#i tried to make it slightly lavender tinted like many of the pictures i looked at but it didn't really turn out

[marshmallow-fluffy]

Day 5 of @amphibianaday's Amphibuary!

And my mom's. She didn't half-ass this one (her words), and it turned out pretty nicely!

[orionwhispers]

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals. 

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

[lunarmessenger]

Hi!!!!!!!! I just love jealous RFA so what their (plus minor duo but only if it’s not too much) reaction would be if girl confessed and they thought it’d be for RFA but turns out it’s for MC? And I love your chibi drawings that’s so precious >~<

Ohho, aren’t you precious? I actually love this concept omg thank you so much for your request!! Sorry it took me a bit to get it written out ;;; - luna xx

warnings: none really? just a bit of jealousy and possessiveness haha

Zen:

• He’s literally so butt hurt

• He’s so used to admirers swarming the two of you to get his autograph or try to pine for his number

• While he gladly gives autographs for fans and even pictures, he always respectfully declined those who asked for his number

• He just loved seeing the slight tint of red on your cheeks when you got jealous and that’s why he wasn’t normally so forceful of telling other people no when they asked for his number

• Until one day you had went to go grab some water during one of Zen’s breaks at rehearsal

• One of his coworkers, a beautiful woman with long black hair and the perfect figure strolled up she reminded him a bit of Jumin honestly

• He was actually a little nervous to tell her no because he didn’t want to cause a scene but he would do it for you because he loves you

• So he begrudgingly held out his hand and she plops a piece of paper into it, a smirk on her face as he takes a deep breath

• “Look, I know that you and I work together but that doesn’t mean I’m available—”

• “Tell them that when they’re done with you, they should give me a call.”

• That’s when it clicks for him as he notices the way her dark eyes loom over your approaching figure, her tongue licking her lips as she winks at him then walks away

• He’s so infuriated that it hurts

• “Everything okay, Zen?”

• He rips the paper into so many pieces you didn’t even think that was possible

• “How about you go home, MC; I’ll tell you about it later.”

• You laughed for ages and teased him about it for weeks because, well

• “You’re not the only hot one in this relationship, Zen.”

Yoosung

• He’s always super bashful when girls in his class try to ask him out because he rarely finds himself attractive

• You were the same in a way; you were more confident than him, but still shy when people complimented you

• So while the two of you are on his campus, you holding flashcards in front of him to help him study

• You started to smile at a girl that approached the two of you, cheeks blazing pink as she stuttered over her words

• Her blue eyes were wide as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, looking as if she was taking deep breaths to calm herself

• “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve seen you both around for a while, and I just…well…”

• Yoosung turns just as pink, brows furrowing as he stutters over his words too

• “I appreciate it but I am taken!”

• For a moment the girl furrows her brows in confusion, adjusting the straps of her backpack as she tilts her head

• “Um…okay? Anyway, I think you’re really attractive and so; please accept my letter!”

• Both of your jaws drop as she kneels down and hands the letter towards you, hands trembling as you take it and nod

• “Aha, um…thank you?”

• She scurries off before you can even turn it over, and when you do you see your name written in beautiful penmanship surrounded by hearts

• Before you can even open it, Yoosung has snatched it out of your hands

• “Wha—Yoosung!”

• His purple eyes were clouded with anger as he rips it to shreds, an almost growl escaping his lips as he grunts

• “You’re mine. No need to read this letter when it’s gonna end up in the trash.”

• You couldn’t help but laugh at his possessiveness, tackling him in a hug and peppering his face with kisses as you shook your head.

• “What am I going to do with you?”

Jaehee

• She’s not the jealous type usually

• Like you can mention in passing that you were hit on and it won’t phase her a bit

• When it happens in front of her though? That’s a bit different;;;;

• Men tend to hit on the both of you often so that doesn’t phase her much but when it’s women?? Uh oh

• A really sweet woman was frequenting the bakery often; she would always get the same treat and the same drink, sitting at a table by the window

• She was quite pretty; short curly hair and tanned skin that had been specially kissed by the sun

• Jaehee was making the coffee for the next order when you’d gone to check on every table, stopping at hers and asking if she’d like another

• “No, thank you but…I was wondering. Would you like to go out for dinner some time?”

• Before you’d had a chance to respond you heard the sound of ceramic crashing, the mug Jaehee was holding now in pieces on the floor as she looked in your direction

• “Ah, while I’m flattered, I do have a girlfriend…;;;”

• The woman was understanding, putting two and two together as Jaehee rushed to pick up the mug and stomped into the back area

• “Jaehee! Jae, omg why are you so mad please—”

• “Because you’re my partner and how dare she think for a second that—”

• You interrupted her with a kiss and that shut her up quickly

• “You should be possessive more often. I actually like it…”

• “Shut up, MC.”

Jumin

• He has plenty of women in the business world that try to win his heart even though you’ve already done that lol

• So he’s actually quite surprised when you join him for a business meeting and he notices one of the women staring at you

• It’s so painfully obvious he’s actually offended that she isn’t hiding it

• She peers up at you through her bangs that frame her face, short hair styled perfectly as she leans back in her office chair

• Jumin couldn’t even focus and in minutes the meeting was over and she was instantly at your side

• “What?” He’s stunned, watching as she gently takes your hand in hers and kisses it

• “I’ve heard plenty about you, MC. While I’m sure Jumin appreciates you as a business asset, I would love to get to know you on a more personal level.”

• He is livid

• Before you can respond he’s wrapped an arm around you and snatched you away from her, a smirk on her face as he frowns at her

• “I’d appreciate if you let their hand go. We have business to tend to; at home. Come along, MC.”

• “Jumin oh—” He has you pressed so close to him that you can smell his cologne, your face flushed from embarrassment as she grins

• “It was nice meeting you!”

• Jumin scoffs as he escorts you out of the meeting room

• You’re shocked; he’s never lost control like that, not even when men would make passes at you during events or dinner parties

• “So, what was that?”

• “We will not be discussing this, MC. Now, would you like French, or Italian for lunch?”

• You grin as you get in the elevator with him, pressing a small kiss to his cheek

• “No matter what, Jumin. You’re the one for me.”

707

• He makes so many jokes about the women that fawn over him that he too his stunned when a woman confesses their love for you

• It was during an RFA party, and you’d worn a particularly flattering outfit that accentuated all the right places

• He was watching you from afar when he noticed a woman with equal beauty walk up to you, long blonde hair and brown eyes drinking you in as she slightly leaned against you

• “Oh, it looks like I’ve had too much to drink; maybe you’d like to take me home? I’ve been an admirer of yours for a while…”

• You’re so embarrassed that you don’t know what to say; a clutter of “ums” and “uhs” leaving your mouth as you tried to make sure she didn’t fall

• With you holding her up it gave her a chance to press against you even more so much so that you could feel and see most of her chest oh god Saeyoung help me

• “Oh~ I am also way too drunk and love showing off my boobs to make people like me!”

• You immediately drop the woman in shock when you see your boyfriend waltzing towards you in a dress, a long red wig swishing behind him as he lands on you

• It couldn’t be helped; you were laughing so hard that you nearly fell over, Saeyoung grinning as he sneered at the woman who looked at the two of you in confusion

• “Wait…what?”

• “Oh! I’m sorry miss um, but uh, this is my boyfriend—”

• “Who happily takes them home every night so if you’d please let us be that would be the most polite!” He says in a sing song voice, placing a hand on your chest as you snort

• You’d never seen a woman walk away so fast in your life

• “Good riddance…how classless.”

• “Saeyoung you literally put on a dress just to be petty.”

• “That’s different MC.”

V

• He receives admirers from all over who adore mainly his work; and it doubles when they realize how handsome the painter is

• During an exhibition he’d gathered a rather large crowd, mostly women which wasn’t surprising

• It didn’t bother you much; you trusted V, and he always made it clear that he was happy in his relationship with you to all of the women who tried to grow close to him

• You’d gone to a different section of the gallery to take a minute to yourself, staring at V’s painting of you that he’d done with a fond smile

• “While he is talented, he surely will never be able to capture the beauty of the real thing.”

• You turned your head in surprise to see a woman staring at you, red lips and sharp green eyes piercing as she held out a glass of champagne towards you

• “Oh, well um…thank you.”

• “Of course. I understand the appeal to him but…I like to think that his partner is much more enticing.”

• You couldn’t help but blush as you stared at your bubbling champagne

• Then, the familiar smell of lavender and cedar danced across your nose, your head turning to see V approaching

• “You’re absolutely right, miss. They are the most enticing, and that’s why I made them mine. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

• He plucks the champagne out of your hand and places it on the bench beside you, whisking you away while the woman pouts and hurries off

• “Um, V?”

• He hides the two of you in a dark hallway, closed off from the gallery as he presses you against the wall

• “I don’t know how you do this all the time MC; that was painful for me to see. Promise me that I’m the only one you’ll ever look at?”

• You giggle as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pressing your forehead against his as you whisper

• “I promise. She’s no match for you, my love.”

• He seals the promise with a kiss, savoring your taste as he breathes out

• “Let’s just stay like this for a little longer…”

Saeran

• He’s so shy already that when he receives confessions from women he literally shuts down

• It’s even worse when women confess their love to you like what???

• He understands because he’s knows that you’re beautiful and that you’re such an amazing person

• But you’re also his like excuse me?

• You’re enjoying your lunch in the park that you always take once a week

• You were sketching in your journal while he explained the different plants you were seeing; it was one of your favorite pass times to do before it got too late

• The two of you were unaware that your sketching and laughter had gained the attention of another, who was working up the courage to confess

• She’d finally gained said courage, walking up with a brand new journal as she cleared her throat

• “Um…excuse me?”

• You both turned your eyes towards her, freckles dotting her shy face as she handed the book to you

• “I always see you drawing and, well, you’re really good. So I wanted you to have this.”

• You were shocked; such kindness from a stranger. But this was a gift you couldn’t accept.

