, move before she turns around and you’re still standing here like a fucking clown.

His feet obey, and he makes his way to the basement. He feels like it’s a good idea to be on a different floor of the house than you, if only for self-preservation.

He knows himself well enough to know that his mood is written all over his face. Seeing you unleashed all of it, as it always does. It leaves him as spinning and shattered as the sedan he’d steered into hell over a year ago.

It’s how he knows he loved you, loves you, though. Because when he sees you – whether it’s across campus or across his crowded house – the hating you gets quieter.

Everything else – the stuff he’s been distracting himself from, trying to drown out the sound of – gets louder. Like the fact that you look miserable, even when you’re laughing at something Bridget says. Like the fact that when your eyes catch his, there’s always a flash of something before you seem to shove it down. Like the fact that his heart leaps when he hears your voice, even when he knows it’s stupid. Like the fact that he loves you, loves you, even now – would do anything for you, would climb any mountain if you just said the word.

He's a world-class fool. But the heart wants what it wants, or something.

He expects it to be Jimin who clocks his mood and heads over, but somehow he finds himself standing near the pong tables and it’s Jungkook who sidles up.

“What’s wrong?” the younger man asks, and Taehyung looks at him, surprised. They’d argued less than two hours ago; Jungkook had slammed his bedroom door in Taehyung’s face.

It reminds Taehyung that their friendship existed before, and there’s hope for it still.

“She’s upstairs,” he says flatly. He knows that’s enough.

Jungkook grimaces. “You gonna talk to her? Or you gonna hide down here?”

“I’m not hiding,” Taehyung snaps, but he is and they both know it.

Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. He sips at his beer, scans the room. Taehyung waits. He’s known Jungkook long enough to know he should wait.

“You think she’s sorry?” he asks finally, and the question surprises Taehyung so much that he drops the bravado and fully turns to face his friend, eyes wide.

“Sorry about what?” he manages. He really means, sorry about which part, but he thinks Jungkook understands.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whatever happened first. If you can forgive the first transgression… the rest falls into place.”

Vocab, Taehyung thinks. Out loud, he scoffs. “Transgression. It wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t that clear cut.”

His words aren’t working right.

You’d know what he meant.

Jungkook shrugs again, lazy. “I’m just saying. Maybe she’s sorry and doesn’t know how to say so.”

You had apologized, Taehyung remembers, sipping at his own drink. He’d been too mad to hear it, at the time. And then you’d gone radio silent, like he wasn’t even worth fighting for. Had looked him dead in the eyes and said, “I don’t want you.”

Were you sorry – about any of it?

The part of him that loves you whispers, of course she is.

The part of him that hates you whispers, she threw you away.

And the part of him that treads water somewhere in the middle wonders if any of it even fucking matters.

“I need some air,” he mutters, and heads for the stairs.

He wishes he could go back in time and never trip over you on these fucking stairs. Then maybe his heart wouldn’t be cracked and splintered, maybe his head wouldn’t be spinning in confused circles.

He hates you, he hates you, he hates you.

He heads for the kitchen, ducking around bodies and drinks held aloft, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

He freezes halfway across the kitchen, his gaze snagging on the window above the sink. You’re out back, alone, leaning against the railing, your head hanging towards the plastic cup you’re dangling over the railing.

He hates you, but his heart tugs.

It’s how he knows he loves you, even when he hates you. Because he can tell by your fucking shoulders that you’re not okay. Because noticing that makes his stomach hurt, makes his hands itch, makes his ribs tight.

He slips outside, closing the door gently and making his way over to you. He leans his elbow on the wood, mirroring you.

He hates you, but he loves you, so he has to check on you. He doesn’t have a choice.

“You okay?” he asks. It’s a dumb question. Neither of you are. You’re both casualties of each other.

“The fuck do you care?” you snap, and Taehyung breaks. He clutches the railing with one hand, turning to face you, every muscle quivering in his fight against his instincts, which scream hold her, hold her, hold her!

Because that? The hatred, the anger? That’s not you, and he knows it. Like looking in a mirror, Taehyung sees it for what it is: a façade, hiding the hurt. It makes him both ache for you, and furious with you.

How dare you make him want to make it better?

He doesn’t touch you, but he does say your name, just once, quietly.

He watches you take a breath, watches as you struggle to get it together. “Go inside,” you say finally. “Go have fun. I’m fine. I just wanted to cool down.”

Liar.

He steps back towards the house, and your body follows, turning so you can keep watching him. He loves you and he hates you, and they are at war inside him, and he had probably three too many shots earlier, and that dress is a sin on you and –

“I know this sucks,” he says, surprising himself. His mouth took over while his head spiraled. But he presses on. “It’s hard for me, too, you know.”

You laugh, and that’s the moment Taehyung knows how this is going to go. There’s something in your stance, in that sarcastic ha, that feels like a challenge. Like you’re daring him to cross a line, and he’s ready to leap.

“I know it’s hard for you, Taehyung,” you say, voice dripping with attitude. “I get it. I’m the bitch that broke your heart. You don’t have to remind me.”

He stares at you and wonders if anyone had let you grieve, when it ended. He wonders if there’s anyone you let inside your walls, where he used to be, to see that you aren’t fine.

He wonders if you’d let him kiss you, if he tried.                                

That dress is fucking with him.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t try to make me feel bad for you when I’m angry with you.”

“Be mad then,” you snap, like you’re over it, exasperated. “Go for it. If you want to hate me, hate me.”

He does.

He could never.

He steps closer.

“That’s not what I want,” he admits, voice low.

He loves you. He’ll prove it.

Your body language shifts; he knows the green light when he sees it, he was with you long enough. “What do you want, then?” You demand it like you already know the answer.

You probably do.

He won’t look back and wonder if he loved you. He knows he does. He’s sure of it when he presses you against the deck railing and kisses you again, stomach swooping with joy. He’s sure of it when you follow him upstairs, when you cling to him and breathe his name in the dark. He’s sure of it when he falls asleep with his face buried in your neck, his arm around your waist.

And though his heart breaks impossibly, new cracks forming right beside the old, he’s sure of it even when he wakes up to find you gone, his sheets cold, the room silent and still.

It wouldn’t hurt this bad if he didn’t.

[lannioness]

cersei's hotd verse ::

it all started as a jest between friends and cups , but the title proved true . lord lannister , the twin maker . it served him well after having two pairs of twins with his wife , joanna . the first pair , jason and tyland . and the second , jaime and cersei . and if he was as fertile as all joked , he may continue siring children until his last breath .

for cersei , that mattered not . she'd never be lord of casterly rock , as her brothers could be . she would best them all at it , but she lacked a cock between her legs for it to be accepted . so , as all women did , she'd surely be married off to yet another lord for proper alliance again . ( her late husband at least left her with great riches and what he believed were three golden haired heirs . ) though the optioned slimmed once house lannister declared green , supporting the reign of aegon ii targaryen against his sister .

important deets ::

cersei is fiercely and unwaveringly loyal to her family and house . the lannister name will always be what she dies serving and protecting , black or green does not matter for her .

she was married to lord brax of hornvale at the age of seventeen . it was an alliance based marriage , and he was twentyfour years her elder . her husband had a lover , which cersei did not mind as the whore kept his time occupied and away from her . but news came of her death , and lord brax drowned in alcohol , which then made him violent towards cersei as if she had anything to do with the whore's death . this was ceased by jaime , though the realm believes he succumbed to his cups . her children ( we're keeping the names joffrey , myrcella , and tommen idc) , all jaime's in secret , carry the name lannister now . cersei agreed to relinquish the brax lands if her children could also relinquish the name .

she holds a level of respect for rhaenyra , though obviously unspoken once the usurpation happens . cersei was always one step ahead of all her brothers in all ways but combat , it just always went unnoticed because of her sex . rhaenyra fighting for her crown is something cersei distantly admires . that , however , does not make her waver when it comes to her family .

she remains at casterly rock unless plotted otherwise , since she is not yet married in this verse .

her love and intimacy with jaime is a big part of who cersei is , so it remains in this verse . they both see themselves as soulmates having been wombmates . and seeing it be normal and common in the ruling family only has them believe their love is true and pure . the lannister family as a whole frowns upon it , however , so jaime and cersei hide it .

wherever cersei goes when she is married off , she will try to have jaime come along somehow .

cersei is not incapable of loving another , and she does not wish to be married simply for duty's purpose , but it is a harder mountain to climb with her because of her love for jaime .

i left the option of tyrion up in the air for now bc ?? yeah idk love u tho tyr <3

we can totes write younger cersei aka during the first half of s1 in which she's obvs younger and will have an alt fc since she's alicent and rhaenyra's age.

[cloudenthusiast2]

To be a human - Scaramouche x reader - Part 4

You knew committing to a relationship with Scaramouche would be no easy task but you loved him dearly and unlike others, you believed he wasn't evil. But as a mortal and the devoted protector of your village you were too much of a good person, too much of a human compared to him and your differences slowly start to show.

Previous: Part 3 Next: Part 5

Length: ~1000 words

Trigger warnings: yelling

A.n.: Sorry I was a little late with this. But as a compensation it's really long! Here ya go, have some angst

You have been walking around in circles for almost twenty minutes in the kitchen when you finally decided you needed some fresh air.

You grabbed your spear - which was an essential to have even in times like this - and ran out of your home.

The house you lived in was built on a cliff so you could see everyone and everything well. Qingce with all of its beauty and treasures laid in front of you.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out was the lack of agents.

The fatui has left the village.

Sudden pain stabbed into your heart. Before this all you felt was anger and confusion, but now... it's become official and somehow clearer too.

'What have I done?'

You covered your lips after these words tumbled out of your mouth. You desperately looked around, trying to find someone, trying to find a little shilouette with a ridiculous, huge hat...

But he was gone.

The only people standing around were the people of Qingce village. They tried to pretend they were just working or talking with each other but you could see them taking quick glances of you.

Finally one of them, an elderly, sick man you helped out multiple times looked directly up then started approaching your house.

You took a step back and realised you didn't want to talk to anyone at that moment. It didn't matter whether he wanted to thank you or ask what happened. You wanted and needed to be alone.

As rude as it may have been, you turned around and started walking in the opposite direction. Towards the huge mountains.

You escaped into the forest. Your steps became faster and faster - and suddenly you were running.

Loud gasping echoed in your head. Your hands were shaking, not being able to grab anything properly. A wet, itchy layer blurred your vision as you stumbled through bushes and rocks.

It was a miracle that you got up on the mountain in one piece. You didn't even know how you did it - in one moment you were still climbing and in the next you were standing on the cliff, looking down and being dazed by the height.

You came to this spot on days when you had nothing to do. You liked to write letters, sharpen your spear and most importantly, think everything through here.

For a minute, you were just standing there still, breathing in and out the chilly, fresh mountain air. The rough wind blew through your hair, lifting then letting it go. It fell down and covered your face. You slowly rose your hand and fixed it, staring into the distance.

The sun has reached the top of the sky. But it was still cold around you.

You had hoped the cool weather would be able to clear your mind but it helped nothing. Instead, it made you feel like you were breathing in nothing - like there was no oxygen in your chest at all.

You were suffocating.

Your lips opened to gasp for air but it felt like you were still drowning. Your legs started shaking and you immediately fell on your knees. This broke an invisible gate. Tears started streaming down your face.

He left...

Oh, how much you suddenly regretted your harsh, angry words. You could've just talked it out, you could've just explained it to him calmly...

But would he have really understood?

Loud screech as you clenched your teeth. You did everything to hold back the tears, but it was too late now, you had lost. You sobbed desperately, painfully, alone, in an abandoned top of mountain.

*

Scaramouche loudly slammed his hands on the table and there was no mercy in his ice-like eyes as he stared at the agents in front of him.

'How many times do I have to say this?! Don't start fights the Millelith! We already have diplomatic issues with Liuye Harbour because of that damn incompetent Tartaglia!'

'Apologies, my lord' a pyro agent bowed in front of him while the mirror maiden followed his example. 'We thought...'

'I couldn't care less about what you think' Scaramouche cut in enraged. 'Just follow your orders or I'll make sure you won't ever see the sun coming up again!'

Deep silence followed his words in the tent.

Scaramouche tossed his hat back to glare up at the agents. But they didn't dare look at him. They were always wary of the harbinger who was probably the most powerful and surely the most unpredictable among the Tsaritsa's followers. It wasn't hard to notice how angry he was that day as well.

The cicin mages in the camp were sure it was because of that Liuye girl but most of the agents refused to believe that. It seemed impossible that he would be so upset about splitting up with a mere mortal like you.

Scaramouche let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes for a moment to rest and think a little. He stood there silently with crossed arms and wrinkled brows.

The Millelith. A pain in the neck. How could they possibly avoid them while taking advantage of the small villages around Liuye? Villages who don't have protectors should be an easy prey...

He didn't even realise what a dangerous direction his thoughts were going. He just found himself thinking about you all of a sudden.

This was the hundredth time this day.

It's been almost a day since he turned his back on Qingce. He left the village without looking back, thinking he was free again and that he would be able to finally focus on his work.

But why were you still turning up in his thoughts over and over again? Why did he feel a constant knot in his throat? It didn't loosen, even when he yelled or coughed. He tried both multiple times.

He felt impatient. His body ached to move on, his mind tried to make big plans for the future...

But something in him still didn't want to think about anything or anyone other than you.

This was so stupid.

So unnecessary.

When did stupid humans become so important to him? He killed them off with handing out delusions not so long ago without any hesitation. It was the right thing to do. He never doubted that. Not even for a second.

You were so stupid to say otherwise! Why did you say otherwise?

For a weak moment, he tried to think from your perspective but even then, he understood nothing. All he could think of was that you were just crazy.

Humans deserve nothing. They born, they live so their superiors can make use of them.

You were no exception, he decided. It was ridiculous of him to even think you could be more than just a tool to him.

Why did he even start seeing you?

Memories started to emerge and they invaded his mind in a blink of an eye. And suddenly that weird feeling around his stomach started to strengthen again.

He remembered your smile, the playful and incredibly disrespectful way you greeted him when you two first met. He was out on a quest, alone but still recognisable. You knew he was a harbinger yet you acted like he was a regular mortal.

He hated Liuye. He got lost on his first day in the mountains and who knows what might have happened if you didn't run into him on your way back home.

After making fun of the fatui and its "clumsy" harbingers you offered to be his guide and that had to accepted even though he couldn't stand you at all. You were teasing him all the time, never taking him seriously. And most unforgivable of all, you messed around with his hat.

On the first day, he absolutely despised you.

On the second day, after you have dealt with multiple treasure hoarders without any of his help, he had to admit you were a pretty good fighter.

He was in denial on the third day. You picked violetgrass for him and put them in his pockets, claiming that they suited the boy. He threw them away in a second, getting ready to face your anger. Instead, he was shocked to see you laugh it off. You had... a not so horrible laugh.

Fourth day. Your smile was not that terrible either, he realised.

Day five was the day he saved your life. You were cllimging a mountain together when you saw a Qingxin and reached out to grab it.

He caught you by the arm in the last second. Called you stupid but couldn't hide his blush when you rewarded him with the beautiful, pale white flower.

Then the quest came to an end and he went back home.

Only a month or two have passed when the harbinger came back. He went directly to your door to tell you he will be seeing you. It was not a regular ask - he literally ordered you to go out with him.

No one could tell who was more surprised when you still said agreed to it.

You two were an odd, hard to manage couple but a powerful one.

You could've been happy.

Why does it... hurt so much?

'She's just a stupid human' Scaramouche told himself. The thousandth time that day. 'Completely... replacable.'

These were the words you were the most hurt about. But he tried not to care any more and repeated it to himself.

'Replacable.'

'My lord!'

Scaramouche flinched and looked up as if he had been dreaming all along.

He realised he had been standing there the whole time thinking about you while the agents did not leave yet.

'What is it?' He grunted loudly and all of his weird, almost sad feelings got replaced by anger again. 'What do you want?'

'Your order to stay away from the Millelith' the mirror maiden dared to speak. 'Does it apply to the Abbys as well?'

'The Abbys?' Scaramouche frowned. 'What business do we have with them?'

'It's just that we've recently stumbled upon them multiple times on our quests' she started to explain but the harbinger wasn't patient enough to listen to the whole story.

'Hurry up.'

'Yes, my lord.' The mirror maiden hesitated for a moment but when the pyro agent nodded to her she continued. 'We just think that they might about to target villages next.'

'What are you talking about?' Scaramouche growled at her. He couldn't stand still any more so he started walking around in the small tent.

'The Abbys gathered a lot of hilichurls and monsters together lately. We suspect they might attack a bigger village or town.'

Scaramouche stopped as if he got frozen in his place. The maiden continued to explain what kind of disadvantage that might be for them but he heard nothing of that.

He turned around slowly, barely being able to move his own body.

'What... places will they attack?' He asked in a hoarse voice.

'We can't be sure' the pyro agent answered. 'But Mingyun village is a possibility. And... Qingce probably as well.'

Scaramouche stared at the ground.

So many emotions. Most of them he couldn't even name since he has never felt them. The only familiar ones were anger, confusion... and fear.

Deep, overwhelming, terrible fear. It started in his stomach and slowly reached out to grab his throat with its icy fingers.

He opened his mouth but at first no understandable words left his lips.

'My lord...?'

'Get ready' he finally found his voice.

Scaramouche turned his back to them so he could hide the fact he was shaking. Something terrible froze everything inside him but the fire lighting up his eyes was burning hot when he said:

'We're going back to Qingce.'

[mercy-burning]

Cold Feet

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After receiving a letter from an old flame just days away from her wedding, Reader wonders if she should call it all off. —Inspired by the song Cold Feet by Tenille Arts Category: Angst (happy ending) Content Warnings: An almost kiss that isn’t with Reader’s fiancé, and blink and you’ll miss it implied smut Word Count: 1.7k

MASTERLIST | Alternate Version/Ending of Cold Feet

NOTE: When @meganskane announced her 700 follower celebration I just knew this idea would be the perfect way to implement one of the prompts she gave! The one I chose is “quit looking at me like that” ❤

Also! Fun fact: this song opens with “they’re all set to go on the 18th of June”, and that’s today, so it’s festive 😊)

***

She should be happily wrapped in a dream, Dying to kiss him and put on his ring. So why is she walking alone after midnight, Down a small town street, with cold feet?

Y/N is currently finding it difficult to breathe.

It was easier a couple days ago when she knew exactly what she wanted. Her husband-to-be was more than excited to marry her, and she'd reciprocated that feeling entirely. Everything was ready to go. Truthfully, they could have gotten married right this second if that's what they wanted, that's how ready to go they were.

But now? She was questioning everything.

She still feels the thin paper in her hands, even with its folded body currently tucked away in an old book she knew was never going to be opened again— a gift from the man who'd written the letter in the first place.

The first time she read it, her heart sank. And by the third time she'd read it, her heart soared.

And then her fiancée walked in, asked her about what to make for dinner, and her heart sank all over again.

Honestly, damn him for choosing now to finally confess. Damn him for making her question everything, after she'd finally moved on and found someone who would always be around.

But then again, she'd ended up choosing to live in a house in their hometown, just blocks away from that creek he'd mentioned in his letter. So... Maybe she hadn't moved on entirely

She hated that she even had to think about it.

She hated that her thoughts were so consumed with this man she hadn't seen in years when the man she was about to marry slept next to her every night, unaware of the start to her inner turmoil. Each night since then, she dreamt of dances with both of them, alternating between the two until they made her choose which of them she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And every morning she'd wake with an even bigger tear in her heart than when the old flame had burned it alive and left her alone in the aftermath to piece it back together.

Her fiancée helped her do that, though. Day by day he taught her to love again, to trust in somebody again, and he was truly a good man.

So why was it absolutely destroying her, thinking of getting married to him when there was someone else in the picture to think about? Someone who'd had a hold on her for well over fifteen years?

Again, she hated that she even had to think about it.

But she wasn't about to get married with all these conflicting thoughts, so whether she wanted to or not, her only real option was the one that would also be the hardest on her tattered heart.

She'd sent him a text message this morning that read, Midnight, and tucked her phone away for the rest of the day, drowning herself in mindless work and looking to keep time moving forward.

Now, she struggles to breathe as she makes her way down to the creek.

It's cold, having just rained fifteen minutes prior, and she wraps her fiancée's cardigan tightly over her her arms, searching for warmth and comfort. She would have settled for one of her own, heavier pieces, but in some strange way she thought maybe having something there that belonged to her fiancée would ground her, something to remind her of the gravity of the situation at hand.

Nothing could have grounded her upon seeing her ex boyfriend after all these years, though, especially when she finally shows up to their old spot and sees him perched on the big stump right next to the water, relief and joy flooding through his features at the sight of her. His smile is just as bright and familiar as she remembered, and it just about knocks the wind out from under her feet.

"Hi, Y/N," he greets softly, standing up and stretching his hands out over his legs. It's obvious that he's nervous to meet up with her after all these years apart, and she couldn't blame him in the slightest.

She's just as nervous as her feet take baby steps towards him. Meanwhile she's hugging her fiancée's cardigan around her body tighter than before. "Hi..."

"I... I can't believe you actually wanted to meet. Truthfully I thought I wouldn't hear back from you."

"Well... Your letter kind of rattled me... You rattled me. I guess I just had to know..."

There's a long pause before he takes a small step towards her and tilts his head. His words are hesitant, like he thinks she might say something he doesn't want to hear. "And... What do you know?"

"I know that I love my fiancée. After you, I didn't really think I'd ever love anyone the same way again, but... He makes me happier than I've ever been, and I... I can't just discard that feeling because you decided too late that you still love me. You know?"

"I do, Y/N, I really do," he answers earnestly, and this time his hand reaches out to grab hers. "But... I mean, you showed up here, didn't you? That has to count for something..."

She isn't really sure how to respond after that. It's true that seeing this man in front of her for the first time in years has brought back a wave of feelings that she'd repressed and even experienced with someone new.

But it's also true that with those feelings comes an inevitable aftertaste of bitterness. He'd left her, decided ultimately that his career was more important to him, and now that she has someone new he's asking her to leave behind this peace she's found. And for what? For him? What's to stop him from leaving again, or deciding years or months down the road that he'd made a mistake and gotten her to leave her one shot at happiness after him?

Nonetheless, she sits with him for hours, listening to him explain... Giving him a chance.

He apologizes for the past, he promises to do better in the future, and in between he makes her laugh. Their hands brush, their breaths mingle as they huddle from the cold, and with every passing minute, the cardigan on her shoulders becomes looser and more forgotten.

Slowly but surely, he's lowering her defenses and gaining her trust. He's showing her bits and pieces of the man she fell in love with until they're laughing at close to 3am.

And then, for a moment, it's quiet. Absolutely quiet, save for the crickets and the soft rolling of the creek behind them.

Y/N almost lets him kiss her then.

But then her heart hammers in her chest, and not in a good way. Suddenly, she's imagining the pure heartbreak that would surely manifest on her fiancée's face if he found out- if she really decided to leave him for this old flame that had barely started to kindle once again years later.

She has to be absolutely certain of her decision.

So she pulls back and wraps her fiancée's cardigan tightly around her arms. "I should go home."

There's disappointment in his eyes, and it twists her gut a little. "Right... Um... I-I can take you back, if you want."

"No, I, uh... I think I'm gonna walk. I have to think."

Y/N avoids his gaze just quickly enough that she doesn't see the disappointment in his eyes fizzle into a tiny sliver of hope.

Rain on the sidewalk, doubt in her mind. One thing's for sure, she's running out of time To decide what's right, And who's heart she's willing to break.

She climbs into bed some time later, the cardigan still wrapped tightly around her body, and she can't quite bring herself to face the man sleeping next to her. It feels wrong, like somehow she's betrayed him by even thinking of spending the rest of her life with another person. She doesn't feel worthy of his love.

When she wakes up the next morning, she'd somehow ended up facing him anyway. He's staring at her with adoring eyes, and under his gaze she can't help the guilt that washes over her.

"Quit looking at me like that..."

Her words are grumbly and soft because of having just woken up, and because her face is half hidden behind blankets and his cardigan, her fiancée doesn't know anything is wrong.

Instead, he laughs. "What, you're beautiful... And before you start arguing with me, yes, you're even beautiful when you wake up."

She only grumbles, feeling anything but.

It's quiet for a moment or two before he speaks again. "You're wearing my cardigan..."

Peeking her eyes out from the mountain of fabric, she can see the enchantment in his eyes and it makes her warm. "I was cold..."

While true, she mostly means I had cold feet.

"Come here."

Two simple words, two syllables, and yet it's the softest declaration of love she's ever heard. Her body instinctively nestles into his, face going straight into the crook of his neck while he wraps her up in his arms.

