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goingsllightlymad · 4 years

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Blinded By Your Light - Part 10. On Adoring.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Y/N is the definition of ordinary. Studying at a medical school as far as she can get from her rainy hometown of Birmingham, she never expected to be shipped off the Flanders when the war was at it’s peak. Much less to meet a handsome young patient with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had seen in her life who as fate would have it would fall into her lap.

Wordcount: 5090.

Warnings: I mean, smut? Kind of?

The first part is just catching you up to date, so it IS kind of shit, but I actually kinda like the rest of the fic. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Also, — updates twice in under a fortnight! In this economy? It’s more likely than you think.

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When life went on the way it never had before, it took some time to adjust.

When, the morning after your date with Michael, you woke and saw your dress from last night hanging on the door, you called Ada once, twice, to make quite sure it was not hers. That last night had happened. It took you longer to know that it was not Tommy Shelby who had kissed you on the corner. Longer still to stop crying when you remembered what he had done.

When Michael came around at seven o'clock and took you to the Garrison and sat outside with you as you drank where it was quiet and cool, and you did not drink what he had brought you, because you were so scared that you would ask him why he'd left you back in Flanders when he knew you loved him so. Because you were not dating Tommy. Because Tommy did not love you half so much as this strange boy you barely knew.

When a week later you were kissing in the rooms behind the church that still tasted like Isaiah Jesus, and you could feel the name that was welling up on your tongue and it was not his, not Isaiah's nor Michael's. You knew full well what name it was you were trying not to say. You told Michael to leave. He did exactly what you said.

When summer ended, and in September you and he were sitting by the Cut, and he told you how his day had been, and he said that dreadful name that you had not said for so very long. The name that still lurked in the darkest corners of your mind, painting your thoughts a bitter, bluish shade of melancholy as you pushed him always from your mind. It was easier to ignore the thoughts now that you never saw him anymore, but it did not mean they were not there, filling your mind with a thunderstorm of colours every time you closed your eyes.

More often than not you still dreamed of him too, late at night when the last crimes had drained from the bloodied streets and lives enough had been taken from the town to last your conscience a lifetime on their own, when you had nothing better to do than to think that it was such a shame that you had found everything you thought was real and good and true and you had let it break you down to blood and bones and the remnants of a tired mind. You thought of him and all the beauty he might bring but never did because even his face was not so beautiful as it used to be.

And those late nights were filled with pain and memories, and the rain rolling down your window was enough to make your tears feel so small and your life even smaller. In all the grandeur of the universe you would leave no mark at all with him here beside you, and you would leave still less without. You could take the stars and tear them down, Romeo and Juliet and sins beyond your wildest dreams, and a whole lot more people dead behind you. And who could see the glory of a lifetime, the world they might have had if they were not who they were, and if they had not fallen for the angel they thought they knew, and settle with sad, sweet Rosaline?

Of course the town knew about you and Tommy. Michael knew. And of course he took it well. He was Michael fucking Gray; there was nothing you could tell him that would make him look at you different. You'd cried when you had told him. Expected him to scream at you, to shout and swear and leave you be. Instead he only told you that none of that mattered anymore. You were here and you loved him. And that was true: you loved him. Of course you loved him. But sometimes you did wonder if he could care about your past a little more.

But in September, by the Cut, you only closed your eyes and nodded. Told Michael you were proud of him. How intelligent he was. Your boy, but that had never been the truth at all.

By October, you could say his name like you were saying aloud the names of the breads you were selling in store now. Your aunt had moved back into the kitchen and you into the shopfront, managing the shop-counter and balancing the books. No more deliveries. No more going to the Garrison in the daytime, when there were no crowds of people to hide you from sight. You drank tea with Ada and Polly and, from time to time, John at the tea-room off the high-street. The tea was cheap, practically water, but you had not seen Tommy Shelby in months. You had brought Michael once, early in October, but even you could see how bored he had got. It had not happened again.

And by December, Tommy Shelby was gone. You had not seen him in months, and even in your dreams you knew that that was all they were. Dreams. Tommy Shelby had no more power over you. Still you couldn't deny that the rumours sent thrills of sadness through you, when you heard of him and of his pretty blonde girlfriend, Grace. The girl you had seen that fateful day. Little feelings. Not enough to hurt you bad, but enough to make a cloud pass over the sun, the sky to become a little more grey. Even now, you could not forget the way that it had hurt you the first time you had heard it all. You had thought that there could never be a day when it did not break your heart. That day had not come yet, and you sometimes wondered if it ever would, but you liked to kid yourself that you were close.

When January came, you still had not left Small Heath. With Christmas come and gone, and the promise of snow looming over every grey day as you sat behind the bakery counter and watched the world pass by, the days were coming and going faster and faster, and with every one the memory of Tommy Shelby was becoming less garish in your mind. Some nights you slept and did not see his face at all. Some days you walked into the Garrison and did not hear a whisper of his name as you passed by. Tommy Shelby would always be all around you, god of this small Eden as he was, but he grew a little further every day.

And in his place came Michael, the boy who by now slept more often in the church-rooms than in his own home and was hardly ever at his office in the evenings now. The others claimed they missed him every night, and you were beginning to think that, in their shoes, you might just feel the same. There was something inexplicable about him, something that was not just that he was not like Tommy, that made you heartbeat jump a little. By January, you had adjusted. By January, you could swear that Tommy Shelby was only that to you - Tommy Shelby, OBE. Peaky Blinder. Owner of the Garrison downtown.

It was as though you had never loved the man at all.

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The first thing you noticed when you woke was the smell of smoke flooding in through the window. Your eyes stung when you tried again and again to open them, groping wildly around you for the door. You could not breathe - your lungs were heavy, syrupy, as though they had filled with tar instead of the air you were gasping for. Grabbing at the door handle when at last you found it, you burst through into the landing, a wave of heat knocking you backwards. Forcing your eyes open for just a second, you caught the bright flicker of what could only be the flames at the bottom of the stairs, leaping and rearing as you looked on helplessly, frozen in place. You tried to cry out for your father; from the dry harshness of your throat, no sound came.

Head swimming, staggering backwards into your bedroom and pressing against the door. There was no way out but down the stairs, and no way to survive the flames there too. And suddenly through the muffled roar of fire raging in the church, the sound of the window swinging, crashing against the side of the wall, the sound of God, a saviour. The window was open.

