“i Wanna Hold Your Hand” - Excuses For Your Characters To Hold Hands

SM’S UNFAIR TREAMENT OF IDOLS

This might not get a lot of attention but I really hope people pay attention in order to help the situation. Recently, one member of nct (subunit nct dream) Huang Renjun, has been seen to be severely mistreated by his manager. First, it was telling him to stop talking about another member in nct (Winwin), then he was asked to move in a vlive to let another member be in the middle. Also, this manager forced him out of the car with his other members to find his own ride back, IN THE RAIN, without an umbrella!! Several fans have also reported that another member, Lee Jeno, was been groped by this manager. Reportedly, she kicked Renjun out of the car so she could sit next to Jeno. This behavior is absolutely inexcusable. This is the mental abuse of MINORS. Jeno has asked before to not be sexualized and just bc he won’t be a minor soon, does not allow people to have free range over a nineteen year old boy. Many EXO-Ls may also remember in the beginning of EXO, three Chinese members left and one tried to file a lawsuit against SM for mistreatment. This has been going on for YEARS and nothing has been done. Another thing to note is that this mistreatment and abuse has been focused on CHINESE members only. Korean members are shown preference. I ask that everyone please unfollow sm and speak out against SM enetertainment. Even if you don’t stan or follow these idols, this is the mistreatment of MINORS and PEOPLE ! Please don’t ignore the issue

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 12

Series Masterlist

Words: 7.3k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then who was it?”

He didn’t answer.

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

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

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

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

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

He kept listening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tommy looked away first, feeling Polly watching him closely.

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

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

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

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

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

Running a hand over his face, he stayed silent.

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

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

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

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

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

Then she left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mary clicked her tongue but didn’t press.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That made him straighten a little. “Why?”

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

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

Mary looked intrigued.

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

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

“You’ve learned something new, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

It left him with much to consider.

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

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

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

“That all you’re eating?”

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

“Tommy, I didn’t know you were home.”

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

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

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

Was something wrong?

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

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

That caught you off guard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His expression didn’t shift.

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

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

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

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

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You dance?”

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

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

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

Wait. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he was gone, after Arthur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head.

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

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

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

He exhaled shakily, forehead resting briefly against yours.

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

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

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

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

“He sent it to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Right here. Just... just wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the bloody hell is going on?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tommy gave a short nod. Good.

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

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

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

Finn bolted off without a word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They wanted me to die.”

No. No, not just die or disappear.

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

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

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

His child.

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

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

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

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

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

They wanted him broken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiled at him. “I’m okay.”

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

Her voice softened. “I felt him move.”

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

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

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

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

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

Rory didn’t move. “Then let me help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They already knew but he just wanted to say it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he had one last thing to do tonight.

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

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

You smiled. “You’re not late.”

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

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

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

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

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

Polly smiled at that. 

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

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

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

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

Your heart flew in your chest. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright then,” Nadia said, standing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nadia held out her hand. “The ring?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught. "What does it mean?"

"A boy," Tommy's voice was gente.

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

Your mother gasped softly beside you. Polly smiled.

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

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

Peace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you didn’t want to remind him.

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

You smiled. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, your heart fluttering in your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Words To Describe A Person's Voice

Based on this list originally posted by christmas-taire. The formatting was hard to read, so I changed it up, as well as removing some words for lack of a really useful definition, and adding others I thought of.

adenoidal: if someone’s voice is adenoidal, some of the sound seems to come through their sinuses.

appealing: an appealing voice is attractive in an aesthetic manner, usually subjective based on the particular voice and the person listening to it; when a voice is appealing, it may sound pleasant or amiable

breathy: speaking as if you cannot catch your breath, or talking through a breath.

brittle: a tense, tight voice, indicative of the speaker about to lose control of their emotions

croaky: if someone’s voice sounds croaky, they speak in a low rough voice that sounds as if they have a sore throat or their throat is very dry and they cannot fully get their words out

dead: if someone’s voice is dead, they feel or show no emotion, sounding as though they have no enthusiasm for life

disembodied: a disembodied voice means you cannot see the physical body from which the voice is coming; it often sounds ethereal, ghostly, or otherwordly

flat: spoken in a voice that does not go up and down; there is no emotion in the voice. Usually used in a sarcastic or resigned manner.

grating: a grating voice is unpleasant and annoying; typically what makes the voice grating is subjective based on the listener’s preferences

gravelly: a gravelly voice sounds deep and scratchy

gruff: a gruff voice is rough and low, often sounding as though spoken on an exhale; usually used to hide strong emotion

guttural: a guttural sound is deep and made at the back of your throat

high-pitched: a high-pitched voice has a high vocal range; can be spoken loudly or quietly 

hoarse: someone who is hoarse speaks in a low, quiet, roughened voice, usually because their throat is sore or excessively dry

honeyed: a honeyed voice sounds very pleasant, sweet, and friendly, even overly so; typically the speaker does this intentionally either for sarcasm or to manipulate a situation to their advantage

husky: a husky voice is deep, rich, and throaty, often spoken in an attractive or alluring way based on physical attraction

loving: a tone of voice used when a person has great love and affection for another person, creature, or thing

low: a low voice is quiet and difficult to hear

matter-of-fact: used about someone’s behavior or voice to describe a simple, upfront statement of fact.

modulated: a modulated voice is controlled and pleasant to listen to

monotonous: a monotonous voice is dull and never changes tone; it does not change in volume or emotion

mousy: a small, weak, and oftentimes fearful voice; can also be very quiet.

nasal: someone with a nasal voice sounds as if they are speaking through their nose, often somewhat stuffy and unclear and sometimes as thought the person has a cold

orotund: an orotund voice is loud and clear

penetrating: a penetrating voice is powerful and intimidating, it draws your attention very easily; this voice can be used to describe any vocal range, but usually is applied to lower voices because they are often so strong

plummy: a plummy voice or way of speaking is considered to be typical of an English person of a high social class. This word shows that you dislike people who speak like this.

quietly: a voice using very little volume

raucous: a raucous voice is usually loud and unruly, and can be considered rude and/or immature

ringing: a ringing voice echoes with great power, strength, determination, and clarity; it can be very intimidating

rough: a rough voice is harsh and hard, often leaning towards gravelly

shaky: unstable movement in the voice usually caused by fear, lack of confidence, physical weakness, or crying

shrill: a shrill voice is very loud and high-pitched, often created directly from the sinus area

silvery: a silvery voice or sound is clear, light, smooth, and pleasant; sometimes considered musical; frequently used to describe people who lie a lot

singsong: if you speak in a singsong voice, your voice rises and falls in a musical way, as though you are singing the words

small: a small voice is quiet and sounds as thought it is intimidated easily

smoky: a smoky voice is usually rich, husky, and sensual

softly spoken: someone who is softly spoken has a gentle, quiet voice

sotto voce (adjective, adverb): in a very quiet voice

stentorian: a stentorian voice sounds very loud and severe

strangled: a strangled voice is one in which the speaker cannot fully form the words because of someone or something blocking the airway; what comes out is often a garbled and sounds like gurgling a little bit

strident: a strident voice or sound is loud and unpleasant

taut: a taut voice is tight and tense, usually holding back strong emotion such as anger or anxiety.

thick: if your voice is thick, it sounds clogged

thickly: see above^

thin: a thin voice or sound is somewhat wear; it has no real power

throaty: a throaty sound is low and seems to come from deep in your throat

tight: a tight voice or expression shows that you are nervous or annoyed

toneless: a toneless voice does not express any emotion

tremulous: if something such as your voice or smile is tremulous, it is not steady, for example because you are afraid or excited

wheezy: a wheezy noise that sounds as if it is made by someone who has difficulty breathing

whiny: an annoying voice, sometimes high in pitch, often used to complain about trivial or inconsequential matters.

wobbly: if your voice is wobbly, it goes up and down, usually because you are frightened, not confident, or are going to cry

45 OTP PROMPTS

“Nobody in the world has hands this soft.”

“You look like you need a hug.”

“Well, if I tell you, then it wouldn’t be a secret.”

“I need a foot massage, pronto.”

“Wash your hands, then hug me.”

“Can we share the blanket?”

“You’re adorable when you’re mad.”

“Are you sure you’re not cold?”

“I want to spend all my time with you.”

“Ready for our dance?”

“You mean more than anything.”

“You’re cute even when you make that face.”

“Keep it.”

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

“Time for a pillow fight.”

“Is that my shirt?”

“I don’t wanna go without you.”

“Move over.”

“When I’m with you, nothing else matters.”

“I planned the perfect date.”

“Is this romantic enough for you?”

“Stop making me laugh!”

“Take my jacket.”

“That looks hard. Let’s switch.”

“I can’t be mad at you.”

“I love you, but you need to shut up.”

“I love your smile.”

“Gimme your hand.

“You smell fantastic.”

“Thanks for marrying me.”

“I made dinner. Surprise!”

“Don’t touch me while I’m trying to fall asleep.”

“I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“I have never loved you as much as I do right now.”

“I wouldn’t wanna fight you. You’re pretty feisty.”

“Is it weird that was a total turn on?”

“You could always go nude.”

“They’re coming. Kiss me!”

“I’m flattered you’re jealous.”

“I want a baby.”

“Cheers to you and me.”

“Would you warm me up?”

“That was the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

“All I want is you.”

“If I kiss you right now, I won’t be able to stop.”

SEASONS IN LOVE (PART II)

Sanemi x F!Reader (modern college AU)

Sanemi meets Y/N in January and isn't a fan. As the seasons pass by, their evolving relationship becomes defined by a handful snapshots from the various holidays throughout the year.

