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perlelune · 5 months

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Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | ii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You do your best to avoid him for as long as you can.

You show up at the factory each day, diligent and focused on your work. You thread, dye and sew miles upon miles of fabric. It’s exhausting and repetitive but assists you well in burying the peculiar encounter. And if sometimes a particular shade of blue fabric stir memories of eyes you’d rather forget…you ignore that as well. It’s better that way. You narrowly escaped imprisonment, perhaps even death. No need to tempt fate once again.

But it’s no matter.

Because fate finds you anyway.

It happens as the end of your shift at the factory comes near. Your cold-bitten digits are interweaving two different colors of thread on a gigantic wooden loom. Same as the girls and boys surrounding you. They’re all quick and efficient, threading and weaving with the ease of practice. A lifetime of it. Some of them are as young as five years old. There’s a saying floating around the districts.

If one can walk, they can work.

You often wondered if that same logic applies to the Capitol’s children. Are they too expected to work until their fingers are numb with pain and their eyes red-rimmed with fatigue?

You somehow doubt it.

Once again, the weight of someone’s attention blankets your shoulders. You tense, the needle nicking your fingertip when your attention falters.

You curse and swipe away the blood beading on your finger.

Your head rises.

Anger simmers inside you at the sight of the smug face smirking at you from across the room.

Coriolanus.

He showed up one hour ago, switching places with another guard, and proceeded to stare at you since.

Dread pools in your gut. His gaze hasn’t strayed from you once.

What could the peacekeeper possibly want from you?

You have nothing, and it’s obvious he’s some rich kid from the Capitol who somehow found his way here.

“Your yarn is coming loose.”

Yara’s frenzied tone wrenches you away from your thoughts.

You look down, your forehead scrunching as you do. She’s right. The threads have broken out of their pattern, forming disgraceful zigzags over the loom.

Besides, there’s a minuscule crimson stain on the fabric. The pristine beige cloth is now ruined. This will come out of your pay.

Your ire grows. Your gaze narrows as it finds Coriolanus’. This is all his fault. He distracted you. Annoyance at the strange peacekeeper gleams inside you.

You bolt up from your stool.

“I have to go,” you announce, already gathering your satchel from the floor.

Yara’s eyes round. “Our shift’s not over yet,” she whispers below her breath, tossing wary glances at the guards. Your frown deepens. Any slight sign of disobedience could be seen as a hint of rebellion these days. It’s how much the Capitol wants to avoid a return to the Dark Days.

You smile at her in reassurance.

Yara was kind enough to show you the ropes when you started working at the textile factory. She even stayed late at night with you to teach you the most complex needlepoints.

Fidgeting, you apologize, “I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency. I’ve ruined it anyway.”

You don’t stick around for her response, rushing towards the nearest corridor to slip away.

A deep, teasing lilt echoes behind you in the hallway.

“Still trying to fly away from me, huh?”

Your heart leaps. Not again.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you chide as you keep hastening across the hallway. It doesn’t matter though. A stolen glimpse at your back reveals to you that Coriolanus’ long legs easily maintain pace with your frantic strides.

You unleash a weary sigh.

“I shouldn’t but I am, pretty bird.”

You can hear the smile in his voice and it infuriates you more.

“Leave me alone, Coriolanus-”

A sharp breath ripples through your throat as warm fingers suddenly clasp around your arm.

“What are you…”

The large hand that drapes over your mouth quiets your budding protest.

Ignoring your muffled shouts, he pulls you flush against his frame and drags you into a dark room inside another hallway.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you grab at anything you can. He’s undeterred by your feistiness, only unhanding you once he’s slammed the door shut.

A chill dances on your spine as every deadbolt is meticulously slid into place by him.

Leaning back against the locked door, Coriolanus’s eyes drag over you. He drinks you in for a while as you retreat, as far away from him as the small room allows.

Uncrossing his arms, the blonde starts inching towards you.

Your nerves flare up at his impending proximity. A heavy sigh drops from his chest.

“Why do you make that face when I’m only trying to help you?”

“I don’t want any help from you. I want nothing from you,” you shout.

He tilts his head, closing the distance. He shoves his hand in his pocket, seeming to search for something. You freeze.

Shock rocks through you when he conjures a familiar vial, shaking it in front of your face.

“Hm, Are you sure?” he taunts.

The urge to steal it from him has your fingertips tingling. But you tried that before, and it didn’t work in your favor. So you snuff out the impulse.

“How did you find out?”

“I have my ways.”

You search his stark cobalt orbs. They give nothing away.

“I just want to take care of you,” he adds.

“Why?”

You startle as his long fingers creep under your chin. You didn’t realize how close he’d gotten, now bending over you so you’re at eye-level.

“Because I can. I could make your life easier.”

His tender inflection, oddly intimate, makes discomfort pool in your stomach.

“I don’t need…”

“Take it.”

As you do nothing to take the bottle he holds up in his fist, Coriolanus exhales wearily.

You gasp when he shoves the vial between your trembling palms.

“Don’t be stupid,” he admonishes. “That cousin of yours won’t make it through winter without these. They’re antibiotics.”

You stare down at the amber bottle. Your shoulders slump. You hate to admit it but he’s probably right. Tilly’s coughing fits are progressively getting worse. She can hardly breathe properly most days. It hurts to see and you’ve been praying for a way to help her.

And now you have that way. Is it even fair to Tilly to turn his help down because of your own personal hang ups with the peacekeeper?

His motives elude you but you’re not sure it matters at that moment.

Tilly’s life is on the line.

Your fingers squeeze around the vial.

“I know what they are. It’s written on the bottle.”

Interest springs in his cobalt gaze.

“You can read? Interesting,” he hums. “Most people can’t in the districts.”

Your cheeks heat at his assumption. A respectable amount of people in the districts can in fact read. Not the majority, but a few at least. The knowledge just isn’t widespread enough and schools are a luxury most districts cannot afford.

“My grandmother taught me when I was young,” you defend.

He pauses, studying your defiant features.

His hand wraps around your hand holding the bottle. You try not to shrink, afraid he’ll take it back.

His thumb sweeps over your knuckles.

“These are very rare and hard to get. Don’t let your pride get in the way, pretty bird.”

“I won’t,” you mumble.

Another bag materializes before you. Coriolanus nudges it in your arms before you can think to protest. “Take that too.”

You glare at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Food, water, supplies.”

Grounded in disbelief, you peer inside the bag. Your jaw hangs slack. He wasn’t lying. The bag is brimming with rations. There’s even a few slices of bread and cheese on top. This has to be worth at least a hundred coins.

You purse your lips. “I can’t accept…I have nothing to repay you.”

Corolianus sighs, keeping the bag in your hands with his steely grip as you attempt to return it.

“Then just remember you live because of me,” he says. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips. “That’s the only payment I require.”

You snort. It can’t possibly be that simple, can it?

But Coriolanus’ features harbor no mirth. Skepticism heightens your pitch.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

You nod. “Okay, I will.”

Displeasure flickers in his gaze. His fingers sneak below your chin to angle it upward, forcing you to drown in his cobalt stare.

“No, I want to hear you say it, sweet bird.” His tone is laced with a solemnity that wasn’t there before. Your stomach knots. “That you live by the will of Coriolanus Snow.”

A shaky breath flows out of you. You’re suddenly reluctant under his keen scrutiny.

Still, your voice comes out a tremulous croak.

“I live because of you, Coriolanus Snow.”

His entire face lights up with your words, a strange glow appearing in his orbs.

For some reason, you feel as if you just tied a noose around your own neck.

You take a sip of your beer, basking in the bitter, heady aftertaste. Usually, you’re not much of a drinker, but it’s the first true respite you’ve gotten from the blue-eyed peacekeeper in many weeks and you plan on enjoying it.

A tavern wouldn’t be your first choice but Yara invited you and it occurred to you this isn’t the kind of place a boy smelling like old money and roses would visit.

It’s rare for you to be anywhere these days without his disarming presence hovering in a corner of the room.

You’ve even considered abandoning your job at the factory altogether. But it’s not like a girl like you can change careers on a whim. You have no connections, no skill, no talent whatsoever. Nothing but your hard-earned ability to weave threads of fabrics together.

Maybe the mines at the northern end of the district.

It’s far from a tempting prospect. The work is downright dangerous. But at least it would shield you from the peacekeeper’s relentless scrutiny.

“Your shadow isn’t here today," Yara notes.

You drag your eyes away from the band playing on stage.

“My shadow?”

“That pretty boy peacekeeper who follows you around," she elaborates, her lips curved in amusement. You grimace. If only she knew. There isn’t a shred of mirth in your current predicament.

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t follow me around.”

You refrain from saying he does a plethora of other things that puzzle you and stir your discomfort.

You refuse to trust him, but thanks to him your cousin has been getting noticeably better, even able to walk on her own again now. It’s a relief. Tonight she’s at friend’s and gets to laugh, play and be a regular kid again.

Besides, though it pains you to recognize it, your belly’s fuller than it’s been in a long time.

It shames you to admit it, but it took you no time to cave in and gobble down the food he offered. Hunger does strange things to people.

You loathe yourself for yielding but the feeling of an empty stomach is infinitely worse than that of your wounded pride.

"He is pretty though," your friend says, glancing away dreamily.

Your face warms. "I really don’t care how he looks. I just wish he’d go pester someone else."

"Hm, fair." She drinks from her jug and shrugs. "He could just be bored. I’m sure he’ll stop at some point."

The conversation reaches a halt when a brown-haired guy around your age with a scar across his face stops at your table.

“Can I ask you to dance?” he asks. His cheeks redden as he awaits your response. A quiet glance passes between you and Yara. You kick her under the table when she nearly lets out a chuckle.

Endeared by the boy’s bashful manner, you answer with a smile, “Sure, why not.”

You let the stranger drag you into a dance, your worries fading into the buoyant, lively notes played by the band and the boy’s nonchalant grin.

It’s the kind of normalcy you’ve been longing for.

Engrossed in the moment, as the boy slips a hand around your waist, an audible gasp spills out of you when he pulls away from you out of the blue.

Or rather is wrenched away from you.

Your brows rise to your hairline.

You gape in horror, the sight of Coriolanus hauling the boy up by his lapels striking you mute. His features are taut with anger as the boy’s hands rise defensively. A mix of befuddlement and fear decorates his features.

Guilt needles your chest. You never expected the blond to show up here of all places. Paranoia seizes the chaotic train of your thoughts. Was he here all along, watching you like a hawk the entire time? Is he always here, never wandering too far from wherever you are?

Fear coils your insides.

"Hey," you call out, relief trickling inside you when your legs move again. You make a beeline to Coriolanus.

“What is wrong with you?” you shout, trying to pry him off the poor boy.

It’s not the useless hand scratching his bicep but rather your tone that appears to jerk him out of his trance.

His grip on the boy loosens as he whirls to you. The stranger wastes no time in running away. You can’t even blame him. You can’t imagine there’d be many repercussions if the blond harmed him, but the opposite can’t be said.

Coriolanus’ hands slowly lower before balling into fists.

Irate blue eyes flare as they fall on you.

You recoil.

“With me?” he growls, crowding your space. "His grubby paws were all over you."

You blink in disbelief, shocked by his accusing tone. You did nothing wrong. It’s not like he can tell you who to dance and not dance with. "G-Grubby…what? I’m not some damsel in need of rescuing, Coriolanus."

He squints at you, displeasure evident on his angular features.

His hand latches onto your arm, yanking you towards the exit. You can barely keep up with his furious stomps.

“I think it’s time we had a talk. Come with me.”

“I’d rather stay here."

He ignores you, his grip on you turning deathly. Tears burn the back of your eyes.

“No…”

You toss a desperate look above your shoulder to find your friend just as shocked as you are. She won’t help you. No one will.

Your stomach sinks.

The tears break past the confine of your lashes.

He takes you outside. The chilly air skates across your skin, spreading gooseflesh over it. The silver glow of the moon lights the tortuous path he takes through dim, narrow alleyways. This is nowhere near your cabin and your panic swells.

You dig your heels into the ground, resisting.

Coriolanus heaves out a weary exhale. He hunkers down to pick you up. You squeal, flabbergasted by his nerve. He hoists you on his shoulders as if you were a sack of grain, taking firm, irate steps into the night.

"You can’t do this," you weep, slamming as hard as you can into his back.

Hardly flinching, he scoffs before stating, “I don’t remember asking for your permission, birdie."

#coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #tbosbas fanfiction #hunger games #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #divider credit: samspenandsword

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neopuppy · 7 months

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Jaemin would love a good gloryhole, he gives me crazy psychotic vibes

warning. ntm yet.. a smidge of fondling

“You’re going to work? This late?” Jaemin mumbles, pinching between his eyebrows where he’s sat with his face buried in a pile of books. “Who clocks in at midnight?”

“It’s an overnight job..” you shrug, tightening your coat. “That job fair I went to last week.. it was the only position that wouldn’t interfere with my class schedule.”

Jaemin sighs, leaning back against his computer chair until it creaks beneath his weight. “How are you going to keep up with your assignments?”

“That’s the thing,” clearing your throat nervously, you reply quickly, eager to end this conversation as you appear distracted patting your pockets for the house keys. “Factory prefers college students, don’t want to provide benefits or full-time positions, so the shifts are short, no more than 4 or 6 hours.”

“Oh..” Jaemin stands, stretching out his arms above his head as he approaches you. “I could drive you.”

“No!” You say abruptly, breaking into a smile at the sight of his face falling. “You already do enough for me, and I know you’re cramming for that big test.”

