My goal in this lifeline is to write someone’s favorite book. I want to write the book that you gush over and ramble about to strangers. I want to write the book that you highlight paragraphs and mark chapters to go back and read on a bad day. The book you recite and daydream about. The book that inspires your next tattoo or changes how you move through life. The book you reread like it’s the first time even though you know the ending. I want to write a book that makes someone realize they are not alone in this world. I want to write a book…

Read part one: “Tell Me”

Thank you so much for the love on this story. It took me a second to figure out part two, but I hope you enjoy! 

She left. 

The thought circled in Tommy’s mind from evening to morn. It gnawed at him. At dinner. At breakfast. At lunch. In his office. In his home. In his car. During meetings. During phone calls. During sex. She left. He’d given her one week to be angry with him. To ignore him. To do what she needed to do to be okay about things. He accepted her resignation. He even forgave her for the wedding. The ring. The man. 

She was right. It wasn’t fair of him to leave the letter on his desk for her to find. He took responsibility for his error, and burned it. As for the contents within the letter, Tommy didn’t see a need to discuss his business. His emotions - however complicated and conflicted they may be - were his to sort out, bury, and forget. Usually, he found a woman to distract him, but lately that wasn’t enough. Without the drinking, he had to live with his own thoughts. That’s why he started writing. To work through what he wouldn’t say to her.

Most men - most people - never found true love. They settled or were too terrified to go for the real thing. But, he had found it. He’d found real love. Before it was taken away from him, he’d experienced it. He knew what it felt like. That’s why every time that familiar feeling crept in his chest, he buried it. He wasn’t afraid of death because love was waiting for him on the otherside. Before her, he welcomed the inevitable; he longed for it. He tried on occasion to befriend death himself, but now, he struggled. Living was becoming as enticing as passing on.

No one was lucky enough to experience true love twice. The universe would be cruel to give it to him again. After all this time, finding love wasn’t supposed to be an option. That was the deal he’d accepted. He’d made peace with it. He’d lost too much already to risk losing again. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but then, there was her. 

It was selfish of him to make her fall in love with him. It was selfish of him to use her for his healing. It was selfish of him to claim her as his, but he was a selfish man. A selfish man who wanted her back. One week had turned into two weeks. And two weeks was now becoming two months. He was well accustomed to making the women in his life angry. Yelling he could manage, being ignored was a nuisance. A nuisance that forced him to take matters into his own hands. 

Tommy took his glasses off, placing them on a stack of papers on his desk. He stood up, letting his shoulders relax and his head fall back. A smile was forming on his lips as he thought of her stubbornness. Two months. He was as annoyed as he was proud. She managed to pull off a wedding, and she stood her ground against him. He was impressed. A woman after his own heart. 

Taking a cigarette from his pocket, Tommy moved to the armchair. He used a match to light the stick as his eyes focused on his office door. No matter how many times it happened, there was still nothing quite like a well-thought out plan. People thought he was smart, clever, but the only difference between him and anyone else is that he was better at reading people. The war had given him that. He understood the two emotions that governed people best - fear and love. Control one or the other, and the world is yours. All he had to do now was wait. 

He filled the room with smoke. His eyes never leaving the door. No matter how long it took, he would wait. He would become a patient man. His plan demanded it. Every second was accounted for, including this moment. It was past six now. He didn’t have to glance at his pocket watch to know; it was almost time. Straightening his shoulders, Tommy lit another cigarette. He heard her before he saw her. Her walk was light. Before him, she’d been a maid for a council man that despised noise of any kind. She didn’t bang doors - always holding the handle until it clicked. She was as gentle with a door as she was with a heart. 

When she entered his office, he finally pulled out his pocket watch. Seven on the dot. 

Placing her hands on her hips, she groaned and started pacing. Every so often, she stopped, glaring at him before continuing. He acted indifferent, but Tommy was rather pleased with himself. She was here. His eyes undressed her, taking note of all her subtle changes. Two months was a long time to go without. He’d made due, but nothing was as satisfying. His eyes stopped at her chest, admiring and remembering.

“Jesus.” Realizing where his eyes were planted, she folded her arms over her chest, staring up at the ceiling. “You really haven’t changed.” 

Shaking her head, she finally sat down in the armchair opposite him. If looks could kill, he’d be dead already. The intensity in her eyes told him he was in trouble, and there was nothing he wanted more. There was nothing he liked better. Trouble suited him. 

Tommy lifted the cigarette to his lips. His eyes trained on her. In her anger, he realized that he liked her like this. He liked the way her veins popped and her nostrils flared. He liked the way her jaw tensed and relaxed. He liked the way her chest rose and fell. He liked when she was soft and tender under him, but seeing her like this awakened something else within him. It brought back that familiar feeling to his chest. 

