#and then it rained one night and i wanted to capture that cold frosty-window night and so ta-da!

[mienar]

late rainy nights

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[owlbloop]

Part two of short story, please read the first bit if you read this. Sorry that read more won't work.

@seaside-writings

Prompt list creator, ^^^

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Cold drinks

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Fake pink lemonade

From the cheap waxy packets

That come in cardboard

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Ice cubes splashing, pop

I startle, chair clattering back

Cold pink splattering

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The glass in fragments

Where the sunlight falls on shards

Suddenly alive

-

I sweep them away

Just in case; Watched them tumble

Into my neon box

-

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Pictures

-

We soak up starlight

Thinking our own little things

Last sun of summer

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Red and orange sky

Bubblegum into clouds

Before night’s cool shroud

-

Will blanket the light

Till only pinpoints shine through

But for now we stand

-

The camera flashes

Snug within my brother’s hands

As he captures time

-

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Pool party

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The second summer

Starts with chlorinated blue

And sweet barbecue

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Her skin is darker

From sunny all year travels

Now bridged with freckles

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The winter pale sticks

Even now it clings to my face

We don't really care

-

I miss last year's floats

And sweet snow cone concoctions

Summer feels so good

-

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Playground

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Bright red six foot slides

Brother climbing up and up

Big rope spider webs

-

The white truck's jingle

Harolding neon popsicles

Frosty ice cream bars

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The smell of old mulch

And lingering summer rain

New pine wood benches

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We draw side by side

Pastel dollar store notebooks

Covered in graphite

-

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Summer fair

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Blue cotton candy

Stuck within her copper hair

On her dyed blue lips

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Hot elephant ears

The size of her laughing face

My creeper shirt damp

-

The sun presses soon

On the windows of the wheel

I still don’t like heights

-

But to see her look

Face pressed to the sticky glass

With such open eyes

-

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Boating

-

We might be part fish

Always longing for swimming

Should this surprise me

-

That we found water

Boats in an amusement park

Real bumper boats

-

Seems like an extra

Absolutely terrible

Horrific idea

-

We give it a go

Til we’re completely soaked

Wonderfully worth it

-

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Night swimming

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It's the dead of night

Warm steam drifting off the pool

My hair tied in back

-

The pool light is soft

Robing the tiles in flame

Bright but not burning

-

We slip into it

Into water's down caress

Waves sparkling bright

-

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Summer wardrobe

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Pale linen sundress

Pastel fabric flower crown

Brown eyes lined with gold

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Black cotton crop top

Glittering hot pink flip flops

Hair electric blue

-

We both dress different

She is warm with toasted skin

I’m some midnight ghost

-

We both love lemons

I’m still flustered when she’s near

I still adore her

-

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Ice cream parlor

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Blue raspberry, grape

With whipped cream and a cherry

Sweet syrup soda

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She eats red sorbet

A cookie dough waffle cone

And a large milkshake

-

I’ve learned to shrug

At how much sugar she eats

Somehow still a stick

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Soggy plastic straws

Sun shining through the window

As her gaze holds mine

-

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Lazy river

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Drifting in circles

Bit too slender for the floats

The current flows

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We bump one another

With the grace of cicadas

So basically none

-

The water feels good

As it swirls around my legs

Though my arms are sore

-

We manage escape

Into the warmth of her towel

A kid had soaked mine

-

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Hammock nap

-

Swinging back and forth

Under the cool dark shade of

Magnolia trees

-

The light dances through

All the shades of waxy green

And onto her skin

-

I love the feel

Of big white velvet blossoms

Brown tinged on the ground

-

The weight pulls us close

Almost touching, but not quite

Just a bit too small

-

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Sleeping in

-

I want to sleep more

Nap throughout eternity

Drown the sun in ink

-

But she wakes me up

With her mom’s strawberry cake

I have to smile

-

Because she looks cute

Buried in a stolen hoodie

Of cute lil skulls

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The bright of the sun

Scalds me awake but soothes sweet

When shining though braids

-

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Stargazing

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Vast, blue, beautiful

A rising strawberry moon

We lie beneath it

-

She points out Venus

Who birthed the romantic rose

Through her mourning

-

Not quite so certain

She wants romance born of death

Rather something sweet

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She doesn’t know much

When it comes to such mythology

So she offers snacks

[powerstrangerdacre]

I hate snow - T.H.

PART 1 - Near miss

PART 2 - I hate snow

PART 3 - Misunderstandings and Mischief - END

Summary: It’s snowing as I drive home and all I can think is how much I hate snow.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

POV: Tom & Y/N

Warning: Angst (I’m just sad okay?)

