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greenorangevioletgrass · 8 months

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give me a minute (1/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: established former relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, discussions of separation and divorce, luca and reader has a son, unresolved sexual tension 👀 notes: this fic has been the bane of my existence for the last couple of months or so. it all started as a simple thought of "ooh it would be fun to have a steamy smut with ex!luca" and then it turns into a whole thing with like proper angst and stuff lol. this will be split into two parts, and i think i need encouragement to finish the second part. so please enjoy this first part and tell me what you think! ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted of my latest fics! ✨

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

Your soon-to-be ex-husband is flying in from Denmark to finalize the divorce—and even after two years of exhaustive paperwork and mediations and court proceedings, you still don’t know how to feel about this. His visit to New York is meant to be a consolation prize for your six-year-old son Alfie, whose only facetime with his dad lately is through… well, FaceTime. But, given how extraordinarily difficult he’s being—fussing over his breakfast, stalling shower time by a record of 48 minutes, refusing to wear anything you picked out for him… you have an inkling that he might be a little nervous to see his father.

And to make matters worse, it’s raining cats and dogs outside, which delays Luca by two hours now and actively threatens the zoo outing he has planned out for him and Alfie.

So… despite the shitstorm that is happening in your apartment and out, you keep telling yourself that everything is fine.

Because it is. Your home is tidy enough, with all the toys and the mess tucked away in their little cubbies. Your son is dressed up enough; he’s finally put on his pants and shirt, although you missed a button and he won’t let you fix it. The storm is outside, and you’re safely sheltered in. And your relationship with your ex is civil enough, so you feel…

Fine enough.

But the doorman buzzes in, and you can definitely tell the awkwardness in his voice. “Afternoon, Ma’am. I have your husband— I mean, Chef Luca— I mean Mr. Bailey—”

You sigh, not having the energy to let this go on. “Yeah, yeah. Send him up.”

Alfie looks up from his coloring book and practically jumps out of the couch. “My tummy hurts, I’m gonna make a doodie!”

“No running!” You remind him just a second too late, watching him dash over to the bathroom and slamming the door closed. He has a nervous stomach just like you, and as you feel the icky twist in your gut… you can’t help but empathize with his antics today. You would be fucking shit up too, if you only could.

There’s a knock at the door, and you brace yourself as if you’re about to let the storm itself in (although, quite frankly, you probably are). Your hand feels clammy, and you have to wipe it off on your dress before you unlock the door and turn the knob.

“Hey.”

If the storm was a person, you wouldn’t have associated it with the man standing before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With boyish features and dark blond locks like gentle daylight. It feels like a reach to imagine the seven years of your relationship with him was, indeed, an epic fucking hurricane.

Still.

You can’t help that you miss him.

“Come on in.” You step aside, not really meeting his gaze.

He murmurs a small thanks and apology, a staple combination in Luca’s British vernacular, as he squeezes in through the door with his duffel bag and suitcase.

“I thought you’d dropped these off at your hotel before you came here.”

“I know. I was going to, but…” he puts down his bags close to the jacket closet, like he always does, “But I got held up for ages and traffic was awful and I didn’t want Alfie to wait even longer, so…”

“Right.” You nod absently. “Well. He’s in the bathroom, should be out in a second, so… have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” He takes his seat on the dining table.

You’re not sure which one is more jarring; the sheer familiarity of this, or the fact that it isn’t anymore. The two of you just hovering in the home you used to share, courteous but distant.

Luca looks around the place, and notices all the differences right away. You kept the glass dining table and two of the chairs, but changed the corner seating into a plush dining bench against the kitchen island. He recognizes Alfie’s favorite stuffed bunny on the couch, although the throw pillows were new. But he takes one look at the wall… and his heart drops.

Gone are any traces of him in the snapshots of your life. The pictures are all of you and Alfie—eating ice cream in the park, grinning and showing his first lost tooth, dressed up on Halloween… He really shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to find the wedding portrait gone, or the vacation selfie in Italy four years ago. But it hurts quite a bit to find a generic flower portrait replacing the picture of him kissing you on the forehead while Alfie, laying on your chest, merely hours after his birth.

“Yeah, I…” you clear your throat as you hand him the glass of water, “…did some redecorating.”

“It looks good.” He manages a stiff nod, taking a hesitant swig of water.

“You look…” good, you want to say. Because he is. He’s got that tan and the haircut that reminds you of when you first met him years ago. But you can’t say that. So you settle with, “You look well.”

He meets your eyes, really meets your eyes for the first time, and you try to convince yourself the little flutter you feel inside is just your nervous stomach. But he smiles, soft and earnest. “So do you.”

You turn back and open the fridge, welcoming the cold air and how it cools down the burning warmth on your cheeks. Trying not to freak out and decide what you’re getting, so you don’t look like an idiot. Your hand grabs a can of ginger ale, and you sigh in relief.

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s enjoying his art classes. Math is still a struggle, but Ms. Rashad says his reading is quite advanced for his age.” You relax a little bit into the conversation. The topic of your son resets you a little bit into a somewhat common ground as co-parents. Plain and simple.

“Definitely takes after you. My dyslexic ass could never.”

You smile at that. Small jokes are still there, always a good sign.

“And the, uh…” he lowers his voice, “the anxiety?”

“Comes and goes. He’s been complaining about a stomach ache all day.” You glance towards the bathroom.

He frowns in concern. “Should we go check on him?”

“Sure…” You walk together with Luca following suit, tentatively knocking at the door. “Alfie? Hey bub, how’s your doodie?” It sounds silly, but you find it helps to ask open questions instead of showing your worries outright.

A flush from inside. “There’s no doodie,” he hollers. His voice is murmured from the barrier, and then the running tap water.

You catch the unease in Luca’s features, and you feel a little bad for him. It wouldn’t feel great that your own son is nervous to see you after many months apart. “You wanna come out, then? Your dad’s here.” You try to sound cheerful and upbeat, hoping it’ll hype them both up.

The two-second gap never felt so long. But the door opens, and there he is, standing meekly against the frame. Staring up at you and then at Luca.

Luca’s heart nearly stops as those big doe eyes stare up at him, a spitting image of you. The same softness. The same spark of stubbornness.

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

There’s a brief pause, before he steps forward and throws his arms around his father’s middle. Luca grunts softly, a little surprised by the sheer force Alfie is hugging him, his heart swelling three times over.

“Oh my God, look at you!” He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and kneels down to level with him. His cherubic face is small cupped in his large hand, but not as small as Luca remembered it. “You’re so tall now!”

“Of course. I’m 3 feet and 8 inches tall now. Right, Mommy?” He proudly announces, getting the exact height completely memorized.

“That’s right,” you confirm with a grin.

Luca gasps, a smile blooming on his face. “What?”

Alfie nods. “I’m gonna be as tall as you.”

“No! Don’t grow up so fast!” He playfully cries out.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t get to do this anymore!” Luca seizes his boy into his arms and sweeps him off of his bunny-socked feet, sending Alfie into a fit of hysterical giggles.

The sight makes you chuckle, but the feeling could bring Luca to happy tears. He’s been gone for so long, he’s afraid he’d forget how it feels to hold his son in his arms again. Or worse, that his son would find his presence alien.

But he’s here now. With you and the son you share. Attacking Alfie in tickles and noisy kisses, and letting the boy climb him like monkey bars. And it calms his anxious heart a bit as he reminds himself, everything’s fine.

And as things fall back into place, thunder crashes outside, as if sobering all of you back into reality. Alfie shirks into himself, climbing off of his father’s back. You want to reach out for him so badly, but at the same time, not wanting to interrupt his bonding time with his dad.

“It’s okay, bub. It’s just thunderclap,” Luca soothes emphatically over the sudden silence, bringing Alfie back down to his feet. He smooths his son’s hair gently, comfortingly. “I got you, I got you…”

“Do animals even come out in the rain?” Alfie is back to his withdrawn self, mumbling his words and avoiding Luca’s gaze.

“Some animals actually love playing in the rain,” you chime in helpfully.

Luca keeps his tone cheerful and bright. “Yeah, and you can wear your raincoat and your wellies and I’ll even let you jump in puddles—”

“I don’t wanna do that! I wanna stay home!” He whines, voice raising a little.

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

“Alfie.” Your tone is firmer now, as he struggles out of his father’s arms and runs to his favorite corner of the couch in the living room, holding his stuffed bunny tight.

But Alfie’s got a point. This is not the kind of rain where you can take a leisurely stroll in. No, this is the kind where you stay huddled inside and hope it doesn’t flood the streets. Luca takes a thoughtful look at Alfie who is sulking and shrinking from the sound of thunder, at the window completely obscured from rain, and then at you… offering an apologetic smile.

So much for quality time with his son.

Luca’s heart sinks a little. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe we should just wait it out…”

“Are you sure? I mean, you flew 9 hours to see him—“

“And I don’t want him to be pissed at me the whole time we’re hanging out,” he reasons. “Besides, I don’t think any Uber would take our order at this time.”

It makes sense, you think. As much as you want this awkward little broken family dance to end, you know that staying in and waiting it out is the best option. Alfie would feel much more comfortable at home than in whatever hotel Luca is staying in. And maybe it’s your protective side talking, but if he ever gets fussy, you’d prefer to be around to deal with it.

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

You shrug. The truth is a little more complicated, but ultimately you settle with a simple, “yes.”

Alfie takes a quick glance at you and Luca emerging from the hallway (you have your mother’s side eye, Luca always said), before returning to fiddling his stuffed bunny’s ears (your father’s neutral look of disapproval, you would say). Like clockwork, Luca takes the seat next to Alfie, while you take the puffy stool in front of him.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to raise your voice at me and your dad like that. I get that you’re nervous about the weather—a bit startled, too— but still. We don’t raise our voices in this household.”

Alfie looks at you and Luca. “I’m sorry.”

Luca nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for being late, buddy.” He gingerly reaches out to touch the boy’s hand. “You’re right, though. It might be best to stay in for a bit.” He motions at the rain hammering down on the window outside.

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

“I know. And we are for now. We can…” Luca scans around for something to do. His eyes fall on the coloring book and the open box of color pencils next to it. Bingo! “We can… color some drawings in that book?”

He pouts, not entirely sold on the idea but not outright refusing it either.

“Or, hey, I got some new drawings on me. You can color them, too.” Luca takes off his hoodie and shows off the tattoos on his arms.

God, you forgot about the plethora of trashy tattoos adorning his skin. Even worse, you forgot how it highlights the defined curves of his biceps. Focus, for fuck’s sake! You avert your gaze towards the flower portrait on the wall.

Alfie perks up a little. “This is my old drawing.” His tiny finger pokes at his forearm, on a tattoo of a stick figure climbing up the stairs. “You still have it?”

“Of course. It’s there forever. I’ll always have it.” Luca finds himself choking up at that simple admission. A little token of childhood of his ever-growing love. “Go on, get your crayons.”

Alfie looks at you as if seeking permission, and it makes you want to laugh that he shares the same animated eyebrows as his father.

“Go ahead, bub,” you usher him off lightly, and as soon as he’s out of sight, nods at your ex. “Good save.”

Luca half-smiles. “Thanks. You should chill out. Read a book, take a nap or something. I got him.”

“What, are you trying to kick me out?”

“No, I just—”

Your smile breaks out. “I’m kidding! Go hang out with Alf. I got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes anyway.”

He sighs in relief, chuckling lightly. “You almost got me there…”

You briefly pat his shoulder and for an even briefer moment, his hand is atop yours. The big ‘A’ tattoo on the back of his hand—your son’s initial in a bold Gothic letter— serves as a reminder of what’s past; a whirlwind romance, the wild days of being a family of a merry band of misfits…

Misfits. That’s the biggest takeaway here, you suppose. Your pieces don’t quite fit right. Not without little Alfie gluing you together.

With a final squeeze on Luca’s shoulder, you make your way to your bedroom, making space for Luca’s puzzle pieces to fit with Alfie’s because they don’t fit yours anymore.

***

05:04 PM

By the time your Zoom meeting ends, the pelting rain outside is louder and the chatter inside is nearly inaudible. It feels nice for about ten seconds… until you remember that you have a six-year-old at home and long bouts of silence can be quite… well, suspicious. You pad out into the hallway to check on him.

“Let’s see. You wanna do the sunflower next? What do you think, my love?”

Oh right. For a moment, you forgot that the thirty-year-old other parent is here with him.

Luca has his t-shirt sleeves hiked all the way up, biceps in full display as Alfie colors in a tattoo on the back part of his upper arm. The boy’s tongue sticks out and his eyebrows furrow in focus. It seems like a delicate operation between them, so you linger out of sight for just a while longer.

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

The two of you have always supported his inquisitive mind, and he missed these kinds of questions most of all. Even if the answers can be a little complicated. “Because of your mum, actually.”

“You like it because Mommy likes it?” Alfie’s little nose crinkles.

Luca chuckles in amusement, sensing the judgment in his son’s tone. Damn you guys for teaching Alfie not to get carried away by trends. “Well… when your mum and I first met, it was winter in Chicago and it’s pretty bleak and gloomy and freezing. But, your mum had a little sunflower by the window—just like that one.” He glances at the little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “She said it’s a reminder to let the sun shine in. I thought it was adorable. We started doing that everywhere we lived and… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

“Do you have a sunflower by your window, Dad?”

His heart catches as he realizes the answer. “No, I don’t…”

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

There’s a sharp pang of hurt in hearing that innocent query. The apartment in Copenhagen, as nice as it is, has never been much of a home for Luca. He would get up before the sun is up and return from work late at night—lather, rinse and repeat. On his days off, he would either go on a morning run and spend much of his time outside, or sleep til noon and live on instant ramen and takeout. There’s no time for a sunflower by the window. No room. He made sure of that.

He doesn’t deserve one after leaving his wife and son for fucking Noma.

Luca swallows back the lump in his throat, although the slight waver in his voice gives him away. “I got my sunflower right here, bub. My little piece of home.” He taps on his arm softly as his son finishes up.

Alfie hums, pleased with how the tattoo looks, now filled in with yellow and black and brown crayons. “I think this is my favorite one.”

“Yeah? Not the tabasco?” Luca grins, looking down at his forearm—specifically at the mostly accurate red and green of the hot sauce bottle.

“No…” Alfie taps his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “This one is prettier.”

