#I could no discern what shelby said
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John + Solomons!sister thoughts:
This chaotic woman babysitting his kids. At this point all of them call her "Aunt y/n" ❤️. The thing is she can't control herself so, she's telling them a story but in the same way Alfie did with her (can you imagine Alfie telling bed stories to his little sister? 🫠) Well, so, she's telling them something like: "then the princess, who was in the fucking castle, was forced to marry this man . He was a cunt! A fucking cunt..."
And in that moment John returns, and he's wtf! 🤷♀️. That's not the kind of language to use in front of his kids! But they're so happy listening to her that in the end he let her finish the story 😂. Probably he joins his kids, too.
The Runaway (Partners in Crime AU)
John Shelby x Y/n Solomons
GIF credit @alicent-targaryen
Read previous part Shots Fired
John sat in pensive silence, hands clasped in his lap as his older brother’s shadow passed over him threateningly. He felt like a child waiting for punishment, but no one could make him feel worse than the condemnation that came from within. His mind had been on your disappearance all day.
“What the fuck were you thinking, John?” Tommy said pacing the floor as he pinched the bridge of his nose harshly.
“I swear it wasn’t my idea, Tom. You know what she’s like,” John protested.
Tommy stopped in front of a chair, fingers curled around the back tightly as he glared at his brother, “Is that what I’m supposed to tell Alfie?”
John looked away in defeat, shoulders hunched. Why did you have to be so bloody stubborn, he wondered, anger bubbling up inside of him. When he’d gone to check on you yesterday, the nurse told him you’d discharged yourself hours earlier. He’d flown into a rage, overturning the bed and table until she handed him a letter between shaking fingertips, begging him to leave.
“Tell me once more,” Tommy insisted.
“Here, read it for yourself,” John answered with a huff. He fished the note from his coat pocket and tossed it across the kitchen table. It was creased and torn at the edges from where he’d already read it many times over, trying to discern meaning from your cryptic words.
Tommy snatched it up, scanning the hastily scribbled writing and squinting in the dim light at your poor penmanship.
I couldn’t stay here. I have a personal matter to settle, but I’ll see you again in a familiar place when I'm done. I owe you a black eye and two kisses xx
“The fuck’s she on about, eh?” Tommy said, hurling the paper back at his brother. “What place?”
John simply shrugged, too exhausted to speculate.
Tommy narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Were you two fucking? If so, you need to tell me now.”
John’s body pitched forward with a burst of laughter. “Oh, fuck off, Tommy!”
Growing irritated Tommy stormed out, calling over his shoulder, “Find Y/n, NOW! Before Alfie finds out about this!”
———————————————
Three weeks later…
“You won’t believe what happens next!” you tease out slowly, watching the little faces gathered around you.
“Does he find the princess?” Clara asked, clutching her teddy bear.
“Yes! But that’s not all! Cheeky bastard leans over for some heavenly bliss,” you said, kissing your hand to demonstrate dramatically.
The children shrieked and squealed before Katie piped up excitedly, “He kissed her?”
You nodded, “I mean…not a proper snog cause she weren’t awake. And, more importantly, girls, he didn’t ask! A lad’s gotta treat you with respect,” you reminded them with a wag of your finger.
“Can we please have another story after this one?” William interrupted, chubby hands pushed together pleadingly.
“You tell stories better than daddy,” Katie proclaimed with a giggle.
Following the sound of his children's laughter, John climbed the stairs quietly. His heart thundered in his chest as he strained to listen for the female voice he knew well. A thousand questions crossed his mind, but the relief he felt quieted them all as he caught a glimpse of you from the hall.
You shifted in the small bed to make yourself more comfortable, adjusting the sling that held your bad arm. “No, this is the last one. I’m cream crackered!” you said, stifling a yawn.
“Why do you talk funny?” Katie asked, her lisp adorably more pronounced.
“Why do you?” you countered defensively.
“I can’t help it, I’m missing my front teeth,” she replied sweetly, opening her mouth wide to reveal a wide gap.
You leaned forward to examine her, pinching her chin between your thumb and forefinger. Nodding thoughtfully you exclaimed, “Oh, right. Got a man down at the bakery who looks like you. He’s called Walter.”
“Is Walter getting new teeth like me?” Katie asked hopefully.
You furrowed your brow and shook your head, “No, I don’t think so.”
John leaned against the door frame watching you with his children. He was somewhat surprised to see this softer side of you, though he always knew you must have one. He watched the corners of your eyes crinkle into a smile as you continued joking with the children and he found himself smiling as well.
“I feel sorry for Walter then,” Katie said, big blue eyes looking up at you sorrowfully.
“No, don’t trouble yourself, love. He’s a right cunt,” you said matter-of-factly. "And a dirty little snitch as it turns out. Do you know what we do to them?"
John leaped forward. “Alright, bedtime!” he announced. “Y/n, can I speak with you?”
You looked up, realizing he was home. “So you finally found me,” you said with a grin. “Did you come for those kisses?” you teased as you rose to greet him, batting your lashes at him playfully. The children whooped in delight, jumping up and down as they watched both of you carefully.
“Bed!” John instructed, pointing for them to lie down. Guiding you out into the hall, he closed the door to their room and when you attempted to walk away from him, he pulled you back to him demanding, “Where the bloody hell have you been?”
“You speak to me like that again and it’ll be a black eye for you, understand?” you warned him.
“Alright, calm down,” he said, relinquishing his grip on your wrist. “I was worried,” he admitted in a quiet voice.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked down at your feet and nodded in understanding. “M sorry. Sabini’s men came looking for me at the hospital. I had to leave.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve taken care of it,” John said lowly.
Your eyes flicked up to his, a sudden spark lighting within you as you shook your head at him. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”
John ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Fine, you don’t need me,” he said, pushing past you to take the stairs two at a time.
You followed after him into the kitchen where he was noisily opening cupboards to distract himself from your rejection.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m good at what I do so I don’t need my man to rescue me every time I’m in trouble, John."
“Oh, fuck off, Y/n!” he shouted, spinning around to look at you. "I may not be your man, but I'm still your partner. Why can't you trust me?” he asked, chest rising and falling quickly with his rapid heartbeat. You meant more to him than any woman had since Martha and he couldn’t understand why you insisted on shutting him out.
You stood staring at him, a lump in your throat in place of an explanation. Why were you like this? Was it years of working for Alfie or the fear of admitting you cared about someone? You couldn’t say. You’d never been good with words, but you had to try or this might be the end of your friendship.
“Look, I’m shit at telling people how I feel about them, alright? I learned everything I know about family from Alfie and you know what a numpty he is,” you let out a desperate laugh that fell flat when you saw John’s wide eyes staring back at you. “I couldn’t risk Sabini hurting you too. You’ve got kids to think of!” you said, eyes welling with tears. “I don't have anyone so it wasn't as much of a risk for me. You think I don’t trust you, but I’d fucking die for you, you arsehole.”
John exhaled the breath he’d been holding listening to you and rushed to embrace you, letting you cry into his shoulder. “Hey, you’ve got me. You’ve got all of us," he assured you as he stroked your hair gently. "Promise me you won’t do that again. I couldn’t lose you.”
You nodded against his shoulder, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand as embarrassment washed over you. John loosened his grasp on your shoulders and stepped back to give you space. Digging into his pocket, he bit his lip before offering a handkerchief. Looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye, he attempted to lighten the mood. “If you’re going to come round more often to see the kids, stick to bedtime stories, yeah?”
You hiccuped out a little laugh asking, “No small talk?”
“Not if it’s about Walter,” he joked, looking away with a chuckle.
You blew your nose into the hanky as you mumbled, “Sleeping Beauty again, I reckon.”
John winced, “I hate that one.”
“Says the man who grabbed the tit of an unconscious woman,” you retorted playfully.
“How many times do I have to apologize for that? I did save your life that night you know!” John said, voice tinged with mild irritation.
A smile slowly began to creep over your face as you brought your hand up to caress his cheek softly, “Thank you, Barney.”
His bright blue eyes searched yours and found a sincerity he'd never seen before. “You’re welcome, alley cat," he whispered into the stillness of the night. His term of affection made you feel warm and comforted and for once you didn't feel like dismissing it with a joke or running away.
Read part 5 Plus One
#Peaky Blinders fanfic#Peaky Blinders imagine#John Shelby#John Shelby x solomons sister#John Shelby x reader#John Shelby x you#John Shelby x y/n
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Mrs. Shelby - Chapter Six - Confrontation
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In May 1919, Birmingham,
Thomas tried to coax me out of my comfortable bed, but he failed. By the time I woke up, Thomas had already left. On his bedside table was a plate of jam-covered bread. Tommy couldn't even manage to warm up the milk, but I guessed it was the best breakfast he could prepare. I rubbed my eyes and felt a bit touched - I guess he had a little bit of a conscience. I finally overcame my drowsiness and left Tommy's bedroom, only to run into Ada. Ada looked at me in disbelief. "Did you come out of Thomas's bedroom?!" I nervously touched my nose. Tommy and I had an agreement to keep our relationship a secret from our family, even though Tommy was a bit unhappy about it. I was about to deny it when Ada interrupted me, "You like to touch your nose when you're lying!" Now it was even more awkward. Even though the truth was obvious, what could I do? Should I just tell Ada, "I slept with your brother"? Ada would surely think that Thomas forced me, and their misunderstanding would deepen. It seemed that ever since Thomas returned from France, Ada had been growing increasingly dissatisfied with their actions, probably because they had become more ruthless. When Martha was still with us, we would silently listen to Ada's complaints together. After Martha passed away, I was busy helping Tommy with the business, and it had been a long time since we had our "fireplace talks." "I... uh..." I was trying to figure out how to explain to Ada when she took my stammering as evidence that Thomas had forced me. "He forced you?!" Ada exclaimed. "No, no, no!" I quickly denied. "It was my choice, Ada. I love him, I love Thomas, and he loves me." "You love him? Good Lord - you say you love Thomas? You..." I sighed. I thought Ada was about to say, "What's wrong with you?" The fact that she didn't say it only confirmed Ada's dissatisfaction and prejudice against Thomas. "Ada, Thomas is not what you think. He's the best man I've ever met - smart, resilient, strong, ambitious, compassionate. Yes, he's not that kind, but everything he does is for us, for his family." He's also very handsome, with the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. I thought secretly in my heart. He's my little prince. After Ada reluctantly promised not to reveal our secret, I felt relieved and left. When I sat at my desk, I realized there was a question on my mind: Where had Ada been last night? She had obviously just come home. But that didn't seem so important now. I wouldn't get an answer even if I asked her. I glanced at the calendar on my desk - today I had to go to the Garrison pub again. I actually liked going to the pub during the day. There were no customers at this time, no unbearable sweaty smells and noise, no strong smell of alcohol, no drunkards - everything was peaceful. Harry would pour me a glass of whisky on the rocks, and then we would each go about our business, talking casually. Harry said I didn't seem like a Shelby. He said I was quick-witted, nimble, and, most importantly, friendly. In fact, he didn't know me well - I just didn't like to talk much. Tommy used to say I could be as sly as a fox at times. But others didn't need to know that. The door was pushed open, and I heard a voice, so I looked up and saw a woman in a green skirt suit walking in.
She had gray eyes, a tall and graceful figure, and an air of elegance. Her golden hair was slightly curly and shiny, like threads of gold. I hadn't seen a woman like her in Birmingham for a long time - the kind of hothouse flower that was clearly nurtured with money. After five years away from London, I had become better at discerning people's backgrounds, and at first glance, I thought she was beautiful but also dangerous. I think I suddenly understood why Tommy had asked me last year if I was a prostitute - a woman who looked like this and dressed like this would only come to Birmingham if she couldn't make it in London. Or... she might be a spy. I didn't speak; I just stood behind the bar and silently watched her as she talked to Harry. Experience, references... an experienced barmaid wouldn't be unaware of the danger of her looks in a rough pub like this, and she wouldn't stay after being rejected without asking for a reason. She was slender but not malnourished, and with her appearance and attire, she certainly wasn't short of money. But to be honest, she did sing beautifully. Harry glanced at me and, seeing me engrossed in the ledger, he didn't object, but agreed instead. This woman was a dangerous character, and it was best to keep an eye on her for now. I found out later, after I got home, that the new inspector had forcibly dragged Arthur out of the cinema at dusk and gave him a good beating in a secluded corner. Good, at least we know what those five-foot-tall Irishmen who can fight are here for. I helped Ada change the water in the basin, lost in thought as I did so. Poor Arthur. He really didn't know anything, and his power within the family was gradually shifting to Tommy. Yet he was being treated as the boss, and he was taking the blame for me and Tommy. I decided to make it up to him tonight and express the apologies I couldn't put into words. Tommy came back with the alcohol. "He said he was sent by Sir Churchill himself to Birmingham..." Churchill... oh, an old friend. He was a former comrade of my father in the political arena, and I had been a flower girl at his wedding. I pondered for a moment, still busy applying ointment to Arthur's wounds. "He said it was for the national interest and related to a theft case." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I guessed right. So many weapons, London couldn't just let it slide. This was Birmingham, filled with striking workers and ruthless gangs. If they could use the recovery of the weapons to clean up Birmingham, making this city, second only to London, a national arms factory - a double benefit. The newly appointed inspector could also expect promotion and medals. I didn't dare to look up at Tommy; I was afraid that if we made eye contact, we would reveal our intentions.
Arthur said Tommy wasn't acting right and turned to Polly. "If I knew, I would have bought the antidote from Compton's pharmacist a long time ago," Polly replied, glaring at me in the process. I played dumb as if nothing had happened. Tonight, we had a rare free evening, and I went upstairs to tuck Maria into bed. "Aunt Demi, are you going to marry Uncle Tommy?" I was shocked by the child's words and was at a loss for words. "Who... who said we're getting married..." I must have blushed. Faced with Maria's clear eyes, I couldn't lie and say I didn't love Tommy, but I also couldn't tell the truth that I didn't know, so I replied vaguely and fled. I didn't hear Maria's muttering. "But Uncle Tommy really likes you." Tommy was sitting on my bed, waiting for me. "I have to go deal with those things." I closed the door and nodded, "I see there are more patrolling police on the streets today, be careful." Tommy stood up, and his tall shadow completely covered me. His breath enveloped me, and I clutched his sleeve, lost in his kisses. Unconsciously, my dress was taken off by him, and the cold wooden floor pressed against my skin, which woke me up a bit. I pushed him away but didn't want him to leave. "You... you have to deal with..."
He ignored me and carried me back to the bed. In the long night, we were each other's only warmth. When I woke up, it was still dark outside, and Tommy was still by my bedside. "Is it all taken care of?" I wasn't fully awake, and I couldn't even open my eyes, so I just shifted my body and lay on his leg. "Yeah," he stroked my hair, "it's been delivered to the old tobacco dock, where it's moisture-proof." "You can get some rest now, my little prince." I tried to open my eyes and sat up to give him a kiss. He held me and tossed me back onto the bed, lying down next to me. This morning, Tommy and the brothers went to the market in the suburbs. "I want to buy another horse, Diana." He kept kissing me, annoying me until I waved my hand to shoo him away. "A white horse, all white, as beautiful as you." The commotion on the street shattered my beautiful dream. Those police officers were more like gangsters and barbarians than the Razor Gang. They took advantage of the situation, bullied the weak, and dared to act only when the Razor Gang was absent, breaking into people's homes in the early morning, dragging them out of bed and onto the street. They broke open chests and cabinets, smashed and looted people's furniture. They made life unbearable, with chickens flying and dogs jumping. "Such gentlemen, truly God's chosen people!" I sneered, jumping out of bed. This was big trouble. Tommy and Polly weren't at home, but I knew what to do. "The police said Arthur agreed to let them search." "I didn't tell them they could smash people's houses like this," Arthur shouted. "All right," Tommy and I said in unison. Tommy patted my hand gently. "Have they searched the bars?" "The Rifle Bar, Iron Chain Bar, and Marquess Bar all paid protection money," I said, rubbing my chin irritably.
"Except for Garrison, which they didn't go to." Polly added. Ha, what a clever tactic - making people believe it was our tacit approval for the sake of more protection money and tarnishing our reputation. Wait a minute, Garrison... The woman who applied for the job was from Garrison. I think I knew which side Grace was on now. Polly chased the men out of the inner room, and only the three of us were left. "We all know what he's looking for. He won't stop until he finds it." "Then let him pay a price, Polly." I picked up the glass of whiskey that Tommy had put down, took a sip, and felt the spicy kick in my mouth. "Since he's already convinced that we're his opponents, let him know that the Razor Gang isn't just a lapdog he can summon at will. We can only trade, negotiate, but never surrender or sign a treaty." Polly seemed surprised by my tough stance. Tommy reached out his hand calmly, and I walked over to him. Polly looked at us standing side by side in silence and then sighed to Tommy, "He wants to see you, he knows you're the boss. Will you meet him?" I reminded Tommy, "He's from Belfast, but Churchill isn't. You can see his tactics - so blatant, resorting to force and torture. He doesn't understand the rules of the London political arena, Tommy. There's a group in Parliament, the Fourth Estate, more important than anyone else." "Media," he said and kissed me. Night fell, and I led the reporter from the Birmingham Evening Post to the bonfire.
While what Tommy said was all true, I had to admit that he looked like a charismatic politician, and he was more charming than my father, Lord Turner, a former British ambassador to Germany and a member of the Conservative Party. Sadness, disappointment, anger? Because of the king, because of God? For himself, for the people he sheltered? Of course, but these emotions were far from as intense as he appeared. "You really look like a politician." After sending off the reporters, I stood next to him, and we watched the flames rise together. "Is that a compliment?" "My father once said that it would be a shame if I didn't marry a politician. He swore to marry me into 10 Downing Street." He laughed. "He'll know; I found him a good son-in-law." I whispered in his ear as I lay on his shoulder. He kissed me.
#cillian murphy#tommy shelby#tommy shelby x reader#peaky blinders#thomas shelby#peaky blinders fanfiction#tommy shelby imagine#fanfiction#thomas shelby x reader#tommy shelby fanfic
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Entrapment - Chapter 8 (Initiation)
Please do not read this fic if this is not your cup of tea. You have been warned, by clicking on Keep Reading means you have understood the warning. I am not responsible for your content consumption.
18 +
Thomas woke up before you to find Storm scratching the door, itching to go out. Thomas took Storm out for a walk. The giant puppy was apprehensive of Tommy but went out with him, his nose discovering numerous new smells. He ran around freely, finding a dirt patch to roll around.
“Storm”, Thomas scolded. His voice did little to nothing to discourage him.
Thomas called Frances, asking her to call the groomers for Storm.
You woke up after a fitful sleep. You got up and looked around for Storm, who was nowhere to be seen. You looked around the room, checking the wardrobe to find something to wear, only to see all your clothes hanging there. You took a much-needed bath and sauntered out.
Frances found you trying to coast your way inside the mansion.
“Good morning, Mrs Shelby. I am Frances, the caretaker of Arrow House,” she approached humbly.
“Errm..” it took you a minute to confirm that no one was behind you. She was talking to you.
“Oh..hi, please call me Y/N,” you added awkwardly.
“As you wish, Miss Y/N”, she replied.
“Just Y/N is fine”, you added politely.
“No, it’s not. You’re the lady of the house, darling,” Thomas added, and you jumped out of your bones. You didn’t even hear him come, fuck that man and his ability to sneak up on people.
“Well, if that’s the case, Frances, call me Y/N,” you added reproachfully.
“Very well, Ma’am, what would you like for Breakfast? I can have our chef whip anything you like,” she asked under the scrutiny of her dangerous boss.
“Oh..ok…I am not hungry right now.” You added nervously.
Thomas stood in the hallway, shaking his head in disapproval.
“Very well, Ma’am. Let me know whenever you get hungry. We can have the chef make anything you desire.” She consoled you and left.
“Good morning Thomas, very fucked up of you to sneak on me”, You added with contempt.
“Good morning, Mrs Shelby”, he replied just to enrage you.
“Fuck you…”
“C’mon, I want you to meet someone” He took hold of your arm, guiding you gently to another room, not quite far away from the master bedroom. He opened the door and greeted a toddler, who was half-asleep. He hugged the toddler, kissing his cheeks.
“Y/N..meet Charlie, Charlie…Y/N, she is your stepmother”, Thomas introduced like it was no big deal while the child excitedly let out a squeal.
You were stunned, to put it mildly. You didn’t even know Thomas had a kid.
“Hello, Charlie…” you said as sweetly, not wanting to let the kid feel the anger you felt towards his father.
“Where is his mother?” you asked.
“Dead…”
“How..?” you enquired.
“She took a bullet that was meant for me.” He added quietly
You stayed silent, discerning Thomas Shelby, a father, A man polar opposite from the one threatening your friends and family, a man who forced you to marry him.
Soon after, the babysitter came and took Charlie for a bath. After they left, you went ballistic.
“Why did you marry me then, just to get another mother for your kid? I am sure you could have found many willing participants. Why me, Thomas, why fucking ruin my life?”
“Why did you even need this one then?” you continued bitterly, your hand over your slightly popped belly.
“It’s my kid. Why wouldn’t I want it?” he questioned you.
“And to answer your question, you were the only one who didn’t care about my money, fuck. You didn’t even care about what I did. You just simply let me be. I had the freedom to be me with you.”
“So, this is what I get for it?” you quizzed.
You turned around to leave the room. Angry at the whole situation, did no one see how fucked up everything was?
Thomas followed you.
“My family is here to meet you,” he told you.
You said nothing. You were in too deep. So much was at stake, the lives of people you love, your unborn child, and the toddler who lost his mother at such a young age.
“They were here yesterday, but you were tired, so I told them to postpone the family meeting”, he continued in his Brummie accent, which you usually found cute but now was infuriating you.
You were led into a room, his hand on your back, guiding you to where everyone was waiting. You noticed quite a few people from yesterday.
“Good morning, everybody. I would like to introduce you to my wife, Y/N Shelby.”
Some of them clapped, some hooted, and some whistled. Thomas raised his hand to order them to quiet down.
“Y/N Y/L/N, I am not changing my name for you, Thomas”, you added offensively, side-eyeing him.
“Darling, this is Polly Gray, she is my aunt, Ada Thorne, my sister, Ben Younger, her husband, Michael Gray, Polly’s son. You’ve met Arthur, John and Finn. They are my brothers. This is Linda, Arthur’s wife, Esme is John’s wife, and Jeremiah Jesus, Danny, Isaiah, Johnny Dogs, and Lizzie Stark are also family.”
You smiled, trying to get through the day; you knew what family meant. They were all gangsters, just like the head of the family.
“Thomas has told us so much about you” Polly approached you. Her hand on yours. You looked over to see Thomas grinning.
“Ada, she is even more beautiful than her pictures, isn’t she?” Polly added.
“She is… so much better than Tommy”, Ada added.
“Pictures?” you asked as you sat with Polly on the sofa. You felt like there was a part of this relationship you never knew. Thomas had painted a different picture about your relationship with this family.
“Thomas has very many pictures of you on his phone. Something I am sure he has never told you.” Polly added carefully, seeing your reaction.
“Definitely not”, you added politely.
“Her dog is a maniac, though”, John added.
“He is just protective”, you added defensively.
“You have a dog?” Ada asked excitedly
“Yeah…” you looked at Thomas to ask where Storm was. You big furry baby, crap, you forgot about him in all this hustle and bustle.
Thomas messaged one of the estate employees to get Storm to the meeting room. There was a knock on the door, and Finn opened the door.
Storm came running inside, all fluffy and cute, running straight towards you, jumping over you, licking your face.
“Hi baby, you smell fresh. Did someone give you a bath?”
Your puppy barked in affirmation.
“I had to call the groomers. I took him out this morning, and he found a dirt patch,” Thomas added shyly.
“Tommy is whipped”, Ada asked, clearly shocked by her brother’s development.
“He is a good dog. I like having him around,” Tommy added.
Storm went over to Thomas and began licking his face. There was a pin drop silence. All the family members see Thomas smile. It was a rare occurrence for them. Tommy Shelby getting licked by a dog was amusing to his family. They rarely saw glimpses of carefree Tommy anymore, so his smile meant a lot to them. Storm returned to you, his head in your lap, his snout nudging your belly. You scratched behind his ears, trying to ground yourself.
You were shoved into a whole new world of gangsters, a tight-knit family of gangsters.
#Dark Tommy Shelby x reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x Desi!reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x Black!reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x WOC!reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x Desi reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x Black reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x WOC reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x Y/N#Dark Tommy Shelby x You#Dark!Tommy Shelby x reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x Desi!reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x Black!reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x WOC!reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x Desi reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x Black reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x WOC reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x Y/N#Dark!Tommy Shelby x You#Tommy Shelby x reader#Tommy Shelby x Desi!reader#Tommy Shelby x Black!reader#Tommy Shelby x WOC!reader#Tommy Shelby x Desi reader#Tommy Shelby x Black reader#Tommy Shelby x WOC reader#Tommy Shelby x Y/N#Tommy Shelby x You#Thomas Shelby x Desi!reader#Thomas Shelby x Black!reader#Thomas Shelby x WOC!reader
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Part 10: Red Right Hand
Fandom: Peaky Blinders
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess x OC
Summary: A situation with the IRA pushes Tommy and Lucy to seek out Grace for help.
Word Count: 3,220
Notes: Warnings for depictions of violence and blood.
Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic
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Chapter 13: The Sixth Chime
The red lighting around them caught against Lucy’s skin, turning it a red that was a shade or two lighter than that of her hair. Tommy looked back and forth at the crowds moving about in the marketplace as Campbell unfolded the Most Wanted paper for him to take a look at the photos. He scanned the faces staring back at him, then tapped the one in the top left.
“Malachi Byrne,” Campbell sounded almost impressed. “Brigade Commander of the South Armagh IRA. You hooked yourself a big fish there.”
“With these guns as bait, who knows what we’ll catch?” Tommy said. Lucy shifted from foot to foot beside him.
