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little-diable · 5 months

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The Ghost of Christmas Past – Tommy Shelby

Part 1 of my Christmas Carol series. A big thank you to @notyour-valentine for writing this with me, this was such a grand joy! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tommy keeps on pushing the reader away, only turning towards her when his nights get lonely, but maybe the visit of somebody from his past will finally manage to rip Tommy out of his state.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, some angst

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (4.6k words)

headerby @deathofpeaceofmind

Series Masterlist

The scent of smoke filled her small bedroom like a poisonous fog, a fog shielding the two lovers from a life that had been anything but kind to them, robbing them of loved ones, robbing them of their sanity, robbing them of their ability to express their emotions without holding back. A downward spiral Tommy and (y/n) had been stuck in for years, finding comfort in her bed whenever the world began to close in on them, forcing them away from the passing by days and weeks they’d go without seeing one another.

She couldn’t remember the moment she had realised that she was in love with Tommy Shelby, well at least not if you’d ask her. But deep down she knew it all too well, the day where she had run into him, soaked through clothes and cold hands, the teenage boy had wordlessly pulled her along, leading her into his home without asking any questions. He had been so gentle with her, a certain kind of gentleness Tommy was now a stranger to.

“When will you come by on Friday?” Her soft words rang in his ears, a sound that almost reminded him of the sound of shots fired in the distance, a sound so distinct he’d never be able to forget it. Tommy had his chest bare, his eyes focused stoically ahead as he smoked his cigarette. He didn’t meet her eyes, kept ignoring the loving glances she threw his way, half laying on him with her naked body hidden beneath the warm blanket.

“Friday? Why should I come by on Friday?” Tommy felt her freeze, breaths growing shallow, fingertips no longer tracing his stomach. It took (y/n) a few seconds to regain her composure, clearing her throat before she slowly let go, sitting up with the blanket pressed to her chest.

“I mean it’s Christmas day, I just thought we’d maybe spend it together.” He stubbed out his cigarette, rose to his feet and began to dress himself, almost like he hadn’t picked up on the words (y/n) had just spoken. Her eyes followed his every move, trying to blink away the tears that began to blur her vision, like the rain which had poured down on the day the two had crossed paths for the first time. “Tommy?”

“Why should we spend Christmas together, (y/n)? I will spend it with my family, as I do every year. You know that.” Tommy’s voice had an awfully chilling undertone to it, making goosebumps rise on her skin. Not once had she feared the man with piercing eyes and pale lips, not once had he raised his voice when she was around, but it seemed like today was the day the cards had changed their fate, the die was cast.

“But–” by now he was fully dressed, back turned to her as their eyes met through the mirror hung on the wall Tommy was turned to. He watched her wipe her tears, unable to stop them from rolling down her cheeks, a sight that left his jaw muscles ticking, biting down the need to soothe the pain he had shot through her system. “You know what, you’re right. How foolish of me.”

No further word was spoken, slowly he turned towards her, nodding at (y/n) before he leaned down to press a kiss to her warm forehead, and without speaking another word, Tommy left the house she was living in behind. The second the sound of her front door falling shut rang in her ears, (y/n) let go of the sob she had tried to keep bottled in.

……

The silence filling his home had an awfully eerie touch to it, a silence Tommy had tried to flee from for the past years, no longer able to be on his own for too long. The nightmares would always catch up with him, robbing him of precious hours of sleep the man desperately needed. He nursed a glass of whisky, eyes closed, fingers holding onto yet another cigarette. (Y/n)’s pained expression filled his mind whenever he closed his eyes, wondering why he had pushed her away once again.

Tommy wasn’t oblivious, he was all too aware of the feelings she fostered deep inside, feelings that left him trembling in fear. Nothing good would happen to those that try to love him, they all ended up six feet under, a risk he wasn’t willing to take with (y/n) – not with her.

A deep exhale left him as he sunk further into his chair, wondering if yet another sleepless night was awaiting him. He’d never admit it, and yet Tommy felt awfully lonely, without her near, without (y/n)’s voice filling the silence he was trapped in. Whenever he found himself hiding away in his office, his thoughts would catch up with him, forcing him down memory lane without a way out.

He could have sworn that shots were fired nearby, his body trembling in fear, about to disappear beneath earth’s surface, one with the soil he was forced to crawl through. Back then he had been filled with fright, though not the kind he found himself tormented by nowadays. No, back then he had other priorities, other people to care for, not understanding how much (y/n) truly meant to him.

But now he kept digging another tunnel, deeper than those he had crawled through, darker than those he’d see whenever his eyes fell shut. Fuck, she had been his anchor, the antidote to his nightmares, but yet the fear of letting her even closer still managed to push her away, preferring to stay away from her rather than being plagued by worries about her. Whatever grasp she had on his heart, he needed to get away from it, needed to leave her behind – otherwise he’d go insane, otherwise he’d lose his last drop of sanity.

With one last yawn leaving him, Tommy felt his grasp on reality slip, lured into darkness by the tiredness clinging to his bones.

