#me saying this without having paid for london yet like get a GRIP

[awayfromhomes]

i fear i might need to add louis brighton like …

[neoncrowpen]

Hey Crow, can you write male reader as Tommy's son? not Charles, but maybe his older brother or an only child? Whatever works for you. We know that Tommy was more openly affectionate while Grace was alive, attentive too, but after she died (and I'm referring to his conversation with Charlie inside the wagon after Johnny Dogs took them to Wales) he shut himself off, and buries himself in his work, though he is still calm and warm towards Charlie in the scenes we've seen so far (+his bad health in S5.) That makes me think about reader wanting to spend more time with him especially after his marriage to Lizzie and the birth of Ruby; but then Tommy becomes a politician. Which brings me to this request - what do you think about reader breaking into Tommy's office in the House of Commons, hoping to get some of his attention but it backfires? Tommy yells at him instead and reader tries to explain himself but Tommy wouldn't hear it. I just really need some angry Tommy/dad Tommy content and I really enjoy your portrayal of him in my first two requests. I hope that this one is okay, too.

As you sped off in a good sprint, you thought of your uncle Finn. He had driven you into the city after you lied to him about ‘wanting to spend time with your favorite uncle’. Either you were taking on more of your stepmother’s traits or Finn was the dumbest Shelby in the family. It didn’t matter in the end. You got to exactly where you wanted to be.

You had been studying London city maps for a while and it paid off. Funny how maps worked and told anyone where everything was. It was a new concept that delighted you. Your father would be so proud that you got here all by yourself. Trouble was, how to get inside.

“I’m a Shelby,” you told yourself. “And I can do anything.” You eyed the alley to the side, noting a delivery man loading a cart with food and tea items. Bingo. You easily crawled underneath, stowing away. As your plan worked, a rush of excitement ran through you. The delivery man wheeled the cart inside without noticing his extra cargo. However, you only got as far as a storage room. You watched an aide load a different tea cart.

Dad took tea. He took tea often. It was a good, calculated risk, you thought. When the aide was turned around, you crawled into the second cart. You tucked yourself even further as the aide placed more tea cups underneath the cart. You kept your sigh of relief to yourself as the second cart started to roll down the hallway. You tugged back the thick, white tablecloth to read the office names. Williams. No. Baskins. No. Dick Johnson? You snickered, still no.

And there it was. Thomas Shelby, MP.

Yes.

The aide slowed the cart pass your father’s office. After making sure the coast was clear, you rolled yourself out. The lockpick kit you lifted from Finn earlier proved useful now. It wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be. At first, you had the tools all switched around. Then, a few people walked by, and you his yourself behind the second cart again. Frustration started to give you a decent headache until you heard a satisfying click.

“Just wait till Dad sees me,” you snuck inside, leaving the door wide open. “He’s going to be so surprised!” The office was much smaller than you thought. Your dad’s office back home was twice the size. Dusty books and boring colors didn’t capture your attention. The windows didn’t have any curtains to hide behind, so all gray daylight streamed into the room. No secret passageways or nonsense here. You scrambled underneath your father’s desk once you heard oncoming footsteps.

Ah, a perfect place to surprise him. This plan was your best yet. Everything was going so well! You couldn’t wait for your father to come in. He would be so proud of you and your cleverness. This definitely warranted a good reward. Ice cream? A tour of the building? It didn’t matter. All you really wanted was for your dad to tell you how clever you were and smile at you.

You couldn’t remember the last time he did smile at you.

A set of familiar footsteps stopped in the doorway. You heard the distinct sound of a gun clicking into place. It was subtle, but you knew the sound. Last month, your father taught you how to use a gun and why it wasn’t a toy. Your excitement couldn’t be contained much longer. You jumped out from underneath the desk with your hands raised.

“Papa! It’s me! Look! I made it all the way here!” you shouted. As your eyes adjusted to the daylight again, you were not greeted with your father’s smile. Instead, Thomas’ breath hitched, his grip tightened.

“What the hell, Y/N? You nearly fucking—what are you doing here?” Thomas berated you. His hand immediately closed the office door behind him. Your face started to fall.

“I was reading the map of London and I figured how to get here,” you gave him your proudest smile. “And now that I’m here, we can spend the whole day together! Isn’t it great?” You waited for your father to congratulate you. Thomas grabbed the scruff your shirt collar and forced you into one of his office chairs. You winced at his grip. He never grabbed you like that before.

“You’re supposed to be at school.” He sounded angrier than you thought he would be.

“Uncle Finn took me out. I tricked him! You’re right. He is the dumbest Shelby,” you laughed. When your father didn’t laugh with you, yours faded. His eyes glared down at you.

“And did you stop to think that this was a good idea?” His question cut into you. When you didn’t answer right away, he shook your chair, startling you. Why was he so angry? You made a good plan and you executed it perfectly.

“I just missed you,” you admitted. “I never see you anymore.” Hurt flashed in your father’s eyes. You watched him exhale a long breath except no cigarette smoke came out of his mouth. Thomas tucked the gun away. He walked towards his desk.

“I could’ve seriously hurt you. Guns are not a toy, remember?”

“I remember. But, you wouldn’t hurt me.” You mustered a different smile this time. It didn’t matter if your plan was clever or not. You could just settle with being here with him. Thomas dialed the phone on his desk. A new excitement made your heart beat faster. “Are you going to order tea for us?”

“No,” Thomas flatly told you. “You’re going back to school where you belong.”

“What? No,” you shook you head. You jumped out of the chair and rushed towards his side. Your hands grabbed his suit jacket. If you could just hold him really tight, like you did when you were younger, maybe he’ll understand. “I want to be here with you.”

Thomas pulled you off. “This isn’t the place for children.”

“But—

“Stop this right now, and listen to me.” You looked up. This was not your father. This was wrath. His tone felt like a knife sinking into your chest. “You may think this was a clever thing to do, but you’re wrong. This is, by far, the dumbest thing you have ever done. What if someone hurt you? Grabbed you? Would you like that? For a stranger to come and grab you and take you away?”

“No,” your voice broke. You bit your lip down hard. You heard someone knock at the door. An aide tucked their head inside.

“Afternoon, Oswald. If you could please wait with my son outside, his uncle will be by to take him back to school soon.” Thomas bent down to you. He gripped your wrist as if he was hurting you on purpose. “You will not do this again. You hear me?” You nodded. “Say you’re not going to do something stupid like this again.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid ever again.” Your eyes more drawn to the floor than to the man in front of you. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

As the aide guided you out of Thomas’ office, you went over the plan in your head again. Every single thing you did was thought-out. Every move was deliberate. None of it worked. You glanced back at your father. He ran his hand down his face. The same frown you had gotten used to hardened on his face.

This was your fault. You resolved that he would never smile at you again.

[parchmentedpetrichor]

➳it's good to see you again ♡ ☾

in which y/n l/n comes home from a 2 year long mission to subdue the rest of the escaped death eaters and meets her best friend, fred weasley, yet again.

fred weasley x fem!reader

word count: ±1.5k

tw: mentions of scars, nightmares, mentions of the war

drop a follow if you wanna see more of this content!!

my masterlist:D

ft. angelina and george

it's been a long day without you, my friend

and i'll tell you all about it when i see you again

it's good to see you again

y/n was sitting comfortably in the backseat of george's fancy car, earphones plugged in and listening to a song to drown out the sound of angelina and george talking about something they had seen on the news. her head was leaning against the window, her eyes drinking in the familiar view of london in nostalgia. it hurt her that she wasn't the only person who would see the beautiful city she'd known from the very beginning. and she missed it. angelina and george had picked her up from the quarantine centre after she had made a trip to albania for a couple of years with the rest of her auror unit to imprison the remaining death eaters. albania had recently acquired many cases of dragonpox, and so all the unit members had to isolate in a little hotel by the edge of italy. it had been a few weeks since the start of the quarantine and now she was zooming along a british highway, ever so keen to see her friends and family again. and fred. fred was her best friend. they had been since 5th year. perhaps she was harbouring feelings for him, perhaps she wasn't. and here she sat, curled up and watching the views, trying to decipher whether or not he'd be different. he had survived the war just barely. it would be acceptable for him to change. did he still have the millions of freckles dotted along his face? her face flushed just thinking about it. bringing her hands up to her cheeks she shook her head. chile, y/n, he probably has a girlfriend. it's been two years, and he didn't like you two years ago, he won't like you now. the thought alone made her frown. "what's got you blushing and frowning like mad?" angelina looked at her through the mirror in the front of the car. george whispered something in her ear and she giggled. "y/n, is this possibly about a certain fred weasley?" her eyes widened. "nope, not at all." "really? so you were definitely not thinking about the amount of freckles my twin has on his face? hmm?" "no! george, seriously?" she stuck my tongue out at him. "or his ginger hair?" angelina added. "no! you guys are idiots!" she folded her arms. "and she's blushing again," angelina sniggered. "stop!" "it's okay, he blushes about you way more," george laughed, eyes on the road. "stop, stop, stop!!!!!" "it is true." "no it isn't, okay? erm, i don't like him, he doesn't like me. we're best friends. you guys are gross." she resumed looking out the window, shaking her head. they had reached a pretty big house with two levels, with large windows that y/n would absolutely die to have and cute little bricks sticking out. "what? i thought we were going back to my parent's house?" "you wish." "who are we visiting?" "oh just a person i know from work," angelina said with a twinkle in her eyes. "okay. did we bring anything?" "just you," she replied, "me and george are heading back to our place. your stuffs at your parents." george nodded. y/n frowned, "okay." she bounded up to the door and knocked a couple of times. the door opened and she immediately began babbling off a greeting and an introduction without looking at the person. "i'm y/n l/n, and i understand you're from angie's work! it's nice to meet yo-" her eyes were met by chocolate brown ones, framed by so many freckles. fred lived in this place? "it's good to see you again, miss y/n l/n," he grinned and oh my oh my, y/n felt her heart skipping beats all over again. fred was worried when there was silence, but he was pleasantly surprised when he felt arms wrap as much as they could around his waist. true to his nature, his cheeks turned as red as his hair. he breathed in the smell of her hair, the smell of her and oh he had missed her so much. "i missed you a lot," he mumbled, tightening his grip around her, "so so so so so much." "me too, freddie," there that nickname was, and it made him possibly weak at how pretty she was and how pretty her voice was. when she let go, he almost felt empty, and so he snaked an arm around her waist. "your place is so beautiful, freddie!" his secret was that he had bought it hoping that she would

live with him. he knew she loved beautiful windows and bay windows and balconies. "not as beautiful as you, lovely." and his eyes were graced by her flustered expression, her cheeks tinted the most delightful shade of pink. "but the windows! gosh they're pretty." "wanna live with me?" he dropped the question ever so casually. "are you sure? i've got an apartment set up and all so it's no big deal-" "no. i want you to live with me." "then your wish is my command, i guess. i don't have much stuff though." "that's fine! i knew you would say yes so i got a bedroom ready for you." she hesitated. fred looked at her. "is everything okay?" "i-i don't want you to think that i'm best friends with you because you're rich or whatever and i feel like i'm taking advantage of your richness and it's not right?" "you're not, okay?" she nodded, still hesitating a little bit. "if you really feel bad you can come visit me and george in the shop and do some type of customer service. you'll be paid." "am i paying rent if i live here?" she asked. "no, y/n, i own this place." "don't you pay land tax?" "yeah, but it's not that much." "nope, i'm paying rent or you're not paying me for the shifts i do. or both. take your pick." "i won't pay you for the shifts. is this really a big deal?" "yes it is! it's money and morals. that's a very big deal." "okay, fair." "gimme a list of all my shifts please." "nah, you pop in whenever you can." "okay, when's rush hour?" "hogsmeade weekends and thursdays." ☆ it was night. y/n couldn't sleep at all. she was lying in the insanely boujee king sized bed and the insanely comfortable sheets, and she still couldn't fathom why she couldn't sleep. maybe it was because she always slept with one eye open in albania. habit. so she was just sitting in her bed, looking around the room. she was tired, but she couldn't be untired. and it would be selfish to disturb fred. but he had said his door was always open. so she crept out and made her way through the corridors, finally stopping at a door which she hoped was fred's bedroom. it was half ajar, so she peeked her head around it. he was asleep, a very thin blanket draped carelessly around his body, his ginger hair messy and his chest rising with every peaceful breath he took. his room was big and simple, cluttered in the most fred way. she approached him, tapping him on the shoulder lightly. "freddie??" he opened his eyes drowsily, "mmm?" "i can't sleep." "'ave you tried countin' broomst'cks?" "i can't sleep." "'kay," he pulled her into his bed, wrapping his arms around y/n and tucking most of the gryffindor red blanket under her chin. it smelled like him, "this 'kay?" fred was shirtless. y/n was blushing. "yeah." "mm, have a good night, okay? i'm here, you're safe." y/n nodded, feeling the most comfortable she had in two whole years, cuddling up to his chest as she fell into sleep. sleep. she hadn't properly slept in two whole years. every night would be spent either patrolling or anxiously preparing for the next day. when she did get some shut-eye, it was broken and restless. but her dreams were stopped with visions of terrifying death eaters casting sectumsempra onto the auror unit. she felt the pain she had endured through a long time ago. it left a scar on her back and imprints in her mind. it was impossible to forget. she remembered yelling as she saw another auror drop dead. running, running out of the hellhole of the death eater's base. "y/n, y/n," fred was shaking her awake. she was shaking, tears were running down her face. she fervently apologised to him. "don't say sorry, lovely," he wiped the tears off of her face, "what was your dream about?" "t-the mission, the death eaters w-were cutting people up and they got me." "oh darling, why didn't you tell me this before?" he asked gently, cradling her head to his chest. "it, it comes out at the worst times." "well you're not in albania anymore, okay, love? you're here, in london, and you're safe. you're okay, you're fine." she nodded, "sorry." "don't you dare,

it isn't your fault. sleep, okay? i'll wait for you to go to sleep before i do, yeah?" she nodded. her head fell onto his chest and fred traced gentle patterns on her back, whispering small nothings in her ear. for the first time, it seemed like fred could watch her without repercussions. even with her tear-stained cheeks and wild hair, she was beautiful. and when he had stayed up for hours into the night and morning for this girl, this was when he realised. he would do anything for her. he loved her.

[cherrycocaineee]

6. Draco Malfoy - Rainy Nights, Warm Drinks

*Warning - smut*

“I want you.”

“Keep your eyes open, look at me, baby.”

Draco’s p.o.v

  Loud chatter filled the jam-packed dining hall as students discussed their Christmas plans while their grubby hands reached for the feast laid out before each house. My gray-blue eyes stared blankly at the turkey and sides that touched my plate, my fork picking at whatever it could reach without me moving too much. I was counting down the moments that led up to Dumbledore clinking his fork against his glass that would dismiss everyone from Hogwarts, sending them home. Each single tick drove me crazy as I shook my leg, desperately pleading for time to move faster. At the end of this feast, everyone would be on the train heading to their families, while I would finally get to see the one person that I couldn’t get off my mind. Even now, the only thing I could think about was seeing her beautiful face and hearing her soothing, angelic voice, tuning out the voices of my friends.

  “Draco? Earth to Draco!”

  Pansy’s voice sliced right through my current thoughts involving my plans after school. Blinking a few times, I turned my head to see Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, Pike, and Nott staring at me. While Pansy stared at me with concern, the guys stared at me skeptically.

  “What?” I muttered, dully.

  “Pansy asked you what you were doing during the break,” Blaise informed, taking a sip from his cup.

  “Yeah,” Pansy agreed, “I was thinking you and I could go on a date since we won’t be in school.”

 A date? I had broken up with Pansy a year ago with the excuse that dating her had become boring, which it had, however, the real reason I left Pansy was because I had fallen in love with another girl. The whole thing had torn me up since day one because I hadn’t believed that I, the Slytherin Prince, could have fallen for a muggle, and yet I did. After a whole week of thinking about it and running everything carefully through my mind, I finally decided that I didn’t love Pansy and needed to end it with her before things got too serious.

  “I won’t be returning home this Christmas,” I stated, “Dumbledore has asked me to stay and help tutor some second years in potions.”

 “That’s ridiculous!” Pansy sneered, “it isn’t your job to teach those brats.”

  “You’re dad’s okay with that?” Nott asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

  “He wasn’t at first but once Dumbledore told him that I was the highest ranking student when it came to potions, he settled down and decided that I’d make a great leader for those snot nose brats,” I spoke, pride dripping from my lying tongue.

  Of course, staying at Hogwarts wasn’t a complete lie, it was just not the full truth. For the first four days of break, I’d be staying with Maggie and her Grandmother then I’d come back to Hogwarts to help out with tutoring, and it’ll keep going like that until school starts again. It was an agreement that I had worked out with Dumbledore after he found out about Maggie, which if I’m being honest, I’m not even sure how he found out.

  “And you’re okay with it?” Blaise asked, amused.

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” I muttered.

  I looked back down at my plate, feeling their eyes still watching me but not paying attention to it. Eventually, Dumbledore stood up from his seat and clinked his silverware against his wine glass. The chatter stopped immediately as everyone turned their impatient attention to the headmaster. Excitement was bursting through my chest, something I never thought I’d ever feel for a girl like Maggie. Dumbledore started by wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and happy holiday, then proceeded in telling everyone what to expect when they got back from break. We were expected to practice and prepare for our O.W.Ls that were coming up, which Umbridge decided to announce after interrupting Dumbledore. I may have pretended to like Umbridge and do as she said to appease my friends, but in all honesty, I hated her more than I hated anyone else.

   After all of Dumbledore and Umbridge’s talking, the feast disappeared from our tables and it was time for everyone to head to the train. I saw my friends on the train. Pansy turned around.

  “Well maybe I can stay here with you, so you aren’t alone,” she offered.

 Annoyance broke out across my face, “I’ll be fine, Pansy. I’m not interested in spending time with you anyway, so you’ll just be alone.”

  She started pouting while the other snickered behind her back. Scoffing, she stormed past everyone onto the train. I waved goodbye to the others and they followed after Pansy to the cart. Those leaving for the Christmas holiday were finally headed towards the platform and those who would be staying at Hogwarts for the vacation headed back towards the school.

As I was approaching the entrance, I saw Dumbledore standing there waiting for me, a smile on his face.

  “Good evening, Mr. Malfoy,” he stated, “have you gotten your belongings together?”

  “My bag is sitting in my room,” I replied.

  “Once you collect it, go to Hagrid’s. He’ll be waiting for you there to help you get to the muggle world. Have a safe trip.”

  With that, Dumbledore walked away allowing me to go fetch my belongings.

I grabbed my trunk out of my dorm room and carried it all the way towards Hagrid’s small hut just a little ways from the school. Hagrid was outside playing fetch with his large hound as I finished walking towards him. Immediately, he looked up after tossing the rather large stick across the field.

  “Malfoy,” Hagrid said, “what brings you here?”

I raised an eyebrow. He was kidding, right?

  The big oaf laughed heartily and patted my shoulder with his gorilla sized hand.

 “I’m messing, is all,” he bellowed, “let’s get a move on it before anyone notices.”

 Hagrid opened the door to his home and gestured me inside. Sitting on the table when he opened the door was a thick, black bag filled with dark, gray powder. Hagrid scooted around me and picked up the black bag before meeting my gaze. This was awkward for me, and I knew he could tell but fortunately he didn’t say anything to make it worse. Instead, he told me that the floo network would take us to Diagon Alley and we’d have to walk through another entrance into the muggle world. From there we’d take a wizard bus, which I found odd, straight to Maggie’s farmhouse just on the outskirts of London. However, I grew bored with being explained the plan and just wanted to get there already.

   I went through the floo network first and waited for Hagrid patiently for a moment. Once he was standing by my side, he took my luggage and walked with me through Diagon Alley. We both walked through the less populated parts of Diagon Alley until the two of us reached a dead end. Hagrid tapped his umbrella against the wall in a pattern and they started pulling apart revealing the empty alley of the muggle world. The smell was different from the one back in the wizarding world. I could definitely smell freshly mown grass, but there was an oil smell mixed in too. As Hagrid and I walked past all of the people and shops that adorn the streets, I could smell pastries, coffees, and other foods that I recognized. I could feel the inside of my mouth water.

We waited on the sidewalk near a coffee shop for what seemed like forever before a bus came to a sudden stop in front of us. No one seemed to notice its incredible speed.

  “Why hello there, Hagrid,” said a frail, stubbled face man wearing a purple suit.

  “Hello to you too, Stan Shunpike,” Hagrid laughed, “starting work a bit early, aren’t you?”

  Shunpike gave a crooked smile and nodded his head before gesturing us on. I went to grab my trunk when Shunpike grabbed it instead, pushing me inside. The smell was something to gag at. It smelled worse than anything I could imagine. Hagrid took a seat.

  “Aren’t you going to have a seat, Malfoy?” He questioned.

 “No, I’d rather stand,” I muttered, disgust lacing my voice.

  “Where to?” Shunpike asked.

  Hagrid gave the address and Shunpike looked at us confused.

  “That’s a muggle household.”

   “Not completely,” Hagrid said, “Loral Belle is the homeowner, Dumbledore’s friend.”

  A slow nod bounced off his thin shoulders and sat down.

  “Ernie, you know where to go.”

As soon as the knight bus took off, the speed pushed me back. Not even my grip was strong enough to keep me in place and I ended stumbling backwards until Hagrid’s large hand grabbed ahold of me. I pretty much clung to Hagrid’s large arm as we whirlwind through the busy streets of London. Two trucks stood in the way of the bus and I thought we’d slow down. However, we didn’t. Instead, the bus warfed itself so that it was thinner and we slid right through the small crack separating the two muggle vehicles. It wasn’t long before we reached the dirt road that led to Maggie’s farmhouse. Hagrid paid Shunpike and told him that there was extra in it for him if he waited for him and kept this visit a secret. Shunpike agreed with a large smile on his face.

    Hagrid grabbed my trunk and led the way to Maggie’s. He tried to make small talk with me as we hiked down the dirt road, but neither one of us knew what to say to each other.

 “How did you meet her?” He finally asked, catching my attention.

 “My father had some work to do with an old, retired friend,” I said, all of the memories flooding back to my mind, “I saw her sitting by the fountain reading a book when a group of guys started harassing her. I watched her try to get away from them, failing miserably, so I stepped in despite her being a muggle. A gentleman never lets a woman get pushed around. She already knew I was a wizard when I helped her, she said that her Grandmother had taught her to tell the difference from a young age. The more I talked to her, the more I liked being around her.”

  A goofy smile appeared on his face, “she sounds like an amazing young woman.”

  “She is.”

  Sitting on the porch when we got there was Grandma Loral rocking back and forth while a red scarf was being knitted next to her in the air. When she saw us, a smile appeared on her face and she climbed to her feet, approaching us at the edge of her porch.

  “Hagrid,” she greeted, “it’s been years.”

  “Nice to see you too, Loral,” Hagrid said, “I wish I could stay long, but I’m only here to drop off Mr. Malfoy. I’ll see you in four day.”

 I looked up at Hagrid, “thank you, Hagrid.”

If I didn’t know any better, which I didn’t, I could have sworn I saw tears in Hagrid’s eyes. He tried to push it away and claimed that dirt had gotten in his eye, but I knew the truth. No one was use to me being so nice, and seeing me do so meant to them that I was finally deciding things on my own and not because my father wanted them. Just like my decision to continue seeing a muggle. Grandma Loral and I waved goodbye to Hagrid, once he was gone, Grandma Loral sat back in her seat.

  “Maggie’s in the garden out back,” she said smiling, “thank you for coming, Draco. I know that the decision couldn’t have been easy.”

  “Actually,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck, “it was the easiest choice I’ve ever had to make in my life.”

  Grandma Loral told me to head back there and she’d take care of my trunk. Nodding, I walked down the steps and headed down the cobblestone path to find Maggie sitting underneath a tree reading a book. Dozens of flowers of all shapes and colors surrounded her and blew in the breeze. Her brown, curled locks of hair brushed delicately against her freckled face. She was as beautiful as the day I first saw her. I walked over to her and smiled at how deeply invested she was in her novel.

  “Mind if I sit?” I asked.

 Her body jerked and her head whipped around to see me standing there with a smirk on my face. A large grin stretched against her face from ear to ear before nodding eagerly. As soon as my body was positioned next to her, she threw her arms around me and squeezed tightly.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” she said, releasing me from her tight grip.

  “I’m happy to see you too, Maggie,” I said, “how have you been?”

 “I’ve been fine. Things have been a little difficult lately.”

When I asked her why, a sad expression came to her face. I thought maybe she was being bullied more, but as she explained, I realized that it wasn’t that. Grandma Loral was getting sick and it was getting worse and worse. Maggie was worried that she’d lose her grandmother and have no one once she’s gone. I touched her hand and told her it was going to be okay. She looked up at me.

  “How have you been?” She asked, her smile trying to distract me from her growing tears.

  I told her about Umbridge and my family, she never looked away from me and held on to my hand the way I held on to her’s when she told me about her Grandma. It seemed we were both going through some stuff right now and all we wanted was for someone to talk and relate to.

The remainder of the day moved quicker than I had hoped. Maggie was now in the kitchen cooking up some soup for dinner while I set up the dining table. From the kitchen, the two of us could hear Grandma Loral coughing up a storm. Maggie grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and brought it to her grandma before returning to finish dinner.

   After supper, Maggie helped her grandma to bed before joining me in the living room with two glasses of hoto cocoa. Rain started to drum against the roof of the farmhouse, lightning slashing against the darkened sky and thunder rolling across the heavy clouds. With each passing second, the rain got harder and louder. I sipped on my warm beverage and looked at Maggie. She had whipped cream sitting above her lip and I laughed causing her to look at me.

  “What?” She asked, an innocent smile dancing on her face.

  “You’ve got some whipped cream on your lip,” I chuckled, leaning forward and wiping it away with my thumb.

  A small red tint appeared on her face as she tried to avoid eye contact with me. I could tell she was embarrassed and I found it to be more attractive than ever. I scooted closer to her and she looked at me.

  “Draco, is everything okay?” She asked.

  “I love you,” I blurted out.

 Her bright green orbs widened in shock and I started to regret saying anything to her. I looked away from her, but she grabbed my shoulder, pulling it to face her.

