#your song is not yet written i will serve you until it is

[mandalorianbird]

I still haven't recovered from this.

"I only know of this weapon what you taught me. To be honest, it means nothing to me or my people, nor does station or bloodline. What means more to me is honor. And loyalty. And character. These are the reasons I serve you, Lady Kryze. Your song is not yet written. I will serve you until it is."

The way his voice changes on the word "character." And the way she doesn't think it's her at all, until he says that's why he serves her. The surprise on her face. It means so much to her to have someone who sees her, who believes in her, after probably not having that for decades. She was stuck in a pit of depression until she had someone to go save and protect. Then Din seeing and respecting and following her meant the world. They are stronger together.

[justanotherdinboshipper]

Dinbo Coded Quotes💖 This is the Way

(Pictures all from Pinterest💖🥰)

[thefrogdalorian]

I just know that Din cringes whenever he remembers that he actually said Bo-Katan wasn't a Mandalorian... he probably lies awake at night replaying that moment in his head

[famousflowermagazine]

i actually liked how open ended the finale was, i mean would i have liked for dinbo to explicitly canon yes i would , but we got such a good build up of their relationship from where it was in season 2 they were both able to see each of their points of view, by learning to work together with bo’s nite owls and din’s covert. both their clans are now united together.

i know some people are disappointed and it’s okay to feel that way but their build up was not for nothing.

i know it will be long while till we get season 4 but i can not wait for the fics that this fandom with come up with that will make the wait go much quicker.

[buckets-and-trees]

Welcome Home, Pumpkin [sugar]

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 2k Summary: Bad ethics. Zero impulse control. This is what everyone says about him. What will it mean for you tonight?

Content/Warnings: pregnancy talk, use of pet name "Pumpkin," established relationship, explicit smut (vaginal intercourse, slight overstimulation, fingering, marking/biting), dacryphilia, dirty talk

Notes: This is one of three in a set of short stories with Lloyd served three ways - soft, soft!dark, and dark. The three will feature the same setting, overlapping themes, shared thoughts, and bits of dialogue. Sugar is the soft version. Also, this is the first time I've written something significant for just Lloyd - I've had him in a multi-character piece and some thots/drabbles, but *takes deep breath* first solo project for him from me! Thank you @stargazingfangirl18 for holding my hand periodically throughout this!

sugar pumpkin | spiced pumpkin | smashed pumpkin

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You shut the door behind you and sigh, happy to be home after a long day - a long week, really. 

You kick off your shoes, drop your bag, and turn on some music before padding down the hallway to your bedroom, more than ready to change from your more professional clothes to something comfy to lounge in the rest of the evening. 

You jump when a deep, serious voice you aren’t expecting says, “Welcome home, Pumpkin.”

Your heart rockets into your throat, hand flying to your chest. “Lloyd Hansen!”

He chuckles, rising from the spot he’d been perched on the edge of the bed. 

“You’re not supposed to be here!” 

He makes a show of bowing slightly, “And yet, here I am.”

You hesitate in the doorway, studying the face of the man you are so familiar with. The steel blue eyes, the sharp jawline, the ridiculous mustache you’ve come to love. 

You can sense he’s eager, impatient, but he will wait for you to come to him. 

As if you’ve been anything but drawn to this man since the day you two first crossed paths. He was dangerous and certainly not suited for you. Yet that had changed, little by little, until you couldn’t imagine living your life without this fierce man folded into every part of it, and every part of your heart. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re keeping from me?” he asks, lifting his chin just a fraction. 

And oh that look does something to you - the delicious swoop in your stomach that always makes you weak and eager for him. 

Slowly, you take measured steps toward him, biting your lip. 

How will he react? 

It’s been the question on your mind all week. 

“Pumpkin?” he presses, tone low, calculated. 

Two final steps to bring you nearly toe to toe with him and you reach for his hand. 

“There’s a little pumpkin on the way,” 

Lloyd opens and then closes his mouth. 

You can hear the beats of one of your favorite songs drifting to you down the hallway from the kitchen, and your heart races in anticipation, needing him to say something. 

You scrunch your nose. “Have I finally rendered you speechless?” you laugh, but there’s a nervous edge to it.

You’ve only spoken about children once, and it was fast, but that was then and hypothetically, and this was now and reality.   

Lloyd sits back on the bed, tugging you forward to stand between his legs. He brings each of his large hands to your hips, then slowly rubs up and down your sides, eyes focusing on your stomach. 

“I knew it,” he whispers. 

You place your hands gently on his broad shoulders. You leave the left one there, but your right hand smoothes over the tightly corded muscles, then up his neck until you’re cupping his jaw, encouraging him to look up at you. 

“Fuck. I wasn’t made to be a good father,” he says. 

You brush your fingers over his forehead. You’re the only one who gives him softness. Sometimes he leans into your touch, but this isn’t one of those times. His mind is too locked into this revelation. 

You tip your head down and press a kiss to his lips. He does kiss you back, and his hands squeeze your waist. 

“You weren’t made to be a good husband either,” you say, pulling back for a moment, looking directly in his eyes, “but you’re the husband I want.”

In one swift motion, Lloyd flips you around and has you on the bed pinned beneath him, body pressing into yours. He growls into your mouth as he claims you in another kiss. He props himself up slightly on one arm, and his other hand reaches to tear the front of your shirt open, rending the fabric in two. You look up at him, waiting with bated breath. 

“I’d burn down the world for you, you know that?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. Your body surges up, pelvis seeking his. “I do.”

He gives you what you want, grinding down into you, and you moan. “And fuck if I’m not already ready to burn it down for them, too,” he murmurs, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down your chest. He pauses above your belly, tracing his fingers over your soft curves, where you’ll soon start to grow with his child.

Lloyd's touch is reverent, almost hesitant, as his fingers ghost over your skin. You've never seen him like this before - so gentle, so in awe. It makes your heart swell with love for this complicated man.

"I never thought..." he trails off, voice thick with emotion.

You card your fingers through his hair, encouraging him to continue. "Never thought what, my love?"

He looks up at you, eyes shining. "That I could have this. A family. Something pure and good."

You cup his face in your hands, drawing him up for a tender kiss.

"You deserve it," you whisper against his lips. "We deserve it."

Lloyd pulls back slightly, studying your face with an intensity that makes your breath catch. His thumb traces your cheekbone, then brushes over your bottom lip.

"I don't deserve you," he says, voice low and rough. He pulls back slightly, searching your eyes. "I've done terrible things, Pumpkin. Things that would make you run if you knew. But I'm too selfish to let you go."

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "I’ve told you before: I'm not going anywhere."

His lips crash into yours, hungry and demanding. You respond with equal fervor, arching into him as his hands roam your body, knowing every inch of it intimately after so much time spent like this, body to body, skin to skin, the rest of the world forgotten.

Lloyd breaks the kiss, leaving you breathless and wanting more. He trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there. You gasp and tilt your head, giving him better access.

"Mine," he growls against your throat. "All mine."

"Yes," you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair. "Yours, Lloyd. Always yours."

