#the whole format with the gifs is kinda ugly but it's what i can do best rn and i dont have any more spoons

[5283]

like/rb if u use! <3

[balbigalum]

Of War & Men

pairing: Aemond Targaryen/Reader

chapter summary: Aemond’s wound is getting better but not at the speed Cole and the war needs it, reader find herself between men that don’t trust her judgment, the Maester think she is poisoning the Prince and it seems like keeping herself alive it’s not an easy task. Aemond begins to look at her.

summary: You knew war was ravishing your lands and when Targaryen soldiers came into your village demanding every healer to come with them and help the cause you knew that this war was something to be scared of. (In which reader is rumored to be a witch and prince Aemond needs her help after being deeply wounded.)

tags: war, witch!reader, ser criston cole is here, enemies to lovers kinda, prisoner of war to lovers kinda, i think reader is older than aemond because he is like 20 but is not mentioned so far, +18, word count: 2.6K  

READ ON AO3

a/n:   Hey, as always any feedback is welcomed, if anything is phrased weirdly or you see any mistake let me know and i'll se what i can do to fix it, this chapter is from aemond’s pov don’t worry we’re going back to the other format in the next, if u want to be added or removed from the tag-list let me know :P

Chapter 2 (<<previous chapter | next chapter>>)

His chest felt sunken, like his heart was being weighed down by everything dark and ugly. Guilt. Shame. Pain. He felt sorrow and a need to apologize. Why was he sorry? He couldn't remember. He felt his own mouth scream, filled with hurt, but he didn't hear it. He couldn't move his arms, and his legs felt weak. The only place where he could feel his heartbeat was his left eye, behind it, beating away, making his whole head ache, the sapphire digging painful in its place. He knew the sapphire caused him pain, that's why he had stuck it there in the first place. A reminder. But now, it felt unbearable. Everything felt clouded with a thick mist, he couldn't see any light around him.

And then, a woman.

He couldn't make out her figure clearly, but he wanted her closer, anything to not feel as alone. Her dress seemed worn out and dyed a dark color, her eyes looked at him, alert and focused, and in her hand a dagger. She was coming closer, the dagger was bright. Was that his father's dagger? Who was she? Why did she have it? Was she coming for him? Fear overtook him again. When had he become so frightened? He felt like a child. The look on her face reminded him of his mother the night he had lost his eye. With the same dagger she had demanded Lucerys Velaryon to pay his debt, everybody in court had said his mother lost her mind that night, lost her composure, even his own grandfather. But no, she was right. He had lost his eye and nobody had cared. Was this woman coming to take his other eye? Had he not suffered enough? 

He smelled burning flesh now, that was his fault. He had burned half of the riverlands, any sword that dared to stand against him, against his family. Something had hit him at some point, it was barely a scratch, at least at first. And then the fever started, he could handle the heat but it got worse, his head got a little more dizzy everyday, confusion was taking over him and he couldn't keep food down. The woman was gone now and Vaghar stood in front of him. He tried to reach out for her but she opened her mouth, rising from her throat he could see the flames. He could feel the heat. For the first time in his life the heat was too much. He tried to speak. To tell Vaghar to be calm, to obey, but he no longer had a voice. Behind the fire stood the same woman from earlier, long braid over her shoulder, and in her hands his own heart, burning from the inside out, copper and red, and still beating.

Prince Aemond Targaryen woke up with a loud gasp, his hands reaching out trying to hold onto something. He was alive. His heart was in his chest, even if the pain coming from it made it hard to believe.

He was in the master chamber of the Watch Tower he had adopted as headquarters. He could barely sit up, he tried to piece together what he was seeing. It was morning, he could hear a loud shriek coming from Vaghar, she was crying out for him. He looked around the room, the light coming from the open window felt blinding in his eye. He saw a woman sitting in the corner, long braid over her shoulder, her hands bound by irons. She was awake. How long had she been looking at him? She looked alert. Did Vaghar’s roar scare her? He tried to move again.

