#thomas and the missing Christmas tree

[the-time-lord-oracle]

It was nice that the first three series of Thomas the Tank Engine & Friends all ended with a Christmas episode. There was something quite wholesome about ending the series with a Christmas-themed episode and the final scene featuring most main characters gathered together in celebration. Unfortunately, the tradition was dropped in series 4 and although subsequent series did feature Christmas-themed episodes, they weren't the series finale.

[elijones94]

🚂 Thomas and Toby 🛤️❄️

[rebeccaajc93]

Here are for my Top 10 Best Christmas Specials List:

*10. The Powerpuff Girls in Twas The Fight Before Christmas (2003)

*9. The World Of Peter Rabbit and Friends in The Tailor Of Gloucester (1993)

*8. The Vicar Of Dibley in The Christmas Lunch Incident (1996)

*7. Mr. Bean in Merry Christmas Mr. Bean (1992)

*6. The Sooty Show in Sooty’s Christmas Party (1988)

*5. Thomas The Tank Engine and Friends in Thomas and The Missing Christmas Tree (1986)

*4. Fireman Sam in Snow Business (1988)

*3. The Simpsons in Simpsons Roasting On An Open Fire (1989)

*2. Codename: Kids Next Door in Operation: NAUGHTY (2005)

*1. Noddy’s Toyland Adventures in Noddy and Father Christmas (1994)

[runnning-outof-time]

Someone For Christmas - Tommy Shelby x Reader

“You’ve been a better man since she’s entered your life, Thomas,” Polly commented, a knowing look present on her face, “don��t go back to the man you were before her.”

She was the first to visit the brooding Tommy Shelby that evening, and she brought back to light all of the poor choices he’d made in the past.

“She’s done way more for you than anyone else has,” Ada said as she sat down across from her brother, “I see how she helps you every day. Only a fool would let her go, Tom.”

Tommy stared straight ahead at the Christmas tree as his sister rehashed all of the correct decisions he’d made recently…and she made sure to point out how the woman being mentioned was part of every one.

“I really like her, dad,” five year old Charles Shelby’s voice was soft as he held onto the doorknob of his father’s study. “Will she come back for Christmas?”

This time, Tommy looked at the person — the third of the day — addressing him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. “I…I, I don’t know, son,” was all he managed to get out.

“Why’d you call me here, Tommy?”

This time Tommy Shelby was the one who requested a visitor.

“I wanted to speak to you,” he answered, not realizing how business forward the sentence sounded until it left his lips. The fact that her one eyebrow quirked upward immediately after he finished speaking told him that he’d be fighting an up-hill battle.

“About?” she asked, her guard still very much up. She couldn’t believe he called her back again….she couldn’t believe she gave in and listened, again.

“I need you to come back, (Y/N),” he decided it’d be best not to dance around the subject.

“If you want to win me back, that’s not how you do it,” she blatantly responded. Tommy sighed, running a hand over his face. “Did someone put you up to this?” she then asked another question, “because it seemed like where we stood was pretty final the last time we spoke.”

“Charlie came to me,” he chose the one out of his previous three visitors who he felt would cut through her reinforcements the deepest. “He said he missed you, asked if you’d be here for Christmas. He really likes you.”

“I really like him too,” a soft smile formed on (Y/N)’s face as she thought of the boy. Tommy thought he was finally gaining some headway. “Shame his father’s a terrible man,” she couldn’t resist getting a dig in.

“(Y/N)…” Tommy locked eyes with her, a deadpanned expression present on his features.

“You brought this upon yourself,” she didn’t crumble under his gaze, instead returning it to him.

“I don’t want to argue with you,” he paused to sigh, pressing the pads of his thumb and index finger against his eyelids, “this meeting was meant to be an extension of an olive branch.”

“Tommy Shelby offering peace?” the surprise was clear in (Y/N)’s voice as her eyes widened greatly. “Well I’ll be damned…it’s a Christmas miracle!” her sarcastic comment had him sending another glare her way. She couldn’t help but smile at it…she was having fun getting under his skin.

A moment’s pause fell over the conversation as Tommy took some time to regain himself. There was no use blowing this up to more than it had to be. He knew (Y/N) was trying to push his buttons, and he had to hand it to her…she was succeeding. There was no hiding the fact that they had some things that they needed to hash out, and he had no doubt that they’d get to that soon enough. Christmas Eve wasn’t the time for that though. Right now all that he could think of was his son, and how he so desperately wanted someone other than his preoccupied father sitting beside him in front of the Christmas tree come tomorrow morning.

“Will you accept it?” he finally asked, affirming that he wanted no parts of getting into the details of the animosity that stood between them.

Now it was (Y/N)’s turn to think. She truly did love Charlie, even if his father had been getting on her nerves as of recently. What she didn’t want was this to seem like her seceding to him so quickly. If he wanted her back this time, he was going to have to work for it.

“(Y/N)?” Tommy called out, bringing her out of her thoughts and back to the conversation they were having.

(Y/N) pursed her lips as she looked at him again. His eyes were already intently on her, and she knew that he wouldn’t wait much longer for her response. Thankfully she’d decided - right now they didn’t need to discuss what their future would look like…right now they needed to focus on going one day at a time.

So with that in mind, she answered him: “everyone should have someone for Christmas…” she paused, letting those words sink in for a moment before she added the second half of her statement: “and right now, that’s all you’ll have me for.”

A/N: congrats on 17k, Chi! I’m sorry that wasn’t able to write something more than these few lines. This was my take on the movie/book A Christmas Carol - I hope it came across as such.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @succubaby @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @mischievouslittlecreature @stevie75

@lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick

@dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety

@justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader

@red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

@ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo @novashelby

[nilefreemans]

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

"-and with our final Christmas Mystery. One year ago today, LAFD Firefighter Thomas Kinard went missing-"

Buck is quick to turn off the TV, not wanting to hear anything more from one of his exes talking about the other one.

It hurt still, a year later, to find out that Tommy had gone missing on Christmas Eve, and that no one had reported him as gone until the 28th. It hurt that Tommy had been alone enough that no one noticed it, it hurt that even a year later, Buck was still hoping for some kind of Christmas miracle that he would come back.

Most people assumed he was dead. California wouldn't declare him as dead until he was missing for five years, but search efforts have gone down. He's heard all the theories, that Tommy was one of the Serial Killer's first victims, that he had flown off and crashed somewhere, that he moved away with out telling anyone -

That he was a lonely man who just decided Christmas was too much.

Buck didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't not just wonder what the hell happened. No one had heard from Tommy since the break up, and Buck didn't reach out - he was trying hard to just enjoy the Christmas season (the one they had made plans for together) and he wanted to reach out to Tommy more than once, but he always just threw himself into another activity not to.

The last time anyone saw Tommy was in a bar just before closing on Christmas Eve, 2024. Walking out into the dark streets. Alone.

After that? Total mystery. Tommy's house showed no signs of a break in, and he had gotten a ride to the bar that day, so his truck was safetly parked in his driveway. He had off on Christmas (had taken off to be with Buck) and his captain was the one to report him missing.

The police came and questioned him, wondering if he had anything to do with it. Buck had to explain their breakup, and the rest of the 118 had backed him up. Athena ended up stepping in at the end, and the investigation moved on from Buck.

Four days later, Buck had a letter from a law firm that stated that Tommy's house and all of his posessions were given to him.

It just made Buck think that maybe Tommy really had ran away?

Why did he leave everything to Buck?

Why didn't he say goodbye?

Buck chose to believe he was still alive out there somehow, he had to. Just because they were broken up, didn't mean that Buck wanted Tommy to be gone. He hoped that every new lead would lead somewhere, even when everyone else seemed to lose some faith.

There's movement and Buck wakes up to see Amelia wide awake, her head looking out of the bedroom into the living room. She jumps down and runs out, and that's when Buck notieces that the lights in the hall are on.

He knows for a fact, that he turned them off.

Buck gets up and grabs the wooden baseball bat that Tommy had in his closet and holds it carefully. After he had been given the house and Tommy's cat as well, Buck had made the decision to move in. He had been given some brows at doing so, but Buck had wanted Tommy to still have his house if he came back.

When he came back.

Amelia isn't one to be brave around strangers, so her running into a possible break in had alarmed Buck more then the hall light. Eddie had a key to Tommy's place too, but Eddie was with Chris tonight and at this late hour, they were both most likely asleep.

There's movement, louder then anything Amelia could make and Buck spots a large shadowed figure bent at his chistmas tree.

He swings the bat.

The bat smashes against the man's back and splinters.

"What-"

Amelia howls and runs away, and the figure straightens up. He's tall, as tall as Buck, and built to. The jacket he is wearing is red, with white fur on the cuffs and the lapel. There's a red hat on his head -

"Santa?" Buck asks, dumbfounded.