“We?” Campbell looked incensed. “Are you suggesting that you and I could work together as a team?”
“Isn’t that what we’re already doing?” Lucy asked around her cigarette. He had asked her to come along, both for the simple reminder that not everyone in the world despised him, and because he needed someone around to make sure that he didn’t pull out his revolver and shoot Campbell at the first opportunity.
Despite his protests at them working as a team, Campbell seemed amiable to the plan and requests Tommy laid out for him. But as a sweetener, he made a point of reminding him of that medal he seemed so eager to earn.
Campbell chuckled. “If I get a medal, I will have your initials engraved on the backside.”
He really couldn’t help himself, there. “My initials on your backside. That’s quite an image.”
Lucy choked and clapped a hand over her laugh in a helpless attempt to cover her cackle at the joke. Tommy elbowed her good naturedly, which only prolonged her stifled giggles. It might have caused a bit of a blow to his relationship with Campbell, but it was worth it to get to hear Lucy laugh like that.
Though even Campbell didn’t seem particularly angered at the comment, just turning away. That was something.
“Inspector,” Tommy called out before he could leave. “Since we’re getting on so well, can you answer me a question? Who gave you Freddie Thorne?” perhaps, if he could bring the name of whoever had actually turned Freddie in to the rest of the family, they wouldn’t be so angry with him anymore.
“As everyone in the city knows, it was you, Mr. Shelby,” Campbell flashed him a cruel, half smirk, and began to walk away. Tommy watched him for a moment, trying to discern if that was just an attempt to get under his skin, or if it was an actual, legitimate answer. To his frustration, he wasn’t sure.
“The fuck did he mean by that?” Lucy asked as they began to move through the market in the opposite direction that Campbell had gone.
“I want you to start keeping a closer eye on our men. Especially any of the new ones.”
Lucy’s steps stuttered. “You think we have a mole?”
He grunted.
“Campbell is probably just fucking with you.”
“Maybe. Just keep your eyes open for anything that seems off.”
“Yeah. Okay,” she tossed her cigarette away and slipped her arm into his. “He makes my skin crawl.”
“Who? Campbell?”
“Yeah,” she shook her head, pressing her side closer to his instinctively. “I don’t even know what it is. There’s just something…” she trailed off, biting her lip.
“What?”
“He’s cruel,” she said finally, shaking her head.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Shit,” she heard Tommy mumble the moment he’d set the phone receiver down in its cradle. Looking up from the last bit of paperwork she was finishing up before they stopped for the day and went to bed, she found him fumbling in a drawer, pulling out a map and making a few hasty markings on it with a pen.
“What’s wrong?”
“That was Byrne,” he nodded to the phone. “He’s coming now with two IRA men to collect the location of the guns,” he folded the map and tucked it into his pocket.
“At this hour?”
“Yes. And they want you and me to come alone.”
“Because they mean to kill us once you give them what they want,” she finished for him. “Fuck.”
“Call Campbell,” he pointed at the phone, standing. “Tell him we’re doing it tonight at the Garrison. I’ll be right back,” he didn’t give her an opportunity to ask anymore questions, already dashing out the door. She grabbed the phone, dialing the number for the police station. Campbell answered on the first ring, listened quietly to what she had to say, and informed her that he would send Sergeant Moss and some officers down to arrest the IRA men.
“Alright,” she looked up as Tommy reentered the room. “Thank you. I have to go,” she hung up before he could respond.
“He’s sending Moss and some men. They’ll come in on the sixth chime of the clock,” taking the coat he handed her, she pulled it on while following him to the door.
“Grace will still be at the Garrison, won’t she?” Tommy asked, checking his watch.
“Probably just closing up, but yeah.”
“Good. We’re going to need her help.”
“What–?”
“She won’t have to do anything but stand there and point a gun, don’t worry.”
There was no time to ask any follow-up questions. Not that she really needed to. She trusted him.
Tommy banged his fist hard against the Garrison’s door once they arrived, the other hand clutching her fingers tightly.
“I still don’t like getting her involved,” Lucy said softly.
“I know,” Tommy sighed, banging on the door again. A moment later the locks clicked, and Grace opened the door. Tommy went barreling in, half dragging Lucy behind him.
“Leave that open,” he called over his shoulder to Grace when she moved to lock the door again. He let go of Lucy’s hand to check the door in the back, and she set to work arranging the tables and chairs. A moment later Tommy rushed over to help her. Moving to the bar, they removed their caps, Lucy running her fingers through her curls in an attempt to somewhat tame them. Grace moved to begin pouring them each a glass of whiskey, but Tommy held up a hand. “No.”
“Are you expecting trouble?”
“Yeah,” he pulled a revolver from his pocket. Grace eyed it when he set it down on the bar while beginning to explain the situation to her, and what he was going to need her to do.
“Now, you’re gonna be in that back room,” he pointed. “I’m going to be sitting there. Lucy’s sitting with me. They insisted that she be in on the meeting.”
“Because they know she’s your assassin,” Grace said simply. “And they want her somewhere they can see her.”
“Yes,” he affirmed before continuing to explain the rest of the plan. It really was just as simple as he had said; all she had to do was come out of the back on her cue, and point the gun at the right people. Easy enough.
Tommy grabbed at her arms, holding them up with the gun aimed, his chest to her back. “Just point. Right?”
Grace nodded. Outside, the clock chimed.
“All right, go. Go on. Go!” Tommy pushed at Grace gently, and she rushed towards the back.
“It’s going to be alright,” Lucy told her. After she’d disappeared to the back, Lucy went about helping Tommy grab glasses and bottles of booze, preparing the table, arranging everything to look normal. They sat down, side by side, Tommy’s fingers slipping into his pocket to check his watch. Lucy’s heart was hammering away in her chest. Glancing over her shoulder once, she squinted at the back of the pub. She couldn’t see Grace. Please, don’t let us get shot.
Tommy’s hand smoothed over her thigh, squeezing once before drawing back. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she forced her muscles to relax. The shadows of three men appeared in the window, the doors creaking as Byrne and his two comrades stepped in.
“Have your girl remove her gun and the bullets inside it,” Byrne ordered, hands clasped in front of him. Lucy glanced at Tommy. That was to be expected, but still the idea unnerved her. Tommy nodded, and she sighed, reaching into her jacket and pulling out her revolver, emptying the bullets out onto the table with little metallic clinks, placing the gun down onto the wood. She felt naked without it in her hand or snug against her ribs. Satisfied, the men sat down. Tommy poured them each drinks, though none of the men moved to touch them. At Byrne’s impatient demand for the location of the guns, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out the folded map. He held it up in one hand.
“Give me the cash.”
Byrne nodded, and the other man pulled a package from his coat and slid it across the table towards them. Tommy tossed the map down in front of Byrne.
“You’re going to need a shovel.”
Byrne took the map, glancing down at it, and then nodded to the man to his right. He began smiling, chuckling softly, taunting them as he lifted a gun to Tommy’s head.
“Make your peace, Mr. Shelby,” Byrne said. “You too, Ms. Winters.”
“I will make peace my own way,” Tommy picked up the glass Byrne’s man had pushed away, raising it into the air. Here we go. “To barmaids who don’t count,” he took a sip from the glass. Lucy heard the door behind them open, the sound of Grace’s footsteps approaching.
And then two shots rang out from the gun clutched in her hands. Tommy jerked forward, hands flung half up to cover his head. The man who’d been holding a gun to Tommy went limp as a bullet caught him in the chest. Byrne lunged across the table towards Tommy and the pair began wrestling, sending the glasses on the table flying before slamming into the bar. Lucy flung herself across the table at the other man, grabbing her empty revolver from the table and aiming a strike at his head with it, but he caught her arms, attempting to wrench the gun from her hands. Sweeping her leg out, she knocked his feet out from under him, but his grasp he had on her meant that she went tumbling down with him.
Struggling to wrench herself from her assailant’s grasp, the gun was knocked from her hands to skid across the floor, and an elbow to the stomach pushed all the air from her lungs, leaving her to gasp and cough while he climbed on top of her, large hands locking around her neck. Lucy’s fingers dug into his wrists, trying to pry them away as he started to squeeze. Black dots appeared in her vision, and before he could react she thrust a hand up, grabbing the side of his face, and plunged her thumb into his eye. It popped beneath her nail like a grape, blood spurting out to cover her hand. He let out a wailing scream, grip loosening on her enough that she was able to curl her legs up and kick him away. Coughing rapidly as air whooshed back into her chest, she scrambled up, climbing on top of him and reaching into her shoe for the blade she kept concealed there. He had one hand pressed to his eye, the other held up as he watched her draw the knife. Had she allowed him enough time to speak, she wondered if he would have begged for his life.
She cut his throat, slicing straight through the vocal cords, before he ever got the chance.
The blood poured out wetly all over her hands and onto the floor, his body making little gurgling, choking sounds before finally going still.
Head turning, knife still ready to cut anyone who came near her, she spotted Tommy on top of Byrne, slamming one of the spittoons over and over against his head. Grace was huddled against the bar, looking at Lucy and Tommy with enormous eyes. Tommy was still bringing the spittoon down. Over and over again.
“Tommy,” she croaked out, trying to stand, feet slipping in the blood pooling around her. “Tommy!”
He finally tossed the spittoon, dented and stained with blood, to the ground, doubling over, breathing hard. Scrambling to her feet, Lucy staggered towards Grace, kneeling next to her, hand seizing tightly at her shoulder. Tommy had pulled himself to his feet, glass crunching under his shoes as he moved towards them. Using two fingers, Lucy gently turned Grace’s face so she could examine the gash that had opened up across her forehead. She must have hit her head sometime in the struggle. Grace’s fingers traced lightly across Lucy’s neck, where she was sure that bruises in the shape of hands were already beginning to appear. Tommy made a sound that was close to a sob, reaching down to help pull both of them to their feet. One of his hands brushed carefully against Grace’s face, checking her head. The other grasped tightly onto Lucy’s shoulder to keep her steady. He grabbed Grace by the face, pulling her close.
“Why did you shoot?” he whispered. Grace whimpered. “Why did you shoot, Grace?”
Grace’s face crumpled, and she began to cry. Lucy wrapped one arm around each of them, clinging tightly.
“I didn’t know I had it in me like that,” Grace sobbed. Tommy’s lower lip trembled. He pulled them both closer.
“Now you’ve seen me. You’ve seen both of us.”
“And you’ve seen me,” Grace’s eyes moved between them, the hand around Lucy’s waist tightened, the other grasping Tommy’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
Tommy just pulled them both closer, the three of them squeezed into a fierce hug, heads resting against shoulders, arms wrapped around one another. The door creaked, and Tommy’s brows pinched. Lucy was the first to notice, giving Tommy and Grace one last firm squeeze before pulling away just before the police officers strode in. Moss’s eyebrows rose at the sight of Tommy and Grace still embracing, Lucy hovering nearby. When Tommy let Grace go and pulled away to face the officers, Grace grabbed tightly onto Lucy’s arm.
“You were supposed to come on the sixth chime!” Tommy bellowed. “You were supposed to come on the fucking sixth chime!”
Sergeant Moss didn’t say anything, just stared at the bodies before him. Tommy leaned back against the bar, eyes focused up. The white collar of his shirt was splattered with spots of blood.
Not caring what the officers might think, Lucy looped her arm around Grace while Tommy spoke with Moss.
“Are you alright?” Grace whispered, staring in quiet horror at Lucy’s throat. Reaching up with her free hand, Lucy winced when her fingertips made contact with the tender skin.
“I’ll be fine,” it didn’t feel like anything was severely damaged. She would just be bruised and probably hoarse for a day or two. Shaking her head, she pushed back Grace’s blonde hair to again check the cut on her head. “Come with me,” taking Grace’s hand, she started to lead the way towards the washrooms. “Gonna go wash off the blood,” she explained to Tommy, trying to keep her voice soft to not further strain it. Already she was starting to feel a burn in her vocal cords.
Grace showed her where they stored the rags, and she wetted one in the sink, the water hissing as it flowed from the tap. With ginger movements, she wiped at the cut on Grace’s forehead, cleaning away the blood and examining the wound.
“I don’t think you’ll need stitches. Just keep and eye on it and try to keep it clean.”
Without a word, Grace nodded. There was a knock on the washroom door, and when Lucy pulled it open, Tommy was standing there, shoulders half hunched in and expression miserable.
“Moss says we can leave whenever,” he mumbled. Not speaking, Lucy pulled him into the room, using the rag to wipe off the worst of the blood splattered on his face. When she was done, Grace timidly shuffled closer, taking the cloth and brushing it across Lucy’s cheeks. For a moment, she was transported back in time, to the first moment she saw Grace, when the new pretty barmaid had reached across with a handkerchief to wipe a stray streak of blood off of her face.
It felt like a thousand lifetimes ago.
Once they were about as clean as they could all hope to be with only a single measly washbasin between the three of them, they filed out of the washroom. The officers were still in the pub, though a significant amount of the bloodied mess they’d made had already been cleaned away.
“Go get your things. We’ll walk you home,” Lucy whispered to Grace. She nodded, going into the back for her bag and coat. “Tommy,” she approached him carefully. Speaking was definitely beginning to hurt a little, her throat aching. She took his hand firmly. “Come on,” as soon as Grace was ready, she led them both outside into the cold fresh air. Tommy lit a cigarette, the three of them passing it between them as they started to walk down the road. None of them said a word. Grace kept her hands clutched in tightly to her chest, coming to a stop at a simple little building. She took one last drag of the cigarette before handing it back to Tommy.
“Thank you,” Grace’s eyes darted between them. Lucy reached out to hug her tightly. Tommy just looked down.
“I’m sorry,” was all he said, before taking Lucy’s hand and pulling her along after him, and down the road.
They went to her apartment, the locks clicking firmly into place, and then Tommy’s hands were reaching to skim along the bruises on her throat.
“You’re not going to be able to talk tomorrow.”
“Probably not,” she agreed in a rasp. “But it’s not that bad.”
Hands dropping to wrap around her waist, Tommy pulled her closer until she was practically crushed against his chest. Lucy closed her eyes, winding her arms around him and snuggling closer. Tommy’s lips pressed into her hair, kissing gently, spreading the pecks along the entire crown of her head. Cradling the back of his skull, Lucy fisted her other hand in the front of his shirt, pulling him in even tighter, tugging his head back so she could kiss him.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, once they’d broken away. “Grace is okay. You’re okay,” she stroked his face. “It’s all going to be okay.”
Tommy closed his eyes, throat working, and then he nodded.
“I’m tired,” she said softly, taking his hand. His mouth began to pepper kisses along her jaw, hands grabbing at her as if trying to convince himself that she was still there. Still whole. “Bed.”
He insisted on helping her undress, even giving her one of his undershirts to wear without his usual halfhearted complaints. In just her knickers and his shirt, she pulled his clothes off of him until he was only in his boxers, and together they climbed into her bed, snuggling together in the middle of the mattress, holding onto each other tight, as if afraid that the other would disappear.
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#not an update#tommy shelby#tommy shelby x oc#peaky blinders#grace burgess#grace burgess x oc#tommy shelby x grace burgess x oc#lucy winters#lucy winters x tommy shelby#lucy winters x grace burgess#lucy winters x tommy shelby x grace burgess#my ocs#my fanfiction#red right hand
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The Count and Mrs. Shelby
For my infp!anon
Warning: this came out very sexual because idk that's how it came out
Rated: M
Gif by @peakykoko
It all began with a bite.
Usually, Eva can cover it up with the skill of a master, but that time he had gotten a little too carried away and jealous from the way Mosley leered at her tits and given her a love bite right while he fucked her on his desk.
Should wear high necked things when she visits him at parliament even in summer.
But that day she wore a dress with a scandalous low-cut neckline and came out of his office too satisfied to notice the love bite. Been two entire years since Tommy had been horny and jealous enough to fuck her like an unhinged animal.
Much like him eye fucking her from his window in 1919, it did wonders for her self-esteem.
“I see Mr. Shelby has teeth as sharp as his cheekbones.” One of the ladies said with a teasing grin as Eva tried to cover it up with powder.
Violet was one of her true friends here, her husband one of the MPs of a neighboring constituency and best of all, a fellow republican. A breath of fresh air in the stale perfume of insipid false friends.
“He’d give Dracula a run for his money,” Eva had said making her laugh as she pulled out a short scarf that went well with her dress.
“With those cheekbones and that strange allergy to garlic, he could be a vampire.” Violet whispered just as another woman came out of the crapper just in time to put her nose where it doesn’t belong.
“Who’s a vampire?” Jane something asked as she washed her hands and wondering what sort of gossip she’d get to spread amongst the ladies in her circle and the other wives of politicians here.
“My husband, our dear Violet has solved the mystery.” Eva answered in jest, forgetting this Jane believed everything she heard.
It wasn’t her fault; her parents had raised her very conservatively and she had married young. Jane hadn’t even known that you could have sex through the back door ---so to speak.
“That would explain so much, I don’t recall ever seeing him in the daylight.” Jane said and Eva couldn’t discern whether she was going along with the joke or genuinely believed it. Jane was easily led, a good thing she had chosen to stick with the other wives of the Labour candidates ---and the occasional female candidate.
And so, it went, and it spread like fire throughout society.
And Eva did what she always does, go along with it while it’s still harmless fun.
Tommy has even indulged her and worn a cape to see the Dracula film on its opening night in London. Hamilton Deane had redefined the Count’s appearance into a man that looked more like Tommy in his plays in 1924 and now with that film playing every fucking where, some people couldn’t help but mention that the rising politician, Thomas Shelby, did share a striking resemblance to Dracula.
Count Shelby, Violet and the other gals of the Labour Party have taken to calling him.
“I got you something.” He looks amused, aroused as always and Eva can’t help, but wish she had just a little more time alone before her guests arrive.
If it were up to him, this tea party with the ladies involved in one way or another with the Labour Party wouldn’t happen.
If it were up to Tommy, she’d be bent over the table or on top of it with her legs spread wide and a far too eager husband between them.
She can tell this is his plan by the insistent way he embraces her from behind and began kissing her very exposed neck.
“You are an absolute angel, Tom, you know that.” Eva took the carved wooden box he’d found at a curiosity shop in Small Heath and opened it.
“Only you think that, love.” Never thinks himself a good man, always loathing himself because he can’t see past the bad.
First spontaneous gift since Polly died almost three years ago.
This was a good sign, a sign that things will be better.
He is still shit at communicating with her like he used to, when he’d be vulnerable with her because he knows she will never betray him.
But this weird gift she will adore with all her heart signals that the bleak winter of his heart is coming to an end.
“A vampire slaying kit?” she asks wondering how and why he’d get her this.
“They had it on display and I know my witch of a wife must have a vampire slaying kit.” His voice did things to her, his hands roaming about made her wish she could just cancel the brunch and let him fuck her stupid on this table.
“After this shit is over, I want to fuck you here, bend you over the table and leave you with a limp for the rest of the week.” His lips crept up to her jaw and down the bare part of shoulder, but never messed her pretty and natural looking make up.
“If you make up an emergency, you can fuck me any way you want, mi vida.” She said with a gasp.
It was good to have most of him back, he was not the same as before, but sometimes, just sometimes he is the same Tommy who he was before all this happened.
“Dear Eva, you and our dear Count have such a way with each other.” Violet said as she gestured to the vampire kit she’d forgotten to have put away, just as she had shooed Tommy away. “No bite this time?”
Jane colored pink and the other woman with her cleared her throat.
Eva had been forced to invite Lady Cynthia Mosley, what with them being neighbors along with her husband and Tommy being ‘friends’ now.
“I’d put a stake through his heart if he gets too carried away again, dear Vi.” Eva joked with her friend.
“Did you know, Cimmie, that our dear Mr. Shelby is a vampire?” Jane ---with her innocent cherub like face--- lied through her teeth. She had grown from the shy and naïve lady they had befriended earlier this year; she was quite fun now.
While most of Eva’s guests were of Tommy’s party, they had made the exception to include Mosley’s New Party and some Conservatives. Most of the Labour party wives were in on the joke, the newcomers, like Cynthia Mosley were not.
It had been Vi’s idea to use that inside joke to haze them
This had been a strategy set in place by Churchill and the handful of people who knew what Tommy was doing by flirting with fascism. Get people to think Tommy genuinely believes in that horseshit and make him more popular than Mosley.
It was rather easy, Eva was born and raised to be the wife of a powerful man and be powerful in her own right.
High society was her arena, and while Violet and Jane had cultivated a reputation for being proper ladies, Eva had already cemented her role of being the Alva Vanderbilt of this generation.
Eva had been groomed to bend society to her will and make herself it’s queen, like her grandmother before her.
“Bridgette, will you be a dear and take this to my sitting room? It doesn’t quite fit the theme of today’s party.” Eva handed the carved box to her most trusted maid, a shy thing who had been cursed by a former lover after he was killed for being one of Swing’s rats.
“Yes, ma’am, do you want me to put it next to the garlic or on the shelf with the Holy Water?” Bridgette quipped.
“Next to the Holy Water, kid.”
The tea is rather boring, and Tommy has not made an appearance, Florence however has and now Eva can’t use her as an excuse to cut it short.
The new women here are wary of her, they should be, she thinks.
The women of the Labour Party are used to her oddness and find her parties the best there are in society.
“I don’t believe he’s a vampire, no matter how great he looks in a cape.” One of the ladies at her table says when they continue to sell them the idea that Tommy is a vampire.
Once this thing is over, they will understand it was all a joke at their expense, but until then, Eva and the other labour party women had to ensure the farce was believable.
“And where is Mr. Shelby this afternoon?” Cynthia Mosley asked, and Eva tried not to smirk.
“Hiding in his office.” Eva answered as if they were friends. “Avoids sunlight like the plague, that man.”
“And mirrors, and church and garlic.” Violet adds sipping her tea.
“Still doesn’t make him a vampire, just makes him a little odd.” Cimmie pointed out.
So what if Tommy’s known oddities worked in his favor.
He avoided mirrors because he sometimes sees his mother or Polly in them, he has stopped the charade of being a godly man altogether and he has a mild allergy to garlic.
She hadn’t known about it until he tried to hide a rash on his neck after he ate Mexican food for the first time.
Eva had found it adorable especially after she ended up having to rub some ointment on the rash that had started to spread to his chest, giving her an excuse to touch his skin.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Tommy gave the women his signature charming smile which would have made them all swoon if he didn’t have blood on his rumpled and torn clothes. He wiped the blood from the edge of his lips on his sleeve and his wife wondered how he managed this.
He got thrown off Helsing again, didn’t he?
“Van Helsing again?” Eva would fuck him into next week the second the tea is over.
That horse was the worst, sure she let Tom ride him, but he had been trying to kill him lately. Hence the name they’d given him: Van Helsing.
“Come join us, Shelby, we were just talking about you.” Violet had that twinkle in her pretty green eyes.
“Can’t,” he points to the open curtains and remains on the other side of the arch.
Violet and those who know about the joke try not to giggle as the newcomers wonder if the Witch of Warwickshire is married to an actual vampire.
“Excuse me, ladies, as you can see my husband is calling to me.” Eva takes her leave and joins him in the hall.
“Thanks for getting me the fuck out of there, amor.” She said as the walked away from the tearoom. It doesn’t take long for him to pull her into the hall closet just outside of view of the tearoom.
“Your husband is hungry, witch.” He says as he pinned her against the wall. He kissed everything except her lips. Should’ve worn that supposedly smudge proof lipstick she got yesterday.
Been so long since he had been this insatiable. If she didn’t know any better, Eva would think he was back. He was getting there, the worst of his depression had gone away, but Thomas was far from good still.
Takes time and patience.
But he will get better, she had seen it.
“I told Frances to have a tray ready for you.” She bites her lip when she reached for his trouser button. Had to make this fast or else the women will be suspicious of her tardiness.
“Not food, love.” He winked and did something better, got on his knees. “Something to get me and you by until the fucking tea party is over.”
Eva didn’t know if she’ll be able to stop herself from being too loud.
When she comes back to the party, Eva has almost forgotten about the whole Tommy is a vampire bullshit they were running with.
“And what did Count Shelby want, dear?” Violet asked with a knowing smirk.
“He had a thirst.” Eva winked to her friend and the meaning wasn’t lost on most of them.
“Of blood?” Jane asks in faux innocence.
#eva smith shelby#tommy shelby x oc#thomas shelby x oc#thomas shelby fanfic#peaky blinders fanfiction#thomas shelby#thomas shelby imagine#oc fanfiction#tommy shelby fanfic#peaky blinder fanfic#tommy shelby smut#tommy shelby
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nightmares (thomas shelby) - part 1
authors note: set in season 1
warning: nightmare, shoulder dislocation
You were madly in love with Thomas Shelby. The violent man who controlled everything that happened in Birmingham. He had changed since the war, but your love for him never weaned.
He had promised to marry you when the time was right but with then having the guns and everything else, people knowing about you was too dangerous. You would have been used for leverage all the time and Thomas couldn’t have that.
You were posed as a nanny for the youngest Shelby, Finn, who you did look after, but he was constantly on the move so most of the time you just helped Polly. You had a room at the house and everything. Some nights Tommy would slide into your bed or you would go to the bar and get into his.
Things were heating up with the police so you weren’t supposed to be going to the bar and Thomas had been coming to your bed less and less. You didn’t worry that he was being unfaithful, it was more so the stress he was under.
One night you were jolted awake by Finn, “Miss! Miss! It’s Tommy!” You bolted out of bed.
“Stay here. It’ll be okay.” You kissed his forehead. You ran towards the front room where Arthur was sitting, “No one can get through to him, he’s holed up in his room.”
You shook your head, anger filling your veins, “Why wasn’t I the first person you tried?” You knew how Tommy got when his nightmares came back. “And waking Finn up in this mess? Go sit with him so he can sleep.” You ordered.
You knew how to boss the Shelby boys around so they would listen when they needed direction. You didn’t care, Tommy needed you.