“You bought a textile factory.” 

He took a long drag. “She speaks.” 

“Why would Thomas Shelby be interested in textiles?” 

“It’s a lucrative business.” 

“Women’s textiles.” 

Tommy shrugged. “We needed to diversify our portfolio.”  

Rolling her eyes, she stood up again, muttering curses as she paced around the room. Buying the company she worked for was the opposite of letting go. It went against their agreement. It went against his word to her. Two months ago, he agreed to let her leave. After the letter, she made it clear that she was done. She walked away from him, but she should have known that it had been too easy. 

Tommy took his carton of cigarettes and placed it on the table between them. Staring at his offer, she shook her head. “Fine.” She raised her hands up. “I’ll quit. I’ll find another job.” She turned to leave, but he wasn’t finished. 

“How’s your husband?” Tommy exhaled, the smoke creating a cloud around him. “I hear he loves to close out a pub.” 

“There are a million women in the world - a million women in London.” She moved away from the door to face him. 

“Whiskey, is it?” 

“Women,” she yelled. “Women - married women even - who would love to fuck Thomas Shelby.” 

“When did he stop coming home?” 

She sighed, closing her eyes. “You promised to let me go.” 

Standing, Tommy stubbed his cigarette on the ash tray. He took a step towards her, treading carefully as her eyes opened to look at him. For a second, he could see the love then the fear before she hid herself from him and returned to anger. That was new, he noted. She never used to be anything but herself around him. She never used to hide her emotions. From the start, she was open. That’s what made it easy for him. 

Tommy took his last step, standing close enough to kiss her. His body towered over her, but her anger radiated. Her eyes bore into him, daring him to try anything. Daring him to give her a reason to unleash her wrath. And despite her anger, Tommy was satisfied. He preferred the yelling. He was brought up on it. From his mother to his aunt to his sisters to his wife, he was good at being yelled at. His brothers used to say that he had the face for it. 

She was frustrated with him, but he had her attention - all of her attention. And that’s what Tommy wanted, so he stood there and endured. As the silence settled around them, Tommy waited patiently. He found new things to like about her. If he wasn’t in trouble before, he was now. He was feeling things that he shouldn’t have been feeling. 

Her eyes softened as her fingers touched his cheek. She became soft before him - open and willing. “What are you doing, Tommy?” She pleaded. “You’ve got a lovely wife. Beautiful kids. A life that most men can only imagine.” He turned his face away from her, but she tilted his jaw, forcing him to look at her. “Why are you punishing yourself with matters of the heart?” She repeated his words from the bloody letter. He should have burnt it the moment he wrote it. “Fuck your women. Make your money, but let me go. Yeah?” She nodded her head, hoping that for once, he listened. “I know you still don’t agree with it, but me getting married…” 

“He’s not a good man.” 

She slapped him hard. Her palm connecting with his jaw. The softness of her fingers turning to rage. The betrayal written on her face as she realized her vulnerability was part of the game for him. “You don’t get to lecture me about good men.” She turned her back to him, walking to the waiting armchair. If he’d just kept his mouth shout. Tommy massaged his jaw, regretting his comment for creating the distance between them again. He was almost winning her over. His ego just wouldn’t allow him to listen to her justifications. 

“You’re all the same, aren’t you?” Her hands were shaking as she reached for a cigarette. The adrenaline from her anger still coursing through her body. It took her three tries to finally light the stick, but she did. And when she brought it to her lips, her hands were steady again. “Your empty promises. Your vices. You take what you want and then you leave.” 

Running his hands through his hair, Tommy sat down opposite her. He lit his cigarette and leaned back. When he felt the heat in his lungs, he finally released. They stared at each other, sitting at a stalemate. Tommy rolled his cigarette between his fingers as she glared at him. He hadn’t just missed her body. He’d missed her presence - her silence. She was as comfortable with it as him. Some nights, they spent the entire evening in silence, staring at each other. She didn’t need his words to understand him, and maybe, that’s what scared him the most. It wasn’t just the feeling in his chest. It was all the things he didn’t need to say. It was why he’d accidentally left the letter for her to find.

“So, how did you do it?” 

Tommy ran his thumb against his bottom lip. 

“Did you provide the women or supply him with the booze?” 

Laying his head back, he took a long drag. 

“No, that’s not the Shelby way, is it?” She scoffed. “You prefer to give a man the rope to hang himself.” She took a labored breath. The exhaustion evident in her sigh. “I’m not divorcing him. I made promises. Promises to myself. Promises that have nothing to do with you, Thomas Shelby. Promises that I would like to keep.” 

