#thomas sharpe x 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.”

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-03-05

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✑ A Definite Answer by laufeyamp • 〔F〕 •

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

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

✑ Buried by colorsunimaginable • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

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

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

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

✑ Indulge Me by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 •

✑ Kiss Me by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

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

✑ No. by ladyfluff • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

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

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

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

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

✑ Sweet Tooth by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 •

✑ Trapped by ladyfluff • 〔A〕 •

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

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

See Also: Navigation || Thomas Sharpe Master Index

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

[lulubelle814]

In Every Life

Summary: Two souls destined for each other, but life has other plans. Will they find each other and have their happy ending?

Part 1 - Thomas Sharpe x Josephine Morrow

Part 2 - Capt James Nicholls x Grace Narracott

Part 3 - Robert Laing x Valerie Hutton

Part 4 - Professor Tom Hiddleston x Olivia Lambert

Masterlist

[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.”

[heartcereql]

tommy shelby x finn's teacher!reader

when you first read his name on the class list, you freezed, a shiver running down your spine. of course you weren't oblivious as to who the shelbys were or what they did. but he was so young. twelve. you actually had a tiny bit of hope that finn shelby would be different than his brothers were. you were soon proven wrong.

finn and what he called "his boys" soon started doing their business around the school, and, before you knew it, inside the school as well. bringing cigarettes, picking on younger students, terrorizing girls...

you had had enough. it was one thing for adults to get their hands dirty doing whatever businesses. but a kid? hell no. and while you couldn’t do anything about what they did outside school, you could try to correct their behaviour in school.

so that's how you found yourself one grey and cloudy evening in front of the shelbys' door, mustering the courage to knock.

you knocked three times. nothing. as you were about to knock again, you heard the lock and then the door opened, revealing a man with the same ocean eyes as finn.

thomas shelby.

you knew him, naturally, but this was the first time he was so close, let alone about to talk to you.

“good afternoon” you greeted as you tried to ignore the way your chest was tightening.

“afternoon. may i help you?” he asked, hand resting on the doorknob.

“yes, actually. i’m y/n y/l/n. i’m finn’s teacher, and i wanted to discuss certain behaviours of his with you" you explained firmly. “if that’s okay” you added in a mumble.

he just stared at you for an instant. an instant that felt like eternity to you. then he nodded, letting you come into the house.

he led you through the betting house to his office.

he sat on his chair; you took your place on the other side of the desk.

“so” he said, pulling out a cigarette, “is he getting in a lot of trouble, eh?”

you smiled timidly, admiring his sharp features.

"more like he's the one creating the trouble." you watched as tommy lit his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke before resuming. "he and his presumed gang sometimes drink beers or smoke cigarettes, torment some younger kids maybe. mr shelby, i understand that he spends a lot of time at the cut, and that ... um, that..." you were suddenly at a loss of words. you didn't want to say it, but that's how you felt it: he had grown up in a similar environment.

thomas smirked, knowing your thoughts. he knew what your mind instinctively told you. but he didn't feel enraged. quite the opposite, your concern seemed genuine, and you looked like a lovely young woman; even if your thoughts were a bit tainted by the reputation that preceeded him, he knew you meant no harm.

he also took a moment to admire how off place you looked there. your clothes were rose golden, which seemed to accentuate the soft aura that surrounded you. even with the dim lights and the greyish ambience of the office, your skin appeared to glimmer.

"i guess i'm okay with whatever he does outside school, that's what i'm trying to say. but as of late, finn and his boys have been taking their businesses around the school area. and that is of my concern. we can not afford to have children intimidated, girls harassed; hell, if a child were to try substances because of your brother and his friends, and the parents found out, we could be- the school could be sued and-"

"miss y/l/n" tommy interrupted your ramble.

"y/n." you corrected, offering a smile. "please, no one calls me miss y/n/l; it would feel weird"

"i see then. y/n" you tried not to feel butterflies tingling on your stomach as your name rolled off his tongue. he smiled as well, more to himself than to you.

"finn is his own man now" tommy continued. "i will talk to him about this, but i can not guarantee that he will do as he is told. truth is, i don't have much power over him now."

he took another drag of the cigarette, eyes finding yours through the smoke.

"what do you mean? i'm sure there's something you can do"

"not really, much to my displeasure. i assure you, y/n, that i will do what i can to correct finn's behaviour at school. he used to want to be like me, y'know? but now he's... he's him. "

"i don't think that's entirely true. you know, one of the only assignments finn turned in this semester was an essay about the person they admired most. not only finn excelled in the task, handing a beautiful composition, well structured and showing a wide range of vocabulary; but the essay was about you, mr shelby. it professed how he wanted nothing but to be like 'his brother tommy'. he truly looks up to you. he still does, mr shelby. so, i think you will succeed at getting him to change his mind."

now it was tommy who seemed to have run out of words, only inhaling from his cigarette. his eyes studied you meticulously. how your eyes fluttered around the room, unable to settle, refusing to meet his; how you clutched your hands in your lap; how your chest rose and fell as you breathed.

“i’ll give it a try, eh?” he finally spoke.

a smile lit your face.

"wonderful. well, thank you for your time, mr shelby", you showed him your appreciation to him listening to you as you stood up.

"tommy"

"what?" you asked, genuinely confused; you thought you hadn't heard correctly.

"if i am to call you y/n, it is only fair for you to call me tommy. i suppose" he stated. though he refused to look directly at you, a smile was tugging at his lips.

"very well, then. thank you for having me this evening, tommy" you offered a tight-lipped smile.

he just gave you a curt nod, taking another drag of the cigarette. you smoothed some wrinkles on your clothes and, after giving him one last grin, you made your way to the door, ready to leave.

"wait" he uttered, his voice low, as if he was rethinking his decision.

you turned to him, hand resting on the frame of the door.

"would you- maybe, consider going for a drink with me?" he hadn't looked at you as he posed the question; but his gaze locked with yours when he was expecting your answer.

you felt heat creep up your neck and cheeks, praying to whoever was listening that he didn't notice.

"only if you stay true to your word, tommy" you responded before heading out, smiling like a fool when you were finally out of sight.

© heartcereql, 2023 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

[vervainandspritz]

could you do a smut where it takes place after season 4, episode one when Tommy murders that butcher, so right after that he’s extremely pissed off and frustrated so he goes to the bedroom where reader is sleeping in the dark and he wants to let out his stress so he fucks reader roughly while still covered in all that blood it turns reader on a lot and Tommy’s very degrading with his words:)?

WHAT YOU'RE MADE FOR

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: death, angst, violence, angry sex, degradation, smut

A/N: Y'all better start sending requests istg

~~

It felt almost deranged, as Thomas stared in the almost dead man's eyes. Life leaving his irises, lungs choking on blood while trying to take a breath. One so desperately needed. His mouth wide open, pathetically attempting to inhale some oxygen which was already impossible. Last blinks, last moves before he fell to the floor, dirtying everything around and... Leaving the meat raw on the table.

Thomas looked around, only now noticing the state he was in. Covered in blood, almost head to toe. His expensive vest and suit pants absolutely drenched, not to mention the shirt. Letting out a sharp breath, he dropped the sharp tool to the floor, making his way out of the kitchen.

He had so much to do before Christmas. Since the cook died, he needed a new one. Tommy had to call around, find someone last minute and pay extra for cleaning and keeping silent about whereabouts in the Arrow house. So much to do, yet he could barely think with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, making his heart thump and his hands shake.

Normally he would take opium to make it better, but Thomas was well too aware of his wife's reaction to the drug. She hated when he was under influence.

Huffing angrily under his nose he thought of an alternative, and frustration grew as he thought about how difficult Y/N has to make it by arguing. Always arguing. Forcing him to eat better, to take care of himself. So damn loud and opinionated. Throwing back a glass of whiskey, his eyes landed on the staircase and the idea suddenly appeared in his head.

Without missing a beat he made his way up the stairs, leaving bloody marks on the handrail and expensive wood. Quickly walking through the corridor he barged through the door, his precious wife laying on the bed, beautiful as ever. Her white gown hunched up slightly higher than usual, revealing her creamy thighs and reminding him of the lack of underwear.

Standing there, simply staring Thomas felt his pants becoming tighter, all blood going south, exactly where he needed it. Quickly unbuckling his belt and pants he walked over, leaning forward he cooed quietly seeing her peaceful face.

His hand traced her cheek lightly, leaving a bloody mark that made his teeth clench. Deep, crimson red colour in such a stark contrast with the innocent face and white gown of hers. Without waking her up, he quickly pulled her to the edge of the bed by her legs, startling her awake.

"T–Tommy?" She mumbled, eyes barely open as he flipped her on her stomach with a growl. Adrenaline buzzed in his ears as he pawed on her skin, leaving mark after mark from the blood he had on. After a moment she lifted her head, looking back and seeing him completely red, which caused her to squeak in fear. "Thomas, wh–" but he cut her off, pulling his cock out and shoving her legs apart, spitting on her pussy to use as a lube.

"Shut up!" He hissed, climbing onto the bed and straddling her thighs. "I kept you safe. I've fulfilled my duty, and kept you safe!" He hissed into her ear, grabbing a handful of hair, nudging her entrance with the tip of his cock.

A loud moan caused by the sudden stretch and pain filled the air as he slammed himself to the hilt, not able to wait any longer. His hand immediately covered her mouth, two fingers shoved into her mouth to keep her quiet. "The least you can do is fucking take it" He growled into her ear, thrusting impatiently into her tight heat, feeling the wetness pooling from her entrance at his rough manhandling. "That's what you're fucking made for!" She moaned loudly, feeling the bitter metallic taste on his fingers, filling her mouth and making it hard to breathe which made her keep squirming.

Thomas laid himself over her, fucking her from the back, putting his complete weight on top of her.

"You feel it? The fucking taste?" He growled, pulling her hair with another hand. "It's a taste of your safety." His voice was different, clearly because of the chaotic situation he's been through just a couple minutes earlier. Y/N had no idea what was turning her on so much, whether it was the danger to this whole situation, or maybe him fucking her so roughly. "Answer me!" He roared, plunging even deeper than before, his tip kissing her cervix really hard, causing her to nod frantically. "Some cock and you're already too fucking dumb to speak, eh? Good thing your cunt 's always wet then" He added, cruelly almost, knowing how much she loved being degraded. "Nothing more needed to be my precious little fuckhole" He purred, picking up his pace, fucking her faster and harder. Whimper after whimper leaving her lips before he pulled his fingers out of her mouth and wrapped them around her throat.

"Shhhh" He cooed, "You don't want to wake up the kids, do you?" He emphasized the last two words with painful deep thrusts, making her feel like he was already in her belly.

"Tommy" She managed to stutter out, holding onto his hand which was squeezing her pretty hard, cutting off the blood flow and causing her eyesight to go blurry.

"I feel you squeezing my fucking cock. You like that, eh? Being fucked, covered in blood and treated like a cheap whore." He groaned by her ear, the free hand reaching underneath to pinch her clit and rub brutal circles, causing her to cry out weakly. "Nasty fucking cunt" He purred as she came around him so hard, before completely going limp on top of her. Pressing her into the mattress as his thrusts grew frantic, deeper and slower while her cunt milked him for all he had.

Only then did he let go of her throat, slowly threading his fingers through her hair, as they both tried to catch their breaths.

Tommy lifted his head up, seeing her so beautifully fucked out and smiled. Kissing the side of her face, he murmured.

"We need a cleaning service in the kitchen... and a new cook."

[red-riding-wood]

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly. 

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined. 

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.   

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room. 

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I �� I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @minaethrym

[mssorceressupreme]

Hi! I absolutely adore your writing (also going through a maze runner hyper fixation🤭).

Would you be able to do a fic where reader was thought to have died when they originally escaped the maze but reader got out with Gally. Then Minho and reader reunite when they see Gally again (if this makes any sense).

Thank you!! 🫶🏻

hiii aw thank you love that means a lot 💓💓 omg yesss this is such a lovely prompt!! I love reunions lol especially when one s/o was thought to be dead 😝

——

Into Your Arms

Pairing: Minho x Reader

Summary: the gladers thought you were dead (you were shot instead of chuck), but what happens when you’re reunited at last. Your bond with Minho proves unbreakable as you face the future together.

Warnings: mild violence, mentions of bullet scars

——

You sat in the dimly lit room of your shared safe house in the Last City, your fingers tracing an old scar on your stomach.

It was a constant reminder of the day you had narrowly escaped death, a brutal memento left by a bullet from Gally, who wasn’t in the best state of mind a year back.

The pain of that moment, both physical and emotional, had nearly broken you. Yet, here you were, alive and determined, haunted by thoughts of your friends from the glade. Every night, you wondered if they had survived, if they were out there somewhere, fighting the same fight. If Minho was doing alright.

The last memory you had of your boyfriend was him shedding tears as he cradled you in his arms, before you passed out from the loss of blood. That was when they presumed you were dead. Everything after that was a blur, well, until Lawrence and his crew rescued you and Gally.

A knock on the door broke your reverie. Gally stepped in, his expression serious but tinged with something else—hope. “We spotted something, or rather, some people, and we’re bringing them in soon. You might want to be there when we arrive back.” What did he mean by that?

Though Gally was the person who gave you that scar, you forgave him for it. The both of you looked past that and decided to start fresh when Lawrence brought the two of you to his army. Gally even became a brother figure to you, constantly on the lookout to keep you safe.

Moments later, they returned.

Your heart pounded as you waited for their vans to reveal the mystery guests inside.

No shucking way.

