#teARING UP THE STREETS OF LONDON >W>

[tenacquity]

Strong arms encircled Ryunosuke's waist from behind, squeezing gently as Kazuma drew his back flush against his frame. The simple gesture was all it took for his ever-flawless posture to relax. Soothed into complacency beyond what he'd allow anyone else to see by the other man's mere presence. "Hello, partner," he murmured, lips caressing Ryunosuke's cheek with every syllable. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long." ((IT'S FINALLY TIME 👀👀👀😭❤️))

@howthesleeplesswander || here they go╰(▔∀▔)╯

Some would argue Ryunosuke Naruhodo had the tendency to be appallingly absentminded at times. And, indeed, those "some" would be correct.

It was through that impressive inattentiveness that he long lost track of just how much time had passed since calling upon Kazuma, politely informed by the young prosecutor himself that he'd be "a few moments" that quickly dragged out. In the meantime, Ryunosuke took to exploring the seemingly endless rows of caskets wine barrels along one wall of the office. Like any of them looked at all different from each other. Like he'd be able to see through the wood to the wine within that'd somehow make a difference in discerning what was so massively special about each—

But a pair of arms twined around his waist. Familiar or otherwise, without the warning—and lost in his own thoughts (or was it a lack thereof?)—Ryunosuke had no hope quelling a small squeak.

"Kazuma—!" he blurted in a rush of breath. "Gracious, would it be too much to ask you to make a bit of noise when you walk...?" He was smiling, however. As a pair of lips pranced along the height of his cheek, Ryunosuke turned his head into the touch, caught Kazuma out of his peripheral. "Were you long? Truthfully, I hadn't noticed."

Shifting in his partner's hold, he managed to angle himself enough to face him. His fingers fiddled with the front of Kazuma's coat and mindlessly traced the prominent buttons. "So you're all set to leave, then? If you've more work to do, I wouldn't want to drag you away from it."

He was lying. He absolutely would.

[howthesleeplesswander]

@tenacquity continued from here! ((hghhhgng these two are immediately tOO CUTE I'M DYING T~T))

It took longer than he'd thought for Kazuma to finish his work for the afternoon. Scarcely a week had passed since the corruption in Great Britain's own government had been laid out to bear. In the wake of Lord Stronghart's detainment, the staff of the Old Bailey were understandably flustered, thus both himself and his mentor had been busier than in the last three months combined—despite (or, perhaps because of) their involvement in that very trial.

But this was where Kazuma's title of "apprentice" paid off. With Lord van Zieks away attending to other matters, the instant he completed his tasks from that morning, he was finally free to indulge in the distraction who'd been pacing the Prosecutor's Office.

Ryunosuke's squeak and subsequent grousing was met with a fond chuckle. "If I did that, I wouldn't get the pleasure of startling you," he teased. Loosening his arms enough to let the other man turn, Kazuma's hands settled at his waist once they faced each other.

"Wouldn't you? Hm, somehow I doubt that." Gloved thumbs traced idle circles at the rise of Ryunosuke's hips, a soft smile adorning his mouth. This whirlwind of a week had left time for criminally few moments like this. Now that he had the chance, it would be equally criminal not to relish having Ryunosuke in his arms again.

"Not to worry: I've finished my duties for today. Though, if I'm ready to leave, well...that's another story entirely." Ducking his head down, his lips danced featherlight along the curve of a handsome jaw. A chosen spot of skin shadowed just beneath was bestowed with a soft kiss.

"Not when I've got you all to myself in here."

[moonstruckme]

rooomate james. 😭😭 literally obsessed w himm!!

Me too I love him (and you!) sm <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 808 words

You don’t recognize James’ car until he shouts at you. 

“Hey!” 

You give a little jump, turning midair to find James smiling out the rolled-down window. 

“Want a lift?” 

“God, you scared me!” You backtrack and open the passenger door. The seat looks to have been tidied in a hurry, receipts and takeaway containers tossed into the backseat. “How’d you even know I’d need a ride?” 

James refrains from responding to give you an expectant look. You roll your eyes and buckle your seatbelt. Satisfied, he puts the car in reverse, setting his hand on your seat to look behind him as he backs out of the parking spot. 

“You weren’t home when I got there,” he says, “and then I remembered on Sundays you usually get off at eleven, so here I am. Is Art not with you?” 

“No, he wasn’t working tonight.” 

James doesn’t seem too disappointed by this. He pulls onto the street. You watch him, looking almost unconsciously for signs of wear and tear. 

Now that rugby season is in full swing, he’s gone not just during the day for training but sometimes overnight for away games. You’ve been alone in your apartment for the whole weekend while he played in London and then Bristol. It was weird. You think you’ve accidentally grown used to having James around. You don’t fancy yourself a very tactile person, and the urge to hug him isn’t terribly strong, but it’s there. 

“How was work?” he asks you. 

“It was fine. How were your matches?” 

“They were fine,” he imitates you, grinning. “No, it’s like I said. Winning the second one’s always better than winning the first and losing the second. It’s nice to end on a good note.”

He’d texted continual updates while he was gone. You sat on your couch, pretending to yourself or perhaps to some invisible, judgemental observer that you were watching TV when really you were entirely focused on James’ texts. You imagined him sitting in his hotel room doing the same, or maybe in a pub with his teammates, smiling at his phone each time you responded. 

Your imagination has become terribly overindulgent lately. 

“Honestly, I was pretty disappointed you weren’t home when I got there,” James says, a familiar teasing lilt to his voice. “I was hoping to come in and catch you wearing one of my jumpers and staring tearily at a framed photo of me.” 

You roll your eyes, but your face burns. You did use his shampoo, once. In your defense, you’d run out of yours, but you thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to smell like him, nice and fresh and comforting. It had foamed more than you expected. It did smell really nice, but it made your hair feel dry (boy shampoo always does that, you’ve no idea how James’ curls seem to thrive under such poor treatment) and you felt silly about it for days, lovesick in the most derogatory sense. 

Didn’t stop you from sniffing your hair occasionally, though. 

“You weren’t gone to war,” you reply. “And where would I get a framed photo of you?” 

James looks affronted. “I assumed you already had one. How did you get through the weekend without even a photo? You brave, brave girl.” 

“I actually threw a rager,” you deadpan. “Rented out your room to six people traveling through with the carnival and let them invite over all their friends. Did loads of hard drugs.” 

“Well, we all have different ways of coping.” He reaches over to squeeze your shoulder consolingly. You pretend goosebumps don’t skitter all the way down your arm from the brief touch. “And what a marvelous job you’ve done covering up your escapades!” He exclaims as you pull up in front of the apartment. “I haven’t come across the cocaine dust on our bathroom counter yet, so you must have really done a thorough cleanup.” 

“Keep looking, it’s around there somewhere.” 

James laughs. You’re slower getting out of the car than he is, and by the time you emerge he’s in front of you, pulling you into a hug. You think your bones liquefy. He’s warm and strong and he smells like his shampoo, both arms squishing you heartily before he lets go with a little laugh. 

“Sorry,” he says, bringing his hands to your upper arms, “I didn’t even ask. I just missed you, you know?” James has this look on his face, smile brilliant and eyes wide open. So saccharine sweet you almost can’t look at him. “Guess I got used to having you around.” 

You do your best to smile back. “Yeah, me too.” 

He squeezes your arms before turning to go inside. “You smell like Italian food, too. I don’t suppose you’ve cooked anything recently that’s still in the fridge? I’m beginning to think about second dinner.” 

[mischievousmoony]

Hiiii!!! i absolutely love your writing and i wonder if you wouldn’t mind writing a james potter x fem!reader thingy. Basically where she is out with some

friends that are absolute dicks and basically they ‘dare’ her to walk home in the dark alone whilst she is drunk and she agrees became se she just wants them to like her but she realises how much of an idiot she is and so she walks to James’ house where he comforts her and stuff.

if not don’t worry

love you!!!!

changed the prompt up a little hope it's okay lovie <3 i also made it a bit long for my definition of a drabble but thats ok hopefully u think the more words the merrier luv u

𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢

⟢ james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 2.3k ⟢ warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, intoxication, social anxiety briefly mentioned, implications of how dangerous the situation was, for some reason i used this as an opportunity to practice writing imagery so sorry if it's too much

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The sharp, crisp wind nips at your skin as you walk down the shadowy, deserted London streets, the echo of your heels clicking against the pavement being the only sound that punctures the eerie silence.

A misty breath passes your lips and you hug yourself a little tighter, your hands making futile attempts at smoothing the goosebumps that dot your arms. You mentally curse yourself for listening to your "friends" when they said a jacket would ruin your outfit, wondering if this was their plan all along.

More tears fall as your mind wanders back to the friends you thought you were making and the bitter wind swiftly dries them against your cheeks, leaving your skin tacky with the salty residue.

What was supposed to be an opportunity to forge new friendships with some girls from your class took a devastating turn when they all crammed into a taxi without you, leaving you tipsy and stranded with their parting taunts ringing in your ears.

"Wait, we won't all fit," you had jabbered facetiously, the gravity of the situation not yet apparent to your drunk mind as you clumsily stumbled towards the car, your heel catching on a crack in the pavement.

One of the girls snickered as she wrenched the door of the black cab open, "That's a shame, innit?"

"I suppose you'll have to find another way home," another girl remarked, the others laughing along, barely bothering to suppress their amusement.

The carefree smile you sported faded from your face, feelings of dread and alarm creeping up your chest as you murmured, "My phone is dead, I won't be able to call a car."

"Sounds like you'll be walking home tonight," one of them sneered with a cruel edge.

"W-what?" you stammered, your chest rising and falling with a frantic rhythm as the sobering situation sinks in, "Walking back to my flat would take close to an hour."

The last girl to pile into the car— the one who originally extended the invitation to their night out with warmth and enthusiasm— looked up at you from her seat in the taxi with a mix of feigned sympathy and cruel delight. Her eyes gleamed with sly satisfaction as she leaned out of the car and took the door handle into her grasp.

"Well, then you better start," she declared, her tone punctuated by a mocking laugh and the slam of the car door.

You wish you could say that there was a sudden flip in their behavior the moment the taxi pulled up, but the abrasive way they conducted themselves around you all night should have had you running ages ago. But your naivety and desperation to make friends clouded your judgement, you supposing that it might simply take more than one night for the girls to warm up to you.

The sound of the car screeching away still rings in your ears as you brave the streets alone, trudging in the opposite direction of your flat. The hour walk to your home— more if you walked along the safest path you could think of— was too daunting on your mind. Your desperation to get off the streets steered you to your boyfriend's instead, his flat being half as far as yours.

If it weren't for the overwhelming unease you felt, you might have been too embarrassed to face James tonight. But your nervous edge was enough to send you hastily fleeing to his flat, it being well into the A.M., and you being alone— dressed in an outfit you were only comfortable wearing around a swarm of girls you thought had your back— and barely able to hold your own after medicating your social anxiety with a few too many cocktails.

When you finally arrive at the familiar stoop to James' place, you feel a wave of relief wash over you as you stagger up the stairs, leaning heavily on the iron railing for support.

Your knocking is incessant as you mutter pleas under your breath, desperately hoping James is sleeping lightly tonight. It feels like more time has passed than it actually has by the time the door creaks open.

James appears in the doorway, clearly just out of bed. His hair is tousled more than usual, stray strands sticking out unevenly over his forehead, and his clothes are wrinkled from tossing around in his sleep. He straightens out his glasses that lay crooked over the bridge of his nose as he processes your presence, his face a blend of sleepiness and alarm.

You utter his name weakly, a fragile quiver that reveals your vulnerability and distress. James' heart breaks at the sound and he wordlessly pulls you inside and envelopes his arms around you. You let him pull you in and your hands find the plush cotton of his jumper, gripping onto it like a lifeline.

James' mind races with worry, trying to piece together what could have happened to put you on his doorstep, tearful and distraught, in the middle of the night. He knows that you had gone out for some drinks at some bar downtown. He also knows that you weren't supposed to be alone and that you were supposed to take a taxi home— these being the answers to questions he asked earlier to ensure your safety.

The possibilities of what could have went wrong fill him with a profound sense of dread, and he tries not to let himself get carried away with the nightmares that swirl around in his mind.

Wrapped in his arms, you kick your heels off to the side somewhere. The shoes were killing you, and one more second in them and you might have collapsed into a heap on the floor.

James can feel you tremble against him when you settle, a result of the cold and lingering fear from being outside, inebriated and alone.

"You're freezing," he whispers, his voice hoarse from his recent slumber and edged with worry as his large hands come to rub your arms. He frowns at the iciness of your skin.

It's James' first instinct to break the embrace and tug at his collar, pulling the jumper from his own back to drape its warmth over you instead, leaving him only in his joggers that hang lazily from his hips.

The cotton is still warm with his body heat when it cocoons you and the scent of him on the fabric brings you comfort. You sniffle pathetically when you meet James' large, sorrowful eyes that brim with concern as your head pops free from the jumper's collar. He smoothes the fabric over your body quickly before his hands climb up to your face.

The pads of his thumbs sweep away stray tears as he cups your face, his fingers brushing softly along your jawline as he tilts your head to meet his troubled eyes.