The bar wasn’t far from the house and you didn’t want to waste time getting dressed or putting on shoes so you ran for it down the streets of town in your night dress with no shoes. People probably would have thought you were mad if they had seen you.
It was late enough so that no one was there so you unlocked the door with the key you kept around your neck.
You closed the door behind you and locked it so no one would disturb you. You heard clashing upstairs and ran. “Tommy!” You half shouted.
“Go away!” He screamed. He didn’t recognize it was you. The door was barricaded shut.
“Tommy, it’s me. You’re awake. You’re in England.” You said at the door. Most of the time when he woke up from his nightmare and he was alone, he could discern between real life and the dream.
He was still pacing around so you started to knock into the door with your shoulder. It started to give way but your shoulder was throbbing. You didn’t care, you would do anything to get to Thomas right now and adrenaline was coursing through your veins.
The door gave and you stumbled through into Thomas which caught him off guard. It was what he needed. “Y/N?” He said, shaking his head.
You steadied yourself and looked up at him, “It’s me. Are you okay?” You looked around the room, it was trashed, but all that mattered was that Tommy was okay.
He looked down at you, “Your shoulder.” You hadn’t really started to register the pain until he said something, but when you looked at it, you realized you couldn’t move it. It was hanging in a direction where it shouldn’t have been, out of the socket.
“I’m okay. It’s out of the socket. An easy fix, my love.” You took your good arm and touched his face. “Did you shift the chair from the door? I felt it give a little.”
He nodded, “I heard you but I still thought I was dreaming, but I wanted you in no matter what.” He put his hand over yours. “Come on, we need to get this shoulder fixed, properly.”
“Tommy, it’s the middle of the night.” You protested, but the pain had begun and it was awful. You knew Tommy could just knock it back in place but that would probably make you pass out. “Finn’s awake too. I need to make sure he’s okay.”
“Always worrying about everyone except yourself. Come. We need to fix this. I can do it downstairs.” He said and you both walked down to the bar. You hadn’t noticed but he had grabbed a belt.
He pulled out some whiskey and handed you the bottle, “Drink. As much as you can. You’ll need it.” You grimaced and started to gulp it down.
Tommy folded his belt and looked at you, “You’re gonna have to bite down on this. It’ll be over quick. I promise.”
You nodded and put the bottle down. Tommy kissed your forehead and put the belt in your mouth. “Lay down my love.” He said, helping you down to the floor as you cradled the injured arm.
When you were in position, he put his foot towards your chest and grabbed the injured arm, “One...Two..” Then he pulled.
You screamed as your shoulder clicked into place, tears streaming down your face. They wouldn’t stop, even as Tommy sat you up and pulled you into his arms, “It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s all over now.”
He took the belt and looped it so it would work as a makeshift sling. He picked you up and carried you home. He didn’t care about the danger. He just wanted to be in bed with you.
He walked upstairs to the bed and laid you down, “You do too much for me.” He smoothed back your hair.
“It’s because I love you, Thomas Shelby. And never forget it.”
#thomas shelby imagine#thomas shelby imagines#tommy shelby imagine#thomas shelby x reader#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby#tommy shelby#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders imagines#peaky blinders
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forget me not
spencer reid x reader
Request: No
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, drowning, murder, drug mention, etc
Summary: You and Spencer don't realize you love each other until it's almost too late
Author's Note: First thing in like fucking forever, so yeah. This was originally a request and then I was at school and I couldn't look at my request so it was way off script, so I just did my own shit, this also takes place in the 5th season, in the middle just after hayley dies.
~
"The unsub is a white male between the ages of 35-45. His modus operandi is drowning in the great lakes, he's already struck Superior, Michigan, Ontario, and Huron, so we expect Lake Erie to be next." Hotch says, glancing at his phone every minute or so. It's his third case back since Hayley died, and he's picked up a habit of waiting to hear bad news.
"This unsub has recently developed a hallucinative disorder where every face he sees has an emotional connection. There were no discernable connections between his victims which leads us to believe that his mind is filling in the gaps at random." Reid says, gesturing abstractly at nothing at all in particular.
"This disorder was likely triggered by a recent brain injury connected to the Great Lakes so keep a lookout for any recent accident victims. He was very social until the accident, and after it he immediately became anti-social. He was probably in a relationship recently, but then broke it off, he is not married, but possibly has children, which he will not shy away from using in a hostage situation." Morgan exclaims as he leans against a desk.
"His victims are all over the place, so we advise everyone to be on high alert. There is no pattern to the murders, from a 51-year-old single mother of two to a 14-year-old on vacation." You pause and take a breath, looking back down at your notes. "Someone out there knows this man, so we implore you to tell as many people as possible, our Media Liaison Jennifer Jareau will be setting up a press conference, and it is very important to get this out to as many people as possible."
"Won't that just spook him more?" One of the sheriff's deputy says, with a concerned look on his face.
"Yes, but at this point, he will kill again no matter what, it's better to have the public be informed because he will take another victim, whether we find him during or after is up to us."
He nods, and looks down at his notepad, badly masking his disturbed grimace.
"Thank you and let us know if you have any leads," Hotch exclaims, closing the meeting.
You walk up to Spencer "I bet we're their favorite people right about now." You say, sipping on your coffee.
Reid avoids your eyes and continues to fidget with the chess piece that he probably stole from one of the officer's desks. "What's wrong Reid?"
"I dunno, I just have a really bad feeling about this one," He picks up his cane and walks away. When Spencer has enough he needs to walk away, and as long as he wasn't hurt that was fine with you.
"Reid, y/l/n, Garcia's got something." Morgan raps his knuckles on the doorway and calls you into a conference room. "Hey babygirl, what do ya got for us?" He exclaims, shifting the call to speakerphone.
"A luscious blonde mane and an intense yearning to hold you." Emily giggles a little bit and Garcia can probably feel Hotch's glare "oh come on Derek."
"Sorry baby, keep goin'."
"I have a name. One Larry Todd. 3 weeks ago he was in a boat accident in which he had a severe concussion and was unconscious for 3 days. He immediately broke up with his girlfriend Shelby, which she was very angry about, adieu to her Facebook page. His ex-wife reported that he missed his last two visitations with his daughter Amelia." She takes a pause "he owned a bait shop that's been closed since his boat was destroyed in the accident, and it's listed as his last residency.
"Fits our profile to a tee," Emily exclaims.
"Thanks, Garcia," Hotch says, hanging up the phone call. "Emily, JJ is in the conference so run out and let her know. Morgan and Rossi, go to the bait shop with SWAT, and Reid and y/l/n go to the ex-wife's house; Emily and I will stay here and see what else we can dig up."
Everyone goes their separate ways. The sheriff takes the driver's seat, with you in the shotgun seat and Spencer in the back. You can hear the clang his leg makes against his cane and his foot bouncing.
"I'll take the daughter, and you can have the ex-wife."
"Okay," responds Spencer.
The ex-wife Miranda opens the door sobbing when you knock on it. "Excuse me, ma'am, my name is Agent y/n y/l/n and this is my partner Dr. Spencer Reid, do you mind if we ask you and your daughter a few questions about your ex-husband?"
She continues to sob but lets you in. You look back to see the sheriff playing video games on his phone and you scoff.
Spencer sits down with the crying woman and you politely ask if you can speak to her daughter. She tells you yes and that Amelia is around back.
"Bye, Reid." You blow a kiss to Spencer and walk out the door, shaking a sinister nagging feeling itching at the back of your neck.
You walk across the pavement and open the gate to enter your unsub's former backyard. "Hi Amelia, my name is y/n, I'm a friend of your mommies."
Beginning to grow more suspicious, you pull out your gun and triple-check to make sure it's on safety. If Todd is there you know that he would be fine with sacrificing his daughter for his own goals and you wouldn't let that happen "Amelia? Is your daddy here."
"Boo!" A little girl with pigtails holding a stuffed rabbit jumps from behind the recycling bin and you chuckle, putting your gun away in your holster. "Did I scare you?"
"You sure did!" You laugh. "Wow, that's such a pretty bunny, where did you get it?"
"My daddy got it for me." She said, showing off her gap tooth.
"That's so cool! Do you remember what it was like when he gave it to you?" You kneel to be at eye level with the child.
"Yeah, he was super cuddly, now he's a little more pokey, but that's okay." She says, playing with the bunny ears.
"When did he get pokey, Amelia?" You hesitated, something was off "I just want your daddy to be cuddly again."
"A little bit ago. He used to tell me stories till I fell asleep eeeeeverynight, but then he stopped for a week and when he came back he was like a big lion."
You had a growing sense of paranoia budding in your spine, why was she telling you all this so fast? "What type of stories?"
"He used to tell me princess stories, but after he stopped for a week he talked all about ones about the scary lady who tried to take me away, but then he stopped her! And the boy who was being dangerous so he had to make sure that she didn't hurt me." She exclaimed absentmindedly.
You start to pull your phone out of your pocket until Amelia starts talking again "and just now, he was talking about the bad knight who tried to take me away."
Your jaw dropped and you tried to find the best course of action, but by the time your brain started working it was too late. He walked up behind you and whispered into your ear "Nighty-night."
And then everything was black
~~~
"Hey, mommy."
"Yes, sweetheart?" She quickly wiped the tears off of her face to turn to her daughter.
"Can I have ice cream?"
"Of course sweetheart" she gives me a small smile and gets up towards the kitchen. "Where's that nice agent that came here with Dr. Reid?"
"They weren't a nice agent, they were a bad, bad, bad knight, and they were trying to take me away, so daddy took them instead."
No.
Oh no.
No no no no no no no no.
Where were they? Where was y/n?
I pulled out my gun without a second thought and left my cane behind, I ran as fast as I could without it, and by the time I was in the backyard my knee was burning and they were gone.
~~~
You woke up halfway through the drive. The road switched from smooth the bumpy a million times over, and it smelled like bees. Not like honey, not like pollen, like bees. Just bees. It smelled nice, but you don't want to die smelling bees.
You wanted to move. Move your body, move your head, move your eyes, move anything, but you couldn't move. Nothing could move. There was a sweaty tv shirt shoved between your teeth. Your hands were bound with bristled rope and there was metal all around you and you were certain that this was the back of a van. At first, you thought there must be a blindfold over your eyes, and then you realized that they were just too tired to open.
There was an old country song playing over the radio, a love song about a family in a house. The truck stopped shaking and he pulled the ignition. A growing sense of dread filled your stomach as he walked around towards the back of the truck. He opened the door and you saw his face.
That could only mean one thing- you weren't leaving here alive.
~~~
Within minutes crime scene techs were on the scene, but I knew they wouldn't find anything useful. The only thing that was there was the absence of y/n and our distraught profile.
"They were right here, right here, they were- they were right here, right here." Hotch looked at me somberly, and Morgan rubbed my shoulder with sympathy.
"We need to update our profile," Emily said, there was no time to waste, "we know what this guy does to people, and if he would risk abducting an armed federal agent in front of his daughter there's no doubt they in danger."
"We know Emily," Everyone looks at me kind of funny like I've said something wrong, but at this point, I don't care what anyone thinks of me, "His reason for doing this was for his daughter, he took out anyone he saw as a threat, a motherly figure, someone who could be her older brother, anyone who was a threat and wanted to take Amelia away from him.
"His disorder is fairly undocumented, being exactly the opposite of prosopagnosia, where patients disassociate faces from their loved ones, causes him to feel emotions about people he's never seen before, and his subconscious is assigning meaning to them at random, picking up anyone shows the slightest twinge of distaste.
"y/n picked up more than a twinge, they were there to take his daughter away, so he likely believes they're the mastermind." Everyone looks at me and waits for me to say the thing we all know is coming "he's not going to kill them before they suffer."
As we hitched a ride back to the station my leg was bouncing like crazy and my fingers were tapping the numbers of pi into the leather of the car door. Emily put her hand on my shoulder but I couldn't feel her, y/n missing was the only thing I could feel.
"Garcia I need you to check if Larry Todd owns any vehicles large enough to hold a person, trunks, vans, trucks anything," Morgan says into his speakerphone once we get back to the station.
"Oh god it's true, he really has them?" I can hear the distraught coated thick on her voice "do you think they're in pain, do you think he-"
"Garcia we don't have time for this, does he or does he not have any vehicles in his name." I snapped, I could apologize later when y/n was in a hospital bed.
"No, but you know I'm never one to go to bed early, and it turns out his great uncle died a year and a half ago, but his van was pulled over and given a speeding ticket a few months ago, how much do you wanna bet that's our guy and not a psychopath's uncle."
"Thanks, Garcia," Rossi hangs up the phone and turns to one of the sheriff's deputies in the room, "put out an ATB on that van."
"Okay, I'm gonna go through the medical files again, see if there's anything I missed," Hotch catches my arm.
"There isn't, right now all we can do is wait and look." He pauses "we've sent out patrol cars to look for the van, go out with Morgan, and circle around Lake Erie."
"Hotch, what if- what if we don't find them, or we find them and it's too late, or we find-"
"Right now she's alive, you said it yourself, he's not gonna let her die so easy."
As disturbing as it is hearing that someone you love more than anything is being tortured, I found it strangely comforting. They're alive. They are alive. They are prepared. After Tobias took me they brought me to a CIA torture seminar, just on the off chance that anything happened, I wouldn't break again.
I stared out the window of the passenger side of the SUV. Morgan wasn't talking, he knew what I was feeling, because he felt it before, when it happened to me.
"We've got a report of the vehicle going down sunmist lane" the scanner jumps to life.
I had memorized the map the second we landed; "we're five minutes away" and then, quietly under my breath, I whispered, "I'm coming y/n."
~~~
He held your head underwater for the 7th or the fiftieth time. You can't remember. You can't remember. You can't remember anything other than the water under the dock filling my lungs.
"What do you want with my daughter?!" He screamed at you as he pulled you out again, You vomited up all the water that my body could muster. You didn't know he had a daughter.
You forgot everything you learned to do. You forgot to pretend it was affecting me, You forgot how to hold my breath, You forgot. You forgot everything.
Except for Spencer, Spencer's smile, Spencer holding you, Spencer missing you until that was gone too.
Everything went away but the water.
He kicked you back off the dock again, and for a second you gasped for air, and then you sank, nothing even mattered anyways.
The man pulled you out again and kicked you in the ribs; you felt something rip inside of you and you screamed as loud as you could, which was more like a whimper.
"Larry Todd put your hands up!" Two men came behind the man who drowned you, you couldn't remember them, but you could remember the rip in your ribs filling with water.
He shoved you back into the water and you didn't even try to fight this time, you just sank, feet after feet after feet of water. You didn't hold your breath, you didn't care.
A figure appeared above you, and you saw the angel. He had a shimmering brown halo and a beautiful bright face that looked terrified, just like an angel.
And then he pulled you up.
~~~
This might be heaven, but it might be hell. You can tell the room is white without opening your eyes. There's a steady beeping sound to your left and it smells like chlorine.
When you finally manage to open your eyes you wished you hadn't. All you see is lethargy around you.
JJ is drooling in her sleep while Emily is asleep on her shoulder, Garcia is snoring in the corner with her knitting in a pile next to her. Morgan and Rossi are nowhere to be seen, but you can't blame them, seeing people they love getting beat up over and over again never gets easier. You can hear the faint sounds of Hotch arguing with someone over the phone in the hallway.
But worst of all is Spencer. He's wide awake and his foot is tapping like crazy on the ground. There are deep and dark eye bags surrounding his eyes and hints at a beard forming on his face. His cane is tossed uncharacteristically on the ground, and he pays it no attention whatever.
You open your mouth to speak, but when you do a stabbing pain shoots through your diaphragm and you gasp. The second Spencer hears you he shoots up and kneels next to the bed, which must be no easy feat.
"Hey, how are you?" He strokes your hair as gently as he can.
You try to speak but no words come out.
"Do you want some water?" You nod, trying to not feel pathetic. The second the glass of water comes into your eye line you knock it out of his hand and it goes shattering onto the floor, waking everyone else in the room up.
You start to cry, feeling guilty and scared about why a glass of water could've terrified you so much. "Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay, it's just a bunch of sand made into something you can drink out of, it's not a big deal, don't worry." That calms you down a little bit.
You look around to see the rest of the team cradled around you. "How are you feeling honey?" Garcia whispers as if speaking too loudly would mortally wound you.
You reach up and touch your throat, and it burns. There's more confusion, and then JJ is getting her hand cut on the glass she was cleaning, Garcia was whispering too loudly and Emily was touching your arm, and Hotch and Morgan and Rossi were walking in the room and Spencer was pushing a button on your bed and the monitor was beeping and then you were screaming.
Screaming so loudly, screaming in pain, screaming in fear, screaming in confusion, screaming because you were overwhelmed and sad and scared. "Everyone gets out," Spencer says, and everyone quickly does, he knows you best, and right now, everything was too much.
"Wh-what happened" you whisper, throat and lungs still hurting but since you had screamed the worst part was over.
"The unsub kidnapped you, and tried to drown you, your heart stopped in the ambulance, but they brought you back." You remembered "You had been dunked in the water and brought back up at least 15 times, not including when I brought you out.
"You needed 53 stitches and had a punctured lung when we found you." He pauses "You're safe now, we have him in custody and he can never hurt anyone ever again." You let out a breath that you didn't know you had been holding.
"I'm so sorry," You were crying "I forgot you, I'm so sorry. He made everything go away but the water I'm sorry that I forgot you."
"It's okay, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong, you were trying to stay alive." He stroked your hair and held your hands gently "He tortured you, when Hankel tortured me all I could think about were the drugs and the pain, you didn't do anything wrong, you survived."
"I survived?"
"Yes."
"Can I tell you something?" You chuckled, your tears had stopped but it was still wet on your face.
"Anything."
"I thought you were an angel when you saved, and now I realize that you weren't my angel, it wasn't magic, and it wasn't godly." Spencer looks puzzled, and you paused to take a deep and painful breath "It was the fact that I am so deeply in love with you, that seeing you love me back felt like heaven.
Spencer stares at you, his mouth closed and his mouth on the floor "You don't have to say anything, just know that-"
His lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence. For a moment you forget about the pain in your throat, the burn in your lungs, and the agony all over your body; it was just Spencer.
You pulled away for breath, your breaths dancing with each other.
"I was so scared" he whimpered in fear.
You stroked his hair gently "I was more terrified than I had ever been. I was so horrified that I would wake up tomorrow and my reason for living would be dead. I was more scared than I had been when I thought my dad killed a kid, I was more scared than when Hankel tortured me, I was more scared when I realized that I loved drugs more than my own life.
"You were the person that held my hand when I was hurting so bad I would forget to breathe, and then you weren't here because you were the person in pain and I realized that I loved you because nothing hurt me more than the fear that I could lose the one thing in the world that made me feel okay."
He takes a deep breath and looks at you as deeply in your eyes as you thought could ever be possible. "I love you too, and I promise you I'll never let you go."
His lips meet yours, and through a kiss, you whisper "I'll never forget you again"
And you knew that you had Spencer and everything is going to be okay.
~~
My Masterlist
Requests are open!
~Taglists are open~
Permanent Tags: @natasha-danvers
Marvel:
Criminal Minds:
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer x you#spencer#dr reid#dr spencer reid#criminal minds#s5#long haired spencer#dr spencer#spencer x y/n#mgg#cm#fanfiction#angst#hurt comfort#y/n#spencer x reader#this is calm and it's doctor#matthew grey gubler#i the hell is bucky#forget me not
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Would you be at all interested in writing a prompt based off a quote? I've been reading On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous and got destroyed by the line "sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you’ve been ruined". I feel like it's a line that works for both Leah and Fatin, and I would love to read your interpretation of it!
have a little angst this morning
Read on ao3!
It shouldn’t be a big deal. 50 days on the island. 50 days of fighting for their lives against the elements, against each other, against themselves.
It shouldn’t be a big deal, except it is.
50 days pass for eight girls barely surviving on an island when there should be nine.
There’s a choked sob, like someone is trying to muffle the sound, and then another and Leah wakes to the sound of Fatin crying. It surprises her more than it should, Fatin crying. She hasn’t seen Fatin cry, not at school, not on the first day, not when Fatin held Leah in her arms on the beach, not even after Nora pulled Rachel’s unconscious body from the ocean, her bloodied arm looking like it got sent through a wood chipper.
She turns over, trying to look for Fatin’s body by the shine of the moonlight. As the weeks went by, they all started sleeping closer and closer together, kind of like a group of seals on a dock, so it’s impossible to discern Fatin from the others. Shelby’s blonde hair catches Leah’s eye and she focuses in, noticing how Shelby’s left hand is gently curled around the inside of Toni’s elbow. Leah smiles, in spite of herself.
Past Shelby, Martha and Dot are curled together, with Dot lying on her back, mouth open, and Martha tucked into her side. Near them, Nora and Rachel are wrapped up so tightly Leah can’t really determine who’s body is who’s. They’ve slept like that ever since the accident and every time Leah looks at Rachel her eyes can’t help but slide down her arm to what’s left of her wrist. It’s mostly a mangled stump, but considering the limited supplies, it looks at least stable. Rachel’s been highly medicated most everyday and every few hours Dot pours their quickly depleting supply of vodka on it.
A noise behind her makes Leah turn around. She maneuvers around their campsite, the best she can in the dark, stepping over water bottles, pieces of driftwood, even Martha’s suitcase, before she reaches Fatin.
She’s curled tightly, more like a ball than the fetal position, and away from Leah so she can’t see her face. It’s not particularly cold out, but Fatin’s shaking.
Leah drops to her knees, hands hovering over Fatin’s side, unsure if she can touch, then switches direction to lie behind Fatin. She tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, the ones that have been there since around day 29, as they try to flutter awake. For a second, Leah pauses before wrapping her arms around Fatin. The other girl doesn’t protest at the contact, but she also doesn’t acknowledge or lean into it, just continues shivering.
It’s hard but she tries not to notice how well their bodies fit together. They’ve slept close together before (Fatin actually has been insistent about Leah sleeping near her ever since “Leah’s second Virginia Woolf moment” as Rachel dubbed it accordingly), but never this close, with her front pressed up against Fatin’s back. They’re basically spooning.
As if she heard Leah’s thoughts, Fatin mumbles, “I’m the little spoon. God, how embarrassing.”
She lets out a pained laugh and Leah freezes. She wasn’t expecting for Fatin to react, let directly acknowledge what’s happening.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t spooned someone before, Rilke,” Fatin’s voice cracks but still manages to have her signature teasing lilt.
“Of course I have,” Leah says into Fatin’s shoulder, her face heating up against her will. Thank God, Fatin isn’t looking at her.
“Well then you know you have to commit,” Fatin says, moving Leah’s arm so it’s curled against Fatin’s stomach. Leah counts to 100 by 7’s twice to resist the urge of flexing her fingers against Fatin’s skin. Not the time.
Her brain blurts out the first thing she thinks of, “Ironic, how you’re talking to me about commitment.”
(Smooth Leah, real smooth)
Fatin doesn’t respond to her stupid ass comment, doesn’t talk for a long time. She is not crying as much, at least not that Leah can hear, the tears could still be falling down her face silently, she reminds herself.
“You know, my dad didn’t let me say goodbye to my brothers,” Fatin finally says. “At the airport. Didn’t even let them come, they had to stay home with my mom. He said they had ‘too much homework’ which was bullshit. School was almost over by the end of May. I knew he just didn’t want me to see them and now…”
Fatin takes a shuddering breath and dissolves into fresh sobs.
“It’s been fifty days and...and I don’t know if I’m ever going to see them again,” she hiccups.
“Fatin you don’t…” but the reassurance dies in Leah’s throat. After fifty days, dying on the island seems like a very real possibility, as real of a possibility when Leah was losing her mind over the realization and tried to run into the ocean a month ago, maybe even more so now, with their collective fear growing each day about how purposeful everything feels, how a group of (seemingly) random strangers arbitrarily came to be stuck on an island, depending on each other. The day they saw the plane fly over doesn’t even register in Leah’s mind as significant anymore, just another circumstance on her list proving that something is fucking wrong.
It hits her, Leah’s bad at this. Being there for someone, let alone comforting them. It feels alien to her, as much as her cell phone or Ian, a thousand miles away, desperately insignificant to her, to what’s on this island. Honestly, she can’t remember the last time she’s touched someone like this before the island, especially someone she cares about. Leah was never a particularly touchy kid but after him, when she started to flinch at her mother’s touch or shunned away from her father’s hugs, her tolerance for physical contact plummeted, pretty much becoming nonexistent.
The feeling rises from her chest into her throat like bile and Leah becomes acutely aware of how her body is positioned, how she’s holding Fatin, just like how he held her: from behind, chin tucked into shoulder, arms snaking around her waist. She always found it comforting but now, in the haze of the memory, she wonders if he did that to keep her in place, to hold her down. Leah stiffens, she can’t help it, as the pressing, suffocating feeling settles again over her body.
But Fatin isn’t him, and neither is she. Leah knows that, knows it in the way Fatin’s hair smells like pears and sand and salt, knows it in the spaces that she's hesitant and timid, Fatin is unselfishly bold, knows it by the way Fatin’s fingers never rest, even now tapping out a slow melody on her arm, knows it because Fatin’s been there for her since the plane crash (well, close enough), holding her and crying with her, and a tiny, persistent voice in the back of Leah’s head whispers loving—
Still, Leah gently extracts her hands from around Fatin’s waist and tugs on her shoulders until Fatin is turning over to face her.
“You will. We will get back home, we have to.”
Maybe it’s the darkness that makes her bold, but Leah leans forward, just enough, to brush her lips against Fatin’s forehead. She tries to ignore the hitch in her chest or the memory of Fatin doing the same to her after she ran into the ocean, thinking Leah was still knocked out from the pills instead of just dozing.
“You probably just got sand in your mouth, dummy,” the weight of the insult is weakened by the way Fatin’s voice breaks.
