Feel Free To Look Around, Nothing Much Here

he says under his breath, glaring at the very average looking moon. Circle, shiny and…whatever. He doesn’t care, what’s the point of star gazing when all you see is a shitty moon and little sprinkles in the sky?

“Oh shut up and enjoy the view before these fucking factories smoke cover ‘em” You groans, lighting up the cig in between your finger with a silver zippo. Tommy watches the flame catch in your eyes before it lights the cigarette, always liked how you handled fire, like it was nothing. He exhales sharply through his nose, a near-smile tugging at one corner.

"View’s shite" he mutters again but this time he means the moon entirely. Because you? You’re glowing under that dull silver light like some bloody painting they’d hang in a posh gallery no one ever visits. He leans against you then, shoulder pressing into yours as you smoke. No words between you two for minutes…just breath and silence and factories belching grey clouds on the horizon.

Then: "Next date we do proper stargazin’. Not this… industrial park rubbish.”

“...Date?” You snorted in amusement.

Tommy stiffens…like he’s been caught saying something soft and immediately regrets it.

"Right" he says quickly, voice hardening back to its usual gravel. "Not a date. Just… two of us. Going out.” He scowls at the sky again, but his ear tips are pink under the moonlight. The two weren’t lovers: no titles, no promises whispered in bed or rings exchanged over candlelight. Just you and Tommy: two blokes who showed up for each other when bullets flew or silence got too loud.

And yet here they were…behind the Birmingham warehouse unit, sharing smoke like always had since war days gone sour with everyone else around them…

So yeah. Not a date.

Just this. Whatever this was.

“You’re enjoin’ this” you commented. With that dorky grin on your face.

Tommy doesn’t answer right away.

He watches the smoke drift from your lips, thin grey ribbons vanishing into the cold night air, while his hands stay buried in his coat pockets. The street lights reflect off black water, flickering like distant stars that actually look like they’re supposed to.

"Enjoyin’ what?" he says eventually, voice flat. But there's no bite to it. Just deflection, the kind Tommy uses when he’s feeling something and hates admitting it exists.

You know him too well for that lie to work.

For a while, you both walk slowly along cracked pavement, boots crunching over gravel and oil stains left by delivery vehicles come and go long before either of you were born…

“My company. And the so-called shite moon and stars.” you grins. That caused the man to roll his eyes in annoyance. You just know how to push his button and get away with it.

“You know they just call it blue moon to sound romantic in that poetry.” You smirks, continue to walk along the pavement, it's dark and quiet here at night.

Tommy scoffs, kicking a loose pebble into the lake. "Romance? That’s shite" he says but his voice lacks its usual edge. Because yeah, maybe poets talk about blue moons like they’re magic or some romantic sign… but out here in Birmingham, where bullets fly and men disappear without a trace he knows better than to believe in poetic lies.

Still… this quiet peace? The two of them walking alone along the pretty lake with only sparkling water reflection and distant fog as company?

It feels dangerous. Not because enemies might jump from shadows but because they’re both targets, exposed under that dim moonlight. And yet neither carries more than a knife on him tonight.

“Tell me another word of your favourite that is not shite” You scolds playfully.

Tommy stops walking. Turns his head slowly toward you, moonlight carving sharp angles across his face, that usual unreadable Shelby mask slipping just a tiny bit. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Just look at you, the smirk on your lips, the smoke still curling faintly from your fingers with a deadpan expression.

"You're annoying." He says it flatly. But there's no real anger in it. If anything… there’s something warm hiding underneath, something fond and irritated all at once.

Because how do a man even respond to someone like you? The man who laughs in Tommy’s face when everyone else bows their heads? Who calls him out on every stupid lie he tells himself? No one gets away with teasing Thomas Shelby like this and lives comfortably afterward. But there goes you.

“That’s real adorable, mate” you snorted, continuing to walk along. It’s peaceful at night, too peaceful to Tommy’s liking. Just water lapping gently against concrete, and the soft crunch of your boots on gravel.

He checks his wristwatch: 11:54 PM and exhales sharply through his nose. He has meetings at seven tomorrow, a supply run with the crew, then negotiations that could go south fast if he looks tired or unfocused…And here he is, a midnight wanderer beside you instead of being in bed.

He hates breaking routines. Hates it when sleep gets sacrificed for something when he’s already struggling to sleep properly.

But here he is, walking around the lake like some lovesick fool with a cigarette and bad decisions in human form beside him.

"Should be asleep" he mutters, more to himself than you. The words come out gruff, not angry at you exactly, just frustrated at the fact that he chose this over discipline. For once… not because of his own health or duty.

Just because being with you felt very right.

“What did you just say?” water sounds too peaceful it distracted you a little and missed what Tom has muttered silently to himself

Tommy clears his throat, quietly, awkwardly and looks away from you completely now, staring out at the water like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in Birmingham.

"Nothing" he says again. Same tone as before flat. Neutral. Like a man who never speaks unless absolutely necessary he is. He doesn’t want to repeat it, not because he’s embarrassed, but because admitting that sentence aloud feels like handing over something private without meaning to.

He should be asleep.

Too honest for Tommy Shelby standards on a night this quiet and soft and… whatever this is with you.

“Mhmm.” you continue to walk, then turn to him to speak.

“Let me guess...you're babbling about it's too late and I should just walk you home, yes?”

Tommy’s eye twitches. Babbling? He’s not babbling. But you’re smirking like you’ve already won, and that pisses him off more than the late hour ever could.

"Nah" he lies smoothly, voice low again—the Shelby charm sliding into place like armor. "I’m fine." He doesn't correct your assumption about taking him home… but he also doesn’t deny it.

Because yeah, if you offered to walk him back to his flat? Tommy wouldn't say no.

“Just admit it. Wouldn't be the end of the world.” you shrug, taking a deep puff from the cigarette and exhale the smoke in Tommy direction with a grin.

Tommy glares at the cigarette in your hand like it personally offended him, avoiding eye contact because that’s easier than admitting anything.

He doesn’t do vulnerability. Not with words, not with feelings. But you’re the karma god sent to punish his wrong doing, the one person who gets away with everything: teasing him, pushing past his walls like they're made of paper instead of steel, messing with his head. A cold breeze rolls off the water.

"...Fine" he mutters after a long pause.

"It's late.”

“YES!!” You beamed.

Tommy rolls his eyes at that. Not because he's angry, no, not really. But because you’re celebrating. Like ripping a confession out of him was some grand victory. A trophy to be raised in the air like you just won a bloody lottery. He watches your fist punch the cold night sky, that stupid grin on your face and for half a second? He almost smiles back.

But Tommy Shelby doesn’t smile at things like this. Not openly. Not where anyone could see it and remember it tomorrow.

So instead, he lets out a small tch and mutters: "You're ridiculous.”

Then turns away before you can see anything else dangerous like warmth or worse… affection. Adoration.

There’s something in the way he falls into step beside you, close but not touching, that says yes to nights like this without needing more words. They don’t drive when they meet like this, not ever. Cars are for business: meetings, pickups, drops with men who owe money or blood. Not for quiet nights under moonlight and cigarette smoke with you. So they walk, two shadowed figures moving along the path like ghosts who know these streets better than anyone.

“How's the candle been working so far?”

You spoke up to break the silence. The path is dark, dim light barely shows anything. Yes, you have personally chosen and purchased a scent candle for Tom.

Tommy stiffens slightly at the mention of the candle. It’s not something he talks about ever. The insomnia, the nightmares, how some nights his brain just won’t shut off, replaying gunshots and faces from wars long past…worse, replaying those months you were kidnapped during your war days alongside with Tommy and never escape until years later, dragging your skin and bone body back to Birmingham.

But you… damn you… bought a candle. A scent one. Vanilla with something else…cedar? Burnt wood? Cinamon? Tommy doesn’t know names for things like that, but it fills his flat with warmth when everything else is cold steel and silence. He hasn't said thank you. Hasn't even acknowledged it properly since you dropped it off last week wrapped in brown paper like a gift meant to be casual but actually wasn’t.

Tommy exhales slowly, more a sigh than anything else. "The candle..." he starts, voice lower now, rougher. "It's... fine."

He doesn't say it helps me sleep better. But the way his shoulders relax just slightly at the mention of it? That says everything.

The scent lingers in his bedroom, subtle, not overwhelming. Nothing sweet or floral that feels fake to him. It’s calm. Earthy warmth mixed with something soft… like someone actually thought about what would help instead of just throwing perfume into a jar. And yeah… some nights? When the war dreams come knocking? That smell keeps them from taking over as hard.

“Mhmm” You hummed, acknowledged what he said while walking closer to him.

Tommy breathes in, subtly, like he’s not doing it on purpose. The scent hits him: cedar. Warm wood. A hint of cinnamon and vanilla… the same soft notes as the candle you gave him. And suddenly it clicks.

That's why.

He doesn't look at you, can't, really but his pulse does that stupid little jump under his skin. The one he hates. The quiet betrayal of calm by something so simple as a smell that matches your presence perfectly. Like you deliberately customize a candle to mirror what lingers in Tommy’s home now… like this was never just about helping him sleep. No…this was intentional. You mischievous brat…

From the slow, creeping realization that you knew exactly what you were doing right down to the scent. The candle wasn’t just a random gift, it was chosen because it smelled like you. Like your cologne. Like something Tommy would breathe in without thinking and meet with calm… safety… warmth. And now here you were, walking beside him, close enough that your scent wrapped around him under the dim streetlights and suddenly his flat didn’t feel so empty when he lit that candle alone at night. It felt like you were there.

“How would you react if I ever disappear?” you bluntly say. A random thought of yours.

Tommy stops walking. Just turn to you. The air between them turns sharp, suddenly. Like someone punched the quiet out of the night. His expression doesn’t change at first, still calm, still unreadable…but his eyes? They go dark. Cold in a way that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with fear. He doesn’t answer right away. Can't.

Because disappearing? That's not just some random thought you casually dropped like it meant nothing. In their world, Birmingham’s underworld, where men vanish without a trace and people will move on. And Tommy Shelby knows exactly what it means.

"Why would you disappear?" Just a direct question, voice rougher than before. Because Tommy doesn’t deal with hypotheticals well, he’s a man of certainty… especially not ones involving you

“Who knows” you shrugged “many men want me gone”

Tommy’s jaw clenches.bNot because he doesn’t know it’s true, he does. He knows every name, every face of the men who’d pay good money to see you buried or burned. Enemies from old scores, rivals in their line of work… hell, even some so-called allies wouldn't blink if given the chance. But hearing you say it like that, casual as a shrug and a half-smirk? Like your life might just… vanish one day? It makes him uncomfortable. He knew you were a free spirited man, discipline is anywhere but in your vocabulary and the possibility of you disappearing is…certainly high, he thinks.

“Then I’ll burn them to the ground”

“Goodnight, Thomas.” You smirked.

Tommy stares at you with a frown. The dim glow from the mansion’s front door haloes your face, those sharp eyes glinting with mischief and something deeper, something only you ever lets show. And that smirk? That bloody smirk that says you know exactly how much power you hold over Tommy Shelby without even trying. You can’t just ask a stupid question, get Tom admitting he cares in his own way and just drop it with a blood goodnight. God, he hates you.

"Night" Tommy mutters back, gruff, but softer than usual. No sarcasm in return for once. He doesn’t open the door right away. Just stand there for a second, hand on the knob… like part of him wants to say more.

Tommy feels it, the weight of that look you’re giving him. You aren't flirting. Not really. But your gaze? It sees Tommy in a way no one else does, past the Shelby name, past the cold reputation, past every woman who’s ever shared his bed and meant nothing after. It peels back layers without touching him.

And damn… you are handsome, really are a bloody handsome lad and Tommy knows it. Always has. The sharp jawline, those mischievous eyes… like you’re staring right into Tommy's soul and aren't scared of what you find there. No wonder women looked twice at you. But you never seem to care about any of them.

He hates that you do it all the time, calm as day and doesn’t even flinch when Tommy glares back. His eyes linger before he enters his home and closes the door behind. The soft click of the zippo echoes in the quiet room. Tommy strikes it once, flame poured to life and lights the candle. The scent blooms almost immediately: warm cedar, vanilla, that familiar comfort of yours have been leaving behind silent messages every month. He places it on his bedside table where it always goes, the same spot, right beside his watch and an oil lamp.

Stripping off his coat first, then jacket… tie loosened… shirt unbuttoned with quick fingers until just a thin white tee remains. Pants traded for shorts. The flame flickers gently, casting soft golden light across Tommy’s room, neat but not cold. No clutter, just a few books, a small radio on the dresser, and photos of family he never talks about. He sits on the edge of his bed…the same one where sleep used to elude him night after night and watches the candle burn. Tommy lays down slowly, pulling off his watch and placing it down on the nightstand. He needs this sleep.

Tom lies in the dark, eyes open now, watching the candle’s glow dance on his ceiling. He doesn’t like needing things. Doesn’t like being dependent. But here he is, sleeping better because of a man who brings him candles every month without asking for anything in return. And that's what unsettles him most.

You look at him differently than others do, not with fear or greed… but something else. Admiration? Maybe even more than that. That hungry gaze Tommy sometimes catches when they're alone... it isn't hostile. Tommy’s mind races quietly, dangerously. He spent his whole life reading people like threats or allies. Enemies wear their faces plain, lovers aren’t subtle either. But you? You’re different.

Just…this. The candles. The walks at night. That look in your eyes when you tease Tommy…like you see something rare and want to savor it. And that scares Tommy more than any gunpoint ever has. Because what if you don't want him dead? What if… the opposite is true?

What if this man, the most cunning, sharp-witted bastard Tommy knows…is actually falling for him?

Homosexuality isn’t spoken of in the Shelby household, not ever. It’s not a word that gets used at dinner or in business meetings or even whispered among friends like Tommy has. It's wrong, by most standards…especially for men like him: powerful, public figures with reputations to protect. And yet here he is… lying awake because his heart won't settle after you walked away looking too damn good under the porch light. He doesn't hate it: the thought of you wanting him.

But God help him… society does.

Sometimes Tommy would watch the warehouse from afar, coat flapping slightly in the wind Containers were being unloaded efficiently. Lorries deliver heavy goods everyday without delay, the kind of smooth operation that only comes from someone who actually knows what they’re doing. And it was all your work.

Good for Birmingham… good for trade… good for Tommy's empire too. Because when lorries arrive on time? Business runs smoother.