Jaemin waves it off, leaning near the door frame. “It’s not a big deal, I know the couch isn’t comfortable.”

On command at the mere mention of your makeshift bed your back aches, stretching to the side to relieve the pain and releasing a loud crack as you sport half a smile. “It’s not exactly a cloud but..”

“Better than the backseat of your best friend's car.” Jaemin adds, scratching his nape. “I hope at least..”

“Definitely,” you chime, setting your hand on the door handle. “Besides, this is only temporary.”

That’s what you have to remind yourself of daily, that this is just for now. A transition time you’ll forget about as soon as you’ve collected a month's pay. A draining and exhausting effort on your part, but the money..

“Seriously though, if you’re too tired for the walk back, I’ll leave my ringer on.” Jaemin’s hand lays over yours, gently squeezing. “Don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Of course, thanks Jaem.”

“Let’s not sit where she sleeps.”

“I mean..” Jeno scoffs, folding his knees to sit on the floor with his back against the couch. “It is a place to sit, you know.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m not.” Unlocking his phone, Jeno settles comfortably, head resting against the couch cushion you rest your head on every night. “You say that like I don’t offer her my bed all the time.”

“Which I’m sure she’d take you up on if you know—“ plopping down by his friend's side shoulder to shoulder, he raises an eyebrow. “You were not also in said bed naked from the waist down.”

Jeno shrugs, passing his phone to Jaemin. “Still beats a couch.”

“What’s this?”

“Something new and exciting that we should try.” Jeno explains, leaning in to scroll down the message board. “Know anything about gloryholes?”

Jaemin nearly chokes on his spit, eyes widening as he reads through the various comments describing the experience. “The fuck are you talking about..”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Jeno grins, reaching to jingle the keys in his pocket. “You down or what?”

“I dunno man..”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Sharing a curious look, Jeno raises his eyebrows up and down, pushing up from the floor to stand and extend his hand. “Just between us.”

“I don’t understand the point in paying for a quick fuck..” Jaemin says, disgruntled by the lists of prices before him. The trek to find this place was bad enough to begin with, and on tip of that $500 to get his dick wet? By a stranger no less?

“Two for one deal though.” Jeno notes, tapping the larger font with the price of $800 blown out beneath. “Hear me out, send me $250 and I’ll cover the rest.”

“W-what?” Jaemin stutters, surprised at how nonchalant his friend is about this whole situation. “Are you seriously down this bad?”

Jeno scoffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like that.” Counting out a wad of bills, he slides them beneath the black tinted window, specifying the two for one deal for them. “Don’t knock it until you try it alright?”

Bending lower near the opening he slid the money through, Jeno whispers. “Number 7 available?”

“You’ve..” Jaemin follows after him, pieces falling together as his friends leads the way through a long hall without question. “You do this a lot or something?”

“Define a lot.” He says, peering over his shoulder with a sleek smirk. “A couple of times.. nothing crazy yet. At least you have me here to make sure your first time is memorable.”

Jeno comes to a stop, dangling a key that’d been tucked between his palm. “Lucky number 7.” He nods to the rooms door, an ominous carved out text painted black glares back at him.

The door lock clicks, pushed open slowly as his friend steps aside for him to head in first. It’s empty for the most part. A few items stacked along a shelf, condoms, lube, sex toys. “Behind that.”

Jeno locks the door shut behind them, motioning toward a hung up drape obscuring the rest of the room. “Would you prefer to go alone? I’ll even let you have dibs since it’s your first visit.”

Jaemin dry swallows, swiping his tongue across his suddenly dry lips. “And do what?”

Jeno’s lips draw back in a cocky smile, shushing his friend as he nudges him forward. “One way to find out.”

Jaemin’s chest thumps, gulping down the invisible weight pressed against the back of his tongue. Slowly he steps forward, barely grazing the drape with his fingertips, the sight of his trembling hand solidifies the nerves shooting throughout his chest, nudged forward softly again as he steps a foot inside past the drape.

“Shit..” he mutters, biting down on his lip to hold back a groan. Three different holes line up the walls leaving his mind to race with nothing but depraved thoughts.

“Pick one.” You say quietly, barely echoed from behind the wall that hides you.

Jaemin’s neck stiffens, toeing his way closer past the smallest of the holes that meets him at hip level. The arrows above directing him where to insert himself.

“Seven.” Jeno speaks up from the drapes opening, closing it shut to lean against the wall. “This is my best friend, he’s a first timer.”

Jaemin’s eyes enlarge, tracing around the top of the largest entrance that can only be for one thing..

“Let him get a taste of what we paid for.”

Jeno moves to stand behind him, chest pressed to his friend's back. “Jesus man, don’t be nervous.” He grins, cupping under Jaemin’s elbow to direct his hand inside past the opening.

“Nothing to be scared of, especially not you.” He whispers, chin hooked on the largers shoulder, breathily laughing when his friend lets out a shocked gasp.

“Fuck.” Jaemin sucks in a breath, digits sliding between a soft warmth. The heat building in his chest erupts upon contact, lodging himself forward with his chest pressed to the wall as his fingers spread and he glides deeper between the familiar wrap of velvety inner thighs around his wrist. “Holy shit.”

“You wanna fuck that slut, right?” Jeno eggs on, patting his hip. “Get her nice and wet for us.”

#asks #nct hard hours #nct smut #nct dream hard hours #jaemin hard hours

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cursedwoman1859 · 9 months

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Arm Candy (Silco/F!Reader)

“I need someone who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.” Silco needs a plus-one for a fancy topsider party. You don't really have a choice but to agree.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Words: 5.8k

Content: Resolved sexual tension; semi-public sex; vaginal fingering; dirty talk; dubious business ethics

---

It wasn’t often you got called into Silco’s office first thing in the morning. You were a paper-pusher, not one of the battle-hardened henchmen who usually hung around the Last Drop, and your work mostly kept you at your desk. Calculations came as naturally to you as breathing, and you could crunch numbers faster even than Silco himself. In the few months you’d been working for the Eye of Zaun, you’d made yourself indispensable. You helped keep track of the Shimmer shipments going to and from Zaun, you effortlessly slipped the profits from the drugs business into the earnings from the various factories and bars and properties that Silco owned, and once a week you’d spend the evening alone in the office with your stern, exacting boss while you went over that week’s financial reports. Silco needed someone to cook his books, and you prided yourself on being the best damn chef in the undercity. You kept to yourself, you prayed he never noticed your furtive glances up at him when he was absorbed in his work, and you did not cause trouble.

So it was only natural that your stomach twisted itself into knots as you stepped into his office, and that those knots tightened when he looked up from the paper he was reading, his bicoloured stare pinning you and making your walk to stand in front of his desk feel like miles instead of metres.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you said when you were near, and the way his eyes flicked over you, almost too quickly for you to notice, did nothing to calm you.

“I did,” he said, his chair creaking as he leaned back in it. You’d definitely never wondered if it could hold two people. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You could swear that sentence made your brain fritz like a faulty wire. “I, um—” Absolutely nothing was the real answer, but for some reason you didn’t want to admit that. “I made plans with…Ran and Dustin,” you said, saying the first names that came to your mind even though you’d never shared more than small talk with either of them.

Silco’s eyebrow raised as if he could see right through your lie. Which he probably could, because it was completely transparent. “Then cancel them. I need your help at an event.”

“What kind of…event?” you said, your mind reeling with all the things Silco could be alluding to. Shakedowns, back-alley deals, assassinations…

“Don’t look so frightened,” Silco said, taking a cigar from his ashtray and lighting it. He took a deep drag, letting the smoke billow around him as he spoke. “Are you familiar with Ko Shosu?”

It took you a moment to remember the name from some of the background research you’d carried out on Silco’s competitors. “Doesn’t he own that factory that makes gears or something?”

“The very same. He’s hosting a party at his residence topside tomorrow night and unfortunately, I’ll need to make an appearance. Shosu seems to think we’re acquaintances. And on top of that, I happen to know that one of his associates has run into some financial trouble as of late. His factory makes components that are essential to the Shimmer-tanks we’re developing. Now isn’t that a stroke of luck?”

“You want to get to this associate so you can get him to work with you?”

“Exactly. His name is Rupert Torek and he’s run up gambling debts with some very unsavoury people. I’m sure he’ll be cooperative once he realises I can lend him enough money to get himself out of debt before his wife finds out.”

You decided not to ask how Silco could have information like that on someone he’d never even met. For your sanity’s sake, it was better not to know. “And why do you need me, sir?”

It might have just been your imagination, but you could swear Silco looked you up and down again. Slower this time. “I thought that would be obvious. I cannot exactly show up to something like this alone. I need someone who can distract Torek’s wife so I can get five minutes alone with him, and who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.”

“I, um—” you floundered for a minute – the words look pretty on my arm setting your heart racing, which was stupid, he’d literally just said he wanted you to be his arm candy for a night, it meant nothing – and Silco raised an eyebrow at your hesitation.

“You’ll be paid overtime for your trouble, of course,” he said.

“That wasn’t—thank you, sir,” you said quickly.

“Good,” he said, flicking through some of the papers on his desk, his focus already slipping back to his work. “Meet me outside Ko Shosu’s house at eight sharp. Wear something nice and do not be late.”

It was a struggle to focus on your work for the next two days. The figures that usually came so easily to you seemed to blur together until you had to triple-check your spreadsheets in case you’d made an error while your mind insisted on screeching Silco think’s I’m pretty over and over like a stuck record. You were sure he’d meant nothing by that offhanded comment, but that didn’t help anything.

It was almost a relief when the next evening rolled around just so you could focus on doing something.

But that relief didn’t last long when you realised you didn’t have the first clue what you should wear to a party at a topsider’s fancy estate. There wasn’t time to hit up the markets even if you could justify the expense, so you settled for a black dress that was simple, but showed off your figure without showing too much of anything else, as you could at least guess that anything shorter than the knee-length hem of your dress might not go over well among the stiff, buttoned-up topsiders. You’d had the dress a long time and had to stitch it once or twice, but surely nobody would notice a little thing like that.

You felt strangely buoyant as you made your way through the upper districts of Zaun, where at this time in the evening business was just starting to pick up. Lines were forming outside the nicer clubs, the street hawkers were packing up to make way for the crowds, and the air nearly sparkled with Shimmer residue as you passed the open doors of some of the edgier establishments, where topsiders went to get a taste of the undercity without actually having to venture below. You couldn’t even find it within yourself to be annoyed at the arrogant topsiders who came to Zaun to indulge in all the things they couldn’t in Piltover before returning to their cushy homes and easy lives. Tonight felt like an infiltration, and it was you who would be inserting yourself somewhere you could never belong.

You met up with Silco outside the gates of Ko Shosu’s estate. He’d gone straight there from a meeting with some topsider businessman, and he was dressed as elegantly as he always was. As you approached you glanced at the people milling around on the wide driveway, and you suddenly felt underdressed.

“You’re almost late,” Silco said by way of greeting, and the nervous knot in your stomach only tightened.

“Sorry, sir. Border guards held me up. You know how they are.” The Enforcer at the checkpoint on the bridge had made a huge fuss over your ID photo having a slightly different hairstyle than you did now, just being an asshole because he was an Enforcer and he could.

“Hm,” was all he said as his eyes raked over you, and your mind instantly went to those little stitches in your dress. You suddenly felt as if he could see every little flaw in you, and the feeling only worsened when a couple of women in glittering floor-length gowns swept past, arm-in-arm and laughing airily.

“Do I look all right?” you said just to break the tense silence. “This is the best I have.”

“You look perfectly acceptable,” Silco said, and that was almost worse than if he hadn’t said anything. Acceptable. You’d be lucky if you weren’t mistaken for a servant. “Shall we?” he said then, offering you his arm. When you hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “Take my arm. We have to at least appear as if we both want to be here.”

“Do you want to be here?” you said as you curled your hand around his elbow, trying to ignore the jolt you felt at touching him, even if he was wearing a coat.

He scoffed. “Of course I don’t. But needs must.”

As you made your way up the long driveway, you couldn’t help but gawk at your surroundings. You knew this wasn’t even close to being the grandest house in all of Piltover, but at that moment you could have believed it. There were at least four floors, the upper two ringed in balconies spilling over with hanging flowers and vines. The next closest house had to be at least a hundred metres away, and in the dark space between you could make out the open expanse of a lawn lit by a ring of ground-level lamps, and manicured trees on each side. You couldn’t imagine what the topsiders would do with such a space – you could probably fit a whole other house in there, even one as large as Shosu’s.

And when you entered the house itself, you actually gasped. “Someone lives here? It looks like a palace.”

Silco shot you a glare as you stared at your surroundings with wide eyes, barely even registering the doorman who came to take your coats. “Remember how I said you were the only one I could trust not to fill your pockets? Don’t make me regret it.”

But you were hardly listening as your eyes roved over the crowded ballroom. It was a sea of fine suits and jewel-toned gowns, with servants darting through the throngs like the quick little fish that lived in the shallows of the river, trays of drinks and tiny pastry-like things balanced on their fingertips. Music drifted from somewhere you couldn’t see, almost drowned out by the chatter, and diamonds glittered at fingers and throats – and even on the ceiling, you noticed as your eyes drifted upwards, or at least it seemed like the chandeliers were draped in strings of gemstones that scattered the lights in every direction.

“Concentrate, girl,” Silco muttered close to your ear, making you shiver. “Remember why we’re here. Torek is over there,” he said, though you couldn’t possibly guess which of the guests he was indicating. “Do you remember your task?”

