Lights, Camera, Action!
lights, camera, action!
premise. in which you get yourself involved in a lot of unscripted drama. (genshin celebrity au.)
includes. xiao, childe, albedo, ayato, scaramouche, thoma & kazuha.
previous episode. watch here.
note. the long-awaited sequel nobody actually waited for lmao. please read part 1 if you still haven't! this entire fic would be incomprehensible otherwise :'D
四 ; ayato, the cannon fodder
although xiao is, with absolute certainty, regarded as your definite favorite celebrity in your heart, ayato comes a close second.
he's a modern day prince; if anyone were asked to say which male lead they liked best, you can guarantee their answer would be among one of his roles.
he played a lot of characters—a school heartthrob, a ceo, a bar owner, and even an actual prince for a snow white retelling. each one with stellar execution, as you'd expect from an actor of his caliber.
so it is to your absolute horror to find him casted in this production as a minor villain. the one that happens to (futilely) seduce the journalist to bed, no less!
is he asking to get his image destroyed?! which... actually does make sense. he's already been typecasted as the “prince” type of male lead, and you can guess how frustrating that can be. it must suck to play one persona over and over, mindlessly spouting recycled lines; not much room for creativity there.
but he's had different roles too, of course. one that stuck to your mind is another murder mystery, a film focusing on the death of a family head. the power struggle for the place of successor isn't a secret even to the public, and the prime suspects are primarily composed of the victim's relatives who stand to benefit from the family head's death.
ayato played the role of the first son, believed to be the one most likely to inherit the riches. which means the sooner the family head dies, he gets to have all the assets. he's suspicious due to his probable motive, but overly so that it's too obvious; ironically enough, this leads the audience to think he definitely couldn't be the killer.
except he is exactly that, but for a reason nobody would expect. rather than greed, the first son murdered his father for driving his biological mother to madness due to abuse and then sent her to a psychiatric ward, where she eventually died. he took in a second wife, a woman only after his money, who kept on pressuring her husband to make her daughter his successor.
contrary to popular belief, ayato's character didn't loathe his step-sister. in fact, he cared about her quite a bit, and his hate for his father grew whenever he scorned her for being “lacking” or “good for nothing.” his scummy personality led to his demise.
in the end, the step-mother was wrongly arrested, and the true murderer wasn't revealed until after the credits, where ayato was shown sitting at his father's desk and laughing to himself, followed by a scene detailing how the actual murder took place and how he tricked the investigators successfully.
the contrast between his acting as a shallow young master and a cunning mastermind had been praised by many. to tell the truth, you don't know how he was typecasted as a prince when he's clearly more suited for “villain” roles.
...even so, his current role isn't anything like the previous one! a cannon fodder and a genius murderer are nowhere near alike! he's only there to make the protagonist jealous and his character is fated to die one week after the scene with the journalist!
you suppose your disbelief must've shown on your face when each actor's respective role was announced because he couldn't help but chuckle when he looked at you.
“...by any chance, did you audition for the murderer role? because- it's hard to believe that-” you struggle to piece together words, rambling while ayato is busy signing his autograph on your phone case. (as luck would have it, you don't have paper on you. you said he could sign the back of your shirt but he politely declined, insisting the shirt would get dirty like you aren't planning to get it framed on your bedroom wall and declare it your heirloom.)
you don't even feel shy talking to him from the sheer incredulity of the situation. ayato only laughs as he hands you your phone case. “i did. but it turned out getting a minor role is a good thing since i'm planning to be on vacation soon.”
“oh. that's understandable, then...” barely. you still have complaints about it. as an actor, you respect the director's decisions, but as a loyal fan, you oughta give him a talking to and demand to give your idol the role he deserves.
“do you dislike it?”
your brows knit together, eyes momentarily leaving your now prized phone case to glance at him. “dislike what?” dislike that you're treated like this? that you have to act as a brainless villain? that you don't get much screentime? then fuck yeah.
“dislike that you're going to do that scene with me.” almost bashful, he leans closer to whisper to your ear. “you know. the one in the hotel.”
all the blood in your body rushes to your cheeks. impishly, ayato's lips curl into a smile of mischievous nature, a far cry from the elegant simper he usually holds. “i... that isn't what i... no, i mean it's not that i don't like you as my partner, but- but-!”
sufficiently entertained by your fumbling, he stops being mean and lightly pats the top of your head. “let's both do our best. truthfully, i'm not the most adept with bedroom scenes, but if you need help, you can always rely on me.”
rely how exactly?!
...
“is it too tight?”
“um... a little.”
“okay. is this better?”
“yes. am i too stiff?”
“mhm, a bit. you don't have to be nervous. it's just me.”
ah yes. it's just THE kamisato ayato pinning you down your bed, breathing down your neck, moments away from stealing your lips. nothing to worry about, clearly.
he adjusts his grip on your wrists, loosening it to your liking. his character is meant to push you down forcibly, but of course he doesn't want to actually harm you during filming—to prepare before the shoot, practice is of utmost importance. you have to give the illusion of an aggressive assault when in reality he's handling you like a piece of glass.
but you're doing this right after a day's work, and you have to blame your stupid mouth for running off without command and casually asking him if he could visit your apartment to go over the scene. in late hours of the night. in what can be interpreted as a much more scandalous suggestion.
thankfully, you're not dealing with childe so you're spared from wiggling eyebrows or phrases with flirty implications.
but him being ayato doesn't make it any easier.
“don't you feel embarrassed making out on screen...?” you laugh awkwardly in an attempt to ignore the weird tension in the air, slightly overwhelmed by his intense gaze. “i know you've done this several times, but i imagine the awkwardness never wears off.”
“not quite,” he agrees. “but a job is a job... i say that, but i'd like to make it comfortable for you, if possible. how are you faring? do you need a break?” he sits up, allowing more distance in the space between you. you shake your head.
“i'm fine. just... nervous. it's my first time doing a bedroom scene...” you look off to the side, staring at the lights beyond your window. though you're in the comfort of your own room, having an unfamiliar man on your bed makes it all feel so strange.
...as you thought, it really was weird to invite a co-actor to your bed! eh? would booking a hotel be better? but isn't it overboard to go to a hotel for practice? inviting him to your apartment is equally as bad, though?!
“all the cameramen watching can be pressuring,” he adds in afterthought, releasing one of your wrists only to pin it with a single hand. you flinch a little when his fingers skim over your cheek, but you slowly relax into the heat. “it's best if you try to forget about them.”
“i'm afraid that's easier said than done,” you murmur, voice growing weaker as he leans down once more.
“really? i consider myself a decent kisser.” he grins, sly and confident. “i'm certain i can keep other things off your mind for a while.”
“wh- i'm not supposed to enjoy it, remember?!” you squawk indignantly with flushed cheeks. he relishes in your reaction, chuckling lowly.
“oh? my bad. you'll have to work hard acting like you don't like it, then.”
his lips hover above yours, breaths mingling with each other. the proximity catches you off guard but his hand is a steady weight holding you in place, urging you to look at him.
“don't think about anyone else. just focus on me.”
五 ; scaramouche, the best friend
“fantastic. i was also looking forward to a drama adaption but you've already ruined it for me.”
“that's not nice! you're supposed to congratulate me for passing the audition!”
“my courtesy towards you has already expired 5 years ago.”
“yes. you've made that very apparent.”
“have i also made my ire apparent? it's like the universe is telling me seeing you everyday isn't enough, i have to see you on television too. frankly, we see too much of each other.”
“you say that but you're the one coming over my apartment uninvited.”
“this is where i store my beer.”
scaramouche has a perfectly functional fridge so you know he's only doing that as an excuse. he's been this way for 8 years. (of course, he'd only been storing milk at your house when you were both still underage.)
(the milk didn't do any favors for his height, unfortunately.)
his words are as harsh as ever but believe it or not, he's your closest friend. not that he'd ever admit it, even at gunpoint. it's a feat you should add to your resume, honestly, because as far as you know, you're one of the few people he doesn't hate.
he tolerates you enough that he can practice your lines with you (with enough pressure), though he delivers his part of the script with such dispassion it makes it difficult for you to get into the mood. but in his own brand of patience, he lets you reiterate your lines an endless amount of times until you feel like you get it right.
he helps you with expressions too, albeit in a manner you find hard to appreciate.
“you look like you're constipated, not about to cry.”
“your jaw is hanging open. want to catch a fly with your tongue? act like you caught your husband cheating, not like you're about to eat half my burger when you said you'd only take a bite.”
(personal grudges were involved.)
he's not interested in the film industry at all, but he was the one who pushed you to pursue your dreams when everyone else was discouraging you from taking an unstable career. he's your pillar of support; even if he's glaring at you scathingly or giving cutting words matter-of-factly, he's all bark and no bite. the moment you shed tears, he's already pulling you to his chest, remaining silent as he rubs comforting circles on your back. he doesn't even complain when you bury your face to hide in his neck, soaking his shirt with tears.
underneath all that layers, he's pretty nice.
(admittedly, you have to dig real deep.)
when you're smiling and happy, however, he takes the chance to complain. sneering, he blurts, “what's up with you taking roles in romance dramas all the time? besides, you're way too old to be in high school.”
“i still look fresh.” you batted your eyelashes at him, celebrating inwardly when he made a scandalized noise. “but i'm auditioning for a different role soon. if i get it, you'll see me as a murder victim instead of a high schooler.”
two weeks later, you get the e-mail confirming the love interest role. scaramouche goes so pale you consider taking him to the hospital.
“i know the journalist is your favorite character, but aren't you overreacting? do you hate me acting as them that much?”
he rolls his eyes so hard you almost think they're going to be permanently pointed heavenward. “are you stupid? that's not what i'm worried about. wouldn't you have to- you know- do that scene-”
“which one?”
“...the hotel scene...”
ah. well that certainly is a cause for concern. it's steamier than what you're used to; so far, you've only done light pecks or kisses that don't last too long. bedroom scenes are definitely foreign territory.
“i can only hope my partner is good-looking, then. i wouldn't mind it, if that's the case.” you laugh sheepishly, missing the way his eyes narrow in disapproval.
“...whatever. suit yourself.”
“don't tell me you still feel weird about kissing scenes?”
“i don't have issues with kissing scenes. i just don't want to see you sucking face on tv.”
“don't use that word! it's too vulgar!”
as part of work, it's inevitable you have to do a kissing scene here and there. scaramouche has never been fond of seeing them, turning away from the television or excusing himself to the bathroom whenever they come up. it's a reaction you can sympathize with; it is rather awkward to see your friend making out with someone on screen.
but he especially detests the old recording of your high school play.
long, long ago, you were part of the drama club. by association, scaramouche became a member as well—the pair of you were considered as a package deal. he was your practice partner so often that he got forced into joining.
he'd die before he ever tells anyone, but he had a knack for playing villains back then, specialized in wicked cackling and bone-chilling monologues reeking of depravity.
but in your final year, he got roped into playing the prince when the original actor sprained his ankle. incidentally, you happened to be playing the damsel in distress in your (pretty much unrecognizable) rendition of sleeping beauty.