  “I love you too,” she hummed.

Before I could stop myself, I smashed our lips together, saying a silent prayer that neither of us were holding that hot beverage. The kiss deepened and I pulled her into my lap, gripping her waist tightly to keep her in place. When we pulled away, she was panting from the lack of air, her lips red and slightly swollen from the heated kiss. I leaned down and started nibbling on her neck, earning a small whimper from her.

  “D-Draco,” she gasped.

  I unattached my lips from her warm flesh and peppered her jaw with kisses before reaching her ear.

  “I want you, Maggie.”

 Her body shivered at my words and I smirked. Maggie was gripping onto my blazer tightly.

  “But I-”

  “Shh,” I cooed, “I’ll be gentle.”

  I waited for her to give me the signal to continue. When her head nodded, I laid her down on the cushioned couch and began kissing her again. I traced my tongue against her bottom lip and tasted the cherry lip gloss she had coated her plump lips with after dinner. My fingers squeezed her thigh and she gasped, giving me full entrance to the inside of her mouth. I slipped my tongue into her warm, wet mouth and our tongues fought over dominance, however, Maggie’s submissive side kicked in and she let me take control easily. Quiet moans spilled from her muffled mouth. When I pulled away from her, a small string of saliva pulled from both of our lips. A rosy tint illuminated off her face and her green eyes were hazy, her floral shirt was pulled up, revealing her black, laced bra.

  “Fuck,” I hissed, my pants growing tighter at the sight of her coming undone from my touch.

Pulling myself up, I removed my blazer and tie before unbuttoning my white, dress-up shirt. Her glistening eyes watched my every move, widening at the sight of my bare chest. She started nibbling on her bottom lip as I pulled at the hem of her shirt.

  “Let's get this off,” I muttered, my voice husky and dripping with arousal.

  Maggie didn’t argue, she just pulled her shirt above her head revealing more of herself to me. I groaned as I leaned down and started sucking on her exposed skin, leaving wet kisses against her porcelain skin. Her heartbeat was pounding against her chest, her skin was heating up, and her fingers gripped the couch cushion. I reached behind her and unclipped her bra clasp. Immediately, her hands moved to cover herself up. I lifted her chin.

   “Don’t hide yourself, baby girl,” I whispered, “let me see you, please.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

She allowed me to remove her bra from her small body and I tossed it to the side with the rest of our clothes that littered the living room floor. I pressed my lips against hers once again, my left hand gripped her left breast and I almost melted at the feeling of her perfectly soft, fleshy breast. Her pink, peachy nipples hardened from both the cold air and my calloused hands pinching at them. Her moans were becoming louder, but not too loud since her grandmother was sleeping.

   “Draco, please,” she moaned, her hips moving against my own.

  “What is it?” I moaned back, “what do you need, baby girl? Tell me.”

   “I-I need you. Please.”

Those words turned me on even more. I unbuttoned her shorts and pulled them off, her black matching panties hugged her hips. I hooked my fingers to her lacy panties, pulling them down and revealing her perfect pink cunt. My pants were becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second, so I quickly removed them from my body, discarding them to the floor with the rest of the pile. I started kissing her breast, sucking on her nipples, and tracing open mouth kisses against her body until I reached her lower area. The sweet aroma coming from her was intoxicating and I felt drunk from the scent alone.

   I traced my tongue against her already soaking slit causing her to shiver and moan. My tastebuds were coated with her delicious nectar and I couldn’t help but dive in quickly. Her small fingers tangled themselves into my gelled hair, messing up every strand. A list of moans echoed off the walls as I flicked my tongue hungrily over her clit. Maggie tried to close her legs, but I pinned them back down. My gray-blue eyes flickered up, meeting her lustful orbs. She was covering her mouth because she was becoming too loud. Careful not to hurt her, I slipped a single finger between her folds and she flinched. I stopped.

   “I’m sorry,” I whispered, “do you want me to stop?”

  “N-no, it’s okay,” she panted, “i-it’s all just a n-new experience.”

  Nodding, I went back to lapping up her flowing juices and started entering my finger again. This time it slipped in with ease. A few seconds passed and I added another finger, moving them slowly in and out of her.

 “D-Draco, faster.”

I didn’t waste time and started moving my fingers faster and faster into her sex. Her back arched off the couch, I could feel her clenching around my fingers and I could tell she was getting closer and closer to her release. I started sucking on her swollen clit and she yelped out before cumming all over my fingers. I removed them from her then placed them in my mouth, sucking every last drop off of them. Groaning against my fingers, I pulled them out with a pop.

  “Delicious,” I hummed, watching her chest move rapidly as she caught her breath, “have a taste.”

   I captured her lips with mine and rummaged my tongue around her warm mouth. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head making me smile at how undone she looked for me. I pulled away.

  “Doesn’t that taste amazing, sweetheart?” I whispered in her ear.

  All she could do was nod her head. Sweat was beaded against her forehead and her hair was starting to cling to her face, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Ready?” I asked, “and use your words for me.”

  “I-I am,” she muttered, “I-I’m ready.”

  Climbing on top of her, I aligned my hardened member with her entrance before pushing it, peppering kisses against her face as she cried out in pain. Once I was finally nestled inside of her aching cunt, I stayed there to let her adjust to my size. A minute passed by when she gave me the okay to move, then I started moving my hips at a slow pace. Every time I pulled out and pushed back in, I felt myself get squeezed around.

  “God damnit!” I groaned quietly, “so fucking tight. It feels amazing, Maggie.”

  “D-Draco, you’re s-so…” she couldn’t even finish her sentence.

  I started moving faster and harder with each stroke and both of our moans filled the room along with the sound of our sweaty skin slapping against each other. Despite the noise coming from us, we remained quiet enough so we didn’t wake up Grandma Loral.

   Maggie squeezed her eyes shut as I started snapping my hips harder to meet hers. I grabbed her chin with my right hand and pulled her head to meet mine, my lips feathering over her. Her warm breath fanning over my chapped, slightly parted lips.

  “Keep your eyes open. Look at me, baby,” I said strictly.

  Maggie’s eyes opened and our eyes stared at one another as I drilled into her repeatedly. Her nails raked into my back causing me to growl at the stinging pain. I lifted one of her legs over my shoulder for a better position, my cock now going deeper into her sweet sex.

   “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I moaned, resting my forehead against her, never tearing my eyes away from hers.

  “Oh my God,” she said.

  “Feel good, huh sweetheart,” I praised, “you love being fucked like this.”

I didn’t want to take it too far, afraid that me being rough or even degrading her would cause her to push me away. She was sensitive. But Maggie seemed to love my words and nodded her head furiously as she started meeting my thrust.

  “Yeah you do, fucking slut.”

  Her moans were like music to my ears and I could feel her tightening around my throbbing cock. I wrapped my hand around her throat, not too tightly, her free hand gripping my arm as I practically slammed into her with inhuman speed. I didn’t know what came over me, but everything felt intoxicating and I felt energy rushing through me. 

  “I-I’m going to cum,” she whimpered.

  “Then do it,” I growled against her lips, “cum.”

 Her body started shaking as pure pleasure rushed over her small form. I watched her emerald eyes roll to the back of her head as I continued to slam into her, riding out her high. Our moans got louder, and we didn’t care that we were being loud. If we got caught, we got caught. All that mattered to me was watching her, being with her, loving her.

My thrust started getting sloppy as I felt myself coming to my end. I removed my hand from her throat, letting her lungs collect the well needed air, and buried my head into her sweaty neck. With a few final, strong thrust, I came inside her dripping cunt and moaned in her ear, or more like growled with pleasure. Her body shivered at the sound as she knotted her fingers in my hair. My body collapsed onto her, our chest heaving up and down as we tried to settle down. Once our breathing returned to normal, I pulled myself out of Maggie and laid next to her. I looked at her.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, as I tiredly chuckled, “I didn’t mean to finish inside you.”

She giggled and shook her head, “it’s okay. I’m on birth control, so it’ll be fine.”

  I smiled at her and leaned down to pick up my dress-up shirt. It was cool to the touch and as I cleaned up the mess on Maggie, she closed her eyes enjoying the welcoming, cold cloth. After I cleaned the both of us up with my shirt, I laid back down. Lightning flashed against the sky once again as a loud rumble of thunder hit the clouds. Maggie sat up and cracked the window open, the cool breeze washing over our sweaty bodies. I pulled her into my arms and nuzzled against her.

  “I love you, Maggie,” I whispered.

  “I love you too, Draco,” she said, “now and forever.”

Forever, huh?

  A smile appeared on my face as I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep next to the one girl I would sacrifice everything for. All of the thoughts that once invaded my mind, the unsureness of being with a muggle, how my father would act once he found out, all of it, disappeared. The only thought left was how I would protect her from Voldemort, and if she would still be by my side when she found out I was destined to be a death eater. But all of that could wait. I wanted nothing more than to enjoy the next four days with her.

I’ve never felt so relaxed before.

Forever sounds nice.

[rainingpouringetc]

liebestraum

a thomastair ficlet | read on ao3 | inspiration

Alastair didn’t know how Thomas talked him into dinner. Everything had happened rather quickly.

They’d just arrived at the Paris Institute when there was a knock on Alastair’s door. He’d expected one of the hovering heads of the place—he was so grateful Charles was still recovering in London—but instead, it opened to familiar hazel eyes.

“Mr. Lightwood.” Alastair tried to scowl, but his heart simply wasn’t in it.

The two had been traveling together for several days, and faking indifference was growing more and more difficult, especially as they both knew it was a lie. For his part, Thomas—kind, respectful Thomas—hadn’t pushed matters. He was keeping his distance, and Alastair, though he’d never say so, was eternally grateful. He didn’t think he possessed the willpower to hold Thomas at arm’s length much longer, no matter how often he told himself it was a horrible idea to engage himself in any sort of relationship with the man.

But this trip was necessary. Matthew and Cordelia were still gallivanting about Paris and it seemed everyone else was too wrapped up in the disappearance of Lucie Herondale to do anything about it.

Alastair knew that wasn’t true, of course—James had been sincerely disappointed that he could not accompany them, but he needed to stay behind and aid in the business with his sister. Still, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was the slightest bit resentful at the fact that this left him alone with Thomas Lightwood.

Not that there was anything wrong with Thomas. In fact, that was the worst thing about him, the whole reason Alastair resented their situation so much. He couldn’t find a single flaw besides the man’s refusal to wear a hat. If there had been anything else, a glaring warning sign or two like there had been with Charles, then Alastair could better reason with himself to stay away. Instead, he was resigned to reminding himself of Matthew’s words, something he never thought he’d find himself doing, but something necessary all the same. Cordelia assures me that you have a heart. Alastair could have scoffed at the words. It was obvious Matthew himself still did not believe this. Alastair was certain this feeling was not his alone and likely extended to the rest of Thomas’ friends. 

So, as Alastair stood there, staring down the man who had somehow managed to steal away into his affections without Alastair’s knowing, he reminded himself once again. This—him and Thomas—wasn’t possible, and it never would be. 

“Well,” Alastair said, aware of how tired he sounded, “what is it then?”

Thomas blushed and stammered for a moment—the act had no business being attractive, and yet somehow it was—before he managed, “We arrived too late for dinner, it seems, so I was wondering if you might care to get something. From—a restaurant, or, er… something like that.” Thomas rubbed at his neck.

Alastair bit back a smile. He really was hopelessly endearing, wasn’t he?

It isn’t possible. It won’t ever be. Alastair knew that. 

One night out couldn’t hurt.

---

He was completely and horribly wrong.

The night started with an impromptu walk along the Seine. Thomas did his best to engage Alastair in small talk as they walked, commenting on the chill weather and the dazzling lights, but Alastair could already feel himself falling. 

They found themselves at a small bistro not unlike the one they’d been to the previous year. There was a small corner table available, which they fit themselves into carefully. Alastair ordered for them both after Thomas sheepishly admitted his French hadn’t improved since their last adventure in the city. 

“English, Spanish, and Persian,” Alastair couldn’t help but laugh, “and yet you can’t seem to get a hold of French.”

Thomas laughed with him. Alastair’s heart clenched. He’d gotten used to the feeling by now.

They chatted idly as they waited for their food, Alastair feeling more and more like he was simply an observer, an outsider in his own body. He didn’t dare let himself give in too much to the conversation. He answered Thomas’ questions with cold politeness, aware that as he did so he reverted further and further into his old harshness. Thomas didn’t push, didn’t say anything he would not say to a stranger at a dinner party. It felt so odd. Alastair knew Thomas’ dips and curves, the freckles dusting his cheeks and the callouses on his hands and the way his eyelashes were light enough that they didn’t get credit for their length. Yet here he sat, deflecting questions as soon as they cut too deep, questions about his mother and Cordelia and if there was anything he could do to help. No, Alastair told him, his eyes drifting to a spot over Thomas’ shoulder, there’s nothing. 

Their food came, and they ate in silence. It wasn’t awful, the silence, it was just… unusual. In all the time they’d known each other, they had rarely had nothing to say to each other.

At the end of their meal, Alastair was struck with the sudden memory of Thomas’ tattoo. When they’d last been in Paris, Thomas had spoken of getting a tattoo, and Alastair, like the idiot he was, had allowed himself to trace the spot on his arm, to revel in the feel of his skin under his fingers even if only for a moment. In the Sanctuary, Alastair had traced it again, had grinned into Thomas’ mouth as he’d done so. Though only a handful of days earlier, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Alastair pushed the thought from his mind and raised a hand for the check. He paid quickly, thanking the waiter and avoiding Thomas’ gaze as they left.

They walked down the street side by side, and with the wind roaring in his ears, Alastair could almost let himself think things were different. He could almost pretend he and Thomas were something more than… whatever this was. Just because it could never be real didn’t mean Alastair couldn’t indulge himself every once in a while. Once they arrived back at the Institute, Alastair would slip away to his room and remain firmly detached from his feelings for the man. 

Thomas, it seemed, had other plans. About a block away from the Institute, he put a hand on Alastair’s arm to stop him and said, “When we get back, there’s something I wish to speak to you about.” He paused heavily. “Privately.”

Alastair stared up at him, keeping his face as impassive as possible. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Lightwood.”

Something flickered in Thomas’ eyes, and he snapped, “To hell with good ideas. I need to speak with you, Alastair, and you haven’t exactly given me the chance.”

“Yes, and there’s good reason for that, isn’t there?” Alastair retorted, tearing his arm from Thomas’ grip. 

“Please, Alastair,” Thomas whispered. His voice was so soft, so gentle, it nearly broke Alastair’s heart. “Just give me five minutes. Five minutes to talk to you and split my heart open for you and then you can do whatever you wish. You can ignore me for the rest of our lives if it pleases you. Just give me this.”

He sounded desperate enough that Alastair could only swallow and nod once, not trusting himself to speak. Thomas let out a breath and nodded once, twice, then started down the street again as though nothing had happened.

They arrived at the Institute to find the halls empty, everyone else already having gone to bed. Thomas led the way to his room, even going as far as politely holding the door open for Alastair.

Thomas cleared his throat as soon as the door was shut and locked behind him. Alastair turned to look at him, crossing his arms as he did so, and raised his eyebrows. 

Thomas let out a breath and began, looking vaguely sick as he spoke. “You told me that you didn’t want to make me choose between you and my friends, so you chose for me.”

Alastair rolled his eyes. “Yes, Lightwood, I was there. What is your point in all this?”

Undeterred, Thomas pushed forward as though Alastair hadn’t spoken. “You were wrong to choose for me. And you were more wrong to think it isn’t you I’d choose.” Alastair blinked, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second. “If my friends, as you said, aren’t willing to accept me—aren’t willing to accept you—then they are not and never have been a true friend, and therefore their opinion is of as little import to me as that of a passing stranger on the street.” He paused, his hazel eyes wide and vulnerable. “You chose for me because you did not wish to cause me any pain. You took the burden on for yourself, and while I’m grateful, I want you to know you needn’t have done it. I would’ve chosen you, if I’d gotten the chance.”

---

Thomas waited for Alastair to say something. Anything. He waited for him to acknowledge what Thomas had just said, whether to accept it or scorn it—but Alastair just stood there. It was as if he was waiting for Thomas to take it back.

Then he chuckled, a low, easy sound, and smiled softer than Thomas had ever seen. He spoke, and his voice was rough and thick from emotion. “Careful, Lightwood,” he said, his smirk tinged with sadness. “I just might take that as a love confession.”

Thomas cleared his throat, suddenly far more nervous than he’d been mere seconds ago, and took the slightest step forward. “Perhaps you should.”

Alastair’s eyes were open and dark as he looked up at Thomas through his lashes. Beautiful, as always. “Then I suppose I will,” was Alastair’s answer, and he closed the gap between them.

This, Thomas thought, Alastair’s lips soft on his like a promise, is what I’d choose every time.

---

Alastair woke slowly, his surroundings unfamiliar to his sleep-blurred eyes. He blinked a few times and the light-bathed room came into focus. More importantly, Thomas came into focus. 

They were laying beside each other beneath the covers—fully clothed, Alastair realized with a twinge of relief—and Thomas’ face was turned toward him in sleep. Memories spilled into Alastair’s mind like sweet honey. A whirlwind of emotion had surrounded them both—there had been, to Alastair’s memory, more than a few tears between the two of them. That’s what happened, he supposed, when a dam came toppling down: the flood it held back came rushing out.

The night reminded him vaguely of the Sanctuary—they really had to get away from Institutes, Alastair had thought—in that it was the talking, truly, that meant the most to him. They’d fallen asleep talking, their whispers evening into steady breaths sometime far past midnight. 

Thomas’ face was soft in sleep. It erased the trials of the year etched into the lines of his forehead and eyes. He was beautiful as ever, and Alastair was hit by the preemptive grief that accompanied leaving. For one of them would have to leave, wouldn’t they? Perhaps Thomas would even be upset that Alastair hadn’t yet—but no, Thomas didn’t seem like the type to be upset about this sort of thing. He wasn’t Charles, Alastair reminded himself with a smile. 

Still, they couldn’t risk being found out. Especially by the people Thomas held closest. And that was the catch, wasn’t it? It always would be.

Alastair reached out and cupped Thomas’ face, his pinky slotting behind his ear and his thumb resting at the corner of his eye. He was rewarded by Thomas leaning into the touch, waking slowly. “G’morning,” Thomas yawned. His eyes were still closed.

“Hello, love,” Alastair whispered.

Thomas smiled and opened his eyes a fraction. He let out a sigh. “Esfandiyār.” Something tugged in Alastair’s chest at the name. “A beautiful name for a beautiful man,” Thomas said quietly, closing his eyes again. 

Alastair swallowed heavily. Don’t, he wanted to say. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. He moved his hand to Thomas’ hair, threading the short strands through his fingers. “I’m sorry,” Alastair said, gazing at Thomas’ sleep-soft face.

Thomas opened his eyes. “Why?” he asked, furrowing his brow and stretching adorably.

Alastair gave him a sad smile. “Because this is a dream,” he whispered hoarsely, “and sooner or later we’ll have to wake up.” Thomas stared at him, puzzled, his hand raising to grasp Alastair’s wrist. Alastair’s fingers stilled, his hand resting behind Thomas’ head. “Don’t be sad, joon-am. It has been my favorite dream.”

“It doesn’t have to be over.” Worry coated his words. Before Thomas could tighten his grip, Alastair pulled away, swallowing hard as he rolled over, away from Thomas’ pleading eyes. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone; he buttoned them as quickly as he could, his shaking fingers stumbling from exhaustion or—or something else. Thomas was still talking. “Alastair, I meant what I said last night. All of it.” Alastair sighed through his nose, closing his eyes and touching his chin to his chest. His jacket had been discarded and was now hanging on a chair. Alastair opened his eyes and reached for it, shrugging it on numbly. 

“Alastair.” He felt pressure on his shoulder. Thomas’ grip was firm—he pulled Alastair back toward him, turning him so they were looking directly into each other’s eyes. There were only a few inches of space between their noses. “I’m serious,” Thomas whispered. “I choose you.” He leaned forward, pressing their lips together, and only moved away a fraction of an inch to say, “I love you, Alastair Carstairs, and I won’t let you walk away from me again.”

There was a time when Alastair might’ve brushed it off, sneered at him for being so vulnerable, said something to quash the hope shining in his eyes. 

Now, he found himself speechless. Thomas was looking at him with such intensity and—

And he wanted to believe him. Alastair wanted them to make it work. Because. Well. 

“I love you too, Tom.” There it was. The words came out without thought or resistance. “That’s why… that’s why I’m so scared you’ll regret this.”

“I will never regret us, Alastair.”

“I know you think that, but…” Alastair swallowed and touched his hand to Thomas’ cheek again. “Could you really give up your friends? Your family? You say they would mean nothing to you, but it would leave a hole that I could not fill. I could not bear to see you friendless for my sake.”

“And what makes you think I would be? Alastair—here, just—” Thomas twisted so he was sitting cross-legged atop the blankets. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel, and his hair was mussed from sleep. He took Alastair’s hands in his and rubbed his thumbs along the backs of his hands in broad, soothing motions. 

Alastair closed his eyes, filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Even just being around Thomas had a calming effect on him, and being able to sit here and hold his hand… it was overwhelming in the best way. 

“Look at me.” Alastair looked at him. Thomas told him, “The only way this could ever work is if we both choose to make it work. It won’t just happen on its own—you know that, as do I. But, if you mean it when you say you love me—” his voice caught on the word, snagging on the incomprehensibility of their situation, of the fact that they’d said it aloud to each other “—then I implore you to listen to what I’m saying. We can choose to be together. It may not be easy, but—God, it’ll be worth it. It would be worth losing the world if it meant gaining you.”

Alastair couldn’t help but chuckle, hanging his head as tears finally escaped and race down his cheeks. It was all so much, so different than what he’d grown accustomed to. With Charles, it had been a year before he’d uttered those words—I love you—in some nondescript hotel in this very city, and then it had been slow and relaxed, void of the urgency dripping from Thomas’ words. This was better, though, wasn’t it? This time, he was being asked to let himself be loved instead of begging for the feeling to be reciprocated. It was quite a turnaround. Alastair much preferred being on this side of it, he decided.

But then—there needn’t be sides, after all. They could be in it together. That was all Thomas was asking, wasn’t it? For him to choose to fight—and Alastair was rather good at fighting—even when the odds were stacked against them and it seemed there was no way they could be together?

When he thought of it that way, well. Alastair wanted it to work.

And Thomas did, too.

So, really, the answer was clear. It had been there all along—Alastair had simply been too afraid to see it.

He picked up his head, opened his eyes, and looked at Thomas. Really looked at him. He looked at his freckles and lashes and the veins of brown and gold in his eyes and realized that, if he chose it, he could watch that face grow old. He could learn all its secrets and tells. He could do that, if only he said yes. 

It was obvious, then. 

“All right,” he croaked out. He nodded once, then again, and then he was nodding and laughing and leaning forward to kiss Thomas just because he could. Thomas was laughing too, and then they were kissing and Alastair was thinking, I could do this forever. I could sit here with him forever and I’d never get tired of it.

Perhaps this was all a dream. Perhaps he’d wake up and find none of it had been real. It would be worth it, he thought, just if it meant having these memories of happiness.

Perhaps it was a dream, but it was the loveliest dream of his life.

i hope you all enjoyed <3 this was purely indulgent, ik it would not be as easy but i can dream ok

tag list (lmk if u want to be added/removed): @littlx-songbxrd @thewarthatsavedmylife @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @itsdaughterofthemoon @stxr-thxif @lifewouldbebetteronmars i feel like i’m missing ppl ?? anyway let me know and i’ll make sure to tag you next time <3

[alfredosauce50]

You’re gonna go far, kid [Punk! England x reader]

Synopsis: Ever since coming to England to study, you haven’t had the time to do what made you come in the first place--tourism! The only friend you have is an exchange student from Russia, Ivan, so why not kill two birds with one stone? He schedules a little playdate with Arthur, a local, so he can show you around the hottest spots in London. You two immediately hit it off. Ivan is quick to notice his interest in you, so he starts teasing the poor man and making things hard for him. Camden is the last destination, and there’s no saying when he’ll ever see you again. Will he be able to get over himself and ask you out before the night ends?  Note: Attractions are italicized and have a link to a picture. Wordcount: 4,641 The reader is referred to as she/her.

This was the day you had been dreading, and yet, looking forward to. The first part was easy to explain. Picking up your hot latte, you set it down after a quick sip. You didn’t even have time to enjoy it. Not when you were typing away at your keyboard like a speed demon. You promised your friend you would finish your assignment before today’s meet-up, but your procrastination habits were a bitch. Nevertheless, you were eager to uphold your side of the deal, even if it meant stressing your hair out to get it done. 

So long as he didn’t show up before you were done, right? 

After burning your tongue for the second time that morning, you let out a small groan at the sting you felt but gasped at what you saw outside the window. It was a sound made from genuine terror--rather than the quiet streets of London at seven AM, you spotted a man pressing his face right up to the glass. And he was staring at you, menacingly. 

Anybody would’ve been creeped out by the sight, but you knew the guy. “Aha--Ivan! Hey! Morning?” You began rather awkwardly. 

He waved in response, and his glower melted away in exchange for a childlike smile. “Dobroye utro, (F/N)! I hope that’s not your assignment you’re doing.” He hummed, placing two hands on the glass to peer at your screen from outside. Oh shit. Glancing briefly at said screen, you turned it away before clicking the upload button. 

“Of course not.” You grinned, shutting your laptop immediately after. “I was just... Surfing the net. Checking Instagram. You know?”

“Is that so? I’m gonna check.” He made his way inside. And in no time, he was looming over your shoulder to start browsing through your internet history. You, on the other hand, were sweating balls. 

“You’re so funny, (F/N). Who checks Instagram on their computer?”

It seemed like only yesterday he was the oblivious exchange student from Russia who had no concept of social media. He had been a country bumpkin through and through, but a few semesters after befriending you, your influence rubbed off on him. Even you had no idea what went through your head when decided to talk to him, the intimidating new kid who spoke broken English, but there was no turning back now. He was attached to you by the hip and picked up on your habits faster than you could deal. 

He only became more of a menace when he discovered Twitter.