You dragged your eyes away from the spectacle before you to meet his mismatched eyes. “Keep his wife distracted while you get him to consider working with you. I’ve got it.”

“Good. We won’t need to stay long – an hour at most, then you can go home and do whatever you’d like. Maybe you can even catch Ran and Dustin.” As he said this the corner of his mouth tilted up, and you realised with some shock that the Eye of Zaun was teasing you.

You shrugged in what you hoped was nonchalance. “It takes as long as it takes. You know I’m not one to rush a job.”

“I’m aware,” he said as you started to make your way through the crowd, weaving through the throng as if you weren’t aiming straight for your unfortunate target. Perhaps it was because people knew he was from the Undercity, or maybe whispers of the things his people did in dark alleys and dingy establishments travelled ahead of him, but the dense crowd of people seemed to loosen before him, as if people suddenly remembered they had other places to be when he approached. If it offended him, Silco gave no sign, but instead he leaned in to you again. “He is close now. Laugh like I’ve said something terribly clever, you look petrified.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, but you did as he asked anyway, and it seemed to help. The tension you had felt in the air around you receded a little, and before you knew it Silco was shaking hands with a tall, portly man. You barely heard as he introduced you as his guest for the night, your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears. Rupert Torek had an open, kind face, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he smiled, and he didn’t seem surprised that Silco had sought him out. You wondered if he had any idea how fucked he was.

“We haven’t met before! I’m Liana, Rupert’s wife,” a voice at your side said, making you start, though you quickly smoothed it over with a smile as you turned to the woman who had appeared next to you, introducing yourself and hoping you sounded like you knew you belonged here, just like she did.

Liana glanced between you and Silco, who had already captured her husband’s full attention. Her brows lowered slightly, and you wondered if she had suspicions about her husband’s gambling. “I didn’t know Silco had a partner,” she said carefully.

“Oh, we’re not…together,” you said, laughing airily. “I’m just accompanying him tonight.”

“I see,” Liana said, though now her smile seemed frozen in place, and you wondered if you’d offended her somehow. But nevertheless she called over a couple of her friends, whose names you quickly forgot, and for a moment you were very pleased with yourself. There was no chance Liana would try to join her husband’s conversation while you had her distracted like this.

It was at this point that things started to go wrong.

In hindsight, you should have realised what Liana thought you were implying when you’d said you were accompanying your boss, and what a topsider would think of that particular occupation. But you were a few minutes into a banal, vapid conversation with Liana and her friends about something that you weren’t really paying attention to before you realised that they all thought you were a whore he’d hired for the night, and apparently found this very offensive judging by the bladed smiles and barbed compliments that started heading your way. It didn’t help that you were inadvertently showing much more skin than any of them – and how you were supposed to know the current fashions topside, you had no idea. Pretty soon your fingers were itching to take off one of your high-heeled shoes and beat Liana’s face in with it, but you couldn’t exactly square up in the middle of a ballroom as if you were in a Zaunite dive bar.

So instead, you just played dumb.

You let the thinly-veiled insults, the insinuations that you didn’t belong among them, glance off you. Nobody spent their whole life in Zaun without growing their own kind of armour. Right now yours was keeping your smile frozen firmly on your face, and so Liana was too busy with you to notice that her husband was making a business deal with the Eye of Zaun himself, right under her powdered nose.

That thought made you glance over at Silco, and the second your eyes met his, you felt a strange sort of calm descend over you. Rupert Torek was still chatting away, not even a hint of discomfort on his round face. Silco gave you a minute, almost imperceptible nod, raising his glass of wine slightly.

It had actually worked.

You tried to keep your face blank. That only became harder when Silco turned his attention back to Torek and you realised that when you’d looked over at him, he’d already been watching you.

Soon after, you excused yourself to go to the ladies’ room. You were pretty sure Liana and her friends forgot all about you as soon as you were out of sight – or at least you hoped so. You didn’t want to know what they’d be saying about you as soon as you were out of earshot.

You didn’t head to the bathroom, though. Instead you went out the way you’d come in, not bothering to collect your coat from the doorman as you went down the stone steps as fast as you could without running.

As soon as you were outside, away from the glare of the house’s lights, you felt the tightness that had settled in your chest loosen. You hadn’t even noticed the anxiety creep under your skin with every barb Liana and her friends had thrown your way, but when it finally dissipated you wondered how you’d been able to breathe at all.

You should go back now that you’d got your fresh air. You couldn’t just disappear.

But one glance back at the shadowy figures moving through the ballroom windows had you moving away from the house, into the shadows of the grounds where nobody would notice the Zaunite girl who was hilariously out of place among them.

The pathways were lit by low electric lights, and there was nobody else out here. You chose a path along the edge of the grounds, shielded on one side by a high wall and on the other by a huge rosebush bordering the lawn. You weren’t sure whether you were really supposed to be out here, but nobody stopped you as you wandered further into the grounds.

Eventually you found a bench and you sat down, tipping your head back to watch the stars in the sky. You’d only ever seen them when Silco sent you up to Piltover on business, and on those nights there was never time to stop and really look at them. Down in the Undercity it was difficult to see the sky at all through the smog, let alone the dozens of stars that shimmered through the haze of Piltover’s lights.

For some reason you couldn’t name, tears sprang to your eyes unbidden, and you tried to blink them away without ruining your makeup.

Of course, that was the moment you heard footsteps approaching.

“Drinking alone already?”

Your head snapped up to see Silco strolling towards you, and it was then that you realised you still had your glass of wine in your hand. You sighed, taking a sip as your boss sat down next to you.

“Just needed some air,” you muttered as Silco slung his arm over the back of the bench. It didn’t escape you that if you leaned back, he would have his arm around you. “How did it go with Torek?”

“I expect we’ll be getting a visit from him or one of his associates in the near future. His wife wasn’t too much for you, I take it?”

“I handled it. But they’re all just so…ugh.”

Silco chuckled as he pulled a cigar from somewhere in his coat, and you tried not to let the sound startle you. You’d never heard Silco laugh before, not even a little, and the sound was surprisingly warm. “Don’t worry, we won’t have to do this again for a while.” You watched as he held the cigar between his crooked teeth as he flicked his lighter, the strange angle of the lights highlighting his sharp cheekbones as he took a long drag.

“You know, I don’t think we’re allowed to smoke out here.”

“I don’t care.” He blew a long puff of smoke out into the crisp night air, staining it with a rich scent of tobacco and spices. “Is something bothering you?”

You searched for words to explain the anger tightening your throat, but came up with nothing that made sense. You were a numbers girl. Words were Silco’s thing. You shrugged. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m asking, so I would say it does.” His voice had hardened, and you glanced over at him in alarm, though he didn’t look angry.

You didn’t want to push it, though, so you sighed and took a sip from your wine to buy a few seconds, feeling Silco’s mismatched gaze on you the whole time. “It’s just…all they did in there was bitch about things. What I was wearing, how I acted, their husbands, their lives. And yet…” you gestured vaguely at your surroundings. The gardens that must have needed a whole team of people to maintain. The lawn that sat empty when it could have grown enough food to feed a whole street of hungry Zaunites. The house. “They have all this, but it’s all they’ve ever had, so they can’t even see how privileged they really are. Meanwhile we have to scrape every penny just to put food on the table and some people in Zaun don’t even get that. If I lived up here I’d never complain about anything ever again,” you finished, and by now you were speaking into your wine glass, your eyes fixed on the ground.

Silco was quiet for a moment, and you didn’t dare glance up at him to see if you could gauge what he was really thinking. You’d never been so candid with your boss before, and you half expected him to leave and pretend tonight had never happened. The very last thing you expected him to say was, “What if I told you that tonight had been something of a test of your loyalties?”

Now you did look up, and he was watching you with that kind of calculated detachment he was so good at, though something in the hard lines of his face had softened. Or maybe it was just the moonlight.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

He took his time answering, taking another long drag of his cigar and releasing the smoke in a ring. “You’ve been with me a short while now, and you’re a very talented accountant. With your skills and some forged papers you could easily find work topside. Something with less risk and more pay.”

You flushed at his insinuation. “You pay me just fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “All wages are higher topside, you know that. You could have walked out of that house with a whole list of people who would pay you far more than I can for the same work, but you didn’t. Instead you stood there and allowed me to work on Torek while everyone in that room thought you were just some girl I’d hired for the night.”

You started to splutter a protest, but it died on your lips when you realised Silco was right. If you’d revealed your real job it would have raised Liana’s suspicions.

“It’s a long road ahead of us until Zaun is an independent nation. The topsiders won’t let us go without a fight,” he said, his voice dropping in case you weren’t alone in the gardens. “There will be times when you are tempted by offers of money, better jobs in better places, employers who won’t ask you to break the topsiders’ laws every day. I needed to know that you were true to the cause, that you would remain loyal to me even when you had the opportunity to make things easier for yourself.”

“You were giving me an out,” you said as it clicked into place. “Why now?”

“Because by now, you know exactly what you’re getting into by staying. Your choice to work for me is a genuine one.”

“So did I pass? Your test, I mean.”

“We would not be sitting here now if you had failed.”

You weren’t involved in the…bloodier side of Silco’s business, but you weren’t ignorant to it, either. You knew what he did to people he suspected of disloyalty. Would he really have let you go if you’d wanted? Or would you have disappeared into the shadows of the Lanes, never to be heard from again? You wouldn’t be the first. But then you realised that you’d never been afraid of that, because you would never give him a reason to doubt your loyalties. Zaun had to break free of Piltover, and he was the only one with the wits, the resources, and the sheer bloody-mindedness to finally cut the undercity free.

A sudden cold breeze blew in off the river, making the hedges surrounding you tremble, and you became acutely aware that you had left your coat inside. Before you could give yourself the chance to think better of it, you leaned back, and as you’d suspected, Silco didn’t move his arm. He didn’t quite put his arm around you, but he traced a circle on your bare shoulder with the back of his thumb, almost as if he was reluctant to touch you in case he scared you off.

“We can return to the party if you wish,” he said, and now he was near enough for his warm breath on your ear to send shivers along your skin that had nothing to do with the chilled night air.

“I prefer it out here.”

“As do I.” He held his cigar between his teeth as he reached into his coat and produced a small metal hip flask.

You couldn’t help but snort as he uncapped it and the smell of whiskey hit your nose. “You brought your own alcohol?”

He took a swig and then passed the flask to you. “Better than the swill they’re serving in there.”

“That swill is probably very expensive.”

“So is this. Drink.”

You took a small sip and were proud of yourself when you didn’t cough, even though the whiskey was strong enough to make your eyes water. A pleasant warm sensation spread out from your chest as you swallowed, though, and you shivered as you licked a drop off your lip. “Definitely tastes expensive.”

You looked up at him, and Silco’s eyes quickly snapped away from your mouth as he made a vague hum of agreement. For a while neither of you spoke, and you only passed the flask back and forth in companionable silence. The music that drifted towards you on the wind picked up in pace, and you heard the occasional drunken shout in the distance. Still nobody ventured into the dark grounds.

“Earlier I told you that you looked acceptable,” Silco said all of a sudden as he tapped out his half-smoked cigar and put it back in the tin. “I believe I should have told you that you look lovely instead.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, and you risked a glance up at your boss – who had told you that you would look pretty on his arm, who had trusted you with this mission and had noticed when you slipped off to be alone. Nobody ever did that.

Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe you were delusional or perhaps just stupid. You didn’t really know why you did it, but before you could think better of it, you leaned over and kissed him.

It was only a quick, chaste press of your lips against his, and you instantly regretted it when Silco stayed completely still against you. You jerked backwards, already apologising. “I’m so sorry sir, I shouldn’t—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence. Silco’s hand was firm on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him and kissed you. Properly this time. It was your turn to freeze in shock, but you quickly got over it as his tongue danced against yours and you tasted whiskey and smoke. You eagerly let him in as he deepened the kiss, shivering as his hand slid up your leg from your knee to your thigh, and for the first time that night you were glad of your too-short skirt.

You gasped in surprise as he pulled you onto his lap, barely breaking the kiss as he made you straddle him, your skirt riding up as your thighs spread. Feeling bold, you ran your hands through his soft hair, and he hummed in approval as you raked your nails through the short hair at the base of his neck. In response he gave your ass a firm squeeze, grinding you down onto his lap.

And onto the hard length beneath you.

You circled your hips against him as he moved down to your neck, holding you in place with a hand in your hair pulling just tight enough to hurt as he bit more than kissed you, leaving marks that would definitely be impossible to hide in this dress. You couldn’t give a shit. No way were you going back into that stupid party after this.

“Tell me how long you’ve wanted this,” Silco said, emphasising his point with a sharp snap of his hips up against you.

“I—” you started, but you could only focus on his hands creeping up your thighs again. Except this time, they didn’t stop.

“Go on,” he coaxed, as if you were supposed to focus on anything except his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. You hissed as he tugged them down and the cold night air hit your pussy, and it faded into a whimper as he trailed his fingers along your lips, pausing to circle your entrance in a way that made your back arch. “And don’t you dare try to lie to me, sweetheart, because you’re already wet for me.”

“Um…” you tried to focus on anything but the soft, barely-there brush of his fingers against your pussy. Every time you tried to grind against his hand he moved away, keeping his touch just a little too soft, the bastard. “I think – maybe…”

“A few weeks?” he prompted.

“Mm – no…”

He raised an eyebrow, but rewarded your answer by pressing his thumb against your clit, though he still refused to give you what you wanted. Needed.