You threw them out into the street, all the blankets and the pillows from your bed, the cushions from the chair and all the clothes in the wardrobe. One big pile underneath your window, large enough perhaps to break your fall. Who knew. You only knew that it was the only way you might still make it out of here alive. And then, in the last minute as you stood upon the narrow windowsill, casting a final glance into the room you left behind, you turning and snatched up from the bedside table the small silver locket, already blackened by the smoke. The rest could stay; this alone you could not live without.

With that, you jumped. The window sill falling away beneath your feet, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the pain to kick in when you hit the ground. And you did. Hard. You bit your lip to hold back the wail that tore at your lungs as you splayed out over the pile of soft fabric, grateful at least that they had provided a little protection from the harsh pavement beneath. Here the air was slightly clearer, and after a long moment you opened your eyes.

At first it seemed the flames were everywhere, licking up the side of the church and casting strange shadows onto the street like the ghosts that roamed this town at night. You had never been the superstitious sort, and now you knew you should have been, for there was something otherworldly about lying in the street and watching the church spires burn. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, and then onto your knees, and then back up to your feet, you found your place in this dark reality.

When you first tried to walk again you stumbled, nearly fell. The street was swimming dizzingly in every direction and your ears rang, half-deaf. Each time you blinked you saw the bright white light burned into your eyelids, and you were blinded by its light. Step by step, minute by minute that passed like hours in this timeless, hellish haze, you pushed yourself to the other side of the street where the fire had not reached, on your hands and knees. Every couple of seconds the flames would roar up, the deafening crash of bricks hitting the ground as the buildings burned all around you sending you ducking to the ground with your hands over your ears. The pavement burned under your skin, hot as the fire that glowed golden down the alleyways.

It was an eternity before you learned to breathe. Another before you were scrambling to your feet, pressing yourself against the wall as the footsteps came thundering down the street, ringing in your skull like gunshots. Even half-dead, drifting in and out of consciousness as the smoke filled your aching lungs, you knew that whatever was coming your way was not coming to save you. When the city burned the demons came out to play, and Small Heath would be alive with sinners tonight. There were worse fates than death, and tonight you would see them all.

Trying to steady your breathing and hold yourself upright at the same time, you waited for the danger to pass. It didn't. In front of the church the footsteps slowed, and into your line of sight there came the shadows of men, in their hands the awkward shapes of what could only be guns. Your head was pounding, your legs shaking from the effort of standing up, your lungs bursting as you took shallow, quiet breaths, and there was a terrible moment when at last you knew that you would never make it off this street. It was only a matter of time until you could not hide anymore.

Nearing you now, you closed your eyes and begged for peace. Thought of all the pretty things you knew that you would miss someday, and then those things you would mourn forever. You never got to tell your aunt that you were so proud. You never got to see the world, with Michael, on your own. You never told Tommy all these things you had to say. Tommy. Who would have thought that your last thought would be of those blue eyes, like every thought before. You loved him more than life, and soon life would be gone like your love would never be. You clasped your hands together and dreamed of him.

And then the unimaginable: gunshots around the corner, close to you, and the shadows by the church hurrying away. Away from you; you were, for now, alive. Collapsing to the ground, you gasped for breath, pressing your hands to your eyes to keep yourself from crying in relief. And then the realisation that what you had said could never be unsaid. You would love him forever, more than all your mortal sins. This alone you could never forgive yourself for.

And so you did the only thing you knew how to do - find Thomas Shelby. Inching down the streets down to the high street, jumping back into doorways as the shadows of people passed you on your way, you tried to find the Garrison among the broken lumps of buildings veiled in smoke. When you reached the high street you had to stop and stare, take a minute to take in the chaos that was unfolding in the street where only yesterday you had been buying flowers and delivering bread.

The fires were higher here, every building ablaze in a crimson glow that washed over you like a baptism of hellish light. Curtains billowing through the smashed remnants of windows, doors shattered in the street as people fought to escape. Women with children huddled in the gutters and men with guns, and in the centre of the street a bonfire climbing high, embers shooting up into the night sky and falling like rain. Children screamed; their parents wept; you could not hear the thoughts inside your head. The fires raged all the while. You took a deep breath and held it, stepped out into the crowds. Through the smoke and fire and fights, the faces flashed past you like the scenes of some twisted nightmare, the street whirling until you were sure you would search forever and never find your way. Never find your boy.

By the bonfire you stood dizzily, scanning the crowds wildly as you tried to find some semblance of a boy you had to see again. And then, through the haze, that face you knew so well. Those eyes.

"(Y/N)!" he was screaming, pushing through the throng of shadows by the fireside, an ungodly light flickering on his face and my god he was so beautiful that you wondered how you had ever breathed without him. Shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a mess and no cap in his hand, bloodstains on his shirt. He was a mess; your mess. You were yelling, screaming, and still he had not seen you. His eyes were wide and roaming wildly as he sorted through the faces, called your name again and again.

"Tommy!" the roar of the fire swallowing up the word, still you saw his head turn. Eyes catching yours, holding them with some emotion that you had never known before in his blue and panicked eyes, he ran to you. The way he did when you were dreaming, but this was not a dream.

"(Y/N)! What the fuck're you-"

You slapped him, the rage inside you bubbling up and you wanted to cry, because there had been a terrible moment at the centre of the crowd when you had heard his name and wondered if he would be alive at all, if you were just too late, and the feeling nearly killed you.

"That," you whispered, and somehow, through the roar of the bonfire by your side, you knew that he had heard you, "is for making me think you were dead."

"(Y/N) I don't-"

But you had cut him off. Your hands cupping his perfect face, you kissed him hard and fast. Let him taste the anger of this past year and a half, all the hate and all the tears and the way you had never stopped loving him, not really. How could you not love him when he was there in front of you, the most beautiful boy in the world? It took a moment - you nearly pulled away, a gut-wrenching fear that maybe you were wrong - but you realised that he was kissing you back, pulling you closer with his arm around your waist, skin as hot as fire and the summer that had broken you both. Tore you two apart but here you were, and you could not say where you ended and he began.

You broke apart, lungs burning as you breathed in and out, in and out, trying desperately to find the air to breathe as the world around you burned.

