Words To Describe A Person's Voice

MIDNIGHT HAZE — rin itoshi.

— notes ⨾ ive been shying away from posting this for too long now. [ sensual/making out ] and heavy on the details hahahs

Rin takes note of the way you're shrinking in your seat beside him, how your arms are protectively tucked in your sides and the subtle but sharp inhales.

from his peripheral vision, he can see that you're gnawing on your bottom lip, gulping hard to swallow your sniffles because he knows you don't like to be seen crying. which is why he's not sure why he's in his living room with you beside him at 2 am watching some sappy sad movie you picked. it's been an hour already since you started your movie marathon and he could've suggested you watch a horror movie instead— but he didn't, and he thinks he regrets it now.

He sighs, pausing the movie and reaching for the box of tissues he's glad he set on the table just in case. he offers it to you, smiling a little to himself when you hesitantly take it, as if you're still not ready to accept you're crying.

“you're such a crybaby” he says. by now a few tears are falling down your cheeks, leaving a damp trail behind in their wake.

“shut up, I'm not. i don't cry often, i swear”, you whimper with the wobble of your lip, and rin laughs. it's the irony of this scenario that swells his heart. you're looking at him with narrow, glassy eyes and warm hues setting on your skin. your words are meant to be firm and legitimate, but you're voice is hushed and low.

“okay, crybaby” he teases, and you pout.

his room glows in a faded shade of honey with the paper lamp you bought him as a housewarming gift. there's nothing but the sound of his steady breathing, and your quivering one. a touch of the scent of lemongrass from the air freshener lingers in the air and rin realises he's been staring at you.

there's still a dampness sticking to your cheeks and rin wants —such a treacherous thing to do— to trace his finger along the trails. feel the smoothness and warmth of your skin. when you realise he's looking at you, embarassment blooms in shades of fuchsia, “stop staring at me like that.”

rin hums. he heard you, doesn't think much about it. and before he realises what he's doing, he's caressing the side of your face. it's a ghost of a touch at first, “staring like what?”

“like you're doing right now” you breath hitches in your throat at the tenderness of rin's caress. momentarily closing your eyes, you lean into his touch. his gaze devours you whole, it makes you want to shrink further into the couch, but at the same time— daring you to wait and see where it takes you.

when all you can hear is the loud thumps of your own heart, watching the steady rise and fall of rin's shoulders as he's gazing through the soul window of your eyes, you're painfully aware that the two of you are alone.

“can't help it,” he mumbles. “god, you're beautiful” he says.

the faint glow of moonlight strips lines of silver across the room, and rin's bathed in luminescence. you can't help but trace the sharp white cut of his collarbone and the flutter of his eyelashes, over the broad expanse of his chest and the slopes of shoulders down to the ridges of hard muscle roping the length of his forearm. you take in his light. he takes in yours.

there are too many details. too much to breathe in yet not enough at the same time. a drug-like midnight haze encompasses the room, the air in the room is electrified and frozen still. rin's fingers travel down from your cheekbones to the corner of your mouth, then brush lightly against your chin.

you can't think. can't say anything. it's like your voice is caught in your own throat. all you feel is the heaviness of the air and the brushes of rin's fingers across your skin. mind blurring with the lines of a countless ‘what ifs’ and moments you've felt the same heaviness in the air, times when the glances you steal from each other lasted longer than they should've.

you swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, and rin's eyes follow the action. his gaze rests there and your falls to his.

there's a momentary pause, as if you're caught in a trance. as if there's hesitation and doubts filling the spaces left behind your words. rin's eyes are still set on your slightly parted lips.

and then it breaks.

you feel it in the form of a shiver running down your spine when the lightning in the room reaches a breaking point, you think rin feels it too. there's a shift in his shoulders when he leans forward at the very second time melts into infinity— a magnetic pull drawing you both in.

rin's other hand supports his weight when he practically crawls on all fours and rolls forward on the leg tucked beneath him.

his lips surround yours— desperate, heated, almost obscene. it's nowhere near the gentle caress from before. teeth nipping and tugging at your bottom lip, long and languid glides of tongue against tongue. he breathes in all of your gasps and mewls, chasing after your breaths to consume you whole like he's waited forever for this very moment. breaths tangle in heated knots of passion, you're holding onto rin's arms, aware that your hands are almost shaking. this is not your first kiss. you've kissed people before. but it's your first kiss with rin and he's made you forget there was anyone ever before him.

you pull away first, breathless and hot. it's addictive— the way rin's lips chase after yours, eyes fluttering open when he can't find them. but he's still close. so, so close. forehead resting on yours and hot breaths fanning against your mouth.

his eyes are brimming with awe and glimmer, but lips swollen and sinful. the contrast is striking— awestruck eyes and moon-bruised lips.

rin falls back into the couch, calming his staggered breaths and throbbing heart.

it takes a long minute before either of you speak again.

“do you regret it?” it's a whisper that's almost raw with desperation and fear. rin's eyes are glued to you again, waiting for an answer.

“i don't. i'd never regret it. do you?” though still breathless, your voice is bold.

“regret?—” he chuckles, as if you asked a dumb question, “—you have no idea, how long I've wanted this. wanted you.” it's a declaration— of all his unconfessed feelings, all the times he'd stopped himself just short of the breaking point. “i feel like i'm about to lose my mind.”

“me too”, is all you can say. it's all you can think.

and if rin senses that, then he smiles, “why don't we try that again?”

© seimirii 2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

i hope this is what you wanted m'lady @rinnahhhh

— for whatever it's worth / nagi seishiro x reader. (ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?)

— light angst. happy ending. yukimiya kenyu as plot fodder (sorry.) friends to lovers. misunderstandings.

— part two of i dreamt you loved me. quick warning: i'm not exaggerating when i say i was braindead when i was writing this. it's bad but it's your problem now <3

you thought you were being honest with yourself when you said you’d be fine.

you understood, truly—that you would miss him more than you should, even when he's so close. you think, if you message him, he'd reply anyway; but all your messages remain unsent, kept hidden the way you think your feelings should’ve been kept.

it’s a frustrating thing, to remind yourself every day that you don’t need nagi no matter how much you miss him; to tell yourself you don’t miss the comfort of his presence, the warmth of his lips mumbling against the pulse on your neck, his calm voice keeping you earthed.

it’s not even supposed to be this way.

despite nagi approaching you that day, he doesn’t do it again. he’s across the room or running away from you the moment he notices you coming. while you keep pushing the distance, he keeps pulling.

you start wondering if you kept pushing, pushing, pushing–if you kept doing that, would you be too much of a bother already? if he was doing this much to avoid you, shouldn’t you just suck it up and walk away?

a week later, you don’t get any more time to decide. yukimiya is there, walking beside you as you enter your usual café, a charming smile on his lips.

“you go ahead and sit, i’ll order for us,” he offers, nodding towards the booth you always take.

you nod, “oh, my order, it’s—”

yukimiya arches an eyebrow, looking at you like you’re silly, “i got it, y/n.”

the feeling of your cheeks heating up is instantaneous. “well then,” you try again, taking your wallet out, “my payment.”

he keeps that expression, then he’s shaking his head. “i got it, y/n,” he stands his ground and you’re left to sigh, taking the defeat.

just as you take your seat, the door clings with the sound of someone entering. on instinct, you turn towards it only to feel your breath getting knocked out of you because nagi is there and he’s looking around the place like he’s searching for someone.

he keeps looking until meets your gaze (and maybe you still love him too much, because you could almost say for sure that his eyes brighten at the sight of you) and when he starts walking towards you, you think perhaps you’re having a fever dream.

“y/n.”

“nagi-kun,” you almost squeak, still surprised. nagi almost wants to wince, because you’ve only ever called him that when you were still unfamiliar with each other.

he reaches a hand towards his nape, a habit he does when he’s uncertain, “can i join you?”

you gape for a moment, confused, because there he is—the one you miss the most, the best friend you crave so badly—the one who left your feelings unanswered; yet you’re not even sure if you’re meant to say yes because yukimiya is there, walking towards you, stopping right beside nagi and placing your drinks on the table.