“Months?”

“Longer. Since… I wanted this since my first day working for you.” Finally, Silco slid one long finger into you as his thumb drew an agonisingly slow circle over your clit, and your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure.

“Do you want to know a secret, my lovely?” he said, his fingers moving faster, obscene wet noises filling the air.

“M-hm.”

“I have you beat. I’ve wanted this since I interviewed you.”

Your eyes flew open at his admission just as he sank another finger into you without warning. Later. You could think about what he’d said later. For now you just let yourself enjoy the curl of his long fingers inside you, the expert ministrations of his thumb on your clit that sent waves of warm pleasure up your spine.

Until the bastard stopped.

He withdrew his hand from you, and his fingers glistened in the moonlight from your wetness. Your eyes widened as he licked them clean, then he motioned for you to stand. “Get up. Go and stand at the end of the bench.”

You followed his directions on shaky legs, and Silco followed, casually strolling around to stand behind you. You had a good idea of what he intended. He trailed his fingers up your bare arms, then fisted one hand in your hair while the other held your bicep in a bruising grip. “If you want this to stop,” he purred in your ear, “say the word now.”

You only pushed back against him, feeling his hard length behind you.

“I thought not.” Then he bent you over the arm of the bench, the ornate steel armrest digging into your hips as he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties down to your knees. You weren’t sure if you shivered with the cool breeze or the anticipation as you heard him unbutton his pants, his hand still in your hair. Then you hissed as you felt the press of his cock against your centre, arched your back as he slid it through your wetness before finally sinking into you as his free hand started playing with your clit once more.

Your voice rose in a high, keening cry as he sheathed himself inside you, easing the ache of his entry with his fingers on your clit. He stopped abruptly, pulling you up by your hair. “Hush now,” he hissed in your ear as he let go of your hair and shoved his fingers in your mouth. You could taste the echo of yourself on his skin. “You don’t want them to think you really are my whore, do you?”

You choked around his fingers for a moment before you relaxed your throat enough that you could shake your head and make a garbled nuh-uh sound, which earned you a low chuckle.

“I didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart,” he said as he started to move, setting a quick, urgent pace that reminded you that anybody could come around the corner and see you bent over a bench with the most powerful man in the Undercity driving into you from behind as you gagged on his fingers. Every thrust of his hips ground yours against the metal armrest, and you knew you’d surely have bruises in the morning. “I wish we were somewhere I could fuck you properly. Take you apart piece by piece until you’re nothing more than a writhing, crying mess in my bed. But perhaps you do like the idea of someone seeing you, seeing how well you’re taking me. How wet you are.” His breathing was becoming shallow as he fucked you, but that didn’t stop the stream of filth from his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I would kill to see the look on Ko Shosu’s face when he realises we used his party to lure his friend into our web and then defiled his rose garden right under his nose.”

He said something else after that too, but you’d stopped listening to his words and let the low, rough cadence of his voice be the final push you needed over that peak you’d been approaching, once interrupted and now higher than ever. Even Silco’s fingers in your mouth weren’t enough to muffle your cries as you came, your thighs shaking from the strain of standing while your walls clamped down on Silco’s cock, over and over again in waves of agonising bliss. He followed soon after, and you felt a warm rush as he spilled himself inside you with a groan he muffled in your neck.

For a moment you both stood there, catching your breath. You sighed in relief as Silco removed his fingers from your mouth, and after tucking himself away he cleaned you up with a handkerchief before pulling your panties back up for you. “You felt just as good as I’d imagined you would,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your abused scalp.

“Is that something you imagined often, sir?” you said teasingly.

“Most nights,” he murmured into your hair. “And perhaps some days, too.”

Well, damn. You had no idea what to say to that, other than, “Me too.” Maybe you had actually drank too much. “Take me home,” you said, leaning back against his chest as he straightened out your skirts. You felt him smile against your hair.

“It would be my absolute pleasure.”

#arcane x reader #silco x reader #silco x you #arcane x you #arcane x female reader #cursedfanfic #ive been dipping in and out of this for months and now im sick of looking at it so here you go lol

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shelby-fangirl00 · 1 year

Text

An Unexpected Client-One Shot

Summary: Reader is a prostitute working at a party when she meets Thomas Shelby.

Warnings: Little plot, smut, prostitution (MINORS DNI)

Word Count: 2524

Let me know what you guys think of this one! Trying to get better at the spicy stuff lol

You plopped down on an empty red couch near a darker corner of the dimly lit room. You and a hand full of other women had been hired by a wealthy Russian family to work a party tonight. Your wages were paid upfront for an entire night of service to any and all men at this party. Since you’ve been doing this for a few months now, you had seen a lot already, but the money was better than any other job you had before, so you did it. Most of the men you serviced now were regulars and didn’t give you much hassle, but every now and then, you had to work at parties like this. It wasn’t something you looked forward to doing, as it was a bit abrasive and taxing on you, but it paid better than usual nights. Usually, the men would tip on top of what you were paid upfront.

You looked around the room, seeing several naked Cossack men bending the working women over tables and couches, pounding aggressively into them. Loud music attempted to drown out the insistent moans and grunts coming from every inch of the massive room. Nobody had noticed your entry into the room yet, which you were relieved by. You wanted to be aware of your surroundings before you were put into action.

Usually, at these types of events, it was custom for you to wear nothing but dark lingerie. By the time you were needed here, formalities had been stripped away hours ago, so there was no need to be modest now. So, you threw on a size too small bra, panties and stockings. Your hair and bright red heels making you stand out.

‘Care for a drink?’ Said a deep voice.

The man was standing in front of you, holding out a glass for you to take. He stood out from the rest of the men here, he wasn’t Cossack. You could tell by his clothes and his exposed gun holsters that he was wealthy, so you perked up.

‘Thank you, sir’ You smiled at him as you took the glass, straightening your back and crossing your legs suggestively. He leaned into the couch, opposite of you, eyes devouring the sight of your exposed body.

He was very handsome. It wasn’t every day that you were able to entertain someone like him. Most of the men you saw were older businessmen and factory workers. You were very attracted to him, but you tried to push your nervousness and feelings aside, as this was a job for you.

‘Tell me your name, love.’ He commanded softly as his eyes finally found their way back to your face.

‘My names y/n, sir.’ You cooed out. You paused, hoping he’d tell you his name too.

‘Tommy Shelby. Tell me, why is it that you’re the only girl in here who hasn’t been claimed by any of these men?’ He asked genuinely.

‘Your guess is as good as mine… I think I look the part, no? you giggled out, trying to seem more charming and less nervous.

He chuckled at this. ‘That you do, love…’ He said while placing a firm hand to softly grip your thigh. It was as if to tell you that he was in fact, the man that would be claiming you tonight.

Excitement flooded your body, your stomach turning in knots. You couldn’t help how your body was reacting to Tommy. There was just something about him, the way he carried himself, the way he talked and looked at you …it all caused a thumping in your chest and a wetness to form in your panties.

You placed your hand on top of his. Guiding his hand up your thigh to cup your mound, you showed him the wetness that was seeping through your thin panties.

‘Do you want to fuck me, Mr. Shelby?’ You uttered out, inhaling deeply as he began to rub against the wetness through your panties.

His eyes sparkled with pure desire as he looked into yours. A devilish grin covered his face.

‘I do, very much.’ His thick accent rolling off his tongue.

As he pulled his hand out from in between your thighs, you took the chance to drop to your knees in front of him.

‘Not here, love. We’ll go to my room, yeh?’ He stated as he helped you up from the floor. People were fucking all around us. I didn’t see why he was being so modest. Maybe he didn’t like all the eyes in the room.

You let him lead you into an attached bedroom that he must’ve been staying in tonight. You felt like you’d struck gold getting to be with the most attractive man here, and in private. He had you all to himself now.

He locked the door behind him before walking towards you with stride, examining every inch of your body. Goosebumps covered your arms as he did so.

You waited for him to instruct you.

He pulled you into him, laying hungry kisses and soft bites onto your neck, a small moan escaped you. You threw up your hands to rest on the back of his neck. You suddenly realized you were enjoying this far too much.

You pulled away and dropped to your knees in front of him. His eyes watched your every move and yours never left his.

You slowly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, letting his anticipation build.

His cock sprung from his pants, already hard. You smirked at his eagerness, wrapping your hand at the base. You looked up at him needily, swirling your tongue around the round head of his cock before pushing your lips past it.

Tommy let out a low groan as he pushed his hand into your hair. His eyes were heavy with nothing but desire and need.

He pushed softly into your mouth, filling you more and more, almost reaching the back of your throat. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to his size. Tears stung your eyes as you tried to relaxed your throat, allowing him to easily push in and out of your mouth.

‘Fuuuck yes, love…you’re doing so good for me.’ He moaned out while tossing your hair to one side, gripping it. He used his other hand to caress your cheek, reveling in the sight of you wrapped around his cock.

You moaned into him as a response to his words. It felt so good to make him feel good. You wanted more.

As you pulled back, you began to bob your head up and down his shaft, pressing your tongue against the underside of his cock. Your hands wandered up his tight stomach, balancing yourself against him.

Without warning, he dragged himself slowly out of your mouth with a soft pop. You looked up at him, a bit confused.

‘Lay down, on the bed.’ He commanded you, a darkness casting over his eyes. You did as you were told, sliding your soaked panties off as you did so.

He stood in between your spread legs, marveling at the sight of you.

‘You’re so fucking beautiful.’ He panted out as he pushed his holster off his shoulders and onto the floor, his eyes never leaving yours. You sat up to unbutton his shirt quickly. You pushed the shirt down and off his broad shoulders, exposing his muscular chest.

He pushed you back down forcefully onto the bed, leaning over you as you wrapped your thighs around his waist.

As his pretty face hovered over yours, he pressed his lips onto yours. The kiss sent sparks to your head. He tasted like whiskey and smelt of cigarettes. You flicked your tongue into his mouth, causing him to let out a small groan as he pushed into your lips.

As he kissed you, he lined himself up with your dripping entrance, letting the tip glide against your slick folds, collecting the wetness. He teased your entrance, popping the head of his cock in and out of you slowly. He was driving you crazy.

‘Please Tommy, I need you inside of me.’ You panted out, not being able to wait any longer.

Tommy chuckled and smiled softly. All at once, he pushed into you forcefully. You gasped, breath getting stuck in your chest as you adjusted to his size.

‘You’re so fucking tight around my cock, aren’t you? Such a good little whore for me.’ He said lowly into your ear as he fucked into you fast and hard.

You could barely make out any words. You felt so full with him inside you. You hadn’t felt this good during sex in a very long time. Sex wasn’t supposed to be enjoyable for working girls like you. You were supposed to service this man, but it felt like he was servicing you.

As your body adjusted to him, you quickly threw off your thin bra, exposing your hard nipples.

Tommy dipped his face down into your chest, cupping your tits as he swirled his tongue around your nipples, sucking lightly on them before coming back to your face.

He continued to fuck into you, lifting your ass slighting off the mattress in order for him to push even deeper into you. You clung to both of his biceps tightly, trying to keep yourself from moving around too much.

Before you could comprehend what was happening, he pulled out of you and stood up.

‘On your knees, now.’ He growled at you, panting as he did so.

You happily moved to your hands and knees, your bare ass on display for Tommy.

He came up behind you, letting his hands brush down your spine and the curve of your ass, landing in between your legs. He slowly started to rub circles onto your swollen clit. You jolted slightly under his touch. No client had ever tried to pleasure you. You felt like you were doing something wrong.

‘Tommy, please. I’m here for you, not myself. Let me help you feel good.’ You said seductively, pushing your ass into his groin.

‘This makes me feel good, so shall I continue or should I stop?’ He whispered again, sending a chill down your spine. You couldn’t argue with this, though. His whispers were impossible to deny.

You nodded your head silently, causing him to continue rubbing against your sensitive nub, more forcefully. His two finger drew circles, making you even more wet than before.

‘Fuck Tommy…please don’t stop.’ You moaned loudly, still on your hands and knees.

Then, he shoved his cock into you, picking up the pace quickly. You gasped loudly as he thrusted into you while rubbing your clit menacingly. All of it was too much to hold onto, you needed to cum. His hands, roaming your body, rubbing you, fucking you, his whispers…he was sending you over the edge.

‘Tommy..oh god, I’m gonna cum Tommy, don’t stop!’ You yelled out as he fucked you even more forcefully than before, resting his chest on your back and his face nuzzled into your neck as he worked to make you cum. The sounds of skin slapping together echoed through the large room.

A wave of warmness ran through you before you let out a strange moan, not being able to control yourself. Your walls clenched tightly around his cock, molding them together. You came harder than you ever had, around him. He held you up by your waist as your legs shook from on your knees. Tommy didn’t stop fucking you though, he was chasing his own high now, which you could tell was close.

‘You sound so fucking pretty when you cum.’ He said roughly as he pounded sloppily into you. You lifted yourself from your hands, pushing your back against his chest as he fucked you. He grabbed and squeezed your tits, craning your neck around to meet his freckled lips. He kissed you sloppily, his tongue invading your mouth and refusing to leave. He hooked is hands into your arms, keeping you in place.

‘Are you going to cum, Mr. Shelby? Cum all over my face?’ You asked him greedily, but also asking him to not cum inside of you.

‘Is that what my little whore wants? You want that pretty face covered in me cum?’ He said more loudly. You could feel him getting so close. His strokes were becoming more and more sloppy.