The sight that greeted you made you gasp. As soon as the doors slid open, familiar faces emerged. Your gladers. Thomas, Newt, Frypan—they were all here. Relief and joy surged through you, but a sharp pang of anxiety struck you when you didn’t see Minho.

You stood there blending in with the crowd, not knowing what to say or do.

“Hey Greenie.” Gally greeted Thomas, to which he replied by striking Gally’s jaw. Gasps were heard and our soldiers cocked their guns, aiming at Thomas.

“Woah woah woah—stop, stop!” Newt rushed to the front, preventing Thomas from striking Gally once more.

“He killed Y/N…” Thomas spat, “do you have any idea what that did to Minho!”

“I know, I remember. I was there…but I also remember that he was stung and out of his mind.” Newt defended Gally, hoping to calm Thomas down before a fight escalated.

“I’m actually right here...” You said aloud, pushing past the crowd and making your way to the front. You slowly helped Gally up and stood face-to-face with your fellow gladers.

“Y/N??” They gasped in unison. Thomas and Newt rushed to hug you, Fry followed not long after.

“It’s so good to see you again.” Thomas softly said, squeezing you, “He would be elated to know.” You immediately knew who he was referring to. But where was he?

“H-how?! How is this possible? We watched you die. Both of you.” Newt questioned, glancing from Gally to you.

“No, you left us to die.” Gally retorted, “We were lucky Lawrence found us when he did, if not Y/N wouldn’t have made it.”

“What’re you guys doing here anyway?” You inquired, “and where’s—” Before you even finished your question, Newt read your mind.

“Minho. WCKD has him here, we’re looking for a way in.”

Your heart sank, he was here the whole time and you didn’t know?! “Let’s get him then! Gally?”

Gally nodded, “I can help with that. Follow me.”

——

The hours that followed were a blur of planning and preparation. You donned WCKD soldier suits, your faces hidden behind masks. Each step you guys took inside the compound was a step closer to Minho, but also a step deeper into danger.

The tension was thick enough to cut through it with a knife, every sound amplified, every shadow a potential threat.

As you fought your way through the facility, the adrenaline was mixed with fear. You were fighting to save someone you thought you’d lost forever.

“We’ll wait here.” Gally and you waited outside a tall modern building, WCKD’s headquarters, squatting behind a large pillar.

“Are you sure they’re doing alright inside? Shouldn’t we go in to help them?” I demanded, “I need to know that Minho and the others are safe.”

“Trust me, they’ll find a way out of that building.” As though Gally had predicted the future, a glass window on one of the higher floors smashed, and out jumped three figures.

“That’s our cue!” Gally hastened, both of you got in position and followed the other “WCKD soldiers” as they approached the trio.

“Freeze! Put your hands in the air!” One of them commanded pointing guns at your boys, “Uh uh uh!” He continued, when Thomas reached for the gun in his leg strap.

Gally and you acted quickly, shooting them, one by one the soldiers passed out.

The trio stood there dumbfounded, and finally sighed with relief when Gally revealed his mask first.

“Gally?” Minho’s jaw dropped.

“Minho.”

You followed, revealing yourself next.

Minho froze, eyeing you up and down. He shook his head, tears welled up in his eyes, “Y/N?….”

You nodded, wasting no time running up to him and embracing him. “Minho!” You breathed, your eyes filling with tears, body trembling with relief and emotion.

He held you tightly, his breath ragged in your ear, “You’re alive…?!?” He whispered, disbelief and relief mingling in his voice, “All this time…baby, I thought you were dead.“

You pulled back slightly, tears streaming down your face, and punched him playfully on the shoulder, “You were here all this time, and I didn’t know?”

Minho’s eyes were wide with emotion, his voice cracking. “I thought I lost you forever when you got shot in the glade…by him,” He glared at Gally but couldn’t find a reason to be angry now that you were alive, “I mourned you every day.”

Your heart broke at the raw pain in his voice. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m here now, Minho. I’m here.”

He hugged you again, tighter this time, as if afraid you might disappear. “Gally took me under his wing,” you explained softly, feeling Minho tense at the mention of Gally.

Minho’s eyes flickered over to Gally, anger flaring briefly, “You shot her,” he said, his voice hard.

Gally raised his hands defensively, “I was stung and truly didn’t mean to—”

“Thank you.” Minho’s responsed baffled Gally, he was sincere, “Thank you for taking care of her.” Once Minho saw that you were safe and well, forgiving Gally was easier.

Minho’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had flared. He sighed, his shoulders relaxing, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He said, looking back at you, “that’s all that matters now.”

——

Timeskip to Safe Haven (and Newt survives cause I want him too 😩):

After the festivities of celebrating your first day at the safe haven, Minho guided you to a quiet corner, his eyes never leaving you while the others continued socialising.

“Let me see your wound,” he said gently.

You lifted your shirt slightly, revealing an old scar. Minho’s fingers traced the mark, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I never should’ve left you at the glade,” he whispered, “I should’ve protected you then.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you replied, placing your hand over his, “none of us could have known what would happen.”

He looked up at you, his eyes wet with unshed tears, “When I thought I lost you, I didn’t know how to go on.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” you gently replied, “We’re together now. We’ll face whatever comes next, together.”

He pulled you into his arms, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For the first time in what felt like eternity, you felt a sense of peace. The nightmares of your separation were over, and you had been given a second chance.

As the night wore on, you talked with Minho, your words a balm for your wounded souls. The two of you shared everything—what you had endured, the fears you faced, and the hope that had kept you going. Each word, each touch, strengthened the bond between you.

The sun began to disappear into the horizon of the sea tinting the sky a beautiful shade of orange, purple and pink.

That was when Minho finally spoke the words you had longed to hear. “I love you,” he said, voice raw with emotion. “I never stopped.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your heart swelling with joy. “I always have.”

You held each other close, the horrors of the past fading in the light of your reunion. You had found each other again, and together, you were ready to face whatever the future held.

[queenshelby]

Auctioned (P. 1)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

The rain fell relentlessly, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of Y/N's heart as she walked down the dimly lit streets of Small Heath.

It was a neighbourhood perpetually caught in the grip of shadows, where whispers of danger cascaded through the air like an ominous secret.

Clutching her coat tighter around her trembling form, Y/N navigated the labyrinthine alleyways towards her destination. The wind howled, carrying with it a sense of desperation that seemed to echo her own.

After mere minutes of walking down the street, the brothel she had worked at as a waitress for the past two years stood ominously before her, its ornate facade a stark contrast to the gritty reality of its surroundings.

It was a daunting place she had visited many times before. Both of her sisters worked there, and it was Y/N's eldest sister who had orchestrated tonight’s ordeal.

When Y/N was only sixteen years old, her eldest sister told her not to give away her innocence lightly as, according to her, a woman’s virginity was a commodity these days. Men were willing to pay much money for it, and six months after Y/N turned eighteen, she decided to partake in one of the brothel’s first-ever auctions.

“There are many men here tonight and you are the only virgin” Y/N's sister told her, causing Y/N to cringe but remain silent. “In three months’ time Em, we will be debt-free” her sister then reassured her as rumors of illicit dealings and forbidden desires swirled around the brothel’s walls, warning Y/N and the two other girls partaking in tonight’s events to tread with caution.

Y/N's determination propelled her forward though nonetheless, into the grand hall of the establishment and, albeit with trepidation lingering in every step, she pushed through her anxiety. The weight of her decision bore down on her shoulders now, the knowledge that she had offered her innocence for sale causing a knot of guilt to form in the pit of her stomach.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, the creaking sound reverberated through the room, capturing the attention of its mysterious clientele, including men that were twice and three times Y/N's age.

Seeing them, gave Y/N second thoughts. She disappeared again into the back of the room, telling her sister that she was unsure as to whether she could go through with this and, once again, her sister reminded her of what was to come if she did not.

“Trust me Em, it is better to fuck one guy for a few months than a ton of them for years. You will have money once your time is up. It will be worth it” her sister told Y/N, who reluctantly nodded.

The deal was to give up her virginity and three months of her life to the highest bidder and in the brothel’s owner’s opinion, such offering was going to attract a bid of at least one-thousand pounds.

One thousand pounds was more than Y/N could make in five years, thus she agreed, setting herself up for a good life of her own.

***

Glancing through one of the open doors again, Y/N saw that the auction room was illuminated by dim candlelight, casting elongated shadows across the velvety red curtains that framed the stage.

Many men were still arriving, taking their seats and talking with each other. Y/N could count at least fifteen thus far and were astonished by the fact that all these wealthy men were prepared to pay for her inexperience.

Then, a hushed silence fell over the crowd as another man walked in and it was your sister who peaked through the crack in the door with you now, trying to ascertain what was happened.

“Oh shit” she said as she looked at the man who just walked in. His sharp features were framed by a weave of dark hair, blue eyes piercing the dimly lit room with a predatory intensity. This was Thomas Shelby - a figure whispered about in hushed tones, notorious for his criminal empire, and feared even by those who claimed to know him.

“Who is he?” Y/N asked nonetheless, curious about this handsome but intimidating-looking stranger.

“His name is Thomas Shelby. You would have heard of him?” Y/N's sister said, causing Y/N's chin to drop as, just like everyone else, she had indeed heard of him. He was often referred to as the king of Birmingham, a man whose name had become entwined with notions of danger and darkness. He had blood on his hands and was a career

Criminal who was so powerful that even the police did not stand in his way.

“It is time, come on” the owner of the establishment then said and, with trembling legs, Y/N walked into the room, accompanied by her sister.

All heads turned as Y/N's presence filled the room, but she did not take notice of anyone but him, secretly hoping for this stranger to make a bid.

Y/N's breath hitched as, within seconds, her eyes locked with those of this dangerous man, his icy blue orbs penetrating through her like a shard of glass. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he could see every secret she held close to her chest, every fear she carried.

Thomas smirked at her, his lips curling with a dangerous mixture of arrogance and charm. He adjusted his tailored suit with the precision of a man who commanded respect, his piercing gaze locked upon the platform where the auctioneer eventually prepared to begin, with you by his side,

The auctioneer's voice boomed through the room, shattering the silence like a crack of thunder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we present to you a rare opportunity. Up for sale to the highest bidder is this young woman's innocence and her services for three months, at a location of your choosing” the man announced and, immediately, whispers raced through the air, mingling with the pounding of hearts.

Eyes flickered from Y/N to Thomas and back again, playing a silent game of anticipation and curiosity. Y/N's cheeks burned with a mix of nervousness and defiance. This was her choice, her chance to take control of her own destiny and yet she hoped that, at least, someone she could be attracted to would become her bidder.

As such, Thomas Shelby was clearly the most attractive and intriguing man in the room and, whilst Y/N had heard tales of Thomas Shelby, the man who straddled the line between the law and the underworld, she was not afraid.

Thomas Shelby’s notoriety preceded him like a shadowy myth and, again, his lips curled into a barely perceptible smirk, his features a carefully crafted mask of unreadable intent. The flicker of amusement in his eyes danced with a darkness that weakened Y/N's knees.

Was here to bid, she wondered? Or was he for the show and the sheer absurdity of it all?

"Let us not waste any time," the auctioneer then continued, his voice dripping with a blend of excitement and intrigue.

"Bidding for Miss Y/N begins at five hundred pounds" the actioneer then announced and the crowd stirred, pockets of murmurs rising like a symphony of anticipation. The forbidden allure of Y/N's offer had captivated them all, and now they were hungry for the chase.

Thomas Shelby remained a silent observer, however. His eyes locked onto Y/N's form with an intensity that made her feel exposed. A shiver of uncertainty crawled up her spine, but she refused to falter. She had made her decision, and she would see it through to the end.

Then, the first bid pierced the air, followed swiftly by another and another. The numbers climbed higher, the desperation of the bidders mirrored in their furious gestures and sharp intakes of breath. From her vantage point on the stage, Y/N watched the faces blur together, a sea of greedy desire stretching out before her like a treacherous ocean.

Among the throng of potential purchasers, only one stood out to her still and this was Thomas Shelby. His eyes were unwavering and fixed upon her. Bids soared into the thousands, the clambering voices echoing through the rafters. In this room of twisted desires and hidden intentions, Y/N's worth was being calculated, her innocence commodified.

A sense of nausea swirled within Y/N's gut, the weight of what she was about to lose hitting her like a sucker punch. She knew the money would bring temporary relief, but the cost of her first time being handed over so coldly – it was a sacrifice she could never fully comprehend.

Biting her bottom lip, Y/N steadied herself, her gaze finding solace in the not-so-innocent eyes of Thomas Shelby across the room. She had set this chain of events in motion, and she would have to live with the consequences, whatever they may be. At last, the bidding war reached its peak, the crowd growing restless, each participant desperate to claim the illustrious prize. The air crackled with anticipation, a storm waiting to unleash its fury.

The auctioneer, sensing the crescendo, roared, "Going once, going twice..." The tension in the room reached a fever pitch, every person holding their breath, their gaze transfixed on the stage. And then, in an instant, Thomas Shelby's voice, low and commanding, cut through the silence like a knife.

"Ten thousand pounds" he said and the room gasped, a collective intake of breath that snaked its way through the assembled throng.

Thomas's bid was a declaration, a statement that he alone was the one who would possess her at a price that was much higher than any other bid before.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, her pulse reverberating in her temples. She locked eyes with Thomas, her voice trembling as she promised herself that she would not crumble beneath his intimidating presence even though he wanted her to, by simply looking at her.

"Sold to Thomas Shelby for ten thousand pounds!" the auctioneer's proclamation hung in the air, sealing Y/N's fate like a binding contract.

