#I'M NEW TO WRITING ADA

[sapphire-weapon]

Chapter 10: Weskada (Wesker/Ada): Seduction and face-fucking

[allmoshnobrain]

are you gonna make me cry with Heartbreaker 25?

🩷🖤

Oh no, anon! 25 is not gonna be too sad I promise

Parts 26 and 27 on the other hand are... Complicated

[digiflora]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘!

ꪆৎ choso ⸝⸝ sukuna ⸝⸝ gojo ⸝⸝ ino wc.

summary. life as a streamer creates all sorts of potential interactions- whether between other creatives, or just some random person in a csgo lobby...

contains! ꪆৎ streamer au ⸝⸝ cosplayer reader (choso) ⸝⸝ some suggestiveness + downbadness lmfao ⸝⸝ nerdjo my beloved

𐔌 gia's notes! ☆⌒(ゝ。∂) woioi chat. i've been on such a 2020 first lockdown nostalgic kick recently im ngl... hence the title of this fic LOL. and lowkey the content too 😞 you can kinda tell that i ran out of steam while writing this... but o well

streamer!choso [@/ch0k4m0] who is relatively well known- technically, for his gaming abilities, though what solidified his online fame was his rather candid commentary, with seemingly no filter between his thoughts and the words that come out of his mouth. that, and his looks which had broken the internet when he had face revealed, catapulting him from a fairly unknown but well loved streamer to regularly getting hundreds of thousands of views on his streams.

his current streams mostly consisted of him working his way through resident evil. viewers could expect to see a decent progression within each stream due to choso not being completely useless at playing the game, alongside his dumb comments diminishing the fear factor of the franchise ever so slightly. and of course, his ever so subtle crush on the character ada wong.

'chat oh my GOD i've never been so in love with some pixels before'

'ada baby please, just one chance. i know that i'm 3d and you're 2d but we'll make it work'

every time a cutscene of her plays, there's an absolute torrent of messages and donations teasing him for his poorly hidden crush, ones that choso takes the time to properly read through during his breaks in the stream. such an occasion happens now, with choso reading out some random comments when a new donation rings out, the text to speech voice that comes with it bearing a demand

'choso you need to look up this account RIGHT NOW and look at the video they just posted'

his brow furrows as he reads the username, deliberating on whether he should actually follow those instructions or if his viewer was just trying to mess with him. ultimately, he conceded to his chat's wishes and opened a new browser window, typing it in.

a mere few hours later after the stream, you found your notifications to be blowing up more than usual. you had posted a new cosplay video earlier today, but even then there was a little TOO many notifications to be your usual audience. you noticed that you had been tagged in an edit, inclining you to click on that before wading through the likes and comments. every time that you received one it was a special kind of joy, with the knowledge that someone enjoyed your cosplays enough to inspire them to make something. you hear the music begin to fade in once the edit loads, though the intro clip has you confused as you don't think that you've seen it before.

obviously, you recognise choso, the handsome and funny streamer who got really popular recently, and one that you have unfortunately joined many others in appointing as your resident e-crush. you weren't big on watching streams, but every time a clip of choso appears when you scroll, you can't help but watch the whole thing, partially for its entertainment value, and partially because of just how cute the guy looked on your phone screen.

so really, it was quite the surreal experience to hear your username fall from his lips as the clip plays on your phone, and you watch the edit in disbelief

'am i spelling this right, chat?'

'and the latest video, right- oh it's, holy fuck-"

the beat then kicks in. clips of your ada wong cosplay flashing across the screen, one final flashbang of choso's face as he watches your video with an almost comical expression of awe. you're left absolutely flabbergasted as the video begins to loop, clicking on the comments to see what the hell was going on

'get in damn line choso 😩'

'BROOOODJFNSJG I WAS WATCHING THE STREAM AND I JUST KNEWWWWW SOMEONE WAS GONNA MAKE AN EDIT WITH THAT CLIP 😭😭😭'

'the stream was like 2 hours ago this edit was so fast wtf'

'it should have been meeeeeee ughhh'

'the way choso scrolled thru her ENTIRE account and then followed her... that man's finally got a crush on a real personnnnn'

that last comment captures your attention specifically, and sure enough, you see his username amongst your many new followers. it pays to get noticed by a popular streamer, you suppose.

and then, to your utmost surprise, you also see his name pop up within your dm requests

@/ch0k4mo: sooo are you in need of a leon kennedy by any chance

the dm isn't exactly suave, but it has its intended effect as you blink at your screen as you process it, finally letting out a squeal of excitement, screenshotting the message shamelessly. your friends are not gonna believe this. and then, only after running laps around your room and waiting for your erratic heartrate to return to a normal tempo, you type out a shaky response.

@/yn: funny that you ask that, cos i had a few video ideas in mind ;)

you can only hope that on the other end of the line, choso is having a somewhat similar reaction to yours.

streamer!sukuna [@/kingkuna] who is notorious for causing chaos online, whether on fps games such as cs and valorant, or even on the more inane roblox games where he makes a living off of terrorising little kids. actions speak louder than words, though the streamer is quick to utilise both when instilling terror on whichever server has the misfortune of having him

'i do this for the love of the game, chat'

'well, that, and because bullying little runts is fun'

all of these actions, streamed live every wednesday and friday, helped to garner sukuna a rather.... distinct reputation.

despite being considered an asshole for all intents and purposes, sukuna had somehow amassed a following, all from his persona of being an online troll.

so this week's particular stream was especially shocking to his fans for all of the wrong reasons.

it started off like any other stream, sukuna casually reading off the odd message in his chat whilst preparing for the stream, retorting some snarky comment that has the chat getting more and more riled up, all with a shit-eating grin on his face.

it was more or less a love-hate relationship between him and his chat, though everyone seemed happy with the dynamic, expecting no less from the streamer.

this stream in particular was particularly anticipated, if the steadily increasing viewcount in the corner was anything to go off of, probably due to the fact that this wasn't quite like his other streams. despite the countless hours of his content, very little was known about sukuna, and as a 1 million subscriber goal, the man had acquiesced to people's demands for a q&a.

it started off as well as it could have, with rather generic questions rolling out. but of course, knowing sukuna's audience (and his lenient moderators), some raunchier ones started to worm their way through

'does it... jiggle when i walk? mods, get this clown out of here'

sukuna rattles through the questions, his fans clearly revelling in his embarrassing childhood stories, in the knowledge that his hair is not dyed, and how he views his streams as training to continue defeating his nephew in fortnite whenever they play together.

and then, finally, the fated question

'kingkuna i have to know for all the ladies out there... do u have a gf??'

it's a special donation message, one that rattles off loud and clear in a way that absolutely cannot be missed, though with the amount of time it takes for him to respond, he may as well have.

'hm, wouldn't you like to know?'

there's a torrent of outraged messages, before a deep booming laugh emits from the man.

'ehhh, i'm just fucking with you. of course i do, she's my forever girl.'

there's another torrent of messages in chat, though they're now oohing and ahhing at just how uncharacteristically sweet the streamer is being. his eyes flit over the incoming messages, his grin widening as his gaze lifts to somewhere beyond the webcam's reach.

there's a silent exchange, no words needed before sukuna reclines back in his chair, his legs spreading as he makes room for whoever's coming into frame.

'she's right here, too. everyone say hi to y/n'

and when she situates herself right on his lap and his arm wraps around her waist, the chat goes crazy. the streamer seems to remember his regular image, cackling at the desperate onslaught of messages eager to get even a morsel of information about the two of you, instead starting to click away at the preparations needed before he ends the stream

'oh would you look at the time, looks like i'll be having to end the stream now. see you suckers on wednesday'

'byeeeee!'

you can't help but chime in, giggling and waving right at the camera before the stream shuts off, and you feel sukuna begin to truly relax into his chair, shuffling you impossibly closer to his chest, hugging you to him and burying his face against you.

'aww, you big baby'

'dunno what you're talking about'

you giggle at your boyfriend's antics, though definitely used to them by now. instead, you get comfy, letting sukuna use you as his personal pillow as you card through his hair with one hand, the other unlocking your phone and you begin to scroll through twitter. #kingkuna1m was already trending thanks to the premise of his livestream, and you can't help but click on the tag, looking through some of the most recent tweets.

'never would i EVER have expected SUKUNA of all ppl to be relationship goals'

'praying on his downfall fr 🙏🙏🙏 he doesn't know how good he has it'

'he's so EVIL for ending the stream like that omfg'

'the way he looks at her IM SICKKKKK ☹️☹️☹️☹️'

that last one comes with a video, a hasty screen recording of those last few moments of the stream as you wave at the camera, though you're focusing on the shamelessly lovestruck expression on sukuna's face as he watches you. it's enough to have you giggling and kicking your feet right in his lap, and he grumbles, his spare hand catching onto your flailing ankle

'quit squirming, brat'

'but you're just so cute, kunaaa'

you show him your phone screen, and it's your turn to study his face as he looks at the video impassively, though he can't hide the little twitch of his lips.

'my camera must be faulty, gotta get a new one'

streamer!gojo [@/sago] who is affectionately known by his fans for being a big fat nerd. it's not like he tries to hide it, the background of his setup decorated avidly with all sorts of posters and memorabilia from his favourite shows and games. compared to other streamers, too, gojo wasn't one to particularly shy away from details of his personal life, his laidback and easygoing persona making it easy for people to become regular viewers of his streams.

on said streams it was commonplace for his chat to ask him questions about himself, and more often than not he would give them an answer- and on one of these such occasions is when he let slip the fact that he had a roommate. and that in itself isn't anything too worldbreaking to hear, but it's the way he almost lights up as he mentions your name that has his fans intrigued.

even more interesting is gojo's reluctance, for lack of a better word, about relinquishing more information about you. how quick he is to change the subject, or act as if he never read the original message at all.

and in an impressive effort which has the streisand effect in strong contention to be renamed to the gojo effect, this only further instils a need for his fans to know everything that they possibly could about you.

it's arguably one of his most well-loved bits with an incredibly long longevity, with a large amount of fanmade compilations of him at least alluding to it

'who's my roommate? i'll let you know when i find out'

'come back with a warrant, fed'

'that's some very personal information there which i would be hesitant to spread online. what do you MEAN i was telling you all about where i grew up 2 minutes ago-'

(you get the picture)

therefore, it's a rare and delightful treat whenever a new tidbit about you is let slip by the streamer. the day that your name got accidentally revealed by him on stream was a day for the books. and of course, since gojo's fans were deranged, your insta account and subsequent face reveal were soon to follow.

and once the cat was out of the bag, gojo seemed to begrudgingly relax about your secrecy. you started popping up in streams a bit more often, usually just a face peeking in to the room of gojo's setup, a sneaky wave that satoru would notice later and grin to himself about. he's got a highlight reel of your appearances on his twitch profile that he likes to rewatch more than he cares to admit.

one time, he even had you sat next to him during a just chatting stream, the two of you shooting the shit. his fans were quick to point out how red the tips of his ears were throughout the whole stream. and how he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars whenever you spoke. and how he kept looking at you like that even when you weren't speaking.

it was never official, but satoru's feelings for you were.. rather obvious to anyone with the time to tune in to his streams. his touchiness regarding you seemed to make a lot more sense now, and became the newest aspect of satoru's life for his chat to ruthlessly mock.

today was just a regular stream- some mindless shooter game that satoru was way too invested in, no mentions or guest appearances of you. until now.

the door opened in the background of the stream- satoru's eyes flick up just before the door even moves, as if he had a sixth sense just for you- and you storm into the room, closer to annoyed than your usual cheery self.

'toru, you forgot to take out the bins. they're being collected tomorrow so don't leave it too late

and just like that, you're gone again. there's not even an ounce of hesitation before satoru is getting up from his desk, headphones coming off despite the yells of his teammates for him to stop fucking around and help them rush a.

chat is making their usual comments, a spam of their love for you and excitement that you've made an appearance. a few keener watchers were geeking over the toru nickname that's sure to make their way into the next y/n and gojo compilation video.

and despite all of this, satoru's heading out of the room.

'my girl's mad at me guys, i gotta go fix it'

and he's only gone for a few minutes, at most. but it's like an implosion of oncoming messages, all scrolling past his screen with no eyes to see them.

gojospinkietoe: FIRST TORU THEN MY GIRL!!!???? OHHHH MY GOD 🥺🥺🥺

iwatchmen: the gojoyn fans are gonna loveeee this

gojoyn5evrrr: SOMEONE CLIP THAT

funnily enough, satoru doesn't even realise the slipup until he's almost back to his room. at least he can blame the blush this time on having to have gone outside very briefly.

it's not exactly the same as his usual slipups when it comes to you- usually, there's at least an element of truth to them, but this appears to be sourced from somewhere deeper in his brain, a lot more of a subconscious desire that he hoped wouldn't breach into the conscious realm.

not until he was ready, at least.

streamer!ino [@/yunglean4ever] who's more of an up and coming streamer.. but he's slowly and steadily making his way up the rankings!! his game of choice is usually an fps, with his default usually being csgo. or something like that. he enjoys the straightforward nature of it. and teabagging his opponents when he's in the mood to be a little shit.

during these livestreams he's met many a different player, some friendlier than the regular silence or automatic irritated mood that most seemed to have- or some russian guy screaming words into the mic that was anyone's guess as to what it meant.

and while interacting with said teammates is always a promising aspect of entertainment, ino wasn't one to remember most of these interactions, save for a few especially distinct ones.

one such occasion is when he meets you. you've got your mic on, which is always more appealing for ino than having to communicate via typing or reading chats, and even better is the almost instant connection that the two of you make. you giggle at his silly username, he indignantly defends his love for drain gang, and the rest is history.

one match played together turns into a friend request, which turns into becoming a party, which turns into playing duos, which turns into goving each other your discords, which turns into many more rounds which extend way after ino ends his stream.

it was merely a start to this new... something, but with the way that ino caught himself laughing a little too hard at your mildly funny jokes, he had a feeling that it would turn into something much more.

so when he boots up his pc the next day, it's not much surprise to him that there's some giddy emotion that he feels when he says a message from you

'wanna play? had a lot of fun last night w u :D'

he couldn't type out a response fast enough to contain his excitement.