"There," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You feel warmer yet?"

"Mhm..." She sighs into his skin and then takes in a deep breath.

He smells like home.

He feels like home.

And as he starts softly humming her favorite song, rubbing soothing circles into her back as he holds her close, Y/N wonders why she'd ever doubted her love for him.

He is home.

James never was.

Y/N burrows herself further into Spencer's body and plants a gentle kiss to his neck, shivering slightly at the way his curly locks tickle her temple.

He stops humming and laughs. "What are you feeling for breakfast?"

"Hmmm... You." She articulates her point by selfishly kissing his neck, reminiscent of Cookie Monster.

Pretty soon, the two of them are laughing together, limbs tangling and breaths mingling, and then an hour and a half later they're in the kitchen, sipping on coffee.

As its warmth radiates through her throat and chest, Y/N studies him from across the room. He flips through pages of a book as he drinks his coffee, and for a brief moment, his eyes flick up to see her staring.

The action brings a smile to both their faces, and Y/N has never felt happier.

She's never felt more loved.

***

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[yan-snowcave]

Stolen heart AU [ Peter, Lucy, TK and Don's dragon form]

A few small drawings for the Dragon AU I am working on right now. Lucy, Don, TK and Peter will have slight change of characters maybe (Mostly because they are dragons and bc of the creator of YB)

But now to the interesting part, what type of Dragons are they and some other info!

TK is an Elemantal Drake, their element is nature (and they also have slight healing powers) They are Y/N childhood friend and watche over them when they go on their mission to find a new guardian for the village.

TK has no preference for staying either in their Draconian or Human form. But in high stress situation, they will change forms to their Draconian form.

Drakes are one of the fastes and most agile land Draconian's, their paws have claws that are good for climbing and are even known to cut through Dragon chest plates in high stress situations.

Don is a Wyvern that lifes on the mountain peaks, close by the village. He is also known as the local treasure keeper, if you have anything of value you want protected. Don is your go to, he has a secret soft spot for Y/N and Lucy.

Don has a slight preference to stay in his Draconian form, since he slips quiet often into this form on accident. But you can still find him often doing paper work in his human form at the small cottage, in the village he calls his office. (Suprisngly being a treasure keeper comes with a lot of paper work)

Wyvern's have a toxic gas that they spit to keep intruders away from their hoard or items they guard. They also are the most agile Draconian's in the flying department, their claws are sturdy and know to be able to pierce through metal as if it was butter. (Their wing claws on the other hand are a lot weaker and tend to break off from time to time.)

Lucy is a Leviathan that has decided to protect and keep the balance of the local sea. She is also known to safe people from drowning, she saved Y/N a quiet few times before teaching them how to swim. Since then they were friends and would often hang out toghether.

She prefers to stay in her Human form most of the time. Lucy loves to party with friends (especially Vio and Roy), explorer the sea caves that are too big for her Draconian form or to satisfy her desires. Lucy is known by some of the man & woman of the village as the "Dangerous beauty". Since while she is beautifull she is still a Leviathan.

Leviathan's are known to be the most elgant & dangerous aquatic Draconians. They are able to controll the sea. They can summon lightning when in rage or are severly wounded.

Peter is a sealed Draconian, who was and still is watching Y/N often from his cave. He is secretly preparing to court Y/N and show them that he is the perfect guardian. And boyfriend of course. Since he thinks they are made for each other, why else would they wear his heart around their throat?

He prefers to stay in his human form since it's easier to follow and hide from Y/N. Peter can't leave his cave for longer then 10 hours. After the time is up his heart shaped wound start to cause him severe pain, which only gets worse the longer he ignores it.

Sealed draconian, while often feared and/or looked down upon. Have become rather harlmess if compared to their original form, since most of their power have been sealed away. Letting them only use a few of their abilty's plus their claws/fangs. Sealed dragon claws are stronger then that of a Drake but weaker then a Wyvern's foot claw.

[sassyhobbits]

Would That I, 4

masterlist

~~~

Rowan Whitethorn was furious.

Beyond furious.

He had left Mistward a week and a half ago, spending his time in the mountains, in that barren spot that had once been the cottage he had lived in with Lyria. He sat by her grave for hours on end, whispering to her, wishing that she could whisper back. She had always known what to say.

Lyria had been his mate. He had loved her. She had been sweet and kind and thoughtful.

Nothing like the half-feral assassin he had pulled out of Varese. 

But, according to the gods, she was his too. 

He had hoped the week of solitude would have given him an idea of what to do. Nothing became clear to him, no matter how long he beseeched the gods for some sort of sign. All he knew was that one morning he had woken up and realized he was running from his problems. And that made him a coward.

So, he had made the trip back to Mistward. He planned to send Fenrys on his way, to do what was ordered of him and oversee the girl’s training, no matter what.

Yet, when Rowan had arrived that morning looking for his comrade, he had only been told that Fenrys and Aelin had taken two mares the previous morning and had yet to return. Part of him hoped that Fenrys had thought of a training exercise that included travel.

But, Rowan knew Fenrys better than that. They had probably gone to drown themselves in alcohol in whatever town the young warrior felt like visiting that day.

Rowan had known the risk when asking the White Wolf to watch over Aelin while he was gone. He was never strict enough for Rowan’s tastes. Yet… Fenrys had been the only one he could trust not to tell Maeve about the fact that he had left the fortress so suddenly, not to ask questions. He knew that Fenrys would covet the opportunity to spend time with the Heir of Fire and wouldn’t jeopardize it by telling their queen.

Rowan waited for the pair to return. By late afternoon, he had half a mind to go out and track them down and drag them both back by the ear. He had headed down towards the kitchens, the quickest way to get outside, to do just that. However, he hadn’t needed to worry himself. He heard a familiar barking laughter before two figures strolled through the kitchen doors, side by side.

Aelin had looked up and locked eyes with him. So quickly, the bright smile she wore vanished, standing straighter, body tense.

He looked at her, wondering if simply seeing her again would lead to some sort of epiphany. But there was nothing besides a vague tug that he tried to ignore, telling him she was his mate. 

He clocked their posture, the casual arms they had wrapped around one another. Rowan’s nostrils flared as he scented them. At first, he was assaulted by the smell of horse, a bit of sweat. But beneath that… sex. Unmistakably sex.

Aelin seemed to understand what he had realized, not taking her eyes off of him and she took a casual step in front of Fenrys. She was trying to protect him.

Some primal, Fae part of him, deep down, was enraged. But, Rowan had no intentions of ever climbing into bed with the Firebringer. The girl must have been acting on what little knowledge she had of the Fae, thinking that he would rip into Fenrys for what he had done. 

He was more upset that Fenrys hadn’t done what was ordered of him.

Rowan stared evenly at Aelin before jerking his head towards the door. “Leave us.”

She blinked, those Ashryver eyes flaring in indignation. “I do not answer to you.”

Rowan bared his teeth. “That wasn’t a request.”

The girl opened her mouth, looking like she was ready to argue, but before she could even get started, a female voice sounded from behind him.

“Elentiya.”

Rowan glanced over his shoulder, finding a female he was vaguely familiar with, Arya, lingering in the threshold. Her dark, angular eyes skipped between the three of them. She was smart enough to recognize that the situation needed defusing. 

Arya looked towards Aelin, face softening. “I’m glad you’re here. We could use a hand with the laundry. Eryn hurt her ankle training today.”

Aelin still looked like she wanted to argue, but instead, took a deep breath, calming herself down. She gave a single nod of her head. Whatever had happened since he had left, Arya had managed to earn Aelin’s respect. That much was clear.

He held Aelin’s glare as she stalked past him towards where Arya waited. She lingered only a heartbeat longer before she disappeared with the Fae female around the corner, leaving him alone with Fenrys. There was only a heartbeat of silence before-

“Well, you look like you’re in a delightful mood today,” Fenrys chirped. 

A low, warning growl rumbled in the back of Rowan’s throat, showing that he was not in the mood for any of Fenrys’ snark. His companion’s mouth firmly snapped shut at the sound.

For a few moments, Rowan didn’t say anything, simply pinning the male across from him with his gaze. 

“I asked you to train her,” Rowan ground out at length. “Not fuck her.”

Fenrys was silent. A rare occurrence. 

“Tell me of what progress you’ve made with her then,” Rowan ordered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Has she mastered shifting at least?”

Still, nothing from Fenrys

Hot anger flashed through him again. “So. You’ve accomplished nothing, then? Except for drinking and gambling?”

“And dancing,” Fenrys mumbled. “She’s an excellent dancer.”

Rowan scoffed bitterly. “I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I didn’t expect much more out of that spoiled, useless brat.”

“Don’t speak about her that way,” Fenrys snarled, showing more backbone than he normally dared with Rowan. 

“You coddle her. She needs to learn, to take responsibility. She needs to be pushed.”

“Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she needs kindness and friendship and comfort. Maybe all she needs is someone to be there for her.”

“You’re naive, boyo,” Rowan said. “She has lived a life shunning her responsibilities, shunning her birthright and her kingdom. Turning her back on her suffering people. She’s a coward and has been pampered by whatever master she has served for the past ten years.”

Fenrys bared his teeth, something in Rowan’s words setting him off. “You know nothing about her and what she has endured. Nothing.”

Rowan studied his companion for a moment, noting the anger and outrage on his face. Perhaps there was something Rowan truly didn’t know, or perhaps that assassin has spun fanciful tales to earn her sympathy instead of the scorn she deserved.

“Perhaps I don’t,” Rowan eventually said. “But I don’t care. I’ll finish her training from here. First thing tomorrow morning, you will return to your post.”

Fenrys looked as though he wanted to protest, but knew deep down there was no point. Rowan was his commander, and he had to do what he was told. The younger male eventually gave a stiff nod. 

Fenrys didn’t wait to be dismissed before he made to leave, his shoulder bumping against Rowan’s as he stalked out of the kitchen. His proximity gave the prince another whiff of Aelin’s scent on him: jasmine and ashes. It enthralled him. It enraged him. 

There was a dull throbbing between his eyes, the beginning of a headache. Rowan heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He surely had his work cut out for him.

…

Fenrys found Celaena later that evening. Arya had taken her to the laundry rooms and they sat by one another as they scrubbed dirty tunics in soapy water. The female could clearly see the tension Celaena held in her shoulders, the anger blazing in her eyes. Arya spoke soothingly about what had occurred in the compounds since she had left. Apparently, the kitchen boy, Luca, had a crush on Eryn. Eryn seemed to like him in return. Her little crush had apparently distracted her enough that she had lost her footing while training, leading to the injured ankle.

Celaena found that she appreciated Arya and her soothing words. She managed to help her calm down a bit, to get her mind off of Rowan and Fenrys and whatever was happening between them. She didn’t know much about mating bonds, but she remembered the stories from when she was younger and the Fae still lived on her continent. She remembered that the Fae could get territorial to the point of violence about their mates. She hadn’t wanted Rowan to hurt Fenrys because of what they had done, even if the prince had shown no inclination of wanting anything to do with her. She wasn’t sure what his instincts were telling him. 

But, Arya had talked her down a bit. She reminded Celaena of her mother. Evalin had always been able to calm her down when her temper had gotten the better of her, when her fires had threatened to come spewing out. Her mother had always known what to say.

Gods, did Celaena miss her.

Fenrys managed to find her as she and Arya were bringing the wet laundry to be hung to dry. Relief flushed through her when she saw that her friend was unharmed. Perhaps a bit angry, judging at the crease between his brows, but not hurt. 

He explained to her that he would be leaving the next morning, that Rowan would complete her training. Celaena couldn’t stop the feeling of dread from filling every inch of her at the idea of having to spend time with Rowan. 

Fenrys helped them hang the laundry and complete other chores. Night came quickly. The females that Celaena had been rooming with joined them for dinner. Fenrys acted as if nothing had changed, being his ever charming self. And though Celaena tried to smile and laugh, they didn’t feel genuine. Fenrys was leaving.

She didn’t want to be alone again.

Celaena slept fitfully in her little cot that night, her dreams filled with silver hair and a white-tailed hawk whose cry seemed to ring through her ears even after she awoke before dawn. 

She dressed and headed outside. There was still mist hanging above the dewy grass, the sky beginning to glow with the rising sun. She found Fenrys readying his mare, jaw clenched and face tight. But, his expression softened once he saw her there to say farewell.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’ll miss your gods-awful jokes,” Celaena said, trying to muster up a smile. 

“I make wonderful jokes. I would miss them too.”

Celaena laughed even as she felt her throat beginning to tighten. She hadn’t known Fenrys long, but the kindness he had shown her had left its mark. It was a wonderful glimpse of what could have been. Of what should be. 

Fenrys glanced up, studying the sky. His lips tightened. “Well. I suppose I should be on my way.”

"We'll see each other again. One day." Fenrys squeezed her shoulders, flashing that crooked smile. “Give him hell, Celaena.”

Celaena lunged forward, throwing her arms around Fenrys’ shoulders and hugging him tightly. He returned the embrace in full before pulling back and pressing a kiss upon the skin of her forehead.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

He offered her a sad smile before his gaze caught on something behind her, eyes darkening for a moment before they were back on her.

Celaena glanced over her shoulder in the direction Fenrys had been looking, finding Rowan lingering by the fortress, face stony and arms crossed over his chest. He was waiting for her, waiting for them to begin her training. She swallowed the lump of nerves that tried to lodge itself in her throat before looking at Fenrys.

The smile on her face was sharp as she vowed, “I will.”

~~

a/n: new part! hope everyone enjoyed. probably wont be able to get the next part out until my finals are finished. lmk what yall think!!

tags: @tiredbutstillreading @hellasblessed @thisismylibrary @miserablesmusings @empress-ofbloodshed @depressedreader @morganofthewildfire @sleeping-and-books @emily-gsh @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @untoldstuff @swankii-art-teacher @poisonous00 @mis-lil-red @the-third-me @gracie-rosee @jesstargaryenqueen @pullnpeeltwizzlers @rowaelinismyotp @thewilderheart

[capesandshapes]

All You Had to Do Was Stay (Post Reveal/Pre Relationship) (4/4)

Summary:

Three years ago, Marinette revealed her identity to him. Three years ago, he promised to wait in a hotel room for her. Three years ago, she opened the door to find it empty.

Now she's expected to play nice with him, since she's the maid of honor and he's unfortunately the best man. But old habits die hard, and old feelings die harder.

"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She took a step towards him.

And then another.

All the words that she knew had failed her, and all of the emotion in her body had left her. What could she say? What would even make sense? There was no fixing the situation, not really, you couldn’t take away three years of waiting and wanting. You couldn’t take away three years of replaying every word in your head and wondering if you said the wrong thing.

“But you’re not him,” that was all she could say, and it hit the air like a deadweight. Because Adrien wasn’t Gabriel Agreste, because he never would be. The love Gabriel had was greedy and selfish, it took and took until it tore away all that he knew, until it ruined Paris and everything inside it. But Adrien? “It wouldn’t have mattered that he’s your dad, because you’re Adrien Agreste, not him, because I would have stood by you no matter what. I wouldn’t have cared what they thought or what they said. I wouldn’t have listened to them or let them stop me. If people wanted to close doors in my face because of who I loved, I’d make new ones. If people didn’t trust me, or see me for who I was, I wouldn’t care because I would know the truth.” Another step, another mountain climbed on her way back to him. “If they hated you because of who your father was, I wouldn’t want to be around them anyway, I wouldn’t want what they had to give me. I know that you’re good. You’re so good that everyone can see it—that they would have to admit it eventually.”

She held his gaze, her hands holding onto her shoulders like that could save her from sinking—like she wasn’t so far gone under the tide of Adrien that everything she had tried to hold back for three years wasn’t already killing her. She couldn’t stop drowning; she couldn’t stop wanting him.

“Adrien, I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen years old,” she whispered, “all of you.”

He exhaled, the low, throaty sound hitting the air.

“When you left, I…” She stopped, because he didn’t need to know, because she didn’t need to see him hurt like she had. “You broke me, and no one else has been able to put me back together since.” That was enough, that had to be enough for then.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, the words almost lost to the crashing of the waves outside.

She shook her head. Maybe she needed the apology, maybe someday she’d want it, but then, at that very moment? She was the only person who could give herself what she needed, the only person who could pull her head above water.

She tugged her hands from her shoulders, and walked closer, far too close to him. It was the lack of distance she would have dreamed of when she was in school, the kind that led to moments she cherished such as placing her head on his shoulder or reaching across his lap to hold his hand. It was the proper distance to look him in the eyes, the proper distance to say what she should have said before.

“Adrien, I would wait three more years for you, fifty if I had too—because I’m so stupidly in love with you, I’ve been so stupidly in love with you.” She inhaled, looking up at him, taking in those beautiful green eyes, “all I want to know is, are you still in love with me too?”

And maybe she would have gotten the answer she wanted. Maybe she would have finally kissed him. Maybe that would have been the start of their happily ever after—

Had Lila Rossi not stumbled into the cabin with Kim’s hand on her ass and her fingers laced in his hair.

“God, you are so fucking lucky I’m horny right now,” Kim muttered.

And just like that, all the romance left the air.

And though she wanted to ask, to drag him out on the deck and demand it, she saw that look in Adrien’s eyes and she knew.

He was terrified.

And really, who wouldn’t be? Who wouldn’t be scared? Who wouldn’t worry about what the future held?

So, she laughed. An empty, loud sound, one enough to break any tension. And, not knowing what else to do, she ran. Because maybe not knowing was better than the truth.

--------------------------------------------

"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette,” Alya said, frowning at the reflection of Marinette in her mirror.

Honestly, if it wasn’t Alya, Marinette might have gotten by. Anyone else would have believed her fake smile as she looked in the mirror, applying her makeup.

But Alya? Being her best friend, she was in the business of reading Marinette’s emotions. Marinette couldn’t get anything by her, she was surprised that she somehow managed to hide being Ladybug from her for so long.

“It’s your wedding, Alya, am I not allowed to be sad that I’m losing my best friend?”

“To your other best friend?” Alya asked. She could have at least hidden her skepticism.

“It’s your wedding,” Marinette repeated softly. As in, it’s your wedding, not my problem parade. It’s your day, not mine. Don’t worry about me.

“He’s just over in the next room,” Alya said, reading her mind.

“It’s been a month,” Marinette repeated, shutting down the plan before Alya could even begin to form it. “If he wanted to respond, he would have done it by now.”

“I’m just saying.” She was not just saying. She was suggesting in that Alya way that wasn’t really a suggestion, but rather a demand. “I’m sure if you vanished for just one minute, I could get Nino to pull him out in the hallway and you could get your answer.”

“Alya.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Focus on your wedding,” Marinette commanded.

Alya scoffed. “Right. And how am I supposed to enjoy said wedding knowing that my best friend is miserable waiting for a response that, if she doesn’t go and demand it, might not ever come?”

“You could look at your groom and be happy about spending the rest of your life with him?”

“Oh please, I would choose you over Nino anytime.”

She didn’t doubt that.

“Listen,” Marinette began, putting down her make up brush. “I’m going to be fine; I promise. I’m just going to get some air.”

“Sure,” Alya said with a roll of her eyes as Marinette got out of her chair and moved to the balcony door. “I’ll see you when you’re done having your fifth mental break down and finally want to talk, Marinette.”

Damn, she was good. Marinette sighed, turning the deadbolt before looking back at her friend’s knowing expression, the other bridesmaids busying themselves in the background. “Thank you,” she said, because she wasn’t about to deny it, not to Alya. And maybe, once she got it out of her system, she would talk to her. Maybe once it was all over, she would tell Alya everything.

But at that moment, all she needed was air. And so she went, pulling open the balcony door of the hotel room and letting the night air cool her skin. She let go of the handle, letting it click shut behind her as she walked further onto the balcony, the streetlights of Paris gleaming far in the distance.

It was times like this that she missed being a superhero. She wondered what Paris would look like then, sprawled out in front of her years later. Brighter, probably, the city had changed since Ladybug left.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” A voice said, and she was sure that it had said it to her a thousand times before. The words were so familiar in that voice, said in the same inflection at the same volume that she had heard growing up. “It’s ours,” she was sure he’d only said that once or twice before—on the nights when it felt like there was no one else and the city belonged to them alone.

“It’s Paris,” she corrected, just as she had before. Because there was no owning it. It was this living, untamable thing, a treasure for her to protect.

For them to protect, because there he was, standing out on his own balcony, looking at the city like it was far more beautiful than the stars.

Not Adrien, not at that moment. Just as she wasn’t Marinette, not when thinking of Paris. Chat Noir and Ladybug, the heroes of the city, both standing out in their civilian forms, looking over it once more.

There was so much distance between them, and yet it felt like he was right there. At any moment he would leap, clad in his black leather cat suit, and stand right beside her. That was how the story should have ended; if it couldn’t end with a kiss, then it should have ended with Chat Noir and Ladybug, together again.

But Tikki and Plagg were far away in a box in Nepal.

“I came out to get some air,” he said, not turning to look at her.

“Me too.”

“Do you remember when we used to sit on your roof and watch all the cars go by?” He asked, and she could only smile. How could she forget?

Things were so easy when the masks were on.

“We have half an hour,” Marinette informed him. “Then the wedding starts and we start walking. We should go inside.”

“We should,” he agreed. Neither made to move. Neither wanted to move.

She caught him staring at her out of the corner of her eye. Never mind the fact that she was staring too. She wished then, like she had so many times before, that she knew the right thing to say.

“What if we didn’t?” He asked, like it wasn’t this crazy, completely irrational thing to do. Like there weren’t so many people in the rooms behind them waiting on them. “What if we didn’t go at all?”

“It’s not even your wedding,” she said, turning to face him entirely. “Or mine.” He grinned anyway, sauntering over to the side of his balcony nearest her, leaning on the railing. “Don’t you think that would be rude?” They had been chosen for a reason.

“What do a best man and maid of honor even do anyway?” Adrien fired back, raising his eyebrows at her. “Past all of the party planning that we’ve already done, there’s just speeches and toasts ahead of us. I don’t think either of them want us reading our speeches, I planned almost every word of mine to embarrass Nino.”

She frowned, wishing she was able to resist it, but meeting him on the side of the balcony beside herself. He was so close that she almost thought she could leap. “And what would we do?”

“Stay here forever, find a way off this roof, run—Your pick, really,” he said, as if it was that simple. As if they could leave. It was her best friend’s wedding. “I know Andre’s stand closed years ago, but maybe if we’re lucky there’s another icecream man in Paris running around at night. I bet there’s one outside of the Eiffel tower, if you wanted to revisit old times.”

“And why would we do that?” She asked. This stupid, awful part of her was considering it.

“Because Nino just told me that he wanted me to be happy and that was one of the most important things to him today, and I bet Alya just told you the same thing,” he said. “But we’re not happy.”

“And?”

He looked at her like she was stupid. Maybe she was. He’d been out there longer than her, she could tell by the pink of his cheeks, maybe some great clarity had befallen him in that time, and he’d realized that she actually wasn’t all that bright. “Come over here,” he said.

“I am not coming over there.”

“Then I’m coming over there.”

“You are not coming over here!” Marinette declared, slightly astounded. “People are changing!” He didn’t seem to care all that much. “We’re not all models, some of us have shame!”

He laughed. Fuck, his laugh. She’d forgotten how good it was. “Meet me in the middle then,” he said, hauling a leg over his guardrails before she could protest. “I want to be closer to you.”

She was going to die because of him, she was sure, even if he was sitting oh so comfortably on his own railing. With her luck, she’d slip then fall to her inevitable doom. She could only hope that the bushes below her were soft.

“There,” he said once she’d settled, kicking out so that his foot lightly tapped her leg to prove his point, “Closer.” This was obviously some elaborate scheme to kill her that he had spent the last three years planning.

Almost as soon as she sat down, she began to second guess it. The voice in the back of her head was screaming for her to get up and go back to the suite. She could see the girls in the hotel getting ready to leave, Rose hauling up Juleka’s dress and Mylene reapplying Alix’s eyeshadow. She knew she should have left, sitting out there dangling herself over the edge of a building with Adrien wasn’t the best idea. She was supposed to be in there, taking care of things, fixing dresses and calming down nerves. But then there was Alya at the door, her face lighting up as she looked out at her, craning her neck just enough to see Adrien. She didn’t look like she missed her, only like she wished she could stay a moment longer.

She had to see it out for Alya, if only so there was finally an end to it all, a yes or no to the Adrien situation. Then she could be better, the kind of friend Alya deserved, one who wasn’t stuck in the past. Then she could dance at the reception with Nino’s cousins, and faun over men with Alya who weren’t blond supermodels.

“I know I should have told you that night,” Adrien said, drawing her back in. “And I did try to. Actually, I should have told you many nights ago, years even, but I don’t even know how to start now.” She closed her eyes, things like this were easier to take when you didn’t have to look. “I don’t regret disappearing, Marinette.”

There it was.

“But I do regret not taking you with me,” he said, and her eyes flew open.

If she hadn’t been holding on for dear life, she might have fallen off the balcony.

“Not just now,” he clarified, because it felt like a split decision. “But before too, so many times before. From the moment I left, I knew that I wanted to turn back, but I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing. Over and over again, this is for Marinette. Marinette will move on. It didn’t matter if it hurt, you would be okay.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t,” Adrien agreed. “I’m going to sound like an awful person, but I was happy about that. I was way too happy,” he admitted. “And this isn’t going to fix anything, this isn’t going to give you those three years back, this isn’t going to solve the problem an empty hotel room caused, and this won’t bring back Tikki and Plagg—But I’m asking you for just one second to give me this chance. I’m asking you to make the dumbest mistake of your life with me; to leave this party and everyone in it, to walk Paris again like it’s our city to own. For just one night, even though your body will practically ache with stupidity, disappear with me. Leave them all to wonder where we went, how even years later we always seem to miss things. Because I love you, even when you’re just walking on the sidewalk beside me and not saving the day, you’re my everyday Ladybug. Because I just want those moments back where it’s just you and I, and no one else knows who we really are.”

“And who are we, Adrien?” She asked. “The two biggest idiots in Paris?”

“A team,” he said, “amongst other things.”

---------------------------------------------

Epilogue:

Alya Lahiffe was dancing with her newly obtained husband when she saw it, a flash of red and black over the hotel garden wall. Her hands tightened around his neck as she took it in, a woman in a red bridesmaid dress and a man dressed in all black sprawled out in a heap on the ground, laughing after having practically tumbled over the brick wall surrounding the venue. They both looked from side to side, their noses nearly colliding with each other as they turned, both lighting up in laughter as they assumed the coast to be utterly clear and them to have snuck back into the party without anyone realizing.

“You okay, hun?” Nino asked as he looked down at her, taking in her expression.

“Yeah,” she grinned, watching as Marinette left only a peck on Adrien’s nose, resulting in the young man’s outrage. “I think I am.” She turned them, letting Nino see as Adrien reached for Marinette once more, dragging her down to kiss him.

“The absolute worst best man,” Nino chuckled, looking away as he pressed his forehead against Alya’s.

“And the most seasick, lovelorn maid of honor,” Alya said. “It’s a wonder they got anything done.”

“I give them a year before we get to pay them back, and we’re not skipping the ceremony. We’re giving bad speeches and throwing the bachelor party on a boat, doing the cupid shuffle—the whole nine yards.”

“And letting Marinette’s dad overload them with cake?”

“If he forgets any, we’ll just have to pull the samples out of our freezer.”

[lemon-trap]

The Main Six with a Adventurous MC

Now, if you don’t know, an adventurous person in this head canon is someone who will randomly go down a different path that isn’t the main one or finds more joy going somewhere that isn’t the main path. I am an adventurous person and I love finding new paths and doing new things outside. There was this one time-

I think I’m getting sidetracked. Anyway, this is my first head cannon! So if you would like, please like and reblog! Reblogs are important!

Also, a little WARNING: I kinda went overboard on Nadia’s so if you get creeped out easily then don’t read that one.

Enjoy.