“why is the prince shorter than-” before you could end your statement, he already slammed your face with the script.
the play was a hot mess. scaramouche couldn't play a decent prince for the life of him, so your club made the play a comedy and reworked the entire script to fit him better. the valiant and heroic character became satirical, forced into saving you not for love but to fulfill a prophecy that definitely wasn't in the original sleeping beauty.
the audience was taking the change well, intrigued by the bizarre twists and turns. the huffing-puffing prince was hilarious to watch, too.
it wasn't long before you laid in the casket, blinded by stage lights even with your eyes closed. the cardboard dragon had already been defeated, and the prince was fast approaching.
to your utter distaste, it was decided the prince would slap you awake. so you prepared for it when the last lines were being said, bracing for the stinging pain.
but then there was a rise in pitch, nearing to a yelp, then a loud thud, then the weight of two hands pressing on either side of your head, and-
your lips were touching something soft and warm.
the squeals and yells reverberated in the whole theater, the narrator stammering awkwardly and improvising ad libs last minute. your eyes snapped open and you'd gotten a front row seat to see scaramouche's blushing face, an explosion of pink dancing across his features.
after the play wrapped up and he peeled off the ridiculously frilly prince costume, he'd been set on destroying every record—alas, your friends weren't so keen on deleting such good footage. to this day, he still bristled at the thought of it; his and your first kiss showcased to hundreds of people.
it's harder to endure when he sees you kissing someone else, however. he never gets used to it, no matter how many times he tells himself to.
“oh, finally. it took so long for them to get together,” his co-worker groans as he watches the tv at the break room, airing the latest episode of the drama you star in. scaramouche glances at the screen, turning away when the camera flits to the boy with ashy brown hair. he's touching your face for the millionth time, bright teal eyes staring into yours so deeply scaramouche almost thinks he's actually besotted with you.
“you're not watching? i thought you liked this series?”
“i don't.”
for his own sake, he doesn't give the tv another glance, stepping out of the room.
this is fine. it's not the first time he's felt like this.
(it doesn't feel any less terrible.)
六 ; thoma, the former male lead
there are as many aspiring actors as there are stars in the sky; it's unfortunate only some of them shine brightly enough to be noticeable, and the rest twinkling weakly in miniscule dots.
for your case, and for your friend thoma's, you belong to the latter.
thoma is handsome, that much you can see with your own eyes, but a pretty face can be found anywhere in the industry—he lacks that special something that makes him stand out. that being said, you don't have it either, so you're on the same boat.
you're best pals, comrades in arms, partners in crime.
actual partners. once. for a romance drama.
(but not the main characters. just an obligatory side pairing, of course. you're the rebound for the second male lead.)
it was your first work, and you'd rather delete your existence than watch it again. hopefully, that also erases your dark history.
your... amateurish acting had been unsightly. the innocence you portrayed wasn't lovely, just a ghastly display of incoherent mumbling and lack of comedic timing. you wanted to tear apart each clip and toss it in some imaginary ditch where nobody can find it again.
thoma's performance wasn't as severe as yours. it wasn't half-bad, almost decent if not for the scant instances of awkwardness in scenes that required more emotional acting.
alas, the end product was just about what you expected; a series no one paid attention to. both a relief and a disappointment, because even if you hated it with every inch of your being, the effort you poured into practice and filming was real.
but after the drama ended, you kept in close contact with thoma, chugging down beer at dinners as you complained to each other about work. failed auditions, mistakes in filming, inability to get roles—you shared everything, and he did the same. each moment of embarrassment and each moment of breakthrough that called for a celebration, you told each other. through thick and thin, you had the other's back.
naturally, he was one of the first few people you called (second only to your manager) when you received the e-mail confirming your role as the love interest for arguably one of the most anticipated series to date.
he'd been overjoyed, above all, his elation overruling his surprise; it was a far cry from other violent reactions. (“are you sure it's not a prank?” scaramouche had said in disbelief.)
“you're finally going to be acknowledged!” gleefully, thoma chattered on, “that's the best news i've heard all year!”
and that was good. it was nice having his support. he'd been the one to give you a pep talk before you had to start rehearsals, soothing your fretful worries.
when you don't understand the essence of a particular scene, he's more than happy to help—“i'm just one call away!”
when you fumble your lines on camera, he laughs but not with mockery (a stark contrast to that little gremlin scaramouche)—“it's no big deal. you only have to do your best tomorrow.”
when you recount your experiences working with famous actors, he listens attentively—“you're starting to get along, huh?”
and then you would hesitate. it sounds like you're... bragging.
he says he's only one call away, but he's busy with his own work; still, he makes time for you. he listens whenever you complain, but he has bigger problems, ones that he doesn't say because he knows it'll dampen your mood. he has to hear about you acquainting with celebrities he can't even dream of meeting, like you're showing him the things he can't have.
you got lucky. what about him?
slowly, your face bleeds to commercials, advertisement banners, even huge outdoor LED displays on shopping malls featuring the drama cast—yet he remains as a blurry, nameless figure in the sea of aspiring actors.
he doesn't show it, doesn't even hint at it, but he must be... envious, right?
it's not hard to be. you've been in the industry for the same amount of time, began at the same starting line, yet only one of you found success, the other one left behind in the dust.
still. still. he never shows it. never stops being your biggest fan. never lets you think otherwise. he watches every episode, every interview. babbles how amazing your performance was in this scene. rambles how you did so well in this drama and he's so proud of you. smiles at how you have to wear a disguise now whenever you go out together so nobody can recognize you.
“it must be hard,” he comments as you hide in a secluded park, nearly getting found out by someone you noticed following you around. “you can't get around as freely anymore. are you okay? nobody follows you home or anything?”
always the worrier, you think. “of course not. my manager drives me around everywhere these days. you don't have to worry.”
thoma grins, plopping down at a bench. “that's a relief.”
for a moment, you just sit in silence, basking in the slight chilly air. the orange and pinks of sunset darken to streaks of blue, streetlights flickering to life.
“...did you know there are rumors of you dating xiao?”
you choke on air, coughing to your fist. “what?!” not that you feel flattered. not at all. (you've badgered xiao to come with you to the carnival last week, and then the waterpark a week before that with the rest of the cast, and- well. you suppose there's reason for people to speculate. you also wore matching animal headbands—how on earth you got xiao to do that, you're not sure either.)“why did that- how did it come to that?!”
“it's surprising for me, too,” thoma says. “if anything, i'd expect dating rumors with the actual male lead. or childe. he seems... particularly clingy.”
“albedo? there's no way he'd like someone like me.” you furrow your brows. if anything, it's only gotten awkward between the two of you ever since the confession scene. “ajax... well. i never know with him.” you honestly can't tell if he's flirting or not.
thoma laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth. “you look close with all of them. if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were acting a romance film outside of the project.”
you shudder. “if, and only if, i end up dating one of them, i'll attract all kinds of bad attention. it's not even good PR. i'd hate to think of all the fan girls who'll start cursing me, stealing their man and all that. hell, i'm not even dating anybody and i'm already being cursed.”
“i'll reply to every single mean comment and defend your honor.”
you snort. “do you even have the time for that?”
“...unfortunately, yes. i'm not receiving much work at the moment.”
oh.
fuck.
“i can... i can recommend you to the director. i heard he's starting a new project soon, so maybe-”
thoma frowns and you ground to a halt. “it's fine. i don't want you to do that for me.”
it sounds like you're pitying him. like you don't trust him to rise on his own.
but you want to help.
“is this why you look sad around me every so often?” he realizes, astonished.
“i... can't help but feel guilty,” you admit, unable to maintain eye contact. “every time i say a silly story about xiao, or ajax, or albedo, i feel like i'm showing off. every time i complain, you never try to compare, you only comfort me and never tell me about your problems. i want to do something for you, but i don't know what. i care about you, and i want you to do well because i know how talented you are. except everyone else doesn't, and i want them to see you.”
it's not fair. he's putting in the effort. the same as you are. but it's still not working out for him, and it's not fair.
“you... want to help me?”
you manage a weak nod. you hear an intake of breath, feel him shuffling closer. then he places his hand on top of your clenched fist.
“[name]. can you look at me?”
slowly, you raise your head. his green eyes are shining so brilliantly, bright emeralds gleaming in the moonlight.
yet they also seem... resigned.
“you're really nice, [name]. but you don't have to feel guilty. it's not your fault i'm still like this, and i'm already thankful you're worrying about me. i can't say that i was entirely... not jealous of what you have now, but that's just my problem. so you don't have to make that face, okay?”
he smiles, just like always. you open your mouth to respond, but then you feel that sensation again—that prickle at the back of your neck, the feeling that makes your hair stand on end.
“you're kind.” his hand cradles your cheek ever so softly, tenderly. your lashes tremble, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. “that's why... i hope you can forgive me.”
this position is familiar. you know this, because you've experienced this before.
long long ago, just when you started your career, you'd practiced this scene with him in the dressing room—hearts pounding, hands awkwardly finding their places;
your lips brushing together in a shy kiss.
now, his fingers are carding through your hair, the closest he's ever been to you in years. you flinch, gripping his shirt, uncomprehending, and-
you hear it.
the shutter of a camera.
七 ; kazuha, the murderer
the first time you heard a complete newbie would act the murderer role, you were in disbelief.
alright, you were an unremarkable actor before your current role, but at the very least, you had experience. not only is this person entirely new to the industry, having nothing to show for himself, he's an amateur. it sounds like a recipe for disaster.
it's even more baffling when you discover ayato, THE kamisato ayato, tried for the role and didn't get it. who the hell is this newbie? someone who got in through nepotism? preposterous! the murderer is an incredibly important character to the plot, the whole series would be ruined if he turned out to be awful!
and then you see who he actually is, and oh boy, he does not look like a murderer.
he's more like a harmless bunny. fluffy white hair, round red eyes, a polite disposition—did you arrive at the wrong set, kid? maybe you were aiming for the high school romance drama and came here by mistake?
the webtoon murderer was no pretty boy. just an average-looking dude working at a convenience store nobody suspected to be the killer because of his unassuming looks, and that was the point. yet this eye-catching hottie is the complete opposite.
but everyone else in the cast is hot as hell, so maybe the murderer needs to be hot too so he can blend in??? director, what exactly did you have in mind?
“[name]!” just as you were staring at him, he turns and notices your gaze, expression immediately brightening. like an innocent baby chick, he walks up to you. “good morning.”
it's another day of rehearsals for the upcoming episode. so far, you haven't gotten to see his true skills yet—the most he's done is act like an ordinary extra part of the background and out of the limelight. it's understandable, since his character doesn't appear much until halfway through the series.
“kazuha,” you acknowledge him, still a little unused to his... general stickiness. you don't know what he found so appealing about you but he's taken to sticking by your side most of the time. childe has teased you more than once that perhaps the little chick has a crush on you.
