Lights, Camera, Action!

❥ [ 03. ] three hours

I WISH YOU WERE SOBER — [ previous. masterlist. next. ]

synopsis — in which you were never really one for spontaneity or precipitous decisions, until you got yourself drunk at your senior year university party and woke up the next morning with the most dreadful of hangovers…along with a painfully distorted memory of a stolen kiss on that hazy evening.

note — venti @ my dumbass supportive and final braincell

taglist — @tihgnari @ceylestia @eissaaaa @venyan @sohyuki @senjurro @bobaducky @dinoshimaaa @sharoshing @ioverjn @hey-comrade-hold-stil @skaramush @lesboluvs @clovcly @ventuswhat @zephestia @theother-victoria @neptun-es @ihaveahunterlisence @minyoungieee @astolary @wrenhyperfixates @heartonthemoon @goodthingimsam @capybara4lyfers @slvdsjjk @michelindu @kimiesstuff @itssoizzy @kazuzux @hiqhkey @layla240 @justrisahere @one-offmind @diaflower @liquor-kissez @tokanite @pooonyo @sweetstrawberrybabe @yeeden @nejibot @lcvez @rion-s @sakushoujo @koiir @lost-wicked-artist @dampam

this is stupid.

kuroo knows that better than anyone—knows that this is entirely unreasonable and entirely spur of the moment and entirely something he should not do—but you’re standing in the kitchen, covered in flour, and the words seem to fall from his lips as if they were always meant to be there.

“marry me,” he says, and he means it just as he did when he asked you yesterday as he kissed you goodbye, and just as he did the day before when you tripped down the stairs, and just as he would tomorrow if you said no.

but this time, as laughter spills from your lips, messy dough coating your cheeks, something stirs in him. something that he wouldn’t find yesterday and won’t find tomorrow and something that feels like hope, and delirium and you—and he thinks, if only for a second, that stupid isn’t even the word for it.

“you’re asking right now?” you raise a brow, motioning your fingers around your mess of a kitchen, and a silly little smile draws across his cheeks.

“i am.”

“i’m covered in flour,” you say.

and he grins, “yeah, and you should marry me.”

you shake your head, pulling your lips together, and you give him that look you always do; the ’maybe when we’re older and smarter and a little less prone to divorce’ look that he’s grown to dread.

because, yes, this is stupid—incredibly so—but he’s twenty-one and he’s pretty sure he’s never going to get much smarter than this and you share a bed every night without killing each other, so, really, why not?

he holds his hand in the air, waiting to insist on asking you again tomorrow, but you laugh—soft and bright and something that aches like home—and a little okay rolls off your lips.

“what?” his fingers stutter in front of him, voice tugging at the back of his throat, and you laugh.

“i said okay.”

“you’re kidding,” he says, a little too dumbfounded for his own good.

“now why would i do that?” you reply, a little tease catching your breath.

(oh, you must be trying to kill him now.)

“because i asked you to marry me.”

“you did.”

“and you said yes.” a breath spills from your throat—happy little laughter swirling between you.

“i did.”

and he doesn’t know whether to scream, or cry, or maybe throw up, but he does know that you just agreed to marry him, so all three sound like a solid approach.

“i’m in love with you,” he says, hands reaching for floured cheeks.

“well i would hope so.”

and he rolls his eyes, pulling you in—lips meeting yours with a clash of flour and warmth and a breath of anything but regret—and he’s sure that he’d be stupid every day of his life if it meant being with you.

How about a dying character's last words to their lover?

Give me that sweet, gut-wrenching angst.

saying goodbye to your dying lover

'' i love you. ''

'' don't say it. ''

'' please don't leave me. ''

'' it's over/i'm ready. ''

'' what about our future? ''

'' forever didn't last very long. but at least it was a very happy middle. ''

'' you are, by far, the greatest thing that ever happened to me in my [x] years on this Earth. ''

'' i get to die knowing i was loved—not just by anyone—by you. ''

'' i will never love anyone the way i love you. '' '' i pray to god that you do. ''

'' name, i'll find you. ''

'' we'll be together again, i promise. ''

'' it doesn't hurt anymore. ''

'' i'm in the arms of my first love. ''

'' stay with me. ''

'' i'm glad it's me. ''

'' knowing that you'll get the chance to live your life, it brings me the greatest joy. ''

'' i'm not going anywhere. ''

'' you can't sit here and watch me bleed out. ''

'' you're gonna be okay, do you hear me? ''

'' promise me you'll be happy. that you'll love again. ''

phainon x gn!scholar reader, phainon is so in love and reader is oblivious

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

The moment Phainon’s eyes first met yours, there was a stutter in his heart, an indescribable feeling of reverence coupled with curiosity creeped into his being when he first met you.

Beautiful. That was the only word he knew at the time.