• “Oh, thank you so much! But I can’t accept this, really because—”

• “Because I am their boyfriend.” You didn’t expect him to speak up, head snapping towards him in surprise

• He wasn’t angry just more apologetic; he’d experienced the same fear of rejection when he was pursuing you and he knew that what she was feeling wasn’t good

• “Oh, I see. Okay. Well, I’ll leave you two alone then.”

• She walked away dejected while he reached for your hand

• “I think I’ve just experienced jealousy and I didn’t like it much.”

• You giggled, resting your head in his lap as you looked at him

• “You handled it graciously, darling. Let’s enjoy the sun then head home.”

[thewildomega]

Star in the Sand Ch.23

Sitting on one of the rocks you winced as Chopper treated your injuries, letting out a deep breath as he cleaned the one slice on your shoulder. 

"...You need to be more careful Y/n..." 

Grinning slightly at the reindeer you nodded, "Yes doc." He had already checked on your baby, assuring you and Crocodile, who had not left your side that your little one's heart was still beating strongly. 

As soon as the animal doctor had finished treating his little star he had requested a word with him. While he didn't normally care if people feared him this time he tried to sound a little more reasonable so that the 'Chopper' would agree to tell him everything he needed to know about the health of his soulmate and unborn child. When he nodded his head he kissed the crown of his darling's head and looked into her eyes. "You stay right here and rest while I speak to the... doctor." he told her in a firm voice, removing his coat once again and placing it over her thinly clothed body to keep her warm. Seeing her nod tiredly he looked to Daz and Bentham. "Don't let her out of your sight." 

"Of course Mr. Zero." Bentham smiled as the ever imposing man turned away. Looking to his old co-worker he smiled even larger and clung to his arms for a moment before doing a spin, "It's it exciting Mr. One, We are going to be uncles!"

Giggling as both Daz and Croc rolled their eyes you looked down to your belly and rubbed it gently. You couldn't think to describe the weight that had been lifted from your shoulders nor the dark cloud that seemed to disappear now that you were back with your soulmate again. Your child would have their father in their life, they would have a family, looking up at the straw-hats you smiled softly to yourself, and plenty of friends as well. 

"So you are the granddaughter of Big Mom and Kaido huh?" 

Snapping your head to the side you saw none other than Law come walking over to you. Blinking you looked the man over, his voice and whole demeanor was everything you thought it would be. "So I've been told." 

"That means that the child growing inside of you is also of their bloodline. Anyone that has anything to do with Kiado is my enemy. "

Noticing that the name of your Grandparents had caused heads to turn your way you licked your lips before looking back to the warlord. "I have no ties to either of them beyond blood. As far as I'm concerned all the family I have is here with me now." 

Finishing up his conversation with the blue nosed Reindeer he turned back to see Trafalgar Law standing close by Y/n. In a flash he was materializing in front of her, staring down the man. "Do you have a problem Law?"

"He won't stop coming for you, he knows you exist now, both of them do. Sooner or later you will have to make a choice." Law spoke, continuing to address the woman behind the famous Crocodile. 

"I've already made my choice." 

Hearing this he nodded and looked o Crocodile now, "Doflamingo will no doubt be coming here himself, I would make sure she was far away by the time he gets here."  was all he said before turning around and walking away. 

Glaring at the man's back for sometime he finally turned to looked down at his woman as he stepped over to her. Stroking the side of her face with his hook he saw her smile lovingly up at him. 

"Y/n princess I cooked you some delectable food packed full of proteins and vitamins." Sanji spoke. 

"And I brewed you some lavender green tea with a hint of honey, just like you like it." Brook added, rushing over to hand the woman the steaming cup of tea. 

"Yeah well I made her favorite vegetables as a side..."

"You are trying to win her over with vegetables, Who does that?!" 

"I don't have to win her over, when it comes down to you and me there isn't even a competition."

"Yeah that's because she would pick me!"

Noticing Crocodile's lip twitch and seeing the vein in his forehead poke out you grinned slightly and grabbed his hand before he could use it to make both of your friends a pile of dust. After eating all of our food you were left even more exhausted than you were before. You had tried to stop halfway but Crocodile quickly told you to finish eating. As it came time to say goodbye you quickly gave your gator a pout and your best puppy dog eyes before he growled out and gave a small roll of his eyes. 

"Bentham. " he called out, noticing Daz shaking his head from behind the flamboyant man. "...you are coming as well, I at least know you will help keep an eye on her." he spoke and saw Daz's shoulders drop in defeat. 

"Of course Mr. Zero! I shall protect Y/n and little Croc with my life." Bentham declared with a over the top bow. 

Smiling you hugged Crocodile's waist, feeling his hand rub your back. Looking to the Straw-hats you glanced up to Croc before moving over to your friends. Standing in front of all of them you smiled, "I don't know how to thank you all, I wish I had something to give you or... or something..."

"Don't mention it Y/n. We're friends right? That means we help each other." Luffy smiled and everyone else nodded in agreement. Although you coudl always name the baby after me..."

"Not a chance in hell." Crocodile grunted as he moved over to stand by his love. 

Chuckling Luffy rubbed the back of his head. "Worth a shot." 

"Here's your bag, I put the gift from Neptune in there as well."

Nami told you, handing over the small bag with the little bit of clothes she had bought you and some other things it looked like. 

"There some other stuff as well, thought you might want something to remember us by." 

"Oh yeah..." Taking off his hat Luffy ripped off a piece of paper and handed it over to his friend. "Here's my vivre card, that way you can come see us and we can meet little Luffy."

Hearing Crocodile growl you grinned and took the card from him. "Thank you Luffy, for everything." 

Smiling he placed his hat back on his head. "Maybe next time we are together you can make that one dish as a thank you... you know the one with the meat and sauce and cheese..."

"Lasagna." you smiled.

"Yea that one." 

Nodding you looked to the captain. "It's a deal, until then though I did make you something." seeing his confusion you smiled softly and tilted your head. "It's in your locker. I didn't really have all the details but maybe it will suffice." 

Smiling he perked up. "Really?! Is it food? Is it meat?" 

Giggling you looked to him, "I guess you'll just have to see." 

"All Right! Oooo I hope it's those cookies with the nuts and..."

Watching hi run towards the ship you smiled. "Bye Luffy!" 

"See you later Y/n... you too Gator!" Luffy yelled back.

Finishing telling everyone else goodbye you were lifted up into Crocodile's arms as he carried you back to the ship. Looking at all the familiar faces you smiled softy, especially when you saw Maverick smiling largely at you. 

"Good ta 'ave ya back lass." the old man spoke in his thick accent. 

"Alright get us off this block of ice." Crocodile spoke, giving the command to set sail. Going to take his darling into the cabin he stopped when he heard a loud yell. 

""Y/N!!!" 

Turning back when he heard the Straw-hat yelling Y/n's name he watched as an arm stretched over to the railing beside them. As the boy was pulled over to his ship he watched as he instantly wrapped his arms around y/n in a hug. He was about to step over and yank the his off but stopped when he noticed the few tears rolling down his cheeks and the picture frame in his hand. Glancing to the picture inside he saw a drawing of what looked to be three young boys. 

"Thank you." Luffy said in a thick voice. 

Smiling you hugged him back "Don't mention it." you spoke, repeating his words. As he pulled back you gave him one last smile that he returned. 

"Don't you worry Y/n I'm going to take down Kaido and then Big Mom then there won't be anyone that wants to hurt you or your baby." 

Giggling you nodded. "I'll hold you to that." 

................................

Standing behind her in the shower he felt his cock harden but grit his teeth, now was not the time. Watching some of the water running down her body and down the drain he noticed the slight pinkish tint and swallowed hard. He knew she was tired, both her injuries and everything else taking their toll on her. Seeing her leaning against the wall he stepped up behind her and let his eyes take her in. It had been six months since he had last seen his soulmate. She was skinnier than when they had been separated, not as thin as she was when she had first joined up with the straw-hats though according to the doctor. Noticing the light scar running down her back from shoulder to the top of her left ass cheek he furrowed his brows, that was new. Lifting his hand he gently traced the thin mark with his thumb. As if knowing what he was thinking she spoke in a quiet whisper. 

"Wouldn't hand over my locket." 

A whip then. Clenching his teeth he took a deep breath before leaning down to kiss the scar. From what Chopper had told him her shoulder and forearm had been broken while she was imprisoned, neither of them healing right which now caused her slight pain occasionally. She had been subjected to the cold for months, her body would be sensitive to the cold now for the rest of her life. Basically starved she had lost a tremendous amount of weight, both her and their child now requiring extra proteins and vitamins. The reindeer had also told him that their child would likely be born smaller than it should be, that it would be underweight for a while. Chopper had spoken to him about many things he coudl do and he planned on seeing them through. He would care for her, massage her, keep her warm and feed the best of food. She would rest, grow their child while her own body healed.

The small creature's words rung in his head, making true fear fill him. "If she was to give birth now, in the state she is, she might not live through the birth." 

He couldn't loose her, he wouldn't loose her, not again. Or their child. No he would make sure to take the very best care of them both. 

Pouring some of the shampoo into her hair he placed the bottle back up before he started washing her hair. It wasn't an easy task, not with only one hand but when she went to take over he grabbed her wrist in a gentle grip and move it back to her side. Carefully he started washing her hair that was now longer than when they had last seen each other. He made sure to get as little soap in the fresh injuries on her shoulder and palms as he next started washing her body. Turning her towards him he saw a bruise forming on the side of her face, going up her temple before disappearing into her hair. Why was it she seemed to always be hurt one way or another. How he grew tired of seeing her beautiful body littered in bruises and blood. Glancing down to her breasts and slightly swollen stomach he again felt his arousal spike but pushed it away and finished bathing her. "Go get into bed little star." he told her, placing a kiss to her forehead. 

Drying off you moved into the cabin and pulled on one of his shirts, leaving it only partially buttoned as you crawled into the large bed. Snuggling down into the comfy bed you sighed as his scent overtook you. Closing your eyes you turned your nose to the pillow and listened as he showered himself. By the time he was out you assumed you must have drifted off the movement of the bed starling you.

"It's alright." he spoke n his deep voice, moving to lay down beside her. Opening his arms for her as she moved to cuddle up to him he grinned softly, his eyes closing.