“oh,” you hear nagi, realizing you’re not alone.

yukimiya turns to him, his smile falters for only a split second you almost miss it, “ah, nagi-kun, yes?”

nagi only nods with tension brewing in the air, you kind of want to cry only because it feels as if you’ve found yourself at a shitshow of a situation. sighing, you smile apologetically at yukimiya. “come sit, yukki,” you hesitate before speaking again, “i think i should step out and talk to nagi for a moment though, is that okay?”

he nods despite the apprehensive look on his face. you stand, gesturing nagi towards the door.

when you’re outside, nagi is the first one to speak.

“we can just talk next time,” he offers, as if this wasn’t the first time in weeks that he’s even tried to talk to you.

he watches your lips curl into a frown, and he knows he’s said the wrong thing, “i just don’t wanna intrude in your… date?” he continues, sounding uncertain.

you laugh mirthlessly, “what do you mean, date?” you ask. you feel half hurt, half confused. you’re not sure why, but it feels like a punch to the gut that he’s telling you this as if he’s completely forgotten about your confession.

“oh, i just thought–he likes you, right? i thought you had something going on…”

“are you serious, sei? or have you forgotten?”

“forgotten what?”

your responding sigh let out is harsh, drawn out, and maybe if nagi had more empathy in him, he’d even hear the hurt, “that it’s you, sei. that i love you, and you’re–” your voice wavers, your initial sob is heavy, and nagi watches the way your face crumples, trying not to cry even though it’s futile, “you’re asking me if i like someone else when you know–”

“oh,” he trails off, his finger incessantly tapping at his thigh, a nervous tic.

“yeah, oh. i hate you and fuck you for that,” you tell him, except your voice is weak and there’s no real bite in your tone, “that’s fucked up, sei.”

“sorry,” he tells you, and he means it, no matter how much it seems he’s at a loss for words. he licks his lips before his mouth parts again, “i just mean,” he pauses, fumbling for the right words to say, “we’re friends first, before anything else, right? if you like him, you should give it a shot.”

you can’t help the exasperation when you react, tears free falling down the pavement beneath you, “is it that hard for you to acknowledge my feelings, sei?”

there’s nothing but the faint sound of the cafe inside and the hiccup of your sobs yet your heartbreak is deafening. right there, you realise it would hurt if he was around as much as it did when he wasn’t.

“just tell me this, nagi,” you exhale, trying to brave it, “why can’t it just be us?”

you don’t know how to feel when he answers you without thinking, like he knew this already. “i can’t reciprocate your feelings, y/n. i can’t be the boyfriend you want,” he tells you. it’s honest, as he always is, and it's a stalemate from there.

there’s a whimper of your hurt you try to bite back with your tongue before you nod one last time, “i should go back,” you tell him.

you’re walking away before he could say anything more.

it doesn't take long for you to realize that nagi is truly gone from you this time around.

while you try to move on, you tell yukimiya about your feelings, but he’s persistent, and he thinks it’ll be fine if it meant he even had a chance.

except it feels oddly empty sometimes, even when you find yourself in the affections of yukimiya. until february and march pass and you realize you're still willing nagi back, you grieved. your love, his absence, the futile attempt you'd made at untethering the red thread keeping you woven to him—you grieved it all.

the next month without him gone and you find yourself slipping away from yukimiya. you confess that you’ll probably love nagi for a long time and until then you couldn’t let him wait around for nothing.

soon enough, though, you find yourself hanging out with isagi at the cafe to catch up—something you could only usually do together since you can't find the will to join all three of them with nagi there.

this time, though, your heart wins.

“have you guys been hanging out with nagi lately?” you regret it as soon as you ask.

“you should just message him,” he replies, looking at you expectantly. but your reaction doesn’t fail him when you recoil at his suggestion.

“absolutely not, yoichi-kun,” you sigh. with a pout, you try again, “he’s free today, right? do you think he’d come here if you asked him to?”

he scratches at his cheek, “i can call him.”

it’s comical enough that he’s almost amused, the way your lips stretch to a wide grin as he slips his phone out to call nagi. but when the ringing stops and you hear nagi’s faint voice, you try not to pay attention to the phone call only because you don’t want to get your hopes up.

it’s quick, though. and isagi’s pausing to talk to you, “he’s asking if it’s fine with you, y/n?”

of course isagi tells him you’re there, but you nod anyway, because it sounds like he’s coming.

when nagi’s finally there, with bachira and reo with him, you don’t know why you’re so relieved; everything falls into place and the air is easy to breathe.

it’s late when everyone starts saying goodbye and you stay standing by the door of the cafe, wondering if everything is going to be okay from here.

“y/n,” nagi calls from beside you, “let’s walk back together.”

it’s not a question, but years of being friends with him tells you this is his way of letting you know he missed you. you chew at your lip, trying not to smile, because it feels like you have him back.

your smile wins with warmth filling your chest, “okay—yeah, i’d like that.”

he falls into step beside you, the silence is comfortable but there’s been so much left unsaid since you last saw him. you steal a quick glance, taking him in, you missed him so much that you’re not sure you should even bring it up anymore; like if it meant you’d have to eat your feelings just to keep him around, you would.

somehow, nagi senses your hesitation, taking the initiative to speak first, “it was really boring without you around.”

your heart skips a beat, treacherous, “really?” you reply, the smile evident in your voice.

he hums, “mm, didn’t have anyone to lean on when i sleep.”

“is that all i am to you?” you say lightly, laughing, but the words meant more than you intended and your laughter dies down. grimacing, you clear your throat, “sorry, i didn’t mean it like that.”

nagi only nods, his gaze intense as he looks at you. you continue, trying to ease the awkwardness, “i’m just glad we’re okay again, sei. and for what it’s worth, i probably don’t love you anymore.”

you try to save it with a lie, but your words hang between you like paperweight, and nagi's expression shifts slightly at your response.

he stops, urging you to look back at him. he takes a step towards you, so close you almost stumble back, hand reaching out to tilt your chin, just like that day when everything between you shifted. but then he speaks, his voice quiet and measured, "i do, though.”

it's a simple statement, but it carries a world of emotion with it, and you can see it etched on his face. he watches you when he says it, the gleam that appears in your eyes at his confession, "and i want you to feel the same again." his tone is confident, almost daring, something you can’t do anything about.

you can feel it, the depth of his desire, his insistence on everything he wanted; now it’s you, and you almost want to tell him you love him, still, that you never even stopped.

“but why are you telling me this?" your question is a whisper, hesitant. “you said you don’t want a relationship, sei…”

“i don’t think i mind if it’s with you.” the sincerity seeps through his voice even when he shrugs, his eyes are trained on your lips.

hope blooms within you and you think nagi can tell, because there’s a twitch of a smile on the corner of his lips.

he really wants to kiss you, but you’d probably be upset for real this time if he does, so he moves to press a kiss on your forehead instead before stepping away.

with your flustered expression though, you’d think he just kissed you and more.

it feels like home–nagi’s arms around you, the warmth of it, the comfort. it’s familiar but it feels so much more this time around.

"wanna hear something weird, sei?" you ask him softly, like you’re telling a secret.

nagi hums, his eyes closed. "what is it?" he asks, voice laced with sleep.

"when i missed you," you started, "i dreamt about you–i dreamt of you sitting in the kitchen telling me you couldn’t be bothered to eat, but that you really wanted me to cook for you.”

he opens his eyes, meeting your gaze, a small smile playing on his lips. “that’s how bad you missed me?”

you scrunch your face, not taking the bait, “no. maybe i was just hungry, sei.”

you feel nagi pull you closer, lips pressing to your shoulder blade, muttering against your skin, “i’m glad you’re here again, y/n.” and it sounds like i missed you then, too.

“me too, sei. i'm happy you're here.”

Hyunjin: [throws Seungmin’s camera away]

Jisung: OH

Felix: NO

Jeongin: HE

Changbin: DIDN’T

Seungmin: BITCH FIGHT ME LIKE A REAL MAN

Renjun, talking to a ghost about a flashlight: Turn it on if you want to hurt us.