“You stopped babysitting,” he uttered, slowly opening his eyes, watching as her hand instinctively touched her right ear. “You work double shifts to pay the bills because your husband drinks the money away.” He leaned forward stamping his cigarette out on the ashtray. “He hasn’t touched you since the wedding because he gets piss drunk every night. I pay the barmaids double to make sure of that. The rest is all him. If you want to know why he doesn’t come home anymore, ask him.”

“You’re watching us.” 

“You’ve also been losing weight in all my favorite places.” Tommy pointed at her chest. “You’ve lost a full cup since the wedding.” 

Covering her face with her hands, she muttered a string of curses. “Just fuck off, Tommy.” 

“I made promises too.”

She laughed. Her hands fell to her chest as a cackle erupted from her chest. “Promises,” she repeated. “Do you remember when you promised to let me go. When you promised not to interfere in my affairs.” His jaw ticked as he stood up, but that emboldened her. She wasn’t the same woman that had left him two months ago. “You promised to leave me alone.”

Moving to the table, Tommy sat across from her, closing the distance between them. “I’ve changed me mind.” 

Her lip quivered. Her frustration with him growing. “You’ve changed your mind?” 

Tommy leaned closer. His fingers brushing her hand as he reached for her cigarette. It was one touch, but the electricity between them. It was still there. She quickly pulled her hand away, but he saw the recognition in her eyes. Tommy opened his mouth, letting the smoke escape. “I made promises to myself about you.” She turned her head away. “Promises that I intend to keep.” 

She was still angry, but it was time for them to make up. “Now, I’m not a good man. I’m a selfish man. A man who doesn’t want to share you.” He waited for her eyes to meet his. “Truth is you deserve better. You deserve better than me. Better than him.” 

“I shouldn’t have come back here.” She shook her head. 

“I get it. After that letter, you needed to marry him. You thought that was what I wanted. That it would solve everything.” Tommy purposely let his leg fall, so that his knee touched hers. He waited, and when she didn’t move away from him, he continued. “It’s hard to love a man who craves dying more than living.” 

“I can’t do this with you, Tommy.” She stood up, trying to move away from him, but he reached for her. And when she stilled, his hands dropped to her thighs. She felt lighter, but she also felt like his. He let his hands roam before he kissed her there. When she didn’t stop him, he moved his fingers to her hips. 

“You can’t eat because you’re unhappy,” he noted, kissing her hips before moving his hands to her waist. Tommy looked up, finding her watching him. She was terrified and heartbroken. Her anger giving way to the truth. 

“I can’t eat because I’m scared,” she corrected. Her hands moved his hair from his face; fingers resting on his sunken eyes. “You can’t sleep.”

“I’m not going to leave you.” 

“That letter, Tommy.” 

“I know what it sounded like.” He stood up, holding her face in his hands. Her head lowered, but he raised her chin and brushed her cheek. “But, I was wrong.” Her eyes widened, realizing what he was admitting. The war he was fighting within himself had ended the moment she walked into his office. Whether this was a trick or not, Thomas Shelby wasn’t going to miss his second chance. Screw the universe and the gods above, he made his own way. And so, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Death would just have to continue waiting on him. 

—————————————–

Thank you so much for reading! What was your favorite part?

“Tell Me”

Not me finally writing again!?! I started watching Peaky Blinders, and suddenly, I was inspired. There’s something about a man in a suit. Okay, there’s something about Cillian Murphy playing Thomas Shelby while wearing a suit. Whew! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one. 

His lips curled around the thin paper. The loose cigarette dangling, waiting for the heat from the flames. Tommy lit the stick quickly, feeling the weight of the day mounting on his shoulders. The pressure threatening to ruin his night. Dipping his head back, he felt the smoke fill his lungs before he released it, along with all his troubles. It was a temporary escape, but it grounded him. The inhale. The exhale. The vapors. It allowed him to tune the world - his world - out.

In France, it helped him forget the daily stench of death. Huddled next to boys pretending to be men, covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, he smoked to feel his lungs expand and contract. To taste the bitterness of the tobacco on his lips. To feel nothing and something. Despite, the trenches that served as inevitable graves and overnight asylums, lighting the loose cigarette and inhaling it was his. It was the one bloody thing that couldn’t be taken from him. 

“Mr. Shelby.” 

His jaw tensed, fighting the annoyance that crept up his neck. He never hated his surname, except when she used it. 

“I didn’t know you were still here.”

He opened his eyes, removing the pocket watch from his breast pocket to confirm the time. Seven on the dot. He’d caught her.

“I’ll come back.” Her voice wavered. She was avoiding him. He was sure of it now, and it wouldn’t have bothered him, except…

“How was the wedding?” Tommy closed his eyes again, feeling his chest expand. The smoke creating a cloud around him. “I sent a gift.” 

