#thomas hiddleston x reader

[smolvenger]

The Baronet Seeks A Wife, Chapter One.

A Crimson Peak Multi-Part Fanfiction.

Thomas Sharpe x fem! Reader Arranged Marriage AU.

Summary: England in the 1890s. When your spirited sister, Charlotte, defies your family by running away from her arranged engagement to Sir Thomas Sharpe, you are the one who must keep your family from scandal and ruin...by taking her place as the baronet's bride.

Word Count: >7K words. You may want tea and scones as a repast as you read this.

Warnings: Angst, some hurt/comfort, and fluff at the end. I attempt to convey the period as accurately as I can bc if you don't like it or find it interesting why write it. Period accurate attitudes of gender and social class. Mentions and discussions of sex, but no smut (yet...let me just say...after Bridgerton season 3 episode four...I have *ideas* heheheheh). Brief mention of childbirth. The fear of domestic violence is mentioned, but not portrayed. Grammar and spelling mistakes. If I miss something and you see something that could be triggering that I didn't mention, then it is your responsibility to please please please tell me. I will take full accountability for how I portray marginalized groups and sensitive subject matter and make sure to better my writing and make sure affected parties are protected.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson @steasstuff @anukulee @kimi01985 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @giona45-5 @goddessgirl43

London, 1898.

“I won’t marry him!” your sister cried.

You have seen this scene plenty of times. You could recount it like a play production you had seen too much. You were sitting in the parlor, trying to read a book and rest your feet. But your mother and your older sister, Lottie, were on each other’s last nerves.

‘Lottie, you have to!” your mother insisted.

You found you couldn’t focus on the words. You only sat there in stillness, watching in silence. A maid walked by the door, her eyes flicking over to the scene, but then she kept walking down the hallway.

Your mother pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed as if in pain. 

Your older sister, Charlotte, was curling her fists on her side. The red dress, the new one father ordered for her at the shop, only made her seem angrier. She was literally burning with the fire of fury.

Mama let out a huff. Then she glared at Charlotte, her arms akimbo.

“Listen to me. Right. Now.” your mother began.

You felt bad for your mother. There was a lot on her mind. To have both daughters out in society at one time. They agreed it wasn’t fair for one daughter to go about having fun when the other couldn’t. Charlotte was older, so she was more experienced in being out in society. She made her debut it seemed ages ago. You recalled your own debut. You had your turn to wear white and curtsy before the queen before she dismissed you for the next girl. You were already beaming with excitement. Ready to enter the glittering, grown-up world of the London social season. Prepared to dine and dance in pretty dresses every April until August.

But every year, it seemed the bags under Charlotte’s eyes increased. Now years had passed since then. And mam still had two daughters who were still out. And unmarried.

Charlotte dreaded going from your country home to London for the warmer months.She hated the constant balls, parties, meals, picnics. She at least liked riding her horse in Hyde Park but loathed she couldn’t go faster. She would sneak out to smoke cigars. Bugs and reptiles fascinated her more than gossip. She scribbled down notes. She turned prickly if any man asked for a dance. She spoke boldly and even swore. She enjoyed the horse races and polo games and sports, but the art of feminine flirting was beyond her.

But your parents had plenty of money and two daughters. But only so much money could support so many seasons. And as the eldest, the pressure was on Charlotte. There was the occasional brave soul who proposed marriage to her. Only to face the inevitable, flat rejection.

So Mama and Papa took matters into their own hands.

Mama met enough people who networked her to cross paths with a single baronet. They porposed a marriage between him and Charlotte, to which he agreed. Your sister was engaged after a mere three meetings with the fellow. Not that you had a chance to meet him either. So no rejection. No proposal. A ring on Lottie’s finger forcibly placed on her like a child force-fed turnips to her mouth.

“Lottie, do you know how much that dress costs? The very one on your back? Every season, your father and I make sure you and your sister have new gowns so you may be presentable in public. That is what they demand- that eligible ladies always dress in fresh new clothes. So any gentleman will not scoff at you wearing yesterday’s rag. You may not like it- but this is for your future. For your family’s future.  May I remind you- You are the eldest. You must make a good match not only for your sake- but your sister’s future. If you marry well-then she will be set up to succeed. There are plenty of decent men with more than enough money to make you comfortable here. Every year, they ask to dance with you. Every year, at least one proposes. And every year, you say no. ”

Charlotte huffed, folding her arms.

‘I didn’t want to marry them. Any of them. I wouldn’t make them happy and they wound’t make me happy at all.”

Your mother glared down.

“You have had more than enough chances to secure yourself forever. Do you want to live at the mercy of your father’s charity all of your days? If he cut you off this minute and threw you out of the house, you would have nowhere to go, and no way to survive. Lottie, do you realize how many seasons you have had? Do you realize how much we must pay more and more for you both to be presentable when you are out? Do you realize how much this is costing us and yourself?” she scolded.

She caught her breath. Charlotte was breathing hard, and you could see glimmers of tears in her eyes. Mama stepped closer.

“Charlotte…you’re no figure of pity. Not yet. You have had plenty of chances- they still call you the Wild Rose of London. Your face won over dukes, earls-so many girls would have loved to be in your shoes!” she said softly.

Mama was right. Charlotte was considered the beauty of the family. When she made her debut, heads turned to look at her. Everyone, you included, thought she would make a match easily. After all, your father was in charge of a great business that made a lot of money. You were now part of the upper crust. So a pretty face, a decent family reptutation and a sizable dowry with her bold, vivacious character would have won someone’s heart. And in a way they did. The first man who proposed to Charlotte you thought was going to be like shooting a sitting duck.

Even though “spinsterhood” did nothing to dampen  your sister’s face,you were all proven wrong. Very, very wrong. 

Lottie slouched as much as she could in her gown and frowned. A habit she never abandoned as a child.

“Your father had to take action. You will be a part of the esteemed Sharpe baronacy and he will reap the monetary benefits. He is a nice man, pleasant, charming, and he will take care of-”

“So am I nothing more than a thing you auction off at a bazaar? Not a person with a heart? With feelings?” Lottie combated.

“We were going to be driven at this rate to ill repute, and financial ruin all because you wouldn’t marry!” your mother argued.

“Then why not let me wear an old dress?” Lottie shot back. “Or have me not do a season! Let me remain a spinster and paddle my own canoe!” 

“Sir Sharpe will take care of you. He promised it!” Mama assured.

“Being stuffy old Lady Sharpe and wasting my life in balls and parties is going to drive me to insanity! An arranged marriage- mama, it’s practically medieval!” Lottie shouted.

Your mother folded her hands.

“Your father has set it in stone. There is no point in this conversation. You are going to marry Sir Thomas Sharpe, and that is final!”

Your sister jumped up. She stormed off, slamming the door shut childishly as she huffed off to her room.

Your mother turned to you. You sat in your own blue tea gown, not expecting company. For a night of no events in the London season was a special treat. All of the picnics, lunch parties, park trips, operas, theatre, and balls were fun- but back to back, it was exhausting. But hearing your mother and sister yell at each other was ten times worse than the exhaustion. 

You stood up.

“Am I….a bad mother?” she asked. You saw tears in her eyes too.

You put a hand on her shoulder, a fine, matronly gown of dark green brocade. You offered her a handkerchief. 

“I only think you are a desperate mother put into a difficult situation.”

“She won’t listen to me. Much less your father…she only listens to you anymore. I hate we must do this…and I hate myself,” she sniffled. 

You patted her shoulder.

“Mama, let me speak with her. Let me help patch things up. Make her happy,” you offered.

She nodded. You exited the library, walking up the stairs to Lottie’s bedroom. The odd servant paused in their dusting to curtsy at you. You wold give them a nod and a smile, before you continued. Walking past vases of daffodils and over velvet rugs, you found the door locked shut. Crying coming from inside.

You knocked on the door.

“Go away, papa!” she fussed.

“Lottie, it’s not papa, it’s me!” you assured her.

Your sister went over and opened the door, letting you in and shutting it after you entered. With it’s wine red wallpaper, the place seemed to be dark as the sun was dipping outside. Her desk empty of any papers and her hat set on top. Her colllections of newspapers piled on one chair near her parasol. The drawer where she hid her cigars was kept with a lock and a key she dared not tell even you.

“Lottie…I’m so sorry you have to do this, and how miserable it makes you…it sounds like a nightmare,” you admitted.

You could see tears streaming down her face.

“Do you remember when I was eleven and asked mama and papa for a pet snake? They know how much I love snakes- they’d give me little toy snakes. I wanted a real one. I’d call her Cleopatra for the irony of it. But they said no. Every year I asked and they kept saying no.would always say no. They try….but they can’t love me, or understand me. And I keep trying to please them…and I keep failing and now…they’re throwing…”

She sat on the bed and began to cry. And you hugged her.

“Here….here…” you said. “My poor girl, my poor Lottie!” you cooed. 

“I want to go places. Have adventures and jolly, capital times.  I want to run, and explore and see things! Not be stuffy old Lady Sharpe in some stupid house having babies until I’m killed from it!” she mourned.

She shoved aside her journal and laid down on her bed. Tears streaming her face.

“It’s what you deserve…Lottie. A life like that! But now,  we need to think of what we can do and not what we can’t do,” you suggested.

You paused, thinking for a second. You leaned closer as she turned away. A gentle hand on her side.

“Sir Sharpe…you’ve met him, haven’t you? What is he like?” you asked.

“He talks about his stupid inventions all day,” she muttered from her side. “And he won’t answer anything about what his dead sister was like or what was in that old mansion.”

There were only three things you knew about Sir Sharpe as of this morning. He was a baronet. He grew up in a mansion called Allerdale Hall. He lost an older sister. But that was it. Now thanks to Lottie, the sum rallied up to four.

You leaned closer, more mischief in your voice. You hushed to a whisper.

“What does he even look like? Perhaps he’s at least handsome! Maybe at least…on your wedding night…” 

Lottie turned over, wrinkling her nose. 

“I’m sorry, YN, but he’s ugly! He has a big forehead, and big ears, and a big old nose!” she cried. Her voice far too loud for the question you asked.

She grabbed her pillow and hugged it around her.

“Don’t get me started on my marital duties. I could retch at the thought of it. If Sir Sharpe even thinks of going to bed with me, I’ll box his big ears off!” she decalred.

Part of you couldn’t help but laugh a little. Even Lottie’s own pretty, pink mouth was curved up in a small smile at her own words.

“Practice on that pillow!” you dared.

She hit the pillow again and again.

“This I’ll give Sir Sharpe and -this! I’ll give Sir Sharpe!”

She reached over and got her parasol and gave it a few more good whacks. Feathers were starting to burst out from it and litter the floor.

“Heavens, at this rate you’d have killed him!” you commented. 

“He would have earned it!” she replied.

‘“Then you’ll be a criminal and I’d have to bail you out of prison!” you replied.

“Oh no! Then I guess we must be outlaws and run off and live like Robin Hood and the rest! Better than listening to Mrs. Mean drone on about governesses!”

Both of you burst into laughter. The Means lived up to their name and every reception they found a new group of people to complain about. You both heard it all and had to silently look at each other to promise to only laugh at them when it was done.

You both laughed, smilng bright. How you missed the easy days of your younger years. You could play about and get in and out of trouble. You and your sister knew where to strike to hurt each other, but couldn’t live without the other. You fought as intensely as you played. You did everything side by side. You took her hand and hugged her again, even though she was still sniffling.

Lottie sagged her shoulders. Her hold on the pillow loosening.

“But…I’m unhappy. I wake up every day with this and I’m miserable. Like I can’t get out.” she sighed.

“Think of this….” you reasoned. “I hear husbands are easier to manage and persuade then fathers! Once you have money and you’re not under their thumb, you can go about as you want and do what you want! Idon’t think Sir Sharpe would stop you….”

You paused. A horrified shiver ran through you.

“Not that I…know much about him. Do you think he….did he ever…ever…hurt you?” you asked.

She shook her head.

“No, he hasn’t been less than gentlemanly. And he wouldn’t hurt me in any way after we’re married, I’m sure.” she replied.

You both sat on the bed and held hands.

“Then don’t be afraid, Lottie…maybe marriage isn’t a prison, but your key to freedom! Once you’re a married woman, you can do whatever you want and Sir Sharpe won’t stop you. And if he does anything, tell me. And I’ll box his ears!” you replied.

Lottie’s tears were drying in trails down her cheeks. Yet she smiled in spite of herself. Then you hugged one last time.

“I should ring for some cakes and mint tea from Anne! That will cheer you up!” you said.

As you rang the bell for them. Anne, one of your maids, hurried up. She took the order and promptly left. She returned with a tray in only ten minutes. You both relaxed on chairs as the tray balanced on a mahogany table.

Turning, you saw Lottie write about in her journal.

“Oh, croissants! My favorites,” Lottie cooed. She picked up one and began to dig in.

“I’m just glad you have thing that make you happy…I just want you to be happy, Lottie,” you said.

The pastry returned to her plate.

“And…YN…”

Her mouth opened as if to speak. Then she stopped. She reached over and held your cheek. Studying you carefully, as if you were a piece of art. A work she could only admire in person once before she had to leave. Something she had to commit to memory. There was a sad smile on her face.

There was a sad smile on her face.

“I want you to be happy too…”

She kissed your forehead and you smiled. As she helped herself to a big slice of strawberry cake. Her eyes were tired, crinkly.

“I think Lady Charlotte Sharpe has a ring to it. Like the heroine of a book!” you said.

Charlotte turned to face the window. The sun melting down and the sky promising night.

“But this isn’t a book, this is reality…” she responded.

She looked at you and then at the ring on her finger. The engagement ring already commissioned. Costly and pretty, but useless and ominous on Lottie’s hand.

“I think you would have liked him...” she said.

“Sir Sharpe will be nice to have as a brother,” you replied.

She looked at you. But said nothing as she nibbled on her croissant. As the tray was partially emptied, you excused yourself. But Lottie caught your arm. You saw her lip quiver. She leaned closer, her voice quiet. And Lottie was not a person who liked to be quiet. 

“I’ll always remember that your words. That we must do what we can and not dwell on what we can’t. Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for the tea, too.”

By dinner time, she was quiet. She dressed nicely and ate modestly. Then went to bed without a word to you.  As you went back up to change for bed. How unlike her! Your sister was chattiest at night! But you but shrugged it off. She was probably just exhausted. London’s balls lasted from night until six in the morning and you would be lying if you said they didn’t take a toll on you too. And you would need some rest if there were to be callers, a garden party, and maybe a horse ride in the park  the next day.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

When you awoke the next morning, the sunlight streamed like melten butter into your room. Outside, it was another lovely day in May. People were already tittering about the Ascot opening later this month.

Your maid helped you into your day outfit of a white lace skirt and a blue skirt with flowers patterned with silk. You only hoped Lottie had improved. Before breakfast, you would check.

You knocked on her door.

“Lottie! Good morning!”

No reply.

“The chef is making us bacon! It’s going to be delicious!”

No response. 

You beat your fists against the door.

Nothing. And she was a light sleeper.

“Lottie?” you called out louder.

You realized the door was unlocked and opened easily.

She was gone. Servants followed you inside. Her bed wasn’t made, there was no sign of her.

“Is she in the garden? Is she riding in Hyde park this early? ” you asked Anne. But the maid shook her head.

Then, to your shock, you saw there was a piece of paper on it. And a ring. Coming closer, you saw it was her engagement ring.

You felt the world pause as you read her handwriting.

“Hello everyone,

You need not fear, for I am not hurt or seduced by some scoundrel.

I cannot be Sir Sharpe’s wife.

I love all of you. But I cannot do this. This is not what I want for my life.

