#and I’m nearly done with my next Peaky chapter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missymurphy1985 · 3 years

Text

The Writer (part 10) Final Chapter - Epilogue

Warning - childbirth

Massive thank you goes out to @heidimoreton for your trust and faith with your idea - couldn't have done this without you 💖

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch

It had been nearly a full year since that first encounter. Twelve months of pure bliss. Your roommate was married to your brother now, and had a job as Charlie's tutor - Thomas still hadn't allowed him back at the school so Laura had been hired as his home tutor. You'd moved into Arrow House when you discovered there was a mini Shelby on the way.

Flashback

"Y/n, come here..." Polly had been over that morning to help you make plans for Christmas dinner. Your brother and Laura were coming, along with the Shelby family, and you were panicking about the whole thing. You wanted it to be perfect. You entered the kitchen where Polly suddenly grabbed under your left breast, and you instantly pulled away.

"What are you doing?"

"Just stand still will you?"

"Stand still while my boyfriend's aunt gropes me??"

"Yes." You furrowed your brow in confusion but allowed her to continue.

"This isn't awkward at all Polly, wanna tell me what's going on?" Thomas walked in right at that moment, and froze instantly.

"Polly... Polly what are you doing?" He eyed her, but not suspiciously like you did. It was more of a 'knowing' kind of look.

"Well well Thomas.. hardly surprising considering you two can barely keep your hands off each other..." She smirked.

You were totally confused, darting your eyes between them

"Someone wanna enlighten me?"

Tommy looked to the floor, rubbing his eyes, before smiling. A huge grin, followed by a long sigh.

"Remember telling me you didn't have children with Jack because you thought you couldn't have them?" Polly asked and you nodded, still trying to work out what was going on.

"You weren't infertile, y/n." Tommy leaned against the door, his eyes slightly damp as he glanced at your stomach. The penny still hadn't dropped.

"Someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

Tommy nodded at Polly who left the room, smiling to herself. Tommy pulled you over to him, his hands stroking your arms.

"After Grace died, I vowed never to love again. It felt like I would be cheating on her, disgracing her memory. She didn't need replacing, and I certainly couldn't replace her. When you lost Jack, you felt the same, which is exactly why I think fate brought us together. We discovered there was enough room in our hearts for another love. Now, it seems we need to make room for one more." His right hand took yours, and he placed them both over your stomach gently. The penny dropped, and your mouth hung open in stunned silence.

"I'm... I'm pregnant?"

"You are. Pol?" Polly came back in and threw her arms around you, squealing with delight.

"But I didn't think I could... Jack and I tried for years..."

"You clearly weren't the infertile one, y/n. I'd say you're around six weeks already, you're glowing! That's how I could tell," Polly had tears in her eyes, and you felt your emotions coming to the surface.

"I can just about handle one of you crying, both of you will send me over the edge, knock it off!" Thomas laughed, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve making your eyes water more, a choked sob leaving your chest.

He pulled you close, his chin resting on the top of your head as you sobbed with happiness into his shoulder.

"A baby..." You choked.

"Our baby. And now we know you can have them, don't think we're stopping here either," he winked, making you grin. You'd have a football team of Shelby's if you could.

Present Day

You were both lying in bed having a lazy Sunday morning. Tommy's hand drifting over your baby, still tucked warmly inside you but due to make her appearance in the next two weeks. Occasionally she would kick his hand - the clear bump visible making both of you smile.

"She's going to be famous - Polly told me," you grinned, clasping your hand over his, resting it where she'd kicked.

"She's going to be beautiful. Any thoughts on names?"

"Yes. What do you think of Jacqueline Grace?" You asked, nervously. A mix of the two people who'd brought you both together. He looked down at your belly, moving his body down to kiss it lightly, smiling.

"I love it. It's perfect.. thank you.."

You grimaced slightly as a sharp pain shot through your abdomen, you'd had a few over the last few days but put them down to over exertion - you'd refused to rest up like Tommy had ordered, continued the renovation planning of the house.

"You okay?" He asked as you tensed.

"Yes - Ada warned me about this, it's just my body preparing that's all, nothing to worry about." Your hand suddenly tightened on his as another pain gripped you, you sat up and gritted your teeth.

"Shit..." Tommy gasped as a sudden gush of water flooded the sheet underneath you. He looked to you, both of you panicking but smiling through the fear.

"Call Polly - I think your daughter wants to meet us a little earlier than planned!" He kissed you, then shot up and ran down the stairs to the phone in his office.

You stood up, walking round in circles, rubbing your belly as another wave of pain took over. You were doubled up, haunched over a chair when Tommy came back in the room, panting through the pain.

"She's out - Michael's out looking for her... We need to call a doctor -"

"No! I wanted this to be family only Thomas, I don't want doctors fussing or drugs, I can do this without them... Just rub my back, please.." he moved to your side, his hand stroking firmly over your lower back.

"I don't know what to do y/n!"

"You do as I need you to do, then when Polly gets here you can leave if you need to.."

"Not a chance am I letting you go through this alone - I'm staying right here if you'll let me?" You turned to him surprised, but nodded.

"Fuck... Tommy this really hurts..." Another wave of pain. "Take me downstairs, I need water..." He led you slowly down the stairs into the lounge, before fetching you a glass of water. You paced the room, the pressure in your pelvis was excruciating but you tried to remember Ada and Polly's advice as much as possible - breathing slowly, staying calm.

"Thomas where is she?!" You screamed, leaning over the back of the sofa. The contractions were coming quickly and getting more painful. Weren't these things supposed to take hours?? Days even??

"Come lie down, rest - you need to keep your strength up..." He lay you down on the floor, but you quickly realised that wasn't what you wanted. You moved into a kneeling position, your upper body resting against Tommy's chest as he breathed with you through each contraction.

"Tommy, I can feel her pushing down..." You panted. He suddenly took charge - lifting your nightdress up and ripping your panties away from you. Reaching a hand between your legs, he pulled away sharply.

"Then push - she's coming now whether Polly is here or not, I can feel her head - Push!"

You bore down, gripping onto his shoulders for support. The pain was stifling. His hand between your legs, he could feel his baby's head slowly pushing through.

Pulling away from you slightly, he grabbed a cushion from the sofa and placed it between your knees.

One of the maids must have heard the commotion, and she entered the room carrying a bowl of cool water and towels.

"Mr Shelby let me help, I've delivered three sisters..." He nodded, holding your nightdress up by your waist as Clara focussed on the baby.

"Thomas Shelby, you put that cock anywhere near me again and I'll cut it off, you hear me??"

"Shh now you know that's not true.... I've got you, come on... I'll breathe with you, eh?"

"Mrs Shelby you need to pant - do not push until I tell you to, okay?" Clara ordered.

Tommy leaned back, looking directly into your eyes.

"With me... Come on..." You found strength in those blue eyes, as he panted with you. Your eyes watering from the immense pain between your legs. "Stay with me, that's it, I've got you.."

"Heads out, push now Mrs Shelby!"

A scream left you as your body took over.

"How much more Clara?!" Tommy asked, desperate not to see you suffering any more.

"We're nearly there now, one more Mrs Shelby.."

"You hear that? One more and our girl is here. Jacqueline Grace will be here in her Mama's arms, come on baby, you can do this I know you can." You shook your head to protest but again your body defied you.

"Tom... Shit shit shit...." The wave of pain, tied with your exhaustion, was almost too much to bear. You couldn't take anymore, you could see the blood on Tommy's shoulders through his shirt where your nails had dug into him. You rested your head on his chest, focussing on his heart beat as he kissed your head. One scream from you, followed swiftly by a baby's cry from underneath you as you slumped against him, completely exhausted.

A few minutes went by, as Tommy eased you onto the floor between his legs, pulling your nightdress clean off you. You didn't care that Clara saw you completely bare - there wasn't much more she could have seen at that point. Just as you regained your senses, your baby girl was placed on your chest, having been checked and cleaned by your new favourite maid.

"Congratulations Mr and Mrs Shelby, she's perfectly healthy," she smiled, handing her to you. She instinctively searched for your breast, hungrily suckling from you as a wave of pure love took over. You could feel Tommy shuddering slightly underneath you, unashamedly crying as he watched his daughter feed.

"You were so brave.. so strong.. you blew me away y/n, I'm so fucking proud of you..."

Once you'd been cleaned up and moved back upstairs in bed, Polly arrived. She stopped in the doorway in shock, seeing you lying in bed sleepily as your husband swayed back and forth, Jacqueline in his arms dozing.

"Better late than never, eh Pol?" He laughed, handing his daughter to his Aunt. She choked holding the little one close, kissing the top of her head gently.

You tried so hard to stay awake but you could feel your eyelids growing heavy. A small kiss placed on the top of your head sealed the deal.

"Sleep now Mama. You'll need your rest, because I'm putting another one of those in you at the earliest opportunity."

#thomas shelby x smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #tommy shelby x smut #tommy x fem!reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x pregnant reader #tommy shelby x childbirth #thomas shelby x pregnant reader #thomas shelby x childbirth

254 notes · View notes

footballxposts · 3 years

Text

Sleeping With The Enemy - Jack Grealish Series❤️‍🔥 (Chapter Two) Curiosity

Warnings: just some more sexual tension for now hehe but y’all better be ready for the next few chapters cause god damn 🥵

Recommended listening: Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande (Slowed).

Quick A/N: if you can’t understand Scottish slang a will translate for you in the comments

Taglist: @storyofavengers @hotyeehawman

——————————————————————————

The rest of my first day working in Aston went much better than I had initially expected. We only had a few minor injuries so I spent most of my time just going through all the players files, mainly looking over their medical history and current rehabilitation plans. That being said, I found it so hard to concentrate as the only thing I could think about throughout the entirety of it was Jack’s words. They were etched on my mind like the winner of a tournaments name being engraved on a trophy. I was extremely thankful Alan had came back into the room when he did, because I really had no idea how to respond to Jack’s comment and to be quite honest, I wasn’t really sure I wanted to.

Now arriving back at Bodymoor Heath training grounds for what was going to be my second day, I tried my best to find a parking space. Spotting one, I positioned my car and took the keys out of the ignition. Just as I was grabbing my things so as that I could make my way into work, I noticed a familiar face walking across the car park and quickly ducked my head so that he wouldn’t see me. But he did. And instead of walking towards the building’s entrance, Jack Grealish was now headed towards my car.

He lightly tapped the window as I pretended to look for something. Giving me space to open the door he quickly stepped away. My heart was nearly beating out of my chest. What did he want? I’ll tell you what I wanted. I wanted to avoid him as much as possible so I wasn’t put in another awkward situation with him, but he really wasn’t making it at all easy. Stepping out and closing the door behind me, he began walking beside me.

“So how’s my girl Ella this fine morning?” he asked, his eyes watching me every step I took.

“Your girl?” I questioned back in a slightly nervy manner, trying to speed up.

“Come on, you know what I mean.” he teased, a smirk now spreading across his face.

“Uh no actually I don’t, because we’re not friends Jack.” I sighed, attempting to pull the door of the premises open but he had got there before me and was now holding it out wide for me.

“Oh really?” he raised his eyebrows in response. “What are we then?”. I hated to admit it, but his accent was honestly so damn attractive too, though I wanted to believe I only thought so because I had watched too much peaky blinders and he reminded me of Tommy Shelby. Standing in front of me and stopping me in my tracks to prevent me from moving any further, I gave him one of those ‘seriously?’ glares.

“Nothing.” I stated. “We’re just work colleagues. That’s it. Just two professionals getting on with their morning, or at least I’m trying to but someone is in the way.” His reaction was comical. Lightly scoffing with a small chuckle, he took a step closer to me, almost closing the distance between us. I was shaking like a leaf internally. He honestly made me so nervous, as if my anxiety didn’t already do a good enough job of that. I gulped as he parted his lips and got the final word in.

“Maybe.” he began. “But I’m hoping to change that sometime soon.” Giving me a smug wink, he moved out of the way and began walking down the corridor the opposite way. I stood there for a few seconds, which felt more like minutes, trying to process what he had just said. He was a very attractive man, and there was no denying it. But was he actually being serious? Only my second day here, and he’s already hitting on me like I’m a piece of fresh meat. Was this what he done with every new girl that started working here? And how many other females in the vicinity was he currently doing this with? Did he just think every girl would fall at his knees and give him what he wanted? And what made him assume I would? Or that I even wanted to? Feeling slightly nauseous at all thoughts and questions now racing through my mind, I shook my head and made my way to my section of the workplace.

A few hours had gone by of assessing more injuries and whatnot, and before I knew it, it was now lunchtime. Making my way to the canteen, a friendly face appeared beside me, this time being one I was more than happy to see. It was midfielder John McGinn, who I had had in the clinic earlier on that morning. He and I maintained a good conversation about various different things, mainly about Ireland and Scotland’s relationship. Now holding the door open for me, he perked up.

“Hello.” he smiled softly.

“Oh John, hi, everything alright?” I beamed back at him.

“Aye yeah no a wis just wondering if you wanted tae come have lunch with me since your friend isn’t in today and you probably don’t want to sit with Alan and stuff?” he asked with a strong Scottish accent and a hopeful look on his face. He was referring to Samantha, the girl I had met yesterday who worked as a nutritionalist. She had told me how happy she was to have a female the same age as her working at the grounds to and offered for me to come sit with her at lunch, to which I accepted but she had took a sick day today meaning I would probably have to sit and have lunch by myself.

“Oh okay, yeah.” I replied, “Thank you, that would be nice.”

The little grin that spread across his face as he opened the canteen door for me was the cutest. “Great, no problem.” he responded as I began to enter the large dining hall. We made our way over to the food court to get something to eat. Joking and laughing, I was caught in my tracks by a very serious looking Jack, who was now staring at us from where he was seated at one of the tables. Ignoring him, I diverted my attention back to the lunch lady who was placing my vegetarian lasagne back on my tray.

“Oh, sorry thank you.” I said, expressing my gratitude and moving on to get a drink at the end of the counter.

“Vegetarian huh?,” John raised his eyebrows at me.

“Umm yeah aha, I kinda have been for the past seven years or so.” I chuckled.

“Kinda? Whit ya mean by kinda?” He questioned.

“Well.” I began. “I eat chicken, but I don’t eat any other meat or poultry.” Giving me the biggest look of judgement he could muster up, he began to crack up. “No way! Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I know I know. It’s a bit of a weird one to be honest but it is what it is.” I muttered shyly.

“Naw naw, each to their own am no saying anything. But isn’t there a name for that itself?” he queried.

“Yeah pollotarian, but everytime I say that everyone tells me it’s not at real thing and I’m a nutcase and stuff. Besides, a pollotarian is supposed to eat all poultry and I don’t.” I answered, as we sat down at a free table.

“Aye well a canny say a dinnae agree with them.” he teased as the two of us broke out laughing. John was so sweet and wasn’t unattractive either, but even when it came to him I wanted to remain strictly professional. Jack’s eyes were still fixated on us with what I could only assume was jealousy and envy growing in them. Having enough, I watched as he forcefully stood up out of his chair and walked away out of sight.

“What’s his deal?” I asked John who now had a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth. “Who? Grealish?” he replied as soon as he had swallowed it. Nodding anxiously, he rolled his eyes and giggled again. “Ah, Jacky-boy, whit can a say? Serious baller, great hair, great legs. But a flirt and a wee heartbreaker anaw.”

“Oh really, how so?..” I lamented.

“Ah, it’s no really for me to say sorry darlin, but am sure one of his previous conquests could fill you in if your paths cross. He’s no a bad guy, just done some silly things if you get me? How come you’re asking anyways?” he interrogated, nudging me with his elbow.

“Oh I was just wondering..” I trailed off.

“Naw, no way. Has he already tried tae make a move on you?”, an amused look now appearing on his face.

“Not exactly, but I think he’s planning to try to.”

“Aye right a see. Well, word to they wise, as much as a love Jack, if you’re looking for something serious, he’s no the way to go about getting it. A wid focus on your work if a were you.”

To indicate that I understood, I nodded slowly. But why did part of me also feel slightly disheartened and disappointed? I kept trying to remind myself that Jack Grealish was the ultimate no go; not only because I had only started working here and I wanted to keep everything strictly professional, but also because I don’t think I could every forgive myself, let alone my country or the world if they knew. He was supposed to be the enemy. Well, not so much the enemy, but the traitor and rival. However, there was just something about him that made me want to do so many things that I know shouldn’t.

After finishing lunch, I said goodbye to John and set about returning to the clinic. As I exited the canteen door, I felt an arm grab me and pull me into an empty office. Struggling to make out who it was initially, the smell of cologne mixed with sweat that was becoming overly-familiar helped me to quickly register.

52 notes · View notes

lawyering-and-running · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4 - Don't Shoot The Messenger

Series Masterlist

♡ Pretty proud of this one beauties. Don't forget I'm open to suggestions and/or requests xx ♡

Nicole had been sat by the fire for a while, one of the women had passed her a bowl of warm stew and a flask of water. Yet despite feeling more comfortable than she had in months she couldn’t relax. The idea of not knowing what was happening back in Small Heath was nearly too much. That was her town too, why should she not protect it just because she had something different between her legs. She was just as capable as some of the men. Mind made up, she put down her bowl and stretched out her legs. She quickly thanked the women for their kindness before setting off.

Quickly she ran back towards small heath climbing up onto the rooftops until she found her favourite, on top of one of the warehouses with great views of the canals. She raised a flag on top of the building, lighting a fire beside it. A beacon to signal to her people that she needed a meeting. Shelby’s had their family meetings; the runners had their own. She did not have to wait long before the others started the respond. Shadowy figures dropped down on to the roof until all seven of them were gathered.

“We all know what’s happening in those streets below us, and what’s going to happen. This is our home, we know it better than anyone, so we’re going to protect it.” The group was made up of two other girls and four boys, all lean from years of too little food and too much activity. All in dark grey clothing and covered in a fine layer of dirt, they really did look like shadows come alive. When it comes to fight or flight instincts the usual for the group was of course flight. They were used to being ignored, eyes peering into the dark privy to the city’s secrets because nobody realised they were listening in. Nameless, faceless, and voiceless.

But now. As this group stood before her, she realised that maybe they all had an equally strong fight response. Nobody moved to leave, nobody looked scared. “All right then Nik, what’s the plan?” asked Kaz, one of the boys. “I say we use what we’re good at. That we take down Kimber’s men before they even know we’re there. That we keep an eye on things when the other Peakies are unable to do so.” The others nodded their heads in agreement reaching into pockets for hidden switchblades and razors. “Let’s show them what we’ve got” Nina, one of the girls, cheered raising her fist in the air.

Nicole moved towards the edge of the building, looking down at where she could see the men gathering. ”May we die in the shadows as we were born” she said. The group repeated back ”May we die in the shadows as we were born” they wouldn’t quite consider each other family, none of them really knew the concept, but they did have an understanding that they were all one and the same and that they were in this together. With everything said and done the group moved across rooftops, spreading out before slithering down into dark corners, lying in wait.

A hush descended over the group of men as Nicole watched the Shelby brothers from her alleyway, hidden behind a stack of crates. Suddenly Tommy’s voice rang out “It doesn't have to be like this, Kimber.” Kimber’s nasty voice replied “Too late for all that. You've bit off more than you can chew, you little toerag. And now I'm going to take over this shithole.” Nicole quietly fumed, it was no London, but it was their little corner of the world, no way was this outsider going to come in here and disrespect her home. She reigned herself in, it wasn’t her place, wasn’t even her personality really. She stayed hidden watching the conversation take place.

“Now now Kimber, that isn't very polite. I expected something more from a man of your grand standing.” Tommy mocked. “Listen here you little shit, I am going to kill all of you. Every last one of you fuckin Peakies. Then I am going to burn this place to the ground, maybe build myself another racetrack instead. Whilst you lot all rot in hell.” Steam was practically pouring out of Kimber’s ears. His face had gone an odd shade of red, his moustache twitching. It would have probably made for a funny picture if it were not for the seriousness of the situation. Although Nicole swore she could see that glint of amusement in Tommy’s cold blue eyes from where she was perched.

Tommy remained unbothered by the mounting tension in front of him, he shrugged “So that’s how it’s going to be.” Suddenly all hell broke loose. Both sides running for each other, opponents nearly indistinguishable. The loud bangs of gunfire rang through the streets as screams filled the air. Already a hazy mist of blood was settling over them. Nicole saw a Peaky struggling against one of Kimber’s, she crept up behind him and quick as lightning she stabbed him in the neck. She’d rehidden herself by the time the body slumped to the floor, the Peaky looking around for who had saved him.

She continued to dart out where possible to help others in difficult positions, trying as hard as she could to ensure that none of her people lost their lives today. That none of the women of Small Heath would be turned into Widows by the day’s events. She recognised her other runners doing the same, a flash of black, a glint of a blade as they wove through the fighting.

In all of the chaos Nicole had lost track of where the Shelby brothers were. Too focused on what was directly in front of her to think of anything else. She had just unarmed a Kimber for a Peaky to finish off when she saw Kimber raising his gun up to Tommy just a couple of steps away. No one else seemed to have noticed that their fearsome leader was quickly running out of options, his own gun nowhere in sight. Flat cap no match at a distance to a loaded gun. No other thought in mind she jumped for Kimber’s outstretched hand.

Time seemed to slow as she became airborne. As if she were trapped in a bubble, the sounds around her became muffled, tunnel vision focused solely on the weapon. Hands knocking the gun away time sped back up, as noise rushed back in. Angry shouts. She thought she heard a “What the fuck are you doing here?” but that was not important.

She tumbled to the ground with Kimber’s heavy body. The two rolling around trying to gain an upper hand. She lost her blade in the shuffle and had not accounted for Kimber having a backup weapon. Her mistake. Her tired body was no match for his larger frame as he lodged the knife into her shoulder. Yelling obscenities at her. A white-hot numbness spread through her body; she had not felt anything like this before. A pain far more vivid and sharp than a sprained ankle.

Before Kimber could actually finish her off there was a loud bang, the loudest Nicole had heard that day. The weight of a dead body suddenly pressing in on her. Kimber’s unseeing eyes gazing into her own. There was a warm wetness trickling over her, but very little seemed to really be registering in her mind. Her limbs becoming heavy from blood loss and perhaps shock. The heavy body was shoved off of her. The man she had saved appearing above her. “Why would you do something like that, ey?” Tommy asked. His body kneeling next to hers to try and stem the blood flow. All that escaped Nicole was a moan of pain.

A hysterical thought bubbled into her mind, why the hell did she care so much about a gangster. She had only spoken a couple of words to him. Maybe her luck had finally run out, drowned in her own stupidity. Clearly those blue eyes had more of an effect on her than she thought. She laughed out loud, lest she cry out from the pain otherwise. Her eyes shut as the blue-eyed face hovered above her, lips moving but nothing registering in her ringing ears. Then nothing.

Upon seeing Kimber fall the remaining few of his men had quickly tucked tail and run away. The cause no longer worth dying for. The Peakies cheered. “You don’t mess with the PEAKY FUCKIN BLINDERS!” Arthur shouted to even louder cheers. Turning to see Tommy’s crouched form the other two brothers ran over to help. “Is that the girl from before? What’s she doing here?” John questioned. “I don’t bloody know John. She just appeared and saved my life like some fuckin guardian angel. Help me carry her into the Garrison, we need to stitch up the wound.” The men lifted up her limp body as six pairs of eyes watched from the shadows, ready to help but feeling useless all the same. I quite murmur rippled through the group, but a whisper ”May we die in the shadows as we were born” Nicole’s life was in the hands of the Shelby’s now.

They burst through the doors of the pub shoving aside glasses as they laid her body on the table. Tommy ripped her shirt sleeve, heavy and slippery from the blood. Suddenly Polly was by their side as well “Someone get me some whiskey” she commanded whilst taking out a sewing kit. Arthur thrust the bottle at Tommy. He poured half the bottle over the wound grateful that the poor girl was already unconscious for this before pouring the rest of Polly’s waiting hands and needle. His work done he slumped back as Arthur passed him a new bottle of whiskey, this one meant for drinking. He took a couple of gulps as he slowly came down from the adrenaline. The fight, nearly losing his own life, being saved, and then this girl who he for some unexplainable reason cared for nearly dying. Slowly his shaking hands steadied as the alcohol took effect.

Polly had meanwhile sown up the wound and wrapped it in a cloth to stem any further blood flow. Nicole would be alright now. “What a day” she sighed grabbing the bottle from Tommy and taking a swig. Tommy stood up, carrying Nicole to one of the benches and covering her up with his warm black coat. Moving back towards the bar, he turned to face his family “If you check behind the bar Arthur... you will find a bottle of champagne.” Arthur fetched the bottle as Tommy continued “Today was a good day, we only lost a couple of men. All of Kimber's men were busy here, so we managed to take all of the pitches at the Worcester races.” Arthur popped the cork on the bottle “It couldn't have gone better if we'd planned it.” He poured some into the various glasses “Shelby Brothers Limited are now the third largest legal racetrack operation in the country.” Handing them out to the three other family members and keeping one for himself “Cheers! Only the Sabinis and the Solomons are bigger than us. And all my family is here to celebrate. To Shelby Brothers Limited.” “Shelby!” “Brothers!” “Cheers.” Rang out through the room. “There'll be others.” Polly spoke up in warning. Tommy merely raised his glass and toasted her again “To the others. All of them.” His eyes had settled on Nicole’s sleeping form, to new beginnings he thought to himself.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x oc

51 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 4 years

Text

A Soldier’s Daughter - Chapter III

Summary: Skye and Geralt make it to Kaer Morhen and start settling in for the winter there. Geralt starts feeling something he’s desperately trying not too.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/OFC

Word Count: 7,255

Previous Chapters: I II

Rating: PG-13 - Witcher!AU, Language, Slow Burn, Jealousy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Inspiration: The Witcher on Netflix, with instances of the Games and Books.

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think! Thank you to the marvelous @wondersofdreaming for the encouragement and beta!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @wardl0w, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @bellastellaluna, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernatural, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas, @oh-for-fic-sake, @sauvage-et-libre, @mis-lil-red, @angreav, @crazyandanonymous4u, @the-mighty-jellybean @henrycavell, @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair, @iam-laiya, @worshipping-skarsgard, @thetruthandotherstories, @ruthoakenshield, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss, @theonetheycallhannah, @nina-skyee, @thatgirly81, @inanna999, @suueeeeeee, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8, @beckster07890, @daddys-littlewhitegirl, @magic-and-the-macabre, @stxphmxlls, @radaofrivia, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss, @starstruckkittyangel, @heartfelt-pen, @stuckupstucky, @dummiesshort, @la-cey, @singeramg

Kaer Morhen, also known as the School of the Wolf, had been the home and stronghold for Witchers throughout the countless centuries. It was huge and bleak, its back butted up against the massive mountain ranges that composed the Blue Mountains of Kaedwen.

Several of its towers and walls were in sad disrepair, crumbling and toppled over through the years and years of neglect and inefficient means to repair them. As straight forward the path looked on the way up the mountain towards Kaer Morhen, it wasn't at all what it seemed to the inexperienced eye, or even an experienced one; many Witchers over the years had found themselves lost on the trail, after being away from school for so long, they had forgotten where to look. Anyone seeking entry into Kaer Morhen, and didn't know where to go, would only end up going in circles around the stronghold, and before they even finished the first go around, the Witchers inside would know of their presence.

Geralt and Skye walked along the mountain path towards the stronghold, the snow almost to her knees, the forest around them shushed in the thick blanket of the white powder, a sparse flurry of thick flakes stirred around them in the blowing breeze. The atmosphere around them was so peaceful and calming, the crisp air filling their lungs and making their cheeks rosy in color. Geralt paused for a moment, fumbling for something in Roach's bag, when something smacked him in the back, and he turned around to Skye, who looked behind her, then frowned back at Geralt.

“What?” She lifted a brow at him.

Geralt narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you just throw snow at me?” He asked, suspicious.

“I don't even know what that is.” She countered, frowning at him harder, but her green eyes danced with guilt. “Roach must have done it.”

“While facing me?”

“You're the Witcher, I'm sure you've seen crazier.” Skye grinned at him.

“Hm.” Geralt hummed, shaking his head at her and going back into Roach's bag. “Come along, snow thrower.” He called to her over his shoulder, moving off the path and vanishing into a thicket of trees.

Skye frowned and blinked, then moved after him, following the foot and hoof prints in the once virgin blanket of snow. “Why are we off the path?” She called after him, trying her best to catch up with him through the deep snow.

“Won't we get lost?”

“No, I know where I'm going.” Geralt replied over his shoulder, then paused, letting her catch up. “Here.” He stilled Roach, holding her reins tight and pulled himself into the mare's saddle. “We'll be going uphill the rest of the way and the snow is only going to get deeper. It'll be easier and less of a chore, if we ride Roach.” He explained to her, reaching down to her.