Word Count: 2920+

AN: This is the PART 2 to my fic Near miss. I really hope you guys like it. I spent quite a bit of time trying to find an ending. I don’t really want it to end like this but I also couldn’t really find inspiration to write a happy ending right now. I’ll try and write PART 3 as soon as I’m not as depresso. Please criticize away (help me write better) and thank you for reading!

I hate winter.

I hate rain with a passion.

I hate snow and I hate frost and I hate the cold.

Maybe that’s why I fell in love with her – she was like the warm sunrays that wake you up in the morning after a long stormy night. Like the hot chocolate your mother makes to warm you up when you visit her and get snowed in… without any firewood. She was always happy and calm and just… comfortable. Can a person really be that?

It’s not that I found comfort in her, because everyone knew I was less than relaxed while in her presence. It was like whenever she was around I felt… How can I put this without making it weird? At peace? At home? No. I was where I was meant to be.

It might sound sappy and overly-romantic, but it’s the truth. I just felt like I had found a place where I belonged while I laid in bed, snuggled closely to her body with my arms tightly wrapped around her waist. I felt like warming her cold, shivering hands was my purpose. Like that’s how it had always meant to be. It’s sappy. It’s overly-romantic. It’s every trope I ever read in any romance book. But it’s also the simple and utter truth.

And I also thought that her purpose was to be with me. Like I needed it back in my life, that childishness that I had lost so long ago. It’s not like I’m not cheeky or bratty at times, but compared to me she was the embodiment of wide-eyed, childe-like wonder combined a small dog high on RedBull. She was always full of energy. Always ready to learn.

 Our relationship was like a rollercoaster: it began suddenly. It was strong and chaotic and fun. But most of all, it was fast-paced. It was like one moment we were never going to end up together and then the next we were stuck to each-other like we had been superglued. She was always there. Always. In my home, where she had moved in one week after our third date. In my free-time or at work, she was always with me. And I appreciated her presence more than anyone could understand.

She kept me grounded. She helped me remember that beneath all of the work and rumors and rush that was my life, I was still human. She helped me remember that I needed breaks and fun and, dare I say, mischief.

   I hate snow. I hate rain and I hate frost and I hate the cold. I hate winter.

We were driving towards Allenheads, in the north of England for the holidays. We were supposed to fly over, but the weather had a sudden change of plans and so, so did we. It was storming wildly and I had no idea where we were. There were no landmarks or road-signs in sight – all hidden behind the white that swirled so densely. I was distraught… to say the least.

We had no GPS system installed in the car, and the thought to use my phone did cross my mind, until I remembered that I had insisted we leave them at home for the duration of the holidays.

Curse me.

Y/N sat next to me, in the passenger seat, looking as unfazed as ever. Instead of being scared or angry with me that we might get lost in the swirling storm, she looked rather giddy.

My eyes swept over her relaxed features. Her eyes darting wildly with each and every blowing snowflake, her lips pulled into that ever-so-charming smile. It made me relax instantly.

See? This is exactly what I meant. That childishness that I had lost.

“Why so stressed Tommy?” she asked, pulling me out of my trance. I couldn’t help the smile pulling at my lips as I heard her voice.

“Why so happy-go-lucky, love?” I focused back on the road, trying to find something, anything, that might point us in the right direction.

“I love snow.” she replied simply. Her smile widened to one of those mischievous ones as she noticed the storm lessening in strength. “Pull over,” she said.

I’m a good boyfriend. I know how to follow instructions.

I pull the car over and put it in park as she exits into the cold. Just the small draft that pulled through the car as she opened the door was enough to make me shiver in distaste, but she once again looked unfazed.

She walked through the open field, looking like a little snow-fairy in a sea of white and silver. Her hair was dancing in the wind and I could see her rosy cheeks from inside the car. I was entranced once again. Attracted to her like a moth to a flame. Like she was a snow-maid and I was a snow-sailor. It didn’t take more than a wave from her to make me follow her into the cold.

I ran over to her, feet crunching in the impeccable white, my shoes becoming one with the snow. Her eyes widened when she saw me near her and she bolted in the other direction. She halted shortly, almost falling over, only to hold herself upright with her hands which were now planted firmly on the half meter or so of snow. Her eyes were wide as she let out one of those marvelous belts of laughter before she turned around, shooting small balls of snow in my direction. Most of them missed as I ducked and ran as fast as my legs could take me, and as I was about to catch up to the vixen a snowball hit me straight in the chest.

“Now you’ve done it, love,” I said, tackling her and pulling her down with me into the snow.

It was cold. It was wet. It was frosty. It was perfect.

