#rekindle

[classycookiexo]

[rekindlevn]

ANNOUNCEMENT [We are on HIATUS]

Good day my darlings, your resident director MintheDraws here! 

I would like to personally apologize in behalf of the team for our sudden disappearance. Due to personal life and a LOT of health issues from my side, it has been awfully hard to focus on game development.

Because of this we have decided to be in a temporary hiatus. BUT do not fret, we are still working on the game, slowly but surely. Some of the routes, mechanics and even new characters have already been planned out. We just need to execute them. It might take a while, but we will get back to you all. 

Thank you for your nonstop support for the game, for the boys, and of us. WE will be back.

Much like the boys, we will return to you.

MintheDraws + Dev team!

art by @kyitre

[averalia]

The Unburied Locket

Parings: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: Your return forces Thomas Shelby to confront their past, revealing a forgotten secret and igniting old, painful memories.

Warnings: Implied emotional manipulation, discussion of past trauma (war, abandonment), unrequited love/one-sided pain, strong language, mature themes.

A/N: The past is a powerful force, isn't it?

The incessant Birmingham rain lashed against the windows of Thomas Shelby's office, each drop a percussive reminder of the city's ceaseless churn. He sat behind his polished oak desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey at his elbow, the smoke from his cigarette curling lazily towards the high ceiling. The Shelby Company Limited was a leviathan now, its tendrils reaching into every corner of the city and beyond, but even with all his power, there were shadows he couldn't outrun.

A soft knock at the door. "Come in," Thomas grunted, his gaze still fixed on the rain-streaked pane.

Arthur poked his head in, his usual boisterousness subdued. "Thomas, there's… someone here to see you. Says she knew you from before."

Thomas's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "Before what, Arthur? Before I was born?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "Says her name is {Your first and last name}."

The name hit Thomas with the force of a physical blow, scattering the carefully constructed walls around his heart. {Your Name}. He hadn't heard that name in fifteen years, not since the mud and blood of France had swallowed the boy he once was.

"Send her in," he said, his voice a low growl.

The door creaked open, and you stepped into the room, bringing with you a ghost of sunlight into the dim space. You were older, of course, the soft curves of youth replaced by the refined lines of a woman, but your eyes were still the same — that startling shade of hazel that had always held a spark of defiant joy. Your dress, though modest, was well-tailored, hinting at a comfortable life somewhere far from Small Heath.

"Thomas," you said, your voice a gentle murmur, a stark contrast to the cacophony of his life.

He rose slowly, his gaze raking over you, searching for the girl he remembered, the one who used to laugh so easily by the canal. "{Your Name}," he replied, his voice rough. "I… I didn't expect to ever see you again."

You offered a small, hesitant smile. "Life has a way of surprising us, doesn't it?" You gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "May I?"

He nodded, sinking back into his own chair as she sat. The air crackled with unspoken history, a heavy silence punctuated only by the drumming rain.

"You've done well for yourself, Thomas," you finally said, your eyes sweeping over the opulent office, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. "From the stables to… this."

He scoffed, a wry twist to his lips. "It's all blood and iron, {Your Name}. Not much different from the stables, really, just a different kind of horse."

You chuckled softly, a sound that stirred embers of forgotten warmth in his chest. "You always had a way with words, even then. Always so… intense."

"And you were always so damn naive," he retorted, a flicker of the old bitterness surfacing. "Believed in pretty things and happy endings."

Your smile faded. "I believed in you, Thomas. Or at least, the boy you were. Before the war. Before… everything."

He flinched, the words a direct hit. He knew what you were referring to. The secret. The one they had shared, innocent and reckless, beneath the weeping willow by the Cut.

"What brings you to Birmingham, {Your Name}?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the treacherous shoals of the past.

You clasped your hands in your lap, your gaze dropping to them. "My father passed, a few months ago. He had some distant relatives here, and I came to settle some affairs." You paused, then looked up, your eyes locking with his. "And I… I heard about you, Thomas. Everyone has. I was curious."

Curiosity. Or something more. He felt a familiar knot of apprehension tighten in his gut. "And now you've seen. Are you satisfied?"

"I don't know what I am, Thomas," you admitted, your voice low. "It's a strange thing, seeing someone you knew so well, become someone entirely different. I remember a boy who used to read poetry to me, who talked about running away to the sea."