"And that is because you're not."

For a moment there was no reaction. No words in reply to let you know you had not been wrong. No sign at all that he was not the same cruel man that had turned you away so many months ago, that day the trouble really began. No way to know if you had finally screwed it up - that last last chance that someday he might love you too, the way you had never stopped loving him. Loving him more than life, for what was living if you were living without him? And then he had you once more in the palm of his hands, his hands around your face as he kissed you again and again; how many times you could never say, time was slowing down and speeding up and stopping and starting like the whole universe was about to explode with light. The fire brighter and brighter, hotter like you two were burning on the pyre, Guy Fawkes' catching light. You had never been kissed, never kissed, like this before. You had never loved a man quite like this.

You could not have said how you made it out alive: out of the church, out of the fire, out of the square and into the alley where the rest of the world was not. Up against the wall, kissing down your neck and wondering if you would be the same sweet girl the next time that he saw you. The way you were when he dreamed of you at night, for there was not a night when he had not called upon your memory to remind him he was sane. Thomas Shelby, OBE, was wise enough to know that you had never done the same.

The taste of weak January sun and the sadness of many years gone by upon his skin; you ran your fingers through his hair as he left his marks upon you. Souvenirs of tonight, but something told you that you would not be forgetting this anytime in forever.

All too soon he was breaking apart, pulling you down the street. Down to the Garrison, where the fires had not caught. Down through the main room, where in the moonlight you could have sworn the ghostly shadows of a darker past still played. If you looked hard enough you still might find the silhouettes of you and him, the whispers of a fight that was so long ago. You had lived this scene before.

Then up the stairs, into the bedroom where the lamps were lit, flames that flickered, danced, in their glass cases as though outside the window all of Small Heath was not burning. Life imitates art. He slid the nightgown from your shoulders.

Hands rushing in to touch you where the fabric fell away, naked but for all the clothes that held you back from him. You unbuttoned his shirt quickly, drawing in a sharp breath as though you had not seen him, touched him, done this all before. As though you did not know his body better than your own. As though you half-expected him to run away while you were half way through his skin to the darkness in his soul. An angel's soul, and the body of a soldier. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

Half undressed, your fingers slipping along the line of his hips; up his sides to his chest, his collarbone, his neck. The sharp angle of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. Touching him. Learning him. This might be the only chance you got. Now to count the bullet marks interrupting smooth white skin: one by one by one. Smooth them over with your fingertips, feel him tense beneath you, kiss you deep and desperate, try to stop you leaving when you had already left. You had had one foot out of the door since the moment you had met him.

He bridged the universe between you, hands beneath your nightgown, running over you like he was holding you together. Oh, but he was. Shaping you like water from the Cut, running over his fingertips. He brought the nightgown over your head, and now there was nothing between you and the flames, the night outside the room, more darkness still within. He laid you down onto the bed, kissed you, every inch of you. Cleansed your soul with his touch, took your hips and neck and chest into his hands and learned all of the secrets from the way you moved beneath you, the breaths that came out short and loud as you cried out his name again and again into the emptiness that wrapped around your lungs. Until he took your hand in his, upon the sheets, you were not sure that he could hear a word you said.

He pushed apart your thighs and left himself in the gap that he had made. Kneeling between your legs and looking at you like a man may look at the god that he had lost, the god that he had found once more, you closed your eyes and sighed his name. The name that had hurt you; now you screamed it like a prayer. There was no god to hear you now; there was only Tommy. When his lips met you, you left the town entirely.

An eternity was never enough, and when he was over you again you knew that you could touch him forever and never have enough. Enough of him, enough words to say to describe him to your god when you told him that heaven had never been a place to you. Heaven lay over you, and heaven brought your lips to his. You tried to remember how to breathe and, more importantly, how you could ever breathe without him here.

He held you as he entered you; traced the tangle of veins down your wrist, the other wrapped around your neck. When you looked into his eyes, all was blue. You wrapped your arm around his waist and rocked your body into his. And all the while the fire outside the window grew and grew, and the fire in the pit of your stomach grew too, setting fire to your blood, coursing through every inch of you as it made you his entirely. But you had been his all your life. Your soul was written that way.

You closed your eyes when you let go. You knew what you were thinking. You knew then that he could never know it too.

And when he came chasing after you, biting at the side of your neck where the skin was soft and would be purplish tomorrow, you wondered if this was what they meant when they said "unity". You would never be whole again. And when he moved, pulled himself out from you, you whispered something to him that sounded a lot like asking him to stay. And he murmured something back that sounded a lot like a yes.

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When you opened your eyes, the lamp was. Through the open window, where the curtains billowed out like sails into the winter wind, there came no longer the garish glow of fire, the embers that floated up from the street below. Now there was only moonlight, and you knew it was time for you to go.

He was lying half-upon you, his arms around you like he knew that you were leaving. The way you always did. The way you always had to. Somehow it was always the hardest things that you had to do, when Tommy Shelby was concerned. You had not realised you were crying until a tear rolled down your cheek, falling onto soft white skin that was not yours, where the moonlight glowed as though he were angelic. You knew a lot better than that. He was godlike.

You drew yourself out from his embrace. Wrapped his arms around himself. Foolish girl, there will be another there tomorrow. Small Heath was full of girls like you, and more girls still that were not like you at all. After all, it was not you that he was seen with in the evenings. You could almost hear her breathing as she slept in peace, downstairs. What had you done?

Standing by the window as you let the breaths wash over you, one by one, with the cold and silver moonlight, you heard him stir behind you. Turn in his sleep, his arms around himself when he woke, for now around a memory. You knew better than to wonder if the memory was of you. You wiped away a stray tear and dressed quickly in the darkness. Back into the nightgown from the night before, and in the pocket the familiar weight of the locket that he bought you, back when you had no idea who Tommy Shelby was at all. You almost wished you had never known this boy at all. For some reason you could not name - perhaps the cold, or perhaps something sadder still that you had promised not to say - you took from the end of the bed the shirt that eh had worn. Slipped it around your shoulders. It still smelled like him, like cigarettes and fire. You thought the end of the world must taste like that, like him, because in that moment you would do anything not to leave that room. You smoothed down the collar, the way he always did. You wondered if you looked as ridiculous as you felt, standing in his room and wearing his clothes and pretending you meant a thing to him. It didn't matter - no one would see you now. The fires were gone, the dead were gone, the crowds would be gone too. You ran a fingertip along the brim of the peaky cap that lay upon the dressing-table. That bright and glittering line, the line that caught your eye when those handsome boys walked in. You had always wondered... When you brought your hand away, there was a trail of glossy red blood. It was a knife. You looked between it, to the man in the bed behind you. Of course.