‘Yes, please, yes! Come on my face Tommy! Please!’ You yelled out, wanting to be covered in his warm liquids so badly. You wanted to taste him.

Suddenly, he pulled out. As he did so, you quickly swung around to lay on your back as he hovered over your face, stroking out his own orgasm. You opened your mouth, stuck out your tongue and closed your eyes. Ropes of warm cum splattered across your face and onto your tongue. He whimpered as he finished himself off, watching you greedily lick the cum off of your face.

As he emptied himself completely, he approached you, taking his thumb and collecting some of the leftover cum on your face, and shoving it into your mouth.

You sucked every bit of liquid on his thumb, staring back up at him as you did so.

You both stood there, naked and panting, trying to understand what had just happened.

‘You’re good at what you do, woman.’ He said quietly as he tenderly cupped your face and kissed you softly. You lightly squeezed his waist.

‘Thank you, Tommy, that was fucking amazing, I have to say.’ You said sweetly to him as you went to stand up and put back on the little clothing you had before.

‘The fuck are you doing?’ he asked, still standing where you left him, naked.

‘I…have to keep working tonight Mr. Shelby.’ You said as you tied your bra in the back.

‘I’ll pay ya whatever the Romanov’s did for the night, you’re not seeing anyone else but me, here. You’re mine for the night, alright?’ He said sternly, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

You were shocked but also very excited that he had enjoyed being with you, so much so that he would double your wages just to stay with him.

‘You’re being serious? I chuckled out, hoping to God he was.

‘Come on love, lie down with me.’ He gestured to you to follow him under the silky sheets of his bed. You smiled as you giggled over to him, snuggling your face onto is chest. His body was so warm and inviting. He rested his arm on your back, stroking the exposed skin with his rough fingers. You had never felt so protected and wanted by a client. You definitely weren’t supposed to be doing something like this, but you couldn’t help yourself. It just felt so right being around him and he seemed to enjoy your company, so what was the harm?

You both said nothing or did anything else for the rest of the night. You both fell asleep in each other’s arms, without any interruptions, feeling extra lucky that you decided to work this party after all.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby one shot #thomas shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader

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lostloveletters · 3 months

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Give Me Shelter, The Night Is Dark (Vampire!Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Local superstition and a reclusive man offer you refuge when your parents grievously misstep in Sicily, putting your life in danger in more ways than one.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This incredibly self-indulgent gothic romance-esque idea came to me while I was half-asleep, and the time period is intentionally vague, but it’s not a modern setting (here's a little aesthetic tag for this fic). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Major canon divergence. Canon-typical violence. Emotional manipulation. Vampirism, including non-consensual blood drinking and compulsion (in the context of it being an ability vampires possess and can use on humans). Sexually explicit content involving elements of bloodplay. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

You couldn’t remember what had brought your family to the village of Corleone, only that your father had promised you and your mother an extravagant Sicilian vacation. Three days of beachside paradise in Mondello, eating fresh seafood cooked to perfection and entertaining the antics of handsome men with scars that stood out like bolts of lightning against their tanned skin were hardly enough to sate your voracious appetite for the weeks of bliss you were promised.

Despite your attempts at bargaining to stay in Palermo on your own, your mother refused, insisting she’d be better off throwing you into shark-infested waters than alone with the men who came calling to your hotel. Some days of travel through the breathtaking Sicilian countryside later, you and your parents arrived in Corleone, a village that appeared all but frozen in time, as if decades had passed it by with no one any the wiser.

To your dismay, you found the selection of eligible men to spend your time with far more limited than in Palermo. The working young men were too tired from their labor in the fields or their trades to engage in foolish antics with a vacationing foreigner. The rest were mafiosi, as you gathered from the veiled comments and numerous euphemisms the older villagers used.

These elderly became your companions during your stay in Corleone, talking wildly with their weathered hands over coffee or wine. Filomena, a woman of nearly eighty years and fluent in English, lived in the house next to the one your family was renting. Her husband Gianni only left the house if absolutely necessary, and she considered him a burdensome hermit. Each morning, she fetched you to accompany her into town. Some days, you’d do little else than sit outside of a cafe on the sleepy main street, eating and drinking and gossiping.

Your Sicilian improved immensely in the near month you kept up with their chatter. Those women always had their ears to the ground, as far as knowing more about your father’s business in Corleone than you did. The vacation he promised you was little more than a gesture of confidence toward Don Manusco, a man notoriously difficult to meet directly with. That your father achieved this naturally generated interest in the village, as no one knew of him. When pressed for more information about your own family’s line of work, you answered what you knew, that your father invested, mostly in stocks, but occasionally in new business ventures.

You were privy to little else, much to the disappointment of your companions, who moved onto other topics of discussion. One woman’s son sought work in Milan and within three months of getting hired at a factory, married a Northerner, much to her displeasure. In contrast, Filomena’s daughter was cloistered elsewhere in the countryside, preparing to take her vows and become a nun.

Their superstitions, however, intrigued you most of all. A curse and blessing existed for nearly every conceivable situation. The most striking tale they spun regarded an abandoned villa about a mile past the rental house. Foreboding and hostile, its faded facade peeking out from thorny vines, it was once the envy of the village. At one point in time, though no one could agree quite when, the Don of another family lived there. He took in a strange young man, reclusive yet polite, wandering the countryside with two armed shepherds as bodyguards. He married a local girl, but the marriage ended tragically soon after the wedding. In a sudden blaze of fire and betrayal, she was killed. The strange man vanished not long after, and anyone associated with the villa—including the old Don Tomassino—were soon found dead or had disappeared altogether. Thus, no one dared approach it for fear of the curse surely cast upon the place.

Some of the gruesome murders in the vicinity of the villa could have been attributed to the tradition of violence Don Manusco carried on following Don Tomassino’s death. It didn’t explain the livestock dying of unusual causes, an older woman interjected. Even the land surrounding it was cursed, and the local shepherds knew better than to let their flocks graze nearby, explaining the abnormally tall grass and overgrown foliage that surrounded the villa.

Yet another woman claimed to have seen a demon or ghost in the form of a man wandering the villa’s grounds at night. Of course, she didn’t get close enough to take a good look, instead uttering Hail Marys as she ran into the local church to take refuge until her husband found her some time later.

Your mind drifted to the villa sometimes, this forbidden and mysterious monument to grief and superstition that seemed to cast a longer shadow over the village than the mafiosos who ran it. Like Don Manusco, who your parents were joining for dinner one evening, and Filomena insisted you join her and Gianni instead of eating alone.

The scent of stewing summer tomatoes with garlic and mouth-watering spices invited you inside the house, its windows open for hopes of cool breezes moving through. Gianni offered you wine and a simple antipasto spread of cheese and oranges to snack on while Filomena cooked dinner. Despite his reclusiveness, he somehow knew that your father’s dinner with Don Manusco involved more business than a friendly visit, the final chance for your father to seal what he hoped would be a lucrative deal with the mafia boss.

Two hours later, you sat across from Filomena at the small wooden table in their kitchen, filling your plate with the delicious meal she prepared. You ate silence while Filomena spoke, bickering with Gianni every now and then. As the sun set over Corleone, unease crept over you, though you chose to attribute it to the heat of the day and eating too quickly.

Until a commotion erupted up the street, almost deafening as it approached, finally arriving outside of Filomena’s house. Frantic Sicilian shouting mingled with rapid pounding on the front door startled you into dropping your fork. Filomena and Gianni shared a worried glance before both getting up from the table to answer.

Wailing.

Screaming.

Arguing.

All you found yourself able to do was sit in confused silence. When they returned to the kitchen with a few other locals, panic truly set in.

“You have to leave!” Filomena cried, pulling you out of your seat by your arm.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Your father’s a fool–”

Gianni shook his head. “A dead fool–”

“Your father should have never brought you here if he were going to try to cheat Don Manusco!” an older woman said.

Another cursed. “Selfish bastard!”

“Go! As far from here as you can!” Filomena implored.

A hard push toward the back door was the extent of the help you’d receive from the villagers of Corleone.

Blood pounded in your ears, your heart beating in time with your feet against the uneven dirt path that nearly tripped you up in your desperate rush to the rental home. You opened the door, scrambling upstairs in a frantic half-crawl to reach your room.

You shoved clothes and essentials into a bag, hardly paying attention to what exactly you were packing, just knowing you couldn’t flee empty-handed and hope to rely on the goodwill of strangers.

In the kitchen, you grabbed what you could from the pantry and shoved everything into a wicker basket. With just that and your suitcase in hand, you clumsily ran across the uneven countryside roads, hoping to find somewhere to take shelter for the night. Every rustle of leaves and animal cry sent chills across your skin. Just when you felt hopeless for a place to hide, you saw the abandoned villa's high walls, overgrown with vines and bramble in the distance. Superstition be damned, it was better than dying at the hands of a mafioso.

The iron gate was closed, but not locked. You held your breath as you opened it, sending out silent thanks to the universe that it didn’t release some otherworldly screech and announce your presence. Hardly visible in the dead of night, the villa peeked out from beneath the plants that had overtaken it. Even from a distance, it appeared as if the building were hollowed out somehow. It remained your best bet.

Superstition offered you refuge, as masculine voices drifted above the villa’s high walls, the structure still sturdy despite the general state of disrepair.

“Should we go in?”

“You sound as much of a fool as that old man. That place is cursed. Even if she were in there, she'd be dead anyway.”

Their heavy, rushed footsteps against the rocky terrain fell silent after a few moments. You sighed in relief, allowing yourself to relax just the slightest bit. Until you glanced back at the villa again, a new sense of dread making your stomach turn at the prospect of having to go inside the place. While you didn’t believe all of the rumors you’d been told over the previous few weeks, being in its presence unsettled you.

Then again, feeling unsettled in an abandoned villa was preferable to whatever would happen if Don Manusco’s men got his hands on you.

After a moment of hesitation, you approached the shadowy building, hoping your luck wouldn’t run out when you got inside.

To your surprise, the interior wasn’t as poorly maintained as the exterior. The furniture betrayed the wealth of whoever lived there previously, though they’d seen better days. Dark wood scuffed or splintered. Dull fabrics that must have been rich violets or crimson upon their initial purchase.

You walked into the living room, freezing upon seeing lit candles around. Someone was living there after all.

“Hello? Is anyone–” you gasped upon seeing a man standing on the other side of the living room, partially obscured by shadows.

Even in the cover of darkness, his features rendered you speechless as he approached. Handsome seemed too pedestrian of a word to describe him. His raven hair fell across his forehead with a deceptive boyishness. Brown eyes, almost black as the night itself bore into your own. His skin wasn’t nearly as tan as the villagers you’d met, but you supposed someone who lived in such a place was wealthy enough to not have to partake in the grueling manual labor typical of the area, the strong Sicilian sun giving its residents a healthy glow which he lacked.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

“The men who were outside before—I think they’re going to kill me,” you said, panic overtaking your senses as his face remained unmoved by your explanation. “Please, I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

“Why do they want to kill you?”

“I think my father tried to cheat Don Manusco. I don’t know all of the details, but if they don’t want to kill me, then they’ll probably—“ Your voice caught in your throat.

“You can stay.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow and find a way to get back to Palermo.”

He shook his head. “You have a vendetta out against you now. Getting back to Palermo so soon will be nearly impossible, especially if Manusco has allies there.” He watched in unreadable silence as hopelessness ate away at your resolve. “You can stay,” he finally repeated. “Don’t leave the villa. Not during the day, and especially not at night. You’ll be safe.”

“Thank you. I owe you my life.” You offered him your name, as a courtesy and as collateral. More valuable than anything else you carried with you, he could use it to betray you for his own gain whenever he wished. You prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

“Michael Corleone,” he said.

“Like the village.”

He smiled the slightest bit, his dark eyes shining an almost betraying crimson in the moonlight. Ethereal. That was the right word for him. “Yes, like the village.”

Your host led you upstairs, helping you with your meager belongings despite your insistence you could handle your small suitcase and a basket of food, which you left on the console table in the foyer. The villa had certainly seen better days, its plaster walls cracked, crumbling in some places. You would’ve used caution going up the stairs if Michael hadn’t been so confident as he ascended them.

He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing at each of the doors along the hallway. After a few moments, he seemed to settle on one, leading you to a dark bedroom, full of odd shadows that made you pause. It seemed otherwise better taken care of than the rest of the villa you’d seen up to that point.

“It’s just me here. I’m afraid I’m not the best homemaker,” he half-joked in response to your hesitation to enter the room.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s nice. I can’t thank you enough, Michael.”

He nodded. “I have insomnia, so you’ll see more of me at night than during the day. The cellar stays locked, but you can have the run of the place otherwise.”

You bid each other good night.

When he shut the bedroom door behind you, you collapsed onto the bed and cried into your pillow, both from heartbreak and exhaustion, until you fell asleep.

The following morning, you awoke to fresh bug bites on your arm–inflamed and itchy, though perfectly in line with each other, oddly enough. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and you supposed you’d rather deal with mosquito bites than whatever Don Manusco and his soldiers had in mind for you.

True to his word, Michael was nowhere to be found when you went downstairs to eat a breakfast of bread and hard salami. Again, not ideal, but you’d make do with what you brought with you. For the rest of the day, you explored the villa, acquainting yourself with your new albeit temporary home.