"That boy died in France," Thomas said flatly, taking a long pull from his whiskey. "He didn't survive the trenches."

"Did he, though?" You challenged, your voice gaining a quiet strength. "Or did he just get buried under layers of ambition and steel?"

He slammed his glass down on the desk. "What do you want, {Your Name}? To dig up old ghosts? To remind me of a life I chose to leave behind?"

You met his intensity without flinching. "No. I… I just wanted to see if there was anything left. Of us. Of what we had." Your voice softened, almost a whisper. "Do you remember the night by the willow, Thomas? The moon was full, and you swore you'd never forget me."

A cold sweat pricked at Thomas's skin. The memory was sharp, vivid, a clandestine embrace beneath the pale moonlight, the whispered promises. The secret they had shared, born of youthful passion and desperate hope – the small, silver locket he had given you, containing a lock of a pressed flower from the meadow where they first met and a saying he had wrote inside the locket.

"It was a lifetime ago, {Your Name}," he said, his voice strained. "We were children."

"And yet, it feels like yesterday when I close my eyes," you countered, a tear shimmering in your eye. "I kept the locket, Thomas. All these years."

He looked at you, truly looked at you, and saw not just the woman before him, but the girl you had been, the one whose innocence he had perhaps, unknowingly, taken with him into the war. And with that gaze, a tremor of something he hadn't felt in years – not fear, but a deeper, more profound vulnerability – ran through him.

"Why now?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "After all this time?"

You stood, walking slowly towards the window, your back to him. The rain had begun to ease, replaced by a dreary mist. "Because some things," you said, your voice thick with emotion, "they don't just disappear. They haunt you. And sometimes, you need to face them to finally be free."

You turned, your eyes, still holding that spark, now held a challenge. "Are you free, Thomas? Or are you still haunted by the boy you left behind?"

The question hung in the air, a silent accusation, a forgotten secret unearthed. Thomas Shelby, the formidable gangster, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the damp Birmingham air. The past had returned, and it was demanding its due. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was not just a visit. This was a reckoning.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, between them. Thomas’s gaze, usually impenetrable, flickered, betraying a flicker of the turmoil within. He pushed himself up from his desk, walking to the window you now stood before, looking out at the murky expanse of Birmingham. The mist clung to the rooftops like a shroud, mirroring the fog in his own mind.

"Free?" he finally scoffed, his voice laced with a bitter irony. "There's no such thing as 'free' for a man like me. Not when you've seen what I've seen, done what I've done. The past isn't a ghost you can outrun; it's a part of your bones."

You turned, her expression unreadable. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Thomas?"

He spun to face you, his eyes blazing. "I don't sleep at night. I plan. I fight. I build. This empire, it's not some childhood dream. It's a shield. Against the chaos, against the damn world that tried to break me." He gestured around the luxurious office. "This isn't for show. It's control. And control means leaving certain things buried."

"Like us?" You asked, your voice soft but sharp, cutting through his defenses. "Like the locket? The child we spoke of, even in jest?"

The mention of the locket, and more importantly, the fleeting, innocent dreams of a future child, struck him like a physical blow. He walked to a side table, pouring himself another whiskey, his hand trembling slightly. "There was no 'us'. There was a boy and a girl, too young, too naive. The world broke that boy, and the girl… she moved on, didn't she?"

"I had to," you whispered, your eyes filling with unshed tears. "You left. You went to war. And then you came back a stranger. A ghost in the flesh, Thomas. You never came for me."

"And what was I supposed to do?" he roared, the raw pain in his voice surprising even himself. "Come back from the hell of the trenches and offer you… what? A life of poverty in Small Heath? A husband haunted by the dead? I saw things. Things no man should ever see. I carried the war in my bones, and I knew I couldn't drag you into that darkness." He took a long swig of whiskey, the burn doing little to quell the ache in his chest. "I did what I thought was best. I cut you loose, for your own damn good."

"For my own good?" You cried, your voice cracking. "Do you truly believe that? Or did you just… forget? Did all the ambition, all the power, just erase us from your mind?"

He stared into his glass, seeing not the amber liquid but the swirling shadows of his past. "I never forgot you. Not for a single day. Every decision I made, every risk I took… a part of it was always about making sure that no one I cared about would ever be that vulnerable again. That they wouldn't have to face what I faced. You were safer without me."