Cuddling up to him you felt his strong arms wrap around you, felt his one hand rub your back under his shirt. Hearing the sound of his heart made it all real, you were so afraid you would wake up and all of this would have been a dream, that you would still be slowly freezing and starving to death in Impale Down. As his lips softly pecked your head you nuzzled deeper into his chest, your eyes filling with tears and your lip trembling.

Hearing her sniffle and feeling the his chest become damp with her tears he continued rubbing her back while his left arm pulled her closer if it was possible. "Why are you crying little star?" he asked in a low voice.

"I'm scared your going to disappear again... that I'm going to wake up and you'll be gone." you whimpered.

"I'm not going anywhere darling." he promised her. Rubbing his hand around to her belly he stroked over the bump there. "I don't know how you did it, how you kept our child alive in that hell, how you even managed to stay alive yourself. You were there longer than I was and still.... everyday I woke up and expected to feel that emptiness take over, for you to have..." he couldn't even finish. Swallowing thickly he continued stroking her belly and side. "I am so sorry starlight..."

"Croc..."

"No, I need to say this." he told her and heard her become quiet. Taking a deep breath he started again, "I failed you yet again. It seems that is all I ever do, that I am unable to protect you. You are my soulmate, it is my responsibility to care for you... Not a day went by that I didn't think of you, that I didn't miss you. You don't know how worthless I felt knowing that the woman I love, the mother of my child was sentenced to that place."

It was strange hearing Crocodile become so emotional, something he always kept locked away but you wouldn't say a word. His hand stayed on your belly, stroking your skin softly.

Taking another breath he kissed gently at her forehead again. "When I got your letter I at first thought it was some trick, that someone was playing some cruel joke on me, I didn't want to believe it because I was so afraid of it being false but it wasn't." smiling a little he continued holding her close. "All the horrible things I've done in my life I can't imagine why fate took mercy on me but I will be forever grateful to have you in my arms again. I may very well never let you leave my side again." Feeling a light kiss to his throat he hummed. 

The both of you stayed silent for a while, just basking in one another's embrace before he spoke again. 

"Darling..." hearing her sleepy hum he continued rubbing her head and hair. "Earlier with Law, you told him you had already made your choice what did you mean by that?"

"You, I choose you Croc. I will never join Big Mom or Kaido because even though they are blood you are my family. You, me and our little Caiman." 

Feeling his lips turn up into a smile he moved his hand to turn her chin up towards him so he could press his lips to hers. It was a long, slow kiss, there was no desire to take it further they were just simply expressing how much they had missed one another, how much they loved one another. When it came time to breath he pulled away but kept her chin tilted so he coudl look into her alluring eyes that he adored so much. "You believe it's a boy then, that we will have a son?" he asked, the soft smile staying on his face. 

Nodding lightly you saw his eyes twinkle a little. Rubbing his bare chest you grinned softly and turned some to lay a bit more on your back but still enough to stay in his arms and look up at him. "A son just as handsome as his father and probably just as cunning."

Chuckling he moved his hand to unbutton the few buttons she had holding the shirt on her small frame. "A little boy with his mother's stunning eyes and temper." 

Giggling you sighed as he rubbed your belly, "I don't think this world knows what it's got coming." you told him and heard him let out a small laugh. As his hand passed over your lower abdomen you felt a strange sensation and flinched, your eyes snapping down to your belly. 

"Was tha..." another jolt hit the palm of his hand and he stared down at her stomach in awe. Grinning he rubbed his hand again slowly and felt his child kick at his hand. 

"He knows we're talking about him." you smiled. "That's the first time I've ever felt him move." 

Humming he smiled and looked back to her, "See he is already a daddy's boy."

Rolling your eyes some you smiled and reached up to stroke his jaw. You stared at his face until your eyes became to heavy to hold open. 

Feeling her hand fall against his shoulder he looked back to her and saw her sleeping peacefully, a soft smile on her face. Grinning he pulled he blanket back over them and settled down beside her, placing a kiss to her temple. "Sweet dreams little star. I love you..." Feeling another hard kick to his hand he smirked, "And you, my son." he spoke in a low deep voice before joining her in the first peaceful sleep in months. 

...........................................

He could only grin a little as she looked around confused but he didn't say a word. Keeping her tucked close to his side he led her down the correct street, thankful it was nighttime so not many people were out. As they came up on the home he saw her brows knit a little before she again looked to him. Paying her no mind he walked up to the front door and glanced down to her before opening it and smiling softly, "Welcome home darling."

Blinking your eyes went a bit wide and you looked back towards the large home that was more like a mansion before snapping your eyes back up to him. 

Seeing shock on her face he chuckled some and led her inside, shutting the door behind them and locking it.  Removing his coat from her shoulders he hung it on the coat rack and continued watching her as she just stood there looking around but not moving. Sighing softly he took her hand and moved her throughout the place. "I settled on this island a few months ago, took over the black market position here."

"Took over?" you asked but saw him raise a brow. "Never mind I probably don't want to know." 

Humming he grinned and showed her room after room. "Truthfully there are more rooms than I know what to do with but at least now we will have a room for the baby." he said and saw her smile sweetly up at him. "You are free to decorate it however you please and anything you need you let me know and I will see you get it." 

Smiling you leaned into his side. Ever since the other night when he had felt the baby kick he had seemed rather thrilled of the idea that he was going to be a father. Daz who you had spoken to when Croc had to talk with Bon on something said that it was likely that Crocodile had feared he would never see you alive again, that he would never get o meet his child but now that the both of you were reunited he wasn't taking it for granted. 

"This is the kitchen, although I did have chiefs cook for me I was quite fond of your cooking and perhaps if you are willing and up to it we may share one of your delectable meals again." Seeing her nod quickly and smile he grinned but then thought of something. "I don't want you pushing yourself though, if you do not feel like it or you are too tired then I will get the cooks to make you whatever it is you want." 

Next he showed you the two living room, the courtyard that had soft green grass and a few trees. Croc had quickly led you to one of the small plants and pointed out that it was your apple tree that you had sprouted on the ship. He told you how you were free to garden all you wanted. After that was the spare rooms, his office that homed many books. You could only smile like a child in a candy shop as you looked over all the books, not knowing he was watching you smiling. 

At the end of the tour he led her down the hall to the large wooden door, opening it he checked it over for safety before turning on the lights and stepping to the side to allow her in. "And this is our room." 

Walking inside you looked around the large room. There was the massive canopy bed in the center of the room with a matching dresser and side table on each side. A little sitting area was in the right corner with what looked to be a private door to the courtyard behind it. On the other side of the room was two more doors, closet and on suit most likely. The bedding and chairs were all done in a grey color that complimented the dark wood. "It's beautiful, all of it." you told him, turning to face him as he came to stand beside you. 

Grinning he looked down at her, stroking her lightening bruised cheek with his knuckles. "I am glad you like it." Feeling that spark of arousal he swallowed and cleared his throat. "Come let me show you to the bathroom, I am sure you like a shower before bed." 

The bathroom was no less grand than the bedroom or rest of the house for that matter. A huge soaking tub that would fit you, croc and probably another person set in one corner with a equally large walk in shower on the other. Crocodile had quickly started the shower for you, adjusting the temperature before saying he wanted to check something, asking you if there was anything you wanted or needed before he left you to bathe. You found it strange that he seemed to always have something to do anytime you needed to be naked. That over emotional side of you kept saying it was something with the way you looked now, maybe you were no longer attractive to him. While you tried to see reason you couldn't help but be hurt a little.

Removing your clothes and then the bandages you glanced up to the mirror and looked over your body. Bruises spotted your skin along with the healing sword slash across your shoulder. Injuries were here and there and you felt your lip twitch as your eyes moved to your breasts. They were still much smaller than when you had first went into Impale Down. Looking down to your small baby bump you sighed and rubbed your abdomen. 

Taking a long shower you got out feeling much more refreshed than you had before. Drying off something caught your eye and you grinned when you noticed your silk pajama set folded on the bathroom counter. You were sure they weren't here before, he must have brought them in. Pulling on the shorts and shirt you brushed your hair and teeth before walking out to the room. Seeing Crocodile sitting in one of the chairs you moved over to him and curled up in his lap when he held his arm out. Humming you grinned and nuzzled into his neck. 

Grinning himself he wrapped his arm around her, kissing her head. "I missed this." 

"Me too." you told him, closing your eyes as his warm calloused hand rubbed your thigh. 

Closing his eyes as his hand creased her soft skin he adjusted his legs as his pants grew tighter. Damn he wanted her, he craved her, so much it was taking everything he had to keep from carrying her over to the bed and taking her like the deprived man he was. He should have made her wear the pants. Not that it would have done any good. She coudl probably be wearing a burlap bag and he would still feel as horney as a teenage boy. He had to wait though, wait until she was healed. It had been six months and his body was aching for her but he wouldn't risk hurting her or his child. No he would just have to resist. Glancing around the room he saw her bag sitting on the table and rose a brow, a distraction is what he needed. "The Straw-hat woman, Cat burglar Nami I believe her name is, she mentioned something about packing you other things she thought you might want, what s it?" 

Sitting up you smiled and grabbed the bag from the table, not realizing your dear Gator was staring at your backside, his hand trembling as he resisted grabbing it. Sitting back on his lap you felt him move your legs to rest over his other knee as you started picking out items to show him. "Pappag gave me these, well more like Nami talked him into letting them get anything they wanted." you smiled. 

Glancing over the clothes as she pulled them out of the bag he saw she had a pair of shorts, a t-shirt with a star on it and the word 'Crimin' on it along with a black two piece bathing suit with the same design on one of the cups. Humming he rose a brow and leaned back some. "And who is this Pappag?"

"Oh he's a starfish that designs clothes. He's a really big deal on Fishman Island." 

"A starfish." he asked and saw her nod. Grunting he listened as she told him about her time in Fishman Island with the Straw-hats. He had been surprised to find out that Jinbe and her father had been friends. While he didn't much care for the shark he was grateful for him helping his love send him the letter. Next he watched her show him the music box that King Neptune had gifted their child. As he listened to the soft tune he couldn't help but grin a little at the soft smile on her face as she talked about how they coudl play it to help their little Caiman go to sleep. When he saw her face light up he watched as she pulled out tangerines. 