⋆˚࿔ jjk masterlist

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ... or, try reading hopelessly devoted to you

[xoxoavenger]

I just read all of your Thomas Shelby x reader and i fell in love with all of it 😍

I honestly don't have any idea or specific request for you but i will send you these GIF in hope that maybe they will spark something for you to write.

Now that i have pick these i kinda realize i want some more hurt comfort 😅

thank you so so much! I'm glad you love them. I really locked in for this to try and get an idea, so hopefully you like it!

Up The Duff

pairing: Tommy Shelby x Pregnant!Fem!Reader

word count: 2536

warnings: pregnancy, hurt w/ comfort :)

"Good of you to join us." Y/N said to Ada when she finally walked into the main room. She and Polly were having tea, gossiping about practically everyone in Birmingham.

"Where have you been all day?" Polly asked in a much flatter tone than Y/N had, looking into her tea as if she were preemptively reading the leaves through the liquid.

"In bed." Y/N raised her eyebrow while Polly picked up a news paper, sharing a look with Ada. Oh, Ada had been in bed alright; in bed with Y/N's cousin. But, Y/N was in bed with Ada's brother, so she couldn't really say anything.

She kept Ada's secret well, and for awhile, Ada kept Y/N's secret. That was, until the entire Shelby lot had walked in while Thomas had her bent over the desk, clawing at the wood like an animal.

It took quite some time for her to gather the courage to look any of the Shelby's in the eye.

"Couldn't sleep. Then I couldn't wake up. Then I was cold, and then I had to go for a wee." Ada was cutting herself some bread, and Y/N rolled her eyes as she over explained everything. "Then I was with this bear on a boat, but that was just a dream. Then I was hungry." Ada sat down across from Y/N, who sipped her tea and looked at Polly. "I've never seen you read the paper, Pol." Ada said as she put jam on her toast.

"The BSA are on strike. The miners are on strike. IRA are killing our boys, ten a day." Polly gave Ada a look, the younger girl simply licking the jam off her fingers.

"What?" Ada asked, looking between Y/N and Polly.

"Stand up," Polly told Ada, making Y/N raise an eyebrow once more.

"Why?" Ada asked, and Y/N tried to follow Polly's reasoning. She wasn't getting anywhere.

"Just stand up." Polly instructed. Y/N stood with Ada, going around the table to stand behind Polly as Ada wiped her hands. "Side on," Not even a moment later, Polly was grabbing Ada's breast, Y/N and Ada both letting out a gasp.

"What are you doing, Pol?" Y/N asked, walking up beside her. The older woman paid no mind to Y/N.

"Ada, how late are you?" Y/N's eyes widened. Was Ada pregnant?

Ada crossed and uncrossed her arms. "One week." Good, not too bad. Still a chance. "Five weeks." Ada said at the silence. Y/N looked a Polly, who was still looking at Ada. "Seven if you count weekends. I think it's a lack of iron." Ada tagged onto the end, and Y/N almost lost her breath. She knew Freddy and Ada had sex, but they weren't married, and she never thought this would have been the outcome. Polly sat down, and Ada sat next to her, causing Y/N to be on the outside behind them.

"What about those tablets?" Y/N asked, hoping to help.

"They didn't work, did they?" Polly asked, a sympathetic look on her face.

"No," Ada shook her head, and Y/N sighed. "I blame Y/N for my lack of notice. We're synced, and she hasn't asked for anything in two months, at least." It was quiet in the room as they all realized what Ada was saying.

"What? I just started buying my own." She lied, crossing her arms.

"No," Polly said, looking Y/N up and down. "Not both of you. Not two Shelby's." She begged, making the sign of the cross.

"I'm not a Shelby." Y/N informed Polly, as if she hadn't already known.

"You might as fuckin' well be!" She yelled out, making Y/N look around.

"I am not pregnant!" She yelled, taking a deep breath and calming herself down as Ada and Polly stared. She looked around, glad all the men were out. "I am not pregnant." She walked around the table and sat at the space across from the Shelbys.

"At least I've come to terms with it." Ada muttered, making Y/N scoff.

"We might not be pregnant. Just," She paused as she tried to think of a reason why her and Ada would be almost two months late.

"That's it," Polly hit the table, even though no one was talking.

"What's it?" Thomas asked as he walked in. Y/N's heart basically stopped beating for a moment, and she swore she was going to throw up.

"Y/N just came up with a new idea for jam." Ada covered, reaching over Polly to grab her toast. "Nothing special."

"Right." Thomas paused, turning to Y/N and nodding. She nodded back, giving a small smile to him. "I just came to pick up Y/N so she could get ready for our date tonight." Thomas walked over to Y/N, grabbing her hand and helping her up. His hand then went to the small of her back, and she smiled up at him.

"Oh, but she just agreed to go out with us." Polly feigned sadness, and Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, we were going to go to the new pub." Ada added, causing Y/N to squint. She didn't make any plans, and they had no reason to go out tonight.

"Oh?" Thomas questioned, and Y/N licked her lips.

"Uh, yeah," She wasn't sure the reason Polly and Ada wanted to go out, but she could guess that it had to do with their recent discoveries. "Sorry. I forgot we were going out." She bluffed, looking up again at Thomas. He cocked his head slightly, looking down at her.

Oh shit. He has to know.

"Right," Thomas looked at his family then, putting his free hand in his pocket. "Well, in that case, I will just be stealing her for the afternoon." He began to usher Y/N out, the two barely able to utter goodbye at Thomas' pace.

"Tommy, slow down!" Y/N said, tripping over her heels as they stepped out the door. He caught her, continuing all the way to the car. He helped her in as fast as he possibly could, practically pushing her across to the passenger side. "What was all that?" She asked as Thomas started the car.

"I think I should be asking you the same question." He responded, pulling into the street and driving down the road to her apartment.

"Why?" She asked, leaning against the door as she looked at Thomas. His side profile was something she could admire on a daily basis, and today was no exception.

"What was Polly talking about when I came in?" He cut straight to the chase, and she licked her lips as she shifted to face the windshield.

"The jam?" Y/N questioned, trying to stall.

"I'm not buying that shit." Thomas told her, glancing at her quickly before looking back at the road. "Just tell me what you were really talking about." He put a hand on her thigh, making her insides heat up. She forgot what they were talking about for a moment until Thomas hummed in question.

"It really was jam." She said innocently, nodding as if he were watching.

"Right," Thomas nodded, licking his lips and clearing his throat. "And this jam, what's the idea?" He questioned, still not moving his hand.

"The idea?" Y/N repeated, trying to think of something, anything, to tell Thomas.

"Yes, that's what I said." He told her, turning onto her street.

"Of course," She looked out the window; she didn't know the first thing about jams.

"Do you even know the ingredients to make jam?" Thomas asked, causing Y/N to scoff.

"Why would I have an idea for jams if I didn't know the ingredients?" Yes, this was good. She was getting him off topic.

"That's what I'm asking." He told her, not even seeming angry as he pulled up outside her building. She hopped out and met him on the other side, letting him hold her hand and lead them into the building.

"D'you want some tea?" Y/N asked as she opened the door to her apartment.

"Ah, best not. Where did Pol say you girls were going tonight?" Thomas asked, taking his hat off as he entered her small room.

"Oh, ya know, out and about." She said, pouring some water into the kettle to heat it, even though Thomas had said he didn't want any tea. She had forgotten the lie that Polly had made up already, and it made her heart sink.

"Ah, the Garrison?" He asked, taking a cigarette out and putting it in his mouth. Y/N turned, trying not to let her eyes widen.

"Could you not smoke in here, Tommy? It's a small room." She requested, walking up and taking the cigarette out of his mouth, replacing it with her own lips. He responded in kind, hands traveling to her side.

"What's really going on?" Thomas asked as they parted, causing Y/N's brain to come back much faster than she would have liked.

"What do you mean?" She whispered against his lips, trying to distract him again. Thomas was unfortunately strong willed, and he stepped back slightly.

"Come on, love. I know you don't make jam, and I know you and Ada and Pol aren't going to a pub tonight. Why're you lying to me?" He looked genuinely upset, and Y/N took a deep breath, turning back to the kettle as it whistled. As she was pouring the water, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her cheek and pressing his face close to hers.

"Tommy," She whispered, tears in her eyes. "Tommy, I'm late." She muttered, letting a tear fall from her eye as she put the kettle down.

"Late?" He asked, and Y/N could tell he didn't understand because he hadn't tightened his arms or moved away.

"Yes," She said, not able to explain further.

"For," Thomas led off, leaning into her more causing her to spill some of her tea on herself. She hissed as she put it down, taking a deep breath.

"Tommy," She turned to him, looking up and watching his face fall as he realized she was crying.

"You're late," He said in understanding, taking a deep breath. She nodded, more tears falling down her face.

"We're going somewhere tonight," She told him, not able to look at him. "To confirm it." She kept Ada's secret, knowing that eventually Thomas would figure it out and it wasn't her place to tell him.

"I see," Thomas let go of her and walked backward running his hands over his face as he looked out the window. He licked his lips, rubbing his hands together. "How, um, how long?" He asked, finally looking at her.

"I wasn't keeping track, but, um, probably two months. Maybe 3." Her voice got quieter as she said the last part, and Thomas just nodded, looking back out the window. He then grabbed his hat and wordlessly walked out of the apartment, leaving Y/N in shock. She fell softly to the the floor then, staying there until Ada and Polly came to pick her up.

~

Tommy wasn't sure what to do.

He was feeling a lot of emotions, and his heart hadn't stopped beating out of his chest for thirty minutes. He sat on his bed, his door locked, with his hands over his face as he tried to breathe. He didn't want to leave Y/N, but he didn't want to freak out in front of her either.

How could he be a father? He knew Y/N would be a good mother, but he wasn't so sure about himself. What if he fucked up this kid? He would never be able to live with himself. And his work wasn't the greatest; he wasn't sure if he would ever get to the point where kids would be a good option.

And God, Y/N. His sweet girl. It was his fault that she would go through this, that she would have to birth a child. Was she ready for it?

He should have stayed and talked with her, he realized suddenly. He ran down the stairs and back to his car, speeding to get to Y/N's. But by the time he had got to her apartment, banging on the door and begging her to let him in, he realized she had already left to go out with Polly and Ada. And he doubted they were going to a pub.

Shit.

~

He waited outside the door, sitting in the hallway and watching multiple people walk by before Y/N finally showed up, face free of any makeup and eyes swollen, probably from crying.

"Tommy?" He had his head down against his knees, and he jerked up at the sound of her voice. He took her in, wondering if she was angry at him for leaving, before hopping up.

"I am so, so sorry," He whispers, not sure what else to say.

"Let's go inside." She offers, unlocking the door before walking in. She'll definitely have to move in with him, because he doesn't like how there's only one lock separating her from someone that may want to hurt her in order to get to him. Just the thought makes him sick, and he locks the door as soon as he closes it. It's quiet as they both try to figure out what to say, neither of them looking at each other.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, putting his hands on his hips and then quickly crossing his arms instead.

"What?" She questions, not sure what Thomas was asking. She wasn't expecting that to come out of his mouth, especially after he stormed out.

"When you first had the idea that you were pregnant, why didn't you come to me?" He seems so hurt, so upset, and that makes Y/N even more sad. She looks away.

"I didn't know what you would do," She tells him, tears running down her face. She looks at the floor, rambling. "We're not married, and I know you're trying to build your business and I just-"

"Do you want to be?" He cut her off, stepping closer to her.

"Want to be what?" She asked, too caught up in her worries to understand what he was asking.

"Married." He told her, completely confident. She blinked at him, not sure if he was being serious or if he was drunk.

"Is that how you're asking?" She questioned, crossing her arms and smiling slightly.

"If that's what you want," Thomas told her, grabbing her left hand and getting down on one knee. "I would be honored to be your husband." Y/N took a deep breath, trying to think about her answer.

"Are you only asking me because I might be pregnant?" She muttered, tears falling fast out of her eyes. She wanted to marry Thomas, but she didn't want him to marry her just because she was pregnant. "Because you don't have to do that," She sniffles.

"I wouldn't." He tells her, shaking his head as he puts his other knee down. He pulls her in by the waist, and she lets herself be tugged toward him, her stomach reaching his face. She cards a hand through his hair, smiling slightly.

