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renata-has-thoughts · 1 year

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W/c: 2.2k Pairing: Dom fem Reader x Sub P.Bateman Includes: PLEASE READ!!! Dubcon, very dominant reader, physical assault, blood play, blood drinking, scratching, degradation, riding, p in v, dacryphilia, choking/breath play, Patrick is into it but only slightly admits to it at the end, therapeutic sex? If that’s a thing? ‘I/My/Mine’ pronouns for reader.

A/n: First of all, always read tags, but I mean it this time! This is very intense but I had a LOT of fun writing it. I’ve read the book, and I can assure you he’s an insecure slut, and he’s so babygirl. Need I remind you, INTENSE. If you don’t like it don’t read it. That’s on you. No minors. Have fun~

My fist came down sharp across his face. I reveled in the electric contact stinging my knuckles as the hook of my arm drew away. What I savored even more was the pained, groggy gasp Bateman emitted, his head lolling to the side with the motion of my punch before snapping back, and his half-lidded eyes meeting my gleeful, anticipatory ones.

He made a movement like gritty biting to fix his jaw back into place, the grotesque crunch causing his expression to sour.

“I bet that hurts, doesn’t it?” I teased, loosening his tie with two fingers, curling them upwards suggestively with a coy smile. His face stayed stone cold and annoyed, but there was something behind his eyes. Like the poised stature of a scared rabbit preparing to dart off. The threat of adrenaline. It pulsated, alive and steady. I could stare into those eyes for hours. I could claw them out with the edges of my nails, ruining them.

Beauty is only that when it’s temporary. And Patrick is beautiful. With a swift tug, his tie was thrown somewhere far beyond my peripheral vision. Beyond my care.

“I’m pleasantly surprised you haven’t told or forced me to stop yet. Either you’re secretly into this or you have some insecurity about dignity…seeing what you can take,” I mused as I undid the buttons of his shirt meticulously, adding in a whisper, “whichever one it is, it’s absolutely pathetic. I find it adorable.”

The farther I got down, the more I could sense his restraints heightening. I couldn’t sense his breathing getting faster, nor as in feel it from where I was straddling him or hear it from where I was bent over his chest, but rather knew it. Call it intuition.

For my enjoyment, I didn’t undo the last button, I simply ripped it open, ruining some of the stitching in the process. Patrick yelped.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he hissed, more solemnly than with bite.

“Physically or financially? Because I don’t see you making any moves to get me off of you.”

“That was Versace.” He mumbled from somewhere low, and went silent again, save for a few small noises while I stripped the shirt off his arms and out from underneath him. I rewarded it with the same discarded fate of the tie into the abyss behind me.

I splayed my hands across his abdomen. So warm…so humanly warm. If I didn’t have any self-control I would slice him open from every vantage point I had. He is just so perfect.

“Maybe one of these days I’ll eat you alive,” I said, turning my attention towards removing his pants. He made a brief, inaudible high-pitched sound. It caused me to smile.

With a tug and a toss, I had him. He was as good as a cornered mouse. He looked like it, too, eyes boring into mine, alert and unsteady. I bared my hypothetical fangs at him in an open-lipped grin. His eyes darted away, off to the side as if in humiliation.

“You do maintain your physique quite well for me, Bateman.” I complimented, letting my eyes run wild around his almost exposed body, except for his silk boxers. Of course they were silk.

I removed my robe-the only thing I was wearing-while examining the man before me. This seemed to grab his interest, his own eyes making their journey across my flesh. I do have my own insecurities, as an unspoken custom to any person, but I relished the way Patrick looked at me. He was intimidated. What a pretty response.

I hoisted myself, in my straddle position, just a bit higher up his body so I was sitting on his abdomen. Just an inch or so closer to his face.

Without any warning, I punched him again, this time with my non-dominant hand. The bliss of it all consumed me again. The contact, the thrum of my veins and his, the sound, in all its harshness. I could’ve orgasmed right then and there. I suppressed a pleasured moan when Patrick coughed and whimpered. When his head returned to look at me again, I was ecstatic to see I had drawn blood in his mouth.

“Fu-uck…fuck!” He groaned. Maybe he bit down too hard on his tongue, maybe the clash of teeth caused one to loosen. Excitement coursed through me as I leaned down to kiss him, eager to figure out just how I had demolished the insides of his mouth.

It was open-lipped and I spent no foreplay before pushing my tongue in. For the first time that night, I moaned with a newfound wanton fervor. I tasted blood. His blood on my tongue. Even though my eyes were closed, I felt as if rolling them back into my head. As I drank in his flavor disguised in hurried kisses, I spent careful notice on the heartbeat deeper in my body. Need. Heat. Something beyond craving.

I desired to kiss him longer, to enjoy the blood I drew for myself, like wine from a vineyard, but my body demanded he be inside it.

The need almost hurt, I admit. I sat up, smiling down at him benevolently, and pushed back and over his groin. I can’t say I was surprised to feel he was desperately hard. I almost felt bad. I tsk-ed with pity. Teasingly.

“Fuck, Bateman, you’re hard,” I muttered, observing the obvious and licking my teeth for any remaining blood, like going in for seconds after a decadant meal. I palmed the intrusion through his clothes, biting my lip when he moaned. I wish I had a keener ear. I wanted to transcribe that onto a sheet of music. To play it for myself every night. Feeling each note under my fingers on the piano. Feeling his vocal chords.

I looked up at his expression, and decided I would’ve titled the music ‘ruin’, for his eyes sprang tears, blood pooled from his mouth, a vague bruise blossomed on the side of his face. Yes. He was ruined.

I cursed something holy and beautiful under my breath as I hooked my finger in the waistband, eyes glancing up to him to note his submissive expression. His cheeks were red. Flushed from my assault or the obvious situation at hand, I didn’t know, but I assumed both.

I pulled it down. Away. Off his ankles. And there he was, ready however I would take him.

I sucked in a harsh breath, either of my hands coming up and digging into the tissue of his thighs, my nails just barely piercing his flesh. Much to my enjoyment, he made a pained sob as I drew blood from one point where my fingernail was pressed just hard enough to do so. I grit my teeth to maintain some composure.

A small amount of blood coalesced under my right hand, where, as aforementioned, my fingers dug into his thighs. I grinded myself against his other leg to satiate me in the meanwhile as I bent down and licked the blood from his left one.

Y’know those conversation starters, that go something along the lines of ‘if you had to drink one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be’? I have a new answer, thanks to the events detailed. His blood was orgasmically fantastic in my mouth. It’s like it was made to go there. To be devoured by me. To take it for my own.

“Oh, fuck, Bateman,” I droned, lips shiny with his blood, a trickle down my chin. I sat up, and the sight before me was heavenly.

The slut was leaking precum. From me drinking his blood. And his face-Christ, his face-I can still see it when I close my eyes. Even more tears glimmered around his groggy eyes, drunk on me, blood from before still on his pretty lips. He was painfully red elsewhere, too. I felt self-gratified knowing he was likely agonizing over how hard he was. Fighting to not just cum without any contact whatsoever. That made me fucking throb, and I’m not embarrassed to say that.

Equanimity be damned. I practically threw any leftover poise I had behind me like I did his clothes.

I licked up the still bleeding wound on his thigh again, but I dragged my tongue up and onto his burning erection this time. He seized. Spasmed at the contact.

He moaned so despairingly I honestly can still hear it reverberating in my head. I, in turn, moaned as well. I kept moving my tongue, focusing on a vein I found, exploring its edges and curves. His precum went well with his blood, a good flavor combination I made a mental note to try again at a later time.

I needed our bodies close so badly. Together. To take him inside my body, permanently instating him as mine, and a physical part of me. So I sat back up, still straddling his leg, and hoisted both of mine over to lock him in place. I steadied my breath. I had appearances to maintain. I slid myself up, and finally, down.

He gasped. I gasped, too, but made an effort to suppress it. He felt…I don’t know if there’s really a word for it. Incredible will suffice.

“Is this what you wanted?” I asked, beginning to thrust up and down upon him.

“I-I-“ He replied, per say. His voice was battered and broken.

“Ugh, speak up,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. Half from pleasure half from feigned frustration.

“Yea…yeah…” Patrick finally sighed. All vulnerable. Defenses crumbled. Mine to pillage and desecrate.

“Slut,” I chuckled, barely audible. I knew he heard it by the way he choked out a sob. That sparked in me a deviously brilliant idea.

Still with him inside me, I careened down just enough to wrap both my hands around his throat. With each thrust, I applied more and more pressure to my grip around his throat. Soon he sputtered and coughed, chest heaving as he tried to breathe through his bloodied nose. His eyes were off somewhere distant-like an animal looking at something not there. A ghost. Maybe it was the ghost of who he was before I ruined his facade, tore it down to pieces. Evaporating from his body as he fought for air. I moaned.

From this position, me leaning down, he hit a spot that felt just right. My knees felt weak upon their own accord.

He tried to grab my arms, as if making a move to pry them away. I wouldn’t be having that. I slid my thumbs down to the dip of his windpipe in a silent threat, and he instantly dropped his hands, making the correct and logical choice.

I toyed with him a little, abusing my power over him. I loosened my grasp on his neck completely, letting him get in one shaky, anguished gasp, and then clamped back down again. Upon doing so, he bucked his hips up, consequently getting deeper inside.

I laughed with joyous disbelief. “You-you like being choked? You’re getting off on it?” I guffawed in hilarity from the situation at hand. No pun intended. “What-is it…don’t tell me it’s gonna make you cum, now. That would be mortifying for you.”

“I-I’m-“ he writhed.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes.”

He shook his head meekly. That, or trembled.

“Well hold on, if you would be so kind. I’m get-fuck-I’m getting about there too, but…we wouldn’t want you to become all overstimulated, would we?” I broke out into a broader, toothy grin, “I don’t want you to get hurt, Bateman.”

He whined and whimpered, as if wounded. Which he was. I picked up my pace, managing to rub my clit on his groin every now and again, groaning each time I did so.

Finally. Now I was ready.

“Alright. Whatever. You can cum.” I muttered, syllables asunder, half to myself and half to him. I bared my teeth and growled lowly as I came, mentally releasing something spike-edged and dark in my mind that had been plaguing me for a while. Like admitting something deep to a therapist. I needed this like a salaryman a vacation. Throughout this, I didn’t stop, making Patrick follow rapidly, breathing with loud groans and short, pathetic wails when he came. I had a feeling this release meant something more to him, too. A letting go. Literally.

Eventually, I slowed and gently peeled my hands away from his throat. His inhales were deep and steady, exhales shaky. I pulled off and everything about him went limp, coping with the events. I chuckled inaudibly. I swung my legs off and over the bed, standing up and headed towards the bathroom. I heard no commotion from his room, and after cleaning myself off, I emerged to see him unmoved except for the rising and falling of his chest. I fetched my robe from its crumpled spot on the ground, lithely wrapping it back around me. I went to leave to the kitchen to grab myself a snack, but paused in the doorframe

“Water? Tea?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Are you alive?”

He nodded.

“You’re sure?”

Nodding.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Very enthusiastic nodding.

I smiled to myself as I left to raid his fridge.

End

If you made it this far you’re messed up and I love you and we should get married. Repost and comment if you feel inclined.

#patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman smut #American psycho smut #Patrick Bateman fanfiction

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deejadabbles · 5 months

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Ollo 👀👉👈

Whatever and wherever the muses take you 💜

Only if you want to ofc 😘💜

P.S. sorry for being awkward 🤣🤣🤣

I have gotten flustered and weird and I'm sorry

Instead of proper words I made a chibi anime dragon girl ask instead 💀

One pretty boy Kix coming up, my dear! This is half inspired by the words on that sign, half inspired by the fact that I spent 15 minutes laying in bed this morning wishing I could cuddle Kix instead of going into work lmao

Pretty Mornings (Kix x Reader) fluff

Rating: gen Word Count: 887 Warning: none, besides tooth rotting fluff centered around established relationships <3 also not proof read don't lookatme

In a perfect world, the scene would be bathed in sunlight.

You were made for it, after all. Bright and warm and comforting. Rays of sun were made to light up your face, Kix was sure of it.

Instead there was only the sterile lights of the Republic ship overhead, but that was alright. If waking up to your peaceful, gorgeous sleeping face was as close to perfect as he could get, then it was more than enough.

Kix sifted on the pillow just a little, just enough to get more comfortable, but hopefully not enough for you to notice. When you didn’t stir, he felt a smile lift his lips. He knew what you would say, if you caught him again. You’d get all flustered and cover your face, insist that drooling and snoring wasn’t cute or pretty, and he would beg to differ.

And that was just fine too, he’d spend every morning reminding you how pretty you are, so long as he got these moments in the first place.

Of course, he couldn’t resist, couldn’t stop himself from eventually reaching out giving your cheek the lightest brush of his fingers. You did stir at that, but it was just you turning into his touch, subconsciously rising to the familiar feel of him. There was also a slight, inaudible mumble, but that just made him smile more.

Unfortunately, all good things, in other words, all near-perfect mornings, had to come to an end. He hated to wake you, hated to break the serenity of the moment, but getting reprimanded for tardiness on duty would not make the day any easier.

After allowing himself one more long look at you, Kix leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Hey, mesh’la, time to wake up,” he whispered against your skin.