A mixture of relief and trepidation surged through her veins, her steps faltering as she descended from the stage, her composure teetering on the edge. Thomas approached her with a measured stride, his every move calculated and deliberate. He extended a gloved hand towards her, a pale contrast against the darkness that seemed to radiate from him.

"Y/N, is it?" he asked, his voice a low timbre that held a hidden power, causing in Y/N to nod silently.

"It appears you now belong to me" he then asserted and Y/N paused for a moment, feeling herself teetering on the precipice between freedom and captivity.

“It seems so” Y/N responded as she chose to swallow her fear and accepted his hand, their fingers intertwining in a pact that neither of them fully comprehended.

“Very well then” Thomas responded before he pulled her closer and Y/N felt the weight of his reputation settle upon her shoulders. The echoes of his criminal empire whispered around her, the unknown dangers lurking beneath the surface of this enigmatic man.

With every guiding step, Thomas led her out of the brothel and into the night, the rain washing away the remnants of her former life. The world around her seemed to fade into insignificance, her focus solely on the ruthless man who had claimed her as his own.

***

Eventually, they emerged onto the dark streets of Small Heath, the rain obscuring their silhouettes as they walked side by side. Y/N's nerves danced with a mix of apprehension and curiosity, her mind frantically searching for answers to the questions that suddenly enveloped her.

"You've heard of me, eh. So you know what I do?" Thomas stated, his voice cutting through the raindrops like a razor and Y/N hesitated to answer for a moment, her words momentarily catching in her throat.

"Yes. I have heard that you are dangerous," she finally admitted, the honesty laced with a touch of fear. A hint of a smile danced across Thomas's lips, his eyes narrowing with a blend of amusement and something darker.

"Dangerous, eh?” he chuckled. “Well, I suppose that is not entirely wrong. Although, one might argue that danger can be seductive” Thomas then asserted and Y/N absorbed his words, feeling a shiver run down her spine. She couldn't deny the magnetic pull she felt towards this enigmatic criminal, as if some inexplicable force drew them together despite the odds stacked against them.

"Why me?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breathy plea. The question hung in the air, mingling with the quiet patter of raindrops on the pavement. Thomas stopped abruptly, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. His gaze bore into her, stripping away any pretence that either of them wore.

"Because I saw something in you that intrigued me. Despite, what kind of criminal would not want someone as innocent as you to corrupt, eh?" Thomas joked as the rain continued its relentless assault, washing away the remnants of Y/N's innocence and revealing a strength that had long lain dormant within her.

This journey was not just about the loss of her virginity – it was an awakening, a test of her own resilience. The intoxicating mix of danger, attraction, and the unknown propelled Y/N forward, her heart pounding in her chest like a wild creature. She had embarked on a journey into darkness, and she was determined to emerge on the other side, transformed.

[yespleasetommyshelby]

Before he cheats - Modern Tommy Shelby x reader

I've had this song stuck in my head for days and it's gotta go 😩 This literally took me all of 2 hours to plan/write/post and it hasn't been proofread so bare with!

Enjoy! 🥰

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"56, 57, 58, 59, 60, that's it, I'm done." I huffed as i threw my phone onto the sofa besides me, frown on my face as I sighed. "That's two fucking hours!" I muttered to myself stamping my feet into my trainers I threw my coat on before picking up my phone on some final hope that I'd actually had a reply, but low and behold, obviously not.

"Fucking Thomas Shelby always thinking with his mother fucking dick." I continued to mutter under my breath as I left my home on Watery Lane slamming the door behind me, my chest burning in anger. Stepping out onto the path I shoved my hands into my coat pockets, fists clenched as I headed the short distance down the road to the house where I'd practically grown up.

"Watch where you're fucking going!" I screeched as a teenager flew past on his bike almost knocking me into the road. "Fucking males and their fucking shit." I continued to slate each and every male that came into view in the 2 minutes it took to get to my destination, 'men are all the bloody same' my mum used to say, 'honestly, get yourself a women, their much easier.' Looking back maybe I should've taken her advice.

"Where is he?" I asked as I pushed open the doors to the betting shop that sat in Watery Lane, the punters and staff going silent as I watched with my hands on my hips. "Oh come on, you know exactly who I'm talking about!" I all but yelled into the silent room, after being with Tommy for 2 years now I had almost as much authority as him, almost.

"Y/n, not here." Polly's voice had my head on a swivel, finally spotting her in the doorway to John's office I stormed over ignoring the looks I was getting from everyone.

"Where is he Pol?" I sighed as I flopped down into Johns office chair. "And why are you in here?" I asked noticing that John wasn't in his own office.

"He's disappeared with Esme somewhere, honestly these Shelby boys and their dicks are ridiculous." She mumbled, lighting the cigarette she held in her hand.

"Tell me about it." I sighed, knowing that if Tommy wasn't in the office he was only going to be in one other place. "He's at the Garrison then." I asked, watching as she froze slightly before shaking her head.

"I think so, yeah, what's he done this time?" She sighed as she rubbed her eyes, having dealt with nothing but pissed up (and off) men and women placing bets they can't afford all morning, dealing with her nephews love life was definitely not on her to do list.

"Nothing Pol, he's done nothing which is the fucking problem! He was supposed to meet me 2 hours ago and I haven't heard anything since a lousy morning text all because he's too busy with that fucking whore Grace!" I ranted, reaching out and taking one of her cigarettes before lighting it and slamming the lighter down on the desk. "You know what I'm done." My voice sounded much more convinced then my mind as I said the words.

Shaking my head I stood up in a flash, out of Johns office and into Tommys within a second, without looking I reached behind Tommys desk and picked up the baseball bat that I knew he kept there in case of emergency's. Pushing my way past Polly who was stood in the doorway I made my way through the punters and out into the street without a second look, the bat weighing heavy in my hand.

"Y/n! What are you doing?!" Pol's voice follows me out into the street. "Come back inside!" She yelled, passers by stopping to look at the scenes, before a sharp look from Pol had them walking on.

"Woah! What's going on here?" I was stopped in my tracks as Arthur, John and Esme appeared from the corner ahead of me, grins on their faces as they looked from the bat in my hand to the scowl on my face.

"Looks to me that she's off to play baseball." John laughed, his input met with a thud on his chest by his wife.

"Would you two idiots shut up already." She giggled slightly as she pushed her husband into his older brother. "Now what's up with the bat?" She asked, smirking slightly as she had a feeling she knew exactly where you was going, after sitting on the phone for an hour the last time Tommy pissed you off she knew not to get in the way.

"Like John boy said." I shrugged, my hold on the bat tightening ever so slightly. "I'm going to practice baseball with a nice new shiny Land Rover I saw parked outside of the Garrison." I grinned before pushing my way through the trio and continuing on my way.

I couldn't help but let out a loud laugh as the Garrison came into view and just as I had predicted there was brand new Land Rover sat outside its doors. The brand new Land Rover that only 3 days ago I had travelled up to Scotland to collect with Tommy, not knowing that it would be the last journey I'd take with both him and the car.

"Y/n come on back to the shop love, we'll sort this shit out." Polly pleaded once more making me stop in my tracks, the Shelby's had been like a family to me, even in the years before me and Tommy had officially gotten together, being friends with Ada and all.

"I'm sorry Pol." I sighed shaking my head as I turned to face her and the trio that had followed behind. "But right now, right now he's probably slow dancing with that bleach blonde tramp and she's probably getting frisky. Right now he's probably buying her some fruity little drink 'cause she can't shoot whisky." I laughed a little, knowing for a fact that she couldn't handle the drink that Thomas Shelby worships so much. "Right now he's probably up behind her with a pool stick showing her how to shoot a combo, but he don't know." I laughed as I reached into my pocket and pulled out my keys, my hand wrapping around the longest and sharpest of them all, ironically the spare key Tommy had given me for this exact car.

I could help but grin as I stuck my key through the shiny black metal of the drivers door, the small act creating some kind of pleasure, a pleasure that only increased as I walked my way down the car, the key dragging a horribly crooked line right down the side.

"Right that's enough now! Cut this shit out!" Polly yelled, her eyes flickering between her nephews burnt lover and the door which he could come through at any second. "Think about what you're doing y/n." She almost pleaded, or at least as close as I'd ever seen her.

Ignoring her I made my way round to the passengers side, the metal bat dragging across the floor being the only sound to be heard, except for the muffled giggles that the other two Shelby brothers struggled to keep back. A wave of emotion hit me as I climbed into the car, a lone tear slipping down my cheek which I quickly wiped away.

"He doesn't deserve it." I muttered to myself as I quickly wiped it away without a second thought. "Fuck him and all the whores he's had in this fucking car." I growled gripping my keys as I began to carve my name into the leather seat.

"What the fuck is going on right now?!" My head snapped up as I heard another voice, Ada having stumbled upon my little rage room experiment, shall we call it.

"Ada! Nice of you to join us, i'll tell you what's going on shall I?" I asked as I hopped down from the car swing the bat up over my shoulder as I waved over to her. "Right now, your brother, you know the one that I'm supposedly engaged to, is in there living it up with that Irish tart of a woman!" I yelled, using the bat to point towards the door, not caring how loud my voice had gotten. "Right now she's probably up singing some white trash version of Shania karaoke, right now she's probably saying 'I'm drunk' and he's thinking that he's gunna get lucky! Right now, he's probably dapping on three quids worth of that bathroom polo!" I screamed, the more thought I put into what was actually going on just inside fuelling the rage even more.

I let out a gut wrenching scream as I swung the bat into his headlight, once, twice, three times moving on to the next I swung again laughing as the glass crashed to the floor before swing it into the windscreen for good measure. Throwing the bat to the floor I put my hands on my hips and grinned as I looked at the mess that was Tommy Shelby's new car before making my way over to Arthur.

"I need your knife." Holding my hand out infront of him. "Please Arthur." I sighed knowing that he always carried one no matter where he went.

With a sigh and grin he reached into his pocket and placed the small switch blade into my hand.

"Seriously Arthur?! Why the fucking hell did you give her a knife?!" Polly yelled as she threw her arms up in frustration, knowing that if anyone was going to be killed for this it wasn't going to be her.

"She asked nicely Pol." He shrugged, loving the fact that his brother was about to have the surprise of a lifetime and all he had to do was sit and watch.

Sticking the knife into the front tyre I smirked as the hiss of air filled the air, walking round and putting a knife slash in all of the tires for good measure, I stood back with a grin laughing at the look of amusement over the 3 Shelby siblings faces, the smirk on Esme's and the fed up look Polly had been giving me for the last 10 years.

"What the fucking hell is going on?!" The man of the hour roared as he stepped out onto the street, the pub doors banging against the walls before Grace appeared behind him, eyes cast down. "Answer me!" He bellowed, the vein in his neck popping with each syllable.

"Hi Tommy, remember me?" I asked sarcastically making his eyes jump to me, his face dropping ever so slightly. "You know, the fiance that you used to have!" I stepped forwards as I spoke shoving him back slightly, knowing if it was anyone else they would have recieved a bullet to the head, but I knew he'd never lay a hand on me.

"Y/n? I thought we were meeting later?" He asked, brows furrowed in confusion as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, the numerous texts and missed calls flashing on the screen and the time that read two and a half hours after the planned meeting time. "Oh." He muttered, wiping his hand across his face. "What have you done?" He asked as his eyes trailed along the nice long line that now travels the length of his new car.

"Yeah, oh." I nodded, laughing slightly as Grace stepped out besides him. "I suppose you missed the show while you were in there with ol' Gracie here. But I'll give you a rundown shall I? Well I dug my key into the side of your pretty little souped up four wheel drive, carved my name into your leather seats. I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights and slashed a hole in all four tires, maybe next time you'll think before you cheat." I couldn't help the tears that fell next, the adrenaline slowing and my whole body began to ache, the end of an era, me and the Shelby's.

"Y/n-" "No." I cut him off, not wanting to listen to any kind of reasoning he would throw at me, anything to get him back in the good book. "I might've saved a little trouble for the next girl, because the next time that you cheat, oh you know it won't be on me, no, not on me." I wiped my eyes before pulling of the ring that he had given me 6 months ago. "Guess I'll give it to you aye, Gracie." I muttered, throwing the ring at her feet before turning to walk away.

"Y/n!" His voice reached my ears just as I'd passed Polly, Arthur, John, Esme and Ada. "Y/n please!"

"Bye Tom!" I yelled without turning back, keeping my head up I shoved my hands into my pockets and carried on, not giving them the chance to see the tears that were currently streaming down my face.

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There you have it! My first fic where they don't end up happily ever after, hopefully you enjoyed!

Feel free to send any requests! 💖

[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.”

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-03-05

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

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

❆ Christmas at Allerdale Hall by sserpente • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Imagine spending Christmas with Thomas Sharpe at Allerdale Hall, while the Baronet is determined to make the holiday special for you, Lucille cannot be more cross with [you for celebrating the holidays]."

❆ Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas by just-the-hiddles • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Your sister and children have come for the holidays to Allerdale Hall but all is not merry and bright."

❆ London Blizzard by sserpente • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Imagine getting stuck in [London due to] a blizzard with Thomas Sharpe over Christmas."

❆ A Special Present by ladyfluff • 〔C〕 • ♡ • 𑁍 •

❆ Chilly by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

❆ Darling, You Shouldn't Have by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

❆ Mistletoe Kiss by sserpente • 〔F〕 •

❆ Snow Day by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

See Also: Navigation || Thomas Sharpe Master Index

Authors: @just-the-hiddles || @ladyfluff || @sserpente ||

[lulubelle814]

In Every Life - Part 1

Summary: Two souls destined for each other, but life has other plans. Will they find each other and have their happy ending?