The tarven hums with low chatter and the soft music of a blonde woman’s voice, smooth like silk. Tommy sits at his usual corner booth, half-empty glass of whiskey in hand, tie loosened after a long day. He listens absently to the song… until she hits that high note. Tom finds himself dazed. Not because she's breathtakingly beautiful, but because her voice is magic. Pure and clear against the usual grime of Shelby pub life.

Then he looks at the door, bell ringing slightly when someone enters and catches his attention.

“Pretty lady you got there. Decided to spice this old place up, eh?” you commented and slid in the booth Tom was sitting in. The old bartender knew what you would get and started preparing without a word. Your presence hits the room instantly. Everyone knows you here: the man who runs half of Birmingham's shipping empire without throwing punches or raising voices… just making things work and earning respect.

Tommy follows your gaze to the singer still soothing every man in the room with that soft melody and smirks slightly.

"It’s unexpected" he says, voice low over the music. She begged for a job here last week. Says she will bring in more customers than ever” He takes a sip of his whiskey, eyes flicking between you and the woman on stage.

“Don’t lie. Just say the singing soothes your little soul.” you grins against the glass of whiskey before taking a sip.

Tommy glares. Not because you’re wrong but because quite the opposite, and Tommy hates that.

The singing does soothe something. Not just his soul, he’d never call it that—but the constant noise in his head, the weight of running an empire, making life-or-death decisions every damn day. For once… there's music instead of gunfire playing in his thoughts. But admitting it? Saying this little song calm me? Hell no.

So instead: "She's not half bad" Tommy scolds.

“Mhmm?” you chuckles, toying with the zippo in your hand. The one you carved on and carried with you during war. Flicking it open then shut. The noise makes you think better.

“You really are hooked, Thomas” you comment at how Tom seems to enjoy the blonde's singing. Everybody does. A silent jealousy? Because someone else got to touch the cold soul of him too? Maybe.

Tommy’s jaw tightens, just slightly. Not because of the singer. Not really. But because you noticed. That sharp, perceptive gaze of yours always seeing more than Tommy wants to admit and now you’re calling it out like it's obvious.

"Hooked?" Tommy repeats flatly, feigning offense. "I'm not hooked. I just like good music." He doesn’t deny enjoying the song but he also doesn't lean forward or stare too long anymore either. And yeah… maybe there’s a flicker in him… a tiny spark that wonders if you feel something about this blonde woman taking space in his usual quiet night.

“That pretty sunflower doesn't belong here. Sure she isn't undercover?” your comments, a hint of suspicion and annoyance. But you wrapped it in politeness.

Tommy leans back, studying your face, the slight furrow between your brows, the way you haven’t lit a cigarette yet but keeps fiddling with that old zippo. He gets it now. This isn't just about suspicion. It's not really about whether she’s undercover or not. You don’t care if she is or isn't. You hated that someone else was occupying Tommy's attention like this. You’re so fucking pissed. Couldn’t do anything about it other than slipping the bill under the empty glass and leaving.

Tommy pushes off the booth. He leaves his half-finished whiskey and walks out after you, coat swaying behind him like a shadow. You don’t look back. Don’t check if you’re being followed. Just strides down the dimly lit street toward the cathedral. The same route you always take when it's late and quiet.

And yeah… you are like that…a stray cat in human form: fearless, untouchable even in dangerous places where others wouldn't dare walk alone at night. But Tommy knows these streets better than anyone… and right now? He’s on your trail. Letting you lead like you’re his wind.

“You think it’s annoyin’ havin’ to wear a thick suit everyday?” You broke the silence by a random thought again. You’re a person of free spirit, you say whatever you think without a care anyways.

Tommy walks beside him, hands in his coat pockets, silent for a few steps before answering.

"Annoying?" He huffs. "It's necessary."

The suits: the stiff collars, the tailored cuts that restrict movement aren't fashion statements to Tommy. They're armor. A symbol of power and control. In this world? You dress like a man who runs things… or you get dismissed as weak. Common lad. He glances at you, the loose drape of your jacket despite the cold night air and thinks how different they are. You don’t care about the image half as much as Tommy does.

“But it’s not comfortable” You grumble.

The cathedral looms ahead, old, stone-faced, its spires piercing the night sky. Moonlight glows on colorful glass windows that cast soft colors across the quiet courtyard. You walk through without hesitation, the path familiar to you. The nuns know you well, you sponsor their charity work quietly every month: food for orphans, repairs for the church roof… things no one talks about but matter.

One of them, a young sister with kind eyes peeks out from a side door and smiles at you when she spots you. No surprise in her expression. You come here often at night when business is done. Her name is Catherine, standing next to her is another sister, Marina, but much older.

“Sister Marina” You greeted her. It’s a miracle how you remember everyone’s name here. Charming isn’t too strong of a word for it.

Sister Marina, wrinkled face softened by years of kindness, smiles warmly at you and Tom.

She doesn't say hello nor welcome back. She just nods, like they've had this exact moment a hundred times before. And maybe they have.

"Little one…" she says gently, voice calm and motherly despite her age. "It's late. Would you like your room warmed up?" She still calls you little one, you spent most of your childhood here, other than playing pretend with your friends, you helped the sisters out, and learned from them day by day.

“Please rest now, sister Marina. I'm just here for a little visit.” you smiled at the old nun.

Sister Marina nods, her gentle eyes softening further. "Of course, my dear" she murmurs, no fuss, no questions. She knows you don’t come here for long stays unless you need to sleep over, or company. She gives you a small pat on the arm, a motherly gesture before turning and quietly retreating back into the dim hallway to her room. The cathedral is silent now.

“You made me feel like no one else did. You know that Thomas?” you confessed. Your voice? Like moonlight kissed on the carpet of the cathedral.

Tommy freezes. Not because he didn’t hear, he heard every word. Crystal clear, soft as the hush of the cathedral around them. But it’s what you said, the tone, that gentle confession spoken like a prayer under moonlight that knocks something loose inside Tommy Shelby. Because no man has ever said anything like that to him, not honestly, not without wanting power or money in return. And you? The man who knows his family too well… who brings candles… who stands here now in the gorgeous cathedral…Just told Tommy he makes him feel things no one else does…

“Shouldn’t be saying things then I’m going to leave soon. Unfortunately my father died of alcohol poisonin’ and left me somethin’ down south. I need to take care of it.” You say bluntly. There’s no point of hiding and that’s just how you do things around here, casually drop a bombshell.

Tommy’s expression shifts immediately. The lightness from seconds ago vanishes. His jaw tightens, not in anger at you, but at the reason you have to leave.

Seems like you inherited something… Down south? That means distance. Long trips. Responsibility. He doesn’t say anything about the grief but Tommy knows how it feels: carrying your father’s failure on your shoulders forever.

"When do you go?" he asks quietly, quiet expectation. He hopes for more time.

“This Sunday. I’ll be gone for long. Longer than I wished.” You muttered.

Tommy’s stomach drops. That’s… in two days. And longer than I wished…those words hit harder because they imply you don’t want to go at all. That this isn't a choice made lightly, but necessity dragging you away from everything, from Tommy, from Birmingham, from the quiet life you have built here. His expression hardens slightly…not at you, but at the situation. At how unfair it is that some dead father's mess forces this man out of town for god-know-how-long.

“Wanted to give you something before I go. Not sure if I’ll be back as a whole.” You slip out a golden crucifix from your pocket.

Tommy’s breath hitches.The crucifix…small, elegant, crafted in solid gold glows faintly under the cathedral moonlight. It’s simple but meaningful: a symbol of faith or protection… something sacred.

And you said you wanted to give it to him before leaving. Like this might be his last gift. Like you don’t know if Tommy will ever see you again. Tommy hates it. He looks at the crucifix… then slowly up at your face…the man who never shows vulnerability like this. His hand twitched slightly, but he hasn’t reached out to take it.

“What? You’re goin’ to make me put it on ya?” You snorted, grinning like a dork already.

Tommy glares, just slightly. Not because he’s annoyed, but because you made a joke. In the middle of this moment. This heavy, quiet confession under moonlight and probably Virgin Mary’s gaze.

And yeah… maybe Tommy didn’t say it outright, but his hesitation? The way he hasn't taken the crucifix yet?

It wasn't about not wanting it. It was about what wearing something like that means. A gift from you, a man who knows him too well, before leaving for months. Maybe years. Too long…

And you? You snorted like an idiot. He hated it.

You step forward, closing the small distance between them without hesitation and now he’s close enough that Tommy can feel his breath, smell the faint mix of cologne and wood scent still clinging to him. No stepping back to put it on properly from behind like a stranger would do. Instead, you lean in, gently lift the gold chain and reach around to fasten, before letting it settle against his collarbone. Your fingers brush against Tommy's neck before taking a few steps back to admire.

“You like it?” You smirked at his tense state.

Tommy reaches up, just slightly touches the crucifix with his fingertips. It’s solid, well-made. Not flashy… but meaningful. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks at you, the smirk on that handsome face and feels something warm spread in his chest. Something he can't name.

"Yeah" Tommy says simply, voice low, rough around the edges like it always is when emotions sneak through.

The smile on your face is real, no longer smirking or teasing, just pure and warm hits Tommy like sunlight breaking through a stormy sky. You don't smile often like this. Not the soft, genuine kind that reaches your eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. Most of your expressions are sly grins or calm nods but this? This is different. And it’s directed at Tommy. Because you like seeing him wear something you gave him… because maybe this crucifix isn't just a gift…but a promise to come back.

Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. Tommy Shelby doesn’t slow down, he can’t. The city moves on, and so does he. Gambling dens thrive under his name, deals get made in backrooms with a glance from him, and Birmingham respects him more than ever. The blonde singer? She’s still there, singing every night at the bar. Tommy goes sometimes, not because he misses you… but because it’s routine now. He sits in his usual booth. Listen to her voice like always with a neat whiskey in hand. Her name was Grace.

Grace becomes a presence, steady, warm. She doesn’t replace you, not in the way that could ever be possible, but she fills space. The gap left by months of silence from the south side. The absence of candles on Tommy’s desk. No walks home under moonlight with quiet conversation.

And sometimes after closing time, he walks her home.

Down south, where the air is thick with humidity and salt, where the harbor smells of rust and old engines, the reality hits you like a punch. Your father’s recommendation letter wasn’t an inheritance. It was a trap. A political appointment: managing one of the government-run harbors. A position that came with power… but also endless pain and responsibility, corrupt officials breathing down your neck, and workers whose souls are just as ugly and bitter. You had experience, you'd worked warehouses and delivery before…but you never wanted this.

You buried your father in a quiet cemetery, no grand funeral, no mourners. Just the priest and a few harbor workers who showed up out of respect. The paperwork after that was relentless: death certificates, inheritance tax filings, settling debts your father left behind…some shady loans from men you didn’t even know. But were there. You paid it all without complaint. You don’t want more people breathing down your neck. And then there was the storage unit: an old warehouse by the harbor in your father’s name… now legally yours.

You exhaled, long and slow, like you’re carrying the weight of an entire harbor on your shoulders.

You always do what needs to be done. Even if it’s a mess left by someone who didn’t care about you, your father never respected you, never praised you… just used your name for favors and died with debts.

Now you're here. And you’ll clean it up.

Weymouth is quiet…too quiet. No Birmingham bustle, no familiar faces on the street. Just sea salt and coldness.

You aren't lonely by nature, you have always been independent, but this? This is different. Months away from Tommy, no walks home together, no shared silences… it gnaws at you in small ways. Men try to flirt with you sometimes, a few harbor workers and bar girls who notice your good looks and calm presence.

But you don't entertain it. Not because you were picky…but because of your heart? It belongs to Thomas. Always has.

Damn…you really miss him.

Meanwhile…

Tommy doesn’t propose out of passion or grand romance, he does it because it makes sense. Grace is stable. Kind. She sings, she smiles at him without expecting anything… and she’s been a constant presence while you were gone for months.

He stands at the front of the grand hall, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his gold crucifix glinting under crystal chandeliers.

The wedding is lavish, high society guests, and politicians are invited by Grace.

Shelby family members and many good friends. Everyone who matters is here.

"No fighting" he says with his rough, loud voice. He wanted to make himself heard, loud and clear as he pointed his finger at each male Shelby member "No fighting. No fucking fighting.”

The ceremony is traditional. A church packed with the elite of Birmingham. The priest speaks with reverence as Tommy stands at the altar, calm on the outside but something hollow underneath. Your face flashes in his mind once. Just once. Then it fades…

People move on. That’s what happens when time passes and life demands a new chapter.

He said “I do.” And the ring was slipped onto Grace’s finger.

The train rolls into Birmingham station at dawn. You step off, coat slightly wrinkled from travel, suitcase in hand, but your posture is firm. You left Birmingham a young business leader and came back a true gentleman. Mature. Rough. But something remains the same.

The warehouse looks different. Same buildings, same streets but everything feels cleaner. More efficient.

Thanks to your cousin, who you took under your wings in earlier years. Lewis had done well, really well. The warehouse you own is now a model of organization: deliveries arrive on time, inventory is tracked, and even the dockworkers are respectful now because Lewis runs it like clockwork.

“Hey little guy” you smiled at the young man. You can’t help but ruffle his soft curls.

"Oi!” Lewis laughs, swatting half-heartedly at your hand. "You’re back!”

But the gesture is affectionate…the kind only family or someone deeply trusted gets away with. After all these months of managing your business while you were gone… your little cousin has truly matured.

Lewis lets out a loud, dramatic "Oof!" as you crushed him in that bear hug tight, warm, and completely unapologetic. Half a year is too long. Lewis hasn’t seen you since before the harbor mess started and now you’re back. He laughs into it, the first real laugh since you left.

“I see you made some arrangements around ‘ere” you look around the warehouse.

Lewis beams with pride, clearly eager to show off what he’s done.

"Yes" he says, stepping back from the hug and gesturing toward the warehouse. "Got a new loading system set up, speeds things up by at least an hour per shift." He points to the reorganized place, labeled shelves where inventory used to be chaotic, even a small office built in the corner for paperwork. All of it looks efficient… better than before.

“I’m so proud of you, little one” you smirked. Admiring the warehouse.

Lewis’s smile widens slightly at the praise. Because you genuinely sound proud. That means something coming from you. The man doesn’t hand out compliments easily, especially not about business.