"What happened?" he asks, notes of concern in his voice as his thumbs trace soothing shapes into your cheekbones.

An anguished whimper sounds in your throat and more tears begin to spill. You shake your head, unable to find your voice to explain.

"That's okay," he murmurs, pulling you back into his chest as he cradles your head in his hands, "It's okay, my love, I'm here. You're safe."

He coos tender words of comfort and reassurance in your ear, his voice steady and soothing. One hand lowers to gently rub your back until the tremors in your body gradually subside and you begin to feel a sense of security build back up.

James only pulls away when the rise and fall of your chest slows to a steady rhythm. Brown eyes meet yours and he offers a reassuring smile. He murmurs words of beckoning and leads you deeper into his flat. He doesn't take you far, just to his sofa so he can get you off your feet. You're thankful, the blisters from your heels becoming almost unbearable to stand on.

Your boyfriend sits first, gingerly pulling you down onto his lap, both craving your closeness and understanding just how much you need him right now. You curl up with your legs folded in front of you and your knees drawn close to your chest, your side pressed snugly against his torso. One of his arms wraps around your back for support, while the other rests casually over your legs, his large hand comfortably settling on the back of your thigh.

His head lulls forward until he can nuzzle into your hair, his breath warm against your ear as he softly prompts, "Think you can tell me what happened now?"

You sniffle once, letting your lungs fill with air before you stammer into a hesitant explanation. Still embarrassed over the whole ordeal, everything comes out in a small, quivering voice, starting with the awkward tension at the bar and ending with the way they laughed as they cruelly left you on the curb.

A whirlpool of emotions rages in James' chest. He doesn't understand how anyone could be unkind to his lovely girl, and he certainly doesn't understand how anyone could be so heinous to leave a person alone on the street like that.

James swallows hard, his next question living on the tip of his tongue until he has the strength to ask it. His tone is unwaveringly serious, low and intense in its level of concern, when he finally does.

"Baby, please tell me you walked straight here. No one gave you any trouble?"

"No," you shake your head, "no trouble."

James feels his whole body relax at your words, and a noise hitches in the back of his throat as he releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. The overwhelming flood of relief and emotion threatens to bring him to tears, but he manages to hold them back. His eyes close briefly as he presses closer, his nose smooshing against the side of your head as he presses kisses behind your ear.

Your eyes flutter shut too as you allow James to cradle you in his arms. You think about how you almost tripped a few times, but you know that's not exactly what James is worrying about. Although, you can imagine he'd fuss over that too, checking your knees and palms for scuffs and kissing the skin there just because you could've hurt it.

As you feel the tension drain from his body beneath you, you think about how his fears mirrored your own.

"I was scared there would be," you admit in a small voice.

"I know my darling girl. I'm so sorry," he leans back, tilting his head to the side so he can meet your gaze. You don't miss how his eyes are glassy when they lock onto yours with calming intensity, "You're safe now, I've got you." He presses his lips to your forehead, lingering there as he mumbles, "I'm sorry this happened."

"I thought I was making friends," you choke out, the words cracking with the weight of the betrayal.

James feels his heart break all over again.

"Those girls don't deserve to have you as friend."

"But I want friends. It was so easy in secondary school. I've always had you, and Lily, Sirius, Remus. Everyone."

James listens intently, his sympathetic eyes gazing upon yours once again.

"I'm all alone at uni. And I don't why nobody likes me," you finish in anguish.

James promptly moves his hand from your thigh to cup your cheek, "Listen to me. You're lovely, so lovely. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, alright? You're going to find people who think so too."

"And you have me," he corrects. "You still have all of us. I know things are different now, and I bet you're missing having friends in your classes, yeah? But uni's only just started. You're gonna find your people."

"You think so?"

"I know so, lovely girl," he says, his thumb flicking the tip of your nose endearingly, "I was already a goner the first time I spoke to you. And if I remember correctly, you and Lily were thick as thieves after one day of knowing each other. Right?"

You hum affirmatively, remembering the first days of friendship with the people you now call family.

"See? You're good at making friends. It's 'cause you're amazing, anyone with a brain can see that. Those girls are just bloody idiots." James' features take on a sour look when he thinks about them, but with you in his arms, he can't sustain his irritation for long— especially not with you smiling prettily at his words.

"There's that smile," he mumbles fondly, and your giggle is music to his ears. You stay like that for a moment, trading smiles and tender caresses.

Eventually, James' expression shifts, his brow furrowing as he becomes stern.

"Next time you go out, I'm gonna pick you up. I don't care how late, I don't care who you're with. And I'm buying you a portable charger for that phone."

"Okay, Jamie," you agree softly, recognizing the firmness in his voice that leaves no room for argument, and finding it a bit endearing how fiercely he cares for you.

He relaxes again with a sigh. His hand, which still remains cupping your cheek, pulls you a fraction closer.

"I'm happy you're safe, love. I'm happy you came here." Each of his words is wrapped with sincerity and affection. "I love you," he says earnestly.

"I love you too," you whisper, the same depth of emotion laced in your words.

He guides you even closer, meeting you halfway with a tender kiss to your lips. It's a beautiful blend of sweetness and innocence, a soft brush of lips that envelopes you in a blanket of sweet serenity, making you forget what it was ever like to be scared.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[lennadanvers]

Winter back home

Simon Riley x Reader

He has a problem.

He’s had problems all his life. He’s got a lot of experience in dealing with problems, really. The ones that can be solved with bullets, anyway.

This is not that kind of problem. Well, maybe a bullet could take care of this. But he promised himself he would never take that path. So, he suffers.

His problem is the dichotomy. His problem is Ghost, months of suffocating under a stale mask, the orders, the blood, the uniform. His problem is Simon, weeks of nothing, the silence, the civilian comfort, being a person.

He’s gone. Somewhere between base and “home”- a cold, dark flat in the outskirts of London-, he lost his soul. Now he isn’t here nor there. None of his names fit him.

He is just a being, two legs on top of two feet that can’t stand the feeling of dry, clean socks inside of simple sneakers. A head, a neck, on top of a pair of shoulders too wide to fit the door of normalcy. A back too tight to bear the weight of actual life. Hands too strong to hold reality without breaking it, skin so rough it tears instead of caressing. A pair of eyes that do not know where to look if not for threats.

He's a storm waiting to happen. Too dark to be a person, too broken to be a man. Too heavy for a ghost.

The flat feels wrong. Especially the first few days. He has to open the windows to let the fresh air in- more like freezing air. It’s okay, he’s used to dealing with the cold. It’s actually being comfortable what makes him uneasy. The fact that he has so much space for himself. He doesn’t have things. He doesn’t own more than a couple changes of clothes. His sofa looks new, even though he bought it years ago. His bed is soft, his bedside table is empty. He owns a table, two chairs and headphones. One bottle of water. Four glasses, a cheap six-piece cutlery set. Some plates he bought on sale. One rug he doesn’t step on. A broom. Shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste are in the bag he brings from base. Even his bike just takes up half his designated parking space.

Other than that, he has nothing.

The other thing that bothers him is the silence. He should be able to sleep in the quiet- he’s fallen asleep in active bombing zones, for God’s sake. But the white noise of the cars, the soft humming of the refrigerator- all they do is keep him awake. It’s always too quiet, too… Too safe. He knows it’s a trap. It always is.

That’s why he checks the windows.

Like now, when he enters the apartment in silence. The lights stay off until he’s cleared every room. Then he turns them all on. His duffel bag goes into the wardrobe, still closed. The boots under the bed. He changes into civilian clothes, checks the pantry- empty, always empty- and starts his rounds.

He checks the three windows: the small one in the bathroom, the one in the bedroom that looks over the neighbor’s rooftop, and the one in the living room. Usually, the last one is his favorite. The view lets him keep an eye on the street, alert in case there’s something suspicious lurking down there.

This time, though, he can’t look down.

He’s stuck in the window in front of his. The apartment building across the street is nicer than the one he’s standing in. By his standards, anyway. That means it looks warm and worn down. Brick walls instead of grey cement, wood stairs instead of metal. It has pots with flowers and an old mirror in the entrance.

There’s only one apartment with the lights still on. It’s late, he reminds himself, for normal people. Most of them are asleep at two in the morning.

You’re not. Through your open curtains, he can see your tired face. You’re curled up on a desk chair, with messy hair and reading glasses on. Your pajama is cute, it looks soft and a little too big. It fits you perfectly. You’re holding a steaming cup and frowning at the pile of papers on top of your desk.

When you fix the -presumably hand-knitted- blanket on top of your shoulders, he frowns. Aren’t you cold? You should close the window.

And go to bed, while you’re at it. What are you doing up this late, anyway? Working? He hopes not. A cute little thing like you should have a quiet job, with stable working hours and low stress. But you look very stressed. Maybe you’re studying. That’s it, probably. You don’t look his age, but he’d bet you’re in your late twenties, maybe thirties.

He pictures you getting a degree. It’s easy, you look smart. Oh, you must have a degree already. Surely, he decides, you must have one. You’re getting a doctorate now, aren’t you?

It’s a silly question, of course. He knows nothing about you, except that you should be sleeping instead of munching at a cookie. But it’s a relief to pretend he does. To believe he can see life through your window. If he had to guess, that’s what living looks like: a woman in the room, plans for the future, eating homemade treats and knowing you’ll survive the upcoming test, even if you don’t pass.

For the first time since he bought this place, he’s actually there. As if taking a deep breath, Simon is suddenly aware of his body. The t-shirt he’s wearing is soft, a little too thin for the weather. The place smells like leather- must be the sofa. Was the ceiling always this high? Simon makes a mental note to buy air freshener and a blanket.

It takes him a couple of days of staring out the window to realize what happened.

It’s Friday, and he’s checked your closed blinds for the third time this afternoon. Simon hasn’t seen you today. He sighs and turns around. He goes to open one of the kitchen drawers when it hits him.

There are cookies in there. Two different kinds. And he’s wearing slippers- they were on sale at the supermarket, and he didn’t even think about it. But he’s thinking about it now. Simon looks around. One of his jackets is hanging by the door. There’s lint on the rug. The cushions on the sofa are out of their place. He left a mug on the counter.

He's living again.

It a crushing discovery. Once he saw it, it’s impossible to miss. He made plans. He has tickets to watch a movie next Tuesday. When was the last time he planned something other than a mission? And cookies? Simon hasn’t eaten cookies since he enlisted. Maybe longer. His clothes are comfortable. Actually comfortable, he doesn’t need to ignore the fabric irritating his skin. The windows are closed: he’s not cold. It’s quite nice, honestly. And the place smells like someone lives here. A mix of cologne, tea and leftovers from lunch.

The flat doesn’t feel empty. Simon doesn’t feel empty.

His muscles give out. It’s not a dramatic fall, more like an extreme relaxation. It hurts a little; like clenching your fist for hours and then letting your hand open. The blood starts flowing back with a tingle. The oxygen gets where it is supposed to go. There is a strange open space in the palm of your hand.

The relieved smile is a side effect.

He still wears it when he settles back down on the couch. Someone is playing music outside, and the plants on your building’s hall are blooming. What a weird time to bloom, in the middle of the cold.

Simon understands, though, when he sees you finally open your blinds.

Yes, he gets the desire to be alive now.

A/n: I sat down to write and four hours later I'm posting this. It is not proofread and I'm a little too tired to care. Maybe I'll fix it later. Also, my anxiety has been a bitch lately (that means I freeze instead of being able to reply to messages and asks- my poor friends have the patience of a thousand saints stacked on top of each other), so I won't reply to the asks today. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see. In any case, I hope you're all having a great weekend, full of flowers and treats <3

[cmncisspnandmore]

One Night Stand

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Reader

Warnings: Slight mention of death??

Summary: After moving to London, you decide to go to a bar your first night in town.

Word Count: 3,475

A/N: Hi! Welcome to my very first Simon Riley Series!! Im so excited to start this series. I have been brainstorming the idea for a few days now. Im hoping to get one part out a week. But please be patient if they take a little longer. This first part isnt super long but i wanted to give something to introduce the series.

Next: Part 2

The music thumped loudly outside of the crowded bar, the heavy smell of alcohol and smoke wafted from the open door. A drunken girl stumbled out of the bar, her head back in laughter. She adjusted her too small top as she glanced over her shoulder at the man walking behind her. His face was flushed, a drunk smile on his face as well. They stumbled towards the curb together, one arm out hailing a taxi from the street. 

The man wraps his arms around the woman's waist, keeping her steady as he pressed his lips against her ear. Whispering something in her ear that made her laugh again, a blush forming on her cheeks. You tear your gaze away as they climb into the Taxi, the door slamming shut behind them. 

The dim lights of the bar in front of you are warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the wildly thumping bass, and loud noises from people who had one too many. Taking a moment you glance down, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. This was a bad idea, you never went out to bars. The last time you went out to a bar you ended up almost getting kicked out due to your friends over intoxication, she had a few too many and tried multiple times to dance on the sticky black bar top. Finally a bouncer had helped you drag her out of there, you then spent most of the night holding her hair back as she threw up in the lou. 

