#scotch pine

[kanehopkins]

Concrete Pavers Milwaukee Ideas for a sizable modern front yard with a retaining wall made of concrete pavers in the winter.

[caughtonsamsung]

Front Yard - Concrete Pavers

[oilsaromaaz]

At Aromaaz International get the finest quality of Scotch pine essential oil. We make sure that people get every component of this essential oil in intact form Aromaaz international and we are providing bulk Scotch Pine Essential oil in India.

[littlemisshyperfixation]

Yoongi Fic Recommendations

a - angst f - fluff s - smut

part 2

Series

In the Margins (a s f) by @bonvoyagenoona ⊹₊⋆ You weren’t sure what he would look like. His writing made you think of a cabin nestled among tall pines, a well-worn cardigan, a scotch neat, and a wistful wisp of smoke seeping into the air from the bowl of an unattended tobacco pipe. What stands before you now is a studio apartment in the city, cigarette butts, coffee stains, and a scowl. There’s definitely been a mistake.

Fix You (f a) by @casuallyimagining ⊹₊⋆ When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal?

desolate (a f s) by @angelicyoongie ⊹₊⋆ you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

One Shots

Set Me Free (a f) by @casuallyimagining ⊹₊⋆ Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to?

back-burner (a f s) by @yoonpobs ⊹₊⋆ sometimes you felt like you were the back-burner of a two-decade-long friendship. how could you ever compete?

Love Language (a s f) by @gukslut ⊹₊⋆ Your boyfriend obviously loves you, but his silence has you questioning if he *wants* you. If you could only get past your damn insecurities maybe you could appreciate what you have.

27 Phone Numbers (f) by @bxebxee ⊹₊⋆ Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school. 

sweetner (f s) by @taegularities ⊹₊⋆ You used to know how he sounded when you were wrapped around him, but circumstances have pulled you apart and sent you scattering in opposite directions. Feelings shouldn't reappear so easily by simple words, but when you find yourselves in the same place once again, this is exactly what happens.

One Chance (f) by @out-of-jams ⊹₊⋆ A musical genius, a guy with a bad reputation, your assigned partner for your final project. And the last thing you ever would have expected.

Seasons Change (a s) by @taetaesbaebaepsae ⊹₊⋆ Min Yoongi and you, through the seasons, break up and come back together. Nobody said love was easy.

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t (a f s) by @daechwitatamic ⊹₊⋆ You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Now We Reign (a s f) by @oddinary4bts ⊹₊⋆ when working on a collab together makes you and Min Yoongi seek comfort with the other, you discover there’s more to life than loneliness. Only, hurdles mark your path in Min Yoongi’s life, and it’s unclear what the outcome will be. Will you be destroyed by him and his world, or will you learn to reign over it, together with him?

take five (a f) by @jiminrings ⊹₊⋆ you're min yoongi's nurse and you have a crush on him, and he gives you five chances to ask him out - he never said anything about accepting though.

The Final - Day 02 (s) by @yoongiofmine ⊹₊⋆ You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?

hello soulmate (f) by @bluemari23 ⊹₊⋆ your first day on the job doesn't turn out the exact way you envisioned

Sugar Rush Ride (s) by @lo1k-diamonds ⊹₊⋆ You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party.

fuck being friends (a f s) by @strawberrynamjoon ⊹₊⋆ as if watching the guy you were hopelessly in love with hook up with another girl each weekend wasn’t enough, he also happened to be your best friend, making things extra complicated. and it only gets worse and worse once he finds you crying in the bathroom at a party one night.

Take One (s f) by @untaemedqueen ⊹₊⋆ There are three things which Yoongi was certain of. One, he was a big star in his field of work. Two, he had a huge cock, one to rival many of the largest names in his industry. Three, he can only find pleasure these days in written word. 

Illicit Favors (f s) by @yoongiofmine ⊹₊⋆ When your editor tells you to re-write the chapters of your book because the sex scenes are weak, suggesting you write them from experience, what do you do when you lack any kind of sexual experiences in general? You go to your friend and ask him for help with it.

Bet On It (s) by @minisugakoobies ⊹₊⋆ What's a little wager between enemies? How about if it's your body on the line?

subscribed (s f) by @aquagustd ⊹₊⋆ you find out that youtube isn’t the only site he uses to satisfy his subscribers. what do you do with that information?

[mariasont]

GOOD LUCK CHARM - A.H

a/n: this came to me yesterday and i sat my ass down and WROTE

that should be me fr

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: reader is gone for the morning and leaves hotch a couple sticky notes

warnings: just my babies being so infatuated with each other it literally hurts, hotch is a pining fool, i love him, i need him, i want to kidnap him to my basement

wc: 0.8k

Hotch was having a rough day. He had never put much stock in the idea of luck, favoring the belief that a path was carved from the choices made. However, if he were to entertain the notion of luck, he would concede that today, he seemed to be rather out of it.

A lot had gone wrong. For starters, he had stained his favorite white dress shirt with coffee this morning. This undoubtedly set the precedent for the day, he was sure.

As soon as he arrived at his office, he was greeted not by the familiar click of the lock but by a stubborn door that refused to budge, his key sitting on the side table in his apartment. This then led to him reaching out to the custodian for a spare, only to be intercepted by Chief Strauss, who, in her usual fashion, had a litany of critiques ready for the BAU.

The day had been steadily unraveling, and the realization that you wouldn't be in until lunch because of a doctor's appointment was the tipping point. Normally, all these minor irritations could be overlooked, but in your absence, he could truly grasp just how much he relied on you.

You handled a lot on his plate, if not everything. You planned out his schedule, answered his phone calls, you double-checked his paperwork. You consistently shouldered more than he ever asked, despite his repeated warnings about overloading yourself--warnings that he, admittedly, never listened to.

Time seemed to crawl at a snail's pace. He found himself unwittingly watching the door, anticipating the bright burst of pink and the shimmer that accompanied you, but unfortunately that did not happen. Lunch couldn't come quick enough.

His vision began to waver, the words on the page melting into an indecipherable stew as he pressed a long finger into his temples. The lamp at the edge of the desk flickered capriciously. A mental note to replace it was quickly overshadowed by the more pressing need for an aspirin, prompting him to reach for the left drawer.

His eyes widened imperceptibly, fingers reaching into the space as he pulled the flimsy object from the drawer. It was a hot pink sticky note, its surface alive with glittery ink, smiley faces, and hearts. The corners of his mouth lifted, the tension in his back easing just a hair.

Aspirin isn't in this drawer silly! First one to your right! And don't take more than 2, okay? Between that and your scotch drinking habits your liver is screaming!!!!

He couldn't suppress the laughter that rumbled through him as he pressed the note to his desk. He turned to the drawer on his right, pulling it open to find, much to his satisfaction, the aspirin. Attached to it was yet another sticky note.

You found it!! So proud!! Hope your day is going amazingly! Don't miss me too much! :)

His heart thumped louder in his chest, a wave of heat blossoming across his neck as he carefully folded the sticky notes, tucking them into the pocket of his suit jacket.

When you finally came ambling into the office--your ponytail swaying, a pink ribbon securing it in place--he felt an instant lift in his mood. His jaw relaxed, fingers instinctively straightening his tie--a needless act but one that gave him a moment to admire you. You looked beautiful. You always did, but as he fingered the note in his pocket, he could feel his chest constrict just looking at you.

"Hi there, Mr. Boss Man," you sang out, voice as sweet as syrup as you glided towards him with an ease that defied that height of your heels. "The office didn't burn down without me, did it?"

"It came close."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," you giggled, the bracelets on your arms tinkling like wind chimes as you wrapped them around your notebook. "You look stressed. Are you stressed?"

"I'm fine, just a headache." He paused, his hand absentmindedly reaching again for the sticky note. "How was your doctor's appointment?"

"Squeaky clean bill of health." You beamed at him, shifting your weight to your toes. "Did you see my note?"

"I did. Thank you." A grin was vying for control of his features while his hand found its way to his neck, pressing lightly in a vain effort to steady his racing pulse.

"You're so very welcome," you chimed, sending him a smile that nearly made the air evaporate from his lungs. "Also, I fixed a couple issues in your calendar, and I ordered you a new lamp, I noticed yours was broken. I hope that's okay."

More than okay. You were perfect. If he were a man who believed in luck, he would be inclined to think you might be his good luck charm.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

[peachetteprice]

How it Should Be | Captain John Price

John, your husband of nine years - coming up on the big decade - who still grows pink in the face when you tap his arse and call him handsome.

He just can't quite believe it.

He knows he must be somewhat attractive because he landed you - and by God that was not an easy feat, concealing how ardently he pined for you in that dimly-lit Spoons in the centre of Hereford - despite how your brother, who joined you every time because it was the only way you could ever see John, and vice versa - had been his friend since John was twenty-five and your brother, twenty-two; he worked at the classic car garage in Leominster that John frequented to keep mint his Ford Cortina - but regardless of all of the strife he underwent to secure you as his beloved wife, he still finds himself biting back a form of childish embarrassment that forces his bottom lip between his teeth as you profess over a glass of wine just how gorgeous he is, right now, in his underwear, sipping that pitcher of beer because he ran out of Scotch.

In every other respect, he's the most stoic man you've ever met. But if you ever catch him in the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, even outside in the garden and coo extravagantly about how stunning he looks, whether he be elbow-deep in grease doing the dishes, fixing his belt around his jeans early in the morning, grooming his beard before the mirror or de-weeding the patio outside, he will undoubtedly become bashful to the extent of personal ridicule, rolling his eyes or slamming his palm on the sink to exclaim that he is not, in fact, as 'beautiful' as you seem to think he is.

It's only partly a joke, but the majority of one of those parts leans towards the serious truth, which is most disconcerting, and half the reason why you spend so much of your precious time trying to convince him that he is, in fact, the most beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, handsome man you've ever laid eyes upon.

And, yes, you may be biased, because you get this one all to yourself, and no other woman can say they frequently bed a man who puts as much effort into pistoning his cock deep within you or tongueing you until you're bone-dry in thirty-Celsius weather as he does - even if the sweat on the bedsheets is beginning to pool at an alarming rate - simply because he wants you to feel loved, irreverent of his own comfort.

Oftentimes, as he is, said, knee-deep within you, you'll take him by the scalp and guide him to your neck, urging him to press his weight against you - exactly as you know he loves - just so you have him in lock and key, knowing he's unable to go anywhere until he cums, and you can - finally - whine into his neck about how handsome he is, and watch as he can do nothing but soak it in, too busy panting, grunting and blushing to respond. His face, his body, his voice, his personality, his tact, his pubic hair rutting against your clit - his everything. It's all perfect. And you'd sooner die than live in a world where he doesn't believe so.

It's why you've since taken your dedication to greater heights, explicitly professing your love for your husband in front of his boys whenever they come around, so John (and them) can see it isn't just an elaborate plot to ensure he puts his empty cereal bowl away in the dishwasher as soon as he finishes his breakfast in the morning, or to get him to wipe the crumbs from the toaster when the crumb tray gets too full, or clean the cigar ash from the ashtray on the dining room table - that he says he'll 'get round to' after he finishes his mountain of paperwork, which you know is false because it would take him weeks to climb.

It's really to make way for a kiss and a ruffle of his hair here, a hug and a grope of his butt there - just enough to let him know that, regardless of company, you think he's the most irresistible hunk of man in the room.

And, sure, the first few times are a little awkward for all of you, the boys included, as they feel they've encroached on something that best be left behind closed doors, but Kyle and Johnny - never Simon - swiftly come around to the notion that you showing your affection openly to John is a wondrous thing (Kyle truly thought, prior to then, that there might have been marrital troubles; he'd never even seen you two so much as kiss) and Johnny goes so far, himself, as to 'awh', whenever you peck John's lips, pinch his beard and call him 'cute', even if Johnny does get a sturdy bollocking from your husband back at base - it's oh-so worth it to see his Captain still madly in love after nine (almost ten) years of marriage!