I shall be safe, do not worry.

But do not try to reach me for some time.

All of my love.

Charlotte Y/L/N.”

Breath knocked out of you. You stood frozen. You hardly heard your parents rushing in. You didn’t feel your father snatching the letter from your hands. Looking down, they were still in the air and shaking.

Your mother began to sob.

All of your plans were canceled. A private detective was hired and Charlotte’s lady’s maid was fired for permitting this. Though the sobbing maid insisted she didn’t know where Charlotte went. All day long, people scurried about in a panic. 

You felt tears well up in your own eyes. Alone in your room, it was your turn to burst into crying.  It was already as if your dear sister was already dead.

You recalled the letter said she was unharmed. She wasn’t about to be left pregnant with some scoundrel’s bastard. She hadn’t…taken her own life and for her to return only as a corpse. As far as you knew, no news meant she was alive and safe. That would have destroyed you. Taking hope in that, you went back to put on a brave face to your family.

There was the odd caller in the afternoon. But their noses were upturned. Knowing they would report anything and everything. The slight smiles on their faces as they looked about made you want to scream.

Why didn’t Charlotte think about this? The next day, your grief boiled to a silent rage. By running off and vanishing, it meant there was a scandal. And now society would all turn their faces away from you. They would frown and whisper and gossip. The unvirtuous daughter who ran off. And no one would want to go to your parties or dinners. No one would want to see you or associate with you. And no man would ever want to marry you, knowing you were the sister of the runaway spinster of a disgraced family.

That last part pained you. Not that you knew from Charlotte there was shame in being a spinster. But…you hoped to fall in love. Not just to marry a man of stability, to meet a wonderful, nice man who made your heart patter fast. To be kissed and receive valentines and dance and have him drop to his knees, begging for you. Just like in the fictional books you loved. 

But the days dragged by. The detective returned after a week and shook his head. And the hope for anything good in your future seemed more and more like a fiction itself.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

You paced about in the gardens one afternoon. It was better to do something with your anxious energy. Two weeks and no sign where Lottie vanished. You sat by, hoping the coolness of the breeze drifting through flowers would calm you. But not even the loveliness of an English June could distract you.

Anne stepped forward and curtsied.

“Pardon me, Miss. But your father wants to have a word with you in private,” she announced.

She led you up, taking you to Papa’s study. It was a room in dark green, his favorite color. A few books lined up the walls and his desk was placed behind the window. Your father was staring outside when he turned around as you were brought in.

“Ah, sit down, my dear,” he requested.

You obeyed. Sitting on the wooden chair before his desk. Your father brought out a decanter of brandy and poured himself some in a little glass. You noticed it was a generous amount. Not that you would blame him.

He poured himself a second glass and offered it to you.

“I have some news with you, Y/N…” he began.

“Have they found her?” you asked with hope.

“No. And that is exactly why I have to tell you this…”

If there was no update, then what could it be? You wondered. You took the cup and held it in your hands. A little hesitant to drink it yet since it was still so bright in the day.  It didn’t feel right to drink such a spirit so early to you. Something was brewing- you just had to let him say it. 

“The engagement between your sister and Sir Sharpe it was…it is still and shall be beneficial. To us and to the Baronet. We must be respected by all sorts of society through connection to the baronacy. He needed the money- his own little toys wouldn’t be enough to sustain a gentleman’s life. And with Charlotte’s disappearance- you understand why we don’t have as many visitors as we do?”

“It’s a scandal, papa, I know.” you replied.

“But…we must return to society. We cannot show up defeated. We cannot let them beat us. We cannot become a laughingstock or a figure of pity.”

Where was he going with this? You held your tongue and folded your hands. The drink carefully balanced over your lap. He was only repeating everything you already knew.

“There is one way out that solves all our problems. Especially if at this point, Charlotte isn’t to be found…”

“We can’t give up on finding her, on making sure she is safe!” you insisted.

“We have more immediate matters..” he continued.

You raised the glass to your lips, taking only a sip. It burned down your throat onto your churning stomach. Your father looked directly into your eyes.

“ I have one daughter left who is out. But YN, I don’t think there are many gentleman who will want to associate with a ruined family. No gentleman will consider you marriage…But…”

“But?” you prompted.

“But there is one gentleman who doesn’t think so…” he continued.

“Who?” you asked. You put both hands over your cup.

Papa looked directly into your eyes.

“Sir Sharpe.”

Your throat tightened. Part of your vision went dizzy. You began to piece together where this was leading. Nausea gripped your insides as your hold on the glass turned into a grip.

“He knows he needs our money and to be back into society. We still need the respect of his title…and we have a daughter left who must be taken care of…”

You found yourself hyperventilating. Words choked out of you.

“Am I…am I…”

“YN, you are going to marry Sir Sharpe in your sister’s place this coming month.” he announced flatly.

A sound came out of you. You put a hand over your mouth. You now knew what Lottie felt. Your whole body went tight. You had to catch your breath. How glad you were to be sitting, for your legs were already shaking bad and your vision was spinning. You looked down at the floor, trying to pull yourself together. Your father kept talking.

“Now, I know this isn’t pleasant. Especially for a romantic such as yourself. I know you have yet to be formally introduced to him. But, Y/N, my dear- we have to be practical about these matters. There is no respectable solution to this problem at this point, if Charlotte is to not return.”

He was right. As twisted as this was, was there another option? 

Who would want to associate with a family who couldn’t keep an eye on their eldest? Who would want to invite a family who let their daughter run away to their breakfast party? Who would want to court the sister of the woman who ran off from her own marriage? Who would want to marry the daughter of disgraced family? 

The more you thought about it, the more you realized there were few options. You were now too socially stained to marry anyone. Your days would be spent alone. Sitting in your house as others lived their lives happy and free, laughing at you behind closed doors.

Your family had no other options out. 

A marriage to a man who belonged to a knighted family would earn you respect. It would be telling society that at least one man from a respectable house saw worth in you. You would still go to events not as a figure of pity and ridicule, but as one of them- even ranking above them.

You didn’t want to be a figure of ridicule. Someone who everyone would smugly turn. Whispering to each other “how glad I am that I’m not her!”

You had to marry. And marry well.

You would never be proposed to at this point. There would be no courtship. No dances. No poetry. No marriage proposals. No valentines. No love letters. No Passion. No balls. No laughter.

But there was never going to be a proposal like this.

No future. No safety. Nothing if you denied your father or refused him or rebelled as Lottie did.

You would just be tied and tethered to a ruined family all of your days. But becoming Lady Sharpe would free you from that. You could start anew. Spring again like a wild tiger breaking out of its cage to bear her claws.

And this was your only chance.

“Yes, papa. It will be an honor.” you replied. You would do your duty, as all daughters must.

Father walked out from behind, abandoning his drink. He put a hand on your shoulder and then pulled you for a hug.

“There’s my brave girl,” he said.

He released the hug.

“Alright, Sir Sharpe is going to visit at dinner tomorrow. And my associates at work will be there too, to celebrate. That way, you will have a formal introdution and you won’t be walking down the aisle to a complete stranger.”

You felt your fists grab your skirt. With your free hand, you grabbed your cup of brandy and downed it in one gulp. The burning ran through your body, and you prayed it would calm your racing mind.

“Do I need to wear my nicest dress?” you asked. You at least didn’t want Sir Sharpe to think he was settling from the society beauty. Downgraded from the Wild Rose to her frump sister.

“Considering he has already said yes to this arrangement, I doubt wearing your ugliest dress will do anything to about the matter,” replied your father.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

Anne dressed you in a cream dinner dress of country silk and velvet. Your sleeves puffed like clouds. there was lace as a “belt” around your waist. The bottom showed an underskirt that was a color between light brown and pink. Anne had hair like yours, and knew how to style it as you liked. Your dress almost white in the light. Already you were going to meet Thomas looking like a bride.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed seven o clock. You thought you would sweat through your dress. Part of you was tempted to lock the door and not step a foot out the whole night. But you knew you could not delay the meeting anymore. At this rate, you would just meet him on your wedding day. You just had to get it over with.

Besides, you were going to spend the rest of your life with him until only death or divorce did you part. You were just holding back the inevitable. 

“You look beautiful, miss,” she gushed as she looked at you.

“I wish I was as pretty as Lottie, sometimes. Or as brave as her…” you lamented quietly.

“Don’t compare yourself to her, miss. You know she has her own sufferings. And it will only make you more unhappy.” Anne advised, giving you a pearl necklace. She attached it to you from behind. 

 Both of you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Anne leaned in closer with an encouraging smile. “Just think of all this like armor to a battle, Miss Y/N. You can’t give up the fight, yet.”

I can be brave, like Lottie. I can fight, like she can. You thought. How could you be as stupid as to forget your own advice to her not long ago? You would do your best to find the way to make it a good situation. Manipulate your position and standing to your favor, even. For that was what women always did. For being the “weaker sex”, they always found a way through to survive. So what made you think you would just cry and pity yourself all of your days?

You reminded yourself of this. Still you felt heart racing hard as if the gallows was what awaited you next month and not the altar. Holding your head high, like a queen in her palace, you walked out of your room and downstairs.

A few women had shown up in the foyer. They eyed you greedily but you would not give them a figure to be pitied. You kept a stoic face as they offered a few tepid congratulations. But you felt so buzzed with anxiety, you only half heard.

“We’re so happy you found a husband,” said one.

Husband- husband! A husband! A fiancee! How was it that it happened already? And with no romantic proposal in a moonlit garden away from a ball. Just in an office that smelled of whiskey with your father relaying that you were now engaged. And your husband- no, you weren’t married yet, no need to panic now. Though you saw no men around, you knew that your fiancee was under this roof. 

You didn’t feel ready. You felt like you were just an adolescent playing dress up and not a grown adult. 

“Ah! There you are, YN!” your father greeted as he walked over, dressed in his evening tuxedo. He offered his arm.

“He’s in the library, sharing a drink with the other men. I think it’s time I introduce you both,” he announced.

Swallowing, you took his arm. The one thing keeping you afloat in the ocean of turmoil raging inside you.

Papa walked you over to the library. Your heart picked up as if you were running. In just a few short seconds, you would see the man you were bound to for the rest of your life. Your mind was itself running at a hundred miles a second and you felt yourself shaking like a leaf.

Father turned to the door and your fears screamed inside of you.

You dreaded what your sister said. Her voice ringing in your ears bemoaning Thomas’s apparent ugliness.

“He has a big forehead and big ears and a big old nose!”

He was ugly. You had to settle for that. But what made you were frightened was that perhaps he was a bad person. Perhaps he would hurt you, betray you, break you even.

Wait…didn’t Lottie say herself he wouldn’t treat her in that way? But…you weren’t Lottie! He could act completely differently…

No…you were forming an entire judgement on someone you hadn’t even met!

But, even if he wasn’t handsome…perhaps he would be a nice man. Men didn’t have to be handsome to be good. They could be kind, respectful, patient, gentle, genuinely kind husbands.

So which one was he? A kind, pure soul? Or an irredeemale monster?

Both? In between? Neither? There was only one way to find out. And the answer was standing with the other men beyond that wall.

You took in a deep breath, your father opened the door.

The dark green, musty library already smelled of cigars. Lottie would have loved it. There was a bit of laughter, as their smoke floated to the air. Cups of whiskey was passed and there was talk of this and that issue in Parliment. So many men in black suits like a horde clamored around, as if each one was copied from the other.

Your father cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen, may I introduce to you my daughter, Miss Y/L/N.”

Once, it was Lottie who was “Miss Y/L/N” and you just went by Miss and your first name after. But now that she was gone, you were promoted up. You were Miss Y/L/N and the family’s fortune and future were already on you like a yoke you had to drag across the field.

“It appears that for one of you, you are about to be a very lucky man next month…” your father continued.

One by ones, heads turned to see you. Some in curiosity. Some in boredom. Some in hunger seeing your neckline. You were already making guesses as to who your fiancee was with each passing face. Already one man had a curled mustache. Another had grey hair with busy sideburns. Another round spectacles and short brown hair with a mousy face. Most of them were wrinkled, lined with grey, with a gruffness to their demenaer.

“Sir Sharpe,” your father announced, turning his head.

Your eyes followed at once. That is him- you thought. That  is him! That is him, that is him, thatishimthatishimthatishim-

An old man patted a hand on the shoulder of another. The younger had hair had longer, dark curls He was so deep in conversation with someone that he almost forgot. The grandfather nudged him. The younger figure paused.

“Thomas! I believe your lady is here.”

Then he turned around. 

Thomas Sharpe was the handsomest man you had ever seen. 

The breath you had was knocked out again as you took him in. What on earth was Lottie thinking? Looking at him, you began to question her taste and strength of vision.

Thomas was a tall man with a hair full of raven curls. Slender, but not thin for he had a broad chest. Soft blue eyes that only contrasted with his dark hair and a face the color of porcelain. You now understood the fairy tale of Snow White and why she was the fairest in all the land. For the male equivalent was here before you. He had high cheekbones and large hands. He looked like the hero of a Bronte novel, but one if the author confirmed his handsomeness rather than his ugliness. 

He looked into your eyes and he smiled at you. Butterflies fluttered around your stomach and you could feel your eyes widening.

Your father gestured at him and he walked over.

“Sir Sharpe, this is my daughter.Your fiancee.” your father announced.

“Miss, I am glad to finally be acquainted with you. You look beautiful, tonight,” Sir Sharpe greeted. 

He raised your hand to his lips and looked right into your eyes as kissed your hand. A gasp could not even escape your throat. Something was stirring beneath you when his lips touched your gloved hand. You felt a sensation you dared not name in the most private part of you. 

Finally, steeling yourself back to the earth, you remembered basic etiquette.

“Thank you, Sir Sharpe. I am glad to make your acquaintance as well,” you replied with a curtsy.

Sir Sharpe sat across from you at dinner. You hardly said a word unless someone asked you something. 

You couldn’t believe this. You couldn’t believe him. You somehow found your appetite again and ate. But you felt self conscious with each bite. Thomas was watching you- what was he seeing? Would he judge you? You moved even more carefully and properly as you could.

 Every time your eyes met,  Every time he looked at you, a heat rushed through your whole body and your eyes would return demurely back to your plate or the napkin on your lap. When he smiled at you, you felt as if you could die. You had to remember your feet was touching the ground as you wiggled your toes in your pointed shoes.. 

He spoke poliely when asked to, but mainly listened. There was polite talk about the weather or the Ascot opening race. Thomas would ask you about what you thought and you found your replies were timid. You didn’t want to make a wrong move, you didn’t want him to hate you, you didn’t want-

Then your father stood up, raising a glass.

“Now, everyone,” he declared. “Let us have a toast. To Sir Sharpe, the delightful Baronet who I have the honor to call my son in law not long from now. And to the marriage of my beloved, dutiful daughter-”

You found yourself looking down. Dutiful, dutiful. This was why you were here. Lottie was not dutiful and broke everything. But now here you were to fix it all. For everyone’s sakes, including yours. It would have be you thrown to face the unknown of marriage to this unknown aristocrat. Yes, he was handsome. But he was still a stranger.

“Cheers!” toasted your father.

Everyone replied with cheers as they clinked glasses. Thomas gave you another smile and clinked yours. You felt yourself become timid. His looks, his smiles, and you were acting no better than an loony adolescent.

Thomas delayed going to after-dinner sips of brandy with the other men. He remained in the parlor with the women sipping on coffee and went to you. He led you over to a corner away from nosy mamas. He spoke lowly, for you to hear.

“How are you, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked.

“If I must be entirely honest, I am afraid,” you confessed.