But yet, here you are, standing in front of a bar in a new town. A town where you knew no one, and no one knew you. 

Exactly how you wanted it.

A fresh start.

Or so you hoped.

With a deep breath you stepforward, sliding past the throng of people crowding the door. Inside the music was even louder, the bass vibrated in your chest as you pushed forward towards the counter. Behind the bar you watched as a man with a mohawk effortlessly threw bottles around. His graceful movements caught the attention of the patrons. His smile radiated in the low light, as he poured various alcohols into a shaker, making exaggerated movements as he popped the lid on and shook the contents together. 

In one fluid movement he poured a row of shots, filling each tiny shot glass with just the right amount before he slid them across the clean black top towards the guests. Slipping into an empty bar stool you watch as he takes orders, his smile never leaving his face as he takes the rag off his shoulder and wipes down the counter. As he reaches under the bar top he grabs a beer popping the bottle cap off and slides it to the man on the end of the bar. His bucket hat tips in acknowledgement as he grabs the beer. Bringing it to his lips for a sip before he gives the bartender a wink. 

The man in the bucket hat turns his attention to the man on his left, his head slightly down, black ball cap covering his eyes. In the terrible lighting of the bar you could see the sharp angles of his jaw as he laughed at whatever bucket hat said to him.

“Hello lass, what can I get for ye?” A thick Scottish accent jerked you away from your people watching. Standing in front of you is, Mohawk bartender, his hand resting on the bar top in front of you as he looks at you. His bright blue eyes watching you, as you straighten up in your seat. Your fingers nervously tapping on the cool counter as he gives you a soft smile. 

“Oh.. uh, just a Vodka Soda?” You say, but it comes out as more of a question.

Mohawk laughs, his white teeth flashing as he shakes his head at you. “You sure about that?” He teases, his voice light as he turns towards the wall of alcohol on the back wall.

“Did it sound that bad?” You shrink down in the seat. 

“Ney, you aren’t a regular ‘round here, are ye? I know almost all of them,” Mohawk says as he grabs a highball glass and fills it with ice. He tips a bottle of vodka into the glass, the clear liquid slowly inching up the ice. Your eyes follow the rising liquid, only flickering back to the bright blues of the bartender when he grabs the nozzle of soda and adds it to the glass.

“I just moved here, first night in town actually,” You smile as he slides the now full glass towards you. Taking the black thin straw you stir the contents for a moment before putting it to your lips and taking a sip. The vodka burns the back of your throat, warming your stomach as your eyes trail over the bartenders face.

He was handsome, along with his bright blue eyes, he had a strong jawline that was covered in a stubbly beard. A slight scar ran down his forehead towards his left eyebrow, but it was hard to see in the dim lighting. A smile played at his lips as he watched you take a sip, the towel from his shoulder wiping down the bar again. He was muscular under his gray fitted t-shirt, it was evident as he started replacing the supplies he used from making drinks, his muscles flexing as he reached up to put away a top shelf liquor. 

“Well, welcome home then. The names Johnny, but most people just call me Soap,” Soap said over his shoulder, as he glanced back at you. Your lips around the black straw, as you take another deep sip. The slightly sweet drink goes down slightly easier now, the knot in your chest lessinging with each sip. 

“Y/N, Y/n y/l/n. Why do people call you soap?” you tilt your head to the side as Johnny comes to stand in front of you again. He leans his forearms on the bar, getting closer to you so it was easier to hear over the music. 

“It’s just a nickname I was given years ago, got it from a few of my service buddies,” Soap smiles, flashing his white teeth once again.

“Service? You’re a military man then?” You muse, wrapping your hands around the half empty glass.

“Aye, that hard to believe?” Soap raises an eyebrow at you, and you can't help the laugh that bubbles up in your throat.

“No, no,” you wave your hand in his direction, earning another smile from Soap. 

“So what brings you to London?” He asks, as he turns towards a new patron. You watch as he listens to the customers order before going about making their drink. As he adds the alcohol to the shaker he looks over at you. The extravagant flipping and mixing ceased as the atmosphere of the bar seemed to calm down slightly. 

The louder patrons from the door have gone, the music turned down slightly. The thumping bass is no longer as strong, giving you some relief from the constant vibrations in your chest. You didn't realize how tense the entire atmosphere of the bar was making you. Not until the people around you started talking amongst themselves in normal volumes instead of having to yell over the music. The knot forming in your chest settles some as the alcohol buzzes in your veins, filling you with a warmth that seems to radiate from within.

“Just needed a change I guess,” you stare down into the cup in front of you. Eyes following the swirling ice, as you mix the half empty drink with your straw.

“Change is good sometimes,” Soap smiles, as he comes back over to you. From the corner of your eye you can see Bucket Hat and Ball Cap look over at you two.

“I guess.. So how long have you been in London?” You ask, bringing the straw to your lips once more. 

Bucket Hat and Ball Cap stand from where they are sitting and move down the bar, towards where you and Soap are talking. For a moment you aren't sure what they are doing until they slide into the seats next to you, Ball cap on your left, Bucket Hat taking the seat next to him.

“MacTavish! Leave the poor girl alone,” Ball cap scolds, and Soap rolls his eyes.

“Haurd Yer Wheest,” Soap grumbles, although he tried to look annoyed, the playful glint in his eyes says otherwise. 

“Be glad LT isn’t here, he’d scold you for not speaking English,” Ball cap snorts, as Soap and Bucket Hat laugh. Soap leans across the bar and punches Ball Cap in the shoulder lightly, and they both smile at each other. Clearly they knew one another, their playful banter and relaxed posture gave that away. 

“Excuse them, they don't know how to act in front of a lady,” Bucket hat says to you, peering around Soap and Ball Cap. “I’m John Price, and this,” he gestures to Ball Cap, “Is Kyle Garrick.” 

“Y/n, nice to meet you,” You reach down the bar and shake hands with each of them. Kyle gives you a small smile, his perfectly straight white teeth peeking out behind his full lips.

“Call me Gaz, it’s nice to meet you too,” Gaz lets go of your hand and you grab your almost empty drink. 

“I was just welcoming Y/n, to London. It’s her first night here.” Soap chimes in, and Price and Gaz nod. The effects of the alcohol were starting to kick in more now. Your cheeks felt flushed, and your insides felt warm and fuzzy. 

You barely drank and it was almost embarrassing how having only one drink made you feel. Across the bar Soap once again reached down and pulled out two beers for his friends. He popped the tops and slid them towards them. His large hands rested on the counter as they talked. The black towel he used to wipe down the counter every once in a while slung over his shoulder. 

The conversation flowed easily between the three of them, and you often found yourself just watching them talk. Soap and Gaz joked with each other, teasing one another like siblings. While Price watched them, poking fun at one of them every so often. It was like watching a family interact, it made you almost sad.

Your thoughts drifted back to your own family.Before you could be pulled into the depths of your own mind, suddenly the drink in front of you was full. Your eyes catch Johnny’s, he gives you a wink as he walks towards the other end of the bar to take someone's order. You quickly down the fresh drink, coughing slightly as the Vodka burns down your throat and settles in your chest. The warmth blossoms across your cheeks, as you listen to Gaz and Price talk. You continue to push down the feelings that sting that back of your eyes. 

Maybe going out wasn't a good idea, the last thing you wanted to do was be the drunk girl crying at the bar. But the pain in your chest as you watch the dynamic between the three of them stings. It slices away at a piece of you, the piece you thought you left behind at the graveyard when you got in your car two nights ago and set off towards London. 

“You okay?” Kyle asks, his soft brown eyes peer at you from under his baseball bap.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm going to go to the bathroom. Watch my drink?” You ask, pushing yourself up from the bar stool. The world tilts slightly the full effect of the two drinks you downed in the past hour hitting you. You sway slightly for a moment before you steady yourself, your hands gripping the bar stool to support yourself. 

“Of course,” Kyle smiles, turning back to talk to Price and Soap. 

You shuffle through the small crowd of people around the bar and spot the bathroom in the back corner of the bar. You dodge people as they mingle, managing to make it to the back of the bar with minimal stumbling. You shove open the swinging bathroom door and walk over to the row of sinks. You rest your hands on the white sinks, leaning over at the waist you take deep breaths. Your chest feels tight as you struggle to pull full breaths in, the emotion clawing at your throat as you fumble for the faucet.

The cold water sprays into the sink, the sound drowning out most of the noise from the bar. Freezing water bites at your wrists as you thrust them under the stream. The hair on your arms stands up as a chill prickles along your heated skin. Tears burn at the back of your eyes, and you squeeze them closed.  It was a bad idea, the world tilts and spins, a wave of nausea starts to creep up your throat. 

As the tidal wave of emotion threatens to spill over you, like someone filling an already too full cup. You abandon the still running sink, water dripping down your arms onto the dirty tile floor of the bathroom. Stumbling out of the bathroom you glance around. Eyes wide, like a deer in headlights, the glow of the emergency exit sign at the end of the hall catches your eye. Your feet feel like lead blocks as you shuffle towards the door. It’s slightly propped open, a brick acting as a doorstop. The cool London air rushes through the cracked door, and you push it open. The cool air stings your face as the door slams against the brick doorstop.

The alleyway between the bar and the neighboring building is dark. A single street light casting a yellow glow from the sidewalk feet away from where you stand. You press your back against the cold brick wall a few steps away from the door. Tipping your head back you force yourself to drag the cool air into your lungs. 

Your lungs burn as you fist your shaking hands at your side, nails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. As your heart hammers in your chest, you fight back the tears that pool behind your closed eyes. You squeeze your fists tighter, the bite of your nails starts to cut through the fog in your head. 

Maybe you should’ve just stayed at your flat, then you wouldn't be standing in the cold alleyway of the bar. You wouldn't have fled the bar where people were being genuinely nice to you for once. You wouldn't have to figure out how to explain your absence to Soap. Or squirm under Kyle and Price’s intense seemingly knowing gaze. 

You should’ve stayed home.

“You shouldn’t be out here in the dark,” a slightly gruff voice mumbles to your right.

Your eyes flutter open, you scan the dark alleyway, eyes landing on the massive figure that steps out of the emergency door. You blink a few times, clearing away the tears from your vision. A man stands next to the now closed door, he was massive. Broad shoulders and chest, covered by a black fitted t-shirt. He blended in with the shadows of the alleyway despite his massive size. 

“Are you going to kidnap me? Or kill me?” You ask, you meant for it to be teasing but it came out almost hopeful.

“No, I just came out here for some air, I didn't realize there was someone out here doing the same,” he chuckles, moving slightly into the light. In the dim lighting you can see him better, he was wearing all black, except for a face mask that rested over his mouth and nose. The lower half of a skull was printed across the mask. His dark brown eyes scanned over you, as you stared at the mask. 

“You sure? Most of the time people standing in dark alleys wearing masks have less than legal reasons for being there,” you raise an eyebrow at him. 

Your eyes widen as he lets out a laugh, a loud bark of laughter that catches you off guard. “Trust me, my intentions aren’t criminal,” his voice was smooth and deep like honey, as he stepped closer to you.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks, one eyebrow raised, hands shoved deep into his pockets. 

As he stands in front of you, even with an added 3 inches you still had to crane your neck up to meet his gaze. “I needed some air as well,” you mumble, he was standing close enough you could feel his body heat radiating off you. Your skin prickles at the heat, goosebumps raising on your arms. 

“I’m Simon,” he smiles behind the mask, his hand outstretched towards you.

“Y/n,” You reach out grabbing his hand. The warmth from his skin radiates up your arm. Small electric shocks skitter across your skin at the contact, the anxiety in your chest from earlier fizzles out. He gives your hand a slight squeeze before letting go, and immediately you want his hand in yours again. 

“So.. uh.. Listen. I'm not usually one to just casually suggest things like this… But I'm having a really rough night… and…” you trail off, wrapping your arms around yourself. You swear you can see the smirk behind the mask as Simon leans forward slightly, one arm resting on the wall next to you, half caging you in.

“Wanna get out of here? I bet I can take your mind off things..” Simon whispers, his other hand coming to catch the bottom of your chin and tip it up so you're fully looking at him. His brown eyes dark as they trail down your face and your chest. Before they land back on your eyes, the scar down through his eyebrow puckers as he raises one at you.

“Please,” the air rushes from your lungs as you step forward. You weren't lying, you didn't normally just go home with people you met in back alleys of bars. In fact you have never hooked up with someone like this before. But you were desperate to keep the looming thoughts at bay. You needed a distraction from the storm brewing below the surface, and like one broken soul staring at another. On some level you think Simon saw that. There was something in his brown eyes that was familiar. Something you saw every morning reflected in your own eyes. Something you tried hard to shove down into the box where you kept your emotions. 

Grief.

It was like a magnet, something that forces people together. So here you were agreeing to go home with a complete stranger you met moments ago because you needed something to drown that out. And from the look in Simon's eyes he understood that, because on some level he needed it too. 