You shook your head, tears finally tracing paths down your cheeks. "Safer, perhaps. But alone. And with a piece of my heart always wondering what became of the boy who read me poetry by the canal." You reached into your handbag, pulling out a small, tarnished gold locket. It was the one he’d given you, still holding its secrets. "This wasn't just a trinket, Thomas. It was a promise. A memory of something pure, something untouched by the ugliness that came later."

He looked at the locket, then at your tear-streaked face. The familiar, almost instinctual urge to shut down, to push you away, warred with a new, unsettling sensation – a profound ache of regret. This woman, standing before him, was a living testament to a life he’d irrevocably altered.

"What do you want from me?" he asked again, his voice raw, stripped of its usual command. "Absolution? I don't have it to give."

You stepped closer, your hand reaching out, hesitantly, towards him. "I don't want absolution, Thomas. I want… I want to know if the boy who gave me this locket is still in there, somewhere. I want to know if he remembers." Your eyes, so full of sorrow, were also full of a desperate hope. "I don't know why I came here, truly. Part of me wanted to confront you, yes. But another part… another part wanted to find a piece of myself that I lost when you walked away."

He stood frozen, the warmth of the whiskey doing little to thaw the ice around his heart. The past, he now realized, wasn't just haunting him; it was standing right in front of him, asking for an answer he didn't know how to give.

[roxygen22]

You Don't Know Me

Inspired by this prompt

(Not famous Timmy)

It started off as a normal morning with a stop by a darling little coffee shop en route to work. The aromatic smell of roasting beans wafted out the door as you pulled it open. It was your favorite way to start the day. In fact, you frequented the place so often that they started automatically making your order as soon as they saw you through the window.

"Hey, [Y/N]! The usual?" the barista called out.

"Yep! I'm feeling a couple of pumps of vanilla today, too," you replied as you stepped up to the counter.

"You got it."

You smiled and nodded, stepping over to the shelf of knick knacks and mugs while you waited. You gently picked up a tumbler to inspect its design and pass the time when a familiar voice from your past spoke quietly behind your shoulder. So softly that you could barely hear him over the coffee grinder.

"[Y/N]?"

Your hands froze in place on the tumbler. Slowly, you turned toward the source of the voice, the last person you expected to see in the town you had only called home for less than half a year.

"Wha- It is you! I heard them call your name and thought it couldn't be!" The source let out a surprised laugh and came in for a hug. Stunned, you stood there awkwardly with your arms held out from your sides.

"Timothée? Wha- what are you doing here?" you asked as he stepped back to look at you, your face scrunched in confusion.

"Getting coffee," he replied cheekily. His smile reached his sparkling green eyes, highlighting laugh lines that weren't there the last time you saw him.

You narrowed your eyes at him and playfully shook your head, then turned to replace the tumbler on the shelf before he could see your cheeks redden. "I mean - what are you doing HERE? In town?" You looked over your shoulder back at the man you once called your boyfriend over a decade ago.

"I live here now," he chirped happily.

"Wha- for real?" You spun to face him again.

"Yeah. I just started a new job downtown last week and got an apartment just up the block from here," Timothée answered excitedly. "Gosh...it's just...it's so good to see you! I wasn't expecting to know anybody here. How long has it been?"

"About 15 years since...since the summer before we went off to college." Your voice trailed off.

"Right." His eyes dropped to the floor momentarily. "[Y/N], I-"

"[Y/N]!" the barista interrupted. You held up a finger to pause the conversation and stepped over to get your drink.

"Would you like to join me?" he asked when you returned, gesturing to the table with a mug and a book.

"Oh, uh, thanks but I need to head to work. I just stop in for a drink to go on my way sometimes."

"Ah, ok." Timothée's reply was dripping with disappointment. "Maybe we could catch up over dinner soon?" he asked with a shrug.

"Uh, sure. I really have to go, but I can give you my number and we can set something up. Here." You handed him your phone. "Plug in yours and call so you have mine."

Timothée smiled and took the phone as instructed. He looked down at his own device as it rang. "Same number, I see," he noted.

"You still have my number after all of this time?" you asked in mild shock, head tipped quizzically to the side as he handed back your phone. You felt heat rush to your cheeks again as his hand grazed yours.