Looking to him you grinned, "Your child seems to like fruit just as much as you." Thinking of something you tilted your head. "You know these are from a tree Nami brought on the ship with her, from Conomi Islands, your home." 

Raising both of his brows at that he looked to the fruit as she peeled it. 

Taking one of the sections into your mouth you grinned and held another to his lips. As he parted his lips you placed the piece on his tongue and saw the corner of his lip turn up as he ate it making you smile. 

"Still the best tangerines in the world." he said and saw her smile before offering him another. 

For the next few minutes the two of you sat in the chair talking and snacking on a few more tangerines. You were quick to save the seeds, hoping to grow a tree of your own. Soon however though you were covering a yawn and he was standing. 

Carrying her over to the bed he pulled back the covers and laid her down. He coudl tell she was sleepy based on how heavy her lids hung over her eyes. Tucking her in he kissed her brow before going to take a shower himself but only after making sure both the balcony door and bedroom door were locked. Getting out he glanced over to her sleeping form and sighed at the feeling. Quietly moving over to the dresser he pulled on a pair of pajama pants while staring at the neatly folded scarfs beside it. Reaching under them he grabbed the small velvet box hidden underneath and pulled it out. Flipping it open he stared down at the ring he had picked out over six months ago. It was beautifully crafted, only the best for his little star. The plan had been to give it to her that night in the hotel after they ate dinner but then she had felt ill and then that Charlotte had shown up. The whole night he had planed out had been ruined in an instant. Raising his chin he closed the box. This time everything would go right. Placing it back under the scarfs he closed the drawer, hiding it away for only a few days more. 

[women-inthe-sequel]

saturated (teddy/victoire)

also here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14604054

When Victoire is born, she can see color.

She doesn’t know what a world in black and white looks like, not really.

The things other children talk about don’t line up with what she can see. Even though she’s young, she knows that this is something special. People talk about the realization of color like one day the world was a certain way, and the next day it was something else completely.

After it rains, the puddles don’t look like slightly differing shades of the same. The hues whirl and twist around each other, creating colorations that don’t look boring or plain. When Maman reads her a story about two lovers seeing color for the first time when they meet, Victoire can’t imagine the world as anything other than the way the matched partners describe it.

They say that when you see your soulmate for the first time, the world practically explodes. The shadows and shades of life turn into tints and rainbows.

Is there a way to know what color looks like, if the world has never been without it? If this is greyscale, Victoire wonders, what could color really look like? If this is what everyone else sees, how does anyone know when they’ve actually seen color?

Why does everyone act like nothing is ever the same once they see their person and find color?

--

When she’s seven, Victoire finds the most fascinating book in the world in Aunt Hermione’s library. This one isn’t a fairy tale, mystery, or any type of story book.

It’s just rows and rows of boxes, each one a different hue. The book covers a whole spectrum, with a little notation for the name of each color under the box. Each shade looks similar next to its neighbors, but by the end of the page, it’s completely new.

She looks at the book for hours.

Now, she has words for the things she sees. The grass is shamrock, her father’s hair is auburn, her mother’s eyes are cerulean, and Teddy can change his hair to anything in the book.

It, whatever it is, feels like a secret, like something she isn’t supposed to be able to do. The adults will brush it off or worry or tell her it’s all in her head. What she thinks she knows makes her feel like a mistake.

The book in her hands might have answers. Aunt Hermione, after all, always said the answers to life’s biggest questions were between the covers of a book.

She isn’t ready to tell anyone.

Rather than explaining herself, Victoire thanks her aunt and asks her uncle if she can keep it. Uncle Ron was always good about not asking too many questions. He just taps her nose and lets her take it.

Victoire clutches the book to her chest and keeps it under her pillow. When she can’t sleep in the middle of the night, she learns another ten color names.

--

When she’s nine, she caves and decides to ask her mother.

Maybe it’s not what she thinks. Maman will have an explanation where Victoire’s soulmate could still be out there, looking for her to add the rainbow to their life. Maybe color really looks like something else and she’s imagining it all.

Maman doesn’t need to tell her that she sees color. Victoire notices that her mother always dresses in light colors like lavender, mint green, and baby blue, while others wear charcoal and grey .

She notices the other part of seeing colors in her family members. Most of the adults in her family have their own palettes, even though so much of the world is made for people who haven’t found colors yet.

It’s the way her mother and father can talk about anything like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The way Uncle Harry looks at Aunt Ginny when he doesn’t think her other uncles are looking. How Teddy’s gran pauses when she brushes back his hair and sighs, like she’s seeing something that she misses.

If she could really see color, wouldn’t things be like that for her too? Shouldn’t she know who made something happen to her before she knew what it felt like to miss it? Why isn’t life easier because there is someone who belongs at her side?

This is the one thing she can’t talk about with Teddy, so she hopes the question won’t be enough to raise her mother’s suspicion. It’s normal for children to ask about things they don’t understand. Finding colors is just one of parts of life that is talked about with inevitability but cloaked in mystery.

“Maman,” Victoire asks as she draws a picture, “what does it look like when you can see color?”

Her mother talks about the sky and the ocean. She talks about how different France looked when she went home after meeting Victoire’s father for the first time. She talks about the way shades melt into each other and how it can hurt when colors are too bright. She goes on about how simple things like light can be made up of thousands of different colors and make everything sparkle.

Sitting at the kitchen table with the wind from the sea coming in through the window, Victoire nods like it’s all new information. She oohs and aahs at the right moments. She doesn’t comment on the way the sun touches her mother’s cheeks and hair.

Meanwhile, her heart is sinking in her chest because it all sounds too familiar.

Maybe she’s broken. Maybe she’s destined to spend her whole life chasing something she can’t have. Maybe she’ll never know why she can see what’s supposed to be hidden until another person changes everything.

Once her mother finishes talking and asks if she understands, Victoire nods. She looks down at the paper and intentionally mixes together two crayons that don’t go together so no one will suspect.

--

When she’s eleven, Victoire goes to Hogwarts, just like the rest of her family has and the younger ones will one day.

The Great Hall is full of bursts of color. The ceiling is magenta, mulberry, and sapphire as it displays the night sky. Candles are flashes of sunshine when they reflect on the shining tabletops. There’s scarlet from the table that housed most of her family. On the other side, students proudly wear emerald underneath their banner.

Finally, she’s here, the place that occupied her dreams and stole her best friend away for two years. Before she sits down on the stool at the front of the Hall, Victoire glances over at Teddy. The yellow of the table hits her like a bolt of lightning, and he gives her an encouraging thumbs up from his seat.

The Sorting Hat falls over her eyes and it’s black. There’s a voice in her head, mulling over the parts of her that are hidden in her mind. In the moments that she sits there, in front of everyone, Victoire almost asks. If the Hat can see inside everyone’s head, maybe it has some answers.

She doesn’t say anything out loud, but her mind is probably screaming.

Why can I see them?

The Hat doesn’t answer the question she won’t voice to anyone else. Instead, the rip at the brim yells its pronouncement, and the Great Hall cheers.

As she moves to her place in the Great Hall, Teddy still smiles at her, even if she’s headed to a different table. For a few hours, as she meets more new people than she can count, it doesn’t matter if she can see something she shouldn’t. Everything is new, so she doesn’t have time to make a catalog of the colors she sees.

At the end of the day, as she’s falling into her new bed in her new dormitory, she reminds herself to write a letter to Maman and Dad about her first day. The tie, she can’t help but notice, is blue.

--

When she’s thirteen, Victoire decides that the secret is too big for just herself.

Victoire looks down at her light pink polish-chipped nails and tries to decide if this is her moment. If she’s ready to let someone else know. She tells Teddy things she doesn’t tell anyone else, so it almost feels like betrayal that she hasn’t told him this.

He doesn’t know that she can watch his hair change thirteen times in a minute - red, orange, yellow, green, indigo, violet, and, always his favorite, blue - and never get tired of it. He doesn’t know that she notices how the ends of his hair change when a strong mood hits him. He doesn’t know that life isn’t in greyscale for her. Life, for her, is bright and flashing and sometimes too much.

Teddy is the most colorful thing in the world, and he thinks that she can’t notice.

She says it before she even realizes that she has the courage.

“I think I can see them.”

Teddy tilts his head to the side, curious. “See what, Vicky?”

She makes a face at the nickname and he laughs, pulling her out of her thoughts. He has a habit of doing that, of tugging her out of the thought spiral she’ll stay in for days without a distraction.

She’s so close. It’s the closest she’s ever been to telling anyone.

When she says it, it’s almost a whisper.

“I think I can see colors.”

Teddy doesn’t answer her immediately, so Victoire looks up after a few seconds. Does he think it’s all in her head? Does he think something is wrong with her?

He has an expression on his face that she can’t read. Her heart stutters, hoping that she hasn’t made a giant mistake. His eyes are unreadable but they have changed in a way she could only notice if she could see color.

And she can.

There’s pink on the edges, bleeding into the usual brown . She wonders what he looks like to everyone else, who can only see shades of grey. Without realizing it, she’s holding her breath to wait for his answer.

“Vic, I have a secret.”

She swallows and nods, telling him to go on. Thankfully, after a lifetime of friendship, they don’t always need words to communicate. She can feel her heart in her throat, waiting for him to doubt her or reveal that she is really broken somehow or, just maybe, on a slim chance, know the answer.

“I think I can see them too.”

--

When she’s fourteen, Victoire wonders if the answer is too easy.

She can’t help but notice how her heart beats faster when Teddy puts an arm over her shoulder. He’s been doing it since they were little enough not to remember how the routine began. Before, she looped an arm around his waist or pushed him away. Now, she feels her skin heat up where his fingers have been.

She can’t help but notice that the world is absolutely saturated whenever he’s in her field of vision. Everything contrasts and the tones are brighter, like someone turned up a dial that responds directly to his vicinity.

Maybe she isn’t broken, after all.