"For a while yeah-" Santa says, but it isn't Santa, or at least, he wasn't just Santa.

"Tommy?"

"Merry Christmas Evan."

Tommy's hands were up in the air, his blue eyes darting to the splintered bat still in Buck's hands and Buck drops it.

"What-" Buck asks and Tommy snaps his fingers and the lights come on in the living room. Buck blinks against the harshness of all the lights being on and he blinks a few times to adjust. In that time Tommy had lowered his hands, and Buck looks.

And stares.

Because it is Tommy, Buck would know his voice anywhere, along with his deep blue eyes that are looking at Buck warrily.

There's been some changes though.

For one thing, Tommy was wearing a Santa Suit. A high quality one in a rich red color that looked like it was hand made and not from a halloween store. There were sturdy black boots on his feet and a leather sack at his side, but that had only been what he was wearing. The real change had been his hair.

"You have a beard-" Buck blurts out. And it was a full beard. Salt and pepper, though a little heavier on the salt. Tommy's hair was the same, and yet he didn't look any older.

Buck had discovered a few grey hairs when they had been dating, had even imagined a future where Tommy looked like he did standing before Buck, he just expected that it would have happened in a few years.

"Comes with the job," Tommy says, rubbing at the beard. "I was told it was mandatory-"

"What the fuck?" Buck interupts, voice sharp. The shock of seeing Tommy again was quickly turning into anger.

"Please, let me explain?" Tommy asks and before Buck can answer Amelia has come back into the room and is pawing at Tommy to lift her up, and Buck notices just how exhausted Tommy looks.

"Sure-" Buck answers because once upon a time, Tommy allowed him the same and Buck can return the favor.

What comes next is a crazy tale of Tommy finding a man after he fell off the roof and the man begging him to put on his coat and finish the night. It's a story filled with impossible things like magic and elves and talking polar bears. Giant reindeer and Christmas abilities that Tommy is actually afraid of. If it was anyone else but Tommy, Buck would have believed it all to be a lie.

"-I'm just a temporary replacement," Tommy says. "I need to find the real next Santa tonight, or I'm stuck with this job and I'm not meant to be that person Evan," Tommy says warily, hand's in his magically greyed hair. Just sitting here now, Buck can see that it's more white than it had been an hour ago.

"Why did you come to me?" Buck asks. His ex-boyfriend is Santa Claus and he hasn't been dead this whole time but had been stuck in the North Pole and he had a Lawyer Elf give Buck his house and his cat because he knew they were safe with Buck, and he was on a desperate mission to find the next true Santa. He had magical gifts that he couldn't always control, a whole army of mythical creatures that shouldn't exist, and physically was almost like a Christmas super hero. He had all of this plus a deadline of Christmas morning to worry about. Buck didn't actually think Tommy needed him at all.

So why was he here?

"I told you, that I can hear what everyone wants for Christmas," Tommy says, and he taps the side of his head. "And you-" Tommy swallows and looks up at Buck, and he's looking at him like he did before they broke up, with a fondness that made Buck feel whole.

"You wanted me."

Buck's breath hitches.

He can't even deny it, not when all he wanted this whole year was for Tommy to come home.

"What happens if you can't find the new Santa?" Buck asks, changing the subject away from himself and how even over a year later, he still wanted Tommy. Tommy, thankfully, doesn't switch back to what they were talking about before.

"Then I become Santa," Tommy says, and he sounds desperate and his eyes are scared.

"Okay," Buck says and he stands up from the couch and takes Tommy's hand.

"Lets find Santa."

[promptedwordsmith]

What are the LaDS like at Christmas?

Really late but had this in my drafts for a really long time and didn't want to have to wait another year to post it <3

Caleb:

It was Christmas Eve, the air crisp with a gentle frost, and the house was wrapped in the quiet warmth of holiday lights. The faint scent of cinnamon and pine mingled in the air, the sound of carols softly playing in the background. Outside, the world was blanketed in snow, but inside, it was nothing but the comforting glow of the tree and the crackling of the fireplace.

Caleb stood by the window, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the streetlights outside. He was still wearing his uniform, though he had taken off his jacket. His purple eyes were lost in thought, staring at the snowflakes that danced in the winter air. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself moments of calm like this—especially not with his responsibilities weighing so heavily on his shoulders—but tonight, he made an exception. Tonight, he was here, with you.

Turning away from the window, his gaze softened as he caught sight of you, nestled in the cozy armchair by the fire. A gentle smile tugged at his lips, a rare sight these days, one that was just for you. His footsteps were light on the hardwood floors as he approached, his presence familiar and grounding.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, like a promise you didn’t have to question. He crouched down beside you, reaching for your hand, his fingers brushing gently over yours, as though afraid you might disappear if he touched you too roughly.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his eyes. For all the weight of his duties, all the walls he put up, this side of Caleb—this gentle, romantic Caleb—was still there. He hadn’t forgotten how to love you in the quiet, simple ways that mattered most.

“I’m glad we’re here,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t need anything more than this—just you, and... the quiet.”

You smiled, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, and for a moment, there was no Colonel, no coldness. Just Caleb, the man you had known all your life, and the man who still cherished you, even in the midst of everything that had changed.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin.

In that moment, everything felt right. Even if it was fleeting, Caleb’s love was something you would hold onto—now, and always.

Rafayel

It was the night of Rafayel's latest exhibition, and you were there—not exactly for the art, but to make sure he didn’t disappear into the night again. Last time, Thomas had nearly lost his mind when Rafayel went missing for hours, leaving the gallery empty. Tonight, though, Rafayel spent the majority of the evening whining to you.

"I just want to go home, relax... Can't we leave already?" he grumbled, slouching against you, his eyes practically pleading with you.

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly, your heart warming at the sight of him. It was hard to imagine this carefree, childish side of him as the same person who, just moments ago, had been impeccably poised and professional as patrons arrived to admire his art.

"I thought you were supposed to be an artist," you teased, nudging him playfully.

"Ugh, I am an artist," he sighed, exasperated, but you knew the moment the crowd would thin, he’d turn back into his sulking self. Sure enough, the moment the room emptied and it was just the two of you, he slumped against you once more, his voice low and full of irritation.

"Is it time to leave yet?"

You giggled, shaking your head. His frustration was endearing, but you understood why he hated the bustle of it all. In truth, you were in the same boat. Though you’d been surrounded by art and people all evening, it felt like you hadn’t had much time together at all, and Rafayel hated that.

The second it was acceptable to leave, he was practically dragging you out the door. You tried to keep up as he moved quickly, a sense of urgency in his steps. You smiled to yourself—he was so impatient when it came to being away from you.

When you finally reached his studio home, Rafayel turned to you with a mischievous grin. “Wait outside,” he instructed, his tone sharp, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but frown.

It was December, and the cold air made your breath visible in the night. But you didn’t protest, curious as to what he had planned. It wasn’t long before Rafayel appeared at the door again, this time with a blindfold in hand. "Come on, just trust me," he said with a smile.

You allowed him to tie the blindfold over your eyes, the anticipation building with every passing second. He guided you carefully through the door, and when he finally removed the blindfold, the sight before you took your breath away.

The entire house was covered in sparkling decorations—glimmering lights, pine garlands, and little trinkets that looked like they’d been picked just for this moment. The room felt warm and alive, despite the chill outside. The holiday magic that you’d been missing, that had been absent from the exhibition, filled the air.

Before you could say a word, you turned to Rafayel, feeling overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment, and kissed him on the cheek.

His cheeks flushed bright red, his expression softening for a brief moment, but he quickly turned his head away, as if pretending the whole thing was no big deal. "It’s... nothing," he mumbled, though you could see the tiny, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

The holidays felt so much more real in that quiet moment, and for once, it was just the two of you—no distractions, no exhibitions, just warmth, love, and the peace of knowing you finally had this time together.

Sylus

The evening air is crisp, tinged with the faint scent of snow, as Sylus leads you through the quiet streets, his hand warm against yours. You notice the subtle confidence in his stride, the way he carries himself, never rushing, as if time itself bends to his will. The flicker of nearby streetlights casts long shadows, but with him, everything feels different—safe, contained, almost serene.

You reach the restaurant, a lavish building tucked away from the usual bustle. Its exterior is adorned with wreaths of greenery and strands of gold lights, each one shimmering in the night. A private venue, reserved just for the two of you. No one else. The doors open before you can reach them, revealing the soft glow of candlelight spilling into the street.

Inside, the atmosphere is nothing short of magical. The restaurant is transformed—Christmas in every corner. Garlands of fresh pine stretch across the ceiling, dotted with twinkling fairy lights. A towering tree, adorned with delicate ornaments and a star that glows brighter than the rest, stands proudly by the window. The whole room smells like cinnamon and pine, an aroma that settles around you like a warm blanket.