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping them possessively. He pulls back to look at you, eyes dark with desire and something else - a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart race.

He yanks the clothing completely down and off your bottom half, and then he’s between your legs, cock out, and pushing his thick, blunt head inside you. You moan and clutch at his chest.

Lloyd growls, grabs your wrists, and pins them above your head in one of his giant hands.

Then he proceeds to fuck you.

Slowly.

Lloyd's pace is agonizing, each thrust deep and deliberate. You melt into him, and your eyes slip closed, but he won't allow it.

"Look at me," he demands, voice rough. He grips your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. "That's it, Pumpkin. Let me see that pretty face.”

You don’t realize you are crying until you feel Lloyd thumbing the tears away from your cheek. Your heart skips a beat as you stare into his fierce, blue eyes. Lloyd's mustache twitches as he smirks, clearly enjoying the way you’ve gotten lost in the moment.

It only seems to spur Lloyd on, his thrusts becoming harder, but not faster. Each powerful movement forces small whimpers from your lips.

"Such sweet sounds," Lloyd murmurs, his breath hot across your face. "I can’t fucking get enough of hearing you sing for me like this."

Your body trembles beneath Lloyd's, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the relentless rhythm of his hips. You strain against his grip on your wrists, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer.

"Please," you whimper, arching your back. "Lloyd, I need…"

He chuckles darkly, nipping at your earlobe. "What do you need, Pumpkin? Tell me."

"You," you gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you. "All of you. Faster, harder…"

Lloyd releases your wrists, allowing you to wrap your arms around him and pull him flush against you. His muscular body covers yours completely as he picks up the pace, driving into you with renewed vigor.

"Like this?" he growls, snapping his hips forcefully.

"Yes!" you cry out, digging your nails into his back. "Oh god, yes!"

Lloyd buries his face in your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there as he pounds into you relentlessly. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your breathless moans.

You feel the tension building within you, coiling tighter and tighter with each powerful thrust. Lloyd's breath is ragged against your neck, his muscular body moving with a primal intensity that leaves you dizzy with desire.

"That's it," he growls, voice low and gravelly. “Fucking come around my cock, Mrs. Hansen.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you arch into him, chasing your release. Lloyd shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly stars explode behind your eyelids. You cry out his name as you come.

Lloyd growls in satisfaction as he feels you clench around him, your body shuddering with pleasure. He doesn't slow his pace, driving you through your orgasm and beyond. The overstimulation makes you whimper and clutch at his shoulders.

"Lloyd," you gasp, voice trembling. "I can't—"

"You can," he insists, his tone brooking no argument. "And you will. Give me another, Pumpkin."

His hand snakes between your bodies, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. He rubs tight circles there, timing his movements with with his thrusts.

Your body responds to Lloyd's expert touch, despite your protests. The overstimulation borders on painful, but the pleasure builds again, impossibly intense. You're trembling, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as Lloyd pushes you relentlessly towards another peak.

"That's it," he growls, his voice strained with his own approaching climax. "Show me how good I make you feel."

With a keening cry, you shatter again, your body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over you. Lloyd's movements become erratic as he chases his own release. His fingers dig into your hips, sure to leave bruises, but you don't care. You want to be marked by him, to carry the evidence of his passion on your skin.

"Fuck," he growls, his voice strained. "You're so goddamn perfect."

With a final, powerful thrust, Lloyd buries himself deep inside you and comes with a guttural groan. You feel the warmth of his release filling you, and you cling to him, savoring the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

You can feel his heart thundering against your chest, but Lloyd's weight is comforting, grounding you as your own heartbeat slowly returns to normal.

As you both come down, you lace the fingers of one of your hands with his, and your other hand drops down to stroke softly up and down his back.

Finally, Lloyd lifts his head from the crook of your neck, his steel blue eyes searching your face. His expression is softer now, a tenderness there that only you ever get to see.

But still, there’s a ghost of a smirk on his face. “You make me crazy, Mrs. Hansen.”

You laugh. “Don’t you mean, ‘I love you, Mrs. Hansen?’”

Lloyd's eyes crinkle at the corners as he chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates through your body. "Isn't that what I said?" he teases, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You roll your eyes playfully, but your heart swells with affection. "I love you too, you impossible man."

He shifts, carefully rolling off you but keeping you close, tucking you against his side. His hand splays possessively over your stomach, and you can't help but smile at the gesture.

"A little pumpkin," he whispers.

“Ours,” you join your hand over his.

“Fuck,” he says, and you laugh and kiss him again.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

all Welcome Home, Pumpkin stories

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[starlostseungmin]

husband!han

✰ notes: posting this a day early since i’ll be out of town please enjoy <33 not proofread. REBLOGGING, COMMENTS AND LEAVING TAGS are highly appreciated! thank you <33

seungmin , chan , lee know , jeongin （ han ）changbin , felix , hyunjin.

ꔛ

Husband Han who asked the baker and chef to put the ring inside the cake. You thought it was kind of old school and yet you cried when you saw the ring. He went down on one knee in front of the crowd as the waiter/waitresses came for assistance. “Will you be the mother of Bbama?” “Yes!” 

Husband Han who wrote a song that he’d use on the day of his wedding proposal. The lyrics consist of words about his feelings, how deep his love is for you, how thankful he is, and how you are his favorite person apart from his Minho hyung. He went on the small stage of the restaurant and grabbed a small piece of paper so he wouldn’t forget what he had written. 

Husband Han whom you can order around. He complains but still does whatever you ask for. Sometimes he just obeys quietly or if he’s in the mood, he looks like a kid who’s happy to help his parents with that adorable and proud smile plastered on his face.

Husband Han who loves to stay home and watch your favorite movies then proceeds to cuddle you all day. He also buys things that will serve good for your convenience and cause less effort. He is a home buddy for a reason. 

Husband Han who is happy as a clam when you visit him while he’s at work especially when you bring him and his members with a ton of food.

Husband Han who is a loud introvert and hits high notes effortlessly on a random Wednesday morning. 

Husband Han who overreacts, and screams at any small inconvenience when he gets a chance. Hyunjin would be the one to cover his mouth because his ears suffer the most. 

Husband Han who has a lot of feelings and takes everything to heart (playfully) during a nonsense argument and will say some things nonstop until both of you just laugh them off. Yet also the type to be calm and straightforward that would pierce your heart if it’s serious especially when he does have a point. 

Husband Han who sometimes doesn’t listen to you and is stubborn. 

Husband Han who apologizes hours later after thoroughly thinking of what he did or said wrong during the fight. He would hug you tightly when he sees you crying and say “I love you” instead of  “I’m sorry.”

Husband Han who listens attentively to your worries and gives you useful advice. If he feels like you don’t want to hear anything and just sit there in silence, he will hold your hand or bring you into his arms while kissing the crown of your head. 

Husband Han whose love languages are physical touch, quality time, and words of affirmation (through the songs he wrote). 

Husband Han who gets jealous when you pay too much attention to BBama instead of him. He would sulk at the corner and refuse to talk unless you baby him until he decides to forgive you. 