CW: modern college AU • 6.6k words • tooth-rotting fluff • college typical drinking and debauchery • some mildly suggestive content • Sanemi is a massive simp

PART ONE HERE

December 24th – Christmas Eve.

Sanemi was hunched over, back turned against the icy wind that threatened to shred through the layers of his coat and sweater, as he waited for someone to answer the door.

A few weeks ago, he would’ve said to anyone that he hadn’t minded the snow — after all, the snow is what led to Y/N smiling — at him, no less — for the first time since he’d met her, and that memory had been more that enough to keep him warm through the fall of every snowflake coating the earth.

He took it all back. Y/N’s smile was a damn pretty sight, but absolutely nothing could insulate him against the near sub-arctic winds that cut through him like a knife as he shifted impatiently from foot to foot on the Kanroji’s front porch.

“God dammit, Mitsuri,” he growled. He unwound a stiff arm from where it’d been tightly tucked against his chest, prepared to start pounding against the oak of her parents’ front door, when the pink party host threw it open, her smile bright and cheerful and warm in a way that Sanemi was not.

“It’s about time!” She chirped, standing aside to let her scowling friend through and into the front entryway of her home.

Mitsuri held her hand out as she waited for Sanemi to pass her his coat. “Everyone else is here already — help yourself to any snacks you want.” Mitsuri snatched the gift-wrapped package lodged under his arm before he could say anything. “I’ll take this,” she waved it, nose crinkling with amusement at Sanemi’s indignant glare. “And I’ll put it with the others!”

Before he could respond, his pink-haired friend traipsed away back to the open floor plan of her living room and kitchen, leaving Sanemi to brush the snowflakes that had gathered on his trousers and remove his boots and leave them with the others’ scattered by the closet of Mitsuri’s parents’ home.

Every year, the bubbly and exuberant pinkette hosted a Christmas Eve for her friends at her parents’ complete with an absurd array of holiday-themed snacks, games, and Secret Santa.

In years past, Sanemi only ever deigned to show up as a courtesy to his friend, eagerly awaiting the day when he could blame needing to take care of his siblings on Christmas Eve as an excuse not to go. After his family had been killed, however, Sanemi had begun spending the Christmas holidays with Kyojuro’s family, along with Tengen, and so, he’d been forced to continue the tradition, given the enthusiasm his flame-haired best friend had for the over-the-top celebration.

This year, however, was Y/N’s first time attending Mitsuri’s annual fete; and curiously, Sanemi found himself growing more and more excited as the time for the celebration drew nearer.

That excitement only bubbled in his gut as he padded towards the Kanroji’s packed living room, eyes scanning for the sight of the one he was most eager — and anxious — to see.

Y/N spotted him from her position on one of the overstuffed leather armrests by the fireplace and shot out of her seat, nearly toppling Shinobu in the process.

“You made it!” Her smile was blazing, a now permanent fixture on her face that Sanemi found himself sneaking furtive glances at throughout the day, afraid that he would miss it.

“Wait,” Y/N stopped an arm’s length from him as she ran her eyes over his form. “Are we matching?”

Sanemi looked down at the outfit he had thrown on (carefully selected) prior to leaving his apartment and back to the amused woman before him. She was dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, tucked into a pair of belted, vintage, loose jeans that she had cuffed to show her festive Christmas socks.

“Just the turtleneck. I don’t do jeans.” Sanemi snorted, flicking her nose affectionately.

Y/N, however, looked better than he. Her hair was loosely secured with a clip at her neck, and she wore no accessories save for a pair of oversized gold framed glasses that she claimed were to help with blue light strains, but Sanemi was convinced she just liked wearing them for fun.

He tried very hard not to stare too long at her full lips — painted a bright, festive red that Sanemi found he really liked.

“I should’ve brought my lipstick along, then we could’ve really twinned,” Y/N’s eyes were alight with her mirth as she teased him.

Had Sanemi been a tad bolder, he would’ve cheekily suggested another way he could get her lipstick on his mouth, but he wasn’t, so all he could do was grumble, a faint red staining his cheeks.

Mitsuri clapped loudly over the chattering group. “Friends! Dearly beloveds! Snacks are over there,” she pointed to a long table packed heavy with various holiday goodies. “And the hot chocolate bar is open! Get a snack and get settled before secret Santa!”

“When you say ‘bar,’ ‘Suri,” Tengen prodded.

The pinkette nodded solemnly. “Yes, you can make spiked hot chocolate, Tengen.”

The flashy, silver-haired man let out a whoop for joy as he made a beeline for the hot chocolate bar carefully organized by their pink-haired host. Before long, Tengen had blessed each of their drinks with a healthy splash of Irish cream, though Sanemi suspected the loudmouth’s own mug was nothing but the festive liquor.

“Nope,” Sanemi fought to keep the grimace off his face as he took a swig of his hot chocolate, the bitter burn of alcohol making him pucker. “Giyuu, drink this — it’s plain.”

The quiet, raven-haired man gratefully accepted the steaming mug from his friend and took a hearty gulp of it, frowning slightly when he realized Sanemi had indeed given him his own spiked drink.

Sanemi pretended to look affronted at Giyuu’s accusatory stare. “What? I thought you’d need it — aren’t you going home to Kocho’s after this?”

Giyuu considered Sanemi’s words for a moment before tipping his head back and swallowing the remainder of the mug’s contents.

Y/N came prancing over from the kitchen, her own mug of hot chocolate cupped between her hands, to where Sanemi now sat on the large sofa, but before she could sit down, Gyomei plopped down, nearly crushing her in the process.

“Apologies, Y/N,” the gentle giant said upon hearing Y/N’s squeak. “I didn’t realize you wanted to sit beside Sanemi.”

If Sanemi hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn that was a blush spreading across her cheeks. “No worries!” She chirped, twisting around awkwardly to find a new spot.

Sanemi grimaced. He was about to tell her to sit on the arm rest of the sofa next to him, but Shinobu called her over first, the two girls squeezing into a single-person armchair, as Shinobu threw her legs over Y/N’s lap to make room.

Secret Santa proceeded without much fuss. Sanemi was happy to receive a box of high-quality matcha from his anonymous gift-giver, though Shinobu’s lack of a poker face gave away who’d gifted it. Sanemi winked at his tiny friend, clutching the tea box tightly to his chest.

Y/N was practically buzzing with excitement. Mitsuri had hardly discerned the name scrawled on the tag of her giftbox before she’d lunged forward, nearly toppling Shinobu out of her lap.

“My turn!” The expression on Y/N’s face was that of a greedy child’s as she wriggled her fingers demandingly at Mitsuri in anticipation of her present.

The pinkette dropped the heavy box into her friend’s eager hands, Y/N giving a small oomph! against the weight of the gift.

Sanemi watched his best friend tear into her present with vigor, similar to the way a hyena tore into its prey, tufts of wrapping paper floating down beside her as she beheld the grocery store box within.

“What the—?” Y/N’s eyebrows were drawn together as she turned the container over in her hands, eyes squinting as she read the label printed on the cardboard.

“No fucking way,” Her eyes blew wide as she held the box closer to her face in disbelief. “No fucking way!”

Y/N’s laugh bordered on maniacal as she clapped her hands, ripping into the cardboard as she produced one, fat candy bar, wrapped in unfamiliar purple foil.

“My chocolate!” She crowed, dumping the contents of the box out onto her lap. A dozen large, heavy candy bars thudded to the floor, the packaging on each bearing some foreign language and description. “I can’t believe my Secret Santa found them!”

Sanemi smirked quietly to himself. Sure, he’d rigged the Secret Santa pool to ensure that he magically drew Y/N’s name from the hat full of paper Mitsuri had passed around at their weekly dinner a few weeks prior, but he’d only done it because he’d already ordered Y/N’s Christmas gift from overseas.

For ages, she’d not shut up about a particular kind of chocolate that she’d had while abroad with her family one summer. Y/N had moaned to everyone that chocolate at home just didn’t taste the same, and she longed to have just one more taste of the candy she’d come to love while on holiday, though she hadn’t been able to track it down online.

But Sanemi had; he’d found a website that put him in contact with a local, who then used his bank information to clear out an entire grocery store’s supply of the confectionary. It was risky, but he was a man in love, so what else could he do but chance it?

“Over my dead fucking body —“ Y/N threatened, as Mitsuri tried to snatch a bar from her hand.

As Sanemi sat there, smugly sipping his non-spiked hot chocolate, he mused that the look of pure glee on Y/N’s face was well worth his account getting hacked not even a week after his order arrived.

—————————————————————————

The Christmas Eve party continued until the late afternoon, at which point the group of friends began to help their host clean up the discarded snacks and empty mugs of hot chocolate before each of them set off for their respective homes for the night.

Y/N was the only one in their group who had to take a train back to her parents’, her hometown being over three hours away from campus, and so, she was the first who had to leave the merry fete.

Sanemi had offered to drive Y/N the forty-minute trip to the train station so she wouldn’t be stuck paying for an Uber, and truthfully, he was glad to have nearly an hour of uninterrupted time with her before she went home for the week.

“Ready?” He asked her as he looped his wool scarf over his head, bracing himself to be smacked in the face by the icy wind that howled outside the warmth of the Kanroji house.

Y/N finished tugging on a pair of gloves before sliding into her emerald green wool coat. “One sec!”

Y/N darted back to the living room where their other friends exchanged goodbyes and flung her arms around her pink-haired best friend’s neck.

