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wulvercazz · 5 months

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🤖And Secrets Untold🗝️

A little written-only Android!AU update before the next (and last) art post for the AU💕✨ Hope you enjoyyy

(Previous~)

Some tags; some mild robot gore, murder/murder scene descriptions

Grimmjow didn’t elaborate further after that. In fact, Grimmjow didn’t speak much at all anymore after the memory core lit up in place and flooded the android with the knowledge of a synthetic life lived.

He brooded. Glared at Ichigo when he tried to press further, answered with scoffs and rolls of his eyes when he asked about Professor Jaegerjaquez. It’s definitely not how he expected things to go when he had the idea to search for Grimmjow’s memories in hopes he’d know where to find the genius who created him.

So much for a victory.

“I’m doing this so I can repair you—“ Ichigo huffs out after one more scoff from the droid, his pliers clanking on the table, irritated. “He’s dead, fine, but maybe you can remember who he worked with? If he had a partner then—“

“He worked alone.”

Ichigo’s almost startled when, finally, there’s an actual response from him; “right… well, then… maybe you watched him work? With your kind of memory… anything he may have told you about you is stored somewhere-“

“He told me nothing.”

Grimmjow sure knew how to extinguish any sort of attempt at hope like ice cold water.

“All the old man did was drink and regret ever making me.” It’s the quiet harshness behind his voice, the subtle hue of pain, that once more trouble Ichigo; real enough that they tinge his heart with sorrow for the half-functioning android on his worktable. “Guess he was as disturbed by how not human I am as you are.”

No. No, that’s not it. He’s not disturbed by his ‘lack of humanity’, the contrary, in fact. Terrified that anything this human can exist outside human flesh; so much so that his existance within this room doesn’t fill his home with the empty chill that the mountains of appliances and other androids he’s paid to repair give him.

He’s terrified— because that means either he’s truly lost his sanity to this cold hellhole he calls a home, or what he knows about reality is about to be re-written by an android that should not be possible by nature’s rules. And it’s just now becoming more and more abundantly clear that he’s still, at least, more or less sane; the revelation that Grimmjow’s been quietly attempting to figure out Ichigo’s perception of him, only make his cold white plates and metal bones feel as human as his own.

“Grimm, I don’t— you are-“

“My name code is Grimmjow.”

“Grimmjow, I don’t... feel disturbed by you.” And Ichigo stutters when the android raises an accusatory brow, “n-not the way you think. I don’t know what the fuck was going on through Professor Jaegerjaquez’ mind when he created you — alright? — what I know is… there are no androids like you. You are… more real than anything I ever thought was possible from an android; if he expected anything more than you already are… the guy might as well have wanted to become a god, and he might have already grazed divinity as is.”

Grimmjow’s quiet pondering, and his eyes practically scanning Ichigo’s face bring sudden heat to his face. He’s not sure what exactly he just called the android, but he’s pretty sure it’s something near worship. The android’s eyes close finally, and almost sags in his place, “you’re more of a loser than I thought.”

Eh?

“Hah??” Is the lone indignant sound Ichigo gets out his chest, “I was trying to— you know what, fuck you!”

The small, shit eating grin that curls Grimmjow’s white lips is just as mocking and rude as all he’s ever been since he brought him here; and yet… Ichigo’s never been more entranced by a smile before...

“I said: I can tell you where he worked.” Grimmjow’s tiny brows twitch with annoyance, and Ichigo’s horrified by how welcome Grimmjow’s nasty attitude is in comparison to the quiet brood of before. Clearly, he got lost for a second too long in the implications of a grin for the android’s taste.

“I never left the facility, but I know the coordinates.”

The place Grimmjow’s coordinates point to is not far from where he found him, unsurprisingly; deep in the abandoned foundations of the city where people used to live before that too became unlivable for anyone not filthy rich.

Figuring out which building exactly is the one professor Jaegerjaquez hid out in to do his work, is a challenge in itself. It took him days of going back and forth between buildings with crusty tinted windows, of peeking in cracks of doors jabbed in place by layers of crust and abandoned crap. He finally knew he was in the right place when he peeked inside one last crashed window and saw messy footprints followed by a heavy path towards towards him rubbed off the dust on the floor. He hoped whoever did this, because it was clear now that Professor Jaegerjaquez didn’t die without help, had the decency to take the body with them.

His boots hit the floor with a choking cloud of dust rising around him; Ichigo patted down the bits of broken glass that came off with him when he sneaked inside and tried not to cough the dirt off his lungs too loudly. He lit his work glasses on and pulled out a supporting flashlight to guide him inside, following the tracks left on the dusty ground.

It seems simple enough. Walks in to the rest of the building, past the lonely apartment he came in through, and into another that looks less lonely than the whole structure itself. But the tracks stop here; not enough dust to reveal much of anything.

The place is a mess of papers and empty bottles of cheap alcohol, flies buzzing off dirty dishes that not even the automated washer in the kitchen could ever deal with. It takes everything in him not to gag upon the first breath. The man was… clearly unstable. Grimmjow’s short words in his regard were pretty accurate.

But he wasn’t here trying to solve anyone’s murder, not here to try and understand the madness, but rather what it created, and this.. doesn’t look anything like what he’d expected to find.

Ichigo flashes his light in every direction, to the sweaty, alcohol stained couch and the fly ridden tubs of take-out, to the likely just as dirty bathroom and the crack in the door to what he supposes was the man’s bedroom.

There’s just as much crap littering the room, except, for once, it’s not simply trash and scraps of food. It’s… printed pictures, the type not many people keep anymore these days; dimly lit faces covering the floor and the bed and, upon opening the door, the blood chills in his bones as walls scribbled dark meet his view.

Guilt written with trembling, disturbed, hands scratched on the walls; countless different renditions of “I am sorry” haunting the room, he’s almost afraid to shine a light, but curiosity has him doing just so. Leaning in more to look at the pictures on the bed and realizing, with horrified certainty, that the face repeated on every picture is the same he’s been looking at these past weeks. Different places, stages of life, ones where he is taking the picture himself and ones where someone is taking it for him. There's a healthy tint to his youthful skin instead of clinical white, but they’re all those same blue eyes, same strong jaw and high cheekbones, same blue hair too in the most recent-looking pictures.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

A million horrible ideas running through his head make him stumble back a few steps, like he’d run out the room any second and forget everything about the android and this fucked up place. And he might just, until his stumbling lets him see the disturbed pictures behind the other side of the bed; like the dust in the other apartment, shoved out of it’s deranged, but meticulous, order by something dragged heavily out of— the wall?

His hands fumble with the pictures still blanketing the floor, shoving them this way and that until the dimmest of lights shines through the line where the wall meets the floor; he scratches and nudges at the edge with gloved hands until it catches on and more of that light cracks into the room.

Inside is a mess of equipment, screens and computers crashed on the floor, metallic scratches on furniture toppled over by something with enough strength, or weight, to put clear dents on them too. It’s a violent scene only highlighted by crusted black marks smeared on the floor and dragged all the way to the hidden panel door behind him.

He feels guilty when his brain sighs a calming: ‘at least there’s no body’.

Ichigo spends a ridiculous amount of time shuffling through broken pieces of metal, attempting to find what little salvageable from the computers’ hard drives, if at all; checking every corner for anything worth something.

There’s not that much hope in his scavenging, nothing stands out to him between all the broken pieces except that there’s nothing near close to what he pulled out of Grimmjow. Not the organ looking pieces of machinery, not the the gut-like cabling or the meat-gel… he’s missing something.

Oh, this man was clever. He clearly wasn’t always deranged and guilt-ridden, he didn’t build Grimmjow at the same time as he was praying to the walls for forgiveness; that came later. The man that worked on Grimmjow’s composition chose too this location and built this hidden laboratory by himself. That man is probably still hiding things. Things that whatever thugs dragged his lifeless body and his creation out of here definitely didn’t find and trash as the rest of these useless piles of junk.

Ichigo turns to the nearest empty wall and begins patting all about the panels of it, pressing and scratching at the seams like he did on the door; pushes an empty rack that’s standing on his way and continues to search the walls. He probably looks insane, and, honestly, for once he’s not worried he’s gone mad; he hasn’t felt this alive in years.

With a satisfactory click, a panel in the wall finally gives, and from the narrow door pulls a quiet android body, laying flat and dead like this is a mortuary drawer.

He’s almost afraid to touch, wondering if this thing will be just as alive as Grimmjow is. Except… the face is all wrong, flat and robotic. nothing like Grimmjow’s tender sculpting; this is but a test. Perhaps Grimmjow was too, but this one does not compare in the slightest; the body is similar, but when he eventually pokes at it he finds himself calming down at he discovery that there’s no power core at all. The mechanical heart missing under the metal ribcage.

It does, however, have all the other parts Grimmjow needs… he’s going to feel a little dirty about performing android grave-robbery, but he’d be a fool to not at least bag as many of its internal components as he can. He’ll figure out how to bring back the heavy replacement limbs another day.

Next~

#Android AU #ichigo kurosaki #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #Android!Grimmjow #ichigrimm #一グリ #robot gore

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opinated-user · 9 months

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I think part of why Lily dislikes Across The Spider-Verse is because Miguel O'Hara is everything Aliana could have been in the hands of a decent writer. Hypercompetent, stronger than everyone else, smarter than everyone else, haughty, respected, admired, accomplished, aggressive, hurt by things in his past, different from the other heroes, an extremist, and still sympathetic because the sheer scale of what he lost is so awful that you understand why he's snapped and become as messed up as he is. It doesn't excuse it but you can't deny that the trauma was bad enough to leave him with these control-freak tendencies and paranoia as coping mechanisms. We only have one movie with him but you feel for this man because he's clearly human and hurting despite how powerful and successful he is.

The difference is that Across The Spider-Verse is willing to write a conflict where both sides have a point. While we are later shown Miguel's theories about how the multiverse are incorrect, most of the evidence initially points to his theories being right, in which case he is a man trying to prevent massive loss of life. That he's willing to let someone the hero loves die to achieve that is horrifying, but it makes sense. Aliana's various murders always made me roll my eyes because they meant nothing and were often motivated by very little. This movie makes one possible murder feel incredibly high stakes by having even Miguel, who is resigned to letting it happen, not be enthused about it. "It has to be done, but I don't enjoy this" is a lot more compelling than "eh, why not?" as an attitude towards murder. We root for Miles but we also know that Miguel is motivated by the greater good, which is terrifying because a properly motivated Spider-Man is more or less undefeatable in most canons.

Aliana only sometimes escapes fair criticism by virtue of being a queer POC. Miguel O'Hara gets fair criticism but also a very substantial number of fans because he's well-written. Being Latino is a nice bonus, but unlike Aliana, he has more to him than just murder, power and looking cool. He's got attachments, he grieves, he reacts to trauma, he makes mistakes, and Aliana... well, she kills people, fucks Rey and kills some more until all the problems are gone.

Miguel is what a morally grey character should be: complicated, human, someone whose flaws make sense when you consider their backstory, powerful but not invincible, clearly motivated and in possession of virtues as well as flaws.

Aliana kills, tortures, assaults, is inserted into scenes more than Steven is into Steven Universe episodes, has no flaws or virtues, and has a backstory that does not impact her most of the time.

It must really suck to see someone write the same basic concept - overpowered morally grey POC with a tragic backstory who has risen to a position of power - and see them do it so well that people can't stop talking about him. Meanwhile, no one I know even finished Lily's fic because it's just so boring that it wasn't able to hold their attention and it was impossible to get attached to the characters.

i think it's also the fact that Miguel O'Hara actually lives the consequences of his own actions. that's the last thing LO ever wants for alina, because alina is meant to be her wish fulfillment fantasy and she doesn't want to suffer consequences. she just want a subservient obedient wife who will never disagree with her and let her win at pokemon.

#lily orchard

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twothpaste · 3 months

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Essential world building question; who in your intermission au smokes weed or would try it given the chance (besides Kuma of course)

Aw hell yeah, essential indeed! Answers below the cut:

Kumatora's whole family smokes, often as a communal activity when they get together. She grew up familiar with the stuff, it's no wonder where she gets it. She enjoys a fat doobie or perhaps a pot brownie pretty regularly.

Lucas likes weed. It especially helps ease his anxiety and stress. He will smoke with Kuma, Duster, and/or DCMC on occasion, but prefers baking his own edibles. I think his tolerance is actually kinda low - if he gets too high he Will start getting scared. Thankfully he's quite mindful of his limits.

Claus has tried weed multiple times, desperately hoping to enjoy it with his loved ones & reap some of the benefits his brother talks about, but truth be told? He can hardly stand it! He gets restless and uneasy, it messes with his dissociative symptoms. Being under the influence of any substance makes him feel like he isn't in control, which scares him :( Sometimes he'll try Lucas' edibles if they're dosed real low. Otherwise, he's given up and learned to avoid it.

Duster smokes and eats so much weed. He even dabbles in hemp products galore, for pain and stress management. If Wess had any idea, the old man would be popping blood vessels about it. I think Duster smoked his first blunt at like age 36 with OJ n' the boys, and never looked back.

Hinawa used to smoke mad pot, but stopped when she n' Flint decided to start a family. She got Flint in on it with her for a little bit, when they were just a couple young hooligans gallivanting about in Tennessee. He did enjoy it with her, but not alone or with anyone else - so he hasn't touched the stuff since she passed away. I think his family was a lot more straightedge than hers (wrt weed at least...). Needless to say, Grandpa Alec was and is an absolute pothead.

Jeff has tried weed at least once. Didn't really see the appeal. Straight-faced, unimpressed, "Eh, it's nothing special." If a friend offered it, he probably wouldn't be opposed. But he's not really itching to try it again.

Poo has considered it - might be a pleasant relief from his nonstop responsibilities - but he is genuinely terrified if he tries weed even once he'll become hopelessly hooked on it. He doesn't want to know what he's missing, lest he dampen his life's ambitions and disappoint his family and so on and so forth. (He will probably try it in his 30's or 40's and go "Ah. This rather nice." And it'll be utterly unremarkable.)

Ness and Paula are straight-laced rosy-cheeked good little suburban kids turned upstanding college students, god forbid they ever even dare to look at a marijuana leaf.

Porky boasts that he has done weed (and various other drugs he heard about on podcasts). In reality, he has never touched any illicit substances, and would be scared to do so.

Picky smoked pot once with some other kids behind the football field at his high school. He coughed a lot, and didn't like it very much. Lardna smelled it on him and yelled at him. His stepdad, Mr. Prettyman, sat down beside him later and lectured him gently on the dangers of drugs, in an "anti-drug campaign for elementary schoolers" kinda way, rather than a sensible adult to a teenager kinda way. Picky decided then and there he'd never do it again. Not worth the hassle. Jeez.

#cw for discussion of marijuana use of course #for anyone who may not be in the loop: it's a college au; all characters mentioned are grown enough to responsibly honk a doobie #intermission au #thank you anon

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vazaha-tya · 1 year

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to clarify

i am neutral about snape

i don't like him as a person but he's a potentially interesting character

i just don't think he's well-written

his role as a spy was barely exploited

the reasoning behind his abuse of children is flimsy

and the whole marauders-snape relationship is described so badly it can be interpreted in every direction

were the marauders bullies and snape a hapless victim of their dastardly ways? eh. we're talking abt the dude who invented a curse to make someone bleed out. how do you think remus found out snape knew more curses in first year than the rest of his classmates?

were the marauders defenders of the weak against a future death eater and his friends? probably not. the pantsing scene at the very least showed they targetted him for their own enjoyment more than anything else.

or were the schoolyard fights meant as allegories of the greater tension of the war brewing in the background? most likely. the atmosphere was tense in the castle. people were disappearing, awful laws being passed as death eaters infiltrated the ministry and pureblood rhetoric was spouted louder than ever.

i think the marauders probably didn't have the time to torment snape as much as people seem to think considering they were mapping out the school, becoming animagi, running around on the full moon, doing homework (+playing quidditch for james) and who knows what else. draco had the time to bully harry because he literally had nothing else to do. that's not the case here.

but i also think james is probably the one who antagonised snape and insulted/hexed him first, maybe called him a dark wizard and generally comforted him in his idea that he had no place in the light side. his friends also probably followed, especially sirius who never learnt what a moral compass was and who probably doesn't have a standard of what "going too far" means. can you imagine what bellatrix and him got up to as kids in grimmauld place? i hardly think he understands the concept of bullying. james was spoiled, sirius fucked up and the other two very eager to please. a recipe for disaster.

but snape didn't become a death eater because of the marauders. he already resented muggles before coming to hogwarts and knew a lot of curses which he's kind of implied to have happily used. his break from lily pushed him further down the dark path but he was already involved in purist circles. he wasn't alone, he had friends (who died in the war too if i understood it right, or went to azkaban).

the marauders weren't ganging up on him 24/7. they started the hostilities, yes, and took pleasure in humiliating him. snape and his friends apparently took pleasure in attacking muggle-borns though.

they were all shitty kids terrified to die and lashing out at each other. the thing is that the marauders didn't get to grow out of it (except remus, who did put the rivalry behind him and pettigrew who's generally ignored in this) and snape did but stewed in his hatred.

snape would have been a compelling antihero if he had been better written. if it was made clear that he is selfish and bitter yet still fighting for the right side. (i wish jkr hadn't involved lily. i'm so tired of her being only characterised by her relationship with the men in her life). if he was just a complicated man, one who isn't absolved by his tragic backstory. or if it had taught him to be better, if he had been a mentor to harry instead of another reason to think he wasn't safe anywhere

and if his spying years had actually given useful intel ffs. because what did he learn as a spy that the order used? smh

#harry potter #hp #tya rambles #harry potter meta

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throwaway-yandere · 2 years

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(Nutjob anon)

Everyone simping after Tighnari or Haitham, and then there's me, going feral because FELIXFELIXFELIXFELIX MY BELOVED FELIX SNFJEJJEVGRRRRRR this chapter's insults were endorsed by Felix. Not a lot of boars, but the vibe was there so it's a win for me! I would nominate him as possible next underboss... but we both know that that's a bad idea lmao.

And since you are adding 3h characters, ai have a feeling Childe and Sylvain could be good friends! ... Only for them to talk trash behind the other's back ("I swear! His personality is so fake. How come you can stand him?")

And I'll also like to raise you: Linhardt and Tighnari being friends: Green, sassy, doesn't care for titles and only his research? Yes, they'd be very good friends.

I am also getting Lysithea vibes from the capo: wanting to do a lot but little time, and everyone needs to give them a vibe check for that attitude lol I hope Barbara can smack some sense into them, because I can't help but think that capo is also operating under the "there's nothing more terrifying than a man who has nothing left to lose". Yes, they are fighting for their men, but they personally don't care about what might happen to them, so we better watch out that sanity meter, or else the capo will turn into the real hazard all along the way.

And dunno Ansy, I know you want to help us with hinting that bringing Cyno is bad, but the one that I don't trust is Haitham lmao Cyno said it himself: don't kill Tighnari. Even if what he did makes his blood boil, at least he is conscious enough to first get the cure. But Haitham is quite prideful, so maybe he'll come with some shit that he is the only one we need and he can always steal what Tighnari have done and finish it. After all, the main point is to cure you, right? Anything else is expendable. And maybe having Cyno there might help him clarify some questions he might have.

I don't like how autorithive Haitham is, with ordering us to leave (even if it was good for us). That means he has no reservations in misleading us if what we are doing doesn't go with his agenda. So with Tighnari, someone who is... somewhat on the same ground as him in terms of research, he might not think as your underboss but as an academic rival when acting.

