#I am screaming I am crying I am a wreck of emotions and feelings

[optiwashere]

It was not quite a circle, but a cog [...] Shadowheart gripped Asheera's wrist to steady herself. The cog's heat flashed on her cheek, glowing subtly with a faint red light. "A paladin without her oaths is nothing," said Asheera. "Without you, I am less than nothing. A cog without its matching pair."

I commissioned this from the lovely @raynhoro! It's my sweet Tav — Asheera (she/her) — making an oath to protect Shadowheart after the events of the House of Grief from one of my fanfics. She's been drawn so well, and her calm focus here matches exactly what I had in mind when I wrote Bend to Break to Mend last year.

Their faces, the touch...

Thank you so much for turning my terrible MS Paint mockup into this amazing piece 💜

[hinamie]

itafushi nation how r we Feeling!!!!!!!!!!!

[seventh-district]

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[waterfallofspace]

Finally getting around to watching season 4 of b/ungo s/tray d/ogs and um... spoilers so im putting it under a cut!! (not-snz-related)

just finished yosano's backstory episode! :D i am never going to be okay again! :D i knew some things already but actually seeing it play out! :D was absolutely soul crushing! :D

im absolutely finishing season 4 tonight, and im so in love with so many new characters, but uh... yeah just had to make a post because i literally shed tears- i don't think i'll ever be the same again~

[sk3l3t0n444]

I DID NOT PULL AN ALL NIGHTER FOR THISSSSSSSS- NO NO NO NONONONONONO I- TO ME THAT DIDNT HAPPEN AND THEYRE THE SILLY LITTLE OLD GAYS AND NOTHING IS WRONG

[purple-writer8]

The Archer - ACOTAR

Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

“I’ve been the archer. I’ve been the prey. Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?”

warnings: unrequited love, pining, evil thoughts, intrusive thoughts, lesser fae thinks shes not enough, self doubt, self loathing, ice powers, angst, mating bond

2.3k words

Part Three to Heather

Masterlist :)

You'd dreamt of being Azriel's mate for years and years and years. Ever since the day you met him, you lusted, yearned after him. You had been obsessed with being his mate for so long, you even forgot other males existed besides the shadowsinger. Every night, you had prayed to the Mother and to the Cauldron, asking them to give you the bond to him. Asking for them to make him yours. 

Your prayers were answered. Cruel, wicked mating bond. You felt it snap as you swirled to him, outraged at his threats and actions to the male that had groped you-- and that was when you felt it, felt him. His emotions running rampant down the bond, causing your heart to thunder wildly in your chest. 

Dreams were not real. You realized that when the golden string slithered around you and bound you to Azriel, and all you felt was dread. 

You dreamed of a beautiful reunion between your mate and yourself, dreamt of him confessing his undying for you-- dreamt of his shadows coiling around you in warm and lovely comfort. That was not happening. Your hands were trembling in an erratic manner, and suddenly you couldn't breathe. 

You stumbled backwards and away from the scene Azriel had formed, towards Feyre, whose brows were knitted together in confusion and concern. "Home," you choked out, drops of ice falling from your eyes in a painful manner. Your shaky hands reached for your face, it hurt to cry, hurt to breathe, hurt to exist. 

The High Lady did not need to be told twice. Feyre grabbed your hand and pulled out of Rita's, her Illyrian wings materializing as she pulled you into her and shot up into the sky. She did not ask what had happened, but for some odd reason, you gathered that she already knew what had upset you. Did she know about the bond? Did everyone know? 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why were you so stupid? So dumb? Everyone knew, he had probably told everyone, probably had already told them how he planned to reject it. He had known before you did, and said nothing. Hells, he had been lusting and panting after Elain just days before. This dream had wrecked you. 

When in the House of Wind, Feyre walked you all the way to your bed, her eyes running wild as she watched you squirm and cry out in pain. "Honey, what can I do?" She asked in distress, "you're in pain. Should I get Madja?" 

You were in pain. Emotionally and physically. Your ice powers were running rampant, uncontrollable, as you writhed on your bed. Ice crackled out of your eyes in a more than painful manner, and your fingertips burned due to the cold that freed itself from them. "I am fine," you croaked out, taking a deep breath, as if you had been submerged underwater. 

"Your eyes are bleeding ice!" Feyre exclaimed, her hands on her head as she paced the room, seemingly talking to Rhysand in her head. While your body combusted with ice, you could feel Azriel tugging at the bond in a frantic manner, and you knew he was on his way here. You couldn't bear it. 

"Madja is on her way with Rhy-" She could not finish her sentence, a scream erupted from her mouth when she turned back to you. 

Your eyes were entirely white, your back arched in an uncanny manner as ice covered your being entirely. So much pain, and you had no control. It was an out-of-body experience, and you only prayed to survive. Rhysand and Madja burst into your room not soon after, both of their eyes widening in bewilderment at your form. "Don't you dare touch me," you growled at them, your voice unrecognizable. 

You scrambled out of bed, though before you could get very far, Rhysand was grabbing you and Madja was pouring medicine into your mouth. In a second, you were knocked out cold. 

- 

After you were sound asleep with your powers controlled, Madja exited your chambers and was met by Rhysand, Feyre, and Azriel, who had been waiting for her to finish. "She needs to go home." Madja stated simply, her face stoic. 

"Home? She is home." Azriel growled as he paced the corridor, his shadows swirling around him in an intimidating manner. They had been going crazy ever since he left Rita's. Rhysand let out a soft exhalation, "this display of uncontrollable power has never happened to her before." 

"It sometimes happened on missions, when she was overwhelmed with emotions, but it was never like this..." Azriel stated, his expression one of sheer pain and anguish. The bond had calmed down once she fell asleep, but before that-- her pain had been haunting him. "And when she was mad at Cassian... but yeah, it was never like this." Feyre agreed, and Madja could only shrug. 

"She is a snowling. Her kind thrives in the Winter Court, where it is cold," the healer said solemnly. Azriel shook his head. This was all his fault, he had done this to her. "But she's been fine all this time, years. What changed?" Rhysand asked. 

Azriel knew what changed. He ruined her, just like he ruined everything in his life. 

"The emotional turmoil the found mating bond sent her into was too much for her to bear. Snowlings like her are usually wild and solitary fae. I bet she was not taught how to regulate her emotions, not like High Fae usually are. And this distress... must have made her explode..." Madja did not want to point fingers, but she could not help her gaze from travelling to the shadowsinger. 

"Let's let her rest, see where her head is at tomorrow morning." Rhys stated, and Madja agreed. Feyre then offered to take the healer home, leaving Rhys and Azriel alone in the corridor. 

Silence lulled between them. Azriel's shadows withdrew themselves back into him, all while he looked down at the ground in shame. Rhys eyed the shadowsinger, "I told you to tell her." 

Azriel gulped hard, his hazel gaze fleeting to Rhys and then back to the floor in embarrassment. "I tried... I've tried... I swear that all I ever wanted was to tell her, to take her into my arms and tell her of the love I feel for her. But she ran away. I kissed her... at our game night... I kissed her and she looked mortified." 

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he continued, "she was disgusted. And I tried talking to her about it, for the entire week. I knocked every night, but she wouldn't answer, and I realized... she didn't want me. So how could I tell her? How could I chain her to me?" 

"A mating bond is not a chain, Azriel. It is a connection, something wonderful and lovely." Rhys argued, his gaze stern and his tone unwavering. He was not having it. 

"Being my mate would not be wonderful and lovely, not to her. You should have seen her face when I kissed her... I love her, but I could not be selfish..." Azriel tried to get Rhys to understand him, but the High Lord did not budge. 

"I see right through you," Rhys stated, "you think you aren't good enough for her. But that isn't for you to decide. She had a right to know, had a right to choose if she wanted the bond or not. That girl has spent years loving you, Azriel. For a spymaster, you aren't very insightful." 

Rhys gave Azriel one more look of disapproval and then brushed past him, leaving him standing in the corridor alone. Azriel leaned against the wall and sunk down into the floor, not even caring for the uncomfortable position his wings were in. He buried his face in his hands and shook his head. How did this get so fucked? Why did he have to ruin something as good as this? 

-

You woke up the next morning feeling relatively better. Happy to not feel like your insides were exploding with ice and coldness. You sat in bed and took a small breath, reaching down that golden thread that tied you to Azriel and tugging on it. A mating bond. You and Azriel were mated, and he never told you. You jumped slightly when you felt him tugging back, and when you felt all of his emotions swirling inside you like a wildfire. 

Rage. Grief. Sadness. You seethed. What was he sad for? He was the one that would come out of this unscathed. You ripped the sheets off your body and were not pleased to find your legs covered in frost-- the veins under your skin shining black. Black ice, black ice that alluded to your anger. You beelined to your bath chamber, and the house had already prepared a steaming hot bath for you. 

Thank the Cauldron. You relaxed in the tub for what appeared to be hours, as you were unable and frankly unwilling to face Azriel. And it was grating feeling his emotions through the bond. After your bath, you dressed in your usual attire and slowly, quietly, made your way down to the kitchens. The house had placed a breakfast dish for you at the table, and you were about to sneak back up to your room when you saw a shadow dashing down the corridor and back to their master. 

You rolled your eyes, it took Azriel all of two seconds to appear in the doorway, preventing you from going back up to your room. "Let me explain." He stated, his voice void of any emotions and his wings tucked tightly unto his back. You thought sleeping would have calmed your heart, but once you saw him-- all the emotions rose within you. 

You shook your head, stepping backwards when his shadows tried to reach you, "what is there to explain?" 

"Everything, there is everything to explain," he answered, taking a step towards you, only for you to physically recoil away from him. "You knew about the bond, knew that we were mates, and you never told me..." you breathed out, your heart threatening to leap out of your chest as his shadows coiled around your hands in a possessive, protective manner. 

"I..." 

"You have been lusting over another female for two years and I have been wishing she were dead, wishing I were her... fighting over a fucking sweater... only for you to be my mate all along? And you knew?!" You shrieked, your emotions pouring out of you like vomit that you could not control. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you were spewing more words before he could even start. "Just reject the bond, reject me and get it over with, reject me so you could go be with Elain." 

"I do not want Elain... I want my mate..." Azriel said softly, a stark contrast to his usual hardened and rage-filled tone. "Now you want your mate?!" You scoffed angrily, chucking your breakfast plate in the trash. You were no longer hungry. 

"I have always wanted my mate," he stated simply. You seethed at his words. "How long have you known?" 

Azriel stilled, and you could see him Adams apple travelling down his throat as he gulped hard. "I..." he wanted to lie, because he knew you would never forgive him for this. "Since we met." He decided against lying. 

You felt a knife being plunged into your chest at this knowledge. He had known for centuries and never told you. Centuries in which he took lovers, in which he fawned over Mor, in which he decided not to acknowledge you as his mate. Azriel's face went from stoic to solemn, his hazel eyes stuck on yours as you remained still-- trying to come to terms with this. "Reject me. Please. Reject me now..." your words were a whisper, so low that he almost didn't catch them.

He stumbled forward, scarred hands reaching for your own, but you snatched them away. "Please... I... I... I have a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you... I love you... I swear..." you almost believed him, his eyes were so sad, his face looked so broken-- you could feel his honesty through the bond. But it wasn't enough. 

"You do not..." you trembled, stepping back and back until you hit the cabinets behind you. Tears streamed down your face as you recalled all that you felt for him for all the centuries you had known him. The longing, the sadness, the self deprecation. 

"I do, but I thought... who could ever love me? You've been my spy for centuries... you have seen my cruelty… seen what I am capable of." Azriel needed her to understand that it wasn't about her, it was about him. He was the problem. 

"And I loved you! I loved you for all that you were... I still do... but this is not... you… you have no idea what it felt like. Having to watch you pine over Mor and then Elain while I died, while I made myself think I was not enough for your love!" You wailed, your heart breaking further than it had already; if that was even possible. 

"You are good enough! Fuck!" Before you could even blink, he had thrown a punch at the cabinet next to you, making you yelp and flinch as the wood cracked under his powerful fist. He stilled, his arm falling to his side when he realized what he had done. How he had reacted. 

You blinked, unmoving. "I think... I think..." 

Azriel did not move, an icy rage settling over his expression, it made you shiver. "I..." he could not find what to say. 

So you nodded your head. "I need space." 

-

Author’s Note:

I just need her to be happy and not combust into ice

General Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @sheblogs

Series Taglist: @illiicits @dee-writes-smut @going-through-shit @saltedcoffeescotch @evergreenlark @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

[woso-dreamzzz]

Pernille's Princesse

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: A look back at your birth from Pernille's perspective

It was, ultimately, a good idea to visit the Wolfsburg team.

Pernille was feeling terribly bad, all fat and bloated. She feels restless too, which is what actually prompts her to drag her heavily pregnant self to the training grounds to get some fresh air.

She's talking with Nilla Fischer, Magda's national teammate, when it happens. She sucks in as pain flares before something that she's been predicting will happen soon, happens.

"Are you okay?" Fischer asks, having caught the wince.

Pernille grabs her upper arms. "My water just broke," She says plainly," Did you bring your car to practice? I'd appreciate it if you drove me to the hospital."

"Oh..er...yeah, sure."

Pernille keeps a tight hold on her emotions as Nilla bundles her into the car and sets off to the hospital. Mainly, because she knows that after she's made this phone call, she'll have to be the calm one of the pair.

"I'll be there soon," Magda's voice says in greeting, a hint of laughter within it," I'm just about to get on the plane."

"You need to call Emma," Pernille says casually even though she's gritting her teeth and squeezing Nilla's wrist over the gear stick.

"What?"

Pernille thinks that Magda might be a little slow today. "You need to call Emma." Her words are short and sharp and it's all she can do from screaming from pain. "And tell her that you'll be sitting the next few games out. You're busy."

"But I'm not?"

Pernille wants to scream and cry but she's trying to stay strong and not have a breakdown in Nilla's car. It doesn't quite work because she snaps at Magda. "You are! Because I'll be damned if I push your baby out and you run back to England a few days later."

She can hear Magda's sharp inhale of worried breath. "But...You can't be having her now! She's early!"

"By two days!" Pernille hisses as another contraction hits her. "I'll send you the hospital address. I don't care how you do it but if you miss this, Magda, I will not be happy."

She drops the call when Nilla pulls into an empty parking space, leaping from the car to help get Pernille out.

"Worried mama?" The receptionist lady asks as Nilla flaps about trying to get Pernille seen.

"Worried friend," Pernille replies as she fills in one last form, handing it back over the counter," The other mama is on a plane to get here right now."

The receptionist winces in sympathy and flags down a nurse to take Pernille to her room.

Nilla comes with her but after a few hours and a text from Magda saying she's landed, Pernille kicks their mutual friend out.

"You're hovering and it's stressing me out!" She snaps as another contraction comes through. "Go and wait outside for Magda!"

Nilla leaving gives Pernille time to calm herself, taking in long and soothing breaths as she rubs her stomach. "Come on, princesse. Just stay like you are for a bit longer or I'll have to kill your Morsa."

She doesn't need to worry though because, no sooner has a nurse confirmed that she's only five centimetres, does Magda arrive.

"Am I late?"

Pernille's lying back on the bed, hand still rubbing circles on her stomach. She deadpans," Does it look like you're late?"

