What People Think Is Hard About Writing: Describing The Joy, Love, Beauty, Grief, Loss And Hope That

COMPLIMENT IDEAS #2

Here’s some more compliment based dialogue to use in your writing: 

“I love that color on you”

“You make me feel at home”

“I’ve never seen eyes the same color as yours”

“You look so cute when you laugh”

“Has anyone ever told you you have really nice hands?”

“I’m not going if you’re not going, it wouldn’t be fun without you”

“How is your skin always so soft?”

“Whoa I didn’t know you could sing”

“You have a great sense of humor”

“I thought you said you can’t dance?”

“I appreciate you”

“Your breath smells really good”

“I’m so lucky to have you”

“You always have great ideas”

“I trust your opinion”

“I would never doubt you”

“You’re so clever”

“I’m rooting for you”

“You always know exactly what to say”

“I feel like I’ve known you forever”

the first time you kiss them ft. cyno, tighnari

wc: 454

modern au?? little snippets of kissing and a confession. no warnings just fluff. i’ll write another one like this but with nilou and al haitham!

m.list , pt.2 (ft. al-haitham and nilou)

cyno

you almost feel you’ve waited too long for this. for the electrifying feel of his lips against yours, his mouth moving in sync with your own. he pulls away as soon as he comes to his senses, his eyes wide and his eyebrows furrowed, much alike your own expression. your cheeks are awfully hot, you think absentmindedly as you stare into his vermillion irises. they are so extraordinarily warm, in a mind numbing way, dulling your senses and your reason along with them. you could stare at them forever, if only it meant you could keep this thrilling ecstasy within you.

the spark in you had blown into a wildfire, and it’s flames had scorched you. your burnt lips could only think to utter one thing, with your heart beating wildly in your chest and a heaviness in your throat threatening you .

“i like you. i really, really like you.”

he stares back at you. it’s endearing, almost, the way he seems to almost be suppressing the wide, pearly smile that stretches across his face before it erupts, and he no longer withholds it. he looks awfully sweet this way, and you hope to see it more often.

“shit,” he laughs lightly. “i thought you’d keep me waiting forever.”

tighnari

of all the things you’ve seen, you think what’s in front of you right now might be the most beautiful of them. he’s smiling. a big, joyous grin as he stares ahead at the display of colorful lights flashing on the stage. they reach the two of you, even in the far, sparse corner you found yourselves in.

they reflect on him, on his hair, on his skin, but what stands out most to you is the way they make his eyes glimmer. his eyes shine with excitement and hope and all the good things you could possibly think of. with the way he’s looking, you’d think he was on top of the world.

without even realizing it, you call out his name. “tighnari.” the word leaves your lips gently, blending in with the sound of loud music, but he still hears your voice as clear as a bell.

he turns to you, his eyebrows raised and his lips parted just a fraction.

your hand meets his cheek softly, and he wills you, tempts you, without even saying anything. you meet each other in the middle, and the kiss you share is far better than the one you’d imagined with toothy grins and kicking feet as you’d excitedly message him in the late hours of the night.

you pull away with your eyes averted (but they find his again anyway). he stares at you, before he tentatively presses his lips to yours again, and you taste sweetness once more.

i’d love it if you commented or rb! p.s my suggestions are open but read my post on it first!

。MAYBE IT'S INTUITION (BUT SOME THINGS YOU JUST DON'T QUESTION)

━━ INCLUDES: ayato, gorou, heizou, itto, kazuha, scaramouche, thoma

━━ SUMMARY: sometimes it's a "eureka!" moment but sometimes, all you need is a little mundanity before realizing that your heart has been begging to love a certain someone for the longest time.

━━ CONTAINS: brief mentions of violence, reader is kidnapped to get under ayato's skin

━━ NOTES: posting new content? it's more likely than you think...

。 AYATO — “ cypressus custos | warden of the cypress forest ”

He knew he loved you when his carefully crafted façade melted under the fire that raged in his blood. His ever-present smile faltered as the paper he was holding crumpled at the intensity of his grip. The Commissioner of the Yashiro Commission knew very well the responsibilities and expectations that rest on his shoulders but as the dreadful report reached his ears, Kamisato Ayato found it easy to postpone his duties, rushing out into the field where you laid captured by his enemies. Very few would think it wise to play with the young man’s patience, knowing that the still waters could easily crash and break the bones of those who tried their luck against the waves but it appears that some people have yet to learn their lesson: he does not take lightly those who dared take from him, especially when it is someone particularly close to his heart.

。 GOROU — “ canis bellatoris | warrior's dog ”

He knew he loved you when a nightmare left him panting and disturbed and the first thing that came into his mind was making sure that you were safe. The logical part of his mind argued that no harm can ever befall you under the blanket of safety the Watatsumi Island offers you but the pounding anxiety in his being remained undeterred nonetheless. He found it unbecoming that a mighty General of the Army was now speeding through the quiet dirt paths of the village in his patterned nightwear but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Though ridicule from his peers may await him the next morning, all he could think about at the present was the dread that stems from the lack of your presence in his world.

。 HEIZOU — “ cervus minor | lesser deer ”

He knew he loved you when he hid the truth of his whereabouts from you with ease. Your birthday was fast approaching and while it pained him to do so, the esteemed Doushin of the Tenryou Commission smiled apologetically as he turned down your recent offer to have dinner together. He’d love nothing more, really, and any prior commitments, as long as they were not work-related, had always mattered less than short rendezvouses with you. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to miss the appointment he had with a glass blower whom he had commissioned to make your gift. What could he say? Some things are more important than the truth and the unadulterated glee that would soon cross your face was one of those few things.

。 ITTO — “ taurus iracundus | raging bull ”

He knew he loved you when his gang brought you up to fluster him into losing another match in TCG. Rather than being angry at their lowly methods to steal the victory from Arataki “The Ultimate TCG Champion” Itto, he only giggled before falling into a tangent about how “absolutely perfect you are and he’s a hundred and ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine, nine, nine percent sure that you’re the one for him because of course, the most stunning person in Teyvat should be with the handsomest, most friggin’ cool and awesome oni out there duh-“ His gang could only sigh before placing down their cards and mumbling lackluster “mhms” and “uh-huhs.” They know better than anyone that their boss man has so much pride for those he loves and when he starts talking about those he’s proud of? There’s no shutting him up until you or Shinobu take pity and decide to work your magic.

。 KAZUHA — “ acer palmatum | palmate maple ”

He knew he loved you when one cool autumn night, he found himself feeling lonely as he wandered about the mountain peaks of Liyue. The Crux fleet was stocking up on resources at the nearby harbor for their next venture in the seas and while that alone filled him with a sense of excitement, a lingering echo in the deepest crevices of his heart resounded loud and clear. An itch — or rather, a sincere longing that can only be satiated by catching a mere glimpse of your visage. Very rarely can you find the young heir of the Kaedehara clan resisting the direction of the wind but for the first time in a while, Kazuha was eager to come home. Alas, he'd probably only disappoint with how little tales he would be able to share with you so for now, he supposed he could busy himself with finding the perfect flower to press into a bookmark for you.

。 SCARAMOUCHE — “ kunikuzushi | country destroyer ”

He knew he loved you when thunder roared tremendously in his fury, shaking even the most stable of the earth but not once did lightning strike the trembling form of this pathetic, good-for-nothing subordinate of his. The balladeer is not one who hesitates and certainly not because his long-lost morality decided that it was the perfect time to resurface. Still, his fingers twitched in place and the venomous curses in his throat rumbled before dying down into more docile whispers. The thought that he, of all people, would show mercy unsettles him but he found that there is little that he could do when his treacherous mind posed him the question: “what would you think if you saw him?”

。 THOMA — “ rubeum scutum | red shield ”

He knew he loved you when he would subconsciously pause his duties at the mere mention of your name. Truthfully, he ought to take down the laundry before the rain starts to fall from the murky skies but as competent as he was, he couldn’t help but listen in as a few of your shrine maiden friends talked about your recent endeavors in Sumeru. A deep longing and a youthful giddiness clashed and fueled the rapid tha-thumps of his heart. It is not every day that Thoma hopes that he was not the Kamisato Clan’s reliable housekeeper but for the briefest of moments, he knew that there was nothing he couldn’t give if it meant being able to bear witness to your radiant smile instead of the cobwebs he should’ve been cleaning by now.

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 It’s my secret garden.

fruits basket ⇢ THIRD TIME’S A CHARM ft. hatori sohma

a three-step guide to hatori sohma’s heart.

wc: 3k

warnings: smoking. talks of soulmates but not really a soulmate au. f2l but you’re more like hatori’s annoyance (affectionate). he’s a simp in denial. fluff with one grain of angst. self-indulgent because i miss my seahorse bae

one: try to get into hatori sohma’s interests.

“i didn’t know you smoke.”

hatori turns to the sound of your voice and upon seeing your approaching figure, he instinctively scoots over to make room for you on the bench by the river.

“occasionally.”

“can you do that thing?” you raise your index finger to draw invisible circles in the air. “you know… smoke rings?”

“yes.” when your eyes light up, he quickly adds: “but i won’t.”

“you are not fun at all,” you tease lightheartedly.

for the first time since you sat next to hatori, you take a look at your surroundings—maybe it was the zodiac curse but despite the already bright green landscape made technicolor by the variety of flowers peppered among the trees and the glitters of sunlight on the clear blue waters, you don’t remember the sohma estate being so alive and vibrant.

bit by bit, you soak it all in before sliding your gaze over to the man beside you as he takes another drag. even with his somber expression, he still looks beautiful from behind the cigarette.

tearing your eyes away from him, you notice a pack of squares peeking out of his lab coat.

“can i try?” you ask.

hatori follows your line of sight and immediately shoves the small carton deeper into his pocket. “no.”

“why not?”

“it’s not good for you.” you open your mouth to protest but he interjects. “stop asking.”

“do one smoke ring then i’ll stop.” at your request, hatori looks at you as if his patience is wearing thin but you don’t budge. “if you never wanted to do it, you should’ve just told me you couldn’t.”

he pinches the bridge of his nose as he internally curses in frustration because you’re not wrong.

“fine,” he concedes, visibly against his will.

genuinely captivated, you keep your eyes trained on hatori’s lips, completely oblivious to the fact that his composed demeanor is now mere pretense and right underneath is a man extremely self-conscious and hyperaware of your close inspection. suddenly, his throat feels dry and his hands clammy.

he’s thankful you’re too preoccupied to notice.

forcing his thoughts away, he puffs at his cigarette and with his mouth formed into an “o”, he blows out a smoke ring. he waits until it fully takes shape in front of you before fanning it away, deliberately ignoring the awestruck gleam in your eyes.

“you have to teach me that,” you enthuse.