"We'll be okay." She whispers, smiling as Thomas looks up at her. He stands, wiping her tears and pulling her in for a kiss.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @jbrownta

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

I would like to thank RTD for making so many people look back at Thirteen's Era and start to go "you know what? Maybe we judged the writing too harshly on this one." Maybe it is a good idea to bring in new writers and more women and people of color behind the scenes and allow them to write and direct things like Demons of the Punjab (top 5 ever Doctor Who episode) and the Haunting of Villa Diodati and Fugitive of the Judoon. Maybe Thirteen WAS camp, because the universe who decided to be a frog and the mud that did witchcraft and the Pting and the plastic that ate birds were unhinged and fun. Maybe we got some GORGEOUS cinematography out of it. Maybe Thirteen's take on gender is more interesting than the 60th anniversary specials. Maybe Yaz DID get an arc in the Flux/standalone specials and people just didn't pay attention. Maybe the Power of the Doctor paid more respect to former eras of Doctor Who than any of the 60th anniversary specials did. Maybe Chibnall acted with far more grace to the RTD Era (Jack) than RTD did to Chibnall (treatment of Yaz and Thirteen). Maybe it was actually cool to see less well-known or underexplored historical figures like Mary Seacole and Ada Lovelace and Nikola Tesla and Noor Inayat Khan end up onscreen. Maybe Thasmin wasn't queerbait, it was an interesting exploration of the doctor/companion romance IN KEEPING with Thirteen's established character with one of its keystone episodes written by a queer woman.

Yes, Chibnall was flawed. I'm never gonna pretend that the Battle of Ranskoor Av Kalos wasn't a piss poor finale that felt like a first draft of themes and idea. I'm not gonna pretend like the multiple companions in the TARDIS ever felt properly balanced or explored. Yes, the moment with the Master and the Nazis was FUCKED UP. The Timeless Child might have deserved more than one episode for the ImplicationsTM to be fleshed out. But EVERY Doctor Who Era has its flaws, ESPECIALLY when it comes to racism, and I'm TIRED pretending as if Chibnall's writing is significantly worse than the other two showrunners.

[cloversnstrawberries]

this may sound very weird and everything but could you do a platonic yandere ada wong and leon kennedy parent duo sorta thing. like ada and leon are readers parents

platonic!yandere!parents!ada w. + leon k & gn!teen!reader [headcanons] ! !

masterlist !

additional notes; hello!! this isn't weird at all :]] thank you so much for requesting this,, i've been wanting to do parent duo sort of requests for a while, but got nervous because. i have... experienced things, being in fandom for a while... oh god the shipping wars. but i feel much better knowing that someone would actually read/want something like this :D i hope i did it justice ^^ i'm also sick, so my brain is cooking in my skull. i apologize if this is worse quality that usual </3

warnings; overprotectiveness, (slight) possessive behavior, soft yandere, mentions of Leon & Ada's jobs/what comes along with it, temporary imprisonment, manipulation, gaslighting, love-bombing, distrust, and if there's anything else i missed, please let me know!! I forget stuff the second i write it down :(((

w/c; 1.7k

Whether not you're biologically their kid, adopted as a baby, or adopted later; they'd treat you all the same. The difference comes with the way you react/how quickly you accept and adapt to their behaviors.

With their jobs, they're usually away for long periods of time. When you were younger (like, younger than 13), they would try their best to alternate their gigs-- sometimes it wasn't possible for one of them to stay with you, and when that happened, you'd stay with either Claire or Jill for a while.

It was just how it was, and you were fine with it-- you thought they'd give that up when you got older, that they'd trust you to take care of yourself.

That was never the concern with it, though-- it wasn't that you couldn't take care of yourself,

They were afraid that being their kid would put a target on your back. The older you got, the more missions they went on-- the more scum-of-the-earth they met, the more careful they got with you.

Leon is extremely protective, and while Ada seems to be more lenient; I'd actually argue she's the worse one to have worried. She absolutely pulls in favors to 'keep an eye on you', and does her best to keep tabs on where and what you're doing whenever possible.

Ada is extremely charismatic, and definitely uses that to her advantage. Meanwhile, Leon is so painfully and genuinely kind, that people can't help but trust him more often than not.

Because of that, it'd be hard for you to convince anyone, maybe even yourself, that they're absolutely insane when it comes to you. At some point, it goes beyond just wanting to keep their kid safe for their own good.

Neither are particularly selfish in general, especially not Leon. Ada has her own goals, but she has a moral code and has been known to go out of her way to help others from time to time.

However, when you get involved, that changes entirely. For Leon, he wants to keep you safe because he doesn't want to lose you; he's already lost too many people he cared for, and he'd be devastated if you were added to that list.

On the other hand, Ada's motivations are a bit harder to place. She cares for you a lot, something she isn't used to letting herself do because of her line of work; she's far more used to isolating herself rather than throwing herself full force into any type of relationship.

You were that one exception-- even with Leon, she tried that routine of keeping herself detached to try and minimize the chance of 'gaining a new weakness'.

Eventually she gave in and stopped doing that, and while that doesn't happen with everyone, it's happened before as well. Ever since she became a spy/mercenary, she hasn't allowed herself to attach to someone as quickly as she did with you.

It's on principle that she doesn't want you hurt because of it. You're the once exception, the one person to have ever gotten her to let her guard down immediately. There's no way she's letting you go because of it, and she'd rather let herself get into tight situations if it meant keeping you safe.

Both Ada and Leon share one thing in common with their attitude towards you, though. And to you, it's probably the most annoying thing about your parents, and nothing could top it.

If they feel the need to, they'll literally just go against your wishes. They won't listen if they get even an inkling that something could go wrong-- and when you were younger, they could easily convince you that it was all for your own good.

Neither Leon or Ada actually enjoy manipulating you, far from it-- Ada is more accepting of it, but Leon had a lot of hang-ups about it at first. Ada was eventually able to convince him that it was okay,

In that way, Leon is worse than Ada in this regard. Ada will only manipulate you as a last resort (though, her definition of 'last resort' can be pretty loose in of itself),

But Leon? You better bet he's pulling it out every opportunity-- because he feels like there's nothing wrong with it. Ada is at least able to recognize that it's not the best thing to do, gaslighting your kid into missing out on friends birthday parties just because of a 'feeling'--

Leon however, is extremely deluded. Partly Ada's fault, and partly not. Yes, Ada nudged him towards believing that it was okay, but it was ultimately Leon who took the leap. It was his reasoning with himself that actually convinced him that it was a good idea.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like they isolate you completely! Ada actually encourages you to go out to events, and make new friends.

Though, maybe that has something to do with the fact that when she encourages you, there's always a feeling someone is watching you that accompanies you throughout the entire event.

When you get older, you start considering sneaking out. Your parents actually didn't expect this-- you'd been doing well with how they've been treating you, and they assume you won't rebel.

You've always seemed accepting of it, but maybe it's on them-- that they don't realize the slight distrust that starts showing up in your eyes. They don't feel a need to look into it any further, if they do notice it.

Maybe you were able to sneak out a couple times before you were caught, or maybe you were never able to successfully pull it off. You don't know about your mom's actual job-- they'd worked hard together to keep that a well-hidden secret from you--, so you don't have any advantage over them.

If anything, you have a massive disadvantage. Considering your parents are a government agent and a spy/mercenary, you probably never even stood a chance.

After you get caught, either dragged back home from wherever you snuck off to-- or hauled out of the open window you'd been halfway through hopping over-- you don't get a scolding like you think you will.

Instead, you get dragged down to the 'guest bedroom' in the basement and locked in there for a little bit. You knew of it's existence, but it never made any sense to you. The house you live in is large, and while your parents don't get a lot of guests, it's happened before.

But with a whopping 4 above-ground guest bedrooms, there was no reason to build a 5th one down in the basement. The fourth above-ground one never got used anyways, it just never made sense to you.

But now, it really, really does. It was never a guest bedroom as much as it was a holding cell. You should've known, considering they put it together when you were around 12/13. A preemptive measure, you realize now.

They didn't think they'd actually use it, but they were glad they'd done it regardless. You've never been in it, but you remember when they were getting the furniture and items to put in it, and when you were barred from entering the basement for a little while the contractors were down there--

You'd seen it from the outside, too. It looked normal enough-- if you ignored the deadlock on the outside, which you absolutely did not notice. It was weird, the addition to the house-- but it wasn't weird enough to look any further than a glance every once in a while, when you were down in the basement doing your laundry and whatnot.

Surprisingly, they don't keep you down there for very long. It's not a permanent thing right now, is what they told you.

That, however, left the very terrifying idea that it could become a permanent thing if you weren't careful. Ada called it 'just punishment', and Leon, ever the dork, called it 'time out on steroids'.

He'd been trying to cheer you up when he said that, and you just barely kept yourself from cracking a smile at it-- you were supposed to be mad, after all.

For the punishment to have worked, you'd have to have been on some kind of break. So, let's say it was spring break they decided to put you in the 'guest bedroom' (holding cell, is what you were internally regarding it as)--

They let you out the night before school started up again, and your first dinner back in the actual house was tense-- to you, it was. But to your parents, they were treating it like every other day.

It pissed you off, to say the least. And for a few days after, you avoided your parents the best you could; but it was a hard thing to do on multiple fronts, even if you were genuinely angry at them.

A part of you wanted to tell people about it, about how they'd trapped you in the basement-- but that was a surefire way of getting the cops involved,

And you weren't really afraid of being taken away or anything,

Instead, you were deathly afraid of how your parents would react to the possibility of you being taken away from them-- Best case scenario, they'd succeed in weaseling their way out of it via Ada's silver tongue or Leon's influence--

...Worst case scenario, your parents would be on the CIAs most wanted list and flea to some remote part of Europe; and you'd probably never see the light of day again, without both of their full attention and supervision. Or not at all, maybe.

Safe to say, you're keeping quiet about your time in the '5th guestroom' down in the basement. That doesn't mean you forget about it, or ever fully forgive your parents for it. You aren't sure if they realize it or not, that you're still mad at them for it.

It's not like you forget about it-- you don't necessarily move on either. You just... focus on other things, is what you tell yourself. You try your hardest to hold onto the anger, but eventually it fizzles away; sometimes it flares up, but only for a few seconds before being cast aside. And only when you're already mad about something else.

It's hard to stay mad at your parents, especially when they try to hard to make up for it. That was their plan-- spoil you with attention and gifts so you stop zoning in on the 'time out on steroids'.

[formiito]

Hello! May I request some pre-relationship/crush headcanons with Kunikida, Atsushi and (ADA) Dazai (all separate) with a reader from the port mafia? How would they realise they are in love? How would they handle it etc etc. I love love love crush headcanons with all my heart<33

heart to heart — crush hcs!!

author's note: i'm an idiot who wrote this fic almost exclusively in hours 2-4 am. my eyes are in pure suffering. an unhealthy amount of fiona apple and unreleased lana del rey songs went into writing this. idk how to write headcannons so this ended up kind of like a fic with bullet points lmao 

— KUNIKIDA

• Working with the Port Mafia is something he is (unfortunately) no longer a stranger to. Still, an extended mission was a bit too risky for his tastes. But everyone said that he was fine, so he should be, right? If only he knew what novel sort of trouble he would face once he took the job.

• For the mission, he was partnered with you. You must've been of a different unit, because he is sure he has never seen you in person before. Except for being mentioned in passing by Dazai in his inane conversations, there was little he knew of you.

• At first, he was skeptical. Not sure whether he could truly trust a person with your affiliations to not double cross him in some way. However, you proved yourself capable soon enough. You worked with decisive efficiency, and even with his rather ridiculously timed schedules, you seemed to have no trouble keeping up with him.

• Needless to say, you two got to know each other fairly well over the course of a month. By now, you were acquainted atleast a little of his likes and dislikes. The late night sessions to plan out the routes and inspect the case files over and over; your friendship sprawls over late cups of coffee, the impatient scratching of pen on paper, and the files scattered on the table while you both worked.

• This was still professional; he'd reason with himself. So what if he's had a few drinks with you once in a while? So what if you've been spending a little too much time at his home lately?

• Dazai’s endless teasing on the matter did not help. At all. As he grows more and more defensive, he wonders if he has grown a little too attached to his new partner.

• Kunikida isn't an idiot. Even he can see how much you've made an impression on his life. He simply isn't ready to admit that this could possibly be romantic in nature. After all, you fit none of the ideals he's decided for his supposed future partner. In some form of pointed irony, the pages of the notebook that carry said ideals are also filled with the random, little things he's noticed you need; chapstick, switchblades, pens— all for them to be ready when you inevitably reach for them.

• Nor can he help stealing a little glance when said chapstick swipes so elegantly along your lips.

• Absolute gentleman, with or without a crush. Opens the car door for you on the other side, makes sure you have your seatbelt on, makes sure to watch your back while you both do field work. It’s just a nice thing to do, he reasons, but feels your touch like it was branded into his skin where your hand accidentally brushed on his elbow.

• The weeks that follow after are drawn out, confusing. As time goes on, he cannot help but read into your every action, taking note of all the little details that outline you as a person; from your tastes to little quirks. While you seem blissfully unconcerned, he could not help but feel the weight of the tension between your conversations. It is not these emotions that scare him, but their intensity. His hands tremble as they once again bandage your wounds from the day’s work, mouth dry as he looks at the gashes you think nothing of—and he wonders since when he started caring so much.

• Kunikida may be a man of his ideals, but he can be honest with himself when he needs to be. And whether he says it aloud or not, he’s already known the effect you have on him. He's known it for a long time.