Time to go; you had put it off for long enough. Standing by the door, trying to keep yourself from looking back at him in his bed. When he woke up, he would wake up without you in his arms. You knew he'd understand. You knew he'd know that it was all your fault. It was not right - it was not fair - to lie, to Michael, to Grace, to everyone around you who deserved more than you and all the heartbreak you would bring. You loved Michael. Of course you did. He was... Michael. Tommy was just a dream. Pretty, and impossible. Soon you would have to wake up. At least with Michael you knew if he loved you. You'd like to think he did. You'd like to think you loved him too. You could never break a heart the way that Tommy had broken yours. Tommy... You made to leave, and stopped yourself. You turned around and saw him sleeping. And in that moment, you had never loved him more. Never missed him quite so much. Your life was going to be very difficult.

Going over to his bedside, you kissed him gently on the forehead, tried to tell him in one moment that you had no fucking idea how you were meant to live without the love of your life. He sighed against you; you watched his lips as they moved, murmured something in his sleep. His chest rose and fell and, somewhere deep inside it, you knew that there must be a heart somewhere. You would not give yourself the privilege of believing that you had broken his heart. Tommy Shelby would never have been foolish enough to give his heart to a fucking mess like you.

"Tommy, I'm sorry." you murmured, and it was the most honest thing that you had said in all this time you had been in Small Heath. It was the only truth that you would ever say. Tommy Shelby had the best of you, and he would never know it either.

You stood from the bed; you turned and left the room.

It was only as you were leaving through the main room, closing up the front door of the Garrison behind you as you left all your love behind, to him, that you realised that never once had you wondered where Michael had been the night before. Never once had you thought to look for him. All the fire. All the fear. All the searching, searching for Tommy. When you were dying on the church corner and when you knew that now was the time to pray for all you loved, you had not thought of him at all.

Taglist:

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @actorinfluence @stressedandbandobessed7771

#peaky blinders #peakyblindersxreader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommyshelbyxreader #thomas shelby x reader #michael shelby #michael gray #michaelshelbyxreader #michaelgrayxreader #fuck you steven knight #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #cillian murphy x reader #finn cole x reader

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jxst-saying · 5 years

Note

“No one will suit you like I did.” Luke please

[+masterlist] requests are open!!

Summary: In which red carpets are rolled, stars are found in the theatre and not in the night sky of the city, unfortunate truths are acknowledged, Luke doesn’t know how to let go of the past, and neither do you.

Word Count: 1,979 words

Bright lights. Blinding flashes. Blood–red carpet. Dazzling gowns that trailed across the floor. Shouts of, “This way, darling!” and “Over here, Y/N!” You weren’t exactly any sort of talent; you had no real reason to be on the red carpet save for the arm you were clinging on to for dear life. You were the new toy, something to be dissected and fascinated with for the next month or two until a new toy was found and the cycle started all over again. That was how it was. You didn’t make the rules; you just followed them.

It was your first red carpet with the new man. Three months and two days. That was how long it had been with him. And it was fine. Everything was fine. Easy. His smiles were friendly; his touch was warm; his eyes squinted when he laughed. He met you at the local park when his dog had run from his leash and ended up at your own feet. It was all very cute and very easy and very different from what you were used to––this red carpet included. As an up and coming film director, this event was more his speed than yours. With every light that blinded your field of vision, you clung tighter to the expensive hand–tailored black fabric of his tuxedo. Your knuckles were turning white.

It was the premiere of the newest movie he had directed, a project that he said could “put him on the map.” Stars, celebrities, and assistants littered the walkway to the theatre, and the chilled night breeze swept across your skin. Goosebumps rose in its wake.

Photographs and haphazard staff weren’t the only ones that spied you, Tinseltown’s Newest Toy, in the crowd. A pair of familiar blue eyes––ones that you haven’t found in the crowd––carefully observe as you walk into the dark theatre. More accurately, they observe the death grip you have on the arm of the man next to you, the one with the disarming smile and the name in lights and, most importantly, the arm in yours. Touching you. Just like he remembered doing. All too well. He remembered everything all to well. Unintentionally, his eyes narrow at the sight of the two of you; blood begins to boil; heart sprints toward some unknown finish line in a race to the death; vision turns the same hue as the carpet he just stepped off, all red and vibrant and bloody and gruesome.

Touching you.

Someone was touching you.

Someone that wasn’t him.

In short, it all went downhill from here.

It was one of those movies with a moralistic sort of end goal, some hidden message about life and love and liberty laced throughout. Completely metaphorical and entirely prosaic, whatever message–in–a–bottle was meant to be uncovered from the one–hundred and twenty–nine minute movie flew right over your head.

So, it wasn’t really a surprise when at the fifty–seven minute mark, you scrounged up some excuse to disappear into the foyer of the theatre. With assurances of, “I’ll be right back, don’t worry,” and, “Just need a little fresh air and some water,” it wasn’t all that difficult. You weren’t all too sure why you were taking a breather from the two hour long movie. It wasn’t that it was terrible; it was probably something like a cinematic masterpiece if you knew anything about Oscar–nominated cinema. But you didn’t. Your film knowledge and expertise ended at The Sound of Music and your belief that Princess Diaries was as good as anything could ever or would ever get. So, maybe it was just that all of this was flying over your head. Yeah. That was probably it. (Definitely not the fact that you thought you might have been feeling a little suffocated with all the eyes on you and the tight grip of his hand holding onto yours and the whispers that you could hear from the rows behind you. Definitely not that at all. Of course not.)

The temperature had dropped two or three degrees since the beginning of the premiere, the chilly wind now nipping at your skin instead of caressing it in a cold embrace. The cold bites here and there felt better than the asphyxiation you were feeling inside, however, and you leaned against the stucco wall of the exterior with your arms crossed over your chest. Your emerald–green dress dragged across the cement floor collecting dirt, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

A handful of stars were scattered in the night sky smog of the city, and you breathed deeply. The last glimpses of summer were transitioning into autumn, and you welcomed the colder months––and this brief moment of solitude––with open arms.