Husband Han who gets sentimental when sad so you let him lay on you and bury his face on your neck while you hum his favorite tune or just play with his hair while whispering some things that he needs to hear. He loves it when you do that. 

Husband Han who loves cheesecakes especially when you’re the one who made them. He’d devour them immediately with some iced coffee he got from Seungmin.

Husband Han who gets round when he eats something or just mainly his cheeks are the cutest that you want to kiss, pinch, or suddenly goes nom nom nom. 

Husband Han who doesn’t mind you wearing his clothes. He loves them on you. 

Husband Han whose voice you want to listen to all night after a long day because it’s soothing to hear and brings you comfort, especially when he is talking softly and in a gentle manner. 

Husband Han who gets undeniably shy when you kiss him, especially when you’re in public. He is all giddy and a blushing mess, expect to make out with him when you get home.

Husband Han who can sleep everywhere that you get jealous but he would ask you first if you want to cuddle until you fall asleep in whatever comfortable place you’re at. 

Husband Han who texts or calls you before going home from work just to ask how your day went and if you want him to buy something. Sometimes you do it the other way around. It’s a must in this marriage. 

Husband Han who spoils you a lot. 

Husband Han who respects whatever decision you make, especially when it comes to the thought of having kids. Just like anyone else, he doesn’t pressure you and wait until you’re the first one to initiate the topic. 

Husband Han who promised to love you and never leave until death do you part.

Husband Han who thinks that having you in his life is the greatest gift he could ever have and the best thing that ever happened. 

Husband Han whom you love, protect, and spend the rest of your life with along with Bbama. 

✰ taglist: @notastraykid , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @reignessance , @lix-ables , @skzfelixlove , @rachabreathing , @hyunverse , @minluvly , @sleepyleeji , @starseungs , @midsoulz , @oddracha , @armystay89 , @lashaemorow

©️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

[jellicatty]

❝ THE OTHER WOMAN ₊˚ ❞

A tale of an unfortunate woman— cursed with a lonesome life, pouring all of her love to a wretched and unfaithful man.

╰┈➤ contains : sukuna x female reader. cheater! sukuna. toxic relationship. other woman is mean. written in other woman's pov. third pov. sfw-ish. angst.

╰┈➤ note : unedited because this was from my archives + wrote this two years ago lol. this fic is inspired by Lana del Rey's The Other Woman ! I loved the song so I used it for some inspo hini >____<

Oh, other woman, how lonely you must be.

The other woman has time to manicure her nails

The other woman is perfect where her rival fails

And she's never seen with pin curls in her hair, anywhere.

She’s fresh from the boutique; luxury draped around her form. From head to toe, was the old money of the famous businessman— Sukuna Ryomen. Pride swelled on her chest at the sight of measly women with their cheap brands. She felt perfect amongst the sea of the low-cost. Though among piles of garbage, hidden jewelry resides.

Her eyes held the usual disgust and her ego stood tall, yet the doubts at her head fought for their lives. Face to face, was the wife of her beloved. She looked so spent, her beauty slowly fading with the times. They acknowledged each other’s presence as poor Y/n thought of her as a very lovely woman.

The other woman enchants her clothes with French perfume

The other woman keeps fresh cut flowers in each room

There are never toys that's scattered everywhere

The flower endured even the harshest of her tenor.

Suddenly, the woman’s sour mood turned sweet, her eyes scanning the bags and bags of expensive jewelry. But all of it didn’t matter to her. The woman in love quickly searched for the concealed letter, her heart fluttering once touching the rough, sealed paper.

And she read it, repeated it, hated it.

It was unfair.

How unfair it was for her to receive only letters. His touch, lonely woman yearned for his touch. Gritting her teeth, the woman let anger control her until red no longer consumed her body.

Amongst the ripped bags, was the other woman who desperately called for his love. But the woman knew he was busy with his own children, tending to them with his pitiful spouse, surrounded by numerous toys and annoying cries of her own devil spawns.

And when her old man comes to call

He finds her waiting like a lonesome queen

'Cause to be by her side

It's such a change from old routine

Most would run away with fear in their eyes once taking a quick look at his monstrous stature. But, her love clouded her mind. Instead of fear, it was adoration— heart erratic at his predator-like stare.

“Sukuna, my darling, how are you-”

“Who told you to speak?”

His words were enough to make her obediently follow. She was such a pet for him; all nice and loyal. To her, no action can be enough of a sign that love was not present. She was too far gone in her own fantasies. Too far gone in imagining his eyes lit up the same way hers do.

Although his eyes do shine, they do so with an obviously evil haze to it. His malicious intent clearly displayed within his cold gaze, and only a fool would ignore them.

But, the other woman is a fool.

A fool for offering herself to a man.

She didn’t question his order any further, only getting straight to undressing herself in front of his dark gaze. Used woman was useful, she served as his distressor, an enjoyment inside his boring life. No children, no toys, no cries, no demands, no complaints, no questions asked.

Between them was no love, only entertainment. Because to be by her side, is a change from his old routine.

Clueless woman thought otherwise.

But the other woman will always cry herself to sleep

The other woman will never have his love to keep

Other woman, why can't you just see?

His love was not yours, it never was.

His steel eyes will never search for yours. No rough hands will grasp your body tonight, for it will only be against his darling’s plush skin. His attention will not be at your seducing red gown or the skin that showed. His focus will only be on his darling’s enhanting dress that showed their uneven curves and cured insecurities.

Is it clearer now? Now, when Y/n's form is tightly pressed against Sukuna's, looking at you with those eyes? While their bodies slowly dance under the dim lights? Oh, she knows. Their gaze at you is unsettling, full of hatred for claiming what’s not yours.

And as the years go by the other woman

Stop dancing on the bridge. There’s no one beside you.

Will spend her life alone

You fell? How pitiful. No imagination can save you now.

Alone

The only cure for loneliness is death, right?

Alone

© jellicatty | no plagiarising please (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[djarin]

THE MANDALORIAN Chapter 23: The Spies

I only know of this weapon what you taught me. To be honest, it means nothing to me or my people. Nor does station or bloodline. What means more to me is honor. And loyalty. And character. These are the reasons I serve you, Lady Kryze. Your song is not yet written. I will serve you until it is.

[trashcora]

What means more to me is honor. And loyalty. And character. These are the reasons I serve you, Lady Kryze. Your song is not yet written. I will serve you until it is.

BO-KATAN KRYZE in THE MANDALORIAN SEASON 3

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ you make me feel like I am clean again ❞

yandere!mob leaders x gn!reader | how you met | not proofread

warnings: graphic description of violence, guns, power imbalance (r! is part of the gang but they are a low-ranking member), yandere tendencies, mentions of drug dealings, very brief mention of r! getting felt up by someone in JH's section

masterlist ;

authors note: doing some oc writing feels lowkey daunting but I hope you guys enjoy it, I wasn't exactly sure how to format this aaaa but! I hope it isn't too confusing. I wanted to go more into depth but I suppose this serves as an introductory post to them??? IDK, I've never written this kinda thing before. * here is the better-quality post of the illustration * song on repeat: Love Song by Mariee Sioux

Kim Seo-Yun —

Seo-Yun would be unimpressed the first time she laid her eyes on you. It wouldn't be due to your looks, mannerisms, voice; she's just been hardwired that way.