Your beauty was unparalleled, unmatched as you saunter into his view, mind not exactly present in the moment as your clothes swayed with your every hurried step. Your eyes were foggy, a testament to your dedication and work, evidenced by the tablet you held snug to your side.

He decides in that moment that he wants to know you, so he purposefully sets himself in your line of movement and waits for the moment when you bump into him, far too focused in a world that wasn’t the one you were presently in. Fate decided to be kind to him when you fall right into his schemes, allowing him to catch you with an arm secured around your waist, your tablet falling to the stone pavement with a dull smack.

“Oh my!” you exclaim. “My utmost apologies, I was not aware of where I was going-”

He smiles, for the last thing he was thinking of was your apology. Even your voice is beautiful, the words flowing into his ears like warm ichor.

“It’s alright,” he reassures with that smile of his, almost faltering when his heart skips another beat the moment your eyes flit to look at his. Phainon thinks he’s going to collapse to his knees if you glance away. “I’ll forgive you if you tell me your name.”

Unaware of his flirtatious intentions, you sound out the syllables of your name and he repeats it with much wonder. “What a lovely name. I’m Phainon, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

It’s been two years since he first met you, and you are still just as enchanting.

He learns you are a widely renowned scholar and author, which explains the tablet you held that day. Of course, you were shocked the moment he uttered his name, for the titles of the Chrysos Heirs were well known, essentially common knowledge for those that flourished in the world of academia. Phainon still cherishes the memory of your expression, keeping it in the back of his mind and musing over it in private.

If you had known he was holding that over you, you would have thrown a slew of unpretty words at him with that pretty voice of yours, and he would have cherished them the same way he does with all of your works.

Whenever Phainon hears that your most recent novel has been released, he is one of the first to scour for it, reading it from start to finish within days. Even your publications from years before have a place on his shelves, there is no book of yours that he has not purchased and proceeded to read from front to back.

He insists on meeting you whenever he can, and while you answer a question he asked, he’s trying to keep his marvelling to a minimum, trying to keep these feelings from spilling all over you as he lets you know that his undivided attention is on you.

You’re skeptical of him. You wonder why he seeks your companionship specifically, what about you entertained him enough to invite you on market walks, buy your favourite drink from your favourite stall, and then sit on a marble bench in a quiet park underneath falling leaves.

As you’re busy pondering, he jolts whenever your thigh brushes against his.

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

His favourite time to admire you is when you’re deep in thought and unaware of the world around you, too focused on the wax tablet that sits on your desk.

Despite the practicality of papers, you tell him you like the sensation of writing on wax, how your pen glides along, all of your bursts of inspiration occur like this, so they hold a dear place in your heart. Soft chatter is exchanged, he tells you about his day, you share some idle musings about yours, then you let him know of the most recent developments of your work before he lets you write in peace.

Phainon tries not to stare too much, knows it’s unbecoming to do so, but he can’t help letting his eyes linger on you as your hand scrawls, occasionally taking a break here and there but never letting the train of thought end without it being recorded.

He could watch forever. He could be here forever, sitting in a comfortable chaise in the corner of your study, rendering himself invisible in your periphery as he just gets to exist with you.

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

It’s not widely known, perhaps less than a handful of people know, and it’s not because he has confessed it to them outright, but because they have caught on to the subtleties.

The company he surrounds himself with knows well enough about the scholar that has caught his heart, and how he refuses to run away. They give him teasing looks now and then whenever the prospect of romance and love is raised, and glance specifically at the light-haired when your name is mentioned in passing, not wanting to miss the softening of his bright gaze.

It’s even more entertaining because you are not aware of it.

You are not aware of Phainon’s awestruck eyes whenever he looks at you, how he leans closer whenever you speak, desperate to close the gap however he can. You are not aware of how he speaks your name so gently, as if wanting the wind to take the words away and to you so that no one else may hear. You are not aware of the little world Phainon lives in where it’s just you and him, existing together.

The rest of the Chrysos Heir hound after him relentlessly when they first discovered of your ignorance to his feelings, and now they make it their life mission to make fun of him for it, especially before you.

Phainon does not mind, well- tries not to, because he is in love.

As infuriating it is that you haven’t caught on, despite your immense intelligence, he waits patiently for the day you will.

Even though he yearns to declare it from the highest point of Amphoreus, that his very being has been seized by you, he is content with the quiet moments you share now, and he will happily take all that you give him, even if he wants more.

Phainon is in love.

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

Your heart pounded as you stared at the massive steaming gash in the earth, the abrupt silence almost deafening as the dust began to settle. Only an hour into being in the past, and you had already almost lost your life on three separate occasions, and been saved just as many.

Honestly, you were starting to wonder if you had somehow stumbled your way into some kind of anime, because this sheer level of fuckery in such a short amount of time, seemed far too convenient to some unknown plot, to be a coincidence.

…..Either that, or the past was a hell of a lot more hectic than you remembered from history class.