Magda relaxes significantly before saying with a hint of laughter," I think I scared Nilla. I left all my luggage with her."

Pernille waves a hand dismissively. "She's got spare keys. The nurse said I'm only five centimetres dilated. We could be here for a few more hours. Have you called Emma yet?"

Magda's guilty face says everything.

"We have time," Pernille says," Call her now and tell her."

She's right, of course, because your grand entrance to the world doesn't happen until early in the morning. It's absolute hell pushing you out and Pernille's ninety percent sure that she's absolutely wrecked Magda's hand from how hard she was clenching it.

She definitely screamed as well and she also doesn't want to think about the fact that the doctor had a view of her the whole time.

"You did it," Magda says as Pernille slumps back against the pillows," She's here."

Pernille can hear you screaming and she smiles, absolutely exhausted. "She's here."

She watches as the doctor passes a bundle wrapped in your baby blanket to Magda.

You've gone quiet and you're absolutely beautiful, Pernille notes, when you're unwrapped and placed on her chest.

You're rooting immediately and Pernille can do little but stare in awe at you.

●～●～●～●～

Getting you home is easy and Pernille makes Magda drag the cradle into the main bedroom, so they can get you easily at night.

"Look at those legs go. You're going to be such a good addition to Sweden when you're older."

Pernille rolls her eyes as she sits up in bed, having taken a power nap. "You mean Denmark. I'm not raising my daughter to wear a Sweden jersey."

"We'll see."

Pernille picks you up and marvels, not for the first time, at how easily you fit into her arms. She moves to the rocking chair and places you in Magda's arms.

You both look so sweet together, so soft and loving that Pernille has to take a picture - immortalising the moment.

"That's getting framed," She says with a grin," I think I'll put it on my bedside table. So I can remember this moment with you and the princesse." She crouches down to make you wear the hood, caressing your cheeks.

"We need to give her a name soon," Magda reminds her but her eyes haven't left you," We can't keep calling her the princesse."

Pernille thinks of the list they made, the one taped up to the fridge door. They had been going back and forth for weeks. She bites her lip as the name she had heard recently comes to mind.

She hums. "I know it wasn't on the list," She says finally," But I like y/n."

Magda repeats it with a smile, looking down at you. "Is that your name? Are you a y/n?"

You kick your legs, slamming them into Magda and Pernille smothers her laugh.

"That's a pretty powerful strike, princesse." Magda looks up at her. "I think she's giving us her approval."

"I think so too. y/n Harder-Eriksson."

"y/n Eriksson-Harder."

Pernille scoffs and rolls her eyes. "We've got another day before the trip to the embassies. We'll argue about her last name later." Her hand ghosts over your head. "What matters right now is princesse has a name now."

"It's a very pretty name."

[wisteriagoesvroom]

📚 10 f1 fics i've loved lately 🏎️

been thinking a lot about how to organise fic recs into some sort of sensible post, 'cus there are so many (great!) pairings and (delicious!) driver combinations, not to mention so many varying styles of fic and SUPER TALENTED WRITERS!!111!!

just gonna list a bunch in no particular order, with accompanying pics, so you can get a sense of the vibes.

'cus what is f1 rpf but all about the ✨ vibes?! 🏁

p.s. people are in this community making amazing stuff for freeee!! if you liked these please leave a kudos or a comment, it makes a writer's day 🫡 

let's gooooo--

objects in the mirror by linearity (@drivestraight) charles/max. 87k words (series), rated t then e

listen. LISTEN! charles to rbr is one of the best premises ever and i will read it in like a thousand iterations. but this fic. this fic series in particular cleared my skin, made me want to cut my hair into a bob out of sheer emotion. i would be remiss not to start with this one because its impact on my f1 rpf trajectory should be studied by science. you know when a story just jumps off the page and it's so real that it becomes your canon. a kind of meteoric inevitability. plus, i almost never cry at fics. but by the time the third act of this one hit, i just went -- damn, am i rly about to tear up at a f1 rpf fanfiction rn? (yes.)

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sawtooth by nottonyharrison (@nottonyharrison) charles/max. 40k words, rated e

max as a f1 engineer? for CARLOS at FERRARI? sign me the fuckkk up. first off, awesome premise. there's always going to be something so heartwrenching about "what ifs", especially in any universe where max isn't a racer. despite the change of circumstances, just... the sheer poetry of two characters who just inexplicably find their way to each other in any universe... 🤧 also this story nails racing scenes in a way that's so visceral, i feel like a fly on the damn halo with them. and, aside from the gourmet lestappen, carlos's whole thing in this fic is joyous! spicy! he's so unapologetic and vaguely annoying! hilarious! + the swimming pool scene lives rent-free in my head.

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salt skin by peachbellini (@strawberry-daiquiris) oscar/lando. 12k words, rated e

this fic is magic. literally and figuratively. (MERMAID LANDO???? MERMAID LANDO.) the kind of story that makes you gasp and melt a little bit. and made me want to throw my phone at the writer, 'cause it's really that good. the yearning, the metaphor for all that's monstrous, a boy who is lost (and the boy who he finds, is equally so). this is just beautifully written and a little quirky and so well executed. i think i put it in my bookmarks as "what if lando was a mermaid and it was filmed by a24" or something. pearl of a story.

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hockey!! shrimp colors :) by leafmeal0ne (@ocontraire) oscar/lando. 13k words, rated t

leaf meal one. i have only known you a week but if anything were to happen to you i would wreck everyone in the room including myself. in all seriousness, anything that leaf writes is brilliant. they're one of these writers who could do a throwaway line on the label of a ketchup bottle and i will probably scream about it. the precision, the way they switch up sentence structures, the freaking darcy-level regency yearning transposed onto a contemporary sports setting. i'd rec all of leaf's sports AUs and i'll probably talk about more in a future fic rec post. BUT. the hockeyyy one my GOD. the barely restrained violence, their mutual desire, the theme of finding your place... *wails uncontrollably*

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you almost unearthly thing by anonymous max/daniel, 3.7k words, rated g

max is a governess(govern..lad?) and daniel is the mystery man at the manor. this was a response to a request i made in the kinkmeme! (if you haven't read those fics go check 'em out, there are so many great ones, and not necessarily all rated e). this is a criminally underrated little story that has my favourite repressed feelings + people dancing around each other + gothic vibes + "what the hell is wrong with y'all in this tale" combo that i really adore. it's really well written and captures the atmosphere so well.

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the so-called narrative by antimonyandthyme (@antimonyandthyme) oscar/carlos, 10k words, rated e

i'm once again asking why there are only 7 carlos/oscar works in the tag. I'M ONCE AGAIN ASKING-- *is sedated*. *jolts awake* okay but for real this is a great story. hot, fake-friendship-to-situationship which so happens is one of my favourite places to be. also hello miscommunication/they're so weird about it/they both want each other but can't express themselves for shit/insane racer boys energy.

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and silver, and samarium by pink_mink (@on-softs) george/toto, 5.2k words, rated e

i profess i am not usually the biggest fan of A/B/O (altho!! this fandom has made me go BUT ACTUALLY HM at least a few times). and this fic freaking nails it, along with the twisted power dynamics between TPs and drivers, as seen through the lens of omegaverse. this story rattles around my head like a stubborn ghoul just from the style and prose and sheer audacity alone. george kneeling at toto's knees while he's working..... ohhhhhhhhh i was this close to calling my lawyers.

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algorithm by anney (@badboy-george) charles/max, 16k words, rated e

i LOVE, LOOOOVE a sci fi concept alright. love that shit, will inhale it like moon dust with zero regrets. and what a fantastic one this one is!! the premise is that the FIA can now statistically show the compatibility of drivers on the grid and it's very pacific rim-y drift compatible, mixed with the surreal vibes of eternal sunshine or HER or some such. it should be outrageous, but it really works. that's the beauty of a great fic right there.

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trajectory of trojan asteroids by redpaint (@redpaint) nico/lewis, 3.3k words, rated g

also one of the fics i first read when i hopped on board the f1 rpf train. the pain and poignancy just gets worse the more i learn about brocedes. you know when you're like "there's no way this was reallll" and then you're like "fuck, it was so real". then you get a fic like this that just encapsulates all that rage and loss and grief and upset, set against the starry vista of endless space. *clutches tablecloth* god.

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p.s please bear in mind that these recs are entirely subjective! i enjoy loads of f1 stories but these are the ones that have especially stuck with me for some inexplicable reason.

p.p.s if your fic is on here and you want it taken off for whatever reason, i'm happy to, no questions asked 💛

BYE for now / until part 2. (i also love talking to ppl about fics so pls feel free to send an ask or hit me up in DMs or whatever.)

xoxo, -- wizz

[jhuzen]

// spoilers for dan heng IL ( and long thirst / ask hehe)

… .. .. back again with thirsts of deflowering the pretty dragon king… THE NEW LEAKS OF HIS ANIMATIONS MAKE HIM EVEN MORE ETHEREAL, I AM GOING FERAL. HIS EXPRESSION DURING HIS BURST…. THE ELEGANT SMUG LOOK. HE DESERVES TO GET HIS BACK BROKEN, LEGS TURNED INTO JELLY, TEAR MARKS STREAKING DOWN HIS BEAUTIFUL FACE.

i imagine the first time of "making love" to ( ahem. breeding. ) danheng il could go two ways, starting softly with gentle kisses on his forehead, slowly slipping off his intricate garments, murmuring adoring words of praise as you worship every inch of him… aeons, he'd probably start crying from uncontrollable emotions of feeling so loved after all the shit that has happened ( and arousal. the old dude would probably find "being taken in the most 'purest/bare state'" so exciting )…

…before slowly wrecking him as you grab him by his tiny waist (whore.) or intricate horns and pound into him while he screams, scrambling to grip any surface to stabilize himself before he goes truly brainless from your actions, undecided whether he should try bucking forward to 'get away' from the overstimulation or lean closer to you to experience more of that addicting pleasure. ( he'll probably end up choosing the latter. dragons are such greedy creatures. can you blame him for wanting more? )

.. throw in some dirty words about how he'll look so lovely when he's with child, how he'd be such a great mommy ( the logical part of his brain wants him to argue that it's not biologically possible, but he's too cock-drunk for that part to even work so he nods dazedly, letting out a whimper at your vulgar words [ and jokes on him, by the end he'll be bred so good that he bends biology ] ) … call him your mate to scratch that primal part of his brain… and maybe press the bulge on his stomach that's slowly forming as you continue to make a mess out of him.

Or you start off the session immediately acting feral and ripping his clothes off and going to town on him lmao.

EXCUSE ME?? THE ABSOLUTE AUDACITY. TO KNOCK ME OFF MY SOCKS AS I READ EVERY WORD. I AM. LICKING. THIS. UP. TOO GOOD. I LOVE IT.

just dan heng getting so impossibly flustered. imagine if this mf actually gets addicted to it, the subsequent sessions after-

DUDE. him desperately spreading himself open for you with his shaking hands to “help” you because you said you’re too tired to fuck him. oR HIM RIDING YOU, letting out these soft desperate whines because hOW THE HECK CAN YOU REACH THAT GOOD SPOT IN HIM AND HE CANT DO IT HIMSELF?

i’m addicted at the thought of him being such a helpless pillow prince. so dumb yet so eager. there is charm in every sloppy head he gives you, his inexperience showing because he’s an old ass virgin. he’s willing to learn but he just fucks it up every now and then, but he’s trying!!!

and i am here to spread my agenda about the motorcycle joke. his back completely bent because you’re holding his horns while you ruthlessly fuck into his cute little hole ajdisjdkc my mind is broken.

and i don’t want to be that guy but-

ajsijwdkc suckin on his tiddies while lactating if he ends up breaking his race’s biological code is giving everything.

[live-laugh-lenney]

Imagine baby Clarke coming to visit george on his tour, would defo be either a london show or Bristol, baby girl would be so confused but happy to see her daddy either way ❤️❤️❤️😭😭

pleeeeeeease, that's adorable!!

before the show, george can't put her down.

with george and max travelling for two weeks, all around the country, they deemed it unfair to make their little lady travel long distances to be able to be with and see her daddy everyday... so they decided that yn and baby girl clarkey would come and attend the most important show - the final london date in may.

he walks around backstage with her on his hip, showing her off to all his production crew, disappearing out on stage to show her just what daddy did when he wasn't at home, as yn stays in the dressing room with max and andrew and the two arthur's and he really takes in the moment before him. the empty shepherds bush venue, the set-up for their last show for the podcast tour, the way that the silence would soon before filled with the cheers and the screams of those that were excited to come and see him and his best friend waffle nonsense on stage for over an hour.

"you've been very quiet today."

he turns on his heels and looks into the wings of the stage, seeing his girlfriend stood with her very own useless hotline t-shirt tucked into her ripped jeans, a grin on his lips.

"i'm just feeling very happy today," he says, adjusting his daughter on his hip as she plays with the chain of his necklace hanging around his neck, "the last sold out show, the last night, and i've got all the best people in my life here tonight. my best friends, my girlfriend and my baby."

"you're not going to cry, are you? because i'm still an emotional wreck from having our little one so you need to pre-warn me if there will be any tears. she may be almost one but i'm still such a huge hormonal monster inside," she laughs softly, wrapping her arm around his waist and squeezing him against her side, "you deserve all of this, george. i'm so proud of you."

"it feels so surreal, still," he wraps his free arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her forehead, "thank you for being here tonight. i know it's tough with the little one and all."

"we wouldn't miss it for the world," she tells him and he can't wipe the silly grin on his face, "we'll be sat backstage, waiting for you to come back, so we can all celebrate for a bit. i'm guessing you're out after the show tonight?"

he nods.

"max has booked out a club for us. you sure you don't want to get a babysitter and come along?"

yn shakes her head and pinches her little girl's cheek, "you deserve to celebrate tonight, okay? i'll wait up for you though, in case you need some assistance up those stairs."

he chuckles softly and shakes his head. there's commotion that went on behind them as the crew continued setting up the stage, adding the finishing touches to everything before the show went ahead, and it felt like their moment to start moving backstage so they had the room to carry on. walking slowly back to the dressing room, greeting people on the way back, entering the room to see everyone tucking in to some pre-show pizza that had been brought in.

"pizza for everyone," max grins widely as he held a crust to a pizza slice in his hand, tomato sauce smeared around his lips and across his teeth, "grab it before the human dustbin grabs some."

he looks at george with a smirk and all george can do is rolls his eyes back at him, "i am not a dustbin. i just really love pizza, okay? and yn knows that already, idiot."

baby clarke gets a little agitated when george says goodbye and does a little wave in her direction, pressing a kiss to her forehead before a kiss is placed on yn's lips, and she cries for just a moment until arthur (frederick) takes her from yn, to which she passes her over, and gives her a little cuddle to fill in the void of missing her dad.

"come to your funcle, baby clarkey," he grins widely, setting her on his hip and forgetting the plastic cup full of his alcoholic beverage, "shall we go watch daddy from the side of the stage?"

"please be careful with her, okay?" yn warns him gently and arthur smiles softly, lifting up baby clarkey's fist and waving in yn's direction, "you're an idiot."