But the solitude didn’t last for long. (Did it ever?) Your absence from the screening didn’t go unnoticed by a certain man at the back of the theatre––the same one from earlier with the stark blue eyes and blonde hair tousled into haphazard waves. Peeking from around the corner, he spied you leaning against the wall and staring at the scattered and broken constellations. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pitch–black suit trousers and let the corners of his lips kink upwards into that classic smirk.

“I don’t think you can see the movie from here,” he said, breaking the silence that you had wrapped yourself in.

Your head snapped to the all–too–familiar voice and you were met with those blue eyes and blonde hair and slightly tanned skin. It was him. He was here. Your breath hitched in your throat. Luke. One–hundred and eighty–seven days and he was still able to elicit some sort of response from you. You mumbled shit under your breath with your mouth slightly agape and your hands limp at your sides.

But then you noticed his smirk, that same blasted smirk that got you into trouble more times than you could count. Quickly, you collected yourself; arms once more crossed over your chest, eyes narrowed at the dark sky above, heart beating much too fast for your own good in its bone cage. Sure, you had thought of the possibility of him and the other three making a grand (sort of) appearance. Maybe it had crossed your mind a few thousand times. Maybe the thought just never left your mind. But even with that, never in your wildest dreams did you imagine that you would be standing face–to–face with the man of your nightmares and dreams.

“It’s called fresh air,” you answered with some bite in your words. He didn’t miss the venom and sharp tone. Instead, he leans against the same wall with you, just a four or five inches shy from your side. (If he reached out with just the simplest gesture, he could touch you, he thought. He didn’t dare.) “What are you doing here?”

“It’s called fresh air,” Luke repeated with wry laughter and that same damned smirk.

You peeled yourself off the wall and shook your head. “No, what are you doing here? At this premiere?”

“Can’t a man see a movie in his spare time?”

“Sure, but not when it’s directed by the––”

He rolled his eyes and pulled his hands out from his pockets, crossing his arms over his chest instead. “The prick you’re walking around this town with? That guy?”

“He’s not a prick.”

“He is in my book.” Luke kicked at a pebble at his feet, letting it trip out into the street.

And, of course, the man in front of you hadn’t changed at all. Of course, he still only wanted you when he couldn’t have you, when you had no more chances for him up your sleeve, when there was no more hope or saving grace or complete idiocy that could keep the two of you together. Classic. Really, it was. But that was how Luke had always been: realizing The Most Important Things after it was all just Too Late, trying to make up for things that he had no business being forgiven for. One–hundred and eighty–seven days later, and everything was still somehow the same.

What did they say? The more things change, the more they stay the same? Maybe they were right.

But you couldn’t go down that road again. Not here. Not now. Not again. So, collecting whatever strength you have in your bones, you took a step away from the blonde and toward the door. “I can’t do this, Luke. I won’t. You’ve had––you’ve h-had––“

He interrupted. (Again.) “So many chances, Y/N, I know. But––”

“No. No more buts. There’s nothing different this time. Everything is still the fucking same, Luke. This is always the fucking same. And I just––I can’t do it anymore.” Another step toward the door. “I have to go back inside. I suggest you do the same. It’s a good movie.” Maybe that was a lie. “He worked hard on it.”

You were just about to open the door––your hand extended for the cold, metal handle when you heard it. His words were faint and nearly unintelligible with the car engines and the wind in your ears and the noise on the street and the city ambiance, but you heard it nonetheless. “No one will suit you like I did.”

There was always something about his incessant arrogance that drew you to him. Maybe you found it charming in some sort of way. Either way, it was enough for you to pause for just a brief moment in time. Without turning around (you couldn’t say what you were about to while looking into this swimming pool eyes of his), you took a deep breath and let the words fall into the one–hundred and eighty–seven day space between the two of you.

“You’re probably right. But I can damn well try.”

You left Luke out there in the chilly city streets then with nothing but the near–autumn breeze to keep him company. With your head held high and your spine rod–straight, you marched your way back into the theatre. Every forced and nearly impossible step brought you farther and farther away from the wavy–haired and oceanic–eyed man outside the theatre. Every step was simultaneously a championing victory and a heartbreaking defeat. And so, what if there was a salty drop of water hanging dangerously off the precipice of your lower lash line, threatening to streak the makeup painting your skin? So, what if when you sat back down in your uncomfortable red–velvet theatre seat, you sniffled to bite back those frustrating water droplets? So, what if that prick sitting next to you asked if you were alright and if you were enjoying the movie and he believed you when you said you were fine and that it was great and amazing and whatever other bullshit adjectives you could string together?

So, what?

(And, so what if when the credits rolled you turned back around and spied the last row in the theatre where the man with the swimming pool eyes had been sitting only to find it empty? So, what if that seemed to break your heart more than you wished it would?)

No one will suit you like I did.

He was right.

And with that thought, everyone rose in a standing ovation for the man next to you (The Prick). With that singular thought, you were standing in a theatre with thousands of people all around you––all there for, essentially, you and the man you had come with––yet you had never felt more alone. Their eyes were empty; their applause numbing; their smiles meaningless.

It didn’t suit you.

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themoonandotherslikeit · 5 years

Text

Reckless

After a tough hunt Dean helps Cas clean a wound. Ever since he became human it was hard to deal with pain, and not just the physical kind. Turns out, its harder to bury your feelings when you feel everything so intensely, as Castiel will quickly learn, since Dean is sitting so close sewing up his face.

Square Filled: Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: DeanxCastiel

Created for: @spndeanbingo

Rating: T

Tags/Warnings: Angst, Language, AU, Human!Cas, lgbtq, violence, FLOOF.

Word Count: 1,423

Authors Note: I know this is pretty short for me, but I just needed some more Destiel fluff in my life. Enjoy the Ficlet :)

——————————————————-

“I can’t believe you were this reckless.” Dean grumbled, as he sat crouched in front of Castiel. The ex-angel was avoiding his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about how much of a liability he’d become since he lost his grace. Since he’d become human. He didn’t want to talk about how without his grace he felt useless, to put it mildly.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean sighed and continued to clean Castiel’s wound on his forehead with a damp cloth. “I know you are, buddy. I know.”