He didn’t have to look at her to know she was twisting her right earring. Never the left, always the right. If it was Monday, she wouldn’t be wearing any earrings because after work, she’d have to babysit her nieces. Two toddlers that liked to pull everything down including their aunt’s jewelry. She learned that the hard way, and so on Mondays, she didn’t wear any. 

“Mr. Shelby.” 

He titled his head back, the smoke escaping his lips. His nose flared as his annoyance grew at how quickly he’d become “Mr. Shelby” again. 

“I was going to tell you after you returned.” 

“I’ve returned.” He answered, laying his cigarette down on the tray. “Tell me.” 

She turned her head towards the hallway, checking to see if anyone was watching before entering his office. Despite himself, he smirked at her.  They both knew that he controlled everything that happened inside and outside London. If there was a rumor about her - them, he would know about it before it became gossip. He would protect her from it. Always. She was his. 

“I was going to tell you, Tommy.” She sighed. “You weren’t supposed to return until the end of the month.“ 

He would have forgave her right then and there just for saying his name, but he hadn’t finished making his damn point. “I take one fucking trip to America.” 

“Tommy.” 

“I get a call that my sister is planning a wedding.” 

“Tommy.” 

“I wonder who could be possibly getting married, while I’m away conducting business.” He raised his voice. 

“Thomas.” 

“Imagine my surprise,” his anger simmered into a whisper, “when I learned that the wedding was for my fucking - “ 

“You’re fucking what?” She roared back. “You’re fucking mistress, whore, girlfriend, counselor…secret.” Her body shivered as she took a step back. Surprised by her own anger, she rested her hand on her chest. “You said in that letter,” she exhaled.  

He lowered his eyes. 

She repeated his words back to him. “You could never give me more than this. That you weren’t good for anyone. Not after…” She paused, not saying her name for his sake. “Loving me would hollow you out because there is nothing in me left to love,” she recited his letter. 

“You weren’t supposed to read it.” 

Her voice softened, the anger giving way to the pain. “Then why did you leave it here for me to find?” 

They both got quiet. The truth sitting in their silence. She moved forward, grabbing a cigarette and lighter from his desk. When she met him, she hated the scent of smoke. It reminded her of her childhood and all the painful memories that came with it. A father who smoked everyday until the day he didn’t come home anymore. The absence of smoke serving as a reminder of his betrayal. Now, she couldn’t be a second without it. He’d changed her, but she changed him. He was better about his anger now, but the moment he learned about the wedding, he’d seen red. 

Tommy stood up, standing away from the desk. “He’s a drunk.” 

She scoffed. “Every man in this city is a drunk.” Her eyes scanned him as he approached her. “You were a drunk too when I met you. Now, you’re sober.” 

He lit the waiting cigarette resting on her lips. “I thought you quit.” 

“I did.” Her eyes settled into him as the smoke escaped her lips. He waited a second, giving her one last puff before he moved the cigarette from her lips to his. “He doesn’t like it when I smoke. He quit years ago and wants me to do the same.”

“A man who drinks, but doesn’t smoke.” Tommy nodded his head at the irony that he was now the reverse. A man who smokes, but doesn’t drink. “He sounds…”

She smiled. “Stop it.” Her body relaxed as she let her shoulders down and her head tilt back. “He’s good to me. He has a good job. Makes a good wage. Doesn’t gamble or cheat. Sometimes goes to church on Sundays. Always comes home at night.” 

He gazed at her neck. At the places where he’d once ravished her, losing himself in her skin, her scent, her touch. After everything he’d been through, he had found himself again in her. He’d sobered up. Even started writing poems and letters to her - in her honor. Writing but never sending. Burning them before the world could truly see this side of himself. He burnt all of them, but one. The one that caused this mess, and sent her off to marry a man who wasn’t worthy of even breathing the same air as her. 

“He hasn’t touched me yet,” she answered, knowing the question he hadn’t dared to ask yet. “He got too drunk at the wedding.” She reached for the cigarette, inhaling the smoke and releasing it. “He blacked out before anything could happen.” 

He underestimated her anger. The things that she could and would do because of it. He was a fool. He’d become like every other man in her life who had mistaken her kindness and softness as weakness. He’d taken for granted how gentle she was with him. How she opened herself up to him willingly. He wouldn’t have survived without her vulnerability. Her warmth. Chancing it, Tommy inched closer to her. 

“Why did you send a gift?” She stamped the cigarette out on the ash tray before folding her arms. 

Placing his hand on her belly, he took another chance. His fingers trailed to her waist, moving slowly - patiently. She was angry. She was hurt. It wasn’t just the letter. It was the fact that he’d given more to a piece of paper than he’d given her. She winced at his touch, but allowed him to carefully unfold her arms. “You’re not wearing it.” He raised her left hand, staring at the cheap metal. 