You found yourself with little to do to pass the time. Venturing out onto the surrounding grounds of the villa was hardly an option, most of it so overgrown you couldn’t take a proper walk. There were a few books in the house, but often you found your mind drifting to your parents, what their fate looked like and what could await you if Don Manusco found out where you were hiding. By the time you’d finally see Michael around in the evenings, you’d force yourself to stay up as long as you could to be in his company. Soon, your schedule nearly matched his nocturnal one.

Over the following weeks, you got to know Michael. At times, you couldn’t help but stare at him, but sometimes it felt as though you couldn’t do much else if you tried. He was a gracious host for how you imposed on him, showing concern for the bug bites you tried to hide from him. A good thing he noticed, as he brought you a cup of tea, a deep maroon color that he explained was a natural remedy from the village for the discomfort you were experiencing. A common occurrence that you’d been fortunate enough to avoid since arriving in Corleone.

“You’re not from around here either,” you said one night. “I can tell from your accent.”

“I’m from New York, but my father was born here,” he explained. “My last name is a mistake from when he immigrated.”

“Do you miss it?”

He was silent for some time, lost in thought before answering with a soft, “Terribly.”

“But you can’t go back.”

“No, I’m very sick. I wouldn’t survive the trip.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, your curiosity getting the better of you when you asked, “What do you have?”

“What I have is incredibly rare, there’s no word for it. Sunlight puts me in excruciating pain, and my appetite is abnormal.”

“How long have you been sick for?”

“Years. More than you’d believe.”

“You know, everyone in the village thinks this place is cursed. If you just talked to them, then they’d understand what was going on and maybe be able to help.”

“I can’t be around people. It’s not safe for them.”

“I don’t understand,” you said. “Are you contagious?”

He hesitated. “Not how you’d think.”

“No matter what you have, it’s not good to be alone,” you argued.

“You’re here now.”

“Only until it’s safe for me to go to Palermo and leave Sicily.”

He shook his head. “You won’t be able to leave. Not when a man like Don Manusco has a vendetta out against you,” he said, his intense gaze boring into you. Your chest grew tighter as he spoke. “This villa is the only place you’ll ever be safe.”

“Michael, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just know what he did to your parents…he and men like him have done to many others on this island, too.” Your silence perturbed him. He grabbed your shoulders, squeezing them gently, though his eyes seemed to blaze with fury. “I’m keeping you safe here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice nearly catching in your throat.

“Then what’s there to be afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s right, as long as you stay here.”

“I can’t stay forever.”

He hummed dismissively, not bothering to acknowledge your statement. You soon excused yourself to go to sleep, a sudden uneasiness settling in your stomach.

You awoke late into the afternoon the following day, judging by the amber sunlight that streamed through the broken shutters. Still, your limbs felt heavy, and your head pounded as if you’d hardly slept at all. A quick glance at your arm revealed twin bug bites on your wrist again, this time darker than the previous ones, leaving your skin tender to the touch.

Dizziness turned the room over when you sat up from the bed, and you nearly considered going back to sleep, if it weren’t for the hunger that ached in your bones.

You ventured down into the kitchen, relieved to find a pot of tea sitting out. You didn’t even bother reheating it, though the consistency was odd, thicker in its room temperature state. The texture didn’t deter you, as the more you drank, the better you felt, your dizziness and aches gone as the tea overflowed from the corners of your mouth and dripped down your chin, insatiable until there was nothing left. Wiping off your face, you went back up to your room and fell back asleep.

A knock on the door woke you up in the pitch black some hours later. You lit the candle on your bedside table before getting up to answer. You knew it was Michael, concerned about why you hadn’t joined him yet.

Just as you got up to answer, he opened the door, letting himself into your room–except it wasn’t your room. It was his, and you supposed he could enter whenever he wanted.

Frozen in place by his gaze alone, you stood still and silent as he approached, demeanor darker and more intense as his presence filled the room, as if his essence somehow intermixed with each breath you took. A citrusy sweetness with a bloodcurdling undercurrent of violence filled your lungs. Despite this, you felt no fear, but rather anticipation when he finally reached out and caressed your cheek, his hand freezing against your warm skin.

“Michael,” you whispered.

“Don’t fight me, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t. Not even if you tried. His eyes took in your face with a softness that betrayed his fondness for you. His lips pressed against yours, a chaste kiss to start, but it proved to be insufficient for him, as he claimed your mouth with the fervor of a man long starved for affection. His desire for you tangible as you kissed him back, allowing his hands to roam your body above your nightgown until his fingers brushed your thighs, pushing the hem up to your hips.

He laid you back on the bed, ridding you of your panties and slipping his fingers between your folds. “Tell me how it feels,” he said, his lips against your skin. “Tell me everything.”

Before then, you would have died rather than admit it to him, but at his urging, the dam broke. Of course your thoughts of him weren’t always innocent. Some nights, when you were sure he was elsewhere, you touched yourself to the thought of him. The confession slipped from your mouth so quickly that shame couldn’t catch you, not when Michael pushed his fingers inside you, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit, denying you any sensation but absolute pleasure.

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” he whispered, pressing desperate kisses into your neck. “You have no idea how hard it’s been for me not to–”

Your whine interrupted his train of thought, and a knife-sharp pain jolted through you when he sunk his teeth into your throat, breaking the fragile skin. His fingers curled inside you, a moan clawing its way out of you as you came, ecstasy pulsing through your limbs in waves that threatened to drown you in it. Spots clouded your vision and breath evaded you, the poignant scent of copper mixed with your sex made your head spin.

“Michael, I–” You passed out, though you awoke later, curled up next to him, your body sore and more fatigued than ever. You winced when you tried to move your head, a dull ache coming from your neck. “What did you do?” you mumbled.

“Sweetheart?”

“To my neck.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, petting your hair. “I got carried away. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

“Me either,” you admitted.

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. From then on, he was ravenous, and like a woman possessed, you gave in to him every time. Nights with him blurred together as thoughts of escaping Sicily and the danger that waited for you outside of the villa walls were almost nonexistent.

Some time later, though you’d largely stopped keeping track of the days by then, you realized your food supply was running low. Michael would go out at night and get some for you if you asked, though he never revealed where exactly he went. Still unsure of your safety from Don Manusco, you figured the farm up the road would be a good place to swipe some fruit from the orchard and anything else they might have lying around and not exactly miss.

The sun felt especially harsh when you went outside. Each step brought about unimaginable fatigue that made your bones ache. You hardly made it halfway to the farm before you had to rest beneath a large tree’s shade to rest your tired limbs and eyes.

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?”

You jolted awake, surrounded by a handful of elderly villagers from around the countryside. You recognized at least one of the older women as one of your old cafe companions in Corleone.

“I’m fine.”

The woman in question squinted at you. “Where do I know you from?”

“We’ve never met before,” you said, voice tight with panic. “I have to go. Goodbye.” You forced yourself up, using what little strength you had to return to the villa, ignoring their calls for you to wait. Exhaustion swept over you by the time you made it inside, promptly collapsing in the foyer. They had recognized you, and surely they had seen you retreat into the villa and were on their way to let Don Manusco know of your whereabouts. They’d be foolish not to with the price on your head.

Michael was nowhere to be found, and you worried that by the time you finally saw him that night, it’d be too late to tell him what transpired. Tears rolled down your cheeks as fear and guilt crept up on you. Your carelessness had put Michael in danger, too.

With no way of knowing how long it’d be until word got back to Manusco, you considered the layout of the villa, which you knew like the back of your hand, and the best place to hide if he or his men intruded in search of you.

In hindsight, the kitchen cupboard was a more obvious choice for a hiding spot, but it was the most your fatigued brain could come up with while you were panicked.

Your instincts had been right, though. The inevitable intrusion did come.

The voices that echoed through the foyer were the same ones from the night you first arrived in the villa. You kept a hand over your mouth, the other with an iron grip around the kitchen knife.

“Come on, Don Manusco isn’t angry with you. He just wants to talk,” one of the men called out.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” the other added. “He knows you didn’t have anything to do with your father’s schemes.”

You couldn’t take a chance on whether or not they were telling the truth.

Footsteps approached, growing louder with each passing second. You readied yourself for attack, until you heard a blood-curdling scream rip through the night and you dropped the knife in shock.

With all of the foolishness of your father, you opened the cupboard door. Blood pooled around the man’s head, a look of terror etched into his face, betraying his final thoughts. Your gaze lifted, and you stumbled backward, unable to comprehend the gruesome sight before you. If you hadn’t been watching Michael with your own eyes, you would have assumed an animal attack was responsible for the carnage at your feet. What more, after the initial shock wore off, an almost physical pull drew you to the spilled blood.

The villagers had been right. It wasn’t mere superstition, but reality, one more horrific than any of them could have fathomed. The unexplained murders, the livestock deaths, all by his hand. His illness a fabrication to conceal the true nature of his being, something unnatural that existed in the worlds between life and death with a hunger to match. He’d been feeding from you for weeks, allowing you to carry on believing lies. Of course you felt awful, constantly fatigued. You could only hazard a guess as to what was really in the tea you’d been drinking like a fiend.

You wished you could scream at yourself for your naivete, as if he’d help you out of the kindness of his heart and not expect something in return. Your willful ignorance of his odd behavior in exchange for refuge in the one place where you’d be safe from who you thought were the only men who wanted to harm you. But he saved you from Don Manusco and his men. He kept you alive. He could gain little from drawing out your death for so long. Unless…your eyes widened, and you looked at him in horror.

Michael spoke your name softly. “Do you understand now?”

“You–You’ve been making me like you.”

“I should have done it sooner. It’s the best way to keep you safe.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

“I guess not.”

He cupped your face in his hands, “Things won’t be that different. We’ll be together. No one will be able to hurt you.”

“How–How much longer until I’m–”

“As soon as tonight, if you’ll let me.” Sensing your hesitation, he pressed a bloody kiss to your forehead. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the urge to trust him, to commit to an eternity of all-consuming, reclusive violence with him. “I want to be with you. I want to be like you.”

His hands drifted down to your neck, his fingers digging into your pulse as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the half-healed wound he’d inflicted all those nights before. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

#the godfather #michael corleone #michael corleone x reader #the godfather x reader #michael corleone imagine #michael corleone fanfic #the godfather imagine #the godfather fanfic

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willowworkswithwords · 11 months

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Eddie looks at the empty fridge. Then his laundry. Back to the fridge.

Eddie’s brain’s been swimming in fog all night. The bites have been itchy, the nightmares had kept him up until he’d not bothered trying to sleep at all, and he feels like he’s gonna cry and for what. Just a basket of laundry and a near empty fridge.

It dawns on him that Wayne hasn’t left the factory yet, that Eddie could call him and ask him to get groceries on his way home. But Wayne’ been working longer shifts for a couple months now, to make up for the time he spent with Eddie in the hospital those first two weeks when no one was sure what was going to happen. Eddie’s been trying to do things on his own when Wayne isn’t there, to let him help when he is, to balance physical recovery and mental trauma and school and the bills sitting on the kitchen table.

Eddie won’t call Wayne.

He looks at the phone on the wall, weighs the pros and cons, tries to imagine himself getting into his van and driving all the way to the laundromat and then the grocery store by himself and already feels tired by it.

“Hello?”

“Hey Steve, it’s me.”

“Eddie, you ok?”

Eddie wraps the phone cord around his finger, grimacing at the worry he can practically see emanating from Steve.

“Yeah man, I’m uh, I’m like, fine? But could you help me do some, some errands?”

Eddie holds his breath, pulls the cord tight around his pinky finger.

“I’m on my way, Eddie. See you soon.”

And that’s that. Eddie hangs up, sliding his fingers from the cord and sits down on the couch, knee bouncing, until he hears the Beemer roll up onto the gravel drive. Steve let’s himself in and Eddie’s heart jumps into his throat when he realizes he’s left the door open this whole time and anything could have happened and—

“Hey Eddie,” Steve says, sliding onto the couch right next to Eddie, knee bumping bouncing knee.

“Hey.”

Steve presses his hand, just for a second, to Eddie’s knee. Eddie stills his knees but pulls a lock of hair into his mouth, can’t stop himself from doing it even as the voice that’s always in his head tells him to just stop.

Steve squeezes, then lets go. He stares at Eddie for a second more, then smiles softly and grabs the basket of laundry.

“Ok man, let’s go.”

“Can we, uh, run to the grocery store too?”

“Sure. Anywhere else?”

“No,” Eddie starts to lever himself up off the couch. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve is already at the door, holding it open for Eddie as he props the basket up against his hip.

“No problem, man.”

His smile is soft, and Eddie feels his own lips curl up and knows Steve can see his eyes crinkle.

The early dawn of the morning is beautiful, promising. Eddie feels the anxiety of the night still gripping onto him, but it’s moved from his chest to his legs, which is better but still not best. Steve doesn’t try to make conversation as he sets the Beemer in motion, letting Eddie watch the passing trees to the tune of Tears for Fears. Maybe it’s because Eddie doesn’t even reach for the dial that Steve keeps quiet, or maybe it’s the gentle morning still making its way over the horizon, still burning off the last dredges of sleep.

Glancing at Steve, Eddie doesn’t think he got much sleep either.

The laundromat is on Eddie’s side of town, close enough to downtown that they’ll probably just walk to get groceries once the clothes are in the dryer. There’s no one else there, though a machine is running in the corner. Steve starts setting up the machine immediately, and Eddie suppresses his surprise behind a lock of hair. He wouldn’t have thought that Steve would know how to work the machine but wonders never cease. It lets Eddie sit down gingerly on chair by the window.

