bianotbia

[bianotbia]

— 𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐒, 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐄? [ 𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 ]

main masterlist

˗ˏˋ two young fashion rivals fight a battle of snarky remarks and ego trips only to be slowly falling in love with each other ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : took me long enough, but here we go! hell yeah, versace trainee hyunjin! i don't even know if this is good or meh but what matters is to have fun right :D

⤷ contains : versace trainee!hyunjin x versace trainee!reader, enemies to lovers, chaotic fashion rivals, some smut by the end, cursing [ w.c.: 4.5k ]

⤷ now playing : how bad do u want me by lady gaga

The studio thrummed with a meticulously curated chaos—loose threads clung to garments, half-drunk espresso cups teetered on the edge of tables, heels clacked across the marble floor, and sketches were laid around on every surface. I could barely hear the buzz of excited whispers over the pounding of my own heart as I stood before the golden Versace logo, gleaming like a finish line.

Eight months. Five trainees. One coveted full-time position at the maison.

“You'll be working alongside our creative teams, then presenting a final solo piece. That will determine who stays.” The trainee coordinator spoke in a crisp Italian accent, barely looking up as she tapped something onto her iPad, her eyes scanning us like items on a checklist.

Camille was the embodiment of a chronically online it-girl, Julian dressed like he’d just stepped off a runway—every day—and Yeji and Hyunjin, were either twins or a painfully perfect couple.

For me this was already the third shot. Dior had rejected me. Saint Laurent canceled their program just before they could break my heart. And yet, something about seeing the controlled chaos of the studio felt almost comforting as we were led through a brief tour.

After a string of polite introductions and strained laughter, the coordinator ushered us into a pristine, minimalist conference room. We were handed trainee guides and access cards, then assigned to our respective creative teams.

As I turned to leave, my gaze drifted to the back of the room. Hyunjin stood by the window, sunlight brushing against the strands of his long hair as he looked out over the streets below. For a beat, he seemed lost in thought, almost ethereal. Then, as if sensing me, he turned—his eyes locking onto mine with unnerving precision. A subtle, knowing smile curled at the edge of his lips before he turned away and vanished into the hallway.

The weeks flew by in a blur. We all worked relentlessly with our assigned teams, but still always found time to share lunch, swap ideas, and stumble upon some hidden corners of Milan after our shifts. It was easy, even fun—for a while. But reality crept in slowly, like the hem of a gown dragging through water, that only one of us would make it in the end.

And no one was pretending anymore. Especially not Hyunjin.

I could feel the shift in his demeanor every time the coordinator praised me—as if my success was an insult aimed directly at him. At first he seemed sweet, warm even. But as the competition intensified, so did the glint of jealousy in his gaze. There were no safe plays left as we all wanted the same thing. But Hyunjin’s little games? They were starting to wear thin.

On a late afternoon, Camille let out her twentieth exasperated sigh in the last ten minutes. Her usually perfect hair was disheveled from constant tugging, and the shadows under her eyes mirrored the ones we all wore like badges. With a heavy, half-defeated groan, she pushed back from her chair, seemingly grateful for any excuse to look away from the chaos on her desk.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her approach my sewing station. Hyunjin was on the opposite end of the room, but I could feel his gaze following her just as closely.

“Can you help me?” she asked, her voice low, edged with frustration.

I looked up from the tangled mess of fabrics and threads in front of me, glanced at the even more chaotic pile on her desk, and gave a quick nod. “Yeah, sure.” She handed me her sketch and pointed to the part that was giving her trouble. It was definitely a bit off-track, but nothing beyond saving.

“I think instead of sewing these two edges together, you could try pinning them here,” I suggested, gently guiding the fabric. “It gives a looser, flowier silhouette but still feels intentional—kinda edgy, actually.”

Camille tried it out, her fingers moving with renewed hope. She jotted notes into her sketchbook while I leaned over to see what else might be tweaked. That’s when I felt it—that familiar, almost suffocating presence looming behind me.

“Hmm. Why are you telling her to do that?” I turned. Hyunjin stood a few feet back, arms crossed, an infuriating smirk tugging at his lips.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, already annoyed.

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “I mean, it’s a cute little trick… but honestly, it looks kinda cheap, doesn’t it, Camille?”

The poor sleep-deprived girl blinked, her focus clearly shattered. She looked between us, dazed like she’d been pulled out of a dream.

“I… I think. Maybe I’ll just sew those pieces and add another layer with that nice fabric I brought,” she mumbled, scratching at her tired eyes.

Then, without meeting either of our gazes, she barely added, “I’m going home. I need to sleep. Thanks for the tips.” And just like that, she slipped out of the studio.

I turned to him. “Why the hell would you say that? She was exhausted—you just made it worse.”

He didn’t even flinch. “If she can’t keep up, she shouldn’t be here,” he said coolly. “I’m just cutting down the competition.”

I narrowed my eyes. “If you’re going to act like a complete asshole, maybe start by staying out of everyone else’s work. Focus on your own.” He smirked again, but didn’t respond. Instead, as he passed my desk on his way back to his station, he paused, slowly scanning my sketchpad, then my mannequin.

Then he looked at me again, that same piercing stare he’d given me when I was named top trainee of the month, far more different than the soft sun-kissed one I saw on our first day. The kind of look that didn’t need words. The kind that said: If I could destroy you, I would.

Tensions ran high. With only a couple of months left until the final presentation, the air in the studio felt heavier—like everyone was holding their breath. Hyunjin, on the other hand, had been oddly upbeat. A little too cheerful, even. 

Over the months, he’d gathered a crowd around him—people drawn to his wicked yet innocent charm like moths to a flame. I, meanwhile, buried myself in work, obsessing over the drapes of my dress, the cut of a seam, trying to silence any noise inside my head.

However, last week, a sudden email from Saint Laurent’s team arrived—they were reopening the trainee program. And while I tried to manage my duties at Versace and the fresh hope of a new chance, the combination of my fractured focus, bruised self-confidence and overworked hands was starting to take its toll on me.

Sensing our collective burnout, Camille suggested a group lunch to clear our heads. We ended up at a sleek café down the street—glass windows, trendy furniture, and overpriced pastries. She laughed a little too loud at something Julian said, slid closer to Hyunjin as Yeji leaned over to show him something on her phone. I tried to stay present, but my mind was somewhere else entirely—maybe in Paris, maybe in the future, maybe nowhere at all.

“What about you? Do you have a type?” I blinked, pulled back into the moment. Camille was watching me with a sly smile, the question clearly directed at me.

“Sorry… I spaced out. What were we talking about?” She chuckled, leaning even more into Hyunjin’s side, clearly enjoying herself.

“Your type, dummy. Ideal guy, girl, whatever. We are in Italy, after all—plenty of options.”

I took a sip of my drink, thinking for a second. “I don’t think I have a specific type. If someone’s kind and interesting, looks don’t really matter.” I paused. “But lately my feed’s been full of people with buzzcuts and tattoos… I guess it has a cool vibe.”

There was a brief flicker in Hyunjin’s expression—just the smallest twitch in his sharp eyes. “Ooh, bad boy energy. Didn’t know you had that side,” Camille teased. “I bet Hyunjin would look so good with a buzzcut.”

Julian smirked. “And you, Hyunjin? What does the Versace prince look for in a muse?”

Hyunjin shrugged, his tone breezy. “Hmm, I think everyone’s beautiful in their own way.”

“Lame,” Yeji muttered under her breath, and she and Julian burst into quiet laughter.

But a week later, the pressure of future choices didn’t go away, just like the noise buzzing in my head didn’t get any lower, annoyingly matching the small commotion near the studio lounge. Curious, I drifted over and froze for a second.

Camille let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my God—Hyunjin, you can literally rock any look. You’re unreal—God, I can't.” My eyes followed hers, and there he was. Hyunjin with a buzzed head, usual sharp eyes, same maddening smirk. Our eyes met for a second. Then he turned, walking away like he had won some kind of secret competition with his own self.

Later, I found him alone in one of the back corners of the studio, hunched over a sketchpad with an iced Americano in hand. He didn’t look up when I approached.

“Nice haircut,” I said, pausing. “Or… lack of one.”

He smirked, still sketching. “Jealous? I make it work.”

“Sure. If the goal was attention-starved brat. Nailed it.”

That got a faint frown out of him. I started to turn away—then caught a glimpse of the sketch. My head tilted. “Are you… drawing me?”

He finally glanced up all smug. “I was looking for something sad and uninspired to draw. Then I saw you. It was perfect.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I hope you choke on your Americano.”

He gave me a playful smirk and hummed a tune to himself, flipping the page and going back to sketching like I hadn’t said a thing.

—

Afternoon settled in, and the studio was mostly empty. Nearly all the stations had been cleared out, except for Yeji and Hyunjin—both still hunched over their work. Or at least, Yeji was trying to work. Hyunjin, on the other hand, wouldn’t shut up.

“I swear to God, what was that leather she used? Like, if it were just a small detail, maybe it would’ve worked. But that much? Yeah… no.”

Yeji sighed, rolling her eyes for what had to be the hundredth time. “Oh, really.”

“And did you see the jacket she wore today? I think she was trying to do a monochrome thing, but it wasn’t even the same shade of jeans as her pants. I mean—how hard is it?”

“Hyunjin.” she said a bit louder.

“Her boots were cool, I guess, but that’s not the point—”

“Hyunjin!” she snapped, finally slamming her scissors down. “Can you stop obsessing over her for five seconds?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I’m not obsessing. I’m just—making observations.”

Yeji raised an eyebrow. “For goodness sake, you literally shaved your head after what she said last week in the cafe.” Silence. He opened then closed his mouth, slightly fidgeting with his fingers at the corners of the fabric in front of him.

She huffed in disbelief. “Okay, then if I asked you what color Camille’s shirt is today, could you tell me?” Another beat of silence filled the room.

“How about hers?”

“…Off-white,” he muttered, barely audible.

She burst out laughing, clapping him hard on the back. “God, Hyunjin. You’re gone.”

“What are you even talking about? It’s not my fault we see each other every day. Besides, I need to observe her so I can be better than her.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why your sketchbook is full of her?”

“It’s not full of her,” he said quickly—but his eyes darted to the sketchbook sitting innocently on the main table a few feet away. Both of them paused. Looked at each other before making a mad dash for it. Yeji reached it first, shoving him aside with a well-aimed elbow.

“Let’s see… dress, dress, another dress… oh, look who it is.” She held up the page inches from his face as he rubbed his shoulder in defeat.

“Give it back.”

She kept flipping through while dodging his frantic hands. “Hmm… random building… her again… some suit design—oh wait! Her, again. Wow, she's everywhere.” She grinned. “She really is your muse, huh?”

“Fuck off.” He snatched the sketchbook from her hands and shoved it into a drawer with more force than necessary, sitting at his station with a sulky look.

Yeji grinned, unbothered. “Alright, alright. Can you at least hand me that fabric?”

“Which one? Red or pink?”

“The one that matches your face right now.” He rolled his eyes and tossed both at her as she laughed, loud and satisfied, threading her needle like she already knew what was coming.

—

The days blurred together. Between my final project for Versace and the Saint Laurent trainee program reopening, I was stretched impossibly thin. My vision wavered between fabrics too dark, threads too bright, and sketches I kept tearing up only to start again. Sleep was a distant memory. Food, even more so. And then there were Hyunjin’s eyes—always on me. Watching. Waiting.

The studio was dark now, save for the light above my station. Everyone had left hours ago. I’d been here since 7 a.m., and twelve hours later I still hadn’t moved forward. My head rested against the table, heavy, motionless. Tears had come and gone in waves, staining paper and skin alike.

I exhaled shakily, finally letting the thought enter my mind: Maybe I should just call it a night. Maybe I should just give up for now.

That’s when I heard a soft rustle of fabric and the studio door slowly creaking open. Footsteps—cautious, deliberate—coming closer. “I don’t know what’s more depressing,” Hyunjin’s voice cut through the silence, “you… or this dress.”

My spine tensed but I didn’t lift my head. “Go away.” I said with a slight crack on my voice.

“You know you’re not supposed to be here this late.”

“Fuck off, Hyunjin.” The sudden outburst got his attention as my head snapped up, and for a moment, his expression shifted—surprise flickering across his face at the sight of my tear-streaked cheeks.

“I’m… sorry,” he said quietly, sipping from a lukewarm coffee cup.

“For what, exactly? Being a genius? Don’t apologize for that.” Silence settled between us. He looked anywhere but at me, fingers brushing lightly over the folds of the unfinished dress.

“I want to help you.” He finally turned to face me. “What were you trying to do with this?”

“It’s a drape I guess.”

He blinked. “A drape?”

“Are you helping or just here to humiliate me?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” He scratched at his buzzed head and gave a sheepish smile. “Look, why don’t you sit down, eat something, and let me see what I can do.”

“So you can take credit for it?”

“I’m not stealing your damn project, idiot. I’m trying to help.”

Before I could argue, he grabbed my shoulders with surprising gentleness and lifted me from my seat.

“Go get some food. Now.” He nudged me toward the door and then turned back to my station like he owned every inch of it. I lingered at the doorway, watching as he sat down, flipping through my sketchbook, analyzing fabric samples, sketching something over my notes like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Fifteen minutes later, I returned with a sad sandwich and a bottle of warm water. I sat quietly at someone else’s desk, unwrapping the food and watching him work. He was so focused—hands firm at the mannequin’s waistline, eyes narrowed, tongue peeking out as he concentrated. He still had that habit of running a hand through his hair, even though there was barely anything left to touch. Somehow, even now, he made it look easy.