“It’s impolite to send an engagement ring to another man’s bride. Of course, I’m not wearing it.” 

“I wasn’t trying to be polite.” 

She studied him. “You write about me. You get me a job. You send me an engagement ring. You yell at me for getting married.” Her brows furrowed as she stared at him. As she really looked at this man. This man who had all of London cowering in fear and submission. “Then you have me answer your wife when she calls. You have a different woman for every city. You write about love like it’s a curse. Begging me to spare myself. You warn me about being an unmarried women in a city like London. You work so fucking hard to keep me a secret. To protect my reputation. To save me from being one of Thomas Shelby’s whores. To…I don’t know anymore.” She sighed. 

“I don’t know what wars you’re fighting with yourself, but I’m tired of being a casualty.” Her fingers moved his hand from her skin. “I did what you asked of me in that letter. I found another to spare my heart.” She looked beyond him before lowering her head. “I need you let me go, Mr. Shelby.” Her voice didn’t waver this time. There was a finality and certainty in her voice. She was avoiding him for his sake. “I found an office that’s looking for a secretary.” 

Tommy nodded along. His jaw tensing at the use of his surname. He waited until she finally looked at him. The tears on the brim of her eyes. He waited until she sighed. The weariness leaving her body. He waited and waited. Then he raised her left hand, slowly taking off the cheap metal adorning it as he looked into her eyes. “Tommy, what are you doing?” She asked, but she didn’t resist. He threw the metal on the ground, enjoying the shock on her face. Then, he finally did the one thing he’d been waiting to do since she’d entered his office, he kissed her. 

———————————————————————————–

That was it! Thank you so much for reading. If you’d like to be in my “anything she writes” tag list, let me know. 

Read:The Good Guy

“Hmmm.” He quirks his brow before repeating your name again. This time, he whispers it, tasting every syllable - savoring every vowel and consonant. He closes his eyes, muttering your name again, a smirk forming on his lips. When he opens his eyes again, he turns to you.

“I like it.”

You lifted your brow, amused by his reaction. “I’m glad I have your approval.”

“It suits you.”

“I could have said my name was Bob, and you would have liked it.”

“That’s because I like you,” he countered.

Rolling your eyes, you reached for your glass, finishing the liquid courage in one go. Drinking was easier than talking, and fucking was easier than being. That is why you didn’t mess around with guys like him. You preferred someone who was more interested in what was between your legs versus what was in your head.

He stared at the empty glass, taking register of your body language. “I like you,” he affirmed again.

“You don’t know me.”

“Do I have to know you to like you?”

“That’s typically how these things work.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “I know that you don’t do nice guys or good guys.”

Despite your best efforts, you smiled again for what felt like the hundredth time since you met him. You were doing the opposite of what you said you wanted. When you agreed to leave the bar with him, this wasn’t the type of night you were expecting. You were supposed to fuck his brains out and leave before he wanted to know your name. Instead, you were talking - drinking and talking. You had been talking to the point that he had inevitably asked your name. If you didn’t leave now, you were running the risk of him asking more questions about you.

“Don’t go.”

You stared at him, surprised at how quickly he read your mind.

He raised his glass to his lips, emptying the remaining brown liquid. He winced at the bitterness of the drink. Placing the glass down, he turned to you - his blue eyes sober, despite the alcohol coursing through his system. “I know that you think that I am a good guy, and maybe, I am - I was. But, I also know that you would rather fuck me than be alone tonight, and I would do anything to spend more time with you.”

He had caught you red-handed with the truth. Your heart raced. All the cards were on the table, and you were left speechless.

“The problem is that I really want to know why you would rather fuck me than talk to me. I want to know why you roll your eyes every time I say that I like you. I want to know how you can drink whiskey like it’s water.” He sighed. “I want to know you, but that’s not how this works.”

“How does this work,” you managed to croak out.

He ran his hands through his hair. “You fuck my brains out and leave before I know your name.”

You glanced down, unwilling to face the vulnerability of this moment - his vulnerability. “Why didn’t you?”

“Why,” he repeated as if he was asking himself the same question. “I like your laugh. I like the way your bottom lip curves when you smile. I like losing myself in the richness of your brown eyes. I like talking about you. I mean, when the fuck have I ever talked about the richness of someone’s eyes.” He laughed at himself, as he rubbed the stubble of his beard.

“Seb,” you interjected, knowing where this was headed.

“I liked you before I even talked to you. I’m with you, yet I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know you, but I want you. I want more than just fucking you.”