Suffice to say, you hadn’t expected to end up in a situation anything like the one you were in now, when you woke up this morning. All you had wanted, was to explore some old shrines and landmarks, not get hurled back into the past and have your life threatened at every turn.

How you’d ended up here, was anyone’s guess.

Luckily, the first person you’d met, had been another time traveller, who had very kindly explained to you what had happened and where you were. Though she too was just as confused as to how you’d actually gotten here, especially since you apparently hadn’t arrived in the same way that she had, nor were you “like her” what ever that meant.

Unfortunately, her dog eared companion hadn’t been so kind and understanding, and had almost taken your head off twice, before the girl had used some kind of command to subdue him, with rather entertaining results. 

After calming the hothead down, the girl had introduced herself and her companion properly, and led you to the well that she used to travel, explaining everything about this time period and the youkai that inhabited it along the way. And wasn’t That a trip.

It was shortly after trying and failing to use the well yourself, that you were introduced to the rest of their group, including a ridiculously cute little kit who had instantly attached himself to you, and hadn’t let go since. Not that you were complaining. 

The calm atmosphere had been quickly disturbed however, as, yet again, you found yourself almost dying at the hands of a youkai.

The crazed lizard like youkai had come thundering out of the forest with a rather impressive speed, heading straight for you in its panic. It likely would have trampled you and the small kit too, if not for the arrival of another youkai, who appeared seemingly out of nowhere, before promptly dispatching the creature, its head rolling to a grisly stop at your feet. 

This new youkai and yourself, had stared at each other a little too long to be considered polite or normal, before Inuyasha, the hothead who had almost killed you when you arrived, abruptly started yelling at them, finally pulling the new youkai’s gaze away from you, and breaking the strange air that had settled over you both.

What had followed was a mostly one sided shouting match, which you paid very little attention to, focusing mainly on soothing the terrified kit in your arms, and sneaking glances at the strange but captivating newcomer.

It was because of this distraction, that you didn’t notice as Inuyasha readied an attack in the other youkai’s direction, only recognising the danger as Kagome let out a panicked shout for him to stop. You’d had barely a moment to recognise the attack headed your way, before you were suddenly wrapped in a strong but careful embrace, the softest fur you’d ever felt, pressed against your face.

The sight of you, safe from danger and wrapped in the other youkai’s embrace several metres away from the wound in the earth, was enough to send everyone into a stunned silence, including the wide eyed kit, still hiding against your chest.

From the look on the other youkai’s face, they were just as shocked by their decision to save you as everyone else was. Though they didn’t seem to have any plans of releasing you any time soon either.

his last unfulfilled wish.

— featuring. sunday x gn!reader

synopsis: before departure, sunday needed to bid you his farewell and make his silent amends, rather than leaving his emotions unsolved.

contains: 1k7 word vomit, 2.7 quest spoilers, angst (& fluff <<< clickbait), childhood bestfriend implication, messy emotions, minor character studies (if u squint), meeting you after he met robin first.

forenotes: sunday is such an overthinker and lana del rey coded to me. however i’m not content with how i write the siblings here so i’m sorry if it doesn’t sit right with you crowbie 😭😭

header img by 隐世樱yyy on weibo. kindest regards to my two pookies @akutasoda and @vxnuslogy for brainrotting with me and proof-reading this piece for me, i love yall so much!

🎼  — ( ding ding!! a message for crowbie @asundries / @rainswept the receiver! )

merry christmas my dear director crow :stares_at_you: are you surprised that i am your secret santa ? (somebody is definitely not ready for sunday angst as a christmas gift ngl.) BRO IT'S YOU HAHAH.

jokes aside for now... iko wants to say that she is very blessed to have such a wonderful friend like you to be around, she hopes your relationship will continue to thrive and maintain as you both step into 2025 ahead! with every kindest words and this piece dedicated to you, she is once again wishing you a merry christmas and a happy new year! xoxo.

“dear mr. sunday, you have now finally witnessed the sun, your wish has been fulfilled.”

in the seemingly deafening silence of the radiant orange-hued sky, sunday stood still.

“however, before you depart,” that indistinct voice was a light and gentle echo but felt dripped with sarcasm in his ears—he believed it was his heart that spoke. the wistful glint in his eyes betrayed the repetitive chant of his rational determination, sabotaging and leaving him slightly wavered about his predetermined decision.

“are you completely certain you would leave penacony behind without regrets?”

was a prime fugitive like him allowed the privilege of deciding such a personal matter? ironically, he wouldn’t want his answer to that question to be anything else.