From where he stood near the Kanroji doorway, Sanemi could see the pinkette whisper a few words of encouragement into Y/N’s ear, her face uncharacteristically serious as she squeezed her best friend one more time. Sanemi knew that Mitsuri had been comforting Y/N leading up to her first holiday season at home since her brother died, and he felt a rush of gratitude for the girl as he saw Y/N’s shoulders visibly relax under the warmth of her words.

Y/N returned, her eyes sparkling with unshed emotion that she quickly tried to wipe with her gloved hands. “I’m ready!” She said thickly, plastering a smile on her face.

Sanemi sighed, but slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tightly into his side before releasing her. Y/N nodded in gratitude, sniffing once, before wrenching the front door of the Kanroji house open, allowing the icy winds beyond to whip across their faces.

The drive to the train station was uneventful, though Y/N had been sure to provide him with “entertainment” by singing loudly, off-key, to every Christmas song that crackled over the ancient speakers in Sanemi’s beat-up station wagon.

He wouldn’t have traded the smile emblazoned in her face, nor the sound of her raucous laughter, for the world however, not even for the sake of his ringing eardrums.

The duo parked and Sanemi heaved her suitcase out of his trunk. As they made their way towards the train platform, Sanemi fought the urge to take her hand in his, as the snowflakes swirled around them.

“So, how did you find it?” Y/N asked after a moment, her train turning the corner into the station right on time, slowing in the distance as it prepared to stop.

Her snowy-haired friend played dumb. “Find what, exactly?”

She gave him a sly smile. “Sanemi. You’re the only one who would’ve paid attention to me when I complained about some foreign chocolate that you can’t get anywhere but that country. Of course, it was you.”

Sanemi gave her a wry grin. “My credit card may’ve been hacked, but it was worth it. Got ya the whole store shelf, didn’t I?” He nudged her elbow playfully with his own and she giggled.

He would never tire of hearing that sound.

Y/N’s train slowed into the station terminal, and she sighed, parking her small suitcase next to her as she stepped forward and threw her arms around his shoulders.

“Merry Christmas, Sanemi.” She whispered, squeezing him gently.

It would’ve been nice to say it back — to say anything at all, but Sanemi found himself unable to make a sound, a hand only able to come up and awkwardly pat her back just as she pulled away. Whether or not his awkwardness affected her, Y/N didn’t show, for she only gave him one more radiant smile before boarding her train home.

“See you at the cabin!” She said brightly, stepping through the double doors, suitcase in hand.

Sanemi was still standing on the platform in bemusement at his inability to say or do other than stare at her, as though his brain had become nothing but a smooth rock rattling around inside his skull.

Y/N turned to wave at him, the doors to the train still open for the last few stragglers to board, but her smile slid from her face as she beheld him, staring at her with a fiery intensity.

What’s wrong-“ she started.

“I’m in love with you.” He said breathlessly, and to his horror, she froze, her mouth parting and her eyes going wide.

“What?”

But Sanemi could not answer her; he could not even make his traitorous mouth work as the doors slid shut and the train began its slow pull out of the terminal.

Y/N stood there, just past the doors, staring at him with that same, stunned expression until the train car rounded a corner and pulled her from sight.

————————————————————————-

More than an hour later, Sanemi arrived at the Rengoku family home where he was to spend Christmas Eve and the following morning. He kicked his boots off inside the festively decorated entryway, greeted Kyojuro’s parents, and stomped downstairs to the furnished basement where he knew his two friends would be gathered.

Tengen and Kyojuro were sprawled across the plush L-shaped sofa, both silent as they huddled over former’s phone as they listened to whomever was on the other end.

Kyojuro saw Sanemi first and smacked Tengen on the shoulder, the latter looking up as both his friends went wide-eyed.

“Obanai — hold on, he just got here.” Tengen muttered.

“What?” Sanemi demanded, a heat creeping up the side of his neck as his friends stared at him, mouths open.

Tengen pointed at his phone. “Obanai’s on. Apparently Y/N has been talking the girls for the last hour and a half because someone —“ he narrowed his eyes at Sanemi. “Decided to tell her they were in love with her right as her train was leaving?”

Sanemi wondered, briefly, whether it was possible for one’s stomach to fall out of their ass.

“Are you stupid?” Tengen asked, and Sanemi resented the fact he’d almost sounded serious.

“Put Obanai on speaker,” Sanemi muttered, flinging himself down on the sofa next to Kyojuro.

Tengen rolled his eyes but did as Sanemi asked. In the background, Sanemi could hear a faint, shrill voice ranting, and he felt his gut clench. Mitsuri.

“-and now, it’s Christmas Eve and instead of spending it with our girlfriends, Giyuu and I are playing chess for the third fucking time, because that’s how long the girls have been on the phone with Y/N.” Obanai drawled. “Not that it hasn’t been entertaining — ‘Suri is convinced Y/N should’ve pushed you onto the tracks, Shinazugawa.”

Sanemi grit his teeth. “What did Y/N say, Obanai?”

His friend muttered something under his breath that sounded like an insult, but Sanemi said nothing, waiting as he heard Obanai’s voice grow smaller as he left the phone in favor of approaching the girls.

Sanemi’s stomach dipped at the renewed sound of indignant screeching that crackled through the phone, Tengen and Kyojuro snickering.

“Fine, alright, okay, stop yelling,” Obanai’s reedy and exasperated voice grew louder as he neared the phone again, though Sanemi could still hear the muffled sounds of Mitsuri squawking in the background.

“Mitsuri said you’re gonna have to man up and talk to Y/N yourself,” Obanai relayed, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “And Shinobu said she doesn’t care enough about you to break girl code.”

Sanemi groaned, throwing an arm over his face as he leaned back into the sofa cushions, wishing he’d saved Y/N the trouble, and jumped in front of her oncoming train himself.

“How do I unfuck this?” He intoned to no one in particular, lifting the arm over his eyes to squint at his two friends as they continued to suppress their shit-eating smirks.

“You could try texting her,” Kyojuro offered, though Tengen shook his head in disagreement.

“You can’t just send a text right after confessing your undying love for her as her train was leaving,” the flamboyant man chided, clicking his phone off and kicking his feet up on the coffee table before him. “That’s like begging her to curse your ass out.”

Sanemi grumbled but he knew Tengen was right; whatever conversation he would have with Y/N would have to be in-person. She deserved that much, at least.

Tengen leaned back against the sofa, twiddling the toothpick wedged between his teeth, eyes narrowed at Sanemi in contemplation. “I thought you two hooked up back over the summer?”

Sanemi snorted, shaking his head, as Kyojuro quipped, “You’re thinking of Obanai and Kanroji.”

Their silver-haired friend looked back to Sanemi, eyebrow raising in incredulity. “You’re telling me, all this time, you two’ve been making eyes at one another and you haven’t been fucking?”

“Watch it,” Sanemi bristled, and Tengen held his hands up in surrender.

“Jesus you move slow,” he mumbled, and Sanemi chucked one of the decorative pillows lying next to him at his head, Tengen effortlessly batting the projectile away. “Is she coming to the cabin next week?”

He was referring to the spacious cabin their group had rented up in the snowy mountains to celebrate New Year’s Eve together, wanting a place large enough to accommodate them all, yet secluded enough that they wouldn’t cause too much harm when one of them inevitably set a tree on fire while drunkenly trying to set off fireworks.

Sanemi nodded, and Tengen’s smile turned smug. “Then I guess you’ll have to wait ‘til then to find out what she thinks.”

—————————————————————————

December 31st – New Year’s Eve

Sanemi Shinazugawa had never experienced torture, but the seven-day stretch between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve was about as close as he’d thought he’d ever get.

By the time he, Tengen, and Kyojuro had loaded up his station wagon with their duffel bags and enough booze to open their own traveling liquor store, Sanemi thought the anxious buzz in his blood would make him jump out of his skin.

He’d not spoken to Y/N since saying goodbye to her at the train station — not really. He’d responded to her Merry Christmas! text in their larger group chat with his own holiday well-wishes, and she’d simply reacted to the message. Otherwise, his phone had remained remarkably silent, without so much as a meme from the woman who held his heart.

He knew that he couldn’t assume her silence meant the worst, even as his brain tried to convince him it was all it meant. After all, Y/N was experiencing her first holiday season without her brother, and Sanemi knew the emotions of such a milestone were far more likely to hold her attention than his pitiful love confession.

He felt nearly sick by the time he pulled into the circular driveway of the enormous log cabin, seated up the hill and a way back from the main road, surrounded only by an endless stretch of snow-covered trees and forest. As he helped Kyojuro unload the cases of beer and bottles of champagne from his trunk, Sanemi spied Mitsuri’s pink Volkswagen parked at the other end of the driveway, next to Gyomei’s Hummer.

Sanemi’s stomach flipped as Tengen unlocked the back door of the cabin, loudly calling out to their friends in greeting in that booming voice of his. Giyuu and Mitsuri leaned over the bannister of the staircase leading to the second floor, waving as the remainder of the friend group straggled through the door, stomping shoes against the welcome mat to clear themselves of any lingering snow.

Sanemi’s eyes met Mitsuri’s and the pinkette’s narrowed, as she promptly turned away from him with a pointed harrumph.

Kyojuro snorted as Sanemi sighed, and they heaved the case of beer they’d brought into the kitchen and on the counter.

It was going to be a long day.

—————————————————————————

Y/N emerged from the room she was sharing with Shinobu and Mitsuri not long after he’d arrived, decked out in some sparkly get-up of Mitsuri’s that was more suited to wearing out at the club than it was for staying in, though Sanemi wasn’t about to complain.

She’d cheerfully greeted every one of their friends with hugs and her smiles until she came to him. Thankfully, Y/N was far less awkward than he, and she’d only hesitated for a moment before giving him a hug that Sanemi found did not last nearly long enough.