“Come on, Love,” Simons voice is soft as his large hand wraps around your waist as he guides you out of the alleyway and towards a black truck parked on the side of the road. You glance over your shoulder, looking back at the front of the bar. Through the large glass window you can see Soap, Gaz and Price still talking and laughing. Your absence seemingly gone unnoticed, your highball glass abandoned on the counter top as someone else has slid into the seat you once occupied.

You climb into the passenger seat of Simon's truck, turning your attention to look out the windshield as he climbs into the driver's seat. The roaring of your thoughts flooding back in the quiet of the truck’s cab. You pick at your fingers as he pulls out of the spot. From the corner of your eye you see Simon glance over at you, before he reaches up and pulls off the skull mask. He tosses it onto the floor of the backseat and focuses on driving. 

In the passing streetlights you study his face, blonde stubble litters his jaw, a few thin silvery scars are scattered across his jawline and nose. They weren't ugly by any means, if anything they added character to his otherwise smooth skin. His nose was slightly crooked, you assumed from being broken at one point in time. Simon's eyes flicker to yours, causing you to avert your gaze, like a child being caught doing something naughty. Your eyes trail along the moving scenery as you try to squash down the embarrassment of being caught. The overwhelming anxiety that maybe this was a bad idea. 

Simon’s large hand lands on your thigh, the warmth of his palm sinking through the fabric of your jeans.

And suddenly, the noise in your head is quiet.

Next: Part 2

[kat651]

is this love? Sherlock x reader (pt 1)

word count:2239

warnings: a bit of blood, Sherlock (cuz he’s a whole warning), bit of angst, cliffhanger.

Sherlock ran through the streets of London. It was around three in the morning and he was in trouble. Deep trouble. 

Sherlock turned to try and escape the men chasing him. A wrong turn. He ended up in an alley. He turned to face the men. Sherlock was out of breath and his gun was out of bullets. He slowly backed away, palms up. He was screwed. 

Sherlock gulped as the men came closer. He’d messed up this time. Sherlock felt his blood run cold. This was it. This was the end. He could already see the headline on the London newspaper. 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐒: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃

He shuttered at the thought and took a shaky breath. 

Sherlock watched the tall burly man, clearly the ring leader, come closer and lift a closed fist. Sherlock slammed his eyes shut and yelped as the man’s fist made contact with the side of his face, right below his eye. 

Sherlock placed his hand over his cheek and stumbled back. This was going to be a very painful death. 

-.-.-

Sherlock panted, clutching his side as his knees trembled before giving way beneath him. He braced himself for another blow, closing his eyes as tears threatened to pour down his face. 

Sherlock heard a shuffle of feet then a crack. He opened his eyes slowly. There was not a forth person in the alley. 

This cloaked figure grabbed one of the men and flung him into a nearby trash bin. The other two backed up as the mysterious person cracked their knuckles. “Who’s next?” They asked, walking closer and kicking one in the jaw, rendering him unconscious. 

The third man went to run but suddenly a small object was thrown that hit him in the back of the head. He fell to the ground with a thud. 

The figure shook their head and turned to Sherlock who was fighting to stay conscious. Sherlock felt his body trembling and looked up to see the figure extend an arm. 

You grabbed Sherlock as he coughed and frowned. The poor man was a mess. “I’ve got you…” you whispered in a voice deeper than your natural one. You slipped his arm over your shoulder and helped him out of the ally and to a waiting car. 

Sherlock didn’t really want to get in the car with a stranger but he was too weak to protest. 

You opened the passenger door and helped him sit before getting in the driver’s seat. You looked over to see him struggling with the seatbelt, teeth clenched in pain. 

You leaned over and grabbed the belt, clicking it in place. 

Sherlock slouched in the seat and groaned. “W-who are you?”

You glanced over at him as you started the car. He looked exhausted and shaken. You sighed and put the car in drive. “I’m here to help…” you finally answered. 

Sherlock realized he wasn’t going to get much more of an answer and let exhaustion take its toll, causing him to drift off. 

-.-.-

Sherlock lay on a couch as you and your boyfriend stood in the corner of the room, arguing. 

“Well what did you want me to do? Leave him to die?” You hissed. 

“Well- no you just- you can’t bring a random guy into the house.”

You rolled your eyes. “What did you want me to do? Leave him in the street and hope someone came and picked him up?”

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open and moved over to the two of you as you bickered. 

“Sympathy, Y/n! It’s going to get you killed!”

You growled. 

“It doesn’t bring you any advantage, it doesn’t give you a good reputation, it gets you killed!”

You crossed your arms. “Oh, well then if I shouldn’t give sympathy then out of my house!” You shouted, grabbing the extra set of keys from the counter and putting them in your pocket. “Out, you can go back to living in your mother’s basement!”

He glared at you. “I made you who you are!”

You laughed. “Made me who I am? If it weren’t for me, you’d still be digging through garbage bins for your next meal, out!!” You seethed, shoving him out the door. “And don’t come back!” You shouted as you slammed and locked the door. 

You turned and saw Sherlock staring at you with confusion. You turned red from embarrassment. “Sorry you had to see that…” you said, walking over. 

He groaned. “Where am I?”

You chuckled and gently placed a hand on his forehead, checking for a fever. There wasn’t one. “You’re a door away from your flat. Honestly I’m surprised you haven’t realized that we’re neighbors, I’ve lived here for years.”

He went to sit and you helped him.

“I have a hard time believing that we are neighbors.”

You smiled and shook your head. “Well we are. I’ve been woken up late at night because you got bored and shot the wall, if you need proof.” 

Sherlock turned pink. “Ehe, sorry bout that…”

You smiled. “It’s alright it doesn’t bother me much anymore.” 

Sherlock cleared his throat. “I-thank you for helping me…”

You smiled as you entered the kitchen. “Don’t mention it.” You said, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and heading back to the living room. 

You gently pressed it against his face. “Your poor cheek…” You mumbled. 

Sherlock leaned into your touch but you pretended not to notice. “You know…” you began. “If you need to go out late like that again you can just wake me. It’s dangerous to travel alone.”

He raised a brow. “Oh yes because you could fight off three men that wanted you dead.”

“I saved you sorry skin didn’t I?” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “That was you?!”

You smiled and nodded. “Yes,now hold still.” You whispered. 

Sherlock quit moving and you gently wiped the blood from his lip and cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner…”

Sherlock smiled. “Hey you got there in time that’s what really matters.”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah I guess I did.” You answered sheepishly. 

Sherlock yawned. “What time is it?”

“Seven in the morning. But you need to rest.” You said, gently pushing him to lay down. 

-.-.-

It took a few days for Sherlock to heal enough that he could walk around on his own. 

You helped him over to his flat and smiled. “Here,” you said handing him a piece of paper. “Call me if you need anything, it doesn’t matter if it’s four in the morning call, I’ll answer.” You said before turning and heading back to your flat. 

Sherlock felt his cheeks grow red as you walked off. 

Someone cleared their throat and Sherlock turned to see John. “Oh hey…”

“Who’s the girl?”

Sherlock turned even more red. “She was just… helping me with… stuff.”

John rolled his eyes and stood up. “Why don’t you bring her some flowers and tell her how ya feel?” John said, walking to the door. “I’d say by the looks of it she enjoyed tending to your wounds and nursing you back to health.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Ok, whatever.” Sherlock said as he rolled his eyes. “Enjoyed nursing me back to health ha!” He laughed once John had left. Yeah right..”

A few days later, there was a knock. Sherlock groaned and went to the door. To his surprise you were standing there with a smile on your face and a box in your hands. “I-I brought you some cookies…”

Sherlock smiled and took the box. “Thank you… would you like to come in?”

You smiled. “I guess for a few minutes.”

Sherlock opened the door a bit more and you walked in. 

Upon entering a smile spread across his face as you looked around. He had been nervous you wouldn’t want to come in. But now he was relieved. 

He offered you a seat, pulling it out and everything. “Tea?” 

You smiled softly. “I would love some…”

-.-.-

“I want to thank you again for saving me that night.” Sherlock said as the two of you sat at the table talking. 

You smiled. “You don’t need to thank me, really.” 

Sherlock’s cheeks were dusted over with pink. “Y/n?”

You looked up. “Yes?”

Sherlock placed a hand on the back of his neck. “A-are you free tomorrow night?”

You nodded. “Yea why do you ask?”

He slowly met your gaze. “I-I was wondering if I could take you out for dinner tomorrow.”

You smiled. “I would like that, yes.”

“Really?” He asked, face lighting up. 

You nodded. “Yes, really.”

Perfect, I’ll get you at six tomorrow, sound good?”

You nodded. “And we’re are you taking me?”

Sherlock smiled. “That’s a surprise.”

You smiled. “Well alright. Anything particular that I should wear?”

Sherlock smiled. “Whatever you wish,” he said. 

You nodded. “Sounds wonderful.” You whispered. 

When it came time for you to leave, Sherlock held the door and bid you goodbye. “Until tomorrow,” he said bowing. 

You chuckled and nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow…”

At around 5:45 the next day you were a panicked mess. “What on earth am I supposed to wear?” You asked yourself, holding two dresses and growling at them both. 

Suddenly there was a knock on your door. You ran and answered it. “I know I’m not ready yet I just…” you paused as Sherlock stood in a sharp looking suit. “Woah…” You breathed. 

Sherlock chuckled. “Trouble deciding what to wear?”

You nodded. “I’ve narrowed it down to two chooses but…”

Sherlock gently put his hand on your shoulder. “Let me see them…” he said gently. 

You led him to your closet and showed him the two dresses. One was deep purple and the other a deep teal. “I can’t decide…” you mumbled. 

Sherlock considered the two before something handing in your closet bought his eye. 

He carefully grabbed it and took a closer look. “What about this one?” He asked gently. 

You were about to protest. The plain brown one you’d had for years? But the look in Sherlock’s eye made you hesitate before biting your lip. 

“At least let me see it on you.” He asked. 

You hind the two dresses and nodded. “I’ll be right back” you said taking the dress and running off to put it on. 

When you came back, Sherlock had something in his hand. You raised a brow. “What do you have?”

“Come here.” He said. 

You did and he gently tied the teal ribbon from the other dress around your waist. “Perfect…”

He made you turn to look in the mirror. You hated to admit it but the teal made this plain dress like good. 

“Ready to go? Or do you want to wear something else?”

You smiled and looked up at him. “No, I like this one…”

Sherlock smiled and handed you your dress coat. “Ready?”

Nodding, you took the coat and fallowed him. “I’m ready.” 

The two of you headed out the door. Your arm linked with Sherlock’s. “So you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

Sherlock chuckled and opened the door of the cab for you. “No, it’s a surprise…”

You shook your head. “Fine, keep your secrets,” you teased. 

Sherlock sat next to you as you looked out the window. You were scared and excited at the same time. 

You were surprised when you felt Sherlock’s hand gently take yours. You looked over at him but he was gazing out the window. You scooted closer so your arm was against his before you closed your eyes and let out a happy sigh. 

Sherlock glanced over at you and smiled. “We’re here…”

You both climbed out of the cab and you gasped. “Oh Sherlock!”you looked over to see Sherlock’s face bright pink. “I used to come here every Friday with my family!” You smiled up at him. 

Sherlock looked at you with a slightly tilted head. “So… I made a good choice?”

You smiled, putting your arms around him. “It’s a wonderful choose. I haven’t been here since my brother got married…”

Sherlock smiled and you both entered the restaurant together.

You sat across from Sherlock with a smile on your face. 

Halfway into the meal and conversation you managed to make Sherlock laugh. You were smiling from ear to ear. “Your laugh is lovely.” You said as Sherlock covered his mouth. 

“really?” He asked with surprise. “I-no one has ever said that before.”

You smiled and gently took his hand. “Well no one has ever took me on a real date before…”

Sherlock’s expression dropped. “What? But the other guy he-”

“Was a pervert.” You finished giving Sherlock’s hand a gently squeeze. “You’re a hundred times better.”

Sherlock smiled. “Well I’m glad.” 

-.-.-

“Well I guess this is it…goodnight.” Sherlock said as he stood outside your door. 

You stood on the tips of your toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight Sherlock.”

Sherlock placed his fingers over his cheek. “Y-y/n, what was that for?”

You shrugged. “Everything.”

Sherlock pulled you to his chest and he placed his chin on your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow…”

You smiled. “Alright…”

Sherlock smiled before entering his flat as you did yours. You were immediately met by a rag pressed over your mouth then the world went dark. 

-.-.-

“So did you enjoy your date with my little sister?” John asked as sherlock entered. 

“Wait! Y/n is your sister?!?”

To be continued…

Pt 2 here

[mirza-majoris]

Hey, remember some time ago about an alternative PL scenario in which Bronev and Raymond raise Desmond together and want to take down Targent ? Weeeell 👇👇👇

Chapter 1 : Unexpected encounter

The alarm was buzzing like a tolling bell in the corridors. Two silhouettes running, out of breath. Their were holding hands as if Hell was after them and as if their touch was the only thing keeping them alive. And the bell ringing, again, again, screaming at them. “Don’t give up, we’ll find the way !” But no answer, except a panting voice, exhausted by their mad run. “I-I can’t… Please, dear, run away...” “We’ll get away together, darling, come on, don’t give up !”