And it feels like you've carried to full-term and subsequently birthed a healthy baby when you wake up to the sound of gushing water from the bathroom, to see John pat beard oil into his facial hair, stop, assess himself in the mirror, then mutter 'yeah, not bad', because Christ, it'd finally paid off.

| Masterlist |

[fairsweetlonging]

new idea: shen yuan transmigrates into a pidw version with abo dynamics, but he doesn't know about it.

he knows what abo is, but it's so far removed from his expectations that it simply doesn't cross his mind at all. with that, cang qiong is a respectable, upstanding sect, so there is no growling, claiming, scent pushing or primal instinct stuff going on. people also don't mention it, as it's simply not relevant most of the time, and is considered rude to discuss unprompted.

shen qingqiu, of course, is an omega (the characters who make the best omegas are the ones who would hate it the most), but he has suppressed it with his qi for most of his life because he doesn't want to be seen as weak. the other peak lords assume he's a beta.

now, i'm not a traditional abo dynamic fan, but, there is something very appealing to me about the nesting and scenting aspect of it.

it starts out slow and painfully oblivious, with shen yuan assuming cultivators must have a really good sense of smell, and it's simply book logic that every character seems to have a signature scent. all those romance novels always mention characters smelling of pine and flowers and scotch and leather, so this isn't a foreign concept. liu qingge, for instance, is the bai zhan war god, girls fall for him left and right, it's only natural he smells of musk and deep woodsy notes, like the earth after it rains. right?

besides that, shen yuan has always been a homebody who loves his creature comforts, so him getting extra blankets and pillows and soft fabrics for his bed to curl up in isn't odd at all. or him collecting soft pretty things. shen qingqiu already has fans and night pearls and hair ribbons and silky clothes, so nothing changes.

then without-a-cure hits.

the poison breaks down the suppressors that the original shen qingqiu put in place, and his body starts restoring the balance. this worsens the cravings, and sets off his omega instincts.

he gathers more blankets, but it doesn't fill the need, like there's something missing. then liu qingge forgets his outer robe in his house after a meridian cleansing to deal with an emergency, and that robe ends up in his bed. he tries to reason it's a comfort thing—he wore his dad's sweater when he was young and had nightmares, and liu qingge does smell very nice, so is it really that strange that he holds it at night and presses his face against the collar where the scent is the strongest to soothe himself?

his own scent starts to develop as well, much stronger than the mild, watery green tea flavor from before, and people notice.

thing is, though, that there are many formalities and rules of conduct around omegas, one of which is not to bring up their status in any improper or unbidden way. so even though the alpha lords now notice a very distinct omega scent coming off their shixiong, they can't mention it out of societal pressure. so, they don't.

shen yuan still doesn't notice a thing.

the first time liu qingge smells it is during their bi-weekly cleansing session, when shen qingqiu leans in and liu qingge gets a mouthful of green tea, bamboo and honeyed jasmine, soft and sweet and pleased and so very content it sets off his alpha brain and he has to rein himself in before he starts releasing his own pheromones like some inexperienced teenager—

he's only just grown used to their amity and their habit of sharing tea and cakes after the cleansing, but now shen qingqiu is sitting there smiling at him and smelling like—like liu qingge is spoiling him and, making him feel safe...

he doesn't bring it up, downs his tea, and leaves.

meanwhile shen qingqiu keeps happily nesting away, filling his bed with all kinds of soft fabrics, some clothes of other people that he's trying really hard not to think about. everything is going well, binghe just turned sixteen and the girls are calling him an 'alpha', so his little bun is growing well into his protagonist charms! yue qingyuan comes by more often, acting a little strange but shen qingqiu is used to that by now. he looks very bashful offering him a ribbon of his, a pretty silver one that smells of incense and ozone, and shen qingqiu happily accepts it.

one time binghe comes back bruised and scuffed from a fight with bai zhan disciples, and shen qingqiu tsks at the strange smells on him, do those brutes ever bathe?? he rubs his hands over binghe's sleeves to try and get some of it off, and his poor bun must still be in shock because he stares wide-eyed at his shizun. he must also be getting forgetful because shen qingqiu finds that same robe still unwashed a week later in binghe's bedroom.

he also loves it when people brush or play with his hair, it's his favorite part of the evening when binghe helps him take down his hair for the night. the combs feel so nice on his scalp, if he could purr he would! (binghe's heart sobs quietly behind him, in complete disbelief his master is purring at him).

his icy, lofty demeanor has all but shattered, because now every time he tries to act aloof, like when yue qingyuan gives him a present or liu qingge shows up on his doorstep, his sweet, pleased scent betrays him.

the opposite is true, as well, when without-a-cure flares up and he's in pain and his scent goes sour and distressed, even when he's waving everyone off saying he's fine. the entire house smells of burnt tea leaves and ash after a nightmare, and shen qingqiu is very confused when liu qingge comes to pick him up for a meeting but then refuses to leave.

anyway he doesn't find out until after the conference when airplane tells him to keep his acrid scent under control, his house is starting to stink.

[ohsolovingsouls]

"Hey- don't start runnin' that mouth about Washington."

"I ah- I mean why would I, I'm fit as a fiddle. I ain't stupid though Sor- and I did get tested a while back for all the big ones. Haven't needed to since because it was only me, myself and I."

"Yes, because Washington state is known for their sex education program."

"You're 55 Huck, besides Joe, have you had any doctors look at you head to toe? Package in included."

[aerynwrites]

The Love You Want

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

A/N: based on this request. Hope you all enjoy! Word Count: 4.8k Tags/Warnings: Fluff, so much fluff y'all, mutual pining, not actually unrequited love, Simon being emotionally constipated as usual, first kiss (b/w couple), confessions, make out sesh. Summary: Ghost finds himself falling hard for the witty, takes-no-shit bartender at the hole in the wall bar he stumbled upon a few years back. Little does he know that you feel the same way and you're not about to let him think he doesn't deserve nice things.

The bar is bustling tonight, typical of a Friday night past seven o’clock.  most of the bodies beneath the dingy bar lights are familiar ones, the same faces you see each week, sometimes multiple times a week. They get their usual pints or cocktails or scotch neat. But there are always a handful of newcomers too.  University students stumbling in on their weekly bar crawl or tourists looking for a local hideout, as they liked to call it. They are all fine - you prefer the regulars over the strangers of course - but the newbies pad your pockets and give you plenty of entertainment. 

They give your favorite regular entertainment too. 

Well…maybe regular was a strong word. He didn’t come in every week the dame day, sometimes you wouldn’t see him for weeks or months on end. The outline of the dog tags you spotted beneath his too tight shirt one night being explanation enough of his long stints away. Yet, when he was here and not god knows where doing god knows what - he was a regular. He came in every other day, same time, wearing almost the same thing - and he was always here on Fridays. 

You spotted him the moment he walked in, having developed a sense for his presence now after almost two years of him coming here. At first he was like a wraith - a ghost, fittingly enough - entering and sliding into a bar stool without a single sound. You distinctly remember the first time he’d come in. 

You’d been laughing at some joke Gerry, one of your regulars, had told you, filling up his pint from the tap before sliding it over to him across the chipped bar top. The bar was pretty empty - it being earlier in the afternoon and not many of the evening crowds filing in yet. You noticed Gerry’s companion’s cup was low and moved to preemptively get him a new drink. The glass was cool in your hand, the condensation slick beneath your fingertips. When you turned to the other set of taps behind you, a shriek - much to your dismay - slipped past your lips at the unexpected presence at the bar. 

You barely had time to take in his imposing figure. A fucking giant of a man clad in all black and with a skull balaclava to boot - you would’ve been worried he was there to rob you had it not been for the money pressed between his hand and the bar. But you didn’t get time to dwell on on any of that as the glass tumbled from your hands. You tried feebly to catch it, the object bouncing from your hands once. Twice. Three times before eventually plummeting to the ground and shattering on impact. 

“Oh, fuck-” you mutter, glancing from the mess at your feet to the stranger at the bar, brows furrowing in frustration. 

“Has anyone ever told you it’s not polite to sneak up on someone?” You chastise lightly, stepping over the mess to reach for the broom at the other end of the bar. 

You missed it in favor of getting the broom, but Ghost had almost balked at your nonchalant manner of speaking to him. Usually people stuttered at his appearance, shied away from him, gave him odd looks, but you-

You just looked inconvenienced that he’d startled you enough to make a mess. 

And you didn’t know it yet - but that’s the moment Ghost started down the slippery slope of  enjoying your presence. 

This time he doesn’t scare you - this time you notice his entrance the moment the little bell above the door tingles. You feel like pavlov’s dog - eyes flitting to the door the moment the bell goes off, heart racing, palms getting slightly clammy.

He moves through the space much easier than most would expect for a man his size, but the mass of people part like the Red Sea as he moves through and straight to his usual spot. You ignore the calls of patrons at the end of the bar in favor of waiting for him to approach, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling as he finally arrives. It takes him no time at all, his dark brown eyes falling to the little slip of paper neatly folded on the bar top in front of his usual stool. 

You swear you hear him let out a huff of laughter, but can’t be too sure over the din of chatter in the open space. He plucks up the paper, his large hands dwarfing the small object as he turns it around to face you, the word reserved written neatly in your own script scrawled across the front. 

“What’s this then?” He asks, the all too familiar gruff baritone making you break your facade as a smile over take your features. 

You shrug, moving to grab a glass and the bottle of bourbon he always prefers. Top-shelf, of course. 

The amber liquid pools in the glass smoothly, and Ghost accepts it with a small nod as he finally slides into the stool and you finally answer him.

“Couldn’t have some newcomer taking my best customers seat,” you say.

You watch as his eyes roll behind the mask as he lifts it up, bringing the glass up to his lips.

“ ‘ardly a regular,” he mutters, “only in ‘ere a few months outta the year.”

You tilt your head to the side, “Yeah well. You’re still my favorite.”

Your words make Ghost pause, glass tilted up to his lips but the liquid not quite there yet. However, before he has time to dwell on your words, a whistle from the end of the bar breaks the tension. Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes as you turn to face the source of the sound. 

“Hold your horses Randy, I’m coming!”

You turn, smiling at Ghost as you tap the bar. “Don’t leave without saying bye, yeah?”

And then you’re gone, unable to hear the small hum of agreement he let out. 

———

Simon wasn’t one to open up to people. Hell, he wasn’t one to generally like people if he’s being completely bloody honest. He likes his team, he tolerates most of them. But other than Johnny there aren’t many people on this side of the dirt that he cares about. 

Until he met you. 

He didn’t intend on ever coming back to this bar - it was far away from base, not too close to his small apartment either. He  just happened to pass it driving from work to home after a mission gone terrible and stopped in for a drink to help him forget.  He was expecting cigar smoke and shitty music and liquor that burned. 

He wasn’t expecting to startle the barkeep. And he definitely wasn’t expecting the snark you gave him either. Gave everyone for that matter. 

That’s part of what kept him coming back. 

After you poured his drink and cleaned up the glass you dropped, his eyes hadn’t strayed far from your form. the absence of fear or anxiety from you in his presence intrigued him, and as he silently listened and watched your interactions with other patrons - he found his lips quirking up at the corners more often than not. 

You took no shit. Not from anyone. Not from your regulars and most definitely not from tourists or newcomers. 

Even now he watched and listened as you went about your work, pouring drinks happily for the regulars, tucking tips into the jar beneath the bar, smiling that dazzling smile that Simon can never get enough of. But more than anything he watches the way your eyes roll at another shitty pickup line from some wanker a few seats down from him. 

It’s cliche, and it makes even Simon cringe internally, biting back the groan with a swig of bourbon. 

“So,” the lad began, leaning heavily against the bar as you pour his pint form the tap. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” 

Simon watches as you have to physically hold back the cruel laughter you no doubt want to let out. But he can’t stop the smile beneath his mask as you send him a look as if to say ‘Can you believe this guy?’

You roll your eyes, pushing the tap closed when the glass is full before pushing it towards the guy with a hand out expectantly. 

“Yeah it did,” you say, eyes rolling yet again. “Because now I have to listen to shit like that every night - that’s six quid.”

Simon can’t stop the sick sense of satisfaction that bubbles up in his chest as the man grumbles before fishing the notes out of his wallet. Yet despite the harsh rejection of his flirtations, Simon notices the man still leaves you a generous tip, his mind wandering back to another memory from a few months ago.

“Careful, love,” he says after you reject yet another customers advances. “Tips’ll be shit if you keep that up.”

All you do is smile wickedly, glancing around to make sure no one is looking before you pull up the large tip jar from beneath the bar. It’s filled to the damn brim, notes and coins bursting from the top as you just add more to it, shoving the contents down to make room. 

“Tips are just fine, thank you,” you say triumphantly before leaning over the bar to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “To be honest, I think they tip better when I turn them away. Makes them think a bigger tips gets a bigger reward.”

Simon leans back when you do, relishing in the michevious glint in your eyes.

“Does it work?” He asks, taking a sip from his glass.  

He continues when the only answer he gets is a confused quirk of your brow. 

“The reward? Do they ever get it?” He clarifies, trying and failing to ignore the way his gut churns at your possible answer. 

You send him a scathing look before devolving into a fit of  laughter, wiping the faux tears from your eyes. 

“Of course not, you bloody jerk,” you swipe your bar towel at him, a movement he easily deflects as he grabs the cloth and tugs it, pulling you closer over the bar once more. 

“Besides,” you continue, eyes flicking from his eyes down to where his mouth is hidden beneath the mask. “There’s only one person who deserves it. They just don’t see it yet.”

Simon had felt a pit open in his belly at your words that night. He might not be the most versed in the realm of intrapersonal relationships but Simon Riley isn’t stupid. and that may just be part of the problem. He sees it, he sees everything - he’s trained to. So, he sees the way you look at him when you think he’s not looking. He sees the way your eyes light up when he walks in. He sees the way you leave a few drinks off his tab at the end of the night or how you usher out the last stragglers of the night so he’s the last one in the bar and can walk you to your car. 