Skye hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, allowing him to boost her up into Roach's saddle behind him; she gulped as she settled behind him, thighs gripping Roach's sides. They had never been in such close and tight proximity, they rarely even touched, unless absolutely required, and even then it was only for a split moment, before breaking apart again. Skye was instantly surrounded by the intense heat of Geralt's body, which nearly matched Roach's, she felt the icicles that had frozen inside of her over the last two and a half days start to drip as they thawed between Roach and Geralt's body heat. It was by pure instinct, that she loosely wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chest against his board back, slipping a bit closer to him as Roach started forward.

Geralt's body was stiff as they rode towards Kaer Morhen, the solid and light weight of her body pressed against his caused the twinge that had been planted in the pit of his stomach, like a seed in the ground, to start germinate and threatened to send its thin and fragile roots even deeper into the Witcher's body, taking a hold of him, permanently. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his body and mind to kill it, before it could properly grow and turn into something he simply could not allow to happen, not again.

He couldn't take it again.

As Kaer Morhen finally came into full view, Skye pushed herself up in Roach's saddle to see over Geralt's shoulder to check it out. It was huge, hulking, run down and gloomy, she felt her mood almost plummet, seeing the new home she would be spending the next three month in with Geralt and Vesemir. Her family farm wasn't much, but at least it was a sight better than this place was. She sighed and sat back again, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Geralt's back, feeling his leather armor underneath his thick black cloak. He sighed softly, knowing she still wasn't happy about all that was going on, the situation seeming more dire than it really was, but they were both learning to tolerate it.

The rusted portcullis of Kaer Morhen's front gate was closed as Skye and Geralt approached on Roach, at last. But, a few feet from it, a groan sounded through the air, both echoing in the vast mountain range and hushed by the thick blanket of snow that surrounded it, an eerie phenomenon, that gave Skye a shiver. The rusted, iron gate started to draw upwards, complaining the whole way up, but Geralt didn't seem alarmed that the gate just suddenly opened, with no one seemingly controlling it.

They proceeded through the stronghold, Skye glancing around at the ruined structures, the wild and overgrown brushes and grass. It felt supernatural and uncanny, like they'd entered some strange and ancient graveyard. Skye felt like she could almost sense and see the residual energy of the Witchers bygone, like they haunted the grounds they had spent so much of their time on, being twisted into advanced humans with vile sorcery. They came to the main building of the stronghold and found a tall man, long gray hair reaching his shoulders and pulled back in a very similar style to Geralt's, with an equally gray, horseshoe mustache and honey-gold eyes.

Skye knew immediately that it was Vesemir, who else could it be?

“Geralt.” Vesemir called out in a deep and raspy voice.

“Vesemir!” Geralt called back with a nod of his head.

“You're late.” The older Witcher pointed out, lifting a gray brow at him. “I didn't think you were coming this winter.” He stated, head tilting as he caught a glimpse of Skye, nearly hidden behind Geralt's wide body.

“Well, I ran into a couple of challenges.” He replied, looking over his shoulder to Skye, who looked terrified, and gave her thigh a gentle pat, before dismounting Roach and helping her down. “Are Lambert or Eskel here?” He asked, tiptoeing around the subject of Skye's presence for a moment.

“Eskel arrived a week ago, he believes Lambert will arrive at some point.” Vesemir replied, cocking his head at Skye. “Who is this?” He asked, turning his head to Geralt, a stern glint in his eyes.

“She's my Law of Surprise.” Geralt explained, glancing between Skye and Vesemir, like he was waiting for a bomb to go off.

Vesemir's eyes narrowed, expression hard, then sighed. “You must be cold, how about some tea?” He inquired, looking at her for a moment, before turning on his heels and going back inside.

“Was that..” Skye turned her head between the door Vesemir went through and Geralt. “Was that a good thing?”

“He didn't throw us out.” Geralt replied, brows lifted and a faint smile, then followed after his old mentor.

Glancing around and clearing her throat, Skye ran after Geralt, following him inside the all stone and drafty keep. Sticking close to Geralt, they walked down a long hallway into a huge and vaulted room, a fire roaring in a massive fireplace, Vesemir standing near it. Geralt motioned Skye to a table and he approached the other Witcher.

“How did you get yourself tied up with a Child of Surprise?” Vesemir asked, staring into the flames. “A female one at that.”

“I saved her father's life, after he was attacked by several drowned dead.” Geralt replied, flexing his frozen fingers in front of the fire. “He was a soldier for Temeria, on his way home for the first time in ages. He didn't know anything about the girl, when we arrived at his farm.”

“But, there she was.”

“So, you brought her here.”

“What was I supposed to do with her?” Geralt snapped, scowling. “Abandon her? Come here and have you scold my ears off about not taking any payment for doing a job.” He argued, shaking his head. “She can be a pain in the ass.”

“And so can you.” Vesemir pointed out, giving Geralt a knowing and stern expression.

Vesemir had known Geralt since he was seven years old, nearly eight decades. He knew all about the Witcher's antics, from killing monsters to Geralt and Eskel causing all sorts of mischief around Kaer Morhen, along with Lambert. The White Wolf had two very different sides, depending on the company he was keeping at the time. In the freedom of Kaer Morhen, Geralt was more himself, than he was anywhere else in the world, but looking him over, Vesemir could see another change coming over Geralt, a change he could just put his finger on and could see Geralt was struggling to keep down and at bay. He looked over at Skye, sipping the tea he had set on the table for her and studied her, while she was unaware of his gaze, she reminded him a bit like Geralt, when he first came and before the trails effectively changed him into what he was now.

“Payment is payment.” He finally agreed. “Is she staying the full winter?”

“Where I go, she goes.” Geralt told him, bluntly.

“Fair enough.” Vesemir chuckled at him.

“Well, hello there!” A deep and raspy voice echoed, catching everyone's attention. “Who are you?”

“Eskel!” Geralt grinned at his fellow Witcher, who was a brother to him.

“Well, shave my goat!” Eskel let out a barking laugh, striding over to Geralt and grabbing him into a bear-hug. “It's good to see you, Geralt! How've you been?”

“I've been well, and you?” Geralt replied, returning the bear-hug.

“Getting older, but not any older than you look.” Eskel roared, his head thrown back.

Geralt had a huge grin on his face, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at Eskel, his body vibrating with an amused laugh. Skye stared at the three Witchers standing together by the fireplace, a smile on all of their faces, a real and fond smile at that, as they caught up with one another, trading jokes, friendly jabs and amusing stories from being on the road the last several months. She was surprised by the change that over took Geralt as he relaxed, the months of dealing with people calling him names, chasing after him and every other unfriendly thing they could throw at him, melted away, like an icicle in spring. A smile came to his face easier, his strong and thick body relaxed and his amber-gold eyes bright and alive. Skye hadn't realized she was smiling back, until Vesemir's eye caught hers and he smirked back at her, making her hide her smile and blush around the lip of her tea cup.

“So, who is she?” Eskel asked, tipping his head towards Skye, without looking at her.

“She's Geralt's Law of Surprise.” Vesemir replied, his eyes moving back to the other Witchers.

Eskel laughed and shook his head. “Geralt of Rivia, with a Child of Surprise.” He took unending amusement from this development. “Did you learn nothing after my business with Deidre?” He asked, smirking at him.

“Skye isn't Deidre.” Geralt growled, offended, and uttered her name for the first time since they met, then glanced at her. “She's different.” He said softly, comfortable in expressing himself to his two old friends.

“She's Human, that's why.” Eskel pointed out, glancing at Skye too. “Deidre was cursed.”

“Well, why don't you show her to a room, Geralt. So, she can settle in.” Vesemir suggested to him. “It'll help her transition smoother, if she feels she has a private space of her own.”

“Especially when she's surrounded by three, maybe four, male Witchers, who's best knowledge of women are whores and witches.” Eskel snorted to himself. “But, she seems sweet enough.”

“She has her moments.” Geralt rasped, feeling a root in the pit of his stomach wiggle deeper into his gut.

“Off you go, then. I'm sure you both want to settle in.” Vesemir said, nudging Geralt a little bit.

“Right.” He nodded and moved towards Skye. “Come on, I'll show you up to a room you can stay in, while we're here.” He told her, watching her finish her tea and stand up.

Geralt guided Skye through the massive and winding halls of the Keep, up several sets of spiral staircases, until he walked down a long hallway and pulled open one of the many doors. Skye stepped inside the room, finding it was as dark and gloomy as the rest of Kaer Morhen. Pure dark stone, a slit of a window, a small fireplace in the corner, crude table, with a single candle stick, and chair opposite of it, a simple dresser and a double, poster bed; there were throw furs on the floor and the bed. The room was cold, after so long in disuse, so Geralt, out of habit, built a fire in the grate to warm the room up for her.

“I'll be just down the hall, if you need anything.” He told her, once the fire was going.

“Okay.” She nodded at him, biting her lip and standing in the middle of the room.

It felt odd, for both of them, that they wouldn't be sharing a room together or be a few feet from each other as they had been, while camping out. They stood there in an awkward silence for a few minutes, before Geralt excused himself and left the room, going down the hall to the room he regularly occupied while he was at Kaer Morhen, it had been his room since his mother abandoned him at the School, all those years before.

A little while later, there was a soft knock on Skye's door and when she opened it, she found Geralt standing there with a wooden bowl of something steamy and a mug of something else.

“I brought you some dinner.” He said, lifting them a little bit higher.

Skye swore, if she leaned in just right and squinted hard enough, there would be a smile on Geralt's face.

“Thank you.” She said softy, carefully taking the bowl and mug from him, turning them back into her room to set them down on the table, then took the spoon Geralt held out to her.

“It's not much, just some venison stew.” Geralt explained to her, biting the inside of his cheek. “Eskel killed one this morning and so he decided to stew it.” He continued, licking his lips. “He's a really good cook.” He babbled, finding himself incapable of stopping.

“I'm sure that he is.” Skye replied, smirking at Geralt, seeing the confused fluster in his eyes.

“Do-” Geralt cleared his throat. “Do you need anything?” He asked, glancing around the room.

Skye had unpacked after Geralt brought her things up from Roach's saddlebags, her bed was neatly made, she kept the fire in the grate he started going, so the room was nice and toasty. It did have a slight homey feel to it that Geralt liked a lot.

“I don't think so.” She answered, biting her lip and glancing around, everything seemed to be in the place she wanted it to be.

“If you need anything, you know where to find me. Good night.” Geralt mumbled, moving back to the door. “Skye.” He whispered, just loud enough for her to hear him.

Her mouth dropped open as the door closed behind him, surprised to hear him utter her name. “Good night,...Geralt.” She whispered back, slowly sitting down to eat her dinner.

The next morning, Skye tip-toed around the Keep and checked Kaer Morhen out, getting familiar with the layout of where everything was at; all she needed was to get hopelessly lost. Most of the rooms were empty, used as storage, or locked all together. There was zero interest in going outside, a large blizzard had blown in during the night, dumping tons of fresh snow over the grounds.

“Hello, Skye.” A voice echoed into the hall, drawing her towards an open door.

Peeking inside the strange room, Skye saw Vesemir standing in the middle of the room, a sword in his hand. “Vesemir.” She replied, greeting him politely. “Good morning.”

“To you as well.” He smiled, leaning on his sword. “Wandering around, I suppose.”

“Not much else to do.” She chuckled, stepping closer to him.

“True enough.” He laughed, nodding his head and glanced around the room. “I spent most of my time here.”

“Doing what?” She inquired, tilting her head at him.

Vesemir pressed his lips together, his gray brows drawing down over his eyes as he regarded her. “I used to be the combat trainer for the up and coming Witchers of Kaer Morhen. This is one of the rooms I trained them in.” He explained to her, motioning to the walls of different weapons and the nicked and scarred training dummies pushed into one corner.

“So, you spend hours in here, wielding various weapons, beating on whatever and whoever.” Skye summed up, getting his point.

“Have you ever wielded a sword or weapon?” Vesemir asked, sizing her up.

“I know how to use a scythe, when my mother and I had to bring in the harvest at my family farm.” Skye replied, pressing her lips together. “If that counts for anything.”

“Well, you can kill someone with one of them. So, I'll give you points for that.” He chuckled, smiling at her. “Here,” Vesemir turned, walking up to one of the walls of weapons and took down a short sword, bringing it back to her.

“Try this.” He held it out to her, handle first.

Skye hesitated for a moment, but after an encouraging nod from him, she wrapped her hand around the hilt of the sword. It was heavy in her hand, but not too heavy that she couldn't hold it up and wield it with two hands. She looked at Vesemir and lifted a brow at him, waiting for what was next, and blinked, startled, when he raised his own sword.

“Are we going to fight?” She asked, worried.

“Yes.” He nodded, smirking at her. “I'll be gentle with you.” He promised, gold eyes dancing with amusement. “Hold your sword like this.” He instructed her, showing her how to properly hold it.

“Good, very good.” He praised her, nodding his head.

Vesemir gave Skye play by play instructions, moving back and forward with her, their blades barely touching, as he taught her how to block certain blows, to protect her weak points and push him back. He was surprised to find she seemed very natural with a blade, she was an impressively quick learner as well. It also felt good to have someone other than Geralt, Eskel and Lambert to square off with, though Vesemir was considerably more mindful and held back with Skye, knowing he could easily overtake and harm her, if he wasn't careful.

“That was fun.” Skye smiled, wiping the sweat off her brow with the sleeve of her shirt.

“You're a quick learner.” Vesemir complimenting her and nodding his head, impressed. “You'll overtake this poor old man in no time.” He joked, laughing, and dropped down onto a bench against the wall.

“Not a chance.” She laughed back, sitting beside him. “What was Geralt like, when he started training?” She asked, curiously.

Vesemir sighed and rubbed the side of his wrinkled face. “A handful.” He huffed, smiling. “He liked to get into a lot of mischief, him and Eskel, for that matter. They're close in age, and Eskel arrived only a few months before Geralt did, so they bonded that way.” He said, his eyes losing a bit of their focus as he recounted it.

“One of his first lessons, he nearly lopped all his toes off, dropping his sword after I disarmed him.”

Skye laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the stone room. “I can only imagine the anger he must have felt.”

“Actually,” Vesemir frowned, bushy brows knitting together. “It was quite the opposite. He broke out into tears.”

“Geralt?” She frowned back at him, it was hard to picture Geralt crying, for any reason.

“The same.” He nodded at her, meeting her eyes. “It's hard to tell, with the guard and walls, he's put up over the decades. He's had to put them up. But, Geralt is a good man, with an even better heart. If anyone is so lucky to see and touch it.” He told her, softly, with a tone that Skye felt in her own heart.

The vision Skye had of Geralt, formed when they first met and from what her mother had told her about what he had done in Blaviken, slowly started to shift, as Skye got to know Geralt more, as she encountered people that knew the Witcher almost better than Geralt knew himself.

The illusion of the Butcher of Blaviken, was just that, an illusion, that melted away after he told her about what had actually happened. How he had tried his best to stay out of it. But, pressing factors forced his hand, forcing him to make a choice to kill someone that wasn't all that different from himself, seen as a monster and a black spot on the Continent, someone that Geralt had grown to love. It showed Skye that he wasn't entirely the emotionless creature Witchers were made out to be. He showed her that, when he had gone out of his way to give her a birthday present, simply because he knew that's what people did for someone's birthday, because he had been affected by her sadness and wanted to give her something that would cheer her up; unconscionably touching the bracelet on her wrist.

She was starting to realize, as she walked the halls of Kaer Morhen and spoke to Vesemir, that Geralt also understood what it was like to be ripped away from family, to be forced into a situation with strange people, you didn't want to be with, but had no voice in the matter to change it. Geralt wasn't a Butcher, or a monster, or even a mutant, he was a man, changed by the force of others and circumstance. Kaer Morhen had taught him how to be physically strong and how to survive against monsters, then thrust him out into the world, with no safety net, when the human monsters attacked his emotions and tore down his thoughts. Geralt had to teach himself how to build those walls, how to survive those attacks, that his armor and potions couldn't. The result was a man everyone saw as an abomination, so hardened by the years of abuse, it was all he'd ever let anyone see.

Unless, as Vesemir put it, someone was so lucky to see and touch it.

“What are you two doing in here?” Eskel's voice rasped as he appeared in the doorway.

“I was teaching the girl how to wield a sword.” Vesemir replied, looking up at the young Witcher.

Eskel let out a barking laugh. “Do you still have all your fingers and toes?” He asked Skye with a smirk.

“Last I checked.” Skye replied, smirking back at him.

“I like you.” Eskel chuckled, nodding his head at her.

Pretty soon, Skye picked up a routine in Kaer Morhen.

She would get up just after sunrise in the mornings and go down to the kitchens and whip up some breakfast for herself and the three Witchers. She had made them breakfast on her third day there and the boys, namely Eskel, raved about it for the rest of the day. So, she picked up the chore of making them breakfast and dinner, letting them fend for themselves when it came to lunch. After that, she would go up to the training room with Vesemir to do some swordplay and instructions. Where she was getting increasingly better at wielding the weapon, finding her own style, blows and blocks becoming more and more like second nature, and moving quicker, managing to best Vesemir once in a while.

It was one afternoon about a month after she and Geralt arrived, and after her session with Vesemir, that Eskel appeared in the training room and asked Skye, if she would like to take a walk with him around the grounds of Kaer Morhen, seeing that a decent amount of the snow had melted away, making it easier to navigate.

“Sure.” Skye smiled, nodding her head and putting her sword back in its place. “Would you give me a moment to get my cloak?” She asked him.

“Of course, I would loath for you to catch a chill.” He nodded, smiling at her. “I'll meet you by the Keep door.” He said and gave her a low bow.

Skye chuckled at him, shaking her head, then went up to her room and grabbed her cloak, flinging it around her shoulders and clasping it closed, then met Eskel by the main door of the Keep. Smiling at her, Eskel opened the door for her, politely allowing her to step out ahead of him, bowing his head in a gentlemanly gesture.

“How are you liking Kaer Morhen, Skye?” He asked as they started walking around.

“I'm finding it a great deal more comfortable than I thought it would be.” She replied, looking up at the crumbling towers. “I thought for sure, I'd find evil and brain addled monsters.”

Eskel laughed, his shoulders shaking. “Well, you have one out of three right, we do tend to be addled.” He joked, spiritedly.

“Vesemir said, you and Geralt would always get into mischief.” Skye pointed out and looked up at him, curiously.

“Gods, yes!” He laughed again, shaking his head at all the antics he and Geralt had gotten into over the years. “You see that tower, over there?” He asked, pointing out a tower that was still mostly standing compared to the others. “We once stole another Witcher, Aubry, from his bed in the middle of the night, took him to the top of the tower, tied a rope around his ankles and dangled him out the window that used to be at the top of it.”

“Oh gods.” Skye laughed, grinning, as she pictured the poor Witcher hanging upside down from the window.

“He woke up and started shouting and curses, waking the entire place.” Eskel explained, still looking so proud of himself. “Geralt and I got our as—butts.” He quickly corrected himself. “kicked for it. It took a week for both of us to sit down again.” He reminisced, fondly. “Geralt and I also captured a giant forest bumblebee and tied it to a jug, when Vesemir found us rolling the grass, in a fit of laughter, he gave us a good row with a leather strap.”

“You two sound like complete trouble makers.” Skye chuckled, imagining Geralt dangling a fellow Witcher out a window, or laughing in the tall grass that covered the grounds of Kaer Morhen, only to get thrashed with a belt, it made her smirk.

“Still are to a fair point.” Eskel replied, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh, Geralt!” He smiled, as Geralt came in through the gate, leading Roach, who was carrying a large buck across her back. “Is that dinner?” He asked, nodding at the large animal.

“It is.” Geralt replied, looking between Skye and Eskel, their faces red and eyes damp from laughing. “What are the pair of you doing out here?” He asked, lifting a brow at them.

“I was giving Skye a tour of the grounds.” Eskel said, smiling at her. “Being you haven't yet.”

“Hm.” Geralt huffed, a quiet growl rumbling in his chest.

“Would you like help with the deer?” Skye asked him.

“No, I can manage.” He replied, shaking his head at her. “I wouldn't want to interrupt your and Eskel's walk.” He said, leading Roach away and back towards the keep.

“He's broody today.” She commented, watching him go.

“No more than usual.” Eskel told her, then turned and showed her the rest of the grounds.

“You're jealous.” Vesemir said, stepping into the kitchen, where Geralt was butchering the buck.

“No, I'm not.” Geralt grunted, glaring at the carcass on the table.

“Oh yes, you are.” the older Witcher chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I've seen how you act when Skye and Eskel are together. Brooding, grumpy and standoffish.” He pointed out to his former pupil.

“Classic jealousy.”

“I'm not jealous of Eskel.” He repeated, angrily skinning the deer.

“Geralt.” Vesemir sighed, lifting a brow at him.

Growling, Geralt forcefully stabbed his bloody knife into the table and turned to Vesemir. “All right, fine. I am jealous of Eskel.” He admitted, begrudgingly. “She laughs at his stupid fucking jokes, she smiles at him, a lot. She hardly ever does those things when it's me.” His angered expression fell with his shoulders.

“She even gave him a hug the other day.” He mumbled under his breath.

“You don't exactly open up to her, like Eskel does, Geralt.” Vesemir was honest with the white-haired Witcher. “You barely utter a word to her, so how is she to laugh at something funny you said, if you never say it to begin with.”

Geralt grumbled at Vesemir, scowling, the closest thing to pouting he'd ever do.

“As for smiling, apparently, you don't look at the girl too often, do you?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“That girl is, damn near, always smiling at you, Geralt. Especially, when she thinks you, or anyone else, isn't looking at her to see it.” Vesemir confessed, he'd caught Skye smiling at Geralt's back and several times, blatantly to his face, many times over the weeks.

Geralt gulped at Vesemir, had he been so blinded by his own jealousy, that he missed Skye smiling at him. Yes, he had been. Every time Skye laughed at one of Eskel's jokes or smiled at him, when he entered a room, or hugged him for some reason, Geralt would abruptly get up and leave the area. Needing to get away from them, before he ended up putting his fist through Eskel's face, for being so brass with her.

“I know, you're afraid of hurting her, like you hurt that Princess.” Vesemir said, slowly. “But, if you're not careful, Geralt, you'll end up hurting her anyway.” He told him, before leaving Geralt to finish the deer.

Geralt sighed, leaning on his hands against the table the deer laid half butchered on, head hanging and eyes squeezed shut, trying to get a handle on himself, to pull himself together, away from the jealousy and the growing fear that he'd fallen in love with Skye.

“Hey, Geralt!” Eskel called out, seeing Geralt making his way up to his room.

“Eskel?” He replied, lifting a brow at him.

“Have you seen Skye sword fight?” Eskel asked, motioning to the training room Skye and Vesemir were sparring in.

“No.” Geralt shook his head, chewing the inside of his lip, he had heard about Vesemir giving Skye sword lessons and that she was apparently very good at it, but hadn't gone to see for himself.

“Come on, check her out.” Eskel tried coaxing him. “She nearly took Vesemir's head off a second ago.” He laughed, grinning.

Feeling the root of his jealousy wiggle its way deeper, Geralt turned and approached the training room, standing in the doorway with Eskel. Looking into the room, he saw Vesemir and Skye in the center of the room, swords raised and trained on the other as they slowly circled each other, sizing the other up and waiting to see who made the first move towards the other one. He noticed Skye was wearing a pair of tight leather pants and a black shirt, the long sleeves pushed up to her elbows. It was her that made the first move, going for Vesemir's unprotected left side, nearly getting the blow in, before he twisted and blocked her blade, rotated his wrist and flicked her sword away from him. Geralt leaned his shoulder against the door frame, crossing his arms over his broad chest and watched Skye move and fight Vesemir, a soft smile on his lips.

Skye and Vesemir sparred for several minutes, before Vesemir was able to break through her blocks and smack the side of her thigh with the flat of his blade. Chuckling, they moved apart and smiled at each other, then looked to the door as Eskel clapped, making Geralt roll his eyes at him, but he smiled at Skye, feeling quiver in his stomach as she smiled back at him.

“I bet I can do a better job than Vesemir.” Eskel suddenly announced.

“I doubt it.” Skye retorted, giving him a smug lift of her brow.

“Oh yeah, you wanna put your money where your mouth is.” He quipped, moving into the room.

“I don't have any money, but I'm all right taking yours.” She told him with a wink.

“It's so on!” Eskel laughed, picking up a sword off the rack.

Snorting, Skye raised her sword, like she'd been taught all those weeks before and slowly started circling with Eskel, who was making stupid faces at her, trying to distract her and making her laugh, so he could slip her up. Vesemir moved to stand beside Geralt at the door, one eye on Skye and Eskel with the other eye on Geralt, whose body was unusually tense, watching Skye spar back and forth with the other Witcher.

“Upset it isn't you, she's sparring?” He asked Geralt, quietly.

“No.” He rasped back. “I'm worried he'll hurt her.” He confessed, his enhanced eyes watching every move the two made.

Skye suddenly pushed forward and flicked her blade at Eskel's, managing to send his blade clattering across the stone floor, too far out of reach for him to recover it. Vesemir and Geralt smirked, impressed and amused she'd managed it, Eskel didn't seem so happy about it, his temper suddenly spiking. Geralt tensed, seeing it and straightened up.

“No!” He barked, alarmed as Eskel threw out his three fingers for an Aard, in his frustration.

Geralt's eyes were wide with alarm, golden orbs darting between Skye and Eskel, before he rushed towards Skye, trying to reach her before the blast of the Sign could harmed her. Skye gasped and threw up her arms, her wrists crossing, just as the blast of Eskel's Aard reached her. Geralt slid to a stop, mouth dropping open as the shockwave was deflected off of Skye's crossed arms, only pushing her back a little bit, and other than that, she was unharmed. The mouths of all three Witchers were on the floor, when they realized what she had just pulled off.

“She just Signed a Heliotrop!” Eskel snapped, in surprise, his anger forgotten. “How the hell did she just Sign a Heliotrop!?”

“How?” Geralt whispered and looked Skye over, then met her eyes, still shocked and concerned.

“I don't even know, what a Heliotrop is...” Skye replied, looking back at him, startled.

“It's the thing you just did, by crossing your arms.” Eskel said, shaking his head at her.

“It's what I suspected.” Vesemir spoke up, pulling his jaw up off the floor.

“Suspected what?” Geralt snapped, looking over at him.

“She has Elven blood.”

“That's not possible.” Skye shook her head at him. “My mother hates Elves and my father is assuredly not one either.”

“You could be Quarter-Elf.” Vesemir pointed out.

Vesemir had a strange inkling that Skye wasn't completely Human, he just wasn't sure if it was Elven blood or a Mutation. But, after seeing her use a Heliotrop with such ease and effectiveness, especially being she'd never done one before, was aware she could do one or even knew how to do it, told the old Witcher what he needed to know. Only someone with some measure of Elven blood would have been able to pull off what Skye had just done.

“Quarter-Elves, and even some Half-Elves are capable of passing themselves off as normal, everyday Humans. So, you're at least Quarter-Elf.” He explained to her.

Skye looked between the three of them, a tremble making her lithe body vibrate. Tears sprang up in her minty-green eyes and her bottom lip wobbled, before she burst out of the room and blindly ran down the hall, needing to get away, far away.

Geralt turned on Eskel, jaw tight and lips pressed into a thin and angry line, before driving his fist into the other Witcher's stomach, as hard as he could, sending Eskel stumbling backwards into a wall of axes and maces. Eskel took several wheezy breaths, before he was able to speak again.

“Wh-wh-what wa-as th-that for!?” He demanded, arm pressed against his throbbing abdomen.

“For nearly killing her with your Aard!” Geralt hissed, starting towards him again, but was stopped by Vesemir's hand on his chest.

“She blocked it!”

“You didn't know she could block it, and you still fucking did it!” He growled low in his throat, before pushing away from Vesemir and going after her.

Geralt went to her room first, but found it empty, and started searching the rest of the Keep, before venturing outside to the grounds. He searched almost all of the crumbling towers and out buildings before he found her. He stopped in the doorway of the stables, smiling softly as she pet Roach in her stall.

“She's always great company, when you're feeling down.” He said softly, not wishing to startle her. “Especially, since she doesn't tend to talk back.” He added, with a quiet chuckle.

“What do you want?” Skye sniffled, wiping her hot and wet cheek on the shoulder of her shirt.

Geralt sighed softly, pushing off the frame of the door and approached her, gently resting his hand on Roach's nose, smiling at the mare's greeting neigh. “I came to see if you were all right.” He told her, petting Roach.

Taking a deep breath, Skye let it out with a sigh, she didn't know if she was all right. She was confused and scared, and angry. How could she have Elven blood in her, wouldn't she have known by now. Wouldn't her mother have told her that she did. Did her mother even know that she had Elven blood. Was it her mother that had the Elven blood or was it her father that did. She had so many questions.