Timothée nodded. "I'll message you later. Hope you have a good day at work!"

"You, too." Arms flailed awkwardly as you both decided on whether to give the other a full hug, side hug, or just a light squeeze on the arm. He seemed to do the same. You both landed on a full hug but had to switch the tilt of your heads to keep from bumping into each other. You huffed a laugh and pulled away after a brief moment. "Bye, Timothée."

You walked out of the shop, bewildered by the unexpected exchange. You looked through the window again as Timothée walked back to his table. He made eye contact with you and waved slightly. You returned the wave and half-smiled before setting your sights back to the path in front of you.

Wow. That was not on my bingo card for the day, you thought to yourself. Reminiscent feelings of both young love and intense heartache washed over you. The last time you laid eyes on your high school sweetheart was from the backseat of your parents' car as they drove you and your belongings states away for college. You called and wrote each other, but Timothée ultimately broke up with you by phone right before winter break. He thought you two should both be free to explore other options to be sure you know what you want. Looking back, he was right. You were both too young to be so serious.

Your winter holiday was spent with your parents, sulking in your childhood room when they weren't forcing you to socialize with family. It gave you time to grieve, to be angry. Enough time to say goodbye to the past. You returned to campus a new person, hell bent on exploring your own options and putting Timothée behind you.

You rebounded hard, hit the books just as hard, and finished your bachelors and master's degrees in nursing with a 4.0 GPA and a serious boyfriend, who proposed shortly after graduation. After years of marriage, he, too, decided to explore other younger "options." Newly divorced and a bit jaded, you moved across the country for a job opportunity and a fresh start. It was time to choose yourself instead of waiting for others to do so.

Despite your relunctance to reconnect with your past, you set up dinner plans with Timothée for the following evening. You were wary of spending time with someone with known history of breaking your heart, but you reminded yourself to cut 18-year-old Timothée some slack. You both likely did a lot of growing up since you last hung out. You were now mature enough to set boundaries for your own peace of mind. Besides, you hadn't really made any new friends yet outside of work, so it would be nice to have at least one person to hang out with occasionally.

***

You spotted Timothée looking around nervously in front of the restaurant as your rideshare pulled up, fidgeting with a ring on his hand. His right hand, you noted. Relief washed over his face, and his shoulders relaxed when he caught sight of you in the back seat. He flashed that big boyish grin that you love. Loved, you reminded yourself. Past tense. He hurried over to open the door and extended a hand to help you up from the car.

"Hi," he said, supporting your weight as you stood.

You thanked the driver as Timothée shut the door and then turned back to him and smiled. "Hello."

He seemed stunned, just staring at you briefly until he cleared his throat. "Um, hungry?" he asked, gesturing his hand toward the front door of the restaurant.

"Famished. All I had time to eat today was a bag of chips. And not all in one sitting." You walked alongside him until he hurried past to open the door for you again. After checking in, the host led the two of you to the rooftop patio. The light breeze and twinkling lights hung from the trees would normally make for a lovely evening, but it made you panic slightly. Maybe this was too close to a date-like ambiance for just catching up with an old...friend. But it was one of your favorite places to eat, and he was too new in the area to have formed such opinions.

"So just chips, huh?" Timothée asked as he pulled out a chair for you. His breath tickled your bare shoulder, sending shivers down your spine, despite the warm air on the patio. Your eyes followed him as he walked to his seat. Aside from a few nuanced signs of aging, he still looked exactly the same.

"It was a chaotic day at work. One of the other nurses called out sick, so I was covering more patients than normal until his backup came. A couple of patients coded, but luckily, not at the same time. And we were able to get them back." You nodded in gratitude at the server who had filled your water glasses and brought a basket of bread, which you promptly dove into.

"That's right, you were wearing scrubs at the coffee shop. So you work at the hospital?"

"Mmhmm. I needed a fresh start, so I closed my eyes, picked a spot on the map, and started applying to the nearest hospitals. I moved out here about five months ago. Which is why I was surprised to see you. I haven't run into anyone I know except for coworkers. And maybe the occasional patient. This isn't exactly a hoppin' place," you joked. "What brought you here?"

"I, uh, needed a change of scenery, too. New York was a bit too cutthroat for my taste, and nothing was tying me down there, so I started applying to associate positions at law firms across the country and landed here."