He guides you to the center of the room, where a table for two sits beneath a canopy of softly glowing lights. A fire crackles in a hearth nearby, casting flickering shadows over the elegantly set table. Gold-rimmed glasses catch the light, and the soft clink of fine china seems to echo in the silence between you.

Sylus doesn’t speak immediately, only looking at you with that quiet, knowing smile. There’s a warmth in his gaze—something deeper than the usual sharpness, something softer, as if this night, this moment, means more than he’s willing to say.

When he finally speaks, his voice is smooth, low. "I thought it would be a night worth remembering," he says, his fingers brushing over your hand, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "For you." His smile lingers, teasing, yet there's something unspoken in his tone, an unspoken sentiment wrapped in the cool, steady confidence of the man he is.

As the evening unfolds, the two of you dine beneath the glowing tree, laughter and conversation weaving effortlessly between the courses. The world outside fades away—only the warmth of his presence, the flicker of candlelight, and the glow of the tree remain.

When the dessert course arrives, a decadent chocolate soufflé, Sylus raises his glass to you. The glint of his red eyes, the soft curve of his smile, all speak of something deeper—a connection, a quiet promise that, just for tonight, all that matters is this moment.

Xavier

The scent of cinnamon and chocolate fills the apartment, curling through the air like something out of a dream. Outside, snow drapes over the city like a thick, quiet blanket, the streets empty, the world hushed. You glance at the clock—Tara was supposed to come, but with the storm growing worse, she sent a regretful text. Looks like it’s just the two of you tonight.

Not that you mind.

Across the room, Xavier stands near the kitchen, watching you with an unreadable expression. Not disinterest—no, something softer. Something almost hesitant, like he’s still figuring out why he’s here, in the warmth of your apartment, instead of out there in the cold.

“Xavier,” you say, turning toward him with a wooden spoon in hand, “don’t even think about coming in here.”

He blinks, tilting his head slightly. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.” You narrow your eyes at him, setting the spoon down with unnecessary dramatics. “I don’t trust you near open flames.”

He exhales, the closest thing to a laugh he ever really gives, and steps back—not far, but enough to lean against the wall and watch you work. The quiet hum of Christmas music plays in the background, something soft, something old, and for a while, the only sounds between you are the clink of mugs and the rustle of cookie dough being shaped.

When the cocoa is ready, you hand him a mug. He doesn’t drink right away. Instead, he just holds it, fingers curled around the warmth, gaze flickering from the string lights lining the windows to you, standing there in the glow of the Christmas tree.

You nudge his shoulder gently. “Come on, help me redecorate.”

The tree is already decorated—mostly. But as you start adjusting ornaments, he follows your lead, mimicking your movements with quiet focus. His hands are careful, precise, like he’s handling something far more delicate than a glass bauble. And when you get tangled in the strands of colored lights, Xavier’s breath catches for half a second.

You don’t notice at first. You just reach for him. “A little help?”

His fingers brush yours as he moves to untangle the lights, but instead of pulling away, he hesitates. The glow from the tree reflects in your eyes, soft and warm, and before he even thinks about it—

He lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your fingertips.

It’s barely there—a ghost of warmth against your skin. A silent moment, delicate and unspoken. He doesn’t say anything after, and neither do you. You don’t have to. Because in that small, fleeting gesture, you already know.

Zayne

It had been a long shift. The sterile hum of the hospital still lingered in Zayne’s mind as he stepped into the quiet apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. His coat was draped over his arm, his tie loosened, and his glasses were slightly askew from the long hours spent under bright, sterile lights.

He had promised himself he wouldn’t linger too long on the weight of his shift, but it was hard to shake off the exhaustion. He could feel the dull ache in his shoulders from the day’s work. Yet, as he entered the living room, all that seemed to melt away.

The soft glow of the Christmas lights twinkling across the room cast a gentle warmth in the air, bathing everything in a dreamy haze. The tree, draped in gold and silver, stood quietly in the corner. The scent of pine, mingled with the faint warmth of the lights, made everything feel still, serene.

And there, on the couch, was you. Wrapped in a blanket, tucked in a way that seemed effortless, yet perfect—like you had fallen asleep in a moment of pure peace. Zayne’s heart softened, a tenderness flickering in his chest. He could hardly bear the thought of disturbing you, but the sight of you—vulnerable, relaxed, and so very much a part of the calm in the room—compelled him to act.

He knelt down beside the couch, careful not to wake you. Gently, he lifted you in his arms, cradling you with the practiced care that came so naturally to him. His hands, strong yet tender, guided you to the bedroom, where he tucked you in, making sure the blanket draped perfectly around your shoulders. He leaned over you for a moment, his gaze soft, taking in the peaceful expression on your face.

Just as he was about to step back, your eyes fluttered open, the drowsiness still lingering in your gaze. You blinked, and then—slowly—your hand reached up to touch his face, a faint smile curling on your lips.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered, your voice thick with sleep. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

Zayne froze, his heart stuttering for a moment. A warmth spread across his chest, something deeper than the exhaustion of the day.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured back, his voice low, a small smile breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

You nestled back into the pillows, and within moments, you were asleep again, your breathing slow and steady. He stood there for a moment longer, just watching, utterly enchanted by the simplicity of the moment—the way you had so effortlessly brought warmth into his life, even in the quietest of ways.

The soft Christmas lights blinked on, a calm, peaceful reminder of everything he held dear, especially you.

[feasibilities]

Love & Hate | Thomas Shelby x Reader

Synopsis: Thomas' declining mental state pushes his wife over the edge.

Warnings: Alcoholism, Separation, Emotional Abuse, PTSD, Pregnancy

Author's Note: I was so obsessed with the scene of Thomas confronting the nuns that I wrote this. Enjoy!

Dear Thomas,

I don’t think this marriage will last any longer. I don’t recognize you anymore. You are never home—physically or mentally. All of your burdens fall on my shoulders and I can’t carry them anymore. I love you with my entire being and I hope that you’re able to heal.

Thomas charged into the bedroom you two shared with the letter you wrote him clenched in his gloved fist. You kept your back turned to him and hastily closed your suitcases. You were filled with a sense of dread as you were supposed to be gone before he returned.

“What the fuck is this?” He asked, fury brimming under the surface. His eyes were burning holes in the back of your head. A deep exhale left him before he snapped at your disregard. 

“Look at me!” He bellowed, making you flinch. You turned to face him. His anguished eyes could’ve changed your mind but you had to stand firm in your decision. 

“I can’t deal with this anymore, Tom. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the news in-person.” You said apologetically, taking off your wedding ring. You heard the rumple of his leather gloves as he clenched his fists tighter. You placed it on the mantle of the fireplace. Gathering your belongings, you walked past him and began to walk downstairs. In an act of desperation, he followed and took one of your suitcases. He handed it to Frances and ordered her to unpack it. You wordlessly retrieved the bag and left. A roaring “Fuck!” came from the home once you shut the door. 

Thomas drank himself half to death in his office. Frances made up as many reasons as she could to enter without his permission. She eventually got him to stop drinking with false promises of your return. 

—

Christmas was near and Arrow House was beautifully decorated for the occasion. Thomas invited family and friends but the absence of his wife was still a sore spot. Thanks to Charlie Strong, he found out that you were back at your parent’s estate. Despite his criminal activities, your parents were disappointed at the separation as they had never seen you happier. He decided to give you a call. Fortunately, he still knew the number by heart. 

“Hello?” You answered in a singsong tone. A sense of relief washed over him at the sound of your voice. 

“It’s Thomas.” He clarified. 

“Oh, hi. It’s nice to hear from you.” You said softly. 

“Yeah, I just wanted to invite you to Christmas dinner. I know we’ve separated but a seat at the table is always open for you.” He confessed, clearing his throat to prevent any tremors in his voice. The line was silent for a moment that felt like an eternity to him.

“What time should I arrive?” You asked. 

“6 in the evening would be nice.” He replied. A rare smile crept across his face. 

“Great, see you then, Tom. Goodnight.” You said, ending the call. He sat on the couch and toyed with your wedding ring. 

On Christmas morning, Frances was surprised to see Thomas in a particularly gleeful mood. She suspected that he got in contact with you but kept her opinions to herself. She grew annoyed by his insistence on perfection as he was never this obsessive since the wedding. The clock struck 6 o’clock and Thomas paced around the dining room until the doorbell rang. He opened the door to see his beloved. He hurriedly invited you in and sat your presents under the tree. 

“There’s no one here, Tom. Did I miss dinner?” You asked after seeing the empty dining table. 

“No, I told you to come an hour earlier so we could chat.” He said sheepishly. You shot him a fiery glare before he led you to the study. He was too busy admiring your figure to begin any conversation. 

“What did you want to talk about?” You said firmly, tapping his leg to get his attention. 

“I was hoping you would consider moving back in. I’ve had a lot of time to think about these past few months and I realized what I lost.” He said.