[Light Turns On]

Jeno: Fucking shit- God. Why do you keep asking questions like that. What’s wrong with you? Do you want to fucking die?!

Jisung: you look nice, i want to kiss you

Y/N: sorry, i didn't catch that, mind repeating that for me?

Jisung: I- I SAID IF YOU DIED I WOULDN'T MISS YOU

'cat' the son | itoshi rin

( a/n ) when i came back the poll was 50/50 so i got bribed and it’s now decided that rin is the winner + little highschool au bc we all know they dropped out:/ idk what to title this im ngl

ew the header has such a shitty quality ill fix that later

there’s a cat on the sidewalk.

you have about six dollars in your hand, a faltering mission to treat yourself to a cold drink, and an aching heart at the sight of the little animal seated like a king on concrete, looking up at you with blank eyes.

its dark fur and near-teal eyes remind you of someone. of a back facing your seat, dark hair always kept neat and looking like it’s conditioned meticulously, and the sharpest eyes you have ever seen on a high schooler.

it has been a long day, long enough for you to have stormed out of the room as soon as classes ended to rush to the nearest shop that would sell what you’re craving. alas, there is a cat on the sidewalk, and you can’t just ignore it.

“stay here, kitty,” you say before rushing off with the six dollars in hand and a new goal to head straight to the nearest sign with an animal cardboard cutout printed on it.

eventually, you find one; eventually, you come out of the store holding cat food and a tiny cat bowl because you were worried about letting the cat eat straight from the can. it’s baby blue with little fishes added as design, though you think it’s rather gruesome to put that there, considering the canned food you bought is made from fish. still, you hope the cat will appreciate it.

the cat is still there as if it’s understood and blessed you with patience. the unimpressed look it has on its face says otherwise, though. grateful, you kneel beside it, slightly mesmerized by the fact that it hasn’t run away yet.

maybe other people are feeding it, too? it doesn’t look worryingly thin. needs a little cleaning, but looks well-fed. you’re relieved.

“here you go,” you coo, ignoring the strange looks of the passersby. you place the bowl down and crack open the can. the smell has the cat walking over, meowing all crankily. “i know, i know.”

the cat doesn’t dig in until you’ve finished shaking off its contents, staring at you in the same way the itoshi guy in your class would. the resemblance is uncanny.

you spend the rest of your afternoon keeping the cat company. its face speaks as if it’s far from amused, but the way it rubs against your ankle contradicts it.

cute. the cat is cute.

another student comes to visit the cat, carrying two cans of cat food. it’s been sitting in the plastic for a little while because as he had been going in the same routine he usually has, he spots you, his classmate, bent to the knees next to his cat, and paused.

rin thinks you’re scared of him because everyone in the class is. he lets you have your moment, choosing to come back later when you’ve finished so you don’t freak out and scare the cat. he thinks he can strike up a conversation tomorrow where there are no cats to frighten.

the cat walks up to him, instantly familiar. he doesn’t even meow up at rin impatiently, which confirms rin’s suspicions.

“y/n fed you well,” he mumbles. “i guess you can have this tomorrow.”

you’re suddenly all too aware that rin sits in front of you. he’s right there, uniform stretched over his broad back, most likely because he’s the prodigy of soccer in your school.

the neatness of his hair reminds you of the cat from yesterday, with its silky dark fur despite being a stray. you resist the urge to touch it, missing the cat already. you make a mental note to refill your water bottle so the cat can drink after.

while left thinking about the fact that you’re three dollars shorter than yesterday's budget, you fail to notice that class has ended and rin has his arm slung over the top of his chair to turn to look at you.

rin’s eyes flicker down to the paper bag next to your feet. “what’s that for?”

startled by the smoothness of his voice directed at you, you choke out a: “t-this?” you gesture lamely at the bag containing the gruesome bowl.

“what else am i referring to?”

you scrunch your nose. “okay, no need to be so rude. maybe i won’t tell you what it is.”

rin stares, and you’re intensely reminded of piercing eyes looking up at you, patiently waiting for the canned tuna.

“it’s a cat bowl,” you murmur, defeated.

“cat bowl,” he repeats, a gleam in his eye. he probably thinks you’re weirder than he already thinks you are.

“for a stray. i don’t want to bring it around because some other cat owner might steal it. i can’t have that.”

“show me,” he demands.

a little terrified by the fact that the class grump is actively maintaining a conversation with you; you obediently show him the bowl, spinning it around to show all sides. rin hums, contemplative. your classmates are starting to stare. “it’s weird, right? fishes for the print and fishes for dinner. do you like it?”

“lukewarm.”

“what does that even mean?”

“it’s too small. buy a new one.”

“...you think?”

rin nods, standing up. the chair screeches while he says, “i’ll come with you.”

this is how you end up in the same pet supply store with a companion this time. rin picks the most expensive one for the bowl and the canned cat food, which makes you think he must really like cats a lot.

but as you two leave the store, you belatedly realize he’s leading the way even though you never told him anything about the stray you meet.

it doesn’t hit you until the same cat meows and purrs at rin, rubbing against his pants with its entire body.

“hi,” rin says, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

you gape. “wait, the cat’s yours?”

rin bends down, knees to his chest while he sets the bowl down and cracks the can open with one finger. “no. dad’s allergic. he doesn’t follow me back home anyway.” while he does that, the cat comes to greet you, and your heart aches on rin’s behalf.

so he just comes to feed him every day, huh… you muse, gently scratching the cat who purrs at your attention but still looks as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“do you have a name for him?”

rin pauses, having finished pouring everything. “...no.” he squints at you as if you’ve just asked him the exact coordinates of his birthplace: sincerely confused.

“what do you call him, then?” you watch as the unnamed cat starts digging down on the food, content. you wonder why no one else has already kept this cat to themselves. he’s so cute and polite.

“cat.”

“ah, of course.”

you two watch ‘cat’ eat, content with the silence. it starts to drizzle moments later, but rin is quick to pull out an umbrella and cover all three of you. the cat grumbles unhappily at the splatter of rain hitting him.

“do you always visit him?”

“yes.”

“do you like cats?”

“yes.”

a shame that allergies are the only thing keeping itoshi rin from getting a cat.

while you’re distracted, the cat goes back to rin. rin wastes no time bending down to pick him up, looking awfully domestic in the middle of a sidewalk in front of a busy coffee shop. your hands twitch to reach for your phone, but you’re too stunned to do anything but stare. they look so much alike.

cute, you think, horrified, rin looks so cute holding the cat.

while engulfed in rin’s arms, the cat meows at you. and you, with a too-tender heart, can’t resist.

“i’ll keep him,” you declare with newfound determination. “i’ll take care of him. if you let me keep the bowl you bought.”

rin’s eyes light up, though it wouldn’t have been evident if you hadn’t been his classmate and witnessed his varying expressions of death. (as if it was varying in the first place.)

“i’ll buy everything else he’ll like,” he says, like a true cat mom, his face glowing with barely concealed excitement.

since then, rin accompanies you home. you tell him that you’ve saved up three dollars from yesterday and now you have more than enough to buy a nice, cold drink and maybe catnip for the cat, but rin insists that he’ll pay for everything, including your beverage.

“you feed our son.”

“our son?” he repeats curiously.

“yes. he lives with me. he looks like you,” you explain absentmindedly, setting up the water dispenser on the new food bowl rin ended up buying. it no longer has fish for design or the painful lime green he bought the second time—instead, it’s a nice blue that compliments the cat’s eyes.

“and what are you implying is going on between us?”

you nearly spill water all over the floor. “i…” you honestly did not think about that, “—nevermind. don’t make it weird, itoshi!”

you think you heard rin chuckling, but you’re too busy being embarrassed to bother.

(during class, you will find that rin is far from intimidating. in fact, he’s actually a little bitch to deal with. you’re starting to think that he’s more of a pain to deal with than an actual grumpy cat.