And of course, at first, all you did was groan and shift towards his warmth, snuggling against him. He chuckled and kissed the top of your hair, hand moving to rub your back.

“Come on, sweetheart, we need to get up,” he murmured, barely staving off the cozy haze of sleep wanting to take him over again.

It was so easy to just fall back into the comfort of such things when you were cuddled to him. A little firmer pat to your back finally had you rustling proper. He leaned back and found one annoyed eye peeking up at him.

He laughed lightly again, “There you are.”

“Ugh, why do mornings have to be so early?” you mumbled, pulling back enough to stretch a little.

“There aren’t really mornings out here, you know. You would say that even if we were on the night shift.”

“Don’t cloud my complaining with facts.”

And there it was, another reason having you was a near perfect way to start the morning, you always made him laugh. “Trust me,” he said, “I would much rather stay here and stare at your gorgeous face all day.”

Kix really knew you too well. As predicted he saw your eyes go wide only for a moment before they were hidden by you yanking the blanket up over your head.

“Oh no you don’t,” his teasing tone matched his tickling hands as he wrestled the covers away from you, “None of that, no hiding that cute flustered face!”

You were smiling when he unearthed your head again and Kix took the chance to roll over you, effectively trapping you from hiding again. He planted a light kiss on your lips before pressing his forehead to yours and letting out a content sigh.

It was your turn to mumble against his skin, “Not fair, you know, calling me pretty when I’m barely even awake to defend myself.” With some effort, you freed your arms from the sheet prison he’d wrapped you in, and threw them around his shoulders. “Especially since I’m the one who likes to stare at your pretty face in the morning.”

That made him pause. Or, rather, made his brain stall. He blinked down at you and, if he were any less distracted, he’d praise your ability to turn the tables to fast as he felt his face heat up.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Oh, I’m pretty, am I?”

Your lips brushed against his cheek as you whispered, “Prettiest man in the GAR.” He couldn’t know exactly what look he had on his face but, whatever it was, it didn’t hide the effect your words had on him because you hummed in appreciation. “Ooo, you like that, don’t you?” Your hand reached up to cup the back of his neck gently, “Should I remind you how pretty you are more often?”

He turned his face so his lips brushed yours, “Maybe.”

With another light kiss, you pulled him closer, embracing him wholly, encouraging him to indulge in the domesticity just a little longer. “Don’t worry, pretty boy, I'll make sure you never forget.”

The smile that came to his face as he pressed it into your neck was so easy, as natural as breathing. In a perfect world, this moment would never end. But, if the way you held him and the way you loved him was as close as he could get, then it was more than enough. You were always more than enough.

“I’d like that, mesh’la.”

#kix x reader #kix x you #clone medic kix x reader #clone medic kix x you #clone x reader #deeja writes #feel good tag #happy tag #yes i'm putting my own writing in my happy tags this just made me super soft okay?!?!

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daydreaming-in-letters · 1 year

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The Heir

Part 3

01/13/2023

Pairing: (Modern Day!)Charles Brandon x fem!reader (3rd person)

Word Count: 7,736

Warnings: language, bickering and teasing (so much teasing), alcohol, grief and regret, a smidge of angst, Charles being a giver 👅, unprotected sex, fluff

Summary: One day after the eventful evening at the pub, it's time for a visit at Brandon Manor.

A/N: His Snobbiness and the little tree hugger are back for the third and final part. I know, it's been 84 years, sorry. Hope you still enjoy!

Pictures found here, here and here.

Divider by @fireflygraphics

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

The Old House

The first stars had settled all across the early night sky when she stepped through the archway and onto the grounds of Brandon Manor. A pity it was so late in the day already, she mused, with darkness beginning to shield the beautiful garden from view which she had come to love so much. They had walked here a good many times, the late duke and her, plotting against Charles and his preposterous plans. They seemed almost blasphemous tonight, she thought, as she took in the magnificent estate that stood like a grey giant against the starry firmament.

The seagulls seemed to have decided it was time to retreat in the face of the things to come, the only sounds coming from the gravel that scrunched underneath her determined feet and the low rumble of the waves that broke against the cliffs. She wanted to get this over with, whatever it was he wanted to talk about, before he could lure her even further under his spell.

Yesterday had been a close call, she knew that now. It was still hard to admit, but to know that he had been there right behind her for the whole walk home had been a rather nice feeling. So warm and comforting, daring her to try it on and see where it would lead her. God, she had been almost tempted to wave him goodbye when she had arrived at her doorstep. He had still been there, patiently waiting by the gate until she had unlocked her door and stepped inside.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” she whispered underneath her breath while her hand found the cold head of the stone lion that guarded the main entrance to Brandon Manor in a habitual pat for good luck. “Stay focused, let him say his part and then get your stupid arse out of here before—“ No, she wouldn’t allow herself to say that out loud. Even thinking about it was wrong on so many levels. And she was glad that her body for once seemed to agree with her will as her hand yanked down the cord of the ancient doorbell decisively.

Fully prepared to wait a good while before he would make it to the door from God-knew-where in the extensive house, she flinched when only seconds later the ancient wood gave way to the outline of his broad shoulders. A faint glow surrounded him, probably coming from the library, and the absence of any other light almost hid his shit-eating grin when he recognised his guest.

“Good evening, Miss Y/L/N. Finished hugging trees already?”

A pair of attentive eyes roamed her body freely and she hated how warm it made her feel with so little effort.

“Evening, Your Snobbiness.” And without waiting for his invitation, she pressed past him.

“Please, call me Charles. I feel that’s appropriate after I witnessed you making scrambled eggs out of a useless pair of testicles yesterday.”

She didn’t need to look at him, the slight teasing in his tone was enough to make her envision the dazzling smirk that was most likely accompanying his words.

“Fine,” she mumbled almost inaudibly, forgetting why she had said it in the first place. There was a faint memory of the words she had actually wanted to throw at him, but when she had turned, his dukey handsomeness had simply taken her breath away. Of course she knew that he was a pretty fucker, but seeing him here, in his natural habitat, his sharp, stubbly jawline and his twinkling eyes hit completely different.

And as if that wasn’t already enough for her senses to deal with, he had chosen yet another outfit that one would expect to find in a posh country fashion catalogue. His camel turtleneck jumper fit his skin tone perfectly while the dark brown suede jacket he wore above it resembled the colour of his hair. And amongst all those earthy shades, his stormy blue eyes stood out like two exquisite jewels.

He must have said something judging from the hand he was holding out towards her expectantly. For a second she stared at it in total confusion, not sure whether he wanted her to take it, before she decided against her instinct and shot him a quizzical look.

“Your jacket,” he repeated the last bit of his question, a knowing smirk pulling the corners of his mouth upwards.

Bloody gorgeous man. And so she reluctantly peeled herself out of her jacket, after she had set her camera carefully onto the bench next to the coat rack. With a silent gesture he bade her to follow him as soon as she was ready.

“I assume you failed yet again on your quest to take a picture of the white stag?”

Her answer was a murderous glare. “And what if I didn’t fail this time?”

His lips twitched a little while he held her infuriated gaze. “Oh, you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t have wasted a single second to rub your success in.”

“Idiot.”

Her annoyance pulled a deep chuckle from his chest that echoed from the high walls of the empty hall as he led her up the stairs. She knew all too well where he would take her and the memory made her heart grow heavy. Right at the head of the stairs lay one of the former reception rooms which had served his father as a spacious living room with its large fireplace. Two high glass doors led onto a huge balcony. It was common knowledge that there was no view of the sea in the whole of Fakeston that was more beautiful than the view from up here.

It was here that she had last seen the old man, only a day before his heart had gotten tired of beating and as Charles opened the door for her now, she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or heartbroken about the fact that nothing had changed here since her last visit. If anything, the lack of change made it even more apparent how different the room felt now that he was gone. It seemed a little too big, a touch too dark and the crackling fire couldn’t fully warm the stately old place tonight.

She felt the sudden urge to get out of here. It had been a bad idea to meet with Charles anyway, but before she could think of a good excuse to leave, she felt Charles’ presence behind her back. In an instant she turned, neither trusting him nor herself when he was this close, but to her surprise she found him holding a small wooden box that had definitely seen better days. It was covered in battered crimson velvet which, together with the metal clasp at its front, made it look positively ancient.

“What’s that?”

“That’s the reason I needed to speak to you.”

Carefully his strong hands opened the lid to reveal a stunning gold and silver pendant, beaded with pearls and dark red gemstones. It was attached to a silver necklace that was held together by a small hook, matching the pendant perfectly.

She didn’t understand what this breathtaking piece of jewellery could possibly have to do with her and she understood even less why he shoved the box into her hands.

“It’s yours.” For a moment there was silence. She didn’t know what to say, hell, she didn’t even know if she had heard him correctly and so she was more than pleased when he chose to speak again. “My father instructed me very clearly in his last will that you should have it.”

Patiently, he waited for her response and when she still didn’t move after a while, he reached inside the box, fingers closing around the precious object to take it out. Mere seconds later she could feel the weight of the necklace around her neck, the touch of the cool metal finally making her snap out of her petrified state.

“It has been passed down in my family from generation to generation, mother to daughter or daughter-in-law. I guess leaving it to you means my father gave up all hope I’d ever find a wife to pass it on to.”

“I can’t possibly accept this.” The fingers of her free hand were already reaching for the hook, fumbling blindly at the nape of her neck, when a pair of determined hands wrapped around her own and gently stopped her antics.

“You can and you will.” His tone made it unmistakably clear that he wouldn’t argue with her on this matter, even if his eyes couldn’t fully hide the irritation about his father’s decision, and so her fingers went limp and abandoned their task. “If only because it suits you so exceptionally well.”

Had he just— “Was…Was that a compliment?”

“A compliment?” he spat, a wild smile gracing his lips as he took a step back. “Why on earth would I compliment you? Have you forgotten that we are sworn enemies?”

“How could I ever forget when your infuriating face is right in front of me as a constant reminder of our feud?”

She mirrored his dazzling smirk, her eyes refusing to do the decent thing and look away.

“I take it you’re not interested in staying for a glass of wine then?”

“Indeed I am not.” For a second his smile faltered while hers stayed perfectly in place. “Yet, it is the least I can do after robbing you of your family jewels, don’t you think?”

And there it was again, the million dollar smile that suited him so well and made her knees go weak a little every time. But now, she almost regretted her answer when it made him turn away from her to fill their glasses.

Suddenly, she felt awfully naive. Why had she agreed to stay? Did she really hope anything would happen between him and her tonight? He would never see her as anything more than a tree hugger, a nuisance to his perfect plan. Not that she wanted him to see her as anything else in the first place. What a ridiculous thought. She and Charles Brandon. Ridiculous!

It must have been the pretty room with its romantic fireplace that had gotten to her head. Maybe a bit of fresh air would make her see clearly again. And so she strutted over to the large glass doors and stepped onto the balcony. She walked straight over to the balustrade, letting the fresh breeze that came from the sea ease the turmoil he managed to awaken deep inside of her whenever she was with him.

It was a beautiful night, the crescent moon sat brightly in the clear sky, a few of its beams kissing the waves to crown them with pure silver. Despite the light, she could only guess where the land ended and the cliffs dropped down into the rolling waves although she had seen the thin line of the cliff’s edge a thousand times from this very spot. The wind wasn’t as harsh as it usually was up here, or maybe there was another reason why she didn’t feel its chilly blow as strongly tonight.

Unconsciously, her fingers lifted to find the Brandons’ family heirloom. The pendant felt a little strange as it rested against her warm skin, the white drop of a pearl that was attached to it dangling dangerously close above the valley of her breasts.

She had been so deep in thought that she almost jumped when the glass of wine appeared seemingly out of nowhere in front of her face. Still a little startled, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“The necklace is quite heavy.”

“My father always said it was a symbol of the hardships our title brings along with it.”

“Hardships?” She huffed. “I’m sorry, but I fail to see the hardships you are suffering because of your title.”

His face stayed completely unreadable as he looked out across the bay and for a moment she thought he might not have heard her pointed remark at all when he turned to her again with that playful smirk on his lips.

“Well, for one, there would be the hardship of your company.”

“Hm. Isn’t it the other way around really? I mean, I suffer from your company just as much, plus, it’s me who has to carry the burden of this historical necklace from now on.”

He lifted his glass, using it to point towards her own.

“It’s a good thing you have some wine then to help you through the seemingly never ending hours of my company.”

He leaned in, still holding out his glass towards her with that darned smile on his face.

“To our shared suffering.”

“Cheers.”

Even in the darkness his eyes cast their bewitching spell on her as he held her gaze while he lifted his glass. And he didn’t let go, not even to blink. This man was insufferable, leaving her no choice but to be the reasonable one in this duo and pretend to let her eyes wander to enjoy the majestic view across the moonlit bay.

“How’s Henry? I haven’t seen him around since you used him to thwart my plans the other morning.”

“He’s fine. He fell asleep in the library a while ago. It’s his favourite place in the house. Probably something about the sweet smell of old books, don’t you think?”

She looked over at him and she couldn’t help but wonder if he actually shared his dog’s fondness for old books. There was something utterly enticing about the thought of him in that library, sitting on the window seat or in one of the old wing chairs, completely lost to the world around him. She bet he had the most wonderful reading voice, low and warm as he painted colourful pictures word by word.

“Are you okay?”