“…no, i do not.”

not when he never got the chance to justify himself to you before the day he abruptly vanished. vividly, it haunted him—your sad smile haunted him, indicating that he once again had disappointed somebody, and it shocked him at how he never planned that ‘somebody’ to be you. (he never planned to disappointed anyone, really.) it was almost laughable at one’s stupidity, the one who refused to recognise that your reaction he observed this time was never akin to the momentary awkwardness in your voice caused by his usual polite and harmless nonchalance to your little silent declarations out of affection. he heard your love, yet he had never responded.

contrary to the cold and refreshing thin air it seemed, the tip of his tongue felt bitter. sunday knew it all too well. it was the guilt of turning you down and neglecting you for more significant matters that he grew tired of experiencing once more; typically, all of his doubts could only be dissipated as soon as the bright smile he adored written on your face not long later, you seemed to be unfazed quick enough—a truly admirable yet disheartening scene he witnessed; carefree and understanding, that was what you were. 

(sunday never admitted it but your radiant smile was the cause of the thumping heart in his chest, one that made his collected facade falter ever so slightly when looked at, and one suddenly brewing his stomach with guilt each time it didn’t match with your soulless gaze.)

sceptical, cunning man in the way he was, sunday was unsure if that was the very last time he ever saw you like that again after he had failed you so many times before…

you would come back, yes. that was what you’d always done, wasn’t it?

that was what you had always done.

not this time, though… you left him awaiting.

and when he was standing next to you in his cowardice disguise in the light but freezing-cold evening, admiring the way you blew out on your fingers gracefully, hot breaths turning into smoke, that breathtaking smile still, lips plumped red like roses in the white snow, the world stilled for a moment. (he wished it would last forever.) you looked happy and bright, he couldn’t search anywhere in your eyes for the adoration you once harboured, the one that used to be easily spotted every time your eyes met.

maybe you just didn’t know that the one you were conversing with wasn’t a mere dreamweaver.

maybe you still had feelings for him… maybe, it simply wasn't appropriate to discuss such private matters with a passerby, a fact he completely agrees.

but were you, though? after all this time? sunday felt his chest heavy. you were there, like a star within reach, but far enough to only be observed in the radiant sky. then suddenly and a little too late, it came to his perception that his heart had long been beating for you. and at the biggest loss of it all was he only realised, you and robin, were everything he had left. 

was he too late to make amends?

you were beautiful, he’d take that. not to mention the way your hand loosely clung onto the smooth material of your slightly worn-out scarf. a maroon colour that utterly complimented your skin tone, he recognised that scarf.

“you have an exquisite scarf… it suits you.” 

the dreamweaver couldn’t help the words that slipped “her” lips, “she” mentally cursed “herself” for saying such an odd thing, but your light laugh after the bewildered look you gave dissipated every quickened pulse of “hers”, completely drew all of “her” attention to your graceful demeanour, rather than what you were saying by the moment.

“xipe up above… please, hear my plea”

“it was a gift from an old friend, whom i really cherished.” the glowy tint of your lips arched into a thin smile, and, dear aeons… there it was, that same endearing look with so much stars swimming in your eyes. the look of love.

(two winters ago, your endearing shy look, heated cheeks as you reached out for the delicately box in his hands—a simple present for you for the first holiday ever spent together as adults, your fingers brushing against the comforting material as you opened it, eyes glimmered with joy. of course he remembered. that expression of yours imprinted in his mind, confused but amused at how his little gift has an effect on you, you were an adorable thing if he must admit.)

“forgive my desperation to sin just this one last time.”

“he went away for some reasons, i believed it was the same reason why my adoration was left unrequited,” you looked up at the sky, nostalgic. “it’s a little embarrassing to admit, don’t you think?”

at your simple and hearty laugh, sunday could only manage a silent shaky breath.

“please, xipe.”

“i do miss him, dearly,” you let out a light chuckle, nuzzling your face against the fuzzy fabric with the corner of your eyes crinkled. “do you think that i would be able to see him again?”

— “please for once, allow me to be deserving of them, to make amends for everything i’ve damaged”

with certainty, in his heart, that ‘everything’ was you. never one-sided, never unrequited.

sunday thought about you, ignoring the blooming feeling of overwhelmed emotions, his steps were restrained from approaching closer. but then your final question had the words die on his tongue, lingering like an illness that couldn’t be cure.

would your paths converge underneath the sun?

reality is different. having come this far, the boat that used to guide sunday here was burnt down, and there was no way of turning back.

“i miss you, too, dearly.” he wanted to say. 

“i like you” or “the feeling is mutual” even, and how he wanted to tug the strands of your hair behind your ears like he always did back then the moment he saw them fell out of place. but sunday was still a coward. he wondered if you hated him, that you couldn’t bear witness the person you love disappeared then reappear and just begging for forgiveness, it kicked at his dignity and insecurities. perhaps… this barrier between you both was comfortable alright.

“i think he misses you, too.” words emboldened by the sudden courage but soon deflated when “she” meet your observant gaze. yeah… how could a nobody be so sure about that?

“…my apologies, please forgive such an bold assumption.” “she” cleared “her” throat.