"Bring me Ser Criston," He said, but his voice was barely there. He needed water and a bath, and then he needed to mount Vaghar and get his army to Harrenhal. She lifted her hands, still bound. Right. He thought, She can’t. "Bring me–" He repeated, and gave up. Somebody must have been guarding the door, listening, because Ser Criston and a Maester bursted through it a second later. 

"Prince," Ser Criston said. "You're alive." The Maester made his way towards him, touching his forehead and checking how conscious he was. "My Prince," The old man said. "How do you feel?" He tried to sit up again but he was too weak to do so, the Knight rushed to help him lay against the pillows in a more comfortable position. "I feel fine." That was partially a lie, he felt… Better, but he was sure he couldn't stand up if he tried. The Maester’s eyes turned suspicious.

"What did you do?" He demanded, his voice laced with disgust as he peeled the bandage from Aemond’s chest, he was talking to the woman. He wasn't looking at her, Aemond could tell the Maester was furious for some reason. He watched as the old man touched the greenish paste he had lathered on his chest. The woman did not say a word. Maester Olwyn dug his fingers in the paste and brought them up to his nose, he gasped loudly. 

“What did you do?” He repeated loudly. “This is Red Mouth, this is poison. You poisoned him.” He was screaming at this point, yet the woman remained unfaced. Ser Criston Cole yanked her by her arm, forcing her to stand up. “What did you do?” Ser Criston asked this time, she looked at him, her eyes were deep and calm. “I did what you asked me to. I saved your prince.” She spoke and her voice sounded venomous. Olwyn was trying to find a cloth, something, anything to clean Prince Aemond’s wound. “Is not poison.” She said. “He won’t die. He will recover.” 

“No.” The Maester said. “I’ll bring boiling water and clean the wound, I will heal it in the way I was taught, none of this nonsense.” She disagreed with Olwyn, Aemond could tell in the way she was pursing her lips and staring at him. “If you break the protective layer, infection will set in.” She said, simple, making her point clear. “Free me now, he is alive.” She was talking to Ser Criston now and he looked back at Aemond. “No. No until the Prince can walk again.” She huffed. “You made a promise, have you got no honour, Ser?” She asked him mocking.

Ser Criston Cole grabbed her by the hair making her hiss. “You will attend to the Prince until he is healed. I don’t care what you do, you’ll wash his clothes or scrub his floors, but you won’t leave until he is back to his former strength.” He dropped her. Maester Olwyn was coming closer to Aemond now, he had a wet cloth in his hand. “No,” Aemond said. “Don’t.” “My Prince, I need to clean the wound.” He shook his head at how dense the Maester could be, he didn’t like the Maester, he didn’t like the advice he gave him in the council and he didn’t like his old and clammy hands touching him. “Let her do what she bids.” Aemond said, Olwyn tried to protest but turned his head down once he made eye contact with the Prince. Aemond was tired, he didn’t need to waste the little strength he had left in convincing the old man, the Maester knew better than to question him. 

“Ser Criston,” He called. “Bring me food and water, don’t let anyone but you and the woman into this room.” His voice sounded strangled, even for his own ears. He closed his eye after that. His head hurt, he thought about how many of his men had seen him in this state. He could recall landing on Vaghar, finding his way into the Watch Tower, black spots clouding his view. He couldn’t allow them to see him this way. Bare and weak. Wounded. Mortal. He wasn’t such thing, he couldn’t let them know. He was the one-eye prince, the kinslayer, he was no common man, he did not bleed.

He laid there motionless. Breathing felt easier, but nothing else did.

He was in and out of sleep after that, he figured out someone must have given him water and some food during the small periods of clarity he got, it must have been Criston or maybe Olwyn, not the woman. She was still there. They had unchained her but still made her wear the irons on her wrists, a sign, he supposed, she was not to be freed until Aemond could ride Vaghar again. He looked at her, the room was impregnated with the smell of whatever herb she was grinding on a mortar, the smell was soft… Maybe it was braavossi jasmine, the same one that grew in King’s Landing. It probably wasn’t, his home was too far for it to be the same flower, still he wanted to believe it was. He knew she wasn’t the one that had tended to him between dreams, she was no maid, he could tell that at least. 