Shit, she must have zoned out for a moment.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m fine. Totally fine.”

In a small fit of panic her hand locked around the heavy pendant again and his eyes followed her movement, providing her with the perfect opportunity to seize revenge for making her fantasise about him. Slowly her fingers loosened and glided along the curve of her breast in slow motion until she let her arm fall to her side nonchalantly.

“You’re shivering. Should we go back inside?”

“No, I’m not,” he denied, his eyes shooting up from her chest to form an expression of outrage.

Oh, he had definitely been shivering. “Yes, you are, Your Grace.”

“I am most certainly not.” He raised his chin in defiance. “But we can go back inside if you wish.”

With a triumphant smile, she nodded and wasted no more time to turn towards the building.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you called me by my title,” he started to tease again as they headed inside, obviously regaining his old self-confidence.

“Oh, I wouldn’t read too much into that if I were you. Just a little something to warm your heart as you were so obviously freezing.”

“Was not!”

“Yes, you were.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes like an annoyed teenager, but he couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at his lips. His enticing, perfectly shaped lips, so tempting, so kissable, making it so easy to forget that he was still the villain in this whole story.

The sudden change of air as they stepped back inside made her shudder and she drew away before he could notice. She could feel his quizzical gaze on her back as she walked over to the dark mahogany table that held an old gramophone, its metal horn shining in the dancing flames of the fire. It didn’t surprise her in the least when she found the same record sitting on the turntable that had played during her last visit and even after she had wound the crank and carefully placed the needle, her lips held a wistful smile when she looked up to find Charles again.

He was standing by the fireplace now, watching her carefully. She could be mistaken in the dim light, but was there a hint of concern in his eyes? Or was it something else entirely? Something she felt inside as well and was trying so hard to push aside.

“What are you doing?” he asked. The question seemed a bit silly, especially since the first crackling notes of the song already filled the silence, but she chose to satisfy his curiosity anyway.

“Making some music.”

She didn’t know what vexed him more, that she seemed to find it necessary to state the obvious for him or the smug smile she chose to accompany her statement with, but the rolling of his eyes in fake annoyance had been well worth it.

“Thanks for enlightening me, but I can see that.”

“Then why bother asking?” He was just about to come up with a flippant retort, when she cut him off short. “Did you know that this was your father’s favourite?”

“I…I didn’t.” In the blink of an eye all the playfulness that had made his eyes shine so beautifully was gone. “Just like all the other things I didn’t know about him.”

He tore his eyes away to stare into the flames instead, making her stomach clench and her heart ache for him. In the past, she had often imagined to hurt his Snobbiness in the most creative ways for what he wanted to do to the very building they were standing in right now, but never would she have aimed this low. Yet, without intent, she had and before she even knew what she was doing, she found herself by his side, her hand gently squeezing his arm.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have…” Slowly he lifted his gaze to find her eyes again, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe upon the sheer amount of pain and regret that mirrored in the stormy blue. “Can we please not talk about this tonight?”

“Of course.”

Anything. Anything to make that sparkle return to his eyes again.

“How about a dance instead?”

“Huh?”

Anything but that, obviously. He couldn’t be serious, could he? She must have misheard.

“Dance with me. Please.”

He was joking. He must be. As if she would—

A movement broke her train of thought, and when she followed it, she found his hand already waiting for her to take it. So she had heard him correctly. Interesting. Interesting and rather fortunate. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for all evening, her chance to fight for her cause once again. Maybe the last she would ever get. There was no way she couldn’t take it, still she felt bad about what she was about to do.

“I will, if you agree to come to the village council meeting and talk about your plans for Brandon Manor.”

She had expected him to decline or at least think it over for a moment, but he didn’t even hesitate.

“Agreed.”

Eager to cash in his benefit of the deal immediately, he didn’t even wait for her to process his answer before he grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms. The smuggest of grins began to spread over his face as a startled gasp escaped her, and instead of allowing her some space to breathe, he even tightened his hold and brought her closer still.

A dance. It was just a dance. No need to freeze in his arms, every muscle taut to a point that bordered on painful. But forcing herself to relax was easier said than done, with him pressed up against her body, moving so close to her, only the slightest bit, but enough to make her feel all of him. She didn’t dare look up into his eyes, afraid of what she would find there and, even worse, what it would do to her. Unfortunately, looking down turned out to be no less aggravating as the image of his defined pecs forced itself upon her, clenching and stretching the fine wool of his jumper so deliciously.

Heat. Heat was all she felt. The heat from the fire, the heat of his touch, seeping through her clothes and underneath her skin where his large hand rested against her back, rushing through her, multiplying, until it filled every last inch of her being.

Even the divine softness of the suede leather underneath her fingertips couldn’t soothe her agony. She could still feel him, despite the extra layer of clothing it provided, and no matter how hard she tried to fight it, the thought how he would feel against her without the protection of their clothes kept pushing itself back into her mind relentlessly. It was torture, and enchanting none the less. It made her careless, made her want to relax in his arms, to give in and let him lead the way.

But the spell was broken suddenly when she could feel his leg slide in between hers, his massive thigh clenching and pressing against the one spot where all the heat that burned her body from the inside seemed to collect. With another gasp, her head flew up. A bad idea, she realised, as the sudden movement stirred the air and, the very second her eyes locked onto his, brought a heady whiff of his scent. And she was lost, defenceless against the invasion of her every sense by the same man she had vowed to oppose—to hate—forever.

And now she found herself in his arms, dizzy with want for him, clinging to him tighter with every passing second. She needed to stop this before it would lead to something more, something they would both regret in the morning.

“Remind me again,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his to hide her face, “how did we end up here?”

“I guess it all started with you touching my hand that night at the pub.” He fell silent for a moment, but she could sense that there was something else coming. “I have been wanting to ask you all evening. Why did you do it?”

Her first instinct was to evade his question or to tease him again, but there was something about the tone of his voice, about the way his body seemed to stiffen the slightest bit, that made it impossible not to answer him truthfully.

“I remembered something your father had told me about you. By the time I thought it was just wishful thinking or his guilty conscience speaking. I thought he wanted to make excuses for your abominable behaviour so badly that he’d rather blame himself than letting his son be the villain in this scenario. But that night at the pub, I…I realised he may have been right about you all along.”

“And what did he tell you?”

His lips were so close to her ear, his warm breath wafting over her neck with a shiver.

“He…he believed that the death of your mother broke you and he regretted he wasn’t able to give you the love you would have needed and deserved so much. Your father only realised when it was too late that he had been so caught up in his own grief he had failed at being a good father to you.”

It was the truth, and still it pained her to tell it. Not as much as it must have pained him, judging from the deafening silence that pushed itself between the two of them for a while.

“So it was pity I have to thank for this?”

The icy spite in his voice froze her in place at once. On instinct his accusation made her push him off a little, to be away from him just as much as to be able to look into his eyes. Still her words were as soft as the touch of a feather when she spoke again.

“No. I think your grief gave me something I could relate to, something we had in common. And even though I wanted to hate you more than anything, I couldn’t. Not anymore.” Her eyes fell to her hands that still rested against his chest from pushing him off. “I guess you can’t really hate a person you share an experience as intense as the early loss of a parent with.”

She had feared he might have questions that would force her to dig up the memory of her father again, a memory she had so carefully stowed away deep inside her heart. Only sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, she allowed it to resurface, but it always came at the cost of pain and tears and nightmares. But to her great surprise he didn’t ask any questions. Instead she could feel the gentle touch of his fingers, grasping her chin and lifting her head.

“I’m glad my father had you in his life when I couldn’t be there for him.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. He knew why you couldn’t and he forgave you for it.”

“I know.” The hand on her chin fell to his side as he tore his eyes away from hers. “What I don’t know is if I can ever forgive myself.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that either, but I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to have this weigh on your conscience for the rest of your life.”

With her words, the song died away, leaving a silence that was almost unbearable. It made her uncomfortable, more than their first encounter or his unexpected appearance at the pub ever could have, and it made her foolish. And so she reached for his hand.

She had never expected her gesture to bring much comfort, but then he squeezed it gently, and she couldn’t believe her eyes when he even brought it up to his lips to place a tender kiss to her knuckles. This must be a dream. His Snobbiness would never…

It was only when he pulled her in again, holding her tight and swaying her slowly that she realised the next song had started to play. Eyes fixed on her, he monitored her closely. She didn’t know if he was waiting for something or if he was just teasing again, whatever it was, she didn’t want this to stop.

“So, um, Miss Treehugger, we’re still sworn enemies, right?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely, Your Snobbiness.”

“Good. Good. I’d thought you might say that.” He still held her gaze, his face the epitome of seriousness as his forehead began to wrinkle. “Tell me this though. Why are you smiling then?”

“Smiling?” She wasn’t, was she? Oh dear, it seemed she was. Deny. Deny. “I’m not smiling.”

“No, you definitely are smiling.” Urgh, she was. And that measly try of playing it down wouldn’t even have convinced herself.

“I told you, I am most certainly not! Probably just about to have a stroke caused by the enraging company.”

As excuses go, that had certainly been a better one. Still, it didn’t need more than a cock of his eyebrow to make her cave.

“Fine. So what if I was actually smiling?”

His pokerface was without a doubt masterful in comparison to hers.

“Nothing,” he stated nonchalantly. “I would just be wondering what you are smiling about.” “My point exactly. What would I have to smile about right now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe…could it be because of me?” The scornful huff that came from deep within didn’t seem to impress him much. “Do you by any chance enjoy dancing with me?” He even had the audacity to lean in. “Being close to me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Your Grace.”

A deep chuckle followed her comment, and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes told her that he was far from finished teasing her.

“You know, just a thought, but if the two of us were characters in a story, I think we both know that right now was the moment we would ever so slightly drift closer until—”

His voice was so deliciously low, luring her into the little narrative he had spun.

“Until?” she breathed, her eyes betraying her last restraint, already knowing the answer as they dropped down to his mouth.

“Until our lips would touch in a tender kiss.”

With all her might she willed down the moan that was forming in her throat, but still her body chose to betray her, pressing itself up against his, one hand drifting around his neck.

“You mean like this?”

“Exactly like this.”

Determined fingers cupped her cheek without resistance and she knew she was lost as his eyes betrayed him just as much, glued to the movement of her lips as she went on.

“What a ridiculous thought. You hate me, just as much as I hate you. And this enemies-to-lovers nonsense only ever works in corny romance stories.”

“You’re right. It’s ludicrous. I would never.”

Determined fingers pulled her face to his, his hot breath caressing her lips. And with the final shred of sanity leaving her body, she whispered her last protest.

“Never.”

And then his lips were there, so soft, yet so enticingly demanding. There was no more room for teasing as he pulled her closer, his body moving so delectably against her own while his mouth devoured her, coaxed her to open up to him so he could claim her wholly. And by all that was holy to her, she wanted him. Wanted to feel his hands on her bare skin, his mouth roam her breasts while he moved inside her. She wanted to be his, and make him hers in return. But—

With a gasp she broke away. “I should leave now.”

“Why?”

She had hurt him, again. But he would thank her for it in the morning.

“To spare us both the regret.” Obviously, he wasn’t of the same opinion at all, clasping her even tighter. “Please, if you don’t let me leave now, I fear I won’t be able to stop.”

“Is that what you want? To stop?”

Oh, how much she wanted to lie, to tell him that she didn’t want him at all, that this was wrong. But she couldn’t. And when her answer finally came, it was feeble but decided.

“No.”

“Then don’t.”

The words sounded so simple from his mouth, so logical, but they were nothing compared to the feeling of giving in to her desire. It was all-consuming, pulling her in until she wanted to drown in his kisses just to be resurrected by his possessive touch, spiralling her right into a frenzy. There were hands and mouths everywhere. And in a heartbeat she was afire, burning in his arms, and yet she had never felt more alive.

It was only the touch of his bare skin against hers that made her come to her senses again.

“Charles,” she sighed and as if she had lifted the spell that had unleashed their carnal desire, he broke away. But she had been wrong once again, it seemed, as she opened her eyes to find the most alluring sight in front of her, making her knees go weak in an instant. But despite the most prominent thing, she couldn’t even tell what aroused her more, his furry chest, heaving as he used the short intermission to catch his breath, or his eyes, dark, and gleaming with want for her as they roamed her naked form freely. She could have stared at him forever, sadly the pleasure his sight brought was short lived. Soon his gaze settled on her neck, making her wonder what was so interesting about it until his hand reached out to trace the silver necklace all the way down to the gorgeous pendant.

“As I said,” he grinned cheekily, “exceptional.”

His lips mimicked his fingers, following their path along the precious piece of jewellery, and further down. He was kissing, licking, sucking every last inch of her chest, basking in the sweet melody of lewd sounds he coaxed from her lips. She found herself on the brink of madness already when all of a sudden, he decided to stop. Her eyes snapped open in an instant, finding him on his knees, the exact position she wanted him in, his lips mere inches away from her stomach, but all he did was stare up at her with a wicked grin on his lips.

“You are insufferable, Brandon.”

As expected, his grin only grew wider. “Am I now?” And with that his lips found her skin again. Leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses, he ventured south, seemingly giving her what she wanted, just to hold once again, right above where she needed his attention most.

“Will you stop teasing me already?”

“As you wish.”

She had never expected him to yield this easily and so she watched in disbelief as his tongue found her hot sex, slipping right in between her folds without hesitation.