Wants and needs are hard to convey when you're running one of the most dangerous businesses one could run. Drugs, gambling, skin, weapons — Seo-Yun's a busy woman.

Over time, however, she'll let her gaze linger on you.

Have you always looked so good in that colour? It really does bring out the shine in your eyes, and the suppleness of your lips. Seo-Yun's gaze is intimidating but seeing you squirm is all a part of your charm.

That's right. You're only dressing and acting this way to grab her attention, correct? Why else would she find it so hard to rip her sights from you?

Honestly, she shouldn't be making such frequent trips to the lower ring of her gang. This warehouse was meant to weed out the weakest of her guard dogs. It reeked of sweat and blood and cigarettes and cheap booze. The constant sounds of wrapped knuckles beating down on sandbags and bodies falling on thin mats gave her a headache.

Yet. She stands here on the second floor, gazing down at the sweaty men, a handful of women, and most importantly; you.

Favoritism comes slower than her interests. Seo-Yun will shove her feelings down until it bursts like a fucking volcano. All of a sudden, it's as if she's a hound that's caught the scent of their kill.

"What?" The man before you is wearing an expensive suit, luxury adorning him from the shimmering cuffs to the stitching that holds it together. "Madam Kim is requesting your transfer," he says curtly.

The transfer promotes you from doing grunt work near a polluted harbor to one of Seoul's most expensive penthouses in Gangnam.

It's jarring. She does not give you time to adjust. One moment you're setting down your duffel bag of things and the next you're in the back of a luxury car driving through Seoul's wealthiest district.

The guards (who are double your size and proudly show off their facial scars) push you toward the door of a seamstress. The very air you breathe smells like money.

When you see Seo-Yun, your eyes widen and you kneel to bow.

She muffles her amusement with a slow drag of her cigarette.

"They're very pretty, Madam Seo-Yun," a kindly old lady says from behind her. Her hands were bony and delicate, and the pin cushion she wore around her wrist looked heavy. Everything about her seemed deliberate and put together.

Despite that, despite the glamorous patterns she had on her and the jewelry hanging from her ears; Seo-Yun called for eyes on her with no more than a simple wave of her hand, flicking the ashes away from the cigarette.

"Aren't they? Such a gem."

Seo-Yun orders you to be a part of her security team. Dresses you in custom-made suits to blend in with the rest of the capable men and women. She gives you new weapons and arranges for you to have an apartment near hers. New fake IDs in store, local beat cops turning their gaze away as you smoke in alleyways with an obvious bulk under your jacket.

A gem she called you. And like a gem, she cannot keep her eyes off you.

Stares at you as if you were put on display. Relishes in the way you keep your gaze down, squaring your shoulders, straightening your posture — squirming under her gaze.

"Come inside," you freeze at her words. The other security guards stand stoically in the private entryway of her penthouse and she stands on the threshold of that obscenely large and heavy door.

"Madam?" you squeak out. She narrows her upturned eyes, like a goddess with no mood to be asked twice.

This is a nightly occurrence. It becomes a routine.

She invites you into her home, leaving the door open for you to close on your way in. She sits on the tufted leather sofa, and her grin is expectant.

You kneel. Then, you bring your palms to the floor and crawl towards her. Only stopping when your chin is on her knee and you bring your eyes to meet hers.

"Sweet thing," she'll coo. Her palm is soft and cared for, but there is the slightest bit of callousness here and there. That roughness that comes with holding a gun to someone's head.

The first time she had told you to kneel, you'd been so confused you stood there like a statue. Seo-Yun gives you a minute to let it click, and she tilts her head as you jerkily kneel on her expensive floors.

"Crawl to me."

"Sweet darling," she continues. Your eyes flutter close as she traces your cheekbones with her thumb. "So good for me, so obedient, aren't you?"

How could you not be?

In the weeks you'd been with her, your life took such a drastic turn. Well-fed, well-cared for, and pampered in little but big ways. You were the runt of the litter, a stray, she told you.

She had seen you, she said. She had seen your potential, your drive, your passion.

"I was...I just, I just needed the money, Madam," you sheepishly admit that first night, balancing your chin on her knee.

Who would choose to become the grunt of a dangerous gang? Miniscule soldiers with dreams of dying a movie-worthy death, of brotherly bonds between hardened criminals — Please. You were at the end of your rope, this was the only option before the noose.

"Money is life," Seo-Yun strokes over your cheeks. "You fought to live, climbed through the muddy filth of the pier, and here you are. In my lap."

"I see you, (Y/N)."

"Are you tired?" the shake of your head earns a firm squeeze on your jaw. Your eyes flutter open so she grins sweetly.

"Bathe with me." She lifts your chin and you stand, taking her into your arms as she tugs on the shoulder gun strap you wore, leading you along like a leash. A security guard's job does not include such tasks. You're aware. But how could you say no to the most powerful woman in Seoul?

Your relationship starts off with a clear dynamic. You belong to Seo-Yun, no ifs or buts. No matter how dubious your feelings towards her are, you cannot deny there is such a lovely prospect of being a powerful person's beloved.

Or gem. Or pet. Or...whatever it is Seo-Yun considers you as.

All you know is you are hers and she expects nothing but loyalty and excellence from you. She dresses you in the best, feeds you the best foods, your mattress is hers and therefore it is fit for a Queen.

How spoiled are you, (Y/N)?

So spoiled you do not even realise the pretty cage she's put around you. Don't realise that those pearly white gates are her own teeth as she closes her jaws; too distracted by the gifts, the love, she showers you in.

Exactly how she wants you to be. Pliant, demure, and hers.

So what if your old friends suddenly never contact you again? Or your financial dependence has suddenly been transferred to her? If you never hold a gun in your hands ever again.

"Crawl to me, baby."

And you do. And she grins as she holds your face.

"Good pet."

Kim Jeong-Hyun —

Jeong-Hyun is a peculiar man. Some would argue he's barely a man; others would chime that he's barely human. The sight of the deep scars on his body; the mutilated side of his face. His left ear was chewed off, his left eye cloudy, and a good chunk of his lips ripped off to reveal gums and teeth.

Even if he wasn't a monster; he looked it. That was enough to set people on edge. Seemingly unaware of how he plants the fear of God within people, Jeong-Hyun stares at everyone with a dark gaze that could make the devil shiver.

Unlike his older sister, who hides her emotions until they spill over the edge, he makes his interest known from the beginning.

His good eye, lighter than any brown you've ever seen; a molten hazel that flashes gold in sunlight, devours you as he stands before you.

Although Madam Seo-Yun attends the funerals of her fallen men, she does not linger for the drinking and eating. Jeong-Hyun does.

You'd excused yourself from your circle, the drinks making your body warm enough to endure the cold night air as you light up a cigarette.