I cleared my throat, trying to break the silence. “So…” I started, unsure of what to say next, “Did you know Versace wasn’t actually my first choice for a trainee program? I applied to Saint Laurent and Dior first. Neither worked out.”

Hyunjin hummed, still focused on pinning a fold of fabric. “You’re still here. That says something.” He paused, then added, “Also… this drape you were trying to do? It’s not exactly easy, you know.”

I took another bite of my sandwich. “You’ll pull it off effortlessly.”

“I’m serious,” he said, glancing over at me. “It’s… ambitious. The sketch is beautiful, but the execution’s tricky. You’ve got vision—and skill. So stop talking like you’re failing.”

I raised an eyebrow and clicked my tongue. “Wow. I thought you hated me. Are you going soft now?”

He exhaled deeply and finally turned to face me. “I don’t hate you.”

I tilted my head teasingly. “Could’ve fooled me. You’ve been at my throat since day one.”

His jaw flexed slightly. “I was… jealous, okay? Too much self-doubt, and then—there was you. Not just talented, but... distracting.”

“Hmm what?” My brows furrowed automatically.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly restless. “I’ve wanted this position at Versace for years. And then you walk in and suddenly the thing I thought was finally within reach felt impossible again.”

“Okay, and the point is… that you got better than me out of spite?”

“No,” he said, more earnestly this time. “I’m saying you pushed me. You worked hard, you’re insanely talented, and whether I liked it or not—you made me want to be better. You made me have to be better.”

I hummed, chewing slowly while playfully raising a brow. “Still pretty enough to get ahead tho, huh?”

He groaned. “Don’t reduce me to a pretty face. I’m literally trying to be vulnerable here.”

I smiled—genuinely, for the first time in what felt like forever. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. But seriously, your looks do help. Everyone gravitates toward you. That spotlight makes people pay attention to your work. You should take it as a win.”

He rolled his eyes, though a faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Sure. Whatever. I don’t even like them anyway.” He shifted slightly. “Pass me the scissors?”

“Go get them yourself.”

“My hands are literally holding this drape in place—just pass me the damn scissors.”

I hopped off the desk with a huff and walked over, grabbing them. But before handing them over, an idea sparked. “You said you don’t like them… but c’mon you must like someone, right?”

He looked up, wary. “What are you getting at?”

I tilted my head, teasing. “I’m saying… that besides your pettiness, maybe there’s someone you’re trying to impress. I’ll give you the scissors if you tell me who it is.”

“There isn’t someone.”

I narrowed my eyes, unconvinced, with a smirk growing on my lips. “Look, you don’t have to lie to me.” I teased, leaning on the table, “Is it a crush?”

“No.” Hyunjin said instantly, eyes widening slightly.

I smirked. “Is it Yeji? You two seem pretty close.”

“She’s just my friend.”

“Well, Julian definitely has a thing for you. And Camille—she might as well be writing your name in her sketchbook with hearts around it.” I held the scissor a few inches from his face pulling it away just as he failed to reach for it.

“I don’t like any of them,” he snapped, finally letting go of the fabric.

I rounded the table, keeping a distance, enjoying how cornered he looked. “Then who is it? Donatella? Your all time muse? Honestly, I wouldn't be shocked. You do give off ‘hot older woman’ energy.”

Hyunjin groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”

“I’m exhausted, okay? Sleep-deprived. Starving. Delirious.”

In one swift motion, he finally gripped my wrist and pushed me towards the table’s edge, his front tightly pressed against my back, pressing down my hand with the scissors against the table top. His toned chest now rose up and down in sync against me, his warm breath on my neck sent chills throughout my body as he whispered. “It’s you, idiot. Only you.”

My heart pounded as I tried to shift away from his grip, but it only got tighter. “Now… who do you like?”

A soft moan escaped my lips as he moved his thigh up in between my legs and pressed me even tighter against the table “Say it or I won’t let you go.”

I could feel the blood rushing through my face “... You,” I murmured.

“Say it again.”

“God, I hate you so much.” He let out a shaky laugh and stepped back, running a hand again through his cropped hair. We both looked away at the same time, flustered and breathless.

“We are idiots, aren’t we?” I muttered while crossing my arms around my chest.

“Yeah,” he said shyly and quickly turned back to the drape. “I’ll finish it.”

He worked quickly, like staying a second longer in that moment might kill him. I helped clean up, both of us avoiding eye contact as we gathered our things and headed for the exit.

Outside, the air was cool and quiet on our flushed skins. “Hyunjin…” I said softly. “Thanks. For earlier.”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“…Maybe,” I said, trying not to smile, “we could go grab a drink or something? As a reward. You know—for surviving each other.”

He glanced sideways at me with a scoff. “Are you asking me out now?”

“No. I’m extending an olive branch. A peace offering. Truce.”

He smirked. “Hmm. I doubt it’ll last long. You like things your way. I like things my way.”

I hummed, noticing the growing grin on his mouth.

“Tho it could make for an… interesting power struggle.”

I raised a brow. “Where exactly are you going with this?”

He held the door open for me, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Let’s just see who comes out on top tonight.”

A few blocks away we found a bar still pulsing with low music, its lights flickering in red and pink hues that painted shadows across our faces. He returned with two drinks, and I slid into a booth in the far corner, the vinyl seat warm under my skin.

The liquor burned fast, too fast. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe the way his knee brushed mine under the table, but suddenly—his lips were on my neck, slowly travelling up to my lips, perfectly syncing with the thrum of my pulse. I melted into him, heat curling low in my stomach as his hands roamed—hungry, searching—gripping both fabric and flesh like he was afraid it’d disappear.

He pulled back for a breath, but my fingers found the back of his neck before he could think twice. I kissed him again like it was inevitable—because it was. Skin to skin, lips crashing, the world outside that booth fading into smoke and static.

When we finally pulled apart, flushed and breathless, I whispered, “Do you want to… come to my place?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeji’s probably back at the loft.”

I blinked. “You live with her?”

“This city is expensive, alright? Roommates made sense. But if she sees us like this, she’ll never let it go.”

We made our way through the night in silence, walking side by side without touching. Not out of awkwardness, but fear that saying something might shatter whatever was unfolding between us.

At the loft, I turned on soft ambient music and handed him a glass of water to cut through the burn of alcohol. He wandered the room slowly, fingertips brushing over my belongings like he was trying to learn something wordless about me.

Hyunjin sank on the couch while I sat across from him on the edge of the bed. “You have a nice place.” He scratched his head and shifted on his seat, adjusting the tightening tension in his jeans. 

I rose, crossing the short space between us before settling onto his lap, one leg on either side. “You look like a pitiful idiot right now.” I murmured, teasing.

He leaned in, mouth ghosting over my neck. “Not as much as you looked like a loser moaning into my mouth ten minutes ago.”

His hands slid under my shirt, pulling my waist closer, pressing me firmly against the heat between us.

Clothes fell to the ground as we moved to the bed, crawling over tangled sheets. A mess of hungry fingers and uneven breaths, moans filling up the silent apartment while echoing the heat in our cores. The months of tension unraveled all at once, messy and clumsy and perfect in its urgency—just like the delicate thread of a dress that breaks if it’s pulled away for too long.

He entered me with a slowness that made me gasp, with the delicacy of a needle threading the sweet pattern of a lace. What started as tangled limbs turned into a rhythmic pulse of passion until we collapsed into each other, our heavy breathing filling the dimly lit room. 

Sweat clung to us as our fluids stuck to our skin. His forehead rested against mine as we steadied ourselves in the quiet afterward.

“We really wasted a lot of time not doing this,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

I smiled, barely. “Then I guess we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

—

On the last day of the program, they called us all into the studio. The tension in the air was unbearable, like the final thread of a seam about to snap. I could feel Hyunjin’s eyes on me every few minutes, silent and searching, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

Then they said the name—his name.

Everyone cheered. People were quickly on their feet hugging him, slapping his back, smiling like it was their own win. But even then, in the middle of all the noise and celebration, his eyes were only looking for mine.

I didn’t wait. I was already out the door before I could stop myself, but his hurried footsteps caught up, fast and breathless. “Wait—I didn’t know, I swear. If you want, I can talk to them—”

I held up my phone before he could finish. An email notification from Saint Laurent, with my name in bold.

He stared at it, stunned, then smiled so wide it almost hurt. “You got in!” I nodded, a little breathless myself.

He laughed—relieved, maybe—and pulled me into a hug that lifted me off the ground for a second. “You’re amazing. You know that, love?”

“Love,” I muttered against his shoulder, teasing. “I thought we agreed to keep things low-key.”

“Too late. Yeji found out the morning after. Apparently, your not so subtle love bites gave us away.”

I groaned. “Of course it did.”

He leaned back just enough to look me in the eyes, fingers still loosely curled around my waist. “Hey… you’re really going, huh?”

“I guess we both are,” I said, voice quieter now. “New cities. New lives.”

He nodded, but didn’t let go. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad we met like this. In this mess. At this time.”

I smiled, the kind that felt like it belonged to a memory already. “Me too.”

We stood there for a second longer, holding each other in the soft ache of almost-goodbye.

And then he whispered, “Write me. Call me. Or just… keep designing things that make people fall in love with you.”

“Only if you promise not to forget me when you’re famous.”

“Never,” he said. “You are my muse, the beginning of it all.”

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2025. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[bianotbia]

The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas

[bianotbia]

# astrology confessions 5 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Serious sh- here, let’s talk about obsession and escapism in water signs.

A bit of my chart for context: Scorpio Sun & Mercury // Pisces Moon & Mars // Cancer Rusing // Moon & Mars in the 8th house // Pluto in the 5th // Scorpio in the 4th // Pisces in the 8th // Cancer in the 12th.

Yeah, I have water all over my chart. And for most of my life, I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t overly emotional, sensitive, naive, dreamy, or just someone who lived in their own world. I was a quiet kid with a vivid imagination. But when adolescence hit, things started to change. The usual teenage chaos, self-doubt, insecurity and all that sh-, slowly pushed me toward escapism.

Movies, books, games, music… it all stopped being “just” entertainment. The fantasy worlds I once admired became alternate lives. They made me feel—deeply, intensely, like I belonged somewhere else entirely. And I know most people have their fandoms, their hyperfixations, their niche little obsessions. But for me, it always felt like full-blown soul diving. I didn’t just like things, I became them.

Water signs are deeply linked to escapism and addiction. We live in a world that often feels too harsh, too dry for the ocean inside us. Our emotions are raw, overwhelming. Even regular social interactions can leave us drained, disoriented. It’s no surprise many of us turn to outlets: drugs, alcohol, sex, fantasy, parties, or even just dreams.

Escapism becomes a way to survive—until it turns into something darker. Then comes obsession. It starts as something voluntary—a creative outlet, a crush, a new series—until it morphs into something uncontrollable. The pursuit of beauty becomes perfectionism. Romantic interest turns toxic. Immersion in media becomes delusion. Suddenly, we’re lost in something that once made us feel alive.

And while I do love this poetic, imaginative side of being a water sign, I won’t lie—sometimes it feels like my mind is stuck in constant motion, forever drifting between dreams and reality. And lately? That motion has been getting more chaotic. It’s exhausting. Falling in love with people who don’t even know you exist. Pretending you belong in made-up worlds. Never knowing when the next breakdown will hit.

I’ve gone through so many obsessions. So many highs of discovering something new—something that made me feel like I finally belonged. And just as many crashes when the delusion fades. Still, I always end up diving in again. Or maybe flying—soaring through the skies of fantasy, only to free fall back into obsession. And the cycle begins again.

Now that I’m living in what people call the “real world,” every day feels like a test. I’m still learning how to have a healthy relationship with the things I love. I’m not there yet. But I truly believe that recognizing your patterns—whether through astrology, therapy, or self-reflection—is the first step toward healing. And maybe, one day, finally toward peace.

[bianotbia]

Posted the last chapter of my series (for now 🫣) but anyway this was very good to get me back into writing 🤭

— 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 & 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒 : 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

˗ˏˋ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐈 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐭, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬...𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐧 ˎˊ˗

main masterlist

⤷ in times of uncertainty thomas shelby can't afford to wear his heart on his sleeve, yet as he reunites with his first true love—years after she mysteriously left him before the war—he still can't seem to get her out of his mind

⤷ this is a tommy shelby x artist!oc fic :) I tried to be as close to the series plot as I could, so basically it's set in s2 where he never met grace before

+ chapter 1 : could you ever forgive me? — [ ♡ ]

+ chapter 2 : the unfinished painting — [ ♡ ]

+ chapter 3 : just one more night — [ ♡ ]

+ chapter 4 : echoes of our broken hearts — [ ♡ ]

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2025. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[bianotbia]

# astrology confessions 4 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Hii! So can we talk about Drake and Kendrick Lamar beef? XD

I'll admit it—I didn't really knew much about them at first. I'd listened to hip hop and rap sometimes, but it was my brother who really introduced me to them.

Honestly, I actually thought that Kendrick was a scorpio. Turns out, he's a gemini—and that makes way more sense when you look at everything in context. People love to joke that he took that early Drake and J. Cole song quite personally, like he's been on a mission ever since to bury Drake's carrer. But the truth is, it's Drake (the actual scorpio) who took things personally. While Kenny—like a true gemini—just kept making music.