……

The first thing Tommy felt was the cold. It crept in through the thickest curtains, the warmest socks and the most sturdy of walls. No blanket, no stone or wood, not even the most expensive of coats, could keep the cold away for long. Perhaps because it never left. Sometimes Tommy thought, it lingered in them, like mist over a lake, only sometimes retreating from burning coals or candles, but never quite leaving. Always waiting for a chance to strike again. By now he was almost sure the cold had found its way inside him too, curling inside him like it curled inside the walls of any place he had ever known. It had lingered in the plain wooden walls of the boat he had been born in, and the painted ones of the wagon that had been passed down generation from generation to find its current resting place in Charlie’s yard. It had always been in the gray walls of Watery Lane. The smoke and steam of the factories could chase away the snow and ice, but never the cold. He even found it in the walls of Arrow House. Or maybe he had brought it here, carrying it with him like all the other trinkets he had collected over his life, the first coin he had ever earned, the first bullet that had ever been dug out of him, a piece of mane from the first horse he had ever called his own.

Now the cold had stretched out its pale fingers into his joints, making his knees ache as much as his fingers did. The fire must’ve gone out in the night.

A curse slipped from his lips as he sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands for some warmth. They were stiff and strained as if he had been riding in the snow for hours.

If only his dreams were that gentle to him.

“Did I wake you?” He heard a woman say.

His head snapped up immediately, searching for the sight of her dark hair, and her even darker eyes. He found her soon, sitting at the edge of the table, a cutting board in front of her. Busy, always busy. That was a good sign. The restlessness was innate to them, Polly said, once their hands stilled, that was when trouble came.

“I wanted to surprise you,” she said, offering him a half smile as she brushed her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “Do you like the sound of that? A Christmas surprise to make it extra special?”

His mouth went dry as he looked at her. He knew her. He knew the shade of her apron and could place each spot where it had been darned with greater certainty than he could place English cities on a map. He knew the curl of the shorter strands of her hair whenever she was out in the rain, or cooking with steam, the ones that framed her face. He knew that her fingernails, even if he could not see them now, would be bitten down all the way.

Yes, Christmas was always special. It had to be special.

Travellers didn’t like registries. Most didn’t know the dates of their birth, some not even the month. But Christmas was the same day every year. Christmas was the day when they could be sure to celebrate on the right one. And they did. In the good years, at least.

“Look, Tom,” she said, putting the knife down, a strange look in her eyes. “I know you’re disappointed I didn’t take you with me on the road this summer, but now we’ll have a nice Christmas, you and me and the rest. And then, when the snow melts on the hills, we can try to go on the road together. You can ride your pony all on your own.”

She had tried, hadn’t she? She had stayed longer than she ever had before, almost until easter. Until the snow in the mountains was almost gone. They had even set the date, and he had packed and repacked his bags every night to be ready come morning, so that he would not miss it.

Then there had been the fight. He remembered the shouting from below, his father’s booming voice, the shattering of glass and then the silence. Come morning, she had been gone, and she had even taken the pony too, so he had no chance of rushing after her.

“If you want to, you can help me with the chestnuts,” she said, gesturing with her knife.

He could see them now, laying in front of her. It was the biggest pile of chestnuts he had ever seen. Stolen, he thought now, just like the three oranges, and the chocolate.

It had gotten old and brittle, tasting nothing like the silky smooth ones he had tried in Paris, the ones that melted on the tongue. While it wouldn’t even come close to the best chocolate Tommy had ever tasted, it had been the one he enjoyed the most.

He found himself reaching for it, his fingers just an inch short of reaching it, when she slapped his hand away.

“Wait for your siblings,” she said, a scowl on her face. “It’s for us all to share.”

He held his breath, waiting for her to say what she had said all those years ago, with that mischievous smile of hers that he had seen more times in John than he had ever gotten to see it in her.

“Although…they won’t know one’s missing, will they?” She asked, piercing one with the knife and holding it up between them.

“What do you say, Tom? It’ll be our little secret.” With that she drove the knife down on the board, splitting the small piece of chocolate in two.