“it’s okay, i’m glad that you get comfortable when talking to me.” and sunday realised that he had lost count of how many times he was mesmerized by the melody of your laugh, your soft hum.

the small talk could last for an eternity, that was the greediest wish sunday allowed himself to yearn for. (he thanked xipe for that.)

“mr. sunday, are you ready to board the express?” and he peeked over his shoulder. welt yang, his companion by pure serendipity, stopping on his steps and looked at him with anticipation.

by now, the sun has dipped deeper and almost disappeared in the horizon, purple-blue hued vast sky sprinkling with faint streaks of stars, city lights awaken, leaving the man with the small void in his chest, half-filled. heart spoke otherwise but mind obliged to the better, but wasn’t “better” always hurt most? it was all over, it’s time to go.

you studied the way robin was blowing out smoke, panting softly as she ran over to you not long after the fellow dreamweaver left. the expression on her face was what you couldn’t decipher, a frown was written, her smile was filled with sorrows, and it made you fumbled.

“it seems like you have met her, too.” she sighed with a smile, adjusting her scarf, which was also a gift from her dearest brother. 

the dreamweaver did say an odd thing earlier before “she” departed, though. “she” claimed to only knew a thing or two about beliefs, but then you sensed the dejection in “her” tone before “she” clasped “her” hand together and seeming to close “her” eyes and wish despite the machinery face.

a mutter of sincerest apologies and best wishes for the person “she” wished to make amends to, followed by shaky chants of whispered please’s that sure was heart-warming. then “she” looked at you, “her” wistful and delighted expression was seen through somehow, how confusing, yet so beautiful and sympathetic. 

and when “she” changed her gaze elsewhere, speaking out her final words before silence settled in between the two of you again.

“they mesmerised me, i should’ve recognised that sooner” and you think that was heartening. that it was good for her.

“i’m glad” said robin.

“you’re… glad?” you blinked, didn’t hold a grasp on why she seemed happy about it.

the singer only chuckled brightly, she nodded.

“what a pity that the story of yours was incomplete…” she trailed off.

“…[name], your name has been prayed.” you didn’t miss the way her eyes softened, a glowing hint of wetness then she looked away. “for now, we must wait for THEM to cast an eye upon his unfulfilled wish.”

when sunday was down on his knees, you were how he prayed.

(lol u thought.)

© 2024 https-sourlimes. all rights reserved.

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

outfit teaser: teyvat style – red dead of night ☆ diluc

♡ BEAUTIFUL & DIRTY RICH.

you're the youngest scion of the world's most wealthy conglomerate owner, and with your older brother next-in-line to come into the role of chairman, you're free to run as wild as you like. and for you, that equates to getting into dating scandals nearly every other week, much to the chagrin of your management… though it’s not like they can say anything since you can get away with everything when you’re this beautiful & dirty rich.

✧ feat ; albedo, arataki itto, childe, diluc ragnvindr, gorou, kaedehara kazuha, kaeya alberich, kamisato ayato, scaramouche, shikanoin heizou, thoma, xiao x gn!reader

✧ warning(s) ; reader wears a skirt + heels at one point, alcohol mentions, drunk!reader, kinda suggestive

✧ a/n ; i have been brainrotting this concept since Forever and now i am forcing all of u to think abt it too >:) spot the xiao favouritism LMAO

please reblog + leave comments ! it helps a lot :)

✦ ALBEDO. [ kreideprinz ]

“you've got a press conference tomorrow afternoon at one,” albedo lists out your itinerary for the next day as you spin around in the chair at your desk. “and then lunch with lady ningguang at two.” “how about scheduling some time for us to go on a date instead?” you tease, a smirk curving your lips. “it's too late to change your schedule, mx y/n,” albedo answers without missing a beat. it's become a pastime of yours to attempt to fluster your cool personal assistant, and it's a common occurrence for you to flirt with him only to be immediately shut down. “what about kisses then? those are pretty quick.” albedo sighs, “may i remind you that you have barely a minute to spare tomorrow?” “a lot can be done in a minute,” you wink, and he stares at you, “i highly doubt even you can do much in the span of twenty seconds.” you groan, sliding down in the seat, “'bedo! would it kill you to play along sometimes?” “it won't kill me, but it might kill your schedule,” albedo shuffles the papers in his gloved hands. “and why is that?” “because,” he says simply, “i'd be too busy thinking about everything you've asked to do with me to get any work done.”

✦ ARATAKI ITTO. [ hanamizaka heroics ]

arataki itto is someone you shouldn’t be caught dead interacting with. despite that, you still find yourself picking up his calls and responding to his texts far too frequently. it started the day you were doing fansigns, as your autograph was highly coveted, and he was the only face that stood out to you in the sea of fans. itto had started by yelling a greeting, prompting your bodyguard to tense as if preparing a fight. you had laughed and returned it, and he had continued to explain that you were his idol and he had formed his own group in the hopes of reaching the same level of fame as you. the green-haired girl beside him scolded him for his antics, but you found him endearing, and for reasons only the archons know, you scribbled your number below your signature. which leads to now, where you now hear his enthusiastic voice through the speakers of your phone nightly as he rambles about his day and updates you on his progress with his gang. it’s a breath of fresh air for you to be exposed to someone so down-to-earth and honest about everything in comparison to the corrupt world you interact with daily. and if you start looking forward to these conversations? nobody else has to know, it’ll be a secret for you two alone.