“That’s wonderful, Tom, but that can’t happen unless you’ve made some substantial changes in your life. I don’t think that could happen in the little time we’ve been apart. We’ve been together for nearly 10 years now.” You countered. 

“I haven’t changed completely but I’m working on it.” He argued, looking at the floor. 

“You’ve been working on it since you came home from the war. Whatever ‘work’ you’re doing is not enough. I’m not going to sit around and watch you kill yourself. I won’t be an emotional punching bag either.” You objected, feeling your heart break all over again. Your words, as true as they were, were like bullets tearing through his body. He searched for an escape.

“Let’s go meet the other guests, eh?” He said flippantly, walking to the hall.

“Not until we finish the conversation you started.” You hissed. The harshness of your tone caught him off guard—he returned and sat in a nearby chair. 

“I will move back in under these conditions: You see a doctor on a regular basis, you stop drinking so much, and you make time for us as husband and wife. This is the last time, Thomas, and I mean it.” You attested, standing over him. He silently accepted your terms and retrieved your wedding ring from his pocket. 

“Mrs. Shelby, will you do me the great honor of moving in with me again?” He asked, sliding the band on your finger. You leaned down and gave him a lingering kiss. His hands naturally came to rest on your hips. That familiar flame was reignited until you realized you had to put it out until the party was over. 

“We can meet the guests now.” You quipped, walking out of the study. 

The worries of Thomas’ friends and family were eased when they saw you two in jubilation once more. It didn’t seem like a facade like the party that occurred the night before your departure. The issues in your marriage weren’t magically fixed but your love allowed you to work on them together. 

—

The bed shook wildly as Thomas thrusted into you. You raked your nails down his back as you panted in his ear. He was so intoxicated with pleasure that his praises were completely unintelligible. Your walls spasmed around his dick as his thrusts sped up. Your soft whimpers progressed to unbridled screams of passion. A loud groan left him as he finished inside of you. The both of you kissed lovingly before he laid next to you. You traced the tattoo on his chest as he closed his eyes. 

“What if we had a baby?” You asked. His eyebrows furrowed before his eyes flickered open.

“The doctor said we couldn’t.” He replied, examining you closely. 

“I’m late, Thomas. Incredibly late.” You said blatantly, making eye contact. 

“Is that why you were drinking that awful sparkling cider?” He teased. 

“Mhm.” You hummed, putting his hand on your stomach. 

“It’ll be a boy then.” He proclaimed. 

“God, no. I can’t handle any more Shelby boys. All of you are batshit.” You joked. 

[verthandi-0201]

Pomegranate

Chapter list

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x goddaughter (Y/N)

Warning: Some chapters contain 18+ content, including smut and violence.

Summary: When his comrade cradled the infant in his arms and asked him to be her godfather, Thomas Shelby merely scoffed - and accepted, reluctantly.

He was her godfather. That was the promise.

He taught her to ride, to shoot, to read people's faces.

He couldn't tell all these years-when did it become something more than a promise?

Chapter 4 — Hidden Surge

I hesitated for a few seconds before cautiously opening the photo album.

The first page was nothing special, just two family gathering photos with yellowed edges. The one on top was from a Shelby family dinner,I was probably around five years old, already regarded as part of the family, sitting quietly next to Polly. Thomas was raising his wine glass in a toast, and I mimicked him, tilting my head up to lift my glass of orange juice.

The other photo was taken in the living room—I was sitting on the floor, a tall Christmas tree standing behind me. Polly was watching me unwrap my gift, a gentle smile on her face. The glow of the Christmas lights cast a soft radiance over her features, making her expression even more tender.

I couldn’t help but curl my lips slightly as I continued flipping through the pages. The first few pages were filled with family photos, and in every single one, my small figure was always present—whether it was Christmas, family dinners, or ordinary afternoons.

Then, my fingers froze over a particular photograph.

Thomas was holding me on his black horse, his newsboy cap tilted at an angle, reins in one hand and a cigarette hanging from his lips. The smoke blurred his outline in the light, but the curve of his lips remained visible.

His gaze wasn’t on the road ahead—it was cast downward, watching the little girl in front of him, arms wide open in laughter.

I stole a glance at the study door, ensuring that no one was approaching, before turning back to the album.

The first half of the album was filled with family gatherings, capturing Thomas’s youthful arrogance and reckless confidence from over a decade ago.

Now, however, the fading light in his eyes and the increasing strands of gray in his hair spoke volumes about the passing years.

It seemed like almost every photo had my presence in it. At first, I was merely a small figure tucked into the corners of family portraits, but as I grew older, I occupied more space in the frame.

This wasn’t a family album.

Thirteen-year-old me riding beside him by the river, fourteen-year-old me playing with Johnny Dogs’ children, fifteen-year-old me getting dressed up with Ada while Polly curled my hair.
Even the later pages contained neatly cut-out newspaper clippings.
In those images, I was sixteen or seventeen, looking much more mature, attending ribbon-cutting ceremonies and public events with my father, my smile growing more polished with time.

Just then, light footsteps echoed from outside the study. I quickly closed the album, put it back in place, and turned around, pretending to browse the bookshelves.


“Miss Y/N, dinner is ready,” France said softly.

I nodded, suppressing the unease in my heart, and walked out of the study.


———-


One month later, the dimly lit chamber of the House of Commons was filled with cigar smoke.

The Speaker of the House, dressed in his ceremonial robes, stood and turned slightly. His voice was deep and steady, “Gentlemen, Thomas Shelby, Birmingham South.”

Thomas hadn’t even stood up yet, but murmurs and jeers had already erupted around him.

He paid no attention, merely adjusting his glasses before resting his hands on the back of the seat in front of him, leaning forward slightly,like open defiance.

“Mr. Speaker, I was raised in a family that endured living conditions that would test the morality of even the most virtuous.”

Another round of jeers.

“Indeed, even the best of us would have our virtues trounced and thwarted by life in the meanness and the bitterness of an overcrowded British slum.”

A member of parliament sneered openly, cutting him off, “What would you know about virtue?”

Thomas barely glanced at his notes before raising his voice:
“I propose that the government expropriate idle land and redevelop it into affordable housing to address the slum crisis! A complete housing reform with new health and sanitation standards for this country!”

——


Three hours after the meeting, Thomas let out a sigh in his office, sinking heavily into his chair, expertly lighting a cigarette.

A few seconds later, there was a knock on the door—William had arrived.

Thomas removed his glasses and gestured for his secretary to let him in.


William walked in with a wry smile, settling into the chair across from his desk.

“I heard about your proposal in the House today.”

“News travels fast,” Thomas muttered, exhaling a cloud of smoke, his eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

“You do know whose land that is, don’t you? The fucking aristocrats, Tommy.” William tapped his cigarette-holding fingers forcefully against the wooden desk. “They were planning to sell it to developers—what makes you think they’d sell to the government? Do you even realize how much they’d lose? Do you have any idea how many people you’ve just pissed off?”

“William, my voters aren’t lords and ladies riding horses and lounging in their mansions in evening wear,” Thomas replied, taking out two whiskey glasses and pouring a drink, his voice rough. “Building houses benefits my reputation, too. I’ll leverage my connections in the Labour Party and elsewhere to push this proposal through the Commons.” He took a slow sip before continuing, “We’ll throw some nobles a bone—invite them to ribbon-cutting ceremonies, put up a few statues, make them look like saints in front of the poor. And if they still insist on dealing with developers, well, I’ll make those developers think twice.”

He placed the cigarette back between his lips, took another deep drag, and then asked, almost as an afterthought, “How’s Y/N?”

“Her?” William sighed in frustration, running a hand down his face. “She went on a date.”
Thomas flicked his cigarette ash, masking his brief pause.

“A date?”


“With a fucking earl—Edward Ashford. His family has investments in finance. They met at a banquet a few days ago, and he asked if she was free for dinner.”


“So, I ruined your plans to find your daughter a husband?”


“She’s your goddaughter too, Tommy.” William exhaled smoke, shaking his head. “And she’s eighteen now. Meeting more people isn’t a bad thing. She knows this won’t do her any harm.”


“How old is he?” Thomas took another sip of his drink.


“Twenty-three.” William let out a small, bitter laugh. “I just thought you should know—what you do affects her too. You know I’ve always wanted to push her up.”

Thomas took a long drag of his cigarette, kept silent.

——-

The restaurant was dimly lit, illuminated only by the flickering glow of candlelight. A pianist sat at the grand piano, playing a soft melody that blended with the quiet clatter of waiters clearing plates.

“It is a pleasure to finally have a proper conversation with someone like you.” Edward, dressed in a black double-breasted wool suit, offered a warm smile. As soon as he saw me, he stood up and pulled out a chair, inviting me to sit.


“The pleasure is mine,” I replied, forcing a polite smile, though I felt slightly uneasy.