~~~

Asra 🔮💜✨

We know Asra and we know how chill he is

He loves to explore and is a bit of a wanderer himself

He’d smile at how you went down a small path without hesitation and he would be close behind you

You two probably wouldn’t say much but instead listen to the woods around you

You find a small lake with a huge tree next to it

Immediately, you want to climb the tree

Asra joins you, of course, and makes sure you don’t fall but this isn’t your first tree climb

You go as far up as you can and look around the area, amazed by how much you could see up there

Asra joins you but not on the same branch

You both marvel at the sight of the trees, far off mountains, and the beautiful lake underneath you

Your little banter up there is so cute

“You think a fall from this height would kill me?”

“Yes, please don’t do that.”

Eventually, because you can’t stay in one place for too long, you hop down and check out the lake

Asra drops a little flower onto the water and blows towards it, watching as it floats away

You pick up pretty rocks and place them in a pile because shiny rock pile

You two spent way too much time there and would have probably spent the night there if it wasn’t so cold that night

You make a promise to have a picnic out there one day and Asra happily agrees

Nadia 👑💖🍷

At first she wanted to stay on the main path but by the end of your adventure she was glad she went along

She’s usually the one leading so it’s odd for her to follow you down a path that she doesn’t know

She’d want to listen to what else you got yourself into the other times that you wandered off

You’d tell stories that would make the pretty lady laugh

Your adventure takes a darker turn when you approach a somewhat of a clearing

Nadia notices that the clearing has little buildings in a small circle

Surprisingly, Nadia walks to it first

Once closer, you realize that it’s a town that has been abandoned for a very long time based on the overgrowth and the types of buildings

You only go into a few buildings, making sure it’s safe and not touch anything

Everything seemed so untouched. Personal belongings were spread in the rooms. Tons of clothes still where they belonged

Nadia ponders on what happened there, telling you her thoughts at times

You reach the center and it’s a little statue of a strange creature that you can’t quite describe

Nadia then asks if you hear anything and that’s when you notice that it’s eerily quiet. No animal or wind noises at all

The town seemed so untouched

On your way out, no one says anything but you can tell that Nadia is thinking

It’s not until you’re out and back into the forest when you start talking again

You talk about strange things that happened to you before and she talks about this one time when her family was visiting another royal family

Nadia was very little but said that she remembered it vividly. There was a little boy who used to follow her around the castle wherever she went. He was dressed in royal clothing but on one in that royal family they were visiting had a son that young but they told her the story of a little prince that once lived in this castle but he died years and years ago. Visitors and servants would say they saw the boy follow them then weeks later those people would go mad and always drown themselves in the lake behind the castle.

Nadia’s curiosity was killing her so she went to the lake at night and didn’t tell her parents. When she was there, she saw the little boy just staring straight into the water and she watched for what seemed like hours before the boy smiled and walked into the lake. Nadia had waited but she never saw anyone come out. She was so scared that she’d be next that she ran back to her room but she didn’t tell her parents because she didn’t want to get in trouble.

You couldn’t believe your ears yet you knew that Nadia wouldn’t make up a story like that

Nadia just waves it off like it was nothing

Soon enough, you’ve reached the main path

Nadia thanks you for the adventure even if it was a little dark

Julian 🎻🖤☕️

As a wanderer myself, I think that Julian would be an excellent exploration partner

I’m sure he’d be right next to you or even ahead of you

With it all the way

If both of you wanted, you could spend hours just exploring new paths

He’d make suggestions for a new path, you’d see where that lead you then you would pick a path

You find an untouched clearing that’s just covered in flowers

They aren’t exactly roses or anything fancy but with all those different colors and types it looks so beautiful

Julian brings up the fabulous idea of making each other bouquets

You are excited for the idea and immediately you both go your separate ways to find the perfect flowers

Now, we know that Julian’s favorite flower is Wolfsbane but if you know anything about that flower then you definitely don’t want to put it in your bouquet

You find some pretty blue flowers that you’d think he’d like

Once you’re done, you go back to where you both were supposed to meet and you see that Julian is already there but with his back to you

You call his name and he almost drops what’s in his hand but he turns around with his hands behind his back

You show him the bouquet you made him and the look on his face is priceless

He looked so grateful and excited that you picked out these flowers, even though it was his idea

Julian brings his hands in front of him to show you the one he made for you

You gasp at how beautiful the array of colorful flowers were, they were so beautiful and thoughtful

You both switched bouquets and held on to them as you walked back into the forest

As Julian went on about having a picnic next to those flowers, you couldn’t help but stare at the flowers he gave you and smile

Muriel 🪨💚🪵

If your in the forest then he’d probably tell you to stay on the path but you really wanted to see what else there was in the forest besides the path you always went down

In the end he agreed and just went along with it

He’d follow right behind you, making sure you didn’t go somewhere dangerous

It would be mostly quiet. He wouldn’t start any conversation

You somehow find a temple of sorts

It’s built out of stone and despite how old it looks, it was pretty sturdy

Muriel was hesitant to go in but was kinda curious to what was inside too

It’s not a big or professional temple, just one that a little village would have

Neither of you say anything in the temple either out of thought or respect

You find the main shrine and put a small flower on top of it and Muriel does the same

After you leave, you look up at Muriel and grin then thank him for letting you go this way

He’d probably say that you left him no choice after you ran off

You know that he enjoyed this adventure even if he doesn’t talk about it often

Portia 🐈🧡💫

Doesn’t take much to convince her

“Hey, how about we go down there?”

“Really, (Y/N)? We were just heading back.”

“Yeah but-“

“Alright you’ve convinced me, let’s go!”

She’s so excited

She’d point out all the cool things she sees like a fat little bird

You both find a small abandoned castle that is so heavily overgrown with plants that you almost don’t see it

Portia basically drags you in there

It’s a really cool thing to see because both of you wonder what this castle held

You both make guesses that get crazier each time

Now, it isn’t a big castle but it is certainly beautiful

She finds the big room where the people who owned this castle would most likely have held parties

She convinces you to dance with her and of course you say yes

You dance formal then start just making up your own dances that just felt good

Something about dancing in a abandoned castle just hits different

By the end, you’re both laughing and you’re cheeks hurt when you leave

By then it’s dark so both of you decide to head back to the main path

Lucio 🍑🤍🔥

Honestly, he probably won’t like it.

He’ll complain that his feet hurt or that he was thirsty

But give him a minute and he’ll be excited

He’d swing around his sword at the overgrown plants like he was a professional explorer

He might even tell about a few of his own adventures

You’d listen and laugh and try to get a few of your own stories in but you took him on this trip so now you gotta deal with him

At first, you find a fountain that is almost in the ground and covered in moss

That fountain was connected to a small path that led to a huge mansion that was so engulfed by nature that you couldn’t tell where the house began or where the plants ended

Lucio was absolutely ecstatic

He kept going on about how amazing the mansion was while also gloating about how much better his castle was and he did this while basically running to the house

You could barely keep up with him but you were happy that he was having some fun

The front door was nailed shut with boards so Lucio decided that it would be a good idea to basically slam himself against the boards

Because the boards were so weak, he fell right through

The inside was magnificent with big staircases that led to the second floor

Lucio twirled in the middle of the big room then he smiled at you and asked for a little dance

You nodded, not having the power to say no to that offer, and danced with him while the sun from the many windows poured down on the both of you

You can’t help but laugh when he twirls you

The dance stops when you’re both out of breath

He still wants to explore the mansion and so do you

You find many rooms, some of the belongings of the people who used to live there still scattered around the rooms almost as if everyone left in a hurry

Lucio makes guesses as to what he would do if he lived in this mansion

You chime in with a few things you would do

The mansion definitely had led an interesting life in its prime but was now just an empty shell of what it used to be