Luca maneuvers around to look at the sunflower tattoo a little better. “You’re right, it is much prettier. Maybe I should get the colors in permanently, huh?”

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I think I will. Nice job, my little tattoo artist.” Luca pulls him into a bear hug and kisses the top of Alfie’s head.

You can’t help but chuckle, glad to see them bonding again, lost in your thoughts for a moment.

“Mommy! Dad says I can be a tattoo artist!” Alfie snaps you out of your reverie.

“Is that right?” Your eyebrows shoot up, struggling to maintain a neutral expression while staring at Luca like with all due respect, what the fuck?

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just said he’s my little tattoo artist, that’s all.”

“I colored in all of Dad’s tattoos! Look!” Alfie tugs at his dad’s arm, beaming as he shows off his work.

You step forward, studying the results of the tattoo makeover. Every single tattoo is colored in; some accurately, like the sunflower and tabasco, while others (like the purple fish and chips and blue scotch bonnet)… not so much. You don’t know which one’s more amusing; your son’s artistic style, or your ex’s bashful look as he models the art works on his arms.

“Looks great, bub. Well done!” You ruffle Alfie’s hair, enjoying his improved mood.

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

You purse your lips comically. “I don’t know, bub. Why don’t you look at your checklist on the fridge and see if you can?”

Alfie bounds past you, towards the fridge, and reads the checklist out loud to himself. “Have you… brushed your teeth? Yes. Brushed your hair? Yes…” He flattens his wavy locks with the palm of his hand, continues reading with a lower murmur. “Mommy, I did everything except tidy up my room and play outside for 30 minutes!”

“Okay. Obviously we can’t play outside, so… why don’t you just go clean your room and I’ll let you watch Bluey for a bit?”

Alfie gamely nods and goes into his bedroom, his bunny socks muting his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Meanwhile, it takes you an extra beat to realize how close you’re standing with Luca without your child between you. He rolls down the sleeves of his black t-shirt sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Your meeting went okay?”

“It’s alright.” You look at literally anything but the man in front of you, ultimately stopping at your potted sunflower by the windowsill. “That storm out there, on the other hand…”

“Yeah…”

You take an inconspicuous look at the hallway, making sure your son is out of earshot. “Weather reports say it might last a few more hours.”

Luca huffs, trying not to stress out about the possibility of street floods. Of all the things he missed, New York thunderstorms are not one of them. Still, this shitty weather has granted him some time with his son, at his former home… with his former spouse. And God, does he miss this more than he dreads the weather…

“Want me to make you guys dinner?” He offers earnestly.

You pull back, returning to your normal volume. “Oh. No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. Really. Might as well, right?”

You hear heavy footsteps from the bedroom and Alfie hollers from the hallway. “I’m all done!”

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

Alfie promptly makes a beeline towards his leftover mess. “Heard, Mommy.” He hurriedly puts his crayons back in the box and rushes into his room to put it away. Returning mere moments later with a newfound spring in his steps. “I’m done for real! Now can I please watch Bluey now?”

“I can cook while he gets his screen time.”

The two boys look at you with their best puppy eyes, and it’s the most disarming thing you’ve seen in a while—and the resemblance between them only makes things worse. You playfully roll your eyes in relent. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. Watch your TV and make your dinner.”

There’s a quiet little yesss from Alfie as Luca low-fives him before they scatter, one to the living room and the other to the kitchen. For a moment, you feel like you were transported back in time. For the first time in over two years, you’re caught between cartoon sounds from the TV and the kitchen alive again. All was well in the household.

“Is he still a picky eater?” Luca mouths the last two words inaudibly.

You raise your eyebrows in confirmation. “All he wants to eat is chicken nuggies.”

“I can do chicken nuggies,” he shrugs easily, rummaging through the freezer and takes out a pack of chicken breasts. “Or some version of that.”

Upon overhearing the key word, Alfie’s head all but whips toward Luca. “We’re having chicken nuggies for dinner?”

“Er, kind of.”

“Can I help?” He perks up from the back of the couch, excitement bubbling over.

Luca smiles apologetically. “Maybe later, my love. Daddy’s gonna be using a big knife…” he says as he checks the blade closely, swiping it with his thumb. “…which is dull, by the way. When was the last time you sharpened this?”

“I… have no idea.” You frown. You don’t even remember sharpening any knives… ever. Meanwhile, Luca simply rummages through the kitchen drawer, which makes you ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sharpening it,” he states matter-of-factly, already setting up a makeshift sharpening station which�� what?

“Didn’t even know we had that,” you murmur plainly as you watch him work. Taking out a block of whetstone from the drawer (where did that even come from?) and running it under the sink. Laying out a kitchen rag and the stone on top of it.

He chuckles a little, scraping the blade against the stone at an angle, firmly but carefully. “Can’t leave you good Santoku knives without the proper sharpening tools, right?”

“You never taught me how to do it, though.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What are you talking about? Back in Chicago, I—”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was one time forever ago! And you never let me sharpen the knives. You literally always do it.”

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

For the umpteenth time that day, Luca’s heart catches—this time from hearing you laugh. Your warm voice rings so pleasantly in his ears, and the way your face lights up… he almost forgets there’s a storm outside, because he’s got a lovely summer day right here in front of him.

And honestly, what is beautiful sunny Copenhagen compared to this warmth of the two people he loves the most?

“Alright, alright. You want a refresher? Come here.”

You gingerly take the place next to him, arms crossed so as to not invade his space. Neither of you say anything when your shoulders brush against each other. It’s brief, painstakingly so, but eerily familiar. You wouldn’t admit that you want to stay pressed against him a little longer, but… you do.

“Okay, so. You see this bit right here?” His finger runs up the line where the blade flattens into the edge. “Rest the knife on the stone on this angle, start from the heel—near the handle— and just… bring it in,” he demonstrates the inward sliding motion—short and precise and repetitive, “and work your way up to the tip.”

You silently watch him work for a moment, handling the knife. Firm and steady, but not harsh. On the contrary, it’s almost… delicate. You’ve seen many chefs work in your lifetime, but no one is as composed or stoic (or handsome, but that is beside the point) as Luca. It’s quite fascinating.

“And you do this on both sides, right?” You vaguely recall.

“Good memory.” He nods appreciatively. “Some people like to do each side one at a time, back and forth, but I like to do one side, get that burr forming…”

“What’s a burr, sir?”

Luca chuckles at your little Hamilton reference. “So when you work on this side, you’ll feel a nice little rough bit forming on the other side like this.” He slides his thumb from the knife’s spine to the edge and carefully guides your hand through the motion. “Feel that?“

Yes. That should be an easy enough answer, because yes, you do feel the rough edge of the excess metal on the blade. But it’s a bit hard to focus on that when you’re more fixated on the rough calluses of his fingertips instead…

In theory, playing a knife with your almost ex-husband is as bad as a bad idea can get. In practice, though… Having your hand in his again, feeling him so close to you, smelling his perfume…

“That’s the burr. Once you get it on one side, you can switch over to the other side and balance it out.” His voice is lower now. Softer. “And you just… do it over and over again until you’ve worked off the burr and have a smooth and sharp blade.”

Luca switches the knife to your other hand and stands behind you, hoping to God you can’t feel his pounding heart as his chest presses against your back. Gently guiding you through the sharpening motion—the firm, steady, angled scraping of the blade towards you. You swear to God, every pull brings him just a tad closer.

“So you basically have to break the knife a little to fix it?”

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

The storm feels miles away. His hands are still curled against yours. His chest flush against your back. His body heat emanates from within him and shrouds you like your favorite cardigan.

“Listen, I—”

“Thanks… for the refresher.” And with that, you put the knife down on the kitchen rag and pull away.

It takes him an extra second to snap out of it and step back to make way for you as you retreat back into your bedroom. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 9 days

Note

science experiment is my new favorite, dear lord it’s incredible

"We might have a problem, Alfie," Dick sing-songed as he leaned against the wall where Alfred was making sure the outdoor shenanigans that were serving as "training" today didn't get out of hand.

The butler glanced up to where Jason kept watching you, almost hovering near you. But trying to make it look like he wasn't. "So far as I'm concerned, it looks like the opposite of a problem."

"Maybe," Dick mused.

"How much did he see? Last night, I mean?"

"The aftermath," Dick sighed. "Mud, blood, tears, and snot."

"Oh dear," he tutted. "Master Bruce told me that he found Jason tending to the wounds on her hands and feet this morning. And that he seemed... almost like his old self."

Dick nodded to where you'd made your way over to Cass, the newest addition and offered to be on her "team". Cass wasn't a big talker- she could hardly speak at all- but. Thanks to your empathic quirk, neither of you really needed to talk to team up. And it hadn't taken Cass long to figure that out. OR to figure out that you were physically not very durable. Still. The smiles and the fist bump said it all. "Do we have extra hydration packs on hand?" he asked.

"Always," Alfred said. Reasonably, no one expected you to participate. And no one pulled punches when you did. But- watching you laugh with the other girls when Dick jogged over to even it up properly... well. Maybe, you could get a couple nights of decent sleep.

Bruce strode out onto the lawn and dropped into a chair with a grunt. "How's it going?" he asked.

"Swimmingly," Alfred said, pouring cold drinks and making sure that yours had the specific blend of things that had been prescribed to you in your bottle. "Miss Y/N and Miss Cassandra have been working out some things they can utilize in the field and the others have been enjoying creating chaos to facilitate that."

"Hn."

"And Jason has been hovering like a mother hen," Alfred chuckled.

"So much for not having a crush," Bruce hummed. "How is Y/N holding up?"

"Tiring out, I think. But they've been doing what they can to keep her from having to over-exert herself- after all. It's not like we need to know what the upper limits are."

"Fair-" But before he can finish asking for specifics, you waver on your feet halfway through a strategy you'd been working out with Cass. But before you crumple, Jason is right behind you. Picking you up against his chest.

His face burning as he murmured something against your flustered protests. You radiated flustered embarrassment. And he deposited you in a chair carefully. "It probably would have worked," he muttered, "Dick and Steph talk too much."

You nod and accept the proffered water bottle awkwardly and take a drink, "Thanks."

"What were you trying to do?" Bruce asked? He hadn't SEEN Cass, but that didn't mean anything.

"Lead her into the best position for a sneak attack using my location with emotional resonance... since I can make the people feel things we were playing hot and cold. So I was picking up on where she was and kinda leading her to where she needed to be as we were wandering around."

"Hn." Bruce nodded. Considering that. He'd THOUGHT about using that as a strategy before. You did possess the ability to hone in on people you knew well-

"You okay?" Jason asked, breaking into his thoughts.

"Fine," you murmur, rolling your water bottle between your hands and looking down. Taking a few deep breaths to shove all your emotions back under control as the others lope back up from the grass for drinks and snacks. Cass sat on the arm of your chair and thudded her head gently on your shoulder. Smiling a little when you lean your head on hers.

Bruce watches the little exchange with bemusement and nods to himself. It made sense. Cass had few words and you could make yourself understood without it. But0 he did wonder, as he watched Jason watch it all happen, how he felt about it.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #science experiment!reverse

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 6 months

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Hi Mo! I hope you are doing well! I really love your writing and the way you capture the duality of Alfie's character. I saw that you were looking for ideas so I thought I'd send one in (please feel no obligation/pressure to write it, this is just spit balling). Maybe something with reader being protective over Alfie. Maybe they're unaware of the infamous title the Camden King holds or they are but they have an overwhelming sense to have to protect him when the two are placed into a dangerous situation. Thanks so much, and again no pressure to have to write this ♥️!

Hi my friend!! You are so sweet, I hope you’re doing well too!! Thank you so much for this prompt! I gotta be honest, for some reason I had a hard time trying to figure out how I wanted to write this! I hope you enjoy it though, and if it isn’t hitting the way you were hoping, message me and maybe we can come up with something together!! Sending my love!!! - Mo

Change of Plans

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Warnings: fighting, blood, stitches

This was NOT how the night was supposed to go.

Alfie was going to have a late night at the office, finishing up some business with the Shelby boys. Fine enough, you could make his home coming sweet. A fresh chocolate babka would be fresh out the oven, ready for him to cut into and devour. Candles would be lit all over the house, with curtains drawn in to protect from peering eyes and the creeping in cold. And you. You were dressed so pretty, just waiting for him. Hair loose and free, just how he loves it. You had put on that soft pink dressing gown he likes so much. The silk one with the delicate lace at the ends. You even put lavender oil on, extra, just to entice him.

It was SUPPOSED to be a nice surprise. It was SUPPOSED to be an evening where you spoiled him. It was SUPPOSED to be a romantic evening.

But no… here you are. Sitting next to Ollie in the car. Being driven across town to a bar. A bar, where your husband, along with the idiots Tommy, Arthur, and John Shelby, were fighting. Being that Ollie was concerned enough to grab you from home, you could only imagine how bloody it was.

Ollie looked over at you, eyeing the hem of your dressing gown, nervous as to how the pink fabric would be received, “Uhm.. Ma’am, I have a coat in the back… don’t you think maybe-“

“No Ollie I don’t think I want it. If Alfie wants to pull me out of my house this late at night, he can deal with the consequences.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea-“

“Ollie you know I love you so very much but I will need you to not speak again until we get to the bar. Yes?”

Ollie nodded, but the stress never left his eyes. You know he meant well. He was only ever looking out for you and Alfie. He was very very sweet. But frankly, Alfie did not deserve to have Ollie looking out for him. He did not deserve common courtesy tonight.

You slam open the doors, and it was exactly as you assumed it was. Regular patrons of the bar were lined up at the edge of the walls, watching the gladiators in the center tear each other apart. There was blood all over the floor. Broken glasses and spilled liquor scattering the floor mixing with the red. Tables and chairs discarded and destroyed in the wake of the brawl. You assumed, that the fight started as Alfie against the brothers. But it looked from your stance now, that it was every man for himself. All four of the men were sporting black eyes, bruises and cuts all over their faces, necks, and hands. You heard Alfie’s laugh above the sounds, “C’mon now!!! You want some more?!”

He didn’t see you yet, but you could see him. He looked like absolute shit, and his mouth was bleeding despite the toothy grin he gave with every punch he gave and received. You rolled your eyes, and felt your rage rise. He was getting far too old for this shit, reveling in his strength and the destruction he could so easily cause. The honor he wanted to protect with the force of 50 men. In normal circumstances you find it honorable. Sometimes even charming. But the way it was going… someone was going to get killed. And if anyone was going to kill Alfie it was going to be you.