A displeased expression contorted at his expression when he saw that there was no evidence of you ‘surfing the net’. Google Docs couldn’t possibly count, after all.  “... Hm... Apparently, not you. Why didn’t you finish this yesterday, sunflower? Remember our promise?” 

You sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I passed out last night. But hey, I technically finished it before you came, didn’t I?” 

He craned his head from side to side in thought. “Maybe. But if you hadn’t, you know what that means.” Ivan coiled his arms around your neck and a sickeningly sweet smile curled up at his lips. 

“You will come with me to Moscow for Christmas!” 

A chill ran down your spine at the thought. Going to Russia was bad enough. But during Winter? You were never good with the cold. If you could barely handle London, Moscow was out of the question. “Oh God, please no.” He nodded giddily. “I’m never going to Russia. Maybe I’d consider it during Summer, but--anyway, that’s not the point here! I didn’t break any promises so I won’t be turning into a popsicle this year. Got that?” 

He pouted. “Aw...” 

“You damn sadist.” 

“Hehe.” 

“I wonder how you even became friends with him. Arthur, was it? Poor dude.” You mumbled, but he didn’t look all too offended. 

He tapped his chin and hummed. “Now that you mention it.” Then, he let out a short laugh. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say it was a happy little accident.”

“Unfortunate.” 

“But don’t worry! I don’t plan on bothering you as much as him today.” Ivan clarified, earning a slow nod from you. Phew. The clock was inching closer to eight and you weren’t much of a morning person, so hearing that was like music to your ears. “That’s why I wanted you to finish your work yesterday. I want him to be the only one making mistakes! It’s interesting to see him mess up and get embarrassed.” 

You had to wonder if he was using ‘interesting’ as a synonym for fun because he was clapping. “... Ivan, you really are a sadist.” 

The two of you stayed in that café for another hour or so, ordering some breakfast during your stay. Once the table was cleared and the bill was paid, you and he caught a bus to the London eye. You could marvel at the iconic ferris wheel for a few minutes as you walked up to the London aquarium next to it, your first stop. The building was huge to start with, and it didn’t look like they’d be storing fish in there considering how fancy it was. But wasn’t everything in England fancy? 

“He should be waiting in the front. Look for a short grouchy man with a bad taste in fashion.” You shot him a weird look, beckoning him to elaborate. 

“... And blonde hair.”

“Alright. I guess I’ll try my best.” Glancing around the sea of people filled with tourists, couples, and families, you skimmed the crowd for someone who fitted the description--but to no avail. It was only when they walked up to you both did you find the guy. He had short and choppy blonde hair that framed a heart-shaped face, and under his fringe was a pair of lime green eyes staring on with a neutral expression. And did Ivan say he had bad taste?

You couldn’t agree. Yes, his charcoal pants were ripped and he had a bandana tied around his neck with a Union Jack on it. But he still had a kind of style you liked. Under his black leather jacket was a gray shirt, and combined with the piercings in his right ear, you couldn’t help admiring him for a second. 

“Arthur! I was wondering if you were trampled because we couldn’t find you.” Ivan began, causing the said man to furrow his brows. And boy, were they thick. 

“You just arrived, so don’t start now you twat.” He grumbled. Ivan never teased you for your height, even when you were a little shorter than the Brit. He always found it cute, but you figured it was only because you didn’t care. The Russian always found amusement in poking fun at others, after all. “Anywho, I’m glad I won’t be spending the whole day alone with you.” 

Turning to you with a soft smile this time, he held out a hand for you to shake. “Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland.” 

You shook it, but not without a laugh. It hadn’t even been a minute since meeting him, and his personality seemed to clash violently with his appearance. He sounded so prim and proper, but his outfit screamed punk rock. 

“(L/N). (F/N) (L/N).” 

He released you from his grip. Placing his hands on his hips with an accusing stare, he felt a grin upturn his lips. “Are you copying me, (F/N)?” 

“I don’t know. Do all British people introduce themselves like James Bond?” 

Arthur clicked his tongue. “... Not all of them. Just a force of habit.” 

“Mhm. Right, right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Arthur. I’m a student here too and I could only imagine how busy it gets for you--so thanks for coming out today!” He didn’t respond to those comments and simply nodded. 

Ivan stayed quiet in the back, but he was probably reading the atmosphere like he always did when he didn’t speak. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” The blonde turned on his heel and closed his eyes. “As much as I’d like to stay out here and chat, we can do that in the aquarium. Wouldn’t wanna waste our tickets, do we?” 

While the group of three wandered slowly through the establishment, Ivan lingered in the background while you walked in the front with the Brit. For the first ten minutes, you’d look at him expectantly, gesturing for him to join in the conversation. As the mutual, wasn’t he supposed to be the icebreaker? He’d shake his head every time, offering you a smile as if to say, go and make some friends. But soon, this brief spell of irritation morphed into gratitude.

“I’ve been here probably a hundred times, so don’t take it personally when I don’t seem as excited as you.” Turning to him to watch his face as he spoke--which was filtered through a bluish tinge from the Antarctic setting-- you only caught a brief glimpse of it before he turned away. Huh. Maybe it was just you not paying enough attention. 

Either way, what came out of your mouth next would surely grab his. 

“Don’t worry about it. But hey, this is the first time you’ve been here with me, so look alive, won’t you?” It happened to be a slip of the tongue, something bold and improvised, but luckily, he reacted fairly quickly before the regret set in.

“Oi, you better not be flirting with me already,” Arthur grumbled, feeling another smile come as he heard you chuckle. Since when was he this expressive? He pinned it on the fact that he was starting to have a little fun himself. 

“Couldn’t imagine it.” Before he could add anything else, you hopped in front of the penguins and started waving your friend over with great gusto. “Ivan, c’mere. Arthur, mind taking a photo of us?” Once he joined your side, the two of you held up peace signs for the Brit to snap a photo. 

“Ivan, change your pose. We can’t have both of you doing the same thing.” 

The said man moved his peace sign to the back of your head so he could stick two fingers over it. “Is that better?”

“... Better.” Trailing his emerald eyes to you, he felt his cheeks heat up a touch at the sight of you grinning ear to ear. What the fuck, Arthur. Just take the damn photo. And that was exactly what he did, showing you both right after. Whatever just happened, he boiled it down to him idealizing a stranger. That was right. He had yet to get to know you, so his perception of you couldn’t be any better at this stage. 

But there was one thing he couldn’t deny.

“Damn, I look really ugly in this. You two better not post this anywhere.” You settled a hand over the screen to lower it with a nervous laugh. Then, you looked away, and what was that? You looked a little flustered. 

You were cute.

Hanging his head to look at the photo, he knitted his brows together. You? Ugly? He couldn’t imagine it. 

“... I bet I could take an even uglier one of you.”

Spinning back to him, you folded your arms. “What did you say?” 

“Nothing.” He shook his head slowly, and the amusement in his voice made it blatantly obvious he was lying. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Walking off at that, Ivan followed. Because he was behind him, he could brush his shoulders against his. Arthur looked up at that, but almost wished he didn’t. Ivan was smiling down at him so shrewdly, it was threatening. Then, he raised a hand to his mouth so he could laugh softly. “Huhu. You like (F/N)~” 

His eyes flew open and blood rushed up to his face. “What the hell gave you that impression? I literally just met them!” As adamant as he sounded, he knew deep inside he liked you, but only platonically. Your personality was refreshing, and talking to you was as easy as breathing. Even if it wasn’t platonic attraction, he was endlessly frustrated the other figured it out earlier than he could. 

Whatever it was, he was certainly more sociable than usual, even to the point of being a tease. And not to mention the rosy cheeks. Maybe he should’ve just kept his trap shut--otherwise, his huge outburst let Ivan milk the obvious. Fuck. He even started to giggle like a schoolchild. 

Giving him a rough shove, he muttered a string of curses under his breath.  “I bloody hate your arse, you know that?” He hissed, his face now redder than a tomato. God, why he did have to be born so pale? Every slight change to his complexion was jarring, and it was embarrassing. 

“Don’t hate me because I’m right,” Ivan hummed, joining his side as your back came into view. “Once you realize, it’ll be too late. I’m not letting you have (F/N). I will always be (F/N)’s number one.” Lighting up at that, he skipped off to you in the front. “Wait for me, sunflower! Don’t leave me alone with Arthur!”

Arthur stopped in his tracks and clenched his fists. How annoying. If he was going to continue being a little tyke, then he figured he’d up his game as well. He didn’t know what that exactly entailed yet, but he’d do it. Ivan didn’t even sound like he wanted anything more than friendship, so what was with that? Pointing a finger at him as he walked off with you, his face scrunched up. 

“What did you even call me out for then, you idiot? I’m supposed to be guiding you both!” Picking up his pace at that, he slotted himself between you and him. Flashing you a brief smile, he gave Ivan another push without breaking eye contact. “It’s a tight fit for three, so he’ll stay in the back.” 

“Hey, no fair!” 

By the time the whole aquarium was toured, you and Arthur were laughing to yourselves while leaving through the exit. 

But the joyful atmosphere was short-lived. 

The Ferris wheel just outside was the next stop, and the Brit offered to splurge a little to have a carriage without strangers. That way, you could run around as much as you wanted, even if that meant leaving the two men to sit in their lonesome. While Ivan was sitting on the bench in the centre out of his own volition, the same couldn’t be said for him. 

Sitting back to back to the other, he pressed his legs firmly together and leaned over in a hunch. Then, he dug his hands through his hair, all while keeping his round eyes fixated on the ground. His heart couldn’t stop pounding, and his head was spinning like a carousel. What was he thinking, taking you here? That was right. This was an iconic destination you couldn’t miss, that was why. He was initially planning on staying back there on the ground, but you were so excited, he couldn’t help but hop on with you. 

Fuck. Maybe Ivan was right about him. But he wouldn’t let him know it. Speaking of the guy, he didn’t know if he was sitting there by choice, or just rubbing it in. While he was incapacitated by fear so he couldn’t even stand, he was sitting there because he wanted to. 

“You should’ve stayed on the ground if this was going to happen.” 

Arthur screwed his eyes shut and tightened his arms around his stomach. “... Shut up.” 

“I was just saying.” Ivan murmured, looking at him over his shoulder. Poor guy. He really was down bad, wasn’t he? Down bad for you, that was. Too bad Arthur was hoping he wasn’t convinced--but it was too obvious. So all Ivan wanted was to prove his point, and later on, keep you away from him. But maybe he’d save it until after the ride was over. “... This ride is thirty minutes long. You’ll live.” 

He heard the other groan. “Thirty minutes? How long has it been?” 

“Mm... Ten.” 

“Fuck me.” 

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be long before you would pull away from the railing and return to the company of the two. Arthur had been praying that somehow, you’d leave him alone sitting there, pathetically, but he couldn’t expect something so cold from you. So while he hung his head, he wasn’t surprised to feel your hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, you okay?” He heard you ask, but he never looked up. 

“... Yeah. Just give me a minute.” 

“I have. Ten, actually.” Taking a seat beside him, you leaned down to peer at his face, which was a few shades paler than normal. He didn’t even have the energy to respond, and kept his eyes fixed to the ground. Concern immediately contorted at your features, especially when he looked so shaken. “Arthur, you look a little sick. What’s wrong? Can you talk?” 

He shook his head slowly before managing a weak smile at you. “Sorry, love.” It didn’t even faze him he just called you that. He was far too uncomfortable to feel the embarrassment from a nickname he should’ve saved until a little later. 

“I’m not... Too good with heights. Never have been... I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” His voice was slow and faint, and you were beginning to suspect he was having a panic attack. “... Sorry if I seem a little lame.” 

“No, of course not.” You frowned. “Things like this happen. Just breathe with me, okay? You can do it. Just count to ten.” 

Arthur took a deep inhale. “... Okay.” 

Around ten minutes later of these exchanges, he calmed down some, especially when you kept on reminding him that the carriage was finally descending. Once the ride was over, you had to help him up and walk him out. Now that he had his two feet planted firmly on the ground, it didn’t take long for him to recover. Even then, you remained rather cautious and stuck with him on your journey to Soho. By the time everyone took their seats in Circolo Popolare, a beautiful Italian restaurant Arthur so kindly booked, you were still looking out for him.

Leaning over to rest your head on the table, you glanced up at his face with a soft smile. “... You okay now?” 

A light blush dusted his cheeks and he nodded. You didn’t need to be this observant with him considering he was well now, but he loved your attentiveness. It wasn’t something he was used to. “Yeah, I’m fine now. Thank you. Now quit worrying about me, alright?” Rubbing the nape of his neck at that, you couldn’t help lingering on his body language for a moment.

It didn’t matter what he dressed like, or what his personality was. He could be endearing when it came to it, and a total softie too. And the thought made you smile even wider. If he thought you were cute, then you thought he was adorable. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.” You slowly turned to Ivan, the action making Arthur tense up a little. 

Reaching out to your hand, he took it. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

The feeling of his warm fingers around yours made your heart skip a beat. Did he just? Your thoughts manifested into your look of shock, and you darted your eyes over his neutral expression to try and decipher it. Before you could come up with anything, there was a phone in your face, followed by a flash. 

“Wha--?” 

He turned the screen to you to reveal a photo of you, and in your opinion, it was the least flattering picture anybody had ever taken of you. “I said I’d take an uglier photo of you, didn’t I?” Arthur grinned, the words acting like a cold splash of water to bring you back to reality. 

“... You sneaky little shit.” You growled. “Delete that right now!” 

“How about no?” 

“I’ll never forgive you for this, Arthur.” 

“I think you already have, love. You’re smiling right now.” 

You stared at him wordlessly for a few seconds. Then, out of nowhere, you reached out to snatch his phone right out of his hands. Tapping furiously on the screen to get rid of it, you heard his chair scrape back violently as he tried to retrieve it. “Why, you--” 

But it was too late. Gone forever. Lost in the abyss of cyberspace. And so, he immediately channelled his frustration by jabbing his fingers into your sides. “If I can’t have that photo of you, at least let me do this!” You burst into a fit of laughter so loud, nearby patrons turned their heads. Only then did he pull away, leaving you to recover through breathless wheezing. 

“Fuck you, Arthur.” You whispered, but it was on an affectionate note more than anything. As you glowered at him from your seat, you never noticed Ivan doing the same thing, but he was glaring at the Brit for an entirely different reason. Arthur had to be the most self-aware person out there, and to make a scene in a restaurant like this? He really fell for you, didn’t he? 

When he realized Ivan’s scorching gaze burning into him, he froze. 

Not just out of how intimidated he was, but the epiphany that he was right all along. Why else was he acting so out of character? The only explanation was this--in the short time of being with you, he may or may not have developed a little crush. But that was no problem, right? 

All he needed to do was to ask you out. 

But that would prove a task easier said than done, especially when Ivan decided to attach himself to you by the hip after that stunt. That cunning bastard knew what he was doing. After a little window shopping around Bond street and Mayfair, he stuck to you like a tattoo, and kept it up until night fell. While the group walked around Camden, Ivan kept you by his side with a firm grip on your hand. 

When you asked why he was suddenly so clingy, he simply justified it with, “It’s dangerous for small people like you to wander around at night!” 

But Arthur called bullshit. Especially when the other went ahead and smirked at him right after saying it. Maybe he liked you too, but was refusing to admit it. How hypocritical. If not, then he probably didn’t want you making friends when you were the only friend he had. Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to back down so easily. Camden may be the last destination for the night, and perhaps, the last time he’d see you again for God knows how long, but it was his trump card.

If this didn’t sweep you off your feet enough to get you to pull away from Ivan, nothing would. 

As a town famous for its thriving nightlife and punk culture, it encompassed everything he was passionate about, and he’d give anything to show it to you. So he included a visit to the bar here on the agenda today, one that hosted live music. While you and Ivan got comfortable in your seats, Arthur never made a move to sit down. 

It was already dim inside, so you never noticed him leave. The next time you saw him, it was a few minutes later when he was on stage with a few other musicians. Leaning forward with surprise, you watched him strap on a bright red electric guitar. Walking up to the microphone, he adjusted that. No way. 

You were still trying to process him being a professional performer, but a lead singer as well? 

The second he strummed the strings to start a guitar riff, he opened his mouth to start singing.

Play this while you read

Show me how to lie, you're getting better all the time

And turning all against the one is an art that's hard to teach

His fingers never stopped moving as he belted out note after note. His voice was so different to how he talked, you had to do a double take. He sounded a little more rasp, a little more punk. To say you were impressed was an understatement. 

Now dance, fucker, dance, man, he never had a chance

And no one even knew it was really only you

While he jammed out on stage, he was electric. The energy in the bar exploded, and he had everyone singing along. You could almost see the confidence in him shoot up from the excitable crowd, because he was smirking. 

Nice work, you did. 

You’re gonna go far, kid! 

Turning his head to you as he sung that line, you raised a hand to your mouth. Whether he did that on purpose or not was a mystery. But no words could describe how attractive it was. Hell, it even made you mind blank for a few moments. This was Arthur? He was like an entirely different person! Needless to say, you were completely star struck. 

You couldn’t even make out what Ivan was telling you when the music was blaring in your ears. But you didn’t care. Arthur had you caught in a trance with his voice and guitar all until the end. When the song finally ended, the band bowed graciously and threw up hand signs as the audience erupted in applause and cheers. 

When he stepped off the stage, you didn’t hesitate to run up to him. There, you practically pounced on him for a tight embrace. “Oh my god, you were amazing! I didn’t know you could play so well! And sing, too! Why didn’t you tell me!?” You exasperated, pulling away to be met with his dazzling smile. It was the first time you’ve seen him so energetic, as if performing sparked a fire inside him that burned with youthful intensity. 

“I was dying to show you all day. I wanted it to be a surprise, and I had to save the best til’ last, didn’t I?” He grinned, feeling his heart swell up with warmth as he watched you light up. 

“Well, good on you! I loved it!” Squeezing him again, you felt his chest shake under his laughs. When you pulled away, you reached up to cup his face. But it felt so natural in the spur of the moment, even he didn’t seem to care. 

“Thanks again for today, Arthur. I really appreciate you taking us out today. You completely blew me away.”

The way how you phrased it reminded him of why he was here in the first place. That was right. He still had to ask you out. And with Ivan watching on from afar, this was his chance. The thought reddened his cheeks, but while you had his face in your hands, he couldn’t feel more comfortable. “Is that so? If that’s the case, how about I take you out again?” His expression grew serious. “A proper date, I mean.” 

It was your turn to blush, but you managed a quick answer. 

“No need to look so serious, love. Of course I’ll go on a date with you.” 

He chuckled and leaned in to peck your lips. “Stealing my vocabulary now, are we?” 

“Stealing kisses now, are we?” 

“Touché.” 

Now a third wheel of the group, he breathed out a soft sigh and rested his cheek on his hand. “I guess my job here is done.” It didn’t really look like it, but he had been trying to play the wingman all along. Arthur was always one to go a little crazy when he wanted something, and only more so when he was desperate. So all he gave him was a little push in the right direction. 

Maybe he would thank him later, but for now, he’d leave you two be. 

This is a request. Thank you for requesting.

[chubbyreaderwriter]

Just In Time

Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier x Plus Size/Chubby Reader

Imagine: Certain that Bucky doesn't return your feelings, you’re about to take a one way flight to London when you’re stopped by a familiar face. 

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: none I don’t think 

Masterlist

You bit your lip to suppress your glee as you read over the email for the tenth time that minute. You did it. You had been accepted for your dream job as a head journalist for a very important magazine. The only problem was that there was no vacancies in their New York department so you would have to move to London. While you could pretend that your friends and family would be your reason to stay, you knew that the only reason you hadn’t started to pack your bags was because of Bucky. 

Everyone around you knew about your feelings for him, except him it seems. All the little hints here and there prompted nothing out of him and at times, you had been ready to give up on your seemingly hopeless crush but there was just a small feeling that maybe he felt the same way. Nevertheless, you wanted to finally see once and for all if Bucky felt the same way as you and the only way you were going to get through to him was if you asked him straight out and didn’t beat around the bush. 

With that in mind, you got up and got dressed, putting a little more effort into your appearance today than you normally would, you wanted to try to impress him after all. You were a little nervous but on the plus side, if he rejected you, at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of seeing him again, or seeing him with other women after confessing your love to him. The thought of Bucky drooling over another woman made your heart hurt.You tried not to think about it too much but you knew that you didn’t even think that you would have much of a chance with Bucky. You couldn’t compete with the many model-type women he saw on a daily basis. 

Shaking your head, you focused on getting dressed, you weren’t going to defeat yourself before you had even gotten your answer. You decided to keep your outfit simple with a pair of black leggings and a black bandeau top with a white cropped hoodie. You put your hair how you liked it and decided to put some makeup on, going for a sort of natural look. Happy with how you looked, cause girl, you look fine as hell, you headed out of your apartment and headed over to the Avengers tower where you knew you’d find Bucky. 

You used to be Tony’s secretary but you quit a few months ago to try to pursue your journalism career, which Tony surprisingly supported. Because of this, you still had your ID card which let you into the building so you could see all of the gang that you had gotten close to. You had made friends with the Avengers but you had only really spent a lot of time with Bucky and Steve. 

While you were in the elevator up to the communal floor, which was where JARVIS said they were, you took a deep breath to try and calm your nerves. This was either going to be the best day of your life or leave you heartbroken for a good few months. The elevator stopped and the doors pinged open for you to warily step out. Your legs felt like jelly as you walked closer to the living room where you could hear voices. You stopped right outside the door to try to calm down your nerves before you went inside when you heard Bucky talking, “She’s just so different, I never thought I’d meet someone like her, she really makes me feel like a better man when I’m around her.” You froze and everything felt like it was going in slow motion, Bucky liked someone else. 

As quietly as you could, you turned around and walked out of the building, keeping your head held high as you tried your hardest to keep your tears in, you weren’t going to let all these people see you vulnerable. You managed to keep yourself together on the whole ride home but as soon as you closed your apartment door, you fell to the floor and cried. You weren’t sure why it affected you this much, maybe because you had spent the last three years of your life hanging onto every word he said for nothing. 

You had stayed on the floor for a hour before you realised that you were better than that, you had other things to focus on rather than a guy who you knew was never going to like you back. Sighing, you got up from the ground and walked into your bathroom to wash your face to get rid of your smudged makeup. You looked at yourself in the mirror, “You can do this, just keep yourself together. You’re gonna start a new life and be happy.” You rolled your eyes at yourself, why were you talking to yourself? 

You walked into your bedroom and pulled out your suitcases as you packed most of your stuff. All you really needed was your clothes and some keepsakes that you had collected over the years, everything else you could buy again when you were in London. Your recruiters had paid for your flight for you and you were lucky that it was in the morning, you didn’t want to sleep on a plane, it was always so uncomfortable. 

...

The next morning was a perfectly laid out routine, you woke up, showered, got dressed and put your bags in the taxi that you had booked the night before. Everything was fine and going as planned until you got a notification which was a text from Tony, 

Hey kiddo, where were you yesterday? JARVIS said you were here but you never visited me? I miss my favourite coffee maker. 

You scoffed at his message but it made you smile nonetheless. You paused for a moment, figuring out what you were going to say before you started typing to reply to him. 

Hey Tony, yeah I was going to tell you guys that I’m moving to London but I guess my nerves got the best of me. Oh and tell Bucky I’m happy he finally found a girl ;)

You had debated back and forth on sending that last part but thought, fuck it, so you sent it anyway. It wasn’t long before your phone started to blow up with messages from all of the group but you didn’t want to feel guilty about your decision so you decided to turn off your phone. 

Back at the Avengers tower, Steve rubbed his face with his hand, “I can’t believe she’s leaving, without even saying goodbye.” Natasha nodded slightly, “I can, Bucky over here took too long to man up and now she thinks there’s nothing here for her anymore.” Tony looked between Natasha and Bucky, secretly hoping he would get to see a battle of the assassins. Bucky was too busy pacing back and forth in the room to listen to what the others were saying, he was only thinking about you. 

Why were you leaving everything? Leaving him? Bucky admittedly was not the best person for acting on his feelings but in his mind, you were the perfect woman for him. Right now, he was unsure of what to do, what could he do? Run after you and force you to be with him? Yes! No? Could he? “Just go after her already! You need me to come with you?” Natasha and Tony were a little surprised at Steve’s outburst. Steve rolled his eyes at his oldest friend, “Stop pacing and tell her how you feel, I’m not dealing with a moping mess for months because you had your chance and didn’t take it.” 

Tony snickered behind his coffee mug and cleared his throat when Bucky glared at him, “I agree with Captain Spandex, Happy can take you if you want, less publicity that way.” Before Tony could finish his sentence, Bucky was already running out of the room and sprinting down the stairs, the elevator always took too long. Happy had gotten the call from Tony asking him to take Bucky to the airport and while he was wary of having such a deadly man in the car with him, he compiled with Tony’s orders. 

Bucky’s leg bounced with nerves throughout the whole journey, he was reciting what he wanted to say over and over but as soon as he started to form some kind of speech, he started over again, nothing sounded right. Bucky didn’t even wait for the car to fully stop before he was opening the door and running into the airport. He was not used to being around so many people in such a busy and crowded area but he was too focused on searching for you to let himself worry about any unwanted attention on himself. 

He cursed under his breath as he stood searching for you but was yet to find you until he saw you walking away from the check in desk, ticket in hand. Bucky pushed through a lot of people to hurry towards you, he at least had to be grateful for long lines. “(Y/N)!” You swore you heard your name and when you lifted your head up to look around the noisy area, you saw a very familiar face heading towards you, awkwardly pushing people out of the way. What was he doing here?

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to think of something to say but you were just confused as to why he was even here right now. Bucky cleared his throat as he looked at you and for a moment he was lost in your eyes, his mind going completely blank. You glanced at your watch, “Bucky, I have no idea what you’re doing here, but my flight-” “Don’t leave.” “What?” You froze and watched Bucky as he took your hands into his own. “I said, don’t leave. Please.” You stumbled over your words, “B-But why, you, you said you found someone else, you don’t need me anymore.” Bucky shook his head, “No i didn’t, when did I say that?” 