✦ CHILDE. [ tartaglia ]

“idiot, there are cameras over there!” you tug childe behind a wall, flattening yourself against it as if to make yourself invisible to the paparazzi. “y’know, when you invited me out, i didn’t expect us to be running from the press the entire time,” he laughs, and you elbow him in the stomach, “hey, this time it’s your fault! everyone’s freaking out over the beloved snezhnayan boxer tartaglia returning from his special training in the abyss.” “ow! as if they wouldn’t die for a picture of the world’s hottest heir,” he winces and retorts. “you’re hotter, though, for sure,” you reply without looking back at him, peeking out from the wall to check if the reporters have left. “really? you think so?!” childe’s tone doesn’t betray how happy he actually is to hear that - he’s been in love with you from the day you enrolled in the same boxing class as him when you were both still learning to talk. “hmm…” you turn around and look him up and down, fixing him with your infamous judgemental stare, “objectively speaking, i think you are pretty hot. maybe a 7 on the ‘totally would spend the night with’ scale.” “only a 7?! whyyyy?” childe whines, and you laugh. you’d never admit how handsome you really think he is, and how it’s probably impossible to rank him on the aforementioned scale when you’ve been wanting that since forever. “anyways, i think this place is a no-go. maybe we should just head to your place instead,” you sigh, realising the eager paparazzi aren’t going to leave anytime soon. “sure! i’ve got a new bottle of firewater we could crack open too.” “then what are we waiting for? i can practically hear it calling my name already,” you skip off and childe rushes after you, “no fair, i was planning on doing that first!”

✦ DILUC RAGNVINDR. [ the dark side of dawn ]

the sound of clinking cutlery is the only thing audible at the table you're sharing with your potential suitor, diluc ragnvindr. “i'm diluc,” he attempts to break the silence, only for you to coldly reply with obvious apathy, “i know.” he swallows, unsure of how to continue with your clear lack of interest in the date, so he falls silent once more. guilt begins to prick at you for being so harsh, and you cave, “i’m sorry, diluc, that was rude of me. i’m just not very interested in getting married right now, or anytime soon if i’m being honest, so i don’t see the point of this dinner.” diluc blinks; once, twice, thrice before a smile begins to curve his lips, “thank goodness!” now it’s your turn to be confused, “what?” “i don’t want to get married either, this dinner was my manager’s idea. i wasn’t sure how to tell you without hurting your feelings,” he explains, and you beam, thanking your lucky stars that the crisis has been resolved, “then, why don’t we get out of here?” “what do you mean?” diluc tilts his head in confusion, and as his features are illuminated by the chandelier hanging above the two of you, you can understand why he’s often voted the most eligible bachelor of teyvat. “we can just hang out without all this formality! i promise it’ll be a night you’ll never forget,” you grin, reaching out your hand to pull him out of his seat. “sure,” diluc returns your smile, and to hide how flustered you are after realising that his smile is actually very pretty, you wink, “if you’re lucky, a deal with my brother’s company won’t be the only thing you leave with tonight!”

✦ GOROU. [ canine warrior ]

“mx y/n, that’s the third dating scandal this month!” gorou scolds, rushing after you as you stride down the corridor. “nice, new record!” you cheer, and gorou thinks you must take pleasure in driving him to an early grave because, “that isn’t a good thing!” “shame, because i was planning for my next one to be with you,” you wink before whipping out a compact mirror and reapplying your lipstick. gorou's stunned silent, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish for a few seconds before he composes himself, blocking out any and all thoughts of you ever dating him. but just as he's about to speak again you cut in, placing your hand on his shoulder and pulling him close, “imagine the headlines; useless scion elopes with their own public relations head! crazy, right? the public would eat that up.” gorou is this close to spontaneously combusting but thanks to his sheer willpower he manages to keep it together. but when you continue, “i bet stocks would rise like mad too, then you'd finally be able to get a better job than hounding me all the time, gorou,” that's when he speaks up with a passionate outburst, “no! i enjoy working for you, and i wouldn't change it for anything.” now it's your turn to be shocked, but you recover quickly as you grin, “what about in exchange for me never getting involved in controversy again?” gorou flinches before smiling, “you drive a hard bargain.” “you know it, gorou! and by the way, i was serious about what i said earlier. you can be my next scandal!” “what?!”