“do you want to eat lunch together? i know a good fried chicken place.” so it's cannibalism now?
you agree to go anyway because fried chicken sounds great. plus, as much as you came to find that even celebrities are just regular people and you managed to befriend a lot of them, there's a sense of comfort in kazuha—he's the one you felt least intimidated by.
even if you text xiao for hours now, or come over to childe's house frequently, or go on food trips with albedo, or go clothes shopping with ayato and his sister, they're still people you can't get close to without boundaries. there's still a sense of distance separating you, one that you can't cross, but can happily do so with kazuha.
being with kazuha is just comfortable. there's never a need for formalities, and rather than co-workers, you feel closer to being friends.
sometimes, you feel as if you're babysitting though. he just... screams youth. holds the freshness of an amateur, clutching to naive hopes and wishes in the path of stardom. it's endearing to see, and it's like seeing a younger version of yourself.
it's a shame you've buried those naive wishes long ago, but you hope kazuha's career goes well for him. this drama will undoubtedly be a big boost for his popularity, but will also backlash on him if he performs horribly.
“this is my treat.” kazuha pushes the plate of chicken fingers to your side of the table, eyes shaped in smiling crescents.
you shake your head but take one nonetheless. “what kind of senior would i be to make you pay? order all you want, it's on me.”
kazuha doesn't pout but comes close to it, sulking as he bites on a piece of korean bburinkle chicken. “i can't tell if you're doing this on purpose.”
“doing what?”
“letting me off easy.”
...? this kid says some pretty strange things sometimes.
“i'll order some drinks. what do you want?” he offers, standing up.
“iced tea is fine.”
“got it.”
as he moves, his wallet drops on the floor. you're about to tell him so but you think better of it, already considering the possibility of kazuha sneakily paying for your meal on the counter and ordering drinks as an excuse.
you sigh, bending down to pick it up from the ground, but the wallet faces up, revealing the contents.
the first thing you see is your face.
you nearly jolt and hit your head on the table in shock, but you manage to suppress your surprise in a garbled mess of choking. this photo is... from that modeling gig you did a year ago. but why is it in kazuha's wallet-?!
you quickly put it back on the table, just in time for kazuha to arrive. he raises an eyebrow at your flustered expression but doesn't mention anything.
he makes a face seeing the wallet he forgot on the table. you were right after all.
later, as you return to set and practice ends after a few more hours, you recount the order of events to xiao, who could not be anymore uninterested at your entire spiel. perhaps childe would've made a more engaging conversation partner, but you'd rather not deal with his teasing right now.
“-and my face was right there! as his wallet photo! what the hell does that mean?!” years ago, you never could've guessed you'd ever be able to rant to xiao's face like this. yet here you are, unashamed in front of your idol.
“isn't it obvious?” xiao isn't even pretending like he's giving you his full attention anymore, hands preoccupied with the game console in his hands. “he likes you.”
“???”
xiao sighs, dead fish eyes looking straight at your clueless expression. “don't you have a photo of me in your wallet? that's the same thing.”
“that is certainly not the same thing! you're- xiao, and i'm just me. you're popular.”
xiao almost rolls his eyes. you're way too humble for someone who gets recognized by people on the street daily. “congrats, then. you met one of your rare fans.”
that was an unbelievable thought, before. you? having a fan? whenever you searched up your name, you couldn't find anyone talking about you. your character is different; you're looking for people who's interested in you as a person, not just your role.
now, though. you've accumulated enough fame for a fan club. several maybe, even.
... but even then. that modeling gig hadn't been successful. only someone who knew about it a year ago would know about it now, since it faded from the internet pretty fast.
as far as you know, you didn't have fans a year ago.
xiao makes a realization. “...isn't this the fourth time he invited you to lunch this week?”
“yeah?”
“.....isn't he just hitting on you then?”
now that's just not in the realm of possibility. xiao is so funny.
“he literally baked you cookies the other day.”
“friends give each other cookies, xiao. i can even make some for you if you want.”
“they were heart-shaped, [name].”
(you end up making him cookies to prove a point.)
days pass by, xiao giving you increasingly odd looks, and kazuha finally proves his worth in filming.
his performance rivals that of albedo's—the soft edges of his eyes sharpening into something menacing, gaze cold and apathetic, his lips downturned to an unfamiliar sneer. you're watching the birth of a star, and it's only a matter of time before his talent will be acknowledged.
he's different from ayato as a villain. ayato is cunning, the perfect example of a mastermind. malicious and dripping with spite. but kazuha looks innocent, a cute little bun you'd never guess can make those kind of facial expressions—twisted, vicious, malevolent.
it's part of the act, but you flinch when his character turns violent; kicking down doors, smashing glass windows with a bat. holding the extras acting as murder victims by grabbing them by the hair, throwing down cops like they weighed nothing.
and then right after that scene concludes with the director's “cut!”, with (fake) blood still splattered on his face, kazuha runs up to you grinning innocently, fishing for compliments. “did i do good?”
nevertheless, you give him headpats. “you're terrifying.”
he flushes, not too pleased giving that impression to you. the next day, he acts all sweet to you again, giving you a batch of cream puffs this time. xiao snorts somewhere in the background.
eventually, your manager notices the snacks you receive regularly. “oh, it's from that kid?”
“kazuha? mhm.” you nibble happily on the pastries.
your manager chuckles. “never thought i'd see him again here.”
“...what do you mean?” blinking owlishly, you pause from chowing down. “you know him?”
“he used to work at the bakery you went to often before, didn't he? the kid you kept telling to watch your first drama. you forced him to watch the episodes on your phone during his break.”
...............FUCK.
you do remember doing something that stupid. during the filming of your first drama, you frequently stopped by at a nearby bakery to buy snacks, and you remember there was a cute kid working there. you often pinched his cheeks and cajoled him into watching the series.
but when filming ended, you couldn't go to the bakery anymore. the filming location was far from your house, and the bakery was simply out of the way.
did that kid... kazuha... support you all this time? from that early on?
you curse your manager for telling you this right before filming. your mind is a mess, having trouble connecting that cute, precious child (why are you always calling him a kid, he's barely 2 years younger than you) to the smooth and flirty man today.
it's an important scene today too! the confrontation between the detective, his partner, and the murderer. it needs your complete concentration, and you just don't have it right now. you've never seen the director lose his temper, but you can probably manage to do it today.
albedo is performing well in front of the cameras as always, so much like a protagonist that you feel like you're watching from a television screen already. but you have a job to do too, so you do your best in the spotlight, pretending to be unaffected.
kazuha looks even scarier up close, so unhinged and unreadable. you know what his next move will be, written on the script, but that doesn't make you any less uneasy.
“you're bold,” kazuha drawls, playing with the knife in his hand, “coming to see me by yourselves.”
you can hear what he's saying, but it feels like your head is full of cotton. why are you so distracted? “so it really is you,” you speak, praising yourself for acting normally.
the other two exchange lines, and you thank the heavens you're mostly silent for the time being. for the meantime, you have a few moments to collect yourself; there's a chase right after this, and you'd rather not do something stupid like trip over yourself in the middle of something so serious.
...
sometimes, you're gifted with foresight.
but! to be fair! you did not trip over yourself! the staff forgot to fix the cables in one part of the set, and you tripped over those. so no. not entirely your fault.
albedo is too far away—he's on the side trying to unlock the doors with his brain powers somehow, and you're the bait distracting the murderer before he does so.
ordinarily, you would not trip over the cables. you have able eyes, and you could easily step over them. but you're at the stairs.
...you're at the flight of stairs. and you're about to fall over. FUCK. WHY DID THE DIRECTOR WANT A CHASE SCENE IN THE STAIRS.
you brace for the impact, hands outstretched, but then in a complete break of character, kazuha reaches for you.
you're leaning too far to the edge now. there's no way to pull you back to even ground. kazuha grits his teeth, pulling you to his chest, and in an immense show of strength, twists around so he'd be beneath you.
you descend in a disgraceful tangle of limbs. you're enveloped in a warm embrace, cheek resting on a firm chest. a chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, heavy breaths tickling the skin of your shoulder.
you jolt back to action when you realize what just happened. “your head-!” you scramble to touch his head, feeling for any bumps or even worse, blood. kazuha hisses, so you soften the touch, tracing over this body to check for other injuries. he became a literal mattress. “what about your back? did you get sprained anywhere?”
“i'm fine,” kazuha wheezes under your caressing.
“you don't sound fine! who are you trying to fool? you didn't have to do that!” you grab his cheeks. they're as soft as ever, just as pinch-able as you remember.
“i'm not hurt. it's because you're... on top of me...” bashfully, he looks away. you blink, glancing down at your position. you're straddling his hips, at a proximity entirely inappropriate.
...his hands are still on your waist.
this kazuha is too different from two minutes ago! wasn't he just chasing you down the corridor in murderous intent?! now he's blushing underneath you, like a pure maiden you defiled!
what's with this soft, sugary atmosphere?! last time you remembered, this was a murder mystery drama!
(when the drama ends, you're casted for a romance college series with kazuha as the male lead. figures.)
More Posts from Xdncrkay and Others
FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DO NOT KNOW
THIS IS A TRUMPET
THIS IS A TROMBONE
THIS IS A TUBA
AND THIS IS A FRENCH HORN
THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME
— MARRY ME.
-> information. il dan heng x gn! reader. established relationship. fluff.
-> word count. 348.
“you want to what?”
“i want to marry you.”
silence.
you couldn’t muster a single word. instead, you opted to stare at your lover with wide eyes, disbelief written all over your face. you weren’t even sure how or what made dan heng blurted out such things.
dan heng, who is able to remain calm even in the direst situations. dan heng, who is the one to hold everyone together. dan heng, who is someone you came to accept after he revealed his tragic past to you.
dan heng blinked. his expression was unreadable to you as he stared at you; teal eyes boring holes into your soul. “i said, i want to ma-”
he got cut off when you slapped a hand over his mouth. he furrowed his eyebrows, unsure why you did that. but with you closing the distance, dan heng can now detect the faint blush dusted on your cheeks.
he can tell how you weren’t looking at him. and oh, you were embarrassed. it does something to him. a surge of pride coursed through his veins, knowing his mere words can emit such a reaction from you.
dan heng’s tail moved to coil itself around your waist, tugging you closer until your chests were touching. you yelped, struggling to free yourself but it was futile. the grip tightened in response and you surrendered, leaving you at his mercy.
you briefly wondered if it was a crime for him to look this gorgeous. no matter how long you stared at him, you could never get enough of how majestic he looked, with his long black hair and how confidence oozed from him.
dan heng moved your hand away from his mouth. he smoothly intertwined your fingers together, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. your face turned as red as a tomato at the sudden display of affection.
he chuckled, leaning in to brush his lips against yours; testing and tempting you. both of you knew it was a battle you will lose, no matter how hard you resist.
“so, do you want to marry me?”
note: wanted to write something so uh, here you go :3
taglist: @rintosei @seivsite @yunxi-11085 @seiiblue @heartswonder @himeru-soulmate
Dialogue prompt
“Never in my life have I been more embarrassed to be seen with you, you imbecile.”