His eyes softened at you. They were the color of a spring sky. You had never seen eyes as blue as his.

“YN, I know this is sudden. And I’m shocked as you are. But…”

He offered his hand and you took it. Your glove over his skin. Then he placed his other over yours, and already you found yourself chilled comparing his large hand to your own. To feeling that one bit of touch. For now you were almost married, and to touch was permitted.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me…I will try to make you happy, with everything I can.” he promised.

“Nothing will happen to me. You won’t hurt me. And you won’t let anyone hurt me, will you?” you asked.

A shadow of sadness passed over his face.

“No. I won’t.”

[k-writer17]

Tom and Zawe 🩶

Sat in the audience for strictly come dancing on BBC1

The way there holding hands in the last photo 😩😭

[jokeringcutio]

I see you have Crimson Peak listed for fics 👀

Picture this: Sir Thomas Sharpe doesn't have a sister and was never abused, therefore never got into the black widower routine. He's just a struggling inventor in London to wrangle investors for his machine because he's the last of his crumbling family line.

Reader is an heiress who rarely gets out because she's anxious and prone to panic attacks. Quite a sweet and pretty girl, but her parents are ashamed of her and hide her away.

Anyway there's a Halloween masquerade being held in town and both reader and Thomas attend (whether they sneak in or not is up to you) and they meet. They both feel more at home with each other than anyone else in the city, and start seeing each other secretly and fall in love.

Up to you if he asks permission to marry her or they elope and the parents pay to cover it up, but they get married and use her money to fund his inventions and fix up crimson peak. And have kid(s) to continue the family line.

A happy romantic story for two sweet and ignored people 🥰 (smut scene if you wanna, but it should be romantic)

-🐀

AN: Follow me for more Halloween Reader Inserts. More stories will follow this month.

Sir Thomas Sharpe x Reader – Halloween (Sweet AU) Fandom: Crimson Peak Pairing: Sir Thomas Sharpe x Reader Rating: Teen Summary:  AU in which Sir Thomas Sharpe never had his sister corrupt him and meets Reader at a Halloween masquerade.

Warnings: None Really. Romance. Talk about marriage and kids. Drama. Tiny bit of Angst? Sorry it was written in a rush. Possible Cameo for Albert Shaw.

Charity

In the comfort of your tower chamber, you stood, gazing out of the circle-top window at the people who passed in the streets below. You didn’t feel the need to be among them, content to be up here by yourself in a room full of comfort and little knick-knacks. You had your peace and quiet and you were content with it.

The wealth you had been born in, and the hefty salary that your parents paid you each month, was enough to ensure you wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the entirety of your life. Rich, others would call you. But if they could see your bedroom they might doubt that you were.

You didn’t feel the need for all the lavishness that money could grant you. You hardly spent a dime other than the usual necessities. Material possessions had little interest for you. Instead, you found solace in spending your money on charity, giving away some of your income to charities on a steady base.

It was almost fitting, then, that your heart would be captured by a man who was once a charity case himself.

You met him during one of the few occasions where you were allowed to venture out of your tower where your parents usually kept you locked away… like a secret. They were ashamed because you were still a spinster in your twenties. And you could not blame them. People looked at you oddly and whispered behind your back in the streets. And so you didn’t want to go out and be among them any longer, hiding yourself much to your parents’ relief.

But there were such occasions where you would go out. Usually small balls or events with family and close friends. Sometimes, to bigger events where you knew that people would not be able to recognize you.

You feared their reactions if they saw you, feared what they would say or do.

The yearly Halloween Masquerade was an event you dreaded. The stuffy ballroom, the leering gazes, the suffocating press of bodies all around - it threatened to bring forth the panic attacks that plagued your life. Yet tonight, as you stood at the edge of the dance floor, your eyes took in the beautiful sight of the latest fashion dresses and suits. Beautiful women and men danced together, their masks hiding their faces, yet they grew intimate in their dance. You wondered how it felt, had done so for a while, but at the same time weren’t keen to experience it yourself.

You tried to hide away, to not be noticed, despite the dress you wore; the silken emerald fabric hugged your curves and cascaded down to the floor, shimmering with each movement. The intricate golden mask on your face only partially concealed your identity, but it was enough to give you a fleeting sense of anonymity. People still stopped to ask you for a dance. Men still stopped.

You disliked their leering gazes, the way their eyes seemed to undress you from behind the masks. And so you tried your best to avoid dancing with them. Their intentions were clear, and you were not interested in any of them. Your heart raced, anxiety clawing its way up your throat. If only this evening could come to an end.

And then, a familiar face appeared among the crowd. Your savior. Giselle, one of the few friends you had, came rushing towards you in a gown matching your own. Her wide smile a beacon of relief.

"Would you care to dance?" she asked, her eyes twinkling behind her mask. Finally, you were rescued.

Gratitude surged through you, and a genuine smile bloomed on your face. "I'd love to."

As you danced with Giselle, the familiar pressure in your chest began to dissipate. Her laughter, light and carefree, seemed to chase away the shadows that clung to your heart. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to enjoy the sensation of being alive. And you laughed; a pure, wholehearted smile.

Your joy was noted.

As you and Giselle danced, you felt the burning gaze of someone on your form. You carefully started to glance around.

“What are you doing?” Giselle asked, having noticed how your eyes traced the room.

“Someone’s watching me,” you mumbled, just loud enough for your voice to be carried over the tones of the music.

Giselle chuckled as she spun you around gracefully. “Of course, people are watching us,” she said, a sneer appeared on her face. “The Duke of Sparington has been trying to get my attention all evening. I’m so glad to get away. The guy’s in his forties and already has two kids and a tummy like a barrel. If I were to marry him he’d kill me in his sleep just by rolling over and ending on top of me.”

At this, you couldn’t help but laugh again, even though Giselle seemed to be grimacing at your reaction. It was obvious that she was repulsed by the man who had decided to chase her.

“Tell me, for the love of God,” you started, “That your parents won’t allow the match.”

But Giselle sighed deeply. “They’re much like yours,” she muttered, squeezing your hand a little too tightly as you continued the dance. “Eager to have me wed, even though they said to have given up on me already.”

Your eyes turned wide. “Well, you must convince them to hand you to another. If not younger, then at least thinner so you won’t be suffocated during your night’s rest.”

Giselle grinned at this, appreciating the joke. But you knew her situation was slightly different than yours. Albeit having been born in money pretty much like you had, Giselle’s dowry wasn’t nearly as large as yours. And her parents could not hide her away like yours had with you. The day for her to marry seemed to be closing in with each passing year.

You dreaded the thought.

If only we could marry for love, you thought solemnly. You held Giselle’s hand in your own as you spun around the room. And as the music swelled, your eyes drifted across the ballroom, settling on a figure who stood in stark contrast to the colorful array of masks and costumes. He was tall, slender yet muscular, clad in black as though he were an ethereal shadow amidst the sea of gaiety. His piercing blue eyes seemed to draw you in, ensnaring you with their intensity.

You couldn't look away. It was as if an invisible thread connected you both, pulling tighter with each passing second. Desire coursed through your veins, leaving you breathless. The world around you blurred, leaving only the two of you locked in this magnetic dance of longing.

This was the man who had been watching you. This was the gaze you had felt all along.

"Your turn," Giselle whispered, releasing your hand. It was then that the dark stranger approached, his movements fluid and graceful as he closed the distance between you.

"May I have this dance?" His voice was soft, yet carried an undertone of command.

"Of course," you breathed, entranced by the mysterious man before you. As he took your hand, electricity sparked between you, igniting a fire deep within your soul.

"Thomas Sharpe," he introduced himself as the two of you began to sway to the music. His low voice sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

Your bodies moved in perfect harmony as if you'd danced together countless times before. He was good, you noticed. Kept his rhythm well and moved fluently, despite his tall height and rather stiff appearance. This mysterious man took you by surprise completely.

You whispered your name and gazed up at the masked stranger. His blue eyes seemed warm as they lay upon you, peering through the holes of the black and blue mask. The silver lines only emphasized the blue of his eyes, making him seem more like a spirit than a man. Could he be real?

“I haven’t seen you here before,” you murmured, weakly, as you tried to focus on the steps you took with your feet. Focusing was hard, because Thomas’s scent and warmth distracted you, and brought your mind to places your mother would describe as the gutter.

How did this man manage to bring about such wicked thoughts, you wondered? Especially now that you could not even see his full face?

“Ah, yes. That is because I am not from around here,” Thomas replied, and that would explain it all. During your years living here, you’d become familiar with most faces of the high society. And many of them you wished you’d never seen. “I’m only visiting shortly in an attempt to raise sponsors willing to support my cause.”

“And what cause is that?” you asked, eyes meeting his as the two of you swayed gently from side to side.

Something in Thomas’s eyes lit up, like the subject you allowed him to talk about brought him real joy. Joy, and something else. Hope, you wondered?

"I'm working on a machine to mine red clay from the earth surrounding my family's estate," Thomas explained, his eyes burning with passion. "I believe it has the potential to bring great wealth, but I'm in desperate need of funding."

Red bells went off inside your mind. Another gold digger, you thought. You’d seen them before, met them before, although they never had such a great impact as Thomas had.

"Red clay?" You frowned, intrigued by the man and his ambitions. Was he not just another suitor seeking your fortune, but someone fueled by dreams and desires much like your own?

"Indeed, it's a valuable resource with numerous applications," he continued, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "But my family's fortune has dwindled, and our estate is crumbling,” here he paused, giving you time to think. “I'm determined to restore it to its former glory."

"Tell me more," you urged, your heart pounding as power and desire mingled within you. He was a man of ambition, and you felt drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

As the music played on and the dance floor spun around you, Thomas spoke of his dreams, his lips brushing against your ear with each whispered word. The world outside ceased to exist - it was just you and Thomas, bound together by shared passions and undeniable attraction.

"Thomas," you breathed, feeling as if you were on the brink of something dangerous, yet incredibly thrilling. Your fingers intertwined, creating a bond that seemed unbreakable.

"Time seems to stand still with you," he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

And in that moment, you knew that your life would never be the same.

Perhaps the decision you took was rash. But you had thought about it, had done so for years before this moment had come. You had refused every man who had come to your door simply because you hadn’t felt that spark. You even had started to think you were incapable of feeling such feelings at all. But then Thomas came onto the scene, and he rose feelings inside of you that you had never felt before.

Love. Lust.

Both feelings combined made you feel powerful and strong. If you could feel this for a man, then surely, you would have to chase the chance to be with him. If he wouldn’t want to have you, then so be it, but you at least had to try. You had always been honest about your feelings and had always listened to your heart when you made decisions.

Your heart raced as you pulled Thomas closer, your fingers entwined like tendrils of ivy. The music swelled around you, a wild torrent that threatened to drown out everything else.

"Thomas," you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. "I... I like you."

The words hung in the air between you, a fragile confession that could shatter at any moment. He looked both elated and afraid, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable. What an odd reaction, you thought, alarmed by the fear you saw in his eyes. Did he not want you? You knew it was only one meeting that you had, a few dances that you shared, but there was that spark. That moment when the two of you had gazed into each other’s eyes and had forgotten the world.

Surely, that must have meant something to him, right?

"Truly?" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. But then his grip on you faltered and you whimpered sadly when his arms fell away. A rejection, you thought upset.

"Sweet girl of mine,” Thomas whispered, the affection making you flinch because it felt so right – but you feared that in a moment he would be gone.

“I can’t give you what you need,” Thomas continued, voice laced with pain. As if admitting this hurt him more than you could possibly imagine. His hand reached for yours again, gently holding it.

“I haven't much to offer. My family's fortune is nearly gone, our estate in ruins...You’d be cold and far away from your family, living with a man who is hardly more than a bagger, trying to scrape back his family’s fortune and bringing back some lost glory to the Sharpe’s name."

"None of that matters to me," you assured him, feeling a strange mixture of fear and exhilaration. It was as if you were free-falling, the ground rushing towards you at breakneck speed. “I would like to explore the possibilities of there being an us. Of you being with me.”

But before he could respond, the music screeched to a halt, leaving you breathless and off-balance. Thomas' grip on your hand loosened, and he looked away, his eyes flicking towards the shadows that lingered at the edge of the ballroom.

"Please excuse me," he muttered, slipping away from you like water through your fingers. You watched him go, feeling bereft and adrift in the suddenly too-large room.

"Who was that?" Giselle asked, appearing at your side with a concerned frown. "You look... shaken."

"Thomas Sharpe," you murmured, still searching for him among the swirling throng of dancers. "He just... left."

"Perhaps it's for the best," she suggested, her gaze following yours. "Forget about him, darling. Dance the night away with me instead."

2.

The next day, you found yourself holed up in your tower chamber, the memory of your dance with Thomas haunting your every waking moment. You had inquired after him, researched him, desperate for any scrap of information that might help you understand the man who had so thoroughly captivated you. Luckily, your parents and their servants could provide you with all the information you might need.

"Sir Thomas Sharpe," you whispered to yourself, tracing the letters on the page with your fingertips. "Baronet and engineer."

You learned that his family line was dwindling. He was the last alive, with no heir to carry on the name. His house, once grand and imposing, now lay in ruins - a testament to the passage of time and the ravages of decay. But despite it all, Thomas still dreamed of resurrecting his family's fortune with his ambitious red clay mining project.

And you thought he might be onto something.

With renewed vigor, you set about drawing up plans for his machine, inspired by the conversation you'd shared while dancing. The hours slipped away as you sketched and calculated, determined to lend your own talents to his cause.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you spread the blueprints across the table, studying them with a critical eye. This was something real, something tangible that could bring you closer to the man who had stolen your heart in one dizzying waltz.

"Thomas Sharpe," you murmured again, feeling the name curl around your tongue like a secret. "I'll find you... I promise."

3.

A new day dawned, and you found yourself summoned to the drawing room. The request, although not unusual, surprised you, because your mother demanded you’d be presentable. Fear gripped your heart at that because it could only mean one thing.

A suitor.

And how you dreaded to come face to face with a man whose visage or demeanor repulsed you. Especially now that your mind was set on only one man in the entire universe.

The door creaked open to reveal Thomas standing there in front of your parents, hat in hand, his black coat clinging to his slender frame. His gaze met yours, a piercing blue that sent a shiver down your spine and weakened your knees. This was the first time you properly saw his face and oh-my! He was handsome. More so than you had envisaged him to be in your dreams. It felt as if your heart stopped beating entirely and as if the world froze in a blizzard of roses and butterflies. This man.

But wait, had he come looking for you?

"Miss," he began, his voice soft as silk, "I must confess that ever since our encounter at the masquerade, I have been unable to forget you." There was something gritty about his voice that betrayed the truth of his words. As if he had tried his best to put you out of his mind and had failed.

You liked that, though. You liked the thought of him being unable to forget you. It meant he was as much on your mind as you were on his. Your heart raced at his admission, but you fought to maintain your composure.

Your parents, who had been watching the exchange with keen interest, seemed to light up at the whole display. Your father spoke with enthusiasm, "Sir Thomas Sharpe here asked for your hand in marriage,” he said to you. “I think it would be a wonderful match.”

Your heart skipped a beat as your mother turned to Thomas with a smile. “Sir Thomas, we would be honored to welcome you into our family."

Thomas stood rigidly, and you could have missed the relief that flooded his eyes entirely had you not been looking at them. There was a sudden warmth to his gaze that told you that this was what he had come for.

But at the same time, you felt doubt cling to your heart. You wanted him, but… he stood so rigid, so unmoving. Like a true gentleman, you thought. But were your parents aware of his misfortune, you wondered? Or had he tricked them into making a match? The rich spinster whose parents feel embarrassed, eager to marry her off to a man with a pretty title who seems to have captured their daughter’s heart. The first to have achieved this.