After they admitted that they could both see color, that alone felt like enough. They both didn’t remember a world without color and still didn’t have all of the answers. Someone else knew without knowing what it meant. Someone else carried the same secret.

When it first occurs to her that he could be the answer, it suddenly becomes more difficult to breathe around him. She must have seen someone, she decides, before becoming old enough to remember what things looked like without color. That’s a logical explanation.

What if that someone is Teddy?

She’s too scared to say anything. They’ve been best friends for as long as she can remember. Any time spent with him is better than time spent with anyone else. She can’t imagine ever getting tired of his company. He’s easy to talk to, but any other words about colors get caught in her throat before she can actually say anything to him.

Those are all parts of the reason she thinks she might be right.

But then, she’s heard about one-sided (or platonic, if someone is trying to be nice) soulmates. The kind where one person sees colors from another, but the colors for them appear for someone else.

What if she’s right about her colors, but he knows that it can’t be her that caused his? That possibility is worse than not knowing.

If she doesn’t say anything, they can stay the way they are. Victoire won’t ruin things with talk of soulmates and colors and forever. Part of her wonders if it’s all real, anyway. Is seeing color just a coincidence that makes you dedicate time to that person? Could anyone be a soulmate, if colors didn’t get in the way? There are stories all the time about people who never see color but are perfectly happy with someone they choose.

Victoire loves him enough to hope that he’s happy, though, so she doesn’t want to do anything that could break them apart.

She can laugh too hard at his jokes. He can change his hair because she asks. She can try to count the number of hues in his eyes. When she’s feeling confident, she can challenge him to a pick-up Quidditch game that brings out their most competitive sides. Teddy can hold hands with other people and take them to Hogsmeade. They can talk about crushes and first kisses and bad dates. They’re best friends, and it’s what they’re supposed to do. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

Her heart can beat too fast and too loud, and everything will be fine. It’s better to be this important part of his life than nothing, which might happen if colors sharpen around someone else for him.

Despite trying to look away, Victoire can’t help but notice that his cheeks are blush when the Hufflepuff he likes so much leans up to kiss him in the middle of dinner.

--

When she’s fifteen, Victoire has a little too much to drink.

In the midst of a Quidditch victory celebration, she feels light and giggly. The whole team is still on a high from the score. She happily dances with the keeper and almost chokes on her amber butterbeer when someone does a spot-on impression of the Slytherin beaters. The room is decked in navy and bronze to proclaim their triumph.

When Teddy comes into the room, stubbornly sporting canary hair, all of the colors feel a thousand times brighter and her smile practically hurts her cheeks. She bounds over to greet him, leaving her team in the middle of a conversation.

“You have to dance with me, Teddy bear,” she says, pulling him close with arms around his shoulders. His eyes are chocolate , and she could look at them forever. She isn’t sure if he can tell how many drinks she has had, but she doesn’t care.

To tug her a bit closer, he puts his arms around her waist, so they’re nearly touching. “Sure you aren’t upsetting all of your esteemed admirers?” he teases.

Victoire shakes her head, not caring what anyone else thinks about her. “I always have time for you.” That’s the truth, no matter what. It comes easily because she’s said it a million times.

Teddy laughs but doesn’t object to her swaying. “Anything for you, Vicky,” he says with a grin as his eyes shift slowly to familiar pink. That has to be her favorite color in the world. He spins her too fast when the music picks up, but she can’t do anything but giggle and cling to him when she gets dizzy.

A few songs pass, but she doesn’t want to let him go.

“Teddy,” she says softly, “I have a secret.”

She feels a little daring.

Her best friend tilts his head to the side, the way he always does, in a way that tells her to go on. Her pulse hammers. The colors almost hurt her eyes with their intensity. She tightens her grip on his shoulders to keep herself from losing her nerve.

“I think you make me see color.”

The words are alcohol-fueled and possibly a little slurred, but they’re honest. Her heart is on her sleeve, crimson and aching. The secret feels like it’s going to strangle her if she doesn’t say something.

Maybe it’s only a millisecond, but anything could happen. He could laugh at her. He could pretend not to hear. He could twist it into a joke. He could shake his head, tell her she’s wrong, and make sure they forget about this conversation in the morning.

But he doesn’t.

Before she can decide what expression he’s wearing, before she can figure out exactly what color his eyes are, Teddy leans down and kisses her.

Victoire thought she knew what colors were.

The explosion behind her eyelids is like the dramatic retellings of color discovery that she heard over the kitchen table for years. It’s something new from anything else that ever happened to her. Suddenly, the world does feel distinctly different.

Victoire doesn’t have names for the colors she’s seeing now, even though she’s spent countless hours studying the book from her aunt’s library.

When he pulls away, it feels like a lifetime and a second at the same time. Something in the axis of the world changed, so before feels like an ancient memory. Even though she’s traveled so far, it was much too short and she could spend hours, days, weeks, and years feeling like that.

Victoire wants to kiss him again, wants to see the colors she can’t describe, but she settles for leaning her forehead against his so he can say something. His eyes are pink, pink, pink, and it’s all that she can see.

“It’s always been you,” he whispers.

She laughs in relief because now the world is gold and silver and, most of all, the shade of pink that surfaces in his eyes whenever she’s close to him.

Without hesitation, Victoire moves closer and kisses him again. She’ll happily spend the rest of her life trying to find names for the colorful fireworks he makes her see.

[brimay]

“He favoured the taste of oranges, but maybe coffee when he’s tasting it off her tongue, early in the morning in her kitchen, could be his new favourite taste.” ... just an idea for that cute starter sentence you posted! You could so make it work, and if u do please post the fic!!

Thank you so much for the inspiration, Nonnie! Here it is *_*

Description: Bellamy really didn’t mean to sleep with his best friend, but sometimes things change although you haven’t planned it. Sometimes, that change will lead to something better. 

Title: A change of taste

As a child, he favored the taste of oranges. He vividly remembers the crackling sound of Starburst wrapper and sharing the flavors with his best friend: Lemon and strawberry for her, cherry and orange for him. Back then they would turn pillow forts into pirate ships, so they could explore the entire world from her living room floor. They would trade the items of their lunch boxes although it wasn’t allowed, because she always had a tiny cookie in hers, and his mom made the best peanut butter sandwiches in Chicago.

Now, he’s almost nineteen years old, stirring coffee in her kitchen as the sunlight pours through the open window, and the memories blur at the back of his mind. Clarke Griffin, the golden-haired goddess with eyes of the sea and inked flowers blooming at her wrist. His best friend, for crying out loud!

Bellamy really shouldn’t have slept with her….

Still, he can’t bring himself to regret a thing.

“Hi,” her voice sounds unusually shy behind him, and when he turns around to face her, he is met by the sight of Clarke, her cheeks tinted a subtle pink, the waves of her hair damp from after the shower.

Scratching the back of his neck, Bellamy’s grin turns crooked, but he feels the heat rise to his own face as well, so he rushes, “I made you coffee… Uh— just how you like it, I—“

He trails off when he notices that she’s wearing his t-shirt from last night. Fuck, it looks so much better on her, the worn material of it barely covering her panties. Having noticed him staring, Clarke bites down on her lower lip, chuckling as she walks towards him. “Thanks.”

She has to stand on her tiptoes to kiss his freckled cheek, and for a moment Bellamy’s hand touches her back, pulling her a little closer. Then she does something that has been a part of their friendship for twelve years, playing with his hair. More than anything, he tries to revive the picture of her as a little girl in his mind, but it’s bizarre. Clarke used to chase footballs with him before soccer practice and draw doodles on his skin with sharpie… Yesterday, she moaned his name, pulled at his hair and rolled her hips against his.

It’s impossible to forget.

Staring at him, she sips at her coffee, knowing him well enough to understand the reason for his silence. “How’s your back?” She asks all of a sudden as a tiny smirk curls her lips upward. At first, it only causes him to blink, but her confidence soon wears off on him.

“A little scratched-up… You left your mark, Princess.”

She shrugs at that. “I’m an artist. It’s what I do.”

For a minute, they simply smile at each other in silence, sipping at their mugs of preferred caffeine. (His black, hers with a bit of whole milk…) Then she decides to boost his ego. “You’re really good at it, you know? Sex.”

But there’s something about the compliment that causes worry to spark in his veins. As always, he knows what’s wrong without having to ask, which is why he sighs, putting down the cup to take her hands in his. “Clarke, I’ve only had sex with two people. You’re one of them.”

Embarrassed, she assures him that he didn’t have to tell her that, because she’s nowhere near entitled to know about his sexual history. Them sleeping together was spontaneous; a flare of mutual impulsion and curiousity, but it has confused everything nonetheless. Smiling down at her, Bellamy locks his arm around her waist. He gazes at her, overwhelmed by her beauty at this ungodly hour on a Sunday morning, her hair messy but her eyes alive.

She’s everything that he has ever wanted…

“Can I kiss you?”

At his question, her lips form the sweetest smile, which is contradictory to how she punches his shoulder afterwards. Out of habit, he pretends that it hurts to amuse her. “Of course you can kiss me, you dork.”

When he does, she laughs against his mouth for a moment before leaning into it and responding by nibbling a little at his lower lip. She tastes vaguely of coffee beans as the scent of lavender soap from her skin encompasses him; it turns his mind into one big marshmallow cloud, all fussiness.

Yes, as a kid he favored the taste of oranges, but nothing can surpass this: Clarke pressed against him, her hand resting on his chest while their lips move together — It’s still careful, gentle, and no one would be able to guess that they kissed countless times yesterday night. Pulling back, Bellamy asks, “Your mom will return from her graveyard shift soon. What are we going to tell her?”

She rolls her eyes at that, musing, “You sleep over all the time, Bell. She won’t suspect a thing.”

Technically, though, Abby Griffin has been suspicious for a year now, ever since her daughter started to wear his clothes and jump out of her window at night to meet him. They’d always been inseparable, those two, but as the years flew by, they only grew closer. Close enough that the line between friendship and romance blurs when she kisses his cheek and he presses his lips to the crown of her hair. Frankly, Abby had asked her daughter if she was having sex with him no more than a week ago, to which she’d insisted that she was not. Oh, the irony.