“Aww you love me, admit it.”
“That is highly debatable at the moment”
101 ways to get the girl
member: haechan / nct
genre: fluff, comedy
word count: 1.4k
summary: lee donghyuck is a class clown without a care in the world— so why does he suddenly care about you? (or, in which donghyuck is a little shit but you kinda like it)
playlist: x
a/n: this can be a part 1 if enough people want a part 2 !!! aCK this was so SICKENINGLY cute i was dying the whole time i wrote it uwu. this was based off of this post !
It’s not like Donghyuck liked you. No, nothing like that. You just… always had a leaf in your hair or a smudge on your face, or he was staring at something behind you.
He definitely, absolutely, decidedly, did not have a giant crush on you.
Keep reading
♡ NEED TO KNOW.
pretty boys without a shirt… that's it that's the post
✧ feat ; cyno, scaramouche, tighnari, xiao x gn!reader
✧ warning(s) ; suggestive, may be ooc
✧ a/n ; apologies for being a slut on main, it will happen again. hope you like this ! unrelated but i listened to the instrumental for baby by madison beer the entire time i was writing this so here's the link if you'd like to hear it while reading :>
please reblog + leave comments ! it helps a lot :)
✦ CYNO. [ judicator of secrets ]
general mahamatra is renowned for never slacking off, and his unexpected arrival at the doorsteps of scholars often bodes ill for the researchers in question. but that has never been the case for you, his lover, who has come to look forward to his surprise visits.
“i should get back to work, you know,” cyno murmurs against your lips, though the way his strong arms are holding your hips tightly in place on his lap seems to convey quite the opposite. “shouldn’t i be the one saying that?” you smile, threading your hands through his messy mane of white hair, “after all, you were the one who came here under the guise of a medical check-up.” he makes a noise of dissent, nuzzling into your neck where he proceeds to press a storm of kisses, “it wasn’t a disguise, it’s true!” “oh, is that so?” you can’t help but laugh, “what were your symptoms?” cyno pulls away from your skin, where you’re certain he’s left more thtan a few bruises, and gives you the stupidest grin ever, “i was lovesick!” you snort, and he beams, “that was a good one, wasn’t it?” “shut up and just kiss me, dumbass,” you flick his forehead, “your kisses are better than your jokes.” “low blow,” he whines, and you’re struck by his duality between the persona he displays to the world and how he behaves in private. “but it is a wish i’m willing to indulge,” he continues, tilting your chin up to him.
your hands travel up his torso, and you can feel him stiffen under your touch, reclining to give you more access to him. “imagine if someone walked in,” he laughs, though it’s a breathless laugh as you trace circles across his skin, “general mahamatra and the chief healer fooling around like teenagers.” “no, i’ll let them know this is just routine,” you wink, “like how i’m checking your pulse right now.” without warning, you lean down and press your ear against his chest as if to hear his heartbeat directly. cyno freezes and you smile, lifting one hand to caress his face, “i can feel your heart getting faster and faster.” he sighs, trying to regain his composure to the best of his ability, “guess you’re leading me to an early grave.” “oh dear, that’s a shame,” you pretend to be sad, “i think you'll have to extend your stay here so i can fix that.” “ah, a shame indeed,” cyno’s red eyes laser in on yours, and you find yourself amazed at the intensity of his stare, “i’ll be entirely in your care.” “perhaps i might even cure your lovesickness,” you tease, and he smirks before tugging you closer for another kiss, “we’ll see about that.”
✦ SCARAMOUCHE. [ kunikuzushi ]
scaramouche is electric.
not just because of the electro delusion he wields so effortlessly, but more so because of the way the very air around him crackles with potential and power. perhaps it is because he was sculpted by divinity itself that his fingertips tingle with the electricity coursing through his veins, and gives him this voltaic aura which shines through even when he is doing the most mundane of tasks.
right now is no exception as he gazes at his reflection - he still looks so pretty. “you really did a number on me,” scaramouche groans, though you can hear the tinge of pride in his voice as he looks at the messy constellation of lovebites strewn across his neck and collarbone. you stroll up behind him after clambering out of bed, stepping over the discarded clothes from last night and letting your arms snake around his waist, “aw, i’m sorry.” “you don’t sound apologetic in the slightest,” scaramouche scoffs, even as his hand envelops yours with warmth. “yeah, that was a lie,” you smirk, leaning closer to whisper in his ear, “i’m not sorry at all.” “that sounds more like you,” he chuckles, though his breath hitches when your palm splays across his abdomen.
scaramouche is always wound tight like a coiled spring, always on edge, always ready to attack at the first sign of danger. and with you around to push his buttons in more ways than one, he swears he’s learned to tense up the second you touch his skin - it sets him aflame. his indigo irises stray to the sight of the two of you in the mirror, and he swallows because he knows you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. “you’re so cute, i love you,” you giggle, pressing featherlight kisses in a trail along his bare shoulder. “shut up,” his face feels far hotter than it should at your easy compliments which never seem to make sense; who else would have the audacity to call the balladeer ‘cute’? but maybe that’s precisely the reason why he adores you, and he mumbles, “i love you too.” “love me enough to skip your meeting today?” “nope.” “it was worth a shot.”
✦ TIGHNARI. [ verdant strider ]
it is rare for tighnari to spend the night at home thanks to his duties as chief forest watcher, but tonight he has, and you’re planning to make the most of it.
your hands skate over your lover’s skin, pressing down in all the right areas to help massage the tension out of his aching muscles. he isn’t as broadly built as some of the other forest rangers, but he has his own strengths hidden underneath the many layers he wears daily. in fact, you can practically feel his muscles rippling under your touch right now.
“i think you’re overworking yourself, darling,” you say, continuing your work as the scent of harra fruit oil fills the air. it’s a late cloudy night, and the only light outside comes from the distant lamps illuminating avidya forest. he’s silent, quieter than usual, and you’re worried that you’ve overstepped his boundaries. but then his ears twitch and he looks at you, “what?” a teasing smile curves your lips as you realise what just happened - tighnari was so happy about you massaging him that he totally spaced out. he recognises your trademark smirk and sighs, “don’t even think about it.” “c’mon, you have to admit it’s funny when your ears are so big but you still didn’t hear!” you giggle, and he turns away without answering, jutting his lower lip out in a pout.
“nooo, wait, i’m sorry,” you can’t help the note of amusement that slips into your tone, so you shuffle closer from how you’re sitting on your knees to wrap your arms around his bare torso. resting your chin on his shoulder, you blow on his ear, “tighnari~” his expression doesn’t change, but his ears and tail give him away this time, so you laugh, tilting his chin to face you before surprising him with a kiss, “that means i’m super duper sorry.” “hmph,” tighnari pretends to glare at you for a second before his eyes soften and he smiles, “you’re going to need to give me a lot more kisses before i leave again tomorrow for me to forgive you.” “you don’t need to ask me twice, and i’ll add in a bonus massage for your ears too!” “just admit you want to touch my ears.” “alright fine, that may have been my ulterior motive but i swear it’s also because i love you.” “i know, love, i know.”
✦ XIAO. [ vigilant yaksha ]
adepti do not require sleep to function normally, and right now xiao is so incredibly thankful for that fact because with how you’re acting, there’s no way either of you are getting any sleep tonight.
your fingertips skirt across the plane of his back, etching every dip and curve of his body into your memory, doodling absent patterns and swirls on his skin and leaving a trail of heat in your wake. it’s been a few minutes of this, and xiao doesn’t think he can take it for much longer. “i know you’re awake, xiao,” you move closer, nuzzling into his back and making a shiver run down his spine. he hums in reply before turning around to face you, amber irises boring into yours with the affectionate gaze he reserves for you and you alone. your eyes widen slightly when you see his face, and he raises an eyebrow, “what is it?” “nothing… you’re just so pretty,” your voice drops to a whisper, treating this moment like something sacred as if it would be blasphemous to speak even a decibel louder.
“what?” xiao has never even imagined that anybody would call him, a celestial being who’s convinced himself he is worth nothing except as a weapon for bloodshed, ‘pretty’. but coming from you, it sounds just right, especially when you cup his cheek, thumb caressing his skin softly. your other hand tangles in the jade streaks of his hair before slipping down to his stomach, tracing a thin line up his torso. xiao is made of lean muscle that freezes under your touch, and you can feel the strength he possesses thumping like a heartbeat under his skin as you trace the emerald tattoo on his bicep.
“i’m serious!” you laugh, and the sound makes xiao so happy his heart threatens to burst out of his chest. weaving your arms around his neck, you tug him impossibly closer, pressing your lips to his before pulling away with a smile, “love you.” “love you too,” xiao manages to reply even though his head is spinning and his cheeks are on fire, but the only thing he can focus on is asking, “can i kiss you again?” “as many times as you want, pretty boy.”
stop wtf why are they so hot... i need them NOW. // general masterlist
© starglitterz 2022. do not repost or modify in any way.
“I’m not going to be offended if you don’t say it back,” they said softly. “I love you. No pressure. You don’t need to panic about it.”
“It really doesn’t bother you if I don’t say it back yet?”
“Three words don’t define us. We were happy before I said it, I don’t need anything more from you than what you have already given.”
They kissed them then. Didn’t know if that was love, but maybe that didn’t matter.
Eye of the Storm
SERIES SUMMARY: You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn't realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps)
Chapter summary: Everything unfolds and you were the eye of the storm.
PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3
PROTECTION SERIES TAGLIST | PROTECTION MASTERLIST navigation
LONDON, 1919
Something clicked in Simon after Johnny’s funeral. He restricted you more than he did before. He was more forceful sometimes. You knew, because you braced yourself to face it everyday. 1…2…3…4…5… You had to count to ten every time he got mad. How many seconds will it take for him to lay his hand on you again?
“From now on, you can’t come to the garden without asking for my permission.” When he saw your mouth open to protest, he added, “Don’t push it. You’re lucky I’m still allowing you to go.”
“O-of course, Simon,” you tearfully obliged. “I— “
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“Good. Now, come here, darling. You know I can’t stand when you’re mad at me,” he coos and you oblige, finding yourself perched on his lap. You hated this; hated how he was treating you. Hated how his arms immediately wrapped around you. “I know that you’re mad at me,” he starts. “Especially with everything that’s been going on but I’m only worried that Tommy Shelby’s gonna take you.”
“He’s not…you don’t have to worry about him, Simon,” you whispered. “I didn’t know that he was alive,”
“I know, I know,” he said. “But do you know where that puts me? You’ve been his friend since before the war and I’m not anything like him. It’s not you I don’t trust…it’s him. He’s a Birmingham rat with no respect. I want you safe. I want you here. If you behave yourself, then I’d slowly give you everything back. Hm?” he asked.
You nodded, the small smile on your face could never convey how cold you felt.