"i promise i'll bring her back soon, yn. she'll be okay with me," arthur promises and yn smiles softly, settling herself in the chair that was once george's as he got himself ready for the night, her eyes looking up at the television screen that showed what was happening out on the stage, "back before the interval, you have my word."

and once the show had ended, and arthur's performing his two songs to close out the night for everyone, yn joins them on stage with baby clarkey on her hip as they dance along to the music. joe is out on the stage first, followed by andrew, and arthur's a little reluctant to show his face out there until yn agrees to follow him out and he follows her close behind.

and as soon as george sees them, he's reaching for his little girl so he can have a little dance and a boogie with her, which leaves yn with max and andrew as arthur blasts his lungs out with his new song. and baby clarke loves every second of the time on stage; giggling, waving at people as george shows her what to do, kicking her legs out and it makes people in the audience absolutely adore the moment. xx

[po11yannaswife]

𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑁𝑜.𝐼𝐼 ๋࣭⭑𝜗𝜚

𖹭 𝑃𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑥𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𖹭 ;

𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐼𝐼 ; 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐼𝐼 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑖𝑟𝑐𝑎 1923-1924

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑖-𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠, 𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑎, 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟-𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑃𝑇𝑆𝐷.

𝐅𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟐𝟖𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟒

I cannot fathom what has happened the last two days.

I am now back in Small Heath and somehow, I'm finding peace in this shit of a place after being in the luxurious area of Warwickshire. Luxurious, yet probably the most chaotic place I've been in for a few years. Well, it was probably the events that happened to cause that. It's actually quite peaceful on the countryside. You can hear and feel the breeze run through your hair, the air smells fresh, the grass is green, there are trees. It's quite beautiful.

The wedding? It was decent. Lovely music, food, alcohol. If I must say myself, I looked absolutely gorgeous. The sapphire clips Grace gave me really were the icing on the cake. And, Polly was there.

But, the Russians had decided this would be a phenomenal day to begin business. It wasn't. I fucking couldn't believe my ears when I heard that the Russians were here, or whatever fucking Refugee. I don't even know if they were an actual refugee or a Bolshevik or a Russian. It's all just a mix. I'm pretty certain Arthur hates himself even more now because his Quaker wife has encouraged religion on him and..murdering someone isn't really, well, religious behaviour, I'd say.

The Russians are already on my nerves. They have left a bad taste in my mouth with just their appearance at a bloody wedding. Tatiana Petronova and her uncle and aunt have arrived in London from Russia, already, as they had to flee. She provided us with ten thousand dollars in cash without much protest, thank the gods. Now that's safe in the vault, which is why I'm back here in Small Heath. Unfortunately.

Ada currently thinks Polly is in love with me, which is absolute bonkers. I always say this when my hypothetical love life with Polly is involved, but what Ada saying is. Polly is completely attracted to men. She was getting fucking swarmed by them last night and I couldn't help but feel absolutely envious. It's normal for men to be like that, y'know, swarm a woman, flirt with her, all that. They get to do that without shame. Me? I'm frowned upon. It isn't normal. It's disgusting and sickening. I should've just danced with the man who offered to feel somewhat normal for once.

Now, I will not deny, I may be crazy, but I think Polly's flirting with me. I think I'm pushing too far with the word flirt. She's really close, borderline flirting. I think she really likes how I get jealous, even though I feel like I'm going to cry and scream and rip my hair out whenever I am. And Gods! This morning! Okay, that had to have been flirting! She was putting the cash onto me and she was handing me a wad to put in my garter, and I swear, that same..feeling came back when she offered to put it in herself. Her hand was running up my leg with that damn smirk. Her eyes, I can't even explain it. All I know is that I felt like I needed something. I am craving it ravenously, but I don't know what I'm craving.

This journal just chronicles my love for her, I swear. This fucking infatuation infuriates me. I hate it. I hate all of it. I love Polly but I hate this. I hate how in love I am with her and how it refuses to pass. I hate how I can't stand another flirting with her and making her smile and laugh. I can't stand how I, a woman, am in love with a woman. I can't stand how this has made me somewhat want to be a man so that I can have her without any of this wreck of emotion. This woman has made me want to take the barrel of my gun and push it to my head and pull the trigger. It hurts. No one understands how much this hurts. I've heard queers go to hell, and I think it's true. I am living my own pure hell that the devil himself has created for a disgusting being like me.

Bloody hell, I should really get a hobby or start working at the betting shop more.

With Love.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Dropping the pen, you flopped yourself onto your bed, lazily kicking your shoes off and getting under the covers. You extended your arm to yank the drapes shut and heavily sighed, finally closing your eyes to get a few hours to sleep. Your droopy eyes finally closed, muscles relaxed, and your brain finally went quiet.

The feeling of being woken up by a hand running through your hair was startling. Panic coursed through you, rushing to take root in your chest, and sweat beads formed on your forehead. Your heart raced once more, pounding against your ribs. The touch, though gentle, felt ominously unfamiliar when surounded in darkness. It almost transported you back to the war, resurrecting the old feelings of paranoia and chronic sleep deprivation. You felt as if you were back in those restless nights, dreading the moment a comrade might shake you awake at the slightest hint of danger. In that moment, you remained frozen, trapped in the grip of your own apprehension.

"Y/n, love," Polly winced as she heard your soft gasp, sensing the tension in your body and noticing your rapid, shaky breaths, which revealed your confusion about the situation and the identity of the person before you. "It's okay. Just breathe, sweetheart, breathe. It's Polly," she whispered soothingly, observing as you slowly turned to face her, inadvertently catching her hand in the process and nuzzling your cheek against it.

"How did you manage to get in?" you mumbled, enfolding her arm in your embrace as if it were a cherished stuffed animal.

Polly huffed, "You have a shit lock. All you have to do is shake the knob and it opens. I have a chair against it currently." You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. "Tommy was about to break the door. We were looking for you everywhere."

"I've been sleeping for a few hours. Give me a break"

Polly blinked, "You've been sleeping for three fucking days."

The statement woke you up right away and made you jerk straight up, staring at the blankets still covering you. Polly watched you as you realised, lighting a cigarette up. "I've been watching you for a few hours to see if you were dead..or dying."

"W- How-"

"Are you truly asking how, sweetheart?" Polly raised an eyebrow, knowing you also knew the answer to why and how you slept for so long. "Tommy and Grace worked you like a dog without bloody caring if you fucking slept. That's how."

You gazed at Polly, feeling somewhat content that someone had noticed how you felt and the treatment you were receiving. You sucked in a breath, "Thank you."

"For what?"

The room was quiet as you savoured the quiet moment with her as she sat on your bed, her hand inching towards yours and her gaze fixated on you while yours was back onto the blankets. Polly was concerned, but your next statement most likely had increased the emotion.

"For..for caring. Actually caring. Not only caring when I get hurt or threaten to leave..you actually care for me. It's odd."

Polly continued her silence while studying you, a burning cigarette between her fingers. Countless cigarettes were in the ashtray from Polly which had elicited a prominent scent of smoke through the room. You tensed up underneath her appraising gaze and gulped, playing with the rings on your hands. Your body felt awfully uncomfortable since you idiotically didn't change out of your outfit before falling asleep, the straps of your bra irritating you greatly.

Polly noticed, "I looked through your drawers. You have some of the most uncomfortable clothing, I swear," She rolled her eyes. "I brought some of mine here and I am having Ada bring you some from London. New ones."

"Pol, no. I don't want anyone-"

Polly put the cigarette to your mouth, almost like a pacifier to shut you up. "You're getting new clothes, whether you like it or not. Understood? I am no longer allowing you to wear this..rubbish." She put the sleeve of your dress between her fingers, quickly letting go in clear disgust. "We'll give it to the desperate."

"You are ever so kind." You said sarcastically, taking a drag of the cigarette before falling back onto your two pillows.

"Before you get relaxed, go change." She commanded, picking up a stack of neatly folded satin pyjamas, "I know you said gowns made you feel like your mother."

A giggle slipped from your lips as you took the clothing, standing up from the warmth of your bed after days. "Yes, you're correct. They do."

Polly still sat at the chair that was at your desk, continuing a book she must have taken from your shelves since you recognised the binding. You glanced at her yet she didn't notice, causing you to sigh.

Polly looked up with a confused look, "Are you going to change?"

"Well, um, yeah, but-"

"Are you too shy to do so while I'm here?" Polly asked in amusement, with a devilish grin that made your chest flutter. You felt your cheeks warm up as she chuckled, "Oh, love, aren't you just the sweetest..it makes me want to just-"

Polly didn't continue on, biting on the inside of her cheek to stop herself. She cleared her throat, "If you'd like me to go into the den, I can. But I'm assuming you'd need help getting those buttons undone." She nodded to the buttons on the back of your dress. You did need help, so you just turned your back to her instead of verbally expressing she was correct.

A sly smirk graced her lips as she stood up, gently undoing the buttons and exposing your back slowly. Her breathing slowed down when it was exposed enough, her eyes fixated on your smooth skin with scars. On the other hand, you were flushed at feeling how exposed you were, waiting for her to back away.

"Y'know, I can just," You took the shirt and unfolded it, laying it flat on the bed. You unclipped your bra and took your arms from the sleeves of the shirt, the dress laying on your chest. You took the shirt and put it over your head, letting the dress fall to your hips. You slid them off and stepped away from Polly, quickly sliding them onto you. "I used to have to do this as a child since we didn't have separate rooms."

"Mm." Polly hummed, a genuine smile curving on her lips seeing you in her clothes. And you couldn't deny they were much more comfortable than yours. The luxurious satin didn't irritate your skin or make you itch, and it was loose and flowy, not tight like a corset. "I have a bit more tits than you so it's a little loose."

"Christ, Pol! Will you shush?!" You shouted in a hush manner and instinctively folded your arms over your chest. Your cheeks were a bright pink as you looked away from her, "I have more than enough for your information!"

Polly snickered at your dramatic reaction, watching you plop back into your bed. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," You grumbled into your pillow. "Don't leave."

Polly nodded and sat back down in the chair, watching you curl yourself into a ball and close your eyes. She continued to read her book, occasionally glancing at you.

"How mad is Tommy?" You mumbled, frightened for her to answer since she really didn't hold back on the truth.

"Stop worrying about Thomas."

"I am unable to. He quite actually controls my life. I need to know if he is ready to fire me from my job and hold a grudge against me or give me more work."

"I'll handle him." Polly flipped a page of the book sharply. Polly narrowed her eyes as you rolled your own and sighed. "Do you not believe me?"

You lifted your head up once more, staring up at the wall that had met your headboard as you eyes flickered over the random imperfections of the paint. "I never said I didn't believe you, Polly." In the corner of your eye, you could still see her staring. "But. it is hard to believe Thomas would shrug off my incompetence to work off because you had ordered to do so."

"So, you're underestimating my ability to use my voice with Thomas? Do you think he has all the control?" The statement prompted you to turn your head quickly toward her, perplexed by her conclusion.

"I'm simply pointing out that he can be quite stubborn," you replied.

"Are you so ignorant as to think you understand my nephew better than I do?" Polly chuckled with amusement, leaving you unsure of how to remove yourself from the predicament you'd accidentally created.

"Y/n, how about this, hmm?" Polly closed her book and placed it on your desk, shifting her chair closer to you. "Let the woman who has been part of this company since long before you were born handle it. Would you prefer that, or would you rather face Thomas's anger?"

You let out a heavy sigh, closing your eyes in surrender. "I'll let you handle it."

Polly remained silent for a moment, appraising you with her gaze, her eyes shifting between the bed and back to you. "Good girl."

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟓𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟒

I sit here with my pen in hand, and I cannot drag myself away from the thought of Polly. It's as if she sits in my mind and dangles her feet over every other single idea or thought I have and overtakes it like the clouds shadowing the moon, taking away its purpose of glowing in the darkest of nights.

Unintentionally, I slept for three days straight in which I don't know whether to be impressed with myself or disappointed. I suppose I needed the sleep. Polly broke into my home if we are using logical terms here because everyone thought I was dead. Again, I am perplexed on whether that'd be an unfortunate event or the opposite.

In my foolish tendencies as I write this, I want to write all of Polly. Yet, I think that is completely obsessive and improper of me to do so. This is my journal. Yes, I know what you are thinking, me in the future. But the act is preposterous, not even a man who has married a movie star from Hollywood would write this much about her. Then again..it's probably for the sex.

Today I have decided to resume my duties for Shelby Company Limited. I really don't understand why it is called limited when Thomas states quite often that he has no limits. The irony is appalling, really. You kill and kill and rob and kill and fuck and your company dares to have the word "Limited" in it? Maybe I sound arrogant here since Peaky Blinders business is separated from the company. Why do I ramble so much?

I also may have made a mistake. I may have enabled John accidentally to take revenge on Angel Changretta on accident..I was tired. I just hummed and I think I agreed with his point. I mean, I do understand and I would most definitely agree if he weren't so violent. We really don't need more violence. Arson wasn't a great choice, I will not lie.

I pray that Polly has already had her talking with Tommy. I really don't want to be greeted with new bruising, whether to be on my heart and head or on my skin. I mean, how much could really be stacked up for me or expected? What's gonna happen? Am I expected to follow Thomas on a journey to London and share tea time with a Russian royalist?

With Love.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"I cannot believe you forced me to go to London with you to have tea with a Russian royalist."

The whispered statement caused Tommy to grumble something under his breath. The two of you stepped up the stairs which had led to the Ritz, wearing an outfit he had given you to look your greatest and poshest. A cream white, wool trench-coat was tightened around your waist with a line of buttons, black lace peeking through the neck along with the white satin gloves that decorated your hands. Your hair was curled just slightly as the ends with a string of pearls around your neck. Your heels clicked along the marble floors of the expensive hotel, feeling in place with the rich for once.

"You should feel on top of the world..girls with your background don't go on business in these kinds of places." Thomas stated, in which you had taken offence of that. You glared at him, digging your nails into his arm harshly.

"Are you saying if it weren't for you, my lord and saviour, I'd be some whore on the streets?"

Thomas cleared his throat as a sign he was done with this conversation, squeezing your arm as a reassurement? Or a warning? You couldn't figure that out. You smiled at the receptionist kindly as Thomas began to speak. "I believe you have a reservation for a private room under the name of Mr. Romanov."

The man briefly met your gazes, then cast his eyes downward, appearing visibly troubled. He proceeded to close his eyes, as if bracing himself for what was to come, overwhelmed by a wave of anxiety. He clicked his tongue, "You work for Mr. Romanov?"

Thomas stared at him blankly for a few seconds, leaving you to stand there awkwardly. "Yes."

"For his household or office?"

Thomas sighed heavily, glancing over at you quickly. "Is there a problem?"

The man couldn't look at either of you in the eyes as he began to speak, "I'm afraid without the presence of the Duke Mikhail Michailovich or Lady Lewington, we shall have to ask for payment in advance."

"May I ask why?" You questioned with a soft chuckle in disbelief towards the statement. God knows how much money these people wanted.

The man shifted his gaze to you. "Already, Mr. Romanov has four outstanding bills with us. One for accommodation and three for dining...and two banquets, which we wrote off. We've been asked to be understanding of our Russian friends by His Majesty..but it has been some time now-"

Thomas pulled out a hefty roll of cash from his blazer in annoyance and impatience. You stared at the ceiling before looking to your right, showing your own impatience. The roll of cash elicited a heavy thud, making the man immediately look down and clear his throat.