She looked up at me with that wide, doe-eyed wonder. Her cheeks were rosy and her nose was as red as I imagine Rudolf’s to be. Her hair was now white and sparkly and I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than her in that moment.

“Stop staring at me like that and kiss me, doofus.”

I would have kissed her. Oh believe me, there would’ve been nothing else I would’ve rather done right in that moment. If only she hadn’t tilted her head upwards and captured my lips first.

In all that cold and snow and frost, her lips were the hottest thing I had ever felt. And I could only think one thing: God, I love winter.

   She was like a wildfire: wild, untamed and dangerous. She took over the forest that was my heart in less than a second and turned it to ashes. And I didn’t mind. I clung to her every word and worshiped her voice. She was like a God-sent to me.

We were so different, yet so similar. We liked the same things, just in different ways and the things we didn’t agree on were just too small to bother me. Even if we argued and fought and both went crazy.

Like the time when we fought on Shakespeare’s best work. That argument turned out to be a heated one with her insisting that King Lear was “obviously the most thought-provoking piece” and me saying that Romeo and Juliet was just as thought-provoking and even more conflicting. She huffed and puffed and walked out of the room. Made me sleep on the couch that night only to come over in the middle of the night and snuggle up to me, saying that she was cold.

She was crazy. I was crazy in love with her. One look from her could’ve killed me, but, like I said, I didn’t mind.

I loved her and she loved me. It was as simple as that.

   Then it all turned to shit.

I don’t know why or how or when. It simply did.

Maybe it was the distance. Maybe it was the hate. Maybe it was the way her parents talked about us, like we wouldn’t last. Or maybe it was just my fault. Maybe I was the one to push her away with all my seriousness and adult-hood and all that other bullshit. Maybe I made her feel like she wasn’t enough for me, even though she was more than I could handle. Maybe it was all just too much.

   I wake up now and the first thing I feel is cold. The light shines in through the windows and I spread my arms, trying to feel her next to me, but her side of the bed is empty. In my sleepy state I call out to her, but the only answer I get is the ticking of my clock on the wall. Silence.

I stand up and glance around the room. The house feels awfully empty without her around. I glance at the bedside table where my phone and her note lay next to each-other. That’s when it all hits me once again. She’s gone. She felt the need to break everything off and it was all my fault.

I try and call her for the thousand time and like the other 999 it goes directly to voice-mail.

   That dreaded night I arrived home from shooting overseas. I couldn’t have been more excited to get home and see her again. Things had been off for a while. She was being weird. But I could only imagine the way she would jump into my arms as soon as I walked through the door, wrapping herself around me like a koala.

I tried to open the door, only to find it locked. I put my luggage down and scrambled for the keys, thinking that maybe she had gone to sleep. I open the door and….

Nothing.

No “Hi, Tommy!”. No hug. No excited, cuddle-starved girlfriend. I knew something had gone terribly wrong. The house was dark and quiet. Y/N didn’t do dark and quiet. Hell, she always slept with a light on.

When I called out and got no answer, I started getting worried that something had happened to her. I rushed from room to room, only to find one note laying on the nightstand on my side of the bed. I saw her keys next to the crumpled piece of paper and I felt my heart sink to the bottom of my stomach. I grabbed the keys. The weight of them oh-so-light in my palm, but so damn heavy on my heart. The note was as simple as it could be.

Call me when you finally find the time.

Who knew that seven words could break someone’s heart?

   Y/N POV

I’m not exactly the brightest of writers. I don’t have my way with words like Tommy does, so I’ll try and keep it short. Short and sweet.

I’m childish. I’m a childish girl. I’m no woman and will never be one. I’ve come to terms with that.

I like to keep things fun. I like to keep things light and fluffy. I like easy. That’s why it was a surprise for me when I fell in love with probably the most complicated man on the planet. Hell, even that might’ve been an understatement when it came to Tom.

Tom was… complex. He was a man in all senses of the word. He was serious and committed and… righteous? I don’t know. Like I said, I’m not exactly good with words.

The first time I saw him, was at the café on Montague Cl, as weird as that may be.

The Grid Café wasn’t exactly as popular then as it is now. I had found it by accident one day while I was lost on the streets. It had great coffee and great cheese-cake and it became my own little hide-out. Mostly because it was the only place where my brother couldn’t find me.

So there I was, minding my own business, reading King Lear when the doorbell rang. I could hear multiple people walking in, and noticed my brother out of the corner of my eye, so I made sure to hide incredibly well. And by incredibly well I mean sticking my nose even further into my book.