Simon knows that what he’s doing is wrong but what else can be done? Tommy Shelby was back and there was no way he’s giving you up to some Birmingham gangster. It was just impossible to do so. It would hurt him and his ego. He’s never been declined of something before as an only child of two rich parents. If he’d be declined of your love and affection, he will burn the world and everything in it. You were the only thing he truly wanted and if it came to you, he’d do everything to never let you out of his grasp.
When he first seeked you out, you were eighteen. He was already enamoured, watching you from afar. You laughed with the girls and stayed with Big Johnny most nights. You were innocent, a fragile little thing that he wanted—needed. You listened to him and even treated him as a friend. It was different from how the girls treated him there. The girls would ask for gifts, and he bought them but you…you dressed up immediately after every visit. You’d smile at him before leaving, going to Johnny for your nightly lessons. He sometimes went to visit you just to talk. You were the most intelligent girl there and he always looked forward to seeing you again. If you slip away from his grasp, he wouldn’t know what to do. It’s why he bought you that house; why he gave you jewellery even before you were married. He wanted you to be reminded of him everywhere you went. It was dangerous dealing with your past—he knew that; but danger was something he’d walk on if it came to having you.
“Darling, I was thinking…it’s been a while since we last went on a holiday. Do you want to go somewhere?” he asked. Reports of Tommy Shelby in London reached him. There was no way he’d let you meet again.
“Hm,” you hummed. “Can we go to New York?” you asked. “I’ve been wanting to go to Manhattan this time of year.”
“Yeah?” he asked. The farther you were from Tommy, the better. “Then, I’ll have things arranged and I’ll let you know, okay?” he kisses your temple as he passes by.
“Of course,” you replied. Your face seems so unreadable these days, but it always was. Can Tommy Shelby decipher the emotions written on your face or does he have to guess too? He knows that you were still keeping things away from him…knows that you’re not being fully honest with how you feel and who Tommy Shelby was in your life. He was fine not knowing as long as you were his.
Irrevocably and utterly his.
BIRMINGHAM, 1910
“You know, Tommy,” you said. “When I was young, my mother told me that there were other lands outside England…outside Birmingham that isn’t London,” you said. Your savings could take you to London, but you could never seem to find the time. Simon has been visiting you more and the owner of the brothel ordered you to always be available for him because of how much he spends on you.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “I want to go to London at least once. Before I die, I want to go to London,”
“I’ll take you to London,” he says, voice gruff from the cigarettes. “I’ll take you to London and I’ll take you to the whole world,”
“You will?” you asked. You were always told by your customers that they’ll take you here and there…but with Tommy, you knew that what he was saying was true. He never liked to break his promises. “If you’ll take me there, I better save up money because there’s no way I’m letting you spend a fortune on me.”
“I’ll take you to New York, Paris, and all the major cities. We’ll see them for the first time together,” he promises.
“Together?”
“We’ll always be together, won’t we?”
“Of course, we will. Together,”
BIRMINGHAM, 1919
Grace has long been gone since Polly revealed the truth to her. Was it mad that Tommy didn’t feel any morsel of anything? He didn’t care if she betrayed him; didn’t care if she loved him…if anything, she was better off gone. It just…unsettled him. Was that the right word? He never liked Grace, but she was a good enough replacement for you in the meantime. She was good enough, but she wasn’t you, no matter how much Tommy forced himself to convince everyone that she was good enough.
He didn’t even think of lighting a cigarette for her departure. These guns, Billy Kimber…his ambitions of wealth, power, and control were too consuming for him to think of anything else. Too consuming that he knew that all ambition all boiled down to you, that mansion, horses, and a garden. He looks at the toy horses you’ve given him as children. It’s been showing signs of wear; time has the power to tear the edges of something precious so easily. Tommy liked thumbing the wooden toy to keep him afloat sometimes. It reminded him of peace, of home, of you.
“Tommy,” Polly called. Her conscience has been nagging her, steaming out of pores ever since Tommy showed her how much you meant to him. It was never easy remembering Tommy on the floor, so weak; so defeated. It was never easy to remember that she was the reason why Tommy was miserable. She took you away from him. She decided then, that she’d do everything in her power to help her grieving nephew. If your presence could show her any semblance of Tommy before the war, she’d take it. Maybe she should feel bad for burdening you with that weight on your shoulders, but she knew that you did it so naturally…so genuinely. She relieves herself of thinking that you and Tommy needed each other; so much so that the world she knows now will simply reintegrate. You were the glue that binds Tommy; the melted gold that holds the pieces back together. Without you, Tommy was broken—alone. She’d never want that for him. She’ll never want to see him like that again.
NEW YORK, 1920
When you told Simon that you wanted to go to New York, you didn’t know that you’ll be staying there indefinitely. You just said that to appease him, really. He made sure that all of your belongings were kept and taken to America. What didn’t fit, you’d buy. He was more lenient here. He’d let you go, and he was back to the Simon you’ve always known.
“You’ve been married for years,” his attorney’s wife recalls. “Where are the little Simons running around?”
“Oh-“ you looked at Simon to help you out, but he was too engrossed in his conversation with the lawyer to notice. “We’re still enjoying our marriage. Just the two of us,” you lied. “We like to travel and we’ll feel bad if we just…leave the child back home,”
“But you’re in New York,” she says, like it mattered. “Surely, you’ve been trying?”
“No, not really. Simon wants our child to be born in England.” you said.
“You’re not getting any younger, dear,” she says. “When I was around your age, I already had two children. I say, it’s better to start a family early,”
That night, when you were removing your jewellery, Simon laid his hand on your shoulder. He’s gentle in New York. Your shoulder used to feel heavy in London. He started kissing your neck and you allowed him.
“An heir wouldn’t be so bad,” he rasps, nibbling on your ear. “Maybe soon…I want to have you all to myself first. Don’t want you to love me any less because of a child,”
“I wouldn’t love you any less, Simon.” you smiled at him. You didn’t want to bear his heir but if he was convinced that you’ll love him less because of a child, you’ll string him along.
“I know but then, you’d dote on him and be all…” he drones on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“It’s alright, I don’t need anyone else. It can just be the two of us forever.”
BIRMINGHAM, 1911
“Tommy!” you called, walking through the muddy soil of the stables that he worked in. He took care of horses sometimes, to earn some extra money. It paid well and he was surrounded with the calmness of the horses that he took care of. He vowed to have his own stables filled with his own horses in the future. Maybe it was pathetic but Tommy was envious seeing things that he wanted being taken advantage of. He knew how to take care of horses but he never owned them. His dreams were so close yet so far. He was brushing the coat of one of the horses when you came barrelling towards him.
“Tommy!” you called again. “I’m free now. Let’s go!”
“Wait, wait,” he laughs, making sure that the horse—he secretly named him Hayday because the horse had a coat in the color of hay. He only told you that though. “Alright, Hayday. Let’s get you back to your stable,” he tells the horse, petting its snout. You smiled at his softness, following them quietly. You let Tommy do his job maintaining Hayday for a while, smiling widely when you saw him coming towards you. He was rubbing his face with water to get rid of today.
“I smell.” he frowned, looking through his ragged satchel for a towel or an extra shirt. “Let me just…” he says, taking the shirt from the bag and then giving the bag to you. He turns around to remove his dirty shirt, tucking it between his legs and then changing into the cleaner shirt. You watched the way his back muscles flexed—working as a mechanic and carrying whatever he does was paying off. The clean shirt clung onto his figure nicely…you looked away before he could catch you staring though. “Thanks for keeping my bag,” he says, taking his bag from you. He hangs it on his shoulder and then links his arm with yours. You couldn't see the smirk that played in his lips. “Where are we going again?”
“Remember, I told you to come with me to the market to buy something?” you asked him. He nods, letting you lead the way to the market. “Well, I’m free now. Let’s go.”
Tommy tells you all about his day on the way to the market, not knowing anything of what you had planned. It was his birthday last month, but you weren’t able to save up enough money for his gift because of a repair in your home. You drag him all the way to where the more expensive shops were, Tommy’s brows furrowing.
“Here,” you said, stopping at a jeweller. You take him inside and he lets you.
“What are we doing here— “
“Look!” you said, pointing at the gold signet ring on display. You leave Tommy to go get the clerk. You’ve been paying for the ring for a year now; little by little until you were able to fully pay for it. It was a gift for Tommy’s 21st birthday. You were talking to the clerk for a pick up when Tommy walks to you. The clerk gives you the red velvet box and you turn to Tommy, a wide smile on your face.
“Who is this for?” he asked, frowning. Was this for that Rich Bastard? “You know I can’t afford that,”
“But I can. It’s for you,” you told him softly. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry it was a month late,” You open the box for him. “Go on, wear it.”
“Y/N…love,”
“You have to accept it. I saved up for that, you know?” He takes the ring from the box and slides it on his ring finger.
“Thank you…” he rasps, his throat closing up. “For this.”
“It’s okay, Tommy. I’d give you the world if I can but for now, a ring would suffice, don’t you think?”
-
You both settled at an empty grassland by the docks afterwards. Tommy couldn’t stop looking at his ring.
“I still can’t believe you got me a ring,” he says, looking at you. “It must have cost you a fortune, eh?”
“It’s okay, Tommy. I want to give you something more for being a great friend to me.” you tell him. He nods at your words. Friends. Is that all he’ll ever be?
“I got you this,” he says, showing you the simple, lone daisy that he picked on the way here. “I…” he says, tucking it behind your ear. I wish I could give you more. You stopped breathing, the proximity was too much to bear. You could see the blueness of his eyes, the freckles that kissed his nose and his cheeks. You could see every eyelash. It seemed like he didn’t mind it either. He was looking at you intently, trying to memorize every detail of your face. A face that could start a war, he was almost positive of it. You both unintentionally lean into each other, Tommy’s eyes flicking down to your lips, breath hitching.
“Tommy!” you jump away from each other, looking away. Fuck. He sighs in annoyance, looking at one of the guys he knew from work.
Maybe next time.
CAMDEN TOWN, 1921
“Put him down, Ollie!” he shouts. “Put him down, mate. He is only little.”
“You on your own?” He asked Tommy.
Tommy glances around.
“Seems so,”
Alfie Solomons always liked to play the best games. He had wide shoulders that matched how dominant and domineering he seemed. He was unpredictable, abandoning all sorts of things just to make sure that in the end, he gets the best deal. Tommy wondered what kind of deal he could put up with the Jewish gangster to double cross Simon Coventry, his biggest payer.
“Well, you’re a brave lad, ain't you?” he asked. “Want to take a look around my bakery? We bake all sorts here, mate, yeah. Did you know we bake over 10,000 loaves a week? Can you believe it?”
Tommy listens to him drone on about bread. He asked for brown bread and was served one.
“Come look,” Alfie says, leading Tommy to his office.
-
“Well, I’ve heard very bad, bad things about you Birmingham people. You’re gipsies, right? So what, do you live in a fucking tent or a caravan?”
“I came here to discuss business with you, Mr. Solomons.” Tommy coughs.
“Well, rum is for fun and fucking. So, whiskey, now that is for business,” he says, putting his bottle of whiskey for Tommy Shelby.