As the group settled in with their drinks and grazed at the smorgasbord of food and snacks laid out in the kitchen, Sanemi caught sight of Y/N watching him, eyes expectant. He tried to muster the courage to approach her, to ask her if they could talk in private, but Sanemi balked at the weight of both Tengen and Mitsuri’s knowing stares as they flicked back and forth between himself and Y/N.

He couldn’t do this with an audience; he could only hope that Y/N would understand.

Yet, Y/N looked slightly hurt at the way Sanemi turned and struck up a conversation with Obanai and Gyomei, and Sanemi could feel at least one pair of eyes hurling daggers into his back as he remained turned away, no doubt from Y/N’s pink, livid best friend.

This was going to be damn near impossible, and yet, it was entirely his fault to begin with, as he’d been the one to stupidly blurt out that he loved Y/N to her without properly preparing himself for the moment; and now, it was his situation to un-fuck.

Somehow.

And so, Sanemi merely opened another beer and took a hearty swig of its contents, hoping to gain the liquid courage he’d need to finally confront her head-on.

—————————————————————————

Sanemi had downed two flutes of champagne since the sun had set and he still found himself jittery and uneasy as he continued to dodge Y/N’s pleading looks.

He felt like an asshole, especially right then, as the year wound down to its last half hour. Sanemi was standing in the kitchen alone, turning over a bottle of champagne in his hands as he debated taking it along with him when he went to find Y/N, and work things out between them. Perhaps they could open it in celebration if it turned out that she returned his feelings; if not, he could always drown his sorrows in the bubbly.

“If you don’t grow a pair and talk to Y/N, I’m making out with her at midnight,” Shinobu threatened, brushing by Sanemi to grab another bottle of cheap champagne to uncork. “Right in front of you.”

Sanemi shot her a shit-eating smirk. “Don’t think your boyfriend would be a fan of that idea,” he challenged, grabbing the opened bottle from Shinobu’s hand and pouring himself another glass of sparkling wine.

“I support it,” Giyuu called out from the living room, much to his girlfriend’s satisfaction and Sanemi’s irritation.

Shinobu tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned sharply away from him on her heel. “I rest my case.”

At that, Shinobu departed with a shrill reminder for him to man up! and Sanemi was left alone in the kitchen once more. With a deep inhale, Sanemi lifted his champagne flute to his lips and tipped back its contents, swallowing his champagne in a single wet gulp, before setting the glass back in the counter, and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

He set out to find Y/N.

—————————————————————————

He found her outside, leaning up against the side of the cabin as she nursed her own flute of champagne, as she stared past the line of trees where their friends had begun assembling the various rockets and fireworks they’d gathered to mark the start of the new year.

Sanemi felt his tongue go thick at the sight of her, so pretty in the snow, though he didn’t know how she wasn’t shivering; she didn’t even have on a coat, and the only thing on her legs was a thin pair of nylons and her platform boots she insisted made her “nearly” as tall as him.

He joined her in leaning against the cabin on the opposite wall of her, though she did not acknowledge his presence past a small inclination of her head, her gaze instead falling to the glass clutched between her hands.

The silence stretched endlessly between them, making him shift his weight from leg to leg as he squirmed.

“Where’s that pretty smile o’ yours?” Sanemi finally broke, and Y/N looked up at him, a frown pulling her painted lips into an adorable pout.

He may have been a tad buzzed from the champagne, but his head felt clear, and his heart felt full as he looked towards his beautiful best friend, so very underdressed for the single-digit weather and snow in that sparkly two-piece Mitsuri had insisted she wear, even though it was just them at the cabin, celebrating.

“Back at the train station,” she mumbled after a moment, returning to her own champagne flute, swirling the liquid around.

Sanemi felt his gut sour, and he found his tongue incapable of forming any words, much to his embarrassment.

Neither said anything for a moment, the distant echoes of their friends cheering as they set up the fireworks magnified against the snowy backdrop of their mountain retreat.

“Why’re you avoiding me?” Y/N’s voice was so small, so unsure that Sanemi felt his heart ache because he hated that he’d been the cause of her doubt.

“I mean, how can you tell me that — what you said, a week ago, and now you can barely meet my eyes?”

“Y/N-“ Sanemi sighed, but Y/N cut him off once more.

“I understand if you didn’t mean it; I get it’s easy to get caught up in the moment, but just tell me that.” She pled.

Sanemi exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I was worried about your reaction,” he confessed after a moment, and Y/N’s frown deepened.

“I was also pissed at myself for doin’ it that way — I had a whole plan, I was gonna take you out somewhere nice, like you deserve, but, well,” Sanemi trailed off, awkwardly. “You just looked so happy at the Christmas party, and then you hugged me, and I guess I went a bit stupid.”

Y/N was silent, only staring at him with wide eyes, her champagne flute dangling precariously from her loose hand as she gaped at him.

“Y-you meant it? You really meant it?” She breathed.

Sanemi looked to her and rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ve been waiting…a long time, to hear you say that.” Y/N admitted, a tentative grin spreading across her face.

Sanemi met her smile with his own, and he began to advance slowly towards where she leaned against the cabin wall. “Sorry to make you wait, princess.”

Y/N responded with an airy laugh. “I expected I would have to break the ice,” her heart thundered against her sternum as Sanemi boxed her in against the logs with his arms. “I’ve been openly flirting with you since the snowball fight.”

Sanemi snorted. “And I’ve been putty in your hands since Halloween. Probably longer.” His hand rose to rest on the small, exposed sliver of her waist and Y/N shuddered at how warm his touch was.

“You sure know how to keep a girl waiting, then.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed in on the proximity of Sanemi’s lips to hers. Though felt the warmth of his breath caress her face, he maintained just enough distance between their lips to tease her.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” Sanemi murmured, his thumb stroking the small patch of exposed skin above her hip.

Y/N smirked. “Then warm me up.”

Somewhere beyond the trees that dotted the property, Sanemi and Y/N’s friends began the countdown to midnight; but the two of them did not react to the impending new year, instead only holding one another’s gaze, steadily in the snow.

Their faces were titled towards one another, both still teasingly withholding the satisfaction of being the first to close the marginal distance between their lips from another. But in the distance, Sanemi vaguely heard his friends cry “ONE,” and so, right as the New Year arrived, he finally gave in, and he slanted his mouth over Y/N’s.

Later, Sanemi would muse over the fact that that had been the second time he’d missed a fireworks show with his friends, but he would not be able to care.

Because no display of colored sparks in the sky could compare to the feeling of Y/N’s lips moving fervently against his; could not compare to the way her fingers buried in his hair, or how she felt beneath his palms as he pressed her against the cabin wall and kissed her for all she was worth.

When they finally broke apart, the winter night had fallen silent once more, but it did not remain so; in an instant, their friends erupted into applause, with Tengen letting out a very loud Finally!

Y/N laughed and wrapped her hand around the collar of Sanemi’s jacket, hauling his mouth back to hers. As their friends made suggestive oohs, both Sanemi and Y/N stretched their hands out and simultaneously flipped the group off.

“It’s about damn time, you two,” Tengen drawled as the group made their way inside the warmth of the cabin.

“If you find a rocket in your bed tonight, Tengen, I want you to know it was me.” Sanemi replied smoothly, not taking his eyes off Y/N as she blushed under the hand he kept on her cheek.

—-———————————————————————

It was after two in the morning, and most of the revelers had finally drifted off to bed, drunk and happy and partied out. Only two couples remained awake, not quite yet ready to let the sparkling night fade to black.

One couple was seated on the ornate leather couch before the cabin’s lit Christmas tree, talking and giggling softly to themselves. Mitsuri stifled a sleepy yawn behind her hand, settling in against Obanai’s side as her eyelids drooped.

The ebony-haired man smiled to himself as Mitsuri’s breathing slowed, the beautiful girl finally nodding off against him as the excitement of the weekend lured her to sleep. Slowly, so as not to disturb his girlfriend’s peaceful rest, Obanai turned his head to watch the other couple still awake, though they were in the adjacent reading room.

There, standing before the large bay window of the cabin, Sanemi slow-danced with Y/N as the sound of some old holiday song crackled through the old record player of the cabin’s study. Y/N’s back was to Obanai, but her head was resting against his friend’s chest as Sanemi rocked them from side to side, his lips pressed against the girl’s hair. After a moment, Sanemi bent to murmur something in her ear, and Y/N drew back from his chest and nodded, causing his grin to spread wide across his face.

Obanai turned away from the sight of his friends, a small smile creeping onto his face, as Sanemi led his new girlfriend to his room.

—————————————————————————

Everyone was slow to rise later on New Year's Day, in no short part due to the previous night’s indulgences.

The last to rise, however, was the friend group’s newest couple, and it was with no small amount of delight that the friends saw Y/N emerge from Sanemi’s room, dressed in his sweater from the night before and a pair of men’s briefs. She padded into the kitchen, happy to accept the steaming mug of coffee that Shinobu handed her with a knowing smirk, while flipping off Tengen as he’d loudly asked her if she’d enjoyed her night.

When Sanemi finally entered the kitchen, a dark purple bruise seared into the side of his neck, the whole gang erupted into applause, much to the couple’s laughter and slight embarrassment.

Mitsuri sidled up to her best friend, nudging her with her shoulder. “Shinobu and I had a bet as to who would show up this morning with hickies. She owes me $5.”

Y/N’s returning smirk was naughty as she brought the steaming mug of coffee to her lips. “You just can’t see mine.”