After discussing his collaboration with my father, he shifted the topic to his recent trip to the Swiss Alps, then to the latest opera performances. I listened absentmindedly, my fingers unconsciously tracing the familiar surface of the pocket watch beneath the table.
About half an hour passed. Halfway through dinner, I lowered my gaze, continuing to slice my steak.

��Ah, by the way. I heard about Mr. Shelby’s proposal today.”

I lifted my eyes, meeting his gaze, which held a trace of amusement.

“Building houses for the poor—how virtuous. Mr. Shelby really knows how to craft a fine image for himself, doesn’t he?” Edward’s eyes flickered with a subtle hint of disdain, though his smile remained perfectly composed. “Miss Y/N,if you wish to climb into our ranks, there are certain things you ought to leave behind.”

I averted my gaze, tipping back my glass and swallowing all the red wine in one go, exhaling softly.

“And yet, here I see a man dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, debating whether the poor deserve a roof over their heads.” I looked straight at him again, and this time, he noticeably stiffened.

“Do you know how many people he has killed? And now he’s using our land to build homes for the poor, trying to cleanse himself. Don’t you find it ironic?” His voice carried a sharper edge now, raising his eyebrows.

“And your ancestors?” I replied coldly, my tone unwavering.
“They simply did the killing for you centuries ago, Your Grace.” My eyes darkened. “You people pass the dirty work to others, keeping your hands clean. You haven’t even touched a banknote tainted with dust. How many bones do you stand on just to preach from your high ground, making sure your shoes never touch the blood below? Still sucking the marrow from the bones of others?”

I stood up, ignoring the flicker of surprise that crossed his face. I grabbed my coat and stepped closer. He leaned back against the chair, forced to meet my gaze.

“I am certain—if you were Thomas Shelby, your methods would be fucking filthier, more revolting than his could ever be.” I spat the words through gritted teeth, then turned on my heel. The crisp sound of my heels striking the marble floor echoed sharply through the restaurant as I walked away.

———

Birmingham’s night was as dark as ink, Thomas sat in his study exhaling smoke, an empty whiskey bottle at his feet.


His gaze blurred in the haze, as if lost in thought, then he immediately downed another glass of whiskey, his cheeks already tinged with a flush. His thoughts, aside from the matter of his proposal, were occupied by her.
It’s not the first day that William trying to push her upstream ,and Thomas understood it well—no matter how well he dressed, no matter how clean he presented himself, those people would never let him into their palaces.

A date, she went on a fucking date. With an earl.

A month ago, she had crouched by the river, eyes downcast, deep in thought, and that image resurfaced in his mind. His brain felt like it was about to explode.

France knocked on the door, her voice came from outside. “Mr. Shelby… Miss Y/N is here.”

Thomas let out a long sigh, running his palm down his face.
“Send her home, France. Tell her I’m busy or… Fuck, just don’t let her in.” His voice was heavier than usual, thick with a rare touch of drunkenness.


France’s footsteps faded into the distance, Thomas drew the heavy curtains shut, then pressed the cigarette forcefully into the ashtray.

———

Thomas closed his eyes, still trying to erase the noise in his mind, but even after more than ten minutes, it was futile.


A faint tapping sound came from the large window, hidden behind the curtains. With a cigarette between his lips, warily got up.

That wasn’t the wind. He grabbed his gun instinctively and yanked the curtain open.
The window had already been pushed open, and in the next moment, a figure tumbled inside, collapsing onto the floor.

I lay sprawled on the ground, looking up to meet his darkened gaze, awkwardly forcing a small smile.


“I don’t recall ever fucking teaching you how to climb windows, Y/N.” He exhaled smoke, dropping the gun back onto the desk, making no move to help me up. Even just hearing him speak, the drunkenness was unmistakable.


“…How much did you drink?” I glanced at the empty bottles scattered on the floor, then got up, watching him walk back to the desk with unsteady steps, I couldn’t help but frown.
He didn’t answer, simply lowering his head and pouring another glass of whiskey from the freshly opened bottle.

The window remained open, letting the whispering night wind fill the room, accompanied only by the soft clink of amber liquid against glass.

“That proposal of yours has already offended—” I stepped toward him, placing my hand on the bottle, trying to take it away.


“How was your date?” he asked flatly, lifting his gaze to me. His hand moved to rest atop mine on the bottle,gripping my wrist.

He had always used his gaze as a weapon, either to intimidate his enemies or to evaluate others’ intentions.
For as long as I could remember, the way he looked at me had always been calm, like a still lake, with only the occasional ripple when a bird skimmed across its surface.
But now, his gaze was laced with a tender kind of affection—gentle, yet it held me still, as if I’d been nailed to the spot.

I swallowed. His grip on my hand was neither too tight nor too loose, but he made no move to let go.
My brain went blank.

“…I messed up.”


“You messed up?” He let out a low chuckle, softer than usual. “You should make things work with that earl.”

After I heard his words,I abandoning the thought of pulling my hand away, instead leaning in slightly.
His lazy smirk froze, but he didn’t back away. His eyes remained locked on me, his pupils shifting almost imperceptibly, his grip on my hand tightening just a little.

“He said you have no right to speak of virtue. That I should discard you if I ever want to enter their world, Tommy.” My voice was a little sharper now.


He gently brushed his thumb across the back of my hand, as if to soothe me,or to tease me. All I could feel was a lingering itch in my heart.

“And what did you say?” His breath was warm against my face as he spoke, and it was only then that I realized just how close we had become.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is—”

“It matters.” His gaze softened again, but his tone was firm.

“…I said to him that if you were Thomas Shelby, your methods would be fucking filthier, more revolting than his could ever be.”

A smile ghosted across his lips, and he slowly withdrew his hand. Before I could react, his palm settled against the back of my neck.
I froze, my breath hitching.He wasn’t being forceful,if I pulled away now, he wouldn’t stop me.

He was even waiting for me to step back.

But I didn’t. Fuck.

“You’re drunk, Tommy,” I murmured.
His gaze still like that,like countless threads wrapping around my limbs.

“This is exactly why I told them not to let you in,”
Thomas’s voice was pressed low,like a murmur that had just rolled out from his throat, thick with the scent of whiskey that clung even stronger to him now.
“You can leave now, Y/N.”

I could feel the restraint beneath his murmur, as if it took every ounce of strength in him to say those words.
I fell silent for a few seconds after his words. The wind outside had died down since earlier, making the stillness between us even more unbearable.

“I saw the photo album.”

My voice was steadier, calmer than I expected, yet it was like a sharp blade, slicing through something unseen cruelly.

Thomas’s Adam’s apple moved slightly. My gaze lingered there for a split second and before I could even process what was happening, his hand was already pressing firmly against the back of my neck,pushing me forward .

I sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively bracing my hand against the desk for support—but then his lips crashed onto mine.

Like a long-buried hidden surge surging up from the depths of the sea, tearing through the night, breaking the surface, and rising into a towering wave,swallowed me into the depths.

[amorchai]

Can you please do one with Jess and his long distance girlfriend?

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐒.

pairing(s): jess mariano x reader

word count: 877

warnings/tags: established relationship.

it had been a long five months without your boyfriend. going to university was good in the aspect of you striving for your dream, but bad in terms of leaving jess behind. you phoned each other every day, jess listening to you fall asleep by your notes when you’re too tired to study or move.

he was perfect. he always was. you loved hearing about every little part of jess’ day, how his book writing was going, what book he started reading, what he had for breakfast, what rate of anger was luke at today. it made you miss stars hollow, the people around but most of all jess who waited patiently for you to return.

christmas was in a few months, that was the next time you would see jess and you already had plans to spend christmas with him and luke, probably ended up with takeout food and movies before falling asleep on jess’ flat bed.

however, due to a cancellation of next week’s classes you immediately sought out returning home. jess was confused why you were rushing on the phone that very morning, little did your boyfriend know you were running around for last minute pieces to catch the bus home in time.

even the smell of stars hollow air smelt different than the university air, less metallic, more fresh and inviting. it was the transition period from summer to fall, and there was a few orange leaves starting to show through the green trees.

your suitcase bumped against the cracks of the grey concrete, trudging down the church street until luke’s café was finally in view. the little yellow coffee cup symbol waved in the light breeze and you could feel your feet picking up speed as you came closer and closer to the shop.

the dime of the doorbell was a bittersweet feeling, something you had missed but was oh-so-familiar to hear. luke glances up with a fixed glare from behind the counter, taking kirk’s order – double-taking when he notices it’s you.

his gaze softens, “y/n…” he trails off, notebook in hand faltering causing the tea towel laying over his shoulder to fall to the ground.

“y/n!” he repeats, more upbeat this time. “you’re home?” he’s smiling as you walk towards the counter, pulling your scarf and jacket from your frame to sit atop your waiting suitcase.