“Let’s talk first, eh?”
“Suit yourself,” Alfie shrugs.
“Heard you were dealing with billionaires,” Tommy brought up, trying to gauge the situation. He was sitting right in front of Alfie’s desk, noticing the latter reach for the drawer in his right.
“You heard correct. What about it?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Simon Coventry.” Tommy said. “He pays well?”
“Very well, mate.” Alfie replied, sipping on his whiskey. “Seeked for our protection services, invested…paid to kill for him. Has a wife, you know? Have you heard about her?”
“No,” Tommy shrugged, his voice monotonous, eyes bored. Alfie licks his lips.
“Never met her…lovely wife, they say, yeah. A very lovely wife…but this lovely wife of his needs to be guarded. Don’t believe in all that…I don’t do that to women, but this lovely wife of his is…huh, well, told me to kill anyone who comes near her, yeah? And guess what, mate? You’ve a big fucking bounty written on your fucking forehead,” Alfie revealed. “Now,” he pauses, leaning on the table. “What is this business you’re looking for?”
“We join forces,”
“Fuck off. No! Categorical. Fucking ridiculous,” he leans back, scoffing. Tommy leans forward, clasping his hand over the table.
“Mr. Solomons. Your distillery provides one-tenth of your income. Protection is another ten percent and the rest; you make from the tracks.”
Alfie fumbles with the handle but Tommy speaks.
“I know you keep a gun in the drawer beside the whiskey. I know you offer a deal or death. I know what I’m saying makes you angry but I’m offering you a deal. People don’t trust your protection anymore. What makes you think that Simon Coventry will continue to trust you?” he asked.
“Well, you shot Billy Kimber, right? You did, you fucking shot him. That’s you. You fucking betrayed him, mate. So, it’ll be appropriate to do what I’m thinking in my head to you right now.”
“I can offer you a hundred good men all with weapons and a new relationship with the police.”
“Intelligence,” Alfie says. “Intelligence is a very valuable thing, ain’t it, my friend? And usually…it comes far too fucking late,” he reaches for the drawer on his left, pointing the gun at Tommy. He cocks the gun and Tommy sits there, unblinking. “Let’s say I shot you already, right? In the fucking face. And then the bullet goes bone, mush, bone, cabinet over there. Which is a shame.”
Tommy just sits there, his face devoid of any emotion. If he gets killed now, he doesn't care. He had no fear of death anymore.
“It’s fucking simple, mate,”
Blood trails down from Tommy’s nose and Alfie talks about some fucking cabinet behind him. He throws Tommy his handkerchief, but he doesn’t take it. Fucking cabinets and fucking asking him if Tommy wanted to go to Timbuktu.
“I’m sorry, go on,” Alfie concedes after telling Tommy that he always thought he’d have a big gold ring on his finger. It was only a small signet ring that Tommy was unconsciously playing with under the table. “Tell us your plan.”
NEW YORK, 1921
“I just got off the phone with the secretary. We’re invited to some Charity Gala in London that we have to go to,” Simon says. Simon says…seems like all you do is follow what Simon says. “You can stay here if you don’t want to go.”
“When is this?”
“In a week mostly,” he shrugged. “It would be great to have you there. It’s not grand or anything; it’s just a few of my partners having an event for some charity or foundation.”
“Oh,” you nodded. You wanted to be away from Simon, but you also wanted to go back to London. How were the Shelbys? How was Beth? “Yeah…yeah, I’ll go,”
“Perfect,” he says. “Your dress? You need a new one. I’ll arrange a trip for you with my assistant to help you look for what to wear. You have to be the most beautiful woman there. For reference, I prefer blue on you.”
“Okay, Simon. I’ll make sure to get a blue dress for you.” He smiles at you before turning the page on his newspaper. You were glad that things were back to how they were before Tommy arrived in Birmingham. You didn’t blame him—Tommy—Simon’s actions were your own fault. Who in the right mind would let their wife love another man? It’s not like Simon knew of your love but the fact that you hid who Tommy was from him still remains. Letting go of Tommy that night was…painful.
You couldn’t erase how crest-fallen he looked; that you were the cause for his anguish. He didn’t follow you; you told him not to. You didn’t want him to see you sit outside the Garrison with your head buried in your hands. You didn’t want him to see you howl in pain because you’ll never see him again. You didn’t want him to see how it hurt you to say goodbye to him.
You didn’t want him to see you but someone else did.
BIRMINGHAM, 1919
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
You looked up from your cowering position, eyelashes clumped.
“What are you doing here?”
“I just…I just left your brother,” you whispered, trying to even out the sob that threatens to get out of your body. Arthur frowns, crouching down in front of you. He tries to remove your shaky hands only to be met with your bruising jaw.
“Did Tommy— “
“No,” you shook your head. “He didn’t hit me.”
He nods. Arthur didn’t know who Tommy was these days. He’s closed off, aloof, cold, detached…he sometimes wonders if a time comes and he’ll just snap. Arthur’s coping mechanism was violence. He knows that he’s good…his hands or only bloody but Tommy…Tommy wasn’t good anymore. He felt conflicted; everyone seems to put all the burden on you to make Tommy come back…to make him good again. He heard Polly talk about it; how Tommy needed you…but if Tommy was the reason why you’re miserable, is he still worth coming back to?
“I told Tommy to never see me again,” you managed through your cries. “I feel…I feel so lost, Arthur. I didn’t want to do that—to say that to him when-when he’s here now but I have no other choice…he’ll get-he’ll—“
“What about you?” he asked, tracing big circles on your back.
“What do you mean?” you asked, hiccuping.
“I mean…you talk about Tommy and-and making sure that we’re all doing great but what about you, eh?” There was a small frown on his face, it was so different from the ‘Mad Dog’ that people know him as.
“I don’t need that,” you chuckled. “I’m married to-to—“
“Simon Coventry, I know. But who do you have other than him? I know you love Tommy—don’t even fucking deny it. It’s why you’re doing all these things, I know but Tommy has us; he has Birmingham, and you don’t,” he adds, tearing your heart into pieces. The realisation of isolation dawns on you and it is wicked; consuming your heart with grief because you had no one. Not Tommy. Not anymore. “You make sure that all of us are being taken care of…but no one’s taking care of you. This whole thing-this thing with Tommy, is it worth it if you can’t even come home to Simon because you’re fucking crying in front of The Garrison?”
“I don’t know what to do,” you shrugged. “I…I just can’t seem to stay away from you lot,”
“Oh, love,” he sighs. He’ll never tell anyone that he saw you crying in front of the Garrison. “Why did you marry him?”
“Because…I wasn’t sure if Tommy’s coming back,” you whispered softly. You wiped away the tears from your face, trying to regain composure. “I sent…sent letters but he never wrote back. When Simon proposed the idea of marriage and Tommy wasn’t-wasn’t writing to me, I just took the chance. It was a chance to get out of that fucking hellhole. Tommy hates me for it,” you whimpered. “I know he hates me for it because I always told him that I’ll wait but-but he didn’t write back. I didn’t wait for him.”
Arthur frowns, confused.
“He wrote to you but you never wrote to him,” he said.
“What?”
“He did, love. Wrote to you multiple times and-and he’d always be the first one to show up when there were letters from home. Always-always looking for your letter,” he reminisces. Deep in your heart, you knew that he was telling you the truth because there was some sort of empty longing that crossed his eyes. “He waited for your letters every day for four years.”
“Arthur…”
“I’m telling you the truth,” he says, looking at you more intently. “None of us knew you got married,” he added.
“Arthur—“ You were heaving, this changes things. Your resentment towards Tommy was all in vain if he sent you letters but where were those letters? Where could they be? Seeing you in distress, Arthur flings his arm around your shoulder. “I hated him for it…I hated him for four years…” you weeped. “Arthur, how could I haveever hated him?” You felt like cold water was splashed on your face. Of course, Tommy would have never done that to you. But who did?
“It’s not your fault, love. It’s not your fault.”
-
LONDON, 1921
It’s been long since you last stepped foot in London. A year wasn’t a long time but a year teetering on the edge waiting for the next blow was a year too long. It’s not that you were expecting anything, but now that you’re in London…so close to Tommy, you know that everything will be different again. He’ll be forceful under the pretext of loving you, some bullshitt about it being for the better…you knew it was wrong. You knew that it wasn’t right. You hated your predicament, but you hated yourself more for never seeming to have the ability to hate him.
You never questioned his love for you; you were sure about that but sometimes…you found yourself questioning if he loved you too much. You’ve never experienced love like that before. Too much love. Growing up, you always had just enough. What you couldn’t find from your mum, you found in Johnny. What you couldn’t find in your customers, you found in the Shelbys. What you couldn’t find from yourself, you found in Tommy. What you couldn’t find in Tommy, you tried to look for in Simon.
Everything was just right. To have too much was too much.
“You’ve been quiet since we got here, darling,” Simon says, his hand on your knee as you rode the Bentley back home.
“Sorry,” you smiled up at him. “I just miss London. It’s different to be back home,”
“I know,” he says. “But we’re here now. Where do you prefer?”
“What do you mean?” you asked, playing with his fingers. You thumbed the rings on his fingers, your wedding band the most important one.
“I’m asking…where do you want to build our family?” he asked. “I know I said that I didn’t want to have children yet but we aren’t getting any younger. We’d make the most beautiful children. They’ll get your beauty and intelligence. They’ll inherit whatever they want to inherit from me,”
Your fingers stilled.
“Hmm,” you pretended to think, trying to playt the cards right. “I’d want our children to grow up in London.”
“Yeah?” he asked, his head falling on your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you nod. “I want them to grow up here but also experience different things from travelling. Maybe we could find a summer house in Italy?” you asked. He kisses your neck and you sit there cold, unmoving.
“Yes, let’s buy a house in Italy…” he murmurs, drunk on your scent. “How many houses do you want, hm? Let’s buy whatever my wife wants…whatever she needs, hm?”
“You spoil me too much, Simon,” you force out a giggle. He doesn’t seem to mind.
“Only for the best. You’re going to be the mother of my children,”
-
You arrived home and you heaved a sigh. You went inside your bedroom, ready to unpack some of the items you bought from New York when your eyes landed on the frame of pressed flowers that Tommy gave you on your birthday. Simon has been telling you to get rid of it—it was tacky, he said but you told him that the flowers were from a day of picnicking with your mother when you were a child. You felt your lips twitch at the memory of Tommy giving it to you sheepishly. If only you could have him back now. If only he’s there with you.
You breathed deeply, trying to purge yourself of the sadness that lingered. It’s been two years since you’ve last seen him. He’s staying true to his word, you knew. He’s protecting you and you’re protecting him. You hated the situation you were in. Why did you need protection in the first place? You were the wife of one of the wealthiest men in the whole world. You could have everything you’ve ever wanted handed to you on a silver platter. You could have everything but why do you feel so alone? Why do you feel like there’s still something missing? Why do you feel like, no matter what you did—no matter how you tried, Tommy’s still the one you love? You reached for the pendant but you remembered that it wasn’t there.