Anyways, angst hurts me but boy that I will spin that death wheel with gusto 😎

HDIAOAOAK I TRY MY BEST TO MAKE THE FE:TH CHARACTERS SUBTLE HERE (that very much failed with dimitri cause first off I'm a simp and second it's weird if the reader doesn't grieve for at least one chapter lol) SO I CAN'T MAKE FELIX THE UNDERBOSS EVEN IF I WANT TO 😭😭 (i actually added him in cuz I thought of you lolol)

(kazuha was almost the underboss tho but Alhaitham won lol)

I think not a lot of genshin players are major FE:TH fans so I gotta be real sneaky with the characters lol... But that sylvain idea 🤔🤔🤔 considering childe's whole comical side story with lumine rn I could invite mister steal your girl for some dumb sht lol. Lindhart is a rather european name so I could have him as another one of Focalor's people ehe, though he'd probably ask for Tighnari to do his job for him cause he's too lazy–

AND YES LYSITHEA AND CAPO WOULD HAVE BEEN BESTIES 😭😭😭 THEY'D UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND THEY'D PROBABLY FEEL LESS ALONE USIAOWO THESE POOR PEOPLE– the difference between the two of them is that lysithea always feels like she's being looked down on like a kid while the capo feels like they have too many burdens to bear– making these two vent to one another would probably be therapeutic for them ;;----;;;

My two au's right now both have nothing left to lose vibes, although capo!reader has that a lot less than our unhinged hyshum!reader. The only thing holding them back is that some of their men are still alive. They do care, it's just that they don't want to overthink:

These men have families, wives, husbands, children– what would become of them if they recklessly charged for revenge? There's no need to drag these people into nonsensical slaughter. It's your problem Capo, it's YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. And it's selfish to make them die for you when they have a better reason for living.

Their conscience won't allow it.

These type of thoughts just pull them back. It's all true, of course, their reasoning is sound but it is suffocating. Hence, most of their inner turmoil are repressed.

Oh and don't get me wrong! I respect your choices for bringing Cyno along– I love the chaos. I'm just tryina warn those certain simps that "something bad is about to happen to you and you should definitely question what happens of one of them dies-"

Or you know, I may be misleading everyone because I want a bad ending.

: )

Since when was I known for writing happy endings for my fics? Ehehehehehehehehehhehehehehheheheehehehehhehehehehhe–

And oh my darling nutjob anon...

Both Cyno and Alhaitham want to take credit for your cure. That's one of the many things that made these three idiot's truce work.

Alhaitham is authoritative, no doubt about that, but he respects you a ton. He could've done something stupid like kidnap you or try to remove you from being a Capo– but he'd rather spend some (very limited) time with you as someone you won't forget this time, (N/n).

You can consider Cyno the one with the "hidden agenda" because he's loyal to the church. He considers it his personal blessing that he was the one assigned to monitor you. Cyno is a very lonely person here. He is very prone to making idealized versions of you that fits his imaginations, and fortunately for him the Cardinals acknowledge his devotion to his missionary works.

And then there's our used-to-be-Innamorati-Familia's-informant, Professor Tighnari.

"The main point is to cure you, everything else is expendable." is exactly the dangerous mindset he is on. We'll get to him soon! It's about time he sees his Capo again!

#ansytea-talks #tag: ocmc - cta #FELIX FELIX FELIX #nutjob anon

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cherienymphe · 3 years

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Gangsta’s Paradise (Michael Gray x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON BORDERLINE NON-CON, blackmail, loss of virginity, (for the sake of this fic let’s pretend that Finn Cole is taller than what he is okay)

! DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

summary: an agreement with the Peaky Blinders is almost a done deal...until you catch the eye of Michael Gray. You’re suddenly thrust into the equation, and your father must decide between losing everything or losing you.

Soft lips brushed over your bare shoulder, even softer hands guiding the strap of your slip down your arm, fingers dancing along your skin. Despite the cold weather outside, your room was sweltering, and you pinned it onto the man behind you...the man who was currently unwrapping you like a gift. With fear coursing through your frame, you realized that in a way, you were a gift. A pretty little gift given to the big bad gangster in exchange for resources and protection and whatever else your family needed.

Your eyes fell closed, and you thought back to the day where your father’s desperation had first begun. Desperation that you had ultimately underestimated.

You had been nervous as you tended to the dishes that day, glancing at the clock every now and then. Cleaning and tidying up was how you coped, how you attempted to calm yourself. It normally worked, but today was an exception. Looking around, you realized that there was nothing else to clean, and with a sigh, you leaned against the wall, biting your lip.

The rest of the family had gone to Birmingham. They’d gone to handle...business, and you being the only girl in the family since your mom died, you weren’t allowed to have a hand in the business. It had been a great deal of bitterness for you for years, ever since you were old enough to understand what was really going on, but now you had gradually accepted your father’s reasoning.

Your father and brother and uncles had left early, taking some of their best men with them. You knew they only did that for serious matters, and you had been worried ever since you saw them leave. You had scrubbed the house from top to bottom, and now you had nothing to do but wait. It was fortunate that you didn’t have to wait for much longer, hearing several cars come down the driveway.

No one greeted you when you opened the door, faces pinched and sullen, and you knew then that things didn’t go as expected. The only one to acknowledge you was your father, the older man pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before trudging inside with the rest. You swallowed, conflicted on whether or not you should say anything, but your worry got the best of you.

“How did it go?”

Before your father could answer, you heard your brother slam his hand into the wall, the pictures shaking from the force.

“Peaky fucking Blinders,” he spat, and your blood ran cold.

Your eyes met your father’s, and he gave you a look as if to say leave it alone, but you were in shock. You had never imagined that your family would start doing business with the likes of them. Everyone had heard of them, knew who they were and what they did, and the thought of your family being involved with them in any way was a terrifying one.

Everything those men touched turned to poison

“Father,” you had chided as soon as you walked into his office moments later.

From behind his desk, he held a hand up, the other pressed to his forehead as he sighed.

“Not now, Y/N,” he said, sounding tired.

“You promised that things would be different,” you whispered, ignoring his words. “You told me that we would start becoming legitimate, legal. That we’d start doing things right.”

“Y/N-.”

“You promised.”

He slammed his hand down onto the wood, making you wince.

“They’ve got their hand in every cookie jar that matters. Thomas Shelby is a political man, now-.”

You cut him off with a scoff, folding your arms over your chest.

“Only a fool would get mixed up with the likes of them.”

He shot you a scathing look, and you swallowed, looking away with a sigh.

“We need their influence, their resources...their allyship.”

Your eyes widened at this, realizing that your father intended for much more than a one time business deal.

“You can’t be serious,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond right away, simply heaving a sigh before turning his attention to the paperwork before him.

“I will do my best to keep you away from all this, but prepare yourself for seeing a lot more of them, eh?”

He didn’t say anything more, and when it became apparent that that was the end of the discussion, you turned and left. You could hear your brothers and uncles murmuring in the kitchen, going over the day’s events, no doubt, and you made your way upstairs. You never knew exactly what it was that your father sold, but you figured that drugs and alcohol was the gist of it. He’d been in the business for a long time, and he’d made a promise to you that he was going to put a stop to it. That he’d start making money the right way.

Getting mixed up with the Shelbys, the Peaky Blinders, was not the way to go about it.

You understood the appeal though. They had power, resources, influence. With them as an ally, people would think twice about screwing your family over...but was it worth it? Was it worth the increase in violence? Putting the family in the kind of danger you could never even imagine? Was it worth the devastation and death that seemed to follow them like a plague? The answer was simple.

No.

Your father didn’t seem to care about any of that though. Day in and day out, for weeks, you watched your family leave early in the day and return late in the evening, looking more irritated than they did the previous day. It was safe to say that negotiations with the Peaky Blinders was not going as expected. The frustration and annoyance was plain as day on your father’s features, and even though nary a word was uttered to you about anything, you could feel the tension mounting in the air.

The first time you actually met someone of the infamous family, it was a Wednesday. It was a rare day within the past few weeks in which your father was at the house. He had been holed up in his study all day when there was a knock on the door. You had blinked in confusion, trying to recall if your father had mentioned anything about company, but you had only just begun to move when you heard your father’s heavy footsteps traveling down the hallway.

“Stay back.”

Normally you would have argued against him, especially with a tone as harsh as his had been, but something in his voice made you listen. There was something in his eyes, something in the way he walked that made you understand the severity of the situation. You remained in the living room, listening as your father answered the door, unfamiliar voices eventually joining his.

Two men who you’d never seen before joined him in the hallway, standing between the kitchen and living room. You had slowly put your book down, story long forgotten at the sight of the strangers, and your movement caught their attention. Both of them were wearing hats and long coats, but you could still tell that their hair was dark. The lankier of the two was a bit taller, a mustache adorning his face while the other moved a toothpick around between his lips, a faint smirk crawling onto his face at the sight of you.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart,” the taller one greeted, and you quietly returned the greeting.

Your father cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

“Arthur, John...this is my daughter, Y/N. She likes to look after the house when I’m gone.”

It was the truth. After your mother’s death, the house was where you felt most comfortable, and you were more than happy to lock yourself in its walls. Especially while the rest of your family ventured out.

“Darling, this is John and Arthur Shelby. I’ve been doing some business with them, remember?”

You fought the urge to sneer at your father, keeping your gaze on the strangers in your home instead.

“Of course. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said with a tense smile.

Knowing you so well, your father could recognize the displeasure on your face, and if the other men before you noticed it too, they didn’t speak on it. You watched as they followed your father upstairs to his study, the younger of the two tipping his hat to you before departing. You remained there for a time before slowly exhaling, turning to make your way outside. You paid no mind to how long they stayed, spending the rest of your day away outside in your garden. Your mother always kept one, and you had done the same since she died.

That was the first of the few times you ran across Arthur and John Shelby. They were the only two that ever came by the house, greeting you with tipped hats and secretive smiles. You had grown somewhat used to their presence and faces, but not enough to be completely comfortable around them. You didn’t meet the rest of them, didn’t meet him, until weeks later.

“What?” you had breathed, staring at your father in disbelief.

You watched as he rubbed his forehead, face pinched and eyes clouded over, telling you that he disliked this as much as you did.

“You’ll come to the next meeting with us,” he repeated, and you let out a sharp breath.

So you had heard him correctly.

“...why?” you eventually asked, sounding much calmer than you actually were.

“I know you hate them, but those Shelbys do have some morals about them. Things have been rather tense lately. It seems that we just can’t come to an agreement,” he sighed out, leaning against his desk. “...and I fear that things could become...rowdy.”

He didn’t continue, but you were smart enough to guess where this was going. When the realization hit you, your heart dropped, and you stared at your father like he was a stranger. The man you knew, the man your mother had married, would’ve wanted you as far away from any business dealings as possible. Somehow, the very same man was standing before you and suggesting…

“You think my presence at the meeting will make them behave...make them think twice about doing anything...violent,” you murmured, more to yourself than him.

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to, and you clenched your jaw.

“...and if it doesn’t-?”

“It will,” he argued.

“...but if it doesn’t…” you repeated with more force. “...then what? What will you do if they bring out the guns and razor blades right there? What will you do if they decide to use me to make you agree to their terms?”

Your father was silent, and you stepped towards him, eyes pleading.

“What will you do then?”

You watched as he straightened, standing to his full height as he looked down his nose at you. It was like you were looking at a completely different person, someone who wasn’t like your father at all. As you eyed him, you could see the stress on his face, the strain in his muscles, the conflict in his eyes. You’d had your suspicions that your family’s business with the Peaky Blinders was more serious than you could’ve imagined, but the toll it was clearly taking on your father confirmed it.

Even if you didn’t agree with what was going on, how your father went about getting what he so clearly needed and wanted, it was obvious that this was important to him. Since the death of your mother, very few things brought your father happiness. Very few things even halfway satisfied him, and hoping that this would, shoulders sagging with defeat, you agreed.

This was how you found yourself seated beside your father at none other than The Garrison. The pub was empty of any patrons or staff, only those important to the meeting present. Thomas Shelby, the man himself, was seated across from your father. He was as intimidating as you always believed he’d be, smooth voice having done nothing to calm you when he introduced himself.

John and Arthur, the two you were familiar with, were on his right while two more men by the name of Isaiah and Finn were on his left. They were one short in comparison to your father, his two brothers, your two brothers, and yourself, but an empty chair told you that one more was on their way. Seeing that the meeting had already begun, you deduced that their tardiness wasn’t a concern. Considering the nature of the meeting, a whole bunch of words that could be summed up into “who controls what”, you envied the mystery person’s absence.

For minutes now, you had contributed nothing, but then again… That wasn’t your purpose. No, the purpose of your presence was to keep the men in line. Your entire purpose was to play on what few morals the men had, and you fought to hold in a laugh. With every member of your family being armed, you wondered if your father even believed this would work. Too busy stewing over how your father had purposely put you in harm’s way, you didn’t take notice of the pub door opening.

You were only pulled from your thoughts when the sound of footsteps finally registered. Considering that your back was to the door, you couldn’t see their face, and you didn’t want to appear nosey or unprofessional or draw attention to yourself in any way really by turning to look. You only glanced up when he finally came into your line of sight, and you observed him in the same manner that you did all the others.

Something about him reminded you of Thomas, but his features were much softer, not so harsh. However, that made him no less intimidating. He wasn’t sporting a hat, dark hair neatly pushed away from his face, and something about him was different from the rest. On his own, he didn’t look like he belonged with the rest of them, and as Thomas explained that he was their chief accountant, you got the feeling that that was purposely done. He introduced the man as Michael Gray, his cousin, and losing interest once again, you looked away.

You played with your fingers beneath the table, wanting to desperately be anywhere but here. You had a feeling that you’d get your wish very soon, taking note of the change in tone in your father’s voice. He sounded happier, relieved, and you glanced up at him, his relief contagious. As you did so, your eyes briefly connected with that of the newcomer, Michael, and you quickly looked away. Even still, you could feel the weight of his stare, and you reluctantly returned it.

He didn’t look the least bit ashamed at having been caught, bringing his cigarette up to his lips, a thick coil of smoke escaping them moments later. His face was hard to read, and you felt yourself frowning slightly. You blinked, eyes trailing to your brother on your father’s other side, but he seemed invested in the meeting. Everyone seemed to be...everyone but you and the man named Michael.

When your eyes met his again, it was just in time to watch him lean over, lips at his cousin’s ear as he whispered something to him. His gaze held yours the entire time. You glanced around again, feeling as if there was a meeting within a meeting going on, and you were the only one to notice. Brushing off the unease you felt, you sat back in your chair, eyes on the table. It was hard to ignore the heavy gaze that pinned you to your seat, but you fought to manage.

Especially since it seemed that an agreement was finally being made.

However, that sinking feeling in your chest traveled to your gut, settling there as you watched John move to whisper something to Thomas. The man, the leader of this great gang, paused for the briefest of moments. It happened so quickly, and John was back in his seat as if nothing had happened, and while Thomas’ words did not falter, the way his eyes briefly flickered to you had you straightening in your seat.

Your eyes fell onto the blue-eyed newcomer again, and he took another drag of his cigarette. Every single one of them wore smug expressions, from the first moment you’d been introduced to every individual man, you noticed that they all looked as if they owned the world. Michael Gray was no different, but the way he looked at you made you want to be as far away from here as possible. As more tendrils of smoke left his pink lips, you noted that he didn’t look at you like he just owned the world. He looked at you like he owned you too.

“Everything does seem to be in order, but...there is another matter I think we should discuss,” you heard Thomas Shelby say.

You looked to him, watching as he stood, his family following his lead and your family following theirs. You tightened your coat around you as Thomas gestured for your father to follow him into the back. His absence made you nervous, but you simply stepped closer to your brother as you watched him follow the other man.

“Let’s wait outside,” your brother said, and eager to be out of here, you hastily agreed.

Your other brother remained inside with your uncles while you followed Matthew, the middle child of you three, outside.

“You alright?” he asked you as soon as you were in the fresh air. “You looked a bit tense in there.”

You watched him light a smoke, and you glanced away.

“The other one...the cousin, Michael… How much do you know about him?”

Matthew shrugged, exhaling.

“Not much. Doesn’t say much at the meetings, mostly handles the money,” he told you.

That did little to ease you.

“Why…?”

You were just about to tell him the reason for your curiosity when the door to The Garrison came flying open. You watched in shock as your father came storming out, your other brother and uncles hot on his tail.

“What’s going on?” Matthew asked, just as alarmed as you were.

Instead of an answer, your father simply grabbed your arm, and yanked you along. You almost tripped over your feet, and you looked at your father like he’d lost his mind. His face was clouded over, eyes thunderous, and you wondered what had happened in such a short time.

“What-?”

“Quiet,” he hissed, sounding the angriest you’d ever heard him, and your eyes widened at this.

“...but-.”

“I said quiet! Get in the car,” he spat.

He didn’t give you a chance to listen, opting for shoving you inside himself. Your foot was barely inside when he slammed the door shut, and you stared at the window in shock. Matthew joined you and your father in the car while the rest piled into the other vehicle. Your confusion only grew as the car roared to life, and you glanced up then to rest your eyes on a familiar face.

He leaned against the door to the pub, a fresh cigarette held between his lips as he lit it. His blue eyes were focused entirely on you, even as the smoke clouded his view and your father began to drive off, he didn’t appear to be interested in anything else but your trembling frame.

You sat at the dining table in shock, listening to the muffled sound of your father’s angry voice that traveled from his study. He was in there with the rest of the family, and he’d been in there for hours. He had barely looked at you when you all came home, heading straight for his office as he ordered the rest of the family inside. There was an unspoken agreement that that did not include you.

Still, the uneasiness from the meeting remained. You could still feel the heated gaze of the blue-eyed man, smell the smoke that drifted from his lips, see the way he watched you as he whispered to John. You could see the way Thomas had looked at you as John whispered to him, and this was what made you press your ear to your father’s study door hours earlier. This was what drove your curiosity to discover just what happened when you and your brother left.

“He wants her,” your father had forced out, sounding like he was going to be sick.

There was a long pause, and you had frowned in confusion.

“Who?” your other brother, Nathaniel, had eventually asked.

“The Gray kid! Polly’s son,” he spat as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He wants her.”

You could hear your father’s heavy breaths, hear him pacing, and the confirmation that the discussion was about Michael Gray did nothing to quell your confusion. The silence that followed was loud and heavy, something unspoken in the air that you had yet to understand.

“...what?” you heard one of your uncles murmur.

Your father heaved a sigh, sounding much calmer now.

“They are...prepared to meet us more than halfway if we let him have her,” he slowly said. “Everything we’ve been working towards, everything we’ve been yearning for… It could be ours in a matter of hours if we let him have her.”

“No!”

Nathaniel’s voice could be heard before your father even finished.

“Absolutely not-.”

“Nathaniel…”

“You’re not considering this...are you? Father…”

“They’ve given us the day to think it over-.”

“What is there to think about? She’s our sister, your daughter, not some whore on the street,” Matthew interrupted, his words making you freeze.

Bile threatened to spill from your lips as you stared at the door, slowly backing away, their voices becoming less clear as you did so. Your back was pressed to the wall as the truth settled over you, and you suddenly felt foolish for failing to put it together sooner. Your stomach swirled, fear settling into your bones, and before you knew it, your head was in the commode, expelling everything you’d eaten that day. The tears had come shortly after, and that was how Matthew found you hours later, sitting at the table with tears in your eyes.

“I know you heard,” he said, sitting across from you.

You hesitantly looked up at him as he poured a glass of whiskey.

“You never could keep your nose out of things. Told you years ago to stop listening in on father’s conversations-.”

“Well, I’m glad I did this time,” you tearfully spat.

Matthew sighed, sliding the glass towards you.

“I think you deserve it tonight,” he said as you threw him an odd look.