He sees it. 

And he does it too. 

He always makes sure to touch your hand or graze his finger against your own when you hand him his glass. He always sets his bar mat just a little too far away from your side of the bar so you have to lean over to set his glass down. In moments where you have down time he finds himself reaching up to tug the wayward shoulder of your sweater back into place or tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. And despite his early as fuck mornings he always finds himself staying until you lock the doors and lingers even longer at your car, just talking about anything and nothing. 

He does all of this despite knowing he shouldn’t.

He dreams of pulling you to him, feeling your body against his, pulling his mask up to taste your lips and swallow the pretty sounds he just knows you’ll make. 

He - foolishly - dreams of more. 

Of coming home to you. of the smell of fresh tea brewing in the morning or breakfast cooking. Dreams of falling asleep warm and…happy with you in his arms and waking up the same way. He dreams…and sometimes they’ve become worse than the nightmares because he can’t fucking have any of it. 

At least the nightmares are based in reality. 

A reality that sinks in all too quickly when he catches yet another poor bastard try his luck with you. He’s older, not so old it’s creepy, but older in a silver fox kind of way. And for a moment, Simon wonders if you’ll bite this time. He notices the way you lean in a little further, laughing at something the man said. Watches the way you pull your lip between your teeth and look at him through you lashes. 

Simon tried to fight down the beast raging inside him, but you beat him to it as the man utters a lame-

“Love, where have you been all my life?” His lips pulled back into a sensual smile.

You just smile that earth shattering smile, lean over and pluck the note he has held in his hand to pay for his drink before taking a step away from the bar top. 

“Probably hiding from you.”

And then you turn away, back towards Simon with a playful wink as the mans friends erupt in teasing hoots and hollers. 

Simon finishes his glass in one fell swoop, the glass colliding hard with the bar top as he slams it down, having to adjust himself in his seat slightly. 

Bloody fucking hell.

——

Ghost doesn’t drink anything else the rest of the night - he orders another drink after downing his last but you, with your keen eye, notice he doesn’t actually drink it. In fact, you notice he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention at all, eyes zeroed in on the wall of liquor behind the bar or on the bar top or occasionally looking at his phone. 

It’s odd. 

Which in itself is odd, because the man is a walking enigma. You shouldn’t know him as well as you do. But you feel like you know him better than anyone. Despite not knowing his name, his real name or what exactly he does for work…you know him. 

You know something’s happened to him to make him afraid or paranoid enough to keep his mask on at all times - other than when he flips the bottom up to take sips of his drink. You know he doesn’t talk much about his parents or family other than mentioning his little brother in passing and always in the past tense. You know he has a coworker Johnny who seems like more of a brother than just another acquaintance or friend. He loathes coffee but will pretty much kill someone for a good cup of tea - two sugars and just a little splash of cream (you make it perfect apparently but you’ve changed the amount of sugar and cream each time and he still says it’s perfect). He won’t admit it, but he’s a dog person - you always catch him sneaking out to the patio to pet Marty’s doberman he brings when it’s warm enough out, you even think you’ve seen him sneak the dog a few biscuits when Marty isn’t looking.  He’s jumpy - always looking at the exits and windows and jerking at loud sounds. He wants people to think he’s scary and unapproachable and mean and ugly but he’s….he’s just not. 

He’s jumped up and reach across the bar to steady you one too many times when you slip on a wet spot. You’ve seen him from the corner of your eye ready to pounce on a patron that won’t take your initial ‘no’ as an answer. Hell, he stays with you to the wee hours of the night so you don’t walk to your car alone and he…he’s gentle. His eyes are kind when he’s near you - warm with laughter you know he’s hiding behind the mask. Hands light as he touches you or takes his drinks from your hands. 

God....you’re  fucking in love with him.

It’s a thought you’ve tried hard, time and time again to ignore. And you had done it successfully for months until a quiet moment last week turned it all upside down. He’d just come home from wherever he was, he never tells you, and you noticed he’d been finishing his drink’s quicker than usual. By the end of the night his inhibitions were much lower than usual - he wasn’t drunk - no where close to that line, but the alcohol had loosened his lips a little. 

You were grateful it was a slow night, you still had two hours until you closed and it was just you and Simon in the building, talking about how you’ve been since he was last here and how he’s been and everything in between. It was only when a short lull in the conversation occurred that the words slipped from your mouth before you could really stop them. 

You reached up to the man sitting across the bar from you, fingertips grazing the cloth adoring his cheek. He didn’t flinch at the contact, but you noticed the way his breath hitched slightly as your fingers trailed over the seam of the mask just beneath his eyes and over his nose.

“Why the mask?” You ask, the question you’ve had since you first met a few years ago finally coming to the surface. 

Ghost let out a quiet scoff, reaching up to wrap a hand around your wrist - not ungently - and pulled it away from his face. He rested it on the bar top, his hand never leaving your wrist as his thumb starts to rub back and forth over the delicate skin. 

“I think you’ve ‘eld out the longest in askin’ me that,” he says, voice slightly teasing. 

You shrug, not quite in the joking mood anymore, sensing it’s just his way of deflecting. 

“It was never my place to ask.”

He hums noncommittally, withdrawing his hand from your own to wrap back around his almost empty glass. 

“Let’s jus’ say i’m  ugly under all this an’ call it a mercy, yeah?” 

You do smile at that, but shake your head as a disapproving laugh leaves your lips. 

“Ghost,” you chastise, “I’ve seen some of your face when you drink. Your jaw could cut fucking glass - I doubt you’re ugly.”

You watch as Ghost shakes his head, flipping up the bottom of said mask to finish his drink in one gulp, his lips turning harshly downwards before he pulls the fabric back in place again as he huffs a laugh devoid of all humor. His eyes go empty for a minute, void of that warmth you’ve become so used to seeing. 

“Wasn’ talking about my face, love-” he all but whispers, before tapping his glass against the counter gently. “But I’ll agree t’ disagree on tha’ too.”

His words had made your heart clench, chest aching for him. You know what it’s like to feel like that. Unlovable, disgusting, ugly…sometimes you still do. But it hurts worse to hear when you’re right here willing to love all of him, no matter his flaws or his past or his…anything. 

You’re just too scared to do anything about it. Afraid that if you voice how you feel that you’ll drive him further away and then you won’t have anything. 

You’re worried when he stops drinking tonight that he’s going to leave. But he stays. He stays until the very last patron is ushered out the door, and he stays as you clean up behind the bar before moving to the main area to clean tables and put the chairs up. He even helps you with the chairs like he usually does, but he’s quiet. And you don’t push him. 

You do however have to call out to him as you grab your things from the back, noticing he’s staring off once again and missed the fact that you walked past him to the front door, keys in hand. You shrug into your jacket, waiting for him to hear the jingle of keys in your hand or the bell above the door as you open it to leave, but he doesn’t.

“Ghost?” 

He snaps to attention then, turning from where he was looking behind the bar and fiddling with one of the old bar mats to look at you instead. he realizes his mistake and ducks his head in an adorable way you’ve only seen once before, and it makes you smile as he makes his way over to you. Once he’s out of the door you turn and pull it closed behind you, locking it an checking it before turning to make your way down the street. You take the two steps down to street level, giving Ghost a smile before gesturing towards your car, and walking that way, expecting him to follow. But his voice stops you in your tracks. 

“It’s Simon.”

You turn then, to realize that he had followed you and was much closer than you anticipated. You almost have to take a step back so you don’t collide with him as you turn around. You look up, brows furrowing at his words before it clicks. 

His name. He’s giving you is name. 

You can’t stop the smile that splits your lips, cheeks hurting from how hard you smile. 

“Simon…” you test it out on your tongue and find that it fits perfectly with the man you’ve come to know. “It suits you.”

Simon just lets out a quiet huff that you choose to interpret as a laugh, and moves in the direction of your car. You parked closer this time, so barely a few moments pass before you’re there, and once again you find yourself speaking before you can really think better of it. 

“Why now?” You ask, turning to face Simon again as he comes to stand in front of you. “I thought…why tell me your name now?”

Simon doesn’t reply right away, but you don’t push him. You just watch as he seems to war with himself, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides before he takes a few steps toward you forcing you back until your back meets the cool metal of your car. If this were anyone else you’d have tried to shove them away, called for help, ducked beneath their arms in an attempt to get away. But this is…this is Simon. Not ghost, not the mysterious man who’d walked into the bar all that time ago. No. You stay, heart racing as he looks down at you, radiating heat you can feel through the front of your sweater, waiting patiently for him to say whatever has been churning in his head all night.

Finally he moves, reaching a hand up to brace himself against your car beside your head as he looks down at you with a heat you’ve never seen behind his eyes. 

“Because I’m a selfish man,” he finally whispers, voice like cut glass. “I’m selfish and I want things tha’ I shouldn’t  ‘ave and one of them is my name on your lips.”

His other hand comes up then, cradling your cheek in his calloused, warm palm - his thumb moving to trace featherlight over your bottom lip. 

“What…what else do you want?” You dare to ask, tongue darting out to wet your lips and brushing the pad of his thumb in the process, savoring the salty tang of his skin. 

His hand slides back, still holding you but now his fingers card through your hair, and you can feel the restraint in him as he tugs ever so gently. 

“So many things,” he breathes, and you can feel it ghost over your lips as he leans closer still. “Too much. Things I don’t deserve, things I can’t ‘ave-”

You reach up then, covering his hand with your own as you lean into his touch, heart aching. 

“But you can have them, Simon,” you urge, clutching him so tightly as if you’re afraid he’ll leave you standing here in the cold. “All you have to do is ask. Ask and it’s…” you swallow thickly. “It’s yours…I promise.”

The groan he lets out is restrained and sinful, as he bows his head for all but a moment before looking up at you again, resolve clear in his eyes beneath a touch of hesitance. 

“Can I kiss you?”

The words are uttered so softly that you never would have heard them if he wasn’t mere inches from your face. But you do hear them, and they steal the breath from your lungs so all you’re able to give him is a nod. 

But that’s enough. 

Because quicker than you can even comprehend, Simon reaches up and flips the bottom of his mask up above his nose, and his lips are crashing against yours. His lips are slightly chapped but warm..inviting, and he tastes like the bourbon he was drinking. Smokey and slightly sweet. He cradles your head in his hands, fingers pressing into the base of your skull as he tilts your head back ever so slightly to kiss you better, deeper, his tongue brushing against the seam of your lips. 

You open to him without question, whimpering as his tongue slides against your own. Your hands come up to fist in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him impossible closer, realizing in the press of his body into yours, the weight of him intoxicating. 

He only pulls away to move his attention elsewhere, his lips trailing across your jaw and down to the delicate skin of your neck as you bare your throat to him. Your hands slide up to wrap around his neck, pulling him to you again as his name slips past your lips in a heady whisper. 

“Simon…”

He stops then, pulling away from you only to rest his forehead against yours, your breathes mingling in gentle puffs of mist in the cold night air. 

“Come home with me,” you say, voice small but pleading. 

Simon’s hand falls down to your hip, squeezing firmly at your request.

“I shouldn’t-”

You lean forward, nuzzling his cheek softly. “Do you want to?” 

He lets out another groan, this one going straight to your core. 

“Fuck…More than you can imagine, love.”

You kiss him again, quick and reassuring before pulling back to look at him once more. 

“Then come home with me, Simon,” you urge him, begging him to give in. “You…you deserve this. You do. You’re not ugly or too damaged or too broken to deserve nice things-” you pause, unsure of your next words before eventually deciding to just let them out. 

“I care about you. So, just…please.”

It takes a moment, but you can see the way the world seems to fall of his shoulders, as if the internal war within himself is finally over and he’s won. He captures you in another breathtaking kiss before releasing you one final time before plucking the keys from your hands and tugging his mask back into place.

“Okay,” he relents, voice uncharacteristically soft. “But I’m driving.”

Ah…there he is. 

You can’t stop the giggle that slips from your lips, rolling your eyes as he rounds the car to the drivers seat. “Why does that not surprise me? You probably never let anyone else drive.”

He scoffs as he enters the car and you follow suit, closing the door as he starts the ignition. 

“You’re bloody right,” he confirms. “I like to make it to my destination alive.”

“You’ve never even seen me drive!”

“Doesn’t matter, I know I’m better-”

You smack his shoulder, laughter bubbling from your chest that causes him to pause and look at you once more. His gaze causes you to pause, your laughter fading away as he reaches up to cup your cheek once more, his eyes going soft as he looks at you. 

“I care about you too, ya’ know. More ‘an I probably should,” he finally admits.