The clicking of nails on the brick ground forces you to look at the whimpering dog. Mangy, fur matted, and with its stubby legs like rubber as it paws at your shoe. It was someone's pet, left on the streets. Judging from the overgrown fur, it's been a while since someone's given it any kindness.

Jeong-Hyun had just walked out for a breather (he enjoys spending time with his men, but the noises and the scent of booze could get overwhelming), a bag of meat in hand as he set his sights on feeding the local strays.

But then he sees you crouched by an alleyway, pouring some cheap kibble you bought from a nearby convenience store onto some newspaper. Jeong-Hyun's footsteps are ghostlike, you don't even notice he's there until you feel his breath whisper along your ear and when you spin he's statue-like.

"B — Boss!" He's not the boss — he's just her brother. He still outranked you (by a whole league) so, he doesn't correct you as you bow your head so far down it's between your knees.

He looks silly crouched down in his two-piece suit. You're dressed formally, though the two of you were in different financial brackets. Jeong-Hyun does not speak. The pinkish scar that runs across his neck peeks from the collar of his button-up. It has your toes curling just imagining what had caused it.

He nudges the plastic bag your way, and you cautiously take it from him. To your surprise, he squishes his eyes into crescent moons, and despite his scarred cheek lifting from behind the black surgical mask he wore he looked so...innocent.

The rounded shape of his eyes, the deep crease of his eyelid, and his brows - it all makes him look boyish.

You turn your attention to the strips of expensive beef he had gotten, feeding the poor puppy in silence.

Jeong-Hyun's interest begins with him accompanying your crew as you were tasked to make a show of a traitor. He shoves the blade your way, hilt tilted your way as he connects his gaze with you.

The leader of your crew informs him you are new. He does not even pretend to hear him.

You took the blade, the forged metal heavier than you expected it to be but not impossibly so. It seemed as though it was his favorite, a little longer than a dagger but still small enough to hide under your clothes. Weighing it on your palm, you test the balance of it before gripping it tightly and Jeong-Hyun is entranced by the casual dominance you have over it.

The man before you, on his knees with his cut lip hanging heavily and his eyes so bruised you wonder how he can still see you enough to squeak in fear; he shivers and bows desperately.

"How do you want him, boss?" You glance at him, the grip on the blade strong and confident. He narrows his eyes then closes his eyes, jerking his chin forward.

' However you see fit. '

Jeong-Hyun falls in love with your violence.

Asking for you, always. Giving you food to bring back, giving you new knives and even transferring you to his personal squad of men and women. He'd even invited you into his home. Which, apparently, was not unusual but no one had ever had the pleasure of being able to see the pack of dogs he had.

He starts hanging around you more. His favoritism is hard to mask and it causes you more issues than you'd like to admit.

"You're his little bitch now, huh?" or "His cock tastes good, (Y/N)?"

But who can say no when their boss tells them they want you to follow him around, be his shadow, do nothing more than observe boring meetings and itching for the usual vulgarity of mobsters while you're stood by the wall or behind him?

The madam is not impressed by you. Whenever she speaks to her brother, she will cast a glance filled with nothing more than mild bemusement and disgust.

"Hey, boss," he tilts his head in your direction. You're sat in a barbeque restaurant, and he's watching you intently as you flip the meat, licking his exposed teeth with an almost canine-like attribute.

"...Can I ask you a question?" Jeong-Hyun nods, tearing his eyes away to now look at you. They're almost golden, you think to yourself, the colour of his eyes is so bright.

"Why do you favour me?"

Jeong-Hyung, you come to find out, does not speak. The scar you see peeking from his high collars was apparently a wound that had gone so deep, it took the ability for him to speak comfortably. So Jeong-Hyun signs; "What does that mean?"

"Favour?" You ask and he nods.

"Well, it means, why do you...like me...?"

Jeong-Hyung blinks for a few seconds then tells you to flip the meat. The conversation seemingly ends. That is until you find yourself in his home and he has invited you to his basement.

The dogs bark from behind the doggy gate, a hallway away feeling like a stretch of land as their noises echo. In the basement, you find yourself surrounded by crusted blood and metal. He lifts a dagger and shows it to you. It takes a moment for you to recognize it, it's been weeks since you've held it, but then your brows furrow.

"You kill good. Like me, I like that. I like you," he signs while you hold the dagger. "You like me?" He nods, pulling his black mask away from his face, and grins. It's surreal to see, not exactly grotesque but an unusual sight.

"I like you," he signs.

When his enthusiasm is met with confusion, Jeong-Hyun's face contorts into worry.

He takes the dagger from your hand, places it down, then holds your hands in his. He's tall, towering easily over you as he brings your knuckles to his lips.

He has essentially muted himself. Focusing his strength on keeping your hands hostage as he walks forward until your back meets the smoothed limewash walls of his basement.

"Boss? I'm flattered, but this is a lot to take in....!"

His cloudy eye is in a perpetual squint, healed scars tugging on the skin so it looks almost uncomfortable stretched. They have so much sadness that you feel guilt sprout in you.

'Love me,' they say, 'Love me, love me, lovemelovemelovemelovemelovemeloveme'

Your relationship is dubious. The jeers from your comrades make you feel more flustered than before and Jeong-Hyun is not shy about his affections.

He holds your hands in meetings and traces the shapes of your fingers and joints.

When a snake requires a beheading, Jeong-Hyun takes off your jacket for you and hands you a weapon of his choice. The men who snicker at the sight? Jeong-Hyun is not fond of guns but he so does love it when his sister presses her Beretta to the back of their necks and makes them gasp and sputter.

Madam Seo-Yun may not like you but you matter too much to her little brother for her to allow their insubordinate to make fun of you.

Jeong-Hyun is like a touch-starved puppy. Despite his towering size, he crumbles under your touch, your gaze.

"My brother, he is naive to relationships," Seo-Yun informs you during a lunch meeting. "I noticed, Madam," you shrink under her gaze. How is it she has the same shade of eyes and hers are so, so, so cold?

"But he likes you, favours you I think is the word he used. He has never liked someone before. Not as strongly as this. I suppose I should advise you to take some caution."

"My brother's love comes with a storm of violence. It runs in the family, I'm afraid. Please, don't be frightened by his displays."

You didn't quite understand what she meant.

He'd never been violent to you. You had witnessed him kill before, torture, maim — it was not an unusual sight in your line of work.

You didn't understand until you saw it.

Another funeral, more drinks, more meat. Jeong-Hyun has you beside him, eagerly awaiting your metal chopsticks to place more grilled beef onto his plate.

No one laughs at the sight anymore, they treat you as an extension of Jeong-Hyun which, considering how he monopolies your time, you might as well be. It's rare to see you without him.

But as you got up to wash your hands — someone had spilled their drinks and your hand became sticky — an inebriated man had pressed himself against you.

"You must be a good lay if *hic* Jeong-Hyun-ssi keeps you around, riiight? C'mon, just a quickie, c'mon," "Fuck! Get away from me!"

Jeong-Hyun's hand grabs the back of the man's head, rears it backward, and slams it right into the sink. It shatters, the man yells, people around you scream; but Jeong-Hyun tightens his grip, rears his hand back, and slams him down again.