I waited until he left for the bathroom until I tried to make my way out, of course, not before I scanned the room for him once again. (Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother. It’s just that he can be a little… too touchy-lovey to his younger sister sometimes. Anyway…). That was when my eyes met blue. Not any blue, mind you that. Those eyes were… I don’t know… sickeningly blue – full on Prince charming kind of blue. Like a perfect, cloudless sky. And the guy that they belonged to, wasn’t bad looking either.

(Oh, who am I kidding, he was absolutely, down-right gorgeous. His face was something out of a painting. His cheekbones must’ve been sculpted by the Gods themselves. Help me…).

Before I knew what I was doing, I was smiling. Why I was smiling? Probably because a handsome stranger had been staring at me for like forever.

I walked out, muttering a small “Goodbye.”

  The next time I saw him I wasn’t as lost for words. We met at the play my brother was working for. At the play in which I was now acting as well. And I also knew that the cute guy from the café was none other than my co-star and world-renowned actor, Tom Hiddleston. Everyone was introducing themselves to me and shaking hands, but honestly I was too distracted to really remember any of the names… mostly because those blue eyes were staring at me again.

(And I was staring at them. Like I said before… HELP ME!)

My feet carried me over before I could understand what I was doing and soon we were talking and introducing each-other. He kept on stumbling over his words as he talked and I couldn’t help but think that he was just as dorky as he was suave.

  Remember when I told you that my brother is touchy-lovey to his younger sister? He’s even more so when his younger sister is working together with him. That can be all cute and stuff, but it can really bite you in the ass when you fall in love with a certain blue-eyed actor. Brothers become really overprotective when it comes to stuff like that.

Tom was nothing less of a gentleman every time I met him. Not to mention that his acting was simply marvelous. He was… perfect in that sense. The conversations we would have wouldn’t just go in through one ear and come out of the other. They were deep and serious and important. He was just simply an amazing human being. It was quite easy to fall in love with him.

Sure, we had a bit of a misunderstanding about my brother being my boyfriend, but I was willing to let that stupidity go.

(For a smart man, he was surprisingly dense.)

  But now… now I’m alone. In his house. It feels so empty without his laughter filling up the empty space and I can’t help but feel saddened by the lack of his presence. (How’s that for a girl who doesn’t know how to use words?! HA!)

It’s our three year anniversary, and Tom is… well… work has been keeping him busy for the past five months. I keep on trying to tell myself that he didn’t forget about me. That it’s work and the time-zones and all that other bullshit keeping him busy. I try and calm myself down… but the article displayed in front of me doesn’t exactly help my situation.

The picture of them hugging and smiling breaks my heart, but the one where he kisses her cheek is what really tears into me. I know it’s not anything big. It’s just one peck on the cheek, but it still brings tears to my eyes. He hasn’t even as much as given me a message in the five months since he has left.

“TOM HIDDLESTON’S NEW LOVER?!” The title alone is enough for me to break down in tears. It’s like every dam I had built over the last months just broke and now here comes wave depression rolling in, destroying everything in its path.

It all makes sense to me. The way he didn’t call. The way we didn’t talk anymore. He just… fell out of love with me. That is… if he has ever even been in love with me in the first place.

I feel so stupid. I should’ve figured it would happen sooner or later. I guess I just hoped it would’ve been way later. I guess I had hoped that it would’ve happened when I didn’t love him so much, and yet here I am.

Stupid. Blind.

I feel like reality is crumbling around me. I was so sure that Tom loved me at least as much as I loved him. But now that not even that was a certainty anymore, who was to say that gravity exists or that I need oxygen to live?

In less than one second, that sadness turn into anger. That’s probably just my coping mechanism, but I’m not about to let him play with my feelings, no matter how much I love him.

I grab my car-keys and my laptop and I’m out the door.

It’s snowing as I drive home and all I can think is how much I hate snow.

  PART 3??

Taglist: @lilyrosebae @lokis-mischievous-writer @theoneanna @lokis-lady-death @vesperazylra @ venomdeathly @kinghiddlestonanddixon @midnightdragonzero @yokaimoon @ hiddlestoner3059 @ huntersvibe @amor67figment-love @ curious-mind-curious-thought @knallbart @im-a-slut-for-an-accent

I just tagged most of those who liked my last fic. Hope you guys don’t mind.

[missmil]

A Lonely Night

Summary: Post-Endgame. Kathryn runs, Chakotay follows. Somehow they end up at Lake George. 

---

Fog rolls across the bay, whispering over the water. The air is crisp, sharp. It hurts to breathe in as the chilled air touches the lungs of the only two people brave enough to be out this late into the fall.