• When he inevitably confesses to you, there is nothing special about it. It's another evening at his house discussing work, and when you both take a break from investigation, he brings it up to you. He isn't expecting the sentiment to be reciprocated. In fact, he is not sure he even wants that to happen. He says it to be honest. With himself and with you. You deserve to know. And perhaps if he said it out loud, the feelings would subside, even for a little while; with a definite answer, he’d have a reason to put out the growing ember.

• Nothing could've prepared him for the shock of learning that this troublesome feeling could possibly be mutual. And nothing could have prepared him for the coy kiss on his reddened cheek after.

— ATSUSHI

• someone help this poor guy

• no, he's really hopeless with it, but let me explain

• When he was asked to collaborate with the Port Mafia once more, he expected to be paired with Akutagawa once more. You were a pleasant change of pace. At first, he was only met with your suspicion; something that drove an initial rift between the two of you. You weren't sure whether you could truly trust this weretiger you've heard so much about to hold up his end of the deal, and neither could he rely on this complete stranger who regards him so frigidly. However, you both were indebted to your respective organisations—it had to be worked out.

• Your staunch independence, and the confident countenance that carried with it an understated superiority, no doubt the effect of years of experience; at first it irked him. It made him taste a little of the helplessness that trailed him like a shadow all those years ago. He attempted to chase away the feeling; biting back at your subtle digs at his skill and experience, trying to keep up with you as best as he could. You matched each other surprisingly well when you both were at your most competitive; the combination of your finesse and his strength was lethal in the most satisfying of ways.

• Over the weeks, you both get to know each other a little better. The small talks on the way to station were something that he was, despite knowing better, looking forward to. He always seemed more affected by your banter than you were by any retort he could possibly throw at you; and when the sly curve of your lip made him feel the strangest sensation of a sort of rush in his veins, he made no notice of it.

• After that morning, this strange feeling had been growing worse. Steadily through the days, but even so he could point out that the emotion that seemed to sit just beneath his chest was unfamiliar. Sometimes he had to force himself to look away from you just to get it to stop and actually be able to hear what you were saying over the erratic beat of his heart. It was blatantly obvious to everyone but him, and despite the constant teasing and prodding by Dazai on what’s got him so nervous, he still assumed it was merely admiration. Perhaps he was simply in awe of your abilities. For weren't you so impressive when you dispatch your targets so effortlessly, or when you execute such flawless plans with an ease in your mien that makes it look oh so simple?

• But then that begs the question as to why he still stares in a daze when you're doing nothing, just catching your breath in the wall crack you had pulled him into to throw off the people chasing you both; his back hitting the wall and you the only separation between him and whoever was at your tails, stalking the alleyway outside. Breaths held, not making a sound; if you both got caught, this was over, and you both understood the stakes better than anyone. He definitely knew just what was waiting for the both of you out there, and that just made the situation far more frustrating, because then why is he so absorbed in how pretty your jelly-like gaze is, or how cool you looked back there when you silently felled that patrol guard? He feels like his brain has melted. Or atleast the still working part of it, because it's not even the first time you've had that effect on him.

• Your hand tentatively shifts, and for a moment he snaps out of the daze. There is abject fear in his eyes, because what the fuck are you doing when the both of you are one slip up away from messing up this mission you both worked so hard on? Yet your fingers, trembling with the rush of adrenaline and the fear of death, wipe the blood on his cheek, observing a rather deep cut inflicted by the serrated edge of a dagger. He could take a hit, but for some reason worry seemed to claw at your mind relentlessly until you could make sure he was okay.

• Perhaps he'd stopped functioning right there and then, because when the footsteps receded and the coast was finally clear, he could barely hear you say that it was safe to come out. Instead, his first move is to hold his heart and take a deep fucking breath. Not just to calm him down from being chased like that—for he's already been chased so many times—but to stop thinking about that brief, soft touch that reasonably, should not even affect him.

• At this point, he's kind of convinced he's going crazy. And like so many problems in his life, there's only one other person to hear it. Coincidentally also the worst person to go to for that kind of counsel.

• Dazai.

• Bastard laughed for fifteen whole minutes before explaining in broken wheezes what Atsushi was possibly afflicted with. Then immediately began sighing and bemoaning about having to help his coworker with silly love problems once he finally stopped cackling like a witch.

• After this… enlightening conversation, Atsushi promptly decides that he's never going to be able to look the man in the eye ever again.

• Now, he's got a whole slew of new problems going on. This mission, you, the fact that he just embarrassed himself in front of his coworker, and that he had no idea how to even face you after this realization.

• Naturally, he wants to avoid this situation. Atsushi doesn't even consider telling you. He wants to, so badly. His throat feels tight when you look at him so sharply, and he can't help but feel that if he sticks around you for too long, you'll look straight through him and somehow find out. But he has every reason to think this won't work out. Every reason why it won't work out. It wasn't the time for love, not even in the small moments of respite between the constant violence you two had to deal with.

• This distance he's been keeping from you…there is no doubt that you feel it too. He can see as much. The disappointment in your gaze when he keeps on pushing you away; it hurts. And he knows with the way your hands are curled in fists now that you're at your breaking point.

• But instead of the argument he thought this would inevitably lead to, you simply pull him into a corner. In the most sincere tone he's ever heard you speak in, you ask him if you did something wrong. Between your deliberate words, your hands on the collar of his shirt that hold him in place with nothing but gentle firmness, and the emotions that he tried so hard to stifle for the past few weeks; he confesses. Leaves nothing unspoken, even if he consciously knows that this is a bad idea. Knows he shouldn't hand you that kind of power over his heart.

• Yet he doesn't regret it a single bit when he feels your hands leave his shirt collar and wrap around his shoulders, your silent answer that kills the bitter uncertainty left in his heart and replaces it with relief.

— DAZAI

• Your history with the brunet was brief, but not something he has ever forgotten. He’s not quick to forget faces in any case, but yours remained in his memory still.

• You both worked together fairly often some three or four years back, the timeline is blurry in his mind now—in those days, your presence seemed like it would be a permanent fixture in his life. Something to count upon. Perhaps he had hoped for the fact, until an year after when he finally decided to leave this life in the dust, and you with it.

• At the time, Dazai had dismissed those feelings as puppy love; the sort of infatuation that comes with simply being of that age where every emotion feels so amplified in intensity. You were one of his first friends, it was only natural to want to cling on, wasn't it? Only with time it became easier to ignore the hold your presence had on him, his mind too consumed with the ongoing chaos in his life to think about that craving he had during initial weeks of your separation— thumb trembling over the call button.

• A few years after, seeing your face stirs nothing in Dazai. A feeble sense of regret is all that remains, and within a few seconds even that dies off. You've changed, definitely; rough-hewn edges from mafia life, knife-hand no longer trembling when it goes for the kill. Decisive, swift movements, a certain confidence in your words that comes from experience. How the glimmer that used to be in your eyes has long since been clouded over. In a way, it makes him feel closer to you, that your soul is being slowly chipped away, just like his.

• Initially, you regarded him like any other professional acquaintance. Not daring to breathe a word of the past, even when you wanted to demand an explanation out of him so desperately. Anything to make the memories of your shared past more bearable. You know better than to give into those whims. If only for the sake of your mission, the past had to be put aside. Between the both of you, there seemed to be a mutual, unspoken understanding for the need to let go. Your slates are cleaned, and you both once again end up in the same place you started; Yokohama’s shipping docks.

• Over the weeks, being around you feels easier. You both work well into the nights, but it's a little more bearable around your company. The banter is easy between the both of you. Lips curved into a cheshire grin at his antics, you always seemed to be more amused with his actions than annoyed.

• Even now when he decides that diving head first into the sea would've made for a perfectly delightful method of suicide, a knowing sigh leaves your lips, painstakingly pulling him out of the fishnets with a firm grip on his beige coatsleeve. Of course, the effort is in vain when you lose your footing and end up falling into the water with him too. Splash!

• Somehow, even when he's walking home, sopping wet in the winter breeze, he feels strangely warm as you chide him, observing how your lips twitch as if to hide a smile.

• It’s your fault, really. Perhaps if you both didn't fit together so well, if it wasn't so effortless to be around you, he might have avoided feeling the same way around you again. It's not lost upon Dazai, how comfortable he's getting with your presence, especially when he knows it's a temporary one. A fact that he is compelled to face again and again everytime you both end up in the field.

• The danger they were facing were still very much real. Despite how confident you seem to be in your ability, your tight shoulders and shaky breaths betray you in the heat of the moment. Through your hesitation to follow through his plans, you still trust him at his word. He can't help but wonder why.

• Your actions hold a certain carefulness—he doesn't want to call it care, for when it comes to you, he finds it hard to tell what you're thinking—that he doesn't understand. As you wrap the gauze around the wound on his arm from a bullet graze, fingers touching his skin with a kind of gentleness he's only ever known from you… Dazai wonders when you'll finally tell him what you're really after.

• The brief thought occurs to him, no doubt, that maybe you do these things simply because you want to. That perhaps you still care too much, like you did all those years ago. But he knows better than to count on something as fickle as the kindness of people’s hearts. He was never that naive.

• Even so, as the long days and even longer nights pass by, he can't help but once again start feeling as he used to in the distant past, only that this time he has no excuse for it.

• Dazai doesn't blush and his heart doesn't race when he sees you. Instead, it's something far more sickening and confusing. With you, it's easier to drop the delicate layers of pretense that seem to obscure his true thoughts and emotions like delicate gauze. There is a sort of ease of being around you, a sense of belonging. In the delicate moments of the late night hours with you, humanity doesn't simply feel like a cloth to wear to hide the rotten core within. You touch him like you know him, even when he knows that the blood staining his hands is far darker than yours.

• You don't even have an inkling of how he feels, and Dazai believes that it's for the best. He’ll tell you in the future, if he can grow to trust you. He wants to say it when he can be sure of it, in a more peaceful time. Even if he doesn't want you to slip through his fingers again like he did in the past, he wants to wait.

• But right now, all he can see is your bloodied fingertips trembling in the aftermath of the day’s chaos, barely having escaped with your lives. In the silent night, neither of you mention how he holds your hand silently on the walk home, bandaged fingers holding yours with deliberate care.

[alwaysless]

I'm wondering if the authors will write redesigns as part of the plot. Yes, Eulalie's bangs can't be explained, but Monty can officially get a new tie, and Eula can braid Morella's hair. And most importantly. Ada's ponytail looks more coquettish on the concept. It would be great if Annabel curled Ada`s ponytail as an alternative to the curls that Ada wanted so much.

[acewritesfics]

A Wedding After All  | Tommy Shelby 

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Pregnant!Reader 

Request: No.  

Warnings: Alludes to cheating [I do not condone cheating]. Pregnancy. Past childhood sweethearts. Brief mention of war. One f*ck.

Word Count: 2,103

Tommy Shelby Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"Is Tommy in his office, Polly?" Y/N asks as she approaches the woman who has always treated her like a daughter. Her cheeks are flushed after walking as fast as she could to the Shelby Company's headquarters. She's come straight from the doctor's office. 

Polly cast a worried glance towards the younger woman. "You alright, Love?" 

"I need to talk to Tommy," she says, her gaze darting towards Tommy's office. "It's important that I speak with him." 

"He ought to return at any moment. I'm sure you can tell me whatever you need to tell him," Polly remarks as she sees Y/N beginning to pace back and forth in front of her. 

"Sorry, but I can't. I won't say anything until I've spoken with Tommy." Y/N is unable to calm herself as nauseous feeling settles in her stomach. 

The Shelby family's Matriarch felt unsure how to handle the current situation she finds herself in. If something bothered her, Y/N would always tell her. She never went to Tommy first with anything since their relationship ended years ago.  

Polly knew the woman Y/N's father married a month after his wife died, and it came as no surprise how viciously she treated the teenage girl, from spreading rumours to physically beating her, while her good for nothing father did nothing to stop his new wife. 

Polly immediately scoured the entire town of Small Heath for Y/N and welcomed her into her home once she learned that she was kicked to the streets when she was fifteen. 

It wasn't long before Polly introduced her to her brother's family. When she met the Shelby siblings, they forged an immediate bond. Ada, the only girl, took to her the most, relieved to have another girl to talk to. The two women are still as thick as thieves to this day. They have a sisterly relationship that not even Tommy could disrupt. 

From the moment they met there was an obvious immediate attraction between Y/N and Tommy.  It didn't take long for their friendship to grow into a romantic love. Their romance was a whirlwind of passion, excitement and love. The two of them only had eyes for each other. Everyone knew she was Tommy's girl, and no one dared to touch her. Even though Tommy had little in common with his father, the Shelby name came with a not-so-great reputation.  

Tommy and Y/N weren't hesitant to call each other out on their foolishness, their confrontations occasionally attracting unwelcome attention. But they never went to bed angry with each other, which sometimes resulted in restless nights spent talking and making up. He had been her first love. 

However, their romance eventually ended when Y/N travelled to London shortly after turning 21 to pursue becoming a nurse. Tommy wanted to promise that he'd wait for her to return to Birmingham because he knew she was the one who he was supposed to marry and spend the rest of his life with. She urged him not to make any promises to her, fearing that their parting would only cause more heartbreak. But Tommy never gave up on her, writing almost every day to persuade her that everything would work out between them. They both held hope that it would until the letters eventually became less frequent as they both became busy with their lives.   

