bonesmithsstuff

[bonesmithsstuff]

Azriel - Tethered Souls

Warnings: Swearing, mention of sex, scars, physical abuse, and I think that’s all.

Masterlist |

── .✦

" Do I wanna know? If this feeling flows both ways? "

Azriel had been radiating a palpable tension for days. Despite his role as Spymaster, the members of his family had almost immediately noticed how the unease reflected in his tightened features and shadowed gaze. It was clear that something was tormenting him, but no one had managed to get an explanation out of him. His behavior, already reserved by nature, had become nearly impenetrable, as if an unscalable wall had been erected between him and the rest of the world. His dark mood had ended up casting a shadow over those around him, to the point that even Cassian and Rhysand had begun watching him with growing concern.

Though he had never been one for conversations, his stubborn silence and the aura of discontent he exuded every time he entered a room had become impossible to ignore. Not even Elain, with all her sweetness and sensitivity, could pierce the barrier the Shadowsinger had built around himself.

The first to notice the change had been the youngest of the Archeron sisters. Feyre had shared her concern with her Mate. Rhys, for his part, had almost seemed relieved by the sudden distance between Azriel and Elain —yet, as days passed, his concern for his brother's state grew steadily more persistent.

No one knew what could be troubling the Spymaster so deeply. No one, except Y/n.

To her, the answer was painfully obvious.

The fear that her feelings might take permanent root inside her had become a paralyzing dread. As always, her instinct had driven her to flee, to choose the simpler path: distance. The fear of pain had made her incapable of surrendering to something that might had the power to completely destroy her. Protecting that fragile fragment of her heart that still belonged to her seemed like the only sensible choice. And yet, with Azriel absent from her daily life, she’d come to the painful realization that even that fragment had flown away with him. It was as if, by pushing him away, she had allowed the emptiness to seep into every corner of her soul, making it harder with each passing day to ignore how much she missed him.

It had all started accidentally, when Rhys had forced them to work together to train the Illyrian females in WindHaven, teaching them the basics of defense and battlefield survival. Neither of them had been thrilled at the prospect of working side by side.

Azriel was used to operating from the shadows, alone, while Y/n had always wanted to prove her worth without relying on anyone.

Her determination had been the first thing to catch the Shadowsinger’s attention. They had clashed in a sparring match no more than five minutes after meeting, and every time Y/n ended up on the ground, she got back up with unwavering resolve. She was a skilled fighter, but against Azriel, her chances were minimal —as they were for anyone else. Even for the men she usually defeated with ease.

And then he knew it. He saw it in her eyes every time she stood up again, in the way she clenched her teeth and lifted her chin, refusing to accept defeat. He knew she would never yield to anyone.

Perhaps it was their rivalry, and their mutual disdain, that had masked the truth —that Y/n had become the Spymaster’s silent obsession. Every fight, every exchange of sharp words, every defiant glance had created a bond between them that neither was ready to admit. The tension had grown unbearable, an invisible thread that tightened every time they were too close, too aware of each other’s presence.

The first night they ended up in bed together had been an accident, the result of built-up frustration and the ever-mounting tension between them. But the pleasure had been so immediate, so natural, that surrendering to it felt inevitable. There had been no room for doubt or hesitation -only the urgent need to bridge the distance they had maintained for far too long.

If Y/n was an independent woman, confident and with the spirit of a leader, in the sheets she revealed an entirely different nature. Azriel had sensed it from their very first kiss —from the way she yielded to his tongue, from how she welcomed the pressure of his hands without resistance. She offered no objection to his dominance. She gave him control, completely. And never, never had the Shadowsinger felt more aroused than in those moments when Y/n surrendered to him without reservation.

It was the contrast between the strong woman she showed the world and the total submission she offered him in those moments that drove him to obsession.

The most primal instinct would take hold of Azriel in the blink of an eye, and it wouldn’t let go until he had heard her moan his name —bent to his will and undone by pleasure. And if she enjoyed provoking him, he was certainly no better.

He would always bring her to the brink of frustration before granting her what she craved. And often, he gave her far more than she dared to ask for. He pushed her past the limits she thought she had, made her give in with a single look, a calculated touch, a word whispered against her skin. Just like notes bending to the will of a composer.

And yet, when morning came, reality would return to divide them. She withdrew, he fell silent, and everything started all over again. An endless cycle, a dangerous game neither of them had the courage to stop —or even acknowledge.

At first, they would simply retreat to their respective rooms, each after satisfying their own desires. But after many encounters, Azriel had started to linger a little longer than necessary. Their conversations were always tense and full of bickering, but both were too caught up in provoking each other to notice how close they were becoming.

The Spymaster took care of her with a meticulousness that surprised even himself. He would prepare scalding baths for her, clean up the mess they’d made, check that the bruises and handprints he left were healing, ensuring they caused her no more pain. And in those moments, as Azriel cared for her, Y/n never once complained. In fact, she felt strangely reassured by that new sensation of being tended to —as if, finally, she could feel a little more at ease. A little less alone.

Slowly softening, she too began to offer small gestures of affection to the Shadowsinger, gestures that seemed more precious to him than anything else. She would run her fingers through his hair when he couldn’t sleep, massage his tense shoulders after long training sessions, and tend to his scarred hands whenever she sensed his insecurity.

But then came the realization.

One day, she didn’t show up to training, and Azriel’s worry took hold immediately. By the end of the day, still without word from her, his unease had turned into full-blown anxiety. It wasn’t the first time she’d disappeared —just as Azriel sometimes had to leave without notice for Spymaster duties, Y/n, the daughter of the camp’s chief, had “business” that demanded her attention. Still, that evening, when Azriel went to her cabin to find her, he finally discovered what really happened when she vanished without a trace.

«Y/n?»

His voice, sharp and anxious, cut through the silence as he stepped inside. He was no longer the kind of man to feel awkward about their intimacy, so he moved quickly toward the bedroom —only to find it empty. A dull sound from the bathroom made him hold his breath —a flicker of relief that did little to ease the knot tightening in his chest. His mind had been in turmoil all day, starved of her presence, unable to even catch her scent for comfort. Azriel wasn’t the type to fight his feelings, even if he had spent decades hiding his love for one woman without ever making a move. But with Y/n, it had always been different.

The moment he saw her, his mind went blank.

She was hunched over the large tub filled with water, her bare back facing the door. Azriel froze for a moment, stunned by the raw torment radiating from her posture. Deep cuts marred her pale skin, and blood stained the floor around her. Her body trembled, her shoulders shaken by muffled sobs, and the pain seemed to tear through her from within. Azriel stood paralyzed, his eyes filling with rage and disbelief. Never before had he seen her so vulnerable, so fragile.

«Ehi…» He whispered, trying to make her aware of his presence. But she didn’t answer. On the contrary, she made a visible effort to ignore him, keeping her tear-streaked face turned away.

The male approached, kneeling beside her.

«Leave.» She whispered, pride laced through her voice.

It was a vain attempt to protect the image she had built for herself —a strong woman incapable of showing weakness. She didn’t want anyone to see how fragile she really was, how incapable of taking care of herself. She had craved strength so badly that she had been willing to endure anything, just to change something in her life, just to stop feeling alone.

That was when Azriel truly looked at her —perhaps for the real first time. The flickering candlelight in the room illuminated her back, revealing old and new scars, white marks that painted her skin like a map of every battle she had ever fought. Some of the cuts were so faded that, in the dark, Az had never noticed them before. Partly because of his own hands —so rough and calloused they had become insensitive, incapable of perceiving the delicate ridges of freshly healed wounds.

There, curled up in the corner of the bath, she looked so small, burdened by a weight that never should have been hers to carry. If he had known how, he would have taken that pain from her, shouldered it himself. He would have healed her wounds, done anything in his power to ease her torment.

Azriel bent to lift her from the cold floor, but the moment he reached for her, she shook her head, trembling. Her eyes squeezed shut as though she feared he might hurt her.

Her wounds needed to be cleaned before they became infected, the dried blood washed from her skin.

«I won’t hurt you.» The male whispered, trying to soothe her. «Never.» His shadows, ever by his side, drifted toward T/n with a gentleness he had never allowed himself to show. They brushed against her with tender care, wrapping her in an embrace that felt like safety.

Only then did she look at him. Her eyes, glassy and full of pain, made Azriel’s chest tighten —as if the weight of her suffering had become his own.

That was the moment the bond snapped into place.

It struck him like lightning, a tidal wave of pain and despair that stole the air from his lungs. Her torment flooded through him, searing and raw. He felt her fear as though it was born within him.

«Promise me.» She whispered, staring at him intensely. Clarity had all but vanished from her gaze, and the only thing she seemed to seek was reassurance. A tether to someone who would never treat her the way those who had hurt her had. «Please —promise me you’ll never do this to me.»

Her palms were flat against the floor, her cheeks damp with tears, eyes red from crying. Azriel, still shaken by the power of the mate bond, by her plea, held her gaze with fierce intensity.

Without thinking, he cupped her face in his hands, steady and sure. «I swear I would never touch you against your will.» He said, his voice unwavering. «I will never harm you. And I will do everything I can to heal your wounds —if you’ll let me. Whoever did this to you... will pay.»

His words had the effect he’d hoped for. Y/n slowly relaxed, sensing a safety she hadn’t felt in a long time. As the male spoke, a tattoo began to form across their bodies —the mark of a promise, one that burned softly against their skin. Serpentine ink curled along her thigh, winding up to her side, and mirrored itself on Azriel’s flesh.

When he finally wrapped his arms around her, he felt her tears fall silently against his skin. He didn’t care that her blood might stain his clothes —his only concern was her pain. Her suffering. Her.

He lifted her gently and lowered her into the bath, wincing at the sound of her pained whimper as the warm water met her raw skin. While he cleaned her back, relief filled him at the sight of the wounds already healing. They weren’t infected, and after a few hours, they had fully closed —leaving only faint, barely visible scars.

Despite their closeness, she said nothing more. She refused to answer any of Azriel’s questions, remaining silent and lost in her own thoughts. Az could feel the pain she was trying so hard to hide, but he couldn’t bring himself to push her.

As an invisible wall rose between them, he wondered if she could sense his worry —his rage. And even if she could, the Shadowsinger could do nothing but remain there, haunted by the thought that maybe… she had never truly felt the bond at all.

When she finally fell asleep between quiet sobs, Azriel stayed awake, keeping an eye over her. From time to time, when she stirred, he soothed her with a gentle touch, trying to offer what comfort he could —trying to hold her together.

And yet, as his hands traced the scars on her skin, his heart filled with growing fury. Every mark of pain, every wound she bore, made something inside him unravel. The more he counted, the more the Spymaster craved vengeance.

And yet, she stubbornly insisted on keeping the culprit from him.

It was driving Azriel mad —not being able to punish the one who had hurt his mate. The memory of her pain gnawed at him, as did the crushing weight of his helplessness. And the disappointment… the sting of being constantly pushed away by the very woman the Mother herself had fated to be his.

A few nights had passed, and after days of silence between them, Azriel had been forced to return to Velaris. Rhys needed him for an important mission, but the Spymaster couldn’t focus. Being away from the camp meant he couldn’t protect her, and the thought of something happening to her while he was gone ate away at him. If harm ever came to her in his absence, it would break him entirely.

His breaking point came with a simple sentence from Cassian: «Y/n told me she wants to stop training…»

Just hearing her name —casually tossed into the conversation —was enough to snap Azriel’s attention, like an arrow shot straight into his chest. His body reacted before his mind could catch up.

Instinct took over in an instant.

In two strides, he was in front of his brother, slamming him against the wall with a growl so fierce the house trembled.

«What did you say?» His voice was low, guttural, like a storm brewing in the mountains surrounding Velaris. His amber eyes blazed with rage.

«Az, what the hell?!» Cassian gripped the Shadowsinger’s wrist with force, trying to push him off, while Rhysand quickly stepped in to separate them.

Azriel froze for a moment, shaken by his own reaction. It took only a few seconds of silence for him to regain control. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotion threatening to drown him.

He couldn’t go on like this. He had waited too long to find someone who might allow themselves to be loved by him —someone who was meant for him. And of course, the Mother had chosen the most stubborn female in all of Prythian just to make things more complicated.

«She also said she’s thinking of leaving Illyria. Does that matter?» Cassian’s voice was unsure, still confused, but Azriel’s low growl made him tense up.

The tension between the three brothers was thick, and Azriel’s anxiety was written all over him. They had never seen him like this —so shaken, on the edge of either fury or collapse.

«I need to go. Now.» His voice was a quiet plea. But before he could take another step, Rhysand moved in front of the door, blocking his path. «Move.»

«This isn’t the time to storm in there like that.» Rhysand’s tone left no room for argument, and his sharp, resolute gaze made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate any defiance. Azriel knew that, and if he were thinking more clearly, he’d never speak to his brother like that —but the situation was overwhelming him. «If I understand what’s happening here… then maybe you need to breathe first, brother.»

Cassian seemed to be the only one still in the dark. He watched Azriel pace the room, increasingly agitated. His frustration was building, and Cassian, so used to his brother’s calm, stepped closer, clearly surprised by the outburst.

«Would someone care to explain what the hell is going on?» Cassian raised both hands in surrender, like he was ready to give up on resisting. «Why was I fucking pinned to the wall?»

«There’s only one thing that can make a male lose control like this… especially someone like Azriel, right?» Rhysand grinned, finally understanding the root of his brother’s storm. His expression softened, almost amused, as he looked at the Shadowsinger. «Finally. Your mate. After everything you’ve been through… you deserve her, Az.»

Cassian was speechless. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, unable to form any words. Then, with a knowing smile, he stepped closer to his brother and clapped a hand on his shoulder. «So what the hell are you still doing here? Go get her.»

But suddenly, Azriel didn’t seem thrilled by the idea. He ran both hands over his face, exhausted, and collapsed into one of the armchairs in the House of Wind’s sitting room.

«I don’t know if she’ll accept me.» He said quietly, anxiety thick in his voice. His heart felt swollen with dread. «But I still need your help with something.»