Mitsuri giggled and Y/N couldn’t help but join her, feeling too warm and happy as her eyes met her now-boyfriend’s while he watched her from across the counter. As she’d swiped a donut from one of the several boxes scattered around the table, Y/N felt Sanemi’s fingers shyly brush against her own, and the pair exchanged small, sweet smiles before resuming conversation with their respective roommates.

Later, as the group loaded up cars with their luggage in a haphazard game of suitcase Tetris, Sanemi caught Y/N’s eye again and winked, prompting the latter to blush.

As they piled into their cars and drove away from the cabin, Sanemi realized he was the luckiest man in the world.

—————————————————————————

Epilogue — New Year’s Day, 2 years later

“He just texted me — they’re walking up,” Kyojuro whispered, and the group dissolved into renewed giggles and excitement as the snow drifted lazily outside.

“Shush!” Shinobu urged over the tittering group, as they all crouched in the dark, excitement buzzing among the friend group as they waited anxiously in Sanemi and Y/N’s apartment.

Mitsuri rocked on her heels beside Shinobu, squatting behind the couple’s sofa, her hands fluttering in glee. “They need to hurry up! I can hardly wait!”

“They’re almost — shut it!” Shinobu hissed at the unmistakable sound of a key entering a lock on the front door.

There was a wash of light from the apartment hallway as the door swung open, and Shinobu and the others burrowed deeper into their hiding spots. Only as the door clicked shut, and Sanemi flipped the light switch to their living room, did the group erupt.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” Every one of them — Mitsuri, Obanai, Shinobu, Tengen, Gyomei, Kyojuro and even Giyuu sprung from their various crouching spaces behind furniture and closets as they greeted the newly engaged couple.

Y/N’s hands flew to her face in surprise and joy, her cheeks bright red as she laughed. On her left hand, a beautiful, emerald ring sparkled.

The blushing bride-to-be turned to her fiancé and smacked him lightly on the chest. “You ass! Is this why you’ve been so weird and secretive over the last few weeks?”

Sanemi caught his fiancé’s hand and brought it to his lips, prompting the young woman to flush even further. Before she could return the gesture, Y/N was nearly knocked over by the flurry of pink and green that hurtled toward her, locking her arms around her neck and sobbing with joy.

“He was afraid he was gonna blow it,” Tengen offered, though he flinched at the sharp glare the scarred man shot his way. “Okay fine — he thought we would blow it.”

“I can’t imagine why he’d be concerned,” Y/N shook her head in mock-solemnity over Mitsuri’s shoulder. “After all, Giyuu did spoil Gyomei’s 22nd birthday.”

Giyuu made some sound of indignation as the tips of his ears reddened. Kyojuro thumped Sanemi on the back in congratulations. “I still think it would have been much nicer to have us all there when you finally popped the question, Shinazugawa!”

Sanemi rolled his eyes. “Like hell was I gonna let you shitheads ruin a romantic moment.”

Mitsuri, who’d not yet unwound her arms from Y/N’s neck, leaned in close to her best friend’s ear. “Did he cry?” She whispered conspiratorially.

Y/N’s grin widened. “Like a baby. He got down on one knee and started blubbering.”

It might have been a slight exaggeration — though her snowy-haired lover had gone misty-eyed as he’d knelt before her in front of the large Christmas tree in the city square and poured his heart out. As he pulled her in tight against him after sliding the delicate ring on her finger, Y/N had felt the wet droplets of his joyous tears as he’d buried his face into the side of her neck.

But Y/N couldn’t resist the chance to make it known amongst their friends that Sanemi Shinazugawa had the softest heart out of any of them.

The pair of best friends dissolved into giggles, before Mitsuri pulled away and the two hummed and hah’ed over Y/N’s engagement ring, Shinobu joining in as they marveled over the way the emerald shone.

Beside them, both Obanai and Giyuu looked accusingly at their smug friend. “Neither of them are gonna shut up about the ring now. Thanks, Shinazugawa.” Obanai grumbled.

Sanemi locked an arm around his friend’s neck and ground his knuckles into the top of his head. “Please. Like you don’t have a Pinterest board titled ‘future wedding’ for when you decide to have the balls to ask ‘Suri to marry you.” He grinned. “I’ve seen your phone, dude.”

“Jackass,” Obanai mumbled, though any ire he felt towards the snowy-haired man was quick to dissipate, because he couldn’t remember the last time Sanemi had smiled as broadly as he did right then.

He was happy — really, and truly happy.

Because Sanemi Shinazugawa loved many things.

He loved Saturday mornings, when there was no alarm or no obligations, and he could just exist peacefully in his bed with his woman wrapped snug in his arms. He loved when his phone had zero notifications, because that meant he was being left the fuck alone, and in peace.

He loved his friends, that wonderful group of people whom he’d known for most of his life, who’d always supported him or provided a good kick in his ass whenever he needed it.

But most of all, Sanemi loved New Year’s Day, and the snow, because it had brought him Y/N — his fiancé, and the great love of his life, and all her smiles that he had to look forward to every day, for all the days to come.

[The Ssum : Forbidden Lab] Notice on <The Ssum: Forbidden Lab> Official Launch Date and Promotion Video Release

Hello, this is Cheritz.

Today we bring you the news all of you would have waited for! Can you guess what it’ll be about?

Here is the news….

Dun-dun-dun-dun….

At last we officially bring you <The Ssum : Forbidden Lab>!

You will get to enjoy a heart-fluttering experience with your special ssum-one starting on 17th of August, 2022 (Wednesday).♡

On 17th of August, welcome the start of your brand-new daily life with Cheritz’s new title.

We would like to give you our deepest gratitude for putting your faith in us and waiting all this time. Thanks to you, now we are excitedly counting the days left until the official launch.

We will do our best until the last moment so that we can perfect the game and bring you the best experience possible.

We will meet you on the official launching day, future lab participants!

⋆‧͙˚*✧•̩̩͙*˚  Fairytale  ˚*•̩̩͙✧*˚‧͙⋆

I thought that writing Herbarium would free me from the Capitano agenda. But I was wrong and now we have a side story + epilogue written from Capitano’s POV…….pls don’t expect much from this, as it’s just a collection of dark fluff and bonus scenes which take place throughout Herbarium. Also, three cheers for Sumeru update ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

To those who previously enjoyed Herbarium, I hope you enjoy this fic and don’t mind me tagging you. I will forever be grateful for your feedback!! And thank you once again to my dear friend @diodellet​ for peer-reviewing another self-indulgent fic :’>

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, violence, blood, murder, psychological trauma, mention of child abuse, mention of nsfw, spice, MINORS DNI

Note:: Female reader described as physically weak and smaller than Capitano, pre-release characterization of Capitano which will likely be obliterated by canon lore

♡ 3.3k words under the cut ♡

i. Once upon a time, an unlikely romance blossomed between a Monster and a Damsel.

The battlefield is a merciless place. A corner of the world nourished by violence and bloodshed, a place where only the strong could lay claim to honor and victory. For as long as he had been a Fatui Harbinger, Il Capitano had full control over this domain.

On the battlefield, there is no chance to appreciate the beauty of the natural surroundings, not when all would eventually be sullied by blood and death.

And yet here he is, standing in a peaceful meadow so far removed from the reality of the world. Having fallen victim to an opponent like no other, whose weapons take the form of melancholic glances and immortalized flowers.

“This is for you.”

She gives him flowers again. The dandelions are pressed between two sheets of parchment paper, puffy seeds flattened and denied of their promised liberation.

And just as he had done with that fateful bunch of windwheel asters, Capitano accepts her gift.

Keep reading

midnight endeavors. - wanderer x reader

genre : fluff

scenario : listening to wanderer's life history for the first time. ( reader is inspired from infp-ish personality bc i adore the idea of scara with a soft s/o)

the wanderer was used to a lot of things. in his painfully long existence, he’d seen things people would never dare dream of, walked through hell confidently with a bitter smirk plastered on his fair face. gritted his teeth through the painful betrayals from those most important to him only to realize it was never as he perceived the truth to be. and after everything, 

in the end- here he was. his indigo eyes looked a tad softer, clearer than you remembered as you finally finished listening to him explaining his past. you felt the amount of trust he had put in you, and wanted nothing more than to embrace him at this moment. yet, silent fear of disturbing him nagged at the back of your mind. to wait. wait for him to open himself more to you. wait until he is completely comfortable with your touch. 

otherwise, perhaps he’d break or scatter from your touch. especially with the forceful disinterested voice and masked blank expression he skillfully upheld in front of you. you could see through his facade, but decided to hold your tongue. one day. one day he’d be ready and you planned on waiting for that day no matter how long it takes. 

when he finished talking and finally glanced at you, however, you noticed his clear, calm violet eyes flash in an expression that resembled revelation.

he crossed his arms to mask his shock again, to keep his composure as he always did around everyone. 