“don’t forget to buy food for our son,” rin says after class, in front of students who gossip like there is no tomorrow.

“what?”

“for our son,” rin says, nonplussed at the sight of your haunted expression.

someone who has overheard the conversation pipes up, “you two have a son?”

“we don’t!” you hiss, face burning with embarrassment at the sudden influx of attention from your classmates.

rin frowns. “don’t lie.”

“you two are starting to act like a married couple recently…” another comments offhandedly.

“itoshi walks y/n home, i saw!”

“we have a son,” rin agrees, and you’re starting to think that he’s doing it on purpose.

“stop saying that!”)

thank u art aanobrain for giving me the idea of rin just naming the cat ‘cat’. that idea is so special to me.

anyway. RIN IS SO HARD TO WRITE HELPPPP. this was an excruciating process i genuinely did not know if i did anything right but WHAT’S DONE IS DONE. thx for reading <3

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

hi! if you’re not busy could you do some royalxroyal prompts? i have a princess oc i’m working on and i want to be able to give options for role plays besides them just mEeTiNg aT a bAlL oNe nIgHT

Of course!

Royal x Royal OTP Prompts

Prompts

A’s and B’s kingdoms often have meetings to discuss negotiations. As the kings and queens work out all the official stuff, A and B just sit there, bored out of their minds. They bond over how awful these frequent meetings are, and find creative ways to make the meetings more interesting.

A and B’s siblings are arranged to be married in the wedding of the century. The two kingdoms come together to make the wedding happen, and A and B are left with a fair amount of the planning.

A war has broken out in A’s kingdom and A is sent away to live with B for their protection.

Oneliners

“The only royal you are, is a royal pain in the ass”

“It’s awful that you live so far away, as it means I can only express my love through letters. And, as you know, I’m more talented with my mouth than with my pen”

“I would destroy my entire kingdom if it meant I got to be with you” “Is that a promise or a threat?”

“I’ve never seen you at any balls” “I’m not the most sociable”

“Can’t we just fall in love without having to worry about politics?”

Also see:

Modern royalty prompts and oneliners

kiss me with your eyes closed - kiss prompts

prompt list by @novelbear

pulling away and their faces are all flushed and they hear nothing but the sound of eachother trying to catch their own breaths

grabbing them by their waist and tugging them closer to deepen the kiss

^ maybe it catches the other off guard and they let out a little noise of surprise (much to the amusement of their partner)

cupping their cheeks and giving them a peck on the nose or lips

smiling into the kiss (it's gonna do it for me every time)

or if they smirk a little whilst doing it oh my god

they're lying on the bed, one on top of the other just planting kisses alllllll over their face. all over.

just going at it and suddenly they're being picked up and placed on the counter (or whatever surface is near)

laughing out loud when one of them makes any noises accidentally

one is shorter and they just plant a soft kiss (or kisses) along the taller's jawline

gentle. forehead. kisses.

a first kiss: one just goes for it so fast that the other doesn't realize what's happening at first. then they're like "oh shit"

^ but they slowly melt into it, let their eyes close, and kiss back

back hugging and the one in front just turns around to press their lips against the other's

those kisses that start off short and sweet, but things just naturally escalate

whispering words of admiration and love between a kiss

one is on the other's lap, holding their face between their hands, kissing them and instantly forgetting everything else in the room with them

those kisses that are just passionate from the start, they wrap their arms around their partner's neck or waist, being dipped back slightly.

after a heated session, they admire their flushed partner and softly place a peck on the cheek.

when they're holding hands and one just brings them up to their lips and places a kiss on their fingers.

Eye of the Storm

SERIES SUMMARY: You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn't realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps)

Chapter summary: Everything unfolds and you were the eye of the storm.

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

PROTECTION SERIES TAGLIST | PROTECTION MASTERLIST navigation

LONDON, 1919

Something clicked in Simon after Johnny’s funeral. He restricted you more than he did before. He was more forceful sometimes. You knew, because you braced yourself to face it everyday. 1…2…3…4…5… You had to count to ten every time he got mad. How many seconds will it take for him to lay his hand on you again? 

“From now on, you can’t come to the garden without asking for my permission.” When he saw your mouth open to protest, he added, “Don’t push it. You’re lucky I’m still allowing you to go.”

“O-of course, Simon,” you tearfully obliged. “I— “

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Good. Now, come here, darling. You know I can’t stand when you’re mad at me,” he coos and you oblige, finding yourself perched on his lap. You hated this; hated how he was treating you. Hated how his arms immediately wrapped around you. “I know that you’re mad at me,” he starts. “Especially with everything that’s been going on but I’m only worried that Tommy Shelby’s gonna take you.” 

“He’s not…you don’t have to worry about him, Simon,” you whispered. “I didn’t know that he was alive,”

“I know, I know,” he said. “But do you know where that puts me? You’ve been his friend since before the war and I’m not anything like him. It’s not you I don’t trust…it’s him. He’s a Birmingham rat with no respect. I want you safe. I want you here. If you behave yourself, then I’d slowly give you everything back. Hm?” he asked. 

You nodded, the small smile on your face could never convey how cold you felt.

Simon knows that what he’s doing is wrong but what else can be done? Tommy Shelby was back and there was no way he’s giving you up to some Birmingham gangster. It was just impossible to do so. It would hurt him and his ego. He’s never been declined of something before as an only child of two rich parents. If he’d be declined of your love and affection, he will burn the world and everything in it. You were the only thing he truly wanted and if it came to you, he’d do everything to never let you out of his grasp.

When he first seeked you out, you were eighteen. He was already enamoured, watching you from afar. You laughed with the girls and stayed with Big Johnny most nights. You were innocent, a fragile little thing that he wanted—needed. You listened to him and even treated him as a friend. It was different from how the girls treated him there. The girls would ask for gifts, and he bought them but you…you dressed up immediately after every visit. You’d smile at him before leaving, going to Johnny for your nightly lessons. He sometimes went to visit you just to talk. You were the most intelligent girl there and he always looked forward to seeing you again. If you slip away from his grasp, he wouldn’t know what to do. It’s why he bought you that house; why he gave you jewellery even before you were married. He wanted you to be reminded of him everywhere you went. It was dangerous dealing with your past—he knew that; but danger was something he’d walk on if it came to having you.  

“Darling, I was thinking…it’s been a while since we last went on a holiday. Do you want to go somewhere?” he asked. Reports of Tommy Shelby in London reached him. There was no way he’d let you meet again.

“Hm,” you hummed. “Can we go to New York?” you asked. “I’ve been wanting to go to Manhattan this time of year.”

“Yeah?” he asked. The farther you were from Tommy, the better. “Then, I’ll have things arranged and I’ll let you know, okay?” he kisses your temple as he passes by.

“Of course,” you replied. Your face seems so unreadable these days, but it always was. Can Tommy Shelby decipher the emotions written on your face or does he have to guess too? He knows that you were still keeping things away from him…knows that you’re not being fully honest with how you feel and who Tommy Shelby was in your life. He was fine not knowing as long as you were his. 

Irrevocably and utterly his. 

BIRMINGHAM, 1910

“You know, Tommy,” you said. “When I was young, my mother told me that there were other lands outside England…outside Birmingham that isn’t London,” you said. Your savings could take you to London, but you could never seem to find the time. Simon has been visiting you more and the owner of the brothel ordered you to always be available for him because of how much he spends on you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I want to go to London at least once. Before I die, I want to go to London,” 

“I’ll take you to London,” he says, voice gruff from the cigarettes. “I’ll take you to London and I’ll take you to the whole world,” 

“You will?” you asked. You were always told by your customers that they’ll take you here and there…but with Tommy, you knew that what he was saying was true. He never liked to break his promises. “If you’ll take me there, I better save up money because there’s no way I’m letting you spend a fortune on me.”

“I’ll take you to New York, Paris, and all the major cities. We’ll see them for the first time together,” he promises.

“Together?”

“We’ll always be together, won’t we?”