Azriel told them everything. He explained how it all began —how he had felt the bond snap into place a few nights ago, when he had found Y/n trembling in the bathroom. How he was convinced those injuries were meant as punishment for training the Illyrian females, and how someone else was likely enduring the same treatment.

The next morning, just as dawn began to paint the sky above Velaris, the three brothers made their way to the camp. They marched like soldiers, determined to put an end to the madness.

They reached the barracks of the camp leader, where Devlon was caught up in a heated argument with a young woman. The Shadowsinger didn’t need to search for her —her eyes found his immediately, and in that instant, it finally felt like he could breathe again.

Azriel, ever the skilled Spymaster, had quickly uncovered that the man behind all that pain was none other than the young woman’s own father —the camp’s leader.

But before they could do anything, they needed proof. Enough to bring the man to justice. So the High Lord requested a private conversation with Y/n. When the door to Rhysand’s house in WindHaven closed behind them, the woman found herself unusually calm. Her gaze was fixed solely on her mate.

«I know this is personal.» Azriel began, his voice softer now. «But I also know you want this to stop —for you, and for anyone else who’s still suffering. I made a promise, and I need you to show them the scars. Show us where. Give us as many details as you can. We’ll handle the rest.»

She ran her hands over her face, her skin damp with sweat, her back burning beneath the weight of the males’ eyes. She knew that if she wanted this to end, she would have to recount every detail —everything she knew —without holding back.

She turned fully, forcing herself to focus only on Azriel, eyes locked on his, while keeping her back to the High Lord and the General. Slowly, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing the skin beneath.

Two deep grooves marked her shoulder blades —scars from when she had wings as a child. The rest of her back was covered in newer wounds: deep cuts that had been poorly tended due to their location, scars that had healed badly, some still tinged with signs of infection.

Rhysand and Cassian stepped closer to get a better look, but Azriel shot them a warning glare that left no room for argument: they were to stay back.

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Once she pulled her shirt back down, the woman began to speak, explaining which places to investigate and naming all the women she knew for certain had endured the same abuse —at the hands of fathers, brothers, or husbands.

«Thank you. It won’t happen again —to you, or to anyone else.» Said Rhysand. His voice, though firm, carried a flicker of hope. Then he turned and walked out, the General following close behind.

Her gaze remained fixed on Azriel, who hadn’t moved. She couldn’t believe he had rolled up his sleeves to help her. A mixture of repressed emotions, frustration, and disbelief surged inside her —and the Spymaster sensed it immediately.

«Let’s go. Did you really think I’d let my mate go through all of this without doing anything?» His voice was deep. «He’s fucking lucky I couldn’t rip his throat right away.»

«Yes.» She replied with a shrug. «Because that’s what you should expect from people if you don’t want to be disappointed: nothing.»

Azriel took a step toward her, frustration tightening his features. «So you already knew.» He murmured, his tone laced with barely contained rage. There was no need to elaborate. «You couldn’t even have the decency to reject me to my face?» His growl echoed through the room, a sound that seemed to erupt from deep within him. «No, it was easier to walk away without saying a word, wasn’t it?»

He slammed his fist on the table, making the whole house tremble for a moment —then silence fell. A silence so thick, so tense, it felt like a single word could trigger another explosion.

Y/n felt as if a current of pain and anger had surged through her. Azriel was the best thing that had ever happened to her —how could she allow him to suffer like this? How could she ever be enough for a male like him?

«I don’t want to reject you.» She whispered, lowering her gaze to the wooden floor that creaked beneath their weight. «You see me for who I am: I never listen, I’m not sweet, and I don’t even know what it means to make someone feel loved. How could I possibly be good enough for you? When I care about something, I keep it at arm’s length, because that way no one can take it from me without warning. It’s always been this way.»

She bit her lip, suddenly feeling small and fragile beneath the weight of her own words. «I know it’s pathetic, but I thought that if I left, no one could rip this thing I love so much away from me...» She lifted her eyes slightly, meeting his with a sadness she had never shown before. «Not even you.»

Azriel couldn’t take the distance any longer. In two heartbeats, he was in front of her, cradling her face in his scarred, calloused hands. He didn’t wait another second to kiss her.

The moment their lips met, she let go of every wall she’d ever built, allowing him to feel everything —every emotion, every sensation —as if the distance between them had shattered in an instant.

Azriel moved one hand from her face, trailing down her shoulder to the tattoo on her hip, pulling her closer. His tongue tangled with hers, and the pleasure that surged through him crashed like a wave. He felt her respond, giving herself over to him completely, and in that surrender was a silent promise: there was no more need to run.

«I don’t want you to be sweet, or gentle. I don’t want you to cater to me or to always listen. I don’t care if you drive me crazy every single day for the rest of our fucking life. I just want you to give me the chance to prove you deserve to be loved.»

She stepped forward, just enough to rest against his chest and wrap her arms around him, clutching his shirt. She trembled slightly, and Azriel ran his hand along her back, lifting her into a warm embrace before gently setting her down on the table.

«I’ll love the woman you are when you’re barking orders during training. The one who never stays down, even when she’s been knocked to the ground. The one who sometimes wants to be protected, who needs something soft to land on when she can’t be strong for a day.»

Her fingers brushed his, intertwining with a soft, delicate motion. «And what if… What if I can’t love you the way I should? The way you deserve, the way you want. What if one day I run again?»

Azriel felt his heart warm in a way it never had before. That woman —his woman— was worried she couldn’t give him the love he had always longed for, always yearned for. And yet, in the exact moment those words left her lips, Azriel no longer had any doubts: she was the missing part of his soul.

«Then I’ll find you. And I’ll keep running with you.» Azriel whispered, his voice barely more than a murmur as the woman peppered his cheek with soft kisses, showing him affection in the most tender of ways.

The heat of that moment, the depth of her touch, pushed him to kiss her again —with a confidence and familiarity he hadn’t thought possible. He placed his hands on her back, pulling her closer, caressing her gently.

He pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against hers. She slipped her hands into his dark hair, a gesture that felt almost too natural.

«I think I… uhm —it’s breakfast time, right?» Blushing as she searched Azriel’s eyes.

«Yes.» His voice was soft but steady as he watched her slid off the table.

She walked over to a cabinet and grabbed the jam, spreading it over a slice of buttered bread. Then she slid the plate toward him, under Azriel’s unwavering gaze.

They ate in silence, finishing the bread in a few bites, while Azriel’s eyes never left her. As soon as she was done, she came closer to him again. Azriel welcomed her into his arms, lifting her easily and letting her wrap her legs around his waist. He walked them over to an armchair and sat down, holding her tightly.

They stayed like that for hours, trading the occasional words, a kiss here and there. The woman was curled against him and soon fell asleep —deeply and peacefully. Probably for the first time in a long while.

Feeling the quiet calm on the bond between them, Azriel kept stroking her hair, finally letting himself relax too. He just wanted her to feel safe.

When Rhysand and Cassian returned, the sun was already painting the sky in warm shades of orange. And for the first time, in complete silence, they paused to take in the sight.

Their brother —peaceful, asleep, his face serene— held Y/n in his arms as if she might disappear if he loosened his grip. She was nearly swallowed in his embrace. It was the image of a peace no one had ever imagined surrounding Azriel… and yet, it seemed it was finally his.

── .✦

Hi!!!! Here I am again! Sorry, been a while but i’ve been busyyy. (Unfortunately)

As always, please let me know what do you think!!!!

[bonesmithsstuff]

Draco Malfoy - Echoes | One

Warnings: curses, mention of the war with Voldemort (so canon topics), anddd I think that's all.

Masterlist |

── .✦

" When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her. "

In the middle of the crowded hall, her attentive eyes wandered among the moving figures, absorbing the chaos that had always characterized the Gryffindor parties. The incessant chatter, the clinking of glasses as they bumped against each other, and the rhythm of the music created a vibrant, almost hypnotic backdrop.

Surprisingly, the event was turning out to be more enjoyable than expected. Despite the headache that had accompanied her throughout the day, the young woman finally allowed herself a moment of escape from the school routine, an opportunity to immerse herself in a dimension almost surreal compared to the weight of reality.

After the war, many students had chosen to return to Hogwarts, driven by the desire to finish their academic journey or to rebuild a sense of commonness that everyone had lost. However, no matter how meticulously the castle's walls had been restored, the past couldn't be erased as easily as the damaged stones could be repaired.

Every time she walked those corridors, the latent memories of the battle were evoked in her mind, images imprinted in her memory that resurfaced with force, leaving her suspended for a moment in a vortex of conflicting emotions. Out of breath.

No one had truly emerged untouched from that battle: scars, nightmares, and a persistent state of alertness had become a common condition for all those who had lived through the horrors pursued during the war with Tom Riddle.

«Hey, here you go!»

Ginny's voice pulled her from her thoughts, and with a genuine smile, she handed her a glass. The girl accepted the drink with gratitude, relieved not to have to fight her way through the crowd to get it. The idea of navigating through the throng seemed anything but appealing, let alone with a glass in hand. But her friend seemed to have a completely different perspective on the matter.

«Let's dance!»

Before she could respond, Ginny dragged her toward the center of the room, where groups of students were moving to the beat of music. Y/n laughed, letting herself be swept away by the energy of the party.

«I have to admit it, I'm having a great time. You really know how to throw a party, Gin!» She exclaimed, raising her voice to be heard over the surrounding noise.

There was something almost magical about the atmosphere that had been created. It was comforting to see how, for one night, the old divisions seemed to dissolve: the Slytherin students had been included without excessive controversy, and so far, there had been no friction or arguments. 

For a brief moment, she felt like she could afford to simply be a young woman enjoying the carefreeness of her age, surrounded by people who shared her desire for a normal life. It was a precious illusion, the sweet feeling that the war hadn't left the indelible mark that, silently, everyone carried within.

Ginny's gaze lit up with complicity as she squeezed her hand for a moment. They danced nonstop for what seemed like an indefinite amount of time, immersed in the rhythm of the music.

Then, suddenly, her friend became distracted, staring at something over her shoulder before giving her a mischievous smile. The girl furrowed her brows, confused, and almost jumped when she felt a hand slide naturally from her side to her stomach.

She looked down, watching the slender fingers brushing against the fabric of her shirt. The slightly pronounced veins on the knuckles of the person behind her made her heart race. The pale skin contrasted with the immaculate cuffs of a white shirt, and a silver ring reflected the flickering light of the room. The other hand firmly rested on her side, pulling her toward a solid, familiar body.

With a deep breath, she lifted her gaze, finding Ginny's face, which was walking away with an amused look, leaving her with the newcomer.

Y/n tilted her head slightly back, feeling the boy's chest against her back. Draco's unmistakable scent enveloped her, a mix of herbs and sandalwood. She inhaled deeply before turning, meeting his clear, attentive eyes. Always so enigmatic.

«Draco.»

She raised an eyebrow, surprised.

He wasn't one to openly expose their friendship, especially in public. Not that he cared about others' judgments – gossip and comments were inevitable – but as always, he preferred to protect her from unnecessary tensions.

«Y/n.»

His voice landed softly on her ear, lacking the usual hint of provocation. There was no challenge in the way he had said her name, only a sincere familiarity. 

It was Draco, the boy she had come to know, the one who had found a place in her heart. Or rather, the one she had allowed to enter it.

With a natural gesture, she lifted her arm, letting her fingers weave through the hair at the nape of his neck. She felt Draco’s breath slow just slightly as she lowered her gaze to his hands. With a deliberate motion, his fingers slid down her forearm, tracing an invisible path on her skin. Then, more gently than ever, he grasped her wrist, guiding her in a half-turn until they were face to face.

One of his hands slid down the small of her back, pulling her even closer. Y/n placed her hands on his chest, letting her fingers slide down to intertwine behind his neck. Their bodies moved in perfect sync with the music, as if the rest of the room had suddenly disappeared.

She lifted her face, losing herself in Draco’s grey irises. That night, they seemed clearer than usual, less impenetrable. For a moment, she thought she could see everything he didn’t say, that all his occlumens’ walls had vanished.

And deep down, that was all she needed.

«Careful not to smirk too much, one might almost deduce that you're enjoying yourself here, in the Gryffindor den.» Her tone was deliberately ironic as she leaned in toward his ear to make sure he could hear her clearly.

Draco's gaze lit up for a moment, a subtle grin barely tugging at the corner of his mouth. «And one might deduce that you enjoy dancing with a slimy snake.»

She tilted her head slightly, never breaking eye contact.

«That's true.» She replied with disarming simplicity.

Over time, she had learned that lying to Draco Malfoy was pointless: not only was he an adept legilimens, but he also had a sharp intuition: capable of picking up every nuance in her behavior.

Avoiding half-truths took away his pleasure in teasing her, often leaving him speechless. On those rare occasions, he would observe her with an almost analytical intensity, as though trying to decipher her thoughts, and she, to her surprise, found herself appreciating it more than she wanted to admit.

It was a radical shift from the years when his gaze had been full of disdain for her blood or her House. But those days were in the past, and the bitterness had vanished.

«Shall we get a drink?»

It caught him off guard, but his hesitation lasted only a moment. Then, with natural ease, he placed a hand on her back and guided her through the crowd to the table full of bottles, many of which she herself had helped procure.

He poured a drink for himself and then filled hers, taking a sip while his eyes wandered over the crowd.

«I’m almost scared of this version of you, you know?» Draco remarked, casually leaning against the stone wall next to the drinks. To his right, a large window looked out over the castle towers, bathed in the shadows of the night. To his left, the stairs to the dormitories opened up.

She raised an eyebrow, curious.

«The version of you that breaks the rules, that dances with a snake, and doesn’t let anyone put words in her fuckin' mouth.» He continued, his tone oscillating between observation and a veiled satisfaction.

She lowered her gaze for a moment, reflecting on his words.

For years, she had overly worried about others' opinions, suppressing instincts and thoughts to conform to an image acceptable by society. But the war had shattered every certainty and every shield. She had stopped hiding behind facades that didn’t belonged to her and started living the way she wanted to be, without seeking anyone's approval. If someone didn’t like her as she was, it was no longer her problem.

A memory slipped into her mind: everything had changed the previous year, on a night that was evidently marked in destiny.