“I don’t care,” and Leah doesn’t. She has more important things to think/worry about than a few grains of sand, like keeping everyone she knows alive, keeping herself mostly sane, and not screwing up and saying something incredibly stupid in front of this girl she’s holding in her arms.
Fatin sucks in a breath and maybe, just maybe, thanks to the light from the full moon above them, Leah sees Fatin’s lips quiver. It takes her a second to look back up at Fatin and the other girl is already looking at her, the air thick with tension, thick with an unspoken something.
Leah’s nose tickles as Fatin nudges it ever so slightly with her own. It feels like an invitation and maybe in another life without deserted islands and broken girls Leah would understand and kiss Fatin until they’re both breathless, but she looks at Fatin again, still with tears on her face, and wonders if Fatin expects it because that’s all she’s ever known: people using her body for their own motivations. And it’s not that Leah doesn’t want to kiss her, because God, she does, but she wants to do it right, and wants it to last this time.
She leans in because she can’t completely resist the hedonistic (self-destructive) pull in her stomach, the curiosity of how Fatin’s skin feels against her lips, and presses her lips into the corner of Fatin’s cheek, just close enough to her mouth to say I want this too, but not now. Leah knows she’s lingering, but the mix of perfume and salt is almost addictive and it just feels so fucking good to touch someone, knowing Fatin won’t break. (Is it because they’re both broken already, who knows?)
Leah pulls back and Fatin’s looking at her with more tears streaking silently down her cheeks, but Leah’s pretty sure she understands.
She wipes a tear from the side of Fatin’s eye and maybe, she thinks for a moment Fatin is going to make a comment about messing up her mascara, but then thinks better of it, because this moment, where they’re both staring into each others eyes under the moonlight on an empty beach feels too heavy for any words.
Instead, Fatin just tucks her face into the crook in Leah’s collarbone and shudders and shakes with silently sobs, but Leah holds her, all through the night, even when she’s too exhausted to open her eyes anymore, and falls asleep too.
Thankfully, when Dot finds them in the morning still curled into each other, she waits until they walk back to camp with the others before nodding and passing a water bottle to Fatin.
#the wilds#the wilds!fic#leah rilke#fatin jadmani#leah x fatin#leatin#leatin fic#leatin breakdown hours#my brain decided to finally finish this prompt and i absolutely love it <33#whoever sent this in thank YOU i'm sorry it's like a month late#the void
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It’s kind of connected with deals series but could you write something including Venom? I hope you got me right, this new trailer made me come up with this idea
This is it. This is the one that will break me.
Just kidding – unless…👀
I truly do not know how this is possibly related to my series but you know what? I can roll with it – not sure if the end result will be what you had in mind but please know I’m trying my best here.
AU – Alfie has Venom
When Alfie first met with Tommy, the gooey alien thing inside of him had been purring the entire meeting, and once the omega had gone, Venom had said “I want him,” to which Alfie couldn’t help but reply, “That makes two of us, mate. Get in line.”
From then on, controlling Venom’s impulses had been difficult whenever they find themselves around Tommy Shelby, and it was especially difficult when Tommy had offered him his heat, and once they went at it – well, it was down right impossible to control him. So it wasn’t a surprised when Tommy pointed his gun at him in the middle of the kitchen where moments ago he had been talking with Venom half way out of his body – it was surprising to Tommy though, seeing him like that.
“I can explain.”
“Can you?” Tommy asked, pointing his gun at the alien that looks at him as if it wants to devour him – which was in fact true.
To Tommy’s surprise, Alfie did explain him what that black gooey thing was – “his name is Venom, he’s not from around, he likes eating people but he might just eat you out if you give him the chance,” and Tommy did.
He’s done shit more stupid and reckless than having an alien shove his very long, very talented tongue inside his ass.
After that, whenever Tommy visited the bakery for work, Venom would come out to say hello – Alfie could tell it still freaked Tommy out but he slowly but surely was warming up to him.
Venom was the first one to know Tommy was pregnant with Alfie’s child. And it wasn’t shy on letting Alfie know. So together they marched down to Arrow House to confront Tommy about it.
Coming face to face with Tommy carrying his own son was not part of the plan.
“Tiny human,” Venom had said into his mind, and Alfie wasn’t able to discern if he wanted to if Tommy’s son or was just surprise to see a child for the first time.
“That’s one of daddy’s friends,” Tommy answers the boy’s question about who Alfie was. “Go find Mary, alright? I’ll be there in a minute.” Alfie see him kissing the boy’s temple before putting him down and gently shooing him off.
“I wasn’t expecting you, Alfie.” He said after leading the alpha into his office.
“Were you planning on telling me?” Alfie had questioned him the moment the door is closed.
“Tell you what?”
“That you are pregnant.”
“We spent a heat together, Alfie, what were you expecting? That doesn’t mean I still am.”
“Liar.” Venom said, coming out to glare at the omega. “I can hear their heartbeats.”
“Heartbeats?” Tommy had asked, shocked.
“Yours and two more.”
That statement shocked both humans, neither of them expecting to hear they were expecting twins.
“You keeping them?”
“I’m almost five months along,” Tommy said as he opened the thick sweater he was wearing, revealing the small swell of his bump, “so I guess I’m keeping them.”
“Can–” He started, taking a step closer to the omega but stopping himself from reaching out. “Can we be here for you? For them?”
“Do you really want to?”
“Yeah, we do.”
After that, Alfie moved into Arrow House, with Cyril and his gooey alien. Charlie warmed up to him fast enough and they only grew closer once he met Venom – at first he got really scared but then they got to know each other and Charlie ended up really liking the silly alien.
Now, years after that conversation, Alfie has moved into Arrow House, with Cyril and his gooey alien. Charlie warmed up to him fast enough and they only grew closer once he met Venom – at first he got really scared but then they got to know each other and Charlie ended up really liking the silly alien. The twins are here and life is great.
Alfie has everything he always thought could never have, especially after he got acquaintance with Venom. But he has a mate, 3 sons, and Venom to eat anyone who happens to annoy them.
-
This was…interesting to say the least. Pretty sure is not what you asked for but I didn’t want to ask for clarification because I’m stubborn like that, but I hope someone likes it😂❤
#anon#headcanon request#tommy shelby#alfie solomons#peaky blinders#venom#the weird mash-up only one person asked for#deals series#my deals series
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okay but what about mechanic Kara and the small garage she owns in midvale. Cat lives just outside and her husband at the time is some big business man and really wants to buy the land that the garage is on. and cat one day she has real bad car trouble. so she meets kara and then she starts to fall in love with the mechanic with the massive grin and an oil smudge on her cheek. NC x
Alright, I’m not entirely satisfied with this because at first, I wanted something rated M or even E but in the end, it didn’t fit. So this is really soft.Also, I am NOT a mechanic so nothing here is accurate, merely the fruit of some research to avoid being too far off. Hope you like it!
—
A beautiful, golden morning greets Kara when the metal shutters of her garage opens.
The square across her shop is still half-plunged in the relative darkness of the end of the night but already, the first rays of a winter sunlight are hitting the buildings around it, highlighting the church tower. A few shop owners are opening, pulling up the metal shutters and adjusting their frontages, amicably waving at the few morning souls that are already up and heading to work.
The air is cold and crisp, with morning dew hanging from the trees and flowers that add a touch of color to the little village. Behind the heady smell of freshly baked goods coming from the bakery next to her garage, Kara can still discern the distinct scent of salt water that come from the ocean, carried around by a very light winter breeze.
“Morning Kara,” Lucy waves, walking up the street to come drop a kiss on Kara’s cheek. “Beautiful day isn’t it? I have your usual bear-claw and a hot cocoa for you.”
“You are just the best, Luce,” Kara beams, taking the styrofoam cup and the pastry from her friend’s hands. “Wanna come in for a moment?”
“Not this time, sorry! I’m already late as it is,” Lucy shakes her head and drops another kiss on her friend’s cheek before going away, back to the bakery. “See you tonight, don’t be late!”
“I’m never late for game night!” Kara protests, despite her mouth full of bear-claw.
Lucy only laughs and then disappears into her shop.
—
“Thank you so much Kara! I don’t understand why it keeps breaking down”, Winn whines, climbing on the passenger side of Kara’s tow truck.
“Winn …” Kara sighs, waiting for her friend to close the door before starting the truck. “Honestly, I’m kind of impressed that your car still starts when you turn on the contact. I would know, I’ve disassembled and reassembled your car at least five times and I still don’t get it. Old doesn’t even begins to cover it, Winn. Your car should be in a museum, not on the streets.”
“I know, I know but … It has a sentimental value. I’m not ready to let it go,” Winn whispers and Kara doesn’t insist. She knows how much the car means to her friend and so she keeps trying to fix it, even though it’s not possible.
“Alright, then back to the garage it is,” Kara smiles, turning on the volume of the radio.
They’re about to enter Midvale when a car pass over them at an alarmingly high speed.
“Now that’s a fine car, even though the driver is crazy …” Kara whistles, admiring the back of the car before it disappears. “ A Ford Mustang Shelby, GT500 … probably a 2019 but it could be a 2020, I didn’t get a great look.”
Winn throws her a weird look and Kara arches a brow.
“What? Why are you looking at me like this?”
“You’re telling me you never fixed that specific car?” Winn sounds incredulous but then a thoughtful look flashes in his eyes. “Well, that makes sense actually. It’s Cat Grant’s car.”
“Cat Grant?” Kara frowns. “The name doesn’t ring any bell …”
They’ve just arrived in front of her shop and so she carefully maneuvers her truck to be able to easily enter her friend’s car in the garage.
“Really? Cat Grant, CEO of CatCo, the media conglomerate? The company’s headquarters are in National City but she’s recently moved here, in Midvale, with her young son and her new husband …” Winn says before he exits the truck and follows Kara into her office, all the way at the back of the garage. “Whom you probably heard of, his name is Alaric Byron-Price.”
Kara freezes and grits her teeth.
“I see why you’d think it makes sense that I never fixed Miss Grant’s car, then,” Kara says, coolly. “Since her husband is trying everything he can to buy my garage, I imagine she won’t be using my service anytime soon.”
Winn is about to say something when a voice echoes in the garage.
“Kara, I need some help over her!”
“Coming Alex”, Kara replies instantly.
She gestures for Winn to follow and quickly crosses back her shop to join her sister in front of it.
“Alex? What the hell?” Kara asks, eyes widening at the sight of her sister’s car. “How did that even happen?”
The blue and white Ford Police Interceptor in front of her is showing various stage of destroyed.
The word “police” usually plastered on the right aisle is scratched beyond readable, with lacerations so deep it almost show the inside of the car in some spots. Both windows on this side of the car are exploded and almost non-existent, aside from some piece of glass still hanging around the corners, and the driver’s door seems to have been hammered with such force it’s now bending in the inside.
“Errr …” Alex starts, looking a little uncomfortable. “I got carried away while chasing this mobster we’ve been after for months and … I didn’t realise the street would be too narrow for the car.”
“On the bright side,” Susan smiles next to Alex. “We got the guy and he’s now going to pay for his crimes!”
Kara doesn’t even smile, looking at the car in utter horror.
“You can fix it, right?” Alex asks, sounding all too hopeful. “The boss says that as long as the car comes back in the shape in which it left, he’s not going to care. Otherwise, it’s …”
“Some disciplinary sentence,” Susan grimaces.
“I …” Kara starts, moving around to circle the car and study the damages. She winces and frowns a lot before coming back to stand in front of the two cops. “I’m going to try but it’s going to take some time.”
“You’re the best, Sis’,” Alex smiles widely, exchanging a relieved glance with Susan. “We’ll come help this weekend, it’s the least we can do.”
Kara nods and then gestures for everyone to follow her back to her office.
It’s going to be a busy couple of days, she thinks.
—
“Another try from Lord Byron-Price?” Alex asks, waving a piece of paper with a golden logo at its top.
“He’s relentless,” Kara replies from under Winn’s car.
“He’s offering more money than either of us can make in a lifetime,” Alex muses, sounding amused. “How many time have you said no, already?”
“This is his ninth attempt,” Kara grunts, struggling to remote a piece of metal that shouldn’t even belong to this specific zone. “I’ll pop some champagne for his tenth try.”
Alex laughs and then walks to her sister, standing on the side of the pit in which Kara’s working, the car above her head and her table of tools next to her.
“Susan’s on her way, she says she wants to stop by Luce to buy some donuts.”
“That’s a bright idea,” Kara says before throwing away the piece of metal she finally managed to remove. “I need some help down here.”
“Sure,” Alex nods. “Let me put on some work clothes, though.”
She steps away, removes her favorite leather jacket and jumps into some red overalls before joining her sister.
“Hellooo!” Winn’s voice echoes in the garage. “Anyone here?”
“Down here Winn, we’re working on your car until Susan gets there,” Kara explains, waving at her friend. “Then we’ll try to do something to fix that police car my sister managed to destroy …”
“Hey! I was only doing my job,” Alex protests, greeting Winn with a wave and a smile before handing over some tools to Kara. “I really didn’t know the street would be too narrow.”
Kara throws her an unamused look and then focuses back on the fuel tank deflectors.
—
She gets a call from an insurance dispatcher one day, asking her to go pick up a car and its owner a few miles away from Midvale. She doesn’t get much more intel, just that the car has broken down on the side of the road.
It’s one of those rainy spring day where the sky is low and grey, where the nature is bending down under the weight of the water and where a cold, bitter wind is adding to the apocalyptic atmosphere.
It’s only when she sees the car that she realises who she is here to pick up.
The blue Ford Mustang is messily parked on the side of the narrow campaign road and with the back of it still on the asphalt, it looks dangerous. The rain is thick and dense, falling on the world like a curtain.
Kara stops her truck ahead of the Mustang and climbs out, running to the car to knock on the driver’s window. She’s already drenched by the time a woman opens it, and the look in her eyes is distraught, slightly distant.
“Ma'am, are you alright?” Kara asks, noticing the shaking hands on the wheel. “Let’s get you out of here, you’ll be more comfortable in my truck while I handle your car.”
It takes a moment before the woman nods and lets go of the wheel. Kara guides her to the passenger side of her truck and leans over to crank up the heat.
“It’ll take ten or fifteen minutes, don’t worry,” Kara explains before closing the door.
It takes a little longer, because the rain has caused the car to get stuck in the mud. Kara struggles to drag the sport car onto her tow truck’s platform but eventually, it’s all set. She’s shivering when she climbs back in front of the wheel.
“Are you alright?” Kara asks again, glancing at the woman on the passenger’s seat.
She takes in the wet blond hair that barely reaches the woman’s shoulder and the hazel green eyes that still looks a bit distraught. Cat Grant, since it seems to be her, is wearing a navy-blue trench coat Kara recognises as a real Burberry, a pair of blue-jeans that are too well cut to be casual and high-heels of a daring red color. Idly, Kara wonders how it is possible to drive a car as capricious as the Ford Mustang with such impractical shoes.
“I’m … fine, thank you,” Cat replies with a quick hand gesture Kara doesn’t know how to interpret. “What’s wrong with my car?”
Kara throws her a disbelieving look. She didn’t exactly stay under the rain to have a look under the hood so Cat couldn’t possibly believe Kara would have an answer to that question.
“I don’t know, I have to take it back to the garage to analyse it,” she replies, slowly pulling away from the side of the road and driving them back to Midvale. The pouring rain makes the drive really tricky, with big puddles that catch her tires and slow them down.
“I don’t have time for that,” Cat states, sounding deeply annoyed.
Kara forces herself to stay calm and to mentally count until ten. She should have guessed Cat Grant would be nothing else than a spoiled rich white woman, given who her husband was.
“I have to … pick up my son,” Cat eventually adds, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It’s brief but Kara notices it anyway.
“Oh,” Kara breathes, not having expected such a reasonable reason for Cat’s hurriedness. She quickly thinks and then asks “Hm … when do you need to pick him up?”
“In twenty minutes,” Cat replies after having checked her watch, looking a little surprised at the question.
Kara nods, going over her schedule in her head. She doesn’t have any plan, aside from Winn’s car and the police one. There’s a few repairs she needs to do on James’s bike but it can wait until later.
“If … I can always drop your car in my shop, drive you to the school and then home, if you’d like?”
Now Cat looks positively thrown off at the suggestion.
“I have a real car, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kara adds with a chuckle, knowing her tow truck isn’t exactly classy. Cat’s clearly standing out in it, with her fancy clothes and expensive jewelry.
“No that’s not … I’m just … surprised, I guess?” Cat sounds a little hesitant, clearly out of her depths. “If it’s not too much trouble though, that would be really helpful. Thank you.”
“No problem,” Kara smiles and then focuses on the road.
—
“A real car, uh …” Cat muses, looking at the red Ford Boss 302 Mustang Kara just unveiled.
“I admit, I don’t drive around much with it, I usually take my bike or my tow truck …” Kara chuckles. She gets rids of her work overalls, washes her hand at the sink next to her locker and gathers her, still a little wet, hair in a high-ponytail. “Is that car alright with you?”
“It’s more than alright, it’s … an honor,” Cat breathes, letting her hand run across the hood of the car. “It’s an iconic car, you know?”
Kara laughs and walks around to open the door for Cat. “Oh I know! It’s a family heirloom of sort.”
Cat sits down and Kara hears her inhale the scent of used, clean leather.
“Not everyone can appreciate the car,” Kara points out as she slides behind the wheel.
“People nowadays, they don’t have any taste,” Cat retorts, with just a hint of disdain. “Do you need the address?”
“No, there’s only one school in this town,” Kara laughs and turns on the engine. She makes it roar just for Cat and the smiles on the woman’s lips is worth it. “I just hope your son doesn’t have Mrs Luthor as a teacher …”
Cat throws her a slightly impressed look. “He does, actually. I’ve heard good things about Lillian Luthor, why would you say something like that?”
Kara slowly exits her private garage and presses a button to close it behind her, before speeding up to reach the school in time.
“I went to school with her daughter Lena, we had her as our teacher and she was … extremely hard to please, let’s put it that way,” Kara explains, stopping at a crossroad and moving again after every cars drove by. “She’s got high standards, which is a good thing, but she doesn’t know how to handle children who are not made for the school system, like I was.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” Cat says. Kara can’t help but to frown, wondering if it’s a hidden jab at the fact she’s now a mechanic. “Carter is doing well so far, let’s hope it lasts … his last school experience didn’t go too well.”
Kara hears the notes of regret and anger in Cat’s voice and she chooses not to push. Instead, she takes a few turns and then parks herself in one of the few free spots left in front of the school.
“Smooth driving,” Cat praises before glaring at Kara. “Please don’t do that when Carter’s in the car. He’s crazy about cars and speed, you’d only help his obsession of becoming a car racer.”
Kara laughs at that.
—
Carter’s his mother’s son.
Thirteen years old, not tall but not small either, with dark blond curls around his childish features, freckles over his nose and cheeks and deep blue eyes that sparkle with intelligence, he looks ecstatic when he sees the car.
He jumps and down on his spot, under the umbrella Kara gave his mother so she could go pick him up at the school’s gates.
“Whoa mom, I didn’t know you were going to buy a new car!”
Kara laughs from the driver’s seat. Cat shakes her head, open the backdoor and retorts “It’s not my car, Carter. It’s Kara’s, the mechanic. Say hello.”
“Hi Carter, I’m glad you like my car,” Kara greets him with a wink and a smile.
He looks surprised at first but then quickly recovers and returns the greeting.
“What happened to your car mom?” He asks once Cat’s back in the passenger’s seat.
“It broke down on my way back from National City. Kara was kind enough to offer me to drive me here so I could pick you up and bring you home,” Cat explains, before giving their address to Kara.
That’s when Kara realises she’s about to drive into her enemy’s land.
She doesn’t know if Cat’s aware of her husband’s deals and she doesn’t want to be the one bringing it up, so she simply nods and makes the engine roar, earning a giggle from Carter and another smile from Cat.
—
“You drove Cat Grant and her son back to their home, to the Byron-Price mansion?”
“I did,” Kara confirms, crouching in front of James’s bike while her sister paces the floor behind her.
“Do you realise you’re literally flirting with the enemy?” Alex insists, sounding more than a little alarmed.
“What?” Kara sputters, dropping her tool and stammering. “Who said anything about flirting? I’m not flirting!”
A heavy silence follows her little outburst and she knows she’s screwed.
“Oh my god …” Alex breathes. “You like her. You like Cat Grant.”
Kara retrieves her adjustable wrench and starts to use it on James’s bike, not turning around to avoid showing the blush that slowly creeps up her neck and colors her cheeks.
“I do not,” she tries to pass it off. “I mean, sure she seems nice enough and her son is a car aficionado but that’s pretty much it.”
“Kara Danvers, look at me,” Alex calls and Kara winces, because there’s no disobeying Alex when she uses that commanding voice.
Slowly, Kara stands up and faces her sister, who takes one glance at her and throws her hands in the air.
“I can’t believe it! Seriously!” Alex exclaims, pacing even harder now. “It’s bad enough that she is married, but she’s not even married to some random dude you know nothing about! She’s the wife of the man who’s been trying to buy off the garage for a year!”
Kara ducks her head and looks down at her feet, feeling a little bad. She knows it’s a disaster, she saw it coming the moment Cat smiled after she’d heard the car roar for the first time but she can’t help herself.
“Please, don’t do anything stupid?” Alex eventually asks, eyes intent on her baby sister. She looks resigned, if not a little worried still.
“I won’t. She’s Cat Grant anyway, CEO of a media empire and married to Lord Byron-Price, with a son, a mansion and I think I even saw a few horses in the domain. I’m just the mechanics, I’ll fix her car and that’s it,” Kara replies with another shrug, trying to hide the hurt and sadness in her tone.
Judging by Alex’s meaningful look, she didn’t succeed.
—
“Hello?”
Kara jerks at the unexpected voice, causing her arm to violently hurt her table of tools and making everything fall with a loud, metallic raucous.
“Kara? Are you alright down here?” Cat asks, sounding worried.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, sorry! You took me by surprise,” Kara explains, picking up her table and then gathering back her tools, fixing her work space before coming out of the pit.
“Hello again, Miss Grant,” Kara greets, taking a look at her dirty hands and choosing to wave instead of going for the usual handshake. She laughs and then teases “What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”
It makes Cat smile, amusement shining in her hazel green eyes. She’s wearing her navy-blue trench coat again, opened on a grey pull over that looks impossibly soft and a pair of black trousers that fits her legs in a very flattering way. She’s perched on heels again but not the red ones, Kara notices.
“I came to see you about my car,” Cat replies, gesturing toward the blue Mustang under which Kara had been working since she woke up.
“You do know I have a phone, right?” Kara tilts her head with an amused smile.
“Do you, now? I wondered, since you’re not answering …” Cat retorts, looking a little smug.
Kara moves to go pick up her cellphone and sees that she has indeed a lot of missed calls, including some from Lucy, Alex and Winn.
“Eh, my bad. I’ve been working on your car all morning,” Kara explains, walking up to her locker to wash her hands before coming back in front of Cat.
“Dedicated, I see,” Cat smiles, looking back and forth between her car and Kara’s face.
“I don’t often have the occasion of working on such cool cars, it’s pretty cool,” Kara shrugs and grabs back her phone to shoot a text to Alex.
“So what’s wrong with it?” Cat asks, walking toward the blue Mustang held in the air.
“I don’t know yet,” Kara explains, joining her a few seconds later. “I’ve changed a few things for the suspensions and the brakes, since you’ve been using those a lot more than a normal person should, but I didn’t find the issue yet.”
Cat looks a little sad and Kara asks “Don’t you have another car you can use in the meantime?”
“I’m using one of my husband’s but it’s not the same,” Cat explains and Kara closes off a little at the mention of Cat’s spouse. “It’s a regular Ford, nothing comparable to this little piece of art.”
Kara has to agree, because the Mustang is really well built, with a lot of nice options and it must be a dream to drive, despite its temperament.
“When can I expect it back?” Cat asks, focusing back on Kara. The hazel of her eyes is fascinating to watch, intense and sparkling.
“I don’t know, I’d say something like a week because I don’t have too much work for the moment, so I can focus on your car,” Kara thinks out loud, glancing back at the Mustang and then at the Police car.
“You have … something … on your cheek,” Cat says, bringing Kara’s attention back to her. Cat’s pointing at something on her right cheek so Kara uses the sleeve of her work overalls to try to wipe it.
It causes Cat to laugh.
“You’re only spreading it,” Cat explains and she pulls off a tissue from one of her pockets, approaching it from Kara with a question in her eyes.
Kara doesn’t know how to react so she only nods and lets Cat take care of it, whatever it is. Cat smells like spring, like the grass after the rain and with hints of lemon and spices. She looks concentrated as she conscientiously erases whatever it is that stains Kara’s face. It leaves Kara speechless and a little breathless.
“There you go,” Cat says, showing off the dirty trace on her tissue. She looks pleased.
“Uh … Thank you,” Kara manages to say, still dazzled.
“You’re welcome. Give me a call once my car is ready?” Cat asks, handing over her card. It has a blue and grey logo on it, that says CatCo. “My personal number is on the back.”
After that, she leaves without another word, the sound of her heels fading away.
—
“Miss Danvers, what a surprise!”
Kara freezes, recognizing the voice on the other end of the line. It’s not who she expected and she angrily stares at the CatCo card, already feeling betrayed.
“Lord Byron-Price. You’re not who I was calling,” Kara greets, coolly. “I’m simply calling to let your wife know her car is ready, she can come pick it up whenever she’s free.”
“Why thank you,” the man replies, sounding amused. “I’m surprised you agreed to handle Cat’s car.”
Kara greets her teeth and forces herself to stay calm before replying “It’s just business.”
“Is it, now?” Alaric asks, smugly. “I’ve been told you don’t have much work these days … Have you thought some more about my latest proposal?”
Kara recalls her last talk with Cat, how she said she could focus on the Mustang because she didn’t have much to do. The feeling of betrayal grows and settles, bringing with it the bitter taste of disappointment.