A dead-end. They were trapped. Again. Dark figures behind them, holding guns and wearing uniforms. A shot. A scream. “RACHEL !”

Leon woke up abruptly, jolting from his desk covered in papers and books, causing a few sheets of paper to fly away. He took the time to remember where he was and when. Alright, a little house away from the centre of London, three years after this awful nightmare, nightmare that was, in fact, a memory.

With a tired and frustrated sigh, he took his face in his hands and drew a decent breath before taking off his glasses and putting back on the desk the flying papers. He closed his books, looked at the clock on the wall and sighed again. Four in the morning. Wonderful. Again he wouldn’t sleep much tonight.

–Dad ?…

The archaeologist looked up with a slight jolt and stared at the young boy with brown hair and ruby eyes who was waiting at the door, holding tight a little plushy rabbit in his hands. His face winced with concern and he slowly came closer from his father who took him in his arms to hold him and hug him, trying to be comforting.

–I didn’t know you were awake, my boy… You should go back to bed.

–But… I heard you scream mommy’s name…

The man’s heart skipped a few beats but he did his best to keep on smiling and stared at the youngest with some tender eyes, taking his son away from the desk and from this bloody room to bring him back to his tiny bed, in his room full of books and little creative games, some piece of metal and woods were laying on the ground. Nah, he would ask his son to clean it all later. Tonight wasn’t easy for them both. Once the boy was comfortably under his blanket, resting against that big fluffy pillow of his, the oldest smiled a bit and patted his hair.

–Now, you have to go back to sleep… Tomorrow, I’ll have to go down to London, you know what to do right ?

The young boy grew worried again, almost hiding his face behind his plushy rabbit.

–Are you sure I can’t come with you, dad ? he muttered. I don’t want to stay alone in there… w-what if they come back ? What if they got you in London ?! Please, I’ll be silent and discrete, I swear-

–Hershel, please, calm down my boy… Hush now…

Leon took the time to breath and sighed while shaking his head.

–They won’t find us there… You’re my son and I work at the tea shop down the street. I am always very careful when we have to move somewhere else and I don’t want you to get involved. You are safe here, I promise. And if anything, you go down to the shop and ask the nice lady here to keep you with her until I come back. No one, not even the Birds, are going to look for some herbalist in a small English village. We are no longer the Bronev family. For everyone else, we’re Desmond and Nikolaï Sycamore, remember ?

He kissed his forehead and smiled a bit more.

–Do you remember what I told you when I chose this name, “Desmond Sycamore”, among any other name ?

The boy discretely whipped a tear from his eye and nodded slowly.

–Yeah… You said that there was a tree named like this in the Bible… it represents comfort, refuge and abundance. And… About “Desmond”…

–… I said it was an old English name, with German roots, meaning “valuable, courageous and protected”. And when I chose these names, it was indubitable. I would make sure they would protect you, and I will protect you too, my boy…

The oldest chuckled a bit and hugged him again while the youngest was starting to smile, slowly, while hugging his father back. This was a bittersweet feeling indeed but it was worth it, because at some point it was sweet and less bitter.

–… I miss mom and Theo…

The hug tightened a bit.

–… I know, my boy… I know… But for now, you have to go back to sleep. And, if you do your lessons well, I’ll bring you a new book from London tomorrow. Sounds like a good agreement to you ?

This was enough to bring a big bright smile back on the boy’s lips. He wasn’t an idiot, his father was trying to distract himself from grim thoughts to make sure he would fall asleep quickly and have a good night. But he also knew that the situation couldn’t be changed and he was happy to at least have his father by his side. So, not to worry him any further, he nodded and kissed his father’s cheek before almost diving into his pillow to find the courage to sleep. Leon smiled too and made sure he was comfortable before leaving the room as silently as possible after having left a soft light in the corner of the room to look after his boy’s sleep and to keep nightmares away. Once alone in the corridor, the man sighed again and anxiously went back to his own room to go to sleep, but for sure it wasn’t going to be easy. “I am sorry Rachel… Our family is like a broken glass… But as long as I live, I’ll protect our dear boy. And I’m going to make sure they never use that legacy to hurt him.”

“Whatever the cost may be.”

Leon had become incredibly good at lying. The more the time passed and the easier it was getting because he was feeling less remorseful for the lies he had to make up to keep his son and himself out of troubles. So when he said to Desmond that he was going to London to buy him a book and to go buy groceries, it wasn’t a complete lie but it was enough of a lie to be mentioned. In fact, he was not here only to buy food and books, he was also there to drink a bit and to listen to what was going on in the capital city of England.

There was, in the East End, a few very good places to be when you were desperate enough to use questionable means to achieve questionable goals, and so it was the perfect place to learn some crucial informations if you needed to know, for example, if some Birds of ill omen were about to go somewhere, or what they were currently interested in. Also, Leon still had a few friends in town ready to help him. To find these informations, Dorset Street was the best –or worst- place to go. And, in Dorset street, there was a Scottish pub, the “Trì drongairean daoine”, also called, in proper English, “Three drunk men”. Here, there was a few men always ready to talk too much and to ask very few questions.

The ex archaeologist entered, sit at the counter and asked for a single malt whiskey, before staring at the glass half-empty in front of him and drinking him in a matter of seconds. The barman said nothing and went to serve other customers. Leon knew drinking was only bringing problems on the table and it was, at best, only a temporary solution. But he needed some strength before going back to his son and pretending he was doing fine. He missed Rachel, he missed Theodore, he missed their little house, their little life, and he knew it was all his fault. If he had not been so stubborn about finding more evidence about the Azran, then nothing would have happened.

While he was busy blaming himself for every unfortunate things happening to his family, some Scots playing cards were beginning to get agitated at a table, not so far from him. They were speaking some weird dialect Leon didn’t understand and they seemed to be quarrelling about something. One of them seemed to be the target of some accusations, judging by the fingers pointing at him angrily. The man didn’t really catch Leon’s attention, at least not until he bumped into him while trying to escape the quarrelling table. The archaeologist grunted and looked at the stranger with angry eyes. Fuck, couldn’t he even drink and drown into whiskey in peace ?

–Hey, careful ! No one taught you how to properly apology ?

The Scottish man turned around and stared at the little man in front of him with merely an annoyed look. A beige pullover, jeans, old shoes, long face, some thick hair tied as much as he could in a ponytail resting on the neck, ruby eyes, the beginning of a moustache and the attitude of a man who just lost his job or something.

On the contrary, the Scottish lad was quite peculiar. Leon glared at him but didn’t forget to notice a few details. That guy smelled fuel, and whiskey, and he was wearing some leather clothes and heavy boots. Probably he had a motorbike, if he hadn’t gambled it already. Strange look, his hair was thick too, despite being shorter than his and brushed to the back. His eyes were dark, almost black, and he barely had some goatee growing on his chin. But, even if he was annoyed, there seemed to be a mischievous smile hanging at the corner of his lips.

–Apologies ? A’m sairy, can ye say that again ? Leuk, a’m not in the mood fer this, so ferget ‘bout it, right pale ?

Leon frowned and stood up while crossing his arms.

–Quit your bullshit, I’m not having a good day so now you’re going to apologise, “pale”.

–Oh, feck off ! A’m not havin’ a guid day either so go get drunk som’here else.

But then, while they were almost going to pick a fight over some damn apology, another voice came to their ears and made them stop to turn to the source of the noise.

–Hey, you !

And then, when they saw these two men in blue/grey uniforms with their hat and sunglasses, they both opened wide eyes and exclaimed the same.

–Fuck/ Feck !

They jolted and looked at each other, not knowing who these men were addressing to.

–Ye know these clawns ?!

–How do you know these guys ?!

The agents in uniforms were already making their way inside the pub, so the man in leather coat and the ex archaeologist decided it was better not to stay and they quickly fleed by the other entrance, momentarily allies because of having had to face the same enemy. They blocked the door with some old pipe lying in the alley and they took the time to look at each other again. The Scottish man was more than surprised.

–Fer feck's sake, pale ! Ye're a damn legal grave-digger ?!

–What the fuck is this supposed to mean ?! I'm a herbalist !

But the other one shook his head, grabbed Leon's wrist and was quick to go in the street, looking for some way to escape that place without being followed by the agents trying to break free from the pub. He then came closer to a red and black motorbike, took the keys out of his pockets and made the motor roar. The man with ruby eyes frowned and broke free from his grip.

–You look like everything but an archaeologist, looking at the way you're being such an asshole with people.

The other one sighed, frustrated, and did a little curtsy, mockingly.

–Oh, A didn't know only British archaeologists were geid with their manners ! Now, can we stop bickerin' and get outta here ? If Targent is there, we're doomed ! Now come on, A take ye out o' town and we part. OK?

–No, not OK ! How did you-

But it was no time for questions because the agents were getting out of the pub and they were actively looking around to search and find the person they had spotted, and neither the Scottish man nor Leon knew which of them they were after. The herbalist sighed angrily and got behind the biker who was already ready to put the max distance between them and these birds of ill omen.

–You better ride fast because once we're far away, I swear I'll-

But the face of his son imposed itself to his mind and he gasped as they were heading away from Dorset Street.

–Oh no no no, Hershel-

–A call meself Ray !

–Not you ! My son ! If they follow me, they'll...

Said "Ray" sighed but looked into the mirrors. The agents were way behind them, and the man seemed to be in troubles. He sighed again. Fuck, this was supposed to be a cool day, he was supposed to bluff and trick people while winning at cards and drinking whiskey. Dammit.

–... OK, hold on tight and tell me where to go, we'll heid there. A've got no Bentley but trust me I'll go 90 miles per hour in this bloody city as long as we're far away from these birds. What's yer name, sassenach ?

Leon didn't want to trust that man but he had no choice. Right now the only thing worth it was going back home as soon as possible and leave again. For a better place. A place without any birds.

–... What makes you think I can trust you ?

The man sighed and used his brakes to stop the motorbike, with little to no care for the circulation, causing Leon to gasp under the surprise and almost fall off the motorbike.

-Listen, pale, A know Targent is lo'kin after us, both of us, ye were involved, A was too and now we need to flee. Ye don't trust me ? Guid, then get down me motorbike and I'll disappear. And guid luck with yer lad, sassenach !

Leon took the time to think about it. He couldn't just pretend everything was fine because it wasn't, he could put Hershel in danger if he was bringing a stranger to their house. However, they both seemed to be in trouble anyway and Targent would not abandon so easily. A danger against another bigger one. Or, to be more precise, choosing between the plague or the cholera.

–... you better not swear in front of my boy. Once we're there, we part. Fine by you ?

The Scottish man had a grin on his face and chuckled a bit before accelerating once again to go back on the road.

–Fine by me ! Now, what's yer name ?

-...Nikolaï.

-> Next chapter

[duckietiewritestoo]

Wishing (Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Do I know how to write Thomas Shelby? No. So get this cringey idea was I toying around with.

WARNINGS: Cringe, cringe, cringe, and a little bit too long.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Freedom was all I asked for. 

It was in my dreams, trapped in my mind, and rattling the cages. My wish was to leave this place behind for France or for London. I was tied to it, I wanted to tear from it. I never meant to get myself roped in with Billy Kimber. Long ago I was out on the streets, unable to shield myself from beatings and harsh nights outside. I needed help and I was desperate for anything to get it. I earned and stole the money. Kimber had the needed protection I wanted, and he provided whenever I paid him. I owed Kimber my life.

But I couldn’t keep stealing, and my jobs weren’t always steady. It wasn’t so easy to keep them with my records and dirt on my name. Eventually, I kept telling Kimber I’d pay him next month, and then the next. My debt built up.

I owed him more than my life.

Kimber said he’d pay off my debts, if I only worked for him, and did what he asked without question. He kept me in chains I dragged around with me. It kept me down, heavier than my own guilt. I did his dirty work, I took care of the people he didn’t like, and I did it with no hesitation. It took a toll on me, but I needed it, I needed my freedom. I wouldn’t be his slave for long.

I never thought of saying no. Running away wasn’t an option. He’d find me.

The night was cold and young. I sat on the sidewalk, watching the stars twinkle and shine. I waited patiently for a car to drive by. Kimber had gone for the night and locked up his office. He promised to drive me home. He never delivered on that, so I just sat on the sidewalk, watching the night sky. A few stars started shooting across the scene, streaking the black sky with paints of gold. My heart skipped a beat. It was a beautiful sight. The child in me wanted to wish on them. It was foolish, I knew that, but a little bit of wishing never hurt. So I clasped my hands together and closed my eyes, lowering my head.

“Please, I’ll make a wish for this night only. I wish to be free,” I whispered, begging the heavens. “Please, please, please, please. That’s all I’m asking for, please.”

I waited, and waited, thinking some miracle would come my way. It didn’t. My idea was truly foolish. I carried myself down the street on tired feet and my head hanging low. There was no such thing as wishing. I stood up, my eyes still on the sky. The dark clouds were rolling in quite quickly. They were storm clouds judging from their thick gray color. Rain fell down in buckets without a warning.