You smile, heart fluttering in your chest so rapidly you think it might burst as you lean forward to press a kiss to his covered cheek, opting to say nothing as his words wash over you like a warm blanket. He lets you type your address into his phone, before he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the dark streets. 

And once you’re finally on you way, the bar disappearing in the rearview mirror, you feel warm fingers intertwine with your own as Simon gives your hand a small squeeze. You return it, a silent reassurance that this is good. 

And he deserves good things too. 

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

i have never had a Thought of havings kids until cpt John Price and like fuckkk don't do this to me. thank god he isn't real bc i'd be holding a child in my arms and another in my belly. never a man made me so fucking hormonal or somethg like that and i am wishing no irl man will ever do .

Trust me, I’m the same way honey but have this little drabble of the 141 boys with a preggo reader🤭

If I was with any of the fictional men I’ve pined for, I’d be round with like 70 kids by now.

-Masterlist-

John Price:

Price sat across from you at the table, cradling his glass of scotch as he chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he murmured, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. “You, all broody and soft over the idea of kids.” You glared at him playfully, but he only leaned forward, his hand covering yours. “It’s a nice thought, though, innit? A little one running about, causing trouble. Maybe a second on the way.” The low timbre of his voice and the way his thumb traced slow circles against your skin made you shiver. Damn him. Damn that man for making your hormones scream and your heart ache.

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

Simon had his back against the couch, his mask pulled up just enough to reveal his lips. His head was tilted toward you as he held a sleeping toddler in his arms, the baby’s tiny hand clutching the strap of his tactical vest like it was their most prized possession. You tried not to stare, but the sight had you biting back a grin. “What?” he asked quietly, raising an eyebrow. You shook your head, biting your lip. “Nothing.” Simon’s lips twitched as he shifted the baby slightly, his eyes softening. “Yeah? ‘Cause you’re looking at me like you want one of your own.”

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

“Two?” Johnny’s voice shot up an octave, and he stared at you with wide eyes. “One in your arms and one in your belly? Christ, bonnie, you trying to send me to an early grave?” He plopped down beside you on the bed, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Though I gotta admit…” He trailed off, glancing at your stomach with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Little MacTavishes running about? Bet they’d be just as loud as me.” You smacked his arm, but he caught your hand, tugging you closer. “Think about it, love. Me, you, and a brood of tiny rascals taking over the world.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

Kyle leaned against the nursery doorframe, arms crossed as he watched you cradle the neighbor’s baby. “You’re a natural, you know that?” he said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You glanced up at him, feeling warmth spread across your cheeks. “Don’t get any ideas,” you teased, though the thought was already planted firmly in your mind. Kyle chuckled as he walked over, crouching beside you. “Too late,” he said, his fingers brushing against the baby’s tiny fist. His gaze flicked to yours, full of something you couldn’t quite place. “Maybe someday, yeah?”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Well, this 1991 home in Orlando, FL does resemble a castle. It has 5bds, 4ba, 4,680 sq ft, $2.2m. But, let's see if it's tasteful or tacky.

I expected a grand entrance hall with stairs. The double doors open to a large living room, instead.

Not what I was expecting. Other rooms are visible from here, plus there's a mezzanine above with ivy growing down over the railing.

Off to the side of the front doors there's a powder room with a medieval look and a wine barrel sink.

Looking down on the main sitting room from the mezzanine. The fireplace is done nicely.

The large kitchen has cabinets that you either like or not. I think that I'd rather have a single uniform color.

Here's another sitting area with doors to a patio.

Look at this- a round primary bedroom with a weird niche for a floral arrangement, a fireplace, and a mezzanine in the ceiling. To the left of the ensuite there are stairs that aren't visible. Note the ladder and square opening in the ceiling to climb up there.

I don't get it. It's just a narrow round space.

This appears to be a home office with a sitting area.

One of the secondary bedrooms is pretty plain and has a glass door.

Another plain secondary bedroom.

Modern/rustic shower room.

Large covered stone patio by the pool.

Nice pool features some dragon sculptures.

Large parking area and a 2 car garage.

A moat and drawbridge would be nice out front here.

Triangular shaped lot measures 10 acres.

That's Lake Mary Jane in the background, and the home is about 34 min. from Disney World.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/14502-Scotch-Pine-Ct-Orlando-FL-32832/46199834_zpid/

[wholoveseggs]

I looooved Stains! Thank you so much for that and all you do for our mental health in these turbulent times.

Here's another request for your very long list of requests :) Reader and the Mikaelson family are very close friends. She used to have a little fling with Klaus maybe, best friends with Rebekah and so on. Elijah is always shy and Rebekah and Reader are trying to set him up after realizing he's been a monk since his last relationship ended. Elijah is failing hard at all the set-up attempts because he is madly in love with Reader. Eventually, smut ensues :)

Inevitable

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A playful night of banter leads to Elijah's siblings setting him up on a dating app, but the only match he wants is you...

♡♡ Ahhh!!! Thank you so much, @originals23, for this amazing request! I’ve been stuck in a bit of a writing slump lately (I even scrapped my New Year’s fic... I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t happy with it). But your ideas always light a spark of inspiration for me! Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this! ♡♡

6.9k words - Warnings: smutt, dating apps, drinking, mutual pining, Elijah in a vesttt (hot & underrated), teasing, kissing, oral (m!receiving), super sappy and romantic, mild jealousy, Kol being such a little shit, Klaus being Klaus, Rebekah always trying her best, Elijah being shy and sweet, && some good old-fashioned Mikaelson bullying...

@starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble @darth-laeka

@sleepmusicland @chaoticfanpeach @prettyinpinkandblack @brunettebri @aerangi

From the moment Kol walked in with a giant bottle of scotch, you knew that tonight was going to be a late one. Rebekah had called you, inviting you over for a drink and some girl time. But Kol and Klaus decided to insert themselves into the mix. You weren’t complaining; the company was good. The Mikaelsons were your closest friends, having met them years ago. Klaus had been a brief fling, but the friendship was what truly stuck.

The playful atmosphere was infectious as you all sat around the living room, laughter bubbling at some joke Klaus made. Kol poured drinks with dramatic flair, teasing Klaus about his awkward blunders with his crush, Camille. Klaus’s glare didn’t faze his younger brother in the slightest.

"I hardly think you have any room to speak. What is the state of your love life? It seems quite nonexistent," Klaus shot back, his tone laced with mock indignation.

Kol, unfazed, chuckled and took a long swig of his drink, shaking his head. "I'd like to think it is quite thriving, thank you very much," he retorted, settling onto the couch. He leaned back smugly before adding, "In fact, I had a date yesterday."

The rest of you murmured in surprise, exchanging knowing looks.

"With who?" you asked, curiosity getting the better of you as you sat next to Rebekah. She arched an eyebrow at you, clearly already anticipating Kol’s response.

"This pretty little-" Kol began with a grin, only to be cut off by his sister’s wicked smirk.

"Witch," Rebekah finished for him, and Kol’s laugh was one of agreement rather than embarrassment.

"I suppose I have a type," he admitted with an exaggerated shrug, unbothered by the teasing. His gaze flicked to you, eyes gleaming mischievously. "What about you, love?"

The sudden attention caught you mid-sip, and you glanced at him with a raised brow. "What about me?" you asked, setting your glass down and wiping the excess liquid off your lips.

Kol’s wicked grin widened. "We all know Niklaus has thoroughly disappointed you, so I’m sure you’ve found someone more worthy to keep your bed warm."

Klaus scoffed loudly before you could respond. "Hardly disappointing. We had a grand time," he insisted, smirking at you with a glint of pride.

This time, your playful grin faltered for just a second. The memory of your fleeting fling with Klaus still lingered, though it was far behind you. While the chemistry between you and Klaus had fizzled into camaraderie, you couldn’t help the pang of something unspoken when your thoughts drifted elsewhere…toward another Mikaelson.

You shrugged, masking your thoughts with a casual smile. "Nik did just fine. Better than most of the men I find myself with," you quipped, winking at Klaus. His dimples deepened in a smug grin, clearly satisfied with your answer.

Kol, never one to let a moment slide, laughed heartily. "Those dating apps not doing you any favors, darling?" he taunted, causing you and Rebekah to share a knowing chuckle.

"Here, Kol, see for yourself," you replied, tossing him your phone with a grin that was a mix of challenge and resignation. Kol’s eyes lit up with delight as he caught it effortlessly.

He immediately began swiping through your dating app, his expression shifting between mock horror and glee. Rebekah leaned over his shoulder, giggling at the profiles and messages he unearthed.

"Men these days," Kol lamented dramatically, "back in my day, we wrote poems and courted properly. This is far too impersonal."

You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist. "Is that how you charm all the young witches? With poetry?"

Kol grinned, unabashed. "Oh, I hardly need to do any charming. They fall over themselves for me. It’s quite endearing."

"You are such a womanizer," Rebekah pointed out, shaking her head at Kol. Klaus, surprisingly, nodded in agreement, raising his glass to emphasize the point.

"You know who isn’t?" Kol mused, still swiping through the dating app on your phone. "Elijah."

The mention of Elijah caught your attention, and your curiosity piqued. "When was the last time he was in a relationship?" you asked, genuinely intrigued. You tried to recall, but nothing serious came to mind. Elijah had always seemed… reserved in that regard.

Before Kol or Rebekah could answer, they glanced behind you, their faces lighting up with amusement. You followed their gaze and felt your stomach do a little flip. Elijah had appeared, clad in a crisp white button-down and a tailored vest that seemed to fit him too perfectly for your peace of mind.

He greeted everyone with a polite smile before effortlessly slipping into the seat beside you. As he leaned over and stole your glass, his proximity made your pulse quicken. He took a sip, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the taste, and then turned his attention to you. 

"It has been a while," he replied smoothly, finally answering your question. "Why do you ask?"

For a moment, you were distracted. Not just by his words, but by the way his shirt hugged his frame and the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms. You realized he was waiting for an answer, and heat rushed to your cheeks.

"I-I… we were wondering when you were going to get back out there," you stammered, your usual composure faltering under his steady gaze. Elijah had a way of doing that, making you nervous in the most exhilarating way.

"It has been a while," he admitted, his voice calm and measured as he shrugged. His siblings, however, were far less composed, their expressions brimming with mischief. "What?" Elijah asked, his tone tinged with suspicion.

"How long? Weeks? Months?" Kol asked, his grin widening. Then, raising his eyebrows with mock disbelief, he added, "Years?"

"None of your business," Elijah replied, a small but unmistakable smile tugging at his lips. His usual composure didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of exasperated fondness in his tone.

"Oh, it's definitely years," Klaus exclaimed with a bark of laughter. "That is quite a long time. I am shocked you have not gone mad." He took a long sip of his drink, smirking over the rim of his glass.

Elijah rolled his eyes, brushing off their jabs with practiced ease. "It hasn’t been that long," he insisted, though his siblings’ skepticism was palpable.

"Sure, sure," Rebekah teased, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Kol. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at their antics. The Mikaelson siblings were relentless when it came to teasing each other.

"I have an idea," Rebekah said suddenly, a devilish glint in her eye. "Let’s make you a dating profile." Before Elijah could protest, she was already reaching for his phone.

"You are not putting me on a dating website," Elijah said firmly, his brow furrowing as he attempted to grab his phone back. Rebekah, ever the quick one, held it just out of his reach, sticking her tongue out like a mischievous child.

"I think it’s a great idea," Klaus chimed in with a smirk. "You could use the release. Perhaps it will even help dislodge the stick in your ass." His laugh echoed through the room as Elijah retaliated by tossing a throw pillow at him.

Rebekah ignored the commotion and began typing on Elijah’s phone. "Let’s see… what should your bio say?" she mused aloud. Kol leaned over her shoulder, already snickering as he threw out suggestions.

"How about, 'Hi, my name is Elijah Mikaelson: your next regret. I specialize in brooding, being a bore, and eating pus-'" Kol’s suggestion was abruptly cut off by Rebekah’s sharp interruption.

"Too far, Kol!" she scolded, though she could barely suppress her own laughter.

Elijah shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance.

Klaus, having recovered from his own laughter, chimed in, "You forgot, 'Hi, I’m Elijah. Chivalry isn’t dead because I refuse to let it die. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for anyone who crosses my family.'"

For a moment, Elijah gave him the sternest of looks, but then his lips betrayed him, curving into a reluctant smile. You caught the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and it made your heart skip a beat.

"I do just fine without any of this nonsense," he said, gesturing to the phones.

Kol was quick to retort, "Well, clearly that’s not the case if it’s been years since you’ve been laid," his cheeky grin earning a round of laughter from everyone except Elijah.

"Let’s see here," Kol continued, unabashed. "What are you into?"

"You know the answer to that, Kol. It'll be something boring like books and classical music," Rebekah quipped, not even glancing up from the phone as she continued crafting Elijah’s profile.

"Those things aren't boring," you interjected, your tone firmer than you intended. You glanced at Elijah, catching the way his gaze softened in response. He offered you a small, grateful smile, the kind that made your stomach flutter despite yourself.