“Ah, fuck!”

His eyes shot up to hers upon the expletive his actions had caused, and although his mouth was too engaged in pleasuring her to display the devilish smirk on his face, the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. What a sight, to see his gorgeous face between her legs, his sharp tongue finally put to good use after the aggravating comments it usually produced. A skill he had mastered just as much as the art of making her knees buckle and her head swim with the exquisite rolls and flicks of his tongue.

As if he had read her mind, his eyebrows rose up in a challenge and she had to bite her tongue not to moan his name out loud again. She wouldn’t grant him that satisfaction, not before he had granted hers. But he seemed very eager to please tonight, so his tongue was soon joined by two of his fingers. Carefully they pressed into her, a task made easy by the juices that had already collected thanks to his supreme ministrations, while his other hand clutched her bottom tightly to keep her upright.

She had thought it was a rather presumptuous gesture, but as soon as he started to move within her, she found that it wasn’t enough at all. In the dire need to steady herself, she grabbed a fistful of his hair. Just the one should be sufficient, she assumed, but she was proven wrong once more. Her tight grip on him forced a groan so powerful the vibration made her see stars as it rolled across her sensitive pearl. And so her other hand dove into his lush locks as well.

She was so close already, her hands now guiding his movements in tune with the rhythmic thrusts of his fingers. God, this was—

“Don’t stop,” she panted, “don’t you dare stop.”

He didn’t. Instead she heard him mumble something against her that sounded suspiciously like, “Never,” before he tightened his firm grip on her behind to pull her further into him and all of her senses clouded over at once. Her eyes fell closed as the rapture of her high surged through her. She didn’t feel her fingers tighten in his hair, didn’t hear his muffled curses against her sex, half pleasure half pain, that mixed with her own praise of his name so beautifully.

“Charles,” she whispered once again as he slowly retreated, leaving her blissed out yet unbearably empty and already hungry for more. Her whole body was still trembling as he guided her onto his lap and into a strong pair of arms that eagerly awaited her. For a while he just held her like that, his hands drifting up and down her back soothingly while her fingers subconsciously played with the silky fur that covered his chest, until she had calmed down.

Then, as if it was nothing to him, he moved her around, softly laying her onto the plush, warm carpet next to the fireplace.

“Are you all right?” he asked, hovering above her, his thumb lightly gliding along the apple of her cheek.

“I’m perfect.”

“Perfect? Really? Are you sure?”

The playfulness in his voice made her chuckle, and the slight movement it caused evoked his hardened arousal to twitch promisingly against her.

“Well,” she rasped, fingernails grazing down his side, “maybe not completely perfect.”

He smirked through the shiver her nails had caused, “That’s what I thought.”

But to her great dismay, he seemed to be in no hurry to reach that state of perfection he had so thoroughly hinted at, as he leaned down ever so slowly to catch her lips with his. It didn’t take long though before his craving seemed to grow stronger. Soon he deepened the kiss, his tongue fulfilling what the teasing roll of his hips so far had only promised. But then she could feel it, his hand finally reaching in between their bodies. Yet, it was no time to rejoice because, being the annoying tease he was, he chose to torture her just a little longer, dragging his tip lazily through her folds, pressing it into her entrance only the slightest bit every now and then.

“Are you really going to make me beg, Your Grace?”

He might have planned on it, she couldn’t tell for sure, but the second his title rolled so pointedly over he tongue, he was done for. With a groan so sinful it caused another blazing wave of heat to shoot through her core, he gave in, sinking into her slowly but all at once.

The sensation of feeling him, all of him, threatening to overwhelm her, she clung to him tightly, legs closing around his hips just in case he was considering to tease her again. But he didn’t, not anymore. His mind was set on one thing only now, and he was about to drive her insane in the process with his slow, deep strokes.

All she could feel was him, moving inside her, stirring the fire he had already unleashed once anew, his lips that had found her neck, sucking her soft flesh as his heady grunts and groans invaded her ears. It was everything, almost too much, yet still not enough.

But the relief came soon, with a single bite to her neck. The sweet sting made her back arch, slightly shifting the angle of his already maddening thrusts and she keened in delight as he hit the perfect spot. Over and over he found it, slowly making her loose all sense of time and space. She needed to touch him, to look into his eyes once more before she would be gone to the world a second time. Her hands reached for him on instinct, cupping his cheeks to lift his head from the crook of her neck and she was rewarded with the most dazzling smile she had ever seen on his face.

“Are you gonna come for me again?”

Yes, god, yes, she would. Just one more moment, one more languid thrust, one more look at his sickeningly handsome face, those lips, so perfectly shaped, she mused as her thumb traced the pink flesh. With the grin of a famished wolf who was only seconds away from sating his ravenous hunger on his prey, his lips opened and her finger slipped inside. Greedily he sucked it deeper, elation flooding his blue orbs the second he watched her eyes roll back into her head as she satisfied his desire and surrendered herself to euphoria once again.

Through the haze of her high she heard him moan her name, faintly noticed his hand reaching for her own, fingers intertwining before he tightened his grip and allowed himself to join her in her rapture.

His kisses grew soft as their frenzied passion slowly subsided, and with one final brush of her lips and a placid smile he rolled off of her. It was cold in the absence of his body over hers and she shivered.

“Come here,” he mumbled, offering her the comfortable resting spot on his wide chest and she accepted. Immediately his warmth embraced her. It was peaceful here by the fire, nestled into his side, one arm holding her tight, legs entangled while his lips pressed to her hair. She could have stayed like this forever.

In the silence, the drum of his heart was loud and clear against her ear, strong and steady beats underneath her fingertips, seemingly unfazed by what had just passed between them. And it was in this very moment the realisation hit her harder than it should have, leaving a touch of nausea in her stomach.

But what had she expected? That he would be deliriously happy? That he would fall in love with her just because they had shared this insignificant moment of passion? She was such a fool.

She must have stirred in his arms, drawing his attention to her agitated state unintentionally.

“What’s wrong? Are you cold?”

Her first impulse was to go with it or simply act as if there wasn’t a single thing burdening her mind, but even now that whatever they had was officially over, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him.

“No. I’m just so…disappointed.”

“Ouch. That’s a first,” he huffed, the wound in his words unmistakeable even though he tried to hide it behind a crooked smile.

“Not in you.” Idiot, she would have liked to add. But that would be unfair since the only idiot in the room was she. “In myself.” And with that she sat up.

He followed her example immediately, pushing himself up onto his elbow.

“What? Why?”

“Because I did the one thing I vowed never to do.” She couldn’t stand the confusion on his face any longer, honest or fake, she needed to turn away and burry her face in her hands. “Oh god, I really did sleep with the enemy in the end.”

The low chuckle that followed felt like a slap. A well earned one, that much was clear. She should have known he would attempt to lure her under his spell and fuck her brains out so she would give up her silly war and let him have his way with Brandon Manor, and she had made it so easy for him. She hadn't even tried to resist him.

“Did you though?”

His answer startled her and she needed a moment to process his words.

“Well, obviously,” she snapped over her shoulder, “or are you telling me you are not the Duke of Suffolk?”

“I’m sorry to say I am.” He sighed, and his scorching breath rolled over her shoulder like a warning. Still she flinched when a second later his lips pressed to the very same spot in a soft kiss. “But maybe I’m not your enemy.”

“You still want to build this bloody hotel, don’t you?”

Her voice was icy and she hoped with all her might that he would finally take the hint and leave her be before her hand would slip. God knew he could use a little clip round the ear.

“It pains me a little to admit after all the fun I had bickering with you, but I don’t.” What? He couldn’t be serious. In the blink of an eye she turned around, searching his eyes to see if he was just mocking her, but all she found was the tiniest hint of an apologetic smile on his lips. “And I never did. I made the whole thing up to get back at my old man.”

So he had been lying to her this whole time? The little… She wanted to slap him now more than ever, but then she realised what this actually meant. Brandon Manor was safe. No teardown, no hotel. And as soon as the rage had bubbled up inside of her, it calmed again.

“But you’re still leaving by the end of the month?”

“That was the plan, yes. Other than this old house, nothing is keeping me here.” She felt the sudden urge to avert her gaze, but somehow there was something about the way he looked at her that forced down her first instinct. “But I have a feeling that might be about to change.”

There he sat, right in front of her with that darned triumphant smile on his face, His Snobbiness Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, her sworn enemy, about to worm his way into her heart and there was nothing she could do but sit and watch.

“You know,” he rasped while his fingers trailed along the line of her jaw and made her shiver, “I heard tree hugging is supposed to be very beneficial for the heart. So I think I might give that a try.” His fingertips had come dangerously close to her lips and she was about to open up and let him do whatever he wanted to when they fell away and the suddenly very ceremonious tone of his voice irritated her. “I also still have the duties of a duke to fulfil, a county to rule—”

“Idiot,” she chuckled in amusement, her palm pressing against his chest playfully to push him further off of her. But he was quick to grab her wrist, his other hand cupping her cheek as he hauled her against his chest again.

“And a few peasants to vex.”

His kiss wasn’t like any other kiss they had exchanged tonight. It felt easy, free of all the tension and silent doubt that had been hovering above them this whole time. This, right here, right now, was heaven.

She was still smiling when he stopped to look at her again.

“What? Did you think you would get rid of me so easily?”

“Oh, I’d never count myself that lucky, Your Grace.”

The boyish grin on his lips died away suddenly, making room for a hunger in his eyes she didn’t find there for the first time tonight.

“You know,” he growled dangerously lowly, “you really should go easy on the Your-Grace-thing, at least if you ever want us to get to that village council meeting you lured me into in exchange for that dance.”

“I think I’ll take my chances,” slowly she leaned in, her cheek brushing along his until her lips found his ear in a whisper, “Your Grace.”

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waspclan · 6 months

Text

If it weren’t for the ramshackle remains of what seem to be dens, Buzzardfur wouldn’t believe a living cat had ever set foot in the clearing. As he takes a few tentative pawsteps in, an inexplicable sense of … something presses onto him, not quite dread but certainly not comfort. He’s never seen something like this before, a barren land that nonetheless was certainly lived in—empty, yet somehow teeming with life. No, he muses, life-after-death would be more accurate.

“I can’t believe it’s real,” he mumbles, nigh inaudible. “I thought it … I thought they were just some old queen’s tale.” He turns to look at Bouncerumble, who’d come to a stop at the lip of the clearing. “How did you know?”

“The same way I know anything. StarClan’s sign.” Bouncerumble’s voice is clipped, a bit too fast, but who could blame them? Buzzardfur himself isn’t particularly calm, either. “They wanted us to find this. I think … to start WaspClan anew.”

“Start it anew?” Runningripple asks, speaking up from the back of the group. “Why not leave it in the past? That Clan ate itself from the inside out, didn’t it?”

“I heard the last leader’s mate was killed, and she went mad with grief.” Shiveringkit’s little voice is far too bright a chirp for the severity of her words. “I heard she made the other cats practice with their claws out. She even poisoned some of them!”

“Actually, they weren’t mates; Bunnystar was just in love-”

“Stop it, Moorpaw,” Buzzardfur says, and his apprentice falls silent. “We can’t let ourselves get carried away with rumors. We don’t know what happened here, just that it was some clan’s camp. And if Bouncerumble says this is where we should be …”

“Then we should stay here,” Runningripple finishes, padding up to stand beside him. “It’s got more than enough space for us, and StarClan knows Thornstar is too logical to take us back.” She says it with derision, and Buzzardfur can’t help but agree—surely there was a better way to solve an overpopulation crisis than to cast out some of his own cats. “Is everyone in agreement?”

There are some grumblings from the rest of the clan—if it can be called that—but none of them have anything to say, even Hailbark, who always seems to have a gloomy remark in her mouth.

“Right, then,” Buzzardfur says, and sighs. Thank StarClan Runningripple is taking the lead; he doubts he could have wrangled them the same way as she does. Why they all elected him leader is beyond him.

He’s taken a few more steps toward the smallest den, nestled in the hollow of a dead tree, before something occurs to him. “What do we call ourselves?”

Bouncerumble’s voice doesn’t hold a hint of uncertainty as they say, “I told you—we’re WaspClan.”

Buzzardfur turns it over and over in his head. How could they become WaspClan? WaspClan was just a story to scare kits—why would they ever want to be that? The concept fills him with dread, as if the name itself is cursed. But who is he to question StarClan? Who is he to do anything? “Right,” he says finally. “We’re … we’re WaspClan.”

#clangen #warrior cats #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #warriors #update #modern waspclan #buzzardfur #bouncerumble #runningripple #shiveringkit #moorpaw #idk if i should tag my girl hailbark she doesn't actually get any lines but still #n-e-way YAY first update sorry the art is like. mid-tier trad art i dont like doing digital art and well i am a writer not an artist. but!#i hope y'all like <3

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donewithflare · 4 months

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[ ☎ ] my muse calls yours in tears. [ keegan → zaya; when they were teenagers. ]

The cordless phone buzzed loudly on hook echoing loudly through the Dolma apartment. Zaya rushed to the phone in hopes not to miss it, her parents yet to invest in a phone with a decent called ID as it was too pricy. "I'll get it mom!" Zaya yelled at the top of her lungs as her room spread through their tiny Brooklyn Apartment. She picked up the large beige, answering the polite way her parents had taught her too. "Hello Dolma residence, who may I ask is calling?" With no reply, half expecting it to be some dumb cold call, she was about to hang up the phone. When she heard some wet, snotty sniffling over the phone. A sound she was pretty familiar with.