The Garrison was warm and dry this time of night. Tired workers and people seeking a drink came in. I was dripping wet. The pub was dimly lit, filled with laughter and chatter. I shivered from the cold, approaching the bar counter. The bartender was a bit shocked to see me, like he had seen a ghost. I must have looked awful, wet and pale, freezing to death. I sat down at the counter, the stool creaking under me. It trembled too from how badly I was freezing. My teeth chattered. It was getting worse.

A drink slid down the counter towards me. I hadn’t even ordered anything. It was a small shot glass of whiskey. I looked at the direction it came from and there sat the enemy of the man I worked for. Our eyes met and there was an electrical tension between us. His bright blue eyes burned into my soul, like he was judging me. If Thomas Shelby knew who I was, I was in deep trouble.

He got up from his chair, taking long strides for a small walk to get to me. I couldn’t break our gaze, his eyes kept locked with mine. My breath hitched, I wasn’t even breathing at this point.

“Hello.”

“Um…” He laughed. It was like honey in my ears, sweet for someone like him. My heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t be shy, I don’t bite,” he replied softly. He sat down, giving me a toothy smile. Something was up. I knew Thomas Shelby, I spied on him. I knew his tactics and his behavior.

“You don’t bite because you want something.”

“Seems you’ve learned,” he answered calmly. That smirk stayed plastered on his face. “You’re a good observer, I’ll give you that. Now tell me, what’s your real name?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Pardon?”

“I know you’re (Name), but how true is that? What lies have you spun just to protect yourself?” he asked. His hand hovered over mind, feeling the warmth of his skin. I snatched my hand away from his. Thomas laughed. “Too shy?”

“No, I’m just careful,” I replied.

“But clearly you weren’t careful enough, joining Kimber and letting your life fall perfectly apart. Let me guess, he left you in the cold after promising you a drive home?” Thomas replied, raising an eyebrow. My heart stopped. 

“How did you know?” I asked quietly. 

“Kimber isn’t the only one with spies,” Thomas replied. “Besides, you’re soaking wet head to toe, no doubt shivering to death.” He took off his coat and in one swift moment it was draped over my shoulders, weighing me down a bit. “I’m not blind, (Name), I see what’s happening. So I have an offer. Might as well tell you now, can’t keep toying with you. I have an offer.”

“Oh?” His laugh was low and soft. Thomas sat closer. The heat from the jacket was enough. I was warming up, blushing from how close he was.

“I’ll protect you at all costs for Kimber’s dirty secrets. I’ll house you, clothe you, and feed you,” he said. “All for his information on…everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything,” he replied. “I’ll keep you safe in exchange for everything on Kimber.”

I knew it was wrong, making a deal with the devil again. I couldn’t do it, yet the offer was tempting. The chains would only add on until they dragged me under, but the burden was worth it. His eyes weren’t telling me lies, yet I didn’t trust Thomas. Still, I had no other option. If he swore to protect me at all costs, then I would trust him with my life

I was provided with a guest room in Thomas Shelby’s own house. I was fed three meals a day, or whenever I felt like eating. Every evening I would spend it with Tommy, spilling Kimber’s secrets once he was finished with his dinner. As a result, the Peaky Blinders were making moves that were hurting Kimber and his business.  His family was suspicious of me, but they knew what Thomas had planned and treated me with respect.

They didn’t treat me kindly, rather more like a stranger, but I was treated with respect.

But one night it all changed. Two days in, and I was already being hunted out of fear by Kimber. Thomas did well protecting me at all costs. He kept his promise. The glass had shattered all over the place, nearly scaring me to death and I screamed. I saw it in his eyes when he came bursting through the door, his eyes filled with what seemed like genuine fear. It was quickly replaced with anger the second he was the man who had broken in.

Kimber found out I betrayed and left him for his enemy. His solution? It was to send a hired killer after me to slice my throat in the middle of the night. Or at least that’s what I assumed after seeing the knife in hand. Tommy was quick with his trigger finger. Other gang members were clearing up the scene. The light spilled in from the hallway, the shadows of his men moving back and forth. The guest room door was opened all the way. Men carried the body out, dragging the corpse across the floor. Thomas looked at me, panting. His lips were slightly parted.

“Are you okay?”

“Um…I’m a bit scared, but I’ll be fine.” Tommy sat on the edge of the bed. There was a flicker of sincerity in his eyes. 

“Sleep with the door open tonight. I’m not breaking it down again just to get to you,” he said calmly. I chuckled.

“Oh really?”

“Yes really. Now, go to bed,” Tommy replied, moving to get up. I laid back in bed. 

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Alright….Goodnight, Tommy,” I said. His gaze softened and he smiled.

“Goodnight.”

The room was dimly lit by a small candle melting its last bit of wax. Tommy sat at the opposite end of the room, his legs propped up on the desk. His blue eyes were focused intensely on the paper he read. I held my own papers in my hands, copies of fees, bills, reports, and receipts Tommy’s men stole for me. I couldn’t focus on the words. I knew they were correct bits of information, yet my mind was elsewhere.

I was bored.

A whole month in the Shelby household and I was still in the house, unable to leave this place and just go back home. I missed my bed. I wasn’t complaining about the lavish bed I had now, but I missed my home. Tommy kept me here, claiming it was to keep me safe and that Kimber’s men would be waiting for me at home. His promises felt an awful lot like Kimber’s, keeping me trapped behind windows and walls that weren’t even my own home.

Wait, that sounded wrong. 

Tommy hummed to himself, turning the paper around and it pulled me out of my thoughts. I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. He gazed up at me, simply staring into my eyes. I felt embarrassed. Why was he staring at me? My cheeks reddened. 

“You’re staring,” he finally said.

“I know.”

“Why?” I put the papers to rest on my lap.

“I’m bored.”

“So?” He was not one for words. Neither was I. But I would express myself.

“I want to get out of the house, please,” I begged.

“But you know exactly the risks of leaving this house, and I am not losing my best source of information.” I scoffed. He really pulled that card out?

 “I’m suffocating in here, I need to be out there!” I paused, only for a minute. “You’re just like him…”  Tommy put his paper down. He was contemplating my words. I was too desperate. The boredom gnawed away at the back of my mind. I itched to go outside, even for a second. I had to leave. I needed to leave. 

Finally,Tommy let out a heavy sigh, almost as if the words about to leave his mouth were taking a heavy toll on him. His gaze softened, and I saw something I couldn’t place my finger on.

“Fine, but on one condition.”

“Yes?”

The horse nickered, going back and forth. The grassy ground was a few feet below me, but from this height, I felt like falling off could kill me. I gripped the saddle straps tightly to the point my knuckles turned white. I was too tense and scared to relax. This was my first time riding a horseI didn’t see how this was a condition.

“I’m not certain about this, Tommy,” I said, looking back at him. His hands firmly held my waist. The saddle was large enough for two. I asked.

 Without a word, Tommy  took the reins from my hands and urged the horse. I screamed. The horse took off, its silky mane flowing in the wind. I held on for dear life. If Kimber wasn’t going to get to me, the horse was. 

I looked back at Tommy. “Can we slow down?!” I exclaimed. Tommy laughed. He actually laughed. That was a first for me.

“Come on, live a little,” he said, grinning. That smile really fit his perfect features. I blushed. Seeing him smile made my heart flutter. He was happy. Was this real? Or was it in my head?

The cold wind in my face told me otherwise. I was wide awake, riding a horse with Thomas Shelby.

So, I decided to let go. Because, why not?

I extended my arms, letting the wind brush by. I laughed out loud, starting to smile. I could see why Tommy was enjoying this. I felt alive. Tommy kept his hands holding me tight so I wouldn’t fall off.

The horse ran on for miles, passing by trees and bushes. The field was empty and it wasn’t quiet. I was laughing too hard. And Tommy laughed harder.

Eventually he had to breathe for air.

The horse slowed down, finding solace in the middle of the field. Tommy and I got off, resting in the grass. I leaned against his shoulder. The breeze flowed through the grass, shaking it gently.

“Thank you,” I muttered, looking up at Tommy. He lit a cigarette, sticking it between his teeth. He took in a long drag before releasing it.

“Anytime, darling,” he said, smirking. “If you ever need to leave the house for any reason, call me. I’ll do this again.” I blushed. That was considerate of him. He was willing to take me out again? Really? I smiled, hugging his arm. I leaned in and pecked his cheek.

“Thanks, Tommy. You’re a wish come true.” He scoffed.

“Oh, I wish that were true.”

[skyefeys]

imo i feel like the fact that ryuunosuke is super bad at reading people makes asoryuu so much funnier bc. he repeatedly and constantly calls kazuma both his best friend and "partner" like he hasnt picked up on it at all

like its just.

kazuma, talking: i'd love to tear up the streets of london w/ you partner! come stow away with me! ryuunosuke eating his steak, completely oblivious: yeagh

"yessir this is how boy best friends talk to each other" and doesn't realize for YEARS

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Hi, hello, hola, it's me! This is not a WIP Wednesday post (well, the WIP is always me), but it's something.

First off, thank you thank you thank you to all the beautiful people who messaged me, or commented, or tagged me in things, or even just thought kind warm thoughts at me while I've been away and not writing. Brain not working good enough to sort through the things and tag properly but you know the drill - I love you all.

Here are things I did while I wasn't writing AKA while I have Big Sad Brain:

I visited London, and had a great time - eating delicious food, flat-sitting, visiting old haunts, picking up new ones, spending time with friends, and watching too much Shakespeare. The salted beef bagels in Brick Lane are still unparalleled, there were daffodils everywhere, and I brought home too much tea but not enough biscuits.

I buzzed my hair short again, and as EarlobeGreyTea said, "it really moved your energy from bisexual to lesbian," and then followed up with, "I'm glad that I, a man, could explain your sexuality to you"

I read a lot. I read The Locked Tomb series (I'm obsessed) and fell down a danmei pit (I have consumed SVSSS and MDZS but not yet TGCF) and I have spicy hot takes on why I did not enjoy The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo or The Starless Sea. I re-read all of Ann Leckie's books. I read The Future is Disabled in a Socialist bookshop in London, and I cried so fucking hard that the gentleman in the shop asked me if I was okay. I read The Song of Achilles and Circe and wandered down the labyrinth of getting really, really into Greek myth.

Speaking of: I bought an ROG Ally (horrible name, hate it, but the console itself is fine, it's like a more versatile Steam Deck) and I played Hades. So much Hades. So. Much. Hades. And every time I met Patroclus in Elysium, I bawled, "He's so SAD! He's such a SAD MAN! I need to make him UN-SAD!"

I finally finished the godforsaken Totoro cross-stitch pictured above. As soon as I framed it, I held it up to my spouse and said, "Could a depressed person make THIS?" and he said, "Yes" and then "Good job," because he's a lamb.

When I had energy, I cooked. I learned how to make carrot ginger dressing and shogayaki, and how to velvet pork. I made some of my standbys, like applesauce pancakes and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, and felt very Smug and Very Adult for putting frozen cookie dough into my freezer so Future Me could have cookies. I introduced my family to Uncle Roger and I've never heard my mother (1) get so angry and (2) laugh so hard. When I couldn't cook, I ate food that someone else made, and it was enough to celebrate: I ate a meal! I ate food! I fed a me! Hooray!

I spent time with my beautiful friends. I spent time with my beautiful family. They are so good and they have been with me through so many tough things and depressive episodes, through bullshit and drama and tears, like that time I screaming-yelled at someone over the phone (they deserved it) during an engagement party at the cabin and then I had to walk out and pretend to be Normal and got drunk on a lot of Old Fashioneds.

I grew things. Flowers and vegetables and herbs and I accidentally made a great home for some very invasive weeds. The squirrels left only one sunflower alone (they ate the rest), but even now in mid-October, there are still bright coral-red flares of peppery nasturtium, and feathery pale pink zinnias from my caretaker at work (who is an angel), and gigantic, blue-tipped borage. My best friend moved in down the street from me, so she's only a five-minute walk away, and now I can pick flowers and stick them in a vase and walk them over to her, and I love it. I grew too many tomatoes (they got..... scary. My favourite were the heirloom tomatoes, as big as my fist, that remind me of my Lolo) and forgot about the cucumbers (they got lewd) and let myself get coaxed into growing three different kinds of mint: chocolate, grapefruit, and berries & cream (because I'm a little lad who loves berries and cream).

I bullied my spouse into watching Practical Magic with me the other evening and every time That Fucking Cop came on screen, he said, "That Fucking Cop! This movie would be good but there's too much of That Fucking Cop in it" and I felt so v i n d i c a t e d

I tried to write. I tried to write. I tried to write. I tried to write, and then let go of trying to write and just let myself do all the other things that make up living, try to amend the soil so that something good can grow there again. I tried to talk myself out of unhappiness but it's funny how that doesn't work, how only hard-fought kindness has helped me trudge out of the swamp, again and again and again.