For starters, Kendrick has sun in gemini, moon in pisces, and mercury in cancer. While Drake has sun in scorpio, moon in cancer, and mercury in scorpio.

Kendrick is the type who just does the work. He is a gemini—he has a talent with words—and he makes sure to use that skill. The second he heard that Drake song, I can totally imagine the gears in his head already turning with a response. Drake, being the scorpio be is, felt threatened and snap back, trying to keep the upper hand.

Now I don't know what unresolved sh– Drake has emotionally, but speaking as a scorpio myself— and knowing the ancient lore that scorpios hate geminis—I genuinely think that it's because we scorpios spend our whole lifes trying to express what we feel into words, while geminis seem to do it effortlessly. With Kendrick, you can pick any song and feel a thousand emotions perfectly woven into every lyric. Not every gemini has that level of talent, of course, but I do think it's a natural gift many of them share.

Now, about the beef—Drake crossed a line when he brought up Kendrick’s family. Terrible move. The man's moon is in pisces and his mercury’s in cancer. If you talk about his family or someone he loves, he’s not letting it slide—he’s coming for you. And he did.

Drake’s mercury in scorpio means his words sting. He knows where to hit and aims for the emotional blind spots. But Kendrick’s mercury lines up with Drake’s moon, so he knows exactly how to get under Drake’s skin too—but in a different way. Instead of going the “f– your mom” route, Kendrick just sits you down and lays out everything you’ve done wrong.

Its just fascinating watching fights like these. Of course, I don't support conflicts of any kind, but listening to those songs where they basically have a discussion through it while never truly facing each other, it's impressive. And I just wanted to leave here my admiration for Kendrick, because his songs are art, they are beautiful. The emotion, the thought, the precision he puts into them—it’s genius. He’s a real artist in every sense.

[bianotbia]

— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒 : 𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 [ 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ]

main masterlist | series masterlist

˗ˏˋ just like usual tommy is surrounded by his enemies, but this time lily is among them and he goes a bit too far saving her ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : I've been literally so stressed on the past few days, at least writing this took my head off my problems for a bit :') but yeah this is the end of my Blood & Brushstrokes series, maybe in the future if I have more ideas I might go on with it, but for now enjoy their finale <3

⤷ contains : tommy shelby x artist!oc, mild smut and a bit of fluff, cigarettes, blood mention, guns, swearing, lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers [ w.c.: 3.5k ]

⤷ now playing : apocalypse by cigarettes after sex

The evening sky hung low, smothered in heavy, dark clouds that pressed down like an omen. The day had unraveled into a cruel tapestry of unfortunate events, each thread more twisted than the last—and not even Tommy’s sharp mind could anticipate the final card Sabini would play.

Inside the bar, the air was stale with the sharp stench of spilled liquor, smoke, and the bitter trace of gunpowder. A dim yellow light flickered overhead, casting warped shadows on the cracked walls. The room felt tighter than it was, walls closing in under the weight of danger. Sabini’s men stood in every corner, their grins etched with danger, fingers twitching near the triggers of their loaded guns.

At the center of it all—breathless, wrecked, but never defeated—knelt Thomas Shelby. Blood slid down the side of his face, glistening like a red thread against the pallor of his skin. His lip was swollen, jacket torn, but his ice cold gaze didn't wavered, as he stared up at Lily who stood before him.

A gun quivered in her grasp, with its barrel aimed directly at Tommy’s eyes. Her breath was shallow, barely there, as if the act of breathing might break the fragile wall between them. The metal felt foreign and cruel in her hands, its weight a burden she hadn't trained for.

“Go on, sweetheart,” a voice slithered from the darkness. One of Sabini’s men nudged her forward with the barrel of his own gun, his smirk visible even in the shadows. “Show us your worth and where your loyalty really lies. Put a bullet in the devil.”

Lily’s heart thundered against her ribs like a warning. Her hands trembled violently, the pistol unsteady as she lowered it to Tommy’s chest, tears threatening to fall as much as her bullet threatened to fire. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, shallow and sharp, like someone drowning on dry land.

“You don’t have to do this,” Tommy said slowly, his voice maddeningly calm, as though he hadn’t been forced to his knees in a room brimming with death. There was an unreadable stillness to him, one that didn't make it entirely clear if he had a plan or he had just accepted his fate.

Panic clawed at her throat. Her vision blurred. “They’ll kill us both if I don’t,” she choked out, the words thin and cracked, as fragile as her resolve.

“Let them try,” he replied, tilting his head ever so slightly. A trace of a smirk played at the corner of his bloodied mouth, infuriatingly confident. “You and I both know you’re not pulling that trigger.”

From the corner, a gun cocked loudly. The sound sliced through the air. “She hesitates—she dies too,” one of Sabini’s men growled, stepping forward.

Lily flinched. Her grip on the gun tightened as if trying to hold back fate itself. A tear slipped down her cheek, hot against her cold skin. Her finger hovered over the trigger. “Damn you, Tommy,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

“You could have warned me,” he said, his eyes finally breaking from hers to glance at the men closing in. “That the situation was this bad.”

Her voice quivered, bitter and raw, but still soft on its edges. “I told you—from the very first day—I told you I was working for them.”

“No,” he said, the smirk gone now, replaced by something colder. “You told me you were doing small jobs. That you were forced into it. That you didn’t have a choice.” Silence stretched between them—heavy and intimate, like the nights they stayed tangled in each other's bed. The kind that only exists between two people who’ve already disappointed each other but haven’t yet admitted it.

And the gun was still in her hands.

“I didn’t choose this!” Lily snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of everything unsaid. “Do you think I prefer this life over being a painter? Over silence and peace?” Her eyes burned with fury and grief. “But art doesn’t pay the goddamn rent. And you—you never let me help you.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched under the shadows. “What did you expect me to do, Tom? To be just a pretty trinket on your side? Someone to kiss when your nights got too lonely?” His laugh was bitter, hollow. “Well, look at the mess you’ve got yourself into now.”

She stepped toward him, voice low, venomous. “Then go on. Do what you do best—walk away. Push me away this time. Be the one to leave. Maybe then you’ll understand just how hard it was for me too.”

Her chest heaved, pain rising fast like a wave that threatened to drown her. “I did what I had to do,” she said, voice trembling but defiant. “I begged you to forgive me. But apparently even that isn’t good enough for Thomas Shelby.” His stare was ice-cold. “Fuck off, Tommy, you always cared more about yourself than what we could’ve been.”

Silence dropped like a knife. Then, softer—almost too soft he said. “Somehow, I always knew you’d be the death of me, Lily.”

Her lips parted, a breath caught in her throat—but before she could speak, a deafening explosion could be heard outside, shaking the building through all of its foundation. A bit of dust rained from the ceiling and screams erupted from outside, she looked at the window then back at him with furrowed brows.

“Think very carefully about what you’re going to do next, sweetheart,” Tommy said, eyes locked on hers, hard as steel. She let out a dry, broken laugh. “You don’t trust me with a gun?”

But in the blink of an eye, chaos unfurled after a single gunshot rang out. The sound echoed in Tommy’s ears like a memory tearing itself into existence. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. Smoke curled in the air, time slowed. Then finally came the stampede—his men flooding the room, shouting, unloading their weapons into Sabini’s men.

And in that fraction of a second, while she was distracted, Tommy lunged—grabbing Lily by the arm, pulling her down with him. Bullets ripped through the air above their heads as he swiftly dragged her toward the exit, shielding her body with his.

The sharp sound of her heels and the scuff of his leather shoes were swallowed by the chaos behind them—the gunfire, the yells, the wreckage they left in their wake. As they slipped out through the back door and into the cold night, for the briefest second, Lily caught a glimpse of John and Arthur through the smoke—their faces unreadable. Anger? Pity? She couldn’t tell, and there was no time to wonder.

Tommy pulled her into the shadows of Birmingham’s maze of streets—through narrow alleys slick with rain, the scent of smoke and sewage heavy in the air. Bright signs flickered in the distance, blurred by the haze, but they didn’t look back once.

Only after ducking into a deserted passageway, their lungs heaving from the sprint, they finally stopped. “Not like you to run from a fight,” Lily muttered, pacing in tight circles, eyes scanning the alley for any sign they’d been followed.

Leaning heavily against a damp brick wall, Tommy’s breath was labored, his skin pale beneath the streetlight. “Where are you going, Lily?”

“I don’t know,” she spat, still catching her breath. “France. Or wherever the hell is far enough from you and this bloody circus. Somewhere I can breathe—since you’ve made it clear I’m not exactly welcome.”

He scoffed. “Quit being so dramatic.” She looked back at him with fire in her eyes, but then she saw it. “Tommy,” her voice dropped, sharp with alarm, “what’s that on your shirt?”

He staggered slightly, bracing himself tighter against the wall. A crimson stain spread across the side of his coat, soaking through the fabric like ink in water. “Just a graze,” he muttered, dismissive, though his knees buckled for a second before he caught himself.

Lily rushed to him, hands flying to his shirt. “That’s not a graze,” she snapped, fumbling with the buttons on his vest. Her fingers were trembling now, her breath caught somewhere between panic and fury.

Underneath, the shirt was torn, blood already seeping from a deep gash above his ribs. The sight made her stomach twist. “You worried about me, sweetheart?” he teased, lips curling into a tight smirk, even as his voice wavered.

“Of course I’m worried, you idiot!” she bit out, pressing her palm against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “This is my fault—I should’ve—”

“You should’ve what?” His hand caught her wrist, firm but gentle, pulling her closer. “Shot me? Stayed and died with me?” His voice was low, the tension in him unraveling just a little. “We’re still standing, Lily. That’s what counts.”

Her throat tightened as tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. “Yeah? For how much longer?”

The sound of boots on pavement echoed down the alley. Fast, closing in, and they both froze. Lily’s hand gripped his arm. “We need to go. Now.”

Tommy nodded, exhaling sharply through clenched teeth. “Lead the way, sweetheart,” he said with a grim smile. “Just don’t get used to bossing me around.” She didn’t smile back—but she held him up, and didn’t let go.

Lily led him through a labyrinth of dim alleyways, their footsteps echoing off the damp cobblestones near the hidden paths along the canal. Tommy's vision blurred at the edges, but he let her guide him, half-limping, half-dragged, until the city lights flickered back into view.

Without a word, she shoved open a door and pushed him inside a narrow hallway buzzing with low chatter and the faint scent of perfume. Giggling voices drifted from behind velvet curtains. He blinked, disoriented.

His brow furrowed as he glanced around, catching glimpses of corsets, lace, and red silk. “Lily…” His voice was hoarse, half amused, half disbelieving. “Did you just bring me to a brothel?”

She shot him a look over her shoulder, already pulling him toward a side room. “You’re bleeding out, and that’s what you’re concerned about?” He smirked through the pain. “It’s a fair question.”

Inside the room, she guided him down onto the edge of a small bed, then turned to a wooden dresser and began yanking open drawers, searching for medical supplies. “I’ve got friends here,” she muttered, exasperated. “Besides, how the hell did you recognize it so fast?”

Tommy let out a breathy, pained chuckle. “I run bars, love. Brothels aren’t all that different—same crowd, same chaos.” He winced as he shifted, giving her a look. “I just didn’t expect you to know your way around one.”

She spun toward him with a glare and a roll of her eyes. “Next time, I’ll let you bleed out behind a dumpster then.” His brown cocked up as a smirk appeared on his mouth. “Touché.”

Kneeling beside him, Lily tore open his bloodied shirt with quick, efficient hands. The wound had worsened—blood now soaked deep into the fabric, skin torn and raw. She pressed a damp cloth against it. “This is going to hurt.”

Tommy sucked in a sharp breath, jaw tightening. “Been to hell already,” he rasped. “Do your worst, sweetheart.”

Despite herself, her shaking hands and teary eyes, Lily let out a small huff of a laugh. “You’re deflecting, by the way.”

“From what?” he asked, fishing a crumpled cigarette from his coat pocket with trembling fingers. “From the fact that you just saved my life?”

She met his eyes, sharp. “From the fact that you noticed exactly where we were. Funny, isn’t it? For someone who acts so superior. For someone that once said he didn't have time for it.”

He winced again as she pressed harder. “I never said I was a good man. I just didn't think you’d be so familiar with a place like this.”

“Never thought you were one, Tommy.” A bittersweet yet gentle smile grew on her lip. Their words danced on the edge of a fight, but beneath the barbs laid warmer. Unspoken. And her hands, usually sure and steady, now shook slightly as she wrapped gauze around his side.

Tommy’s teasing faded. He reached up, gently cupping her chin with stained fingers. His touch was rough, but the look in his eyes was soft. “Hey.” His voice dropped. “You saved me, Lily.”

Her eyes met his, wide and flickering with too many emotions. For a heartbeat, she froze—then quickly pulled away, shaking her head as if brushing it off. “Yeah, well…” she muttered, forcing nonchalance into her voice. “Someone’s gotta stop you from getting yourself killed.”

“You’re the one who dragged me into all this trouble in the first place,” Tommy muttered, the accusation low but laced with a trace of amusement. She pressed the cloth a little harder against his side. He winced, a breath caught in his throat—then let out a tired, breathy chuckle that left smoke dancing around the room. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry.”

Silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Lily worked in steady silence, her hands confident as they moved over the wound—cleaning, stitching, wrapping. Tommy’s chest rose and fell, slower now, pain giving way to exhaustion. He watched her, the sharp edge of his expression softening.