A cocky smirk appeared on her lips, knowing this would be fun. She slide on the kitchen counter, getting herself comfy and ready to chew out her favorite person. "Oh for fucksakes Dweeb,what did you do?" Only to be followed by more sniffling, she tucks her legs together on the counter,"Who's ass am I beating up now for you? Cause I still haven't fully recovered from the last beatdown." She smiled softly looking at her bloodied and bruised arms that Keegan had delicately bandaged with extra care after her last fight. Zaya smiles softly at how careful he was. His hands were meant for healing. Her hands only destruction. A perfect balance between the two. "You know you really gotta stop getting into fights defending my ass. Doesn't really matter to me what other people think of me." Only you though. Zaya laughs in hopes to lighten the mood. Yet he keeps on crying.

Her grip on the phone tightens, as she jumps of the counter, ready to bounce into action. "Okay who's fucking ass am I going to need to beat?" Zaya already cracking her knocks and stretching out,"I can last a few rounds. Bring the first aid kit, this other asshole is not gonna know what hit them!" Yet there is still him weeping on the phone. No usual protests or warnings for her to be careful. None of him taking the blame and saying it was his fault. This was not what her Keegan was like.

She leans against the wall, pushing the phone closer to ear like how close she would want him to be if he were here right this moment. "Keegs..."her tone softens desperate to get some coherent words out of him,"Please...please tell me what's wrong. You're making me worried. Come on, it's me..." her tone is sincere, full of care. She finds her free hand clinging tightly to her chest where her heart is meant to be. Although, she wouldn't admit it out loud...Keegan played a pretty important part of heart.

Hearing him cry was killing her. "Speak to me or I'm coming over!" Zaya was almost ready to hang up the phone and make her way over to his to comfort him. But then there as an inaudible mumbling from his send. "Woah, say that again this time more slowly and clearer!" Again he talks fast. It was time to pull out the big guns,"Five seconds to tell me properly or else, I'm telling your mom." And with those words he sung like a Canary.

"The Fuck Keegs ...you are crying because you don't have a freaking prom date. Proms are lame anyway," Zaya commented chewing hard on the inside of her cheek. "Who did you ask...you know for reasons....no I'm not going to be making a hitlist with all the bitches who said now to you ass wipe." Which was a very blatant lie. Only she was allowed to kick his ass. Or make him cry. "Listen Keegs," she sighed, "Anyone would be lucky to go to the prom with you." She pauses, "Fuck it, if you don't have a date then I'll be your date, okay?"

The words slip out before she could think. A long pause between them follows. He isn't crying anymore. Zaya, however, wonders if she had crossed a line between them. The very fine line between love and hate. Maybe she shouldn't have said a thing. The silence breaks by a female voice on the other end of the phone.

"So will you got to prom with him then?"

Zaya is taken back by the other voice on the phone. Her tone quickly switches to a polite with undertones of I'm going to kill you later Keegan, in it. "Oh, Mrs Jeong, hi there, Keegan didn't mention you were also in this call."

"So will you, Zaya?" her voice filled with hope for her little boy.

"Sure...yes I will go to the prom with Keegan," Zaya feels her cheeks blush as she smiles. She can hear the two of them whispering and high fiving over the other side of the phone. "But do you mind if I walk to Keegan alone for a moment.?" There is more whispering on the other side as he is trying to dismiss his mom away for them to have a moment alone.

When the line was left for the two of them, there was another brief pause."So does this count as me asking you out or your mom ask me out for you dweeb?" She pauses,"You know you didn't have to ask...I kind figured we would end up going together anyway. You can be suck a fucking idiot sometimes." Zaya continues to carelessly laugh "Promise me, you'll never change Keegs?"

#musings┊she was broken and strong all at once #ft.keegan #violence tw #flashback ┊when we were both younger

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reagans-malewife · 11 months

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Perfection

Relationships: Brett x Reagan A/N: Written for day 6 of @breaganweekbabeee Prompt: Sweet nothings + warm drinks Word count: 651 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

Summary: Brett and Reagan keeping warm on a snowy day.

Also on Ao3!

“Holy smokes, is it cold out there!” Brett called as he opened the door, announcing his return. He made his way into the living room to place the bags on the table, and Reagan couldn’t help but laugh at his appearance. He was all bundled up- toque, scarf, jacket, and even mittens- and absolutely covered in snow. It was adorable, to say the least. When he took off his jacket, snow fell from his shoulders, and they were both surprised by how much had accumulated in the short walk from the car to the apartment. As he shed his layers, he proclaimed, “I’ve got everything we should need for… well, however long we’ll be stuck here for.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Brett nodded tensely, wrapping his arms around himself.

Reagan couldn’t help herself from chuckling. She was still on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the same way she’d been when Brett left, with the same National Geographic nature documentary playing on the TV just behind Brett. “Cold?”

“Very.”

She stifled her laugh at the way Brett nearly wiggled around to keep warm, and instead told him, “C’mere.” Reagan opened her arms, and subsequently her blanket, to him, and Brett was more than happy to run over to her.

He mumbled an almost inaudible, “thank god,” as he wrapped his arms around her, his head resting on her chest while she re-situated the blanket. “You’re warm,” he hummed contently, letting his eyes slip closed as she ruffled his hair, just the way she knew he loved.

“I thought you were supposed to be the human furnace,” she mused, drawing a soft laugh from him.

“I’m just pre-heating,” he assured her, spurring more laughter from both of them.

“You’re such a dork, Brett.” Reagan’s sentence was punctuated with a kiss to Brett’s forehead, causing him to blush. He stayed quiet though, long enough for Reagan to have to check to see if he was asleep or not. “Still there, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, right before he let out a sigh; one that was uncharacteristically loud for him.

She glanced down at him, mildly concerned before asking, “are you alright?”

He nodded in response, a small grin turning his lips. “Mhm,” he hummed, before adding, “you just smell nice.”

Again, she chuckled at his answer, her hand resuming the way it’d been playing with his hair earlier. “You know, I think this is as close to perfect as life’s going to get.” Sure, it sounded cheesy, thinking that this domestic bliss was “as close to perfect” as possible, but maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as cliché as she thought. Brett hummed his agreement, before following with a more contemplative noise.

Suddenly, he sprung out of her arms and made his way to the kitchen. Reagan’s brows furrowed as she contemplated following him, but Brett was quick to call, “Stay right there, Rea.”

And so she did. For about five minutes, Reagan sat on the couch, alone, listening as metal hit ceramic, liquid was poured, paper was ripped, things were stirred, and the microwave beeped. When he returned, Brett was carrying two mugs of hot cocoa, both topped with whipped cream and marshmallows. He set the drinks on the coffee table before returning to his righteous spot- which was just curling around Reagan. His head rested on her shoulder, lips placing gentle kisses along her jaw and neck, humming contently when her hand returned to his hair. “I love you, Brett,” she whispered.

Brett pulled away, absolutely beaming at her. “I love you too,” he returned softly, before catching her lips in a gentle kiss.

When they parted, Reagan asked, “can you pass me my cocoa?”, which Brett happily complied to, and reached behind himself to get both their drinks. The couple clinked their mugs together before taking a sip, which made both of them smile.

“Now this,” Brett declared, “is perfection.”

#breagan week #breaganweek #inside job #brett hand #inside job netflix #reagan ridley #breagan #fanfic #inside job fanfic

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whereonceiwasfire · 2 years

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prompt: jack decides to throw vlad a surprise birthday party, and makes danny help

Help, this is a HILARIOUS prompt, I love it hahaha! Had so much fun writing this; thanks for the request!

“Danny boy!” Jack’s greeting is loud and boisterous the second Danny walks through the front door, backpack slung over his shoulder, chucks scuffing the welcome mat. “Are you busy?”

“No. Yes! Why?” Danny asks, suspicion creeping into his voice as he pads into the entryway, peering into the living room where his dad has shopping bags scattered across the carpet. Some of them are tipped over, spilling red solo cups, paper plates, colored napkins, plastic balloons.

This can’t be good.

“You remember your Uncle Vlad?”

Danny’s brow instantly drops low over his eyes, voice cold when he mumbles, “how could I forget?”

“It’s his birthday tomorrow!” Jack exclaims, throwing his arms wide in demonstration like that’s somehow an explanation.

“Great. So. I’m going to be in my room, working on homework,” Danny says, hiking a thumb over his shoulder at the stairs.

His dad just laughs as he approaches, like they’re in on some grand joke together. He throws an arm over Danny’s shoulders, uses the other hand to make a sweeping gesture across the living room.

“We’re going to throw him a party.”

Danny chokes on nothing.

“Here?” he blurts, incredulous.

“It’s going to be a surprise!”

To himself, Danny grumbles a nearly inaudible, “Yeah, I think we’ll all be surprised if he bothers to show up.”

“What’s that?” Jack twists a glance down at him, that ear-to-ear grin still plastered across his face.

“Uh, I said—what did you need me for?”

“I need you to help me come up with ideas, and set up some decorations,” Jack says, not-so-subtly ushering Danny into the living room with that arm still around his shoulders.

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“I got all kinds of stuff,” Jack continues, as though Danny hasn’t interrupted at all.

He unceremoniously dumps one of the bags over, spilling its contents all over the floor. Boxes of plastic cutlery, streamers of all different colors, cheap noisemakers.

“Dad, you can’t be serious,” Danny says, stooping to pick up a paper tablecloth with the Packers logo all over it. He turns it between his hands as he straightens, giving a bewildered shake of his head, “I don’t think the dude knows they make napkins that aren’t cloth, you don't really think he’s going to—”

He stops himself mid-sentence, a slow grin working across his features.

“What’s that, Danny boy?” Jack asks, chucking two rolls of paper streamers—green and gold—across the room at Danny.

He barely manages to drop the tablecloth in time to catch them—obeys his dad’s silent gesture to twist his end of the streamers so they make one long, spiraled string between them.

“Uh. Nothing. This is…good,” Danny says, smile cracking even wider. “What other ideas did you have?”

“I ordered a sheet cake with Vladdy’s face on it!” Jack shouts as he clambers up on a chair to pin his side of the streamers into a corner of the roof.

“Awesome,” Danny says with the barely restrained bubble of a laugh.

“I wasn’t sure what else to do for food though,” his dad muses, pausing a moment as he steps off the chair. He sets a palm on the backrest, features twisting up as he thinks about it. “I don’t know where to get any of that fancy stuff he eats now.”

“Oh, you should definitely still do party food,” Danny says, bouncing on his toes. “Hotdogs, and bags of chips, and soda cans. Oh, you should get him a little plastic bib so he doesn’t spill mustard on his stupid tie.”

“That’s a good idea!” Jack says, completely unironically, tousling Danny’s hair as he passes, taking the other end of the streamer from him so he can pin it up in the opposite corner of the room.

“Oh, and party hats,” Danny says, voice brimming with so much excitement he thinks he might explode. “He has to wear a party hat. You only turn…ah…eight-five—or whatever—once!”

His dad misses the comment, just nods along thoughtfully.

Ugh. Danny so hopes Vlad actually comes. He would kill to see the guy in a plastic bib and a little party hat eating a hotdog. Danny’ll smile and make polite conversation and call the man Uncle Vlad all night long if he has to. As long as the dude shows up.

“Thanks for helping, kiddo!” his dad says suddenly, jerking him out of his own thoughts. He turns a glance over where Jack’s unspooling another long stretch of streamer. “Vladdy’s going to love it.”

“Totally,” Danny says, barely managing to keep his words from breaking on a laugh. But he can’t keep the mental picture of the billionaire, here, with paper streamers and disposable dishes, from taking hold all over again. His eyes shine, face split on a smile when he adds an amused, “It’s going to be incredible.”

#drabble requests #phanfic #danny phantom #vlad masters #Jack fenton #late-to-the-damn-party #thanks for the request!

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niragixpsych · 10 months

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9+❤️

Send a number + an emoji to bite my muse on the…

9. hand ❤️ lovingly, a little nibble

Niragi had kept eye contact with Karube for a while and with each passing moment he was more sure the other was slightly drunk. And as if to prove it the blond suddenly grabbed the militants hand, pulling it close to his lips and nibbling on the site of it. He was caught of guard by his actions and so it took him a minute before pulling his hand back while rolling his eyes. In the end another snort escaped him and his lips curled up into a teasing smirk.

"Be careful or I might start to think you like me. Or maybe biting is just a drunk thing you do." Niragi said his tone as teasing as before while he kept his eyes on Karube. He was still wondering what the other was thinking, but so far only inaudible mumbling was leaving his lips and only now and then he could hear 'you'.

#ask niragi #answer #daikichixkarube #niragi interaction

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carmasi · 10 months

Text

Mercenary For Hired chapter 15 - part 3

I’ve really been on a runt lately so i keep forgetting to submit my story. So I will take a minute to write up to chapter 20 after this one.

*************************************************************************************

Allen walked the streets of Prontera completely and utterly annoyed, having to come this early to the knight’s guild to settle yet another dispute with his all so loving daughter and the captain of the crew. If it wasn’t because of his son in law, he swore he’d be halfway through trial by now.