“I have, and my answer is still the same,” Kara replies. “Have a good evening, Lord Byron-Price.”
Kara hangs up before he could answer and sits down in her chair with a heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry, Kara,” Alex says, making Kara startle.
“I didn’t hear you come in … ” Kara arches a brow.
“You really should buy a new lock for your back door,” Alex replies, as matter-of-factly as she can sound. “Anyway. I’m sorry it turned out this way.”
Kara nods but doesn’t answer. Alex doesn’t push it, simply moving to go grab a couple of beers in the fridge, handing one over to her sister before sitting down in front of the desk.
“Business’s not going so good, uh?”
“That’s … an understatement,” Kara sighs, looking at the papers spread on her desk. “I might not even have a choice in a few months, I’d have to hand my garage over to him.”
Her phone goes off and Kara recognize the number she’s just called. Cat’s number. She ignores it and turns her phone face down against the desk.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Alex asks, settling in more comfortably in her chair.
“Nah. I’m tempted to ask Lena for an investment but I don’t feel comfortable with the idea and beside, it’d only serve to buy me some time,” Kara explains, finishing her beer in a few gulps. “I think the end’s unavoidable …”
Alex doesn’t say anything after that.
—
“You’re not answering my calls.”
Kara doesn’t startle this time, she’s hear the heels before Cat spoke. She’s bent over the hood of Winn’s car and trying to fix a tiny leak that causes the engine to drown, provoking the many breakdowns she’s been wondering about.
“I left a message with your husband,” Kara replies, not even bothering with facing Cat. Her own voice echoes around her head.
“So it seems, yes,” Cat replies, her voice short and slightly angry.
“I fixed the wrong contact in the wire that caused a short-circuit chain reaction, it’s as good as new. Keys are on the contact, you can leave with it,” Kara continues, blindly reaching to her side to grab another tool.
There’s a silence behind her, only troubled by her own grunts as she struggles to screw on a tiny bolt on the side of the engine.
“How much do I owe you?” Cat eventually asks and Kara sees red.
She stands back up and throws her tool on the table before turning around. She’s tied the upper part of her work overalls around her hips today and her tank top is drenched with sweat, oil and grease. She grabs a relatively clean cloth and uses it to wipe her hands on it as she stares at Cat.
“I don’t want your money, Miss Grant,” She calmly states, lifting her chin up. “Your husband has been trying to buy my garage for over a year now, I’m not accepting anything that might come from him.”
Cat looks utterly appalled, so much that Kara wonders if she knew about it. Then, anger flares in the hazel green eyes and Cat steps forward, coming to stand into Kara’s personal space.
“What year do you think this is? Who do you think I am, exactly?” Cat bites, looking furious and slightly hurt, if Kara really looks. “I don’t need a man to make money, Kara. I never needed a man for anything, I’ve been making it on my own since I’m 16 and I don’t like you implying that I’m some kind of trophy wife!”
Kara returns the heated glare and doesn’t back off, despite the fact she can smell Cat’s dizzying perfume and see the freckles of gold that swirl in the hazel green eyes.
“You didn’t even know, right?” Kara accuses, her voice low but clear. A hint of guilt gleams in Cat’s eyes. “You don’t know what your husband has done to my business, my reputation even. You might not be a trophy wife, but you’re just as oblivious as one.”
Cat steps even closer and now they’re standing just inches away from each other.
“You take that back, Miss Danvers. You don’t know me, you don’t know my husband” Cat threats, anger dancing in the hazel of her eyes.
“Do you? Know your husband, I mean,” Kara attacks right back and for a second, she thinks Cat is about to slap her.
Instead, Cat leans forward and crashes her lips on Kara’s.
It’s a bruising kiss, heavy with anger, resentment and so much passion. Kara’s hands drop the cloth she’s been holding and wrap around Cat’s body, pulling her closer. Their tongues dance and explore, collide. Cat reaches out and wrap one hand around Kara’s neck, the other one closing on Kara’s shoulder, fingernails already digging in the thin tank top.
It lasts and Kara finds herself leaning against the hood of Winn’s car, holding Cat and drowning in their kiss. Cat instinctively tilts her head and Kara takes advantage of it, leaving Cat’s lips to trail down to her jawline.
It’s only when one of Kara’s hand venture under the helm of Cat’s shirt that Cat pulls back, eyes wide and hooded, breath laboured and irregular.
“We can’t. It’s not … I’m …” Cat struggles to just breathe and Kara’s no better. Her head is spinning and the heady scent of lemon and spice screw with her focus.
“ … married,” Kara finishes, eventually regaining some form of composure.
Cat looks impossibly desperate at that, so lost and small that Kara just wants to hold her again, to kiss her until she’s smiling but she can’t. Cat’s married and this isn’t right.
“You should leave, Cat. Keys are on the contact,” Kara repeats and she turns around to hide the hot tears that are already gathering in her eyes.
She grabs back her adjusting wrench and bends over Winn’s car, making it clear she doesn’t want to talk about it.
It takes a while but eventually, Cat’s heels walk away.
—
“Cat? What are you–” Kara stops right in her track, taking in the sight of Cat in front of her.
Cat’s been crying, there’s a reddish glow around her eyes and her make-up’s all messed up. Her hair is damp from the rain that’s beating down the street and her clothes are soaked through, crumpled and even ripped in some place. The most alarming parts, though, are the already darkening bruise on her jawline, the impressive, bleeding cut on the side of her head and the split on her lips.
“What the fuck? Are you alright? Come on in,” Kara opens her door and gently grabs one of Cat’s wrist to pull her in. She immediately guides Cat through her apartment to the bathroom, making her sit on the edge of the bath tube. She helps her out of her Trench and drops the wet piece of cloth in the laundry basket near the washing machine.
“Don’t move,” Kara orders and she leaves for a few minutes. When she comes back, she hands over a glass of what smells like Bourbon to Cat and then opens a drawer, pulling out an impressive pharmacy box.
“I’m going to disinfect everything, it’s going to sting,” Kara announces and Cat simply nods, seemingly too out of it to react.
Kara’s careful and gentle but firm, she doesn’t let Cat pull away when it hurts. She takes care of all the injuries and fixes them as best as she can, before rummaging around to find some tiger balm.
“This is going to hurt, Cat,” Kara explains, digging two fingers in the small can of medicine before approaching them from Cat’s jawline. With her other hand, she gently holds Cat’s face in place while she massages the darkening skin. She’s slow and careful, tender even.
“What happened, Cat? Did Alaric do this to you?” Kara asks, ready to drive over there and beat the shit out of him.
“No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare raise his hand on me,” Cat retorts, a little of her usual fire returning to her. Kara doesn’t show it but she feels relieved at that. “I … we had an argument, about him wanting to buy your property.”
Kara freezes for a second but then returns to massaging Cat’s skin. The balm is penetrating the epidermis with difficulty, so she keeps at it.
“I’m … You didn’t have to …” Kara tries to say but Cat places a hand around her wrist, holding her in place.
“I wanted to know,” Cat whispers, looking a little forlorn. “I’ve been living in my own world for a long, long time Kara, I never paid enough attention to anything else.”
“I’m sorry,” Kara replies. “It must not have been easy.”
“It wasn’t, no. I realise he … did this to other people, not just you. He’s been slowly buying out the whole town, you’re just one of the very few people standing up to him. It made me realise that I didn’t know him, at all. You were right, you know? I didn’t know my husband, at all.”
Kara doesn’t even try to deny it. She simply stops touching Cat, observing the result with attention before deeming it satisfying. She pulls away to go wash her hands.
“We got into a massive argument, at the end of which I asked for a divorce,” Cat lets out a strangled, dry chuckle. “He didn’t take it too well, we yelled some more and eventually, I left. I drove too fast, it was raining, I didn’t even know where to go … I crashed against a tree, not too far from here. Hence the injuries.”
Kara turns back to glare at Cat, looking really annoyed.
“Again, I do have a phone you know?”
“Would you have picked up, seeing my name on it?” Cat defies, eyes gleaming.
Kara doesn’t reply right away, thinking back on it. Eventually, she shakes her head no because she’s been too hurt to deal with Cat, in any capacity.
“I figured so,” Cat replies, hurt audible in her tone.
“Where’s Carter?” Kara asks, a little concerned at the idea of the young boy being alone with Alaric.
“With his father, in Metropolis,” Cat explains. “Carter’s the result of my first marriage, I only married Alaric two years ago.”
Kara thinks it makes sense, especially since Carter doesn’t look like Alaric at all.
“Do you want another drink?” Kara asks, gesturing to Cat’s empty glass.
Cat nods and Kara makes a motion for Cat to follow her back to the kitchen. Cat sits down at the kitchen’s bar and waits until Kara places the whole bottle in front of her.
“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need,” Kara offers, leaning back against her kitchen in front of Cat. “I’ll make up the guest room for you.”
“Thank you,” Cat replies, pouring herself another glass of alcohol.
Kara doesn’t linger and goes to prepare the guest room.
—
“Do you know how bad this looks?” Alex hisses through her greeted teeth.
“I know!” Kara groans, handing over the right car key to a customer, who thanked her with a big smile and a firm handshake.
“I don’t think you do! For the love of God Kara, she’s going through a divorce! She can’t live with you!” Alex stresses, starting to pace in front of Kara’s desk.
“It’s not like that!” Kara protests, trying not to blush. “She’s in the guest room and nothing ever happened, I swear!”
“That’s not even the point Kara,” Alex rolls her eyes, looking impatient. “How do you think this will look for the divorce attorneys? She’s got a lot to lose, you know?”
Kara pauses at that. She never thought about it, especially not since Cat seems to be so comfortable in Kara’s place. She didn’t think about the divorce attorneys or any kind of official procedures and Alex has a point, it could look bad.
“I’ll … talk to her about it,” Kara eventually sighs. She doesn’t want Cat to move out, it’s been surprisingly nice to have some company, even as prickly and impossible as Cat is. Still, it’s the right thing to do.
“Do that,” Alex nods and waves at her sister before leaving the office.
—
“You want me to move out?” Cat asks, looking as hurt as she sounds.
“I don’t want to, no, but I think you have to,” Kara sighs, pouring herself another glass of wine. “What about the divorce procedure? I’m guessing your husband has an army of divorce attorneys looking for flaws to ping on you so he can get the most out of it … How does you living at my place might look, to the outside world?”
Cat opens her mouth but nothing comes out and so she closes it, looking thoughtful. It takes a little while, during which Kara switches to a beer because Cat’s wine is all good and fancy but it’s not her type.
“You … might have a point,” Cat finally concedes and she looks a little sad.
“Don’t worry Cat, as soon as the divorce’s official, if you want to keep living here you can,” Kara says without thinking, instinctively reacting to the look in Cat’s eyes. It takes a second before she realises what she just did.
“I mean, you have a lot of money and a media empire in National City, you probably should buy something there but you know, in the meantime … I mean …” Kara stammers and blushes, cursing herself in her mind.
Cat looks terribly amused now, which is a step up from the sad look but Kara feels like a fool.
“Why thank you, Kara,” Cat smiles. “I’ll consider it.”
“Whatever,” Kara mumbles and busies herself with her beer to avoid looking into Cat’s amused eyes.
—
“Whoa, what’s happening?” Alex asks, staring at the line of people waiting outside of Kara’s office, at the back of the garage.
“Hey Alex,” Winn greets, emerging from the pit in a dark blue work overalls. “Apparently, the divorce didn’t go so well for Lord Byron-Price and to be able to stay afloat, he had to sell a lot of properties back to their rightful owners. People have been coming back for weeks now, tourism is starting up again and with it, businesses.”
“That’s nice,” Susan quips from her spot against the fixed police car. “I take it Kara’s been busy with work?”
Winn nods and then throws a knowing look at Alex.
“She’s been a little out of it though. Cat hasn’t been back to Midvale since she left, right after their talk about Cat living with Kara at the beginning of the divorce …”
“That bad, uh,” Susan says and Alex sighs.
“I’ll handle it tonight. We’re having game night at Luce’s, I’ll talk to her then.”
Winn nods and goes back into the pit while Alex and Susan climb back into their car.
—
“Hello Kara,” Cat greets the moment Kara opens her door.
“Miss Grant,” Kara replies, arching a surprised brow. “Long time no see … What brings you to this neighborhood?”
Cat smiles and waves at her blue Mustang parked behind her.
“Care to join me for a ride? I have something I want to show you.”
Kara blinks and then frowns. Cat’s looking expectant, there’s some trepidation in her hazel eyes and the smile on her lips is genuine, wide. She’s wearing a simple but very elegant green summer dress that exposes her arms and her legs, but no heels.
“Alright,” Kara eventually agrees, grabbing her keys, her phone and her wallet before she closes behind her.
The ride is quiet but comfortable and after a little while, Kara notices they’re driving toward the ocean.
After one last swerve, Cat turns to take a smaller path that leads toward a beautiful beach house, located atop a cliff that overlook the ocean.
“See, you asked what brings me to this neighborhood … Well. I live here now,” Cat says as she parks in front of the house.
Kara exits the car and takes a few steps toward the house before she gets almost tackled to the ground by a teenager with dark blond curls and sparkling blue eyes.
“Hey Kara! Welcome to our house!” Carter greets her, hugging her tightly. “Come on, come see the view from the back of the house, it’s amazing!”
“I bet it is, kid! Lead the way,” Kara laughs, glancing back at Cat before following the young boy.
The house is huge and decorated with taste. It’s obvious the people living in it have money but somehow, it’s simple and homey, cozy. Kara walks across big rooms with wooden floor and soft tones, wide glasses that let the sunlight in and allow a really beautiful view of the ocean, beyond the well maintained gardens.
Eventually, she steps out in the back and walks with Carter to the end of the gardens, almost at the edge of the cliff. The ocean is spreading in front of them, joining the horizon in the far beyond in a simple line defined by two different shades of blue.
“It’s amazing indeed,” Kara breathes, inhaling the distinct scent of salt water and sand. “You’re very lucky to live here!”
Carter beams at her and then runs away back into the house. It’s Cat who comes to stand next to Kara.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back,” Cat starts, sounding a little hesitant. “The divorce didn’t exactly go as planned, at first.”
Kara frowns “It clearly turned at your advantage though, because Lord Byron-Price had to sell back a lot of the town’s properties, people have been moving back in and our business has never been better …”
“We’ve turned the tables around, yes,” Cat smirks, looking a little smug. “Turns out, he had some terrible skeletons in his closet, I only had to press on it …”
“This is a fine house, in any case,” Kara smiles, turning her head to face Cat.
“It is, yes. I’m hoping you’d … consider moving in with us, one day.”
“That was fast,” Kara laughs. “You lived with me for a few weeks and it’s all it takes for you to ask me to move in with you? Damn, woman, you’re impossible.”
Kara steps forward and reaches a hand to lift Cat’s chin.
“How about we go on a real date first?.”
“Kara Danvers, are you asking me out?” Cat smiles, golden sparkles of happiness floating in the hazel of her eyes.
“Well, yes, it’s about time don’t you think?” Kara retorts, leaning in for a kiss.
It’s soft and tender but it’s also oddly familiar, for two people who only kissed once before.
It feels like coming home, Kara thinks as Cat’s lips open against her own
#Supercat#Kara x Cat#Sentences prompt#Supercat AU#I swear I don't do this on purpose#I just got inspired and it got out of hand#And I even had to tone back on my enthusiasm
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Wildflowers
Luca Changretta/Reader One Shot
photo: Instant Light: Tarkovsky Polaroids
Summary: Your husband Luca and your three-year-old son want to have a surprise ready for you when you return home to Italy from a trip abroad. Yet these joyful moments with his son always stir up bittersweet memories of Luca's father.
The first few years of your son’s life hadn’t been easy for Luca. Torn between the joy of being a new father and the bitterness of his own not-so-distant loss, there had been days when you saw sheer happiness transform into unutterable pain before your eyes. Antonio was three years old now, and much of that early pain had become more bearable for Luca, but some days were worse than others.
Antonio had his father’s jet black hair and your eyes. When Luca went to gather him out of bed that morning, he found the boy in peaceful slumber. As those eyes slowly opened, he inevitably thought of you. You had been on a short holiday in England, visiting your family and leaving the two boys alone on Luca’s estate in Italy, with occasional help from Audrey.
Luca gathered the boy up in his arms while he struggled out of sleep.
“Mama’s coming home today,” Luca said softly. “Want to help me get everything ready?”
The boy nodded sleepily.
“What do we do?” he mumbled.
Luca started downstairs with Antonio’s head still nestled against his shoulder.
“Well,” he said, “why don’t we pick her some flowers to enjoy when she gets back? And some grapes from the vineyard?”
They came into the dining room, where the bright morning light streaked across the broad wooden table set with white china. Luca set Antonio on his feet, and the boy promptly crawled into his usual chair.
“I want to pick the flowers.”
“You can pick the flowers.”
The boy nodded, satisfied.
“What’s for breakfast?” Luca inquired, sweeping his gaze over the countertops.
“I don’t know. What do you got?”
Luca held back a smile. There were so many moments like this, when one of his own traits manifested before his eyes: his tendency to reason and bargain, his quick, sharp statements of fact. Luca put his hands on his hips and leveled with the strong, perceptive gaze peering at him from across the table.
“Some milk with bread and jam. Couple of fresh strawberries...”
Antonio was nodding vigorously. “Hot milk,” he encouraged Luca.
“You got it.”
Meeting you in England had changed Luca’s life completely, settling his rage and helping peacefully end the vendetta against the Shelbys. He often thought back on those painful times, knowing that if you had not entered his life, it could have ended altogether, never bringing him the joy and unpredictable thrill of bringing up a son. Luca hadn’t had the chance to grow up in Italy like his father, so he was grateful to be able to raise his own son there.
In the darkest moments of missing his father, Luca often turned to his mother, bitterly regretting that Vicente had not lived to see his joyous grandson. The two of them mourned together in a way that you could not relate to, but you were glad that Luca had a safe outlet for his enduring pain.
Right now, Luca missed you. It had gotten to the point where he wanted to share every moment of Antonio’s childhood with you, and it hurt when you were away. Who would have guessed that Luca Changretta would spoil his son rotten? Between he and Audrey, there was no hope for the child. They doted on him, speaking to him in English and Italian, feeding and dressing him like a prince. But thankfully Antonio was still grounded enough to someday make his way in the world; Luca often took him out into the fields, looking over the vineyards of his estate and feeding the boy’s endless curiosity.
That morning they walked together to the sprawling field of wildflowers behind the house. Antonio let go of Luca’s hand and headed into the flowers, whose stalks nearly reached his head. Antonio looked about with a discerning eye at the variety of cornflower, cosmos, asters, and daisies. He promptly took hold of one choice daisy and plucked it out of the earth, roots and all.
Luca watched the entire ordeal without interfering. Then he sighed and said, “Oh honey.”
Antonio defied him with a look that very plainly said “What?”
“We’re going to use the scissors for that.”
“I thought we were picking flowers.”
“Papa might have used the wrong word. I should have said we were cutting flowers.”
Antonio didn’t unhand the daisy as he went looking for more. He rubbed petals and leaves between his fingers, stared at the passing bees, and smelled nearly every flower in sight, though few of them had any aroma whatsoever. He reverted to pointing at the flowers he wished for Luca to cut, and Luca would snip the stalks with scissors and hand them to Antonio. His arms grew full of pale blue, white, burgundy and lavender colored blossoms. While Antonio explored, Luca absently gathered a few flowers of his own, arranging a small but pretty bouquet of yellow, blue and white.
By the time the two of them got back to the house and filled a vase for the flowers, you were just arriving. Antonio’s ears perked up as he heard the car on the gravel drive. He ran to the window and stood on his toes to see over the garden wall.
“Mama!” he cried, and sped barefoot through the house.
He was bouncing in the doorway as Matteo opened the car door for you. Luca stood behind him, completing the perfect frame. The two of them were so alike it hurt. Their eyes crinkled in the same smile, faces glowing in the sunlight.
Antonio wrapped his arms around your neck as you picked him up, and Luca leaned in to kiss you on the cheek.
“We’ve been working hard,” Antonio exclaimed.
“Oh really?” you laughed. “Doing what?”
Neither of them would give anything away, so you all went together into the kitchen. There you saw a fresh bouquet of wildflowers in a silver vase on the table.
“We did that!” Antonio said, pointing.
“Wow!” you exclaimed. “It’s so lovely.”
You cast a glance at Luca, who had a heart-melting smile on his face as he looked from Antonio to you.
“Papa used the scissors. He said we were picking flowers but really we were cutting flowers. I didn’t know.”
“Well they look great,” you said appreciatively. You and Luca shared a private smile as Antonio continued to fawn over his flower-choosing abilities.
“Papa picked a bunch too,” he said suddenly, casting an urgent glance at Luca. “Where’d they go?”
“I left them out back, honey. They were nothing special.”
“I thought they were for Mama.”
“Yours are for Mama,” Luca smiled.
Antonio quickly dropped the subject, going on to tell you about eating grapes straight off the vine, only to discover that they weren’t ripe yet and made his mouth pucker up.
That evening, you encouraged Luca to get out of the house for a bit to thank him for his tireless attention to Antonio during your absence. As the sun lowered over the vineyards, you glanced out the window to see Luca’s solitary figure upon the road, and a bouquet of flowers in one hand. A sad smile came to your lips as you watched him mount the hill and disappear on the other side.
Audrey lived a short walk away from you, in a small cottage located on Luca’s vast property. When he knocked at her door that evening, she was just putting out a plate for her dinner. She was surprised to see him, and chastised him for not letting her know he was coming, else she would have made dinner for him. Instead she poured them both a glass of wine as Luca continued to hold the flowers behind his back. While her back was turned, he filled a small ceramic vase with water from the sink and placed it on her little wooden table. When she turned around, she gave a little gasp.
“O, caro,” she said, admiring the small bouquet. When she looked up at her son she could see the pain in his eyes. She took his face in her hands.
“Antonio and I picked flowers today,” he said in a strained voice.
“He will always remember these times,” Audrey said gently, stroking his cheek with her thumb.
“They won’t bring him pain someday?”
“We don’t know what our children will feel,” she murmured. “It’s out of our hands. But you’re alive now. You’re alive for him.”
Luca shook his head, fighting back tears. “I miss Papa.”
Audrey wrapped her arms around him, a small force against the waves of darkness that crashed within her tall son. Yet she held him steady.
“You’re Papa now, my son.”
#luca changretta#luca changretta/reader#luca changretta imagine#luca changretta x reader#luca changretta fic#peaky blinders#peaky blinders fic#luca changretta one shot
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Little Lies; tommy shelby
or; tommy shelby gets new neighbors from America. they have a pretty daughter.
“And on Christmas Day it’ll be just you and Charlie.”
“And the horse. And the neighbors, I’m sure.”
“The neighbors?”
“New family. Americans. moved into the little cottage down the road; I’m sure they’ll like to spend their first Christmas away from home with others.”
“Alright, fine. So you invite the Americans. You invite a bunch of Yankee strangers and not your own family.”
“Yes, Lizzie, it seems so.”
—
Dear Mr. and Mrs. (Y/L/N),
I’d like to formally invite you and your family to spend Christmas with us just down the road. I’m sure spending the holidays in a brand new country for the first time isn’t a simple transition, so you’re all more than welcome to spend it with us Shelbys.
-Thomas Shelby
The handwriting was strikingly elegant in spite of the fact that it was written by a man—men so often have messy or illegible handwriting. “Mama,” you called to the kitchen while you were standing in the doorway. ”You know the Shelbys?”
“The who, hun?”
“Shelbys. Down the road. They invited us to Christmas with them.”
“Oh, how sweet!” your mother exclaimed, coming to the doorway to meet you. “I ought to bring something.”
“I doubt you’ll have to, mom, have you seen that house? Something tells me they’ll have plenty of food.”
Your mother scoffed at your blatant assumption of their wealth. “It’s called being courteous, (Y/N), something I clearly failed to instill in you.”
You shrugged it off. “Should I write back? Say we’ll go?”
“Yeah; why don’t you go ahead and do that.”
Dear Mr. Shelby,
Thank you so much for inviting my family and I to spend Christmas with you! We are flattered by your warm invitation and are much looking forward to meeting you and your family.
-(Y/N) (Y/L/N)
With a quick swipe of your tongue and an address promptly scribbled on, the RSVP was sent back.
—
The fated day finally rolled around and you couldn’t help but feel a pit of dread in your stomach. What if the Shelbys actually end up hating us? What if it’s just a bunch of old people and no one my age? Will they judge us for not having as much money as them? As the thoughts all ran through your brain like the stream in your backyard, you continued your routine of getting dressed and brushing your hair. It was significantly longer that the current fashion demanded, but you were never one to follow societal norms. It rested at about back-length, whereas any other woman of the day would be more likely to be sporting something close to her chin. Not caring much about the style of your hair, you turned to your closet to discern what you were going to wear. After a few bits of input from your mother and father, you decided on a simple blue dress you had bought a few months prior. It was casual, but not too casual; elegant, but not too lavish.
It was nearly 2 o’clock in the afternoon when someone came knocking on your door. Your mother was busy making a trayful of baked goods in the kitchen and your father was out back feeding the hens and collecting eggs. “(Y/N), dear, would you get that?” you mother called.
“Yes, mom,” you yelled back, barreling down the steps and down the short entryway until you reached the front door.
And nearly the moment you had opened it up you saw the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on in your entire life. Please, God, don’t tell me that’s our neighbor, you prayed.
The man smiled politely down at you. “Ah, so you’re our new neighbors,” the man spoke, his thick Birmingham accent (the one you’d been most exposed to since your move) hovering over every word. “Pleasure to meet you, love, I’m Tommy Shelby.” He stuck out his hand to you and shook it. In the short amount time it took you to become absolutely starstruck, your mother had left the kitchen—hands clean— and your father had just come back inside and the four of you gathered in the hallway, Tommy still standing outside.