“... why are you crying?” he tried, he swore he really tried not to sound judgmental and crude as he talks to everybody else. he remembers how your face fell subtly whenever he made a particularly harsh statement, how you’d try to explain his behavior to people who weren’t accustomed to him. the worst of it all, he sometimes didn’t know you were in a bad mood already and made it worse with his sharp tongue. no, wanderer never meant it towards you, ever. that’s why he was trying so hard, trying and learning this paradox of  “human emotion” he used to despise to the fullest.

you, on the other hand, only realized a stray tear had rolled down your cheek when he explicitly pointed it out. the mention of his young friend, the ashes and heart, the bittersweet tragedy of his tale as kabukimono, as kunikuzushi, as balladeer and now, as your wanderer. everything about him made you crave more, need more of him, want to love, and be loved in return. especially once you realized he was capable of love no matter how much he defied your suspicions. after all, there was no denying the warmth in his gaze sometimes, no lie in his featherlight touch when he sometimes absentmindedly caresses your cheek when he thinks you’re sleeping. he touches you so gently, like he didn’t believe his sight. like he wasn’t sure if you, or him in fact were real. maybe he had really fallen and faded away to nothing but ashes. maybe he never truly awoke again after his bitter defeat, falling from the sky-high seat of a god, only to be reduced to nothing but dust the moment he fell from that mechanical body. that’s why the true gods he used to hate so much have finally graced him with this hard-to-believe reality- a beautiful one, a meaning in life he found with you by his side. 

he was free now, he was determined in spending the rest of his time wandering the vast world to destinations that suit his liking. until he met yet another mortal he’d fallen hopelessly attached to. 

a joke, wasn’t it? wanderer was sure he had learnt from his past. even if it never meant that his mortal kins were unfaithful to him, he was still convinced that mortals just weren’t meant to exist alongside him. only this time, your loving gaze on him kept coaxing his true self out of his shell with no regards to his reluctance. no, in truth he didn’t want to grow this close to you. but he couldn’t deny you, the closer you came to the wanderer, the more he felt himself slipping away from the clutches of his old persona. he truly changed, thanks to you, a mere mortal- frail, emotional, soft spoken and sweet-toothed who cries at the tales of someone else. unbelievable. 

“i’m so sorry- i didn’t mean to, it was just-” you stumbled over your words, unsure how to explain how you felt about his past. the last thing you wanted was for him to get annoyed over your tears or somehow make him misunderstand that you’re making this about yourself. you really wanted to say how thankful you were to be trusted, how you would be there for when the nights seemed darker than usual, yet no coherent words left your mouth. amidst your panic and futile attempts at hiding your tear-stained face, you failed to notice his same violet eyes soften even more than before. so this was what it felt like to have someone by your side, to have someone… so endearing, crying over his pain as if it were your own. he did, in fact, have friends before, two of them even. but what he was feeling inside was nothing he’d ever imagined prior to your fated encounter.

the wanderer wasn’t sure if he could put a finger on his feelings for now. but he was sure he was gradually realizing why he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you when you aren’t paying attention to him- even if this meant he would end up proving that he was just as human as you were. why he was infinitely entertained by your reactions to his teasing, and sometimes bickering. how he wasn’t entirely angered when you won the pesky quarrel with a witty remark. how he’d “accidentally” brush his hand against yours just to see your eyes widen and avoid his gaze like nothing happened. your body language never lied, that’s one thing he found amusing about you. 

speaking of amusement, he was truly puzzled the first time he got to know you. how were you so mellow? so mellow to the point you seemed like you'd shatter at the touch of his cold porcelain hands.

he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt this protective of you, perhaps even from yourself.  

and now, maybe he finally realized why having a precious fragile human like you cry over his past life story like it was your own brought this warm cozy sensation in his chest. he stayed quiet, silently gazing at you with his chin resting on his hand. 

“...are you done yet?” he felt himself cringe at his usual rough tone, he found it incredibly difficult to not sound like this. fortunately, you seemed to be slowly calming down. but not fast enough to his liking. 

that’s it.

with a deep sigh, he grabbed your wrist and pulled your figure towards his own in one swift motion. for such a slender body, he truly had incredible strength, you had to give him that. 

“what-” your eyes shot open, your sniffling dying down in one quick second from shock.

“humans, especially crybaby ones like you tend to find comfort in physical contact, correct? then so be it. find comfort in me.” rely on me, need me like i need you- he wanted to say but lacked the courage to. he truly had no other way he could word his feelings, but you saw the genuine concern hidden behind his ethereal lavender eyes. he’d never do this with anyone else, not even if the sun arose in the west and set in the east. you were both aware. his grand violet eyes still shone in high honor and pride, yet you felt his hand shiver ever so lightly around you. 

is he nervous? you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. 

you stopped gawking at him, and allowed yourself to relax against his chest, burying your head in the space between his neck and shoulder. it was strange indeed- the amount of comfort you found in his embrace. his body wasn’t that warm, you imagined it might be cold to cuddle with him on winter nights. but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to spend eternity embraced by his hands. 

your dear wanderer. you snuggled closer in a protective manner, even going as far as to snake your arms around his thin waist. the wanderer’s brows furrowed slightly to your actions, a highly unnecessary and bothersome pink flush dusting his normally pale cheeks. damn you and your gentle touches, always making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. 

speaking of warm and fuzzy, you were too. he absentmindedly tightened his arms around you, just to feel your body push against his closer. letting out a small sigh of relief, wanderer stared up at the night sky. to think that he would be the one ended up comforted by an embrace, instead of his original intentions. as much as he refused to admit out loud, he truly could get used to this, relaxing and feeling the serenity of the eternal midnight with you wrapped up in his hands. 

neither of you spoke a word. he hugged you to calm you down from your crying, and it looked like he succeeded from the absence of your sniffling and sobbing. yet still, neither of you spoke a word, too busy tangled up in one another’s bodies.

childe x gn! reader / fake dating au / reader is a fatui medic / childhood friends to (fake) lovers / fluff(..???) light angst at the end / mutual pining

"my family thinks we're dating."

you pause.

"aja– tartaglia, you're half-bleeding to death and that's your biggest worry?"

the ginger stifles a wince, disguising his discomfort with a chuckle. (you notice. you always do. so you take a deep breath because the eleventh harbinger of the fatui is absolutely intolerable.)

“if you stay still, i’ll do it.” you sigh, knowing fully well the irrevocable mess you were getting yourself into.

the way his (stupid. idiotic. unreasonably charming) face splits into a grin makes you decide that it’s worth setting your heart on fire and watching it turn into bitter ashes just for the temporary warmth in your heart, rivalling even the coldest of snowstorms in snezhnaya.

half a month flies by.

you find yourself on the doorsteps of childe's home with his arms enveloping you amidst the crystalline snowflakes drifting across the nation of ice. he can sense how nervous you are, despite the calm facade instilled into your facial features with fluency and ease.

so he does what every good– decent, you insist, boyfriend would do. tartaglia, code-name childe, teases you to the very ends of hell, cupping your crimson-tinted cheeks and mockingly— endearingly pinching the lobes of your ears.

(childe is a little mixed up with the intricacies of a romantic relationship but at least he’s got the spirit, you think, as if he wasn’t in possession of your fragile heart, holding it with abnormal care with the way he treats you.)

the door swings open, all hell breaks loose.

you make out something akin to "aww, i betted on an imaginary partner." in the background, paired with excited squeals and shouts coming from ajax's younger siblings amongst the crackling of fire.

it's absolutely insulting that his siblings like you more than they do him, ajax insists. it’s ironic, really— considering he feels the same way as his siblings do.

(he blames it how you silently care for him.)

he knows of the way you sneak fleeting glances at him in the midst of a meeting. the way you never say no to him despite disapproving of his horribly self-destructive ideas. the way you slip painkillers in his drink when you see him grimace from a throbbing wound.

what childe fails to notice is the way you look at him.

“so… when are you going to put a ring on it?” ajax’s mother trails off, cerulean eyes teasingly flickering between the two of you.

you choke on your food. ajax’s cheeks flushes a drunken red. to your utmost dismay, the harbinger gets down on one knee in a grandeur manner despite his intoxicated state, fumbling with the ring tucked in his pocket.

why does he have a ring tucked in his pocket?

"ajax, you're drunk." you coo lovingly in the eyes of his family members, smiling at the noises of interest that echo around the dining room. "sorry about that. it happens quite often, really." you hum, and the next thing you know you're being sent to his bedroom with an extra bottle of vodka and extremely enthusiastic blessings from his parents.

you wind up with your lap as his head rest, stroking his unexpectedly soft hair as he practically vibrates from his sprawled out form on the bed.

there is absolutely no upside to loving childe, you conclude.

(maybe there was a tiny lie in that, considering it means you get to see how his slightly handsome face twists into a sheepish grin when one of his terrible ideas fail, how a tuff of ginger hair falls between the ridge of his nose and eyes no matter how often he tries pinning it back up every single day, how charming he actually is– no, no. the point is that you don't love–)

"shhhh, don't tell anyone, but i'm desperately in love with (name)."

time freezes into tiny shards of shattered glass, you're holding your breath unknowingly and childe is still looking at the ceiling with lovesick eyes, grinning from ear to ear.

“maybe they’re in love with you too.” you suggest shakily, not paying any mind to his piercing gaze. ajax hums, eyes slowly closing as he succumbs into the embrace of alcohol.

his thoughts are slurring, the only thing on his mind is you, you, you. "'s impossible," he mumbles, "i always want what i can't have– childhood friends or not, i wouldn't want to lose them to my sappy feelings."

maybe that's the closure you need. no matter the sins he carries, nor the frigid chains of the tsaritsa and all that lies in the abyss laid upon him, it was always destined to end like this.

it is when you understand this in the depths of ajax's monotonous sapphire eyes that you realise;

you are undeniably in love with him.

Like Hell You’d Tell Me No | PB fic

(tommyshelby x fem!reader – s2 era)

Summary: When Y/N gets sent to Birmingham for her own protection, the last thing she expects is to be dropped into the middle of Shelby territory, especially under the icy watch of one Thomas Shelby. But somehow, she keeps breaking his rules... and somehow, he lets her. Between unannounced office visits, drunken nights in his chair, and a new bestie in Ada Shelby, Y/N is stirring up more than just trouble. And when things start to heat up between her and Tommy, they might just find themselves caught in a moment that neither of them is quite ready for, yet.