Lucio reluctantly agrees when you say it’s time to go home

He’d definitely bring this adventure back up whenever he thought of it

~~~

Thank you for reading!

[buckyownsmylife]

white winter hymnal - tom hardy smut

The one where you’re Tom’s PA and you two get snowed in.

Warnings: smut, boss/employee relationship, dirty talk, kind of sexist remarks?, that wasn’t my intention, but maybe that’s how you’ll see it, so I should warn you about it, reader is very sex positive in this fic, idiot in lust, PA!Reader, jealous!Tom, kinda possessive! or maybe asshole!Tom, again it wasn’t my intention, I just wanted to write some dirty talk, use of the term cockslut and another that I can’t remember, or maybe it was cockslut twice

A/N: I’m not really satisfied with this collage, but this will have to do 🤷‍♀️ Anyway, here’s another anon request I received a while back. Please take everything Tom says as nothing more than dirty talk. Also, I did that thing where I wrote a pre-POV intro, idk if it’s any good but when the inspiration hits, I just roll with it ✌

Y/N wasn’t having a good week at work. It wasn’t that something wrong had happened - actually when you considered the cold facts about what had left her feeling so high strung that a simple touch almost made her moan, anyone would think she was crazy. Those were nice things, good situations that she’d found herself in.

But she’d disagree emphatically. There was nothing nice about the fuck-me eyes with which Tom, her boss, had regarded her when she arrived on set with the pencil skirt that she knew made her ass look great. There was nothing nice about the way he’d commented on how she was out to get him, making his life more difficult because of the way she was dressing. There was nothing nice about how he had kept on complimenting her, telling her how pretty she looked with her hair down, or how he joked about how it must have hurt when she fell from heaven.

And especially, there was absolutely nothing nice about the subtle, fleeting touches he’d decided to shower her with, leaving her burning and more aroused than she cared to admit, considering how innocent they actually were. Tom had been flirting with her ever since her job interview, it was nothing new and she should have gotten used to it by now.

But the truth was that she didn’t, she couldn’t. And who could really blame her, when every day it seemed like Tom stepped up a notch, making it harder and harder for her to ignore his advances and keep things professional between them?

Especially considering just how badly she needed to get off and just how attracted she was to him and his stupidly perfect body and damn hypnotizing smirk. She was only human, after all. A human woman with healthy desires that seemed to revolve exclusively about her boss.

God, she was pathetic. At least, she could always count on Saturday nights. That was the time she managed to escape the acting world and the craziness of the set where they had been filming for the last month to go to the bar and find someone who’d take her home and help her deal with her growing levels of horny.

If it weren’t for random strangers who knew what to do in bed, she wasn’t too sure she wouldn’t have succumbed to Tom’s spell and climbed him like a tree already. And that’s where she was headed, just after she stopped by his rental house and went over their schedule for the week ahead.

She’d get through this, she thought as she made sure her coat was tightly wrapped around her waist before exiting her car and running towards the front door, ignoring the snow that had been lightly falling since that morning. Just two more hours and she would be on her way to drowning her needs in another stranger’s body, just to pretend that she didn’t think about Tom during the entire act.

Yeah. She could totally do this.

Tom was screwed.

He had been since he first laid his eyes on her, some five months ago, just before they moved to this fucking freezing country to start filming for his next movie. He knew even back then, he should have thanked her with a smile, explained that she wasn’t right for the job, and asked her out. The fact that she was the best person for the job shouldn’t even have counted, because he was head over heels for her in that first meeting, how the fuck could he keep himself away when she was supposed to be working by his side every minute of every day?

In the end, the idea of having to wait until the end of filming to actually get to spend some time with her made him take the impulsive decision that led him to this situation. Having her so close, but nowhere near what he wished for.

It was hell on Earth. Especially since he knew she felt the same way, he could see it in her eyes, in the way she squeezed her thighs together every time he so much as looked her way. If only she wasn’t so unbelievably professional.

“Tom?” He heard her sweet voice calling out from downstairs and casted a glance at the window. The snow had been gradually building up since that morning, it was a surprise she had managed to reach his house in the first place. But of course, she would never let something as silly as the weather keep her away from her responsibilities.

With a low chuckle, he made his way to the living room, rubbing his hands together to create some warmth despite the heaters that were working overtime since he arrived at that house. It didn’t matter, it was still too fucking cold.

“Ready to go over your schedule?” He trailed his eyes over her body, taking notice of the dress she was wearing over the warm leggings. What day was it? Oh, right. Her day off started the minute she finished this one last task, and then she’d be off to…

He knew where she’d be off to. Thinking about it made him see red, especially since he didn’t have the opportunity to do the same where they were. He envied her, but he envied the lucky bastard that got to fuck her tonight even more.

“Of course,” was all he said, assuming a spot on the seat next to hers on the couch. She visibly tensed, but then threw him a small smile that seemed to try to ease her own nerves, to which he returned with a grin of his own.

“What are you all smiley about?” It was nice to see her more laidback, it was clear that the prospect of letting off some steam tonight was relaxing her. Tom could work with that. In fact, it just made his plans that much easier.

“I can’t imagine how someone could be near a woman as beautiful and not be happy, sweetheart.” Her smile immediately dropped, her eyes growing twice their size as he maintained his grin. “But let’s get on with it, shall we? I have a lot to plan out with you.”

She raised an eyebrow at his lack of interest in continuing to mess with her but shrugged it off before opening her planner. They did have a lot to talk about before she could finally leave to the nearest bar.

Tom chanced a glance out the window as she tried to locate their current week on her faithful notebook. This might just turn out the way he needed it to be.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Aaaand… I guess this finalizes your schedule for the next week,” I commented as I made sure to correct the time for a phone interview Tom would be having on the following Friday, before glancing up at him. He’d been mostly quiet for the last few minutes, a stark difference from how he had behaved during the entire meeting. Through all my time working for him, it had been the first time he was actually really present for the scheduling of his following week, making changes and trying to be sure that it would go as smoothly as he wanted it to be.

It wasn’t an unwelcome change, but it sure was peculiar. And by now, I knew him enough to get that there was definitely a hidden reason for him to be behaving this way. Still, I couldn’t yet grasp what it was that he had planned, so I resigned myself to getting through with what I intended to do for the day, and thankfully, that was now done.

“Well, if you won’t be needing me anymore, I’ll be getting out of your hair now.” I smiled softly down at him when I left the sofa, making quick work of my scattered papers and random pens before straightening out to say goodbye. “What?” I had to ask since he was looking at me like he was trying to contain his laughter.

“Well, first of all, sweetheart, I always need you. Perhaps not in the way you’re supposed to help with, according to your job description, but it’s the truth.” I had difficulty maintaining eye contact after that, opting to stare at the mountain of documents in my hands while I fidgeted from one foot to the other, feeling the arousal inside of me sparkle before starting to burn even more intensely. Why did he have to be so honest about wanting me?

“Second and perhaps most importantly… I think you’re stuck with me for the rest of the evening, love.” That made me look at him again, desperate to find any signs that he was only toying with my emotions, anything to show me that he was only playing. But all I got was a nod of his head, pointing towards the windows, and that’s when it hit me.

We were snowed in.

A lot of different feelings took over me at the realization. First, there was despair. What would I do now that I couldn’t go to the bar? Then, there was anxiety. How the fuck was I supposed to survive spending the night with my boss - to whom I was attracted to - in a house with a single room in it?

Finally, sheer panic set in, making me shake my head in frustration. I’d never be able to find enough control to resist him without the release that my weekly escapades granted me. And by the way he stared up at me, with those darkened eyes filled with lust, I could tell that he knew.

I watched with a trembling body as he slowly rose from the seat and made his way to me until we were chest to chest. His eyes ran up and down my body until they finally settled on mine again, and I had to bite down a whimper. 

That’s how weak I was for him. He could reduce me to a wanton mess with a fucking stare.

“You’re scared.” It wasn’t a question. Both he and I recognized it as a fact. Still, I whispered into the air between us, “Yes.” Immediately, he pressed on. “Of me?” I almost melted at the sight of such a burly, strong man, towering over me and devastated at the prospect of threatening me.

Tom’s P.O.V.

I waited for her answer with a heavy heart, but the hopeful expectation that she did actually feel just the same as I did: scared at the prospect of what could happen between us, but equally excited. 

“No.” I tilted my head at the word, curious as to what was her explanation, then.

“Then what?”

“Of what could happen if I let go of my control. Of what I would become.” Slowly, a smile took over my face, and I finally felt confident enough in her feelings to feel like I could touch her. So I raised my hands to hold her hips, rejoicing in just how small she was in comparison to me. It felt like I could very easily pick her up and take her - in whichever way I wanted. And there were a lot of them.

“Let go,” I whispered in her ear, having leaned down so I could compensate for our difference in height. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you without that precious control of yours.”

Goosebumps had spread all over her skin at the difference in temperature of my breath and her skin. I watched in fascination, following their trail, rubbing my nose across her jaw before finally, her lips were inches from mine. And then they were mine.

I possessed her mouth just like I’d fantasized for so long, desperate to make up for the lost time, for all the nights I spent alone thinking about her while she was off with someone else. And she responded just in kind, her arms barely able to embrace my body, but her palms were spread over my back, pulling me closer, and that was more than enough for me. 

For now, at least. Now that I’d captured her on my web, there was no way I was letting her go before I fulfilled each and every one of the dirty, dirty dreams I had about the two of us. I was going to ravish her. I was going to ruin her.

She let out a tiny whimper when I pried her lips open with my tongue, before melting in my arms as I explored her mouth, basked on her taste. “You know there’s no way I’m letting you go now, right?”

By the way she looked at me with hazy eyes, it was clear that there would be no resistance from her whatsoever. She was pliant and soft in my hands, easily following when I picked her up and climbed up the stairs to my room with her in my arms. And then, when she was on the bed, there was just no way I could control myself anymore, not even long enough to take off our clothes properly. So I just flipped her skirt up, before ripping apart her leggings and finding her underwear absolutely drenched for me.

“Fuck,” I whispered, already reaching out to rub my thumb over her nub, making her gasp and cry out for me. “I can smell you dripping through the fabric, sweetheart.” To my pleasure, she didn’t seem coy about it at all. 

Oh, no. My little assistant, the picture-perfect of professionality was licking her lips, frantically nodding to my indication. “For you, I’m always dripping for you.” A smirk took over my face at her confession, my cock hardening even more at hearing that while I was suffering silently all that time, so was she.

So I ripped her underwear to shreds, spreading my hands over the inside of her thighs to get the perfect view of that pussy that had been haunting my dreams. “Shit, I can’t wait to eat that.”  And with only those words as warning, I dove right in, attracted by the sweet smell that made my mouth water.

She was just as sweet as I thought, but the sounds with which she filled my bedroom were what drove me crazy. I couldn’t close my eyes to fully appreciate her taste, too transfixed by her beauty, unable to believe that I finally had her, that it was her pussy I was currently lapping.

“Damn, look at you,” I hummed against her clit, making her jerk and try to pull away for a split second before I threw an arm over her hips to secure her position. “You fought so hard against your instincts, only to end up right here, spread open for me.”

With each word that left my lips, she seemed to get closer and closer to her release. “And to think you could have had my mouth on you all this time. Tell me, darling, do you think a stranger could make you feel better? Were any of the people you fucked, trying to ignore our connection, this great at making you cum?”

I could feel her muscles quiver under the soft skin of the inside of her thigh, and I doubled my efforts on her pussy, determined to see her cum at least once before I finally got my cock in her. It was throbbing now, begging for any sort of attention, but I was too transfixed by the sight of her reaching her high, the way her chest heaved as I quickly rubbed her clit with my tongue before sucking it into my mouth.

“Gimme your cum, baby. C’mon. Been waiting so long to get you in my bed…” She came as I hummed against her, the sensations obviously flipping her over that edge. “Fuck, you’re sweet.”

I kept on slowly cleaning her up, mindful of not hurting her, as she struggled to get her breathing in check. Despite her sensitivity, I couldn’t get myself to part with her taste just yet, even considering the possibility of eating her out some more, making her cum one or two more times before I fucked her properly.

But that was all before she fractured my control with two simple sentences. “Want some help with that? I’ve really been looking forward to getting your cock in my mouth.” I hadn’t even realized that I had been grinding against the mattress as I pleasured her, just to relieve my needy member at least a little bit.

What I knew was that I most definitely would not be able to hold back enough to feel her mouth around me. At least this first time. So all she got was a growl as I pounced on her, forcing her to taste her cum as I kissed those gorgeous lips and held her knees open to accept my weight between them.

“Right now, I’m gonna fuck this little pussy until you’re sobbing for me, okay, love? If you beg nicely, I might let you taste me later.” She whimpered in response, and a smirk took over my face. “Wow, you really are cockdrunk for me, aren’t you sweetheart?” The whine I got only made me laugh, giving me a little bit more control to tease her some more.

“You think you’re ready for me?” I asked, pressing the head of my cock against her clit, rubbing it with my member. “Are you sure you can handle my dick, darling?” Watching her thrash around the bed in an effort to get me to push into her was something I never thought I’d get to see. It made that moment of victory just that much sweeter.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I was trembling in anticipation to finally have him inside of me. To feel that fat cock stretching me open, filling me up like I’d always wanted it to. It was enough to drive me absolutely crazy with desire.

“Yes, yes, please, I can handle it. Please, stop teasing me,” I begged, my hands not able to choose what to hold as I struggled to keep myself from losing my mind over my boss’ cock. From the depths of my desire, I took notice of the way he smirked, one eyebrow raised up as he stared down at me, still slowly running the head of his cock between my pussy lips.

“Teasing? This isn’t teasing, love. Teasing is what you did to me, every single day since we met, parading everywhere with those fucking skintight skirts.” And with those words as preamble, he finally slid home, only stopping when he was completely inside of me, hitting my cervix and difficulting the now herculean task of remembering how to breathe again.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be this tight. I just fucking knew it.” Those were the last things I heard before he started pounding me against the mattress, barely having given me any time to get used to his thickness. 

If I thought I was losing my mind before, it became clear from the way he was bruising my insides that there was no possibility of me ever leaving this bed as a sane woman. Tom had managed to reduce me to a blubbering, stupid mess. He truly had turned me into his cockslut, I realized. I’d do anything just to keep being filled by him, over and over again.

“See? This is what you could have been having this entire time. Me and my cock. Instead, you just had to leave me for those random men. And while you were out, having your fun, all I had to keep me company was my own hand.” Tom never stopped the torturing pace with which he kept on fucking me as he slowly drove me crazy with his words. It was just unbelievable how great he was at dirty talk, I felt like I could cum already from the rhythmic attack on my sweet spot and the filth he was spilling. 

The mental image he elicited of him touching himself didn’t hurt, either.

“You’re so egoistic, sweetheart. Wasn’t it your job to serve me? Instead, I had to get off all by myself.” Despite the teasing nature of his remarks and the still brutal pace of his thrusts, his touch over my body was gentle, as he gathered my hair away from my face so he could bury his head in the crook of my neck.

“You… You could have had anyone you wanted,” I managed to remind him, starting to mirror his movements, fucking myself up on his cock. “You could have had anyone at all.” Abruptly, he stopped hiding his face against my skin, pushing away just enough to watch my expression - or maybe to show me his, in all of its seriousness.

“The only one I wanted was you. This was everything I wished for, since day one.” Tom raised himself slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts in a way that had me gasping in surprise, while also preventing me from being able to figure out what I could possibly say to that. So he continued, slowing the movements only a bit, but fucking me deeper, his eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t pinpoint. 

Tom’s P.O.V.

She gasped, finally giving up that last little bit of control and allowing herself to relax against the mattress as I did all of the work. “But now I have you, huh? And this is where you should be spending your days, with my cock deep inside of your pussy, keeping me warm, keeping me happy.” I kissed her before finishing, “Keeping me fulfilled.”

With a moan that electrified every single cell of my body, she came and prompted my own orgasm, and I spilled inside of her with a roar, momentarily losing my strength and falling on top of her body.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, darling. Let me get out of you.” But she stopped me from leaving her arms and her pussy, hugging me to her chest until I had no other choice but to cuddle her.

“It’s okay,” she said, fingers lightly running through my short hair. “I like it.”

I fell asleep that night happy because I understood that was her way of saying that she was satisfied with this development in our once strictly professional relationship. And I couldn’t wait to wake her up with another reason why she shouldn’t regret this.

[oingo233]

Rapture is a Boy (8)

Summary: Remus and you have always had a playful, loving relationship but his behavior around the full moon leads you to assume the worst. A huge fight ends with the two of you heartbroken. Will Remus reveal the truth behind his behavior?  And will you still love him afterwards or has he truly lost you forever?

Young Remus Lupin x Reader(neutral)

Warning: FLUFF, so much fluff you could drown in it, self-doubt (brief) 

Authors Note: This is the last part, which is crazy to me, I truly hope yall love it.  This series is dear to my heart because it has allowed me to meet and talk to you and so many other amazing people!  You all mean so much to me, and Remus is my lil baby too. I can’t even express how much I appreciate and love you all <3

Word Count: 5k

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

                                                    Part Eight

                                      ****A Stag, a Rat and a Dog***

Remus POV

“That was-” Peter couldn’t even finish his sentence, he just laughed, he laughed so loud it was hard not to join in with him.  James pat his back and nodded, wiping some of the blue glitter off on his shirt.

“Right, mate.” he agreed.  Sirius was bouncing in his spot, none of our smiles breaking or dimming. “Another notch under the belt of our legacy of awesome,” he all but sang, all of our cheeks still flushed from this morning. He hit Sirius’s arm and they began to race up the stairs, Peter and I followed, jogging after them.  “Lily loved it too!” he added, smiling even bigger at just the thought of her, he was beating Sirius.  

We all stopped running and Sirius was scowling, he lost, we all stood at the portrait when Sirius turned to me.  “Worked well on (Y/N) too,” he stated, smirking at me and making a sexual motion with his hips, James laughed and I pushed him. “Ew, your palms are sweaty.”

“We’ll excuse me, ABBA sweats no doubt after giving the performance of a life time.” I say while James says the word and the painting opens for us. “Besides, it has worked for now.  But they are still oblivious to the truth.  I might lose them all over again, once they know.”

The mood seemed to darken at this realization.  Not everyone is as understanding about my condition as the boys. That’s the real reason I couldn’t stop sweating, and if the boys looked close enough they’d see I couldn’t stop shaking ever so slightly too.  I just got (Y/N) back, I’m not sure how well I’d be able to cope with losing them a second, and final time.  My heart broke just at the thought, and at the very realization that I might have to prepare myself for such an outcome.

“Mate, (Y/N) is one of the people in this world that loves you most.  Besides us of course,” James smiled softly, trying to lighten the mood whenever he could, “I doubt, that anything could make them think differently of you.  You’re not just your condition.  You’re Remus feckin Lupin!” The other boys cheered in agreement as we stepped into our dorms, Peter even went as far as rubbing my shoulders to build up my confidence, he saw a trainer do it to a wrestler on muggle TV once.

“And we’ve got a romantic feckin plan!” Peter cheers, still excited about what is yet to happen. I swallow thickly once more, this day could be one of the best in a while, or the absolute worst.  I guess we’ll know tonight.  

“Yes, and are you guys sure you are okay with this?” I ask, for the fifth time.  James rolls his eyes, and Sirius bangs his head on the dorm room wall.  

“Yes, Moony.  Yes. Yes. Yes.  We are okay with this for the millionth time.  (Y/N) is our friend too, and all we want is to see the lot of ya happy again, so will ya shut up about it.  We already agreed, mate,” Sirius says, looking up just barely lifting his head from the wall.

“And we don’t like lying to (Y/N) either,” James says, Peter nods with each word falling from their lips, as he tugs on pants and grabs a new, not bedazzled, robe.

We were still talking and going over plans for tonight when we left for first period.  The common room was quite expect for our meshed whispers and loud footfalls, it wasn’t until the painting door swung open that we heard another sound.  An all too familiar sound.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat before us.  Her hands folded in at her chest and her pointed eyes trained on us, unblinking.  We all swallowed thickly, our fear and respect for her almost overwhelmed our courage and friendliness towards her.  Almost.

“Did ya enjoy the concert, Minnie?  I was singing just for you.” Sirius said, smiling and trying not to laugh as her expression remained unmoving.  James joined in and I nearly rolled my eyes, but a smile found it’s way onto my lips nonetheless.

“Yeah, we saw ya a-tap-tap-tappy your toes!” He says, doing a little dance.  I was amazed by her ability to not even crack a smile at our enthusiasm, but then again, this was nothing new to her.  “ABBA gets to the best of us doesn’t it?”  As if on cue, Sirius was speaking again. I fought my smile and faked a sullen expression, fingers crossed behind my back, this was the part where one of us tried to weasel our way out of trouble.

“Exactly, our hearts were in it Professor, truly we had good reason and we weren’t hurting anyone.  Shame.  Just a shame Dumbledore gave us detention, any more severe punishment just wouldn’t make any sense.”  She raised a brow and in a last attempt I put in a word of my own.

“But you’re always so sensible Ms. McGonagall. I’m sure your punishment for us will be well-deserved.  Perhaps our outfits were too flashy?” Peter chuckles beside me, and shows her the inside of his robe.

“But this one isn’t at all. Ya see?” He shows her adamantly until she raises a hand and we are drowning in silence, she made us sweat in our palms and neck before speaking.

“Yes.  It appears your shenanigans are over.  But Lucy is still in the hospital wing scrubbing at her skin, the smell is pungent and unmoving.  It seems, Sirius,” She turns to face him, his adam apple bobs, “You did hurt someone.  The real shame is that you don’t seem bothered by that fact.  Follow me, boys.” She said, turning on us, her robes nearly swinging up and hitting our shins.  We follow wordlessly and with our heads down, her words bothered us a little, what really stung was the disappointment on her face and in her frown. (Though Sirius swears he heard her singing along).

She went to Peter’s class first, he went to follow her inside but she raised a hand and said “Oh, you won’t be going to class this morning, Mr.Pettigrew.” She excused Peter herself, whispering into the teachers ear.  My heart sank at the realization that I would not be seeing (Y/N) again this morning, James eyes me, my mood obviously changed.  I couldn’t even spend any time with them before tonight, our lunch would serve as detention as well. I might never get to see them again after tonight, couldn’t even enjoy this little time I have before the truth is out.  I won’t be able to be at peace until tonight or maybe even after, because who will love a monster?

For the rest of the morning we were locked in McGonagall’s empty classroom, writing out letters of apology to be given to Lucy in person later that day.  And attempting to come up with a charm or some potion that would reverse the long lasting affect of the Stink Bombs that we have created.  Wouldn’t be a marauders prank unless everything was well crafted, would it?  But now, our little spell seems to be our downfall.  Luckily, we found the right reversion potion, and it was taken to Madame Pom. immediately.  By the time we were allowed to leave, the bell for second period had just rang.

I sat through my classes with sweaty hands, and bouncing legs.  I agonized in the silence of detention about all that could go wrong, several times I re-debated whether I should really tell (Y/N) the truth, but it was clear that I needed too.  I have lied for too long, and it has cost me too much.  The truth will set me free...or at least I hope it will.  I sat through my very last classes feeling both sick, and determined.  Before we knew it, it was dinner time and James, Sirius, Peter and I snuck out of the castle for our final act of salvation.  Our last attempt to make things right.

Your POV

The ground was rocky and uneven below my feet, between the clumps of dirt and hidden rocks this trip to Hagrids hut felt more like a mountain climbing experience than anything else.  But my breathing was not ragged and exaggerated because of the walk, no, it was because ever since this morning my heart has been beating out of control.  I’ve been breathless and filled with both anxiety and warmth since Remus kissed my cheek and handed me this note.

Tonight will mark either the end or the fresh start of our relationship, of our friendship...of our love.  

My head is spinning as I stumble over a pumpkin root. What has he been hiding from me?  Is it something bad, or big, or maybe something he is just blowing way out of proportion?  What if the truth pulls us apart even more than the lies?

I shake my head in an attempt to free myself of this anxiety that swells in my stomach like a churning sea.  Whatever it is, I will face it with patience and love, but also self-respect.  I repeat this to myself until before I know it, I am at Hagrids hut.  The walls of his house seemed to mountain over me, it smelled strongly of firewhiskey, burning firewood,rich dirt and sweet pumpkins.  The smell did wonders in calming my mind, but I rather large frown makes its way onto my face as I look around.  There was absolutely no one in sight.

I cuss under my breath.  Maybe this is the wrong place.  Maybe Remus is late?  I chew at my bottom lip and take a few large steps around the hut, my eyes keep going back to analyze the trees of the forest.  The shadows of the forbidden forest seemed to reach for me.  It called for me.  As if it was a whirlpool sucking me in I stepped towards it, staring into the layers of dark, large trees.  

I held my breath as a bush by the very edge of the forest shook, rustling leaves and snapping twigs filled the brisk night air.  I shivered, whether it was from the cold or the sudden fear I was not sure, but I did not have time to debate my feelings because suddenly, a canopy of dark green vines, hanging from the trees shifted.  

Large, cream horns parted the vines and drooping tree leaves, a particular branch got stuck on the intricate swirling of the horns and snapped completely as the creature stepped further from the shadows, revealing itself to me. 

A beautiful Stag stood proud, it’s thick coat shone under the moonlight, it’s chest puffed out at me with pride.  The horns only added to it’s graceful height, but it’s eyes are what truly took my breath away.  Those round, warm eyes they were so human.  So familiar.  Before I could debate it any further, the Stag stamped it’s hoof in the dirt softly, it snorted and white air swirled around it’s soft face.  Only then did I notice the beautiful yellow rose, plucked from a bush and resting at it’s front legs.

I bring a shaky hand to my mouth, barely able to comprehended the wave of emotions that nearly knock me to my feet. This was of Remus’s doing.  But...how?  The Stag inclines it’s head curiously at me to the right, it’s large ears flicking with some sort of impatience, or unrest.  Only then did I fully seem to understand the familiarity of this creature.  

“James?” I gasp.  The Stag seems to stand even taller at me, and...smiles.  With my mouth still hanging wide open I let out a boisterous laugh.  “James!” I almost yell, the Stag snorts again and leans it’s head down, using his nose to push the rose towards me.  The movement doesn’t help me get over my shock, but it stirs me into action.  I begin to cautiously walk forwards, and as I do the Stag er, James, picks up the rose between it’s teeth, when I am close enough he softly nuzzles it into my hand.  I grip it tightly, it has already been de-thorned.

Carefully, with my free hand, I reach it out just a few inches in front of me and James places his Stag head onto my palm.  I pet him softly, he stares up at me and it was as if I was staring at James himself.

“You clever bastard!” I exclaim, I knew how hard becoming Animigus is, but why would he do such a thing?  I was broken out of my trance when the Stag (James) begins to walk, slowly at first, he looks back at me and inclines his head first and it was as if I could just hear him saying, in his cheeky manner ‘Ladies first, of course,”

I swallow thickly and fight another bout of paralyzing shock, and instead smile, following James through the forest.  His hoofs sinking softly into the ground, the sound was methodic and helped with the strange over pour of emotions I’m feeling.