"Okay, I'm almost done," Rebekah announced, clearly pleased with herself as her fingers danced over the screen. A triumphant grin spread across her face. "There we go! Your profile is all set," she said, tossing his phone back to him.

Elijah caught it effortlessly, letting out a resigned sigh. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, though he dutifully swiped through the profiles, his brows furrowing slightly as he took in the absurdity of it all.

You leaned over his shoulder, your curiosity getting the better of you. His proximity sent a wave of warmth coursing through you, but you focused on the screen. "Look, you’ve got a message already!" you exclaimed, pointing out the flashing notification.

"Oh, please no," he said with a weary shake of his head, clearly dreading whatever awaited him.

"Read it aloud," Rebekah urged, pouring herself another generous glass of scotch, her eyes alight with amusement.

"What’s the point? He’s going to turn them down anyway," Klaus drawled, swirling his drink lazily.

"I’m curious as to what she’s going to say," Kol added, his grin positively wicked as he leaned in for a better look.

"She’s really pretty," you observed, noting the woman’s profile picture. Your tone was meant to sound detached, but a trace of something else…envy?..slipped through. Elijah let out a heavy sigh, his finger hovering over the message before finally opening it.

His cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as he read the text, his usually composed expression betraying a flicker of embarrassment. "You can’t be serious," he murmured, his voice low as he kept his eyes fixed on the screen.

From your angle, you caught enough of the message to know it was... bold. The woman wasn’t shy about what she wanted, and she was eager to meet him later that night. Your chest tightened, an unwelcome pang of jealousy sparking before you quickly brushed it aside.

"Oh, I’m dying to know what it says," Rebekah pressed, leaning closer in her attempt to sneak a look. "What’s her name?"

"Amanda," Elijah muttered, still scrolling through the message as if hoping it would suddenly become more tasteful.

"I bet it’s kinky," Kol teased, his voice dripping with mischief. His grin only widened when Elijah shot him a sharp glare.

"I will not dignify that with a response," Elijah said, slipping his phone back into his pocket with a firm finality. "Besides, I have no desire to go out tonight," he added, finishing his drink in a single, graceful motion.

"Oh, come on," you found yourself saying, nudging him lightly. "She’s gorgeous and looks like a lot of fun. Just meet up with her."

The words felt foreign as they left your lips, like they belonged to someone else entirely. Why were you encouraging him? Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding your judgment, or maybe it was a feeble attempt to appear unaffected. But deep down, the idea of him spending the night with another woman gnawed at you.

"As much as I appreciate the effort, I have no interest," Elijah said, his tone firm but calm. He poured himself another glass of scotch, his movements graceful and unhurried. "Besides, I've never been one for one-night stands."

"Why not? You should live a little," Rebekah mused, her gaze flickering between you two as if sensing the unspoken tension.

"It's not that I don’t enjoy life," Elijah countered, his voice steady. "I simply choose not to act on every impulse."

"So, you've never had a fling? Just for the hell of it?" you asked, genuinely surprised. The thought of someone as composed as Elijah letting go of his control intrigued you.

"I highly recommend it," Klaus interjected, a smirk tugging at his lips as he gave you a knowing look.

You quickly averted your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. You didn’t want Klaus to think his past fling with you still lingered in your mind. Clearing your throat, you forced a casual tone. "Well, it’s just not healthy to go without some kind of release. That’s all I’m saying."

Elijah’s lips curved upward, his expression almost teasing. "I’ve been alive for centuries. I think I’ll manage," he replied, taking a deliberate sip of his drink.

"Alright, alright, well, we tried," Rebekah said with a laugh, effectively steering the conversation elsewhere. Yet, as the banter continued around you, you found it impossible to focus.

Your mind was spinning, refusing to let go of the idea of Elijah… with someone else. You tried to dismiss the thought, but instead, it spiraled into something entirely different. Unbidden, an image of him shirtless, his composure unraveling, flooded your thoughts. The heat that crept up your cheeks was undeniable now.

You attempted to shake it off, but every glance in his direction seemed to pull you deeper. The way his tongue flicked to catch the remnants of scotch on his lips, the slow bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the way his sleeves were rolled just high enough to reveal strong, lean forearms. It was all maddeningly distracting.

But what captivated you most was his smile. Those faint creases around his eyes when he smiled. That smile that was both rare and disarming…made him impossibly handsome. It wasn’t just the smile itself; it was the way it softened his otherwise sharp, controlled features. Those creases hinted at warmth beneath his stoic exterior, and every time you saw them, your heart fluttered.

"(Y/N)?" Rebekah’s voice jolted you out of your thoughts.

"Huh? What?" you asked, blinking rapidly as you looked around the room.

"You’re flushed. Are you alright?" Rebekah asked, concern furrowing her brow.

"I think I’ve had a bit too much," you said quickly, forcing a nervous laugh.

You reached for your phone, desperate for a distraction. Scrolling through your notifications, you tried to focus on something, anything, that wasn’t Elijah. But when you opened the dating app, you froze.

There it was: Elijah’s profile. Rebekah had chosen a group photo for him, zooming in on his face, because the man had never taken a single selfie in his life. He looked effortlessly perfect, dressed in a three-piece suit, his hair slicked back, dimples on display, and his eyes warm yet piercing. Without thinking, your thumb swiped right.

The realization hit you like a freight train when Elijah’s phone buzzed almost immediately. He ignored it at first, leaving it face down on the table as he continued chatting with his siblings. Panic bubbled in your chest. Had you really just… matched with him? With him sitting right next to you? 

Your hands were clammy, your heart racing as another buzz sounded. Elijah reached for his phone casually, swiping it open. His brows furrowed slightly as he read the notification, his expression shifting from confusion to stillness. Then, as if in slow motion, a small smile crept across his face. Those familiar creases at the corners of his eyes deepened, and your breath caught in your throat.

"Well, what does it say?" Kol asked, clearly reveling in the suspense.

Elijah didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he slid his phone into his pocket. His eyes met yours, and that small smile widened into something warmer, something that made your chest tighten and your pulse quicken. "Looks like I might have some fun after all," he murmured, his voice low and velvety.

Your heart skipped a beat, and a rush of heat coursed through you. Despite yourself, you couldn’t hide the grin that tugged at your lips. What had you done? And why did his reaction make you feel so… giddy?

"What? Who messaged you?" Rebekah asked.

"It’s nothing," he said dismissively, finishing his drink with a calmness that belied the electricity sparking between you.

"Oh, come on, just tell us!" Klaus pressed, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "Did you receive some nudes?"

Kol chuckled, leaning forward eagerly. "Please say yes."

Elijah rolled his eyes, his expression a mix of exasperation and fond amusement. "No, I did not," he replied, his tone calm but laced with dry humor. The corner of his mouth curved upward ever so slightly.

"You are impossible," Rebekah huffed, crossing her arms. Her annoyance at being left in the dark was clear.

Elijah straightened, adjusting his sleeves with characteristic precision. "This has been fun, but I have to go. Some of us actually have work to do tomorrow," he said smoothly, rising to his feet.

Rebekah rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath as he moved to leave.

"Goodnight," Elijah called, his voice steady as he glanced at each of his siblings. When his gaze finally settled on you, the rest of the room seemed to fade into the background. That magical smile returned, his features softening as his eyes lingered on yours. Your stomach flipped, a warmth spreading through your chest.

"Goodnight," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a tightness in your chest, an anticipation that left you breathless. He lingered a moment longer, his eyes holding yours as if trying to convey something unspoken. Then, with a faint smile and a slight tilt of his head, he turned and disappeared upstairs.

One by one, the remaining Mikaelson siblings retired to their rooms until only you and Klaus were left. The silence between you was comfortable, broken only by the occasional clink of glasses as you both sipped on scotch.

"So," Klaus began, his voice soft as he broke the silence. "Want to go up to my room?" His tone was casual, but there was something thoughtful in his gaze as he regarded you.

You couldn’t deny the pull of his charm or the familiarity between you. It would have been so easy. To let yourself fall into old patterns, to escape into the comfort of his arms and forget everything else. But tonight, something was different.

"Not tonight," you replied with a sad smile, brushing the back of his hand affectionately. "Cami wouldn’t be very happy with you," you teased gently, hoping to lighten the moment.

"Fair enough," he relented, though a flicker of disappointment crossed his features. After a pause, his lips curved into a wry grin. "I guess Elijah wouldn’t approve either."

You blinked, startled by the mention. Before you could respond, Klaus continued, his voice quieter this time. "If there was ever anyone worthy of my brother, it’s you. You two deserve each other," he mused, his tone tinged with an unreadable emotion.

The sincerity in his words left you momentarily stunned. "Thanks," you murmured, your voice soft, unsure of what else to say.

Klaus chuckled, draining the last of his drink. "Now, get out of here," he said, his tone turning playful. "And tell my brother I said hello."

His wink was mischievous, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Just as you stood to leave, your phone buzzed in your hand. Glancing down, you saw a message from Elijah. Your breath caught.

Klaus leaned over with unabashed curiosity, catching a glimpse of the screen. His brows lifted, a smirk spreading across his face. "He’s not wasting any time," he quipped, earning an eye roll and a glare from you.

"Shut up," you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. As you turned to leave, a wave of nervous anticipation washed over you. You had no idea what awaited you upstairs, but the thought of seeing Elijah in private sent a shiver of excitement through your body.

"Goodnight," you called over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

"Good luck," Klaus called back, his laughter following you as you ascended the staircase.

The walk to Elijah’s room was a blur. Your pulse quickened with every step, your mind racing with possibilities. When you finally reached his door, your knuckles felt shaky as you knocked. The moments that followed felt endless until the door opened, revealing him.

Elijah stood there, his hair slightly disheveled, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked less composed than usual but no less striking. His gaze flickered over you, a faint smile curving his lips.

"Hey," you managed, your voice catching in your throat.

"Hey," he replied, his voice low and warm. His eyes roamed over you, his appreciation evident, and for a moment, the space between you seemed to disappear.

"So," he began, his voice steady, his eyes searching yours. "Did you get my message?"

Your heart fluttered, each beat reverberating in your chest. "Yes," you murmured, suddenly breathless under the weight of his gaze.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile, his eyes never leaving yours. "And?" he prompted, his tone soft but teasing.

"And... I'm here," you said, your voice trembling, the words escaping more unsteadily than you intended.

That smile deepened, his eyes twinkling with amusement and something far more intense. "Would you like to come in?" he asked, gesturing inside.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, your pulse hammering in your ears. He stepped aside, his gaze still locked on yours as you crossed the threshold. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly, the air between you felt heavier, charged. The tension was almost tangible, a magnetic pull keeping you rooted to the spot as he moved closer.

The silence stretched, the tingling warmth of his presence washing over you. For a moment, you were paralyzed by indecision. Should you kiss him? Was he about to kiss you?

Then, as if reading your thoughts, his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, his hands coming up to cradle your face with a tenderness that made your knees weak. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to close the gap between you.

He broke the kiss first, his breathing uneven, his dark eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "I have to admit, I’m surprised," he murmured, his voice low.

You blinked, trying to focus despite the lingering sensation of his lips on yours. "About what?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You. This. Everything," he said, his expression softening, though his gaze remained searching. "I thought you only had eyes for Niklaus," he teased gently, though there was something deeper in his tone, as if he was testing the waters.

You hesitated, hyper-aware of how close you were standing. The heat radiating off his body, the faint scent of his cologne, the brush of his breath against your skin. "It wasn’t anything serious," you said quietly, your words tentative but honest.

His thumb brushed along your jawline, the gesture achingly tender. "So, you're single then," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, the sound a mix of relief and desire.

"Yes," you breathed, the word barely audible.

"Good," he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. "Because I have no intention of sharing you."

The possessive edge in his tone sent a thrill down your spine, igniting something deep within you. Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, this time with more urgency. The kiss was deeper, hungrier, his tongue parting your lips and exploring, tasting you in a way that made your knees buckle.

You groaned softly, the sound muffled by his mouth, and began fumbling with the buttons on his vest, desperate to remove the barriers between you. He smiled against your lips, his hands sliding down your back to cup your ass, pulling you against him with a boldness that surprised you.

You had expected his gentlemanly demeanor to carry over, but his touch was insistent, his movements deliberate and confident. His grip tightened, and before you knew it, he had lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

Your heart pounded as he carried you to the bed, the world narrowing to the feel of his body pressed against yours and the heat building between you. When he laid you down gently, his weight above you, the realization hit. You wanted this. Every moment, every touch, every kiss.

This was happening.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he trailed kisses along your jawline and down the sensitive column of your neck. You continued to fumble with the buttons on his vest, the task made more difficult by his mouth, which was now exploring the sensitive skin below your ear.

"Impatient, aren't we?" he whispered, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, the sound making your skin tingle.