"So" Lewis says, leaning against a crate now with his arms crossed "you staying back for good this time?" just curiosity. After months of managing everything alone… he wants to know if you are really home.

“Eeehh not sure. Might have to go back there to check once in a while. But all good. I’m home, yes.” you answered.

After settling your luggages at home and enjoying a nice shower. You decided to pay The Garrison tarven a visit. The moment you walk through the door of the Bar, every head turns. Not because you were loud or dramatic. But everybody thought you had left Birmingham for good.

The old bartender, Micky, freezes mid-wipe of a glass. The shock expressions make you smirk.

“I hope my Thomas is here” you take a seat, expecting a neat whiskey.

Micky finally snaps out of his shock and the smirk on your face? That old, familiar one makes him smile too.

"Tommy?" Micky says, voice rough with age. "He’s here. Been here all night."

He nods toward the back booth…the same one where Tommy always sits when he comes in alone. And sure enough… there he is…with Grace beside him laughing softly at something he said.

"Ehem- Correction. No longer yours, lad. Check out the ring” He snorted.

A wedding ring. On Thomas’s finger.

And you, who had just walked in hoping to see Tommy, maybe catch up like old times, freezes for half a second.

Tommy Shelby is married.

To that blonde singer of all people.

Tommy stands abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor the moment he spots you there. Grace blinks up at him, startled by the sudden movement, but he doesn’t explain. Just stares at you like a ghost just walked in. The bar goes quiet. Even the piano player stops playing.

Tommy watches you taking every step, every second of that silent retreat. Rain taps against the bar windows, blurring the street outside. The same storm that brought you back to Birmingham now hides you as you walk away. It’s over. It’s really over

Grace reaches for Tommy’s arm and asks "Who was that?”

Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He shrugs off Grace’s touch, stands without a word, and strides straight for the door, ignoring the curious looks from others. He scans the street and spots you running toward the cathedral.

The cathedral is quiet, damp from the rain outside, but peaceful. Candles flicker softly along the aisles, casting long shadows on stone walls. You step inside like a man returning to sanctuary. You have been here before, many times when things got heavy. Not knowing what to do, just walks slowly down the center aisle… cold not just from wet clothes, but from that pain gnawing in his chest.

“Should have done…anything but hoping…” you muttered.

Tommy stops a few feet behind you, breathing slightly heavier from running through the rain. Because that’s exactly what this is…you hoped. Maybe not even consciously… but somewhere deep down, you expected Tommy to wait. To care enough to at least tell you before marrying someone else. The jealousy is ugly, not the kind you usually feel. It eats at your patience like acid, each breath sharper than the last. Seeing Tommy here, married to Grace… It makes your chest tight. This isn’t just sadness. It’s envy, raw and bitter that Tommy chose someone else while you were gone. That there was a wedding without you knowing…

That there's now a Mrs. Shelby

The distance between them feels miles wide, even though they’re standing just feet apart.

You stare at Tommy, mouth slightly parted like you want to speak… but nothing comes out. Words are stuck, choked by jealousy, depression and confusion.

How could this have happened?

Your Thomas…the man who used to share quiet moments with you under Virgin Mary’s watchful gaze is now someone else’s husband.

And you have no right to feel this way. No claim. But it hurts anyway. You slowly light up a cigarette. For encouragement.

“Are you happy? With this?” You muttered, smoke curls around you softly.

Tommy’s breath hitches as you step closer, each footfall heavy with pain. Pure grief. Like something precious was taken without warning.

He doesn’t answer the second question right away. Can’t. Because how can he say Yes when looking into eyes that clearly loved him once? How does he admit happiness, however complicated it is when the man who stood beside him in silence for so long now looks shattered?

“Answer, Thomas.”

He hadn't realized it until now… but yes. Your absence did ruin him for others. Not completely, but enough that nothing since has fit right. And looking at your face? Yeah… maybe he wants to tear it open…those old wounds he tried to bury and admit it all.

"No…I’m not fully happy" he admits. Quietly. Honestly.

The words taste bitter because they’re true. Grace is good to him, their life works… but it’s not complete. There’s a hollow space where you used to be, the quiet understanding, the unspoken bond that didn’t need grand romance. He did love Grace. Loved her enough to choose to move on.

He missed you too much for his own peace.

“You were everything before you left.” Thomas confessed. He felt so exposed it made him uncomfortable under his own skin.

You take a deep puff from the cigarette, and steal yourself a kiss from Thomas. He freezes for half a second, shocked by the kiss, by the sudden closeness, by the taste of tobacco mingling with your lips.

But then he kisses you back, hard. One hand flies up to cradle your jaw, fingers tangling in your damp locks while the other grips your coat tightly.

The wooden chair creaks as Tommy presses you against it, kissing you with months of pent-up hunger, his tongue sliding into your mouth like he’s been starving for this.

His hands roam, gripping shoulders, sliding down to waist like he's relearning every curve after too long apart. The cathedral is silent except for their breathing and the soft sound of lips parting. You really wanted to cry.

Tom’s back stings where your nails dig in, sharp, possessive little pricks through his shirt but he doesn’t care. If anything, it fuels him. The muffled moan against his lips? Almost shameless coming from you. He bites down gently on your bottom lip before kissing deeper again, one hand tangled in dark hair, the other gripping tight at your hip like you might disappear if he lets go. And when he pulls back…?

“Grace is…pregnant with my child.” Tommy says it softly…almost apologetically but the impact is devastating. Air rushes into your lungs, but everything else…the warmth of Tommy’s lips, the fire between them shatters instantly.

A baby. A wife. A whole new life Tom has now… that you weren't part of.

Your eyes soften. You gave up. It’s time. Birmingham doesn’t spare time for the yearner and you truly need to move on. It’s the gentlest rejection you can give.

“Go back to your wife, Thomas.”

Tommy swallows hard, nodding once. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to say it meant nothing nor this didn't mean anything. Because it did. But Grace is carrying his child now. He has a wife, a home… responsibilities that can't be ignored for one stolen kiss in a cathedral. Without another word, Tommy turns and walks toward the door, each step heavier than the last.

Sister Marina stands by, silent, hands folded in her habit. Her expression isn’t angry… but it’s not kind either.

"Tell them I am ill, tell them I have come down with a case of pox, anything please! I cannot bare seeing the man I love getting married to another woman!" She cried. Her mother comforted her daughter, once again. It seemed as though she's had to comfort her desolate daughter more times than she can count within the last few years. She hated seeing [Name] so heart-broken over the same man over and over again. But, she just sighed and rested her daughters head on her lap, petting her hair out of her face.

"I can't do that, my love...Thomas would be upset if you didn't attend,"

"He could care less if I went or not," She sniffled.

"Have you ever told him how you felt?... Before the wedding?" Her mother asked. The woman sat up and looked down at the floor.

"No...he doesn't know...he shouldn't have to hear me say it he should just...know how I feel about him,"

"Men can't read minds my dear...Unfortunately," The older woman mumbled.

"I know...no matter how long it has been I don't think I can cope with him leaving me time and time again, mum..."

Her mother deeply inhales and nods.

"You still have his heart...it's just a matter of time until he realizes it, go to the wedding...show him you're strong and that you are still his closest friend,"

[Name] attended the wedding. After the ceremony, she immediately started indulging in champagne. By the time the band had started ragtime, she was pulled to the floor by a Calvary boy. Which she learned later, he was from Graces' side of the family. Dancing together to the music without a care in the world, she didn't even learn his name before she was trailing behind him, kissing the mystery blond before her name was being shouted down the corridor by none other than John and Arthur Shelby, Michael following behind with his hands in his pockets. An altercation ensued, [Name] shouted and cursed at the Shelby men for ruining her chances with the mystery man and scaring him off.

"If you're gonna sell yourself out to someone here, don't let it be the Calvary!" John argued. She had her arms crossed over her chest, heaving up and down as she glared at them with tears in her eyes. Her hair was pinned out of her face, besides the curls that framed her features. The beautiful midnight blue satin dress she wore hugged her curves in just the right places as she hugs the black lace shawl around her arms.

"What's going on?" Thomas' voice broke her drunken gaze as she looked at him, silently with a scowl.

"Your brothers are ruining my fun," She half-joked as she turned away to reach for the cigarettes in her purse, using a match to light it and inhaling the smoke. She was never one to smoke, but in the recent years she began to pick up the habit to relieve her stress. And partly out of spite since Thomas always told her it was a nasty habit to have regardless of his own addicts. She hoped that if she did it enough, he would despise her enough for her to finally lose those strong feelings she still had or him.

"I told you already, no fucking fighting with the Calvary, and you-" He turned to her after reprimanding his brothers. He grabbed the cigarette from her lips.

"Oi!"

He held up a finger to her, with a stressed look on his face.

"Come with me," He reached to grab her arm but she stepped back.

"No!," She refused.

"I need to talk to you, quickly let's go,"

She shook her head.

"[Name], I have other things to attend to tonight, come on,"

She scoffs.

"You're really doing business on your wedding night? Is this really that trivial to you?" She slurred with a laugh. John and Arthur snicker as they watch the two of them go at it like children, like the children they used to me.

"What is so important? Huh, Tommy? Say it now or forever hold your peace," She mocked. He stops and stands in front of her.

"What's going on with you?" He asked quietly. She chuckled.

"Nothing, I am simply indulging in the festivities! I mean, my best mate is getting married, who wouldn't want to celebrate the perfect love you have for each other,"

Her words rang clear, but Tommy could still hear the pain behind it all. He sighs heavily.

"Be honest with me, [Name] please, Love..."

"Don't call me that, Thomas please don't call me that," She gasped a bit but choked back her tears with a tired laugh. After a moment of silence, and hearing John and Arthur mumble to each other a few meters away as they wait for their middle brother.

"You know I think...I think I'll just go... I don't even know why I agreed to attend," She turns on her heels and begins to leave.

"Wait, [Name], what are you talking about?"

"God, Thomas! You always made foolish decisions but you were never this daft! If you can't read between the lines, or even see just a glimpse into my mind then I am at a loss because I am tired of explaining it to you over and over again!" She shouted. Just then, a pair of hands hold her tense shoulders, gently pulling her away from Thomas as he looked at her with wide eyes, astonished.

"Come on, I'll take you to your mother," Michael spoke to her quietly, he glances at Tommy.

'I got her'

"I'm fine Michael, please don't touch me right now," She held her hand up, turning to look at him. Michael tried to compromise but only made her more agitated, that was until Arthur stepped in.

"Come on, love let's go back up...have a dance and a drink," Arthur smiled a bit then held her hand to lead her away. 'How does that sound?" She only complied with a silent nod. She then paused and turned to Thomas.

"You want me to be honest? I can't stand being around you when you're with her, just when I thought she was gone for good, you find her again and marry her, your old flame...She left you when you needed love the most, and there you were running to her like a puppy, but who was there for you when you cried all those nights? I stayed by your side, I was your friend, and I saw that you were in need of a friend, of love and understanding..." Her voice quivered but she wore a slight smile on her face. Bittersweet smile.

"What are you saying [Name]?" He asked. She pauses as her tear filled eyes scanned him, a stoic look on her face as she shrugged.

"I resign...officially,"

Months later, her mother informed her of the death of Grace Shelby. She felt remorse for the family, especially the fact that Tommy would practically have to raise Charles by himself.

If she had been on good terms, she would have offered to help.

She attended the funeral, on the sidelines of course. Keeping her distance from Thomas, but still paying her respects.

It had been another year since she had seen him.

It was 1925.

"Do my eyes deceive me, is it really the most beautiful women of Small Heath?" Arthurs voice boomed through the room. [Name] and her mother look up from the mannequin they were decorating with fabric. The customers and guests whispered in fright and intimidation as they watched him strut right into the newly opened family owned shop.

The older seamstress stands as she greeted Arthur with a hug and a kiss to the cheek.

"It's nice to see you Arthur, do you need a new suit?" Her mother asked. His mustache moved as his lips curled into a smile.

"Oh, not this time, Love, I did come here to talk to [Name], though," He turned to her daughter, who held pins between her teeth as she pinned the fabric in just the right way so it draped beautifully over the client. She looked up at Arthur before standing, sticking the pins into the cushion.

"Keep her for as long as you want, she needs a break," She winked at him, patting his arm before returning to the dress.

"How can I help you?" [Name] stood with her hands on her hips.

"It's Tommy," He said quietly. She nods once and leads him to the perfume counter to have some privacy. She let Arthur talk, and upon hearing the news on Tommy's mental state, her heart sank to her stomach.

"And, why have you come here to tell me this, Arthur?" She asked, hushed as her eyes had wondered around the store as the women feared away from the Peaky Blinder.

"Talk to him, [Name]…you're his closest friend-"

"Was...I'm not anymore Arthur, I can't face him after that night," She shook her head. He sighs.

"He needs help with the boy...He's got his head wrapped on expanding the company...but I can see it in his eyes, he needs help...he isn't gonna listen to us...he needs yah,"

She rolls her eyes a bit and looks off to the glass counter to think. She could stop by and give him peace of mind...or a piece of her mind if it went wrong. Her heart broke in a million pieces when he got married, and she promised yourself that she wouldn't ever speak to him again. Unless.

It was already dark outside by the time Tommy had returned home. He always came home late. He was exhausted, frustrated, and dwelling in the somber events he had to partake in that day. The voices in the study interrupted his eerie silent mansion as he hastily walked to the door, alarmed and gun in hand. He sighs as he just see's his older brother.

"Arthur, you're here," He sighed heavily as the two brothers shared a look. He didn't even notice the woman that stood behind Arthur until he stepped out of the way. Thomas's shoulders fall as he looks at the woman before him, glowing like an angel from the light of the fireplace.

The silence that followed made her shift as Arthur cleared his throat to speak up, but Thomas held a finger up to his brother, shutting him up before looking back at [Name].

"Hi again, Thomas..." It felt like the hundredth time they had greeted each other again like that, but she still felt the butterflies in her stomach with each time she sees him again. Even a year later, he had aged. Looking beyond his years, on account of the death of his wife no doubt. Arthur look his leave, but not before Thomas gave him a glare. 'We will talk later'.

The sight of her again, lightened his mood and unclenched his jaw. All he wanted was to feel her, make her smile. He takes his coat off and walks further into the study, leaning on his desk as she stood in front of him. Nothing was said to each other as she dropped that unforgiving stoniness and wraps her arms around him. He didn't hesitate to do the same.