What happened next, is actually quite embarrassing.  It started with a little scamper by my feet.  Considering how far we’ve walked into the forest I was more than a bit concerned for my safety, but the large, strong Stag beside me cast most of my fears to the side.  Then, through a break of moonlight through the trees I saw it.  A large, fat rat!

I screamed so loud, dark ravens flew from their slumbers in the trees.  James beside me stomped his feet, and checked the perimeter with analyzing eyes, searching for the danger.  But they only found the rat.  I never thought a Stag could give such an amused, disappointed expression, yet here I stand.  Clinging to a deers ass for dear life, and he is looking back at me with said expression. My cheeks flush and I let go of his furry back, then the Rat very slowly inches towards me.  

It’s sharp nose lifting and dancing from side to side, it’s soft brown eyes sparkling up at me.  I’d say it even looked a little cute, friendly even.  But what unusual behavior, and what unusual eyes.  It’s tail glowing under the white light like a plump, pink worm...

“Wormtail!” I realize, laughter bubbling from my chest. The Rat lets out a gleeful squeak and James besides me snorts once again, seeming to laugh.  The Rat scurried off into the shadows, and I can’t help but berate myself.  Did I hurt his feelings?

But then he comes bounding back into sight, he stands on his back legs and his little Rat face seemed to glow with excitement as his pink hands unveiled a small little white wildflower.  The same kind Remus would pick for me on walks we took together. My smile only grows bigger as I do a sweet curtsey and pick up the flower mid-bow, lifting it up to my nose as I stand straight again.  

“My apologies, you know I don’t like rats.  But I suppose I’ll have to make an exception for you.” I smile down at him, and he reveals two yellow buck teeth, smiling up at me with as much of a smile any rat can muster.  I fail to hold in my laughter but extend my arm to him, he climbs up it and perches himself on my shoulder.  I hold the two flowers in one hand, and rest my other on James soft shoulder, so I can be led through the dark forest, I knew by know, they were leading me to Remus.

Peter climbs down my other arm and onto James back, then up his head.  I laugh as Peter holds on for deer(hehe I’m funny) life as James jokingly waves his head back and forth, Peter almost falls off but I help him back.  We all seem to laugh in our own ways, when suddenly a loud bark cuts through the sound of laughter and owls and even the rustling of the woods around us.  It was loud and impatient and yet humorous, it reminded me of someone I know well.  I smirk, raising a brow I turn to the equally amused Stag and Rat, James and Peter.

“Wormtail.  Prongs,” I say, motioning to the Stag who only inclines his head again, “And Padfoot.  Let me guess... Sirius is also some animal wandering these woods, finding us by chance?  A wolf, perhaps?  A dog?” They don’t say a thing, they only begin to walk again.  Turning us towards the sound of the echoing bark.

I was on the ground before I knew what was happening.  We’ve walked just a few more minutes and then a cloud of black overcame my sense and tackled me to the floor.  Black, Sirius Black, was a dog and on top of me.  He was barking right by my ear and cuddling me, it wasn’t until two little Rat hands attempted to push his leg that he got off.  

I was laughing uncontrollably, this was all too much.  Too crazy.  I knew they were geniuses, but this... becoming Animagus and though the reason was unclear I could feel it, something to do with Remus.  With Moony.  The nickname had a new meaning to me, and I wasn’t sure what yet, but I was sure I was about to find out.  

Sirius was racing around me in circles as I stood up.  His black tail wagging wildly, and his fur rustled and tossed under the wind.  I wanted to coo and awe, though his eyes were human and mischievous, the rest of him was adorable and strong.  A proud, handsome looking dog.  It was clear, by his behavior, that he was just as excited to reveal this big secret, as I was to know the truth.

“Sirius!  You dog,” I joke, a bad one on my part but he still barked with laughter and I shook my head, taking in the three of them.  This was, Merlin, I didn’t even know what this was other than beyond surprising and impressive.  Shocking.

Suddenly, Sirius makes one last dart behind me, he sends me in a spin and by the time I can control my footing he is back in front of me.  He is sitting on his back legs, front paws up in the air and bent in a cute trick, his ears flopped forward.  Just above his paws, drooping from the jaws of his mouth is a single daffodil.  Daffodils, like the one written about in this favorite poem of mine that Remus would read me on bad days, I Wandered Lonely as A Cloud by William Wordsworth.

I sigh, tilting my head to the left, a soft smile on my lips.  Everything about this was amazing and sweet.  It was amazing that the boys had this whole other life I never knew about, which I’m sure there will be a reasonable explanation for my ignorance because ouch.  But sweet, because this was obviously planned my Remus, but the boys were taking their own time to make it happen.  I bend down and pat Sirius’s head, the only time he lets me touch his hair, I think, almost laughing.  His tail wags as I pluck the flower from his mouth and he lets it fall easily into my hand.

I gather it with my other flowers, now forming a little bouquet and bring the whole lot of them up to my face and inhale. I close my eyes as I smell the sweet and powerful aromas, memories with Remus filled my head, and with it, a warmth filled my chest.  

“I hope this hasn’t been all too much for you.  I thought some truths would be better seen than told,” Remus says, walking up behind me.  I spin around, I didn’t even notice the sound of crunching leaves behind me. But I couldn’t find it in me to speak, the moonlight dancing across Remus’s face, highlighting his eyes, and the soft curves of his lips with the ragged lines of his scars, I was astounded by the boy before me.  Once again entranced.  All the anxiety, all the fear has left me, as I stared at him clad in fancy pants and a button up to match.  

He stops walking, unsure of where he stands with me.  I step towards him, finding some clearing in the haze I begin to speak.

“It’s wonderful.  They’re wonderful,” I say, turning with a thankful smile to the stag, the rat and the dog. They each in turn, show their teeth at me in an attempt of a smile.  I laugh and beside me, Remus does too.  With a nod of his head, they turn their backs on us and leave.  I no longer needed guidance or safety.  Remus stood before me and I felt something that has been missing for the past couple of days.  And even though I was in the middle of the dangerous, forbidden forest, I knew that I was also home.  

“I love the flowers. I must say, this night has already taken the most unexpected turn it could, but the nicknames definitely make more sense,” I attempt a bad joke, a habit of mine in a nerve wracking situation but Remus only seems to grimace slightly, before turning it into a smile, though it was a rather sad one.

“Well, you seem to be taking this well.  Have you figured out mine yet?” He asked, his sad tone surprising me. We were so close his voice dropped low just out of habit it seemed, and because the short distance between us put us in a trance.  I missed him.  I missed him so much my body now seemed to come back from the dead and reach for him, I was alive again with dancing butterflies and buzzing questions.  I glanced down to his lips, before taking a step back. 

“No.  But I can guess.  It makes sense, once every month you seem to leave me.  You change into someone who is distant, someone who doesn't seem to love me,” He steps forwards, looking pained by this realization, but as I speak it becomes clearer to me, but I can’t yet reach the conclusion.

“I will never become a person who doesn’t love you.  I will change and grow but you will be the one thing that remains.  You don’t have to guess anymore, but I want you to know that my love for you will always remain, even if after tonight, we do not,” he speaks with such reverence, like our love was something scared to him and deep down, I knew I felt the same way.  It is my first love, and if I can help it, than he will be my only lover until the day I die.  All I can do is nod as he steps forwards again, I can see a bead of sweat roll down the apple of his cheek, he was about to tell me.  I can feel the shaking of his hands as he places them in mine.

Suddenly, his unbreaking stare leaves me, and in place, find the bright moon.  Twinkling in the sky and illuminating us in its wake.  I understood in that moment, Moony.  A boy mapped with scars.  Moony.  A boy plagued by nightmares, and insecurities.  Moony.  A tough, but oh so scared boy who seemed to hate the very night itself.  Moony.  The boy who changes during the month, and is gone completely on the full moon.  Moony.  Moony, the Werewolf.

I pull on his hands and gather him into my embrace, pulling back only to kiss him sweetly.  The world becomes ours as our lips dance with one another to a song we’ve heard before.  It is the song of him making love to me.  It is the song of the poems he reads me and the flowers he picks.  It is the song of the moons very envy as she watches us together.  The song of lovers.  It moves us.  It moves my hands up his neck and through his hair.  It moves his lips across my cheek and jaw and then down my neck.  It moves the wind, and the trees around us.  It pulls the moans from our mouths and then the confessions.

“My beautiful love,” Remus kisses the words into my skin, up to my lips.  “My only love,” he mumbles into my lips, kissing me softly but his hands are bruising at my hips.  As if I would leave him if he did not hold me close enough and for forever.

“I love you, Remus ‘Moony’ Lupin.  I love all of you and all that you ever will be and all that you have been.” He pulls back from me, his eyes glazed with tears and a softness that makes my heart sing.  He nods, and than he laughs.  A tear falls from his eyes as his head leans back and he laughs, the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.  It was as if all his anxiety, and self-hatred has left him and in their place my words have nestled in.  I love him.  I love him.  I love him.

“I’m a werewolf ya know?” he says, still laughing, he knew I made the connection.  At this point it was pre-caution, I roll my eyes and kiss him again.  The world is forgotten as we kiss, as we rejoin as one and as lovers.  I pull back and softly wipe away his tears.

“I know,” I whisper into his lips, he smiles, giving me a soft kiss.  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Remus?” I ask, pulling away from him.  He frowns now, his cheeks red with blush, and lips to match.

“I thought I’d lose you forever.  That you’d think I was some monster, or- or beast.  You always looked at me like I was the world, and I was terrified one day you’d see the real me, and just- well, stop loving me altogether.” While he speaks his eyes still glitter with the promise of tears, and my heart sinks at his words.

“I think I understand your anxiety about it.  I can’t imagine how hard it must be.  But I would never stop loving you for such a thing, merlin, I don’t think anything could stop me from loving you.  I never want you to feel the need to hide from me again, okay?” Remus nods into my hands, I still haven't moved them since I wiped away his tears, it seemed like more keeps falling each time.  

“The boys became Animigmus to help with my full moons.  It can get pretty bad… but ever since they have come along things really got better, really they did.” he adds when seeing my sad facial expression.  My heart felt broken all over again at just the thought of Remus being in pain, alone and suffering.  I swore in that moment, I’d do anything in this world to help make things better for him.  I nod my head.  He continues.

“And Lucy, her older sister is a werewolf.  She figured out that I was one pretty quickly, she said I could speak to her about it all, and that she could help somehow.  It was nothing more, she just let me complain and even write some letter to her sister.  I never even thought of Lucy like the way I think of you.  She was always just a friend, but that remains no more.  To hell with her,” he says.  He can’t stop smiling, a real, golden smile.  There was nothing holding him back, I could just tell he felt so much lighter.  I took his hand and wordlessly led him to sit on the grass with me.  We laid shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the stars together.  

He told me in depth about how he was bitten as a child, about how it changed his life.  Then when the boys told him they were becoming Animgus for him and all the little moments and adventures they’ve had since.  He didn’t sugar coat a thing, he didn’t lie.  He was bearing his soul before me for the first time, without any thin veil holding us back and I’ve never felt closer to him.  It was well past curfew by the time I felt satisfied with everything he’s told me, I felt both heavy with this knowledge and yet free.  I felt included and like I truly knew Remus, and I still did love him.  More than ever, I love him.

We laid in silence for some time, my head has moved to lay on his chest and I can hear the steady, warm beating of his heart.

“Can you hear it?” he asks, out of the blue.  I strain my ears to listen to the forest around us, I lift my head slightly and he laughs.  “No. My heart, can you hear it?” I lean back into him and let out a little laugh myself.

“Oh.  Yes,” I smile, “I can hear it.”

“Good.  It beats for you.”mhe says, I look up at him only to find that he has already been looking at me.  His eyes soft, and smile warm, his heart steady under the palm of my hand and loud within the stillness of the night.  It beats for you.  His words echoed in my head and I couldn’t help myself, I lean forward and press my lips against him.  I could kiss him forever.  I could be with him here like this forever, alone and in love, honest and unafraid. 

 I understood a lot of things that night, more than just about who Remus was and the secrets he has been hiding.  More than the truths that he bared and the love that we had. I understood how after all this time of separation and uncertainty.  After exhausting ourselves in a sea of sorrow and questions, we have finally found our peace.  I have found my happiness.  And I realized something rather important.  Rapture is a boy.  Rapture is love.

Taglist:

@crazylokonugget​   @beyondprincess​   @1975weasley​   @nicodoesntexist  @goto-hi-this-is-my-brain  @yoyoitsbella​  @ftwert   @sognatrice-as-a-hobby​  @dontjudgemyobsessionpls​​  @blackpinkdolan​

@holdenviolet   @katie-lupin05   @acoustic-archie @trishizzl   @accio-willtolive-lmao  @ilistentotayswifttocope  @kopheliablack​​

[msdanvers]

Apollo x Daphne AU — goddess of music

A gentle breeze touches Lena’s flushed and clammy skin, but it brings no relief – even the air itself is stiflingly hot today. Tree leaves brush against her arms and her cheeks, tickle the soles of her feet, get tangled in her hair. Lena breathes in slowly and lets the scent of the mountains ground her as she makes her way home.

Time has given her the opportunity to memorize the world around her in ways no mortal ever could. She knows the ways rivers flow in winter, after a rainstorm, during a draught. She knows the way they used to flow, and remembers every change. She knows where they end, where they start, when they started.

She would know the way through these mountains blindfolded, on the darkest nights.

Her connection with these forests allows her to notice when something has changed within them – a new presence, or the loss of an old one. Today is one of those moments. Lena isn’t sure what it is. The grass is still scratchy and yellow in the same places as yesterday, still green and soft in others. The cypress trees are still in the same place, and so are the barn owls nesting in their hollows. Even the gray wolves haven’t moved from their resting place since this morning when she left.

Whatever it is, she decides, there is no use dwelling on it now. Lena lets her thoughts drift as she climbs over a fallen tree. Its mossy trunk feels warm on her thighs and hands – familiar, she imagines, like the touch of a lover would feel after centuries of closeness. Intimate, trusting, in a way she herself has never felt with anyone. The thought of it feels familiar even so – she has dreamed of a love like that so often, she can almost feel its warmth.

But romance happens in stories, and a watered-down version of it happens to the other nymphs around her, and nothing like it will ever happen to Lena. She has made peace with that knowledge a long time ago, and if you asked her, she wouldn’t say she’s lonely. Lena treasures the time she spends in solitude, free of judgement and expectations, free of performances. The sweltering heat of today’s noon should be spent just like that, alone.

As she makes her way across a grassy glade, she finally hears the murmur of her river. Lena sighs in relief. She has detested the summer for as long as she can remember, and today’s blinding sun does nothing to change her mind. She can’t wait to dip her tired body in the cold, rushing river water, floating in it with her eyes closed and her mind wandering.

Which is, of course, when she hears it.

Lena stops in her tracks to listen. It’s barely noticeable at first, drowned out by the sounds of singing birds and flowing water, but once she picks it up, it’s unmistakable. Music. Who could it be? Who came to her small corner of the world, only to fill the usual silence with their lyre?  

She starts walking again, a bit quicker this time, frowning as she tries to follow the sound to its source. It’s an instrument she has always enjoyed listening to and yet, Lena realizes the longer she listens, this is like nothing she has ever heard. All the satyrs that have played for her seem like children in comparison, now, like novices trying their hand at an instrument they don’t fully understand. No, this, this is what music is supposed to sound like.

Lena pauses when she catches sight of the river, one hand touching the rough bark of a tree. Her last lingering thoughts of turning the other way slip from her mind the moment she looks upstream, and finds a woman.

On a rock in the middle of the river, with her back to Lena, is the white-dressed and golden-haired lyre player. Sunlight plays with her curls and it almost looks like she’s glowing, like the source of light is not the faraway sun but this woman, playing a melody for herself and the world, unaware of her audience.

Silent, transfixed, Lena walks into the water, barely noting its cool touch as she makes her way upstream.

When the woman stops playing, there is a split second of silence in which Lena realizes there is only a few feet of space between herself and this complete stranger. Is it too late to turn away now? Why did she come this close anyway – could this woman be some kind of siren? Did she walk right into her trap?

Those nervous thoughts are forgotten the moment the woman turns around, lowering her legs into the river with a smile on her face. If she is a siren, Lena finds herself thinking, then let it be so. Let this siren lure her in with the sweetness of her song, let her ship be wrecked in the unforgiving ocean waves. She will not resent her for it.

But, like good things tend to do, the smile on the woman’s face vanishes the moment she lays eyes on Lena. Of course. This is not one of her daydreams, this is reality, in its usual painful bluntness. An all too familiar feeling takes hold of Lena’s heart – if she had to choose a word to describe it, she would say it’s disappointment. It’s deeper than that, though, and more expected.

Lena opens her mouth to say – what, she doesn’t know, but something cruel and yet indifferent enough to get this stranger to leave her alone. She doesn’t get the chance.

A sudden note, strange and off-key, paired with the sound of crushing wood, makes Lena look down at the woman’s hands. Her knuckles are white, and the lyre is completely destroyed. Lena feels her eyes widen at both the loss of such a beautiful instrument and the strength it must have taken to break it so easily. The woman doesn’t even seem to be aware of it, her eyes still focused on Lena.

This time when she studies the stranger’s face, Lena starts to wonder if she was too fast in interpreting her expression. Her smile might have fallen, but it never fell into the uninterested, slightly repulsed look that other nymphs generally give her. What she finds is more like shock, or maybe… awe? Lena feels embarrassed even thinking something as hopeful and desperate as that.

“You broke your lyre,” she says, at loss for anything bright to say.

The woman seems startled at her voice, and for one breathtaking heartbeat, she keeps staring at Lena. Then she looks down at the broken pieces of lyre in her hands. She doesn’t seem too bothered as she lays them down behind her and looks back up. “Hi.”

Lena chuckles. “Hi.”

“You have a leaf stuck in your hair.” The woman blinks after she speaks, like she wasn’t expecting herself to say that either.

“Oh.” Lena combs through her hair quickly, suddenly aware that she spent the morning walking through the forest, and probably looks the part. “Where–” she starts, but when she looks up, she suddenly finds herself face to face with the stranger’s very distracting blue eyes.

“Here,” she answers. The woman’s hand brushes against Lena’s before she runs her fingers through her hair. Lena’s eyes flutter closed unconsciously at the woman’s touch, and she exhales slowly, feeling tension leave her body that she hadn’t even been aware of.

“Look.” Lena opens her eyes to the woman’s radiant smile, and she can’t help but return it. She reaches for the leaf that the woman is holding, accidentally-purposely touching her hand more than necessary in the process.

“Thank you,” she says, unconsciously lowering her voice, and – is that a blush on the woman’s cheeks? “You play beautifully, by the way. Sorry for listening in.”

The woman smiles at her. “Well, I’ve had some practice.” It sounds like she’s joking, but Lena missed the punchline. She smiles back anyway.

“What’s your name?”

“Kara,” the woman answers.

Lena laughs, but her smile vanishes when the woman doesn’t join her. “What?” she says, feeling the leaf slip from her fingers. Water splashes around her thighs as she takes a hurried step back. Oh, no. “Kara?”

The woman nods. “What’s yours?”

“You’re an Olympian,” Lena whispers. It makes sense, in the end. Who else but the Olympian goddess of music, the inventor of the instrument itself, could play the lyre so skillfully? Who else but the goddess of the sun, Zeus’ favored daughter, could have such divine beauty – such entrancing charm?

The stranger before her is no stranger at all, but the twin of Artemis the huntress. She is the goddess that killed the mighty Python, son of Gaia herself.

“Yes. And you must be a naiad. I mean, this is a river, and you are very –” the goddess cuts herself off suddenly, frowning a little. “Are you all right?”

Lena takes another step back, her heart beating in her throat. “Forgive me,” she says. She tries to recall everything she said to Kara. Has she offended the goddess, thinking her just another nymph? Should she have bowed for her, paid her respects, offered her food?

Lena knows enough about the wrath of gods to be cautious.

Zeus pursued a girl, refused to take her ‘no’ for an answer, and in retaliation Hera transformed the girl into a cow and drove her to madness. Artemis was disturbed by an unsuspecting hunter while she was bathing, and he was torn to pieces by his own dogs. Kara herself, joined by her twin sister, had slaughtered all fourteen children of the mother who had dared to insult theirs.

Will Lena become the next name to be whispered around fires, remembered for ages for her misfortune and mistakes?

“You are frightened. Of me.” Lena looks up, but finds no ire in Kara’s eyes.

Surely, that can’t be right. Lena has laughed at her, tried to flirt with her. She can only think of one reason the goddess wouldn’t have minded that, but she doesn’t let herself believe it.

“Forgive me,” she says again, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

“There is nothing to forgive. And I’m not going to hurt you.” Kara gently puts a hand on Lena’s arm. “Look at me? There is nothing to forgive.” Lena can’t believe the goddess of archery is looking so… tender. While looking at her. “Breathe.”

Realizing that she did, indeed, forget to do that, Lena takes a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” Kara laughs.

“Are you sure I haven’t offended you? I didn’t know…”

“I’m sure.” Then she smiles mischievously. “But I could exact my revenge anyway, if that would make you feel better.”

Lena opens her mouth, and gets hit in the face with a splash of water before she can ask questions.

She spits the water out, too startled to react at first. But Kara is biting her lip, clearly trying not to laugh, and a high and nervous giggle escapes Lena’s lips before she can stop it.

Her hand shoots up to her mouth immediately, as if she could still cover up the sound that has already escaped. But Kara bursts out laughing too, loud and lovely, and Lena couldn’t keep a straight face while hearing that if her life depended on it.

“Now, I bet even a water nymph can’t have better aim than me.”

Lena smiles at her, one eyebrow raised. Her hands are already underwater, her muscles already tightened, before she thinks – this is a god, what am I doing? – and redirects the throw downwards at the very last moment. Managing to avoid Kara’s face, unfortunately, has the side-effect of splashing water all over her dress instead.

Kara looks down at the wet linen clinging to her figure, then back up at Lena, who is trying very hard not to look at it. “I must say, I was expecting better.”

Kara has barely finished her sentence when Lena hits her again, square in the face this time. Lena lets out a short, joyous laugh at the shocked expression on Kara’s face. Then, before the goddess can retaliate, she dives into the river and swims away as fast as she can. She feels the water shift behind her and knows she’s being pursued.

The muffled sounds of the underwater world mix with the fast beating of her excited heart as they shoot through the river. The water gets deeper the further she goes, rocks and plants flashing by as she swims and swims and swims. She feels strong and alive and her smile doesn’t fade until she finds her way blocked by a school of fresh-water fish.

Lena doesn’t really feel like swimming into them face-first, so she dives down to the bottom of the river. Her hands disappear in squishy mud before finding solid rock, and she pushes herself upwards again.

But the move slowed her down, and when she looks over her shoulder, a flash of white and gold is all the warning she gets before muscular arms catch her around the waist and a body slams into hers.

She barely has time to register Kara’s closeness before she realizes what’s happening. Kara was coming from beside her, and now they’re going way too fast in what is decidedly not the direction they should be going. They’re headed straight for the shore.

Kara manages to turn Lena around in her arms and pull her close before they collide with the riverside pebbles, spraying them everywhere.

It doesn’t hurt – both her head and her back have somehow made a soft landing, even though Kara ended up on top of her. They’re both panting when she opens her eyes and finds Kara’s face close to hers, her cheeks flushed and her eyes concerned.

“Are you okay?”

Lena nods and smiles. Kara smiles back and they don’t say a word, but then they’re laughing again, uncontrollably and without shame. She doesn’t just hear Kara’s laugh, she feels it, reverberating through the parts of their bodies that are touching.

When Kara wriggles her arms free from under Lena’s body, one of her hands disappears from its place under Lena’s head.

Oh. That explains the lack of pain. Kara must have taken the brunt of the impact.

“Are you okay?” Lena asks, frowning.

“Of course,” Kara answers with a lopsided smile. She is leaning on her forearms, now, hovering over Lena. The sun above her is like a halo, a crown of light that paints the edges of her silhouette golden. Lena breathes in the forest air, the familiar scent of the river joined by an unfamiliar sweetness, a sweetness that must be Kara.

Their bodies are intertwined, the river still flowing past their legs while most of Lena’s body is resting on the sun-warmed shore they crashed into. And most of Kara’s body is resting on Lena, her warmth seeping through the fabric of their clothes.

A drop of water falls from Kara’s nose and lands on Lena’s cheek. Lena chuckles, and Kara smiles with her whole face, her eyes twinkling as she wipes it away with a finger. It’s unnecessary, seeing as Lena’s whole face is still dripping with river water anyway, but she can’t bring herself to care.

Then Kara breathes out and Lena feels it.

The air brushes against her lips, and her eyes flick down to Kara’s mouth. Her heart beats in her chest like it’s trying to escape, and Lena briefly wonders if Kara can feel it too, wonders if some of what she feels is Kara’s heart, not just her own. Then she wonders what it would feel like if Kara were to lean down just a little, what she would taste like if they closed the distance and…

“I’m sorry. I should go,” Kara says.

Lena’s hands slip away from Kara’s waist when she pushes herself up, leaving Lena behind, startled and breathless. Her wet dress feels sticky and cold against her skin in the absence of Kara’s touch, the pebbles in her back suddenly too sharp, the sunlight too bright.

How could she have misread the situation so badly?

Lena sits up too, feeling her whole face flush in embarrassment. She can’t bring herself to look at Kara. She lets her hair fall between them like a shield, and looks down at her fiddling hands instead.

“Can I visit you again?”

Her gaze shoots up when Kara breaks the silence, and she finds the goddess looking at her with a tentative smile.

Lena is silent, stunned, for a long moment. Too long, probably, because Kara nods to herself and starts to get up.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Kara says, and it sounds like a farewell – why does it sound like a farewell?

“Wait,” Lena says softly.

“Don’t worry, it’s all right. I’ll just –” Kara starts walking away, and Lena’s heart skips a beat.

“No, wait!” Lena captures Kara’s hand and she almost forgets how to breathe when Kara’s eyes meet hers. “I’d… love to see you again.”

For a moment, all she hears is the rustling leaves and the river. Kara’s hand is warm and soft and still dripping with river water, and Lena wishes it were hers to hold for as long as it took to dry, and for longer after that.

“Really,” Kara breathes.

“Really.”

Kara breathes out a laugh, and it almost sounds relieved. “Then I’ll see you soon.”

Smiling, Lena squeezes Kara’s hand softly, something fluttering inside of her when Kara squeezes back and strokes the back of her hand with her thumb before letting go. Lena watches her walk away, watches her turn around one last time when she reaches the trees, watches her smile. Then she watches her disappear, like all of this was just another daydream.

But it wasn’t. Lena lifts a hand to her face, touches it where Kara touched her, and sits down slowly. She closes her eyes, and sighs.

[wlwhovian]

Lost

Thirteenth Doctor/Reader

Word count: 2119 Genre: Whump & hurt/comfort Summary: You’d hoped she’d be here by now. No Doctor and no TARDIS, you find yourself lost in the middle of nowhere with nothing and no one to turn to. Usually it would be fine, only the forest has things hiding in it that you would rather not meet face-to-face. You just hope the Doctor finds you in time. Warnings: Big bugs

It’s getting dark.

You shiver as the cold settles in futher, a chill running down your spine, and try to keep your teeth from chattering as you huddle up, trying to reserve what body heat you still have left.

You’ve managed to find an alcove in one of the trees that succesfully blocks most of the wind, but every now and then when the breeze picks up, it seems to puncture your meager shelter like paper. The forest is silent, save for stray critters skittering around, looking for food, and your own heavy breathing. You blow air into your freezing palms and rub them together. Fuck, it’s cold.

It’s been hours now. There’s no sign of the Doctor, or the TARDIS, and their striking absence is slowly forcing you to consider the chance that maybe she’s not coming, and if that really is the case, then you can’t afford to stay here and wait, slowly freezing to death. No, you have to do something. Right now. What that is, though, you aren’t so sure. Shelter is pretty high on the list of priorities, and you kick yourself for not thinking about any of this earlier, because now the sun is well past setting and finding anything useful will be, if not impossible, very, very difficult. Not to mention that you’d have to leave your meager cover and exchange it’s relative safety for a temperature that’s dropping lower by the second.

You think, once again, how the Doctor told you to stay close, to not get separated, to stay with the bloody group, but here you are all on your lonesome, lost in the middle of the woods. You just can’t listen, can you? You never can. And this time, it just might be the slow, unforgiving death of you.

You jump when something cracks in the distance. You quiet your breathing and try to remain as still as humanly possible, but you can’t keep your hands from trembling, and proceed to stuff them under your arms with a curse under your breath. You’re not sure if it’s the sudden surge of adrenaline or if it’s just the fucking cold.