"Maybe a little," you gasped, arching your hips into his as he bit down gently, his tongue soothing the mark immediately after.

You felt his weight shift as he shrugged off his vest, the sound of fabric falling to the floor making your heart race even faster. His hands were everywhere, firm yet gentle. As though he couldn’t decide whether to savor or devour you.

His hands slid down your sides, tracing the curve of your waist and settling on your hips. His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped you at the contact. Every move, every touch seemed to stoke the fire between you, the heat building to an unbearable intensity.

You tugged at the collar of his shirt, urging him to remove it, the need for his bare skin against yours overwhelming. With a low chuckle, he pulled away long enough to comply, discarding the shirt onto the growing pile of clothing.

You had always suspected he was hiding an impressive physique underneath his suit, but the sight of him still managed to catch you off guard. Toned muscles, smooth skin, those broad shoulders… and those arms. God, his arms.

You traced the outline of his bicep appreciatively, your fingers moving upward to follow the lines of his collarbone. He watched you explore, the way your eyes moved over his chest, following the faint trail of dark hair leading to his abdomen. A hint of a smirk pulled at his lips, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you.

You felt your cheeks go warm, and you reached down and pulled your dress up and over your head in one fluid motion. It was his turn to blush, the look on his face shifting from amusement to unmistakable desire. His gaze trailed over you, taking in the sight of your newly exposed skin, his eyes darkening with need.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, dipping his head to plant kisses along your collarbone, his lips brushing against the tops of your breasts.

He shifted his weight, rolling you both onto your sides. His hand lifting your thigh and hooking your leg around his hip, and his fingertips grazed the soft skin on the inside. Your eyes met his, and the heat pooling between your legs was impossible to ignore.

His fingers gently grazed the edge of your panties, the fabric already soaked through with need. He let out a soft groan at the discovery, his thumb moving steadily over the little nub of nerves through the thin cotton.

A sharp intake of breath was all you could manage as his deft fingers continued their torture. He was drawing patterns against the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure through your body with every stroke. Your hips rocked against him, your hands pressed into his chest, nails digging into his skin.

He hummed softly, a hint of amusement in the sound. He was enjoying this. Seeing you squirm beneath him, reduced to a mess of desire. Your eyes met his, and his gaze was filled with a mix of fondness and lust.

"Don't tease," you managed, your voice hoarse with need.

"As you wish," he murmured, slipping his hand inside your panties.

He was nothing like Klaus, who was rough and urgent, taking what he wanted and giving just enough to leave you wanting more. No, Elijah was a different beast entirely.

You felt his fingers trace your entrance, slick and ready for him, before finally easing inside. He groaned, a sound so low and primal it made your toes curl. You arched into his hand, the feeling of his thick fingers filling you completely.

"'Lijah," you gasped, your words trailing off into a breathless moan as he began moving inside you with deep, slow strokes.

He continued his unhurried pace, smiling as he watched you squirm and pant beside him. His thumb returned to circle your clit, the combination exquisite. He seemed to know exactly how you liked it. How much pressure to apply, when to quicken the pace, when to slow down. All you could do was cling to him, your head spinning as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

You felt the familiar pressure building, and you closed your eyes, lost in the sensation. His free hand cupped your cheek, tilting your chin up. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, dark and intense.

"Eyes on me," he whispered, his voice commanding but tender.

You couldn't look away, caught in his spell, as your release began to crest. You felt him increase the pressure, the rhythmic stroking of his fingers pushing you over the edge. A sharp cry left your lips as the tension snapped, ripples of pleasure spreading through your body.

Your fingers curled into his skin, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his shoulder. He looked down at the marks, a small, satisfied smile curving his lips.

You kissed him slowly, lazily, your body still humming with pleasure. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, his erection pressing against your thigh, a silent plea.

You reached between you, cupping his length through his pants, he let out a soft hiss, watching you through hooded eyes, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks flushed.

"Let me take care of you now," you whispered, palming his length.

He nodded, his lips parting in anticipation as you reached for his belt. You made quick work of it, freeing his erection from its confines.

You hummed appreciatively, admiring the way he filled your palm, so hard and smooth. With your other hand you pushed on his chest, guiding him to lie flat, his head on the pillow.

Your heart thudded as you positioned yourself over him, taking in the sight of him, laid out before you. His eyes were filled with anticipation and need, his expression almost boyish. He looked almost... innocent? Nervous? It was hard to read.

With a wicked grin, you bent down and wrapped your lips around him, sucking gently. A guttural moan tore from his throat, his hands finding their way into your hair. He didn't push, but held on as if his life depended on it.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, teasing and tasting. You took him further, relaxing your throat to accommodate his length. You moaned around him, the vibration eliciting a gasp from him.

You pressed a hand into his hips, keeping him steady, as your head bobbed up and down. Your other hand stroked the base of his shaft, coaxing him further, deeper. His hips jerked, trying to gain leverage, but your grip was firm.

His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling in short bursts. You had never seen him so disheveled, so undone. It was a heady feeling. Knowing that you were responsible for making the most refined man you had ever known fall apart.

You continued working him, using every trick you knew, drawing him closer and closer to the edge. He was murmuring things, his words tumbling out in a string of barely coherent compliments.

You hummed, enjoying his incoherence, the way his fingers tugged at your hair. The pressure was building, his breath becoming shorter and shallower. He was so close, you could taste it. You pulled back slightly, your tongue swirling around the tip once more.

He let out a low groan, his hips stilling as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed him greedily, savoring the taste of him, the sounds he made.

You looked up at him, taking in the sight of his parted lips, the sheen of sweat covering his forehead. He looked beautiful. Wild and untamed. And completely yours.

The realization washed over you, sending a jolt of something unfamiliar through your body. Before you could examine it, he was pulling you underneath him, taking back control. His lips found yours, kissing you deeply, his hands sliding under your hips, pressing you closer.

The two of you just kissed for awhile, unhurried, enjoying the feel of each other. Your fingers explored his body, learning every dip and curve, committing him to memory.

"I must confess, it actually has been years," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His words were spoken into the crook of your neck, his voice slightly muffled.

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, his confession so unexpected.

"It's alright, I won't tell anyone," you teased, carding your fingers through his hair.

He leaned back, his eyes shining with amusement. "That would be preferable," he agreed, planting a kiss on the underside of your jaw.

"The wait was worth it," he whispered, his voice low and full of promise.

You couldn't stop the blush that crept up your neck, his words sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. He had that effect on you. Making you feel things you had never experienced before. He was so commanding yet tender. So confident, yet vulnerable.

You tugged him closer, wanting to be engulfed by his scent, his warmth. He obliged, slowly parting your legs with his knee, his erection pressing into the apex of your thighs.

He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath warm against your cheek. "Is this okay?" he whispered, his question genuine.

You nodded, not used to the way he was taking his time. You had never had someone take such care, treating your body like something delicate, precious. It was an odd feeling, and you found yourself craving it, eager to see what he would do next.

He brushed his nose against yours, a tender gesture, his hands lifting your thighs, pressing them against your stomach. You could feel his hard length against you, but he remained still, his gaze searching yours.

You realized he was waiting for an invitation. "Please," you breathed, unable to say more, your mind too focused on the feel of him, the heat building inside you.

His fingers gripped the back of your thighs, the pressure enough to bruise, as he eased into you slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut, his thickness stretching you, filling you completely. You moaned, your fingers digging into his biceps.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He set a perfect rhythm, his hips rolling against yours in a way that left you breathless.

Your hips rose to meet his, colliding in perfect harmony, his breath warm against your cheek. He murmured words of encouragement, his voice hoarse and low. Your name escaped his lips in a breathless gasp, the sound almost a prayer.

You could feel his love, his admiration, in every touch, every kiss, every stroke. It wasn't just sex. It was Elijah pouring every ounce of his devotion into you. You understood why he wasn't a man for one-night stands. He couldn't separate the act from the emotion. And for some reason, you couldn't either. Not with him.

His hands slid to your hips, steadying your movements as he slowed his thrusts, savoring the way you fit together. "Perfect," he breathed, his lips grazing the side of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

"Elijah," you whimpered, his name escaping in a gasp.

He was unraveling you, piece by piece, every thrust bringing you closer to the edge. You could feel the pressure building, the familiar heat pooling deep inside you. You closed your eyes, your fingers curling into his skin as the first waves of your orgasm washed over you.

"That’s it," Elijah whispered, his voice like velvet against your ear, low and intimate.

Your body trembled, a moan escaping your lips as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body tensing, then relaxing. He rode you through it, his own release following yours, he groaned, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, the world around you faded away, your thoughts only of him. You breathed each other in, the two of you still joined, hearts racing.

When the fog cleared, and reality came rushing back, all you could think about was the way his skin felt against yours. His body, warm and solid above you. You had never had sex like that before. It was intense, almost spiritual. You couldn't explain it, but there was something different about him. Something you had never experienced with anyone else.

"Well, that was..." you trailed off, looking up at him through your lashes.

He met your gaze, a hint of amusement in his expression. "Indeed," he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You let out a soft giggle, your cheeks warming under the weight of his stare. You snuggled into his chest, his strong arm wrapping around you, holding you close.

You stayed like that for a while, enjoying the feel of his bare skin against yours. Your fingers absently traced patterns along his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong. You had never felt more content, more at ease.

"You're welcome to stay," he whispered, his lips brushing against the top of your head.

You hummed in agreement, letting him pull the blankets around you. You couldn't remember the last time you had felt so comfortable. So safe.

The soft buzzing of his phone pulled you both back to reality, a reminder that the world outside still existed. Elijah sighed, the sound half-amused, half-irritated.

"Who is it?" you asked, the question partially muffled by his chest.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

You lifted your head, looking at the screen, and noticed all the messages notifications from the dating app. You chuckled.

"Someone is popular," you said, teasing him lightly.

He shrugged, a sheepish look on his face. You reached out and opened a message from one of his many suitors, a blonde woman who was unafraid to get right to the point.

‘My place? ;)’, the message read, along with a very provocative picture.

"I don't understand why people think sending a photo like that is appropriate," Elijah mused, his tone indignant.

You burst out laughing, the thought of Elijah, in all his old-fashioned glory, unable to comprehend the dating app culture, was too much.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you didn't expect this," you teased, poking him gently in the ribs.

He caught your hand, bringing it up to his lips, the gesture so intimate, you could feel your cheeks flush.

"I'm aware of what dating apps are for, I'm just not interested in the kind of attention she's offering," he replied, his eyes meeting yours, the warmth in his gaze making your heart race.

"It's not all bad, you know," you said, a hint of mischief in your voice. "It worked for us," you pointed out.

He arched an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. "I suppose you're right," he conceded, his lips curving into a small smile. "But we would have ended up here regardless," he added, his confidence unwavering.

"Is that so?" you replied, trying to hide the way your heart was hammering against your chest.

"Yes," he said simply, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for doubt.

"And why is that?" you pressed, enjoying the way he was looking at you, his gaze full of adoration.

“This,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “was always meant to happen. You and I… we’re inevitable.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “Inevitable,” you repeated, the word tasting like a promise on your tongue. Whatever doubts or fears you had melted away in the warmth of his gaze, the quiet certainty that seemed to anchor you to this moment. As his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, you realized that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Wrapped in his embrace, your future unfolding one shared heartbeat at a time.

[babygirlwolverine]

dean thinks cas likes him… he’s pretty sure… he thinks so anyway…. but he wasn’t going to be the one to make a move on a freakin’ angel. he’d let cas make the first move if that was something cas wanted. but days turned into weeks and months and then years with no attempts from cas to pursue dean. so dean buried his feelings. it was probably just his own unrequited desires reflecting back at him. he could live with pining and yearning.

it wasn’t until late one night, the two of them researching in the bunker library together with glasses of scotch next to each of their hands, that cas said something.

cas looked up at dean, darted his gaze down to the tomb in front of him, and looked back up at dean again. the flickering movement made dean glance up, and he locked eyes with cas; raising an eyebrow to silently ask cas what was up.

“we should get married,” cas said.

dean grinned.

yes. cas definitely liked him.

[brummiereader]

Binding Love (Part Five/ Dark!Tommy)

Summary: After your attempts to stop your child's innocent curiosity from revealing the secrets your husband had kept buried at the bottom of your garden. Tommy learns of your frightful discovery and his sins he wished to keep unearthed. Will you be able to escape in time before your husband's threatening shift of character returns?

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, language, violence, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, psychological abuse, mutual pining, angst, murder.

Word Count: 4K

Authors Note: The song "Little Tommy Tucker" is an old English nursery rhyme from the 1700's. A song Tommy Shelby would have known.

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"102, you have a fever. No school today" you placed the glass thermometer on your daughter's bedside table before tucking her securely under her frilly duvet.

" I'm not sick" Elsie pouted, wriggling her arms out of the cocoon of covers.