Clarke takes one look at the rosy pink tint that has graced his brown skin, then says, “You’re still flustered about the whole thing, aren’t you?” Of course, she is too, but it’s comforting to know that they’re in the same boat. After all, it’s not every day that you have sex with your best friend.

“Yeah. It all happened so quickly…”

“Well, I started it. I’m sorry if I threw you off.”

At that, Bellamy’s brow furrows. He doesn’t care who started it, and even if he did, he’s not sure that it was her. They’d both been slightly intoxicated by the city lights and mesmerizing street music when they walked through her front door last night — and sure, she’d pulled him into the living room to do a spontaneous striptease, but she hadn’t gotten to reveal more than her bra before Bellamy had kissed her.

They were so happy. So inexplicably happy…

“You didn’t,” he insists, letting his warm hands slip beneath the fabric of her t-shirt (yes, it’s her t-shirt now. It has Clarke written all over it) to feel her skin, and he looks at her with soft eyes as her lips part at the sensation. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

His voice cracks a little while he says it, unable to bear the weight of the emotions in those words. He’s called her ‘beautiful’ before, like when he went to pick her up for prom, but this time it’s different, because he’s seen her in a way that he never thought he would, on a bed beneath him wearing nothing but a smile.

Fuck, he’d do anything for her — Anything, which he’s already proven on several occasions. For instance, he punched Thomas Finlay in the face for calling her ‘a cheap whore’ after she turned him down, and stayed up with her for three nights in a row to quiz her on a history exam because she needed his help.

They kiss again, deeper and longer this time, only breaking apart to gasp for air. Her coffee is definitely turning cold on the kitchen counter, but she couldn’t care less. Amidst all of the confusion at the sudden change in their relationship, Bellamy can’t deny how good and right this feels; how good and right it felt to be inside her last night, even though thinking about it still makes him blush.

“… You wanna go on a date?” He asks carefully, and the question has her beaming at him.

“Yes! Where?”

“The tree house.”

Obviously. She should’ve known. That place is perfect, deeply engraved in their hearts, since it’s where their adventures together began. In Aurora Blake’s backyard… It’s amazing how many hours they’ve spent up there, playing until they lost track of time. She’d draw cool dragons on his skin one day, and the next they would be aliens stuck in space, looking for a way down to Earth.

They bring sandwiches, some with Nutella and the rest with peanut butter. Then sit up there in their old hiding spot, baffled by how much smaller it seems now. “We’ve changed. This place hasn’t,” Bellamy remarks, wiping some Nutella off the corner of her mouth using his thumb.

“It’s still full of memories, though,” she sighs, looking around at the crayon drawings that brighten the wooden walls.

Bellamy takes her hand at that, wordlessly reminding her that they’ll make new memories before she becomes sad. Yes, things have indeed changed. They’ve grown up, that’s a part of the inevitable passage of time, but they still love each other.

(The first time he confessed his love to her was when he was seven years old. She said it back a year later…)

Turning her head towards him, Clarke leans forward to rest her forehead against his. Then she captures his lips with her own in a chaste kiss. A thousand butterflies flutter their wings in his heart when she murmurs, “You’re still my best friend, but I… I want you to be my boyfriend, too.”

“I think that’s perfect.”

It really, really is… The perfect change.

[delicrieux]

amortentia [young!tom riddle x reader]

premise: two students start developing feelings for one another despite having too many secrets to count. tws for this chapter: implied childhood trauma word count: 2.8k

amortentia masterpost | masterlist | music

1. the boy from the train

A light breeze caressed the back of your neck as your fingers dug into the hard red cushion of the train seat. Ever so slightly, you leaned forward to stare at the blurring scenery behind the window.

Echoes of chatter and muggle songs reached your ears from outside the compartment, muted and muddled by the shut door. In the swaying autumn flowers, the last notes of summer already fading, you saw the delicate arch of your mother's hand as she waved you goodbye.

There was something haunting about that memory, new as it was. Just as August gave away to September, so had you traded childish slacks for a prestigious uniform. So young, yet slowly coming with the grips of tweenhood. Realizations boiled there, somewhere in your mind, along with your mother's strange smile -- neither kind nor forceful, it was a perfectly imperfect, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the still and waxen medieval portraits created by muggles.

It was an honest goodbye made by a dishonest person. So young, barely eleven, and yet you knew as much. Without her shadow looming above you, the possibilities were endless. The prospect both frightened and excited you.

Finally, London houses blew by and nothing but plains of dewy green vistas greeted the window. You pulled away and shifted, hitting the back of the seat and feeling the whole train pleasantly rumble down your spine. Lonely but not alone, you sat with three other soon-to-be Hogwarts students - housemates even, perhaps? - that were just as round-faced and doe eyed and joyful as any kid at the prospect of learning magic.

All but one.

The boy beside you, reserved and appearing somewhat cold, was excluded from the buzz of shared happiness, from the forming sense of camaraderie that would fall apart as soon as the Sorting Hat dispersed the fresh crop among the four Houses. Was it a conscious, self-excommunication you could not yet phantom, nor the strange swirl of feelings the boy inspired within you. Somewhat restless, somewhat uncertain of your balance on the seat, you pressed yourself close to that cold window, as if to shy away from the boy and the sense of something that lingered in the air around him. As if inhaling it would be poisonous.

If you could return to that moment, you would recognize those feelings as trepidation. But in 1938, it was just confusion with a clumsily racing heart.

You tried acting graceful with your subtle retreat, not too obvious lest he notices and thinks ill of you somehow. Mother always said that manners were most important and distancing yourself completely would surely displease her. Even if her watchful eye evaded you then, she would know. She always knew. It is a mother's horrible burden to know the failures of her child.

The first quiet snicker between the two boys in front of you grew louder - their hushed whispers no longer hushed nor whispers - and their heads, previously drawn close together conspiratorially, then faced you and the boy by your side without hiding wicked grins that implied nothing but trouble.

Your heart stood still for a moment, rendered useless by overwhelming fear. A thought sprung to you that they knew, that they had noticed somehow, and instantly you reeled onto what could have betrayed you: your eyes, your nose, the way you carry yourself? Where had the resemblance between you and your mother manifested so strongly to earn their ire?

Shall they hate you without so much as a word exchanged?

'We are not very much alike.' You wanted to inform them, soothe their anger with you, 'Father says so, too, and my father has never lied. No, we are not very much alike at all, I assure you.'

But their eyes never strayed in your direction, rather narrowed down on the pale-faced child sharing a seat with you. There was relief when you realized they meant you no harm, that your secret laid hidden behind a linen shirt and a cashmere sweater. And then there was a sickly uncomfortable feeling rooted deep within you, one that made your mouth dry and cower in your little corner. Later, this feeling would be given a name and easily recognized: shame.

"We were just talking," One of the shorter boys spoke up, accent thick and freckled cheeks red with mischief. Scottish, you thought, warily glancing between the two, "about who might be the strongest wizard here."

"'S me, of course." The other piped up, beady eyes gleaming with pride, "Mum said I started reading runes at three. Said I got that talent from my father. He works at the Ministry."

"Sounds like a big fat lie to me, else my father would know yours." The first replied with a playful nudge, "I cast my first spell when I was two. Nearly set the house on fire."

"Nearly? Nothing to brag about if only nearly." The second chimed. With the agility and poise of a poor actor, he suddenly asked, "Oi, you." Not in reference to you, no, you were blissfully excluded from this equation, "What of you, then? Which do you think is stronger?"

There was a slight, tense pause. It was obvious from their demeanor and their harshly sculpted words that the boys did not care for your companion's opinion; that they only spoke to him to tease him; that they, somehow, figured he is less than.

"Neither."

Words could be cruel, yes, but just how cold they could be always surprised you. A single word, uttered in that rasp, unimpressed tone chilled you. It was the first time you had heard him speak, confined to his indifferent silence as he was. You glanced at him on instinct.

And when you saw him, you could not look away.

He was pale, somewhat ill, missing the golden sheen children had when playing outside in sunlight for hours. Not even a blush or a hint of rose anywhere on his sharp features--cold and unfriendly, just like his voice, just like his whole presence. It was slightly off putting, but not enough to deter your inspection. You trailed the outline of his clothing, catching a few loose seams and fried fabric around the shoulders – they were not new, presentable, but hardly fashionable. You understood why he would come under scrutiny by the two.

Perhaps he felt your probing stare because his eyes flickered in your direction, evergreen and glimmering, the only remotely lively thing about him. Instantly you were transported to the dark forests surrounding fortresses you had seen in fairy tales of moving pictures -- how dark they were in the shade until first sunlight warmed them, making them appear almost inviting. They grew in mazes, spirals, uncanny shapes to lure the unsuspecting into deadly adventure.

You were the lost traveler and he the omnipotent nature basking in its private secrets. How terribly your heart tumbled when those eyes connected with yours. You could only look away so quick.

"What did you say?" One of the boys leaned closer, pretending to have misheard, "Couldn't quite catch that."

"No, I think we heard him right," the other said, "see, I think he thinks he's so clever. Probably thinks he's stronger, too."

A fake gasp, "He wouldn't! Scrawny thing like that, can barely cast a spell I recon."

"Can't cast spells if you're almost mute, too, now, can you? Oi! Know any other words, or just one?"

A shared laugh between the two and taut silence from your end. If this affected your companion at all was impossible to tell. He revealed nothing, sat silent with a bored expression, and it was that expression that seemed to egg the boys on to continue their jeering.

Perhaps he really did not care. But you did. You were uncomfortable with listening to insults and even more uncomfortable being invisible. The sight of this verbal violence wounded you. Could they not shed their daggers and wait for the Sorting to end at the very least? Must they begin their tyranny now?

"Leave him be." You finally snapped, surprising even yourself: where had such strength come from? "I am the strongest here, obviously, for I had to listen to this nonsense and not say a word. Now what I think is that you should go ask someone else's opinion, from a different compartment, of course. I am sure there you will meet an insufferable match." A pause, "Well? Go!"