“only for the week,” you respond before glancing at kirk who waits for you to notice, “hi y/n,” “oh hey kirk, how are you?” you ask, lips in a thin line as stares, “i would be much better if luke would give me the menu back.”

you glance at your boyfriend’s uncle, who sighs, “he’s been sitting staring at it for half an hour, can you blame me?”

you look around amongst their bickering, no sign of the brunette you’ve came specifically for. tables filled of people, some you don’t know and you’re also surprised there’s no gilmore in sight.

“he’s outside, by the square.”

‘hm?’ you hum, turning around to see luke’s nod to outside his shop, and you’re immediately heading for the door.

as soon as you cross the street, you catch sight of him. jess sits underneath a tree, screaming children around while he chills with his notebook and pen, his newest addition of ‘the magic mountain’ by thomas mann lying beside him itching to be read. 

jess’ eyes wander, as if he can sense someone looking, and his eyes scan the town before meeting your gaze. you laugh as you watch him, his furrowed eyebrows digging deeper before he processes that you’re actually here – as if he was figuring out if he was dreaming or not.

“y/n?” jess says in disbelief. closing his notebook and setting it aside before standing up, “there’s no way.” you start walking towards him but jess immediately starts jogging over, his hands cupping your face to look at you before pulling you in for a well-awaited hug.

he has you on your tip-toes, hands splayed across your back as you welcome jess’ hug with your own tight squeeze. he smells so good, better than you can even remember, the woody cologne alongside books and a hint of cigarettes.

“what are you doing here? is everything okay?” jess asks, pulling away to look at you again, but keeping you as close to him as possible. “everything’s fine, class is cancelled so thought i’d surprise you!”

“oh my g…” jess trails off, eyes scanning your features as if he’s trying to memorise them before leaning in for a kiss. it felt like home, something you’ve gravely missed the feeling of. his soft lips pulling you deeper into his embrace that you don’t even care you’re in the middle of the town square.

but jess pulls back too soon, “how long are you here for?” jess asks, hands moving around your body to reach for your hands and your body shivers at the feeling. “until next sunday,” you reply, watching as his eyes lighten up, “god, ‘ve missed you.”

you squeal when he pulls away from another kiss to nuzzle your neck, the tickling feeling having you pushing against his light jacket as jess chuckles amusingly. “lemme grab my stuff and we’ll grab a coffee, okay?”

“sounds good, jess.”

amorchai masterlist . taglist

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[euniveve]

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐞 — k. ayato

pairings: ayato x reader tags: christmas, modern AU, angst to fluff w.c: 839 a.n: this is a very very very very late christmas present for @fuoon as part of the @2023gisecretsanta event! I never back down never give up (also i was technically sick so i can latch on to that reasoning hahahhahah I'm still very sorry tho) merry christmas, happy new years, hopefully you like your gift!

“Sweetheart, I am so sorry but there’s an emergency meeting that can’t be delayed. I’ll be home as soon as it’s finished.”

You let out a sigh of defeat, looking at the bare Christmas tree in the corner of your living room. The spruce sits there, dreary and gloomy, void of life and celebration, just like your heart. The corner of your lips twitch and you swallow the growing lump in your throat, your eyes shifting back towards the fireplace.

“It’s alright,” you reply, your voice shaky before clearing your throat, “hopefully your meeting goes well.”

“Again my love, I am so sorry, I’ll try to make it up–”

You press the red button before you can hear him say anything more, sparing you the inevitable disappointment it would bring.

Ayato always does this; business before family, or perhaps in his mind it is one and the same. After all, the man has been brought up for the sake of the company, his parents burdening him with the knowledge that it will all be his responsibility someday. That “someday” came 3 years ago and it has been weighing heavily on your relationship.

Last year you were stuck with his sister, Ayaka, and housekeeper Thoma while the head of the Kamisato Corporation ended up coming home after the celebration was finished and the leftovers from the feast stored away. They aren’t bad company per se, you could even say their presence is enjoyable, but they aren’t him.

They are not Kamisato Ayato.

Granted, the previous years he had returned home in time, but this year is no different than that one. The only difference is that Ayaka and Thoma were busy this time of the year, something about helping with the business, so it seems like you will be celebrating alone. 

You suppose you are being selfish, seeing that his enterprise is the one managing the cultural aspect of the Tri-Commision, therefore they would be busy in the time of holidays, it is given. A sacrifice you would have to make, a taste for the coming years undoubtedly.

Wishing for it to change is a childish dream; you are only his fiancee after all. You ought to understand.

You look around the boxes, spotting your headphones before putting them on and arranging your favourite playlist to keep your mind off things, humming along to the tune of a familiar song. 

With absentminded singing, you pick up the tinsel and begin to wrap it around the tree, arranging tiny lights in between the branches. Your fingers twirl the ornaments before placing them in a neat and florid manner. 

Staring blankly at the now fully decorated tree, you took a couple of steps back, trying to admire your own work; that is, before your back pressed against something… warm?

You furrowed your brow, your lips pressed together as your heart began to beat faster in a panic. You quickly contemplate many possibilities; did an intruder manage to get past the property’s tight security? Are you going to get mugged? Will Ayato be sad if a bunch of stuff is missing?

You shook your head; the fiancee of the richest man in Inazuma shouldn’t be scared of such things– so you bite the bullet and turn around, only to be greeted by those dreamy blue eyes and an aloof smile, one you have the pleasure of witnessing every morning.

Ayato reaches over to you, his gaze soft as his hand gently grabs onto your headphones and removes them from your head, your heart beating out of your chest as you watch his every move.

“Ayat-”

Warmth engulfed you both as you felt his soft lips against yours, his arm wrapped around your waist, a tender touch shared only between couples; the happiest couple you know.

“But you said you wouldn’t?” You whisper with bated breath, “How.. why?”

“I will not miss another Christmas with you,” he softly replies before letting one of his mischievous smiles slip in, “After all, there are worse nights to miss than this one.”

“Pfft…”

His blue eyes shift away from your face, that smirk still sitting on his lips before his sights landed on the fully decorated Christmas tree, except for arguably, the most important part. “Where is the star?”

He slightly bent down, resting his chin on your shoulder, kissing your jaw before whispering into your ear, his hot breath fanning over your earlobe almost making you shiver. “Were you waiting for me to put it, darling?”

“As if!” You stifle a chuckle, eyeing the golden star on one of the boxes before tugging the fabric of his suit. “But could you perhaps do it?”

Ayato hummed, his arm’s grip tightened on your waist, peppering kisses on your shoulder before finally loosening and walking over to the boxes, picking up the star and placing it on top of the tree effortlessly. He then suddenly turned around, taking a mistletoe out of his pocket and holding it high up.

“Shall we complete the ultimate Christmas tradition, my love?”

[the-time-lord-oracle]

The RWS' Christmas specials.

[interstellar-superdrive]

Diesel being at the Christmas party in Thomas and the Missing Christmas Tree is so funny. who invited him. it's like, "yeah you were a massive dick to us, wanna come to our Christmas party?"

[servants-hall]

For the first time in its history, Call the Midwife fans have a two-part Christmas special to look forward to ahead of new episodes in the New Year.

Rather than the traditional 90-minute instalment, the BBC has confirmed that there will be two 60-minute episodes, which will also include a Christmas cliffhanger.

"Who doesn't love finding an extra, unexpected present underneath the Christmas tree?" said creator and writer Heidi Thomas OBE.

"When I was asked to write a two-part Christmas special for 2024, I couldn't resist!"

Executive producer Dame Pippa Harris added: "For the first time, viewers can luxuriate in a two-part festive treat this Christmas. Heidi has created a spellbinding special which I know will delight our loyal fans."

Director of BBC Drama Lindsay Salt hailed Call the Midwife as "one of UK television's most popular festive traditions".

She continued: "And this year we wanted to go even better, with Call the Midwife's biggest Christmas ever!

"Heidi and the team have lined up an absolute treat, with two irresistible episodes packed full of everything fans will love about this very special series at Christmas time."

All of the "well-loved characters" will be back for the two-parter, which picks up in Christmas 1969.

The midwives are "all busy delivering babies and doing the job they are most dedicated and committed to", while Poplar also welcomes a funfair, which adds "a burst of colour and excitement to the frosty landscape".

But there will be challenges, including influenza and the Hong Kong flu, not to mention an escaped prisoner.

As the neighbourhood prepares for a carol concert, "fears grow that he may be in the local area after a spate of break-ins".

Elsewhere, "the Turner children are caught up in the fever surrounding the Blue Peter Christmas appeal to collect dinky cars and scrap metal, Trixie makes a fleeting visit to Nonnatus House and is delighted to see her brother Geoffrey, and Miss Higgins has her grandson Harry stay for Christmas".

Violet also has her hands full hosting a mince pie competition, "but the Buckles' preparations for Reggie’s homecoming are thrown into turmoil".