A/N: okay so, I always write Harry (literally always), but while prepping for my internship I decided to finally watch Peaky Blinders... and now I’m unwell. Like, genuinely not okay. Tommy Shelby lives in my head rent-free and I can’t make him leave. 😭

So instead of lesson planning like a responsible adult, this little fic idea basically wrote itself at 1AM with Taylor Swift playing in the background lol. Not sure if I’ll continue this or if I’ll dabble in multiple fandoms, but I had fun writing it and wanted to share in case anyone else is also deep in their Peaky Blinders phase

Word Count: 4147

Warnings: 

Light drinking

Mentions of past threats/harassment (non-graphic)

Protective/possessive behavior (from Tommy, ofc)

Language (it’s Peaky Blinders, there’s swearing lol)

Slow-burn tension and emotional build-up

Mentions of minor violence (one punch, classic Tommy move)

Unresolved romantic tension (aka cliffhanger ending 😌)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Tommy just… stares.

The silence in the room stretched, thick as the smoke curling from his cigarette. Papers sat idle in front of him, ignored now. The man across the desk – some poor bastard talking percentages – had gone completely still, mouth half-open like he was about to continue his pitch until she appeared out of nowhere.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room like she’d walked into a pub instead of the Shelby Company office. Young, maybe mid-twenties, wearing a travel-worn coat and scuffed boots. There was something in her look. Not arrogance. Just no fear. Like she'd met worse than a room full of Shelbys.

“Door was open,” she said again, tilting her head. “Didn’t think it was a problem.”

Arthur snorted behind her. “Bloody hell, she’s brave.”

Polly didn’t say a word, but the look on her face was a mix of amusement and caution. Always watching.

Tommy took a slow drag, tapped ash into the tray. “You must be Y/N.”

“Yeah,” she said, stepping in without being asked. “You must be Tommy, Thomas Shelby.”

“Bit early to be on first-name terms.”

“Bit late not to be,” she replied, dropping her bag by the wall like she belonged there. “You owe my brother a favor. I’m the favor.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. Not from her mouth. Not from anyone, really. But the message had come a few days ago, and he’d read it twice just to be sure. Michael Carter. They’d served together. Pulled him out of a trench once. Didn’t talk much after the war, but when a man like that writes and says his sister’s in trouble, you pay attention. You don’t say no.

“What kind of trouble?”

She shrugged. “The vague kind. London’s full of it. Wrong place, wrong time. Few names I shouldn’t have known, a few blokes who didn’t like me walking away.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair. “You running?”

“I’d call it more of a stroll,” she said. “Don’t worry. I didn’t bring much baggage.”

He looked at her. Really looked. She was tired but not broken. Something restless behind her eyes. There was a fight in her, the kind that either got people killed or made them dangerous friends. He wasn’t sure which yet.

“You’ll stay above the shop,” he said after a pause. “Spare room. Polly’ll take you up.”

Y/N glanced toward Polly, who gave a small nod.

Tommy picked up his pen again, glancing at the man across from him who’d gone completely pale. “Now, if we’re done with the interruptions–”

“I’ll get out of your hair,” she said, already walking off.

“Don’t wander.”

She turned in the doorway, gave a small smirk. “No promises.”

Polly followed her out a moment later, her heels sharp on the floorboards.

Arthur leaned in with a low whistle. “She’s got some fire, that one.”

Tommy didn’t answer. He was staring at the spot she’d been standing in. His jaw clenched as he exhaled smoke through his nose.

“She gonna be trouble?” Arthur asked.

“She already is,” Tommy said quietly, then went back to pretending to listen to the pitch in front of him.

--

Upstairs, Y/N was already sizing up the space. The spare room was clean enough. Not warm, but not cold either. Polly stood by the door, watching.

“You’re lucky,” Polly said finally. “He doesn’t like people in his office. Doesn’t like people full stop.”

Y/N looked around, then dropped onto the bed with a soft thump. “I’ll keep out of his way.” Polly gave a dry smile. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Downstairs, Tommy stubbed out his cigarette, but his hand hovered near the tin for another. He didn’t light it. Just sat there, staring at the door where she’d come in like a storm in worn boots and sharp words.

A favor owed, he thought. Just a favor.

But he already knew better.

The days that followed proved it. She didn’t just stay in the spare room. She moved through the betting shop like she’d always been there. Tommy had told himself he’d figure out what to do with her once things settled, once he had time. But time didn’t slow for the Shelbys. And she didn’t wait for permission.

“You know there’s a kettle in the back, right?” she asked one morning, walking into his office without knocking. Again. She set a chipped mug down on the desk like it was hers to do so. “You don’t have to drink your weight in whisky before noon.”

Tommy looked up slowly. “You bring tea to every man who gives you a place to sleep?”

“Only the grumpy ones,” she said, hands in the pockets of her skirt. “Which is lucky for you.”

He didn’t answer, just stared at the steam curling from the cup.

She lingered a second longer, then turned to leave. “Try not to scowl into it too hard. Might go bitter.”

That was the third time that week she’d barged in. Polly had stopped bothering to intervene. Arthur found it funny. John asked if she had a death wish.

Tommy just drank the tea.

It wasn’t that she was rude. She just didn’t care about the little rules. Rules like knocking before you enter a room that belongs to Thomas Shelby. Rules like not sitting in the man’s chair while drunk at the end of a long day.

Which she did.

It was Friday, the shop was quiet, and she had found the whisky in the cabinet behind the front desk. Arthur had offered her a glass earlier. She’d declined then. Hours later, she helped herself.

Tommy walked in to find her kicked back in his chair, legs tucked under her, nursing a glass. Her boots were off and resting on the floor beside her. She looked comfortable. Dangerous thing to be in his space.

“You’re in my chair,” he said.

She turned her head lazily. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

He didn’t say anything. He looked at her for a moment, then walked to the other side of the room. Took off his coat, hung it up. Sat on the edge of the desk, lit a cigarette. The quiet filled the space between them.

“You always drink alone?” he asked finally.

“I wasn’t alone,” she said. “You came in.”

Arthur came by halfway through and nearly choked on his laughter. John followed, paused in the doorway, gave a long low whistle.

“She’s got some bloody nerve,” John said under his breath.

Tommy said nothing. Just exhaled a long stream of smoke and looked at the ceiling.

After a few minutes, she stood, wobbling just a bit, and set the glass down neatly on the desk.

“Thanks for not shouting,” she said. “It’s rare.”

He watched her as she walked out, barefoot, leaving the smell of whisky and some kind of sweet soap in her wake.

The door clicked shut.

Arthur leaned closer to Tommy after a beat. “You gonna let her get away with that?”

Tommy didn’t look at him. “She’s not doing any harm.”

John raised an eyebrow. “She was in your chair, brother.”

Tommy stubbed out his cigarette. “She’s not in it now.”

That was how it was. She floated in and out of the betting shop like smoke, slipping through the cracks no one else dared to touch. She was younger, yes. Full of jokes and sudden laughter. The kind that didn’t come from politeness but from deep inside, like she refused to let the world make her quiet.

He didn’t know what to make of her yet. But he noticed things. The way she talked to everyone. The way she read newspapers he hadn’t even opened yet. The way she knew how to patch a rip in her own coat with needle and thread without making a fuss. Like she’d done it a hundred times.

She didn’t belong here. Not really. But she was here. And the longer she stayed, the more it felt like a storm had rolled in and decided to settle.

He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do with her. But he knew sending her away wasn’t an option anymore. That thought sat in the back of his mind the night Arthur burst through his office door, out of breath and sweating.

“She’s at the Garrison,” he said. “Alone. Some bloke’s not takin’ the hint.”

Tommy didn’t say anything. He stood, grabbed his coat, and walked past Arthur without a word. His pace was calm, but his steps were hard. Each one louder than the last on the wooden stairs.

The Garrison wasn’t far, but it felt like miles. His hands curled into fists at his sides. Inside, the music was low and the laughter was higher than usual. A Friday night crowd. Voices blurred together until one stood out.

“Come on, sweetheart,” a man was saying. “Don’t be so bloody cold.”

Tommy moved through the crowd like smoke. He didn’t shove. Didn’t speak. Just walked until the man came into view. Broad-shouldered, older, drunk. Y/N was backed against the wall near the end of the bar, her arms crossed tight and chin lifted. She wasn’t scared, but she wasn’t laughing either.

“I said no,” she repeated, voice firm.

“And I said I don’t care,” the man replied, hand brushing against her arm again.

Tommy didn’t stop walking. The man didn’t see him coming. One second he was smirking, the next he was on the ground, nose caved in and blood gushing. No warning. No words.

The room went quiet.

Tommy didn’t look down. He turned to Y/N, who hadn’t moved. Her face had gone pale.

“Come on,” he said.

She followed him out into the street without arguing. The cold hit her hard, cutting through the whisky in her blood. They walked in silence for a few blocks, her footsteps uneven beside his. She hadn’t even grabbed her coat.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said finally.

He didn’t look at her. “Yes. I did.”

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I could’ve handled it.”

“I’m sure,” he said, voice flat. “But, he touched you.”

She stopped walking. He stopped too, turning to face her.

“I don’t need a fucking bodyguard, Tommy.”

“No,” he said. “You need someone to keep you alive. That’s me now.”

She stared at him, jaw tight, but her voice cracked when she spoke again. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

He looked at her. Really looked. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair wind-blown, and her eyes shining in that way they did when she was holding too much in. She was trying to be tough, but her hands were shaking.

He stepped closer, calm now. “You all right?”

She looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“It wasn’t the first time someone got too close.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. His fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t say what he wanted to say. That London was behind her, but its shadows were still clinging. That he should’ve never let her walk out alone. That the second he got word she was in danger, his heart had pounded like it hadn’t since France.