Perhaps it was your harsh tone that prompted them into action, perhaps it was the stomach-churning embarrassment they felt that showed so evidently on their faces, but with one last deadly glare directed at the boy - as if he was the problem, not them - the two slid the compartment's door open and left in a cloud of incomprehensible angry huffs and whispers. The door clicked shut. Silence engulfed the two of you again.

"...That was not necessary."

His voice was unmasked, yet when you looked at him you saw no change in his elusive expression. Despite the hint of relief, a little promise of 'thank you' hidden somewhere in his dismissal, something was still not quite right.

But you were content with a slow yet rocky start, and gave him a shy smile, not meeting his eyes in fear of another delirious tumble of your heart.

"It was," You insisted, though not unkindly, "...they fancy causing a ruckus, I can tell... I am (Name) (Lastname), by the way." You introduced, daring a glance into that evergreen forest that stories are made of, "...Pleasure." You extended your hand for him to shake, hoping he would ignore the slight quiver of your fingers. For a moment all he did was examine it, as if contemplating should he touch it or not. Lastly, he hooked his fingers around yours.

"Tom. Tom Riddle."

1943

The windows are tinted dark with black clouds. The small room is drowning in hot, white fumes that smell like lavender and incense and coffee grounds; an occasional rosy flash of colour makes the classroom swim, as if it is going vertigo. Light drumming of cold rain reaches your ears, but what melody it sings you cannot tell – no one can bear to keep their mouth shut in Divination.

A hard nudge on your shoulder and your head slips from your hand, "Did you see?"

Sleepy from the heat and with a mild headache from overlapping scents, you throw a lazy glance at your friend sitting on the other side of the small round table. Briefly you wonder how can Katherine be so chipper on such drowsy weather. Judging by the twinkle in her eyes, the question was repeated, and possibly not once.

Wordless, you sweep the classroom to find what she is referring to. Seeing you at a loss, Katherine leans in, crossing her arms over her chest, her clever features illuminated by the bleak pink glow of the crystal ball, "Over there, by the fire..." She trails off quietly, urging you to observe your housemates closer lest you miss out on something inconsequential yet scandalous.

The Slytherin House is seated among piled books, haphazardly thrown about colorful shawls, Indian rugs, and potted greenery. Closest to the fireplace and entirely drenched in sweat, some of your housemates sit on plush pillows by coffee tables. Only those that were never late to class managed to find a spare table with proper seats.

By the windows, on the other side of the classroom, Hufflepuff made its home. Hardly an interesting topic, even less worthy of your sleepy attention.

You scan your surroundings, not particularly caring if anyone was to notice your stare through the tangle of smoke. Nothing out the ordinary, "Who?"

Katherine gives a whine, half annoyed half excited to deliver the news, "Who else if not Tom?"

"...Tom?" You question, turning to her. "Tom Riddle?"

Katherine nods, her dark brown curls bouncing around her sun kissed face. She leans closer and whispers, "He was looking at you again. In that wistful way he does...Oh, you are so lucky, (Name). I'd curse you if I was any more jealous." She add in a playful jest, "Me and, well, the rest of the school, I suppose. You're most lucky we are such good friends." She finishes with a wink.

She was always a character: playful, snobbish, a bit mean but in a harmless way. Coming from a rich family from Austria, Katherine is familiar with expensive views and handsome boys attending her family's annual balls. A feast of grotesque grandeur and posh personalities, or so you were informed.

Someone as Tom Riddle fits beautifully into Katherine's polished life, like a lost puzzle piece returned to create a magnificent paysage. She is a pretty girl, if not a tad dense. Her delusions often spark terrible rumors that shake the whole castle for months. She revels in all of it, that notoriety. As fitting for a Slytherin.

This is why Katherine's insistence on Tom's secretly harbored affection for you feels more like a joke rather than an actual possibility; a glass bubble that was always meant to shatter. How happily she snickers at the absurdity at the thought, and how she craves for you to buy into it, if only for a moment.

But you never do. And today, you are too tired to even humor her, "He was not." comes your dry reply, yet your eyes stray in his direction anyway. It is not difficult to locate him in the crowd of students. You always possess a vague idea of where he is, as absurd as that sounds. It is like a six sense you had acquired that chilly morning years ago, on the train, sparked by a handshake and eyes that kept wandering back to one another.

Over the years you spoke with him little, confined to your world as he was crafting a whole new one around himself. By the time any meaningful friendships could form, he was already out of reach.

You can feel Katherine roll her eyes, and with a curt sigh the shorter girl leans out and crosses her legs behind the table, softly hitting you in the process.

"Oh come now, don't be so glum. I would never lie to you, now, would I?" The lopsided smile she gives you informs otherwise, "Well, perhaps..." She says with a heavy sigh, as if divulging some terrible secret, "Perhaps he was looking at me, and I was mistaken. If so, my (Name)," Her hand snatches yours and squeezes gently, "I am terribly sorry."

Her gaze on you is short lived as she tilts her head to the side, keen on admiring him, "He is most dreamy though, isn't he?"

"Dreamy? Yes, but..." You murmur, "Can you not feel it?"

"Feel what? The discontent glares of my rivals?"

You crack a smile, "No, not that...It is just...something about him...something different." You glance at him, sat with his dearest friend, laughing quietly about one thing or another, "Would you not agree?" Katherine's expression turns thoughtful and after a brief pause she nods.

"Oh yes, completely different..." She says, "He's so perfect it's hardly fair." Then, she, releasing her hold on you and leaning back in her seat, smiles in a ditzy, love-sick way; the same way you used to grin as a kid dreaming of Prince Charming, "Tom...Tom Riddle...Katherine Carlotte Riddle? How does it sound, (Name)?"

"Sounds like a symptom of hysteria. Inform your mother, or shall I send her an owl instead?" Your playful words are met with a scoff and a good natured chuckle.

But curiosity quipped, you cannot help but sneak a glance at him, only to find him staring right back. There is a barely notable smile on his lips, head dipped downwards listening intently to a tale weaved by his seatmate. Perhaps Katherine had been right about him looking – your eyes connect, the only thing truly clear through the curtain of fumes being his magnificent green irises that halt all thoughts you had had prior. You offer him a shy smile before pulling away.

"Just you wait, though." Katherine mumbles, missing this small exchange as she flips through her coursebook,  "I'll have him confessing his love to me in no time."

"Are you certain it will not be the other way around?" You ask with a raised brow. You can tell it takes everything she has in her to not smack your arm or throw her teacup in your direction.

"You are terrible, (Lastname). "

"Yet you love me still."

"Merlin, that I do. The most, in fact, well-...After our dearest Tom, of course."

"Certainly," You answer, gazing down into the depths of your teacup where your impending future lays written in tea leaves. Somehow, even if their meaning is lost on you, you know it is intertwined with him, "would not want it any other way."

onto the next part?

[mypearlssales]

Bio Oil Review - Does It Work For Reducing Stretch Marks & Scars

If like me, the words ‘stretch marks’ send shivers down your spine, then you’ve probably wondered if there’s a way to get rid of them. Nearly every woman alive, whether they are young or old, has likely worried about forming stretch marks at some point in their life. If and when pregnancy becomes part of your life, there’s no avoiding the fact that your skin will stretch and expand in order to accommodate the miracle of life. This can and does result in stretch marks. For the lucky ones this might be barely noticeable, for others it can lead to your skin looking like a zebra’s fur coat. So, when bio-oil made an appearance, it’s not surprising that it took the world by storm. Not only does bio oil promise to reduce the appearance of scars, stretch marks, wrinkles, uneven skin and even rejuvenate skin, it’s also got a growing legion of fans that claim it works. In this bio-oil review, we’ll try to get to the bottom of this craze and determine once and for all if this product actually works.

Check Price on Amazon

Bio-Oil

If you take a look at the back of a bio-oil bottle you’ll find a ton of ingredients listed, some of which might be familiar and some of which might be completely new to you. In terms of skin repair and care, we’re largely interested in the following:

Rosemary oil has been used for a long time for reducing inflamed areas of skin and for assisting in the repair of small wounds. This means it’s ideally suited for repairing and reducing the appearance of scars.

Chamomile oil has claimed benefits related to evening out skin tones and pigmentation.

Lavender oil is known for its antioxidant properties, which works to reduce the damage that everyday life can throw at your skin. 

Calendula oil is a great moisturizer and is therefore especially good at treating dry skin.

Vitamin A and Vitamin E are antioxidants which work to repair damaged cells.

Packaging of Bio Oil

Like most other available skincare products, the Bio-Oil bottle comes in a fairly plain but functional white cardboard box, this box also houses the instruction manual. The instruction manual contains several easy to understand illustrations which make using the product a breeze, it’s a nice touch which saves the consumer from reading a bunch of text.

The bottle itself is a fairly non-descript slightly opaque bottle with a screw on cap. The bottle's opening is covered by a white cap with a small hole which will restrict the flow of oil, this addition is ideal for me, given that I’ve got a gift for spilling expensive perfumes and oils within seconds of opening. Looking at the bottle, the oil has a slight orange tint, thankfully when poured out the oil looks for all intents and purposes, completely transparent. So, you don’t need to worry about dying yourself or your clothes orange. The smaller 60ml version is ideal for travelling, it’ll fit into most handbags easily, and it’s well under the TSA liquids allowance. Given that the packaging is pretty sturdy and as long as the cap is screwed on, there’s unlikely to be any worries about leaking in your bag.

Bio Oil Benefits and Uses

Before we deep dive into the effectiveness of Bio-Oil, we need to make it clear that the company that manufacturers Bio-Oil does not make any claims that it can completely remove scars or make stretch marks disappear entirely. Its goal is simply to reduce the appearance of such marks. With that now out of the way, let’s proceed with the rest of the review and see what this product has to offer:

Bio-Oil For Scars

Never apply Bio-Oil to an open wound, it will not prevent scarring, this needs to be stressed. Applying Bio-Oil to an open wound is just asking for an infection, one which will make the scarring worse when the wound finally heals. If you have an already healed scar, then this is a perfect candidate for Bio-Oil, but remember, it won’t completely remove scars, it’ll just lessen the appearance.