Your shoulders sagged, and you gratefully accepted it, scrunching your face up at the strong taste that hit your tongue. The both of you sat there in silence for a while, listening to your father’s muffled voice, and you took another sip.

“What’s he going to do?”

Your fear must have been evident because his hand rested on yours on the table.

“Hey...he’s not going to agree, alright? He would never…”

You shook your head before he even finished, sniffling as you took another sip.

“I don’t know, Matthew. I don’t know,” you breathed.

Your eyes met his, and he frowned at you.

“These past few months or so… He’s been different, and you know it. He’s made deals before, but it’s different this time. Everything he’s ever wanted is so close. It’s different this time, and you know it, Matthew.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. You both knew that it was different this time, and you shuddered to think about what tomorrow would bring.

The next day came and went, much to your relief, and although you were glad that your father didn’t give into the Peaky Blinders, into what they wanted from you...what he wanted from you, it was still an unacknowledged elephant in the room. They still left the house for business, but you didn’t know if it was with the Blinders or not. You shuddered to think of how that conversation went when your father refused their offer.

You got the feeling that they weren’t used to not getting their way.

It was three nights later, three nights since that fateful meeting in which you’d caught the eye of Michael Gray, that you left your room to get a glass of water. The house was dark and quiet, an unusual sight seeing as at least one brother was usually up late in the kitchen, drinking or having a smoke. That wasn’t the sight that greeted you.

The kitchen was empty of anyone else, and you drank your water slowly. You hoped that things would be better now. You recalled how relieved your father had looked over the past few days, how much softer his features looked, and you desperately hoped that it was because the family was finally on the right track. You made your way back into the hall, glass pressed to your lips, when you paused.

The only light in the living room came from the moon, it’s rays bleeding through the windows and onto the furniture. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take note of the shape that didn’t belong. The shape of a man. Light flooded the room, and all of your breath left you, glass shattering at your feet.

You stared at him in shock, taking in everything from his neat hair to his shiny dark shoes. He was dressed much like he was the first day you met him, a dark grey almost black looking suit hugging his frame. He leaned back in your father’s chair, nursing a glass of Brandy, and it was then that you realized he’d been here for a while.

“Father!”

It was instinctual now, how your father was the first person you ran to. He didn’t respond, and you called for him again, cutting yourself off when a smirk slowly danced along Michael’s lips. Your mind whirled, and dread filled you.

“What are you doing in my house? Where is my father?”

A small chuckle escaped him, eyes twinkling with mirth as he slowly pulled out a cigarette.

“What do you think I’m doing here, love?”

Your entire body froze, the implication behind his words clear, and you shook your head. You called for Matthew...then Nathaniel...then your uncles and your father again. The only thing that met you was silence, and your throat felt incredibly thick all of a sudden. The weight of your predicament fully settled over you, and you slowly shook your head.

“No,” you breathed in disbelief. “...no.”

The man before you didn’t respond, simply pressing the cigarette between his lips, reaching in his pockets for a light, no doubt.

“I don’t believe you.”

That was what you said, what your lips formed, but your heart and your head didn’t agree. Something didn’t feel right from the moment you woke up, and a part of you that you desperately wished would shut up did believe him.

“Do you really think your father would allow anyone into his home without his knowledge or permission?”

You watched him pull a drag, smoke filling the air, and you stumbled back, running for the door. You didn’t hear him behind you, and for that you were relieved, but your relief was short lived. Upon swinging the door open, you were met with the sight of John and Arthur Shelby dawdling in your driveway. They appeared to be having a conversation when you opened the door, their voices abruptly cutting off at your appearance. John simply smirked at you from around the smoke in his mouth, Arthur tipping his hat towards you.

“‘Ello, sweetheart.”

With a shriek, you slammed the door shut in their faces, chest heaving with uneven breaths as the situation fully resonated with you. You stumbled back further into the hallway, and Michael was still in the same place as before, nursing a cigarette as you fought to figure out a way out of this.

“You can’t...you can’t do this,” you eventually murmured, glaring at him.

Michael simply fixed you with an even stare, smoke escaping from his nose, the cigarette dancing between his fingers.

“I’m a Peaky Blinder, love. I can do whatever I want.”

He said it with so much conviction that you knew he believed it, and the longer you stared at him, the more you believed it too. You warily glanced around, telling yourself that you might actually have to fight this man, might have to fight to protect what your father had wrongly given away. Even though part of you denied it, you slowly accepted that Michael was telling the truth. Despite the fact that your family’s business and even lives were at stake, your father had no right to trade away what didn’t belong to him.

Michael’s eyes never left you as you stood there, and you finally looked to him again when he cleared his throat. The cigarette rested between his lips as he slipped out of his jacket, and you swallowed at the dark look in his eyes. He took another drag.

“Before you do...whatever it is that you’re about to do…”

He parted his mouth, the smoke swirling in there for a bit before pressing his lips together, tendrils escaping his nose.

“You should know that I’ve shot men in the head with no hesitation. I drug my blade across a man’s throat once and reveled in the taste of his blood on my lips.”

You flinched, taking a step back.

“When Tommy first tried to scare me away, threaten to send me back to the village in which I grew up… I told him about a well there, that I’d blow it up with dynamite if he made me go back...didn’t care if my hands went with it.”

He finished his cigarette, putting the rest of it out, eyes boring into yours as he slowly exhaled the smoke he’d been holding in.

“I just knew it’d be worth it to see those pretty white bricks all over that pretty village green...and I meant every word of that.”

You didn’t respond, and his blue eyes slowly dragged over every part of you, taking you in from your hair all the way to your bare feet, lingering on the thin nightgown in between.

“It’s something about the violence, you see.”

His words unnerved you, and he continued.

“The violence, the blood...the fight...it does something to me. Gets me excited, all riled up, so please…”

He gestured towards you, eyes glinting with something that made your heart stop.

“Do fight back, hit me even… It’ll just make me want to fuck you that much harder.”

The tears finally skipped down your cheeks, and you stumbled back as he stood to his full height. With a shaky breath, you staggered up the stairs, running to the last room at the end of the hall, a guest room. You were quick to pull the window up, looking down below in worry. It was high up, that was for sure, but the alternative was worse.

Before you could even get a foot out, warm hands pressed into your stomach, pulling you back against a broad chest. A startled scream left your lips, and Michael’s hands traveled to your arms, fingers pressed into your skin as he held you tight. You leaned your head away from him as he pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in.

“Your father made a big mistake bringing you around us, eh?”

You couldn’t will your lips to move, too paralyzed with fear and nerves and anxiety for the unknown. The way he touched you was foreign, the scent that clung to him, a mix of cologne and expensive liquor and cigarettes, was foreign. The creeping sensation that blanketed your body was foreign. All of this was foreign, and more tears pooled within your eyes as the inevitable drew closer.

“He thought you’d keep us in line, keep us on leashes...but ever since I saw you, the only thing I wanted to do was take you like a fucking animal.”

You jerked in his hold, fighting to get away from him, but Michael tsk’d.

“Let’s not spoil this, hmm? You seem like a good girl...if you catch my drift.”

More tears fell at his words, and he hummed.

“You do. You strike me as a well behaved lady of the house...and you girls like for this to be special, yeah? All gentle and loving,” he slowly mocked as he forced you towards the bed.

He shoved you onto it, knees pressing down on either side of you soon after, preventing you from going anywhere. Your tears soaked the sheet, and Michael’s fingers ghosted over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I want you to look at me as I fuck you.”

He gently turned you over onto your back, and you stared up at the man before you. Even in the darkness, you could see the blue of his eyes perfectly. They were bright and filled with a hunger that scared you, a hunger you had never been on the receiving end of before. Michael leaned over you, caging you beneath him as he pressed his forehead to yours, soon followed by his lips.

You’d kissed men before, but they were soft sweet nothings that could barely be called a kiss. You knew that if you wanted to marry well, contribute something of substance to your family, you had to be smart about your actions...your reputation. All of the men, realizing that you weren’t going to give them what they wanted, left. Accepting that your family and reputation came first, they always left, and it hurt every single time.

But it will be worth it.

That’s what you constantly told yourself. After every heartbreak, every sneer, every harsh insult thrown your way about what a frigid bitch you were, you told yourself that it would be worth it. And yet...here you were...beneath a gangster, having your reputation ripped away from you by a man who stole and murdered and wasn’t decent in any way.

Life was funny.

After slipping out of his shirt, the flimsy material floating somewhere behind him, Michael guided your hands to his chest. Your trembling fingers danced along his taut skin, taking note of an imperfection. An old bullet wound, you deduced. The dark-haired man groaned into your mouth, pressing into you, and you could feel him hard beneath his trousers. The reality of what was about to happen seemed to slink around your neck like a noose, and you didn’t even realize that you’d started panting until Michael’s hand found your neck.

“I-I can’t- I can’t do this-.”

He shushed you, kissing you again.

“Behave...and I’ll be good to you. Breathe,” he urged.

You slowly did as he suggested, squeezing your eyes shut as his other hand pushed the smooth material of your nightgown up your legs. One hand was still on your throat as that same hand traveled to his pants, the sound of his zipper deafening in the quiet room. Your whole body went numb for a moment, ears ringing and vision blurring, and when you finally came back to earth, Michael’s hips were pressing against yours, nothing in between you.

He was speaking to you, you noted.

“...what?” you murmured.

“What’s your name, love?”

You swallowed, quickly darting your tongue out to swipe over your lips.

“Y/N.”

He repeated it, clearly liking the taste of it on his tongue. He nodded at you, drinking you in as he ran his eyes over your face, seemingly committing you to memory before sliding into you with one quick thrust. Your nails pressed into his skin, and he hissed, your own lips parting to let out a pained gasp. Michael held himself above you, a low groan escaping him as his forehead touched yours again.

“You feel fucking amazing,” he whispered, nose bumping against yours.

He held himself there for a long time, just feeling you. You weren’t naïve enough to think he did it for your sake, and you got the feeling that he wanted to drag this out for as long as possible. When he did finally move, your chest arched upwards, unable to handle the unfamiliar feeling. His hand was still on your neck, and you wrapped your hand around his wrist.

The feel of him inside of you was strange. You couldn’t describe it, but you felt full...you felt stretched...and in a way, it felt unnatural, but the heat that festered deep within your stomach said otherwise. One of Michael’s hands was pressed into the bed beside your head, holding himself up so that he could look at you. You remembered his words, and too terrified to disobey, you fought to keep your eyes on him.

His face was strained with concentration, eyes flickering between your face and down to where the two of you connected. The hand that was on your neck slid down to your chest, thumb brushing over a heaving breast before resting on your stomach, pinning you down as he snapped his hips into yours. It was too much for you, too much at once, and your lashes fluttered.

“Look at me,” he roughly breathed.

“I can’t...I can’t,” you panted, head twisting from side to side.

You could hardly focus on anything other than the way he was thrusting into you, taking you to heights you never knew existed. He called your name then, and you reluctantly met his eyes, the hunger in them making you shudder.

“That’s right. Eyes on me, love. Keep your eyes on me while I fuck you,” he murmured.

The smugness in his voice and face made you frown, a spark of anger in you.

“Do you fuck all of your girls like this? Huh?”

He didn’t respond, pink lips simply curving upwards into a humorous smirk.

“...or am I special because you get to ruin my life and go on with yours?” you shakily spat.

Michael slammed into you then, forcing a choked gasp from you.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. You just focus on milking my cock, hmm?”

You wanted to hit him, spit at him, do anything other than lay there and take his unrelenting thrusts, but your body seized before you could do any of that. Your toes curled and your stomach clenched and your body shook as stars exploded behind your eyes. You hadn’t even realized what a moaning mess you had become until Michael paused just to listen to you, just taking you in with something akin to awe on his face.

You didn't have time to catch your breath before he was chasing his own high, hands pressed into your waist so hard you were sure you’d bruise. Your nails dug into his wrists, choked moans tumbling from your mouth as you clenched around him again, just in time for him to spill into you, releasing a long breath as he did so. You clung to him, tears catching in your lashes as you laid there, mind whirling at what you’d just done.

You flinched, shrinking in on yourself when his lips brushed the corner of your mouth just before pulling out of you. You winced at the action, staring up at the ceiling as you heard him moving about. You turned your head when you heard the strike of a match and watched as he lit himself another cigarette, pants just barely settling on his waist.

“So what happens now?” you finally asked, voice low in the dark room.

Would your father and brothers come through that door tomorrow, pretending that they hadn’t sold you out? Would they be able to even look at you? Stomach the sight of you? Fresh tears kissed your eyes just as Michael spoke.

“Well…”

He took a pull, exhaling the smoke through his nose as he neared you.

“...I’m going to fuck you at least three more times before the night is over.”

You sat up at this, paying no mind to the pain in between your legs as you stared at him with wide eyes. Without realizing it, you gripped the end of your nightgown, pulling it to your knees as if somehow trying to prevent that very thing from happening.

“What-?”

“...and then I want you to pack a bag. Just some things that’ll last you a few days. I’ll be buying you a whole new lot of clothes anyway.”

“Michael-.”

“You’re my girl, now,” he quietly said, voice firm as he stood over you, free hand playing with the strap of your gown as the other held his cigarette to his lips.

You shook your head, staring up at him in disbelief.

“I...no. My family...they-.”

“Sold you away without a second thought.”

Your heart clenched as he threw that in your face, and you turned away as he reached for you. His fingers pinched your chin, jerking you to face him, and you swallowed. He bent down, staring into your eyes.

“You won’t have to worry about that with us...with me.”

He took one more pull of his cigarette before placing it on the nightstand, tendrils of smoke escaping his nose and mouth just before he pressed his lips to yours, fingers pressing into your skin as he settled between your legs.

tags: @cocoamoonmalfoy @trinittyy @ziamslarry-blog @a531a @s-u-t @sunshinechim-98 @callmechannel @lil-hungryy @oneoftheprettynerds @scissorkidscult @madamerubrum

#peaky blinders #michael gray #michael gray x reader #michael gray x you #michael shelby #thomas shelby #john shelby #arthur shelby #finn shelby #isaiah jesus #dark fic #dark michael gray #polly gray #michael gray smut #michael gray imagine #yandere

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heresathreebee · 3 years

Text

The One Where She Got A Dog

Yelena Belova X Reader

Summary: how Yelena became a dog mom Masterlist Part 2

Tags: E | 1.8k words | scary movie, winter, secret pasts, sapphic

AN: Black Widow movie really got me in my feelings about those characters, Yelena in particular. I havent watched The Thing in almost a year please look the other way if movie events are out of order.

Pretty Russian girls are not usually your type, but fuck if you weren't absolutely obsessed with this one. You laughed when she told you she was from Ohio. She laughed when you said you were too.

Aquavit and your grandma's biscuit recipe brought her into your cabin on the edge of the world where she admitted to you she had never seen John Carpenter's The Thing before. You turned it on just as the snow storm set in and wrapped up in your thickest blankets with her. You're trying not to get your hopes too high but she's not shy about asking you to scoot closer.

"Skäl," you cheer just as the ominous opening credits end and they find the mysterious ship in the frozen wasteland of antarctica.

"Have you ever been?," Yelena asked.

You grimace at the strong taste of aquavit. It's like vodka but with caraway for 'flavor'. You look at her from the side and poor yourself a second shot. "Been…?"

"There." She points at the screen.

"I have actually," you admit in a way you hope is flat and uninteresting, "have you?"

Yelena shook her head. It's possible she might think you're being sarcastic (you cross your fingers under the blanket and hope she does). She's smiling at you, thinking something (but still watching the screen with interest).

She drops the subject until you have to pause the movie to pee. You unwrap yourself from the cocoon of blankets and as you stand she asks you another question.

"What were you doing there? in Antarctica, I mean."

You sigh and pretend to brush something off of your pants. "Science trip with my parents. Shitty vacation for me I'd rather be in the Bahamas."

You resist the urge to look at her. After taking care of business, you come back just in time to put the biscuits in the oven. You hear Yelena lean into the kitchen archway as the floors creak immensely here.

"No timer?," she asked.

"No timer," you confirm. "I use the timer of my heart."

Yelena scoffs. "Please don't burn them, I'm curious about these… what are they– pastries?"

"Something like that."

The two of you went back to the movie just as the gang on screen is trying to decipher who is human and who is not. You feel like something between you has changed and sadly not for the better.

But she can't know.

"I hate this part," you say, making absolutely no move to avert your gaze.

Yelena is startled when the doctor's arms become trapped in the bear trap belly mouth of the "man" on the table. She quickly covers her eyes and giggles manically, slapping your chest for the vague and unhelpful warning. You realize she's not as close to you as before…

There's 20 minutes left of this movie and you haven't seen a single thing on screen. Yelena stopped asking you questions when you stopped being coherent with your answers. All you can think about is telling her.

But you can't tell her. She would never understand. You barely understand and it's about you.

"I lied." Your heart beats in your throat as you see her face you but you can't look at her directly for fear of losing your nerve. "About the science expedition? That's not why I was in Antarctica…"

Yelena seems to wait for you to continue but…

"Eh, no offense but, " you gesture with your hand, "I don't really know you like that."

Yelena gave your reply a single nod. "I suppose that's fair."

You can't help but fidget in your seat. "Idliketo"

"What was that?"

You cleared your throat. "I said… I said I'd like to. Know you like that, I mean…"

Yelena gives you a smile. "I would like to know you like that, too."

The movie ends, the biscuits are not burnt but buttery soft and golden brown, and the blizzard outside has subsided some. It's still going but at least it's not buffering the doors and windows like before.

"How can you watch that film in a place like this?" Yelena cannot get enough of those biscuits, stuffing them in her mouth 2 at a time. "Does it make you paranoid?"

"Yes it does," you say, putting your coat on, "I think that's what makes it so much scarier– looking outside and being scared every person you come across ain't who they say they are. Sometimes its not a bad thing though... I think it is rather… poetic, too."

Yelena's eyebrows furrow. "Where are you going?"

You put on your boots and hope the duct tape stays on the hole you covered earlier. "Dogs are out in the shed. It's heated and they have food, but not for days and I'd rather have 'em in the house where I can take care of them."

As you finished your sentence you reached for the door, but stopped when you noticed Yelena getting dressed too. She gives you a nod as soon as her hood comes up, and you give this brave thing an appreciative once over.

The snow that nearly all melted before is up to your knees now. Fresh, white, and fluffy. It muffles sound like the world's sidelong turning. The odd snowflake wafts lazily from the sky, but for the most part it's died down. You teach back and take Yelena's gloved hand to keep from staying too far apart.

"You know I always wanted a dog," she said. She could have said it in a whisper from 100 yards away and you still would have heard her– that is how eerily quiet it is.

Yelena squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. She's probably remembering the movie. You try to distract her by saying, "Oh yeah? You can have one of mine then."

Yelena laughs, then stops. "You serious?"

"As a heart attack." You finally reach the door to the shed and unlatch the door. A chorus of barks begin and you charge forward to nudge them back to give Yelena space to come in as well. "I do some breeding up here– just a side job. They're usually working dogs but they can be pets too."

Buck licks your face from chin to forehead and you push him back. "Down, boy! Show some respect!"

Yelena has two of the mongrels circling her, sniffing all her clothes and demanding to be pet. "That's Burt, Barney, and Bella. Buck's my stud, but these heathens are going to a farm. They've got sheep to watch."

Yelena chuckles as her hands get covered in slobber. "I love them."

They're almost grown, three quarters the height of their father. Buck didn't even look in Yelena's direction because he knows you give him treats. You take your scarf off as the heat of the shed threatens to smother you and search your pockets for jerky.

"She's in there with the new puppies." You point to a darkened closet. "Don't get too close now, she's still a little protective."