You motioned for Ollie to follow you, as you stomped over the bottles, blood, and water. The yells for more blood by the men at the edges slowly turned to whistles as they gave witness to your bare legs, the thin dressing gown, and your steaming rage barreling through. With strength mustered from God himself, you grabbed the collar of John and yanked him back quickly, tossing him onto his back, “What the! Oh, Mrs. Solomons…”

Ollie managed to rip Arthur off of Alfie’s back, and he too looked incredulous at your appearance at this disgusting scene. All that was left was Alfie and Tommy, still attempting to rip each others throat out, entirely oblivious to your presence.

“ENOUGH. STOP IT.”

You screamed, but to no avail. They were entirely focused on one another, on their mutual blood lust. Seeing no other option, you motioned for Ollie’s gun, snatching it from his hand, and shot three rounds into the ceiling.

They finally stopped, looking up to find you as the source of the noise. Where they initially looked like big men, they suddenly reminded you of naughty children.

“Alfred Solomons. Thomas Shelby. Just what in gods name do you think you’re doing.”

Silence. Utter silence. “WELL?! I’m waiting Mr. Solomons!”

Tommy tried to get up, but paused when you pointed the gun at him, “Do not make another move Mr. Shelby. Not only did you ruin a night with my husband, but you also nearly killed him. I have half a mind to shoot you dead right now.”

Not moving from your initial target, you address Alfie, “Have you finally found yourself speechless? Say something.”

With a swollen eye and bloody lip, he manages to smile sheepishly, “Just… just business love. Just… a bit of a quarrel darling nothing more… put the gun down my love, you look beautiful. A right vision darling. ”

“I will decide when I put the gun down Mr. Solomons.”

You begin pointing the gun at each of the four men, “I think we can all agree… that we are ALL a little too old to behaving this way yes?”

Tommy was watching you intently, as was Alfie. John and Arthur hung their heads. Embarrassed for both their behavior and their deep seeded fear of you. You motioned for Alfie to get up, “My husband and I are going to leave now. Mr. Shelby, I expect a handwritten note apologizing for ruining my evening. And Monday you all will convene together, to discuss the issue like fucking adults!”

Alfie winced as he got up, cane nowhere to be found. You walked back out into the cold, with Alfie close to your heels. You push him into the car before you, and slam the door shut, telling Ollie to take you home.

You can’t even look at Alfie. So overcome with irritation and worry. Irritated that he acted so recklessly, and worried about his injuries. As you always are. Alfie fiddled with the coat on the seat, “Coat is back here and you still decided to come out in your dressing gown eh?”

“Be quiet I do not want to hear you.”

“Oh you will hear me though won’t you yeah? You will hear me, because now, all of fucking London saw my wife’s bare legs! I mean what the fuck is wrong with you.”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?! You want to know what’s wrong with me Alfie Solomons? I wait all day for my husband to come home. No no not just wait. I SLAVE around the house all day, make myself look nice, hoping HOPING that my husband makes it home! I worry sick ALL DAY that maybe this will be the day my husband doesn’t come home. And instead of coming home, he goes and acts like a COMPLETE FUCKING MORON and starts a fist fight with the Shelby boys!! You are getting too old for this kind of reckless behavior Alfie! And I cannot let you keep destroying your body like this!”

You begin to feel the hot tears fall down your cheeks, and Alfie’s heart starts to crack, “Aw.. darling I- treacle don’t go worrying about old Alfie now. Your husband is like an ox yeah?”

Your tears keep flowing, harder now, “No Alfie! No i do worry! It’s not about you being strong!! It’s about you being healthy! About you being safe! I’ve never told you to stop the business! I’ve never asked you to leave it! All I’ve ever asked is that you show wisdom! Not to go around picking fights! I can’t see you like this Alfie! You don’t deserve to get cut up and beaten for nothing! For a pissing contest! I shouldn’t have to see my husband like this just because of some… some pride!”

Alfie just placed his bloodied hand on your knee, patting and stroking your thigh trying to comfort you. Once Ollie got you and Alfie home, you silently walked up, freezing and covered in the smell of booze and violence. “Get to the bathroom Alfie. I’ll be there in a minute to clean you up.”

You changed out of your soft pink nightie, and slipped on of Alfie’s night shirts over your body, breathing in the smell of his left over cologne. With a sigh you lugged the medicine kit into the bathroom, where Alfie sat at the edge of the tub, shirt off, hot water running and steaming the room. Silently, you began cleaning the wounds on his hands and chest. Once the tub was sufficiently filled, you nodded for him to get in.

With a grunt he lowers himself in. It was getting harder to get into the tub. His muscles tighter than they used to be. You begin your work, stitching up the deeper cuts on his chest and face. It was like nothing to you now.

The first time you stitched him up, he had to talk you through it, giving you more comfort than you could him. It was a rough first try, the scar is still pure white between his shoulder blades, and you can feel it under your fingers at night. But now, you know your way around the needle and his skin, it’s a familiar ritual to you now, though you wish it wasn’t.

“You look as beautiful as you did on our wedding day.” Alfie says suddenly, eyes glossy, and forehead sweaty.

You shake your head at him. Of course he’s trying to flirt with you while you’re stitching him up, “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re delirious.”

“Nah. I married an angel darling. You make those shirts look like them French magazines.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Damn him, he knows how to sweeten you up. You finally finish up the stitches, 10 different gashes in total, and you begin putting on the salve and bandages when he finally speaks again, “My sweet heart, you should not have gone down there. It would’ve been ok. You don’t need to be involved in all that.”

God he’s irritating. Throwing your hands in your lap you bite back, “Alfie don’t give me that. One of us has to have some sense! One of us has to care about you.”

“You are making a bigger deal out of this than it is. Or are you forgetting what it is that I do! I ain’t a soft man treacle.”

“Do not even try to spin it Alfred Solomons. I will not be made to be looked at like a hysterical and stupid house wife. You will not make me feel crazy Alfred Solomons. I am your wife and you will listen to me.”

A beat of silence. And two blinks from Alfie are your queue to keep speaking, “Never. Never have I ever told you to stop. I told you that I would always support you. That your people are my people. You want to continue the business. Absolutely. You want to drop it all and go to Margate. Beautiful. I will always be here for the aftermath. I will always be there to discuss. I will always be there to stitch you up. But this Alfie… this type of… reckless nonsense… you got slashed in the chest Alfie! I will not be made a widow Alfred Solomons. Especially in the wake of something which was preventable. I refuse to watch my husband kill himself for a fucking pissing contest.”

He stared at the water in the tub, losing its steam and washing away the grime from his day. In this moment he wasn’t the King of Camden. That mask left the moment he walked through the threshold. Right now he was Alfie Solomons. Your husband. The man who was to love and protect you.

“Alfie… don’t you see how much I love you? How much I want you to be safe? I hate seeing you in pain, it makes me sick. I don’t know what I would do if you were suddenly not here. I think… the sky would turn black. I would not be able to breathe.”

Alfie hummed, and began to rise out of the tub, “C’mon… let’s get to bed yeah?”

With a sigh you nodded, helping him out, and cleaning up your tools before leaving him to dress for bed. Already bundled in between the soft white sheets, you look above your book to watch him limp into bed, and your heart breaks. He grunts as he gets in, but then pulls at your shirt to bring you closer, “C’mere darling. Need you.”

You toss your book to the floor, huddling closer, letting him guide your head to his bare chest. He hums put a tune from his childhood, stroking your hair as he thinks. After a bit he whispers, “Do you know what would happen if you weren’t next to me anymore?”

“Hmm?”

“The world would stop spinning. Lose all its color. Food ‘d lose its taste. Music would be horrible. I’d stop breathing. There’d be no reason to breathe. No reason at all.”

You begin to feel tears fall again, but he kept continuing, “I love you my darling. You add meaning to all this… I’m sorry I made you feel… as if you didn’t matter. As if your feelings didn’t matter. They do treacle. Your husband is stubborn, and it ain’t right. Ain’t right to make my wife cry and worry. You’re the best a man like me could ever ask for. You put up with so much… I promise not to be such an ass yeah? Start using my head before I start up some nonsense. Deal?”

You nod, clutching his chest, kissing him wherever you could reach, as Alfie hums again, kissing the top of your head. “Now Treacle. Tell me all about these plans you had for tonight.”

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic

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pacifymebby · 1 year

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Hello can I request the peaky blinders x selective mute reader pls, do you think any of them would understand what's going on or are they completely in the dark? And how would you think they would react to hearing your voice for the first time?

Tommy

🌿 Is drawn in by it, thinks you're mysterious, presumes you're like him and that you're just above the meaningless conversations people fritter through at the Garrison or the markets... He thinks you must be deeper than all that.

🌿 So he's endeared to you, but he's projecting this image he has of you onto you, not necessarily seeing the real you at all. He has this view of some, cool and removed, sharp girl...

🌿 But then he tries to speak to you directly and he notices the way you don't look him in the eye, the way you look to your friend for help only to find your friend has unfortunately been stunned into silence by the presence of Tommy Shelby.

🌿When your friend pulls herself together and apologises, and apologises on your behalf too, Tommy doesn't take his eyes off you, because you still haven't looked at him and he knows youre not going to talk...

🌿 Would want to unravel the mystery, get close to you, know you better than anyone else... Hes always very gentle and charming. He's realised now that he might scare you and so he's more careful not wanting to frighten you, never stern or sharp with you the way he often is with others.

🌿 He's persistent as fuck. Often if he sees you in public he'll say hello, he'll talk to you about what he's doing and he'll try to find things to mention about you. He almost always says something complimentary about your appearance, leaves you blushing nine times out of ten.

🌿 Hes always so calm and polite around you, you actually end up seeing and getting to know a completely different Tommy than anyone else.

🌿 It takes a long time for him to win your trust and keep your confidence but as time goes by you begin looking forward to seeing him, secretly hoping he'll come and sit with you in the Garrison. And whenever he sees you he always does.

🌿 Something about Tommy is that he's quite happy to sit in silence, he likes his thinking time, his peace and quiet and he likes just sitting in silence with you, watching the world go by, watching you.

🌿 He feels so pleased when you finally say something but doesnt show how shocked or pleased he is, just smiles softly and replies to you as if you were anyone else... Because he doesnt want to make a fuss and embarrass you and he doesn't want to behave as if your behaviour is abnormal for fear you'll be too anxious to try and speak again.

🌿 Won't rescue you in conversation because he wants you to know you don't need rescuing, that youre capable of speaking up for yourself.

🌿 He gently encourages eye contact, always correcting your gaze when he talks to you. He often cups your cheek in his hand when he's having a conversation with you, its this reassuring contact which also allows him to keep pushing your gaze gently back to his.

🌿 "Look at me angel, thats better... You've got lovely eyes y/n, let me look at you eh?" he's so gentle with you, his voice becomes a reassuring sound and even if you're still quiet with him, you feel comfortable and slowly, slowly Tommy helps you to build your confidence.

🌿 He'll never cut you off. Ever. Every word that leaves your lips is precious to him and he will never interrupt you. He knows that if he does you'll lose your confidence and start second guessing yourself so he always listens to you, always encourages you to finish what you were saying when you trail off or start to get shy and nervous.

Alfie

🐻 Is endeared to you, but concerned for you too. This is a nasty bit of town you're living in and a girl who can't speak up for herself could wind up in all sorts of trouble.

🐻 The first time he meets you he says all that, he's gruff and grumpy and he doesn't realise until its too late that he's making things so much harder for himself.

🐻 Because you're scared of him then, every time you see him you try to slip away and thats very inconvenient because Alfie is actually quite fond of you, and he wants to look out for you.

🐻 He thinks you're adorable and he's sure you must be one of the sweetest girls he's ever met. He wants to hear your voice, get to know you...

🐻 So he has to change his tact, from then on he's a complete softie with you, he's gentle, he's calm and softly spoken, he doesnt grumble or snap and he tries to hard to be friendly, nothing but charming.

🐻 Luckily for Alfie he can do enough talking for the both of you and your silence is hardly noticeable. He will walk with you through Camden Market, or wherever you're going actually (he's impossible to shake because he wants everyone to see you with him so that no one will think of messing with you) and he'll talk and talk and well... Talk at you, telling you all sorts of stories.

🐻 It takes time you do eventually warm to him. You look forward to seeing him and you enjoy listening to him. You find him very funny and he makes you laugh a lot, even though whenever he does you try to hide it or hold it back. His favourite sound in the world is your little giggle muffled by your hands or your sleeves.

🐻 Sometimes he'll get carried away and realise when its already too late that the story he's telling you is actually probably quite scary, its probably intimidating you...so he'll apologise and cough a little awkwardly and try to change the subject to something softer...

🐻 And thats what makes you speak up, one day he coughs and tries to change the subject just when he was getting to the gory details of a story he's telling you about ghosts people say they've seen down Camden Lock. He tries to change the subject and start talking about something else when you cut him off.

🐻 "Wait don't!" you shock yourself and blush immediately regretting cutting him off, you feel all kinds of anxious, expecting him to be annoyed with you but he isn't. Instead he just chuckles and asks "Don't what poppet?"

🐻 You're not sure you can speak up again, losing your voice immediately but Alfie thinks he knows and he chuckles, "you want to know more about the ghosts?" he asks and when you nod he tries to tease you, "say please..." you panic feeling the tightness in your throat until he smiles and shakes his head and gives your hand a squeeze. "Don't worry zieskiet, don't worry I'm just kidding with you, I know... Very cruel of me want it, I'm sorry poppet..."

🐻 Alfie feels a fatherly protectiveness over you, he can tell that youre an intelligent girl, he can see you have so much potential. He wants you to be more confident, wants you to be able to stand up for yourself, speak for yourself. He's sure you have so many interesting things to say...

🐻 He'll kind of daddy you through it, lots of gentle encouragement but also being kind of firm with you too. He'll ask you questions, he'll be soft with you, but he'll wait for you to answer him. He'll be very encouraging.

🐻 He'll constantly reassure you that he wants to listen to you, that your opinions are valuable, that he'll hear you when you talk to him. "All those thoughts you've got floating around your pretty head y/n, the big ones and all the little ones too right, they're important and I wanna hear every last one yeah... You can tell me anything you like, whenever you like right and I, will always be hear to listen to you yeah, cause you're a smart girl, and everything you think and feel yeah, important... Got that?"