You swallowed and looked down at your joined hands, “Yesterday, I came to the tower and I wanted to tell you how I felt before I deciding on taking this job and I overheard you talking about her, you said that she makes you feel like a better man.” 

Bucky couldn’t help the little smirk forming on his face as he realised what you were talking about. His silence worried you and you saw him grinning at you, “You think that’s funny? Letting me hear you talk about another woman when you know I have feelings for you.” You pulled on your hands to try and take them away from Bucky so you could storm off but his grip tightened enough to make you stay. He smiled, “Yes, I think it’s funny, because there is no other woman.” You frowned, “What do you mean?” “I mean, I was talking about you, doll.” You blushed and looked down at your feet, “Oh.” Bucky lifted your head and pressed his forehead against yours, “So please don’t leave me, I need you more than you know. I love you.” You let out a shaky sigh, “I love you too.” You were content in just standing there for a moment before you realised that you were in the way of a lot of people and so you grabbed your suitcases and headed out of the airport and into Happy’s car. Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulder on the drive back. He spent the whole time looking at you and wondering what he did to deserve you in his life. 

[angryschnauzer]

Superior Specimen - Chapter 3

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, 

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Drunken Piggy Back Rides, Oral Sex (Female Recieving)

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Superior Specimen – Chapter 3

 True to your word, it had been one drink and one drink only; you knew your limits and no matter how handsome the man buying the drink, you stuck to your own rules. Watching as he paid the bill before he slipped his hand around yours and you walked into the late evening;

“Can I give you a ride home?”

 “Mmm a ride would be nice, Sir...” 

 You smirked but your drunken bravado was ruined as you stumbled on a kerbstone. Scrunching your eyes shut you expected the painful crunch as you hit the ground, only for a pair of strong arms to catch you. Looking up into Henry’s eyes you smiled as he lifted you to your feet with ease;

 “I was going to say if you keep calling me Sir you’ll be in trouble, but you seem to be in enough trouble without my help” 

 “I’m fine! I had four drinks!”

 “All doubles?”

 “Yep!” you hiccupped as you stepped, only for your ankle to wobble, and again you found yourself in Henry’s arms.

 “It’s piggyback time”

 “No!”

 “Either its piggyback or I’ll throw you over my shoulder, your choice”

 “Ok… piggyback ride it is then”

 Soon you were standing on a nearby bench, Henry crouched slightly in front of you;

 “I can’t believe I’m doing this” you muttered as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and hopped on, his large hands gripping onto your thighs.

 “Princess, I have to admit when I’ve thought about you riding me whilst I grip onto your thighs, this isn’t what I had in mind either…” he grinned over his shoulder.

 Sure you got a few stares as he carried you, but the feeling of being bounced up and down as he held you tight was actually very comforting. As you waited at a traffic light for the pedestrian crossing to go green for him to walk across he quietly spoke;

 “Not far now, I’m parked in the multi-storey over there”

 -

 Henry drove a top of the range Audi SUV, and as he made his way slowly through the hot London night his hand strayed to your knee, gently rubbing the skin on your inner thigh as he casually asked your questions about you, answering yours about him, but as the drive went on your concentration waivered, your body thrumming with lust as his hand had crept higher. Just as his little finger had brushed against the soaked cotton of your underwear, he swung the Audi into the numbered space outside your building;

 “Home Princess”

 With a groan you slumped into your seat, before Henry’s hand gently cupped the back of your head and his mouth was on yours, his kiss deep and powerful before pulling away whilst leaving you wanting more;

 “Do you need help getting to your door?”

 “Umm, I’ll be *hic* fine, you don’t want to…?”

 “Oh I do, but you’re drunk… and I haven’t bought you dinner yet”

 “Gotcha” you drunk winked at him which made him laugh, before you grabbed the door handle and went to exit the car… only it wasn’t the handle, and as you shifted in your seat you bonked your head directly into the window; “Ow FUCK!”

 “Aww come here”

 Henry wrapped his arms around your head, pressing kisses to the top of it before letting you go and stepping out of the car, circling around and opening your door for you;

 “You’re a hazard to your own health, so I shall be escorting you all the way to your front door, M’lady” he laughed kindly.

 When you fucked up the code for the door, you curled into Henry’s chest as you told him and his sober fingers punched the number in, the electronic click of the lock releasing registering in your brain, before he swept you into his arms as you told him your Flat number and carried you up four flights of stairs. Setting you on your feet at your door you swayed as you fished your keys from your bag, getting them caught on all manner of things, before you sighed and muttered that there was a spare key under the pot plant that stood next to your front door. Henry stooped down and got it and again Henry’s sober finger skills came into use as he unlocked your door and helped you inside.

 Closing the door, you leant against the wall as he moved around your kitchen, plucking a glass from the counter and filling it with water, before crossing the room and handing it to you;

 “Drink… you need to rehydrate yourself otherwise your hangover will be awful tomorrow”

 “Yes Sir”

 Sipping the water in front of him you slowly drained the glass before he took it from you and refilled it, before setting it on the counter. Taking you into his arms he smiled;

 “Drink that before you go to bed” he lowered his mouth to yours and kissed you, gentler than before, but his tongue was a work of art and it soon had you pressing yourself against him.

 “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

 “Oh Princess, I want to stay, but I won’t. Not with you this drunk” 

 “Ooow…” you moan like a brat; “But I’m horny, even if I unashamedly beg you to fuck me?”

 He chuckled;

 “Nope, I won’t be fucking you tonight Princess, I can sort the horny out though…”

 You watched with your jaw agape as he fluidly got to his knees in front of you, gently grasping your hips as he pushed you back against the wall of your kitchen and started to slowly edge your skirt up your legs until it was bunched around your waist. Carefully he pulled your soaked underwear down your legs and helped you step out of them, before he grasped one knee and lifted it over his shoulder. Your eyes were trained on his the whole time, pale flashes in the summer twilight as he leant forwards and he swiped his tongue through your folds. He shuffled forwards and you struggled to stand on the tips of your toes on your other leg, and you let out a quiet squeak as he easily lifted your leg until it was over his other shoulder, his hands splayed across your ass to support you as he started to lick and suck at you with earnest. 

 Your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling them in the dark chestnut brown strands as he started to fuck you with his tongue, the long muscle massaging your inner walls as his nose rubbed against your clit. The harder you squirmed the tighter he held you, and soon you could feel your legs start to tremble as you clamped them around his head, your whole body shaking with need as you moaned out his name so beautifully. 

 The room was hot, the air heavy with lust and the sounds of his tongue and mouth working so hard towards orgasm, and when the levy finally broke you cried out his name surrounded by curses, your body shaking so hard you were thankful he could hold you up as otherwise you surely would have tumbled to the floor. When the stimulation was all too much you tugged on his hair and called out his name, your voice hoarse and your throat dry;

 “Henry… please, stop…”

 He let out a chuckle as he gently set your feet on the floor before standing, steadying you as you swayed a little;

 “Do you feel better now?”

 “Yes Sir” you drunkenly muttered, your eyelids heavy and a smile plastered across your face.

 Holding your face gently in his palms he pressed a light kiss to your lips;

 “Have your water then get to bed Princess”

 “Yes Henry”

 You watched as he left, winking as he shut the door behind him, and you did as he told you, minutes later falling face first into bed, still fully clothed apart from your panties that were decorating your kitchen floor.

Chapter 4 >>>

[artieistired]

liebestraum

thomastair fic

inspired by this song || read on ao3

Alastair didn’t know how Thomas talked him into dinner. Everything had happened rather quickly.

They’d just arrived at the Paris Institute when there was a knock on Alastair’s door. He’d expected one of the hovering heads of the place—he was so grateful Charles was still recovering in London—but instead, it opened to familiar hazel eyes.

“Mr. Lightwood.” Alastair tried to scowl, but his heart simply wasn’t in it.

The two had been traveling together for several days, and faking indifference was growing more and more difficult, especially as they both knew it was a lie. For his part, Thomas—kind, respectful Thomas—hadn’t pushed matters. He was keeping his distance, and Alastair, though he’d never say so, was eternally grateful. He didn’t think he possessed the willpower to hold Thomas at arm’s length much longer, no matter how often he told himself it was a horrible idea to engage himself in any sort of relationship with the man.

But this trip was necessary. Matthew and Cordelia were still gallivanting about Paris and it seemed everyone else was too wrapped up in the disappearance of Lucie Herondale to do anything about it.

Alastair knew that wasn’t true, of course—James had been sincerely disappointed that he could not accompany them, but he needed to stay behind and aid in the business with his sister. Still, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was the slightest bit resentful at the fact that this left him alone with Thomas Lightwood.

Not that there was anything wrong with Thomas. In fact, that was the worst thing about him, the whole reason Alastair resented their situation so much. He couldn’t find a single flaw besides the man’s refusal to wear a hat. If there had been anything else, a glaring warning sign or two like there had been with Charles, then Alastair could better reason with himself to stay away. Instead, he was resigned to reminding himself of Matthew’s words, something he never thought he’d find himself doing, but something necessary all the same. Cordelia assures me that you have a heart. Alastair could have scoffed at the words. It was obvious Matthew himself still did not believe this. Alastair was certain this feeling was not his alone and likely extended to the rest of Thomas’ friends.

So, as Alastair stood there, staring down the man who had somehow managed to steal away into his affections without Alastair’s knowing, he reminded himself once again. This—him and Thomas—wasn’t possible, and it never would be.

“Well,” Alastair said, aware of how tired he sounded, “what is it then?”

Thomas blushed and stammered for a moment—the act had no business being attractive, and yet somehow it was—before he managed, “We arrived too late for dinner, it seems, so I was wondering if you might care to get something. From—a restaurant, or, er… something like that.” Thomas rubbed at his neck.

Alastair bit back a smile. He really was hopelessly endearing, wasn’t he?

It isn’t possible. It won’t ever be. Alastair knew that.

One night out couldn’t hurt.

---

He was completely and horribly wrong.

The night started with an impromptu walk along the Seine. Thomas did his best to engage Alastair in small talk as they walked, commenting on the chill weather and the dazzling lights, but Alastair could already feel himself falling.

They found themselves at a small bistro not unlike the one they’d been to the previous year. There was a small corner table available, which they fit themselves into carefully. Alastair ordered for them both after Thomas sheepishly admitted his French hadn’t improved since their last adventure in the city.

“English, Spanish, and Persian,” Alastair couldn’t help but laugh, “and yet you can’t seem to get a hold of French.”

Thomas laughed with him. Alastair’s heart clenched. He’d gotten used to the feeling by now.

They chatted idly as they waited for their food, Alastair feeling more and more like he was simply an observer, an outsider in his own body. He didn’t dare let himself give in too much to the conversation. He answered Thomas’ questions with cold politeness, aware that as he did so he reverted further and further into his old harshness. Thomas didn’t push, didn’t say anything he would not say to a stranger at a dinner party. It felt so odd. Alastair knew Thomas’ dips and curves, the freckles dusting his cheeks and the callouses on his hands and the way his eyelashes were light enough that they didn’t get credit for their length. Yet here he sat, deflecting questions as soon as they cut too deep, questions about his mother and Cordelia and if there was anything he could do to help. No, Alastair told him, his eyes drifting to a spot over Thomas’ shoulder, there’s nothing.

Their food came, and they ate in silence. It wasn’t awful, the silence, it was just… unusual. In all the time they’d known each other, they had rarely had nothing to say to each other.

At the end of their meal, Alastair was struck with the sudden memory of Thomas’ tattoo. When they’d last been in Paris, Thomas had spoken of getting a tattoo, and Alastair, like the idiot he was, had allowed himself to trace the spot on his arm, to revel in the feel of his skin under his fingers even if only for a moment. In the Sanctuary, Alastair had traced it again, had grinned into Thomas’ mouth as he’d done so. Though only a handful of days earlier, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Alastair pushed the thought from his mind and raised a hand for the check. He paid quickly, thanking the waiter and avoiding Thomas’ gaze as they left.

They walked down the street side by side, and with the wind roaring in his ears, Alastair could almost let himself think things were different. He could almost pretend he and Thomas were something more than… whatever this was. Just because it could never be real didn’t mean Alastair couldn’t indulge himself every once in a while. Once they arrived back at the Institute, Alastair would slip away to his room and remain firmly detached from his feelings for the man.

Thomas, it seemed, had other plans. About a block away from the Institute, he put a hand on Alastair’s arm to stop him and said, “When we get back, there’s something I wish to speak to you about.” He paused heavily. “Privately.”

Alastair stared up at him, keeping his face as impassive as possible. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Lightwood.”

Something flickered in Thomas’ eyes, and he snapped, “To hell with good ideas. I need to speak with you, Alastair, and you haven’t exactly given me the chance.”

“Yes, and there’s good reason for that, isn’t there?” Alastair retorted, tearing his arm from Thomas’ grip.

“Please, Alastair,” Thomas whispered. His voice was so soft, so gentle, it nearly broke Alastair’s heart. “Just give me five minutes. Five minutes to talk to you and split my heart open for you and then you can do whatever you wish. You can ignore me for the rest of our lives if it pleases you. Just give me this.”

He sounded desperate enough that Alastair could only swallow and nod once, not trusting himself to speak. Thomas let out a breath and nodded once, twice, then started down the street again as though nothing had happened.

They arrived at the Institute to find the halls empty, everyone else already having gone to bed. Thomas led the way to his room, even going as far as politely holding the door open for Alastair.

Thomas cleared his throat as soon as the door was shut and locked behind him. Alastair turned to look at him, crossing his arms as he did so, and raised his eyebrows.

Thomas let out a breath and began, looking vaguely sick as he spoke. “You told me that you didn’t want to make me choose between you and my friends, so you chose for me.”

Alastair rolled his eyes. “Yes, Lightwood, I was there. What is your point in all this?”

Undeterred, Thomas pushed forward as though Alastair hadn’t spoken. “You were wrong to choose for me. And you were more wrong to think it isn’t you I’d choose.” Alastair blinked, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second. “If my friends , as you said, aren’t willing to accept me—aren’t willing to accept you —then they are not and never have been a true friend, and therefore their opinion is of as little import to me as that of a passing stranger on the street.” He paused, his hazel eyes wide and vulnerable. “You chose for me because you did not wish to cause me any pain. You took the burden on for yourself, and while I’m grateful, I want you to know you needn’t have done it. I would’ve chosen you, if I’d gotten the chance.”

---

Thomas waited for Alastair to say something. Anything. He waited for him to acknowledge what Thomas had just said, whether to accept it or scorn it—but Alastair just stood there. It was as if he was waiting for Thomas to take it back.

Then he chuckled, a low, easy sound, and smiled softer than Thomas had ever seen. He spoke, and his voice was rough and thick from emotion. “Careful, Lightwood,” he said, his smirk tinged with sadness. “I just might take that as a love confession.”

Thomas cleared his throat, suddenly far more nervous than he’d been mere seconds ago, and took the slightest step forward. “Perhaps you should.”

Alastair’s eyes were open and dark as he looked up at Thomas through his lashes. Beautiful, as always . “Then I suppose I will,” was Alastair’s answer, and he closed the gap between them.

This, Thomas thought, Alastair’s lips soft on his like a promise, is what I’d choose every time.

---

Alastair woke slowly, his surroundings unfamiliar to his sleep-blurred eyes. He blinked a few times and the light-bathed room came into focus. More importantly, Thomas came into focus.

They were laying beside each other beneath the covers—fully clothed, Alastair realized with a twinge of relief—and Thomas’ face was turned toward him in sleep. Memories spilled into Alastair’s mind like sweet honey. A whirlwind of emotion had surrounded them both—there had been, to Alastair’s memory, more than a few tears between the two of them. That’s what happened, he supposed, when a dam came toppling down: the flood it held back came rushing out.

The night reminded him vaguely of the Sanctuary—they really had to get away from Institutes, Alastair had thought—in that it was the talking, truly, that meant the most to him. They’d fallen asleep talking, their whispers evening into steady breaths sometime far past midnight.

Thomas’ face was soft in sleep. It erased the trials of the year etched into the lines of his forehead and eyes. He was beautiful as ever, and Alastair was hit by the preemptive grief that accompanied leaving. For one of them would have to leave, wouldn’t they? Perhaps Thomas would even be upset that Alastair hadn’t yet—but no, Thomas didn’t seem like the type to be upset about this sort of thing. He wasn’t Charles, Alastair reminded himself with a smile.

Still, they couldn’t risk being found out. Especially by the people Thomas held closest. And that was the catch, wasn’t it? It always would be.

Alastair reached out and cupped Thomas’ face, his pinky slotting behind his ear and his thumb resting at the corner of his eye. He was rewarded by Thomas leaning into the touch, waking slowly. “G’morning,” Thomas yawned. His eyes were still closed.

“Hello, love,” Alastair whispered.

Thomas smiled and opened his eyes a fraction. He let out a sigh. “Esfandiyār.” Something tugged in Alastair’s chest at the name. “A beautiful name for a beautiful man,” Thomas said quietly, closing his eyes again.

Alastair swallowed heavily. Don’t, he wanted to say. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. He moved his hand to Thomas’ hair, threading the short strands through his fingers. “I’m sorry,” Alastair said, gazing at Thomas’ sleep-soft face.

Thomas opened his eyes. “Why?” he asked, furrowing his brow and stretching adorably.

Alastair gave him a sad smile. “Because this is a dream,” he whispered hoarsely, “and sooner or later we’ll have to wake up.” Thomas stared at him, puzzled, his hand raising to grasp Alastair’s wrist. Alastair’s fingers stilled, his hand resting behind Thomas’ head. “Don’t be sad, joon-am. It has been my favorite dream.”

“It doesn’t have to be over.” Worry coated his words. Before Thomas could tighten his grip, Alastair pulled away, swallowing hard as he rolled over, away from Thomas’ pleading eyes. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone; he buttoned them as quickly as he could, his shaking fingers stumbling from exhaustion or—or something else. Thomas was still talking. “Alastair, I meant what I said last night. All of it.” Alastair sighed through his nose, closing his eyes and touching his chin to his chest. His jacket had been discarded and was now hanging on a chair. Alastair opened his eyes and reached for it, shrugging it on numbly.

“ Alastair .” He felt pressure on his shoulder. Thomas’ grip was firm—he pulled Alastair back toward him, turning him so they were looking directly into each other’s eyes. There were only a few inches of space between their noses. “I’m serious,” Thomas whispered. “I choose you .” He leaned forward, pressing their lips together, and only moved away a fraction of an inch to say, “I love you, Alastair Carstairs, and I won’t let you walk away from me again.”

There was a time when Alastair might’ve brushed it off, sneered at him for being so vulnerable, said something to quash the hope shining in his eyes.

Now, he found himself speechless. Thomas was looking at him with such intensity and—

And he wanted to believe him. Alastair wanted them to make it work. Because. Well.

“I love you too, Tom.” There it was. The words came out without thought or resistance. “That’s why… that’s why I’m so scared you’ll regret this.”

“I will never regret us, Alastair.”

“I know you think that, but…” Alastair swallowed and touched his hand to Thomas’ cheek again. “Could you really give up your friends? Your family? You say they would mean nothing to you, but it would leave a hole that I could not fill. I could not bear to see you friendless for my sake.”

“And what makes you think I would be? Alastair—here, just—” Thomas twisted so he was sitting cross-legged atop the blankets. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel, and his hair was mussed from sleep. He took Alastair’s hands in his and rubbed his thumbs along the backs of his hands in broad, soothing motions.

Alastair closed his eyes, filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Even just being around Thomas had a calming effect on him, and being able to sit here and hold his hand… it was overwhelming in the best way.

“Look at me.” Alastair looked at him. Thomas told him, “The only way this could ever work is if we both choose to make it work. It won’t just happen on its own—you know that, as do I. But, if you mean it when you say you love me—” his voice caught on the word, snagging on the incomprehensibility of their situation, of the fact that they’d said it aloud to each other “—then I implore you to listen to what I’m saying. We can choose to be together. It may not be easy, but—God, it’ll be worth it. It would be worth losing the world if it meant gaining you.”

Alastair couldn’t help but chuckle, hanging his head as tears finally escaped and race down his cheeks. It was all so much, so different than what he’d grown accustomed to. With Charles, it had been a year before he’d uttered those words— I love you —in some nondescript hotel in this very city, and then it had been slow and relaxed, void of the urgency dripping from Thomas’ words. This was better, though, wasn’t it? This time, he was being asked to let himself be loved instead of begging for the feeling to be reciprocated. It was quite a turnaround. Alastair much preferred being on this side of it, he decided.

But then—there needn’t be sides, after all. They could be in it together. That was all Thomas was asking, wasn’t it? For him to choose to fight—and Alastair was rather good at fighting—even when the odds were stacked against them and it seemed there was no way they could be together?

When he thought of it that way, well. Alastair wanted it to work.

And Thomas did, too.

So, really, the answer was clear. It had been there all along—Alastair had simply been too afraid to see it.

He picked up his head, opened his eyes, and looked at Thomas. Really looked at him. He looked at his freckles and lashes and the veins of brown and gold in his eyes and realized that, if he chose it, he could watch that face grow old. He could learn all its secrets and tells. He could do that , if only he said yes.

It was obvious, then.

“All right,” he croaked out. He nodded once, then again, and then he was nodding and laughing and leaning forward to kiss Thomas just because he could. Thomas was laughing too, and then they were kissing and Alastair was thinking, I could do this forever. I could sit here with him forever and I’d never get tired of it.

Perhaps this was all a dream. Perhaps he’d wake up and find none of it had been real. It would be worth it, he thought, just if it meant having these memories of happiness.

Perhaps it was a dream, but it was the loveliest dream of his life.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Night Out

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family Characters: Gordon, Scott

#fluffember day 18 - ‘touch’ - and something a little different, mostly because @janetm74 decided to call me out about whacking ‘unsuspecting characters’ with a chair of ‘pain and suffering’ and @gumnut-logic mentioned literally hitting them with a chair...  I promise this is mostly fluff still!  That Teen rating (Teen for a fluff fic?  Tsari what are you doing?) is for language and alcohol, because we have two former military boys in a London pub.

Gordon learnt two things that night: Scott was an affectionate drunk, and sometimes people throw bar stools for no good reason.

Gordon couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone out with Scott – just Scott – for a reason that wasn’t mission related.  He’d hit the town with Alan (not that alcohol was allowed on those occasions, what with the kid being underage and all that) a few times, and Virgil on more than a few post-mission de-stressors, but Scott was always too busy for frivolous things like having fun.

No more.  It had taken some convincing, a lot of wheedling, and the strong-arm combination of Grandma and Virgil, but a blissful forty-eight hours’ downtime was being spent in England, just because they could.  The gracious offer of being chauffeured around by Parker – made by her Ladyship, to the man’s apparent disgruntlement – just made the choice all the easier.  And what better way to unwind than a nice, rowdy night in the pub?

Karaoke, free-flowing alcohol, and Scott’s communicator firmly confiscated in the Creighton-Ward manor to ensure he didn’t slip back into work habits meant that he was having the time of his life, and Scott seemed to be enjoying himself, too. At least, if the gaggle of girls he’d acquired, flirting with him and being flirted with in kind, was anything to go by, his big brother was definitely enjoying himself for once.

Unwilling to spend the entire night as the wingman, and definitely not interested in finding out if Scott managed to go further than just exchanging some smooth words, Gordon had found himself over by the pool table.  He’d spent enough time in pubs – even if he’d been underage for most of it and Scott (probably) didn’t know that – to be able to find entertainment with a group of strangers, so separating from his brother wasn’t much of an issue.

He was good at pool, too.  Good enough to quickly work his way through the ranks until he was the champion everyone else paid to play, and all in all he was having a really good time of it. The drinks were good, the company was fantastic, and best of all, he was having a blast.  Maybe later he’d drag Scott away from the girls for a game – show the Londoners exactly how good the Tracys were (and hope Scott was inebriated enough not to beat him, because Scott played a mean game sober).

At least, that was the plan.  The world liked to mess with plans.

It started with raised voices.  Nothing unusual in a pub, especially now it was entering late evening and the alcohol had been flowing for a while.  Gordon thought nothing of it, and continued to roast his latest challenger at pool, beaming when the black ball found the pocket.  Well-meant congratulations passed between the two of them – they had manners, after all – and Gordon cast around for his next opponent.

Then the tingle ran up his spine, and immediately on its heels came a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey, bro,” the guy – Dennis, Gordon had trounced him two games earlier to much laughter and another pint – started.  “Didn’t you come in with that guy?”

There was only one that guy he’d come in with, and combined with his squid sense kicking in, Gordon had a sinking feeling as he turned to look at where he’d left Scott.

Just in time to see a bar stool smash into his head.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just Gordon’s default reaction to seeing someone smash a bar stool over his brother’s head, but his vision went red.  The pool cue dropped, but he paid no attention to where it landed, already surging forwards towards where his brother had crumpled to the floor.

Someone was laughing, someone else was screaming, but Gordon had eyes for only two things: his unmoving brother, and the guy still holding the bar stool aloft.

“Hey!” he roared, elbowing gawkers out of the way and slamming into the guy hard enough to make him loose his grip on the stool.  It fell to the floor with a crash, thankfully missing Scott, followed by the man himself. Gordon kept his feet, feeling the buzz of alcohol mixing with adrenaline, and placed himself firmly between the aggressor and his brother.

Everyone else backed off; in his periphery Gordon could tell that the three of them – him, Scott and the stool-wielding asshole – were loosely ringed in by the other patrons of the pub, all looking on with varying emotions ranging from astonishment, fear, and bloodlust.

“You with ‘im?” Stool-Bastard spat, pulling himself to his feet with a glower that was supposed to be intimidating.  Gordon hadn’t served in WASP to be cowed by a drunkard in a London pub.

“You attack him for a reason?” he shot back, hearing shuffling noises from directly behind him. Good, that sounded like Scott was conscious.  The pleasant fuzz of alcohol was gone, leaving him as sharply aware as it was possible to be after however many drinks he’d had, and he tallied everything up as the guy snarled, swaying on the spot but not attacking.  Not yet.

Tabs were all paid up; no need to worry about any unpaid drinks.  No sign of the bouncers, but that could change any moment and a barfight was not high on Gordon’s list of reasons to get arrested (yes, he had one. No, his brothers didn’t know about it). The nearest exit was… there, by the group of girls Scott had been with.