"Mother," you whispered, pulling her aside, and out of the drawing room where you would have a bit of privacy and the men couldn’t hear. "I don't understand. He is poor, why are you encouraging this?"

"Darling," she replied in a hushed tone, her breath warm against your ear, "you have the funds, he has the need. It's your duty to marry and secure our family's future.”

“His house is in shambles, you told me yourself,” you whispered. “Aren’t you afraid he will usurp all of my resources? Have you considered he might only want to marry me because of my wealth?”

But your mother shook her head and smiled. “Listen, dear, Thomas seems to behave like a true gentleman. You could do worse. Besides,” here she paused and you waited full of anticipation to hear what argument she was going to use next, “even if he is poor, he needs an heir. And it is your duty as a woman to continue the line of our family. And quite frankly, I haven’t seen you as interested in a man in all of my life. Just take this opportunity and don’t ruin it. You’re going to be a good mom, give birth to a son to ensure a safe future for yourself and our family, and I will finally have the grandchildren I so desire."

Anger bubbled within you, hot and fierce. You wanted to marry for love, not obligation. And you decided to tell your mother as much.

“I won’t marry just to be a breeding mare,” you hissed. “If I marry it’ll be out of love. Not out of obligation.”

The creaking of the floorboards made you look up in shock to meet deep blue eyes of Thomas as he rounded the corner. How much had he heard? There was a sadness in his eyes that quickly melted into a fierce determination. Oh no, your heart raced as your mind clouded with disastrous scenarios. His face was pale - paler than before - and his eyes widened in shock.

"Thomas," you tried to reach out to him, but he stepped back, the hurt in his eyes unmistakable.

"Forgive me, Miss. Coming here was a mistake. I must take my leave," he said, his voice barely a whisper. And without another word, he left the room, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and mind racing.

“Sir Thomas!” Your mother called out, running after him as fast as her skirts would allow. You knew you’d be in trouble now.

Don’t ruin it, your mother had said, only milliseconds before you’d done just that.  

You watched Thomas go, a flurry of black coat and wounded pride. The memory of his touch, his scent, and his voice haunted you, taunting you with the promise of what could have been. But as the door closed behind him, a cold, hard truth settled in your bones. You had lost him, and it was unlikely you would ever find him again.

4.

Days had passed since your last encounter with Thomas, and the ache in your chest grew stronger. The walls of your chamber felt suffocating, so you defied your parents' wishes and ventured outside into the bustling streets. Your reappearance caused whispers to spread like wildfire; some marveled at your beauty and kindness despite your reclusive nature, while others gossiped about your unmarried status.

Returning home, cheeks flushed from the cool air, your heart sank as you found a man you had known all of your life as Uncle Al - one of your neighbors – speaking to your father in hushed tones. It was apparent he was asking for your hand in marriage.

"Please, sir," the man said, desperation lacing his voice, "I can provide for her."

"Give me away?" You scoffed, anger boiling inside you. "To him?"

The man had known you from when you were a little child and was older than you by far.  You had been shocked by the amount of men at your parents’ door recently, but to see him. The neighbor who had always been so kind to you… It was unsettling.

“You can’t be serious,” you said, uncaring if it hurt the man’s feelings. “He’s nearly as old as you!”

Your father's eyes narrowed, clearly displeased by your outburst. “Nearly as old, perhaps,” he said, voice low like a warning. “But he is a good friend of our family and he deserves a bit of happiness.”

Your neighbor stood up a little straighter, a lustful gleam in his eye as his gaze fell upon you. You felt a shiver run down your spine. No, you thought. No way you’d give him the heirs your mother so wanted. Your heart already belonged to another and you had made up your mind a little while ago.

“And a bit more respect as well, don’t you agree?” The hiss made it clear that your father was not to be argued with, and so you directed your gaze down at the ground and muttered a brief apology.

Al seemed to accept it, for a smile took possession of his lips and he turned back to your father again. “Such an endearing creature,” you heard him say, voice like silk. “Whyever have you kept her away from us for so long?”

Because of this, you thought, sadly. Your parents might have feared this. And with a start, you realized how you had set your own demise into motion. That they hadn’t as much locked you away out of shame as well as to protect you from all the unwanted gazes and proposals of men twice your age or more. They knew you hadn’t wanted to marry and had given you the space. But now, society demands them to hand you over to someone. And who better than a family friend they had known all of their lives?

“It is settled then,” you heard Al say and lifted your gaze to see him shake your father’s hand. Your father forced a smile, though you recognized by now that it did not reach his eyes.

A measurement out of necessity. A must. You thought with a shock. Unable to look at the two men any longer, you turned on your heels and ran away. Your bedroom felt safe, for now, high up in your tower, as you threw yourself upon the bed and clutched your pillows tight.

“Not him,” you breathed through tears. “Not Al.” No matter how kind your neighbor had been when you were smaller, he was old and started to grey. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Thomas and didn’t have the same voice or scent.

And there he was again. Thomas never seemed to leave your mind.

After you calmed down enough, you pushed yourself off the bed. Your chest heaved with fury as you went to stare out the window, your breath fogging the cold glass.

You weren’t looking at anything in particular when your gaze fell upon the familiar figure of Thomas across the street. You’d been occupied with your own thoughts, and it took you a few seconds before you realized that your gazes had crossed. All this time you had been searching for him. You knew he was still in the area, knew he had made visits to unsuccessfully gain sponsors to fund his work. But you’d never been able to catch sight of him. And here he was, underneath your window, staring at you from across the street with silent admiration.

How long had he been there?

Your heart leaped. Not wasting another second, you rushed down the stairs and outside, the door slamming behind you.

"Thomas!" You called, seeing how he had turned and was walking away from you. Despite the street being busy this time of the day, you followed his tall shape, running past people and making your way zigzagging through the crowd. The top hat he wore indicated where he went. “Thomas, wait!”

But he kept walking. And just when you started to get out of breath, you saw him come to a standstill. Relieved, you caught your breath and ran towards him. It was as if he waited for you, standing tall and proud, his back still turned towards you. Then he slowly turned around to face you, a sad expression marred his features. His blue eyes were full of turmoil.

"Dear girl,” he murmured, his blue eyes shimmering with unspoken emotions. "I know you must think me a monster, standing underneath your window like I have…”

You shook your head fiercely. “No, not at all,” you breathed.

“I must confess, I have been watching you more frequently these days. I tried to forget, but… I felt drawn to your window more and more, just to catch a glimpse of you,” Thomas admitted, silently. He hung his head in shame. But his blue eyes were kept firmly upon you. “My heart still beats for you."

His admission sent shivers down your spine, your desire for him growing stronger like a moth drawn to a flame.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a hug. Surprise was visible on his face, but only for a moment. Then, he carefully wrapped his arms around you, holding you in an embrace.

“When I said I would not marry out of obligation, I also said I wanted to marry out of love,” you whispered, aware that Thomas could hear. “It is you I have always been waiting for. I want no other.”

Thomas pulled away from the embrace and looked deep into your eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. He found none.

He slowly leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, his hands gently caressing your face. The kiss was soft and tender but quickly intensified. As you pulled away, the hunger in your eyes was evident. Without saying a word, you grabbed Thomas's hand, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within you.

You led Thomas back to your home. “You must talk to my father again,” you said, still holding his hand in your own. You could feel his eyes upon you, burning with desire. “He just gave me away to another.”

“Another?” Thomas sounded as if he hardly could believe his ears, and you felt how his grip on your hand inadvertently intensified. Once he noticed his bodily reaction, he looked ashamed at your joined hands and relieved some of the pressure, holding your hand gently again.

“I said I wouldn’t, but,” you hesitated, chewing your lip pensively as the both of you stood in front of your parents’ home, glancing up at the tower that you slept in. “Since I have been going out, people have started to notice me.”

You turned to Thomas, eyes locking, and found a look of wonder in his. “A spinster,” you clarified, gently squeezing his hand. “Society has been building up pressure until my father had to relent. I need to be married for the honor of the family name.”

“Then lead me inside,” Thomas said, voice hoarse, almost as if there was a hidden second layer to his words. Inside, it purred inside your mind. Yes, that was where you wanted him. In you, around you, part of you. And so, you led him inside, determined to make your parents see reason. As you entered the parlor, their disapproving eyes bore into you.

"Father, Mother, look who I have brought home," you said, their heads turning to look at the two of you in wonder. There you stood, hand in hand with the man of your dreams. Thomas’s eyes were glinting, a tremble to his smile. Hope, that was the right word. He radiated hope.

"Thomas?" Your father sounded surprised. "The struggling inventor?"

“Sir Thomas Sharpe,” Thomas said firmly, taking you and your parents by surprise. “I might lack the funds for the comfort your daughter deserves, but I have an abundance of love for her. I asked you before and I beg you to consider me again. Annul the agreement with the other suitor to her hand. Your daughter and I are in love. And I will pledge to keep her safe and care for your daughter and our children, if we are blessed to have any, until the end of my days.”

The speech was long, heart-warming, and rendered you speechless. As you watched Thomas he seemed to transform into something else, something ethereal. A glowing creature, full of power and passion. It only confirmed the choice you had made.

Your parents stood there, silently, But you could tell by their faces that they were deep in thought.

"His heart is true, and he loves me," you insisted, gripping Thomas's hand even tighter. "Do you not wish for my happiness?"

A tense silence filled the room until your mother finally spoke, her voice barely audible. "Very well, we shall accept his proposal."

Relief washed over Thomas's face, his eyes brimming with gratitude and love. The weight of your decision hung in the air, heavy but necessary. And that night you had your first meal together. The next morning was spent walking and chatting, getting to know each other a little better.

And as the days passed by, you had no regrets.

Months later, with your dowry spent on tools and materials, you watched as Thomas began to build his machines according to a combination of your designs and his own. His hands, once soft and delicate, grew calloused as he toiled away in his workshop. You watched from the shadows, pride swelling in your chest as his dreams slowly came to life.

Life in your new home wasn't easy; the roof leaked, the walls were damp, and the cold seeped through every crack. But together, you made it work. When you discovered you were pregnant, the hardships only intensified. You were sick quite often and with no servants to tend to your needs, you had to do everything around the house yourself. You fell ill during pregnancy, running a fever that made Thomas fear for both your life as well as that of your unborn child. But you survived and got better. And despite the challenges, love kept you warm. Your shared passion was like an inferno against the bitterness of the world.

By the time your child arrived, a fragile, wailing bundle, Thomas's business had begun to flourish. You supported him unwaveringly, standing by his side as he navigated the treacherous waters of entrepreneurship.

"Thank you, my love," he murmured one night as you lay entwined beneath threadbare blankets, your child nestled between you. "Without you, none of this would be possible."

"Thank you," you whispered back, tears glistening in the moonlight. "For giving me a life worth living."

Slowly but surely, Thomas's business continued to grow, allowing you to repair your home and provide for your growing family. Life was still tough, but it was a life filled with love, laughter, and the knowledge that you had chosen the right path.

And so, with your children surrounding you, you lived out your days as a happy family, bound together by the unyielding force of love, triumphing against all odds.

~ Fin ~

AN: Liked my work? :) ♡ Support me on Ko-Fi ♡ Love you all

[starks-hero]

Forever fighting the urge to write a corpse bride au with him <3

Give me a listen you corpses of cheer, at least those of you who still got an ear. I'll tell you a story that'll make a skeleton gloom, of our own jubiliciously lovely corpse groom.

[mischiefandlies]

You're a pain in my neck

Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Masterlist

Notes: yo, I'm just starting my classics course and Google said Mr. Hiddleston himself also studied it (posh bastard, of course he did). Figured I'd make a little fic, but made it super cheesy and teenagery, bc why not? It's also my first time writing for Tom btw, not sure if I'll do it again.

(Also, sorry if the Shakespeare is wrong, I was doing it from memory b/c i couldn’t be bothered to fact check it.)

Warning: none? but I've left a little note at the end too.

You hadn’t been studying classics for very long, but the gods interested you greatly. You used to read myths as a child, Theseus and the Minotaur, or Orpheus and Eurydice, or even the trials of Hercules. You and your brother grew up on Greek tragedies and tales, so you had chosen to keep learning ten years on. The course covered both Roman and Greek mythology, politics, literature. Along the way however, your studies took you to other types of myth. Egyptian and Greek culture were closely related, but the European mythology around Celtic and Norse mythology was what really took your fancy.

You were sat in the library re-reading the myth of Athena and Arachne when you heard a man’s voice speak. “Is this seat taken?”

You glanced up. In front of you was a young man, blonde unruly curls atop his head, and a shy smile on his face. You smiled back, “Take it. I’m not waiting on anyone.”

He slid his rucksack off and sat across from you. “Thanks. I’m new here, so still finding my feet.”

“Me too,” you reply. “Just trying to get through the week.”

“What are you studying?” he asks.

“Classics and Sociology. You?”

“I’m doing classics too!” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N”

“I’m Tom. Nice to meet you.”

You began to meet in the library regularly. Tom and you seemed to get on really well, helping each other with essays and chatting about life. The two of you began to meet often, catching coffee and studying together, going to the cinema, trips to museums and the like. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the two of you were only friends. When he came to you about advice about girls, asking people out, or just lovelife gossip, you could feel your heart constrict painfully. In all honesty, he was probably one of the most genuine people you had ever met, and you didn’t want to ask him out for fear of ruining whatever friendship the two of you shared. And, even if you did decide to take that leap of faith, there was no way to be sure that he would feel the same. He certainly hadn’t given you any indication of liking you, he had been friendly, and on occasion flirty, but nothing ever came of it. It was like everything you wanted was dangling right in front of you, but you just couldn’t reach to grab it for fear of falling.

Tom, little did you know, was in much the same predicament. His mates had actually nicknamed you “Mrs H” because of the puppy eyes he had whenever he saw you. He admired you; the way you spoke so eloquently, your intelligence, your beauty. The way you could stand your ground confidently, backing yourself no matter what. He often found that when you and he were debating ancient politics or learning Latin phrases, he would find himself zoning out, too busy daydreaming about an imaginary future between you and him.

It was just before the summer half term that Tom and you decided to take a picnic one Saturday, so that the two of you could power through some essays and then chill and enjoy the scenery. And so, the two of you trundled up to Richmond Park, deciding that that would be the best location, sat near King Henry’s mound*, looking out onto the London skyline. Once you’d finished all your essays and eaten enough quiche and salad, you both lay, looking out onto the beautiful scene. You had lay so that your head was resting on his thigh, with his using his pullover as a pillow. He had been asking you to test him on his lines for Macbeth that he was supposed to be learning.

“… life is but a walking shadow,

A poor player that struts and frets about the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale told

By and idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

He waited.

“Signifying nothing…”

…

“Y/N, it’s your line.”

You jolted at the sound of your name. “Huh? Oh sorry, I must’ve drifted of.”

“You asleep?” he chuckled.

“No, you're just really comfy. I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you.”

He froze, smiling. “What?”

“I said I wouldn’t mind sleeping on you.”

“No you didn’t,” he said teasingly.

“Yes I did.”

“You said you wouldn’t mind sleeping with me.” It was your turn to freeze. “Oh. I’m sorry, I must’ve been in dreamland.”

“Are you sure?” he joked. “Might be your subconscious trying to tell you something.”

“Doesn’t matter anyways.” you said, “You’re way out of my league.”

He frowned at you, looking slightly confused. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you're so handsome, and your tall and pretty and have cheekbones that could cut diamonds and you’ve got all that muscle that I know you hide because I’ve seen you play rugby, and you’re-”

“A lanky beanpole, I know,” he interrupts. “My love, you’ve got it wrong. You’re out of my league.”

You snort out a laugh. “You’re a bad liar, Thomas William Hiddleston.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because you’d rather sleep on me than with me.”

“Of course I wouldn’t.” You said before your brain caught up with what you were saying.

He looks at you, staring so intently you feel mortified. Fuck. He could feel his heart going twenty to the dozen, his brain running at the speed of sound. Did you mean it? Could you really be his? After all this wasted time pining over you, trying desperately not to fall for you? You ��feeling suitably mortified- turn your head so fast to turn away from him that you pull a muscle in your neck. “OW, fuck.”

He scoots closer to you and looks to see what's wrong. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve pulled my neck. I'm fine.” you mutter back, trying to stay still so you don’t irritate it.

“Let me see,” he says, gently prying your fingers away from your neck, so he can gently press his palm to it. “Do you need heat on it? Did you want me to get you anything?”

“It’ll be fine. It'll just be tense for a little while,” you say.

He is right up against you now, gently rubbing the sore area of your neck trying to get the muscles to relax. Slowly, ever so slowly, you find yourself leaning back into his touch, letting him rub the pain away and relaxing a little more.

“Can you move your neck at all darling?”

You try, but all you do is wince. “Nope.”

“Not at all?”

“No.”

“Then I think now is probably a good time to ask; what did you mean of course you want to sleep with me?”

You can feel yourself turning red. “Tom, I… well, even I have to admit your very handsome, and, I dunno, I guess… I really like you. A lot. And I just thought, if I said anything, then I’d lose you as a friend, and I didn’t want to risk it… but now, I mean, if you don’t want, y’know, we can just pretend I never said anything, it doesn’t have to-”

“Pretend you never said anything?” he repeats. “Pretend you never said anything? Not a chance darling, not when I have been dreaming of you saying that to me. I’m just glad you beat me to it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I… I like you too,” he says.

“Oh.”

There's a bit of a silence. You wait a sec to digest what he’s just said. “Tom.”

“Yes?”

“As much as I’d love to kiss you right now, my neck is really fucking sore.”

He just laughs, and presses a kiss to your cheek. “C’mon. I’ll get you a hot water bottle when we get home, then maybe your neck will fix itself.” He helps you to your feet. “And then darling, I can kiss you all I want. Deal?”

“Deal.”

notes

*I feel the need to clarify, King Henry’s mound is actually the name of a hill in Richmond Park, and unfortunately, is not an old sex joke (like most things in history). There’s an old piece of legislation from the 1500s that states that you must always be able to see a certain part of London from that particular hill, because Henry wasn’t there when Anne Bolyn was beheaded, so told then to send up a smoke signal when she was dead. He saw it on that hill, hence the name “King Henry’s mound”. It's still illegal to build a skyscraper blocking it. Anyways, fun facts, go back to your fanfics now.

[lulubelle814]

A Marriage of Convenience - Part 2

Part 3

A Marriage of Convenience Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The first test came at an abruptly arranged family dinner. “You would marry in haste? To this secretary? This must be one of your schemes to secure your place as my successor, and I will not stand for it! 

Loki sighed deeply. “I am aware of how this must seem.” His fingers entangled with Eva's on the table. “I assure you. It is not. This is the result of your meddling, your attempt to spy on me. We've grown close over these past few months. I know it seems quick, but we had no desire to wait. Even you can admit that love is not always patient.”

His father scoffed at his words as he watched his son kiss the hand of his new bride. “She is my better half, and I needed to make her mine before she would realize how much better she could do.” 

Frigga laughed a little.  She knew her adopted son had little patience for much of anything, but she could sense there was something not quite right; however, she said nothing, opting to see how this would play out, believing Loki would come to realize he’d met his match.  Yes, Eva was a quiet girl, but Frigga saw a strength deep inside her.  It just needed to be let out, and Loki was the perfect man to do so.

“I wish we could have been at the wedding, but Loki is not known for his patience.  Please, Eva dear, tell me about it?”

Thankfully Eva and Loki had spoken about it, but not in great detail and was both surprised and relieved when Eva answered but didn’t quite stick to the agreed upon story.  “We never said anything at the office.  We didn’t want to bring attention to ourselves, stir up rumors and such.  So we kept it a secret.  He didn’t care for me at first, when Odin first assigned me to Loki, but over time, Loki and I became close.  We’d started dating before we even realized we were doing it, only hanging out as friends at first.  I can’t speak for Loki, but I fell hard and fast.  It was like the missing part of me had finally been found.  A couple of weeks ago, we were walking about on an extended lunch and ended up in front of the courthouse.  Next thing we knew, we signed papers and came out as husband and wife.  I couldn’t be any happier, and I have Odin to thank for it.”

Loki had to keep from choking on his food when she thanked Odin.  That was not something he’d thought of putting in their story, but it was a nice touch.  Reaching over, his hand found hers, fingers intertwining.  “It was like magic.”

Odin turned a few different shades of red as Eva spoke, but when she thanked him for the two getting together, he lost his shit, standing up and storming out.  There was nothing he could do because he was the one pushing Loki to find a wife, and Loki took great pride in this as his father had always given him a hard time.  He’d have to remember to get his fake wife a thank you gift.  

“Don’t mind him.  Business has been crazy lately, and it’s left him quite stressed.  Eva, I don’t see a ring on your finger.  Loki, you have to get that fixed very soon.”  

“I agree, mother.  It was very spur of the moment, and I’d planned on taking my dear Eva to Harry Winston this weekend so she can select the ring she deserves.”  Eva nearly spat out her food.  She’d heard of Harry Winston but didn’t dare think she could ever even afford to step in the store, much less get an engagement ring from there.  She could practically buy a car for what Loki would spend on a ring there!

“I think that is the best place to take her.  You’ll have to let me know what you select.”  The three of them concluded their dinner a few moments later.

Once in the car and on the way back to Loki’s place, he gave a startling laugh.  “What’s so funny?”  Eva was confused, but Loki continued to laugh.  “I have to thank you, darling girl.  I’ve never seen Odin so angry!  You played your part very well, and I thank you for it.”  He lifted her hand up and kissed her knuckles as he continued to drive, leaving her a bit mystified.  Why would someone want to upset their father that much?

“Loki, why in the world are we going to Harry Winston for rings?  They’re absurdly expensive!”

All he did was smile when responding.  “Because, dear Eva, you deserve the best and should also look the part.  This is part of what we agreed upon.”

“I don’t need some giant, gaudy ring on my finger!”  He patted her thigh.  “Relax, Eva.  When the contract is over, you can keep the ring or sell it.  It’s up to you.”

There was no arguing with him, and that’s how it remained when he practically dragged her to the Harry Winston store that weekend.  There was one he tried to get her to agree on, but she was adamant it was both too much, and too gaudy.

She looked around, trying to find something they could perhaps agree on until she saw one particular ring.

“Madam has an excellent eye.  This is part of our bridal couture collection.  This particular one,” he spoke as he pulled out the ring, “has a 5 carat center diamond with 36 pear and round shaped diamonds surrounding it.”

“No, no.  I was just looking.  That’s much too nice for me,” she tried to protest.  The gentleman behind the counter carefully removed the ring from it’s soft pillow and gestured for her to try it on.  “Really, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”  That man was going to be the death of her.  “That ring is perfect for you.”  Loki took the ring from the salesman in one hand and picked up her left hand with his free one, sliding the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.  “It’s like it was made for you.”  The gentleman behind the counter wholeheartedly agreed.  “It’s a perfect fit.” 

She couldn’t find it in her to disagree with him.  This ring was like something out of a cheesy rom com where the handsome millionaire fell in love with the dog walker.  ‘Holy shit!  That makes me the dog walker!’ She kept that thought to herself.

Before Eva knew it, they were walking out of the store, that ring remaining on her hand while Loki selected a simple platinum band.  “Why do you get the simple ring, and I get this giant one?”

Loki shrugged.  “I’m not much of a jewelry guy, but I couldn’t not wear anything.  And that ring is perfect for this charade.”

When they arrived into the office Monday morning with a ring on her finger that she swore could be seen from space, the news of their marriage spread like wildfire and ended with the ladies of the office planning a post wedding engagement party, wanting to hear all the details and celebrate her ability to ring in the notoriously emotionally stunted, intransigent man who didn’t believe in marriage.

Little did she know that Loki was receiving similar treatment from the gentlemen in the office; however, he politely told them to mind their own business and fuck off.  Eva wished she could do that.

Dividers by @jiyascepter

Taglist: @vbecker10 @eleniblue

Taglist is open!

[mischievoushiddleston]

Between Timelines

Warnings: Smut

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Masterlist here!

The stuffy air in the cabin weighed heavily on your shoulders. It was dark, with only a faint light flickering through the narrow window while the noise of the time distortions outside echoed quietly. Y/N stood with crossed arms, leaning against the wall, trying to keep her nerves steady. Loki faced her, as always, with that smug, unbearably arrogant smile on his lips.

"And how long are we supposed to sit here?" he asked mockingly as he casually sat on the small wooden bench in the middle of the room. "I thought you had more control over the situation, Agent." His voice was honey-sweet, but every word he spoke carried a hidden intent to provoke her.

She stared at him, trying not to let him provoke her, though her pulse quickened whenever he looked at her that way. For weeks, perhaps even months, she had felt this tension between them. Something dark, forbidden, was woven into every conversation, but she had successfully refused to acknowledge it until now.

"We're waiting until the time disturbance is resolved," she answered coolly, hoping her voice didn’t betray how much his presence got under her skin. "I thought patience was a virtue for a god."

Loki chuckled softly, a deep, throaty sound that seemed to fill the room. "Patience I have, my dear. But not when there’s so much... more interesting ways to pass the time." His gaze wandered slowly over your body—not in a crude way but with a dangerously refined touch that made her catch her breath.

She felt her stomach tighten—from frustration, from desire, from a mix of both. "You'll have to get bored, Loki," she murmured, but even she knew the words sounded hollow. Every moment spent in this cabin made it harder to maintain the wall between them.

"Bored?" Loki stood, coming closer slowly. His steps were eerily quiet, yet it felt as if he filled the room with every movement. He stopped right in front of her, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. "I don't think we'll get bored that easily."

His scent—a heady mixture of leather, magic, and something unfathomable—wrapped around her like a heavy shroud. He seemed to saturate the air with his presence, and she could feel her heart pounding uncontrollably faster. Loki tilted his head slightly, his eyes piercing through her as if he could effortlessly see into the most hidden corners of her mind. The heat emanating from him was palpable. How could he burn so intensely when she knew he was, in truth, a frost giant? The contradiction was as seductive as it was confusing.

"Or are you afraid?" he whispered, his voice a silky, seductive murmur that sent tingles down her nerves. "Afraid that you're not as untouched by me as you think?"

A shiver ran down her spine as goosebumps involuntarily spread across her body. Her legs pressed together slightly, almost reflexively, as her body betrayed the unspoken words in a way she couldn't control. She barely noticed how her lips parted slightly—not until she saw Loki's gaze slowly drift to her mouth. That's when she realized it, feeling caught.

Quickly, she straightened up, trying to put distance between them, though the cramped space of the cabin made it nearly impossible. "I'm not afraid, Trickster," she replied with a voice that was meant to sound more solid than it felt. The uncertainty weighed heavily in her chest, but she couldn't show it to him.

Loki laughed quietly, his mocking, dark laughter filled the room like an invisible hand wrapping around her throat—just gently enough not to be suffocating, but still dominant.

"Then why do you try to stay away from me?" Loki's voice was like a dark, velvety whisper that pierced the air between them. "Almost as if you're afraid of what I might do to you... or even more, what I could make you feel." His eyes slid shamelessly over her body as if absorbing every reaction, every tiny movement she couldn't suppress.

Involuntarily, she pressed her legs together again, a weak attempt to tame the rising heat within her. But it was futile. The arousal grew inside her, pulsing through her veins, and there was no escape. Not in this room, not in this closeness, not with him.

She swallowed hard, ignoring the lump in her throat, and tried to widen the gap between them. Her heart raced as she tried to squeeze past him, away from his presence that acted like a magnet on her. But just as she thought she could escape, his hand shot forward and closed firmly around her wrist. With a fluid movement, he pulled her against him, her back gently colliding with his chest. The heat from his body enveloped her, even though it still seemed absurd to her that the frost giant could be so blisteringly warm.

"Why don't you admit that you want me just as much as I want you?" His voice was now right in her ear, deep and vibrating, as his hand slid along her arm and gently settled on her hip. "You're so good at controlling everything, Agent... but not with me, are you?"

She could feel every contour of his chest against her back, his breath brushing her hair and tickling her skin. Her body reacted involuntarily to his proximity, the rising arousal could no longer be ignored. Her pulse was racing, and though she tried to remain calm, every nerve in her body was focused on him, like an invisible force pulling her deeper into his proximity.

"Loki..." Her own breath was shallow, and her voice was shaky as she tried to say something—anything—to regain her control. But there it was again, that overwhelming tension between them. His fingers trailed slowly down her side, just lightly enough to drive her crazy. She could feel the walls of her defense crumbling under his touch.

"Say it, Agent." His grip tightened, though not painfully. Just demanding. "Tell me you want me. Let it happen."

She bit her lip, her heartbeat so loud in her ears that it drowned out the rest of the world. Loki's breath was hot on her neck, as if every move he made was deliberately aimed at driving her further into the abyss. The way his fingers playfully stroked over her hip—gentle but full of promise—made her knees weak. She couldn't deny it—not anymore.

"Loki..." Her breath caught, and as she spoke his name, she felt her voice tremble with the arousal he evoked in her. A dangerous, self-satisfied smile crept onto his face, even though she couldn’t see him—she felt it in the way his hands rested on her body, in how his grip on her hip tightened.

"Yes?" he whispered, his lips so close to her ear that his breath grazed her, sending shivers down her spine. "Say it, or shall I show you?"

She couldn’t answer—or perhaps she didn’t want to. She was no longer sure what she was feeling, apart from this unbearable attraction that nearly brought her to her knees. Her body was already reacting uncontrollably, as if her mind was too slow to stop the flood of desire Loki had awakened in her. She felt his hands gripping her more tightly, one of them slowly sliding over her belly, leaving little space between them.

"You want it—I know you do," he whispered, his voice now deeper, raspier, almost a growl. "You're strong, Agent, but you're not strong enough to resist."

His grip on her hip loosened for a moment, only to then press her suddenly against the nearest wall. Her back hit the cool, rough surface, and the mixture of the cold wall and the heat of his body standing right in front of her was overwhelming. Loki stood so close that she could feel his breath on her lips as his eyes bore into hers, as if he wanted to pull out every hidden thought, every reluctant desire.

"Say it," he demanded once again, this time with more urgency. His hand now rested directly on her thigh, and she could feel the heat seeping through the fabric of her clothes. "Tell me you want me."

Her mind screamed against it, forbidding her to admit what had long become obvious, but her body had already made the decision. Her lips parted before she could think, and she whispered, almost reluctantly, "I... want you."

A triumphant spark flashed in Loki’s eyes as he heard her say it, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along. "I thought so," he murmured, his voice a dangerous, silky purr as he leaned in slowly. His lips brushed hers gently, almost provocatively, and it was enough to break the last of her control.

The world around her disappeared as he deepened the kiss, demanding and hungry, as if he wanted to release the weeks of unspoken desire in this moment. His hands explored her body with an intensity, an almost possessive passion, and she felt herself letting go of everything—every doubt, every resistance.

Loki lifted her effortlessly, her legs instantly wrapping around his hips as if they were made to hold him tightly. The moment his hard erection pressed against her center, she gasped for breath. A deep, hot pull spread through her lower abdomen as the desire washed over her like a wave. The heat between her legs grew more intense, and she could feel the moist tingling spreading through her body.

A quiet, uncontrolled moan escaped her throat, barely audible but unmistakable. Her hips moved slightly, seeking more of the seductive friction that grew stronger with every movement. Loki held her tightly, his fingers digging lightly into her hips as he pulled her closer to him, so tightly that she could feel every contour of his erection against her sensitive center.

"You like that, don't you?" he whispered, his voice deep and laced with self-satisfied darkness. His lips hovered just millimeters from hers, while his eyes locked onto her with untamed intensity. He could feel her wetness, barely hidden by the thin layers of fabric, and a dangerous smile played on his lips as he pressed her body against his.

Her breath became shallow as he pressed even closer, the hardness of his erection unyielding against her heat. The friction was unbearably sweet, each movement making her tremble more, and she couldn’t stop her hips from moving toward him, seeking, yearning. Her entire body was a burning tension that could only be released by him.

"Tell me what you want," Loki whispered in a rough, soft voice that hung in the air like a dark promise. His lips slowly glided from hers down to her neck, where he teased her skin with gentle yet deliberate kisses. Each of his kisses left a slight burning sensation on her skin, and when he gently sank his teeth into her neck, an inevitable moan escaped her lips. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly as her head tilted slightly to the side, giving him more space to mark her, to completely possess her.

"Loki..." Her whisper was barely a breath, her voice broken by desire. She could hardly think clearly as his tongue gently traced over the sensitive spot he had just marked with a kiss. Her body reacted as if in a trance, the hunger for him, for what he could give her, burned inside her like a fire consuming her from within.

"You... deep inside me..." Her words came out quietly, hoarse, and full of need. It wasn’t a request, but an undeniable need that she could no longer suppress. The inhibitions that had held her back at the beginning were long gone, like smoke in the wind. She pressed her hips against him, rubbing against his groin and feeling the hard pulse of his erection against her center, hot and demanding. Another shiver ran through her, her nerves on fire as she pressed closer to him, her body burning for more.

She didn’t know what had come over her, as if something dark and unexpected had awakened inside her—something only he could unleash. But she didn’t care. She needed him now, right here. The lust he had ignited in her was overwhelming, every touch from him electrified her. Her thoughts blurred as her body responded uncontrollably to the tension that grew stronger with each movement.

Loki sensed the change in her, saw how her gaze darkened, her eyes half-closed as her hips pressed further against him. A deep, satisfied smile spread across his face as he pulled her even closer. "You can have that, Agent..." His breath was hot on her neck, and his hands slid demandingly over her back, holding her in place as his hips shifted forward slightly, giving her a taste of what was to come.

Her body trembled under his touch, every nerve on edge as her longing turned into a burning desire that could only be satisfied by his full attention.

Loki held her firmly, his hands gliding over her back as if he were completing the art of a masterpiece. With one fluid motion, he let her slide back onto her feet, though he kept her body close to his, his lips still near her neck. Every breath he took seemed to make her skin tingle. With a quick, practiced motion, he loosened the clasp of her clothing, and the fabric slipped effortlessly from her shoulders.

Her skin tingled as the cool air of the room touched her, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from Loki's hands. He observed her as if he were soaking in every movement, every breath. "Let me see..." he murmured, his voice deep and filled with pure, undisguised desire.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she tried to remove his armor and the rest of her own clothing. But her impatience grew, and her hands became more restless, more demanding. Loki noticed, a mocking, almost dangerous smile spreading across his lips before he gently but firmly grabbed her wrists.

"Slowly, my dear," he murmured, as if he controlled time itself. "We have all the time in the world."

Yet those words didn’t match the way his hands moved with increasing urgency. He pushed the fabric from her shoulders, letting it glide down her arms and over her body until it fell to the floor, leaving her standing before him in nothing but her bare skin. His gaze traveled slowly over her body, and she could see the fire in his eyes, which made her almost burn under the intensity of his attention.

Her own hands trembled with desire as she finally began to remove his clothing. Layer by layer fell away from him until he too stood, clad only in the dark aura of power that always surrounded him. His body, firm and perfect, pressed against hers, his hardness painfully evident.

For a moment, they paused, both feeling the tension vibrating between them, almost tangible in the air. Her fingers gently traced over his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin, and a soft moan escaped her lips as he pressed her once again against the wall. The rough coldness of the stone contrasted sharply with the heat of his body, which was firmly against hers.

With one smooth motion, he spread her legs apart and lifted her again, her bare thighs wrapping once more around his hips. This time, there was nothing between them—no barrier, no clothing. She could feel every pulsing movement, every nuance of his arousal as it pressed demandingly against her center. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and her fingernails lightly dug into his shoulders as her body unrelentingly craved more.

"Loki..." She breathed his name like a plea, her voice trembling with desire. Her hips moved almost instinctively against him, the heat between her legs growing uncontrollably, and she felt the wetness overwhelm her.

"Say it again," he murmured, his lips barely brushing her skin while his hands gripped her hips, pulling her tighter against him. His breath was hot and uneven, and she could feel how his own self-control was slowly slipping.

"I want you," she whispered, her words escaping before she even knew she was speaking. Her entire body yearned to feel his hardness inside her, to have him so deep within her that there was no separation between them. She could no longer bear the tension, the pulling in her lower abdomen, which had turned into pure, unbridled lust.

Loki growled softly, his grip on her hips tightening, becoming more demanding. He straightened up, and in one smooth, fluid motion, he entered her deeply, his hardness filling her completely. A loud moan escaped her as the wave of ecstasy hit her, and her head fell back as she surrendered herself entirely to him.

Loki held her firmly in his grip, his hands on her hips as he pulled her even closer to him. His hardness was deep within her, filling her to the edges of her perception, and she could feel every single muscle in her body reacting to the unbearable tension. He paused for a moment, letting her feel the pressure, the depth of his penetration, before he began to move in slow, controlled motions, pulling out of her only to thrust back in with unrelenting force.

A sharp gasp left her lips, her body trembling with lust as he pressed her tightly against him. His thrusts were deep and steady, but he controlled every movement with a dominance that overwhelmed her. His fingers dug deeper into her hips, and she knew he was restraining his strength, but still demanding. Her legs trembled around his hips, her nails scratching over his shoulders as she held onto him, her senses lost in the flood of desire and ecstasy he unleashed in her.

"You belong to me," Loki murmured, his voice hoarse as he thrust deep into her again. His breath was hot in her ear, his lips just millimeters from her neck as he continued to push her further against the wall—physically and mentally. "Say it."

Her lips parted, but all that escaped was a quiet moan, her thoughts too jumbled to form clear words. But that only seemed to spur him on. He thrust harder into her, his pace quickening, each thrust bringing her closer to the brink of madness. "Say it," he repeated, this time more demanding, his voice now darker, filled with his own desire.

"I..." Her voice broke as another thrust took her breath away. The intensity with which he moved inside her made her thoughts blur, and all she could feel was his hardness, the heat of his body, and the overwhelming waves of pleasure rising within her. "I belong to you," she finally gasped, her words filled with devotion and desire.

A triumphant smile flickered on his lips, and he immediately rewarded her with another deep, painfully sweet thrust that nearly made her cry out in ecstasy. "Good," he murmured, his voice now darker, deeper, almost a growl. "You will be mine—completely."

His grip on her hips tightened, almost possessively, as he continued to thrust into her, his movements hard and dominant, as if he wasn’t just claiming her body, but also her mind. Her senses blurred under the intensity of his dominance, each thrust causing her control to crumble further until she was nothing more than a puppet in his hands, completely surrendered yet craving more.

"Loki..." She called his name, her voice trembling as she fought against the overwhelming force of his thrusts, but her body yielded more and more to him, a burning desire growing deep within her, a fire only he could extinguish.

The intensity of Loki's thrusts increased, and with each insistent push, her senses lit up, while she drifted deeper into a heady ecstasy. Her thoughts became more clouded, and all that mattered was the rhythm of his body, the seductive play of his movements, which unrelentingly pulled her closer to the edge of desire.

"That’s it, my dear," he growled, his voice a seductive snarl. "Let go and give yourself to me." His words were like magic, drawing her deeper into the intoxicating sensation. She felt her body respond to every movement of his, every touch, every thrust that resonated deeply within her, igniting a burning desire in her core.

The heat in her abdomen grew overwhelming, and she couldn’t ignore the building pressure any longer. Her body was consumed by the fiery need rising within her, fueled by Loki's unceasing rhythm. She pressed herself against him, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips as she sought to maximize the intensity of his thrusts, craving the impending wave of pleasure that was about to erupt within her.

"Loki… I… I can’t…," she gasped, her voice filled with both desire and desperation. The pressure in her stomach became unbearable, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through her body, and the next wave seemed ready to overwhelm her.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice deep and demanding, and that was the trigger she needed. With one final deep thrust, she felt the world around her disappear. The climax hit her like a massive tsunami—a rush of pure pleasure flooding her body.

A loud moan escaped her lips as the waves of ecstasy gripped her and sent her soaring. Her body tensed, shook, and arched against him as she gave in to the moment completely. "Loki!" she screamed as the orgasm overwhelmed her, plunging her into indescribable depths of pleasure.

He felt her tightening around him, her body clenching, pulling him deeper into the flood of desire. "Yes, just like that…" he murmured, his voice full of satisfaction as he remained buried deep within her, synchronizing his rhythm with the waves of her orgasm.

He was consumed by the knowledge that he had driven her to the edge, that she had surrendered herself fully in this moment of pure pleasure. That arousal, the feeling of complete control, and the intensity they shared brought him close to his own peak.

With each deep thrust that pushed her further into a state of ecstasy, he felt the waves of lust begin to overtake him as well. Her body trembled beneath him, her movements becoming more erratic.

Loki felt his climax building as she spurred him on with her desire. Her cries and moans were like music to his ears. The waves of pleasure she had just experienced seemed to transfer to him, and with one final, deep thrust that brought them both to the edge of their control, he tumbled over the brink.

"Yes, just like that..." he muttered as he climaxed, letting out a desperate, intoxicated groan as the ecstasy flooded his body like fireworks. He felt her tighten around him, she pressed herself against him as if she wanted to hold onto him forever as their bodies united in one final, intense moment of shared pleasure.

As the waves of desire subsided, Loki gently let her slide back to the floor, still holding her close. Her breath was ragged, and she closed her eyes as she basked in the afterglow of their intense experience. But as she lingered in the fleeting happiness of the moment, she didn’t notice Loki watching her—his gaze filled with satisfaction and power.

"You were perfect," he whispered, and there was an undertone in his voice that sent a shiver down her spine. She opened her eyes and saw how he stared at her as if she were a prized possession he had just added to his collection.

"I…" she began, but her words trailed off into nothing as she struggled to gather her thoughts, which were spinning in her head. It was a confusing mix of fulfillment and uncertainty, and she didn’t know how to face him.

"You’ve given me exactly what I wanted," he said, and his smile was mischievous, almost challenging. "But how much can you really trust me?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, the lump in her throat making it hard to continue speaking. Something in his tone made an uneasy feeling rise in her stomach. "You… You’re responsible for this."

His smile didn’t fade as he spoke. "You’re now part of my game, and I will own you in my own way for as long as I want."

Shock shot through her, and her thoughts swirled chaotically. She was still aware of the intensity of her arousal, of the passion they had just shared, and the idea that he had controlled all of it made her chest feel heavy.

"You’re not just another adventure for me," he added, his voice now deeper, more penetrating. "You’re part of something greater, and I won’t let you go so easily."

His words pierced her heart like a cold wind. She wanted to turn away, to flee from this web of manipulation, but a part of her was still trapped in the overwhelming desire he had unleashed in her.

"There’s no escape from this game, Y/N. You’re already a part of it," he murmured, his eyes glowing with conviction and power.

The reality of his words sank in, and as she tried to clear her thoughts, she knew deep down that what had happened between them wasn’t just a one-time event. Loki wasn’t an ordinary man; he was a god, and the manipulation he had exerted over her was just the beginning of a game she couldn’t win.

The darkness of his words enveloped her, and in that moment, she realized that she was caught in a game where Loki alone made the rules.

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-03-05

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite Sir Thomas Sharpe stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

Legend: 〔E〕 ⇢ Erotic/Steamy | 〔F〕 ⇢ Fluff | 〔A〕 ⇢ Angst/Hurt 〔M〕 ⇢ Minor Angst/Hurt | 〔C〕 ⇢ Comfort | ♥︎ ⇢ Established Relationship | 𑁍 ⇢ Pregnancy/Children | 🚫 ⇢ Content Warning

✑ Wedded￨Prt. II￨Prt. III by yespolkadotkitty • 18+ • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Summary: You and Thomas spend your wedding night exploring each other in every way possible.

✑ Child Named Sharpe, the by smolvenger • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "You and Thomas Sharpe welcome your first baby and his second, as Thomas himself faces his own demons regarding his past."

✑ Corsets and Courtship by babybluebex • 18+ • 〔E᜶A〕 •

Summary: "Your father's business partner comes to your home in hopes of discussing the future, and you both get more than you bargained for."

✑ Fill You by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary:  "Now that you and Thomas have married, he is determined to have you with child come hell or high water."

✑ It's Something Special by lady-rose-moon • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Even though you had been married to the Baronet for three months now, you hadn't been touched by him. Until today..."

✑ My Sweet Baronet by lady-rose-moon • 18+ • 〔E᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Being married to Sir Thomas Sharpe had some... inconvenient setbacks but you are sure to worth through them with your husband."

✑ Ocean Eyes by andsheloved • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "When your own mind seems shattered, you're reminded of who will always be there to pick up the pieces."

✑ Please Forgive Me by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "After nearly being killed by Lucille and discovering Thomas'... role in the whole affair, the two of you [move] to Paris [for] a fresh start... unsure if you [can] forgive [him]..., you agree to attend the Paris Exposition with Thomas [to begin] moving forward."

✑ Secret Affair by sserpente • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Summary: "Imagine [Sir Thomas Sharpe falling in love with you, a maid]. He invites you to live at Allerdale Hall, to serve him and his sister Lucille... All you have to do is keep the affair a secret from her."

✑ To Escape by lady-rose-moon • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "After [discovering] the dark truth about Allerdale Hall, you confront Thomas. [Over] time, you [and your husband plan your escape]."

✑ A Definite Answer by laufeyamp • 〔F〕 •

✑ A Favour by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔F〕 •

✑ Are You Sure? by tomhiddleston-is-mischief • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Buried by colorsunimaginable • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Desperate by lady-rose-moon • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Family by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ His Happiness by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Indulge Me by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 •

✑ Kiss Me by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Memories by tomhiddleston-is-mischief • 〔F᜶A〕 •

✑ No. by ladyfluff • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Not Stopoing by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Reading While He Works by foxgloveprincess • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Reading with Sir Sharpe by wanna-rock-n-roll-in80s • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Straight Through the Heart by the--blackdahlia • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Sweet Tooth by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 •

✑ Trapped by ladyfluff • 〔A〕 •

✑ Touch Starved by ladyfluff • 〔F�� • ♥︎ •

✑ Within the Strongbox of My Heart by frostbitten-written • 〔A〕 • ♡ •

See Also: Navigation || Thomas Sharpe Master Index

Authors: @andsheloved || @babybluebex || @colorsunimaginable || @foxgloveprincess || @frostbitten-written || @just-the-hiddles || @lady-rose-moon || @ladyfluff || @laufeyamp || @smolvenger || @sserpente || @the--blackdahlia || @tomhiddleston-is-mischief || @wanna-rock-n-roll-in80s || @yespolkadotkitty ||

[muddyorbsblr]

14 days of valentines masterlist

Here are all of the stories created for this project by all the writers who joined in!

@muddyorbsblr

not a fever – James Conrad x Reader | smut hypotheticals & distractions – Magnus Martinsson x Reader | smut, fluff all the right answers – Tom Hiddleston x Reader | smut, fluff midnight cravings – Loki x Reader | smut paris – Jonathan Pine x Reader | smutty eyes on me, darling – Loki x Reader | smut forgive me, father – Will Ransome x Reader | smut thirty seconds – Loki x Reader | smut keep me safe – James Conrad x Reader | smut, fluff duty of care – Jonathan Pine x Reader | smut, fluff maintain our cover – Older Magnus Martinsson x Reader | smut i have never – Tom Hiddleston x Reader | fluff w/ a side of steam measurements – Will Ransome x Reader | smut relinquish the crown: obsessions & fantasies – Loki x Reader | smut, fluff

@literatureatthebowofnails

the dance – Loki x Reader | fluff the date – Loki x Reader | fluff the dalliance – Loki x Reader | fluff the dream – Loki x Reader | smut the disappearance – Loki x Reader | angst the discernment – Loki x Reader | fluff the disclosure – Loki x Reader | fluff the danish – Loki x Reader | smut, fluff

@joyful-enchantress

love at first bite – Adam x Reader | smut, fluff, angst

@ijuststareatstuffhereok89

our mrs loki – Loki x Reader | angst, comfort old mrs loki – Loki x Reader | angst, comfort

@psychospore

read it out loud for me, darling – Loki x Reader | fluff valentine blues – Loki x Reader | fluff, angst

@gigglingtigger

the st valentine's day massacre – Loki x OFC | humor, fluff

@give-me-a-moose

by hook or by crook: silly squabbles – Loki x Reader | angst to fluff

@sarahscribbles

emerald lace – Loki x Reader | smut

@ladycamillewrites

amnesia – Will Ransome x Reader | smut

@coldnique

carrara marble – Loki x Reader | fluff, smut

@cheekyscamp

lay all your love on me – Loki x Reader | smut

@chantsdemarins

high moon: where does heartbreak get stored if not in your quantum drive? – Loki x Reader | slight angst, slight steam find tom – Tom Hiddleston x Reader | slight heat

@lokiprompts

burning words – Loki x Reader | fluff, comfort

[moonstruck-poet]

Unexpected Surprise

Pairing - Tom Hiddleston x reader!

Summary -

Warnings -

Tysm for the lovely request anon and sorry it took so long<33 I really hope it was as per your wishes

"Tom? Can you come in here for a minute please?" Your voice called out through the apartment and footsteps followed.

"Yeah?" He popped his head in the bedroom and laughed at the scene before him. His son and daughter sitting on the bed, their hair covered in what look like white snow.

While you stood in front of them, trying to be stern but he saw you biting your lip to prevent laughter. Your one year old boy nestled in your arms, somehow sleeping peacefully amidst all the chaos.

"Now what happened here hmm?" He sauntered inside with a curious expression and looked at the twins, crossing his arms.

"Pillow fight!" They chorused and raised their little arms above their heads and your heart melted.

"Okay," he walked closer to the children, taking baby steps and you understood his next intentions immediately and you stepped back, wrapping both of your arms around your baby.

"Then let's go for a round two!" They barely had time to process his statement before he grabbed a small pillow and threw it softly at the two.

They retorted quickly, standing up and squealing as they joined forces to attack their father making you laugh at the unity.

James stirred and your palm went to cover his ears as you exited the room and went into his nursery, sitting on the small bed.

A smile made its way on your lips as you admired your little creation. The soft curls atop his head similar to yours while his baby blue irises a carbon copy of your husband's. This had been the case with the twins too. They both had inherited your hair and his eyes.

His little fist was holding tightly onto your finger as you slowly rocked him, luring him into a deep sleep though you didn't worry too much. He was quite a heavy sleeper, much like yourself.

You caressed his head, your heart squeezing when he leaned right into your hand. He clearly was a mama's boy.

All of your children were actually. They of course loved Daddy, but could only ever stop crying in your presence.

The door opened softly and in entered your husband. You heard the silence that followed his entrance and knew that Jeremiah and Isabella were sound asleep.

"Hey," you murmured once he sat close next to you, his head resting on your shoulder and his finger touching his little one's cheek.

"Hi," he whispered back and raised his head to look you right in the eye making your breath hitch. Even after all these years, his charm was still the same.

But then you noticed his face falling as he scanned your face making your smile drop slightly in self consciousness as you desperately looked at him for an answer.

"What- What's wrong?"

He shook his head and took James, holding him carefully and placing him in his crib before facing your questioning expression. Then sitting down in front on you, he took your hands in his.

"How are you feeling?" He asked and you frowned the question.

"I'm fine, I feel okay..." You answered back, not sure where he was getting at.

"You look exhausted, my love," he cupped your cheeks, his thumb caressing them as he delivered the statement as gently as possible.

You got up from the bed in urgency, wanting to take a look at yourself. And what Tom said what indeed true. You looked like you've been through a hurricane.

"Christ," you said under your breath, taking note of every tiny change that had occured since the past months. "I look terrible".

"No don't say that," he reprimanded and snaked his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your jaw. "What you need, is a nice holiday all for yourself. I want to hit myself for not bringing this up sooner, but you need time for yourself, love".

You agreed with every word of his, but how could it be possible now? With your children still bring too young.

"We don't have time now," you turned around, bringing him closer by the neck.

"Yes we do," he said firmly. "Jere and Isa are almost three and James is young but he's a calm one you know that. And you also know just how much they love their grandparents".

"That's true," you sighed and buried your face in the crook of his neck, not realising just how much you had missed this.

"You need to take some time out for yourself, and I think a nice little vacation is the perfect solution. You're out here taking care of all os us, so it's only fair even that I take care of my beautiful wife".

You laughed softly, your lips brushing against his ear, "Okay".

"Leave the planning to me and go and get some sleep," he kissed your forehead and your heart squeezed at the thought of having such a loving and caring husband.

===============================

The vacation that you had taken nearly three months ago was a well deserved and needed holiday. The coasts had helped your mental state immensely.

And you were currently glowing.

You had also started to slowly go back to your earlier routines. Going for a walk in the morning with Bobby, trying to hit the gym atleast thrice a week, and just doing all the things that you were doing previously.

"Jere!" You called your three-year-old, "Will you get the spoons from Daddy please?"

"Yes!" He answered enthusiastically and ran up to his father, handling the cutlery with care and taking tiny footsteps towards you.

"Thank you sweetheart," you smiled at his adorable expression.

"What's for dinner?" Isabella ran from the living room towards the dining table and sat herself down her designated seat.

"It's my speciality if you please," Tom said in a posh accent, bringing plates exactly how a waiter would making the kids giggle.

Isa gently tickled James who was sitting on the high chair and he squirmed away from her hand, laughing happily.

"Hey stop tickling Jamie!" Jeremiah said playfully, ready to defend his brother but his twin merely poked out her tongue.

You smiled at one half your universe seated right in front of you and the other half soon joined in the picture making tears well up in your eyes.

God your hormones were a real mess today. You felt like crying since the morning.

The dinner was indeed a wonderful affair and currently it was only you and your husband, sitting on the couch and watching Iron Man together.

"No look at him," you frowned upon seeing your favorite character's face fall as he looked at his dead friend.

"You know I think you might love him more than me".

"I do".

He raised an eyebrow and you prevented a laugh, about to retort when your eyes widened amd you slapped a hand on your mouth to rush towards the bathroom.

The sudden wave of nausea had taken you aback and threw up all the things you had ate just a few hours ago.

"Love?" Tom was immediately behind you with a frown on his face. "Oh you okay?" He asked, heavily concerned upon seeing your extremely pale face.

"I- I don't know," you took a deep breath, feeling a lack of oxygen in your lungs. "I feel lightheaded," your hand went to grip the side of your head as you swayed and he steadied you.

"Should we go to the clinic? You need to see a doctor," he murmured, watching as you rinsed your mouth and brushed your teeth.

"No I- I'm fine," you sighed and leaned against the wall, eyes closing in fatigue. "We'll go tomorrow if I'm still unwell".

He nodded, though his forehead was creased with worry as he guided you towards you room. Not even thinking of sleeping until he had made sure you were alright.

The next morning your condition was stable, but it soon fell quickly when you had smelt something that was overly sweet and nauseating making you vomit. Again.

"We should go," Tom whispered as he rubbed your back and you nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Mumma? Daddy what's wrong with Mumma?" Isa asked with wide eyes and Jere was right behind her.

"She's not feeling well, love," he answered and leaned down before them, noticing the way their eyes glistened.

"Mumma," Jere's shaky whisper caught your attention amd you looked at your twins who were on the verge of crying.

"Oh hey no," you said and despite the throbbing pain in your temple, crouched down and they ran into your outstretched arms. "I'm okay, my tummy's just a little upset, yeah?"

"We're gonna go visit the doctor now," Tom added and wiped their tears. "Till then Grandma and Grandpa will be here, okay?"

They nodded and the parents bid them goodbye, once Tom's parents had arrived. James was luckily asleep, otherwise he would certainly have thrown a fit.

The doctor, who was your family physician did some tests, asking about your symptom. All during the process she appeared quite calm while you were unsettled.

"There's nothing to worry about, Mr and Mrs Hiddleston," she addressed the couple with a small smile. "It appears that you are pregnant," she said to you, her face beaming.

"P- Pregnant?" You stammered and her smile fell at your reaction and she excused herself as your turned your head to look at your husband who was equally shocked.

This was really unexpected and not planned at all. You had completed your family with three beautiful children and neither of you wanted another.

"We- We discussed. We didn't-" He couldn't find the words to explain, probably because his mind itself was muddled.

The new wave of emotions hit you hard and tears had slipped down your defenses. You dug your palms into your eyes, not bring able to grasp this entire situation.

It was a huge thing. Maybe would brush it off and say, what's the big deal? But no, of course it was a big deal. A child was going to be entering this world.

"Say something!" Your fingers wrapped around his bicep and you shook him. "I'm pregnant with our child, Hiddleston and you're there just sitting silently!"

"What am I supposed to do?" He didn't raise his voice at all, addressing you calmly but there was an edge to it.

"What are we gonna do, Tom?" You said rather fiercely and looked at him who was staring at you. "What's going to happen now? What the hell are we going to do? We didn't plan this, and had no ideas that this could happen and now I'm pregnant and there's a child inside me and-"

"Hey hey hey," he shook himself out of his trance and grabbed you by the shoulders, trying to bring your mind back from an oncoming panic attack.

"We didn't plan this," he nodded. "But now it has happened, love and I don't think we can do anything now".

"I know!" You said helplessly, "But Tom just think. We already have three toddlers at home and now there's gonna be another in under a year".

He simply paid rapt attention, gesturing for you to continue which made you even more upset for some reason.

"Please say something," you whispered, tears clouding your vision.

He didn't, but instead took you gently into his arms and the emotions flooded out in an instant. His eyes too were glistening but he disregarded that. His sole focus being you. "Calm down, love. I think I know what's troubling you, hmm?"

"I know too," you answered after taking a deep breath and inhaling his comforting scent that was anchoring you.

"Bu we're gonna do everything properly okay? We're gonna be the best parents to our children and this little one that's in there," he said and laid his palm across your lower abdomen.

"Yeah," you nodded, breaths uneven as you tried to steady yourself. "I'm just worried that maybe, just maybe we won't be able to give time to them all, we won't be able to love all of them equally".

"I understand, darling. But that won't happen, ever. We'll make sure of it, together. You are gonna be such a great mum, yeah?"

You smiled, looking up at and seeing the love in his baby blue irises was enough to melt you on the spot.

"I love you, Tom," you said softly, a single tear sliding down your cheek.

"I love you too, so so much," he replied, a smile stretching across his lips as he wiped your tears away, thumb caressing your cheek. "You're my entire world, sweetheart. Don't you ever forget that".

"And you're mine".

===============================

[smolvenger]

The Child Called Sharpe (Thomas Sharpe x fem! Reader Blurb)

Summary: You and Thomas Sharpe welcome your first baby and his second, as Thomas himself faces his own demons regarding his past.

Word Count: 1K (er...blurb or short oneshot, whatever)

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy and childbirth, but nothing graphic. In this version, though I try to have a more nuanced take on Lucille, In this fic I choose to portray the Lucille/Thomas relationship as nonconsensual, pedophilic, and abusive so if you don't like that don't read this, so mentions of sexual abuse, death, illness, blood with some of the canon events of Crimson Peak. But it becomes a lot of tooth-rotting fluff.

A/N: I can't please everyone with Crimson Peak on the is Lucille good or bad vrs. is Thomas good or bad discourse, so why bother trying anymore. I just wanna write my stuff. From @holdmytesseract's request!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

Love for him meant creation. It brought out Thomas’s gift of invention tenfold- for love itself was creation. For the first time in his life, an act of love brought out the child’s creation. So it was natural for Thomas to spend hours inventing more for this little child on their way.

That is, his second child. For he had a child, once, and lost that child, once. 

Yes, it was a child conceived from control rather than consent…but it was still a child in need of care. A hungry baby- a human life crying for milk, and burning with fever. A child “born wrong.” A child Enola swore to fight to keep alive. 

And a child that despite everything died anyway. As did Enola. 

Despite Lucille’s cruelty, he did pity her grief for that child- For it was his grief as well.

Lucille caught ill and died not long after. He at least made sure she died comfortably. Warm beneath blankets on a soft bed. Assured her she was loved and kissed her cheek as she took her last breath.

It was complicated, his feelings about his late sister. He never could decide one thing about her. For everything was true- there was both in her. Lucille, both cruel and misunderstood, powerful and pitiful, villain and victim.

Though he never once forced himself on anyone or took advantage of a child as she did to him…

And yet…

He was still guilty of scheming, of blood, of darkness as she was. Of the invention that he wanted to be funded, that he bought at the price of three women’s lives… 

But… assaulting him when he was little? Using his innocence until when he was grown he knew no other but her? You would tell him that even if the murders were understandable, she did cross a line in that regard.

He still didn’t know if the woman who at once was his partner, his equal, his sister as well as his jailer, his predator, his molester was deserving of it. 

Or not. 

Or both.

Yet, all of that darkness and blood was now in the past. Here you were his current wife. A wife who would never take advantage of him. A wife who listened and respected when he said “no.” A wife who wouldn’t push him. Wouldn’t manipulate him. Wouldn’t control him. A wife who forgave him and saw he was now trying to do right with his life, and his choices and would be there to support him.

 Your pregnancy was poignant.  A reminder that he had a new life now- and a life that was about to expand as your stomach did each month.  A new life was about to come forth literally and figuratively for him. 

In the corner of his workshop in a special box were toys he made once. Toys were made for the first child who died. 

He never prayed, but he did now to whoever listened. For once, those toys would know being loved, being played, and for a baby’s laughter and delight and adoration. They wouldn’t rust from age, but with use. To be worn not with dust, but with love.

He brought out the box one morning and set it in the nursery of his new house. A simpler house compared to Allerdale Hall’s Majesty. Smaller and brighter, made of cherrywood and over earth rather than clay. But cheerful, the warmth bursting in every room.

The toys were cleaned and set ready in that nursery corner. You squeezed his hand after he did so.