"An attorney? Wow, that...that's awesome. I bet your mother is proud. If I remember correctly, she wasn't too fond of your choice of liberal arts degree."

Timothée chuckled. He fidgeted with his glass, tilting it around slightly. He opened his mouth a couple of times, as if he wanted to speak but talked himself out of it. You pretended not to notice as you perused the menu, despite already knowing your selection. Finally, he gathered the courage to ask, "So, uh, if it's not too bold to ask, why did you need a fresh start?"

You paused mid-sip from your water glass and slowly brought it back down. You cleared your throat and dabbed your mouth with the napkin. Right as you started to respond, the server came by to take your order. Once she left, you tentatively resumed.

"My husband...my EX-husband cheated on me. I got the house in the divorce, but it just didn't feel the same since I caught him and that woman...girl, really, a girl 13 years younger than me, in our bed. So I sold everything to start over here."

"I- I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve that."

"No, I didn't. But honestly...how would you know? We've lived almost another lifetime since we last spoke. You once left me to explore other options, too," you bit back with measured vehemence. You didn't intend to go there so early in the conversation, but emotion overruled.

"I know," Timothée responded quietly. "That's how I know it's his loss." He cast his eyes down to the plate in front of him as the server set down your meals.

The two of you ate silently for a few minutes before you gathered the courage to ask, "Why didn't you call me if you had my number this whole time?"

"I didn't think you would want to hear from me," he practically whispered. He looked up and caught your eye. "And then I heard through some of our classmates that you got married."

"I would have picked up the phone for a friend. And for all of his faults, my ex was not the jealous type." Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you tried to understand.

"I...didn't want to be just friends."

"Oh," you whispered. "Oh!" you said again at a markedly higher pitch once realization set in. "B-but you said..."

"I was young and scared that I was missing out on whatever else was out there. But nobody else ever measured up to what I had with you."

You gawked as you gathered your thoughts. "Timothée, WE were young - we were 18! As much as it hurt, you were right. We had no business making a commitment to each other when we didn't even know ourselves yet."

"I know now." He boldly laid his hand on yours as both of you ignored your food.

You pulled your hand back. "But you don't know me. Just an idea you have of me from when I was a teenager. I'm not the same person anymore."

"That's okay. I'll just get to know you again," Timothée stated matter-of-factly.

"I...," you interrupted yourself with a laugh and shook your head. "I told myself I wouldn't fall for you again tonight."

"But?"

"I...I'm not saying no...just, whoa. I need time to process this. I- I still need time to get to know myself again."

Timothée smiled. "I can wait. But I can't deny the serendipity of it all. I came out here to the middle of nowhere and ended up finding the one person I have wanted to see for years."

You blushed, timidly placing your hand back on his. Before you could speak, your server came by to ask about dessert. Timothée looked at you with that silly grin again.

<><><><><>

"Do you still love cheesecake, or has that changed, too?"

Masterlist

Edited 6/21 to include tag list again! It had been so long since I posted that I forgot!

@croatianprincess @bluizh @groovy-lady @pmak2002 @itshonestlynotme @parkbabyj @genesis-margarita @superlegend216

[minthe-drawings]

"Given the chance, would you try again?"✨

Our Otome Jam 2024 Rekindle VN(DEMO) is out now!

🕯️Over 8k Words of Narrative 🕯️3 Love Interests 🕯️6 Unlockable CGs 🕯️Re-Nameable MC 🕯️Choose Pronouns 🕯️Partial Voice Acting 🕯️and an Original Soundtrack

Play it here: https://minthedraws.itch.io/rekindle

[null-re]

2 shitty doodles and one slightly shaded singer dude

[holylulusworld]

Rekindle - Flufftober 2

Summary: Thor and you meet again.

Pairing: Chubby!Thor Odinson x Exgirlfriend!Reader

Square 13 filled for @avengersbingo (expired): Reunited

Square 15 filled for @marvelfluffbingo (expired): old flame

Square 6 filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Free Space

Warnings: Thor has low self-esteem, fluff, a tiny hint of naughtiness, mentions of past breakup, a hint of harassment towards chubby Thor

Rating: Mature

Trope: Reunion

Words: 1029

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

The wind blows a little harder today, but you still smile.

Fall finally arrived, and you are giddy like a child to collect leaves and visit the pumpkin patch.