The restlessness in his legs has turned into an ache. Steve glances at him as he put the clothes in, separating lights and darks into two different machines. Eddie starts to push his hand into his pocket for change, but Steve, facing away from him, not even realizing, takes nickels and dime from his own pocket and pops them into both machines, setting them running.

“Here, I grabbed this for you,” Steve says, book in hand. It’s an old, tattered copy of a collection of science fiction Wayne had given him. It’d been sitting next to him on the couch, Eddie realized, and he takes it from Steve’s outstretched hand with a grin he can’t help.

“Thanks, Steve-o.”

Steve’s own grin breaks out. He pulls out his own book, which was in his back pocket, for whatever reason, and Eddie tries (and fails) to hold back the look of utter confusion that crosses his face. He swears Steve did that on purpose.

“Anytime, Ed.”

They sit in the loud-quiet, the clunking machine and soft sound of each other’s breaths, and for a little while, they just are.

#just a little something #drabble #domesticness #doing chores together #steve loves eddie munson #eddie munson loves steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #willow talks #willow writes #two stories in one day this is craziness

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try-set-me-on-fire · 6 months

Note

hello I am a slut for forehead kisses so may I request that prompt if it inspires? 🥺

I know I said reunion kiss was next but I have conflicting ideas about that one and this popped into my head and google doc nearly fully formed, so here you go. On ao3 here!

By the time Eddie has locked his car and is bolting up the stairs so fast he very nearly trips and eats shit, he’s 23 minutes late.

“Sorry, Cap,” he says, trying not to sound out of breath and discretely tugging wrinkles out of his uniform. “Water main burst near Chris’ school, must have happened after I left the house ‘cause I didn’t get any traffic alerts.”

Bobby snorts. “As your captain I have to say ‘try to be punctual next time,’ but as someone who also lives in Los Angeles… it happens.”

Eddie sighs in agreement and slides onto one of the bar stools. At least it’s not a day where they got called out immediately, he’d feel terrible if he arrived and everyone was already out on the truck. A coffee mug — Eddie’s favorite at the station, a deep speckly green handmade number somebody had found at a farmer’s market — lands next to him, along with a familiar warm presence at his side. He smiles as he looks up at Buck.

“Hello, husband,” Buck says, grin so bright Eddie thinks he might be bioluminescent if they turned off all the lights.

“Hi, husband,” Eddie says, figuring he’d probably glow in the dark, too.

Eddie supposes he’s probably had more eventful 72 hour time spans in his life, though he’s hard pressed to remember one where the majority of the events were this good. It’s not like it started fantastic, his shoulder still hurts like hell from landing on it when the factory floor went out from under them, and there were the three horrifying hours where no one could find Buck and it felt like the world was ending. He hadn’t kept his cool very well, he’ll admit it, and he’s fully expecting teasing to set in any time now that they’ve had a few days and Buck is perfectly fine.

They’d found him in a little pocket in the debris two floors down, not a scratch on him. He’d lost his radio, but otherwise he was sort of just waiting around. Legs crossed, hands behind his head, chill as anything. He could have been at the goddamn beach.

And he’d looked at Eddie, a happy little smile on his face, and said “I knew you’d find me,” and Eddie — who’s lungs hadn’t been working right since he’d tried to call Buck on the radio and got silence in return — had kissed him instead of saying I always will.

And when they’d got back to the station he’d gone ahead and said it out loud, too, and I don’t know how to be without you and I love you, I’ve loved you for so long and move in with me and marry me, we should get married, please marry me.

Buck’s knuckles had been almost creaking with how tight they’d been gripping the sleeves of Eddie’s uniform. “Why? I mean- we haven’t- you never- how could you want that? It’s me, I-“ he’d laughed, trying to make it into a joke. “Won’t you get sick of me?”

“I want to share my whole life with you,” Eddie had said, and then laughed a little breathless. “And Buck, I- I think we already do. Your toothbrush is in my bathroom and I have a green lawn chair because you said it looked like a frog and- and you fixed the holes in my wall and you’re raising my son. We share- my house feels most like a home when you’re there. So. You can be there, forever, if you want. You want a couch? I have a couch. You like my couch.”

Buck had laughed, tears in his eyes, kissed him again, and said “I love your couch.”

So Friday evening they’d been sitting on the aforementioned couch as best friends eating pizza and drinking beer, and Sunday morning they’d got married, and had an all day long party in their backyard with people dropping in and out whenever they weren’t at work or had other places to be and Eddie had smiled so big and laughed so hard his cheeks still ache, and Sunday night he’d had sex with a man for the first time. He, Eddie Diaz, had sex with Buck (who’s last name is now sort of a toss up until he decides how he wants to change it, a process that turns out comes with a lot more paperwork and waiting than a marriage license). Not even just sex- Buck fucked him into the mattress so hard Eddie thinks he may have had some sort of religious experience. He came so hard he got a little mad about it after. Like. Is this what it’s supposed to be like? He could have been having sex this good the whole time? Buck had laughed at him, loud but not unkindly.

He’d learned what it’s like to sleep in a bed beside the man that he loves. Buck is warm and his feet are cold and he is delightfully solid and unmovable. He snores, especially when he curls up in his sleep, but Eddie has spent years sleeping in a big shared room in a fire station and years before that falling asleep in a war zone, so it doesn’t bother him. This morning they’d woken up holding hands even though they hadn’t gone to sleep like that, and Eddie is in love, in love, in love.

Sometime about halfway through their first shift as a married couple they’re called to a car gone over a cliff in the hills. It’s not gone very far over the cliff, and is resting on stable ground, and the occupant inside seems more shaken up than anything, but someone’s still got to get in a harness, and like usual that person is Buck.

Eddie can feel Chimney smirking off to the side as he triple checks Buck’s harness and line, but this is something Eddie always does and not a new feature of some sort of honeymoon phase. Buck’s life is precious, has been since the beginning, he’d never risk it with something as preventable as an improperly secured strap. Back last year, when Buck had been in the coma, it had been the one thing he’d not felt guilty about. The harness had caught him. Eddie had triple checked it. He always has and he’s not going to stop now.

"Be careful,” he says, darting in to give him the quickest kiss he thinks he can get away with. So, that part is new, sue him.

Buck's eyes get wide, and then he nods very solemnly. "I will," he promises, looking at Eddie for another long minute before he goes over the side.

To his left Bobby lets out a huff of air, and he's making a face and shaking his head when Eddie turns to investigate. Eddie raises an eyebrow.

"It's that easy?" Bobby gestures down the side of the cliff, amused. "I should have had one of you marry him ages ago."

Eddie laughs, and turns back to keep an eye on the line.

“We’re going to the roof,” Eddie says, after they’re back at the station. “For fifteen minutes,” he concedes to Bobby’s raised eyebrows. “To engage in strictly pg13 activities,” a final plea.

Bobby sighs, and Hen cackles as he waves a defeated hand at them to go ahead. Eddie hooks his arm through Buck’s and they stumble up the stairs side by side, laughing like they’re getting away with something.

They only got twelve minutes before the alarm rang again, and it was non stop after that till the end of the shift. Eddie’s shoulder is almost too stiff to move at this point, and Buck looks dead on his feet.

“You wanna just come home with me?” He asks, leaning on the locker next to Buck’s as he changes.

“Uh…” Buck looks tempted when he emerges from his t-shirt, hair all ruffled, but then he shakes his head. “Nah, we took both cars for a reason, I should go grab stuff from the loft.” The logistics of very suddenly moving in together are still working themselves out. Eddie thinks he could probably push — Buck practically lived with him before, anyway, what could be at the loft that he would miss so terribly it couldn’t wait another night? — but they’d planned their day like this so they could both go on Chris’ beach day field trip tomorrow without having to squeeze packing around it.

“Alright,” he agrees, though he can’t help feeling a little reluctant about it. He hasn’t been apart from Buck for more than an hour since he’d been lost in a pile of rubble, and he doesn’t really want to go separate ways now. He leans in for a kiss, and the way Buck smiles into it might be able to tide him over for just a little while. “I’ll go get the kid. See you at home.”

“Okay. Goodbye, husband,” Buck says, a little sparkle back in his tired eyes.

“Bye, husband,” Eddie laughs, soft, kissing him again.

There’s three unpacked boxes pushed to the side of the living room and two others empty by the recycling, contents dispersed around the house. By mutual, exhausted decision they’d agreed to deal with the rest some other time and collapsed into bed. They can’t even really make out properly, one or both of them yawning into it repeatedly until Eddie laughs and rolls onto his back, setting his alarm for the morning and settling more comfortably under the covers.

“Night, Buck,” he breathes, leaning onto his pillow to kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

Buck does the little smile with startled-wide eyes he’s done every time Eddie’s said it so far. “I love you, too. Uh- sweet dreams.”

And that should be that, another happy night of wedded bliss, but the thing that Eddie knows and kind of forgot is that after a long and hectic shift Buck gets a little restless no matter how tired he is, brain running overtime, so after trying to wait out his tossing and turning and yawning Eddie eventually sighs, turns the bedside lamp back on, and pokes him in the side.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Buck frowns at him. "Eddie. What if I die in my sleep?"

He doesn’t think it’s a real question, but it still makes his stomach lurch a little. "Why would you do that?"

Buck makes a face. "I wouldn't mean to."

"I mean- why are you afraid of that?"

Buck frowns harder. “I don’t know. I heard once you yawn because you’re falling asleep and your brain thinks you're dying, so it tries to get you a burst of oxygen to save you.”

“Okay, but- you’re not actually dying.” Eddie reaches a clumsy hand under the covers till it collides with Buck’s chest, where his heart is somewhere inside beating steady. “You’re okay. Just tired.”

Buck nods, but he hasn’t stopped frowning. “What if you die in your sleep?”

Eddie hums, shuffling onto his side to face Buck more fully. “I don’t plan to.”

“Okay,” Buck says, trusting Eddie’s word even in a hypothetical he would in actuality have no control over. “What if Bobby dies? Or- or anybody. What if… a meteor destroys the station and we can’t go to work?”

Eddie snorts, and then feels bad about it until he sees Buck grin a tiny bit. “I think we’d still have jobs, Buck. They’d rebuild the station, we might all just have to work at different houses for a while.” Buck frowns again, and Eddie winces at introducing this new worry. “Hey. If a meteor destroys our station I promise I will beg on hands and knees to get transferred to the same place as you.”

Buck laughs, just a small exhale of air through his nose. “Feel like you might wanna stay upright. They might cite professionalism and all that.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, kissing his cheek. “I will beg on two feet to stay by your side whenever I can, as long as I can.”

“Alright,” Buck says, a little choked. He slings an arm over Eddie’s side and settles in close against him, and Eddie thinks that might be it until he says, very quietly, “What if I’m not a good husband to you?”

“Oh, Buck.” This question is a real question, the one that was hiding behind all the others. “You're doing pretty great so far.”

“It’s been like two days.” Muffled, somewhere around Eddie’s collarbone.

“Yeah, and they’ve been a pretty great two days.” He drags his hand around Buck’s ribs, everything made soft sandwiched by blanket and sleep shirt. “I asked you to marry me because I wanted to be married to you. I wanted- you to be married to me. My husband.”

“Yeah, that’s usually why people ask that question,” Buck mumbles, not, apparently, in the mood to easily accept comfort. “But what if-“

“Are you afraid of me?”

“What?” Buck reels back in surprise to look at him. “No. Of course not.”

“Then why are you scared I’ll change my mind?” Eddie can feel the raised line of a scar on Buck’s back through his shirt. The one from getting tossed from the board the first time he’d gone surfing, Eddie’s pretty sure, years before they met. “I won’t. I’m not going to get tired of you, I’m not going to leave you behind, you’ll never be too much for me. You-“ Eddie takes a breath, tries to get his thoughts in order. “You make my life better by being in it, and that has always been true, and you know we’ve gone through some shit before. Even… even when you were suing the city because you were a lonely little idiot and I was pissed at you because I was a mean little idiot, all I wanted was to be by your side. When I was bleeding out in the street I just wanted to be with you. When you were- when you were dead on that ladder I’d have done anything-“ Eddie exhales, hard. Buck is on his left side, birthmark buried in the pillow, so Eddie has to snake his hand up to tilt his head for access to it. They’ve only been able to kiss each other for a tiny handful of days, but it doesn’t feel new, really, when he presses his lips to the pink blotches of skin. “I don’t know how else to explain it to you, but I will keep trying every day for the rest of our lives, if you’ll let me.”

Buck kisses him, hard, holds him tight. “I- yeah, I-,” another kiss, slower. “As long as I can- I’ll tell you, too, I- I’ve never been anywhere I’ve felt- it’s so easy to be here, in your- in our home.” Buck’s fingers find Eddie’s scars, twin bullet holes, touching them so reverently he thinks the scars might heal right up and vanish. “You make me-“ He kisses Eddie’s cheek, up by his eye, his nose, right between his eyebrows. “I don’t know how to say it. If you try every day, can I try, too?”

“Anytime,” Eddie vows. “Every day, anytime you want.”

“Alright,” Buck says, tail end of the word getting swallowed by another yawn. Eddie kisses his forehead again, or maybe just smiles against it. “I love you, Eddie. So much.”

“So much, too.”