“Is that what you did during the war?” he asked quietly, his voice almost fading. “Were you a nurse?”

She glanced up, offering a faint, crooked smile. “They said I’d be good at it. That tending wounds would be like painting, delicate and intentional… but it wasn’t.”

Tommy let himself lean back against the mattress, the springs creaking beneath him. “I wish you had been the one tending mine,” he murmured. “Would’ve made hell feel a bit less like hell, sweetheart.” He took another drag from his cigarette.

Lily laughed under her breath, gathering the bloodied cloths and setting them aside in a rusted basin. “Oh, trust me,” she said, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t have liked me back then.”

He turned his head toward her, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “I doubt that.”

She sat beside him, the mattress dipping gently under her weight. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her dress, eyes distant. “I wasn’t myself. There was no color. No feelings. No… you.”

The words hung between them. Tommy studied her quietly. The woman who could walk through fire and still carry softness in her hands. “The war took everything, didn’t it?” he murmured.

Lily nodded, slowly. “And somehow,” she whispered, her voice nearly breaking, “we still keep finding new ways to bleed.” A beat passed. Then another. And in a gesture he rarely allowed himself, Tommy reached for her hand. His touch was gentle, unsure. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles, grounding her.

“Maybe this time,” he said, barely above a whisper, “we find a way to stop it.”

Lily looked at him—truly looked—and for once, she didn’t hide behind sarcasm or sharp responses. She said nothing. Didn’t need to, letting only the dim flicker of the lamp lit the space between them.

She rested her head gently against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her in the quiet aftermath. Tommy’s fingers moved slowly through her hair, each stroke deliberate, as if memorizing the feel of her.

“I promise you, Lily,” he said, voice low and rough with weariness. “This is going to end. I’ll put a stop to it. But you’ll have to trust me this time.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I’ll buy you a house—somewhere far from all this filth. Somewhere safe. And for the next few months… you’ll need to disappear. Stay out of sight.”

Her head snapped up, eyes locking with his in disbelief. “What?” she breathed. “No. No, you can’t do that, Tommy. You can’t just send me away like this.”

He reached up, brushing the back of his hand gently across her tear-streaked cheek. “I can’t lose you again, Lily. I won’t survive it. You need to understand that.”

Her hands balled into fists, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping her steady. “You think putting me in some quiet house will fix this? That I can just sit there and wait while you risk your life, day after day?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched, his eyes shadowed with desperation. “For once, Lily—just once—let me protect you.”

A broken, bitter laugh escaped her lips. “I don’t want protecting, Tommy. I want you.”

He faltered, his breath catching. For a moment, the weight of all his battles, all his choices, pressed into his expression. His grip on her waist tightened, just slightly, before he exhaled and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You know very well that Sabini won’t stop,” he whispered. “My enemies won’t stop. They know you’re my weakness. They’ll use you again and again, and one day…” His voice almost cracked. “One day I might not get there in time.”

Lily lifted her hands, cupping his face, forcing him to look at her. Her thumbs brushed the edges of a bruise blooming along his jaw. “And what if you’re the one who doesn’t make it back? What if I’m not there when they come for you?”

His eyes closed, jaw tight with the pain of a truth he didn’t want to face. The silence stretched between them like a loaded gun, only faint echoes from two broken hearts. “I’m not running,” she whispered at last. “Not from you. Not from this. If you’re going to fight… then I’ll be right here. Beside you.”

Tommy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes searching hers. And then, finally, with a quiet sigh full of surrender and resolve, he pulled her back into his arms. He kissed the crown of her head, lingering there, as if to shield her with the weight of his promise.

His lips grazed hers, slowly deepening the kiss, as if neither of them wanted to admit how much they needed it—how long they'd gone without truly touching each other without fear or resentment standing in the way. Tommy’s hands slid over her waist, firm but still loving, like he didn’t quite believe she was real. Lily, straddling his lap, traced the contours of his collarbone, her fingers brushing the edge of his bandage, careful not to hurt him.

He hissed softly at the sting, but didn’t pull away. His hand slipped beneath the hem of her blouse, fingers gliding across her bare skin—warm, soft, trembling with life. “You’re shaking,” he whispered against her neck.

“You scare me,” she murmured, breath catching as his lips brushed her collarbone.

His eyes flicked up to hers. “Of what I’ll do?”

She shook her head. “Of how much I still want you.”

That broke something in him. He kissed her then with a quiet hunger—not reckless, not rushed, but full of the ache of lost time and the knowledge that this moment might not last. Clothes were removed slowly, with hands that clung more than they pulled. Every touch was a question. Every sigh, an answer.

He laid her back gently on the narrow bed, his body settling over hers with the careful weight of someone who’d been wounded but still needed something to feel alive. Their movements were slow, interrupted only by quiet gasps, whispered apologies, mouths finding skin like it was the first time and the last time all at once.

Lily arched into him, nails raking softly down his back, pulling him closer, deeper, until there was no space left between them. No anger. No fear. Just heat and breath and the promise that even if everything else burned—they had each other.

When they finally lay still, tangled in sweat and half-whispers, the room felt warm and silent, somewhere forgotten between the dark hours of the twilight. He brushed his knuckles along her spine, her cheek resting on his chest again—this time not in fear, but in peace. For once, there was no ticking clock. No gun outside the door.

Just them.

Golden light filtered through the cracked window, falling softly across the creased bed sheets. Dust danced lazily in the quiet air. Lily stirred first, eyes fluttering open to the pale morning light. For a second, she forgot the blood, the fighting, the danger that had brought them here.

Tommy was still asleep—chest rising and falling in a rare, steady rhythm. He looked younger like this. Sharp edges of him smoothed by sleep, vulnerable, even. Like she never left him in the first place, like war had never even happened.

She traced a finger along the curve of his collarbone, watching him stir beneath her touch. His lashes fluttered, and then those familiar blue eyes opened slowly, blinking against the light.

“Morning,” she said, her voice hushed, almost shy.

“Still here,” he murmured, more to himself than her.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Told you I wasn’t running this time.”

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “If I could wake up to this every morning, I might actually believe we’ve got a chance of loving again.”

Lily leaned down and kissed him. “Let’s not waste it then, my love.”

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2025. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[bianotbia]

honestly this was supposed to be a original story but a moodboard was all I could do at this point :')

𝐖𝐄𝐁𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐀 : 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄

˗ˏˋ 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 ˎˊ˗

main masterlist

⤷ mania : a very strong interest in something that fills a person's mind or uses up all their time

@/lost_alice entered the chat... 《 ₴₮₳Ɽ₮ Ǥ₳₥Ɇ? 》

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2025. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[bianotbia]

— 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒

I will definitely turn some of these into a book in the future >-<

[bianotbia]

Will I write them right away? Probably not. But I thought they were cool anyway :)

[bianotbia]

# astrology confessions 3 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Hello! Here I am again, yapping about astrology on tumblr. It’s just so fun analyzing this stuff and having those “wow, I never thought about that” moments. Anyway, on to my confession :)

Recently, I was talking to my mom—because, of course, I love annoying her with astrology rants (just kidding, she actually enjoys hearing about it, even though she doesn’t really believe in any of it). During our conversation, I found myself reflecting on how fascinating cusp-born people are. But more specifically, I was thinking about Chester Bennington (from linkin park) and Hwang Hyunjin (from stray kids).

Chester and Hyunjin were born in completely different places and times, yet they technically share the same birth date—March 20th. That immediately raises the question: are they aries or pisces? When factoring in their birth time and location, Chester falls into aries, while Hyunjin into pisces. At first glance, you might think, "well, obviously—look at how different they are from each other".

But looking deeper, that’s where things get interesting. Chester, at first, seems like the typical aries guy—hot-headed, impulsive, and full of the raw, fiery energy as a rock band frontman. But if you really understand his story, you’ll see how deeply vulnerable and sensitive he was. Every lyric, every scream in a linkin lark song wasn’t just about anger; it was his way of releasing emotions he couldn’t otherwise express. Music was his escape, his battle against inner demons, his longing for something just out of reach—very much a piscean trait.

Now, on a slightly different note, many fans didn’t warm up to the new linkin park lineup. Understandably, people were attached to him, and any change after everything that happened felt strange. But Emily is undeniably talented—a great screamo singer in her own right. The main difference I noticed is in the way they scream. Emily’s screams feel like pure rage, like yelling at someone else. Chester’s, on the other hand, were something entirely different—you could feel the pain and sorrow. He wasn’t just screaming at the world, as an aries might, he was screaming at himself, trying to silence his thoughts, striving to be better—quite like a pisces.

Back to what I was saying, Hyunjin, at first glance—especially if you’re not into k-pop—might seem like the classic dreamy and graceful pisces, the “pretty idol" that girls swoon over. A soulful dancer and emotional singer, but if you really watch him perform and see how he’s evolved over the years, you start noticing something else—that fire in his eyes. There’s an intensity, something hot and explosive in the way he moves, the way he sings. It’s flirty, confident, commanding, like he can flip a switch and leave everyone stunned. He embodies pisces’ artistic, dreamy nature but also aries’ need for movement, passion, and heat.

And this is where my mom’s observation really hit me. She reminded me of something I once read (and might have told her)—that people born on cusps often carry traits from both signs. So instead of a hard cut-off between signs, it's more like a merging lane, a natural blend of characteristics rather than a strict divide. That made me realize that sun signs aren’t just neatly separated boxes—they’re part of a continuous cycle, where beginnings and endings blur together. Of course, many other factors influence someone’s personality, but I just find it beautiful how everything connects and people who seem like total opposites often have more in common than we think (also, loved that my mom actually remembered what I said!)

[bianotbia]

相沢　cover動画10月分　イラスト

動画 少女レイ（cover）/ 相沢　2024/10/08

動画 First Love（cover）/ 相沢　2024/10/15

動画 夜明けと蛍（cover）/ 相沢　2024/10/23

動画 君の知らない物語（cover）/ 相沢　2024/10/29

[bianotbia]

# astrology confessions 2 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Hii again :) This might just turn into a series because, honestly, I’m a total nerd for astrology and tarot. Now that I’ve learned a bit more about reading birth charts and the cards, I’d love to share my thoughts with others.

As I mentioned in my last confessions, I enjoy analyzing the birth charts of famous people I admire. I usually just check their sun signs, but I’m thinking about diving deeper into other placements too. Just for context, I recently graduated with a degree in communications and am now pursuing a postgrad in filmmaking, focusing on screenwriting and directing. So, naturally, I started looking up the sun signs of famous directors.

Of course, I know astrology isn’t scientifically proven, and there are countless factors to consider in both filmmaking and astrology. But I can’t help but find it fascinating how certain signs seem to fit so well with the personalities and creative styles of these filmmakers. My initial research was pretty general, but I noticed a strong pattern: many of the most successful and heavily marketed directors are fire signs—especially aries and leo, with a few sags in the mix—as well as libras. And honestly, it makes so much sense. Fire signs and libras really fit that classic image of a director of bold, charismatic, commanding the room, larger-than-life storytellers who thrive in the spotlight.

As a scorpio, I was kinda curious to find more water sign representation in filmmaking. That’s when I discovered that Jordan Peele and Sean Baker are both pisces (love them!). And it just fits—you can really feel their sensitivity in their work. Peele, with his dreamy yet grounded storytelling, and Sean, who turns the everyday lives of marginalized people into something deeply cinematic.

Just out of curiosity, I also looked up Sofia Coppola and Wes Anderson (love them too!), and it turns out they’re both taureans. Again, it's just perfect—their meticulous attention to aesthetics, their dedication to creating visually stunning films, and that earthy sense of beauty and order that taurus embodies.

Now, you might be wondering (or not!) if I found any directors who share my sun sign. And the answer is yes—Martin Scorsese is actually a scorpio sun and pisces moon, just like me! The funny thing is, he’s not actually my favorite director, nor has he made my favorite films, but I deeply admire and respect his work. I can see those placements reflected in his storytelling—the dark, intense atmosphere, the exploration of life’s darker aspects, and the way his films feel like real life is being told in a way that it could only belong in fiction.

I just love seeing my different obsessions all coming together! It’s fascinating how each director infuses their unique creative vision with a bit of themselves. And as an aspiring filmmaker, I hope that one day, even if just in the smallest way, I can create something that reflects my own perspective of life and creative vision to the world just like them.

[bianotbia]

— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑 : 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 [ 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ]

main masterlist | series masterlist

˗ˏˋ lily gets in a tough situation and tommy comes to her rescue, making both lean closer into their vulnerabilities ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : I just finished rewatching peaky blinders up until s4 and I can't deal with tommy and luca. don't put me, adrien brody and cillian murphy on the same room or else I might just melt in front of them, anyway enjoy the chapter <3

⤷ contains : tommy shelby x artist!oc, mild smut and a bit of angst, drinks and cigarettes, blood mention, swearing, lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers [ wc : 3.9k ]

⤷ now playing : young and beautiful by lana del rey

The pub was packed, the air thick with smoke and the lingering scent of whiskey. Thomas Shelby had spent all night in his office, going over some unfinished business for the next race, when he stepped out to check the floor—and that’s when he saw her.

Lily, perched on a barstool with a forced smirk on her lips, shoulders just a little too stiff for someone on their second glass of gin and a drunk man leaning in too close to her neck, his breath practically fogging up her glass.

Tommy didn’t have to think much before marching his way towards them.

“Didn’t know we started letting rats drink here.” His voice cut through the noise like a blade, carrying that quiet kind of threat that made men rethink their entire life decisions.