“i thought you said you’d stop asking.”

as a doctor, hatori is aware not only of the dangers of tobacco, but also the greater risks of secondhand smoking. and it’s his job to make sure you don’t suffer from any complication—not you in particular, he tells himself—so in spite of his cigarette still having a few drags left, he drops it to the ground and crushes it beneath his heel.

he’s just doing his job.

two: ask hatori sohma if he believes in soulmates.

shortly after sundown, swirly hints of orange and pink have begun mixing with the incoming muted shades of blue across the sky, the temperature of the wind dropping with it—rather rapidly due to the ocean breeze—but that doesn’t stop anyone from going for a swim, save for those dotted about the sand, and giving life to the seafront which only grows brighter due to the lampposts along the perimeter.

however, the oddness of your question pushes the scenery to the background as hatori searches your face for any telltale sign that you’re messing with him. you’re not.

“what brought this on?” he asks.

“just making conversation.”

“have this conversation with ayame.”

unable to count the number of times you’ve rolled your eyes at his curt replies, you’re surprised they haven’t stuck. “can you, at least, humor me?”

“no.”

typical, you think.

walking side by side along the boardwalk, you fall into silence that hatori quickly finds unbearable—which is ironic, considering he’s naturally a reserved man—so he gives in. “fine.”

something jumps in his chest when you turn to him, beaming, but he immediately shoves the feeling down before he can give it any thought.

“i don’t believe in soulmates,” hatori claims. “i think you choose the person you want to be with—or meet them through happenstance, even. but not fate.”

“so…” you drawl, a soft smile involuntarily tugging at the corners of your lips. “you spending time with me tonight—was it by choice?”

you choose the person you want to be with. hatori mentally kicks himself for letting the words roll off his tongue without a care. now you have him right where you want him.

“a coincidence,” he asserts in an attempt to shut you down, already predicting where you’re going with your ribbing. “you were alone and i happened to have some free time.”

“which you chose to spend with me,” you counter triumphantly but even the melodious laughter from your lips fails to blunt the daggers he’s now throwing your way. “okay, sorry. sorry. but assuming soulmates exist, who do you think you’d be with right now?”

“i don’t know,” he answers in one breath.

“what would you be doing right now?”

“i don’t know.”

“you’re the worst.” you huff, finally dropping the subject.

and he’s grateful because he’s lying.

he does believe in kismet.

bound by the curse for most of his life, it was as if he’d been walking on a path that was already carved in stone and waiting at the end of it was his fate with no one to share, only his for the taking—so like some sort of paradox, he refuses to acknowledge destiny altogether, even after the spiritual ties had already been cut. it’s all he’s ever known.

besides, indulging in the idea that something written in the stars could ever be within his reach—even if it was right in front of him taking after your image—is like setting himself up for heartbreak and disappointment.

and hatori sohma’s smarter than that.

three: say “i love you” to someone else.

“you’re quiet today,” hatori says.

“has shigure not annoyed you enough that you actually want me to talk?”

you know shigure hasn’t because he’s been gone for a while now, along with ayame, and hatori’s choice to stay behind is enough for you to assume his friends are up to some shenanigans he couldn’t care less about.

“you’re only half as bad as him,” hatori jokes, a small grin playing on his lips and you can’t help but smile back.

truth be told, your playful exchange can only do so much to mask your feelings until they threaten to spill out of you as soon as you open your mouth. and though you’ve surprisingly managed to keep them under control this whole time, it’s as if you’re constantly being pulled towards opposite ends of the spectrum.

hatori has his way of being within your proximity and still seem so out of reach—you’re never sure if he’s suffocatingly close or you want to be smothered by him.

but you can’t tell him that.

“i’ll just go for a walk,” you say instead.

the sudden announcement causes a look of worry to form on hatori’s face but despite the warmth blooming in your chest over his concern for you, you convince yourself it’s just the doctor in him.

of course, he cares. he cares about everyone.

“are you alright?”

“yeah, i just need some air.”

you leisurely tread the pathways of the estate, mentally counting your steps to keep your mind occupied but eventually losing track anyway as your thoughts drift back to hatori.

before you know it, you’re sat by the lakeside which you instantly recognize from the first time the sohmas took you to their family cottage for an outing.

“care to share the woes of your heart?”

the familiar lilt of ayame’s voice—and his dramatic language—soon echoes in the wind and a smile makes its way to your face, finding his theatrics somewhat comforting at a time like this.

sitting next to you, he asks again. “something on your mind?”

“it’s nothing.”

“perhaps this will lift your spirits?” he plucks a wildflower from the ground, presenting it to you. “may i?” when you give your consent, ayame delicately tucks it behind your ear, leaning slightly further as if to admire his work. “so beautiful and ethereal. truly out of this world.”

“stop.” you say, giggling as you take the flower out of your hair and lean on his shoulder. “thank you, aya. love you.”

ayame rests his head on top of yours. “i love you, too, darling.”

unbeknownst to you, hatori followed you quite shortly, unconvinced by the way you brushed off his concern. but he doesn’t expect to find you with ayame, lax and cheery as opposed to you being closed-off earlier—with him, the voice in his head adds and he wishes he could strike it off.

“can i ask you something?” hatori hears you ask his friend but it’s the familiar question which follows that has his ears perking up. “do you believe in soulmates?”

hatori’s not one to listen in on other people’s converstions so without waiting for ayame’s response, he heads back to the cottage, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

“i know that’s just your face but… why the long face?” shigure asks.

hatori groans. “shut up.”

whatever shigure is about to say dies in his throat as ayame enters through the front door alone.

“where were you?” shigure asks him, acknowledging his arrival.

“i was at the lake with y/n.”

“oh?” the former dog incarnate shoots hatori a knowing look, though he continues to address yuki’s brother. “and what were you two doing?”

“i was wandering around and found her lonesome. like a poor damsel in distress in need of a comforting shoulder so i let her take advantage of me.”

hatori winces at ayame’s ill phrasing. “did you have to say it like that?”

leaning closer, shigure whispers low enough just for hatori to hear. “maybe she needs your comforting shoulder, too.”

“i told you to shut up.”

hatori gets up to leave before shigure can get another word out—he knows shigure will get another word out. with no set destination in mind, his feet move on their own accord. soon, he’s at his usual spot by the river.

you cross his mind again. recounting the events from today, he fails to pinpoint what caused the shift in your demeanor—if he caused it. it only leads to more questions because what did he even do?

he pushes his thoughts away, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette to clear his head but when he sees you walking in his direction, he decides against it.

“why do i always find you here?” you ask as soon as you join him where he’s stood at the riverside.

“it’s peaceful.”

“i’m guessing shigure finally pushed you to your limit.”

“i spoke too soon.” his dry humor coaxes a chuckle out of you and it’s only then hatori realizes how much he missed the sound of it. “i saw you with ayame today.”

“he just stayed with me for a bit. seeing me all by myself must have been too depressing even for him.”

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“mhm,” you hum in confirmation. when hatori doesn’t pry further, you change the subject. “remember when i asked you about soulmates and you told me to ask ayame instead?”

“i remember.” and you did, he doesn’t say out loud.

“well, i did. and he does,” you tell him. “believe, i mean. he said meeting his soulmate would be a beautiful surprise—something about braving the search for the uncertain making the discovery all the more blissful.” you smile as you recall ayame’s words. you can’t fault him for his flamboyant idealism because you know he has a big heart to show for it—it’s who he is. “i know it’s ayame we’re talking about but i think it’s nice to believe in something like that.”

“do you?”

how a question so concise can hold so much weight, you don’t know. but something in the way hatori asks you feels like the load has been dropped to your chest.

i don’t believe in soulmates. to this day, you still hear hatori’s words loud and clear and it’s like your heart is going to cave in. because you do—at least, you want to believe in it.

“i don’t know... maybe?” you suppose that’s the safe answer. “maybe soulmates exist but not everybody gets to meet theirs. sounds unfair, doesn’t it?”

“you can’t let that hold you back.”

a chuckle erupts from your lips though the sound is free of humor. “i’m scared i’ll meet my ‘soulmate’,”—you air quote the word—“and they don’t feel the same way.”

“if they are what you say they are, i don’t think you should worry about it.”

“and if they’re not? i don’t know if i can handle that.”

hatori takes him time mulling his words over before settling on a response. “you can avoid it altogether but there’s nothing worse than spending your whole life thinking what could’ve been…”

you glance at his direction and catch him smiling to himself wistfully as if he’s reminiscing a fond memory. you wonder if he’s thinking about kana.

you’ve never met his ex-fiancée but from what you’ve heard, they seemed to be the epitome of fated lovers had akito not meddled. and as if the knife hadn’t been twisted enough, hatori was forced to erase kana’s memories—being the only sohma to possess that ability—to free her from the torment of her entanglement with the binds of his curse which, in turn, had become hers as well. all because she loved him sincerely.

without any recollection of her relationship with hatori, kana is now married to someone else and hatori seems to have moved on.

you look away from him, staring straight ahead and feeling ashamed because it feels so wrong to use that in your favor but…

“you think i should just go for it?” you ask hatori.

“i do.”

“even if it’s you?”

your voice comes out a whisper but the immediate hush from hatori, amplifying the tension encompassing you both tells you it’s enough to bring everything at a standstill.

the longer his silence drags on, the deeper your heart sinks. you can only wish that in its descent, it crushes the butterflies in your gut, putting an end to your foolish feelings once and for all. but you know it won’t.

just like how you’ve fallen for him, no depth is deep enough—your heart will just have to plummet endlessly. maybe time will numb you but you’re certain that one way or another, you’re always going to have love for him.

“this is the part where you tell me off,” you say in jest but it falls painfully flat.

“if i told you i feel the same way, would you start believing then?”

if it was possible for your entire system to shut down in an instant, you’re almost convinced that it already has because with your breath catching in your throat comes the pounding in your head that matches the beat of your heart hammering wildly against your chest.

you muster enough courage to finally look at hatori, almost flinching when you find him already staring at you. and with that, everything begins to fade out of focus until it’s just him—laying himself bare for the first time and yet, you’re the one who feels disarmed.

even at the zenith of your emotions, his touch still grounds you as his thumb gently swipes over the apple of your cheek. “you’re crying.”

“i’m nervous,” you sheepishly mumble.

“i think i’m the one who should be nervous. i heard you say you love ayame.”

you can never tell with the monotony in hatori’s voice so for a moment, you think he’s crushed but when you only find the affection he holds for you in his eyes, you decide to poke fun at him in your usual good-natured fashion.

“jealous?” despite the shake of his head, a smile creeps across hatori’s face. “he’s my friend, too. i do love him. and shigure. a little.”

hatori laughs—an actual laugh, you note—and closes the distance between the two of you, pulling you into his embrace as he presses a chaste kiss on your temple.

as infuriating as shigure’s teasing may be, hatori realizes it’s the little push he needed to take another leap. ever since what happened with kana, the notion of falling in love again seemed too big a risk but now standing on the edge with you, he doesn’t mind the free fall at all.

but hatori swears to die before he tells shigure. otherwise, he’ll never hear the end of it.

“i can’t believe you actually like me,” you mumble against his chest. “is it by choice or you know… ‘happenstance’?”

releasing his hold on your torso, hatori gently cradles your face in his palms, his purple eyes staring into yours so lovingly that it’s in full contrast with the words that come out of his mouth.