That night, she had found Malfoy in the Prefect’s bathroom, hunched over the sink, his shoulders trembling with restrained sobs. His hands were clenched into pale fists, his gaze fixed on the Dark Mark etched into his skin.

He had seen her almost immediately, reacting with a wave of insults in the hope of pushing her away. But she hadn’t moved. When his words had ran out, his eyes had stayed locked on hers, the pain showing through without any filters. In just a few steps, she had closed the distance between them and, without hesitation, embraced him. He hadn’t resisted.

And from that moment on, she had never left him alone, and had never regretted it.

She returned to the present and shrugged, letting a small smile curve her lips. «I’ve just learned that it’s more important to be true to yourself than to live up to other people’s expectations.»

Draco cleared his throat, glancing briefly toward the window before looking back at her. «It’s almost bearable, anyway.»

She laughed, sipping more of her drink. Since she had seen him again after the battle, she had noticed something: he was the only one who could make her have those moments of genuine carefreeness. It was a thought that surprised her, but one she didn’t mind at all.

She took a few steps closer to the blond, adopting a playful expression. «Even this version of Draco Malfoy isn’t that bad at all. But don’t tell him, or he’ll get a big head.»

One corner of his lips lifted slightly in a hint of a smile, but for some reason, it made her feel incredibly proud.

At that moment, the music changed, a slower, more enveloping melody filled the room. The buzz of the crowd seemed to fade for a moment.

Draco watched her with an unreadable expression, then, with a spontaneous and confident gesture, he reached his hand toward her.

«Do you want to dance again?»

For a moment, she hesitated. Then with a barely noticeable smile, placed her hand in his. His grey eyes scrutinized her with an almost magnetic intensity as he pulled her back onto the dance floor.

This time, there was no hesitation in their movements. Every step, every slight sway felt natural, as though it had always been like this between them.

She felt his hand tighten around her back as their breaths synchronized. Neither of them said something, yet the silence between them spoke more than a thousand words.

Perhaps, for the first time in a long while, Draco felt truly at ease.

Perhaps, for the first time, Draco Malfoy was no longer just a "Slimy Snake." And she was no longer just a dirty half-blood.

«May lightning strike me if what I just saw was the shadow of a smile.» A male voice interrupted, drawing the girl’s attention away from the blond. «What did you say to him? How did you manage it? Tell me your secret, because in the dungeons, he’s always a grump.»

«Shut up, Zabini.» Draco growled, shaking his head in annoyance as he pulled away from the dance floor with the girl.

«Oh, it wasn’t difficult.» She replied, shooting a glance at the blond. Both he and the dark-skinned boy were probably expecting a more detailed explanation, so she added: «I was just honest.»

«Good, good, good.» A third voice interrupted, causing the girl to snap her eyes to the guys who had just approached: Dean, Seamus, and Cormac. It was the latter who had spoken. «Are these two snakes bothering you?»

She raised an eyebrow, certain that her face was expressing exactly what was going through her mind at that moment: "What the hell does he want?"

«Are you here to play ‘brave paladins of justice’? I suggest you go back where you came from.» Blaise’s intervention was immediate, meant to cut off any reply from the girl. With his arms crossed over his chest and a stiff, composed posture, he stared at the speaker with a disdainful look, while Draco, by his side, adopted the same attitude, straightening his back with natural superiority.

«Maybe it’s you who should return to your filthy dungeons. Who invited you, anyway?» Cormac McLaggen’s voice oozed with disdain and amusement, a combination that made the tension in the air rise. The girl stared at him, feeling her nervousness grow exponentially inside her, while in the distance, a red head advanced through the crowd.

«McLaggen, don’t you think you’re being a bit too cocky all of a sudden?» Draco’s voice turned cold, his sharp gaze landing on the opponent with an intensity that could send chills down anyone’s spine. The tone was that of the Malfoy everyone knew: arrogant, unyielding. «I wonder which Gryffindor had the courage to invite you and your mediocrity.»

Ginny exchanged a questioning glance with the girl, who just sighed, exasperated. «You... just because you decided to change sides at the last minute doesn’t mean you have the right to be here, damn Death Eaters.»

The effect of those words was immediate. Before she even realized it, her body had already reacted, pushing forward with a furious rush. Despite the difference in height and strength, she lunged forward Cormac, but Malfoy was faster than her. With lightning reflexes, he blocked her, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her firmly against his chest. «It’s not even worth it.»

For a moment, her rage faltered. She looked at him, bewildered, and realized that on his face there was no longer the usual arrogance, but rather a sort of resigned awareness. He wasn’t the Malfoy of the past, the one who would have retorted with the same fierceness, who would have responded blow for blow.

She glanced toward Blaise, then at the other Slytherins, who were silently watching the scene: Daphne, Astoria, Pansy, Theo... None of them were responding to the Gryffindor’s insults, and that silent surrender made her even angrier.

The war was over, the divisions between the Houses should have been a distant memory. She would no longer tolerate such feuds, not only as Head Girl, but especially as a person. If defending her ideals, if defending Draco and those boys meant opposing her former classmates, she would do it without hesitation.

Her gaze hardened. McLaggen was grinning at her, pleased with her reaction. She didn’t bother to free herself from Malfoy’s grip, knowing it would be pointless, and with a quick motion, she drew her wand, pointing it straight at the Gryffindor.

«Y/n! For Godric’s sake, what the hell are you doing?» Ginny’s voice broke the silence as the murmur in the room grew louder. The tension was now palpable.

Cormac paled, his gaze sliding down to his hands, searching for his wand. «Expelliarmus!» The girl flicked her wrist with skill, and in an instant, the weapon flew from McLaggen’s hands and landed in hers.

«Now apologize.»

«What?» Cormac’s eyebrow shot up in disbelief. His fists clenched at his sides, his face contorted in a grimace of anger.

Behind her, Draco’s grip tightened, his chest pressing against the girl’s shoulders.

«You heard me perfectly.» She replied, her voice low but filled with unyielding determination. «You need to apologize to them, to us. Now.»

McLaggen opened his mouth to retort, but she anticipated him, letting her weight lean slightly against Malfoy. «These people have suffered as much as we have, they’ve lost as much as we have. Do you think it’s easy to turn your back on your own family when they’ve drilled beliefs into you that maybe you’ve never fully understood? Do you think it’s easy to face a trial for crimes you didn’t choose to carry? It’s not. So they have every right to be here, to be in this castle just like anyone else. And we have every damn right to enjoy what’s left of our adolescence without these —these absurdities, damn it.» She paused, looking for his gaze. «So with what authority do you think you can decide? With what right do you assume the power to pass judgment on other people?»

McLaggen remained silent.

«That’s right, none.» She concluded, her tone sharp. «Now you have two choices: apologize, or get ready for a year that I’ll make a living hell for you if you keep stirring up these ridiculous grudges. I swear on Merlin, I’ll have you fuckin' expelled.»

The wand held between her fingers glowed faintly, enough to drain the color from the Gryffindor’s face. After a few moments of hesitation, Cormac sighed, muttering an apology to the Slytherins. He stepped back, furious, and walked away after retrieving his wand.

Only then did the girl put hers away, adjusting the hem of her shirt where Malfoy’s hands had gripped it. She turned toward the others, a satisfied smile on her lips. Daphne gave her a grateful smile before approaching and hugging her in appreciation. She returned the gesture without hesitation.

Gradually, the atmosphere relaxed, and the party resumed. For many, the incident would soon be forgotten. But for her, for Draco, and for many others, that had been a turning point, the tangible proof that something could truly change.

In the midst of the commotion, her gaze landed on Draco, casually leaning against the windowsill of one of the large tower windows. He held her eye contact without hesitation, while she, with determined steps, approached.

«It’s always worth it.» She whispered, watching his expression stiffen as he shook his head slightly, lowering his eyes.

However, she didn’t have time to process the meaning of that gesture, because in an instant Draco moved fluidly, attempting to sidestep her and leave the room.

«Wait... let’s talk for a moment, please.»

Her hand closed firmly around his wrist, forcing him to stop and look at her again. With a pleading expression and the hope that it would be enough to persuade him, she tried to prevent him from fleeing. Draco, after a brief hesitation, silently gave in, allowing himself to be led away from the inquisitive gazes of the others.

She led him decisively to her Head Girl’s room, closing the door behind them with a heavy sigh.

«You can’t really take the words of an idiot like him seriously.» She finally said, crossing her arms over her chest, her tone firm.

Her eyes searched Draco’s face, which simply shrugged, showing the usual detachment. She knew from experience that insisting was useless: if he didn’t want to talk, nothing would force him to. Over time, she had learned to respect his silences.

«Now, they won’t talk about anything else for weeks.» The boy murmured, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. She sighed, rolling her eyes as she watched him sit on the edge of her bed.

«Oh come on, admit it, deep down it amuses you, Draco. You love attentions.»

A faint smile curved the blonde’s lips, and he let out a quiet laugh. The unexpected sound struck her deeply, reverberating in her chest with an unexpected warmth.

«What makes you think that, Y/n?»

She felt a slight blush spread across her cheeks, nodding imperceptibly. It was rare to hear him say her name so naturally, even more so after a sincere smile. But the lightness of the moment quickly disappeared. Draco suddenly became serious, his face hardening, his jaw tightening with tension.

«Thanks... for defending us. No one’s ever done that before, and you don’t know how much we appreciate it, how much it means to us. To me.»

His voice dropped to little more than a whisper as he looked down at the floor.

She hesitated for a moment, then moved decisively, shortening the distance between them. Gently, she placed her hands on his knees, applying slight pressure to make him spread his legs, until she was standing right between them. Draco stared at her, surprised and slightly confused, but she didn’t give him time to reflect: with a spontaneous gesture, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a silent embrace.

At first, his body remained stiff under her touch, but she continued tracing the tense muscles with slow, reassuring movements, letting him decide when to give in. When her fingers finally slipped into his blonde hair, Draco seemed to finally relax. His arms tightened around her waist with more strength, his breathing deepened, and he surrendered to that contact with a sigh of approval.

For long minutes, neither of them spoke, savoring the silent understanding that had formed between them.

Then, with a barely perceptible movement, he pressed on her hips, inviting her to sit on his lap. A slight gasp escaped her lips, but she let herself settle, feeling enveloped by his warmth. Draco’s fingers moved slowly through her hair, while his face nestled into the crook of her neck. She felt safe, as if nothing outside that room could touch them.

It was only when she felt the warmth of his lips brush her skin that her body stiffened in surprise.

Her breath caught in her throat as he slowly moved up the line of her collarbone with slow, deliberate kisses. Two fingers gently pushed her hair aside, and she, helpless, tilted her head to give him more space.

Draco didn’t hesitate. He pressed his lips to her skin with silent hunger, a crescendo of fiery kisses that made her tremble. A soft moan escaped her involuntarily when he found a particularly sensitive spot, and his grip on her hips tightened, pulling her even closer.

The only sound in the room was the rush of their accelerated breaths and the soft echo of the kisses the blonde was planting on her with increasing intensity. When he finally pulled back to look at her, his gaze burned with a feverish light.

She couldn’t help but linger on his swollen, reddened lips, watching him slowly lick them in an exasperatingly slow manner. Her skin burned in the places where he had lingered, yet she didn’t have time to fully grasp what was happening: their mouths found each other effortlessly, joined in a kiss neither of them had tried to hold back.

Her fingers tangled in his blonde hair, while Draco held her tighter, savoring her with controlled hunger. When his teeth grazed her lower lip, she moaned softly, and his tongue seized the opportunity to deepen the kiss, conquering her with a skill that left her powerless. Overcome by the intoxicating sensation, she clung to him, her nails grazing the skin at the back of his neck to keep him even closer. To never let him go.

They separated only when their breaths became irregular, and she reopened her eyes, finding his gaze locked on hers. Both of them were slightly panting, their cheeks flushed, their lips wet and swollen. Draco looked at her with a full smile, satisfied, his hand still firmly placed on her thigh possessively.

«Maybe we should... go back to the party.» She murmured, struggling for breath.

Draco tilted his head with an amused smirk. «Sure about that?»

── .✦

Hello!!!!! Here I am, let me know what do you think!!!!!!

For this one I have a Draco's point of you ... and maybe something more. ;)

Credits to the real artist of the fanart!!

[bonesmithsstuff]

Thomas Shelby - Bites of smokes

Warnings: Curses, canon typical violence, mention of guns etc. First season of peaky blinders. Light smut - nothing too detailed. Think that's all.

Masterlist |

── .✦

" Could you be the devil? Could you be an angel? "

As soon as T/n stepped over the threshold of the Garrison, the thick air hit her full force. Cigar smoke, spilled whiskey, and the acrid sweat of men who spent their nights drowning in alcohol and gambling. The noise was relentless —a chaotic melody of accents and raucous laughter, broken only by the clinking of glasses and the occasional sharp thud of a fist against the wooden tables.

The winter chill still clung to her skin, but the oppressive heat of the pub wrapped around her like a sudden bite, making her skin prickle beneath the heavy fabric of her clothes. For all its roughness, the Garrison had something familiar about it. The kind of familiarity that doesn’t welcome you -it engulfs you.

«So, what the fuck’s got you so rattled, Tom?»

John Shelby’s voice cut through the clamor, sharp and clear, drawing the attention of a couple of drunks at the bar.

T/n shrugged off her coat with a slow motion, letting it slide from her shoulders down to her forearm before gripping it with one hand and tossing it onto a nearby chair. Her gaze landed on Harry, who was busy polishing a glass behind the counter. When he saw her, the old bartender gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, his wrinkled eyes offering a familiar smile.

«Or rather… should I ask ‘who’?» John added, his smirk dripping with mischief as he directed his words at his older brother.

T/n didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. She could feel Thomas’s eyes on her before he even entered her field of vision.

It was a weight: subtle but sharp. Like the edge of a razor gliding over skin without cutting. A silent, calculated focus that traced down her spine, brushing against her nape with the promise of something dangerous.

«Do I look fucking rattled to you?»

Tommy’s voice was low, measured, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. The whiskey glass hovered midair, the amber liquid swaying slightly under the dim glow of the lamp.

T/n didn’t look at him right away.