Silence echoes around them, the breeze rustles the late-falling leaves on the ground causing them to roll over and past their feet, lightly touching over her heels and his boots.

They are standing so close now that it’s almost impossible to tell where he ends and she begins. Her petite and not-so-appropriate heels have splutters of mud on their expensive soles from the earlier rain. His slightly more modest shoes have lost their shine from the start of the evening.

But, that was hours ago, before they ended up here. Before she started yelling and running and he ended up following her from the transporter station at Lake George – the real one, this time – and eventually ending in him carrying her the final steps to the door of a long-forgotten lake house. Because she was cold, and her heels were sticking in the mud of a rarely-used track.

Because she’d stopped running. Finally.

Moonlight peeks out from amidst the fog, illuminating a thin strip of light over the frosty earth and up his back so that when she looks at him the raven hair has silver highlights that make him seem more distinguished. And she wants him even more now.

She scrapes an elegant, polished nail up the side of his face; whispers his name teasingly against the rough skin of his neck. She trails her lips after her finger, searching for his mouth and feeling him smile against her own when she finally meets her mark.

His hands grab at the thin material of her dress, fingers and palms digging tightly into the bones of her ribs, and down to her hips. He holds her firmly, back pressed up against the ancient wooden door and within his reach. Finally. Her own slim fingers slip between them, and work their way up to tangle in his hair that he hasn’t had time to cut since Voyager burst through the trans-warp hub three days ago.

Her hair comes a little bit loose from the extravagant up-do she’s been wearing all evening, and tendrils of auburn hair flutter over the stubble on his cheek. She leans closer still, hitching a leg around him - as much as she can against the tightness of her dress - and drags him into her. His fancy dinner jacket, once on her slim shoulders, falls free, pooling at the base of the door and getting caught in her heels.

She pauses a minute, resting a cold hand on his cheek, breath coming out in puffs in the cold. He inhales, deeply, raggedly and winces as it hurts his lungs. He whispers to her gently in the dark, both their minds clearing.

“What are we doing?”

His words are so soft that for a moment, her eyes slip closed, her skin tingling from his touch and his warm breath soothes her for a moment. The meaning of his words, and she recoils quickly, legs and hands dropping away instantly. She pushes roughly against his still-heaving chest.

“Chakotay?” she asks. Confusion settles in over his features, and he reaches out. She wants to move, but the solid door against her back prevents her from getting any further away. Her heart is beating wildly as the reality of what has just been started sets in.

He grips her waist, tugging her forward and to him again. Small hands rest on his bare forearms, the sleeves of his shirt still rolled from the moment he had to chase her out of the ballroom and down a dark, rainy road to the transporter station.

“Kathryn,” he breathes, still revealing in the feel of her slender fingers digging into the muscled flesh of his forearm. “What do we do now?”

Her words speak softly to him, settling in his bones even though her eyes, and his body tell him something entirely different.

“We can’t.”

They are the two most heartbreaking words he’ll ever hear her say. And, he’s heard them before, long ago on a planet light-years away with a monkey and a bathtub that he has never forgotten.

He lifts his hands away from her waist, stepping halfway back to allow her the space to move, to run, to turn around and disappear inside the cabin. He doesn’t know what she will do now. His breath catches and he stands rigidly still, waiting for her to make the next move.

Tears pool dangerously in her blue eyes, glinting softly in the moonlight. She lifts a pale hand to brush frozen fingers over her swollen lips from the taste of him against her.

She can’t remember how they got here, how they’ve reached this stage of nearly-naked against the door of her family’s cabin. Her mind is far too full with the feel and scent of him. The faint tinge of whiskey he’d been drinking at the ball still hints on her lips.

Her heart beats slower in her chest, a dull ache spreads outward at the loss of his touch and the sensation of his hands digging into soft flesh. She can feel her lips begin to bruise from his previously abandoned and insistent pressure.

His eyes are searching for hers in the dark, tears glistening against blue as the moonlight fades back behind the rolling fog. She resists the urge to reach out to him, to run a hand over his lined face and smooth the troubles away. Instead, she steels herself and tries to smile, failing miserably.

Without a word, he steps forward again, and her back hits the door with a dull thud. He bends down, touching his lips to her forehead and lingering there just a moment too long. His hand comes up, brushing away a loose curl and tucking it behind her ear, watching intently when she startles from the intimacy of the gesture.

“Kathryn, I need you.”

With four small words, she breaks down. Seven years of repressed feelings and hurt, and she leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder. Her long eyelashes flutter against the fabric of his shirt. She brings a hand around, snaking under the hem where she pulled it lose from his trousers earlier, and running a chilly hand over the smooth planes of his stomach. Goose-bumps form on his skin, and she grips him just that little bit tighter.