🐻 He'll practice conversations with you, like basic every day conversations. And he'll be so laidback about it too, he won't lie or over complicate thingd. "See right, when you go down the market and such and such whatever his name is, yknow the ugly fella with them big fuckin Cauliflower ears, when he asks how you are right... You don't have to actuually tell him the truth you know... You could just say 'fine thanks' or 'perfectly happy mr Cauliflower ears' or 'fuckin miserable leave me alone' you know... Alright zieskiet you practice on me yeah, you pretend I'm mr fuckin Cauliflower ears and you tell me what you wanna buy from my shit little market stall yeah? Well done poppet, see we're gettin there aren't we... "

🐻 Selfishly he has to admit he enjoys the way you'll only talk to him, the way you look to him so dependently. He loves the way you turn to him when youre lost in conversation, feeling scared or overwhelmed. And he'll never let you down. When you look at him with those wide eyes he will always help you, whether that's answering for you (he feeks so proud that you trust him enough to look to him to do this for you) or whether its giving your hand a squeeze and giving you the gentle encouragement you need to find your words again.

Arthur

🍂 Honestly? You make him nervous. Well, silence makes him nervous, not you personally, it's just that you're a very quiet lass and when he's left alone with you he feels under pressure to speak because you never do.

🍂He ends up saying really stupid things, stumbling over his words, getting frustrated with himself and blushing, he would seem shy if he didn't just come out with every thought that crosses his mind.

🍂 "Funny weather we're having ain't it, well you know, not funny, nah, no one finds fucking weather funny do they, you don't see people laughing at the sun do you, nah I meant like... fuck sake I don't know what I meant..." Him trailing off, you watching him curiously, he's quite endearing, not as intimidating as other people.

🍂 Seconds later he starts talking again, "so what brings you to this end of town love? You don't really look like the kind of girl who should be sitting outside my brothers office on her own... now I'm not being rude, I don't mean you look weird or you know.. I don't fuckin know, I'm not trying to be rude lass I promise, I'm just..."

🍂 His awkwardness makes you laugh, you giggle when he gets flustered and so your laugh is the first thing he hears. And he loves it. He laughs with you, awkwardly, but decides he wants to hear your laugh over and over again.

🍂 He thinks you're probably scared of him and his family, and he's not wrong exactly, its just that everyone intimidates you and no matter who you're socialising with its scary.

🍂 So he tries to put you at ease by being gentle, kind and soft. He tries not to swear in front of you but thats quite hard for Arthur since he's got the pottiest mouth in town and he's always getting annoyed and swearing.

🍂 He does a lot of "fuck... sorry love I mean... f.." opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish because he can't think of any other word that isn't a curse.

🍂 And you find this very funny so you do a lot of giggling and he does a lot of blushing and although things are very awkward between you you warm to him very quickly. He doesn't scare you as much as other people even though he should.

🍂 Maybe its his own nerves that put you at ease, the way you can tell that it isn't easy for him either. The fact that he's always embarrassing himself in front of you... it makes you feel like he isn't judging you.

🍂 Arthur understands you a little, even if he doesn't understand exactly what's going on with you. He thinks you're scared/ shy and doesn't necessarily understand that there's more than that going on. He too struggles to regulate his emotions and finds a lot of things about the world quite scary deep down so he empathises with your anxiety and he understands why you always look so scared and overwhelmed. Its how he would look if he was allowed to express himself, if he didn't have to put on the tough guy act all the time.

🍂 The first time you speak to him its because he's said something daft again and is cursing himself for being "such a stupid fuckin dinlow sometimes..." Whenever you hear him put himself down you always want to argue with him but you never build up the courage in time and the moment passes just as awkwardly as it always does. But today it just slips out. "You're not..." you barely say anything at all but those two words fill Arthur with so much joy he can't keep the smile and the blush from his cheeks. He's really proud that you've spoken to him, since you never speak to anyone else around these parts.

🍂 He kind of gets his hopes up then that you're going to do the talking but of course that isn't how this works. He's disappointed at first but you've given him hope with those two words and every conversation he has with you from then on he sees as another opportunity to hear your voice.

🍂 He wants to help you to speak and he tells you that in his own way, "its a shame for you ain't it, I'm not exactly fuckin... shit I'm sorry lass... and sorry about that too I spose, I meant, am not exactly very good at this either am I... conversation like, it ain't really my strong point.."

🍂 but you'd just smile, a warm smile, half a laugh. Enough for Arthur to understand you're enjoying his company, he isn't scaring you, he's making you happy. Which is actually all he wants to do.

John

🌼 John takes it personally, he's heard you talking to his Aunt Pol before, and you talk to Bonnie Gold! But never to him. He thinks it isn't fair and it wounds his ego because he can't understand why you don't like him.

🌼 He becomes convinced it's his fault, that there must be something he's done to upset you. Tries going over everything he's ever said to you but he knows he's only ever been friendly. So then he gets more frustrated and more wounded and he starts getting sulky.

🌼 Probably stops speaking to you, probably avoids you when he can and, when he can't he probably gives you all these sullen glances and sulky looks that make you feel all the more nervous around him.

🌼 In the end Bonnie starts picking on him about it, telling him not to glare at you the way he does. "Girls shy enough as it is and you're not helping are ye..." "That girl doesn't fuckin like me anyway does she..." Bonnie would laugh at him then, "fuckin dinlow."

🌼 When Bonnie explains that you're shy John has a hard time believing him, "if she's just shy..." "she's not just shy... dinlow, its more than that... if you want her to speak to you you have to win her trust... show her you're not gonna make her regret speaking to ye.... that means smile at her steada whatever that sulkings all about eh..."

🌼 John begrudgingly accepts and tries to follow Bonnie's advice but its difficult. He's used to lasses smiling and flirting with him, he's used to girls who take to his charm immediately, but you can hardly even look at him.

🌼 He's definitely the sort to think that giving you little gifts like the odd flower is going to "bribe" you into speaking to him, and whenever these gifts fail to do so he is always surprised (because he's stupid and doesn't learn) and a little disappointed but not deterred.

🌼 He will pester the living daylights out of anyone you do speak to to find out if you ever say anything about him and when Bonnie says "oh aye she asked about you the other day yeah mate..." "What? What did she say?" "Oh god i dont know let me think... I think she said somet like 'here bon, my best friend in the whole wide world, you know John Shelby don't you... Do you know why he won't leave me the fuck alone?"

🌼 John will just blink back at him stunned, realising hes joking when Bonnie splits a grin and starts laughing at him. "Nah she hasn't said anythin but thats probably a good thing..."

🌼 So poor John has to persist, trying not to let it get to him the way you shy away from him. Its as if you're so scared of him and all he wants to do is show you you've nothing to worry about with him.

🌼 He gets really protective over you, always jumping to your defense when someone complains about how quiet you are. If someone says "she makes me nervous..." You're sure to hear John grumble, "here, mate... I'll give you somet to be nervous about..."

🌼 Eventually all his protectiveness, his little gifts, the way he just doesn't seem to want to give up on you, chips away at your anxiety and leaves you feeling comfortable enough to say "thank you," when he gives you a flower, and to ask him what hes giving it to you for. "Pretty girls deserve pretty things I spose..."

🌼 Naturally that embarasses you making you blush and avert your gaze. John wouldn't know whether it was a good sign or not but he'd try his best to think positively. He'd smile and shove his hands in your pockets and say something like, "not much of a talker are you lass? S'alright i can do the talking for both of us..."

🌼 He'll rescue you in conversation, when someone asks you a question he'll answer for you if you look lost. He'll introduce you to new people and he'll make light of the way you can't speak so that its not awkward and no one thinks you're being rude.

🌼 When it occurs to him one day that you just said hello to him first he'll be stunned, he'll grin the biggest grin and probably pull you in for a shocker of a hug. He can't help it, he's really happy but also really proud of you too.

🌼 No one really understands how the two of you came to be so close since you're practically polar opposites but thats because no one else really sees John's gentler side. His carefulness which is reserved only for you.

🌼 He has that natural fatherly worrying instinct, he worries about how you'll cope when he's not there and whenever you're going out with Ada and the girls he gives them strict instructions to look out for you.

🌼 He probably worries that if something happens to you you will be too scared to shout for help so he gives you a whistle to wear around your neck on a little chain. He says if anything happens to you and you can't shout for help you're to blow the whistle.

,🌼 makes you practice because he knows you well enough to know that if it comes to it you probably won't blow the fucking whistle.

Bonnie

🍀 Thinks he might understand whats going on. He's perceptive, he has to be as a boxer and as a peaky boy. He's good at noticing things about his opponents in the ring, when theyre nervous, when theyre worn out... He's good at sensing fear too, he knows exactly how to read his enemies mind, find their weak spots without moving a muscle or saying a word.

🍀 So he notices things about you pretty quickly. He can tell by studying your expression when you're in a group, or when he tries to talk to you that you're scared and uncertain. The way you never look anyone in the eyes, the way you freeze up and try to shrink away into your clothes when someone says your name.

🍀 At first he thinks you're just shy, and to be honest he's not exactly used to shy girls. None of his sisters or any of the girls he grew up with are shy. Quite the opposite actually. So this is unfamiliar territory...

🍀 Even so, Bonnie is an optimistic lad at the very least, obnoxiously persistent in the eyes of those less forgiving. So he doesn't give up. He tries his very best to bring you out of your shell.

🍀 He makes a point of always smiling at you, always meeting your gaze even if only for a second, he speaks to you directly, always makes sure to say hello to you directly even when you're in a group. He doesnt push it further than that at first but over time, when you start to smile back, he starts asking you questions, and when you don't answer he starts answering the questions too, "hows your week been?... Ah well mines been alright can't complain you know... Got a fight coming up you know... Come see me if you like am gonna win in the fourth round..."

🍀 Maybe he's naive but he thinks he can probably trust you with his secrets... Who are you going to tell them to afterall.

🍀 When he feels close enough to you he'll probably make that joke and hope to god you laugh rather than hit him for it.

🍀 The longer this all goes on though the more Bonnie begins to wonder if you're really "just shy" or if its somethint else. Something deeper than that?

🍀 He's extremely patient though and he will rescue you in conversations when he sees you need it, he's actually very protective over you and it genuinely hurts his wee heart when he sees you looking scared and awkward, if he thinks you're struggling he'll swoop in to rescue you, sometimes without even thinking about what he's saying so that he embarrasses himself. But no bother eh, anything to take the pressure is off you.

🍀 The first time he hears you laughing its because he's a embarassed himself in front of the peaky boys. You'd usually feel far too uncomfortable to laugh at anything, choking back your laughter, clenching your fists and holding your breath to keep it inside. But Bonnie makes you feel safe, and you're always just a little more comfortable when hes around.

🍀 So when he says the stupidest thing you think you have ever heard, the giggle just tumbles out of you and doesn't stop. Everyone's looking at you in shock because you've only ever smirked at most in the past. When you realise everyones looking at you you go quiet again but your eyes find Bonnies and the warmth of his smile settles your anxieties and reassures you that everythings okay.

🍀 For as much as Bonnie will always rescue you in conversations and speak up when you can't, he can see how much pain you're in, how anxious you seem to be all the time and he'll want to help you. He wants you to be happy and confident enough to speak for yourself even when he isn't around.

🍀So he'll try his best when its just the two of you, not to rescue you when you lose your words. Instead he'll take your chin with his finger, tilt your gaze back up to his and hold eye contact with you saying something like "go on lovely, what were you going to say?"

🍀 He makes sure you can see he's listening to you. If you're in a group and you try to speak but no one hears you, Bonnie will make sure people hear you and don't forget about you. All these little things build your confidence slowly over time.

🍀 And when you are anxious his hand always manages to find yours giving you a reassuring squeeze. Bonnie is all about showing you he is there for you.

🍀You develop this kind of telepathy almost, a simple look is enough from either of you to make the other laugh or understand exactly what youre both thinking. He'll look to you and roll his eyes when his dad is talking and when you start laughing everyone will know its the two of you up to no good again.

🍀People say he brings out the worst in you, hes a bad influence, but he's the opposite actually and everyone can see how much happier you are when you're with him. His confidence and happy go lucky nature brings out a calmer less anxious side to you and you've never smiled more than when you're with him.

🍀 One of your things is not ever being able to address someone by their name so he kind of craves hearing u say his. And whenever you do he loves it!

Isaiah

🐀It drives him crazy because he knows you can talk. He knows you're just "choosing" not to talk when he's around. He's interjected in conversations in which you were talking to Ada before and literally watched the smile fall from your lips at the sight of him...

🐀So much like John his ego is wounded and he just gets frustrated trying to work out what he's done wrong. Why you don't like him.

🐀It wouldn't actually occur to him that you might be scared of him because he's with the Peaky Blinders. Ada has to point that out to him... But even when she does he just shrugs and says he doesn't understand. "I'm nice? I don't get it, I'm always fuckin nice!"

🐀He copes with his insecurity about you by teasing you, making little jokes about how you never speak. He calls you little mouse because you're so mousy and shy. Ada tells him off for this so many times but trying to laugh at the fact you won't talk to hin is the only way he can be less embarrassed about the fact that you don't like him.

🐀He will be too embarrassed about his insecurity to ask anyone for any real advice, he'll just keep going, making the jokes, knowing hes making things worse.

🐀Finally when he gets you alone one day, he'll get annoyed at the awkward silence between you and suddenly just let everything out confessing everything to you. "I know you don't like me very much sweetheart, know you probably wish I'd shut up and leave you the fuck alone right now eh but I just wanna know what I've done like... Always try me best to be fuckin nice to you don't I but I don't reckon I have been cause you don't seem to have warmed up to me much do you... "

🐀"Yknow I don't mean anythin by any of that stupid shite i say don't you mousy... Truth is i think you're a really sweet little lass, all i really wants well, i dont know... Just a little hello every now and then would do... Just want to feel like we're friends... "

🐀When you still cant respond and you flee he just has to accept it and take the L cause he deserved it for taking the mickey out of you for as long as he has done. Honestly it's going to take such a long time for him to win your trust now.

🐀He'd maybe even need to give you a little space, get used to the fact that you aren't going to speak, accept that you're going to be quiet and shy and that you probably won't even look at him.