In Every Life

Masterlist

It was late September of 1883 when they met.  Some would call it kismet.  Others destiny.  The miserable ones would call it coincidence. He needed to go into London for a few weeks to work on some business prospects and handle some estate matters with his lawyer.  Lucille stayed back as she did not care to leave home but was not happy to be without her brother for so long. 

Josephine and her mother were on their way to the hospital when she had a sudden dizzy spell, causing her to fall to the street but found herself saved by a beautiful stranger, rescuing her from being hit by a carriage riding too close to the sidewalk.

"Are you alright?" her mother inquired.

"I'm alright mother, thanks to this kind gentleman." She was shy and blushing, unbelieving that she made a fool of herself in front of this handsome man. 

Her mother looked at him, thanking him profusely. "You may have saved her life, mister…."

"Sharpe, Thomas Sharpe, baronet, madame."

"Thank you so very much, Lord Sharpe. I am Victoria Morrow, and this is my daughter, Josephine. How can I ever repay you?"

His words failed him as he locked eyes with Josephine. In that moment, he felt as if there was something linking his heart to hers.  His heart, nay his soul, screamed to not let this beguiling creature to depart from him.  

Unbeknownst to him, Josephine was similarly affected. 

He responded to her mother without looking away from Josephine.  "There is no need, madame. I am more than happy to assist."  Josephine smiled at him causing his heart to skip with joy.  "If it is not too forward, might you be available for dinner this evening Ms. Josephine?" He held his breath, praying she would accept his offer. 

The way her name rolled off his tongue could soothe an angry lion, and she would do anything to hear him say it again.  Looking at her mother for approval before answering, she said, "I would love that." They let him know where they were staying, advising he would pick her up at 7 pm.

That evening, he arrived promptly on time, having arranged a carriage to drive them to a nice restaurant he knew nearby. His breath escaped him as she descended the stairs, thinking her to be an angel descended from the heavens in a beautiful dark blue dress.  “You look breathtaking.”

Josephine found her heart beating so loud thinking he must be able to hear it.  Blushing, she reminded herself to breathe before taking his arm.  “Thank you Lord Sharpe.”

“Thomas, please.”  He wanted nothing more than to run away with her to some far off place or at least back to his home.  

She nodded.  “Thomas.  You look very dapper yourself.”

She scolded herself.  ‘Dapper?  That’s the best you can come up with?’

“Shall we?”  He held out his arm which she took.  He aimed towards the door, and she followed him, a willing captive.  When entering the carriage, it took all his strength to tell the driver to take them to the restaurant rather than what his head and heart were telling him.

At dinner, they exchanged stories. He told her the joke about why his estate is called Crimson Peak.

"That sounds extraordinary."

"It is fascinating but sometimes also a bit macabre when someone walks around and leaves what looks like bloody footprints."

"That must be a sight to behold. Oh how I wish I could see that." She froze. She had not meant to be so bold and admit that last part, but he simply smiled and said, "I would love for you to see it. You are most welcome to come observe the sight any time you wish."

She felt a bit relieved. They continued to talk and walked leisurely back to her hotel as they did not want the night to end. 

"I would very much like to see you again tomorrow, if that is alright?"  He didn't want to let her go, yearning to whisk her back to Allerdale as his. 

"I would like that as well. My mother and I have an appointment, but we should be back by 1."

"1 o'clock it is. I look forward to it." He smiled, taking her hand in his and placed a kiss across her knuckles before departing. 

Arriving at her room, she found her mother was pulling out the metallic syringe and an opaque bottle of liquid. "Did you have fun?"

She smiled and nodded. "He's wonderful and incredibly kind. He has asked to see me again tomorrow when we get back.”

"I see no problem with that at all, my dearest daughter, but it’s time for your medicine."

Josephine was not a fan of needles, but her mother insisted it would help with her deteriorating health.

When she awoke the next day, the front desk brought flowers that had been delivered early that morning. 

My Dearest Josephine,

These flowers pale in comparison to your beauty. I very much look forward to seeing you again today. 

Sir Thomas Sharpe

She placed them by her bedside, smiling like a loon. Her left hand began to shake and held it with her right to help control the tremors.

The visit at the hospital took longer than anticipated as they wanted to run a few tests to get a diagnosis as they felt they were close. By the time they arrived back at their hotel, it was half past 1.

Thomas waited patiently in the lobby. He had not been to the hospital much but knew appointments of any nature could run longer than expected.  When she arrived flustered, he tried to give an air of calm and understanding. 

"I'm so sorry."

"It's quite alright. No need to explain. If you need to take a moment to freshen up, I am happy to wait."

Josephine appreciated his offer and went up to her room to fix herself quickly and was back down ten minutes later. She was sure to wear a dress with a larger skirt to help hide the tremors in her legs that were becoming more frequent.

He took her to a shop that prepared a picnic basket for them which they took to a nearby park. He laid everything out on the blanket, and they spent the afternoon enjoying each other's company, talking about various things such as nature, science, hopes, dreams.  Before they knew it, evening fell upon them, the picnic food gone hours before. 

"Would you like me to escort you back to your hotel?"

She felt a pang of disappointment, not wanting to leave just yet. As if he could read her mind, "or, perhaps, we could get some dinner?"

Thomas wasn't ready to take her back but feared she might be tired of him. He hoped she might accept his second offer, his heart almost refusing to beat.

"Dinner sounds delightful."

Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief, his heart relieved.  As she went to stand up, the tremors began again, causing her to lose her footing; however, Thomas caught her before she fell to the ground.  She tried to brush it off.  “I’m so sorry.  My legs must have fallen asleep.”  She smiled.  “Not to worry.  I’ll help you to the restaurant.  It’s nearby.”  She took his arm, using it to steady herself, trying her best to ignore the looming headache.

They continued to enjoy one another's company through dinner and dessert, not realizing the late hour while looking at the stars in the park until they arrived back at her hotel to her frantic mother who calmed the moment she saw her daughter was with Sir Thomas. 

"Thank you so much for escorting my daughter. It appears she had a lovely time." This caused Josephine to blush profusely. 

"My apologies for keeping her so late. I do so much enjoy spending time with her."  He couldn't help but shyly smile as he spoke.   “If your mother permits, I would love to see you again.”

“That would be lovely,” she said, trying to hide the pain from her headache that seemed to only be getting worse.

“Would tomorrow be too soon?”  He was hopeful she’d agree.  It was too soon, but if he could, he would see her every day; however, he did not want to scare her, unsure if she felt the same.  Little did he know, she did.  As much as she loved her mother, she wanted adventures with him.  She’d run off with him at that very moment if she weren’t worried about leaving her mother alone.  Maybe he’d allow her to come with them?  Or would he disappear when learning of her declining health? ‘No, Josephine.  You mustn’t let your heart get ahead of your mind.  Perhaps he merely wants company while he is in town.’

Taking her hand, he turned it, kissing her palm and felt her hand shaking a bit but brushed it off, believing she was likely as nervous as he.  

Arriving back to her room, her mother was ready to give the next dose of medicine.  “Do we have to, mother?  How many more of these treatments must I endure?”

Her mother approached with caution.  “It is only for your benefit.  Do you not wish to be well?”

She sighed in defeat.  “Yes, mother.  It’s just that the treatments have become more difficult to handle.  I just want to be well and hope the doctors here can find a solution.”

“I am sure they will, but in the meantime, you need to continue this course of treatment.  The doctors have not been opposed to it, and I feel it has slowed down at the least.  I am truly sorry for how difficult this has been for you, but it’s not any easier watching you be forced to endure.  You are a strong, capable woman.  As your mother, I only want to see you succeed.”

Josephine relented and allowed her mother to administer the needle treatment.

“I must also say this.  Sir Thomas seems like a capable young man, but I am not sure he is right for you.  I fear he may take advantage of you due to your health.  I do not believe I can abide his visits much longer.  I want to see you happy, but I also want you to be safe.”  She put the needle away with the future treatments, placing them in the drawer of her nightstand.

She rubbed her arm at the injection site, momentarily forgetting her headache.  “I know, mother, but there is just something about him that I cannot explain.  I feel connected to him on a spiritual level, and if he were to propose tomorrow, I would say yes, but….”

Sitting on her bed, her mother looked nervous.  “But what, Josephine?”

“But I fear leaving you alone.  Father passed so long ago, and I do not want you to feel as if I am attempting to abandon you, but I feel I must follow my heart.  I am hoping, perhaps, that if he does propose, that you may come to live with us.  I know.  I’m getting ahead of myself.  Just wishful thinking.”

Her mother moved over next to her, holding her from the side.  “Darling daughter.  I am in awe of your desire to see me happy, and I feel the same for you.  I just………..want you to be safe.  The thought of you running off with that man scares me.  There is just something about his countenance I cannot trust.  I mean, what do we really know about him?”

She knew her mother was right.  She was always right, but something in the back of her mind said her mother was wrong about this.

As he walked back to his hotel, he could not stop thinking about the feel of her hand, the honeysuckle smell drifting off her hair.  He knew what needed to be done.  Once back in his room, he pulled out a pen and parchment.

My Dearest Sister,

Please forgive my neglect of you. I have been so thoroughly occupied of late, and have so very much to tell you. Foremost, that I send you my love and sincerest well wishes for you in my absence.  All is well here, I have been meeting with Mr. Westridge regarding the estate. He has been kind enough to assist in clarifying the terms of the paperwork so we have nearly concluded our business; however, I must confess that, while I do miss you, I am not eager to return home just yet.

I have had the absolute pleasure of meeting a most outstanding lady.  Her name is Josephine.  She is here in town with her mother.  With her mother’s permission, I escorted her to dinner.  She is such a remarkable woman.  She gazes fondly at the stars as if they were her dearest friends.   I showed her the constellations of Perseus and Andromeda, telling her their tale.  Dear sister, I would slay every beast in the world just to stand in her presence.

She adores reading the poets and makes spirited defenses and criticisms of every page she consumes.  She listens tirelessly to my myriad mechanical ramblings and discusses my ideas with a curious and open mind. Never has a woman taken such an intellectual interest in my work. I must admit that while her face caught my attention, it was her mind that has kept my interest.  

Oh, how I wish you were here to help guide me through this.  The very sight of her makes my heart flutter.   This strange feeling is beyond my comprehension, yet I do not wish for it to dissipate.  What must I do, dear sister?  Please, I beg for your guidance in this matter.

Your loving brother,

Thomas

Sealing the letter, he called upon the front desk to have the letter delivered to his sister, eager for a response as he was eager for his sister’s council.  They ensured him that short of unexpected, disastrous weather, they would have the letter delivered post haste.

While a cold cloth to her forehead helped alleviate her headache, Josephine suffered another night of unrest.  Rather than toss and turn, she quietly took out her diary to write, always addressing her entries to her father as it helped her feel close to him even though she never had the opportunity to meet him as he passed shortly after she was born.

Dear Father,

I must tell you of the noble gentleman who came to my rescue yesterday.  His name is Sir Thomas Sharpe.  I felt faint and began to stumble, but he saved me before I could be injured.  Dearest father, he is an angel, both in action and countenance.  When our eyes met, I knew in that instant he was my soulmate.

I know you never truly believed in soulmates and love at first sight, but I felt whole for the first time in my life.  I thought for so long that the missing piece of my soul occurred when you passed.  I realize now that the missing piece was him.  The cracks running deep to my core now feel as if they are mending each time we meet.

Father, I know you would approve of him.  We share similar interests.  He loves to read, star gaze, dance, and invent.  Yes!  He’s an inventor!  His mind creates these extraordinary ideas for machines.  His latest idea is for one that would make the harvesting of clay easier and more efficient with less likelihood for injury to the workers.  I find myself completely fascinated when he spoke of it

My first hesitation is mother.  I do not wish for her to feel abandoned.  She seemed amenable to come with me to Thomas’ estate, should he propose.  I have only known him for two days, but I would marry him at this very moment should he ask.  I do not care if he has money or not.  If he does not have an estate then the ground where we lay would become our home and the stars our blanket.

My second hesitation is my health.  I have not yet told him of my ailments and am afraid to do so.  My fears tell me he will reject me, not wanting an ill spouse, but my soul tells me he will not care.

I know not else how to describe this feeling, but I cannot deny it.  Mother reminds me that a lady does not openly express her feelings to a gentleman.  I wish you could meet him, see him as I do, but I know you watch over me.  

I also fear that I have created this imaginary scene in my mind, that my heart has overruled my mind to the point where I live in fantasy.

I beg of you for your help, courage, and wisdom to know what to do.  I miss you so much.

Your loving daughter,

Josephine

Putting her journal away, she climbed back into bed.  It was another hour before she was finally able to sleep.  

The following morning, Thomas readied himself, going by the florist first.  Looking for the perfect flowers, he looked for ones that might be worthy of her presence.  Once he found them, he paid the proprietor and left swiftly to her hotel and waited for her patiently in the lobby.

Josephine was lost in a fitful slumber, but her mother was awake and ready, knowing Sir Thomas would be arriving shortly.  Descending the stairs, she saw him holding the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen.

“Good morning Ms. Morrow!  How are you this fine morning?”  The joy in his face was evident to any who saw him.

“Good morning, Lord Sharpe!  I am well, but I’m afraid Josephine is still resting.  Her rest was very troubling last night, which is to be expected.”  

“I am so sorry to hear that, but I do hope she is well.  Do you know when she might awaken?”  He was very eager to see her.

“I could not say, but I do not wish to disturb her as her health has been poor, especially as of late.  I will ensure she receives these.”  