The man turned, blinking up at Tommy, clearly trying to gauge by his blurry vision whether dealing with a Shelby was worth the trouble.

Tommy already knew the answer.

He stepped in close, one hand resting against the bar, effectively cutting off any space between Lily and the unwanted guest. “You must be new, so I’ll make this real simple.” A tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You get one chance to walk away. Use it.”

The drunk man laughed and managed to say barely audibly, “Oh I know who you are…Thomas Shelby. Don't mind me and the lady here, we are just looking for some fun tonight.” The man pushed him aside and wobbled towards Lily, forcefully grabbing her wrist.

The second the bastard laid hands on her, any patience Tommy had left snapped.

Before she could even protest, his hand shot out, grabbing the drunk’s arm in an iron grip. “Bad move.” His voice was low, calm—too calm.

With one sharp twist, he forced the man’s arm away from her, wrenching it back just enough to make him stumble. As quick as anyone could notice, Tommy drove his fist into the guy’s gut. The man doubled over with a choked gasp, his drink slipping from his grasp and shattering on the floor.

Thomas didn’t let go, yanking him closer, his voice a deadly whisper. “You know who I am? Then you know exactly what I do to men who don’t take a warning.” His grip tightened, just enough to make the man wince. “Now get the hell out of my pub before I make sure you don’t walk out at all.”

The drunk, now pale and gasping, managed to frantically nod his head before Tommy shoved him away. He staggered back, tripping over a chair before scrambling toward the door.

The second he was gone, he turned back to Lily, his jaw clenched. “You alright?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, something dark still simmering beneath the surface.

A shaky breath escaped her lips even if she tried to not show her true emotions. “My knight in shining armour…” Carefully reaching for her drink on the barstool and letting the liquid wash away her anxiousness. “Thanks by the way…I thought I could get rid of him on my own.” Her restless eyes now soft gazed back at him.

Tommy watched her carefully, his sharp gaze catching the way her fingers tightened slightly around the glass. She was trying to put on a brave face, but after all that time he still knew her too well.

“Yeah?” He leaned in slightly, resting a hand on the bar beside her. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were two seconds away from smashing that glass over his head.” His smirk was there, yet with a hint of something real lingering beneath the teasing tone.

He reached for the bottle behind the bar and poured himself a drink, his eyes never leaving hers. “You shouldn’t have to deal with scum like that, Lily. Not here.” He took a slow sip, then set the glass down with a quiet clink. “You know you don’t have to fight every damn battle alone anymore, don’t you?”

She let out a soft chuckle leaning closer to him, “He was just a drunk guy Tommy. There are thousands of those around here.” The tips of her fingers brushed slightly over his hand, “Anyway, I'm happy you were there to help me.”

With a deep sigh she stood up from her seat, dusting off her dress. “Since you're in such a protective mood tonight, you wouldn't mind walking me back home, would you?” Tommy exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You always did know how to get your way.”

Still, he didn’t hesitate. He tossed back the rest of his drink in one smooth motion before standing up beside her, adjusting his jacket. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”

Without another word, he placed a steady hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. Outside, the night air tangled their hair, the streets damp from an earlier rain. It was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city—cars rolling by, laughter spilling from late-night pubs, a single howl from a lost dog echoing through the night.

Tommy slid a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it as they walked. After a moment, he glanced at Lily. “You sure you’re alright?” His voice was lower now, almost cautious, as if he wasn’t sure she’d actually answer truthfully.

“Yeah...things just seem to be a little on edge lately.” She looked down on her feet avoiding his eyes, after a few moments she lifted her gaze again searching for his, “I can count on you for anything, right Tommy?”

“You can count on me, Lily. You know that.” His voice was steady, but there was something softer there, something he didn’t let many people hear.

The faint blush painting her cheeks could have been for the cold wind hitting her skin, but also a hint of the growing feelings inside her heart. “Have you told anything to your family yet? That we've been seeing each other again…” With a gentle touch she linked their arms together while resting her head on his shoulder.

Thomas let the silence hang between them for a moment, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. Her warmth against his side, the way she leaned into him—it did something to him.

His lips slightly twitched, amusement flickering through his eyes. “If I told my family?” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, you think my brothers wouldn’t already have it figured out? John's been eyeing me like I’ve gone mad for days now.”

He tilted his head slightly, pressing the edge of his cheek against her hair. “And you know aunt Polly…I think deep inside she’ll be happy to hear you’re back. If you’re sticking around, that is.” His tone was casual, an unspoken question lingering in the night air between them.

“Yes, Tommy. Of course I will.” Lily let out a sweet laugh, hugging his arm closer to her, “Someone has to keep your sanity in check.” They continued their quiet path for a few more blocks until finally arriving at her house, “Do you want to come in, or you still got business to do back at the pub?”

He glanced up at her door, then back at her gentle eyes, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into the street. “Tempting offer.”

His hand slid from her arm to her waist, lingering there as he searched her eyes. “But I got a few things to handle tonight. Can’t have Sabini thinking we're getting too comfortable.” His smirk was there, but there was something else in his gaze—something that said he didn’t really want to leave.

After a moment in silence, feeling the heat of her body close to his, he exhaled and let his thumb brush lightly against her hip. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Lily nodded with a sad smile on her lips, sinking her face against Tommy's neck taking in his scent, hands gripping a little too long on his coat before they parted on that quiet night.

—

As days went by, the small war they were involved in kept creeping back in their lives. Sabini knew how to play the game, seemingly holding up all of the cards against Thomas Shelby and everyone related to him, from his present or past—especially his past.

The heavy knocks on Tommy’s door came just past midnight—urgent, uneven, desperate—, barely audible from the constant sound of the storm hitting the windows. He was already reaching for his gun when he swung the door open, but the sight in front of him made him freeze.

Lily.

Her dress was torn, darkened with dirt and blood that dripped from different parts of her body. Bruises already bloomed along her arms, and a deep wound on her leg stained the fabric of her skirt. She was shaking, barely holding herself up against the doorframe, her breaths uneven.

“I didn't know where else to go.” She managed to say with a weak voice and trembling lips.

For a second, he just stood there, deep blue eyes staring at what seemed to be a painting from his personal hell. The sight of her like this, broken and bleeding, sent something cold and vicious twisting in his gut. Then, in a heartbeat, his hands reached towards her

“Bloody hell, Lily—” He caught her before she could collapse, one arm around her waist, the other cupping the back of her head as he pulled her inside. “What the hell happened?”

Tommy didn’t hesitate, kicking the door shut behind them. “Sit down before you fall down, sweetheart.” His voice was rough, full of worry and anger, yet his hands were careful as he guided her to the couch.

Her knees buckled, and for the first time in years, Thomas Shelby felt something dangerously close to genuine fear. Before he could ask what had happened, footsteps came from the hallway.

“Who the hell is—” John's voice cut off as he stepped into the room, eyes widening. “Jesus Christ, Lily?”

And then, another voice—restrained, yet full of recognition. “Is that… Lily Langdon?”

Tommy stiffened slightly as aunt Polly stepped forward from the dimly lit corridor, her sharp eyes immediately taking in the scene. The years had aged her, but the care in her gaze hadn’t faded entirely.

“God above, child, what have they done to you?”

Lily flinched at every movement, “Tommy…they now know about everything…about us, and what we've been doing.” A pained moan escaped her mouth as she clutched her leg, Polly turned to him angrily, “What mess have you two gotten into this time, Tommy?”

Thomas clenched his jaw, his grip on Lily tightening slightly as he lowered her onto the couch. He ignored her sharp tone—he was too focused on the blood seeping through Lily’s torn dress.

“Who?” His voice was low, controlled. “Who exactly knows?”

Lily exhaled shakily, her head resting back against the cushions. “Darby Sabini. Some of his men caught me as I left one of their meetings…accused me of being a rat.” She sucked in a sharp breath as he pressed a cloth to her wound. “They said they’ve been watching us. That they know I warned you.”

Tommy’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he continued dabbing the wound, his jaw tightening. “Bastards.”

Polly crossed her arms, her piercing gaze bouncing between the two of them. “And what exactly have you been warning him about, Lily?”

She let out an innocent chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “Oh, you know, the usual—murder, gang wars, the kind of thing that makes for lovely dinner conversation."

John, still standing near the doorway, let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell. So now we’ve got Sabini gunning for both of you.”

Tommy exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before looking back at Lily. “You should’ve told me sooner.” His voice was slightly softer now, but the frustration still lingered. “You almost got yourself killed.”

Lily gave him a tired smile, reaching for his hand. “I'm still here, ain't I? Still alive. Still in your house.” Her eyes flickered to Polly as she let out a breathy laugh. “Didn’t think I’d ever set foot in here again.”

The older woman sighed deeply as they finally managed to steady the wound on Lily's leg, “You kids don't leave me one moment of peace. Tommy take the poor girl to the bathroom and help her get clean. I'm not going to let you stain everything with blood again.” In one swift movement he scooped her out of the sofa and quickly carried her upstairs.

Lily let out a soft yelp, gripping onto Tommy’s shirt as he carried her. “You know, I can still walk.”

“Not bloody likely,” Tommy muttered, taking the stairs two at a time. “You’re half dead on your feet.”

She sighed, letting her head rest against his shoulder, exhaustion catching up with her. “You always were dramatic.”

“And you always had a knack for getting yourself in trouble.” He pushed open the bathroom door with his foot, setting her down carefully on the edge of the tub. His hands lingered at her waist before he straightened up, rolling up his sleeves. “Can you manage, or do you need help?”

Lily smirked despite the pain, tilting her head up at him. “Oh, what a scandal that would be.”

Tommy just gave her a flat look, grabbing a cloth and dipping it into the warm water. “Lift your damn dress, Lily.”

She huffed a laugh, but the moment she moved, pain shot through her leg. She sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Tommy crouched in front of her, his touch surprisingly gentle as he took over, carefully peeling back the fabric. His fingers brushed against her skin, and for a moment, she forgot the pain entirely.

“This is going to sting.” His voice was softer now, almost hesitant.

Lily swallowed, meeting his gaze. “I trust you.”

Something flickered in his eyes at that, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he focused on cleaning her wound, his movements careful, precise. Lily watched him in silence, taking in the way his brow furrowed, the way his jaw tensed.

“You’re angry,” she murmured.

“Damn right, I am.” He didn’t look up, concentrating on drying the red liquid dripping from her leg. “They put their hands on you. They tried to kill you. And now, they think they can come after us?” His grip on the cloth tightened slightly. “They have no idea what they’ve just done.”

Lily reached out, cupping his face with her hand, forcing him to look at her. “Then make them regret it. I won’t let you go through this alone...not again.”

Still catching up her breath, Lily felt exhaustion creeping through her whole body while Tommy finished bandaging her wounds. “God, I feel so dirty. Can I get into the tub? Or do you think that would be a bad idea?” She searched for his eyes with a hazy look and the hint of a teasing smirk on her lips, “You could help me bathe.”

Tommy let out a sharp exhale through his nose, his fingers stilling against the bandages. His eyes flickered up to hers—half-lidded, hazy with exhaustion, but still full of that spark that drove him mad.

“Lily,” he muttered, voice low, warning.

She smirked, tilting her head. “Oh, come on, Thomas. I’m half-dead, in pain, and feeling rather pathetic. The least you could do is indulge me.”

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Indulge you? You got fucking shot, sweetheart. You should be resting.”

Lily sighed, resting her head against the cool porcelain of the tub. “I just want to feel clean, Tommy.” Her voice was softer now, more vulnerable. “They dragged me through the dirt…I can still feel their hands on me.”

His jaw tightened. He stood abruptly, turning to the sink, running the water. For a moment, she thought he was ignoring her—but then he spoke, his tone gruff.

“Fine. But you’re not doing it alone.”

Lily raised a brow. “Oh?”

He shot her a look, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll help. Just don’t get any ideas."

She grinned, despite herself. “No promises.”

The stained dress slid down her skin, brushstrokes of red covering her entire body. Lily got into the warm water wincing a bit after feeling it on her still fresh wounds, Tommy kneeled by the side of the tub to which she sent a playful look. “You're not getting in?” He squeezed his eyes in annoyance but a smirk could still be seen on his lips. “Please, Tommy...I barely got out of there alive,” she said, feigning an innocent smile.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed at her, a mix of exasperation and amusement in his gaze. His fingers gripped the edge of the tub, and he took a moment to stare at her, as if weighing the situation. Lily’s smile was too sweet, too innocent—but he knew better than to be fooled.

“You really think I'm going to let you control me like this, sweetheart?” he said, his voice still low but laced with the playful edge that only she could bring out.

Lily leaned back in the water, sighing dramatically. “You’re already here, Tommy. It’d be such a waste if you didn’t join me.” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, her voice softening. “I could really use some help with my back… and maybe my shoulders, too.”

His jaw twitched, a muscle in his cheek pulsing as he thought about it. But that damn smirk on her lips—the way her eyes sparkled with mischief and something deeper—was enough to push him past any sense of hesitation.

“You’re something else,” he muttered, standing up and shrugging off his jacket, his usual cold demeanor cracking just enough to let his feelings show.

“But don’t think I’ll let you get away with this.”

But beneath her humor, her eyes still held that quiet, fragile look—the kind that begged for something soft, something grounding. A touch, a moment of warmth to pull her away from the hell she had just endured.

“Please… just for tonight, Tommy,” she murmured, avoiding his gaze. “Like we always say.”