“I don't understand.” She sniffled, pressing her lips together. “How can you have Elven blood, of any amount, and not know?” She asked and looked up at Geralt, like he had the answer.

Geralt wished he did have the answer for her, but he didn't.

“I don't know.” He replied instead. “With the persecution of Elves after the uprising, people became loath to admit they were the offspring of Elves. Afraid of what it would mean if people did find out.”

“Great, what's that make me?” She huffed, more to herself than Geralt, fresh tears dripping down her cheeks.

Biting his lip, Geralt reached out and rested his hand on her elbow, gently squeezing it. “It makes you, who you've always been, Skye.” He told her, with a soft sincerity. “Just because you have Elven blood, doesn't mean you're something else, other than yourself.”

“Don't let anyone, ever, tell or convince you otherwise.” He added, giving her arm another squeeze and gently pulled her in against him, carefully folding her into his arms.

Skye paused for a moment, surprised by Geralt's words and gesture, but lightly wrapped her arms around his waist, her forehead resting against his chest as they embraced. Both of them relaxed, Geralt gently tipping his head down to nose her hair, taking in the light scent of the soap she used to wash it, the pleasing warmth of her body resting against his. Skye took a deep breath, taking in the scent of Geralt's warm body, a faint trace of leather from his armor, the tang of Roach, a sweet, woody and smoky aroma from the burning wood fire in his room, and something else, beneath all of it, that was uniquely Geralt.

She found it alluring and comforting all at the same time.

“I promised to take you home.” Geralt whispered into her hair, not ready to pull away from her just yet. “We'll go back, after the first thaw, and get the answers you want and need.” He promised her, hugging his arms around her a little bit more as he felt her shiver.

“I'd like that.” Skye whispered back, softly, resting her cheek against Geralt's chest and closed her eyes.

“Good.” He smiled, and felt the germinating seed in his belly take a firm hold of him and grow a little bit more, into a delicate sprout. “Come, let's get you back inside, before you get ill.” He told her, slowly releasing her from his arms. “I'll even help you make dinner.” He smirked, slyly.

“That'll be the day.” She chuckled, teasingly.

“Hey, I did kill the buck you're using for dinner tonight.” He replied, lowering his head and lifting a brow at her, teasing her back.

“Oh, yes. I can see it going to your head now.” She rolled her eyes, playfully, at him. “Come along, Geralt, before your head gets any bigger and you can't get it through the doorways.” She called over her shoulder, heading out of the stables and back inside the Keep.

Geralt stood there a moment, smiling after her, and suddenly felt a profound happiness creep into him. He snapped out of it though, when Skye stopped and turned around to him, realizing he wasn't following her. He chuckled to himself and started forward to join her, feeling like nothing could ruin what was starting to really bud between them.

-- Chapter IV --

117 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

tapestry 👑 XXXIII

Warnings: dark elements, sex

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader says goodbye.

Note: So this is the end. I hope you all enjoyed having this adventure with me. It wouldn’t have been possible without you. The response was amazing and I loved all the discussion around king Thot and Lord Barnacle. Super fun! I love you all and I hope this ending lends you a little comfort... maybe I’ll find it in me to do a sequel one day or maybe we’ll just leave it at this. But I’m happy with what I’ve done and that’s good enough for me. Hope you enjoy.<3

Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

That night, Steven sat by the bed but would not lay down. He was convinced there was a plot against him; against you; against his unborn child. He watched over you as you tried to sleep though your stomach and the life within you barely allowed for that. And the vision of the bloodied woman cradled in your skirts; the king standing above. You had done that.

When the morning came, Steven went to his desk. You rose and dressed with the help of Lady Marion who was called to aid you. You were allowed no maid as it was thought that any could try to finish what Rita had begun. Rather, what you had begun. When she left, you went to sit with the king. You found yourself rubbing your middle; a new anxious habit, and calming as the storm roared within.

“My king,” You said at last as you watched him sneer at his pen. “Might I a moment?”

He looked up and the wrinkle left his brow. He sat back and smiled. He stared at your stomach and you pulled your hand away to the arm of the chair. You did your best to smile back. He could be amenable if you coaxed him.

“I was curious…” You paused and swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise. “My former maid… Marge… I do wonder what happened to her.”

“The… maid?” He set his pen down and scratched his chin. “Why?”

“I… was hoping, well, I trusted her and considering what has occurred I did hope to have one close who I did not suspect of… treachery.” You looked down and back up at him coyly. You touched your stomach and his eyes followed. He bit his lip and nodded. “You did not…?”

He sighed. “She was sent back to the laundries and she does remain in the capital.” He said. “You truly trust her?”

“She never wielded a blade and she did speak to me kindly. Unlike the other.” You pushed yourself up and slowly rounded the desk. “I am so lonely when you are not around.”

“You have your ladies,” He countered as you came to the side of his chair and took his hand. “We will soon be at Drissot and you will have your sister.”

“For a time.” You played with his rings as you spoke. “You haven’t forgiven me.”

“Forgiven you?”

“For running.”

“I have,” He turned his hand over and squeezed yours. “I have no reason to begrudge you. I’ll send for the maid to meet us at Drissot.”

“Truly?” You tried not to seem too eager.

“For you,” He assured. “And you will need a maid badly as you start to grow.”

“Oh, thank you, husband,” You bent and kissed his cheek. He turned and kissed your lips before you could stand straight.

“We cannot have you unhappy, it does not bode well for the child,” He pecked the back of your hand and let you go.

You swept back around the desk, want to dance without a care for your ungainliness. You kept calm and turned back to him as you reached your chair. “I am happy,” You assured him. “I have survived.”

There was a knock upon the door before you could sit and the king looked past you. You turned as Steven called for his visitor to enter and you held onto the the chair as you watched Lord Barnes enter. He bowed and crossed to you. He took your hand and kissed it in all formality. You felt the paper against you skin and quickly tucked it up into your sleeve as you rescinded your hand.

You spun back to Steven as he welcomed his lord.

“Barnes, you’re late.” He greeted shortly.

“Seeing to some housekeeping,” He returned as he passed you and stood before the desk. “I was not prepared to have you more than a week.”

“Yes, yes, but we cannot travel just yet.” The king dismissed.

“Of course not. An incident as such does worry us all.” Barnes affirmed. “I am glad to see the queen well despite it.”

“Very well,” The king sat up and squared his shoulders. “When we reach Drissot we shall deliver the news to the court.”

“News?” Barnes echoed.

“We have an heir on the way,” Steve beamed as he folded his hands atop the desk. “And it would unfortunately see further postponement of our trip to Asgard.”

“They will not be happy,” Barnes warned.

“I cannot further imperil my heir after such an incident,” The king explained. “We will carry on to Drissot and return to the capital thereafter. We can think of Asgard when my heir does arrive.”

“I shall go,” Barnes declared suddenly. “In your place.”

“What?” You gripped the back of the chair and felt the folded parchment in your sleeve.

“You?” The king asked.

“We needn’t a parade to seal the compact. I can have a party arranged and see to the negotiations myself.” Barnes urged. “How many times did I not see to your will abroad, your highness?”

“You would go in my place?” Steve pulled his hands apart and rubbed his jaw.

“Stay. Keep your wife safe, welcome your child,” There was a trace of melancholy to the lord’s voice. “I think it would be best for all that I go.”

“You are certain?” The king raised a brow.

“Most certain,” Barnes assured and he let out a long breath. Of resignation, of relief. “If the conditions favour me, I might return to a new prince. And… would it not solve more than just the issue of Asgard?”

Steven stared at his friend. He caught his insinuation and leaned back in his chair. “I gather you’re right, Buck,” He said at last. “Very well, you shall go.”

“And…” Your voice nearly cracked as you stepped forward. You looked between the men nervously. “I think… you should take my father. As my own representative and in fulfillment of his council duties.”

“Ah, yes,” The king perked up at your suggestion. “Of course. My wife should not be without a man of her own. We are one now. My hand is hers, and hers mine.”

You smiled. If you would lose Barnes, you would at least be rid of another pest. You let out a shaky breath and resisted the urge to peek at Barnes. He stood stiffly, only feet from you.

“Thank you, my king. My father should be most humbled by the task.” You said meekly.

“I will need a man with experience,” Barnes added. “Several. He should doubtlessly be an asset to the party.”

“So…” The king leaned on the arm of his chair. “When would you leave?”

“Tomorrow. When you leave for Drissot. I shall ride to the capital with Stark, if you’ll allow me to take him as well, and we will fetch Lord Malford and a few others.” Barnes talked slowly as if his thoughts could not keep up with his words. “Then to Shell’s Harth. A single ship all we’ll need.”

The king nodded and held his chin as he considered the plan. “You’re certain, Buck?”

“Do not pretend it is as it was,” Barnes said. “Separation is perhaps the best for us. Our only chance, even.” He looked to you for a moment and back to the king. “Ever the victor, your highness.”

The men stared at each other silently. You could barely breathe for the tension. The king was the first to speak.

“Ever right, my lord,” He said. “I wish you safe travels.”

“I wish you good health. Your child too.” Barnes replied. “And you, my queen,” He turned to you. “Keep well.”

He bowed and backed out of the room. You watched him as the weight settled in your chest and you watched him go. You turned back to the king as the door closed. His eyes clung to the wood and for an instant, a sliver of sadness coloured his face. It faded just as quickly as he looked to you.

“My queen,” He said softly. “You do look rather peaky. I think you should take some rest.”

“I think I should,” You agreed and rubbed your stomach again. “The road ahead will be a long one.”

👑

You brought the king his first wine after supper. You spent much of the day with him as he fretted over Drossit, Asgard, and your eventual return to the capital. The second followed shortly as you nursed your own slowly. The third he barely seemed to taste and he emptied the bottle with the fourth.

Halfway through the next, you helped him stumble to bed. You could say it was an effect of the stress or blame it on his usual thirst, but it was as deliberate as the steps you took into the bedroom. His arm was draped over your shoulders as his weight threatened to cause your legs to crumple beneath you. He belched as you angled him onto the mattress.

You unbuttoned his overcoat and he wriggled out of it drunkenly. You took his boots off for him and he yawned loudly. You sat beside him as his eyelids began to droop. He reached over and touched your stomach before you could move away. You stayed closed and rubbed his shoulder.

“You have me in you,” He slurred. “Growing inside.”

“I do,” You humoured and his hand slipped into your lap heavily.

“Amazing…” He closed his eyes and his head lolled back and forth. “So… amazing.”

“It is.” You whispered and watched him closely.

His breath evened out and he was soon snoring. He’d regret the wine in the morning when you were due to depart. A little suffering would do him well, you mused as you lifted his hand from your lap. He didn’t flinch as you set it down beside him and backed off the bed.

You turned away and reached up into your sleeve and pulled out the leaf you’d read after Lord Barnes’ departure. Steve hadn’t noticed as you excused yourself with a dramatic gulp as if to spew upon him. “Chapel. Midnight.” Two words and yet they said all you needed.

You neared the door and looked back at the king. You were assured he wouldn’t wake before your return. You left him to doze and passed through the receiving chambers. You snuffed all but one lantern which you took with you as you stepped out into the corridor. Your guard looked at you grimly.

“I cannot sleep. I wish to visit the chapel.” You lied. “To pray.”

The guard grunted but did not protest. He followed behind as you walked down the hall and took the familiar path to the castle See. He remained outside upon your order and you entered with your lantern held high. The altar glowed with the light of a dozen candles and the pews were filled with shadows.

You walked down the aisle and found your usual place. You knelt and looked up at the apse. This was wrong. You knew that, but you had wasted so much time doing what was right. What good had it done you? And you had erred regardless. In a moment of desperation, you did what was right for you, not what was morally correct. And it served you well, so what was one last sin?

You were early. A habit. You truly did pray for a time. Not for forgiveness, or guidance, merely a reflection upon all that had transpired. There was no absolution; no redemption; no forgiveness. It was too late for that. For everything.

You heard a click and glanced behind you but the door remained closed. Footsteps came quietly from the front of the chapel and a figure emerged into the light of candles from a doorway hidden behind the statue of some famous saint. Lord Barnes looked up at you and smiled. You watched him approach and your heart clamoured in your ears.

He lowered himself beside you and folded his hands. He looked up to the altar and his eyes shone. His lips remained curved; a knowing upon his face. You admired him in the dim. You wanted to remember him, remember this moment when he was gone from you.

“Why did do it?” You asked.

“I had to. For you.” He said quietly. “For the baby.”

“No, you didn’t.” You breathed.

“I did,” He insisted. “I know that because you came here tonight.”

“He won’t hurt me now, I have his heir inside of me.” You said.

“And when it has been borne? What then? Do you think he would abide a child that might not be his?”

You were silent. You looked down at your hands and picked at the bandage around the left. You shook your head. “And so we’ve come to say goodbye.” You uttered.

“And so we have,” He slid his hand over and wrapped his fingers around yours.

You looked to him and tried to smile. A tear trickled down your cheek and he turned you to him. He wiped away the droplet and leaned in. His nose brushed against yours and his breath surrounded you. “Don’t. I don’t want to remember you sad.”

You blinked away the tears and sniffed. You nodded and slipped your hand from his. You reached up to untie the bandage around your head and uncovered the gash across your cheek. The stitches tugged at your skin. He backed away slightly and looked you over.

“You are still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” He sighed. “Astonishing.”

You lowered your lashes coyly. “Even after what I did?”

“What you did?” He reached out to run his finger just below the cut.

“The maid didn’t attack me. She only saw us and threatened to reveal it to the king.” You raised your eyes to him again. “I didn’t just scar my face, I scarred my soul.”

“You did what you had to do.” He pulled you back to him. “You’ve always done what you had to do, so now, do what you want to do.”

You crashed your lips into his. You slung your arms over his shoulders and pushed your chest to his. He embraced you and held you close as his lips slipped from yours. He kissed along your chin and neck as you tossed your head back. His fingers twined in the laces of your gown and tugged blindly.

You ran your hands along his shoulders and down his chest. You felt the firmness beneath, longed for it. Your lips met again as you unbuttoned his jacket and he let his arms fall back as you shoved the brocade down them. You parted as your gown loosened and you wriggled free of your bodice with his help. You stood and let him rip the dress past your hips.

Your corset was next, along with his undershirt, your slippers, his boots, stockings, your shift, his trousers, until you were entirely bare. Until you knelt before each other stunned and eager. Your eyes roved the lines of his torso, the muscle along his arms, the length of his desire. A fire burned so hot the smoke obscured all but that moment.

You kissed him again, your bandaged hand cradled his cheek hungrily. He pushed you back until you were on your back upon the floor, hidden between the pews. The candlelight flickered behind him as he hovered over you. He held himself over you as he gazed down through the dim.

“Are you certain?” He whispered.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted in all my life,” You framed his face with both hands and felt his soft hair between your fingers as you brushed it back. “The only thing that no one’s ever told me I should want.”

He smiled and brought his lips to yours again. He trailed them down along your throat, they tickled, and lower, to your chest. He doted on your flesh as he teased one breast and then the other. Not the rough nips you had come to know but a tender and easy worship of your flesh.

You inhaled as you tried not to giggle. His beard tickled your stomach as he got even lower. He lingered there and drew his nose around your navel. “You will be a beautiful mother, I should hate to miss it.”

“Do not think of it now,” You rasped. “Please.”

“Oh, but how can I think of anything but…” He purred as he slowly dragged his lips along your pelvis. “This.”

He nuzzled your tuft of hair and his breath was hot along your sex. You squirmed and reached down to touch his hair as it hung around his head. He dipped his tongue between your folds and danced around your bud. You gasped and spread your fingers over the crown of his head. He chuckled but did not relent.

His mouth had you writhing. And when you neared your peak he did retreat to teeth and tease your thighs. Until you pleaded for more and his tongue found that sacred spot again. Several times thus and you could not bear it. You hugged his head between your thighs and arched into him.

“Please,” You begged. “Please.”

This time he did not cease. He lapped you up as you came and continued until you did again. He was reluctant to part as he left a trail along your stomach and chest and pressed his wet lips to yours. You tasted yourself on him; you tasted him.

You took him in your hand and stroked. He trembled and you did it again. He shuddered as you repeated the motion over and over. You bent your legs around him and he lifted his head. You guided him to you and he held your head in his hand as he gazed into your eyes.

“Are you…”

“Shhh.” You hushed as you let him slip inside of you.

He sank into you and his lips parted. He gasped and you ran your fingers along the top of his broad chest, your arm bent between you. You hooked your legs over his and tilted your pelvis into him. He thrust slowly, steadily, as if to savour every moment.

You spread your fingers over his shoulder and trailed down to his bicep as you gripped the hard muscle there. You moaned as you welcomed him. You longed for more and more. You rocked into him from below as he sped up. You pulled him down to kiss you as you were overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure. Unlike any you’d felt before or likely, would again.

He pulled away as his breath picked up. He slid his arm beneath you and lifted you in a single motion. He held you in his lap as you rocked atop him. You were in control as he marveled up at you. You knotted your fingers in his hair as you pressed your other hand to his shoulder. You could barely withhold your moans as you chased your climax.

You hissed as you came and he gripped your hips to keep you moving. He slipped a hand down and cupped your ass as he guided you. His groans thrilled you and you couldn’t stop even as your orgasm fizzled. Another awaited you alongside his as he buried his face in your neck and grunted.

You felt his seed fill you. You slowed and he twitched. You shivered as he raised his head and looked you in the eye. You never wanted to leave this place. To surrender this sacred secret. You clung to him and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I will write to you,” He whispered. “As much as I can. I shall recount every dream I have of you. Of the life we could have had. And we shall live it in our hearts. Apart but forever entwined.” His fingers crawled along your spine as the sweat cooled on your skin. “Will you write me?”

“Of course,” You promised. “As I shall read every letter until it should turn to dust.”

“And you will tell me if I should need to return?” He pulled back and you were forced to lift your head and look him in the eye. “Tell me if he hurts you.”

“Bucky…”

“Tell me.” He repeated.

“I will.” You swore as you pecked his lips. “I will.”

“But for now, one last goodbye,” He laid back with you atop him. “The present is always more satisfying than any future, for it is ours and we are here.” He caressed your thighs as he spoke, “We are alive.”

END

#tapestry #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!fic #fic #dark fic #series #au #medieval au #mcu #marvel #captain america

1K notes · View notes

nikkzwrites · 3 years

Text

The Girl I Left Behind | Peaky Blinders Fic | Thomas Shelby x OFC | Chapter 1

A/N: So this is a story of a Scottish Mobster named Elspeth Finley and her adventures with and becoming a Shelby.

Content Warning: Smoking, Alcohol, Canon Typical Behavior, Canon Typical Triggers

Words: ~3.2k

[Next Chapter]

Elspeth sighed as she turned in her sleep. Tonight, surprisingly, she was visited by a fairly good memory.

She couldn’t have been older than 10 years old as she ran through the woods. The wet dirt and grass felt nice against her feet. She knew the teacher and her parents would be mad at her for sneaking out, but Archie, her brother, had told her about their father’s “plans” to trade their little sister, Maggie, to the visiting gypsies for horses. This lined up with what their mother had told them. She had told them that their father was going to the camp to get some new horses. Elspeth had ditched her shoes earlier to make sure she was less likely to get caught. It was easier to feel where there was going to be noise with your shoes off. Soon, she reached the edge of the wood near the shore. The girl crouched and made her way into a shrub to hide herself. She spied her father talking to another man. Two boys, just a bit older than the girl, were unloading horses under the watchful eye of a beautiful woman. Elspeth couldn’t help it. She ran to the woman and with a bright smile. “Excuse me,” she called.

The woman turned and smiled at her, “Oh ‘Ello there. What are you doing here, little miss? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Elspeth’s eyes shone brightly under the afternoon sun as she beamed. The girl smiled and said, “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Suppressed laughter from the boat caused the woman to turn to her two sons, “You two stop laughing and keep unloading the boat.” She shook her head and turned back to the copper-haired wild girl. Her clothes were definitely school clothes that were muddied from running in the woods. The young girl’s hair was more wavy than ringlets telling the mother that the girl was the type of girl who did this quite often. A girl who was too much into adventure to sit still for a single moment. She took the girl’s hand and said, “Why don’t we go talk to my husband and take you back?”

Elspeth shook her head, “It’s okay. My Papa is here with my sister.” Her hand slipped from the woman’s as she ran back to her father.

Wiliam rolled his eyes and said, “Elsie, what are you doing here and not at school?”

“Elsie,” Maggie shrieked and waved to her older sister.

The dark-haired man laughed, “Aye, Will. I see you have your hands full with this one. Must be around my Ada’s age. Where’s your two boys?”

“At school,” Wiliam replied before turning back to his daughter and knelt down, “Elsie, pay attention. Why aren’t you in school?”

Elspeth nodded and stated simply, “Well, if you are going to trade any of us to the gypsies, it should be me, yeah? I’m older, I love to travel, plus Momma says my spirit is just like my fiery red mop of hair… So I’d fit right in!”

The other man let out a hardy laugh. He looked at the man and asked, “Is that what you tell your kids?”

Wiliam shook his head and before he could comment Elspeth spoke up saying. “My big brother told me! Archie said that maybe next time he’d trade me and Seumas too. Momma always said that Papa made bad decisions about horses and betting so…”

The man laughed again, “Well your older brother was just tellin you tales youngin.” The man ruffled her hair and winked, “Though you may travel with us one day with that kinda spirit in ya. How do you feel about fortune tellin?”

Elspeth beamed and her father turned to the man, “Don’t start that Arthur. She always claims to be seeing faeries and wisps. Don’t be fillin her head with anymore of that shit.”

The man nodded, “Fine, fine. I assume you want her back at school, yea?” Seeing Wiliam nod, he whistled over to his two sons who were trying to hide their laughter. He called over to them, “Thomas. Come ‘ere will ya?”

A dark-haired boy with the brightest blue eyes walked over. He was the younger of the two brothers unpacking the boat. “Yeah,” his voice was already starting to deepen. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Take this young lass ove to er school, will ya,” the man commanded. “You can take one of dem horses ove ere. Make sure you keep ya eyes on this one, right?”

Thomas rolled his eyes and asked, “Why can’t Arthur do it?”

“Yer brother ain’t learned anything about our business and yous already knows it. So you gotta go,” The man insisted in a fatherly forceful tone.

The boy rolled his eyes, “Fine.” He nodded to the girl, “Come on.” He nodded towards the pin and waited for her to start walking before he followed her. When they were far enough away from their fathers he started to ask, “Do you really-”

“I really don’t need an escort, don’t cha know,” she interrupted the older boy. She huffed angrily at him as if he had willingly chose this or forced this upon her himself.

He rolled his eyes, “Disappointingly, it seems like ya do. I ain’t thrilled about this either, love. Much rather not have to deal with you.” He ducked his way into the horse pin to grab one and start putting on the riding gear, “Did you really think any of this was a good idea? Do you always listen to your brother?”

Elspeth sat on the fence and watched as the older boy got the horse ready, “Better then ya taking Maggie at least. And yes. Why would Archie lie to me?”

“Than,” Thomas corrected, then said, “I say shit to my sister all the time to scare er. You really ought to not listen to em all the time.” He finished his work, then hopped onto the horse. The boy had the horse trot over to the girl and held out an arm to her.

Elspeth took it and pulled her way up. She blushed as Thomas put her in front of him. She turned her face to look at the boy as they rode, “That’s mean of yous. For someone with the prettiest lightest eyes, you really have a blacken soul, don’t ya?” She huffed and added, “I could have ridden behind you. I’m not a baby.”

“Couldn’t have kept my eye on ya from behind me,” Thomas answered cooly. He made a turn to go through the fields instead of the forest.

“Aye,” Elspeth complained. She leaned over him and pointed the other direction, “My school is over that way. Through the woods.”

Thomas nodded, “Yeah, and she’d get spooked if I took that way.” He patted the horse’s neck and explained, “So we are going this way.”

“You’re gonna get us into trouble,” she commented.

“More than you already are,” Thomas rose one of his brows at her. He shook his head and said, “Besides, they aren’t payin any attention to us anymore. I could just steal ya away if I wanted.” He chuckled. He knew that it was going to land on him if they were going to get into trouble. He was not only older, but also, the boy therefore was the one to make sure he upheld her honor and dignity. He just wanted to bend the truth to see how she was going to react.

Elspeth rolled her eyes, “Don’t be actin like you're so much wiser then me. You can’t be but a year older.” She had to admit, he was already developing his strong jaw. If he were a nicer boy, she’d admit that he’d probably have nearly all the girls smitten with him already.

“Than,” Thomas corrected, clenching his jaw slightly, “And besides, I am much more experienced than you. You still are listenin to your older brother all the time and I’m much more skilled at sneakin off without gettin caught. Then again, I don’t go off followin my father.”

Elspeth made a face at him, “How old are you anyway to talk to me like this?”

“Older than you,” The boy chuckled. He shook his head and whispered into her ear, “Want to go a bit faster?”

“Will it get me away from you faster,” Elspeth countered.

“Nah,” He shook his head, “I decided ya staying with me.” He chuckled.

Elspeth blinked then said after a moment of thought, “You’re just trying to get out of doing work.”

Thomas laughed, “There we go. The young miss is learnin somethin new.” He brought the pace up to a gallop, “If I’m with you, they can’t make me go back to work. Then I can also blame you and your free spirit for getting me into trouble.”

Elspeth huffed at him. She rolled her eyes and said, “You’re a devil...Uh…”

“Thomas,” He told her, “Thomas Shelby, Elsie.”

She shook her head, “Only my friends and family can call me that. You can call me Elspeth.”

Thomas chuckled and made the horse start to canter. They both bounced with every forceful step the horse took. He looked down and asked, “Should we go get your shoes and socks?”

Elspeth nodded, “Probably.” She felt herself start to slip off, but before she had time to react, Thomas moved his arm to place her back into place. She blushed and asked, “Are you takin me home now?”

Thomas smiled. His smile was bright. It made him look even more handsome. Elsie stared at his face as his mind was so far away. She wondered what he’d look like if he were truly older. He was going to be a very handsome and strong man. He must have noticed her staring because he chuckled, “Not til you are thoroughly done being a fiery free spirit.”

He was right. He didn’t take her back until nearly dinner time well into sundown. She was right about the both of them getting into trouble, but Thomas just smiled through it. He laughed and told his parents something in his blood told him to go on a joyride and it must have been the hills that did it. Her mother scolded her for causing so many problems and for losing her shoes and socks she knitted. They were forced to look at each other once last time.

“Tell er goodbye,” Arthur Sr told Thomas angrily.

Thomas bowed to her and she curtseyed to him. Elspeth smiled gently. Her eyes having cooled and her sense of adventure both quenched and renewed. Her voice was more gentle now, “Goodbye Thomas.”

With a new fire in his eyes, Thomas pulled out a ribbon that he had bought on their excersson. He tied the blue ribbon overlayed with white lace into her hair. The blue of the ribbon matching his eyes. He, then, reached around her ear to gently grab a lock of her hair. He kissed it playfully before chuckling, “Goodbye Elsie.”

The woman woke up with a burning face. She fanned her face. She had no idea why she was having this dream again. She walked to the basin and washed her face. She looked up and stared at herself. Her now auburn hair framed her face well. Her eyes still held a fire within them, but now it was a fire to grab power and the security it provides. The war had made her free spirit haunted with the deeds she had to do as a spy. She finished her hair and makeup before walking downstairs. Their territory, now, growing well into Birmingham. She greeted her youngest two siblings as they ran around her. “Edward and Lucy,” She scolded, “You two run like that outside!”

Edward shook his head, “The Blinders are out there.”

Elspeth rolled her eyes, “And they don’t know who the head family is yet nor do they know who we are. So go on outside and play. Where’s Maggie?’

Lucy shrugged, “I saw her going towards the dress shop, I think.” She ran after her brother to go outside to play.

Elspeth rolled her eyes and closed up the house, “I guess I should go find er then.” She walked down the street to go try and find her younger sister.

Maggie giggled as John’s lips tickled her neck. He groaned against her neck and whispered, “Come on, please be quiet.” He led her against the other wall in the alleyway. His hands never leaving her hips as he placed kisses up and down her neck.

“Why, you’re a Blinder, who’s gonna stop us,” Maggie teased the man. She kissed his cheek purposely leaving a lipstick mark there, “When are we going to stop sneaking around like this?”

John sighed against her neck and placed his forehead there annoyed by her questioning. “You really don’t want to meet my family,” he tried to reason with her. He kissed her lips and hummed, “But if you want to, I guess we can have you meet everyone. Aunt Pol sure would like it if I finally took a wife with my four kids runnin round.”

Maggie giggled, “Then you should ask Archie and Elspeth for their blessing.” She kissed his lips quickly and stole his hat from him and placed it on her head. “Do I look like a nice Shelby,” She asked beaming.