🐀He has a lot of learning to do tbh, like he has to learn that your silence isn't a reflection of him, it doesn't mean you don't like him. He basically has to work on his own self confidence (and i mean his real deep internal self esteem not that cocky arrogant front he puts on in front of others) he has to really work on his own sense of self and then look to working on his relationship with you

🐀He goes from being your most frustrating tormenter to your most fierce protector. If he ever catches anyone making jokes about you he'll shoot them down, sarcastically laugh at them all "like she hasn't heard that before cunt..."

🐀I think it takes Isaiah the longest to hear you speak. And then when you finally do he gets shy and paranoid he's going to fuck it up, that hes going to do the wrong thing and you'll never want to speak to him again.

🐀All you said was hello, a simple hello in response to his, that was it. But he forgets how to speak, just looks at you blankly, manages to smile and just sort of repeats himself, says hello again and gets awkward. Which makes you awkward too. You smile but you shrink away because you really need him to lead a conversation.

🐀Pulls himself together in time to say its nice to see you. You kind of just have this awkward conversation where everything he says you repeat back and he has to stop himself from repeating again, you just go round in cirlcles until Ada cuts in and rescues you both.

🐀One day he asks if you can forgive him for having been such a stupid git to you in the beginning and hes so relieved when you nod your head and let him take your hand.

🐀Considering how scared you used to be of him and his stupid jokes you feel so close to him now. No ones ever put this much effort into getting to know you and trying to win your trust.

🐀"You've got a really lovely voice you know," he isn't used to saying "nice" things to people and meaning them, he's usually such an empty flirt, trying to charm lasses into a one night fling. But with you its different and you mean a lot to him.

🐀Still calls you mousy but its affectionate and it becomes this sign of your firm bond. Only he gets to tease you and call you that name, he's earnt the closeness you share and you know he means it affectionately.

🐀Rather than actively helping you to get better at speaking, his boisterous personality and relentless cocky attitude probably rubs off on you. Its hard not to feel a little more confident when you're on Isaiahs arm. He lets you wear his peaky cap sometimes in big groups, it shows everyone youre with him, and he sees it bring out your confidence.

Michael

☘️ I think Michael was shy as a little boy, at least more so than all of his cousins, and then when he was taken from his mother probably even more so.

☘️He probably didn't talk much when he was given to his new family. Even as he got older he probably wasn't the most self assured young lad. In school he probably tried to fit in and did a little, but wasn't particularly loud or popular.

☘️ So when he meets you he recognises that uncertainty in your eyes and understands your social anxieties.

☘️ He wants to give you a hug and tell you it'll be alright, that even if things feel overwhelming for you now, if things feel scary and you feel like you're not capable of doing anything right, or that you don't feel like you fit in... It won't always be like this and if you give it time you'll find your place just like he did.

☘️But this is Michael we're talking about, he bottles all that shit up. Doesn't say a word to you, just watches you and feels that familiar uncertainty curdling inside him. All these things he wants to say and he can't bring himself to say it. He gets anxious because what if he's got you all wrong what if its not like that for you at all.

☘️ In the end its Polly who tells him he should try to get to know you, "you were like her once you know... She could do with a good lad like you to show her a little kindness... Its a cruel world Michael, if you don't nobody else will..."

☘️ So then he feels guilty too. Has to swallow his anxiety whenever you're around. It takes all his will to make himself sit down next to you, to say hello, to keep trying even when you only offer him the smallest of smiles in response.

☘️ But he's a mothers boy isn't he, so what Pol wants Pol gets and she wants him to try so he bloody well tries. And besides, he feels a connection with you, he's felt one from the very first time he saw you in the Garrison with his cousin Ada. He doesnt know whether you feel it to, in fact he knows you probably dont. He feels close to you because he thinks he knows how you feel.

☘️Eventually he gets up the courage to talk to you properly. He finds the whole thing absolutely painful and mortifying, trying to tell you how he used to be like you, so he thinks he understands.

☘️ You can sense how hard he's trying though and that means a lot to you, and you're honestly surprised too because for as much as he's reserved around you, you've seen him with other people, you've seen him charming the girls at the Garrison and you know the reputation he has is as bad as his cousins. So you're surprised when he tells you about his childhood shyness and how it took him a long time to feel accepted anywhere.

☘️ Its encouraging, the way he talks about it too, like its this thing that used to be a huge problem in his life but isn't anymore. You find it reassuring to know that you might not feel this way forever. That one day you too might feel accepted and comfortable enough to talk freely and take up space.

☘️ You don't realise, though you should, that its Michael and his family that are going to make you feel that way. That it will be him that treats you with the warmth and patience that you need to make you feel at home.

☘️ You pluck up the courage to say something to him a few days later, youve wanted to say something to him since he spoke so empathetically and gently to you, its been all you could think of, how to say it, when you'll say it, if he'll even know what you're doing talking about because its been awhile now and he's probably forgotten he even said anything to you at all ect ect... Youre riddled with the anxiety of saying something to him and the more you think about it the worse it gets.

☘️ But you do manage it, even if all you actually say is, "Thank you... For..." when you trail off you expect him to cut you off but he doesn't, he just smiles softly and watches you carefully, trying to work out if you are going to finish your sentence or not. When you stammer and cut yourself off again he puts his hand on your shoulder and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

☘️ "s'alright love, i understand, come on come sit, just me and you, try again in a minute eh?"

☘️ At first the way things develop between you its like he's a big brother to you, he takes you under his wing, protects and guides you as though making up for the sister he lost.

☘️ He spends a lot of his time with you, and whenever he sees you around he makes time to talk to you, or not talk to you depending on how he feels like you're feeling.

☘️ You have this unspoken connection, sometimes all it takes is a look from you and he knows exactly what you're thinking/feeling.

☘️The more you spend your time with him the more able to talk you are and he's so pleased and proud that you look to him in the way that you do, that he is one of the only people in the city who gets the blessing of hearing your voice, getting to know you intimately through conversation.

☘️He's especially pleased to know things about you that Tommy doesn't, that you trust him and nobody else. That without him you'd be lost.

☘️ Gets jealous if you do start speaking to someone else and has to remind himself that actually this is what he wants. For you to grow and become your authentic self not hiding or fearing being too much.

☘️ So despite his fear that once you can talk to other people you'll not need him and you'll stop wanting to speak to him, he encourages you and reassures you, tells you he's proud of you.

☘️ But of course his fears are unnecessary, you'll always look to him for comfort, company and reassurance, he'll always be the person who saw you for who you really are first. He'll always be the one who believed in you and took his time with you. And he's your best friend. And maybe you secretly want hin to be more than that.

#bonnie gold x reader #peaky blinders imagines #tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders

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wondersinwaynemanor · 4 months

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that time when Diana visited the Manor and Jason didn't know she was coming over.

Jason: Dick, you fucking suck. *shoves Dick to the side as they walk to the kitchen* Why did you wake me up at this hour? I need my fucking beauty sleep. I have to finish the book tonight!!!

Diana and Bruce glance at each other as the two boys enter the kitchen.

Bruce: Boys! Quiet down. And Jaylad, language.

Jason finally takes in his surroundings. His cheeks turn crimson by the time he sees Diana.

Jason: OH MY GOSH! *coughs, completely embarrassed* Hey, Diana! :"D

Dick snickers beside him and tries to contain his laughter: Hi, Diana. I almost forgot you're coming over.

Jason gives Dick the "What the fuck?" and "Why didn't you inform me?" looks.

Diana: Good morning, Dears. Join us for tea?

Jason internally panics: Give me a sec.

Jason leaves the kitchen, runs to the nearest bathroom and checks his reflection if he looks presentable because OMG HIS FAVORITE HERO IS HERE AND SHE HEARD HIM CURSING???? Jason bites his finger to contain his embarrassment. Once he's ready, he takes a deep breath and leaves the bathroom.

Once Jason re-enters the room, Cass, Tim and Damian have joined the rest of the family on the table. He sits in between Cass and Damian. He is quiet as he begins to eat breakfast. Tim and Dick chuckle across him as they already understand why he's acting that way. Diana and Bruce talk about the gala that's happening on the weekend.

Cass notices Jason, gets worried and touches his hand as if asking if he's okay.

Damian: Todd, you okay? You look like you just read a sad ending from one of your novels.

Before Jason can answer, Alfred calls from the kitchen: Can someone please help me carry the Croissants?

Jason immediately stands up from the table and goes to Alfred to assist him: Got it, Alfie.

Alfred knows all too well: Of course you do, Master Jason.

Jason returns to the table and offers the bowl of Croissants only to Diana, even missing Bruce's hand that reaches for one of the pastries.

Diana: Thank you, Jason. *smiles as exquisitely as ever and gently gives a soft pat on Jason's face*

If Jason knew acrobatic movements, he would do one now.

Dick sees his younger brother's enthusiasm and he adores it: Wish you were always here, Diana.

Tim: Everyone seems more cheerful whenever you're here.

Everyone else at the table acknowledges.

Diana: Would love to be here always. If Bruce doesn't mind.

Jason blurts out: Oh, he doesn't mind. We love you being here. Right, B? :"D

Bruce smiles: You know you're always welcome here, Diana. *steals a glance at Jason who shrugs*

When Diana leaves, the whole table is chaotic.

Alfred: Good thing we had Miss Prince over.

Dick: Little Wiiiing. Looks like you're not upset anymore.

Damian: Thought Todd was gonna pass out.

Tim: He didn't even curse. Not a single bit.

Cass just sits there and chuckles as she observes her brothers banter back and forth.

Jason presents his middle finger but mostly only to Dick and Tim's direction: Fu-

Bruce warns: Jaylad.

Jason: Ugh, I'm going back to bed.

Once his children slowly leave the room, Bruce has an idea.

That night when Red Hood is on patrol.

Red Hood draws his gun from the holster and points it to the thugs.

Red Hood: Leave this city. If I see your faces here again, I swear I'm gonna fucking -

Before he can finish his sentence, the thugs are already running away.

Red Hood turns around and he nearly jumps when he sees Wonder Woman flying down beside him. He automatically puts his gun away.

Red Hood: Oh. Hey.. Hey, Wonder Woman.

Wonder Woman: Red Hood. *she nods his way* Will be joining you tonight. Batman said you needed help.

And for the rest of the night, Red Hood didn't use his guns. Not even once. He's already planning the things he'll say to Bruce tonight. And yes, he's angry because a little heads up would have been helpful, but either way, it's nice having your favorite hero with you.

Batman smirks as he watches from the shadows: Problem solved. Thank you, Wonder Woman.

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dejwrites · 2 years

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─── ⠀ ⠀⠀ tethered⠀ 〳 ⠀ geto suguru & kenjaku ‵

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀( synopsis ) your husband has been acting quite strange lately.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — reader discretion is advised: female reader, female anatomy described, written with black reader in mind, husband!geto suguru, soft!geto, mentions of geto being a musician, i think in this geto gives off hozier vibes when it comes to being a musician, yes i describe geto as having tattoos cause who going to stop me, geto calls reader pumpkin bc it's cute (thanks alfie), sick man kenjaku, i mean geto is like briefly mentioned, so does this make this a kenjaku thing idk, partner swapping, siri play she knows by j.cole, spit kink, choking kink (but nothing too extreme), missionary position, marking kink, brief mention of oral (f.receiving), overstimulation, breeding kink, inspired by jordan peele's 'us', wc: 1.9k, minors dni !

click here to read on ao3

YOUR HUSBAND WAS COMPLETELY BREATHTAKING. The way his long black hair fell down his back in the morning when the sun was playing peek-a-boo through the curtains of your condo. Some days you found yourself tugging on those strands of hair when he took comfort between your thighs and was eager to taste you on his tongue like a piece of sweet candy. It was breathtaking how the tattoos that imprinted his skin caused your heart to skip. Especially the one behind his ear that was your initials. The cute nickname of pumpkin he would call you when he peppered your face with soft subtle kisses, the scent of him causing you to be intoxicated while giggles bounce from the back of your throat.

How gentle he was with your puppy Doberman Abel because he thought a puppy was perfect practice for a child. The way he would strum his guitar in the living room while humming a lyric from a song he had written. While also claiming he needs a quick kiss on his lips to help his creative juices flow. Your husband was like a prince charming written by a lovesick author. You couldn't ask for another husband.

But lately, he's been acting strange.

He was coming home later than usual. He's been forgetting about date nights. His touch just became cold. You expected he was cheating, like any other partner who could feel their soulmate tugging away from them. On nights when you thought it would be perfect for doing random pops-up at the studio, he would be there when you waltz into his studio—alone, strumming his guitar and jolting down music lyrics. When he sees you, that twinkle in his eyes you knew so well lit up.

Maybe, you were overthinking.

You confided in his best friend. You were questioning if he's been noticing anything strange about Geto. No one knew him better than his best friend, Gojo Satoru.

"We went out drinking the other night, and he was his usual self. He was so excited about finishing up his album. You know how he gets when the label pushes him to wrap up a song or something." Satoru would exclaim.

That was true. Suguru’s manager has been a bit pushy about the deadline for his sophomore album.

You were overthinking. Your heart settled back to normal as the thoughts of your husband's strange behavior went away. Geto's touch no longer felt like a touch that felt like it was from a stranger. His kisses went back to feeling like you were on cloud nine.

Or so you thought?

Suguru was an excellent kisser. His kisses started soft and subtle. Like a quick peck just to see what lip gloss flavor you were wearing for the day. Then they got eager, like he had to get one quick kiss before getting tugged away for something. He'll pull you close. He'll let his large hands grasp your body like you were the most delicate doll ever. Finally, he'll strike. He'll let his lips drag across your jawline while his fingertips trace your waistline. He wanted you to beg for you to slip his hand into the comfort of your bottoms.

But for some reason, Suguru didn't even let you beg for him to feel how badly you wanted him. His hand instantly climbed into your bottoms as he was on top of you. Through the rough kissing, you could hear him let out a sigh of satisfaction. He completely indulged in the pool of wetness in between your thighs, and you eagerly spread them further apart to give him room.

You winced at the feeling of him biting your lower lip, not even having enough time to react to the pinch of blood that drew from your plush lips. Suguru took it upon himself to let his tongue lick up the blood on your lip as he was aching to taste you.