"I'm so sorry, [Name]," He whispered into her hair as she hugs him tightly.

"I shouldn't have left you," She sniffled as she felt his hands rub up and down her back. "We've been mates for so long, I shouldn't have let my feelings get in the way of our friendship," She pulls away to look up at him. He creased his brow in confusion.

"Feelings?" He asked. Did she love him still? Even after everything he had done? [Name] scoffs and shakes her head.

"My mother was right...you're not a mind reader," She mumbled. His blue eyes wandered and searched for hers as she gazes towards the roaring fire. He brings his hand to her chin, making her face him once again and her face lit up, the bright puppy dog eyes that peered into his. His eyes searched her face once more before he blinks a few times and brings his lips to hers. His lips were warm and soft against her plump rose-tinted lips. He missed the way her lips felt, he missed the way she looked at him, the way her kisses seemed to melt away the pain of the world around them. Just then, Graces' death didn't seem to weigh on him anymore. His hands cup her face, protecting her from the dangers of the world, showing her that no one could ever harm her, she was his. The most precious thing he had ever laid eyes on.

They break away to breathe, [Name] giggled a bit as she stood before him as he admired her beauty. He smiled and grabbed her by the waist. She bit her lip and gives him those doe eyes that had him weak at the knees. A sudden animalistic urge fell over him as his hands hold onto her waist and flips her around so she was pressed against the sturdy desk. With a gasp, as she bit her lip at the lust in his eyes. They had only ever come this close before, but now that it was going to happen , [Name] felt her legs tremble for the events to come. Only in her wildest dreams would this happen between them. She hums against his lips as his rough hand roam all over her body, pulling her close to his own body by her ass, his erection pulsing against her lower stomach. His lips kiss and suck on her neck as he works the zipper on her dress, smirking when he pulled the straps down past her shoulders, pushing it further and further until it hit the wood floor.

"I think about you every day, [Name]…every fuckin' day," He breathed against her skin, speaking in a soft husky voice as she worked the buttons on his shirt. "Even in France, before France, after France...just to get through it all...I imagine how it was holding you, touching you...finally getting to taste you,"

"God, I missed you more than anything, Tommy," She rushed to reply as her eyes marveled at his figure. His tattoos, his muscles...everything about him made her mouth water and almost forget the ability to speak. Kissing your shoulder as he untied the strings to her bra, pulling it off as her chest was fully exposed to him now, kissing her roughly as his hands toyed with her breasts. She tilts her head, exposing her neck to him while her hand pulled at the nape of his neck, pushing him to keep at the motions and letting his teeth graze and bite at her collarbones. When he had enough, he pulls away and grabs her legs, behind her knees and lifted her onto the desk, scattering the paperwork as his fingers worked skillfully to unbuckle the garters as fast as he could. Her breath hitched as he gripped her thighs, spreading her legs as he stood between them. The sound of his clothing rustling made her blood run cold as she knew what was coming next. Running the head of his cock against her folds. Catching a glimpse at the size of it made her gulp and nervously look up at him. He pauses and holds her face with his hand. 'It's okay' his eyes flashed. With each inch he pushed in, a small gasp left her lips, her face scrunching in the momentary dull pain before that pleasurable feeling took over. Kissing her again until he felt her relax around him, her legs squeezing his hips as he began thrusting in and out of her. Thomas was gentle at first, making sure not to hurt her. Leaning his palms on the desk as she moans, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades.

"You're so gorgeous," He stroked her cheek while he picks up the pace. He leans up once again, that gentle lover had gone as the dominant gangster took over. His rough hand slip from her chest up her to neck and wrapping around her neck, guiding her upper body to lay on the desk as he fucks her like the animal he was. He watches in satisfaction as the tears in her eyes twinkle in the light. Lips were swollen and puffy, eyes glossy and breathing hot and heavy. What a beauty she was when she was under him. He angled his hips upward and with just a few fast snaps of his hips he felt her thighs squeeze around him. Crying out as her orgasm hit her like a train. He leaned into her to kiss her as his own was on the edge. Only a moment later he had spilled his load deep inside of her.

The two weren't the same after that night.

The endless nights they spent together, and still the sacred words weren't said. Not even muttered. Having each other back in their lives was a blessing and a curse. The two were one again, only something more and different than before. But that only meant chaos would soon ensue. [Name] saw things no woman should endure, it wasn't a life for the faint hearted, but she knew that. The first few months, Thomas had begun to change. Things were getting difficult...more dangerous. He was out all hours of the night on some days.

One day in his office. She caught sight of a letter and a photograph. It was Thomas when he was young, and a mysterious woman that stood beside him. She was beautiful. Her name was Greta Jurossi. Her eyes scan the words on the paper, dated 1914. Next was the letters upon letters with her own signature, the letters he claimed to have never received. The letters between him and Grace between those years that he claimed she was gone and married to another man in America. She had spoken to Polly and Ada about it. Ada claimed she had no idea, since 'Tommy does what he wants'. Polly on the other hand told her everything. Greta and Thomas were in love and she had died of consumption before he went off to war. It pained [name] to even think the man she loved, was in love with another, even after he told her the things he told her. The promises he made. She told her about Grace, and how Grace was a spy...but [name] already knew that she had some skeletons in her closet that Thomas decided to push away. As for the letters, Polly had no idea.

"I wouldn't know any reason why he would do that..." She told her.

"It makes me nervous, Pol... I don't want to keep fighting with him,"

But the two sympathized with her. They knew how much she loved Thomas.

"Thomas is still in that part of his life where he thinks he can get away with anything with no consequences...He will come to you again when the time is right, when he stops thinking with his cock and starts seeing you as a real woman...a woman he loves,"

That night [name] stood with her back to him, she couldn't hide her cold demeanor when he came through the door, smelling of booze. It almost made him shiver as he greeted her but got no response. He stayed silent as she turned to him. The look on his face was obvious, he didn't even have to speak his mind.

"What do you think I am? I am not a shiny new toy you can just string along, Thomas..."

He stared at her in confusion before she threw the stack of letters before him. He clenches his jaw, sighs heavily, and closes his eyes. She waits for his response, and upon hearing nothing but silence. Not even an explanation or a fight. She rested her arms at her sides and shakes her head in disappointment.

"All of those years together, all of the time we spent together and the promises you made to me really meant nothing to you? I see it now, you played me like your pawn, just some familiarity to go back to when you were lost in your own mind, and when you find your way out you just...push me aside until you need me again," The tears sting her eyes, it pained her to do this again. This time it felt like the last time.

"We're done...I can't stay here and dote on your every move,"

For a moment she thought she saw a glimpse of regret...maybe even remorse in his eyes. Maybe he could finally see his mistakes and own up to them.

"You knew what you were getting yourself into, [name]..."

He was as cold as ever.

"After all these years, you still think back to that promise I made you when we were kids? It's time to grow up sweetheart,"

She smiles with disappointment and looks to the floor.

"Because that was the only truthful thing you had ever told me...Nowhere in my heart did I think you would hurt me this way, if I did I wouldn't have stayed," She shook her head bitterly. Thinking back to when he made her wait on him all those months while he was with another woman, when he made her end things with Daniel, when he chose Grace over her. 'What did she have that I didn't?...was I just not good enough for you, Tommy?' She thought.

"Did you ever love me?"

The question was again met with silence at first. Thomas opened his mouth to speak before he closed it again and shrugged. That was the last time she had seen him. She made haste and packed her things in a single bag and left Arrow House. She left to Ireland. To start a new life away from the crime, away from the peaky blinder, away from Thomas for good. A week after she left, she wrote to him a letter that he received from her mother, who looked more disappointed than he had ever seen.

Dear Thomas, I did love you, more than words can say. For years all I had wanted was you. I wanted us to have the life you planned for us. I guess now that's just a foolish childhood dream, like you said. It's okay, because you made me realize that I shouldn't keep chasing after love that doesn't deserve my own love. One day, I will stop falling in love with you and some day someone will love me like how I loved you, and until then I will drink my tea and pretend that we are more than just friends. Of course, then I'll let you break my heart again. [Name]

After reading the letter, he realized his wrongs. He searched for her for months. Making it his own mission to find her, in hopes that it wasn't too late. Thomas Shelby found himself in Ireland one gloomy Sunday, walking on the country side after having a few drinks at a pub. He wasn't going to give up until he saw her again. Tell her how he really felt about her. It wasn't over yet. Looking up the hill beside him, he saw a large farmhouse, seemed to have been just build as a woman calls out a name. The name he didn't recognize but the voice sounded almost.

Comforting.

His eyes widened and his blood ran cold. Not only because of the chilly weather that nipped at his skin, but because he recognized those eyes and that smile almost instantly. It was like a symphony of angels sang in his ears as he stared, shocked and relieved that he found her. He found his [name]. He felt himself taking steps towards her, wanting nothing but to wrap her in his arms and hold her again, tell her he loved her.

Stopping in his tracks as he sees the couple share a hug, the long-haired brunette man picked up the woman, spinning her in his arms as she squeals and laughed before he set her on her feet, giving her a kiss on the lips before his large hand covered her stomach. Thomas could barely make out what they were saying, but that laugh was always so easily identifiable. He sighs and nods once.

He decided that he couldn't fight for her anymore. He turned around and left down the hill towards the pub again, accepting that he lost the only woman he really loved. He could be the selfish and tough gangster he always was, but not this time. He left her to her new life, and returned to his own, only this time it was darker and dreary than it was when she was in it.

---

[Tag List]

"Tommy" y/n whispers in his ear. "It's ok, you're home and safe." He wakes up, and swears he feels his sister's head on his shoulder, the reassuring warmth she always provided when the nightmares became too much, when he could swear the Germans were going to burst through the walls of his room. He never called out, but she seemed to know when it became too much, when he couldn't fight back the terror anymore and would be there to help him do battle with the demons in his head, still a child but she could read her brother so well.

His eyes fully opened and he took in his surroundings. He wasn't in his old room on Watery Lane, he was alone in his office in Arrow house. He took to sleeping in there now, unable to sleep next to the wife he blamed for robbing him of the last year he could have spent with his sister. Deep down he knew she wasn't completely to blame, he made choices that he'd never forgive himself for, never be able to apologize for, never be able to repair.

His morning routine began as it had every day since he began sleeping inside again, a compromise made in an effort to save his marriage and be a good father for his son. His sister had given her life for him to keep Grace in his life after all, for Charlie to have both his parents under the same roof. So he got up, went into the dining room to have breakfast with his wife and son, or at least pretend to eat something so there was one less fight between Grace and him.

Grace, for her part was trying very hard to be understanding and supportive. She avoided the rest of the Shelbys, knowing they all carried a heavy dose of resentment towards her along with their own guilt over the past events that led to a loss no one was coping with very well. There was a cruel irony in her lies being carried out to ensure her place in the family and with one act of violence that place now being more perilous than she ever could have imagined.

In the immediate aftermath of the shooting there had been a brief moment of hope. They had all gathered in the waiting room, each lost in their own memories and self-recrimations. Y/N had been rushed into surgery, Michael having taken a surprising stand to ride in the ambulance with her as one of the few family members she'd been close to still. He won that battle because everyone had hope if she saw him she'd feel safe and loved since most of them had failed in giving her that reassurance for so long.

Tommy had been unable to drive but fortunately Finn had and they arrived almost as soon as the ambulance had, but been barred from following her since they would be in the way. Shortly after the room had been filled with Shelbys. Grays and close friends, all quiet until the surgeon came out and broke the news none of them could handle. Too much damage, too much blood loss, there had been no bringing back their girl.

Her funeral had been both beautiful and heartbreaking. Even if a majority of her family had turned their back on her, that didn't mean she wasn't cherished by others. Her brothers and Aunt held themselves together long enough to say the final goodbye, Grace wasn't sure if any of them had been sober. Tommy had disappeared as soon as it was over, coming back home a week later but only acknowledging Charlie. When the silence became more than she could handle Grace finally sat him down to beg for some sort of decision on their marriage. A compromise had been reached, he'd eat breakfast and dinner with them, but sleep in his office and try to sort out his head.

Everyday felt the same as the one before. He'd force himself to give Grace a kiss on the head, pick Charlie up for a quick hug, then leave for work. The Russian business had been such a pain in the ass before but now it kept his mind busy and he strangely welcomed it. For a brief moment he could push his guilt and grief to the back of his mind and focus on the complex machinations involved in that mess.

Family relations were strained, everyone blamed themselves and each other for not seeing through Grace"s lies, and not protecting y/n better.

They got their revenge, Tommy had been hellbent on maiming, torturing and killing "the old man" and killing his wife, but John and Arthur were more merciful in memory of their sister. She wouldn't have wanted Mrs. Changretta killed, and would have taken no delight in anyone being tortured in her name. For once they were going to do right by her, and deep down they hoped she'd know and understand it was their way of apologizing.

Michael missed the afternoons he had his cousin with him, while she did her homework and they joked around. He was adjusting but still caught himself talking to her about the girl he was seeing, especially his panic now that she was pregnant. He could almost hear y/n giving him advice or cracking a joke.

Ada would catch herself almost buying dresses her sister would love, or waiting for her to take the train to London to get a break from the hostility at home. Kids have no object permanence so it always hurt explaining to Karl that Auntie y/n loved him bur sadly couldn't come visit anymore because she died. He'd understand for a few days then ask again.

Finn no longer looked up to his brothers like he used to, seeimg how they all behaved before, a part of him resenting their grief now, like they were so close to her when they'd all but abandoned her until proof was given she was worthy of their love again. Uncle Charlie could try and insist all he wanted that they loved her all along, Finn would never fully forgive them.

Polly pushed all guilt and pain down and carried on like nornal until she'd get home. Then she'd go upstairs to her niece's room and just sit, letting herself feel the pain and surround herself with all the memories and regret. While in the middle of her nightly ritual she opened her drawers, looking for something small she could carry with her every day to feel y/n's presence and came across her journal. After some extra liquid courage she sat and read it. She tore out the last entry, then carefully put the book back where it went, her drunk mind wanting to respect her niece's space

The next day Polly walked into the betting shop with purpose. She took out the last pages of y/n"s journal and hung them up for all to see. Throughout the day, every Shelby saw and felt the pain written on those pieces of paper and processed them in their own way.

