#HER YEARNING FEELS LIKE A BIRD IN A CAGE AND SHE WOULD RIP OPEN HER RIBCAGE IF IT MEANT SETTINF IT FREE

[soopysoap]

every day i wake up and sob violently over felicity montague

[jamespotterthefirst]

It’s Only A Matter of Time (Edward x MC)

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x F!MC (Celeste Santiago) Word count: 2K Warning: Language Summary: She takes Robert up on his plan to steal the compass. Author’s Note: I wanted to write something of a happier ending for these two. I hope you like it. 

________

Her heartbeat threatened to rip out of her chest as she ran through the alley. Celeste welcomed the painful clamor against her rib-cage, the stabbing intake of breath, the spike of terror as she glanced over her shoulder to see their persecutors gaining on them. The alternative was a bottomless void at the memory of strong, calloused hands worshiping every part of her body, of his whispered words. 

I'm yours Celeste...until the end of time. 

“Dammit,” Robert hissed beside her. “It should've sent us back by now. It's not working!” 

“What do you mean it's not working?” she squeaked breathlessly. Another glance behind them told her they did not have a lot of time before they were captured.

“Look around! Are we in the Caribbean hundreds of years ago?”

Celeste had neither the will nor the breath for her usual witty comeback. Least of all when the only thing she saw was the dead end they approached. She pointed it out to her companion, which only made him angrier. He furiously shook the compass in his hand as he ran, willing it to do something. 

“Stupid piece of—” 

The brick wall was a mere five seconds away. 

“Robert!” 

Three seconds. The crowd of officers were even closer. There was nowhere to go. 

“Work, goddammit!” 

One second. 

“Give it here!” With a burst of panic, she reached out to take the compass from Robert. Her fingers clasped around the cold metal, heating instantly under her touch. Celeste pressed her eyes shut, bracing herself for either the rough hands of police officers pressing her against the brick wall or her return to everything she ever wanted. 

A deafening rush...an overpowering force pushing and pulling her body...her feet hitting cobbled ground… and then, silence. 

-------

The first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes was the weight of the humid air and the unmistakable scent of saltwater. Feeling as though her head would burst any second, Celeste opened her eyes, blinking away patchy streams of sunlight. When her bleary eyes adjusted, she slowly realized she was still in an alley, though a much different and much muddier one than she remembered. 

“Good, you're awake.”

Robert's tone was business-like as he hopped off an empty barrel of ale. Head swimming, Celeste noticed he was dressed in his customary grey coat and boots, fit for a wannabe Captain. That made the last of her drowsiness evaporate, replaced instead with a surge of euphoria. 

“It worked?” 

She sat up, really looking at their surroundings. They were in the alleyway behind the pub at Tiburon, she was sure of it. 

Robert shot her an inpatient look, refusing to dignify obvious questions with an answer. 

“I need to go find Edward.” 

Celeste's heart fluttered in her chest like a caged bird so close to freedom. She sprang to her feet. 

“He's gone,” Robert said, completely devoid of emotion as he inspected a pistol. “While you were out, I asked around town. His crew just set sail last night. Word on the street is that they took enough supplies for a long journey.”

Disappointment plunged itself in her chest like a sharp icicle. Unable to help herself, she turned to look at the shoreline in the distance, foolishly hoping to see any sign of him. Something painful unfurled in her chest, almost worse than the first time she was torn from his side. 

Completely unaware or uncaring, Robert holstered his gun and made a start toward the mouth of the alley. “We need to get going. First thing on the agenda is finding you proper attire. Then, we'll need a ship—” 

He stopped when he realized she wasn't following. Instead, she remained rooted to the spot, fists balled at her sides. 

“I'm not going.”

Robert cast her an annoyed glare. “Didn't you hear me? They are long gone.”

“I'll wait. I'll wait here forever if I have to.”

All at once, there was no more pain, only an anchoring sense of purpose. Robert must've seen it too because his scowl relaxed briefly. 

“You understand that if I leave with this, you won't be able to go back?” He produced the golden compass from his coat pocket. “You'll be stuck here.”

“I don't care.”

“Your captain is not here. If he's gone looking for you, it might be years before he comes back.”

A heavy pause in which her eyes remained fixed on the distant, glimmering waters. 

“If he ever comes back.” Robert muttered the words quietly though not entirely unkindly.

It is said that he refused to retire, choosing instead to sail the seas endlessly in search of a great lost love. 

Celeste remained unfazed, heart beating fiercely with her new purpose. The portrait of Edward at the museum was his history, written out in stone. Yet, being back in his time, defying the impossible, gave her the determination to rewrite it. 

And she would do just that by staying, armed with patience and all the love in her chest that threatened to overspill. Even if it killed her, she would do it a thousand times. 

For him. 

“If I go, we might keep missing each other. My best hope is to stay still. If there is even a chance to see him again, I'll take it.” 

Robert considered her words quietly. 

“This is your last chance. Once I leave, I won't be coming back.”

“I made my choice, Robert. I need to see him again. I need to tell him that I—” 

But Robert wasn't looking at her as she raised her chin to face him full on. His eyes fixed on something over Celeste's shoulder, his expression inscrutable. 

“Then tell him.”

“Miss Santiago.”

Celeste froze. 

There was no doubt who had uttered the words because she would hear that voice in her thoughts until her last breath. Still, she was terrified to turn around and discover she had indeed imagined them. Very slowly, she willed her muscles to move anyway, turning in place to face the new arrival. 

There, at the entrance of the alleyway, stood Edward, tall as ever and looking as handsome as he did mere hours ago when he held her. Except, something else was different but her mind was too entranced by the yearning look he swept over her and the incredulous smile that spread over his tired face. 

Neither moved, too afraid the other would vanish at the merest flinch. 

“You still won't call me Celeste?” she managed through a tight throat. 

At that, he moved, boots hitting the dirt with the eagerness to reach her. Celeste was rushing toward him too until their bodies met, his strong arms enveloping her completely and spinning her off the ground. 

“Celeste. My Celeste.”

When he set her down, he leaned in to press urgent kisses on different points of her face. She was crying, too overcome with emotion to do anything else. His own eyes shone bright with equal emotion. 

“I thought I'd never—” 

“Perish the thought. Don't torment yourself like that.” He whispered the words into her hair, a strong, soothing hand sliding up and down her back. 

With some effort, she pulled back to look up at those eyes, the very same she fell in love with at first sight. 

“You sound confident we would find each other again.”

Edward held her in his arms with the conviction of a man never intending to let go. He traced the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone and Celeste allowed her eyes to flutter closed, her heart a weightless flutter. 

“I told you I would wait for you,” he murmured. Then, he kissed her, his lips molding hers perfectly. They moved against each other desperately, hungrily, as though no amount of time together could ever be enough. 

Before they could do more, Robert cleared his throat pointedly from the shadows where he still stood. “I'll be taking my leave now.” 

Breathless, Celeste turned to nod. “Our paths will cross again.”

The older man almost laughed at that with genuine amusement. “I've no doubt they will.”

He sent a small nod toward Edward, who returned it. The usual tension between the two men was notably absent, perhaps because nothing else mattered to Edward other than Celeste in his arms. Without another word, Robert disappeared. 

Celeste turned back to Edward, unable to recover from their kiss because just looking at him left her breathless. “Robert said the crew left last night for an extended voyage. We thought you left with them.”

“Aye, they are taking supplies to a crew we were indebted to. And then they are going after the promise of a hefty treasure. Charlie is at the helm as acting captain.”

“Why didn't you go?”

Edward fell silent, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed. “I was preparing for another voyage,” he allowed. “One more important than all the spoils or all the treasure in the world.”

His eyes met hers, so intense she almost lost her balance. Gently, so gently her heart tugged, he swept a wayward piece of hair away from her face. 

“Edward,” she whispered. 

“I was prepared to roam the world to find you, Celeste. I would have gladly spent all my life at sea if it meant seeing your face again.”

With that, he captured her lips in his once more, languid strokes coaxing her mouth open for him. A little moan escaped her as she pressed her soft body against his hard chest, desperate for contact. As her teeth tugged at his bottom lip, earning her a dark growl from him, every part of her remembered the last time they were together. She recalled the way his beautiful mouth reverently moved over every inch of her, the way his powerful worked over hers, sinking her firmly into his bed at her urging. 

“How long was I gone?” she whispered breathlessly when they paused for breath. 

Edward pulled back from her completely then. A far-off pained expression made itself present on his face, bursting through their sheer bliss in mere seconds. 

“Edward?” 

“Two years.” 

Her heart sank horribly. 

The short hours without him had been a torment. She had become convinced she could not live in a world where he did not exist. She had allowed a man she deemed an enemy to  convince her to do the impossible. She had been prepared to spend her life waiting for his return. All in only two hours. 

Two years. 

Celeste imagined his heartbreak when he woke up to an empty bed, only to spend the next two years desperately trying to find her.

Her heart shattered all over again. 

“I'm so sorry, Edward,” she choked. “I wish I could've been there with you.”

Despite two years of pain and stubborn hope, her Edward smiled at her. “You're here now.” 

It was the same smile the beautiful child wore in their shared glimpse at the future. Tears traveled down her face as she nodded fervently. 

“And I'm here to stay,” she promised him. “I am never leaving you again, Edward Mortemer.”

“Those are the sweetest words ever uttered.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“I love you,” she murmured. As she said it, she became aware she never got to tell him before. 

Edward pulled his chin back to look into her eyes, a small glimmer of surprise in those beautiful, warm eyes. “I stand corrected.” 

He leaned in to give her a kiss that was much sweeter and gentler than their previous ones. The promise of what it could easily become still made her dizzy. Smiling, he pulled back long enough to murmur against her lips, “I love you, my Celeste.”

_____

Author’s Note: This was a mess but I couldn’t live with the ending PB gave us. Thank you for reading!

And yes, another Hamilton reference in the title. I’m sorry!

______

Tags: @octobereighth, @enmchoices, @sinclaire-ity, @sanchita012, @ethandaddyramsey, @takeharryandgo, @trappedinfandoms, @josieplayschoices, @somin-yin, @aestheticartwriting

[wouldpollyapprove]

Jezebel

Summary: Thomas Shelby is a man who is used to getting what he wants no matter the price. He’s willing to play any game as he knows he will be the one to come out on top. But when someone knew walks into his life, he is left with nothing but loses as he is forced to come to terms with the fact that he was not the winner at the table.

Based on Jezebel by Herman’s Hermits

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Alcohol

A/N: I did this as apart of @vicmackeybullshxt songfic challenge. It’s taken me forever to actually get to it, but I love the idea I came up with and am very proud of this, you may need to look at the song lyrics to better understand how the two relate. I believe this is one of my longest fics and I’m really happy with how this turned out. Tommy’s a dumb bitch and I think this would definitely happen (if Grace was smarter, it could have). And this takes place between season one and two.

Masterlist

London was always a drag. Full of business, bullets, and boring meetings. Thomas Shelby may have raised through the ranks of class, but the decadent life gifted to the dukes and duchesses, lords and ladies, those with barely an ounce of royal blood in their veins, was one he couldn’t have with his line of work. Though he tried to do things legally, not everyone complied to his demands and often things had to be taken by force, blood on his hands. Tommy didn’t mind if it got the job done as long as he was no longer the gypsy scum people walked all over. 

Finding himself bored, he took his brothers to one of London’s fanciest clubs one night. All the rich in the city often found their way through the crowded club, reserving a table so they could get a grand view of the club's singer: Y/n Y/l/n. In her cherry red dress and golden heels, she was a siren to the crowd. Pulling them in and stealing their souls with the voice that floated threw the air, tickling their ears. 

Like the masses, Tommy found himself pulled in, dazzled by the woman that stood before him on the large stage, a swing band made of golden instruments creating a backdrop behind her. But none of the performers grabbed his attention like she did. Y/e/c eye’s landed on him, crimson red lips turned up in a smile as the pair locked eyes. Heat raised to his cheeks, making them burn and his heart ceased to beat, breath caught in his throat. Batting her eyes at him, Y/n winked before finishing off the last notes of her song. When the note hit people’s ears, she was greeted with a chorus of applause and cheers as she waltzed off the stage. 

“Tom, what ya lookin’ at?” John teased him as he fiddled with his cigar. His brother blinked, the space that had been filled by a goddess moments ago was empty. There was nothing left but the band and a microphone. 

Reaching for his drink, straight whiskey, the man knew nothing better, Tommy sighed as his heart once again beat against his rib cage. He’d known love, known it in many forms. There was the love for his family, one he believed he was born with. The love he held for Greta… the one that made his heart skip a beat. Then there was the intoxicating love that was Grace Burgess. Even the simple thought of her, a whiff of what smelled like her perfume, had him spiralling all day off a momentary high. But none of those loves, not a single one, compared to how he felt when his eyes locked with Y/n Y/l/n’s. 

The world around him was lost, devoured by a dense fog that had surrounded him. The gangster didn’t care about the next act, the entertainment he knew wouldn’t compare to what he’d witnessed moments before. “I'll be back,” he said, discarding his glass and standing from the table. 

He had to find the siren. 

Y/n sat in front of her vanity mirror, brushing her curls. They bounced back into form with each stroke, glistening under the heavy lights. Staring at her own reflection, she ran her tongue across the top of her lips. Growing up a shy and tucked away child, never had she thought she would spend her nights stealing men's hearts, but there she was. It was a thrill, really, power she never believed she’d possessed in her life. The woman that stared back at her was mighty and tall, what she imagined a modern amazonian would be depicted as. 

A sigh parted her lips as she rested her elbows on the counter, turning her brush over in her hands. Y/n hadn’t been in London long, but it’d been long enough for her. Not one of gypsy blood, the fact didn’t stop her from dreaming of wide open fields, the heart of a song bird in her soul. She dreamed of traveling in the dead of night or the heat of the day. The young woman didn’t care where she was to go, anything was better than staying put in a forgein city. 

But there was a job to be done, one Y/n thought would have been done sooner.

Moving on from her hair, she opened her makeup bag and pulled out her favorite lipstick and reapplied it for her next act. Glancing at the mirror, Y/n smiled at the man who was leaning in the doorway. She’d caught his eye before fleeing from the stage, thought he was a looker if she were to be honest, but never thought he’d think the same of her. At least, she thought that was the reason he’d abandon his drink to visit her. “Enjoy what you see,” she smiled, meeting his eyes in the mirror as she closed the tube of lipstick.

The man nodded and pushed himself into the room. “I believe everyone does when their eyes land on you,” he shrugged as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his dress suit. 