In the back of your mind, you wondered what had gotten into your husband. The two of you did have a couple of drinks tonight during dinner, but that never had him acting too brutish. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it; the only thing you could do was indulge in his newest sexual ways. Especially when your slick was staining his guitar-playing fingertips as your fingers grasped at his hair to tug out the black scrunchie holding his hair out his face. Your fingers glide through the strands of silk, occasionally tugging at it to gain a groan from him.

Clothes begin to vanish from your bodies with each passing second. You could hear your heart thump against your chest each time Suguru placed a kiss on your neck, which turned into nibbles. Your skin grew hotter, feeling the swelling of the hickey that formed upon your neck. Your kiss-bruised lips gasped apart when the two of you finally became one. Perfect-manicured nails pierced at Suguru’s tattooed skin feeling his cock stretch you out. His callous fingertips brush against your waist, cooing softly in that voice that makes you feel lightheaded. On a regular night, he always comforted you at a time like this. He consistently mumbled delicate words of praise like a sweet tune on a Sunday morning while his thick cock was barely inside you.

Once again, you didn’t know what had gotten into your husband. He tugged you closer, and his hips pushed forward, bullying his cock into your drooling cunt that twitched in anticipation due to his sudden movement. He let out a hiss as if it was his first time feeling you clasp around his hardened member. His eyes traveled down to admire how your face scrunched up in pure bliss. His lips curled into a smirk before he rolled his hips at a rhythmic pace that drove the both of you insane. If only you knew.

If only you knew the despicable deal, your husband made for the price of fame.

You had lost track of time while the only thing that echoed in your eardrums was the lewd sound of skin slapping against each other. Geto decorated your skin with so many markings that you mentally lost count. Your breath hitched in your throat as you could feel the fiery pit in your stomach. You were so close to cumming; frankly, you didn't want it to stop. Your nails dragged across his skin like a teacher would do to a chalkboard to get her students' attention. Your tears blinded your sight, and your brain was in complete mush. Your thoughts kept spinning back to why your husband was fucking you like this? Your Suguru never let his hips ram into you so aggressively. His kisses never were so stern that they made you feel abhorred.

As if he read your mind, his hand went up to grasp at the headboard that was colliding against the wall. The sound distracted him from not only your cute whithers of a name that wasn't his but the voice in his head of the other man screaming at him to stop, that this wasn't a part of the deal.

"I'm fuckin' you like this because you're mine."

You felt like your lower half exploded when that phrase fell from his lips, letting out a long, drastic cry of pleasure. Although your drooling cunt fluttered around his cock—he wasn't finished with you yet. Your eyes looked at your husband, above you, with a look you never gave him before. It was a look with so many questions you were too exhausted to search for the answers. You watched him stick his index and middle finger inside his mouth before letting it tiptoe between your sweat-coated bodies. His fingers rubbed at your clit, and his grin grew even more sinister, watching you attempt to slither from his cock, tapping at that one spot that caused your toes to curl.

"Go ahead, let it all out." He coos while his strokes slow down to mimic your pants.

The blood rushed to his face quickly, causing his cheeks to crimson. His strands of hair stuck to his forehead due to the sweat droplets that decorated it, and it finally hit him that he was at his boiling point. He was so close to filling you up. Because you were his, you were his, not that lousy musician. Soon, he couldn't control himself. His hips were bucking forward like a hormonal college student that just gotten his first whiff of pussy. With a hushed groan of your name, he cums quickly, and it is so much of it. Thick ropes of cum spill out of you with each exhausted and sloppy thrust from the man you call your husband, Suguru. A complete mess stained the sheets before his body plops down next to you. His cock went limp, and his brain was still egging him on for more (or was that the voices in his head?).

Your face was buried into the crook of Suguru's neck while exhaustion finally washed over your body. You could feel him place a kiss on the crown of your head as you cuddle up against him some more. Your body is completely marked up and leaking with his cum. You didn't even have enough energy to utter I Love you like you usually do after sex with him.

"Sleep well, pumpkin, and I love you too." You heard your husband say before your eyes fluttered closed.

The following morning, as you were standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom, your mind replayed the events from last night. That wasn't your husband. That wasn't the man you said I do to. But he looked like your husband. He looked like Suguru. His touch didn't feel like Suguru's, though. But it was him, right? He called you by that nickname that had you giggling when it flew out his mouth. Pumpkin.

Your fingertips delineate alongside the bite marks and hickeys on your soft flesh. Suguru never marked you up like this. He would always say—he didn't need to decorate your body with marks to prove that you were his. His demeanor and his words confirmed it.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of damp arms wrapping around your waist. You are so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even notice your husband has finished showering. The water droplets stained the t-shirt that belonged to him while his grasp on you grew tighter. His lips kiss the artwork he created on your neck the previous night, and the scent of his shampoo tickles your nose. With each second, the kisses on your neck grew rougher, and below in your panties—grew damper.

"Suguru, not right now. I have work soon, and you must go to the studio to wrap up your album." Your words come up as an ached whisper, not wanting to cave in his sexual favors this morning.

Your eyes shifted closed when you felt his teeth nibble at the sensitive spots on your neck, and his hand disappeared in your underwear. Your eyes soon snapped open when you heard a voice that didn't sound like Suguru. It was more sinister. Bone-chilling. Menacing.

"Who's Suguru?"

Your eyes looked into the mirror, and you felt your stomach create the most unappealing knots. Your heart felt like it was bashing at your chest so aggressively that it was trying to escape from your body.

As you stared at the man in the mirror who was grasping at your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, and the most devilish smirk on his face, you knew you should have gone with your gut. The stitch lines on his forehead were as disturbing as the thought that you didn't sleep with Suguru last night.

"Kenjaku."

TAGS — @maydayaisha @eiflawriting @aiyaaayei @shamelesshoefairy @noriken @satorhime @reiners-gf @getosbunny @gobblethiskitty @soumies @mind-over-meagan @mymelancholy @kristvns @nathalunalune @vivibabiez @4522-08 @heejayy @uzumakioden @ddostoyevskyy @honeycomb-biscuits @puff-puffsweetener @holeyahsama @shyartnerd564 @comatosebunny09 @whatdidhesayyyy @sways-posts @animepickle7 @acourtof-stress-and-kpop @alittlearlert @r-xochitl @sookisaurus @cyancherub @sleepy3 @hellavile @stunnababyyabyyy

#geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #kenjaku x reader #geto suguru smut #jjk smut #kenjaku smut #anime x reader #anime smut #female reader #black reader #x black reader #geto smut #geto x reader

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everythingelseisextra · 9 months

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Come Home (Tommy's Perspective)

Part Fifteen: David and Goliath

Description: Tommy doesn't tell you everything. So much gets stuck in his mouth, including his business. Warnings: PTSD, language, Tommy being angsty I guess Word Count: 4796 (sorry) Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @Majesticcmey @Optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel @ce1iat @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul

12 Hours before the attack on the barn

When she leaves, my mind clears. I think differently when she’s here. Softer, like a spell cast to make what I’ve learned and what I’ve made myself less important. She leaves out the front door, and I walk back through the house. Footsteps echoing through the halls like a heartbeat. It’s easy to slip back into a routine, to abide by the list that creates itself somewhere in my head. I find the phone and dial the number without thinking about it. Pick it up, hold it to my ear, wait.

“Hello, Tommy.” Arthur, the usual rashness to his words drowned out by the phone’s crackling. His drawl is recognizable to me like I’d know my own hand, and it’s something of a comfort after the talk I’d had with her. “Why’re you calling me at this hour?”

I forget he’s not awake nearly as early as I am. My day, and her day, too, starts before the sun. I don’t give it any pause. He doesn’t care about the real reason I’m calling him. Wants his orders from his sergeant major and to put his head down and do it. “I need you to start what we talked about, Arthur. With the girls. Talk to ‘em, get what you can out of them, see if you can find any of the men who hold their leashes.”

“On it, Tom.” A rustling of movement tells me he’s just finishing getting dressed. “That all?”

“Tell John to do the same. Stay on the outside, don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.” I can smell breakfast in the air. All I want is a drink and a cigarette. Too early for that. Need to eat. “Tell me what you find.”

“All this for that woman who sprayed you with the hose, eh?” There’s amusement in his tone that I don’t like. Like he’s caught me on some trick I took, like he has something on me. Maybe he does.

“Yep,” I say shortly, not inviting more questions.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. Just looking out for you, Tom, that’s all.”

“I know what I’m doing.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, then drop my hand. “Goodbye.”

“We’re worried about you here. Seems a bit soon, doesn’t it? After Grace and all that—”

“Goodbye, Arthur.” I put the phone down and huff out a breath.

Seems a bit soon. Maybe it is. Maybe I’m all up in my head, afraid to be alone at night, so I attached to the first kind face I saw. Maybe our meeting was some mistake made by me to draw her into the dark.

No. She carries the same burden as I do, in a different form. If our meeting was anything, it was mercy. If some cosmic mistake is what brought us together then it will take another one to tear us apart.

—

Alfie Solomons leaves after the briefing on the Russians. The door remains open. My brothers stay. Their eyes flick down to the ground and stay there, and I slowly sit back down onto my chair. None of them want to be the first to talk. I look to Arthur, let him feel my gaze. If I feel something at their reluctance to leave, it’s too deep for me to be aware of it. I shy away from feeling too deeply. Nothing set in stone, and yet, everything a dirt road. Tread the same path too long and it will become the only path there is. I refuse to be limited by my own emotion.

“So, Russians, hey?” Arthur tries at skirting away from whatever shames him. I stare up at him, unamused. “We— we uh— we fucked up, Tom.” Arthur stumbles over the confession and John shoots him a look of venom. “I fucked up.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

“One of the girls— well, you know how they are— I had some drink in me and she— she asked some questions. Shouldn’t have answered them, Tom. Should’ve kept my bloody mouth shut. It doesn’t matter now, they know. I told it to ‘em, and now they know. Nothing to do but—”

“What do they know, Arthur?” I keep my voice even. My head throbs where the stitches were taken out months ago, another sign of my dawning insanity.

“You know how it is, they act all nice to ya and—”

“He told them about hose-girl.” John cuts in. “He told them that he knows about the one that got away.”

My eyes lock onto the drawer in the desk where my gun sits, hidden. “How much did you tell them?”

“Ah, well, it was all very— I mean, I told them—”

“Get to the fucking point.” Inside that drawer is a weapon I’ve held to the temples of many a man, myself included. Inside that drawer is the hope I have of protecting my own. Including her.

“I told them she has horses. That’s all. That she has horses and doesn’t live in town. All I said, I swear it.” His voice carries bravado, covering up for the anxiety I know he has. He doesn’t like displeasing me, and he certainly has.

My words come short and quiet. “You gave them definitive information about a woman they’ve been trying to find for years.”

His silence resonates.

“Answer me, Arthur.” I tear my eyes from the drawer to pin him down, trying to lock onto his shifty eyes.

“Yes, sir, I did.” He looks to John for support, pleading with him for backup. He finds nothing but a stony face.

“And you didn’t think to inform me of this before I planned to meet with the fucking Russians?” My voice threatens to raise and his eyes grow furtive.

“I thought—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you thought!” I stand, slamming a hand down on the desk in front of me. Arthur flinches. “Her blood is on your hands, and you’re standing there telling me what you thought?”

“It was my mistake, Tom, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re fucking sorry. We’re all fucking sorry.” I grit my teeth, grind them, and walk out from behind the desk. They turn on instinct, soldiers at attention, their eyes on my back. “We go to the Russians, and we go to save what’s left of her. Understood?”

“Yes.” John’s voice.

“Arthur?” His name is rancid on my tongue. I grow antsy, a green horse on its first ride, flinching and preparing to bolt. I should be by her side, getting her out of there. I should be hunting down the man who thought he could own someone like her.

But I have business. The world slowly lowers down on my shoulders, and I am not Atlas. I cannot shrug.

—

I leave the Russians with the scent of cigarettes, whiskey, and Tatiana’s perfume lingering on me, and the thought of Grace stuck in my head. I was careless, and now I’m hungover, disorganized. The night is still young, and we reach home before the moon is bright in the sky. First thing I do is pick up the phone and call Moss. I ask him about a woman in a barn outside of Birmingham, and he tells me they found two dead bodies with her.

“She’s safe?”

“She is for now. She won’t talk and she has no record, Mr. Shelby, we gotta take her in.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Keep her. See if she’ll talk. I’ll come get her.”

I need an ally. I need help, with everything, not just the quiet things. I need someone who can stare down the barrel of a gun and keep their mouths shut. I need someone who ignores the urge to run, who knows that they’re a monster, too. Two dead bodies found at the barn. One smashed, one shot. When I close my eyes, I can see myself pulling the trigger, smashing the skull. When I think about it, I can feel her fear and determination. My brow furrows, my lips part. She sits alone in a cell while men she doesn’t know interrogate her.

“Is that all, Mr. Shelby?”

“Don’t.” I shake my head, a headache stretching between my temples. “Don’t make her talk. Let her wait. I’ll be there.”

“Yessir, Mr. Shelby.”

“That’s all, Moss. Goodnight.”

I put the phone down and make my way to the bathroom to clean myself off, to rid myself of the smell of other women and spirits and the taste of Grace on my lips. So that she doesn’t smell it, yes, and so that I can forget it ever happened. So that I can wash off the shame and fear and overwhelming sense of loneliness. So that the path I tread doesn’t become beaten.

—

After I’ve cleaned the wounds on her head, after the blood has been washed off, after the sins of my war have been confessed, she sleeps in the bed next to me. I’m on my back, but my head is tilted. Her eyes flutter beneath her eyelids. Her lips part slightly. Moonlight shines on her skin. A swollen bump grows underneath her chin, skin broken.

If I could love her, it would be heavy. Something to carry with me. My love, I’ve learned since Grace, has teeth. Maybe it isn’t love. Maybe possession, maybe control. I can grip with clenched, white knuckles. I can force someone to come back to me, not because they want to, because they have to. I want to love her but I doubt that I can. When I try, something hurts, and I cannot tell her where, only that it does.

A desperate part of me that I do not visit often wants to know what it’s like to be consumed. I am always the possessor, not the possessed. I want to be claimed. I want her love to have teeth, like mine, that can show me that my armor is only skin. If she was the one to cut me, I would bleed forever. That desperation believes that, even with Grace’s death, there is a person out there made exactly for me. That desperation believes that the war I fought in might be echoed in someone else’s. That desperation believes that I have found her and I am ruining it.