John laughed, “The prettiest.”

Elspeth’s shoes clicked against the pavement as she made her way through the area. She had heard through the vine that the Shelby’s normally met people at the Garrison. So she was on her way there. The head of the Blinders was Thomas Shelby, part of her wondered if it were the same as her Thomas Shelby.

Thomas sighed as he drank. He was just trying to take a small break from dealing with the Kimber situation, the guns, Campbell, and the new group The Screaming Banshees. Then he heard a silence roll over the Garrison. This was strange. Sure there were lulls, but you could hear a pin drop with how quiet it was. He poked his head out of the bar to see a well dressed woman at the bar. He moistened his lips as he watched her. She had an air about her that screamed that nothing bothered her, but yet everyone was on their best behavior. She had a very gentle melodic voice. Her accent was definitely from the area of Scotland. His ears perked up hearing her utter his name.

“I’m looking for a Mr. Thomas Shelby,” Elspeth spoke to the woman at the bar. She put on her best ladylike face. She could feel the eyes of all the men on her, but this didn’t bother her. She just needed this John situation taken care of from the source. She could see movement from the private area from the side of her vision. A familiar hoarse deep voice broke the silence of the bar.

“And what would you need with a man like that,” Thomas coyly responded from the door. He watched as the woman turned to face him. She was so familiar to him. A face of tiny embers from a once raging fire. He studied her. He tried to place where he knew her from, but it was just coming up with a woman that couldn’t have been her out in France and a small Scottish girl he hadn’t seen in at least seventeen years with hair that resembled more of a fire than what was on this woman’s head.

Elspeth turned to face the voice. She recognized him instantly. Her heart rate spiked for a second. Her face blushed for a small fraction of a moment. She bolstered her spirit again and explained, “I have something about our families to discuss with him. It involves his brother. John Shelby.” Her instincts were right. They were the same exact Shelbys.

Thomas motioned for her to join him inside the room and spoke to the barmaid, “Bring a bottle for us in here, please Grace.” He stood up and walked to the woman to escort her into the room.

Elspeth gave him a small smile, “Thank you.” When the door closed behind her, she sat across from Thomas before he could motion for her to do so. She smiled gently at him as she watched him sit, “I am sorry to find you like this, I just… I figured it would be best if we talked. Your brother asked if we would bless a union between him and my just younger sister. I, while excited to see my sister so happy, believe this would join two rival gangs together. Our leader I don’t think would want to see this union go through.” She used small gentle hand gestures to make herself seem more demure and still the childish girl she once was.

Thomas’s brows furrowed together as she spoke. He tried to figure out just what she was telling him. Soon he put together the pieces and spoke, “Your family is the head of the Screaming Banshees and the union would then force a bond between us. I see where he wouldn’t want that, but honestly, it would take care of both of our problems.” He thought for a moment, “You said you want your sister’s happiness. Why not allow this to happen? Once she’s a Shelby, your safety would be granted as well.”

Anger rose in Elspeth, but she was lucky to know exactly how to hide it. She giggled and let a few tears fall from her eyes. “You are too kind,” She smiled and leaned forward to take one of his hands with both of hers, “Still that devilish boy getting us into trouble.” The ribbon he gave her carefully tied around her left wrist. She knew in her head that this gave her the advantage, it makes her seem smaller and still in love with him, therefore it makes it seem like she’s easier for Thomas to manipulate.

Thomas stared at the ribbon on her wrist. He knew it instantly. There was the evidence that this was that same little girl that was his first love. The girl he first promised to court. Did she really keep that gift all this time and the way it looked made it look well loved, yet still taken care of. Her hair was darker than he remembered. She was more gentle, sweet, softer. It was throwing him off. He never would have pictured her becoming such a delicate lady. He looked into her eyes and smirked, “Well some people never change, but then some people change tremendously.”

Elspeth giggled, “Well some people learn.” She looked out and stood. She held out her hand and said, “Well, it was nice speaking with you, Mister Shelby.” She watched as he gently brought her hand up for him to gently place a small kiss upon her gloved knuckles. Elspeth allowed a blush to grow across her freckled face. She giggled, “I forgot myself giving my hand to a devil. I should have expected.” As she left, she grasped the wrist of the hand she had given him up to her heart. She growled and her face contorted in disgust. She needed to defeat this issue herself now, and take Thomas down with it.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #elspeth finley #elsie finley x thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x ofc

17 notes · View notes

wordlessbabbling · 4 years

Text

The Anya-Margaret (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 1

“I’m thinking of killing off a few characters just to jazz up my autobiography.”

Masterlist

“Can’t catch me!” The young girl fled around the halls of her stately home.

A young maid, who was on nanny duty today, had the misfortune of chasing after the relentless girl.

She ran through halls with ceilings that she would never touch, no matter how much she grew.

The carpet was lusciously red and rich- it tickled her toes which only made the young girl giggle more as she toddled around the home.

The walls had a green design that was bright enough to make the house not seem boring, but dull enough to drive one insane, should they spend too much time looking for a cosmic purpose.

But young girls like her had no time to contemplate philosophy and the cosmos, as girls like her were too busy running with time.

Time ticks fast, but she ticks faster- never letting it overtake her for fear of the unknown.

——

“Oi Tom!” Arthur trudged into the betting shop, “new business in town. Well-not that new-but either way- they ain’t paying for protection, so I propose we go n’ ruff ‘em up.”

Thomas placed his pencil down on the document he was working on. He’d heard about this business, and he actually had plans for them.

“Aye, Arthur.” Thomas nodded, better now than never- it’s not like he wanted to sit at his desk all day- “I’ve got a proposal for ‘em.”

Arthur’s face shifted slightly with minor satisfaction as the thought of letting out some pent up nerves while smashing a blokes face in just made him feel a bit better.

“Who am I bringing then? John-boy? Scudboat? You’re coming too, Tom, ain’t ya?” Arthur was now pacing as his hands itched with anticipation.

Thomas only lit a cigarette with a blank look on his face, “actually, Arthur- it’s just going to be you, John and I visiting. I have a business proposal first.”

——

The streets of Small Heath were grimy and unpleasant, but not nearly as unpleasant as how thick the air became when they stepped closer and closer to the establishment.

“What they done, Tom?” John had his game face on. He was ready to kick ass and fuck up some poor blokes marriage. It’s going to be great.

“Ah, ah. Not yet, boys. I have a business deal to make first, should they refuse, then maybe you can sling their hook. But for now, I just need intimidation.” Thomas almost felt uneasy lighting a cigarette when the air smelt as though he’d had thousands already- but then again, he had to keep up appearances.

The door to the establishment was open, which contradicted the notice on the wall next to the frame that read;

“NO WALK-INS ACCEPTED.

MUST CONTACT VIA LETTER OR TELEPHONE AND PAY UPFRONT BEFORE SERVICE IS PROVIDED.”

“What the hell...” John muttered as he tried not to cough and splutter when entering the hazy room.

The shiny razors sewn into their caps almost seemed dull as the thick smoke clouded the room and clouded their eyes.

From what they could see, the work space was actually rather done up. The walls were a lush shade of rich red and the skirting board was lined with gold paint.

There was little furniture though and the place wasn’t nearly comforting despite its warm colours.

“What is this place?” Arthur grumbled, suddenly feeling a chill as he was overcome with the sense that he was in a waiting room, tapping his feet mindlessly as he waited for an appointment for a cause that did not sit well with him.

“It’s a morgue and cemetery, Arthur.” Thomas quipped quietly. He raised a finger to his lips as he stalked through the corridors that contradicted the atmosphere.

The three rather scary looking men heard giggling sounds coming from behind a door at the end of a long corridor.

Arthur and John glanced at each other, very confused.

The laughter though, was not one of sweet nature that you’d hear from a lady who made sweets, but rather a giggle or cackle that sounded sick and mocking and condescending.

Before Thomas could break down the door, he heard a low voice coming from within that had a thick accent over it.

“I heard this funeral is going to be grave affair, Mr Daniels.”

Thomas noted that the voice sounded a lot like a Russian merchant he’d met before the war.

He knew this business was doing well, but he didn’t expect doing-business-with-the-Russians-well.

Arthur had enough of waiting around and barged through the door.

There was silence for a moment and the clattering of utensils on a metal surface. “What the fuck is this?” He bellowed.

The other two brothers made haste with scrambling into the seemingly smoking room.

The four walls in the rather large room were a steely grey and Thomas wondered if it was actually iron and they were in a cage- it certainly felt like one.

“What-“ John cried, confusion fat, “the holy fucking shit is that?”

Thomas darted his attention to two figures in the corner of the room, one laying down on a high wooden table and another hunched over it like a lion over a deer carcass with an open light bulb hanging over head.

But it was only when Thomas looked closer, did he see the purple fingers of the figure on the table and the top of its nose- so pale and blue.

His inspection of the body was interrupted by the sound of Arthur’s gun clicking as he raised it up pointing at the hunched figure.

“Oi!” He grumbled, “step back from the body! By order of the Peaky Blinders!”

The hunched figure sighed and put down the metal instruments they clutched haphazardly in their fingers.

Thomas stepped forward and put a hand on the top of Arthur’s gun, motioning for him to put it away.

“Miss Florence Kent, I presume?”

The woman in front of them was of average height and had this unruly red hair that looked like it hadn’t seen comb in weeks. Her shoulders were hunched forward and it appeared that she constantly just swayed from side to side on the spot.

She wore trousers that protruded out from her legs, but were tied back together at her ankles brown paper bag style. She also wore a dirty creme coloured top that had long flowing sleeves that, like the trousers, bunched around her wrists. She honestly just looked like she only got half dressed- not in a whorish way, but it clearly needed something.

“Yup. Youse are Shelby’s, correct?” She gestured up and down with her arm to three rather unimpressed men who didn’t like being addressed with such casualty. Arthur was all but ready to put the fear of God into her heart.

Thomas ignored her comment and stubbed out a cigarette; “I’ve been lookin’ through the books, Miss Kent. I’ve noticed that you, a rather successful business, does not pay the protection of the Peaky Blinders.”

The red-haired woman smiled although it seemed more like a grimace, “and why do I need protection? Eh? Is someone going to steal my precious bodies” she put her palms to her cheeks, “oh no! Gah!”

Thomas was nearly at his wits end and John had already grabbed the back of his cap, waiting for Thomas to make a move.

“It’s not just outside enemies you’ll need to watch out for, maybe ones in your own establishment.” He blinked slowly and stood stock still “speaking of other enemies, where is your friend who you were talking to before we walked in? Husband? Business associate?”

The woman’s eyes widened as she gasped at the three men, “you believed that!” She bent over forwards as she cackled into her hand, “oh that’s so perfect! I’m nailing that accent. Woo!” She threw her arms up in the air mockingly.

“Okay, Tom. I’ve had enough of this.” Arthur snarled, but Thomas once again put his arm up to silence him.

“That’s not nice, let you’re brother talk, Tom.” The lady pouted teasingly. Thomas wondered, for the briefest of moments if this woman was clinically insane, but despite that, he’d met worse. He clenched his jaw “Miss Kent I have a proposal for your business.”

The woman with hunched shoulders rolled her eyes at all the formalities, but she never passed down the opportunity for a few dramatics, “alright, and what if I reject your business proposal?”

“Well you might find yourself in a room much like this, except you’d be the one with your guts in a jar?” Thomas tilted his head to the side, matching her teasing tone. If it was a game to her, then he’d play the game just ten times harder.

The woman scoffed and shifted her weight so she was leaning against the table “orright. Go on then- I love a bit of chit chat.”

She lit another cigarette and waited for Thomas’ long dramatic pause to end.

“You know what we do. You probably read the papers-“

“Kindling.”

Thomas sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. In any other circumstance, he would have shot her where she stood, but he really needed this business deal to go through- God, he hated being dependant on people. Especially the insane ones.

“So you know bodies are being found, and are being traced back to us when they get picked up from the cut?”

The woman stood up straight again and took the bud of her cigarette and mashed it into the side of the dead mans face who was still on the table. Thomas internally cringed and could have sworn that he heard John gag.

“And you want me to ‘sort out’ all the bodies the coppers ‘find’?” She used air quotes as she strolled around the other side of the table. “Also, can you tell your brother, yeah, to put down that feeble gun. It’s not very polite, y’know? Besides, it would be like shooting a gravestone if went for me.”

“What the fuck’s she on about, Tom? What are you on about, lady? You pulling some smimey witchcraft on us? I don’t like her Tommy, we can’t trust her. We don’t need her, we can deal with them bodies ourselves.” John was getting violently panicked, “we’re the Peaky fucking Blinders— she can’t do shit.”

“You’re right, John. I can’t do shit, but there will be no satisfaction in killing me. Go on, Johnny-” She spread her arms wide and tilted her head back. She shook her hands like she was dancing to jazz music, expecting an encore for her performance, “-lay one on me!”

“Fucks sake!” Thomas, who was clearly antsy and agitated, slammed his fist down on the table “we want you to be our body burner, right. Can you do that?”

“Jesus Christ, Sir.” She pottered around the room, moving jars and opening up cabinets that lined the wall vertically and horizontally.

The silence hung in the room for a while until Florence shifted on her heels, “so uh... what do I get for all this hassle?”

Thomas lit another cigarette. Something about this room and it’s pungent smell just put him on edge and made him uneasy.

“You get protection by the Peaky Blinders.” He stated plainly.

The woman shot him an unimpressed look, “if I wanted protection, I would have paid for it. Besides, why the hell would I care for your protection? Eh? The monsters gonna come get me, Shelby? Are you the monster? Why are you a monster, Thomas?” She tilted her head and squinted.

“Definitely insane” Thomas decided.

“Sure. The monsters. That’s not the point though. With this deal, you’ll be affiliated with the Peaky Blinders, therefore making you a target.”

“I still don’t want your protection. I’ll take the deal, but I don’t want youse lot just fuckin’ breaking and entering. Anyway, you weren’t too good at it either. I heard you all the moment you stepped through that door.” She opened different mason jars and took all sorts of herbs out and laid them out on a cloth.

After examining the stalks of which, she put them in a cement bowl and started grinding them down, “you’re lucky that I was curious to see who would have the balls to come here so I didn’t waste ya as soon as you stepped through.”

John scoffed, “sure you did, love.”

Florence continued to smash and squish the herbs into a dry green powder that looked not at all appetising.

The three men just stood and watched—not for any reason probably, maybe just intimidation and curiosity.

Thomas watched as she strode around the table with a heavy sway which made him wonder if the woman was shit-faced drunk.

When she walked in front of him, instead of alcohol like he was suspecting, he smelled something acute to salt and flowers, a strange combination. She walked with her toes turned outwards, almost like she had a limp in both feet and it was clear she genuinely had no regard for appearances to the three dangerous men.

She dumped the heavy cement bowl onto the table next to the pale blue and white body that made everyone but her in the room feel queasy.

“Are you boys gonna stick around to watch me slice this man open or do ya want to get the fuck out of my working space?” She picked up an instrument, not too dissimilar from a knife you’d see on your kitchen table, just this one had a bent head.

Thomas stood stock still but the other two men looked at each other with confused and pleading expressions. They could take ripping people a part limb from limb, but this... this was insufferable.

With the others gone, all that was left was Thomas and Florence, and the body.

“If you’re gonna stay, you can at least help me?” She said with a snarky tone. Thomas didn’t do shit for anyone so instead he just lit another cigarette and watched.

The woman took her bent knife—that was probably genuine medical equipment, but if Thomas was bored enough, he could most likely fashion his own—and dragged the knife across the corpses abdomen, just under his diaphragm.

“Lucky for you, I’ve already bled this one, so hopefully you don’t feel like disembarking your dinner.” She took the bag of ground up powder and put it into the top of a funnel with a tube attached to the end.

If Thomas was being honest, he felt sick to his stomach, he’d rather quit drinking for the rest of his life rather than sit and watch this—hell, he didn’t think he’d be able to consume anything for a week after this—but he had to keep up an appearance.

To be fair to him, it worked alright- Florence was slightly impressed by his devout need to prove himself to everyone.

He did falter though slightly when she jammed the end of the tube of the funnel into the line of the mans abdomen. He inhaled sharply when she took a jug of water and poured it into the funnel so it mixed with the powder, creating a thick gooey clear substance.

She held the top of the funnel in front of her face and shifted her weight so the front of her hips were resting against the tall table.

Thomas wondered if this woman could stand up straight.

She cast her gaze to the side to Thomas who had his eyes locked onto the slice in the mans abdomen as the goo passed through achingly slowly.

He moved his head up so they met eyes now from across the room. Maybe if it was a different setting, the scene would have been romantic, had they not been in a morgue and she not pouring goo into a dead mans carcass.

The room was supposed to be tense, it usually is when Thomas decides to enter with his dramatic bitch face. But for some reason, this woman wouldn’t let him affect her. At first Thomas thought it was fear; next he thought it was insanity; then he considered that maybe this woman just didn’t give a flying fuck about who he was and what he was doing there.

He hated that, just as much as he admired it.

“I’ll return another time to discuss business agreements.”

As the rather threatening man walked out of the door, Florence wondered if he too, was only just pretending to be human like herself most of the time.

——

“I hear you’re in partnership with the Shelby’s.” The Irish accent that seemingly appeared out of nowhere startled the red haired girl.

Not because she didn’t hear him, just that you didn’t hear other dialects in this shit-hole of a city.

Florence didn’t look up from where she sat, examining the pages of a book. She took her index finger and held it up to the mans face as a silencing motion. “What’s you on about, Mister?” The woman answered finally.

She was curled up in a very uncomfortable looking dining room chair (even though there was no dining room) with a book in her knees and hunched shoulders.

“You we’re visited by the Peaky Blinders today, and you made an agreement with them, Miss Kent.” The man with the thick grey moustache snarled.

“Yes I did. You’re sounding a bit resentful there, Chester.” She didn’t move her head, but her large eyes shifted to where the man stood stiff with two officers behind him. Coward.

“I see they’ve told you about me.” He nodded smugly.

“No, actually. I just find these things out for myself.” She focused back on to the page and tuned out whatever the man who looked like he had a stick up his arse was saying.

“Why did they decide to initiate contact with you?” He asked plainly.

“Business.” She states in the same manor.

“Why didn’t they discuss business with your husband or superior?” He leaned in slightly.

“Because I don’t have either of those. This is my business and you clearly didn’t read the sign outside.” She yawned and sniffed quietly. She reached for her cigarette tin and lit one up.

“We are royal officials. Your sign does not bypass the need for law and order. Besides, your reports will not be acknowledged, so there’s no need- I have friends in high places.” He stated condescendingly.

“Yeah? Well I’ve got friends in low places.”

Campbell slammed his fist onto the wall next to him, which probably would have been more intimidating, had he not hissed in pain and the wall not had been made out of brick. “Why did you agree to business with those scum of the Earth rats!” He bellowed.

Florence didn’t flinch. She only sighed and put down her book, cigarette still resting in her mouth, “because I do business with people who offer money. Good money. Don’t take it personally, but take it all the same.” She folded her hands on her stomach and interlocked them with a dull look on her face.

“And what if I offered you your life for information on the Peaky Blinders?”

“Okay, lets get this straight. I don’t want shit from you. My death will not and does not burden me. I won’t give you information on the Peaky Blinders, because I can’t be arsed to listen to them. So go on, have at it!” She abruptly stood up and stalked to the door on the other side of the room, but not before turning round with a grin on her face, “oh, and by the way, Chester. Please do take this very personally... Man up soldier- oh wait.” She cackled and didn’t miss the inspectors fists clenching as his brow tensed.

Without another word, Inspector Campbell left the premise. He knew that he’d see to it that this arrogant, harlot woman would see consequences of her blind confidence.

——

Okay. A lot of things are really slowing down here and I have no idea when the next chapter will be up.

So sorry for the lack of continuity, but hopefully you can understand that everything’s a bit intense atm 😅

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

#tommyshelby #peaky blinders story #peakyblinders #thomas #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelbys a dick #The Anya-Margaret #peakyblinderstv

26 notes · View notes

imaginesbymk · 4 years

Text

PINK + WHITE.

—CHAPTER SEVEN ; FINN, ALL GROWN UP.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, smoking

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

"Just remember, never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line." - The Princess Bride (1987)

"PENARTH ART GALLERY." Tommy cleared his throat before speaking to the operator on the telephone. He pulled a long drag off his cigarette as he waited, even though he knew his call would lead to no avail. He hasn't heard back from her in hours. It wasn't even that difficult of an instruction: reach back to him with her mind made up once she finished her errand in Camden town. Either Teresa forgot, was abducted, killed, or she never kept true to her word when she agreed to phone him. Tommy needed a response so desperately. It had been a while since the vendetta began, and he doubt he would be spared a second to take a deep breath before the Changretta mob comes in to take them out by surprise. He needed an answer now.

No response. He slams the receiver shut, almost nearly breaking the telephone, and sighs. If Tommy had to pick up and reach the operator, the same response of no communication on the other end of the line would come up once more. No point.

Groaning in exhaustion, Tommy rubs his nose bridge as Polly walks in, noticing him leaning back in his chair.

"I told you," she says. "she won't come back."

Tommy grunts. "She will. Just give it a few hours."

"We gave her a day, Tommy. Now we're giving her a few hours?" Polly slams Tommy's diary containing weekly schedules & anything important jotted in black ink, each were separated with a blank box. She flipped to the bookmarked page that highlighted one day of the week, a star coloured in the margins. She jabs a finger on it. "The boxing match. We're losing time."

"Yes, Pol. I'm aware," Tommy says, annoyed. It's not like he wasn't giving Aberama Gold's son a dream of being a boxing champion and possible boxing career in exchange for extra hands to have blood on them in a vendetta. "And what other things I'm aware of that you have to tell me?"

"Are you also aware that Teresa Griffith is no walk in the park—"

"Neither of us are, Polly."

"Are you aware that Teresa Griffith is no walk in the park," Polly repeated her sentence, sternly this time, "and that begging for her help is no use? We've got what we already need, why do you still need her? You miss her?"

"Teresa will reach out to Luca Changretta."

"For what? A fuck while he isn't looking?"

"I've dug deeper, Pol. He's scavenging for things to claim in all of Britain. If he'll start with Alfie Solomon's business, that means he's not shy to come after Teresa's. The Penarth art gallery will be signed under the Changretta name so she will try to withdraw the unjust negotiation, which will give us more time to reach out to Michael's updates before Bonnie and Goliath will face each other in the ring." Tommy slammed his diary, brushing off his wonder on how Polly was able to gain access to it in the first place when it's usually Lizzie who technically is only allowed to touch it.

Polly stared at him with a hint of dread.

"What is it?"

Frustrating as it is, Polly really didn't have the answer to pinpoint. "I read her tea leaves before she walked out on us. It said she'll lose what she loves the most."

"What or who?"

"I couldn't tell. But I imagine it being her new chapter. But now it makes much more sense. She'll lose the gallery, perhaps."

Tommy leans forward to look up closer to Aunt Polly. "So like I said, give it a few hours. I know she will come back. I doubt she keeps a handgun in her glove compartment anymore. I'll ensure her safety and keep the gallery up under her name. She needs us just as much as we need her."

Polly let out a small sigh, collecting the heavy-weighted diary to carry out with her through the same way she came in. Let's hope...

Returning to Penarth was a relief. Teresa was far away from the next person who could get on her last nerve, unless one of the tour guides or management decides to point out a small circumstance to the owner, but the Welsh woman found comfort and bliss when she looks up at a painting made by an iconic artist that speaks through their canvas.

"We should really put up more exit signs, Miss," one of the tour guides said to Teresa as they walked down the halls together. "some of the guests have been getting lost with the new corridors. And they were wondering about the empty room upstairs?"

"I've spoken to people from Nice. They loved what we did with the exhibition and they want to place up more paintings, so I saved some extra room."

"On... the second floor?"

"Why not?" Teresa shrugs. "We've set up enough for the main floor, second floor should be okay as well." And she walked down the opposite direction, hoping the tour guide wasn't gonna follow her and object the display plans.

"Miss Griffith," an exhausted employee rushes over to her, clearly out of breath from searching around the entire building for one woman. "Your office is being blown up with phone calls from Birmingham."

Teresa frowns. Did Mr. Shelby not take the hint already?

"Shall I leave a message?"

"Just ignore it. Probably someone looking to pest. We've no time for that," Teresa let out a sigh, continuing down the way she meant to go through, passing a couple of guests who read each art piece like a picture book. She had to frown again. The least she could do was answer one phone call from the man, say the word and he'd leave her be. Ignoring him would push him towards her even more.

Teresa rested her walking by standing in front of the painting. The painting, to emphasize—the one Luca pointed out to her when they first met. She hadn't looked at it in so long. Every time she passed that wall, she just had to avoid making eye contact. How ridiculous it is to look away from art, which is the opposite of the common reaction. But it was a painting only Teresa felt like a curse. Teresa doubted Luca even cared about what the painting was, since his excuse to reel her attention was to poke fun about what she loved. If only she could gain that much luck of approval to remove the piece off of that wall with her bare hands. Disrespectful and unprofessional, yes. But if she had the chance to, she would do it.

Now his voice spoke just as loud as the form of the oil painting. You were just another woman.

Teresa shook her head. It was indeed an awkward encounter, and if she had to describe it; maybe it was a heartbreak about another.

It doesn't matter anymore. Luca is here on business, to kill the man whose phone calls you're ignoring, but that is okay. You're not a Peaky Blinder. It's time to turn around and move on...

She did turn around actually, just to be greeted with another familiar face.

"Finn?"

SHE had to chuckle in disbelief. Seeing Finn holding a cigarette in his hand so casually just proves that he was no stranger to the addicting habit. He was the youngest of the family and Teresa used to chase him around the streets in a game of tag. He was much shorter than she was, voice higher, and after watching them, he mimicked the little things his older brothers did, even though it was dangerous for a young boy like him to fully understand.

"Do they know that you're here?" Teresa took a puff out of hers.

"Arthur sent me," Finn replied.

Teresa rolls her eyes. "Right," she mutters under her breath. She kicked a few rocks on the large paved steps that laid out as the entrance of her gallery. "Don't tell me. You're here to scold me for ignoring Tommy. It's not like I don't get migraines from my telephone ringing so fucking much."

"Why are you avoiding him, Teresa? Even when you were at the Garrison, agreeing to let Tommy fill you in on what needs to be done. He would of thought you got shot, otherwise."

"I went to Camden and then came back here."

"Without giving him a final decision?"

"He should get the hint by now. Is that bastard so desperate for a decoy? I doubt the Italians would fall for another trap." That was another thing she was informed about. Polly and Tommy's plan was a semi-success, however Luca Changretta is still alive, and his blood must be boiling because of how much time he had wasted sparing Michael's life when he had the chance to shoot him in cold blood.

"Luca Changretta will come after Alfie Solomons' business, as he will yours," Finn says. "He will come here and make you hand it over to his family or he will kill you. Whether he does that before or after killing us all, it will happen sooner or later."

Typical Luca. If he really thought she was just another woman, he would definitely threaten her over her business. "Did Tommy tell you to say all of that?" she chuckled.

Finn shrugs. "Maybe. But it's good that you know now. So, that gives you a valid reason to help?"

Teresa grinned. "The last time I saw you, you wore tiny suspenders, even your shoes were tiny. I could of lifted you like a doll from a toy store. Look at yourself, Finn."

"I can't, that's physically impossible."

"Finn, all grown up!" Teresa teases, using her hand to pinch together his rosy cheeks.

Finn groans in annoyance, rubbing his cheek to sooth the stinging pain after shoving her hand off him. "Fuck's sake, Teresa! We need you! You were big help when you were last with us, and you can still be the big help. Seriously, you're all our last bet."

"Tell Tommy I need more time to think about it."

"Teresa, there isn't any more time. We're out of it. We need a solid answer now."

"You guys did fine without me. Am I still being used a distraction? What if Tommy wants me as a mole?"

"He won't. That's not something we do often, most of the time it doesn't end up working out."

"Finn..." Teresa shook her head, taking him seriously this time. "I can't help kill Luca Changretta. I thought about it but I promised to never get involved with the Peaky Blinders, or anything that would paint me as a criminal. If things didn't happen the way it did, I would of said yes without a second thought."

Finn furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?"

She let out a soft sigh, hoping the pain would burn out like the end of her cigarette. "Because I knew Luca. He and I were once lovers."

+ basically,,,,, teresa wants to help but at the same time she doesn't want to help lmfaoo.

#pink+white #tommy shelby #luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta fanfic #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #oc

21 notes · View notes

fuckingthefictional · 4 years

Text

Cross my heart- Part 15

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OFC, John Shelby (platonic) x OFC

Warnings: Talk of sexual assault, semi smut.

A/N: Enjoy a long ass chapter, that hasn’t been proofread and it probably crap!