By the end of that public fiasco, the man's head was obliterated so badly, his face was no longer there. Just shredded skin, muscle, and shattered bone and brain matter.

Madam Seo-Yun's gaze on you is heavy in the car. Jeong-Hyun lumbers in, his hand covered with tissues and you immediately pull the bloody fist to your lap. Approval shines in her eyes as you apply pressure and ask if it hurts.

Well, you couldn't say she didn't warn you now, could you?

[neverhadpogsoup]

Your song is not yet written. I will serve you until it is.

[henley-reeves]

“...What means more to me is honor. And loyalty. And character. These are the reasons I serve you, Lady Kryze. Your song is not yet written. I will serve you until it is.”

[woongisi]

Drum Line Dream // Song Mingi

dom!Song Mingi x sub!gn!Reader // SMUT

WC// 2.1k

Synopsis// Things went a bit off kilter with your college marching band crush. Turns out, all you needed to fix it in the end was some bad luck and deep fried food.

Warnings// semi-public, grinding/dry humping, pet names (baby)

Author's Note// Written in one sitting and definitely not proofread. Nothing too crazy this time but I HAD to get this very self indulgent idea out of my mind. This one's for you former and current band kids, I get you. ☺︎

---------

College marching band. One of your worst decisions, yet one of your best. There was no shortage of drama to be had but at least you'd met some of your closest friends.

You played the trombone, it was large and it was loud. Your type of instrument and coincidentally your type of man. Maybe you'd smacked a few too many people in the head with your slide or emptied your spit valve on the shoes of those you disliked. Regardless, you considered it revenge for how the wind instruments would sneak up on you and blow air into their reeds as hard as possible just behind your ear.

As far as instrumental squabbles went, you found the drum line to be the most tolerable. Sure, some of the snares made it a point to play as loudly as they could, but they kept it localized within their section. You had a hard time admitting it, but you may have held a bit of a bias toward them.

That bias was Song Mingi. Song Mingi played the bass drum. The kind that you had to pull over your head, two heavy straps bracing your shoulders on either side. The kind that burned through far too many expensive wool felt mallets. You never were sure how they beat them up so quickly.

You met Mingi your freshman year and got acquainted with him rather quickly, you never had much time to spend with him as your show for the year had you in separate areas for most of it. The same followed your sophomore. Now, you found yourself in your junior year.

Earlier in the year you'd ushered Mingi over and haphazardly told him he was hot, and that if he didn't kiss you, you might cry. There you shared a kiss high up in the bleachers, hiding behind the row of bass drums. Since that moment things had become a bit awkward, you apologized, claiming you'd been overly emotional and didn't want things to get in the way of your friendship. What you didn't know was the conflict that caused Mingi.

Song Mingi was one of your best decisions yet one of your worst, just as joining the band was. Something about him was addicting. Perhaps it was his deep voice, his tall and slender figure, his bright smile that lit up the room no matter where you were.

Away games were always your favorite. You may not be able to perform at halftime as often, but cheering on the football team was enough. Besides, there was something exciting about wandering the stands of school stadiums previously unknown to you. Some schools, like the one you were visiting this night, had fancier concession stands than others.

Halftime finally hit, you stayed in place for a few minutes to take a look at the opposing team's band and judge their uniforms before meandering your way to the least busy concession stand.

You greeted the student manning the stand with a smile and a nod, taking a moment to skim over the dodgy whiteboard that served as a menu. You settled on a thing of fried oreos, 3 pieces to a boat. You handed the worker some amount of cash and told her to keep the change. It was pointless to try and find somewhere to sit so you settled down a matter of feet away, leaning against the brick wall of the buildings.

Before you could even take your first bite, a familiar voice caught your attention. Mingi had approached the booth, somehow evading being noticed by you up until that point.

“Ah, I'm sorry. We just sold the last of the oreos for the moment.” The student sighed and briefly checked her watch. “There'll be more ready in about 10 minutes… but you seem to be part of the band.”

Mingi nodded with understanding. “I'll have to be back in the stands by then. I'll just take a coke. Thank you!”

Now was your chance.

“Psssst, Mingi!” You half yelled, half whispered and motioned eagerly for him to come toward you. Mingi was quick to approach, fumbling with his bottle of soda.

“Yeah? What's up?”

“That was me… sorry. You wanna share?” You held the boat of fried oreos out as an offering.

“No, no! You spent your money on those. You should have them.”

“I insist.” You stared down at his gloved hands for a moment. “Would you… like some help with that?”

You had removed your black wool gloves and bulky gauntlets before heading to find food. A foresight that Mingi apparently lacked. He nodded shyly, almost embarrassed, and thanked you.

“Here, open.” You grabbed one of the oreos, using your other hand to hover underneath it to guard against crumbs. You leaned inward, allowing Mingi to take the cookie into his mouth. “I've already got my gloves off, don't wanna make you mess with yours.”

Those lips. Forever your greatest weakness. All he'd done was take food from your hand and all you could do was try not to stare. The kiss you shared a year before lingered in the back of your mind. Soft. They were so very soft. Pillowy and normally faintly flavored by whatever chapstick he'd managed to dig out of his bookbag. You couldn't forget the feeling and even now you regretted how fleeting the moment was.

“Hey,” Mingi awkwardly shifted his weight to one side. “Can we talk for a minute?”

You felt like your heart fell to your ass, suddenly

worried about the conversation that was yet to come. Was he angry, upset, confused? You didn't know.

Mingi led you to a corner he'd spotted when the band arrived on the field. The bright lights didn't quite reach through to dispel the darkness and the area was sparsely populated compared to the concessions.

“U-uhm…” It was unusual, the way Mingi was so seemingly anxious. Your typical charismatic musician that so confidently backed the drum line had disappeared, replaced by someone far more vulnerable.

“Your face is seriously red. You sick? Need me to tell the director that you need time out?” You cocked your head to the side with concern.

Mingi shook his head frantically and grabbed one of your hands. Forcing himself to hold your eye contact, he finally continued. “Iwannakissyouagain-”

“What…?” Whatever he'd said was spoken too quickly for you to process.

“I… want… to kiss you again.”

That was when you learned it wasn't one sided, the memory haunted him just as well. Though you didn't expect simply sharing your snacks to lead to a confession, you certainly weren't about to complain.

You gripped Mingi’s hand back, urging him to follow you as you hurried to hide under the home team’s bleachers. Not a word exchanged in the meantime. This side of the stadium housed the press box, meaning there was more solidity to the structure and more places to hide beneath.

Pressing your back against the wall, you snaked your hand up to rest on the back of Mingi’s neck.

“I missed you, Song Mingi.”

Any hesitation that plagued his mind was erased in an instant. Mingi's lips collided haphazardly with yours, his hands holding your waist. This, you thought, is what you'd needed for a year's time. This kiss was unlike your first, already starting intense. Mingi had no problem taking charge, chasing your lips whenever you pulled away like a man starved.

“Mmn,” You tapped the nape of his neck. “Need to breathe.”