“Could’ve been worse” The man with red hair to his side looked at him with mismatched blue and black eyes. His son in law, attempted with almost no luck to calm his mood. If Allen wasn’t having it, neither were the royal guards and oftentimes, the redhead was part of those who got collateral damage from it. He just wished his sister in law was a little more careful when arguing with the Knight’s guild about dispatching their soldiers.

Allen shrugged, slouching as he walked back to the castle with his in-law “why can’t she be like Holy!” Allen complained to which The redhead, Blood Rose chuckled “No one can be like Holy” he mused as the name of his lovely wife came into the conversation. She was the loveliest archbishop in Prontera, and it was exactly just how lovely and kind hearted she was that had made him fall so hard in love with her, even since they were kids.

“She could maybe take after Kyrius” Allen countered and Rose shrugged “Saya is the oldest of them all Allen, which makes you wonder, she either took after you, or after Lily so which one is it?” Allen groaned at the redhead’s question, she probably took after him, in attitude only. He wanted to argue with the redhead but he spotted a familiar figure in the crowd of the Prontera market place. “Wrightstone?”

The dark skinned man was discussing something with a woman, of mature age, though he seemed to be having a hard time “I.. I plan to stay long t-term” Allen could overheard their conversation, and chuckle there was his pupil, as flustered as ever when it came to women

“Do you know him?” Rose who’d come alongside asked and Allen nodded “ yes he’s a pupil of mine, let’s see what’s he up to ” Rose shrugged he had no idea Allen had pupils outside of the royal guards at the castle.

Allen hook his arm around Killian’s neck just as soon as the woman left the place “Wrightstone!” he greeted and Killian soon escaped his grip on him “Master what are you doing!?” Allen chuckle and crossed his arms above his chest

“I could have asked you the same, is that your reason?” Allen asked, looking at the way the woman had taken off. The darkskin man blushed and almost grunted “not even close” he mumbled so inaudible Allen had to make a Huh sound, but he refused to repeat himself “who’s that?” Killian asked instead, referring to the redhead with mismatched eyes at his master’s side, his attire, of no class he even saw.

“Oh this is my son in law, this rascal here snatched my youngest daughter away, and still hadn't even given me a grandchild! Can you believe it” at his words the redhead cheeks burned brighter than his own hair, his father in law was one to joke about him knocking his daughter off any chance he got. He hasn't gotten used to it, because who’s dad asked his son in law to give him a grandchild every time they meet? He was sure, his sister in law’s boyfriend was spared of these antics because he spent most of his time in Juno as of late.

“ The name’s Blood Rose, but you can call me Rose” he greeted, Killian could sense something different about the man, his aura, his power was something all his senses were telling him to be wary of. “Killian Wrightstone” he introduced himself. And shook the redhead’s hand.

“Oh wait, this is perfect!” Allen cheered and at that point Killian could swear he saw it, he saw Kyrius on him, and that scared him, was she really his master’s daughter? He gulped before his master continued.

“You heard what Saya said yesterday about your footwork right? How about you train with Rose? You know some hand in hand training?”

Killian and Rose looked at each other in confusion, was Allen really asking them to spare against one another, they literally just met. This didn’t stop his master and before they knew it they were both in the training ground at the back of the castle.

Allen handed Killian a Sword and the dark skin saw the redhead grab katar in each hand “Is he an assassin?” Killian asked his master and he chuckle “a little more complicated than that” he replied while looking his pupil in the eyes he sighed

“Saya said you need to work in your foot work, and she’s right, so I’m going to ask you for a favor” Allen violet eyes became darken as he saw his pupil silver ones “I know this may be hard for you, but I need you to tab into the training you receive back in Morroc”

Killian's body stiffened at the mention of the ruins he was sold to, the ruin he worked at for most of his life, the brutal treatment he received from those who owned him, and how they pretty much trained him in the art of stealth, and murder, like an assassin would.

“Killian, look at me .. I know it is hard, I know you want to leave that behind, but we’re making the most of it. What you learn is yours, and you have to own it, make it part of you, an apply it, do it for that reason you have to become better”

He blinked, still grabbing the claymore that was given to him, shaking as he saw the stance his opponent took, an all too familiar stance. A stance he used in so many missions, a stance he used to murder so many people. He let out a sigh to steady himself “Okay… for her..”

“So it was a girl!!” Allen so much as screech as he patted the man on the back “ dam Lily was right, I’m a beautiful man but I can’t compete with a girl” Killian, look at his master and held in a laugh, it was meant to make him be more at ease with what he had just asked of him.

#Kyrius Keeper #Killian wrightstone #Killius #carmasi #ragnarok online #oc stuff ragnarok online stories OC STORIES carmasi kyrius keeper

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awalkoflife-arc · 2 years

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1. GUEST : for one muse to offer the other a place to stay. / rooster!

he's admittedly had a little too much to drink when she approaches him. penny's bar is only beginning to mellow out for the evening and there's a sense of relief in the smile he sends to her. " hey em'. " he's taken up residency on one of the stools, arms outstretched across the sticky countertop. he'd been playing piano for the better part of two hours, entertaining the crowd and as a result, everyone decided to buy him a round. "any chance the kitchen's still open?" his question comes out as an almost inaudible mumble and when his friend clutches his car keys that are about to fall out of his shirt pocket, he can't hold back his laughter. "jesus i’m drunk. guess i'm staying at your place tonight then, huh?" lucky for rooster, there was always an open invitation awaiting him at emily’s whenever she was working the late shift. “what time do you get off? ‘cause we need to eat. i need to eat.”

#eiiidetic #omg hi !#-throws a tipsy rooster at your girl-#hope this is alright.#please let me know if you would like to plot further.#( interaction: rooster ft. emily )

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fatings · 2 years

Text

@endlines sent // SOME PROMPTS FOR PICKING UP/CARRYING MUSES 1) for sender to pick up a sleepy receiver and carry them to bed.

❝ — – 𝐇𝐄𝐘 ... ❞

mumble is almost inaudible, the gambler's brows furrowing before he actually blinks his eyes back open properly, disturbed but not quite enough to be startled into waking fully. had he actually fallen asleep ? he was just sitting at the table, he's certain, yet as his awareness (somewhat) returns, he finds himself held securely in familiar arms, confused resistance melting immediately.

it wasn't actually much of a strange situation. how many times had he nodded off during his own planning, during their discussions & gold counting ? too many, even in their youth. driving himself to exhaustion was a trait he always possessed, one he certainly had yet to shake — perhaps never would.

evidently, he'd been out long enough that Malcolm had taken the liberty to get him out of the outer layers of clothing, which makes his heart twinge with affection. he could just as well nod back off, but stubbornly holds to consciousness as he's laid down to reach for Malcolm, murmured words to stall him unintelligible and, truthfully, maybe not actually common.

❝ what're you goin' for ? ❞ tongue is found as he readjusts himself, loose hold falling away after only a few moments. ❝ ain't gonna sleep by myself. i'll get back up, you watch. ❞

#hi (comes back to first and foremost put gay people on the dash)#threatens him with getting back up . so stupid #♥ ♦ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍' 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈'𝐌 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃. ( endlines ) ♠ ♣

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calaminee · 2 years

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a/n: based on a real event, my friend was the one that made the rose (but it wasn't bcs she liked the waiter, she just wanted to spread kindness – it was so sweet)

"you're making him a rose? wow, you're very dedicated."

"hush, it's not that big of a deal, it's just a quick origami," you muse, waving your friend off as you fold a tissue paper meticulously, instructed by a youtube tutorial.

a woman on the table next to yours has given you a few curious glances, wondering the reason behind this spontaneous origami rose. although you would like to declare that it is merely a kind gesture, your eyes darting back and forth to a certain dark-haired waiter proves otherwise.

"what did he say his name was?" you mumble quietly to your friend, kana.

"hm," kana tilts her head to the side, "it was something with an 'a'. like aka- something i forgot-"

"akaashi. yes!" the memory suddenly rushes back to you, of his introduction when you two have just sat down in this particular booth.

out of the corner of your eyes, you spot him approaching with a black leather case, no doubt containing the bill that your friend has requested.

"he's coming!" kana whisper-shout, a giggle bubbling in her throat though she at least has the decency to quickly cover it up with a cough.

"i know, i know!" your fingers fly faster than ever before, hastily adding the last touch as you twist the bottom part tightly to create the stem.

you throw the rose haphazardly under your purse just as he reaches the table, a gentle smile perches on his lips, "i hope you enjoyed the meal. here's the bill."

you mutter a word of gratitude, hands shaking slightly when you receive the case, fingertip accidentally brushing against his, evoking tiny, nearly undetectable sparks to rush through your veins.

once you've handed him the cash with a small smile, you avoid his eyes and rub your sweaty hands along your jean-clad thighs in an attempt to reduce the trembling.

"thank you, and here's your change," akaashi bows before fumbling with the front pocket of his apron where he presumably stores some extra cash.

across the table, kana props her chin on her hand before giving you a pointed look, nudging her nose in the direction of the hidden paper rose. you purse your lips, shaking your head anxiously, deciding that your weak heart is unfit for this jitter-inducing situation.

but after several inaudible signals you and your friend exchanged – with her persistently pointing at the origami – he finally sets the change on the wooden table, scratching his head awkwardly as he apologizes for the wait.

kana drops you one last nod and a wink before you swallow heavily, "u-um that's okay. thank you. and uh, a-akaashi?"

"yes?" he pauses, politely waiting for an answer with a thick brow raised. for a moment, your purpose drifts down the stream of lost thoughts when his deep, ocean blue eyes stare into your soul in what feels like a strangely wistful reunion of a long-time friend.

you collect your thoughts with a few blinks, "i have something for you. i hope you like it. i-it's for the amazing service," you hand him the rose, bowing slightly.

your friend can no longer contain her wide grin, giving you thumbs up to which you deliberately shun away in embarrassment.

though it seems like you aren't the only one embarrassed by the attention.

akaashi holds the paper rose delicately as though afraid to damage it, the apples of his cheeks flushing a graceful red shade as he bows deeply again, "thank you. i truly appreciate it. and thank you for dining at our restaurant, it has been a pleasure serving you."

"no, please, thank you," you exclaim bashfully with a flick of your wrist.

akaashi gives you a final charming smile that has your heart fluttering before returning to the register to the cheers of his coworkers while a pepper haired man that you've seen a while ago thumbs him on the back as though congratulating his friend.

you get to your feet ready to leave while kana chatters away, throwing one last look over your shoulder to see akaashi already looking at you, the tips of his ears a faded pink as he mouths 'come back again soon'. beaming blissfully, you nod before exiting the restaurant to the cool, night air of sendai city, the image of his smile imprinted in your mind.

#haikyuu #haikyū!!#haikyu x reader #akaashi keiji #hq akaashi #akaashi drabble #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi x reader #hq fluff #hq scenarios #akaashi scenarios #akaashi headcanons

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theshelbyclan · 3 years

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Bells and Smoke

Summary: The youngest Shelby has to be send away to a convent, but you have no intention of conforming to their rules, even if you’ll die in the process

(Gif by @harmon-jane-black) A/N: Requested by anon: Could I request a Shelby sister where she is sent off to a boarding school and is getting badly bullied by teachers and pupils for being what they think is Birmingham poor scum. Maybe she comes home or gets visited and is losing her Birmingham accent and is a little thin and tired. V Polly and tommy nun scene vibes. Only if you aren't busy ❣️ x This has gotten really long, but this request gave me SO many ideas! Warning for abuse and neglect though. And I hope you like it!

Words: 6020 *** You couldn’t remember how it had all happened. One minute everything seemed to be fine and the next, life as you knew it had ended. Maybe it was Tommy’s idea, to give you the opportunities the others never had. But he never cared much about his siblings’ education. Maybe it was Arthur’s idea, thinking you’d finally become too wild. But he was too busy fighting his own demons. Maybe it was Aunt Pol’s idea, making a woman of style and class out of you. But she’d never abandon you like this.