Was it selfish to wish for him to never marry someone else? To never love anyone? Was it selfish to wish for him to finally love you the way you do all these years?
Or was he only protecting you because he’s bound by his words and not the feeling of unbridled love that he has for you?
Polly told you that you could have everything…you felt like you had nothing.
You had more when you were working as a prostitute.
Now, you just have Simon.
-
Simon has been feeling your detachment ever since you arrived in New York. He knew that it was his fault; laying his hand on you like that but could anyone really blame him? You were his love; the object of all of his desires. You needed protecting, you needed safety and you needed him to give you the world.
He was in his office, sorting through the files that he left for a year. He picks up the telephone and dials a number. He wanted you all for himself. He was hungry for you; hunger for your affection, your flesh, your gaze. He’ll do everything to preserve the attention that you were giving him but now that he feels you slipping away, he’s becoming more desperate. It was all Tommy Shelby’s fault and he needed to be dealt with.
“I sent you the money for the murder of Johnny Wilson,” he speaks into the telephone. “I need you to do gsomething for me again.”
“Hm?”
Simon speaks into the phone authoritatively. Details of his plan were spoken. He was meticulous and specific with what he wanted.
“Even…even the children?”
“Even the children,” he confirms. He senses the hesitation of the speaker from the other side. “If you do it in less than a year, I’ll add another twenty thousand to the total. I’ll make sure you never have to work a day in your fucking life. Call me when it’s done,” he spits, ending the call and looking at a photo of you on the table; not knowing that on the other side, an intruder was hearing everything that just transpired.
Who was Simon Coventry?
-
Cameras flashed as you enter the venue for the charity ball. You were dressed in a blue gown like promised. Simon’s hand was on your waist, smiling tightly at the cameras. He always hated the attention of the media and in your own way, you wanted to calm him down. You touch the hand that was on your waist to remind him that you were there. You smile at him softly and he smiles back. If only he was as soft as he presents himself to be in the media.
He leads you into the venue without so much a glance offered to the media and you follow.
“Thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” you smiled up at him.
“You can go ahead and sit,” he says. “I’ll just be greeting some of my partners.” You nod and you allow him to kiss you on the cheek before you part ways. You didn’t know why—but you felt like something was wrong. Something was going to happen tonight.
A waiter comes to your table and offers you a drink. He was young—probably way younger than you.
“Champagne, please,” you told him. “You’re too young to be working,”
“I-I’m nineteen, ma’am,” he tells you while pouring you a glass.
“Ah, maybe not that young then,” you replied. “Is this your first day?”
“Yes, ma’am. My first day on the job,” he says. “I’m quite nervous to be surrounded by the rich but I need the money…”
“I’m sure you’ll do well,” you replied, offering him a friendly smile. “Here,” you said, opening your clutch and handing him a few pounds. “Think of it as a tip for serving me champagne and for talking to me.”
“This is too much, ma’am,” he refuses but you shove the notes in his hand. You remembered how tips from the brothel helped you so much; it allowed you to buy necessities. It allowed you to get Tommy the signet ring that you got him for his 21st birthday. You were busy talking to the young man that you didn’t notice your husband walking towards you with a scowl on his face.
“Hey, you,” he sarcastically greets the server, snapping his fingers rudely.. “Refill my glass,”
“Simon— “
“Thank you,” he says, disregarding you completely. The boy turns to leave but Simon stops him. “No, stay. I need you to refill my fucking drink every time.”
“Simon—“
“You think my wife is beautiful?” he asked. The boy looks at you and you attempt to shake your head; telling him to walk away before anything else happens. “I’d be offended if you told me that she wasn’t.”
“Simon— “
He takes a swig of his drink before extending the same empty glass.
“What’s your name?” Simon asked, watching the boy shakily refill the champagne flute. “Don’t spill anything on my wife,” he threatens darkly. The boy swallows.
“William, sir,”
“William…do you think my wife is pretty?” he asked again. You look around the room to see that everyone was trying to discreetly watch the commotion. You tried standing up but Simon pushed you back down.
“Y-yes, sir,”
Simon nods, pleased with William’s answer.
“You may go, William,” you calmly told him.
“You may not,” Simon says. William’s feet were stuck planted on the ground. He was shaking and you tried to plead with Simon, but he wasn’t looking at you. “Actually, let’s take this outside, hm? Everyone seems to be enjoying this fucking commotion. Come with us, Y/N,”
“Simon, please,”
“Come on, darling,” he says, pulling you away forcefully from the table. You stumble after him, heart racing wildly inside your chest. Fuck. Your shoulders were shaking as you tried to catch your breath. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The three of you arrive in the wine cellar, an empty room where you were sure no one heard you.
“Stand there,” Simon says. “Y/N, stay beside me.”
William stands in front of Simon, his steps hesitant.
“I’ll give you a deal, William. Do you want a thousand pounds? You’ll never find that anywhere else,” he taunts. You shake your head discreetly, but William wasn't looking at you. He was pale, his breathing shallow. “I’ll give it to you right now. Cash,”
“Y-yes, sir,” he replies.
“Say please,”
“Simon—“
“Shut up! Shut up!”
“Please, sir,”
“Kneel and beg.”
“Simon, it’s not right! Please, let’s just go home,”
William kneels in front of Simon, and you could see the sinister smile that played on his lips. He fishes for something in his pocket—a gun.
“S-sir,”
“You want a thousand pounds, yeah?” he asked, waving his gun in the air.
“Simon—“
“I don’t want another word from you, Y/N. Or else, I swear, I will fucking shoot you.” he threatens. You were trying your best to stop being so hysterical but you couldn’t. You were sobbing, hands shaking when Simon pointed the gun at the poor boy. You tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to come out; tried to wonder what a monster Simon becamez
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” you choked, crouching down on the floor to comfort yourself. “I’m sorry, William…”
BANG! BANG!
The sounds of a gun going off rings inside the cellar and you flinch. Simon has just shot William twice; one on his stomach, one on his shoulder. It was sloppy; you knew he was aiming for his heart. William lays on the floor with a pool of his own blood, crying in pain. Simon just walks towards him, throwing him a thousand pounds and then spitting on William’s face.
“Don’t ever look at my fucking wife again. Fix yourself Y/N. We’re going back to the party,”
“Simon, he’s just a kid! Get him to a fucking hospital!”
“I said, fix yourself!” he roared, and you closed your mouth. You stepped away from him, afraid of what he might do.
“Now you know what happens if you ever try to leave me. It’s time for me to show you what I will do to protect you, okay darling?” he asked, crouching down to your level and pulling you in an embrace. He kisses your temples to comfort you for the damage that he has done. “Don’t ever leave me,”
The two of you left William’s body and went back to the party. You were shaken, aloof the whole night. You couldn’t believe what just transpired. Simon’s cruelty—his disregard for himan life for a thousand pounds… You were trying to catch the attention of other servers but were ignored. You just wanted someone to check on William, that poor boy. You and your husband continued to sit beside each other acting like the happy couple, never noticing the pair of blue eyes that seemed to pierce straight into you.
-
Simon killed Johnny.
Your hands shook as you read the handwriting on the crumpled piece of paper over and over again. You found it in the clutch that you left in your seat when Simon shot William in the cellar. Turning the paper over, you sobbed; unable to control the emotions that begged for your attention—anger, fear, disgust, sadness…everything seemed to crash into you. You run towards the bathroom to vomit on the toilet. Your whole body tembled, and you cradled yourself on the bathroom floor. You didn’t care if the dress was wet and crumpled…how…why…what did you do in your past life to be punished like this?
-
You haven’t been the same since you received that note. Simon found you in bed; unmoving and unresponsive. The shock must have been too much to bear but he had to show you—he had to put on a display of what he would do to keep you safe and away from the Shelbys. He didn’t regret anything except for the way your eyes glistened when he threatened to shoot you. That was a sin he’d pay for but for now, maybe silence is enough to soothe you.
He lays in bed, an inch too far away from you and he couldn’t bear it. He could hear the way your sobs shook the bed; how hard you tried to keep yourself from being too loud.
“Darling…” he coos but you only cried harder.
“Not tonight, Simon. Please,” you whispered, desperation kicking in. “I’m…I’m— “
He nods to himself, a wounded puppy.
“I have…I have to leave you tomorrow to meet with Alfie Solomons,” he tells you. “Use that time to go out or, or get out of this place. I wouldn’t mind if you went alone as long as you have at least one of Alfie’s men to guard you,”
You wanted to laugh. He was holding your liberty as hostage; taunting you with it whenever he did something wrong but in reality, no matter how much freedom he grants you, his hand will always be on your neck to keep you from leaving.
“I’m sorry for threatening you,”
“Not tonight, Simon,”
He nods but it actually angers him for you to refuse him so easily. He has given you anything and everything. Hell, he bought you that summer house in Italy already, but you still couldn’t give him the satisfaction of holding you for the night. Did Tommy Shelby hold you while you slept? Would you have let him?
-
You felt Simon kiss your head before he left. You couldn’t sleep last night, thinking of all the ways to tell Tommy or at least anyone about Simon’s plan. You weren’t sure if he was sincere when he told you that you can go out today but you were taking that chance. You knew that Arthur wanted you to protect yourself but maybe this could be the last time. Just this once and then, never again.
You dressed up, the brown coat covering your figure and giving you shelter from the cruelty of the world that Simon built for the two of you. You ordered one of the servants to fetch you one of Solomons’ men that could drive. You needed to talk to Polly or anyone from Birmingham and the only way to do it was through the telephone. It was too dangerous at home; Simon had eyes and ears everywhere.
“Mrs. Coventry,” the driver greets you, opening the door to let you in. You settle yourself inside, opening your clutch for a deal he couldn’t resist.
“Other than driving me around, what else do you do?” you asked him.
“I’m told to obey all of your orders as long as it complies with what Mr. Coventry asks us,” he replied. “Where are we going today, ma’am?”
“Just…go to the city,” you replied. “Do you think…do you think you could do something for me? I’ll make sure you’re paid and that you won’t be blamed for anything that comes out of it,”
“Ma’am, I am under strict orders of Mr. Solomons to— “
“Five hundred pounds,” you interrupted, you needed him to understand the urgency of the situation. Your nail beds have bled through the night and were red and swollen. “I can give it to you in cash right now. Just tell me if you know where I could reach the Shelbys the fastest,” You sounded like Simon like now, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care anymore.
“There…there are Blinders right outside a flat in London. Ada Shelby is rumoured to live there,” he says lowly.
“Take me there. Make sure you’re discreet and make sure we’re not being followed. I’ll make sure that you’re safe,” you promised him. “Just…just go there as fast as you can,”
It’s hard to be discreet when you’re driving one of the most expensive cars in the world, but he drove you to Ada Shelby’s house anyway. Five hundred pounds was more than what he could ever make working under Alfie Solomons.
A storm was brewing, and you were at the centre of all of it.