“Please, Mr. Shelby, come inside! It’s freezing out there.” He obliged and stepped through the threshold, and you shut the door behind him.
“Mr. Shelby, we’re so honored that you thought to invite us to dinner tonight,” your mother gushed, shaking his hand emphatically. “Really, when we got your letter I told my family how lucky we were to have moved in down the street from such welcoming people.” Mr. Shelby gave your mother a small smile and you felt your heart stop. Oh, no. This is bad.
“We’re glad to have you all the way from across the pond,” he responded. “Hope you’ve found Warwickshire to your liking.”
“Oh, it’s great,” your father piped up, putting a hand on your mother’s shoulder. “Nice to meet ya, sir,” he said, shaking Mr. Shelby’s hand as well.
“Please, call me Tommy,” he responded warmly.
It was obvious that this man was a significant number of years older than you, being only 19. While the thought of having a relationship with a 40-something year-old man had certainly never been a goal of yours before, you couldn’t help but wonder about it now. “Well,” he began, addressing the three of you, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid we’ve had to cancel Christmas dinner. A problem’s come up in the family; I hope you can forgive me.”
Your mother and father were less concerned about not having dinner and more about the state of your mysterious neighbor’s family. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry to hear that! Really, Mr. Shelby, no need to apologize. Family always comes first; of course we understand.” Your father nodded his head in agreement. “I only hope we can manage to have you over for dinner some other night, to repay you for your hospitality.”
Mr. Shelby politely declined your mother’s offer. “Really, Mrs. (Y/L/N), it won’t be necessary. You don’t want me burdening you with another mouth to feed.”
“Mr. Shelby, we insist,” your father pushed. “Bring your family, too; the more the merrier. It’ll be good for us to meet some new faces, anyways. You name a date and we’ll get it all set up.”
Before you knew it, the issue of dinner rescheduling was resolved and Mr. Shelby was on his way. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Shelby-”
“Please, I insist, you can call me Tommy. We are neighbors, after all,” he assured your mother.
“Tommy,” she smiled, correcting herself, “We really can't thank you enough for your hospitality. We’re looking forward to meeting the rest of the clan.”
With your mother satiated, he moved on to bid farewell to your father. “You’ve got a lovely family, Mr. (Y/L/N).”
“Thank you much, sir,” he responded, firmly shaking Tommy’s hand. Your mother and father left the hallway to return to their previous activities, leaving the two of you all alone.
And then it was down to you. “Merry Christmas, Ms. (Y/L/N),” he stated.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Shelby. It was wonderful meeting you.”
“Please, really, no need for formality. Call me Tommy, I’m your neighbor.”
“Alright,” you agreed, “But only if you call me (Y/N). Deal?” you stuck your hand out.
He shook it. “Deal.”
“You get home safe,” you reminded him. Taking your hand in his, he brought it to his lips and softly kissed it. Holy shit, you panicked, but managed to keep your true reaction hidden. Bidding him goodbye once more you turned on your heel after shutting the door behind him, sprinting back upstairs to your room.
—
Charlotte,
I never thought that moving across the ocean to another country could be so terrible.
Don’t misunderstand- it’s beautiful here, and so quiet and peaceful, and the people are all so obliging.
But I think I’m in love with our neighbor, and I also think he’s at least a 40 year old man. He has a son and everything, although I’m pretty sure his wife died.
On Christmas day, he stopped by the house to talk to my parents and I and welcome us to the country. When he left, he kissed my hand.
Is that weird? Or did I just misunderstand some British custom?
Send help! I miss you dearly and look forward to seeing you again soon.
-(Y/N)
Three days had passed since the ‘incident’. You sealed the letter to your best friend back in the States and threw on your coat, making your way down to the nearest post office. About halfway down the dirt road that led into the more populated village, you heard a car coming behind you. You stepped off onto the patch of grass on the side of the road, careful to not be in the way of the oncoming vehicle; but it never passed you. Instead, it caught up to you and stopped, so you stopped as well to look at who was driving it.
And, of course, it was the one and only Tommy Shelby. “(Y/N),” he called to you, “Where are you headed? You’ll freeze out there, do you need me to drive you somewhere?”
“Oh, I’m fine Mr. Shelby—”
“Tommy, (Y/N), please.”
“Tommy. Sorry. I don’t need a ride, but thank you for the offer! I’m just headed down to the post office.”
“Nonsense, that’s too far away for you to be walking. Get in, I’ll take you there. I’m headed into town meself.” Suddenly acutely aware of the sharp cold pricking at your face and hands, you obliged and stepped up into his car. He held a hand out to help balance you as you got yourself settled and shut the door. He was smoking, as you’d assumed was his habit. Once he began driving again, he was the first to break the silence. “How ‘ave you and your family been?”
“We’re just alright,” you smiled, “My mom’s so happy here. She loves all the people; says they’re the nicest she’s ever met.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t mean me,” he chuckled. “I’m just the mean old man down the road.”
“No, not at all!” you exclaimed. “She thinks you’re wonderful.”
“Ah, is that so? And what about you?” he asked.
“What about me?” you responded, not sure you understood his question.
“How are you liking it here? Any new friends, any boyfriends?”
“No, not at all,” you giggled, blushing slightly. “I haven’t really met anyone new yet.”
“Well, you’re a pretty girl,” he said offhandedly. If you were paying closer attention you would’ve caught the slight sigh that passed his lips. “You’ll have all the boys chasing after you in no time.”
“I hope not,” you scoffed. “Boys are silly and immature. I’m perfectly content all by myself.”
He took his eyes off of the road for just a moment to glance at you, an unreadable expression on his soft features. “You’re a smart girl,” he praised, “Got a good head on your shoulders. Don’t let anyone change that.” Thankfully, before you had to muster up a half-hearted reply, the car came to a stop. You had reached the post office. “Go on,” he prompted, “I’ll wait up for you.”
“Really, Mr. Sh—Tommy,” you caught yourself, “You don’t have to wait for me, I know you’re a busy man.”
“(Y/N), if it had been a problem, I wouldn’t have given you a ride, would I?” He gave you a knowing look.
“I..I guess not. I’ll be quick,” you promised, rushing inside. You dropped off your letter to Charlotte without having to wait in too unbearable a line, and scurried back outside to where Tommy was waiting for you to return. “Thank you again for doing this; I don’t know how to pay you back.”
“No need, sweetheart,” he nearly crooned, and you felt your heart swell and your throat close up. “Although I will have to take up your mum’s dinner offer soon.”
“Sounds perfect; we’re looking forward to it,” you smiled.
The car fell into a comfortable silence for a moment before Tommy spoke up again. “(Y/N), your family—you wouldn’t happen to be Italian, would you?”
An odd question, you thought, but nonetheless one you could easily answer. “Not to my knowledge, no,” you told him. “How come?”
“What business is your family in?”
“Business?” you questioned. “Uh, nothing, really. We had a farm back home; sold eggs, and milk, and livestock every once in awhile to make money. My parents have been saving up to move over here for years.”
“I see,” he mumbled, nodding and pondering your answers. “‘Ave you got any plans for the next hour or so?”
“Uh, no, I don’t,” you responded shyly. You weren’t going back in the direction of your house, but deeper into a town that you were unfamiliar with. Regardless of how attractive a man was, that didn’t mean you wouldn’t be uncomfortable with him kidnapping you.
“I’ve got someone to check on at the hospital. Would you like to meet ‘em? It’ll only take a moment,” he assured you.
“Oh, sure!” you responded. “I’d love to go.”
—
It turned out that the person being checked on at the hospital was Tommy’s cousin, Michael; and he was in bad shape. “He got shot. Christmas day. Been waiting on ‘im to wake up ever since.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Tommy; that’s terrible. He got shot? How?”
Tommy took a deep breath and turned to face you. You were both back in the car now; not much use to sit at a comatic person’s bedside and wait God knows how long for them to wake up. The car was parked and the two of you were just having a heartfelt conversation with one another. “Listen, my family and I… we’ve gotten ourselves into a bit of trouble here and there. We managed to piss off an American and now he’s after us.”
You nodded. “That’s why you wanted to know if my family was Italian. If we were with them.” He agreed.
“Your- your mum and dad, they’re good country folks. I take it they’ve been farming their whole lives?” You nodded again. “I don’t think you’re the same as them,” he mused.
“I’m not,” you confirmed. “My parents are content living in that cottage for the rest of their lives… But that seems so boring to me. I want to go do something, I want to travel somewhere. Or at least do something different. I don’t want to be just another farm girl.”
“The world has plenty of those,” he agreed, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“What about you?” you wondered aloud. He glanced at you, urging you to continue. “I mean, do you want to keep ‘getting into trouble’?”
He scoffed. “Fuck, if only I could keep meself out of trouble. It seems to come looking for me nowadays.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“So am I, (Y/N); so am I.” He’d started the car and was about to put it into gear when all of a sudden a couple of sharply dressed men came out from behind a corner, guns pointed directly at the car—directly at you and Tommy. He noticed them in the rearview mirror and immediately shoved you from your seat to the floor. “Fuck!” he yelled, at the same time the men began to shoot. You let out a scream, covering your head with your arms and curling yourself closer to the ground. You could hear Tommy grab something from the glove compartment, a gun, and begin shooting back at the men. There was a rapid exchange of gunfire for a moment, then suddenly—silence. Tommy let out a sigh of relief. His hand found its way to your head and brushed your hair back out of your face. “(Y/N), look at me— are you hurt?”
His face was stone cold and serious. You shook your head, and the rest of your body followed suit. You couldn’t stop shaking and your breathing was short and rapid. “Oh my God… Oh my God,” you whispered to yourself. He helped you back up on to your seat before pulling you close to him, head on his chest as he stroked your hair and spoke softly in your ear.
“Listen to me, you’re alright. Yeah? I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.” You couldn’t restrain it anymore; you let out a broken sob as the weight of what had just happened crashed into you like a freight train.
“What the fuck, Tommy!” you cried.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll never let that happen again, alright? I won’t let ‘em come after you because of me. Look at me.” You obeyed, tears in your eyes, and his heart broke once again. “That will never happen again. Do you understand me?” You nodded. He pulled you back to him and let you cry it out, smoothing down your hair while you held onto his jacket with white knuckles. If you had cared, you would have noticed him press a few kisses to the top of your head; having just been nearly killed, however, you didn’t care all that much.
You were out of tears in the next few moments, pulling yourself away and trying to regain every shred of dignity you had left. His hand stayed resting on your shoulder comfortingly while you wiped your tears away with your fingertips. “Oh my God,” you nearly chuckled, “This is not how I expected living in a new country would be.” He smiled at that, comforting you. He lifted a hand to wipe away a few remaining tears on your lashes, and lifted your chin with his knuckle.
“You gonna be alright?” he asked with piercing eyes.
“Yes. Yeah, I’ll be fine. I never want to get shot at again,” you said, more to yourself than to him, but he still chuckled lightly.
“You won’t, little bird, I promise.” He drove you back to your house in relative silence, suddenly hyper-aware of the surroundings. You made it back in one piece with only a shattered back windshield as proof of what had happened. Before you got out of the car, he stopped you. “I’ll come and check on you soon, yeah?” You accepted the offer. “Good girl. Be careful.”
With that you slid out through the passenger side door and opened the door to your house, Tommy only driving away after the door was shut and you were safe inside. “Hello, my darling,” you mother greeted you. She and your father were sitting in the living room, fireplace roaring. “Where have you been?”
“I sent a letter to Charlotte at the post office,” you explained hanging up your coat. “Mr. Shelby was headed somewhere in his car; he gave me a ride there and back.”
“Oh, what a nice man!” your mother gushed. “He really is a great guy. I hope he comes for dinner soon.”
“I think he will,” you assured her, “I mentioned it to him. He says he’s looking forward to it and we’ll get something worked out soon.” Your father hadn’t spoken a word yet, too busy reading the paper to listen to your conversation. “I’m gonna go upstairs and take a nap, mom; this weather has exhausted me.” With a swift farewell you tucked your shoes by the staircase and headed up to bed. Rather than sleeping in your day clothes, you threw on your pajamas and snuggled up under the covers, burying your head in the pillow and taking a deep breath.
As much as you tried to forget what had happened just half an hour before, you couldn’t; the more you tried, the more you remembered, and the more upset you became. A few uncontrollable tears slipped past your eyes as you cried quietly into the pillow; soon becoming too tired to keep your eyes open, you drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
#tommy shelby#dommy tommy ; )#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby imagine#peaky blinders#peaky fookin blinders#peaky blinders imagine#cillian murphy#little lies
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The last time I saw the sun
Pairing : Tommy Shelby x Freddie Thorne
Summary : The 179th Tunneling Company works under the Flanders fields. At the end of November 1915, the tunnel collapses, blown up by a German camouflet. All the company is buried alive, with the sole exception of three tunnellers.
Warnings : War, Mentions of death and asphyxia, Lack of air, PTSD, Survival, Anxiety attacks.
AO3 link
Flanders, end of november 1915
My breathing is stopped for a few moments, when my chest crashes violently against the ground. It’s dark. I can’t see anything and the metallic taste of the dirt fills my mouth, as I’m attempting to catch my breath. There is no air around me and I’m starting to feel dizzy. I’m trying to flounder but my limbs barely move. I know where I am. Buried under kilometers of earth, squashed by tons of clay. The good news is that I’m going to leave France. Finally.
———–
Tommy’s hand is pulled brutally and urgently. He’s being freed from the ground’s claws, lifted painfully of the clay by the undersides of his shoulders. The two topple over backwards, caught up by the force used to pull him out of the ground. They inevitably drag Tommy down with them. His face and his chest are prepared to hit the soil once again, but they bounce back with less force against the torso of one of his rescuer. Instinctively, Tommy inhales a big gasp of oxygen and the air fills up his lungs wildly. While his shaky breathing takes a few seconds to steady, he forces his eyes to open and discerns again an ounce of light through the damp clots of mud which stick to his face. It’s while moving slightly his body, that he notices an arm encloses his waist. Another covers the side of his head, pressing him more in this familiar chest, which starts vibrating all of a sudden.
“You’ve been lucky Tommy,”
He could recognise this voice among millions. He has already made him come to his senses several times. Freddie is always the first to speak, after miraculously getting out of troubles.
“A damn lucky bastard!”
In another situation, Tommy would have smiled against his friend’s chest. He wouldn’t have in any way needed to make the effort to lift his head, to be sure that Freddie was doing the same. However, they aren’t the children they used to be anymore. They aren’t in Small Heath, swimming from one side to the other of the canal banks or running to avoid being taken home by a panting police officer. So, there is no smiles today.
Danny coughs quietly, alerting them of his presence. Tommy forces himself up self-consciously, laying eyes on him.
“Danny, where is the bird ?”
Danny points the cage hanged on the wall. The canary isn’t panicked and even twirls peacefully, as if he has already forgotten the vicious dread he felt when the tunnel collapsed. Tommy would like to take its place, in order to feel that intangible serenity again. The fear, he is feeling since he set down a foot on this land, doesn’t ease with the time. Rather, it’s increasing, every nightmarish incident pushing it further, one notch at a time. A notch that never goes down, which is becoming your permanent level of fear. The more you know what can fall on you in this hell, the more you have reasons to let the terror consumes you from head to toes.
“I’ve already checked. The bird’s doing fine, Sir.”, Danny answers, sat against the wall of the tunnel.
Tommy completely pulls away from Freddie’s body to sit, still a bit dumbfounded by his underground stay. He dusts faintly his clothes, before realizing that it’s totally useless. The sight of their condition softens the movement of his hand. He is covered by dirt on his entire body. No corner of his skin is spared. Tommy raises his gaze, blinking through the candlelight coming from Danny’s hands.
“Good. We’re at least safe from the gas for now. And how is the air ?”
Freddie straightens himself, trying to see through the dim light as well.
“The light’s steady and won’t go out, but it’s dim.” Danny said, trying but failing to disguise the anguish in his voice.
Freddie lays his hand on Tommy’s collarbone, pressing soberly. The blocked air in Tommy’s contracted chest is released gently, in a sigh of relief. His gaze, that Freddie seeks to share, isn’t disturbed by this soothing gesture. Tommy stares stubbornly the canary in his cage, hanged on the wall in front of him.
“We couldn’t have expected better air, half buried in the ground.”, Freddie reassures them, unsure if he says it more for himself than his friends.
Danny’s hands, which tighten the candle with strength, are trembling. It creates a sinister moving light inside the tunnel. Their faces are worthy of a chiaroscuro painting. The light giving him a even more serious look, Tommy adds without blinking : “The rescue team might already be on the way. We’re not too far from the exit. We just have to hope that those fuckers didn’t dig a second counter tunnel to blow them up.”
To his own words, Tommy’s jaw is clenching. Freddie noticed that he does this often lately, when he can’t allow himself to start panicking. When he’s feeling caught in a vice and is looking for a quick solution. Gritting his teeth with all their strength prevents him to scream the frustration, which is already dripping from his furrowed eyebrows.
“What will we do… if-if they blow us up too ? …. Or if they can’t find us ? Di-did you think… about that ?” Danny panics, with an unstable voice.
“And… And all those guys who’re buried… dead in-in the clay. We could pray for them”
“Yeah, we could have if it meant something here.” Freddie mocks. This isn’t a surprising answer coming from him, the only God he believes in is named Karl Marx.
Imperturbable, Tommy can’t take his eyes off the canary, which is a bit agitated in his cage. All the attention of his eyes is focused on the animal, but the part of his brain which controls his mouth is still with his teammates : “Now, we just have to sit and breathe slowly to keep the air pure, Danny. Just sit and breathe the fucking air slowly.”
Danny brings his right hand to his skull, to salute his superior.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I can already hear them dig. The rescue team isn’t far away. Breathe slowly.”
The ambiance is calm but stressful. The canary starts to grow agitated in his cage, but seems also a bit dizzy. It hits the bars and goes back to his perch.
Shattering the heavy silent atmosphere, a distant explosion is heard and makes the tunnel shakes. Gravels are falling on their heads and are tumbling on the walls of the tunnel. The wet timbers creak and the light of the candle is swirling. Tommy’s eyes leave the canary’s cage and he protects instinctively his head, as well as Freddie’s, by throwing them both on the ground. The timbers keep up and the silence settles again. They stay a few seconds petrified in their position, being on the lookout for a second explosion.
“It was just a shell up there.” Freddie mutters, patting his friend’s back.
Danny’s gasping breathing obliges them to come to their senses quicker than they would have liked. It’s not a pretty sight that they discover in front of them, but strangely familiar at the same time. Danny is shaking like a leaf, shudders rattling his whole body. Suffocating breaths are squeezing out of his thickening throat, choking the life from him second by second. Intermittently, he shouts baffling sentences and punches randomly, cutting the air with strength. Tommy and Freddie exchange a very brief look and jump on Danny, each on a side to try to control him.
“1,2,3! Down!”
Freddie blocks relatively easily Danny’s left shoulder on the ground. The other arm slips from Tommy’s hands and he receives a violent punch in the jaw. He attempts several times to block his right arm while avoiding punches in the face and finally ends up to tackle it on the ground.
“Danny, breathe !” Freddie orders, pressing harder on his shoulder to stick it against the ground.
Tommy brings his head closer to Danny’s ear, while tightening his grip on the biceps which is still struggling with energy. A few drops of blood mixed with saliva drip of the corner of his mouth, when he opens it to talk.
“Breathe, Danny! Breathe slowly. Listen to me ! Try to keep the rhythm of my own breathing.”
Tommy takes deep inhalations he’s releasing slowly, in order to encourage Danny to mimic his breathing. Danny’s gaze drifts unconsciously for a moment, lucidity bleeding in slowly. When his eyes meet a glimpse of Tommy’s, they finally focus. Tommy slows down his speech speed and the volume of his voice, to help him to calm down faster.
“It was just a shell up there. Breathe slowly. It’s just noise. You’ll get use to it, Danny. Follow my breath. It’s just noise that can’t harm you right now.”
Danny struggles to get back to his senses, his breathing easing, although it’s still agitated. Freddie and Tommy release him after a brief look of consultation and sprawl themselves on the walls behind each of them. There is still air all around them, but it feels tight, and diminished. A bit as if they were strangled bit by bit.
“I can hear them. They’re closer, they’re coming for us. Now we don’t move to save the remaining air !”, Tommy orders.
“I’m sorry, Sir. It keeps happening lately and I’m afraid to go mad.”, Danny apologises while fiddling on his clothes.
“Just the nerves, Danny. There is plenty of men like you in here. A fucking stressful place, it sure is. Stop talking and breathe slowly.”
Danny has his mouth opened to claim that the orders had been understood, but no words can leave it. A sudden noise was added to the rescuers’ shovels. The sound they hoped they wouldn’t hear since the tunnel has collapsed. The hollow sound of resonance against the wood that anguishes them all. The sound that Tommy were looking out for with apprehension when he was staring at the cage of the bird. The sound of the canary which falls from his perch.
The three men are petrified by this noise, which resonates in the tunnel. They turn their head towards the cage, to confirm that it isn’t their minds which were playing a trick on them. Tommy reacts suddenly with panic.
“PUT YOUR GAS MASKS!!”
The three men unhook a fabric pocket of their belt with shaking hands. They grab the masks out in a haste, pulling them over their faces. They received them a few weeks ago. After the gas attacks at Ypres, the British army started to produce protections. Calling it a gas mask is a big word. This is more a hood with a soaked compress in the area of the mouth. He never used it but he heard a lot about it. The men of the front line don’t discuss so much their feelings and fears, but are inexhaustible when it comes to criticizing their equipment and superiors.
“These new masks are easier to use but they’re deep shit.” Tommy remembers a discussion with the infantry men. “The other day, a soldier fainted in only 20 minutes.”, their words resonates in his skull more than ever.
Tommy gets up roughly to pick up the shovels at their disposal, which are lying in the tunnel, while Freddie and Danny still set up their masks.
“Tommy, what are you doing ?” Freddie hails.
“The only thing we learned here, digging”, on his last word, Tommy throws a shovel to Freddie’s feet. He clears pieces of wood, formerly parts of the tunnel timbers, and then digs with willingness in the clay.
“We don’t have a lot of time in front of us if we wanna get out of here alive, come on Freddie!”, he shouts and waves his hand.
Freddie joins him. His eyes wide and his hands shaking, he tries to help Tommy by alternatively digging and pushing annoying pieces of timber. His gestures are wild and uncoordinated.
“I’m digging, pick up the parts of timber you can save and make us safe!” Tommy instructed, seeing Freddie doesn’t really know how to manage the situation.
Behind them, Danny tries to stand and help, but his legs give out on him as he’s hit by a dizzy spell. Freddie glares annoyingly at him.
“Tommy, Danny isn’t feeling well…”
Tommy turns his head towards Danny, without really interrupting the work of his hands.
“Danny, listen to me ! Fucking stay down and breathe slowly ! We gonna get out of here.” Tommy shouts, without worrying about the noises the Germans could catch for once. His words echo in the tunnel, which is a really unusual thing for the three tunnelers.
An unknown voice can be heard behind the wall Tommy is digging in : “Is there someone here ? How many are you ?”. The tangled crumbled timbers let appear some small holes, enabling the communication with the rescue team behind the wall. They just need to shout what they have to say.
“We’re three. There is gas in here ! One man is already down. We need to be quick !” Tommy answers despite the distress, managing to keep a disconcertingly cool head. Freddie is persuaded that he wouldn’t have been able to explain their situation as quickly as Tommy had.
“You heard! We need to be quick, there is gas inside!”, the rescuer screams to his teammates.
Tommy is unable to stop digging. He’s choking on his breath, suffocating more with every hit of his shovel, but he can’t pause. A fatality he doesn’t have any power on would make him go insane. The rescuer’s tools hit harder and harder on the wall. They’re close.
While Freddie is blocking a piece of timber on the side of the wall to stabilise it, a strong headache is striking him and makes him see blinding glitters all around. He’s leaning against the wall, but the blurry lights assaulting his vision, blind him more and more. His legs are supporting him only precariously and he sits to regain a bit of strength. The air is increasingly unbreathable and burns his throat. He invests his few remaining forces in an effort to stand up, but Tommy places his hand on his chest to prevent him to do it.
“The air is better near the ground, just fucking stay down !”
Tommy brings his head nearer to the wall and shouts with strength : “We have a second man down ! I’m digging alone, we need to be quicker !”.
After another dozen hits of shovel, a hole is starting to form in the wall and some light is radiating from it. His survival frenzy seizes his body even more. Tommy hits violently the wall with his shovel and the small hole is now large enough to let a human pass.
The adrenaline prevented him to feel the nausea rising, but he experiences it full force now. The shape of the rescuer emerging from the hole is all blurry. The lips of the man move, and his voice is barely perceptible. It resonates to a low volume, muffled by his knocking headache. Only the piercing buzz, which is ringing vigorously in each of his ears, seems clear. He remembers he was shivering some seconds ago, but now, an unpleasant heat is spreading in every single one of his limbs. His face is burning and there’s no part of his body that isn’t sweating. The heat should have no impact on this but it seems to further deteriorate his vision. His head is spinning and he suddenly feels his body emptying the last bit of energy he had left.
Tommy forces his eyes open, realizing he must’ve closed them at some point and finds himself in the arms of the stranger who was facing him just before. He notes that the breathing of the man is really very noisy, before understanding that it’s amplified by the oxygen tanks he carries on his back.
“We only have two stretchers, Sir!”
“Put the two thinnest on the same and the strongest on the other, quick ! They need to breathe fresh air, they don’t have for long if they stay here”
He has no recollection of these voices. He still arduously breathes, his lungs burned by the gas. “Am I still in the tunnel or already in hell”, Tommy wonders, before realising that his eyelids are shutting down on their own. Everything is dark again.