Something in Tommy’s chest tightened at the sight of her. That vulnerability in her eyes gripped him, twisting deep inside. He hated seeing her like this—broken, weary, reaching for something she could barely hold onto. It felt like the last pieces of the woman he once knew were slipping away, unraveling bit by bit. And worst of all, he couldn’t shake the feeling that, in some way, he was the one to blame for it.

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze softening as he took a step closer to the tub, his presence looming over her. The air between them felt heavy with the weight of their past, but also with the temptation of what they could be in that moment—back to being lovers, just for that night.

“I told you, Lily…” He swallowed, his voice uncharacteristically low, “Nothing will ever go back to what it was. I can’t give you everything you want…not again.” But his hands were already at his shirt, pulling it over his head, the fabric dropping to the floor.

He slowly slid into the tub sitting behind her, the warm water enveloping them both. As he felt her back gently laying against his chest he let out a tired sigh, and for a second, the old anger, the old walls, faded. There was only this—only her.

“Just tonight,” he whispered softly, a hint of something unspoken behind those words. He reached for her shoulders, brushing wet strands of hair away from her face, his touch almost gentle. “Just one more night.”

The night had already been filled with so much pain, regret, confusion, but in that moment, it felt like they both needed this. Needed to be close. Just for that night.

The warmth of the bath still lingered on their skin as they laid tangled in his bed, the dim glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. Unlike their previous passionate encounters, that night their touches were nothing but careful and tender, bandages and bruises covering Lily's body as his fingers slowly traced her skin.

Her legs trembled feeling his rhythmic movements in and out of her, restrained as not to worsen her condition but still full of the passion that set their hearts on fire. His moans muffled on the crook of her neck, trying to take in everything he thought he had ever lost. Their hands pulled each other closer, skin sticking to each other with sweat as another shockwave of pleasure ran through them.

Their bodies rolled over, making Lily rest her head against Tommy’s chest, tracing absent patterns on his hand while he lazily ran his fingers through her damp hair. For once, there was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet hum of their breathing and the distant sound of rain tapping against the window.

“You still never told me why you ran away.” She took a moment to answer, his question almost getting lost into the silent night.

“I got scared, Tommy…you can't blame me. I was going to come back, but with the war coming closer it felt like there were no more tomorrows for any of us. But then tomorrow came and suddenly I needed the money…and Sabini was there.” He swallowed hard quietly listening to her hesitant voice, a knot forming on his throat. “Did you see anyone else in the meantime?”

Lily let out a sigh, “There was a soldier once. We spent the whole night whispering sweet nothing in each other's ears. But the next morning he was gone with the wind…guess I got a taste of my own medicine,” she lifted her eyes searching for him, “Hate me already?”

He stopped for a second before turning his deep blue eyes to hers. “How could I, Lily?” For once in so long a soft expression could be seen on Tommy's ever stoic face, “No one could ever make me hate you…I just wished things went different for all of us.”

“You were always my favorite place to rest, you know,” Lily murmured, her voice drowsy but laced with something deeper. “Even when I left, I kept dreaming of this.”

Tommy let out a slow breath, his arm tightening around her waist. “You dream of a lot of things, Lily,” he said, though there was no bite to his words. “Not all of them are real.”

She chuckled softly, pressing a light kiss to his chest. “You're still here with me, aren't you?”

Silence stretched between them again, comfortable but heavy. After a while, she whispered,

“Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if I had never left?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers trailed slowly down her spine, as if grounding himself before speaking. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But thinking about it wouldn't change a thing.”

Lily lifted her head slightly, searching his face. “And if I had never come back?”

This time, he met her gaze, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he murmured, “Then I wouldn’t be here right now, holding you.”

Maybe it wasn’t a confession of love, nor a quiet offering of forgiveness. But it was the truth. And for that night where their hearts were mended back together, that was enough for them.

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2025. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[bianotbia]

— 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 [ 𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐧 ]

main masterlist

˗ˏˋ you promised yourself to never fall for jeonghan, but when new feelings bloom inside you have to make a very painful decision ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : this was actually the first ever fanfic I wrote and, after I lost my previous account, I swore to myself I would try to rewrite it. even though I spent months in it and used a little bit of help from chat gpt to help me rewrite some parts, I couldn't be happier with how it turned out ^_^

⤷ contains : office crush!jeonghan x gn!reader, office au, hanahaki disease, full angst because I'm sad, mentions of blood and bruises [ wc : 2.6k ]

⤷ now playing : daisy by pentagon

Spring arrived in a hush of pink petals, drifting weightlessly through the air before settling on the pavement like forgotten confessions. A warm breeze carried the scent of earth and blossoms, yet all I could focus on was Jeonghan—his head tilted back, eyes half-lidded as if caught between daydreams and reality.

“Jeonghan,” I nudged him lightly, pretending not to notice the way my chest tightened at his absentminded smile. “Did you read the report I sent you this morning?”

He turned to me, lips curling at the corners in that easy, unshaken way of his. “I will,” he promised. “After lunch.” And just like that, I let myself believe, if only for this fleeting moment, that we existed in a world where he would look at me the same way he looked at the cherry blossoms—like something worth pausing for.

Half an hour later, we made our way back to the office after the lunch break ended, walking alongside the blooming cherry blossoms that painted the path towards it. He nudged closer with a spark in his eyes, as if he just came up with a brilliant idea. “Why don't we go out for some drinks tonight? We can celebrate spring and you can take your head off work for a bit.”

The pounding inside my chest echoed in my ears after hearing those words, feeling a flush painting my face almost the same color as the pink rain falling around us. It wasn't unusual for us to meet each other for drinks after work. Sometimes our other colleagues at the office would come along and other times we would go on by ourselves, but lately he hadn't been going out much.

I slightly nodded my head, trying to brush away the sharp pain that stung my heart as I wished I had never met Jeonghan, just so that the heartbreak of knowing he would never return my feelings for him wouldn’t make me slowly wither every day.

A dark shade of blue covered the sky, gracing it with stars invisible to our eyes blinded by the city lights. The scent of alcohol took over the streets along with the sound of slurred voices laughing over nothing. Already on our third glass, the conversation barely consisted of meaningless giggles and words that surely would get lost into the night.

“What’s your favorite flower?” He asked, a confused frown settled in my face which made him laugh at my reaction. “C’mon…it’s spring! Get in the vibes.” His body felt warmer—closer than it had ever been—as if one faint touch could send me on a maddening spiral of passion.

“Cherry blossoms…I think.” He hummed, a low sound that traveled through my body and made it even more limp thanks to the empty glasses spread around our table.

“What about you, Han?” I gazed at him, searching for the slightest slip of any hidden emotion that might only show when someone is drunk. He giggled and downed the remains of his beer, and from that moment on the only thing I could remember on the following day was the one word that came from his teasing smile.

“Daisies.”

The weekend faded into a grayish and gloomy monday morning, as if an incoming storm was getting closer at each second. Flashes of last friday night still swirled inside my mind and his laugh still echoed in my heart along with a conversation that seemed to go on all night long. There wasn't anything not to love about him—pretty face, smart comebacks, mischievous smile—how could I not fall in love?

Yet something always tightened inside my chest whenever he was around, something that drowned out any kind of words that conceived how much I liked him, how much I longed to have him close to me.

“Hey, did you see it?” I heard as soon as I arrived at my desk, mindlessly turning to my grinning colleague, Yena, who leaned over her own desk, “Mr. Yoon brought flowers to Haerin today.” She tried to cover a growing smile that quickly turned into a pout “They are so cute together! Oh, now I want a boyfriend to give me flowers too.”

“Boyfriend?” That word played over and over in my mind as I still tried to process everything she just said.

“Yeah! Apparently they just started going out in the past few weeks.” For a second, sitting in that cold office, all of the air inside my lungs seemed to vanish.

“Wh–what flowers did he give her?” I couldn’t keep my voice non-chalant, but she didn't notice anyway, just humming to herself while trying to remember what she saw.

“I think they were pink” cheerfully nodding her head, “Uh-hum, I'm pretty sure they were cherry blossoms.”

In the corner of my eyes I saw a shadow approaching us, Yena glanced up with a sparkling smile, one I tried to imitate as I realized who came over.

“Hi Mr. Yoon! We were just talking about you and Haerin. We're so happy for both of you!” He gave her a polite smirk, but quickly turned to me with a worried look. “Are you feeling alright? You seem quite pale.”

Any words I had to say to him got caught on the back of my throat. I felt my head nodding and could only hope that the tears pooling in my eyes wouldn't cross my cheeks in front of him.

That evening, my apartment was eerily quiet, the air cold and the room dimly lit. The only sounds were the relentless storm that had been pouring since lunchtime and the steady rush of water filling my bathtub. As I sank into its warmth, the sensation faintly reminded me of the rain dripping over my coat as I waited for Jeonghan at our usual meeting spot in front of the building. Only, this time, he didn’t show up.

As I neared the restaurant we often went to, my eyes caught a glimpse of him and Haerin. They laughed together, his usually sleepy eyes shining with a liveliness I had never seen before. I kept walking, eventually settling on another place to eat. Yet, even as the rain soaked through my clothes, the thing that bothered me most wasn’t the cold creeping into my bones—it was a strange itch at the back of my throat.

I heated up some soup after the bath, hoping to fend off this possible spring fever. But the itch remained, growing worse at every second and every cough that came out of me. Finally, something emerged from my mouth—a single daisy petal resting on my lips. It felt like a cruel joke while I forced myself to finish my meal.

Later, as I lay in bed and my thoughts slowly drifted away to dreamland, I could only cling to one desperate hope—that by morning, the delicate white petal would have disappeared, as if it had never been there—just like a bittersweet memory.

Unfortunately, the flower was still sitting at my nightstand as I woke up, alongside the annoying scratch that came from within my throat. I hurried to get dressed trying to ignore the suffocating sensation that made me feel even more ill while riding the crowded train, its constant rhythmic movement barely matching my ragged breaths.

The bitter feeling faded by the time I walked into the building, leaving just that unbearable sensation of something lodged in my throat. An itch I couldn’t scratch. A weight I needed to expel, as if letting it go was the only way to keep moving forward.

I ran into Haerin as I arrived at the office. The concern in her eyes told me I must have looked as awful as I felt. Time dragged mercilessly, stretching an hour into what felt like days. Had I already gone to lunch? Caught the train? Made it home? Or was I still lost, wandering through the remnants of a forgotten memory?

Then, once again, that suffocating feeling clawed its way up from my lungs to my throat—the desperate urge to rid myself of whatever was trapped inside. Not wanting to draw attention or fuel office gossip, I bolted to the restroom on the other floor.

Alone at last, my lungs felt like they were being filled with a hundred thorns, my throat suddenly surrounded by weeds that choked every airway. The coughing worsened and didn’t stop—not until flowers slipped through my fingers just as the tears that dripped from my eyes. The amount of them could probably make the decoration of a small wedding–their wedding.

By the end of that painful episode I was sitting on the cold tiled floor surrounded by white petals, a tear stained face and a bouquet full of daisies hanging on my shaky hands.

Everyday I saw Jeonghan mildly flirting with Haerin at the office, everyday I feigned a smile, and everyday I got home and felt flowers and more flowers coming from inside me. However, something started to worry me more than having to clean the white petals off my bathroom—was that daisies weren’t thorny flowers—yet as blood stained my hands and pain settled in the back of my throat, I knew this wasn’t some uncanny spring fever I could just brush off.

I couldn’t keep living like this—pretending that nothing had changed. I couldn’t keep going out with everyone after work and seeing both of them laugh at an inside joke they shared with each other, knowing that I wasn’t the one he looked at with such loving eyes.

The rain had poured relentlessly all day, a dull gray sky stretching endlessly above. That evening, Jeonghan invited me out for some drinks, just like old times, insisting I had been too distant lately. I only hoped the dim bar lights would be enough to hide the exhaustion in my eyes and the bruises in my lips.

“It’s been so long since we’ve gone out together. Feels like we’re not even friends anymore,” he said, nudging me playfully. I forced out a tired laugh, but it faded almost as soon as it escaped my lips.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Han.” My voice wavered as I met his gaze.

He frowned slightly. “That sounds serious—are you okay? You don’t look like yourself these past few weeks.”

A deep sigh left me as I looked away, the weight of everything I had been carrying pressing down on me. “I’m leaving the company. I found… something better. The people are nice, and the pay is good too.”

His face froze. He blinked once—twice—before finally speaking. “Oh…well…why are you saying it as if it’s something bad? You should be happy about it, right? Let's drink up to that.” We clinked our glasses while his gaze still lingered on me, a fading laughter from a night far away still echoed in the night.

As we got out of the bar the rain hadn't stopped and a sudden wave of longing rushed right through me. “There's…something else I wanted to say to you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. But I couldn’t speak. The words were caught in my throat, tangled in the thorns tightening around it, suffocating any attempt to express what I truly felt.

“Actually, never mind. It wasn’t that important.” He chuckled softly, the sound light and effortless, and we continued walking along the pink-strewn path of fallen cherry blossoms.

The next few days passed in a blur, an empty void where time moved, but I remained still. I saw them together at the office—smiling, happy—and let all my unsaid words spill out only when I was alone at home. As my last days at work dwindled, I barely managed to say proper goodbyes to my colleagues, promising to keep in touch with everyone, even Jeonghan—but deep down, I knew that was a lie I couldn’t keep telling myself.