Previous//Next

“What the fuck do you mean she was attacked?”

“John calm down.”

“No I will not fucking ‘calm down’!”

“John your shouting isn’t helping the situation at all.”

“But Pol-“

“Don’t ‘but Pol’ me John, that girl was attacked and nearly raped! Your shouting is not helping the situation one bloody bit.”

Eliza listened from her spot on the sofa, her body ached and her memories were still intense and raw from the previous night.

Her eyes felt heavy and she felt bleary. Eliza wanted nothing more than to sink into the cushions of the sofa and just disappear.

There was a great deal of pacing coming from the kitchen, which she assumed could only be John’s.

Eliza wished she could’ve told him in a normal way, like she did with all her troubles- over a glass of scotch. That he didn’t discover the events of the night before in such a horrible way.

Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, her entire body felt as if it were in shackles. Like she had her hands tired- as if there was no escape from this dark backstreet

She could feel ever grope, every unwanted kiss, she could hear every single taint and harsh laughter.

She felt cold and exposed where her clothes had been forcibly removed and the fearful tremble in her body refused to go away.

It felt as if she was helpless, there was nothing she could do. Like she was watching herself be pushed around and assaulted in the most cruel ways from the outside.

And then he came, cigarette burning and the soft glow of the ashy embers as they were flicked off onto the mud caked floor.

The man who had a red right hand in his pocket and a peaky cap perched on his head and she could see the blades tucked away, still glinting occasionally in the soft glow of the nicotine filled stick.

At long last she felt her knees hit the floor, as she simultaneously heard begging and screams of pain. Her hands were stained in blood and the screams got louder and louder until they just...stopped.

“Liza?” A frantic voice was calling to her, she felt like she was being shaken, “Liza wake up!”

She woke with a start, shooting up and rocking back and forth. Eliza felt someone attempt to hold her, but after the previous night she attempted mercilessly to escape whoever was touching her. She thrashed and tried to break free, but they held on.

Eliza was sure she was crying now, her voice croaked and cracked as she attempted to cry out in some sort of attempt at being rescued.

A small part of Eliza’s mind knew she was safe, that nobody was trying to hurt her. In any other situation she would relax into the embrace and find comfort. But this- this was to much to handle.

“Let her go Johnny boy-“

“Tom what the fuck is going on?”

“I’ll explain in a minute- just go through to the kitchen, aye an’ I’ll sort this.”

“Yer out ‘yer mind if yer think I’m leaving her here with you.”

There was a small pause, before the sound of retreating footsteps were heard by Eliza.

“Liza, open yer eyes for me.”

She slowly cracked open an eyelid, almost afraid of what she might find. Her vision was blurred as she burst into floods of tears at the sight of Tommy kneeled besides her.

“I- I thought-“ Eliza tried to explain, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“You are safe.” Tommy couldn’t express the words hard enough it seemed, his gaze pierced into Eliza. He continued on leaning closer to prove is point, “I will keep you safe, my family will make sure you’re safe- I never want ye’ to live in fear Liza.”

Eliza just nodded, tears soaking his shoulder as he gently combed through a few stray locks of her hair.

She could feel gentle lips brush her forehead, a huge contrast to the violating ones that she had been forced to receive the night before.

“I just need time.” Eliza tried to reassure herself, “the wound will heal with time.”

“An’ I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise you that much.”

“Just don’t go breaking my heart along the way.”

“As long as you don’t hurt mine either.”

Life was a struggle to get back to normal for Eliza, she went back to work a few days after the bruises had healed up.

Routine practically kept her sane the following weeks after the incident.

She’d wake up at six in the morning, fix Harry his breakfast and then meet Tommy outside the Garrison for seven. He would then walk her to the schoolhouse and wait with Eliza in her classroom until the children started to line up outside- she’d teach for the day and then be picked up by Tommy or John (and occasionally Arthur) where they’d walk back to watery lane and Eliza would stay until it nine helping with homework and bedtime routines. After a long day she’d walk with the Peaky men back to the Garrison where she’d go on shift.

By the end of the day Eliza usually felt exhausted enough to close her eyes without fearing the makeshift movie full of her past memories.

Routine worked.

Until Tommy showed up at Eliza’s window on a Sunny Sunday. Sunday’s were the day that Eliza allowed her routine to include a lie in, so she could relax and recover before Monday came around.

But of course Tommy kept tapping on the glass panes of her window.

Eliza wanted to do nothing but turn over and stuff her head into her pillows- but she knew Tommy was incessant and would stop until she payed him attention.

So she rolled out of bed and unlatched the window, pushing it open slightly before making her way back to her bed and sliding under the warm covers.

“Liza?”

She grumbled in response.

“Ive got a surprise for you.”

“Is the surprise letting me sleep for another hour?” Eliza grumbled groggily, “because that would be appreciated.”

She could practically see his smirk in her mind, there was a small chuckle from behind and then Eliza felt the covers be ripped away from her body.

“Tommy!” She shot up, to see him stood above her with a smile on his face. Eliza liked seeing him happy.

“Get up, we’re goin’ out.”

Eliza sighed, “Fine.”

“Where are we going?”

They had been driving for what felt like hours, Tommy had driven them out of the city- and Eliza could admit that it felt good to get fresh air and not be inhaling the heavy black smoke.

Eliza felt free, like she was in the rolling fields that her childhood town in Ireland held.

Away from Birmingham she felt as if she could leave behind her problems, and focus on some of the finer details in life.

Like the dewy grass, or the way the wind brushed against her skin, or how Tommy’s hands would occasionally tap against the steering wheel, or how his eyes would light up more every time they passed a horse in a field.

Eventually Tommy parked at their supposed final destination, it wasn’t much- a field and paddock which held a few horses, and a stable with what appeared to be a riders hut attached to it.

“Where are we?” Eliza was lost in her own befuddlement.

“My stables.” He replied striking up a cigarette.

“But I thought you had a stable in Small Heath?”

“If you mean Uncle Charlie’s boat yard, then yes- but technically it’s not mine.” Tommy opened his side of the car door, before jogging round and opening Eliza’s side too, “Besides, I prefer it when the horses have a bit of fresh air- Small Heath don’t do their lungs any good.”

Eliza smiled at that comment. She’d gathered that Tommy had a soft spot for animals, especially horses.

“Let me rephrase my original question then.” Eliza giggled, “Why are we ‘ere?”

The young man stopped in his tracks, “To ride of course.” He began to walk besides her, linking there arms together, “Yer told me that you’d ride when you were in Ireland, growing up- that yer missed it.”

Her heart swelled at the fact that Tommy had remembered that conversation. Eliza found herself struggling to form proper sentences, so instead she just nodded in awe.

“Now come on pretty girl, the longer we talk ‘ere- the less ridin’ time we’ll have.”

Eliza raises a brow and smirked, she leaned in as their noses brushed slightly. She could’ve sworn she heard Tommy’s breath stop.

With a final breath she steadied herself, “Race you!” She screamed sprinting away as quickly as her skirts allowed her to.

Tommy looked dumbfounded for a second before he also took off running, chasing after her trying to reach the fence first.

It made him smile, seeing how childish and free Eliza could act.

Tommy was a damn good businessman- but if he knew one thing, it was that he was willing to follow Eliza to the end of the world.

When he was around Eliza, Grace was forgotten in his mind.

When Eliza was around, he felt a genuine happiness that he hadn’t felt since before the war.

“Hurry up old man!” Eliza called playfully from the top of the terrain, Tommy shook his head a laugh escaping his lips.

“I am not an old man, you cheeky little-“ he cut himself off, “I’m not even thirty yet!”

“Old.” She retorted back still laughing heartily.

“Liza you’re 3 years younger than me- you’re ‘old’ too.” Tommy bargained.

“Are you calling me old Mr Shelby?” Eliza teased

“Polly raised me to never call a lady old.” Tommy replied, it was true- he remembered when he called his teacher old and Polly came marching into the school and smacked him right around the head. It was clear that he hadn’t done it again.

He looked across to see Eliza gazing wistfully at the horses in the paddock.

“I’ve got the perfect horse for you to ride.”

Eliza turned to him, her interest clearly peaked, “A dappled grey mare.”

Tommy could see her eyes scan across the field, trying to find the horse he’d just mentioned. When she did, she gasped and began to walk over to the gate.

He followed behind her, watching as Eliza’s steps became more springy as she got more excited. Eliza’s laughter consumed the air as she reached her hand out to pat the horses nose.

Tommy hovered behind her, his breath lingered near her neck.

“You need a hand getting up?”

Eliza just nodded as he helped lift her body off of the floor, his calloused hands grazed her waist.

“Thanks.”

“No problem pretty girl.”

“Thank you for today Tommy- I’m thankful, really.”

Tommy stepped forward, tucking a few stray hairs behind her ears. They had ridden for a few hours and had just finished putting the horses back into the stables.

They were both mucky and had thin layers of sweat coating their skin.

“No issue at all Liza.”

“There must be a way I can repay you.” She was stood in front of him now, even closer than before.

“Well,” Tommy licked his lips, brushing against the younger woman’s face, “there is one thing you could do.”

Their gaze lingered on each other, before the tension became too much and they met in a hot searing kiss.

Tommy walked them back towards the support beams as he continued to kiss Eliza with as much passion as he could muster.

Eliza was tugging and grasping at his hair as their lips moved together in tandem.

“jump.” Tommy breathed as he braced her body against his as her hips clashed up against his groin.

It caused them both to moan with pleasure, as Eliza rolled her hips against his again and Tommy planted hot kisses across her chest.

They began to shed clothes as they navigated through the stables and to the pile of hay in the corner.

Curses and pants could be heard throughout the area.

However before it progressed Tommy had stopped, “Liza...are you sure you want this?” He felt like he was pushing her.

But Eliza just caressed the sides of his face, and sweetly pecked his lips with her own, “I need to feel like I’m back in control- there’s nobody else who could take care of me in this way, except for you Tommy.” She pressed their lips together again, “So for the love of God- fuck me already!”

TAGLIST:

@peachy-aisha @marvelschriss @eternallyvenus @captivatedbycillianmurphy @annabethgranger123 @shadow-of-wonder

#peaky fookin blinders #peakyblinders #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #cross my heart

84 notes · View notes

ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 5 years

Text

Burned Part 4

Summary: Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there the two step into a dangerous dance together.

Chapter Summary: Alfie gets his own revenge on Louise’s husband and has to face the consequences.

Warnings: Violence, mention of suicidal thoughts.

Even though Louise was prospering in Camden Town, Alfie didn’t let go of the grudge he had against her husband. He still noticed when the stitches on her stomach caused her pain. The slight wince crossing her features and the sharp gasp of discomfort. Tommy was hesitant to give the man’s name to Alfie. But he gave in as long as Alfie promised not to do anything more than just break his nose or few fingers. After all, Louise didn’t ask the Peaky Blinders to kill her husband.

A few days passed and Alfie waited patiently, or as patiently as he could.

One night, after everyone had gone home, sounds of a scuffle started to kick up in the warehouse. Puzzled, Alfie stood up and reached for his gun. He opened the door and saw a few of his boys. “What you doing?” He strode over to them, pocketing his gun. “Fucking go home.” His boots shuffled heavily across the concrete floor of the distillery. The metallic sounds of his cane echoing through the large warehouse.

“We found the man you were looking for, Mr. Solomons, Kelly.” One of the boys shoved a lanky man to the floor. Offering him like a sacrificial lamb to their boss.

“Oh…very nice. Go on, stand up.” Alfie poked at him with his cane as he tucked his gun away. He’d have to keep his finger off the trigger so he would limit himself to just physical force.

The man staggered to his feet, clutching his stomach in pain having been jumped while staggering out of the bar. “What hell do you think you’re doin’?” He demanded.

The man reeked of alcohol and he was disheveled. He was taller than Alfie but looked like a weed, easy to snuff out but annoying as hell. One of those gits that didn’t know when to quit. Alfie hated men like that.

“Daniel Kelly, correct?”

The man had dirty blonde hair sticking to his sweat covered forehead. He squinted and tried to size up the gangster boss through his gin-kaleidoscope vision. “Yeah, who’s asking?”

“Well, that don’t matter, do it? All that matters is you’ve been a bit unkind to one of me employees, yeah?” Alfie cracked his knuckles and gripped his cane tightly.

“Don’t know what you’re fuckin’ talking’ about.” The man was too intoxicated to see what sort of danger he was in. It was a shame what gin did to inflate the ego. Alfie had killed a lot of men who were so hopped up on liquid courage that they didn’t turn away when they had the chance. Pesky flies just begging to be smacked down by a biblical force.

“Don’t even know who you are, mate. Where am I?”

“Now why would a man harm his wife?” Alfie looked at his boys. “Any guesses, lads?”

They didn’t respond, knowing their boss was just working up to the finale of caving the man’s face in. It wasn’t wise to interrupt his monologue lest they wanted to join the victim.

“No? I’ve got one.” He raised his right hand as if he’d come to a divine epiphany. “Maybe, right, he’s a fucking lowlife and a drunk who don’t deserve someone like her. What you think, mate?”

“Louise?” Daniel furrowed his eyebrows and his lanky body wavered, trying to stay upright. “You talkin’ ‘bout me wife?”

Alfie didn’t answer. He was on a roll of working himself up, stroking his temper like a feral tiger ready to be unleashed. “Thing is, I like going through me day without having to come across fucking scum of the Earth, like you.” He jabbed his finger at his chest. “I also prefer women not get taking advantage of. You fucking think you're tough, yeah? Picking on a girl half your size. Think it makes you man?”

“Bigger man than you,” Daniel smirked and looked down at the Jewish gangster. “Fucking little man.”

Alfie just chuckled darkly. His associates knew that was the last straw and braced themselves for impact.

“Right…” He passed his cane to his other hand and punched the man with a power that nearly caved his entire face in.

Daniel’s nose made a sickening crack and blood poured down his face. He collapsed to his knees holding his face. “Jus’ tell me where she is, this ain’t any of your fuckin’ business!” His voice was distorted from his broken nose. Dark warmth pooling in his palms, streams slipping out between his fingers and down the front of his hand. Thick blood drops hit the concrete with a sticky sounding plunk.

“It is me fucking business because look where you are. You’re standing in me bakery and ain’t no one gonna hear you scream, mate. You tried to kill my secretary. You dug your own fucking grave, mate, you put yourself here.” Alfie calmly wiped the blood from his knuckles. Blood spatter accenting his sleeves in a violent design. “Next time I hear about you doing something else like this, I’m gonna have me boys bring you back here, to me, and I’m going to fucking break your fucking legs!” His voice lost its frightening restraint. His shout rang loudly through the bakery, frightening a few birds from the rafters. “Yeah? Got it? Get up, and fuck off. Don’t fucking let me catch you doing this again.” Alfie turned and went to walk away. Despite the irritating nature of the man, he assumed his job was done and the message was clear. Although, Alfie had a sliver of hope that his threats didn’t get through Daniel’s thick skull. He decided he would want the pleasure of breaking a few more bones.

He’d get the final laugh anyways.

“Have fun with her then, she’s a fuckin’ whore, she’ll open her legs up for anyone, even a fuckin’ monster like you,” Daniel called out after him and spat at the ground. His saliva clotted with blood.

Alfie stopped in his tracks. His hands curling into fists as his temper hit a peak. He threw his cane with a loud clang against the concrete floor. He walked over to him with the devil shaking beneath him. A storm raged in his ocean colored eyes. He reached into his waistcoat and retrieved a switchblade. It was typically for daily use but Alfie didn’t discriminate against weapons. If it could kill a man, he’d use it.

Daniel gave him a look of confusion when he returned, trying to hold his shirt over his bleeding nose.

“Right,” The gangster dragged Daniel to his feet and slammed him up against a nearby support beam. “Guess what I’m gonna do with this?” Alfie flipped open the blade and held it to the man’s stubble-covered jaw. “I’m gonna do the same thing you did to Miss Barnes. ‘Cept you’re not going to live. I’m sending you straight to fucking hell, you save a spot for me, yeah?” He hissed and thrust the knife into Daniel’s stomach. Dark maroon spread over the man’s white shirt, eliciting a scream from the man with every stab.

After a frenzied vortex of time as Alfie blacked out from rage, the blade broke off in the man’s torso. So he let Daniel fall to the ground. He took out his gun, cocked it, and shot the man between the eyes.

The gunshot echoed through the empty warehouse. Then a quiet settled as if nothing had happened. The night continued on.

Alfie pocketed his gun and dropped the broken blade handle. Blood spattered over his shirt and soaked his arms. Painted with the aftermath of his crime. He sliced himself a bit in the fevered attack but didn’t feel the pain. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and took care of numbing his nerves.

“Right, fucking get it outta here.” He huffed and shook blood off his hands, drops flying against nearby barrels. “Don’t care where you dump it. Then come back and clean up.” He waved the boys off and returned to his office to cleanse himself of sin.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Louise was unaware of her husband’s death. She walked into the bakery and found one of the men mopping up a dark, sticky puddle. Confused, she went to Alfie’s office.

“Come in,” Alfie called after she knocked.

Louise slipped off her coat and hung it up beside his overcoat on the hook. “What spilled outside?” She asked.

“Just some resin, nothing too bad.” He lied through his teeth and continued reading. He should've known she'd pick up on the little things. Minor details like that didn't go over her head, she was as sharp as a whip.

“Oh…” She sat down and took out her diary. His hands appeared in her line of vision and startled her. “What about your hands?”

Fresh bandages covered the cuts on Alfie’s hands. “Splinters.” He muttered.

The answer wasn’t convincing but she didn’t want to pry. That wasn’t her job. “Okay, well-” The telephone interrupted her.

Alfie grumbled incoherently under his breath and picked up the receiver. “’Ello?”

“What did I fucking tell you?”

The voice on the other line was unmistakable. And it was far too early in the morning to listen to Tommy Shelby chewing him out. “Tommy, so good to hear from ya, mate, anything I can do for you?”

“I said I’d give you his name if you didn’t kill him. Now you’re getting sloppy, couldn’t even get the body to the river to dump it?” The Blinder demanded. “Your boys dumped him on the side of the road!”

“No fucking idea what you’re going on about.” Alfie’s eyes flicked up to see Louise patiently waiting across the desk. She had no idea.

“Really? Right, well now you’ve got to tell his widow what happened. And you better tell her the truth, Alfie, of I will.”

“You fucking what?” His fist fell onto the desk making his secretary flinch. He gritted his teeth and restrained himself as best he could for her sake. “You trying to back me into a corner, Tommy boy?”

“She paid us for protection, she didn’t say anything about murdering him.” He retorted, not intimidated by his fierce opposition.

“Had it fucking coming, didn’t he?” Alfie demanded. “Yeah? Don’t think he’s some saint, do ya?”

“Right, I can understand, really, I can. But you need to tell her. You can’t cover this up or the police will start asking her questions. You want to save her the trouble of being a suspect?”

The gangster looked at Louise. She appeared puzzled but not uncomfortable. “Fine.” He forcefully returned the receiver to the hook.

“Everything alright?” She had a sinking feeling in her gut that the call from Mr. Shelby had something to do with her.

Alfie sighed and interlocked his fingers on the desk. “Your husband was found dead.”

Her eyes widened and a hand flew to her mouth. “What?” Her whisper muffled against her palm. “W-when? How?”

“I uh…” He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. There wasn’t any telling what kind of reaction she would have. But he didn’t expect her to see how distraught she was. “He…”

Louise hadn’t seen him so lost for words. The uneasiness on his face was unmistakable. Her jaw dropped in disbelief. The realization and horror spreading over her face. “You didn’t.”

He swallowed and his eyes flicked down to betray his stoic expression. “Louise-”

“Alfie, please tell me you didn’t. Tell me it was someone else.” She begged. The last thing she wanted was for her view of the man to be too utterly distorted to fix it.

He shook his head. “I only meant to rough him up a bit.” He muttered. When had he ever felt shame for committing murder? Maybe his first time but it wore off soon after. He thought he was doing something chivalrous for her. But she was cut from a different cloth.

“I told you.” Her voice shook violently as she glared at him, hints of fear behind her eyes. “I told you to leave it, didn’t I?”

“Yes-”

“I told you to leave in the past. You went behind my back. I didn’t ask you to do this, I didn’t want him dead!” She cried, her voice rising.

Alfie dragged a hand over his face. “I was planning on just breaking his fucking nose-”

“But I didn’t ask you to do even that! How did you even learn who he was?” She demanded.

“If ya just let me finish me fucking sentence, I’ll fucking explain!” He couldn’t help but feed off her angry energy. His temper was always starving for a reason to go off. Even if it was Louise.

“Don’t you dare,” She stood up and leaned over his desk, pressing her palms into the wood. “Don’t you fucking dare yell at me! Not after what you did!”

He pressed back in his leather desk chair. It was the first time he’d ever heard her swear. It affected him more than he realized it possibly could. He clenched his jaw and composed himself. “I’m not trying to yell at you. But I have a reason for what I did.”

“I can’t imagine you have a good enough reason when I explicitly told you not to get into it.” She spat. Her entire body appeared to tremble with anger.

“He fucking wouldn’t shut his fucking mouth!” Alfie matched her volume and heaved himself up out of his chair.

“And you’re so good at that?” She retorted. “You can’t do whatever you want, you don’t make up the rules. The world doesn’t bow down to Alfie Solomons!” She shouted.

“He called you a whore!” He slammed his fist down on the desk making it quiver. “I ain’t fucking apologizing for giving him exactly what he deserved!”

Louise flinched but didn’t back away from him. “I can’t believe you. I thought you were different, but people were right about. You’re heartless.” Tears formed in her eyes.

Alfie tensed up and his heart froze over. He wanted to inform her that he cared so deeply about her and would do anything for her because he knew she deserved it.

“I can’t even look at you.” She turned and roughly wiped her tears away with the sleeves of her blouse.

“Louise!” He called after her but didn’t follow after she slammed the door to his office shut. “Fuck.” He mumbled and collapsed back into his chair.

Cyril whimpered softly from his bed. The dog’s sagging cheeks resting on his front paws, his sad eyes looking up at his master.

Alfie put his head in his hands, tugging at his hair out of frustration. “She’ll be the death of me.” He grumbled to his dog. “Mark me words.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Louise showed up at work the next day. Her face was plastered over, stuck in a stony expression. She wore a black dress as if to drive the blade further into Alfie’s chest. She didn’t ignore him; everything had to do with business though. Her voice was dull and emotionless. She wouldn’t show him any weakness.

It crushed Alfie far more than he expected. Once the day finished, he was worn out even though he hadn’t gotten much work done. He was too preoccupied with Louise’s behavior. He wondered if he could ever make it up to her or ever have her the way he wished he could. Smiling and happy on his arm. Making him seem like a better man than he really was. Heartless. She couldn’t love a man who was heartless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello?”

“Tommy, it’s Alfie.” The gangster boss muttered. It was about eight at night and had begun to rain. Alfie didn’t want to return home, he was afraid that without any distractions he would drive himself mad.

“Something you need?” The Shelby asked curiously.

“I want you to come pick up the money you gave me, the half of Louise’s inheritance.”

Tommy went quiet. He knew it had to have something with Alfie murdering Daniel. “You should give it to her if you really don’t want it, eh?”

“Doubt she’d take it from me. Fucking hates me guts now, don’t she?” Alfie’s hand tightened around the receiver of the phone.

“Just add it to her paycheck then.” He suggested. “I don’t want to take it.” The man didn’t think it was right to take more money from the woman.

Alfie grunted. “I fucked up, Tom.” His voice lost some of its usual sternness.

“I know.” He wasn’t going to sugar coat it. “Can’t take it back now though.”

“She’ll hate me. Thinks I’m this soulless thing. Fucking evil of the Earth, exactly what everyone else thinks.” It was a rare thing for Alfie to let his outer shell crack. But he knew Tommy had been in love and could sympathize even a little bit.

“You could try to right it. Can’t buy yourself out of it though like everything else,” He warned. “Woman can see right through that, especially women like her.”

Alfie rested his elbow on his desk, putting his head in his hand. “She’s got my bollocks in a vice, she does. Haven’t even told her what I feel for her but she’s fucking got me wrapped ‘round her pinky like I was nothing but a toy.”

Tommy was a little surprised he was being so honest. It showed the most humanity he’d ever seen in Alfie and it made him downright uncomfortable. “Well, you can figure it out, right? You know her better than me.”

“Don’t know.” Alfie lifted his head and scratched the nape of his neck. “Still…you won’t take the money?”

“No. You’ll find something to do with it if she doesn’t accept it.”

“Don’t want the fucking money.”