" It's lying, Mummy!" she huffed, flipping herself away from you as she kicked off the last of her covers with her little legs.

" What's going on here, eh?" Tommy opened the door, looping his tie through its knot as you sprang up from the edge of your daughter's side, grabbing the piping hot glass of water off her cabinet.

" She's sick" you quickly replied, darting to the window as you guzzled down the tumblers' scorching contents. Proof of your calculated plan of action, a plan that deemed it imperative your daughter stay home for the day.

" She doesn't feel hot, love" Tommy rested the back of his hand on her head as he glanced down at the contradicting dial of the thermometer whilst your trembling hands clasped around your burning throat.

" So I can go to school?" your daughter's hazel eyes beamed up at her father, eager to keep her high score and winning position in the competitive game of hop scotch that had taken over play time every day going on near a week.

" No Elsie!" you snapped with a strained voice, resting the weight of your body on the windowsill with shaky hands as your eyes, rimmed red with countless hours of little sleep, honed in on the daily reminder of the crime scene hidden beyond the trees a short distance from your childs bedroom.

" Listen to your mother, eh?" Tommy's eyes darted to you with concern, brows creasing at your usually contained patience for your daughter's head strong determination.

" Tell me then, what have I done?" you felt your husband's hands slip around your waist with a chuckle, cheek pressing against yours as you squeezed your eyes shut. Shutting out the intrusive thoughts of his murderous hobbies and the hands that committed them wrapped around your body.

How long could you keep this up before he learnt of your discovery? you thought to yourself as you turned around to face the pair of loving blues gazing at you, the calloused pads of his hands laced in sin, soothingly stroking circles into the curves of your hips.

" Nothing" you shook your dipping head from the knitted brow, from the searching eyes unconvinced of your response staring back at you.

" I'm probably coming down with something too, is all" your eyes darted up to the fading smile of your husband, his soft touch coming to a sudden stop. Sudden enough that his silent observations had a ball of nerves fall to your already uneasy stomach, sick of the gruesome secrets your husband had been keeping buried.

Trembling hands gliding up his arms, you quickly turned your welling eyes from him as you settled your head on his chest. If not to only settle the turning wheels behind his crystal aubes from seeking the truth of your jittery composure, but to give yourself a brief moment to gather your wrecked nerves before you finally cracked under the weight of his searing stare.

Arms wrapping around you, Tommy breathed heavily into the locks of your hair, pressing a longing kiss to the top of your crown as his heavy hands stroked along your back. Fooled for a brief moment by your affectionate display you had begun to perfect.

" You're going to be late" you pulled away with a forced smile of any loving wife, tending to him as you smoothed the creases of his shirt your shaky body had crumpled before returning to your child, away from his luring affections that would have you stop you from doing the unthinkable. Fleeing.

As the sound of your husband's heavy footsteps, and roar of his Bentley's engine announced his leave, you raced from your hovering position in the landing hallway to his office and the only phone in your grand home.

" 56 Whitby Lane, Birmingham. Mrs Langing" your breathy voice echoed down the line as your eyes darted away from the blissful image of you and Tommy on your wedding day, sat within the four corners of a wooden frame on top of his desk.

" Putting you through" the operator replied as the faint sound of her plugging your line into the switchboard could be heard through each shaky breath that left your throat.

" How are you Dorothy? Been keeping well after your fall down Earlsberry Road?" you said what had been instructed to you countless times as your eyes darted to the clock on the wall, counting each tick of the hand until two minutes had passed.

As idle chat about the weather and village gossip continued, your heart began to rapidly race within your chest as you feared you would run out of meaningless conversation before the listening ear of the operator finally hung up.

" Yes, they say it might warm up by the weekend" you hoped the dreary discussion of weather would have her opt out of the call earlier than anticipated when your voice came to a stuttering stop, fingers seconds from ending the conversation as the love shared between you and Tommy in the black and white picture caught your drifting eyes once again.

You could just forget about it. Ignore it. Pretend like you hadn't seen anything, you selfishly thought to yourself, desperately trying to push the faces of the men that found themselves in the crossfire of your and Tommy's crumbling marriage from your thoughts as you felt your heart being pulled back to the loving side of your husband he still baited you with.

" Y/N?" you heard your name through the crackling line.

" Are you there? She's gone." the stranger whose voice you only knew, a stranger who held your life in their hands, your desperation you trusted they would relay to the officer who had first sought you out as you wiped the blurry image of you and Tommy from your tears and followed through with your decision.

" I'll give him any information he needs. Please, just get me and my child to safety before it's too late"

" Moles, big ones" your feet came to a stop upon hearing the muffled voice of your child from outside the kitchen door as you leant your tired body on it's frame, having spent the remainder of the morning aimlessly pacing the halls of your home until the impending hour of your departure striked.

" D'you want me to shoot 'em down for you El? Pop 'em off one by one?" you heard a low hearty chuckle respond as you threw open the door in fear your daughters' innocent curiosities would land you in a six-foot deep grave next to said, mole hills.

"Johnny" your hand flew to your chest as you saw Tommy's close confidant and friend to the family ruffling your daughter's hair as he sat beside her at the kitchen table with a cigar perched between his teeth.

" Elsie here says you've got moles" he questioned, grinning back at your daughter whose kicking legs and dimpled smile was pleased someone was enthusiastic as her about Arrow Houses new neighbours after your continued endeavour to have her forget about her gruesome discovery.

" Elsie, that's enough. Stop telling Johnny porkies" you scolded her as you busied yourself with the piling dishes in the sink, feeling the guilt of your lies heating your cheeks as your daughter began to profusely insist on their existence.

" Your imagination will get you into mischief one day" you felt your heart sink at each reprimanding word that left your mouth as you wiped your thumbling hands on the tea towel, turning to see the wobbling bottom lip of your daughter.

" But we do" she sniffed, eyes pooling with tears as she looked up at your creased brow and your unfair scolding of her.

"Three of them. In...in a line, like this" she hiccuped the last of her tears back with each word as she showed Dogs the arrangement of muddy hills with the miss match of cutlery she had set out for the tea party he found himself attending as she scowled at you.

" Three! Bleeding Christ, we have an army of moles on our hands, Y/N!" Where are the little buggers?" he played along to her tale as your daughter's saddened face began to turn into a giggling grin.

" Elsie..." your fingers nervously began to clutch around the floral towel in your hands, jittery feet walking you towards the edge of the wooden table as you slowly shook your head at your daughter, silently pleading with her to not reveal their location.

" Three moles, eh?" Tommy's voice suddenly announced his presence with a cloud of smoke billowing into the room, suited body leaning against the frame of the door as his eyes roamed over your rapidly seeping nerves.

How long had he been standing there, watching you? How much had he heard? your mind began to throw questions at you as you locked eyes, his glaring stare reading the cascade of unspoken fears whirling through your head.

"You're home" you pulled a smile through the panic you felt as you pathetically tried to turn the tide of conversation, failing to fool your husband with the happy curiosity you was desperately trying to convey.

" Elsie, tell Daddy where these...moles are, so Johnny and his boys can get rid of them" he ignored your remarks as his piercing glare, fixed on you and the truth you had tried to conceal stayed unmoved.

" Down by the woods" your daughter happily responded as she trotted her pony over her makeshift mountains of mud made of porcelaine as Johnny leant back in his chair with heavy sigh.

" Down by the woods" his echoing response came with a tone of parental disappointment for you and your stumbling feet that made the unfortunate mistake of discovering his minor...transgressions.

" Well" he blew the last of his cigarette to the beamed ceilings as he stalked forward to your cowering side.

"We can't have these moles turning up half my land can we, love?" his hand snaked across your back, giving the spongy flesh of your hip a sharp squeeze to play along to the charade you had started as your daughter enthusaitlly nodded her head.

"Johnny" he nodded to his loyal friend who sprung up with a slap to his knees before drinking the last of his tea from the dainty porcelaine play set as Tommy's head snapped to you.

" I came home to check on you. Good thing i did, else we would have had an infestation on our hands" he brushed the whispy hairs from your face as your eyes brimming with tears and mumbling voice betrayed the fear you felt for the man that had taken over your husband.

"You ok, love? Nothing to tell me?" he continued to toy with you and the ruleless game you found yourself playing along to.

" No" you shook your head, embodying your part as the dumb wife, oblivious to her husband's secrets until he left, until you found the right moment to escape.

"Huh" a heavy scoff fanned across your lips as he stepped back to your daughter contently playing with her cherished toys. Maybe you finally understood, finally saw that he was just trying to keep you safe.

"Elsie, Daddy has to go back to work. But I'll be back in time to read you your bedtime story. Me and mummy both will, won't we?" his eyes darted across the room to you slowly slipping out the door with a nodding head of agreement.

" No goodbye kiss for your old man" he stoped you between the woody frame of the kitchen door with a lunging step and reaching hand as your darting eyes had no choice but to acknowledge his dipping head trying to catch your line of sight.

"Goodbye....darling" you pressed a chase peck to his cheek, pulling away to see the protruding bone of his jaw bulging from his cheek.

" Got somewhere to be that's so urgent, you can't kiss your husband properly, hm?" he cocked a brow lifting your slouching chin with his thumb to meet his eyes.

" No..." you mumbled when you suddenly felt yourself being abruptly pulled out of the kitchen to its adjoining wall, your body pushed up against the painted brick as Tommy's veiny hands, straining with fury cupped your cheeks, forcing a passionate kiss from you.

" Be good" he pulled back with a smirk from your abused lips, swollen from his enthusiastic show of dominance as he left you with a heaving chest, trembling hands searching for the wall behind you to steady your shaking body.

" Don't let her step a fucking foot out of this house, understood" Tommys hushed commands were given to his man stood at the entrance of your home as he straightened his tie with a crank of his neck, eyes snapping back to you before he left to the sound of the heavy doors slamming you shut inside.

" Can we go play now?" your daughter's mousey voice startled you from the fear your husband had left you with as she tugged at your dress.

" Yes...let's play" you grabbed her hand, turning to the winding stairs of your home with hurried steps and the task in hand. One you'd have to convince your daughter to play along to if you was ever going to flee from the fortress you once called your home.

" Let's play...road trip"

Racing from draw to draw, you stuffed your shared suitcase with the last of your daughter's clothes to start the new life far from the fogged city of Birmingham as your twiddling-haired child sat on the floor watching her frantic mother.

" This game's boring" she huffed, tucking her hand under her chin as she rested her elbow on her knobbly knee.

" Come on Elsie, don't be a spoil-sport" your eyes darted out the window to Tommy's man swigging the last of the bottle of ale you had one of your maids offer him in hopes he'd find an urgent need to relieve himself and leave his post so you could quietly escape without being noticed.

" Elsie...Elsie darling, pass me your hairbrush" you ushered her to help you pack as you peered behind the curtains with a triumphant smile at the peaked man's fidgety legs pacing back and forth as your daughter groaned behind you, rising from her comfy position on the hand stitched rug.

" Little Tommy Tucker, sings for his supper. What shall we give him? White bread and butter" your daughter began to sing as she hop scotched her way over to her dresser, her pony galloping in tow in the air.

Come on, come on, your brain screamed for him to race to the closest loo, bush, brick wall, whatever it be to release the liters worth of beer he'd consumed as your daughters nursery rhyme began to push through your preoccupied thoughts.

"How shall he cut it, without a knife?" she merrily sang in tune, brushing the mane of her pony with the silver-plated hairbrush as she padded towards your widening eyes, too enthralled in her horse's luscious locks to notice the horror growing on your face.

" Elsie, where did you learn that song?" you stepped away from the window, ushering her to you with your hand stretched out in urgency.

" How will he be married, without a...wife?" she stopped at your feet, finishing the last notes of the innocent rhyme that had suddenly taken on a far darker meaning as she handed you the brush. " Here mummy"

" Elsie, who taught you that song?" you reiterated as you bent down to her little frame and swaying legs, almond eyes looking up at you through her lashes. "Elsie?"

" Daddy did" your heart sank to the pit of your stomach at the harrowing lengths your husband had gone to keep you in check.

" We're leaving. Now" your panicked thoughts of what Tommy would do when he returned had you grabbing your daughter's hand and the suitcase at your feet as you rushed from her bedroom.

" But I thought it was just a game?" her breath and little legs tried to catch up to your racing feet as you fled down the stairs.

" No Elsie, we're going away. Just you and me. On holiday" partial truths to your plan had your daughters scrunched brow of confusion looking up at you as you came to a halting stop at the bottom of the stairs, apprehensively eyeing up the towering doors and your escape.

" Daddy!" your daughter pulled you to the picture of the three of you sat atop of your foyers wooden table with tugs to your hand.

Grabbing the ornate silver frame of happy memories, you pulled her with quickened steps to the imposing doors, silently preying to every heaven, every deity, that Tommy's guard had finally succumbed to his ballooning bladder as you pushed the doors open.