"..May I ask your name, sir? And you, madam?"

"Shelby."

"Both?"

You opened your mouth to correct it but once more, Thomas squeezed your arm. "Both. Thomas Shelby and Y/n Shelby. And in the future, we will be dining here quite a bit." He flatly confirmed. You looked at him with a perplexed expression.

"Then I shall put you both on our special list." His eyes flickered between you and Tommy, the tension between the three of you high.

"You do that."

"Here is a menu." He handed two menus to the both of you and you carefully took one with a sceptical look, not even shocked at the situation. "I recommend the teal and pork. Although, your guest, I'm sure, will order the caviar."

"Ew." You grumbled under your breath. You quickly smiled at the man again before being led through the glorious halls, still on Tommy's arm, seen now as a Shelby. Unsure of what to think of this, it felt powerful yet draining.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Sitting next to Tommy, you both stared into space as Leon rambled on the stupidest shit. "Myself and my wife and my niece travelled by train, then coach, then on foot through the Villa Ai-Todor in Crimea. On that journey I lost a toe." You pretended to raise your eyebrows in interest, and he smiled. "I don't know, I woke up one morning and it was gone. All of the sudden I saw a dog, and it was eating it." He shoved a piece of toast with the caviar on it into his mouth, causing you to slightly cringe. "They said the British had taken pity on us, and we were taken aboard HMS Marlborough. I immediately kissed the steel deck, my lips froze to it. And then, of course, I thanked God and your King for saving us." He paused, tilting his head. "Though since then, he has done nothing but humiliate me."

"Who? The King or God? Two people of power yet they differ, Mr. Romanov."

He smirked at you, shoving another piece of bread slathered in caviar into his mouth. "Sometimes both, Miss..Shelby." He looked over at Tommy, "So, you've met my niece already, yes? Tatiana." He paused his chronicles of shoving food in his mouth, "Are you in love with her yet, hm?"

Thomas stayed silent and so did you. "You would be wise to not love Russian women, you know. Ah, better not speak of Russian women," Thomas put a cigarette to your mouth, assuming his next words were most likely not going to be the most appropriate for your ears. "Mm, that is the worst thing about being here, Russian women, they know how to hold it and most important, they know exactly when to let go." He stood up to hand Thomas a lighter, which he had lit yours first. "Your cock, I mean. You understand what I'm saying too, Madam. Women are a variety with their practices." You stared at him, quickly taking a drag of the fag.

"English women, they do not know so much. You know?" He stared at you while saying this. You glanced over at Thomas in horror. Thomas stared daggers at Romanov who sat across from you both, a few seconds of silence echoing through the room. He changed the subject, "Did he die well, the spy?"

"He begged for his life like a coward." You replied, blowing the smoke from your lips. "We initially thought he was a Bolshevik, but his last words have left us contradicted."

"Those were?"

You glanced up at him while taking another drag of the cigarette, "He begged for the love of God."

Romanov paused for a second, nodding his head slowly. He stayed silent in which you squint your eyes, looking back at Tommy for him to continue the conversation. Romanov continued the conversation, "I heard you had your brother do the mission. So you trust your family, like me." He paused again, appraising Thomas. "Like us, Mr. Shelby."

Thomas raised his eyebrows and tapped his cigarette on the ashtray, "Let's talk about trust then, shall we?" Thomas put his cigarette back to his mouth as you watched him. "You are not a direct relation to the Romanov's, you are Georgian."

Leon didn't like the straight forwardness, clearly, as he gripped a glass so hard that it had shattered. You didn't jump but you had winced, taking a generous gulp of the alcohol that was given to you and chasing it with a puff of your cigarette. Leon carefully dropped the shards of glass and wrapped his hand with a cloth, and Thomas wasted no time to continue.

"And the palace where you live in Hampton Court is, in fact, a grace and favour house donated to you, rent-free by the British Crown." Leon looked distressed and frustrated, not willing to make eye contact with you nor Tommy. "The maître d' here, tells me that you are in some debt. Both here and other places, I'd imagine."

Thomas looked at you to continue, and you couldn't stop your voice from being slightly shaky. "We have been given 10, Mr. Romanov, but we were promised 40. Already, we have had to have a man killed. You do understand that that type of dirty work does not come for cheap, especially since it caused such a disturbance on such a significant day." The man couldn't even look at you, while you were trying to make some sort of eye contact with him by lowering your gaze. "You do understand our points here, yes? Or shall I explain in a more simpler detail?" The tone of your last sentence was borderline condescending, but he was acting like a child since he had gotten caught. You can't act like a child in business.

Leon shifted his gaze up towards you with his jaw clenched and his eyes full of pure..belittlement. Thomas and you stared back at him with the same energy. Leon began to stand up, "Let me tell you something, Mr. and Miss. Shelby," He dragged his seat all the way to the other side of the table, sitting next to Thomas. "Before we boarded the ship, my niece sewed 16 diamonds into her velvet dress, and she also had two sapphires in her intimate places," As Leon said this, he pulled out a perfect sapphire out of his pocket. Tommy's eyes fell onto the stone immediately. "My wife managed two sapphires and five diamonds. This is already for the killing of the spy and a down payment on future services."

Thomas nodded his head, looking like he was impressed. You leaned over to inspect the stone more carefully, your reflection bouncing off the sapphire. Tommy grumbled. "Now, tell me, where you keep these things? In a bank?" He lifted his cigarette to his lips.

Leon opened his mouth slightly, "How could we plead poverty around London society if we used banks, Mr. Shelby?"

Tommy nodded his head again, and you had decided it was you turn to speak. You sucked in a breath, "Well, you should know that Hatton Gardens isn't the mere safest."

"Which is why we have our own treasury, madam." He replied swiftly, glancing at you.

Thomas looked at you, eyeing Leon after a second. "Very well. I shall have my people check its veracity." Tommy took the sapphire from Leon's hand swiftly and put it in the pocket in his blazer. At the same time, you had reached out for the lighter to light up one last cigarette, which was a mistake on your part when your wrist was slammed down by Leon's hand. Now you were in an uncomfortable position, leaning halfway over the table and stuck. He glared at you, then Tommy.

"Before the revolution, we were soft and weak. We made compromise. But let me tell you. We will never be soft and weak again. Do you both understand?" The two of you had remained silent, silent agreement for one. Leon nodded after gazing at you both for what had seemed like minutes.

He lifted his hand off of your wrist, and you snatched it back to yourself. "Good day, Mr and Miss Shelby."

Thomas shook his head in silence, rising from his seat. He extended his hand to assist you, and you accepted graciously, all the while maintaining your intense gaze on Leon. As Thomas guided you, you both exited the room without exchanging a single word.

Upon returning to the car, you wasted no time, reaching out your hand expectantly. "Show me."

Tommy glanced at you, his eyes rolling before he handed over the stone. You took it carefully and inspected it closer as he began to drive out of London. Your eyes dilated at the stone.

"Is your hand okay?" Tommy inquired with a flat tone, casting a disgruntled glance in your direction.

"It's fine. Bit of a cunt move of him, though." you responded with a touch of disdain.

Thomas, in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the topic, hummed and said, "Ada mentioned she'd like to meet Anton again."

The unexpected statement prompted you to turn your head, and a chuckle escaped your lips. "Did you explain to her that the only way to do that is by taking her life to meet him in hell?"

"I told her it wouldn't be possible. She insisted he was 'nice'... as if we're in the business for 'nice'," he remarked as you retrieved a velvet bag and carefully placed the jewel inside, setting it on your lap. "She's too nice for these parts of business."

You let out a thoughtful hum, your brows furrowing as you examined your chilled, blue nails. "Any more information on the Changrettas?" you inquired.

Thomas grunted, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "The whole bloody feud has reignited, especially with John's fixation on taking out Angel. I had Polly try to talk some sense into him."

Your laughter bubbled up again. "You boys, still clinging to your youthful misbehaviour, need your dear aunt to rein you in. Quite entertaining, really."

"And you haven't gotten almost killed by her for misbehaviour?" Thomas met your gaze with a raised eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes and shifted your attention to the cold, frost-covered window. "She was just overreacting," you mumbled. "John risking starting a war is something worth to be talked of. We can't trust John to not do so. We cannot handle Sabini's chronicles. The Changrettas." You shook your head, beginning to light up a cigarette. "Too violent, these Italians."

"Like we can't fucking handle them. We run the fucking city."

"With that attitude of superiority and arrogance, we will get run over by them." You replied sharply, taking a drag of the cigarette. "John carries the most of those traits."

The rest of the car ride was silent, between the smoke of countless lit cigarettes and huffs and puffs. By the time you had gotten home, you were already exhausted enough to sleep for a week straight.

Entering the house, you dragged yourself right to your bedroom, snatching the bottle of whiskey from your desk and taking a lazy swig. You fell back onto your bed, wincing at the springs felt through the mattress. You stared at the ceiling, desiring to close your eyes and succumb to exhaustion, but you couldn't. For some reason, you knew it'd be a waste of time even trying.

And you were right. Hearing your door burst open, you immediately jerked up and your hand flew to your desk for your gun, cocking it instantly and backing into your bed. The footsteps were familiar though, still, your gun was aimed at the closed door to your bedroom.

Thomas opened your door more gently, letting it slowly swing open. His tongue was poking through his cheek, blinking at your position. You glared at him, dropping your gun and head. "What. Now?"

"Family meeting."

"One, am I really needed? And two, you broke into my fucking house just for that?"

"Yes and yes. Now, come on. Bring the whiskey." He pointed to the bottle on your desk before leaving the room. You quickly stood back up, taking the whiskey and putting your gun tucked into your garter. You ran after him as he strode much quicker than you, confusing clear.

"What is going on? You dropped me off forty fucking-"

"John."

And that's how you knew he didn't listen.

There you sat, nervously puffing on a cigarette at the table inside the betting shop. The floorboards creaked beneath you as Arthur paced behind, creating an air of tension. You occupied the left end of the table, with Polly closest to you, engrossed in her reading. Occasionally, you noticed her glances, which you acknowledged. Your chin rested in your hand, and your heel tapped an anxious rhythm on the floor.

Finn and John made their entrance, with John sporting a noticeable air of guilt. Everyone's attention turned to them, and Polly closed her book. "All right, Finn. Thanks for coming, now fuck off," grumbled Arthur.

Finn started to walk away, but Thomas stormed closer, asserting, "Finn, you can stay." The boy turned around and leaned against the wall beside John, who was then instructed to take a seat. "Sit down, John. Sit down," Thomas commanded, his tone sharp.

There was a moment of silence and you cursed silently when your cigarette burnt out. "John, you cut Angel Changretta." John huffed, and Thomas sharply inhaled. "Even though Arthur told you to apologise," Polly noticed your struggle as your lighter wasn't lighting up, putting down her cup of tea. "Polly told you to compromise. Y/n told you to compromise before them. But, you didn't listen to Mr. Apologise or Mrs and Mrs Compromise. And now I've got an Italian walking around in my backyard saying he's going to kill my brother." Thomas paused, and you were still fighting with your lighter.

"So what do we do, John? Do we apologise, or do we compromise?"

John puffed his cheeks out, not knowing what to say. You stared at him, pausing your lighter shenanigans to do so. "Oh, it was just something John said as a joke." Arthur defended. Polly, Tommy, and you all glared at him.

"Yeah, but he's your brother too, Arthur." You stated with a cigarette still in your mouth that was not burning.

"Yeah.." He mumbled, "I know I didn't want to start a war over something John said without meaning it.

Thomas looked to the side in utter frustration. He was lost in this conversation. He blinked for a moment blankly before looking back at all of you, using his hand to help him speak. "So, should he apologise in Italian or in English?"

All of you now stared at Tommy, and your desperation for a lighter was worse. You gazed at him in disbelief, your eyes fluttering shut. Polly seemed to be disappointed, Arthur didn't know what to say and neither did John. Thomas squinted his eyes and mockingly said towards Arthur, "Or should we ask them which fucking language they prefer? I'm not clear enough."

Polly seemed to have enough and moved in her chair, pointing a finger. "You said while this business was going on in London, you wanted peace at home."

"The only way to guarantee peace is by making the prospect of war seem hopeless. If you apologise once, you do it again and again and again. Like taking fucking bricks out of the wall of your fucking house." Thomas explained while Polly continued her looks of disbelief, shifting her gaze at you. "Do you want to bring the house down, Arthur?"

Arthur grunted, and Thomas continued. "If you're soft on rebellion, it'll grow."

You winced when Arthur stood up, "Bloody "soft on rebellion"."

Thomas turned to John and nodded, "You did the right thing, John. Now, we go on the offensive. We'll take control of two of the Changretta pubs tonight. That's our plan."

Polly chuckled sarcastically, her tone sharper, "Oh, really? For heaven's sake, why?" Her voice now carried more frustration.

Tommy abruptly halted and turned back, clearly taken aback by her question. "Hey?"

"Why?" Polly persisted.

You let out an exasperated mutter, dropping your head onto the table, a sense of resignation washing over you.

Tommy responded forcefully, "Why? Because we can, Polly! Because if we can, we will. And if we lift our heels off their necks now, they'll just come after us, and that includes you!" He pointed at you, and you glanced over at him without saying a word. His booming voice left your ears ringing. "Remember, these are the bastards who wanted Danny Whizz-Bang dead."

Thomas locked eyes with Arthur, who had resumed pacing. "You're getting soft, brother. Soft and weak. Save the Bible for Sundays, all right?" The tension in the room sent shivers down your spine as their stare-down continued. The silence seemed to stretch on for hours before Thomas finally spoke again.

"Finn, I need to go to Hockley and then head home. It's been a long day." Finn promptly exited the room, focusing his attention on Arthur.

Thomas turned to John, reiterating, "You take the Wrexham, and you take the Five Bells. Get them signed over to us by morning, and make sure the coppers stay away." He began to leave but turned back, adding, "And don't use the fucking phones, all right? There's someone listening, and I can't afford another screw-up."

And with the subtle insult, he left the room. And then Arthur.

All who was left was you, Polly, and John. Your head was still resting on the table as you heard Polly loudly slurping her tea, glaring at John as a way to tell him that he fucked up. Soon after, he left the room, leaving you two alone.

Polly sighed before closing her book once more, turning her chair towards you. Her fingers went for the cigarette that was next to your head and put it between her lips, taking her own lighter and lighting it up. She then, gracefully, put it to your mouth, waiting for you to latch on.

You glanced up at her, her eyes already on yours. You took the cigarette and leaned your head on your chin, taking a drag of the cigarette. "Thank you."

Polly ran her fingers through her hair, humming. It was silent between the two of you as you both smoked, occasionally taking sips of your whiskey. Your stomach had begun to grumble, even with the hearty meal of cigarettes and alcohol. Note the sarcasm.

"You should stay at my place for the night," Polly stated abruptly, causing you to look up at her. "For your safety. It's safer at my home, and you'd have a bigger room and lavatory. I don't need you getting caught up into this mess."

You blinked, speechless for a moment. "You're worried for..me? Getting into messy business?"