The entry was a list of y/n's goals for her life after her 18th birthday. Her dreams of moving away from Small Heath, living in London and starting over. She wanted to become a teacher, give out love and knowledge to children since she understood how powerless they felt and wanted her classroom to a be a haven of acceptance and encouragement, no matter what their life at home was like. She mentioned wanting her name cleared, but knew that would never happen and accepted she'd never have her full family back, but she'd have the memories of happier times in case she ever felt lonely. She'd get married someday, and give her children the life and love she had experienced until things turned to shit, with a special emphasis on listening to her kids, believing them, and marrying a man who would love her unconditionally. She also made a note if any of her family that turned their back on her came to their senses she would forgive but never forget, allow them back in but always prepare for them to leave again. She ended her entry saying her family would always hold a place in her heart, but she was more than the black sheep of the Shelby family, and would never let herself forget that.

No one read that entry with a dry eye, they alll left with the assurance they would have been forgiven, but with the pain of knowing they'd never have had her trust again. But Tommy left with something extra. Last night, during her drunken drawer search, she found a note meant for Tommy that y/n intended to give him on her birthday. Tommy wouldn't open it there for fear of what it said, so he waited until he was alone in his office at home after everyone had gone to sleep.

After several shots of whiskey, he gathered up the courage to open it. Her words both broke and uplifted him. She thanked him for the years he spent raising her, for the times she knew he'd be there to pick up the pieces when she'd fall, the lessons he taught her, the times he was more father than brother to her. If it only stopped there he could have pretended she'd died knowing she was loved, but he read on, preparing himself for the worst part. She wrote of the pain his abandonment and the accusations caused, her loneliness and the betrayal she felt. Then she closed it with a hope his marriage was everything he wanted, that it provided him with a peace and joy she hadn't seen him have since the war. She ended it with love, hoping some day their paths would cross again and she'd see her brother, not the cold man he'd become to her.

“Well, I sent you some money, so-” He rolls his eyes, “Stop I mean, just use it, okay, fuck your pride, this is important. Just a few more weeks.” He nods, and the guard signals it’s time for him to go. 

“See you next week.” He nods to you warily. “I’ll uh, I’ll spend your cash, just be safe for me, alright?” You stand and give him a little wave before he disappears on the other side of the glass. There are a few more people visiting, but the guard waves you through the open door, your shoes squeaking on the cement floor. He leads you down an unfamiliar hallway, it must be closer to where the prisoners are staying because you can smell the pheromones all around you. This was, after all, a prison for Alphas. Not a place you’d ideally like to be lost in. 

“Oh ah,” you stop and turn to the guard, “This isn’t um, this isn’t the way I came in.” The guard just shrugs, and opens a door, ignoring you. 

“This way.” He says firmly.

“Thank you.” You say politely, hands folded in front of your body as you enter what you thought would be a hallway, but looks like some kind of interrogation room, with a table and no windows. You let out a little terrified squeak as you make eye contact with three of the most terrifying-looking men you’ve ever seen, you whirl around but the heavy door closes behind you, and the handle doesn’t budge. They stare at you like you’re dinner, served up on a silver platter. You bang on the locked door, ignoring them to the best of your ability. “Um, Hello,” you call down the hallways, “It’s, there’s been a mistake, I think-” 

“Don’t bother, sweetheart.” The tallest alpha says, and his voice is low and rasping. You turn around and flatten yourself against the door. “He ain’t comin’ back until we get what we want.” You swallow. 

“She’s shaking.” The other man has candy-colored hair that’s been growing out at the roots, lavender fading to black. “That’s fuckin’ adorable.” 

“W-what do you um, what do you want?” You manage, voice betraying your fear. “I do um, I do have some money, I could give you, but the guards have my wallet and things-” 

“We don’t want your money.” The shortest man says, and his dark eyes bore holes into you. “Move away from the door.” You listen, scooting just a little to the left, still flat against the door. “I’m Mikey.” He says, sounding bored, “That’s Draken, and Ran.” He gestures to the other men, you swallow and nod to them. “We run this place.” You nod. 

“N-nice to meet you.” You stammer and Ran chuckles. 

“So what the hell is an omega doing here,” The tallest one, Draken, speaks first, “What the fuck was going through your head when you got out of bed this morning?” 

“I-” You swallow, all moisture promptly leaves your mouth at the anger in his tone. “I’m sorry,” you blurt, and he softens a degree. “I, there’s no one else to visit my brother.” You jiggle the door handle but it won’t budge. “Please, I-.” You whisper. 

“Relax sweetheart,” Ran smiles, his pronounced canines glinting in the fluorescents. “We’ve got a deal for you, I think you’re gonna want to take it.” 

“What’s the deal?” You whisper, hands shaking so badly you clasp them together to stop their trembling. 

“You’re gonna be a very, very good girl for us,” Draken drawls, “And we’re not gonna kill your burnout brother.” Your mouth goes dry. 

“I, um,” you take a short shallow breath, “I’m n-n-not sure,” 

“Baby’s having a panic attack,” Ran coos, “C’mere sweetheart, calm down.” Ran strides across the room to you, monstrously tall and lanky, “Gimme your hands,” His orange prison shirt is unbuttoned, and when he leans forward it swings open, revealing a colossal tattoo covering half of his chest. He smells like cigarettes and pine trees, and you’re so terrified you can hardly move, but somehow you summon the will to hold your hands out to him. He flattens them between giant palms and leads you over to the table, which is chained to the floor in the middle of the room. 

“Good omega,” Draken repeats, putting a hand on your shoulder and starting to slip your jacket off. “Just do everything daddy says and it’ll all be fine.” You nod. 

“Fuck,” Ran breathes, looking you up and down, “Been so fucking long since I’ve had pussy,” 

“Tough,” Mikey says sharply, from where he’s leaning against the wall. “I’m going first.” You’re still shaking and Draken starts rubbing your back, setting your jacket on the table. He slips out of his shirt, revealing broad shoulders and tattooed muscle. He’s got one tendril of hair falling out of his dark braid. 

“We’re not gonna hurtcha,” Draken practically growls in your ear, sending shivers down your spine, you feel his lips on your neck, and moan softly. Ran leans down and kisses you tenderly, cupping your face with one hand. Mikey clears his throat. 

“Easy, boss,” Ran straightens up, “We’re just calming her down.” He smooths your hair then Draken spins you around to face Mikey, who still looks bored. He walks over to you, hands in his pockets. He’s taller than you, but barely, eyes so dark they’re nearly black. 

“You got a boyfriend?” He asks, and you shake your head. “You a virgin?” You shake your head again. “Good.” He moves you then, so quickly you barely realize it’s happening, he bends you over the metal table, and yanks your skirt down to your ankles, your panties soon follow. You whimper quietly as he parts your folds and slips a finger inside you experimentally. “Fuck,” he looks at the other two men, “She’s fucking wet.” You moan with embarrassment and your hands fly to your face. Draken pulls them away, pinning them to the cool table. Ran rubs a circle on your back as Mikey scissors his fingers, and then roughly pushes himself inside you. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, “Oh my fucking god,” he throws his head back, sighing deeply. 

“Yeah?” Draken says, tightly holding your wrists. Mikey nods. 

“Missed this so fuckin’ much,” He says softly, before setting a brutal pace, you moan loudly, and Ran covers your mouth. “Good slut,” Mikey says, massaging your ass before burying himself inside you to the hilt and stilling, enjoying the way you feel wrapped tightly around him. He’s long, and with every thrust of his heavy cock you feel him nudging against that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You warble something out against Ran’s hand, and the tall man tangles long fingers in your hair, massaging your scalp. 

“You’re doing so well,” He says, “Such a good little lamb.” You sniffle a little, tears in your eyes. 

“You on birth control?” Draken asks and you shake your head desperately. He smirks and looks at the other two men. “Bet I breed her before you can.” 

“Go to hell,” Mikey chokes out, “I’m so fucking close,” his grip on your hips becomes bruising as you feel him get impossibly hard inside you, and then relax, finishing with a stream of violent swearing. You tremble on the table and Ran releases your mouth. 

“Please,” you whisper, “Please, please don’t hurt me.” Draken chuckles darkly. 

“I’m pretty big, baby,” he coos in his low rasp, “It’s gonna hurt,” You swallow. 

“Her pussy’s something else,” Mikey says, collapsing in a chair, not helping Ran hold you down. 

“It’s just been eight months on the inside,” Ran rolls his eyes, “All pussy is something else.” 

“I like this omega,” Mikey complains, “I’m keeping her.” You freeze just as Draken lines up behind you, 

“You’re scarin’ the poor thing,” Draken coos, rubbing your back affectionately. “Don’t worry, baby we’ll take such good care of you, now that you’re ours.” You shiver, and Ran squeezes your hand, pinning your wrists to the table. You feel him start to push his length inside you and your mouth drops open, and your eyes flutter shut. He reaches up and takes one fistful of your hair and then rests his other hand heavily on your lower back, groaning a little as he slowly starts to fuck you. “Oh my god,” he mutters, “How much d’ya think we’d have to bribe the guards to take her back to our cell?” 

“Too much.” Ran says icily. “But don’t worry, lamb, we’ll have our men keep an eye on you while you’re not here.” You’re barely coherent, Draken is fucking you deep and slow, with the patience of a saint, savoring every thrust, sending you closer and closer to your high without sending you over the edge. 

“Gimme her hands.” Draken snaps at Ran, who obliges, Draken folds them behind your back and uses them as leverage as he picks up the pace, “Fuck baby,” he groans, “I’m gonna breed this tight little cunt, make it fuckin’ mine,” he hits the last word hard, half snarling, feeling you start to clench down on him. “You wanna cum?” He says, taking his free hand and brushing some hair from your face, “You wanna cum, baby, ask daddy for permission.” 

“P-please,” you warble. “Please daddy,” 

“Jesus fucking christ,” Draken snaps, “Yeah, fuck yeah,” he rakes his nails down your back as you cum hard on his cock and he follows soon after. You’re crying quietly, and he sighs happily, tracing a pattern on your back for a minute before taking Ran’s seat when he stands. Ran pulls you to your feet and then knocks your legs out from under you, laying you on the table on your back. 

“I wanted to see your pretty tits,” he coos, pushing your shirt up as Draken pins your wrists above your head, “Since you’re such a pretty crier.” 

“She is,” Mikey breathes, leaning back in his chair. Ran cracks a smile at his boss, reaching down and playing with your puffy little clit, making you squirm on the table. 

“Tell me something,” He says to you, ‘What do you do?” 

“M-marketing and data analysis.” You mumble, trying to focus even as he teases you. 

“I didn’t know omegas could have jobs like that,” he coos, “And how much do you make?” He asks, draping your legs over his shoulder, watching your back arch up off the table. 

“Ninety thousand a year.” You get out, closing your eyes, lifting your hips into his touch. He chuckles darkly. 

“If you’re a good girl for us,” He smirks, “I’ll double it.” He pushes his cock inside you and you gasp at the sudden intrusion. He doesn’t fuck you like Draken, doesn’t start slow, he’s immediately thrusting with full speed and power, palming your tits with one hand, the other holding your legs while he pounds into you. “Holy shit,” he breathes, “Missed pussy so goddamn much,” he throws his head back, swearing, his hands sinking into the plush of your thighs. Your breath is coming in short sharp gasps, you’re barely aware of what’s happening around you, of Draken softly carding his fingers through your hair, of Mikey watching smugly as Ran loses his composure on top of you. 

“If you wanna cum,” He says icily, “Better start begging.” The words pour from your mouth, nearly unbidden, it just feels so good, and he reaches down, and closes his fist around your throat. “Go ahead, slut, cum for me.” He orders and you obey, your orgasm ripping through your body, feeling like you’ve tumbled over the edge into a free fall. When you’re aware again a  few minutes later, he’s cumming deep inside you and lightly slapping your face. “Say thank you alpha.” He instructs. 

“Th-thank you alpha.” You whisper, lying on the table. You’re only partially aware of Ran and Draken helping you back into your clothes. Draken takes your chin in one hand, gently but firmly. 

“You’re gonna come back next week, same time.” You swallow, glancing at them nervously, legs shaking.

“A-a-are you sure?” You ask. He laughs, looking at the other men. 

“We sure?” His voice drips sarcasm. 

“Yes.” Mikey says flatly, but he reaches for you, and the other men step away. He holds you tightly to his chest. He buries his face in your neck, sighing before letting you go. Your hands are still shaking so he takes them. “Same time, next week. No one but us will touch you.” You get an odd look on your face and Mikey cocks his head, expecting resistance.

“H-he’s not eating.” You blurt out, and they look at you, confused, “My b-brother, he’s not eating and he’s, he’s only 19.” You look down at your hands. “If I-I come back, c-could you make sure, make sure no one is taking his food.” There’s a brief silence. “I’ll be good,” you promise, looking up at them, desperately, “I’ll be so good for you.” The men exchange glances and for a moment no one speaks.

“Yeah,” Draken relents, and the other men look at him quickly. “Yeah, we’ll make sure no one’s fuckin’ with his food.” You let out a deep sigh of relief. You leave the room, and you’re ushered down a hallway, given your keys and wallet, and shove them in your pocket. Your first thought, when your car starts, is emergency contraception. You speed to the nearest Walgreens and don’t even wait until you get home to take the pill. 

You flop on your couch in your apartment, head spinning, and then jump into the shower, avoiding your reflection in the mirror, sure there will be bite marks and bruises. 

“Got a soft spot for the bitch already?” Ran teases, leaning against the wall and smoking while Draken curls a weight. 

“We’ve been in here for eight months,” Draken grunts, setting the weight down, sweat glistening in the late afternoon sun. “And she’s the first omega who set foot in this building.” He shrugs. “You don’t wanna be her favorite?” Ran chuckles, taking a long drag. 

“It’s a good point. Surprised Mikey even went for it.” 

“I’m not.” Draken goes back to curling the weight. “He’s used to gettin’ it whenever. In his world, pussy costs money and he’s willing to pay.” 

“Yeah.” Ran looks out at the setting sun. “Honestly, I didn't give much of a shit about the bitch, nice pussy, nice face, I like her tits.” He shrugs. “Thought it was cute though. That she was ready to do whatever for her little bro.” 

“Considering you’re serving Rin’s time.” Draken grunts, setting the weight down again. “Makes sense that you’d feel that way.” “Already looked into it, by the way,” Ran confirms. “She was right, there was a group of guys keepin’ him from the mess hall.” Draken stretches, setting the weight on the ground.

“Yeah?” He smirks. “How long are they in hospital for?” 