I get up from the bed and my body aches. Faint bruises form on my trachea, where Tatiana pressed down. I look at myself in the mirror and empty eyes stare back. There is fear behind them. I want to lay back down with her and forget about last night and tonight and all the regrettable nights I will undoubtedly have until she is brave enough to touch me.

In three days time I crawl back into a tunnel, deep underneath the earth, with the pressure of the world lying over me, precarious. I brave the underground for the sake of a robbery that could make or break my career. I promised Grace to stay legal. She’s dead. And the company runs.

—

“We have your son. Get in the car.”

Rain patters on the outside of the car. I’m in a tinfoil box, and my son is out there. “First. Is he safe?”

“Of course he’s safe. All children are dear to me.”

Michael’s voice, his confession, speaks to me from memory. My son, in the hands of men who have little respect for physical boundaries. Who have little respect for children themselves.

“You have all the cards. Tell me what you want me to do, and I will certainly do it.” My words are choked at the ends, not broken, but holding anger and panic.

“You ever drive one of these beasts?”

“I’m asking you to conduct business.”

“I borrowed it. Lent it. By a lord. For the duration of this business.”

My head bowed, my eyes unblinking, staring forward, waiting for the order that will save my son. I breathe heavily. I have no choice. I have to comply. “I will certainly do what you need me to do with no complaints.”

“We were forced into doing this awful thing. We did warn you that your son would be in danger if you deviated from the plan.” The priest speaks to me like I’m thick, words slow and gentle and pretentious. “It was you who made a mistake, you understand that?”

“Yes.” Anything. Anything to get him back.

“What mistake did you make? Do you even know?”

Now it’s a game. A show of power. I have no choice. I must comply. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“You made a deal with our enemies.”

“I will do what needs to be done.” “You went behind our backs to stop the Soviets from blowing up the train. But it’s alright. It’s alright. We’ve rectified your mistake. You ask me ‘what do I need to do?’ Well, here’s what you need to do, you fucking mongrel, you.” He hands me an envelope. I take it with shaking hands. “But since the Bolsheviks will not be blowing up the train, you’ll blow up the train yourself. It’s always been about the explosion. From the beginning. The bang. The outrage. Understand?”

I nod, unable to do anything else. A mechanical movement, trained into me, comply, comply, comply.

“Those are notes and fragments for you to scatter in the wreckage. Implicating named officials from the Soviet embassy.”

“I will scatter them. It will be done.”

“Good. Our friends at the Time and the Daily Mail will do the rest. And once the British government cuts diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union, that will be our mission accomplished. You’ll have been part of a fine adventure.” His eyes land on me. I can feel his gaze, despicably soft brown eyes, a red herring. “To help with the outrage, we need people to die in the explosion.”

I feel nothing. I am an empty shell of a man, puppeteered by a God that despises me. “How many?”

“Let’s say; six? Rail workers, perhaps. Men from the factory.”

I nod. That's all I can do. “And I want my son returned to me within an hour of the explosion.”

“Oh, it’s conditions now, is it?” The amusement in his words sends chills down my back. I shift forward.

“We need to fix the handover in advance.” Firmness. Clinging to what little power I have.

“I haven’t finished with you yet, Mr. Shelby. We also hear you’re digging a tunnel. Mining for precious stones under Wilderness House. I’m told they have a faberge in the strong room. The Lilies Of The Valley Egg, made in 1898. One of the Odd Fellows has a wife who’s obsessed with faberge. He wants to give her the egg for her birthday…”

“He will have it.” Comply.

“And the economic league will take all the jewels that you steal, to cover our considerable expenses. The fight against communism isn’t cheap, you know? So if you want to see your—”

“I will bring you all the jewels.”

“A bang first. Then bring everything you’ve stolen to your office at dawn.”

I shake my head. “No. No. I’ll not be able to get the jewels to you by dawn. The tunnel has hit clay.”

“If the Saint Andrews clock strikes 5:00 am on the night of the robbery, and we don’t have everything that we’ve asked for, the bell will be tolling for your boy.”

Thunder rumbles. I nod, closing my eyes. My son. The last piece of Grace I have.

“Now get out of my fucking car.”

—

A day has passed since I’ve seen her. She has her horses. She’ll think of me when she has the time, wonder where I’ve gone off to. I have no doubt she’ll worry tonight. She’ll pace the room we share and think she’s made a mistake, some blunder that’s chased me away. I think as I drive that this might be the end. My disappearance, my lack of communication, my lies, might be the final straw for her. She knows nothing of the Russians or the Soviets, knows only little of the priest. I’m sure she expects me back when the sun starts to go down. I’m sure her sleep will be fitful or impossible without knowing where I am.

I won’t be going home tonight. She will rise before dawn, when I crawl out of a tunnel, and she will wonder where I am. Perhaps she’ll call Ada, who’ll tell her nothing. I am Midas. When I touch her, she turns cold, so I don’t. I don’t tell her of the business I conduct because she doesn’t deserve to be part of this bloody fucked up world I’ve created. So, she’ll wake up, and I’ll be gone. No explanation, no contact. And I’ll come home when the sun has risen and I’ll explain nothing. I protect my own.

I protect my own, but I’ve chosen Charlie over her, and of that I am guilty.

There’s gray in the sky when I arrive at the tunnel. Johnny Dogs shouts at me, seeking an explanation for my sudden appearance. I shout back something about my boy and the priest and midnight, and before he can stop me, I climb down into the tunnel.

I don’t feel. I try to chase away the ebb and flow of my head during daylight, above ground, when the danger separates itself from the soldier I used to be. I’ve built a dam between myself and whatever wave of emotion comes crashing in. I can see it come, but I am never drowned by it. Not when I’m on top of the world instead of underneath it.

I am trapped in a birth canal of mud and the sound of picks against clay. I cannot move in any direction without being pressed against some wall. I watch the only way out disappear behind me. There’s no escape except to complete my mission and pierce through the earth. Some nightmare shakes the earth around me. My heart pounds in my chest. I’m covered by dirt and it staunches the blood from the abrasions; from the axes, from the rough stones, from myself, that mark my shaking body.

The single lantern flashes shadows and I can hear the Germans against the barrier in front of us. A race against time begins. No apparatus supports us, all we have are pickaxes to eat away at the earth in front of us. Tunnel warfare springs to life, and my head pounds, and the dam is broken. My hands shake and my eyes are wide and there’s no doubt that I am terrified. Doesn’t matter. I can be scared and still work, still function, still complete the business I’ve forced myself into. There are men by my side that inch forward with every second, who I trust, who know the tunnels as damn well as I do.

I am ripped into being alive. Sensations, doubts, fears, absolute terror, things I have not felt since the war. On hands and knees, chipping away at impossibility, the earth rumbling with soldier’s feet and mines exploding on the no-man’s-land I tunnel beneath. Strangely, there is fear, and next to it a sense of belonging. This is my grave that I dig, and I am meant to die here, underground. This is my home, the first place I learned to run from, the first place I promised myself I would never return.

One of the men seizes and I do nothing to help him but send him out. On the edge of the shakes myself, I am wired to do nothing but dig. Forcing the wet clay apart, blood and sweat dripping from my forehead, inching forward bit by bit with the other men.

I remember rot. I remember bodies buried in the clay. I remember the sun being a dream. I remember each shake of the earth a bad omen, each sound of picks on the other side a forewarning to our deaths. God watched idly as I buried myself and other men in a grave I dug myself. We told each other not to listen when we screamed, when we convulsed at night, when we broke from the pressure of the world on our shoulders.

I can feel sludge beneath me, slipping, and I know I’m going too fast. My men build supports with timber to hold up the earth on weak substructures. Condensation drips onto me. The ground around us shivers, rocks tumble from around the supports, and we pause, waiting, expecting to be buried. Nothing.

Gasping for breath. Body bruised and battered. Swimming in the suffocating pressure of the earth surrounding us. Trying desperately to dig upwards, to save our own lives. To survive. None of it real, just the sound my picks and the men building supports.

I reach the end and plant an explosive. Backing away. Blinking the blood and sweat out of my eyes. It goes off, and I expect to be buried but have no time to fear it. Before the smoke clears, I’ve escaped the tunnel, and I can breathe, if only for a moment. My shaking hands scoop jewels into a canvas bag, giving no thought to what I grab, where I grab from. I take and take and take.

There’s a shout that I don’t have much time. I suck in a breath, snatch blindly at the last few jewels. Crawl back into the tunnel, throwing the bag of jewels in front of me, following the men as they begin the creep back up.

I’m the last out. The other men have gone to clean themselves up. Panting, I lie in the dirt where I belong, and roll onto my back to stare up at the black sky. My breath fogs the air. Bits of my body stings where the skin was scraped off. And I pant.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

—

Somehow, I manage to drive. I don’t see the trees around me, don’t see the grass or the hills, just look straight ahead as my destination grows on the horizon. A single phone booth on the side of the road, resolute. I don’t turn off the car, stepping out and walking unsteadily over to it. I place a coin in, turn the handle, and wait.

“Let me speak to him,” I say.

My son’s babbling fills the phone and I smile. “Hello, Charlie.”

He’s unharmed. He’s safe. The nightmare, for now, is over. A lump forms in my throat and I don’t understand it. I’m smiling. I’m relieved. My hand shakes. There’s extra liquid in my eyes.

“Hello, Charlie,” I say again. He responds with a quiet dadda and nothing else.

“Can you hear me?” I sniffle and fend off the rising pressure in my chest, holding it off until I’m done, until I know he’s safe.

He mumbles something about being tired and I smile again, heart simultaneously filling and being stabbed with something cold. “Yeah. You go to bed. Good boy.”

The call ends and I put the phone down. Something in me bends and bends and bends and then, finally, snaps. My brow furrows and I squeeze my eyes shut and a small sob wracks my body.

It was a success. My son is safe. The jewels are ready. I should be fucking grateful that I survived this. That we survived this.

There’s a sense in me that there was no success, only what appears to be one. There’s a sense in me that tells me I’ve pushed those I want close further and further from me. There’s a sense that I will never be the man I hope to be because it’s hard when I’m always fucking unwanted. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel unless I blow it up. There’s no joy to be had unless I force it.

And I sob, because I feel everything. There’s an ache in my chest and a hole in my heart. There’s pain through my body and a horrible loneliness in my head. There’s relief, pure and unadulterated, and there’s terror lingering from the tunnel, images flashing through my mind of what burned itself into my mind in France. Claustrophobia burns through me. I sob over what I’ve destroyed like I want to stop and worship it, and soon, I’ll be back with a pick in my hand and explosives waiting.

My son has grown up barely knowing me because I’m consumed by business. My heart has been broken too many times and I fear that it will never be made whole. I am a soldier with only the cause of ambition to guide me. And I feel everything, even though I try to hide it.

I take a breath, pressing my eyes closed, then pull myself together and straighten. I call her. I suspect she won’t pick up, but I try anyway.

There’s a click and her voice, distorted by the distance, says my name in a tone I can only describe as fearful. “Tommy?”

“Yes,” I say, words still choked.

“Where have you been?” Not steady, not brave, not the tone I know from her.

“Business.” It’s the only explanation I can give.

“Business? For two days straight?”

“Yes. For two days straight. You need to know who I am.” I squeeze the earpiece, stopping my voice from wavering. “You need to know that I can’t give you what you want.”

There’s quiet on the other end of the phone. My hand continues to shake.

“What happened?” The fear is gone, in its place, worry.

“Nothing happened,” I lie. “Do you understand me? I can’t be the one you need. You think I’m going to change but those fuckers out there are worse than I am.”

“I’ve never wanted you to change. I’ve never asked for that. And no one can be everything to someone. I’m not expecting that from you. I just want you to tell me when you’re going to be gone like this.”

“They’ve issued an arrest for my family and I have to let it happen.”

“What?”

“For my brothers, for Pol, for Esme and Linda. I made the wrong enemies.” Please, forget about me, choose to leave. “You should go before it all goes to shit.”

“Tommy. I’m not going. I’m staying with you. You’ve made a mistake, that doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon you. I told you I would forgive your rottenness and I plan to keep that promise.” Her voice is strained. “Tom, just come home, we can talk—”

“I’ve gotten mixed up in something too big for me.” I close my eyes, a small tear dripping out. “I won’t have a family after this.”

“Thomas Shelby, I swear to God, if you don’t come home, I’m tracking you down and dragging you here myself. Okay? So get back in your car and drive your ass home. You’re gonna be fine, you’re not gonna end up without a family. You’re going to be fine.” Her voice softens towards the end and I feel myself drawn towards her, despite everything. “You won’t be alone.”

“I fucked another woman.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Quit trying to make excuses for me to leave you. Come home, we’ll calm you down, and we’ll talk about it.”

“My brothers told them where you were. The attack was my fault.”

“I get what’s happening here. Something scared you, and you think you’re hurting everyone around you, so you’re self-sabotaging. Come home. That’s all I want. Don’t you want to give me what I want?”

I do. I always want to give her what she wants. There are better men out there who could love her. There are better people who could protect her without making the mistakes I did.

They’ll have to get through me, though.

“I’ll come home.” I open my eyes and blink hard, ridding them of their bleariness. “I’m not the man you want, love.”

“So you keep saying.” Her words grow wry. “You forget that you don’t get to tell me what I want. And I want you. I don’t know how to make that any clearer to you.”

I nod and give in to the words she speaks. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon, Tom. Yes?”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

I put the phone down. This shallow world, this twisted and broken body I live in, this mind that I cannot control, somehow she is a master of all of it. Somehow she puts me at ease. Love, I think, is two people inspiring each other to live. And she gives me a reason, and she stays by my side.

Dawn breaks, and I walk back to my car in silence.

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324 notes · View notes

zablife · 11 months

Note

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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redflagshipwriter · 3 days

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Halfa Cass Chapter 5

“Well, she has survived,” DamiBat said blandly. He had clearly already showered and changed into casual clothes. His robin colors were neatly laid on the usual table. He had been waiting for her. Cass shut the plane door and swooped down to give him a hug.

“You worried,” Cass cooed. She ignored his struggling to get out of her arms. “Very sweet.”

Damian hissed and tried a nerve strike. She kissed the top of his head and let him escape.

“Black Bat, report,” demanded the Batdad. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat in the silly way it got inside the cowl. Worried. Fear. Nothing can happen to my baby, not my baby.