The truth sat in the air. It hang there, forcing you to face it. You shouldn’t have gone out tonight. You moved closer to him, removing the gap between you. The space between his brow creased as he watched you. You shouldn’t have talked to him. You touched his shoulder before allowing your leg to lay on his lap. You shouldn’t have let him buy you a drink. You hiked up your skirt before straddling him. He didn’t touch you or even speak. He was holding his breath. His eyes filled with wonder as you took control. You shouldn’t have gone home with him. You settled into him. His thighs parting further, so you were adequately supported. You should have left after the first drink. Your hands ran up his chest, tracing his arms and shoulders, before resting on his neck. His adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. The confident charmer who’d picked you up at the bar was now staring at you, waiting for permission. You should leave. You traced his lips then his jaw. You leaned into him. Your head touching his. You could feel his heart racing. You should leave. You kissed him slow. You should leave. Your parted your lips, deepening the kiss and taking more control. You should leave. A moan slipped your lips as he kissed you back. You should leave. You pulled back, catching your breath as you stared at him. You should leave.

“I’m not a good guy,” he whispered breathlessly.

You smirked, knowing that he would say anything to make you stay. “I like good guys.”

————————-

Thanks for reading!
Until next time, xoxo

As per usual, I am joining the thirst game late, but better late than never. Right? Whew, I have now officially joined the Sebastian Stan train. I GET IT. I FINALLY GET IT. I FINALLY SEE WHAT EVERYONE SEES. Thus, this is a Sebastian Stan inspired fic. I hope you enjoy! XX

You laughed, genuinely laughed. You couldn’t stop the natural reaction of your body, or the smile that formed on your lips.

“She laughs.” He smirked.

“He finally said something worthy of laughter.”

“He is Sebastian,” he chuckled, realizing he was still talking in third person. “Seb. I go by Seb.”

“Seb,” you repeated, letting the name sink in as you looked him over.

“She is?”

“She doesn’t do good guys.”

He raised his brow. “Who says I’m a good guy?”

You gave him a once over again. Your eyes confirming what you’d known from the moment he sat down. He wasn’t the first guy that had chosen a seat next to you at the quiet bar. He wasn’t even the first to have talked to you or tried to pick you up. Everything about you screamed “do not approach,” yet, that didn’t stop him or the others. You looked like you were having a bad day, and you couldn’t even blame your resting bitch face. In fact, the truth was you were having a bad month…year. The only reprise from the turmoil in your life was this quiet bar in the middle of one of the loudest cities in the world. It cured your bouts of loneliness by allowing you to be around people, but not be overwhelmed by them. You read unapproachable, but the truth was you were craving for someone to see you - to remind you that you were alive. That’s how you knew he was dangerous - he’d seen beyond your cool girl exterior. Your mask was slipping.

You sighed, taking another shot. “It’s not your fault. I don’t do nice guys either.”

“So, what guys do you do?”

You smiled, realizing the innuendo you’d talked yourself into. “Look, there’s a bar three blocks from here. It’s always packed and super loud. You should head over there and find a good girl…or a nice girl.”

“Who said I do good girls,” he bit his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving you, “or nice girls?”

Closing your eyes, you swallowed your nerves. You were getting sucked into his eyes, his charm, his demeanor…and you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t allow yourself to fall. “I promise you that I’m not the girl your looking for.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not looking for anything.”

“It won’t end well,” you continued, feeling yourself getting pulled in, despite the alarm bells in your head. He would only be a temporary fix, yet that’s what made this exciting. An hour of relief was better than nothing.

“Happy endings are overrated.”

You laughed, but this time you couldn’t hide the pain that was edged in your voice. Your mask was definitely slipping.

He glanced around at the nearly empty bar, checking it out as if he was actually contemplating your warning. You hoped for your sake and his that he would get up and leave. You wouldn’t hold it against him. It would actually be better this way. Yet, when he stood up, your heart sank. It was better this way you reminded yourself. You lowered your eyes and focused back on your drink. He raised his hand, getting the bartenders attention.

“I’ll close out both tabs.”

You raised your brow, but accepted the gesture. “Thanks.”

“You ready to go?”

This time, you fully turned to him surprised by the question. He grabbed his card from the bartender, placing it in his wallet as if your conversation hadn’t happened. You studied his side profile, trying to read his mind.

“Why,” you finally asked. He didn’t know your name, and everything you said in the past few minutes didn’t inspire any confidence.

His jaw tensed as he turned to look at you. His brows furrowed as his eyes bore into you. You saw the flash of worry in his eyes before he smirked and switched on the charm. Towering over you, he leaned his arm on the back of the barstool until you were face to face.

“A good guy never backs down from a fight,” he whispered, before kissing your cheek.

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Thank you for reading. Yes, I am still working on my taglist. Until I write again, xoxo.

First, thank you so much to everyone for commenting, reblogging, sending messages, and liking the first part of this story. I was a little overwhelmed by how much everyone enjoyed the first part; thus, I knew I needed to continue. Once again, thank you so much for reading! 