The war broke out two years into her training, and she and many other nurses were deployed to France to care for their countries' wounded. There, she was reunited with her former love. In the midst of tending to the soldier's wounds, their love for one another was rekindled. 

But as the days passed, Tommy's once beautiful vibrant blue eyes turned dull, emotionless, and void as they witnessed people die in the most horrific ways. When the war was over and they were sent home, they went their separate ways once more. 

It wasn't until six months ago that Y/N returned Birmingham. She'd been assigned to work in Small Heath's hospital. She preferred working at this hospital to the one she previously worked at in London. It moved at a slightly slower pace which she enjoyed.  

She reconnected with Polly and the brothers once she had settled back in and called Ada at least three times a week to keep her updated now that she was living in London with her son. Despite Ada's displeasure at Y/N wanting to return to Birmingham, the younger of the two women supported her decision knowing that their hometown was where Y/N belonged. 

Y/N had missed Polly and the brothers and was overjoyed to have them back in her life, as well as to be back in theirs. 

She enjoyed being back in Small Heath, even if her heart was crushed by her own past decisions. She assumed she was over Tommy, that all they'd ever be is friends, and that all her old sentiments for him had vanished. Tommy was her first and only love, so learning that he was now engaged saddened her. Polly attempted to convince her that Tommy never stopped loving her and that this marriage was a waste of time and money once he realises, he's making a mistake.  

But all Y/N saw was the way Tommy's soon-to-be bride looked at him, the way her eyes lit up when he walked into the room, the way he makes her smile. It was the same way she would look at him. The only difference was he never looked at her the same way he looked at Y/N. He never looked at anyone the way he was before the war. Y/N didn't know if Tommy loved his fiancée, but he was marrying her and that was enough for Y/N to know that her and Tommy will never be more than friends again.  

Y/N didn't want to get in the way of their relationship, so she kept her distance from Tommy. Which had been working until one night nine weeks ago. 

Polly pulls out a cigarette, places it between her lips, and lights it while she continues to watch Y/N pacing the room. She takes in the younger woman's form, seeing the small curvature of her belly as her hands rest over her stomach as if protecting it. 

Then it dawns on her.  

Leaving her cigarette in the ashtray, she moves towards Y/N and stops her from pacing a hole into the floor. Y/N seems surprised as Polly reaches out and gropes her breasts, feeling them for a few seconds before letting go. 

"You're with child," she exclaims, not bothering to hide the smile on her face. She is not a fool. This baby can only belong to one man, and it would be the push the former lovers need to come back together. Tommy, after all, would never abandon the woman who is carrying his child, especially when it's the woman he's been hopelessly in love with since he was sixteen 

"Fuck me," Y/N murmurs more to herself since she should have known Polly would notice. Nothing can ever get past the Romani woman. "Please don't say anything until I've spoken with Tommy." 

"My lips are sealed," she assures as she places her hand to Y/N's belly.  "Is she Tommy's then?" 

"She?" Y/N raises an eyebrow in response. She wasn't going to bother responding to Polly question since she already knew the answer. 

"Did you forget who you are talking to?" Polly beams, eliciting a smile from Y/N, who appears to be more at ease. "She'll be beautiful, Y/N, and you'll love her more than you've ever loved anyone, even Thomas. There is no deeper love than that between a mother and her daughter." 

They both have a saddened expression on their faces as they recall who they've lost. Y/N lost her mother, and Polly lost her daughter, but they found what they were looking for in each other. Polly always believed that her daughter and Y/N's mother brought them together knowing that they needed one other. 

"You understand that she'll call you nan, right?"  Y/N says, making Polly smile this time. 

"Of course she is," Polly says, hugging her adopted daughter. She lets go of her, looking over her shoulder as someone walks into the office. 

Y/N becomes tense once more. She doesn't have to turn around to find out who it is since she can always feel Tommy's presence before she sees him. She turns around with a timid smile, the nauseous feeling in her stomach intensifying as she swallows the lump in her throat. 

"Y/N," he says a little taken aback to see her. 

"Good afternoon, Thomas," she says formally, trying not to seem too anxious. Since the night they spent together nine weeks ago, the two have barely spoken. Polly simply stands between them, smiling. "Do you have a moment? I need to speak with you." 

"I do," he replies and leads her into his office hearing the urgency in her voice. 

He glances worriedly at Y/N after closing the door. "Is everything okay?" 

"I saw the doctor this morning."  

As he gets closer to her, he grows increasingly worried. "Are you ill?" 

"What I have does cause sickness." She claims unable to look at him. The amount of thinking she did on her walk to the office did not help her at all. 

"What do you have?" He tilts her head so she can look at him. He notices tears welling up in her eyes. 

She takes a deep breath in and out, gathering all her courage to tell him as h er tears begin to fall. "I'm pregnant, Tommy." 

The Peaky Blinder remains calm as thoughts start running through his head. His eyes never leave hers. Y/N searches his eyes trying to find a hint of what he could be feeling or thinking. 

"You are the only one I've been with, Tommy. The baby is yours and I know you are to be married so if you want, I will leave. I'll go back to London and raise her by myself. I just thought since you're the father, you have the right to know and decide what you want to do," She rambles. Removing Tommy's hands off her face, she steps back from him, her arms going around her stomach, bracing herself for his rejection.  

"Or," Tommy finally speaks. "Or, you can stay here, I can marry you and we can finally be a family." 

"Tommy, you're engaged to someone else," She looks at him as though he's delusional, not believing what she's hearing. 

"Not a single day goes by where I don't think about you and what it would be like if we stayed together," he admits. "Because of that, I ended my engagement. I can't marry someone else when the only woman I'll ever love is standing right there in front of me." 

"Tommy, I-"  

"We are going to get married, we are going to have this baby and we are going to be a family," he steps towards her cupping her face again. This thumbs brush away her fallen tears. "I have never stopped loving you," he whispers before kissing her. 

"I love you too, Tommy," she replies when the kiss is broken and Tommy pulls away from her. She watches him go over to his desk, pull something out of the draw and walk back over to her. In his hand is a red velvet ring box. He opens it revealing the gold ring with three red ruby stones surrounded by diamonds. She gasps recognizing his mother's engagement ring. "Your mother's ring." 

"I've been saving it for you," he tells her. "You're the only one I want to wear it. Will you do me the honour in becoming my wife?" 

She nods her head, as the tears start to fall harder. Tommy smiles a rare smile, one that was only reserved for her, and slides the ring onto her finger before he kisses her deeply wrapping his arms around her waist as her arms go around his shoulders. 

"Well it's about bloody time," Arthur's gruff voice comes from the doorway causing the reunited couple to part. 

Y/N's cheeks flush red. Tommy can't contain the smile on his face. "Brother, there's going to be a wedding after all." 

"Who's getting married?" John asks missing what Arthur just walked in on. The younger of the three takes in the scene before him, seeing Y/N and Tommy wrapped up in each other. "You two are getting married?" he then asks, looking confused. 

"We're getting more than that," Tommy smiles lovingly at the woman who stole his heart when they were sixteen. 

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x You

Summary: It was supposed to be an entertaining evening. Boxing fights, booze and party. It wasn't supposed to be one of the worst days of your life. || Featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 4.5k

TW: angst+++, alteration of canon events, canonical violence, depictions of slaughter and body horror, main character death, Reader's husband dying, suicidal thoughts, graphic murder. Parts in bold are direct quotes from the show. Parts in Italics are direct quotes from preceding chapters. Also, Tommy will take more space in the next chapters.

Notes:

✞ Shorter chapter because it's extremely violent and angsty. Also, I'm super rusty so I tried to write it in a more direct style so it's prolly less poetic and beautiful.

✞ This is chapter 16 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The extraordinary general meeting of the Shelby Ladies Club.

This is what Polly called this unexpected little meeting in the bathroom right in the middle of the rigged fight happening a few rooms away. When you entered the lavatory with Ada complaining about the sparring between Goliath and Bonnie, Aunt Pol was taking a cigarette from the silver case she was holding while Lizzie was fixing her hair.

“I love your messy bun, Heaven.” Lizzie complimented when she saw your reflection in the mirror she was using.

“Thank you Liz. Ada scolded me and decided that it would be a better hairstyle for tonight.”

“You never style your hair except for braids and it’s a fucking shame considering how beautiful and long your white mane is.” The young Shelby sister insisted.

“If you say so,” You snorted, amused, “What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming? Leave these for Thomas.” You smirked, sitting on the edge of a sink with movements as nimble as a cat. Your little cutting remark had the expected effect: the three girls laughed with sincerity, somewhat amused by the beef between you and the family’s boss. They had eventually learned that nothing could ever ease the tension between the two of you, so laughing about the matter was the only thing they could do. A part of you couldn’t help but think that they wouldn’t find it that amusing anymore if they knew the unhealthy turn your mutual hatred had taken.

What did you feel when we kissed? A shiver ran down your spine as you heard Tommy’s husky voice, as charming as venomous, whispering in your ear. It might only have been a memory, but you could almost feel his hot whisky breath brushing your skin.

“Heaven has some news.” Polly’s voice resounded in the bathroom, snatching you from your thoughts.

“Me?” You asked, batting your bambi lashes in incomprehension before the understanding of the situation slapped you right in the face.

“Well, tell her. Now! While the men are screaming for blood.”  Polly sneaked a cigarette between her thin, red lips. 

Your blood momentarily froze in your pale veins for this unexpected pregnancy wasn’t something you wanted to talk about. For sure Aunt Pol didn’t mean to do harm, but the surrounding chaos and your last encounter with Luca Changretta seriously eroded your wish to have a baby. The baby who made you so vulnerable during times that were anything but good. Moreover, a quick glance at Lizzie’s sad and anxious eyes had been enough for you to understand that something was weighing on her shoulders. Something you had guessed for a few days. Something she needed to talk about more than you. The corner of your mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Well, I discovered something about Lizzie but I think she should be the one making the announcement. Shouldn’t you, Lizzie?” You winked, replacing one of your long white strands of hair behind your pierced ear with a naive pout. Glitters of hope and gratefulness suddenly sparkled in the ocean blue of the secretary’s eyes to whom you replied with a discreet nod before grabbing Polly’s cigarette case.

“I’m up the duff. And it’s Tommy’s.”

You took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke by your nostrils as the attention was now on Lizzie. Even though Ada almost choked on her sip of gin, she quickly showed interest in the tall woman’s pregnancy. The only one you didn’t fool was old and cunning Aunt Pol who gave you a brief “okay I get it” glance before turning back to Lizzie.

It’s a girl. Call her Ruby. Ruby Shelby. She’ll be a star in a Hollywood movie.

You watched the scene with a light smile floating upon your plump and glossy lips, satisfied by the outcome of your little trick as well as the surprising unconditional support Lizzie was receiving after years of being seen only through her job as a prostitute. Admittedly, the reason behind the little push you gave to Lizzie Stark was purely selfish, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you kind of liked the woman despite never really interacting with her. She got the attention, and you got peace. It was a win-win situation.

“Congratulations, Lizzie.” You said, your siren-like voice as soft as a lazy ocean.

“She’s a real Shelby lady now. Just like you, Devil.”  Polly’s smirk betrayed her amusement. You rolled your eyes teasingly before proudly showing your left hand and wiggling your small fingers to display the magnificent wedding ring Arthur had gifted you.

“What about you Hev? When are you planning to give us a little Arthur?” Ada suddenly asked, Lizzie's news had visibly rendered her sour mood better.

“I think one Arthur is enough for now, don’t you?” You got up from the sink and carefully smoothed the folds your revealing black dress, “Anyway. Ladies, let’s rejoin our gentlemen.”

“I guess the meeting is over.” Ada added with a little chuckle

Joining deeds to words, Polly gently hooked her arm with yours in a motherly gesture and guided you outside, where the crowd’s roars were echoing.

Laughs and cheers filled the room as Johnny Dog put on a show to get more men to bet on the winner of this fight. Swallowing a mouthful of gin, your seraphic traits turned into a wince at the burning sensation the alcohol left in your throat – that new batch was strong, indeed. The sweet taste that exploded on your tastebuds, when the tip of your rosy tongue licked your juicy lips, made you grin, or maybe it was the all-consuming smell of sweat and blood that lingered in the air. It might come off as surprising for other women, but you enjoyed watching fights. There was something brutal but so real about them. After all, humans were just animals wearing suits. Animals which, according to you, had barely learned to speak instead of growling.

Your lips pinched the cigarette as you took another drag you quickly blew, your eyes following blood spurting from Bonnie’s nose and splattering the ground. Although quieter than Polly, Lizzie, and Ada, who were laughing, screaming, and sometimes nudging you in excitement at each violent blow the Romani boy gave back to his opponent, you had a lot of fun. Until a peculiar but familiar feeling blossomed within.

It started with a chill creeping down your spine and ended up with light tremors shaking your frail silhouette. Instinctively, you raised your piercing gaze and searched for Arthur somewhere among the crowded rows of folded seats. Your usual calm demeanor faltered as you noticed that your husband seemed troubled by something, rapidly glancing from here and there, attempting to read the room for whatever reason. He didn’t even pay attention to you, far too busy observing the men that were around the boxing ring. Eventually, Arthur stood up and left, his steel blue eyes fixed on someone he followed through the depths of the building. Let me do my fucking job! That’s what he barked at Tommy, or at least what you thought you overheard.