"Yes," Polly replied, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I regret to inform you that it's a bit too late to be attempting to do so. I do, wholeheartedly, appreciate the consideration, though." You stated with a warm smile and regretful tone with a slight chuckle, not attempting to sound snarky though it slightly sounded like it. Polly stared at you, your warm smile quickly dissolving into a regretful frown.

"Then you can go back to your place, where the door can open with a single kick and the windows are as thin as you." Polly stated, looking back down at the newspaper in front of her. You stared at her now, rolling your eyes.

"I'll manage, Pol. Thanks though."

Yeah. Manage by pushing your dresser against your bedroom door, sitting up straight in your bed against your headboard, your gun laying right next to you which was loaded and ready, god forbid.

With the blend of working with the Russians and the "business" that was occurring currently, your fears increased more and more, and sleep had become something that was almost a treat. If you got to sleep, you were lucky. Instead, you were here, waiting until the sun began to peek from the windows.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"We need to talk."

Here you stood in front of Tommy, visibly concerned. Thomas Shelby was distressed. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples, his breathing was slightly ragged, and he couldn't stop fidgeting with his hands as he sat at his desk. It was past midnight, your hair slightly drenched from the rain, and your clothes messily thrown on. The four words he had uttered over the phone had brought you here, in front of him.

"What happened, Tom?"

He sucked in a breath, pursing his lips, his eyes fixed on his desk. "They got in."

"You've got to be more specific there."

He looked up at you, then took a card out of his pocket and handed it to you, avoiding your gaze as you read it. You needed to double-take, frozen as you saw "Charles Shelby, R.I.P" on the back of a crematorium card. "Found that under Charles's pillow."

"Who-"

"Hughes. He's most likely as dangerous as the Russians," he cut you off. "He took me to a fucking clandestine location. Hughes knows about our dealings with the Russians," he paused, gritting his teeth. "He wants us involved in the Economic League."

"You can't be serious?" Thomas finally looked up at you, and your heart sank.

You took a deep breath and sat down on one of the leather seats. "Does Grace know any of this? Does anyone else?"

"No."

"So why are you telling me, Tommy?"

"Because I knew you'd understand the situation faster than Arthur or Pol." Thomas bit his fist, leaning back in his chair. "Hughes will kill us all if I don't do this."

Wide eyed, you sat there with your hand covering your mouth as he continued, "He wants our power and to have control over the business and us."

"Surely he can't, Tom." You stated quickly, adjusting yourself in your seat so you were leaning forwards.

Thomas shook his head, "He and fucking Scotland Yard raided the fucking betting shop today, and he got a fucking funeral home card under my sons fucking pillow." His finger pointed at you and the sound of rain hitting the windows was the only sound interrupting the silence. He stared at you, "So what else can he do?"

Silence. Rain pattering. Clocks ticking. Fire crackling. That is all your brain could hear as your eyes slowly trailed back down, falling back into your seat, trying to come up with a solution. But, there wasn't any in sight. Not any that you nor Thomas would be happy about.

"He will take down the business, the family, our political stance, everything, if I don't do this." He finally stated, cracking his knuckles and clearing his throat.

Glancing up at him, you gulped. "You have no one else to convince but yourself, Tom. You're the boss, here, yeah?"

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟒

Sometimes I really ask myself, was associating myself with this family worth it? I hate asking that question, because they have saved me. But, am I so wrong for questioning the arms that saved me from one extreme situation, bringing me to another extreme?

John Hughes has become more violent and more dedicated to getting what he desires. He has successfully frightened Thomas, which not every man can do, I can assure. And no doubt, I am just as frightened. I don't know how much he is capable of, though, I do know it is a substantial amount, because he somehow got a crematorium advertisement card under Charles' pillow. Whoever works for him is skilled, and I do not know if he have dealt with this type of situation before.

I have not spoken to Polly about this. Thomas confided in me and I respect that. The burden is heavy on my mind, but I do have a busy day. Grace and Tommy are hosting a charity gala, and I'm more so excited because I do not have to help host. I can simply get ready, and talk to people. Isn't that wonderful?

I hope tonight is a break from everything around me.

With love.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

With that hope in mind, you continued your day, the night announcing itself and your glamoured up self showing up in the mirror once more, the repeat of the sapphire clips in your hair weighing less than the burden on your mind. An ivory dress covered your figure, sheer light pink lace covering the skirt of it that had lightly grazed the floor as you walked.

You sped into the car that was awaiting you, adjusting the straps of your heels when you got in. As always, the drive was quiet, not having much interest in communicating with the driver. You gave him a tip as you left the vehicle.

The sounds of people chattering and laughing greeted you along with the warm lighting of the big room, entering in timidly. Your eyes searched for familiar faces in the crowds, finding a few and offering a small smile at them if they even saw you.

You turned your head to the waiter who was circulating with glasses of champagne and gracefully took one. In doing so, you noticed Polly admiring herself in the mirror. Unbeknownst to you, she saw you observing her as well, until her eyes met yours in the reflection. Her smile slightly faltered, not into a frown, but as if she was thinking. After a few moments she had turned around, her smile once returning.

"Look what the cat dragged in," She teased as she walked towards you. You smiled, relieved, and mesmerised by her.

"Hi, Pol." You greeted softly as she gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, "You look gorgeous. The gown and yourself."

Polly stepped back and grinned at you, taking a glass of champagne while her eyes appraised you approvingly. "Same to you, darling." Her lipstick printed on the glass, your mind unable to stop the thought of desire of her leaving her print of lipstick on your neck..and the fingers grasping onto the glass to take off the ever so uncomfortable dress-

"Oh, god."

"Hm?"

"I don't like that look."

Polly's statement prompted you to follow her gaze. When you did, you locked eyes with Thomas, whose cold stare held yours with an intense grip. His gaze then shifted to Father Hughes, who had just entered the room and was helping himself to some champagne. Polly observed you closely, noting the colour drain from your face and your body language change almost immediately. You watched as Thomas walked over to the doors of another room, and your eyes fixed straight ahead once he was out of sight.

"And I don't like that look either," Polly quipped, her tone lowering a few octaves. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"Nothing." You had said that it was a bit more high pitched than normal, avoiding Polly's burning gaze. Her eyebrow was raised as you timidly looked at her, taking a huge gulp of your champagne. "I'm going to go get some more of this..you have some fun, yeah?" You trailed off without another word, feeling Polly watching you as you moved.

As you were walking deeper into the crowd, you accidentally bumped your shoulder into somebody, leaving the leftover champagne in your glass to splash onto your dress. You gasped, immediately turning to apologise.

"Oh, Y/n! God, I apologise." Grace had stated softly, taking the glass from your hand trying to figure out what to do.

You put a hand up, "It's alright, it'll dry. It was my fault anyway," You laughed off nervously, turning your head to a jewelled up, gorgeous woman in front of you.

Grace had put her hand lightly on your back, "This is Y/n, Y/n, this is Duchess Tatiana Petrovna. Isn't this wonderful?"

You awkwardly smiled, looking away briefly, "Jesus Christ.."

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Y/n." Tatiana stated with a hint of amusement in her voice. "I've heard of you."

"Is that right?" Your voice cracked, "Can say the same for you!"

Tatiana was getting ready to say something when Thomas joined in on the conversation. You glanced at him and he glanced at you, noticing your slightly wide eyes. He looked over to Grace, who excitedly introduced Tatiana to Tommy, who cleared his throat. "Come on Tommy, aren't you impressed to meet a real duchess?"

"Well, I understand they charge a fee."

Tatiana was taken aback, lightly gasping. "Mr. Shelby, you are very direct."

"Too direct," Grace commented. Your nails dug into your elbows, the tension making you desperate to know what had occurred in the other room with Father Hughes.

"But it's true. I attend these events for the champagne... and for the chance to be treated like a duchess again." Tatiana turned her attention to Tommy. "You should have kissed my hand, Mr. Shelby."

Thomas paused, his gaze shifting from Tatiana's eyes to her outstretched hand and then back to her face. "Forgive me," he said dryly. He took her hand and kissed it, the gesture stiff and mechanical. Grace and Tatiana maintained unbroken eye contact, the air thick with unspoken tension.

"She was asking about my sapphire," Grace continued.

"I thought I recognised it," Tatiana replied smoothly. 

Yeah. Because you had it in your intimate areas, Tatiana.

"She said it was Russian. My husband has business in Russia... perhaps you know about it, Tatiana?" Grace's words were edged with suspicion. You bit your tongue, unable to contain your anxiety. You grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a long drink. Tatiana watched you with wide, amused eyes, while the waiter glanced back, slightly confused.

The awkwardness in the room was palpable, each second stretching longer as the unspoken words hung heavily in the air. "Well tonight is not about business, eh?"

"Is that why you were in the concert hall for about 10 minutes?"

"I think people are ready for dinner now, Grace." You gave a fake smile to Tatiana, who was listening to the conversation.

"No, no, I'm not done pumping people for money."

Tatiana cocked her head, "What is 'pump for money'"? Her Russian accent thickened with a small smile.

"It's what I do everyday." Thomas cut in, bored at this point and wanting the conversation to be over. And you couldn't lie, you wanted it over as well.

"You know each other, yeah?" Grace questioned knowingly, "You see, I am in charge of compiling the guest lists, but it is my husband who seems to know all of them."

"I hear he is very well connected."

Grace gritted her teeth, her frustration coming to the surface, "Now where does a duchess hear that?"

"In certain circles!" Tatiana answered almost condescendingly and you had laid your hand on Grace's shoulder, gently holding her back.

"Alright, that is enough. Ada?-"

"Grace, there is a Lady Dowager who wants to talk to you about coffee mornings. She had mentioned a 2,000 pound cash donation." Ada spoke softly so her words were only a whisper, and that had convinced Grace to finally leave the conversation, giving Tatiana a nod.

Finally, you could turn your attention to salvaging your dress. You tried to soak up the spilled champagne, looking around for a cloth. The conversation behind you continued, but you were more concerned about saving your dress from stains—it was far too nice to be ruined.

A few seconds later, you felt a cold hand grip your shoulder hard. Instinctively, your hand readied to swing at whoever had grabbed you, until you heard Thomas's urgent voice, "That fucking sapphire needs to get off Grace, fucking now."

"What?" you responded, your concern piqued by his tone. He released you, his eyes scanning the room for Grace. Without hesitation, you followed, lifting the skirt of your dress and speed-walking through the crowd, your eyes fixed on the familiar sight of her soft blonde hair.

By the time you reached them, Tommy was already with her, but his attempts at persuasion were failing as she twisted and turned away from him.

"Grace," You said, stepping down the stairs and moving through the crowd as they all raised their glass. "Please, let me take the necklace off. Please."

Grace turned her head, "Oh, are you trying to give it to Tatiana too?" Thomas took her chin and said a few words to her, and you stood there awkwardly, trying to manoeuvre how to get it off as easily as possible. Then they started kissing, and well, that had made it even more awkward.

"Hey, loves, I'm just going to-"

"Shall we go inside?"

"Can I please get this off?" You almost cried, beginning to get frustrated.

"You can once we get inside."

There was no inside.

There was none.

Life flashed before your eyes as you looked over Grace's shoulder, watching as a man with a gun pushed Polly out of the way, and yelling the words 'For Angel'.

he gunshot echoed through the room, reverberating off the walls. In an instant, Grace's weight collapsed into yours, pulling you down to the cold, unforgiving floor with the dying woman cradled in your arms. You could barely process the sight of Thomas still standing, a few drops of blood staining his glove. He quickly knelt beside you both, his face a blend of shock and desperation.

Your chest heaved, each breath a struggle. The sounds around you blurred into an unbearable cacophony. Your vision was a disorienting mix of brightness and haze; it felt as though you could see everything and nothing all at once. Amid the chaos, your gaze remained fixed on Grace's face. Her once-pristine dress now a vivid stain of red, a horrific contrast against her pale skin. Her blue eyes, the same eyes that had so captivated Thomas Shelby, now locked onto yours, a haunting mix of pain and fading life.

Desperately, you pressed your hand against the wound, trying to falter the relentless flow of blood. But it was useless. Panic surged through you, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. You felt as though you were drowning, submerged in the deep, endless ocean of Grace's eyes, unable to surface. Your body shook uncontrollably as you watched the life drain from her, helpless to stop it.

Thomas's voice cut through the fog, screaming for an ambulance, his cries filled with anguish. Around you, the room descended into pandemonium. Guests scrambled to escape, their footsteps a chaotic drumbeat against the floor. In the midst of the frenzy, Arthur and John were a chaos of fury, mercilessly beating the man who shot her to death.

Nothing made sense. The world was spinning out of control, a nightmare from which you could not wake. The weight of Grace in your arms, the spreading pool of blood, the frantic movements and screams. all of it melded into a surreal, horrifying picture. It felt like the ground had vanished beneath you, leaving you suspended in a hellish void.

Tears burned at your eyes, watching helplessly as Grace's blood soaked through your dress. You were powerless to stop it. Frozen like a deer in headlights, you held onto her, feeling her weight pulling you to the cold, unforgiving floor. You finally lifted your head to look at Thomas. He was silently crying, his face resting in her stomach, his hands shaking. The act of breathing became a torturous burden, each gasp for air was a agonising struggle that only deepened the ache in your chest.

Drowning. You were still drowning.

A gloved hand grasped your shoulder—Polly. Her eyes locked onto yours, filled with sorrow and urgency. She watched as you drowned in despair, unable to tear your gaze away from Grace, her blood seeping into every fibre of your dress. Your body shook, consumed by shock and the suffocating weight of grief, each breath a desperate gasp that never seemed to be enough. 

"Someone fucking get me somebody! Somebody!"

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"She passed on."

You sat on the edge of your guest bed. You couldn't move without Polly basically dragging you. Your hands clawed at each other, yours and Grace's dried blood mixing. You were silent, because there were no words you could say.

"Is there anything I can do, Y/n? Anything?" Polly questioned calmly, her hand stroking your hair back.

"Get me out of this fucking dress." You whispered so, so quietly, Polly could barely understand what you were saying. Nonetheless, she nodded. "Just, just get me fucking out."

"Are you sure you want m-"

"Get me out of this fucking goddamn dress!" you screamed, abruptly standing up and frantically trying to undo the zipper yourself. Your hands shook uncontrollably, and tears streamed down your face. Polly quickly intervened, trying to calm you down.

"Y/n, Y/n, look at me." You felt her tight grip on your shoulders, her hands moving to your wrists to hold your hands in place. You stood in front of her, repeating the three words. "I know, okay? I know. But, you need to stay still so I don't hurt you even more."

You were drowning again, Grace's eyes haunting you already. You couldn't breathe, god, were you even worthy of breathing right now? Grace was gone. She was gone. She died on your dress, your body. The feeling of her weight being pulled off of you repeated. You kept sinking in these thoughts, until you heard a sharp yell of your name.

"For god sake, look in my eyes. Look."

Polly's voice snapped you out of the drowning. Brown eyes, hers were brown. Brown like the wood you burned for fire that had kept you alive in the winters, or brown like the coffee you sipped on in the morning to keep you awake for the day. Polly's eyes were brown. You stared into them, feeling the ability to breathe again slightly. "I'm right here. You are here." Her voice slightly cracked, her one hand leaving its grip from your wrist to wipe the tears off your cheek. "You are safe, love. It is just you and I."