You can see movement beyond a fallen tree, about ten feet away from where you’re hiding, and your stomach lurches when you get a better look at the source of the noise. It’s not the Doctor. It’s not even humanoid.

Halfway hidden by the treeline you can see a lengthy arching back, covered in some kind of plating, and what looks like dozens of little wiggling legs. Well, little might be an understatement. Try something more like the size of your forearm. They all move in unison with a thick, wet, squelching sound that makes your stomach turn. It slithers over the fallen tree, landing with a soft thump against the ground, and in the encroaching darkness you can see a pair of antennae wiggling in the air as it takes in it’s surroundings. When it gets closer you manage to get a better look and you can tell the creature is, in fact, a massive centipede, and it is headed right towards you with an uncanny determination that makes you wonder if it already knows you’re there. You need to run. Or hide. Anything. You can’t just sit here, for fuck’s sake! You shift your position against the tree, preparing to crawl through the foliage, or run for your life if you have to.

Your heart skips a beat when the ground crumbles under your foot and a whole patch of earth comes loose, sending gravel flying down the hill, cascading over the centipede in rock-hard rain. It turns it’s head on the spot and lets out a deafening screech that forces you to clamp your hands over your ears. The creature shoots towards you at an absurd speed, tiny legs shifting and scuttling and you back away as far as you can, but as your back hits solid stone, you have no choice but to admit that you’re trapped. You cover your face as the centipede rears up, throwing half it’s body in the air, and roars, slathering you in thick, gooey spit that smells like gasoline and spoiled food. You try to breathe in, but the air is heavy with the odour and your chest keeps tightening, like your lungs are being held hostage by your own ribs. You let out one final cry, a little high pitched hiccup, before the creature descends upon you, ready to rip you into shreds.

A flash of light. An electronic whirring. Very potent cursing spiced with a strong Yorkshire accent, followed by another screech from the insect before it crawls away into the distance. Hurried footsteps.

Something heavy and soft is dropped on your shoulders, and you dig deep into the warmth like your life depends on it. A hand lands on your shoulder, but you can’t bear to look up. Your neck is frozen in place, and you sit there, violently shivering, your entire body shaking with uncontrollable tremors. You hear rustling, before your head is gently guided towards someone’s chest, where it is held by a soft, warm hand. You try to breathe in, and listen to their heartbeat. Heartbeats. Plural.

”Doctor?” you manage to mumble, words coming out in a thick slur.

”Shh,” she says, and runs a hand through your sweat-soaked hair. ”It’s alright.” She bends down until her face is in right in front of yours, offering you a sympathetic smile. ”I’ve got you.”

A choked sob escapes from your lips, but it turns into a frenzied gasp that leaves you dry-heaving, and as you weakly nod in confirmation, your head lurches forwards. The Doctor grabs your shoulders and lets you rest in the crook of her neck, where you allow yourself to close your eyes for a moment. It doesn’t help though, because no matter how much you try to make yourself calm down, how many times you try to get yourself to just breathe, air refuses to enter your lungs and you’re left to claw at your throat with feeble, trembling hands.

The Doctor takes your hand in hers and gives it a squeeze, before she presses it against her lips. The simplicity of the intimacy in the gesture makes you press yourself tighter against her, as if you could burrow into her, somewhere she could always keep you safe.

”It’ll be okay. Promise,” she says. Her voice is strained and her brow is furrowed, and she looks so awfully sad that you want to kick yourself for not being able to do anything about it. ”You’re in shock. We need to get you somewhere warm and safe, ok? The TARDIS is just around the corner, we’ll be there in no time.” She pauses. ”Are you hurt?”

You shake your head what meager amount you can.

”Right. That’s good. Proper good.”

You wait for a moment, trying to get the words straight in your head before you try and actually speak them aloud. The Doctor’s chest rises and falls, and you try to focus on the motion instead of the swimming in your head. Eventually, you finally manage to open your mouth despite your tongue feeling dry as sand. ”I’m sorry.”

It’s such a small sentence, only two words, and yet, saying it feels like climbing a whole slew of mountains.

The Doctor shimmies you around until she has you in what she deems an acceptable grip, before rising to her feet, with you carefully secured against her. She takes a few tentative steps before settling into a steady walking pace. Once she’s sure that she’s not going to drop you, she looks down and makes sure she catches your eye. ”None of that now, love. There’s nothin’ to be sorry for.”

Her voice is so gentle, steady like a rock in the middle of a raging sea, that it makes you want to cry. You try to make yourself as small as possible, but all your extremities are numb and you’re not sure if moving would only make it harder for the Doctor to carry you. There’s a weight in your eyelids that’s getting harder and harder to resist, and you have to fight a losing battle to keep them from shutting.

The Doctor takes notice, and offers you an encouraging smile. ”Don’t you go fallin’ asleep on me just yet.” She speeds up to a jog, and you do your best to hold on to her shoulders, but your fingers keep slipping and your hands shake so bad that you can barely get them moving. ”We’re almost there.” She glances a the forest in front of you, before muttering under her breath: ”Really should’ve parked closer.”

You swear you had only closed your eyes for a second, but suddenly you’re being engulfed by the light flowing from the TARDIS, and Graham is ushering the two of you inside. The doors shut with a slam, and when your whole body is drowning in warmth and silken light, you find the world slipping away as deep, comforting darkness takes over.

You awaken to a great, throbbing headache and the scent of raspberries. It smells like safety, like home and saturday mornings spent with a cup of tea, and you let yourself bask in the quiet for a moment. Opening your eyes, you can immediately tell that you’re in your own bedroom, with the lights dimmed and softly playing music easing you back into the waking world. You’ve been stuffed under several thick blankets, but there’s still a persistent chill somewhere deep under your skin. You try taking a deep breath, and this time your chest rises and falls just as it should. The scent of raspberries only gets stronger with each draw of air.

”Gave us quite the scare, you did.”

You jump, but under the heavy weight, nobody but you can probably tell. You turn your head, wincing as pain shoots down your neck, and end up face to face with the Doctor. She’s sitting cross legged in a chair drawn up next to your bed from it’s usual place, holding what looks to be a cheap erotic romance novel, and a cup of tea in her hand. That explains the smell, at the very least.

You sigh. ”I’m sorry,” you say, eyes strictly trained on the frayed edge of the blanket. The Doctor places the book down on the armrest, before turning to fully face you.

”There you go again,” she says with a lop-sided smile. ”With the sorries and the apologies. I told you,” she pauses as she shifts to hold her cup more securely, ”You’ve nothin’ to be sorry for. Pinkie swear.” She holds out her little finger and you take it with yours. ”Unless you try to get up before you’re ready, in which case I’ll have no choice but to detain you.”

”Detain me?” you ask with a snort.

”Made you laugh,” the Doctor says, smiling mischieviously. You throw one of your pillows at her.

”Oh, shut up.”

”I’m serious!” she says. ”Bedrest is nothin’ to be laughed at, you know. Plenty of things get much better by having a lie down.”

”You’re one to talk. The last time I saw you in bed was probably two weeks ago.”

”But I’m not human, am I?”

You look away, sheepish. ”No.”

”And humans need their rest. Lots of it.”

”Fine,” you say, rolling your eyes. ”Have it your way.”

The Doctor grins at you. ”That’s more like it.” She drains her cup and stands up, giving her back a hefty stretch. ”You just try and sleep, alright? Doctor’s orders.” She turns to leave, and you find your hand shooting out from beneath the blankets to hold hers. The Doctor turns, surprised and a little confused. You can’t make yourself look her in the eye.

”Could you stay with me?” you ask, and you can already feel heat creeping up your neck, covering your cheeks in a flush. A second passes by. To you, it’s one too many, and you draw your hand back to where it was, an apology already on your lips, before the Doctor interrupts you.

”Of course.”

You’re not really sure what you expected, but upon being granted your request, you’re not sure what to do. The Doctor grins. ”Do you want me to hop on the bed too, or should I stay in me chair? I could read you this literary masterpiece,” she says, gesturing at the book that’s still open on the armrest.

”Come here?” you ask, your voice quiet and shy. The Doctor beams. She picks up the book and crawls over you, so that she’s leaning against the wall, her legs crossed on top of you.

”Right! Alright, so, in the previous chapter..”

You try to listen. You really, really do, but the comforting narration of the Doctor combined with the abysmal plot of the book has you falling back asleep in minutes. The last thing you remember before nodding off is her taking your hand in hers, holding it carefully as she lightly draws circles on your skin with her thumb. You only wonder how you ever got this lucky.

[mercy-burning]

Cold Feet (Alternate Version)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After receiving a letter from an old flame just days away from her wedding, Reader wonders if she should call it all off. —Inspired by the song Cold Feet by Tenille Arts Category: Angst (unhappy ending) Content Warnings: An almost kiss that isn’t with Reader’s fiancé Word Count: 1.8k

Read the other version of Cold Feet here!

MASTERLIST

***

She should be happily wrapped in a dream, Safe in a warm bed and sound asleep. So why is she walking back home From a long night down by the creek, With cold feet?

Y/N is currently finding it difficult to breathe.

It was easier a couple days ago when she knew exactly what she wanted. Her husband-to-be was more than excited to marry her, and she'd reciprocated that feeling entirely. Everything was ready to go. Truthfully, they could have gotten married right this second if that's what they wanted, that's how ready to go they were.

But now? She was questioning everything.

She still felt the thin paper in her hands, even with its folded body currently tucked away in an old book she knew was never going to be opened again- a gift from the man who'd written the letter in the first place.

The first time she read it, her heart sank. And by the third time she'd read it, her heart soared.

And then her fiancé walked in, asked her about what to make for dinner, and her heart sank all over again.

Honestly, damn him for choosing now to finally confess. Damn him for making her question everything, after she'd finally moved on and found someone who would always be around.

But then again, she'd ended up choosing to live in a house in their hometown, just blocks away from that creek he'd mentioned in his letter. So... Maybe she hadn't moved on entirely

She hated that she even had to think about it.

She hated that her thoughts were so consumed with this man she hadn't seen in years when the man she was about to marry slept next to her every night, unaware of the start to her inner turmoil. Each night since then, she dreamt of dances with both of them, alternating between the two until they made her choose which of them she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And every morning she'd wake with an even bigger tear in her heart than when the old flame had burned it alive and left her alone in the aftermath to piece it back together.

Her fiancé helped her do that, though. Day by day he taught her to love again, to trust in somebody again, and he was truly a good man.

So why was it absolutely destroying her, thinking of getting married to him when there was someone else in the picture to think about? Someone who'd had a hold on her for well over fifteen years?

Again, she hated that she even had to think about it.

But she wasn't about to get married with all these conflicting thoughts, so whether she wanted to or not, her only real option was the one that would also be the hardest on her tattered heart.

She'd sent him a text message this morning that read, Midnight, and tucked her phone away for the rest of the day, drowning herself in mindless work and looking to keep time moving forward.

Now, she struggles to breathe as she makes her way down to the creek.

It's cold, having just rained fifteen minutes prior, and she wraps her fiancé's cardigan tightly over her her arms, searching for warmth and comfort. She would have settled for one of her own, heavier pieces, but in some strange way she thought maybe having something there that belonged to her fiancée would ground her, something to remind her of the gravity of the situation at hand.

Nothing could have grounded her upon seeing her ex boyfriend after all these years, though, especially when she finally shows up to their old spot and sees him perched on the big stump right next to the water, relief and joy flooding through his features at the sight of her. His smile is just as bright and familiar as she remembered, and it just about knocks the wind out from under her feet.

"Hi, Y/N," he greets softly, standing up and stretching his hands out over his legs. It's obvious that he's nervous to meet up with her after all these years apart, and she couldn't blame him in the slightest.

She's just as nervous as her feet take baby steps towards him. Meanwhile she's hugging her fiancée's cardigan around her body tighter than before. "Hi..."

"I... I can't believe you actually wanted to meet. Truthfully I thought I wouldn't hear back from you."

"Well... Your letter kind of rattled me... You rattled me. I guess I just had to know..."

There's a long pause before he takes a small step towards her and tilts his head. His words are hesitant, like he thinks she might say something he doesn't want to hear. "And... What do you know?"

"I know that I love my fiancé. After you, I didn't really think I'd ever love anyone the same way again, but... He makes me happier than I've ever been, and I... I can't just discard that feeling because you decided too late that you still love me. You know?"

"I do, Y/N, I really do," he answers earnestly, and this time his hand reaches out to grab hers. "But... I mean, you showed up here, didn't you? That has to count for something..."

She isn't really sure how to respond after that. It's true that seeing this man in front of her for the first time in years has brought back a wave of feelings that she'd repressed and even experienced with someone new.

But it's also true that with those feelings comes an inevitable aftertaste of bitterness. He'd left her, decided ultimately that his career was more important to him, and now that she has someone new he's asking her to leave behind this peace she's found. And for what? For him? What's to stop him from leaving again, or deciding years or months down the road that he'd made a mistake and gotten her to leave her one shot at happiness after him?

Nonetheless, she sits with him for hours, listening to him explain... Giving him a chance. He apologizes for the past, he promises to do better in the future, and in between he makes her laugh. Their hands brush, their breaths mingle as they huddle from the cold, and with every passing minute, the cardigan on her shoulders becomes looser and more forgotten.

Slowly but surely, he's lowering her defenses and gaining her trust. He's showing her bits and pieces of the man she fell in love with until they're laughing at close to 3am.

And then, for a moment, it's quiet. Absolutely quiet, save for the crickets and the soft rolling of the creek behind them.

Y/N almost lets him kiss her then.

But then her heart hammers in her chest, and not in a good way. Suddenly, she's imagining the pure heartbreak that would surely manifest on her fiancé's face if he found out- if she really decided to leave him for this old flame that had barely started to kindle once again years later.

She has to be absolutely certain of her decision.

So she pulls back and wraps her fiancé's cardigan tightly around her arms. "I should go home."

There's disappointment in his eyes, and it twists her gut a little. "Right... Um... I-I can take you back, if you want."

"No, I, uh... I think I'm gonna walk. I have to think."

Y/N avoids his gaze just quickly enough that she doesn't see the disappointment in his eyes fizzle into a tiny sliver of hope.

Rain on the sidewalk, doubt in her mind. One thing's for sure, she's running out of time To decide what's right, And who's heart she's willing to break.

She climbs into bed some time later, the cardigan still wrapped tightly around her body, and she can't quite bring herself to face the man sleeping next to her. It feels wrong, like somehow she's betrayed him by even thinking of spending the rest of her life with another person. She doesn't feel worthy of his love.

When she wakes up the next morning, she'd somehow ended up facing him anyway. He's staring at her with adoring eyes, and under his gaze she can't help the guilt that washes over her.

"Quit looking at me like that..."

Her words are grumbly and soft because of having just woken up, and because her face is half hidden behind blankets and his cardigan, her fiancé doesn't know anything is wrong.

Instead, he laughs. "What, you're beautiful... And before you start arguing with me, yes, you're even beautiful when you wake up."

She only grumbles, feeling anything but.

It's quiet for a moment or two before he speaks again. "You're wearing my cardigan..."

Peeking her eyes out from the mountain of fabric, she can see the enchantment in his eyes and it makes her warm. "I was cold..."

While true, she mostly means I had cold feet.

"Come here."

Two simple words, two syllables, and yet it's the softest declaration of love she's ever heard. Her body instinctively nestles into his, face going straight into the crook of his neck while he wraps her up in his arms.

"There," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You feel warmer yet?"

"Mhm..." She sighs into his skin and then takes in a deep breath.

He smells like home.

He feels like home.

And as he starts softly humming her favorite song, rubbing soothing circles into her back as he holds her close, Y/N wonders why she'd ever doubted her love for him.

He is home.

Spencer never was— he was almost always gone.

Letting him go is hard given their past; The good in their relationship was really good, but... it wasn’t enough. It isn't enough for Y/N to leave behind this new, pure love that had reopened parts of her soul she hadn't realized could be repaired after Spencer.

While James makes coffee in the kitchen, Y/N wanders to the bookshelf, gently removing Spencer's gift from the dark wood and swiping her hand over the bound leather exterior. The letter enclosed inside, handwriting that matches an inscription on the front inside cover of the book, beats softly like a heart.

Later that day, as she makes her way five towns over, that heartbeat slowly diminishes— until, finally, she drops it off at the local bookstore for donation, and it stops beating altogether.

And Spencer, somehow, can feel it. He feels it deep in his bones, that she'd given up on them— on him.

He feels the beating of his heart slow down day after day, so quiet and barely tangible, that once the day of her wedding finally arrives, it shatters altogether.

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[darkpoisonouslove]

The Road of Words

Summary: Griffin is visiting Valtor at the hospital after he got injured pulling a stunt to impress her. He has to wake up to see the results of his efforts and Griffin swears to put in an effort of her own to reach back to him.

CW: mentions of coma, head injury, blood, self-harm (very minor but it counts), self-deprecation

@trashcankitty12​ requested the following prompt - You’re in a coma and I confess all my feelings only for you to wake up - and I did my best to deliver. Not a scenario I usually dig but I tried to give it a spark of originality.

Songs I listened to while writing this and I feel like really fit the tone of the fic are Promise by Fytch and Tether Me By Galleaux. Give them a listen if you feel like it!

Griffin's fingers clutched the smooth pot desperately. It was heavy and slipping in her sweaty palm. There was no heat left in her body for the cold clay to absorb. The dread had numbed her to anything but the occupied hospital bed she was looking for.

She'd gotten directions at the reception after giving her name. She had to be on some kind of list with allowed visitors when she had no business being there. Just like Valtor.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat only the frozen blue of his eyes could wash away as she reached for the handle on a pristine door. Behind it was Valtor, lying motionless like she'd never been prepared to see him. For all of her resistance to his flirting, she'd always figured the first time she caught a glimpse of him in a bed would be with herself underneath him and pinned to the mattress by his rippling muscles and disarming smile.

A notification from Instagram had found her in the middle of the night curled up with a novel. Valtor had tagged her in a photo of a rare flower he'd taken hours earlier at sunset. The captured moment had found her despite the tricky signal on his mountain climbing hike and she'd drifted off to sleep with a smile still on her face and a warmth in her heart.

Her tea had been steaming in her half-empty mug the next morning when the twins had called her with the headline that Valtor had been found with a head trauma and taken to the hospital.

Coma.

She'd thrown every window of her apartment open but all the chilly morning air had done had been to shake her to her core. Her lungs had heaved with dry sobs as she'd looked down from the 40th floor, hands clutching at the windowsill. He would've climbed up the side of the building if she'd asked it of him. All she had done had been letting them both down time and time again.

Griffin pushed the door open slowly. Her heart pounded in her ears to compensate for the stillness on the other side of the door and and her finger trembled over the cactus in the pot. Prickling it would spill red to drown out the unblemished peacefulness of the hospital room in case it was too unbearable.

Valtor's parents were sitting on a couch opposite from the door amidst too much chaos in place of the rigidness she'd expected. Elinor's long black hair spilled over Ailan's suit jacket and his shoulder where she'd rested her head as if it were too heavy. Her usual stoicism had melted off of her lean form. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she'd missed to wipe away a smudge of her mascara. Ailan's hand was gentle on the crown of her head but his knuckles had turned white gripping at his own knee. His leg twitched in failed restraint to keep it from bouncing and his lips moved senselessly in his wife's hair. He was pulled taut like a bandage stretched to tearing over a wound that was too big. Nothing in their stance spoke of both their remarkable height or the power their name carried.

"Griffin," Elinor rose up from her husband's chest. He offered her his handkerchief at the sound of her nasal voice.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude," Griffin was stuck to the floor, her legs made of lead. It would be like stepping on their graves to go any closer to them. Her hard-to-get routine had left their son limp in that bed.

"It's okay, dear," Ailan rubbed Elinor's back while she was blowing her nose quietly. "I'm sure he'd want you here. Maybe he'll feel your presence. He's always been attuned to it."

Griffin swallowed. Valtor had put his whole heart into getting to know her. He'd found a way into hers through the suffocation she'd subjected it to to avoid a crack in her walls. And now the only sound coming from him was that of his shallow breaths.

"We'll be outside on a short walk." Ailan helped Elinor up and they leaned on each other. Their steps were slow but steady as they passed by her and Elinor squeezed her shoulder instead of holding on to her husband.

Griffin had to push her finger on the cactus in her hands for the pain to ground her. The moment the door closed behind Valtor's parents, her knees gave out and she slumped in the chair at the side of the bed. Their company had been a punishment but one well deserved.

The quiet hit her harder now that she had proof she was the cause of it. She'd always been but Valtor had been filling it–and her lungs–with his sweet talk. She'd come to talk but her throat was parched like she'd choked on the sun.

All the ashes of the moments she'd let burn out were flickering over her skin to brand it with echoes of the words she'd never said. Her breath had stopped the first time she'd laid eyes on Valtor's shapely physique and his confident stance, on his strong jaw and striking eyes as he'd introduced himself as a benefactor to the school where she'd grown up and was working. She'd smiled to herself watching him do an art course for her students through a window after she'd refused to be the head of the project and his supervisor. She'd discussed books with him till the middle of the night and had never said a word about his pick-up lines. She'd accepted his invitations to a matinee raising awareness about endangered species in the local botanical gardens and a charity fundraiser for victims of abuse but had never replied to his date suggestions. So many things he'd said to her and she'd kept her silence, and her distance.

Her grip tightened on the pot with the cactus. She'd smeared her blood on the side like some sort of magical ritual to bind her life force to that of the cactus, and of Valtor. She'd picked a succulent that survived with the same tenacity he'd shown and bloomed in the color of her hair. She hadn't managed to kill that one even when she'd stopped tending to her plants for months on end alongside abandoning Faragonda and Valtor appreciated her and her efforts. He had to wake up and give the cactus the same devotion he'd put in the photograph that had won her over.

"In the eye of the sun," the caption had read under the glowing halo of light the sunset had become around the flower's crown of purple-bluish petals.

Griffin left the cactus on the nightstand before she'd broken the pot. She dropped off her purse next to it and wiped her palms in her charcoal skirt mindful of the blood oozing from the pinprick on her finger. She didn't take Valtor's hand into hers. She'd left her fingerprints on him.

"I came here for myself as much as I did it for you. Because it turns out you've become a part of my life no matter how much I was trying to avoid just that." She'd grasped it in the artfulness of the photograph – he was the sun and she was the flower as much as the opposite was true as well. Her eyes were the golden ones but his gaze was the only thing that would brighten her day. If he'd give it to her. If she hadn't made it to the end of the universe where sunlight didn't reach.

"I was scared to know where the road stopped for us. I didn't want to face an inevitability. But I figured I'm more afraid of not knowing just how far we can go." The sun would rise one day on a dead flower but if Griffin let herself, she could have with Valtor what his parents did. She could have a lifetime full of love – in the eye of the sun instead of the storm. "I was scared of being just a speck of ink on your life but I will be. I will be anything you want me to be."

Her finger wasn't bleeding anymore but her heart hadn't stopped. It was pumping blood in her veins frantically to keep her moving and breathing long enough to be anything to him. Being just a short footnote to his life explaining his condition would be enough for her as long as he survived it.

"What do I have to do to show you how much you mean to me if you're still not convinced?" The silence shattered from the power of Valtor's voice and air cut into her lungs.

Tears spilled from her eyes like liquid sunlight. "Valtor."

()()()()

Her heart was hammering under her palm like it was trying to knock her down where she was leaning on the wall next to Valtor's door. It'd been a long while since she'd ran out to get the doctor and then Valtor's parents. They were inside now along with her purse and her tears had dried on her cheeks but her heart wouldn't settle. It wanted to shoot out of her chest and land only in Valtor's hands after she'd dashed out the door without another word. She hadn't had any this time. Otherwise, they would've spilled out along with her tears.

The door opened and Elinor stepped outside. Her blue eyes had lit up with the light of a whole sky full of stars and the corners of her mouth couldn't contain her smile. She was steady on her heels in her own right again. Her husband was a reflection of her lightness once again rather than a crutch to support her weight.

"Thank you, Griffin," Elinor drew her into a hug that turned her stomach. "You were there five minutes and he woke up."

Griffin's hands weighed like anvils on Elinor's back and would break her spine with the words pushing on Griffin's tongue. "No, it's all my fault he ended up here in the first place," she could hear herself speaking from afar through the confusion dizzying her mind that would have sent her tumbling down if not for Elinor's embrace. If she'd been more honest with Valtor–and with herself–she never would've pushed them down that road. She'd made him feel like he needed to prove something just because she was woven from distrust in the dark. "I'm sorry."

Elinor pulled back, eyes locked with Griffin and hands on her shoulders. "You don't have to apologize to me. Valtor makes his own decisions and I wouldn't stop him. You've been unfair to yourself in your refusal to believe he was seeing your worth."

Griffin grabbed on to Elinor's arms as the world spun around her on its head. Valtor had gone to such lengths for her, to show her her own worth, not to prove his feelings. He'd risked his life for a single photograph when she hadn't believed his words. And she'd received the message – loud and clear.

"Thank you," Griffin squeezed Elinor's hands whose touch was gentle despite the strength in her arms – just like Griffin's own mother's had been. She was lucky to have found someone with the same striking wisdom to advise her in the wake of her parents' deaths.

"Go to him," Elinor brushed a strand of purple hair from where it'd stuck to the salty tracks on Griffin's cheek. "He's been asking for you." With a nod of encouragement Elinor released her.

Griffin pushed the door open to draw the attention of both men inside. Ailan nodded at her and patted Valtor on the shoulder before making his way out quickly and closing the door.

Griffin and Valtor stared at each other wordlessly. She took in the way every inch of him moved with vitality. His lungs drew in full breaths and her smile got a wide grin in return. How had she ever doubted the shine in his eyes? He was glowing like the sight of her infused him with pure light.

"Thanks for the cactus," Valtor reached over to pull it to the edge of the nightstand, fingers brushing the leather of her purse still lying abandoned there. "Now I'll have company in my prickliness."

Griffin chuckled despite herself and shook her head. "That's not why I brought it. I was hoping it would lend you some of its resilience." The confession came out whole instead of shredded in pieces like she'd feared. "It has survived through many years with me."

"There was no way I wouldn't pull through with you here but why did you come? Was it just fear that drove you here, saying the things of my dreams?"

Her heart jumped in her throat and she had to swallow it to speak, not to keep him from seeing it. She sat down in the chair by the bedside again. It was quickly becoming a monument of their relationship's development.

"I don't know how much you heard of what I said before but I was scared. I was scared I would never get to tell you the photo got through to me because I'd been so scared to act, to feel. I hardly made it through the loss of my parents," Griffin choked back the memories spilling into her eyes. "It was so hard for me to believe in my own future when I'd been pulled from my roots. I've been living on willpower and instinct but I'm ready to feel again, to love again. With you."

Valtor offered her a hand and she took it. He brought it to his mouth for a kiss, the breath from his lips scorching her nerves with the pleasant shiver it sent over her skin. They'd held hands as they'd danced but they'd never made it closer to each other than an inch apart.

"I heard you say you'd be anything I want." Valtor's sly smile had her resisting the urge to roll her eyes. He had something positively scandalous on his mind. "I want you to be my wife."

"Valtor!" Heat rose inside her – overwhelmingly invigorating in the subtlety of the romantic history between them. "Ask me on a date first." She'd say yes this time. She'd say yes any time.