She took her time unfastening her gloves, slipping them off with deliberate movements before setting them beside her coat. Then, without hurry, she stepped forward, stopping next to Polly.

The Shelby matriarch gave her a keen once-over, lingering for a second on the tension in her shoulders. A knowing smirk touched her lips as T/n simply nodded in greeting, exchanging a few words with her.

When she finally turned to head towards the Shelby’s private room, and when her eyes met Tommy’s, the air seemed to shift —charged with an almost imperceptible tension.

A cold, glacial tension. Like the faded blue of his irises and the sky before a storm.

He didn’t look away. He didn’t even blink. He was waiting. And he had never been so patient.

T/n tilted her head slightly, a hint of defiance in the soft curve of her lips. Then, with effortless ease, she turned toward the bar and ordered a drink.

«Come on, brother, time to get back to business, don’t you think?» Arthur laughed, slamming his fist onto the table a little too hard.

John grinned, his gaze deliberately flicking to T/n with that amused air of someone who knew more than they let on.

As soon as she sat down next to Tommy, their laughter grew louder.

He, on the other hand, said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched her, fixed his gaze on her -and that was enough.

«What the fuck did you just say?» She shot at the brothers, throwing them an annoyed look.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly and when Harry handed her the glass, T/n took it.

The ghost of a bitter smile touched her lips as she poured the whiskey. She downed it in one go, the burn sliding down her throat like fire.

Tommy didn’t move. His eyes, half-lidded, tracked her every move with quiet precision.

«Rough day?»

The woman ran a hand along her neck, easing some of the tension that had built up. The whiskey’s heat tinged her cheeks slightly, but that wasn’t what warmed her chest.

It was his attention. The way he watched her. Silent, calculating.

Only then, with a slow and deliberate motion, T/n pull out the gun and place it on the table.

Tommy was the first to reach for it. His long, slender fingers traced the grip with the ease of a man who knew weapons better than people. He flicked the cylinder with a practiced wrist movement.

«One bullet’s missing.»

The silence that followed was louder than any words. John took the gun, turning it in his hands with a thoughtful expression.

T/n inhaled deeply, closed her eyes for a moment, then exhaled a slow stream of smoke from the cigarette she had just lit. How the hell was she supposed to relax when those eyes wouldn’t leave her for even a second?

«A fucking IRA’s man jumped on me this morning, on my way to the bookies.»

Her voice was calm, steady. She felt the three brothers hone in on her, the tension around the table thickening.

«He was ranting about those goddamn guns the Belfast inspector is after. Thought I might knew something.»

A brief silence and another sip of whiskey. Her lips wet from the liquor, her throat still burning slightly. Tommy studied her but didn’t move. He remained silent, perfectly still, knowing she would never betray him.

Because she knew. She knew exactly who had those guns.

«I had Johnny Dogs and Curly take care of the body. They told me it’s handled.»

Arthur let out a low whistle before clapping her on the shoulder with a crooked grin.

«Well, fuck me… now they sure as hell know not to fuck with our T/n.»

«Damn right.» John chimed in, grinning smugly as he raised his glass in a bold toast. «No one fucks with the Peaky Blinders.»

T/n laughed along with the others, the whiskey warming her throat and chest, but her gaze quickly returned to Tommy, searching for even the slightest hint of approval in those stormy eyes. As she always did.

He didn’t flinch, until he finally spoke: «Injured?»

His voice was low, a sharp blade cutting through the noise around them. His face was unreadable, his eyes icy. And yet, T/n caught that tiny movement of his head -imperceptible to anyone else. That subtle way in which, even unknowingly, he sought her out.

He stepped closer. His cold, steady fingers brushed against her chin, tilting her face upward to meet his gaze. It wasn’t a gentle touch, but neither was it rough. He was studying her, inspecting her like one of his bets: a risk to calculate, a puzzle to solve.

A shiver ran down her spine. Not from fear. But from that minimal touch that ignited something deep within her.

«I’m fine» she murmured, holding her breath. «I got lucky, had my gun within reach.» She tried to lighten the tension with a smile, steering the conversation toward something she knew would catch his interest: «I heard Monaghan Boy lost, huh? Everyone was furious this morning. Quite the hit, Thomas… nearly 3,000 pounds.»

A flicker passed through Tom’s eyes, quick and lethal, like the glint of light on a blade.

«Did you count it?» He asked.

T/n held back a smirk, tilting her head slightly. She knew she had his attention now. «I left it all in your desk.» She said, crossing her arms over her chest. Then, with a more brazen smile, she added. «Oh, and I sorted out the records… you guys always keep them in a bloody mess. You never give me the damn time to put some order.»

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, his gaze piercing through her as if he could read her thoughts. For a moment, T/n was certain she caught a hint of a smirk, fleeting and elusive, before the smoke swallowed it.

«Mm-hmm. Good.» His raspy voice hummed through the air, low and rough.

T/n finished her whiskey in one long sip. But the last drop nearly caught in her throat when she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her against a solid, familiar frame. Tommy’s grip was firm, natural, certain. He left her no room to pull away. And that’s when she truly felt it -the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the intense scent of tobacco, whiskey, and leather, the heat of his breath grazing her neck. The world around them dulled, her vision blurred slightly, and her heartbeat kicked up an almost imperceptible, but undeniable, notch.

John and Arthur were caught up in their animated discussion, oblivious to the diminishing space between them. But either way, no one would have dared to say a word.

«You’re staying with us tonight.» Tommy’s voice brushed against her ear, an order disguised as a whisper. «Until we find out whether that ira’s man was acting alone or with others, you’re not staying by yourself.»

A shiver ran down her spine, and T/n instinctively wet her lips. She lifted her gaze to meet his, but Tommy was already looking at her. With that same intensity that made her forget how to breathe. If she had anything to argue, he didn’t give her the chance: «I’m not asking.»

Slowly, T/n plucked the cigarette from his lips and brought it to her own with deliberate ease, never breaking eye contact. Tommy didn’t move, but the glint of amusement in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. They both too much enjoyed that game between them.

«You know I love it when you give me orders, Tommy Shelby.» She whispered against his skin, her breath warm against the line of his jaw. Then, with a slow, intentional motion, she loosened his tie before giving him a light pat on the chest and stepped back with a sly grin.

Tommy parted his lips as if to respond -but he never got the chance. The Garrison’s doors burst open with a sharp bang.

Billy Kimber stormed inside, and in an instant, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew thick, electric. Tommy rose immediately, his face morphing into a mask of absolute control. Within seconds, the pub emptied. The silence that followed was deafening.

Kimber turned, his leering gaze settling on T/n with too much interest. She felt it like a slimy touch on her skin but didn’t lower her eyes. She held his stare, crossing her arms over her chest in a calculated move.

She would never let him win. And Thomas knew that all too well.

«T/n, come here.»

He grasped her wrist with a firmness that left no room for protest, pulling her toward him. His figure positioned itself directly in front of hers, shielding her from Kimber’s view like an unyielding wall. He wouldn’t let that bastard’s gaze linger on her for another second. Especially not on her.

His fingers tightened around her waist, his grip steady. «Go home.» His voice dropped lower, but it was still a command. «Two of my men are waiting outside to take you there. Pack a bag, throw in a few things, and wait for me in my room.» His stare locked onto hers, sharp as an unbreakable order. «Walk out. Don’t look at anyone. Don’t listen to anyone. Just do as I said. Do you understand?»

T/n’s fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, her breath slightly uneven. «Thomas-»

He shook his head just slightly. «Go. Wait for me.»

She hesitated, just for a blink. The ice in his eyes melted for a brief instant. «Tommy…» Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost a plea. «Be careful.»

For the first time since he had started speaking, a faint, dangerous, smile tugged at his lips.

«Always.»

With a final nod, he sent her off. And for the first time since he had known her, T/n obeyed without protest.

She had paced back and forth around the house, sat on the edge of the bed to quiet herself, even brushed her fingers along the edges of his desk in an attempt to find some sense of calm. But nothing worked. The thought that Billy Kimber could be a danger to Tommy tightened her chest in a grip of anxiety.

In the end, she gave in to exhaustion and put on her nightgown, but before going to bed, she walked over to the window. T/n lit a cigarette and looked down at the street below, the smoke dissolving into the air as her fingers tapped nervously against her arm.

It had been a long, intense day. She needed to rest, to clear her mind. But every time she closed her eyes, worry devoured her from the inside

Just as she was about to lose hope, the door suddenly swung open.

T/n turned abruptly, her breath catching.

Tommy stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. His eyes found hers immediately, that deep blue piercing into her with a force that made her stomach tighten.

«Hey.»

He was soaked. Water dripped from his clothes, forming small puddles on the wooden floor. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, and his wet shirt clung to his skin. She felt a wave of relief, quickly followed by a surge of anger.

«Thomas fucking Shelby.» She stubbed out the cigarette with a sharp gesture and marched toward him, fire in her eyes. «Where the fuck have you been?» She jabbed a finger against his chest, feeling the damp fabric beneath her fingertip. «Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was, huh?»

He didn’t answer. He simply removed his coat and tossed it onto a chair.

«I could fucking kill you with my bare hands.»

Tommy raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk ghosting over his lips as he sat down on the bed.

«Don't act like that, I might get used to it.»

T/n crossed her arms over her chest, furious at the way he brushed off her concerns. «Used to what?»

He studied her for a long moment before speaking. «This.» He took off his cap and threw it beside him. «You waiting for me at home, angry because I came back late and ready to yell at me.» He paused, a faint smile on his lips, his eyes locked onto hers. «Me taking you to bed and fucking you until my hands have left their marks.»

A shiver ran down her spine. Heat rose to her cheeks, and Tommy noticed. He reached out a hand toward her, and she hesitated for a moment before taking it. He pulled her to him with disarming ease.

«You can deny it, you can push me away, but it won’t change what you want.» His voice was a whisper, yet perfectly clear. «And I know you want me.»

She shook her head with a bitter smile, her gaze evasive as her heart pounded in her chest. Her hands trembled slightly, a flicker of hesitation she couldn't control. «You don’t know what I want, Thomas.»

He watched her intently, his eyes searching hers. His jaw tensed for a moment.

«Look at me and say it, then.» His fingers found hers, squeezing them firmly. «Say it. Say that you don’t want me, say that you don’t love me, and I won’t bring it up again.»

Her heart pounded against her ribs. Her breath caught in her throat. Every fibre of her being told her to fight him, to resist. But she knew it was a lost battle.

«Fuck, Tommy.» She ran a hand over her face, trying to control the chaos inside her. Her heartbeat thundered louder with each second, her chest rising and falling under the weight of an emotion she refused to name -an emotion she feared.

She looked away, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught the smirk forming on his lips. It was the smile of a man who knew he had won, who had already figured everything out.

He stood up, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate movements, and began tracing a hand down her back with a touch so light it was barely perceptible through the fabric of her nightgown.

His warm breath ghosted over her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. «You’re fucking stubborn.» He murmured before pushing her firmly against the wall, leaving no space between their bodies. The heat radiating from him seeped into her skin, and she trembled as she felt his presence between her legs.

«And you’re an asshole, Thomas.»

His hand moved to her neck, squeezing lightly, and in an instant, his lips crashed against hers. The kiss was intense, desperate, a tangled mess of desire and frustration. His tongue explored her mouth with hunger, and she clawed at the back of his head, pulling him even closer until there was no air left between them.

Suddenly, she pushed him away, her head resting against the wall as her breath came in ragged gasps. Tommy’s gaze remained locked on hers, blue and piercing, filled with a hunger that made her tremble.

With a frustrated growl, she took a few steps back -but she didn’t last long. In an instant, she closed the distance again, crashing her mouth against his. He caught her mid-air, strong hands gripping her thighs as he lifted her effortlessly.

Their bodies burned against each other, fingers trailing over heated skin. He caressed her thigh, his touch a stark contrast between tenderness and the brutal need that consumed them. Their lips found each other again and again, biting and devouring, as the rest of the world disappeared.

In a matter of seconds, he pushed her onto the bed, positioning himself above her. She ripped his shirt off with frantic hands, gasping when he tore her nightgown away without hesitation.

«Fuck, come here.» His voice was hoarse, impatient. She pulled herself up, her hands sliding over his bare chest.

He gripped her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her skin. Her trembling hands unfastened his trousers, slipping inside his boxers to wrap around his hard length.

Tommy shuddered immediately, a deep groan vibrating through his chest as his breath fanned over her neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites on her sensitive skin.

In one swift movement, he pushed her back onto the mattress, stripping away the last barriers between them. Her legs parted to welcome him, and he slid between them, thrusting inside her with a single, decisive motion. Her body arched at the sensation, a muffled moan escaping as her nails raked down his back with every deep thrust.

«Tommy...» His name was a whisper on her lips, almost a plea. He pinned her hands beside her head, holding her in place as his rhythm intensified.

She felt him growing inside her, pleasure surging with every movement. Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him closer. He kissed her fiercely, touched her possessively, pouring every ounce of obsession into her skin.

With a sudden move, she broke free from his grasp and flipped their positions, straddling him. Tommy looked up at her with dark, lust-filled eyes. She began moving over him slowly, increasing the pace as pleasure built between them.

A light moan left his lips as he gripped her hips, guiding her. His back pressed against the wall, her breasts brushing against his skin with each movement. One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so he could bite and suck at every inch of her throat. His name slipped again from her lips in a breathless whisper, followed by louder moans.

Tommy’s mouth closed around her nipple, sucking and biting. The moment she arched against him, he realized he would never get enough of seeing her this vulnerable beneath him. He would never get enough of her.

They came together, bodies moving in sync until they reached the peak, then collapsed beside each other, panting breaths mingling in the air thick with desire.

Silence stretched between them until Tommy reached for a cigarette, lighting it with a slow movement. As the smoke curled through the room, he traced lazy circles along the warm skin of her back.

She turned to him, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the distant look in his eyes. «What is it, Tom?»

He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, in a low, sincere voice, he said, «Help me.» She stared at him, confused, as he pulled the covers up over her. «With life, with business, with everything.»

A small smile tugged at her lips. «Why?»

Tommy pulled her closer, locking her in his embrace. «Because you’re the only one who can.»