All you knew was that one morning you had been in bed. As usual, you’d woken up with the workers as the factory whistles sounded, but there was no need for you to get up at five. So you’d turned around and tried to sleep on. But then Finn had come in and he roughly shook you awake. “Aunt Pol says you have to get up,” he had said, his voice filled with urgency. But you hadn’t been awake fully yet, “What… Why? It’s so early!” “You have to pack.” “For what? Where are we going?” Your brother had refused to meet your eye, “Not me. Just you.” And before you knew it, Aunt Polly had taken you and your small bag into the car and you were speeding out of Birmingham. At least Finn had come along, though Polly had forbidden him to go, but he had been adamant. “Where are we going?” you had whispered to him in the back. He had hardly replied to any of your question, but gave evasive answers like, “Away. Pol says it won’t be forever.” You remembered the all-encompassing feeling of loneliness that had washed over you in that moment. Was it something you had done? Were you being punished? Was the family giving you up? You were only fifteen, you’d never been away from Small Heath without any of your siblings by your side, and the separation had been too abrupt, too cruel. Suddenly, Aunt Polly had swerved to the right and stopped abruptly in front of the train station. “Get you bag,” she’d ordered you. Anger had flared inside of you, “No! You tell me where I’m going first!” “Y/N Shelby, I am your aunt and you will do as I say. Remember who you’re talking to and don’t think for one second that you will win this fight. Grab your bag and get out of the car.” Petrified at your aunt’s tone of voice, you’d gotten out of the car. And like a zombie, you’d walked over to the train. On the side it said Oxford. “Where do I get off?” You’d asked no one in particular. “Oxford,” your brother had never left your side, “Just sit tight until the end.” “You know what’s going on.” “I can’t change it, Y/N,” his eyes had been pleading for your forgiveness in that one moment, “I tried, I swear to God I did, but I can’t change it…” Not really understanding, you had only been able to nod, “Will you explain it to me?” “I’ll write.” Suddenly, tears had begun to fall from your eyes. The great unknown hadn’t even scared you that much, but the sudden realisation that everything had been altered had. “Here,” Finn had nudged you, as you’d hoisted your bag on board, “I nicked this for you,” and he’d handed you a hipflask, “might get you as far as Oxford. After that, you’re on your own.” His words had hit you hard, so there’d been nothing left to do but take a swig from the whiskey he offered. “What did I do wrong?” you’d asked him, uncertain. “Nothing. Don’t let the bastards tell you otherwise. You did nothing.” His voice had been so strong then. “Finn?” “Yeah?” “You can’t fucking write.” He’d burst out laughing and you couldn’t help yourself but join him. Then the train had started to depart and you’d taken one last look at the car with Aunt Pol’s silhouette inside. You’d turned to Finn and it’d been like you would never see him again. “Finn?” “Yeah?” “I bloody love you, you know?” He’d smirked, “I fucking love you too.” Eyes still locked, the train had started to move and just before it was too late, he’d added, “I’ll make sure you’re coming back home.” You’d clung to those words *** At five in the morning, the whistles sounded. Waking up this early was now your habit, as it was the habit of all the girls here. Like robots, you all climbed out of your sober beds, to put on your drab grey dresses and to stand neatly next to year beds. The dormitory looked like a prison cell and the girls’ faces were ashen. Shivering in the cold, you waited for inspection. “Adams!” “Yes, sister.” “Lee!” “Yes, sister.” “Williams!” “Yes, sister.” The first voice rang through the room like the bells of hell and the girls answered in meek tones. This was your morning ritual and there was no comfort to be found in it. Silently, you waited, while a part of you still dreamed of the horses you once loved and rode. Remember the freedom you felt, you told yourself. Remember the wind in your hair? The people who cared? The place called home? Remember Finn running alongside you? “Shelby!” You suddenly looked up, “Yes, sister,” and faced the nun who’d stopped by your bed. “What’s this?” she asked her rhetorical question. “My bed,” you weren’t supposed to answer, but it had escaped you before you could stop yourself. The middle-aged woman crouched down and tore up the neat bedding you’d just finished tucking in perfectly. Locking eyes with you, she gloated, “Look, it isn’t made properly.” “It was,” you replied through gritted teeth, “you just went and fucked it up again.” Without a warning, she struck you across the face hard. Then she flipped over the bed in one smooth motion and said, without any emotion, “Do it again.” Seething with rage, you counted to ten in your head. In your mind, you went back to Small Heath. You could feel the warmth of the fire in your kitchen, hear the men counting the money and could smell Aunt Polly’s cooking. This and only this was how you managed not to explode. “Ankins!” she continued her list. “Yes, sister.” “Elliot!” She was new here and you looked at her without turning your head, a skill you’d mastered in recent weeks. Some of the girls said she’d gotten pregnant, but she’d lost the baby before coming here. No one really knew what had happened to her. You only thought she looked too young, too fragile, like a little bird that could be squashed with a single movement of the hand. “Yes…” she mumbled, practically inaudibly. “Speak up, girl!” She hardly increased her volume, but repeated, “Yes, sister.” Just as you’d promised yourself you’d try to look out for her, evil incarnate turned around to face you again and snapped, “Shelby. You’ll report to my office after you’ve finished making your bed, properlythis time.” Great, you thought. After she’d left, you looked at your hands in resignation. Faint white lines betrayed the cane that had been on them. They’d only just healed. *** A few months earlier, Tommy was meeting a man dressed in black in an alleyway. As the rain was pouring down on Small Heath, they spoke in urgent whispers. “What did she do this time?” the concerned brother said with a slight hint of annoyance in his voice. “Theft, mainly,” the other replied, “And she was seen at the races, leaving the scene of the murder.” Tommy knew his sister hadn’t been responsible for the death that day, but none of it mattered now, “How much do they know?” “Enough.” Tommy took another drag of his cigarette and paused for a second, “Well, what do they want?” “Nothing. Leverage.” “Fuck…” “Thomas,” the informant urged, “Get her out. Out of Small Heath, and do it fast.” “Where the fuck is she supposed to go?” He shrugged, “Don’t you have family some place else?” “Can’t protect our Y/N when she’s away from here,” Tommy said coldly, not betraying the emotions he felt. “Then send her somewhere she will be protected.” Tommy sighed deeply, “I’ll ask Pol, eh? She’ll know what to do.” The man looked at Thomas Shelby: gangster, businessman, brother. His face was impossible to read and his feelings remained hidden. So he said, “Do it tonight, Thomas, if you can. He said she’d hang for it. Get her out.” ***

The first time you had tried to escape you didn’t think about it. You hadn’t even planned it and had just decided to run. With two nuns hot on your heels, you’d raced through the corridors. Pretty soon, you ran into your first locked door. You knew all was lost there and then. “Shelby…” the mother superior had mused as you stood in her office, “I knew it would be you.” “And how the fuck would you know that?” you’d replied quick as a flash. “You watch your tone, filthy rat,” she’d shouted, but added calmly, “We know of your kind, child.” Through gritted teeth, you’d questioned, “And what kind would that be?” “Gypsy scum,” she’d spat, before beating you senseless for the first time. The second time you tried to escape, you’d thought it through more. In the middle of the night, you’d crept out of bed and tiptoed across the dormitory. “Get back in bed!” one of the girls had whispered, “Remember last time?” “Yeah, I fucking remember, that’s why I need to leave!” you’d whispered back, voice filled with urgency.

Two hairpins. The day you’d found those were the day you’d planned your second escape attempt. Because if growing up in Small Heath had taught you one thing, it was how to steal and lie and cheat. And, coincidentally, how to pry open any lock. The first locked door was conquered quickly, but the second one had proven to be more troublesome. The large black doors that were said to protect you from the outside world did their job of keeping you all caged inside. The hairpins were too small to reach all the tumblers. Cursing under your breath, you’d soon realised that you disappearance had been noticed. In a panic, you’d grabbed a chandelier from the chapel and broken a window. Ignoring the shards you’d climbed through, while they tore at your skin and blood stained your nightgown. Once outside, the fresh air had an intoxicating effect on you. But you’d never gotten far. Again, you were brought to the mother superior, who stood waiting eagerly this time, cane in hand. “Go on,” you’d urged, full of defiance, “Beat me and get it over with.” “No…” she’d said suddenly, “you will tell me what your plan was first.” “To fucking get out.” “Why would you want to leave this place?” she’d questioned innocently, “Why would you want to leave the house of the Lord, where we only want to offer you safety and education? Where you can atone for your sins and regain your place in heaven?” “I’m not an animal,” you’d replied, “I need to be free.” And with that, the nun had smirked at you, “Free. You want to be free. Well, maybe this will finally break your spirit.” They’d locked you up in the cellars for three weeks. Darkness had enveloped you, only broken when she came in to beat you or feed you. You could never be sure. After every beating, she’d say, “Now, I’ll pray to God for you and ask him for his forgiveness.” “I’ll do it myself,” came your steady answer each time, “I’ll deal with him on my own.” And in the dark you’d cling onto the black Madonna around your neck, the only mother you still had left in this Godforsaken place. Now, some girls would be broken by now, but not you. If anything, you’d been more determined than ever to get out. But you had to be smart about it. Maybe Aunt Pol wouldn’t take you back and maybe you’d shame Tommy, but Finn would look out for you. Running hadn’t worked so far, so a new plan had started to form in your mind: a new plan that involved the boy that delivered the bread. Because as the days droned on after you were being released, you started paying attention to the delivery boy for the first time. You knew he’d always had a thing for you, but you weren’t interested. As a way out, you were now extremely interested. “Hi,” you greeted when it was your turn to help him unload. He was so startled by your talking all of a sudden, all he could manage was, “Bread…” “Yeah,” you smiled your prettiest smile, “Bread. That’s what you’re here for, right?” “I am.” “Good,” and you continued to unload the crates, sending him a few glances over your shoulder. He was still rooted to the spot, so you decided a bit more effort was required in this case, “You only come here for the bread?” you asked with humour in your voice. “Well, that’s my job…” he almost stuttered, but when you made eye contact, he finally relaxed a little, “What else would I come here for?” “Me?” you asked innocently. You could tell his confidence was growing, “Well, maybe a little. I mean, you are the prettiest girl in the school.” That was easy, you thought. So you flirted on and chatted him up and soon he was all yours, “Your name’s Billy, right?” “Yeah.” “Well, Billy. I need a favour…” This plan was a lot more complicated but it had a higher chance of success. And it would’ve worked too, if it hadn’t been for the younger nun who’d spotted you talking to Billy. Before the third attempt had even taken place, you found yourself back at the office. This time, the mother superior didn’t even speak. As soon as you were marched in, she’d grabbed you by your hair and attacked you with a pair of scissors. “Get off me, you crazy bitch!” you screeched, as strands of your hair fell down left and right of you. But the old nun remained completely calm in her tone, while becoming increasingly vicious in her attack, “Do you know what we do here?” You clenched your jaw for the pain, because this was no longer just about cutting your hair, but also hurting you as much as possible in the process. You had about a thousand replies to her question, but quickly weighed your options and decided not to piss off an angry old nun with a deadly weapon in her hands. So she continued, “We offer you the gift of education. Through hard labour, lots of prayer and penance the girls can find their way back to Jesus Christ. By humbling yourself, denying yourself rest, food and drink even, and working beyond human endurance one may come closer to our Lord. Save yourself from eternal damnation.” “No, thanks,” you replied inaudibly. When your hair had been cut, she crowed, “Your arrogance has been defeated and your vanity has been lifted. You will do well here now.” The fuck you would.

*** “Aunt Pol?” “What?” the woman snapped. He faltered, “Is this a bad time?” “It’s never a good time. Speak up, Finn.” “Fine,” and he took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself, “When’s Y/N coming home?” Aunt Polly turned around abruptly and said, “For fuck’s sake, Finn.” “It’s been months!” “And we haven’t heard from her,” with a large gesture, Aunt Polly threw some more wood onto the fire, “If something was wrong, she would’ve written.” “Well, no…” her nephew started protesting. “Yes,” his aunt interrupted him, “She’s fine. It’s Y/N. She can take care of herself.” “She can’t now, can she!” Finn suddenly erupted, “Yousend her away and for fucking what?! She didn’t do anythingwrong!” Polly held up a menacing hand, “You mind your fucking tone or I’ll slap you back to where you came from.” “I’m sixteen, Aunt Pol, same age as Y/N. Remember, we’re twins?” He’d only gotten more heated, “Something’s wrong. I can feel it, alright? And she wouldn’t write to you anyways, because you’re the one that send her away! Why would she write to someone who doesn’t even fuckingwant her?” Polly paused for a moment and seemed to calm down, “What do you mean you feel it?” “I just know, Aunt Pol, like when we were little and she fell in the Cut and I couldn’t breathe? It’s like that, only… longer.” She put down her black cigarette, “You’ve been dreaming, haven’t you?” “I dream about her, but I can never see her,” he nodded, “And sometimes…”

“What?” “It’s stupid…” “Finn, you tell me, right now!” everything about her was focused on the urgency of the situation now. But he didn’t understand, “Seagulls, alright? I keep dreaming about seagulls.” “Fuck,” his aunt whispered to herself, “I need to talk to Tommy.”