[agustinserrano62]

Fixed Engine Faces (1984-1995)

-Edward and Gordon

-Thomas Goes Fishing

-Thomas and the Missing Christmas Tree

-Diesel Does It Again

-Peter Sam and the Refreshment Lady

[devox2564]

In Your Heart

Jake Kizka x fem reader

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), first date fluff, corny as fuck Christmas references

Author’s Note: This chapter was very lightly edited, so please excuse any grammatical errors or less than stellar word choices, I reallly wanted to get this chapter out for you all.

Chapter Eight: Needy

The set itself has already improved tenfold since that first show in Nashville. Each song is tighter and perfected. Your technique has never been better. Watching the guys perform is like watching an animal evolve in real time, each show exhilarating but unique from the last.

Things with Jake have lulled into a sort of familiarity that is a little too close to be just friendly. Stolen kisses in tucked away corners and nights spent in deep conversation. He knows more about you than anyone alive on this planet. It's vulnerability in a way that you aren't quite comfortable with yet.

Currently, you're sitting in a hotel room all to yourself. Thank god they booked you all individually instead of doubled up. You loved your bandmates like sisters at this point but... some privacy is much appreciated. Grey sweatpants hang off your hips and your hair hangs in tendrils around your face. The Boston skyline is already twinkling in the purple of sunset. It's nearing Christmas and you see lights scattered far below illuminating the snow dusted streets.

Your phone rings. You answer without looking, knowing that it's Jake.

"Hello?" You answer.

"Hello dahhhling" his English drawl greets you.

"What's up?" You ask him chuckling a bit.

"Would you be able to pencil me in tonight? Sayy, 7:00? Drinks?"

"Are you.. the Jacob Thomas Kizka finally asking me out?" You prod him.

"Indeed madam" he replies seriously.

"Let me get dressed. I'll meet you in the lobby." You say and hang up on him before he can reply.

Shit. You have nothing to wear on a date. You pick through your suitcase and land on a pair of straight jeans and an oversized crewneck, praying he hasn't made any sort of fancy reservation.

The elevator ride down gives you a full view of the atrium of the hotel. Tall ceilings are strung with twinkling lights and Christmas trees litter the large room where people meander about. You spot him near the doors waiting. His long hair is pulled up into a messy knot at the back of his head, just brushing the collar of a dark brown leather jacket. He spots you and waves as you descend the last few floors and disappear from view.

He pulls you into a hug as soon as you reach him. "I missed you." He says squeezing you tight around your shoulders and lifting your toes off the ground.

"You saw me less than an hour ago on the bus." You say, your airway constricted.

"An hour too long in my opinion." He puts you down.

You laugh before asking "So where are we going?"

"You'll see. Come on." and he slips his hand in yours leading you outside.

It's very cold outside and you silently thank yourself for packing a decent jacket at least. The snow is falling lazily now, and the wind has slacked just enough to allow you some peace as you walk. Jake leads you down a few blocks and into a different hotel lobby and a different elevator. You ride up for what seems like an eternity. He's still holding your hand and tucks it into his coat pocket running his thumb soothingly up and down your pointer finger. Even in the cold this casual touch tingles more than usual, your body responding to an affection it has sorely missed.

You finally step off of the elevator and into a large room with walls of glass. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the view. You can see the whole skyline of the city from up here. Even better than the view from your hotel room. You glance over at him and he's grinning smugly as if he knew this place would be impressive to you.

You roll your eyes inwardly. He does know you very well then. You are in awe. Music plays softly, and dim lights sparkle and bounce off of the windows. He leads you to a deep sofa near the edge of the room and deposits you there. "Wait here I'll go and get us drinks."

After a few moments he returns and the two of you curl up and sip for a moment. Conversation is just as easy as it always is. The two of you spend quite a bit of time discussing the tour so far: your favorite cities, the best crowds, nicest hotels, and so on. After all the topics relating to shows and performances are expended, you sit for a while in comfortable silence admiring the city from your perch. His brown eyes shine in the lights of the skyline. "You know, I'm kicking myself for not agreeing to go out when you first asked me." You admit to him a bit unwillingly.

"Oh I knew you would be." He grins. "But I won't hold that against you."

"Oh well thank you so much Jacob" you really roll your eyes at him now.

"I'm kicking myself for not asking you out the second I knew that creep had blown his shot with you. If that makes you feel any better." He casually reaches out and intertwines his fingers with yours on the back of the couch.

"It does thanks." The mention of David in the moment doesn't even phase you.

"You know, I've never been with someone I had a real friendship with first?" You offer up.

"Yeah?" He replies.

"It was always right down to business. I've not gotten the chance to really know someone the way I know you. Not before things get serious at least." He's silent and you continue. "It feels... strange to for this to be so natural to me."

"Strange in a good way I hope." His smile is soft now, less goofy than before.

"In a very good way."

"I'm glad we've gotten to be friends. You help keep my head on straight. You steady me and knock me off kilter all at once." He's looking out at the sky while he speaks. "I was worried for a while that I'd never be able to move on, you know? Get on with my life."

"That's why I was so worried about this becoming more for us. I was afraid we'd fuck it up and I'd lose you altogether."

He seems amused at this comment, like it'd never even crossed his mind that this progression could complicate things.

"Do you want to know when I knew this was going to be something?" He asks

"Hmmm..." you think "it has to be the vomiting on your shoes thing. One of the highlights of our friendship for sure."

He laughs "Nope."

"Ok so what then? I don't know how I could top that for you." You joke, sliding your shoes off and swinging your legs up and across his lap to face him.

"That night I sliced my hand open in the kitchen." He admits still laughing.

"You're kidding." You giggle in reply.

"I'm definitely not. Watching you bandage me up, make fun of me for hating blood. We'd spent weeks scraping each other off the floor and then it just hit me all of a sudden." He pauses "I just felt something shift and from then on it was just different for me. I wanted to grab you and kiss you right then."

"Buttt you didn't." You couldn't damper your smile even if you'd wanted to.

"And then I heard you playing the piano the next morning. I really knew it was over for me then." He unlaces his fingers and reaches out to brush your cheek with his thumb.

You lean into his hand involuntarily. His calloused fingers burning against your still cool skin. He's studying your face like it's the first and last time he'll ever see it. That's how he's always looked at you, you realize.

"That was the first night I noticed things felt different between us. I didn't want to admit it to myself. But turns out I was right." You smirk. Leave it to you to interrupt a tender moment with gloating, but he doesn't seem to care.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, comfortable in the dimly lit space. The noise from the bar comes into the foreground.

"Is this Last Christmas?" You ask straining to hear the music.

"I think so." He says also listening.

"This is my favorite Christmas song." You admit to him with a laugh. "It's so fucking cheesy I know."

He tries to hold back his snort, but it comes anyways and he's full on laughing. You push his shoulder and he raises his hands up in mock defeat.

"Hey, as far as Christmas music goes, I suppose Wham! is an acceptable choice." He wipes at his eyes.

He moves your legs from his lap and braces his hands on his knees to stand from his seat. Turning around, he stretches out a hand to you. "Dance with me?"

"You're serious?" you ask him with a raise of your eyebrow.

"If it's your favorite, then I guess it's my favorite now too." He's being sincere now.

Looking around and deciding the bar is empty enough to avoid any embarrassment, you stand up and take his hand. In a second you're  chest to chest swaying in time to George Michael's cheesy poppy voice.

You rest your head on his shoulder and drink the feel of him in. Warm, comforting, like home. Eyes closed, you listen to the music. It's impossible to peel the smile away from your lips. Your arms are draped around his shoulders like you're back at a middle school dance. His hands travel down to rest in the small of your back. This movement sends small tingles up your spine. You turn your head and gently brush your lips against his cheek, lingering there in the dim light.

"Hey." Jake says as the song ends and you pull away to look at him.

"Hey." You say back, looking into his eyes.

"Do you want to get out of here?" He asks, his hands still firm on your back.

You crane your head and kiss him in reply. Sweet and deep, but also with just a bit of urgency. A promise of things to come.

"Alright, let's go." He says, his eyes a little darker than you saw them last. He leads you away and into the elevator.

.....

Back at the hotel, he pushes the button for the elevator. "The top floor? We're all on 7."

"Just shush." He says smiling down at you mischievously

"You know better than anyone that that's physically impossible for me." You side eye him. "And anyway-"

Your lips are against his in a flash. It's like a dam inside him has finally broken and he's kissing you like the world has ended. You melt into his arms, no resistance left inside you. His tongue just brushes your bottom lip as the elevator slows and prepares to stop. He pulls away.

"The next time you want me to shut up, that'll do. Much less annoying." You say staring into his eyes, damning the elevator.

"Come on." He replies and grabs your hand.