I had one of those moments recently that felt like it could have been in one of my stories. At Thanksgiving dinner, I was sitting next to my little half-sister-in-law (a mouthful, I know). She is seven and she lost her dad two years ago and she said, "I wish my dad was here." And I said, "I know, honey. I think we all do." And she said, "I miss his piano playing," because her dad used to play piano the other way someone else might doodle on a napkin - absentmindedly, brilliantly, while wearing a faded green apron and with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder, in between checking if the roast was up to temp and pouring someone a glass of wine. Always red wine, from the Piedmont region, which is where my spouse's Nonna is from. I asked my little half-sister-in-law, "Do you think you'll learn how to play piano?" and she said, "I don't know," and I said, "It's okay not to know." And then she asked, "Do you have a Gothita?" and we went back to talking about Pokemon, which we had been talking about for a conservative 90% of the dinner.

I wrote this. I wrote this and it felt good to feel my fingers moving, it felt good to have words spilling from me, it felt good to have faith in words again, that the words could be something good, could do something good, that the worlds could just be and it could be good, and that I could just be, and that could be good. Just being could be good. Even if I never wrote another word ever again, just being would be good. As I said to one of my friends many years ago during some deep dark down shitty times, "It's hard work, being human. Thank you for doing the work."

Take care. I love you all. ❤️❤️❤️

[galindathrop]

Eras Tour Setlist and Surprise Songs (as of June 25, 2023)

Taylor Swift

Tim McGraw - March 17

Picture to Burn

Teardrops on My Guitar - May 5

A Place in this World - April 22

Cold as You - April 23

The Outside

Tied Together with a Smile

Stay Beautiful

Should’ve Said No - May 19

Mary’s Song

Our Song - March 24

I’m Only Me When I’m with You

Invisible - May 20

A Perfectly Good Heart

Fearless (Taylor’s Version)

Fearless

Fifteen - May 6

Love Story

Hey Stephen - May 14

White Horse -  March 25

You Belong With Me

Breathe (feat. Colbie Callait) - June 10

Tell Me Why

You’re Not Sorry - April 21

The Way I Loved You

Forever & Always - May 13

The Best Day - May 14

Change

Jump Then Fall - April 2

Untouchable

Come In with the Rain

Superstar

The Other Side of the Door - April 28

Today Was a Fairytale - April 22

You All Over Me (feat. Maureen Morris) - June 3

Mr. Perfectly Fine - June 16

We Were Happy

That’s When (feat. Keith Urban)

Don’t You

Bye Bye Baby

Speak Now - Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) was announced on May 5. Coming on July 7th, 2023.  

Mine - May 7

Sparks Fly - May 5

Back to December

Speak Now - April 13

Dear John - June 24

Mean - April 15

The Story of Us - June 17

Never Grow Up

Enchanted

Better than Revenge

Innocent

Haunted - June 9

Last Kiss

Long Live

Ours - March 31

If This Was a Movie - June 23

Superman

Red (Taylor’s Version)

State of Grace - March 18

Red - May 21 (Performed on Guitar instead of Piano due to rain damage from May 20)

Treacherous - April 13

I Knew You Were Trouble

22

I Almost Do - June 9

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

Stay Stay Stay

The Last Time (featuring Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol) - June 16

Holy Ground - May 27

Sad Beautiful Tragic - March 31

The Lucky One - April 2

Everything Has Changed (featuring Ed Sheeran)

Starlight

Begin Again - April 23

The Moment I Knew - June 4

Come Back… Be Here - May 12

Girl at Home

Ronan

Better Man - May 19

Nothing New (featuring Phoebe Bridgers) (added to the setlist on May 5, only to be performed when Phoebe Bridgers is one of the opening acts.)

Babe

Message in a Bottle

I Bet You Think About Me (featuring Chris Stapleton) - April 30

Forever Winter

Run (featuring Ed Sheeran)

The Very First Night

All Too Well (10 Minute Version)

1989

Welcome to New York - May 28

Blank Space

Style

Out of the Woods - May 6

All You Had to Do Was Stay - June 10

Shake It Off

I Wish You Would - June 2

Bad Blood

Wildest Dreams

How You Get the Girl - April 30

This Love - May 13

I Know Places

Clean - April 1 and May 28

Wonderland - April 21

You Are in Love

New Romantics

Reputation

…Ready for It?

End Game (featuring Ed Sheeran and Future)

I Did Something Bad

Don’t Blame Me

Delicate

Look What You Made Me Do

So It Goes…

Gorgeous - April 29

Getaway Car (w/ Jack Antonoff) - May 26

King of My Heart

Dancing with Our Hands Tied

Dress

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

Call It What You Want

New Year’s Day

I Don’t Want to Live Forever - June 3

Lover

Forgot That You Existed

Cruel Summer

Lover

The Man

The Archer

I Think He Knows - May 21

Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince

Paper Rings - June 23

Cornelia Street

Death by a Thousand Cuts - April 1

London Boy

Soon You’ll Get Better (featuring The Chicks)

False God - May 27

You Need to Calm Down

Afterglow

Me! (feat. Brendon Urie of Panic! at the Disco)

It’s Nice to Have a Friend

Daylight - June 24

Folklore

The 1 (era opener as of March 31)

Cardigan

The Last Great American Dynasty

Exile (featuring Bon Iver)

My Tears Ricochet

Mirrorball - March 17

Seven (spoken transition part of setlist) - (w/ Aaron Dessner) June 17

August

This Is Me Trying - March 18

Illicit Affairs (era opener on May 5)

Invisible String

Mad Woman (w/ Aaron Dessner) - April 15

Epiphany

Betty

Peace

Hoax

The Lakes - June 2

Evermore

Willow

Champagne Problems

Gold Rush - May 12

‘Tis the Damn Season

Tolerate It

No Body, No Crime (feat. Haim)

Happiness

Dorothea

Coney Island (feat. the National) - April 28

Ivy

Cowboy Like Me (w/ special guest Marcus Mumford) - March 25

Long Story Short

Marjorie

Closure

Evermore (feat. Bon Iver)

Right Where You Left Me

It’s Time to Go

Midnights - Midnights - The Til Dawn Edition and The Late Night Edition released on May 26. The Late Night Edition CD was exclusively sold to those that attended the shows on May 26, 27, 28 and June 2, 3, 4.

Lavender Haze

Maroon - May 26

Anti-Hero

Snow on the Beach (feat. Lana Del Rey) - March 24

You’re on Your Own, Kid - April 14

Midnight Rain

Question…? - May 20

Vigilante Shit

Bejeweled

Labyrinth

Karma

Sweet Nothing

Mastermind

The Great War (w/ Aaron Dessner) - April 14

Bigger Than the Whole Sky

Paris

High Infidelity - April 29

Glitch

Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve (w/ Aaron Dessner) - May 7

Dear Reader

Hits Different - June 4

Karma (featuring Ice Spice) - (Added to the setlist on May 26. Music video released for concertgoers on May 26 and online on May 27)

You’re Losing Me (From the Vault)

[parkerbombshell]

Rules Free Radio March 12

Tuesdays 2pm - 5pm  EST Rules Free Radio With Steve  Caplan bombshellradio.com On this session of Rules Free Radio with Steve Caplan, we’re going to hear some new and recent music by The Campbell Apartment, Tall Poppy Syndrome, Shufflepuck, Smack Champion, The James Clarke Institute, The Bevis Frond, Coco, The Cleaners From Venus, Daniel Romano, Van Duren, The Pheromoans, Cat Cork, Loving, Modern English, Hurray For The Riff Raff, and a few others. Currents to classics by The Garment District, Electric Light Orchestra, Roger McGuinn with Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, The Laughing Dogs, Teenage Fanclub,The Kinks, The Royalettes, The Flamin’ Groovies, Marvin Gaye, Bubble Puppy, Joan Osborne, Neil Young, The Doors, A Perfect Circle, Patti Smith and more. Tall Poppy Syndrome - This Time Tomorrow Electric Light Orchestra - Do Ya Teenage Fanclub - Falling Into The Sun Jenny Owens Youngs - Knife Went In The Garment District - A Street Called Finland Shufflepuck - Where The Hell Is She Smack Champion - Crying Over You The Campbell Apartment - When I Fall The Laughing Dogs -  What Ya Doin' It For The Flamin' Groovies - Absolutely Sweet Marie The Kinks - See My Friends The James Clark Institute Phantom Girl Big Star - When My Baby's Beside Me Van Duren - Her Name Comes Up Lisa Mychols - Looking at the Sun Coco - Mythological Man The Cleaners From Venus - The Beautiful Stoned Roger McGuinn w/ Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers - King of the Hill The Bevis Frond - Maybe We Got It Wrong The Beatles - Paperback Writer Liam Gallagher & John Squire - I'm So Bored Elvis Costello - Tear Off Your Own Head (It's A Doll Revolution) Daniel Romano - Where’s Paradise Bubble Puppy - Hot Smoke & Sassafrass Sendelica - Journey To The Center Of The Mind Patti Smith - 25th Floor High On Rebellion The Doors - Not To Touch The Earth Modern English - Out to Lunch The Pheromoans - It's a Little Bit Different Hurray For The Riff Raff - The World Is Dangerous Neil Young - Only Love Can Break Your Heart The Royalettes - It's Gonna Take A Miracle Marvin Gaye - Distant Lover October London - Do What You Do Norman Connors - The Creator Has a Master Plan Joan Osborne - Why Can't We Live Together Jeremiah Chiu - Transparent Spheres Siouxsie & the Banshees - Strange Fruit Cat Cork - Miracle A Perfect Circle - Fiddle and the Drum Loving - Gift Todd Rundgren - Wailing Wall Aoife O'Donovan - Town of Mercy Read the full article

[yourstrqly]

★ . . . 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃, 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔

pairing: ex!charles leclerc x reader, bestie!lando norris x reader

sometimes it's better to let a fantasy go before it breaks your heart into pieces — or in which charles had a pr relationship w a model besides yours, letting you fading away.

quietly, the brunette sat down besides you, a hand softly caressed your back as you watched the street full of busy people; you were completely lost by the concept of going on with life when yours seemingly ended just a few hours ago.

"y/n, what's going on?", lando asked, voice laced with concern while he looked at your getup — a hoodie he knew was from max' closet, joggers and sunglasses, which didn't make any sense as you sat inside a small cafe in london. he remembered that you made fun of him wearing his dior shades at the bar just days ago when you were out and about in the nightlife of the british capital with ria, max and co, and now you were doing exactly that.

"I've been well, lan, how about yourself?", you lied through a pressed smile, trying to change the topic to him to avoid talking about yourself.

an annoyed moan spilled from between the man's lips. "Y/n, dearest, i know you're lying", he grumbled, grabbing your hand in the process, gently brushing his thumb along your knuckles.

alas, you might aswell ask him how he was doing; you needed to know.

clearing your throat, you collected your words, thinking of a way to ask about your past lover without overwhelming yourself — you didn't need to know everything about him anymore, the relationship had run its course, a cold case per say.

"is . . . he, you know . . . is he?", you mumbled under your breath, hotness creeping up your neck.

"Oh dear, he's putting up a mask for the public, you know? but inside he's truly a wreck, hardly shining anymore", lando assured, a tiny grimace displayed on his face; you knew he blamed himself, he had been the one to suggest the pair of you to go on a date back then, and one date blossomed into a relationship in under three months. and now you sat here, a faded version of yourself, heart broken, red eyes hidden behind black shades and back to the roots, living with max fewtrell.

"enough about that, ria is planning a trip to dublin, all of us have already decided to go, it's only you who hasn't said yes yet", the mclaren driver said, "it's would be like old times. the group at a cheap place, lots of silly stuff to film for the channel and your favourite whisky — couldn't possibly get better than this, no?"

you watched his mouth move but the world barley reached you, seemingly miles away, so you nodded then and there, faking interest whilst your mind let you revisit the end of all endings — that's how it felt to you.

"i don't understand you anymore, charlie, why would you want to be with me anymore?", you cried out, hands trembling as you held onto the door of his flat, your shared home for the last eight months.

the man in question was tried of the neverending argument you once again presented him with. "I—"

"what I? why are you doing this to me?", a loud, suffering sob left you.

"y/n, how often do i have to explain that it is just a publicity stunt, nothing more", charles exclaimed angrily, ripping his dress shirt above his head.

"you gave her your jacket."

"she was feeling cold and asked me. its just a jacket."

"i . . . i can't do this anymore", you whimpered, "I won't be your dirty little secret anymore, charles."

the ferrari driver's eyes went wide at your words, stomach dropping and tears started to dance along is lashes. "mon petite amour, dont say that, i beg you, i'll even go on my knees, but please don't leave me."

hope shone in your teary eyes. "would you break it off? for us?"

a shake of his head denied your wish through he made his way up to you, daydream of you and him inside your bubble still intact — but it broke as another sob left you, and with a strong push the door of your flat shut down behind your body, leaving him alone.

"earth to y/n? still with me?" lando wanted to know, scanning your face for any hint about how you were currently feeling.

"if you'll excuse me, i'm going to the bathroom", you uttered, already standing up to rush to the said room, where you gazed at your reflection in the mirror. tears threatened to fall, head hurt, and your hair was a mess.

the water was pleasantly cold against your skin, helping you to wash away your thoughts about him. him who felt like an imagination, now just another shadow in your life.

you turned the water of, dried your face before shoving your sunnies inside your bag; the awful feeling let you wear your heartbreak like a scar, visibly and beautifully graceful even though it didn't feel like it at the moment. lando gave you a beam as you made your way back to him; you didn't have to say anything, he understood you and referred to asking questions.