“Christmas is supposed to be special, isn’t it?”

~~~~~~

The last time it had been the cold that woke him, and its ruthlessness that had kept him awake. Now it was the noise, the grating, neverending screams, the wails echoing not just within their rooms but passing through the walls that separated their house from the next.

And just like back then, it jolted him, made his stomach twist and his chest clench.

Even now, despite everything, he had never been good with screaming. Although back then he had thought it was the worst sound of all. That was before he had heard men die.

That was before he had been forced to hear horses die.

Still, a screaming child was a sound that would never be easy on his ears, nor one he could ignore, pass on or drown out like other men. Or maybe they couldn’t either.

Perhaps the same thing that made them flee to the pub or reach for the bottle was born from the same desperation that made his throat close all those years better. He had wanted to flee, but he had nowhere to flee to. Besides, if he fled, no one would be left.

The memory returned the agonising feeling in his chest as if the construct of time had crumbled, between the boy he saw then and the man he was now. Because he was a boy. His hair was long, his eyes sunken, and his cheeks pale, even for winter.

He looked like he hadn’t slept, and Tommy knew he hadn’t. How could he?

Perhaps it had been a saving grace, that the baby kept him up, or Ada having nightmares, or John crawling into their mother’s bed, finding it colder than it had been even when their parents still shared it. If it hadn’t been them it would have been Polly waking screaming from her night terrors, fighting nothing but her ghosts and regrets, or Arthur stumbling home drunk.

With sleep, came nightmares. Though back then, the boy thought he was living in the worst one. That was before he knew what nightmares were, and looking at him now, Tommy wouldn’t blame him.

“What’s wrong with him?” John asked, glaring at his two brothers, the older and the younger, with nothing but plain disgust on his face.

The boy only inhaled sharply. not having an answer to share. Back then he had thought sometimes babies screamed just for the hell of it, or perhaps he was letting out his rage against the world, against his mother for leaving, against his father for fleeing, against his eldest brother for fleeing and his aunt for being a drunk, against his second brother for being too stupid to figure out if it was hunger, exhaustion, cold or pain that made him wail.

With a scowl, John ran off, a face like sour lemon, leaving the boy to return to the kitchen.

The air was thick with steam and smoke, and even thicker with tension.

Ada’s face was flushed with rage.

“No!” She insisted, her voice cracking like a whip. “I don’t! I don’t want it with cream, You ruined it!”

“Ada, it’s not ruined-,” Polly tried, her hands shaking too much to light the match for her cigarette.

“Yes it is!” She snapped. “It’s never with cream. Mum always did it without cream because it’s supposed to be without cream!”

She screamed the last two words, tears shining in her dark eyes.

She was wrong of course. Their mother didn’t always do it without cream, although there were little things she always did. Always would imply routine, certainty even, reliability. That wasn’t possible with their mother, not even in her death could they count on her absence. She’d come to haunt them in dreams.

But Ada didn’t know that. She was younger than Tommy, and remembered less. And for all her faults, their mother had tried to make them a nice Christmas. When Polly didn’t respond in the way Ada wished, or in any way, she continued her tirade.

“It’s properly ruined! You ruined the cake and you ruined Christmas!”

“It’s the way I do it,” Polly said, her finger slipping again. She was too drunk to hold the match to catch the spark.

“It’s wrong!” Ada snapped, trying to force back her sobs.

“Ada, it’s a bloody cake!” The boy insisted, rocking the baby with his arm in a futile attempt to get him to stop screaming.

“Well I don’t want it!” She snapped. “I don’t want the cream, I don’t want the cake and I don’t want Christmas!”

She didn’t have to say what she wanted. Tommy knew, then as he did now. She wanted the man back who’d lift her up to sit on his shoulders when he was sober and in a good mood. She wanted the woman back who’d sing to her and braid her hair. She wanted the family back that wasn’t wholly and utterly broken.

The boy couldn’t give it to her, and the man knew that little girl would have to lose her family once more.

“Where’s Arthur?” Polly asked the boy as she, having discarded the cigarette, reached for the bottle of gin.

“Getting drunk.” The boy replied, and Tommy still remembered what he had thought.

Like I want to. Like I should. But he couldn’t.

That would leave them here alone, in the first Christmas without. They ought to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. A mother without children. Children without a mother.

But it had felt so wrong.

Now Tommy wondered when it had begun to feel right, not then of course, not in the year after that. He didn’t know when, only that it had. The knocking on the door startled the baby to cry again, making him curse the interrupter before he had even put the baby down and walked towards it.

Arthur didn’t knock and he wouldn’t be drunk enough yet to return. A gust of cold wind came as soon as he opened the door just a bit, the winter air being whipped through the narrow streets of Small Heath.

“Happy Christmas, Tom,” she said, her voice muffled by the scarf she had wrapped around her head almost completely.

The boy tensed. Tommy could see it in his shoulders. He had been upset by her use of the word “Happy” and by the sheer audacity of her to say something like that to him, to them, now.

“I, ah, look!” She said, handing him a basket. Tommy didn’t have to see to know. Five gingerbread men.

“These were left over from the bakery when we closed earlier. Mr Higgins gave us some to take home. Thought you’d like some.”

Five gingerbread men in a basket, wrapped in a white cloth. Tommy remembered the look of them, and the taste of them too, though he only had little. Both Ada and John had liked them enough to get distracted by them for a bit, first playing with them like they were dolls, and finally hacking off legs and arms and heads to eat them.

He could see the look in her eyes, the expectation.

“If you want, I can set them up in the kitchen,” she said.

“They’re just gingerbread men,” the boy said. “Nothing to set up.”

She shifted, glancing downward. “Just offerin’.”

Tommy knew now what the boy didn’t, what she was actually asking. What she was actually offering. The boy was too caught up in his own misery to see the outstretched hand, and so instead quickly said that the house was getting cold and that he had to shut the door.

“Oh alright. I better go then.”

Once more she had that expectation in her eyes, the spark that just waited for the right breath of air to ignite a warm, comforting fire. But it never came.

The door was shut and locked, the basket taken into the kitchen, and Tommy was left alone in the corridor, as alone as the girl out there in the wind, making her way home.

“Gingerbread. Ada’s favourite. And yours.”

His head snapped up, seeing the figure sitting on the stairs. Her hair was open for the occasion, with a wreath of holly that she wore like a crown.

Seeing her here, in this house, on that day made his eyes burn. He almost wanted to lunge at her.

But perhaps this was her hell, her purgatory, seeing the consequences of her absence, witnessing all their pain and desperation she had left in her wake. But he didn’t want her to suffer. He wanted her to be there. She smiled as she glanced at the kitchen door.

“You know she lied, don’t you, Tom?” She asked, when from the kitchen the boy called his younger siblings.

“Course,” he said.

Mr Higgins was a man as greedy as he was mean. He didn’t give away anything for free. Once Tommy had heard her say that he’d eat himself to death before sharing a crumb.

Either she’d have stolen them, which meant getting the price deducted from all the girl’s pay, or it would have come out of her salary, little as it was.

John came rushing first, passing by the woman sitting on the steps, not knowing she was even there. Ada came more reluctantly, even if she ended up enjoying them more and buying them each year. Little did that girl know that the woman she would grow to be would hire one of London’s most famous, and expensive cake makers to create Gingerbread villages, and castles and boats to celebrate, a new motive each year. That year, a man had to do.

“Happy Christmas, Tom,” his mother said, her eyes piercing through him.