You frowned as a strange sensation rippled through your mind – like a distant, haunting whisper of something looming, a threat. Nervously swallowing your saliva, your first reflex was looking at Tommy. You couldn’t place it, but the odd feeling gripped you tightly like an omen you couldn’t shake, warning you of an approaching storm. It seemed like little King Shelby shared your inner agitation though, for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes dived into yours with the same nervousness and incomprehension. Whatever the many reasons behind your hatred, you were definitely on the same wavelength at this very moment. The silent conversation, expressed through brief eyebrows and eye movements, was more or less the following:

-Where is he going?

-I don’t know. It’s prolly the booze and the pills.

-It’s not. I’ll check.

-Don’t fucking do that.

You stood up from your seat with a clenched jaw and, feeling the vibration of this bad omen quaking your soul itself, you nimbly snaked in and out through seats and followed Arthur’s steps. As was the case for your husband a few minutes ago, the dark corridor into which you rushed engulfed your ethereal silhouette like a hungry giant.

“Fuck.” Tommy mumbled, straightening on his seat and leaning forward, “Fuck.” He repeated, torn between his own doubts and his disdain for you. Nevertheless, if there was one thing he had learned since you joined the family was that your gut feelings were never wrong. You proved it several times, starting by foreseeing Charlie’s abduction. The dark-haired gangster sniffed and nervously rubbed his chin, his catlike eyes going back on forth between the corridor and the crowd. A few minutes later, Tommy finally left the fighting pit.

Something was definitely off.

Cautiously walking through the maze of dark hallways dimly lit by a bluish light, you tried to ignore the maddening beat of your heart that was drumming so loud you felt it hammering in your temples. You didn’t really know where you were heading, nor where Arthur went, but the more you moved forward, the more this unbearable feeling of dread and panic invaded you. Your aimless wandering came to an end when the strong and metallic smell of fresh blood and the atrocious sight that followed jumped at your face.

No.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him – your husband, slumped on the ground, blood soaking through the collar of his shirt as it gushed from the wound across his throat.

No!

Time seemed to slow down, and your heart seemed to stop as you took in the scene: the gun the Italian bastard was holding in his steady hand aimed at Arthur’s head.

Panic crashed over you like a tidal wave, washing away everything but the rage that had piled up within you during all these years. In that moment, something primal and destructive snapped inside of you. In a blur of rage and raw instinct, and with a guttural scream that seemed too inhumane to come from you, you launched yourself at the mafioso, who barely had the time to turn around. Another furious shriek escaped from your quivering lips, similar to the rabid screech of a wounded banshee, and with your fingers curled into claws, your sharp nails slashed across his face.  

“PUTTANA!” The man yelled and gasped, taken aback by your unleashed fury.

The mafioso fired with his gun in a desperate attempt to kill you but the brutal impact between your two bodies threw him off balance and the shot reached the wall instead of your brain. As his spine crashed against the tiled ground, Changretta’s henchman dropped the weapon. You gave it a brutal blow to make it slide away from him.

Another wave of insults followed as he realized that he struggled to overpower you. You were fighting like a cornered animal, wild and relentless. Your claws scratched him again and again, leaving raw and jagged lines of blood all over his face. The mafioso's strength was starting to falter as he realized that you weren’t just fighting to win; you were fighting to kill him, your body moved by the instinct of a bloodthirsty beast that refused to be caged.

"Stop it, you fucking bitch!" A scream of utter pain brutally tore the air as, completely out of your mind, you dug your thumbs into his skull, pushing harder and harder in an attempt to gouge his eyes. The Sicilian man produced a second sound so twisted that it seemed beyond anything a human throat could produce. The more you pushed with your thumbs, the more you felt his eyeball turning into a viscous pulp. The feeling of the moist and warm liquid on your fingers didn’t stop you. Nor the man’s wails of pure agony, with its pitch far too high and too broken.

“Ajùtami! Ajùtami!” He pleaded, his hands felt the ground in panic, searching for anything he could use to push you away from him. Anything to make you stop. Realizing that nothing was around him, not even the thread he used to attack Arthur, he managed to overcome the pain and gather his strength to grab your throat.

With your air squeezed, you wheezed and removed your fingers from his skull to claw his strong hands. “S-Stop!” Panic flooded you as your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. The harder you fought, the harder he strangled you. Seriously lacking air, you clawed at his arms, desperate to breathe, but his grip was iron. Now you had to do something and do it quickly if you wanted to have a chance to save Arthur.

Your thoughts raced, frantic, until instinct took over.

I love your messy bun, Hev!

The judas stick – now you had a chance. With one quick movement, you brought your hand to your bun and your fingers fumbled for the sharp metal judas stick that was holding your hair in place. It came in handy. With a choked sound, you drove it upward and sunk the sharp edge of the stick into the man’s side.

One time.

Two times.

Three, four, five, six…

Side, chest, shoulder, face… 

Each impact was vicious and powerful, tearing through the flesh like butter and drilling into organs and bones with the sheer will of maiming your enemy. Hot blood splashed all over you and around, but you didn’t care. The only thing that made you stop stabbing him was when you felt the man’s grip loosen around your throat until his arms dropped on the red-smeared ground in a loud thud.

“Fuck!” You sucked in a sharp breath, your voice hoarse from being choked. However, you quickly got up from the corpse to run to your husband.  “Arthur!” You screamed, rushing to his side, your hands trembling as you knelt beside him – or rather as you dropped to your knees, your legs unable to support your weight anymore. Panic seized you even more violently as you saw Arthur's deep wound and the blood—too much blood.

“No, no, no… not like this,” You whispered, voice cracking. You couldn’t lose him, not here, not now. Never. Your fingers brushed over his chest and, in your deepest desperation, you looked for his pulse. A pulse you found, but which was becoming slower and fainter as seconds flew by. “Arthur! Please!” You started sobbing, tears streaming down your face and mixing with the fresh blood that was painting your skin in a disgusting shade of red. You had to face the truth: Arthur was dying. The damages were too serious and the bleeding too much… But you were a witch. The gift of healing was coursing through your veins. The only problem was that if you tried to save him by using your magic, you’d hurt the baby. After all, that was what happened when you tried to kill Luca Changretta with a heart attack.

The baby.

Your husband or the baby?

Your heart painfully raced in your chest. Your erratic breathing and your sore throat made you feel like you weren’t getting enough air.

 “I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

You could save him. You had to. Despite this torture of a dilemma and the harshness of the decision, nothing could change your mind, not even the feeling of your heart shattering into millions of shards. Closing your eyes, you placed one hand over his throat, the blood warm under your palm, and the other on his chest. Wasting no time, you channel all your strength – the connection sparked, and the raw, untamed magic you inherited from your mother surged through you. It seemed to work at first, his pulse lightly responding to yours.

But the more the magic surged, the more you felt a terrible pain in your belly. It started as cramps but quickly escalated into suffering so high that you felt like someone was stabbing you. A trembling squeal escaped from your red lips. You were killing it, you knew it. You were killing your own baby.

"Come on, come on," You muttered, pushing harder, forcing your will into his body. "Stay with me, Arthur," You whispered, tears streaking down your face, each sentence cut by muffled cries of the mafioso you had slaughtered and who was still alive— not for too long to be honest. He seemed to say something in Sicilian but you couldn't understand what. And you didn't care. "Just... stay with me." You gritted your teeth, doing your best to put up with the pain.

Click.

You froze.

“You nosey little slut. You should've stayed with the others.” 

Your heart missed a leap at the unknown male voice, carried by a thick Italian accent. The mafioso’s colleague looked at you, gun pointed right to your head.

"Remember me?" He asked with a wicked smile, recalling the moment he had offered you a cigarette a few hours ago. During your brief chit-chat, he told you that his name was Damiano but you didn't make the connection between Changretta and his Italian heritage.

“Don't cry, you're going to meet with your husband again very soon." the imposing man added, a few seconds away from ending your life. However, Damiano didn't know what you were capable of. Even less now that you were driven by pure rage and despair.

“Shut the fuck up!” You suddenly yelled, your claws firmly anchored in your husband to make Damiano understand that no one would snatch him from your arms. Your voice, a seductive melody that could enchant like a siren’s song, suddenly sounded monstrous. Raw and primal, the way you screamed the threat echoed in the entire maze of hallways and made Tommy’s blood freeze in his veins, a few corridors away. “Fucking die!”

Damiano didn't know that he never stood a chance. You sealed that man's demise with one blunt arm movement as if you had wanted to chase a mosquito from your face.  

"Wh-What..."

Damiano, fell on his knees next to his dying friend, and writhed on the floor. With his two hands pressing on his chest, he suddenly started to choke and, right after, threw up a great amount of thick blood. Apart from the vomiting, blood soon seeped from his eyes and ears, bubbling like something inside was boiling them alive.

"P-Please!" He begged but you didn't stop. The man obviously tried to scream but the only sound he could produce was disgusting gurgles.

"Don't worry, you're going to meet your friend pretty soon." You replied with a cold and sardonic tone before closing your fist, the man's lungs responding to your gesture by imploding in his chest. Like his colleague's arms did a few minutes ago, Damiano's whole body crashed against the floor with a thud.

Quickly, you shifted back your attention to your husband and kept giving him all your energy while ignoring the black dots that were dancing in front of your eyes, as well as the awful, unbearable stabbing sensation in your core. You were definitely hurting yourself by using your power that much but you didn't give a fuck. “Arthur, please.” You growled, a feeling of dizziness building up so bad that you didn’t even hear the hurried footsteps that were coming closer, nor the hoarse, familiar voice of your brother-in-law.

"FUCK!" You exclaimed. You were losing Arthur again.

The three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

The Peaky Blinder's boss took two steps back and brought his calloused hand to his mouth, fighting against the urge to puke – and God knew it took him a lot considering the atrocities he witnessed and did during the war. His turquoise gaze scanned the room, which had turned into a slaughterhouse. A fucking pool of crimson blood. First, he saw the limp and distorted corpse of Damiano, whose eyes were open wide in horror despite him being dead and cold. The terror in his frozen facial expression left no doubt about how awful his last moments must have been: he had suffered, and he had suffered more than a lot. Then, he caught a quick glimpse of the second victim. With his eyeballs reduced to a reddish foul mush, the lacerations on his face, and the abnormal number of stabbing wounds, the mafioso’s body was so maimed that it looked disgustingly grotesque.

Then he saw Arthur.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and pungent scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

Tommy reacted immediately and knelt near his brother with a panic so uncontrollable that it swept away every ounce of coldness and self-control he usually displayed. He slapped his brother's cheeks several times in a vain attempt to help him come back to a conscious state but it didn't work. Thomas Shelby's fist hit the floor with frustration as the feeling of powerlessness crept into his heart. He was losing another brother and there was nothing he could do to save him.

But you could.

"Heaven, d'ya hear me?"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses saturated with one unique sound: a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

“Oi! Listen to me!” Tommy’s powerful voice suddenly snatched you from your daze just enough time to catch your attention and plunge his turquoise iris into your Arctic eyes.

“I—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t...” You repeated in a whisper, just like a broken record, because your husband’s pulse was weakening again, blind to your exhausting and painful efforts. Arthur was dying, your baby was dying and the intensity of the pain you went through was so insufferable that all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wait for death to make this nightmare stop.

Tommy rapidly shifted his body to be by your side, his sharp eyes focused, but softer than usual. “You’ve got this,” he whispered, meeting your panicked gaze. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” He pressed his hand firmly over yours, steadying the trembling fingers that worked to save his brother. His voice was low, gravelly, but laced with a quiet strength he tried to share with you. His grip was warm, grounding you in the chaos, his presence like an anchor. At that moment, the weight of the world felt momentarily lighter with him by your side. You replied to his help with a muffled sob.

"You've got this!" Tommy tried to keep you from falling apart but the sight of a thin trickle of blood slowly running down your nose worried him almost to death. He looked at you and he knew. He knew that you had given everything – every ounce of your energy to save his brother, your magic now drained. Your hand trembled, still pressed to Arthur’s chest, but the world around you was seriously fading to black.

Caught amid this Hell with Tommy by your side, you didn't hear nor feel Polly, who had found the crime scene.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him,

"We're fucking losing her too!" Tommy exclaimed, "fucking help me!"

"Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream one last time. A haunting and otherworldly wail that pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The smell of blood hid Tommy's musky perfume that was tingling your nostrils. The deafening ringing in your ears covered Polly and her nephew's voice. Your breaths came shallow and weak, your body becoming heavier as darkness crept in. Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut. In one final movement, you collapsed beside your husband, your last thought a silent hope that he would live.