“How long–” He began asking and felt his throat burn a little. “How long until I’m better?” He asked, she didn’t look up from her concoction, the smell was becoming stronger, he let it soak him, he could pretend to be at King’s Landing for just a second. “You are better,” She said. “You were dying and now you no longer are.” She stood up and brought him a cup of what she had been preparing. “Here, it will help you feel less sore. I know Maester Olwyn should be coming in soon, he said you need a bath and to get out of bed a little.” She didn’t sound like she agreed with Olwyn’s judgment, she put the tea next to him and didn’t try to help him sit up. 

The tea did soothe him, he asked the woman her name while she drew the curtains around the bed to keep the servants from seeing him while they prepared the tub for his bath. Her name had something foreign to it, it wasn’t fully westerosi, then again the common folk from the east coast of westeros often adopted names from the former valyrian freehold, things and words they’d heard during trading. One of his ship masters always told the tale about a young boy named Daor, the valyrian word for “Thank you”, the kid had been part of the common folk of dragonstone, his parents probably had met traders from Volantis or Pentos and the word had stuck out to them. Aemond always thought it was a foolish story, but he had to admit he liked her name, or maybe it was the tea.

The copper tub sat in the middle of his chamber, Olwyn helped him in. His muscles were sore and he felt weak, the water reached only to the middle of his chest to not touch the bandage and what she had put over the wound. The water was warm, just warm. “Wash him.” Olwyn demanded her, a resentful look painted her features. “I-” She said, and stopped herself, she looked at Aemond and then at the Maester, she was calculating her options. Aemond kept his gaze on her, she was thinking her next step carefully, she was smart. 

She kneeled down next to the tub, unhappy, and put her hand into the water. “This is not hot enough,” She said. “It is.” The Maester replied exasperated, he had found an arm chair to sit, he was too old to kneel on the floor. “It’s not.” She said coldly. “Isn’t he a Targaryen? This should be boiling if you want to bring him back to health.” “Those are nothing but gossip and tales from wet nurses who believed Visenya Targaryen bathed herself in scalding water.”

Aemond closed his eye and laid back. “She is right.” He said, his voice finally sounded like himself after so long. Hot water always made them feel better, when they were kids and got a runny nose, or when Aegon broke his hand training, or when Halaena was pregnant, they always craved the comfort of hot water, he had needed it himself when he lost his eye. His mother, raised a Hightower, never understood it, time after time they had to convince her to not listen to the Maesters about the subject. 

After some bickering she managed to shut the Maester up and boiled a small vessel over the fireplace of the room. He didn’t pay much attention after that, she changed her bandages and Cole entered the room a little while after, he brought news of their campaign. They discussed what they could but Cole was still worried, he needed the Prince to be able to march with the army as soon as possible.

So Cole asked her… again. “When is he going to leave the room? When will he be cured?” She sighed. “Twenty days and twenty nights.” “Twenty days? You’re mad, we don’t have twenty days.” She shrugged. “He is wounded, not the whole army… I don’t see why you can’t keep fighting the war.” Aemond sized her up, she knew why. Criston Cole was growing more and more irritated by the second. “We don’t have twenty days.” He repeated. “You must do something.” ”You must do something or we will feed you to starving hounds” “You must do something or we will break all of your bones and leave you to die.” He knew Cole’s commands were always held under the shadow of a threat and by the looks of her, she knew it too. 

Aemond had a growing desire to be left alone, or at least to no longer hear people quarrel. If it truly took three weeks for him to recover he needed time to think, to move the pieces on his board. Maybe he could do it in only a fortnight. Still, it was too much time to lose.