Y/n hummed, turning to face him and laid her arms on the back of her seat. Getting a full view of the dark haired man, Y/n could tell he had deep pockets. Now, she was no tailor, but she knew an expensive suit when she saw one and that’s what the stranger wore. With his sharp features, she could look at him all day, get lost in his ocean eyes and run her hands through his hair until her fingers hurt, but then she wondered… what did he look like without his posh suit? “May I ask what you’re doing here…”

“Tommy,” he indulged, striking a match, a thin trail of smoke traveling towards the ceiling. 

The singer nodded with a satisfied smile, “Tommy?”

There was silence as Tommy lit his cigarette and shook the flame off the match. Once he took a drag, he peered down at her. “I would like to buy you a drink. If that’s alright with you, that is,” he added and waited for her response. 

She wanted to scuff, she really did. From how he held himself and the boldness of his words, it wasn’t hard to see he came from a world where no one told him no. Y/n wanted to be the first to deny him what he could almost have, but… the words wouldn’t leave her tongue. Thinking of the world he would surround her in, she couldn’t pass the stranger’s offer up. Not only was he lovely on the eyes, making her yearn for his touch, but he would do wonders for her wallet and that mattered more than anything. 

“My last session in ten minutes,” she informed him, biting her lip. “How ‘bout after?” The man seemed content with her suggestion, nodding, but Y/n wasn’t sure if it was more for her or himself. 

Leaning forward, Tommy placed his hands near her’s, their faces inches apart. “I’ll be waiting,” he whispered with a smirk.

Y/n barely suppressed her gasp as he turned on his heels and vanished from sight. Cheeks hot, she fanned herself with one hand as a laugh escaped her lips. 

It would be nothing short of an entertaining night, that she knew.

Polly groaned as her nephew came into view, the perfect nightmare dressed as daydream by his side in a golden dress that clung to the woman’s hips. Tommy had been infatuated by Y/n, the singer who never strayed from his mind, but he was that way with all women. Any woman intrigued him so long as she wasn’t like any that had passed him on the streets of Small Heath when he was a child. A man desperate for the finer, more exotic, things of life, Mr. Thomas Shelby wanted no village or dirt caked woman. He wanted what others couldn’t have and that was what Y/n was.

Of course, Tommy loved her. 

It was evident in the glint in his eyes when she walked in the room and how his breath caught in the back of his throat, like it had when he’d first laid eyes on her, when he thought of her. But not all love is good, that Polly had learned the hard way. Just as her nephew would have to.

“This is lovely,” Y/n mused, hanging onto her boyfriend’s arm. She’d been to only a handful of gala’s, but nothing could compare to the one the mayor of Birmingham had invited the Shelby family to. Though she wasn’t their kin and their last name wasn’t her own, Tommy insisted she accompany him. It would be dull without her, that’s what he’d said when he asked a few weeks earlier. 

Tommy hummed, eyes on her, watching how the lights danced on her skin, making it glow. Since the moment he’d laid eyes on her, it had become hard for him to rip them away. No matter what else deserved his attention, Y/n deserved it more. It drove his family mad yet he didn’t care. 

“Tommy, are you even listening?” she asked, looking up at him with a pout.

“I’m always listening to you, love,” he told her with a smile, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “What were you saying?”

She huffed, feeling the eyes of his aunt on her from across the room. “You’re aunt doesn’t like me, I don’t think it would go over well if I went to the family meeting with you,” she confessed, spotting a handsome man from across the room who was eyeing her up.

The words that jumped off her tongue were all to save face, Y/n didn’t care whose feathers were ruffled with her appearance at the next Shelby family meeting. She’d wiggled her way into Tommy’s heart and she would make her place in his life nice and comfortable. That, of course, had become a challenge once his aunt stepped into her way, putting her foot down. No matter the hold she held over her boyfriend, her candy sweet words weren’t always convincing when Polly was in the room. The two didn’t necessarily butt heads, but they both detested each other, leaving a foal taste in each other’s mouths once either left the room.

When Y/n convinced Tommy to let her work for him, he’d been on board, willing to move Lizzie to the betting shop so she could be his secretary. Internally, Polly was up in arms about the idea, but she didn’t dare voice her true opinion, remember the defensive man that was her nephew. Instead, she convinced her nephew that if he truly loved Y/n, then he would want her out of harm's way. Her wellbeing was more important to him than anything, so Y/n ended up spending her days in his lavish house, a beautiful sum of money left to her in place of a paycheck. There was little to complain about, she was still bleeding him dry, but it simply put a dent in her plans, no matter how small it was.

Guiding her through the crowd, the man came to a stop at the bar, ordering himself whiskey and her wine. “Don’t worry about Polly. Or any of them for that matter,” he assured her, taking his drink before placing a glass of wine in her hands. “Soon you’ll be a Shelby like the rest of us; My wife and a part of this family. They’ll have to accept you.”

Tommy didn’t catch the groan that escaped her lips at the thought of marrying him. There was nothing else that could make her last meal reappear better than the thought of being his wife. That title would be chains around her ankles, keeping her in the walls of his home. No matter how much he claimed to love her, Y/n didn’t feel the same and couldn’t stand the thought of being weighed down by him. 

“When do you leave for London?” she inquired, wishing her glass was full of something stronger as she changed the subject and that she was hanging onto the arm of the man she had seen earlier.

Tilting his head, he sighed, “Tomorrow. I wish you could come with me.” Y/n leaned against him, resting her head against his arm.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Two days.”

From across the room, Polly caught the devilish grin that spread across Y/n’s face. She didn’t like the woman, viewing her as a snake, cut from an almost identical cloth as Grace Burgess, but she had to hand it to her. Whatever Y/n was planning, she was doing a wonderful job of getting the stones rolling. The bitch had Tommy wrapped around her finger. Being one of the most powerful men in the United Kingdom, second to the king, nothing would be out of her reach for long with the tight hold she had on him. But Polly Gray would be waiting, like a wolf in the night, she would be waiting for Y/n to take a risk and end up with a broken neck when she was caught, sharp teeth clamped around her neck.

The day Tommy was to leave, Y/n made sure to have her day filled, no room for error or abrupto events. There were to be no interruptions and no suspicion. Deciding to spend the morning shopping, Tommy dropped her off before he set off to London, giving her a kiss that wasn’t returned before she stepped out of the car. Y/n waved as he drove away, wearing the diamonds he’d given her that morning. A little going away present, how sweet.

Turning on her heels, cold daggers replaced her warm orbs, and she began to browse the shops, spending all the money she could, wishing to leave her purse empty. It would be full once again come nightfall. Y/n picked out a couple evening dresses, one red and the other green. To match, she bought a few heels, it couldn’t hurt to have options, now could it? Moving on to a jewelry store, she threw Tommy’s hard earned cash on the desk and demanded to see the most expensive item they had.

A diamond necklace with an emerald center sat on her neck, a matching pair of earrings in her ears, as she walked down the streets of Birmingham to the filth of Small Heath. Now, she had grown up in a similar place, but working her way up in the world, Y/n couldn’t understand how people could sit in such filth, growing older without trying to better themselves. Get out of the hell they had been born into. The sun was on the brink of setting and from what had been divulged to her the night before, everyone would be at the Garrison celebrating a big transaction. 

Things couldn’t be more perfect.

Just a shadow in the night, Y/n unlocked the betting shop door with the key Tommy had given her once she’d moved into Arrow house. Even if she wasn’t to work there, he wanted her to be a part of every aspect of his life, a mistake on his part, and that meant letting her into places that she didn’t belong. The lock clicked and she turned the nobb, the door creaking as it opened. She was hit by the pungent smell of cigarettes and whiskey as she stepped into the building, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. For the first time, she was glad Polly didn’t trust her enough to want to work for the family, who would want to smell like a drunk without having touch a drop of liquor? 

Setting her bags by the door, Y/n navigated the small building, trying to picture the verbal map Tommy had given her once of the building’s layout. With his words as a guide, she passed desks and walked through doorways until she stood in front of the thick door of the company safe. Never had she been told what it contained, but she wasn’t a child and needed no explanation, her wildest dreams were behind that door.

Before her was a vault that held her freedom. The ticket to a world she missed, the people she longed for, and the person she wanted to kiss and never let go of. It was everything that would set her for life, let her live like a queen until the day she died.

With a grin on her lips, she dug threw her pocket for a tiny piece of paper, holding it in her hands, she unfolded it to reveal a set of numbers. Carefully, Y/n turned the dial on the door until she heard the heavenly sound of the gears click into place and she was able to pull it open, revealing stacks of bills and cloth bags with the same items. Rubbing her hands together, her eyes darted around the vault, what was she to grab first?

Shrugging, Y/n waltzed into the small room and started pulling the bags off the shelve and threw them onto the cold wood floor. “What a fucking fool,” she laughed, it was foolish of Tommy to give her the vault code. The fact he never raised a brow when she asked, never questions her motives or reasons. His lover didn’t work for him, there was no need for her to possess the numbers, but Thomas Shelby was a fool. And in a fool’s fashion, he jotted the numbers down for her, never questioning the destruction that could be caused with such information as he handed it to her. 

Polly tapped her foot violently against the floor, hands on her hips with nostrils flared. She’d been the first in the office that morning, putting on a pot of tea and getting everything in order before the rest of the office arrived. Pulling out a few files, the woman placed them on her desk before going to fetch the log book. With that tucked by her side, she went to open the vault, smiling when a click hit her ears and she was able to pull it open. The smile was whipped off her face as if a train had passed by at the sight in front of her.

“What are we going to do, Tommy?” his aunt asked him as he racked a hand through his hair, standing in front of the empty vault. 

The man, supposed to be the leader of the family, was at a loss for words. For once in his life, Thomas Shelby didn’t know what to do. He’d arrived back at Arrow house happy to see his girlfriend, hoping to surprise her with an expensive ring he had tucked in his back pocket, ready to make her an official Shelby. But every nook and cranny was searched and she was nowhere to be found. Francis said Y/n had plans the evening before and probably stayed with Ada. Ringing his sister, Ada was home alone with Karl, having received no visitors the night before. And then… Polly called and he was forced to deal with the mess in front of him.

“Well, Thomas, are you going to say something or stand there like a frightened child?” the woman threw her arms up, wondering what mess his cock would get the family into next.

“It wasn’t her… it couldn’t have been,” he muttered, noting that over two hundred thousand pounds were missing from the shelves. Sucking in a breath, Tommy knew who had taken the money, whether he wanted to admit it or not, Y/n was the only one unaccounted for and he’d made the mistake of giving her the vault code.

Moving from her place behind him, Polly walked to the nearest desk and picked up the phone. “Who could it have been, the fucking King of England? Don’t be naive, boy,” she spat and picked up the ear piece. Placing it against her ear, she announced, “I’m phoning the police, they’ll be more help then a fool in love.”

The words stung Tommy’s ears, being nothing but the cold hard truth. He’d ignored any harm Grace had done in the short time they were together. He wanted to believe that love meant more than anything and that no harm would come to him with that mindset, he was mistaken. There would always be harm whether he was a gangster or a lovesick boy untouched by war. Willingly, Tommy had let Y/n in, given her the whole fuckign world, his heart with it, and let her break everything around him until it all came crashing down. He was a fool, plain and simple, what he would always be when it came to love.

Unbeknownst to the Shelbys, Y/n would never be found, neither would the money. Hopping on a train to France that night, suitcases full of money by her side, she set off for Greece, arriving four days later.

Stretching her arms out, she made herself a cup of tea and made her way through the quaint house she had settled in. Standing in the doorway to the balcony, a smile spread her lips when she caught sight of the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

“Happy to be home?” Cora asked her with a smile as she continued her latest sewing project, the wind whipping her hair around.

Coming to sit beside her, Y/n rested her head on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m happy wherever you are, love.”

Cora hummed, missing the touch of her lover. She didn’t want Y/n to leave, ever, no matter how long it had to be for. But people paid her to do their dirty work and the couple needed money. If she had to watch her girlfriend leave for a few months for them to get a month or two together then she would watch her go.

Y/n pushed a strand of hair behind Cora’s ear, peppering kisses along her exposed shoulder and neck. “You know, we could take a trip to Rome, like you’ve always wanted, with the money we have,” she suggested, the sea gently hitting the rocks below. 

Seagulls flew above, creating a beautiful landscape before them. How the two had found themselves on the coast of the Mediterranean was a mystery to them. But they had made the place home and Y/n didn’t know anywhere she’d rather be. It wasn’t by any means like the home of Thomas Shelby, only one story with a view of the sea, but it was worth more than his. 

“I would love that,” the woman smiled. “Imagine all we’ll see, it will be wonderful.”

Y/n sighed in content, happy to be home, away from the misery of Birmingham and the Shelby family

*~~*~~*

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[divinewhimsy]

Ichor Pt 6 (DabixReader)

Thank you all so so so so much for you continued support and appreciation. I don’t have words to express how much it encourages me to keep writing. I love each and every one of your comments and likes and just slfjkdfkjasdlfjksfj You’re all perfect. No arguments.