“i almost forgot how vexing you are.”

your smirk morphs into a full-blown grin. “you’re not answering my question.”

“figure it out yourself.” his words are muttered against your lips before he captures them with a kiss that swiftly grows in fervor, setting your nerves ablaze—and like ice to a flame, you melt into his touch.

the whole world is soon forgotten—just the two of you in motion as time freezes, giving way and lending itself generously to prolong this moment for your lover to commit to memory. perhaps this is the universe remembering what it owed him and handing it over on a silver platter.

there’s no more binding promise to tie hatori down but careful not to push his luck with jinxes, he doesn’t say anything definite. maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s coincidence, maybe it’s neither or both but one thing is for certain: hatori believes in soulmates.

how else would you have found a way to get under his skin and on his nerves then straight to his heart?

After Hours

Synopsis: Alhaitham has multiple, very good reasons for not liking to stay after office hours. You're one of them. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: Female reader x Husband!Alhaitham, Spoilers for the archon quests, Fluff, Domesticity, Slight angst, Pregnancy, Morning sickness (pretty heavy on the morning sickness but nothing graphic, just mentions of puking + inability to keep food down), Pregnancy woes, Established relationship, kind of hidden pregnancy, Alhaitham is 27 in my head and so is the reader A/N: listen. LISTEN. I don't normally write pregnancy but I had this idea and HAD to let it out. There is nothing hotter to me than a smart, dependable man with a stable, cushy job that's utterly in love with you. I'm a gojo writer, but damn. Alhaitham has me feeling some sort of way.

"Given the recent developments, there are many researchers wondering about what will happen to their funding. Acting Grand Sage, do you have any-"

"I'll be taking my leave now."

"H-Huh?"

Alhaitham clears his throat and stands, his chair dragging against the floor. From high-profile staff at the Akademiya, to esteemed researchers searching for an answer, Alhaitham casually shrugs off the bewildered, confused stares they give him.

"It's 5PM," he says nonchalantly. "You can find me at my desk tomorrow morning at 9."

"B-But we're not done with the meeting-"

"Goodbye."

"Wait-"

"My work for the day is done," Alhaitham hums, effectively cutting off whatever it was that was about to be said. Silence befalls the room, tension growing in its stead. "Haven't I already made my stance on this very clear?"

For all that is said and done, at least they knew how to stop talking when he displays his displeasure. Maybe being the Acting Grand Sage wasn't that bad after all. There were very few that would dare challenge his authority.

"But Sir, our meeting just started..."

Maybe not.

"Well, you should have started it earlier." Alhaitham doesn't miss a beat, neatly gathering his documents into a pile for his assigned assistant to take away. There's a tiny smile on his assistant's face, the young, interning scholar finding the entire exchange amusing.

Alhaitham fails to see what could be soooo amusing about working past official office hours.

5:01. Alhaitham clicks his tongue.

"Acting Grand Sage," a scandalised voice begins, but the person he's referring to is in a rush. Alhaitham should be out of the Akademiya by now. He can't risk being late. "It is imperative that you give us the necessary instructions so that Sumeru can still function as per usual..."

He tunes the voice out. It's past 5. He doesn't have to listen.

If they could handle themselves under Azar's so-called leadership, they can handle themselves under no supervision for the next sixteen hours. Sure, years worth of rampant corruption was difficult to erode without work, but it wasn't as if staying past 5 would magically fix everything overnight.

Alhaitham would tell them to go home and leave it for tomorrow... But it's now 5:02 and he's running behind on time. Simply being within the House of Daena was a pleasantry he was not willing to give for even a second longer.

"A-Alhaitham!"

He walks past the old man, past Cyno, and he's out of the door, out of the Akademiya, in mere moments.

The passing scholars greet him, all up to date with the change of hands after the atrocities of the previous Sages had gone public. Various pairs of eyes linger on him. Seemingly overnight, he had become known to the public as one of the core few that had freed Sumeru's Archon and foiled Azar's plan.

A mighty accomplishment in the eyes of the people, indeed.

It doesn't take long to get to the Bazar, where his task at hand was. He's done this tons of times before, but with every passing day, he only seems to get pickier with the produce before him.

Yoghurt, Tomatoes, Ginger, Butter...

"Oh, honey..."

He looks away from a ripe tomato and into the eyes of an older auntie who stood next to him with a fond look on her face.

"You're going to stare a hole into that poor tomato at that rate."

Alhaitham has no idea who she is. Silently, he returns his gaze to the tomato pile and narrows down the select few that had passed his earlier inspection. He'd grab them, pay, and leave.

"Ah ah!" The lady laughs, interrupting his process. "Come, dear. Have these tomatoes instead," she says, offering him her basket of tomatoes. "It's the least I could do for the Grand Sage."

"Acting Grand Sage," he can't help but correct.

"Yes, yes, the Acting Grand Sage. Honestly, what does it matter! Come! Have these. I have a good eye for tomatoes, you know?"

Alhaitham can't help but agree. The tomatoes are perfect. If his departure hadn't been halted, even for those few minutes, he would have gotten to them first. Ripe, juicy, no blemishes whatsoever, fresh... They're good. Declining is the first thought that comes into mind. He has no need to owe anyone any favours. But how can he when he remembers who was waiting for him back home?

"Ahhh, don't be shy!" The auntie shoves them into his own basket, where a few ginger roots sat alongside some cloves of garlic and some extra spices. "You've done so much for Sumeru! This is the least we could do."

She doesn't seem malicious. Or looking for anything in return.

"...Thank you, then."

And that special phrase unleashes hell on earth. The moment the tomatoes make a touchdown in his basket, he gets swamped by the aunties and uncles at the bazar.

"Here! Have some fish!"

"Oh! Oh! Here's some preserved vegetables! Take these, too!"

"Acting Grand Sage! My mama told me to give this to you!" "Me too! Here! Here!"

It's comes and goes as abruptly as a tidal wave. There's not even a chance to reply to anyone, or reject anything. Before Alhaitham knows it, he's decorated with new groceries. Everyone who had gifted him something was long gone, walking away like nothing had happened.

For the first time in a long while, Alhaitham feels awkward standing alone in the Bazar.

"I'll take these..." Alhaitham says, sliding his personal basket to Housein. It's a little difficult to get his mora pouch out while holding so many items, but he manages. It's not like he can just abandon everything at the side of the pavement. There were too many prying eyes.

"Oh, they'll be on the house, Mr Alhaitham!" Housein grins, declining the mora. The produce seller looks pleased with himself. "The Bazar technically owes you for helping to oust Azar! Now the theatre can continue their performances!"

"I insist-"

"Really, it's alright!"

"No, I-"

"Alhaitham! Oh, my sweet boy!" Someone grabs his arm, whisking him away before he could get Housein to accept his mora. Greying hair frames the old lady's face, and Alhaitham recognises her in an instant.

"Auntie?"

"Yes, yes. Come," she ushers him, giddy with excitement. "I have some things that you'll appreciate."

"I don't think that's necessary," he sighs, nodding at the bags he was already carrying. He had fish and chicken slung over his shoulder. Not to mention the countless fresh produce in each bag... "Can it not wait until our next visit?"

"Nonsense," she swats his arm. "You will like what I have!"

Rationality and knowledge cannot override the cultural traditions and norms ingrained in each Sumeru citizen from a young age. Alhaitham follows the former Amurta researcher up to the hospital she now worked at during her retirement.

Dutifully, the Scribe stands in wait, ignoring the stares and awed whispers of the people as the old lady rounds the corner of the reception desk to dig through her stock. Save for a couple of patients and their attending physicians, the Bimarstan is quiet today.

"Here," she hums proudly, brandishing a bundle of pouches. They're beautifully embroidered, with patterns that he could easily identify to be from some of the Seven nations. "I got some supplements for your wife."

The mere mention of you has the tips of Alhaitham's ears warming. The lady might be old, but her eyes are still sharp as ever. She chuckles, patting his arm appreciatively, and some of the staff familiar with you and he smile to themselves, knowing something many did not.

"You two are so adorable," she sighs wistfully. "Come, I'll explain each one to you."

"Thank you."

The old pharmacist explains each supplement in great detail. There's a whole assortment available, from powders, to tea bags, to roots, and to pills and potions from each nation. All of high quality.

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it," Alhaitham says, setting down his groceries to pull out his mora pouch. Once again, he's declined.

"If you really want to repay me, then go take better care of your wife," she tuts. The old lady always had a soft spot for you. "It's not healthy to make her worry so much."

The reminder brings forth a surge of emotions that he gingerly represses for now.

"Of course," he bows deeply, "I will. Thank you."

"Ah, I shan't hold you up anymore. Off you go!"

Neatly packing his spoils for the day, Alhaitham bids his farewell and walks off in the direction of his home. Though, unfortunately, it's not fast enough to escape the various food stall owners...

Returning home is no easy feat, not when you're lugging home months worth of groceries. Still, as with anything thrown his way, Alhaitham manages. He's careful with his keys, making sure they don't make too much noise lest you wake from your slumber or worse, run to greet him. And - Oh.

"Habibti," he says, greeting you out of habit even if he can clearly see that you're asleep on the couch.

As quietly as possible, Alhaitham shuffles his way into his house along with all the groceries. It's almost feels like he's a thief in his own house.

The groceries are set on the floor, in a neat pile that he'll sort out later. The citizens were well-meaning, but he needed to do another check to make sure nothing was tainted. He braces himself when the bags crinkle against each other, but you don't wake. Good, he thinks. You needed the rest.

Shoes off, his hands washed, any fatigue laced into his muscles dissipates the moment he comes to stand in front of you. Alhaitham leans down to brush aside stray strands of your hair away from your forehead. His fingers ghost over your soft skin. You looked glowing.

"Good evening," he greets softly, lips pressed against your forehead. You stir, but he soothes you back into dreamland. His palm smooths back and forth between your waist and where your bellybutton was, and he smiles himself when he sees the corner of your lips curl up.

Gently, he plucks your hands from the knitting needles Kaveh had gotten you. The half-done blanket resting on the swell of your belly is removed, set neatly on the coffee table with the rest of your colourful balls of yarn. Alhaitham easily carries you, slipping his an arm under your back and the other under your knees.

Though he wants to tuck you back in bed, he knows you well enough to place you into the comfy armchair he had gotten instead. He leaves, only to return from your shared bedroom with a fluffy blanket to keep you warm. Tucking you in is an terribly short affair. Parting from you takes a lot of willpower.

In the time you're asleep, Alhaitham busies himself around the house. The groceries get checked, washed, and put away, and he takes a much needed shower. He's halfway through sweating the minced garlic and shallots when you finally wake, your tiny, sleepy voice making its way to him.

"Haitham...?"

The fire goes out.

"Yes, habibti?" He pulls his apron off, walking out of the kitchen. Warmth pools in his chest when he takes you in; how your blanket slides off your shoulders; how your eyes blearily search him out.

"Welcome home," you say dazedly, arms open and raised up to beckon him in for a hug. Alhaitham closes the distance in less than a second, pulling you in.