“Few weeks.” Ran returns his smile. “Felt good.” 

The whole week you’re on edge, locking your doors, jumping at every little noise. A few times you think you’re being followed. On Saturday morning you put just a little bit more makeup on than usual, wondering why you’re dressing up for them, putting on nice underwear, matching your bra. Your car doesn’t start right away, and you have a little panic attack before you realize you need to turn the key all the way. You get there early, and you feel like you’re being watched, handing over your wallet and phone to the guards, checking your coat. You're wearing a skirt again, and a soft sweater. Your brother looks better, you decide, a little less haggard, a little less tired. You feel a vague sense of accomplishment, chattering with him happily. 

“A few weeks,” You give him a warm smile. “And mom’s got a room for you, I’ve got a job lined up for you, everything’s gonna be fine.” He manages to crack a smile. 

“Yeah.” He looks down at his hands. “Warehouse shit, huh?” You nod. “Not bad.” He nods. “Am I stuck with the graveyard shift?” You shrug. 

“I don’t know, I can find out?” You offer, and he nods. 

“S’weird. Looking forward to something.” He leans back. “I’ve been so focused on surviving for so long.” 

“Listen,” you lean forward, attempting to close the gap he’s drawn. “Addiction is an illness, and you’re clean. You have a support system. We’re all here for you.” He nods, and the guard signals that his time is up. “See you next week.” You say quickly, and he smiles. 

“Yeah, of course. See you next week.” He stands up and the guards lead him away. Your

stomach does a backflip as the guard leads you down the hallway again, bypassing the exit. He opens the door and this time your hands are almost not shaking as you hear the heavy metal door slam behind you. They’re waiting, Ran’s sitting at the table, and Mikey and Draken are leaning against the wall. This time none of them are wearing their shirts and you suppose you can’t blame them, it’s an unseasonably warm fall. Somehow your legs carry you forward but you stop just short of them. 

“Whatsa matter,” Ran drawls, “You need instructions?” You nod despite yourself and he laughs genuinely. “Fuck that’s adorable,” he reaches a hand out like lightning and it curls around your wrist, yanking you into his lap. Draken pushes off the wall and pulls your sweater over your head, palming your breasts through your bra. Ran doesn’t even take your panties off, just slips them to the side and starts roughly fingering you, pulling a short gasp from your lips. “You can touch me,” he says, smiling evilly, and you reach forward experimentally, wrapping your arms around his neck. He decides, evidently that you’re prepped enough, shoving his pants down and bullying his cock inside you. You moan a little, half pain, half pleasure, and he wraps two muscled arms around your waist, setting a brutal pace. He doesn’t let you ride, he lifts your body up and slams it down on his cock. 

“Oh my god,” you repeat over and over again, “Oh my god, oh my god, fuck,” your mouth drops open. 

“Tell me you love it.” Ran says, “Tell me how much you love my cock.” 

“L-love it,” you choke out, “Love your cock alpha, thank, thank you,” you tighten your grip on his neck. 

“This pussy belongs to us,” He snaps, and you lift your head to hold eye contact with him when you nod. 

“Yes sir,” you gasp again, “Fuck, fuck-” you lose yourself in it, relaxed a bit now that you know they’re not going to hurt you, feeling an odd sense of purpose while pleasing them. 

“Cum for me.” He orders, “I wanna feel you cum while I split you fuckin’ open,” you whimper and he watches you lose control for a moment, babbling something incoherent while your orgasm overtakes you. He cums inside you a few moments later, tucking your body into his own, burying your teary face in his neck. Draken clears his throat. 

“We don’t have time for that shit.” He says. “You can cuddle her on the outside.” If you weren’t still cockdrunk that might have set off some alarm bells in your head. Ran gives you a little squeeze and then acquiesces. Draken pulls you to your feet, but your legs give out from under you. He catches you dexterously, cradling your body to his warm broad chest, and laying you down on the table, taking your panties off. Ran’s eyes are closed, he’s blissed out, but Draken turns to Mikey. “You’re fucking quiet.” The blonde shrugs. 

“I didn’t finish her last time.” He mutters, looking away. “I wasn’t sure we’d have half an hour.” Draken shrugs. 

“Didn’t realize you cared about that.” 

“I don’t,” Mikey says, still grumpy. “Hurry the fuck up.” Draken shrugs again and eases himself inside you, watching the expression on your face as he fills you up, watches you struggle to take it, squirming a little to get out of the way. 

“Where ya goin’,” he teases, “Too much for you, is daddy’s cock too much?” You nod, and he reaches out and wraps a hand around your neck, not exerting any pressure, but you freeze. “That’s a good girl,” he says, starting to fuck you slowly, “Stay still f’me.” He chokes you just a little and feels you clench down on him. “You like that,” he asks, “Like it when daddy chokes you?” You nod. He picks up the pace just a little, choking you harder, “Fuck, yeah,” he groans, “You ready for me to cum inside that pussy, fill you up?” You nod again, emphatically and he chokes you even harder as he finishes, feeling you struggle for air, squirming on the table but he closes his eyes, letting his own high sweep him away. By the time he lets go of your neck you’re gasping for breath, Ran runs his long fingers through your hair affectionately. 

“So rough,” He teases, “So rough with our sweet thing.” 

“Fuck off,” Draken snaps. “You slapped her last time.” Ran grins. 

“Did I forget this time?” He muses. “Hm.” Draken ignores him, plucking you off the table and holding you against his chest, rubbing your back. Mikey rolls his eyes, taking the shirt that’s tied around his waist and folding it on the floor. 

“Give her to me.” He says softly, and Draken obliges. Mikey takes you and sets you on your knees on his shirt. He arranges you so that your palms are flat on the concrete floor and glances at the other two men. “I wanna know how she sucks cock.” You swallow nervously. “Either of you still hard?” Draken shakes his head but Ran shrugs. 

“Mostly.” 

“Get over here and fuck her face.” Ran grins. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice, boss.” He moves across the room and kneels in front of you, “Not too fast,” he says, rapping your nose to get your attention. “No teeth.” You nod. “Say yes alpha.” He reminds you. 

“Yes, alpha,” you look up at him as Mikey starts to fuck you hard and fast, pulling hushed moans from your lips. You open your mouth and Ran pushes his cock inside, forcing it down your throat and you manage somehow not to gag, even with Mikey pounding into you. The second time you’re not as lucky, your eyes watering. 

“That’s it,” Ran coos, hands tangled in your hair, “Cry for me while you choke on it.” You don’t have a choice they’re both so strong, and after a few minutes, Mikey reaches around your body and rubs at your clit, it’s enough to bring you to the edge and hold you there. Ran pulls out, and cups your tear-streaked face, “You wanna cum, sweetheart.” 

“Yes sir.” You choke out, “Please, can-” 

“Ask Mikey.” He coaches. 

“Call me god.” Mikey snaps coldly, “Ask your god if you can cum.” 

“Please please god-” You beg, voice hitched and desperate, “Please, please please-” 

“Go ahead,” He snaps, “Fuck,” nearly cumming immediately at the sound of you begging for his divine mercy. Ran pulls out and then jacks off onto your tongue, groaning loudly as he watches you swallow. He pets your head, after, helping you to your feet as Mikey gets dressed again. You stumble, and catch yourself on the table, looking for your panties. 

“I’m keeping these.” Ran smirks, dangling your pink cotton panties in the air and then pocketing them. 

“Y-yes alpha.” You manage and he grins. Draken helps you get dressed, rubbing soft circles on your skin. 

“You’re not seeing anyone else.” He says darkly, and it’s half question, half order. 

“N-no.” You look up at him. “I’m not seeing anyone else.” 

“Good girl,” He praises, smoothing your hair. Mikey touches your shoulder, and you turn to look at him. To your surprise, he folds you into his body, crushing you against his chest, pulling you across the table. He sighs, one hand on the back of your head, looking at Ran and Draken as if you’re not even there. 

“We need to talk about shipments, and about how we’ll maintain control when we’re out.” 

“Hanma’s always game to go back inside,” Ran snickers, “It’s like a game to him how much he can break out.” Mikey nods. 

“Possible.” He says. Draken clears his throat and gestures to you. “I don’t care what she hears,” Mikey says flatly. “She knows not to cross us, don’t you?” He shifts you so that you can look at him. 

“I, I wouldn’t.” You say softly. “Do anything to hurt you.” You swallow. “I know you’re helping my brother.” Mikey nods, leaning down and kissing you tenderly, one arm around your waist, practically holding you up. 

“Time to go.” He says quietly and you nod, adjusting your hair and then scooting out of the room, leaving them alone. Mikey massages his temples. “Her brother gets out in two weeks.” He says. Ran smiles. 

“I think we could impress upon her the importance of her return by proxy.” Draken rolls his eyes but Mikey nods. 

“Use Chifuyu though.” He says. “Rindou will scare her so much she’ll be in the wind.” 

“Aw,” Ran grins, “My little bro isn’t scary he’s like, five foot ten.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and starts towards the door. 

“Worried she’s not gonna get home safe?” Draken says, raising his eyebrows. Ran shrugs.  

“It’s a dangerous world out there.” He pushes the heavy metal door open. “You, of all people know that.” He leaves the two men alone, heading to the yard. There’s a brief silence before Mikey speaks. 

“He’s right,” Mikey says. “She’s a nice girl. Bad things happen to nice girls all the time.” 

—

You’re making dinner alone in your apartment, a cool wind blowing outside your windows when there’s a knock on your door. You turn down the heat on your stove, and then make your way to the door peeking out before opening it. There’s no one in the hallway and your heart races. You close the door, and lock it, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. 

“It’s nothing.” You say out loud, alone. “It’s nothing.” You go back to your soup and put your headphones in. 

—--

A week later Ran is grimacing at breakfast when Draken and Mikey join him at a table, he pushes the oatmeal around the tray. 

“Ugh.” He shakes his head. “Can’t wait to eat normal food again, and,” he raises a finger, “Chifuyu says she cooks,” Draken smirks. 

“Of course she does.” 

“He also says she works a lot, she does live alone, she hasn’t been lying to protect a boyfriend. And she’s already spooked, jumping at every little noise, I got the feeling she gave us a little google.” 

“Has he made contact?” Mikey asks and Ran shakes his head. 

“I bet she’ll come if we tell her without him making any threats,” Draken says. “Remember how much she was shakin’ that first time?” 

__

This time you open the metal door by yourself, letting it close behind you. Your fingers are laced in front of you. They’re waiting, like always, and today your hands nearly don’t shake. 

“Hello.” You say softly. “I um, I’m not sure if um, you’re aware of what happens, when you type your names into a search engine.” Draken chuckles darkly and Ran smirks. “B-but I wanted to say that um, I appreciate you not um, not murdering me.” 

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Ran says, extending a hand, “Come here, sweetheart.” You tentatively take his hand and let him pull you into him. “We got somethin’ to talk to you about.” You nod. “You know your brother’s getting out this week.” 

“Yeah.” You say softly. 

“But you’re gonna keep coming to see us, like a good girl, aren’t you?’” You swallow nervously. 

“I-i-if that’s what you want.” You say quickly. 

“Good girl,” Draken rumbles, pulling you from Ran, smoothing your hair. Mikey rests a hand on your shoulder and you glance at him, he leans in and kisses you, cupping your face in two huge hands, moving you so that you’re pinned against the wall. As he reaches for the waistband of your skirt, an alarm blares, and shouting can be heard as footsteps thunder through the hallway outside. You let out a squeak, and Mikey whirls around, covering your mouth. 

“Shit,” Ran breathes. “We gotta go if there’s a riot.” 

“We can’t leave her here,” Mikey says, “Draken you stay.” He shoves your body at the huge man, who catches you dexterously, nodding. Mikey and Ran take off at a sprint, leaving the two of you alone. Draken moves quickly, turning the light off in the room and pulling you into the corner, sliding to the floor with you in his lap, your back against his chest. 

“What’s happening?” You whisper.

“Could be a few things,” Draken responds, you can feel the vibrations of his low voice against your back, “Could be an escape attempt, could be a fight, but they’re gonna lock shit down.” He presses his lips to the top of his head. “And you’re on the wrong side of the visitor's wall.” You swallow, visibly trembling. 

“Oh.” 

“No one’s gonna touch ya.” He says, tightening his grip on you, his thick arms pinning you to his chest. “Mikey runs shit in here, and I’ve never seen him lose a fight.” You snuggle into his chest. “You’re so sweet,” he murmurs, rubbing your back, “Whatcha doin’ livin’ on your own, huh?” You look up at him. 

“H-how do you know I live on my own?” He cocks his head just a degree, and the obvious hits you. “Oh, ah, you’ve been-” 

“Keepin’ an eye on you.” He says, still tracing a pattern on your back with a huge hand. “Being around us might put a target on your back.” You swallow. “So answer the question.” 

“I-I-I work a lot,” you say quickly, “And dating is, dating is hard. I’m,” you squirm a little, “I’m quite shy. And anxious.” He kisses the top of your head again. 

“You feel safe right now?” You nod. “Good, sweetheart.” You feel his hands on your waist, rubbing soft circles, he smells so good, and his pheromones are so strong that you nearly drift off to sleep. Ten minutes pass, then twenty. “You wanna sleep?” He offers, and you nod, fully facing into his chest, he palms the back of your head, tangling his hands in your hair. You can feel him humming an old song, something you barely recognize, dancing on the edge of your memory as you slip off to sleep. You wake when he stirs, warm and heavy-lidded, and he helps you stand. “All clear.” He says, but you sleepily cling to his t-shirt. “You gonna miss me?” He teases, and you nod. 

“Mhm.” You mumble, and he laughs quietly. 

“Dontcha worry that pretty little head,” he stands and sets you reluctantly on the table. “I’ll see ya real soon.” He walks you to the visitor's exit, and you leave the building, stopping in your car for a few minutes, waiting until you’re coherent enough to drive.

That Wednesday, you pick up your brother, and he gives you a quick hug and a big smile in the waiting room. 

“They’re just finishing the paperwork.” He explains, sitting down, in the clothes he’d been arrested in, a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans. 

“You look good.” You take something out of your bag and slide it across the table. He breaks into a wide smile. 

“You made me a little lunch.” He says, opening it, “Oh my god,” you giggle, there are little chicken cutlets on a bed of rice, tucked in underneath a blanket of eggs. “Just like you made me when I was in middle school.” You shrug, returning his warmth. He starts eating right away, wolfing down your cooking desperately. A guard comes and taps you on the shoulder. 