Part 4: X

Part 5: X

Part 7: X

~~

Tag List: @velvet-kissesss @marydragneell @littleblackpheonix @holytacocactuscollector

~~~

TW: Blood, Swearing.

~~

 Do not think about the kiss. Do not think about the kiss. Do not think about the kiss. Do. Not. Think. About. The. Kiss.

 Too late. You fail to catch your gaze as it slips to Dabi’s lips- one smooth and one burnt but the memory of both against your own surfaces with the rising blush. It shouldn’t matter. You’d only done it to save him.

 “I haven’t been entirely… Honest with you.” you frown and force your gaze back down to your plate. “Something like this has happened before.”

 “Oh?” he barely sounds interested.

 “When I was younger my quirk showed up later than it normally does for others.” you bite the inside of your cheek to keep your courage. “I guess. Or I never really noticed it until my blood accidentally got ingested. But that’s not the point.”

 You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Remembering her lifeless face- Aysu’s face- is a memory that sends tendrils of fear into your heart. Seeds of doubt, of worry and guilt to ravage your mind. Tear apart your soul.

 “She was boosted with her quirk and kept growing,” you continued, “I freaked out, she freaked out. I tried to pull it back when the thread appeared but when I did it just took… everything. Everything. Her blood, her air, her… life. I watched her turn into an empty husk.”

 Tears blink their way down your face but you can’t feel the sting. Numbness washes over you as you remember trying to stop taking from Aysu. Trying to stop her growing panic and her literal growing as she grew and grew in size. The defenseless way she shrunk into the fetal position, crumbling before your very eyes as the thread spooled back into your body. Like it had done its job. Like the bastardly thing was satisfied.

 “It was covered up.” you whisper. “Her parents were paid off and mine moved me here. I got one session of quirk counseling before they thought it was best I hid it from the world. To forget.. About her. About my so called fucking ‘gift’. I pushed it down for so long that… I actually ended up forgetting. But I was so, so angry at you. I could feel my quirk awaken like some giant beast opening its eyes for the first time in a long, long time. I wanted you to hurt. I wanted you to suffer. My quirk awoke and it was as if nothing had ever changed. It told me to tug the thread back to me. To rip it away.  To take it back.”

 Dabi doesn’t speak as you shudder. He’s silent as sin as you anxiously wring your hands. You can feel his gaze on you like wildfire, untamed blue fire devouring your body inch by inch. Laying your sins bare for him to ignite. For him to see.

 To understand.

 “I don’t think I can stop it when it starts.” you whimper, “I’m not that s-strong. I can’t fight it. But I can give again. I can pour it ba-ack. Return what it took.”

 More tears drop from your eyes, rivers ebbing their way onto your cheeks. It’s hardly recognizable when you can’t feel anything but guilt and the heat from your body turning up higher and higher.

 “I’m sorry.” you strain to speak, your voice a ghost of what it normally is. “I didn’t mean to drain you.”

 “Your quirk is dangerous left unchecked.” Dabi sighs and you flinch from the empty, uncaring words.

 Your eyes turn to his face as your vision blurs. Dabi doesn’t owe you anything after all you’ve done to him, let alone kind words. In fact, after draining him from the very fabric of existence, you owe him. But your sorrow disappears as you glance up to find the heat you felt rising wasn’t your body at all.

 It was his.

 Blue flame flickers in his eyes. Echoing his burning soul deep within as the flames dance on his skin. Between his fingers like a shooting star shimmering through the stratosphere. A comet hitting the orbit of his body as it bursts to life among his flesh.

 A breath you never knew you were holding releases as waves his hands through the air, spinning the flames into different shapes. They grow brighter and brighter until you see the tips of white start to overtake the blue. It’s almost unbearably hot before he douses the flames, the top of your ceiling only slightly scorched from the display.

 “I’d say we’re even, dollface.” Dabi says nonchalantly and you blink up at the scorch marks in disbelief.

 “When did…?” you ask and turn your wide eyes back to him.

 He chuckles softly and examines his hand thoughtfully.

 “When you brought me back.”

 The essence of his life fed back into him returned his quirk? Is that honestly how it was supposed to work?

 “Oh.” you say softly, your chest growing tight.

 This means he leaves, right? He no longer needs to be around you. He has his quirk back, like he demanded.

 There’s no reason for him to stay.

 “It’s a different power level than I’m used to.” Dabi says offhandedly. “It’ll take adjusting to but damn is it a rush.”

 His low whistle cuts through your numbness. Heart thumping unpleasantly fast in your chest while you can barely hold a breath, you shovel more food into your mouth. You don’t taste it. It’s as if you were eating air for all that you can taste. All you can feel is the growing strain in your heart as it flutters like a bird in a cage. What was this weird feeling? Why is it here now, of all the times to show?

 “Any threads?” Dabi asks and you swallow your mouthful of food before you check.

 It takes a bit but sure enough when you summon your quirk- even just a hair- the thread thrums to life. You can feel your own rapid heartbeat meet a steadier one, the thumping feeling in your body echoing in your skull. In your fingers and toes, your bones humming with delight at the sensation. Eyes widening, you look up at Dabi who raises a brow and squints at the empty space between the two of you.

 “Can you… can you see it?” you gasp as you realize what it is he’s staring at.

 “No.” he shakes his head and shrugs as his fingers glide across the table and sweep up some stray pieces of rice. “I see you’re a messy eater, though.”

 Your blood rises to your face in a flash of heat at getting carried away and your mess. Trying to cover your own embarrassment you clear your throat and stare back at your food.

 “Oh. I thought you might have- I don’t know? Seen it? Felt it?”

 “Doesn’t that only work on your end?” he rests his head on a fist and watches you.

 “N-normally.” you nod. “I just thought-.. Nevermind. It’s probably just over excitement.” you sigh and stand from your chair.

 “Thank you for letting me eat that.” you mumble and carry your empty plate to the sink.

 You’ll do the dishes tomorrow. For now you need to be alone. Locked in your room and away from Dabi.

 Away from the world.

 “Goodnight.” you call from over your shoulder as you walk down the hall.

 The scrape of a chair across the wooden floor and his footsteps to follow you let you know your conversation isn’t over.

 “Nice try,” Dabi says and slides into the chair left by your bedside. “but we’re not done yet.”

 You cross your legs, leaning your back against the wall as you sit across from him. It should have been obvious he had more to say from the lack of commentary he had for your story. Even if you’re squirming with uncomfortable emotions he won’t let you go that easily. Despite the thoughts running through your mind like a cacophony of chaos. Too rapid, too disorganized.

 “What’s left to talk about?” you say quietly.

 You need him to direct the conversation. Need him to lead it away from your grasp, less you pilot it directly into the ground like a paraglider on fire.

 Dabi watches you, his unreadable turquoise eyes half lidded. You wish he would just tell you what he was thinking instead of you having to guess.

 “Look, Princess, there’s not much I’m gonna be able to do to keep the league away from you.”

 Him calling you a princess makes your heart stutter in your chest. Especially the way it rolls off his lips like silk. His silver tongue sickeningly sweet honeysuckle to your ears. It’s thick and warming, the desperate vibrating through your senses begging for more.

 His voice is a dangerous weapon. You’ve tasted him, sipped the wine of his lips and tongue. Taken part in the divine essence he oozes almost thoughtlessly. It’s seductive and beguiling, an enchantment of his soul on his skin to beckon you into his embrace. The combination of rough and soft, quiet and strong- it’s almost too much as you remember the feel of his hands. Pulling you closer to him as if he could drink you down to the last drop. A yearning that never fades but burns just as bright as his eyes do. You’re nauseous as you meet his eyes.

 But it’s not that he made you sick. Just his words.

 “It’s better for everyone if you stay as far away from them as possible.”

 “What?” you mumble and frown. “But you told them-”

 “I know what I said.” he interjects before you can finish and sighs. “I’ll tell them you lost your quirk or something. I’ll get them outta your hair but you’ll need to move.”

     Move?

 You blink once. Twice.

 He isn’t joking.

 “Why?”

 “They know where you live.” he shrugs and crosses his arms on the top of the back of the chair and rests his chin atop them. “Once I’m gone they’ll have no reason to track where you move to.”

 The sharp pain in your chest at the mention of him leaving washes away all of the good feelings he brought on earlier. Even if he’s saying it in that dreamy voice of his it still hurts like a burning knife in your gut. Twisting your organs until they’re shredding on the blade.

 Of course he’s going to leave. He has to. Isn’t that what you wanted? For him to leave and be out of your life for good?

 You debate on asking when he’s leaving but you can’t bring the words to your mouth. You can barely even think them without vomiting up your entire stomach. All that food you just ate will not be in vain. Shoving down any and all thoughts of barfing, you take a deep breath.

 As much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. You’ll need to move to remain hidden. That’s what you told him you wanted.

 It is what you want. You have to keep focused on your goals. Getting him out of your life is just step one.

 “Right.” you swallow and stare down at your hands.

 You can’t cry in front of him. Not again. Earlier you’d been sobbing in his arms and he’d held you. Hell, he kissed you. You haven’t forgotten that part. If you even could, that is. The memory is a phantom on your skin, a ghost along your ears as you can hear the hungry noise from the base of his throat. Of course, he’d only been starving for the energy you were giving him. Feeding him back what you took through your body and soul. With blood and spit and sweat you raised him back to where he had been before he’d even met you.

 It probably meant nothing to him. Just like it shouldn’t mean anything to you. But the fear of losing him, of having drained him down to nothing- that wasn’t a normal reaction. Sure if it were a stranger you’d still feel awful but something about him is wholly different. Is it because you’re attracted to him? Is it because the connection between you two is beyond what you’ve ever experienced?

 The thread is still there, humming with life between the two of you- although you know he can’t see or feel it. It would be nice if he could. Maybe he might understand why these emotions were surfacing for someone you barely even know. He might even feel them himself.

 But no. You know better than to dream of useless, silly things like that. They don’t exist outside of your mind. They can’t. It’s just not how it works. And at the end of the day reality is the only constant that remains true. It’s harsh and it’s unforgiving but you’ll be damned if it wasn’t one hundred percent truth.

 You dread his next words.

 “I’m leaving tomorrow. Our deal is done.” his words are too quiet. Or maybe you’ve stopped hearing him. They’re muddled and murky. Drowning in something that's stopping you from understanding.

 You don’t have to understand. You don’t need to. It just is.

 “So it is.” you whisper back and glance toward your door. “I need to sleep. Goodnight.”

 Dabi lets out a small sigh and stands from the chair, twirling it back toward your desk as he ambles toward your door. He stops in the doorway, his broad shoulders tensing for a moment as he glances over his shoulder.

 “Goodnight, angel.” he says softly and his lips quirk up to a smile as your face burns.

 The wink that follows doesn’t make it any better. His soft, almost inaudible, chuckle that he breathes out gives you goosebumps. Of course he knows how attractive he is. Why wouldn’t he? It’s a perfect opportunity to tease the ever living life out of you when you react to it.

 You sigh and slump down on your bed, staring up at the doorway as if you could make him reappear with just a thought.

 Tomorrow, then. At least you’d get to say goodbye.

 ++

 Dreams and nightmares evade you in slumber. Even though you can feel your body regenerate what it needs to, you don’t feel well rested when you wake. You’re groggy and sluggish. Worn out and aching to the bone.

 It’s gloomy outside your window, rain swelling in the large gray clouds above. It’s a brief misting that falls from the sky, though. No large drops of rain. No downpour. Only a mist that’s annoying enough to be an inconvenience.

 You yawn and make your way to the kitchen to cook something up. But as you reach the mouth of the hallway that lets into the kitchen and living area, you feel even worse.

 Dabi’s gone.

 He wasn’t in the bathroom when you passed by it. You recheck just to be sure.

 The living area with the couch and television is empty. No large body sprawled across it. No jacket hanging off the back of it. No boots laying by the front door.

 There isn’t even a note.

 Why would you let yourself believe he’d even leave one? He doesn’t care about you or these stupid feelings that are getting the best of you. Why should he? You killed him! Literally drained him right there on your living room floor. Like some kind of vicious and feral vampire.

 The tears at your eyes don’t feel right. Even as your heart is thudding sharply in your chest, painfully flopping like a depressed child. You should have known better than to get your hopes up with him. You weren’t even anything to him. You knew that.

 You know that.

 So why does it hurt so badly?

 The leftover dishes in the sink wait, their silence speaking legions of words of judgement as you pass by them and to the front door. You don’t even know what you’re looking for. A message? A note? For him to just be waiting outside it with that stupid cocky grin?

 But no. There’s nothing but misty rain aggravating your senses. The world is a shade of sickly brownish green. The discoloration of displeasure. Of rot and decay. Anger swells up in your nerves and you slam the door shut with more force than you should have.

 Of course he didn’t leave a goddamn note. You mean nothing to him. Nothing, nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a single goddamn thing. You were just means to an end. You brought him back and you housed him until he got what he wanted from you.

 The lack of company only makes the silence that much worse as you sit and eat cereal. The clock is ticking on the wall across from you, mist on the glass of your windows sputtering pathetically. It can’t even rain right on a day as awful as this one.

 You glance over at the couch where Dabi would have been had he not left without a single word. Are you imagining it as empty or has it always been that… lonely? Aloof and lacking?

 Has it always been just like you?

 How nice was the feeling of someone sprawled over every inch of your life that it made you feel so depressed without it? It hadn’t felt that great when he was here but with him now gone it only feels cold and sharp. Painful reminders that you’re a helpless, useless no one that nobody would miss. Even if he had killed you like he threatened when he was trying to intimidate you- he had a point. No one would find you for days because your silence in their lives is already so common. They wouldn’t think twice about it.

 Whatever. You don’t need people anyways. What do they do but cause pain and make more drama than you need in your life? Like Dabi. He was a threat to your nice, quiet lifestyle. Everything could have been ruined because of him and his stupidly beautiful eyes. And that annoyingly gorgeous cocky smirk he gives when he’s teasing you.

 The heat you feel is not from your anger but you only get angier from it. Feeling it in your body as it betrays the emotions you want to run freely. You don’t need Dabi. You don’t want Dabi.

 You’re better off without Dabi.

 Right?

 ++

 Work passes without anything interesting. Lively tries to talk about this new teacher she’s been seeing. Some kind of prohero that worked for UA, ‘Eraserhead’ or something dumb like that. You wish you could summon even an ounce of personality to engage in her one sided conversation but you can’t. You don’t have the energy to. It doesn’t matter how much you sleep. How much you eat. How much water you consume. Nothing is enough to take away the waves of exhaustion that push and pull through your soul and body.

 It’s starting to affect your work. As your boss temporarily suspends your schedule so you can ‘get yourself together’- as she put it- you find that you don’t even want to go home.

 There’s a battle a couple of blocks from your apartment. You don’t even think about going to help and heal. What’s the point? To make up for the wrongs you’ve done with Aysu and Dabi? Aysu’s dead. There’s nothing you can do to help her.

 Dabi said your deal was over with. You both got what you wanted. So that was more than made up for.

 Helping beyond what you already have is only asking for more trouble. You should know better than to use your quirk anymore. Look at what had happened when you lost your temper. Exposing anyone else to such a horror is a terribly selfish thing to do. It’s not that you even really helped to begin with, either. You played both sides in the hopes of seeming like you were an unbiased person.

 But you were really only doing it for you. To soothe your guilty conscience. You didn’t help out of any kindness. It isn’t a dream of yours. It was only ever to make yourself feel better about your existence.

 A bar sounds great right about now. You need a drink. Or four. Maybe not even alcohol.

 You tell yourself you’re getting drunk but you don’t. You just sit at the bar and sip on one drink. People buzz in and around you. That’s really why you’re here. Because you can’t stand to be alone. You can’t fathom the emptiness that opens the void in your soul at the silence of your house.

 This is the only way you know how to be around people without seeming absolutely pathetic. Like the real selfish, useless person you are. Here you can fake that you’re waiting for someone or whatever. That you’re not as sad and lonely as you really, really are.

 “Why the long face?” a voice drawls and you turn toward your left.

 Coming face to face with a man with a tattoo that covers his entire face. His skin is a sickly green but the tattoo only enhances this with lime lines swirling into the center. It’s a stranger pattern that makes you furrow your brows and he chuckles.

 “Let me guess,” he grins, “My face?” he motions towards his cheek and runs the back of his hand down it.

 “I don’t mean to stare.” you say plainly. “Sorry.”

 “No that’s why it’s there.” he chortles. “I wanted others to keep watching me. And looking at you with those magnificent eyes one me? Priceless. I’d do it all over again.”

 Oh god is he flirting with you? The cringe that seeps into your face is only slight as you scoot further away from the man, angling your body in the other direction as he leans forward.

 “You can call me Charlie.” he grins and extends a hand. “And you are…?”

 ‘Not interested?’ you think but sigh.

 “[Name].” you mutter and glance away from him.

 “A beautiful name!” he exclaims and places his hand over his heart. “May I buy you your next drink? See if I can brighten that sorrowful look of yours?”

 No. Nope. This man is too over the top and you’re done with it. Maybe you weren’t looking for any company. Just a specific someone's company. Not that you’re going to allow yourself to think of his name.

 Before you can deny the man he’s already signaled your refill. His grin is plastered across his face like a snake waiting in the grass. Poised, waiting. Striking is eventual and it’s only a matter of when.

 And if you can get out of the way in time.

 Ah well. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts, hm?

[neondvcks]

and the water was honey

fjord/jester, fairytale!au

A/N: I guess inserting these characters into Fairy Tale settings is a thing now; do note that this a standalone piece. As always please excuse any inevitable mistakes and inconsistent writing.

[AO3]

There lives a witch in the woods.

She is dangerous and terrifying and has an insatiable hunger for children. Fjord is told about her within hours of arriving in town. One of the dockworkers warns him with a laugh when he asks about the endless trees expanding onto the horizon and a few others join in on the joke; spinning tales of nightly visits and boiling pots filled with uneaten vegetables.

A cautionary tale then, Fjord decides, told to children to keep from misbehaving, to keep them in line. There had been plenty of those when he was growing up, though they were surely less imaginative than flesh-eating witches.

*

There lives a witch in the woods.

She has hoofed feet and twisted horns and she sing sweet lullabies to lure people into her hut. Fjord doesn’t put much stock in fairy tales, even less so when it’s the tavern drunk who’s spouting them. The man is old and his voice carries throughout the entire establishment as he talks about disappearing nephews and curious ritualistic markings.

Fjord has known many men like this one, lost in the haze of spirits and grief, plagued by invisible horrors buried deep within their minds. Harmless, really, to anyone but themselves.

*

There lives a witch in the woods.

She smells of cinnamon and sugar and keeps her victims in cages to fatten them up. Fjord has been in town two days and has already heard about her thrice. It rings different, though, from the mouth of a shaking kid; even if he caught her trying to put her hand down his purse. Her eyes are big and pleading and her fear is so tangible it nearly hurts him.

Fjord understands children like this better than he understands anything. From the stubborn set of her jaw fighting against the trembling of her lower lip to the ratty, ill-fitting clothes on her back. Alone and desperately looking for a family.

*

There might actually live a witch in the woods.

Her house is hidden beneath the dark canopy and decorated with an array of oddities. Fjord curses the child’s ability to tug at his heartstrings and coax a promise out of him as he studies the sweets and baked-goods lining the roof and walls. The faint scent of cinnamon hangs in the air.

It’s curiosity rather than bravery that drives him forward. With his hand on the hilt of his sword he inhales once (an overwhelming breath of sugar) and knocks on the door. The sound is muffled by the gingerbread and for a long moment nothing happens.

Then a soft musical voice filters through one of the sugar-paned windows:

“Nibble, nibble like a mouse, who’s nibbling at my house?”

There is no pause, no wait for an answer; the door simply opens with a gentle creak. Fjord peers into the dimly lit room, hesitating only slightly before tightening the grip on his sword and stepping over the threshold.

With the curtains drawn the only light comes from a fire burning in the hearth, casting eerie shadows onto the floor. A large table surrounded by a mismatch of chairs sits in the middle of the room, a warm sweet smell drifts up from the stove on his right. Aside from his own shuffling feet, the ticking of an ornate clock is the only sound until—

“Friend or foe?”

Fjord whirls around quickly, sword halfway out of its sheath. There, in front of the now-closed door, stands a figure hidden by shadows - it’s only discernible features the curling horns and coiling tail. A sudden rush of blood fills his ears as his heart beats out a warning sign in his chest.

The voice continues, though it doesn’t seem to come from the creature’s mouth: “A weary traveller looking for warmth or a sneaky thief looking for trouble?”

He steadies himself - slow breath in, slow breath out - determined to keep the trembling out of his reply.

“Friend, I hope.”

There is a long pause - made longer by the fear clawing at his throat - before suddenly the figure in front of him wavers then disappears into thin air as the curtains fly open and bright daylight streams into the hut.

“Oh, thank Gods,” someone pipes up near his elbow, causing him to jump. “I just made scones and they really are best when they are still warm.”

Smiling merrily stands a young woman barely a foot from him, in her hands a tray of delicious smelling pastries. Smaller than he had imagined her to be with cheerful eyes and a soft accent to her words, the horns on her head seem far less threatening - even the fangs in the corners of her mouth don’t seem to betray any bloodthirst.

Bewildered Fjord looks on as she places the scones onto the table and turns her attention towards the handful of children that seem to have climbed out of odd places all throughout the room (he must imagine one of them appearing out of the clock). One of them, with a beak and ruffled feathers, blinks curiously at his tusks as they all sit down and excitedly reach for jars of jam and cups of milk.

Surely, he thinks, this is when he ought to wake up.

“Won’t you join us, mister…?” The woman gestures to an empty chair, still smiling pleasantly even as her gaze flickers down to the sword at his side. The children all peer up at him with a mixture of expectation and wariness.

“Fj—Fjord.” He clears his throat as he cautiously sits down, still scanning the room for any potential threats. “The name’s Fjord.”

“Fjord,” she echoes, pleased. “I’m Jester.”

It is always ill-advised to take food or drink from strangers - even more so from strangers living in edible houses hidden away in dark forests. Still, when the offer is made with such eagerness, such generosity, it becomes significantly harder to refuse. In the end, Fjord eats two scones.

*

As a sailor Fjord knows that to survive a rip-current one can only stay calm; resistance is futile and only increases the chances of fatality. Being near Jester feels oddly similar to the sensation of being dragged out to sea; overwhelming and disorientating and strangely exhilarating. More than once does his breath escape him.

Jester asks countless questions (aided by the bravest of the children) and happily interjects her own anecdotes and wisdom wherever she sees fit. Repeatedly, Fjord finds himself staring at her for a beat too long - at her open-mouthed laugh and the way her nose scrunches, at the way her skirts twirl when she gracefully moves about and her tail dances behind her - and when she catches him with raised eyebrows his face flushes so hot he wonders if it couldn’t all still be a fever dream.

Somehow he ends up out back, axe in hand and a pile of woodblocks at his feet, two of the kids at his side for supervision. They laugh with him as much as at him now; don’t seem as perturbed by his monstrous appearance. That is until he mentions their sister and fear and confusion and hope flicker over their small faces.

Watching them retreat hastily to the hut, a bird joyfully chirping from a nearby tree, Fjord cannot blame them. Had he been presented with a place like this at their age he would’ve done anything within his miserable power to keep the outside world from creeping in. Even now a part of him yearns for the sanctuary within those gingerbread walls.

*

A comfortable quietness falls over the hut once the children settle in for the night. Jester and he sit at the scrubbed-down table, the fire crackling, a pot of tea between them. The scratching of her pencil as she scribbles in her journal is oddly soothing and for a little while he wishes not to speak. He wishes to sit here with her and her peculiarities and warmth until the days run out.

“They have families that miss them.”

“They would not have come here if they hadn’t been lost and alone,” she dismisses.

“They need to go home,” he pleads.

“They need to be safe,” she counters.

“Jester—”

“Do you have family Fjord?” she demands, suddenly; eyes bright.

He looks away as something akin to shame fills his chest.

“No,” he admits, gruffly.

She leans forward, carefully putting her hand on his and waits until he meets her gaze once more.

Softly she says: “that’s why you found us.”

It’s there then, mirrored within her; something painfully familiar. Slowly he takes her hand into his own.

“Where is your family Jester?”

Her shoulders slump only slightly; when she speaks her voice trembles with emotion.

“I can’t go home.”

They sit there, at the scrubbed-down table, hands intertwined between them, the night stretching on.

*

There lives a witch in the woods.

She keeps the company of a terrible monster with sickly green skin and grotesque teeth. Children stray to her house and return their heads filled with ridiculous fancies and their fingers sticky, rambling about endless pastries and undying fires and other such absurdities.

It is said that at dusk, when the wind blows just right, one can hear her laughter ringing through the trees.

[redeadepression]

Untitled John Fic | John Marston x F!Reader | Angst

I couldn’t think of a title so... Get it? Like the Goose game. Lol.

Sooo I misread this ask as specifically asking for fem reader which is how I have written the fic. I apologise if you were wanting GN or M!Reader. But I do state in my rules if you don’t ask for a specific gender I will probably write F!Reader as it’s what I am most confident in as a female.

I would also LOVE to write an Arthur fic along the same vein but need to wait for inspiration to hit. Feel free to send me sad Arthur headcanons you wouldn’t mind me using as a prompt to get the juices flowing.

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Warnings: Mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts | Tags: ANGST, Hurt/Comfort

Relationships: John Marston x F!Reader, (past) John Marston x Abigail Roberts | NO CHEATING

Word Count: 4608  

Summery: John is struggling with juggling a new relationship and his commitment to Abigail as ex-husband/co-parent to Jack. Reader comforts him when he’s down.

Disclaimer: I fucking LOVE Abigail!!! Don’t @ me about her characterization in this fic! John/Abi is my OTP. I am fully aware they are BOTH at fault for their shitty relationship early game and I try so hard to never write her as purely “the bad guy”. I make sure to always try and give her solid reasoning behind her shitty actions. However, this fic is from John and his new gf’s POV so obviously Abigail is going to be the antagonist.