“There is another way,” She said. “But it might kill me.” “No, we won’t accept any dark ritual done to the Prince.” Olwyn was yelling now, Aemond sat there considering, maybe he needed wichcraft. “It is not a dark ritual.” She looked at Aemond in the eye, she was talking directly to him, Aemond wondered if she had ever looked at him directly all this time she had been held here. “Can we speak without interruptions?” Her shoulders tensed a little. “... My prince.” It sounded so unnatural on her voice, Aemond liked it, she was pleading for his attention. “Olwyn, the evening is getting dark, shouldn't you attend to the crows?” Aemond asked him, a small smile wanting to break through. “Ser Criston, please see him out and guard the door to this room.” 

She explained to him she needed to leave the Tower, that she wouldn’t run away but it needed to be done during the night and she needed his cloak, more specifically the cloak he was wearing when they brought him in wounded and almost unconscious. She looked agitated, maybe her life was truly at risk. “It has my blood in it.” He commented. “I know.” She replied. He found it amusing, he agreed under one condition. She was to take Cole with her, according to her she could fully cure him basically overnight but he had to let her out of the Tower, he was no fool, this might as well be a trick to gain her freedom. Cole would make sure she kept her word.

taglist: xcharlottemikaelsonx;  lol-im-done; @rosaryos ;  teddyluvs;  boofy1998;  yor72 ;  @blazeflays ;  xonsd ;  tinawhynot

She got the cloak and he called Ser Criston into the room, after explaining to him his duty Aemond dismissed them, he was tired and needed some sleep. “Go now,” He said and then looked at her. “Your Prince commands you.” It made her shudder.

(<<previous chapter | next chapter>>)

[ladykardasi]

Written by

A. V. Phibes. NOT ME!!

BUT IT'S SO GOOD I HAD TO SHARE.

Or if you want to read it right here.

Why ladies love Severus Snape: A detailed primer. (chock full of spoilers, in case you care)

So I was sitting around playing Marry/Fuck/Kill with the Potterverse and was like “I’d totally fuck Snape, obviously.” Then it occurred to me that, among the smorgasbord of cute young boys, why would the “obvious” sexual choice be a gnarly old goth who’s a dick to everyone

Initially, it doesn’t seem to make much sense, since, in the novels, even though he’s a fairly complex character, there’s not really a drop of sex on him and he’s mostly described as being mean and ugly. In spite of this, HP fandom is bursting at the seams with ladies who are hot and bothered for Snape. Some fervently embrace it, others feel strangely confused about it, but it is nonetheless true that ladies love cool Snape, and-- fear not-- I’m going to tell you why in a convenient 5 point format:

1. Alan Rickman’s Voice

A huge portion of Snape lust can be simply attributed to the casting of Alan Rickman in the movies. While Alan Rickman is an average-looking dude and kinda over-the-hill, it is an anecdotally observed phenomenon that the timbre and tempo of Alan Rickman’s voice triggers some sort of primal mating instinct in females. Reviewers—female ones, that is-- have used all sorts of metaphors for Alan Rickman’s voice: Velvet, silk, chocolate, red wine…basically, stuff that ladies love. Have you ever listened to audio of Alan Rickman reading stories? Well I have, and I cannot tell you a single plot point of any of those stories because all I could think about is having hot sex with Alan Rickman who is old enough to be my father and not at all my type.

Guys don’t get it (which I hypothesize is why he tends to be cast as a villain in guy movies and a romantic object in chick movies). It would seem you have to have a vagina in order to experience the aphrodisiac qualities of Alan Rickman’s voice. It’s almost a rite of passage into womanhood: You get your period, you have your first kiss, and you have the first time you go see a movie with Alan Rickman in it and leave feeling all funny, thinking “wow, that guy is such a… um… good actor.” because Alan Rickman’s voice just totally made sweet dirty love to your ear holes.

So now, thanks to the Harry Potter movie franchise, there is a whole new generation of adolescent girls who hear things like this and then feel all strange and confused about their inappropriate longing to make out with a guy practically old enough to be their grandfather. Fear not, young ladies: You can’t help it. It’s just science.