Yelena creeps closer. You see her look at you from the corner of her eye. Probably terrified by the morphing dog scene from the movie. You give her an encouraging smile and tell her where to find the light. It's a pull cord and it bathes the room in a warm golden yellow light.

Yelena's heavy, controlled breathing turns into a coo. Mama dog is laying on her side watching the newcomer closely. There's a pup asleep in the nest of her legs, another chewing on the hay that litters the ground, and the last one is biting their mother's ear. Yelena looks back at you with an adorable pout on her lip.

"So cute…"

You chuckle and put your arm around her. Buck knows to steer clear of mama dog and slinks off. You make your guest walk closer with you to show mama she's got your confidence.

"Yelena, this is Beyonce." Mama dog's ears perk at the sound of her name. "Beyonce, this is Yelena. Be nice."

You reach down and scoop up the hay eating puppy at your feet. "This one's always hungry."

You put the pup in her arms and scoop up the biter. "This one likes to play. All the time. Got more energy than the blue Energizer bunny actually."

The pup in question is literally trying to wriggle out of your hands in its eagerness to climb you and eat your hair.

"And that one sleeps a lot?" Yelena nodded her head at the last pup.

"Pretty much." You put the writhing excited puppy down before it hurts itself and look up into the rafters. "And then there's the climber…"

You both turn your heads when you hear a tiny bark. A cute little face stares down at you from the rafters and there's a feather stuck to its nose. You shake your head knowing this pup got it from ripping up pillows in another part of the dog house.

"Better go get her," you said, not moving an inch to do so.

Yelena sees your challenge and rises to it. As if trained to do exactly so, she assesses the wooden interior for foot and hand holds. You can see the wheels turning in her head as she calculates what will and won't support her weight. In the sweep of a single moment, she rises from the door and swings herself into the rafters using a build up a momentum to propel her fast in an upperward direction. She completes the climb and balances with ease, reaching out to collect the happy wagging miscreant from her mountain top, tucks her in her jacket and climbs a different way down.

You stare at her. "Were you raised by trapeze artists?"

Yelena laughs. "I thought everybody was."

The pup is safe and happy and eager to explore its new friend. Yelena lets her lick, sniff, and scratch at her skin, her clothes, her hair. The pup catches Yelena with a tiny lick right on the tip of her nose and Yelena looks back at you with adoring eyes.

You smile. "Got a name for her already don't you?"

"Yes," Yelena whines, "no, are you sure about this? I should probably tell you I've never had a dog before…"

"I can tell your good people," you reply. "And smart as a whip. You'll adapt, just call me if you ever need anything."

Three weeks later you get a phone call from an unknown number. It's Yelena giving you an address and making you swear never to tell anybody about it. You don't have any friends so it's an easy secret to keep.

You drive a few miles south and stumble upon a stationary trailer in the middle of nowhere, nothing but clearings and trees and sky. Actually very similar to your own home.

The door opens and Yelena greets you with a beer and the pup under her arm, already almost a foot bigger than she was before.

"Her name is Fanny." You both laugh yourselves hoarse and pile into the trailer to puppy proof the place.

#three bees writing #yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x female reader #black widow #black widow spoilers #black reader insert

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maboroshi-no · 3 years

Text

Hamefura LN11 - Katarina’s post-confession talk with Geordo

Hello!

This is not a scanlation, but as I was reading Volume 11 of the Hamefura light novel, I felt the need to translate the scenes where Katarina decides to give respectively Geordo and Keith some kind of reply in regards to their previous love confessions.

So first, Geordo’s ! Enjoy!

Context:

Katarina had a talk with her father the previous day. He advised her to figure out her feelings sooner rather later, else she might realize one day she has already lost the one she loves.

Katarina and Maria had been summoned by the King who wanted to tell them about the succession struggle which occured when the previous king died, and how dark magic had been leaked then

Before meeting the king, Katarina had met a gorgeous blond young man at the shut-in uncle building, who told her she is a horrible person who toys with Geordo’s feelings. Katarina wonders if he might be the shut-in uncle.

After they meet the King, Geordo and Alan met up with Katarina and Maria.

Geordo and Alan were worried Katarina and Maria might despise them after hearing about what their relatives did. They felt relieved when Katarina and Maria told them they don’t think of them differently

While they escort them to their carriage back, Geordo tells Katarina she has forgotten her bag (which contained the Dark Covenant), so the two of them returns to the parlor to retrieve it.

Katarina’s POV

Katarina: "Thank goodness my bag is here! Thank you for coming with me, Prince Geordo."

I said this after taking back my bag . Prince Geordo smiled, and

Geordo: "No, it's quite alright. I did it on purpose, so please think nothing of it."

he said. Huh? "He did it on purpose?" But what? Looking at my confused face, Geordo made a suggestive smile.

Geordo: "Actually, I realized when we left the room that you were not carrying your bag, but since I wanted to have some alone time with you, I pretended I didn't notice."

I can't believe it! What a schemer! I was taken aback and then Geordo continued.

Geordo: "*chuckle*. I would also like to thank you once again for the words you said earlier. Since it was you, Katarina, I thought things would probably be alright even after you learn about the royal family's unsightly struggle, but hearing such gracious words really made me happy.

As he said this, his smiling face looked truly happy, which left me dumbfounded. Oh, so that's why! He just wanted to thank me once more! This is what I thought, but

Geordo: "Really, I fell in love with you all over again."

As he said this, he smoothly grabbed my back and stared directly into my eyes.

Katarina: "Eh?!!"

I involuntarily let out a weird yell but Geordo ignored my reaction and with his dazzling prince's smile,

Geordo: "My fiancée is the best! I want to hurry up and marry her!"

This is what he said. I could feel the temperature rising on my face at once. At the same time, what Father told me the other day popped into my head: "Supposing that in the future Prince Geordo really ends up being the one you love, if you keep delaying your marriage then he might break off the engagement in the meanwhile and marry another person. This is even more true since Prince Geordo has to uphold his position as a royal.", "You may lose the one you love while you are still figuring out your own feelings, so you should give it some serious thought so that it won't happen." I couldn't figure out my feelings... But I...

Katarina: "Umm, Prince Geordo, I..."

As I got flustered, I opened my mouth to say something and...

Geordo: "Are you scared?"

he said.

Katarina: "Huh?"

As I stared back at him in shock, his face didn't show his princely smile from earlier anymore, but an expression which looked somewhat painful.

Geordo: "Are you really scared when I approach you like this? I didn't notice it at first but since you shrivel more and more as I approach you, I started to think that maybe you are terrified of me. Am I wrong?"

I was lost for words as the "terrified" word stuck deeply into my heart. From my reaction,

Geordo: "Based on your reaction, I guess I was right. So you have been scared of me approaching you. I am sorry for not realizing it until now.

As he said this, he looked like he was about to cry. Looking at Geordo, this time it was the words of the young man I met earlier that crossed my mind.

Young man / Uncle Stuart?: "Even though he is begging for your love, you always ignore it, hurting him without even knowing it. You are the worst."

He is right. This can't go on like this. I readied myself and said:

Katarina: "Umm, no that's not it. Well, no, you are kinda not completely wrong... The thing is... I am not scared of you approaching me, I..."

For the first time, I expressed in words the feeling that I had buried deep inside my heart all this time.

Katarina: "I am scared of falling in love."

Geordo opened his eyes wide out of shock. Well, that's a given. Of course he would be shocked hearing such a puzzling answer. But this is the truth which has been inside me. At 8 years old, I regained the memories of my past life and soon after, I realized that I was inside an otome game and that I was the villainess in it. And also that my future was filled with doom flags. Katarina's doom was caused by her love for the prince. Seeing the prince she loved falling for another woman (the protagonist), she became jealous, engaged in cruel harassment and doomed herself. After realizing this, this is what I thought. Katarina's love led her to her doom. That's why Katarina must never fall in love. If she falls in love, she may become mad. And then this would be the end. Even while I was completely unaware of it, this feeling had always been deep inside my heart, and because I could not allow myself to be affected by love, I kept away from it. I, no, Katarina Claes can support the love of others, but she will never fall in love herself. She must not. This is how I had been doing, and then Geordo suddenly confessed to me. The prince I had been yearning for before I regained my memories confessed to me. But this feeling, "Katarina must not fall in love. She will be doomed if she falls in love.", had always been deep inside my heart and so I completely dismissed Geordo's feelings. That is why I unconsciously chased away from the corner of my mind the feelings that he had finally confessed to me. And then before I knew it, I forgot about it. I was scared of it. Falling in love, that is. And because of this, I made Geordo sad. It is just like that young man said. I am truly the worst. I must precisely tell him my feelings. I will not run away anymore. This was the first time I saw Geordo with a hurt expression like this, like he is about to cry. Looking at him I hardened my resolve. I picked the words to face the person who went to great trouble to confess his feelings to me.

Katarina: "I have always thought I might be doomed if I fall in love."

Geordo made a puzzled face, but still kept quiet and listened.

Katarina: "This is still true even now. I am scared of falling in love. That's why I couldn't face your feelings and ended up chasing them from the corner of my mind. I am really sorry."

Since I couldn't tell him about the otome game, the content of my explanation was filled with vague terms and I even thought "What is that supposed to mean?!". Even so,

Geordo: "Thank you for telling me, Katarina. I feel relieved knowing you are not scared of me."

he said, smiling at me gently, so I felt relieved.

Geordo: "But the fact that you are scared of love is quite troublesome."

He was right. "Katarina's love is a scary thing which is connected to her doom". While holding this feeling all this time, I didn't want to recognize this weak part of me and pretended I didn't see it. I did this unconsciously. That's why, even after Father asked me to seriously think about it, my fear took precedence and I delayed the task. But thanks to Geordo I have now fully realized it, so I want to change.

Katarina: "Until now, I had locked my fear in my heart and pretended I didn't see it. But I won't do this anymore. I will properly face my feelings... And then I'll do all I can so that I can face your feelings too, Prince Geordo.

As I said this, Geordo was beaming with happiness. As for me, whom he was looking at, I was now feeling embarrassed. I ended up feeling bashful and then I realized something. I declared I would properly face my own feelings, which is great and all, but then I remembered that right now, I had my doom in sight. The doom I am met with in the FL2 game. If I get doomed, I won't be able to face my feelings. Or more precisely, if things don't go well, I will just disappear from this world. Even at my best, I am the kind of person who can do only one thing at a time. Right now, I won't be able to face my fear of love upfront.

Katarina: "Umm, Prince Geordo, even though I just said I would face my feelings, I am actually facing some serious trouble right now, and it is only after I overcome them that I will be able to seriously get down to it, so..."

Suddenly taking back my words after making him this happy made me feel terrible, but after I said this, Geordo smiled.

Geordo: "Oh, that's right, you seemed somewhat uneasy since you joined the Ministry of Magic. I don't mind. I have waited all this time already, so a little more won't make a difference. So please rely on me whenever you are in trouble, okay?"

Hearing him say this, I felt relieved and thanked him. He had noticed the anxiety I felt since I joined the Ministry, along with my inner feelings. I was shocked. He was a bit off regarding my deeply hidden fear of love that, myself, wasn't aware of, but he still guessed right. It seems like, more than I thought, Geordo has always been watching me. He has always been by my side since I met him at 8 years old. One way or another, he has always helped me whenever I was in trouble. Even if I am now aware that I have been connecting love to my doom, I am still scared of love and I still don't understand it really well. But looking back, Geordo definitely is someone very precious to me. That's why, even if it is embarrassing, I want to tell him my honest feelings. I mustered all the courage I could and then said:

Katarina: "Umm... I am scared of love and I still don't understand this feeling very well, but your confession made me happy. I was really happy that someone as wonderful as you would tell me he loved me."

Handsome, brilliant, kind, reliable. There is no way I would not be happy if such a dreamy man confessed to me. That's right. At that time, when Prince Geordo confessed his feelings to me, I was actually happy. But my fear of anything related to love was stronger, so I immediately locked this feeling deep inside my heart. After I somehow managed to tell him this after all this time, I got so flustered that I dashed out of the parlor, leaving Geordo behind just like that. I want to do something about both my fear of love and this strange bashfulness that I feel because of my lack of immunity to love. My face is burning hot. It must be bright red right now. I ran full speed because I felt so embarrassed, and when I joined up with Maria and Alan, they thought my face was red because I ran. I was glad they did. "Where did Geordo go?" Alan asked me with a quizzical look, "It seems like some business came up", I lied. Right now, I was so embarrassed I couldn't see their faces really well. Finally, Maria and I left the castle and returned to the Ministry of Magic. The feelings that were deep inside my heart that I realized after Geordo pointed them out. I remembered that there was one more person whom I had to convey these feelings to. But I wonder if I'll be able to do it properly. With all the embarrassment I got today, I got a fever so high I could be bedridden.

Geordo POV

I, Geordo Stuart, was summoned by my father the King, Owen Stuart. He informed me that he would tell my fiancée, Katarina Claes, and the Wielder of Light, Maria Campbell, about the royals' unsightly succession struggle which took place in this castle before I was old enough to understand, how dark magic was used and leaked then, and how he would apologize to them as a royal from that time. It wasn't long ago since I heard, got shocked and felt ashamed as a royal about the details of how dark magic was leaked. Hearing this, I also felt terrible in regards to Katarina. I have admiration for my father as a king, I respect his attitude showing resolute fairness, and as a prince, I thought that what he is doing this time too is wonderful. But as simply "Geordo Stuart", my feelings over this were complicated. This is because, upon learning about the errors and the shame of the royals who are also my relatives, I thought Katarina would maybe hold me in contempt or give me a look full of mixed feelings. I had talked a little before to Katarina about the previous king and how there had been deaths occurring during the struggle. At that time too, I was afraid she would hold me in contempt, but with her straightforward eyes, Katarina told me: "You and the previous king are different people. Even knowing about the previous king doesn't change how you are in my eyes". I was so happy then. So things should probably be fine this time too. This is what I hoped. But would she really say the same thing even after hearing about these unsightly killings among relatives? If it were me, I am not sure I would be able to look at the relatives of the people who caused this struggle without holding it against them. As I thought this, my face naturally turned stiff. The time felt horribly long while the King was talking to them. And then, finally, I heard the King leaving. Right after, I and my younger brother Alan who, like me, had been waiting in the room, headed towards the room where Katarina and Maria were. I felt tense just knocking on the door. It was the first time that I felt like this. After hearing familiar voices from the inside of the room, I opened the door. When I entered the room, Katarina and Maria had their faces close, talking about something. They didn't seem to have realized right away that it was us when we entered, so when they saw our faces,

Katarina: "Prince Geordo! Prince Alan!"

Katarina shouted with a surprised face. I told the two of them with my usual smile the words that I had prepared. And then I did what I had to as a royal: I apologized to them for dark magic being leaked as a result of the unsightly struggle of my relatives. I couldn't allow this to end with only the King apologizing. My younger twin Alan also felt the same way. As both Alan and I lowered our heads, a dignified voice replied to us.

Katarina: "I accept your apology."

All while thinking it was extremely improper in such a situation to feel charmed by Katarina's resolute look, Alan and I both expressed our gratitude. And then, as "Geordo Stuart", I asked her a question I personally needed her to answer.

Geordo: "And so, what do you think of us?"

Alan added to my words.

Alan: "You heard the story, right? That was some horrible stuff. Do you despise us now?"

Silence fell for a moment in the room. I couldn't see Katarina's face.

Katarina: "I already said this before when you told me about your grandfather, but the two of you and the royals who took part in this struggle are different people to begin with. My opinion of the two of you cannot possibly change after hearing this story. Besides, I know each of your personalities very well."

Her answer was the same as back then. In her eyes that were looking straight at us, I couldn't see any falsehood, nor the contempt I was so worried about. Ah, Katarina really was the woman I imagined.

Maria: "I share the same opinion as Lady Katarina. Hearing this story didn't change my opinion of the two of you."

Maria, who was next to Katarina, also said this, which made me feel relieved once again. We thanked the two of them and told them their carriage back was ready. I escorted Katarina back for the first time in a while, and during that time I noticed she had forgotten the bag she was carrying. At first, I thought of telling her and picking it up myself, but then I reconsidered after this came to mind. If things went well, I could have a chance to be alone with Katarina. And then, things did go well, and my plan to be alone with Katarina succeeded.

Katarina: "Thank goodness my bag is here! Thank you for coming with me, Prince Geordo."

Katarina picked up her bag, and as she innocently looked back at me, I smiled and

Geordo: "No, it's quite alright. I did it on purpose, so please think nothing of it."

As I said this, she looked extremely shocked. Katarina is so pure, she could have never expected this.

Geordo: "Actually, I realized when we left the room that you were not carrying your bag, but since I wanted to have some alone time with you, I pretended I didn't notice."

As I said this, smiling, Katarina froze up with her mouth agape. This face too was cute.

After I said this, Katarina's mouth was now closed and she seemed lost in thoughts. She was probably thinking I wanted to be alone with her only because I wanted to apologize. It would be troublesome if she thought that, so I continued with this.

Geordo: "Really, I fell in love with you all over again."

As I said this, I grabbed her back and stared directly into her aqua blue eyes.

Geordo: "My fiancée is the best! I want to hurry up and marry her!"

In front of me, Katarina was now bright red. It seems like I could properly convey my intentions, so I felt relieved. However,

Katarina: "Umm, Prince Geordo, I..."

I sensed "that sign" from the now flustered Katarina, which made me sad. And then I finally asked her about the thing that I had been worried about.

Geordo: "Are you scared?"

As I asked this, Katarina yelled "Huh?!" with a shocked face.

Geordo: "Are you really scared when I approach you like this? I didn't notice it at first, but since you shrivel more and more as I approach you, I started to think that maybe you are terrified of me. Am I wrong?"

Since I confessed my feelings to her, Katarina would often stiffen up whenever I approached her. I was happy at first since I thought it meant she was now conscious of me, but lately I have the feeling that this stiffening withering condition is a manifestation of her fear. I couldn't accept a reality where the person I love the most in the world would be scared of me, so I always pretended I didn't notice it. And today I realized this was wrong. Even after hearing about this horrible story about my relatives, Katarina didn't look at me differently and wholeheartedly accepted it, like it was natural. So I want to properly accept her feelings too. Even if doing so would be oh, so painful to me. So I finally confronted her about what I have been averting my eyes from. I'll ask her myself and get hurt. And then, looking at Katarina who was lost for words, I knew my guess wasn't off, and I felt like my heart was torn to pieces. While I thought I might shamefully end up in tears,

Geordo: "Based on your reaction, I guess I was right. So you have been scared of me approaching you. I am sorry for not realizing it until now.

As I said this, Katarina looked like she realized something and then said this.

Katarina: "Umm, no that's not it. Well, no, you are not completely wrong... The thing is... I am not scared of you approaching me, I..."

Katarina thought a little and...

Katarina: "I am scared of falling in love."

This is what she said. I was extremely shocked by this completely unexpected answer. She is afraid of falling in love? To begin with, I have never seen Katarina being scared. She has always been cheerful and bright, and acted like there wasn't anything she was afraid of. Besides, she reads romance novels and has been enjoying them. As a result, given she is dense whenever it comes to love, I just thought she was a late bloomer like her adopted younger brother. But it seems like it wasn't all there was to it. Katarina continued with a resolute face.

Katarina: "I have always thought I might be doomed if I fall in love."

"She will be doomed if she falls in love"? What kind of thinking process could result in such a conclusion? This is just so strange. However, since Katarina is making such a serious face, I kept silent and waited for the rest of the explanation.

Katarina: "This is still true even now. I am scared of falling in love. That's why I couldn't face your feelings and ended up chasing them from the corner of my mind. I am really sorry."