If Scott was conscious, as he suspected, it wouldn’t take much to get out of there.  He just needed to not be attacked the moment he turned his back.

“’E was ‘itting on my girl,” the man snarled.  Gordon had many things to say to that, including the fact that Scott – even drunk – had morals and that if the guy didn’t trust his girlfriend around other guys then maybe he should be looking for problems a little closer to home.  He said none of them.

He didn’t have to. The girls surged forward, arguing the point for him – good for them, and did he need to take note of their names to hand over to Lady P? – and he took the chance to crouch down and assess Scott’s condition.

His brother had managed to drag himself up onto his elbows, one hand holding his head, and there was a scowl on his face.  Blue eyes were dilated and a little unfocused, although how much of that was the alcohol as opposed to the knock, Gordon wasn’t entirely certain.

“You good to stand up?” he asked, gently touching where Scott was holding his head.  The dazed blue eyes blinked at him for a second, and his brother grimaced but tried to move.  Gordon caught him when he swayed, wedging himself under one arm and dragging Scott’s arm around his neck for support, wrapping a firm arm of his own around his brother’s waist.

Dennis from pool came over, clearly offering help, but Gordon waved him off with a smile that was probably more strained than he’d planned.

“I got him,” he said. “If you want to help, make sure that bastard doesn’t get another hit in.”  He didn’t want trouble – this was supposed to be a relaxing downtime, dammit all – he just wanted to get Scott somewhere safe so he could check him over properly.  Luckily, the man got the message and moved to stand so that he was blocking Stool-Bastard’s view of them, leaving Gordon to haul his brother out the door.

No-one else stopped him, and with a few stumbles – Scott was heavy, okay? – he got them over to a nearby bench, which Scott sank onto bonelessly.  Gordon shot a quick message to Parker to come get them – fun night out was over – before turning his attention to Scott.

“You with me?” he asked, keeping an arm around his shoulders and peering at the shock of brown hair resting on his shoulder.  “Scott?”

“M’fcker,” his brother slurred, sounding vaguely annoyed.  He didn’t move, though, seemingly content to remain slumped against Gordon’s side and trust him to hold him up.  It was just un-Scott-like enough for him to be a little worried, but he had also been drinking and he wasn’t entirely sure how much Scott had had. Nor had he actually ever seen Scott drunk before – at least, not without the buffer of Virgil and/or John to handle him. He vaguely recalled something about him being an affectionate drunk, though, so with any luck that was all that was.

Still, he ran his free hand through gelled hair, gently probing for signs of injury.  Scott hissed when he reached the back of his head, where he’d seen the blow land, and Gordon explored the area lightly with his fingers.  It didn’t seem like it was a bad knock – certainly not as bad as it could have been, and he was starting to realise it had actually only been a glancing blow rather than the square hit he’d initially thought – but it could definitely do with some ice and painkillers, and he was pretty certain there was a minor concussion in there, too.

No amount of alcohol explained Scott’s suddenly quiet and slightly lethargic attitude, when Gordon knew he’d been laughing and flirting right before the attack.  Virgil was going to be so pleased.

“Hey,” he tried again, poking his cheek when he didn’t get an instant response.  “Talk to me, Scott.  What happened back there?”

Scott groaned at him and buried his face further into his neck in an additional show of drunk and concussed.  “D’nno,” he muttered.  Gordon felt more than heard the words.  “M’fcker came’p ‘hind me ‘nd yelled sommat ‘bouta girl.  D’nno what.  Then th’bast’d hit me.”

A very small part of Gordon was amused at the filterless language.  He knew Scott knew how to cuss – he’d Served, the same as he had – but Big Brother also had a very strong grip on his language around family. To hear what was no doubt a throwback to the Air Force days was quietly satisfying.  However, most of Gordon was a combination of furious and worried, in approximately equal measures.  Maybe a little more worried than furious, but there was a large part of him that really wanted to show the guy why you never messed with a Tracy.

Fortunately for his PR, Scott needed him here, not embroiled in a fight or spending the night in a lockup, so he swallowed down the rage and pulled his brother a little bit closer.

“Anything hurt except your head?” he asked, brushing his fingers through his hair again.  Scott shook his head then groaned.

“’m fine,” he claimed, still not lifting his head from where it was buried in Gordon’s neck.  “St’p fussin’.”

“I’ll stop fussing once we’re back at the manor and your head’s been looked at properly,” Gordon countered, to another groan.  “How much did you drink?”

“Was’nly weak sh’t,” Scott told him.  “Few p’ntsa cid’r.”  Enough to get buzzed but not enough to get blindly drunk, then.

A breeze blew past them, reminding Gordon that London was in England and therefore cold.  Scott shivered just a bit – not enough to be noticed if he wasn’t plastered against Gordon’s side – and he tightened his grip again.  Neither of them were dressed for the night air, not with the original plan being for them to remain inside the pub until Parker arrived, and the thin jacket Gordon did have on wouldn’t fit his brother, even if he could peel him off long enough to shuck it.

“Not the best end to an evening,” he mused instead, rubbing at the denim jacket Scott had on in a vain attempt to give him a little more warmth.

“C’n say thattag’n,” Scott agreed, burrowing into his side even more.  Gordon assumed he was trying to leech body heat.  “S’posed t’be fun.”

“Well we’ve got all of tomorrow to lounge around the manor,” Gordon reminded him, spying a flash of pink approaching at speed.  “You know that’ll be fun.”

“W’th this h’ngov’r?” Scott complained.  Gordon winced – he had a point.

“It’ll be fine,” he promised, letting go of his brother with one hand to flag Parker down. “Water and painkillers and you’ll be good as new.”  Depending on the severity of the concussion, that might be stretching it a bit. Scott was definitely going to be off duty for more than another day, though.

FAB1 pulled to a stop next to them and Parker jumped out, eyes sharp and alert as he took in their condition.

“Trouble, sirs?”

“Someone took a swing at Scott with a bar stool,” Gordon admitted, prodding his brother.  Parker’s eyes narrowed and he suspected Stool-Bastard might find his own brand of trouble later, once Parker was convinced they were safe.  The man seemed to have a soft spot for Scott – hell knew he didn’t have one for Gordon, despite his best efforts to the contrary.  “C’mon, Scott.  Let’s get you in the car.”  His brother groaned but at least made a token effort to stand up, freeing Gordon long enough for him to get to his own feet and haul Scott up.  Parker slid around to Scott’s other side without waiting to be asked, and between them they helped him stagger into the back seat, where he promptly slumped again.  Gordon slid in beside him and was immediately reclaimed as a pillow, which he resisted long enough to make sure they were both strapped in before allowing Scott to bury his head in his neck again.

“’Ow ‘is ‘e?” Parker asked as he slipped back into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb. Gordon caught sight of him looking at them in the rear view mirror and offered a tight grin.

“Minor concussion,” he answered, running his hand through Scott’s hair again, to a quiet noise that could have been either complaint or contentment.  “He also drunk enough to get buzzed, so I’m not entirely sure how much of this-” he shrugged at the big brother draped against him “-is that.”

“Hmm.”  Parker sounded unconvinced, but did at least return his attention to the road.

Gordon glanced down at his brother and poked him lightly.

“You’d better not be falling asleep on me, Scott,” he warned.

“’M n’t,” came the muffled response.  “W’k m’up wh’n we g’t therr.”

“Scott, no,” Gordon scolded, shrugging his shoulder and forcibly peeling his brother off of him. “You’re concussed.  Don’t sleep.”

The baleful glare he got was pretty pathetic, on the Scott scale, but his brother huffed in defeat.

“F’n,” he grumbled. Gordon caught his head when he attempted to bury it in his neck – again – and guided it to rest normally on his shoulder.

“We’ll have a proper look at the manor,” he promised.  “Then you can rest.”

Scott huffed, but didn’t close his eyes again.  He did, however, wrap an arm around Gordon in a tight grip, which he returned in kind.

“Are you always this cuddly when you’re drunk?” he asked.  The grumble he got wasn’t a coherent answer, but the way Scott purposefully looked away was.  Gordon laughed.  “That explains why you don’t go out drinking with us much.  Do any of the others know this?”

“Shuddup,” Scott grumped. It was a shame he was also concussed, otherwise the blackmail would have been glorious.

Aw, who was he kidding. As soon as Scott came out the other side clear, it was totally acceptable blackmail.  For now, though, he was content to hold onto his brother while Parker drove them back to the manor, more than a little relieved it hadn’t been worse.

So much for a relaxing night out with his brother.

[revengeoftheantichrist]

Anti-Christ Superstar

Warnings: Drug use

AO3

Chapter 1: She’s with the band

Friday night in Camden was bad. Friday night in Camden behind the bar was worse. Tonight, was hell, you were sure the devil invented this job to torment people. Your bar was a club and music venue for all things alternative. And tonight, you were graced with the presence of the new-ish kids on the scene. Satanic Panic had taken the alternative world by storm. They were on their second world tour, for their album ‘Fire and Reign’. They were playing your venue tonight and the place was jam packed. You didn’t even know you had the capacity for all these people, but here you were, taking order after order. You weren’t surprised at the turnout. The atmosphere of the room truly was electric, and you had felt it once before. You remembered seeing them for their Hawthorne tour at Leeds festival a few years ago, when they were fresh faced and very new to the scene. The way they managed to control the crowd of the smaller stage was quite magical, better than some of the bands that played the main stage. You weren’t surprised at their success; the music was good and the whole band was eye candy for people of all ages. However, you wished they would go be successful somewhere else, not in the place you worked, a venue what you thought was far too small for them now. You were just about to take a new order, before the manager pulled you back. “Y/N come with me,” he said, pulling you to the backstage area, you could barely hear him over the loud music and people. “Everything okay?”, you asked. “well…” he hesitated, “How goods your bass skills?” he finished. You gave him a confused look, “what the fuck are you on about?” He let out a sight. “Look, the bassist for the band just dropped out last minute, they clocked your bass in the locker room and asked if you could play decent… I said yes and they need you ready for stage in like… 15 minutes,” he said, looking at his watch. “Josh! My bass is pink and sparkly it’s not gonna fit the aesthetic and were flooded with thirsty people out there,” you whisper-shouted. “Okay great! You’ll play then,” he said, looking more giddy than necessary. Before you could shout at him, a velvety voice interrupted you. “So, is this our replacement for tonight?” You turned to look at the source, Michael Langdon, lead guitar and vocals. The face of the band. His perfect eyebrow was raised as his baby blues looked you up and down, sizing you up to see if you were fit for the task. Your manager spoke, “Yeah, this is Y/N just give her the instructions and she’ll do fine, I’m off to cover her shift now, have fun,” he waved at you before almost skipping to take over your post. You were left alone with Michael, at a loss for words. “C’mon, lets go, we have a concert to play,” he grabbed your wrist and dragged you along with him. You couldn’t believe this, you though you might be hallucinating, the heat of the venue getting to you. You pulled your phone out of your pocket to snap a picture, to prove to yourself and your friends that this night really did happen. Michael was too busy barking orders to the side to notice the picture had been taken. You finally got to where the other two bandmembers were standing. They looked up from their conversation and smiled at you. “The pink bass yours?” asked the blonde on, this was Xavier, the drummer of the band, his little cross earring glimmered at every concert. Upon a closer look you realised the cross was inverted. How very on brand. You nodded in reply, still trying to come to terms with the situation. “Oh cool, we’ve never played with a girl before, you better be good,” the brunet laughed. This was Duncan, the other guitarist. He had the good boy gone bad vibe to him, a rebel from a prim and proper family. You looked and him and pointed to your nose, “nose is a bit crusty there,” you said. Duncan laughed and wiped the white powder, sniffling a little, “thanks”. “Are you all quite finished?” interrupted Michael, looking annoyed at the interactions. The rest of the band just rolled their eyes. “10 MINUTES!” someone shouted. “Am I getting paid for this by the way?” you asked, not wanting your talents and time to go unrewarded, you were here to work after all. “Of course,” Michael snapped, “We have 10 Minutes before we get on there and we’ve never been late, here’s the set list, I’m sure you’ve heard our shit before if your working in a place like this,” Michael shoved a piece of paper in your hands. “shouldn’t be too hard to keep up, now, this is Rin,” he pointed to a blonde woman, “She’s the techie that’s gonna get you set up. Other than that, just follow my lead and stand on the right side of the stage,” he finished. That was a lot of information to process at once. “I’m Y/N by the way,” you finally introduced yourself to everyone, while holding your hand out to Rin. The support act was coming off stage as Rin gave you a quick rundown and set you up. You had worked here for months and yet there was still so little you knew about the stage. She told you exactly where to stand and where not to stand due to pyrotechnics. All you could do was nod, the reality of what you had been roped into hadn’t hit you yet. You were pulled away by Michaels death grip, it was time to go on. You took a deep breath, the nerves beginning to hit you. Michael was adjusting his leather trousers. Duncan was making sure his docs were tied tightly, not having a repeat of the last tour where he tripped over the laces and fell face first into the crowd. Xavier stood next to you, he noticed the look on your face and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, look, its gonna be fine. You know deep down inside how talented you are, otherwise, you would have run for the hills. This is a really weird situation so just give it all you got okay,” he gave you a little pep talk. “Thanks, I really needed that,” you smiled, patting the hand that was on your shoulder. “Can the pair of you please shut the fuck up, were going on now,” Michael snipped. “Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning,” you snapped back, not appreciating the attitude boy wonder was giving you. He opened his mouth to speak, but the lights lit up the stage and the crowd started to go insane, ready for the band to come out. You tried to control the nausea you were feeling, walking to your designated section of the stage. The crowd was massive but thankfully, all eyes were on Michael. You pulled the strap of your bass on, adjusting it so it would be comfortable for a long night of playing. You didn’t even know if you had the stamina for it. Michael had stopped talking to the crowd and Xavier started on the drumbeat. You looked back at your friends at the bar, your manger giving you a thumbs up. You began to strum in time with Xavier, setting the beat for the song. You thanked your lucky stars that you had just removed your acrylics a few hours ago. Michael’s and Duncan’s guitars came in, completing the intro to the song. Michael’s voice finally joined in. It was as if the room had immediately been put in a trance. You had been on the other side of the feeling before, being on stage with it was almost the same. Instead, it felt like your fingers were playing on their own, separate from the rest of you. You closed your eyes and embraced the feeling, letting the music and Michael’s voice control you. You opened your eyes and were met by Michael’s intense gaze, you just smiled at him, before looking back to the crowd and winking at your friend in the crowd. You still felt Michael’s eyes on you. The lights transitioned, indicating the song change. Michael and Duncan were back to back, in their competitive duet piece in the song. The crowd was going crazy at the performance. You looked back at Xavier and grinned at each other; you were surprised at how much you were enjoying yourself. Time seemed to fly, before you knew it you had played the final song of the set. You were finally out of your daze and got a good look of the room around you. Everything seemed so much brighter on stage. Duncan came over and gave you a high-five. “Thank you, London,” Michael began, “It’s been great performing for you all tonight. I want to say a huge thank you to Y/N over here for filling last minute, we wouldn’t have been able to perform without her,” he said, gesturing to you. A sudden shyness hit you, hearing the crowd cheer for you. You smiled and waved, giving them a little bow. The band finished with their messages, before walking off stage to a cheering crowd. “Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself. “There’s no god here,” Michael whispered in your ear. “Personal space Langdon,” you replied, glaring at him. A short woman with dark hair walked towards you. “This is Ms. Meade, our manager,” introduced Duncan. You held you had for her to shake, “Y/N”. She shook your hand, “the people on social media are loving you, you know that? We haven’t had this much of a positive response to a bassist since the one a few years ago. What was his name again? …. Eh, I can’t remember,” she shrugged. “This is so surreal,” you said to yourself, lightly patting you hot cheeks. “I need a spliff after this.” “Ask and ye shall receive,” Xav said, holding a rolled one out at you. You smiled and took it, “you are My favourite person on planet earth right now Xav,” you said, bringing out your lighter. You walked out to the smoking area, chatting away with Xavier about the strange day you were having. You heard Duncan snicker behind you, not knowing he was laughing at the death glare Michael was giving Xavier. Xavier and you scrolled through the twitter and Instagram tags of the concert. Meade was right, you seemed to be getting a lot of attention on there. You DM’s were blowing up too, from friends, family and total strangers on the internet. Within a span of a few hours, crazy fans had found your social media and followed you everywhere. If you hadn’t had been stoned, maybe you would have panicked a little at the sudden attention. But that was a problem for sober you. You went back inside to, Meade, your manager and the boys having a heated conversation. “Ah, Y/N so nice of you to join us,” said your manager. Meade just rolled her eyes, interrupting him before he could go any further. “Look, I’m gonna cut right to it kid. The people love you and we don’t have a bassist for the rest of the tour. You’ll be fully paid and accommodated for. If you don’t like it, Josh over here says your free to come back here any time. We’ll even throw in your own bus for you. How’s that sound?” You brain barely processed what she said. They wanted you permanently, your mouth was gaping like fish. “C- can I read the contract at least?” you asked. She shrugged and pulled out a wad of paper, it had to be thicker than the bible, your eyes widened. “Is there a TL;DR version of that?” “Nope,” they all said in unison. “We need to know by tonight, we leave for Europe on Monday, so you have Saturday and Sunday to pack and tie up any loose ends if you choose to do so,” she said. You looked around the room at the band members. Duncan and Xavier looked happy to have you, grinning at you. Michael however had a sour look on his as face, as if your very existence was offensive to him. You smiled to yourself, the thought of you just being near him and irritating him for a few months was enough to convince you. Getting on his nerves was already becoming a favourite pastime of yours. “Pen?” you held out you hand. Meade handing you heavy and expensive looking black pen. You signed your name onto the contract in blood red ink, not looking at the contents of the contract. “Welcome aboard Y/N, you’re officially a member of Satanic Panic.”

[angelicalchaoticabyss]

maybe this is too silly but. Fires x Veils x Neddy!reader who is sick of third wheeling for schemes and is about to take matters into their own hands. seduce both of them

(Okay this was hard to figure out but I hope you like it!)

Favoritism.

You were a Neddy man, one of many but you were rather special. Very skilled, intelligent, obedient, you gained a favorable spot among many of the masters' opinions. Though the two that preferred you the most was Mr fires and Mr veils. Mr fires adored your opinions on the city, your style, a true Londoner in its eyes. Mr veils greatly enjoyed your brutal yet swift executions upon it's command and thoughts of its fashion. You were quite proud to have their attention in such a way, proud that not even Poor Edward could match you. (Which you greatly relished in his jealousy over that fact)

Though there was ONE thing you noticed about that two masters, it was when they work together on plans and schemes did it get strange. The two were quite close, you were well aware that they had a friendship of some kind but how deep and what type was becoming apparent.

When you were brought along for a shared plan of action you almost never did anything what-so-ever. You just watched the masters work and wonder why in the world they called you away for this when you could've been doing another job. Masters like Mr wines and Mr apples noticed, even brought it up from time to time but it was disregarded as nonsense. Don't get anything wrong, you enjoyed being around Fires and Veils, you loved having their attention and just the thought they simply wanted you around was intoxicating but there was a limit. You wanted to get paid to do something, not stand there and watch. Though, perhaps some jealousy of your own spiked when IT started.

The two, when in private or when just you were around would get...more affectionate with each other if that's how one wants to put it. Rubbing "accidentally" against each other more. Pleased growls at each others touches and scents. It had gotten you VERY curious.

So curious in fact that you stalked after them one night when they had snuck away from a revel that Wines made everyone attend. It was a lovely show, they were all over each other with kisses, bites, caresses and clawing. At some point you had gotten so flustered that you rushed off before seeing if the event would escalate into something much more ravenous. When you saw them again both had acted very smug and amused around you, your worst fear was confirmed when Veils had asked if you "enjoyed the view". Both masters shared a laugh at your incredibly embarrassed expression along with your rapid apology. Though...the two did not seem to mind your intrusion. In fact, the frequency of you being in attendance to something you weren't needed for increased greatly, their touches while you were around also grew more but those times they would subtly eye your form to see if you were watching them like you had done last time at the revel.

This both annoyed and embarrassed you, so hard.

You had nothing but respect for the masters but you would teach those two a lesson of some sorts. But what? What could you possibly do without getting hanged or worse? You mulled over on it for several days before taking some inspiration from Mr Wines. Why not...escape being a third wheel and join in on the fun? Though, you'll need to pick the right time for this, where they're both in one spot but its not just the three of you. Make them a little crazy that they just can't grab you on the spot without people asking questions. Overconfident? Maybe, but you'd say you're quite skilled in your ability to seduce. Thankfully your chance came when fashion week rolled around, a theme of satin and decorative masks. Mr veils with some "help", decided to host a Masquerade ball and instructed all who were invited to dress in the best satin they had with a mask to match. Including the Neddy.

You knew this was your chance, so when the night of the ball came you dressed your best with an elegant mask to match going with a red, purple, and gold theme for your outfit. The masters gave their good opinion on your clothes, especially Mr veils and Fires. Step 1 completed~.

You watched as the masters mingled in their own way, you'd get them separately and then let them come to you. About half way into the ball you spotted Veils and Fires on opposite sides of the large ballroom. You thought about who to go after first, deciding Veils would go last you walked and approached Mr fires coolly and calmly. It looked up from its drink and greeted you, now to work your magic.

A straightforward challenge, your Persuasive stat gives you a 100% chance of success.

Success!

You looked at Mr fires in the eyes and spoke with a special tone in your voice, you had long since learned that tone and body language is everything in seduction. You lowered your voice to make it listen and listen well. You could tell it was surprised by your boldness. You shifted your body in a suave and confident way, also taking hold of a portion of it's wine glass and pulling it near your lips, taking a sip. Mr fires just stared in stunned silence.

"Hello master, it's certainly a lovely evening. London looks so beautiful tonight don't you think~?" You didn't wait for a reply "Though, I'd say you look much more ravishing, I'm quite jealous actually~." Your fingers walked up it's robe to its chest, its ember filled eyes starred in amazement with a spark of something else inside.

It tried to speak but you cut Mr fires off.

"You're wear satin quite well, I bet it feels oh so lovely up against your body, so warm and smooth. Why such a feeling riles even myself up, heheheh. It's so fine much like your own soft fur, yet bold like your horns~." You chuckled. "I believe I hear Mr veils calling for me. If you ever wish to..."speak" more about London and your up coming plans I'm always open for a listen~." And with that, you released its hand and left.

You could feel Fires' eyes staring intently at you, it was gripping the wine glass but not out of anger. This reaction pleased you greatly, you knew it worked and over the course of the party Fires would slowly get more riled up from its own desires. Now for Mr veils~.

You made way over to the finely dressed master who was clearly showing off the outfit it picked, editing your stance on the way. Losing the confident act you made your position to appear a lot more weak and needy. This caught the bestial master's attention near instantaneously as it looked down at you with an amused glimmer in its yellow gaze. Veils focused on every part of you, the clothes, the movement, the neediness, the scent, it was beyond pleased when it smelled Sandalwood among your scents. Its let out a growl mixed with a lowish chuckle, as low as its thundering voice could get.

"Oh dear little rabbit, what brings you over to me tonight? You best be enjoying yourself and be grateful for attending such an event~." It said.

"Oh of course I am master, in fact I've been enjoying the ball greatly. The drinks, the music, the dancing and of course the outfits, this was a wonderful idea!" You said with faux shyness. Veils eyes had lit up at your words, it more likely knew you were putting on act but pleased anyway by the show you were preforming for it.

"Good, though, of course you would enjoy yourself~." It replied, with a smug confidence.

You pressed yourself closer to Veils, moving your hand to its glass with the attempt to mimic what you did with Fires but it grabbed your hand. Mr veils pulled your head to the dark of it's hood, pressed it against its cheek you could feel both its fur and the smooth ceramic of its mask. Letting out a growly purr its teeth nipped at the soft flesh, chuckling as quietly as it could when you jumped a bit. Veils released your hand, but you felt its talons scrape against the appendage as you pulled your hand away from it. It's golden eyes were very much clouded with barely concealed lust and primal instinct.

"Enjoy your night, preyling~."

You walked away from Veils, somewhat shocked it so quickly turned the game in its favor. Like with Fires you could feel its gaze burning into your back, okay, you can work with this. You continued your night like normal, at midnight Veils announced that it was time for everyone to return home. You watched the people of London file out before helping with the clean up. When you returned to your own quarters....you noticed Fires and Veils following after you.

The rest of the night that followed was not regretted, in the slightest.

[lilwenney]

LONDON BOY (pt. i)

pairing: will x female!reader warning(s): none word count: 3.2k a/n: WHAT A LOVELY LITTLE SURPRISE x coming in five days sooner than originally planned. this is part one of an eventual two-part series. and whoever sent me an anon months ago saying an imagine based off london boy by taylor swift writes itself, you are correct, & i thank you for putting the idea into my head. i hope u all enjoy x 

London September, 2019

A nautical twilight began to set over London as (Y/N) trekked home from the Edgeware station. Her headphones were perched over her head and she listened to the sweet sounds of an indie song while admiring the turn of the blue sky. In the distance, behind the towering London skyline, night had fallen. Unlike all of the other days she rushed home right after class, this day she was taking her time, enjoying the warm, late-summer breeze and the smell of the rain in the air. 

She had been cooped up in a university computer lab for five hours that day, working on a digital clip for one of her courses, so now she was taking her chance to stretch her legs and take the deep breath she had desperately needed hours ago.

Just a little ways from her flat, while crossing the street, her phone vibrated in her hand. It was a text from a food delivery service, saying that they were on their way to her address with her order. Even though she had lived in London for just two months, she had already caught on to a few things. And ordering food on the tube knowing that she would make it home just as they pulled up with her delivery was one of them.

And just like always, as she crossed the street to her building, someone on a bike pulled up right next to the entrance. She confirmed her order number and the woman handed her the bag, and with ease, (Y/N) scanned her key and headed into the residential building, taking the lift to her floor. 

Shoving her key into the lock, she turned it and pushed the door open, greeted with a hello and the smell of food wafting from the kitchen. “Hey Marg,” she said in response, dropping her key into the small bowl on the foyer table. 