"Mm," he hugs you tight, mindful of your baby bump. His hand splays out protectively over your tummy, and a light giggle erupts from you as you bask in his warmth.

Getting down on one knee, level with the evidence of his, and your, love, he looks up at you and asks, "How was your day, habibti?"

"I was working on the baby blanket," you tell him, gesturing at the knitwork on the table. "I was thinking of making a few."

"It's going well?"

You nod, happily engaging him in conversation before he carefully nudges open a new door of conversation. One that you understood, but didn't like. High on pregnancy hormones (and on stress), he distinctly remembers you crying to him in the middle of the night, telling him that it felt like you were being interrogated whenever he wouldn't let up on the questions.

You had subsequently thrown up dinner.

And promptly fell back asleep on him.

Thus, the small talk.

"Did our baby give you any trouble today?" He asks gently, a hand gently circling your wrist. One finger traces unintelligible symbols against your skin as the other pressed against your pulse.

You shake your head slowly as he counts in his. "Just some nausea."

"And lunch?" He asks, switching hands. "How was lunch? What did you have?"

You shake your head sadly. "Couldn't keep much of it down. Baby bird didn't agree with it."

"They didn't?" Alhaitham frowns, a contemplative look on his face. "I see. Did you drink-"

"Did I drink the tea you made?" You raise a brow, completing the question for him.

"...Yes."

You were catching on. And fast. Silently, he pulls your hand towards his face to kiss the back of your palm, hoping that it would throw you off.

"Did it help?"

"It did," you tell him. The suspicious look you had softens. "It was very good. Helped with the nausea for a bit."

"I see. And did you-"

"Haitham," You admonish gently. "Stop being such a worrywart. I've been taking care of myself. These things happen. It's normal."

"Yes, habibti, I'm aware, but you're already in your second trimester. I just want to check if-"

Accustomed to this, you cut him off with words he can't ignore.

"I'm hungry."

"You're hungry?" He pauses. He supposes that you're bound to be, considering what you had just reported about lunch. "I just started cooking, but the people at the Bazar gave us a lot of food."

"Really? That's nice of them. Why?"

"As thanks," he says vaguely, squeezing your side. "There's a lot of it. Tandoori chicken, Curry, Kebabs, Wraps... Is there anything to your fancy?"

"Mm, I guess," you half-heartedly answer. "Then why are you still cooking?"

"You said you wanted Butter Chicken this morning."

The name of the dish makes your mouth water, the reminder perking you up. The baby nestled deep in your womb agrees.

"Grab something light," he says, recognising that expression of yours. You looked pleased to smell his cooking wafting through the air, only just realising it after the grip of sleep had loosened its hold on you. "I only just started."

"Okay-"

"Sit down. I'll grab it for you. What do you want?" Your husband urges you back into the chair. It begins, once more.

"I don't know," you roll your eyes at him, "I have to get up and see what there is, don't I?"

"I already told you what there is. If it helps, there's Samosas and-"

"I want to look for myself," you interrupt. "I'm pregnant. Not incapable."

"The doctor said you need to be careful."

"The doctor said that I can move around. That I should move around."

"Within reason," he adds, grumbling, just because. Helping you stand after your complaints, you hold him, hugging his arm tightly, and Alhaitham watches you waddle towards the kitchen with him in tow.

He never expected the pregnant waddle to happen so soon. Archons, he hadn't expected you to look so cute, either. You were partway through your second trimester and he can't imagine how it'd be like in your third.

"Oooh," you coo, and he gets dragged back into reality. "There's Baklava?"

"And Panipuri." He says, hovering over you. If he thinks about it, he's almost like a little fly... Even his colours matched. With the way you're looking at him, you must have thought of the same thing. "And Custard. And Cakes. And-"

"Oh! Pudding!" You excitedly nab the Padisarah Pudding out of the cooler, clapping. Alhaitham lets out a low chuckle at your delight, reaching over to grab you a teaspoon so you could enjoy your desert.

"Now sit," he tells you, guiding you to the kitchen island, where there was a chair. He had gotten Kaveh to design and make one for you as part of his rental agreement. "You can watch me cook."

"You're not letting me help again?"

He shakes his head. From temporarily stepping down from your work as a researcher, to repeating dreams, and to Alhaitham having to go away for a mission, you had been stressed out from all the back-to-back changes. Only recently had you been discharged from bed rest after the news that he had gone insane from consuming forbidden knowledge and was exiled had caused you to faint in the middle of Treasure Street.

Alhaitham prides himself on his rational decision making skills, but keeping you in the dark to the happenings in Sumeru's political sphere had been by far the worst decision he had ever made.

You had fallen sick, carrying a fever for five days and five nights as the doctors at the Bimarstan worked around the clock to keep you stable. Luck had been on your side for you to have been found by one of the physicians. He had almost...

Alhaitham shakes his head, focusing instead on the metal band around his finger. Cooking was the least he could do for you after everything you had to handle.

Ignoring the pang in his chest, he resumes cooking. The wok sizzles, and you're happily munching away on your pudding, offering him a spoonful here and there as his ingredients go in in a methodological order. He tosses in peeled and boiled tomatoes, spices, and marinated chicken cubes from last night.

"It smells so good..."

"I know."

"But why aren't you making more?" You ask, leaning over so he could feed you a test bite of the creamy dish. "Is Kaveh not coming home for dinner?"

"It's none of our business, habibti," Alhaitham hums. "Kaveh can freeload food elsewhere."

"Haitham," you giggle. "That's not very kind."

"What? Letting him stay here rent-free is kind enough. I don't have to feed him, too."

"You're making him build our nursery," you remind him. "And baby-proof the house."

"It's part of the rental agreement."

"Still," you huff, watching your husband roll up his sleeves before portioning the dough for your naan. "At least leave him some food."

"He can have whatever we can't finish. Can we agree?" He says, rolling the dough out into flat circles. "We have too much food from the people, anyway. He can have those. The Butter Chicken is yours. You don't have to share."

You're swayed.

"...Fine."

He graduated from the Haravatat. To put it loosely, he's a linguist. A knack for words comes with the job.

"Good," he hums, handing you a bowl of melted butter so you wouldn't feel left out. You stir it with a clean spoon, mixing in garlic paste and chopped coriander.

It's peaceful. Serene. The sizzling in the background is nothing but homey, nothing but comfort. Alhaitham loves it when you sing to him while he cooks, but today he settles for a spritely summary of one of the books he's gotten you.

"Thank you, Haitham."

"Of course," he leans over to peck your temple. After serving you a hearty plate, Alhaitham finally sits with you to eat. "Anything you need."

"What would people say if they knew I had the Acting Grand Sage at home like this?"

"They'd praise me," he deadpans. His own plate lightly clinks against the table. "Especially if they knew the main reason why I helped."

"Show-off."

Wanting to keep his cushy job at the Akademiya may have been what had spurred him to take on a core role in the planning of rescuing Lesser Lord Kusanali, but apart from that, he was not about to leave a year's worth of fully-paid, fully covered paternity leave in the hands of some old man that woke up and decided that he wanted to play god.

Even now, it still sounded ridiculous in his head.

Alhaitham and you were only aware that the Grand Sage had something sinister cooking up, but nothing had been concrete. Investigating further was on the top of your priority list until you were faced with the possibility, and eventual confirmation, of your pregnancy.

Being so unexpected, the news had hit the both of you hard and fast. After both of your priorities needed a complete upheaval, it was a scramble to decide the next course of action.

Having you step down from your work as a result of the rough start to your pregnancy had been hard to hide from the prying eyes of Azar, his minions, and gossiping researchers. The walls of the Akademiya had ears. The barest wisps of whatever Azar was planning that had gotten back to you gave you the impression that they had wanted you to join in on the later stages of their scheme.

Recuperation may have been the main motivator, but the likelihood that a blunt rejection would spur on heavy retaliation had been a major reason why you were urged, and convinced, to take a medical leave of absence as early in as possible. As quietly as possible. Your weakened constitution had only spurred the advance of this plan.

Your sudden request for long medical leave had formed the basis of a well-known rumour that you were adamant on not acknowledging, not when you had suspected Alhaitham to be on Azar's hit list. Few knew of your marriage to him, only that you were in a relationship with the Scribe. He can only imagine what types of words were said behind closed doors.

Those days had been tense. Your act—though it wasn't really an act at all—was convincing, but the Sages seemed adamant on having you stay on. They had even questioned Alhaitham about your supposed illness. Half-truths made the best lie, and when Alhaitham only had the truth to tell them, they had no choice but to turn to other avenues.

Thankfully, the rumours had all died out when Tighnari was invited by the Sages to check on you.

Your long-standing friend had done you a favour that day. Under the watchful eye of the sages, the three of you had shared a look that Tighnari easily interpreted. A strongly worded letter of recommendation for medical leave had been issued, and you were immediately granted long leave. The rumours were put out in an instant. On account for your contributions to the Akademiya and to academia itself, your leave had been fully paid for as well.

Alhaitham makes a mental note to send the forest ranger some gifts again after everything dies down. He's been thinking of taking you on a short trip to Pardis Dhyai so you could visit some old classmates and colleagues. Maybe some crates of wine for him and his subordinates would suffice...

"If you revealed everything, I think they'd have a heart attack first," you muse, picking up your spoon. Looking at you now, it's almost as though your pregnancy had been nothing but smooth sailing. You looked so peaceful. Happy and content and glowing.

"I love your cooking," you sigh between bites, taking meaningful chomps out of your meal. Eyes falling shut to savour the taste, Alhaitham can't help but chuckle at the blissed out expression you made.

It's not rare for Alhaitham to cook for you, especially after finding out that you were expecting, but the way your eyes always light up, glimmering with stars? It makes him wonder just how good his food is to you for you to always react like this.

"Good?"

"Mhm!" You nod happily, shoveling the Butter Chicken coated garlic naan into your mouth. The flatbread was cooked to perfection, just the way you liked it. Too busy with your food, you don't even bother with a conversation.

Alhaitham sits back, watching you eat, making sure that his unborn child enjoys his food, too. It was early on in your pregnancy that he realises just how picky his child was. Coupled with morning sickness, any food that wasn't made by him, your body would reject. He had been tense those weeks, pouring over countless texts in the library trying to find a solution that would guarantee both you and your child's safety.

He had tracked your food intake, just to see if there was any sort of pattern that would emerge. To his surprise, one did. The only meals you could hold down were either those made by you, made by those close to you, or his. The latter worked the best. Alhaitham still has that nutrition table in his office, updated to this day.

Really, it's a wonder how people hadn't realised that you were pregnant. After Sumeru's political situation began to calm, he hadn't bothered hiding it. What did people think he ordered maternity dresses for? Even now, the number of people who knew of your pregnancy was few and far between. Cyno, surprisingly, was one of them.

Oh, well.

After seeing that you showed no sign of nausea, he finally picks up his spoon.

"Shall we go for a walk later tonight?" He asks after swallowing a bite of his food. "The weather is nice today."