~~~

It had been a hard few months. Tensions were high in the Gang and as a relatively new member you were finding it hard to hide that fact that you felt uncomfortable and out of place.

Most of your awkward feelings came from the seemingly unanimous contempt that had been placed upon you by a large number of gang members. A strong dislike so thinly veiled that it hung in the air like a bad smell. It felt absolutely suffocating, intolerable at times.

But you couldn’t walk away now. Not after what you had done to cause this cloud of abhorrence that seemed to follow your every move. You’d made a commitment and you planned to stick it out until the heat died down.

If it did die down… You worried more than you cared to admit that you had made a name for yourself. That your time here would always be miserable.

You sat by yourself on a log near the fire. Having risen earlier than usual to try and avoid the bustle of the morning. Gang members arguing over who got the first cup of coffee and whining at the taste of left-over stew for breakfast.

Most people were still asleep. The sun had only just begun to peak its head over the mountains across the distant valley. You were enjoying your moment of silence, a second to yourself to catch your breath after a horrible night of restless sleep.

As if the universe itself was against you, an almighty shriek ripped through the camp, a sudden wind, unrelated to the noise jostled tent flaps and wiped your hair around your face. If you didn’t know better, you would have sworn the breeze was a shockwave from the force of Abigail’s wrath.

You exhaled slowly, turning to look in the direction of the disturbance but still trying to be discreet lest anyone was watching.

Abigail was berating John. Absolutely tearing shreds off him as he stared at her blankly like a startled deer. He had been on his way to the fire, empty coffee cup in hand when she had caught up with him. Her mannerisms telling anyone that was watching that she was finally at the end of her tether.

You pursed your lips, turning back to the fire quickly and trying to pretend you hadn’t heard. Couldn’t still hear, the screaming and cursing.

You couldn’t blame her. It was your fault she was so high strung lately.

You listened as John tried to defend himself meekly. His arguments palling in comparison to her accusations. She had every right to be as upset with him as she was. But you felt perhaps this discussion could have happened in private instead of airing your dirty laundry for the Gang to witness.

It had been a good 6 months now since they had broken up. Amicably at first with the intensions of working things out after a trial separation. John had needed space from her constant nagging and Abigail felt she needed time away from here ‘second child.’

They kept their separation to themselves. But due to the nature of their volatile relationship it wasn’t such a secret. Abigail and Jack moved out of John’s tent and Jack had spent days crying on his bedroll. Heartbroken over his parents splitting up.

This caused frequent quarrels. Abigail arguing that John didn’t care and wasn’t doing anything to try and console the boy that everything would be fine. John arguing right back that there was nothing he could do. Why give him hope for something that may never happen?

The fact that Abigail refused to leave him in peace after their separation just pushed him further away. Even if her arguments were valid and with good intension. John felt caged. Breaking up didn’t make her stop. He couldn’t catch a break. He felt trapped with the only option being to run again.

You bit at your bottom lip, taking a sip of your coffee to seem nonchalant as more and more gang members began to rise from their tents to see what all the commotion is about. A few were looking directly at you. Their eyes squinted and full of loathing. But most were looking at Abigail and John. Watching as she paced in front of him, ranting and raving about his lack of care.

It seemed she’d had a rough night. With Jack falling ill she’s not slept a wink. Between comforting him and cleaning him up after he’s been sick, she was awake the entire night. Resentment at John’s blissfully unaware state growing by the minute as he slept right through a few tents over.

He was arguing that he didn’t know. She should have told him he was sick. Asked for help and he would have been there. Abigail was screaming back that asking him for help has never done her any good in the past so  why should she start now?

John was flailing, you could see it plainly as you chanced another glance around. She was too damn angry to hear anything he had to say. You felt for her. You really did. That was, until she noticed you.

She turned on you with the fury of 3 angry bulls.  She screamed your name, pointing. All eyes were on you as she shouted.

“And you! You don’t help a damn thing you homewrecker!”

Your jaw droped, unable to speak as you blinked in disbelief. She’d not spoken a word to you in months. Of course now was the time she chose to hash it all out.

“Hey!” John interjected, grabbing Abigail by the arm and spinning her back in his direction. “You leave her out of this!” He warned, eyes stern as she reeled around, hand clapping hard against the side of his face and making him falter. He let go of her, staring with wounded eyes as she took a step back. Realising what she’d just done and clearing her throat.

She opened her mouth to apologise. Her own disbelief greater than that of anybody watching. It had been a reflex. Muscle memory from her days as a prostitute. She hadn’t meant to hurt him.

John turned away, standing there for a second longer before walking away in the direction of the horses.

You watched in stunned silence as she let him go. Even the birds seemingly invested in the situation as an awry stillness descended on the whole area. The only sound the crunching of John’s boots as he stomped towards Old Boy.

He mounted up and left. Forgoing a saddle or any other tack. Hands holding tight on to Old Boy’s mane as he dug his heels into the horse’s ribs and directed him away from camp.

It took a few minutes and Abigail retreating to her lean-to to check on Jack before anyone dared to make a move. Gang members slowly exiting their respective tents and going about their business quietly. None of them bold enough to mention what had just happened for fear of Abigail over-hearing.

You stood slowly, knowing people were going to be looking in your direction regardless. They knew where you were going. What your plan was. There was no point in sitting around any longer in an attempt to try and hide it.