“Of course, we will. Together,”

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

Grace has long been gone since Polly revealed the truth to her. Was it mad that Tommy didn’t feel any morsel of anything? He didn’t care if she betrayed him; didn’t care if she loved him…if anything, she was better off gone. It just…unsettled him. Was that the right word? He never liked Grace, but she was a good enough replacement for you in the meantime. She was good enough, but she wasn’t you, no matter how much Tommy forced himself to convince everyone that she was good enough. 

He didn’t even think of lighting a cigarette for her departure. These guns, Billy Kimber…his ambitions of wealth, power, and control were too consuming for him to think of anything else. Too consuming that he knew that all ambition all boiled down to you, that mansion, horses, and a garden. He looks at the toy horses you’ve given him as children. It’s been showing signs of wear; time has the power to tear the edges of something precious so easily. Tommy liked thumbing the wooden toy to keep him afloat sometimes. It reminded him of peace, of home, of you. 

“Tommy,” Polly called. Her conscience has been nagging her, steaming out of pores ever since Tommy showed her how much you meant to him. It was never easy remembering Tommy on the floor, so weak; so defeated. It was never easy to remember that she was the reason why Tommy was miserable. She took you away from him. She decided then, that she’d do everything in her power to help her grieving nephew. If your presence could show her any semblance of Tommy before the war, she’d take it. Maybe she should feel bad for burdening you with that weight on your shoulders, but she knew that you did it so naturally…so genuinely. She relieves herself of thinking that you and Tommy needed each other; so much so that the world she knows now will simply reintegrate. You were the glue that binds Tommy; the melted gold that holds the pieces back together. Without you, Tommy was broken—alone. She’d never want that for him. She’ll never want to see him like that again. 

NEW YORK, 1920

When you told Simon that you wanted to go to New York, you didn’t know that you’ll be staying there indefinitely. You just said that to appease him, really. He made sure that all of your belongings were kept and taken to America. What didn’t fit, you’d buy. He was more lenient here. He’d let you go, and he was back to the Simon you’ve always known. 

“You’ve been married for years,” his attorney’s wife recalls. “Where are the little Simons running around?”

“Oh-“ you looked at Simon to help you out, but he was too engrossed in his conversation with the lawyer to notice. “We’re still enjoying our marriage. Just the two of us,” you lied. “We like to travel and we’ll feel bad if we just…leave the child back home,”

“But you’re in New York,” she says, like it mattered. “Surely, you’ve been trying?”

“No, not really. Simon wants our child to be born in England.” you said.

“You’re not getting any younger, dear,” she says. “When I was around your age, I already had two children. I say, it’s better to start a family early,”

That night, when you were removing your jewellery, Simon laid his hand on your shoulder. He’s gentle in New York. Your shoulder used to feel heavy in London. He started kissing your neck and you allowed him.

“An heir wouldn’t be so bad,” he rasps, nibbling on your ear. “Maybe soon…I want to have you all to myself first. Don’t want you to love me any less because of a child,”

“I wouldn’t love you any less, Simon.” you smiled at him. You didn’t want to bear his heir but if he was convinced that you’ll love him less because of a child, you’ll string him along. 

“I know but then, you’d dote on him and be all…” he drones on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“It’s alright, I don’t need anyone else. It can just be the two of us forever.”

BIRMINGHAM, 1911

“Tommy!” you called, walking through the muddy soil of the stables that he worked in. He took care of horses sometimes, to earn some extra money. It paid well and he was surrounded with the calmness of the horses that he took care of. He vowed to have his own stables filled with his own horses in the future. Maybe it was pathetic but Tommy was envious seeing things that he wanted being taken advantage of. He knew how to take care of horses but he never owned them. His dreams were so close yet so far. He was brushing the coat of one of the horses when you came barrelling towards him.

“Tommy!” you called again. “I’m free now. Let’s go!”

“Wait, wait,” he laughs, making sure that the horse—he secretly named him Hayday because the horse had a coat in the color of hay. He only told you that though. “Alright, Hayday. Let’s get you back to your stable,” he tells the horse, petting its snout. You smiled at his softness, following them quietly. You let Tommy do his job maintaining Hayday for a while, smiling widely when you saw him coming towards you. He was rubbing his face with water to get rid of today. 

“I smell.” he frowned, looking through his ragged satchel for a towel or an extra shirt. “Let me just…” he says, taking the shirt from the bag and then giving the bag to you. He turns around to remove his dirty shirt, tucking it between his legs and then changing into the cleaner shirt. You watched the way his back muscles flexed—working as a mechanic and carrying whatever he does was paying off. The clean shirt clung onto his figure nicely…you looked away before he could catch you staring though. “Thanks for keeping my bag,” he says, taking his bag from you. He hangs it on his shoulder and then links his arm with yours. You couldn't see the smirk that played in his lips.  “Where are we going again?”

“Remember, I told you to come with me to the market to buy something?” you asked him. He nods, letting you lead the way to the market. “Well, I’m free now. Let’s go.”

Tommy tells you all about his day on the way to the market, not knowing anything of what you had planned. It was his birthday last month, but you weren’t able to save up enough money for his gift because of a repair in your home. You drag him all the way to where the more expensive shops were, Tommy’s brows furrowing. 

“Here,” you said, stopping at a jeweller. You take him inside and he lets you. 

“What are we doing here— “

“Look!” you said, pointing at the gold signet ring on display. You leave Tommy to go get the clerk. You’ve been paying for the ring for a year now; little by little until you were able to fully pay for it. It was a gift for Tommy’s 21st birthday. You were talking to the clerk for a pick up when Tommy walks to you. The clerk gives you the red velvet box and you turn to Tommy, a wide smile on your face. 

“Who is this for?” he asked, frowning. Was this for that Rich Bastard? “You know I can’t afford that,”

“But I can. It’s for you,” you told him softly. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry it was a month late,” You open the box for him. “Go on, wear it.”

“Y/N…love,”

“You have to accept it. I saved up for that, you know?” He takes the ring from the box and slides it on his ring finger. 

“Thank you…” he rasps, his throat closing up. “For this.”

“It’s okay, Tommy. I’d give you the world if I can but for now, a ring would suffice, don’t you think?”

-

You both settled at an empty grassland by the docks afterwards. Tommy couldn’t stop looking at his ring. 

“I still can’t believe you got me a ring,” he says, looking at you. “It must have cost you a fortune, eh?”

“It’s okay, Tommy. I want to give you something more for being a great friend to me.” you tell him. He nods at your words. Friends. Is that all he’ll ever be? 

“I got you this,” he says, showing you the simple, lone daisy that he picked on the way here. “I…” he says, tucking it behind your ear. I wish I could give you more. You stopped breathing, the proximity was too much to bear. You could see the blueness of his eyes, the freckles that kissed his nose and his cheeks. You could see every eyelash. It seemed like he didn’t mind it either. He was looking at you intently, trying to memorize every detail of your face. A face that could start a war, he was almost positive of it. You both unintentionally lean into each other, Tommy’s eyes flicking down to your lips, breath hitching. 

“Tommy!” you jump away from each other, looking away. Fuck. He sighs in annoyance, looking at one of the guys he knew from work. 

Maybe next time.

CAMDEN TOWN, 1921

“Put him down, Ollie!” he shouts. “Put him down, mate. He is only little.”

“You on your own?” He asked Tommy.

Tommy glances around. 

“Seems so,”

Alfie Solomons always liked to play the best games. He had wide shoulders that matched how dominant and domineering he seemed. He was unpredictable, abandoning all sorts of things just to make sure that in the end, he gets the best deal. Tommy wondered what kind of deal he could put up with the Jewish gangster to double cross Simon Coventry, his biggest payer.

“Well, you’re a brave lad, ain't you?” he asked. “Want to take a look around my bakery? We bake all sorts here, mate, yeah. Did you know we bake over 10,000 loaves a week? Can you believe it?” 

Tommy listens to him drone on about bread. He asked for brown bread and was served one. 

“Come look,” Alfie says, leading Tommy to his office. 

-

“Well, I’ve heard very bad, bad things about you Birmingham people. You’re gipsies, right? So what, do you live in a fucking tent or a caravan?”