“I don’t mean to be a burden. I was trying to help.”

Dean knew this. Of course he did. He’d known Cas for so long that it was second nature to all but read his mind. He knew what Cas was doing with a single glance. He was trying to help, but he shouldn’t have had to. “You’re not a burden.”

“You’re not a good liar, Dean.”

He was better than Cas thought. In the same way that Castiel never noticed the chills that ran up Dean’s spine when Cas said his name. Dean. Like he was saying it for the first time. Testing it on his lips. Dean. Like it was some sort of fucking poem.

“Sure I am.” He dabbed the wound again. “I’m going to need to put alcohol on it. it’s gonna hurt, okay?”

Castiel nodded and braced for the sting as Dean poured the liquid over the wound.

“I’m not lying, by the way.” He murmured. “I think you need stitches.” He turned to get his needle and thread.

“Cas watch out!” Dean shouted as he dodged the werewolf that was coming at him. They’d run into a pair, a couple. Guess those who eat hearts together, stay together. Right?

The wolf was coming for Cas, claws out. He managed to dodge, but not fast enough. The wolf’s claws grazed Cas’ forehead, barely catching his right eye.

Dean pulled back his arm and unloaded a round of silver bullets into the wolf that was circling him. “Buddy, you good?” He shouted behind him, turning only to find Cas bent over, clutching his eye. Blood dissipated through his fingers.

Dean stood in horror. “Cas?” The sight of his friend bleeding, caused his guard to lower just enough for the second wolf to jump on him. He fell flat on his back the wolf biting at him, its maw was dripping with thick saliva. Dean held it at arm’s length, and even from that far away he could feel the hot, wet breath on his face. “Buddy, I could use some help!” He shouted. He was unable to get to his blade in his boot, and he lost his gun when the wolf leaped on him. He tried to look at Cas, worried that he was fucking dead over there. Why else wouldn’t he be responding to Dean’s cries for help?

“You need help with your wounds, too.” Cas said quietly, looking at Dean through his one good eye. Dean’s lip was busted open and his shoulders were in shreds from holding off the wolf.

“I’m good. I’ll get some whiskey and stitch myself up in a bit.”

Castiel was quiet. There were so many things he wanted to say. Sorry, to start. Sorry for being so useless, for being such a fuck up, for letting Metatron steal his grace, for never admitting his true feelings, but more than anything for getting Dean hurt. For being a liability. “Maybe I should go, after this.”

“Go where?” Dean asked, rubbing the lidocaine around Cas’ open wound.

“Anywhere… away.”

Dean stopped rubbing the lidocaine. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, right?”

His words shook Castiel to his core, causing his lips to press together. He just shook his head no, because what else was he supposed to do?

“So, you’re just gonna run? Takin a page from my playbook?”

If it were any other time Castiel would laugh. Dean was never that self-aware, but it wasn’t another time. It was this time, and this time Cas felt too sick to laugh. “It is what’s best.”

“According to who?”

“Me.”

“Oh, and you’re king of the world or somethin? You get to make decisions for everyone?”

“That isn’t what I…”

“I know it isn’t.” Dean snapped. “But you’re still doin it. Listen to me, Cas.” Dean said, holding his face between his calloused hands. “I know you’re scared. You’re human now, and that comes with a lot of new shit. Feelings. Fuck, I hate em myself. You know that, but family doesn’t run. We don’t. So, just shut that down, already.” He went back to sewing, connecting Cas’ skin back together in a jagged line. He did his best, but it would leave a scar. A constant reminder.

Cas wondered about all of Dean’s scars. The marks on his body left by blades, bullets, claws… there were likely countless spaces on his freckled skin that left pink raised marked. He wanted to see them. Count them. Memorize every space of Dean. It was easier, when he was an angel, to ignore the urges that bubbled inside of his belly. It was easier to pretend, to be numb. Angels felt everything and nothing all at once, but since he was human… he felt everything differently. He felt the sting and poke of metal piercing his skin, and he felt his heartbeat in his forehead as his wound throbbed. He also felt Dean’s warm breath on his face and his legs on either side of Castiel’s knee.

“Hey, you good? You’re holding your breath?” Dean asked gently. Castiel let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, and his good eye flickered to Dean. He ran his thumb under Cas’ eye. “I’m here.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” He murmured quietly.

“You haven’t felt here since you…” He couldn’t say it. They didn’t talk about it. the subject of Castiel’s grace was taboo, it was a no no.

“I haven’t felt here, either.” He admitted. “I’m trying my best.”

“How can I help you?”

Castiel unknowingly pressed his forehead to Deans. They were already so close that it just took a breath to connect them. This, Castiel thought. This helps. Being with you helps.

“You seem in your head.” Dean commented softly. “Be here.”

“I’m here.” Cas whispered.

“You’re here with me.” Dean said with a smile. “Right where you’re supposed to be.”

Castiel ran, like it hadn’t occurred to him before that second. He ran to Dean like he always had. Cas lifted his blade above his head and stuck it between the wolf’s shoulder blades. It took all the strength that he had. Everything seemed to be more difficult since he was human. Especially being around Dean. He was he supposed to focus on a hunt with Dean’s striking green eyes and pouty lips. How was he supposed to focus when Dean was laughing, or wiping a bead of sweat from his eyebrow?

“What are you thinking about?” Dean asked, pulling Castiel back to the present.

His head was spinning. All he could think about was Dean. The way he looked right when he woke up in the morning, his eyebrows together, all grumpy and handsome. The way he smelled after a shower, his skin steamy and smelling of pine three in one men’s body wash. The selfish way he hoarded the entire pie in the corner, and the way he always offered Castiel the last bite even if he really wanted it. All he could think about was Dean. His Dean. He wished that Dean could remember the time before. “Castiel, you are too attached to the human. To Michaels vessel. How do you expect to serve heaven when you are spending your time serving Dean Winchester?” It was always Dean. There was no question. The moment Castiel saw how bright his soul glowed, even in Hell, he was a goner. He’d been around humanity, but not like that. Not with someone as righteous as Dean Winchester.

“Who are you?” Dean asked, looking up at him, his torture tools still in his hands.