Polly watched as you swallowed, unable to say much except for your slight nod. Polly sighed, dropping her head. "May I please, please clean you up? I can't allow you to sleep like this."

Your hands were dried with Grace's and yours blood, and so were your arms. Your neck was stained red from when the gunshot punctured Grace. It looked like you had just murdered someone, or you survived a brutal murder.

You blinked tears away, giving a gentle nod again. Polly let out a sigh of relief, "Okay. We're just going to go across the hall, yeah?"

The feeling of when your dress was pulled off of you by Polly was a wave of emotions going through you. And entering the hot bath made you wince, covering your chest with your hands and your knees to your chest as well. Polly kneeled beside the bathtub with a rag in hand, gently moving your hair out of the way to scrub the blood off of your neck first.

"You know, I've never understood how one's life could end...so quickly. Even with being in this business for years," You spoke quietly, water trickling down your shoulder. Polly gazed at you, "How does a rich life end in an instant to a single bullet?"

"I don't know, sweetheart." Polly scrubbed at your collarbones, "I'd say it is a part of God, and what he plans for us."

You sat quietly, listening to water trickling and voices from downstairs. Polly breathed calmly, watching you think. You thinking at that moment was a bad idea, because the question that was voiced from your mouth had devastated Polly.

"Why couldn't the bullet hit me? I'm not a mother, a sister, anything..why couldn't it be me, Polly?"

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Days went by and you never left the bed except to go comfort Charlie who was only across the room. You had missed the funeral, you couldn't bear to look at her again. More guilt would rush back, and you couldn't handle that. Thomas hadn't even spoken to you since the gala, and you didn't even know if you were ready to yet.

The days were dark and gloomy, the sound of rain pattering against your windows heard much too often. When you weren't sleeping or sobbing into your pillow, you stared outside, wondering where Grace was, wondering if she had forgiven you and Thomas. Did she hate you? Did she hate the fact that you had to comfort her baby and she couldn't? You knew you had despised yourself for that, so no shock would appear if she did too.

The gun placed on the dresser across the room had caught your eye too many times to count, the more you gazed at it, the more you wanted to use it against yourself. But that'd be terrible, wouldn't it? Finding another bloody scene in Thomas Shelby's very own home, where you'd lie in your puddle of misery and desperation to get out of your mind. It'd be horrific when someone found you in that puddle. God, could you even imagine?

You didn't want to. And that is why you always tore your eyes away from the weapon.

The sound of Charles patting on the door caused you to stand up, grasping onto the wall for a slight second to recollect yourself from dizziness. You opened the door wide enough so you could pick him up, bringing him into your bedroom and laying him next to the pillow you slept on. He gave you a wide grin as you got into the bed with him, playing with a wooden toy he had left in the room hours before.

"Car."

"That's right. It is a car." You commented tiredly, giving him the best smile you could. "And what's this?" You picked up a wooden cat, his eyes brightening.

"A cat!"

"Exactly, kiddo."

"Where the fuck is my son?!" Thomas's voice boomed from the hallway, which your head snapped towards. Next thing you knew your door handle turned and then entered Thomas, obviously panicked. He saw Charlie and took a deep breath, standing in the doorway.

You didn't say a word to him, picking up Charlie and saying "Go with your daddy now, and tell me how many cars you see when you get back, yeah?" Charlie smiled brightly again as you handed him off to Tommy, giving Charlie a small kiss on his cheek. Tommy stared at the floor for a moment, holding Charlie in his arms.

Thomas cleared his throat, not saying anything, only giving a curt nod as he left your bedroom. Your eyes trailed down as the door closed.

The silence was exhausting, well, everything was exhausting. Each step across the creaking floorboards felt laborious as you made your way to get your pack of cigarettes and lighter. Struggling with the lighter once again, you eventually succeeded in igniting the cigarette. Standing there, you began to rock back and forth on your heels, your gaze drifting toward the window.

Suddenly, a glimmer caught your eye, the bleak daylight reflecting off the sapphire clips. A wave of overwhelming nausea surged through you as the sight of the beautiful jewels had become a haunting reminder. The only thought that consumed you was that Grace had given you those clips. The single sight of sapphires now turned your stomach, upbringing the image of the necklace she wore, its radiant blue gem tainted with her blood.

The sudden sounds of the boys screaming and yelling from below snapped you out of the drowning feeling, stepping towards the window and seeing a wagon leave the Arrow House premises, watching as Arthur and John and Finn chased after them. It was followed by the faint sound of Polly telling them to let him go, a shaky sigh leaving your lips as you took a puff from the cigarette.

Only minutes later you heard three knocks at your door, which were useless since the door opened anyways before you even spoke. You didn't turn around, hearing Polly's throat clear. "Hey, sweetheart,"

Polly stepped closer towards you, her heels clicking against the wood. You felt her hand fall on your shoulder, "You know, you're supposed to smoke the cigarette while it is burning."

Your gaze shifted to your left, where a snarky smile tugged at her lips, You took a drag of the cigarette, "Wise words, Polly."

Polly hummed, quietly resting her chin on top of your head. You tensed up slightly before relaxing into her touch. Because this was definitely what normal friends did. Definitely platonic. "Tommy is going to Wales..he'll be back in 3 days time." You hummed, "He took Charlie with him."

"I know," you whispered, taking another puff of the cigarette. "He came in here and took him. His toys are still on my bed." You paused, "Why aren't you downstairs with everyone else? I'm sure they're celebrating."

Polly was still using your head as a support as she spoke, "I'd much prefer being with you than the boys, love."

Just two super close gals talking. That is what you repeated in your head, trying to convince yourself you were insane for thinking she was flirting. "If that is alright with you, I could leave you alone-"

You felt Polly backing away, in which your instincts had ran ahead of your mind when your hand snatched her arm, swiftly turning around and pulling her back. "No, please don't leave me alone. Please."

Polly's eyes went wide with surprise, but as she read the regret etched across your face, her expression softened, and she nodded slowly. "Alright, alright, I'll stay. I'm here as long as you need me. Okay?" Polly reassured you gently, placing her cold hands on your cheeks. "I'm not going anywhere, doll. No need to panic."

Your lip began to quiver, and tears stung at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. "What if-" You paused, struggling to take a deep breath, each inhale a struggle. "What if that isn't true? What if you get hurt? Like-like suddenly. We never thought Grace was going to be killed so soon, but here we are. What if that happens to you, Polly? What-what if?"

Polly remained silent, her eyes closing as she pulled you into her embrace, your head resting against her chest. She didn't have the words to reassure you that nothing would ever happen to her, how could she, when this was the life they had been raised into? There were no guarantees of safety, no promises she could make to make your fears disappear into thin air. She didn't even know how to calm that worry within herself. Yet, she held you tightly, understanding that her reassuring you at the moment was much more important than reassuring herself.

"I will never choose to leave you, sweet girl," she whispered into your hair, her voice a soft promise. Her eyes, however, were distant, fixed on the view outside the window, where uncertainty loomed like a shadow over her life. All of your lives, an impending doom, it was.

"If my heart's still beating, I'll be right here. If not, I'll always be in your heart."

𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟐𝐧𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟒

My brain has never been as fucked as it is, let's start with that.

Grace perished, in my arms. I still can't get it out of my mind. I should have been used to this by now, you know, the gruesome death and misery. But, it was different. It was Tommy's wife, Charlie's mum. She was important and loved. And I can still feel her blood on my hands, seeping into my dress and skin. Everytime I close my eyes, I see her eyes. I can't seem to get rid of the feeling, no matter how much I bathe myself or change clothes. I don't know where Polly put the dress, and I couldn't care much currently.

Charlie asks for his mum every single night, sobbing in his bedroom until I go over and hum him to sleep. I am so tired, but I'll do anything for that little boy. I know I'm not his real mum, god, I'd be selfish for trying to replace Grace. But, the boy needs someone who isn't Tommy, as much of a great dad he is, he is grieving and apparently is already back on business. I don't even want to leave Charlie in his room alone, for Christ Sake. I don't want him dead or kidnapped. Thomas would lose his shit, and I wouldn't be shocked if that would be the last ignition for him to shoot himself.

It isn't helping that business never stops for anything. Solomons and Sabini sent flowers, and as thoughtful that is to the blind eye, they know Thomas is vulnerable currently. We have the Russians, the worry of Communists upon us. Worst of all, the Changrettas. From what I have heard, John and Arthur weren't too fond of the order of killing Ms. Changretta, since they had her as a teacher when they were kids. Vicente needs to be dealt with, he had stolen Grace from Thomas, and I'm sure he will. It's all a cluster fuck, really.

God, and Polly. I love her dearly, so much. But, it is driving me mad that she keeps giving me different treatment than everyone else. How she only wants to be with me sometimes, or her touches that are so subtle, but she has to know what she is doing..right? Polly isn't that hollow. Maybe I am mad. I am mad for Polly and this fucking journal is evidence.

I'd most likely attempt to have religion, if one of our biggest enemies currently is a fucking priest.

God help us all.

With Love,

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"You look nice."

Tommy watched you in the mirror as you placed earrings in the piercings in your ears. A black dress was your outfit of choice for the night, white gloves covering your hands and your hair waving down your neck. You glanced at him through the reflection, popping the cap off of a lipstick. "Thank you."

The two of you were heading to the Wilderness House in the Hampton Court. You had to swallow down any protests you had of attending it, since you had chosen any peace that was still achievable. You hadn't seen Tatiana since that devastating night, you were preparing yourself to see her again, praying you wouldn't throw up at the sight. You didn't want to go, it was like a child inside of you, crying and begging to not go. And, you swallowed it all down.

"Tom, I need you to pin the back together for me, please." You picked up a safety pin from the vanity and handed it to him by holding your arm near your neck. He approached you, carefully bringing the two loose sides of your dress together and securing them with the pin. "Thank you."

"Are you ready?"

"Physically." You breathed out, turning around to face him. You fixed his tie, placing a kiss on his cheek. "It'll be all alright."

"Take your own advice for once, eh?" He commented as you smudged the lipstick off of his cheek with a handkerchief. You hummed, throwing the piece of cloth elsewhere.

"Let's go, Mr. Shelby."

The drive in the Bentley was so quiet. The sky was dark, a light blue hue covering it that you stared at. Your fingers fidgeted with your locket, repeatedly opening and closing the silver. You were soaking in any quiet you could get on the longer than usual drive, the sound of wind blowing against the car enough for you.

Once the car was stopped in front of the house, Thomas and you sighed in unison. The two of you looked at each other, before getting out of the car. You slightly regretted wearing a longer dress as you walked down the long pavement next to Thomas while the fabric kept grazing it. It was to a point where you just let it be, and took the cigarette Tommy had offered you before you entered the home.

"You ready?"

"No." You grumbled, pausing to use Tommy's lighter to light the cigarette. A guard had led you throughout the house to get you to the room where the group was. The sounds of violin kept coming closer and closer as you stepped up the stairs, Thomas helping you up as he held your gloved hand, your other hand picking up the skirt of your dress.

The door opened, "Your highness, Mr. Thomas Shelby, and Ms. Y/n..Shelby."

Thomas squeezed your hand before stepping into the room, and you followed behind him timidly. Everyone at the table raised, "Welcome, you both. I believe you both have met everyone apart from my wife, Grand Duchess Izabella Petrovna." The woman stared at you both, actually, everyone at the table stared at you and Thomas. You gave her a small smile, "Please, take a seat."

Another wave of nausea ran through you as the priest stared you down, your hand raising to rub between your collarbones. He sat directly across from you, your head only turning when Tatiana began speaking. "Before we start, Mr. Shelby, we must offer you our sincere condolences, on your recent loss," Tommy turned to look at Hughes, "Which some of us witnessed. Ms. Shelby, it was a terrifying picture to watch." You hummed silently, glancing down at your lap.

A thick silence coated the room, Tatiana again, leading the conversation. "Did you drive, Mr. Shelby?"

"Yes," Thomas answered instantly, still staring at Hughes. You were sure even Tatiana was uncomfortable by this point, as she desperately seemingly tried to add on.

Tatiana cleared her throat, her gaze flickering to you. "They say you're an expert on cars"

"Yes, I am." Thomas agreed.

Izabella joined in on the conversation, "I am curious, what was your father's profession?"

Thomas's gaze finally dragged away from John Hughes, in which John's gaze turned to you. You immediately looked at Thomas, listening to what he was saying. "Well, he told fortunes, and stole horses. Often, he would tell a man that his horse would be stolen, and they would marvel at his powers when it was." Izabella and Tatiana seemed interested and smiled.

Hughes wasn't so pleased, you had thought, as he unscuffed the collar of his shirt. Food had been passed around, and you didn't even have any appetite, as nice as it looked. "Before we eat, shall we say grace?"

You stared at John as he closed his eyes and put his hands together in disgust, along with Tommy. You took another cigarette from his pack that were peaking through his pocket, putting it in your mouth and beginning to light it.

"For what we are about to receive, may the lord make us truly thankful. Amen." He opened his eyes, which had landed right on you as you were still lighting the cigarette. "You know, as a woman, it isn't mannerly to pursue such habits in a holy space, such as lighting a cigarette."

Your eyes widened, your gaze sharpening as you took a drag of the cigarette, making sure to rightfully force the smoke into his face. Tatiana watched with amused eyes, "Think of it as the holy fucking light, Father Hughes." You emphasised his name, watching his jaw clench as you tapped ash onto your plate. "We aren't here to eat, or say grace, we are here to do business. Yes, Thomas?" You turned your head, waiting for him to continue the conversation.

"What I have to say can be said before the main course." He continued, clearing his throat. "Then I will leave you all to your evening."

"Grand Duchess, I must apologise for the bad manners of my compatriot-"

"This is a report on the mission's progress so far," You cut him off with a sickly sweet voice, pulling an envelope from your garter, which Father Hughes had no restriction from watching. "We have only made one copy for the sense of security, so, who shall I give it to?"

"My husband is in charge of this operation," You extended your arm to Leon, who took the envelope, "But since there will no doubt be vodka later, perhaps you should give it to me for safe-keeping." Izabella gave him a look, and that look gave him no choice as he begrudgingly gave it to her. The bloke looked extremely humiliated as he sat back down. "Speak, Mr. Shelby, as we eat." Izabella looked at you, giving you a very small smile of thanks.

Thomas sighed heavily, "Five factory foremen on our payroll have begun a campaign of victimisation against communist workers in five factories across Birmingham. Anger amongst the workers will grow, but we will control it." Izabella had begun to open the envelope, "On the night of June 21st, a general strike will be called across the city."

"Protests will develop into riots, and all the police who aren't already under our control will be busy. The city will be paralysed." You stated, taking another drag of your cigarette.

"So how will you move the train?" Leon questioned you both, as he took a massive gulp of his wine.

"We have two locomotive drivers who've been allocated to drive the midnight goods to London. The armoured vehicles will be waiting on the flatbeds."

"And ammunition?"

"The ammunition-"

"I'd have to say this soup is exceptional." John gave a dumbass smile, "Absolutely delicious." In return, you had accidentally kicked him under the table, taking a sip of your wine as you did so. He sucked in a breath. And you had ignored any sort of looks he was giving you.

"Ammunition, incendiaries will have been already packed up and crated for transport to Istanbul."

"And how long to London?"