── .✦

For some reason, not quite satisfied with this one, I don’t know... but let me know what do you think!!!

[bonesmithsstuff]

Bucky Barnes - Winter Haze

Warnings: Blood, some curses and (I think) that's all! Angst.

Masterlist |

── .✦

" Where Autumn goes, Winter follows. "

The cabin door burst open with a snap, slamming against the wooden wall with a thud. The storm raged behind them, while the roar of engines in pursuit grew dangerously close. Blood oozed from the wound on the woman’s side, scarlet and fluid, trickling down her waist. Bucky held her up with his vibranium arm, making sure none of their enemies were right on their heels. With the hand holding his gun, he shut the door behind them, and darkness swallowed them whole.

The engines rumbled louder. The soldier slid down against the door, pulling his partner against him.

«Hold on. Breathe.» His words were barely more than a whisper as Bucky pressed his metal hand against her wound. She groaned in pain, slumping against him, her body drained of strength. The urge to close her eyes was almost impossible to resist. «You need to stay awake, damn it.»

Bucky’s chest rose and fell rapidly, breath short from the chase and the fear tightening around his ribs like a vice.

«Don't close your eyes.» His voice came out rougher than he intended.

T/n shuddered, her body tensing as another wave of pain shot through her side. Still, she found the strength to lift her chin slightly, lips curling into an ironic smirk, even as her eyelids grew heavy.

«Never seen you this worried before, Barnes... you’re not going soft on me, are you?» She whispered, her voice weak but carrying that stubbornness that had never left her.

Bucky clenched his jaw. «Maybe because you never give me the chance to be, since you're always finding new trouble to throw yourself into.»

She let out what should have been a light chuckle, but it sounded more like a strangled whimper. Bucky cursed under his breath at their situation, and without thinking, adjusted his grip on her, pulling her even closer. Her warmth was reassuring, but at the same time, it was a painful reminder of how fragile she was in that moment.

Outside, the wind howled violently, drowning out every other sound —except the engines, those no. They roared menacingly, just a few dozen meters away, and the sergeant had to be ready. If they found them, he wouldn't hesitate to summon the Winter Soldier himself to keep the woman against his chest safe.

Bucky forced himself to focus. His jaw tightened, his metal hand trembling ever so slightly as he pressed harder against her wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

«We need to get this mess off you. Now.» He muttered, his gaze dark as he lowered his head to inspect the wound more closely. «Can you sit up on your own?»

T/n didn’t answer right away. Her eyes barely opened, clouded with pain and exhaustion. But she nodded. «Yeah... if you stop crushing against me.» A faint trace of defiance laced her voice —an attempt to mask the weakness she despised, the one gnawing at her bones with relentless exhaustion.

Bucky huffed, but a flicker of relief crossed his chest at the fact that she could still respond. Slowly, with a gentleness that contradicted his brutal strength, he helped her sit up straighter, his metal hand steadying her side.

«You should be more grateful, you know?» He muttered, blindly feeling around with his free hand for something to press against the wound.

She looked at him with tired eyes, but there was something in them —something Bucky couldn't quite decipher right away. Amusement. And that silent understanding that ran deep between them, buried beneath layers of guilt and regret

«Oh, of course. Thanks for letting me bleed all over your jacket, Soldier.»

Bucky froze for a second. Then, with a motion sharper than necessary, he tore a strip from his own shirt to use as a bandage. The thought of his jacket being soaked in her blood made his stomach churn. Every damn mission, and every damn time, T/n walked away with a fresh wound. The Red Room hadn’t given her a super serum, no accelerated healing. And after each mission, Bucky's anger grew stronger.

«For the record, this isn't the first time you've bled on me.»

T/n smirked, though it was more of a pained grin. «And it won’t be the last.»

Something twisted in Bucky’s chest at those words. But he forced himself not to dwell on it. Not to feel. Not now. Not with enemies still out there, and not when his heart was pounding too fast to blame it solely on adrenaline.

The truth, the one he had spent too long trying to ignore, was that the thought of losing her terrified him more than anything else.

Soon, the storm had swallowed everything. Snow fell thick and blinding, even against the darkness of the night. The wind howled, erasing all sound, all shapes, every trace of their devotion from the main path. The headlights of the enemy jeeps dimmed behind the rising white wall around the cabin. The engines roared for a few more minutes before fading into the distance, deceived by the fury of the storm.

They were alive. By luck or by miracle: they had lost them.

Bucky didn’t allow himself even a second to breathe in relief. As soon as the sound of the vehicles faded, he turned his full attention back to T/n. The bleeding had slowed, the makeshift bandage was holding, but she was too quiet, too pale, too cold. Her breathing was too light.

He let go of her for only a moment, moving quickly to find blankets or anything that could help. He found a few in the bedroom closet, along with a change of clothes. In no time, he was back at her side. Without any effort, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the smallest room he could find: the bathroom. He had already laid a blanket at the bottom of the tub, and now he stepped in with her still in his arms. Wrapping both of them in the remaining towels, he tried to share his warmth in the only way he could. He couldn’t risk lighting a fire, but the Widow pressed against his chest needed all the heat she could get.

The entire time, T/n didn’t move or make a sound. And that silence was more terrifying than anything else.

The hours dragged by, marked only by the faint whistling of the wind outside and the occasional incoherent murmurs from T/n. Every time he heard even the smallest noise from her, Bucky exhaled in relief —only to start holding his breath again when the silence stretched on too long.

He had stayed awake the entire time. Watching her. And, little by little, her body had started to warm up, too much.

Fever.

The shock of the wound, the cold, the blood loss… it had pushed her body past its limits. And now, she was fighting another battle —one that Bucky couldn’t win for her with a knife or his fists.

He felt helpless. And he hated it.

He didn’t know how many times, throughout that long night, he had reached out to brush her forehead or neck, just to make sure she was still there, still breathing. He didn’t know how many times he had clenched his jaw, forcing himself to swallow down the anxiety clawing at his chest.

And as he sat there, trembling with exhaustion, waiting for her to wake up, his mind drifted back to his first memory of her. The first time they met, the snow had been just as thick as what he was watching falling outside the bathroom window.

After all, Berlin had always been a cold city —especially in the biting grip of winter.

Bucky could still remember the way she had moved through the rubble of the collapsed building —a silent shadow, her eyes sharp, her breathing controlled. So careful that she had almost slipped past him. And by the time he laid eyes on her, T/n already had a gun trained on him. No hesitation, finger on the trigger, while he studied her intently.

Two loaded weapons.

Two faces marked by invisible scars.

«Winter Soldier.»

She had spoken his name like a sentence, and Bucky could hear the venom behind it. Not fear but something deeper. Something that smelled of vengeance and buried secrets. Then again, it wasn’t exactly surprising that a man like him had enemies.

«And who the hell are you?»

She had smiled, tilting her head slightly. «That’s not the right question, Sergeant.»

They had quickly realized that they were both supposed to die under that rubble, and the reality of it hit them hard: someone wanted them both dead. As soon as they figured out who the real enemy was, they ended up fighting side by side.

Bucky —the shadow of the man he once was, tangled with the ghosts of the Winter Soldier— should have left right there and then. But something in her expression, in the way she looked at him without fear, had kept him there.

«Then what are you after?» He had asked.

She had run a hand through her dust-covered hair, still catching her breath. But her grip on the gun had loosened, just slightly, once she realized he wasn’t a threat. Her guard, however, never fully dropped. «Revenge.»

And now, as he held her in the cabin, with snow falling outside and dried blood stubbornly staining her side, Bucky realized something.

He was never going to be able to let her go.

From the moment they decided to work together, from that night, Bucky had understood one thing.

He couldn’t live without her anymore.

His heart only beat when he could hear her breathing. She was still here. Still stubborn. Still willing to throw herself into the fire for him.

And he was fucking terrified of losing her.

«Bucky…»

T/n’s voice was barely a whisper, broken and heavy with sleep, exhaustion, and pain. But it was still something.

His head snapped down instantly, eyes locking onto hers. They were barely open, her forehead damp with sweat —but she was conscious.

«Hey.» His voice came out rough, colder than he intended. «You’re still with me?»

T/n licked her dry lips, trying to focus on the figure standing over the tub. He had stood up to get a better look at her, to bandage her properly now that she was awake. His outline was blurred, but she recognized him. Of course, she did. The scarred face, the clenched jaw, that blue eyes watching her with an almost suffocating intensity.

He looked… angry?

«You’re looking at me like you want to shoot me.»

Her voice was weak, but there was still a ghost of a smile on her lips —one that failed to hide the tremor in her hands.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, and he averted his gaze for a moment, trying to smother the fire burning inside him. But the words still came out sharp and laced with tension: «You got too damn close.»

She blinked, confused. «What are you talking about?»

«You know exactly what I’m talking about.» His voice dropped into a low, controlled growl. «You stepped in front of that damn bullet. You threw yourself into it like your life didn’t mean a thing.»

T/n pressed her lips together, looking away.

«Do you think you’re invincible?» His tone was thick with anger. With fear. With something deeper, something that he couldn’t admit. «Do you think you can risk your life every time and just walk away with it?»

She looked back at him, and this time, there was a flicker of defiance in her eyes. Just because she had been shot, it didn’t mean he should expect her to stay quiet.

«I acted without thinking, alright?»

«No, you didn’t think, goddammit.» His fists clenched. «What if you had died? What if I couldn’t stop the bleeding? What if they would have found us?»

Silence.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said: «Then I would have died.»

The words hit harder than a punch.

Bucky tensed, his chest rising with a sharp breath. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to calm himself.

It didn’t work.

In the meantime, T/n had slid back against the bathtub wall, using her legs as leverage to push herself up onto the edge. She wanted to wash away the dirt and the blood, to scrub off all the stains that made the sergeant look at her like that —so angry, without his usual smirk.

«This isn’t the woman who fought for her life in Berlin, the day we met. The day you met the Winter Soldier. Shit, it looked like you were running straight into that bullet. And now, why the hell are you acting like you don’t even care?»

Already frustrated because she couldn’t even take off that damn vest on her own, T/n snapped in an instant. «Because you were the fucking target of that bullet.» Her features were tense, and before she lowered her head even for just a second— Bucky caught the glint in her eyes. Wet. «So forgive me for not thinking before I threw myself in front of you. Forgive me for following my instincts. Forgive me, because I could never have stood it if that bullet had even only grazed you.»

The words left her mouth with a bitterness so sharp it nearly hurt. She felt almost foolish for how she hadn’t even stopped for a second to consider the consequences of her actions. She hadn’t even thought about the fact that Bucky was a super-soldier: she had just acted. And no matter how much he scolded her, she would do it a thousand times over. A thousand times again.

Bucky felt like he was teetering on the edge of a precipice. Her words pounded in his head, along with the uneven sound of her breathing. She was so close. Alive, even though she had been one step away from leaving him.

And all because of him. For him.

A near-silent growl escaped his throat as his fingers brushed the warm skin of her face. He had lifted his right hand to touch her, to feel the heat of her body.

T/n looked at him with those eyes that had always seen him for what he truly was: without fear, without judgment. The eyes of a woman who had just taken a bullet to keep him alive.

A second passed, and Bucky’s heart skipped a beat.

Then another.

His lips crashed against hers in a brutal, desperate kiss, the taste of blood and pain mixing between them.

T/n gasped against him, but she didn’t push him away.

On the contrary, she clung to him with a force that shattered him, as if her life depended on it. Her hands tangled in Bucky’s hair, pulling him closer, while he held her with an almost feral intensity. He needed to feel her, to touch her, to make sure she was real.

He pressed her against the wall of the chalet’s tub, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of her neck. «You can’t ever do that again. Got it?» His tone was low, a broken whisper, laced with the fear that still gripped his chest. «Don’t ever put yourself between me and a bullet again. Don’t ever put yourself between me and anything.»

«Are you asking me to promise you that?» Her voice trembled, uncertain. Her hands slipped under Bucky’s shirt, skimming the hot, tense skin of his back. He closed his eyes for a second, his jaw clenched. «Because I don’t think I can.»

Another kiss. Deeper. More desperate.

This time, it was Bucky’s hands that explored, discovering the soft skin beneath sweat-and-dust-soaked clothes. He pulled off that damned vest in one fluid motion, and the long-sleeved shirt she wore followed soon after.

«You’re alive.» Bucky growled against her lips, those words his only anchor. He had spent the entire night repeating them to himself.

«I’m here.»

Bucky’s breath shattered against hers. The weight of the world still pressed down on him, but in that moment, with her in his arms, it was the only place he wanted to be.

His fingers traced the outline of her waist, carefully avoiding her wound but never stopping, never pulling away. She shivered slightly, but not from the pain.

«Bucky…» For the second time that night, she whispered his name.

He wanted to lose himself in her completely, to let go without thinking about anything else. But then his gaze fell on the bandage covering her wound, and reality crashed into him with the force of a bullet to the chest.

He shut his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers. His breathing was still uneven, the need between them still burning. She looked at him with those eyes too full of emotions.

And for the first time, Bucky wondered if it was already too late for him.

If his heart already belonged to her, irreversibly.

── .✦

As always: Let me know what do you think!!! Credits to the artist of the fanart! :)

[bonesmithsstuff]

Spencer Reid - Slow-burning

Warnings: 14 season of Criminal Minds, no big spoilers just context, swearing, angst.

Masterlist |

── .✦

" 'Cause fuck it, I was in love, so fuck you if I can't have us. "

The doctor’s fingers drummed nervously on his desk. That morning, he had gotten up earlier than usual—or rather, he hadn’t slept at all —and the dark circles under his eyes stood as witnesses.

Those last forty-eight hours had been impossible. After what had happened the day before, Reid couldn’t get out of his head what T/n had told him. Despite the circumstances of her speech, he couldn’t help but think about her words, about the desperate way they had been spoken. He had never seen her cry, never seen her break down, not even when he’d ended up in prison —he had never seen her allow herself to falter. That night, watching tears stream down her cheeks had tightened the grip around Reid’s heart so intensely that he feared it would burst any second.