Before getting swamped by the citizens, he had been thinking that it would be good to bring you out. So far, the only interactions you've had were either with him, the doctors, the stray cats that would visit, or with Kaveh. Although you hadn't complained, he knew that you were getting lonely.

"Really?" You ask excitedly, biting into your coated naan. "Where to?

"Anywhere you want," he says, pouring another ladel full of butter chicken onto your plate. "But we'll take it slow, okay? You haven't been out in some time. I don't want you to overexert yourself."

You chew slowly.

"I'm not weak."

"I never said that."

"You're implying it."

"I did not."

After a bit of back and forth, in which he could tell you were thoroughly enjoying, he remembers something that Housein had told him earlier in the day.

"I believe Miss Nilou is performing tonight. Would you like to watch?"

"Really? I'd love to!" Compared to him, you had always had a deep appreciation for the Arts. It's been some time since you've seen a live performance. Eyes shimmering, you ask, "Can we go get some sweets at the Bazar, too? The baby's been craving it."

You didn't have to pull the cravings card to get it. Alhaitham would have gotten them for you regardless.

"If you'd like," he agrees. "I was thinking that we could get some more books, as well."

"What," you snicker, "the library you have isn't enough for you?"

"It's good to broaden your horizons. And I mean to get books for our child."

"Hm? Why?"

"Aren't you the Amurta scholar?" He quips. Then his voice grows softer. More gentle. "...I read that our child can start hearing in the second trimester."

The look of confusion on your face turns into a fond smile. "I'm not that far along enough, Haitham. That only happens later."

"Better now than never, don't you think?"

"Are you going to be reading to them, then?" You ask, resting your chin on your palm, a smile on your face as you tease him. "Are we going to have bedtime stories now?"

"Of course."

His bluntness takes you off guard, but Alhaitham fails to see how shocking this revelation can be. Why wouldn't he be reading to his child?

"Oh," you say dumbly. "I... Yeah. That's a good idea—Ah!"

Alhaitham's spoon clatters to the table at the sound of your punctured gasp. He's by your side in an instant, looking over you once, twice, thrice, as you hold onto your stomach, eyes blown wide open, pupils dilated.

"W-What?" Adrenaline rushes through his veins. "What's wrong, albi? What's the matter? Are you alright? What hurts? Stay here, I'll call for someone right now-"

"No," you whisper, grabbing his hand to stop him from running off. They tremble in your hold, and he swallows tightly past the lump in his throat. You stare silently at your belly, and Alhaitham, at you.

"Albi," he insists. "My love. Don't scare me. C'mon, we need to... go..."

Palm covering his, you guide his hand to your belly.

Alhaitham, the Scribe of Sumeru, the star of the Haravatat, for the first time in forever, is at a loss for words. Every letter and every syllable he's come to learn dissipates on the tip of his tongue, his mind blanking out into nothingness. Within him, synapses fire off rapidly, capturing everything about this moment. Everything refocuses onto what rests below his palm.

There's a tiny flutter. One that grows more insistent.

"Haitham... I think our baby is trying to say hi."

Bimarstan: Hospital in Sumeru Habibti: Term of endearment meaning Darling Albi: Term of endearment meaning My love

A/N: bc of this fic i'll have to make a new masterlist and update my pinned aaaaaaa okay goodbye it's time for me to return to my studies (and to gojo) [i say this but tell me why i wanna write about the time cyno found alhaitham at the bimarstan with reader...]

©shiinleaf Do not plagiarise, use, translate and/or share my content outside of Tumblr in any way, shape, or form. Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated if you enjoyed!

me, with a vague plot idea, 1 (one) character name, and an outline that consists of mostly question marks:

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 12

Series Masterlist

Words: 7.3k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Terrorist attack, references to bloody violence and torture, a little angst.

Tommy is working home until after the wedding. A good thing when the Italians send him a strong message two days before the wedding.

The house was quiet the next morning. Tommy sat in the parlor with a drink in hand, jacket off, collar open. Anyone who didn't know better would see a man at rest, but his tight grip on the glass betrayed him. He scanned the room, the windows, the shadows, every few minutes. It wasn’t conscious anymore, but muscle memory and instinct. And he'd earned it the hard way.

On top of usual business, he was planning a goddamn wedding, dealing with the fucking Italians, and trying to keep his family from imploding long enough to get through the vows. Every move he made felt like he was walking a minefield in polished shoes. He wasn’t going into the office until after the wedding. He just didn’t trust the world outside these walls at the moment. Not when almost everything that mattered was inside this house.

Tommy was working from home, if you could call it that. Calling in favors, coordinating security rotations, and laying quiet threats using back channels. Watching over the woman he was marrying, the mother of his child. 

Thinking of last night had him smiling. Upstairs, she was still asleep, peacefully, if he’d done his job right. The thought of that grounded him. Her in his bed, wrapped in blankets and quiet, recovering from his attentions the night before. He hadn’t meant to keep her up so late. But once he got his hands on her, once she start begging for him, the rest of the world could’ve burned. The softness of her skin, the way she had looked at him without fear, those were the only things soft enough to make him pause.

Leaning back in the chair, he exhaled, not realizing until then he’d been holding tension in his chest for hours. If he could just get her in front of the priest, get her through their wedding day then maybe he could fucking breathe for real. 

Polly entered without knocking. Her arms were crossed before she said the first word.

“You haven't been here an entire day yet, and you’re already barking at John for dancing with her. Want to tell me what that was about?” Polly didn’t wait for him to answer. “Dragging her out of the room like that? In front of everyone?”

Her brows rose, watching him like she already knew the truth and was giving him one chance to own it. 

Tommy didn’t look up from his drink. “Handled it.”

Polly snorted. “That wasn’t handling. That was claiming, like some dog with a bone.”

He still didn't meet her gaze. “You have a problem with that?”

“I have a problem with the fact she didn’t know what she’d done wrong,” Polly said.

Tommy grabbed his cigarette from the ashtray and took a slow drag from it, exhaled through his nose. “It wasn’t her.”

“Then who was it?”

He didn’t answer.

Polly gave a bitter little laugh. “Christ, you’re unbelievable. Your brothers were teaching her to dance, and then you punish her for enjoying it?”

He shot her a look. “I didn’t punish her.”

“No?” Polly stepped closer, voice sharp. “Because dragging her out of the room without a word sure didn’t look like affection, Thomas.”

He stared at the floor, took another drag. He knew he wasn't getting out of this lecture, just like he knew he wouldn't enjoy it.

Polly’s tone softened, but not by much. “She’s young, and doing her best not to step wrong in a house full of landmines. She was laughing, allowing herself to have a moment. And you made her feel like she broke something.”

He kept listening.

“Jesus,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You're so bloody afraid of losing her, you're scaring her instead.”

Tommy shot her a look. The kind of look that usually shut people down and dared them to say more.

But Polly wasn’t most people. And the problem was, she was right. And he hated that she was right because he was afraid. Not just of losing her, but of what that would do to him. It would prove that nothing he touched could be protected. That even love, even something good, couldn’t survive under his hand.

She made him feel things he didn’t know how to carry. Things he didn’t have tools for. And every time he got close, every time she let him in, those old instincts rose up. Pull tighter, control the variables, and lock down all the pieces before something slipped away.

But Polly saw it for what it was. She always did.

So he held her gaze, narrowing his eyes like he could will her to back off. But she didn’t. Polly had never been afraid of his silence. He knew she was afraid for him, and that made him feel exposed in a way nothing else could. 

Tommy looked away first, feeling Polly watching him closely.

“It wasn’t about John,” she said quietly. “It never was. You saw her laughing, and you panicked. Not because of John. Not even because of the Italians. You panicked because for a second, she looked happy... and it had nothing to do with you.”

Polly hit it exactly. He had panicked. It was her laughter, the unguarded ease of her entire being... and it hadn’t come from him. That’s what cut. He couldn’t explain it. Could barely even stand the thought of it. But in that moment, watching her from the doorway, he'd felt something twist in his chest. Jealousy, yes, but something else too. Something deeper.

Fear. Fear that she might start to build happiness without him. Fear that he was already too cold and sharp for her to love all the way. So he’d done what he always did, tightened the leash, took control, walked her out before anyone else could see the cracks forming.

And now Polly was sitting there, calling it for what it was. What could he say back?

“I get it,” Polly said, softer now. “You’re not used to anyone who isn’t afraid of you.” Polly stepped back and sat down across from him, keeping her tone level. “She’s not a soldier, Tommy. You can’t command her like one. You love her. That’s the whole point. And if you want her to still be smiling this time next year… you better learn how to let her breathe.”

Running a hand over his face, he stayed silent.

Polly reached for her cigarette case, pulled one out, lit it. She took a drag, then said it like it was an afterthought. “Also, your bride can’t dance. Thought you should know.”

Tommy's gaze shifted, slightly unfocused, as her words hit him. He hadn’t noticed. He’d been too wound up, too busy seeing red. Watching hands and smiles. Watching John.

But not her. Not the way she clung a little tighter when the steps picked up. Not the way she glanced down at her feet. The hesitation in her laugh, not to coax but as a way to deal with embarrassment. She’d been trying to learn for him, and he hadn’t seen it.

And now Polly had tossed it out there like a lit match. It sat with him for a moment longer than it should have.

Polly stood, smoothing her skirt. “You’ve still got time to fix that. If you don’t, she’s going to walk into your first dance like it’s a public execution.”

Then she left.

He sat there for a moment with the weight of everything pressing down on him. The wedding. The Italians. The war he was orchestrating in shadows. But none of it mattered right now. And in all his calculating, he hadn’t accounted for one simple truth. She needed him. Not as the man who’d dragged her from the room, but the man she said yes to. The man who was supposed to love her, not watch her flinch under his silence.

She couldn’t dance. And he'd barely paid attention.

He’d teach her the steps, put his hands on her waist with patience, not possession. And maybe, if he did it right, she’d smile again. Not for Finn or John, but him.

He was already reaching for his jacket when he heard a knock at the door. One of the maids answered quietly, and a familiar voice followed, light, cheerful, cutting right through the tension in the air.

"Good morning," she greeted. "Here to see my daughter."

Mary stepped into the sitting room, balancing a cloth bag over one arm, carrying two other bags, and her coat was dusted with a bit of morning dew and determination. Her eyes landed on Tommy as he rose to help her with everything she was carrying. Her smile didn’t falter, though her brow lifted slightly.

“Well, it’s not the daughter I expected to find, but I’ll take the son-in-law.”

Tommy gave the barest smile. “Someone decided to sleep in.”

Mary clicked her tongue but didn’t press.

Turning her attention to the bundle draped over her arm, she placed it gently on the couch. “These are the rest of her new dresses you asked for. I just finished them last night.”

Tommy stepped closer, opened the cloth with careful hands. Rich fabrics, soft colors. Pale blues, soft greens, a deep plum he remembered choosing without a second thought. She’d look good in all of them.

“Looks like you got it just right,” he said, lightly impressed. “Stitching’s damn near perfect.”