~~~

He woke with a gasp, hands shooting out to grasp onto the chair he had been sleeping in. An unfamiliar, rather uncomfortable feeling stuck to Tommy, forcing his eyes to blink a few times to adjust to the darkness he was engulfed by. With his eyes finding his clock he let go of a groan, it was already Christmas morning.

“Tom.” The voice rang in his ears, making his head whip towards the door, only to find his room still empty. His heart was pounding, trying to shake his mother’s voice, hoping that the rather strange dream he had been plagued by would finally let him rest. But the voice called out to him once again, even as he cupped his face in his cold hands, desperately chasing the silence that had been ripped from him.

“It’s Christmas, Tom. You need her.” Her? Tommy caught the question before it could leave him, not wanting to speak out, scared that he was now going insane. He tried to shake his head, tried to rise with trembling limbs, though something clung to him, something his eyes couldn’t see. “Christmas is supposed to be celebrated with your loved ones, isn’t it?”

He heavily swallowed, reaching for a cigarette in hopes of being able to let the memory of his mother finally rest. The blue smoke left his nostrils like a wave clashing through the streets he had once roamed as a young boy, with his siblings in tow.

“Find her, Tommy, it’s never too late.”

……

“Tommy? What are you doing here?” She was wearing her thin dressing gown, wrapping it tightly around herself as her wide eyes kept staring at him. Tommy cleared his throat, hands fumbling with his cap. For a few moments he struggled to meet her eyes, stepping on the cigarette he had finished smoking.

“We’re supposed to spend Christmas with the people we love, aren’t we?” It was just a whisper, and yet the words were all too clear to (y/n) like bullets piercing her trembling body. The cold nibbled on her skin as she kept holding onto the door, watching snow settle on Tommy’s frame.

All she could do was nod her head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His words still rang in her ears, reminding her that “I will spend it with my family, as I do every year”.

“I guess sometimes I’m not the smartest man, even though it pains me to say so.” Both chuckled in unison, Tommy took a slow step towards (y/n), and yet he still kept some distance between them. “I love you, (y/n), and I’d like it if you’d spend the next few days with me and my family.” She reached for his coat, pulling Tommy in for a searing kiss, drowning the gasp rumbling through the surprised man.

Slowly Tommy guided her back inside, door falling shut with a thud as he shuffled out of his coat, falling to the ground with his cap following. They didn’t break the kiss, not as he picked her up, not as he carried her towards her bedroom. Only as Tommy carefully placed her down on the mattress did they part, allowing (y/n) to watch him undo his vest, taking his time as he undressed one by one.

“You’re a strong headed idiot, Tommy Shelby, you’re painfully oblivious sometimes. And yet I can’t help but love you.” His fingers froze, eyes burning into hers. It took Tommy longer than he’d like to admit to snap out of his trance, lips finding hers again with a soft “I love you too, so very much” rumbling through him.

Within moments both found themselves pressed together, naked bodies falling back into their all too familiar rhythm. They were a mess of tangled limbs, of racing hearts, and swollen lips, a mixture so loving, Tommy couldn’t help but wonder if he was still stuck in a dream. An almost melancholic feeling flushed through Tommy, momentarily taking him back to his rather confusing dreams.

(Y/n) whispered his name as if it was a prayer one would only speak on Christmas, needing to keep one another close, wanting to fully pull him into her trap. He interlaced his fingers with hers as he slowly pushed into her, watching her eyes flutter close with a gasp leaving her. She was even more beautiful at that very moment, so beautiful Tommy wished he could freeze the moment to paint her.

His thrusts weren’t rushed, they were almost too slow for (y/n), though the way he looked at her, with so much love swimming in his pupils, seemed to be just enough to satisfy the moaning woman. She clung to him, fingernails scratching at his shoulders, scared that he’d let go of her all too abruptly, not giving her a chance to fully love him.

“Never let me go again, Tommy, promise me.” Her moans rolled off her tongue as he began to meet the one spot that left her gasping, seeing the brightest stars. He dipped his head down, kissing her throat as he spoke his sweet promise, words so loving, (y/n) feared her heart would rot from the love it felt.

“May I die by my promise. I won’t ever let go again.” Their hearts were pounding in sync, roaring in their chests, louder and louder with every passing moment. Both kept holding eye contact, not wanting to miss their loving, lust-filled expressions. They were addicted, made for one another like Paris and Helen, like Orpheus and Euridice. Ancient lovers reborn at this very moment.