You moved towards your horse. Taking your time to saddle up and make sure he/she was ready for the ride before mounting up and spurring them into a trot along the path out of camp.

 ~~~~

You didn’t have to ride long. Knowing in your heart where John would be you had ridden towards that area, following along the fresh hoof-prints in the loose red dirt.

You turned off the beaten path, your horse whinnying in annoyance at having to walk through the brush. You petted them on the neck, promising a treat for following your direction. You know they couldn’t understand you but smiled non-the-less as they seemed to calm at the idea.

You could have left them hitched to a tree near the main road. But you ran the risk of another gang member noticing them and walking through the forest to find you.

You spotted John and Old Boy up ahead. The large Hungarian Half-bred munching happily on some greenery about 10 metres from the edge of a large cliff overlooking the valley below. John was sitting near the edge. Face in his hands as he contemplated his life thus far, oblivious to your approach.

You hitched Y/HN next to Old Boy and called out softly to alert John to your presence. He jumped slightly. Looking over his shoulder briefly before wiping at his face and letting his hands fall to his lap.

You sat down beside him, placing a familiar hand on his upper back and rubbing small, comforting circles as he glared at the ground in front of him. A large, angry mark flaring up on his cheek where Abigail had hit him.

It had been about 4 months since you’d officially started dating. Four months of absolute hell if you were being honest. But when you were alone like this, in your special spot away from camp, it was absolute bliss.

This specific situation wasn’t ideal. But you had been yearning for some alone time away from prying eyes.

Eyes that seemed to never stop watching. It was taking its toll on you. Making you regret things you shouldn’t be regretting. Questioning things, you didn’t want to be questioning.

Like was he worth it?

John seemed to follow your train of thought. Side-eying you silently as he rubbed at his cheek.

“You can go.” He said weakly. “If you want.” A long exhale following his words as he licked his lips and fell silent once more.

“I just got here.” You laughed, hand falling from its place on his back. You placed it on his thigh, squeezing reassuringly and watching as his jaw tensed. Seemingly gritting his teeth.

“No... I know.” He said softly, struggling to find the words. “I mean… You can leave. If you want to.” He paused, finally turning to look at you and realising his point had not been made. “The Gang.” He clarified. Making your brows shoot upwards in surprise.

He turned back to his hands in his lap and closed his eyes for a moment. You suspected he was waiting for your confirmation on the subject but it didn’t come.

You had been enjoying your time in the Gang up until recently. Having worked hard every day for a week to pull a con on two men you’d met in the saloon nearby. It turned out those men were actually trying to con you as well. When the truth was realised you had all had a good laugh. Dutch and Arthur inviting you to join them for a drink and upon realising you currently didn’t have a stable home, the Gang.

Everything was fantastic for a few months. You felt at home almost instantly. You made new friends, new family. You were welcomed with open arms and you had never felt so secure in your lifetime.

When you’d met John, the chemistry had been instantaneous on your part. Finding him attractive, friendly and useful to boot. You had caught him staring more than once and were relatively sure he returned your feelings. But something was off about the way he acted towards you. He had been skittish. Dancing around your attraction to him and outright avoiding any chance you’d had to be alone. It wasn’t until you’d cornered him after a night of drinking that he finally admitted he did feel something for you as well.

He was very guilty about his admission. Explaining that he was supposed to be trying to work on things with Abigail. He was struggling hard with the feeling that he knew deep down their relationship was a dead-end. Every time they were supposed to try and talk it out it ended in a fight. Abigail becoming increasingly impatient that he wasn’t ready to recommit himself to her.

He had word-vomited his darkest thoughts to you that night. Slurring about how he wanted to run away again and saw no way out. His attraction to you was the straw that broke the camels back. The last nail in the coffin of his resolve to fix things with his wife. He hadn’t meant for it to happen. But that didn’t mean he could ignore it.

He wanted to tell Abigail it was over for good. He wasn’t interested in fixing things and he felt they parented better separately anyway. She was always going on about Jack. What about Jack? How will this affect Jack? He was scared to tell her it wouldn’t. To seem callous towards his son and his feelings. He felt he was a better Father without her hanging over his shoulder.

Somewhere in the middle of his rant he had begun to cry. Head heavy with the drink, he hadn’t been able to stop his usual stoic core from breaking. Mortified by the turn of events he’d tried to pretend as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just spent half an hour rambling his sorrows to a relative stranger.

He shut himself down. Locking away his feelings and refusing to acknowledge them even after you’d both bitten the bullet and started to date a few weeks later.

He’d had to tell Abigail first. Before he could in good conscience being seeing you in earnest. He had been too afraid before your drunken talk. Terrified of ending things and risking everything he had for the sake of your rejection. But after the conformation he had been looking for, he’d found a renewed sense of courage. Letting Abigail know he was done with their romantic relationship but that didn’t mean he was walking away from Jack.

To say she hadn’t taken it well was an understatement. You had learnt swear words that day that you hadn’t previously known the existence of. She had been absolutely furious at your betrayal. Having gotten along fine before that. She’d never expected that you would pounce on her husband.

You’d both argued that had they been an item you would never had made your feelings known. But as John was for all intents and purposes, single, you felt it was alright to proposition him.

You understood where she was coming from. She had been blindsided by your interest in him. Having had it set in her mind that they would work things out and become that happy family she had always dreamed she’d have.

For the most part, the gang agreed with your argument. Tiptoeing around Abigail and letting you know that you didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t until rumour started to spread about the night you confessed your feelings that things started to take a turn. It spread like wildfire and although you were both pretty confident of its origin, you couldn’t prove it anymore than you could prove you hadn’t slept together that night.

The general consensus of ‘You’ve done no wrong’ quickly changed to ‘How could you do that?’ after rumour spread that you had slept together before John had officially ended things with Abigail.

Looking back, you feared you had worsened the situation by buying into it. Telling people that even if it were true, they were still separated; had led people to believe it was true. You regretted it, more for John’s sake than your own. You thought of these people as your family. But these people were his family and had been for over half his life. The damage done by the entire situation was breaking him. You could see it in the way he looked at you. Hear it in the way he spoke.

You hated to admit it. But this morning part of you was worried you would find Old Boy hitched on the edge of the cliff and John’s mangled body at the bottom.

You looked at him now, your own teeth clenched as you tried to find the words to let him know you weren’t going anywhere. That he hadn’t risked all for nothing. You would stay and you would listen. You would wear the criticism and backhanded comments with an air of pride as long as you were making him happy.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” You whispered, shuffling closer so your sides were touching.

John jumped at the initial contact, head snapping back to look at where you’d bumped against him before he seemed to relax, turning his gaze back to the ground.

“I understand if you want to, deep down.” He mumbled, not really moving his lips as he spoke. “You wouldn’t be the only one.”

You winced at that, hand on his thigh squeezing once more as you leaned in to kiss the mark on his cheek. He jolted away out of reflex before settling himself down and letting his forehead rest on your own cheek.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re feelin’?” You asked quietly, hand coming up to run through his long hair and massage his scalp. He moaned against you softly, shuddering at the feeling.

“Not feelin’ anything.” He said against your shoulder, eyes staring blankly at the stitching on your collar.

Your lips tightened, eyes flicking towards him as you removed your hand from his head and waited. It took a few seconds before he realised you were done. Sitting back to look at you sadly as you raised your brows in question.

“What?” He asked, looking away. You could tell he wanted you to drop it. To just pretend it hadn’t happened and move on like you’d done that first night.

“What was all that about?” You asked, gesturing back in the direction of camp, his eyes rolling at your question.

“Just drop it will ya?” He asked, annoyance in his tone as he stared out over the valley. The sun now having fully risen above the mountain was tingling their skin with warmth as it worked to rise enough to shade them under the trees above.

You stayed silent, feeling the mood shift. His demeanour hadn’t changed but something was different. You didn’t want to push him too hard, lest he fling himself over the cliff in front of your eyes.

“It’s just…” He started, crossing his arms and huffing indignantly. “It’s… dumb.” He said weakly, trailing off from his train of thought.

You watched on sadly. Brows furrowed as he sniffed audibly. Shoulders shuddering momentarily before he managed to compose himself enough to stop them.

His eyes were squinting in the morning sun. Face scrunched into a scowl as he blinked back his emotions.

He obviously wanted to talk. Not sure how to go about it or if he would be judged for what he was going to say. Perhaps he stopped himself because he felt you would be offended by his statement.

“I’m sure it’s not.” You probed. Deciding that if he truly wanted you to drop it, he wouldn’t have spoken.

“I’m just…” He paused, questioning if he really had the emotional stability he would need to talk about his feelings without breaking down. He swallowed, taking a calming breath before continuing. “I’m really trying.” He said simply, voice cracking on the last word as his face crumpled and he brought his hands up to cover it.

You made a sound of acknowledgement, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and squeezing his opposite arm tightly.

He let you, too busy in his own mind to push you away. He admonished himself harshly for thinking he could vent a little bit without opening the gates entirely. It had been such a long time since he’d cried, properly cried and not just let a few tears slip when he was heavy on the drink. He’d been holding in years of unpleasant feelings and lately he’d been struggling. Feeling particularly vulnerable at inopportune times and taking playful jabs way too seriously.

He choked on his words of apology. Mumbling nonsense into his palms as he finally began to let it all out.

“I… I been tryin’ so…” He paused, stumbling over his wording. “So… hard.” He stuttered, shaking uncontrollably under the weight of his own words.

You shushed him lightly, hand squeezing soothingly as you gently pulled him towards you. He let himself fall, head resting on your chest as he huffed quietly, his breathing uneven.

Once he was resting his weight against you, you moved your hand to his back. Running the pads of your fingers lightly up and down his spine and encouraging him to breath in the same slow pattern. He obliged, slowly but surely calming as his breathing began to return to normal. His leaking eyes burning as he struggled to stop the flow of tears he regretted letting go of.

“I don’t… I don…” He stammered, cutting himself off. He already felt so damn weak. Nerves grating on the feeling of helplessness.

You shook your head, other hand coming up to run through his hair once more and then down against his unmarred cheek. You pressed lightly, encouraging him to look at you. He reluctantly did so, red rimmed eyes sheepishly averting as he caught your look of sympathy.

You could tell he was on the verge of shutting down. Composing himself and bottling it all back up until the next time, whenever that may be. All of the thoughts and feelings would come back twice as hard. Knocking against him when he least expects it and finally pushing him off the precipice he had so delicately been balancing on since long before you met him.

Since Jack was born.

“It’s okay.” You cooed, holding him tighter in an effort to make him feel safe. “You can tell me anythin’, you know that.” You whispered gently, the feeling of him slowly coming undone almost physical as his dam-wall broke apart in your arms.

He stuttered uncontrollably, breath hitching almost constantly as he tried his hardest to tell you how he was feeling. Words broken and slurred as he let you in on his darkest thoughts. His deepest fears.

“I been tryin’ so… so hard with Jack.” He cried against your breast. Pressing himself closer to you as if he could hide from your judgement. “She… she told me… I…” He stammered, cutting himself off as deep, wracking sobs overtook his ability to speak.

You shushed him lightly. Making sure to let him know it wasn’t his words you were trying to stop. You wanted to hear it all. Wanted him to let it out and get it in the open so you could calm his tears and all his insecurities.

He was mortified, you could tell by the way he kept trying to hide his face. Wiping at it irately as if being annoyed with his tears would stop them.

You supposed you would be embarrassed too if the situations were reversed. Your relationship was relatively new, even if it had already felt like a lifetime. He was scared of your judgement. Afraid you were going to leave once you’d seen what a wimp he really was.

You reassured him once more that you weren’t leaving. Making it clear you were staying put without his prompting. Hoping it felt more genuine that way.

He seemed to calm down a little after you spoke. Sobs turning to uneven breaths as you resumed running your hand up and down his back at a slow pace.

He followed your movements, long soothing breaths making him weary after his emotional collapse.

“She told me… I weren’t tryin’ hard enough with Jack.” He said finally, nearly getting through the entire sentence without a hitch. His arms wrapped around your waist loosened, falling slack as he took a deep breath and pushed himself to sit up.

You took in his dishevelled appearance, feeling a pang to your heart at the sight of him. Your hand came up automatically to brush his hair behind his ear as he turned to look at you with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen.

“She said I ruined his life breakin’ up his parents. Said he’d never be happy again.” He elaborated, barely above a whisper. You smiled sympathetically, hands cupping his cheeks as you leaned into brush your lips against his. He let you, not closing his eyes as you kissed him. Wanting to see as well as feel you.

“You know that ain’t true.” You said against his lips, thumbs swiping under his eyes to wipe away some of the wetness. He paused, nodding hesitantly as if he didn’t really believe it but felt he had to agree for your sake.

“She hurt my feelings.” He admitted quietly. Voice so small you weren’t sure you had actually heard it. He looked away, pulling his face from your grip and you knew then that he had said what you thought. “I been tryin’ so hard.” He repeated for the third time. Driving home how much she had hurt him with her words and making your heart ache. You felt for him. You knew too well the pain of truly trying your hardest only to be shot down and slapped with a punishment for not putting in any effort.

“I know. I’ve seen you.” You stated as a conformation, smiling fondly to yourself at the memory him playing swords with Jack earlier in the week.

“I don’t know how to fix it.” He said simply, hands ringing together unconsciously as he worried his lip between his teeth. You frowned, taking his hands in yours and turning to face him fully.

“You don’t need to.” You stated firmly. “Jack is happy. Ain’t you heard the phrase don’t fix what’s not broke?”

John’s lips twitched at your wording. It was one of the things he loved about you. Your subtle wording that changed a common phrase ever so slightly to your own version.

“I meant… with Abigail.” He shifted uncomfortably at the admission. Your hands letting go of his as you looked at him in surprise. He grabbed at your hands frantically. Scrambling to correct himself and clarify. “Not… romantically.” He pressed. “Just… in general.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief. Closing your eyes for a second before focusing on his statement.

“You don’t have to hon.” You said softly. “You’ve been tryin’. I’ve seen you. It’s up to her to make things civil.”

John furrowed his brows. That didn’t seem quite right. He was sure it was his responsibility. She had made that clear from the start.

“I ended it. I hurt her.” He said blatantly, his tone questioning. “I have to make things right.”

You sighed, squeezing his hands tightly as you replied.

“There will be no right as long as you’re with me.”

John looked at you for a long moment. Eyes flicking between yours as he waited for more.

You watched as the realisation hit him. His red rimmed eyes beginning to water as he tensed his jaw once more. He stared at you, hurt plain as day across his face as he assessed your meaning.

“Can you live with that?” He asked, voice thick with emotion.

You took a moment to reflect. Really think about what you were going to say before you responded. To make sure you really meant it.

“Yes.” You smiled. “You’re worth it.” You said, taking his face in your hands once more and pressing your forehead against his.

You felt his cheeks rise. Teeth bumping against your lips as he attempted to kiss you through his smile.

“So are you.” He whispered.

 End

~~~

PLEASE let me know if you liked it/What you liked! I am dying for comments on my fics and it’s to the point where I’m not above begging for feedback. 