Mingi was undeterred, fumbling with the zipper on the back of your uniform jacket. You shrugged it off of your shoulders, leaving it to drape off of your elbows and grant Mingi access to your neck.

“Shiiiit,” You whined against him. You had never given the uniform jacket design any thought but presently you couldn't be more relieved that once you put it back on, the mock neck would cover any marks. “Needed this so bad.”

Mingi's ministrations were sloppy, hungry, sucking and nibbling lightly on your sensitive skin. A shiver shot its way up his spine, leading him to let out a quiet moan. That was a sound you decided you could get used to.

“Can't take it, wanna touch you.” Mingi growled, becoming painfully aware of his growing erection. “I'll make it quick. Promise.”

“Mmk, anything, I'm yours.”

You rushed to remove your jacket entirely, discarding it to the side. You'd just have to handle the dust that undoubtedly covered it from the gravel layer. Mingi's jacket was soon to follow.

Your mouth gaped slightly, taking in the shape of Mingi's waist. Bibbers were tight, form fitting but so often hidden beneath your black and red jackets. You never realized just how slim his waist was but, now, you'd never forget it.

“Damn things.” Mingi grumbled, undoing the velcro and pulling down the zipper to his marching pants before assisting you with yours. There was no bothering with removing them entirely. Black tees and black shorts that laid just above the kneecap were standard for underneath the band's uniforms.

Mingi grabbed you firmly and flipped you around so that you had to brace yourself against the brick wall chest first. His strong arms held you tight against him, one around your waist and the other reaching over your chest and keeping you steady.

In this position, you couldn't see Mingi… but you could surely feel him. His breath was ragged against your neck with his hips grinding against your ass.

“Mingi, holy shit-” You didn't need to look to understand the considerable length of his cock. Four layers worth of fabric was too much, but at the same time so perfect.

Mingi’s arm situated on your waist slid downward, a gloved slipping beneath your waist band and swiftly finding your arousal. The sensation of the woolen gloves against your bare skin was almost cruel, too good and complemented by the unexpected skill Mingi possessed with his hands.

Low moans tumbled from deep in Mingi’s throat, sending shockwaves straight to your core. You'd heard him whine and groan plenty of times whenever he screwed up a formation for the nth time and on hot summer days when you were finally allowed a water break and moment in the shade. It was different to hear his familiar sounds in this manner. Despite the similarities, something felt more primal now.

Mingi was losing his control by this point, grating his aching cock hard against your figure and mumbling incoherently.

“I'm gonna cum, baby.” He nuzzled his face into you, resting his chin on the area just next to the back of your neck.

“Me too, keep going, cum for me.” You sacrificed one of your arms to muzzle your desperate moans. To be caught was one of the last things you needed.

Mingi broke first, a deep and drawn out whine tearing from him. He continued to rub himself despairingly into you, riding out his own orgasm while trying to keep up with you.

It didn't take long for you to follow in his wake. The building coil of pleasure building in your stomach finally snapped, drenching Mingi’s hand in your fluids. Your moan caught in your throat leaving you to choke back a cry.

For a moment, everything was quiet but the buzz of the nearby breaker boxes and the sound of your heaving chests.

“Fuck, thank you. Thank you so much.” Mingi praised and guided you both to rest on the cold ground. He grabbed your hand with his clean one and smiled brightly as if he hadn't just rocked your world in the midst of a football game. “Can we never keep ourselves away like we have been again?”

“Of course. You have no clue how long I've been yearning for you.” You cleared your throat. “Well, I suppose you do now.

Only after kissing Mingi’s cheek did you scurry to gather the estranged components of your marching uniform. The game was back on, your bandmates wondering where in the world you could be.

“Mingi.” You whispered with realization, “Your glove.”

“Whatever,” He sighed. “Here's the story, ok?”

Mingi cobbled together some cover up. Some mostly coherent story about how you slipped and fell, dropping your drink leading to him accidentally putting his hand right in the puddle on the concrete. He only hoped they didn't question why your uniform was largely devoid of any liquid.

Reaching the away team's stands, one of the snares crumpled up a nearby napkin and flung it at Mingi’s face with expert aim.

“Dude, where the fuck have you two been?!”

If only he knew.

[zorosleftmantit101]

Royal AU, Princess reader x (Peasent) One piece character who would you like to see (Poll at bottom)

(Reblogs are greatly apprecited)

Preveiw:

Scouting through the halls of the castle, you stopped at a window, overlooking the town below. Your gown slithered snuggly against your body as the wind kissed your cheeks. You felt the town call a silent song for you, your heart yearning to see the people below. "Oh dear Y/N, I've been looking for you everywhere, don't waste your time looking over that filthy village, come with me, a bath has been drawn for you." An elderly woman calls, shuffling up to grab you by the elbow, before yanking you away.

"Nanny Arlem why am I never allowed down to the town" you grumbled as a pale of warm water was poured over your head. Pulling the dampened hair from your eyes, you looked at her beside you. 'Tsking' in irritation Nanny Arlem rubbed a soapy sponge along your back. "if you really must know, it's filled with peasants and filth, no one a princess like you should be associating with," she huffed, dropping the sponge in the water to go fetch a towel.

Standing so she may drape the towel over your shoulders, you looked out your bathroom window, situated on the opposite side of the town with a magnificent view of the hills and lake, yet not the view you wanted most of all. Deciding to drop the subject, you dried and clothed yourself before making your way to bed, watching the setting sun drape orange hues of light across your room. An hour had passed and you were still lying in a sleepless rest engulfed in darkness as the stars and moon ruled the sky.

As a Princess, you had to stay within the castle and gardens, serving your father until you potentially had to be shipped off for some bullshit arranged wedding. Nights were long and days were longer as the only part of the castle open to you were the gardens and the library and they were hardly filled with anybody worth staying for. You were ultimately trapped, "Such a horrid life having to live in a rich castle with fresh food, water and servants at your disposal" one might jest, Yet life was hardly enjoyable because what's the use of having all these amazing things in your life if it's not a life you want to live.

Comment Below Any other characters (with job) you might like to see

I would like to get a lot of opinions on this so reblogs are greatly apprecited

[call-sign-shark]

Little Lamb part. 1|| Arthur Shelby x Reader x OFC

Summary: They came into your life when you were desperate, convinced no one would ever want you and yet you found yourself not one, but two lovers madly infatuated with you: The infamous Arthur Shelby and his young wife.(Yandere! Arthur Shelby x Reader x Yandere!OFC)

TW: (for the entire short series) Toxic dynamic, polyamory relationship, murders, torture, graphic depiction of violence, heavy allusion to smut, obsessive behavior, possessive!lovers, angst and horror. Inspired by the song The Things I Do For Love by Bludnymph.

Words: 1.4k

Notes:

✞ Since I'm stuck with Tangled Desires' new chapter I thought about taking a break to write a very short three-part story (no more than 1.5k per part). All is already written and it will be posted during the week. It 100% can be read as a stand alone.

✞ Heaven in Reader in the ongoing Arthur x You series Heaven in Your Eyes.