“Aunt Pol, you’re missing the fucking point!” he was seething again, “I was trying to talk to you about Y/N! I just want to know why you send her away and whenshe’s coming back!” “I didn’t send her away. Tommy said we didn’t have a choice,” she grabbed her coat and continued talking to herself, “I thought she’d be safe there…” “Isn’t she?” Finn asked, panicking as a result of his aunt’s strange behaviour. “Seagulls, Finn, fucking seagulls!” *** You couldn’t understand why they hated you so much. At first it had just been the nuns, and you had a vague notion of them calling you ‘gypsy scum’ had something to do with it. From the start, they’d commented on your accent, reminded you of where you came from and told you that you were nothing compared to the others girls here. And in a way this made sense: on the one hand this school had the outward appearance of being an institution of learning for young ladies, but the reality was very different. Parents who no longer wanted to deal with them or who had ‘shamed’ their families often dumped girls here. Others were orphans. Either way, the nuns collected the large amount of money paid for each girl and treated all of you badly. And you weren’t a complete idiot and you knew you were partially to blame for the situation as it was now. You knew you hadn’t made a great entrance when you walked into the school, but even from the start they had disliked you. But your resistance had made it worse, much worse. All the girls were treated harshly, had to work and were kept in line, but you were being treated like a slave held captive. There was zero intention on your part to come into the school to make friends. From the moment you’d stepped off that train, you’d decided you were done with people. All you wanted was your brother, and the rest of the family if they still wanted you. But after a few weeks, you had started craving some connections and you had tried to make friends with the other girls. But it soon became clear that you had very little in common with them. This however, wasn’t the main problem: they feared you. Your defiance made them anxious to be around you and receive similar punishments to yours. They kept away. “Elliot!” you whispered to the new girl, who was crying in the dark. You rolled onto your other side in bed to face her and tried to ask her gently, “What’s your name, your first name I mean?” After a few residual sobs, she said softly, “Anna.” “I had a cousin called Anna,” you smiled at her, “Why are you crying? Who do you miss?” “It’s not who I miss, it’s about who doesn’t miss me…” “How do you know…” you started, but you were interrupted. “Don’t talk to her!” another girl called out and Anna turned around to look at her. The girl continued, “Yeah, I’m talking to you. Don’t talk to Y/N. She’ll get you in trouble. Just… stay away from her.” Anna looked at you for a few seconds, eyes filled with fear and then she turned onto her other side. You couldn’t even blame her really. She was new. But slowly, it only got worse. All the girls crossed the halls when you passed and not only did they begin to shun you, but they started taking your things, stealing your food at times and made you an outcast in every sense of the word. And you suddenly understood: if they made you stand out even more, all the attention would be drawn to you. The nuns would leave them alone. You were the easy scapegoat, because you’d been the most likely choice from the start. And as the months wore on, you started to wither away. Jealous or full of hatred, you couldn’t tell, but the other girls tried to hurt you as much as the nuns did. You were cold at night because they’d taken your blankets. You didn’t eat because you were being punished. You didn’t sleep because you were locked up downstairs and the beatings kept you awake. And so you fell ill, heavily. After you recovered, you stopped eating, sleeping, fighting. Not because you no longer could, but because the loneliness had finally caught up with you: you no longer wanted to. *** Tommy watched his aunt as she strode over towards him. He’d known the woman for years and usually he would be annoyed by her interrupting his meeting, but by the way she walked, he knew she wouldn’t wait for anyone right now. “Get out,” she told the man Tommy had been talking too. He left at once. “It’s Y/N,” she said as soon as he’d gone, “We need to get her out.” “She’s at the school, the one you recommended, Pol. You told me she’d get a good education there.” “We were wrong, Thomas, wrong to send her away.” “What’s all this, eh?” he frowned, “We had no choice and she alright where she is. We took care of it.” With a wave of her hand, Polly referred to Finn, “He feels she’s in danger.” And Tommy turned to his youngest brother, raising his eyebrows sarcastically, “Is that right?” “I have a bad feeling, Tom…” Finn said uncertainly. “He’s been dreaming of seagulls,” Polly emphasized, locking eyes with her nephew. “Fucking seagulls…” he rubbed his head, “More gypsy witchcraft?” Swiftly, she slapped Tommy across the face, “You’ve forgotten where you’re from.” Quickly, Tommy’s face went through a range of emotions. First there was anger and the urge to strike back. Then there was the reaction of wanting to hide, like he was being chastised just like when he was little. The hurt over her comment came next, swiftly followed by a sense of shame, because she was right. His face settled on worry over his youngest sister. “What do we do?” “What will happen if we get her back to Small Heath?”

Tommy lit a cigarette and thought out loud, “Connor wants her dead. He has high influence in the police and he’s using her as leverage, after having seen her at the races.” “Y/N didn’t kill that soldier!” Finn called out, full of indignation. “Yes, we know…” Tommy said in a low voice, “But that doesn’t fucking matter because no one’s going to believe our word for it against his.” “Who else knows?” Polly continued. “My guess is no one does yet…” “JOHN!” Polly howled suddenly and for a second Tommy could only blink. Then he continued, “If anyone else knew, we’d heard by now. I’m guessing he intends to save the information for when he can use it.” Aunt Polly bend down and started unlacing one of her boots. That’s when John walked in and he immediately paused when he felt the tension hang in the air. “Take this,” she ordered him and handed him the small revolver that she kept hidden in her boots, “Shoot Connor.” “Fucking what?” he nearly spit out his toothpick. John looked at Tommy for an explanation, but it didn’t come. Instead Tommy asked Polly, “Then what?” “We go to Oxford.” Tommy nodded slowly, “John, go on. Shoot the man. Get Arthur out of bed when you’ve done it.” Shrugging like it was just another small task he had to fulfil without much enthusiasm, John walked off with the gun in hand. But Finn said carefully, “What if I was wrong?” “Have you ever been wrong about your sister?” Aunt Polly asked, “Apart from that time you thought she was in love with that Jewish boy…” “No.” “Trust your gut, Finn,” Tommy confirmed, “Pol’s right.” Aunt Polly smiled at him with an almost motherly warmth, “Let’s bring Y/N home.” *** Eventually you were moved to the hospital wing of the school. The neglect and lack of food had caused your body to shut down and you could no longer force yourself to get up each morning. At first, you were branded lazy and got punished for it. Finally, even the nuns acknowledged this was serious and the last thing they needed was another girl dying at their school. You’d lost all feeling for days, drifting in and out of sleep. One nun took care of you and she was different from the others. During your hazy periods, she tried to persuade you to eat, but with the last strength you did have, you refused. If you were to die, it’d be your own choice. “Y/N…” someone whispered to you gently. You tried to open your eyes, but it felt like lifting bricks with muscles you did not have. “Y/N,” the voice said again, and you realised this wasn’t the nun. Slowly you opened your eyes and saw Anna, sitting by the side of your bed. “What do you want?” you croaked. She looked down and said, “I came to see you.” “Why?” “Because I’ve made a mistake.”

You didn’t care for her feelings. You knew she despised you just like the others did and you didn’t need another girl gloating by your bed. So you decided to just wait and not answer her. “The girls told me you were scum,” she continued, “that you didn’t belong here. They said that’s why you always got into trouble, because you’re just Birmingham working-class trash.” Great, you thought, and how is this supposed to help? “When they told me to not talk to you, I listened. I thought it would help, that I would fit in more and the nuns wouldn’t beat me like I saw them do with others. But I was wrong.” “The nuns don’t need a reason,” you replied before you could stop yourself, “Reasons help, but they will find a way to vent their cruelty, no matter what.” “That night,” Anna said, “you talked to me and asked me who I missed. You were the only one that asked me why I was crying.” “I didn’t want you to feel too alone…” Anna nodded, “I know. That’s why I’m here.” But you didn’t understand, “Why are you here?” “Y/N. You’re not alone. Tell me, who do you miss?” Much to your own annoyance, tears welled up in your eyes. For last couple of months you had tried so hard not to think of Finn, Arthur, John and Ada. And you tried to ban Polly and Tommy especially from your mind, always wondering why they didn’t want you. Your heart can be cruel like that: those who don’t want you, you miss the most. Anna took your hand in hers and for the first time you felt another human being without pain. And so you started telling her of your brothers, of your aunt, of the horses and factories and of the streets of Small Heath. Anna didn’t say a word, but she listened intensely. After you’d cried all your tears and there were no more stories left to tell, all she said was, “Please. Eat.” When she offered you soup, you ate. *** It was a sight to behold: Polly Gray walking through the city of academia with four brothers practically having to run after her to keep up. When she arrived at the front doors of the convent, she didn’t ask to come in, but simply walked on into the halls. “Aunt Pol,” John ventured, “What do we do?”

“Keep up,” she said simply. Arthur looked around nervously. He didn’t like nuns and convents. But Tommy and Finn scanned every room and corner for you. Left and right, girls looked up in surprise as the strange family invaded their home. “Who’s that?” they whispered. But the nuns urged them away and said, “No one. Don’t look at them. They don’t belong here.” Tommy frown deepened as he noticed the faces of the girls. These weren’t what he expected. Of course, he wasn’t familiar with schools like this one, but he knew education played a part. These girls all looked tired, downtrodden and most of them were cleaning or scrubbing the floors. He shared a look with Aunt Polly and she nodded in understanding. “How are we going to find her?” Finn asked. “Oi!” Arthur called out to one of the girls, who jumped up at his voice, “Y/N, you know her?” “No, sir…” she shook. “Listen to my voice,” John added, “What about a girl who sounds like me?” And then one other girl stepped forward and she tilted her chin up high as a sign of arrogance, “She’s not here.” “And whyis she not here?” Polly asked pointedly. The girl got nervous, but tried to keep composure, “Because she’s filth and this is a decent school.” Again, Tommy looked around at the skinny girls, all dressed in the same drab depressing dressed, “Decent, eh?” His low menacing voice knocked all the attitude out of her, so she changed her mind, “She was taken to the hospital ward a few weeks ago.” “Where,” Arthur demanded. “North wing,” she gulped.

Aunt Polly marched through the halls like a woman on a mission. Her face bore a gritty look of determination and none of the bells, smoke and threats of a holy place could make her quiver. In fact, God shook as she walked passed.

Still, one nun tried to stop her, but before she could open her mouth in protest, Aunt Polly had pushed her aside and casually commented, “Better get out of the way, sister, you certainly won’t be the first woman of God I’ve knocked down.” When they entered the hospital wing, they walked into another depressing space filled with beds in lines. Most of them were empty, but one nun stood up and walked over to Polly. Her first instinct was to actually knock down this one, but when she saw her soft face, she paused. “Y/N Shelby,” she demanded, “We’ve come to take her home.”

“You’re her aunt?” the nun asked, “She’s asked for you.” “Is she alright?” Finn stepped forward, “What was wrong with her?” “We thought she might not make it. She stopped eating, you see,” the nun explained. John frowned and protested, “That’s not Y/N. She would never refuse food, unless…” Tommy didn’t need to hear the ‘unless’; worry was already eating him alive inside. So he walked around in search for his sister. He found her in a bed, with another girl sitting next to her. His sister was asleep. “Who are you?” Polly demanded harshly. But the brothers couldn’t speak when they saw their sisters. You were too skinny, eyes sunken deep and bruises were still visible on your face. The long black hair was gone. In many ways, it wasn’t their sister anymore, just a shell. The nun answered when the other girl was too afraid to, “This is Y/N’s friend. She came to visit her every day, even though she wasn’t allowed to.” Polly lifted one eyebrow, “Then why did you allow it?” “Anna got Y/N to eat again. She’s the reason she’s alive.”

Anna. Polly walked over to her and carefully took her hand, “You watched over my niece.” “I didn’t want her to feel alone. She felt abandoned, she said…” Anna said in a soft voice. Polly shook her head in an effort to banish the emotions, “Thank you, Anna. You’re a good friend and a guardian angel.” “What did they do to her?” John asked her through gritted teeth. “She was isolated, singled out for being… different.” Anna explained without meeting their eyes, “She tried to fight them from the start, but never won. She kept trying to run away. They beat her, kept her locked up in the cellar, but when the other girls turned on her and she thought she would never leave this place, she just… gave up.” Slowly, Finn had walked over to the other side of the bed. Clumsy but lovingly, he started stroking the hair out of your face. Seagulls, he thought. “Who’s in charge here?” Tommy suddenly spoke. “The mother superior has an office down the hall,” the nun said, “Anna can take you there.” “No,” Anna gasped, “I can’t…” Fear was written all over her face.

“What’s wrong with the office?” Tommy asked her with unusual kindness. “It’s where she…” And in an instant they all understood. So Tommy demanded, “Tell that woman to come here.” “She won’t like it, sir…” “You fuckingtell her to come here,” Tommy spat filled with venom, “Or I will burn this entire place down to the ground, and don’t think for a second I won’t fucking do it.” So the nun with the gentle face nodded and walked off. Somehow, Tommy’s explosion had triggered some old memories in you. Before you were properly awake, you dreamed of being back in your bed in Small Heath. The smell of the factories penetrated your nose and you could hear your family arguing. But when you opened your eyes, they were actually there. You looked at them one by one and stopped at Finn, “You said you’d explain.” “And I will,” he said, “when we get home.” “Am I allowed to go home?” you questioned in disbelieve. Aunt Polly shook her head, “You should’ve never been anywhere else.” “Can’t protect you if you’re not at home…” Tommy added with a slight hint of guilt in his voice. “It’s safe now,” John said, “I’ve dealt with it.” And just the way he said it made you smile a little. “Arthur, John,” Tommy started ordering them in his usual business-like manner, “Take Y/N out of here.” And Arthur lifted you out of the bed into his arms like it was nothing. “Finn, you go with them. Make sure you get her things.” At that, John pulled a gun and Finn nodded solemnly. “What about Anna?” you asked, looking at your friend, “I won’t leave her here.” “Pol and I are going to have a word with the mother superior,” Tommy stated matter-of-factly. You sighed in relief, but Anna still had a look of confusion on her face, “What will that do? She won’t listen to anyone.” “She’ll listen to us, love,” Polly said to her with a reassuring smile that left very little room for arguments, “We’ll make sure of it.” You smiled at Anna too, “This convent will be closed by tomorrow. Trust me.” “We’ll see you at home, Y/N,” Tommy said, “And then we’ll talk.” Just before Arthur walked out of the door with you in your arms, Aunt Polly ran over to you and pressed a kiss on your forehead, “Safe journey, sweetheart.” Then there was just Tommy and Polly left, clearing their faces of all sentiment and hardening their features. Arms crossed, they waited and knew what had to be done, and nothing would stop them from doing it.

“Mr. Shelby, Mrs. Gray?” the hospital nun had reappeared, “The mother superior will see you now.”

***

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