" Ay, ay, ay!" he shouted in midstream, head snapping to the sound of your gravelly footsteps across the gritted drive as his thumbling fingers adjusted himself back into his trousers.

" Mrs Shelby, no one's to leave. Tommy's orders!" he raced after you, watching you pull your six-year-old up into your arms as you threw open the car door, causing Elsie's horse to fly from her hands in the chaos.

"Mummy! Mummy my pony!" she screamed as you slammed the door shut, locking you inside from the thrashing hands of Tommy's henchmen pummeling against the glass window.

" Stop, Elsie!" you snapped in a panic, as you turned the ignition, foot pressed to the peddle until the rumbling wheels of your husband's car screeched down the driveway.

" Please, please, please!" your eyes darted from your childs sobs to the end of the path and the road block you hoped was in place for your frantic escape.

"Daddy! I want Daddy!" your six-year-old screamed beside you, desperately trying to open the car door as you swerved around the corner past the towering iron gates to the Shepard waiting with his flock. His trusted four legged helper, patiently keeping control over the unruly heard until he was given his whistling orders.

" Yes, yes!" a laugh of disbelief had your eyes darting from the country road ahead of you to the rear-view mirror and the car of Tommy's henchman being blocked off by the wooly heard crossing the road.

"Yes..." your excited achievement quickly sizzled out, your sweaty hands clutching the steering wheel as you looked down at your daughter curled up in her chair sobbing with Arrow House fading over the bushy hedgerow behind her.

And then it came, as the rush of the moment began to settle, as the adrenaline pumping through your veins faded and your decision began to sink in.

Divorce was one thing. But leaving, taking his daughter from him, an entirely different move you suddenly felt the reality of as a gasping sob left your throat and the dam of heartbreak streamed your cheeks.

" Elsie..." you quietly wept, hand reaching for her as the bricked chimneys of your home disappeared over the hilly fields of green, the binding ties of your marriage breaking.

" I want daddy" she sniffed, turning from you and the pit of sadness you were dwelling in, for the fleeting decades worth of memories and the man that would expect you to be there on his return, passing you by.

Too late to turn back, to forgive and forget the emerging darkness from within the only man you had ever known. Your future had now been tossed into the hands of the inspector that promised you refuge.

For fate would deal you a far deadlier hand, than that of Tommy Tucker's wife from the innocent nursery rhyme of your child if you dared to return and face the impending retribution of your husband's punishments.

Wheels coming to a screeching stop, Tommy threw open his car door, eyes widening with fury at the man that had let you escape as he pulled his gun from within its leather halter.

" Boss, I..." the mumbling soldier's last words were cut off with a bullet between his eyes as Tommy coldly took him out.

"Fuck sake" Arthur mumbled, stood at the doors of Arrow House with his weapon in hand, ready to threaten his brother into control by any means as he watched the trickling crimson river approach his laced boots.

" Where are they? Y/N! Elsie!" Tommy pushed past his shoulder into the grand foyer of his stately home with a roar. Unwilling, unable, to believe the urgent phone call that had him slamming the brassy receiver down onto its bronze stand as he bolted for his car.

" Tommy, they're not here. We've checked the whole place. Tom!" Arthur rested his hands on his hips with a strained sigh as he watched his brother take two lunging steps at a time up the imposing staircase until he disappeared around the corner.

" Y/N!" he shouted your name, throwing each door open with determination to find proof that you hadn't done the unthinkable, that you hadn't left him and taken his daughter with you.

" No..." reality finally hit him as he opened the last door to Elsie's bedroom, to the scene of clothes strung across the room, evidence of your frantic escape.

With widened eyes brimming with disbelief, with reddening fury on the tethering edge of implosion. The blood drained from Tommy's legs as his feet gave way to the overwhelming surge of defeat that had plummeted to his stomach he was desperately battling to keep down.

You had done it. You had left him.

"Fuck!!" Tommy's bellowing voice boomed from wall to wall as a cascade of furniture being thrashed about the disheveled room echoed through the floorboards to a flinching Arthur stood in the foyer, teeth baring at every crash of destruction.

" Now, Tom..." Arthur put his hands up, blocking the entrance as Tommy came thundering down the stairs having trashed every breakable object in a tirade of uncontrollable rage.

" Get out of my way, Arthur" your husband grabbed the gun from his hands, cranking back the barrel as he unloaded bullet after bullet into anything and anyone unfortunate enough to be within firing shot outside his home. The clanging of each cylinder hitting the ground, releasing his fury shot after shot until he came down from the tormenting inability to take the pain he felt out on you.

As the last bullet was spent, Tommy's hunching shoulders pushed him to the ground in defeat as he pulled a cigarette from his waistcoat, eyes narrowing through his field of destruction until they landed on Elsie's wooden pony caught in the crossfire with a bullet through it's stomach.

Through a cloud of billowing smoke, Tommy inspected the damage to his daughter's most treasured toy when his head suddenly drew up to the sound of approaching sirens blaring over the hedgerow, cars racing along the country roads down to his home.

" Tom! Get up!" Arthur pulled him from the depths of his despair, dragging him back into the foyer of Arrow House as a swarm of police officers, guns drawn, slowly approached.

" Hands up!" the crowd of shouting men commanded as Tommy drew one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it at their feet with squinting eyes.

"Thomas Michael Shelby. I'm arresting you on suspicion of murder" the officer edged forward to the amused smirk of disbelief plastered on your husband's face for what he imagined was a minor misunderstanding, he would be able to charm himself or his money out of within minutes.

" Think you've got the wrong man" Tommy scoffed as he willingly put his hands out when the inspector that had been hounding you strolled forward with his own smirk of satisfaction.

"Really? Pretty sure your sweet wife would say otherwise" he placed his hands in his pockets with a triumphant grin as Tommy's eyes widened, face reddening with a resurfacing surge of anger.

" You could ask her, but she and your daughter are far away from you and the madness that goes on in that pretty little head of yours" he tapped the side of Tommy's skull as your husband lunged forward from the clutches of the officers tightening his chains.

" She told us everything" he whispered into your husbands' ear with a wining chuckle.

"You're going down, boy" he stepped back, enjoying the sight of your husband furiously fighting against his constraints with a clenching jaw as the feral gnashing of Arthur's teeth and the half dozen officers trying to control him battled next to him.

" Lock him up, gents!" the inspector ordered as Tommy was lead away when his forced steps to the waiting car came to a halting stop as his eyes darted to the table of framed photos, scanning across the missing picture until they settled on your lone portrait and his emerging smirk curling the corners of his lips in its reflection as he spoke his threats to your sweet smile staring back at him.

"Well played, darling. But I will find you"

Next Part

Tag list: @peakyswritings @justrainandcoffee @garrison-girl-08 @meadows5 @lavender-haze-01

@strangeobsessed @ttae-yong @lemonwithstupidity @lindsay00000 @mischievouslittlecreature

@jbrownta @lau219 @whereismymindnow @honeymoon8 @bruhidkjustwannaread

@strrvnge @paintedinpinks @edgyficuselastica @strangeions @youngbananamilkshake

[esteljune]

I was thinking about Johnny's scent. I don't think he wears any cologne. If you get close to his neck, right where his beard ends and his hairline begins, and you inhale just slightly, making him shiver, you'll smell a faint scent of pine mixed with industrial soap and a vague hint of tobacco. You don't know why, but it reminds you of the smell of the sun, salt water, and the sea breeze sweeping over rocky green hills.

When Soap comes home from deployment, his natural scent will be mixed with a faint aroma of jet fuel and the disinfectant he used on his new wounds to keep you from worrying.

The best way to enjoy Sergeant John MacTavish, however, is when he's standing in front of you, captivated as you slowly remove his t-shirt, revealing his broad, muscular chest. If you get close enough to make him blush, your fingers tracing the hot muscles, every scar, every fresh scratch, and his chest expanding like a bellows at your touch, you can smell his scent so strong it makes you dizzy.

That scent of sun mixed with the slightly acrid sweetness of sweat. In a kiss, when his tongue searches for yours and you let yourself go, you'll discover how intoxicating his taste can be. A bit too much scotch from the night before, that cigarette he smoked nervously before meeting you, and the coffee you made for him when he walked through the door.

[mariasont]

you should do more aaron hotchner x reader but they get drunk together and they just have a make out session or something 🤫🤫

Strawberry Wine - A.H

a/n: i took this the bimbo reader route because i'm slightly obsessed with them lately so i hope you don't mind <3

thank you so much for requesting xoxo

masterlist

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pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: hotch is a lot more flirty when he's got some alcohol in him

warnings: kind of suggestive?, flirty hotch, making out, mutual pining

wc: 0.9k

You were vaguely aware of the dizzy sensation taking hold, your steps a little unsteady, cheeks a little more flushed. Penelope's voice, usually so clear, now sound like she was yelling from afar, her excitement over a new cooking show barely registering with you. It all faded into the background as your focus narrowed on one person alone--your boss.

Concentrating on something else was the logical choice, but logic seemed to falter in the face of such distraction. I mean, you had eyes after all.

He looked exceptionally good tonight. Jeans. He was wearing jeans and a zip up. His casual look held an irresistibility about it that you rarely got to appreciate, and now it's all you can dwell on. You could easily blame your preoccupation on a few drinks, but in all honesty, you'd be just as enthralled sober.

Your name was floating through the air, and as you turned, you saw Morgan. His grin was wide, the kind that told you he'd been trying to catch your attention for longer than you'd realized.

His eyebrows lifted, bumping against you with a shoulder as he waggled those same eyebrows. So childish. You knew what he was referring to. He was the first one to catch on to your little crush, but despite his behavior you knew he'd never divulge your secret. 

You nudged him back, not realizing your own strength until you were almost toppling over. You only found your footing when you felt hands on your waist. You leaned back, assuming it was Morgan. You were wrong. 

"You okay?" His voice was soft and low, a soothing sound that tempted you to both lean into him and step back in a fluster.

You glanced around, only to realize that Morgan had disappeared, leaving you with Hotch. You clamped your lips together, fighting the urge to let a stupid smile spread across your face, but the wine's influence made it challenging.

"Yes."

The room spun just a tad more as you tried to focus on Hotch, his usually sharp gaze softened just a bit more tonight. 

He chuckled--a rare, perfect sound that made you tingly all over--and leaned closer. "The wine seems to be doing its job. How many glasses in are we?"

You giggled, but the sound was more like a hiccup. "I should be asking you that," you said with a lopsided smile. "But then again, I guess I mean glasses of scotch, right? You seem like a scotch over wine kind of guy."

"Do I?" His voice was rich and warm. He stepped forward, his eyes briefly flickering to where the rest of the team congregated in Rossi's kitchen. However, they seemed miles away. "You smell good."

His compliment threw you off guard, you blinked, cheeks heating up as you swayed slightly towards him, voice a bubbly stream of words you couldn't control. "You think so? It's actually this new perfume--I got it on sale, can you believe it? And the bottle is just the cutest thing, all pink and pretty."

"I bet." He was smirking. Smirking. You were pretty sure you had stumbled into an alternate reality where Hotch was not just your boss, but someone who was relaxed, almost flirtatious? 

"Here," you said, pointing to the middle of your chest. You were a little breathless, "this is where I spray it."

He gave a low hum, almost inaudible, stepping in until you were toe to toe. You caught the hint of scotch on his breath--just as you had suspected--and it made the room spin a little more. 

His face moved down toward your chest, and you couldn't hardly believe that he couldn't hear your heart pounding against your ribs. 

You inhaled sharply, the valley of your breasts rising to graze against his nose, so lightly that it might have gone unnoticed if not for your intense focus on him. 

"What do you think--?" you started to ask, but as he raised his head, your noses were nearly touching, and the rest of your sentence dissolved.

The realization of how easy it would be to kiss him struck you, tempting and terrifying all at one, and you hesitated, knowing that was one line you shouldn't cross.

But you didn't need to cross it because he obliterated the line with a kiss that thundered against your lips before you could even blink. A smile bloomed against his mouth, and you returned it full force.

It was as if you were tingly from head to toe, like fireworks were exploding all around you, like you were floating on a cloud.

You looped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, as if the space between you could vanish entirely. You felt his broad hands sweep and down your spine, your tongues vying for dominance, the rich, smoky taste of that scotch lingering in your mouth, as if you were absorbing its essence through every five senses.

It was as if you were back in high school, making out under the bleachers, hiding from the rest of your classmates. You didn't want it to end, but reality intruded like a dream dispelled.

The click of a camera snapped you back to the present, his arms still wrapped around you protectively, hands on the damning evidence.

Gathered at the window there the team was, Garcia's fingers curled around her phone, its lens aimed squarely at you. Your surprised came out as a high-pitched squeal mingled with their distance laughter and cheers. You pressed your face into the fabric of Hotch's zip up, silently pleading for the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

"Next time, we'll opt for the bathroom. Less room for an audience."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna