#thomas sharpe x fem! y/n

[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.”

[earlysunshines]

vixen

hirai momo x fem!reader ; pining, fluff, angst, smut

wc: 14.7k

synopsis: when your boyfriend takes you to meet his family the last thing you had expected was to be eyed up and down by his step-sister – and honestly, you’re checking her out too.

warnings: smut!! ; fingering ; oral ; making out against the door, on the couch, in the elevator ; some soft sex ; reader has a *gags* bf ; momo is readers boyfriends’ very hot step sister ; not too happy with the pacing ; pining pining and pining ; brief implied homophobia ; anything else I didn't mention ; not proofread

a/n: i’ve never had a bf ever in my life or even talked to a man romantically so sorry if the whole having a bf part is really bad (lesbian since birth basically)

literally nothing could have ever prepared you for this moment. nothing.

the woman standing right there in front of you, a foot away looking down at you from the door; she’s gorgeous, she’s fucking hot. 

you’re meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time after dating for three months, yeah you were nervous about this whole meeting, picking out appropriate clothes for dinner with his parents and sibling. it was normal to feel this way, however, you’re much more nervous as the woman in front of you scans you down. 

those cheekbones could have been carved by aphrodite herself, sharp and perfect. her eyes, a dark brown, send a shiver down your spine. her lips are a tempting shade of pink, parting just a bit the more she takes in your presence. she gives you a curious look, you can't help but avert your eyes and your gaze inevitably travels, trailing down her crop top, lingering on the tantalizing glimpse of abs peeking out–

“and you are?” she clears the air, looking you up and down with the same hint of interest.

clearing your throat, you respond, “oh, hi. i’m um, thomas’s girlfriend…” 

the word girlfriend rolls off your tongue weirdly in the presence of whoever she is. you’re indicating that you’re taken, taken by… thomas.

“ahhh,” she says so casually, it still makes your breath hitch right then and there, the tremble of her voice vibrating in the air and reaching your ears like a cold brush of wind. then she smirks, and your knees go weak. “you’re y/n? i didn’t know he managed to get with someone so–” she eyes you up and down, smiling wider now. “--striking.”

you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react because jesus fucking christ the woman of the century has just complimented you. you’ve just met her and weirdly enough she has you like putty.

“momo?” you hear a deep voice shout from inside the house. 

the familiar face of your boyfriend appears seconds later, he smiles at you, pulling you in by the waist - you almost trip. and then he kisses you on the lips, deeply. the fact that the woman from before is witnessing this makes you cringe internally, so you pull away for a bit, stopping his advances with a hand on his chest.

“hey, babe, not um, now.” you whisper, earning a strange look.  

“oh, okay.” he says dissapointedly. you turn to the side, looking at the woman again. your boyfriend raises his brows in disinterest. “oh, her? she’s my stepsister.”

the stepsister (the prettiest woman you’ve laid eyes on) looks at you again. her eyes go from your eyes to your lips, down your body and back up to your eyes. her brows raise up in interest, amusement – something along the lines of that – before she introduces herself.

“momo.” it’s such a simple name, but it fits her image. you’d love to know this momo more. “it’s nice to meet you, y/n.”

“yeah, likewise.”

she smiles at you, almost like she knows she has you under a spell.

“thomas been treating you well?”

“oh, yeah.” you look over to your boyfriend, he’s rolling his eyes at momo. “he’s great.”

momo snickers, “uh huh, sure. i bet.”

“oh stop that.” thomas says, “you’re being annoying.” he puts his arm around your waist again before tilting his head to the side and winking at you. “let’s go to my room.” 

you nod and he leads you down up the stairs, still, you manage to catch another glimpse of momo before you head up. she looks at you with narrowed eyes, complimented by a grin that shows a bit of her teeth. 

your clench your jaw before redirecting your attention.

–

the fact that you’re thinking about your boyfriend's step sister more than him the whole time he’s entertaining you in his room is a little concerning.

even when he shows you his stupid trophies and pictures of his lacrosse team, you can’t shake momo off your mind.

momo, momo who’s probably the prettiest person you’ve seen. she looks nothing like thomas, clearly not because if you’re being honest, his visuals don’t have a chance against hers. it’s terrible though, you shouldn’t be thinking this, you can’t.

but even when your boyfriend is kissing you suddenly, sliding his hands up your torso and shifting his lips to your jaw, you still think of her. 

–

thomas sits you down at the dinner table, squeezing your hand as you situate yourselves.

thomas’s dad sits in front of him and his stepmom – you assume, she has similar features as momo – sits on the same end of the table. 

in front of you is momo, of course.

if you were to lift your head up, even shift your look up, you’d meet her features. 

as she sits at the dinner table, engrossed in her phone as she waits for the food to cool down. your boyfriend's parents initiate the conversation, delving into inquiries about your life, your background, your family, etc – basically throwing around questions you’d expected. they come across as warm and inviting, particularly momo's mom, whose voice is sweet and genuine – contrast to thomas's dad's straightforward and blunt tone.

“so, what are you majoring in?” momo’s mom asks.

“public health, i also used to minor in art… but it didn’t really fit.” you answer. 

she raises her brows, looking at momo now. “did you hear that honey? she used to do art. my daughter does something in that field, what was it?”

momo looks up and into your eyes, making you shrink in your seat.

“architecture and graphic design.” she says, tilting her head. “what classes did you take when you minored?”

“oh, um, intro to art history and the basics, you know… um…” you start to trail off, watching as the woman in front grins wider.

“that’s cool” she says simply. she thinks it’s cool, this is great.

thomas speaks up, chicken and rice still half eaten in his mouth, “yeah, art is cool but it’s not gonna get you paid.” his tone is judgemental, making you frown. “momo spends all her tuition on classes that teach you how to draw a stick figure on a laptop and make buildings with popsicle sticks.”

momo grimaces. “oh shut up, at least everyone that takes art isn’t an egotistical snob.” 

her mom butts in, “hey, let’s not fight at the dinner table in front of our guest.”

thomas puts his hands up in defense. “right, sorry for reminding you that i have a secure job and career coming my way. my bad little sis.” he grins, raising his brows. “y/n has a good path too, not as good as business, sorry babe, but still, good money – at least after you go to medical school or whatever.”

“hey, thomas…” you respond, voice small. he’s unbelievably obnoxious right now. “i think… art is cool momo.”

momo looks at you again after your words of reassurance, smiling. you could be delusional, maybe just a little, but you swear there’s a little flush on your cheeks. you might just be delusional, though.

as dinner progresses, you make a point to compliment thomas's dad on his delicious chicken recipe, eliciting a bright smile from him, probably the first of the evening. momo's mom shares more details about her, capturing your attention more than any information that’s dropped about thomas. you like how momo get’s a little more timid when anecdotes are dropped, you don’t pay attention to any shared of thomas other than the time he got hit by a seagull when he was four. that made you laugh, it made everyone laugh.

the night comes to an end with thomas’s arm around your shoulder, the feeling of it heavy and a little overwhelming, but he’s your boyfriend and you’re in front of his family out for display, so you decide to ignore the weird feeling in your heart – especially the discomfort when momo manages to meet the scene.

thomas is later sent to do the dishes, giving you more time to converse with his parents one on one. they seem to genuinely enjoy your company. his dad's smiles become more frequent, and his stepmom expresses her fondness for you, commenting on how cute and wonderful you are.

you spot momo in the corner of your eye wiping the table down, her tricep flexing when her arm moves forward, the small curve of her bicep prominent when she brings her arm back. you decide – after seeing this sight – that you want to talk to her, alone.

you walk towards her, standing just by the side of the table. feeling the new presence creep in, momo turns to her left, catching you in her vision.

the sight of you there, clad in a loose sweater and shorts, makes her smile a little.

“hi.” you greet, offering a small smile back.

“hey.”

“do you need help with that?” you ask her, “i feel bad just letting you two do the work.”

“i’m almost done.” momo shrugs, then begins to wipe again. “don’t worry about it, you’re our guest y/n.”

you frown slightly, feeling helpless as you stand there, watching momo wipe down the table silently.

“by the way,” she starts, making you perk your head up. “why do you like my brother? how did you two even meet?”

“oh,” you shrink when momo’s eyes meet yours. “my friend introduced me to him when we went out to eat. he made me laugh a lot and, i guess i thought he was cute–”

but wow, if i knew you were even cuter? i don’t know what i’d do.

“--and he’s funny. we went on a few dates later on and now, now i’m here.”

momo hums, looking at you with narrowed eyes now. “well, i’m glad he makes you happy. you guys are cute.”

you respond with a “thanks.” before momo turns to finish off the last side of the table, but before she can do that, you invade her personal space a little. she’s surprised when you’re leaning in, lips near her ear and muttering, “i’m sorry for how he acted earlier, i thought it was really rude, i’ll talk to him about that. i think architecture and graphic design are really cool, my friend chaeyoung is an art major actually.”

when you pull away, faces a hand width apart, the two of you find yourselves staring at each other for a bit. momo chuckles, her smile even wider now.

“wow, you’re really cute y/n. no wonder my brother pursued you.” her words ring in your ear as if you’d been thrown against some giant bell. you find yourself blushing and look away. momo begins again, “it’s fine though. he’s my brother, he’s always like that – it’s how siblings are.”

“right, sorry i just, i thought it was rude.” 

“he’s like that.” momo shrugs, “i guess he’s nicer to you than he is with me.”

“oh, maybe.”

she places her hand on your shoulder, her very nice-looking hand with nude colored polish and visible veins running on the top of it. you almost shudder, the contact makes you stiffen up a bit.

“don’t overthink it.” momo suggests, “he’s just a guy. he’s like that, don’t worry, seriously. i’m not going to cry myself to sleep because some 5’7 guy made fun of my major.” 

you giggle at her joke and find yourself being pulled into someone seconds later – to your dismay.

“alright, that’s enough of bothering my girlfriend.” he teases, kissing your forehead. “let me drive you home babe, that okay?”

“yeah of course, let me get my bag.” you kiss him on the cheek as well. 

momo begins to walk away from the scene and you feel a twinge of disappointment. you kind of hoped to have more conversation with her, but there’s always more opportunity considering the fact that you’ll probably be over more.

part of you has to remind yourself that the reason you’ll be over is to hangout with your boyfriend – not to learn more about momo.

–

you’ve lived alone for a few semesters, the first two being the year you shared a dorm with yeri. you were sent on a scholarship, almost a full ride, so your parents decided to be generous since you pretty much lived out their expectations.

having your own place also meant having a whole living place to do whatever you want. you had a single bedroom apartment to yourself, no bathroom to share, no roommate to bicker with over stupid little things like dishes. sure, it got pretty lonely without your best friend, but she visited often anyway. now that you have your own place, the world is basically your oyster. you missed yeri a good amount of the time – at least she didn’t have to have that fear of walking in on you and thomas getting a little… intimate. 

thomas hovers over you, his grunts muffled into your neck as he desperately thrusts into you. it’s not the worst feeling – his dick inside – but it’s definitely worse than the foreplay, which says a lot.

now that you and thomas have more time and space to get hot and heavy, he never takes it for granted, and you’re never against it, wanting your boyfriend to feel good.

and when he cums – not really minding that you didn’t do the same – he kisses you on the lips sloppily, muttering a few curses against your lips while you send your hands down his back, falsely scratching at the muscles he’s worked for as if you’d felt the same sensation as him.

(you like him a lot, really, enough to the point where you’ll fake pleasure.)

���fuck, baby,” he sighs as he flops down next to you, catching his breath. “that was so,” he kisses the corner of your lips, “amazing.”

maybe for you.

“mhm,” you hum, he smiles at you, and it’s kind of cute, so is the ruffled hair. thomas can be cute sometimes.

the sound of buzzing fills the now quiet room. thomas looks over to his left, reaching for his phone, then tenses his jaw a bit. you quirk a brow, turning over to place your arm over him and before you can even ask – he sits up.

“baby.” he turns, looking down at you with an apologetic expression. “i’m sorry, i have this thing to go to.”

“now?” you prop yourself up on one arm, your palm holding your cheek as you question, “what thing?”

“business, you know.” and you for one, do not know. what business does he have at three – almost four – in the afternoon? he runs a hand through his hair before kissing you on the forehead, whispering a, “i’m sorry, i’ll text you later, okay baby?”

“um, okay.” you mumble, looking at him confusedly as he finds his boxers, slipping them on before checking his phone again.

“seriously, i’ll text you.”

“okay thomas, have fun.”

you lie there, your eyes half-closed, listening to the rustling of fabric as he retrieves his jeans and t-shirt. just before he leaves, you hear him mumble a "love you," and then the door shuts, leaving you alone, naked in your own disheveled sheets.

turning over, just enough to let the afternoon light seep through the blinds and into your eyes, you pull the blanket up and over you, engulfing your whole body. 

your phone makes a loud ding from the bedside table, prompting you to open your eyes a little so you can check whatever the notification is. you lazily scoot your head over to peek at the screen, reading the words on the screen–

your eyes widen at the “cafe pop up at the park!!! spring flavors!!!” reminder, instantly giving you a burst of energy despite the activity from before.

then it hits you; you haven’t done shit today, nothing at all. waking up with thomas was one thing, but not enough(clearly), and then that movie you can’t even remember the plot of since thomas was too busy eyeing you, feeling you up, rubbing your thigh and fuck, you really wanted to finish that movie. some stupid rom-com that you were invested in, thomas seemed to be interested in something else.

you force yourself up and the blanket falls down to your stomach, your tits out on display now and you can see a faint hickey on the left side of your chest in the mirror across from you. you comb your fingers through your hair, fixing it up before heading to your bathroom.

this is better than being a bum for the rest of the day anyway.

–

the ten minute walk to the infamous park – adorned with beautiful cherry blossoms, blooming tulips, and public spaces to gather and catch up – makes you forget about everything that had happened before.

there are various friend groups around, each holding a cup of coffee with the words “kim’s kaffeine,” belonging to the new cafe that opened months ago, the same cafe hosting a little pop-up to promote their new blend.

once you reach the cafe, there’s already a line – maybe seven or eight people – unfortunately. 

still, you decide that it could be worst, considering it’s a pop up and at the newest cafe. recently you had seen a promotion video of the place on instagram, so it’s not surprising that there’d be a wait that would take more than ten minutes. 

after scrolling through texts in he groupchat with your friendgroup, looking at their various reels sent and stupid debates on where to hangout next; you look up and finally it’s your time to order. you were here for one thing, that popular latte they’ve been advertising and of course that’s what you had ordered. 

it takes about five minutes for the barista to finish up your drink, and when she’s done, she calls out your name with enthusiasm and smiles at you once you walk over, quickly rushing a “thank you!” before tending to the next order. 

you swirl the coffee around and take a sip, relishing the taste and considering coming over more often. usually you’d be underwhelmed by foods or drinks that had gained so much attention, but this particular beverage really met your standards. 

without thinking, you turn around swiftly and manage to run into a woman. you hear her gasp as soon as you two clash and feel the iced coffee from your drink seep into your clothing.

you look down to see a damp, rosy region on your t-shirt and a few drops on your white shoes.

“oh my god im so sorry–” her voice is laced with panic, and then she looks up, looking horrified when she processes just who she’s run into. “y/n?”

mouth agape and eyes widening, you pause in place as you stare at the woman: momo.

she’s an inch taller, eyes angled downwards in the slightest to meet yours apologetically. she reaches for the pocket inside her blazer, pulling out a napkin before handing it to you. 

“momo?” her name rolls off your tongue almost like a question, but also as if you were happy to see her despite the circumstances.

(you are, in fact, happy to see her despite your t-shirt being stained with half your cherry blossom latte.)

“y/n, sorry, i was rushing and i didn’t see you.” her voice is bashful, eyes tearing away from yours as she takes off her blazer, which reveals a black tank top underneath. she hands you the blazer, insisting, “here, take it – for the trouble of course. i’ll get you another drink.”

shaking your head and waving your hand at her, you flash a smile and quickly respond, “no, no it’s fine. it was an accident, no need to–”

“no, please, let me.” momo butts in, “i know the owners, i mean, i was the one who designed the posters and menu after all. i also know the barista really well, she’ll give them for free.”

you can’t really argue with her after that, so you reluctantly nod. “right, okay.”

she puts her hand on your shoulder, looking relieved. your eyes meet her hand, the hand on your shoulder. your shoulder. her hand. on you. 

“i’m sorry again, here–” momo puts the sleeves of the blazer on either shoulder before making a little knot, which covers the stain solidly. “this should do it.”

she grins at you, looking proud of her work (she’s done the bare minimum, but somehow cutely) and you can’t help but grin back after seeing her like that. the glasses she has on make her seem a little dorky, which is honestly adorable to you, making your smile grow even wider – a toothy one. 

warmth spreads across your cheeks, and you even feel your ears grow a little warm too. “thanks momo.”

-

momo was right; not only did you get your drink, but it got upgraded from a small to large, with an extra shot of espresso, and it was all free.

she interacted with the barista freely, joking around and even getting teased. the barista had sent you a cheeky look – one which you ignored – when she realized that momo was ordering for you as well. 

“one large iced cherry blossom latte! one hot, large mocha!” the barista had shouted soon after. once you and momo had received the drinks, the barista smiled at you widely, eyes moving back and forth between the two of you with a little smirk. “you two enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“thank’s dahyun, see you soon.”

“yeah yeah, thanks for leeching off my business.” the barista jokes, rolling her eyes at momo. “and have a good one, momo’s friend.” 

caught off guard, you laugh, “thank you, you too!” before momo reaches for your tricep and lures you away from cafe. you turn around to see the barista – dahyun you assume was her name – waving, adding a little wink to the mix.

you and momo find yourself walking over to a bench, and once you sit down she immediately apologizes.

“i’m so sorry again, i’m so dumb.” she pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “so sorry.”

“don’t say that, trust me it happens to a lot of people.” you assure, giving her a smile. you take a sip of your latte, smiling even wider as you sit next to her. “thank you for the drink – and the size upgrade. your friend is very sweet.”

“it’s no problem, i mean even if it weren’t for free i’d pay for it. you’re thomas’s girlfriend after all.” 

you turn away from her, snickering before you look down at the drink in your hand. “is that all you see me as?”

“what?”

“your brother’s girlfriend?”

“no, not at all.” momo pauses, turning to face you instead of the little boy playing with his dog across the park. “do you see me as just his sister?”

“not right now, no.”

“not now?”

your faces meet each other now after you turn, smug smirks that mirror each other. momo laughs and all you can do is laugh too.  

“i mean, last time i just saw you as thomas’s really pretty sister. now all i see is momo, the person who spilled coffee all over me.”

she pushes your shoulder playfully, rolling her eyes to hide how flustered she is after hearing you call her “really pretty.”

“oh stop that.” momo sighs, “i’m sorry, again.”

“apologize again and i’ll spill coffee on you.” you warn teasingly, making momo laugh again. 

silence falls over for a short moment as the two of you people-watch. momo sips on her mocha, and you catch her in your peripheral, waiting for her to continue the conversation or say something else.

she’s interesting, you note, with the way you’ve already warmed up to her. she’s a stark contrast from her brother; talking to her is definitely less stressful. you can speak your mind and joke freely. 

momo doesn’t look at you when she suddenly asks, “are you doing anything? or did you only drop by to get coffee and go back?”

“oh, no not at all. i’m pretty much free, thomas had something to do so…” you force a smile, pursing your lips together a bit. “why do you ask?”

“i came here to study for a project actually. do you want to accompany me?” 

you grin at her, crossing one leg over the other before you respond, “of course,�� because what else do you have to do? and besides, momo’s company would be much better than walking around the park alone.

“great.” momo says, then stands, grabbing your wrist and urging you up with her.

–

–

she leads you down the park, a little deeper where there’s less families and more students trying to study in an area that’s full of sunlight.

the two of you walk beside each other and halfway through the walk momo pulls out a small notepad, then fishes for a pen in her bag. you observe carefully, watching her take notes of her surroundings and sketch small designs of what looks to be some type of public architecture. momo sits you two down by a concrete bench, right in front of a singled out tree that’s surrounded by grass and the wooden trail through the park.

her tongue sticks out as she sketches, then her glasses slip down her nose and you’re quick to push them back up with your finger. momo looks at you in surprise, a small blush painted on her cheeks as she mutters a small “thank you.”

momo’s really cute, which is a little conflicting for some reason. 

you’ve been silent most of the time, not really saying anything because momo hasn’t either, and because you’re too busy watching the way her expression’s change as she thinks to herself, finding the purse of her lips and those scrunched brows oddly alluring – and that smile of yours hard to fight back.

“what are you working on by the way?” you ask, which makes her perk her head up in surprise.

“oh, it’s for a project. we’re proposing architectural designs and ideas that might be considered – like, they might actually build it.” momo explains, then scoots over so that your shoulder is touching hers, showing you the notepad. there’s a sketch of the tree and around it are sketches that you can’t really make out. shecontinues, “surrounding it are little sitting areas, maybe to protect the tree and prevent it from deteriorating, i don’t know.” she puts the pen to her bottom lip, thinking to herself again. “there’s not a lot of seating in this particular area because they don’t want to get rid of the natural aspect, but that means it’s not as versatile because people don’t want to stay in a spot thats–”

momo looks up at you, second guessing herself. 

you look away from the notepad and back at her, tilting your head in confusion. “why’d you stop?”

“sorry i just– you know, i feel like im rambling.” momo chuckles awkwardly, looking down at her notepad once again. “it’s just something for my class–”

“no, i like it, keep talking.” cutting her off, you reach out for her hand to stop her from closing the notepad. “it’s interesting, and i like your rambling so…”

your hand is on her’s, spiking both your heartbeats. momo gulps lightly, giggling her nervousness off again.

“you’re so strange y/n.” momo teases, smiling down at the pen in her hand. “anyway,”

she continues on about her ideas for eco friendly study areas, small structures and designs that are fit for the elderly and others that are fit for the younger generation. she’s really lively about it too, using her hands ask she talks, her expressions growing more animated. 

you find yourself propped up on both hands while you sit, body leaned back as you listen and watch her with stars in your eyes.

“momo.”

she hums, looking up from her notepad. “yeah?”

“are you single?”

she freezes, her cheeks starting to flush as she looks away. she starts to laugh under her breath, shaking her head before responding, “what kind of question is that?”

“just curious.” you admit. “you’re pretty and youre passionate about this and it’s really adorable. i kinda just started thinking if you were single or not because if you are, that would be unbelievable.”

your compliments are like bullets, and you just keep shooting and shooting until her knees and body grow weak. momo doesn’t know how many more shots she can take.

“well, i guess you might not believe me then.” she mirrors the way you sit, then turns her head to face you. “i’m very much single.”

“you’re kidding.”

“no.” she looks away again. “you sound so patronizing right now.”

“hey , hey, i’m not making fun of you or anything – i just think it’s weird that no one has made a move.” you say, and momo looks at you in a way that asks for more. you sit up again, slouching a bit as you rest your elbow on your knee. “you and thomas are so different you know, but you both have one common trait from what i’ve observed so far: you both are oblivious.”

“what?”

you shrug, then state simply, “just an observation.” momo opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. instead, she looks at you again, watching you smirk like you haven’t sent her brain into a swirl. “anyway, tell me more about your architecture stuff.” you tilt your head and laugh lightly. “i think your ramble is much more interesting than anything business related i’ve heard from thomas.”

“business majors…”

“business men.” you correct.

both of you laugh harmoniously, playfully shoving each other in the process and it seriously feels just right.

-

after getting her number, you discover that she even rambles through text. she shares her thoughts and feelings in a stream of consciousness that makes you laugh. her messages are filled with blurbs about things that have made her happy or pissed her off, the level of openness and expressiveness contrasts sharply with thomas. 

her candid messages and pictures, plus the willingness to share her emotions freely make you realize how much you appreciate that quality. you can't help but wish that thomas were a little more like her, it’d make him just as cute. 

a few days later, while you’re with thomas, momo gets the courage to ask you out to the park again, sending a little text that reads “coffee? won’t spill it on you this time…” and you can’t help but smile at your screen. 

thomas notices the change in expression, raising a brow in suspicion.

“and who’s got my girlfriend smiling at her phone like that?”

you shake your head and grin to yourself. “your sister, actually.”

“momo?”

“yeah, she’s nice.” 

he looks at you from the bed, watching you sit back in the office chair in your room as you reply to the text. your fingers tap against the screen, and your smile grows wider with each second. he can’t help but notice the way your eyes light up, the joy on your face undeniable as you exchange messages. his brows crease as he sits up, looking at you like you owe him an explanation.

you look back at him with a confused stare. “something wrong?”

“when did you hang out with her?” 

“oh,” your face lights up again. “i went to the park after you left for your business thing, and then she bumped into me and spilled coffee all over my shirt.” your tone reflects the scene like it’s some sort of thrilling story, even though it isn’t – at least to thomas. to you, it was a memory you had thought about a little too much. “it was really funny, she’s adorable, your sister is, haha. anyway– she got me some coffee and we just strolled around and hey, architecture is really interesting! i don’t know why you bashed her that one time at dinner.”

thomas lays back down, rolling his eyes and picks his phone back up again. you tilt your head as he responds, “she’s a loser, you know.” the features on his face contort into something not so short of resentment.

“you’re just saying that because she’s your sister.”

he sends you a weird look, nearing a glare, then adds, “not just that.”

you can’t help but giggle at him, finding the chance to poke at him and tease him. your hand meets your opened mouth as you gasp dramatically. 

“you’re jealous.”

“what? no.”

“oh you’re so jealous– that’s adorable!”

thomas loosens up as you laugh at him, immediately making your way over to the bed and pinching his cheek as he pretends to be annoyed by it. you kiss his knuckles, your lips soft on his rough skin before placing his hand on your cheek. 

“your sister won’t take me away from you, and besides, this is a good thing! i’m getting along with family.”

he sighs before bringing his arms out and pulling you closer. “yeah, whatever.”

placing your head on his chest, you let him gently rake his hand in your hair, waiting for him to fall asleep.

the signature snoring – loud and honestly, quite bothersome – fills the room, prompting you to fish for your phone blindly. it’s on the table, still there as you left it, meaning momo had been on read. the thought of her being left with the text “read” at the bottom of her own message makes you pout, so you end up with an apology, a response, and a stupid emoji in order to make up for it.

on the other end of the line, momo watches her phone light up, redirecting her attention from the book in her lap.

the contact reads “y/n,” and the mere sight makes momo smile. she picks up the phone, nearly on the edge of her bedside table, and reads your little text. a small chuckle leaves her lips as she fixes the glasses to sit on the bridge of her nose, the frames just barely reflecting your text:

[11:30pm]

y/n: 

sorry for the late response :( 

your brother is jealous that you’re using my time for him

kidding lol

anyway, coffee sounds great, i look forward to that.

tomorrow in the afternoon? let’s get lunch while we’re at it

sleep tight, momo

😛

momo grins, immediately typing up a response.

[11:33pm]

momo: 

let’s meet at kim’s and find our way out from there

i’ll see you there, 3pm sharp

you sleep well, y/n

your eyes had been closed, kind of, just not enough for you to not notice the light from your phone after momo sends her message. you’re quick to grab your phone, your tired features unlocking it and displaying her text in the small default font of your phone. you grin again, placing the phone back on the bedside. 

the thought of a little “date,” with momo doesn’t sound too bad, it urges you to fall asleep faster. little do you know, your limbs start to loosen up and your body slowly strays away from thomas’s, turning ever so slightly to the point where it faces the ceiling. 

–

sitting down at a small two seat table in front of the cafe, the sun shines down on you in fragments. the sky is adorned with clouds, they’re scattered all over, but not to the point where you might wonder whether you’ll need an umbrella or not.

it’s not even three yet, but still, you worry.

you worry a little more than you should. worry that momo may not show up, won’t give you that smile that shows her teeth, her eyes won’t slim as she does so – and who knows, you worry that it might even rain despite the forecast assuring semi-clouded skies, a faint breeze, and warm, wonderful weather.

without thinking, you fidget with your fingers before fixing the collar of your t-shirt for absolutely no reason.

“y/n! hey!” a voice calls out, heard from your left and just the sound of momo’s voice reaching your ears makes your turn in her direction.

you’re greeted by a smile as she walks over, and then brown eyes drill into you through black frames and it brings a little warmth to your cheeks. you figure it might be the warm weather, the sun shining – but momo seems to radiate much more than what had been forecasted.

“momo, hey.”

she’s wearing a gray tank top that showcases a small display of her tummy – you note that, making sure to revisit the landmark once you get the chance since it’s oddly enticing – and a light flannel over it. hair flows down to her shoulders, she scratches the dip of her collarbone and it moves a strand. for a moment, you wonder what it’d be like to be the one moving her hair out of the way, how soft the skin of hers feels like if you were to just graze your fingers across.

“hi y/n.” she fixes her bangs. “did you order anything yet? you better not have, you know my perks.”

“relax, relax.” you start to stand, chuckling. “i wouldn’t do that to you.”

“that’s what i thought.”

she tilts her head and signals for you to follow her to the line. thankfully, it’s not busy, lending the chance for you two to be those people who stand and observe the menu carefully with expressions that make you both look more considerate about your choices than you really are.

(at the end of these few seconds, you’ll both be ordering something you’ve already had, nothing out of your comfort zones.)

her barista friend isn’t working that day, but momo manages to playfully banter and immediately, the barista present laughs along with her, waving her hand and you hear a faint sentence that guarantees free drinks.

this time you order a small, iced caramel latte, while momo orders an iced white mocha instead. 

momo waits with you, standing a little close. you watch the barista intently, zoning out a bit as she steams milk and swirls the metal jug around. the woman next to you finds herself staring at you while you’re distracted, eyes tracing you, cherishing the moment to just look at you.

“i like your face.”

you’re quick to snap your head in her direction, immediately responding with an unbelievably flustered sounding “what?”

momo freezes, waving her hands in the air and trying to fight back the flames of embarrassment that threaten to have her cheeks burning. “no! no, no. that came out wrong, sorry, thinking out loud. i just– you have pretty features and… yeah. god that sounded so weird, don’t take it the wrong way.”

“i won’t, i won’t.” you chuckle, raising a brow mischievously which causes momo to gulp. “but i will be using this against you. it would be funny if both siblings were in love with me, wouldn’t it? his pretty sister drooling because of me, how adorable.”

momo rolls her eyes, shoving you with her own shoulder playfully. “oh shut up. i’m not in love with you.”

“right~ it’s okay momo,” placing a hand over your heart, then the other on her shoulder before you lower your voice and push your bottom lip out teasingly. “don’t fight it, stare at me all day if you’d like, gorgeous.”

“gosh, you’re a handful.” momo groans. “i don’t know how my brohter handles you.”

“he–” you cut yourself off, recollecting every moment shared with thomas. 

you struggle to remember when you’ve flirted so… easily. really, you aren’t much of a flirt, but with momo in front of you, looking so good, it’s just relaxing and easy to talk to her; your stupid remarks flow out of your mouth without thinking, but none of what you say isn’t true. and then you start to wonder whether this is morally wrong, flirting with your boyfriend’s stepsister, but really, it’s playful—even if you can’t help but be a little attracted to her. 

honestly, you don’t know how thomas handles you either because you’ve never been this teasing, never been so relentless and filled with stupid remarks. the worst you’ve done is tease him for being jealous and maybe call him hot once or twice. 

– manages.” you continue, looking away from her. “um, enough about him. let’s… let’s get lunch? i would kill for some cold noodles.”

momo sips on her drink, then chuckles. “whatever you want.”

and then you two end up having more than lunch together, finding yourselves in momo’s car while she drives both of you downtown. the two of you explore shops because hell, why not. everything you do with her that afternoon – and into the evening – is spontaneous. 

the minutes pass, and with each store you visit, you find yourself a little closer to momo. your shoulders brush, and your hands accidentally graze each other's skin with every few steps. every touch is like ice water trickling down your back, sending shivers. you start to step in a way that makes your knuckles brush against hers more frequently. there's a pang in your heart, and the thought of maybe linking pinkies, arms, or really anything—anything physical with momo—crosses your mind. the proximity feels electric, and the idea of a small, intentional touch becomes increasingly enticing.

momo is dragged by the wrist into some sunglasses store, following you in while giggles escape from you.

a variety of sunglasses are given to her so she can try them on for you, and each time you look at her with admiration, some sort of pink dusting your cheeks, momo can’t help but laugh and smile like a little kid.

there’s this wall, a wall of tension that’s thinner than thread and both of you are waiting for it to break down – momo’s the one to obliterate it.

she grabs a pair of sunglasses with square-ish frames and tinted, green lenses. you’re standing in the mirror, fixing some strands of hair that fall loose when you feel someone creep up behind you.

momo’s hands reach over your shoulders and one side of her face peeks out from behind you in the mirror. she places the sunglasses she’s brought on your face, fixing how it sits on your nose bridge before placing her hands on your shoulder. momo’s head is still close – even closer when she uses her right hand to tilt your head to the left, facing her completely.

her features become more apparent: the subtle curve shaping her nose, big brown eyes focused on you like a camera about to capture a moment, smooth cheeks, and parted lips revealing her oddly perfect teeth. her rosy lips hold you captive until she gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. your eyes shoot back up into hers—those honey-like eyes that leave you speechless and rooted to the spot. 

“these suit you well.” momo says softly. you wonder if your heart is beating louder than her voice.

you’re still stuck in place, faces four or five inches apart when you struggle to mutter out, “oh, thanks.” 

momo smirks like she knows what she’s done to you, moving away and taking her hand off your shoulder, to your dismay.

"you should buy them. here, hold on." she presses the edge of her palm against your face, lifting the sunglasses to hold your hair in place. the rush of heat in your cheeks intensifies, and just when you think you couldn’t feel more flustered, she gently pulls out a few strands of hair to frame your face better. “there we go, the green compliments your eyes.”

it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach.

momo pulls away, smiling at you. all you can do is gulp.

“maybe i will.”

her eyes scan you up and down before momo fixes her flannel, then she leaves you in front of the mirror as if she hasn’t just rocked your world.

–

after your first (intentional) hangout with momo, the words “coffee?” and “are you free?” are a common text between the two of you.

from short coffee runs to various cafes after classes to walking in the park at night on a weekend, the two of you become attached quickly. 

eating with momo is your favorite thing to do, probably, and it’s really not the food that you like; the way momo stuffs down food like it’s going to grow legs and leave her only adds to your interest in her.

the thing is, momo listens. she’s aware and attentive, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, she’s not a man-baby like thomas. spending more time with her makes you smile, makes your cheeks burn, makes you feel heard and seen. you start to point out thomas’s flaws everytime you’re alone with him the more you spend time with his sister, and it throws you in for a loop.

hanging out with momo is different than hanging out with anyone, really. you’ve noticed that even when she rambles, she’s attentive to you and your reactions, always waiting for a response and reading your features with every word uttered. 

even worse, or maybe definitely  better; the mention of momo is becoming more frequent whenever you’re with your other friends. they’ve started to notice just how special she is to you. they see the way your smile and laugh come more easily when she’s around, and especially how a natural blush appears on your cheeks whenever her name comes up.

being around momo is wonderful, amazing really – like a fresh breeze that picks you up as if you were a feather.

it’s great, perfect – right until the revelation hits, the one that picks you up and throws you to the ground like some wwe wrestler. 

it can’t be, this can’t be.

you’re at thomas’s house, not with him though, instead you’re with momo.

your visits at your boyfriends house become more frequent; you’d spend three or four hours on a free day there and at least an hour would be with momo. sometimes you’d spend all those hours with her.

she sits next to you on the couch in the living room on her phone as you scroll through movies to watch. 

here’s another thing you like about momo; she’s the type of person who’ll actually watch a movie, and even better, she’s into the same media you’re into. it’s a completely new experience. she’s someone who cares.

she even puts down her phone when you start the movie, even if it’s one she’s watched before. tonight you’re watching lost in translation for the first time, momo tells you that it’s good. you trust her judgement.

with each minute that passes, the urge to scoot closer grows heavier. from your peripheral, momo doesn’t budge. she’s lounged lazily against hte couch, that impeccable profile of the side of her face trying to steal your attention away from the tv in front of you. her hand rests tantalizingly on her thigh, so close yet so far from simply making contact with you. 

and you figure you might go crazy from just sitting there and watching the movie, oddly enough, right until she turns to you, noticing how stiff you are.

“hey, you wanna sit closer?” she asks, you nod like an idiot. 

scooting over, your arms press together. she looks at you, scanning your features and you scan right back, eyes stalling at her lips – plump and soft up close – before she turns back to watch that stupid movie. 

you wonder to yourself, the ache in your heart is like a slap to the face, is this how thomas feels? is that why he’s so eager to be so touchy with you? because everything he does to you, you want to do it too, oddly enough; you really want your hands on her, to be close in any way possible, and honestly she looks really good. good isn’t even enough to describe what you see right now – what movie were you even watching before?

“something on your mind?” she’s looking at you again now, head tilted down as she looks at you through her lashes and you feel yourself shift your hips involuntarily.

“oh, just zoned out.” you assure, pursing your lips together into a forced smile.

she tilts her head and smirks so that her teeth show, earning a quick breath from your lips.

“is the movie getting boring for you? i really liked it to be honest.” 

you shake your head. “no, no, i just– um, my legs–” your legs are tapping up and down against the carpet under your feet. “does the couch have a leg rest? um, there’s just, yeah i just need–”

“it’s broken right now.” momo says, frowning. “i have an idea though.”

“and what is that?”

her grin widens, more teeth showing and you feel that rush of heat in your cheeks again – nothing foreign when near momo. 

she abruptly grabs just below your thigh right under where your knee bends, moving your leg up and over to rest on her lap. she taps your other leg – right on your thigh and you swear there’s a small noise that gets stuck in your throat – which prompts you to rest it on her lap as well. 

“sit back and relax, i can be innovative.” she jokes.

“whatever miss architect,” you laugh, shaking your head. “you gonna make a leg rest out of your lap for your next assignment?”

“oh, no. this one’s exclusive only to you, lucky girl.” she smirks at you knowingly, then rests her hand on your thigh. turning back to the tv, you’re left speechless, gulping, and tense in your spot. 

your teeth trap your bottom lip; you’re head over heels for her, it strikes you like a blow to the stomach.

the flutter in your abdomen, the burn of your cheeks, and all your admiration – it all makes sense now, it’s clear as day the more flustered you get from momo rubbing circles into your skin.

as you two continue to watch the movie, you try not to shift too much in your seat from the weird, hot sensation you feel in the moment. it’s difficult, all too difficult to ignore the concerning rate of your heartbeat or the little pulse in between your legs when momo sinks her hand higher, her skin smooth against your own as she moves it mindlessly, tantalizingly. 

you’ve found your answer, the answer as to why thomas doesn’t arouse you or leave you breathless like this. you’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not.

your mind runs in circles, you feel your head spin, and it stops whirling once it reaches the idea of momo kissing you, hands falling to your skin and leaving you breathless. she’s still in front of you when you daydream of this, and you realize once she looks you dead in the eye, raising her brows.

–

fucked, that’s what you are. 

getting fucked? yeah, about to as well, probably.

thomas has his hands around your waist, messily fumbling with the edge of his shirt as he roughly slides his tongue into your mouth.

he’s not a good kisser, not really. his short, sweet ones are nice, the small, rare pecks to your lips are not bad. honestly, you like the quicker ones the most. but right now you can’t really breathe, he’s practically devouring your mouth, not in a good way. you can’t reciprocate the kiss with how bombarded your tongue is, the texture of it all throwing you off so much that you have to place a hand on his chest and push him away for a bit.

he raises a brow, “what?” sounding almost offended, a little annoyed too.

“just,” a sharp breathe leaves your lips, “needed to catch my breath. actually– i just, i don’t know if i can do this right now.”

thomas just stares at you for a moment, then scoffs. you watch him tense his jaw, turning away from you and disappointingly and muttering a small “okay.”

“babe, i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine.” he lies, you can hear the irritation in his voice. 

for some reason, you can’t help but feel off when he touches you or shows affection, anything intimate. you can hold his hand and throw on a smile, kiss him quickly on the cheek or anywhere else – only if it’s brief and swift – and go out with him. the thing is, he doesn’t care for that these days and it’s getting more blatant with each passing day. the only time he seems interesting and pays the slightest bit of attention is when it’s heated.

you haven’t felt anywhere near horny for at least a month with him – it’s been dying down since that first encounter with momo.

–

thomas noticed the change in your relationship with his step-sister, finding it off, but not really paying attention to the detail of it until recently. he noticed that the time you’d usually spend with him would be shared with his step-sister – and your lowered (almost nonexistent) libido was the biggest deal for him.

he finds himself pissed, confused, and sexually frustrated. not the best state for a man, not at all. of course, he doesn’t draw it down to square one – him – and instead tries to find reasons for why you’re being so difficult. everything leads to momo, it’s all started since then – everything. 

a few days later, he sits beside you on his couch in the basement. his arm is around your shoulder as you two watch the movie – a crime show he likes.

his fingers graze your shoulder, revealed by the tank top you wear. 

“baby,” 

your turn your head to answer, “hm?”

“you and momo been getting close, huh?”

giggling softly at the mere mention of your name, you nod. “yeah, she’s lovely.”

“sure.”

you punch him playfully on the chest, earning the tilt of his head. he almost looks offended.

“she is! don’t be so mean to your sister.” you emphasize their relation, because siblings are supposed to be relatively nice to one another (is what you assume, because you have none yourself). “she’s so sweet and funny.”

“she’s a leech, you know. not good to hangout with people like that.”

your body faces him more after the comment, you frown. “what?”

thomas looks back at the screen, watching the detective in the show connect different points from the cases he’s been going through. “a leech. her mom married my dad because he’s rich, and now she gets to live comfortably with that stupid, childish career plan of hers. all she does is take.”

“thomas, what the fuck?”

he rolls his eyes and looks at you again, raising his brows and shoving his face closer to you. “l-e-e-c-h. leech. just wanted you to know who you’ve been spending your time with because ever since you’ve met her you’ve been getting so distant and shit. she’s really stubborn you know, and really, i’m trying to protect you babe. not a good influence.”

scoffing, you remove his arm from your shoulder, scooting away from him and looking at the smug smirk on his face in disbelief. 

sure, you didn’t know the full details of how they became siblings, but still, that’s fucked to say about someone who’s been so sweet to you. 

“what the fuck is wrong with you.”

“it’s the truth.”

“you’re fucked thomas, you are fucked.” you reprimand, “why would you say that?”

“oh sorry, my bad!” he says sarcastically, raising his hands up in the air. “i’m sorry she’s been taking all the fucking time away from you, that bitch.”

you push yourself away from him, standing up. your expression shifts to one of frustration, brows crunched with a trembling bottom lip. he looks at you, raised brows and a shit-eating look that you want to slap off.

“okay, if you’re jealous, i understand that, really. but calling her a bitch? a leech? what the fuck is wrong with you? i know you’re siblings but that’s far.” 

he scoffs, then chuckles unbelievably. “what, you defending the person who’s stopping you from fucking me?”

you want to puke. struggling to contain yourself, your hands shake as they ball into fists, and tears prickle in your eyes.

“fuck you, thomas. fuck you,” is all you can say. he's unbelievable, absolutely terrible and it’s clear as day now, if comparing him to momo didn’t make it apparent already. he's so fixated on this one thing, his lust-driven desires – not even bothering to deny how fucked up and in the wrong he is. 

“it’s true.”

“you know what’s true?” a tear rolls down your cheek before you poke the inside of your mouth with your tongue angrily. “now that i think about it, maybe i spent so much time with momo because she liked being around me, actually took interest into my wants and needs and interests unlike you. you’re really this mad? because i don’t want to makeout with you every two seconds? because i’m – if not before – repulsed by your dick inside of me? for fucks sake thomas, you’ve made me cum like three times total. fuck you.”

he stands up, oh now he’s offended, all from the mere mention of anything sex-related. he walks up to you, looking down at you with a disgusted, angry look.

“you’re so lucky y/n. you know there’s a line of girls waiting for me and it’s a fucking privilege to be with me like this. i’ve been so goddamn patient with you and your fucking priorities. you want to insult me because you don’t feel good? yeah, sounds familiar don’t you think? so all that shit coming out from your mouth–”

your hand comes into contact with his cheek, making a loud clap in the process. 

thomas’s eyes widen, his face turned and angled at the ground. 

his cheek burns, and he presses his hand to his skin. he looks at you in disbelief, watching tears fall and fall until your staring at him with trembling features and visible regret – not from slapping him, but for putting up with him.

“we’re fucking done, fuck you thomas, fuck you.”

“you bitch –”

you scoff, turning around and running up the stairs. 

the bag you had brought is still in the living room, but the last place you want to be is in the same house as thomas – his house – so you’re rushing towards the door, opening it and slamming it close once you’re out.

tears continue to fall, you wipe away at them desperately and sniffle a bit. you can’t be crying over someone like him, you can’t. 

momo pulls up to the house in her car, only to spot you storming out with a disappointedg, bothered expression.

she stops just in front of the driveway, you spot her too. your nerves seem to settle, and surprisingly; you’re relieved just to see her from the window rolling down. immediately, your tears stop flowing down your face, your nose is less runny, and you quickly compose yourself.

“y/n?” 

“can i get in?” you stop her before she can really question you, ask why your nose is pink, why your eyes are a little red and watery, or really the evidence of a post-crying y/n. “can we just–” you speed over to her car. “get out of here.”

momo shifts the car to park immediately. “yeah, of course, where to–”

“just drive.” you say, opening the door and settling in the passengers seat. “please.”

“okay.”

momo does what you’ve practically ordered her to because one: you’re a mess. and two: she would do a lot of things for you. as soon as you’re situated in the car with your seatbelt buckled, momo shifts the stick to “drive” and presses down on the gas. 

she turns over to you swiftly, only to see you looking forward with a dazed expression. 

momo drives, well, somewhere. she takes the bigger road and finds herself turning into random neighborhoods, glancing over when she hits stop signs to see you looking out the car window. when she’s had enough, the red light at the busy intersection giving her a little time to pry, she places her hand on yours. 

your head shoots in her direction, your eyes locking onto hers. she takes in your post-crying face, noting the remnants of tears but also the effort you made to appear relatively normal again. it's a stark contrast to the vulnerable state she found you in outside her house.

before momo can ask you anything – you beat her to the punch.

“we broke up.” 

momo lets out a breath. “oh gosh, y/n, i’m so sorry–”

“don’t be, your brother is a terrible person. i’m just, sorry for myself. i can’t believe i put up with him.” the light turns green, momo steps on the gas again. “can you take me home?”

“yeah, yes. of course y/n.” she looks at you again, giving you a comforting smile. you manage to smile back. 

she shuffles her hand so that your fingers intertwine, squeezing subtly to offer comfort. she drives one-handed for the rest of the way to your apartment, her thumb rubbing against your skin absentmindedly, providing a soothing, repetitive motion that grounds you both in the moment and really, you feel much better already.

she reaches your complex, then parks in the designated lot. you lead her over to the elevator, then to your place. you left your bag at thomas’s house, but luckily, your keys were still on you.

you two are inside in no time and momo simply watches you flop onto your couch, leaning your head back into the cushions defeatedly. 

she sits down next to you without asking, and without any warning, you place your legs on her lap like you’ve done before. momo watches as you close your eyes, relaxing into the material beneath you. she gently rubs her thumbs along your thigh, comforting you with the small, soothing motion.

“he got mad at me because i didn’t want to fuck him anymore.” you speak up, opening your eyes and watching momo nod. “he’s an asshole.”

“i know.” momo agrees, “he’s terrible.”

“why didn’t you warn me?”

“y/n,” she begins, then sighs. “i’m not a homewrecker. plus, he’d whine to his dad like a man-baby.”

“fuck him.” you groan. “i can’t believe i fucked him. he’s pathetic.”

the tone of your voice slowly simmers down to something more casual, shifting from the brink of tears to general insults. momo continues to soothe you with her touch, her thumbs still rubbing gentle circles on your thigh, providing a steady source of comfort.

“do you feel better?” she asks you again.

looking at her, you’ve honestly just pushed aside the events from before. she’s here with you and that’s all that matters.

“yeah, thank you. you’re so sweet to me.”

she chuckles softly, then her expression shifts to a pout as her phone buzzes. glancing at the screen, she bites her lip nervously. curious, you scoot closer and catch a glimpse of the notifications: one from "mom" and another from "thomas."

“they’re going to be on my ass, especially my brother.” momo frowns. “i should go before thomas bothers you more, i’ll try to diffuse the flame.”

her hands leave your thigh, and disappointment washes over you, making you pout as well. she gently moves your legs off her lap and stands up, her eyes scanning the texts with a stressed look on her face.

she makes her way over to your door, it renders your heart weak. the one person you need with you is momo, especially now, you need her.

“momo, stop, wait.”

you pause her, and she turns around, her eyes meeting yours. for a moment, you both just stare at each other, eyes locked in an unspoken exchange.

she’s a step away from you, you can tell she doesn’t want to leave you alone here. she grips the phone in her hand tightly.

your eyes steal a glance at her lips before your own our on hers. 

she reciprocates immediately, her hand finding the base of your neck as you two exchange a kiss. when you pull away, she looks at you like you're insane—right before pulling you back in by the waist and closing the distance again.

the timing is awful, but so right at the same time. 

her lips are just as soft as they look, just as you had imagined. she brings her hand to your cheek as you desperately grip onto whatever she's wearing. she smells like peaches, and her lips taste like them too. you kiss her again and again, pushing her against the door. then, with a sudden move, she grabs you by the waist, turning you both around and pinning you against the door instead.

you can’t help but groan, feeling your breaths grow heavier as soon as she swipes against your bottom lip, curving her fingers to tilt your jaw up. you two exchange saliva for a minute, tongues against each other, exploring and savoring each other before momo pulls away, halting everything.

“y/n, wait.” she says breathlessly, “i– i have to, you know, go.”

“i need you here with me momo. i need you.” you move over to peck her again, holding the base of her neck.

to fight the urge to go on, she looks away from you. “you’ve just broken up with thomas, i– i can’t. and i have to resolve things, i’m sorry.”

“momo, are you serious?”

you want to cry. she can’t leave you, she’s the only thing you need right now, the one person who can ground you after everything that’s been going out. she’s the reason you went out more, started exploring new places and everything about her screams that she’s the one you should’ve been kissing and loving this whole time.

“i wish i weren’t.” she looks into your eyes. “i’m so sorry.”

–

momo doesn’t text you the rest of the night and you have no clue what to do with yourself.

you lay on the couch, unable to pick yourself up and go to your room. the ceiling is the only thing you can see and momo’s the only one on your mind. you lift up your hand for the first time in a while, bringing two fingers to gently settle on your lips, lips that momo kissed. 

god, everything about the kiss was fulfilling, it was perfect. 

the thought of staying in your apartment alone all night kills you, especially with so much pent up inside of you. you reach out for your phone, unlking it and scrolling through your contacts to find someone who can listen: yeri.

–

momo grits her teeth as soon as she steps into the house. 

her mom watches her angrily storm through the hall. “thomas is in his room.”

she rushes up the stairs, practically knocking the door open with how aggressive and angry she is in the moment. she watches thomas lay there, on his phone like nothing had happened. 

he spots momo and looks up like he’s just been pestered. “yes?”

“what the fuck happened between you and y/n?”

he yawns, then puts his phone down. 

momo bites down on her teeth, clenching her jaw. just the sight of him there makes her thoughts scream at her to punch him in the face, but momo doesn’t, because that’s something an immature, impatient man-baby would do; that’s what thomas would do.

“she dumped me because i insulted you, guess she can’t handle truth.” he laughs like it’s a joke. “fucking bitch slapped my–”

“don’t call her a bitch.”

“oh? what’s this? defending the bitch now?”

momo moves her lower jaw in an attempt to suppress her anger. “fuck you, seriously. you’re an ass you know?”

“you’re an even bigger one for being the reason y/n wouldn’t fuck.”

she can’t believe what she’s hearing. you were right, you were so right. all he is is a lust-driven prick who’s the reason some of your hangouts with her have been you complaining about him. he’s never really loved you, not at all. 

momo wonders how someone who’s dad had been able to treat her mother right, could love her wonderfully and provide so well, could have a son like this. the sight of thomas after hearing what he’s said – especially about you, calling you a bitch and all – makes her sick to the stomach. it’s difficult to hold back from punching him in the face and kicking him where he’d suffer the most.

he perks his head up. “oh, forgot to mention: picking up your brothers ex-girlfriend after they’ve broken up isn’t the best look.”

“i don’t care what you tell your fucking dad, he actually has morals and a heart. you’re a snob.”

“you’re a desperate little bitch, i knew something was going on between you as soon as she had hung out with you the first time. y/n is a fucking homosexual because of you.”

“or maybe it’s because your tiny ass dick can’t satisfy her, or the fact that you’ve never treated her well, you selfish fucking– ugh.” momo stops right there because it’s no use wasting all her anger on thomas, he’s just a guy after all.

“well, you’re a fucking whore. if anything happens with you two after, i wouldn’t be surprised. all you are is desperate and jealous, getting with her would prove that.”

she watches him poke his tongue at his cheek, then leaves the room, annoyed and frustrated.

momo considers texting or leaving a call, but decides to drop it, afraid of saying something she shouldn’t say or making things worse due to her emotional state. 

–

the two of you see each other two days later because momo’s conflicted, wanting you to take time for yourself, and you are simply someone who’s longing for a person you’ve recently realized you’re in love with.

the whole time away from her is grueling even though she had texted you.

when both of you meet for lunch you fight the urge to hug and kiss her. 

she looks wonderful walking into the small sit-down restaurant, a tank top – your weakness when it’s on momo – and sweats on. she’s stunning, especially those lips of hers that you can’t stop staring at because you’ve had the privilege and lucky chance to kiss them.

momo on the other hand fights back the urge to kiss you too, because after her anger had fizzled out, that had been the only thing on her mind prior to seeing you at the table for two.

“hi.” momo greets.

you force a smile. “hey.”

she sits down in front of you, then looks at the menu in front of her. “is everything okay?”

“it’s alright.” you say, only alright because one: your ex boyfriend is a fucking bitch and two: momo hasn’t been there when you needed

sure, it was relatively very strange to move on so quickly from your whole thomas situation, but it’s justified because hell, you’ve basically been dating momo simultaneously without realizing you had been in love. 

and now that you’re aware, so aware that it keeps you up at night, you’re hoping for something to happen.

“have you talked to thomas?”

“i’d rather not. he’s not worth my time.”

she looks up at you again through her eyelashes. “you’re right.”

“momo,” she flips through the menu and you focus on each movement. “i really want to kiss you again.”

“y/n, you just broke up with your boyfriend.”

“if this is because of me dumping thomas then throw it out the window.” you respond sternly, almost mad and it catches momo off guard. she looks at you with surprise, stopping her little act of trying to act uninterested. 

she can’t give in; it would only prove thomas right. yet, what you feel is genuine, and what momo feels isn’t born of desperation. the time she’s spent with you has nurtured her admiration and her growing affection for you. momo cares deeply about you, and her feelings are sincere, not driven by a sense of urgency or lust like your ex-boyfriend. she can’t recall the last time she enjoyed someone’s company so much or wanted to be with them constantly. from the start, she sensed something different about you—how you made her ponder at night, made her blush, made her fall head over heels for you.

you continue, “because kissing you was the best thing to happen to be, even after everything that happened – and that says a lot. momo, i’ve liked you for probably so long and i’m a dumbass for realizing it just now, so please, please just consider it.”

“y/n, i’ve thought about it ever since.” her response earns the raise of your brows. “i’ve dreamed about doing that since our first encounter, and i wish it were in a better situation, so let’s just… take it slow from here.”

taking it slow is a much better option than anything that involves cutting her off, so you smile and nod.

–

the rest of the day is spent with her, both your uncovered feelings allowing you to fully bask in each others presence without anymore concealing. it feels right, talking to momo about everything you’ve felt recently and simply being around her.

and then you both find yourselves glancing too long at each others lips but not commenting on it, despite the easy going time spent together, there’s a thick tension hanging in the air.

the tension is even worse when momo drives you back to your apartment complex, and even heavier when you two step into the elevator.

momo is not a woman of her word. she wanted to be the bigger person by “taking things slow,” but she can’t fight back the urge when you’re alone together, your features drawing her in.

“oh fuck this,” momo groans, pulling you by the wrist and turning you to face her. you look more beautiful than anyone she’s ever seen, your lips are calling her name.

before you know it, momo’s planting her lips on yours and you melt right into it.

“what–” you gasp when you pull away, “happened to taking it slow.”

“fuck that, i can’t if it’s you.”

that’s how you find yourselves stumbling out of the elevator into the empty halls, eager to savor each other’s presence after the arduous forty-eight hours apart. you manage to make your way to your apartment door, fumbling with the key as momo kisses the edge of your jaw, both of you entering messily, unable to keep your hands off each other like horny teenagers in the janitor's closet in highschool.

every kiss that followed felt like cool raindrops during the burning summer day. it’s electrifying, all of it, really.

you’ve never felt this satisfied. nothing really processes other than the pounding pulse from in between your legs, and momo’s lips bruising your own as she pins you against the door after it’s closed. crazy with want, you let her do anyhitng, let her kiss you anywhere. 

she’s in control when your tongues find their way back to each other, fingers bruning as they tighten against your skin, squeezing on it just above your hip bone. she kisses like you’re going to leave her grasp any minute, holding you close and pressing herself against you.

she starts to trail down to your neck in a way that thomas has never done before. she’s not attacking your skin like a desprate, thirsty dog, but like someone who knows what they’re doing. she definitely knows what she’s doing, the way she earns all these gasps and whines proves it.

“wait,” you gasp, then she pulls away, only to watch you hurriedly taking off your top. “continue.”

she chuckles before leaving opened mouth kisses against you, simultaneously moving you two to the couch. 

her fingers render you weak, like putty in her hands while you desperately grip at her hair. she moves you over and sets you down on the couch, gazing as she towers over you.

“you’re so fucking gorgeous,” momo slides her hand down the side of your torso. “you know that?”

“stop, you’re so– fuck you.” 

momo giggles before kissing you again, then retreats from your lips. your arms are around her neck, playing with strands of her hair before she asks,

“you’re okay with this, right?”

you giggle against her lips before pecking her again. “momo, i don’t think anyone has made me this weak – espseically thomas – i’m so wet it’s almost embarassing.”

“oh yeah?” she says teasingly. 

“just  shut the fuck up and fuck me already.” you rush out. 

momo grins against your lips as she kisses you again, and then you feel her hand trail down to your sweatpants. you gasp loudly when she slips her hand inside, pressing against your panties, and you break away from her lips in surprise. 

“you are very wet.”

“thanks,” she presses harder which earns a twitch and a gasp, “s-smartass.” 

her fingers slide your panties to the side of your folds, giving her access to slide up and down with ease. you can’t help but whine lowly at the feeling, biting your lip to conceal your excitement.

she inserts two fingers in, making your head shoot back into the cushion of the couch. you curse when she thrusts in, your walls pulsiate around her, clenching. 

“fuck,” she bites her lip. “you feel so good.”

you gulp roughly. “you– shit momo, keep that going.”

you gasp audibly the more she fingers you, the repetition of her name making her smile against you as she kisses your skin. she’s blazing against you, your bodies so hot against each other despite the clothes in the way. you grip her hair, close your eyes, and shift your hips up the more she pleases you. your back arches, momo keeps you situated in place with her free hand, then slides it over to palm your clad chest.

“m-momo, fuucckk–” 

momo feels you grip her shoulder tightly and watches you throw your head back. your legs close around her when her palm hits the nub above your folds again, and then she moves her palm in a circle over your clit aggresively, earning one last cry from you before your mind goes blank.

you let your head rest back for a while more as you catch your breath. you feel momo massage your thigh as you come down from your high. momo presses more kisses on your neck, letting her hand trail up your body and reach your head, raking her fingers through your hair. 

she pecks your jaw. “how was that?”

“holy shit,” you sigh, bringing your head back up to look at her. momo’s pupils are dilated beyond oblivion, and her flushed skin prompts you to bring a hand to caress her cheek. she looks adorable, even after she’s made your legs shake. “so good.”

she laughs and it’s like angels singing from above. you might melt.

“let’s clean up together, if you’re cool with that.”

you blink. “like, shower together?”

“yeah – unless that’s too forward!” she catches herself. “sorry, maybe too forward, i just want to make sure you’re okay and–”

momo is cut of when you kiss her, and then you pull back. she feels your thumb graze her cheek. 

“it’s perfectly fine momo.”

“okay, and then maybe if you want we can get food or something,” she begins, brushing her fingers against the skin of your shoulder. she moves over to play with your hair and looks at your lips. “or if you’re too tired then we can just sleep.”  

you pull her in for another kiss, that’s all you can really answer with for now. she reciprocates, following the slower tempo of your lips. 

you part from her. “i think i just want to kiss you more for now,” then you catch yourself. “wait, i haven’t even done anything to you yet, oh my god–”

“no, no. i’m already pleased enough hearing you say my name so much.” she assures teasingly. momo presses a kiss to your nose before mumbling, “let’s go with what you want.”

“you’re so lovely.”

“thanks y/n.” 

a hand finds it’s way to just below momo’s jaw on her neck, and momo’s hand slides down to the skin on your rib.

you smile, momo smiles.

you kiss her, she kisses back.

–

a groan leaves your mouth when you wake up. you feel someone clinging onto you and look down to see a face that brings a lazy smile to your lips.

momo’s head is on your shoulder, features pointing to the base of your neck. her breath is warm against you, and so is her body, and so is your heart. 

you rake a hand through her hair and she starts to shuffle against you. 

“y/n?”

“oh, momo, sorry to wake you.”

“no, i kind of woke up earlier.”

“are you lying?”

“no, not at all.”

she lifts her head up and you meet the messy hair framing her face, puffy cheeks, and partially squitned eyes. she’s adorable, you note, just naturally so. 

your bodies are naked, flushing against each other under the sheets because momo got needy and wanted to hear you screaming her name again. of course you didn’t complain, because if anything, you wanted it too. 

momo’s attentive to everything she does, and you find out that she’s like that with what she does to you. with every motion, touch, and anything intimate, she’s making sure you’re into it, making sure you’re left gasping and whining under her. she’s aroused from you feeling good, that’s all it takes for her to be wet herself.

her eyes meet the skin above your chest. “that hickey is pretty dark.”

“and who is responsible for that?”

momo rolls her eyes. “let me give you some more.”

you’re not arguing against that.

it’s ten in the morning, both of you had just woken up and momo is slipping under the blanket. her head makes its way in between your legs and the thrill of not knowing what she’s doing under the blanket makes you blush. and then you feel a hand on your upper leg, her fingers ticklish adn making you giggle. 

you let out a loose groan when momo licks up your entrance, the grip on your legs grows tighter. momo’s tongue moves inside you, then tends to your clit; her tongue moves in ways that has your voice ringing out, reverberating in the room.

and when you cum, so wonderfully when it’s momo who’s making you do so, you shake and arch even as momo keeps going. she slows her tempo down before kissing the inside of your thighs, seconds later she peeks out the covers and you can’t help but laugh at the way she emerges.

“we’ve just woken up and you’re already wet.”

you scoff playfully, ruffling momo’s hair. “again, who’s fault is that.”

“mine but,” she hovers over you before kissing your lips. “you like it.”

she sits up now, straddling you in a way. “now let’s get breakfast, eating you out is great but my stomach might yell soon.”

you laugh at her. “you’re like a vacuum.”

“well who else is going to finish your food, y/n. be grateful. besides, you like that too.”

–

you like momo a lot, that’s for sure.

you like the way she asks how you are, how she listens to you, and how she’s given you aftercare for the first time since the first time you fucked thomas.

momo’s like a breath of fresh air. it feels different being with her, like a wild animal feeling tenderness and care for the first time – different, calm, and nice. the more you spend time with her after this, going on more dates and rambling your tongues off until you’re both tangled up and passed ou ton the couch; you can’t help but realize that she’s who your time belongs to.

she’s nothing like thomas, light years away from being any similar to him. it’s satisfying watching him watch the two of you bond like you should, his presence reminds you that momo’s the upgrade you need, and he can’t do anything about the fact that he’ll never compare to his step-sister.

—

–

it’s a few months later after your first encounter with momo – almost two months after you slept with her – the two of you walk with your arms linked through the same park near your place.

she orders you coffee and you fish out pastries from your bag to share. she leads you to the same place that she had brought you to when you had first met, sitting the two of you down in front of the same tree.

momo pulls out her sketchbook, you lean on her when she unlinks arms.

“y/n,”

you peer at her curiously. “yes?”

“remember when i was talking about that design when we first met? the little seating area around that tree right there.” she points over at the little area where the tree stands. “it was for an assignment, but i tweaked some of the model and idea, looked over at some materials and–”

“what are you getting at?”

momo’s smiling big, so big that all her teeth show and her eyes almost close. 

“they’re going to add it.”

“what?”

“it’s happening, we talked to the park management and they really like my idea.”

your eyes widen and jaw slacks open. momo laughs as you hug her pulling away and then kissing her on the lips proudly.

“oh my god? oh my god. momo! i’m so proud, oh my gosh…”

she giggles before kissing you again. “thank you baby. i actually wanted to thank you.”

“what?”

“if it weren’t for you who listened to all my stupid rambling and listened so well, i don’t know if this would’ve happened.” momo begins, looking down at the paper and pen in her hands. then she looks at you with those big eyes of her, softening upon meeting your features. “and i know so much has happened and you’ve always been so great and–” 

she pauses, inhaling deeply.

“i just love you so much.”

she’s sitting there, looking at you with so much emotion, and you feel like a star in the sky has just been picked out and placed right in front of you. 

“momo, i love you too.”

if the world fell apart right this moment, you’d cling onto momo like your life depending on it. your hands find their way to her cheeks, you hold her face in your hands like she’d crumble if you let go – then, you kiss her, soft and sweet.

she moves her hand out of the way and you gasp. 

her cup of coffee tips over and leaks over, creating a palm sized stain on your coat. you watch as momo’s face contorts into one of panic, and then she picks up the cup, moving you away from the spill. you can’t help but laugh; you’re laughing at how she reacts to the situation, but also how perfect it is considering how your first time spent together – alone – had happened.

“i’m so sorry.” stars litter her eyes when she says it, you simply pull her in by the collar and kiss her again.

“you’re perfect.”

[xoxoavenger]

I Can't Imagine

pairing: Michael Gray x Fem!Reader

summary: Michael and Y/N have a fight, one that seems like the most important thing until the Shelbys are served a black hand.

word count: 4549

warnings: canon typical injuries, canon typical gang violence, major character death (cannon, not michael or reader)

12 Days of Christmas main masterlist

"3-5-5 Small Heath," Y/N said into the telephone, playing with the ring on her left hand. Michael had proposed not even a week ago, she had moved in not even a week ago, and yet he had only been home when she was going to sleep about two times. It made Y/N livid, and she wasn't going to stand for it. It was almost Christmas, for Christ's sake.

"Shelby Company Limited," Michael answered, and Y/N sighed.

"Mr. Gray," Y/N spoke, listening to Michael's quick intake of breath.

"Y/N," He greeted back, his voice static over the phone. "Aren't you supposed to be asleep?" He asked, obviously pulling out the pocket watch and looking at the time.

"Aren't you supposed to be home?" She shot back, leaning against the desk he had at home.

"I'll be there soon. I promise." His words made Y/N want to scream, because she knew she wouldn't see him until the morning.

"Why don't you tell Tommy Shelby that your wife wants you home." She spoke angrily, closing her eyes in annoyance.

"You aren't my wife." Michael shot back quickly, making Y/N take in a sharp breath. She thought about saying something snarky back, thought about going to the office in Japanese silk - and idea she had overheard Polly and Esme talking about.

Instead she angrily hung up the phone on Michael's quick apologies.

~

She hadn't fallen asleep but when she heard the door downstairs shut, she closed her eyes and pretended. She heard Michael come into the bedroom, heard his sigh as he took off his jacket and shoes, the clink of metal from his cuff links, the ruffle of cotton as he took off his shirt and then pants, leaving him only in his undershirt. He walked to the bed, gently laying down on his side before he put an arm around Y/N and pulling her close. She didn't snuggle closer like she would have normally, but instead stayed rigid and faced away from him.

"I know you're awake." Michael muttered into her shoulder, kissing the bare skin her night gown provided.

"Do you not understand why I would pretend?" She whispered, trying to ignore the flutter in her heart as he moved closer to her body, the hand that was around her waist feeling around to grab her hand.

"No," Michael's voice was soft and quiet, much different than it had been over the phone.

"Liar." She let go of his hand and rolled away slightly, onto her stomach, making it harder for him to cuddle her.

"Y/N," Michael said, leaning up in bed. Y/N closed her eyes, as if she could fool him now. "Y/N, please. I don't want to go to bed while we're fighting." He reached out for her again, and she pushed him off.

"We can stop fighting when you come home at a reasonable time." She told him, still not facing him.

"I'm doing important work." Michael said as he rolled onto his back.

"For Tommy Shelby? The man who put you on a noose?" She finally moved to her side to face him, barely able to see him in the dull light.

"He's the one who got me off the noose." Michael fired back, making her roll her eyes.

"You wouldn't have been on the noose if it weren't for Tommy!" She was yelling now, and Michael sat up. They had fought before, sure, but she never brought up the time he had almost died. It seemed she was saving it for a rainy day.

"We wouldn't have met if I didn't work for him." It was true; Y/N and Lizzie had worked together, so when Thomas had brought Michael around for some fun Y/N was the one who gave it to him. Michael quickly became a regular, and soon she was payed handsomely and told that she wouldn't need to see anyone else - it wasn't long before her and Michael were official and she learned the Shelby ways.

"Well, what would I know? I'm not your wife, after all." She turned over silently, closing her eyes for the final time that night.

~

She woke up when Michael had gotten out of bed, kissing her forehead as he stood up and then again when he left. She wasn't going back to sleep, so after she knew he was gone she got up and got ready herself. She did a couple chores around the house that the maid didn't do, like cleaning Michael's office and their room. It had been quite awhile when she collected the mail. She went through it, not opening much because it was for Michael. She did pause on the last one, which was sent from New York. America.

"What the hell?" Y/N muttered, putting the other mail down and going into Michael's office for the letter cutter. She opened a couple drawers before she found it, rummaging around and almost cutting her finger on it. She opened the envelope to a card, the content of which was a black hand.

What was that supposed to mean?

She shoved the card back into the envelope, heart racing. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

She grabbed the telephone, pressing the small button twice before she was connected.

"3-5-5 Small Heath," Y/N waited to be connected, leaning on the desk and looking at the envelope once more. She didn't fully recognize the name, even if it did seem familiar, but she had never been to America, so she didn't know where it was anyway.

"Hello," Well that was not Michael.

"Tommy Shelby," Y/N said with malice. She hated Tommy for what he did to Michael, to his own flesh and blood. He was a slimy man, and Y/N refused to put up with him.

"Y/N," Tommy greeted her back, and Y/N just sighed.

"Where's Michael?" She asked before he could say anything else. She didn't want to listen to the leader of the Shelby clan; in fact, she would rather never think of the man again.

"He's on his way to Polly's right now. Had to give him a couple pointers on how to get her back to being Poll." Y/N sighed - she knew that Michael's mum wasn't doing well; her time in prison and in the noose had effected her badly, and Y/N and Michael went to visit her at least once a week. She was surprised that Michael went without her this time, especially because he hadn't even told her.

"Did you tell him to go see her? Because you can't fix problems on your own?" She wondered, brows furrowed and her face hurting from it's frown.

"This problem is better suited for Michael." Tommy told her, causing her to roll her eyes.

"Well, it is a problem that you created, furthering my point." Y/N shot back, trying to keep herself from crinkling the envelope in her hand.

"Did you need something?" Tommy asked through a sigh. Y/N took a deep breath - they were practically family now, and Michael respected him. Although she would never respect Thomas Shelby, she would try to act civil.

"I just got a letter in the mail. From America." The line was silent, and she thought it was disconnected for a second until she heard Thomas breathing. "It's from an Italian name. The card was just a black hand." She told him. She hadn't even finished talking before Tommy was swearing.

"Pack a bag and bring some stuff for Michael. We all need to be in Small Heath." He told her, which made her even more pissed.

"We got this house so that we wouldn't have to live in Small Heath." She hoped Tommy could hear her annoyance, could hear her wanting to punch him multiple times.

"I know, but this is the Mafia. The Changretta's are coming after us." He told her quickly, and she heard rustling paper on the other line. Y/N's eyes widened. She didn't work for the Shelby Company Limited, but Michael practically told her everything that Polly, Lizzie and Esme didn't. She knew that Arthur had killed Mr. Changretta, the name she now recognized on the envelope, and she knew that the Mafia was bad news.

"Fuck," She whispered, staring at the envelope. The envelope that was addressed to their house. "They know where we live," She thought aloud, everything coming crashing down.

"Yes, which is why we need to get to Small Heath."

"Well then," Y/N sighed, setting the envelope down. "Guess we'll all be together for Christmas after all, Tommy."

~

"I'll be back soon, I promise. I have to go get John." Michael told her as they put their bags into one of the upstairs rooms.

"I'm coming with you," Y/N told him. By now it was early in the morning, the sun rising on Christmas. They hadn't slept, both of them worried about the anvil that seemed to loom over the Shelbys.

"No, Y/N, you aren't. If John was served a black hand they know where he lives too, and I don't want you to get hurt." Michael told her, taking his gun out of the holster, checking it, and putting it back in.

"Well, I don't want you getting hurt." Y/N fired back, raising her chin as they stared down at each other. Michael knew he didn't have time for this, so the best he could do was hope the mafia hadn't gotten to John's yet.

"Fine. But you stay next to me at all times and do exactly as I say alright?" He agreed, opening the door of the room for her before leading her down the stairs and out of the house, right to their car.

"Of course, Michael." She smiled as he helped her in, sliding all the way to the passenger side. "I know you can protect me." She put a hand on his thigh as he started the car and watched as his face heated with blush. He turned to kiss her quickly before pulling out onto the road.

"So," Michael started as he began driving out of the small town. Y/N turned to look at him. "I didn't mean what I said on the phone the other night." Y/N rolled her eyes and leaned against her door, sighing. Part of her wanted to forget about their fight.

"I don't believe that." She said quietly, waiting for him to either shut up or lash out.

"I wouldn't have asked you to move in if I didn't feel that way." He told her sincerely, turning out into the country roads. "I wouldn't have proposed if I didn't want you to be my wife."

"It still hurts! I was just asking for you to be home and you decided to use my feelings against me." She shot back, heart racing. She didn't like fighting with Michael, but she also didn't like when he treated her like that.

"Your feelings? I was speaking the truth." Michael told her, and she shook her head, looking out the window.

"You clearly do not understand, so let's talk about it later." She told him, effectively ending the fight. They were almost to John's house anyway. They were even on his road when a slow horse pulling hay practically stopped them.

"Come on!" Michael shouted, hitting the steering wheel. It was obvious he was stressed, and Y/N hoped she was hiding her own emotions. John had kids and a wife, he had a family. She hoped he was fine. "Move!" Michael shouted, causing her to jump slightly as he hit the horn. The man with the hay eventually did move, and Michael quickly swerved around the trailer, making his way all the way to John's.

Once they pulled in behind John's car, Y/N went to open her door. "Stay in the car." Michael told her, hopping out.

"No! I'm not leaving your side, remember," She was still pissed, so even if she had made an opposite promise she wouldn't have stayed in the car. She practically had to jog to keep up with Michael, resisting the urge to grab his arm as they walked through the driveway. The two walked around the side, going through the gate before they heard a shotgun reloading.

"Oh, fuck, it's you two." John said as he came out of his small hiding hole, putting down his gun. "Got nothing better to do on Christmas morning?" John asked, looking down at them. Michael grabbed Y/N's hand, holding it tightly. She let it happen, because she needed some strength to get back to Small Heath.

"Tommy wants everybody at Charlie's yard now. Come on," Michael dipped his head toward the cars, speaking quickly to show his urgency.

"Get in. Get in!" John yelled at the dogs, who walked back through the door right as John shut it. He jumped down from the ledge, leading Y/N and Michael to the front of the house. "Nice to see you, Y/N." John tipped his head to her as they walked, and Y/N just smiled. She hadn't seen the Shelby brothers since Thomas had sent them to the gallows, and she had to say that she regretted it. John had always been nice to her, even if they didn't talk much.

"Is Esme here?" Y/N asked, knowing it was a stupid question. Even if Esme hadn't been one of Y/N's closest friends, it was Christmas Day. Of course Esme was at home.

"Of course she is. It's fucking Christmas Day. What does Tommy want, a fucking family reunion?" John asked, turning onto the patio.

"Look, John, we don't have time for this." Michael said, clearly getting more and more stressed just by being there.

"Alright, come into the house," John spoke just as Michael was finishing, "Just come to the meeting."

"Come on, John," Y/N begged as they walked up to the door.

"Have some food." John continued to ignore them, opening the door. Just as he did, Esme came running out. Instead of going toward Y/N like they all thought she would, she walked straight up to Michael.

"Tell Tommy Shelby we can look after ourselves." She seethed, making Y/N sigh.

"Tommy says they could come for us today." Michael spoke, but Esme was taunting him before he had even finished.

"'Tommy says, Tommy says'. Are you his fucking parrot?" She yelled. Y/N grabbed her arm, turning her toward herself.

"It's the Mafia, Esme! The New York fucking Mafia!" She watched Esme just shake her head, and Y/N's heart sunk. She had to get through to them.

"And we're the Peaky fucking Blinders." John said, gun still slung over his shoulder.

"No, we're not, John. We're not the Peaky fucking Blinders unless we're together." Michael told them, obviously losing his patience.

"You were together on the gallows, with one man missing." Esme turned back to Michael, getting into his face in rage.

"Esme, I know you're upset because trust me, I am too. But in the city we have more protection, more people. We can't risk death just because of a stupid man like Tommy." Y/N tried, but Esme wasn't listening. "Just come to the meeting, at least. Think about the kids." Y/N took her hand from Michael and put it on Esme's shoulder now, and everyone turned slightly at a slight noiseto see the hay horse that Michael had passed on the way passing by the house.

"If you want to leave after, that's fine. Just come with us." Michael begged, and Esme turned her head back.

"No. It's Christmas Day. We're the family now. We're staying at home." She got closer to Michael and Y/N pushed her back slightly, not wanting a fight to break out.

"Get in the fucking house!" John shouted as he loaded his gun. Y/N looked over to see men jumping out of the hay, guns firing. Esme began to run, grabbing Y/N and forcing her to follow into the house. She heard the deafening gunshots, and her heart began to pump faster.

"Michael!" She yelled, reaching out for him. He pushed her away, and Y/N stumbled as Esme dragged her. She couldn't catch herself in time, her knees hitting the concrete just before her her head smacked. She hit hard, jarring her. She could hear the guns and screaming and she knew Esme was now yelling at her, pulling her further toward the house by her under arms. She blinked quickly, trying to regain her senses. Her jaw, cheekbone and eye socket screamed in pain, and she groaned as Esme let her fall. She turned to sit up, head rolling as she took in the scene in front of her. Esme was screaming, holding John close to her. She felt her heart race as she realized there was blood staining John's white shirt. She looked over to see Michael, on the ground.

Y/N's heart plummeted.

"Michael," She groaned, pushing herself to stand. Esme's screams were piercing, and Y/N could barely focus. Everything was blurry, and she wasn't sure if it was because of her head or the fact that she was sobbing uncontrollably. She could barely see as she stumbled around, falling to her knees when she was close enough to Michael. The pain shot all the way up her legs and down to her toes, and she felt bile rise in her throat as a surge of pain when through her head.

"Call someone! John!" Esme screamed as Y/N reached for Michael. She used her might to pull him over, trying to figure out how much he was shot.

"Oh God," Y/N retched, turning her head to throw up. Blackness was consuming her, and her head become fuzzy as she fell right next to Michael, still trying to grab him. He shakily grabbed her hand as she dropped her head to his shoulder, feeling him move around in pain.

"Y/N," He groaned. She lifted her head, realizing her face was now wet from tears.

"Michael, oh my," Y/N's throat was tight, her breath was heaving in and out. More bile was rising to her throat from the pain and the horror of seeing the Shelbys being shot. She turned again, letting go of his hand and throwing up. It felt like her heart had just stopped beating, that her insides had knotted together and her throat was swelling. The right side of her face throbbed, and she just wanted to go home.

One of the kids must have heard Esme, because soon enough an ambulance was pulling into the front yard.

"Help!" Esme screamed, and Y/N turned her head to see four men get out of the ambulance. Two went to John, and two came to Michael.

"Please move so we can help him, miss." A man said, gently pushing her back. When she looked up at him, his eyes widened. Y/N wasn't sure why he was looking at her like that, so she moved back to Michael's side. He was breathing still, but it was pained and his eyes were closed.

"He's gone," Another man said as he came up to Y/N and Michael. Esme's screams were louder, and Y/N felt her heart sink; John was dead.

"We need to get these two to a hospital." The first man said, nodding toward the car. The two men who had been looking at John first left, and Y/N turned to see them going to the car to grab out a stretcher.

"Is he gonna be alright?" Y/N asked, tears in her eyes. She didn't want to lose Michael. She didn't want to be left alone.

Oh God, and they had just fought, too.

"We'll try our best." The man nodded. Y/N tried to calm her breathing, because it was hurting her face, but she couldn't.

The men came out with a stretcher, helping Michael onto it. He groaned out, and Y/N winced they picked him up and took him into the car.

"Why don't you come with us, miss? We need to check out your head." A man held his arm out to her. Y/N looked over to see the other man talking to Esme, who was still screaming and crying.

"My head?" She asked as she grabbed the man's arm. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion - she could only see flashes, like one second she was on the patio and the next she was in the front of the ambulance. The man was asking questions, but Y/N wasn't answering. She could barely hear his words. When she went to lay against the door, her head so fuzzy her eyes were closing, she was instantly brought back to the present. Pain surged all the way across her face, practically rattling her teeth. She jarred awake, blinking quickly.

"Are you alright?" The man driving asked, and Y/N sat up, looking around. They were at the hospital in Small Heath, and she jumped out when they stopped. She stumbled, however, falling to the ground and scraping her hands, her knees crying out. She let out a gasp in pain, about to get up when someone grabbed her and helped her up.

Thomas Shelby.

"You," Y/N seethed, seeing red as he looked at her.

"Y/N, what happened?" Tommy asked. This was one of the only times Y/N had ever seen Tommy afraid, and it made her even more mad.

"What happened?" She repeated, grabbing his biceps as he pulled her up. "What happened was you, Thomas Shelby! What happened was you can never inflate your own ego enough!" She screamed, tears falling out of her eyes as she hit him. She clawed at his face, smacking his chest with open hands and fists. She was angry and upset and tired and hurt and she was taking it all out on him.

"Y/N, please," He begged, grabbing her arms. They were locked like that when the men pulled Michael out, who was groaning in pain, eyes squeezed shut.

"Michael," Y/N muttered going to her fiancé. Tommy grabbed her however, which caused her to hit his arm in an attempt to make him let go. His grip was unwavering, and when he pulled her into him she realized she was screaming, face pressed against his suit. When she finally stopped screaming, her head pressed against Tommy's chest as he cradled her head, she heard Esme's horrified cries.

"No," Tommy said, his grip tightening on Y/N as he realized why Esme was screaming. "No, please," He was begging, and all Y/N could do was cry and lash out.

"He's dead!" She cried as she pushed Tommy away, her head spinning as he let go of her, numb. "And now Michael," Her voice was breathy and she was stumbling, not able to hold herself up.

"They're going to take care of Michael," Tommy promised, shooting a hand out to steady her as she began to fall to the ground. "Are you alright?" He asked, but then she began to lose her balance even more, bringing him down on the muddy ground with her.

"I need to see Michael." She said her breathing getting more labored. Tommy helped her lean against him so her head didn't hit the mud, using the opportunity to examine her bruise.

"He's going to be okay. We need to get you in, your face," He trailed off, not sure how to describe it. Her jaw and cheekbone were swollen, and although she probably hadn't noticed her eye was also almost swollen shut.

"Michael," She breathed, and Tommy's thoughts jumped to the fact that if he were to marry again, this would be the kind of girl he didn't want; one who didn't even care that half her face was smashed in because he was shot.

"Y/N, come on," Tommy tried to pull her up, but she was practically dead weight.

"Fuck you, Tommy." She muttered out, grabbing his jacket. She was shaking, and Tommy was worried about her. "Fuck you." Her eyes were closing, her grip loosening.

"I need help!" Tommy yelled, watching a couple men come out of the building.

"I hate you, Thomas!" Her voice croaked. It wasn't louder than her breathing, and her voice was cracking.

"How did you hit your head?" He asked, moving her hair out of her face and using the hand on the back of her neck to move her head and see the extent of her bruise.

"Get the fuck off me!" She hit him, but it was more of a tap. "Let go of me," She rolled over and onto the mud, coughing as if she were going to throw up. It took Tommy a couple seconds too long to realize she really was dry heaving. The two men had come over to her, grabbing her arms and picking her up to take her into the hospital.

"Make sure she gets the bed next to Michael Gray." Tommy said as he got up, pretending like he hadn't noticed the mud caked into his pants.

"Thomas Shelby is a coward!" Y/N yelled weakly as she was carried in. "He's a coward and he will do anything for his own gain. Even kill his own family!" And he hated to admit to himself that it was true.

~

"Why aren't you laying with me?" Y/N woke up to Michael's voice behind her. She had been laying towards the wall, because she didn't like sleeping on her back and she couldn't put pressure on the right side of her face. She sat up to turn, and she knew when Michael as realized the bruise. She realized belatedly that she couldn't open her eye all the way, and that her head was throbbing in pain.

"You were shot," She muttered, sitting up all the way and pushing off her bed. Her dressing gown fell short,  much before her knees, her feet completely bare. Her cheeks heated as she realized someone would have had to undress her, and she hoped it was Ada or - more likely - Polly.

"Yes," His voice was gravelly, but he seemed awake, and she wondered how long he had been awake. "My mum came by, she said to tell you she was the one who undressed you. That she fought with physicians to get them away from you." Michael was reaching for her now, and she moved to grab his hand, letting him pull her close and arrange her so that they could lay together.

"When I saw you on the ground - oh God, Michael." Her breaths were short, and although his eyes were closed he was rubbing her back. "I was so afraid you were dead. Before we even got married." He let out a small breath of laughter, still not opening his eyes.

"I can't imagine how Esme feels." He muttered, making Y/N's heart drop.

"I'm sure Tommy is getting a good picture." She said, thinking back to when she had gone crazy as Michael was taken into the hospital.

"He told me about your episode." Michael said softly, and she just closed her eyes. It was embarrassing to think about the way she had screamed at him the way she had thrown a fit outside the hospital and completely collapsed.

"I thought you were dead." She whispered, eyes closed for fear of what he would say.

"If I were you, I probably would have given Tommy a new scar." Michael rubbed her back a couple more times before they settled into bed to sleep.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler

[mssorceressupreme]

hiii, i really love your minho ficc, its just so good 😭. and i wonder if i could make a request? anw, im sorry for my bad english 🫠

it's minho x fem reader, when the reader is her gf and the one who caught the flare instead of newt when trying to save him from wicked

hiii thank you bae 🥹🫶🏼 of course, I’m delighted to write this for you!! I wasn’t sure if you wanted said reader to live or die for this but for the sake of a happy ending I’ll make a her live LMAOO but I’ll still make it angsty-ish?

——

Lose You

Pairing: Minho x Reader

Summary: in which you caught the flare, and Minho will do anything not to lose you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, collapsing, injuries and explosions

——

The Last city was chaos—fire and smoke filled the air, the deafening sounds of battle surrounded you. You clung to consciousness, your vision blurring as you fled WCKD’s facility.

Thomas, Newt and Gally were ahead, their figures barely visible through the haze, but Minho stood right beside you, his grip on your hand tight and reassuring.

“Keep moving guys!” Thomas shouted over his shoulder, though he paid a little more attention to you as he knew about your condition. Minho on the other hand, was oblivious.

You guys had just escaped the facility, no way were you going to break the news to him so soon. Especially since you knew that he would hate himself for not being able to keep you safe given his protective nature.

You nodded, trying to keep up with Thomas, but each step felt like a monumental effort. The adrenaline that had fuelled your rescue mission was fading, replaced by a deep, gnawing fatigue.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and a sharp pain throbbed in your chest. The world around you spun, and your injuries from fighting the WCKD soldiers previously were worsening.

The boys came to a halt and the five of you stopped behind a pillar, shielding yourselves from the gunfires and erupting explosions temporarily.

“We’re almost there, just need to wait for a clear coast.” Gally affirmed, glancing to you swiftly to check if you were alright.

You gasped, inhaling for air, before your legs gave in, “Minho…” you weakly called out.

Minho caught you in his arms to stop your fall, gently stroking your head, “Y/N!” His voice was frantic while he held you upright.

You tried to speak to reassure him, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you looked up at him, your vision dimming and saw the panic in his eyes.

You felt your chest tightening and your lungs closing in on you, breathing was a struggle but you continued panting and gasping for air and coughing.

Minho was saying something but you found it hard to focus. All you could see was the way his face twisted in fear and concern.

Another bomb exploded near you, causing the five of you to stumble.

“Stay low guys!” Newt yelled out, “Don’t breathe in the smoke!”

“Y/N stay with me,” Minho begged, while sitting on the floor to get a firmer grip of you, while you rested in his lap. Thomas helped lower you down to prevent you from getting injured further.

Minho glanced down at your arm, and his eyes widened in horror.

You followed his gaze and saw the dark, web-like veins spreading all over your arm. Your heart sank as you realised how quickly the virus had spread, you felt that your chances of surviving were now slim.

“No,” Minho whispered, his voice trembling, “No, no, no….”

“Minho…” You managed to choke out.

He lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. “We’re going to get you out of here,” he assured, “I’m not losing you, do you hear me? I’m not losing you!”

Newt came to check up on you, his eyebrows furrowing in concern, “Brenda has the serum, we’ve got to get to her now!”

“How long has she been like this?…” Minho whispered to Newt, not wanting me to hear.

Thomas answered before Newt, “She’ll be alright, let’s just get her to the serum. She’ll be okay Minho.” He put his arm on Minho’s shoulder as a form of consolation.

“We need to move now!” Gally commanded, helping you up from Minho’s lap.

“I’ll carry her! You guys cover me!” Minho shouted, while picking you up bridal style, holding you closely to his chest.

The battle raged around you, but Minho moved with a single-minded focus, dodging gunfire and explosions. You could feel his heart pounding against you, his breath coming in sharp bursts.

Thomas and Newt reappeared, “How is she holding up?”

You were still breathing heavily and rapidly, gasping for every bit of oxygen.

Minho lifted your sleeve, “It’s spreading like wildfire…” his voice wavering slightly.

“We need to get her to the Berg now.” Thomas firmly said, loading up his gun before running through the battling city again.

As Minho ran, you could feel your consciousness slipping. The edges of your vision darkened and your body felt heavier with each passing second. You tried to keep your eyes open, to stay focused, but the flare was growing stronger, darkening your mind.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” He whispered, “Stay with me baby.”

Just then, your mind became total blackness.

A violent shudder wracked your body, a guttural growl escaped your lips. Your limbs twisted in unnatural angles, feeling an overwhelming urge to lash out. The world around you turned red and you shoved Minho with inhuman strength, causing him to drop you from his arms.

“Y/N, NO!” Minho shouted, voice filled with horror and desperation.

You growled at him again, black blood dripping from your mouth. Eyes bloodshot, veins popping out from your neck and arms.

You then lunged at Minho, nails sharp, a snarl escaping your lips. Your mind screamed at your body to stop, but the flare had taken over, turning you into a crank.

Minho dodged the attacks, eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and pleas, “Y/N! It’s me, Minho!”

You ignored him and continued to attack, trying to lunge at him with a knife.

“Gally, Thomas, Newt! Run ahead and get the serum from Brenda now!” Minho shouted, the other three fleeing as a result.

“I’m not fighting you! I refuse to!” He yelled, dodging every hit.

“Y/N, fight it!” He pleaded, dodging yet another swipe.

“I can’t…” the human side of you managed to whisper, before the flare occupied your mind again.

“I know you’re in there. Fight it!” He managed to pin you down, being on top of you.

Your body moved on its own, a primal urge to destroy and fight everything in your path. Minho blocked your attacks, eyes filled with tears.

Minutes felt like hours as you fought, each movement filled with pain and sorrow. Just when you thought you would lose yourself completely, you heard footsteps approaching.

Thomas appeared clutching the serum, “Catch!” He tossed it to Minho.

Thomas threw the serum to Minho. With one last sorrowful look at you, he plunged the needle into your arm. The effect was immediate.

The red haze lifted, and your body went limp. Darkness consumed you and you collapsed into Minho’s arms. Total darkness.

——

You slowly opened your eyes, the chaos was gone. You sat up and checked your surroundings, to your surprise, you were lying in the Berg, its engines humming softly. There were around 30 kids here, along with your fellow gladers.

Minho sat beside you, his hand clasped tightly around yours.

“Minho?” You croaked, your voice weak.

His eyes snapped to yours, relief flooding his face. “Y/N! You’re awake!!”

“I…I thought I lost you.” You whispered, tears streaming down your face, “I had a dream we fought and…oh, I’m so sorry…”

He pulled you into his arms, “It’s alright baby. You’re safe now,” he said, “We’re heading to the Safe Haven. We made it.”

You smiled weakly, heart swelling with love and relief, “I love you, Minho.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” He replied, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

As the Berg soared through the sky, you knew you had a long road ahead, but with Minho by your side, you felt ready to take on the next challenge. Together, you would find a way to survive and build a new life in the Safe Haven.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One

Summary : After you treat him in the ER, Officer Tom Ludlow asks you out. You turn him down, thinking you know his type, but he’s not willing to take no for an answer. In fact, you find out he’s more than willing to abuse his authority in his pursuit of you. Maybe Ludlow seems like an asshole, but when you are drawn into a dangerous conspiracy that could go all the way to the top of the LAPD, he might be the only thing that stands between you and a shallow grave.

TW : Abuse of authority, alpha male, sexual harassment, the word “no” is not in this man’s vocabulary

The ER is overflowing tonight. There was a huge drug bust down on South Hampton Avenue that ended in a fire and gunfight: turned out to be a big enough debacle that they had to call a code black throughout the hospital, which basically means, at least for you, no breaks or time between patients. In times like this, charting even takes a back burner thanks to a hospital policy where everything you learned in nursing school flies out the window and you don’t have to document what you’re doing. 

It’s a good thing, because you don’t have time to log onto a computer let alone write something down with pen and paper. Burn victims, gunshots, every bed full, people boarding in the waiting room and hallways with broken limbs and makeshift pressure dressings on bullet holes and stab wounds.

The once chemical, pristine floor and walls now look like something from a SAW movie, and you’re not much better off. Bloody, dirt caked scrubs, exhausted, sweat stains. You’ve probably done more chest compressing tonight than you have in your entire career leading up. And you’ve seen more people die tonight… well, more than you’d like.

You wipe some tears off your cheeks, pretending it’s sweat, before walking into the lobby to catch the stragglers. “Thomas?”

“Call me Tom.” He’s a cop, still in uniform, sitting on the floor with a big puff of gauze pressed into his shoulder. You kneel down beside him. 

“I’m y/n, can I take a look?”

“Sure.” He winces, pulls the bloody dressing away to reveal a big, messy gash slicing into his left shoulder. It will need stitches, that’s for sure, but other than that it looks like a fairly clean cut. 

“Knife?” You ask him, pulling back on his shirt. 

“Some fucking idiot crackhead with a sword, actually,” he grits. 

You laugh a little bit. “I’m having a hard time believing that.”

“So am I.” He tries to grin at you, but it comes out more like a snarl because of the way you’re poking and prodding at him. 

Maybe it's just because you're exhausted, you've had a terrible night, and you hurt all over, but you can't help but notice how handsome this man is, even after his own ordeals on the mean streets of the City of Angels. He watches you with sharp dark eyes that miss nothing. You almost feel sorry for the criminals who find themselves on the receiving end of that stare. As it is, you almost feel a little unnerved yourself, until you notice a sparkle of humor for you in those dark orbs. However, you still get the feeling like he's studying you while you are tending his wound.

“I gotta stitch this,” you tell him, a little shy under his gaze, now. 

“Are you good at that?” 

You’re kind of in your own little world when he asks that, looking at his arms. Solid and big. Nice veins. It takes you a minute to register that he even said something. Yeah, you chastise yourself, why don’t you just start fucking drooling while you’re at it? 

“Good at what?” 

His grin tips higher. “Stitches…” 

“No, but I'm going to stab you repeatedly with a needle anyway…”

He chuffs with laughter. “You just seem a little distracted.” The way he smirks at you, you just know you're caught out. Get it together, you scold yourself. Maybe act like a professional instead of oogling the nice police officer.

“Sorry. It's just been a really long night. I promise, you're in good hands.”

“Looking forward to it,” he answers, with a beam of direct eye contact that nearly brings you to your knees. 

This is where you catch your lucky break, because this is where you start to get annoyed. Mostly, at yourself, but partly at him too. He clearly knows how attractive he is. He's just that kind of asshole. And it's been fucking forever since you've gotten laid, because the world is just so full of assholes… It's not fair, the way he uses this advantage to tease you, when you feel like an extra in a Rob Zombie film. You do your best to appear unaffected as you walk away to retrieve supplies. You also pretend not to notice him staring at your ass, which, okay, you have to admit, it’s a little bit of a confidence boost. 

It’s almost stupid to put towels under his arm as you spray him off with sterile water - this floor could actually use it. You get the edges pink and shiny, uncake the blood and the viscera. Grateful for the distraction - distraction from the big, brown eyed cop who won’t stop looking at you. 

He has that type of stare that has weight to it. You feel it, on your skin– and you hate to admit it– in the aching throb between your legs, which is the last thing you need to be distracted by right now. Ah, the stupid lady parts, always making their vote known at the worst possible time. 

Even though you let the anesthetic sit for a while, modern medicine can’t account for all the pain. He’s wincing and grunting while you tug his open flesh back together, and those gruff sounds are not helping this whole being attracted to him situation. You feel like your skin is on fire from his overwhelming stare, from the noises coming out of that long throat. Christ, he’s not even touching you…

“You alright there sweetheart? I'm the one under the needle.”

You look at him, some of that anger escaping in your tone. “Please don’t call me sweetheart.” 

“Sorry. Been a long night for me too.” He lifts one of those sculpted dark brows at you, and you feel it as your heart tries most earnestly to tap dance right out of your fucking chest. 

You sigh, narrowing your eyes so that he knows he's not in the clear. Unfortunately, he just seems to find that adorable, those dark eyes sparkling like black diamonds. 

“Just…let me finish you off so you can get out of here.”

“Didn't know you performed that service here,” he quips with a smirk, and you're almost relieved he drives this final nail into his coffin, even if the suggestion makes a spear of desire shoot through you. 

“I'm starting to side with the crackhead now.”

“Ooo, ouch,” he snarks, unaffected. “Take your time, this is the most fun I've had in a while.”

You decide not to answer, concentrating on your work. This man has a quick comeback for everything, you have a feeling. Worse, you kind of doubt a girl like you has a chance in hell of outmaneuvering him.

As you're bandaging him up, he senses your time together is coming to a close. His demeanor changes a little– if you didn't know any better,  you'd think he was sad about it. “Thanks for stitching me up,” he says, surprisingly humble. He rolls those big dark eyes up to yours, and you feel your resolve to be a stone cold professional crumble–a little.

“You're welcome.” It's possible your touch on his shoulder lingers just slightly longer than it should. 

“Hey…” He clearly feels bold enough to catch your hand in his. And holy shit, that hand. Your little mitt disappears in his, wrapped up in long, blunt fingers. The things you bet that hand could do to you…

It's definitely not a helpful thought.

“Any chance I could give you a call sometime?”

Your initial, knee-jerk reaction to this question, from this fine-ass man, is Yes, please and thank you. You're sure he sees it in your eyes, the way you're practically ready to sit up and bark for him.

But then, past experiences raise their hands to the situation, and how grateful you are. 

You know this guy's type, you convince yourself. Handsome, and macho, and they think they're so cute they can say anything and you'll just keep eating out of the palm of their hand, grateful to be their girl. You've starred in this show before– and it always ends in tragedy, with your heart in shreds, and them shrugging you off before moving on. 

Not tonight. 

“Sorry, but…I think it's best we keep this professional.”

Why does it hurt to say it?

You expect him to sulk, maybe even get mean, the way so many manly men do when a woman bruises their fragile egos. However, it seems this man is different. He just smirks, and you realize with a skip of your heartbeat, that he is not deterred at all.

“If you say so, sweetheart.”

With your heart in your throat, you have a feeling this is not the last you see of detective Tom Ludlow.

[adeptustemptations]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU - KAMISATO AYATO.

SYNOPSIS: life has been good. You've found yourself finally securing a stable paying job after searching for a while, finding a new place to stay, and reconnecting with old friends. you even met the love of your life, Thoma. being in a relationship with him was like a teenage girl's dream - he was affectionate, supportive, and respectful. A man like him was hard to get by, and he was one of a kind. so why do you find yourself longing for your ex-boyfriend, ayato? 

pairings: ayatokamisato x fem!reader, thoma x reader

warnings: mentions of break-ups, cheating, implied sex, heartbreak, crying, angstangstangst

It has been 5 years since you and Ayato broke up.

It was sad, how love holds on to the hope that the heart can transform what the mind knows it cannot. No matter how much you tried to change him, it just simply wasn't the case for him.

In the middle of another petty fight, his voice echoes, cutting into the tension-filled room - "Let's break up," the words hang in the air, sharp and final, cutting through the silence that had settled between them. Your heart sinks as you watch him, his eyes clouded with a storm of conflicting emotions.

You had hoped, in some corner of your heart, that you could weather the storm together. But the constant arguments, the screaming matches that had become the norm, and the cold, empty nights had worn you down. Each fight felt like another nail in the coffin of your relationship, and now Ayato’s declaration felt like the inevitable conclusion of a love that had long since soured.

The apartment, once a sanctuary of shared dreams and whispered promises, now feels like a battleground scarred by your unrelenting conflicts. The familiar echoes of your arguments seem to reverberate through the walls, amplifying the silence that follows Ayato's words.

"No," you reply, shaking your head vigorously, trying to ignore the lump forming in your throat. "You don’t mean that. This is just another fight. We can work this out, please."

It was funny, how you begged for him not to leave you.

But how cruel fate truly was, especially when you looked into his eyes at that moment. He made up his mind, there was no point in fighting for it, and there was no turning back. All you can do is let out a shaky breath as you nod, trying to make sense of something - anything.

That night was also the same night Thoma found you, soaked from the rain, crying at a park bench.

-

He is sensible and so incredible And all my single friends are jealous He says everything I need to hear, and it's like I couldn't ask for anything better

You’d poured your heart into moving on, and over time, you found solace and love in Thoma. From the moment you met him, it was clear he was everything you’d dreamed of: kind, supportive, and steadfast. Thoma’s sensible nature and unwavering support brought you a sense of peace and joy that had seemed unreachable for so long.

Your friends often marveled at how lucky you were to have someone like Thoma. They’d gush about how perfect he was, how he seemed to understand you in ways you’d never thought possible. And they were right. Thoma was incredible. His small gestures of affection and thoughtful acts made every day feel special. You couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for having him in your life.

The room is enveloped in a serene, intimate quiet as you and Thoma bask in the afterglow of your shared moment. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm light across the room.

"You love me, right?" you ask, your voice slightly breathless as you try to steady your breathing. Thoma chuckles softly, his gaze filled with adoration as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face.

"Of course I do, Y/N." His voice is tender and reassuring as he presses a gentle peck to your lips, his hand resting on your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin. "My, was my performance not up to your standards? Have I not shown you enough today?"

You giggle at his playful teasing, running your fingers through his soft blond hair. Your eyes sparkle with affection. "No, you did so good," you whisper, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "So, so good to me."

Thoma's smile widens at your praise, and he nods with satisfaction. "Good. Because if it wasn't, I'd be more than willing to show you more of my love today." His voice is a soft murmur, and you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle in response.

In this moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside seems to fade away. You both relish the peace and intimacy that surrounds you, feeling as if you could stay like this forever.

"I love you, Thoma."

His eyes meet yours, and he smiles with a tenderness that touches your soul. "I love you more, Y/N."

As you snuggle closer, the warmth of his embrace and the depth of your connection feels like the perfect end to a beautiful day. The love you share fills the space around you, creating a haven of contentment and happiness that you both cherish deeply.

-

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain And it's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name So in love that you act insane And that's the way I loved you

The past has a way of sneaking back into our lives when we least expect it.

You stare at your phone, watching the news cycle through the latest headlines, your heart heavy with a mix of nostalgia and confusion. Ayato's face is everywhere—his light blue hair and lilac eyes unchanged, but the world has shifted around him. The headlines scream his name, a reminder of a life you thought you'd left behind.

AYATO KAMISATO - INAZUMA'S TOP CEO?

The sight of him stirs up memories that seem to have been lying dormant, just waiting for this moment to resurface.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just trust me!” Ayato’s voice had been sharp, his anger palpable. “I’m doing everything I can to make this work.”

The sting of his words had been immediate and deep. “It’s not about trust, Ayato. It’s about you being so distant. You’re always buried in work, and when you are here, it feels like you’re not really here. You’re checked out!”

His hands had clenched into fists, the frustration in his eyes mirrored by his rigid posture. “I’m trying to build something for us. Everything I do is for our future, and you’re just attacking me for it!”

“You think I don’t see that?” Your voice had cracked, emotion flooding every word. “But I need you here now. I need you to be present, not just physically, but emotionally. It feels like you’re slipping away from me.”

The argument had reached its peak, the room thick with unresolved tension. Ayato’s frustration had turned to anger, his words cutting like a knife.

“Maybe you just don’t understand the pressures I’m under!” he’d snapped, his voice laden with an edge of desperation. “This isn’t just for our relationship. It’s for me, too. I want to make a name for myself, Y/N. Don’t be selfish now.”

The finality of his declaration had left you feeling hollow, the room suddenly cold and silent. The love you’d fought so hard to nurture seemed to be unraveling before your eyes, and the future you’d once envisioned together felt impossibly out of reach.

As tears began to escape your eyes, Ayato had softened, his anger giving way to regret. “I’m sorry. You’re not selfish. I was just… stressed. I didn’t mean it.” He had wrapped his arms around you, his touch gentle as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing away your tears. “I’m sorry.”

You chuckle bitterly as the memory fades, a lump forming in your throat. You press the sleep button on your phone and turn to look at Thoma, who is sleeping peacefully beside you. His steady breathing and the warmth of his presence offer a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within you.

You remember the sense of security and contentment you’ve built with Thoma. His love and support have created a stable, fulfilling relationship that seems like everything you could have hoped for. The life you’ve built together feels real and comforting, a safe space from the pain of your past.

And yet, despite that, the pull of those memories, the echo of Ayato’s words, and the intensity of your past connection still linger in the back of your mind. It’s as if a part of you is struggling to come into terms with the excitement of what once was with the peace of what is now.

You reach out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Thoma’s face, your heart aching with the weight of unresolved feelings. You know you should be content, that the life you’ve created with him is everything you could want.

But why do you feel so.. empty?

You slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Thoma. In the kitchen, you make yourself a cup of tea, the comforting aroma helping to calm your racing thoughts. As the steam rises from the mug, you wonder what you should do. The past is a tricky thing, always lingering at the edges of your present, but this feels different—like a force pulling at your heartstrings.

Sipping the warm tea, you pull out your phone and search for more about Ayato. The news articles are filled with accomplishments and achievements, but they only seem to highlight a version of him you don’t fully recognize anymore. The Ayato from the past was driven and ambitious, but he was also deeply flawed. The man on the screen seems like a stranger, someone who has moved far beyond the person you knew.

Your thoughts drift back to the day he left you, the hurtful words exchanged, and the finality of his decision. The pain you felt then was raw and intense, a sharp contrast to the calm and steady love you have now with Thoma. But the question lingers—why does Ayato’s return stir something up in you?

As you contemplate this, the phone buzzes with a message. It’s from a mutual friend who still keeps in touch with Ayato. The message is brief but to the point: “Ayato’s in town for a charity event tonight. It might be a good chance for closure if you’re interested.”

You stare at the screen, your heart pounding in your chest. The idea of seeing Ayato again is both terrifying and intriguing. A part of you feels the need to confront the past, to find some sort of resolution. But another part is afraid that reopening old wounds could ruin the happiness you’ve found with Thoma.

"Okay, I'll come." I reply.

-

He can't see the smile I'm faking And my heart's not breaking 'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all

"Where are you going, love?" Thoma asks, watching you make your way to the front of your door, his emerald eyes looking in curiosity.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you face Thoma. His presence is grounding, but you can’t deny the heaviness in your heart. The decision to go to Ayato’s charity event feels like stepping into unknown territory, but it’s something you need to do for yourself.

“I’ve got an event to attend tonight,” you say, your voice steady but lacking the usual warmth. “A mutual friend of ours mentioned it. A charity event." You explain, Thoma raises his eyebrow but nods anyway. "I see, in that case, please take care. Do you want me to come with you?" He asks, offering a helping hand.

"No, I'll be fine."

Thoma’s gaze softens, and he crosses the room to stand beside you, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “I understand, but I want you to know that I’m here for you, no matter what. Just promise me that if things get overwhelming, you’ll reach out to me.”

Your heart swells with gratitude for his unwavering support. “I promise. I’ll keep you updated.”

Thoma leans in and kisses your forehead, his touch tender and reassuring. “Alright. Just be careful, and remember that I love you.”

"Love you too,” you reply, giving him a warm smile before slipping out the door.

The drive to the charity event is quiet, the city lights blurring past as you focus on the road ahead. Your thoughts are a whirlwind of memories and emotions, each one flooding your mind. You park your car and take a deep breath before stepping out, the cool evening air helping to clear your head.

The venue is a grand, upscale hotel, its opulence a stark contrast to the turmoil you feel inside. You walk inside, greeted by the hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses. The event is in full swing, and you scan the room for familiar faces.

Your gaze lands on Ayato, standing near the center of the room. He’s dressed impeccably in a tailored white suit, his demeanor confident and polished. He seems to be in his element, effortlessly engaging with the guests around him. For a moment, you hesitate, the weight of the past pressing heavily on your shoulders.

But then, as if sensing your presence, Ayato’s eyes meet yours from across the room. His expression shifts from surprise to a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. He excuses himself from the group he is talking to and makes his way toward you.

You take a few hurried steps, trying to distance yourself from Ayato, your heart racing with anxiety. The chaotic mix of emotions inside you makes it hard to think clearly. As you push through the crowd, hoping to escape, you hear his voice behind you, filled with urgency.

“Y/N, wait—please,” Ayato calls out, his voice carrying a pleading tone.

Despite your instinct to flee, you find yourself stopping near the edge of the room. You turn around slowly, forcing yourself to face him. Ayato’s approach is slower now, his expression a blend of concern and regret.

When he reaches you, there’s a moment of silence, the bustling noise of the event creating a stark contrast to the tension between you. Ayato’s eyes search yours, trying to gauge your reaction.

And you were wild and crazy Just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated Got away by some mistake and now

Ayato’s gaze is intense, filled with a depth of emotion that seems to echo the storm you felt years ago. He takes a deep breath, as if gathering the strength to say something he’s been holding back.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice a mix of vulnerability and determination, “I know it’s been a long time, and I understand if you’re angry or confused. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I need to tell you something.”

He pauses, searching for the right words, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. The memories of your time together seem to weigh heavily on him.

“I miss you,” he says finally, his voice cracking slightly with the force of his emotions. “Archons, I miss everything we had—the good times, the way we used to laugh and talk about our future. I know that my work and my ambitions took me away from you, and I’m so sorry for that.”

Ayato steps closer, his gaze steady and earnest. “Everything I’ve been working for, all the success and the achievements… I thought it would make things better, that it would be enough to secure our future. But I was wrong. I was so focused on building something for us that I lost sight of what really mattered. I lost you.”

His eyes are filled with regret and longing. “I thought that by becoming successful, I could provide everything you needed. But in doing so, I neglected the most important part of our relationship—you. I didn’t realize how much I needed you until you were gone.”

There’s a brief, painful silence as Ayato’s words hang in the air. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, the remorse that has been simmering beneath the surface all these years.

“I’ve made mistakes,” he continues, his voice soft but resolute. “I know that now. But seeing you here, after all this time, has made me realize just how much I regret letting you go. I want you to know that every step I’ve taken since then has been with the hope that maybe one day, I could find a way to make things right.”

"Ayato-"

He takes another deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. “I understand if you can’t forgive me or if you’ve moved on completely. But I needed you to know that I’ve missed you, and I’ve never stopped thinking about what we had. I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am.”

At that moment, despite the loud music enveloping the place, it only seems as if you and Ayato are the only ones in that place together.

“Ayato…” you start, your voice trembling with a mixture of emotions. You want to say so much, to express the whirlwind of feelings that have been stirred up, but the words catch in your throat.

Ayato reaches out tentatively, his hand brushing against yours. The contact sends a jolt through you, reigniting the connection you once shared. His touch is tentative, almost pleading as if he’s afraid that reaching for you will only drive you away.

“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper, the admission slipping out before you can fully process it. The ache in your heart that you’ve tried so hard to ignore now feels like a gaping wound, laid bare by Ayato’s presence.

His eyes widen slightly at your response, and he takes a cautious step closer. The intensity of his gaze seems to pull you in, and before you can fully grasp the gravity of the moment, Ayato leans in, closing the distance between you.

The kiss is gentle at first, as your lips meet, there’s a surge of old emotions—passion, longing, and familiarity that makes your head spin. It’s as if the years apart have melted away, leaving only the intensity of the feelings that once defined your relationship.

The kiss deepens, fueled by a mix of desperation and hope. Your hands find their way to Ayato’s face, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the moment.

However, as you both indulge in the kiss, you fail to notice the green-eyed blonde watching over you two from the door.

a/n: this is my first time publishing something I wrote c: hope you guys liked it!

[goldlockets-and-redwine]

You're The Worst | Chapter 1

Pairing: Touya Todoroki x Reader

Word Count: 875 words

Summary: Paw's and Claw's has a fun staff. However, the nosy bad boy, Touya, loves to pick on you. What will happen when he notices the array of bruises hidden under your sweatshirts? Maybe he isn't so bad after all.

Author's Note: So, this fic idea has been in my mind for a while. I hope everyone likes it. This will be a multi-chapter fic as I don't have a ton of time to write. Oof. Please be patient with me. Also, I inserted my cat Thomas because it's almost been a year since he passed, and I think of him every day. I know. So self-indulgent.

TW: Domestic Violence (Not from Touya), Fem!Reader, Violence in general (There will be a fight, not in this chapter though.), drinking, smoking, cursing. Let me know if I missed anything!

“That looks like shit.”

Good god, I wish he would just shut up. This is the third time today he’s butted into my work.

“No, it looks great Touya. You’re just an ass with shit handwriting. Jealous much?” We looked over my work. The sign looked great honestly. I really outdid myself this time. In delicate script it read “Tom” adorned with little hearts around the name. I put up the sign on Tom’s’ kennel, a large grey and white cat sitting at the farthest possible corner of the kennel away from the door. “Do you have his bio?”

“Of course, what am I? Incompetent?” He made quick work of putting up his bio underneath the name card I made. He typed his up like normal. I gazed sadly at the big tom cat sitting in the cage. “Hey doll, he’ll get adopted. You always get too attached.”

I grimaced at the pet name. He always looks for a way under my skin. However, he took it upon himself to never call me by name. I need to come up with my own for him. Maybe he’ll leave me alone if I come up with something heinous.

“Some of us have hearts, jackass.” Wait, that one fits. Still not original enough. I glanced at him to see him already staring at me. If looks could kill. You would think working in a shelter there would be nice coworkers here. Everyone else was nice. Not this guy. His intimidating look didn’t help his case. Tattoos were everywhere but the one on his face gets the most frowns from potential adopters. The row of flames over his left brow. Wait is that… “Touya, did you redye your hair? You should do a better job of not getting that shit on your skin. You look insane.”

“Why you lookin’ at me so hard? Like what you see?” My face was already showing my irritation before, but now I could feel it twist in disgust.

“No. The hair dye stains are really not doing it for me.” I do a swift 180 degrees and make my way out of the cat room and into the lobby once more. “Hey Toga! Any new applications come in?” Her face lit up as she looked up at me. Her sharp canines stuck out as she smiled.

“(Y/N)! We had one come in for Mochi!” She was practically jumping out of her chair. “Dabi! Come and look at the place!” Touya leaned over the counter and looked down above the monitor as I walked around the desk. It was a beautiful house in suburbia with a huge fenced in back yard. “Mochi will love it, don’t ya think?”

“He’ll love it little vamp.” I said. My eyes hovered over the screen to notice the time. “You should head out. It’s 5:30! You know the boss won’t be happy about you staying over too much.”

Toga pouted, but I was right. Tomura gets so pressed when she stays over. It must be that big brother dynamic. She got up to gather her things for the evening and shut down the computer. “He’ll be fine, but I’ll tell him you guys said hi!” With that she gave me a big hug and skipped towards the door and out to the parking lot. Touya turned and stared at me as soon as he had locked the door. Without saying a word I got to work cleaning the lobby. Working with animals was messy and there was a mix of dog and cat hair being swept up. I heard Touya’s heavy boots moving towards the hallway leading to the dog kennels. I instantly relaxed and continued my chores, completely blocking out my thoughts.

-

“Doll,” My body was on autopilot as I put away the cleaning supplies. “Don’t ignore me doll. It’s time to bail.” I quickly finished putting things up and grabbed my bag. Both our footsteps synced as we made our way to the door. Touya held the door open. “Ladies first.” I could hear the cockiness in his voice. He wasn’t going to get a reaction out of me so late in the day. My car’s taillights blinked as I unlocked it. Today was a hot one. The evening sun was shining on me. I pushed up the sleeves to my sweater and was nearly to my car when I heard Touya’s deep voice closer to me than expected. “That’s a nasty bruise.”

The sweaters I wore for the last 6 months were to avoid these questions. It was no secret Kai, my boyfriend, wasn’t the best guy. His record was a mile long. No one would know he mistreated me, however. Kai made a good show of being a loving boyfriend while also being a piece of shit in every other aspect of his life. He won me over with gifts and treated me like a princess. He said I was his perfect girl. Do men treat perfect girls like this?

“Mind your business.”

Touya’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a dumbass, (y/n).” With that he got in his black 5.0 mustang and pulled out of the parking lot leaving me standing next to my car.

[justwearthegoddamncardigan]

Real or not real

Minho x fem!reader

Set partway through scorch trials (movieverse)

Not the hunger games clickbait oop

Summary: they fake a relationship. thats it. just wanted to try the fake dating trope

Warnings: language, minor injury (some blood, but not heavily described)

You lean your weight against a wall, panting tiredly.

You've just hiked through pitch-dark tunnels and over a sand dune to get to the city, and you have no idea how to find your friends, or Marcus.

You and Minho, like Thomas and Brenda had missed the ziplines when WCKD raided the warehouse.

As the building crumbled around you, the four of you had leapt down an elevator shaft, and been separated by rubble at the bottom.

Brenda had told you and Minho to go out through some tunnels behind.

Which leads you to now.

"We need to-" you let out a cough, and your throat feels paper-dry. "We need to find the others."

"Yeah," says Minho. "Shuck."

"What?"

You turn to see Minho craning his neck, trying to look at his own shoulder.

You walk closer and see a gash about as long as your hand, cutting from over his shoulder to a little way down his back.

"Shit," you mutter. "Okay, we're gonna get some help, and then find everyone."

"Sounds like a plan," he responds.

"Does it hurt?" you ask, before immediately regretting it.

"Never mind, stupid question." You shake your head.

"For your information, it hurts like hell," he tells you. "Luckily, I'm a shuckin' badass."

You snort. "Alright tough guy, let's go."

⭒----⭒

You get into town and see a few people milling about.

Everyone is covered in dirt and sweat and wearing tattered clothing, with grim facial expressions, so you and Minho fit right in.

"Hey, do you-" The man brushes past as you approach him, and he doesn't look back.

"Y/n," rasps Minho, looking worse by the second, bleeding heavily and clearly in a lot of pain. "No one's helping us here."

You turn in a circle, taking in your surroundings properly.

A few people spare you a glance. Most don't even bother.

Looks like you'll have to pick your target.

You spy a pair of young women, just a bit older than you.

One of them has a hard face, like the rest of the people.

But the other looks at you and Minho, before looking away quickly.

She's got grief in her eyes and a gold band on her ring finger.

"Okay," you say, taking Minho's hand. "Follow my lead."

"What?" he hisses as you walk over to the two women. "Y/n, what are you doing?"

You shush him and approach them with your face schooled into nervous, fearful expression.

"Excuse me, could you please help us?" You keep Minho's hand clasped in yours.

"We can't," says one of them cuttingly.

"Please," you beg. You slip your arm around Minho's waist, ignoring his sharp inhale. "My boyfriend is hurt."

The one with the ring shakes her head sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

"Please," you repeat. "If it gets worse... I can't lose him." You're only partially acting at this point.

She hesitates. "Where are you guys going? Do you have a home?"

"We're looking for our friends," you say.

She slides her gaze to the other woman, who sighs. "Fine."

⭒----⭒

They take you and Minho to their little apartment, where you follow Cindy into a storage side room to find a first aid kit.

You learn that they're sisters; Cindy, the one who took you in, and Jennifer.

You hold up the first aid kit as you and Cindy walk back into the main room.

"Thanks," says Minho, reaching out to take it.

"Hey," you smack his hands away gently. "Obviously I'm doing this. Your shucking back is sliced open. How would you even reach?"

"Fine." He sits in a chair, turning his back to you. "Thank you," he adds begrudgingly.

You gingerly shift the ripped pieces of his shirt, trying to get a clear view of the wound.

"Just take the damn shirt off." You jump at Jennifer's voice, looking over to where she's standing in the kitchenette, casually sipping from a chipped mug.

Cindy is busying herself at the counter, clearly trying to give you some semblance of privacy in this one-room apartment.

"Uhh-"

"I'm looking away," says Jennifer, turning around. "Prissy kids," she mutters.

You look at Minho, unsure of what to do.

He shrugs, speaking so only you can hear. "If I'm your boyfriend, it shouldn't be nothin' you haven't seen before."

You heartrate skips a beat as he lifts the hem of his shirt, and mentally shake yourself.

He's injured, for shuck's sake.

You help him guide the shirt carefully over the wound, and open the first aid kit.

⭒----⭒

When you finish cleaning and bandaging, Minho leaves the shirt off, cause it's still crusted with blood and covered in dust.

To reiterate: Minho leaves the shirt off.

You keep moving around, finding jobs to do in the apartment that don't involve any sort of proximity to Minho. And his shirtless self.

Shucking hell. What is happening?

You help Cindy make dinner and jump up to help Jennifer bring in supplies.

"Here," says Jennifer, tossing Minho a shirt.

He puts it on and flops back down onto the couch, looking exhausted.

You remember that you've both been up since yesterday, and being in pain is clearly very draining.

Cindy catches you watching him. "Go sit with your boy," she says, smiling.

"Oh, I can still help around if you-"

"Please," interrupts Jennifer, rolling her eyes. "He's been watching you all afternoon like a lost puppy. We're fine here, go give him some attention for god's sake."

You blush slightly, and Jennifer rolls her eyes again before you move to the couch beside Minho.

"Hey," you say softly.

"Y/n..." he murmurs, leaning over so his head rests on your shoulder.

You let out a quiet chuckle. It's strange to see Minho like this. He's usually so cool-headed, and snarky, and loud. This is all soft and sleepy, and it's kinda... cute?

Wow. Apparently you think Minho's cute now.

Are your fake feelings becoming real?

The thought of actually being with Minho sends a thrill through you; equal parts fear and hope.

You shift carefully so you don't disrupt him, moving so you're lying on the couch with him.

He instinctively wraps his arms around you, still asleep, and you just melt into it.

Whatever. It'll sell the whole dating thing anyways.

⭒----⭒

You go out onto the balcony to help Cindy take down her laundry.

The ring on her finger glints in the sunlight as she reaches up.

"Did you have someone?" you ask carefully, gesturing at the ring.

She smiles sadly. "I did."

She pauses a bit. "You can ask, you know."

"How'd you lose them?" you ask softly.

"He was bitten by a Crank. Shot himself before he could go crazy like the rest of 'em. Didn't want to let me watch." She shakes her head.

"You need to hold on to Minho, alright? You're lucky to have each other. Love is nearly impossible to find these days."

You look down. "I don't know if..."

Cindy huffs out a laugh. "You don't think that's love? Sweetie, you should see the way he looks at you."

"H-how does he look at me?" you breathe.

She grins at you. "The exact same way you look at him."

⭒----⭒

"So, where exactly are you guys going?" asks Jennifer that morning.

"We're looking for a guy named Marcus," says Minho. "We think he'll know where our friends are."

Cindy and Jennifer exchange a glance.

"Look, whatever rumour you've heard about him, it's a lie. Marcus isn't helping anyone, he's bad news. Trust us," says Jennifer.

"You don't wanna go looking for him," agrees Cindy.

You flick your gaze to Minho's before leaning forward on the counter.

"If he's harmed people, he could be doing the same to our friends. We need to find Marcus," you say insistently.

"...what if we snuck them in from the back somehow?" suggests Cindy, looking at Jennifer.

"You'd have to get out quick," Jennifer tells you. "Find your friends and leave immediately."

You nod. "Alright, it's a plan."

⭒----⭒

Cindy and Jennifer lead you to the back door of a building.

"It'll be better if you get away from here as fast as possible," says Jennifer.

"So this'll be goodbye," continues Cindy.

You thank them for everything, and they wish you luck.

Then you and Minho step into the building.

You keep your hand linked with his as you push through a crowd of bodies, refusing the dubious-looking drinks.

"Y/n!" Minho calls.

You turn, but you can't hear what he's saying over the pounding music and noise.

"What?"

He rolls his eyes and pulls you closer, speaking directly into your ear.

You suppress shivers as his breath sends tingles down your neck.

"Over there," he points to an office. "Maybe we can find information."

You slip through the door, locking it behind you and switching the lights on.

You see a bunch of documents full of payments and signed agreements.

"What the..."

"He's sending kids to WCKD," you realise.

"Shit," says Minho, staring down at the papers.

You both jump as someone tries to open the door. You hear keys jangle as the person moves to unlock the door.

You turn to Minho with a panicked gaze as the door unlocks with a click.

Then, you're being pushed up against a wall, and Minho's lips are on yours.

Holy shit. He's kissing you.

And it's not just a gentle peck.

He's got his arms gripping your hips, and his mouth is crushed against yours, moving in a way that's messy but good.

You respond naturally, fisting his shirt in your hands and kissing back.

The door swings open.

"Oi, you kids! What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, sorry," you say, breathless in a way that's way too real.

"We were just-"

"Get out." the guy cuts Minho off, pointing out the door.

You stumble out, unable to keep your laughter in.

Minho yanks you into a quieter corner, grinning too.

"Hey, sorry about that," he says. "I was just-"

"I know," you say. "Just covering for us. Was a good plan anyway. Okay, we should go-"

"What if it wasn't just a coverup?" Minho grabs your wrist as he speaks.

"What?"

"What if I wanted to kiss you for real? What if I liked you for real?"

You hold his gaze, searching his eyes.

Then you lean in and kiss him, feeling fire warm you from your fingertips, which hold his face, all the way down to your toes.

"Oi!"

You spin around in surprise.

"Thomas?" exclaims Minho.

"Shucking hell, we've been looking for you guys!" you say incredulously.

"What, lookin' for us down each other's throats?" deadpans Newt.

"Come on, the others are outside," says Thomas, tugging Minho's arm.

"What happened?" you ask as you step out of the building.

"Brenda and I were in there too," explains Thomas. "Newt and the rest of 'em found us. And we got the Right Arm's location from Marcus."

"We just needed to find you two lovesick idiots before leaving," finishes Newt.

You smile at Minho, and he squeezes your hand.

Newt rolls his eyes. "I'm glad you guys sorted out your klunk, you were driving the rest of us mad."

"Come on, let's find this safe haven."

Hello, thanks to all for reading! Hope you enjoyed this one!

Requests are open if you have any ideas ❤

[parkerslatte]

Never Let Me Go

Matthew Fairchild x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: injury and blood.

Summary: While out patrolling, Y/N is attacked by a demon and receives severe injuries. Matthew begs her to be okay.

The Shadowhunter Chronicles Masterlist

•••

The moment Y/N realised there was a demon was the moment she felt a sharp pain across her back. Blood poured from the wound as Y/N fell to the floor letting out a blood curdling scream. The blood pooled around her and every movement she made caused her body to be set alight. Y/N had never felt so much pain before. 

“Y/N!” Thomas yelled, killing the demon with deadly efficiency. 

Y/N made no noise as Thomas kneeled down next to her. She whimpered out in pain as tears ran down her cheeks. He pulled his stele out and drew and iratze. It wasn’t helping, the wound wasn’t healing. 

Thomas’s hand gently touched her back and Y/N let out another scream of pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Thomas,” Y/N mumbled, her breath coming out in ragged pants. “It hurts.”

Thomas desperately looked around. Y/N’s cries of pain shattered through his heart. There was no one around. 

“I’m going to need to move you,” Thomas said.

“I can’t,” Y/N cried. “Hurts too much.”

“I need to, Y/N,” Thomas said. “I need to get you to the institute.”

Y/N shook her head. “I can’t, Tom.”

Thomas grimaced. “I’m sorry, Y/N. But I need to, I’m not going to let you bleed out.”

The scream Y/N let out when Thomas picked her up was horrible to listen to. Y/N tried to get out of his grip but it only caused her more pain. It felt like she was being stabbed a hundred times and each blade was twisting. 

Thomas hadn’t even started walking when Y/N was passed out. 

***

Matthew settled down on his couch with Oscar’s head resting in his lap. He had asked Y/N if she wanted to come around his house as he hadn’t seen her much over the past few days. Once she told him that she was patrolling, Matthew had wanted to do it with her but she refused knowing that Matthew didn’t really want to patrol. 

However as soon as Matthew relaxed into his couch, hectic knocks banged his front door. Confused, Matthew got to his feet and walked over to the front door, Oscar following at his feet. 

As he opened it, Cordelia was standing on the other side, a distraught expression on her face. 

“What’s wrong?” Matthew asked. 

Cordelia chose her next words very carefully. “Matthew, it’s Y/N. She was hurt badly.”

Matthew felt his heart plummet. “Where is she?”

“Thomas took her to the institute,” Cordelia explained as she and Matthew left his flat, Oscar in tow, and out to the carriage where James was waiting.

“My father sent word not long ago,” James said as Matthew and Cordelia got into the carriage. 

“Is- is she okay?” Matthew asked, fiddling with his ring anxiously. 

James sighed. “We don’t know. My father didn’t go into details, only to get to the institute as soon as possible.”

Matthew didn’t speak another word. Oscar rested his head on Matthew’s knee sensing his distress. James and Cordelia shared a concerned look as the carriage came to a stop in front of the institute. 

Matthew was out of the carriage and sprinting up the stairs of the institute and opened the doors. Thomas was in the entry hall with Alastair, blood staining his shirt. Matthew stopped in his tracks. 

“Matthew,” Thomas said, tears brimming his eyes. 

“What happened?” Matthew whispered. 

Thomas swallowed and approached the blonde. “We separated for not even a minute and I heard her scream. When I got there the demon was over her, I killed it but it already hurt her. She begged me not to move her but I couldn’t leave her there exposed.”

Matthew only nodded before making his way to the infirmary. He didn’t even think as he let his legs carry him. Once he arrived at the infirmary, Will and Tessa were outside looking as distraught as James and Cordelia. 

“Matthew, you don’t want to go in there,” Will said, placing his hands on Matthew’s shoulders. 

“Let go of me,” Matthew said, pushing his way towards the doors. 

He was desperate to see Y/N. He needed to know that she was okay. It was as if he wasn’t in control of his body. With one final push, Matthew released himself from Will’s hold and opened the infirmary doors. 

Matthew immediately felt nauseous. Y/N was laid face down on the bed, three long gashes ran from the top of her back to the bottom. The white sheets under her were stained red. She looked dead. Matthew stumbled out of the room, his face pale. 

“Math,” James said, resting his hand on his shoulder. 

Matthew didn’t feel it as he fell to his knees with a sob. James was right beside him pulling him into his arms while Oscar paced by Matthew. 

Matthew’s body shook as he sobbed in James’s arms, his sons echoed throughout the hallway. Everything felt numb. 

“She can’t die, Jamie,” Matthew cried. “She can’t leave me.”

James only held Matthew closer as everyone in the hallway looked down at the parabatai on the floor. Matthew’s knuckles were white from how hard he gripped James’s shirt. James never once complained as he held Matthew. He never complained as Matthew’s sobs slowly subsided as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

***

It had been hours since Y/N was brought into the institute and Matthew had remained outside the infirmary doors laying in James’s arms. He had woken up not long ago and was plucking up the courage to enter the infirmary. 

“I don’t know if I can go in there,” Matthew said.

“Uncle Jem said that she was stable,” James said. 

“You didn’t see her, Jamie,” Matthew whispered. “Her whole back was torn apart. The bed was soaked with her blood. She looked dead, Jamie.”

James sighed. “I know this is hard for you, Matthew. But when Y/N wakes up, the first person she will want to see is you.”

Matthew closed his eyes and shook his head. “She could have died. If Thomas wasn’t fast enough she would be dead right now. I might never have gotten the chance to tell her–”

Matthew cut himself off and took an inhale of air. “I might have never gotten the chance to tell her that I love her.”

James wasn’t shocked. He already knew how his parabatai loved Y/N. Ever since he first witnessed their first interaction a year ago, he knew. 

James held Matthew’s hand. “You have the chance now.”

Matthew held James’s gaze for a moment longer and slowly nodded his head and rose to his feet. James pushed the doors of the infirmary open and Matthew’s heart hurt at the sight of Y/N laying still on the white sheets. They were fresh, nothing like the horrors he had seen when he burst through the doors. Bandages were wrapped around Y/N’s body covering her whole torso and shoulders. 

Numb, Matthew walked to her bedside and sat in the chair next to her, shuffling it closer before taking her hand in his. Her skin was cold to the touch. If it wasn’t for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, Matthew would believe that she was truly dead. 

“Uncle Jem said she might be asleep for the next few days,” James said. 

Matthew only nodded. “I’m staying here.”

James didn’t argue. He only picked up a blanket from one of the other beds and draped it over Matthew’s shoulder’s. “Make sure you get some sleep yourself.”

Matthew didn’t respond as he lifted Y/N’s hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles. Tears pricked his eyes as he looked at her still form. If she had decided to go to Matthew’s flat or he had been on patrol with her, maybe she wouldn’t be lying nearly dead in an infirmary bed. Maybe they would be cuddling on Matthew’s couch, maybe he would have finally told her how he felt. 

While letting out a quiet yawn, Matthew rested his head on the corner of Y/N’s bed and closed his eyes. He didn’t ever let go of Y/N’s hand. 

***

Y/N was still asleep when Matthew woke the next day. He didn’t move from her bedside at all. He remained and spoke to her while she was sleeping. Even when James, Thomas or Cordelia asked him if he wanted to get some fresh air, Matthew wouldn’t budge. 

“When you wake up, I am finally going to tell you how I feel,” Matthew said and brushed Y/N’s hair away from her face. “I am going to tell you all of the reasons I fell in love with you, it may take a while but I hope you will listen to them all.”

There was a hope in Matthew’s heart that she would open her eyes but they remained firmly shut. But Matthew still didn’t stop talking to her, even when Will and Tessa came in to check on her, Matthew continued to talk to her, speaking as if he could hear. 

The following days for Matthew were torture. Y/N still wasn’t awake though she had shown signs of waking up soon. A small movement of her fingers. When Matthew felt the tiniest movement of her pointer finger he immediately summoned everyone to the infirmary. Y/N didn’t wake. When there was a flicker of her eyelid, Matthew once again held out the hope that she would wake but she didn’t. Y/N still remained in her unconscious state. 

It had been five days since Y/N was attacked and Matthew had sat by her bedside for all of those days simply talking to her. But now he was desperate. Everytime he woke, he expected Y/N’s eyes to be open and staring down at him. He expected to hear her laugh whenever he told a joke. He just wanted her to open her eyes.

“You need to wake up soon, Y/N,” Matthew muttered, his lips against her hand. “I am simply going mad. I need to see your beautiful eyes again, hear your laugh, feel your finger link with mine. I need you to wake up. I miss the sound of your voice and the kindness it holds. I miss the nights we would fall asleep by the fire and end up wrapped in each other’s arms.”

A tear escaped down Matthew’s cheek. “I regret not telling you how I felt sooner. I wish I told you that whenever you awoke in my arms, my heart beat rapidly and swelled twice its size. Everytime I wake up next to you I wish that it would happen everyday for the rest of my life. The touch of your skin on mine is something I crave daily and I need it to survive. Not feeling you reciprocate the touch is slowly killing me and I’m afraid that if you don’t wake up soon, I will succumb to this illness only you can cure.”

Matthew closed his eyes and clutched onto Y/N’s hand. He only had his eyes closed for a brief moment before she felt a small movement of her fingers. His eyes shot open as Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in pain. 

“Y/N?” Matthew muttered. 

Y/N groaned quietly, clutching fully onto Matthew’s hand. “It hurts…”

It was all she said before she drifted back into an unconscious state.

***

It had only been an hour since Y/N woke up in pain. Her hand was still clutched around Matthew’s and every movement he made, her grip became tighter. Matthew was told it was only a matter of time before she would fully be awake. 

“I love you,” Matthew said. “And I hope you can hear this, maybe it will convince you to wake up.” Matthew huffed out a laugh. “I need you to open your beautiful eyes, my love.”

With his other hand, Matthew leaned over and cupped her cheek. Some warmth had returned to her body. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone before he slipped from the chair and perched on the edge of the bed leaning down to press his lips against her forehead. 

“Please wake up,” he muttered against her head.

There was silence. 

Matthew sighed and moved to sit back in the chair. Before he could move, however, Y/N’s hand tightened around his. 

“Please stay there,” Y/N said, her voice hoarse. 

Matthew eyes widened as he looked down at Y/N, her eyes were open and staging up at him. Her beautiful eyes. 

“You’re awake,” Matthew said, smiling.

“I heard everything you said,” Y/N whispered. “I fought to come back to you.”

Matthew leaned down and rested his forehead gently on hers. “So you already know.”

“I want to hear you say it,” Y/N said. “Just so I know it wasn’t only a dream.”

“I love you,” Matthew said. “I am utterly in love with you, Y/N.”

Despite her obvious pain, Y/N smiled. “It wasn’t a dream.”

Matthew nudged her nose with his. “No it wasn’t.”

“I’ve had dreams about you telling me that before,” Y/N said. “I didn’t think I would ever hear those words spoken from your mouth.”

“You will hear them every single day if you want me to,” Matthew said. 

“I do,” Y/N said, wincing in pain as she moved her arm so she could cup Matthew’s cheek. “I want to hear you tell me that every single day for the rest of my life.”

Y/N tilted her head the smallest amount to brush her lips against Matthew’s. Taking the hint, Matthew pressed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss, afraid that he would hurt her. The kiss was quick but as Matthew pulled away, Y/N was smiling brightly. 

“I love you too, Matthew,” Y/N said.

“I only wish that it didn’t take you nearly losing your life for me to admit it,” Matthew said.

“Hey, don’t think about that now, okay? The only thing that matters is that I am alive and that I get to hold you in my arms,” Y/N said, her hand coming to rest on the nape of his neck. 

Matthew quickly pecked her lips once more. “When you are fully healed, I am going to wrap my arms around you and never let go.”

“I never want you to let me go, for as long as we live.”

[smolvenger]

The Baronet Seeks A Wife, Chapter Two

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: 6441 (have your tea and biscuits ready)

Chapter warnings: Grammer and spelling mistakes that missed my radar. Hints of past child abuse and a brief mention of sex, but nothing explicitly discussed, my performing arts side rears its head. I do my best to portray the period as accurately as I can and Thomas as accurately as I can. Some angst and something of a small anxiety attack/meltdown if you can call it. But fluff! Lots of fluff!

If I miss something and you see something in my work 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 warnings so affected parties are protected.

A/N: Missed it? It's back, baby! I had some BAD writer's block with this miniseries, but I figured it out. Thanks to your help!Without it, part 2 wouldn't see the light of day. So enjoy!

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

Taglist: @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @steasstuff @anukulee @kimi01985 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @giona45-5

@muddyorbsblr @goddessgirl43

The Baronet Seeks A Wife Taglist: @stainlessciel @mjsthrillernp @thegodofnotknowing @magicalmichelle96 @princessdragon23 @heavyymetalchick @xalphafox (if anyone wants to join a general taglist of my work or just be on this specific one, let me know!)

The sun beat down on you for the opening day of Ascot and your little lace parasol and hat could only shield so much. You were in light-colored laces and full trim. Your dress was a light pink. You needed a lighter color to not attract heat  

Plenty of other ladies would be in lighter fabrics for the June weather. But their eyes would flicker to you and whisper. You held up your open parasol and hid beneath it. Wishing it would block more than the sun. You scurried behind your mother.

The men, that is, papa and Sir Sharpe were with one servant picking a spot for the picnic before the horses could be released.

 It would be your first outing as the betrothed of Lady Sharpe in the public eye. Your schedule had already been booked for a one breakfast party, a reception, and a ballet next week. The last one you were particularly excited for as they were doing Tchikovsky’s The Sleeping Beauty and scrambled to get tickets. But ballet or horses or breakfasts could not hide the fact that you would be a figure of attention, weather you wanted it or not.

You closed your parasol and set it on the ground. Walking with it like a cane. 

The stretch of grass continued like the sea beneath you. How big the Ascot grounds were! And people were crowding everywhere all over the grass. Plenty of picnic blankets were already stretched out, a healthy distance away from the stands and the dusty tracks. There were people all around, standing and chatting. 

Eventually, you noticed two men. Two familiar voices, though one a little less familiar than the other.

“Here, let’s put the marmalade right here- and I think we’re ready,” you heard Sir Sharpe advise a servant. He nodded as the fellow got out jars from a picnic basket and put it on the red blanket.

His voice. There was something about it that made you falter. It was a rich, creamy baritone that made something inside you shiver. And all he did was talk about food!

Yet, even as attractive as he was, the Baronet was a stranger. You knew very little about him and you were about to enter his title, his house, and his bed-

No, now was not the time to dwell on such matters.

Taking a deep breath, you walked forward, meeting your mother’s brisk pace to greet the men.

Your father perked up as did Thomas, in their typical dark suits and their top hats. Sir Sharpe even lowered his hat and smiled at you in greeting.

“Why, ladies, it is good you both made it in time,” he wished. 

All of you sat down, obediently sitting next to your fiancee. Nibbling on sandwiches and fish and fruit. Waving away flies that dared disrupt finery. For that was the true purpose of the race,  far more than the horses- to be part of a walking parade of who was the most elegant in London.

“Now, Thomas, how has the clay mining been coming along?” your father asked.

You were sat down next to him. He grinned at your father, his posture relaxing.

“Very excellent, sir. The warmer seasons meant the mining has been smoother,” he reported.

“Hmph, well- that is all good. But, speaking of seasons, where the devil is old Mr and Mrs. Barnes? They never miss as Ascot and I’ve yet to see them!” your father teased.

Turning around, you noticed people turning their heads to watch you. They would pause. Then turn to their neighbor and whisper something in their ear. Men and women, the young and the old. Studying you. Looking at every last speck of marmalade you spread on bread and every crumb you ate. 

Suddenly, your stomach was too turned to have cake.

Thomas looked over at you.

“Miss Y/L/N?” he asked.

You leaned closer to him, your shoulders hunching up. You got closer to his ears.

“Everyone- they’re looking at us. Talking about us,” you hissed.

He followed your eyes, scanning and seeing the invisible court displaying their silent judgment. He turned to you.

“I notice them too,” he whispered.

“I’m glad. I’m not going mad and seeing things.” you confided.

“Then, let’s give them something to talk about,” he replied.

He offered his hand outstretched. You accepted it, your bare hand meeting his as he helped you up. He pulled you up as easily as you were air. He then positioned your arm to be wrapped around his.

“I would like to walk with my fiancee, if you don’t mind,” Thomas announced.

“Oh, of course!” your mother replied.

 With his top hat on, you retrieved your parasol and opened it for shade. Then you walked on. 

Faces turned and a few heads bowed, you returned the gesture. 

But you noticed Thomas. His head was high and his chest up. He smiled with a pride not even the most wily gossip could deter. Thomas would look at you and smile, and you would smile back.

He was happy with you, or at least acting like it. And you could not resist a smile with him. And anyone who came up to Thomas, he introduced you as “my charming fiancee, Miss Y/L/N.”

The message was then received. No figure of pity was Miss Y/F/N.

Let them look. Let them see. You would not let the murmurings of strangers make you fret. Thomas seemed perfectly fine and happy with you and you would appear perfectly fine and happy with him. Strolling with him on the grass beneath a sunny day felt natural. Something any ordinary couple would do.

Reaching near the stands, it seemed as people were less interested in the two of you. Crowds more intrigued as to who would win and watching for jockeys and steeds than scandal.

You had to learn more about him. A little by little. You turned over to Sir Sharpe.

“I never hear about your own family. You know everything about mine, but I know nothing of yours. What were they like? Your mother and father?” You asked.

Thomas kept walking forward, you passed the stand for lemonade but you brought no cash to pay for some. Thomas kept his eyes forward as you strolled on past everything.

“My father- his name was James and his wife was Beatrice. He was…an intimidating man. He He wanted me to be like him- taking me with him to work or on hunting trips. He ran a clay mining buisness, but he lost it in an accident. There was…a disaster occured, costing him the mining lives and much of his fortune. We lived over in the countryside, near a small town. I grew up in a large manor house with my sister.”

“What was her name?”

He hesitated.

“Lucille. Lucille Sharpe,” he answered.

“Was she older or younger?”

“Older. We…we lost both of my parents. First my father, and then my mother when I was young. I was sent to boarding school and then reunited with my sister. She fell ill. And never got better. So since then, I have no close family and only distant relations.”

“Oh, Thomas, I am so sorry!” you cired.

His face turned a little white when you turned to face him. He looked down. “I think of them. Lucille, especially. She in many ways was an astounding woman. Intelligent, careful, brave, hard-working...she cared for me. She loved me, in some way, and did so much to help me. And she suffered quite a lot. Especially in her sickness. I could at least make sure her passing was peaceful.”

“Would she have liked me?” you asked.

He paused in his steeps. It was so abrupt, you felt a small jolt.

“No, she wouldn’t have.”

You tilted your head.

“Why?”

He again hesitated.

“She was more…cynical of the world. Life had been hard for her. And for mother. And for me.”

You blinked. He kept his eyes lowered, and began to blink rapidly. At one point, he just squeezed them shut. Part of you felt guilty for pressing it.

“I…I do not wish to discuss it now. Please,” he replied.

You took a step back, releasing from his arm.

“I’m so sorry, Sir Sharpe. I didn’t know it would be-”

“Don’t be,” he replied

His eyes were back open. A small, cold shiver ran down you despite the heat. Then you closed the gap, placing a hesitant hand on his arm in comfort.

“A sibling is like having your closest friend always with you. I was inseparable from Charlotte. And then when she ran away out of nowhere, with no warning…it was like she died. I grieve her still. I cannot imagine what it is like for you.”

He looked up at you. It was as if the crowds never mattered and it was only you both alone around the tracks.

“We have something in common, then. We have both lost sisters,” he pointed.

“We’ll grieve them. But we don’t have to greive them alone. Not anymore,” you assured him.

There was a sudden excitement among people as they scurried over to their seats. You had jumped. How much time had passed?

‘I think it’s best we get our seats, the race is about to begin.” he advised. 

It wasn’t long before you found your parents and joined your seats for the races. 

But your mind was elsewhere.

You remembered Sir Sharpe’s words. You knew a little bit more about him. He seemed less a stranger and more an acquaintance now. Yet- what happened to make him turn so pale? To not wish to speak? If that made him act like that, then whatever happened with his family…it wasn’t good. At least Lucille seemed interesting…but whatever made her so cynical? To where she would have hated you if you met her alive?

Part of you knew the answer. And it made your heart break for him- he was hurt as a child. His parents were cruel to him and his sister. But he didn’t want to discuss it in such a public area.

You settled into your seats from your tickets with your family. You passed around small opera glasses. Watching and watching for the stampede to pass by. For the hooves and horses and rush of wind to bring you to the present, and not the past of a sad little boy in a big manor frightened of his father.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

It seemed the week swirled by. Now as an engaged woman, there was less pity and gossip.

At least, negative gossip.

 Sir Sharpe played the role of a good fiancee in public. Appearing to help escort you around gallatnly and smile at you warmly. Though he was a quiet man, observing everything. Sometimes a loud noise made him seem to want to shrink his tall frame. 

You still put in your mind the bits and pieces about him. That he lost parents, the father mistreated him. He even lost a sister he was close to. That he ran a mining business harvesting clay. He was always polite at least and charming at most. You did feel your stomach flutter when he would smile at you.

But at the breakfast and garden parties women flocked to you like puppies. They bombarded you with questions about the wedding. What you would pack. Where you would hold it. If you have picked a dress yet. You had always replied with a demure “Well, I don’t know,” yet. Sometimes you threw in “I am only grateful that Sir Sharpe is a good man,” for good measure. That seemed to please them for now. They would offer their congratulations and hopes for an invitation for the marriage where you would become a lady.

Lady. You would be a capital L Lady. Steps below earls and viscounts, but still among them. You would outrank some of these very women. No wonder they flocked to you- it was good to be an ally to a baronet’s bride, not a foe.

Tonight was finally the ballet. No one would run to you to congratulate you or pepper you with questions you couldn’t answer yet. Not for long. Instead of socializing, you could sit back and watch something long for once.

You were dressed in a lovely gown. It was satin, a deeper, more womanly color of rich, dark blue than the fluff at Ascot. You had long matching gloves and the sleeves were small but showed off your shoulders. You had a train cut into scallops. A soft flounce of tulle extended to your shoulder. Jewels across your bodice tinkling as you moved, the satin touching the floor. None needed to doubt that soon you were going to be a baronet’s wife. You had to look the part one way or another. By far, it was the most expensive of your wardrobe this season and the most beautiful. Now was the time to unleash it.

Your father praised you as a vision as you descended the stairs. “Won’t your baronet be beside himself! Now, go enjoy, my dears,” he wished your mother and you.

You headed to the carriage. London was lovely at this dark hour. There were lights on to contrast with the night’s shadow. The opera house appeared like a temple above any house on the street.

Though there was a crowd of audience members, who should be out on the steps but Thomas Sharpe. He had an opera coat and his classic top hat. He was standing watching other go by.

The carriage stopped and the door on your side was opened.

 Sir Sharpe paused and took you in. The coachmen helped you down  and your mother after. You felt a little exposed in all this. Self conscious it was too much.

Sir Sharpe then went up to your hand.

“How are you?” you asked.

“I hardly know. I only know that you are radiance itself,” he replied. He took your hand and wrapped it around your arm.

You got warm all over from his voice saying that. Oh, blast him! Blast how he could make you feel so giddy and fighting the urge to giggle like a girl!

You walked up the stairs into the lobby of the theatre. Your shoes touched red carpet and you passed the creamy insides- all marble with vases of flowers and paintings and electric light. Some stared at the Baronet and his Lady, and you let them. Giving them a show as good as any dancer could.

You had your tickets approved and were escorted to your seats. You had a certain box where the three of you had some privacy to sit amongst each other. As you sat on red velvet plush, you rested your gloved hands on the high railing and looked at Thomas. In his tuxedo, his dark curls combed back, he still seemed like every bit of a ladies’ dream.

“Have you ever been to a ballet by Tchaikovsky?” you asked him.

“Oh, no I haven’t. Only concerts of his music,” he replied. But then he smiled. “They’re such lovely pieces, though.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. When there are dancers added to tell the story, it becomes something very special. I saw The Nutcracker two Christmases ago and adored it. Lottie only liked it when the little girl in the ballet hurled a shoe at the mouse king,” you reported.

He let out a light chuckle

“I’m not surprised,” he said.

You sat down with the pamphlet, re-reading the title and the cast list. Your mother was using her opera glass to watch the audience below. You returned to your fiancee. 

“The Sleeping Beauty- did you ever like fairy tales when you were little?” you had to ask questions, know a bit more of him.

“Oh, yes, I did,” he replied. “I enjoyed many of them. But I don’t remember them too vividly.”

“What kind of stories did you hear?” you asked.

Thomas leaned forward. His voice quiet.

“Well…ghost stories.” he explained.

You squinted, surprised at his reply.

“Ghost stories!? Isn’t that much for a little child?” you asked.

“Perhaps it was. But that was what was told,” he answered.

 One could hear the orchestra warming up. You put a gloved hand on his arm. Thomas didn’t say a peep and the crowd could only mutter. Besides, that always felt a little rude to you. When people lounged about during performances like it was a party and chatted loudly, unappreciative of the artists at work before them!

The conductor arrived to applause and bowed. Then he turned around, lifted his baton, and began the ballet as he lowered it like a magic wand. A spirited introduction blasted, almost making you jump. 

The stage curtains parted and dancers entered as the music slowed down with a harp and sweet flutes as the king and queen entered, holding a bundle in their arms.

For those three hours, you were not an adult. You were a child again who could believe in such things. A child who believed fairy tales was what life was like. Complete with pink ribbons, lace, and magic, fairy’s wings, and princess’s crowns. Where flutes and strings surrounded you. Where dancers smiled as they stood up on their toes and leaped like it was as simple as sleeping. 

You glanced at Sir Sharpe once when the Lilac Fairy entered. He didn’t whisper to you. You only met his eyes to see he was already looking at you. Something warm crawled up you. You didn’t know if you wanted to touch him or to not be touched by him. Then hearing the sound of feet hit the ground on a leap, you turned back to the stage, hypnotized by what you saw.

It was a world where the politics of society didn’t matter. Scandals were trifles, and sisters didn’t disappear. Where fairies could be met at parties. Where magic would prevent a couple from losing their daughter. A princess may be smiling and full of life- but even when she pricked her finger, she would not have had her life cut short because of forces beyond her control. It was where a cursed princess would be kept safe in a deep slumber. Soft and cozy on her beautiful bed. A world where a prince and a fairy could overcome evil. 

When the prince awoke the princess, they knew they were meant for each other. That the one person they waited their entire lives for was right before them. They could marry and not be afraid the choice was wrong. The wedding would be blessed and celebrated with everyone smiling and dancing to sumptuous music. 

As it got close to the end, no one wondered if the prince and princess would be miserable in their union or if another wicked fairy would arrive to hurt them or their families or their people. Everyone would be alive, safe, and happy.

If only things were that simple in real life.

You had to remember yourself after the applause. Blinking rapidly, you then squinted your eyes as the house lights came on. You re-emerged from the darkness like Orpheus returning from the Underworld, transformed by what you saw and returned. You then rose to your feet and applauded. You were watching with a heavy heart as the curtains closed and people left their seats. You had to remember that you were you and this was the real world. No magic. No fairies. No princes. Just baronets.

“Here, let me walk you to the carriage.” Thomas offered, giving you his arm. 

You held onto him, leaning tight. How easily he was able to pull you through! Despite his leanness, he did have strength! 

As you walked down the hall, you clung to your program, making sure you would always have a reminder of tonight.

“What did you think?” your mother asked as she scurried up to you.

“It was…it was incredible,” you replied, your voice suddenly breathy from wonder.

“Well, I was fighting the urge to sleep!” your mother replied. 

She stopped both of you in your tracks before you could proceed a step.

“Now, my dear Y/N, we have a wedding to discuss and plan. So I hope you sleep well, ready for some discussion the next morning, won’t you?” she asked.

“I shall.”

But when you went to bed, your mind was torn. Imagining yourself in stories was a way to help you go to sleep, you found. As music from the ballet kept playing in your head, you found yourself split into two characters.

One was a stoic, obedient bride of a wedding out of convenience who would not cause one toe to step in the wrong place or else ruin everything. The other a fairy tale princess protected by fairies who would survive her curse and find true love. 

But only one of those was real.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The next morning, as soon as you woke up and went down for breakfast, your mother stormed you with books. They were journals and catalogues, listing courses and decorations, and options of churches.

All of your parents wanted you all of the time. 

“I like these colors,” you pointed out, seeing samples of cloth.

“But no! It’s not in fashion!” your mother cried.

There were invitations to pick. And then trying to decide who to send them to. You had to include family members, sure, as well as the few people Thomas was related to. But there were also father’s business partners, with whom he wanted to share cigars and brandy and business. Then you had to pick who to invite and if they would gossip or appreciate the triumph. But you had to think of Miss So and So or Mrs. So and So who was rumored to do this and that and wouldn’t it be unbecoming if she so much as turned up on the steps of the church and-

A heaviness grew on you. How much did you actually sleep last night?

But then deciding on family members meant your mother got out her boxes of photographs. She had a hobby of familial history and photographs and would lovingly tell you all about them. For one hour. Then two. You were itching to get up, do something productive, but stuck with your mother in her distracted cycle.

The next days passed and you had to select wedding cakes. You wished for a certain cake, but you felt ashamed choosing it since you knew it might not be what everyone wanted. Aunt Jacqueline coudln’t eat it because of her indigestion. That would be rude. But Mr. Linnet, Papa’s buisness partner, had a particular hatred of almond cake. Any and every flavor was wrong. You had to plan a wedding they would not scoff at or think otherwise.

You were running between shops, spending more on ribbon samples than actual ribbons and there was no color everyone was happy with.

As for the wedding gowns, you had visited one boutique and you had tried on so many dresses that it seemed you were going to hallucinate looking at so much white. And no one would all agree on what gown would be the best one. One wasn’t even decided on and you all ate lunch in sour moods.

And that was on top of callers and people coming in and out from the season and trying to keep up with events.

The week was going by in a flurry. Your business tripled. You were certain at every meal and when you sat down, your mother brought out photographs because the  invitations made her sentimental and by the second week, you were certain you were hearing her recall the same stories over and over again until you could even predict the cadence of her voice.

The gatherings only tripled. Your parents were always asking you to change this or that, or what do you think of this flower or this color or this ribbon or this food, or here is a picture of this great aunt you barely remember but you must care about, and oh- you have to select what flowers you want for the bouquet and which ones on the reception table and to please start planning your trousseau, Y/N, because you must decide which things you wish to take with you when you move into Sir Sharpe’s home, you must consider what to bring, you really ought to-

The few hours you had to yourself, you wanted to relax. Sew something or read a book or anything…but your mind would not focus, would not settle. And those were the hours when no one called for your presence, word, or help. You felt exhausted, and yet at night sometimes you struggled to go to sleep from how wound up you were.

Your head was spinning one afternoon a week later. At luncheon all everyone would talk about was the wedding as they flittered around with vases of flower examples and ribbons and pictures of cakes and dresses from advertisements. As your mother got out her photograph box. But you could only sit there, drained and silent, and feeling like you were staring into nothing.

You were trying so hard to be everything to them. The good daughter. The virtuous bride. The one who could make everyone happy. One who could have her entire life change at once and endure it with only a stoic smile.The one so glad to help and listen and who knew everything. 

As your mother got out a second pile of photographs and began to tell you for the fourth time all about your great grandfather Kenneth and his wife, Bertha, going on a camping trip in nature and getting lost, you had a sudden urge to scream “I’ve already heard this stupid story enough! I don’t care about them!” and rip up the photos before you.

But you swallowed it down, your face hot. Your chest was tight. Ashamed you would even consider wrecking something that made your mother happy? Priceless momentums of your history destroyed in a flash of weakness? Of losing your temper in front of everyone? 

Everything got tight, tight and you were getting warmer and warmer. People began to crowd around you. Their chatter swirling around you like the sea and you could not breathe for air.

“Miss Y/L/N-”

‘St. Joseph is a lovely church-”

“What about blue for the-”

“There should be duck with wine sauce and-”

At once you pushed away your seat from everyone. The lump in your throat growing. A dull, heavy ache all over your body.  A weight in your head and your mind about to break.

“I-I-I..” you began as they gaped.

You tried to calm yourself. To put the feelings in a box and push it away for a little bit. But still it rumbled on.

“I need a moment!” you claimed. You then turned around, starting to make a brisk walk out of the door.

In walked one maid.

“Oh, we have a visitor!” she announced.

You made no reply and went past her, down the hall, hurrying for your room. Once inside, you locked the door.

Legs trembling, you tried to make it to the bed. 

Instead, you collapsed in a heap on the floor. 

Finally, alone, you did not have to pretend. Crumpling up into a near fetal position despite your dress, the long-suppressed tears coming out. There was no dignity, no strength. Just the washing of your tears as it ebbed and flowed out of you.

 It didn’t make sense. You had a wedding to look forward to, and so much you took for granted. Your future was secured. Your family’s reputation was revived. You had no reason to curl up and sob. Someone would look at you and say you were acting immature, that you were too old for your age to be lying down and crying. 

‘That’s what I am. An immature, ungrateful fool,’ you thought.

It made no rational sense. Emotions never made any rational sense. 

Despite all this, here you were sobbing. Crying out the exhaustion, the overwhelm. Hot tears sprang out and went to the floor. At this rate, you’d ruin the carpet. Your throat scratchy and your body shaking as each new cry heaved out.

There were footsteps. Then three knocks.

Your mind spun on in its cycle of misery. ‘I even ran away when we had callers. I am the worst. I waste my time. I’m foolish and wasteful. I don’t deserve anything good, I’m so miserable and scared and I hate myself and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me and I hate who I am and I wish I could change that, but I can’t and I-’

The knocks returned. 

But you got up and turned. You reminded yourself of how hard it felt. To be back in your body, and not in your head. You turned around.

“Come in,” you croaked out.

Outside was Anne. Your lady’s maid curtsied.

“Sir Sharpe is here. And he wishes to speak to you in private in the parlor and your father consented.”

She reached a hand and helped you up. You wiped off any remaining tears from your eyes.

“Tell him I shall join him soon,” you replied.

Anne nodded and hurried out. You made sure to fix yourself. Your eyes looked a little tired and you dried off any tracks of tears from your cheeks. After checking that your appearance was decent, you followed out to the parlor. 

Your parlor had green and white patterned wallpaper and portraits watched your every move as you got inside. Thomas stood. Dressed in his usual black coat, his hat to his side. He looked odd amongst hte ostentatious furniture of red velvet couches. But he bowed to you nonetheless.

No chaperone. No eyes. Only the two of you. One of the blessings of being an engaged couple.

“Would you like me to ring for some tea?” you asked, eyeing the long chord from the ceiling on one corner of the room.

Thomas stepped closer. 

“Miss Y/L/N…you’re distraught,” he observed.

Your lips parted but did not make a sound. Then a small string of them came out.

“I…I…I shall be fine, sir-” 

“Miss, you do not speak as a content woman. Tell me- what is it?” he asked.

He gestured to the couch to sit next to him. You joined next to him, your hands folded and nervously fidgeting. You noticed you were close to him. His warmth from the dark colors and the smell of his light cologne. You felt your chest heave a little, the words so heavy on your tongue. Eager to come out.

“I’m so sorry…it’s just..everything is changing…” you began.

You looked down at your hands. How close his thighs were next to your skirt. Then you looked up at him. There was a…a gentleness in his face, in his eyes. A softness. He was not judgemental. And if he was, he wasn’t saying anything.

“It’s changing so fast. My sister is gone. I’m going to live in a different house and not see my parents. I’m going to be Lady Sharpe and I don’t know what's going to happen to me after we’re married. I- I want to be married, I always have. Now it’s finally happening.”

Your breath was shallower. The emotions burst up. But Thomas made no change in his gentle expression.

“But it means I have to plan a wedding in a month. And all of the time that I have is taken up on this wedding. No one can agree on anything. I can’t find the right decorations, food, or dress. And everyone asks for me and needs me. They need me to listen to them babble on. And I’m trying so hard to be good, to make everyone happy, and get everything done but I…I…”

The lump in your throat returned. Your eyes felt heavy with tears again. They began to well up in your eyes despite yourself. Right when you thought you were done, that there would be no more, they came again.

“I am just…I… there’s so much to do, I don’t even know where to start. And I…I want to shut it all off, but I can’t. And I’m scared. I’m scared I’ve already ruined everything. Or I’m about to…” you babbled on.

He offered his handkerchief. It was a plain cream with lining.

“Thank you, Sir Sharpe,” you said.

“Thomas, please.” he insisted.

You took it in your hand.

“Thank you, Thomas,” you said.

His lips curled up as he heard your name. 

“You can say it. I’m making a big fuss of nothing. That I’m a fool,” you replied.

Thomas shook his head.

“ I’ve met foolish people. You are not one of them,” he answered. 

He leaned closer.

“And have you considered that it takes months to plan a wedding? And you are doing it in one. That is Herculean, don’t you think?”

His voice was a whisper.

“If there are any fools, it is your parents,” he teased.

You wiped your face with the handkerchief again. A small smile grew on your face.

“I…I…I suppose”

He offered you his hand and you took it. It was comforting- warm and large and beautiful. You liked it when he offered his hand, you liked touching it, touching him. Something about it always comforted you.

“We will have a wedding. I don’t think it should matter if it is a spectacle or not. What does matter is…is that…”

He began to hesitate. Then he looked up.

“I know you don’t know who I am. Or much about me. Or if you can trust me- but what does matter, Y/N. I will do my best to make sure you are provided for. That you are safe. Content, if not happy. We will make sure our wedding is a fine day. And if it is not, then It will only be one day and then it will be over.”

You felt his thumb trace over your hand. A small little back-and-forth movement, just grazing your skin.

“The wedding- how will I plan it?” you questioned. 

“You will choose what you want. And forget them all. You are the bride. You should have a final say. And if anyone disagrees- you can bring them to your husband.”

Swallowing, you lowered your eyes briefly. Timidity overcoming you from all of this for a moment.

“We’re not married yet,” you reminded him.

A light laugh got out of Thomas in an exhale. 

“Well…no…”

You looked back up at him.

“Thomas, will you- will you help me with all of this? Speak to them, perhaps? Reason with them? Try to- to help?” you asked.

“Oh, of course.”

You felt yourself breathe out a sigh of relief.

“I’m glad…and yet…Thomas, I confess, I’m scared.”

“I am too.”

He paused. You looked into him and saw fear in his eyes as well. It struck you that of course, he would be feeling the same as you regarding this. Marrying someone he knew partially out of convenience. 

“Y/N…you…you do not hate me, do you? Because that is what I fear,” he asked.

You placed another hand over him, leaning closer.

“Oh no! Thomas, you have been nothing but a gentleman. I don’t hate you at all.”

He smiled.

“There. That’s better than a quarter of the marriages here already,” he replied.

Part of you laughed lightly. To think both tears and laughter could be shared in so short of a time with him. That you could release your sorrows and then have cause for sudden bursts of joy.

“ But…we will adjust to it. Everything won’t be horrible. We’ll just become acquainted with each other. Bit by bit. We could be friends,” you replied.

He took your hand and leaned down, pressing another kiss to it gallantly. He then released the hold and reached into his inner coat pocket.

“I have a gift for you. It was going to be a wedding gift, but I was wondering how you were feeling amidst all of this and  thought it might cheer you up.”

Perhaps it was something sweet. Or a tiny book? What could be a small, but tasteful and not too expensive gift he could give? 

Out came a small box- that is, if “box” could apply. It was a small circular item. Like a lady's powder or dusty blush container. But there was a knob on its side.

“Turn it,” Thomas instructed.

It struck you- it was a music box.

You turned the knob with a small “krrk” sound. The lid opened to reveal tiny, mechanical ballerina spinning on pointe. The chimes crinkled out a tune in three-quarter-time time. It was the Sleeping Beauty waltz.

You gasped. He placed it in your hand to cup it as the ballerina twirled to the music. You saw a crown on her head and a smile on her face, just like the prima from when you saw it.

“Do you like it?” he asked shyly. Something of a blush on his cheeks.

“Thomas! It’s exquisite! Where did you find this?” you asked.

“I made it,” he explained.

You turned around, careful not to drop it.

“You made this?” you asked.

“I did,” he confirmed.

Looking closely, it was so lovingly detailed and crafted, it had to be the work of a person. Not a common souvenir from the theatre.

“You…you make things?” you asked.

“Yes. I have since I was a child. And now I made a machine that harvests clay from all of the times I fiddled with gears. I find lately now I can come up with toys as well, Isn’t it silly?”