“I came here to discuss business with you, Mr. Solomons.” Tommy coughs. 

“Well, rum is for fun and fucking. So, whiskey, now that is for business,” he says, putting his bottle of whiskey for Tommy Shelby.

“Let’s talk first, eh?” 

“Suit yourself,” Alfie shrugs. 

“Heard you were dealing with billionaires,” Tommy brought up, trying to gauge the situation. He was sitting right in front of Alfie’s desk, noticing the latter reach for the drawer in his right. 

“You heard correct. What about it?” he asked nonchalantly. 

“Simon Coventry.” Tommy said. “He pays well?”

“Very well, mate.” Alfie replied, sipping on his whiskey. “Seeked for our protection services, invested…paid to kill for him. Has a wife, you know? Have you heard about her?”

“No,” Tommy shrugged, his voice monotonous, eyes bored. Alfie licks his lips. 

“Never met her…lovely wife, they say, yeah. A very lovely wife…but this lovely wife of his needs to be guarded. Don’t believe in all that…I don’t do that to women, but this lovely wife of his is…huh, well, told me to kill anyone who comes near her, yeah? And guess what, mate? You’ve a big fucking bounty written on your fucking forehead,” Alfie revealed. “Now,” he pauses, leaning on the table. “What is this business you’re looking for?”

“We join forces,”

“Fuck off. No! Categorical. Fucking ridiculous,” he leans back, scoffing. Tommy leans forward, clasping his hand over the table. 

“Mr. Solomons. Your distillery provides one-tenth of your income. Protection is another ten percent and the rest; you make from the tracks.”

Alfie fumbles with the handle but Tommy speaks.

“I know you keep a gun in the drawer beside the whiskey. I know you offer a deal or death. I know what I’m saying makes you angry but I’m offering you a deal. People don’t trust your protection anymore. What makes you think that Simon Coventry will continue to trust you?” he asked. 

“Well, you shot Billy Kimber, right? You did, you fucking shot him. That’s you. You fucking betrayed him, mate. So, it’ll be appropriate to do what I’m thinking in my head to you right now.”

“I can offer you a hundred good men all with weapons and a new relationship with the police.” 

“Intelligence,” Alfie says. “Intelligence is a very valuable thing, ain’t it, my friend? And usually…it comes far too fucking late,” he reaches for the drawer on his left, pointing the gun at Tommy. He cocks the gun and Tommy sits there, unblinking. “Let’s say I shot you already, right? In the fucking face. And then the bullet goes bone, mush, bone, cabinet over there. Which is a shame.”

Tommy just sits there, his face devoid of any emotion. If he gets killed now, he doesn't care. He had no fear of death anymore.

“It’s fucking simple, mate,”

Blood trails down from Tommy’s nose and Alfie talks about some fucking cabinet behind him. He throws Tommy his handkerchief, but he doesn’t take it. Fucking cabinets and fucking asking him if Tommy wanted to go to Timbuktu. 

“I’m sorry, go on,” Alfie concedes after telling Tommy that he always thought he’d have a big gold ring on his finger. It was only a small signet ring that Tommy was unconsciously playing with under the table. “Tell us your plan.” 

NEW YORK, 1921

“I just got off the phone with the secretary. We’re invited to some Charity Gala in London that we have to go to,” Simon says. Simon says…seems like all you do is follow what Simon says. “You can stay here if you don’t want to go.”

“When is this?”

“In a week mostly,” he shrugged. “It would be great to have you there. It’s not grand or anything; it’s just a few of my partners having an event for some charity or foundation.”

“Oh,” you nodded. You wanted to be away from Simon, but you also wanted to go back to London. How were the Shelbys? How was Beth? “Yeah…yeah, I’ll go,”

“Perfect,” he says. “Your dress? You need a new one. I’ll arrange a trip for you with my assistant to help you look for what to wear. You have to be the most beautiful woman there. For reference, I prefer blue on you.”

“Okay, Simon. I’ll make sure to get a blue dress for you.” He smiles at you before turning the page on his newspaper. You were glad that things were back to how they were before Tommy arrived in Birmingham. You didn’t blame him—Tommy—Simon’s actions were your own fault. Who in the right mind would let their wife love another man? It’s not like Simon knew of your love but the fact that you hid who Tommy was from him still remains. Letting go of Tommy that night was…painful.

You couldn’t erase how crest-fallen he looked; that you were the cause for his anguish. He didn’t follow you; you told him not to. You didn’t want him to see you sit outside the Garrison with your head buried in your hands. You didn’t want him to see you howl in pain because you’ll never see him again. You didn’t want him to see how it hurt you to say goodbye to him.

You didn’t want him to see you but someone else did. 

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

You looked up from your cowering position, eyelashes clumped. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I just…I just left your brother,” you whispered, trying to even out the sob that threatens to get out of your body. Arthur frowns, crouching down in front of you.  He tries to remove your shaky hands only to be met with your bruising jaw. 

“Did Tommy— “

“No,” you shook your head. “He didn’t hit me.”

He nods. Arthur didn’t know who Tommy was these days. He’s closed off, aloof, cold, detached…he sometimes wonders if a time comes and he’ll just snap. Arthur’s coping mechanism was violence. He knows that he’s good…his hands or only bloody but Tommy…Tommy wasn’t good anymore. He felt conflicted; everyone seems to put all the burden on you to make Tommy come back…to make him good again. He heard Polly talk about it; how Tommy needed you…but if Tommy was the reason why you’re miserable, is he still worth coming back to?

“I told Tommy to never see me again,” you managed through your cries. “I feel…I feel so lost, Arthur. I didn’t want to do that—to say that to him when-when he’s here now but I have no other choice…he’ll get-he’ll—“

“What about you?” he asked, tracing big circles on your back.

“What do you mean?” you asked, hiccuping. 

“I mean…you talk about Tommy and-and making sure that we’re all doing great but what about you, eh?” There was a small frown on his face, it was so different from the ‘Mad Dog’ that people know him as. 

“I don’t need that,” you chuckled. “I’m married to-to—“

“Simon Coventry, I know. But who do you have other than him? I know you love Tommy—don’t even fucking deny it. It’s why you’re doing all these things, I know but Tommy has us; he has Birmingham, and you don’t,” he adds, tearing your heart into pieces. The realisation of isolation dawns on you and it is wicked; consuming your heart with grief because you had no one. Not Tommy. Not anymore. “You make sure that all of us are being taken care of…but no one’s taking care of you. This whole thing-this thing with Tommy, is it worth it if you can’t even come home to Simon because you’re fucking crying in front of The Garrison?”

“I don’t know what to do,” you shrugged. “I…I just can’t seem to stay away from you lot,”

“Oh, love,” he sighs. He’ll never tell anyone that he saw you crying in front of the Garrison. “Why did you marry him?”

“Because…I wasn’t sure if Tommy’s coming back,” you whispered softly. You wiped away the tears from your face, trying to regain composure. “I sent…sent letters but he never wrote back. When Simon proposed the idea of marriage and Tommy wasn’t-wasn’t writing to me, I just took the chance. It was a chance to get out of that fucking hellhole. Tommy hates me for it,” you whimpered. “I know he hates me for it because I always told him that I’ll wait but-but he didn’t write back. I didn’t wait for him.”

Arthur frowns, confused. 

“He wrote to you but you never wrote to him,” he said.

“What?” 

“He did, love. Wrote to you multiple times and-and he’d always be the first one to show up when there were letters from home. Always-always looking for your letter,” he reminisces. Deep in your heart, you knew that he was telling you the truth because there was some sort of empty longing that crossed his eyes. “He waited for your letters every day for four years.”

“Arthur…”

“I’m telling you the truth,” he says, looking at you more intently. “None of us knew you got married,” he added. 

“Arthur—“ You were heaving, this changes things. Your resentment towards Tommy was all in vain if he sent you letters but where were those letters? Where could they be? Seeing you in distress, Arthur flings his arm around your shoulder. “I hated him for it…I hated him for four years…” you weeped. “Arthur, how could I haveever hated him?” You felt like cold water was splashed on your face. Of course, Tommy would have never done that to you. But who did?