“My name is Castiel. I’m here for you. Take my hand, and I will raise you.”

Dean shook his head, it drooping low. “I can’t go. Take someone else. I don’t deserve it.”

There was no question. Apocalypse or no apocalypse, Dean Winchester didn’t deserve to be in Hell. So Castiel swooped down with his mighty wings, and wrapped his arms around Dean, gripping his shoulder tightly. “You do, and I will spend however long it takes proving that to you.” His wings pushed them upward, away from the demons that scratched at his ankles, begging to pull him back down.

With everything he learned about he was deeper and deeper in. He loved him.

In that moment, though, all he wanted was to kiss him.

Castiel wondered if he said his desires out loud without realizing it, because suddenly he felt Dean’s lips brush his. They were soft and warm and more than he could’ve ever imagined in his wildest dreams. “Dean.” Cas whispered, his eyes fluttering open.

“I‘m sorry... I shouldn’t have done that.” Dean murmured, biting his bottom lip.

“Kiss me again.” Was all Cas could say. Turned out, that it was all he would need to say, because Dean did.

————-

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, check out my Masterlist with all my fics :)

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outofthewoods · 6 years

Text

REPUTATION - ALBUM REVIEW

alright girlies here it is my first impressions (whatever I wrote down after the SS plus a few notes I made when it dropped) I AM LITERALLY....QUITE LITERALLY SHAKING....MY WIG: IS ON MARS

READY FOR IT: At first I was kind of like…. :/ about this song but it’s actually a really good opener and a banger. Not sure I would’ve picked it as the second single but it goes all the way off. The bass has me shook Line: “he can be jailor burton to this taylor”

END GAME Very…..the weeknd vibes right ladies ?????????? this is like…..taylor’s Instagram baddie moment It is still SO WEIRD To me to hear rapping and Taylor swift in one song. Even tho we have the bad blood remix Im still….shook by Future and Taylor together ??????????? I really like this, it’s not one of my top 5 I don’t think but it’s so different from what I would've thought of for another ed/taylor collab Ed is giving me some don’t vibes..i’m into it…ed talking about the fourth of July is really iconic. Taylor telling the story of how this came about was really iconic too…I can literally picture her and ed getting drunk and being like HOWWWW COOL WOULD IT BE TO COLLAB WITH FUTURE????? LOL and then it actually happening I love her like. talk/shout/singing when she says “big reputation…” Line: “I swear I don’t love the drama, it loves me” Her runs in the last chorus THANK GOD…..I NEEDED THESE VOCALS…..

I DID SOMETHING BAD THIS SONG HAD ME FUCKING QUAKING IN THE SESSION…… “If a man talks shit then I owe him nothing” THE CHORUS BANGS…..IM LITERALLY……MOUTH OPEN SHOCKED I CANT BELIEVE THIS….THE M.I.A. PAPER PLANES MACHINE GUN SOUNDS…. This is so……blank space but……..fucking darker you SINNERS “If he drops my name I owe him nothing, if he spends my change then he had it coming…” The chorus is here again Im bopping so fucking HARD WOWWWWWWWWWWWWW I’M……….CRYING AT THE VOCALIZATIONS OF THE HOOK. I’m pretty sure she said this came to her the same way she came up with “STAY!” in AYHTDWS The bridge ladies LIGHT ME UP!!! GO AHEAD AND LIGHT ME UP YOU FUCKING HEATHENS!!!! THIS SONG MAKES THE WHOLE ALBUM WORTHY OF A GRAMMY Im literally shaking like my skin is quivering….that 2000’s fade out……Please kill me

DON’T BLAME ME This is the hozier…take me to church….taylor swift version The chords are her vocals and that. Is revolutionary, Einstein found dead in Miami Line: “I would fall from grace just to touch your face, if you walk away I’d beg you on my knees to stay” The like…..wopping of the chorus is really just…..gold Her falsetto at the end of the second verse. Wig on mars This is the stoner Taylor swift song we didn't know we needed but are so thankful we have VOCALS IN THE LAST CHORUS….I NEEDED SOME RUNS AND THE PRERELEASES DIDNT GIVE THEM TO ME BECAUSE SHE WAS SAVING HER DESTRUCTION OF EVERY OTHER PERSONS VOCALS FOR THE ALBUM

DELICATE This is very Imogen heap to me…… like the layered robotic vocals. It’s very interesting…..a really good segue from DBM It’s got like a deep house….tropical feel to it that I am really enjoying girlies “my reputation’s never been worse, so he must like me for me” why does that line have me crying Taylor swift you are literally sunshine THIS IS THE CHORUS I REMEMBERED….the is it cool is it chill etc…….that’s what I thought CIWYW was after the SS for some reason ???? “do the girls back home touch you do like I do?” SECOND VERSE LYRICS Got me feeling some wildest dreams type of way she looked at me so much during this song I’m emotional, I was bopping to the chorus and she was laughing at me and winking when the beat comes in during the chorus Not a standout from the album but very cool very different good vibes man

LWYMMD Obviously a bop. I see why it’s in the middle of the album and when Taylor explained the progression of the songs this really makes a lot of sense. I’m just feeling fragile bc Taylor swift grabbed me by my cheeks, pulled me towards her, grabbed my hands, and danced with me during this song. Wow BABY I GOT MINE BUT YOU’LL ALL GET YOURS!!! We literally screamed this in each other’s faces it was so……amazing I will NEVER FORGET The video…..do we even need to remind ourselves of how fucking iconic it was When I first heard this I was so confused I had just woken up in Ireland at 6am to listen and I was like . What is this But the chorus goes all the way off tbh This is like a parallel to shake it off….the themes and messages of……being yourself and rising above what other ppl think of you…..

SO IT GOES… Ok I literally blanked this song from my memory at the session, I think bc it was right after LWYMMD and me and Taylor having our first proper moment of the night “Back against the wall….tripping when you’re gone…” This album is so bass heavy. I’m loving the studio instruments, I thought I would miss the live guitars etc but I really don’t because it doesn’t fit with the album “I’m so chill but you make me jealous” Sis we have learned from 10 years of music from you that you aren't chill al;ksdfnjksdhifbknsdfdkjf I love you mom I love the way she says so it goes! In the chorus “You know I’m not a bad girl….but I do bad things with you…” WHOMST “SCRATCHES DOWN YOUR BACK NOW…. Taylor you've done several numbers on me I stopped counting 8 years ago the whispered 1..2….3……WOW VOCALS….AGAIN……….SCRATCHES DOWN YOUR BACK NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHES REALLY WILDIN OUT HUH

GORGEOUS This is such a cute song. For me it seems like one of the ones I like less, but at the session I remember being so happy listening to it because she pointed me out and called me by name when she was passing out the new merchandise….so I was chillin Also she kept winking at me during the DINGS!