✦ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA. [ scarlet leaves pursue wild waves ]

kazuha’s been topping the charts ever since the release of his debut album, and with his dashing looks and charmingly flirtatious personality, he’s captured hearts across the globe - yours included. you know you’re bound to bump into him sooner or later with all the high-class events you both attend, but when it actually happens, you’re caught like a deer in headlights. it’s your birthday function out of all things, except this is the boring one you’re forced to host for the sake of maintaining business relationships and a popular image with the public, so you’re about to doze off at your table when someone plops into the seat beside you, “happy birthday!” upon recognising his voice you jerk your head up at once, “kaedehara kazuha?!” “y/n l/n?!” he imitates your tone, and you can’t help but beam, “i can’t believe you’re here, i love your music!” “thank you! and it’s wonderful to meet you, mx y/n. but it seems like you aren’t having a good time at your own party,” he raises an eyebrow, “why?” “this party is just for formalities, so it’s super boring,” you sigh, but then you smile, “i’m holding another one tomorrow night just for my friends and i though, if you’d like to come!” “it would be my honour,” kazuha says, “but how about we hype this party up too?” “how?” “i’ll perform onstage right now. a super special love song for y/n l/n’s birthday,” he deepens his voice so it sounds more dramatic, and it makes you laugh, “i get to see kazuha singing live? maybe this birthday isn’t so bad after all.” kazuha lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to it with a wink, “i’m about to make this your best birthday ever.”

✦ KAEYA ALBERICH. [ frostwind swordsman ]

it’s been a while since you last saw kaeya. he’s incredibly elusive, showing up at the most random events when he feels like it, but the tabloids eat it all up and treat him like one of life’s great mysteries. to be honest, even you’re more than a little curious about the man with blue hair and the ability to do as he pleases without a care in the world. “looking for me, sweetheart?” you look beside you with surprise, and you’re met with the icy eye of the one and only kaeya alberich. “awfully arrogant of you to assume that, mr alberich,” you reply smoothly, matching his piercing gaze with one of your own. handing you a glass, he smirks, “call it intuition.” “i didn’t take you for a telepath,” you deadpan, taking it and nodding a thanks. “i wish i was, so i could understand what’s going on in that pretty head of yours,” kaeya drawls, “or even better, your heart.” “moving rather quickly, aren’t we?” you step nearer, and his enigmatic smile deepens, “isn’t that your style?” it seems like kaeya alberich is getting way too ahead of himself, and as the resident flirting monarch, you feel it’s your job to knock him down a few pegs. “no, this is,” and with that, you grab his tie and tug him closer, pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek before pulling away as if nothing happened. “come find me later if you figure out how to match my style, kaeya,” a catlike smile graces your features and you disappear into the crowd on the ballroom floor, leaving a starstruck and quite possibly lovestruck kaeya behind.

✦ KAMISATO AYATO. [ pillar of fortitude ]

“you seem tense,” the famed model murmurs, tilting his head slightly to face you. his lips brush against the shell of your ear in the process, and you swear you’re about to melt into a puddle as you swallow, “who wouldn’t be, in a pose like this?” you’re pressed up against ayato’s torso, his arms wrapped around your waist with his chin resting on your shoulder, and for some reason the heat of his hands seem to be branding your skin even through the layer of fabric. “true. though with your long list of dating scandals, i expected you to be relaxed about this sort of thing,” he glances at you, and you can hear a note of amusement in his tone. “what’s that supposed to mean?” you roll your eyes, though you can’t help but be pleased that he seems to be aware of your reputation. “nothing in particular. i’m just wondering if i could be added as the latest on the list,” ayato replies teasingly, and your eyes dart to his with barely concealed surprise, “really?” his gaze dips to your lips for a millisecond that seems to last far too long, “yes.” “slow down, pretty boy,” you regain your composure enough to smirk, “how about you start by just giving me your number?” ayato mirrors your expression, mischief glimmering in his irises, “yeah, i can do that.”

✦ SCARAMOUCHE. [ kunikuzushi ]

“you’re planning on going out wearing that?” the disgust in your stylist’s tone is obvious, he’s not even trying to hide how he feels about your outfit. “yeah, what about it? it’s cute!” you spin around, admiring how the skirt flares as you twirl. scaramouche would rather die than admit how cute he actually thinks you look as you show off the outfit, so he settles for scoffing, “cute if you’re going for a ‘just picked this out of the trash’ aesthetic.” “fuck you,” you laugh, “this is from the latest liyue collection!” you never take his insults seriously, and scaramouche has a love-hate relationship with how his comments are like water off a duck’s back for you. on one hand, if he actually did hurt your feelings, he might just collapse, but on the other hand it also feels like you’re always laughing at him. “liyue designers lost their touch last century,” he rolls his eyes and offers you his hand to pull you into your walk-in closet, “c’mon, if you really want to go out, i’ll pick an outfit for you.” “ooh, scara, you should totally come with me! then we can match outfits,” you lean into him, raising your eyebrows suggestively, “we could look like a couple~” scaramouche desperately hopes you don’t see the red blush darkening his cheeks right now or he’d never hear the end of it from you, so he turns away, “fine, i’ll come. only so you don’t look awful if we bump into paparazzi.” you giggle, seeing an opportunity to tease him further, “then it’s a date!” “no it isn’t!”