“No, not at all! It’s more business! And…you made the machine from the business! It’s- it’s incredible…” you rattled in your excitement. 

His hand returned to yours, joining it as the lid of the music box closed.

“Y/N, I know there are concerns, and I may not have the affluence of your family, I promise, you won't be marrying a pauper.”

You looked

“With something like this, I may as well be the richest woman in all of England,” you said.

His smile returned, his posture relaxing.

“I’m glad of it. Should we return to them now?” he asked.

You nodded your head. You got up by his side. You were not afraid of the hordes of things to do and people to meet, not overwhelmed.

“Yes...I’m ready, Thomas.”

[en0xx]

Tommy Shelby x young fem!reader.

(My first time writing a story on here I hope yall like it, well… whoever reads this. Let me know if anyone wants to get tagged & tell me if yall want a pt2!)

Reminder: *This was ‘insipired’ just a tad bit by the song, Bang Bang by Nancy Sinarta.*

TW: Mention of blood, AGE!gap.

Summary: Y/ns father as a Sicilian Gang leader, he has his enemies, like Tommy Shelby, but will that stop Y/n for loving one of her dad’s enemy, which… the interactions with this man that she loves, wont be easy.

y/ns pov:

'I was my dads only daughter, no other siblings, He was a man with power, as a Sicilian gangster, that was well known all across Italy, even Europe for years, we were not so welcomed in the so known Birmingham lands. I was born in my motherland, but raised in England.

The WWI had already ended its full on terrifying paths, while...

One day, I was about 16, a young girl full of life... when me and my father were having a walk after I had just left the school for that day, and we were just talking about how my day had gone so far, but then. I see a man might have been 28yo or even 29 at the time, he was riding up on a black horse, which he gracefully stood straight while riding that horse, as I could then see my father glared at him as he glared back, then his eyes fell on mine, just a kid to his eyes as he raised his eyebrow, while my two pair of eyes looked up at him I could feel a weird feeling rumbling inside my stomach, that I never felt before. Then his eyes left mine as he took his own road leaving.

Later on as years passed, I found out that his name was Thomas Shelby, the leader of the Peaky Blinders and also my dads most hated rival. I knew his aunt, Polly, his two brothers, Arthur and John and his only sister Ada, how he lost his wife by the Italian mafia...

My father never talked to me about them, but his left letters on his desk openly, and his 'private calls' were not really read or heard by only him.

At some point as a messy adventurous teen, I would always walk with my friends after school by his pub, god each time his eyes landed on mine, my legs would fall weak, until a so sudden night, no man was around that pub, as the whole place was claimed by the dark, I looked around as I felt someone stand behind me, I turn to look up as I was met by the same pair of eyes I was searching for, and everything lead to another, with now him being the one to lay on my bed at nights where my mother and father wouldn't be home at all, or me sneaking out of my house, to just feel his touch on my skin...'

PRESENT TIME.

I was laying on the warmth and arm running down my spine, Tommy was laying there, his sharp features that cut right through me with emotions that I didn't know how to bare them within me. He held his cigarette with his other hand, as he took slow puffs with those full

lips of his, that parted ever so slightly.

"Somethin wrong wit' me face?" he said looking down at me, raising one of his eyebrows as he would always.

"No, its not that at all..." I only managed to get out, what was I supposed to do or say, when he stared at me with his icy piercing eyes.

"So what then ey? You stare at people like that for no reason?" I could see the slight smirk on the tail of his lips, that he tried to hold within but failed to.

"No, once again... I just like staring at you." Those words passed in a whisper through my lips, admitting, as I lifted myself up to look at him, face to face as then I got up, my back was facing him, trying to hide the fact that I got embarrassed and I could feel my face burning as that warmth passed on to my core as I then picked up my silk robe that was laying on the floor.

He could see her whole entire body get wrapped by the soft material delicately and beautifully, just like a charismas present, for him to unwrap...

Once more...

"Ya say that and ya decided to get up tryin to get away from' me?" he had a grin all wrapped up around his face.

"You should leave Tom, my father will be back in a hour by now..."

I sat at my vanity, looking at my trashed makeup, from the night before.

He just rolled his eyes as she got up, as the sheets slid down his skin revealing him whole, as my eyes studied his body through the mirror.

As he got dressed, and him walking past her opening the door, and just letting out just a 'See ya.' like he forced just those two damn words out of his mouth.

I stared at myself my hairs a mess, I am a mess, I smell like sex and sweat... at a point it felt like he didn't... care. he was there just for a good fuck, never gave a goodbye kiss, he would get her presents, yeah but that's not all that anyone wants... at least not her.

As the day had started, she took a hot soapy bath, then puts on a dress, white, short and light weighed on her as it hugged her figure, she walked down the stairs of her mansion as the sounds of the chirps from the birds and the table being set for breakfast. which only she was to attend, she walked in the back of the kitchen where all the cooking was to be done as she looked around greeting everyone as she walked to the oldest maid.

"Meredith! Good morning!" y/n said cheerfully kissing Merediths cheek.

"Oh my dearest, good morning, how did you sleep?" MEredith turned to look at the young girl, as she stroked her cheek.

'Meredith, also known as 'Mery' always was like a grandmother for her, she was there always for y/n, from the day her father had first walked with y/n in his arms, Meredith never had any grandchildren after her only son had died at a young age in the war... so, y/n was so much to her, after all she had never got.'

"I had a good sleep, really." smiling down at her I could see worry in her eyes. "Maryy please! Don't start again..."

"But y/n, what if your father found out? He is a threat, hes no good... You know that by now honey!" I just rolled my eyes my smile not leaving my lips as I took a handful of raspberries on my hand running off.

"Y/n! You have to have breakfast! Don't just leave with just some berries and call it breakfast!" Meredith tried to run after her as she stopped on her tracks breathing heavily not getting to reach the young girl. "When will that girl ever listen to a word I say..."

I walked out on the back door, through and through to reach the stalls where we kept the horses.

"Nevi... good morning my strong boy..." I reached my hands to the Andalusian Cremello coloured horse, as its hair wrapped long down the horses long neck.

The horse neighed as I reached to kiss the top of Nevis head.

"Nevi' is short for 'Nevicare' which in Italian it means 'snow'.'

One of the Groomers asked me to make Nevi ready for a ride, but I always took care of him myself really, it was therapeutic to me, so I tacked up my horse as I put on his saddle and bridle. I made sure everything was okay and in place, I took Nevi by the bridle leash as I walked him around for a while just for a warm up, as then after a while, I lifted myself up on the saddle to sit on it comfortably as I mount first on a gentle walk to make sure the horse is all adjusted.

"Your ready... hup!" as I put out a gentle pressure, as at first the horse started walking just a bit faster on the field, as he then started to pick up speed as I passed around through trees as the sunshine peaked in between leaf's, the soft breeze... brushing on my skin ever so lightly as I felt so free, felt like I could breath.

It felt like it was just me in this world, no war, no hate amongst anyone...

The run turned into a slow walk as Nevi stopped to freshen up, to wet its long dried out throat, as the hot weather pulsed on, the horse got in the lakes cold waters, and I didn't stop him, he slid inside the deep waters until they reached the hem of the bottom of my dress, the horse swims through, around the lake.

I felt, the presence of someone there, I looked around then turned to see...

"Tommy... what are you doing here...?" I could feel no longer oxygen on my lungs.

He didn't speak, but we stood there looking at one another, so different, two whole different spirits, the one is a man, full on black clothes, strong features staring straight as if a predator was looking at his next pray with his ashy black horse, and the other, a young woman all in white skin glowing as the short white dress hugged her figure, a soft sculpted face that held so many emotions by just looking into her beautiful eyes, she looked like a luring spirit where she was, like an illusion that wanted to take you, with her white horse...

"Figured you might be here, I see that I was right, I forgot my watch I think in your bedroom, yeh? I need' it." He obviously got straight to point.

"Tomorrow, my father has already come home by now..." I blurted out in a sigh as I could see his slightly irritated expression.

As I lead Nevi out the water, I now was going around him in circles.

"You should've reminded yourself earlier, you know, its not my fault so bare with it." Its the first time I ever talked like this to him, it was about time really, but he looked at me in a questioning look.

"All' right, I'll come and get it tomorrow then now will you stop." He looked at me as I still was going around in a circles.

"Stop what?" I took it up, as a tease really, I smiled at him as I couldn't really see the fire building in.

"Stop the fokin' circlin' me and me fokin' horse!" he spat out as I immediately pulled back on the reins in shock to stope my horse.

"Bloody hell, can't ya' listen?" He huped at his horse as he looked away blurting out. "Fokin Italians..."

That took me out, it stroke down like a bullet in the guts. I didn't know what to say, nor do. I took a brief moment to get myself together as Nevi took me home as the road was all done by a slow walk, and numerous thoughts.

I passed all my day in my room, not getting out one bit, just laying in bed, I then heard the door open and closing, it was Mery, as she sat beside my bed, as she had brought me a blueberry muffin, she always knew, she knew me... And I did too, always when someone in the family was upset, or anything had happened to any of us, she would always make blueberry muffins, to comfort us in a way, at least it did comfort me in every way possible I rested my head on her lap as hot tears streamed down while she stroked my long hair.

"Its okay darlin' I know its no easy task to love someone like him."

Like I too said, she knew me, always.

THE NEXT DAY.

I woke up with my head pulsing and my eyes all puffed up from the crying. I got up and I took a shower, as I got up I let my hair down to brush them and let them dry, as I chose what to wear, cream color that extenuates the waist as it has just a little volume on the skirt, it had tailored handmade details on every inch in the dress. It was a tad bit chilly outside so I put on a fur coat on matching the color of my dress, as well as a pair of kitten heels, took my purse as I slid his gold watch in it as I then got out my room as my chauffeur was waiting outside for me. I got in the back seat of the car as it was about to start when I hear my father call out.

"Y/n, piccolina mia! Where are you goin? The only day me and your ma' are here you go and leave so early." my dad spoke in his typical sicilian/italian accent, and looking at me.

"I am just... going out with my friends just for brunch! It'll be quick, really, I'll come back as soon as I can!" I then signed to the chauffer to start the car as he did, and as the car moved my father backed off the car, and the car continued to drive away from the house.

As the ride continued my mind was going through so many thoughts in a short period of time. It was the first time I had ever gone to where he would do most of his work, I had only ever gone once that night on his pub, but never above, on his office... and nervousness got the best of me, and as soon as I arrived, and I got out of that car I took a deep breath while my heart was pounding out of my chest. As I walked in that pub, I could feel the mans hungry gazes but I tried to avoid any, I walked straight to the bartender.

"May I have a word with Thomas Shelby?" the man looked at me in a questioning look but still nodded while cleaning off his hands on his apron. After a little time while my heels kept on tapping on the hardwood floor, I saw him, Tommy walking in front of me, as he just nodded at me as he signed me to follow him, and I did, I walked after him, as he held his office door for me to get in, then closing it after I stepped in.

"Tommy..." It was all I could let out, at first.

"So, what brought you' here? Did you bring me pocket watch?" he raised his eyebrow, as he usually did, and I just sighed in frustration, I reached into my bag slamming the watch on the oak wood desk.

"Here's you fucking watch, what brought me here, its you, honestly or mostly the words you said to me the other day."

I set on the chair across from his as I tried to keep on a neutral face on.

"What words, 'fokin' Italians'?" He couldn't put nothing than a smirk on his face.

"Seriously, really what do you take me off? One of your whores? I am not, I can assure you I am not like that Lizzy Grant, or any of the others that you might fuck and talk to like that." I got up to leave as then I feel a hand on my upper arm pulling me back, spinning me around as I faced him.

"I never said you were and I too take back what I said..." His deep voice sent shivers down my spine as I could feel his hot breaths on my face brushing through, he then reached down to kiss me as I didn't push back, I felt his lips press on mine, the kiss was soft at first but, it got deeper.

I then was brought back to reality as I pushed him off me I stared at him for a split second and then I walked out of his office, while I didn't look back one bit.

'3 days passed, I grew each day more tired then ever, I would take Nevi out for a couple of rides, bought new dresses but I felt so empty in the inside, until when Meredith walked in my room while I was reading one of my books by the window.'

"Y/n theres a letter for you." she handed me the letter opening it, and unfolding the paper as I read.

'Meet me by the alley, near the woods by sunset, I need to talk to you.'

~Tommy.

I quickly got dressed putting on a coat, then Meredith took the letter as she read it.

"Y/n I don't have a good feeling darlin' please don't go." She said in a worried tone and face expression.

"I wont take long, okay?" I ignored her pleading as I then smiled back at her and I left.

TOMMYS POV.

"Are ya' sure about this Tom?" Arthur glanced at me.

"Yes, Arthur I'm sure." I said as I finished signing the documents. I then got up to put on the flat cap and my coat on, reaching in to my hip to fix my gun.

Arthur looked at me, I knew he had more to say I could see him holding back.

"You know Tom, its not the young girls fault'..." Arthur finally got out in a sigh.

"They killed me fokin' wife, she took a bullet meant for me!" I said through my teeth out of anger.

"TOM, its not them that killed Grace, the Italians were from Nap—"

I had no time nor nerves to listen to him, I slammed the office door after me as I walked out to the car.

NADIAS POV.

I waited for a short period of time, then I heard a car pull over a bit further away as I saw Tommy get out as I waited for him still where I was standing. he got closer by each step to the point where we were face to face, he had a calm look to him.

"Why did you call me here, at this time?" I looked at him while he just smiled.

"I wanted' to see me girl." he softly spoke, weird I thought, so suddenly calling me his girl...

While we started walking, we had just reached the woods.

"Do we go there?" I glanced at him as he leaded me in without any word spoken.

We passed the trees while I could see the sun setting and the night gobbling the views of what eyes could reach taking a grayish color.

He then suddenly stopped, in the middle of a meadow, as I could see the life of most flowers was taken over by the autumn cold coming through.

"I never took anyone here... at least without reasons." his tone was serious, as he then scoffed at the last words he said while his back faced me.

I tried to understand what he meant but only I got more confused, the church so distant... but its bells was so clearly noticeable to the ear, I looked through the distance I lifted my hand to do the sign of the cross, as I closed my eyes.

I moved firstly on my forehead "In the name of the Father..."

Then in the middle of my chest " ...and of the Son... "

Sliding my hand on my left shoulder "...and of the Holy..."

Reaching to my right "...Spirit..."

"Amen..."

I lastly kissed my fingers as I opened my eyes to a gun in front of my face, freezing at the moment feeling my blood running cold through every bit of my veins and being.

"T...Tommy...?" I let out, out of complete shock.

"It was 'bout time you were gone, to make you repay..." He murmured pulling the guns trigger.

"Repay for what? Your wifes death? Tommy my father and even my family had nothing to do with anyone that included your wife and you in... was it all a game to you, Tommy... was I a game to you? Was this all just to reach here so you could shoot me and leave my dead body lying here?" choking out the words while I could feel my throat growing tight.

He just stared straight at me, his hand too shook, then I see his hand get lower, but still the gun pointing at me.

"Your people, should feel the pain, that they caused and started." he was being hard headed not trying to hear her nor anything or anyone.

I glanced at him as my eyes filled with a thick sheet of salty hot tears as I was about to lean in, to close the gap in between us two. But then...

BANG BANG!

'Bang bang, he shot me down... bang bang I hit the ground... bang bang, that awful sound, bang bang, my baby shot me down...'

He glanced at her laying body, covered by the dead flowers, the wound caused by the bullet on her right side of the chest, leaking blood down her clothes like gold, as he could see the tears that traced her closed eyes and cheeks.

'Music played, and people sang... just for me, the church bells rang...'

Taking steps back, as he left her really right there... lifeless.

'Now he's gone, I don't know why, until this day sometimes I cry...'

'He didn't even say goodbye, he didn't take the time... to lie...'

...

A WEEK PASSED.

TOOMMYS POV:

Glancing at the fire over the chimney, while I fidgeted with the glass with a tad bit of whiskey left, her face flashed before my eyes, her hitting the ground as her body grew limp.

My heart... ached, for whatever reason it was like something died to me too, a weird feeling build in me that made me want to put a gun to my head from what I did to... 'me girl'.

"Are you going to stay there all day long Tommy?" I turn to be met by Polly walking through the door.

"Arthur told me... Tommy you shot an innocent girl' from your passive aggression, nor her and her father had to do anything will this, the Italians in Naples have nothing common with the Sicilians... and have you gotten any other news, really?" Polly looked at me wile she stood in front of me.

I looked at her, in confusion...

"That girl... is so strong that... THAT bullet of yours didn't take her, and her life..." She mumbled the last words, wile shock struck my face.

"Fix this, before her father does, because trust me Tom' a fathers love for his only daughter, is stronger than anything, will be the end for us all."

She left, I glanced back again at the fire, as it was going down...

I took the last sip of that whiskey as I got up, I put on my coat... and headed off.

The ride felt like it took hours, but then I had reached where I needed to be, in front of her house, took myself out of the car, to her houses doorstep, I nocked once, and twice until one of the maids opened the door.

"Yes?" the woman looked straight at me as I cleared my throat.

"Thomas Shelby, can I have a word with y\n y\l\n?" suddenly an older maid snuck in front of the other maid,

"Leave, Mr.Shelby, the young misses, is taking her rest after what you caused! and..." as the maid was about to continue a deep voice was heard from one of the rooms.

"Meredith, lead Mr.Shelby in, will you?" A mans voice said calmly, the maid nodded as she slid away from the door leading the way to a big study, which a man sat on a leather chair turned to the windows, as it slightly moved.

There was a long, long moment of silence, as I glanced over at the chair, the man was smocking calmly while the chair moved, now the man facing me.

"So, how did it all feel? To shoot my own and daughter that I ever had, which I thank god has not died in my arms while her blooded clothes bleed through mine... Is the revenge that you take, on innocent people, feel better and more then good than it could ever feel from doing that to the one who was really guilty?" The man said, clearly I could hear the mans voice break at the mentioning her daughter. but he held in all the build up emotions.

"Tell me Mr.Shelby..." he lastly looked at me while I choked on my own spit, that's how tight my throat had tightened.

"I know that my actions had caused, anything that it wasn't meant to be caused not to you or your daughter... and I came here to apologies to you..."

"To me? My daughter is the only person who should deserve that apology firstly... then whoever is next... I will tell you one thing Thomas Shelby, I chose this path of life as it was passed by my own father down generations, and I am happy my lil' girl was born no such thing as a son, because she wont have to take after what I took... and I have never returned the bullet, with a bullet. If I ever did, you would've been dead by now... but I know you have a son to look after, and I know your mistakes that you regret. I still hate you, for hating us and what you did to my daughter, only, and hate never burns out... but I will keep my fires in me, without burning anyone around me, I better burn myself... I will tell that to you as a man to a man, a soul to a soul, a father to a father."

While he said those words, I looked at him, as I had no words, I just nodded me head admitting while he was right, a wise man.

"Go..." he let out lastly, signing the way up to the stairs peaking through the door.

"Thank you." was the only thing I could say, walking out that door, as I stepped up each stair as her door down the dark halls peaked brighter that any other any. I reached me hand, to open it, half of me face peaking in to see...

The room was bright white, the window was slightly opened, as the light white curtains moved after the breeze, I look towards the bed, as she laid inside those white sheets there, peacefully as she slept her hair over the pillow laying so beautifully, as I saw the injurie I had caused underneath the white cloth.

As I got closer to her, I couldn't help but brush me hand on her cheek, so lightly for her not to wake up.

Suddenly she slowly opened her eyes, she looked at me, a tired look shot her face as I looked deep into her eyes.

"Y\n..." I whispered, while she just stared at me with those beautiful eyes of hers.

"What are you doing here?" her voice was so cold, I was used to her talking to me with warmth, and the cold I feel now, I never felt before...

"I came here for ya', to... ask for forgiveness."

NO ONES POV.

Thomas Shelby, the leader of so called Peaky Blinders, became the weak one at that moment, he never had kneeled before to anyone, asking for forgiveness which, y/n was taken aback...at first.

He stroked her hair, as his eyes glanced at hers.

"Get off me."

Y/N'S POV.

"Tom, you heard me, get off." I calmly spoke.

Well he did as she said, his eyes shifted at the wound.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt ya'?" he said in a caring, worried tone.

"No, I just don't want you to touch me." looking down at my laying body, I tried to act like I didn't want him there, nor to touch me... but god knows I needed his touch, because... I love him, he's the one I fell for, the one I got shot from, but it felt like pure bliss, pure love. Even though my blood gushed out, as if too late, he might had taken my life away. I feel sick at my own self for feeling this way for the man in front of me...

But is this feeling of sickness what love really feels...?

"Y/n, please... me' girl" he whispered closely to me.

"Sweetheart' I was wrong, I did wrong, and I know, and I do regret everything I did..."

He tried to explain over and over again, and I just looked at him...

GOD how I wanted to kiss him, how I craved this sin of a man...

"Tom, please..." I tried to say but he cuts me off.

"I love ya', sweetheart' I fucking love ya..." he looked at me, my eyes lingering on his as my breathing stopped for a moment, I felt something growing within me...

He ran his hands on each sides of my cheeks, cupping them.

"Don't push me away, luv..."

His face was inches from mine, I could feel his hot breath caress my skin, I lifted my head up, just for my nose to brush lightly on his, trying to hold back wasn't easy... How could it be easy, it would never.... if you love a person that much, resistance is no word to be listened, heard, even known... when it came to someone you loved...

[andsheloved]

𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔

pairing ~ sir thomas sharpe x f!reader

word count ~ 1.3k

summary ~ when your own mind seems shattered, you're reminded of who will always be there to pick up the pieces.

warnings ~ plotless, pointless fluff, mention of nightmares/past traumatic experiences (nothing specific is mentioned), brief mention of death, implied insomnia, everyone needs to get some sleep.

a/n ~ this isn't the best thing i've written but my brain !! needed this !! let this be my little lullaby goodnight gift to you, and please enjoy some comforting thomas sharpe regardless mwauh :)

You could compare the feeling to something like falling, even if it really felt nothing like that. It wasn't that weightless, somewhat pleasant feeling one would get when drifting back into their own reality. It felt like death.

And in a way, maybe it was.

Even in your dreams, you could feel yourself falling back into the clutches of that endless cycle you couldn't seem to break, even while you attempted to find some sort of reprieve from your own mind in sleep, you still found yourself tormented, cursed with the ability of remembering.

You jolted awake, and suddenly you could feel your body once again, sensing how your chest rose and fell at a speed that, you had to admit, even worried yourself. You winced at the overwhelming buzzing that rang through your mind as you attempted to bring yourself back to the reality you found yourself paralyzed in, the only thing of warmth you could sense were the tears creeping down your face, stinging your eyes and reminding you of your own mortality.

"Dearest..." You could hear his voice, and although it was barely above a whisper to your ears, it felt like a tether, a life raft being thrown to you.

And so you reached for it, searching for the hushed flickers of his loving tone as you cut through the wicked, twisted vines that kept you from him, trying to return yourself to at least something akin to a resting state.

"You're alright..." You could hear him murmur, the feeling of his soft lips against the shell of your ear finally reaching your senses. "I'm here. I promise... You're safe..."

You felt a pain in your throat, as if being suffocated by your own anguish. The sensation was one of a monster in your chest, scratching and clawing against your insides, begging to be released in some sort of carnal, ferociously pained scream, though your lips remained sealed, or at least partially sealed. All that could escape your lips was a single, wounded sigh.

"Thomas..." You breathed, your trembling hand barely shifting, grasping for any part of him that you could hang on to.

"I'm right here."

His smooth voice only got clearer with each passing second, the feeling of his thumb gently brushing across your knuckles anchoring you to reality.

"I'm right here..." He continued to repeat, the gentle cadence of his words lulling your heartbeat until you began to feel some semblance of peace. "I'm right here."

Even as your mind settled, as your body began to no longer feel as if you had just ran some sort of harrowing marathon, you could still barely manage to say a word, so an almost silent whimper was all that escaped you.

And yet, even without a word uttered, he still managed to understand you.

Just as he always did.

His arms seemed to wrap around you in an instant, enveloping you into the warmth that you always seemed to find yourself longing for these days. Your heart stilled, finally at peace.

"Was it-"

You solemnly nodded before he could even finish, your chin gently nuzzling against his bicep as you did.

"Well..." He groaned softly, adjusting himself against you as he tenderly pulled you flush against his firm chest, prompting you to finally turn your head to face him. "You're safe now. Nothing can hurt you. Nothing could ever."

You swallowed harshly, your mind briefly returning to your previous state.

If it were anyone else, you might have even dared to accuse them of witchcraft, but it was Thomas. Your Thomas. And he knew you in a way you couldn't even comprehend yourself. It was as if he could read your mind, his thumb and forefinger finding their way to your chin, his touch shackling you once again to him.

He let out a gentle chuckle, "Don't leave me," He smiled, "Not when I've just gotten you back."

This time, you had managed to squeak out a few words in response. "Thank you."

You watched as his eyes softened, his eyebrows falling into an expression of slight concern. "You've nothing to thank me for." He grumbled, you noticed how his cheeks turned the lightest shade of pink as he spoke, this fact illuminated only by the dull slivers of moonlight that crept in from the window. "It's my honor."

Before you could stop it, a small chuckle left your lips, almost forgetting your situation entirely. "Honored?" You questioned softly. You couldn't even manage yourself half of the time, how could anyone feel any sort of honored to pick up after you?

His brows furrowed, a small, almost frustrated sounding huff came from him before he began to speak. "The first time..." He mumbled, trailing off for a moment, though you already knew what he was trying to say.

When the nightmares began.

"You could have turned from me," He continued, gently tracing his thumb against your cheek, "Pushed me from you entirely. Told me to leave you even." He smiled wistfully, "You didn't though. You allowed me to stay, to hold you, to promise that you were safe, that I would always protect you. You bestowed me with that honor, and it is not one that I take lightly." He finished, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

If you knew any better, you could have easily begun believing that he carried some sort of magic within him, your eyes gently drooping closed as soon as his lips touched your skin. Though maybe that was the magic of him, how he could calm your mind so easily.

The deep, quietly thunderous hum that rolled through him reached your ears like a lullaby, and you could feel his lips curl into a soft smile against your forehead.

There were a million words caught in your throat. Thousands of 'how could I ever live without you', hundreds of 'thank you's' and countless 'I love you's' begging to be ripped from your lips, and just as it was all about to come pouring out at once, as you began to acknowledge the fact that once you began speaking, you would certainly be awake until the morning, it seemed that he read your mind, silencing your thoughts at once.

"Get some rest, love, we can speak of everything in the morning if you'd like." He paused for a moment as he pulled at the heavy, quilted blanket engulfing you both, "Even if you choose not to, I'll be right beside you... Always."

His words faded as you drifted closer to the edge of exhaustion. You knew of the possibility of another nightmare, the lingering possibility of those all too familiar tendrils of pain and horror stained pieces of your imagination reaching out for you once again tonight, but somehow, you held no fear.

The heat of his body flooded your senses as you finally fell asleep, his final words somehow even reaching you in your unconsciousness, or maybe they weren't even his words, at least not in the current sense. Maybe they were just the words he had ingrained in you ever since the first time he told you that he loved you, the words that wrapped around you, filling you with light in any moment you felt surrounded by darkness. Maybe he hadn’t even uttered a thing, maybe it was just your own mind, comforting your soul with the voice of him as you fell into sleep.

Either way, you found you didn’t mind, all you cared for was that his voice was with you, guiding you through whatever darkness you may happen to encounter the rest of the night.

You could hear him as your breath evened and your pulse slowed, feeling him hold your hand through the pitch blackness. Even as your own mind attempted to betray you, taunting you with memories of pain you couldn’t seem to outrun, you could hear him.

“I’m here my dear, I always will be.”

fall-ish time = crimson peak time always for me. i know it has been a while and this isn't a huge fic or anything, but i've been writing this one on and off since things got a bit weird for me mentally, i just needed some pointless, fluffy, reassurance for my brain being weird, and hey if it came from thomas sharpe that wouldn't be too bad either :) i hope you all are doing so so good and thank you all for all your nice messages recently, i promise i will respond to all of them so soon!!

check out my masterlist :)

[darkacademicfrom2021]

I have surched high and low, looking for a writer that had open requests and has watched the loki series! And finally! My journey has come to and end!!