When making sure you were comfortable, or when you slept or napped, away he would be in his workshop. He had a special toy shop now next to the house. So in his downtime, he would be found creating little toys that a child of any sex would love. A little teddy bear that twirled on top of a drum. A little cat that lifted to lick its little paw next to a puppy that wagged its tail. 

But…what else would a baby need!? His mind was reeling. It had been too long…

Of course! A place to sleep! You had insisted the old wooden rocker would work…but he still had that itching, the gears in his mind whirring faster than any clay mine.

He took a few weeks to study the designs and then set right to work. He stayed up late, rolling up his sleeves. Working on one where if you pressed a small pedal, it would rock gently, oh so gently, as to not stir a baby to more wailing, but only to sleep.

So when he discovered that Lady Sharpe’s water broke, he insisted on staying by you.

“Thomas! But…husbands don’t..don’t usually stay!” you cried. You clutched his hand as he led you to the bed.

Lucille would urge him to leave when it was time to put a cleaver into one of the wives.

For once, he would look at the blood and the bodily innards spilling from his wife and not turn away.

He shook his head, though his hand was still in yours.

“No- My dear, all of my life, I closed my eyes and ran away. I didn’t look when things happened. Not this time- after I get the midwife, I am staying with you. I will not run away for once. I’m going to stay with my wife and keep my eyes open, no matter what I see. I love you- and for once, I am not leaving.” I will not leave you alone to deal with it now.

You grabbed him and kissed his cheek. Then he ran and fetched the midwife. He held to his word and stayed.

Labor is always long. Labor is always primal. But he waited there. Squeezing your hand, cooling your head for every painful cry and push. 

Then, after the long hours, though he was a man used to blood he turned pale… Then at last there was a cry.

The midwives smiled, bringing out a little baby in their blaket. Declaring, “It’s a girl!”

You let out a smile and then a laugh of relief. Thomas kissed your hand, then looked at her. His blue eyes brimmed with tears, but for once in his life they were happy ones.

The little girl was brought out in her blanket, needing her mother’s touch- being so new to this cold world and wanting the soft embrace of knowing she was loved now that she was here.

“Look at her…look at her- our baby! Our daughter! Oh!” you cried, a mess of crying, swear, and relief—the pain of the last several hours was forgotten for the tiny baby.

“I never could imagine it,” he agreed, he pecked her tiny forehead.

Once she had settled down, you handed her over to Thomas. The warm, living bundle in his arms. Yes, her cry was loud and bright…but it only signaled that she was alive.. He had never known such joy without confinement, without limits.

The midwives and nurses were paid and thanked. They left, but though it was a long day his Daedelian mind was eager to share his gift.

As you sat in the bed after a while, Thomas got up.

“I have a gift now. For her,” he announced.

Setting you in the wheelchair for rest, he led you to the nursery. The little girl in your arms. Inside the little pastel room there was something in the middle that was tall beneath a blanket.

Thomas walked forward and slipped the blanket off. You let out a gasp.

Beneath was the cradle Thomas made. It was stunningly beautiful- a little pedal that when he stepped on it, would make it rock. Over the bed was a music box on the side that trinkled a lullabye. Stars and a crescent moon dangled were placed to spin over the babies head where she would be placed.

You gasped, seeing how ornate it was. Every bit made with love. As you got up and placed her inside, she opened her little eyes and cooed. You made a little gasp as she took in the sight- her parents and her special gift. Music, rocking, and the stars and moon to dance above her.

To think, after all he had seen, experienced, and done…that he would come to know this moment. Here it was…and he didn’t feel worthy of it.

What when she was older? His own father was a monster. And for a while, fatherhood was linked to such things…

“I only hope I shall be a good father for that little girl…” Thomas wondered..

“You already are,” you assured him. You wrapped an arm around him and kissed him on the cheek.

That night, you were set to sleep after the exhaustion of delivery and elation of the baby. Thomas offered to be there in the nursery. For she was crying through that night, as any baby. Not that she was hungry, as he found out, she just needed warmth.

He got her out of the lovely cradle and went to the rocking chair. He wanted to hold her, feel her close. Her warmth and beating heart and life. 

His most precious creation of all…and the one that would survive. He knew she would.

“I promise you, my little love…” Thomas told the baby. “You will not know of attics. Of cold and punishments. Of plotting and murders. Of blood and cruelty…”

He kissed the top of her head.

“No- you will be Protected. Wanted…and loved.”

He would do everything so that his daughter would never have to suffer as he did.

[k-writer17]

Tom with Fans yesterday

He looks so sexy in that shirt 😍🫠.

I wonder what he is doing in the photo with the high vis 🤔

[variant-lokitty]

happiest birthday to my ultimate london boy! ❤️

[autumnvine]

She's Gone

Summary: This was the first time you'd ever had a whole movie to shoot, a chance to work with Tom Hiddleston. Tom became your best friend, your saviour. He was always there for you, especially when you needed him most.

Tw: Death of yn Grandparent, mentions of blood in the crimson peak movie scene.

"Well, that's a wrap for today! I just wanted to personally thank everyone one of you for your amazing work. You guys have put in a tremendous effort, go home, rest up, see you all Monday morning bright and early." The director called cut on the scene, everyone was smiling all day filming with no hoovers, no retakes, no cuts. Everyone did so well. Youwere proud of your team, Tom was your best friend he really cared about you as you did him, his girlfriend was just lovely and you couldn't be happier for them, it was nice seeing them both happy together. For all you were single, you were okay with it, choosing to focus on your career right now over relationships.

Tom always looked out for you, he helped you through everything, on your first day he asked you to get coffee with him so you weren't alone, on days you had filmed intense scenes together he made sure you were alright and day where his character shouted at yours, he made sure to check on you and apologized for yelling eventhough it wasn't him, it was the characters but he wanted to always make sure you were alright.

You confided in Tom with everything, when your parents divorced he was there, when your best friend moved away he was there for you, when you were ill his was the shoulder you lent on. Tom knew your whole life, he knew absolutely everything that happened in your life, just as you did his. The bond between you was unbreakable. Rock solid.

"Yn you did amazing today, I'm so proud of you, how is your shoulder after landing o n it today?"

"Thank you Tom, you did great also, you always do your scenes amazing, my shoulder is okay trust me I had a soft landing on the mat, so what's your plan for the weekend are you and Zawe going out?"

"We are yes, I'm taking her out on Sunday for our anniversary. She's working tomorrow or I would have taken her away for the weekend."

"Awh Tom that's lovely have a fabulous weekend, congratulations on your anniversary."

" Thank you darling, What about you? What is your plans?"

"I'm not sure I might call home see what's happening there and how everyone is doing."

"Have a great time, say hi to your parents for me, be safe"

"Thank you have a great time too." You hugged Tom and left for your separate trailers,

Your trailer was almost as big as your apartment, a dressing table, wardrobe with your everyday clothes, some of your makeup and sprays. Sitting down in front of your mirror you took the rollers out your hair, took off your makeup and removed the dress from your last scene, you'd be in serious trouble if it got dirty or lost at your apartment. Slipping into some leggings and an oversize comfortable jumper with your trainers.

Gathering your belongings and driving home, you took your golden retriever out for a walk as soon as you got in, she was so excited to see you, as you were her. There was a great little walk around your home, through the feilds and trees, giving her some time offf the lead to run free without anyone getting knocked over by the speed she runs. IIt had been over an hor since you finished filming for the day, not once thinking to check your phone.

Missed call x5

message x 5

"Call me, you need to come home now"

"Yn answer your phone, we're at the hospital"

"Are you working, hurry up before it's too late"

"Yn call me right now!"

"She's gone Yn, your grandma passed at 3.15 this afternoon, she just wanted to say goodbye to you, but you wouldn't answer"

Trying to call your mom back a few times but no answer, Crying at the horrific news, your grandma passed away, yous had always been so close, when youy were ill when you were little she made you soup and scones, insisting it made you feel better. When you fell off your bike and broke your arm when you were nine she came over while your mom worked, gave you the controller for the Tv and let you eat so much sweets and cakes as you wanted. EVery birthday she was the frst one to call you, as well as christmas, and when your grandpa died last year you insited upon staying with her so she wasn't alone, but when she needed you most you didn't even know, you weren't there.

Leaving to go for a walk along through the town, the silence was making you more upset, knowing you can't call her, see how she was doing, or being able to get ahold of your mom, you found the beer garden she took you to the day after your 21st birthday to celebrate and drink with you. Sitting in the same table, drank exactly what you had that night of your birthday, having a coctail a passionfruit martini "I'm sorry Grandma I hope you found your peace" raising your glass to the air you toasted each drink in her honour. Drink after drink, hour after hour, "I hope your happy up there with grandpa"

"Hey just leave the bottle for me yeh?" you asked the bartender while passing over $40 to pay for it.

After a few hours you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder

"I'm sorry ma'am you have to leave were closed.

"I'm sorry, I'm going I'm just going"

Grabbing your purse and of course your bottle you walked home, eyes red raw from the tears shed for your grandma, your dog greeting you at the door, tail wagging, running around you as you kicked off your trainers,

"Come on babe lets go to bed."

The following morning you tried to call your parents again, who didn't answer again, they never text you back from last night. "Babe want to go for a walk?" youasked your beautiful golden pooch laying on the bed beside you, as soon as she heard walk, she ran for the door.

Strolling through the streets with your dog trying to call over and over, trying to take your mind on your grandma, it wasn't working. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes again just at the though your grandma was mad you never answered. All day you walked around with your dog throwing sticks for her, and playing chase, getting some water for her as you had been out for a long time,stopping in for a wrap on the way home.

You went for a shower, got some comfy pyjammies on and curled up on the couch with a blanket, tear falling onto the blanket, one after the other after the other until there was no stopping it, babe jumped up onto the couch and nuzzeled her face under your arm and layed over your lap trying to comfort you.

Monday morning had came around, no word from your parents, you had to drag yourself out of bedget up, get dressed, kissed babe goodbye "I'll be back in a few hours okya, I love you" you always spoke to your dog like she could understand you. You knew she could.

"Alright guys hope everyone's weekend wasn't too crazy, now I need you to be ready Tom for the last scene in the film, so get ready, get dirty, remember exactly how the hair and makeup wasbut your team will support you with this. Yn I need you ready in fifteen minuites, hair, makeup, dress everything, get whoever you need to have this done and go. The rest of you I need some clothes scattered over the floor on scene, I need everything done ASAP people, come on, last scene we can do this!" Shouted the director possitively encouraging all of you.

In your trailer you pulled the dress overhead, two ladies working on your hair, one lady working on your makeup and a man filming the behind the scene documentary. "Getting ready with Yn" Walking on set you waited for Tom running over your lines in your head, preparing yourself and trying to keep your tears at bay.

"Hi Tom, how was your anniversary?"

"Yn darling it nice to see you this morning, it was lovely Zawe and I had a wonderful time, how was your weekend?"

"It was fine" coosing not to tell him the truth or you'd cry

"ALRIGHT EVRYONE PLACES, PLACES......AND.. SCENE"

Tom's line "McMichael is still alive, he's alive"

Yn line "You lied to me"

Tom "I did"

Yn "You poisoned me"

Tom "I did"

Yn "You told me you loved me"

"I do, please trust me this one more time, let me make this right,you can leave if you want, or you can wait for me here, I'm going to get those papers back, I'm going to finish this, I'm going to get us out of here"I'm going to save you Tom kisses you "Now hide, don't let her find you, I will finish this and we will all be free, we sell the house and let themmines and the Sharpe family name die"

You kissed Tom and ran off scene as scripted, still watching from the side, he ran through the halls of the mansion

"Lucile it's over, she's gone, burn the papers and we will all be free"

"It will never be over"

"Lucille it's over pleae, pass them to me" reaching over to pick up the papers

"Nooo" Lucille shouted, cutting Tom with a fake knife as scripted "You did this, you made this happen, you were never supposed to fall in love with anyone, you were supposed to love me, you were only supposed to love me, it was perfect, it was us, and you fell in love with her!" Lucille shouted repeatedly stabbing into his shift as scripted. Obviously not hurting Tom but watching it hurt you.

"AND SCENE! THATS US GUYS WELL DONE" The director shouted, everyone started clapping and cheering, hugging and dancing with achother, but you stood crying watching as your best friend was stabbed oer and over, which you knew was fake and just the scene for the movie but it was all too much, "Tom" you shouted running over to him, wiping your tears and helping him up, "Darling are you alright?" Tom pushed a strand of the wid behind your ear oaway from your face, tears streaming down your cheeks, "Oh darling what's wrong?" Tom sympathised with you pulling you into his arms holding you against his chest

"Darling you did so well, your scene was amazing, are you alright? What's wrong? Did I upset you, I'm sorry my dear"

Sobbing in his arms he helped you up "Come on lets go outside, somewhere more private, get you some air"Tom was fully aware that everyone was watching your heart break in his arms, you nodded and walked outside with him but the tears wouldn't stop no matter how hard you tried.

He guided you over to your trailer, politely asking the makeup and hair crew to leave,.

He helped you sit on your front trailer stap with him sitting just infront of you, holding your hands runnign his fingers up your arms,

"Darling whta's going on?" Talk to me"

"I saw you, and she hurt you, and your bleeding and I'm so sorry"

Tom looked down to see the bloodstained shirt he was wearing, obviously fake blood from the scene, none the less he removed it, sitting infront of you topless

"Darling I'm alright, look she didn't hurt me it's alright, it's all fake, you know that."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Tom"

"Yn don't appologize it's alright, just take a deep breath, dry your eyes, tell me what's going on. I know this didn't upset you this much."

Taking some deep breaths of fresh air, looking at Tom's blue beautiful eyes

"She's gone Tom, my grandma, she's gone, my mom won't talk to me because I never said goodbye to her, i didn'tknw, I was working, I was filming I din't know. And now noone will talk to me,I feel completely alone and she's gone and nothing is going to bring her back. She was 86, it's her birthday in a few weeks, or at least it was. She's gone I don't know what happened, my mom text me saying there atthe hospital friday lunch time and at the three she text me again saying my grandma is gone. I'm so sorry I never ment to get this upset, or ruin your filming party, I'm so sorry Tom"

Tom gently held you in his arms as you spoke about all the times you had spent with your grandma, and how she adored you, Tom comforted you explaining to you that eventhough you were working when she passed, it's what she prefered, she wouldn't want you to get upset talking to her, and she would want you to be happy. "You darling I bet she's up there right now looking down on you, sitting with your grandpa, sh's reunited with her love. You finished your first film, both she and I are so proud of you." Tom kissed your head, he always knew exactly what you needed to hear.

"I want you to come have dinner with Zawe and I, I don't think you should be by yourself."

"That's so kind of you Tom thank you, but don't worry I have babe and I can't leave her by herself all night."

"Alright, well I'll drop you home and stay with you for a while until I know babe will take care of you."

"Thank you Tom"

"You are my best friend Yn, you are never alone, you always have Zawe and I, we are both just a phone call away alright"

"Thank you"

[lulubelle814]

A Marriage of Convenience

Masterlist

Loki's father refuses to consider him to take over the company unless he marries. Eva is in a massive financial bind and about to be evicted. Could they solve each other's problems?

Part 1 - The Proposal

Part 2 - Dinner with the in-laws

Part 3 - The Nightmare

Part 4 - A Dark Turn

Part 5 - Confessions

Epilogue

[theartofimagining13]

Imagine:

Tom is completely obsessed with you and can’t keep his hands off you. His love for you is borderline crazy and so overwhelming that sometimes it scares you a bit. He’s very territorial and, as time goes by, all these feelings only intensify. It gets to the point where you don’t know what he’d be capable of if there was another man in your life.