“Is there a problem?” You ask, and the guard just shrugs. “I guess I’ll be right back.” You give your brother a wave, he looks concerned but he doesn’t say anything. The guard takes you down a new hallway, and you fidget nervously, he opens a heavy metal door for you and you enter the room, realizing it’s empty. You wait for a couple of minutes, not even bothering to check if the door is locked behind you, you sit on the table, swinging your legs. It opens a few minutes later, and to your surprise, it’s Mikey alone. 

“I, I brought you something.” You say quickly, and he raises his eyebrows. You take three little bento boxes out of your bag. “I wasn’t sure um if you’d want to see me.” He takes the box from you, slipping an arm around your waist and sliding you off the table, crushing you against his body. 

“Thank you.” He says softly, and he holds you, rubbing your back and burying his face in your neck for a full ten minutes, neither of you speaks, but there’s an odd comfort to being around Mikey. He smells like cigarettes and light cologne. “Just wanted to see you.” He mumbles. “Only have a few minutes.” He explains, leaning back and letting you go. “We’ll see you this weekend.” You nod. 

“Th-thank you.” You manage, and he inhales deeply, you see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands are shaking. You impulsively take them, drawing him into you. 

“You’re a good girl,” he says softly, and he feels you shiver with pleasure at his praise. “Our good girl.” You nuzzle into him, and he squeezes you before letting you go. “Take your brother home.” 

“Who um, who do I say I’m here to visit this weekend?” You ask, and Mikey shrugs. 

“You can say Kisaki Tetta.” He says, glancing at you over his shoulder before leaving with the lunches you brought. You take your brother home and help him get settled at your mom's place, telling him that if you had the room you would take him in, but after all, it’s just you in your one-bedroom apartment. It’s midway through the week when one of your co-workers convinces you to go out to a local bar. You’re nursing your drink, standing at the table while she chatters when someone touches your shoulder. He’s tall, obviously an alpha with broad shoulders and a tattoo you can’t quite make out over his shoulder. 

“H-hi,” You manage, aware of how he’s leering at you, smiling down at you, flashing his long canine teeth. 

“You’re so small,” he rasps, and for some reason, it feels so different from when Mikey, or Draken, or Ran comments on your size, it doesn’t feel protective, it feels predatory. 

“Um,” you squeak, trying to scoot around him. “I’ve got to get back to my friends.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t be like that,” he growls, a huge hand closing on your wrist as you try to get by, to signal to your friends that you need help, but you can’t see them in the crowd of people. You pull against him but it’s futile, he drags you through a side door and into the alley at the side of the bar. It’s cold, and you feel him shove you up against the wall, hands tracing your silhouette. He shoves a knee between your legs, forcing them apart. You gasp and claw at his chest.

“Please, I-” 

“You’re unmarked.” He cuts you off. “Where’s your alpha, huh, shouldn’t you be scented, protected?” You swallow. 

“I-I-” You go to say you don’t have one, and then briefly wonder if that’s true anymore. You don’t spend much time on it, though, because you hear a sickening crunch as someone’s fist collides with the alpha’s face. He slides backward, yelling something as you see three figures in the alley. 

“Save some for me,” you hear a familiar voice complain and you watch Ran Haitani, dressed in some ridiculous pastel suit, step over a muddy, slushy puddle. He flicks something in his hand and it extends, you see it’s a long black baton. 

“Be faster next time.” You see now, blinking in the darkness, a familiar grin. “Hey there,” Draken says softly, lifting you up off your feet. He nestles you against his chest, tucking you under his jacket. “You okay?” You nod, burying your face in his neck and inhaling deeply. 

“Let’s go.” You hear, and look up to see Mikey, looking bored. “Or they’ll rescind your out early on good behavior, Haitani.” Ran grins, shoes covered with the blood of the other alpha. 

“They’ll never get me again.” Draken rolls his eyes and you find yourself carried into a large luxurious car. Draken doesn’t deposit you on the seat though, keeping you pressed against his chest. 

“You’re shakin’.” He says quietly, as the car begins to move. 

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” Mikey says, and you shrink against Draken, “Going out on your own like that?” 

“I,” you somehow find  your voice, “I, just um, I didn’t think it would be dangerous.” You lift your head and look at him, “I’m sorry.” He softens as if he hadn’t expected an apology. “I won’t,” you swallow trying to think of what you could promise him, part of your brain processing that you’re suddenly alone with three extremely dangerous criminals. “Where are we going?” You twist in Drakens lap, and he allows you to move so that your back is against his chest. 

“Prison sucks,” Ran says, shifting uncomfortably. “And you coulda dipped, after the first time, probably wouldn’t have blamed you.” You press your lips together. 

“I didn’t want to leave you there, like that.” You say very quietly, “It was so hard, for my brother and you all seemed,” you look down at your hands, “Like you needed me.” You fidget, “I’m not, it makes me feel good. To be needed.” Draken is rubbing your upper arms. 

“We’re gonna take good care of ya,” He rumbles, tucking your head under his chin. “You’re ours now, no one’s gonna fuck with ya ever again.”  

“What’s a sweet little omega like you doing living on your own anyway?” Ran asks, and you have a moment where you try and remember if you’d mentioned to them that you live on your own, but then remember they’d mentioned keeping an eye on you. 

“I just,” you think about it. “I just haven’t found anyone who wanted me, like that.” It comes out sadder, more lonely than you meant it, but you feel Draken pause the pattern he’d been tracing on your skin. 

“Oh,” Ran says, and it’s one of the first times you’ve heard him speak without a layer of condescension to his voice, “That’s not true, sweetheart, you just didn’t notice.” He smirks, confidence back immediately, “You just needed real alphas, and those are hard to come by these days.” You feel Draken laugh, a deep, warm sound. 

“He’s right,” he says, and when he speaks you can feel his breath in your ear. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you.” You hide your face, embarrassed at the praise, and he catches your chin in one hand, tipping it up, forcing you to look at him. “None of that shit.” He rumbles. 

“Th-thank you,” you mumble, nearly overwhelmed at his warm body so close to yours, “For saving me, a-all of you.” 

“You’re ours now,” Mikey says, his words cool and smooth. Draken feels the implicit order and releases you, handing you to the smaller alpha. “We take care of our things, don’t we?” He asks and Ran and Draken nod. Mikey smells like cologne and cigarettes, and he holds you so tightly it hurts a little. 

“What does that mean?” You ask, looking up at his dark eyes. “Where are we going?” 

“To your new apartment,” Ran chirps, “We can’t have you living in that tiny little place, in that terrible neighborhood.” He shakes his head, “You were kind to us so think of this as returning the favor.” Your mouth goes dry. 

“I um, I like my apartment.” You say, struggling just the tiniest bit in Mikey’s arms. “And, and I have plants there, plants that need to be watered.” 

“No you don’t,” Ran says, “You don’t like your apartment, it’s small.” You cock your head at him. “You’ve always wanted to get a place with more natural light, right?” 

“I mean, maybe?” You say softly. Ran grins. 

“I mean if I were you,” he says, leaning back in the seat, stretching his long limbs out over black leather, “I’d be so glad to be chosen by not just one alpha, but three.” 

“I do,” you say quickly, “I do, I feel so lucky-” 

“Good,” Ran says, and his smile widens. “You’re gonna love your new place. Betcha you’ll make a soft little nest there, huh?” You can’t help the warmth that gathers in your cheeks, you squirm in Mikey’s lap. Mikey tucks your face into his neck, exhaling deeply. 

“Prison sucks.” He grumbles. “I’m getting takeout the second we get home.” You sigh into him, dizzied by the pheromones in the car, consciousness floating up and out of your body. You barely feel him hand you to Ran, almost don’t notice that they carry you out of the car, up an elevator to a huge penthouse with an open floor plan and a wall of windows overlooking the city. 

  As soon as Mikey puts you down, Draken picks you up, his mouth on your neck, scenting you while rubbing little circles in your back. 

"Not a chance, young man," you responded firmly, your heels clicking against the marble floor. "You know the rules. No gadgets or superhero shenanigans until your schoolwork is done. So get off the computer."

Tim sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving his computer. "Ten more minutes," he protested, his fingers typing away at lightning speed.

You signed but said nothing more upon stopping at the open door of Tim's room. You knew Bruce didn't appreciate you interference in nightly heroics, but you had your own way of managing the boys. Just as you was about to remind Tim of the consequences, a deep voice resonated from behind you.

"Listen to your mother, Tim."

You spun around to face Bruce, who had emerged from the shadows of the hallway. His gaze was stern but not unkind, the same look he often gave when you discussed the boys' schooling. You felt a small twinge of relief that he wasn't upset with your intervention.

Tim looked up from his computer, his eyes wide with surprise. He had never heard Bruce call you "mother" before. It was always Mrs. Wayne or by your name. The change in tone was subtle but significant, hinting at a shift in their relationship that none of them had anticipated.

Your cheeks flush under Bruce's eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. You noticed the warmth in his smile and the way he held your gaze for a beat too long. You felt a strange mix of comfort and discomfort, the kind that comes with the sudden realization that the ground beneath you is not as solid as it once seemed.

Bruce gave a curt nod before turning to leave. His footsteps grew quieter as he moved away, the sound of his retreating figure leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. Your mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of his behavior. Was it the stress of their sham marriage finally getting to him? Or perhaps a genuine affection that had been buried beneath layers of duty and obligation?

Over the next few days, Bruce continued to act more affectionate towards you, slipping in gentle touches and kind words where there had once been a stoic distance. You felt torn between acknowledging the change and fearing it was just a temporary shift in mood. After all, their marriage was built on a foundation of convenience, not love. You're there to provide a stable home life for his sons, not to be the object of his affection.

One evening, as Bruce sat in his study, you gathered your courage and approached him, clutching a set of documents in your hands. "I need to talk to you about something," you began, your voice tentative. "It's about a new deal that's been offered to the company."

Bruce looked up from his paperwork, his eyes reflecting the glow of the computer screens. "What is it?" he asked, his tone neutral.

"It's about a new acquisition," you said, looking down at the papers. "The board thinks it's a good opportunity."

Bruce took the papers from you, his hands brushing against yours for a moment longer than necessary. You felt a spark of electricity, and you quickly withdrew your hand, hoping he hadn't noticed. You watched as he skimmed through the pages, his brow furrowing slightly as he digested the information.

"What's your take on it?" he asked, his gaze still on the contract.

"I...I don't know if it's my...my place to say, Mr. Wayne" You stuttered, your heart racing. You had never been one to voice your opinions in matters like this.

Bruce's gaze lifted from the documents, his eyes locking with your. "Your opinion is important to me," he said firmly. "We're partners in this, remember?"

The words hung in the air, thick with an unspoken promise. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Well," you began, your voice stronger now, "I think it's....sketchy. There's something about the terms that doesn't sit right with me."

Bruce's eyes never left yours as he listened intently. His thumb traced the edge of the paper, the only sign of his contemplation. "Then tell them I'm not interested," he said abruptly, handing the contract back to you.

Your eyes widened in shock. You had expected him to disagree, to argue the merits of the deal and the importance of the board's suggestions. Instead, he had deferred to your judgment, something he had never done before. "Are you sure?" you asked.

"Absolutely," Bruce said, his voice firm. "If it doesn't feel right, then it's not worth pursuing."

You took the contract, your hand trembling slightly. "But the board…" your trailed off, unsure how to voice your concerns without overstepping your boundaries.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. "The board's job is to make suggestions," he said. "My job is to make decisions. And if my… wife," he emphasized the word, "thinks something's off, then I trust her judgment."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words. It was the first time he had ever called you his wife without it sounding like a mere formality. You held the contract, your mind racing. "Thank you," you murmured. "I'll handle it."

Bruce nodded, his gaze lingering on yours. "You're welcome."

You retreated from the study, your thoughts in a whirlwind. The weight of the contract in your hands felt heavier than ever before. As you walked, the echoes of their conversation seemed to follow you, whispering of a newfound partnership and trust. You paused outside your study, taking a moment to collect yourself before returning to work. The manor felt different, as if the very air had shifted to accommodate a burgeoning emotion you hadn't anticipated.

Over the next few weeks, Bruce's affection grew more pronounced. He would join you for dinner, engaging in conversations that delved beyond the superficial. They discussed books, art, and the future of Gotham, sharing smiles and laughter that felt genuine and unforced. You found yourself looking forward to these moments, the tension in the air charged with something you dared not name.

One evening, after the boys had retired to their rooms, Bruce found you in the dimly lit Batcave, your eyes reflecting the glow of the monitors as you reviewed the night's intel. He approached you slowly, his footsteps muffled by the rubber soles of his boots. "I thought I was the night owl around here," he said with a teasing smile.

You startled, spinning around in the chair. "Mr. Wayne," you gasped, hand flying to your chest. "I didn't hear you come in."

Bruce chuckled, the sound echoing through the cavernous space. "It's Bruce," he corrected gently. "And I can see you've got everything under control."

Your cheeks colored as you nodded. "Just keeping an eye on things," you said, your voice quieter than usual. You felt self-conscious under his scrutiny, unsure how to react to his sudden interest in your nightly routine.

"Mind if I join you?" Bruce asked, his tone casual, yet it held a hint of something more.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Of course," you said, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. You watched as he made his way over to you, his movements fluid and silent. He leaned against the console, his eyes on the screens, but you knew he was really watching you.

"You know, this isn't where I expected to find you on our anniversary," he said, his voice low and warm.

Your breath caught in your throat. You had almost forgotten about the date, lost in the whirlwind of their new dynamic. Your swiveled the chair to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Anniversary?" you echoed, trying to keep your voice even.

Bruce nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, it's been a year since we made this… arrangement." He paused, searching for the right word, and you felt the weight of the unspoken truth hanging in the air.

"I… I had no idea at how quickly the year went by," you murmured, your eyes flicking to the floor before meeting his gaze again. "So much has happened."

"Yes, it has," Bruce agreed, his expression softening. "But I think we've made it work, don't you?"

You nodded slowly, your eyes moving to the side of the floor. "We have," you conceded. "For the boys."

"For the boys," Bruce echoed, but there was a hint of something more in his voice. He reached out and took your hand, his touch sending a jolt through you. "Dance with me."

You looked at him, bewildered. The Batcave was the last place you'd would have ever imagined sharing a dance with your husband, especially considering their relationship had been more of a business transaction than a romantic union.