The moment my final paycheck hit my account, I made the call. A hospital I found online—one that specialized in Hanahaki disease. They told me the procedure to remove the flowers from my lungs was costly and could have irreversible effects on my mind. But after everything that I went through, it didn’t feel like the worst idea.

As a single tear traced down my cheek while I entered the surgery room, the doctor assured me it was a simple procedure. That when I woke up the next morning, everything would feel just the same. Everything—except for one thing. He would be gone. Every memory, every moment we had shared—erased as if they had never existed at all, like a forgotten dream.

As the voices in the room faded into the background and the bright lights dissolved into darkness, the last thing I heard was Jeonghan’s laughter—followed by a sharp, piercing white noise.

When I opened my eyes, sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. I took a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on my chest was gone. My lungs, once suffocated, now welcomed the air freely—light, empty, and unburdened.

Slightly sore from the surgery, I listened to the soft sounds coming through the window. Outside, summer was in its final stretch, clinging to its last few scorching days before making way for autumn. The pink trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, like a distant, faded memory fluttering somewhere in the depths of my heart.

As I looked to the side, something caught my eye—a vase of white daisies. A small note from the doctor rested beside it: “As much as it might hurt to see them, these were too beautiful to throw away.”

Something deep inside me stirred. I knew what he meant by it. And yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite grasp who I was trying to remember. Only the distant echo of a familiar voice lingered—faint, unreachable, already slipping away.

Summer’s final days passed in a golden haze as I settled into my new job, adjusting to the unfamiliar faces and surroundings. This weekend, I had plans to meet up with Yena, just a casual get-together, a chance to catch up on all the latest gossip.

I stepped out of the chocolate shop, a small bag of gifts in hand, when I accidentally bumped into a young man. He took a long look at me before his face lit up with a bright smile. “Oh my god, how long has it been? It feels like ages! How have you been?”

For a brief moment, I furrowed my brows in confusion. “I’m sorry, sir, but I think you have the wrong person.”

He chuckled at my puzzled expression, reaching slightly for my hand, but I instinctively pulled away. “What are you talking about? It hasn’t even been that long... It’s me, Jeonghan.” His once cheerful expression wavered, slowly shifting into something more uncertain, almost desperate.

There was something in his eyes, something pleading, as if silently begging me to remember. But I had nothing else to say to him.

“Sorry, I really don’t think I’m who you’re looking for,” I said, my voice polite but distant. “I should get going. I hope you find them again. Have a great day.” With a quick bow, I muttered another apology and walked away, leaving the stranger standing there.

Jeonghan remained frozen in place, his breath hitching as he watched me disappear down the tree-lined path. His vision blurred, the world around him smearing into shades of green and pink as tears welled in his eyes. A tightness coiled around his throat, sharp and suffocating. And then, finally, he felt it—a strange itch clawing its way up from deep inside him. Coughing lightly, he reached up, and from his lips, he pulled a single delicate petal.

A sakura blossom. Resting on his trembling palm.

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2025. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[bianotbia]

# astrology confessions 1 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Hii! I just wanted to reach out to the astrology community on Tumblr because even though I have some kind of knowledge of tarot and astrology, I’d love to hear other perspectives on this.

I have a deep admiration for many artists, and as someone with a lot of water placements, I often find myself deeply empathizing with people I’ve never even met. That’s where this all began. I should mention beforehand that I’ve never seen a mental health professional or ever been diagnosed with anything—still, since life hasn’t always been easy, I’ve been healing in my own way.

Now, as I analyzed the charts of some artists who struggled with mental health—like Chester Bennington, Yves Saint Laurent, and Vincent Van Gogh—I came across Kurt Cobain’s birth chart. I’m not saying, “Oh my God, we’re twins!”, but what caught my attention was how many elements in our charts aligned. There’s a strong presence of water signs—especially in the inner planets—,a high number of mutable signs, and even some planets and asteroids falling in the same signs. We also share the same Chinese zodiac sign and the moon phase on our birth dates was also the same. Still I’m well aware that he faced many challenges that had nothing to do with his astrological placements, such as bipolar disorder.

I’ve always felt an overwhelming tide of emotions just beneath my skin and, during my teenage years, I spent a long time feeling stuck—maybe even on the edge of depression—that now I’ve been slowly healing. However, one thing that has always lingered in my mind is the fear of substance abuse. Something deep inside me tells me that if I ever took even one drag of a cigarette, it could be a point of no return. Even though I know I would never actually use those substances, intrusive thoughts creep in—What if I did? Would I meet the same end? Is my fake sense of security hanging by a thin thread?

I have loving parents and a secure home, yet I still wonder: do these astrological similarities mean anything in terms of both of our "fates"?

At the end of the day, I want to believe that we shape our own destinies. And instead of letting these shared elements weigh on me, I want to use them to create meaningful art and perhaps live the life that some of these artists, unfortunately, couldn’t.

[bianotbia]

— 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 & 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒 : 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

˗ˏˋ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐈 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐭, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬...𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐧 ˎˊ˗

main masterlist

⤷ in times of uncertainty thomas shelby can't afford to wear his heart on his sleeve, yet as he reunites with his first true love—years after she mysteriously left him before the war—he still can't seem to get her out of his mind

⤷ this is a tommy shelby x artist!oc fic :) I tried to be as close to the series plot as I could, so basically it's set in s2 where he never met grace before

+ chapter 1 : could you ever forgive me? — [ ♡ ]

+ chapter 2 : the unfinished painting — [ ♡ ]

+ chapter 3 : just one more night — [ ♡ ]

+ chapter 4 : echoes of our broken hearts — [ ♡ ]

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2025. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[bianotbia]

— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 [ 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ]

main masterlist | series masterlist

˗ˏˋ tommy reunites with an ex-lover but not without his own doubts, especially after he sees her with suspicious company ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : Since I decided to continue the story I just wanted to say that tommy and lily met before the war and that she left him before he went to fight in it, grace doesn't exist on this au bcs I don't really like her and ig this would be set on s2 :) hope you guys enjoy the story <3

⤷ contains : tommy shelby x artist!oc, mild smut and a bit of angst, drinks and cigarettes, swearing, lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers [ wc : 4.7k ]

⤷ now playing : maroon by taylor swift

A few days went by after the incident at the docks, and even though new problems always appeared in Tommy’s life, meeting Lily again wasn’t one he was ready for. That night kept playing over and over in his mind the following days, her soft touch deeply engraved on his skin. But just like she couldn’t leave his mind, he also couldn’t pretend that he hadn't noticed her fidgety movements while talking to him, anxious eyes looking around all the time as she was being watched.

The air in the pub was thick with smoke, low murmurs blending with the clinking of glasses. In a shadowed corner, Lily sat at a small table with two well-dressed men, their conversation hushed but intense. Her expression was unreadable, her fingers tracing the rim of her untouched drink.

From across the room, Arthur—even though he had already drank too much rum and could barely see straight—watched the scene unfold. His instincts screamed at him. Those men weren’t locals, and they sure as hell weren’t here for a friendly chat.

Arthur didn’t wait to hear more. He turned on his heel, rashly pushing through the crowded bar until he found the door to Tommy’s office. He knocked once, then stepped inside without waiting for permission.

Thomas Shelby was at his desk, whiskey in hand, going over a set of numbers that had been troubling him all week. He barely looked up. “This better be good.”

Arthur cleared his throat, stepping closer. “Oh you might wanna see this for yourself, Tommy.”

Now, Thomas looked up. The tone in Arthur’s voice was enough to put him on edge. “What is it?”

He hesitated, then finally said, “It’s your little darling. She’s out there talking to a couple of fellas I don’t like the look of. Outsiders. And from the way they’re speaking, she ain’t just catching up with old friends.”

For a moment, Tommy didn’t move. His grip on the glass tightened, his expression darkened. Then, slowly, he set it down, pushed back his chair, and stood.

“Where?” His voice was calm. Too calm.

Arthur jerked his head toward the door. “Corner table by the back. You wanna handle this quietly, or—the Shelby way?”

Tommy didn’t answer. He just straightened his cuffs, rolled his shoulders, and strode out of the office, the air around him turning cold.

If Lily thought she could play him, she was about to be reminded exactly who she was dealing with.

After a few more minutes talking with those men she finally left the bar cloaked by the dark streets of Birmingham. As she turned on the first corner a harsh hand gripped her arm and pinned her to a wall. Tommy’s hoarse voice echoed in her ears “What do you think you're doing, sweetheart?”

She barely had time to react before her back hit the cold brick wall, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. His grip was firm, body pressing just close enough to keep her trapped without crushing her.

The dim glow of a streetlamp cast shadows across his face, but she could still see the hard set of his jaw, the fire burning behind his cold blue eyes.

Lily swallowed hard, keeping her expression neutral even as her heart pounded. “Taking a midnight stroll,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “Didn’t know I needed your permission for that.”

Tommy’s fingers tightened around her wrist, his other hand bracing against the wall beside her. “Don’t play games with me, Lily.” His breath was warm against her cheek, his voice now edged with something darker. “I had to find out from Arthur that you’ve been cozying up with my enemies in my pub? You think I wouldn’t notice?”

She hesitated for just a second—too long.

His eyes narrowed. “What were you talking about with them?"

Steading her breath with a final sigh she gave him a shaky smirk. “For the right price I could tell you everything I heard.”

Tommy let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“For the right price?” His grip on her wrist tightened just enough to make a point, his other hand still braced against the wall beside her. “That’s cute, Lily. Real cute.”

His eyes burned into hers, searching for a crack in that shaky smirk she wore like armor. “You think I’m some bastard off the street you can play with?” He leaned in just enough for his voice to drop lower, more dangerous. “You owe me, sweetheart. And if you think I’m about to start paying you for scraps of information when I don’t even know whose side you’re on…”

He trailed off, his lips twitching into something colder than a smirk.

“Then maybe you’ve forgotten exactly who you’re dealing with.”

Lily closed the gap between them while saying between teeth. “I know very well who you are, Tommy. Actually I know you better than anyone around here. Now we can do this the hard way—where we treat each other like enemies. Or the easy way—where we talk like actual normal people.” As Tommy loosened his grip she pulled away from him “So what will it be?”

He watched her step away, his jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides. She always had a way of slipping through his grip—figuratively and literally.

His instincts screamed at him not to let her walk away. Not after what he’d seen. Not after the way she’d just tried to sell him information like he was some common fool.

But damn it, she wasn’t wrong. She did know him better than most.

Taking a slow breath, he ran a hand through his hair, rolling his shoulders before speaking, his voice rough but measured.

“Fine. You want to talk? Let’s talk.”

His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. “But not here.”

He nodded toward the alleyway leading to the quieter side streets and over to the backdoor of the pub, taking her straight to his office. Somewhere away from prying eyes. Somewhere she couldn’t slip away so easily.

“After you, sweetheart.” The words were laced with something obscure—part challenge, part warning. Because one way or another, he would get the truth out of her.

Lily stepped into the room like she owned it, taking a seat on the chair in front of his desk while crossing her legs. “As you said it yourself I'm in this too now, Tommy. Goodness and grace were never a part of your life…and apparently not mine either.”

He shut the door behind him with a quiet click and made his way to sit across her, his eyes never leaving her figure as she settled into the chair like she belonged there. Like she had any control in this. “For someone that looked so scared a few nights ago, you seem quite confident now.”

“I think we are each other's only options at this moment.” She sighed and leaned closer to him with a soft look that held much more behind those deceitful eyes. “Look Tommy, I know what you're capable of and I know better than to be against you. But you might want to start treating me with more consideration given your current situation. We are no strangers after all.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smirk. “No, we’re not strangers. That much is true.” He moved around the desk, leaning against it just inches from her, arms crossed over his chest. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you, Lily.”

His gaze burned into hers, searching—always searching. “You say you don’t want to be against me, but I find you whispering with men I don’t know, keeping secrets, making me chase after you like some fool.” He tilted his head slightly. “You’re right about one thing, though. Grace and goodness? Never suited me much in this life.”

Then he leaned closer, voice low and edged with something darker. “But you? You used to be better than this. So tell me, sweetheart—when exactly did you decide to become just like me?”

“Maybe you were a bad influence on me after all.” Her eyes held a spark of playfulness yet still looked away from his cold ones. Silence stretched between them—only the drunk slurred singing could be heard outside—still neither dared to give up their pride behind those closed doors.

“They work for Sabini…he’s planning an attack on you, next weekend at the race.” Lily finally said, but he still didn't answer. She let out a sigh and slowly got up from her seat, making her way across the dimly lit room and stopping by the door. “Just don't tell anyone I told you this.”

Tommy stayed still for a moment, turning her words over in his head. An attack at the race. That wasn’t just a small move—Sabini was getting closer to him.

His fingers tapped against the desk as he watched her step toward the door, the soft glow of the office lamp casting shadows across her face.

“You really think I’m letting you walk out just like that?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, something unreadable in the way he looked at her now.

Pushing off his chair, he crossed the space between them in a few slow strides, stopping just close enough to remind her he still had the upper hand. “You expect me to just take your word for it? No explanation, no proof—just a warning whispered in the dark?”

His gaze searched hers, softer now but still cautious. “Tell me, Lily. Why risk telling me at all?”

Feeling his breath nearly touching her skin made her heartbeat speed up, “I don't know, maybe I want you to win the race…maybe I don’t want you to die.” She reached for his hand but stopped midway letting out a quiet chuckle, “Anyway, I’m not risking myself any more than I already have been for the past few years. Why are you so worried Tommy? Are things so tough in your dating list that you're considering settling for me again?”