Toeing off her own trainers under the table, she looked down to see another pair of unfamiliar shoes next to hers. She raised a brow, not recognizing them from any of the friends who came to visit often. “Whose shoes are those?” She asked, walking into the kitchen and into view of her flatmate, Margot. She crossed the hardwood floors and to the dining table, setting her bag of takeaway down. 

Margot hummed, plating her dinner. “Oh, those are Will’s.” 

“Will?” 

“My brother,” she said slowly, looking over to (Y/N) and the girl just shrugged before sitting down at the table and pulling out her food. “The air system broke in his flat so he’s staying in our guest room until it’s fixed. Should only be a couple of days.” 

She nodded, deciding to not ask anymore questions. It was a common occurrence for people to come over and spend the night, mostly Margot’s friends. Her and Margot had only been living together for two months now, so there were still some things they were figuring out about each other. 

When (Y/N) moved in, her and Margot hit it off quickly, and within six hours of her finishing her unpacking, they were sitting on her unmade bed with a bottle of wine talking about their lives and spilling secrets they swore they would never tell anyone else. 

By the end of the night, (Y/N) found out that Margot came from Newcastle, she had a dog and a boyfriend, and that she was the youngest out of three, and Margot knew that (Y/N) was originally from California, an only child, and that she loved the occasional night out with a vodka soda in hand. 

They had almost an entire year to find out more about each other. There was no shortage of time. 

(Y/N) was only staying in London for a year to study abroad, it was a spur of the moment decision that led her halfway across the world, moving in with a complete stranger, and living in a foreign world. And so far, she loved every single second of it.

“What are you doing this weekend?” She asked, popping open the lid to her chicken and noodles. 

Margot flipped off the stove and walked over to the table, sliding her plate down in front of the seat next to her flatmate. “I’m going to Charlie’s tomorrow morning. He’s gotta finish editing and stuff so we’re just going to hang out.” 

Charlie was Charlie Albarn, Margot’s photographer boyfriend. They had been dating since Margot first moved to London a couple of years back. (Y/N) had only met him twice, but she liked him. He was cool enough to help her with photoshop for an entire night when she desperately needed to get an assignment done and was on the verge of a panic attack. 

“What about you?” 

(Y/N) shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It’s supposed to be nice this weekend and I want to do something new besides staying in all day.” 

“Do you have anything in mind?” Margot asked.

“No, not yet,” she said, standing and grabbing a drink from the refrigerator and returning to the table. “I have done all the… touristy things. I want to do something new besides going to the same shopping centre or fighting against a thousand people walking down the street.” 

“You went to Piccadilly?” 

“You didn’t warn me!” She called out and Margot let out a laugh.

“Everyone should experience the absolute hell that is Piccadilly at least once in their lives. It’s a bloody nightmare.” 

(Y/N) laughed, picking up her noodles with the chopsticks and taking a bite. For the next hour, they ate together, talking about their busy schedule and the nonsense that ensued during the day - Margot had missed her train, making her late for class, and she panicked before realizing her professor was standing right behind her and he had also missed the train, and (Y/N) had accidentally tripped in front of a tour group while jogging up the library stairs, and of course, laughter followed. 

Margot cleaned up her mess, washing the dishes from dinner while (Y/N) tossed her trash in the bin and walked down the hallway to her bedroom to take a shower. She stripped of her clothes and tossed them into her hamper, stepping in and allowing the hot water to steam the bathroom and wash all of her stress and worries away. Sometimes, long days and the university life truly got the best of her. Even though she loved it and wouldn’t regret studying abroad, it was tiring and overwhelming most days. 

If it wasn’t a Friday night, she would already be in bed with the blankets over her head. Instead she put on her pajamas, wrapped her hair in a towel, and lounged on the sofa with Margot when she finished the dishes. They laid facing each other on opposite ends of the sofa and flipped through channels and streaming sites before settling on re-watching episodes of their favorite series that they could watch without worrying about falling asleep in the middle of it.

An hour later, in the quiet hum of the flat, the lock on the door clicked open and (Y/N) shot up, her hands gripping the soft cushion beneath her as her wild eyes met Margot’s. “Is someone there?” She asked, her heart skipping a beat in surprise. 

Margot nodded, screwing the cap of her bottle back on as she glanced down the hallway. “Yeah, yeah, it’s just Will. I gave him a key earlier when he left for dinner.” 

She plopped back against the arm of the sofa with a sigh of relief. The door shut and footsteps began to trail down the hallway, and she turned the volume on the television down as a body stepped around the corner. 

(Y/N) looked up and away from the television, landing on a tall figure standing in the doorway. It was Will. Her eyes landed on him and she quickly took in the sight of his dark hair, his sharp jaw, and even caught a glimpse of his black jersey before she looked back at the screen so he wouldn’t catch her lingering gaze.

“What you doing back so early?” Margot finally asked when he stepped into the room. 

Will lowered down onto one of their chairs, picking up the throw pillow and holding it in his lap. “Didn’t even get dinner. Just wound up at Alex and George’s and hung around for a bit.” 

“So you came back to eat the dinner you knew I was fixing?” 

He looked at her and smiled wide. Eyes trained back on the screen, (Y/N) laughed lightly when she saw just how far he and Margot’s relations went. They shared a few physical qualities, and when she noticed his teasing smile, she knew they were siblings for certain. Margot had pulled the same smile on her numerous times. 

Margot sighed in defeat. “There’s a plate in the microwave for you.” 

“Right, right,” he jumped up and turned around, walking into their connecting kitchen where he grabbed the plate from the microwave. “It’s like you knew I was starving.” 

“No, just knew you liked to steal food so I made extra.” And (Y/N) heard his laugh from the other room and she smiled. 

A few seconds later, his feet tapped against the floor and he walked back into the living room, lowering down into his chair with the plate of food in hand. 

“Oh,” Margot looked at her flatmate and smiled warmly, “(Y/N) this is my bastard of an older brother William, and Will, this is (Y/N).” 

In the semi-dark living room, their eyes met across the coffee table and they quietly said hi to each other with a smile. She noticed how the corners of his lips met his eyes with a smile, and when he took a bite of the vegetables on the plate, she realized once again, she was staring. So she cleared her throat and quickly looked away, her eyes meeting the television where the characters were talking, and then she noticed the time on the clock on the wall.

“I should probably go to bed soon.” She said when the clock hand showed near ten thirty. It was around the time she went to bed every night unless she was up studying or finishing homework. 

Will raised his head at her voice, taking note of the lack of a British accent. Margot had told him about her briefly, but he hadn’t paid much attention after the words “uni student.” At first glance, he thought she was cute. 

Margot looked up from her phone. “Have you figured out what you are doing tomorrow?” 

She yawned and shook her head. “No, not yet. I will probably just pick something to do in the morning and go with it.” 

“What’s goin’ on?” Will creased a brow, glancing at his sister and then to (Y/N).

“I’m trying to figure out something to do tomorrow. The non-touristy, crowded stuff though. I have had my fair share of fighting crowded streets and pubs.” She explained. “And I can’t think of anything that I want to do. But I just want to get out and do something.” 

“Ah, there’s this really cool place that’s out in the middle of like, fucking nowhere, but it’s a huge building filled with neon signs.” 

She laughed. “Do you remember what it was called?” 

Will paused and then tilted his head as if searching through his memory. He looked back at her and squinted. “I’ll get back to you on that.” 

“Okay,” she laughed again before standing up from the sofa, “I’m heading to bed. I’ll see you two tomorrow.” 

The siblings quietly said their good-nights and (Y/N) walked down the hallway to her room, shutting the door behind her, and she slipped under the covers with ease, falling asleep no less than minutes after her head hit the pillow.

***

The West London flat was quiet the next morning. Slowly, the sun rose above the horizon and peeped through the buildings of the skyline, filtering in through the curtains of (Y/N)’s room. She woke up a couple of hours after Margot had left, once gently awakened by the opening and closing of the door down the hallway at eight a.m. sharp, and then she fell back asleep for as long as she could.

She woke up and pulled herself from the depths of her bed, facing the day once and for all at ten a.m.. Sliding on her slippers and walking into the connecting bathroom, she quickly brushed her teeth and then brushed her hair before stepping out of her room and into the hallway. The flat was cold and still, the only sound coming from the slight hum of the air conditioning through the vents. 

Margot was gone and Will wasn’t awake yet, so she was trying to be as quiet as possible while she made up a quick breakfast. But her attempts at being quiet were another’s “banging pots and pans.” And that’s exactly what she sounded like to Will.

Plating her eggs and slices of bacon, she heard the quiet rustle of the comforter from the guest room and then the door clicked open. A second later she turned to see Will walk into the kitchen - he was yawning, rubbing his tired eyes with the heel of his palm. He was wearing a jumper and a pair of shorts, hair disheveled from his sleep. 

“What are you doing awake?” She asked innocently, using the spatula to shovel the rest of the food onto another plate. After last night and him insisting Margot also fix him dinner, she made sure to make extra for him. 

“I woke up after the… third time you burnt the toast? When you were trying your best to whisper.” 

(Y/N) felt the back of her neck heat up in embarrassment. “You heard that?” 

“All the ‘shits’ and ‘fucks.’” 

“Ah, you must have missed the ‘bullshits.’ Those were in the mix too.” She picked up the extra plate and turned around, holding it out for him as she walked towards the dining room. 

Will dropped his hand and looked down at the plate. “Ah, you didn’t have to fix me anythin’.” He said and she picked up on his gravely morning voice. 

“I know. Just felt like you would want some anyways..” She sat her plate down on the table and grabbed a juice from the refrigerator before returning to her normal chair at the dining table. 

He looked at her and smiled sleepily before following her steps over to the table. Like Margot last night, he pulled out the chair across from her and lowered down, taking his fork and diving into the food in front of him. 

“You decided what you’re doing today?”

She tsked. “Kind of. Just know there are a couple of places I want to go, but I haven’t really planned it out yet.” She said before glancing back down to her plate. “I found the neon sign place you were talking about. It’s way north, but not too long on the tube.” 

“Yeah, can’t remember the name of it for the life of me. It’s fuckin’ weird though.” He said and she laughed, taking another bite of her food. Will looked at her for a second before dropping his head back down, poking his fork at the eggs, mind swirling through his plans for the day, and then he looked back up to her. “But I know the area pretty well, so I can show you, if you want me to.” 

Her head snapped up and she looked at him with a small smile. “Yeah?” He nodded and she followed along. “Then, yeah, yeah, you’re more than welcome to come along if you’re not doing anything.”

“Ah, I planned on fixing lunch, probably end up burnin’ it, and then waiting for Margot to get back.”

“Well,” she laughed, “I can promise you a slightly more eventful day than that.” And he smiled at her before they turned back to their breakfast. 

An hour later, after eating and washing the dishes, the two returned to their respective bedrooms to get ready. In a rush, she blotted on concealer under her eyes and spritzed on sunscreen, and lastly tousled her hair before deciding to leave it be. Back in her bedroom, she slid into a pair of ripped denim jeans, a black tee, and a pair of matching shiny black boots. But when she saw the cloudy sky through her bedroom window, she made sure to grab her green jacket on her way out too. 

“What do you want to see first?” Will asked as they strolled down the pavement to the underground a handful of minutes later. 

Jogging behind him down the steps, (Y/N) quickly took in his outfit - black skinny jeans, a plain black tee, and a light denim jacket. She cleared her throat while watching him pull his tube pass from his wallet. 

“I don’t know,” she said scanning her pass, following behind him in the turnstile, “you know the place better, what do you have in mind?” 

Will paused, stuffing his pass back into his phone case while waiting for her to catch up to him, and they began to walk down the set of stairs to the platforms among at least a dozen others. “Little Venice isn’t too far from here, and then there is the junkyard you wanted to go to,” he listed off, “and there is this really cool rooftop beer garden in the city centre that you would like.” 

She raised a brow, a curious grin on her lips. “That I would like,” She repeated, teasingly. “What do you think that is?” 

Will turned around, walking backwards while leading her down the platform where the tube was coming to a stop at the station. He met her eyes, a brow raised in a test. “I guess you just have to trust me.” 

“Should I?” She teased. “Because I just met you for the first time about nine hours ago.” 

Will shrugged. When the doors opened next to the platform, he looked down at his feet and then took a step backwards inside, looking at her with a raised brow. “The choice is all yours, love.” 

(Y/N) licked the inside of her cheek as she looked at him with a smile. He was a cute boy offering to show her around the city, to show her the places she had once dreamed of seeing. Of course she couldn’t help but follow along. 

When the automated voice stated that the doors were closing, she took two swift steps off the platform and into the tube, her body clashing with Will’s as the doors closed just inches behind her. Looking up, she saw him smile down at her, and her cheeks flushed at the realization of just how close they were. She could smell his cologne. 

A beat later, he chuckled and she took a step back, straightening her own jacket. “Don’t make me regret this.” 

“You won’t.” He said, reaching up with both hands to hold onto the railing above them, and he looked back down at her. “I’ll give you the bloody best non-touristy-tour of London that will make you wish you paid me.” 

“That’s up for me to decide though, isn’t it?” 

“Nah, not really. I know how good I am.” And she rolled her eyes before he chuckled before the tube began to move onto their station just a few stops away. 

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 8

a/n: I hope you didn’t think I’d make it quite so easy. A little pull and tug is worth it sometimes ya know? idk how much longer I’ll be around. Most people don’t engage with the fics anymore and Shawn isn’t really the Shawn I fell in love with anymore. Life just kind of sucks at the moment. But I’ve got this chapter already written so I thought I’d post it. If you liked it and actually want it to continue? I might recommend letting me know tbh. Bye. 

Shawn’s point of view

The problem with taking a woman to Rome on the first date is that anything after that just seems silly. What exactly was he to do now? Invite her over to his apartment for sushi? Even he would walk out on that date! It didn’t help that the second they got back to New York, after a very long winded kiss goodbye, that she’d jumped right into preparation for the VMAs. That essentially meant he wasn’t going to see her for days, maybe weeks. VMA season sparked award season in general for the music industry. It might not exactly give an indication of Grammys, but with the award show always arriving right as the ellibility period for the more prestigious honor was ending, it meant that the VMAS was the beginning of the long haul to get your artist at the top of the charts and fucking keep them there. Which also meant that just like she was busy, so was he. The difference was she actually liked her job. And he had...oh how he hated his.

He’s sitting in a marketing meeting for Sarah Leone. Sarah Leone is his dad’s bid for best new artist of the year. Forget the fact that y/n had her secret weapon of Normani and Khalid on one management team, and that he sort of had a feeling she was going to do a solo album release directly before the grammy consideration deadline just to keep the industry on its toes, his dad was thoroughly convinced Sarah was his ticket. And in a lot of ways she was. Small town girl turned mega popstar in a little over a year, her debut album was set to make beautiful numbers. Unfortunately that wasn’t enough. His dad had a very direct line of vision and that vision was complete and total domination. So it wasn’t enough to have your music sell, he wanted his artists to be inescapable from the public eye. Enter this season’s publicity stunt: The MC.

His dad thought it was a clever way to reference Miley Cyrus. Back in the day he’d orchestrated Miley’s dating of a 20 year old when she was 16 to address her rebellious teen phase. What most people saw as a kid going off the rails, was actually a perfectly manipulated moment in pop history. Except the dick cake that lost her the walmart branding deal, that was all her unfortunately.

Sarah was supposed to be seen out and about with mysterious new “it” british singer, Ty Summers. He was 21. She turned 18 just months prior. The two had begun with a close knit friendship, and were now being guided through the early stage of good, whole-hearted, perfectly constructed, “love”. He peers down at one of the new stills for her headline of V magazine, and simply can’t believe she’s 18. The cover makes him uncomfortable, makes him feel icky. No one at the table notices. And his dad isn’t even there, because this is too low level for the kind of work he does anymore.

“Next, I want her in London for the UK press tour. We’ll have her position at Summers’ hotel for half of her stay. I want pap shots at dinner every night out of the week, and I want a prompt at the BBC interview to hint at their connection. We’ll take it from there.” Jaret, one of the senior managers rattled off. “Any questions?”

He twirled boredly in his chair far from interested in the inner workings of career management if none of it meant jack shit about what the artist actually wanted for their career. It felt like such a waste of his time.

“Quick question?” He sighed popping his pen slightly into the air.

“Yes, Mendes?”

“When does she sing?” He shrugged.

The room goes still. It’s a well known fact that Jaret runs the room. He runs the meetings, runs the decisions. He’s top dog on this particular client, and Shawn is merely there under his father’s orders as an informant and nothing more. He was there to make sure things ran smoothly, but he certainly wasn’t there to offer critique. Woops.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Jaret challenged.

Shawn simply shrugged. “Just seems like if we have a musical artist who we signed on the basis of her being able to sing, that we might at some point want that to be the focal point of her career. But you know, I could be wrong.”

“There’s just one thing wrong here Shawn...we did not sign anyone. I did. We don’t make decisions on the intricacies of her career. I do. You are simply a glorified intern. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you’re father wasn’t afraid you’d run off every two seconds I wouldn’t have to babysit your ass right now. So, why don’t you let the professionals determine next steps and play on the computer daddy bought you, or whatever it is you do?”

Ouch.

The room shifted from Jaret back to Shawn. No one went against Jaret. And yet Shawn was perhaps the most unpredictable thing about his father’s company at that point. Needless to say unpredictably was a hell of a thing.

“It must really upset you that I get paid more than you do doesn’t it?” He hummed.

Jaret’s face began to redden, his nerves tighter than his balls that Shawn had such a precarious grip on at the moment.

“Or does it upset you more that I could do your job better than you right now, today, without even the ability to hear the tonedeaf artists you sign that are just pretty enough and just old enough not to get your ass arrested?” He tilted his head in contemplation. “Perhaps it’s even that one time at the company Christmas party where your wife caught you screwing your secretary in your office and stopped crying long enough for me to make her cum before signing the divorce papers? But you’re right Jaret, I simply should just get back to daddy’s computer. My bad.”

“You little son of--”

“Big.” Shawn interrupted sliding smoothly from his chair and packing his shit up from the horrible meeting he’d had no interest in attending in the first place. “I’m big son of a bitch, Jaret. Just ask Sarah.”

Sarah of course being his wife. Ex wife of course. Ex wife number three if we’re being specific.

The door shuts close behind him to Jaret screaming and lurching across the table towards his empty chair. He’d probably hear about it from his dad later. But honestly who cared. Jaret was a creepy asshole, and he was always gonna be a creepy asshole. Sorry not sorry.

***

He’d be a little embarrassed at how aggressively he yanked at the door were it not for the hopeful look in her big brown eyes when he sees her for the first time. He can tell she’s had a long day because her hair is down out of its bun already, tiny spirals falling all around her face and cheeks. But, the way she falls into his arms is enough to make his whole entire day. Because it means that after all the shit she’d been through that day, she wanted to be with him. And that’s the only thing he cared about in the whole world.

“I missed you.” He sighed already capturing her lips in a kiss.

She hummed softly against him, fingers squeezing at his shoulders.

“Missed you too.”

He pushed the door shut with his foot, arms keeping her tucked tightly against him. He’s sure he’s smiling like a complete and total idiot but he can’t help it. It’s this new exciting thing where he no longer has to be afraid of how close he is to her, no longer has to hope he doesn’t stare too long. She knows. And not only does she know, but somehow she feels the same way. It felt like a dream.

He tugged her back towards his kitchen and helped her into a seat before he pulled out the leftovers from his own dinner where he “accidently” ordered for two.

“Tiana said you didn’t eat dinner.” He shrugged at her questioning gaze. “And this little italian place up the block always gives me more than I need.”

She bit her lip and peered from the container of chicken parm to him and back to the parm. He thought for a second she just might fight him on it. And then he remembered how much she liked to eat.

“You and Tiana conspiring against me must stop!” She snorted grabbing the fork clean from his hand to dig in.

He leaned against the granite counter with his chin propped on his hand. She was wonderful. And silly. And a little ridiculous. He kind of loved it.

“Yes, because making sure you consume more than coffee in a twelve hour period is definitely a conspiracy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe so.”

“Maybe so.” He mimicked. “I missed the way you argue with me about everything. Feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Her eyes got wide and bright and she turned a grin towards him that he practically ached to lick off. She was gorgeous.

“You missed me huh? The Shawn Mendes has fallen head first into a little monogamy moment has he?”

Sometimes he liked to think that her favorite past time was taking the piss out of him. It sure seemed that way.

He rolled his eyes back at her and butted his head softly into her neck.

“And what if I have?” He whispered softly. “You have too. Right?”

His nose skimmed along her neck and she shivered. He smiled against her skin. She’d fallen just as hard alright.

“Yea I guess so.” She mumbled.

He pulled back and pressed a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass to refill with water.

“You should eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”

“Excuse me?”

He refilled her glass from the refrigerator and placed in front of her before leaning against the countertop again.

“Oh. I just meant that I plan to fuck you until the birds sing. I don’t want you getting tired on me before I’m done with you.”

His favorite past time was saying the wildest things he could come up with to her in the simplest voice possible and then watching the way it made her eyes bulge in her sockets. God he loved it.

This time she simply stuffed a breadstick in her mouth and hopped out of her seat to start taking her jacket off. It seemed she might be just as needy as he was.

“Yep! Okay. You can come get it now!”

“I’m comin’, baby.” He grinned lifting her up into his arms.

“Goddammit. Carbs and dick. It’s like my birthday or something!”

His bedroom is way too far away. They’ve gotta figure out a way to get there quicker. But he chuckles into her cleavage as he knocks them against walls to stop and kiss her. Her thighs mold to his waist, ass full in his hands. He’s stuck on her completely. And the worst part is that she knows it.

He lets her legs back down to the floor only to press her against the wall of his bedroom, lips, teeth, and tongue beginning a trail along her neck.

“You make me never wanna go back to go work ever again.” She whined, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’d happily quit if we could stay in bed for the rest of forever.” He murmured.

“Don’t tempt me!”

Maybe he would.

“Mmmm speaking of work, how hard you gonna make my job for me this fall?” He hummed biting down on her lip to solicit a yelp that drove him crazy.

“What do you mean?” She asked, fingers already tugging at his belt.

“I’m supposed to believe Normani’s not releasing an album before awards season?”

Her fingers came to a stuttering stop, and he recognized that her kisses weren’t really kisses anymore. His eyes opened to meet hers and instead of the lust from just moments prior, there was...anger?

“What the fuck, Shawn?”

“W--What? What?” He mumbled reaching for her as she quickly stepped out of his arms.

“Why would you ask me that? Since when the hell do you care when my artists release music?”

He’s a little flustered and his dick is hard and her yelling at him when his dick is hard is only just adding to the complex array of emotions that his brain would surely need more blood to process.

“I--I don’t know! I thought that’s what couples did right? Like they--they ask each other about work and shit. What did I do?”

“Couples?” She paused, all of the steam leaving her like a deflated balloon. “Are we--we’re a couple?”

At this point he’s pretty sure she’s gonna give him a heart attack.

“I….Aren’t we?”

“I--I don’t know. I don’t know, we’ve only been on one fucking date, Shawn. And just because it was wonderful and beautiful and romantic doesn’t mean that you get to ask me questions like that. I just… Shit. I need space.”

“Space?”

His heart leapt a little in his chest. He’d said that word before. “Space”. When people said they needed space it always meant permanent. It meant separation. It meant losing her. And the effect that her words have on him is a little surprising, even though he’s not processing nearly fast enough to catch on. All he can hear, feel, think, breathe is her not wanting him. And in this moment of fragility for him he’s not quite sure how to cope.

“Wait. Just wait a second. I don’t even know what’s happening right now!” He cried his hands held up in surrender. “Let’s just talk. Let’s just talk for a second okay? Tell me what I did wrong and I’ll fix it.”

“No. I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m going home. I--I’lll call you later.”

She sweeps right past him, her fingers re-buttoning the same buttons she had giggled when he’d undone just seconds ago. He’s so floored by what’s taking place and he’s got no idea how to fix it. How to make her happy. He just wants to make her happy. And he doesn’t want her to go.

“Y/n. Y/n, please? Alright, just talk to me.”

Her fingers slip through his when he reaches for her and just like that she’s gone. And it hurts. It hurts far more than he knows what to do with. What the fuck?

***

*Three days later*

*y/n’s point of view*

A foul mood did not begin to describe what you were in. Everyone had been steering completely clear of you and rightfully so. Anyone who dare breathe wrong in your direction would get an earful. It wasn’t your fault. You hadn’t exactly been sleeping well. Your stomach was in knots. You were stressed as hell. But, none of that was allowed to matter. You had work to do. So, everything else got placed on the backburner.

You’re in your office taking a twenty minute “get your shit together bitch” break when a knock sounds itself on your door. Tiana had been the only one with balls to knock on the door in days, so you had no doubt who it could be.

“Come in, Ti.” You sighed still leaning pathetically across your desk.

The door slides open and unless Tiana grew several feet and turned into a white man over night, it was certainly not your assistant standing there.

“Hi.” Shawn mumbled waving awkwardly in your direction.

He was in a suit again. But not one of the ones from the red carpet that would make your thighs tremble. This must be one of his work ones. It looks too restrictive on his body. He’s wearing a tie, and your fingers itch to remove it, to dishevel him back into the man that you knew.  The worst part is that even in discomfort he doesn’t look real. He looks like an ad standing there at your doorway. An absolute vision to behold. You had to remind yourself that you were angry at him.

“How did you--What are you doing here? Shawn?”

He quickly closed the door and strode over to you, at least having the good grace to keep his distance to the chair in front of your desk.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls. Which is fine I guess. I get that maybe you need space but...I really hate what’s going on between us right now.” He mumbled.

His knee is bouncing. You only recognize this because it shakes your desk in a gentle hum. His fingers twist and turn anxiously on your desk as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch your hand. His lips are stress bitten and his hair looks like it’s been the victim of an attack as well.

“Really?” You asked, leaning back slighting your chair in confusion.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, really. What did you think I was just out living my best life since you stormed out of my apartment at one am without a word and ignored me for three days?”

“No, I just...I just didn’t realize it would have this great of an effect on you. I guess I--I didn’t know you cared that much.”

“You didn’t know that I care that much? What the hell, y/n?” He groaned. “Why are you doing this right now?”