He wanted her.

~~~~~~~~~~

That same night, rain spattered against the windowpane. Alfie had finally gone home. He sat in the parlor, trying to read. But he’d been stuck on the same paragraph for a while. His brain couldn’t absorb the information so he kept rereading.

A banging on the door interrupted the struggle of his thoughts. Alfie set his book aside and heard Evelyn trotting down the stairs.

“S’alright, Evelyn, I’ve got it.” He didn’t want the girl opening the door so late at night. He walked to the door and opened it.

Louise was standing on the front step, looking like a wet cat. The rain had soaked right through her dress, her curls limp and sticking to her face. It was impossible to distinguish the raindrops from the tears on her cheeks.

Her lower lip quivered. “Can I come in?”

Alfie nodded. “’Course.” He said quietly and let her in. “Why’re you out there without a fucking coat?” He asked.

She shook her head but didn’t answer.

“Evelyn, get some towels, yeah?” He called up to the girl.

“Yes, Mr. Solomons!” She replied.

He led Louise to the parlor where flames blazed in the fireplace. He let her warm up a bit while Evelyn came downstairs with a heap of fluffy towels.

“Miss Barnes, you look freezing!” She gasped and quickly helped the woman wrap up in the towels.

“Thank you, Evelyn.” She said, her voice cracking.

“That’s all, Lyn,” Alfie said steadily.

The girl looked worried, not sure why Louise was there in such a state but left the parlor on his orders.

Louise stood stock still near the fire aside from brief shivers wracking her body.

Alfie backed up and sat down on one of the couches. He wasn’t sure what to say to her after their argument and subsequent coldness between them that day. He leaned forward, his hands clasped between his wide spread knees.

She used one of the towels to do her best to dry her hair. “I’m sorry, I’m intruding so late.” Her voice finally came out in an ashamed tremble. The fire lit up her hazel eyes, glowing flecks of amber hidden in the irises.

“S’not a problem.” He mumbled. “There a reason you’re here?” He didn’t want to sound cold, but he wanted to get down to the bottom of it. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to argue with her again. It hurt too much last time despite fully engaging in it without hesitation.

She sucked in her lower lip, tugging on it between her teeth. “I have to apologize for how I treated you today and yesterday.” Her eyes were on his, holding sincerity.

“You don’t need to apologize, yeah? Your emotions are your emotions, can’t change that.”

“The truth is I’m not really angry with you. I don’t know what I’m really angry at.” She lowered the towel and folded it over her arm. Her chilled body slowly warming up beside the fire. “You don’t know what I went through with Daniel.”

“You could tell me, yeah, if that would help.” He offered. “I’m all ears. I’m not angry and I’m sorry ‘bout all that yesterday. Weren’t fair for me to yell at you after what I did.”

“No, I know.” She hugged herself close, keeping the soft towel around her shoulders. “I uh…I guess I should start from the beginning.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Alfie patted the couch beside him so she would sit down.

“I’m still damp.”

“Don’t matter, it’ll dry, s’just water.”

She nodded and walked over to sit on the couch. She kept her distance though, afraid he was still upset with her despite what he’d said. “My parents wanted me to marry this man that we’d known for a while, a family friend’s son. He was wealthy, Oxford graduate, with very good manners. But when I was with him...I felt like I was nothing but a little toy to tote around the events. He’d show me off and then act like I was just emotionless or nothing but a shell of a person.”

Alfie furrowed his eyebrows and let out a grunt with a frown. He could get that impression from a lot of wealthy men.

“I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with him, and if I married him that’s what I would have to put up with. My parents would look down on me if I tried for a divorce.” She reached up to brush her damp hair away from her face. Then she used the towel around her shoulders to try to dry her curls again. “I met Daniel, he was a driver for another family we knew. He swept me off my feet and I felt so excited knowing that there was something else to life. He’d take me out dancing and drinking. I felt like I was free. My parents hated him but I didn’t care. I eloped with him after six months. It was all right for a bit. He could never hold a job so I had to work too. I sold some jewelry, anything to keep us afloat. We had to move to Birmingham. But I was too stupid to see how things were changing. I thought he was just a down on his luck boy that would turn into my prince in shining armor. My parents would see that he was perfect for me.” She laughed bitterly. “I was such a daft teenager.”

Alfie pursed his lips. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t her fault and that most teenagers were daft. He certainly wasn’t a wise and orderly chap. He could imagine her parents would disapprove of him as well. The teenager with an unstable temper, a penchant for stealing, and the gift of riling up police officers.

“I guess a year or so into the marriage I couldn’t ignore everything. He rarely kept a job longer than a week. He’d take my earnings and go off.” She waved a hand in the air disgust pricking at her eyes. “Gambling, drinking, having an affair, I never knew. Kept me away from the people I loved most. Often told me that no one would care for me the way he did.”

Cyril padded into the room after pestering Evelyn for a treat. He went over to Louise, resting his droopy face on her knees. She smiled faintly at him and began stroking his ears. The motion kept her grounded as she recounted her history.

“After a while, he started asking why I wasn’t getting pregnant. He wouldn’t let it go and blamed me. He just kept going on about how I was damaged and worthless.” Louise’s voice caught her throat. Her late husband’s voice echoed in her mind, ranting and raving about how she wasn’t a woman if she couldn’t get pregnant. “Said I was only good for fucking.” A tear escaped down her cheek.

Alfie’s jaw clenched as he took out a handkerchief and offered it to her. Part of him was beside himself that a woman would be told such things. The other half of him wished he had the ability to raise people from the dead so he could kill Daniel again and again.

Since he didn’t say anything, Louise continued, unaware of his seething beneath the surface. “I got so sick of it. One day, I challenged him. I said maybe he was the infertile one, not me.” A cloud covered her face as the vivid memory resurfaced. Standing in the dark kitchen, Daniel stinking of gin, look of rage burning his face red as the fateful words left her mouth. “That’s when he first hit me.” Her eyes focused on Cyril to keep her composure. The memory kept playing because she knew Daniel didn’t just hit her. She remembered the brutal force against her cheek as he grabbed her by the back of the neck and slammed her down into the kitchen table.

Her breathing became shallower as she scratched behind Cyril’s ears. The bullmastiff could sense something was troubling her so he leaned his body weight against her legs. The pressure was comforting and allowed Louise to pull herself out of her own memories and return to the present.

Alfie stood stock still beside her. Everything twisted around in his stomach; his heart lunging against his ribs, Louise’s past haunted him. If only he’d known. If only he’d been there. He would put an end to it immediately so she would never see abuse. So she wouldn’t have to wake up every morning with the scars etched into her bones. He knew what it was like to open his eyes and all the traumatic memories flooding through like sunlight. Every time he wished he could wake up without remembering. It was torture enough to have gone through it. But the lingering effects were salt in the wound.

“I kept threatening to leave but I never did.” Louise began talking again once she composed herself enough. “I was scared he would kill me. There wasn’t any way I could back to my parents either. I know they loved me so much but I defied them every step of the way and ruined my life. I never got the chance to amend. They were killed in an accident.”

She revealed what she’d kept from him on a professional standing. And Alfie wasn’t sure how Louise had managed to be there, sitting next to him. It was as if life kept hurling rocks at her but she continued to get up every time. “Lou…”

“Alfie, I won’t thank you for what you did.” She looked up from Cyril, her hazel eyes still blazing in the firelight. “But, I can’t judge you for it. I can forgive you.”

“Dunno if you should.” He muttered back and reached back to run his fingers through the back of his hair. “I didn’t fucking listen to you like I should’ve…”

“I thought about killing him.” Her voice came out in a choked gasp as if someone had been choking her but finally let her breathe again. It was something she’d kept to herself. No one around her could understand. But if anyone could it would be the man who had killed Daniel.

Alfie blinked and almost asked if he’d heard her right. But there was no mistaking the words.

Her eyes were hard as she nodded shakily, sensing his disbelief. “And not just like… ‘Oh, I wish he’d disappear’. No, I uh…I thought about taking a pillow and just-” She pressed her hands down on her thighs to mimic smothering someone. “But I wasn’t strong enough. So I looked for other ways out.” She looked down again in shame. She was delving into her darkest thoughts, shining a light on them. Everything looked so ugly when illuminated.

The man beside her could think of many ways to dispatch of Daniel but he didn’t want to make her feel worse. Women like her didn’t need to hear the details of how he got rid of problems.

“If I tried to kill him…he’d kill me. If I succeeded in killing him, I’d probably be hanged. So…” She twisted her fingers together, stray raindrops slipping between her palms. “I figured the easiest way would be to end my own life.” Louise couldn’t help but let out a small sob. She couldn’t contain it. The act of speaking those words was too painful but she felt a burdened eased off her.

“Lou...” Alfie shifted a bit closer to her. He wasn’t the best at comforting people. Usually, he was the reason people needed comforting.

“I know it sounds so silly. There are people who have it far worse than I-”

“Louise.” He interrupted her sternly. “That’s ‘nough of that. Fuck the world, yeah, you have the right to feel how you like. World’s not a contest of who has it fucking worse.” He clasped his hands together. “You’re the one who went through it, not anyone else.”

She sniffled and looked up at him. Her lashes were glossed over with tears. The very vision a painter conjured when depicting the grief of a woman. The weight of the world pressing down on her and continuing to cut pieces away from her. God always took from the ones with the best intentions. Alfie felt like he deserved his misfortunes. He personally carved out the hollowness inside him. Every action he took justified another stab to the gut. But Louise was like him. She didn’t choose to do what he did. She never fought back like him. She complacently took the pain, only dreaming of a way of out it. Alfie indulged in the sin and misery. For a brief moment, he felt full. Having a man’s life in his hand, soaking in the fear of others, adorned in jewels, and passing along high amounts of money. But it never lasted.

Louise lasted.

“You’re safe now, yeah, won’t let anyone hurt you. But if you ever feel like that again, you tell me, yeah?” He wouldn’t take suicide lightly. He’d seen men in the war ready to end the suffering. Some men who made it home were unable to cope. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Louise made that decision. “You don’t have to tell me. You could tell Evelyn, Ollie, fucking call up Tommy Shelby if ya need to. But promise me,” He held her gaze to ensure she knew how serious he was. “Promise you won’t keep it to yourself. Because you don’t need to.”

Louise wiped at her eyes and nodded. “I will.” She whispered weakly.

Alfie nodded. “Right, good. Need you around.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. The wording had come out a little desperately, much more than he intended.

“Mean, who else could be my secretary?” He hurried to cover up any hints of affection towards her. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. She didn’t want him. “I mean, fucking hell, I can actually read your writing. Ollie’s was just chicken scratch, wasn’t it?”

It drew a smile from Louise. A sunbeam breaking through the clouds. “I’m sure it’s just fine. You’re too hard on him.”

“Nah, you’ve got great penmanship. Lovely, innit? Like art it is.” He praised her to bring out her smile even more.

“Who thought penmanship would be so coveted in a gangster’s world?” She sighed and shook her head. It was something she had to come to terms with. Alfie Solomons was a gangster. She worked for a gangster. “I mean I don’t know my way around a gun to save my life.”

He chuckled. “Business ain’t all blood. Keeping books, now that’s crucial. ‘Sides, I could teach you how to shoot.” He offered. “To protect yourself.”

Louise made a face. “I will respectfully decline.” She reached down. “I have this for protection.”

Alfie was startled as she hiked her skirt up to her knee. If that wasn’t surprising enough, she unsheathed a knife from a thigh holster.

“Fucking hell, do you always have that?” His eyes were wide and she allowed him to examine the knife.

“After I left the hospital I started carrying it.” She admitted sheepishly. Every time she put on the holster she felt unlike herself. She wasn’t shielded in the bubble of her upbringing anymore though.

“’S’good, keep it.” He gave it back to her, taking care of the sharp blade. “No one in Camden will touch you though.”

She bent down to return the knife to its holster. “What do you mean?”

“You’re under my protection.” He straightened up and rolled up the sleeves of his loose fitting shirt. “Anyone who knows what’s good for them will steer clear.”

Something pinched in Louise’s stomach. He was threatening the entire Camden Town area. Letting out the news that anyone who harmed her would end up like her late husband. It was startling and comforting. Something strange to behold. She bit the tip of her tongue but couldn’t stop herself. “That’s why you left him on the street? To send a message?” Her voice warped around the unfamiliar phrase.

He grunted and tugged at his beard. “What I do, all my misdeeds, yeah, you don’t have to hear. I won’t involve you in nothing, never intended to. But you want me to be honest, then I will.”

Louise smoothed her damp skirt down and crossed her ankles. “I want you to be honest.”

He nodded slowly, almost in a dazed state. He stared ahead at the fire that was starting to lose its power. “Your husband was the last man to lay his hands on you.” His voice was full of conviction. Anyone who tried to defy that would meet a gruesome fate. But Louise didn’t need to know the details. “Anyone who lays a hand on you in Birmingham will have the Peaky Blinders on them. And I’ll fucking admit I wouldn’t want those fucking animals after me. Had that happen before and can’t have that happening again. Nicer when we have an understanding.”

Louise didn’t want to linger on the fate of foolish men. “So…how many other…families are around?” She had no idea about underground criminal syndicates. She wasn’t even sure her parents knew.

“Depends on where you are. You got the Italians, Sabini. Got a few more in Camden, allies with them though. They know I run the Town.” He said a bit cockily. “Fuck there’s a gang of all women and I swear they’ve got she-devils in them. Wouldn’t cross them.”

It was funny to hear the brutal man talk about people he personally wouldn’t cross. “I thought you were the tough one around here.” She tilted her head to the side. She couldn’t imagine there was someone as ruthless as Alfie.

“Well, don’t think they’d cross me without good reason.” He rested an arm across the back of the couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “It’s about balance, can’t have one bloke have all the power. You can’t go ‘round killing everyone or you’ll have their mates coming after you. Everything’s calculated. It’s not a manner of who’s deadlier, it’s ‘bout who’s smarter, cunning, yeah?”

The woman was starting to become a little nauseous at the idea. They were all walking a razor-thin rope. One misstep could kill them. She swallowed and gathered herself. “Well, it’s late. I ought to get home.” Her voice rambled out hurriedly.

“You could stay the night. It don’t matter.” He offered and stood up.

“No, I’ve pestered you long enough.” She said and cleared her throat.

The rain was still pelting like bullets against the windows. It was pitch black and hard to see past a foot ahead.

“Shouldn’t walk home in this.” Alfie shook his head. “Just stay the night, I’ll drive you in the morning if it’s still pouring.”

“No, Alfie, thank you.” She patted Cyril’s head and went for the door. The cold rain wasn’t pleasant but she still needed to process a few things about it all.

“Louise, just the night. S’fucking awful out there, don’t want ya to catch your death.” His blue eyes pled quietly.

She sighed and nodded. “Okay, just tonight.”

“Evelyn?” Alfie called up to the girl again. “Would you make up the spare room for Miss Barnes?”

“Of course, Mr. Solomons, Louise, can I draw you a bath?” The girl appeared at the staircase landing.

��No, thank you, Evelyn.” She smiled. When the girl disappeared, Louise turned to him. “Thank you for speaking with me.” She said quietly. “But, Alfie, I just want you to know that this won’t be easy for me. I will still work for you but you can imagine my…apprehension.” She didn’t want to mention her husband. She’d given him more than enough grief for that and felt like she didn’t have a leg to stand on when she realized how little she mourned the loss. But she wouldn’t become like Alfie. “I just…I wanted to apologize for yesterday and what I said. You’re not heartless. A heartless man wouldn’t let me in and listen.”

He gazed at her, feeling more than conflicted. While he knew he could have compassion, he wasn’t sure if she still wasn’t seeing him in the correct light.

“I think I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” Her lips pursed and she tugged at her dress sleeve. “You promised to protect me. But my trust is very small for anyone these days. I’m sure you could understand that.”

He nodded stiffly. “Very well…I know that very well.” She was to be trusted though, even if it was blind trust. Blindly trusting her because she was something so treasured in his eyes. The key to a damaged and hellish man’s heart. Foolish.

“Well, goodnight then.” She said and touched his arm, her fingertips grazing over the white sleeve.

Alfie stood at the base of the staircase, watching her ascend. He put his hands in his pockets as if to hide the residual blood on his hands. All the blood from every man he’d finished off. Every heart he stopped from beating. Every last breath he’d snatched out of the air. Something Louise would never understand and never see as virtuous.

He could never be virtuous for her. But he longed to have her anyway.

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

#alfie solomons #alfie solomonsxoc #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky fookin blinders #fanfiction #ofc #oc #tom hardy #tom hardy character

135 notes · View notes

twistedrunes · 5 years

Text

George - Chapter 26

A Peaky Blinders Fanfiction

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800808

Hello Friends!

It’s been an embarrassingly long time since I updated this fic (or written anything really) but finally, here it is. Thank you to all of you for being patient. To those of you who have sent encouraging messages, commented or reblogged, know that these acts of kindness have not gone unnoticed. Thank you.

This chapter would probably still be unfinished if not for originallaura, who left a comment on each and every chapter on AO3. Their enthusiasm brought some of my own back. So thank you.

I hope you all enjoy the chapter and would love to hear what you think.

Until next time - Twistedrunes xox

Chapter Twenty-six: Of Gold and Lead

This is a series. If you’re new here welcome! I would recommend you start at the beginning: Chapter One More chapters of George are available on the Masterlist Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. All original work is my own.

Summary: The tension is Small Heath is palpable and everyone is on edge. Anna included. In the lead up to Tommy's meeting with Gold and Anna's meeting with Changretta things between Anna and Arthur come to a-head.

Note: This chapter includes parts of series four verbatim. I always wanted to explore how Anna would deal with the events between Tommy and Aberama in Charlie’s yard. Also, I haven’t seen series five yet so this is spoiler-free

Warnings: language, angst, racial slurs (as per canon), revisited trauma, mild anxiety

You knock soundly on Arthur’s front door, the sound reverberating down the empty street. Bouncing off the dirty glass and filthy masonry. Echoing, it sounds ominous, you can almost feel the people shrink back from their doors and windows. No-one’s out in Small Heath, it’s as if the place itself is holding its breath, waiting. As your knock fades the silence closes in heavily. You raise your hand to knock again.

Linda opens the door, fatigue heavy in the bags under her eyes. You wonder how long it’s been since she slept. Her eyes widen as she realises it’s you, and she attempts, too late, to close the door in your face. You stop the door easily and step inside, closing and locking it behind you. She cowers away from you. “No, please, don’t hurt him,” she begs.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” You assure her. “Which is a good thing, because if I had you’d all be dead now. You can’t open the door without checking who it is.”

Linda takes a deep shuddering breath, she looks up at you with tear-filled eyes but nods in agreement. “I just, I hoped,” she pauses. “He needs his brothers.”

You nod in acknowledgement but don’t allow her to derail you from your task. “Where is he?”

“In the sitting room. Why didn’t Tommy tell him?” She says accusatorily.

“Part of the plan.”

“Oh the plan,” Linda says sarcastically. “The plan that includes Arthur killing Changretta? With that stupid fucking bullet. Is that why you’re here? Sent by Tommy to tell Arthur it’s time. Or is it something else stupid and dangerous?” She spits the words at you, bringing the full might of her anger against you. For a moment you capture a glimpse of the street preacher; righteousness and moral indignation giving her power. “Never does handle the dirty work himself. It used to be John and Arthur and now it seems it’s you. With Arthur not even worthy of a fuckin’ audience.” Linda’s voice gets louder with each statement, her eyes blazing.

You resist the urge to snap back at her and take a breath before telling her calmly. “Tommy didn’t send me. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Then why?” Linda’s venom does not abate.

“I’m here for the bullet.” You say plainly.

Linda steps back, bumping into the hall table, she sinks against it with one hand over her mouth and the other supporting her, all the fight draining from her. She gathers herself quickly and reaches out and squeezes your arm “Thank you.” She hurries, dragging you, along the hall to the sitting room. “I’ll make some tea.” She says opening the door.

The smell of alcohol and sweat nearly knock you back. Arthur sits in the chair by the fire, bottle of whiskey in one hand, cigar in the other. Bruises blooming from his fight with Tommy, blood dried to rust on his shirtfront. His eyes are closed and he’s mumbling something to himself. You take the timber chair from beside the door, setting it in front of him. He doesn’t register your presence until you reach out and touch his knee lightly. His hand, still holding the bottle of whiskey, reaches for the holster no longer on his shoulders. Whiskey pours down his front.

“Fuck” Arthur grunts flatly.

“Arthur,” you touch his knee again.

He opens one eye, it seems to swim for a moment in its socket before fixing on your face. “Not here,” he grunts. “Not in front of Linda, the baby’s asleep upstairs.”

You sigh “I’m not here to hurt you, Arthur. I understand. You were protecting Tommy, the whole family. You did the right thing.”

“Never wanted to hurt you,” Arthur says, shoulders hunched and voice soft.

It breaks your heart to see Arthur this way. “I know Arthur,” you say softly closing your hand around his.

“Just tryin’ to protect, everyone,” He mumbles, his eye closing.

You scoot forward in the chair taking his shoulders in your hands, shaking him slightly. “Arthur! You need to pull yourself together.”

Arthur’s eyes open’s slightly “What for ‘ey? You an’ Tommy got it all worked out.” He waves his hand broadly towards the window, managing to spill even more whiskey on himself. You take the bottle from his hand and set it beside your chair. Arthur isn’t finished. “Just fuckin’ put a bullet in my head and be done with it, ey? Take me out to some muddy fuckin’ field and do what the fuckin’ Germans couldn’t. Better for everyone.”

“Tommy needs you today, with the Gold’s,”

“He doesn’t need me. You’ll be watching, up in the gables, watching over us all. Like a fuckin’ guardian angel.” He says bitterly. You can’t help it, you laugh. Arthur looks at you incensed. “What?”

“Fuckin’ hell Arthur, no one’s ever called me an angel,”

“True. Nothing but trouble,” Arthur agrees gruffly, but there’s a gentleness to it now.

“Yeah, I am. Got a nose for it apparently.” You tease. Arthur gives a quiet huff of a laugh, but it’s over quickly and he falls quiet again, hunching forward with his elbows on his knees looking intently into the fire.

You copy his posture, bringing your head close to his. “Tommy needs you, Arthur. I need you.” Arthur huffs and hangs his head, turning his gaze to the floor. “From up in the loft I won’t be able to read what’s happening. I’ll be too far away. You’re like me Arthur, you can sense trouble before it starts.” You pause for a moment, waiting, hoping for a response. Arthur gives you nothing so you push on. “Tommy’s good at the thinking and planning, but you’re the one who can sense things, see when something is out of place. You understand the Gypsy stuff, what the rules are, what things mean.”

Arthur shakes his head slowly, “I’m redundant, no longer needed.”

“Fuck Arthur!” You embrace his neck, hand squeezing the back of his neck. “I need you. I fuckin’ need you to look after them when I’m gone,” you tell him in a hoarse whisper.

Arthur sits up abruptly, jerking out of your grip “Gone? What the fuck do you mean gone?” He demands.

“To London, I’m leaving as soon as the deal is done. I need you with Tommy. Keep an eye on him. Finn and the others too. The Gold’s need to see a united front. They need to see that the family are still together, still strong.”

“You meeting Changretta?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah,”

“I’ll come with you. Fucking finish this once and for all.” Arthur declares.

“No, Arthur, you’re needed here.”

Arthur’s eyes blaze, then narrow and harden. “I’ll put the bullet in fucking Changretta’s skull, right between his fucking eyes. Won’t need the fucking Gold’s then will we?”

“Fuck! Arthur, you won’t get within a hundred yards of him before his men will have killed you. That’s why I’m here, give me the bullet.”

“Give you the bullet?” Arthur stands angrily, looming over you. “What do you know about the fucking bullet ‘ey? It’s tradition. It’s about fucking blood. A Shelby has to do it. I have to do it!”

“He won’t expect it from me.” You try to explain.

“You think he’ll be fooled by you when you’re all moony-eyed over Tommy?”

“You were,” you snap.

Arthur turns away from you angrily, ignoring your comment he continues. “The bullet is my responsibility, fucking Tommy knows that. But he sends you to fucking collect it!” Arthur slams his hand on the side table.

“He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?” He demands as he turns on you.

“Tommy wants to give it to Aberama! Fuck!” You shout back. For a long minute, the two of you stand facing each other, both breathing heavily. You lean against the chair you had been sitting in, dropping your head. “He’s scared Arthur.”

From behind you, Linda speaks quietly. “Please Arthur,”

Arthur shakes his head ignoring his wife and looks at you. “You’re not a Shelby. Even if my brother is putting his dick in you.” Arthur says coldly. “You’re just doing his bidding like the rest of us.”

“I’m not doing this for Tommy,” You say quietly. “None of the times I’ve fought for the Shelby’s have been for him.”

“Fuck off,” Arthur snorts derisively.

“Especially not in the beginning.” You insist. “It’s always been about all of you. You’re the closest thing to a family I’ve ever had, and it was you, John and Finn who made me feel that way. With Tommy, things have always been complicated, and messy, and never fucking easy. But with the three of you, I always felt like I belonged.”

Arthur ignores you, retrieving his bottle from next to the chair.

“You’ve always been there for me Arthur. Fuck you even gave me some of your precious Shelby blood!”

Arthur takes a long swig from the bottle. “Didn’t know you knew about that,”

“Finn told me.”

“That fuckin’ kid,”

“He’s not a kid anymore,” you say automatically. “He told me what you said too,” You push on defiantly. Arthur’s brow furrows as he tries to remember. “He said that after, you said that with that much blood, I was a Shelby.” You pause for a moment. “Telling fortunes in no time.” You remind him.

Arthur stands silently, bottle hanging at his side. His face is sombre, his eyes close.

“And since then I’ve always considered you my family.” You push on boldly, deciding there was no point in backing out now. “So I came for the bullet, to keep you safe, to honour your tradition. Because I can’t tell fortunes Arthur, but I can shoot a gun. I can shoot a gun and it’s a bullet that will end Changretta, whether his name is on it or not.”

Arthur turns his back, heading for a new bottle of whiskey. “No.” It’s a statement of finality.

Defeated you head for the door. Linda is praying quietly, she reaches out for you as you pass but you shake your head. “Lock the door behind me, ‘eh.” You instruct as you pass by.

In the kitchen of Tommy’s Watery Lane house, you find a moment of inexplicable calm. You’re seated at the table, helping Charlie with his breakfast while Tommy, Polly, Mary, and the lawyer meet in the front room. Charlie, still in his pyjamas, had insisted on sitting in your lap, scrambling up eagerly as soon as the two of you had finished preparing the toast and tea. You reach around him picking up a piece of toast and spreading it with some butter and jam.

“Come on, eat up.” You tell him, putting the slice onto the plate in front of him and bringing his glass of milk within his reach.

“Thank you, Anna.” Charlie says happily. “I like it when you come for breakfast.”

There’s a pleasant ache in your chest with his words. “Me too,” you tell him, pressing your face lightly against his hair, almost a kiss. For a moment you just breathe, taking in the smell of Charlie’s hair and enjoying his warmth in your lap, your eyes close, and just for a second everything else falls away.

“Anna?” Charlie asks wiggling in your lap so he can look up at you.

“Mm?” You hum, barely opening your eyes.

“Are you going to have some breakfast too?” He asks, pointing at the untouched slices of toast in the rack.

Smiling you meet his eye. “Yes, thank you for reminding me, Charlie.” You remove a slice from the rack, spread some butter on it and take a bite.

Charlie’s head drops to the side, eyes wide and full of innocence “Nice?” he asks.

“Lovely.” You agree. “Now you eat yours.” You nod towards his plate.

Muffled voices from the hall draw your attention and moments later the kitchen door opens and Polly walks in. She smiles at you, but her face is pale and drawn.

“How is he?” You ask, as Polly kisses the top of Charlie’s head before her arm wraps around your shoulders. You move in the chair so you can wrap your arm around her waist.

Polly’s hand squeezes your shoulder as she straightens. “He should be home within the week.” She breathes as if she barely dares say the words aloud.

“He’s strong and young, he’ll be up and about before you know it.” You tell her reassuringly.

Polly takes a deep breath letting it out slowly, blinking rapidly and wiping her fingertips under her eyes before looking down on you again. “You be careful; this can’t be like the Russians.” She tells you sternly. “No unnecessary risks, it’s dangerous.” She nods towards Charlie meaningfully.

“Yes, Pol.” You agree. Polly's eyes return to yours holding them sternly. “I promise” You add quickly. Polly nods seemingly placated by whatever she saw in your eyes.

“Excuse me, Miss Hunter?” Mary’s quiet voice says from the doorway.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to do some shopping; can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Mrs Gray?” Mary turns her attention to Polly.

“No, thank you.” Pol replies.

Mary nods and moves out of the doorway, replaced by Tommy.

“I’ll be off then.” Polly says, running her hand over Charlie’s hair.

“I’ll see you in a few days.” You tell her.

As she gets to the door, Tommy steps inside. Polly pauses, raising her hand and pointing at you. “Careful.”

“Yes Pol.” You agree.

Pol arches her eyebrows and steps into the hall.

“Back in a moment,” Tommy says, before following his Aunt.

You can hear Tommy farewell Polly, before the heavy door closes and the key clicks in the lock. He’s back in the kitchen in moments. He kisses the top of Charlie’s head and then yours too.

“Tea?” You ask him.

“I’ll do it,” Tommy replies setting out two cups and pouring.

“We made you toast, daddy. It’s not even a little bit burnt.” Charlie says proudly, pointing at the toast rack.

“Excellent,” Tommy says, placing your tea in front of you and taking the chair next to you and helping himself to a piece of toast.

No one speaks while Tommy butters his toast and adds a spoonful of marmalade. He takes a bite and chews it carefully. “Perfect,” He tells Charlie, ruffling his hair with his free hand before settling it on the back of your chair, rubbing his thumb against your shoulder. “You alright?” He asks brow furrowed slightly as he focuses on your face.

You force a smile “Yeah,” Tommy frowns and raises an eyebrow. “I stopped to see Arthur. It wasn’t a good idea.” Tommy kisses his teeth. You lay your hand on his thigh, “He’s hurt,”

“I’ll talk to him.” Tommy says as his hand glides over your shoulder and his fingertips caress the skin of your neck. Your muscles relax a little and your head tilts towards him. Tommy’s thumb rubs along your jaw. “Which train are you getting?” Tommy asks you, before taking another bite of his toast.

“I was thinking the two o’clock, do you think we’ll be finished by then?”

Tommy nods and swallows his mouthful of toast “Should be.”