Or that you would at least die trying to save him.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature

[sapphire-weapon]

me: /writing weskada porn ada's inner monologue (paraphrased): the only reason why i keep coming back to wesker is because most men don't fuck me right because they're too busy being intimidated by me because they're all sexist pieces of shit who think that every confident woman is a dominatrix, and wesker is at least an equal opportunity piece of shit me: oh girl i've slept on writing you for way too long

[allmoshnobrain]

should I post a new heartbreaker chapter today

[lena-oleanderson]

Thank you for writing. Thank you, genuinely, so much. I never really understood poetry- but now I think its rather that I never had any poetry I connected to, because I understand yours and I finally get it. I don't know how you managed it, but thank you for putting it all into words. I feel a little better reading your poems.

thank you for the kind words! i'm incredibly flattered to be a gate into the medium for you!!

and i'm going to use this as an opportunity to share some of my favourite poets and poems, because no one's work is without influence and if you vibe with my stuff, i bet you'll find something for yourself in my influences as well

richard siken and mary oliver are the obvious ones, i think. my favourite poem by richard siken is the worm king's lullaby. both crush and war of the foxes are among my favourite books. harder to pick an obvious favourite with oliver. hum, hum is definitely among them. in blackwater woods, too, and don't hesitate. a thousand mornings, felicity, and blue horses are all excellent collections by her, and like both of siken's, approachably short. lately i have been very into gabrielle calvocoressi, my favourites by her are hammond B3 organ cistern and miss you. would like to take a walk with you. wendy cope's the orange is on all of these lists, as it ought to be, it is that good. i'll do a few more rapid fire, a deeply nonconclusive list in no particular order, without explaining what they mean to me, i hope you'll take a chance on some of them, and find something that resonates with you Soup Is One Form of Salt Water by Heather Christle Having a Coke with You by Frank O’Hara Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled with Shrieks by Christopher Citro Onions by William Matthews One Art by Elizabeth Bishop (i didn't really get this poem until i heard it read in reaching for the moon, and i do think that's the case with some poems) Variations on a Theme by Elizabeth Bishop by John Murillo All My Friends Are Finding New Beliefs by Christian Wiman I’m not a religious person but by Chen Chen What It Looks Like To Us and the Words We Use by Ada Limón The Garden of Proserpine by Algernon Charles Swinburne The Mower by Philip Larkin Resumé by Dorothy Parker The Second Coming by William Butler Yeats Poem by Matthew Rohrer What Resembles The Grave But Isn't by Anne Boyer Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden Morning Love Poem by Tara Skurtu To Be Alive by Gregory Orr The World’s Loneliest Whale Sings the Loudest Song by Noor Hindi God and a Believer Take a Smoke Break by Amatullah Bourdon Cold Solace by Anna Belle Kaufman Prayer for Werewolves by Stephanie Burt Sharing a Cigarette with Joan of Arc by Dante Émile On Seatbelts and Sunsets by Hanif Abdurraqib Catastrophe is Next to Godliness by Franny Choi Jesus Dies by Anne Sexton The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski The Sarah Poems by Ruth Awad acknowledgments by Danez Smith

[4dkellysworld]

After deciding 'it is done'

This is more of a manifestation themed post (it's a draft from March when I spontaneously felt like writing it but didn't post it) because I felt like it but I'd appreciate if I didn't get any asks about manifestation* (unless I change my mind later) cos I'll share what I can and there's a lot of material available already! You can see my past post on this topic here. For more posts on it, see @4dbarbie-archive and realisophie's posts here and here and there's also some over at @ndjournal in the experience sharing tag.

*Also because I don't want to send mixed messages to the readers of this blog. I see conscious manifestation as a way to challenge & break limitations and concepts from the mind, not to get things in the world (kinda like Neo learning to bend the spoon in the Matrix if you get me lol). The latter will only pull you deeper into ego and the world, which isn't conducive to self-realization (if that's your goal) if you're focused on satisfying ego and the worldly life. If that makes sense and you resonate and agree with that, then we are on the same page but not everyone is and that's okay too, just do what feels right to you. Just sharing my reasoning :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've been reading this book called Parallel Universes of Self because I read the author Frederick Dodson had an interesting reality shifting experience. I didn't expect to read info on manifestation but they are pretty much the same. I have a few books of his that I'm skimming through out of curiosity and there's some interesting stuff (I might share some other things later, he doesn't just talk about manifestation, but also consciousness, reality and even non-duality).

I thought I'd share the below excerpt because it's explained really well and might help some others. It's also a nice succinct summary of what Ada and Soph talked about for materialization/manifestation as well. I can remember pretty much 95% of the things I've ever "manifested" were from when I acted the way he described after I had decided "it is done". It's easier to do this for things you don't care about because you just end up forgetting about it entirely and then it shows up and you're like 'oh yeah!! nice'.

In the hours, days and weeks after simply rest in the new viewpoint, rest in the fulfilled reality. This means that you don’t try to “make it happen” because you have already claimed it as real. You don’t affirm, visualize, repeat or wait for it. You don’t hope for it to come in some future. Because you have claimed it as already real you don’t even think about it much either. You don’t ask when, how, where it will show up. Instead you simply do what offers itself to you throughout the day, and this will involve commonplace activities. Daily life continues in a natural manner without neediness or lack. Once in awhile you may want to re-feel the body sense of the chosen reality, and enjoy what you have claimed as true, but often not even that is necessary. Furthermore you needn’t be “acting as if” the desired reality is manifest, for that still implies separation. Simply cease to behave in a way that presupposes that it is not already so. You may refuse to ascribe relevance or importance to any events that seem to contradict your newly chosen reality. From the new viewpoint such events may still exist and come up but they are no longer relevant enough to be reacted to and interacted with. They may be the way things are at the moment, but they are no longer the way you are. The corresponding physical manifestation will appear when you stop needing it, chasing after it, looking for it but are instead willingly and lovingly identified with it…not for the sake of “making it manifest” *, but for the sake of experiencing its joy in the here, now and today. *Because trying to make it happen/manifest reinforces the idea/belief that it isn't

This is the same as what 4dbarbie said about getting ego out of the way or as Lester Levenson said, let go and let God. Just let it happen and stop trying to control the process because the more you try, the more you reinforce the fact that it isn't already so. Basically stop putting in effort once you know it is true, just continue knowing with calm and ease that it is the way you want it. Ada also said here:

If you have thoughts like "I need to say my affirmations", "I need to check my state", you're not living in the end but still desiring. When you're able to look at the thing you desire as being something that was once a dream, but now only a memory - you've entered the state of the wish fulfilled. When desire turns into identity, you know you've succeeded in fulfilling yourself.

Yes we're conditioned to think we need to work hard and put effort to earn things in the world but when it comes to manifesting, this sort of mentality will only sabotage and hinder your success. You can literally just decide you have it and then never look back. This sort of mindset can take a bit of time and practice to get used to because it is not something we're used to but the more you practice, the easier it gets.

Here is an excerpt from an astral projection book (I think it's from The Illusion of Method?) I thought was really apt at describing this too. He's talking about AP but you can apply it to manifesting or pretty much anything as well.

Unless you are masochistic, I ask you to reconsider the painful idea of obsessing about time. Bear in mind that results will come whenever they have to, and counting the minutes won't make the outcome arrive faster. It's best if you just forget about it, and accept that it is something that you can't control. You must be patient—most of the time the desired results arrive immediately after giving up control of time. If you are frustrated and/or are afraid of failure, then it means you believe you are in control—and this translates into the feeling that you are responsible for both positive and negative results. Well then, stop thinking that way! Exempting yourself from responsibility is the best course of action there is. As seen in the previous chapter, those who project on command are the ones who couldn’t care less about AP. But the more you obfuscate yourself, the lesser your chances of success —and trust me, you won’t want to get trapped in that vicious cycle. Astral projection works when you stop worrying about failure because you trust that it will happen, whether you “do” something or not.

It’s the same thing: just in the same way that being hasty for sleep to occur keeps us wakeful and alert, being expectant over the OBE will keep us caged in the physical body. If the mind is constantly thinking about the goal, it can easily enter a state of expectancy* and impatience. In such state, the mind is no longer relaxed because expectancy is a state of unrest. This form of tension is what hinders the outcome—thus, the key to being relaxed (i.e., essentially lacking mental tension) is to forget about the goal entirely. If you don’t have the goal in mind you don’t enter a state of expectancy, and therefore you are free from mental tension. *expectancy is the same energy as trying to make something happen.. reinforcing the idea/belief that it isn't so

So, exempt yourself from responsibility means there's nothing more to do because ego is not in control and can do nothing.

[usagi-chwan]

Here are all the links to each of my currently published writings on Bungou Stray Dogs (basically, a summary) :

One-shots & Two-shots :

ADA!Dazai x PM!Reader - See you, I love you

Dazai x Reader - Broken Memories

Dazai x Reader - The evils of my soul

Dazai x Reader - A second chance

Dazai x Reader - The truth, only the truth (part 1/2)

Dazai x Reader - The truth, only the truth (part 2/2)

Chuuya x Reader - A new world (part 1/2)

Chuuya x Reader - A new world (part 2/2)

Chuuya x Reader - A choice without regrets (part 1/3)

Chuuya x Reader - A choice without regrets (part 2/3)

Chuuya x Reader - A choice without regrets (part 3/3)

Chuuya x Reader - Change of Plans

Atsushi x Reader - Nine Roses

Atsushi x Reader - True hapiness

Kyôka x Reader - For a better future

Dazai & Oda - Funeral Melody

Akutagawa x Reader - Love and Duty

Fukuzawa x Reader - Where I belong

Ranpo x Reader - Dreams of greatness (part 1/2)

Ranpo x Reader - Dreams of greatness (part 2/2)

Poe x Reader - This voice of yours

Fyodor x Reader - Black Sun

ADA x Reader - Revenge is a dish best served cold

ADA x Reader - A well deserved rest

Oda x Pregnant!Reader - A piece of hapiness

Oda x Reader - Love always finds its way

Tachihara x Reader - Everything for your smile

Elise x Reader - In your child's eyes

Mori x Reader - What is part of me

Headcanons x Reader :

Do you know Candy Crush? (Ranpo, Kunikida, Kenji, Oda, Akutagawa, Yosano, Atsushi, Chuuya & Dazai)

... Can you repeat what you just said? (Part 1 - Dazai, Kunikida, Chuuya, Ranpo, Oda, Ango, Atsushi, Sigma & Fukuzawa)

At the haunted house with BSD's characters (Part 1 - Ranpo, Kunikida, Yosano, Akutagawa & Oda)

At the haunted house with BSD's characters (Part 2 - Kenji, Chuuya, Atsushi & Dazai)

Who's doing the dishes today? (Kunikida, Francis, Ranpo, Chuuya, Atsushi, Ango, Tachihara, Fyodor & Dazai)

Is this little one yours? (Part 1 - Ranpo, Oda, Atsushi & Sigma)

Is this little one yours? (Part 2 - Dazai, Kunikida, Chuuya, Ango & Fukuzawa)

Feel tired all of a sudden? (Kunikida, Oda, Chuuya & Yumeno)

Yes, I do (Part 1 - Kunikida, Atsushi, Oda, Chuuya & ADA!Dazai)

Yes, I do (Part 2 - PM!Dazai, Ango, Ranpo & Yosano)

Alright. What else is new? (Kôyô, Mori & Chuuya)

The enemy nobody wants to have (Part 1 - Kôyô & Mori)

The enemy nobody wants to have (Part 2 - Akutagawa & Chuuya)

Jealousy is a bad habit (ADA!Dazai, Ranpo, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Atsushi, Yosano, Oda, Tecchou & Lucy)

Single life is no longer for me (Oda, Fukuzawa, Chuuya, PM!Dazai & ADA!Dazai)

Nice to meet you! (Oda, Kunikida & Fukuchi)

First meal with the in-laws, it goes wrong? (Chuuya, Dazai, Atsushi & Oda)

I'm not your father... Or your mother, for that matter (Dazai, Chuuya, Kunikida, Oda, Fukuzawa & Sigma)

I have no regrets (Dazai & Chuuya)

I didn't see anything, I swear! (Dazai, Chuuya, Kunikida, Atsushi, Oda & Poe)

Period, the devil's invention (Kunikida, Chuuya, Ranpo, Sigma & Fyodor)

If only I'd known... (Chuuya, Mori, Fukuzawa & Kunikida)

I remember (Part 1 - Dazai & Kôyô)

I remember (Part 2 - Mori & Fukuzawa)

Will you marry me? (Part 1 - Dazai & Chuuya)

Will you marry me ? (Part 2 - Oda)

Oops, I misspoke (Atsushi, Ango, Oda, Chuuya & Dazai)

Can I do anything else for you while I'm at it??? (Dazai, Chuuya, Fukuzawa, Oda & Mori)

That's not what I meant! (Chuuya, Dazai, Atsushi, Sigma, Tecchou, Fukuzawa, Oda & Fyodor)

Have kids, they said... (Part 1 - Chuuya, Fukuzawa, Oda & Dazai)

Have kids, they said... (Part 2 - Fyodor, Sigma, Jounou & Poe)

Reflex ! (Nikolai, Dazai, Chuuya & Kunikida)

... Can you repeat what you just said? (Part 2 - Mori, Hirotsu & Kôyô)

Headcanons :

You're under arrest! (Kenji, Yosano, Kunikida, Chuuya, Atsushi, Dazai, Kyôka, Tanizaki, Kajii, Ango, Mori & little bonus)

To cook or not to cook, that is the question (Dazai, Ango, Oda, Kunikida, Atsushi, Kyôka, Sigma, Chuuya, Ranpo & Fyodor)

I won't do it again, I promise... (Fukuzawa, Chuuya, Dazai, Yosano & Kôyô)

Ouch!! It stings!! (Ranpo, Atsushi, Chuuya, Dazai & Poe)

Do you want something else? (Chuuya, Yosano, Dazai, Kunikida, Oda, Nikolai & Fyodor)

A sweet tooth? (Kunikida, Ranpo, Dazai, Yosano, Fukuzawa, Kyôka, Atsushi, Kenji & Tanizaki)