As she said this, Katarina lowered her head. Honestly, I couldn't help wondering how she could reach such a conclusion, and there were also many points which bothered me, but even so, I felt deeply relieved.

Geordo: "Thank you for telling me, Katarina. I feel relieved knowing you are not scared of me."

I felt something akin to despair when I thought she might be scared of me, but just knowing this was not the case greatly saved me. Still,

Geordo: "But the fact that you are scared of love is quite troublesome."

I am glad Katarina is not terrified of me, but I can't bring myself to approach her if she is scared of love like this. Katarina is really precious to me, so I don't want to scare her needlessly. As I tried to think of ways around this, Katarina said

These were truly joyful words. A wide smile naturally formed on my face. My unrequited love started at childhood and lasted for so long, even though the one I love is my fiancée. I kept trying to convey my feelings, but they didn't reach her, and when I finally thought they did, she would just forget them. These had been such long days. She has finally said she would face my feelings and consider them. I have never been this happy in my life. I felt like I had finally been rewarded a little for keeping with this unrequited love. As I thought this, feeling deeply moved, Katarina shyly said this:

Hearing these words, I remembered how Katarina seemed different after joining the Ministry of Magic. She seemed uneasy about something. I observed the same thing when we entered the Magic Academy. I noticed a long time ago that Katarina had some kind of secret she wouldn't talk to us about. Since she wouldn't talk about it, I pretended I didn't notice and just made sure she could feel at ease and that I could always help her if something happened. This time, I was glad that she talked about it for the first time.

As I said this, smiling, Katarina looked relieved and thanked me. I have waited all this time already. A little more really won't make a difference. I was really happy I could hear about Katarina's real thoughts. As I felt a warm and fuzzy feeling in my chest, Katarina made a somewhat grim face. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but Katarina was faster.

Katarina said this, her face bright red, and then she ran and left the parlor, her face still red. I was left all alone... I remained here, unable to move. Katarina's words kept repeating in my head over and over again. My confession of love and my approaches made her stiffen up. There were days when I thought that this late blooming girl didn't really enjoy my approaches and that she may even find them bothersome. I realized that for her, my confession was "exciting, but not really something she was happy about". But then she said: "I was really happy that someone as wonderful as you would tell me he loved me.". As I muttered to myself that I needed to confirm that the words from earlier were not a figment of my imagination, my body suddenly became hot. Right now, my face must probably be so red there could be steam coming out of it. I have always loved her. This special girl who changed my gray world. This fact never changed even while growing up, and being with her, I steadily felt so many emotions I didn't know before. Today, I realized for the first time that being overcome with extreme happiness would render me unable to move.

#hamefura #bakarina #my next life as a villainess: all routes leads to doom #katarina claes #geordo stuart

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saturnsstufff · 3 years

Text

The Empress (pt. III)

Hello lovelys! Incase no one told you today, I think your spectacular!

Also, lets be real. This part really shows how much I love Buff Techno

Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, blood

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. The Emperor was asking you to sit and eat with him. With his family. You didn't want to come off rude or impolite, so you simply nodded and walked over to the remaining open seat. Phil pulled the chair out for you a bit, you lowered yourself onto it and pushed yourself in.

To say the room was beautiful was a understatement. The table was made of elegant dark oak, the edges lined with detailed gold. The chairs matched the table with wood. But the seats had a plush Black velvet cover over the cushions. The backs of the chairs stood taller than you, Techno's chair was the most detailed and the tallest out of them all. When you glanced up at Techno you were only met with the skull staring forward.

You honestly became nervous now. Your hands grew clammy as you held a bit of your cloak. Yesterday you had no problem being in front of this family and now you were terrified of offending them. The Family was known for being nothing short of dangerous, and blood thirsty. Yet when you look to Philza, or Wilbur who sat in front of you. You couldn't see how, they were perceived as dangerous. Don't get yourself wrong, you saw how Techno could be seen as terrifying, the man stood at well over 6ft, maybe approaching 7ft?

Wil watched you a bit, taking note of the complex look you had. "So where are you from?" He asked simply, taking a drink of his milk. "Dadza said you were wearing really light clothes when he met you." The boys tone was casual. Trying to set your wild nerves at ease.

"O-oh, I'm from a little village in Madagascar" techno's mask faced you as you spoke. Showing you had his full attention. "It's pretty... small..." You tried of how to explain it but, every way you turned it in your head, it was still bland.

"What's your village like? For the small size is it well off or strugglin'?" Phil inquired. At this a few butlers came out with platters of food. They placed a plate full of eggs, toast, sausage and oatmeal in front of Techno, Phil and you. Talk about a meal fit for a king- no pun intended. Techno only nudged his mask up a tad more. His mouth now visible more. Your eyes lingered on him. A slight scar could be seen on his lip, it looked a bit fresh if your being honest. You averted your gaze before he noticed your lingering eyes.

"It's... struggling. We were slightly larger, but years ago there was a raid by some Pilliagers" you couldn't help your face twist into a bit of disgust. After how they humiliated your village, and father, you couldn't help hold a high distaste for them. "They ransacked what we had. The men of our village defended what they could, but too many lives were taken if you ask me." You took your fork into your hand, starting to cut up the egg.

"Did you loose anyone close to you?" Phil spoke between bites. Only speaking when his mouth was empty. You hummed and nodded as you chewed your food. Waiting to respond out of courtesy.

"I lost my uncle, but that luckily was all. My father was injured too, but he survived.” your eyes scanned your food, slightly pushing the food apart so it wasn't touching. “I was too young to understand when it happened, but I guess one pillager took a swing at his leg. It never healed properly since during the attack, the Pilliagers targeted the women and children mostly. Who for the most part were in charge of medicine and occasional potion brewing" You could feel Techno's lingering eyes on you. He ate in silence only listening.

"I'm sorry to hear of your uncles demise. however, we are glad that you are ok." Phil said, resting a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. You smiled gently and nodded. the action was similar to that of what your father did. Even if Phil didn't recognize it, the little actions he did put you at ease.

Everyone ate for a bit longer. the sounds of silverware and plates clinking were the only sound that filled the room. Techno finished his plate first. Neatly setting his dishes together. Phil and I worked at our plates still. Mostly because we were the ones talking. "What made you get into Smithing?" Phil asked. Having previously recalled you mentioning the blade was your creation.

You took a sip of Orange juice to clear your throat of food. "When my father was injured our family suffered. Smithing was how we made money. My father couldn't stand long- he still cant. even if he could, I'm pretty sure the hammer would be too heavy for him." You paused thinking a moment. " I think I was eleven or twelve when he started showing me the tools and the trade. After a few months I could put a tool out. By no means was it good though.” You could still remember the first tool you put out. It was a twisted, warped mess. At the time you were proud, but now you rather not admit it was yours. “By the end of the year I at least could put something worth a show out. Ever since then I just continued. I didn't know how to sew or weave like my mother so I never strayed from the forge."

"It was somthin' in your blood" Phil commented. You tilted your head slightly as you ate a bit more. Starting to feel utterly stuffed. "A lot of trade's or artistry’s get passed down so long that it just becomes part of their heritage, they seem to have a natural born talent for those knacks." He fallowed up with. "Techno is like that with sword combat" you herd a sound of disagreement from under the boar mask.

Wil decided to chime in now. "If your blade pasts the test, what will you do with the money?" You thought a moment. In your heart you knew you had no use for it really. Your father and village however did need it.

"I'll probably give it to my village and my father." It was a simple and cliché answer but you meant it. "I have a roof over my head at home, parents who love me, support me. For once I wanna support them." You set your spoon down. Only having ate half your oatmeal, feeling too full to finish. "My village also needs the help. The baker. The farmer. They all could use a bit of spare change." You looked up from your plate to face Phil. His eyes were kind. They glittered like your fathers, when he was proud.

"Your very kind to offer your riches to others." you didn't expect Techno to voice his opinion. But you graciously took his complement. Your cheeks a faint pink. As you nodded. He moved his mask back to where it fit comfortably. He stood up from the table. the action commanding attention, The mask faced you. "Fetch your blade. I wish to test it."

Ok now the nerves really set in. You stood outside on a snow covered training ground. Your head was covered by a cozy fur lined cloak. Beside you stood Wilbur, and Philza. You had the cloth wrapped sheath in your hands firmly. The sword secure in it's place. Waiting for someone to release it and show the strength it held.

You were unsure where techno was, he was supposed to give the test but as it stood, he was nowhere to be seen. That is until he turned the corner with a thick wooden log over his shoulder. You couldn't help how your jaw dropped. You knew he had to have some strength but you didn't expect him to turn the corner with a good size Hickory log. He dropped the log in front of Phil, Wil and I. Next to it was a rather large block of ice, and a Anvil. Once Techno situated the log securely in the snow he unchained his cloak. Handing it off to Phil.

There he stood. This monster of a man. broad shoulders drawn back, his posture perfect. Where he looked as strong as twelve oxen, he also had a elegant, ethereal beauty. His jaw was sharp, lips drawn into a thin line. His hands, although gloved, moved with precise elegance. When he breathed a puff of cloud would push itself out of the Boar's empty nasal cavity. He looked terrifyingly beautiful.

He turned to you and outstretched his hand. A wordless request for your blade. You bit your lip. The moment had come for you to truly test it. Carefully you unwrapped the cloth, the simple sheath was the underwhelming part of the blade. however when you moved the Sheath towards Techno he made no comment on the simplicity.

His hand easily took the handle. Skillfully he pulled the blade out. The black blade shimmered brilliantly. The purple-blue pearlescent really popped against the snow. When he saw the color of the blade you could have sworn you saw his hand falter slightly. “tis’ a beautiful blade...” was the first comment. “what is made of?” he inquired.

You swallowed the slight lump in your throat. “It’s Netherite and Diamond” You didn't expect them to know what Netherite was, but the look Phil gave you shown that he very well knew what it was. Even Techno turned his head to face you. This is the part where you wondered if you shouldn't have said the true material.

“Netherite eh?...” the angle was just right, you could see into the empty eye sockets and pinpoint techno’s eyes. they lingered over your blade fondly. he seemed very familiar with that type of material.

You watched as he took notice of how the blade was well balanced. The handle was comfortable and surprisingly it fit his hands. He tossed the blade between his right and left hand. Seeing how it felt. Mentally he assumed the blade's handle would have been made small to accommodate your own hand. But he was pleasantly surprised to see you took account that maybe you would not be the one handling it. He moved the blade back to his dominant hand. Looking to the mound of ice. You felt a hand rest on your shoulder, pulling you away from Techno. You looked up to see who the hand belonged to, only realizing it was Phil. well you stood in front of Phil pressed up to him, you didn't have to look to know how much he towered over you. His wings only adding to the height. you thought it was a tad weird that he pulled you so close, until you realized he did it to Wil was well. The action was out of protection. your gaze shifted back to Techno. He rotated the sword in his hand once. From Phil, Wil, and your stance, all you saw was a quick movement of purple, the light bouncing of the blade beautifully as it swung. He did not delay on his swing back, it was fast and powerful. Techno simply stepped, and swung back down, hard. The idea of being on the other side of the blade seemed impossible to survive. Well he beat the sword edge against the ice, his body moved as if he was reciting a simple dance. He was testing the durability. Seeing exactly how much your blade could take. The sheer force of his hits only needed two, to break the ice chunk in half. Sliding both halves away from each other upon the swords impact. You could only watch in shock. His strength was raw and powerful. You were genuinely terrified for your little sword.

Techno didn't let up his assault. Moving from the ice to the wood in one swift movement. Continuing to strike the hard wood. The woodchips flew in the air, you averted your eyes a bit, worried the wood might hit you. After beating a decent size gash into the wood, you spared a glance back up. He shoved the sword into the snow bank next to him. Lifting the abused log up. Placing his hands on both sides of the gash, he with little struggle, tore the log in half with his hands.

To say that it wasn't a little bit attractive, would have been a lie. Your cheeks were pink again. but luckily you could blame it on the cold nipping at your face. You watched as techno looked at the log, now in two parts at his feet. He made no sound of disproval, or really said anything. He simply took the sword from the bank and looked over at the Anvil. ‘surely he wouldn't hit the blade on the metal’ you thought. Oh, don't worry he would. He looked down to the blade, judging it breifly before glancing the anvil. You looked away, you couldn't watch. the blade was going to break as soon as it hit the anvil. It was evident on why no one was able to past the test. The test was a fucking nightmare.

The only sound you could hear was a harsh ring. He did it, oh shit he really did it. Phil from above you just whistled. “tha’s a mighty blade (y/n).” you spared a glance. in Techno’s hand was your sword. structurally intact. you let out a rather large, breathy laugh of relief.

Techno didn't congratulate you, or make a remark on your blade. instead he removed a glove and pressed his thumb to the blade. He wanted to see if it was still sharp after the pure beating it just took. You watched, now unsure if this was all positive or negative. He hummed, he wanted to say he was surprised. but he wasn't. what you didn't understand, was that he was used to Netherite. He knew it took something almost godlike to break anything with that material.

Although the sword was beat to hell, when he pressed his thumb against the blade and applied pressure, it was still sharp enough to draw blood. He put his thumb to his lips. The hard metallic taste of blood filled his mouth from the cut he received. his lips only twisting into a bemused smirk.

"Your blade passes" he turned to face you. Wiping his bloody thumb on his black pants before offering his hand to you in a handshake. "You are the only one that somehow designed, dare I say it. The perfect blade."

After the event that occurred out on the field you were a giddy mess. You did it. You fallowed techno down the hall. He explained that since you did impress him, he was now wanting to open the table for a discussion and a possible contract. But first, he wanted to know how much knowledge you possess.

He opened a large door that was detailed in gold. when you stepped in he fallowed. walking past you in a easy, lazy stride. You were in his office. the shelves were lined with books, many having titles about Mythology, histories of wars, war tactics, potion brewing, etc. The titles were endless. From the books alone you could assume he probably had knowledge on a plethora of subjects. The walls were high, the detailing never faltered however. Two Antarctica Empire flag's hung on the walls, framing the main desk. There were paintings, but unlike the one of the whole family you saw on your arrival. There was one of Phil and Techno, the mask painted on his face. The second painting was Tech and Wil. But similarly. The mask was present. Looking about a little more, there were also swords of all types on the walls. In the center of the celling there was a massive candle lit chandelier. A fireplace stood tall behind techno's desk. You only assumed the desk was placed there solely for the point of warmth.

Technoblade took his seat at the rather large desk. His posture, was still perfect even when sitting. His hands were folded together. The rings still adorning his fingers. Everything he did, and wore just screamed elegance. "I will give you 3k for the blade. An additional 2k will be added for your trip" he said, his voice still straight.

'Holy shit, 5k? That's far more than I thought' you were speechless. You could already imagine how the money would help. ‘Father could get the help he needed.’ ‘The farmer could build a new barn possibly’ The upgrades flowed through your mind. Hope and joy surged through your veins. "Thank you your Imperial Majesty..."

"You said you used Netherite, correct?" You nodded to him. The mask was facing you, he was quiet. But you assumed he was thinking. "Were did you find the Neitherite?" He leaned onto his desk, moving his folded hands to the desk top. Resting his head on his hands.

"A man in my village had it. It was pretty cheap to buy it off him" you thought back to the man. Trying to recall the conversation. "He uh.." you paused trying to remember it properly. "Oh- he said it was a great material when used properly. But he couldn't understand what he needed to achieve it." Techno stayed quiet a moment.

"So how did you come by the proper techniques?" He questioned. You thought back again. It was a off day when you discovered it really. You weren't trying to use it. It just fell into your pan.

"Well, I was trying to make a diamond sword for a sister village originally. But when my pan was over the fire heating, I had left the room. Not realizing the small chunk of Netherite I had on top of the mantle had somehow fallen in. When I came back I saw the discoloration of the metal, that wasn't normal so I pulled it from the fire. When it cooled I noticed it made a unusual harder substance, so from there I just started experimenting with it" he nodded and pondered what you said. He didn't linger on the subject for long however, Instead he changed it.

"I have a proposition for you. That is... if your interested of course" You looked to him. Showing he had your attention. He had mentioned something along the lines of a deal well you walked down the hall with him. "With your permission, I would like to hire you as the royal blacksmith." The skull never faced away from you. You swallowed thickly.

"You mean... I would work here?" Your brows furrowed. "I don't live anywhere close to here..." he nodded his head, shrugging a bit.

"I'm aware" he paused. "We would give you a room, Pay you weekly, you would have benefits. Access to the best quality material" he didn't rush all the information out. He simply just read the list from his mind. "The only thing in exchange, is for you to make my armor, weapons, and anyone else I deem fit for them." It was a basic comply. He wanted you to work for him. Have your craft explicitly his only.

You shifted your weight as you stood. "Do I have to make a choice now?" You were hoping you didn't have to hurry this. you were already hesitant on bringing the sword down here, but now the idea of staying in this frozen tundra had you uncertain. Yes you would live in wealth, and possible glory. But, at the cost of being over a thousand miles away from your family. You also were still uncertain of the land itself.

Techno shrugged a bit. "I mean, I'm in no particular hurry" he explained. Tilting his head to the side a tad. If you accept, you knew what it meant. Your devotion to a nation, to the royal family, to the Emperor. You really would be making a shot in the dark.

"If I work here. Could I send the money elsewhere?" He watched you. You couldn't see his eyes, but you could feel them eating away at you.

"We can arrange that." You watched him in turn. Trying to see if he had a underlying plan, or possible catch to add. "I mean, I am a lenient man" his hands unclasped. Opening his arms slightly to motion to himself.

"R-right... of course" you nodded. Agreeing with him, not wishing to anger him. He pondered a moment before he stood from his chair. The chains, and pendants around his neck jingling slightly from his movement.

"I look forward to hearing your answer"

About a week had gone by before you had your answer. During the said week you started to notice the family had a slight routine. Phil would come for you in the morning to walk you to the dining hall for breakfast. after that Wilbur would either roam to the music room, or to the library to do some of his studies. Techno was harder to pinpoint, sometimes he would leave to his office, be in the library, or other times he would walk towards the room with the planes. No matter what, Phil kept you in good company and made you fell welcomed.

You choose to tell techno of your answer over dinner. Assuming it would be a decent time since that was when everyone was together. The dinner was casual. Since your stay was expanded, the boys would roam the hall’s in there casual wear instead of there more formal, business attire.

“So I've thought on it..” Your voice broke through the peaceful silence. Techno and Phil lifted there heads to address you. Wil looked up at you as well, the noodles from the dinner slipping from his lips back into the soup bowl. “I’ll work for you... if you would still have me.”.

“of course we’ll have ya’” Phil said, his smile wide. “It’s been nice havin’ someone new and different around these halls” you smiled a little and nodded to him, looking over to Techno.

“I do have two questions though...” techno gave a slight nod to you, motioning for you to continue. "If I choose to quit at any point. Could I?" Techno, hummed and nodded.

"Of course, that would only be right." a bit of weight was lifted from your shoulders knowing this wasn't a endless contract type of deal.

”My other question is a bit personal, but could I go back to my village to explain my new job to my parents? I don't feel right sending it through a letter.” You chewed your lip, hoping you weren't over stepping your bounds of what you could request.

Phil answered for Techno. “I don't see why not, me and Tech were discussing going on a trip anyway.” your eyes lit up, you would see your parents again. “You could tag along with us. of course we’ll be making trips other than Madagascar. techno was talking about visiting Russia, and France” you tilted your head a bit.

“why Russia? you already live on a ice cube” you said, humoring Phil, earning a chuckle.

“They have a few things Techno and I have been looking for” he said, continuing back on his dinner. You thought on it a moment and shrugged. nodding your head, you turned your attention back to your food.