"The train won't reach London. All the goods will be unloaded at a coal yard in St. Albans, and put onto Shelby Company trucks. From there, they will go directly to the Poplar Docks."

Izabella took a deep breath just as the man began speaking. "Your Highness, if you're having difficulty understanding his accent, I can go over the plan with you at a later date."

"They are adults, Father Hughes. They can indicate if they need clarification or translation," you replied firmly, resisting the urge to throw a glass at him.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, and you could no longer tolerate the conversation. Rubbing your eyes and yawning, you attempted to check Tommy's pocket watch, which was utterly useless. Observing Tommy write on a piece of cloth, you bit the inside of your cheek upon reading the words, "I have secrets."

Izabella took the cloth, reading it and nodding with a forced smile. Thomas then rose from his seat and offered his hand, which you accepted with grace. "Before I leave, I would like it known that I am unable to swallow food in the same room as this priest. Both of us." Thomas declared, glaring at the priest across from you. Despite your hunger, you couldn't eat in his presence either. The priest appeared offended, almost pouty, as Thomas concluded, "Enjoy your evening."

You quickly followed Thomas out the door, wrapping your arm around his. He glanced at you as you descended the stairs, "I apologise, I feel dizzy."

He remained silent as you both stepped outside. "Head to the car; I'll be there in two minutes," he instructed, gently pushing your back. Nodding, you began walking, wrapping your arms around yourself to protect against the cold wind.

Closing the car door, you closed your eyes and rested your head, not even bothering to try to listen to anything Thomas and Tatiana were speaking of. You only raised your head when you heard them almost right outside the door, your eyes widening at the fact that you probably needed a lot of context to know why Thomas had just gripped Tatiana's jaw extremely hard. He was saying something to her and you just stared, like a deer in headlights, until he let go. You swiftly pretended to be doing anything else than witnessing the ordeal, as he got into the car himself.

"That fucking cunt." He muttered, turning the ignition on to the Bentley. You glanced to your left, watching as Tatiana stared herself. You gulped, praying that Thomas wouldn't crash the car on the way home. Or kill you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Later that night, you stood in front of your mirror again, gently taking all your jewellery off. You had just gotten Charlie to fall asleep and your door was slightly ajar god forbid he started crying.

You stared at yourself, noting how bloodshot your eyes were, or how a dark line lined your eyelid, or the fact that you were trying to recognise yourself from years ago. Where did she go? Where did that little girl go before everything, where she'd be called in for dinner or the best thing ever was the lollys she'd get? Or her greatest fear being the dark? You wanted to pull your hair out, yet, you only slowly pulled out the earrings in your ears, taking deep breaths. Why did you question so much when you were depressed?

"You look beautiful." The compliment came from the doorway, where Polly stood, pushing the door open. "Did I interrupt?"

"No, no," You tiredly smiled, giving her permission to come in. "You never interrupt, Pol."

Polly smiled, closing the door behind her, "How was the night?" She sat on the edge of your bed, pulling out a cigarette.

Sighing heavily, "Exhausting. Father Hughes disgusts me in every way a man could." You began, taking pins out of your hair. "Other than that, it was mainly just business about how the goods are going to be imported. We weren't there for extremely long," You rubbed your eyes again, taking a deep breath. "I hate business anymore."

"I know darling," Polly spoke, and you glanced at her through the mirror. "I do too."

"Glad I'm not alone." You snickered, "Can you do me a favour?"

Polly raised an eyebrow, "It depends."

"Could you please take the safety pin out of my dress and unzip it? I cannot reach for the life of me." Polly didn't say a word as she stood up, stepping closer towards you.

The blush on your cheeks couldn't be contained as you felt her breath on your neck as she moved your hair out of the way. One hand laid on your waist as she undid the safety pin, laying it on the vanity in front of you. All your mind could focus on was her breath fanning your neck every few seconds, the closeness of you both, just Polly Gray. She had slowly, ever so slowly, unzipped the back of your dress, her fingertips tracing the revealed skin. Her eyes made eye contact with yours in the mirror, and you could've sworn hers were darker than usual.

Once the dress was unzipped, she took a deep breath herself. "Anything else?"

"No," You whispered, gulping down whatever dignity you had left, the bright blush on your cheeks not leaving, and nor did her hand on your waist. You turned around to change, facing her in that process.

Polly's eyes were dark, her lips a brighter shade of red and her skin almost an olive tone in the lighting. Her perfume and the scent of cigarette smoke stuck to her clothes, and her breathing was a bit more sped up. You took a shuddering breath, the space between you both almost nonexistent. "Polly," You had finally breathed out, in which Polly's heart had skipped a beat when you said her name, every so softly. Her name falling from your lips so delicately had been what finally set her free from her mental restraints. 

Polly's lips clashed with yours, and the subtle taste of whiskey and hers greeted your senses. Were you asleep? Was it all a dream you'd wake up from and have to shake off? The feeling of her pulling you closer to her, her hands placed on your waist, had made you tense up, until you had finally melted into the sweet kiss.

You wanted to tell Polly how beautiful she was, her beautiful brown eyes that had just gazed into yours which had, for years, starstruck you. Or how her lips moved delicately with yours, surely painting her lipstick onto your lips, like a talented artist brushstrokes on a mesmerising painting. Your hands had timidly moved up to her face, your fingertips moving across her smooth skin, and your mouth slightly opened to give Polly control. You wanted to admire her, just in case this never happened again, you wanted to admire her as there was quiet, and nothing interrupting the both of you, and while her feelings didn't falter. You hoped this happened again.

And you were so exhausted, of all that was around you. And it was as if Polly cradled you from it all, her arms fully around your waist and her attention sparing to nothing else except you.

"My beautiful girl," She murmured against your lips, as her hand stroked a stray hair out of your face. Her voice was low, and you could barely speak, just, admiring her.

The faint cries of Charles echoed from the hall, which you, regrettably ignored. "Pol, I-"

The door burst open to Ada, "Y/n, do I need to-" Her eyes widened at the scene, Polly's hands on your waist and your faces mere inches from each other. You pushed Polly off of you quickly, not like you wanted to, anyways.

"Don't you know how to bloody knock, Ada?" Polly yelled sternly, and Ada's smirk just got wider, and wider. You stood there, basically a deer in headlights. "Well?!"

"I'm going to go check on Charlie." You nervously stated, walking out of the room as fast as possible and pushing through Ada. You felt tears beginning to burn at your eyes as realisation hit you along with Charlie's pleads, the rest of the night only a blur.

What was going to happen now?

[strayheartless]

Neurodivergent Cloud things that I’m definitely not (am) projecting:

When Cloud feels overwhelmed it feels like someone has put two bags of sand on his shoulders and then sucked all his energy out with a straw. He has to sit down for a while and rest his forehead on his hands for a while before he can function again.

Meltdowns don’t happen often, he is more likely to go completely numb and appear rude and apathetic towards people. However when he does reach critical mass he throws things. There was once or twice as a child where Cloud got in trouble for braking something they couldn’t afford to fix because he’d had a really bad day and didn’t know how to cope.

As a young man Cloud only ever melted down in front of Zack once and surprisingly Zack handled it pretty well. He took Clouds PHS out of his hand before he could throw it and directed him to the bed clothes saying “if you ruin that we can just remake it,”. After Cloud hand we’ll and truly wrecked the bed and screamed in frustration for a bit Zack pulled him in and let him cry himself out.

As an Adult Cloud holds on and holds on until he is no longer able to control it and ends up scaring people with how violent he gets towards objects. Later (mid/post AC) he will take himself off to the wastes and scream in Canyons because he feels like he’s being pathetic when it happens.

Cloud is not diagnosed with Anything until Denzel is. Reading booklets about autism made him seriously uncomfortable. Not because he didn’t accept Denzel but because it was like having his life explained to him.

Socialising is incredibly hard for Cloud. He gets triggered by little things really easily and even when he is the “saviour of Gaia” he still catches people calling him ‘weird’ or ‘odd’ or complaining about how he never seems interested because he doesn’t look people in the eye.

His masking habits are odd because it’s not so much covering behaviours as it is consciously triggering a freeze response. If he feels like he will react wrong he goes still or responds with less words to try and minimise the “damage” he thinks he will do.

Clouds space is his. People don’t go in it, they don’t “just pop in to check on him” and they certainly don’t change things in his space. His distress is never obvious but people who know him know that on the inside he’s either extremely angry or wanting to cry but not being able to.

He went through a period of having to fake emotions as a teenager. There were times when people would say “are you not excited?!” And Cloud would find it easier to lie and say yes then explain he literally felt hollow 90% of the time.

Zack, his mom Claudia, and Sephiroth (as clouds special interest) are the only people who have ever elicited a strong emotional reaction from Cloud. Later he would be able to add all of Avalanche to that list of people but it takes Cloud a very long time to get past his numbed emotions.

Okay ramble over! Did I project a bit? Yeah, but I tried to keep it true to his characterisation too. Some of it hits a little close though 😬.

[saintobio]

I seriously need to find out what movies you watch/stuff you read in your formative years or who hurt you that you manage to string the most painful sentences possible to articulate in human language and cause this heartwrenching pain on my heart. Forget about yn girl I'M about to have a heart attack.

It's crazy. Like I'm heartbroken and I'm pissed and I'm hopeful and I'm hurt and I want justice for my girl yn. I still don't know if I want them together but I just want her happy because my god does your stuff not wreck me🥲 Your work makes us feel so many things at the same time, I'm just in awe.

I don't even mean this in a mean or rude way but I hate angst and I still stick around like a stubborn tick when it comes to all your stories because your work just is that evocative.

On a personal basis, does writing so much pain not hurt you? I hope this doesn't sound mean omfg but as a reader, consuming a story so painful can do a number on my brain chemistry. I can't imagine how it feels to come up with these scenarios, write them, edit and rewrite them and then continuing the pain?? Group hugs for you and yn. 🥹

Long story short congratulations on being such a wonderful writer SY has ruined me and I will never forget it 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 I will never recover😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 I will still lock tf in for all your work tho🫶🏻

gaaah i can’t recommend a good angsty movie/book/manhwa right now to you bcos nothing’s coming up in my head. but i do have a preference on consuming stuff that has neglect, cheating, unrequited love, and similar themes! and i guess that shows in my writings as well :’) also a lot of my works do stem from personal experiences so there’s that!

i think i’m at a point where writing too much angst has numbed me. but then again, i still cry when i’m writing heavy emotional scenes bcos i rly do get into it 🤧 i’d even listen to the playlist too so it hurts me more. like sy!yn has been screaming for a good ending for sooo long and here i am constantly wrecking her spirit every chapter bcos i enjoy that sting in my heart. it makes me feel more human :)))

(i love angst and i am truly one with pain. i know it’s obvious but i really can’t live without it. and the funny thing is, when i feel like i’m “too happy” with my current relationship, i’d ask my bf to make me sad and upset or pretend to hurt my feelings LMAOOO that’s how crazy i am for angst. i literally crave for it, it’s insane and idk why.)

[bassettmemes]

A GUTS ASK MEME ISN'T A BAD IDEA, RIGHT? prompts from olivia rodrigo's sophomore album, guts (2023) — part 1/2. ↳ trigger warnings for mentions of alcohol, drugs, grooming, abusive relationships (mental/emotion, not physical), and car wrecks. some lines have been edited or omitted for clarity and comfort.

ALL-AMERICAN BITCH.

"I am light as a feather and as stiff as a board."

"I pay attention to things that most people ignore."

"I'm alright with the movies that make jokes 'bout senseless cruelty."

"I am built like a mother and a total machine."

"I feel for your every little issue, I know just what you mean."

"I make light of the darkness; I've got sun in my motherfuckin' pocket."

"I forgive and I forget."

"I know my age and I act like it."

"I got what you can't resist."

"I am light as a feather, I'm as fresh as the air."

"Coca-Cola bottles that I only use to curl my hair."

"I got class and integrity just like a goddamn Kennedy, I swear."

"I'm a perfect all-American bitch, with perfect all-American lips, and perfect all-American hips."

"I know my place, I know my place and this is it."

"I don't get angry when I'm pissed, I'm the eternal optimist."

"I scream inside to deal with it, like, "Ah"."

"I'm grateful all the time. I'm sexy and I'm kind. I'm pretty when I cry."

BAD IDEA, RIGHT?

"Haven't heard from you in a couple of months, but I'm out right now and I'm all fucked up."

"You're callin' my phone, you're all alone, and I'm sensing some undertone."

"I'm right here with all my friends, you're sending me your new address."

"I know we're done, I know we're through, but God, when I look at you, my brain goes, "Ah". Can't hear my thoughts."

"Seeing you tonight... It's a bad idea, right?"

"Fuck it, it's fine."

"Yes, I know that he's my ex, but can't two people reconnect?"

"I only see him as a friend... The biggest lie I ever said."

"I only see him as a friend... I just tripped and fell into his bed."

"Now I'm gettin' in the car, wreckin' all my plans."

"I know I should stop, but I can't."

"I told my friends I was asleep, but I never said where or in whose sheets."

"And I pull up to your place on the second floor

"I'm sure I've seen much hotter men, but I really can't remember when."

VAMPIRE.

"Hate to give the satisfaction asking how you're doing now."

"How's the castle built off people you pretend to care about."

"Look at you, cool guy, you got it."

"I see the parties and the diamonds sometimes when I close my eyes."

"Six months of torture you sold as some forbidden paradise."

"I loved you truly; you gotta laugh at the stupidity."

"I've made some real big mistakes, but you make the worst one look fine."

"I should've known it was strange, you only come out at night."

"I used to think I was smart, but you made me look so naïve."

"You sunk your teeth into me."

"Bloodsucker, famefucker, bleeding me dry like a goddamn vampire."

"Every girl I ever talked to told me you were bad, bad news."

"You called them crazy. God I hate the way I called them crazy too."

"You're so convincing. How do you lie without flinching?"

"What a mesmerizing, paralyzing, fucked up little thrill."

"Can't figure out just how you do it and God knows I never will."

"Went for me and not her, 'cause girls your age know better."

"You said it was true love, but wouldn't that be hard? You can't love anyone, 'cause that would mean you had a heart."

"I tried to help you out, now I know that I can't, 'cause how you think's the kind of thing I'll never understand."

LACY.

"[Name], oh, [Name], skin like puff pastry."

"Aren't you the sweetest thing on this side of Hell?"

"Dear angel [Name], eyes white as daisies, did I ever tell you that I'm not doin' well?"

"Like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time."

"It takes over my life, I see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear."

"Smart, sexy [Name], I'm losin' it lately. I feel your compliments like bullets on skin."

"Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate, well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist?"

"Like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots. You got the one thing that I want."

"I try to rationalize, people are people, but, it's like you're made of angel dust."

"[Name], oh, [Name], it's like you're out to get me. You poison every little thing that I do."

"[Name], oh, [Name], I just loathe you lately."

"I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you. I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you."

BALLAD OF A HOMESCHOOLED GIRL.

"Cat got my tongue, and I don't think I get along with anyone."

"I'm on the outside of the greatest inside joke."

"I hate all my clothes. Feels like my skin doesn't fit right over my bones."

"I guess I should go. The party's done, and I'm no fun."