“Where are you going?” Charlie asks.

“London.” You reply.

“No.” Charlie says clearly and loudly.

“Charlie,” Tommy admonishes his son’s outburst.

“No,” Charlie repeats, louder this time, his face screwing up crossly.

You try a gentler approach “It’s only for a day or two.”

“No!” Charlie yells, his face crumpling as tears threaten. “You can’t go.” Tears spill onto his cheeks as he slaps your arm.

“Charlie!” Tommy snaps.

Charlie ignores him turning around in your lap and pummels his fists against your chest. “Don’t go.” He wails, the tears follow close behind.

You wrap your arms around Charlie, and pull him against you. His pounding stops instantly and his arms pull into his chest. Hugging him and rubbing his back, you can feel his heart pounding. You look over his head at Tommy for some kind of answer. He shrugs in confusion. “I have to go, darling. I’ll be back before you know it.” You coo soothingly. He continues to cry.

Tommy shuffles his chair closer and strokes the back of his sons head tenderly. Charlie turns his head just enough to see his father “Tell her she can’t go daddy.” He begs.

“Anna’ll be back soon,” Tommy says reassuringly, brushing Charlie’s hair back off his face.

“As soon as I get back I’ll come and see you.” You echo.

Charlie shakes his head furiously “No, the bad men will get you. Daddy told Aunt Linda that the bad men want to kill the whole family.” His eyes are wide with fear.

Tommy’s eyes close, and his head drops slightly, “Charlie,” Tommy begins with a sigh.

“You DID! I heard you,” Charlie interrupts him. ‘And Aunt Polly told Anna to be careful because it’s dangerous.”

“Fuck,” Tommy breathes, rubbing his hand over his face and then through his hair.

“Well, Charlie,” you take over from Tommy who seems at a loss “I’m not a Shelby, I’m not part of the family. So the bad men aren’t trying to hurt me. I’m going to London so they go away and don’t hurt anyone.”

“Are you sure they won’t hurt you?” Charlie tilts his tear-stained face back, forehead creased with worry. A dark expression crosses Tommy’s face and his jaw flexes as his hand tightens on the back of the chair.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Promise.” You assure Charlie, taking his cheeks in your hands. You kiss his forehead and then his cheeks. “There, that’s better.” You pull him back to your chest and embrace him.

Charlie snuggles into you and Tommy leans over, wrapping you and Charlie in his arms. He kisses your temple tenderly. You allow yourself to lean into him. “Come on, let’s finish breakfast ‘ey,” Tommy instructs quietly. You and Tommy release Charlie enough that he can go back to his toast. Tommy keeps his arm around your shoulders. It remains when Mary returns from her shopping and Tommy asks her to take Charlie to change into his clothes for the day. You hold Charlie tight and kiss his him again promising again to be back as soon as you can.

“Fuck,” Tommy says quietly as Mary closes the door behind her.

You lean into him again, resting your head against his shoulder “Yeah.”

Tommy turns in his chair facing you, his forehead pressing against yours. You press your lips to his. Tommy’s hands snake around your waist pulling you closer, with a slight grunt he pulls you onto his lap. Greedily you wrap your arms around his neck, your palms gliding over the shorn hair on the back of his head.

“I should go,” you murmur as your lips eventually part. Tommy’s begin to ghost over the skin of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against the sensitive skin. Reluctantly you push against his shoulders. “The boys will start turning up for the guns soon, and I still need to change.”

Tommy’s hand rises to your face, fingers stroking your jaw as he guides your face to his. This kiss is gentle and slow, both of you breathing the other in deeply, eyes locked.

Tommy says nothing and kisses you again. Eventually, you pull out of his grasp and stand. Hand in hand he walks you to the door. There Tommy’s hands come to your hips and he pulls you close, lips ghosting against yours. “Be careful,” he insists.

“You too.”

Nestled high up above Charlie’s yard, hidden amongst the hay and grain stores you rub your hands together in an attempt to warm them. The cold gunmetal beginning to burn the skin of your ungloved fingers. From your vantage point you’d watched Mr Gold, Bonnie and their pair of muscled men, like dogs at their heel, from the moment they arrived. They had strutted around with an arrogance and disrespect which curled your lip in disgust.

Gold stops by Charlie and Johnny who are preparing the birds for lunch. He compliments Charlie on his yard and asks how much he wants for it. The sharp intake of breath behind you a reminder that Curley was here with you. You take a deep breath, inhaling slowly through your nose as you bring the gun to your shoulder. With Charlie’s refusal the Gold’s and their henchmen move on. Mr Gold makes his offer again loudly as he approaches Tommy and Arthur.

“Nothing you see here is for sale, Mr. Gold.” Tommy’s voice is clear across heavy silence of the yard.

“Oh, everything is for sale.” Mr Gold shoots back cockily. “Everything.”

You fix the sight on Gold, watching him for the slightest hint of treachery.

“We’re going to spin a coin for your yard, Charlie.” Tommy says casually.

“What?” Charlie’s incensed cry cracks out across the otherwise silent yard.

“No,” Curley’s softer cry behind you.

Ignoring the urge to comfort Curley you keep still and focused on Gold.

Tommy speaks, quietly and calmly. “If it’s heads, Abbie here takes all of this with my blessing. If it’s tails,” Tommy turns his gaze to Mr Gold, pausing for a moment to ensure he has Gold’s complete attention. “I fuck your daughter, Mr Gold.”

Gold swallows hard, the only sign Tommy’s offer has affected him. Bonnie, however, is less experienced in not showing his hand and the colour quickly drains from his face. Arthur laughs, it’s jarring, hard and hollow. He has cleaned up well, posture menacing and eyes like a hawk on the proceedings before him. The knot in your stomach loosens a little, thankful that Arthur was here, present and focused on the task at hand.

“Esmerelda,” Tommy continues, his voice as cold as the metal in your hand, “she’s the eldest and the prettiest. I’ll have her.”

You feel the words more than hear them. You knew they were coming, yet still ice prickles through your veins as your heart and body freeze. Unable to draw a breath you feel panic threatening to overwhelm you. You swallow hard, trying to quell the bile burning your throat. Memories pluck at the edges of your perception, threatening to overwhelm you. Your father’s voice taking Tommy’s words and echoing them, over and over until they make no sense. Stopping you from thinking, stopping you from focusing on what’s in front of you. A large warm hand settles in the middle of your back, stroking you rhythmically, drawing you back from the edge.

“Hush now, it’s alright. Just words to upset Mr Gold aren’t they? Don’t mean nothing.” Curley’s deep, slow voice is like a blanket, wrapping around you and keeping you together.

Taking a long slow deep breath you allow your eyes to close. Mentally you push the memories aside. Looking over at Curley, you give him a little nod. “I’m right now Curley, thank you.”

Curley nods in return and stands from where he is kneeling next to you, moving so he is behind you again.

You return your attention to the scene in front of you. Arthur and then Tommy speak again, threat heavy in their tone. Gold hesitates in replying to Tommy, balancing the coin, and his daughter on his thumb. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your finger slides off the guard and onto the trigger as silence spreads over the yard.

The long moment draws on and on as Tommy and Gold stare each other down.

“No wager today,” Gold says smoothly, holding up the coin. Relief washes over you but your focus is immediately sharpened by the thinly veiled threat that follows. “I’ll keep this coin to buy a flower for your grave when the time comes.”

Tommy doesn’t flinch, “And before that time, please, don’t again disrespect my friends, or their valued property.” Gold gives a slow blink, but Tommy doesn’t give him time to respond further. “We’ve missed Christmas, let’s have it now.”

It’s the signal you’d agreed with Tommy. It was over.

Setting the gun aside you stand up. “That’s it, Curley, we’re done now.”

Curley ducks his head to look out the small window, you do the same. You watch Arthur guide the Gold’s to a long makeshift table, where Mr Gold accepts a tumbler of amber liquid from Charlie. Gold holds the glass aloft; he’s facing away from you so you can’t hear what he says but you clearly hear the laughter at the end.

“I don’t trust him George, I don’t trust him at all.”

“Neither do I, Curley.” The pair of you watch the scene below for a few moments more. You place your hand on Curley’s shoulder. “Come on, we’ve both got jobs to do. Let’s leave them to do theirs.”

Once Curley is gone, you pack up the gun and sling it over your shoulder. At the top of the ladder, you look out over the yard a final time. It all looks so deceptively tranquil. Men sitting around talking, drinking and laughing. You notice Arthur isn’t with them. Your eyes sweep the yard, anxiety tightening your chest again. As you look the murmur of the assembled men seems to coalesce into one voice, “I’ll fuck your daughter.” You feel hot tears running down your cheeks but do nothing to stop them. The chant repeats over and over in your head. You give a small sob of relief when the church bells ring out the hour over the yard, drowning out the men’s voices and reminding you, you need to get moving.

You scramble down the ladder. In your haste, you miss a lower rung and land heavily on the rammed earth. Lying there the low hum of the men’s voices join together again “your daughter.” Clambering to your feet you scramble out the back of the barn. You feel yourself beginning to spiral, wondering how often Mr Gold had been so casual about his daughters’ safety. If Tommy had ever considered, or worse suggested, taking someone’s daughter to settle a bet before. You feel woozy and stop, leaning one hand on the barn to try to steady yourself concentrating on your breathing. Despite your best efforts the scene replays in your mind. Tommy’s cold words ringing in your head “I’ll fuck your daughter.” All at once you heave, toast and tea splashing on the ground at your feet. You gag and spit as you try to gather yourself.

“Fuck! What’s wrong?” Arthur’s voice is hushed but strained.

“Nothing,” You wave him away without looking at him.

“Anna,” Arthur begins. You turn on him eyes blazing. “Fuck, I mean George.” Arthur corrects himself quickly, holding his hands up.

You turn away again with another heave, groaning as you wipe your mouth on your jacket sleeve.

“He didn’t mean it,” Arthur says quietly, his hand gripping your shoulder from behind.

You don’t have the energy to shrug his hand off. “Why aren’t you with him?” You grunt, still looking at the ground.

“I wanted to talk to you before you left,”

“Fuck! It’s not the time.” You groan still not facing him and leaning heavily on the barn.

“Fuck! It never fuckin’ is, is it?”

You wince at his outburst and turn to face him. “No, always seems to be something doesn’t it.” You say softly.

“I was wrong to doubt you.” Arthur says.

“You were right to doubt me.” You tell him firmly, finally looking up at his face.

“I should have known you wouldn’t betray us. Fuck, you’ve been protecting this family from the moment we first ran into you. John and those fuckin’ birds.” Arthur says, interrupting himself, and smiling for a moment. “Hardly fuckin’ knew us, every reason not to trust us, to just ignore what was happening. But you didn’t and you saved my Linda.”

You shake your head “I would have done it either way. Seems I spend my life dealing with men who hurt women.”

A flash of pain crosses Arthur’s face, “Tommy, he didn’t mean it. She’s promised you see,”

“I know.” You interrupt him, not wanting to let that cloud your mind again. “Arthur I need to go, the train.”

“Yeah, just a minute. I wanted to give you this.” He says pulling a bullet out of his waistcoat pocket. “ Thought you might need it while you’re gone.” He spins it in his fingers idly. “Finn was right. That’s why I lost it last night. The thought you betrayed us was like it had been Finn or John. It broke my heart. So here,” He holds out the bullet, between two fingers, towards you.

Wrapping your hand around his fingers you take the bullet. “Thank you, Arthur. You won’t regret it.”

“I know,” Arthur says.

You nod “You better get back,” you suggest softly.

“In a minute, there’s something else,”

You want to argue but the look on Arthur’s face makes you hold it back.

“You and Tommy,” he begins

You rub your hand over your face, “Fuck, Arthur,”

“Just fuckin’ listen for a minute.” Arthur rakes his fingers through his hair and his eyes closed for a moment when they open they fix on yours, his pain clear. “You said I see things, things that Tommy can’t. I think maybe I can see things you can’t ‘ey?” It softens you, and you nod for him to continue. “You and Tommy, it’s a good thing.”

You sigh, “I don’t even know what we are,”

Arthur holds up his hand to stop you. “Doesn’t matter. The way he looks at you,”

His words sting, all the more painful coming from him. “Yeah, like Grace. I’ve been told.” You reply bitterly.

“No.” Arthur shakes his head. “Not like, Grace. He looked at her like she could save him.”

“I know Arthur! He doesn’t look at me like that, I know!” Suddenly all your insecurities about Tommy, come rushing to the surface. Hot tears sting your eyes and your lip trembles.

Arthur embraces you with such force it the air is pushed from your lungs. Trapping your arms between you he holds the back of your head in his hand, holding you against him. He keeps you there until you relax into him. He takes your face in his hands and looks you dead in the eye. “No love, when he looks at you he looks like he wants to save himself.”

You’d hoped for a carriage alone, but there were none available, the train busy with people travelling for the holidays. You had chosen a carriage with an older couple, both of whom were sleeping. As the train speeds through the countryside, the rhythm matches that in your head “I’ll fuck your daughter. I’ll have her.” The landscape flies past the window and you aren’t able to focus on anything and the words get louder.

“Would you like a slice of Christmas cake love?” The woman’s voice cut’s through the noise. You start, looking around you to see a woman, holding out a slice on a napkin.

Before you can politely decline the man speaks, his voice is warm and gentle with humour “It’s delicious, best cook in the three counties my wife.”

The woman blushes, her smile bringing a youthful glow to her features as she leans towards you conspiratorially, sliding the piece of cake onto the table in front of you. “I won first place at the county fair thirty years ago and still he goes on.” She smiles fondly “There were only three competitors!”

“Thank you,” you say accepting the piece, still feeling slightly dazed. You take a small bite from the corner of the slice. It is very good. You smile and nod to the man. “That is delicious,” you agree, taking a larger bite.

“See.” The man says with a satisfied grunt as he takes a large mouthful of his own slice. “What’s your name love?”

You swallow quickly, “Anna, it’s lovely to meet you Mr,” you pause.

“Ogden, Harry and Rose Ogden.” The man replies “Lovely to meet you too.”

“Would you like some cordial, dear?” The woman asks.

“Um,” you mumble around a mouthful of cake.

“Elderberry,” the woman explains “he makes it, it’s the best in the three counties.” She finishes with a chuckle.

You grin “Well then, how could I refuse Mrs Ogden?”

The woman pulls three small, plain tumblers from the basket and uncorks a bottle. Once the first glass reaches halfway the man places his hand over hers. “Hold on Rose, gotta add my secret ingredient.” The woman pushes the glass toward the man. “Right then,” he says pulling a flask from the inside of his jacket “just a splash, brings out the flavour.” He says filling the remainder of the glass. He repeats the process twice before pushing a glass towards you. “Merry Christmas.” He says raising his glass.

“Happy New Year,” You reply bringing your glass to his, the three of you clinking glasses. You take a small mouthful, humming again at the beautiful flavour, you lift your glass towards the man and give him a little wink “Delicious.”

“My, what a beautiful ring.” The woman says as you set your glass on the table. “From your sweetheart?”

Her question catches you off guard, a wave of emotions threatens to crash over you. Closing your eyes you take a deep breath, opening them when you hear the sound of liquid being poured.

“No need for cordial this time,” Mr Ogden says filling your glass with straight gin.

“Thank you,” you take a sip of the drink and hold the glass in your hand. You clear your throat “Sorry. It was from someone I cared a lot about, he had this made for me. His Uncle, he’s like family to me, I’m going to see him now, gave it to me after he died.”

“The war?” Mrs Ogden asks, as her husband places his hand over hers, squeezing it lightly.

You pause again unsure what to say. How do you explain you had lost both the men you loved?

“Not him, but someone else to the war,” Mr Ogden says quietly, it’s not a question somehow he just knows.

You nod, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Sorry.” You say looking away embarrassed.

“No need to apologise, love. The whole thing was a terrible waste, absolutely no reason to any of it.” Mr Ogden tells you, reaching out and squeezing your forearm gently. Mrs Ogden hands you a napkin.

“You lost someone too?” You ask quietly.

Mr Ogden nods, “Our only son. We are Quakers, so we are pacifists, but he wanted to serve, he was training to be a barber so he joined the medical core as an orderly.”

“My George was a stretcher-bearer.”

The three of you fall into silence. All of you allowing it to stretch out for a while, Mr Ogden takes his wife’s hand, his thumb caressing it gently. Finally, Mr Ogden speaks. “Well enough of that for now.”

Mrs Ogden nods, “You heading to London?” She asks brightly.

“Yes,”

“Thought as much,” Mr Ogden says, “not nearly enough Brum in that accent for you to be a native. I’d bet you’re from the East End.”

“Yeah.” You reply before draining your glass.

“So going home then?” Mrs Ogden asks.

You pause for a moment, considering your answer. “No. Birmingham’s home.”

As always I look forward to your thoughts, comments, questions and suggestions. I’ll see you all again for the next chapter.

More chapters of George are available on the George Masterlist

Interested in my other work? Find them on my MASTERLIST

Want to be tagged in future chapters? GO HERE

@20th-centu-fairy-girl @badbitsh13 @blinderboys @booktvmoviefangirl @cassiopeia-barrow @collecting-stories @emzd34 @genizepelim @hardygal69 @hismissharley13 @its-a-metaphor-for-communism @julietswildchild @justiceforjohn @juuliaa-gooliaa @kthido @mafaldaz @marvelismylifffe @medievalfangirl @peachyblinderss @peakymarvel @peakysxshelby @porcelainjokersmadness @protanata @serpentregalia @sleepyingenue @smitten-may @thakkarkrushi99 @thelightsideoflife @thewallpapergoesorido @treeny2001 @unicorn-glitter-princess @weeo @whorinnn @whyskeysour @chaospossum @the-library-of-raz

#George #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader

78 notes · View notes

paleandmoonstruck · 5 years

Text

Half-Sick of Shadows CH 2

The next chapter is up! You can go read it on AO3 here. I’ll be properly updating/keeping you guys posted on this blog from now on, so stay on the look out for snippets and the like. As well, if it would so please you, you can leave little prompts in my ask box and I’ll write you a drabble from the universe of this fic! See you soon! <3

“I just think that maybe working in the Peaky Blinders’ pub is a bit too much for you,” Alice fretted, wringing her hands as Lucy slipped into her shoes.

Rolling her eyes, Lucy turned to face her. “And what do you mean by that?”

“You’re a bloody trouble magnet!” Alice said, “I swear you can’t walk two feet down the road without bumping into something you shouldn’t.”

“I’m a big girl,” Lucy said, tugging on her hat. “I can take care of myself around these kinds of people. You know that. And need I remind you who suggested I apply there?”

“You know full well I meant Kelly’s,” Alice hissed. This was true. What Lucy wouldn’t give for someone to have snapped a photograph at the exact moment when she informed Alice that she had been employed at the Garrison. Her face had lost all colour, jaw practically hitting the floor. “How was I supposed to know that the Blinders were looking for staff as well?”

“What’s done is done. I’ll be fine, provided I’m not late like I will be if we continue this conversation. Then they might cut my fingers off.”

Alice lifted her hand to her forehead, sighing rather dramatically as she went to flop down in the armchair. “You’ll be the death of me, Lucy Frasier, you will.”

“See you tonight,” Lucy trilled, stepping out onto the street. The walk was long enough to be pleasant, but short enough not to feel like a trip. She wore her same blue coat, but earned fewer stares. Something warm settled in her chest; a nice familiarity. It made her strides more purposeful, lifted her chin.

The Garrison was empty when she entered, despite the door being open. She locked it behind her according to Arthur’s instructions. Making for the back room, she shrugged off her coat. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a sharp “shh!”

“Hello?” Lucy whispered, whipping her head around the back room. A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. A small girl crawled out from beneath the desk, face and hands streaked with dust and dirt.

Unsure how to respond, Lucy stared down at the girl. She looked to be around ten, and was staring up at Lucy with an equal amount of bafflement. She, however, was not at a loss for words, “Miss Charity?”

Blinking, Lucy snapped out of it. “No, my name is Lucy Frasier. Is that who’s watching you?”

“I wish,” the little girl said. “I’ll I’ve got is Katie, who’s a right pain. That’s fine, though. I’m playing hide-and-seek with her, and she’ll never find me.”

“Right,” Lucy said slowly, “and who might you be?”

Sticking her hand out like a prim and proper young lady, she ducked her head in greeting. “Georgina Shelby, Miss Frasier. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

She mispronounced ‘acquaintance’, and Lucy felt a small bubble of affection rise in her chest. Shaking her hand, she offered Georgina a bright grin. “And I yours, Miss Shelby.”

Then she realized exactly what the girl had said. “Shelby? Like the Shelbys who own this pub?”

“Yep. It’s my Uncle Arthur’s pub, but everyone knows that Uncle Tommy is the one who really owns everything,” she said matter-of-factly. A shadow passed over her face, and she narrowed her little eyes, “if everyone knows, then why don’t you?"

Despite herself, Lucy couldn’t help the relief blooming in her gut at the words ‘Uncle Tommy’. “I’m not from Birmingham,” she said. “I’ve just arrived to live with a friend. I’m working here as a barmaid and a singer.”

Georgina nodded, understanding glowing in her eyes. “So you’re here to replace Miss Burgess?”

“I suppose so,” Lucy said, utterly confused but not unhappy. Setting her hat on the coat rack, she offered Georgina a hand, “why don’t we get you cleaned up, and you can help me set up in here if you want to hide from Katie?”

Tommy Shelby had never felt uncomfortable entering the Garrison before.

This is ridiculous, he thought, standing outside the door of his own bloody pub like an idiot. He reached into his jacket pocket, thumb tracing the worn gilded letters of the book that lay there. He was loath to part with it, but it had never been his.

Pulling off his cap as he walked through the front door, he sped up as he took in the sight of Georgina talking Lucy’s ear off. He had no idea how she had snuck in here; Esme was going to have a heart attack.

“What are you doing here, Georgie?” he said by way of greeting.

Spinning around in her seat, Georgina’s face lit up, “Uncle Tom!”

He allowed her to fling herself at him, meeting Lucy’s gaze over her head. A soft grin was tugging at the corner of her mouth, her eyes warm.

He had the random urge to crack a joke, just to broaden her smile, and force her dimple to appear.

Instead, he pulled away from Georgina, leaning against the polished wood of the bar. “I see you’ve met our Georgie. I hope she hasn’t been too much trouble.”

“She’s a delight,” Lucy said, voice utterly sincere. God, did he love her accent.

Georgina peeked up from where she had burrowed into his chest, “isn’t she wonderful? And so beautiful? I thought she was Miss Charity at first!”

He regarded her suspiciously. Georgina never acted so stereotypically childlike unless she had an ulterior motive. “Very wonderful, Georgie. Now where’s Arthur? Tell him I’ll watch the pub for a bit so he can bring you home.”

The soft puppy-dog look in Georgina’s eyes died immediately. “I don’t want to go home.”

He sighed, bracing himself for a negotiation session. A true Shelby, Georgina never did something for nothing.

“Say,” Lucy said, just a little too pointedly to be off-hand, “you remember that princess you were telling me about? With the flowers in her braid?”

Flipping to face Lucy, Georgina narrowed her eyes at her. “Princess Lyra?”

Shrugging, Lucy leaned over the bar to get closer to the eight-year-old. “If you go home with your uncle, I’ll drop by on my next day off and teach you how to braid your hair the same way.”

For a moment, Georgina looked as though she was considering getting that in writing. Instead, she held out a small hand for Lucy to shake, “sounds like a deal.”

There was the grin. As Lucy curled her fingers around Georgina’s, her lips curved into a dazzling crooked smile, revealing the dimple in the hollow of her left cheek. For the briefest of moments, Tommy’s breath caught in his chest.

You’re an idiot, he thought, tapping Georgina on the shoulders. “Alright, deal struck. Go get Arthur.”

As soon as Georgina scampered off towards the back room, Lucy arched an eyebrow at him, “who is Miss Charity?”

“One of those newspaper cartoons,” he said. “She’s a debutante, supposed to teach young girls lessons in etiquette. Georgie’s obsessed with her. She wants to be the next queen.”

Her smile grew mischievous, “I am exceedingly well-mannered.”

He couldn’t help shooting her a disbelieving look, “from what I remember of you, you’re far from a lady.”

For the briefest of moments, the air in the room seemed to still. He cursed himself. The memory of her flashed across his mind: their fingers interlaced, the soft curve of her waist, the faint taste of champagne that had clung to her mouth.

Her eyes narrowed, then she rearranged her posture. Spine straightening as though she wore a corset, her limbs gained a fluid, airy quality. She composed her face into a perfect mask of neutrality, settling on one of the bar stools with all the grace of a duchess. “My grandmother was very big on etiquette,” she murmured, offering him the small smile permitted to proper ladies. He preferred her grin.

He grabbed a cigarette, striking a match as he lifted it to his lips. This was interesting information, it could be of use. “Full of surprises, I see,” he said, turning his attention to the burning in his lungs.

She dropped the charade, propping her head up on her fist. “I’ve got plenty of hidden talents.”

Was she really looking at him like that, or was he imagining it? Either way, he needed to change the subject before he did something inadvisable. He reached into his pocket, pulling out her book of Tennyson and laying it on the bar.

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. She paused, lifting up her head and flicking her gaze back and forth between the book and his face. Her hands shook as she reached for it, picking it up off the bar like it was something holy. He watched her fingers trace the letters of the title, and when she looked back up at him he could’ve sworn there were tears in her eyes. “You kept it?”

“It brought me comfort,” he said, coming to stand rather abruptly. Picking up a glass and a bottle of gin, he gestured towards the snug. “I’ll be in there, if you need me. Pleasure to see you again.”

So he left, cigarette still trailing smoke in his hand. She would have asked for explanations he didn’t have. This was for the best.

“You motherfucker!”

Lucy’s head snapped up, already coming around the corner of the bar to break up whatever was about to happen. Two men stood in the half of the room closest to the door, barely two fists apart.

One was slightly taller, with slicked-back blond hair and a wicked scar across his cheek. His bone structure was both fine and sharp, like someone had decided to fashion a knife into a man. He was exactly the kind of person she’d cross the street to avoid.

The other was no more comforting. His dark hair was cut short on the sides in the modern fashion, a peaked flat-cap clutched in one hand. He was a Blinder, and he was currently punching the blond man in the face.

She winced. The Blinder looked strong, built broad and muscular. By the time she made it three paces they were exchanging blows, and the door to the snug was billowing open.

Something about the idea of Tommy watching made her a little braver. She stomped across the shining floors of the pub — floors she had just scrubbed this morning — and wedged herself between the men, planting a hand on each of their chests. “Hey — Hey! Stop it!”

The men came to a pause, panting heavily. The blond glared down at her. “I’d move, if you don’t want that face of yours to get a lot less pretty.”

“Shut the fuck up and save it for someone who cares,” she spat. Something warm and wet splashed against her neck, and she realized the Blinder behind her was bleeding. Turning to examine his face, she found bright green eyes trained on her. He was somewhere between fury and curiosity, and she couldn’t help but shiver beneath the intensity of it. His eyebrow was split, dripping blood down his cheek.

“This fucking cunt just stuck his hand up my friend’s skirt,” he said, nodding towards a young woman who was cringing away from them both.

“I don’t care if he tried to kiss the fucking queen,” Lucy said. “If you have something you’d like to sort out with fists, by all means take it outside. But keep it out of my pub.”

Before she knew what was happening, the blond had reached out and wrapped his hands around her neck. For a heartbeat she was frozen, brought back to a different day, a different set of fingers curled around her throat.

She slammed her fist into his nose.

He reared back, bellowing as his hands flew up to his face. Blood hit the polished wood, and he stumbled away from her, reaching for his coat. “You fucking bitch!”

The Blinder called out to him, “this isn’t fucking over, McCreedy!”

Lucy stepped away, desperate to shake off the claustrophobic feeling that surrounded her. She looked at the young woman ‘McCreedy’ had grabbed. “Are you okay?”

Lifting her timid gaze, she spoke with a strong French accent, “quite alright, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Lucy asked, switching to French, “I’ll get you a drink for your nerves, on the house.”

The girl’s face softened, relief blooming across her features. “Merci beaucoup.”

Turning back to the Blinder, she tugged on his wrist, picking up his half-glass of whiskey. “Come with me, you idiot.”

He followed her obediently to the bar, and she pretended not to notice Tommy making his own way over. She tugged the handkerchief out of the Blinder’s pocket, dumping his whiskey on it. “Stay still,” she instructed, reaching up to clean out the cut on his eyebrow.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said dryly. “The name’s Gideon, by the way.”

“Lucienne,” she murmured, focused on the split. “But English folk call me Lucy.”

“We’ve heard of you,” he said, trying his best to gesture back to his table without moving. “Arthur Shelby’s been telling everyone who’ll listen about the pretty new face he’s hired.”

She hummed noncommittally, trying to ignore the burning feeling of Tommy’s gaze on her neck. The skin there still throbbed, and she redoubled her focus on Gideon’s cut. Snapping open the first-aid kit she had made up, she used a clean pair of scissors to cut a butterfly bandage. She lined up the layers of skin with careful precision, sticking the bandage solidly in the middle of the wound.

“There,” she murmured, “shouldn’t even scar.”

He grinned, “much obliged. Now, I’ve heard you’re a singer. How true is that?”

“Depends on the day,” she said, turning to her first-aid supplies to avoid eye-contact.

“We’re musicians, my friends and I,” he said, grabbing her hand. She stiffened at the sudden contact, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You should perform with us, we come in here with our instruments sometimes.”

Sighing, she turned to look at him. His eyes were bright, face like a kid on Christmas day. She offered him a small smile. “We’ll see.”

“Let me walk you home.”

Tommy’s voice floated across the empty bar. The cleaning was finished for the night, and Lucy was about ready to lock up.

She tossed the idea around in her head. Did she want to prolong her time in Tommy’s presence? Undeniably. Despite herself, every moment where they were in the same room felt important and precious. She couldn’t go longer than a few minutes without flicking her gaze over to him.

But this was a different time; a different place. Whatever had been between them in France had disappeared, and there was no use trying to fool themselves into thinking otherwise.

“It’s fine,” she assured him, shrugging on her coat.

His eyes caught on the bright blue of it. She watched him swallow, eyes flicking over her with a look she couldn’t quite place. “After this evening? Please, for my own peace of mind.”

“Okay,” she murmured, something wondrous and strange unfurling in her gut as he offered her his arm.

The walk was quiet. She supposed neither of them knew what to say. It was like one of Alice’s terrible romance novels come to life in the most terrible way. Their steps were aligned, every thump of their feet beating in perfect time with one another. She wanted to bottle the sound for later and write a song.

A cry of pain tore through the night buzz, shaking her from her thoughts. They stopped dead, and Lucy cast her gaze up at Tommy. He was already reaching for the gun at his waist, shifting to curl himself closer to her. Another loud cry echoed from the alley they had just passed, followed by a whimper of pain.

Without thinking, she peeled herself out of Tommy’s arms and sprinted towards the shadows. Someone was hurt. Her mind raced, fingers already reaching for the first-aid kit in her bag. She heard Tommy curse behind her; the sound of his feet following hers.

A girl leaned against the alley wall, head tipped back in pain. She clutched her abdomen. Blood stained the gray concrete.

Lucy approached slowly, speaking soft, “what’s happened?”