He let out a breath, his expression unreadable as he watched her hesitate. That damn touch—always just out of reach.

“Settling?” A slow smirk tugged at his lips, but there was something sharper behind it. “Sweetheart, you and I both know there’s never been anything settled about us.”

His hand shot up, catching hers before she could pull away, his fingers rough but not unkind as they wrapped around her wrist. He turned it slightly, his thumb ghosting over her pulse, feeling it race beneath his touch.

“You say you want me to win this one.” His voice dropped lower, his grip tightening just enough to hold her there. “But what happens when I do? Are you still gonna be here, or are you gonna vanish into the night like last time?”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips just inches from hers now, his breath warm against her skin. “Or maybe you’ve already made up your mind about that.”

“Is that what Thomas Shelby is most afraid of? Are you afraid of getting your heart broken again?” She whispered, sliding her hands across his chest, slowly caressing his shoulders and finally sealing their lips together. His body quickly responded by pressing her against the wall beside the door, taking her hand off the handle.

After briefly separating for air she barely whispered against his lips, “I'm gonna tell you a secret Tommy, I was scared of that too. Unfortunately in the end we both survived being away from each other.” 

With a sad smile and a quick peck on his lips she reached once again for the door, but not without looking back one last time at the man behind her. “You know…sometimes I wish that I had never met you at all. But I guess my life wouldn't have been even half as exciting as it is now.”

Tommy watched her with that same damn vague expression, his breath still uneven from the kiss that left a fire in his chest.

She always did this—pushed him, pulled away, left him chasing shadows.

As she turned to the door, his voice cut through the air, low and certain. “You always talk like you don’t have a choice, Lily.”

He stepped forward, just close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back. “Like it was fate, like you just ended up here.” His fingers brushed against the back of her arm, a fleeting touch. “But we both know the truth, don’t we?”

His lips barely ghosted the shell of her ear, his voice quieter now. “You could’ve left this city. Could’ve started over. But you didn’t.”

A beat of silence. Then, softer—more dangerous—“So tell me, sweetheart… if surviving me was so hard, why the hell did you come back?”

“You are a smart man, Tommy…unstable sometimes, but still a very smart one.” She looked back at him while licking her lips as if she could still taste the remains of his taste in it.

“Everytime I'm with you I have the feeling that I make the same bad choices all over again,” she let out a quiet laugh “I wonder if just like me you also think to yourself that we were made for one another.” 

Tommy didn’t hesitate this time.

Before she could say something else he captured her lips once again with a forgotten hunger he had sealed deep in his heart. The moment their lips met, all those years of anger, longing, and unspoken words burned away in the heat of it. His hands found her waist, pulling her against him as if he could somehow make up for the time they’d lost.

She tasted like every bad decision he’d ever made, every mistake he’d willingly make again.

When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, his breath still uneven. “I don’t waste time thinking about things I already know, Lily.” His voice was rough, edged with something dangerously close to honesty. “And I’ve always known.”

His fingers traced the curve of her jaw, his grip firm, like he was grounding himself in her. “But knowing it doesn’t change what we are.” His lips brushed hers again, softer this time, more deliberate. “And it sure as hell doesn’t mean we’ll survive it.”

—

A few days passed after their passionate brief encounter, heavy rain drummed against the windows of Lily’s small townhouse, the dim glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows along the walls. The storm outside masked the quiet footsteps that approached her door—until a firm knock cut through the silence.

Lily froze mid-brushstroke, her paintbrush hovering over the half-finished canvas in front of her. She knew that knock. Steady. Measured. Unmistakable.

Slowly, she set the brush down, wiping her hands on a cloth before making her way to the door. She hesitated for only a second before unlocking it and pulling it open.

There he was.

Thomas Shelby standing on her doorstep, dark coat slick with rain while his eyes shadowed beneath the low brim of his hat. He was unreadable, that same cold, calculating look on his face—the one that sent fear into his enemies and made her heart pound for entirely different reasons.

“Tommy,” she breathed, gripping the door a little tighter. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her, his sharp gaze sweeping over her as if he was looking for something—some crack in her defenses, some truth she wasn’t saying.

With a slow exhale, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Had a talk with Aunt Polly today,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “She seems to think you’ve still got secrets I should be worried about.”

His coat dripped onto the wooden floor as he took another step closer, eyes locked onto hers. “So tell me, Lily—why is my family starting to doubt you?”

She swallowed hard while trying to avoid his piercing gaze and let out a defeated sigh. “If you're going to stand there you can at least take off your coat.” 

He handed her his damp coat which she hung by the door, leading Tommy to the living room where her unfinished canvas stood in one of its corners. “So did you win the race?”

He nonchalantly side-eyed her while lighting up a cigar, breathing out a deep cloud of smoke in the room. “Why do you make questions you already have the answer for?”

Lily coughed a bit after inhaling the thick scent, making her way to open up a window even with the pouring rain outside. “I honestly have no idea why she's saying that. But your family isn't really an example of trust and generosity with people outside of their circle.” She murmured while searching on a tray, finally taking a bottle of whiskey and pouring both of them a drink.

“I don't think Polly ever really liked me, considering the few times we saw each other…when you and I used to date.” Lily sat by Tommy's side on the couch absently gazing at the unfinished painting that stood there like a bad omen to her, “Did she say something specific of what was ticking her off about me?”

Tommy accepted the glass, though he didn’t drink right away. Instead, he leaned back into the couch, stretching one arm along the back of it, close enough that his fingers nearly brushed Lily’s shoulder. His gaze flickered to the canvas on the corner of the room, but he didn’t comment on it. Not yet.

“Polly’s got good instincts,” he finally said, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “And right now, they’re telling her you’re hiding something.”

He took a slow sip, letting the burn settle before continuing. “She says you’ve been acting strange. Asking questions. Showing up in places you shouldn’t be…just like last week at the pub.” His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp as they locked onto hers. “And now, after all these years, you just happen to show up in my life again, saying that you need my help or that I need your help—right when my biggest rival wants me dead.”

He set his glass down on the small table beside them, leaning in slightly. “So tell me, sweetheart—which side are you really on?”

She looked at him with steel cold eyes, almost as if raising an invisible wall between them. “What do you want me to say?” There was an edge on her usual soft voice.

“Fuck Tommy, I don’t know.” She took a long sip of her whiskey feeling it burning down her throat, making a frown as she exhaled. “God—I'm so tired of everything. I can’t paint anymore, can’t get Sabini off my back,” she hesitated for a second “...can’t stop thinking about you.” She set her glass on the table and laid her head on Tommy's lap letting out an exhausted sigh. “I don't know what to do anymore.”

Tommy tensed for half a second as Lily rested her head on his lap. It was too familiar, too damn easy to slip back into how things used to be. His fingers twitched, itching to brush through her hair, but he forced himself to keep still.

“Thinking about me?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge beneath it. “Is that what’s got you so tired?”

He glanced at the painting again—the frustration in her strokes, the way the colors bled together in something unfinished, uncertain. Just like her. Just like them.

Finally, he let out a slow exhale, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You say you’re tired, Lily, but you’re the one who walked back into this mess.” His thumb absently traced small circles against the fabric of her dress. “So tell me the truth—what do you really want? From me, from them, from all of this?”

Her shoulders tensed for a brief moment upon feeling his touch against her skin. “What do I really want, Tommy? I want to end all this mess.” She hastily sat up again, the warm candle lights reflecting on her desperate eyes. 

“I want to get out of this miserable life—for you to see me for who I am and not only sleep with me whenever you want.” With a heavy breath the fire in her eyes slowly died out. “Why did you come here tonight, since you clearly already made up your mind, Tommy?”

He didn’t flinch at her outburst. He just sat there, watching as the fire burned through her words, then slowly dimmed again.

“You think I never saw you?” His voice was quiet, but there was something sharp underneath, something restrained. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he held her gaze. “You think I only wanted you in my bed?”

A humorless chuckle left his lips as he shook his head. “You never did see the full picture, did you?”

He exhaled through his nose, fingers running through his hair before he looked at her again, colder now. “I came here because I don’t like unanswered questions. And you, Lily—you’ve always been my biggest one.” He studied her carefully, “But maybe Polly’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t be looking for answers from a woman who never gave me the truth in the first place.”

He reached for his coat, standing slowly. “So tell me, sweetheart—should I walk out that door and never look back?”

She quickly rose up from her seat giving a step closer to him with an almost pleading look in her eyes “What do I have to do for you to trust me again, Tommy? Do you want me to beg? To cry for you? To sleep with you?”

The sorrow in her voice got even more raw with each word she spoke “I can get you information from Sabini. What they are planning…I can be your spy.” Hesitantly she reached for his hand embracing it on her own.

“Can you stay the night? Today felt quite…lonely.”

Tommy stood still, letting her words wash over him like waves crashing against a stone. Desperate. Raw. Honest—at least, it sounded honest.

His fingers twitched slightly in her grasp, but he didn’t pull away. Not yet.

“You offering to be my spy now?” His voice was low, unreadable. “Risking your neck just so I’ll trust you?”

His free hand reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his touch slow, almost thoughtful. “You think that’s what I want, Lily? Information? Leverage?” His thumb traced along her cheekbone for the briefest second before he let out a quiet sigh, stepping in just a little closer.

“You always did know how to keep me tangled up in you,” he murmured. “Even now.”

He studied her for a long moment, finally he squeezed her hand in his. “Alright,” he said, voice quieter now. “One more night.”

But as he searched her face, his grip tightened just slightly. “Just tell me one thing before I stay—are you doing this because you want to, or because you’re afraid of being alone?”

“I miss having you in my life...” The soft touch of his hand made her emotions calm down just like the rain outside seemed to get quieter. “I want you to believe in me again, Tommy. Why don't you understand that I would do anything for you? Even if that meant leaving you and risking everything for you.” Still avoiding his eyes she snaked her arms around his torso cuddling closer to his chest.

“Relax…I'm not going to seduce you to sleep with me like a few nights ago…you might think I'm trying to sneak my way back into your life through your pants,” a soft chuckle escaped her lips.

Tommy let out a quiet scoff, but there was the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to do it,” he muttered, resting a hand on the small of her back.

But as she pressed against him, as the warmth of her body settled into his, something in him eased. Just a little.

“You say you’d do anything for me,” he murmured, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head. “Funny, considering you left me without a word.” His voice wasn’t sharp, not anymore. Just tired.

His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles against her back. “You’re good at this, you know? Pulling me back in.” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “God help me, Lily, I don’t even know if I care anymore.”

He let the silence settle between them, the rain outside now a soft patter against the window. Then, after a beat, he muttered, “I’ll believe you—for tonight at least.”

But even as he said it, he knew one night wouldn’t be enough. Not with her. Not ever.

As sunlight creeped between the curtains from Lily’s messy room, she shifted among the tousled sheets that hugged her silhouette. Chills coursed through her bare torso from the cold breeze that came outside the window, hands mindlessly seeking for the man that kept her body warm all night long and who was now sitting on the edge of her bed with a cigar in his mouth. “Can’t seem to get yourself out of here, hmm?”

Tommy took a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling before glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Funny.” His voice was rough from sleep, laced with something almost amused. “Could say the same about you, sweetheart.”

He tapped the ash into a tray on her nightstand, his gaze trailing over the mess of tangled sheets and the way her bare skin peeked through them.

“Didn’t take you for the type to let me stay the night.” His smirk was lazy, but there was something sharper behind it—something that betrayed the fact that, for all his teasing, he hadn’t actually wanted to leave.

With a sigh, he ran a hand through his tousled hair, watching her with that unreadable expression he always wore when things got too real. “What’s the verdict then, Lily?” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Was this another bad decision you’ll try to forget?”

“I don't think I'll ever forget them,” she sent him a lazy smile while sitting on the mattress and leaning on his back. Her hands wandered through his chest as she languidly kissed his neck, “Why don't we make more bad decisions then?”

Thomas let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest as he tilted his head slightly, letting her lips brush against his skin.

“You always did like to push your luck, didn’t you?” His voice was rough, but there was a warmth beneath it, something dangerously close to fondness.

He reached down, capturing one of her wandering hands, bringing it to his lips with a slow, deliberate kiss against her knuckles. “Careful, Lily. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually want me to stay.”

Turning slightly, he met her gaze, his smirk lazy but his eyes sharp. “And we both know that’d be trouble, don’t we?”

“I don't mind it…trouble is far away from us right now.” Her fingers gently traced his jaw while giving his lips a quick peck, “Don't tell me you don't want this too, Tommy?” She said while already climbing on his lap and deepening the kiss, slowly pushing his back to the mattress, “We can do it quickly. Then you can go on with your business.”

Thomas let out a low hum against her lips, his hands instinctively finding her waist as she pushed him back onto the mattress.

“You’re a damn menace, you know that?” His voice was hushed, but the way he let her take control, the way his fingers tightened against her skin, said he wasn’t fighting it.

He let her kiss him deeper, let himself sink into the warmth of her, the scent of her, the way she always fit against him like she’d never really left. “Quick, huh?” He smirked against her mouth, flipping their positions in one swift movement, pinning her beneath him now. His breath was heavy, his lips hovering just over hers. “That’s cute, sweetheart. But when have I ever done anything quick with you? I think Arthur and John can handle themselves without me for the next few hours.”

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2025. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