[yeetmeintothe-abyss]

The Kiss That Did Them Both In Part II

Here it is: Part II. This seriously went in so many directions and became something I hadn’t intended in the slightest, but I went with it. Does it flow? Unsure, but I hope this concludes Part I enough to satisfy anyone who had been anticipating the ending of this story.

Summary: What if Elias and MC’s first kiss had continued?

Warnings: NSFW. 18+ Slight blood kink, fingering, vaginal penetration. Continue at your own risk.

Exhaustion clouded her mind like an unrelenting fog. Her body was on autopilot. She wasn’t controlling her movements in the slightest. Left foot, right foot. Left, right, left. She trudged towards class, putting the girls dormitory further and further behind her, her eyes downcast and drooping. Deep color ringed her eyes, like inappropriately applied eyeshadow. Her eyes ached and felt impossibly dry. How long had she cried for? She couldn’t be sure. Her throat still felt tight. No matter how much she sobbed into her pillow the unrelenting knot in her esophagus never loosened, just remained bobbing like bait at the end of a fishing line in her throat as she swallowed back more cries.

Amelia had attempted to comfort her, at first. Rubbing soothing circles into her shoulders and shushing her gently, as a mother would, when her cries petered out into trailing wails. A couple of hours of this proved useless. The cup of tea that she had brought had long since grown cold. Amelia’s limbs were stiff and the static-feeling of bloodless limbs finally urged her to stand and with one more pity-filled look, she left the room.

Hours had dwindled by, the moon rising in the late hours and slowly descending as dawn painted the sky in dark hues of purple and vibrant orange. The girl didn’t move or sleep except for a few minutes of fitful dozing in-between flashes of Elias’s face as he turned away from her and the tears streaming down her cheeks.

This is heartbreak then, she thought with fractured wonder, her hand coming up to palm the flesh above her heart. She felt as though something had been scooped out of her and placed back incorrectly. She stumbled slightly, much to Carbuncle’s dismay as it squealed loudly on her shoulder. She paused on the pavement, squeezing her eyes shut and blinking them open a few times. Her vision was blurry and she briefly wondered how she was going to make it through class.

Her feet hit the stairs before she even recognized where she was, climbing unsteadily. She continued down the passageway to the classroom, eyes rooted to the floor and shoulders sagging the further she walked. When she walked through the doorway of the classroom, she noted that Elias was already at his seat and reading a thick book laid upon his desk. He looked up at her entry. Brilliant violet eyes lighted upon hers and the girl quickly ripped her gaze from his and hurried past him, forcing her exhausted limbs not to falter or stumble in her haste to be to her own seat.

Once seated, she leaned back in the chair and tried to force her breathing to slow. Her heart slammed against her ribs, fighting her earnestly. She unconsciously bit her lip as she fixed her gaze on the ceiling above her and felt her teeth break the skin. Copper flooded her mouth and she closed her eyes as tears came unbidden to her eyes.

Not here, she chided herself, teeth sinking deeper into her lip to distract her broken heart from the pain unveiling in her chest. More blood flowed between the rivets of her teeth and the howl of heart break became sharper in her veins.

“Now, now,” a familiar voice sounded from beside her and the girls eyes shot open in both surprise and dread. Luca was standing to her right, green eyes alight with mischief. “Why, if you continue to damage those pretty lips of yours, no one will ever want to kiss you.” His voice was taunting as he pulled the chair out beside her and slid into it, placing his elbow on the desk and leaning towards her with the most conniving of smirks.

Oh, no. Please, not here, she thought wildly as he crowded her personal space and used his thumb to free her wounded bottom lip from her teeth, swiping the pad of the digit across the bitten flesh and smearing her life’s blood across her mouth. His other fingers caressed her chin as his thumb collected the scarlet prize and he brought it to his lips and sucked it clean, humming appreciatively as his eyes gleamed down at her.

Distantly, the girl heard a strangled noise come from closer to the front of the room but she couldn’t remove her eyes from Luca’s face. She couldn’t move in the slightest, his bold and provocative act had her reeling. Something stirred in her core and when the tendrils of heat had her thighs squeezing together in anticipation is when she wrenched herself out of this dreadful daze and stood abruptly. Her chair crashed to the floor behind her and her sudden movement had dislodged Carbuncle from his spot on her shoulder and he leaped onto the desk with a squeal of protest.

“I can’t do this,” her voice sounded distorted to even her, blood roaring in her ears. The desire was still gripping her belly tightly and she was both equally excited and horrified at her newfound pleasure.

She dashed to the door of the classroom, passing Elias without a glance and nearly collided with Professor Schuyler. She pushed her way past him and ran blindly into the passageway in the opposite direction that she came from earlier, the professors calls of,

“Where do you think you’re going?!” Echoing down at her retreating back. She turned corner after corner, her legs propelling her forward and away from whatever it was that happened back there. She finally shouldered open a random door to her left and slammed it shut behind her. In the dimness, she made out dusty chairs and desks. An unused classroom.

She moved through the room, her head fuzzy with disgust and confusion at herself. Her hip barked against one of the desks and she hissed sharply through her teeth, her hand catching the back of a chair as she tripped at the sudden pain blooming in the flesh at the site of the strike. She dragged her feet forward until she reached the far side of the room and fell to her knees.

What was that? She wondered, fingers coming up to daintily touch her lip. They came away tinged with blood but the desire did not rise up again. At least not until her mind flashed back to her blood coating Luca’s thumb and his tongue licking it clean. Except she imagined it to be Elias tasting her blood and the heat exploded in her core and she gasped out loud, fingers curling into a shaking fist against her mouth.

The creak of the door opening behind her had the girl freezing in place. She didn’t dare turn around. She didn’t want the person walking in on her to see her face right now. Eyes blown dark with uncontrollable need. Pink flush dusting her cheeks. She’d seen that face before in her mirror across from her bed back home as she quietly brought herself to orgasm. Shame closed her throat over and yet the blood on her fingers remained, staining her yearning into her skin for all to see.

The door closed and silence fell once more, her heavy breathing filling the space around her. Then footsteps and dread was clawing at her fiercely once again and she peeked over her shoulder. Her shoulders went rigid at the form coming up behind her.

“Elias?” Her voice was warped, static coating her words in a rasp against the want unfurling wider in her body at the sight of him. He stood tall among the dust and faint sunlight leaking in through the dirty windows. She couldn’t make out the look on his face or even see his gem-like eyes but the tension between them was tighter than a bowstring.

“Are you alright?” Gruff. He sounded angry. The girl attempted to swallow past the heat overtaking her, wetness in her panties dragging her back into her blood-fueled haze. She nodded, her fist loosening and falling to her side. Her tongue wetted her lips unconsciously. He stepped closer, looming over her and she saw that his eyes were on her mouth.

“Do you like Luca?” The girl stared at him in bewilderment. He really had asked her that? After their tryst in the grass yesterday? She felt her annoyance get the better of her and scoffed.

“Absolutely not.” Another step, shadows cupping his high cheekbones in a loving embrace. There was a glint to his eyes that she didn’t recognize. His eyebrows were pulled low, furrowing in discontent.

“I saw your face when he licked your blood off of his finger. Saw the want fill your eyes,” clipped words dashing onto her already broken body. She shook her head once more.

“I wasn’t expecting that of him. Wasn’t expecting to like someone tasting my blood either. I was caught off-guard. I would rather have…” She trailed off, hands becoming fists again. He had fled from her yesterday, voicing her desires out loud would do nothing but embarrass her more and deepen his hate for her.

“Rather have what?” His voice is hitched and tight. As if he is struggling to speak around something in his throat. A blush is caressing his face delicately and she notices that he’s quivering.

“Listen, about yesterday-” She’s cut off abruptly as his knees hit the floor beside her and he’s suddenly in her personal bubble, so close that she can smell him. The scent that is so uniquely him: sweet chocolate, the gently aging books he surrounded himself with daily, and warm amber filled her nose. His breath is fanning her heated face, burning gaze clashing with hers.

“Did you like him touching you?” His hands landed upon her thighs and goosebumps spread across her skin like a wave. Earnest eyes peering at her beneath golden locks. The girl shook her head slowly, entranced by the boy in front of her. He was holding his breath, looking as though he was placing all of his cards on the table.

“Why not?” Gentle fingers are pushing her stockings down just as they did yesterday and the girl’s heart is soaring like a freed bird from a cage. Dare she even wish to believe that he may share the same feelings for her? She swallowed again, mouth parched suddenly.

“Because-” She stutters to a stop as one of his hands leaves her thighs to encase itself around her upper arm and he leans closer.

“Because?” He urges her, face flaming red but voice strong and sure. She’s shaking now too, too afraid to believe that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her tongue is clumsy in her mouth and it wets her lips once more, his eyes following the action with rapture.

“Because he’s not you,” she whispered harshly, her swollen lip splitting open again at her words. Those exotic eyes widen at her words. His hand on her arm tightens momentarily before sliding down to grip her wrist and brings her blood-stained fingers to his mouth. His tongue peeps out shyly and laps at the drying ichor on her flesh. The air is torn with a wild gasp from her, her chest expanding rapidly at the sudden onslaught of air filling her lungs. He pulls her fingers into his mouth, tonguing urgently on her digits and cleaning them of the stains.

“Elias,” she breathes, giddiness racing through her veins like galloping steeds. He removes her fingers from his mouth and leans forward to suck at her wounded lip and her brain grinds to a halt, blankness enveloping her in her shocked state. His tongue is warm against her lip and so sweet at the soft brushes against her flesh. His chest rumbles with a moan and she’s engulfed in dancing flames. Her hands are in his silky hair and nails scraping his scalp in her haste to touch him.

He releases her bottom lip only to kiss her fully on the mouth, the taste of her own blood slinking past her teeth as his tongue pushes through open lips and lays waste to her. Her moan echoes through him and he wraps one strong arm around her and leans into her even more, craning her back until they finally collapse onto the floor, sending up clouds of dust in their wake.

Elias is placing a knee between her legs as his hands roam her torso with heated impatience. He’s still gentle, still oh-so-sweet and his skimming palms ignite a flame that only he can kindle, but his movements are urgent, his kisses an onslaught of desperation that has her keening into his mouth. Trembling fingers are on her blouse, fumbling with the small buttons. His mouth leaves hers, much to her despair and her eyes open to meet his. They’re darker than she’s ever seen them, muddled with want.

“C-Can I?” Voice drenched in hoarseness, hands hot through the fabric of her shirt. Those elegantly shaped eyes are hooded and gorgeous, delicate face an open book for the first time, airing out his desires to her greedy eyes.

“Please,” she breathes, reaching for him once more and then he’s on her once more. He tugs her ribbon undone and pushes her cloak off of her shoulders before resuming his task of fighting with her blouses buttons. Her own hands work on his own uniform, cursing under her breath at the many layers he wears. He has to help her pull his tie off and he grunts when she mouths at the newly exposed skin of his throat, tracing the rapid thrumming of his pulse with her tongue. He’s panting as if haven just sprinted a mile and his hips jut into her. His hard bulge rubs against her through her skirt and moans fall from both of them.

He gets her blouse open and his head descends to press warm lips to the swell of her breasts above her bra. Elias pushes her skirt up quickly and as his fingers brush the edge of her panties hers have found their way under his shirt. Her soft hands on his taut stomach has his breath hitching against her chest and she continues to explore upwards, brushing against his nipples to which he hisses and sucks a hickey into her breast with renewed vigor.

“Elias,” his name tumbles from her throat as her nails dig into his shoulders and she pulls him closer to grind her hips up into him. Teeth snag on her exposed nipple and Elias groans loudly into her flesh, suckling her nipple as if he could pull and drink the very essence of her through her hardened peaks. The girl’s voice cracks as she cries out, back bowing off of the floor as her nails draw blood from the skin of his shoulder. He wrenches away from her breast to hiss another hot breath through clenched teeth, rocking his ever-growing bulge into her rhythmically.

The girl pulls one of her hands away from him and brings her fingers to her mouth to lap at his blood seeped until her fingernails and he pauses, watching her with rapt fixation. The copper of his blood has her core a quivering mess. She wonders briefly if there’s something wrong with her, is she ill? Then his fingers are moving past her panties to brush her slit delicately and all thoughts besides oh wow are dashed to pieces.

Elias whispers her name as he gazes down at her tasting his blood on her fingers, his own digits sliding lower until he cupped her mound. He was new to all of this, fumbling his way through every movement. He was amazed at the sounds he was pulling from her with his inexperienced touches. The way she stared at him in adoration before her eyes rolled back into her skull in pleasure. It made his body thrum with delight and a tinge of pride.

Her panties were restricting his hand to his irritation and he quickly removed his hand to pull her skirt and the offending undergarment down her legs. He finally laid eyes on her bare form and found his mouth going dry. His nerves were beginning to get the best of him, he couldn’t stop the shaking that was taking over his limbs. He placed his hand back on her mound and tentatively pressed the heel of his palm against her bud. He was rewarded with a soulful cry echoing in the empty room and bucking of her hips against his hand. He carefully circled his middle finger around her slick entrance and eased it into her.

“Elias!” Her voice was the most saccharine sound to his ears and it urged him to gently thrust his single finger into her and grind the heel of his hand into her swelling clit. Stuttering gasps and long, sinful moans permeated the air as he kept this tender pace, relishing in the way her walls clung to his finger like a lifeline. Her body undulated beneath him as if she were one with the rolling ocean, body tense like a live wire and spasming every so often. His cock was pressing painfully against the front of his trousers and his mind flashed to thoughts of her walls clinging and pulling his member in like she was doing to his finger and he forgot how to breathe for a few moments.

Elias placed a hand on the girl’s hip to still her as he slipped his index finger in to join the other digit and she heaved beneath his touch once more, teeth chattering against the barrage of pleasure wracking her body.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, fascinated at the cresting of her hips, his eyes following the bow of her stomach as she arched into the roll her pelvis. She seemed obvious to his mutterings, face flushed and gleaming with sweat as she met Elias’s hand thrust for thrust.

“E-Elias! I-” She didn’t finish her sentence, body becoming rigid beneath him as she let out a scream of ecstasy, hips stuttering out of rhythm. Her walls became a vice around his fingers and he felt a rush of liquid coating his hand and he moaned aloud at the sight of her unraveling onto his hand. Fire licked boldly beneath his navel, coating his veins in tingling hunger. He wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. More than besting his brother’s. More than meeting his father’s expectations.