He reaches around, pulling pins from her hair and weaving his fingers between the strands when she doesn’t move away. It’s getting longer again, just the way he likes it, and his fingertips massage her scalp lightly as pin after pin clatter to the frosty ground.

The wind picks up, ever so slightly, and leaves rustle further about their feet again as she whispers the next words. The hand, not holding her delicate head, rests above her on the wooden door frame. His hands are bigger and stronger than she ever remembers.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” she implores, eyes shining bright with the knowledge that she wishes she didn’t have.

He looks into her eyes, blinking slowly and drinking her in. Because he’ll never forget her like this, hair slightly mussed from his fingers and lips swollen from his kisses.

“I think,” he murmurs. “I’m still in love with you, and I don’t know how to stop.”

---

The fog from the night before has given way to incessant rain by the following morning. It hammers against the ancient windows of the cabin, and the curtains are wide open, if only so that the grey light can filter through into the room and make their actions seem a little less shameful.

From where he is curled on the bed, he can vaguely make out the boat in the bay, bobbing on Lake George and he makes a promise to himself that before the day is out he will go sailing. Because the real thing can never compare to his last experience on the holodeck.

And, finally, unlike the last time they sailed on Lake George, he has kissed her.

“Morning,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. He runs a finger down a slender cheek, tracing the hollow point of her bones and trailing along the strong line of her jaw. He smiles as her eyes slip closed, and she shudders against his touch.

She untangles herself from the sheet, sitting up slowly as his arm winds its way around her tiny waist.

“Is it?” she asks slowly, blinking around. Her eyes flick to the window, looking at the dreary day outside, and settling on the tiny boat.

She sighs deeply as he leans in, whispering words against her ear with a smile. “It’s raining.”

Humming an affirmation, she pulls back slightly and looks at him. Her expression tells him instantly that she isn’t really interested in the weather outside, or his vague attempt at alluding to activities that are better off undertaken inside. “We have to talk about this.”

The silence in the room stretches on, and he spares a glance at the old-fashioned clock on the wall. The small hand ticking the seconds away is suddenly mesmerising, and he can almost forget that she’s spoken the words that he fears the most.

“We do,” he concedes eventually, when she fails to say anything else.  

“There is someone you need to see,” she says, and it’s almost too calm. He can’t really believe that her anger from the previous night would have dissipated so easily. Because she’s never been the type to have emotions kissed away, and one day he is going to have to explain himself, and why he chose to run after her and not his date.

But, he is so caught up in the feel of her, and the taste still on his lips that he can’t help himself as he pushes against her, stealing another kiss. She glides back down to the mattress with ease, and he succeeds in leaving them both breathless. His tongue traces her bottom lip, making her sigh and relax with heavy eyes.

“Is this really how it’s going to be?” she says, and it’s almost so defeated that he can’t bear to hear the words.

“No,” he says, loudly now. Because he means it, and he isn’t going to let her go just because he hasn’t said goodbye to someone he shouldn’t have ever said hello to. Even though the unspoken figure in the room who had been his date to the ball, has blonde hair - like all his past loves - and he knows deep down that this red-head has captured him.

And that is what he craves.

Her eyes open a little more, and she watches him in the silence, save for the heavy rain still splattering against the window pane.

“I’ll fix this,” he promises.

A tongue darts out to lick at her lips, still slightly purple and bruised from the night before. “I know,” she says simply, trusting.

“I have to go.”

He untangles his arm from her waist, and presses a chaste kiss to her open mouth. He feels it right down to his groin when she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth and he so wishes he could stay her, with her, and forget the outside world.

But, he has to fix this, and he’ll be damned if she runs away from him again.

Shrugging her shoulders, she sits up again and pulls the sheet higher around her. He can see the fine goose-bumps mottling her perfect skin, her body betraying how much she needs him beside her, channelling warmth. It’s still cold outside and they didn’t make the time to work out the old-fashioned heating system just yet.

Gathering up his pants, he pulls them on slowly, deliberately, watching her watch his every move. He grabs his shirt from the chair by the window, facing away from her and making sure to button it up ever so slowly. He’s not even sure where he left his jacket.

“You’ll be back,” she states, confidently, when he is finished dressing and faces her again. She stretches back down, letting the sheet slip ever so slightly as she rolls over, tucking an arm up under her head.

It isn’t something he can ever deny her, not like this, and he smiles his affirmation before quickly leaving the room. He knows if he doesn’t go now, he never will. The rustling of sheets grow quiet as he moves further away from the bedroom. Some part of his brain is mildly aware of what they’ve just done, of the consequences.