“It’s not your fault, love. It’s not your fault.”

-

LONDON, 1921

It’s been long since you last stepped foot in London. A year wasn’t a long time but a year teetering on the edge waiting for the next blow was a year too long. It’s not that you were expecting anything, but now that you’re in London…so close to Tommy, you know that everything will be different again. He’ll be forceful under the pretext of loving you, some bullshitt about it being for the better…you knew it was wrong. You knew that it wasn’t right. You hated your predicament, but you hated yourself more for never seeming to have the ability to hate him. 

You never questioned his love for you; you were sure about that but sometimes…you found yourself questioning if he loved you too much. You’ve never experienced love like that before. Too much love. Growing up, you always had just enough. What you couldn’t find from your mum, you found in Johnny. What you couldn’t find in your customers, you found in the Shelbys. What you couldn’t find from yourself, you found in Tommy. What you couldn’t find in Tommy, you tried to look for in Simon. 

Everything was just right. To have too much was too much. 

“You’ve been quiet since we got here, darling,” Simon says, his hand on your knee as you rode the Bentley back home. 

“Sorry,” you smiled up at him. “I just miss London. It’s different to be back home,”

“I know,” he says. “But we’re here now. Where do you prefer?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, playing with his fingers. You thumbed the rings on his fingers, your wedding band the most important one. 

“I’m asking…where do you want to build our family?” he asked. “I know I said that I didn’t want to have children yet but we aren’t getting any younger. We’d make the most beautiful children. They’ll get your beauty and intelligence. They’ll inherit whatever they want to inherit from me,”

Your fingers stilled. 

“Hmm,” you pretended to think, trying to playt the cards right. “I’d want our children to grow up in London.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his head falling on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I want them to grow up here but also experience different things from travelling. Maybe we could find a summer house in Italy?” you asked. He kisses your neck and you sit there cold, unmoving. 

“Yes, let’s buy a house in Italy…” he murmurs, drunk on your scent. “How many houses do you want, hm? Let’s buy whatever my wife wants…whatever she needs, hm?” 

“You spoil me too much, Simon,” you force out a giggle. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Only for the best. You’re going to be the mother of my children,” 

-

You arrived home and you heaved a sigh. You went inside your bedroom, ready to unpack some of the items you bought from New York when your eyes landed on the frame of pressed flowers that Tommy gave you on your birthday. Simon has been telling you to get rid of it—it was tacky, he said but you told him that the flowers were from a day of picnicking with your mother when you were a child. You felt your lips twitch at the memory of Tommy giving it to you sheepishly. If only you could have him back now. If only he’s there with you. 

You breathed deeply, trying to purge yourself of the sadness that lingered. It’s been two years since you’ve last seen him. He’s staying true to his word, you knew. He’s protecting you and you’re protecting him. You hated the situation you were in. Why did you need protection in the first place? You were the wife of one of the wealthiest men in the whole world. You could have everything you’ve ever wanted handed to you on a silver platter. You could have everything but why do you feel so alone? Why do you feel like there’s still something missing? Why do you feel like, no matter what you did—no matter how you tried, Tommy’s still the one you love? You reached for the pendant but you remembered that it wasn’t there.

Was it selfish to wish for him to never marry someone else? To never love anyone? Was it selfish to wish for him to finally love you the way you do all these years? 

Or was he only protecting you because he’s bound by his words and not the feeling of unbridled love that he has for you? 

Polly told you that you could have everything…you felt like you had nothing. 

You had more when you were working as a prostitute. 

Now, you just have Simon. 

-

Simon has been feeling your detachment ever since you arrived in New York. He knew that it was his fault; laying his hand on you like that but could anyone really blame him? You were his love; the object of all of his desires. You needed protecting, you needed safety and you needed him to give you the world. 

He was in his office, sorting through the files that he left for a year. He picks up the telephone and dials a number. He wanted you all for himself. He was hungry for you; hunger for your affection, your flesh, your gaze. He’ll do everything to preserve the attention that you were giving him but now that he feels you slipping away, he’s becoming more desperate. It was all Tommy Shelby’s fault and he needed to be dealt with. 

“I sent you the money for the murder of Johnny Wilson,” he speaks into the telephone. “I need you to do gsomething for me again.”

“Hm?” 

Simon speaks into the phone authoritatively. Details of his plan were spoken. He was meticulous and specific with what he wanted.

“Even…even the children?”

“Even the children,” he confirms. He senses the hesitation of the speaker from the other side. “If you do it in less than a year, I’ll add another twenty thousand to the total. I’ll make sure you never have to work a day in your fucking life. Call me when it’s done,” he spits, ending the call and looking at a photo of you on the table; not knowing that on the other side, an intruder was hearing everything that just transpired. 

Who was Simon Coventry? 

-

Cameras flashed as you enter the venue for the charity ball. You were dressed in a blue gown like promised. Simon’s hand was on your waist, smiling tightly at the cameras. He always hated the attention of the media and in your own way, you wanted to calm him down. You touch the hand that was on your waist to remind him that you were there. You smile at him softly and he smiles back. If only he was as soft as he presents himself to be in the media. 

He leads you into the venue without so much a glance offered to the media and you follow. 

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” you smiled up at him. 

“You can go ahead and sit,” he says. “I’ll just be greeting some of my partners.” You nod and you allow him to kiss you on the cheek before you part ways. You didn’t know why—but you felt like something was wrong. Something was going to happen tonight. 

A waiter comes to your table and offers you a drink. He was young—probably way younger than you.

“Champagne, please,” you told him. “You’re too young to be working,”

“I-I’m nineteen, ma’am,” he tells you while pouring you a glass.

“Ah, maybe not that young then,” you replied. “Is this your first day?”

“Yes, ma’am. My first day on the job,” he says. “I’m quite nervous to be surrounded by the rich but I need the money…”

“I’m sure you’ll do well,” you replied, offering him a friendly smile. “Here,” you said, opening your clutch and handing him a few pounds. “Think of it as a tip for serving me champagne and for talking to me.”

“This is too much, ma’am,” he refuses but you shove the notes in his hand. You remembered how tips from the brothel helped you so much; it allowed you to buy necessities. It allowed you to get Tommy the signet ring that you got him for his 21st birthday. You were busy talking to the young man that you didn’t notice your husband walking towards you with a scowl on his face. 

“Hey, you,” he sarcastically greets the server, snapping his fingers rudely.. “Refill my glass,”

“Simon— “

“Thank you,” he says, disregarding you completely. The boy turns to leave but Simon stops him. “No, stay. I need you to refill my fucking drink every time.”

“Simon—“

“You think my wife is beautiful?” he asked. The boy looks at you and you attempt to shake your head; telling him to walk away before anything else happens. “I’d be offended if you told me that she wasn’t.”

“Simon— “

He takes a swig of his drink before extending the same empty glass.

“What’s your name?” Simon asked, watching the boy shakily refill the champagne flute. “Don’t spill anything on my wife,” he threatens darkly. The boy swallows. 

“William, sir,”

“William…do you think my wife is pretty?” he asked again. You look around the room to see that everyone was trying to discreetly watch the commotion. You tried standing up but Simon pushed you back down.

“Y-yes, sir,”

Simon nods, pleased with William’s answer.

“You may go, William,” you calmly told him.

“You may not,” Simon says. William’s feet were stuck planted on the ground. He was shaking and you tried to plead with Simon, but he wasn’t looking at you. “Actually, let’s take this outside, hm? Everyone seems to be enjoying this fucking commotion. Come with us, Y/N,”

“Simon, please,”

“Come on, darling,” he says, pulling you away forcefully from the table. You stumble after him, heart racing wildly inside your chest. Fuck. Your shoulders were shaking as you tried to catch your breath. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The three of you arrive in the wine cellar, an empty room where you were sure no one heard you. 

“Stand there,” Simon says. “Y/N, stay beside me.”