This girl made him feel complete without pitching himself against an impossible barrier again and again until pieces of himself were scattered about, lost forever underneath shadows undisturbed. She made him feel light with her positivity, her constant laughing and glinting gaze alighting on him when she made a comedic tragedy of herself. Was she infuriating at times? Absolutely, but he knew he could be sometimes, as well. He didn’t have to leap through towering hoops to please her, he was just simply himself and she gazed at him like he had hung the moon in the sky.

Little did she know, that he swore he saw a resemblance in every star and planet that glimmered above him each night. Could it be that tiny fragments of her bright soul were in the makeup of each molten star up there? That each new life of hers after reincarnating, bits of herself were planted in the skies above them to flicker and dance in hopeful gleams?

Her hand closing over his wrist brought Elias back to himself. He was still thrusting into her wetness and she was trying to catch her breath, her orgasm dissipating now. He stopped his movements and gently removed his fingers from her, bringing them to his mouth and tasting her prize on his hand. The taste of her on his tongue shortened his breath. She tasted exquisite. He groaned into his fingers, curling his tongue around his digits to lap up every bit of her.

He thought briefly of bringing his tongue down to flatten against her mound and feast upon her. Nearly did it until her voice reached his ears,

“Elias, I need you.” He jerked as though electrocuted and all sense fled him in an instant. He rose to his knees to unbuckle his belt and shove his pants down and kick his shoes off. She shakily removed her bra, her hair coming undone from it’s twin tails and cascading across the floor. Elias pulled his shirt over his head hurriedly and then kneeled before her, hands coming up to trail over her parted knees. She stared up at him, breathing labored with anticipation.

“You’re sure that this is what you want? That-that I’m what you want?” Her eyes smoldered at him, and she reached for him once more.

“No one else. Just you.” It was like the last puzzle piece clicked into place and he felt a cocktail of emotions explode in his chest as he muffled the sound that rose in his throat, feeling full of warmth and acceptance to the point of overflowing. He caged her in with his arms, hovering above her once more as his cock nudged against her core and he shuddered at the heat he felt.

He bent and kissed her, lips a little sloppy against her mouth as his brain became mush the more her folds spread their slick against the head of his member. Her tongue tangled with his and he tilted his head wanting more depth into her mouth. He pulled back after a moment, and held the base of his cock to her entrance to begin making his way slowly into her. He was torn between watching her swallow him up and watching the expression of bliss overtake her face.

He groaned loudly as he sheathed himself into her, rising up on his knees and throwing his head back the further he made his way in, adams apple bobbing wildly. The tightness, the wetness; it was unlike anything he had ever imagined. She was so incredibly warm and welcoming. She hugged him so ruthlessly that he had to breathe shallowly and talk himself into not spilling himself into her right then and there.

When he was fully seated in her he paused for long moments, gasping for air at the sensation of coming together with her. He peeled his eyes open and looked down at her. Her hands were resting on his thighs, eyes clenched shut and face twisted. Elias said her name softly and she opened her eyes to look at him.

“Are you okay?” She swallowed before shifting beneath him and a hot string of curses spilled from his lips and his fingers gripped her legs. Elias thought he would never catch his breath, ragged gasps ripping through his chest. He hadn’t even started thrusting yet and he was overwhelmed by her sweet core. He opened his eyes once more to meet her molten gaze, taking in her blushing cheeks and parted lips. She nodded once and linked their fingers together on his thigh.

He assumed his position of hovering over her once more, pressing a honeyed kiss to her lips before he made the first agonizing pull out of her warmth. He instinctively rocked back into her, a roughness edging on the end of his movement and her body raised underneath the meeting of their hips.

“Oh,” the word shattered against the back of his teeth, body quaking at the clench of her muscles around him. She was just as wrecked as him, incoherent moans staining her tongue into a gibberish language, fingers cramping around his. He reached down to tweak a nipple between his fingertips and his prize was a shout of his name as he pulled his hips back once more, delicious draw of skin against skin making him teeter on the edge already.

His pace was achingly slow. Elias knew he wouldn’t be able to slam into her the way he knew he could with more practice without splintering within seconds. They both were so sensitive, nerves frayed with anxiety and the newness of it all. He glanced down to watch her envelope him in wet heat and another shudder shook his frame, groans splitting his chest wide open. The sounds they created were erotic, a sensual music filling the still air around them. Elias’s vision went fuzzy when the girl clenched around him, eyes rolling back in desperation as his hips became slightly more erratic.

The pool of desire boiling deep in his pelvis had reached a breaking point and he panted with exertion, trying with all of his might to hold himself back from the edge. He wouldn’t last much longer.

Her clit, his mind chanted and he quickly pressed a demure thumb against her bud, watching her through slitted lids as her song became more pitched and sharp. Her hips met his, pushing his thumb against her flesh more tightly and Elias ground his teeth together, seething as his pleasure became a crescendo. She became impossibly tighter around his cock and she emitted a wail, the beginnings of her undoing trickling through her body.

“Shit,” he choked out, his cock twitching and throbbing within her canal and tears began to form at the corners of his jewel-like orbs at the desperation building within him. He wanted to come so badly, but refused to deny her.

“Elias!” His name was a scream, her body convulsing as her orgasm overtook her and it was the very blade that cut the remaining thread holding him back. His hips surged forward, driving into her with fierce abandon, milking his member in the river of liquid flowing through her core. Her name wrenched it’s way from his throat as he crested that last wave, rutting into her a few more times before hastily pulling from her warmth and lying his cock onto her stomach. Elias threw his head back once more as he shattered above her, crying out wordlessly.

They shook and shivered against one another for long seconds, gasps and moans painting each other’s skin in invisible ink. When Elias could stand to open his eyes he brought his gaze to the girl and lost the ability to breathe once more at the sight of her lying beneath him, his seed pooling across her stomach. He whispered her name, reaching for her and pulling her up to his chest, cradling and rubbing her back.

His knees ached from being pressed into the unforgiving floor. He felt like he could pass out from exhaustion any second, sweat beading the back of his neck. She was kissing the inside of his arm and his heart swelled heatedly. Elias buried his nose in her sweet-smelling hair, letting his eyes drift closed at the satisfaction settling into his bones.

She accepted him and his advances, reciprocated his feelings and cherished his body as he did hers just now. He briefly noted in his mind to check the library and see if love was a magic in it’s own right.

Because he had never felt so whole until this very moment, this very second in his life. As if everything had aligned in his life and he could sweep the floor with his worries. He never wanted to lose this feeling. Lose this girl. His arms locked tighter around her briefly and he sighed as he nuzzled into her.

Perhaps he could turn this curse around. Perhaps he could make the name Goldstein a cherished charm.

[crookedkingdomrp]

INTRODUCTION

LOYALTY: The Dregs

STATUS: Open for Auditions

FACECLAIM: Lily James

They say on the eve of your birth there was nothing but snow, nothing but the harsh winter winds to echo throughout the night as if to say : forgive me. You were born into a farming family in the outskirts of Keramzin. The Ravkan winters had never been as fierce as that of the Fjerdan, however it was you who’d seemingly opened up the glaciers wrath. Your mother died mere hours after you’d cried into the world, causing boiling disdain from a father and wretched ill-placed anger from a brother. Where they were burly and brutish, you found yourself over time much more inclined to words, to wander the streets of your small home town in search of them. Words of the wise, of those who’d come before you, if only to hope to leave something for those to come after. They’d attempted at capturing your spirit, caging it like a docile bird awaiting freedom it would never see. However, you’d simply spread your wings further, any attempt at making yourself untouchable. How tragic it had become that they would look into your eyes and only see the things in which they’d lost, the things that you’d taken away from them. Once the whispers had begun of marriage, of trades for food and grains had reached your ears, it wasn’t long before you’d planned some sort of escape. To be free of the burden of guilt, what a life you would live. Yet, it remained a simple dream in which you’d surely never see to be a reality. Your life, as your father had made quite clear, was so heavily tethered to his, you owed him a life debt and he’d sold you to a neighbouring family as if a common mare. To see growth for a dying farm, to see prosperity where there was no chance for it. Hope, he’d told you. Hope is all he’d had and this would bring him a peace, to be rid of the sight of you. So you’d obliged, if only to serve a purpose, to become a girl who’d given in when it had seemed like the world had given up.  It wasn’t until the eve of a wedding that you’d finally stumbled, when the sight of your childhood home swallowed by flames mirrored your gaze. The sight of Aleksei, sought covered and exhausted as he’d taken every step towards your porch, had allowed you an escape. His words, hoarse and panicked, had only driven you further from any obligation or promise you’d ever made.

It was in the dead of night that you’d escaped, nothing more than the heavy furs draped over your back and the tightly bound boots upon your feet to keep you dry. The permanence of winter had engulfed Ravka whole, and you made your way towards the seas, praying for the help of the Saints above that you’d find solace as far away as possible. Blood stained your brothers hands and in turn, it had seeped unto yours as well. Shedding your old life as if a snakes skin, the pair of you boarded a boat in hopes of finding something worth it on the other end. As if a months long journey across the True Sea would take you anywhere but hell, a place in which you’d both damned yourselves to. Murder behind you, Ketterdam remained the only thing in sight. Where good men had gone to give in to their inhibitions and women had found themselves nothing but mere desires. It was all you could do not to insist upon moving further, farther. However, there was no greater welcoming committee than that of the crows. The streets of Ketterdam demanded blood, they thirsted for crime and in turn spit you out if you failed to deliver. You’d found yourself useful in picking locks, in remaining as quiet as the ghosts themselves, to move without being seen or heard as you’d stole food, kruge and clothes just to survive. To break into the Crow Club, renowned for it’s security, only to be greeted by the gang themselves, awaiting the arrival of the girl they’d come to know as one of their most trusted. Charm had never worked in your favour, yet cheeks flushing a deepened shade of pink and tips of fingers numb from the cold, they’d welcomed not only you but Aleksei into their homes in exchange for your services. Escaping one life’s debt and finding yourself bound to another. They’d branded you, crow and cup prominent upon your forearm and you swore the words of your father still haunted you. The world would not forgive a murderer. Yet, in Ketterdam, was there ever such a worry? The Dregs consisted of runaways, con men, liars, killers. You, alongside your brother, had paid a blood debt to stand amongst their ranks. The world would not forgive you, and you may never forgive yourself, but your pockets are full and your hair shines brighter beneath the Kerch sun. Perhaps, you’d wondered, this is hell and if so, then you’d intended upon making the most of it.

CONNECTIONS

HENRIK VAN ECK  ( Most Intimate ) : It was chaos that had brought the pair of them together, and it was chaos that would surely rip them apart. Their intimacy is as intricate and as all consuming as that of a web, bound together so tightly that if anyone else were to get caught among the crossfires, they’d find themselves with deaths mark upon their door. She, the dark side of the moon that yearns to see the bright rays of sun in which he emits. It’s he who has challenged her talents the most, he who has laid traps and locks upon every inch of Ketterdam only to carefully watch as she breaks them. A ghost of a girl, she weaves her way through his mazes and finds herself only drawn to him and him alone. Words whispered in the still evenings by the water, skin grazing in the bustling alleys of the East and West Stave. Ketterdam is their playground, their puzzle to take apart and piece together if only to find one another once more.

ALEKSEI MOREV ( Bloodline ) : He would’ve killed her as a child, that much Tatia is sure of. However, he’d come begging upon her doorstep for salvation and she in turn delivered. The ripeness of her heart had never faltered beneath his anger, beneath his rage. She, as loyal as one would expect, and yet never as foolish. For, as he’d prided himself on strength and brutality, she found herself immersed in the workings of the mind, of locks and doors if only to keep herself busy. Ketterdam had set them free, and for awhile it was as if they had become a family, two lost souls coming together to form a bond in which they’d never got the chance to have. Yet, he’d betrayed her and she’d yet to forgive such a thing. For, she was the reason he was still alive, and he’d turned his back upon her as if she were nothing. Their blood bleeds the same, and she can only hope that it isn’t his in which she’ll have to shed.

SVEIN JOSTAD ( Head and Heart ) : Naivety, something in which she knows all too much about. He’s too kind for this world and she knows it. For, there is something mirrored in one another that Tatia finds most intriguing and worrying. Svein, careful and calculating as she and with an air of desperation in which she recognizes. They’d taken advantage of that, advantage of him, and she cannot help but feel partially responsible. For, it was her decision to bring him in, to provide clothes and food for a boy who’d looked at the world with doe eyed wonder, who was unaware he’d walked into the lions den with wrists bleeding and ready. If anything, Tatia has taken him beneath her graceful wing to save him from ever seeing the reality, the bloodshed, in which he’s found himself entangled in.

[carolineforbesisawesome]