-
Ada lives in a building in the centre of London. On the way, your driver told you about how Tommy bought the whole building for her. You smiled softly; Tommy was finally realising his dreams, but he was realising them without you.
You exited the car, covered from head to toe. You made sure no one recognized you; the lush, brown coat and your hat covered your face entirely. You told him to leave you alone and come back in three hours. He zoomed off, afraid to be seen by one of Simon’s men.
Your breathing was uneven and the steps that you took were shaky. You blamed it on the uneven ground. Knocking on the door, you prayed silently for Ada to hear you. The more time you spend outside, the higher the risk of being recognized. You waited with bated breath, but the door soon opened, revealing none other than the man who occupied every corner of your brain. You rushed inside before he could even speak and he let you, locking the door behind him as he followed you into the drawing room. He stands in front of you, removing the coat from your shoulders gently. You were shivering but not from the cold. How were you more beautiful than the last time he saw you?
“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” you said over and over again, like you were making sure that he was there. Your resolve was dissolving, and you were near hysterical. He crouches down in front of you to take a good look for your face. He missed it; he missed your touch…he missed you. His fingers on your waist seem to snap you back to reality and you take a deep breath. “Simon killed Johnny. He’s going to—he’s going to kill all of you,”
-
A/N: Thank you very much for making this far! We’re getting closer to the end of this series but please don’t forget to reblog and comment if you liked it / loved it / hated this chapter, etc! I love discussing and replying to your comments and reblogs.
ALSO: A quick character study on Simon is that he is filty rich. The value of money is immaterial to him. In his eyes, money is a way for him to get anything and everything he wants. It’s what makes people kill and die for each other. If it benefits him, then he’d gladly throw money at whatever it is about.
TAGLIST: @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius @trixie23 @everythingelseisextra @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay @dasia21 @tsenthusiast1920 @aces-tattooartist @panda-luminary @ttaechi @spencerrxids @i-heart-food @fudge13 @affabletimelady @heartcereql @ce1iat @notalxx @1800-queen-trash @sweetwanderlust05 @globetrotter28 @thebestandworstdayofjune @reggxe-a @verreuckteli @vampireluck @zoexme
(I’ll be removing people from my taglist on the next chapter if conditions aren’t met! I’m sorry but that’s the rule….)
nearly 200 writing prompts // feel free to reblog
Angst:
1: “ Give me a chance. ” 2: “ Not you again.. ” 3: “ Leave me alone. ” 4: “ I don’t love you anymore. ” 5: “ Why do you hate me? ” 6: “ I lost the baby. ” 7: “ I thought you loved me. ” 8: “ I don’t need you anymore. ” 9:“ I can’t believe you! ” 10: “ We cant keep this up forever. ” 11: “ You’re a monster. ” 12: “ I hate you. ” 13: “ Don’t leave me… ” 14: “ You’re a disappointment. ” 15: “ Don’t die on me– Please. ” 16: “ I never meant to hurt you. ” 17: “ Are you upset with me? ” 18: “ I wish i’d never met you. ” 19: “ I’m going to kill you! ” 20: “ Please don’t hurt me like this. ” 21: “ Thanks for nothing. ” 22: “ Dont call this number again. “ 23: “ Why did you spare me? ” 24: “ You need to leave. ” 25: “ I’m sick. ” 26: “ I’m dying. ” 27: “ I wish i’d never met you. ” 28: “ I thought we were family!” 29: “ There was never an us. ” 30: “ So that’s it? It’s over? ” 31: “ I fucked up. ” 32: “ I came to say goodbye. ” 33:“ He’s dead because of you. ” 34: “ I don’t deserve to be loved. ” 35: “ About the baby… Its yours. ”
Love:
36: “ I’m so in love with you. ” 37: “ Dance with me! ” 38: “ Isn’t this amazing? ” 39: “ I wish we could stay like this forever. ” 40: “ Will you marry me? ” 41: “ I’m pregnant. ” 42: “ I need a hug. ” 43: “ You’re special to me. ” 44: “ I’m going to keep you safe. ” 45: “ Do you trust me? ” 46: “ Can I kiss you right now? ” 47: “ You’re cute when you’re angry. ” 48: “ I’ve liked you for awhile now. ” 49: “ Lets have a baby. ” 50: “ We’d make such a cute couple. ” 51: “ I want to take care of you. ” 52: “ Can we cuddle? ” 53: “ It’s lonely here without you. ” 54: “ I can’t stand the thought of loosing you. ” 55: “ Shut up and kiss me already. ” 56: “ Are you flirting with me? ” 57: “ Is that my shirt? ” 58: “ How did we get here? ” 59: “ You own my heart. ” 60: “ You’d be a great dad. ” 61: “ You’d be a great mom. ” 62: “ I want to protect you. ” 63: “ Whats the matter? ” 64: “ You’re so beautiful. ” 65: “ Did you do something different with your hair? ” 66: “ Is that a new perfume? ” 67: “ Stop being so cute. ” 68: “ You’re making me blush! ” 69: “ You’re teasing me again… ” 70: “ This is why I fell in love with you. ” 71: “ You’re the best! ” 72: “ They’re going to love you, don’t worry! ” 73: “ Oh, Are you ticklish? ” 74: “ Of course I remembered! ” 75: “ You’re one hell of a girl. ” 76: “ You’re one hell of a guy. ” 77: “ Are you jealous? ” 78: “ Hold me and never let me go. ” 79: “ Stop hogging all the blankets! ” 80: “ Lets run away together. ”
General:
90: “ Catch me if you can! ” 91: “ I’m fine. ” 92: “ Are you drunk? ” 93: “ Are you high? ” 94: “ We cant go in there… ” 95: “ Give it back! ” 96: “ Well this is just great. ” 97: “ Don’t touch me. ” 98: “ Not sure if you could tell, but I’m not exactly a people person. ” 99: “ This was fun— Lets do it again sometime!” 100: “ I didn’t do it! ” 101: “ I did it… ” 102: “ I don’t remember that! ” 103: “ Well that’s pretty rude of you to say. ” 104: “ Get that thing away from me! ” 105: “ You owe me. ” 106: “ Do you believe in aliens? ” 107: “ Do you believe in ghosts? ” 108: “ Are you hitting on me? ” 109: “ Why are you naked? ” 110: “ You did what?! ” 111: “ You have… Superpowers? ” 112: “ Why are you bleeding? ” 113: “ Where did all these puppies come from?” 114: “ Don’t make me come over there myself! ” 115: “ That wasn’t funny. ” 116: “ This tastes horrible. ” 117: “ This is delicious! ” 118: “ Are you mad at me? ” 119: “ Stop ignoring me… ” 120: “ I love that show too! ” 121: “ Can I borrow that book of yours?” 122: “ Lets blow this joint. ” 123: “ Let me help you with that. ” 124: “ Take that back! ” 125: “ Wanna go see a movie with me? ” 126: “ No way, that’s so lame. ” 127: “ What are you listening to? ” 128: “ I brought you your coffee. ” 129: “ Don’t fuck this up. ” 130: “ Run! ” 131: “ Lets run away together. ” 132: “ I haven’t slept in four days… ” 133: “ Your turn to do the dishes. ” 134: “ Was I really that drunk? ” 135: “ Was I really that stoned? ” 136: “Give me back my phone! ” 137: “ You’re an asshole. ” 138: “ Are you cold? ” 139: “ This place gives me the creeps. ” 140: “ I swear my house is haunted. ” 141: “ Did you hear that? ” 142: “ It’s just your imagination. ” 143: “ Just how stupid do you think I am? ” 144: “ Stop being such a baby. ” 145: “ Go back to bed. ” 146: “ Are you okay? ” 147: “ I can take care of myself just fine.” 148: “ Thanks for helping me back there. ” 149: “ Since when have we ever been friends? ” 150: “ What on earth are you wearing? ” 151: “ I can’t feel my legs! ” 152: “ Stop texting me weird stuff so late at night. ” 153: “ Put me down! ” 154: “ There’s only one bed… ” 155: “ It isn’t what it looks like! Okay.. Maybe it is… ” 156: “ How did I loose it? ” 157: “ I read your diary. ” 158: “ This is awkward. ” 159: “ Didn’t you read the sign? ” 160: “ Do you think you can teach me that? ”
Below is NSFW prompts. Please if you’re rebloggling tell your followers if you’re interested or not in taking these sorts of requests.
Sexual: 161: “ Bite me. ” 162: “ Make me. ” 163: “ Fuck me. ” 164: “ Stop teasing me so much… ” 165: “ Do you like it when I touch you like that?” 166: “ Okay.. This is new. ” 167: “ Want to head back to my place and have a little fun? ” 168: “ You’re in trouble now. ” 169: “ What a pretty sight. ” 170: “ Bend over. ” 171: “ On your knees. ” 172: “ The food looks great but.. There’s something much more delicious i’d like to eat right now. ” 173: “ Lay back. ” 174: “ Take off your clothes. ” 175: “ Well, fine; just this once. ” 176: “ I’m waiting. ” 177: “ You’re so beautiful. ” 178:“ As you wish. ” 179: “ First one to make a noise looses.” 180: “ You have no idea what you do to me. ” 181: “ If you’re bored; Wanna have sex? ” 182: “ Ive wanted this for so long. ” 183: “ Car sex looks so much more easier in the movies. ” 184: “ Can I touch you? ” 185: “ Open up. ” 186: “ No strings attached. ” 187: “ Already? Do I really have that much of an effect on you? ” 188: “ Mine. ” 189: “ The nights still young. ” 190: “ We cant do that here! ” 191: “ Behave. ” 192:“ What did you just say? ” 193: “ Good girl. ” 194: “ Good boy. ” 195: “ Come here. ”
˚ ༻✿ Herbarium ✿༺ ˚
I would like to blame @bye-bye-sunbird and @yandere-romanticaa for my descent into Capitano hell. All I could do was write my longest fic in hopes of purging the brainrot……yeahh so pls enjoy my humble contribution to the Capitano agenda ;-;
Thank you so much to my dear friend @diodellet for peer reviewing this and helping me out with the Genshin lore!! I delighted in watching you suffer ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡
Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, violence, blood, murder, psychological trauma, mention of child abuse, spice, MINORS DNI
Note:: Female reader described as physically weak and smaller than Capitano, this fic will most likely be considered OOC in a few years
♡ 10.1k words under the cut ♡
i. dandelion
You adore dandelions for the same reason that you despise them.
A tiny flower symbolic of love and freedom. The ethereal ghosts of golden petals adored even—or perhaps only—after losing their vibrant, sunlike forms. A soft blow is all it takes to breathe new life into the flower, for the seeds to embark on new journeys in a scatter of liberated parachutes and hopeful wishes.
Not all dandelions have the fortune of finding new homes, however. Some are plucked for human purposes and imbued with new value as sentimental gifts. Many are transformed into entirely different products such as food and wine. Others are simply forgotten, doomed to remain in their original area until death finally claims them. Regardless, dandelions are transient like any other flower and will eventually disappear from the world.
Your flowers are deprived of that fate.
Keep reading
tighnari
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