The girl turned, and Lucy saw that she wasn’t bleeding from anywhere on her torso. She was young, maybe sixteen. “I got pregnant,” the girl whimpered, eyes wide and wild with pain.

“And then what?” Lucy coaxed, crossing the alley to come to her side.

“My man went and left me. I had to go and get the baby handled.”

“Tabarnak,” Lucy cursed. She turned to Tommy, who had his gun pulled out and a strange look on his face. “She’s dying. I need to help her.”

“You can bring her to Watery Lane,” he said. “It’s closer than the Garrison at this point.”

She nodded, turning back to the girl. “Can you walk? I can help you, but I need to get you somewhere safe and clean first.”

The girl nodded, and as Tommy rushed them along, Lucy asked for her name.

“Angeline.”

“Very French,” Lucy mused.

“My mum read it in a book once. It means ‘angel’. Guess I’m not an angel anymore though, am I?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Thou shalt not kill. One of the imp —” Angeline cut herself off with a cry of pain, and Lucy shifted to take more of her weight. By the time they reached the front door of Watery Lane, she was practically dragging her across the sidewalk.

Tommy nearly flung open the door, sidestepping out of the way to allow Lucy some room. She placed Angeline on the floor with little grace, already scrambling for her bag. She heard a cacaphony of voices from a nearby room, but her entire world had narrowed to what was in front of her.

She worked methodically, cleaning her hands with Dakin solution and snapping on a pair of gloves. “Angeline, what did the abortionist use?”

“A knitting needle.”

Lifting up Angeline’s skirts, Lucy gently removed her bloody undergarments. “Jésus et tous ses saints.” It was likely an internal bleed; something she was not authorized to — or capable of — fixing.

Swishing black fabric entered her line of sight, and Lucy looked up to see an imposing older woman standing above her. “Who are you?”

Lucy took off her hat, laying it to the side.“Miss Lucienne Frasier. A pleasure. Do you have any red raspberry leaf tea, perchance?”

The woman blinked at her. “You’d like some tea?"

“Not for me. For Angeline. It’ll slow her bleeding, hopefully.”

“Right,” the woman said, nodding and turning on heel.

Lucy refocused. Angeline was crying, body shaking against the hardwood. Shushing her, Lucy rubbed gentle circles on the back of her hand. “It’ll be alright, ma chouette. I need to know, how far along were you?”

“Six weeks, I reckon,” Angeline choked out. “I wanted to keep it, at first. Had names picked out and everything.”

Lucy kept talking even as her mind raced, “what were the names?”

She was bleeding somewhere Lucy couldn’t stitch without cutting her open. She needed to clean the wound and stop the bleeding. Angeline hadn’t been far along enough to need anything removed. Any embryo or the bare beginnings of a fetus would have been swept out before Lucy had stumbled upon her.

“If it was a girl, I would’ve named her Elizabeth Jane, after my mum and my aunt. She could’ve been Eliza, for short. If it was a boy, it would’ve been James Henry, after my brothers. They died in the War, over in France.”

“Those are beautiful names,” Lucy murmured, racking her brain. She needed to stop the bleeding, but not by closing the wound. The next best thing would be pressure, she supposed, but how could she apply pressure to an internal wound?

“You’re a nurse, are ye?” Angelina asked, “were you in France?”

An idea struck Lucy. Slapping on a pair of gloves, she tore open her bag for her roll of bandages, beginning to wrap it into a ball. She answered Angeline’s question absentmindedly, “I was.”

“Was it horrible? The dying and all?”

“A moment,” Lucy said, pouring Dakin solution on a smaller wad of cotton gauze. “I”m going to use this to clean the wound. It will feel very, very strange, but you have to trust me. Keep talking to me, alright?”

For a brief moment, Lucy came back to where she was. Tommy was on the other side of the room, standing with the older woman from before. They were next to one another, but both staring at her. She was still in her coat and shoes, kneeled before a stranger’s gentials on the floor of a near-stranger’s entryway.

“Right,” she said, turning back to Angeline. “France was horrible, I suppose, but not in the way you’re imagining. You get used to everything eventually.” She tied her soaked gauze to a thin metal rod she’d typically use to set a broken bone. Inserting it as smoothly and quickly as possible, she focused on cleaning where her approximation of the wound was.

“The first few times a man dies underneath your hands, it’s awful. There’s a moment, you know, where you can feel it. It’s like when the string of a kite snaps. There’s so much movement, and energy, and then suddenly there’s nothing; you’re left holding a bit of loose thread. And you want to snatch at the kite — get it back, somehow — but it’s already so far away. But the first time I had a patient die on me, and I felt nothing? Nothing worse. I felt like a monster. That’s what was horrible about France. It did something to people; took away their humanity. We were packs of beasts hurling lead at each other and crawling back a few kilometres to lick at our wounds.”

The rod came out soaked in blood, but it sizzled against the Dakin solution. This was working.

“What was the worst thing you ever saw?” Angeline asked.

Balling up more clean gauze, Lucy had to stop and think about that one. “I once held a toddler as he died,” she whispered, her voice nearly echoing in the dead-silent room. She kept cleaning the wound. There was resistance at the cervix, but whatever the abortionist had done to enlarge it originally was still holding true. Voice shaky, Lucy kept going with her story.

“He was a civilian casualty. Covered in massive burns. The skin was peeling off of him, almost down to the bone. I couldn’t do anything but ease the pain.” She tried to keep her movements smooth and slow, her fingers flexing jerkily. “He was so tiny. Malnourished, probably. I took him out of the tents, away from the noise and stink. And I held a globe of ether to his face, and sang until he died.”

The older woman spoke from behind her, “what did you sing to him?”

Lucy turned to peer over her shoulder, the woman standing there with a pot of tea and tin mug. “An old Jacobite song,” she answered. “Something my grandmother would sing as a lullaby. I suppose to me, it’s a promise.”

“Of what?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Protection. The song was written about Bonny Prince Charlie. For me, it means ‘I will keep you safe, even at my own peril.’”

Angeline closed her eyes. “Will you sing it?”

Lucy stiffened. She had sung the same song for Tommy. He would remember that. What would he think of it? How could she explain the strange sense of connection she had felt for him since the beginning?

But Angeline looked so small. So tired. And Tommy wasn’t dumb. She had already tipped her hand by describing the song. Might as well thoroughly fuck herself over. So as she tended to Angeline, she began to sing:

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

’Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Loud the winds howl,

Loud the waves roar,

Thunderclaps rend the air.

Baffled, our foes stand by the shore;

Follow, they will not dare.

Tommy had drawn in a sharp breath behind her, but she just kept working. The cotton was coming back less and less red.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Though the waves leap,

Soft shall ye sleep;

Ocean’s a royal bed.

Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep

Watch by your weary head.

She gestured for the older woman to approach, still singing. Angeline looked as though she might fall asleep, and though she hated to disturb her, she needed to drink her tea. Flipping around, she lifted Angeline’s head into her lap, lowering the mug to her lips.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Many’s the lad, fought on that day

Well the Claymore could wield.

When the night came, silently lay

Death, on Culloden’s field.

Angeline drained the cup, and Lucy gently shifted out from beneath her head. Balling up yet more gauze, she tied it with medical string, measuring it against her fist. Hopefully it was small enough to fit, but large enough to actually apply pressure. Cutting the song off for a moment, she forewarned Angeline, “this is going to be very, very painful.”

Angling the rod, she wished for the umpteenth time that she had proper equipment. With careful hands, she began to stuff Angeline with the gauze.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Burnt are our homes;

Exile and death.

Scatter the loyal men.

Yet ‘ere the sword, cool in its sheath,

Charlie will come again.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Through it all, Angeline cried and bit her palm. Lucy desperately wanted to cry too. Her chest was too tight, her head light. Instead, she kept at it, reaching up to hold Angeline’s free hand. By the time the song was over, the gauze had gone where it needed to. The string still hung out, leaving the ability to remove and replace it.

“Shhh, mon gentil ange,” Lucy murmured, drawing Angeline back into her lap. “It’s over now. You did such a good job.”

Crying into her legs, Angeline choked out a response, “do you think I’ll go to Hell?”

“What, for getting an abortion?”

Angeline nodded, her small frame shaking.

“I don’t know if you’ll go to Hell or not. Though — and I’m not much for church anymore, but —if I remember correctly, that’s what repenting’s for? God knows that we are but weak mortals, prone to sin, and all that. And I have to say, if you've decided you're going to Hell, ma chérie, it should be over something a little more exciting than making sure your eventual child doesn't grow up in poverty, shame, and suffering.”

After a beat of silence, the older woman spoke up, “do you have anyone you can call for, sweetheart? Someone should stay with you.”

“Me mum. She lives on the other side of the cut.”

“Right,” the woman said. “I’ll take her address, and I’ll get one of the boys to take you there in the car. Miss Frasier, would you like to take a seat? Tommy will you get you something to drink, I’m sure you’re in need of it.”

Stripping off her gloves, Lucy reached for her notebook. “I’ll take your address too, mon ange. I’ll come visit you in the morning and redo your gauze. You should stay in bed until I give you the clear to move about.”

Copying down the street and number of her apartment, Lucy supposed she would need Alice’s help to find it. She made to stand, but found that her legs gave out beneath her. She nearly fell, a strong arm wrapping around her waist to steady her.

Looking up, she saw Tommy standing there with a glass of whiskey. “Careful,” he murmured, leading her to a small couch.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass and knocking it back greedily. The burn centred her, brought her back to where she was. Warmth bloomed in her chest, though whether it was procured by the alcohol or the way Tommy was looking at her was up for debate.

He leaned towards her, and despite herself she rested her head on his shoulder. He was solid beneath her, unwavering. It brought her an indescribable comfort. His voice was soft, “you just can’t help yourself when you see someone in need, can you?”

“You should be grateful for it,” she said, “it’s what kept you alive in France.”

“And here I thought I was just that charming,” he said, smiling into her hair.

She snorted, “you wish.”

“You mean you weren’t overcome with the desire to save me after glancing at my beautiful, sleeping face?”

“Oh, of course.”

Someone cleared their throat, and they tore themselves away from each other to see that same older woman. “I thought I’d introduce myself,” she said dryly, “my name is Elizabeth Gray, but you may call me Polly. Lucienne, is it?”

“Please, call me Lucy.”

“Right. So, how exactly did you come into the acquaintance of my nephew?”

Suddenly, Lucy realized that this was the ‘Aunt Pol’ she’d heard so much of. “I met him in France,” she said softly, scrambled brain desperately trying to gauge how she should be acting in order to win the woman’s approval. “I was a nurse. He was dying. I fought to be allowed to try and save his life. He stayed with me for a time, in recovery.”

Polly seemed to weigh this, dark eyes glinting in the low light. “So we owe you a debt.”

“No,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “It was my job, and my pleasure. I’m in Arthur’s employ now, too, so consider any perceived debt repaid.”

“Then you have my gratitude,” Polly said. “Feel free to stay here for the night, we’ll send a message along to your home.”

Lucy accepted the offer, giving Polly Alice’s address. She was swept upstairs, given an old dressing gown, and settled into a guest room. Lying in the dark, she stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Her mind raced, with thoughts of Angeline, thoughts of France, thoughts of Tommy.

Like the act of thinking his name somehow summoned him, she heard a gentle knock on the door and a slow creak as the man himself slipped into her room. “Are you alright?”

Sitting up, she gathered the blankets around her bare shoulders. “I suppose so.”

“I couldn’t be sure, and I knew you wouldn’t say anything in front of Aunt Pol,” he said, settling on the foot of the bed.

“She was so young,” Lucy murmured, “and she was bleeding so much, and it’s not like I could just stitch it up, you know? God, I was so terrified. She came so, so close to dying.” She laughed bitterly, “there’s still no guaranteeing anything. Maybe I just prolonged her agony.”

Something was making a pattering sound, and she realized that she was crying, tears falling onto the quilt. Tommy hovered for a moment, tension seemingly corded into his every muscle. Then he came forward, wrapping his arms around her.

She felt something snap in her chest, the tears coming in sharp bursts. Burrowing her head into the crook of his neck, she finally let herself sob the way she had wanted to for hours. He held her quietly, thumb tracing soft circles into her shoulder until her crying lessened. “What do you need from me?”

“Just this,” she managed, curling closer. He smelled like leather and fresh cigarettes, and all she wanted was to stay there forever.

“Alright,” he murmured, “however long you’d like.”

Chapters: I, II ...

Ao3

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders oc #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby x oc #half-sick of shadows #lucienne frasier #my fic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc

9 notes · View notes

xxdearlybeloved · 6 years

Text

Among the Stars - Chapter 9

Peaky Imagine with John x Reader, where the reader is Jeremiah Jesus’ niece, forced to return to Small Heath from London. The first part can be found here.

This is what happens when I drink whiskey after work. I tried to keep this one short and well... maybe next time? No warnings this time, but please give feedback, your words of praise fill my soul but truly any feedback means the world.

Also, I fixed my asks (I think) so if you want to submit feedback anonymously you can now.

Chapter 9: Sunrise

Your heart was pounding as you made the familiar walk back to your Uncle’s house. It had been days since you had spoken with him, and you were hoping he wouldn’t be too upset with you. You had no idea how you were going to explain yourself or have this conversation, but it had to happen sooner rather than later.

You practiced scenarios in your head, watching the ground as you imagined how his responses would go until you arrived at the door. You reached for the knob and hesitated, unsure. Usually, you would walk right in, but you felt like a child coming home after curfew, the door the only thing separating you from your uncle’s disappointment.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked. An eternity passed before you heard light footsteps come to the door. You mirrored Isaiah’s smile, giving him a quick hug before following him inside. He led you to the kitchen where you saw your Uncle sitting with his back to you seemingly just finishing his breakfast.

“Hello Uncle…” you said, coming into the room to face him.

“Etta!” he said, putting down his fork and smiling as he stood up from the table. “The prodigal niece returns!” He pulled you into a hug and you felt silly for even considering he would be angry with you. He loved you, but you felt bad for making him worry especially because of how caring he was for you.

You rushed to explain. “I’m sorry for not coming back sooner, it’s just been crazy with the kids and the weather. And John has been so busy –“

“You don’t have to explain, I know.” He interrupted you. The way he looked into your eyes made you wonder if he knew what else you had to tell him, but there was no way he could know already.

You smiled, taking a seat at the table and telling your Uncle about the past few days and the craziness that has been happening. He knew some of what Tommy had been up to, and you got the sense that things weren’t nearly over.

After you were both caught up, you knew you had to have the conversation you had come home to have. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about…” you began, clasping your hands together under the table before smoothing your skirt. You cleared your throat before continuing the speech you had rehearsed on the walk over. “John… John and I…” the words struggled to form, and despite the patience your Uncle had, you could not get them out.

As always, he knew exactly what you needed. He reached across the table and placed his hand over yours. “I know” he said, rubbing his thumb over your hand and squeezing it gently. John had come to ask his permission last week. After seeing you two that first night, your uncle realized there was something he had missed before you left. He brought it up with Tommy and learned just how in love you were. He was worried at first, knowing the life the Peaky boys led, but he saw the difference in John after you started helping him, figuring it was only a matter of time before you took a more permanent place in his home.

Earlier that day, you woke up in John’s arms. He felt you stirring and stretched before pulling you closer to him. Neither of you said anything, content as you listened to each other’s breathing. Since the fight at the Garrison, you felt as if something had changed between you. All you wanted was to be close to John. You were more open in your affection towards him, and he could not have been happier. John had publicly claimed you, declared to the world that you were his, and your fears of being an uncommon couple all but disappeared. Despite the genuine fear and pain that consumed you that night, you felt safe.

You had been the love of John’s life since he watched you gently clean his broken arm all those years ago. He truly believed you were his personal angel, and never thought he would recover from the heartbreak of you leaving. He wasn’t sure of his future if you were not a part of it, but everything seemed to reset when he found out he was going to be a father. Of course he loved Martha, she was a beautiful soul who put up with him and his family. She was sweet and adored him as much as he adored her, and you became a distant childhood dream.

The war changed him in ways he could not expect, and with all the chaos and uncertainty around him he felt himself needing you. When the was over and he knew you letters wouldn’t come anymore, he tried to bury you along with those memories. Marjorie was born and he was content to move on until they lost Martha so unexpectedly. He thought being abandoned by his father, losing his own mother, and seeing his friends die in front of him would numb him to loss. As he stood by Martha’s grave holding his newborn daughter, he wondered why the gods had cursed him.

He knew he had to be strong for his kids because he remembered what he needed as a child, but some days were more difficult than others. When you came through the door that night in the Garrison, he thought he was dreaming. He knew you were an angel, and here you were, more beautiful than he remembered and really in his arms. He saw that you had changed almost as deeply as he had, but knew you still loved him just as much as he loved you.

John knew it was dangerous to let himself love you again, but greater was his need for you than his fear of losing you again. The past few months had been hard for both of you, afraid to let yourselves have what you both wanted when the risk seemed ever present. But John knew he would rather risk losing you again than not having all of you, so when he stood knocking at your Uncle’s door, he was doing the only thing he could.

Jeremiah didn’t seem surprised at all. His face was calm as John explained how he loved you, how he promised to take care of you just like you took care of him and his children, how you belonged in his life as surely as the air in his lungs. Jeremiah looked at this man and saw the pain he had experienced, able to relate as he himself lost his own wife and left a part of himself in France. But he also saw the love he had for you, and knew that it didn’t matter what he said, you and John belonged together.

John wanted to surprise you. He wanted the entire family to be there, kids and all. But on that morning, with you laying in his arms, he felt that this moment was better than he could ever plan. You listened to John’s heart beat as he stroked your back slowly, enjoying this rare moment of peace.

“Etta?” he said, causing you to look up at him. You smiled before kissing his neck. Peace was rare, and despite you and John having been creative in finding time for each other, the mornings before the kids were awake was becoming a favorite. You let your hand trace down his chest before you started to stroke him and that was enough for John to forget his intention for the moment.

You loved learning John’s body and it seemed he knew yours better than you did, sometimes catching you off guard in ways you didn’t expect to like. Just like in your everyday life, he pulled you out of your comfort zone and it seemed like you couldn’t get enough of each other. When you were finished, John laid his head on your chest as you caught your breath.

“I want to wake up like this every day” John said. You laughed, gently tracing your fingers on his back. You were just thinking the same thing. “I mean it” he said, sitting up to look at you. You could tell he was being serious, and he saw the hesitant expression on your face.

“What are you saying, John?” you asked him, your thoughts churning too quickly for you to say anything else.

“Etta, I want to marry you.” You sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to your chest trying to hold your heart inside. John smiled as he continued. “I want you to be my wife. I want you to be mum to my kids. I love you -” he was cut off by you throwing your arms around him, kissing him fiercely. He laughed as he kissed you in turn.

You pulled away, grinning from ear to ear. “John, are you serious?”

He looked at you as if you had grown another head. “You know I am. It’s taken me way too long as it is.”

You kissed him again, pushing him back onto the bed before just wrapping your arms around him. “So you’ll do it then?” he asked you, wrapping his arms around you in turn..

You looked to face him. “John Michael Shelby,” he made a face when you said his full name, “I can imagine nothing better than being your wife.” His smile warmed your heart, and the reality of what had happened started to sink in. “Oh John, are we really getting married? We have to tell the kids. Oh, what will your family say? Oh no… I have to tell my Uncle.”

John moved your hands that had moved to cover your face before kissing you again. “It’ll be alright, trust me.” John agreed that you would make a plan to tell the kids after you spoke with your Uncle. Then, you would tell the rest of the family. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but as you prepared to tell your Uncle, you weren’t sure what his reaction would be.

As you sat across the table from Jeremiah now, calm settled over you as you realized everything was going to be okay. John loved you, even after everything you had both been through. You were blessed to have a love like this, and even though there weren’t couples who looked like you, no one could deny you belonged with John. And finally, you were going to be his wife.

A/N: To those of you who are still here (god bless you) I am almost done :) I think there are 2-3 chapters left, and I hope you think they are worth it. I really appreciate your love. Until next time <3

Continue reading - Chapter 10: London

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #joe cole #john shelby #john shelby imagine #thomas shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #john shelby fanfiction

40 notes · View notes

hoursofprocrastinationblog · 5 years

Text

Day 6

Okay so today was quite good in relation to workload..I mean I definitely could've done more work but to be honest I'm just so pent up about dropping chemistry I can't concentrate. I want to tell my dad about dropping it but it doesn't seem the right time. I really don't want to do it for my Pres I'll just fail and have a mental breakdown. Plus I'm not sure whether my guidance counselor was talking about this Thursday or next Thursday for my appointment. Anyway today I finished my oral unit 19 French work and hoping I don't have an oral tomorrow I started studying and by started wrote out notes for one of seven chapters which I have not yet learnt. I also wrote out a history essay for tomorrow just in case but if I had seven free classes a week...seven I could do so much work. I could finish homework and actually study when I came home or the reverse study for tests and such in school or make notes and then come home and do my miniscule homework. It would have so many advantages. I just hope that by the end of the week that everything will be in motion. In other news I've began watching Peaky Blinders I know I said I would wait until after the Pres but honestly I just needed to take my mind off of things and now ...well now I'm nearly finished season 2. What can I say...it's a talent to be able to binge watch this much. I'll definitely be failing history if that essay doesn't work out and 100% failing ag regardless if I study or not. Evidently I'm actually quite shit at the subject and no one seems to think I am so they don't take me seriously about failing it.

So in honour of failing my exam tomorrow my Pres in a few weeks and so possibly every exam in my life I give you my way up in the world in the form of an Aidan Gillen gif.

0 notes

frostywindmademoan · 7 years

Text

The Girl Behind the Counter

intro: This is an on going Michael fic I’ve been working on. The whole plot will include swearing, sex, and violence. *constructive feedback is welcomed*

Chapter 13 (previous chapters)

The couple spend the next day lazing about in bed and doing nothing but enjoying each other. “Michael?” (Y/N) lazy drew his attention. “Hmm?” He responded. “Will you show me one of the Shelby clubs tonight? Truth be told that place last night was the fanciest club I’ve ever been to.” She asked. “Sure babydoll.” Michael kissed her cheek. And so the two got dressed up to go out and headed to one of the Peaky Blinder’s clubs. The scene was far hotter than that of the other place.

People were dancing like mad and drinking liquor without an extra thought of money. The band blasted jazz as men whooped and girls squealed. Michael and (Y/N) happily joined the ranks of hooligans with no cares. People were kissing and dancing so close you couldn’t see where one body ended and the next began. In the corner blow was being shared like snow on Christmas morning. “This is madness!” (Y/N) giggled. She and Michael drank and drank and forgot about Alfie Solomons, and Freddy Falco. Hell, they nearly forgot their own names. “Michael dance with me!” (Y/N) requested. “No I don’t want to dance.” He scrunched up his nose a bit to make it look like the very idea smelled bad to him. “C’mon! It’s a night club! You can’t go out and not dance!” she reasoned. “No I don’t want to dance.” He repeated. “Please!” She stuck out her bottom lip in a pouting manor that made Michael smile. “You can dance, but I don’t want to!” He ran his finger along her lip which went from a pout to a smirk. “Really? If I go dance with some other bloke you won’t get jealous?” She looked at him mischievously. “A dance is a dance! As long as it’s my bed you go back to tonight!” He playfully grabbed her waist and drew her in for a sloppy kiss. “Alright Mr. Gray! I think I’ll help myself to one more drink and then see if I can find myself a partner.” She giggled while walking off towards the bar. By the time she ordered and received a gin and tonic (Y/N) was approached by a man who looked to be maybe a few years older, but roughly about her age. He was tall and his hair was slicked back and shiny. His eyes were wide set and his nose small. Her grandmother had told her that in Germany they have a saying about small noses… (Y/N) thought of him as harmless. “Hello beauty! You need some company?” He asked through a thick cockney accent. “Company? No, I have a boyfriend who keeps me company. It’s dance that he won’t do.” She replied while hurriedly finishing her drink, she knew the stranger would be asking for a dance next. “What do you know! Dancing is what I do best!” He gave a toothy grin. “Really? I really would like to dance, I just hate to think of leading anyone on though. I want to dance and just that, nothing more.” She made her meaning clear. “Understood darlin’, shall we?” He offered her his arm and she took it, letting him lead her to the dance floor. She placed a hand in his and one on his shoulder, in a rather formal manner, while his free hand went to her waist. The placement off his hand was perhaps the slightest bit too low, but she was too tipsy to notice. The rhythm was fast and they tried their best to keep up with it, laughing when they’d accidentally fall behind. (Y/N)’s dress twirled and wrapped around her knees only to un-twirl and wrap the other way as they spun around the floor together. The song ended and with panting breaths (Y/N) thanked her temporary partner. “Now hang on love! We only just started!” He grabbed her arm, an act that would have been punished if she were sober, and stopped her from leaving as the band started up again, a slow number this time. “Oh c’mon love, this song it a favorite of mine!” The man bared his toothy grin. Reluctantly (Y/N) allowed the man to keep her out on the dance floor. They couldn’t sway to the slow beat for long because a gruff voice came between them. “May I interrupt?” (Y/N) smiled to see it was Michael. “Oh look, it’s that boyfriend I was telling you about! Thanks for the dance mate!” (Y/N) called over her shoulder to the stunned man with the small nose as Michael wrapped his arms around her. The greasy haired man disappeared off in the corner where the cocaine was as she rested her head against Michael’s chest. She could hear his heart as they swayed back and forth to the easy music. “Hey Michael.” She said while lifting her head. “Yes love?” He responded. “Thank you for dancing with me.” She whispered before kissing him. They continued to hold each other and share soft kisses until the song came to an end. “I recall you saying something earlier about going to your bed…” (Y/N) gave a cheeky grin that sent a shock of excitement through Michael. “I’ll call a cab and meet you outside!”

(Y/N) was waiting outside for Michael to finish settling the tab, or lack of one since he is a Blinder, when the same small nose man exited the club and made his way towards her. “Oi we never got to finish our dance!” His voice echoed in the otherwise empty streets where the only sound was the muffled music from the club. (Y/N) could see white powder still clinging to his nose and knew there was going to be trouble. “We finished a dance, remember? We just didn’t quite start up on another one because I have a boyfriend.” You reminded him. “Haha! Right! That little guy with the mean glare?” The guy barked. A cab pulled up alongside the curb and (Y/N) waved to it. “Oi, why the rush love?” The guy grabbed her arm, but this time she wouldn’t let it slide. “Don’t touch me! How bout you just turn back into that club and stuff that little nose of yours with blow until it bleeds?” (Y/N) had ripped her arm from his grasp and had somehow made the nearly foot height difference between them disappear as she got in his face. The man was about to say something else until the door to the club opened and Michael came out. “Michael!” She said his name with obvious relief. “Is there a problem here?” He asked (Y/N) but said it while staring down the man. “Just take me home, please.” She looped her arm in his and together they turned to the cab. “Couldn’t even let me have two full dances with her, eh mate? That much time away from you and her pretty little head would realize you ain’t shit and I’m the kind of bloke she’s missing!” The crossfaded dancer bellowed. (Y/N) had hoped to get Michael in the taxi and just drive away, but she knew it was too late when she felt his arm tense. Michael spun around, taking off his hat, and hit the stranger across the face with it. A fine red line was left where the sharpened blade within the hat had made contact. Michael swung again, leaving another gash. The man cried out and fell back against the pavement. Michael’s eyes had seemed to turn black at the stranger’s words and he lashed out blindly with his peaked cap. The man screamed but Michael cut him again and again. (Y/N) had been frozen at the sight of it all. She knew Michael had a temper. She knew he always felt like he had something to prove. She knew he could be violent. She had just never seen the three characteristics combined like this before. Finally by the sixth, or maybe seventh cut she snapped out of it. “Enough!” She yelled, stepping forward to try and catch Michael’s arm, but he wasn’t paying attention. (Y/N) caught his arm, but it didn’t stop him. He kept swinging. It wasn’t until a sharper cry than the man’s screams rang out that Michael came to his senses. He turned to see (Y/N) with a red line, almost perfectly straight, on her cheek below her right eye. Big drops of scarlet blood began to fall from the line and down her chin. “Oh my God.” He whispered with wide eyes. “Let’s go.” She replied, grabbing his arm and leading him to the cab. “He’s an animal!” The small nose stranger, coated in blood, cried. “No! You’re just stupid enough to fuck with a Peaky Blinder!” she yelled while sliding into the cab and shutting the door behind her. “Drive.” She ordered the cabbie. “(Y/N) I am so sorry! My God what have I done to you?” Michael seemed to be in a deeper state of shock than (Y/N) herself was. “Shhh” She tried to calm him while digging in her purse for her handkerchief. “You didn’t mean to. I know love. Just buy me a new hanky and we’ll be square.” She said while placing the white cloth to her face, instantly staining the material red.

#Michael gray #Michael Shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #Michael gray Shelby #michael gray shelby imagine #GBtC

17 notes · View notes