“when would you like to leave?” you asked, curious of when you should pack your bag again. Techno hummed a bit.

“We were thinking of leaving in two days time.” He set his fork down before looking up at you. “I wouldn't worry about packing, we will not be traveling in our typical attire. We plan to dress down” Techno said as he wiped his mouth with the napkin. “I'll have some simpler clothes sent to your room”

You were a little surprised. They planned to travel, but not in there imperial attire? That's what you assumed he meant at least. Either way you were excited. Not only would you be seeing your parents, but you also would be taken to Russia and France. Man if this was your new job, you could get used to this.

@goldensunshineshit @snobunns @olyink @lolitsellieletsgobro

#technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #techno x reader #TE

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arrowflier · 3 years

Note

do you write AUs?

because i wish you'd write a fic with magic 👀 either with both or only one of them having magic ❤️

Oh, dear sweet anon. You'd never guess it from what I've been posting, but AUs are my bread and butter, and fantasy my genre of choice. I just don't do as much of it because I care more about getting it right, and it's so much harder to convey in short glimpses.

So thank you for this, and here goes nothing! Might not be the type of magic you were thinking, but it’s where my brain ended up.

Milkovich Magic

When he's just a little boy, Mickey Milkovich is the chattiest kid on the street. He stands out front of their rundown house and waves at people passing by, tells them stories, wishes for them good things. His father hates it, but his mother thinks it's lovely. She sits next to Mickey in a broken lawn chair, taking turns smiling at her son and at the strangers and neighbors passing by, waving Terry away when he comes too close to interfering.

But she never says a word herself, unless it's to Mickey.

Until one day, when Mickey sees a family walking down the street, and waves frantically at two boys around his age, one with fuzzy brown curls, one with bright red locks. The bright boy turns toward him and smiles, and Mickey feels something shift inside himself.

"Momma," he calls back toward the house. "Did you see?"

"See what, Mikhailo?" she responds, voice oddly cautious in a way that Mickey has long since become accustomed to.

"That boy," he tells her, feeling light and happy. "He's going to be my friend."

The air shifts as the words leave his mouth, seeming to swirl around him. He shivers as it strokes against his skin, leaving a line of goosebumps in its wake, and takes a shaky breath, thinking of the boy's shy smile.

"Mikhailo, no!" his mother cries, stumbling from her seat to fall on her knees at his feet, clutching his arms with claw-like fingers. He snaps out of his thoughts and stares down at her, terrified, as the feeling leaves him.

His terror grows when his father slams open the front door and yells, "What did the boy do now?"

His mother's eyes are wide and scared on his face, but her voice is calm and firm when she answers.

"Mikhailo has done nothing," she states simply, and his skin begins to tingle again. "You noticed nothing," she adds, and Mickey watches as his father shakes his head and wanders back inside without so much as a backwards glance. Then the air is still again.

"Come, Mikhailo," his mother says next, "that's enough for today." And he follows her up the broken steps and into their home, mind whirring, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Words have power, little one,” his mother whispers to him later that night, as they sip hot chocolate in the kitchen after Terry goes to bed. The air smells of milk and burned sugar and his mother’s perfume, and her voice wraps around him like a hug, pressing her words into his skin.

“We have to be careful,” she speaks quietly. Her hand is still warm with the heat from her mug when she brushes his hair from his face, lets her palm rest on his cheek. “When the things you say become the truth, you have to choose your words wisely.”

“Like when I say you’re pretty?” Mickey asks with childish innocence, and his mother laughs, a soft tinkling sound like windchimes in the rain.

“Not quite,” she tells him with a gentle smile. “It takes intent, too.”

“Intent,” he repeats dutifully, then asks, “what’s that?”

His mother’s voice drops even further, serious and firm. “It’s the desire to make change, Mikhailo,” she says, “and it’s dangerous. You never know what path that change might take.” She sounds sad, like she does whenever his father comes home, loud and stumbling when he shoves through the door in the middle of the night. Mickey doesn’t like it.

And he doesn’t understand, either. He’s too young. Too new to the world to see how change could be a bad thing. So he agrees, like a good son does, and doesn’t argue when his mother presses a kiss to his head and sends him off to sleep in a haze of lavender and chocolate.

A few months later, when he hears his father yelling from the next room, hears the crash as his mother hits the floor for the third time that week, he dares to speak aloud the words struggling to escape his heart, despite her warnings.

“Mama is safe,” he whispers to himself in the darkness of the room he shares with his baby sister, who’s curled up against his side, face still wet with the tears that sent her into sleep. “No one can hurt her anymore.”

He knows he got it right when he can feel the wish leave him, a heavy weight lifting from his chest as his desires take form. He can feel the air, heavy with intent, as it brushes over his skin, as it moves like a summer breeze through the open window above his head, bypassing the locked bedroom door. He’s suddenly more tired than he thinks he’s ever been when it’s gone, and he falls into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years, comforted by the knowledge that he had put change into the world.

The next morning, he wakes to his sister sobbing and pushing loose fists into his chest as she tells him that their mother is dead.

After that, he stops talking so much.

---

When Mickey is eight years old, he's the quietest boy in class. He gets a reputation as a troublemaker, refusing to answer questions or make friends, no matter the effort that others put in.

Eventually, they stop trying, and he's glad.

Until a new boy shows up, and almost ruins everything.

His name is Ian Gallagher, and the first thing Mickey notices as he walks into the room for the very first time, a worn backpack hanging from his skinny shoulder, is his hair.

It's bright red.

And Mickey remembers the day he learned what he was, the day he started down the path that killed his mother, the day that he declared to the world that the redheaded boy would be his and the world started to listen.

He wanted nothing to do with him.

So of course, Gallagher sat right behind him, and tapped on his shoulder, and asked him for a pencil. And try as he might, Mickey could not muster the intent to make him leave.

It probably wouldn't have mattered if he did, he thought. The damage had been done years ago.

But he does manage to speak. And he hears his own voice for the first time in ages outside the confines of the bedroom he still shares with Mandy. It's rough with disuse, lending an edge to his words that never used to be there.

"Ask me again, I'll stab you with it," he threatens, then stops, eyes blown wide and fearful by his own statement. But the rush of air never comes, nor that strange tingle, and all he can feel is the tickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

He's so relieved he could cry.

"Are you ok?" the Gallagher boy asks, and Mickey tries to snarl, to make him back away.

"Shut up," he orders. And then he spins back around in his seat to hide his grin.

Because he can talk, after all, without causing terrible things. The trick, he knows now, is just not to mean it.

---

When Mickey is fifteen, he's loud and brash. He throws words around like they're meaningless, because to him, they are.

They have to be.

And it's working out fine, really. As long as he swallows down his feelings, keeps them locked up tight in his chest, it doesn't matter what words leave his lips.

Until, one day after school, he finally loses control.

And of course, it's because of Ian fucking Gallagher.

Because Ian keeps trying to be Mickey's friend, and Mickey knows it isn't real. He knows what he did. So when Ian joins his little league team in 4th grade, Mickey gets himself thrown out. And when Ian tries to partner with him for the 6th grade science fair, Mickey gets himself suspended instead. Every year is a new attempt, and every year, Mickey manages to shut it down.

He's ready to do it again on the first day of their sophomore year, when Ian calls his name outside the old brick school building.

"Hey, Mickey!" he tries, waving gangly arms to catch his attention. "Mickey, over here!"

Mickey studiously ignores him, like always, until he hears the smack of books hitting the ground.

"Whatcha callin' him for, eh?" comes a voice Mickey recognizes as one of his cousins. There's another rough sound, and a curse as Ian himself is pushed to the ground. Mickey's cousin laughs.

"What a pussy," he snickers. When Mickey turns around, his cousin waves him over with a wicked grin. "Ey, Mick, you know this guy?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before he nudges Ian in the side with a dirty boot. "He keeps callin' for ya, think he's got a crush or somethin'."

Ian's face is red, and his jaw is clenched, but he looks away when Mickey catches his eyes. He looks embarrassed, and maybe sad, and before Mickey knows what he's doing, he speaks from the place he always keeps under lock and key.

"You're gonna leave him alone," he rumbles, a breeze picking up behind him. "You're never gonna touch him again." A few leaves flutter at his feet as his intention builds. His cousin doesn't notice, but Ian does, and Mickey finds himself staring into emerald green eyes as he says, "You noticed nothing," just like his mother did all those years ago, and lets the words go.

His cousin blinks at him, suddenly lost, then down at Ian. "The fuck are you doing down there man?" he asks, and almost offers a hand before awkwardly pulling it back. "Eh, whatever," he mutters, and stumbles off to join the line for the bus.

"What was that?" Ian asks breathlessly, and Mickey shrugs, thumbing his nose. Inside, he's horrified by his slip, but all he says is, "nothing."

And scared or not of how it felt, that rush of cool air tingling against his skin as he spoke, he can't deny it felt good.

It feels even better when Ian smiles.

---

When Mickey is seventeen, he has a friend, and he thinks he might have to stop talking again.

Ian is around all the time, now. They sit together at school, and hang out at the Gallagher house on weekends. They go to movies, and baseball games, and tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

And deep down, Mickey knows what this is. He told the world that Ian would be his friend, and so he is. It's nothing more than that.

But when Ian starts talking about the guy he's seeing, starts blowing Mickey off to spend time with him instead, it still makes Mickey's heart hurt.

Somewhere along the line, between avoiding Ian and letting his life revolve around him, Mickey had started wanting more.

It's in those moments, sitting on the sofa with their thighs pressed together, the strawberry scent of Ian's shampoo lingering in the air around them as he waxes poetic about the restaurant his boyfriend took him to, when Mickey fights himself the most.

It would be so easy, he knows. So easy to open his mouth and let the words out. Ian, he could say, you love me. You want me. Leave him, Ian. Be with me instead.

He doesn't. He wouldn't. But he could, and knowing that kills him.

Instead, he starts pulling back. Cancels plans before Ian can. It hurts, but he does it, because Ian deserves to be free from the wish Mickey made when he was a child.

Ian notices, of course he does. He ignores it, mostly, until the night Mickey opens the door to find him standing there, sweaty and scowling.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks Mickey immediately. "Why are you shutting me out?"

Mickey swallows. "Don't know what you're talkin about," he lies, wishing desperately that it were true. He feels a zing of power go through him, but there's no escape for it; his words don't work on himself.

"Bullshit," Ian accuses, stepping over the threshold to bring them chest to chest. "Just tell me, Mick," he urges. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I can't," Mickey offers breathlessly. "I really can't, Ian."

It doesn't deter him; if anything, it makes him angrier. "What's gonna happen if you do, huh?" he challenges, shoving Mickey back until he hits the wall.

And Mickey can't take it anymore.

"I don't know!" he shouts, tearing at his hair. "I don't fucking know, Ian, ok? I've been trying not to say it for so long, I don't know what will happen if I do!"

It takes the wind out of Ian's sails; he visibly deflates. His eyes turn soft, instead of angry, and there's a quiver in his voice when he asks again. "Tell me what, Mickey?" he whispers.

Mickey won't say the words. Instead, he surges toward Ian and presses their mouths together in a rough, clumsy kiss.

It lasts only a moment before Ian pulls away, and Mickey tries not to die inside. Forces himself not to fix it. But a second later, there's a beaming grin on Ian's bruised lips, and he's saying, "is that all it was?" and leaning in again.

---

When Mickey is nineteen, he has a boyfriend, and he says what's in his heart.

They’re alone in the Gallagher house, a rare enough occurrence already, and they’re tangled together in Ian’s tiny single bed. “Ian,” he whispers when they part for breath. “Ian,” he moans as that mouth trails down his neck and behind his ear, pressing kisses in its wake. “Ian,” he cries out as he clenches fingers in bright red hair, holding on for dear life as they rock together.

“Fuck, I love you Mick,” Ian murmurs against his heated skin, and Mickey stops still.

It takes a minute for Ian to catch on, another for him to pull back, eyes questioning and nervous. “Is that okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Mickey licks his lips, and tries the words out himself, like a dare. “You love me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Ian’s own.

Nothing happens.

There’s no shift in the air around them, no new goosebumps beyond the ones Ian caused himself. There’s no weight in Mickey’s chest trying to get out.

There’s just Ian.

Ian, with his copper hair shining in the light from the window. Ian, surrounding him in the scent of strawberrie shampoo and sweat and cheap cologne from the corner store that he only wore when they were together. Ian, who was watching hi, waiting, biting his red bottom lip and trying not to move.

Mickey laughs, and pulls him closer, kissing him again, feeling Ian smile with relief against his lips. “You fucking love me,” he repeats, just because he can. The words can’t change something that’s already true. “I fucking love you too,” Mickey says.

And he does.

#daily speedwrite #<-still calling it tgat even though it took forever #because if it wasn't I'd completely redo it before sharing #gallavich #fanfic #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #fantasy au #fic request #i just got home I'm so tired😭#I hope it's vaguely coherent #tw:domestic abuse

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sirensmojo · 3 years

Text

"Oh! To remember!" - Hubby!Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Big fluff.

gifs from @thomasfckinshelby {here is the post}

Summary: You make Tommy a surprise by taking him to the countryside. It brings back memories of the two teenagers you used to be before the war happened.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I just want him to be happy, seriously + POLLY BEING A GRANDMOTHER???? Our Queen.

PS: I know I talked to you about a carpets story, it IS coming don't worry!

*Masterlist*

It was early in the morning when the rays of the sun fondled your face, making you open your eyes. Tommy was already up, putting on his tie and you almost jumped from bed to take it from his hands.

As you were still a bit dizzy from how early it was and how fast you got up, you stumbled on the carpet, but his rough hands caught your waist as a giggle escaped your lips.

His brows were raised, "So early in the morning, you got some' to do today, eh?" You could hear mockery in his tone and you hit his chest with the palm of one of your hands as the other was pulling on his undone tie.

As he leant forwards towards you, you teased his lips with the tip of your nose and finally gave him your lips after hearing a groan from his throat.

He perfectly knew what was happening today, you drew a black star a week from now in his agenda.

"Y/N!" Tommy called, and his desk lady pleaded with her eyes to not let her deal with him.

it wasn't as if he was a bad guy, no, he just appeared to be as cold as ice and as distant as he could be.

You were about to ignore his call along with the staring secretary but you saw her lips moving without any sound getting out "Please."

Okay, this time you will not let her be any more terrified by your husband.

It was a little game for you, to never fully talk to him, just like he did. Even though he had reasons not to talk so much and you didn't. You used to leave him pieces of evidence here and there so he would understand what you were up to.

No need to say that whenever you would sneak into his office to put a black star on his agenda, it was to his secretary he would later ask questions, and as she was oh so scared, she wouldn't give satisfying answers which made him become even more cold and distant.

You weren't working anywhere but staying Home all day long waiting for him to get back wasn't on the schedule. What you loved to do most was to organise all types of dinners and parties.

Tommy was most of the time tired but he never missed one, as he knew it was important for you.

Only, whenever he thought the party should be over, he would come closer to you and gently press his lips on your forehead, his fingers diving into your mane.

And just like that, you understood it was time to lead the people out of the mansion, so you could take care of your Shelby.

You closed the door in front of you, rolling your eyes to yourself and joined his office. Your head peeked through the door and you cleared your throat, leading Timmy to lift his gaze to you.

He patted the page, "Why is there a black star on Thursday?"

"Come 'ere" you answered, your index indicating to Tommy to come near you.

He got up without hesitation and walked towards you, making you enter his office completely and close the door behind you.

The connexion between you had always been more than mental or physical, it was a mix of both with something else, something you could never fully get, but you just knew of its presence.

Maybe it was your beings that were combining together, you were him and he was you.

Or was he more you than yourself?

Your back was flat on the door when you felt his hands on your hips. A smile instantly grew on your lips as his blue icy iris were staring into your soul that was hidden behind your iris.

A grumpy "Hm" escaped his lips as your foreheads touched. He closed his eyes for a second, the smell of your perfume filling his nostrils. He was elsewhere, in a dimension where only you and he existed. Somewhere he was safe and relieved of any pressure.

"A surprise, Tommy." You muttered only inches away from his lips.

His eyes opened softly and he raised a hand to your face, cupping one of your cheeks. You were staring at him as his thumb moved to rub your lips softly.

Nothing needed to be said in those moments, what your eyes were saying was more than enough. You understood him, and he understood you, it has been like that for so long, but the love bonding you never extinguished, and you couldn't imagine that someday it would.

"You'll just have to bring yourself, I'll take care of the rest. Only you and me." You pointed towards him, then towards you before flattening your hand on his shoulders in a tender way.

"Don't come back too late, huh?" You raised a brow as you tied his tie around his neck.

"If the answer doesn’t please you I’ll accidentally get choked. That’s the plan," He put his hand on yours to avoid you from even thinking of doing it.

You glared at him.

"I know your tricks now." He finished and you wanted to show him your tongue so badly, but you tried to stay solemn, your head high.

"I will not even comment on such calumny, Mr Shelby.”

You were so grateful he was still speaking to you fluently. He wasn’t like that with anyone but your children and you, which you found to be a blessing.

You knew he wasn’t living a life where he could be with his family as often as he would like and that his past deeply scarred him, but he almost was the same with you, still trying to joke and laugh even if his tone wasn’t following the movement, he tried. And that was all that mattered.

You had the love of your life and four beautiful children by your side, nothing would ever take that away from you. And even if you weren’t in business, by not trying to interfere, you were easing him more than you even knew.

(...)

“Beth! bring down your brothers and sisters, grandma Polly is here” You screamed toward the stairs as a maid brought the tea to the living room.

Polly looked at you with the type of stare only she, could give, ”you’re up to something, I can tell.”

You crossed your legs with a pleased smile, “Taking my Tommy to the countryside!” You said trying to remain calm, but she knew you too well.

“Well, I wonder why you’re not all over the place already, it’s not like you’re the good calm girl.” She smiled at you, “I’m sure he will be happy. But don’t think he’ll show ya.” She patted your knee with a side-eye look, her trembling voice filled with sarcasm.

You grabbed her hand and squeezed it, “I know how Aberama loves having our children.” You teased and she giggled. “It’s me taking care of all of them.”

“I knew it! He, too, is a child!” You exclaimed, raising your hands in the air.

“What boy of this family isn’t?” Polly raised her eyebrows before your youngest boy ran into her, followed by the entire team. They were squeezing their grandma in their arms as if she would be gone in a blink of an eye.

You laughed so hard seeing how they were all around Polly that couldn’t even hug them all.

Your heart was full of love at this moment.

Your eldest daughter came sitting on the armchair of the sofa where you were sitting, dropping her head on your shoulder.

“It is said Aberama and grandma will bring us with them on the road, is it true?” Your fourteen years old girl knew how to make a deal, she exchanged a look with Polly and straightened her head, looking right at you.

“Are you sure it’s Polly’s idea, it sounds more like you’re taking her as a hostage, Beth?”

“It’s called bargain! You always talk about grandma Pol being a gypsy queen, I want to see her world!” Beth’s high pitched tone resonated in the room, even the cat woke up from its nap to see what was happening.

“No need to put yourself in such condition, of course, you can all go with them. It’s your family.” You took your little girl in your arms, holding her close as fondling her long hair.

(...)

It was already 5 and you began to pace up and down before the carriage. It was your horse exhaling noisily that made you look up to him and caress his forehead while murmuring things to him. Basically telling him your day.

You didn’t realize but Tom had arrived, and a smile automatically drew on his lips when he saw you talking to your horse. It was as if he rewind the time and you were back to 1911 in your father’s stable with your long muddy dress and hay all over your mane.

He got close quickly and you startled when feeling his rough black gloves grabbing your elbow. “Shit, Tommy.”