When she put her hands forward, he hesitated.  “I would be happy to wait until she is awake as I would live to give these to her myself.  I must confess.  I am eager to see her again.”  He wanted to see her so much, even if for a moment.  

“I cannot say when she may awaken and feel well enough for a visitor, but I assure you I will take these directly upstairs.”  Reluctantly, he handed her the bouquet.  

“I thank you for doing so.  If there is anything I might do to aid in her recovery, please do let me know.  I am very……..fond of her.”  He could not help but blush.

“You are too kind, Lord Sharpe.  We are fond of you as well.”  He smiled at her response.  

“Please do not hesitate to call upon me should there be anything I can do to assist in her recovery.”

He waited until Ms. Morrow disappeared up the stairs and out of view before taking his leave.

As her mother returned, she found her daughter to be awake and brushing her hair.  Turning at the sound of the door, she saw the flowers her mother held.  “Those are the loveliest flowers I have ever seen!  Where did you find them?”

Her mother walked over to the vase in their room, discarding the old flowers and placing the new ones in there with some water.  “A handsome gentleman gave them to me.  They are pleasing, are they not?”

“They truly are, and you deserve them.  You have been so kind and helpful with my health.  It’s the least you deserve.  I do hope he calls upon you again.”  Josephine turned around and continued to brush her hair.  She was feeling exceptionally unwell this morning but did not want to alarm her mother, keeping her thoughts to herself.  

As her mother went to place the flowers in a vase with some water, she removed the ribbon from the stems, placing it aside as a keepsake.  “I communicated your increasingly poor health to the hospital.  They recommended bed rest and valerian tea until your next appointment in 3 days.”

Disappointed, she returned to her bed, already plotting her escape.  She could not stand to be cooped up, preferring the fresh air and sunshine, or the stars at night.  In the meantime, she placed her head on the pillow, knowing she could use some more rest.

That was two days ago.  Thomas paced back and forth around his rooms wondering what to do, how he could capture even a glimpse of her.  Perhaps he could return back to her hotel in the evening with more flowers?  Or would more flowers be too much?  Maybe a new pair of gloves?

Then it occurred to him.  He knew exactly what she would like, departing for the desired object he had seen just the other day.  When he exited his hotel, he looked around to realize it was later than he thought, not having realized he had been pacing around his room for hours.

Holding himself back from running, he reminded himself of social protocol, trying to keep an acceptable pace as there was no emergency.  Upon arriving at his desired location, he spoke with the shopkeeper, describing the item he was looking for.  The shopkeeper knew exactly what he was describing.  “Would you like me to wrap it for you sir?”

Thomas smiled.  “I would be most grateful.  I am very grateful for your help.”  Pausing for a moment, he had another idea.  “Might you have a piece of parchment and ink I might use?”  

The shopkeeper smiled and retrieved the requested items.  “This must be for someone very special.”  Thomas smiled back at him.  “Yes, for someone very dear and precious.”  It took him a few moments, but the words finally came to him.

My Dearest Josephine,

Words fail me to accurately portray the bewildering spell you have cast upon me with your beauty and intellect.  I hope this may help convey what I am unable to express.  For I am unable to retain a singular thought when simply near you.  I yearn to see you.  To simply breathe the same air as you is a privilege that not even God himself is worthy.

I pray you can accept this humble token from an unworthy man such as myself.

Yours Always,

Thomas

Gently folding the note, he placed it inside before the shopkeeper who then safely wrapped the item, securing it with twine.  Holding it carefully, he departed.  

As he neared her hotel, he noticed a woman become unsteady, falling to the ground and hurriedly made his way to assist her.  

“Madam, are you alrigh………Josephine?”  Her face was contorted in pain.  “What is wrong?  What can I do?”  She could hear his voice off in the distance; however, she was more focused on her prevailing issue as her extremities continued to tremble. Lifting her bridal style, he started towards the hospital.  

She turned to look at him.  “Thomas?”  She sounded weak.  “Dear Josephine!  Do not worry.  I will get you to the hospital posthaste.”

She placed a hand on one of his lapels.  “Please no, not the hospital.”

“But you are unwell.  You must see a doctor!  If nothing else, I should take you back to your hotel to rest.  You cannot be out here in your state.”

“I beg you. Please do not take me back, at least not yet.  Can we delay a little?  Perhaps sit on a bench at the park?  I yearn for fresh air and sunshine.”

He could not deny her request, heading for the park nearby as she leaned her head on his shoulder.  Gently placing her on the bench, he sat next to her.  She held onto his arm.  To provide her better support, he wrapped an arm around her, finding her leaning into him.  They stayed like that for sometime, receiving odd looks from passersby.  Finally, Thomas broke their peaceful quiet.

“Darling Josephine.  If I might implore, what is ailing you?”

This was it.  She was about to be confronted with her fear of his rejection of her due to her health.  “I’m afraid, Thomas.” she turned her face up to look at him.

“What are you afraid of, my dear?”

there was nothing she could do to hide or deny it any longer.  “I have been unwell for sometime.  Mother thought it best to come to London to see if the doctors might know what is affecting my health.  No one has been able to uncover the cause.  They’re only able to treat the symptoms.”

Thomas listened attentively as she looked away and continued.

“The doctors here have hope for a diagnosis and solution.  In the meantime, mother has been administering medicine to help me, but I fear it might not be working well enough.”  

“Why have you not told me of this before?”  His worry increased, not wanting her to suffer.

“I’m afraid you might not want to see me anymore.  No one wants to be saddled with an ill person.”

Placing his finger under her chin, he guided her face back towards his.  “My dearest darling Josephine.  Nothing could change how I feel about you.”

She blushed and attempted to bury her face in his chest, but he would not allow her to do so.  “If God himself told me I had to choose between you and the heavens, I would dwell happy as a dead man in hellfire for having known you.”

She could not help a tear or two from falling.  “Please, Thomas, do not take pity on me.  I could not bear it.”

Using the back of his finger, he wiped them away.  “Please do not cry.  I am not worthy of your tears.”

He brushed some falling hair out of her face, and she leaned her face into his palm as he did so, yearning to stay close to him.  A gust of cold wind fell upon them, and she began to shiver.  Against society propriety, he removed his coat and placed it around her to help keep her warm.  She confided in him her desire to be a dancer.  “I’ve always wanted to dance, but my health never allowed it.”

“One day, you will dance.  We will dance, even if I have to sweep you off your feet and hold you while I carry you around the dance floor.  Come, love.  We must get you back to your hotel for some rest.”  She agreed but found she was still unable to walk.  The tremors were affecting her more and more as time moved on.  Seeing her distress, he picked her up bridal style once again and moved towards her hotel.  As he carried her, she found herself warming between his coat and their close proximity, allowing his calming scent to envelop her.

They arrived at her hotel moments later, finding her mother running frantically down the stairs.  “Where have you been?  Are you alright?”

Josephine nodded, looking up at Thomas.  “I needed some air and fell, but Thomas rescued me.”

“We need to get you back to bed.”  Thomas began towards the stairs but was stopped by her mother.  “It is not appropriate for you to be in her room.  I can help her back to our rooms.”

He looked back at Josephine, not wanting to leave her in such a state, but Josephine knew once again that her mother was right.  He placed her down gently, her mother moving to help support her.

“Thank you again for rescuing me, Thomas.”  She gave him a weak smile, her energy still draining and began to remove and return his coat, but he stopped her. 

“No, my dear Josephine.  Please use it to keep yourself warm.  I can come back and retrieve it tomorrow or the day after when you are feeling better.”

He leaned forward to wrap his coat back around her, using the moment to whisper so that only she could hear.  “There is something in the pocket for you.”

She looked at him and smiled once more.  “Thank you again, Sir Thomas.  You have been most kind.”

He stayed and observed to help ensure her and her mother had no problems ascending the stairs, not leaving until well after they were out of sight.

Arriving back at his hotel, he found there was a letter and small package awaiting him.  Seeing his sister’s hand writing, he swiftly took the items to his room, eager to read her response.

Darling Brother,

I am beyond delighted to receive your letter.  What you describe in your letter is nothing short of love.  I have been worried for so long to find someone worthy of your time and attention, to be a partner, a friend, and a confidante.

She sounds to be the most exquisite creature.  It warms my heart with how you talk of her.  I have never heard you speak of anyone in such a manner, not even your childhood love, Angelica.  

From what you’ve told me of her, it appears she feels the same as you.  The only guidance I can give you is this.  Your heart already knows what to do and will not lead you astray.  All you need now is to listen to it.

I have enclosed mother’s ring.  While it is ghastly, use it to purchase a ring for my future sister.  Go, dear brother, and ask her to be your Andromeda.

Your loving sister,

Lucille

He knew she was right, always providing the truest insight and finest guidance.  In all the times he thought he was falling in love, none compared to his affection for Josephine.

Opening the small package, he found their mother’s ring encased in an intricately carved jewelry box.  While the box was beautiful, he agreed with his sister that the ring was frightful.  Gazing at the ring, he pondered where to go.  Placing the ring on the desk, he decided to begin his search for the perfect ring the next day.  All night, his mind stirred with ideas of how to ask his dear Josephine to be his Andromeda once a worthy ring was found..

Back at her hotel, Josephine placed Thomas’ coat over the back of her chair and bided her time to check the inner pocket until her mother had fallen asleep.  As she climbed into bed, her mother brought her nightly remedy.  Not wanting to anger her mother, she gripped the bedsheet tightly as the needle was administered in her other arm.  

As the needle and bottle were put away, Josephine noticed the flowers again by her mother’s bedside.  Whomever sent those must truly be enamored, and it delighted her heart, giving her hope that her mother would finally find someone.

She gently turned over to see her mother gazing at the flowers once more.  “Mother?  I am so sorry to have worried you like that.  It was not my intention to cause any harm.”

Looking back to her daughter, the smile on her face dropped as she prepared the valerian tea.  “You know, daughter.  I only wish the best for you.  The instructions from the doctors are only for your betterment.”

Although crestfallen, she knew her mother was right, as always.  “I’m just so tired of doctors and hospitals.”

“I know you are, my daughter.  I wish I could make it all go away, but they are necessary.  The physicians here seem to have better ideas on how to help you, and we must let them do it.”

She knew there was nothing else to say.  Taking the tea from her mother, she drank it without complaint, falling asleep soon after.

Waking up to the sound of song birds, Thomas yearned to see his beloved.  Taking the time to bathe and dress, he decided to surprise her at her hotel and take her to breakfast. Taking the ring, he placed it in his breast pocket.  

Swiftly arriving at her hotel, he inquired with the desk clerk if she was awake.  Having one of the staff check, it was only moments before Ms. Morrow arrived downstairs.

“Sir Thomas!  How delightful to see you this morning.”  

“Ms. Morrow, it is a pleasure to see you.  I was hoping to take your daughter to breakfast?  If it’s already with you, that is.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir Thomas.  She is still slumbering and will not be awake for a while, but I would be delighted to join you.  This would be an opportune time to get to know one another.  I feel that we may be spending more time together in the near future.”

He smiled, trying to hide his disappointment in not seeing his darling.  “That would be most wonderful, Ms. Morrow, and a most excellent idea.”

Taking his arm, she led him out of the hotel.  “Please, call me Victoria.  I insist.”  They arrived at a restaurant just minutes later, being seated without hesitation.  They discussed hobbies and interests.  He asked questions about Josephine’s upbringing, wanting to know her better.

“To be honest, she was never a well child.  Her father passed when she was an infant, and I took the burden of being mother, father, and nursemaid.”  She proceeded to tell him how her daughter’s health has been poor since she was little and has steadily declined over the years.  “I’ve had to play nursemaid by myself.”

They chatted away a while longer before Thomas escorted her back to her hotel, taking his leave in search of a prize.

Going from store to store, he felt more and more despondent.  The staff at each store tried to be helpful, but nothing was good enough for his dear Josephine.  Before returning to his rooms for the evening, he tried one last store: Hatton Garden.  The gentleman behind the counter introduced himself as Harold.  Harold was not much to look at, a short balding man in his fifties, but he had an immense talent for helping people find the perfect piece.  He showed him his mother’s ring, hoping he could sell it to purchase a ring fit for a goddess.

“Tell me about your fair lady.”  This was his trick, to use how the person felt about their beloved and match it to a ring.

“She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.  Her eyes are blue like the ocean and sparkle like the finest stars in the sky.  She loves poetry and astronomy.  She is like no other I have ever met before.  I want to find something unique and individual that will compliment her beauty and show that she is nothing short of a queen among peasants.”

Harold smiled.  Never before had he heard such an elegant description of a fine young lady, and he knew exactly the ring for her.  Retrieving it, he placed it delicately on the counter.

This was the ring.  THE ring he had been searching for.  The smile on his face told Harold he had chosen wisely.

“May I see the one you brought in?”  Thomas placed his mother’s old ring on the counter.  “Unfortunately this is all I have, but I cannot give her a ring that does not befit her beauty.”  Harold picked it up to inspect it.  Taking out his jeweler eyepiece, he looked closely at the stone and inspected the silver holding the gem.

“I hope you do not find me impertinent, but this setting does not do justice for such a fine ruby stone.”  He looked at it further before placing it back on the counter. 

“Not at all.  To be honest, I find the ring itself ghastly, but I know it must be worth something.”

While the setting itself was considered junk these days (it was made mostly of cheap aluminum), the stone was worth something; however, the value fell short on the cost of Thomas’ chosen ring.  There was something about him he only rarely saw in others who came to him for help and came to a decision.  This young lady described sounded not only enchanting but also one of the only women worthy of a ring like this.  While the gentleman in front of him would not be able to pay the actual cost of the ring, he wanted to help him.