She came with a gasp, back arched off the mattress, pressed against his front. Tommy once again pressed kisses against her throat as he kept snapping his hips, needy for his own high. He didn’t let go of (y/n) as he followed her down the edge, imprinting himself on her walls, groaning her name with a smirk tugging on his lips.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

#Tommy Shelby smut #little-diable christmas23 #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x reader

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little-diable · 5 months

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The Ghost of Christmas Present - Dean Winchester

Part 2 of my Christmas series! A big thank you to @deathofpeaceofmind for writing the ghost part, I simply love working with you, Vi! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Dean had pushed the reader away many months ago, thinking she was better off without him, but when a strange dream pushes her back towards him, Dean can't help but fight for their love.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), some angst, some mentioned heartbreak, small fake dating part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.3k words)

headerby @deathofpeaceofmind

Series Masterlist

Snow kept falling from the sky, white flakes that rested on Baby’s windshield. A sigh left Dean, eyes flickering between the falling flakes and his phone, thumb hovering over her contact. Fuck, what was he thinking? She wouldn’t pick up, especially not on Christmas Eve.

It was his own fault, he had pushed her away, he had told her to go, he had picked his selfish ego over (y/n) and her warm, loving heart.

But now he felt awfully alone without her near. Dean had never been one for celebrating Christmas, had never been one for dwelling over old days he couldn’t relive, especially since she had always been right there to distract him. Until the day she no longer was. Dean had watched (y/n) leave with teary eyes, had watched her drive off into the night as Sam’s angry words kept ringing in his ears.

It was his own fault, he had been too scared, he had decided to run away from the love he felt for her, he had picked his loneliness over a life with (y/n) by his side.

For a few moments Dean kept staring at his bright phone screen, wondering if he could give it a try, wondering if she’d perhaps pick up the call, but before he could call her he locked his phone, throwing it onto the backseat. He reached for a bottle of beer, popping open the lid to drown some heavy gulps. Dean didn’t have the right to feel lonely, he had told Sam that he could celebrate it with his current fling, he had told the people caring about him that he didn’t want to be around anybody. But fuck, he hadn’t ever felt this lonely before.

Dean had to cuddle further into his jacket, hiding away from the biting cold as he redirected his gaze to the falling snow, it was his own goddamn fault for being stuck in this mess. He could still hear the angry words he had spoken to her, could still hear the begging words (y/n) had whispered, confessing her love to the man who had stared her down with a stoic gaze.

Fuck, how he had wanted to wrap her in his arms, to repeat the loving three words he had been longing to speak for years, but deep down Dean knew that she deserved better, a man who’d always stay with her, a man to settle down with, not somebody like Dean, definitely not somebody like Dean.

He finished his beer with another sigh, eyes fluttering close as he sank further into the seat, perhaps he could simply sleep this night away, perhaps he could forget about her for at least a few hours. And with one last murmur of (y/n)’s name, Dean gave into sleep’s call of his name.

……

As Dean fell asleep, the world around him shifted. The familiar interior of Baby transformed into a surreal dreamscape. The falling snow outside the windows seemed to dance with an ethereal glow, casting shadows that writhed like ghostly figures in the night.

Suddenly, a hearty laugh echoed through the car. Dean's eyes shot open, a figure, draped in a dark cloak, occupied the passenger seat. The Ghost of Christmas Present, a manifestation that bore both the weight of wisdom and the ephemeral nature of time.

Dean squinted at the figure, his sleepy mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. The ghost turned to him, eyes bright and warm. "Dean Winchester," it spoke, its voice echoing with a resonance that seemed to reach into the depths of Dean's soul.

"What the hell is this?" Dean mumbled, still unsure if he was trapped in some cosmic dream or if the beer had taken a more mystical turn.

The ghost's features shifted, its face taking on a familiar visage — a mix of (y/n)'s warmth and the sternness of his own regrets. "You've let love slip through your fingers, Dean. You pushed it away, denied it, and now you find yourself drowning in the cold solitude you created."

Dean's heart tightened, the weight of his actions settling in his chest like an anchor. "What do you want from me?" he demanded, the lines between defiance and desperation blurring.

The Ghost of Christmas Present gestured to the snowy expanse outside the Impala. Scenes unfolded like phantom memories — (y/n) leaving, the echoes of her love, and the void that now consumed him. "This is the path you've chosen. Loneliness is your companion, and regret your constant shadow."

As the ghost spoke, the snowflakes seemed to whisper tales of missed chances and unspoken confessions. Dean's eyes, haunted by the memories of his own words, betrayed a vulnerability he tried hard to hide.

"Can't change the past," Dean muttered.

The ghost's eyes bore into him with a knowing intensity. "But you can shape the future, Dean Winchester. The present is a gift."

With those words, the dreamlike scene dissolved, and Dean found himself once again in the familiar warmth of Baby. The ghost was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts and a heavy heart.

As the snow continued to fall outside, Dean stared into the night, contemplating the choices that led him to this point.

……

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Her voice rang in his ears, dripping with annoyance and anger. Dean had to take another step closer, foot stopping her door from falling shut. For a few seconds neither of them spoke, wordlessly conversing with their eyes holding a biting contact, shooting shudders down Dean’s spine.

“Can I come in? Just for a few moments.” He whispered his words, preparing himself for another angry stream of words to leave (y/n). But all she did was stare at him, pondering over her choices before she reached out, tugging him into her home with her hand resting carefully in his bigger one.