Okay so I got this story idea for loki and I don't have the writing capability to do it myself. But here's my idea/requests:

So loki and mobius are hanging out, chilling, doing whatever where there's nothing going on so they are just sitting and talking, idk. But somehow they talk about relationships. And loki starts talking about how he was almost married( to reader), but they where attacked and they never maid it to the carimony part where they see each other and all that. Loki says somthing about wishing to see reader in their wedding outfit. And so mobius feels bad and dose just thay for loki and opens a time portal to goo see the reader before the attack.

Okay that was alot I'm sorry haha 😅

But that's been swimming in my head and I would love to see how someone would write it. If you don't wanna write it I totally get it. Hope you have a good day!

“Tonight was too long ago”.

Pairing: Loki x gn!reader (asgardian!reader)

Word count: 2.8K

Warnings: angst with bittersweet ending, major character death, mentions of vomit and murder.

A/N: I’m back at the angst :) sorry I guess. I’m not on vacation but I’m avoiding my responsibilities like a champ.

Loki sighed, staring at his reflection in the cold water. The moonlight shone against his skin, the crystal water shaping the lights over his sharp features. They’ve been talking about many things by now —pretending like Mobius hadn’t watched his entire life already. Mobius knew Loki enjoyed talking about his interests and experiences, even if Mobius had already heard them before.

But there was one thing —one huge thing— Loki had never talked about. Many years of friendship, and Loki wasn’t able to let those words slip off his mouth. He wouldn’t allow it.

What if he let them get out of his chest, and they wouldn’t come back ever again?

They wouldn’t come back, he was sure. And because he was sure, he let them inside for as long as he could.

“Your mother”, he said. Loki had to tear his gaze away from the water, to listen carefully. Mobius swallowed hard, like the words weighed on his tongue. “I’m sorry about what I’ve said before”.

“Oh, Moby Dick”, chuckled Loki, easing his tension. “You’ve apologized a hundred times already. I get it. You didn’t mean it. It’s fine, I’m familiar with the concept of saying the wrong things out of fear”.

“Hey, it wasn’t fear”, said Mobius, lightly punching his shoulder. “And don’t call me that. I know you said it was from a book, but you’re calling me a…”.

“If you hear that title and immediately think about a man’s groin, then I think that’s your issue, not mine”.

“Anyway”, he brushed him off with a laugh. “I feel like I need to repeat it, because you seem… sad. And, you know, it wasn’t your fault”.

“Oh, don’t do that”.

“What?”, he feigned innocence. Loki sighed.

“Touching that subject, thinking you’ll finally get me to talk about what we both already know”.

“I’m… I’m sorry”.

“Yes, you say that a lot”.

“I think you need a friend, right now”.

“I have a friend”.

“Yes, that’s why I’m bringing this subject up. You’ve… Loki, you’ve gone from one chaotic situation to another. Your relationships, all along your life, sucked. I don’t mean to be intrusive, or meddly, but… I care about what you’re not saying. It will haunt you down until you can’t bear it anymore”.

Loki took in a sharp breath, feeling the tears stinging on the corner of his eye, threatening to fall. No —push them back. They can’t get out.

“You know all about my relationships. Why listen to them again, anyway?”.

Mobius began fidgeting with his tempad. Loki searched through his pockets, looking for a pen, anything he could use to keep his hands occupied with a mindless task to avoid going straight to cover his face and allow himself to cry —to finally cry.

It’s been so long.

“Fine, it’s fine. Don’t talk about them. Talk… about the surroundings. How was your family back then?”.

Loki closed his eyes and went back to Asgard. In his mind, it was all the same as it had been for millenias. Now, Asgard was New Asgard, and his brother ruled it from Earth. But, there was a time where the Avengers weren’t there yet, and it all was just the two of them against the realms.

Loki remembers quite vividly, actually. He remembers Thor training against him as if his life depended on it. He remembers Sif having to stop the battle, before Thor would break his bones. Loki remembers himself to be the weaker one, always the weaker one.

He remembers you, by Sif’s side, too. He pushed the thought away and flinched. He didn’t say it out loud, but Mobius knew it was about you. Loki’s mood would change every time your face roamed around his mind.

He remembers stealing bread and fruit from the kitchens to go out on picnics. He remembers your laughter —lyrical, melodic, armonious. He wanted to drown on you. And, by remembering you, he wanted to drown on that same lake he was staring at.

He remembers Frigga’s words, always so on point, always so true.

Loki glanced over to Mobius, without wanting to talk about it. But he did.

“My mother had always been really perspicacious about my relationships. Whether friendships, family, or… other things”.

“Frigga has a good reputation for being clever and insightful”, added Mobius. Loki nodded.

“She also had visions about that night”.

Mobius didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to mess it up.

“You know, I regret many things about it. I regret… firstly, that it wasn’t me. It should’ve been me”, he whispers. Mobius wanted to tell him it wasn’t, but it would be in vain. Nothing he could say could make Loki change his mind about it. “It should’ve been me, and they should’ve been safe. I could’ve assured their safety, but… I guess I didn’t”.

“Why?”.

“Why, you ask? Haven’t you seen it?”.

Mobius, once again, fell silent.

“I wanted to see them”, he whispers, “in their wedding outfit”.

“In their… wedding outfit?”.

“We were about to get married, you know that”, he said, obliviously. Mobius denied with his head. “How could you not know it?”.

“I know about the accident”.

“The attack, you mean”, he corrected, sharp as only you would get him.

“The attack, yes. Sorry”.

“We were going to get married, and then… we didn’t”.

The events came to Loki violently. So quickly, he felt himself about to contour in pain and vomit. He came back to his senses shortly after, but as he opened his eyes, he was back again on this recurrent flashback —this recurrent nightmare.

You stood in front of him. You were yelling —yelling at him, to him, because of him. He rolled his eyes at that comment, he remembers. He shouldn’t have, he thought, looking back at it. He shouldn’t have pretended like he didn’t care, like he was detached from the emotions you were accusing him of having.

“Loki”.

“Yes, Mobile Phone”.

“Stop it. Where are you?”.

“In my head, I guess”.

“Come back”.

Loki opened his eyes.

“I don’t want to go there, ever again”.

“You were talking about a wedding outfit”.

“I regret not… not seeing them on it. It was my fault, after all”.

“It wasn’t your fault, Loki”.

“It was”.

“I can help you”.

“I’m helpless, and they’s gone”.

Mobius smiled gently at him, with a hand on his shoulder. He pointed at the tempad on his hand. Loki opened his mouth widely, about to retort. He couldn’t.

“They’s gone. But you can visit all you want”.

“That’s insane. They deserve to be on their own timeline, without disruptions”.

“I’m not saying you’d go there to avoid the attack from happening. I’m saying you could go… see them in their little outfit. Have a bit of harmless fun".

Loki thought about it.

"If… if I can go there, and replace myself from that moment, and then come back… that wouldn't make much of a mess, right?".

"Are you thinking of…?".

"Just… getting things right. I don't want them to go with that last memory from me".

Mobius understood. Nodding, he opened a portal with the tempad and soon, Loki was on his feet about to walk through it.

He stopped before going in. He looked down at himself and shook his shoulders, dressing in his black and dark green suit —the one he intended to marry in. He arranged his hair in a low man bun and took his nose piercing off, knowing at the time he didn't have it on. He then looked at Mobius, as if looking for approval. He nodded and patted his shoulder.

"Have fun", he smiled gently.

"Will do", joked Loki, knowing this would end up in tears. He fixed his posture, and, with a deep breath, he submerged himself into the past.

He was in the room, too. The Loki from that time, grumpy and arms crossed waiting for the stupid fight to come, looked up at him bewildered. Before he could do anything, Loki covered his mouth and kicked him out of the timeline, closing the portal behind him. Mobius gestured at him that he'd talk him down and explain, and they could delete his memory after that.

Loki roamed around his old room in Asgard. The palace that was now in ruins, held so tightly and in place, as if it wouldn't fall by anything —not even a gigantic fire monster, predicted to be the destroyer of the realm. He walked to his bed, and sat on your side, passing a hand through the silky sheets. It was wrinkly, and you had just gotten off bed. He was sure you were looking for him. You'd come through that door any second now.

"Loki!", you walked in, a frown painted across your red face. He felt his heart on his throat. There you were. It was really you. He stood in shock, his mouth slightly open, and his eyes unable to tear from you. You walked up to him and seemed to be even more upset —now that he wasn't even acknowledging you were mad. "Are you out of your mind?! We're one day before the ceremony and you thought best to come up with that? You're a dick. You know that, right? You're an asshole", you said, and he kept staring at you as if you were telling him you loved him. "What's the matter with you?! Why are you looking at me like that?!".

He had to contain every single urge on him to grab you by the shoulders and kiss you deeply, in the way he knew it'd make you weak on the knees and in the way he had missed for so many years. But he pushed it back. He took in a deep breath, again, and grabbed your hands.

"What did I do, love?", he played innocent, as if the mention of his prank wasn't making his heart ache.

"What did… what did you do?! How can you do something like this and forget it the next second! I know I am marrying a trickster but I thought you'd contain yourself for at least one day, to keep my nerves intact!".

He remembered what he did. It was stupid, really. He thought it'd cheer you up, a stupid joke to calm the storm that was on your head the previous days to the wedding. He had turned the ceremony room into a deep-black darkness whole. He had cut off the lights so that the room wouldn't have any lightning whatsoever as soon as someone walked in.

He remembers what he did after that, in the past. He didn't tell you anything, and wanted to surprise you, as an apology, by filling the room with floating candles.

Many people didn't agree with him marrying you. Most of them didn't want Loki to be a best suitor for the throne; and married and living in Asgard —unlike his brother, who's had a come-and-go affair with a midgardian— people would be against him. That's why the attack happened that night.

This time around, he wouldn't waste any time on making you smile. He knew you'd die anyway, he couldn't change that. But he could do all the things he waited for until the ceremony that never happened.

He sat on the bed, eyes still on you, and pushed you closer to him. You relaxed your face, melting at the love on his gaze, and he smiled sadly, yet kindly. You sat on his leg, and he couldn't hold back anymore the urge to sink his nose in your hair, and hug you tightly. You chuckled, and pushed him back.

"I'm still mad at you, mister. Even if you're this adorable".

"I'm so, so sorry, my little darling", he said sincerely —so sincerely, he caught you off guard. He kept saying sorry and kissing your cheeks until you couldn't hold back your laughter anymore. "I promise you, I'll fix it right now. But I want you to be with me. Is that okay?".

"Can't stay away from me even a minute, can't you?", you joked, and he felt a lump on his throat, downing in with a fake laughter.

"I could never".

"Let's go, then".

"In fact, I… I know you'll hate me for this. You're in all your right to say no, but I need to ask you something", he started. He now realized, it didn't matter the clothing. He really just wanted to be with you. But if he could get a glance of what he could've had if destiny hadn't been such a bitch to him… he needed to take the chance. You nodded, and he asked "Do you think you could show me how gorgeous you look in your wedding's attires, my love? Meanwhile I'll prepare the room".

"Ah, you naughty little…", you laughed, and he chuckled and blushed.

"No, no. I meant your ceremony ones! And I'll fix the lights for the thing I screw up. I have a surprise".

"Oh. In that case, yes, I don't see why not".

"I thought you thought it was bad luck".

"Yes, but not the ceremony outfit, more like the… other one".

"Oh, then you should by all means show me that one".

"Sir, you go fix your mess and I'll go get my wedding outfit. We can get messy later", you said, and he chuckled, kind of disappointed that he had to leave before that.

He had to fight with all of his strength to let go of your hug, and go to the ceremony room to set the flying candles around. He waited with impatience until you opened the doors wildly and your eyes gazed dreamily at the room he had prepared. Your face lit up brightly and he… he fell even deeper in love, if such a thing was possible.

You ran up to him and melted into his arms with a smile, and he didn’t stop murmuring how splendid you looked. His last memory of you was a dead body, and now it would be this dreamy and angelic image of you, happy and unpissed at him. He didn’t know how to feel about it. His you, from his timeline, deserved better too. Every you from other timelines deserved better too, he thought, and shook his head as soon as he thought about it —let us enjoy the moment. Let us enjoy it.

He pulled you closer and kissed you just as he wanted to for all of those years. He kissed you and you didn’t let go for a long time after that. He stayed with his hands around you and your head on his chest.

“Your heartbeat is going crazy”, you murmured, and then you realized he was weeping. A few tears stained his reddened cheeks, and you kissed them. “What’s wrong, my love?”.

“Ah, my sweet”, he chuckled through the tears and looked down, not really answering. “Nothing is wrong. I’m overwhelmed with your gorgeousness”

But you had always been almost as perceptive as his own mother. He knew you were aware something was off. Right there, at that moment, you realized that wasn’t your Loki. You closed your eyes and held him closer to you, and he kissed your forehead.

“Was it long ago?”, you asked, knowing the answer. He seemed different from your Loki. More mature, even taller if possible, his hair seemed to be cut in a different culture than Asgard. He had that light on his eyes, that unstoppable desire to be in everything and everywhere possible —almost completely lit off. As if right there and then was the only place he strived to be at that very same moment. As if not even the next day mattered —just you there—just you now.

“Ages”, he mumbled into your hair, smelling you one last time. “I don’t want to let you go”.

“Tomorrow?”.

“Tonight. But tonight… was too long ago. I can’t do anything about it, I wish I could, but I can’t”, he sobbed. You shushed him and cupped his face. He blinked his tears away and smiled at you. “You look magnificent. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you, all of these decades together”.

“Baby, you’ve caused me only happiness”, you said, and kissed him again.

A portal opened at the end of the room, and Mobius with a passed out Loki walked through it. You chuckled.

“I have to go now. So he can have one last time with you, too, alright?”, he whispered against you, still hugging you tightly. “He’s an idiot, but I was too, I suppose. Just, do me a favour, would you?”.

“Yes, my love”.

“Wherever you’ll go… never stop smiling, would you?”.

“I’d never”.

“Don’t forget I love you”.

“And you don’t forget to move on, someday”, you said, gripping tightly to him. It seemed like you already knew your fate would be an inevitable death, even that young, and you seemed more concerned about him than your actual destiny. He kissed you one last time, and walked through the portal with a weight off his shoulders and a better memory of you.

Taglist: @lucywrites02 , @louieboo87 @the-departed-potato , @jesuswasnotawhiteman , @idontknow296 , @beksib , @spythoschei , @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass , @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 , @joscelyn02 , @t00-pi , @selfship-mishaps , @sallymagnoliaposts , @deadgirl88 , @theonewiththenerds , @vicmc624 , @spiderlaufeyson @theaudacitytowrite @bi-andready-tocry @alorev @justasmisunderstoodasloki @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @theetoastyghosty @lokiprompts @sarahpaq08 @lostgreekgod

[corpsekiller]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧) — 𝐭.𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. thomas shelby x fem!reader (maid!reader)

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. angst, seemingly unrequited love, pining, mentions of blood and weapons

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲. you should have been more careful when you started working as a maid for thomas shelby, but how could you know that you'll fall for someone you can never have?

𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧. 1.355 words

MASTERLIST PART 2

“Mr. Shelby, can I assist you with anything?” You quip cheerfully, setting down the silver tray loaded with tea and pastries on his desk. He didn’t ask for a glass of whiskey, but you brought one anyway and carefully push it into his direction — it’s been a stressful day and he seems rather grateful when he takes the drink with trembling hands and takes a tentative sip before he shakes his head, offering you a half-hearted smile instead.

It doesn’t quite reach his eyes and seems forced, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless. Such an act of courtesy may be simple, perhaps even meaningless to him, but after working under his name for nearly half a year, you’ve learned to treasure the rare occurrence of a faint smile, especially directed at you. A man like him certainly doesn’t need to approach people below his position with any kind of respect, yet he still shows efforts to treat you well, even if it’s just a twitch of his lips that hints at his gratitude.

You suppose his compassion comes from old memories of his childhood — you’ve heard the older maids tell stories about his earlier life, about his father and his deceased mother, about a young man who went to war and worked himself to the bone after he returned, all for the company. Everything he owns comes from dirt and blood beneath his fingernails and the callouses on each knuckle prove that he truly earned it.

Because he knows what it means to have nothing and that makes him kind.

You’ve always admired him for this, that tender spot in his heart that remained despite the blood he has spilled, despite the men he has slaughtered without hesitation, and the sins he committed for the sake of his family. No, he’s certainly not a good man, but he isn’t bad either. Many might disagree, but you couldn’t care less. Most of them don’t get close enough to see him, really see him as he is, and not what he pretends to be.

Not even you did, but there were moments when you caught a glimpse of what lies behind the facade of arrogance and violence he carries, those silent minutes when you brought him tea in the middle of the night, caught him staring blankly into space, too deep in thought to notice your presence until you dared to knock on the door or spent a peaceful moment together at dawn when he smoked by the window to watch the sun rise and allowed you to stay in his study after you served him breakfast.

It isn’t enough.

Your longing for him can’t be satiated and you doubt it ever will because you’ll never get close enough — Thomas Shelby is impossible to love and impossible to reach, yet you still yearn to be close to him and so, you choose to be content with watching him from afar, even if it hurts. You wonder if his dead wife felt the same. Sometimes, when you pass her portrait hanging above the staircase, you feel her deprecating stare burning in the back of your neck and you can’t help but whisper a guilty apology, hoping that she’ll forgive you and your desire for her husband.

“I’m in no place to ask this kind of question, but are you certain about attending dinner with your family this evening? You seem tense.” Your eyes trail over his features, the dark shadows beneath his lashes and the sharp curve of his cheekbones until they find his lips. They’re pale, bitten bloody in concentration and you’d love nothing more than to sweep your thumb over the abused skin and remind him that he doesn’t have to do this on his own, that he could find comfort in you and-

“It’s fine, Y/N. Don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” Thomas sighs warily and gently presses his fingers against his temple to ease the pounding headache that has been plaguing him since this morning. His patience runs especially thin today, you can see it in the restless fiddling of his fingers as if he’s toeing the line between his usually calm resolve and the anger he keeps locked in his chest, growing over weeks of tiring work and sleepless nights like a deadly tumor that slowly eats away at his sanity. It’s only a matter of time until he breaks and still, he doesn’t stop.

You asked Frances once, shortly after you moved into the country house to take on your new job as a maid, why he’s working himself to death like a madman, even though he has enough money to pay others to get their hands dirty for him. She had looked at you with a glint of fear in his eyes and pressed a wrinkly finger to her thin lips, quickly glanced over her shoulder as if she’d expected Mr. Shelby himself to stand behind her before yanking you closer.

'Don’t ask any questions about his work,' she had whispered. 'And stay away from him, dear child. The devil is a charming man and he’ll ruin you if you aren’t careful.'

She meant well, but she didn’t know that he already had you wrapped around his finger. Even before he first touched your hand and asked for your name, repeating it back to you and forming each syllable with his tongue, you belonged to him — all he had to do was look at you.

Perhaps that’s why you began to do more work than your job requires. Such a dutiful maid, staying up all night to be of service to him, although he never asks for more than a single glass of whiskey. In fact, he made it clear to his employees that their schedules only include keeping the house clean and presentable to unexpected visitors as well as preparing meals for him and his family, yet you still dare to step out of line to take care of him and his personal needs.

A pathetic attempt to catch his attention, though you know it’s in vain.

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” you nod timidly, struggling to remember what he said before you got lost in your own thoughts. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you. You can go and freshen up for this evening, love. I need you to be with me later,” he mutters and takes a plate of biscuits out of your hands, brushing over your knuckles in the process. Your heart pounds in your chest and your cheeks flush in embarrassment, betraying your true emotions in a matter of seconds and when he looks up, you recognize some sort of amusement in the endless blue of his eyes.

“Oh.”

Just like that, he knocks the wind out of your lungs. You think he has that effect on everyone he meets, pulls the words out of their mouths with his cold gaze and sharp tongue, but this time is different — his voice isn’t as keen as the razorblade sown into the rim of his flat cap, no, it’s gentle and warm, almost pleading if you listen close and your foolish heart slams against your ribs as a spark of hope ignites.

“Oh,” you repeat, a little breathless. Your mind reels for a response, something, anything, but every thought seems to slip out of your grasp and the words that tumble out of your mouth are barely distinguishable. “Thank you, Mr. Shelby. I promise... I promise I’ll be there.”

Your cheeks burn when you turn around on your heels and rush out of his study. Blood roars in your ears and your hands tremble, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, bunching the fabric and smoothing it back out until your knees give out and you find yourself hunched over on the bottom of the stairs. I need you to be with me plays in your head like a broken record and no matter how many times you try to tell yourself that it’s a lost cause, that there is no deeper meaning, you can’t stop yourself from hoping for more.

[daisydoesfanfics]

|Parents|

Diluc x Fem!Reader

A/N: For my first post I wanted to write about my amazing Diluc (yes I'm a diluc simp). Bold and indented sentences are readers/characters thoughts. Enjoy!

Warnings: none (let me know if there are)

Characters: Diluc, Ayato and a brief mention of Ayaka

After you told your parents about your boyfriend, Diluc, they instantly wanted to meet him. You came from a mighty clan in Inazuma that was part of the Yashiro Commission. That's why your parents wanted you to marry someone powerful as well. Specifically, Kamisato Ayato. However you didn't find him interesting. Sure he was handsome, rich, tall blah blah blah but you couldn't see anything in him that made you think damn, I wanna marry this dude.

You fled off to Mondstadt just for a little vacation. Who knew that you'd find your true love in a local yet very famous tavern there. He had long red hair, a sharp jawline, ruby red eyes, a tall and lean yet muscular body. You purposely ordered multiple non-alcoholic drinks just so you could stay there longer but not get drunk. You were embarrassing when drunk.

Fast forward and here you are in his house, trying out a dress to wear to your parents house. "Do I look okay?" You ask Diluc coming out of your shared bedroom, showing him your dress. "You look fantastic, love. Real question is, do I look okay? I want to give your parents a good impression of me."

You looked him up and down, and my my was he handsome. You made him wear a traditional Inazuman outfit that had some minor changes to make it look more modern, it also had your clans signature colors. "You look great!"

Once you two had arrived at Inazuma, Thoma welcomed the both of you with his warm smile. "Hello my lady! And hello also to her uhhmm, humble guest." Thoma didn't exactly know who Diluc was. "I'm her boyfriend." Diluc said sternly.

Thoma escorted you and Diluc to the Komore Teahouse. You two walked into the room and you were surprised to see Ayaka and Ayato seated on the opposite side of the table where your parents were seated. "Why is Ayato here?" You asked. "That's no way to treat your guests Y/N. Are we not allowed to see you and your acquaintance?" Ayato replied. You were scared Ayato might cause trouble. Specifically with Diluc. He's been trying to win you over for you years now and he only saw you getting a boyfriend not as a lose, but as a challenge.

The night went smoothly and surprisingly, your parents really liked Diluc. Ayato did however throw some mean glares at Diluc and some questions like "Do you even know Inazuman culture?". Diluc never payed attention to those however, he just wanted to please you and your parents. Ayaka also loved him, she thought that he was a gentleman and a great lover for you.

Once you and Diluc got home you apologized to him. "What for? I had a great time." He said with a soft smile on his face. "For Ayato, I know you probably got even just a bit annoyed. He's been trying to win me over but I never payed attention to him." Diluc shook his head and kissed your forehead. "He doesn't matter to me, as long as your happy with me."

[skinnyducky]

lost cause // v.h.

a/n i had started writing something based off this song so when this request came i was like.. i gotta finish it. im a huge billie fan so writing this was soo fun. i hope you all like and enjoy it :)

vinnie hacker x fem!reader

Word Count: 1k, lightly edited

WARNING: angsty, language, mentions of alcohol, partying, and intoxication, and that’s all i believe. 

---------

The night was winding down as Vinnie hopped out of his car and stumbled up to the doors of his shared home. He’d been out with some friends, partying and whatnot. Nothing major. As he fumbled with his keys, feeling the lingering effects of the alcohol he consumed, he couldn’t help but notice a familiar car parked not too far from his. Though he couldn't, for the life of him, remember who it belonged to. It wasn’t Thomas', nor was it anyone else’s. After failing to solve the small mystery, he shrugged it off and walked into the house.

He wandered up to his room, ignoring the warning calls from his pals and housemates. He trudged down the hall, clinging to the wall as a means to not fall over. It took him a good minute to get to his room, and once he stood at the door, he felt a sense of bliss wash over him. He could relax, kickback, and sleep off his intoxication. But the second he opened the door, his face fell once he saw who was sitting at the edge of his bed.

"Ain’t this a surprise." Y/n spat, crossing her arms. She watched with darkened eyes as he slouched towards his dresser and proceeded to change. "Long night, huh?"

With his back to her, Vinnie shrugged. "I guess." He gulped. As he got into more comfortable clothes, he felt the aroma of the room change. Something was in the air, and it was potent. It wasn’t the scent of the nine shots he had had prior to the night or his expensive cologne. In fact, it wasn’t radiating from him. It was coming from Y/n, and while she hid it well, its presence was loud.

"I’m sure it was unforgettable," she said, "not like the date we had planned for tonight."

Vinnie’s heart dropped as that sentence left her mouth. He’d forgotten entirely about the fact that they had a date tonight. Slowly but surely, his inebriation was wearing off as he turned to face his beau. "That was tonight?" He asked, his eyes avoiding hers. "I thought that was sometime next week."

"I made reservations last weekend, and I continuously reminded you of it. Hell, I even asked you before making the damn reservations if you had anything planned and that if you did, let me know." Vinnie had never heard Y/n’s voice sound like this; so sharp, so bitter, almost like there was acid on her tongue.

"I’m sorry, Y/n. The boys came over to hang out, and then next thing I know, we’re going out to a party," said Vinnie. "It was an honest mistake, I swear."

It was at this moment that he finally met Y/n’s eyes, hoping to find a sign of acceptance for his light apology. But no, there was nothing there but apathy, disgust, and rage. "That apology might’ve worked a few months ago, but I’ve heard it so many times I’ve grown immune to it."

"Look, I know I fuck up sometimes, but I truly mean it. I’m sorry."

Y/n scoffed, shooting up from her spot on his bed. "Sometimes? I don’t think not showing up for the majority of our dates counts as sometimes." She snarled, stepping towards him. "Do you know how many times I’ve had to cancel dinners and get refunds for movie tickets." Vinnie shook his head, awaiting the girl’s response. "It’s happened so many times that I’ve honestly lost count."

"Y/n—"

"It doesn’t surprise me that you don’t know, given that you clearly don’t care about our relationship."

"Now hold up—"

"No, don’t you dare lie to me." Y/n pressed her finger to Vinnie’s chest, glaring at him as if he had murdered her entire family and danced on their graves. "Don’t for one second sit here and say that you care about me. If you did, you’d understand how much it hurts me to sit alone at a restaurant and have to tell the waiter numerous times that your boyfriend is showing up when, in reality, he’s out drinking and living it up with his buddies."

Vinnie sighed, taking a seat at his desk. "I know it seems like that, but I really do care for you. I love you, Y/n." The truth was that Vinnie wasn’t sure of his feelings for Y/n anymore. In the beginning, there was never a doubt about how he felt about her. But as time went on, all the butterflies just faded away. It wasn’t her fault; he was just falling out of it. He knew it was bad to string her along, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Little did he know, he’d been doing that all along.

But Y/n, as blinded by love as she was, saw right through his façade. "You got a funny way of showing it." She replied, rolling her eyes. "All I want to know is what I did. I put my all into this relationship. I was willing to sacrifice everything for you, and you couldn’t even give me a drop of that back."

"You did nothing wrong."

"Then what is it? Why don’t you care?"

While Vinnie knew the answer to that, he wasn’t willing to share it. He didn’t want to cause her more pain than he already had. So, he simply shook his head and looked off to the side, avoiding the look of disgust on Y/n’s face.

"Okay." Y/n snatched her phone off his bed and walked to the door. Before she made her exit, she glanced over at Vinnie. "I had hoped that maybe you’d grow up, get your shit together, but I guess I was wrong." And with those last words, Y/n strolled out of Vinnie’s room, leaving him to bathe in the consequences of his actions.He was remorseful, there’s no doubt about that. And while he got what he wanted in setting the girl free, his heart ached. It was strange. He got what he wanted, and yet he lost something incredibly special. Something he took for granted, and as he sat there in silence, regret overtook him. He should’ve fought for her, told her the truth. Sadly, it was too late. He was just a lost cause to her.

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