2. He’s dark and Mysterious

This one is so obvious as to almost be cliché. It's the same reason chicks dig vampires. Ladies often respond to strong emotions and fear and confusion can be strong emotions. If you combine this with an initial attraction, a young lady who doesn’t know any better can easily presume that maybe she’s madly in love with a guy just because he’s a little scary and confusing (See also: Twilight). (here I just want to add Damon Salvatore)

So let’s look at Snape: Is he dark? Yes. Along with the severe black outfit, he’s got a titillating air of menace and danger. Mysterious? Definitely. Is he a good guy? Is he a bad guy? Where do his loyalties lie? Does anyone really know what he’s up to? So many questions! How desperately we ladies want to uncover his secrets! The “scary and confusing” factor, aside from being exciting, can also totally disrupt a ladies sense of control over a situation, which can also be stimulating if attraction is involved (which it obviously is because, duh, Alan Rickman’s voice). Leading us to…

3. The whole S&M vibe

It is not a mere coincidence that the interwebs contain about ten million smutty fanfics about what transpires when Snape keeps students after class for detention. Consult a list of the top ten female sex fantasies and you will see “being dominated” and “teacher/student” sitting right next to each other. The character of Severus Snape is a teacher… A very strict teacher. When he tells you to do something, you do it. These kind of power/control fantasies are pretty common (and hot). Add “dark and mysterious” and the wanton suggestiveness of Alan Rickman’s voice into the mix and you’ve just created a perfect storm of female masturbation material. Under these circumstances, having Snape say lines like “I shall attempt to penetrate your mind and you shall attempt to resist me” is almost too much to deal with.

4. He’s a jerk

We’ve all heard the old saw “Women don’t like nice guys… they like jerks” usually being muttered by some jerk who thinks he’s a nice guy. The truth is that women DO like nice guys, BUT, they also like jerks sometimes. As someone who’s dated my fair share of sociopaths, I’ll try to shed some light on this for you.

One thing to establish is that most women don’t like jerks because they want to be treated badly. Rather, they want the guy who’s a jerk to everyone but them. They’re hoping for the victory of biting through his hard candy shell and getting to his sweet tootsie roll center. Jerks possess the alluring qualities of power and confidence… although usually taken to a dysfunctional level. Since most of us have to be nice most of the time, the jerk can also provide a vicarious, liberating thrill as he brazenly breaks all the rules of social propriety.

So when Snape goes around being an asshole and not taking anyone’s shit, it’s actually kind of a turn-on. (Some women also labor under delusions that they can “reform” the jerk, although this is usually a recipe for disaster. )

If I may, however, give some advice to the youth of America, it’s this: Don’t have relationships with jerks. I’m not saying you can’t have hot flings with the occasional jerk in your experimental youth, because, truthfully, they ARE pretty exciting in the short term, but any guy who’s a jerk to everyone else will eventually be a jerk to you. Trust me. To put it in HP terms: fuck all the Slytherins you want, but if you want to get serious, find a nice Hufflepuff.

5. He’s all tortured and misunderstood and crying on the inside and shit.

Okay, so maybe after a long day of antagonizing Harry Potter, insulting his students and generally sneering and being curt, Snape goes down to his room in the dungeon, turns on The Cure’s “Disintegration,” and cries while hugging his pillow, because deep down inside he’s all wounded and sensitive.

Remember what I said in the last bit about the tootsie roll center? Well Snape’s is a doozy. He came from an abusive, neglectful home, got bullied in school and then watched as his BFF/love of his life kicked him to the curb and married the guy who bullied him. Now she’s dead and he feels responsible, so he’s sworn to save her son’s ass from Voldemort even though he partly hates him because he looks like the dude who pantsed him in high school. Meanwhile, everyone just thinks he’s a dick because of the cold, stoic façade he’s constructed to hide his inner turmoil. But he’s secretly doing good…GOOD, DAMN IT! So much heartache! So much angst! So much wounded inner child desperately needing the right woman to hug his pain away!