Mary gave a small, pleased shrug. “We know how to finish things properly.”

She began folding the empty cloth wrapping when she added, almost offhand, “And I put together that list of shoes you wanted commissioned for her. My new helper is better at sketching than me, fortunately. Bram Sullivan's daughter said they should be ready within the week.”

Tommy looked up, brow drawing slightly. “You didn’t go over there yourself, did you?”

Mary snorted. “No. I sent everything with Rory.”

Tommy eased slightly at that, nodding once. “Good.”

She set down another smaller parcel near the sewing machine in the corner. “Just some small mending pieces. Thought I’d leave them here for her.”

Tommy frowned. “That new girl I hired for you, she not working out?”

Mary smiled at that, but it was a quiet, knowing smile. “Oh no, Irene’s lovely. Very sweet, talented. Thank you again.”

“Then why are you still bringing work for your daughter?”

That earned him a look. Mary straightened up, hands on her hips, her eyes warm but firm. “Because she grew up working. Just like you did.” Mary folded the now-empty cloth bag with efficient hands. “She’s not used to sitting idle, and never had the opportunity to do so, especially after Malachy died.”

“I’m at a place in life,” Tommy said carefully, “where I can have a wife who doesn’t have to do anything except take care of me and our children.”

Mary looked at him for a moment, giving him that same half-smile her daughter wore sometimes, like she could see straight through him. “You can have that,” she said. “But whether she’ll sit still for it is another thing entirely.” She looked toward the sewing machine again. “If I don’t leave her something to do there, she’ll go poking around the garden. Or the pantry. Or reorganizing your entire bloody house. I’m trying to keep her from climbing the walls.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “That’s your idea of rest?”

She shrugged. “My idea of peace. She’s like me that way, we need something to do with our hands.”

He leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, something like respect in his expression. Christ, I know exactly what that’s like.

Mary turned to her final bag and pulled out something smaller, a muslin pouch with a few round shapes wrapped carefully inside. “Lemons,” she said. “I’ll leave them in the kitchen for her.”

Tommy glanced at it. “She hasn’t had morning sickness in weeks.”

Mary smiled, but there was something gentler behind it now. “She’s nervous today.”

That made him straighten a little. “Why?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Mary tilted her head. “Nadia’s coming tonight. Checking up on her. Says she’s going to tell us if the baby’s a boy or girl. Something about a ring or a charm.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, the edge of a smile playing at his mouth. “Nadia will use her engagement ring. Dangle it on a strand of her hair or a thread, hold it over her stomach.”

Mary looked intrigued.

He continued, “If it moves in a circle, it’s a girl. If it swings back and forth, it’s a boy.”

Mary smiled. “Well, I’ve never heard that one.”

“You’ve learned something new, then.”

She nodded, genuinely curious. “I know very little about the Romani. Just the basics.”

Tommy paused. His voice softened just slightly. “There’s gypsy blood in my family.”

Mary's expression was thoughtful. “I guessed as much. From the way Nadia speaks to you. It’s familiar.”

He studied her carefully. “Does it bother you?”

Mary waved it off without hesitation. “Why would it? The Romani are good people. Malachy’s grandmother had gypsy blood, if I remember right.”

Tommy didn’t show his surprise, but a part of him that had stayed braced, waiting for judgment, waiting for that subtle shift in tone people used when they learned about his gypsy blood. But Mary like her daughter was accepting.

She glanced toward the hallway. “I’ll try to come by again later tonight, see what Nadia says about this grandchild of mine.” She picked up her empty bag and headed for the door. "Giver her my love. I'd stay but Rory has men stomping all over our house doing the repairs." She laughed. "If they pull up any more floorboards without checking with me first, I'll be dragging them out by the ear."

And with that, she was gone like a spring storm, leaving behind lemons, dresses, and more for Tommy to think about than he was ready to admit.

Christ.

Mary didn’t waste time with pleasantries. But somehow, she’d walked in, upended his thoughts, and left again before he could find his footing. She was light, easy with her smiles. Unapologetic in her work ethic. And absolutely nothing got past her.

Two strong women, very different from each other, but the message was the same. His bride didn’t need protecting from the world half as much as she needed space to feel like herself inside of it. 

Tommy had been so focused on shielding her, on removing every possible threat, that he’d forgotten what it meant to let someone stand beside him, not behind him.

She grew up working. Just like you did. That was the part that stuck. He hadn't considered that, only seeing the softness, the sweetest parts of her he wanted to keep safe. But underneath all of that… she was strong and resourceful. 

And if he boxed her in too tightly, she’d wither. Just like he would.

It left him with much to consider.

You’d slept too long. By the time you stirred, the sun was already high, light pouring across the foot of the bed like it was mocking you. You blinked against it, stretched. There were sore points all over your body from what happened in his study, then in the bedroom. You smiled, sitting up slowly, still wrapped in the warmth of sleep and his scent on the pillow beside you. 

You scrambled into motion, washing up and slipping into one of your new dresses, tugging a brush through your hair with one hand while you washed your face with the other. You’d promised yourself you’d get an early start. There was mending to finish, things to tidy up, and Nadia was coming tonight, saying she could tell you if the baby was a boy or girl. You were excited and nervous, but you trusted her. But did you really want to know? Would she be right?

The sitting room was quiet when you passed it, so you skipped it entirely and headed straight for the kitchen. You needed something quick, just an apple to tide you over until dinner. You reached for a beautiful red apple in the bowl near the window, already mentally running through your to-do list, when a familiar voice caught you off guard.

“That all you’re eating?”

You turned, startled, the apple halfway to your mouth. Tommy was standing just inside the doorway.

“Tommy, I didn’t know you were home.”

He nodded, slow. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

You smiled at him, surprised but happy. “Well, this is a nice surprise.”

He looked at you for a second longer than usual, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read something more than just your expression. Something about his stillness got your attention.

Was something wrong?

You lowered the apple slightly and stepped closer. “Why are you home?” you asked gently. “Did something happen?”

His gaze met yours, steady and quiet. “I wanted to be here.”

That caught you off guard.

He took a slow breath, voice low. “I didn’t want to be across town if something happened.”

You were surprised by his honesty, your heart tugging at the raw truth in his voice. He wasn’t here to check in, he was staying close to you.

Tommy's gaze dropped briefly to your hand, where your engagement ring caught the morning light. “Your mum said Nadia’s coming tonight,” he said. 

“Mum was already here?” You sighed. “I’m so sorry I woke up so late.”

Tommy shook his head, his gaze meeting yours. “Don’t be. You needed the rest.”

After everything last night, you certainly had needed your rest. 

You smiled, relaxing a little. “Nadia’s coming over to check on me. And… she’s going to tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.” You hesitated, then added, “If we want to know. Do you want to know?”

Tommy's gaze dropped to your hand resting on the counter, then to your stomach, and then back to your face. Something flickered behind his eyes, something softer than usual.

“If you want to.” Then, after a moment’s pause, he said, “But yes. I’d like to know.”

You nodded slowly, heart squeezing around the honesty in his voice. “Why?”

He gave a small breath of a smile, not quite looking at you. “Because the world’s already waiting for them. And I just… I want to picture it.”

That touched something deep inside you. You had no response to that.

Then he added, gently, “Your mum brought lemons for you this morning. Said you’ve been nervous about Nadia’s visit. When you get nervous, the sickness comes back?”

“It does.” You set the apple down. “I don’t know how Nadia can know that… if it’s a boy or girl. But she’s been right about everything so far.” Your fingers brushed the edge of the table. “What if she sees something else? What if she finds something wrong with him… or her?”

Tommy stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. “If she thought there was something wrong,” he said firmly, “she wouldn’t be agreeing to do this.”

That pulled the air back into your lungs. You nodded slowly. “That makes me feel better.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then asked, “Is that all you’re nervous about?”

You hesitated. "No.” You glanced down, your fingers twisting. “I suppose Polly told you I can’t dance.”

His expression didn’t shift.

You gave a soft, sheepish laugh. “Well… yes. I’m nervous about that too.” You looked up at him, guilt bubbling up as your eyes met his. “And I’m sorry I danced with John. And Finn... I didn’t mean to upset you. I won’t do it again.”

Tommy moved a little closer. And softer than you expected, he said, "You didn’t upset me. Not for dancing.” Reaching for your hand, his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You don’t need to apologize for laughing. Or forgetting yourself for a moment.” His gaze locked on yours, steady now. “But I would like to be the one who teaches you.”

You stared at him, touched by how gentle his voice had become. The sharpness from the day before had been replaced by something… tender.

Your fingers curled around his, your voice small but sincere. “You can teach me?”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You dance?”

That made him huff a quiet laugh through his nose. “I’ve been to a few weddings in my time.” Tommy gave a slight tilt of his head. “I manage well enough not to embarrass myself.”

You bit your lip, smiling despite yourself, but the nerves still fluttered in your stomach. “I just don’t want to embarrass you.”

“You won’t.” His hand was still wrapped around yours, steady and warm. But then he pulled back slightly and gave you a look. “But you’ll need more than an apple in you first.”

Wait. “What?”

He gestured toward the apple in front you. “You’re not learning to dance on nothing but nerves and fruit. Sit down. Eat something real.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that an order, Mr. Shelby?”

He smirked. “It’s a request. But one I’d rather not have to repeat it.”

You laughed softly, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll eat.”

He nodded back, then turned toward the kitchen door. “I’ll be in the sitting room.” Then he paused, just long enough to glance over his shoulder. “Don’t take too long.”

You watched him go, his footsteps fading down the hall. You reached for the apple again, smiling softly as you picked it up. 

You were still smiling when the maid came hurrying into the kitchen, red-faced and flustered. A delivery man followed her carrying what looked like a massive arrangement of white lilies and red roses in a deep-cut crystal vase. The delivery man was broad-shouldered and barely making eye contact with you.

“He insisted he had to bring it in personally, miss,” she explained breathlessly. “Said it was too heavy for me to carry alone.”

You just stared at the arrangement. It was elegant and dramatic, towering on the kitchen table now like it was meant for a ballroom and not your quiet morning.

“I… wasn’t expecting flowers,” you said slowly.

The man set it down without a word and quickly turned to leave, head ducked low. Odd.

You moved toward the vase, something about it suddenly feeling too grand… too much. And then, you heard a sound. It wasn't loud but you could definitely hear it, a faint mechanical clicking.

You froze, hearing some commotion outside. The maid looked as stunned as you were when Arthur barrelled in through the back door.

His eyes were sharp on you. “Is it fuckin’ ticking?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer. You stepped back as Arthur lunged for the vase, already yelling, "Tommy!" 

From the hallway, boots slammed against the floor. Tommy burst into the kitchen, saw the flowers. Saw you. Watched Arthur halfway out the back door already hauling the arrangement in both arms.

“Don’t move!” Tommy snapped to you. “Stay right where you are!”

Then he was gone, after Arthur.

You stood there with the maid, breath stuck in your throat. The silence was deafening for a few seconds. And then, a not-too-distant booming sound. The windows trembled and the dishes rattled on their shelves. The maid screamed and covered her mouth. You stood frozen, heart hammering in your chest.