"Take your time. I'll ask you on a thousand dates. We have a whole future in front of us," Valtor laced their fingers together.

[orionwhispers]

Sweet Disaster// Tommy Shelby

(A/N - hello. so basically, i had a dream about chris evans, and then i modified it into this tommy imagine. it was supposed to be a drabble but i physically cannot write anything less than 12k words so thats great. honestly this is very similar to ‘fools gold’ but hey, im in the mood for some angsty fluff and fighting with our main guy tom. next tommy imagine will be the lolita wedding and that will be the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. thanks for everything, PLS let me know what u think. see you soon! stay safe!) 

trigger warnings: fighting, tommy being a douche, everyone being a dumbass, tommy getting jealous and implied sex.

You saw him on a Saturday night, at a bar on the outskirts of the city.

It had been three months, and you had hoped you would have managed to slip through the cracks; pass through the night like the foxes that roamed in the back alleys - but you had never been that lucky, especially not when he was involved.

It was your friend’s birthday, and you tipped back glass after glass of expensive champagne that bubbled and burned at the back of your throat. The lights were blinding, twinkling chandeliers and the smell of cigarettes and french perfume, something like bergamot and vanilla, lingering in the air.

Your dress was cherry red, your hair tied back with a sequinned headband and your lips and cheeks painted in rouge, but you had never felt so awful. It had been bad enough trying to find something to wear, the contents of your wardrobe tipped all over your floor, a mess of mesh and feather and lace, almost everything reminding you of him, as if he had been stitched right into the fabric. You had ended up curled in a ball on the floor, wiping your tears with the Chanel blouse he had bought back from a business trip in Paris.

Stupid fucking boys.

You could hear the girls talking around you, high pitched giggles and exaggerated voices as they gossiped about something or other that faded into static around you. You had spent the past three months holed up in your flat, only leaving for work or the street market on Sunday, stocking up with bread and wine and cheese, everything carb filled and rich to fill the hole in your heart. 

You weren’t used to the company of others or the hustle and bustle of a crowded room, and you sat back against the plush cherry velvet seats, dreaming of climbing into bed and devouring the slab of dark chocolate you had been saving.

Your close friend Emma, the one who knew the reason you were staring into space and not laughing and drinking with the rest of the girls, placed a manicured hand on your shoulder, and tilted her head slightly.

“How are you holding up?”

You snapped out of your trance.“I’m fine. I’m sorry I’m not much fun right now.”

“Nonsense.” She pushed you lightly, her voice as soft and playful as ever. “At least you came out! It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“Yeah - I’m sure everyone missed having me bawl like a baby and mope around.”

She elbowed you, “Stop bloody feeling sorry for yourself and have a shot! Christ! You can spend the rest of the week wrapped up in your duvet, but tonight - suck it up, and have a drink!”

She handed you a glass of something dark, and you brought it to your lips, tipping it into your throat with a wince. It felt as though you were drinking petrol.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. All that matters is that it’s top shelf and it came from those fellas over there.” She pointed towards a group of men huddled around the bar. They were shooting quick glances and sly winks towards you and your friends. Sure they were relatively attractive, most likely handsomely rich and dressed in suits that looked finely tailored - but they made your skin crawl.

You hated the way that you would always be comparing other men to him, and you especially hated how they would always come up short.

An hour later and whatever liquor was coursing through your bloodstream had done its job, and everything seemed infinitely brighter. You even found yourself laughing at jokes and stories that you only caught halfway through, the alcohol wonderfully dizzying your brain.

You were so caught up in the rush of being drunk and finally feeling somewhat happy for the first time in forever; that you didn’t realise you had caught the attention of one of the men across the bar. You felt him sidle in next to you, following his friends who had snaked their way into your booth, their arms slung around the girls shoulders, whispering sweet little sentiments into their ears.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked, so close to you that you could smell the sour whiskey on his tongue, your nose wrinkling.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Perhaps you had spent so long being ‘Tommy Shelby's girl’ that you had forgotten what it was like when you were being hit on. You had spent so many nights safely tucked under his arm, his hands possessively wrapped around your body, an unspoken threat sent out to everyone and anyone around you - it had been a long time since a man had tried his luck with you.

Perhaps you were so infatuated with him that you never noticed anybody else. Your mind forever filled with visions of oceanic eyes and three piece suits, his Birmingham accent ringing through your ears like a gospel. He invaded all of your thoughts and infiltrated your dreams, and you loathed and loved him for it. The way that he filled your brain and heart like smoke, clouding your decisions and judgments, like some kind of magical elixir, blurring everything but the shape of him.

The man beside you didn’t concede. He cleared his throat, running a finger over the rim of your glass, ignoring the way your eyebrows furrowed and lip curled.

“Let me get you a drink, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl.

It sounded so wrong. It was never pretty girl. It was - darling, sweetheart, princess. It was - my love, honey, kitten. It was said teasingly and exasperatedly, it was whispered in your ear and buried into the space between your thighs. It was never said in the sticky corner of a club, from the greedy mouth of a stranger undressing you with his eyes.

“I’m - ” Taken. But you weren’t, not anymore, and you hated the way the thought of him made your lip wobble. It’s had been three goddamn months, why did the memory of him still make your body go up in flames?

Emma stiffened beside you, waving a dismissive hand at the gentleman speaking to her, and turned to face you and your unmoving suitor.

“We’re alright here, love. Thanks.”

A flicker of annoyance. His fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white, his tongue running across the ridge of his front teeth. He obviously didn’t take rejection well, and he was doing a shitty job at hiding it.

“Are you sure? It looks like she could do with another drink.”

You swallowed thickly, eyes rolling back at the way he dismissed you and spoke as though you were incapable of thinking for yourself.

“I’m fine.” Your words were curt and clipped, a clear indication of your disinterest, but he refused to back down.

“You shouldn’t be here all alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Really? What kind of man would leave a pretty little thing like you all by herself?”

“The kind of man that would punch you in the fucking teeth for speaking to her like that.”

You froze.

Oh Christ.

A million irreverent, evil, blasphemous phrases hurtled inside of your mind, and you knew that if Polly somehow ever caught wind of what you were thinking, you would be on the receiving end of a sharp slap around the head.

He was here. Of bloody course he was. He had a knack for showing up out of the blue and knocking all of the wind from your lungs.

It hurt like an open wound, feeling his eyes on you, the same ones that had looked at you with love and humour and gentleness, and not being able to fully meet his gaze - knowing just how much it would hurt if you did.

“She’s with me.”

His voice was firm, laced with the same sort of dismissive irritability he used to use whenever somebody tried their luck with you. This time was different however, you couldn’t roll your eyes and kiss him, you couldn’t put your head in the crook of his neck or mutter that you were his under the golden chandeliers, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hip.

You couldn’t do any of that anymore, because you weren’t.

The man seemed pick up on the tension, clicking his tongue slyly, unaware of the consequences his words would have. “Doesn’t seem like she is.”

“Get the fuck out.”

The penny must have dropped for the rest of the boys. The booth going silent as they realised just who the handsome shadowy figure towering over them was. You felt them slowly inch away, head down and gazes low, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire. A few hushed mumbles of “holy shit! That’s Tommy Shelby! One of those blinders!” hurtling around the tables beside you, not completely drowned out by clatter of the jazz band.

“I have every right to be here.” The ballsy stranger said, stiffening up beside you. His spine curled as he tried to make himself bigger. “Who says I have to leave?”

You huffed at his words, exhaling like a balloon. “That’s enough.” You didn’t want to cause a scene. You were exhausted, the night taking such a sudden turn you felt like you had whiplash, and the alcohol sat deep in your gut like a rock. You just wanted to get home, away from the man you wanted so badly your fingers ached to hold him, and crawl into your bed with your cat and a mountain of chocolate.

“Well, considering I own the fucking place, I think that I do - and if you don’t, I’ll shoot you.”

That seemed to do it.

You kept your eyes focused on the mans paling face, the grim look washing over him like salty sea air, you didn't dare turn and face the man you could feel burning holes in your neck.

“I.. I...” The man spluttered almost incoherently, rising to his feet and stumbling out from beside you. From behind you you heard Emma giggling coyly into her glass. “Sorry.” He mumbled quickly, his knees buckling when Tommy clapped a hand around his shoulder, holding him in place like a dog.

Tommy’s voice was still, almost too controlled, and you knew that his words were deadly. “If I see you around these parts again, I’ll put a fucking bullet in your skull.”

He gulped and nodded, darting into the sea of bodies in the crowd.

You kept your eyes low. Fumbling with the pearl clasps of your purse you squeezed Emma’s hand in parting and rose to your feet, wanting to leave as painlessly as possible, not even daring to look up at the face staring you down.

“I should go.” Was all you said, sliding out of the booth and onto the marbled floor. You saw the way the rest of the girls were watching the scene unfold before them, and you knew that by Monday you would have a lot of questions to answer, but right now you needed nothing but the safety of your flat.

You didn’t even let your shoulders brush against him. You coiled around him like a snake, your feet moving so fast your embroidered shoes were nothing but a blur of scarlet. You only made it to the hallway, he let you go far enough that you were in private before he reached for you, a familiar, large hand curving around the dip in your shoulder. You hated the way your body reacted, goosebumps rising to his touch unconsciously.

“(Y/N), wait.”

Your name on his tongue was sweeter than honey and richer than wine, it sounded so right that it hurt. It had been so long since you had heard him call you by your name, so long since he had spoken to you that your gut was twisting inside of you, your whole body aching for him to do nothing but repeat that word like a mantra.

You inhaled, thinking of a way out. It was too dangerous, you were playing with fire and you couldn’t get burnt, not again.

“I’m sorry — I didn’t know, it’s Jessica’s birthday and we - ” You hated how you stumbled over your words. You had never felt so uncomfortable around him and it made your skin crawl. You had kissed him under the stars, laughed with him in the corner of a private party, made love to him in every room of his fucking mansion, and now he felt like a stranger.

You knew what he looked like when he woke up, with his sleepy eyes and tousled hair. You knew what he looked like when had spent the night doing something unholy, you had cleaned his knuckles and kissed his wounds as you sat pressed up against him in the tub, his hands wrapped around your waist. You’d stood by his side, your hands intertwined in the middle of some expansive ballroom, and listened to him sweet-talk his way into a new business deal, all the while stroking his thumb over yours. You had seen him vulnerable, pulling you so close to his chest that it was like you were bound together, whispering to you how he loved you, how he couldn’t live without you.

But he still let you go.

He moved in front of you, leaving you with no choice but to meet his eyes. He looked good, but that was a given, he always did, no matter the circumstances. He looked so... soft. He always seemed that way around you, his eyes getting a little bit kinder, the harshness of his words dipped in sugar, even the sharpness of his jaw looked inviting and gentle, practically begging you to wrap your palm around it.

You bit your tongue. You were being ridiculous. You were seeing things that weren’t there. It was over between the two of you, he had made that very clear. You were grasping at straws and all it was going to do was hurt you.

He spoke suddenly, his thick accent cutting through the silence that felt so loud. “It’s alright. Only really been ours since last night, there were... problems with the last owners.”

Despite everything you felt the ghost of a smile tugging on the edge of your lips, immediately knowing what ‘problems’ he was referring to.

“Arthur?” You asked.

“Yes.” He said with a small grin. “Arthur.”

A moment passed. The air around you feeling all too hot and all to cold at once. It had been a long time since you had seen one another, and both of you were caught up in appreciating such familiar beauty up close. You had missed the small things about him, like the slight curl of his hair and the veins in his neck, you could remember running your lips across the curve and dip of his throat.

You were treading in dangerous waters. It wouldn’t be long until the current pulled you under, and you weren’t quite sure how much longer you could keep a rational mind. You inhaled, flittering your eyes to meet his in some kind of signal of parting, pulling your clutch tighter to your body as an attempt to keep yourself grounded. “I should go. It was good to see you, Tommy.”

You spun on your heel, heading for the large golden doors that led outside. Fresh air would clear your mind, the stars and the velvet night would be good for clearing out all of the junk rattling around in your skull, but you barely got two steps forward before he spoke, already knowing his next words before he even opened his mouth.

“Let me drive you home.”

He spoke so surely, addressing you the way he would one of his brothers or Johnny, as if he knew what was best for you. Once upon a time you would have believed that he did, let him grasp you by the wrists and drag you to the end of the world if he asked nicely, those fucking baby blues and pink lips dulling any warning sirens in your head.

Even now, after everything, you knew that he would never put you in danger, that he would always protect you. And it was with the knowledge of that striking your heart like lightning, you knew that you were still hopelessly, undoubtedly in love with him - not that you ever thought differently, but you had done a damned good job of pushing your feelings away.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” He said, “and I wouldn’t even let you out on those fucking streets by yourself stone cold sober.”

You pursed your lips. “I’m not drunk, and you don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m driving you home.”

You looked up at him through your painted lashes, disarming him in a million different ways you didn’t even realise. You were oblivious to the fact that his breath felt trapped in his lungs.“You and I both know that’s not a good idea, Tommy.”

“Cmon. Get your things.”

You sidestepped away, pushing the bottom of your heel deeper into the champagne coloured carpet. “No Tommy, I’m not a child! I don’t need your help.”

He rolled his eyes, something akin to fond exasperation rising to his cheeks. You felt your heart drop and flutter like it was a sparrow inside of you, you had never thought you would see that face again, and it hurt how something so simple could twist and mould you in his hands like clay.

He pressed his hands to the small of your back, pushing you forward.

“I don’t care if you don’t want my help. I’m doing it anyway.”

You huffed. Too tired and drunk and confused to put up a real fight.“Fine.” He smiled coyly and his smug attitude made you click your teeth, running a hand through the curls in your hair, not stopping the childish retort on the edge of your tongue. “Prick.”

You felt his hand swat at you, dangerously close to the hem of your dress and you were certain that your cheeks were the same colour as the candles flickering on the tables below. It was such a playful, tender thing to do, and so horribly familiar - memories of his hands on you, pinching and teasing and digging in, a way of communicating without words, something so intimate and personal, something that only the two of you knew.

You wondered if he felt the same way. You wondered if he was reminded of the past, of peach moons and starlight kisses and strawberry lipstick, but as always he remained impassive, as poker faced as always as he strolled down the hall, pushing open the wide brass doors and waiting for you to pass through, him trailing behind you, like always.

———————————————————————

Through your hazy eyes the moon almost looked pink, like a spotlight shining down on you, illuminating the both of you as Tommy’s car purred down the streets, like a black cat stalking under the cover of darkness.

It smelt like him.

Like cigarettes and sin and mint and woodsmoke. You were reminded of driving at midnight with the windows down, his hand wrapped around your thigh, his eyes anywhere but the road. You thought of sticky skin and leather seats and the smell of sex, breathless little laughs and the feel of his teeth biting down on your top lip.

You stared at the polish on your fingernails, hoping for some kind of distraction from the man beside you. It wasn’t far to your flat, and you prayed that the drive home would be as hitch free as possible.

“Had a good night?” Tommy asked, looking over at you from behind the wheel. He’s not even sure what he’s saying, his usually mechanical brain almost short circuiting because you’re finally next to him again. Words and phrases seem tasteless and meaningless, but he wants to savour as much of you as he can. He knows it makes him hypocritical, especially given everything he’s put you through, but he’s never really been very conventional with his love.

“It was alright.”

“Friends from work?”

“Yeah. It was Jessica’s birthday, she wanted to get drunk, you know how it can be.”

“And that...that man - ?” He cleared his throat, hoping that his words came off breezier than they sounded in his head, pretending as if the thought of you with somebody else didn’t feel like a noose around his neck. “Who was he?”

“Just some stupid twat.”

Your words weren’t doing much to quell the fiery flicker of anger inside of him, half of his brain telling him to turn the car around and put a razor blade through the fuckers eye - but one glance over at your sleepy, beautiful face and all of his jealousy fades into mere smoke.

None of it matters.

Nothing will ever matter more than you.

“I shouldn’t have even been out tonight, but Emma practically dragged me.”

Emma. The name rings a bell. He flips through a mental picture book of everyone you’ve spoken about, and finally lands on the glamorous, dark skinned, velvet haired vixen that you called your best friend.

Memories come flooding back.

The nights you would spend with her when he was too busy with work. How in the darkness of his office with nothing but an empty feeling in his chest and glass of bourbon beside him, the phone would ring and cut through the silence.

He’d roll his eyes when Emma spoke quickly down the line, words slurred and filled with giggles as she would explain the drunken shenanigans you had both fallen into. He’d drive through the night and the dim city streets, his mind for once not filled with business deals or money, instead his heart tugging at the thought of his doe eyed, honey lipped girl waiting for him in the city.

“I think she had too much to drink.” Emma would say, clambering into a taxi cab she had managed to hail, teetering in her tall satin shoes. “I wanted to take her home with me, but she was causing such a big fuss and asking for you - couldn’t bloody say no.”

Outside the club his voice would be stern and his stare would be solid. Clipped, quick words to the doormen, feeling you press your cold nose into the base of his throat, mumbling something incoherent about how pretty he was. He’d scold you fondly. Settle you down in the back seats of his car and cover you up with his jacket, smiling ever so softly at the way you cuddled into the warmth and the familiar smell.

He thought of how lonely his nights had been without you.

“How is she?”

“Fine. Everyone is just fine.”

But how are you? He wants to ask, but he has a feeling that no matter the answer he’ll still end with a bullet in his gut, so he lets the silence engulf the both of you, nothing in the air but unspoken tension and the soft purr of the engine.

He had an idea. Something conniving and crafty, something that he’s been wanting to do since the night he told you that it wasn’t safe to be with him, the night he told you to leave. Thomas Shelby has always been a strong, level headed man, but something about you just makes him crumble. You have a way of twisting around him, snaking around his thoughts and feelings like a vine, and he gives himself up wholly.

He would never put you in a position you were uncomfortable with, but he can’t help the claw in his gut when he thinks of how long it’s been since you’ve been apart. He can smell the sweet liquor and perfume on you, can see the way your eyes are glossed ever and your hair is mussed. You’re tired, and after the way that goddamn leech of a man had been fawning over you Tommy is in no mood to leave you alone, he likes knowing that you’re safe, it’s the only thing that makes him able to sleep at night.

He glanced over to you, watching as you yawned into your palm, your soft, pretty eyes looking at the stars and the moon and his decision was made for him.

“You missed the turn.” You said a few moments later, perking up a little in your seat.

“Hmm?”

“You missed it. You should have turned left back there.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you’re pretty sure you know the reason why. Despite the part of your body that is sparked like a match at the thought of spending the night with him, you also know that it is too dangerous, that the two of you together are fire and gasoline.

“No. No, Tommy. I’m not staying over with you.”

“Yes you are. You can stay in a guest room - it’ll give you time to sleep off that hangover.”

“I’m hardly drunk.”

“Well, when we get home you can walk in a straight line for me, eh?”

“It’s not my home.”

That hurt.

He ignored you, feeling the familiar bite of irritation, hating that he wasn’t the same man to you that he once was. He could feel his tone getting desperate, and under any other circumstance he would be furious at being so weak, but never around you. “Just stay. Tonight? For me. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re not getting into any trouble.”

“Tommy Shelby never sleeps.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, sighing in defeat. Tommy smiled, and realised as the car lurched over the bridge that’ll take you back where you both belong that he’s the happiest he has been in a long time.

—————————————————————

His house was as intimidating as ever, even more so under the thick blanket of the night. The architecture looked gothic, the sprawling roof and high chimneys almost seeming menacing as the car pulled up along the gravel, the low sound of the rocks crackling like a fire.

It almost felt strange. A house you had stepped foot in hundreds of times, suddenly feeling unfamiliar and mystifying. It was like the very first time you had seen the house a few years ago, how the large rooms and the tall ceilings seemed empty and dangerous, as though they housed a million secrets.

But since then it had been full of so much light. You had danced with him playfully, barefoot on the kitchen floor, with the windows open and soft jazz flittering in the air like sunlight. You had slept on the sofa in the drawing room, tangled up against his bare chest, the room littered with wine stained glasses and cigarette burns. You had laughed until you had cried, kissed him on the vivaciously on the mouth, sat through dozens of rowdy family dinners, shared coffee and pastry under the sleepy morning light - and now it felt as though a million years had passed.

You let him lead you inside. Keeping a safe distance and a wary eye as though he was an unpredictable stray dog that needed to be kept at arms length. He sensed your suspicion and ignored it, marching forward like a solider, pretending that your distrust didn’t make him feel awful. He hated to think of you on edge because of him, he hated how small it made him feel. He never wanted to be insignificant to you.

You noticed how bare it was in the hallway. Once upon a time the coat rack would have been filled with your furs and shawls, your pastel pink boots and his forever charcoal posh oxfords lined next to one another, a poignant reminder of their owners and the differences that you both shared.

It wasn’t just lack of your belongings, somehow the house seemed much emptier. It didn’t smell as worn as it usually did, the warmth of a recently lit fire didn’t dwell in the air and there were no keys or shoes by the front door. You knew that Mary kept a clean house, but this was something different, and a sour thought suddenly hit you.

“You haven’t been home much?” You tried to keep the jealousy out of your voice and remain level headed, but it was proving hard when you were feeling so nauseous at the thought of him sharing a bed with somebody else.

“Lot of late nights at the office.” He shrugged his jacket from his shoulders and wrapped it around a hanger, his icy blue eyes catching yours. “Home didn’t feel like home anymore.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words, but you chose to ignore it.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“I thought I was here to sleep.”

“You are. But what kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer my guest a nightcap?”

You made a noise. Something halfway between a scoff and a huff.

“Tea? Whiskey?”

“No, I’m fine thank you.”

“What about hot chocolate? I still have some of that god awful strawberry stuff you love so much.”

Memories of sickly sweet strawberry kisses flash in your head. Images of Tommy wincing and groaning as if you had poisoned him. Belly laughs and pillow talk. All things you had tried so hard to forget.

“No. I don’t drink that anymore.”

He looked at you. There were no diamond chandeliers or dark corners or red velvet walls distorting your appearance, just the two of you stood opposite in the hallway of his mansion. He looked you up and down, not in a sleazy way, like the man at the bar who had so desperately wanted to get his hands under your dress but almost - longingly. There was something in his eyes. Swimming right in those ocean eyes was something you couldn’t quite make out, he opened his mouth to say something but before he could speak you heard the whine of the door above you.

“Mr Shelby! You’re back.” It was Mary, stood at the top of the stairs. Still dressed in her maids uniform despite the ungodly hour, she looked as pristine as ever, and you couldn’t think of a time you had seen the elderly woman without makeup on. She flew down the stairs, eager to offer Thomas anything she could, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she finally saw you.

“Miss (Y/L/N)!” She said, trying to control the shock in her voice. She hadn’t been there the day that you left, but it wouldn’t take a fool to guess what had happened between you and her boss. Just like you, she probably assumed you would never return to the Shelby house. After a moment she smiled kindly, regaining her composure after the initial shock. “It’s a pleasure to see you once again.”

“And you, Mary.”

“Oh! Mr Shelby I’ve made up your quarters and -” she stopped, realising what she was saying and she awkwardly shifted as she tried to change the subject. “Can I get you anything? Shall I bring you some tea? Or some wine?”

“Oh no. I’m fine thank you, really.”

“You know what Mary,” You heard Tommy say, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Can you fix us some drinks? Whatever’s in the cupboards is fine. Oh, and bring us those chocolates Ada brought from New York. We’ll be in the sitting room.”

“Tommy - ” You started, but he was already gone, walking through his house with renewed energy, and you strained your ears to hear the sentences he called out over his shoulder.

“One drink. For old times sake.”

“Ugh. You’ll be the death of me, Shelby.”

———————————————————————

It should have been awkward. It should have been awkward and uncomfortable and painful - but it wasn’t.

He lit a fire, something about the yellow flames and the crackling wood soothing you like warm milk. You missed the feel of his sofas, the ones that cost such an outrageous price that it made your eyes water, and you sunk into the cushions far more easily than you liked. Mary had made your favourite drink, and the situation felt so familiar that it was ridiculous, but it was more ridiculous how good everything felt.

He was as charming as ever. Giving you those side eye glances and cheeky smiles as he spoke, asking about your family and telling you stories of the trouble his brothers had been in. He moved around the room in a blur of navy, because as God would have it tonight of all nights he was wearing your favourite blue suit, the one that made him look so beautiful and powerful.

He didn’t ask about work, and you were glad, because you weren’t ready to tell him yet.

Perhaps an hour passed, the two of you dancing around each other, neither one wanting to be the one that crossed the line first. Your mind was blurry but you knew that this had gone on too long, you needed to pull the plug before it was too late, but as always, Tommy got there first.

“It feels like fate.” He said, his voice so much warmer than it had been a few moments before.

“What does?”

“Running into you tonight.”

You scoffed. “Please. Tommy Shelby doesn’t believe in fate.”

“I didn’t. Not until I met you.”

Your whole body felt like it had been set alight. He knew just what to say to get you to curl around his little finger. He was watching you intently, moving forward so his elbows were on his knees, as though he was desperate to hear your reply. He was being honest, more so than he had been in a long time, but your mind was too filled with the past to give into his sweet words.

“So,” You said, knocking back the last dregs of your drink. “Are you just going to pretend it never happened?”

“What?”

“Cut the crap, Tommy.” You snarked. “You know what I mean.” A breathless laugh. “God, this is ridiculous. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Don’t say that.”

You rubbed your forehead, massaging away a migraine you could feel brewing. “I need to go to bed. I don’t want to get into all of this again.”

“(Y/N) - ”

“Goodnight, Tommy.”

You stood up and heard the sound of his glass of whisky hitting his red oak table. Your fingers touched the edge of the door handle, but he was pulling you backwards before you could leave. You were facing him, trying to keep your eyes away from his, not wanting to go falling into him the way your body desired.

“You might not want to talk but you can listen.” He said, so close to you that your noses were almost touching. You pursed your lips and squirmed like a child, but he raised an eyebrow and you huffed, letting him speak, his words shattering you like you were a sheet of ice.“Im still in love you.”

You bit your lip to stop from crying. The scab had been picked off, blood clotting down your ankles and onto the floor.

“Think I will be till the day I die. Even after.”

His words were so sincere and you wanted to believe them. You could feel him watching you, cornering you, willing you to say the words back, needing to hear the words fall from your lips.

You held up one finger, trying to stop him from speaking. “Don’t.”

“It’s true.”

You could feel the hot prickle of tears forming in your eyes, and the way your throat constricted like you’d been swallowing cotton balls.“Was this the plan all along? Invite me back, get me drunk and think I’ll crawl back into bed with you after you tell me a few lines?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would never do that to you.”

He was angry. More so with himself, he’s always been in control, so articulate and calculated, but he was losing his grip on you, his knuckles turning white. He knew he made a mistake that night when he told you to leave, but his pride was too strong to do anything about it. Seeing you tonight had been more than just a coincidence, he knew that, and everything in him was screaming at him to fight for you.