But it’s completely overshadowed by the senses and emotions still welling up in him, and whatever is left of his brain post-Kathryn Janeway is wandering aimlessly as he treads back up the squelchy path to the transport station, their footprints from the previous night now washed away by the relentless rain.

And when he finally makes it to the station, ordering the technician to send him back to San Francisco, he still thinks of her, curled up in the sheets, seeking the warmth he’d left behind in the imprint of the mattress so close to where she lay.

When he finally tells Seven of Nine that their relationship is over before it really began, all he can think about is getting back to her, the feel of her small hands pressing with need into his chest, and the taste of her mouth on his lips. When he makes it back to the cabin, standing at the threshold once again soaked with rain, he sighs against the wooden door.

He turns the antique handle on the door, wincing at the creaking of the hinges and she is standing there, smiling hesitantly, wrapped in a thin blanket and watching him with cautious eyes. He can’t help but smile back, a little breathlessly because he ran from the station and because she is still there, waiting for him.

And because finally, she put her complete trust in him.

“You made it,” she says eventually.

He’s never been so thankful to keep a promise in all of his life. In a second he is across the room, standing in front of her with a crease in his brow because she sounds so small and vulnerable and he wants hold her until the world outside goes away.

She swallows roughly, the corner of her mouth sagging a little when he doesn’t answer her. Doesn’t move. Her feet shift, bare feet padding softly on the floorboards.

“I did,” he breathes, and he steps closer. Arms pull her in, the blanket falling a little from her shoulders and she feels cold, like she’s been waiting all this time for him to breathe life back into her and make her feel again. She whispers something against the skin of his neck, but he doesn’t catch it, and he thinks it’s probably something close to the three words he’s been longing to hear her say for years.

He holds her close, breathing her in. The curls in her hair from the night before have started to straighten, and the stunning make-up that drew his eyes to her in the first place has begun to smudge a little but he doesn’t care one bit. She’ll always be beautiful to him, and he’ll never be able to let her go.

Because he will never, ever get sick of this woman.

---

“Baby girl, I loved you on a lonely night, oh.” – ‘A Lonely Night’: The Weeknd [Playlist]

---

[itsahamandjlaur-blog]

I Hope That You, Burn.

Prompt: My brain was literally like “Aaron Burr is a dick you should write about that. Also, my partner in crime J.Laur went to the opera a few weeks ago and I saw one picture and was like I'm gonna write about that. so here you go. Alexander x Reader and I guess Aaron Burr x Reader?

Warnings: I actually think this is pretty PG knock yourself out<3

This took everything I’ve got guys, if you have any suggestions on where to take this or comments please let me know I'd like to know what makes you guys tick! The reason I write it for you as much as me so please let your brains run wild, I'm up for writing about anything at the moment.

As always, requests are open, or just come say hi!

-A.Ham

Chapter 3 - 

You swallowed hard wrapping the black shawl around your shoulders to shelter your delicate skin from the autumn chill awaiting you on the other side of the heavy dark wood door. Taking the handle in your hand you turned it softly making sure not to make a noise and wake the demon that had passed out in your marital bed up the winding staircase. Pulling on the door the midnight breeze came in through the crack. You let yourself slide out of the opening before sprinting down the street, your feet carrying yourself what seemed like a hundred times faster than you thought you could ever travel. The streets were quiet, occasionally the flicker of a candle in someone's bedroom window would grab your attention enough for you to slow down slightly. The air was filling and emptying your lungs faster and faster, burning on the way in and out. Rain covering every inch of your body, soaking you down to your bone making you shiver violently, you thanked the universe for sending such awful weather because in your mind you were not shivering from the cold and the storm when in actual fact you were shaking about the news that you had just received. Suddenly recognizing the house that you were stood in front of you stare up at the door that towered above you. Letting your hand rest gently on the brass knocker you took in a breath hoping that your breathing would even out before he made his way to the door. The brass loop felt cold and heavy, it almost felt too heavy for you to lift, but you did and at the end of three swift clatters against the wood, he answered. The scene that laid itself in front of you was a scene straight out of a novel, he was still dressed in his signature dark green suit, he embodied power and yet looked so gentle at the same time. His dark hair hanging long at the either side of his face, curling at the ends framing his extraordinary features. The sadness in his eyes pulled something deep inside you as you looked up at him, soaked in rain, you would barely tell what was tears and what was the storm at this point. "Lady Burr, it's the middle of the night," he said softly stepping out to brave the storm with you. The silky tone of his voice made everything hit you, you were shattered, broken goods. Letting yourself sink to the step below your feet, the red skirt of your dress becoming wet through instantly. There were no more tears, everything seemed to have fallen to the silence of the night. Your world stilled as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms and tight against the broad chest of your soul mate. It felt like you were watching yourself from the ceiling. He shouted "Marie! tell Darius to bring the carriage, pack me a bag and my paperwork, we're going upstate" he effortlessly moved around the room still holding you tight against him. It was mere moments before Darius, the stable hand informed Alexander the horses were ready. You catch a glimpse of the terror that has been projected on his face, he looked older. A man once full of life and hope, the man that you belonged with, the face of the man holding you was plastered with worry. Taking you down the steps of his townhouse cradling you like a child, he bundled both of you into the carriage. After only seconds of being in a confined space, taking in the musky scent of Alexander you let your eyes drop, slowly letting yourself sleep for the first time in months, you slept feeling safe in the arms of him, feeling like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