Chicks often dig romantic fantasies of being the special, insightful one to understand the misunderstood guy, thus breaking through his misanthropic exterior and being rewarded with all of his ardent, pent-up passion. Combined with the Jerk factor, this would seem to present a situation where you could have your hot, rough, pinned-against-the-wall sex and your sweet butterfly kisses, too. In real life, this typically doesn’t result in anything but a dysfunctional relationship, but it seems pretty sexy on paper.

In Summary:

Okay, so we’ve got a dark and mysterious guy with an air of danger and a dominating personality who’s in a position of authority. He’s a total jerk and doesn’t take anyone’s shit, but it’s only because he’s all emo on the inside. Top that off with a voice that makes EVERY DAMN THING sound erotic and BAM: Ladies love Snape.

And so I hope that this sheds some light on why I would obviously fuck him… although I’m totally marrying Hagrid…and killing Peter Pettigrew. That guy is worthless.

[moral-turpitudes]

Terrible Two’s:

Trigger Warnings: Some Angst and Fluff, Light Humor, Slight Swearing.

Word Count: 1,404

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader 

Request: “Hello! can I request a Tommy x Reader with humor prompt list 15?I know it’s humor but it can be serious as well I guess. Thanks a lot!”

Requested by: Anon

A/N: I’m changing my format up a bit so this one is part of the new look. I also don’t know how this came to be. I kinda just had an idea and ran with it, but I hope ya like it!

Summary: Y/n takes care of Charlie as her husband Tommy is off for the day on business, making her question her sanity and their future as a family.

You rummaged through Charlies closet, trying to find something appropriate for him to wear to this evenings dinner. Thomas had left early that morning on business leaving you to care for his son who was in the late stages of his “terrible-two’s.” 

Frantic sayings such as, “Hey! Don’t touch that” “Don’t put that in your mouth!” “No biting!” and “Oh please be chocolate, please be chocolate...” coming out of your mouth more times than you can count.

You sighed with him in your arms while you looked at three outfits spread across the table.

“Which one would you like to wear sweetheart? You have to dress all fancy like your daddy.” You said, watching as he pulled against you and towards one of the dark gray outfits, much like a baby suit with a small bowtie.

“Oh that’s a good one. Let’s put it on.” You said gently setting him down as he waddled away from you as fast as his little legs would carry him.

You looked up at the coffered ceiling and sighed, knowing it would be a long few hours until Thomas got home. 

“Charlie-boy c’mon. Daddy wants you ready for the party before he gets home.” You yelled lightly down the hall, peeking in various rooms as he was probably playing hide and seek.

“Charlie...where are you?” You asked, turning the corner into Tommy’s office. You saw his small silhouette behind one of the curtains in front of the window, overlooking the acres of land that was your all's backyard. You smiled and folded your arms over taking a couple steps towards him.

‘I wonder where on earth he could be?” you said getting closer.

“I bet he’s right......here!” You yell out, tickling him through the curtains as he giggled. 

Once he was freed from the fabric, he reached out for you to hold him and so you did. Smiling as his small giggles filled your ears. Your heart ached as you thought about how Grace must feel, watching from above as someone else cared for her child. As you stood there in thought, you glanced at the ring on your finger and the memories you’ve been lucky to have with Tommy these last few years. You wanted to try for kids, seeing how you were great at caring for Charlie, and how well you got along with everyone, but your heart still ached knowing it would probably be a long time until Tommy even had a moment to think about the both of you, let alone another baby due to recent blinder business. 

After a while of playing with Charlie, you were finally able to bribe him into putting on his outfit with a cookie. You sat on the floor with him as you watched him playing with a toy horse, trying to decide when to get ready.

Charlie lifted his finger up to you, murmuring as he looked at you with his fathers blue eyes.

“What’d you say baby?” You asked softly.

“Mama!” He said excitedly. Your eyes widened, panic and an odd feeling of happiness overtaking you as you heard him speak a word that wasn’t toddler babbling or saying “hat” “dada” and “horse.”

You didn’t know what to say so you just smiled and nodded, tears forming in your eyes as you glanced at Grace’s painting down the hall.