 “I do believe we can come to an agreeable arrangement.”  Harold described the value of the stone in the ring brought to him.  While he could not use the current setting, he could have a new setting created that would be more appealing and appropriate for the stone.  “You came on a most auspicious day, my boy.  For today is the only day this particular ring is on a special sale.”  He told Thomas that with the sale price of the ring, it would match the amount he would pay for the ring Thomas brought in.  “In fact, I would be most glad to exchange the ring you brought to me for this one.  It is most fortunate you arrived this evening.”

Thomas was elated, finally having found the perfect ring for his (hopefully) future wife.  Harold included a ring box befitting such a ring.  To avoid theft, he placed the ring box in his breast pocket where the previous one resided.

“I cannot thank you enough, sir.  You have been a tremendous help!”  Harold gave him well wishes as he departed.

It was late in the day, perhaps too late to call upon his dear Josephine.  Regardless, he walked to her hotel, stopping in front and peering up to what he believed to be her window.  He had to stop himself from running inside, up the stairs, and to her room.  He didn’t care that her health was poor and would take any time God would grant him, be it years, months, days, or even minutes and would love and take care of her.  

Before the constable could be called, Thomas went back to his own hotel and spent hours working on his proposal.

The following morning, he was ready.  Placing the ring box in his jacket pocket, Tom went to the florist first.  He wanted to have the perfect flowers to give her as he proposed.  The florist was kind and helped pick the right flowers that would show love and affection and created a one of a kind bouquet of peonies and roses.

“Any girl who would turn you down after giving these flowers is not a girl worth having,” the florist told him.

“She’s worth much, much more than these, but I think she’ll find them adequate.”  His smile was big and bright, lighting up the shop.  It wasn’t hard to see how hard he had fallen for Josephine.  Anyone who looked at him knew he was a man in love.

Now armed with the beautiful bouquet, he made his way to her hotel.

Once arrived, he asked for her at the front desk.  “Might Miss Josephine Morrow be available?  I do not wish to disturb…….”

He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the grim look on the concierge’s face.  “Normally, I would not share such private information, but I have seen you and her together.  She’d want you to know.”

The smile on his face dropped, his heart racing with fear, the flowers dropping to the floor.  “Know what?”

The concierge took a moment to compose himself.  “It was very late last night, her mother came running, asking for help to get her daughter to the hospital.  I was able to find someone to take her to hospital, but when I saw her?  To say she looked poorly would not do it justice.”

Before the gentleman could finish, Thomas was out the door and running to the hospital.  He had to see her for himself.  If she was that ill, he wanted nothing more than to be by her side.  He’d never run so fast before, but it also seemed to take forever to get there.  The nurse at the desk confirmed she was there and took him to her room.  When he entered, she looked deathly pale.  Tremors were happening at random intervals, and it was obvious she was having breathing issues.

“Her mother stepped out a few minutes ago.  We urged her to get some rest.  You must have just missed her.”

“What is wrong with her?  Will she be alright?”  She had to be alright.  He refused any other outcome.  

“Honestly, we don’t know.  We cannot figure out the source of her ailment.  If we had some idea, we might be able to do something, but I fear it may be too late.”

He was now sitting at her bedside, holding her hand.  “She told me her mother had been administering medicine.  Has that not helped?”

The nurse looked puzzled.  “What medicine?  The doctor has been very hesitant to prescribe her anything except to help her rest.  If we knew what she was being given…..”

He was out the door before she could finish, knowing he needed to find the medicine her mother was administering.  Why had her mother not told them?  Would it not benefit to give the doctors all of the information in order to help her daughter?

Arriving back at the hotel, he told the concierge to call the police as he ran up the stairs to her rooms.  Rather than knocking, he barged right in.  The room was unoccupied.  There were no thoughts as to where her mother might be, but he began searching every bag he could find.  As he neared the desk Josephine regularly used, her mother entered the room.  “I beg your pardon.  What do you think you’re doing here?  Why are you going through our personal things?”

“Where is it?” he demanded.

“Where is what?” She retorted.

“The medicine you’ve been administering to her?  ”  He continued to shuffle through papers.

“I have no idea what you are referring to, sir.  I demand you leave at once!”

He turned to look at her, fury evident in his eyes.  “Your daughter told me you’d been administering medication.  The hospital has no record of it.  Where is it?  What have you been giving her?” 

Ms. Morrow was frozen in place, speechless.  Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the flowers he’d given Ms. Morrow to give her daughter on his behalf.  They were not on Josephine’s bedside table.  Rather, they were by Ms. Morrow’s.  Why were they there?  

He moved swiftly to the flowers.  “Why are these here?  They were for Josephine!”  He started searching through the drawer of the nightstand, finding the items he was looking for.  He pulled out the needle and a bottle of silver liquid.  “What is this?  What in heaven’s name have you been giving her?”

“I’m her mother!  I take care of her.  You have no right to question me.  I demand you leave at once!”  They were both flustered.  Thomas examined the bottle of silver liquid, looking for any sign of a label.  It wasn’t until he turned it upside down that he found a partial label that said “....cury”.

“You’ve been injecting her with mercury?  Why would you do such a thing?”  Ms. Morrow launched herself at him, trying to get the bottle back.  He held it above her head to which she responded by slapping him several times.  Before she could get in the next blow, police blew in through the door.

He directed the police to arrest her.  “She’s been poisoning her daughter.  I must get this vial and the needles to the hospital before it’s too late.”  While two officers arrested Ms. Morrow, another officer gave him a ride to the hospital.  Thomas hoped it wasn’t too late.  He couldn’t bear to live without her.

Rushing to her room, he found the doctor there examining his Josephine.  “This is what her mother has been administering.”  He handed the bottle over to the doctor who examined it, and then sat by Josephine, holding her hand and kissed the back of it.

The doctor turned to his patient.  “Is this true, Ms. Josephine?”  She let out a breathy ‘yes’, unable to speak much more than that.  Even in the short time he’d been at her hotel, she continued to deteriorate.

It didn’t take the doctor more than a moment to recognize the contents: mercury.  Now having the missing piece of the puzzle, the doctor turned them.  “This explains your symptoms, but I’m afraid they’ve progressed too far.”

“What do you mean, too far?”  Thomas was angry.

“If we had known much sooner, the effects could be reversed, but at this point, there’s nothing we can do.  She’s not much longer for this world, I’m afraid.”

The tears poured out of him.  He gazed into his darling’s eyes.  “I’m so sorry, my love.  I’m so, so sorry.”

She gathered what strength she had left, placing her palm on his face.  “It is alright, darling.”

“How is it alright?”

“You’ve given me the greatest gift I’ve ever wanted.  You showed me what it is to love and be loved.”

He held her other hand with both of his, tears continuing to fall.  “We haven’t had enough time.  We need more time!”

“Do not worry, darling.  I will always be with you.”

At that moment, he remembered his original intention that morning, and pulled a small box out of his jacket pocket. She may not be long for this world, but he wanted every moment he could get.

“Dearest Josephine, I love you more than life itself.  I do not care if it is only for a few minutes or a few days.  Would you please do me the honor of being my wife?”  He opened the box to show her the ring.

She smiled and nodded.  “Yes,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could gather.  He removed the ring from the box and placed it on her finger.  What he had not noticed when he purchased the ring was that the jeweler had placed a matching silver ring under the cushion, a ring for him; however, it fell out of the box, creating a clunking sound as it hit the floor.  He picked it up before turning to the doctor.  “Is there a parson here?  I wish to marry my fiance as swiftly as possible.”

The doctor sent the nurse to find the vicar who had been visiting other patients and brought him to Josephine’s bedside.  Thomas expressed his wishes, and Josephine confirmed.  Both her engagement ring and the groom’s ring were placed on the open bible held by the vicar.

While they did not have a license, the vicar did not care.  He quickly understood the situation and gave them a brief ceremony, marrying them in the eyes of God.  At this point, no one in the room cared about the legalities.  Within moments, they were married, the rings placed on their respective fingers.  

From that moment on, they were not parted.  He refused to leave her side for anything, standing vigil day and night, wanting to spend every possible moment with her that she had left.  The only thing she asked of him was to hold her.  He and the nurse moved her carefully so that he could join her in bed.  Giving her a sweet kiss, he held her for the next few hours as she continued to deteriorate.

The doctor came to check on her that night.  When he came back the next morning, he let Thomas know that she did not have much longer.  He continued to hold her, forgetting all else.  In her last moments, she looked at him.  “Thomas….”

“Yes, my love?”

“I…..”  She had to regain her breath for a moment.  He waited patiently for her to continue.  “I will always love you.”

He dared to hold her closer.  “And I will always love you, in this life and the next.”

“And the next,” she repeated.  “I love you.”  And with those three words, she took her last breath.

The funeral was small but nice.  His sister did not have enough time to be there for her brother at the funeral, but she arrived that night in order to help him pack.  At his request, the concierge and staff helped to pack up her belongings so that Thomas may bring them back to Allerdale Hall.  While he could no longer bring his wife, he could have some part of her there with him.

As it got deep into winter, Lucille found him up in his attic more and more to the point where he refused to leave.  He had his favorite gown of Josephine’s on a mannequin in his workshop so she could watch him work.  He’d explain to the mannequin what he was doing and how he was doing it, as if she were truly there with him.  The most he would allow from Lucille was a blanket for warmth and the occasional tea.  

He’d not been home for a month when he caught a cold.  Lucille tried to urge him to take the medicinal tea and treatments to help him recover, but he had lost his will to do anything.  Melancholia and grief had such a tight hold on him that he could think of nothing else but his wife and his desire to be with her again.

Lucille returned about 20 minutes later with the medicinal tea and the determination to force her brother to take it and get better.  Arriving in the attic, she found he had passed, holding on to Josephine’s dress.

Knowing what he would want, she had his body brought to London and had him buried next to his wife.  As there was no proper headstone for Josephine, Lucille had a double headstone fashioned for her brother and his wife, finding it the very least she could do for her dearest brother.

Taglist: @vbecker10

Dividers created by the amazing @jiyascepter

[muddyorbsblr]

the final Lady Sharpe part 4: something to look forward to

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @ellooo0ooo

Summary: You and Edith make significant progress on your mission to put Lucille behind bars; Thomas makes a confession before you go to sleep

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: ghosts; a lil bit of steam [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Reader & Thomas are married; more pining; simp Thomas

The ink had dried enough on the final document you were working on duplicating for tonight that you could group them together and place the original papers back in Lucille's hiding place. Tomorrow morning if ever she were to check on them, she would be none the wiser of what had been transpiring over the last two weeks. You repeatedly clenched and unclenched your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them after writing with barely a pause for break over the last few hours.

"Tomorrow we'll be done with all the documents," you whispered into the silence, feeling Edith's presence nearby as you made your way to Thomas' workshop. "I'll need you to show me where the phonograph cylinders are hidden, and if you know which one has Lucille's demented confession…"

"I'll show you the way," she confirmed. "And I'll make sure that none of the more…how do I put this…bloodthirsty spirits don't touch you. They tend to be a bit overly protective of their turf."

"The what?" You froze in place at her mention of bloodthirsty spirits. You had enough of a fright when you'd first "met" her and Enola, you might not survive encountering their less agreeable companions. The feel of someone nudging you from behind had you moving down the corridor again.

"Don't you worry about them, Y/N. I'll do my part to keep them away, explain to them that you're our friend, and you'll put an end to Lucille's lifelong murder spree. It might take time for them to fully understand, but they will."

Once you crossed the threshold to Thomas' workshop, you heard the exaggerated groan that belonged to your fleeting husband. Checking the candle in your hand, there was only about a thumb's worth left.

"Right on schedule," Edith remarked before you felt a nudging sensation on your shoulder. "You know he must really care for you if he's willing to endure being with her for the sake of your safety. Before she made him go back out into the city to find a new wife--well, a new victim, he looked gaunt. Almost like he found his life grotesque. Then he came back here with you and…there was color in his face again. Like he's allowed himself to live while he wooed and married you. There's a happiness in him when he's with you that I only ever saw glimpses of back when I was--"

Her words fell dead, but you had a feeling you knew what the sentiment was. Back when I was alive. Back when I was his wife.

"Why Miss Edith Cushing, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were playing matchmaker with your ex-husband and his current charlatan of a wife," you mumbled, trying not to look to deeply into her words, her testimony of Thomas' time before you. You were already having enough trouble keeping your affections for him at bay whenever he engaged in your routine of a kiss to cap off the night, marking yet another rung on the progression ladder. Lucille's incarceration becoming ever closer.

You decided to hide the duplicated papers in between the pages of his sketchbook, thinking the chances were slim that Lucille would look into them since he only kept concept art of the toys he wished to work on within it. Flipping through the pages to evenly distribute the additional papers, you found a set of sketches that had absolutely nothing to do with toy designs.

The last few pages that he'd worked on in the journal were filled with sketches of you. Some depicted you asleep, others as if the image he had in mind was of you next to him at the dining table. And a full page that showed the bedroom you shared with the baronet, you perched on the edge, a light wash of orange painted on the page, like the scene was illuminated by firelight.

That was the day you arrived at Allerdale Hall. The fleeting moments of desirous bliss you had before reality came crashing down on you.

"You say this marriage is all an act for you both now, but it doesn't look that way. Not from where I'm standing…well, floating." Both of you shared a chuckle before she posed a question at you. "Y/N something I noticed at night when he makes his way back to you…there's an excitement in him, as if he can't move fast enough."