On her hand, the woman had made the situation clear right away: it had been a consequence of the moment; she had to say something to keep the unsub occupied while they waited for the team to arrive, to buy time. Apparently, declaring that she had always been in love with him must have seemed like a truly great option. In fact, it had given Spencer time to free himself from the duct tape with a piece of glass and shoot the man holding them hostage. Since then, things between the pair had become tense, fragile, unsteady.

It couldn’t be a lie. After years of working as a profiler in the FBI’s BAU, Spencer knew how to recognize lies —especially if they were coming from his best friend, the woman with whom he had always shared every aspect of his life, his colleague, his partner in everything.

That morning, he watched her sit at her desk with a coffee in her hands. Since she had arrived, she had given him nothing more than a smile and a nod before disappearing behind her computer and paperworks. She was ignoring him, and the situation was starting to seriously get on his nerves, even though it hadn’t even been two full days.

Things couldn’t fall apart like that —not when he had spent years of his life loving her, feeling a knot in his stomach every time she looked at him and laughed, sighing with relief every time she came back safe and sound from solving a new case. He had seen her fall in and out of love, had comforted her every time someone had broken her heart in those ten years since they’d known each other. He refused to believe that what happened would be what ruined their relationship. She was the woman who had kept him standing through prison, the one he thought of to find the strength to keep going, the one who had managed to help him pull himself together even after Tobias Hankel. And in that same way, she was his ruin.

«Good morning, Spencer.» JJ leaned against the man’s desk, sipping from the cup she held in her hands. The doctor leaned back against his chair and took a deep breath, lifting his eyes to meet those of his dear friend. In a normal situation, he would have frowned at the understanding and worried way she was looking at him. «Haven’t you two talked yet?» She was the only one he had talked about what had happened, even though the tension between T/n and Boy WonderB Wonder was evident to the whole team. Even opening up about those feelings hadn’t eased the anxiety crushing his chest.

The younger man grimaced. «She’s already made herself very clear.»

The blonde shook her head slightly, glancing between her friend and the woman she had come to know and care for. T/n was complicated, in a way that JJ had never fully been able to understand, despite how close they were. Instead, Spencer seemed able to unravel her like the most challenging puzzle, just by looking at her. When she was nervous, he could calm her down in an instant, and when something was wrong, he was always the first to notice. What was clear to anyone who spent time around those two was the bond that tied them together. Not everyone defined it the same way, but it was visible and present —strong. Jennifer knew the woman would never let their relationship fall apart like that. At least, she hoped she knew her friend well enough to be sure of it.

«Give her a bit more time, Reid.» JJ tried to read the doctor’s expression, recalling the images the team had seen through Garcia’s laptop connection. She remembered Spencer’s face twisted in an indecipherable expression and T/n’s shoulders tense with stress.

Spencer had to fight against himself to hold back the grimace that threatened to crease his face. He knew her too well —she would ignore the problem, hoping things would calm down on their own.

He wasn’t going to let her get away with it that time. He needed to talk about it. To say that “I love you too" he had never managed to utter.

He got up almost abruptly from his chair, pausing briefly once on his feet. The sudden movement took JJ off guard, and she watched the young man as he approached the woman sitting just a few desks away.

The doctor had his hands in the pockets of the beige pants he was wearing and cleared his throat to get T/n’s attention. When she saw him, all color drained from her cheeks, which were usually tinged with a slight flush. «Will you come?»

The woman knew exactly what he was referring to and understood why he needed her confirmation. «I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s Rossi’s wedding.»

Her heart began to beat so fast in her chest that it frightened her. She still couldn’t grasp it, couldn’t understand what had gone through her mind at that moment to drop a bomb like that. It was the secret she had always been ready to take to the grave, something she should never have said out loud. It was one of the things she guarded most jealously, and that morning, as she looked at him, a strange instinct screamed at her to run as far as possible. She wouldn’t be able to bear rejection —she didn’t even want to hear it, which was why she didn’t want to talk about it at all.

«Then I’ll pick you up?»

T/n stood up abruptly from her chair, finding her face suddenly level with the doctor’s. She stared at him for a moment, biting her lip —a gesture that immediately caught Spencer’s attention. They didn’t even know how to explain it. How a few simple words had been enough to make that mutual attraction they’d always tried to hide obvious to everyone. The woman held her breath, nervously shifting her gaze to the computer monitor. «I... I had already found a ride.»

Of course, Spencer would have never expected that the ride she mentioned would be given to her by none other than her new boyfriend —the one they had all been hearing so much about in the past few weeks.

His fingers tingled with irritation as he watched the man’s arm wrapped possessively around T/N’s waist. He hadn’t yet had the “pleasure” of being introduced, and he was looking forward to it. The only thing he wanted, the only thing he could think about, was making it clear that before anything else, she was his partner.

«Here you go, my crystal served in a crystal glass. In honour of the bride, of course. Tara, Matt, what do you think?» Garcia’s voice pulled the doctor out of his thoughts, and a faint smile barely curved his lips.

Tara let out a soft laugh. «I say I definitely want a double one.»

Simmons glanced smugly at their Boy Wonder, whose gaze kept shifting between his drink and a certain woman.

«I, on the other hand, would like to know what we think about T/N’s boyfriend.» Matt took a casual sip of his drink as Tara and Garcia exchanged a knowing look, followed by a giggle.

The blonde was the first to comment. « I say our girl really hit the jackpot this time. That man is fine as hell.»

«I'm almost jealous, you know? If only I could find someone who looks at me like they want to eat me alive.»

Everyone burst into laughter —everyone except Spencer, who found absolutely nothing amusing about the situation.

The man they had been discussing about chose that exact moment to approach the small group by the bar. «Good evening, I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself yet. Jack, nice to meet you all.»

The team shook the man's hand and introduced themselves one by one. «Dr. Reid.»

«But you can call him Spencer, right?»

T/N’s voice made the young man's heart skip a beat. Her arm was wrapped around her boyfriend's, but her eyes were locked onto her partner's.

«Of course.» His tone came out more sarcastic than necessary as he shook Jack's hand out of courtesy, keeping his eyes firmly on his girl.

The reception, intimate and personal, was an emotional one for the whole team. They were all so happy to see their friend and colleague finally happy that they let themselves enjoy the night more than they had in a long time. They cut the cake together, danced, and drank so much that most of the guests were now giggling for no apparent reason.

«A glass of water, please.» T/N leaned slightly over the open bar, rubbing her temples with a tired sigh.

Spencer seized the opportunity to approach her, excusing himself from Garcia, with whom he had been "dancing" —if his awkward swaying could even be called that. His heart pounded erratically, beyond his control. Lately, Spencer had the impression that it only truly beat for these moments he managed to steal with her —when it was just the two of them, when her attention was solely on him. «Already tapping out?»

«Jack drank too much.» A grimace twisted her lips, and a huff escaped her mouth. Spencer stared at those lips for the thousandth time that night. Painted with a deep red lipstick that made it impossible for him to look away.

In those moments, he still felt like the teenage boy —completely incapable of controlling his thoughts, the urge to touch her, to seek out any physical contact. He imagined the taste of her mouth, the taste of her skin as he kissed every inch of it. He wanted to show her just how wrong she was every time she teased him about being too vanilla, too innocent. Because if that had been true in the past, things had shifted completely.

All he could think about was how badly he wanted to shove T/N against a wall and press his body against hers. How many marks he’d leave on her, how much it would turn him on to see the imprint of his hands still reddened against her skin.

The mere thought made his pants feel tight and uncomfortable. The mere thought was starting to not be enough anymore.

«And he doesn’t want to stay in one of the rooms Rossi booked here. So, I need to sober up —it's an hour’s drive.»

«You’re kidding, right?» T/N looked at him with an expression that could have set him on fire on the spot. «You can’t drive an hour, at night, in heels, with a drunk man in the passenger seat, just because your stupid boyfriend couldn’t pace himself. You’ll stay here.»

Her hands trembled slightly as she took the glass of water from the bartender and downed it in one gulp.  

«He’s not stupid, and I don’t want to argue, Spencer. Not with you, not with anyone. Not tonight.»

«You can’t just expect everything to be alright and you know that.» Spencer could feel his adrenaline levels spiking. That situation needed to be resolved. «You can’t pretend you’re not scared of driving all the way home, pretend you wouldn’t rather stay here, rest properly and have breakfast with us in the morning.»

T/N’s boyfriend, for his part, didn’t look so good —he had dozed off on one of the couches, mercifully not making a scene.

«It’s not just my decision, and—»

«And whose decision is it? The drunk guy’s? Not happening.»

It took only a second.

With the dexterity of a magician, Spencer leaned in towards T/N, closing the distance between them. The scent of him clouded her senses, and his proximity short-circuited her brain as the doctor’s hand slipped into her purse, swiftly grabbing her car keys. He shoved them into his pocket without another word and straightened his posture, looking at her with a self-satisfied smirk.

«Spencer! You can’t be serious. Give them back.»

«No.» A deep sigh left his lips as he ran a hand through his messy curls. «You want them back? Then we talk about what’s happening between us. About what you said when we were being held hostage. We talk about the truth.»

A few steps away, Emily had gotten caught up in eavesdropping on her two friends and colleagues. Next to her, JJ caught the questioning look in Emily’s eyes and let an enigmatic smile curl her lips.

«It was obvious things were tense… but what the hell happened?» The blonde pursed her lips just as the sound of T/N’s heels tapping against the wooden floor caught the attention of a few guests. She was heading toward the exit, and Spencer was right behind her.

«She told him she’s always loved him when they were being held hostage. And then… she denied it all.»

«And he actually thinks she was lying?»

«It’s Spencer. And when it comes to that woman, Boy Wonder doesn’t exist.»

A small smile played on Emily’s lips as she watched the two figures disappear from sight.

T/n could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she hurried toward the back exit of the building, heading for the gardens. She just wanted to feel the fresh air, to regain some sense of herself and her actions. As soon as she calmed down, she would call a taxi and go home —no problems, no worries, and most importantly, no need to face the unresolved issue between her and Spencer. A solution that would suit them both.  

The garden was bathed in a dim glow, where lanterns casted shadows along the cobbled paths and green trees. The hum of the party seemed distant, almost unreal, yet still perceptible. The young profiler walked without direction, her determined and almost hurried strides perfectly reflecting her turmoil. The memory of the hostage situation and the forced confessions was mixing with a fury and fear that made her hands tremble, nervously clutching the fabric of her dress, and her heartbeat accelerate wildly.

Spencer, on the other hand, wore nothing but an expression of sheer determination. One that his friends had grown used to after his time in prison. Reid was no longer the little boy Morgan had always called him. Yes, he was still the same genius, but hardened by a cruelty that, more than anyone else on the team, he had never deserved.

«T/n! Stop, damn it. Let me talk.»

She didn’t slow down, shaking her head. «I don’t want to hear you, Spencer. I don’t want to talk to you or to anyone else. Just go back to the party, go back to Rossi, and leave me alone.»

Her steps finally came to a halt in a small circular clearing, surrounded by gray stone benches and what seemed to be peach or cherry trees. The doctor was momentarily distracted, observing the trunks, the shape of the leaves, the tiny flowers threatening to bloom with the arrival of spring.

A few seconds later, his gaze snapped back to T/n’s figure, and he let out a heavy sigh. Her posture was rigid, almost curled in on itself.

«Falling in love with you has been the most torturous thing in my life, you know that?» Spencer shoved his hands into the pockets of his elegant pants, his breath forming small clouds in the cold night air. «More than Tobias, more than Gideon, more than prison. It was… it is the hardest thing I’ve ever faced.» His voice was calm, sincere, laced with a sharp certainty that caught T/n’s full attention. But she still hadn’t turned around. «The way you make me feel powerless, completely incapable of caring about anything or anyone that isn’t you.»

She turned her head slightly, her eyes finally landing on him. He wasn’t looking at her —his gaze was fixed on the sky above them, distant, lost.

«Every day, at work. And every night we went out together… You were a torture.»

Her breath caught in her throat. «A… torture?»

«Yes.»

Spencer lowered his gaze, locking eyes with hers with an intensity that made her sink into place. His tone wasn’t filled with anger or resentment. It was just the truth —raw, undeniable. Painful.

«For years, I had to live with the fact that you were always right there, next to me, and that I could never reallyhave you. I lived through every glance, every smile, every laugh of yours like a condemned man watching the sun through the bars of his cell. I met every man you loved, I watched you break, and every time I had to pick up your pieces, I smiled, clenched my teeth, and pretended that loving you wasn’t slowly destroying me. And I never even had one chance.»

T/n’s hands trembled, clenching into fists.

«Spence…»

He shook his head, taking another step closer. Finally, they were near enough to feel each other’s warmth in the cold night air.

«And after years of this, of patience, you told me you loved me while we were waiting to die.» His voice dropped to a whisper, almost an accusation. «So forgive me if I can’t just move on and pretend it didn’t happen, like you asked me to.»

The tension between them crackled like electricity in the air. T/n closed her eyes for a moment, trying to find a response, an excuse, words that would be enough. But they never came.

«I—I was scared. I didn’t know what to say, how to handle all of this.» She admitted, her voice fragile as cracked glass.

Spencer remained still.

«Then why did you push me away? Why did you insist that I believe it wasn’t true, instead of… I don’t know, anything else?»

Silence. T/n lowered her gaze, unable to withstand the weight of his words.

«Because if it was true… if I admitted it was real.» She took a shaky breath. «I would have also admitted that I wasted years chasing something I never really wanted.» A lump formed in her throat.

Spencer closed his eyes, letting out a long, deep sigh. When he opened them again, the ghost of a bitter smile tugged at his lips.

«I’m terrified. Of what I feel, of this situation, and the only logical solution seemed to be avoiding you entirely.» She brought a hand to her face, and Spencer immediately recognized that trembling in her fingers for the way she tried so desperately to hold herself together. «Avoiding you would have left things in limbo forever, but talking about it might have destroyed everything. I couldn’t stand it.»

Spencer’s silence was about to break her completely. Before her emotions could push her over the edge, Reid moved closer, placing a hand against her cheek. The touch was light, delicate and T/n leaned into it. In that instant, the tension shifted: the fire of anger and pain melded into something else, something achingly tender. With an almost imperceptible movement, she lifted her gaze, meeting Spencer’s eyes in silence. A few seconds later, his face inched closer to hers, their breaths mingling more and more.