It’s an aggressive light which brings Tommy to open his eyes one more time. His inflamed bronchus welcome the fresh air with some difficulty. He coughs and his irritated throat doesn’t spare him of strong pains. His lungs are raw, burned by the gas. However, the sun is caressing his body and warming his shivering skin. The pestilential effluviums of the tranchees are lightly covered by a familiar scent, tickling his nose. Tommy feels Freddie’s whole body pressed against him on the stretcher, shaking to the rhythm of the paramedics’ steps. He would never have noticed that his hands were trembling, if Freddie didn’t enclosed them discreetly between his own. Usually, it was Tommy who held Freddie’s hands when they were children. Freddie was so upset against everything and everyone, that he got in a lot of fights with petty boys. Occasionally, some things they said hit him right in the heart and the stables were a good place to drown all the sorrows. But today, it’s Tommy who needs Freddie.
Under the bright rays of sunshine, Tommy forgets for a while his burned throat and his erratic breathing. All he can think is : “It’s been months since I last saw the sun. How beautiful it is. And if I die today, I’m glad it’s while looking at the sun one last time with Freddie.”
—————————————
A few weeks later
Military hospital, december 1915
Tommy strikes a match thanks to the abrasive part of the box. It’s gone out as quick as it ignited. The chilly squalls, along with the ambient humidity caused by the torrential storm, are surely to blame. He’s leaning against crates of God-Knows-What. The rain is dripping abundantly from the eave over his head. The smell of the rain is comforting and the deluge covers the sound of the shells crushing far away. An extinguished cigarette hanging out between his lips, he’s fascinated by the drops of water which are crushing against the soil, lost in his thoughts. So fascinated, that he didn’t even notice Freddie’s arrival. His gaze absorbed by the spectacle of the nature, he takes a second chance, by covering his matchstick more with his hands. The wind blows it out once again.
Freddie walks to Tommy to position himself in front of his friend with his back to the wind. He takes the match box from Tommy’s hands and lights one to the level of his cigarette. Tommy brings his hands around the flame too, brushing lightly Freddie’s fingers. Tommy takes some deep drags of his smouldering cigarette.
Freddie steps back to his side and also leans on the crate.
“The nurse tells you your lungs work well again and the first thing you do is smoke ?” Freddie asks bluntly, a small smile decorating the corner of his lips.
“Why are you here then ?”
“Who knows ?”
He looks up to the sky, while tapping lightly his pack on his other hand to slide a cigarette out.
“Sergeant Major Shelby now ?”, Freddie asks, turning his head towards Tommy, searching his eyes.
“Seems like it”, he replies as he takes a drag of his cigarette, without bothering to look to his friend.
“Finally, some good news !”
“Sounds more like a poisoned gift. You’ll all hate me before the end of this.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
Tommy puts his hands on the top of the crate to stabilise him, while he moves his legs in a more comfortable position.
“They’re sending us off to the Somme. The british troops from Gallipoli are also mobilised there. I guess they’re preparing something big.”
Freddie pauses for a few seconds.
“You don’t seem happy to see your brothers again.”
“Not really. I wished it’d be somewhere else.”
Tommy’s sentences are simple and short, but Freddie always thought they have the ability to crush your heart with their melancholia. For a few moments, they smoke their cigarette silently, just enjoying this taste they missed and the presence of the other.
“We can’t wear it often but the uniform suits you well. Yours looks even clean.”
“I don’t think that the same can be said about you.”
“You mean the cleanliness or my incredible charm in uniform ?” Freddie asks with a wide smile in his gaze.
“Choose what you’d prefer to hear.” Tommy glances at him on the corner of his eyes, smiling lightly and teasingly to his friend. A little muffled laugh escapes both of their mouth. But the pleasure is only of a short duration, their faces become serious again quickly after.
Freddie throws his stub on the ground and crushes it with his foot. He tilts his head in the direction of the door.
“Let’s go inside. The wind gets up. It’d be too stupid to go through all this shit and die knocked over by a flying branch.”
Tommy nods and crushes his cigarette on the ground too, before following Freddie inside.
Notes : Here is my first attempt at writing a fic! This piece was written for the @peakyblindersexchange and you can find all the amazing works of the collection here. It includes a lot of different pairings and kind of stories.
Thank you to the lovely @tinypinetrees to have helped me to make this fic written in proper English ❤
You can leave me a comment if you enjoyed this, I’ll be pleased to know it! If you liked it, I’m really willing to continue this story to get to their disagreements/arguments.
(For the people with a soft heart, the canaries were used to detect the presence of carbon monoxyde, an imperceptible lethal gas which terrified the miners during WW1. It was produced by the explosion of mines or the firing of a gun in a tunnel. Usually, the birds only fainted and were saved. If they had lived that a few times already, they were sent to retirement.)
#writing#tommy shelby#freddie thorne#tommy shelby x freddie thorne#thomas shelby#thomas shelby x freddie thorne#danny whizz bang#peaky blinders#peaky blinders fanfiction#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders fic#peaky blinders imagine#masterlist
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forgiveness~ tommy shelby
A/N: would you still be surprised if i said this was mostly smut. smut smut smutty smut smut, with just a hint of plot (just a hint since im a smut slut through and through). And i aint even the slightest bit ashamed. This lil piece (lel) features the great dommy tommy and if you got a dommy daddy fantasy then THIS ONE IS FOR YOUUU.
If you like (which i hope you doooo since i know i did) please lemme know, if you didnt....let me know that too but BE NICE THIS IS A RESPECTFUL FUCKING NEIGHBOURHOOD AND IM STILL SENSITIVE YA KNO?
Word Count: 6003!!!! 6003 words of mostly smut AND YES I KNOW ITS PROBABLY HELLA EXTRA @ nonnie SO DONT READ IF IT YOU DONT LIKE LONG AF SMUT PIECES (also who have noticed that my pieces get sunstantially longer and longer everydamn time i post?)
ENJOY!
It wasn’t unusual for Tommy to leave the city without telling you. Just as it wasn’t unusual that when he did, you would swear to the high heavens that you were finished with him and his antics. You knew that Thomas Shelby was not the most open man, but you thought maybe, maybe he would have the decency to keep you informed in what was going on in his life. After all, you were in his life, and when you were with him, he made you feel like you were a big part of it.
It was four days later when you heard he returned. The bastard probably too preoccupied with work to bother coming to tell you himself. You didn’t want to care that he was back. The man never bothered to think of you so why should you think of him. You didn’t want to care. But you did. Because no matter how insignificant he treated you 90% of the time, the 10% he did spend with you were the greatest times of your life. Never having felt as special as you did when you were wrapped in his arms.
You thought again to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was some really urgent business, maybe he was kidnapped, held hostage. Maybe he was involved in a fight and lost his consciousness and his memory. You waited all day for Tommy to find you and give you an explanation. You waited and waited and he never came.
You were done with waiting.
The march toward Watery Lane did nothing to wane your anger or feelings of hurt. If anything your already strong emotions increased along the journey. You paused just outside the door to the Shelby residence trying to collect your thoughts so as not to forget any of the reasons you hated Tommy Shelby. With your head held high you pounded confidently and loudly on the door. It was only a few minutes before you could hear the tell-tale Tommy Shelby footprints descending the stairs from behind the frame. He was smiling as he opened the door, already knowing it would be you. However, the smile quickly fell from his lips after you marched straight inside the house without so much as a glance in his direction.
You made your way over to the living area, suddenly hit with a wave of nerves, no longer sure that you should be poking and aggravating the feared lion that is Thomas Shelby.
Feelings which quickly passed when you heard him clear his throat in annoyance.
“Have you not got anything to say?” You speak, trying to hold as much conviction as you can in your words, cursing yourself as your words cracked near the end.
In the brief hesitation of his silence you turn around to look at him. Shocked and hurt you watch him reach into his jacket pockets for his cigarettes and his matches, slowly inhaling the smoke and exhaling as if he had all the time in the world. As if your time meant nothing to him.
As if you meant nothing to him.
“You were gone four days Tommy? What? It didn't occur to you that maybe I would care to know where you were going? That you were going?,” you hurry the words out feeling your emotions starting to get the better of you. “What were you doing Tommy? Did it have something to do with Sabini?”
“It was business YN. And my business is not your concern.” He replied in a bored tone, taking another small inhale from his cigarette and letting the smoke slowly carry itself out of his mouth. His stupid and beautiful and irritating mouth.
“Not my concern,” you scoffed in disbelief. “Yes, well... what exactly can I be concerned about Tommy? I’m not allowed to know where you are half the time, not allowed to know who you do business with, I can't know what your business even is involved with! I can't know when you'll be around, if you'll be around… It seems that the only time I’m allowed to be concerned about anything to do with Thomas fucking Shelby is when he wants something warm to stick his cock into! You want a whore Tommy? You can find somebody else!” You scream out, surprised that despite the broken feeling you feel in your heart over what you just said your voice held strong.
“What the fuck did you just say?” He whispers back menacingly, finally making eye contact with you from across the room. “This is who I am YN! You knew that when you got with me. My business is my business, not yours. Coming here demanding what- that I tell you everything? Kicking off at me for BEING THE MAN YOU KNEW I WAS! You think I haven't got enough on?! Eh? Is that it? You think I haven't got enough on?! I’ve got my brother, the Italians, the Jews, the Irish, fuckin Inspector Campbell breathing down my neck, and what? Eh? You think I have the time to deal with all this? You want a fight, pick it with someone else, I dont have the time for your childish games.”
“Well don't worry Tommy, there's no need to deal with this anymore,” you said as you emphasized the space between the two of you with the wave of your hand. His eyes held yours, and as he slowly registered the meaning of your words they darkened with something that was different than anger, but undetectable all the same.
“Oh what?” he countered, his words and eyes hard as ice, “you gonna walk out that door?”
“Yeah Tommy. I’m gonna walk out that door,” you bit back, trying to hold your own under his intimidating glare.
“You are not fucking walking out that door Y/N.” His voice was a warning. Calm yet threatening. The aggression that was laced in his tone tantalizing, sending shivers racing down your spine to between the heating core between your legs.
“You gonna stop me Tommy?” you scoffed out with a laugh. Your eyes testing his.
“Oh I don't need to stop you princess. You're not walking out that door.” The manner with which he spoke was detached from any emotion, his voice as placid as ever, he face clear of any discerning expression. He kept his eyes on yours as he fished out another cigarette, lighting it up and inhaling it twice before he made any further move to speak. He held you there, frozen, as you waited for what was coming next. Knowing from the clench in his jaw, and the way he was fiddling with his cigarette that it would be a long night. He began to make his way over to you from across the room, walking slowly with the purpose to put you on edge...an effort at which he succeeded. “No...you see, you didnt need to come here tonight, but here you are. You wanted to come, and I’m willing to bet, that’s not the only thing you wanted by coming here,” he said slowly, each step bringing him closer and closer to you, forcing you back into the wall behind you. “Tell me why you came here tonight Y/N.”
Being in such close proximity to him was paralyzing. His scent overwhelming your senses, his steady breath fanning down across your face. Your mind became hazy as you tried to remember why and how you have ever been mad at him. His eyes mesmerizing any rational thought from your mind.
“I didn't come here to tell you any else than ‘fuck you’,” you dared, keeping your voice firm and chin high as you looked him square in the eye.
“Fuck me eh? Well...you could have just asked sweetheart. I would have been happy to oblige,” his lips quirked into a smile. A stupid and beautiful smile on his stupid and beautiful face. You wanted to scream looking at him—so beautiful and stupid.
“You know that’s not what I meant Tommy. God, I mean, you don't ever listen to me!”
“Oh I’m listening sweetheart. And you know? You almost had me. I almost believed you—coming in ‘ere, guns blazing, screaming at me for what? Not giving you enough...attention? That’s what you need right? Need daddy to give his princess some more attention? Hm?”
“Fuck you,” you spat out. The tone in your voice may have implied one thing, but the way that your back arched into him as he brought his face down to yours said another. Tommy kissed you with a hunger that could never be satiated, his mouth devouring your every exhale, his air the only one your could breathe. When he pulled away moments later he left you gasping, fighting against your lungs need for breath when you were desperate for more of him. You watched in confusion as Tommy took a small step away from you, his hands finding his cigarettes in his pockets and fishing another one out. He watched you under squinted eyes as he lit up and sucked back on the stick, purposely making your squirm under the intensity of his gaze. You could hear the embers of his cigarette burn with each inhale that he took, the smoke billowing out and fogging your vision along with your other senses.
“Oh how you frustrate me princess,” he began, sucking in his teeth as he spoke. His lips quirking back into that infamous small smirk of his as a hint of a chuckle escaped past his throat. “I am… I am a reasonable man. And I want to make sure that you are satisfied... that your needs are well-taken care of. I have treated you well, and yet, despite this, you flip me off—you disrespected me. Am I just supposed to give you what you want? Reward this poor behaviour you’ve exhibited this evening?”
You knew he wanted an answer. Knew that it would make for an easier night if you just opened your mouth and told him what he wanted to hear. But you were frozen. Held captive by the ice in his eyes as he looked at you expectantly. Bringing his hand back up to his lips, he took a slow drag as he waited, his eyebrows raising along with his impatience. Tommy reached his breaking point sooner than you expected, his free hand grabbing hold of your shoulder, pinning you against the wall on your stomach before reaching for your neck and squeezing lightly. The aggressive way he handled you frightened you just as much as it aroused you.
“You really think it’s a good idea to continue to test me? Do you not think you’ve gotten yourself in enough trouble today my little one? I expect an answer.”
His fingers loosened his grip as he waited for you so speak. You could feel him hardening underneath your ass, his hips pressing firmly against you to keep you in place. The delicious sensation of it all making it difficult for you to suppress the smile threatening to fall on your lips.
“I’m sorry daddy,” you whined, grinding your ass deeper into his hips, your body in wanton need of his. “I didn't mean to make you mad, I just–you were gone for so long, and I– well– I missed you. Missed the way you feel… please forgive me daddy.” Your voice was sincere as you continued to speak, hoping that Tommy would take some pity at the thought of how you struggled in his absence.
“Hmm… you poor little bird. I’m sorry to hear that, though you should know there are better ways of asking for my attention. Ones that don’t involve disrespecting me.”
“I know daddy, but this way was much faster. And...well… effective.”
The haughty laugh that escaped his lips made your lower lips quiver licentiously, the heat in your core burning with white light from the anticipation of what was to come. Tommy moved his body so he was level with your own, his mouth biting down into the space where your shoulder and neck meet, sucking back the skin with his lips. Making sure to leave his mark.
“Well princess, you’ve certainly got my attention,” he murmured deeply into your reddening skin. Tommy dragged his teeth along the line of your neck up to your jaw, kissing and sucking his way up to your lips. With your bottom lip between his teeth, one of his hands found your ass— a harsh slap raining down on your cheek. “Careful what you wish for little bird. Upstairs. Now.”
Tommy pressed hard against your ass for a second more before stepping back to allow you to move, wanting you upstairs as quickly as possible. As you turned to look back at him, his stare alone was worth any number of the punishments he was conjuring up behind his cold and hard expression. Your feet ran up the stairs without any further instruction, the anticipation over what was to come something that was tangibly evident between your heated legs. At the sound of his heavy footsteps behind you, you turned around, smiling devilishly coy at him as you walked up the stairs backwards, tripping a few times which earned you a few small smirks and chuckles from his lips. He caught up to you rather quickly, his strong arms enveloping you with ease as he hoisted you up over his shoulder. You squealed with glee at his exuberance as he threw you onto the grand bed that was in his room. Tommy sauntered over across the room, resting his body against his wardrobe as he waited for you to undress, a command which he gave with just a look in his eye in lieu of actual words.
Your hands made quick work of your dress buttons, knowing that teasing him would not be in your favour tonight... no matter how fun it would be. Tommy turned away from you for a moment, placing a record in the gramophone to let some soft music fill the room. You halted you movements in confusion, unsure of where he was going with this. Tommy was not so much of a music man— the gramophone in his room present only to humour you on the days he had kept you alone in his house while he went to work. Your eyebrow was quirked up curiously when he turned around to face you once more.
“I want to watch you princess. I want to watch you dance for me.”
You looked back at him in shock, the request that he made so far deviated from any of his usual ones. Even though he purchased and kept the gramophone for your use, Tommy has never seen you danced, never seemed to show any interest for that matter. A sly grin forming on his lips as he walked toward the bar he kept in the corner and poured himself a healthy glass of whisky in his glass. He moved to hand the glass over to you, gifting you his offering.
“Some liquid courage little bird?” he teased, his eyes growing dark as your hands slipped around his to grab the glass.
You licked your lips before downing the drink without a second thought, desperate for some more to further ease your inhibitions.
“Can I have another daddy? Please?” you asked, your voice small and sweet.
Tommy nodded curtly as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Walking slowly over to his private bar, you poured yourself another liberal shot and tipped it back your throat in one smooth motion. Despite how long you have known Tommy, you never really got used to the taste of whiskey—finding the taste much to astringent for your own liking. You refilled his glass once more for him before walking back over to the bed. He retook possession of the glass and settled in on the sheets, leaning back on his elbows and tilting his head for you to continue with his demand.
“Go on little birdy, start dancing.”
Willing the alcohol to work its magic, you closed your eyes and breathed in deeply. You felt like the room was spinning, though we're not sure if it was because of the alcohol or the embarrassment from the task at hand. Your hips started to sway side to side as soon as he cleared his throat in annoyance, obviously having grown impatient with your stalling.
Raising your arms above your head you turned your back to him, twisting your waist as you swayed your ass in his view. You could hear Tommy maneuver behind you, and as you craned your neck over your shoulder, you watched as he licked his lips and palmed himself through his trousers. His eyes clouded with lust, his mouth practically drooling.
“Take off the rest of your clothes darling, but keep dancing,” he muttered out absentmindedly, most of his attention focused on his throbbing cock that he was palming with his right hand while he tried to loosen his shirt collar and buttons with his left.
With the rest of the buttons on your dress undone, you shrugged the fabric off from your shoulders, allowing it to billow around your ankles before stepping out. Untying your brassiere and shimmying out of your knickers, you threw your intimates to where Tommy was on the bed, eliciting a low growl which turned to a chuckle to escape from his mouth. You watched as he grabbed hold of your panties, his fingers tracing along the lacy edges, inspecting the evidence of your desire you left on them.
He commanded you to touch yourself, his eyes widening with amusement at the sight of how your cheeks blushed red. You could feel the wetness seeping out through your legs as you cupped and massaged your own breasts. Where once you felt nothing but embarrassment, you now felt erotic and sensual, the hungry look in Tommy’s eyes spurring you on further.
“Would you care to join me daddy?” you asked, trailing your fingers down to where you needed them most.
His eyes drank you in but he made no move to get up or join you. You continued your frilly dance as you waited, turning back around away from him as he seemed to contemplate his next move.
“C’mere,” he commanded, his voice sounding as strong as ever. “On your knees.”
Blushing a deeper shade of red now, you sunk to your knees and crawled on your hands towards Tommy, swaying your ass slowly from side to side as he looked on ravenously. He removed his right hand from his groin and took off his shirt, letting his suspenders hang off the side of his waist before he moved to unbuckle his pants.
When his cock was pulled, you found he was already leaking, the tip red and beading with his pearlescent precome. You mouth opened as you reached him, the need to have him between your lips completely overwhelming. Tommy collected his desire with the tip of his thumb and leaned forward on the bed to slip his thumb on your tongue. You sucked on him ravenously, swirling your tongue around the tip of his thumb as if it were his cock. With his other hand, Tommy finished off his untouched glass of whiskey, discarding the emptied tumbler on the floor so he could harshly grab hold of your hair.
“I shouldn't even let you touch me after the way you behaved this evening. I should be teaching you a lesson, but christ Y/N, that mouth is just begging for it isn’t it? And you need this don’t you little one. Need daddy to give you some extra attention eh?” His voice and expression looked sweet and loving, his eyes and lips crinkling into a smile as he indulged you.
Nodding enthusiastically, you hummed around his thumb, Tommy swirling his digit around in your mouth as you did.
Pulling his thumb out with a wet pop, you spoke. “Please daddy. Please let me–.”
“Best get to work little girl, before I change my mind.”
Leaning forward, you took his hot cock into your mouth, humming with assent at the slick feel of his velvet skin against your tongue. As your mouth closed around him, you could hear his breath hitch aggressively, his teeth holding back the guttural groan threatening to escape. Leaning back on his left forearm, his right hand fell behind your head, guiding you however he wanted by the roots of your hair. Your own hands rested on top of his thighs, trying to push back as Tommy forced you to take him deeper.
“You will not fight me little bird. You asked for this remember? Don’t be ungrateful now.” His grasp was painful as he pulled on your roots, ramming the back of your head onto him again and again. You tried your best to relax your throat, to focus on your breathing, but Tommy’s ferocity gave little leeway for any of that. He wanted your mouth, and Tommy was a man who always gets what he wants.
Tears were filling your eyes as you looked up at him, humming a few grunts to get his attention back on you. As his eyes met yours, he loosened his grip slightly, allowing you a brief respite. Emboldened with the ferocity of your passion, you took your mouth off of Tommy, blowing cool air onto the wet mess you left behind. Tommy groaned out a frustrated laugh, his lips forming a grin that flooded warmth straight between your legs. You took him back in, gliding your tongue up and over his veined shaft before he did so. His hands find their way back to your hair, pushing you down once more with no time for adjustment. You throat began to burn as he shoved himself further in. Moans of desperation building but no room to escape.
“That’s it sweetheart, take it all like a good little girl. I bet you’re feeling extra special right now aren’t you?” he teased, his voice raspy and deep and delicious.
At the pace he was setting, it wasn't long before you could feel his muscles twitch under your tongue. His grunts coming out quickly as he fell down back on the bed, knowing you to be more than capable of finishing him off.
You felt it before you tasted him. The warm liquid spurting to the back of your throat in gushing bursts, the overflow oozing wetly against your tongue. Tommy strained to look at you, his orgasm prolonging as he looked at you with his come frothing around the sides of your mouth. Swallowing him back, you revelled in his taste against you tongue, making sure of lick up every last drop as it continued to spill from his tip.
“Thats it my girl...clean up the mess you made. Good girl.” Tommy moaned out, his voice still heavy and breathy from his recent undoing.
Licking up the sides of his veined manhood, you decided to take a risk, helpless against your own ego and wanting to tile him up yet again. Baring your teeth with a teasing smile, you grazed them lightly against his veined and aching skin. Tommy lurched forward, grabbing hold of your face harshly with his deft fingers. His eyes looked wild when they met yours, his own teeth dazzling bright against the animalistic smile he was wearing. An arrogant laugh came up from his throat as he pulled out of your mouth and slapped you across the face. The impact was not exactly hard, but it wasn't exactly soft either. Tommy knew what he was doing. He wanted you to feel him, to be reminded of his strength, his power, his dominion. He wanted to make you think twice about going against him again. But as you began to laugh in his face— taunting him— he knew you didn’t quite get the memo.
“Watch yourself little girl,” he warned, his voice as icy as his eyes.
“Make me,” you countered back, garnering another slap across your cheek, his hand exhibited far more strength this time than the last.
“Christ...you missed me that bad huh? You know, if you want something princess, you need to ask for it, I am a rather busy man.”
“Am I being bad daddy? Maybe you need to... punish me?” you said coquettishly, hoping that would be enough.
Another slap. This one hard enough to move your face even though his other hand holding your chin firmly in place.
Tightening his left hand even more around your jaw, his brings his head in closer, forcing you back up straight on your knees.
“I said you had to ask for it sweetheart. Now tell me... what is it that you want?”
Shivers ran down your spine as you looked at him, pooling the warmth of your desire down your core. With his hand still tight around your chin, his thumb traced the line of your bottom lip. Granting him access you pulled in his digit, holding his thumb between your teeth as you sucked. You pulled him out with a pop, kissing the tip of his thumb between sentences.
“You. I want you. And this hand.... And I want marks all over my body to remind me of you in case you leave me again. I want to be yours daddy. I want you to make me yours. Please sir.”
“Ask and you shall receive princess. C’mon, get up, lay down on the bed and let daddy take care of you eh?”
Giggling enthusiastically, you grabbed on to Tommy’s outstretched hands as he helped you stand and kept you stable on your stiffened legs and joints. Tommy moved you against the edge of the bed, laying you down on the stomach and spreading your legs apart with his foot, shifting your hips upwards with his hands to force your ass in the air.
“Count them out for me little bird,” he said before bringing his hand down on your bare backside, the sting of the impact instinctually tensing your muscles.
“One,” you moaned out, trying your best to wiggle your hips to bring some friction on you aching cunt.
When his hand came down again on the opposite cheek, you groaned out from the pain, each subsequent slap being counted out through gritted teeth.
“Nine–oh god...nineteen. Please daddy,” you begged, trying to find the strength of move one of your hands under your stomach between your legs, stopping when you felt his gentle caress trace over the reddening bruises on your arse.
“Yes my little bird?” he asked back, the smile audible in his voice.
“Help me daddy–please.” Given the position you found yourself in, you had no qualms over the shameful way you begged for him. You couldn't be bothered to think of what you must look like, sound like— not now. Not when you needed him as desperately as you did. All you could think about was the budding fiery sensation building aggressively in your core and nothing else. You needed him, and you didn’t care what you had to do to get him.
One more slap rang down on your skin, forcing a choking gasp out from your throat as you struggled for breath. Before you could count off this one, Tommy forced two fingers into your sopping cunt, thumbing your clit with small circles. With his other hand he held you down, stopping any chance you had of pushing back on his fingers to bring him deeper. When Tommy removed his fingers so soon after shoving them in, you cried out actual tears, struggling against his strong hand on your back as you tried to grab on to him.
Your mumbled moans became muffled as Tommy brought his two fingers to your lips. You sucked them back eagerly, mewling against him as your tongue swirled against him. When he took his fingers back, he replaced them with his lips, kissing you passionately and biting down on your bottom lip.