"I--I didn't know about that part," you answered her in hushed tones as you made your way to your shared bedroom, maneuvering the barely moonlit halls with what little candlelight remained. "I usually try not to look at him before we sleep. I fail, of course, but I make the effort. Granting his request for a kiss after he washes the night off of him was already a miscalculation on my part--"

"Completely understandable miscalculation," she quipped, managing to quietly open the bedroom door wide open. "Far too handsome for me to even think of knowing any better back then."

"My thoughts exactly," you mumbled, stepping into the bedroom and disposing of the used candlewax before stretching and allowing yourself to relax from the night's clandestine activities. "Goodnight, Edith."

"I'll talk to the spirits inhabiting the corridor where the cylinders are hidden," she offered, a faint whispering joining her once again before you heard her echoing chuckle. "It seems your husband's rushing to make his way to you. You still have quite the night ahead. Goodnight, my friend."

You could feel the fatigue setting in as you let the tub fill for Thomas' bath before putting away your tools and your blades, mentally preparing yourself for another night of insufficient sleep. Just as you had for the better part of the last two weeks.

Right as you made your way back to your side of the bed and shook your hair loose from your bun, Thomas walked through the open door. You gave him a small smile. "I should be done with the documents tomorrow, Edith and I will work on transcribing the recording cylinders that can lead the case more to Lucille than you two days from now at the latest."

"That's wonderful news, darling," he beamed at you, running his gaze over you briefly before walking toward the bathroom. "I shall see you in a few moments," he told you, his voice echoing across the tiles. A few seconds later the sound of the water sloshing and a sinfully satisfied groan filled the room as he sat into the tub. "You truly are a godsend, my wife. Thank you."

You did your best to ignore the fluttering in your stomach hearing him call you that. You wouldn't hear it for much longer with the progress you were making. "You're welcome," you answered back, fighting back your own sounds of relief once your back hit the bed and you allowed yourself to finally relax for the night.

The cumulative efforts of the last dozen or so days seem to have finally taken its toll on you, your eyes fluttering shut as soon as your head hit the pillow. You hadn't been able to hear the sound of Thomas padding his feet on the floor and back to you, or his little gasp as he saw you in your slumbering state.

"No…" he sighed, climbing into bed with you. "Y/N, darling, please tell me you haven't completely fallen asleep yet," he said softly, brushing your hair away from your face.

"Hmm?" You leaned in to his touch, feeling a strange sense of comfort when your cheek rubbed against his slightly calloused hand. "'M awake…" you mumbled, slowly opening your eyes. He gave you a tender smile when your eyes met his, and you couldn't help but return it.

It was only in these moments just before you both went to sleep, your parts in this perilous operation done for the night, that you could allow yourself to almost feel as if you were a normal married couple. Just laying in bed together before going to sleep, sharing a quick goodnight kiss before he pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

Perhaps even indulge yourself, even for a moment, in the dangerous truth that once this was all over, you would miss these fleeting moments of peace with him. You'd miss how he held you through the night and how you'd wake up wrapped in his arms. How in the last few days he would greet you in the morning with a soft kiss to your nose before you both made your way out of bed and stepped out of your room.

You would miss him when all this was over. When you'd both signed the divorce papers and went on your separate ways, and you were back in your apartment in the city, going to bed alone, you would miss him.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, a small sound coming from the back of his throat as he sighed into the kiss, almost as if he was relieved. "This is the only thing getting me through the nights," he said solemnly, settling more comfortably into the bed as he kept kissing you. "Knowing that this was what awaited me when I get back."

Instead of your usual night routine of a few kisses and he would pull you into his arms, both of you falling asleep to the sound of the other's breath evening out, he moved his body closer, kissing his way to your neck, his hand traveling down the side of your body until it settled at your waist. His lips began to trace along the neckline of your nightgown, the contented hums against your skin combined with the feel of his lips on you had you struggling for breath. "Thomas--"

"It should be you," he whimpered, his exhales warming your skin. "I should be spending my night with you. Laying with you." He kept on kissing along your neckline, his other hand pulling along the string that exposed your décolletage and he immediately pressed his lips to your chest, above your heart. "You're my wife, I should be with you."

He kissed his way back to your lips, your shock from his confession letting his tongue slip past your lips and tangle with your own. It was like flames licked all along your body at the contact, both of you moaning into each other's mouths as your fingers weaved into his onyx curls.

"Thomas, wait--" you tried to say, placing your hands on his chest in a paltry attempt to get him to pause for a moment, failing to fight against your eyes fluttering closed and your entire body melting under him the moment his tongue delicately ran along the roof of your mouth.

"I want to lay with you," he said once he pulled away, looking at you with those wide pleading eyes that likened him to a pup asking for a treat. "May I?"

For the love of all things good in this world say yes, you hissed at yourself. You struggled to breathe properly, fighting against every instinct to give in as he repeatedly whispered "please" into your skin. Trying to not let the curiosity and desire consume you and see how far your husband was willing to go.

This was the fantasy you wanted to lose yourself in, where by some miracle when all this was over and you both made it out alive, that you'd found something with each other that neither of you wanted to lose. That after all this perhaps you could have a life together, preferably far away from Allerdale Hall and the figurative and literal ghosts that roam the corridors.

The fantasy that perhaps when you were both safe from Lucille and she was serving her time behind bars, locked away where she couldn't harm anyone anymore, that Thomas might not want to sign the divorce papers. Because maybe he was falling in love, too.

"We've come so far already, we can't afford to lose focus now," you answered him, your voice coming out so small it was like the words all but refused to get through the lump in your throat. "Once all this is done, and we're free of her, you'll be free to do whatever you please…with whomever you please."

The last part left a bitter taste in your mouth, like it physically pained you to say the words.

"You're right," he sighed, leaning away enough so that he could look at you. The expression on his face was akin to that of a wounded pup, making the guilt and regret from your decision overwhelm your system. "Of course." He moved over to his side of the bed, taking a breath before hesitantly touching his fingers to yours. "May I still hold you?"

You didn't think twice, moving over to him and settling into his arms. "Yes, of course." The words refused to be spoken, but you'd found a strange comfort in his embrace. That despite the very real danger you both found yourselves in, and the looming dire consequences of Lucille and the business end of her cleaver if you made so much as one misstep on this perilous endeavor of yours, you felt almost a safety in his warm embrace.

And while no one would ever be able to get you to admit it, it made getting up out of bed in the mornings near impossible. You didn't want to leave him. You wanted him all to yourself.

All the more reason why you needed to be done with this and go your separate ways. You should never be so selfish as to beg him to stay with you and deny him yet another freedom. So much had already been stolen from him.

He brushed a lock of your hair away from your face before asking softly, "How long do you reckon before Scotland Yard comes here after you send the papers?"

"Not long," you answered him, your words full of confidence in your peers. "I'll include a summary of my findings to help them through the papers I've sent them, process them faster. I'll also try and emphasize the urgency of our situation, that we're currently living in a manor with a woman that has the intention and means, not to mention the stomach, to kill me. That we have very good reason to believe our lives are in imminent danger. Should get them moving pretty quick."

"And what are we to do until they arrive?" You could feel him tensing as he anticipated your response.

Bile flooded your stomach from what you had to tell him. "We keep routine." His beautiful face looked so pained as you said the words. "She has to believe that there's nothing wrong, that everything's going to plan. If she gets even the slightest whiff that we're up to something and she kills me. Maybe even you if she finds out that you helped."

He took a shuddering breath, pulling you closer against him so he could press a kiss to your forehead. "Let's hope they move quickly then," he mumbled against you, pressing more kisses on the same spot as he took calming breaths. "I can barely stomach any more of it." His breath hitched at his words, his tone rife with shame.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, placing your hand on his chest, feeling his pulse sprinting like a madman. "This burden shouldn't be on you. Never should have been. She's stolen so much from you…" Your sentiment caught in the back of your throat as you did your damnedest to fight back tears. "I'll do my best to make sure she doesn't steal any more of your life away."

"What if she figures out what we've been up to? Or if she gets impatient and realizes there's no money coming after all this time?"

It took you a moment before you could answer, the implication hanging over you both now like the Sword of Damocles. "Then Scotland Yard will arrive here to a corpse. Either mine or hers."

Tears welled in his eyes as he pulled you closer, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "I won't let her hurt you, I swear it." He stole a few more kisses from you before he cradled your head against his chest. "You should sleep, I can feel how tired you are."

"Exhausted," you confessed, settling into his embrace, the comfort from his hold blanketing over you as your cheek rubbed against the soft hairs on his chest. "Goodnight, husband."

You couldn't resist calling him that. In a few short weeks you'd never be able to again.

He pressed his lips to the top of your head, stroking your hair before he whispered, "Goodnight, my darling wife."

As the minutes passed, and the only sounds that filled the bedroom were your breathing and the crackling of the fireplace, Thomas found himself unable to succumb to sleep just yet. He was still riddled with so many questions that he couldn't bring himself to ask you quite yet.

What if by some freak accident of a chance, Lucille comes across one of your colleagues when she runs her errands in the city and they were to mention who you were, and what you did before you married him? What if now that she was armed with this new information, she deemed you too much of a threat and decided to do away with you like she'd done with so many other innocent women?

What if she decided to make it even worse, and ordered him to kill you instead? Spout some nonsensical notion that he needed to get his hands dirty this time around so she could see if he still had the stomach for it?

He knew he wouldn't be able to hurt you, that he would be completely unwilling to. But would he be able to protect you against Lucille?

And the question that had him looking upon the coming weeks with a mix of dread and hope, all depending on how you would react if he were to even muster up the courage to say the words: What if you stayed together after this fleeting partnership of yours? What if you were open to exploring what a life together would truly be like? Move away from Allerdale Hall and find a place in the city?

"What if I begged you not to leave me?" he whispered into the empty silence, stroking the backs of his fingers along your cheek. "What if I've fallen in love with my wife, and I want to turn our marriage into something real?"

A/N: *popping out my head from my writing hidey hole* Well hi there! Been a long while since I updated this story, but I can promise you now…I didn't abandon it 🫡 And we're picking up with our precious meow meow baronet big tiddy goth husband really showing his hand here that he's catching feelings 🥹

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

[nomoreusername]

Drunken Idiots

Pairing:Platonic Ivy Trio x gender neutral reader

Summary:When Newt, Thomas, and Minho drink more than intended, you end up taking care of your idiot friends again.

Newt is usually very responsible when he drinks. Minho is usually very sour looking. Thomas is usually annoying.

That's not a good combination. On its own, it’s a handful. Together? It's an everything full. No, seriously. Just when I figure out one issue, someone else has to bring up another.

Tonight would be no different. I had been aware of that from the beginning and had been internally prepping for it all day. Also, a little bit externally;making sure my hut didn't have anything for them to trip over, that I had enough blankets for some of them to collapse on the floor, and that everything sharp had been hidden away. We don't want another hair cutting incident.

Newt was five drinks in and was already out. He was holding his head in his hands as he grumbled under his breath about all these “buggin’ shanks that need to be quiet”. I know. How kind.

“You should probably leave then,”I suggested. At my words, he attempted to stand up. Already knowing what would happen, I caught him and hooked his arm around my shoulders as he almost stumbled to the ground.

“Thanks,”He slurred out.

“Yeah. No problem,”I said quietly so I didn't make it worse.

Completely leaning against me, he already seemed to be half dead. That's a good thing though. The sooner he's asleep, the sooner I can check on the other chaos causers.

This is an interesting trio to be a part of. That’s for sure.

“My head hurts,”He complained.

“I know. Maybe don't drink so much next time?”

“It was only one,”He insisted, stumbling over his own feet, almost sending us to the ground. Catching him just in time, I forced him upright again. Resting his head on my shoulder, he mumbled something incoherent. Choosing not to hear it, I opened my door with my knee and dragged him through it. Groaning something else I couldn't make out, he was already shutting his eyes.

Pulling him over, I lifted him up and placed him in my hammock. Essentially growing limp, he just stared at my ceiling as I tossed a blanket over him.

“Drink,”I ordered, handing him a bottle of water. Grabbing it from my hands, he started chugging it. When he finished he cuddled it to his chest and kept staring at my roof. “You have to shut you eyes to sleep,”I reminded him. The second he did he turned on his side and just started snoring. Good. One down, two to go.

Walking out, I left my door cracked. Heading back to the dying bonfire, I looked around at the few people up. Gally was glooming in the corner. Fry was just chattering away with a fully sober Chuck. Alby was standing there, making sure nothing got out of hand. Winston was pointing at the slaughterhouse and telling Jeff something. Zart was staring and picking at the grass, leaning over every now and then.

Finally, I found the two sitting on a log. Thomas was giving Minho the best side hug he was capable of as Minho glared at the fact that humans exist.

Deciding one at a time was the best answer, I approached them.

“Hey Thomas,”I greeted.

“Y/N,”He grinned, standing up. Catching him, I held back a sigh as he wrapped his arms around me. Cuddling his face into my neck, he insisted on standing there and hugging me.

“Come on. It's time for bed,”I instructed. Before he could argue, I picked him up bridal style. Letting out a “yay,” he put his arms around my neck and rested his face on my shoulder. “I love you,”He slurred out.

“I love you too,”I said back.

“But like a friend. You're my friend.”

“You're my friend too,”I echoed as he grabbed onto the back of my shirt to keep himself up. Letting him, I just opened my door with my foot.

Realizing I was about to let him go, he clung to me more.

“No,”He argued.

“I’ll be right back,”I assured him.

“No.”

“Thomas-”

“No, no, no,”He kept going.

“I’ll cuddle with you when I go to sleep?”I bargained.