When their lips finally met, the kiss exploded.

It was at once furious and sweet. Teeth nipped at skin, tongues chased each other with desperate urgency. It was as if they were both determined to leave a mark strong enough to erase every trace of the past —every year of purgatory they had forced themselves to endure.

There was no hesitation, no room for doubt or rational thought. Only the urgent, desperate need to feel, to touch, to fill with their bodies the emptiness left by years spent running from each other.

Spencer moved first, cupping her face in both hands, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheeks. The kiss was hungry, burning, devoid of any control. He kissed her as if it were both the first and the last time, as if the taste of her lips held the answer to every question that had tormented him for years. As if his very life depended on it.

T/n matched his intensity. Her hands clutched at his jacket, fingers digging into the fabric as if that contact alone could keep her tethered to reality. She felt the heat of his body pressing against hers, the way Spencer seemed utterly incapable of holding back, his breath ragged between kisses, the muffled groan that escaped him when their tongues met with renewed intensity.

It was a kiss that spoke of waiting, of frustration, of all the sleepless nights spent imagining what it would be like. A kiss that said “you are mine”, that screamed “I can’t pretend anymore”. Spencer’s hands slid down her sides, eager to explore her, to memorize every curve, every smallest reaction. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as if he feared she might disappear from his arms if he ever let go.

T/n lost herself in the taste of him, in the way his mouth claimed hers so unapologetically. Time seemed to stop, the entire world fading into nothing but this moment. She could feel the doctor’s heartbeat hammering against her chest. Desire made her dizzy, made it impossible to think of anything else but how right this felt, how inevitable it had always been.

When they finally pulled apart, both were gasping for air, their faces still impossibly close, their breaths mingling in the cold night air. Spencer’s eyes were alight, burning with something raw and unspoken. T/n ran her tongue over her swollen lips, almost in disbelief at what had just happened.

«You are my downfall.» He murmured, his voice rough, broken.

T/n smiled, tracing his lips with the tip of her fingers. «So you’re mine.»

── .✦

Does it look like I love angst?!!??!?!?!? Let me know what do you think!

[bonesmithsstuff]

Carmen Berzatto - Unspoken

Warnings: End of season 2, swearing - let me know if I forgot something ;). Angst.

Masterlist |

── .✦

" Let it rip. "

No one in the family would have expected it, yet no one was dreaming it. The figure that had just entered the restaurant had drawn eyes like a magnet. They hadn’t seen her in months —not since “The Beef” had closed for good and she had left without a word, without saying goodbye. Only informing them when the transfer was already complete, once her new job was accepted, ensuring they’d never be able to convince her to stay.

That night, it was Nat who welcomed her, greeting her with a huge smile and a warm embrace. Finally, she could see the girl again —her friend, the woman she’d grown up with and learned to love like the sister she never had. Richie soon followed, enveloping her in an embrace that lifted her a few inches off of the ground. Seeing them again had brought T/n one of those smiles she could only share with the family. Meanwhile the cousin watched her, happiness squeezed his heart and he thought of Carmy. Bear hadn’t been himself since T/n left, and even the blonde hadn’t noticed —though Richie had.

«Richie. I leave you alone for just a few weeks and look at you: all polished up in an elegant suit? I’ve got to say it: you’re looking damn fine.» A smug expression flashed across the man’s face as he straightened the collar of his jacket with his hands. The woman took the opportunity to glance around. The dining room seemed calm, yet she could perfectly imagine the extremely tense, focused, and worried look Carmy must have had in the kitchen. «How’s the evening going, folks?»

Nat ran a hand over her face and the other over her pregnant belly, Richie moved away after grabbing a little note passed to him by Fak. «I think it’s a fucking mess —we’re behind schedule and we almost had the bathroom flooded. I don’t know how much time we have left before we’re in complete chaos.»

The newly arrived woman took a deep breath, then looked around to study the expressions of the diners. No one seemed particularly irritated at the moment, assuming it was an evening meant for friends and family. Richie called her attention from the kitchen, and T/n excused herself from the blonde before joining him. Goodbyes were exchanged in the room above the commotion; Tina, Marcus, and the other guys quickly hugged the woman before returning to their stations.

Chaos reigned supreme —dirty pots, cold dishes, confusion at every station. As the arguments resumed and voices were raised, Sydney tried to quiet everyone down in vain.

T/n stepped in with a raised eyebrow and arms crossed over her chest. It came naturally, as if muscle memory had prompted her before she even had a chance to think. «What the fuck is going on here?»

«Carmy got stuck in the fridge and the dishes are taking too long. We’re fucking behind, damn it —we need to work faster.»

In an instant, everyone started arguing again; Carmen began pounding on the cell door, and Sydney started yelling at Marcus over some personal matter.

«Hey!» T/n called for attention, clapping her hands. «First off, let’s lower our voices —we don’t want to put on a show, do we? Everyone, get back to your stations, immediately. Richie, go to the dining room and do your job; I’ll take the damn orders, and you damn cooks, do your damn jobs, alright? I don’t want to hear anything other than ‘Okay’ and ‘Chef.’ In five minutes, we need to have most of these dishes out. Thanks, Chefs.»

Her tone was decisive and precise, calculated, as sharp as the knives on the counters, as if she’d done that a thousand times before. She left no room for arguments and, for some reason, even though some of them didn’t even know her, they all obeyed, and everyone resumed their tasks. «Chef Tina, would you kindly tell Carmy that if he doesn’t stop punching on that fucking door I’m gonna kick his ass? Thanks.»

Within ten minutes, the situation finally cooled down, and the air in the room became noticeably more relaxed and breathable. For the rest of the service, everything went smoothly, until none other than Claire Bear entered the kitchen: the tables were probably emptying out. She leaned in on to the fridge, and T/n watched her intently. Claire had been Carmy’s crush for as long as she’d known him, ever since she had her earliest memories of the man. She couldn’t even recall how many times her and Michael had teased him about it, how many quips they’d thrown his way over the years. And yet, knowing that he and Claire had grown close again hadn’t stirred any joy in her. She couldn’t be happy for him; she couldn’t stop feeling jealous.

Claire left in tears, fleeing the restaurant without looking at anyone. T/n and Richie exchanged confused looks and shrugged at one another. It wasn’t long before the man began arguing with the cousin through the fridge.

── ── ──

The door creaked open, its shrill sound shattering the silence of the kitchen. Perhaps the man fiddling with the door had finally decided to get moving just as T/n poured herself the third glass of wine. It wasn’t dawn yet, but the night was steadily drawing on. The clock read two in the morning, and the restaurant was now empty. Sydney had gone off to see her father, and Nat had gone home with the rest of the staff —exhausted after a long evening and ready to enjoy a well-deserved rest.

T/n remained, all alone. Certainly not by accident. She had returned to Chicago only for him, and she wouldn’t leave without seeing him.

When she finally saw him emerge from the walk-in freezer, her breath caught in her lungs for a moment: he looked exhausted. His blond hair was disheveled, his features etched with tension, and his blue eyes —which usually shone with determination—appeared dull, distant, lost in an undefined gaze. The chef’s body seemed to bear the weight of a day too long, of months that had dragged on for too long.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. T/n stared at him in silence, trying to gauge just how much he had let himself go. On the other hand, he could hardly believe that she was there —but slowly, a fleeting shadow of a smile crossed his face.

«Hey» A murmur, almost a whisper. His voice was low and husky.

T/n felt something tighten in her chest. He had always been skilled at hiding behind that calm tone, behind the silence, behind those hands that always moved frantically to avoid stopping to think. But she knew him all too well, and she didn’t give him time to say anything more or to think.

She took a step forward, then another. In an instant, she was right there with him, wrapping him in an embrace without hesitation. Her arms encircled his torso, and her face sank into his chest. She felt him tense for a second, as if he weren’t used to that contact anymore, but soon he relaxed. Carmy took a deep breath, his hands, tentative at first, brushed over her back before tightening their hold.

The Chef lost himself in that familiar scent and embrace. It was just as he remembered —perhaps even better. He couldn’t recall when he had started living for moments like that, when his every breath was measured between one greeting and the next, between one hug and the one that followed. How could so many days have passed without seeing her and without driving him mad?

She was his sharp needle, the one that brought him back to reality when he was lost. She had always done that. Her and Michael.

On the other hand, to T/n, his scent was equally familiar —a blend of spices, of exertion, and of something that smelled inexplicably hers.

«What are you doing, Carm?» The young woman whispered against the fabric of his T-shirt. He closed his eyes, and after a moment, slowly moved away.

He took a step back, letting her go. «I don’t know.» Leaning against one of the kitchen shelves, he ran a hand over his face. The dim light illuminated only half of his expression, leaving the other half in shadow.

He had always been like that —divided between two opposing aspects: the need to have someone by his side and the fear of truly letting them close. «You don’t have to do everything yourself.» She said firmly. «And neither does Nat. If you need help, delegate. You’re the boss, Carm, but you’re wearing yourself out like this.»

He lowered his head, running his hands through his hair as if trying to tear something out of his mind.

«I know.»

«Then do as I said.»

Silence fell.

She looked at him, arms crossed, face serious.

Carmen knew all too well that the woman wouldn’t let him off with a mere reprimand. She always wanted all the answers.

«And what about Claire?» She asked, looking up sharply as if struck by something. A confused expression flitted across his face, and the young woman sighed in exasperation. «Claire Bear, wake up. Come back to reality. She left in tears. What’s her deal? Is she your girlfriend or what?» A flash of irritation crossed her gaze, and her tone came out more annoyed than necessary. If he noticed, he didn’t say it.

«Fuck, I’ve made a mess.» He detached himself from the counter with a jerk, beginning to pace back and forth in the kitchen, restless. «It was the opening of my restaurant, and I ended up locked in that fucking freezer because I couldn’t hear the damn phone in the kitchen to call the repairman. Fuck, what else do you want me to say?» He suddenly stopped and looked at her. «And no, Claire is not my girlfriend.»

T/n took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving him. Moments of silence passed. «Carm?»

«What now?»

She took a step forward. «I missed you.»

Carmen shivered. Her tone was soft and velvety. He felt the weight of those words passing through him, melting along his skin. His gaze slowly lowered, moving up from the hem of her dress to meet her eyes. That dress —she had worn it for his night. For him. She had returned to Chicago for him. The mere thought awakened all those emotions he had desperately tried to erase, in vain. His eyes grew darker, as if those three words had stirred something too deep and too buried to be brought back to the surface.

She never looked away. «Mickey would be fucking proud of you.» She whispered, taking another step forward. «I am so fucking proud of you.»

He shook his head. «Don’t do this to me.»

«Do… what?»

Carmy’s breathing became erratic, and his heart pounded like a drum against his chest. «Don’t be here for me.» This time, the young Berzatto stepped toward the woman —a precise, calculated stride. «You can’t.» Another step. «I don’t deserve it.»

Then he took her. His hands closed around her waist with a force that made her flinch. He pushed her against the kitchen counter, their bodies clinging together, drawn like a magnet. T/n’s heart raced as she gripped the counter, trying to anchor herself to something.

Their eyes met, and in that instant, Carmy —who never had been much for words— spoke volumes with the way he held her. The way his eyes devoured her, as if he could no longer hold back. And he no longer wanted to. «You look fucking beautiful in this dress.»

His fingers tightened on her waist. «I can’t think of anything but you ever since you left.» His lips brushed her neck, and T/n closed her eyes. The warmth of his breath against her skin made her shiver. «And fuck, everyone knows —except you.»

His fingers trailed up her back, sinking into her hair. «Michael knew it.» A kiss, just below her ear, made her stifle a moan. «Now Claire knows it too.» Another kiss, slower, more intense. He tasted her as if she were the most exquisite of his dishes, leaving nothing for anyone else.

T/n pulled back imperceptibly; shaken, confused, troubled. Carmy raised his head and fixed his gaze on her, waiting. «Michael was my best friend. He would have told me.» She looked away, but the man was quick to grasp her chin, forcing their eyes to meet. He wanted her to see the passion burning within him, to feel it. «It was always Claire. We’ve always teased you about how much you liked her.»

Carmy’s fingers caressed her jaw, and a slight smile curved his lips. When their hips met while he pressed on her, T/n could feel the truth of those words against her leg. She held her breath. «And without you, Michael always teased me about how much I fucking adore you.» His tone was low and husky.

A second later, his lips found hers.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss but one born of desperation and fury, born within everything they’d kept inside for far too long. T/n’s hands clutched his T-shirt, gripping the fabric as if she wanted to pull him even closer, as if she wanted to imprint him onto her skin. Carmy groaned against her warm lips, the taste of wine lingering on his tongue as he overwhelmed her, his fingers gliding over her body while their breaths mingled.

Carmy could only imagine what his brother’s face would have been if he’d known, if he’d seen them at that moment.

Michael had caught him staring at her ass so many times he’d lost count. He’d witnessed Carm’s expression harden every time he heard her mention men other than the Berzattos. He hadn’t known at the time, but Mickey did. He had told him years later —about how he noticed Carmy’s eyes following her every move, about how he sought physical contact with her and only her, about how T/n always asked him about the blond one and how red her cheeks got the few times she’d seen him shirtless.

After those words from his brother —before he left to chase his dream of becoming a chef— Carmy never got her out of his head, never. How could he? She was Michael’s best friend and had always been part of his family; He probably knew her before he even learned to walk. He had memorised the foods she loved —making them the firsts he ever tried to cook. He knew by heart the tone of her voice when she was angry, the way she frowned, and he remembered perfectly the sound of her laughter.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads brushed. He was breathless. His voice was low, almost broken. «Stay. Stay in Chicago.»

T/n looked at him, helpless. No more words were needed —she was there for that. For him to ask her to stay.

Their lips met again.

And that time, they didn’t stop.

── .✦

Let me know what do you think!

[bonesmithsstuff]

MASTERLIST!