"What?" you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and doubt. The cold metal and concrete walls of the Batcave didn't exactly scream romance.

But Bruce didn't seem to notice the oddness of his request. He held out his other hand, his eyes earnest. "Just one dance."

Your heart racing, placing your hand in his, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He led you to the center of the Batcave, the place where so much strategy and planning took place. But now, it was just them, standing in the shadow of the Dark Knight's armor, the only music the hum of the computers and the distant echo of the city above.

He pulled you closer, his hand on your back while the other held your other hand. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, a stark contrast to the cool air of the underground lair. He was close enough that you could make out the scent of his cologne, the faint metallic scent of his suit mingling with it.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, "Let's pretend, just for a moment, that we're not Mr. Wayne and Mrs. Wayne, but a couple who met under different circumstances."

Your pulse quickened. You knew the rules of your arrangement, knew that love had never been a part of the deal. Yet here you were, in the most unlikely of settings, with the potential for something you had never allowed yourself to imagine. Hesitating for only a moment, you stepped into the embrace, your body fitting against his as if it had always belonged there.

He began to sway gently, guiding you in a slow, rhythmic dance that seemed to defy the gravity of their situation. His hand rested on the small of your back, his other hand holding hers firmly, yet gently. You felt the muscles beneath the fabric of his suit, the strength and power of the man you had only ever known as your husband in name.

The sound of his deep, rich hum filled the cavernous space, a tune you didn't recognize but found oddly soothing. It was a moment of vulnerability you had never seen from him before, a side of Bruce Wayne that was as unguarded as the batcave was protected. As they danced, your head leaned into his chest, the steady beat of his heart echoing in your ears, mimicking the tempo of your own.

The tension between them grew palpable, a silent crescendo that seemed to vibrate in every atom of the room. You felt yout resolve wavering, the walls you had meticulously built to maintain the façade of your marriage threatening to crumble. You knew the truth – that you had developed feelings for him, feelings that had grown from a seed of respect and duty into a full-blown bouquet of love and longing.

"Bruce," you murmured, your voice shaky. "What are we doing?"

He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. "I'm just… trying to be a better husband to you."

The admission sent a tremor through you, and you pulled away slightly to look up at him. His eyes searched yours, a question and a plea melded into one. Your chest tightened as you read the hope and uncertainty in his gaze.

"Why?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What changed?"

Bruce's expression grew serious, his eyes holding yours captive. "I've realized that life is too short to ignore what's right in front of us," he replied, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand. "I've watched you care for my sons, for this city, and for me. You've become more than just a part of this arrangement. You've become a part…of me."

The words hung in the air, a confession that resonated through the very foundation of the Batcave. You searched his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt, any hint that he was just playing a part. But what you found was a vulnerability you had never seen before, a crack in the armor of the man who was both Bruce Wayne and Batman. You were speechless, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Leaning closer, his cheek brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. His mouth hovered near your ear, the heat of his breath sending a rush of emotion through yours. "Please," he whispered, "give me a chance."

Your heart was a tumult of emotions – hope, fear, confusion. But you knew that you couldn't ignore the feelings that had been growing within you for so long. You nodded, the barest of movements, but it was enough.

Bruce's hand slid to your cheek, cupping it gently as he leaned in and kissed you. It was a soft kiss, filled with a year's worth of unspoken emotions. You melted into it, your arms slipping around his neck as you gave in to the warmth that had been building between them. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, and you could feel the tension in his body, the years of holding back finally released.

You broke apart, breathing in quite pants, your eyes locked. Your heart raced, your mind reeling with the implications of what was happening. "Bruce," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"My wife," Bruce said, the words sounding unfamiliar, yet right. He searched your face, his thumb stroking your cheek gently. "You are my wife. I want to act like the husband I know you truly deserve."

"What about the boys?" You asked, your voice a soft murmur.

"They're our priority," Bruce assured you, his hand sliding from your cheek to your hand again. "We just now have… some extra perks to our partnership." He offered you a tentative smile, and you couldn't help but return it, feeling the weight of your situation lighten just a little.

Over the next few years Bruce brought in many children. Dick was nice, he was cheerful but never had time for you, much like father. Jason was the best brother, you two always spent time together, however, one day he died. Tim... was ok... you were still grieving from Jason's death, and Tim never cared to look your way. Cas and Steph were just... there, Bruce was always training them, and they didn't think you were worth their time. After all, you were simply the spoiled young master Wayne. Lastly, Bruce, he never spent time with you other than at galas. When you went to the galas with your parents and adopted siblings, Bruce would treat you as his precious son. However, your mother could never look at the scene for long, knowing the true neglect that you didn't even know you were experiencing. Aside from that, life was fine. You still had your mother who loved you more than anything, and you had Alfred. Alfred thought of your mother as his own daughter and treated you as his grandson. You did good in school, always wanting to see your mother's smile when she saw your grades.

However, your whole life turned upside down the year you turned 12. Your mother died; her health had been deteriorating ever since you were born.

"Baby..." her voice was shaking, you held the had she reached out, watching as her dazed eyes couldn't find you. The only other person in the room was Alfred, " 'm sorry" Her voice broke into a sob "I'm so sorry for bringing you into this terrible place, please... Please forgive me". Her hand trembled in your grasp; tears streamed down your face.

"I could never blame you mom" you promised, at your words she smiled. With the last of her strength, she spoke again.

"Remember.... don't give... your heart to... these people". Her voice faded and her hand went limp in your hold.

"MOM!", you yelled "MOTHER PLEASE!" Alfred pulled you away from your mother, you cried in his shoulder. Your sobs echoed through the halls of the manor.

Your light was gone.

Her funeral was miserable. Bruce and your adopted siblings came, but only for appearances. As soon as the basic courtesies were over, they all left. You stayed there for the whole day and deep into the night, until Alfred made you get some rest.

After your mother's death, Bruce had you train like all your adopted siblings, it was grueling. He never taught you one-on-one, he had you watch him train the other then practice on your own. He always got so disappointed when you couldn't match pace with the others. However, you wanted to please them. Make them proud. "Foolish child" you could hear your mother say

It was around this time when Jason returned, you were so excited. finally, someone who you could spend time with, you were so lonely. But he was never the same boy you once knew, he was now cold and distant. He looked at you in annoyance... Just like the rest of them.

Days in the Wayne manor passed slowly, you followed your regular routine day by day. Wake up, got to school, go home, do schoolwork, do night watches, sleep and repeat. Things changed when father brought in your half-brother, Damian. Sure, at first you were upset that your father cheated on your mother, but now you had someone you could spend time with and relate to. You thought he would go through the same neglect, instead, he was loved, welcomed. Nothing like you.

"He's had a hard life", they'd say "you wouldn't understand, you've had everything handed to you and all the love you could want". It repeated in your head, all you did was ask why he got more love than you.

It wasn't fair... IT WASNT FAIR!

No... Calm down, take a deep breath. Hold it. Release it. Repeat.

Your mother taught you that when you'd start throwing fits, she was right. There was no use in getting upset over something you couldn't change... You'd just have to prove them wrong, be the best vigilante there ever was.

Damian was the worst. He thought of you as competition, you just wanted to be his friend.

"You know", Damian began, you had asked him to hang out, he was your younger brother after all, and you have to be a good brother like Jason used to be "It's your fault your pathetic mother died".

"...What" It wasn't a question. It was a dare, "Say that again. Do you have a death wish?" Now you were standing right in front of him, your frame towering over him. The empty living room became even more silent.

"I said", He didn't back down, instead, he stood tall "You caused your mother's death. I mean, think about it. If you hadn't been born than your mother wouldn't have fallen ill". you pushed him against the wall, pinning his shoulder with enough strength to break it, if he were a normal person. "Never mind, it wasn't your fault" Oh? was he back down? No... his smirk spread "it was your mother's fault for being so weak"

WHACK

you punched at his face; he moved but you still hit the side of his cheek, then he started punching back. it became a back and forth of fists. The two of you scuffling on the floor before a voice rang out.

"What the hell is going on here!?", you both looked over. It was dick, he was followed by the rest of your adopted siblings. Both of you let go of the other, your breathing ragged. You noticed Damian's breathing was steady, as if he hadn't just been fighting. Monster

'"He-" You tried to explain yourself, but Dick cut you off. He stormed up to you, his expression was furious, and he smacked you...hard. You stood shocked, your head turned to the side and your eyes wide in disbelief, you put your hand to your burning cheek.

"You are older than him! I don't care what excuse you have, you should know better!" Dick yelled, he grabbed you by your wrist and began pulling you. "We're going to see Bruce, you can explain yourself to him". Dick dragged you to Bruces's office, his grip was painfully tight. When you two stood Infront of the doors to his office you felt dread fill you. It wasn't your fault. It was Damian's. you repeated in your head. Dick pushed the doors open quickly, Bruce looked up at his arrival, waiting for an explanation. He always just ignored you; he'd say that he was too busy and to come back later. "He was fighting with Damian. The kid just started punching him." Dick explained. You froze as your father's disapproving eyes turned to you.

NO! that's not how it happened! You had to defend yourself, say something...ANYTHING. "He-he said mother was weak! That I was the reason she died!" You stuttered as you tried to explain. He'd understand, surly. However, your hopes were crushed when Bruce's expression didn't change, when it didn't soften in understanding.

"Dick, Leave us. I'll talk with him". Bruce instructed. Dick sent you a quick disappointed glare then left, the door closed with a slight slam. The office was quite before Bruce let out a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "I understand that you were upset. However, that is no reason to hit your younger brother". His gaze turned to you, then back to the papers on his desk. "Aside from that, I've been meaning to talk to you".

Oh? He wants to talk to you? That has never happened before. You felt yourself getting excited, forgetting all about the scuffle with Damian.

"I have decided to make Damian the heir to the Wayne Enterprises". Bruce didn't even look at you. He never does.

"...What?" You couldn't stop the question from slipping out. No, you had to defend your position, Mother's position. Consequences be damned. "No, you can't! He is an affair child; I am supposed to take over the company!"

That was a mistake. Bruce glared at you, his piercing eyes shutting you up quickly. "Do not fight with me child. The decisions already been made. Now go get ready for your night watch". That was it. The conversation was over. When you walked to your room you passed by the living room full of your adopted siblings, all joking with each other. You watched them for a moment before made eye contact with Damian, then, he smirked.

After it became public that you were no longer going to take over Wayne Enterprises, people outside the manor stopped being kind to you. After all, you were no longer the heir to the company, why should they care about you?

That leads us a couple years in the future, to tonight, the night was hauntingly beautiful. On this night Batman and his crew of sidekicks were all out because the Joker had gotten a new toy. Some beasts with something akin to tendrils. You all had to split up, Cass and Steph, Dick and Jason, Tim and Damian. you were sent off on your own, like always. But it was fine, you were used to it. You had gotten stronger, both emotionally and physically.

but tonight was different, you couldn't handle it. you and Batman were in the same general area; however, you were both distracted with your own fights. Then a quiet voice could be heard, one that was not the joker's, you looked over and saw an elderly lady in the middle of the shopping district you were fighting in. A tendril flew at you before you could run to her, you blocked it and turned to the lady.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?", you yelled at her, she looked at you, a helpless look in her eyes. She was confused. "EVACUATE!" At your yelling, Batman looked over to you two, his eyes widened as he noticed the lady. Batman quickly finished off the beast he was fighting then turned to the lady, a tendril rushed towards her. Batman rushed to grab her first, it was close, but he successfully caught her and dropped her nearby safely.

However, the tendril turned and rushed towards you. Too fast for you to react, all you could do was yell. "DAD!" The first time you had said that in such a long time.

It was too late. The tendril pierced through your stomach.

It went quiet. You couldn't hear or see anything. Couldn't hear Batman's yell of your name, couldn't see him rushing to you. All you could see was the black tendril in your stomach. your vision got hazy, and you dropped.

You were caught, but you couldn't see who. It was terrifying, the cold you felt. Did mother feel the same way?

There was a voice... Who's? Their tone was begging. Was there anyone who cared enough to beg you to stay?

You were so, so tired... Then you saw her....

Mother

"DAD!!" Your voice cut through the air; Batman looked to you. His eyes widened at the sight of you being pierced through.

"M/N!!" Batman didn't even know he could sound so desperate. His son was going to die, just like Jason. He rushed to your side, pulling off his cape to wrap the wound. when the cape was tight enough, he grabbed you, carrying you to a distant building, one untouched by the enemy. He had to fight his way through the area, it was difficult with you in his arms, but he made sure you didn't get hurt any more than you already had. "Don't you die on me, m/n! I promise to treat you better. Don't leave me, not like your mother". He mumbled pleas as he carried you, and even more after he set you down. After he was sure you were still breathing (Although shallow and rough) Batman spoke into the communication device all of his children shared. "M/n is injured. Clear your area and hurry to [-----]. I have him resting safely in an abandoned building, we need to take him back to the manor, I'm not sure how much longer he'll last". It was less than a minute before multiple worried voices came though the mic, promising to be there soon. Batman pushed the hair from your sweaty face, "I won't let you die". With that he rushed back to the thick of the battle.

It was less than 20 minutes later when the rest of the Batfamily arrived, with them all working together they were able to take down the beasts and the joker relatively quickly. As soon as the battle was over Nightwing turned to Batman.

"Where is he!? Where is M/n?!" Nightwing's voice was rushed and out of breath from the fight, the others behind him listened closely for Batman's answer, they were all in a similar state as Nightwing. Batman pointed to an abandoned building, still untouched by conflict. No words needed to be spoken; they all took off in that direction. However, they paused as a laugh cut through the air, they all looked over to the source, it was the Joker. In a weak voice, Joker spoke.

"Boom" At his word many nearby buildings exploded, including the one batman set you in.

"NO!" Red Hood yelled, he felt terrible, he took his anger for Batman out on you, his baby brother. The same brother he swore to protect. They all took off, rushing to the building, holding onto hope that you somehow survived. The building you were set in was completely destroyed, but they all keep searching, they needed proof you were truly gone.

Damian paused his search, before quickly moving stones. His sudden hurry caused the others to all join him. they found something...

bits and pieces of batman's cape, then.... an arm... your arm...

You were gone, and they never had the chance to apologize, to spend movie nights with you, to take you out to eat, to celebrate your birthday.

It only took your death for them realize they failed you.