"he didn't deserve you, y/n/n, remember that", he told you after awhile of sitting in silence.

"i know, lan", you replied, truly meaning what you said. charles didn't deserve you and even though he broke the arrangement with the pr management and model off, sending you message after message until you blocked him, you stood by your decision.

you had him let him go, and he slowly faded from your mind. he was just another star fading away.

rina's masterlist

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

What Happens After Death

Sherlock x wife!reader

Others Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Sherlock comes home after faking his death and finds an extra person in his house, but they aren’t entirely unwelcome.

Warnings: Sherlock’s “death”, fluff

WC: 1.5k

Minors DNI

The streets of London were quiet as a lone man stood outside the door to a house. The gold numbers on the black door perfectly reflecting the yellow street lamps. The 221 glared at him, inviting him to come in while saying ‘keep out’ at the same time.

Sherlock sighed, cursing his own emotions as he trudged up the creaky stairs, not bothering to remain silent in case he woke Mrs. Hudson. He slowly opened the door to his flat, and was overwhelmed by the scent of her perfume. That delectable vanilla and macadamia he had always adored in secret.

Though there was another scent mixed in, almost milky, a slightly sour scent that made him wrinkle his nose. He strained his ears, trying to listen out for her breathing, creeping further into the hall, to their bedroom. Her snores were soft, as they always had been but now, there was someone else with her, another breathing pattern that couldn’t have been hers.

His fury grew. Did she move on? Was there another man in their marriage bed? Sherlock knew this anger was dangerous but she made him weak. Made him feel things he should’ve never been able to. She was always too good to him. Too forgiving. He supposed that’s what he needed, someone to stand by him, to take care of him, someone with the patience of a fucking saint.

A part of him wanted to fling open that chipped wood, to catch her in the act of sleeping in someone else’s arms. But instead, the great Sherlock Holmes slowly opened the door, as he had done thousands of times before when he crept into bed long after his lover had fallen asleep.

And there she was, her skin almost glowing in the moonlight. Her chest, where he had spent many nights worshipping, was rising and falling with her breaths, her face serene. But where he expected to see a lover laying on the fatty tissue of her breasts, was an infant, no more than a year and some months, clutching desperately to her, fussing slightly.

Y/N moved in her sleep, as if sensing the baby’s distress, placing her hand on its small back and rubbing little circles till they settled once more.

For the first time in his life, Sherlock’s mind was blank. The child was beautiful, it had her perfect s/c skin, but everything else was him. Through the astronomical odds, it was his hair on its little head, his cheekbones poking through the baby fat, his eyebrows which were currently scrunched up as they roused from sleep once more, his lips. He couldn’t breathe. They were beautiful.

Ever so carefully, his slender fingers reached out, trembling slightly, and brushed a black curl away from their face. They squirmed, the movement threatening to wake their mother. He wrapped his hands around them and lifted, immediately bringing them to his chest, quickly smoothing down the shirt that covered their onesie. London was quite cold, especially in old buildings like his. The baby whined but surprisingly settled back to sleep.

Sherlock couldn’t move. In the span of five minutes his whole world had shifted. Something inside him snapped. He didn’t realise he was crying until he felt the wetness from his tears drip down his chin. He held them closer, the heat from their skin melting the last bits of ice in his heart.

“I thought it was some kind of cruel joke that I carried him around for nine months but he looks identical to you.” Her voice broke him from his trance. Sherlock hadn’t even noticed that the dawn had broken and the small room was slowly being lit up. His wife was leaning against their headboard, eyes still swollen from sleep.

“W-what’s his name?” His voice shook with fresh tears. “William John Y/L/N-Holmes.” He chuckled. “I always hated my first name, you know that.” She rose from the bed. “Yeah but I like it and I’m the wife so what I say goes. Now come on, we need to have a talk.” Y/N took his son from his arms and laid him back down in the middle of the covers, making sure he was snug before taking her husband’s hand and leaving.

The tea in front of the pair was steaming, perfectly made as it always was. “So are you going to tell me why you led me to believe that you’ve been dead for the past two years?” Her voice was flat but not cruel, it was never cruel when she spoke to him. “I had to, it was the only way to take down Moriarty’s web.” He offered no other explanation. “And that involved faking your own death? Breaking my heart?”

“Sherlock, all I needed was one word that you were still alive. I felt like I died that day, the only thing that kept me going was that baby in there.” “I couldn’t tell you. If you weren’t mourning, then people would’ve figured it out.” The detective argued. “I cried for days, weeks. You vowed to me that you would never make me cry. You broke that promise.”

Y/N sighed and walked around the little coffee table to her husband’s chair, taking his face in her hands. “I want to punch you so bad right now for all the pain that you have caused to not only me, but to your family. Enola was destroyed, so was John. But right now I just need to kiss you.” Big blue eyes looked up at her before she bent over and, for the first time in two years, Sherlock’s lips met hers, thick arms wrapping around her soft waist and pulling her into his lap.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered against her lips, letting his forehead rest against hers. “I knew what I was getting into when we married, Sherlock. I just missed you so much.” “I’ll never leave you two again. I need to be here with you and William. I should’ve known you were pregnant. I don’t know why I didn’t.” “My love, you were never good with women’s issues.” She laughed and he realised how much he missed that sound.

“I wish there had been another way.” Hands tangled in his curls, she lathered kisses to his face, his eyes fluttering shut. “You’re going to have a lot to make up to me my love. That includes letting me sleep while you deal with your son crying in the middle of the night.” Sherlock chuckled. “Anything you need.” “The best thing you can do now, is come to bed with me, and in the morning, well later this morning, you’ll talk to Enola and John to clear everything up.”

“Then let’s go to bed.” Just like so many times before, he scooped her into his arms, and carried her across the room, striding back to their bed.

William was just waking up, obviously displeased at being left alone. Sherlock’s blue eyes stared back up at him, fat tears beginning to brew behind them, bottom lip jutting out and trembling as he made slight whines at the sight of his parents. Y/N wiggled from her husband's arms in order to crawl back onto the bed, picking the baby up to comfort him.

“Take off your shirt.” “My love, if you wanted to have me, we should probably put William somewhere else.” He smirked, flashing those pearly whites. She huffed, like she was annoyed, but an amused smile betrayed her true thoughts. “He likes skin on skin.” Shuffling below the thick duvet, Williams' sleepwear was taken off and placed to the side as Sherlock pulled off his vest and white button-up, slipping in next to his family.

“Here we are.” Y/N turned her body so that Sherlock’s big hands lifted his son to his own chest, savouring his warmth, inhaling the baby smell that was still so prominent, his large nose burying in the boy’s soft curls as they settled. “Mama.” He murmured, little voice breaking the serenity of the morning. Y/N put one hand on their son’s back, stroking his soft skin while propping herself up on the other. William’s eyes shut and his breaths turned into little snores.

“Thank you.” The detective whispered. “What for love?” “For staying. For him. I never deserved this much kindness. You had every right to leave but you didn’t.” “Love makes people do crazy things, Sherl. And through all of this, I love you, more than anything.”

“I love you too.” A strong arm wrapped around her so Y/N could lay on his chest, right next to William. And right then, the world was at peace with everything Sherlock loved wrapped up safely in his arms, away from the horrors of his life. “I love you too.” He whispered once more into the morning light, falling into a restful sleep, his mind calm.

This was a better homecoming than he could have ever imagined.

Taglist

@im-a-slut-for-fluff

[huntingingoodwill]

BUILD A BLURB REQUEST BESTIE

i read them and got excited ANWAYS

🩹🚪🍯🛌 (if its too much you can choose which ones u prefer writing)

WITH TOMMY x READER

i wanna request one w eddie WAIT ILL BE BACK

hi pal hi bestie thank u for the request!! made it a lil cheesy so i do hope you enjoy :,) workin on the eddie thingy next 🥰

send me build a blurb asks :))

masterlist | built blurbs

pairing: tommy x reader (y/n)

Tommy’s fresh wounds dripped a trail of slick, scarlet blood across the floor, each movement stinging. He froze as he reached his bedroom door, listening to the sounds of movement within. Someone was inside. They must’ve laid a trap for him, lying in wait to avenge one of the men Tommy had beaten to a pulp earlier. He pulled out his pistol, heart pounding in his ears. Steeling himself, he flung the door open, leading with his gun.

“Christ, Tom, let me wallow in self-pity a little longer before you shoot me.” You sniffled, voice hoarse from crying and muffled as you buried your head in his sheets. He sighed, relieved, putting his gun down as he approached you, curled up on his bed.

Though you’d known each other for years, seeing your tears was a rare occurrence, the last time he’d witnessed you cry being before he left for France. He still remembered it clearly. “Don’t flatter yourself.” You had coughed out when he asked if you were tearing up. You had turned your head away, your gasps of laughter sounding like sobs. “Just come back. Small Heath’s a bore without you.” Things had changed since then. Both of you were so much older, so much different from when you were kids running through the streets together.

But he came back. And he was here now. That was all that mattered.

The mattress sank as he sat down, ruffling your hair. “Who do I have to kill, (Y/N)?”

“Murder solves a lot, but not this.” Scoffing, you wiped your bleary eyes, finally taking a good look at him. His bloodied face, the slashes on his skin resulting in blooms of red across his once pristine dress shirt. “And it looks like you’ve done enough murdering tonight, Thomas Shelby.” You spat.

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” You fetched a bottle of liquor and some bandages.

“You only call me Thomas when you’re cross.” He grumbled.

“I call you worse things behind your back.” Sighing, you plopped down on the bed beside him, pulling his suit jacket off.

“What’s got you crying?” He asked, wincing as you poured the alcohol over his wounds. You stole a sip from the bottle before he snatched it from you, taking a swig himself.

“Jack, the bastard.” You muttered, examining a particularly large gash on his forearm. “One week he’s giving me a line about marrying me, the next he’s moved to London without warning.” Smiling, you rolled your eyes. “I’ll survive. But it still fucking hurts. I liked him, Tommy.” You sniffed, smoothing a bandage over his arm.

Tommy always hated the thought of you and Jack together. He’d have to make a visit to London soon. Murder would definitely solve this. But for now, he pulled you into a hug. They were rare, but they always comforted you, his arm hooking around your torso as you rested your chin on his shoulder, a reassuring warmth radiating off him. He listened to your faltering breaths, running his hand up and down your back. “Come on, now. The (Y/N) I know wouldn’t waste tears over a sorry little fucker like Jack. What’d you like about him, huh?”

You traced a finger down his shoulder blade. “He was… clever.”

“More than I am?”

“That’s not a difficult task.” You chuckled.

“I make up for that with my good looks.” His lips twitched into a small smile.

You frowned. “Poor Tommy. They must’ve hit your head really hard.”

He pushed you off, glaring, and you couldn’t help but dissolve into giggles.

“There’s the (Y/N) I know. Forget about him, yeah? Stay for a bit.” You nodded, smiling at him gratefully. You needed his company. Your fingers ran over his arms as you finished securing his bandages, moving away once you finished.

He leant back on the headboard and you sat facing him, your back against the footboard as you kicked your feet up into his lap. “I didn’t want to get married, anyway. The rest of my life with Jack. My skin’s crawling thinking about it.” You shivered, Tommy smirking. “I’ll just… give up on love.”

“You’ll be an old maid.”

You gave him a withering look, pressing your foot into his bruised ribs. He cringed, swatting you away as you roared with laughter. “No! A bachelor, like you.” You reached for the cap he’d hung upon the bedpost, twirling it about in your fingers. He hated when you did that, worried you’d cut yourself, but his nagging never stopped you. Besides, he wasn’t so nervous when he’d asked you to help sew the blades in all those years ago- he was hopeless with a needle and thread. “I’d become a Blinder. Grow the most fabulous moustache you’ve ever seen.” You said, pulling on his cap, holding a finger over your upper lip. “Do I look like Arthur?”

He tilted his head, contemplating. “Prettier.”

“Art won’t like hearing that.” You clicked your tongue, tossing the cap across the room. “I’ve given up on love, but you don’t have to. You should find someone. Preferably a nurse, because I don’t know how well I’m fixing up those cuts.”

“You’re the only one for me, (Y/N).” He spoke. You threw your head back in laughter, moving toward him. Pushing your face close to his, you grabbed his cheeks between your hands, pouting mockingly.

“Tommy Shelby loveessss me!” You sang, laughing. He raised an eyebrow, and it was how it always was, years and years of tormenting and taking care of each other, laughter and love in equal measure.

You two were different now. But you had loved him since you’d met him, and that wouldn’t change, no matter what. You gazed at each other, only inches apart, and you couldn’t help but smile. Tommy Shelby loved you. He closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours.

“It took you too many years to do that, Thomas.” You said, leaning your forehead against his, his nose brushing yours.

“Thomas? You mad at me?”

“A little. You’ve completely ruined my plan to give up on love.”

“That’s too bad.” He whispered, pulling you in for another kiss.