NEXT PART

Love had never been kind to you. The statement might sounded tough but so was the truth. You were either too shy to make the first move, or when you did you undeniably ended up with your heart crushed because you were too nice and, your relatives said, too… understanding. Too soft for this world and painfully too weak for Small Heath.  When you left your hometown to start your new barmaid life at the Garrison pub, desperately looking for a job and a new start in life, all your friends had laughed at you: how could a meek little lamb like you could willingly throw herself in this hell, where hungry and violent wolves lurked in every corner, ready to tear her in millions pieces? Still, you paid no heed to their warning and left everything and everyone behind you, fueled by the firm will to prove them wrong.

Surprisingly enough, working at the Garrison had done some good to you despite spending your first days shaking like a leaf each time a loud man talked to you. This, but also hiding behind Harry when the Shelby brothers flooded the place with their piercing blue eyes and their sharp caps. Unfortunately, you had to learn the entirety of the job and it involved plucking up the courage to pour them their drink. They merely noticed you, far too concerned by whatever shady business they were talking about until scrapped but tender fingers brushed against your skin. Slightly jumping, you raised your gaze towards their owner and was quickly met with steel blue iris overhung by dark lashes. "Leave the bottle, love." The oldest of the brotherhood said, gently taking the whiskey from your hand before offering you a surprisingly charming smile.

"You're welcome, Mr. Shelby." Did you manage to reply without any stuttering? No, you didn't but you were already surprised by your ability to actually produce a sound when faced with certainly the most ruthless of these gangsters. You turned your heels, Arthur's eyes burning your back as you walked to another table.

As weeks passed, you grew up more confident and started to navigate more easily in this cursed city. In Birmingham, working as a barmaid was the same as patching up souls: exhausted working-class men, vile gangsters, drunkards, or sad men all found a bit of happiness in the bottom of their glass and in the waitress’ warm smile. Most of your life your softness has been deemed a weakness but here, in the crowded Garrison, your softness wasn’t one. It was a gift that mended the hearts of your clients, and the more you soothed these troubled souls, the more the weight of your own broken heart was alleviated.

You never exchanged more than a few words with Arthur Shelby, but the fact he always asked you to serve him his drinks and thanked you with a pet name was enough for you to feel like a schoolgirl noticed by one of the popular boys around. Yeah, it sounded stupid even in your head but you couldn't help.

Tonight had started the same as ever: you put the whiskey glass on the table and proceeded to walk away when, suddenly, his hand kept you from doing so. With his long fingers wrapped around your wrist, blood still stuck under his nails, the gangster's baritone voice purred “A sweet little lamb you are, ay.” He punctuated his sentence with a seductive wink that made your heart beat faster than usual. “And a fucking pretty one too... How's the night going?"

"Terrible, Harry's in such a bad mood! I haven't found the time to sit and rest for five minutes -- My feet hurt so much I feel like I've walked miles." You said, you joked, hating the idea of whining.

"Why don't ya sit now, little Lamb?" Arthur raised a brow, his thin lips hid behind the whiskey glass.

"Because I'll get scolded, silly!"

Arthur didn't think twice -- he never did actually. His grip strengthened a little bit more around your wrist and, without the slightest warning, he pulled you until you tripped on your own feet and fell right on him. As nimble and quick as a cat, the lanky gangster caught you in his arms and made you comfortably sit on his lap.

"Ar-Arthur?!" You hiccuped, eyes wide open and cheeks flushing red.

"Hell, no one's gonna scold ya as long as ya stay in me arms, ay!"

Quickly swept away, your surprise turned into the most irresistible chuckle he had heard for a while. "Only five minutes alright?"

"Nah." Arthur snapped his fingers to get Harry's attention and raised his hoarse voice, "She's taking her night off to drink with me, mate." He shot you a quick glance and, with his smile growing wider, put on a show "By order of the Peaky Blinders!"

No matter how violent people said he was, you couldn’t help but find yourself enthralled by his dangerous aura and carnivorous smile. Moreover, it was needless to say that he never exhibited any of these brutal behaviors with you -- Quite the contrary, you found a loyal guardian in him, who would walk you home each night to ensure you were safe.

"Y/N, you better forget about him right now... You're really going to be in trouble" Harry stated after he noticed that you were dolling you up before the gangster came, rearranging your hair and putting on some awfully expensive lipstick you had brought earlier.

"Is my taste in men that bad for you to worry?" Your light reply didn't make him laugh, quite the contrary.

"I'm not joking! I don't want you to get fucking killed!"

"Killed? Someone's very pessimistic. Everything will be fine, Arthur would never hurt me okay?" You reassured him with the softest voice you could before your attention shifted to the gangster, who had just arrived.

Arthur noticed the lipstick and did seem to like it considering how his steel-blue eyes lingered far longer on your mouth when you talked to him, wondering how beautiful your red lips would look tightly wrapped around his cock but he didn't let his intrusive thoughts show, "Hey little lamb. I've got someth' to ask you."

"Anything?" You early replied, your smile beaming and your eyes shining.

"Apart from my usual whiskey, I'd like something else. There's a bottle of red wine hidden under the bar, I'd like ya to pour one glass of it, I'll be right back."

A glass of wine? Your heart missed a beat at the realization that he had remembered the day you told him you liked red wine. Butterflies flapped their wings in your stomach, convinced that maybe he was finally going to ask you out, you did as he said and, when done, carefully placed the two glasses on the wooden counter. When his booming voice echoed in the pub again, you raised your eyes and smiled, ready to call him but your voice got stuck in your throat.

No.

As you stood there, frozen in shock, your heart seemed to fracture into a thousand tiny pieces at the sight before you. The man you had secretly longed for, the one who had occupied your every thought and fueled your every feverish dream, was accompanied by a young and stunning lass with her arm tightly wrapped around his. Each caress exchanged between Arthur and her, each whispered word, felt like a betrayal. In that moment suspended in time, tears threatened to spill from your eyes. Of course, you already took notice of the wedding ring on his finger, its shining gold shining brighter than the other silver ones he was always wearing but you had tricked yourself into thinking it was only a jewel. After all, he wouldn't have flirted with you if he was married right? That was what you kept telling yourself, and even not entirely convinced you hoped it would eventually turn out to be true if you believed in it strong enough. He was married, here was what was true. Not only he was married, but the woman by his side was so resplendent with her angel face, her long snow-white hair, and her revealing red dress that your heart felt cold.

"So, you are the little lamb, aren't you?" Her mermaid-like voice emphasized the pet name Arthur had given you, snatching you from your numbness. All the confidence you had gained these past months vanished with the sole power of the eerie frost of her eyes, silently telling you that she knew everything. Impatiently waiting for your reply, her dagger-shaped and perfectly polished nails tapped against the wood, their menacing clicking song making another awful realization blossom in your mind.

Harry didn't think about Arthur when he said you would end up killed. He thought about her.

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[jessescoldbrew]

when we got “Your song is not yet written, I will serve you until it is” last episode but not a single scene of them talking or even saying goodbye in the finale