"She's slept for days, I'm beside myself with worry, can't you just tell me what's wrong with her Dr?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Hamilton but the Lady is in a state of shock, there is nothing we can do but let her brain decide when to wake up. It could be days, it could be weeks. Judging by the bags under her eyes, I'm going to go out on a limb and say she needs it"

"my sweet, my lady please open your eyes." he sighs "my love take your time".

The light from the window burst through the curtains tearing you away from the darkness you craved. The soft sheets made you curl up into them more begging not to be moved by any force. Giving in, you slowly lift the lid of your eyes to survey the surroundings. The room was bright from the dawn, the pale walls gave a strong contrast to the dark details. A pile of books stood tall next to the winged back armchair next to the bed. The books were tattered and dog-eared, a blanket lay strewn across the back of the chair, almost as if someone had taken up residence there. Swinging your legs off the bed you stretch down flicking your toes over the cold floorboards. You flinch slightly at the frosty touch, you pushed it to the back of your mind and padding barefoot across the room catching sight of yourself in the full-length mirror. You looked well rested, more at peace with the world and its contents. Shrugging on the summer dress that had been carefully washed and pressed. Switching off all notion of thought process, your feet carried you down the stairs and to the back doors. Standing there, you watched him, his focus never faltering from the paper in his lap and the quill in his hand. The soft summer breeze blowing his dark locks through the air, it was practically a picture. His glasses perched on the end of his nose almost as if he was scowling so much that they had slipped down, yet he was so out of touched and too intent on getting his thoughts down that his brain hadn't made the recognition to push them back up. You glide across the grass passing countless wild flowers, the scent capturing itself and making its way into all of your senses. His concentration continued as his mind spat out words too fast for his hands to keep up with. You took up residence standing behind him, letting your body cast a shadow on the pages he was scribbling on. For a second he did not notice, that was until he did. Almost throwing the pages across the lawn he whipped his head around so that his eyes could meet yours. "do you ever stop sir?" you remark softly, slight humor in your voice. His lips curled up at either side as he regarded you. He almost looked like he was seeing a ghost. Like he never thought you would rise from the mountain of pillows and blankets again. The fact that after all the information your brain had to absorb you were still cracking jokes and letting the light-hearted nature of your personality shine through made him weak.  "some men say that I'm non-stop my dear, I simply don't take for granted the time I have on this earth" he responded, the ease in which he made every single sentence sound like he spent months just to think it up made everything he said to you that much more perfect. The moment was everything you'd ever wanted. From the quiet house upstate, the perfect place to spend days raising a family and being the wife that you had always wanted to be. Alexander showed no adversity to your reading, your writing or your fierce sharp tongue. He believed that it was the only thing that kept you afloat all these years. It was time to start the life that you'd dreamed of. "who did you build this for Alexander, it's quite a picture" you said turning around and letting your eyes wander over the house in front of you. It was big, yet it enchanting. "I built the world for you, you just never saw it till now" his eyes screamed sincerity, pure unapologetic love.

For days you spent your days wandering around the house, no, the home that he had built you. Every single corner that you turned you found something awe-inspiring that screamed that you were in the forefront of his mind in every decision. The best part? The library, walls covered in rows upon rows of leather bound masterpieces. The scent alone was enough to get you intoxicated. He never pushed you, it was simply weeks of reading, writing and lazy strolls around the gardens. It was simply the best two weeks of your life.

You were brought out of the encapturing world of your book by loud knocks at the door, there was bellowing between two men. Eventually, they barged into the library making you jump to your feet with a gasp. "Papa?" you asked uncertain of your eyes and uncertain of your words. "get your things [y/n], You're going back to New York"

@always-blame-jefferson

is six still your lucky number?<3