[ghostlynightpanda]

Haii!! It's the anonie that requested the jewelry Ranpo fic :D!!! I love your writing style and everything so much, I adore it!! Is it OK if I request another Ranpo x masc girl!reader (like tomboy reader) fic? IMAGINE this. You work in the ADA and had a crush on Ranpo, you've tried many times to flirt and give him the hint, but he seemed oblivious to all of it, you wondered if he did it on purpose because he was disinterested and it kinda make you sad but you still try again anyways. One day, Ranpo introduced the ADA to one of his new friend who is Minoura's assistant. Everyone like her and you talk to her a few times. But then you noticed Ranpo laughing alot at her jokes, or that he also litsens to her very intently as if he's interested . That made you wondered, did he like her? Now THAT genuinely fucked you up. How did she manage to catch Ranpo's attention so quick? What did she do to make THE Ranpo enjoy her presence? What did SHE have but YOU don't? Then you came into a conclusion, maybe it's her looks. She's so feminine, outside of work she always wear lighy colored sundresses, pink rosy lips and high heels, her hair are always curled and neatly put. And you? You perfered the casuals, black and red centered palette, big tees and baggy pants, throw in a few chains and necklaces and leather jackets every now and then. Maybe it's that? Maybe Rsnpo liked girly girls? So from then, Ranpo noticed that you started to change. Its subtle, but it always catched his eyes. How you changed your usual deep red lipstick to a more pinky one, how you stopped wearing big tees and now they're crop tops, all that. You hoped I'd catch Ranpo's attention and that he might understand your hint more now that you're "his type". But then one day, he suddenly came up to you and confront you about what youvr been doing. And after going back and forth, you confessed your intentions with an annoyed yet embarrassed pout. Ranpo just blinks up at you and said "Oh HER? oh no I'm just pretending because that's Minoura's DAUGHTER. He'd be even angrier if u treated her like how I usually treat him. Oh and for the record? I love your fashion sense, you make me wanna smooch you up!" And your whole shattered (the ending can also include reader's regret for having to buy all the girly stuff just for Rsnpo to like the way you are, so angrily you teased Ranpo into telling him to buy clothes you think would look good on him to make up for the money you spent for his approval >:3!!!) -🍮 (this will be my anonie signout now, hihi!)

Detective, Notice Me

synopsis: You tried everything to catch Ranpo’s attention—even changing yourself—only to find out he liked you best when you were just you.

content/warnings: Ranpo Edogawa x reader, fluff, -2.251 words

The Armed Detective Agency’s office was bustling with the usual chaos—phones ringing, footsteps echoing, papers rustling—but in the middle of it all, your eyes always found the same spot. Ranpo Edogawa, the brilliant detective with a knack for solving mysteries that left everyone else stumped. His sharp mind was intimidating, but his carefree attitude and casual smirk made him strangely endearing.

You’ve had a crush on him for as long as you can remember. Maybe it’s his cocky smile or the way he casually solves mysteries that leave everyone else baffled. Whatever it is, you can’t help but be drawn to him.

You’ve tried—so many times—to catch his attention. You drop hints, hoping he’ll pick up on them: offering him coffee with a little extra warmth in your smile, laughing a bit too loudly at his jokes, finding excuses to linger nearby when he’s working on a case. Sometimes you think you’re subtle; other times, you’re embarrassingly obvious.

Like today. 

You slip on a new chain necklace you bought recently, one with a small silver charm that you thought Ranpo might like—something edgy but simple, much like your usual style. It rests cool against your skin beneath your favorite black oversized tee, which you’ve paired with worn-in jeans and a leather jacket tossed over your chair. You always prefer black and red—it feels like you, even if it’s not what Ranpo expects.

You carefully swipe on a new dark red lip gloss, the shade deep and bold. Maybe this time, it’ll catch his eye.

But no.

Ranpo’s completely oblivious. Or maybe he’s just ignoring you, and that thought makes your chest tighten. Whenever you try to flirt or give him a hint, he either flashes you that infuriating, smug smirk or tilts his head like he’s genuinely confused, saying, “Huh? What was that?” as if you spoke a foreign language.

You wonder if he really just doesn’t care.

Still, you keep trying. Because what’s the point of having feelings if you don’t at least try to make him notice you?

He’s always so wrapped up in his cases, so confident in his own mind, but sometimes you swear you catch his eyes lingering on you—just for a moment—before he quickly looks away.

You want to be more than just background noise in his brilliant world. You want him to see you.

It was just another morning at the ADA when Ranpo strolled in with someone new.

“Everyone, this is Minoura’s assistant. She’ll be helping out around here for a while,” he said, popping a lollipop into his mouth mid-sentence. “Play nice.”

You glance up from your desk and immediately take in the woman beside him. She’s... pretty. No—stunning, in that soft, effortless way. She’s wearing a pale yellow sundress that sways lightly as she walks, paired with delicate heels that somehow don’t slow her down. Her hair is curled in loose waves, glossy and pinned just right. Her lips are a soft, rosy pink, and her smile lights up the room.

She looks like she walked out of a lifestyle magazine.

You sit back in your chair, absentmindedly fiddling with one of the rings hanging from your chain necklace as you observe. Everyone seems to take to her quickly—Atsushi’s already offering her a cup of tea, Kunikida’s explaining case protocols, even Yosano compliments her dress.

Ranpo stands beside her, arms crossed casually, a content smile on his face as he watches the room accept her without hesitation.

You try not to overthink it.

You talk to her a few times over the next few days. She’s nice. Charming. Honestly hard to dislike. And you hate that. You hate that she’s actually... good. Because at first, you assumed it’d be easy to roll your eyes and move on. But she’s sweet, warm-hearted, and genuinely smart.

And worst of all? Ranpo seems to like her.

You start noticing things.

How he laughs easily around her, head thrown back, the sound genuine. How he listens to her when she talks, his expression unusually attentive. How he makes jokes just to see her giggle, even sharing snacks without a single sarcastic remark.

That… genuinely messes with your head.

Because how did she manage to catch Ranpo’s attention so quickly? What did she do to make him enjoy her presence so much? You’ve spent months trying to earn even a fraction of that closeness, and she walked in and got it all in a week.

And you? You’re still wearing your favorite black nail polish, still slipping on your usual leather jacket, still adding silver accents to your layered necklaces like it matters. You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror one day, tracing the outline of your deep red lip gloss with your finger.

Maybe it’s not your personality. Maybe it’s not your effort.

Maybe it’s your look.

She’s soft, feminine, graceful. She floats when she walks. Outside of work, she wears pastel skirts and hair ribbons. She looks like she belongs in a warm breeze and the scent of cherry blossoms.

You? You like big shirts and combat boots. Black and red are your comfort colors. You wear rings like armor, and your eyeliner is as sharp as your tongue when you're annoyed. Chains, zippers, leather, denim—it’s all part of you. You’ve always thought you looked cool.

But maybe Ranpo doesn’t want cool.

Maybe he wants soft.

Maybe that’s why he never noticed you.

You lean back against the sink, your arms folded tightly across your chest as a bitter thought hits you.

If I looked like her, would he have already liked me back?

You left the agency that day with your headphones on, volume up, and your hands shoved deep in your jacket pockets. The sky had started to shift toward evening, painted in shades of orange and lavender, but you hardly noticed. Your head was too full.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw her. Heard her. That bright laugh, the way Ranpo’s eyes crinkled when he listened to her speak. You could still see how he leaned toward her slightly, just enough to make your stomach twist.

You didn’t want to compare yourself. But you couldn’t help it.

As you crossed the street toward your apartment, something caught your eye.

A boutique. One you usually passed without a second thought. This time, though, something in the window made you stop.

A mannequin stood confidently behind the glass, dressed in a sleek black crop top with a heart-shaped neckline and delicate lace edging. It was still your color—black, safe, familiar—but the cut was undeniably feminine. Soft. Curved. Pretty.

The kind of thing she’d wear. The kind of thing you imagined Ranpo noticing.

You stood there for a while, chewing the inside of your cheek, before muttering, “Screw it,” and walking inside.

You told yourself you’d just try one thing. Just this one stupid crop top. But somehow, you left with a small paper bag filled with it, plus a few more pieces: a lighter pink lip tint, a silver anklet with a charm, and a pair of high-waisted skinny jeans you were already second-guessing.

The next morning, you stared at yourself in the mirror, frowning. The crop top hugged your figure in a way your oversized shirts never did. It didn’t feel like you, but it didn’t look bad either. You slipped on your usual chain necklace, letting it rest just above the neckline like some attempt at a compromise. One foot in your world, one in hers.

You stepped into the ADA that day expecting no one to notice.

But Ranpo’s eyes caught you immediately.

He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered longer than usual. You caught it. You felt it.

That was all it took.

It became a slow unraveling from there.

Each day, you added something new—a tighter shirt, a more pastel tone, a softer gloss. Skinny jeans one day, a blush-colored nail polish the next. The reds and blacks in your wardrobe began to fade into pinks and creams. Your necklaces thinned. Your boots were replaced with flats. Your eyeliner softened, your lashes curled. You even bought a floral perfume.

You hated how awkward you felt in all of it. Like wearing someone else’s skin. Like you'd taken off armor and replaced it with silk you didn’t know how to carry.

But you kept doing it.

Because Ranpo started to look.

He still hadn’t said anything, but he noticed. You’d catch him glancing, eyes darting briefly from your lips to your clothes before going back to his usual lollipop or snack.

It wasn’t a lot—but it was more than before. And that was enough to keep you going.

Even if you didn’t quite recognize yourself anymore.

—

The mission was quick—just a low-stakes investigation that didn’t require the whole agency. You and Ranpo were paired up, walking side by side as the evening set in around Yokohama. The breeze was soft, tugging at your new, thinner top—cream-colored. Your lip gloss tasted like strawberries, and your hair was pinned back the way you’d seen her do it last week.

Ranpo had been unusually quiet since the case wrapped up.

No smug remarks. No teasing. Just occasional glances that flickered toward you and then away again, like he was working something out in his head.

You were trying not to let it get to you. Trying to keep your posture relaxed, your steps casual. You’d worn this outfit thinking he might compliment you. He hadn’t.

Finally, when the sidewalk thinned and the two of you were walking shoulder to shoulder, he spoke.

“…Hey.”

You turned, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Ranpo was looking at you. Really looking. Not just his usual lazy glance, but with that unsettlingly sharp gaze he used when he was reading people like puzzles. And right now, that gaze was pinned on you.

“What’s up with you lately?” he asked plainly.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

He waved a finger vaguely at your outfit. “This. The makeup. The clothes. You don’t look like you. You look like… someone else.”

You swallowed hard, already feeling your shoulders tighten.

“I just… felt like changing things up,” you muttered, eyes forward again.

“Yeah, no. Try again,” Ranpo said, chewing the stick of his now-finished lollipop. “You liked the way you used to dress. And, not to sound like Kunikida, but you don’t exactly strike me as the sundress-and-lip-gloss type.”

Your jaw clenched. “So what? It’s a crime to want to try something different?”

He stopped walking. “Not a crime,” he said slowly, “but you’re not doing this for you. You’re doing it for someone else. And I think I know who.”

You turned to face him fully, irritation bubbling up now. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you, Detective?”

Ranpo shrugged. “I do, actually. You’ve been acting weird ever since Minoura’s assistant showed up.”

You folded your arms, voice tight. “So what if I have?”

He tilted his head, that usual smirk replaced by something unreadable. “You think I like her, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Your silence said enough.

Ranpo blinked, then exhaled through his nose like he couldn’t believe he was about to explain this.

“I’ve just been pretending to be nice because she’s Minoura’s daughter. He’s already touchy about how I treat him—can you imagine the tantrum if I ignored her the way I ignore him?”

You stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He popped another lollipop into his mouth. “Honestly, I thought you knew. You’re smarter than this.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your stomach twisted with equal parts embarrassment and relief. Your heart was thudding so loud it drowned out the city.

Ranpo squinted at you. “You seriously thought I liked her over you? When you’re over here wearing chains and red lipstick and stomping around in leather like you’re gonna murder someone with your eyeliner? I love that.”

You blinked. “…What?”

He gave you a playful grin, stepping a little closer. “I love your fashion sense. I’ve been wanting to smooch you for, like, weeks. But you started changing all that, and I got confused. Thought maybe you were the one who wasn’t interested anymore.”

You felt your face burn. All that effort. All the awkward outfits. All the money wasted on makeup you didn’t even like wearing—and he had liked you all along?

You groaned, slapping a hand to your forehead. “You idiot! Do you know how much I spent trying to become your type?!”

Ranpo snorted. “And you thought I wanted someone who looks like they stepped out of a fashion blog?”

“Well, you sure acted like it!”

He looked entirely too pleased with himself now. “To be fair, you do look cute in crop tops. But I liked you better when you looked like you could beat me up in an alley.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, tugging at your top with a grimace. “I regret everything.”

He grinned. “Then let me make it up to you.”

You raised a brow. “Oh yeah? How?”

Ranpo leaned in just enough to be dangerous. “You spent money changing your whole wardrobe for me. I’ll let you pick out one outfit for me. Your style. Chains and all.”

“…Even leather?”

“If it means you’ll finally stop pouting and maybe kiss me? I’ll wear leather pants. No complaints.”

You couldn’t help the grin that broke through.

“Deal.”

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