“Yes,”He agreed, trying to throw himself out of my arms. Before he could, I held him while just dropping his legs. Kneeling down, I laid him on the ground and his head on the pillow. When it was the right spot, I sat him up and handed him a bottle.

“Yay. More drink,”He celebrated.

“Yes. More drink,”I nodded. If feeding his delusions is what gets water in his system, I’ll become Fry.

Taking big gulps, when he was done he tried to hold my hand.

“I have to get Minho first,”I explained, putting his head back on the pillow. As I threw a blanket over him he complained about Minho under his breath. Patting his head, I left him to vent to the air as I repeated the process. Walk out, crack the door, walk to Minho. As an added bonus, note that basically everyone else has gone to bed.

“Hey Minho,”I greeted. Scowling at the air, he didn't look my way. Already expecting that, I took a seat beside him. “Newt’s already out. You know how he is,”I started, planting that little seed in his head.

As he glanced at me, I knew it was working. Keeping my face neutral, I shrugged as I added something about him always being tired. While it wasn't at all true, he wasn't exactly in a state to think completely rationally. He was too busy hating everyone.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed too. What about you?”

Standing up, he answered for me as he just passed out. Catching him, I groaned at how much heavier he was than the other two. “Why do you have to be a Runner?”I complained, dragging him by his shoulders.

“Dunno,”He slurred. So he's not unconscious. Just a pain in my ass.

Giving a weak kick to my door, I opened it. Dragging him closest to Newt and furthest from Thomas, I laid him on the ground. Letting out a thankful sigh, I threw a blanket over him too.

“Minho?”Thomas asked excitedly as if he wasn't talking about how much he sucks less than ten minutes ago.

“No,”He said simply.

“Yes you are,”He insisted.

“Leave me alone,”He groaned.

“All of you shut up,”Newt jumped in.

“Newt? Hi Newt.”

“It's time for bed, Thomas,”I told him. Before he could argue, I curled between him and Minho. Instantly laying on top of me, he was more than content invading my personal space.

“Minho?”He asked, trying to reach for him.

“Leave me alone.”

“Minho.”

“It's time for bed,”I hushed. Nodding his head, he then was knocked out as if he hadn't been the most obnoxious thing. Figuring this was probably the best outcome, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as he pretty much strangled me with a hug. In the meantime, the other two were out and snoring.

Yay. I just love my idiot friends.

“Thank you, Y/N,”Thomas mumbled. Patting his head, I hugged him back to tell him he was welcome.

Yeah. I do love my idiot friends.

[vervainandspritz]

CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING?—please, don't leave me

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Request by @goblinjnr

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, grieving, angst, suicide

A/N: it's very fucking sad so beware

~~

Her eyes shut tight as her husband pressed a loving kiss onto her lips. Y/N's body involuntarily relaxing into his hands, causing Tommy to smile through the kiss.

”Mrs. Shelby, are you cold? I can see goosebumps on your skin” He teased, leaning forward as he grazed the skin of her neck with his nose, causing her to let out a sigh.

”Very funny” She responded, pinching his side lightly with a grin. ”That's what happens to a woman when her husband finally decides to put business away and give her affection instead.” Her voice was also teasing, as her own gaze completely drowned in his intense blue orbs.

Pulling her even closer, Tommy's nose brushed against hers in a promise of a kiss.

”So I'll have to consider doing this more often.”

Leaving last, strong kiss on her lips Tommy took a step back.

”Do what you have to, and come find me.” Y/N asked, squeezing his hand lightly, her expression relaxed and almost dreamy seeing him in such a good humour.

Bowing lightly, Thomas answered.

”Don't go too far, I'll join you soon.” His voice had an undertone of worry to it, his eyes becoming slightly more cloudy at the obvious allusion.

Giving him a weak nod, Y/N agreed, understanding exactly what he meant.

Don't go anywhere on your own, it's dangerous

Turning around, Thomas slowly walked back to his office, his steps echoing throughout the corridor as the warmth of their lovely encounter disappeared under the weight of reality.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, her heart picking up speed as her hand fell to her belly, causing more internal pain than anything. The mask she had to wear around him was becoming heavier with each passing day.

But she couldn't tell him. Not when the prognosis were so hopeful the last time they visited the hospital together. Not after seeing him gain back the spark he lost for so long.

Letting out a sharp exhale, Y/N turned around, slowly walking back to their bedroom. Wincing quietly she made her way through the corridor before settling on a bed lightly.

The day they found out was the worst day in her life. Rushing to the doctor so hopefully, once she noticed her stomach... Growing. After trying for a baby, could it finally happen? Y/N wondered back then, showing Tommy the swelling on her stomach.

Putting his hand over her belly, he was the happiest man in the world, dimples on his cheeks revealing to their full extent as he smiled so brightly, a rare sight but how beautiful she felt. A family, of her own.

A girl? A boy? They wondered the day before her visit. Chatting away endlessly about names, clothes and toys for a little Shelby.

A heavenly happiness that lasted no longer than three days, before they got crushed by the diagnosis.

Stomach cancer

Thomas' hand fell limp by his side, as Y/N froze completely. It took a longer minute, followed by ”I'm so sorry” from the doctor before tears appeared. Falling faster and heavier, each one a nail to her poor heart, wiping away every dream they managed to talk about in the last days.

All hope, gone, just like that.

...but it wasn't over just yet, as Dr. Wellerman explained the path they will have to go through. The risks of chemotherapy, additional tests and needed medication.

Tommy tried to stay strong, so badly, despite the white colour his face turned. Nausea took over his mind as he listened to each word, listening to the doctor explaining her survival rate. He needed to be strong.

So he was, carrying the weight like a world champion, never letting her carry it alone.

”Don't cry” He murmured in the worst nights, rocking her back and forth in his arms, sitting on the floor by the bed. ”We will bring you back to good health, and then have children. Little copies of our own, eh? A girl with my nose and your smile.” He spoke quietly into her ear, staring blankly at a wall. Whispering beautiful words she so desperately needed to hear, keeping her heart from breaking.

With each week they were both feeling worse, Y/N's physical state worsening visibly throughout the chemotherapy. The pain she felt in her abdomen could be compared to the flames from hell, reaching her ruthlessly and blooming the horrible thought she tried to push away so badly.

I want to die already, her mind would whisper cruelly, hating the way her husband's bones became more visible. His sunken eyes which lost all colour, almost as if he was the one with tumour eating away on his body and mind.

It wouldn't be much different then, because the pain he carried seeing her slowly fade away was easily the most difficult battles he had to fight.

A couple years back, Thomas would never expect to even think that, but the war in France was nothing compared to the unfair war he chose to fight everyday, holding onto his wife at all costs.

On the worst days, he would silently cry against the door of their bathroom, begging her to let him in as she cried so loudly.

”Don't look at me, I'm disgusting!” Y/N kept repeating, looking in the shattered mirror at her reflection. She was a shadow of her old self, her almost completely bald head mocking her, along with the colourless eyes that looked back.

”Y/N, please. Don't shut me away” His voice was breaking, despite the attempts to stay strong. Minutes later he would be on the floor by her side, kissing her temples and holding so tightly to not let her drown.

”You're beautiful, Mrs. Shelby. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” He talked, looking her in the eyes, his deep, honest voice never ceasing to bring her out of misery even just for a few seconds. Rough fingertips grazing over her delicate, pale skin. ”So beautiful I just had to marry you.”

A deep silence following his gentle tone, as his fingers drew random patterns on her skin.

”Am I dying, Tommy?” She asked quietly, her voice so fearful as she held onto his shirt, head resting on his shoulder. Thomas was almost sure she could physically hear his heart shattering at the question.

”No,” He replied confidently, getting her to look him in the eyes. To see the lack of hesitation and the fire he had in him, as her own was slowly getting smaller. She was losing hope. ”You're not dying. I wouldn't let you leave me, after all, eh?” He said, small, weak smile appearing on his lips and reaching her eyes.

”I love you so much” She whispered, slowly nodding off to sleep against his heartbeat.

Y/N remembered every and each of those days when he's been the lifeline. The only reason she was getting up and fighting against the cruel faith, slipping from death's embrace every day, almost like his love was keeping her alive.

...and it worked. Tests started coming back better than before, the cancer responded well to the chemo, allowing life to slowly seep back into their reality.

Y/N could never forget how happy it made them. Made him. The way he laughed and joked, and touched her looking, oh the way he looked at her. Like nothing else mattered, as he brought her flowers and loved every moment they had. Thomas grew to appreciate her presence so much, even the business wasn't able to get a hold of his mind as often anymore.

Life was a dream, until it wasn't.

The pain and swelling grew, sometimes making it difficult to move her legs even. Y/N held onto the thought that it was temporary, that everything was okay, so she didn't tell him. Couldn't bring herself to share her worries, seeing the way he lived and not just survived anymore.

So the secrets began, every letter from the hospital started coming to the rented storage she kept away from everyone. Tests getting more worrying until one, particular one, killed the hope completely.

The cancer no longer remained in her stomach, now spreading to the liver, lymph nodes and lungs, crushing the potential survival rate to 3%.

”Oh God” She cried at first, howling so loudly her throat grew sore and voice weak.

But it wasn't the worst. The worst was pretending around Tommy, forcing herself to smile and walk and talk as lively as before.

Be there for him, and try hard enough to smile so it would reach her eyes, because else he would know.

Each day was harder as the pain grew stronger. Eventually she had to start shaving her head every few days, to hide the fact she stopped the chemotherapy.

The pain was too much. The first time was easier, as she mindlessly shared the misery with Tommy. Carrying it together was easier, but with how much he loved her, seeing her in that state was killing him more than cancer was killing her.

So she pretended. Smiling, shaving her head and making sure to keep her expression stoic as the swelling burned hellishly.

So here she was, sitting on the edge of their bed, both hands on her belly in hopes to ease the pain. Unfamiliar pain, one so strong she couldn't breath at all.

”Tommy” She managed to whimper out, fingers wrapping around the edge of the nightstand so hard, her knuckles turned white. Slowly lowering herself to the ground, Y/N felt her legs giving out as she fell down with a loud thump, starting to cough.

Barely opening her eyes, she noticed the drops of crimson red fluid dirtying the clean, wooden floor. Her mind turned hazy, feeling completely out of it as more and more blood splattered the floor.

Only then did she barely register the fast, loud steps approaching.

”Y/N!” Thomas boomed loudly, rushing to her side. His face was completely pale, his shaky hands wrapping around her chest as he pulled her up, completely panicked. ”Frances! Frances call the ambulance!” He screamed in a frenzy, leaning forward to try and help. ”Y/N, I'm here, I'm here.” He choked out as her eyes became cloudy, breaths coming out in short bursts. ”Y/N! Look at me, please fucking look at me!” Tears steamed down his face at the suddenly terrible state she found herself in. She looked at him, but couldn't see.

As he cried, and screamed, pulling all the old medication she used to be taking from her nightstand, spilling them by his side and looking for the particular one that used to help with breathing problems, Y/N was halway gone.

Physically she couldn't see, struggling to breathe enough to keep her brain functioning yet the only thing she could think of was him.

Please, don't take me away. Who's going to protect him from the self-destruction his heart holds?

”Please, don't leave me” He cried out weakly, pushing his forehead against her collarbone, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. Hiding.

The memory of his happy, blue eyes was the last thing she registered, feeling as if he gently eased her into sleep, taking away all the pain. In reality, Thomas couldn't hold in the animalistic howling that ripped from his throat while he held her tightly to his chest, rocking back and forth as the sound of an ambulance pulling up by the Arrow house came to his ears.

From this moment, there was nothing.

***

She was gone.

He lost count of the amount of hours since it happened. Thomas didn't know if it was a night or a day, as he forced the maids to cover every source of light in the house before sending them away. The alcohol combined with opium in his system made him see the most beautiful things in the dark, memories shining so brightly.

His eyes rolled back at the scent of her, as he was holding her nightgown to his chest. Blood was trickling from his fingers, dirtying the pink material because of the destruction he brought upon the Arrow house once left alone.

Rocking back and forth in the middle of the room, he remembered the sight of his wife sitting by the vanity, laughing as she made him roll his eyes with her smart mouth. She fitted so perfectly, so perfectly with the scent he was feeling.

It was all that mattered, as long as he felt her presence around him.

In the next few days Polly threw away all the opium he had, trying her best along with her nephews to support him through the ripping loss. Only if he wanted that help, maybe everything would eventually be okay.

But for him, there was nothing before her, and nothing after her. The story was done.

Once left alone again, he let out a sigh, feeling the pounding headache. The noise was overwhelming, impossible to suppress ever since she was gone.

”I can hear them coming again” He whispered into the silence of his office, as the shovels dug against the walls from every direction. Getting louder with every passing minute. ”They want to take you away from me, darling” His voice was rough from the lack of using it. Opening his eyes, Thomas looked at the portrait hanging on the wall. You and him. Like like he promised. His eyes on the painting were far from reality, not resembling the dark irises, swallowed completely by madness which took over his mind without change. ”I won't let you leave me” He repeated the line from the past, lips wrapping around the familiar words as he pulled out the pistol from his holster. Lazily pressing the muzzle against his head as his lips turned upwards into a heartfelt smile. ”I'm coming, sweetheart.”

His loving words were followed by a loud bang, as the bullet ruthlessly ripped through his skull and brain, only to get stuck in the old furniture in another room.

His body went completely limp as the unlit cigarette fell onto the desk, becoming the last sound of their lively love ever heard in the wall of the Arrow house.

A house which became a cemetery for the undying love, and future that would never come.

Taggin my people: @iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @honeymoon8 @chaimaarouaine11 @hatethis29 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @preparedfruit @emptyvoidofmine