To test the effectiveness of Bio-Oil at reducing the appearance of scars I’ve enlisted the assistance of our office assistant Julie. Julie has a scar on her back from a minor surgery performed a couple of years ago, can Bio-Oil reduce the appearance of this scar with consistent use? The answer is, yes. As you can see in the picture below, the scar has lightened and now more closely matches the tone of the surrounding skin. The scar is still visible, but I would hope with continued use it would become even more indistinguishable from the surrounding skin. For full disclosure, this was with one month of continued use and to the best of our ability, we’ve used the same lighting conditions and camera.

Bio-Oil For Pregnancy Stretch Marks

For many women around the world, stretch marks are part in parcel of being pregnant, but can they be prevented and reduced with the use of Bio-Oil? Many women around the world swear by this treatment, so it must do something right? My mother in law advised me throughout my pregnancy to use Bio-Oil, I just nodded, smiled and filed it under old wives tails. Roll on 9 months and my abdomen looked like it’s gone through several rounds with Wolverine. Keen to restore my skin to its former flawless beauty (ahem), I took the decision to try Bio-Oil for myself. Surprisingly, it worked… sort off. It didn’t restore my stomach to that of a 21-year-old, but it did improve things. I still look like I’ve had a child, which is fine, but at least I don’t look like Freddie Kruger's practice dummy. My biggest regret is that I didn’t pay more attention to my mother in law and started using Bio-Oil at the start of my pregnancy. It was this that prompted me to write this article.

Bio-Oil For Uneven Skin Tone

This was a difficult scenario to test. As far as I know, variations in skin tone can be caused by a huge variety of factors, for example, the sun, location on the body, exposure to chaffing, dirt? So, how do we test? I thought screw it, I’ll rub it everywhere and see what happens. Surprisingly, the bags under my eyes looked less pronounces, but that could also be a side effect of my wee one starting to sleep through the night. I welcome anyone else’s feedback on this one, if you’ve tried Bio-Oil to even out skin tones, please let me know, good or bad.

Bio-Oil For Aging Skin

Seeing as I’m already a vision of youthful invigoration, I palmed this one off to my Mum. According to the blurb, Bio-Oil restores ageing skin to its former glory by improving the collagen and elastin content in your skin. So, what did my Mum think? She loves it and continues to use it today. Did it make her look younger? Seeing as my Mum will be reading this, of course, it did, but not that she needed it. In all seriousness, she likes it and tells me it’s working, which is what really matters.

Bio-Oil For Dry Skin

I’m already aware that many of the essential oils contained within Bio-Oil are excellent for moisturizing the skin, so you would expect Bio-Oil to be a good moisturizer, and it is. I would happily keep using it for its moisturizing ability alone. It’s definitely a thumb’s up from me.

Bio-Oil Pros

Sturdy bottle that can be easily transported without fear of leakage.

The oil is easily absorbed and doesn’t leave your skin feeling greasy. 

It has a very light aroma which is by no means overpowering. After a minute you’ll barely notice its presence.

Most importantly, it seems to deliver on what it promises.

A little bit goes a long way, which means a bottle literally lasts for ages.

Bio-Oil Cons

The cost per bottle is a little bit expensive.

It might not be the best choice for people that already have oily skin.

Availability in the shops can sometimes be limited.

Bio Oil Review

Bio-Oil came into my life not long after I had given birth. I was tired, stressed and overwhelmed by the new responsibility in my life. I barely had time to eat properly, let alone adhere to a beauty routine. My opinion of my body was at an all-time low, I had stretch marks, I looked exhausted and my pregnancy weight seemed to be stubbornly sticking around. Needless to say, my self-esteem was very low.

Something needed to change! Thankfully my husband was a massive help and did more than his fair share of baby duty. I set aside a couple of nights a week to attend trampoline fitness classes and did what I could to eat well, sleep well and try to enjoy my new life. But what could I do about stretch marks? I did some research, tried various home remedies and creams and was just about to give up when my mother in law again reminded me about Bio-Oil. At this point, I was ready to give anything a go.

Simply put, Bio-Oil is brilliant. I’m not a fan of greasy skin care products, I was very much pleasantly surprised when I found out that it was not greasy at all, and would be absorbed into my skin in a matter of seconds. The oil is so light that it barely feels like I’ve applied anything at all, which really is a testament to how spot on the formulation is.

I had feared using an oil-based product would end up blocking my pores and causing a breakout of spots, but thankfully, this did not happen. If anything, my skin actually felt much cleaner and fresh. My stretch marks have faded significantly over 3 months of consistent usage. My skin is healthy, hydrated and feels better than it has in years. Bio-Oil is seriously worth every single penny. I don’t think I’ll ever stop using it.

How To Use Bio Oil in 4 Easy Steps

Rub a few drops of Bio-Oil between your fingers.

Using your fingertips massage the oil into the affected area.

Massage in a circular motion to ensure even coverage.

Repeat this twice daily to for at least three months to see effects.

Rating 4.7/5

Do I Recommend Bio-Oil?

Yes, two thumbs up. Treat your skin to something extraordinary. Bio-Oil has a legion of followers and it’s easy to see why. It’s a great product that actually works. But don’t take my word for it, grab yourself a bottle and see for yourself.

  from My Pearls - Blog https://www.mypearls.co.uk/blogs/news/bio-oil-review-does-it-work-for-reducing-stretch-marks-scards

[baeyeonsei]

101: FASHION/APPEARANCE STATS

» completion points: 3,450 » objective:  BOLD what applies to your muse. Don’t forget to include pictures, and/or detailed descriptions.

Body: Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms.Muscular arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach.  Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame (5 ft 4 or shorter). Lanky frame. Short nails.Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Thighbrows. Small waist. Average waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet.Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hand. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Broad shoulder. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight.

** Irene has been known to be quite a petite woman with her features small yet well-proportioned; small waist, narrow hips, tones stomach and legs of average length make up Bae Joohyun, who in pictures, look taller than she actually is in real life. Though she’s received much criticism for her small stature, Irene has also been known to be an idol possessing the desirable S-line figure.

Height (click here to convert to feet): Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

** Officially, Irene’s height is listed 161cm ever since debut. Unfortunately, since she has debuted at the age of 24, women don’t normally grow even an inch at that stage, so she’s been stuck with the same height ever since. As mentioned above, her great proportions gifted her to deceive people, making her appear taller than her actual height especially when she wears pants as of recent. Some, however, say that in real life, she looks around 155 to 158cm, proving how short she really is in some side by side photos with their tallest member Joy or with other tall idols, male and female alike.

Skin: Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Soft.

** Although there were certain speculations of Irene getting excessively whitewashed by her fansites and reporters alike, many low quality pictures and even fan accounts can deny this (even I can testify to this this...). She, together with member Wendy, appear paler side by side their members. Additionally, Irene used to battle with really bad acne due to schedule stress at that time, but she seems to be taking good care of her skin as of late as it appears more dewy and smooth even without makeup.

Eyes: Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Red. Blue. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond.Close-set. Wide-set.Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

** Irene has said that the part she is most confident about herself are her eyes. Her eyes are animatedly wide and expressive with thick lashes and double eye lids. Her double eye lids give her the doe-eye look, even being compared to past EXO member Luhan during her debut days due to her eyes. An interesting fact about her eyes is that she has a mole on the inside of her left eye, just beside her iris.

Hair: Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight.Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Buzz cut. Bald. Jaw length. Mohawk. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blondette. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Auburn. Dyed red. Dyed any “unnatural color”. Thin eyebrows.Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows.

** Unfortunately, Irene’s hair isn’t in the best of state. Since then, her hair has been cute very slightly just to get rid of damaged hair. Although her hair is naturally straight, she’s more often than not seen sporting a wavy do. She’s also tried outrageous hair colors ranging from platinum blonde to ash grey/purple, thus causing the slight damage of her hair. As for her eyebrows, Irene doesn’t have think eyebrows and her eyebrows aren’t shaped in a way to alter her overall look. Normally, stylists (and herself) just follow her natural eyebrow shape with a subtle arc.

Tattoos/piercings: Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercing. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Tragus piercing. Angelbites. Labret. Stretches out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). OTHER ( auricle piercing)

** Irene has quite the traditional ideals, so even if they were allowed to get tattoos on visible body parts (which they aren’t considering television rules), she still would not consider getting one. Piercings, however, are okay. She has two on her ears, yet she probably would stop at that, too.

Cosmetics: Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make up.  

** Irene is quite insecure with her bare face though many have told her of how pretty she looked, so she often sticks to putting on makeup. Normally, her everyday makeup consists of light eyeshadow one shade darker than her skin tone to highlight her bottom crease, a gentle line, some mascara, and lip tint. However, with stage performances or photoshoots, it depends on the given instructions to the stylist or the concept of the shoot, really.

Scent: Floral. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food.Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood.

** I don’t know. I’m not really all too sure about Irene’s scent nor what she prefers to use. I think she really likes fresh scents like vanilla. She also likes lavender-scented candles. But I sort of see her as someone who would smell like fresh baby powder.

Clothes: Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yogapants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt.Tight/formfitting dress. Cardigans. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band Tshirt. Sports tshirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Fur. Faux fur. Leather. Designer. High street. Online stores. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skit. Tshirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jeans shorts. Sweater.Sweater vest. Khaki pants. Suit (bespoke, made-to-measure, or not at all). Hoodie. Harlem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers. Briefs.Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Chemise. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels.Black. Dark colors.

Shoes: Sneakers. Slip-ons. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high boots. Platforms. Stripper heels. Barefeet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes. Neon colors. Pastels. Black. Dark colors.

** Irene actually doesn’t think too much about what she wears most of the time. She doesn’t have a fashion formula, either. She just likes to go with what she is comfortable with or what her mood tells her to wear. There was a time where she was basically obsessed with leather jackets, but lately she’s been wearing a lot of stripes and/or dresses. Most of the time, she’s seen sporting comfy looks such as oversized sweaters and shorts, and oversized shorts paired with leggings or yoga pants. As for footwear, she’s so random with them at times. At airports and on the way to schedule, she’s seen always wearing sneakers, but there was a random occasion at the airport where she wore heels. These days, she seems to be into wearing round specs, too.