Instead, he took a breath and said, “Next time you go out, you take someone with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Arthur? Polly?”

“Me,” he said. “Preferably.”

The silence stretched between them, and something shifted in her face. Not fear. Not defiance. Just something quieter.

“Right,” she said. “Okay.”

He nodded once, then turned and kept walking. She followed.

The streets of Birmingham were dark, damp, full of half-spoken threats. But she walked beside him like it was the safest place she’d ever been.

The next morning, Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor of the spare room, trying to make sense of the mess she called her belongings. Half-unpacked bags, a few folded letters, and a pair of boots still caked in city grime. She was tugging a comb through her hair when there was a knock on the door. “Mind if I come in?” came a voice.

Y/N turned to see a woman leaning in the doorway, lipstick perfect, hair pinned up tight like she meant business even on a quiet day. She looked familiar in that way all the Shelbys did.

“Ada, right?” Y/N said.

“That’s me. Figured it was about time we had a proper chat,” Ada replied, stepping in without waiting. “They’ve all been talking about you.”

“Yeah?” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

Ada grinned. “Only if you hate compliments wrapped in irritation.”

She handed over two cups of something that smelled strong enough to kick. Y/N took one with a grateful nod.

“Whiskey in the coffee?” Y/N asked.

“Bit of both. It’s the Shelby way.”

They sat near the window, legs stretched out, warmth settling into the space.

“You’re not like them,” Ada said after a moment. “Not from here. Not stuck in it like the rest of us.”

Y/N gave a little shrug. “London’s not exactly better.”

“No, but you’ve still got light in your eyes,” Ada said. “Most people around here have it beaten out of them by twenty.”

Y/N looked out the window. “I don’t know about light. I just don’t see the point in pretending everything’s always awful.”

Ada sipped from her cup. “That’s what I mean. You’re a bloody breath of fresh air. Especially among all these grumpy bastards.”

Y/N laughed. “Speak for yourself. You’re just as sharp.”

“I get it from my mother. And years of watching Tommy scowl at paperwork.”

At the mention of his name, Y/N glanced away, but Ada noticed. Of course she did.

“He’s different with you,” Ada said.

Y/N frowned. “Different how?”

Ada leaned in, smug. “Less growling. More… I don’t know. Breathing.”

“You’re making things up.”

“I’m not.” She pointed her cup at Y/N. “You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, you know that?”

Y/N blinked, actually blinked, and then laughed into her drink. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” Ada said. “He doesn’t even let me in his office unannounced.”

Y/N bit her lip. “Maybe he’s just tired of telling me off.”

“No. That’s not it.” Ada gave her a long look. “He trusts you.”

There was a weight in those words Y/N hadn’t expected. She didn’t answer right away. Trust wasn’t something she’d had a lot of lately. It felt strange to even think about.

“He walked me home last night,” Y/N said quietly. “After a man at the Garrison got pushy.”

Ada nodded. “I heard. Arthur said Tommy didn’t say a word. Just broke the bloke’s nose and left.”

Y/N stared down into her mug. “He didn’t even look angry. That’s what got me.”

Ada tilted her head. “That’s worse, you know. Means he meant it.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “I know it’s just a favor, what he’s doing. Letting me stay. Letting me be here.”

Ada stood and stretched. “It started out that way, but i believe it has turned into more. That’s why it matters.”

She walked toward the door, then turned. “You’re good for him. Whether he admits it or not.”

Y/N stayed by the window after she left. The coffee had gone cold, but she held it anyway, hands wrapped around something solid.

Out in the street, she caught sight of Tommy crossing to the shop, coat pulled close, face unreadable as ever.

She watched him for a second too long. Then she looked away, heart skipping in a way she pretended not to notice.

By the time evening came, the betting shop had been cleared out, lanterns strung up, and Polly’s birthday turned into one of those Shelby nights that started quiet and always ended with someone singing out of tune. Y/N wasn’t much of a drinker, but it was hard to say no when John poured heavy and Polly kept pressing glasses into her hand with a look that said she’d take offense otherwise.

She’d laughed too hard, danced once with Ada, twice with Arthur, and ended up slipping out when her head started to spin and the voices all blurred into one. The music still floated through the floorboards when she made her way up the stairs and pushed open the office door.

She didn’t even bother with the lights. The soft glow from the hallway was enough. She crossed the room like it was muscle memory now and dropped into the chair behind the desk. His chair. She tucked one leg under herself and took a slow sip from the bottle she’d brought up.

The first sip burned. The second didn’t.

She leaned back and closed her eyes for a second, listening to the muffled laughter below, the distant clink of glasses. The door creaked after a few minutes. She didn’t open her eyes.

“Told you I like your chair,” she said lazily.

Tommy stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “You’ve got a habit.”

“I’ve got nowhere else that’s quiet,” she replied.

He walked across the room and sat on the edge of the desk, facing her. No coat, sleeves rolled just enough to show the edge of his tattoo. His tie was loose. He looked like he’d stopped pretending to be the man everyone thought he had to be.

She glanced at him and smiled faintly. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the party?”

He shrugged. “They won’t miss me for a few minutes.”

She tilted the bottle toward him. “Want some?”

“I’ve had enough.”

“Then keep me company.”

So he did. They sat in the kind of silence that had weight but no pressure. She traced a line in the wood grain of the desk with her finger, then spoke, soft and unguarded.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed on her face.

“I used to think London was it,” she went on. “Then everything went to shit. I came here thinking it’d be worse. But now I just feel stuck in between.”

She looked down. “And I hate feeling like a guest. Like I’m just waiting for someone to tell me it’s time to go.”

“You’re not a guest,” Tommy said.

“Then what am I?”

He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t answer either.

She looked at him, really looked. The way his eyes softened in moments like this, when no one else was around to see. How still he went when he let his guard down. Like it scared him more than war ever had.

“You don’t talk much,” she said.

“I say what needs saying.”

“Right.” She took another sip. “But you listen.”

Their eyes met. Her thumb brushed the side of the glass, and his fingers reached out absently to take it from her. Their hands touched – just a second – but it was enough to make her chest tighten.

He set the bottle down without breaking the gaze. Neither moved.

“Why are you always so calm?” she whispered.

“I’m not.”

His voice was low. Closer now. She hadn’t noticed how near he’d leaned until she could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of tobacco and something colder underneath.

Her fingers curled around the arm of the chair.

His hand was resting near hers on the desk. Not quite touching. But close.

Too close. Not close enough.

The silence pulled tight between them. She wasn’t sure who was holding it there, but it felt deliberate, like something balanced on the edge of a blade.

She didn’t move her hand.

Tommy shifted closer, the worn fabric of his sleeve brushing hers. Her breath caught. He didn’t look at her yet, not directly – his eyes stayed on the papers scattered across the desk like they meant something. Like any of this was still about business.

“Don’t smoke in here,” she said quietly, not looking at him either.

“I’m not.”

“You were earlier. Without me.”

He didn’t argue. Just leaned back the slightest bit, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might smile, but didn’t. His voice stayed low.

“You always this jumpy around men, or just me?”

She turned her head. Met his eyes. “You always this full of yourself, or just with women who talk back?”

There was a flicker in his expression, something like approval, maybe amusement. Maybe something sharper underneath.

“Maybe I like women who talk back.”

“Maybe you like trouble.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth for the briefest second. “I’m in the business of it.”

That pull in her gut tightened. Her fingers curled harder around the arm of the chair, grounding herself. It wasn’t enough.

The room had gone quiet again, except for the tick of the clock on the mantel and the soft hum of music and voices seeping in from the hallway. The party still spun on without them, but here it felt like everything had narrowed to the space between their hands.

She turned slightly, just enough that her knee brushed his. She didn’t apologize. Neither did he.

“Thomas.”

He lifted his eyes again. That look he gave her made her forget what she was about to say. Or maybe she hadn’t planned to say anything at all.

He leaned in. Slowly, like he wanted her to see it coming. His breath was warm against her cheek, and there was that scent again – tobacco, sharp gin, and something colder. Something metallic, like the edge of a coin.

The air between them thickened. She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her fingertips.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is this the part where you kiss me, or tell me I’ve crossed a line?”

Tommy’s eyes darkened, his focus slipping to her lips, then back up. A slow smirk curved his mouth, not the cruel one he used in business, not the charming one he pulled out for show. This one was quieter. Closer to real.

He leaned in just a little more.

Then came the knock.

Three sharp raps on the doorframe.

“You two decent?”

Ada’s voice cut through the moment like a blade.

Y/N jerked back in her chair, heat rushing to her face as if she’d been caught doing something she hadn’t even done.

Tommy straightened slowly, not looking away from her. The smirk was gone. What replaced it was something harder to name. Something held tight behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” he called, not loud. “We’re decent.”

Ada poked her head in, grin wide, eyes darting between them. “Well, don’t let me interrupt whatever this was.”

“It was nothing,” Y/N said too quickly. She cleared her throat. “Just work.”

“Right.” Ada’s grin didn’t budge. “You’re missing the part where Finn tries to charm the Americans. It’s going about as well as you’d expect.”

Tommy gave a short nod. “We’ll be out soon.”

Ada raised a brow but didn’t push. “Suit yourselves.” She ducked out again.

The silence came back, heavier this time.

Y/N stood, smoothing her skirt like it might help her pretend nothing had happened. Nothing almost had.

Tommy watched her. Didn’t say anything at first.

She didn’t meet his eyes.

“I should–” she started.

“Go back to the party,” he said softly.

She looked at him then.

“We’ll finish this later.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