That was when you noticed something on the floor at your feet. 

A cream-colored envelope that was delicate and expensive. Your name written on the front in fine, sweeping cursive. With shaking hands, you bent to pick it up, the scent of fresh flowers still hanging in the air. You opened it carefully. Inside was a folded page containing a long, winding obsessive love poem. You didn’t get more than a few lines in, the cadence of something that wasn’t a poem so much as a claim. 

You were shaking so hard, you dropped it. The letter and envelope landed softly on the table, the fine paper brushing the wood like it didn't come from a bomb meant to kill you. 

Your didn't immediately realize your hand curved protectively over your baby. You were still lost in what just happened, absorbing the fear of what could have happened. The house was eerily silent as smoke and panic drifted in through the back door that was left slightly ajar. 

Then the door slammed open. Tommy stormed in, eyes sharp and wild, breath tight like he hadn’t exhaled since the explosion. His gaze found you standing there, shaking with your hand over your belly. And everything in him seemed to snap back into focus.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head.

He crossed the kitchen in three strides, hands on either side of your face, scanning you like he needed proof. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked again, lower now, almost hoarse.

“No.” Your voice was just a whisper. “I’m okay.”

He exhaled shakily, forehead resting briefly against yours.

Then he saw the envelope on the table, the poem next to it. The name written on the front. Your name.

Picking it up the paper, unfolding it to quickly scan the writing on it. His fingers tightened the longer he held it. His entire body tensed. "You read it?”

You nodded faintly. “Not all of it. Just… just enough.”

You dropped your hand from your stomach as he looked at the page, not opening it, just feeling the weight of it in his hand.

“He sent it to you.”

You swallowed hard. He didn't need to say the man's name. You knew. It was Angel Changretta, or sent on his behalf.

Then you felt something strange and unfamiliar, your hands flew back to your belly, palms pressing flat. 

Tommy’s head snapped up. “What is it?” He was on edge already, raw from adrenaline. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t speak at first, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your heart. "He moved.”

You grabbed his hand, fast, certain, guiding it to the spot just below your ribs, your fingers trembling as you held his there.

“Right here. Just... just wait.”

He stilled, mouth slightly parted, the silence between you tightening. But it came again. The faintest flutter like a whisper under the skin. 

Tommy's gaze flew to yours, stunned. He looked like he'd been punched in the chest by something holy. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Arthur burst through the door, breathless with dirt on his sleeves. “She alright?”

Behind him, Finn came skidding into the room, his hair a mess, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened.

Arthur froze when he saw you both, your hands together over your stomach, Tommy’s expression somewhere between disbelief and reverence.

You smiled through the tears you hadn’t realized were falling. Still shaking, but more alive than you’d felt in weeks.

“I felt the baby move,” you told Arthur.

Arthur gave a short, stunned laugh. “I’ll bet you fuckin’ did. A bomb just went off.”

Before you could reply, Polly came rushing in from her errands, eyes wide, looking you over first, then Tommy, then the kitchen.

“What the bloody hell is going on?"

Tommy turned to her, still visibly reeling, hand still resting on your belly like he wasn’t willing to let go.

The chaos roared around you, shouting, questions, footsteps, confusion. But for one more breath, you and Tommy stayed still. Connected and in awe.

Arthur was talking, swearing about the bomb, demanding answers, but it all blurred. Polly’s voice cut in, sharp as ever, slicing through the noise with her questions, but even that barely registered. Finn was hovering uselessly by the door, looking between Arthur’s smoke-streaked coat and his soon-to-be sister-in-law.

And she was calm now, somehow glowing, like the moment had knocked everything loose in the world except her. 

Tommy’s hand was still there, resting on her stomach. Where the tiny life they made had moved beneath his fingers. 

He should’ve been shouting orders. Calling for weapons. Demanding to know who the fuck let a courier walk a bomb into his home.

But all he could do was stare at her. She was alive and breathing, eyes shining with fear and relief and something impossibly soft. And their child had just reached out from inside her, if only for a second. I’m here.

Tommy’s throat was tight. He didn’t typically believe in signs, but that had been one. And for one strange, fleeting breath, he didn’t feel like a man balancing a kingdom on the edge of a knife. He felt like a father, and a lucky one.

You looked up at him like you could feel what he was feeling, and for a second, he nearly let it all crack open. 

Arthur swore again. Polly snapped something back. Finn was pacing like a stray in a thunderstorm. It was too much, and it needed to be dealt with. 

Time to move. He turned toward the others, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “I want the man who delivered it. Find him. Bring him to me alive.”

Arthur straightened instantly. “Already done. Liam was right on his heels.”

Tommy gave a short nod. Good.

He turned to Polly. “Get Nadia here. Now.”

Polly nodded. “Already on her way. Mary too.”

Tommy looked to Finn, who was still fidgeting like a nervous dog. “Go find Rory. We need to double the guards. Now. No one gets near this house unless they’re on my list. Not deliveries or guests. No one.”

Finn bolted off without a word.

Tommy’s chest rose and fell, slow. Turning back to her, his gaze dropped briefly to her stomach, then back to her eyes.

Quieter now, but not soft, he said, “Come with me.”

And when she nodded, he placed a hand gently at the small of her back, guiding her out of the kitchen, away from the wreckage and shouting. His other hand was still clenched tight, and he didn’t immediately realize it. The shouting dulled behind them. Arthur and Polly still barking at each other. The maid still crying into her apron.

But as soon as the sitting room door shut, it was like the silence had weight. Tommy turned toward her. She watched him, eyes wide but steady. He sat down slowly in the chair near the fire, pulling her onto his lap so he could hold her. The letter in his coat pocket felt heavier now, like it was dragging at the lining. Like it could burn a hole straight through to his ribs.

“Someone sent that to me,” she said quietly. “They wanted me to open the page and read it until...” 

His arms tightened around her. She wasn't wrong. 

“They wanted me to die.”

No. No, not just die or disappear.

“They wanted me to lose you,” His voice was barely above a whisper. "To lose my child."

And that was what finally cut through everything. All of his plans, none of it mattered. Not if she had been standing one step closer. Not if Arthur had been a second too late.

His mind had barely started to fill in the gaps, and already it felt like suffocating. She leaned into him for comfort, for protection for her and the child she carried. 

His child.

“They won’t get another chance,” he muttered. And he meant it. Every syllable pressed through gritted teeth like a vow carved in stone.

He knew who it was. The Italians. The way Vicente had spoken. The way the tension had shifted after the meeting in the betting shop.

They knew he was staying home, that he wasn’t across town in his office. They knew the flowers would be delivered to her, a harmless wedding gift. They’d timed it to the hour.

They wanted him to see. To hear the blast from another room. Find her body, their child, scattered across the floor before he ever made it down the stairs.

It wasn’t just an attack. It was a fucking message. A warning dressed up as grief waiting to happen. It wasn't about wanting her gone.

They wanted him broken.

But they’d miscalculated. Tommy hadn’t lost her or the baby. And now he’d make sure every last man tied to that delivery, every thread that led back to Angel, to Vicente, to the Changrettas was pulled until it bled. The rage was simmering now, low and cold. The kind that burned slowly and permanently. 

The sitting room door flew open. “Where is she?”

His girl rose on shaking legs when Rory stormed in like he was ready to fight the whole world with his bare hands. His hair was wind-tossed, boots still muddy, like he hadn’t even stopped to think before running. His eyes landed on her, still alive and whole.

“Jesus Christ,” Rory breathed. “I heard the blast... Someone said it came from the house...”

He crossed the room in seconds and pulled her into his arms before Tommy could say a word. Held her so tightly it looked like he didn’t trust the floor to hold her upright. 

Tommy didn’t interrupt, letting him have that moment. Rory needed to see for himself that his sister was still here. Still breathing.

Rory pulled back, hands on her shoulders, eyes scanning her face. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

She smiled at him. “I’m okay.”

He looked down at her belly. “The baby?”

Her voice softened. “I felt him move.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked toward her, but he didn’t say anything. It was the second time she’d said him. No it, and she said it with certainty.

That froze Rory in place. His face crumpled for just a second, before he blinked fast and cleared his throat. “Alright...  Alright, good.”

Tommy rose from the chair and took a step forward, his voice sharp again. “She’s safe.”

Rory turned, eyes flashing. “Tell me who sent it.”

“I already know,” Tommy said. “And I’ll deal with it.”

Rory didn’t move. “Then let me help.”

“No,” Tommy said firmly. “You go in swinging, they disappear too fast. I want them to feel this for what they tried to take from me. From you.”

Rory hesitated, breathing hard. But then he nodded. A soldier’s nod.

Tommy looked at him evenly. “Stay with her until Polly gets here. Then find me. I'll need you.”

Then to her, his voice dropping, softer. “Don’t leave this room until I return.”

He turned without another word, already thinking two steps ahead, already planning the first stone in the avalanche.

The study still smelled faintly of smoke from the fire, though it had long since burned down to glowing embers. Tommy had just finished washing the blood from his hands. He’d changed shirts. His cuffs were clean now. But the storm hadn’t passed. It had just gone quiet.

Arthur, John, and Rory were already in his study when he walked in, each of them tense, waiting. 

The delivery man had been delivered to him alive. Liam had caught him not far from the edge of the city, already trying to vanish into the sprawl.

He’d been brave. Tommy would give him that. But bravery had its limits.

The man now lay unconscious in the cellar, bleeding from the mouth, tied down and silent because Tommy had taken his tongue after receiving his confession. And before that, he’d taken everything else he needed.

Stepping into the room, he shut the door behind him. “It was Vicente Changretta.”

They already knew but he just wanted to say it. 

John crossed his arms. “Their people are saying that we disrespected him in the betting shop.”

“Tommy threatened him,” Rory muttered from the corner. "They should have listened."

Tommy moved behind the desk, his gaze shifting to the half-empty glass he hadn’t touched since midday. “Vincente wanted to make a statement.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said darkly. “So do we.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “After the wedding.” His words were cold and final. “We bury them.”

Those words lingered around them in the silence of the room. 

Rory’s gaze met Tommy's. “Tell me when.”

John cracked his knuckles, smirking. Arthur still seemed shaken from the bomb incident earlier. 

Tommy took a seat and leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigarette. His rage had been fed, and his hands weren’t shaking anymore.

But he had one last thing to do tonight.

You were sitting in the parlor with your mother when the door opened gently and Polly stepped in. “She’s here,” Polly said, her voice softer than usual.

Nadia followed, her scarf slightly askew, her cheeks pink from the cold and exertion. “Apologies,” she said with a warm smile. “I was helping a girl that was too young with her first child. It took longer than expected.”

You smiled. “You’re not late.”

Your mother, still shaken from earlier, watched you like you could disappear any moment. Like she didn’t trust that the danger was over just yet.

Polly guided Nadia in as if she were royalty, though there was nothing grand about the way Nadia moved. She walked purposefully to you, brushing a hand along your shoulder briefly.