The world changed once again. The world order was restored.  People came back, and everyone got a second chance.

Even if you are not the lucky one who got her true love back, you’re happy for the others having the chance to love each other again.

“Another one, please,” you dip your head as a familiar voice catches your attention. It comes from one of the seats outside your favorite bakery. “It’s delicious, ma’am.”

You step closer, eyes glued to the man ordering another slice of pumpkin pie. “Thor?” You blink a few times. He’s still as handsome as you remember, but he’s got a belly now.

A thick blonde beard frames his face, and he’s got long dreadlock-style blonde hair. He looks different, but his eyes are the same.

“It’s really you!” you smile widely and hug Thor before he can react. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

“Y/N?” He gasps as you won’t let go of him. “I-I’m good. Uh-I try to get in shape again and find a place where I belong.”

“Whoa, a lot is going on in your life.” You let go of Thor and smile at him. “I heard what happened to Asgard. I’m so sorry, Thor.”

“It’s…we found a new place. We’re about to build a new home for the survivors,” Thor drops his eyes to his belly. “I’m not the man you used to know, huh?”

“Why are you saying this?” You sit on the free chair at his table. “Did you change so much? I can still see the kind man I met five years ago.”

“You’re too kind to speak the truth. Look at me, dove. I’m fat and useless,” he sighs deeply. “I just can’t find a reason to…” Thor shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You didn’t bother me at all, Thor,” you reach out to touch his hand. “We all have ups and downs. You’ve lost so much. No one could endure such pain without losing hope. But I know you are strong enough to overcome all of this.”

“I lost more than hope,” he sheepishly admits. “There is nothing worth living for any longer. Most of my days I spend at the café, eating more food to fill the emptiness inside of me.”

“Thor, in front of me still sits the man sweeping me off of my feet,” you squeeze his hand. “If you want to have a slice of pie, I can keep you company. I wanted to have some tea and pumpkin pie too before I go to the pumpkin patch.”

“Pumpkin patch?” Thor’s eyes sparkle.

He remembers how you invited him to go to a pumpkin patch before your relationship fell apart. Thor had to leave to help Asgard and didn’t return for almost a year.

Jane Foster came back into the picture, and before he knew it, you broke up. You didn’t want to share his heart with another woman or spend years apart from the man you love.

“YES! They got the best pumpkins, or so I heard. I want to find the perfect pumpkins to decorate my store and home,” you hastily explain. “You know how I get when it comes to decoration.”

“I remember,” he flashes you a smile, making his cheeks dimple. Thor places one hand on his belly, sighing once again. He’s not the good-looking man you dated years ago in his opinion.

You smile at Thor as the waitress places the plate with the pie in front of him. She looks Thor up and down, judging him for ordering another slice of pie by dropping her eyes on his belly. The woman shakes her head before turning her attention toward someone yelling at her.

“I…you recognized me,” he whispers to not catch the waitress’s attention. “People these days don’t do this often.”

“Why wouldn’t I recognize you, Thor?” You frown deeply. “You’re still my Thor. Of course, I recognized you, dummy.” You grin.

“Y/N, you don’t have to pretend. I know how I look,” Thor mumbles. He dares not to meet your eyes; afraid he’ll see what he sees in most women's eyes these days. Rejection and disgust.

“Thor, you should know me better,” you get up from your chair to cup his face to look Thor deep in the eyes. “I always admired and loved the man you are, not how you looked. He’s still there, I can see him in your eyes. You lost your way for a moment, but you will find your footing and get back on your feet. And I like me a cozy belly to…”

“…to what?” He furrows his brows when you dip your head to whisper something far from innocent in his ear while you run your hand over his belly. Thor gulps hard, suddenly feeling hungry for something else than pie. “Oh—”

“If you are free, you could join me to choose the pumpkins for decoration and pie, and later, we can go for a walk and collect a few colorful leaves.”

“I’d like that,” Thor watches you sit back down, a content smile on his face. “How many pumpkins do you need?”

“Enough for two,” you return his smile, feeling your heart flutter when Thor grabs your hand to hold it like he used to do.

Maybe this is the chance you have been waiting for.

Thor is back in your life, and you’d be damned if you let him walk out on you ever again. You’ll give him something that he’s longing for.

A home and someone who’ll love him unconditionally…

Tags in reblog.