“You’ll follow my lead, and if you don’t fuck this up we can speak later.” (Y/n) didn’t give Dean a chance to reply, eyes furrowed in confusion as he was pulled into her living room, taking in unfamiliar faces that looked at him with wide eyes. He barely paid the words (y/n) spoke any attention, explaining to her family that her boyfriend was finally here even after telling her that he was away on a business trip, all he could focus on was the feeling of her warm hand pressed against his. How he had longed for this for the past months, how he had imagined her standing this close, but now the reality felt even better, more loving, even though she was probably full of hatred directed at Dean.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you all, sorry for showing up this late.” With a smile thrown his way, Dean was pulled into a hug by (y/n)’s mother, forcing him to let go of (y/n). His eyes met (y/n)’s once again, even though she wore a smile that clearly managed to fool her family, her eyes told a different story, leaving Dean to grow tense once again. He had dug his grave, and now it was on him to crawl out of it once again.

“Dean, it’s so nice to finally meet you! (Y/n) has told us so much about you, and about all the trips you two took together.” A soft chuckle left Dean as he took the bottle of beer (y/n)’s father reached out for him to take, sharing a smile with the man who was still wearing his jacket, and his snow covered boots, unsure how these next few hours would play out.

……

“I hate you, so fucking much.” Her words were swallowed by the moan leaving her, head falling back against the kitchen cabinet. (Y/n) was sitting on her counter, thighs spread with Dean buried between them, eating her out as if it was his first time ever tasting a woman. With his arms slung around her thighs, Dean kept her pressed against his face, glistening eyes watching her fall apart. “Fuck, I almost forgot how good you are at this.”

"You know, I don't think you hate me that much, otherwise you wouldn't have lied to your family." His chuckles vibrated against her skin, forcing yet another moan out of (y/n). She was close, close to letting go with his name rolling off her tongue, no matter how much she’d try to keep the sound bottled in. Dean Winchester had hurt her, more than anybody had hurt her before that, and yet she couldn’t help but ache for him and for his touch, and yet she couldn't help but cling to the memory of her life with Dean and Sam.

“C’mon let go for me, sweetheart, I want you to cum on my tongue first before I fuck you.” With one hand tugging on his roots and the other pressed back against the cabinet she was resting against, (y/n) came. She choked on Dean’s name, allowing her eyes to flutter close as the overly intense sensation thumped through her.

Dean didn’t give her much time to calm down, pulled down from the counter and flipped around. With her front pressed down on the counter she had been sitting on, (y/n) waited for Dean to free his cock, fumbling with his clothes before he momentarily froze. He wanted to speak out, wanted to groan about not having anything on him, but the breathless “I’m still on the pill” she moaned managed to urge him on.

He pushed into her from behind, carefully, needing to adjust just like she did. For a few seconds neither of them moved, breathing through the almost unfamiliar sensation before he pulled out, only to push back in. Dean fucked her against the counter, fingertips digging into her waist, leaving his marks on her.

Their eyes met in her kitchen window, allowing one another to study their features due to the darkness lingering outside and her bright kitchen light illuminating their features. No words left the two, nothing but moans, groans, and cries, sounds they had been longing to hear ever since they’d parted ways.

“Shit, you’re still so fucking tight, I’ll never get used to this.” Dean’s words left her chuckling, clenching around his cock as the sound clawed through her. It took her a few seconds to reply, struggling to speak as her bundle of nerves started pulsing once again, not expecting Dean to sling his arm around her, circling it.

“Didn’t fuck anybody else since I’ve left.” The words weren’t meant as a confession, as a small glimpse into the life she had lived ever since Dean had pushed her away, and yet Dean couldn’t stop his proud smirk from tugging on his lips. She wanted to call him out on his smirk, wanted to remind him to not let her words go to his head, but she couldn’t, ripped away by her arising second high.

Dean could tell that she was close once again, eyes watching his cock disappearing inside of her with every thrust. He pushed her over the edge within seconds, listening to her sweet sounds as he fucked her through her high, letting go of her before he could follow her down the edge. With a moan leaving Dean, he painted her back white, watching his cum stain her skin.

Both didn’t speak as he reached for a kitchen towel to clean her, still heavily breathing as they redressed. He watched her intently, green eyes following her every move, wondering if she’d lure him into a conversation or if she’d wordlessly throw him out. (Y/n) reached for two cups as she poured both a cup of coffee, leading Dean back into the living room.

“You wanted to speak to me, so speak.” The sound of Dean clearing his throat echoed through her home, slowly sinking down on the couch next to (y/n). His mind was racing, still torn between the orgasm he had just chased, and the love he still felt for her.

“I know there’s nothing I can say to take away the pain I pushed through you. I know I don’t deserve your trust or another chance, I know I fucked up.” A hum left (y/n), wordlessly agreeing with the words rolling off his tongue. “But you know better than anybody else that I’m selfish, egoistical. I thought I was helping you with pushing you away, I really did. But maybe I was wrong. I can’t do this without you, (y/n), I just can’t.”

“So, let me get this right. You pushed me away because you were caught up in some self-pity? You broke my heart because you thought you were helping me, saving me? You’re even more dense than I thought Dean Winchester. I always want you, only you. I took it all, the sleepless nights, the hunts, because for me there is only you.”

Dean cupped her cheek before (y/n) could pull away, pressing a soft kiss against her lips with a sigh leaving him. He couldn't let her go, not now, not ever, perhaps he’ll eventually pay the price, but the dream he had been caught in had proven to Dean that she was the one, the one he couldn’t part from.