When you saw Charlie getting tired, you put him in his crib, turning the light out as a soft midday glow came in through the windows of his bedroom, and without hesitation you went to your bedroom to get dressed, getting as far as putting on your dress and plain makeup before hearing him wailing.

You rushed out, not worrying about any finishing touches as you opened his door, his face flushed red and tears in his eyes as he screamed bloody murder.

You scooped him up, rocking him back and forth gently as he hiccupped and screamed again, surely making you go deaf.

“What is it my love? What’s wrong?” You asked, walking with him down the hall as you bounced him in your arms. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” You asked as his tears subsided. He looked at you and pouted, his eyes about to fill with tears again as he buried his head in your neck.

You checked to see if he was warm, but he didn’t seem ill, just startled. As he calmed down you realized your silk dress was now tear stained, making it hard to dry before Tommy got home so you carried him into your all’s bedroom and sat him on the bed gave him one of Tommy’s non-razored caps to play with. You sighed as you looked at the expanse of dresses, knowing years ago you’d pass-out at the sight of even the price tag, let alone the intricate detailing and fabrics. You decided on a pastel blue dress almost aqua in color, as you turned to Charlie with approval. He smiled when you turned around and clapped his hands together as he watched you looking at it in your hands. After slipping it on, you heard Tommy come through the front door, with loud footsteps bounding towards his office.

You sighed, knowing he had a bad day, which given his line of work, it wasn’t surprising. If he had a fairly decent day, you knew something was suspicious most of the time. 

You picked Charlie up to keep him from running amuck, and headed towards his office. Your heels clicking on the wooden floors as you hesitantly walked in. 

He was nursing a glass of whiskey and smoking while looking out the window.

“Rough day?” You asked from the doorway. He turned slowly to you, his cold stare softening as he looked you up and down and saw Charlie in your arms.

“Yeah. Arthur got into some trouble. I had to go help out and keep him from killing someone at the ring.” He said putting his cigarette out in the ash tray on his desk.

“Oh lovely.” You said rolling your eyes and smirking. 

“What about you aye? What did my little one get into today?” He said making his way over to you and Charlie.

“Well...he tried to take your watch, tried to put it in his mouth actually...bit my finger when I tried to take it from his mouth, oh and he left a small present on his bedroom floor because he wanted to roam the house in the nude. I prayed it was chocolate, but...no.” You said laughing and shaking your head.

“Fucking hell...” He said.

“Well if that’s all the complaints for the day, I think it’s time we get going aye?” He said with small smirk.

You scoffed and walked away from him. “Oh I’ll give you something to complain about.” You said as you took Charlie to the car.

You sat there silently as he drove, his free hand finding his way to yours that was resting on your lap.

“I’m not too good with jokes sometimes. I’m sorry Y/n.” He said squeezing your hand. 

“Oh I know.” You said smirking. 

“Were there any good moments today?” He asked. You swallowed hard and decided to tell him.

“Well while we were playing he uh...called me “mama.” You said.

“Mama!” Charlie yelled, giggling from the back.

“I didn’t know what to say Thomas...I just smiled and nodded. I hope that’s okay.” You said. He smiled and glanced at you as he went to park the car.

“Well...in a sense you are now. Without you I don’t think we could’ve managed.” He said, kissing your hand.

You smiled as he helped you out, him picking up Charlie out of the backseat.

You thought for a moment before walking towards Polly’s house, daring to ask him the question that’s plagued your mind the whole day.

“Hey Tommy?” You asked, causing him to stop near the front steps.

“Yeah?” He said.

“How would you feel about another child? Obviously not now because I know everything’s busy, but that all just got me thinking...” You said trailing off nervously.

“I’d love that. But first, we have to get through this fucking party.” He said smirking. You sighed in relief and nodded as you followed him inside, music and  the murmurs of everyone filling the room. 

“That we do...” You said quietly to him as you both walked towards the family, bracing yourself for the onslaught of hugs, whiskey, and not-so-kid-friendly conversations.

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