Read the first part here: Drowning 

In the beginning, he used to joke that getting you to share anything was like pulling teeth. You were so guarded. It took months for you to tell him the basics. Three months to learn your favorite color, four to learn your favorite food, and six to learn your middle name. Each reveal was a badge of honor that he wore with pride. Chris was an affectionate guy, almost vulnerable to a fault. It was in his nature to wear his heart on his sleeve. Although, it took a minute, you learned to adapt, and he learned to wait. Except right now, it felt like he was done waiting – done trying. The game had ended, and you were suddenly standing there with the broken pieces of your heart.

You thought you would cry, but you didn’t. Maybe, it was the shock that allowed you to keep your composure. This was your last day at the hotel, so your bags were already packed. You moved mindlessly as you collected your things and left the room key on the table. The buzzer on your phone pinged, reminding you of your flight departure. You wanted to say something, but his focus was on the person on the other end of the phone. You quietly opened the door, your heart shattering with every step, and left.

This was more than a breakup. It was a confirmation – your worst fears brought to life. You were hopeful, which was your first mistake. Hope is what kept you in it, after the third weekend alone. You liked who you were when you were with him. It was cliché, but he brought out the best in you. He made you want more, to be better. As selfish as it sounded, you weren’t ready to let go of the person you were when you were around him. He was this huge character who filled up your world with bright, untainted color. Everything was brighter, sharper, more focused. Somehow, he made your world less fuzzy. Except, now everything was a blur.

Thus, a haze followed you as you entered the car to the airport. You closed your eyes as you zoomed through the city. You should’ve been eating pastries and going to museums, wandering through coffee shops and exploring downtown. This wasn’t how your day was supposed to end. The first tear fell. Maybe, you expected too much from this, from him. Maybe, it was his fault. He was so good at playing the good guy that somehow you expected nothing else. He allowed you to hope and dream. That’s what his love did to you. It was bold. It didn’t waver or change. When he declared his love, it was final. No doubt. No regrets.

“I love you,” he whispered, as his hands traced your skin.

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. At this point, you were used to silent nights and empty beds. You were in a relationship, yet you spent most nights alone. This was now your life. You had chosen this: the lonely nights, the months-on-end without seeing each other, the lack of time. You were in a relationship with someone who was never there – not physically anyways, and the daily mundane activities of your life couldn’t distract you from it.

Thus, when the bed shifted and you felt him snuggle into bed for the first time in months, you thought you were dreaming. But he was there – he was real. You turned off your laptop, happy to leave your work for the company of him and dove into the covers. Naturally, you found yourself wrapped up in his arms, nestled in his chest, listening to the sound of nothing. You used to hate the silence, the emptiness of noise – of chaos. Yet, with him, you could spend hours in his arms doing nothing, but being silent. Your grandmother would be amused. All it took was one man and you suddenly found a way to “stop fussing and making all that noise.”

You stared up at him quizzically, doubting your own hearing. Maybe, you imagined those three little words. He smirked, his blue eyes sparkling under the dim lights. In the shadows, you could make out the creases near his eyes, the bags that couldn’t be concealed. It reminded you of this other world that consumed him when he wasn’t with you – his other love: the reason that you spent most nights alone, the root of your frustrations, yet the source of his happiness. It fulfilled him in a way that you imagined you never could, which is why you were hesitant to start this in the beginning, and why you couldn’t believe what he was saying now.

He smiled, and you leaned back, trying to read the expression on his face. You wanted to ask if he was okay, but he was calm, peaceful in his demeanor. He was tired, yet he wore this sated glow. The man looked happy – genuinely happy. You brushed it off, attributing his break from filming to his current mood, but he said it again.

This had to be the twilight zone. You blinked again and again, waiting for him to make sense. So many nights were spent thinking of this moment, but those were just dreams – hidden desires. It was too early, right? If you were better at relationships, you would know how to navigate this, but you didn’t. The only thing you knew was your grandmother’s advice – “find a man who loves you more than you love him.” Thus, when you were first falling for him, you had pushed down those feelings, terrified of being the first one to say it. Except, he was saying it now, and you didn’t know what to do.

Chris deepened his smile, his eyes amused by you. His hands traced your jaw before settling on the curve of your lips. He shifted from your lips to your nose, writing some unspoken language with his fingers. Your eyes softened, but the questions still marred your face. He didn’t say it again, letting the silence accompany his touch. You sighed, closing your eyes, as he lulled you to sleep.

He replaced his fingers with his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your lips, and then your nose, before kissing your head. “I love you.”

You opened your eyes, looking up at him again. This time, he didn’t give you time to rationalize it away. He cupped your face, keeping his blue eyes trained on you. They were steady, communicating everything he’d been trying to say with those words. You blinked, surprised by the admission in his eyes, and the steadiness in his voice. He left you with no room to guess or overthink.