"I broke a glass, I tripped and fell. I told secrets I shouldn't tell

"I stumbled over all my words. I made it weird, I made it worse."

"I laughed at the wrong time, sat with the wrong guy."

"Searchin' "how to start a conversation?" on a website, like, how to flirt?"

"The morning after I panic, oh God, what did I say?"

MAKING THE BED.

"Want it, so I got it, did it, so it's done."

"Another thing I ruined, I used to do for fun."

"Another piece of plastic I could just throw away."

"Another conversation with nothing good to say. I thought it, so I said it, took it 'cause I can."

"Another day pretendin' I'm older than I am."

"Another perfect moment that doesn't feel like mine."

"Another thing I forced to be a sign."

"Sometimes I feel like I don't wanna be where I am, gettin' drunk at a club with my fair-weather friends."

"I push away all the people who know me the best, but it's me who's been makin' the bed."

"I'm so tired of bein' the girl that I am."

"Every good thing has turned into somethin' I dread."

"I'm playin' the victim so well in my head."

"But it's me who's been makin' the bed."

"Sometimes I feel like I don't wanna be where I am, countin' all of the beautiful things I regret."

"And every night, I wake up from this one recurrin' dream, where I'm drivin' through the city, and the brakes go out on me."

"I can't stop at the red light, can't swerve off the road, I read somewhere it's 'cause my life feels so out of control."

"I tell someone I love them just as a distraction; They tell me that they love me like I'm some tourist attraction."

"They're changin' my machinery, and I just let it happen."

"I got the things I wanted, it's just not what I imagined."

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Reunited Part 2

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x you (female reader)

Authors note: it all started with the ask, whether I accept modern!Sihtric requests, that left me deeply thoughtful whether I am really up to it. So my dear @sihtricfedaraaahvicius gave me a little push with a challenging fic request that resulted in my very first modern! Sihtric fic. Initially I didn't think of a continuation of the story, but some of you were very insisting and I'm deeply thankful for that. I have decided to make it a bit longer story. So, this interlude is intended to set the scene for the upcoming parts. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Warnings: fluff, quite suggestive on the borderline with getting smutty, heartbreak, abuse of alcohol

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other?

Part 1

Word Count: 2,043

Leave a comment if you want to be tagged for the upcoming parts.

Tags: @uunotheangel @jennifer0305 @sihtricfedaraaahvicius

"Damn it," Sihtric cursed at himself as he watched the door slam shut behind you. Your sudden appearance, followed by an even more abrupt departure, had left him not only speechless but questioning whether you had been real at all or simply a fevered hallucination conjured by his foggy mind after yesterday's party.

He had undoubtedly had a few drinks too many. Waking up this morning, he couldn't even recall the name of the long-legged, dark-haired beauty he found in his bed.

"Uh, good morning, gorgeous," he greeted the girl nestled against his chest with a hesitant smile. "Oh crap, it's late already, I have to rush to the studio. Just slam the door shut when you leave. I’ll call you tomorrow!” 

This had become his standard exit strategy, and it always did the trick. Most of the time, it wasn't even a lie, as he almost always had photoshoots and studio appointments. Sihtric cautiously freed his hand from beneath the girl and, within the next five minutes, he had donned his trousers and shirt before vanishing through the doors, leaving the long-legged stranger in his bed bewildered. He didn't have her number and had no intention of calling her. He never did.

In the beginning, he was driven by a desperate eagerness to forget. He believed that the only way to heal his shattered heart was to quickly fall in love again as deeply and madly as he had with you. However, as time passed, waking up beside yet another imperfect copy of you only made him crave more for the original. At some point, he stopped deluding himself; there was no one who could replace you, so he stopped searching.

Nonetheless, being a famous and handsome fashion photographer had its side effects. His work ensured he was surrounded by women – beautiful, intelligent, and also compassionate women. There always seemed to be someone who believed they could fix him, even when he had no desire to be fixed. At some point, when once again an unsuccessful attempt to mend him had left yet another self proclaimed angel saviour heartbroken and crying, he had enough. He didn't want it anymore. He was what he was: an irreparably broken wreck, an adrenaline junkie, unable of navigating his emotions and incapable of feeling love and affection. He was just inflicting pain on those foolish enough to get close to him. From that point on, his decision was clear – he didn't do relationships. He was good for a passionate one-night fuck, but nothing more, and after a while everyone seemed to know it and accept it.

—-------------------------------------------

"Oh, honey! You're here! I've missed you so much!" Gisela nearly screamed your head off in joy, as she spotted you on her doorstep. You hadn’t seen each other in real life for all five years, but she had remained your best friend. She had been your rock during your darkest days following the breakup, always just a phone call away, ready to listen or simply be there for you, regardless of the time difference. Gisela was the better half of your soul, your moral compass, the anchor that kept you grounded in the tumultuous sea of life. She offered support and solace when you needed it most, asking for nothing in return.

It came as no surprise that, after your panicked flight from the photo shoot, your first instinct was to seek refuge at your best friend's place.

"Oh my goodness! You look like you've been hit by a freight train," Gisela immediately noticed your devastated state. She grabbed your hand and pulled you into a tight embrace.

"I saw him this morning... I couldn't... I ran away," you sobbed, your tears soaking her fine blouse, emotions pouring out uncontrollably.

"Whom did you see? Oh my god! Sihtric?" Realisation struck Gisela as she led you inside her apartment and settled you on her sofa. "Just wait a moment. I'll make you some tea, and then you can tell me everything," she said, heading to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, hidden from your view, Gisela clutched her head with both hands and began to pace around the small room.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why did this have to happen?" she cursed to herself. "Couldn't he have just broken his damn neck on one of his insane climbing expeditions? I can't let her go through this again. She won't handle it. And she'll never forgive me if she finds out I'm the real reason behind all this mess."

Gisela had never found the courage to tell you that her direct involvement was the reason for Sihtric's decision to break up with you. Initially, there was no point in revealing it, as you would have rushed back to Sihtric. As time passed and Gisela witnessed how hard it struck you, how much pain you endured, and how long it took for you to start halfway functioning again, she couldn't bring herself to confess that she was unintentionally responsible for all this suffering. She had acted with the best intentions, all she had wanted was for you to follow your dream and be happy. The realisation that her good intentions had led to you becoming a miserable and broken version of yourself, someone who had closed herself up and now distrusted everyone, came far too late. 

With the tea ready and after taking a deep breath, Gisela picked up the tray with cups and sugar and returned to the living room. She was determined to do everything in her power to protect you and to shield you from Sihtric and the damage his reappearance in your life could cause you. Gisela had witnessed Sihtric change, and not for the better. By now, she was convinced that it had been for the best that he had broken up with you all those years ago. You had built a successful career, you were beautiful, independent, and respected. Somewhere out there, your prince charming was undoubtedly waiting for destiny to bring you together. If you had stayed with Sihtric and witnessed him turning into the person he had become – a jerk and a fuckboy – you would have been left with nothing but a broken heart.

"Can you believe it? He just called me 'sweetheart,' as if nothing had happened," several cups of tea later, you had managed to calm yourself to the point where you could finally speak without your words dissolving into incomprehensible sobs.

"He's not worth a single tear of yours," Gisela reassured you, taking a sip from her tea. "Believe me, you don't want anything to do with him. He's been changing girlfriends like underwear. Lately, they don't even last longer than one night. I've heard that some of the fashion houses are considering terminating their contracts with him. In addition to fucking every model hired for the photoshoots, he's started drinking quite heavily. There have been a few times of him arriving at the set in the morning so drunk that the shoots had to be postponed. I have to admit he's got a certain talent, and when he's sober enough to hold his camera steady, his photos are quite amazing. But that doesn't make him a good person. You deserve better. You deserve someone who will love and cherish you, and most importantly, respect you."

Gisela continued to speak about an opening of an art exhibition featuring the works of a promising new painter to be displayed in her gallery for the next two months, and how she wanted you to attend and possibly meet someone, but you weren't really paying attention anymore. 

Nothing Gisela had said about Sihtric aligned with your memories of him. Yes, he was impulsive and daring, but he had also been attentive and gentle. You remembered how sweet and caring he had been, making you feel like a goddess. It all didn't make any sense, but then again, you were a living example of his real attitude. He had replaced you with someone else after just one week apart. Gisela was right; he had been a fuckboy, and he likely still was. You didn't want anything to do with him. Or did you?

"Hey, hey! What planet are you on? You're not listening, are you? No, no, no, don't tell me you were thinking of him. He ruined your life and broke your heart. Have you forgotten already?" Gisela nearly shouted, bringing you back to reality.

"I know exactly what you're thinking," she continued, her face displaying an annoyed grimace.

"What am I thinking?" you scowled at her.

"You were thinking that you could fix him. That if you hadn’t left for that summer course, it might have turned out differently…"

You opened your mouth to protest, but deep down, you knew Gisela wasn't far off from the truth. Even if these thoughts weren't explicit, they lingered in the back of your mind, like a faint, elusive haze, beyond words to explain. What if…

"Don't even think about it. I could assemble an entire soccer team of heartbroken girls who thought they could fix him. Do you really want to go through all of that again?"

You shook your head vehemently. No, you didn't. You wouldn't survive another heartbreak. This was one of the main reasons you had remained single over the last five years. You hadn't allowed anyone to get close enough even for the possibility of a relationship. It wasn't for a lack of willing candidates, but Sihtric had left you incapable of trusting anyone, almost paranoid, and you hadn't given anyone a real chance.

—----------------------------------

Sihtric collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in the pillows, his body tense with frustration. The long-legged doll had departed, and the cleaning lady had dutifully changed the bed sheets, a daily ritual he insisted on. He couldn't bear the lingering scent of his one-night companions on his bedding. Taking a deep breath, he tried to recall your scent, a fading memory locked away in some remote corner of his mind. It had been so sweet, arousing, delightful, and soothing. After a long night of lovemaking with you, bodies slick with sweat, your scents blending as one, he loved burying his face in your hair and breathing you in, savouring the feeling that he had finally found his home. Something he hadn't felt in all those five years since you had left his life.

And now, you were suddenly back. You were as stunning as he remembered, perhaps even more so. There was a newfound self-assuredness in your demeanour, an aura of captivating confidence radiating from you. Your eyes sparkled with inner strength and poise. 

Sihtric felt his pants grow tighter as the image of you from this morning reappeared in his mind: your lovely face, your sparkling eyes, and sensual lips; your velvety hair cascading down your shoulders; the blouse and pencil skirt giving you the appearance of a madly sexy businesswoman; your hands holding the papers; and your legs in high heels – something he'd never seen you wear before. 

Every detail about you drove him to the brink of madness, as a low moan escaped his lips, his arousal undeniable. He would have sold his soul to the devil for the chance to bury his face between your thighs, to taste you again, to feel your walls clenching around him and pushing him over the edge.

For five years, Sihtric had dreamt of this moment, playing it over and over in his mind, rehearsing what he would say and do if he ever had the chance to see you again. But now that the moment had finally arrived, he had found himself unable to utter anything of significance. He had wanted to stop you, to hold you back, to shout something that would make you turn and face him. Yet his mind had gone utterly blank, and all he had managed to do was watch you storm out of the hall with a tortured expression on his face.

And so, you had left without a single backward glance.

"She hates me. She still fucking hates me," was the only thought consuming Sihtric's mind as his hand found its way into his pants, gripping his painfully hard cock and starting to stroke it with rapid, desperate movements.

[littledollll]

🕊️🕊️

More stalking cause I’m quite an emotional wreck today so me and emery are re reading your fics

Another prompt~ r having anxiety and needing luci to come make them feel better. (Self indulgent fic I’m really struggling today )~ very tired shy anon🕊️

#shy anon

Where’s my angel?

(Little angel universe, side fic)

Lucifer Morningstar x little!angel!reader

A/n: ya boy has a 3 hour car ride back home and I fell asleep 4 times writing this, If you see random spams of “jjjjjjjjjj” it’ll be gone tomorrow I’m taking a nap now.

To answer your question: I was in a server where the term “little one” was sooo overused and it tired me out when it was used on me so I figured it maybe did the same to other tinys (I was right) + It was just a special term for me and my tiny ones so it was a little different form the usual and “exclusive” to us:)

I can’t think of any warnings but then again I can’t rly think of anything right now so scream at me in the comments if I should add any.

Requested prompts: selective mute, anxiety and emery

Officially taking duty as hells messenger was your choice, you just wanted to feel useful though Lucifer reminded you time and time again that just your company and love was more than enough, even mazikeen agreed claiming that since you came around everything’s been a lot smoother, happy Lucifer means an (ironically) happy hell. Yet you wanted to do more than just- exist.

So when you insisted to take some role to help around Lucifer assigned you as a messenger, really all you had to do was (as the name suggests) bring and deliver messages across realms, it wasn’t that difficult most of the time. But then came days like this. You woke up small, you didn’t really know why but admittedly you didn’t always need a reason. The problem wasn’t that you slipped, it was the time you did.

You panicked, you had work to do but you couldn’t leave like this.

The more you submerged yourself in your panicked thoughts the less you could actually think, you were already small and your anxiety was making you slip further. You couldn’t even panic anymore, everything just left you. That tingling feeling that ran through your spine making you shrink from inside out. It was enough of an indication that there was no chance you’d slip out, and when you noticed you were alone you felt like crying, you cuddled up to Emery and October, October being the new addition to your piles of stuffies, a gift from Lucifer.

Nuzzling your face into the soft fur, you considered running around the kingdom until you found your Luci, but your anxiety was stronger, convincing you you’ve already used up enough of their time, they have a whole realm to run, you could handle one day alone like you had before. You hid under your mountains of blankets with embery and October, curling up and opting to just sleep the time away.

Lucifer of course noticed your absence, you’d usually be excited to get up and start working, they found your search for a mission unnecessary, but it made you happy, how could they take that away? They went to your little room, guessing that if you wished to be alone you’d be there, yet you weren’t, they made their way to your shared room. “Am I crazy or did the amount of blankets here double?” They asked into the air when they spotted your silhouette under the blankets.

You giggled thinking you were so sneaky and they obviously couldn’t hear you. “Greetings mr. silhouette, im looking for a little angel, very very tiny, I swore I heard an adorable giggle around this area, have you seen them?” They waited a beat and you held your breath so they wouldn’t spot you. “Huh, I guess mr silhouette doesn’t speak. Hmmm. Let’s see.. I checked under the bed, in the closet and behind the furniture, where could my little dove possibly be!” You giggled again, putting your finger over your mouth and very (not) discreetly said “shhhh” to both October and Emery.

“There it is again! I know it’s you tiny, and I’ll find you! If you don’t show yourself this instant I will tickle you for all eternity when I do!” You gasped. Quickly scrambling to pull the mess of blankets and peeking your eyes out while you held the covers over the rest of your face. “No way you’ve been there this whole time” you quickly nodded. “Lies! No way, I don’t believe it.” You pulled Your stuffies up from under the blanket as proof.

They glared at your stuffies and looked back at you. “They are such traitors” you shook your head pointing at them. “Oh only to me? I see how it is.” They moved over to the bed pulling the three of you into their arms. Immediately you relaxed into their hold. “What happened today, little dove? You didn’t tell me you slipped.” “didn wan bother..” Lucifer placed a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You could never. You know how much I love you and your company , tiny one.”