Follow me also on wattpad! @/bonesmiths ;)

• Shadow And Bone / Six of Crows

Kaz Brekker

Wicked Game : After years of acquaintance and business, something suddenly shifts in the Crows’ dynamics. A secret is revealed, and Kaz faces its implications.

• The Bear

Carmen Berzatto

Unspoken : After years of hidden feelings and unspoken words, Carm is cornered. All the emotions he thought he had carefully buried resurface with a single glance. The girl he has always been in love with has returned for him.

• Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Slow-burning : Spencer and T/n finally confront their emotions during Rossi’s wedding. Tension and frustration explode into a heated argument, forcing T/N to admit her fears and the truth she had long denied.

• Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Winter Haze : Trapped in a snow storm, Bucky and T/n cling to each other. She protects him without hesitation; he fears losing her more than anything. The line between anger and devotion blurs but the reality of their wounds pulls them back to an inevitable reality: there is no salvation unless there is pain.

• Peaky Blinders

Thomas Shelby

Bites of smoke : Between T/n and Thomas, a dangerous game begins to unfold, and they’re just waiting for one of them to give in first. Yet, when night falls and the dangers become real, neither of them seems to hesitate.

• Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy

Echoes : Old tensions refuse to fade, and lines once drawn in war still linger in whispers and stares. Past and present collide, shifting the balance in ways no one expects. In the quiet that follows, Draco Malfoy lingers at the edge: of a room, of a moment, of something unspoken.

Part One |

• Acotar

Azriel

Tethered Souls : When Azriel discovers the woman he’s bound to, secrets unfold and scars are revealed. The walls between them begin to fall, but fears always gets in the way. In the quiet aftermath of chaos, they find something neither of them dared to hope for: peace.

[bonesmithsstuff]

Kaz Brekker - Wicked Game

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, references to abuse and scars. Angst.

Masterlist |

── .✦

" I found peace in your violence. Can't show me, there's no point in trying. I'm at one, and I've been quiet for too long. "

«Card.» The woman sitting at the gaming table flashed an innocent smile at the man in front of her, who was busy overseeing the club’s clientele. The count in her mind hadn’t faltered for even a second, letting her know exactly when to raise the stakes or when to pull back. She kept repeating, feigning surprise: "Oh, did I really win?" "I must be so lucky tonight.”. All accompanied by a light, carefree giggle that gave her just the right air of naïveté to be believable in a place like that.

The first time she had set foot in The Crow Club, she had certainly not gone unnoticed. Her arrival in Ketterdam had been anything but subtle. But her goal was simple: gather enough money to survive, to carve out a better life than the one she had led since birth.

That first time, Brekker had noticed her immediately, his gaze tracking her until she sat down at a table, ordering something to drink. His first thought had been about the dress she was wearing —high quality but so worn that he could tell she was trying to appear as something she was not: rich. His second thought had been about her face, her beauty. He had watched her wrinkle her nose in displeasure every time a man got too close to her during the game, and for some reason, Kaz had wanted to smile at that expression of disgust —the same one he often wore.

That evening, it was only after some time that the crow realized the real reason why she was so focused on the game rather than her surroundings: she was counting the cards.

A sadistic smile had curled his lips at that realization, the kind that could send a shiver down anyone’s spine —the contrast between his sharp gaze and his full lips making the whole thing unsettling. Kaz had understood: that woman knew exactly what she was doing. She had managed to distract even him from his business, but from that moment on, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her.

And then, more than a year later, that memory surfaced in Brekker’s mind as he watched the woman sitting in the same spot where he had first seen her. The only difference was that, now, she worked under his command. It had all started with a contract —Kaz had allowed her to keep the money she had won, which was no small amount, in exchange for her to work for him until her debt was repaid. And yet, even after the money was settled, neither of them had broken the unspoken tie.

She liked that life. It made her feel free in a way she never had before meeting the Crows. And the Crows, in turn, liked having her around. She and Jesper got along better than anyone else, and Inej enjoyed having another woman to share thoughts with, someone who could understand and listen to her.

Still, none of them had ever managed to get too close to her. They had become friends, yes, but they all had the impression that some parts of her life would remain in the dark, forever.

More than anyone, Kaz wanted to know. He was curious about the way she flinched at the slightest touch, the way she recoiled when someone brushed her hand, how her face turned pale when someone hugged her or touched her back and shoulders. She would dig her nails into her palms, and a strange veil of fear would cloud her usually relaxed and cheerful expression.

Of course, the Crow had done his research, and found nothing relevant. Nothing that could give him a clue as to what haunted her. It infuriated him more than he would ever admit.

His doubts found their answer that night.

The Crow Club seemed as lively as ever. T/N sat in her usual spot, with that same innocent smile, and just asked for a card. Kaz’s watchful eyes never strayed far from her, keeping her within his sight. And every time she looked at a man, batting her lashes a few too many times, his grip on his cane tightened ever so slightly.

He had closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the door of the club slam open as he ran a gloved hand over his face. He was obsessed with that woman. So much that, lately, his nightmares had been replaced by others —visions of T/N looking at him with that knowing, teasing gaze, visions of her lips brushing against his, full and soft.

The very thought of touching someone repulsed and terrified him, but he couldn't help wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked.

Those thoughts had become more frequent, and the way he occasionally caught her staring at him didn’t help. He would meet her gaze, and she would always smile at him, even when his face remained its usual mask of sarcasm and impassivity. His heart would quicken, involuntarily, and all he wanted was for her to press her hand to his chest—to feel that beneath all the layers of fear and insecurity, to know that something was there. Something that could warm her.

When he reopened his eyes, though, she was gone.

Dirtyhands immediately scanned the room, missing a breath when he realized she was nowhere to be seen —not at the bar, not in the washroom. He moved swiftly toward Jesper, his cane striking the floor sharply.

«Where is T/N?»

Jesper turned toward him, frowning. «Weren’t you the one keeping an eye on her?» There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but Brekker didn’t catch it —too focused on the fact that a member of his crew was missing.

Jesper had seen it —the way Kaz looked at her, the way he followed her, how she was no longer just an investment but something else entirely.

«Looking for your pretty friend?» The voice from behind the bar caught their attention. «A man dragged her outside just a moment ago.»

Kaz was out the door instantly, Jesper and Inej right behind him.

They heard laughter. Then a muffled sound. They rounded the corner of the club, stepping into the alleyway.

«Are we interrupting?» Kaz’s voice was razor-sharp, making the four men in the alley turn around.

Than he saw her. T/N, slumped on the ground, clutching her torn dress with one hand and her bleeding leg with the other.

“Blood." “T/N." Those were the only words swirling in his mind.

Kaz’s gaze swept over the men, and he wasted no time before swinging his cane, striking the closest one across his face. Jesper had his guns drawn, but no one even had the chance to move. Kaz cut them down, one by one, ignoring Inej’s repeated calls for him to stop. The only thing he could hear was the sound of those men's bones breaking, snapping under his wrath. And he relished it.

Kaz only halted when all four men lay at his feet, groaning, blood staining their clothes —and his.

Satisfied, he smiled darkly.

«Take them to the docks. Throw them on the first ship out.» He turned to Jesper and Inej, who nodded. Then, to the men at his feet. Whether they were alive or dead, he didn't care at that moment. Still, he spared a few words of warning —he needed to send a clear message: «Whatever you came here for, don’t come back. Next time, I won’t be so gentle.»

He turned his back on them, moving toward T/N. She had watched the whole thing, eyes locked on his face as he took pleasure in spilling their blood. And yet, as he knelt in front of her, she sighed in relief.

«Kaz...» She whispered.

His name. From her lips. For the first time, it didn’t sound like a curse. It didn’t sound like the mask he had built to survive Ketterdam. It sounded like a melody. A soft, soothing note reverberating in his chest, making his heart nearly burst.

Dirtyhands. Bastard of the Barrel. The Devil himself.

Yet, there he was —kneeling before her, face smeared with blood, intoxicated by her scent, wondering if someone like him could ever deserve someone like her. Someone brave. Loyal. Strong. Someone who was everything he was not.

T/N’s breath condensed in the cold air as she stared at the man in front of her, her eyes glossy, cheeks flushed, and perfect lips marred by a small, bleeding cut.

«Can you walk?»

Unsure, she nodded, leaning forward to press a hand against the damp asphalt as she pushed herself to her feet. The wound on her thigh was still dripping red, but thankfully, despite the pain, it wasn’t deep enough to have severed an artery.

She trembled as she stood, a shiver running down her spine from the cold seeping into the exposed skin left bare by her torn dress. Kaz dared to lower his gaze for a moment, his jaw clenching at the thought of what had nearly happened in that alley. His grip on his bloody cane tightened when he noticed the numerous scars marking her skin. Without a word, he swiftly removed the black jacket embroidered with red accents that he had worn that evening, careful not to touch her as he draped it over her shoulders —both to warm her and to hide those white lines from his sight.

He watched her intently, curious about her reaction to the gesture. He wanted an explanation. Answers. And tonight, she wouldn’t escape without giving them to him.

T/N bit her lip, lowering her gaze to the street as her cheeks reddened under the dim alley light. She let herself be enveloped by his scent. It was strong, sharp, and the warmth of his jacket settled over her instantly as they made their way toward the entrance of The Crow Club, heading upstairs to her room. Kaz’s presence behind her reassured her —and at the same time, it unsettled her, making her nervous, uncertain. Contrary to what she had expected, he followed her inside, shutting the door behind him with a heavy thud.

A weight settled in her chest as she perched on the edge of the mattress, trying to ease the pressure on her injured leg. She didn’t dare look up as she reached for a clean cloth, dipping it into the bowl of water beside her bed. Slowly, she lifted the hem of her dress, exposing her thigh, exhaling shakily before she began dabbing at the wound, trying to clean away the blood. She hissed at the sting, and that was when he cleared his throat: «What did those men want from you?» His voice was firm, steady. He stood in front of her, leaning slightly on his cane.

«I don’t know.»

T/N squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, gripping the cloth tighter. She pushed herself up, moving clumsily toward the washroom to grab some bandages, a sudden wave of dizziness nearly sent her collapsing to the floor. Kaz caught her in time, his gloved hand tightening around her arm. He released her the moment she steadied herself.

«Stay still.» He brushed past her, his cane tapping against the floor as he retrieved the bandages himself. «Sit.» His voice left no room for argument as he gestured toward the desk she was already leaning against for support. She obeyed, watching him place his cane against the chair before stepping closer.

He stopped just short of letting his knees brush against hers, lowering himself slightly so he was eye-level with her. He let out a heavy sigh, his jaw tensing before he asked,

«May I?»

«Yes.» She didn’t hesitate.

Kaz’s gaze flickered to his hands as they moved to roll her dress up, carefully, inch by inch, exposing the wound on her thigh. She held her breath, and when his eyes met hers from below, she felt compelled to say something. She knew how hard this was for him. How much effort it took just to be this close.

«You don’t have to—»

«I know.» He cut her off sharply, inhaling deeply to steady his heartbeat. «I want to.»

Dipping the cloth into the water again, he added some disinfectant before pressing it against her skin —always through the layer of his gloves, as if the leather was the only thing keeping him grounded. T/N leaned her head back against the wall, trying to ignore the sting.

«So?»

His voice pulled her back. She lowered her gaze, watching a few strands of his dark hair fall over his forehead.

«So what?»

He shot her a warning look.

«What did those men want from you?»

This time, his voice left no room for anything but the truth. An angering Kaz Brekker was something to be considered carefully, even for her.

«They belong to my father.» She whispered, curling into the warmth of his jacket still draped over her shoulders. She averted her eyes to the floor, bringing a hand up to cover her face for a moment, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be satisfied with just that. «I came to Ketterdam to escape him. I planned to make enough money to get to the continent. Os Kervo, or maybe Novo-Kribirsk.»

«Then why did you stay?»

She barely needed to answer. When Kaz looked at her, really looked at her, he understood. Her eyes, large and glistening with unshed emotions, were filled with something he had lost long ago. Hope. But the way she was looking at him, it made him want to be something more. Something better.

«For you.» She murmured, a faint smile touching her lips. «For Inej. For Jesper. For the Crows. Because for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid. For the first time, I laughed, I felt something. I realized that not every touch is meant to hurt. That life is more than just survival.»

Kaz finished disinfecting the cut and placed a sterile pad over it. He gestured for her to lift her leg slightly so he could secure the bandage, tying it firmly in place.

«The scars?»

He asked the question despite already knowing the answer. But he needed to hear it. He needed to be sure. Sure that when the time came, he would strike down the right man.

«Also my father.» She confirmed.

«I want to see them.»

T/N sighed.

She had already revealed so much. Too much. But she was too exhausted to resist. She let herself slide forward as Kaz stepped back, giving her space. Shrugging off his jacket, she draped it over the desk before reaching for the neckline of her dress. She gripped the fabric tightly, turning her back to him as she pulled the material down as best as she could. The scars were there, on her back, where no one could see them unless she allowed it. Because her father had known appearances were important. Almost as important as control.

Kaz’s breath fanned over her bare skin, sending a light shiver through her.

«Are you cold?»

A smile ghosted her lips.

«No.» It’s you, she wanted to add.

She turned her head just slightly, just enough to see him. She watched as he leaned in, his gloved fingers barely skimming over the white lines etched into her skin.

«I’ll kill him.» Kaz’s voice was deadly quiet. «I’ll kill anyone who comes looking for you. Anyone who tries to take you away.»

A pause. And then something warm, something soft, something unfamiliar pressed against her skin. His lips. A silent promise, sealed in a way he had never done before.

T/N’s breath hitched as she felt him move, felt the warmth of his mouth trail upward. His hands braced against the desk on either side of hers, his presence towering over her without even touching.

Another kiss. This time, at the curve of her neck. Her eyes widened, her heart racing so fast that in the silence, she was sure he could hear it.

«I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.»

He whispered against her ear, and she shivered —not from the cold, but from him. When she turned to face him, he was already gone. The only thing he left behind was his black jacket, still resting on her desk.

He never took it back.

── .✦

Hello!!!!!!

This is my first fic :), English is not my first language so please be kind. Every suggestion is welcome! All rights are reserved. Credits to the real artist of the fan art.

Let me know what do you think! I want feedbacks pls.