“Doing what?! What am I doing?”

“You’re pulling away. We sat there in Rome and you asked me to promise you that I was all in. And I am. And now you’re scared, is that it? You don’t know what it might look like for us to be together in the real world, so you’re pulling away from me.”

Well that was certainly a read. You were flustered. Your lips opened and shut around nothing but air as you sat there at a loss for words. It wasn’t conscious, or maybe on some level it was, but Shawn scared the hell out of you. Rome was a beautiful, beautiful bubble, but a bubble nonetheless. The second you got back to New York you couldn’t help but wonder if it would actually work a tall. You were still so different. And much as you liked him, and shit you really fucking liked him, it was terrifying to place yourself into new charted territory. You were scared of him. Of the two of you together. Of what it could mean. And he never even needed you to say it, he just knew it about you instantly.

“Look,” He sighed. “I still don’t really know what I did wrong. I know I probably sound like I’m being a little bitch right now but...shit y/n I just got you and I feel like I’m losing you already. Like you’re not even gonna give me a chance to try to make you happy. Is that how it’s gonna be? Cause if it is just tell me okay? Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t...I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know.” You mumbled

The look that he gives you tells you that this hurts him. That you not being a hundred percent in is painful. Everything was just moving so incredibly fast. One second you couldn’t fathom the idea that Shawn would even want to do more than fuck you, let alone be leading the charge your relationship. It was fast. All of it. And you? You were scared.

“Okay. Well I guess just call me when you figure it out.”

He got out of his seat and headed for the door only throwing you further off your game. You didn’t know much about what you wanted. You just knew that you didn’t want him mad at you, and you didn’t want him to leave. It didn’t help that a part of you felt like you should be leading this matter. You were older, you were the woman. Never had anyone cornered you in the manner that Shawn was in this moment. It was completely different than anything you’d ever experienced.

“Wait--shit. Shawn don’t leave.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You’re not ready, and I was. Just…Call when you figure things out. Maybe I’ll talk to you later.”

And just like that he’s gone. Fuck.

***

It’s another long night. You’re tired. You’re heart is heavy. Your ponytail is too tight. And you wanna go to bed. But you have no interest in sleeping alone, and therefore are stuck at your desk again. There’s three different contracts waiting your signature on your desk, but the words have begun to blur. You tell yourself it’s not because you’re crying because you definitely aren’t. It’s just cause you’re tired. Yes.

“Hey, it’s late I’m gonna---oh lord. I haven’t seen you cry since Michelle Obama smiled at you on a red carpet.” Tianna gasped.

You sniffled. “Bitch I am not crying. Go home.”

She rolled her eyes. “Denial or delusion. Your favorite pastimes. Come tell Titi what’s wrong while I’m still awake.”

She plopped herself in the chair opposite your desk and reached for the tissues on your desk to hand to you. You take one begrudgingly.

“You haven’t let me call you Titi since college.”

“Of course I haven’t, “She giggled. “What kind of grown ass woman walks around goin’ by Titi. Now stop deflecting.”

Best friends are no good. They know you too well. It makes it way too hard to hide.

“I….I think I fucked things up.”

“With Shawn you mean?”

You nod slowly.

“Yea, I saw him come out of your office lookin’ like a kicked puppy. I couldn't even get him to laugh for me before he left. You never really said what happened though.” She nudged gently.

A sigh passes through your lips that feels bone deep. Your fingers twitch anxiously against the desk. There’s nowhere to hide here. You just have to be truthful. It’s the worst.

“We...We decided to give it a go. And he took me to Rome, as your meddling ass knows, and it was the most amazing thing I could experience. It was everything I ever thought it would be but...he made it more. And I kept thinking that he was going to stop at some point. I don’t know I thought surely it was gonna work, because how could it you know?”  

“No, not quite sis. I don’t know. Maybe you can explain it to me.”

You bite your lip and twitch anxiously.

“I asked him in Rome one of our last nights there if he was gonna be all in. We talked about race and white supremacy and I told him that I needed someone who could stand with me in all of it, not just when it is convenient.”

“And he said…?”

“Well the fucker said yes.” You huffed. “He promised it even.”

“Shit.” Tiana mumbled taking a pause herself. “I would’ve never called Shawn Mendes to be a social justice warrior.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s far from it, now. He’s still a white boy. But he wanted to try. He was willing to try for me.”

“So you can see how maybe I’m missing the part where you fucked up. This sounds a little like a black girl’s love story come true.”

“I went over to his place and he offered me breadsticks and dick, in that order. But then when we were getting to it, he asked me about Normani, Ti. He asked if I was going to ‘make his job harder for him’ by having her release her album before award season.”

“Oh lord, that poor bastard didn’t even know what hit him.” She sighed.

“I’m serious Ti!” You groaned. “I’ve been here before. I’ve had the music exec who wanted to get into my pants just to know what we were doing in this building. I--I can’t go back there. You and I both know that there’s nothing Manny Mendes would love to see more than one his little white girls on top and my people failing on the bottom of the totem pole. We work too goddamn hard for me to lose it.”

Tiana paused for a minute and stared at you. Her eyes were soul searching, the way they tended to be. She was as lovely and amazing as she was terrifying. She knew you better than you knew yourself, and she never hesitated to call you on your bullshit. Even if you didn’t know it was bullshit. Especially when you didn’t know it was bullshit.

“Girl, I love you more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life, but you are truly exhausting.” She sighed and held her hand up as a means to silence you before you even spoke. “Now if you’re not ready for someone to potentially love and take care of you that’s one thing. But if you are intentionally sabotaging yourself because you’re scared you gotta knock it the fuck off.”

“But Ti--”

“No, ma’am. If that boy wanted to know when Normani’s album was dropping he did not need to take your ass to Rome to do it. You have been scorned by this industry more than most will ever recognize, and I know that, and I validate that. But you ain’t in a relationship with Manny Mendes. You’re not in a relationship with the industry. It’s Shawn. And that man hates his dad and his dad’s company more than you do. I love you, but you’re being a bit ridiculous.”

“...Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.” She hummed. “You keep doing this. You keep letting outside factors affect everything, and that’s not sustainable. You have to trust him. He has to trust you. That’s the only way it works.”

You peered at her with tired eyes. The kind of eyes that a woman who’d been scorned one time too many might have.

“But what if he hurts me?”

“Than we pick up the pieces. We work at it until your healed. But you don’t get the love without faith. You’ve got to put yourself out there, babe.”

And that is of course how you end up at his place at midnight on Friday nonetheless. Ti had practically ushered you off, offering to close up shop for the night if it meant you would finally leave the office. You’re still in your work jumpsuit with the too tight ponytail and the makeup that you couldn’t wait to take off.  The code lets you easily without having to let him know that you’re there. Perhaps that’s why you finally get to hear him this time.

The doors of his fancy apparently  are surely made of thicker wood, so he must be sitting right inside the living room. Regardless you hear it in this soft, muted kind of way. It’s an acoustic guitar, the plucking of his fingers just as rounded and full. It’s beautiful and rhythmic and it makes you pause, your fingers still resting on the door knob because then the mother fucker starts to sing.

Maybe I had too many drinks, but that's just what I needed

I hope that you don't think that what I'm saying sounds conceited

When I look across the room and you're staring right back at me

Like somebody told a joke and we're the only ones laughin'

You’re fingers grip tight at the door knob, you’re mind both seemingly filled with a million thoughts and yet too overwhelmed to process any of it. His door is unlocked though and when you stumble inside the vision in your head comes to life. He’s sat on his floor by the fireplace with a guitar you’ve never seen upon his lap. He’s wearing a white tanktop and black sweats. The rosary against his neck nestles against what looks like perfectly tamed chest hair. He is as unreal as ever. And yet somehow, somehow that is not the most astonishing part of everything around you in this moment.

He pops his head up towards you. His fingers don’t still on the guitar at all as he seems to pluck out the melody he’d sung just moments prior.

“Took you long enough. Almost like you were outside eavesdropping or something.” He hummed.

“I...How did you even know I was outside?” You stuttered.

“I get an alert every time someone enters my code. I don’t just wait around for you all the time ya know.”

Rude.

“You...You sing.”

He peered at you, fingers still moving, his head tilted just slightly to the side as if you were as confusing to him as he was to you.

“I sing.” He affirmed. “Is that okay?”

“How come--I mean you never said anything.” You frowned. “That--That song. You wrote that?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve been given a bit of inspiration lately. Is that what you came here for? To bust me in my hobby?”

This changes things. And surely it wouldn’t have mattered because Ti’ had already convinced you to suck it the fuck up and come over, but the fact that he’s got music in him and never said anything matters. Because there’s a lot he could have asked for. A lot he could have tried to get from you, and he hadn’t. It really didn’t matter to him at all. You were just a fucking asshole.

It occurred to you that you were still standing in the middle of his doorway, so you closed the door and moved slowly near him. He set his guitar off to the side as you plopped one of his decorative pillows in the spot beside him and sat down. Without his guitar, Shawn was a lot more fidgety. He took to playing with his rings on his fingers again, eyes soft and vulnerable pointed in your direction.

“So...Is this it? You come here to end it?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “No. I came here to apologize.”

His eyes flickered up to your face, a hint of hesitance to them.

“I’ve never heard you apologize in my life.”

You rolled your eyes and punched playfully at his arm, the chiseled muscle probably hurting you more than it hurt him. He wasn’t wrong.

“The truth is...When you asked me about Normani’s release I didn’t think of it as you wanting to know about my day. I didn’t think about it as you wanting to be kind to me at all. I sort of, maybe thought you were snooping trying to figure out a way that you could hurt me.” You admitted softly. “Because--well because that’s what I’ve experienced in the past. And that’s not an excuse but it just is...it’s what I was feeling.”

He squinted his nose up and it would’ve been cute had you not been so flustered.

“Wait, you thought I was gonna hurt you? How?” He asked turning more in your direction.

You winced. “Like...by maybe taking it to your dad. Knowing whether or not Normani’s gonna release would be really beneficial to him.”

There’s a range of emotions that cover his face. First confusion. Then acceptance. And then anger.

“Why would I ever do that to you? What have I ever said or done to make you think that I would choose allegiance to my dad of all people over you. I hate my job, y/n. I hate that company. You know that better than just about anyone.”

“I know! I know that. I just--fuck. You scare me okay!” You whined. “I haven’t been in a healthy relationship in years. I’ve been fucked over in my job, in my relationships, in life constantly. And I didn’t exactly walking into our arrangement expecting to find a relationship. I don’t know how to do this, Shawn. I don’t--I’m not sure I truly deserve it.”

You glanced down at the floor in worry and fear. You wanted it. God, you really wanted it. But, shit if you weren’t terrified to try.

When he crawls into your lap, you’re a little taken aback. For how tall that fucker is, he certainly could use an extra meal or two. But, there’s something about the reversal of his thighs bracketing your hips the way that yours would usually do to his. There’s something about the way his thumb soothes at your pulse point as his fingers rest on either side of your neck. There’s something about the way that he looks at you with tenderness and kindness. It’s a little unlike anything you’d ever quite felt before. And it makes you soften beneath him with ease, all the fire running out of you at once.

“You are...the most hard headed woman I’ve ever met.” He mumbled softly.

You smiled sheepishly. “That’s what my momma’s been telling me since I was born.”

“Well she’s right. But I’m kind of crazy about you. And I don’t like fighting with you. And I don’t like being mad at you, or you being mad at me. I just want to make you happy. This is the first time in my life where I feel like I can make some good out of anything. You feel...right. I like you, and I want to take care of you, and I’d like to have something where we can both give each other that. I’m just as scared as you are, okay? I don’t fucking know what I’m doing either. But I wanna try. Do you?”

Was it really that simple? Could it be that simple?

“I do. I really do.” You whispered.

“Good. That’s all I needed to hear. C’mere.”

For him, it could be.

His fingers knot in your ponytail and he tugs your lips to his with zero hesitation. After a shitty week of back and forth it feels good to not have to think for a while, to let his lips work over yours. He’s dominant even here with his tongue and his hands and his hips. He could’ve made it soft and gentle, but that’s not really what the two of you were about. Or was it?

“I’ve got leftovers in my fridge.” He murmured running his thumb along your bottom lip. “Did you eat dinner?”

You shake your head softly and he quickly climbs off your lap to tug you towards the kitchen. It doesn’t go unnoticed to you that his guitar stays behind in the living room.

“Are we ever gonna talk about the singing thing?”

“Maybe let’s do one heavy thing at a time, aye? I’ll tell you sometime. I promise. For now, do you want egg drop soup or pasta?”

You climbed into your seat at his kitchen counter and quickly tugged at your jacket and ponytail holder.

“Pasta. And one of these days I’m gonna teach your pasty ass how to cook.”

“Sure thing, babe.” He snorted. “I look forward to it.”

***

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[yespolkadotkitty]

Breathless, pt 10

Part 9 here

Part TEN of “hmmmm, I think I’ll write some more Conrad”

The Inn of Little Happiness sounded like something right out of a cute little romcom. Or a quirky horror film, you reflected as Conrad paid for a room. The clerk was friendly, but you barely managed to communicate with her. You were a mess of fear, anticipation, dread and hormones.

Conrad pocketed the key and took your hand. You held his, feeling the gun calluses he must have developed over the years, and yet, he’d never touched you with anything except the utmost gentleness.

You climbed the stairs together, not speaking.

Do I love him?

Was love something you could develop properly in a situation like this? Had you even done anything remotely normal together, aside from the ice cream in the botanical gardens? You couldn’t remember anymore. James Conrad seemed to make you lose the ability to think clearly about your emotions.

Conrad turned the key in the lock, opened the door to the small room. A ceiling fan turned lazily, provided some relief from the Malay heat.

The space that greeted you was basic to say the least, but looked clean. A double bed had been neatly made. The far wall boasted a rickety-looking wardrobe and a CRT TV on a no-nonsense wooden stand on wheels. A doorway, with no door, led to a bathroom with a no-frills glass-fronted shower and a toilet and sink.

Conrad glanced at you, as if gauging your reaction to these most rudimentary of accomodations.

“I just want you,” you whispered, closing the door behind him. You held a hand out, palm up, and he gave you the key. You locked the door, the key giving a metallic clink in the lock. “I don’t care about our surroundings.”

Conrad tossed your bags on the floor at the foot of the bed and held out his arms. You went willingly, snuggling up against his lean, muscled runner’s build, breathing him in.

“Did you mean it?” you asked against his chest, breathless.

“Did I mean what?” His voice was low and intimate in the quiet room, only the whirr of the ceiling fan for background sound.

“That it’s more than money.”

“You know it is.” And he dipped his head and kissed you, gently at first, but when you touched your tongue to his, the flames kindling inside you burst into hot, eager life, and you slid your hands up the back of his shirt, desperate to touch his smooth, warm skin. Your fingertips brushed the welt of a long-healed scar and you were reminded of why you were even here, together.

Conrad sensed your hesitation and broke the kiss, lifting his shirt off. You caught the glimpse of a cocky grin. He knew how hot he was, how he affected you.

“Come to bed, darling.” He tugged you closer but you needed no real encouragement. You went willingly, pulling him down on top of you on the unyielding mattress. Of course, it was hardly what you were used to, hailing from a rich background, but you couldn’t have cared less. Conrad’s muscled physique pressed on top of you, his clever mouth trailing kisses down your neck to your breasts, and nothing else mattered. Whatever sparked between you was more precious than all the gold and jewels in the known world, and, you realised as he murmured your name in that James-Bond smooth voice, at this point you’d probably do almost anything to keep it. To keep him.

Whatever the personal cost.

You arched into him, and he carefully peeled the layers of your clothes and underwear away. His stubble rasped against the skin of your breasts as he paid generous attention to your nipples. You threaded your fingers through the tattered silk of his hair, closing your eyes and wishing that he was just a normal man, that you were meeting for hot hotel sex in the centre of London and then going home to nice safe life, nothing more pressing than trust fund meetings with the charities you supported.

Safe.

Boring.

But Conrad wasn’t just any man. And that was probably why you’d fallen quite so hard for him. He was unique. Unforgettable. And now if he walked away, like you had always thought he would, you would never, never find his equal.

Conrad kissed his way down your stomach, soft-open-mouthed kisses. He flicked his tongue briefly into your navel, tickling, and then, after divesting you of your jeans, boots and underwear, he spread your legs. His gaze moved over you, blue, blue eyes darkening as he shifted down the bed to get more comfortable. The heat had ruined his hair, separating the strands, messing it up, and you loved the tumbled look it gave him.

Then he touched you with his tongue and your hips all but came off the bed. Your heart hammered. One touch and he brought you just three breaths from orgasm.

This man.

Conrad bent to his task with the sort of dedication you associated with an SAS soldier. You gasped as he licked you in exactly the right way, the curve of his tongue absolutely maddening. “Conrad,” you breathed as he doubled down, holding your legs in place as your whole body shuddered. You gripped his hair. “Don’t stop-”

The orgasm hit you like a freight train, stars exploding behind your closed lids. When the bliss subsided, you looked up to see Conrad with a smug expression scribbled over his handsome, unshaved face.

You reached down for him. “Inside me, now.”

He shucked the rest of his clothes. You were palming him excitedly the second he’d left the garments on the floor, sighing against his mouth as he position himself above you. You wrapped your legs tight around his hips, heels on the backs of his thighs, guiding him inside you. You both let out long, satisfied exhales when he was seated to the hilt. You whispered his name, and he met your gaze, and held it.

“I love you,” he murmured, blue eyes dark with emotion.

Your heart clenched, hard. To say you hadn’t expected him to be the one to say it - well, you hadn’t expected either of you to say it - would be a huge understatement.

You buried your face in the sweet curve where his neck met his shoulder, overcome by emotion.

Conrad kissed your hair. “Upset?”

A tear slipped down your cheek and you swallowed against the wave of bittersweet happiness. “This whole time.. Well, since that night in Bill’s place, I’ve been telling myself you’d leave without a backward glance. I dared not hope….”

“You know what they say in the SAS, darling. Who dares wins.”

You snorted out a laugh, lightening the moment, which you suspected had been his intention. Conrad’s emotional intelligence was top notch.

He started to move his hips then, and you clenched your muscles around him. God, he felt amazing. If you could keep this fantastic sex forever….

Maybe you could. You two had a fighting chance.

You held him tightly, lifting your hips to meet each cant of his. You felt his thrusts shorten, his breathing catch, and you slid a hand between your bodies to play with the sensitive curve of his balls. He gasped throatily and his hips jerk hard, coaxing a second orgasm from you as he emptied himself within you.

You lay together for long moments. Car engines and birdsong filtered into the room from outside as your heartbeats slowly eased back to normal.

Conrad cuddled you into his side, and you sighed, contented in a way you hadn’t been for a long time. Maybe you’d just never realised, before him, that you’d been unhappy with your life.

You reached down and drew the blanket up over you both. Conrad’s breathing evened out first, and you eventually followed his leave and you, too, slept.

When you woke, it was one hour until midnight.

Tagging: @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles​ @hopelessromanticspoonie​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @lady-loki-ren​ @amarisyousei​ @lotus-eyedindiangoddess​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @wiczer​ @peacope​ @jessiejunebug​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @villainousshakespeare​ @arch-venus25​ @xxloki81xx​

[mintjamsblog]

Wet (by MintJam)

Peaky Blinders fic: Tommy x Alfie

Read on A03

Summary: In which Alfie is not feeling himself.  

"He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off."

Warnings: NSFW!

Wet

It’s raining when Alfie wakes up on a Thursday morning. Proper rain. Not the usual damp London drizzle, but big, fat droplets that seem to fall too slowly and land too loudly. He hasn’t looked out yet but he can hear them smacking thickly against the glass, warning him to stay put. It makes a pleasant change, he supposes; it’s usually the birds that wake him first, welcoming the not-yet-dawn, although it seems they’ve all taken cover this morning, too busy keeping their feathers dry. Contrary little fuckers, birds; happy enough to chirp delightedly each morning over the Somme, heedless of the acres of filth and stench of death, and yet silenced by a simple downpour.

He lies still, listening to the water collecting in the gutters outside, running down the street and gurgling noisily into the drains. His sheets are drenched and he needs a piss. He ought to get up. No doubt the rain had a hand in conjuring up last night’s choice selection from the darkest recesses of his mind: Old Archie Pembroke. Fucker should have paid up of course — was one of the few that could afford to. Alfie had made sure it was a suitably watery end for the landlord of The Ship, The Lock Tavern and The Black Buoy. Drowning. In a barrel of his own beer. The ripples it sent through Camden doubtless saved the lives of a dozen other landlords who thought better of standing up to the volatile Jew thereafter. One life wrung out for the loyalty of dozens; he’d do it again in a trice.

The level of detail his subconscious mind can recall always staggers Alfie — the strength of grip required to keep a man's head beneath the surface; the frantic gasps for air after each submersion; the surprisingly long time it took for him to finally stop struggling.  He'd forced the bar staff to watch (there's really no point in the theatre of it without an audience to spread the word) and they had gasped their way into his sleep too. Still, it was a far better death than many Alfie witnessed in France. Gas was the worst. When you've watched a man retch up yellow liquid from the depths of his own lungs over two whole days and nights — before finally drowning in it — then it's hard to feel sorry for a man like Pembroke.

Funny how the battlefield is not the thing that haunts Alfie. It haunts Tommy, he knows that much. Not that they ever discuss or even acknowledge that fact unless absolutely forced to. If Tommy’s aware of Alfie’s dreams then he doesn’t let on. Which is fine. It’s the same tack Alfie’s taken many times in reverse because no good comes of dragging those thoughts into your waking hours, far better to leave them wrapped in the sheets. Food or a fuck is Alfie's preferred medicine — although seeing as the cupboards are bare and Tommy hasn't been in London for days neither is on the menu this morning.

The rain continues unabated as he splashes cold water over his face; washes his eyes, his hair, his beard. The dream refuses to wash off, its remnants cling to him like smoke; not the specifics, just a vague feeling of unease that he knows will last well past lunchtime. Which is why, when Edna shuffles in, a blast of petrichor in her wake, he welcomes the distraction and insists she drink tea with him. She knows the score, knows she'll find wet sheets when she heads upstairs, but Alfie's strange gruff manner doesn't bother her. She'd never have lasted this long if it did. And so they share tea and Alfie asks after her brother, a man so wrecked by the war he never leaves the house. They share the bagels Edna brought in comfortable silence until, with warm tea and food in his belly the heaviness starts to lift. Alfie can't help but think of his mother, like Edna a hard-working, uncomplaining woman. He wonders vaguely what she'd make of the man he's become? Would she be proud or dismayed? Neither, probably, she was always a pragmatist. Alfie's pulled from his thoughts by the shrill ring of the telephone in the other room. It's Olly, all of a panic — there's been some sort of flood at the bakery. He's starting to wonder if his watery dream was an omen.

–––––

The mess at the bakery is nothing short of a disaster; the priority is keeping the surviving barrels dry and protecting the molasses (that stuff is still not easy to come by — not quite the liquid gold it was a few years ago, but valuable nonetheless). He spends half the day knee-deep in cold, filthy water and the other half bellowing at his staff, the insurance broker, several suppliers and anyone else with enough of a death-wish to come within 5 yards of him. Which all means that by the time he gets home he is freezing, stinking and ready to kill the next person to so much as look at him the wrong way.  He runs himself a bath (upstairs; he's too tired to fill the copper tub) and lies in the warm water pondering the fucking fortune it's gonna cost to sort out the buildings — not to mention the lost stock, revenue and good will. The one saving grace, if you can call it that, is that the whole shebang appears to have been an act of God, which at least means he doesn't have to add retribution to the list of actions required (the Lord God Almighty is outside even Alfie's jurisdiction). He lays there, eyes closed, and tries to empty his head, to think of nothing, to think of the value of sight, but his mind is too busy and it isn't long before he finds himself wondering what's been happening with the Shelbys. In and of itself, this fact is downright bloody disturbing. The last thing he needs in his current mood is an unsolicited image of John and Arthur skittering across his mind — it's enough to make his already disinterested cock retreat back inside his body entirely. Fucking hell. He's not one to cast aspersions on the virtue of the late Mrs Shelby, but the idea that Tommy was born of the same blood as those two gormless idiots is just ... well it's fucking preposterous is what it is.

If he's honest, he's a bit disappointed that Tommy hasn't been in touch for days. Not that he's made any running himself, of course. Tommy will be in touch when he's good and ready. Or when he's spectacularly fucked himself up somehow. One or the other. He drags himself slowly out of the bath and decides to turn in for the night because he's not feeling all that great — throat a bit sore, chest a bit heavy — all that fucking cold water no doubt. It doesn't prevent the ghastly dream that follows shortly after, it's William Taylor tonight (stabbed in the chest) although he wakes halfway through the grisly climax because there's banging coming from downstairs. Shit, he forgot to lock the fucking security bars. He grabs his gun as he stumbles onto the landing, physically shaking off the nightmare as he limps down the stairs. It’s Tommy, of course, and he's clearly had a couple of drinks ... not a skinful, but enough to make him a little louder than usual.

"You haven't locked the fucking security gates, Alfie."

"Well hello to you too, darling."

Tommy's looking at him strangely, brow furrowed. "Did I get you out of the bath?" he asks.

Alfie looks down, momentarily perplexed, before realising his undershirt is soaked. "Yeah, yeah, s'nothing," he grumbles. "Shitty day, that's all." He'd rather not have to explain exactly why he's drenched in sweat, but one of the benefits of sleeping with an emotionally repressed numbskull is that he's highly unlikely to pry. Especially when he's had a few. Alfie heads back upstairs and straight to his room, retrieving a fresh undershirt from the press. He's just changed into it when Tommy appears from the bathroom, looking less clothed but more bemused. He sits down on the edge of the bed and opens his arms in a clear signal he wants a hug. He's definitely had a drink, then. Alfie walks into the embrace, stands between his open thighs and lets warm arms wrap around his waist. Tommy rests his head against Alfie's stomach for a moment and it fucking warms his cockles, even if the man does smell of whiskey. Of course then Tommy opens his mouth and spoils the whole bloody moment, but that's him all over innit? "Nearly broke my fucking leg in there," he mumbles into Alfie's shirt. "S'water everywhere. Wet my socks. And you didn't empty the tub, it's full of cold water."