Full Drabble : Wild 🌹

Hey guy's, Here is the third part of this Drabble. To be honest I had a hard time with this part of this story, do you guys want to see more? If so do you want it to be sweet story or want a little more smut ? I might post the 4th part up next or another Drabble let me know if you have any promts for me to write. Disclaimer: Not mine and No Beta. ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨🌹 💕for the Anon who asked for the full story on here. ✨✨✨✨✨✨ "Thank you Mr. Colen's I'll make sure to tell my mother in the next letter I write." Caroline Smiled at the old man as she moved along. "I told you we should have called the Seamstress To the manor." Katherine said from her spot as the made their way towards the dress shop. "I do not wish to be a bird in a cage," The blond told her trusted friend. "And this is better." Katherine mention to the people staring and whisper around shrugged as she notice a familiar blond stepping out of a carriage. "Lord Mikaelson," She called out for him. As he spot her a smile came onto his face as he heard his name coming out of her lips. "Your highness," he said bowing his head down at her. "Caroline." Rebekah called out her name as she stepped out of the carriage all by herself, "Thanks for the help Nik." The blond told her brother. "I distracted him Rebekah." Caroline defended him. "You tend to do that a lot," Rebekah said. "Bekah,"Klaus warned her. "What it's true." Rebekah daring him to call her a liar. As Caroline let out a smile laugh, "Well I am flattered." She smiled over at him. "Come alone Caroline," Katherine called after her, rushing the blond behind a smirking Klaus. Once inside the dress shop Caroline could not help herself but to question Rebekah about her Brother. "So where is your brother off to." Flattening her dress as she looked in the mirror at her reflection. "You should have asked him.I'm not his keep." The blond replied, as the seamstress through her a look of caution. As Caroline rolled her eyes and went back looking over the dress. As the seamstress started fixing the hem. "But if you must know he has a meeting to attend."Rebekah told her friend as front door bell rang.A brunet rushed in through the front door Followed by a blond and redhead. "Rebekah." The brunette called out. "Tatia." Rebekah greeted as the girls looked over her shoulder quickly bowing at the sight of Caroline. "Your Highness." Caroline greeted them with a small as they stood up. "Sorry to disturb, but we notice the Mikaelson carriage and want to stop by to say hello." as Rebekah left out a cough and rolled her eye's "It's quite 're almost done here." As the brunette nodes her head and turns back to speak with Rebekah,"Is your brother in town?" "Oh,yes I think he spoke about make a stop at O'connell house. Something about Needing to speak with her father."Receiving a scowl from Tatia,but the blonde behind her quickly smiled like she had won the jackpot. "Well we better be on our way."Camille the Blond spoke up as the group of girls bid farewell. The semesters looked over at Rebekah, arched an eyebrow towards her,"Now that's a cruel joke to pay on those young , you know they're going to spend all day at the O'connell home waiting for nothing." Caroline looked down confused, at the older lady working on her dress,"The Mikaelson boys tend to be the talk around town." Smiling at the princess as she went back to work. "Those three under the Illusion one of my brothers will fall for them, Tatia has her eyes set on both Klaus and Elijah. Can you believe her nerve to think they would choose her one day. After she made my childhood hell" She told her friend as she looked though the selection of laces. Caroline could help but look out the window and stair after the girls. "Where have you been Niklaus?" Mikael asked as he saw him come in through the front door. The winter ball had started about an hour ago and the dance floor had already opened up. "Sorry father, there was a problem with one of our shipment. I told Elijah I would take care of it." Looking around for his sibling, and not paying attention to his father, when he was in one of his mood best thing was to ignore him before they got In a heated argument. "Well,why you were working on your little business. The Lockwood made their move,the princess has already had a dance with Mason and Tyler. The younger Lockwood seems to have capture her attention for the night." He snarled as he continued with his rant, " I ask you to do one thing and you can't even do that." Walking away to get another drink. Klaus shook his head at his comment, not wanting them to affect his night. To be honest he rather not have come, but then again he wanted to see Caroline. Even if he kept his distance from her the whole night but as he heard her laugh and located her in a royal blue dress he knew he in no way would be able to stay away from her. Walking over towards her location, surrounded by a group of people trying to get her attention. "Well Lockwood it sesames you still can't tell that joke correct." He teased the young boy. "Klaus, " Lockwood acknowledge him,not happy by the interruption. "Your highness." Klaus said bowing towards Caroline. "You're late." She told him not acknowledging his greeting. "I'm truly sorry." He told her sincerely "Well you better be." Extending her gloved hand out to him. "If you excuse me gentlemen, Lord Mikaelson here owes me a dance." Smiling as she stood up from her staring at them as they made their way over towards the center of dance floor. "You look stunning in blue." As he place his hand on her lower back. "Thank I ask why you were late."As she followed his lead. "Your highness, you may ask me anything."He replied quickly. "Caroline." She reminded him, as she tighten her hold on his hand,and he pulled her somewhat closer."Caroline" he smiled down at her. "One of my clients had a problem with one of our shipments, I promised the man I take care of it personally." Caroline nodded at his explanation."Why haven't you called on me since I ran into you at the dress shop?"Finally asking the question that she been yearning to ask for days. Klaus looked down at her, "I have no excuse for that." "Well I hope you join Rebekah next time she comes over." Klaus smiled at her Rebekah tend to spend almost everyday of the week with her. "I will." Smiling down at her as the song came to an end, "They slowly pulled apart," Klaus extending his arm to guide her back towards her lady in waiting. "It seems you have an admirer," pointing toward the girl from the shop. "Aw, Tatia " he said looking over to who she was speaking off. "She tends to have this false illusion we one day would marry." Caroline raised an eyebrow at his comment, "Our mothers were close." As she let go of his arm once they came up Katherine who was throwing him a death stare "Miss. Katherine," greeting her as she acknowledging him with a simple nod of her head. "Kathrine I would like to go for a walk." she told her lady, "Lord Elijah would you accompany us for a stroll, I hear the gardens are lovely outside." "Yes, your Highness." Elijah said as he extended his arm to Katherine who sent Caroline a death stairs as she ignored his arm and walked ahead Elijah following behind her. "Katherine doesn't agree with you spending time with me." he said already feeling the burn of eyes on his back. "Katherine does not trust men." Klaus raised an eyebrow at her statement, "She used to be a free spirit everyone in court all the men wanted her and the ladies envy see Kathrine is older than me,so I looked up to her freedom. Don't take me wrong she was no strumpet she had the freedom of her father letting her choose the man she would marry, that gives women a different kind of freedom. Until one day one of her suites took it upon him to kiss her in front of everyone,claiming her as his. Katherine was a ripped of her freedoms by that man she trusted." Klaus was shocked, "but she not marry to him." "No she decide to not marry, if she did not get to make her choice then she rather not marry at all." "He basically made her untouchable." "That's why she don't trust anyone one. Especially when it comes to father and hers gave her two choice she either marry or leave to the convent. Before that could happen I made her my head lady, I would not let them ship her away." Looking over her shoulder to smile at her friend who was walking behind them, several feet away ignoring Elijah's questions. "So you see it was nothing you did."Smirking at him. "I'm pretty sure there's a part of her that still doesn't like other reasons." "True." she replied as she spotted a bench and took a seat."Kathrine go on ahead,I need to rest for a moment." "Five minutes I drag you back inside to say goodbye and leave Lord Mikaelson to accompany his brother back."She warned as, Elijah followed after her. "Rebekah mention your father has been in one of his mood." As she slipped off her glove to reach and touch his face. "It nothing new, he tends to get this way when he lose a large sum of money in a card game. I just tend to ignore him, Rebekah takes it more to hart." Looking down at her as he reached for her hand, to take into his. Caroline blushed as she felt the heat from his hand,"Those young lady, truly do fancy you." Remembering the statement the seamstress. Klaus let out a chuckle at her comment, "I tend to find them boring. I won't lie I do have a passed like you mention the night we meet, I'm pretty good at seducing." Caroline raised an eyebrow at his statement."Know this Caroline none of them have captured my attention like you," bring his free hand to lift her chin and look directly into her blue eyes."I actually fear you think my attentions are not true because of my confession that day in the I am speaking the truth when I say you bewitched be honest its the reason I haven't visited an try to keep my my Father, I want you to have no doubt of my feelings for you." "I know Klaus," smiling at him. "I hope you don't think me to forward but…" Before he could finish his sentence he felt Caroline lips on his, pulling her closer as possible. There moment was broken by a cough, turning around to see Elijah and a crossed arm Katherine, "I think it's best if we go inside." Elijah said cutting the tension. Caroline nodded as she blushed red from being caught slipping her glove back on her hand,Klaus gave her Gentle smile as he stood up extending his hand out. "How about another dance?" He asked. "Well you are a good dancer ." As she took his hand, and made their way back toward the festivities.

[what-is-sibling-test]

from 'RittenhouseTL' for all things Timeless https://ift.tt/2I5c5CR via Istudy world

hannibella-ella-ella: Look for me in the fire (Timeless fanfic) A Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston Timeless...

Look for me in the fire (Timeless fanfic)

A Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston Timeless fanfic

Length: about 1600 words

Rating: Adults only (explicit!)

Warnings: PWP, there is no plot, only Zuul. Smutty smutty smut-smut.

AUTHOR NOTE: There is just not enough smut with Lucy and Flynn in this fandom so I’m taking it upon myself to rectify that. Subsequently I shall not bother writing a summary for this because none of us care.

Lucy Preston is angrier than Garcia Flynn has ever seen. She’s magnificent in her anger, her eyes filled with fire, her cheeks flush with the burn, her hair wild from the winds they left behind in the 19th century.

Flynn doesn’t even mind that the anger is directed at him. It’s like basking in the sun for an hour too long, when he knows it’s going to hurt him later, but now—right now—the intensity of the blasting heat is melting him in all of the right ways.

“You didn’t need to shoot that man,” Lucy said. She’s gathering herself up, forming a wall of flame disguised by the delicate form of a historian. “You don’t know what effect that’s going to have on the future!”

Oh, the righteousness is sweeter than candy on Flynn’s tongue, cinnamon spice. He should back away from this much anger.

Instead, he moves closer.

Lucy doesn’t back down. There’s no room in Flynn’s tiny bunker bedroom, but her back is to the door, and she could walk out as easily as she walked in.

She *doesn’t*.

“I would kill him again,” Flynn says, husky and intense, boiling within the aura of Lucy’s magma heat. “I would kill him a thousand times.” He rolls the words through his accent. He bites out each syllable as if his teeth are puncturing jugulars.

“He was an inventor!” Lucy hisses.

Flynn slams a hand to the bunker beside her head. “He had a knife to your throat!”

“I would be a small price to pay to save history,” she says, and Flynn can see that she means it. That Lucy believes every moment she’s existed within hasn’t been improved immeasurably by her presence. That the very earth is not gifted for being touched by the delicate bones of her feet.

She’s not like Flynn—a plague burning through dead tissue, unconcerned if it destroys the healthy tissue on the way.

Lucy is goodness. She is *everything*. She is the star blazing at the center of Garcia Flynn’s universe, and he is helpless detritus trapped within her gravity.

He’s going to crash into her if he doesn’t get a grip.

So he seizes her arms—gently, so gently, his fingers barely bracketing her elbows while his biceps and shoulders turn to steel. He says, very clearly, “You are a price that I’ll never be willing to pay.”

Lucy’s looking at him with those searching eyes again. She sees through him. He’s read her journal but she *knows* him—she *gets* him—and there’s a firestorm in her soul, breaths caught in her chest, words trapped on her tongue.

Neither of them can speak.

They don’t need to.

She’s the one who closes the remaining space, leaping and flinging arms delicate as bird bone around his shoulders, and there’s no reason she should feel so heavy. That this moment should have such weight to it. That Lucy should be able to capture Flynn’s mouth with hers and make him feel victimized by the intensity of his desperate *need* for Lucy Preston.

He will die if he does not wrap his arms around her back, pressing her against the breadth of his chest. He will die without inhaling her taste. She is coffee, vodka, aging paper. She is the bonfire that books are burned upon as much as the kindling. Their tongues have met in battle, and Flynn’s gathering her hair in his hands, mounding it, molding it, letting himself memorize the feeling of her.

They are against the wall. It’s a good thing; it gives Flynn leverage to press his knee between her thighs, letting her spread over him and relax, bringing them to the same level.

He bites her throat. He laps the sweat along her collarbone.

“Garcia,” she whispers with as much heat and frustration as ever. He likes the way that her grip tugs the roots of his hair.

He lifts his head from nuzzling the hollow of her throat and says, “Tell me what I can do. Tell me what you want.”

Lucy’s eyes are only half-focused. Her lips are still swollen from the kiss. “Everything.”

The hem of her formless sweater lifts. She’s not wearing underneath—a revelation that could almost bring him to his knees. He was expecting to find cloth under his hands, not a rib cage, not the smooth skin between her navel and sternum, not breasts uplifted by puckered nipples that seem to yearn for his mouth.

Flynn tastes them. He sucks one nipple into his mouth, and the other, and Lucy rewards him by bucking her hips against his thigh. He’s got her lifted enough to access her breasts and that means her toes are barely touching the ground. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders, urging him on, and he mouths the swells of her bosom.

She tastes like nineteenth century dirt, like stiff cotton. He softens her with his lips. She makes that sound again. That groaning, wanting sound.

Flynn will not last long like this.

He drops to his knees, leaving her dazed against the wall. He hears seams popping when he yanks her jeans open.

“Garcia,” she says again, this time with the faintest hint of admonition, and he smirks up at her.

“Yes, Lucy?” He draws out her name the way he’d drawn out her now-glistening nipples between his teeth. *Loo-see…*

“Clothes are scarce,” she says with that professorial awkwardness, lecturing him and feeling guilty about it simultaneously.

“You don’t need clothes,” Flynn says.

He nips her hipbone.

Her breath hitches, and her head falls back.

“Garcia.”

He likes that she seems to have forgotten words other than his name. He’s going to make sure she can’t lecture him anymore.

Lucy is wearing plain white underwear, so practical. He breathes against the gusset and inhales the scent of her. There is nothing in the smell except Lucy. Her sweat, her skin, the soft tufts of hair. He presses his nose against her through the cloth and she clutches at his hair and again, she only says, “*Garcia*.”

Flynn yanks it all down, leaving it tangled around her ankles. The apex of her thighs blossoms before him. Pink and tan, soft and folded and open. He’s so hard for her, painfully stretched within his slacks, and now she’s almost naked while he’s still armored in his maroon turtleneck and it seems right.

He licks her.

“Fuck!” Lucy has remembered another word, probably because her spine bucked when his tongue laved over the moist core of her need, and she’s hit her head.

He laughs against her, drunk on the intoxicating scent between her legs, and he rises with his hands on her hips. He moves her to the bed—a much safer location for Lucy to lose control.

Flynn collapses over her, and without pause, he buries his face between her thighs.

He sucks, nibbles, tastes. Is he imagining the hint of cinnamon in the honey that flows from within her? Does Lucy spill spice and flame when she’s swollen with need?

He could live on this taste.

One large hand smooths over her knee, hooks it over his shoulder. He makes room to maneuver. His lips summit the peaks of her outermost labia and the curve into her buttocks; his tongue burrows between the folds to reach the center.

Lucy’s no longer being verbal, and she hasn’t been quiet for too long.

Flynn almost regrets that he’s not in a place to really savor her cries. She’s tightening her thighs around his head, and her flesh effectively traps him, muffling the surrounding world. It reduces her moans to tremors in her hips, vibrations against his mouth.

He inserts a finger. She is so wet that it enters smoothly, and he has to tighten his arm on her thigh to keep her fixed in place.

“Garcia, *please*,” she moans, helpless.

Another finger. Two to widen her, stretch her. He works them in and out and watches the colors on her cheeks and the wild fluttering of her eyelashes and the way she swallows spasmodically.

She’s on the brink.

He growls, “Lucy,” and he strokes her in just the right way at just the right moment.

And the historian comes undone around him.

There’s no way that the entire bunker can’t hear her crying out. They can probably hear her orgasm in the 19th century.

It is among the sweetest sounds Flynn has ever heard, and he can barely hear it because she’s ripping his head off with her knees.

Quite the compliment.

When she is done, she’s boneless on the bed, still halfway tangled in her clothes. Flynn climbs up her body and she peeks at him from under her arm as if she can’t quite focus on anything.

“Garcia,” she whispers.

He gathers her against him. He’s still hard—he might spend the rest of his life with this erection, if its size is any indication—but right now, he wants only to hold Lucy. To feel the beating of her heart against his and know that she’s alive.

That she belongs to him.

Her head nestles against his shoulder as he pulls blankets around them. He rearranges her, covers her.

Flynn almost thinks she’s asleep until she speaks.

“Thanks for saving me,” Lucy says quietly against his shoulder.

He strokes her hair and says, “I will always save you.”

They sleep like that, entwined, no longer burning but smoldering, lost in the warmth of each other without ever wanting to be found.