“I miss you.” It ached for him to say it out loud, such a powerful man admitting that you were his weakness, that you bring him to his knees like he’s a child.

“I miss you too, Tommy, you know I do. But - ”

“I fucked up.”

“Tom.”

“I never should have let you leave.”

“We - Us - It’ll never - ” You couldn’t think let alone speak, all of your words twisting and tumbling from your mouth like loose marbles.

“We were a lot of things, but you can’t tell me that we aren’t supposed to be together.”

“I don’t want to talk about this... I can’t!”

“So let’s not talk.”

His lips met yours and you were on fire. The breath you didn’t know you were holding was knocked out of you by the force of his body on yours. His hands were all over you, checking you were real, feeling the curve and dip of your body the way his mind had conjured up in the dark in the months that you had been gone, he savoured you entirely, he devoured you.

“This isn’t - This isn’t right.” It was lie. Nothing felt more right. Your whole body ached and quivered for him, you wanted to breathe in his smell and run your fingers through his hair until they bled, but you also didn’t want to go down without a fight.

He knew you too well though.

“Stop it.” He had you backed up against the wall, his body pressed in between your thighs. He’d caged you in, one hand curling softly under your jaw, manipulating you so that you had no choice but to look right into his damn sea foam eyes. “Stop being so stubborn.”

“Stop being such a prick then.”

Lips on your neck. His hands all over you. Inhaling your perfume and the smell of your hair, digging his fingertips into your hip, a jolt of pain that you knew would leave a bruise. He captured your lips again, relishing in the way you felt under him, he was desperate for more, and he smiled cheekily when he heard you moan.

“I thought you wanted to go to sleep.” He teased, his voice was playful but he was struggling to keep his composure, he felt like his head was being held underwater, the pleasure teetering on pain.

“I hate you.” You said, gasping for air, feeling adrenaline and liquor and lust flow through you.

“No you don’t.”

You bit down on his plump bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. He winced slightly, and rolled his eyes, shoving you backwards into his bookcase, kissing you even harder. A few novels and a porcelain figurine fell to the floor, the small black horse shattering at your feet. He grumbled slightly, and you giggled into his neck. You bent down to try and collect the broken pieces but he swatted your hand away, kissing and sucking all across your neck and throat, wanting to mark his territory.

“Stop that. I don’t want you cutting yourself.” He muttered into your flesh, clasping your hands together and holding you by the wrists, refusing to let you do anything but melt into him - not that there was anything in the world you would rather be doing.

Slowly the kisses got softer, more tender, all across your collar and shoulders like raindrops. There was something methodical about it, almost poetic, like he was trying to savour the taste of your skin, and the way your body rippled under him. After a moment he stopped, his hands tangling into your hair, gripping you by your jaw, looking into your glossed out, wide eyes.

“I really fucking missed you. I’m sorry.”

You shuddered. “I know.”

“Tomorrow we’ll talk. Alright?” There are a million things he needed to say. A million things he needed you to know, but there was nothing more important to him at that moment than having you under him, letting his body show you all of the things he couldn't put into words. He needed you, all of you. His head was fucked and he needed the wash of calm you gave him, he needed to feel whole, the way that only you could make him.

“Tomorrow.” You whispered.

He nodded solemnly. Ducking his head and pressing your mouths together, hot and raw and heavy. You were sweeter than sugar, stronger than whisky and prettier than all of the stars in the sky, and he struggled to keep himself from buckling at the knees under your touch. The only thing that could stop him from moulding your bodies together were the sweet little words that left your lips, the ones that rang like a gospel in his ears.

“Take me to bed, Tommy.”

————————————————————

He broke it off three months prior.

You had been missing each other, your schedules hectic and mismatched, and it had been a good few weeks since you had spoken for more than a few stolen seconds over the telephone. Finally, like the sun parting through rain clouds, there was one weekend that was empty in both of your diaries and Tommy told you to expect a car outside of your flat one Friday afternoon.

A whole weekend. Two days and three nights spent with your beloved, it should have been a time filled with late nights and rumpled bedsheets, coffee in the morning and wearing nothing but his linen shirts and the pretty lilac underwear he loved so much - but it turned soon turned sour.

On Sunday you had been making rhubarb pie. Folding and rolling the pastry between your fingertips, listening to the birds whistling through the open window and the lull of soft jazz from the radio behind you.

He had taken a call. A sullen look falling over his face as soon as he answered the phone. He had shut himself in his study, and all you could hear was the deep rumble of his voice and the sound of his footsteps, and so you left him alone, and busied yourself with other things.

It had all been so wonderful. Riding his horses through the fields, reading books under his arm as he rifled through papers, stealing kisses that tasted like hard candies and peppermint. You'd forced him to relax, made him take a bubble bath with you, poured lavender and vanilla oil across his aching shoulders until he let out an involuntary moan, ran your fingers through his hair until his breath evened out and his eyes fluttered shut, finally feeling at peace next to the woman he loved.

You’d laughed and made love and kissed and danced and it had all be so perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

For 48 hours he had been yours. He wasn’t “Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders,” he had been your Tommy. You weren’t a fool, you knew that work was always the most important thing to him, that he lived and breathed for the company he had built from his two bare hands, his work ethic and brilliance was something you admired about him, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t sting when he slipped back into business mode.

It had been about an hour, and you were cleaning the counters, something soothing about finding the dark marble granite under the mess of flour. You knew that Mary would have a fit if she knew you were cleaning, but you enjoyed the normalcy it gave you. You heard him before you saw him, the sound of his matte leather brogues on the tile in the hallway, and you lifted your head when you felt his presence in the doorway.

“You need to leave.”

His tone was so sudden and blunt that it almost made you laugh, but one look at the sallowness of his skin and the intensity in his eyes made you straighten up. “Excuse me?”

“It’s Sabini.”

“What about him?”

“He knows - he fucking knows.”

He was being uncharacteristically agitated, and it sent a deep chill down your spine. You lurched forward, hands spread, wanting to carry some of his worry. “Knows what? Tommy, calm down.”

“He’s had men lurking outside your flat.”

“What?”

“One of the new boys spotted ‘em. Fucking filth have been there all weekend.”

You felt your heart sink to your stomach. Truthfully, whilst the thought of Sabini and his men watching you made your skin crawl, you were more worried by the way it seemed to have frazzled Tommy. You weren’t used to seeing him so... anxious, and that sent red hot warning signs to your brain.

Your relationship had never been a secret per se, but you never made it public. After a few months of rendezvous in hotels and bars up and down the country, and Tommy realising his feelings for you were much more than just lust - he laid everything out bare. He told you he wanted you. But he also told you what the consequences of hanging off his arm were. You knew the risks, knew what chaos his love could bring, but you were falling so deeply that none of it mattered to you. You weren’t stupid, and Tommy did everything in his power to keep you safe, and the two of you found a mellow middle ground, a place where you could be happy and young and in love, without all of the mayhem.

“Well - it’s alright. I’m here. I’m safe aren’t I? He was probably just scoping the place out, he probably thought you were there and - ”

You were rambling, and most of what you were saying was untrue. You both knew the reason that Sabini was there, it was a message, a warning. A threat to Tommy that he could take away his weakness with one snap of his slimy little fingers.

You shrugged off your apron, and stepped towards him, shaking your head. “We knew that one day this would happen. That people would find out, it’s not your fault Tom.”

“We were stupid. We were reckless.”

“And what? We were supposed to just stop living our lives in case somebody saw us?”

“Not just somebody. Somebody who could fucking kill you.”

“Tommy.”

“You need to leave.”

“Listen to me -”

“I’ll get Bernard to drive you to the station. Your friend...” He paused momentarily, trying to remember a name he had heard in passing. “Sarah? She still lives in Manchester doesn’t she? You’ll stay with her till I’ve sorted this out.”

You scoffed, your eyes the size of dinner plates.“I’m not leaving.” You tried to make him see sense, but you were having a hard time keeping your voice levelled. “I’ve got work, Tom. I can’t just up and leave.”

He ignored you. You could see his brain whirring a mile a minute, the wheels inside his mind frantically looking for a solution. You marched over to him, forcing him to look at you. “I’m not scared.”

“Well then you’re a fool.”

“Am I? For not running at the first sign of danger?”

“Don’t fucking start with me. Not about this. This isn’t some fucking game.”

“I never said it was, Tom. But what? I’m supposed to hide out in another fucking city until all of this settles down.”

“Stop being so fucking difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult. I know what I signed up for, we both did. We knew this would happen eventually.”

“And now that is has - we have to be smart.”

“Not everything in life is a business deal.”

“What would you know about that?”

It was a low blow. Something that struck you like a winning punch to the gut, you stepped back from the impact, shaking your head and pursing your lips. You’ll let him brew in his anger, let him get worked up and pissed off, and you’ll wait for his apology in a few days, something expensive and designer showing up at your front door, his way of saying “I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”

“You know what? I’m leaving. Call me in a few days when you get your head fucking screwed back on. We can talk then.”

“No.”

It came out strangled, like the word sliced the inside of his throat when he said it.

“What?”

“You need to stay away. We need to end this.”

“End this?” You scoffed. “What? Like we’re just a business deal?”

“It’s not safe, and I can’t do anything that’s going to jeopardise the company.”

“The fucking company?” You were furious, your body stinging with hurt, feeling betrayal wash over you like sour milk. “How - How dare you!”

“I think it’s best if we spend some time apart.”

“So this is it then? You’ll throw away everything just because some fucking man has been looking around corners?” His silence made you more enraged, and you willed him to fight back. Fight for you. “Do you want me to leave? Do you want me to go, Tom?”

Silence.

And then - “It’s not safe.”

“Fuck you.”

That was the last thing you had said to him. Three words replaced with two that shattered around the room like an earthquake. You had tears in your eyes, and you rushed upstairs to pack your things, your heart breaking into sharp little pieces inside of you. He could hear the start of your sobs, the ones you tried so hard to muffle with your hand and he truly fucking hated himself. He gripped the marble above the fireplace and steadied his breathing, pushing out any thoughts of the weekend. He willed himself to shove away the happy memories, the sound of your laugh and the smell of your skin, the way he didn’t hear the shovels when you were beside him, safe and warm in his arms.

He needed to do what he did best, regain control and protect those he cared about, and right at the fucking top of the list was you. Any niggles of rationality and guilt telling him that pushing you away was wrong quickly turned to ash in his mind, he was certain that this was the right thing to do, despite the way that it really fucking hurt. He had to keep you safe. Men like him didn’t get to have nice things like you.

So he shut the door to his office, muffling the sound of you rummaging around upstairs, a part of you wishing and hoping that he would open the door and kiss you and apologise, and instead he picked up the phone, and went back to work.

———————————————————————

You woke up to sunlight painting your skin, and an empty bed, the silk sheets in disarray and bundled beside your bare body.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Like an ice cold bucket of water dropping over your head, you remembered every detail of what had happened overnight. Your skin relived the feeling of hands and fingertips and oh god, tongue dragging all across you, branded into your memory like a burn. It was the best nights sleep you had gotten in a long time, and the bed was so warm and soft and smelling like sin that you struggled to even lift your head from the pillow to check the time.

Mid morning.

You hadn’t slept in this long for a while, and you knew the reason why. Head slightly pounding from too much alcohol and adrenaline, you crawled out of bed, washing the remnants of last nights makeup from your face and pulling on your crumpled dress and stockings that had been haphazardly flung over the furniture. Your heart lurched a little when you freshened up in the bathroom and noticed your toothbrush still in the holder on the sink, right next to his.

You could hear cluttering downstairs and followed the noise, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, unable to stop the small smile that the sight gave you. He had evidently sent Mary on an errand, something far away so he could make you both breakfast in peace, away from prying eyes. He looked so boyish, so domestic, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, nimble fingers turning the bacon on the pan, his hair mussed from sex and sleep. It made you feel like you had swallowed a match. Your whole body alight from seeing him so gentle and vulnerable, so bare for just you to see.

Thomas Shelby whisking eggs and squeezing oranges, barefoot in his own kitchen, the sight rarer than a unicorn, and you were the only person who ever got close enough.

“Hi.” It left your mouth awkwardly and rolled off your tongue like an ice cube.

“Morning.” He turned and smiled, his lazy eyes trawling the length of your body. You hadn’t noticed it, but he felt a flicker of hurt that you were in your own clothes, a part of him wanting and hoping that you would be in one of his shirts, something that he loved much more than he could comprehend. He shook his head, willing the thoughts away. “It’ll be done soon. I think I’ve burnt the toast though, and probably added too much salt to the eggs.”

You smiled thinly, the light not reaching your eyes. This was all too much, all too soon. He was here and he was beautiful and you were right at the frontline, ready to get your heart broken all over again.“Last night,” You cleared your throat, as though the words were lodged deep inside. “It was a mistake.”

He didn’t blink, cool stare focused on the meal he was preparing, long fingers methodically slicing and dicing, as though your words didn’t make his heart thump against his rib cage. He didn’t like it, not one bit, the way that it sounded as though you regretted the time you had spent together. He never wanted you to feel like that, like the intimacy you had shared was something crude, as though you were a one night stand of a drunken fuck at a bar, this was so much more than that. This was love.

But Tommy liked holding his cards to his chest, and it was much easier to tease you then tell the truth.

“It didn’t feel like a mistake. You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

You scoffed, hating his cockiness yet knowing that he was obviously right. “Don’t be a twat, Tommy.”

The ghost of a smile on his face, if you had blinked you might have missed it, but you were always the best person at reading him - the only person he had let close enough to see him, flaws and all. He always liked when you bickered with him, his little firecracker. He didn’t tolerate just anyone speaking to him the way you did, but he would let you get away with bloody murder and he couldn’t deny that it didn’t bring a flush to his cheeks when you got particularly feisty.

You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off, his hands full with cutlery and plates filled with slap up breakfast foods, and you couldn’t deny that your mouth was watering.

“Eat first. We’ll talk later.”

You let out a sound halfway between a huff and a groan but caved in, clambering into the seat he had pulled open for you and piling your fork high. He watched you with a smile, the way you looked so young and pretty and angelic in the morning light, no makeup on and eyes still drowsy with sleep, like some kind of Renaissance painting he wanted to hang above his fireplace and stare at whenever things got rough.

He filled the silence with small talk, noting the weather and a story about one of John’s kids hiding a puppy in her room for almost a week without anyone noticing. You listened as best as you could, but you were distracted by the palomino mare you could see grazing in the fields behind his house, and something was prickling at your skin like brambles.

You cleared your throat, acting as nonchalant as you could muster. “Emma tells me that May Carlton is training your new mare.” Your knife sliced through your yolk, rich butter yellow bleeding across your plate. You tried to keep your voice steady, but you could feel the thickness in your throat as you remembered how it hurt like a bullet wound when your best friend had told you of his new associate. “I hear she is quite beautiful.”

“Yes, I suppose she is.” He murmured, cutting the edge of fat from his bacon. “But she’s nothing compared to you.”

You tried to pretend that his words didn’t make you swoon, and he tried to hide how much he loved it when you got jealous, something about the fire in your eyes making him want to push you up against a wall and kiss you till you couldn’t talk.

He paused, a coy smile on his lips. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

You scoffed. “Well, it’s only fair. What with all those Blinders following me. Can’t even go to the bloody shops without one watching me.”

So you had noticed. He had half been expecting a blazing call where you yelled at him for having men watch over you, and it had left a hole of disappointment in his gut when it never came.

“You know I would never let you be unprotected.”

“I know.”

Your eyes met, a wave of warm affection washed over the both of you, but you pulled your gaze back quickly, focusing your attention anywhere else.

“You should come and watch her.”

You froze, wondering if Tommy had just invited you to spend the day with May Carlton, you were sure that would be one evening that would end in blood and tears.

“The mare.” He said, picking up at your uncomfortableness and biting back a smile. “We’ve called her ‘Wicked Gypsy’, and she is brilliant. I reckon she could win the whole bloody thing.”

You liked how passionate he got when he talked about horses. Liked the way that he seemed to light up like a child, despite all the finery and bravado, you liked knowing that the little boy inside of him was still there, hidden deep, deep down, but still there. You were too busy being captivated by him that it took you a moment to realise that he had asked you to join him at the races.

You wanted nothing more, you truly wanted nothing more than to be his girl again. Cradled under his arm, dressed in lace and fur, his lips pressed to the heat of your throat, sweet little words whispered in your ear, a hand tight and possessive around your waist - but it just wasn’t that easy.

You sighed, crossing your cutlery. “Tom. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I want you there. I need my good luck charm.”

“Tommy, after everything. I don’t think we should.”

Firmer now, he looks at you, emphasising his point.“I need you there. When she wins, I need my best girl to be right by my side.”

He was so slippery. So sickly sweet that you could drown in him, struggle to move in the molasses that dripped from his tongue. He was dangerous, carnal fire and sin, but he wasn’t lying, he needed you, really fucking needed you.

You exhaled, thinking things through, and massaging the migraine brewing in your temples. He could see you trying to think of an excuse, another lie about how you’re bad for each other, but he got there first, not wanting to hear it.

“I’ll have a car pick you up on Friday.” He turned his hands so his palms were facing the ceiling, eyebrows raised playfully, “Or... maybe you can stay here the night. You know you’re welcome.”

Always so bloody charming. But you can’t stop the tsunami of thoughts, the mistakes of the past. “What is this, Tommy? What are we doing?”

“I fucked up. I never should have let you go.”

“But you did. And - I don’t want to get hurt all over again.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You always do.”

You words stung him worse than if you had slapped him across the face, and he had to take a moment to swallow the sour taste that had been swimming across his tongue. He reached his hands out, clasping them with yours, so large and warm and safe, and he spoke with intensity.

“Just - Come with me, Friday. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

Friday. Suddenly it was no longer about slipping up or falling back in love and wondering what your friends might think when you told them, it was about something else that you needed to tell him.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why not?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Leaving where?” His tone was one of disbelief, his eyes sizing you up, wondering if this was some kind of elaborate excuse.

You sighed, taking your hands away from under his, noticing the lack of warmth immediately. “To Oxford. Peggy transferred me to the company over there.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because I asked her to.”

“You did what?”

You could see him thinking, wondering how none of his boys had found out this priceless piece of information that makes him want to throw his expensive fucking china at the wall.

“I did it all through work. Emma’s the only one who knew. I’m getting the train Wednesday night.”

He stood up so quickly his chair squealed across the wood floor, his mouth agape. “So what? You’re just going to leave?”

“There’s nothing here for me.”

He pointed one finger at you, scolding you like a child. “Don’t say that.”

You narrowed your eyes, shaking your head. “It’s true isn’t it? Why should I waste more time on this stupid cat and mouse game?”

“Is that all this is to you? A game?”

“You left me. For three months I was completely alone! What happens when something comes up, huh? How do I know that you won’t leave me all over again?” It was hard to keep the emotion from your voice, hard not to show just how badly the impact of those three months had been. “We need this! Some...some fucking space. Maybe being a few cities away will be good.”

It was a lie. Nothing sounded worse, but you had to say your piece because god knows you can’t keep holding everything in.

His voice was frayed, split like the hairs in an old rope. “Don’t. Don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you.”

His words and his actions never lined up, and it made your blood boil. All of the anger you had turned into tears had remoulded into red hot rage, and you slammed your hands down on his expensive counter tops, flesh on marble ringing around the kitchen. “So then why did you let me go? Why did you tell me to leave?”

“Because I thought that was best for you!”

“You aren’t the one who gets to decide that!”

“Everything I do. Everything I fucking do - is to protect you.”

“Don’t say that. Protecting me isn’t making me leave, and then not speaking to me for three fucking months.”

You could see the click in his jaw, the vein in his throat throbbing. “You knew what you signed up for when you met me.”

“No, actually, I don’t think I did.”

It was true. You expected late nights, days of no contact, blood staining your bathroom counter and men watching your every move. You expected fights and make ups, going to the races in your finery and then walking down the shit filled streets of Small Heath, but you never expected that he would just leave you the way he did.

He was breathless, trying to control the rise and fall of his chest and the way that his fingers clenched. He never thought that you would leave, he had some fucked up feeling that you would always come back to him, that the two of you would always end up on the same ship, drifting along the same ocean. It was maddening. He had tasted you once again, had you under him, his girl reduced to putty in his hands. It had all made sense, the night seemed to be sweeter and the stars a little brighter and his lungs a little looser when you were next to him. It had all felt so right, and now you were going to leave.

He put it down to exasperation at not being in control anymore, the fact that he was watching you slip between his fingers once again like grains of sand, and so he said the worst thing he thought of, something that he knew would rip through you like a shot to the heart.

“Well at least I got one last fuck eh? That was all you were really any good for anyway.”

He could hear it immediately, the sound of the bullet leaving the gun, or perhaps that’s your heart shattering in two. He regretted it, he regretted it so badly that he wished he could pull the words back down his throat and swallow them like they were poison.

Your eyes watered but you didn’t let him see you cry. Your mouth opened and then closed not wanting to waste your breath on a reply, not wanting to hurt him the way he’d hurt you. You didn’t bother with a reply, not trusting yourself enough to talk, only wanting to be alone to like your wounds in peace. So you turned and left, last nights heels echoing through the hallway, the sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut, silence falling once again.

Tommy pushed the plates off the table.

—————————————————————————-

Wednesday night and you were listening to your favourite record, something to distract you from the suitcase you were packing. Since the fight you hadn’t heard from Tommy, the first thing you’d packed had been your phone, pulling it off the wall as soon as you got home, not wanting to be on edge waiting for his call.

You didn’t allow yourself the time to wallow, refused to let yourself be beaten up by the words he had said, the ones that hung around your head like dead files. You hated that you let him speak to you that way, and you also hated that you missed him with every bone in your body.

Lilac, sapphire and emerald green. You threw your clothes together, watching the colours fade into a blur. You hadn’t packed anything he had given you, but you didn’t want to throw them out either and so they sat in a lonely purgatory in your wardrobe; a little gift to the next tenant.

You knew who was there the second the doorbell rang. Well, rang three times. The sound so shrill and violent that you tipped your head back in frustration. You considered leaving him outside in the summer rain, but soon the rings were switched with incessant knocking, your door surely about to break from the weight of his fists.

“Fucking hell.” You seethed, dropping your shoes onto the floor and stepping over the piles of toiletries stacked in the hallway. “Fuck you, Tom.”

You wanted to say those three words to him as soon as you opened the door, hoping your eyes reflected the anger bubbling inside of you, but he cut you off with a sigh of relief.

“Thank fuck you’re still here.”

“Not for long.”

You tried to shut the door, you really did, but he pushed past and into your flat with little effort.

“Get out, Tom. Now.”

He spun round to face you, and you finally got a good look at him. He looked rough, frazzled almost. His hair messy and his shirt ruffled and his eyes were mostly white, frantically watching your face.

“I fucked up. I fucked everything up.”

“You came all this way just to tell me that?”

“I should have followed you sooner. I should have followed you the second you walked through that door.”

You quirked an eyebrow in challenge. “Which time?”

He spread his hands out, biting down on his tongue. “Don’t go. Don’t leave.”

You sighed, kicking a stray shampoo bottle with your feet, something to fill the emptiness that surrounded you. “I’ve made up my mind.”

He moved one step closer and you moved one step back. “Is this what you really want?”

“We can’t always get what we want.”

“That’s bullshit.”

You threw your hands up in despair. “I’m not doing this with you now, Tommy. My train leaves in an hour and I have my first day tomorrow and I don’t want to fuck it all up.”

“If it’s what you really want, then you should go. But don’t leave if it’s all because of me.”

You scoffed. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself.”

“And I’m not going to let you go without telling you that I love you. I really fucking love you.”

“Tommy.” It’s a warning. It’s a threat. But it hangs between you both, lingering in the air like smoke.

“I know you love me too. I know you do. I also know that I’m a massive twat who fucked everything up, but I’m not letting you get away, not again.”

You're exasperated. His words like honey, but you’re scared that that’s all they are, and you’re more scared that they might be so much more. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Because I’m telling the truth. I don’t care about anything. Nothing matters to me more than you. I don’t care if Sabini has men outside my house every fucking night, you’re only safe with me, and I can only do this with you by my side.”

“Talk is cheap.”

“If I have to spend every day proving how much you mean to me then I will. I can’t - I can’t be without you.”

He was so close to you. Your noses almost touching, the hair on your arms and your spine sticking up, something electric about him. You want to hate him but you can’t. Not when he’s standing in your dimly lit hallway, looking dishevelled and beautiful and dare you say, broken. The edge of his jawline caught the light, shimmering like a jewel, and the pools in his eyes were so sincere and so deeply blue that you wanted to fall right into them.

Were you going to do this? Were you going to let him in again? You thought of everything - rain splattered kisses, dancing under the pale moonlight, sour whisky in the corner of his office. You thought of all of the chaos, all of the blood, all of the family arguments and shouting that echoed around his manor. You thought of all the tears you had shed, all the times your throat had been raw and your heart shattered into pieces. You thought of strawberry fields and his hand in yours, laughing with his brothers until you couldn’t breathe, the way that he felt and smelt and spoke like home.

It had been bad, but it was also the best thing you had ever been a part of.

You sighed loudly, clicking your tongue, meeting him somewhere in the middle. “Fuck. I’m never going to get my deposit back.”

His whole body trembled, relief coming from every pore, and he made a vow to go to Church with Pol on Sunday and thank whoever was listening for getting you back. “Well you’re moving in with me so there’s nothing to worry about.”

You rolled your eyes, his large hands wrapping around your jaw, making you look at him. He smelt like woodsmoke and peppermint, like a million bad decisions and the tang of a smoking barrel. It took everything in you to not buckle at the knees and let him carry you like a child.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He cradled your face, hoping his words came off as strongly out loud as they did in his head. He’s not going to fuck up again, but even he can’t stop his brain from short circuiting at the sight of you, so pretty with your doe eyes and raspberry lips, the skin on your throat just begging for the tug of his teeth.

You buried your head in his chest when he pulled you close, your words muffled through the cotton of his shirt. “If you ever speak to me like that again I’ll rip your fucking balls off.”

A soft smile, one that washes over him like warm candlelight. “I know.”

He’s not letting you go, not again. You’re a fucking part of him, like the blood that runs through his veins and the steady thump of his chest, you’re a part of his body, the reason why he can breathe and run and love. You’re the thing that stops the tremor in his hands, the thing that makes him so unshakeable, so tough and in control.

He had something to fight for.

And only knowing that you’re by his side, safe and warm and pressed into the crook of his body, does he finally allow himself to exhale.