"All fuckin' right," Alfie says defensively. "Anything else you'd like to complain about? It is me own bleeding house, mate." He was going to add an amusing quip about whales and blowholes but his brain doesn't want to play ball. It wants to close down for the night, despite the slightly drunk man clinging to his middle who is now trying to nose down his shorts.

"I really need to get some shut-eye, mate."

"Too tired for a blow job?" Tommy says, fingers tucking into Alfie's waistband.

"Fraid so," Alfie mumbles, at which Tommy looks absolutely incredulous. Which is a bit offensive actually. It's not like he's a total whore on an average day now, is it? Although, actually ...  where Tommy is concerned ... now that he looks back on the past few months ... well whore's not quitethe word he'd choose. He can't help it if he's generally enthusiastic. Because Tommy is genuinely the best shag of his life and can get him hard just by walking through a door... usually ... bloody hell, which is a sure sign he's not one hundred percent tonight, but doesn't mean ...

"Alfie? You sure?"

"Fuckin' hell Tom, never thought I'd say this, but yes."

"Alright," Tommy says, pushing himself up. Only now he's fucking pouting. Alfie can't resist reaching over and flicking the bottom lip that's protruding just enough to have crossed the line between sexy and childish. It doesn't go down well – Tommy smacks his hand away irritably and proceeds to unbutton his shirt. If Alfie was feeling more himself he'd find a suitable way to repay Tommy for that. But he's not. So he doesn't.

"Just get in, Tommy," he sighs as he pulls back the covers and slides one leg into the bed. The sodden sheets make him recoil instantly, "Oh for fucks sake," he yells. Tommy looks up at him sharply. "S'fuckin drenched. Just like this entire wretched day. I'm gonna sleep in the spare room." He heads for the door in exasperation, fully expecting Tommy to follow. He doesn't. He just stands there looking like he's been slapped. "With you, you bloody idiot," Alfie snaps, grabbing Tommy by the hand and physically dragging him across the landing. How come, right, he's the one who's just relived, with ungodly realism, a brutal (albeit necessary) stabbing; he's the one who feels like shit, and yet Tommy's the one who needs reassuring?

He gets into the spare bed and manhandles Tommy into some sort of spooning position. He can't tell whether the man's still pouting or not, but the way he presses his back against Alfie's chest suggests not. He kisses the back of Tommy's head, hopeful of a more peaceful night now that this surly, peevish little gypsy is back in his bed. Well, not his bed, technically. His spare bed. But the point stands. He's asleep within moments.

––���––

The bloody birds are back on form the next morning, little bastards, cheerily welcoming the new day. At least that means the rain's stopped. He's confused for a moment when he opens his eyes, can't quite place where he is. He feels rough as old boots – his head aches, his throat feels like glasspaper and his limbs feel like sandbags. He's overslept, must have done, the sun's already up and there's no sign of Tommy. He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen either; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off. Not only that, but there's a towel in the bed. It's all bunched up and digging into the backs of his knees uncomfortably, but it's very definitely under him. He digs his fingers into his eye sockets as if that might rub some recollection into them. It doesn't, so he throws himself back down against the pillows instead.

"Morning, Alfie," Tommy says a couple of minutes later, carrying a tray into the room. Alfie tries to reply, but all that comes out is a strained croaking sound. He coughs and tries again, but it's not much better. Fucking hell he is on the back foot here — Tommy is up and dressed and back to his usual rigid self. He's looking as beautifully buttoned up as ever, whilst Alfie doesn't even know where his clothes are, let alone how he got out of them.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Tommy mocks. "Has Alfred Solomons lost his voice?" He looks fucking delighted with himself. Bastard.

"Well," Alfie croaks, "I am of course only here to ensure a smile passes your lips at least once a week. Glad to see my misfortune has achieved that already this morning."

"Shut up, Alfie," Tommy says, "you sound like a toad."

It's a fair point. Rude, but fair. He manages to stay quiet for all of twenty seconds before curiosity gets the better of him. He has a feeling he's not going to like the answer to this question but he asks it anyway.

"So did you have your wicked way with me last night whilst I was unconscious or has an evil fairy performed a vanishing spell on my clothes? Hmm?"

"They were wet," Tommy says dismissively, before swiftly changing the subject. "Thought you might like something to eat," he says, placing the tray down on Alfie's legs. "Tea, toast and some weird-looking pastry things," Tommy says, recoiling from the plate.

"It's a type of food, Tommy. Some of us actually enjoy that, you know."

"They remind me of pissing contests in the school yard."

"You what?" Alfie splutters.

"You know, all of us boys would line up and see who could piss the highest up the wall. That's what they look like — a row of little dicks."

"Fuckin' hell Tommy, that is just nasty." Despite which, he finds himself wondering who won, even rooting for eight-year-old-Tommy. His brain is quite clearly addled. "They're called rugelach; Edna makes 'em. You should try one."

"No thanks," Tommy says, grimacing. "Only dick I wanna put my lips around is under those blankets."

That makes Alfie laugh, or at least try to, it catches in his throat and turns into something between a wheeze and a cough.

"I've gotta go," Tommy says, leaning over to give him a peck on the forehead. "Think you'd best stay here, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah, m'not going anywhere. All that bloody water. Must've caught something."

"I'll be back later. Got people to see."

–––––

Alfie spends half of the day in bed, hoping he can sleep off the worst of whatever this is. He avoids the towel and the damp sheets by sleeping on Tommy's side, but eventually his back forces him up — staying still for too long never does it any good. The light is grey and watery, must be afternoon by now, so he finds himself trousers and an undershirt, pulls them on as carelessly as ever and covers them with not one waistcoat, but two. He wraps a scarf around his neck for good measure and makes his way downstairs. One thing's for sure, he can't go to the bakery in this state. Men work harder for a monster than they do for other men – it doesn't do to humanise oneself with the staff. He makes an exception for Edna, calls Olly and has him send her over even though it's not one of her days. Be easier, maybe, if he installed a phone at her house. He makes sure to berate Olly soundly for all the things he knows will be sliding in his absence, as much to satisfy his irritability as to keep up appearances.

His theory on leadership is reinforced nicely by Edna's reaction to his watery eyes and rasping voice. "Oh Mr Solomons, you're not well. You must let me light you a fire. I'll bring honey and lemon. And make you some soup."  See? Just like that he is no longer a leader of men but a little boy, as feeble and fallible as the rest of them. Much as he can't stand fussing, he can't deny that the soup, when it arrives, is deliciously welcome.

"If you could change the beds, Edna, please," he says, blowing across his mug of hot lemon. "I'll have a visitor tonight."

"Very good, sir. But ... " she pauses, nervously, "are you sure you're up to guests?"

And there it is again, that line being crossed purely and simply on grounds of his temporary infirmity.

"I'm up to this one," he answers gruffly.

Once she's gone he takes himself back up to bed. His whole body feels heavy and slow and unusually cold but the clean sheets are a luxury he can never take for granted — not when he's slept too many days and nights in mud thick with excrement and the slime of rotting flesh. Give him cool, crisp cotton over lice-ridden wool for the rest of his days and he will consider himself blessed. He should bathe really, but he can't face the bother. Maybe in a little while...

A hand on his cheek wakes him that evening. Fingers unmistakably cool and dry. He's fully clothed atop his sheets and feels a little better for the rest. But he's  cold.

"Come downstairs for a bit, it's warmer," Tommy says quietly. Bloody hell, he hates this, feeling weak, coddled. He's tempted to refuse on principle. But Tommy is waiting for him on the landing and the fact that he isn't pushing forces Alfie to comply. "Not sure I can be arsed, mate. Too much bloody effort," he mumbles as he follows. He draws the line at Tommy holding his hands out, though.  "I'm not a bloody invalid," he snaps, before undermining his point entirely by taking them nonetheless. Well, lying down all day has made everything seize up a bit more than usual.

As they reach the living room it's obvious that the fire is roaring in the grate. In front of it is his huge copper tub, like a ship ready to set sail, already steaming. And, that is something innit? He perks up a little at the sight, before frowning again, because it is rather disconcerting that Tommy managed to come into his house, get the tub from the yard and complete the laborious task of filling it with hot water without Alfie ever waking. He should be bothered by that. Very fucking bothered. Except there's a pleasant warm feeling in his belly that he chooses to go with instead.

"Come on then, get 'em off," Tommy chides, gesturing to the clothes he's still wearing, "before it gets cold."

The hot water is a joy to his aching joints. He's just leaning back against the high end when Tommy, fag dangling from the corner of his mouth, uncorks a small brown bottle and pours something into the water. The room immediately fills with a fierce, fiery smell, like pepper, or mustard, or fuck knows ... cloves or something. It's pungent and so acrid it hits the back of his throat.  "Good god, Tommy, what the fuck is that? Are you tryin' to off me?" he coughs, just as the ash falls off into the water. Bloody hell, no finesse that boy.

"It's good for the chest," Tommy says, obliviously putting the cork back. "Fetched it from Ada's this afternoon."

"Smells like it's meant for horses, not humans."

"It is," Tommy answers bluntly, swirling his hand in the water to spread it through.

"Fucks sake, you're not even joking are you? You can take the boy out of the caravan..."

Alfie rests his head on the back of the tub. As the smell recedes a little it becomes familiar, sparking a memory of the first time he ever set eyes on Tommy, all those years ago. "This what you used after the Italians did their job on you?" he asks.

"It is."

"Fuckin' hell, talkative tonight, aren't we?"

Tommy ignores him as he throws his cigarette end into the fire and starts removing his cufflinks, rolling his shirt sleeves up to the elbows. When he's done he pulls a footstool over and seats himself right up against the tub. "Sit up a bit," he orders, as he scoops water into a small cup. Alfie complies, wondering what the fuck he's doing. "Look up, you don't want this stuff in your eyes." Alfie is just about to ask him why when Tommy pours the water over the back of his head and starts raking his fingers through his hair. He feels like he ought to protest, but Tommy's already doing it again, pouring the water and raking it through, three times, four times, all brisk efficiency and alright, this has taken Alfie a bit off guard but he is suddenly intrigued. Tommy's movements are swift and awkward and he's very definitely looking at anything but Alfie; almost like he's embarrassed. Which is kind of odd, because it's not like anyone asked him to do this did they? He can see Tommy leaning down for something out of the corner of his eye. "That better not be any more of that horse potion," he mumbles, but it's soap, which Tommy is lathering furiously between his palms as though it's done him an evil in a past life.

The next thing he knows the soap is being slapped onto his head. Tommy proceeds to scrub at his hair so roughly it makes Alfie's head joggle on his shoulders, and yet he can't help but smile broadly. Here he is, a grown man approaching the fourth decade of his life, having his hair washed like some school kid visiting the nit-nurse. The man doing it is so bloody awkward it's comical, like he's actively trying to sabotage his own (rather thoughtful) gesture by deliberately going about it in a way that suggests he doesn't care at all. It really shouldn't be so fucking endearing. Alfie suppresses the desire to outright chuckle, because despite the absurdity of the situation he doesn't want it to end. Instead he shifts himself slowly backwards until he's leaning against the end of the tub again. Tommy stands up and walks round behind him, and somehow, being out of Alfie's line of sight seems to relax him a bit — his movements slow down and his fingers soften, which in turn allows Alfie to settle. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Tommy's fingers as they slip down to his shoulders, more sure of themselves now; they start a slow, firm slide upwards, thumbs pressing into the nape of his neck, fingers splaying out behind his ears. That's it. That's much better. When they reach the top of his scalp they start turning small circles around his crown, his hairline, his temples. Bloody hell, it feels good; he lets out a low, satisfied groan.

"Alright?" Tommy asks quietly.

"Yeah s'alright. S'fucking good, mate. Really fucking good." And so Tommy keeps going, firm fingers pressing and scraping all over his head and neck until it's sending actual shivers down Alfie's spine, and not just from the pure physical pleasure. It's the fact that Tommy, a man generally oblivious to his own physical well-being, is lavishing attention on him. Care. Part of Alfie wants to rebel, to fight the implication that he needs this in anyway, but the truth of the matter is that no one has ever done anything like this for him before. His mum must have done, once upon a time, but he's blowed if he can remember it and damn sure the bath wouldn't have been this hot or the fire this bright. And so he contents himself to watch the water — glowing orange like a sunset as it reflects the copper and the flames — and to lap up every delicious second of Tommy's hands on him. It's affectionate and intimate and Alfie would like to acknowledge that he appreciates it; to tell him that it means something. But in the end he's too wary of breaking the fragile silence, so he sits and sighs and silently enjoys the attention.

Eventually Tommy fills the cup again and pours water over his hair; Alfie has to sit up a bit so that it doesn't run onto the floor and Tommy moves to better reach him. He uses one hand to shield Alfie's eyes from the soap, smoothing his palm and pushing the water backwards. It makes Alfie's stomach flip, alarmingly. Just the way he's being so damn careful about it, tilting Alfie's head, stroking his hair, concentrating.  Hard to believe that it's Tommy. Tommy, who is always so stroppy and closed up and desperate to maintain his distance and his composure. Tommy, who only articulates anything meaningful under duress. Tommy who stripped his damp clothes in the night; who pretends not to know the real reason for the wet sheets; who brought him a towel to sleep on and breakfast in bed. Tommy who fetched some remedy from Ada's and heated pans on the stove to fill this cumbersome old bath — despite there being a perfectly functioning one upstairs — because he knows it's what Alfie prefers. He wishes it was easier just to say all that out loud, but it's not, is it? Because it will make Tommy self-conscious and evasive and defensive and then Alfie will have to spend hours (if not days) coaxing him back round. So he reverts to safety, to actions not words, because this is what they do.

"Get in," he growls. Tommy looks down at him, a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth. Alfie grabs his wrist until he drops the cup and looks him straight in the eye. "You, are gonna get in here in the next sixty seconds or I'm pulling you in with your clothes on."

"You feeling a little better?" Tommy asks, with an actual, proper smile.

"I'm planning on feeling a little gypsy," he replies, pulling harder on the arm. Tommy starts to move, irritatingly slowly, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his trousers (too easily Alfie notes). "You need to eat something," he says.

"Fuck off," Tommy snaps back, and Alfie chooses to fight that battle another day, because he's meant to be feeling appreciative. Instead he focuses on the sight of Tommy folding himself up between Alfies legs, back to his chest, both facing the fire. It never fails to amaze him, how small Tommy can make himself, so lithe and wiry he can bend in two. He smoothes his wet hands across Tommy's shoulders, making his skin glisten. He really has a rather lovely neck, Alfie thinks as he leans down to kiss it, slipping his hands around to smooth over the pale planes of his chest. He is too fucking small, but it's hard to care when he’s nestled into Alfie like a cat, practically purring as Alfie continues to nuzzle at his neck. When his fingers find Tommy’s nipples they tease gently and a low sound vibrates in Tommy's throat. Alfie squeezes harder, pinching both nubs painfully and not letting go. The water splashes gently by Tommy's left foot as he flinches at the harsh touch, which only makes Alfie let out a low groan of his own.

He doesn't relent, just pinches harder still until Tommy tenses his feet against the foot of the bath and pushes back against his chest. Fuck, there he is, Alfie's needy little bastard. He finally lets go when Tommy hisses. And just like that, the atmosphere has changed, been charged. He runs one hand down Tommy's side and slides it over to cup his cock, satisfyingly hard already. "Mmmm," Alfie whispers into his neck, gently teasing his balls, "think you've earned yourself a reward. Get on you knees."

Tommy hesitates, turning to peer over his shoulder at Alfie. "I thought you weren't feeling well," he says. Which is not an outright refusal, is it? More a play for time.

"Never said that," Alfie replies. Which is true. Plus he is never going to amit that the gypsy potion might be doing some good.

Tommy slowly starts to lift himself, confused but compliant, clearly a good boy tonight. "That's it, face the fire," Alfie says, hands already stroking up and down Tommy's thighs, admiring the view. He's kneeling upright, between Alfie's knees, back to his face.

"Alfie, what are you doing?" he asks, sounding a little fed up.

"Just hold onto that end for me," Alfie says, nodding towards the foot of the bath. He resists using the words "bend over," even though that's exactlywhat he means, because they both know Tommy doesn't like it.

"What the ..." Tommy starts to protest and Alfie just cuts him off. "Just do as you're told, eh?" Tommy swallows and reaches towards the end of the tub reluctantly. When he's got both hands on it, back slightly arched, Alfie lifts his knees, one at a time, and places them either side of his own. That's better, the stance is wider and he runs his hands over the smooth cheeks now just in front of his face. He really wants Tommy to bend down lower, but he's willing to take his time. He leans for the soap and lathers it up to a thick foam before reaching for Tommy's cock — less hard than it was before, signalling his self-consciousness. It's disappointing, but Alfie is unperturbed. He proceeds to massage the soap all over Tommy's balls and cock before stroking over his arse. "What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy asks, sounding a little shocked.

"Just returning the favour, love," he says, tone all innocent. His intentions are anything but as he rubs his thumb down the crease between Tommy's pale cheeks, feeling him flinch each time he passes the hole. He's enjoying the view immensely as he rolls Tommy's balls with the other hand, soaping them gently like a pair of delicate eggs. The hand on his arse keeps stroking the crease, up and down, catching on that puckered little hole on each passing glide. Tommy is starting to relax, to push back slightly and lower his head. That's it, Alfie thinks, like coaxing a kitten to a saucer of milk, he'll go gently and get what he wants. He slides his hand back to to the re-hardened cock, spreading the suds until everything is soft and slippery and too captivating to ignore.

He can't help but stare at Tommy's arse while he slides his hands over everything. He pushes the tip of his thumb into the hole and quickly back out - the little gasp from Tommy like music to his ears. He repeats the movement, quickly, eagerly, just short, sharp stabs that make Tommy clench and Alfie sigh.

"Just stay there love, right fucking there," he says, gripping one thigh like a warning. He picks up the cup and pours water from the small of Tommy's back, watching as it floods down the perfect crevice of his arse. When the soap has all gone he slumps slightly in the water and prises the cheeks apart with his thumbs. Tommy rocks forward slightly at that, everything tightening against the scrutiny, but Alfie keeps his grip, keeps him spread. Then he does what he's wanted to do for a very long time and flicks his tongue over the tight little entrance, once, twice, three times.

Strange that this should  feel forbidden, despite everything else that they do. Which may or may not explain the gut-punch of lust overtaking Alfie right this bloody second; the unusually vocal sound Tommy makes as he sloshes forward in the water does absolutely nothing to quell it — it's as if he's trying to escape, but Alfie just puts his hands round the front of his thighs and pulls him back into place, because he has no intention of stopping. But neither does he have any idea of what might actually feel good to the recipient, he realises. It can't be that different from kissing he figures, so he presses his lips to the hollow dimple and licks softly, reverently until Tommy responds with a strange, strangled sound.

"Just relax," Alfie mumbles, because fuck this is turning him on; the heat, the smell, the smooth, fluttering muscle – the way Tommy's subtly resisting – pulling away and tightening up so that Alfie has to grip his hips hard and hold him in place. He lets his tongue flatten and skates it upwards, firmly, licking the length of his crease slowly, repeatedly. He pays some attention to the back of his balls but can't help but return to lick over the central nucleus, wetting him, lapping him, tasting him.

When Alfie's tongue dares to dip inside Tommy's head droops dramatically downwards; he moans out a curse and seems to collapse, shoulders dropping like he's suddenly boneless. His head rests on his forearms, draped over the end of the bath and he groans so carnally that Alfie feels his stomach lurch and his cock respond. He starts sucking as well as licking, sealing the entire loosened ring with his lips and flicking gently with his tongue. Tommy loosens up further — moans and pushes back — which just makes everything easier to reach, to admire. He delves as deep as he can with his tongue, intrigued by the feel of it, so tough yet so soft. He keeps stopping to look, pulling back and opening him before plunging back in with his mouth. Fuck, he is in awe, as usual, of how delightfully Tommy moves, intermittently bearing down and clenching up like he's drawing Alfie in.

The problem is that Alfie's neck his aching, and though he doesn't want to stop, not with every flinch and every quiver so delightfully on display, he knows Tommy's knees must hurt too. Not that Tommy's complaining, but then again he never does, even when Alfie hurts him. Which is what finally does it, forces him to make the move because he wants Tommy enjoy this too.  

"Upstairs. Now," he growls, pulling himself upright and slapping Tommy's arse for emphasis. They both move impressively quickly, fleeing the bath with a haste that showers water and soap over everything. The each grab a towel and head up the stairs, like children playing tag.

Once in his room, Alfie lays Tommy on his belly and stuffs enough pillows under his hips that he looks like a fucking invitation, perfectly positioned for Alfie to lick until his tongue burns from the exertion. Which is exactly what he does. He delves and circles and laps at that perfect pink ring like a tiger grooming its cub. Any earlier malady is forgotten in his hunger for every squirm and sigh and stifled moan from the man beneath his mouth. By the time he crawls up the bed Tommy's arse is so slick with drool that he doesn't even bother with oil; simply laces their fingers together as he lines himself up and presses relentlessly in. Tommy gasps as he's entered, arching rigidly against him, and making a high, shaky sound that turns Alfie's legs to liquid. When his full weight rests flat on Tommy's back he just waits, marvelling at how he can fit himself inside the taut little ring he's been licking. It doesn't look possible, and yet here they are, slotted so tightly together. When, after a minute, everything is quiet and utterly still he murmurs, "there we go," softly against the curve of Tommy's ear.

And then he fucks him, slow and heavy, like he wants him to feel every inch and every ounce, to understand the weight of his want. And when even that's not enough he wraps his arms under Tommy's chest and pulls him onto his side. Actions are easier than words for Tommy, he's learnt that much by now, so Alfie wraps him tight around the chest and fucks him till he's exhausted, till everything hurts. He presses their bodies so close together it's like he's trying to join them with pressure, to cold-weld them together. Tommy just lets him, shallows his breathing to compensate and lets Alfie fuck him senseless.

Only when he's trembling right on the edge does Alfie loosen the embrace, moving one hand down to stroke him thoroughly through it. Tommy comes with a sharp gasp of breath, which makes Alfie moan unabashedly — lost in the sight and the sound of Tommy letting himself go. He can't see his lovely face at this angle, but he knows that his mouth will be open, his eyes closed, his brow gently furrowed. He kisses the parts he can reach — ear, neck, shoulder, clavicle — so focused on those that he's not even thinking of his own climax, just pumping his hips on pure instinct, lost in the moment, until Tommy makes a strange whimpering sound and taps his arm frantically. And for some reason that brings him back, tips him over until he is coming too. "Fuuuck," he groans as he floods into Tommy, shuddering helplessly as he tries to hold still.

Tommy goes limp with relief, slumping drowsily onto his belly and Alfie moves heavily with him, arms still wrapped round his chest. They lie like that for several minutes, still stickily joined together. Tommy clenches once round Alfie's softened dick as it withdraws in a hot rush of slick. He seems half-asleep but still murmurs irritably at the loss, which makes Alfie want to kiss him all over again. He presses his lips to Tommy's back, smoothing a hand down his side, pausing to pull the sheets up slightly, before he starts to shiver. He sinks lower, kissing all the way down Tommy's spine to the small of his back, revelling in the smell of sweat and sex and Tommy. And affectionate as this is, his mind is being slowly overtaken by an obscene and confusing thought. He's mildly troubled by it (or more accurately, by what Tommy might think of it) but he'll find out soon enough because he's already shuffling down the bed, under the sheets, kissing as he goes. Tommy groans sleepily as Alfie pushes one of his knees up the bed and out of the way because he wants to look, to see where his cock has been, what it's done to that innocent pink hole. God, he can smell himself down here which surely has no business feeling so satisfying. He moves one hand to spread Tommy's arse and is vaguely aware of an irritable response, above the rushing of blood in his ears. "Alfie, what the fuck...?"

"Shhh," he soothes, before biting Tommy's arse-cheek gently, teeth clenching round the firm muscle. Then he pulls it aside, looking straight at the evidence of his defilement. He moans involuntarily, a sound that rattles in his aching chest, and runs one thumb up the cleft of that beautiful backside. Tommy's hand comes round to swat him, but Alfie just grips it easily and holds it in mid air. He is focused shamelessly on that glossy, wet passage — can't help but push his thumb back inside — just to see how easily it glides in now that he's fucked it open. He pumps a few times, insistent but gentle, watching the mess that drips out of him. It's impure and possessive and Alfie couldn't care less until Tommy frees his hand and grabs his hair and pulls him up the bed. "Fucking hell, Alfie," he sighs, which might mean he's cross or self-conscious. Or neither. He sounds more tired than anything. Either way, he escapes to the bathroom, leaving Alfie alone with his thoughts.

"Who else you done that for?" Alfie asks when Tommy slides back in beside him.

"What?" Tommy asks, frowning. "If you mean have I ever let anyone lick..."

"Not that!" Alfie laughs, he know enough to be sure that that was a first. "The other stuff. The bath and the hair and ... you know, the towel and that."

"Charlie," Tommy says, reaching over to the nightstand for his cigarettes. "He likes it when I do bath time. Ada, when she was a kid. Arthur was never interested in helping." He pauses as he lights the cigarette. "My mother... towards the end." He looks wistfully at the ceiling as he blows his smoke in the air. Alfie just stares at him, picturing all the things he's just said, thinking of all the things he doesn't know about Tommy. How that always surprises him.  "I can look after people you know," Tommy says, looking mildly affronted.

"Hmmm," Alfie says in a tone that sounds entirely unconvinced. "Just not yourself, eh?"

"Fuck, off," Tommy replies, but he doesn't actually deny it. He finishes the cigarette and turns to stub it out in the ashtray before pulling Alfie in close. It feels strange to be the little spoon, but Alfie goes with it, shuffling down under the covers. He's going to regret the exertion in the morning, he can already tell, his chest feels like it's filled with hot sand. He might have to hold onto that little brown bottle, without telling Tommy of course, because he did manage to forget feeling ill for a while. Bloody hell, what is happening to him? Fucking horse medicine. But he drifts into sleep happy and sated and to dreams that are filled only with stallions. Which wouldn't be his first choice, let's face it, but could be an awful lot worse.