“I love you.”

You smiled, chuckling before finally laughing. This wasn’t a dream. You buried your face in his chest, a sigh escaping your breath, before looking up at him. “Say it again,” you whispered.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

You held your breath and closed your eyes, savoring the moment. “Again.”

“I lo – “

“I love you too,” you cut him off. This time, he was left speechless as he gazed at you. Chris bit his lip, crinkling his nose, as he looked up at the wall. You couldn’t stop smiling as you watched him.

“Chris,”

He covered his face with his hands. “Yeah?”

You moved his hand from his face, seeing the tears that he was trying to hide. As if you didn’t already love him, this just made you love him more. You tilted his face towards you, so that you could wipe his cheeks and fully see him. “Did you hear me?”

He laughed, before pulling you to his chest. “Yeah.”  

“I love you,” you repeated.

“I love you,” he smiled as he kissed your lips. This wasn’t a dream.

 You opened your eyes as the memory faded, and reality set in. That night felt so distant and dream-like now. Those people wouldn’t have argued, but maybe you were never those people. Maybe, this was just the end of the honeymoon stage and you were both settling into your true selves. Except, the pieces didn’t fit anymore, and you couldn’t make it work.

You couldn’t remember how, but you were now sitting in your seat, waiting for the plane to take-off. Three hours and you’d be home – the three-bedroom walk-up that was now filled with his stuff. It wasn’t just your apartment anymore; it was his home too. You sighed. No, you couldn’t go back there, not yet. A hotel for tonight, then tomorrow you would figure out the unraveling mess that was your life. Nothing from the past 12 hours had truly registered. All you could think about was his stupid phone, and how it wouldn’t stop vibrating.

You closed your eyes, trying to focus on anything else. Boarding was taking longer than expected. Usually, you wouldn’t care, but right now, you needed to be anywhere else but here. “Holy shit.” You could hear a growing commotion roaring from the front of the plane. You were hiding out in the back, switching seats with an elderly woman who needed the leg room more than you. The tears that you’d been holding on too were threatening to spill, and there was no place better to hide your sobs than in the back of the plane. Thus, you left the comfort of first class for the solitude in economy. At least here, you could nurse your tears alone. You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the growing fervor among the passengers. Everyone was whispering about something, but you were too tired to figure it out, until you heard his voice.

“Excuse me, sir,” he tapped your seatmate’s shoulder, “how much do I have to pay to get you to switch seats with me. See, I really need to talk to the woman sitting beside you. Usually, I wouldn’t do this, but it’s a life or death type thing.”

You refused to open your eyes and look at him. He was using his “public voice,” tapping into his Chris Evans, the celebrity, persona. Hence, the reason for the commotion. He probably took a million selfies on his way to your seat. Knowing the power of his charm, you already knew that your seatmate was about to abandon you for a selfie with Captain America. A second later, you found yourself sitting next to Chris.

It wasn’t enough that he picked his phone over you. Now, you were subjected to a three hour-long flight with Captain America, and the last thing you wanted to do was talk. Even if you could muster the words to speak to him, everyone on the plane was watching him, which meant they were watching you.

“Fuck,” you mumbled under your breath.

———————————————————————————————————

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Should I continue?

Taglist:@hyejooismybaby,@lareine-c-blog, @malecordie,  @inlovewith3,@bitchacho25,@amelatonin,@shiseru, @lostennyc,@crushed-pink-petals, @tessvillegas,@tfandtws,@violetadefebrero,@marvelousunderneath,@jetaimeamore, @wellthirsted,@valkyriesnymph,@iwantitiwriteit,@give-me-a-million-dollars-pls,@coffeebooksandfandom,@jnp0905, @everythingstucky, @marvels-gurl,@bakarilennox,@champagnesugamama,@rosey1981,@renesmeeharelds,@akiasi,@rhyrhy462,@wondergirl711,@chaneajoyyy,@titty-teetee

Taglist:@hyejooismybaby,@lareine-c-blog, @malecordie,  @inlovewith3,@bitchacho25,@amelatonin,@shiseru, @lostennyc,@crushed-pink-petals, @tessvillegas,@tfandtws,@violetadefebrero,@marvelousunderneath,@jetaimeamore, @wellthirsted,@valkyriesnymph,@iwantitiwriteit,@give-me-a-million-dollars-pls,@coffeebooksandfandom,@jnp0905, @everythingstucky, @marvels-gurl,@bakarilennox,@champagnesugamama,@rosey1981,@renesmeeharelds,@akiasi,@rhyrhy462,@wondergirl711,@chaneajoyyy,@titty-teetee

Please let me know if you want to be included in this taglist or if I missed anyone! Thanks!