Jake leads you down the hallway and slides a key card out of his pocket. In a flash, a door is open and you're standing in a hotel room much larger and prettier than yours. There's a king sized bed centered against the wall overlooking the entire city. Art covers the walls and a large white bathtub is snuggled in the corner next to a master bathroom with walls of glass. A true penthouse view, not dissimilar from the one at the bar. You glance to your left and spot a huge bouquet of white roses.

"What is all this Jake?" You're a little bit stunned.

He shuts the door and spins you around to face him. "Well, I figured if I was going to romance you I ought to do it right."

Jake's hands are on your hips and his eyes are dark and heavy lidded. You can't find the words to reply, letting the silence fill with the sound of your breathing. You reach up and slowly pull his hair down out of its tie, running your fingers through it and resting your hand at the nape of his neck. The other hand caresses his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone and traveling all the way down to gently brush his lower lip. His breath hitches a bit. That's all you need.

Your lips find his again. This kiss is again different than the others. This one tests nothing, asks no questions, and needs no confirmation. It's hot and heavy with a need you've been denying each other for months. The two of you are entwined, a whirl of hands and lips and tongues. Your thighs hit the edge of the mattress, but you have no recognition of moving closer to it. Jake lowers you down onto the bed, settling overtop of you. Pulling away for a moment, he takes a long deep breath. His eyes rake up and down your still clothed form. You smile at him, letting out a breathy laugh.

He catches your lips in another deep kiss and allows his hands to roam up and down your body. His fingertips leave no skin untouched. Your neck, your face, your shoulders, before he creeps up the hem of your shirt and caresses the warm skin of your stomach. Up up up, cupping your breast in his hand. The nipple pebbles in response through the thin fabric of your bra, begging to be touched. You feel his full weight against you and urge your hips up to meet him.

"This has got to go." His voice is low and husky as he tugs your shirt up and you quickly pull it off, tossing it aside. You allow your bra to join it on the floor without hesitation.

He drinks you in, your breasts heaving with the effort of your breath. Your nipples hard and alert. Clear evidence of your arousal. You can feel as he looks at you that the warmth and wetness between your legs is growing by the second. The anticipation. The waiting, the wanting, the needing.

Faces only inches apart, he tears his gaze from your body to your face. There is clear desperation swimming in his expression. "I need you." He says.

"I need you." Your reply breathily.

His eyes grow dark, pupils blown, “Say it again.”

His order throws you off and you hesitate.

“Say it. Again.” He repeats, lifting your chin with his index finger.

“I need you Jake.” Your voice is a whisper.

Still fully clothed, he pulls away. Deftly, his hands work the buttons of your jeans and you're nearly bare save for your underwear.

"Your turn." you gesture a hand at him, regaining some of your composure before he can move closer again. The corners of his mouth creep up into a grin. Before you can protest, his lips are exploring your body. He does however, make the effort to remove his jacket and shirt, tossing them haphazardly across the room.

"Look, you're already wet for me." He teases, gently brushing his fingers against the thin cotton between your thighs just as his mouth closes around your nipple. His tongue flicks, and you gasp which seems to amuse him.

"You know," he says, pausing to trail lips and tongue down the flat of your stomach "I've been dreaming," over the curve of your hip "of tasting you" the tops of your thighs "for months."

You look down at him kneeling at the edge of the bed. He holds your eyes as he kisses the creamy soft skin of your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to the apex. He allows his nose to brush the fabric of your panties and you feel your clit already begging for a release. This is absolutely torturous.

You’re barely aware of the sensation of the cotton fabric sliding down your legs, or the soft trace of his fingertips on your ankles. Not until his mouth fully closes around you do you come back into your body and the fullness of sensation. Your back arches and he presses you down into the bed with one hand while his tongue dances circles around your clit, working you into a frenzy.

Another order rings out suddenly, his lips momentarily abandoning you, your cunt begging for release. “Look at me.”

You obey, desperate for him to continue.

“I want to see you cum. See it in those beautiful eyes alright?” It’s more of an order than a question. You’re more than happy to oblige. Maybe the only instance since you’ve known him that you let yourself concede.

His fingers curl into you, invited in gladly. His eyes never leave yours as his tongue resumes its previous endeavor. You feel the warmth of your impending orgasm rising from your belly and spreading out into your limbs. His fingertips brush that sweet secret spot inside and linger there, moving faster and faster in time with his tongue.

“Jake, Jake, please..” your voice is strangled as you struggle to look at him, resisting the urge to throw your head back as the feeling surges toward you. His eyes remain, dark and deep and endlessly staring into you.

You know you can’t hold on any longer. “Please, oh god, oh god, yes, yes, yes..”

You unravel on his lips, his tongue flicking and lapping as his fingers fuck you, hitting just the right spot to blur your vision and set you on fire. You cry out into the night as you ride the waves of this most intense pleasure.

“Mmm good girl.” He says, relieving his tongue but allowing his fingers to continue. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself oh so sweet on his lips.

“Who knew you could follow orders so well?” He says.

“Only for you Jakey.” You reply as playfully as you can muster through your gasping breaths.

He smirks, curling his fingers inside you just to watch your back arch.

“So meann.” You whine when he returns to his slow steady rhythm.

He chuckles deep in his chest and pecks your lips “I’ll show you mean if you want baby. It could be a very long night for you.”

You do not reply, but hope to yourself that it is a long night. A very, very long night indeed.

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Longest chapter so far guys. And our first real taste of spice. Thought it might be fun to make their first date a little Christmas Special while I was at it. Don’t worry though, this particular interaction isn’t over. I just wanted to make sure you had something good to chew on before the holiday. ;)

-E

[modernspellsword]

Annalise was wrapping up her shift one night when the basement door to the supe opened. Half a dozen people came out only putting on a glimmer as they ascended into the employee break room. Annalise stared at them. “Why are you guys here?” She asked. “And so freshly glimmered.”

“It’s caroling time.” One said as they held a book of music. “And we need you conductor.”

Annalise’s eyes widened. “Hol-up hol-up! I did this last year last minute. What makes you think I’d do it again?”

“That last year you could sing the first verse of god rest ye merry gentlemen without music in tempo.” One said.

“We have three sirens who work for the club, and at least one muse. Use one of them.”

“The muse does writing only.” One at the back said with a cough. “You’d know if you attended one of our practices. I have an original arrangement. But because we’re working with Irving’s brass ghosts you just have the same six songs as last year.”

“I-I never attended a practice. I can’t be a conductor on that alone.”

“You didn’t last year and you were still more in tune and on tempo than all of us.”

“You all are really ba-“. Annalise felt a vine wrap around her leg. she turned to see Ariad in the doorframe.

“Go out one night girl. You won’t sleep until after midnight anyways. You are a better conductor than any of them. It’s two hours there and back. You get free cookies and cocoa. Also they’re sad they missed last year and wanted to see you sing.”

From the vines a small rubber ducky waddled by with a squeak. “Squeakers? Oh? You wanted to see momma sing?” Annalise was nearly in tears as she picked up the rubber ducky who eagerly wriggled and squeaked in joy.

Annalise quickly got a mug from a cabinet and filled it with coffee while making baby talk with the rubber ducky. “The more I see it the more I have to fight the urge to giggle.” A voice said.

Annalise saw Thomas in the doorway holding a music book. “Thomas? Wait. You’re psychic you can keep them all in tune and conduct.”

“I made the offer.” He said. “But I had told squeakers you conduct and they insisted they wanted to see. So I’ll be singing with. At least this year we’ll hit the chords.” He said.

As they got into cars, Annalise driving one half, she spoke to the muse who wrote the music. “So it was last minute last year, but the band. They aren’t actually ghosts right?”

“Oh yeah. They are. Lead by a spirit medium. Said they’d help her out if they could play at least four Christmas concerts a year.” The muse said.

“That’s. Oddly specific.”

“I dunno. Ghosts are weird. Why I work with the living. Can barely tolerate the undead. But your Ex Pays to arrange the public and church concerts. This one is one of the ones she can attend. So she’ll be there.”

“Don’t tell me Queenie will be there too.”

“Who?”

“Don’t…. Dont ask. I love her but she’d be nothing but trouble.” Annalise sighed.

The drive to the site, a small park with a Christmas tree and some stands set up. The ghost band was almost all there, the tips of their hair and the backs of their ankles faded just a touch, so they sat facing a bush. Squeakers rested on Annalise’s shoulder as they set up. Once it had begun and she had the music in front of her her and the ghost band coordinated. “I’ll count to three and then we start. Give me the tempo and I’ll try and match. We just need to pause between each tune.” She said.

“Can do.” A deep voiced gentleman ghost said. “Imagine, a woman leading the band. Well, we have singers so I can’t complain too much. Why she has a rubber duck on her shoulder is beyond me.”

Annalise exchanged a smirk with Squeakers. “One. Two, one two three- God rest ye merry gentlemen may nothing you dismay.”