GETAWAY CAR Queen of whisper singing I wanted to leave him….I needed a reason SUDDENLY I WILL ONLY EVER DRINK OLD FASHIONEDS. IVE NEVER HEARD OF ANY OTHER DRINK Okay in my mind I was like this song is :/ but it bangs to be honest! I love the chorus Should've known Id be the first to leave….this song is full of tea ladies This song to me seems like it’s about a rebound relationship that wasn’t so serious/was just a way to release pent up emotions from something awful “X marks the spot….where we fell apart…..” the pre chorus is really out here doing that sweeties The bridge has an interesting modulation that i don't know how to feel about….this whole album is like full of surprises/polarizing musical techniques so this is cool This is Taylor Swift fleshing out a metaphor/concept masterpiece to her full ability. Queen of literature who is Shakespeare I’ve never heard of him Said goodbye….in a getaway car……. The ends of the songs are so interesting on rep…….this one goes off

KING OF MY HEART “I’m better off being alone…” Miss Taylor I’m so glad that you’ve stopped thinking this because you are really….the most WORTHY person of love in the whole wide world… This is probably my least favorite song on the album. It has some remnants of getaway car in it I feel……she’s cute but getaway car is sexy and sexy destroys cute It’s a little repetitive but I appreciate it’s placement on the album………..you move to me like a Motown beat…..alright Miss king of my heart redeeming herself My broken bones are mending……….taylor I love u………why are u drinking beer when u could be having an old fashioned tho…..beer is gross

DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED Thank you piano I love a live instrument The story behind this song is so heartbreaking and knowing that makes….the song so much more impactful to me “You had turned my bed into a secret oasis, people started talking putting us through our paces” here’s a big fat FUCK YOU to the daily mail Again the chorus comes in and is so….huge and sprawling compared to the rest of the song…..shaking us to our very cores! I love that you can hear the frantic/anxiety she was feeling throughout the song….like the rushed vocals and drawn out lower notes…..then the chorus just coming in with GLORY I LOVE the instrumental of the chorus so much…..it’s so beautiful and a little 1989 to me. Like very eighties synth heavy We also have some VOCALS! In the bridge and last chorus! the runs are giving me life

DRESS This song is like a …… I’m kind of drunk in the meatpacking district running from bar to bar with someone I love in the cold with big coats on….tea to me The falsetto. Queen Taylor has really been expanding her vocal register and I’m FUCKING here for it “Everybody thinks they know us” circling back to the overall theme of the album. We know what she chooses to let us know and beyond that we’re just fucking guessing sinners This song is like a …… I don't really care what they think of us I just wanna really…………see your dick and I don't care what anyone thinks of that ! THE HAIR BLEACHED LINE……SHE IS LITERALLY THE QUEEN OF SELF DRAGS I CANT SHES SO SELF AWARE ITS UNBELIEVABLE…….she’s like being humorous but also referencing a time in her life that was really shitty for her so. Queen of duplicity “I woke up just in time…” this line says so much about where she was when she started seeing Joe

THIS IS WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS Oh girlies…..I have been so excited to hear this again since the session. She spilled some major fucking SCALDING tea before playing this so my ass was fully ready to be sloughed The alarms in the beginning…..a champagne sea…..my dream…… This is so fucking tongue in cheek about what everyone said about her #squad “I have to take them away” DEAD this is why she stopped having 4th of July parties klsadjidfnksdfd “Stabbed me in the back while shaking my hand….” Oh no…………WHO WOULD DO THIS TO MISS TAYLOR!!!!!!! “I took an axe to a mended fence….” The mhhhhhmmmmmm………. IF ONLY YOU WERENT SO SHADY SALKJFSDNKFJGM,DFLKNJGIDK WHY IS THIS SONG ABOUT ME SITTING ON TWITTER DRAGGING PEOPLE LEFT RIGHT AND CENTER Hard knock life………..TEA……during the fucking BANGER of a chorus….this is going to be so fun on tour…..SHE BETTER BE A SINGLE!!!!! hE sAiD shE saID!!!!! Here’s to mama…….yes miss Andrea here’s to u queen of the world THE BRIDGE…..SDFLSDMFJKNDNDSLJFKNFDJDSFNSD THIS IS WHY WE CANT HAVE!!!!! NICE!!!!! THINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I cant even SAY IT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE Heres to my REAL FRIENDS! WOW….just wow ladies this is the future liberals want

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT In my personal onion this is the most vulnerable song on the album. The first verse really has me out here crying in the club The chorus is so cute, this is a low-key banger and I wanna see her flying across the crowd during this song on tour

NEW YEARS DAY So here it is girlies….the most hyped song on the record…… Live piano. Minimal production. The concept behind this is so adorable “Candlewax and polaroids on the hard wood floor….” the most Taylor swift thing I have ever heard This relationship really seems like its forever my dudes she’s in it for the long run. She has never been so confident in a relationship that she’s CURRENTLY IN. She’s opening up DURING a relationship which is like……basically unheard of for her I love how subtle this is….the harmonies on the second chorus….crying in the club again “Hold on to the memories they will hold onto you…..” she said she's had that line ready to go for a while but couldn't find a place for it and here it is being adorable and wonderful also the line “Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I can recognize anywhere” Can I just speak on that line again….it is so beautiful and simple and shows how much she’s been through and the pain she has dealt with….and the sadness she KNOWS………..but she’s okay enough to talk about it. Im crying in the club 3.0

INITIAL RANKING: I Did Something Bad Don’t Blame Me Call It What You Want Dress Delicate Dancing With Our Hands Tied This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things Look What You Made Me Do Getaway Car …Ready For It? End Game New Year’s Day Gorgeous So It Goes King of my Heart

#reputation review

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