“It’ll take me a while to forgive you, Dean. But I’m willing to give you another chance, for the sake of Christmas.”

#Dean Winchester smut #little-diable christmas23 #Dean Winchester x reader #supernatural smut

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little-diable · 4 months

Text

The Ghost of Christmas Future – Loki

Part 3 of my Christmas series! A big thank you to @writingliv for writing this with me, I love working with you! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Loki is visited by the Ghost of Christmas Future and he shows the god something that forces him to find his way back to his past lover.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), some angst, mentions death

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader (2.2k words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

Series Masterlist

An almost grim expression tugged on the god’s features, fuelled by the annoyance he felt, by the uneasiness radiating off him. Loki paced his quarters, eyes trying to focus on his book, desperate to distract himself from his mother’s Yule preparations. If there was one thing he detested, it was these celebrations, festive days reminding him of people and stories he needed to forget.

The mere thought of being dragged down memory lane by his heavy heart and his aching mind left the god of mischief groaning, he was better than that, he was better than all these pathetic humans that gave into their emotions. With an angry growl rumbling through him, the book Loki had been holding was tossed to his bed, slender fingers combing through his black hair.

This is why he had let her go. This is why he had pushed her away. This is why he needed to get away from her and the pitiful excuse of a life she lived.

Her. The one his heart had been rather fond of, the woman who had managed to lure the god into her trap. It had been easy, too easy, but who was he to deny a challenge. Loki would always win, no matter the game, no matter the rules – at least that’s what he had always believed, till (y/n) had stumbled into his life.

She had managed to bewitch him within seconds, pulling the man into her grasp before either one of them could understand what was happening. It had happened years ago, years where he had snuck away from Asgard with one of his many tricks, finding joy in the simplicity of Midgard. It had been his own fault, he should have stayed away from there, should have listened to the warnings, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and then suddenly it had been too late.

Loki could still feel her pressed against his body, he could still hear her soft voice murmuring his name, calling him back to bed. Memories he needed to get rid of, fast. He was better than that. He was stronger than that. He was smarter than that. He hadn’t been born to live a simple life, he was a god, made for more.

But sometimes, just sometimes, he found himself giving into these memories, lingering on the thoughts that painted her features, allowing him to pick up on the sound of her loud laughter, allowing him to feel her soft skin beneath his cold fingertips. It was torture, pure torture, and yet the feeling had a bittersweet touch to it. An almost addictive pain.

He plopped down on his bed, eyes focused on the expensive looking ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes of getting rid of his memories, a useless try that only pulled him further down the rabbit hole. His teeth grazed his lower lip, about to draw blood, about to sink into the flesh she had kissed many moons ago.

Before he could try to sleep away his memories, wanting to dream of a better life, of an exciting future, he heard his name being called, eyes snapping open. His heart was pounding, beating against his ribcage as he looked at the unfamiliar being standing near his bed.

Loki had seen many ominous creatures in his life, but none looked like this. The spirit seemed to levitate above the ground, only its cloak gracing the marble floor. No face was visible as a grey hood loomed a shadow over any possible features, emanating a freezing chill that ran down the god’s back.

Loki shot up, his hand immediately searching the knife he kept by his bed. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” He asked, ignoring the way his breath had suddenly condensed in front of his lips.

“Silly prince, who am I, you ask?” The voice spoke, letting neither its gender nor species be revealed.

“How dare y-” Loki sneered at the creature until it approached him, forcing him to hold his breath.

“I do not have the time for your scandals, prince. I am here to show you something. Follow me,” the creature turned, hitting Loki with its cloak that felt just like a thicker blow of air. It didn’t turn around to check if the god was following; instead, it walked out of the room and sped its pace. Loki had barely the time to react, following the creature as quickly as it could.

“Where are we going?” The god asked, short of breath as they made their way out of the castle. The halls were empty, it seemed like everyone had disappeared from existence. The ghost did not answer. Instead, it switched directions, almost causing Loki to trip.

“Where are we going? I demand to know,” Loki doubled down as he regained his balance, jogging to catch up the lost distance.

The ghost suddenly stopped, turning back to the god for a glance before looking forward again, nothing more than the deep dark forest standing in front of them. “We are late. A funeral.”

“Wh-” Loki tried to ask, confused. Funeral? Whose funeral? He didn’t know anyone that had died recently. His question, however, died in his throat as fog covered the previously dark forest, acting as a canvas where an image started to form.

Flowers, dozens upon dozens of vases and bouquets filled to the brim with tulips. Midgardian flowers. Loki frowned. His stomach turned. What? He continued to watch the image develop right before his eyes as rows of people filled a snowy cemetery. Cries and moans filled the empty winter air suddenly, far too familiar yet strange for him to point out.

“Why are you showing me this?” He finally broke the silence, his voice cracking under the pressure in his chest.

“How long do midgardians tend to live, prince?” The voice replied, still staring at the image upon them.

“A century? I-” Loki’s head felt as if it was spinning, every Midgardian he had ever met running through his mind. A thought tried to form, but he suppressed it. No. She was maybe thirty by now. She couldn’t-

“If they are healthy. If nothing happens,” The voice doubled down in a dreamy tone. His thoughts were seemingly elsewhere. “Weren’t you the one that loved to underscore their fragility?”