He cleared his throat while looking at the horizon. A smile grew at the corner of your lips seeing how handsome he was, his hat on his head with his large black coat, a cigarette in between his lips. This handsome husband, father and gangster was all yours.

“Come up there! We’re going,” you pointed at the sitting place.

(...)

It has been half an hour since you departed from the Arrow House and the silence between you two was peaceful. You knew Tommy will never admit it, but he somehow took a liking to your parties and dinners, because he wasn’t forced to do anything, to be anything.

He could just be the man smoking cigarettes at the back of the room or the one drinking silently while sitting from the beginning of the event to its end. He could be alone, while not quite being alone.

You noticed he needed to be alone to think about his business, and as soon as he started to go walk alone in the woods at night, you started to organise garden parties.

Thomas didn’t need to be fully alone, he just needed people not to disturb him. And with such huge parties that was what you offered him. He didn’t need to sleep all night long outside now.

He could just sit at a table in the garden and smoke while sipping on his whiskey.

You finally stop the horse in a huge field, right under an imposing tree. It was probably a hundred years old, his trunk as solid as a rock, or maybe even stronger...

Tommy got up in the carriage, looking both sides to see if he knew the place before he got down, feet on earth.

You turned to him, a smile on your face, “Do you remember?” Your voice was low. He looked down at you, a curious gleam animating his blue iris.

“There!” you told him, pointing at the tree.

You saw in his expression he indeed remembered this place, and it was enough to warm your heart. You got up and joined the back of the carriage, taking the plates you had cooked for the occasion.

When you got back, his eyes directly went into yours, as if he had been searching for you. “Yes?” You raised a brow.

“It’s your family’s field.” His deep voice made you shiver, or maybe it was the cold spring breeze?

The old farm was still present not too far from where you were, but there were no animals left.

Your eyes lifted to him in an instant, his face was serene, his mind elsewhere, surely in the tone of memories of another time. Where all you used to worry about was the size of your stables once you’ll be married to Tom.

You served him a dish of his favourite food before handing it to him which he gladly took after sitting comfortably at the feet of the huge tree, his back against the tree.

“Don’t forget the bread.” You let out pointing to the bag next to him.

You finally sit down next to him and lift your gaze to the branch of the tree. The wind was present, but not in an annoying way, in a reassuring way. It was as if he was the one singing memories of before the War to both of you.

You raised your hand to the sky and it quickly got reached by Tommy’s that rubbed his thumb onto your skin.

You authorized yourself to dive into his eyes only to find your Tommy. The same one that was seated under the same three years and years ago. The Tommy that always used to make jokes, the one that asked your father for your hand, the one that always helped your mother with her horses.

It was something you would never get tired of, horses. It was the one thing always keeping you close to the man he once was, not that you missed that man, but you cherished the fact you had such memories of him. He was so different now…

“Happy Birthday, Tommy.” You muttered outright while dropping the back of your head against his chest, looking at his face from under.

He inhales deeply before exhaling loudly. And it was you, that sealed your lips together, bearing your love to him.

#Hubby!Tommy shelby #husband tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders

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takuyakistall · 3 years

Text

romeo!

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Ace Trappola from the Trappola Kingdom, there was no doubt that he was a great man that was destined to achieve glory in a few years' time. But, there was one tiny problem. Being a prince from his own country meant that he needed to marry a lady from a prominent household. With much reluctance, he ended up choosing a princess from a neighbouring country—only to find out that the Prince of the Spade Kingdom has his eyes set on her as well. Is this... Competition?

Tags: Fem!Reader, Royalty AU, mentions of death, kidnapping, anything else you would find in a romance manhwa

Note: This piece is purely self indulgent and I plan on writing more for it! But I decided to share the first chapter here. There's no action yet so this is just some build-up.

Ace Trappola was never one to abide by the silly little rules of etiquette, he always thought that they were too nitpicky and stiff ever since he was a little boy. He thought that it was useless to keep up appearances for the sake of his reputation—until he experienced firsthand how cruel high society could be to a mere child who had made a single mistake. Of course, they would never dare to utter a single word in fear that their tongues would be cut off by his Highness, the king. But he would never ever forget the cold gazes that laid upon him as soon as he turned his back.

Which is why he donned a mask. He wore it all day and night as a child, hoping that it would be indestructible as he grew up but that brought him nothing but more of the empty and hollow feeling he hated. Despite already being so well-mannered, so educated, and so charming—he was nothing more than the second prince of the country who always seemed to be overshadowed by his older brother, the first prince. He was the definition of Ace's "perfect".

"Hey uncle," little Ace referred to his butler as such as he closed the storybook he was reading. A spark of curiosity sparkling in his eyes as he continued, "how do I become as amazing as my big brother?"

A childlike innocence could easily be tainted by those with such intentions—the old butler could easily plant the wrong ideas in his head and nurture the seeds of jealousy he planted within him. He stared at him for a second before letting out a sigh, strengthening his resolve when he saw Ace's eyes full of wonder.

"His Highness does not have to do anything, you are already a wonderful child just like your brother."

"Really!?"

"Of course, I wouldn't dare lie to you. If you continue to stay on the right path, I have no doubt that you will be as great as your brother in the future." He patted Ace's head, relieved that the second prince seemed to be satisfied with the answer.

"Yeah... I will!" He declared, staring right back at his butler with an uncontrollably big grin taking over his face.

That was the last time he saw that butler.

The palace staff told him he died because of heart failure during his day off. This devastated poor little Ace Trappola greatly—demanding to be allowed to attend his funeral but was stopped by his father, saying that there was no need for someone like him to attend a servant's funeral. The hand-picked white lilies Ace took that day in hopes of paying his respects, withered inside his room as he cried his heart out.

The next day, they had already found a replacement for his butler. Someone who was far younger than his previous one and was definitely less warm—he went by the name "Rowen" and insisted that the young prince should call him that. At first, Ace put up a fight as he tried to resist everything Rowen tried to do—even if it was just a menial task such as him trying to tie Ace's necktie for him.

But, nonetheless, Ace was still a child and children, more often than not, don't know how to deal with grief. You could easily spot him crying in places he shouldn't be yet no one had the heart to tell him that, even more when Rowen asked the palace staff specifically to not approach the prince if they ever spot him like that and instead, call for him immediately.

Stuck inside the garden, Ace was barely trying to keep his sobs in as he rubbed his eyes with his sleeves.

"I miss uncle…" He cried out, perhaps getting a little bit tired of how colder the palace seemed to be towards him. A pair of footsteps suddenly approached him, Ace quickly stood up and patted away all the dirt from his clothes so it seemed like he didn't cry but his swollen eyes were a dead giveaway.

"Your Highness, I was looking for you."

"Oh, Rowen. It's you…" A dejected look took over his face, was he expecting his old butler to appear? He silently crushed his hopes as he raised a question for his new companion.

"Can I ask you a question…?"

"Of course."

"D-Do you think I can still be as amazing as my big brother?" A few seconds of silence passed by as Rowen crossed his arms.

"Forgive me for my bluntness. However, at this rate, you will never amount to what your brother will be in the future."

"E-Eh? But uncle said that—"

"Your 'uncle' was foolish, perhaps that was why he died." Rowen crouched down, his green irises staring right into Ace's eyes—there was something in his eyes that Ace couldn't put a finger on but one thing is for sure, he thought Rowen was scary during this very moment.

"What you need right now is power," Rowen pressed a finger against his lips. "And that's exactly what I can give you."

"Power? Don't I already have plenty of that, I'm a prince!"

"What you need," he pushed Ace back with his index finger, "is enough power to take the throne."

"But big brother is the only one who can take that!" Ace shouted, trying to overpower the nonsense he was hearing from his new butler.

"Heed my words and I can make it happen." Rowen's lips tugged up into a small smirk before delivering his final words.

"After all, you want to be as great as your brother, the first prince."

Ace felt confused. He clutched his chest as he thought about his words—he did want to be as great as his brother but he couldn't help but be a little wary of what Rowen might ask of him. Ace had to slap himself back to reality, there was no reason for him to think about this so seriously! There was no way he could take the throne for himself and why would he even want to do that…? Isn't he happy the way he is right now?

Ace stepped out from the garden with Rowen following him shortly behind. He stared at the castle building, the maids and butlers working about, and a few noble visitors roaming around.

That was when a little devil's voice started whispering in his ear.

Deuce Spade had been anything but happy upon growing up inside the Royal Palace. Being the sole crown prince of the Spade Kingdom, his life never consisted of flowers and rainbows contrary to what many think. If you asked young Deuce himself about his position, he would simply give you a blank stare before properly processing your question. Once he does, he’ll give you a half-hearted smile before answering with: “It’s a duty I must fulfill.”

He’d never been too fond of the fact that his life was already planned ahead of him the moment the royal palace discovered his existence in his mother’s womb. He would undergo proper education fitting for the crown prince, he would be assigned with tasks that were meant for the crown prince, and he would soon rise to the throne once his father was no longer able to rule.

Rather than inheriting the throne, he yearned for something else. Being the heir to the throne meant that there was almost nothing he couldn’t obtain but he found himself dumbfounded when his elders aggressively denied him of his desire for the first time.

His desire to become a knight.

Deuce was said to be excellent with the art of the sword, easily surpassing other kids his age. But that was not the reason why Deuce had the desire to become a knight.

One of the first things they taught Deuce was the fact that he was in a dangerous position and that there might be cases wherein other people might make an attempt on his life. He thought that it was ridiculous because, after all, who would dare try to kill the crown prince? It would be treason!

And because of that, he was too lax.

One night, the prince got kidnapped and threw the whole palace in an uproar. Little Deuce could barely open his eyes when he tried assessing his surroundings, his eyes were blurry and he couldn’t move a muscle as no voice came out from his mouth. He was beyond terrified, he thought he was going to die that night. He pleaded inside his head, begging someone to come and find him. But for days, he was yet to be found.

He thought that perhaps the Royal Palace had decided to give up on him as he lost hope himself, his eyes growing dull and duller. He had to endure the harsh treatment given to him during his abduction, the only thing keeping him sane was the single ray of hope that someone was going to rescue him.

Just as he felt as if the thread was about to snap, he saw a cloaked man barge into the place where he was held hostage with a sword in hand. Ruthlessly, he cut down the perpetrators without so much as a blink. Deuce could only stare at the scene unfolding in front of him weakly. ‘Am I… being saved?’

It took him every ounce of his strength to stay conscious. And even more when he forced himself to ask the mysterious cloaked man. He wasn’t wearing anything that could discern his homeland, Deuce couldn’t figure out where he came from. His face was covered by the hood of the cloak, he couldn’t see his features very well. Deuce was afraid that there would be no way of him figuring out his identity before he passes out, so he forced a voice out of his throat.

“Who… are you?” His voice was hoarse. The man stayed silent, sheathing his sword before walking closer to the prince and unlocking the rope binding his hands together. Deuce could slowly feel himself losing consciousness but just before he could pass out, the man finally answered his question.

“...A knight.” He muttered.

The next time Deuce opened his eyes, he was no longer in a dark place but instead, in an unfamiliar yet extravagant room. He could tell that it was not the palace in his kingdom, he felt himself panic once again as he remembered the past events. When he heard a knock on his door, Deuce flinched as he hesitantly told them to come in.

A small girl around Deuce’s age entered the room with a plushie in her arms. He told himself to calm down upon seeing her, reassuring himself that the probability of this girl doing the same thing as the ones who kidnapped him were very low.

“Are you feeling better now, Your Highness?” She asked, concern lacing her voice. Deuce clutched his arm.

“Better than before… at least. But before that, who are you?” It was only normal for Deuce to become extremely wary considering what he just went through. The young girl understood that and merely gave him a small grin.

She introduced herself as the first princess of the kingdom he was residing in. Deuce was shocked, it wasn’t his own kingdom that found him but another! Did that mean that all this time he was in a foreign country? Was that the reason why no one had found him for days? Countless questions were swirling inside his head.

The princess was the only one who was let into his room, seeing as how Deuce was more comfortable seeing someone around his own age rather than adults. She was as clumsy as she was kind, Deuce found himself being comforted by her even if most of their meetings consisted of him being gloomy.

A few days later, an envoy was sent to Deuce’s kingdom to inform them that he was safe in their palace. During that period of time, Deuce was cooped up inside his room—thinking about a lot of stuff and refused to come out for hours. When it was time for him to go, he visited the princess one last time.

“Is it possible for me to visit you in the future?” Gratitude? Attraction? Personal interest? The reason behind his words was blurred.

When he returned home, he almost gave the whole Royal Court a heart attack when he declared that he wanted to become a knight. Nobody could tell what Deuce was thinking after he was abducted, it was as if he turned into an entirely different person. But he was thoroughly denied of his desire to become a knight, in which he was highly disappointed in. But, somehow, he found a way to secretly train without anyone finding out.

Using the princess as the shield, he went in and out of your kingdom to train under the pretense of meeting her. But she was more than happy to assist him as they became partners in crime. Deuce couldn’t forget the mysterious knight that saved him and so he idolized him ever since, saying how he wanted to be someone who protected people.

“Princess!” He called out, waving his hand as he grinned at her. This was the start of their relationship with each other. Only time can tell if this was to end happily ever after or otherwise.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst writing #fanfic #self indulgent takoyaki #twisted wonderland x reader #heartslabyul #twst deuce #deuce spade x reader #deuce x reader #deuce spade #twst ace #twisted wonderland ace #ace trappola #ace x reader #ace #fem!reader #chapter one so it's mostly. . . A backstory

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wiener-soldiers · 3 years

Text

so, you’re real - tommy shelby

summary: while high off his ass, tommy shelby is approached by a mysterious woman offering him something more valuable than drugs: information. your services become essential to how tommy conducts business, but your anonymity means he can’t help but fall in love with you from a distance.

words: 5.4k

pairing: tommy shelby x fem!reader (race non-specific)

warnings: tommy shelby. that’s the warning.

a/n: first tommy fic :D he’s one of the most beautifully complex characters ever in television imo but that also means his kinda nightmare to right. so,,, he might come off a little ooc because he’s very soft!tommy in this. i also wanna write a tommy fic based off ‘why’d you only call me when your high’ by arctic monkeys for obvious reasons.

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Tommy Shelby could count the number of people who’s seen him high as a kite on opium with three fingers. Arthur was the first; he drukenly stumbled into Tommy’s room instead of his own one night and the smell of the pipe sobered him enough to start asking questions. Tommy shoved him out and by the morning, Arthur was too hungover to remember a thing. The next was Polly; Tommy stumbled down the stairs as he was high around three in the morning once as he searched the house for more booze. Polly watched from a distance as he sat himself on the kitchen table and wept, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears with his hands. She chose not to mention it the following morning, but a perscription for morphine found its way to Tommy’s desk a few days later.

The third person... was you.

You didn’t know the Shelby’s personally. You were the assistant of a local Small Heath accountant that dealt with Birmingham’s most infamous clients: local coppers, factory owners, politicians, even gangsters. Your boss was known as the Devil’s Safe—nothing that came in went ot without the client’s consent.

But you weren’t a saint. Being so close to his office at all times and knowing far too much about where the most influential people in Birmingham got their money and where they spent it, it was nearly impossible to keep your mouth shut.

So, you didn’t. At a price, of course.

You quit your job and created a small network of spies that could feed you information about anyone or anything at anytime, using your knowledge about the Devil’s Safe as leverge. You charged whoever could afford for your services, coppers and criminals alike. Some self-righteous copper tried to shut you down once. Keyword: tried. There were too many spies all over the city to try to arrest (that is, if he could find grounds to arrest them), and you were too important to too many important people that arresting you would likely have him assasinated.

That, and you tipped him off about a corrupt police captain who had been trading orphans for cash. It got him a promotion and you a protective shield over your dealings from the coppers.

Tommy first met you at the races. You were hanging off the arm of Roberts, Billy Kimber’s advisor, and he briefly caught your eye before returning his gaze to Grace who stared at him lovingly. He didn’t know it then, but you were analyzing him. His posture, his facial expressions, how he spoke to Kimber, and most importantly, his books that Roberts happened to have a copy of. Nothing went unnoticed by you. The Shelby’s were starting to cause ruckus all over the city and you were interested. But, to maintain your facade, you snuck a few kisses to Roberts’ neck to distract him from your snooping.

When Tommy returned to the table with the bag of cash his brothers had collected from the Lees, you were gone.

---

The second time he sees you, he isn’t even sure if it’s you.

It’s late at night as he approaches The Garrison when he notices Polly standing with another figure in the alley. He slows his steps and silences his breathing, trying to catch the end of your conversation.

“You’re sure this is where she is?” That’s unmistakingly Polly’s voice.

A soft chuckle rips through the air and Tommy suddenly wonders what your voice sound like. “There’s only so many women carrying a newborn and looking that terrified of what may be behind her,” the other voice says. It’s not soft or angelic, Tommy notices. Nothing likes Grace’s. It’s deeper, smoother, and he can almost hear the smirk in her voice.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Polly asks back skeptically. Tommy has the common sense to realize she’s talking about Ada who had gone into hiding after Freddie was arrested. Polly hadn’t been able to stay in the same room as him for very long since.

You pull out another envelope from your coat and teasingly dangle it in front of her. “Here’s the list of all of Ada and Freddie’s known addresses. The Communists have them move every few weeks; the address I gave you is Ada’s current address. Go there tomorrow from seven to nine in the morning. Ada’ll still be in bed and Karl will still be asleep. Then, you’ll know I’m right, you’ll give me the full payment, and I’ll give you the rest of the addresses.”

Tommy is slightly stunned at what he’s hearing. They had been trying to look for Ada for nearly two weeks to no avail, but this woman was able to find her that easily?

The woman turns to walk away before Polly can respond and in the street light, Tommy can make out the outline of your face. It was so brief that he couldn’t tell if you were actually there or if he imagined your face in the darkness.

Polly doesn’t notice him as she makes her way back inside the pub. The following afternoon, Polly is pounding on his office door saying she’s found where Ada had been hiding.

---

The third time he sees you, he’s sitting in the empty Garrison with a bullet wound in his shoulder, whiskey coursing through his veins, enough meloncholy and anger to swim in, and a broken heart.

Billy Kimber was dead. Campbell was gone. But, so was Grace.

It was a series of emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time: relief, then anger, then happiness, then frustration. Then the shovels started. Then, it all got too loud and he slipped his opium pipe into his coat pocket before going to The Garrison to drink his sorrows away. He had never taken the pipe out of his room before. In that state, he didn’t care.

He doesn’t really know how you got in; he had angrily yelled at everyone to leave the bar when the night was late enough for him to feel emotion and locked the door behind him. Maybe I didn’t lock the door right, he thinks. In reality, you had picked the lock.

“I could’ve told you she’d been working with him,” your voice calls behind him. He’s still hunched over his drink, the pipe lying next to a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. He didn’t need her to clarify who she was talking about.

“You could’ve, eh?” Tommy mumbles dangerously. He felt light, but his eyes and his heart felt heavy. He hated the feeling. Oh god, he hated it.

“Hmm,” you hum back, taking a seat next to him. You reach behind the bar and pull out a bottle of gin and poor yourself a drink. Tommy watches you do so. You don’t look like you pity him, in fact, you don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus your attention on the drink.

After taking a sip, you reach into your coat jacket and pull out an envelope, slidding it over to Tommy. You had clearly seen the opium pipe that still had smoke coming out of it, but you gently pushed it out of the way so the envelope rested in front of Tommy’s drink.

“What is this?” he asks, still too high to think straight.

“Consider it a resume,” you quip back, taking another sip of your drink as you study the collection of liquor and spirits on the back shelf of the bar.

“For what?”

“My services.”

“You a fuckin’ whore? You think that’s what I need right now, eh?”