She pranced over to give him a hug as well. He needed to touch her and know that she was real.

Only when she detached did she consider answering him. “No,” Cass said thoughtfully. “Shower.”

Batdad unhappily let her go. Cass took the time to get her thoughts into order.

She did have to say something.

She changed into comfy clothes and made her way to her computer. Damian had gone upstairs in the interim, and there was no sign of RedJason or Dickiebird. She sat and turned on the screen. Then she turned a stern glare on her family.

Batdad and Timmybird looked away sheepishly, as if they hadn't meant to stare.

Cass wrote up a factual report. Arrival time, important parts of conversation with Marvel, the area they had explored and his magical commentary. Then she got to the creepy laboratory. In the corner of her eye, she saw Timmybird tense.

Cass sighed and spun her chair to face him.

His shoulders went up guiltily. He meekly reached out and tapped a key. The secret spying of her computer screen ended. “Bad,” she said, because someone had to teach him manners. “Don't look at my screen.”

Tim hunched over a little more. Sorry. Sorry. (Will do it again.)

Cass let out a heavy sigh and finished her report. She paused over her word choice a few times.

“You entered an unknown machine, it powered on, and you received an electric shock?” Bruceman Batdad summarized before she had sent him the report.

Cass threw her hands up in disgust. “Stop spying!” She told him. “Stop it!”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry honey.” He was sorry. He'd do it again, too.

Ugh.

UGH.

“Yes,” black bat confirmed tersely.

“No lingering symptoms from the shock?” Bruceman Batdad came closer. Hovered. Flap flap, worried bat. “We should do a full check.”

Cass hissed at him, fed up.

“Master Bruce is correct,” said Alfie. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly at her. Little Miss, listen now. Caution is the virtue.

She waited until he wasn't looking to roll her eyes.

There was no sensible reason to escape. She sulked through the examination.

“Heart rate is normal,” Alfie narrated for their audience. Cass narrowed her eyes. See? See what you've done? Wasted her time, is what you've done.

“No pain?” Alfie poked and confirmed. Again and again. No, pain, no pain? Always no pain. “Well then,” he sounded very pleased. She blinked to full attention. “You must have done a very good job taking care of that rib, Miss Cassandra. I must admit I anticipated that there would still be soreness.”

Cass was very still. Then she nodded.

Uh.

Um.

She thought about cartwheels. She thought about vaulting down a flight of stairs.

Hm.

…Probably her rib should not be totally healed.

She weighed internally whether this was troubling to her. On the one hand, it seemed very odd. There was pain a few hours ago. Why no pain now? Pain usually left while she slept, not after flying a plane. Could healing be a side effect of magic girl transformation? Big, if true. Should probably tell her adults.

On the other hand, no pain was objectively an improvement.

Cass decided to say nothing. Maybe Captain Marvel would have a theory.

Speaking of. When she got back to her room, she sent him a text message.

🪄 🧙🏻📞?

The answer came near instantly.

Not yet! 😭 💔 She isn't answering me. Should I contact Constantine, you think?

Huh. Fast response, very good. Cass sent

😬

But

🕵🏽‍♂️ 🤙🏽 🟰 👌🏽

Lol, wrote Captain Marvel. I know what u mean.

Cass smacked her lips in the quiet of her room. He probably did. But he oughtn't. Old people had a hard time with her communication style.

Idly, she lined up a theory.

Captain Marvel had a magical girl transformation. Captain Marvel seemed too young for his body to her.

Ergo:

He was baby.

Cass, all of 17, wasn't that pressed about it. Bats and birds usually started flying and fighting as babies. Damian was still extremely baby. But. Hmm.

Birds weren't in the Justice League. That was the difference: he had to hide it from Batdad, Superguy, and Wonder.

Oh. Cass put a hand on her heart and frowned. In her dark room there was no one to see it aching in sympathy.

Baby Captain was… was a little too baby, emotionally, for the Justice League.

Well. It was decided, then. The next day at breakfast she announced, “Bruce. New rule.”

Heads swiveled to look at her.

“We are entitled to make rules for Father?” Damian asked Alfred, sotto voice. He looked intrigued. Alfie made a face that indicated his answer would depend on what rule Cass made.

Bruce lifted an eyebrow at her in prompt.

“Stop bullying my Marvel,” she commanded. “He’s-”

She hesitated and edited out the word “baby”.

“sensitive to hostility,” she settled on.

Bruce got a consternated look. “Sweetheart,” he began.

“Yes,” Alfred said to Damian, voice extremely soft. “Upon occasion.”

“Play nice,” Cass said firmly. No arguments. She took a pointed bite out of her toast. No more need for words. Eat now.

Tim giggled. When Bruce looked at him he lifted his fork in front of his face, as if the slice of pancake was enough to hide that he was laughing at the pater familias.

“If he said that I'm bullying him,” Batdad started, sounding harassed, “then there must have been some misunderstanding. I've never intended-”

“No misunderstanding,” Cass denied. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I see. I see his body get small when you use the stern Batdad bigman voice.”

Bruce grumbled into his hand and turned his face away, defeated. Resentment. Insecurity. Do I really do that?

“Yes, Father,” chimed Damian, who loved to kick the defeated. “Surely this fool quakes at the barest hint of your displeasure. But should he not?”

Alfred huffed a subtle little laugh at the manipulation. He squeezed Damian's shoulder.

Bruce, thinking that Damian approved of his coworkers fearing the Bat, looked even more constipated. Resignation. “I will be careful with my tone around him,” BatDad settled. Sullen. Embarrassed. Resigned.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Cass said cheerfully. She squeezed her eyes when she smiled at him, because she was also baby. He melted, vanilla ice cream in July.

Damian made a solemn nod of respect out of Bruce's line of sight. She winked back her thanks for the assistance.

Marvel got back to her not long after. Cass took the call outside, so that Bats could not flap nearby without her noticing.

“Black Bat!’ he said, excited. “I got Constantine!”

She blinked at her phone. “...In a trap?”

“What? No,” he dismissed. “I know where he's going to be this afternoon. Can you come meet me?”

Cass looked back at the house. “...Yes,” she decided. She was off the patrol roster tonight anyway. “Where are we going?”

“Uhh….” Marvel's voice trailed off for a bit as he clearly consulted his note or phone or something. “I'll send you the address.”

#dp x dc #dc x dp #red halfa cass #billy batson #cassandra cain

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dearshelby · 1 year

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Hello! Finally I found 5 minutes to send this ask ❤️.

What about a gif blurb based on this gif?

What did Tommy say to Alfie? 😂❤️.

Thanks in advance, darling!🥰 (No rush, btw!)

Hello, Flor! Thanks for sending something in 😊 I decided to go with a jealous Alfie because idk, he always gave me protective vibes 👀

Alfie squinted his eyes watching his secretary and Tommy through the glass of his office's door. The Shelby man had come to another, last meeting before they sealed a quite complicated deal which would bring mutual benefit.

However, his presence brought a downside (as usual) the secretary Alfie was quite fond of, seemed enchanted by Tommy's charm.

The way she batted her eyes, the shy bite on her lip and the melodic laugh, Alfie had seen it all, not that he was jealous, of course not, but he preferred these would be kept for him only.

Opening the door with excessive brutality, he announced, "Alright, we can start the meeting now, mate! Y/n, why don't you take the rest of the day off? You won't be needed anymore for today,"

"But Mr. Solomons, you asked me to write the contract you'll seal with Mr. Shel-"

"Off now, yeah? Tommy, c'here man," he interrupted.

Guzzling down his gin glass, Tommy offered her a flirtatious smirk, "Have a nice day, miss,"

"You too, Mr. Shelby," she smiled, "Mr. Solomons,"

As she took her belongings and walked off, both men remained silent, once she was away, Tommy cracked a rare smile, "Lovely secretary you got, Alfie,"

"Isn't she? Fucking lovely she is," Alfie agreed, "And she's off fucking limits,"

"You never struck me as the jealous type," Tommy teased, pouring Alfie a glass of gin from the Shelby distillery.

"And I'm not, mate, women are too fucking complex to go and take as property, yeah? I'm simply saying that she's too good for you, right? For both of us," he took the glass from Tommy's hand, "and you know I don't fucking touch it,"

Before Alfie could throw the drink away, Tommy interrupted, "I know, but you have a good nose,"

Diving a finger on the glass, Alfie breathed in the alcoholic scent. At the same time, Tommy continued, "She seems old enough to make her own decisions,"

Restraining his jealousy, Alfie contented himself with lifting his middle finger at the Shelby man.

"Yeah, well, I'll be the one judging that," throwing the liquid away, Alfie finished, "and the Americans want it sweeter."

MASTERLIST

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #alfie solomons x reader #request

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mx-pastelwriting · 1 year

Text

Peaky Blinders Headcanon - Taking a bath with them.

Peaky Blinders x GN! Reader

Summary: Taking a bath with them.

Warnings: Fluff, Established a Relationship, Bath

Characters: Thomas Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Alfie Solomons, Johnny Dogs

Thomas Shelby

- He would come home to see you resting in the bath, which you would smile at, telling him the water was still warm. Taking it as an offer, he undresses in front of you, You make room in front of you, but when he tells you to move up, you don't make him rest on you.

- You get him talking about his day. You knew your husband was a person who built up his problems; he just needed someone to make him talk. It was an open book after telling you about his deal with Alfie and how he had to keep an eye on Arthur.

- Grabbing the soap, you start to wash his hair. He takes a deep breath, stopping as you massage his scalp. Moving down to his neck, you work the knots in his neck.

- His eyes closed as he hummed in delight at your touch, and you let his head rest on your chest as you started to wash his shoulders. Giving him a light kiss on his forehead, you see him smile with a laugh that comes from his nose.

- You move your arms under his, letting his back lay on your chest, and Tommy gives you a kiss on the cheeks. Tommy asks if you would like for him to wash you, but you tell him you did earlier, so he lays back, letting the now soapy, warm water snuggle you both.

Running your fingers through Tommy's hair, you watched his eyes open, staring at you. His eyes warmed at the sight of your smile. "How was your day, love?" He whispers to not disturb the moment, "Nothing new, though I did take the new horse out and around." You answered knowing what was going to come next.

"You should have asked Johnny to help you, if anything would have helped you--,", "Tommy, it's fine, she knows me, I'm here, aren’t I?" You didn't raise your voice; you only continued your actions, pulling his hair away from his face before giving him a kiss on the forehead to ease his mind.

Arthur Shelby

- You ran a bath, knowing Arthur would be home in five minutes. He was out doing his boxing, something about which you didn't care too much, but when it came to seeing any of his big fights, you were right there cheering him on.

- Arthur walked in, seeing you undressing quickly and drawing attention to the bath. He relaxed a bit; he had a look in his eyes that you saw on most nights.

- He gets him first, letting you rest on his back. He wraps his arms around you, taking his time to adjust to the warm water. You look up to see his eyes closed as he breathes in, relaxing with you in his arms.

- Getting the soap, he opens his eyes to watch you, putting some in a small towel before grabbing his arm to scrub the dirty, and what you hope isn't blood, he doesn't move, just taking the sigh of your body.

- Finishing up with your arms, you lay back down. He takes the towel from you, washes it in the now soapy water, and rubs it against your neck and chest. The sounds of the bubbles and water splashing filled the room. No talking, just specking with actions of love.

Arthur puts down the towel, kisses your head, and pulls you back into his chest, his arms cuddling you with his head resting on yours. A sigh comes from him, so you ask, "How was your fight?" You speak softly, not wanting to disturb the relaxing sounds of your bath. "Good, you almost got Thomas in the ring." You laugh at the thought of Tommy in the ring. "That man is too good enough to be in the ring." You joked, "Right." He laughs along with you.

Alfie Solomons

- You wake up earlier to run a bath so you can spend some time with Alfie in the morning. After mixing light-scented soaps into the warm water, you turn off the water before returning to the bedroom.

- Seeing Alfie had taken over the bed, you huffed a laugh, pillows and blankets being cuddled by him in place of you. You climb onto the bed lightly and kiss him awake. He takes you into his arms with his eyes still closed.

- When you tell him you ran a bath for both of you, he opens his eyes and follows you into the bathroom. He gives you space to undress, and being respectful, he gets in after you. He laid back into your chest, gladly taking off your ear as you washed his hair.

- Moving to his bread, you scrub lightly. His warm hums made you smile. His hands found your knees; they traveled down, squeezing them. You remind him it's not that kind of bath, but he defends himself, saying he's helping, and all you do is laugh, letting him continue.

- Alfie talk to your ear with information on his business; he needs to talk to someone about it; yes, he has Ollie, but most importantly, he has you, and he loves hearing your answers.

Alfie grabbed your arm, pulling it to his lips, and kissed your hand, then your arm, saying, "Alfie, please, you have to go to work this morning." You reminded him. "I do?" He hums, getting a laugh from you, "Yes, you do; now let me finish." You say this without taking your hand away to let him decide.

He does keep your arm, then grabs the other, saying, "I can go later. It's but fucking business." He whispers against your skin, kissing it. "That it is," you say before kissing his head.

Johnny Dogs

- He runs a bath for you after eating dinner, thanking you for taking care of the house while he's gone. Coming up behind you in the kitchen, he tells you it's ready. Following him, he tells you what all he put in there.

- You both sit facing each other, moving your feet in comfortable places not to lead to something else. He tells you about his dealings with Tommy, wanting to get some feedback from you.

- He offers to wash your hair, but you tell him just to relax, so he does. The conversation leads into both of you discussing what the future looks like for you too, but you stop with a kiss, saying you don't want spoilers.

- While you were up, you grabbed some soap and washed his hair, but he wanted to wash you, so you quickly finished letting him wash you.

- His massage relaxes your neck and back, and as he does so, he asks about your day, so you tell him there was nothing new to it, just that you missed him. At that, he kisses your head, promising to come home earlier tomorrow.

Johnny kisses your forehead, making you hum. "I love ya" He whispers, lending in to kiss your lips, and you smile in the kiss, letting him go to fish your body. "Cuddle me after?" You ask, and looking at him, he nods with a big smile on his face.

He cups water and brings it to your body to wash off the soap he swallows as he watches the water travel down, but you interrupt him with a kiss.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is and grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #alfie solomons x reader #arthur shelby x reader #johnny dogs x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon

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