“I-” Loki tried to speak, but his lungs burned, his eyes trying their best to focus on the details of the image upon him, ignoring the sobbing cries.

“Wasn’t she particularly careless?” The ghost finally spoke, and Loki felt his knees buckle. no.

It couldn’t be. He would have found out. He would have known. They would have told him… but how? How? If he had left without telling anyone, simply kissing her on the forehead like he had done every other morning and walking out, never to be seen again? Why would they tell him even if they could? He had done nothing but hurt her.

No.

Loki shook his head.

„You’re lying to me, why are you doing this? Who are you?” One question after another rolled off Loki’s tongue, filling the silence he found himself engulfed by. But the ghost didn’t reply, he kept watching the scene in front of them play out.

Loki had to stop himself from vomiting, unable to stop the bile from rising up in his throat. This had been his wrong doing, his selfishness that had lured him away from her, her, the one his head had grown fond of.

There wasn’t a day where he didn’t think of her, of (y/n), the love he hadn’t got to feel in many moons. The dark voice inside his head had promised him that he was destined for more, made for something by far bigger than what she could offer.

How wrong he had been. How foolish he had been.

“I understand, I do. But please, take me away from here.” The ghost turned back towards Loki, staring him down for a few seconds, watching the tears roll down his cheeks, before the scene finally vanished. Loki’s head was spinning, eyes struggling to focus on something as the ghost kept speaking.

“It’s on you to decide, but remember, the time she has is limited, don’t let any more of it go to waste.” And with one last exhale, the ghost was gone, leaving Loki trapped in nothing but an uncomfortable darkness flooding through his room.

……

„Loki? What am I doing here? Where am I?“ A relieved sigh left Loki as he stared down at her, taking in the features he had last seen in one of his nightmares. His heart was still aching, racing in his chest at the mere thought of ever losing her to Death’s cold grasp.

“You’re in Asgard, I had to see you.” She had been forcefully awoken from her dream, unable to pierce together what was happening as she was dragged away from her home. And yet she hadn’t protested, not speaking up as a wave of familiar comfortableness had flushed through her.

“You kidnap me, because you have to see me? Is that all?” (Y/n) had always been good at seeing through his lies, eyes not letting go of his as she slowly reached out to cup his cheek. Sparks shot down Loki’s back at the familiar touch, oh how he had secretly longed to feel her close once again.

“You were dead, I saw it, saw your dead body.” Confusion tugged on her features, not understanding what the god was speaking. He shook his head to try and get rid of the pictures flushing through his mind once again. “It was in the future, far from now, and yet I couldn’t stand myself for letting you go. I needed to see you, prove myself that you’re still alive.”

“Oh, Loki.” He dipped his head down, lips ghosting over hers. No longer did he want to share any meaningless words, no, he wanted to feel her close, wanted to touch the body he had once known like the back of his hand. The kiss was fuelled by their still burning love, tying the two closer together as he pushed her against his best, crawling on top of (y/n).

He could hear her heart racing, could feel her gasps leaving her. Sounds that left him grinning in mischief. His hands started wandering, long fingers that knew their way down to her heat, the place where she ached for him. The moment had something almost unreal to it, like a dream, a faded memory, Loki couldn’t help but wonder if yet another ghost was playing a trick on him, but her sounds were too strong, too honest.

“I damned you for a long time, cursed your name. But yet my body has never not been yours, forever connected with you.” Another kiss was pressed against her lips as his fingers disappeared inside her sweats, teasing the thin fabric of her panties. She has soaked through the fabric, dripping for him, him only.

Within seconds he had her undressed, fabrics finding their way to the ground as he let go of her. Their eyes held contact, allowing her to watch him settle between her thighs, lips kissing their way to her cunt. Soft moans left her, one hand finding his locks as the other tightened its grip on the blanket she was laying on.

“My pretty flower, I missed your taste, I missed your sweet sounds, oh how I missed you.” His tongue brushed through her folds, moaning at her taste as (y/n) arched her back off the mattress. Loki ate her out like a starving man, feasting from her with groans clawing through the two in unison.

For months they had dreamt of moments like this, never willingly admitting to it, even though they were caught by them, unable to escape. His arms found their way around her thighs, keeping her close as he dipped his tongue into her tightness, thumb circling her pulsing bundle.

She was a shuddering mess, made for the God’s eyes, for his hands, and his tongue. She was his, in all her glory. And deep down Loki couldn’t help but promise to her, and to himself, that she’d never leave his side again.

His name rolled off her tongue, like a dark secret spoken in the depth of the night, like a prayer made to save her damned soul. A sound that left Loki groaning in satisfaction, adding more speed to the movements of his tongue and fingers. She was close, he could tell, and all he was focused on was making her cum on his tongue.

(Y/n) tightened her grip on his locks, eyes squeezed shut to give into the quiet call of her name. She came with a loud gasp, head thrown back, teeth buried in her lower lip. Loki watched her unfold, kept fucking her with his tongue through her high, before he slowly let go of her.

The god crawled up her body, lips meeting hers to allow (y/n) to taste herself before he plopped down next to her, pulling her into his chest. And with another kiss pressed to her forehead he tightened his grip on her, promising to hold her close till the end of her time.

#Loki smut #little-diable christmas23 #Loki x reader #Loki imagine #marvel smut

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