“Oh how I love you my sweet little bird. Always so good for me...So receptive. I’m sorry for not giving you the attention you deserve princess, but let me right that wrong now eh? Does that sound good angel”
“Oh God, yes daddy–ye–yes it does.,” you moaned out in a breathless whisper, too preoccupied by the thought of his cock deep inside of you to register the words ‘I love you’.
From the corner of your eye you watched him stroke himself with one hand while stroking your back with the other. Tingles radiating from his fingers where they connected with your skin, making your back arch up to meet his touch. You wiggled your hips eagerly, a desperate groan rolling off your tongue as you heard and watched Tommy spit onto his cock. He held himself against your entrance for a few excruciating moments— ever the tease that man.
“Is this what you want little bird? Hmm? Is this what you’ve been waiting for ever since I’ve been away? My cock here inside of you? For me to fuck you?”
He slowly began pushing in, exhibiting impressive control considering how easy it would have been to just slide right in to your sopping cunt.
“Yes! God daddy please, please let me feel you. I want to feel all of you please!” you cried out loudly, your breaths coming out in short, hard pants— you were a bitch in heat.
“Oh you’ll feel me sweetheart. You’ll feel me tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next day. You won’t be able to spend a second this next week without feeling me…”
Trailing off, he pushed in, sinking deeply into you with a guttural groan. Tommy wasted no time as he began pounding into you from behind, his balls slapping against you ass from his vigor. Even though you were laying down on your stomach, the ferocity with which he fucked you sent you bouncing on the plush mattress. Hands gripping tightly around his expensive bed sheets, you tried to push back against him. Needing him deeper— harder. Needing everything he had in every single way he could give it.
Tommy was grunting loudly behind you, digging his hands into the skin of your hips hard enough to bruise you even more, his fingernails leaving large half-moons all over your waist. He knew you were close, hell he knew you were close long before he was even inside of you. Your body tensed up from the minute you walked through his door, desperate and yearning for some relief.
One of his large hands moved across your back as your upper body started writhing beneath him. Bending slightly on his knees, Tommy changed the angle of his thrusts— gasping audibly out at how your body clenched around him as a response. Your screams were filling the room as Tommy kept hitting you from behind, the sounds bouncing on the walls as you came around him. The violent pulses of your orgasm roaring through your body to every single one of your nerve endings. Tommy did not let up, his thrusts never waning even as you clenched and yelped around him.
You were struggling with your arms behind you to touch him, to feel him in some way to ground yourself back down to him. With your hand splaying wildly behind your back above you, Tommy grabbed one. Using his grip on your hand, he flipped you over, sliding out of you far more easily than he slid in. Tommy held you tight against his chiseled chest, quickly finding his way back into your cunt and resuming his pace. With one hand holding your weakened body, he used his other to hold your face up to look at his, demanding that you kept your eyes on his as he fucked you.
Despite his previous confession, there seemed to be no love in the way that Tommy claimed your body with his. His darkened pupils bared no affectionate glow toward you but only a possessive dominance. He fucked you like you were his toy, one of his dolls, but it didn’t matter, so long as you were his.
“Oh god daddy…,” you moaned out. A soft exhale that was but a whisper in his dimmed bedroom. A pledge of submission that echoed loudly off the walls, reverberating back to his ears and to his cock.
Tommy moved to kiss you, his lips hard and rough against yours as his rhythm became more erratic, his legs starting to shake under him. He took everything you had to offer him— your breath, your moans, your tears, which had begun to spill from your eyes from both the exertion and the delicious painful pleasure you were experiencing this moment. Pulling away from your gruffly, he brought his hand back down on your face— the unexpected slap dragging your attention back onto him from the transfixed haze you were falling in.
“Look at me princess. I want you to watch my face as I come inside of you. Keep them open sweetheart,” Tommy said through strained grunts, trying his best to stave off his own undoing as he waited for you. His free hand grabbed hold of one of yours, pushing it down to where your bodies met, knowing even in your blissed-out stupor your primal instincts for pleasure would take over.
Without seemingly any conscious effort, you started manipulating the hot bud at the apex of your thighs, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of another orgasm. Tommy was practically drooling as he watched. His eyes shifting down from your own to the spot your bodies met— watching you as you desperately pinched and rubbed against your swollen clit, your body practically limp and lifeless were it not for his arms holding you up.
The warm pool inside your core suddenly became a flash flood as Tommy wrapped your legs around his waist, granting himself access to drive even further into your body. He held you tightly as you convulsed around him, his eyes wild as they forced and maintained contact with your own. Frantically thrusting into you, Tommy suddenly stilled, milking around her walls. Despite how high you were, you were still able to savour the feeling of his warm seed jolting within you, still able to notice and feel the way his body twitched inside you as he came.
“Christ girl, fuckin’ hell,” he groaned out.
Tommy fell forwards on top of you, your spent bodies collapsing down on the edge of the bed. His teeth bit down on your shoulder as he finished coming inside of you, grunts quietly subsiding as soon as he kissed his way up to your lips.
“You're mine Y/N. All mine,” he murmured gently into your lips, his body still attached to your own. “And I’ll make sure you never question that again my sweet girl. Daddy’ll always take care of you.”
“Hmm, thank you sir. ’m sorry for before, I shouldn't have yelled at you the way I did... forgive me daddy?”
“Nothin’ to forgive you for girl, I should be the one apologizing. I took you for granted. But I’m going to make up for it now sweetheart...if you’ll let me.”
“I don't think I can go again daddy…” you trailed off, your voice coy as can be. Your hands finding his hair and gently massaging his scalp with your nails.
“Oh yes you can my girl, you can't deny a man seeking forgiveness can you?. Plus my tongue has missed you, am I’m fairly confident you’ve missed it as well.”
“Well I guess if you put it like that…”
Using what strength you had left, you tried to push his head down, meeting resistance from his much stronger body.
“Give me a minute little bird. You've worn me out just then. I’ll start my atonement soon don’t you worry”
Tagged: @prettieparker86 (if you want to be tagged just lemme know and I’ll try my best to remember!)
#im not too happy with this ending since i just kinda dropped it#but i was at 6000 words and felt like it was time#plus i was dehydrated wink wink#omg kat stop being inappropriate#tommy shelby#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby smut#tommy shelby x reader#peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders smut#SORRY FOR IT BEING SO LONG BUT ALSO IM TOTALLY NOT SORRY#call me satans slutty mistress#satan is my daddy
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08/18/2018 DAB Transcript
Esther 1:1-3:15 , 1 Corinthians 11:17-34 , Psalms 35:17-28 , Proverbs 21:19-20
Today is the 18th day of August. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian and it's great to be here with you as we close down another week. And even as we close down another week, we'll be opening a brand new book today.
Introduction to the book of Esther:
The book of Esther is a short little book, but it's a high drama story that's full of intrigue. Esther tells of a young Hebrew girl named Hadassah who was orphaned while in exile in Persia. And then she was taken in and raised as a daughter by her cousin Mordecai who was of the tribe of Benjamin. But they were in exile and exiled Hebrews often took on localized names. So, Hadassah was given the name Esther, which translates to mean star or morning star in Jewish tradition. From the scriptures we know that Esther was stunningly beautiful and she possessed a quiet character. And when King Ahasuerus, who is associated with Xerxes, sought to find a replacement for the banished Queen Vashti, Esther was chosen, although she kept the fact that she was Jewish a secret. And this proved very providential. Around the same time, a man named Haman rose to prominence before the king. And Haman was a descendant of King Agag of Amalec. So, the Hebrews and the Amalekites had been enemies dating all the way back to their origins, which would be Jacob and Esau. King Agag was executed by the prophet Samuel after King Saul defeated the Amalekites in battle. So, Haman’s hated of the Jews was personal. And it was reignited when Mordecai would not bow down before him in honor as the king’s highest official. And so Haman devised a plan to annihilate every Jew in the Persian empire. So, that's quite a backdrop for quite a dramatic story. On one side of the king was this beautiful Jewish queen Esther. On the other side was this high official Haman who intended to wipe all Jews from the earth. So, the book of Esther is the basis for the festival Purim for the Jewish people, which was established by Mordecai in the book of Esther. The story takes place during the same period of history that we've been reading about when we've read through Nehemiah and the previous books that describe the exile. We'll find many parallels in the book of Esther that we can apply to our lives. And God will always show up. The circumstance doesn't always dictate the outcome of things. And everyone has an important role to play because God brings people into the picture for specific times and specific missions to get major things done in his kingdom. This can be large as Queen Esther saving God's people from destruction or God sending you to rescue your next door neighbor. We're all here for such a time as this. And so, with that being said, let's dive into the book of Esther 1:1-3:15. And we're reading from the Good News Translation this week.
Prayer:
Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for another week in Your word. And we thank You for all that You have spoken to us, all that You have shifted within us, all the seeds that have been planted in our lives that will yield a harvest. And we thank You for bringing us this far. All the way to the beautiful and redemptive story of Esther. We ask that Your Holy Spirit plant this in our lives and we thank You God. We love You and we worship You. And we pray these things in Jesus name. Amen.
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And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I’ll be waiting for you here tomorrow.
Community Prayer and Praise:
Good morning Daily Audio Bible. My name is Joy. This is my first time calling in and I’m so blessed by this ministry. I have been enjoying it on my walks and jogs every morning and I assure you that I have been praying and growing. This morning I’m calling in because I was encouraged to when I heard two other brothers from the prayer line call in who are in ministry as we are. And I felt led to go ahead and call in my first time to ask for prayer for my husband and I. We recently planted a church, our second, in Texas. And it’s been a four year journey and we decided to let go of this position because another phone call came in for a church in Missouri. And, so, we have been moving that direction, to take over a church in Missouri. However, we got a call the night before at 9 PM from that church, the night before we were to be celebrated the next Sunday morning to say goodbye to our church in Texas that that board has decided not to continue with us because we are foster parents who are having to go to court and be in trials to win our baby boy who we have had for 20 months in our home and we also have his sister and she is adopted. This trial has been going on since the end of January. It is now August. No one has ever seen a trial go this long and every time we go to court there seems to be a reschedule and with no end in sight. And so we lost this church and…this is the church in Missouri as well. All was…
Hi. My name is Shika from Los Angeles and I just started listening. __ start from January and I just hit February and I’ve fallen in love with the community and all I can think of is how I really wish I had a community like this. But I’m calling because I really need prayer. I’ve been married for four years. I’ve known him for nine years. He’s traditional, like, he’s Indian family. And I __ from Jamaica. And his parents have just made my life hell. And I thought it was just his past, like, they call me the N word, they call me __. And I’ve put up with this cause I thought…well…they don’t know better. My __ family, they don’t know Jesus but he’s been the problem too. He just came down and __ hateful person. And then when I was pregnant he was really verbally and emotionally abusive. He would like scream at me. And right when I had my son he __ didn’t want anything to do with him. And he was just terrible. He just….he was just so caught up on status and show. That there was spite for him. And, I’d said, you know, we needed a good environment __, and we need to be separated. __ that I have to fight him tooth and nail. __. I spoke to a lawyer and he said that he would get custody. __. And if he was as manipulative as I say then I won’t fare well. So, I don’t know what to do. I tried everything. I’ve tried counseling. Maybe my message is too long. I’ve tried counseling multiple times. __ I’ve tried everything I could with him. But he still is always blaming me and putting me down and I don’t know how to get out of this and I don’t know how to get strong enough to __ life time because he’s only twenty two months and __ custody...and…
Hi DAB family. This is Shelby. Forgive me for reading this but I don’t want to ramble. I’ve been listening for six years and finally got the courage to call today. I pray along with you all and look forward to hearing your familiar voices most every day. I’m asking you all to pray with me in finding the house that the Lord would have me have because I am a single changing aging woman and desperately need to downsize to something I can manage. I can’t afford to move unless I sell my house and I feel trapped in it. I’ve been down in the dumps over my living situation for years and I’m stepping out of faith, asking the Lord to provide the house of his choosing. I already feel the Lord’s hand in this because I found a home that I think will work and a couple is coming to look at my house on Saturday. I haven’t even listed it in the house and found wasn’t listed. Please pray that if it’s the Lord’s will, and that’s the important part, the couple will buy it and I will be able to get the other house. Timing is critical. I need prayer for wisdom, discernment, and courage to handle the negotiation and all of the for sale by owner transactions. I confess, I’m afraid. I also need strength to finish cleaning and decluttering before they see the house on Saturday, August 18th. Thank you family, Brian, and Jill for your prayers and all that you do. Listening to the Bible through the DAB all these years has changed my life and by relationship with the Lord. I recommend it to everyone I talk to. I hope to come back soon with a praise report. God bless you all. Bye-bye.
Hi family this is Prophetic Intercessor from North Carolina calling just to say shed prayer for those who feel that their dreams have been deferred for so long. And I have been so heavy the last two days. And my brother and my mother prayed for me just a few hours ago and I felt such a weight lift and I wanted to pass that forward because I know what it is to feel heavy and I know what it is to have a dream that’s deferred that makes your heartsick. But the other part of the verse in proverbs says that when the dream is fulfilled it is like a tree of light. So, I’m just calling to pray for those who find themselves with sickened hearts because there’s s some dreams and desires you’ve laid before God that you haven’t seen manifested yet. And I want to speak light over your life and I want to encourage you to stay on the course because God is not a man that He should rise but every word that He spoke He is well able to bring it to pass and I pray that God send a fresh wind into your life today to breathe upon every dry dream, to breathe upon every dry bone, that a new wind will come to every valley that you’re walking in until flesh comes back upon your bones and until you are reinvigorated. I pray in the name of Jesus that He would invigorate your heart today with peace, with joy, with hope, and with strength. That you will not stagger at the promise, but that you would hold fast, and that God would release eagles wings so that you do not faint, hallelujah, and that you do not fall moments before you cross over the finish line because the enemy’s tactic is to wear us out before we lay hold of the promise. But I rebuke every satanic plot that gets you to give up moments before the promise is realized in your life. And I join forces with you as a prophetic intercessor and I stand in the gap with you that your heart will no longer be sick because your dream is coming to be fulfilled. Be blessed. And I…
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The Night Train - Part 1
Lilian Turner, a horror novelist, wakes up one stormy night to find a bleeding man in her train compartment. Thomas Shelby is on the run.
PART 2
When I opened my eyes, Thomas Shelby was there, staring at me. Seated across from me in my train compartment, hair stuck to his forehead, clothes dark from the wetness the rain had harassed him with.
At the time, of course, I didn't know his name was Thomas Shelby. All I knew was a man was watching me as I tried to keep myself from dozing away.
I was on my way to the coasts of Russia, meaning to visit the family of a friend who I was told would be more than willing to give me room and board.
It was night and the combination of the sound of the raindrops on my window and the move of the train against the tracks was so soothing, I was easily forgetting all about what I’d been meant to write that night.
I’d been having trouble sleeping, my inability to write haunting me. Debilitating.
My publisher had recommended I take a trip to Europe. Russia’s snowy coasts had coaxed some of his favorite writer’s into relaxation. Many even into inspiration. The kind that often bred masterpieces.
I was waiting for mine.
When I opened my eyes, I didn't know then, but I had found it.
I stared at him silently, for a moment so utterly shocked a man was in my compartment that the words (as they had the habit of doing these days) left me.
But even then, somehow, I wasn't afraid. I reflect on this often, unsure of what it means. I didn't question it then but it’s remarkable to me even now. Thomas Shelby had surprised me, but no, not scared me.
He stared at me evenly, not uncomfortable by my gaze.
The silence was thick, I unaware of who should break it first. The longer time went on, the more I realized this man didn’t mean to shake it.
He pulled out a cigarette case from the inside of his coat pocket and lit one with a lighter he confiscated from his pants pocket.
My mind, in spite of its prior sleepy sluggishness, was already moving fast. I was sure I’d booked the compartment for myself only. None of the attendants had said anything about anybody else joining me. There were few that had boarded the train at midnight, as I had. I’d thought I’d seen them all. And we hadn’t stopped at any station yet.
Where had he come from?
The click of the lighter as it opened and closed was subdued by the rain. But it, like a grandfather clock, kept the time.
I shifted in my seat, neck aching from the awkward angle I’d had it in. His eyes flashed to me and that was when I decided that I didn't want to say anything and wasn’t going to.
The smell of his cigarette had already dispersed through the whole train compartment.
I placed my hands in my lap, debating whether to reach for my book and read. That could keep my mind preoccupied.
A flash of lightning illuminated the window we were seated against and with its light, I saw a gash at the top of his head. Seconds later, thunder cracked so loudly, I felt it flutter in my chest.
The shock of the lightning and thunder must have ignited something in me because before I knew it, I had asked, “Are you alright, sir?”
The strange man, as I’d thought of him by then, remained still, eyes on me.
A quick flash of thought through my mind; could he not hear me?
Suddenly, he was up and opening the train compartment door, peeking from one end of the hall to the other.
I’d sat up, trying to discern what was going on but without moving much for fear he’d be spooked by me.
He was listening for any movement coming from the hallways, concentrated. When it seemed nothing was there, he slid the door closed again and locked it.
This was when I began to get nervous.
“Sir, are you alright?”
He turned back to me then and viewed me as if he’d forgotten about me and was just remembered.
The cigarette was still in his hand and he brought it up to his lips again.
“Never been better,” a gruff voice, as if released from deep below.
He sat back down and I watched him, this time not worrying about him noting me doing so.
I eyed the gash on top of his head then looked at him again, noticing his noticing.
“Are you hurt?”
He took another draw from his cigarette, slowly untensing his body and leaning his head back against the seat, lost in his thoughts, eyeing the compartment ceiling.
He was as unresponsive as a corpse. So, I , glancing one more time at the locked compartment door, decided it best to do what I had wanted do since the man had made me uncomfortable, and reached for my book and notebook. I opened the notebook and flipped to my notes from earlier in the day. I pretended to read them after my mind refused to register the words, my eyes having run over them four times already with no luck.
I couldn’t stop thinking about his wound. I was sure I had some disinfectant ointment and gauze in my bag. I was a clumsy person and travel could be tough. I believed in preparation. And tonight, this belief hadn’t failed me.
I put my books aside and stood up, turning my back to him to reach for the overhead compartments over my seat. I found my bag and inside of it, what I was looking for.
His eyes were already on me, when I explained, “I have gauze and ointment for your wound. I can help you, if you’d like.”
A look came over him briefly, lingering long enough for me to notice it but not long enough for me to decipher it before he hid it.
“Are you a doctor?”
This was a little surprising. No one had thought I was a doctor before. A nurse? Always.
“Not at all. Just prepared.”
He shook his head, “I’m alright.” He pulled a handkerchief from his inside pocket and wiped at his head, missing. I stepped forward to show him where it was but his body jerked and he held up a hand.
Was he … afraid of me? That was… odd.
Embarrassed and feeling my face growing warm, I turned away.
I put the things back in the bag and sat back down, avoiding his gaze as calmly as I could.
I was already filling with dread at the thought that the train ride was to consist of such awkward silence, a torture, when he spoke again.
This time his tone was different enough that I noticed it. “Are you from New York?”
I shifted in my seat, “No, I’m from Texas.”
He was pocketing his handkerchief. “I’ve heard of it…. lots of land. Rich.”
His tone was awkward. As if small talk were a foreign language.
“Yes.” I said. “And beautiful.”
“Better than New York?”
“Oh definitely. New York is cramped, dirty, poor. A tough place for tough people. Texas is… it’s open. It’s honest. And…” I couldn't find the right word.
“Wild.”
“Yes! Wild.”
He was lighting another cigarette.
“And you… are from London?”
“Birmingham.”
“We have a Birmingham as well. Alabama.”
He nodded, taking a draw. “I’ve heard.”
“Have you ever been to America?”
“Yes.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“I was there on business.”
I nodded, acknowledging what he’d said while debating whether it was polite to ask what kind of business.
“Are you a writer?”
The question threw me off guard. Being a woman, no one hardly assumed i was anything other than alive. And barely. But I suppose he’d shown a knack for a different kind of thinking, considering he’d asked if I was a doctor.
“How did you know?”
He motioned at my notebook with his head, “looks handwritten.”
“People write in journals all the time.”
“Not like that.”
The notebook was worn, pages loose, stuffed with additional ones with scribbles all over them.
“What do you write about?”
“Nothing scholarly.”
“Good.” He leaned forward in his seat to place the cigarette in the holder, reaching back to remove his soaked coat. “I’m not much of a scholar.”
He threw the coat onto the seat next to him and leaned back, his white shirt sticking to him.
I couldn’t help but note this, the see-through state of it revealing a dark circular shadow on the left side of his chest. A tattoo?
He saw me staring, picking up his cigarette again.
I swallowed, suddenly remembering the situation he had put me in. My eyes involuntarily flashed to the locked compartment door.
“Have I made you uncomfortable?”
Such a strange question, even after it all. Especially after the fact that I had, at one point throughout this whole ordeal, been sure I had, him.
“I …” my hesitation was unfamiliar and increasingly embarrassing. “Not at all Mr….”
I could have sworn a smirk briefly outlined his lips, behind his cigarette. He didn’t respond.
My mouth somehow, kept on moving. “Your clothes are drenched. You’ll catch a cold.”
Why I cared, I had no idea.
“Would you like me to remove them?”
I froze. The depth of my stomach suddenly felt turbulent, wiry, anxious beyond reason. My face felt warm again and my breath hitched. My mind was in a panic.
I’m embarrassed to admit, that my mouth was probably slightly open, suspended in shock.
I was taking too long to respond, unable to form a sentence despite my affinity for words. No one had ever done this to me before.
This man. This wet bleeding man. Smoking his cigarettes. Even now, as I write this, I feel the words alive in ways I never thought they could be. In particular ways they’d never shined on a page before.
Mr. Noname had redefined all of it in a matter of minutes. My relationship to strangers, to my body, to my words.
That is what I meant by a masterpiece. A great story can change your whole point of view, the way you relate to yourself.
Thomas Shelby had done this to me. Within minutes.
I swallowed, and forced my throat to produce sound. “If that’s how you’d feel the most comfortable, I cant object.”
I, of course, wished to object but if he was truly on the brink of sickness, it didn’t really matter what I wanted. At the same time, I had truly doubted, as I said that, that he would go through with his suggestion.
But he began to unbutton his shirt, pushing his suspenders off of his shoulders. I wanted to turn away but in a moment of resolve, I refused. I’d had enough timidity for a day. Or night. Or, at least, looking timid.
The shirt peeled off of him heavily and he hung it over the windowsill, trapping the shirt collar under the tightly sealed window pane.
I was worried he’d take off his pants as well but he stopped there, sitting with his knees widely apart.
As if unconsciously horrified, I brought my own knees more tightly together.
“What sorts of writing do you do?”
I still had my notebook open in my hands. I looked down at it, as if it were an alien object.
I cleared my throat. “I’m a horror novelist.”
He nodded, mulling it over. The skin over his abdomen was taut, somewhat scarred. What I had assumed was a tattoo through its blurry outline, definitely was a tattoo. It looked like a sun, with radiant rays. But in dark ink.
“A horror novelist.” He repeated.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
I really was, at that time. I’d been obsessed with anything supernatural, macabre, mysterious. Not only because it brought some sort of drama and excitement to my dull life but because there was truth in horror. So much more than in regular old fiction. There was a lot you could learn about a person from what they feared. And everyone feared something.
“You make up stories?” he asked.
“Yes. But I gather inspiration from daily life.”
“Lots of horror there.”
He sounded cheeky. A thoroughly subdued and subtle cheeky. I thought it over briefly. “Yes, there is.”
“For others more than for you, no?”
I paused. “Everyone has their insecurities. Their fears.”
“Some people’s seem more real.”
“Well, that's hard to discern.”
“How?”
“Well, we can’t ever truly know what the other is feeling. Experiencing. Therefore, we can’t truly judge it and determine if it’s more real or not. It’s real for them and for every individual.”
“What about nightmares?”
“....what about them?”
“Are those real?”
“In what sense?”
He paused to re-light his cigarette. By God, he was going through them, puffing along like a chimney.
“Are nightmares real?” He repeated.
I didn't understand his question. “Well, they're real in that they occur. But if you’re asking about the content of your nightmares, th-“
“Are they real if they happen when you’re not asleep?”
I watched him then, his detached look. Amused? No. Jesting? No.
Serious.
“Are those not hallucinations?” I asked, carefully. His stare was so unbroken, so concentrated, I was again unsure of what was transpiring.
After a long moment of that, suspended, he looked away, out his window where there was only pitch blackness.
I too, watched. But I watched him.
There was knock on the compartment door and we both turned to it sharply.
The talking must have woken someone up. My eyes involuntarily ran over his naked upper body and I began to panic once again. His eyes met mine and he also seemed to be debating his current situation.
I could open the door wide enough so that it was only me that was seen. I could block him from view.
I looked at him again, re evaluating his wound. How I’d woken up to him watching me. How he refused to tell me his name. How he’d locked the door. How he was a complete stranger.
Somehow, he seemed to catch this running through my mind, by the look in my eye.
He moved suddenly, grasping me by the arms. I almost gasped in surprise but he put his face close to mine.
“I’m not here.” He said evenly.
What had missed me when I first woke up to the sight of him, hit me now. This man couldn’t be safe. He couldn’t be stable.
He must have seen the panic in my eyes because he loosened his grip and sat back a little, but still close enough that I could see the blue of his eyes, clearly, like the depths of concentrated coral reefs.
There was another knock. This time someone called, “Ms. Turner?”
“Who are you?” I asked the stranger before me, my voice trembling.
“I'm not going to hurt you.”
I was silent and this seemed to worry him more.
“I would have already done it.”
This was true and I registered it, but only beneath the growing unease his reaction to the knock on the door had caused.
“I only boarded this train because some people are after me. Bad people. As soon as it stations, you’ll never see me again.”
Another knock.
I was calculating, dissecting his face. Beneath his stoicism, practiced, I could sense fear.
And that fear, it could only reveal and confirm truth.
I took a breath. “Alright I’l-“
We heard as a key was being inserted into the lock.
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