William stands in front of Simon, his steps hesitant.

“I’ll give you a deal, William. Do you want a thousand pounds? You’ll never find that anywhere else,” he taunts. You shake your head discreetly, but William wasn't looking at you. He was pale, his breathing shallow. “I’ll give it to you right now. Cash,”

“Y-yes, sir,” he replies. 

“Say please,”

“Simon—“

“Shut up! Shut up!”

“Please, sir,”

“Kneel and beg.”

“Simon, it’s not right! Please, let’s just go home,” 

William kneels in front of Simon, and you could see the sinister smile that played on his lips. He fishes for something in his pocket—a gun. 

“S-sir,”

“You want a thousand pounds, yeah?” he asked, waving his gun in the air. 

“Simon—“

“I don’t want another word from you, Y/N. Or else, I swear, I will fucking shoot you.” he threatens. You were trying your best to stop being so hysterical but you couldn’t. You were sobbing, hands shaking when Simon pointed the gun at the poor boy. You tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to come out; tried to wonder what a monster Simon becamez

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” you choked, crouching down on the floor to comfort yourself. “I’m sorry, William…”

BANG! BANG!

The sounds of a gun going off rings inside the cellar and you flinch. Simon has just shot William twice; one on his stomach, one on his shoulder. It was sloppy; you knew he was aiming for his heart. William lays on the floor with a pool of his own blood, crying in pain. Simon just walks towards him, throwing him a thousand pounds and then spitting on William’s face. 

“Don’t ever look at my fucking wife again. Fix yourself Y/N. We’re going back to the party,”

“Simon, he’s just a kid! Get him to a fucking hospital!”

“I said, fix yourself!” he roared, and you closed your mouth. You stepped away from him, afraid of what he might do.

“Now you know what happens if you ever try to leave me. It’s time for me to show you what I will do to protect you, okay darling?” he asked, crouching down to your level and pulling you in an embrace. He kisses your temples to comfort you for the damage that he has done. “Don’t ever leave me,”

The two of you left William’s body and went back to the party. You were shaken, aloof the whole night. You couldn’t believe what just transpired. Simon’s cruelty—his disregard for himan life for a thousand pounds… You were trying to catch the attention of other servers but were ignored. You just wanted someone to check on William, that poor boy. You and your husband continued to sit beside each other acting like the happy couple, never noticing the pair of blue eyes that seemed to pierce straight into you. 

-

Simon killed Johnny. 

Your hands shook as you read the handwriting on the crumpled piece of paper over and over again. You found it in the clutch that you left in your seat when Simon shot William in the cellar. Turning the paper over, you sobbed; unable to control the emotions that begged for your attention—anger, fear, disgust, sadness…everything seemed to crash into you. You run towards the bathroom to vomit on the toilet. Your whole body tembled, and you cradled yourself on the bathroom floor. You didn’t care if the dress was wet and crumpled…how…why…what did you do in your past life to be punished like this? 

-

You haven’t been the same since you received that note. Simon found you in bed; unmoving and unresponsive. The shock must have been too much to bear but he had to show you—he had to put on a display of what he would do to keep you safe and away from the Shelbys. He didn’t regret anything except for the way your eyes glistened when he threatened to shoot you. That was a sin he’d pay for but for now, maybe silence is enough to soothe you. 

He lays in bed, an inch too far away from you and he couldn’t bear it. He could hear the way your sobs shook the bed; how hard you tried to keep yourself from being too loud. 

“Darling…” he coos but you only cried harder. 

“Not tonight, Simon. Please,” you whispered, desperation kicking in. “I’m…I’m— “

He nods to himself, a wounded puppy. 

“I have…I have to leave you tomorrow to meet with Alfie Solomons,” he tells you. “Use that time to go out or, or get out of this place. I wouldn’t mind if you went alone as long as you have at least one of Alfie’s men to guard you,” 

You wanted to laugh. He was holding your liberty as hostage; taunting you with it whenever he did something wrong but in reality, no matter how much freedom he grants you, his hand will always be on your neck to keep you from leaving. 

“I’m sorry for threatening you,”

“Not tonight, Simon,”

He nods but it actually angers him for you to refuse him so easily. He has given you anything and everything. Hell, he bought you that summer house in Italy already, but you still couldn’t give him the satisfaction of holding you for the night. Did Tommy Shelby hold you while you slept? Would you have let him?

-

You felt Simon kiss your head before he left. You couldn’t sleep last night, thinking of all the ways to tell Tommy or at least anyone about Simon’s plan. You weren’t sure if he was sincere when he told you that you can go out today but you were taking that chance. You knew that Arthur wanted you to protect yourself but maybe this could be the last time. Just this once and then, never again. 

You dressed up, the brown coat covering your figure and giving you shelter from the cruelty of the world that Simon built for the two of you. You ordered one of the servants to fetch you one of Solomons’ men that could drive. You needed to talk to Polly or anyone from Birmingham and the only way to do it was through the telephone. It was too dangerous at home; Simon had eyes and ears everywhere. 

“Mrs. Coventry,” the driver greets you, opening the door to let you in. You settle yourself inside, opening your clutch for a deal he couldn’t resist. 

“Other than driving me around, what else do you do?” you asked him. 

“I’m told to obey all of your orders as long as it complies with what Mr. Coventry asks us,” he replied. “Where are we going today, ma’am?” 

“Just…go to the city,” you replied. “Do you think…do you think you could do something for me? I’ll make sure you’re paid and that you won’t be blamed for anything that comes out of it,”

“Ma’am, I am under strict orders of Mr. Solomons to— “

“Five hundred pounds,” you interrupted, you needed him to understand the urgency of the situation. Your nail beds have bled through the night and were red and swollen. “I can give it to you in cash right now. Just tell me if you know where I could reach the Shelbys the fastest,” You sounded like Simon like now, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care anymore. 

“There…there are Blinders right outside a flat in London. Ada Shelby is rumoured to live there,” he says lowly. 

“Take me there. Make sure you’re discreet and make sure we’re not being followed. I’ll make sure that you’re safe,” you promised him. “Just…just go there as fast as you can,” 

It’s hard to be discreet when you’re driving one of the most expensive cars in the world, but he drove you to Ada Shelby’s house anyway. Five hundred pounds was more than what he could ever make working under Alfie Solomons. 

A storm was brewing, and you were at the centre of all of it. 

-

Ada lives in a building in the centre of London. On the way, your driver told you about how Tommy bought the whole building for her. You smiled softly; Tommy was finally realising his dreams, but he was realising them without you. 

You exited the car, covered from head to toe. You made sure no one recognized you; the lush, brown coat and your hat covered your face entirely. You told him to leave you alone and come back in three hours. He zoomed off, afraid to be seen by one of Simon’s men.

Your breathing was uneven and the steps that you took were shaky. You blamed it on the uneven ground. Knocking on the door, you prayed silently for Ada to hear you. The more time you spend outside, the higher the risk of being recognized. You waited with bated breath, but the door soon opened, revealing none other than the man who occupied every corner of your brain. You rushed inside before he could even speak and he let you, locking the door behind him as he followed you into the drawing room. He stands in front of you, removing the coat from your shoulders gently. You were shivering but not from the cold. How were you more beautiful than the last time he saw you?

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” you said over and over again, like you were making sure that he was there. Your resolve was dissolving, and you were near hysterical. He crouches down in front of you to take a good look for your face. He missed it; he missed your touch…he missed you. His fingers on your waist seem to snap you back to reality and you take a deep breath. “Simon killed Johnny. He’s going to—he’s going to kill all of you,”

-

A/N: Thank you very much for making this far! We’re getting closer to the end of this series but please don’t forget to reblog and comment if you liked it / loved it / hated this chapter, etc! I love discussing and replying to your comments and reblogs.

ALSO: A quick character study on Simon is that he is filty rich. The value of money is immaterial to him. In his eyes, money is a way for him to get anything and everything he wants. It’s what makes people kill and die for each other. If it benefits him, then he’d gladly throw money at whatever it is about.

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