“You look very good,” she said kindly, not mentioning what had happened. No one did.

You gave her a grateful smile. “I felt him move.”

Her eyes lit with a knowing gleam. “Ah, so he’s already making his presence known. Typical Shelby.”

Polly smiled at that. 

“You said him,” your mother added quietly, trying not to smile but failing.

Nadia crouched in front of you and began her usual checks, measuring, feeling, asking how you’d been sleeping. When she pressed her ear to your belly, her earrings swayed gently, brushing your gown. 

You exhaled slowly, relaxing under the rhythm of it all. 

Nadia straightened, her hands still resting gently on your middle for a moment longer. Then she smiled, certain. “Everything is as it should be,” she said.

Your heart flew in your chest. “Really?”

She nodded. “The baby is healthy, getting stronger. It's position is where it should be.”

Your mother let out a breath beside you, one hand pressing to her heart like she hadn’t realized she’d been holding her own lungs hostage.

You smiled up at Nadia, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes now, the good kind. For the first time since the explosion, you believed it.

“Would you like to know?” she asked softly. “If it’s a boy or a girl?”

Before you could speak, a voice came from the doorway. “Yes.”

You turned your head. Tommy was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, expression unreadable but focused entirely on you.

You nodded. You hadn’t said it aloud until now, but if he believed in this, you could too. 

“Alright then,” Nadia said, standing.

She motioned gently for you to rise, then guided you over to the chaise lounge by the window, helping you settle back into the cushions.

“Recline just a bit,” she murmured. “Good. Hands here, relax your shoulders.”

You did as she said, nervous and excited now for an entirely different reason. 

Then, with that same calm grace, she looked toward the doorway.

“Mr. Shelby,” she said, her voice gentle but sure.“Come here.”

Tommy straightened slightly from where he’d been leaning, then crossed the room, and stopped beside you.

Nadia held out her hand. “The ring?”

You slipped your engagement ring from your finger, and it suddenly felt so light, so strange, not to have it there. Polly provided a long black thread from her coat pocket, of course she had one, and your mother cut it to length with the scissors she kept in her pocket.

Nadia tied it to the thread Polly had given her, her fingers moving with quiet precision.

Tommy remained close. Leaning over the back of the lounge, he took one of your hands in his as he watched. You felt his presence without having to look for him.

Nadia positioned herself at your side, the ring dangling above your belly.

And then... it began. Her hand, you noticed, was completely still. But the ring began to move. First barely. Just a quiver of motion. Then it grew more defined, not in circles, but in a clean, deliberate line, back and forth. Side to side.

You stared, lips parting. Her hand wasn’t moving. How could it be moving on its own?

Your breath caught. "What does it mean?"

"A boy," Tommy's voice was gente.

Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “I knew it.”

Your mother gasped softly beside you. Polly smiled.

Nadia nodded, calm and sure. “Yes,” she said. “You did.”

While Nadia worked at getting the thread off the ring, you sat up with Tommy's help. When your gaze found his, you saw something in his gaze that hadn’t been there all day. 

Peace.

Nadia packed up quietly, offering a parting smile as she slipped your ring back into your hand. “A strong boy,” she said again. “And a strong mother. I'll be by next week.”

You squeezed her hand gently in return, too happy to speak.

Your mother stood then, brushing a hand along your arm. “I should get home,” she said softly, though you could see in her eyes she didn’t want to go. She’d been more frightened than she let on, maybe even more than Rory. You hugged her tightly, whispered that you were alright. That everything was alright now.

Nadia and your mother left together, Polly seeing them to the door with a nod that promised she'd keep watch over the house for the rest of the night. But she didn’t come back.

And then it was just the two of you. The quiet settled in like a blanket. The tension that had held tight through every moment of the day slowly eased from your shoulders as you sat there on the chaise. Your hand drifted over your belly.

Tommy lowered himself to one knee beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you. His hand smoothed over your belly. 

“I’m glad you’re both alright,” he said finally, his voice rougher than it had been earlier. “You and our son.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache in the best way. There was a light in his eyes now, faint but real. And though you knew he was still making plans, still thinking about retribution and protection and all the weight that came with being Tommy Shelby… none of it was in his voice just now.

And you didn’t want to remind him.

Glancing toward the fire, then back at you with a faint smile, he said, “There’s just one more thing to do before bed.”

You smiled. “What?”

He stood, extended his hand. “I promised to teach you to dance.”

Your breath caught as he offered you his hand. And for just a second, you thought back to that first night when he'd led you away from Arthur. He'd offered you his hand and walked you over to the bed in the other apartment... Even then, you realized that something in you had trusted him.

And now? Now you trusted him with your life, the life of your son. 

You took his hand, and he led you gently to the center of the room.

“It’s just a step,” he said. “Then another. Follow me.”

You nodded, your heart fluttering in your chest.

He went over the steps with you slowly, patiently. You practiced the motions once, then again. He made it seem so simple.

Finally, he pulled you a little closer. One arm around your waist, one hand in yours. And then he began to hum. Soft and low, a tune you didn’t recognize but somehow felt like you’d always known. His breath was warm against your ear, you shivered. You loved the low timbre of his deep voice. 

But you didn’t trip or look at your feet. You were dancing with him.

And in that quiet room, no war at the windows, no shadows creeping under the door...

You were happy. You smiled up at him as you slowly moved together.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence @goldensunflowe-r @andydrysdalerogers @hellfirehopeless @wantedby-larry @mariaenchanted @moonbeamott @thetamtam9 @ayeeeitsmiracle @atlas-of-a-human-soul

Favorite Muse (Model!Uzui Tengen x Photographer!Reader) Ko-fi Request

Sooo yes another request for kimetsu no yaiba with our flamboyant Tengen Uzui.Maybe an a/o/b fic (I like how you write them) or an modern au where Tengen is a model (instagram models?) And reader is sort of his personal photographer .I dont mind if you mix the two together.

I’m sorry this took so long, I hope this finds you with some good timing since season 2 is finally out and it is Uzui in all his glory. I’d like to write more stories and blurbs with a photographer/model relationship, this one was a fun one to write. thank you so much for the support! I hope you enjoy!!!

title: Favorite Muse

pairing: Uzui Tengen/Reader

rating: slight nsfw

- - - - - - - -  - - - - - - - -

I have a new shoot idea I want to try.

You glance at your phone, blinking in surprise over the top of your energy drink. You glance at the familiar contact name and look back to your current editing project—the wedding photos should be done by the end of the night if you keep on track. You’re scheduled for a few more shoots in the morning and had planned to kick back as a little reward to yourself.

You consider your options briefly. A new string of texts follow the first, and you know it’s just him trying to incite you even further for whatever crackpot idea he’s come up with this time. You know with how he is, he won’t let it drop if it’s an idea he’s especially fond of, even if it means a half-nude shoot in the middle of the god damn Antarctic because somehow—

The one and only elusive model Uzui Tengen’s photos—they always sell.

You can tell him no, suffer the consequences of having him barrage you for the next few days, suffer the even harder consequences of having one of the girls try to persuade you into doing it—you’re particularly weak to Hinatsuru’s advances—and also miss out on a chance to make some extra pocket change for what you get as Uzui Tengen’s one and only private contractor and photographer. But, what you do get in return is a peaceful, stress-free night to yourself, which is hopelessly and utterly rare and your body is rather beat and haggard after all these back-to-back shoots and especially that god damn rock climbing advertisement, you shouldn’t have done that one. 

Or, you could say yes; get paid handsomely because Tengen’s photos always sell well, get to eat Hinatsuru’s cooking because she’ll have heard you’ll be stopping by the studio and would make sure something’s ready, get to partake in the luxuries that surround the Uzui household, get Uzui off your back for about forty-eight hours max…

Your phone is still being spammed with texts. You ignore them, staring at the happy couple smearing cake onto each other’s faces. When Uzui and the girls finally get a proper wedding in place, you’d take those photos in a heartbeat. You know they’d be the kind for the record books.

Your phone lights up now with a phone call. You suddenly consider turning down the offer out of spite, nursing your energy drink with dull eyes. Your gaze does stray, however, to the pile of take-out containers sitting on your work desk. You frown at them, feeling your stomach churn at the thought of Hinatsuru’s warm porridge…

Your stomach wins. You swipe your phone, pressing it to your ear.

“Finally! What are you doing not picking up my calls at this hour?” you hear music blasting from Uzui’s side and suddenly wonder if you’ve made the wrong choice. “I know, are you getting off on my photos? You can just come and I’ll help you out. No need to play by yourself.”

“What’s this idea of yours?” you say, checking your schedule. If Uzui leaves you alone for the next two days, you can schedule a day-off after the male calendar shoot… yeah, this can work out! “If it’s the frosting idea in a different theme, I’m going to cut all ties with you—”

“You love taking my photos too much,” Uzui says, sounding bored. “I want to do something good for Valentine’s. A single theme, straight-forward, nothing crazy this time, actually.”

“The most flamboyant man on earth,” you say flatly. “And it’s nothing crazy?”

“It’ll be more than enough, baby,” Uzui says. You imagine him kicking his head back, lounging on some kind of leather couch tucked into a dazzling club somewhere or another. The man’s got too much energy, too much stamina, and you’re not really sure where he keeps it. “Less is more, you know?”

You do know. You always tell him those exact words. But for Uzui Tengen, it’s either go big or go home. That’s why his shoots always require you to clear out your schedule the day after because they’re far too arduous for you to do anything else.

“I don’t like how secretive you’re being with the whole thing,” you say, clicking to clean up another photo. “Give me something to mull over. I’ll be there after seven.”

“Six.”

“Seven.”

“Fine, but you’re staying until it’s done.”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. You get the feeling he knows anyway though because he continues, “One word theme. Think about it however you’d like, sweetheart.”

You wait, tapping a finger idly against the minimizing key. You hear the music dull in the background, wondering if he’s moving away from the source of noise. His side quiets, and all you hear is the faint rustle of fabric, and then you imagine Uzui’s phone pressed against the side of his face, maybe held up in his hand, right by his mouth—

The husky, low alto of his voice nearly catches you off guard for a second. Uzui whispers it, sweet, like honey against your ears.

“Seduction.”

Keep reading

Scene Prompt

It had been a week since A died, and B had finally gotten around to cleaning out their room. They finished packing the last box around midnight, and got up from the floor. As they stretched, they felt something move behind them. B whirled around and to their shock, A was standing behind them.

"A?" B choked out, taking a hesitant step forward. For the first time in a week, happiness bloomed in their chest. A smiled at them and reached out, as if to touch B. "A-are you alive?"

A's smile faltered. "I'm afraid not," they said, stretching out a hand. Hope died in B's heart as they noticed the transparency of A's fingers. B let out a sob.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."

"Hey, it's okay," A said. "You couldn't have done anything. B, listen, it's wonderful to see you again, but I have to warn you. Something's coming. Something bad. You and the others have to get ready."

"What? I-I don't understand."

A smiled. "That's why I'm here. Come on, B. Let's work together, one last time."

-Mod Minita