✦ SHIKANOIN HEIZOU. [ analytical harmony ]

for a bodyguard, shikanoin heizou sure does talk a lot. whether he’s analysing your every interaction for a hint of dishonesty from the other party, or making flirty comments whenever the two of you are alone, he never shuts up. it was your brother's idea to get you a personal guard, and out of all the candidates, he picked the playful one with mischievous olive eyes and a smirk always tugging at his lips – you don't understand why. you're confused until the first time you see him in action, which happens to be at a fashion event where some creep snuck in. in one swift movement, heizou pulls you behind him with a whisper, “i’ll deal with this,” before darting forward and incapacitating the stalker with a few well-placed punches and a final kick to his stomach. after handing off the weirdo to the gawking security personnel, heizou rushes back to you, “are you okay?” “yeah… i just didn’t know you could fight like that.” “well, i wouldn’t be much of a good bodyguard if i couldn’t fight, would i? anyways, you can praise me now,” he strikes a pose as if expecting applause. “don’t let it get to your head, dumbass,” you laugh at his antics, “but you were pretty cool.” “i know,” he smirks, “and now you know i’m good with my hands.” “heizou!”

✦ THOMA. [ protector from afar ]

you’ve never seen the cleaners of your penthouse. sure, you pay them, but you’re almost never at home to see who they actually are and to thank them for their hard work. just your luck that the one time you’re having an awful day and crying at home is the day one of them come in. he walks into the room humming, hands shoved casually into his pockets until he catches sight of you, “huh? wait, mx y/n?! i’m so sorry for intruding, i didn’t realise you were at home.” “it’s fine,” you brush it off, well aware that you look like a total mess right now with your puffy face, “but i’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this.” “of course not!” he blurts out before falling silent again. this has got to be the most awkward moment of your life. someone walked in on you sobbing your eyes out and looking like you just left a horror movie set, and to top it off it's someone you don't even know – it's enough to make you want to burst into tears again, and unfortunately you're currently so emotional that you actually do. “hey, hey, hey, what's going on?” the person from earlier is in front of you in a flash, “do you want to talk about it?” “i don't even know your name!” you manage to hiccup while crying. “oh, right! i'm thoma,” he introduces himself. “it might be easier for you to rant to a stranger, and i can promise you,” he mimes zipping his mouth, “my lips are sealed.” honestly at this point you so desperately need a shoulder to cry on that you'd take anyone, even the incredibly handsome man you met around five minutes ago. so you launch into a huge tirade about your insecurities and problems, and throughout it all thoma listens intently with a straight face, nodding at intervals and offering advice only when you ask – you might just need to marry him after opening up so much and receiving such a good response.

✦ XIAO. [ vigilant yaksha ]

it seems like xiao never talks. it’s not exactly a bad thing, especially since he’s kept his mouth shut about more than a few shady places he’s dropped you off at, but you find yourself wanting to know more about the mysterious driver with the amber eyes. however, you’re greeted with silence whenever you attempt to start a conversation or ramble about your day, and you’re beginning to think you’ll never get to talk to him. until one night, when you stumble into the limousine later than usual reeking of alcohol, clutching your heels in one hand and your bag in the other. xiao’s already surprised enough by how you’ve clambered into the passenger seat rather than the spacious rear lounge, but when you lean over to him and clutch the lapels of his crisp white shirt, he’s pretty sure he’s on the brink of a heart attack. “xiaooo~” you whine, slurring the syllables of his name, “why do you hate me?” he thinks you won’t remember this the next morning, so it should be fine to reply, “i don’t hate you.” “liar! you never want to talk to me!” you pull away, tears brimming in your eyes and threatening to spill down your cheeks. “no, no, no, don’t cry,” xiao doesn’t know how to comfort anyone, but the sight of you crying is something he never wants to see, so he quickly wraps his arm around your shoulder, rubbing circles on your back, “i can’t talk while i’m working, that’s all.” “then… what about after?” you sniffle, “after work?” “yeah!” “i could probably talk then.” “okay, good, because you’re super handsome, and i love your hair, and your eyes, and your face,” your eyes light up, and you tousle his hair, moving to poke his cheek and cup his face with your hands, “and just everything!” xiao’s face is practically a tomato right now, and he tips his hat down to hide his expression, “i like everything about you too.” “yay! then let’s talk after work!” you cheer, sliding back into your seat. “sure, if you remember,” he replies with a soft chuckle while starting the car again. “of course i will! it’s a promise~”

yet another formatting change bye but this is cute i think i'll stick w it :> // general masterlist

© starglitterz 2022. do not repost or modify in any way.

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