“What I think you need right now, Mr. Shelby, is a sense of security. To be ahead of the enemy. I can give that to you,” you reply smoothly, barely flinching. Tommy notices your voice doesn’t falter even at his jab. He begins to sober up, finaling looking at you.

You had an air of mystery and intrigue. Your eyes looked all-knowing and the corner of your lip was quirked. A white blouse was tucked into a deep red skirt with your black wool jacket overtop of it all. If he was a different man, he surely would have taken you home.

“Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.

You look back at him, the smirk on your lips growing. “Because I quite like your family. Polly is quite intelligent and Ada is a delight. I also know far too much about you, so it’d be a shame if someone paid be good money to tell them everything there is to know about you. But if you came to me first, there wouldn’t be much of an issue. The rate for ratting out one of my clients is ridiculously high.”

So, it had been you with Polly that night, he thinks. “You’d work for me?” he asks again, tone getting more serious. The last time a woman worked for him, it didn’t end particularly well.

You laugh and Tommy is momentarily stunned. It’s a beautiful laugh that appeared in an awful moment. “I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby.”

And then you left. Tommy stares a the door for a few minutes after you’ve left, wondering if he had imagined your visit the whole time. When he turns back to his drink, the envelope you left behind is a sign that you had been real. He hesitantly opens it and his jaw unhinges at the contents inside: there were several documents, reports, and even pictures tying Grace Burgess and Inspector Campbell together. It seemed so plain and simple once it was laid out in front of him.

Under the flap of the envelope was an address as well as a rate of service. It was high, Tommy couldn’t deny it, but he also couldn’t deny how the pressure on his chest eased for a moment when he was with you. Even more so when you had left the address.

The next morning, a wad of cash from Shelby Company Limited shows up at one of your drop locations. It’s more than you asked for and quicker than you expected it to come. You smirk softly and get to work.

---

Tommy doesn’t see you again until he pays a visit to Sabini’s club a few years later as he works on his London expansion. He had been a client of yours for nearly two years now and he was continuosly impressed with your work. You literally had eyes everywhere; there wasn’t a place between Manchester and Brighton that you couldn’t get to. You had been the one feeding him inside information about Sabini’s operations in London, as well as how to get Alfie Solomon’s attention.

Despite all this work, he hasn’t seen you since you approached him when he was high in the empty pub. He gets all his information through courriers, telephone calls from messengers, and packages from drop locations all over the city. He asked a courrier once why he hasn’t seen you since.

“No one really sees her, sir. We just get orders in one way or another, we excecute them, and then money shows up. She doesn’t want anyone to tie her to her clients or the boots on the ground.”

“She’s clever.”

“She’s bloody brilliant, is what she is. She’s set up this system so bloody tight that no one really knows how it works except her. One lad up in Coventry tried to turn her in. Went missing a few days later.”

He doesn’t think about you often, but when he does, he’s reminded of that night in The Garrison; how mysterious and beautiful and dangerous you looked, how his chest seemed less tight with you around. Maybe he’s imagined it. Maybe it was the opium clouding his vision. So, he pushes those thoughts away because as far as he’s concerned, you’re an enigma. Hell, he doesn’t even know your name and he’s been paying you big money and giving away too much of his plans.

But he sees you that night when he and his brothers storm Sabini’s club. You’re sitting on a fancy velvet lounging chair, tucked under the arm of what Tommy assumes is a wealthy banker or socialite. You don’t see him (not yet, at least) but Tommy sees you. All Tommy sees is you. The smoke that flows out of your nostrils as your lips curl at whatever attempt at humour then man with you made draws Tommy in. So does the cut of your deep blue, satin dress. He knows it then, that you’re real. That you’re not a figment of his imagination.

“This place is something else, innit?” Arthur remarks as they make their way deeper and deeper into the club. Tommy is still drawn to you as his brothers gawk at the permiscuous behaviour around them.

The party atmosphere doesn’t last long however, as the boys make a show out of trashing the place. Tommy makes sure to put on a performance, to play up the fear. When he shouts something along the lines of being on a holiday, he happens to catch your eye and the first thing he notices is the smirk playing on your lips. He’s first confused as to why but he understands: you had a large part of the London expansion and you also likely knew that Tommy was going to be there that night. You weren’t there with a man. You were there to see him. You were there to see his reckoning.

The image of you tattooed itself onto Tommy’s brain and the feeling he felt in his chest was something he craved to feel again.

---

The next morning, the brothers stumble into Ada’s home, uninvited. Their younger sister begrudgingly lets them in, still clad in her nightgown, and hastily tells them to keep their noise level down as Karl was still sleeping.

It doesn’t last very long.

“You shoulda seen their bloody faces, Ades!” John hollers, mouth full of biscuits and tea. Ada hisses at him for spewing food across the table.

“Didn’t know what was coming, the lot of them,” Arthur adds, already taking a sip from a flask. He was barely sober from the night before and it wasn’t even eight in the morning. “Fuckin’ Sabini, Ada. He won’t know what’s bloody comin’.”

“Sabini, eh?” Ada plays along, still slightly annoyed but now intriguied. “You didn’t happen to hit up his club last night, did you?”

“’Course we did!” John snickers. “What’d you think we’d do, start small?”

Ada’s facial expression suddenly changes into one of slightly more concern. Arthur and John don’t notice, but Tommy does. “I was hopin’ you would,” Ada plays it off but Tommy notices.

“Ada?” he asks, voice stern but eyes curious. His sister was intelligent, so much so that her mouth was as good at getting her out of trouble as it was getting her in it. Tommy was sure that there was more than what she let on.

“Tom?” Ada says back, not meeting his gaze and instead taking a bite out her toast and jam.

“Why’re you so hung up on Sabini’s club?” Tommy asks directly, slowly getting tired of his sister’s semantics. He mommentarily understands how Polly feels when he keeps things from her.

Ada sighs, having also attracted attention from her two other brothers. She sets down her toast and looks directly at Tommy. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

“Saw who?” Arthur asks, booming voice too loud for the sudden change of tone in the room. Ada grimaces but still stares at Tommy.

Tommy knows exactly who she’s talking about. But he wonders how Ada does.

“I did,” he says simply.

“Who’re you talkin’ about?” John asks next, looking between his siblings. Arthur shrugs at him.

“Did you say anything to her?”

“No.”

“Good,” Ada says too quickly. Tommy narrows his eyes at her.

“For God’s sake!” Arthur says again, slamming his tea cup back down onto the table. “Who in the bloody hell are you talkin’ about?”

Ada rolls her eyes and continues eating and Tommy is left to stare at his brothers. He wants to answer. He wants to answer so badly. But he doens’t even know her name.

“I—” Tommy trails off. He’s rarely rendered speechless, but he is when it comes to you. Who were you? Why did Ada know you? Why can’t he get you out of his head? Why does he hope you’re standing there in the shadows every time he steps out on the street?

“You? You what, Tom?” John asks this time, equally as exasperated.

“He doesn’t know and it should stay that way,” Ada says simply. “She offers you a service, you pay her, end of transaction. Stay away from her Tommy, I mean it.”

“What service?” John asks again, still getting more questions than answers.

Tommy sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “After Grace, she offered me a service. Cash in exchange for information. Said she knew that I needed a sense of security.” She was right, Tommy thinks but doesn’t dare say.

“Information about what, exactly?” Arthur asks, voice dropping an octave as he leans forward.

“Everything. Anything and everything. She knows everything. I don’t have the slightest clue how,” Tommy answers honestly, his own disbelief being obvious for the first time.

“She can betray us...” John warns, skeptical especially after Grace.

“She won’t,” Ada says simply.

“How do you know?” John challenges.

“She won’t,” Ada reaffirms with a glint in her eye. John immediatley backs down. Ada doens’t trust easily, especially after Freddie.

Tommy believes her. You know too much, far too much. More than he or you had bargained for. You also gave too much. Tommy asked for one thing, you gave him what he wanted and more. Tommy wanted a brief description of the shipping business in Bristol, you gave him an itemized list. Tommy asked you to keep an eye out for any potential threats, you gave him incredibly precise weekly reports. He asked people what your service was like as if he didn’t already know himself: you were never this thorough. He knew you wouldn’t betray him because you would have done it already. The question is, why did Ada trust her?

“You know who she is, don’t you?” Tommy asks his sister once again, doing his best to intimidate her. It’s no use.

“I do,” Ada says simply.

“Even her name?”

John scoffs. “You don’t even know her bloody name and you’ve got that look like you’re in love? Jesus, Tom! You need a good fuckin’, I’m telling you.”

Ada ignores her brother’s comment. “Even her name.”

Tommy gestures for her to elaborate and Ada hesitantly continues, “Polly paid her to find me after Karl was born. She found me personally, not through a messenger. We got along quite well, she was very honest about what she’d been hired to do. She gave Polly that information she was looking for, but we kept in touch. Personally, I mean. I like her.”

“Tell me her name, Ada.”

Ada makes a face of fake appeasement. “Can’t do that, sorry Tom.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches. “Ada...” he warns.

Ada’s glare mathces his own. “Her identity is all she’s got Tommy. The minute a client knows who she is, it all falls apart. For the love of God, for your safety and hers, don’t find her.”

And hell, does Tommy want not to listen. He wants to find you again. To see you. To speak to you. To learn your name. To feel the weight in his chest lighten once more.

But you remained impossible to find. Even with his London expansion, he wasn’t any closer to finding out who you really were than the day you first spoke to him at The Garrison.

So, he tried to push his thoughts away. He didn’t get so lucky.

---

He was used to receiving messages from you on Sunday evenings before the week began and Thursday mornings before the week ended. Sometimes, they’d be in the form of a phone call from a messnger reading a message written by you. Other times, he would visit a drop site where he picked up parcels of information and evidence you had collected. Fridays were paydays, so he’d get a Blinder to drop a parcel of cash (though they never knew it was cash) at a drop site and wait for a courrier with a blue ribbon pinned under the lapel of their overcoat to retrieve it.

All your foot solidiers and clients wore the ribbons. You avoided paper trails so everything was with symbols. Ribbon colours were a discrete way for both the client and the courrier to tell who was who. Clients wore white ribbons, courriers wore blue ones, messengers wore green ones, and red ones were used for emergencies.

That’s why Tommy panicked when a man burst into his office late at night the day before he was set to take down Sabini, urgently lifting his lapel to show his red ribbon.

“What’s happened? Are we in danger?” Tommy asks immediatley, standing up from his chair.

“No, sir,” the foot soldier said. They were never allowed to say the names of clients, only sir and ma’am. “I have a message from her. It was urgent and couldn’t have waited until Thursday.”

The man gives him a sealed envelope before bowing and leaving as quickly as he came. Tommy checks to make sure that he is alone before ripping it open. It wasn’t a message, but a phone number and the word clairvoyant scribbled quickly with fancy ink.

Tommy furrows his eyebrows but picks up his phone and dials the operator. The other end picks up immediately. He hastily says the number he wants to be patched through to as well as the word scribbled below it. The operator says nothing else and he hears the phone ring again before a female voice finally picks up.

“Mr. Shelby, I was waiting for your call.”

It was you. Tommy’s heartbeat quickens. You continue to speak, oblivious to his shock, “I don’t make calls myself unless absolutely neccassary. You don’t need to worry about privacy; I have connections with the operating center that patched you through. They won’t say a word to anyone, telling them that you called and they won’t be listening.”

Truthfully, Tommy hadn’t even been thinking of that. He was still slightly shocked that he was hearing your voice, the same voice as nealry three years ago. The opium fucked with a lot of things, but not his sense perception. Your voice was as beautiful as he remembered it to be.

He forces the thoughts out of his head and finally speaks. “What’s happened? Is there an emergency?”

“You aren’t safe at the races tomorrow. There will be an attempt on your life.”

Tommy is not entirely surprised. “I’m sure you can put two and two together; what I plan to do at the races is practically a suicide mission, dear. Of course there’ll be an attempt on my life.”

You scoff at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll rephrase: you may succeed in your plan tomorrow, but something will catch you off-guard. Something big.”

“What is it, then? If you’re so sure,” Tommy challenges, but is taken aback by the silence.

You sigh, defeated at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll be honest. An Inspector Campbell approached me this morning, asking for my services to give him everything I knew about you plans tomorrow. I took his money.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches. “You called me to tell me you’re a fuckin’ conspirator against me now, eh?”

“I resent that. There’s a reason I ask you not to tell me anything about your business aside from what I need to know to do my job,” you snap back. “Campbell gave me money to tell him information I didn’t have. So, I took the money and told him lies. He didn’t pay enough money to turn me against one of clients anyway and I don’t negotiate.”

Tommy laughs in slight disbelief, “You clever bloody woman.”

You can’t help but grin at the other end of the line. “He let it slip that he had something planned, though. That you weren’t getting out of this alive. Thomas, I don’t know what and I don’t have enough time to find out, but you needed to know,” you say before soflty adding, “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell you.”

Tommy nods solemnly before saying, “That’s the first time you’ve called me Thomas.”

You laugh and Tommy’s heart clenches at the sound. “Is that what you choose to focus on?” you ask, amused despite your worry.

“I’m not afraid of death. Not anymore,” Tommy answers.

“It’s a shame. There seems to be a lot in your life that’s worth living for,” you reply, your voice softer that Tommy’s ever heard it.

“Will you do me one final favour? Take it as my dying wish.”

“Thomas—” you start before he cuts you off.

“Can you tell me your name?” he finally asks, but he’s met with silence. He clears his throat and adds, “Please?”

You sigh at the other end. This is not how you were supposed to conduct business. Anonymity was the only thing keeping you from being excecuted at the hands of the Crown or a crime-boss. But here the feared Thomas Shelby was, asking as his dying wish to know your name. You don’t know him aside from your brief interactions and stories from Ada. But strangely, you trust him with the key keeping your identity safe.

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N.”

---

The following evening, Tommy trudges home covered in mud and blood. His encounter with the face of death was anticipated, but still left him scarred. Despite his success against the races and against Sabini, he felt trapped. With a success in the business, he still finds himself indebted to Winston Churchill. He’s exhaused of this cycle and in the moment, he embraced his fate just a little.

As he pushed the door to his home open, his eyes are immediately drawn to crackling fire. He hadn’t expected anyone to be home, as the family was staying in London with Ada to celebrate their successes.

So the sight of you, sitting on his couch and staring into the fire shocked the life back through him.

He takes of his hat and stares at you in slight disbelief. “So, you’re real.”

You turn to face him and the tension previously present in your features fell and the corner of your lip quirked upwards. “You’re alive,” you state the obvious.

“The Devil’s tried too many time to kill me, I’m starting to wonder if God does exist,” he says plainly, taking off his coat and taking a seat on the other end of the couch from you.

A small laugh escapes you. “He has jokes, does he?”

Tommy smiles softly but shakes his head and stares at you. “You’re really real. I was starting to think I was imagin’ ya.”

“Ada says you’ve been asking about me.”

“I have. She wouldn’t tell me your name, though.”

“You got it anyway.”

“Who’s to deny a man his dying wish?” Tommy darkly jokes again.

“I can’t go back to operating how things were. Even you knowing my name is too much,” you say softly, turning back to the fire. You were slightly frustrated with yourself. Years and years of building a network built around your anonymity destroyed by one man. Deep down, you felt that it was time.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tommy says simply.

“But you’d want to be in my life,” you say back, still not looking away from the fire. “I’m a woman, but I’m not stupid. I know why you tried to look for me.”

Tommy sits back and watches her. A woman’s never been more direct with him before. Even Grace, who had just asked him to lay with her one final time before moving back to America at the races, had never laid out what she saw so simply and bluntly before. She was right. Tommy wouldn’t tell anyone your name if you asked him to, but he would still want to see you. The only thing more painful than not knowing who you were was knowing and still not being able to see you.

“You could start again,” Tommy says. He barely recongizes the softness in his own tone, but he decides the change is good. “You could work for me, have your men join the Blinders if they wanted.”

“I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby,” you say again cheekily, reminding him of the first time the two of you spoke. You turn to face him and stop to admire his beauty—how the fire cast beautiful shadows across his face, how the moonlight sparkled in his eyes.

“That you don’t,” Tommy hums in agreement, still looking at you. His gaze hadn’t left you since he came home.

It’s silent for a few moments before Tommy says, “Stay.”

“With you?” you ask in slight surprise.

“With me, in Small Heath, with the company—whatever you want. Just stay.”

“You barely know me.”

“Then let me get to know you, Y/N,” Tommy answers, finally saying your name for the first time. He loves the way it spills off his tongue and you equally adore the sound of his voice when he says it.

You nod softly, agreeing with his hearfealt proposition. The two of you spent the rest of the night staring into the fire, allowing your heartbeats and breaths come into sync as you slowly fell asleep.

---

It’s been five years since you had started working for Shelby Company Limited as Tommy’s senior advisor and security specialist, four years since your network of spies had merged with the Peaky Blinders, three years since you and Tommy got married, two years since you gave birth to a set of twins named Benjamin and Mae Shelby, and one year since you had also become a political advisor to your husband and his allies in Parliament.

With your years together, the Shelby family found you to be an intriguing, fascinating, and intimidatingly wonderful woman. They couldn’t comprehend how right you seemed with Tommy. They also couldn’t comprehend how involved you were in their success without them even knowing who you were. However, they love to poke fun at Tommy for basically falling in love with from two interactions.

You were currently at the Arrow House doing the final touch-ups to your makeup for the gala you were hosting in your home. It was a typical charity ball that made sleezy politicians look good in the eyes of their constituants, but you had pressured Tommy to allow you to host it on behalf of the Shelby Family Institute. He had been skeptical, but relented when you reminded him that it wasn’t about giving them a platform to look good, but using their ego to benefit the institute.

“I’ve put the children to bed,” Polly announces as she walks into the master bedroom. The room is obscenely large with a king sized bed in the middle, but Polly can’t help but feel pride every time she visits. It was the both of your hardwork that you got you here and she was proud. “Ben passed out almost immediatley, but you’re right about Mae. She’s a trouble maker.”

You give Polly a smile through the mirror of the vanity you sat in front of, “Thank you, Pol. Really.”

“Where’s that bastard husband of yours?” Polly jokes as she stands behind you, inspecting her pearls in the mirror.

“His study, no doubt,” you joke with a slight smirk.

“The faith the two of you have in my is astounding,” Tommy says sarcastically, immerging through the en-suite dressed in his tuxedo.

Polly rolls her eyes and leaves the room, leaving the couple to stare at each other.

“You clean up well, Mr. Shelby,” you state, smiling as he approaches you. “Though I’m not sure if that’s because of you or your OBE.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if I should have continued loving you at a distance,” he comments humourously.

You laugh—a real laugh—and wrap your hands around his neck while his arms immediately find themselves around your waist.

“How’re you feeling, darling?” Tommy asks, referring to the mental and emotional preparation for the event that was about to start downstairs.

“I’m not the biggest fan of a lot of your colleagues, Tom,” you say honestly. “Their wives however...they give me thousands of pounds worth of information every sentence.”

“You never cease to amaze me with that mind of yours,” he tells you honestly.

“And you never cease to amaze me with how verbally affectionate you can be,” you quip back lightheartedly before Tommy softly kisses your lips.

“How ‘bout this?” he says once you pull away. “I take care of getting donations, you take care of getting more leverage on the labour bill I’m looking to pass.”

“Done,” you say with a smile before Tommy kisses you again. You begin to hear cars pull into the driveway when you try to pull away, but he keeps you close.

“Tom,” you giggle, breathless. “Tom, the guests are arriving.”

“I’ve waited for you for years, they can wait for you a little while longer,” he replies with a smirk before kissing you deeply once again.

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