It’s a little bit of a stretch to be able to turn the light off again with Buck still wrapped around him, but he gets it on the second try. He’s not sure how well he’ll be able to fall asleep tangled together like this, but that’s fine. Buck is warm. His feet, where they’re bumped here and there into Eddie’s legs, are cold. They breathe in, and on this inhale are entirely synched. There’s no place he’d rather be.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #my writing #911 abc #they’re just fuckin sappy i dunno what to tell ya

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shelbyssins · 1 year

Note

Hi there Rosie! Welcome again!! 😊😊 I apologize in advance for the fact that this request may not be the best…I’m not good at thinking them up — but I wanted to send one in, so here goes…

Would you be able to write a Tommy Shelby x Reader where Tommy and reader were previously in a relationship but separated for some reason (I can’t think of one atm so I’ll leave that up to you) but then he crosses paths with her some time down the road, when he least expects to, and is suddenly sidetracked by her again…like maybe he was about to do some business but sees her and is completely distracted. And then he does whatever he can to talk to her again. …. It’s up to you whether you want to go full angst or sprinkle in some fluff at the end.

I hope this made sense…thanks so much in advance if you choose to write the story!! ❤️

Home ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Language, Mentions of violence, Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 7,872

Request for: @runnning-outof-time

A/N: So this story ran away with me a bit... I absolutely loved writing this request and really wish I didn't have to work so I could've finsihed it sooner. I hope this story does justice to what you had in mind! If you read this fic, let me know what you think! I'm excited to upload more soon. Enjoy x

The shop was quiet today. Race day wasn’t for another week and most factories didn’t pay their worker’s wages until tomorrow, so most men were scrounging up their last few pennies to put food on the table before they could crowd the betting shop. It was all for the best, really; Tommy was in a frightfully awful mood, clattering about his office, ripping desk drawers and cabinet doors open as if the wood had personally offended him.

“Where the fuck is this fucking diary?” He muttered to himself, an unlit cigarette hanging forgotten between his lips. Stumbling over his desk chair, he cursed at whichever higher power was listening for testing him so harshly today. As he fumbled with his final drawer, the last iota of patience he had left drained out of him, and he forced the handle so hard that the entire drawer came out of the cabinet and crashed to the floor with a near deafening thud. Tommy flinched as the noise echoed around in his head, briefly taken to a place better forgotten, distant explosions, distant death. He pushed away the burning behind his eyes and bent to collect the various papers scattered around the floor.

They were mostly old contracts and accounting bills, permanently wrinkled, ink faded by the passage of the years, but one thing Tommy didn’t expect was peeking out from under a pile of old letters. A photograph, a reminder of someone he all too often tried to push away, just like every other painful memory. He staggered back a little, struck by this sudden resurgence of his past love, struck by this sadness curling around his lungs.

Tommy clasped the photograph in one hand, her eyes staring unwaveringly back at him. He remembered when she gave him the picture; she had tucked it into the pocket of his coat just before he left for France, her hands softly trembling, eyes glassy with tears. Tommy slept with it under his pillow every night during the war. Sometimes she was the only reason he fought for another day, the only thing that could bring him back to his feet from the abyss of crippling fear.

He was so angry all of a sudden, kicking the wooden drawer across the room just to feel the ache of his foot, just for the satisfaction when it hit the wall and splintered apart. Just so he could distract himself from the guilt rising through his body like a sickness.

“Fuck!” He roared into the silence.

Tommy’s fingers twitched for a moment, immediately craving to tear the photo into a thousand shreds, but he couldn’t do it to her - he almost felt like it would hurt her now if he did. He was too ashamed to look back at her beautiful face as he folded the picture away, just like he couldn’t look at her when she left.

All it took was one threat against her. One far too many. Tommy closed his eyes and thought of her, the soft smiles she gave only to him, her melodic laugh, the way she lit up every dark corner of his life. There would be no reason for him to keep living if he robbed the world of that brightness, could never live with himself if he didn’t keep her safe from his enemies. So Tommy convinced himself it was better to push her away than to ever see her dead because of him. He could make her hate him if he had to, anything to get her as far removed as possible. “You’re just not enough for me anymore, Y/n,” He said, aiming for nonchalance though his voice cracked on her name.She recoiled away from Tommy like he had slapped her, eyes stinging with tears as she turned her back to him, embarrassed.“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve proven to me what everybody always told me was true,” She spoke in a watery voice, tearful yet calm, but Tommy almost wished she’d scream at him, anything was better than this broken girl in front of him. “You have no room in your life for anyone’s interests but your own, Thomas Shelby. You knew I’d loved you from the moment we met, and yet you strung me along anyway. I knew exactly what you were capable of, but I never saw such cruelty in you.” Y/n finished her sentence looking Tommy in the eyes, fierce in her grief, “If you say you don’t love me, I swear you’ll never see me again.” Her words tore through him like a bayonet, killing a part of his soul he didn’t know was still alive. He refused to meet her gaze, ashamed of what he might see reflected in her eyes. He didn’t speak for a beat too long, not trusting that the truth of his feelings for Y/n might come tumbling out of his mouth like a traitorous avalanche. “I understand, Tommy,” Were her final words to him, spoken so tenderly that it almost comforted Tommy, it reminded him of the softness of his mother’s voice when she’d hushed him to sleep as a child, he swallowed down the lump in his throat, fighting to keep his face vacant.Y/n left Tommy standing on his own, her perfume lingering just in front of his face, fogging up his brain with all the loving words he wished so desperately he could say to her. Tommy’s chest heaved with the effort it took to keep his legs from darting out after her and begging her to stay. He cursed his ambition, cursed himself for breaking her heart, cursed himself for driving her away. He cursed everything he could for hoping she’d stay away from him forever.

~~~

Two days after he’d rediscovered Y/n’s photograph, Tommy found himself in the Garrison meeting two Irishmen over some headache about a fight. The air was a little stale in the snug, old alcohol soaked into the fabric of the couches and cigarette smoke absorbed by the walls.

“Thomas Shelby,” The greeting hung stagnant in the room, Tommy not wanting to humour the men more than necessary.

Tommy seated himself at the table, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did so, exuding class from every fibre of his clothing.

“So, what seems to be the issue?” Tommy ventured, knowing full well why they wanted an audience.

“One of your men attacked one of ours. All we’re asking for is fair recompense,” one man gurgled through his mouthful of whiskey.

Tommy bit his tongue, dying to praise the Irishman for knowing such a long word, but he kept his little joke to himself, lips turned up in a smirk, “And why would I take responsibility for a street brawl I had nothing to do with?” Tommy asked, bored with the conversation.

“There’s only one gang reckless enough to employ stupid little feckers who wave around their razor-tipped hats like they’re trophies. Am I wrong in assuming you take responsibility for those stupid fucks?” The other man drawled, clearly a few more glasses deep than Tommy.

Tommy leaned forward in his seat, taking the bottle of whiskey from in front of the men and pouring himself a glass, having had his fill of them before he’d even sat down.

“Now, listen, gentlemen, you and I both know that my men don’t fight unprovoked. We also know that the Peaky Blinders have previously forgiven you a little misstep when one of your men tried to take another man’s wife against her will. A man on my territory and on my payroll. It wouldn’t take much for me to find out exactly why one of my men attacked yours and dissolve this little peace treaty,” Tommy rasped, his voice dropped low to threaten the men sat across from him.

“We still demand you make this right. We hear you Shelbys are rolling in the money nowadays,” The glint in their eyes told Tommy they were more moronic than he’d first thought. They’d shown their hand far too soon and shown they couldn’t keep up with Tommy’s intellect.

“So money’s what you want, ey?” Tommy smirked. “Tell you what. Here’s the first fucking instalment,” Tommy reached into his breast pocket and pulled out five pounds, throwing it onto the table in front of the men, “That’s nothing to me, as I’m sure you’re aware. Then for the next instalment, you’ll get your fair recompense in the form of a bullet each, right through both your heads.” Tommy makes an exaggerated and obvious gesture of stretching, showing the Irishmen a glimpse of the revolver strapped to his body holster, enjoying the way it made them squirm.

“My men outnumber your men by four to one. If I catch sight of a single one of you in my territory again, your little gang will go extinct. You can keep the five pound, buy your man a nice new white shirt and hope it inspires him to fight better, keep it clean this time round. Go on, fuck off,” Tommy gestures to the door with the cigarette he was in the midst of lighting, following the scared bodies as they scurried away, their metaphorical tails between their legs.

Tommy took a long drag from his cigarette and sighed out the smoke, closing his eyes to bring himself out of the mood those Irish had put him in. He knocked back another shot of whiskey, the satisfying burn distracting him for a brief moment.

Then he heard it. A laugh, high and lilting like birdsong. A laugh he knew too well. He opened his eyes, his immediate thought that he’d drifted off briefly and was dreaming. He strained his ears, searching for the laughter again when it floated into the snug, tempting him out of his seat.

He was opening the door before he even had a chance to tell himself to run the other way. Then his eyes fell upon her. Y/n was like an apparition, the way the last dregs of the afternoon sun filtered through the cloudy windows and bathed her in an ethereal glow, the light daring to touch only her, just like how she appeared to him in dreams. Y/n was stood at the bar, sipping a clear drink and wincing slightly at the taste after every mouthful. Rum, if Tommy remembered her preference correctly. He smiled despite his shock; she still had to force herself to drink it. She was chatting happily to a girl he didn’t know, a girl who was probably good looking when on her own, but who’s appearance was overshadowed in every possible way when placed next to such a beauty.

Despite the three years that had passed between them, Tommy noted that Y/n hadn’t changed too much. Her hair was a little darker, her features had become sharper, the softness of her youth having departed. Tommy couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, so familiar yet so unknown to him. The Y/n that left him was a girl, all wide grins and excitement. The Y/n he saw now had become a woman in her own right, she held her head a little higher, she kept her smiles demure. Tommy’s chest ached a little, he wondered when she changed into the woman who stood at the bar, wondered whether she was forced to leave her youth behind, wondered whether he could’ve protected that innocence if he’d have stayed with her.

Somewhere next to him, some drunkard knocked a glass to the floor, the sound of shattering glass drawing everyone’s eyes. Y/n’s gaze immediately locked with his.

Tommy was rooted to the spot, feeling like the little boy who’d been caught eating sweets just before dinner time. He tried his best to regain control over himself and wandered over to the bar as nonchalantly as possible.

“Thomas,” Y/n greeted simply, Tommy silently thanking her for opening the conversation for him. The way she looked at him felt undressing, her eyes were not unkind but she obviously wasn’t as affected by the meeting as Tommy.

Tommy’s pride was a little wounded by her indifference, he hated that he was so nervous around her when she couldn’t seem more unbothered.

“Y/n,” Tommy replied, “You look good,” Such an understatement seemed like a crime, but he didn’t think he could find the right words to describe how she’d floored him with one look.

“Thank you,” She smiled softly at him, oozing class. Tommy’s legs felt a little unstable as she weakened him with that smile. He cleared his throat to attempt an even tone, “So where have you been?”

The friend she was chatting with whispered something in Y/n’s ear before wandering over to a table, leaving the two alone. She knocked back the rest of her drink and Tommy couldn’t help but follow the way she tipped her head back, eyes trailing her exposed throat as she swallowed. She placed the glass back on the bar silently, “London,” She answered finally.

Tommy supposed that London made the most sense, given Y/n’s drive for adventure, he could see why the big city would attract her. Tommy thought that maybe he should leave it at that, her noncommital answers should have been enough of a clue that she didn’t want to talk, but his entire being was desperate for the encounter not to end so soon.

“So what are you doing back?” Tommy continued when the silence stretched on, distantly remembering the promise she made last time they spoke.

“I’m staying here for a while. For a friend’s wedding,” She clarified.

“I see,” Tommy replied, unsure what to say on the matter.

The silence drew on once again, such an unfamiliar feeling between the two. Tommy remembered the way they used to laugh, how Y/n’s lips were always curled up slightly at the corners, but looking at her solemn face now, he wondered if she had anyone who made her happy like he had.

Tommy was abruptly hit by the emptiness in his chest, the space Y/n left when she was gone having never been filled. He wanted to take her hand and talk about everything like they used to, longed to see her grin like she did three years ago, wanted to mend the heart he’d broken.

“Will you join me in the snug for another drink?” Tommy ventured, watching her eyes intently, hoping he could see the cogs turning in her brain.

She smiled that soft smile again, with a warmth he didn’t deserve, wounding him. She reached out her delicate hand and cupped his cheek, Tommy couldn’t help the way his eyes fluttered closed. He had no idea that he’d missed her touch so greatly. Y/n brushed her thumb across his cheek gently.

“I think you and I both know that that’s a bad idea,” She replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy fought hard to keep the disappointment out of his eyes when he finally brought himself to look at her again. Her hand lingered on his cheek for a moment, and Tommy wanted to run, push her away, fall into her arms all at once.

Y/n’s eyes pierced him, as if searching for something, then she let her hand drop back to her side, “Goodnight, Tommy,” was all she said as she went to rejoin her friend.

Tommy felt winded like she’d punched him. Seeing her again was such a sweet torture, knowing that she’d survived well enough without him should’ve been a welcome thought, but the overwhelming feeling was jealousy and sadness that others got to see her grow up, bitterness that it was his decision to drive her away and yet he wanted her back so badly.

Tommy spent the rest of the evening stewing and drinking, trying hard not to show any expression. All the while his eyes kept drawing to Y/n like a compass needle drawn to the North, eyes studying her face, trying to find his answers there. Not once did she look back at him. He deserved her ignorance.

Tommy suddenly felt like he’d over stayed his welcome in his own pub, so he drained his whiskey and left. The icy rain lashed the gravel streets on his way home. Numbing his face, not quite numbing his heart.

~~~

Y/n walked home alone from the Garrison that night, grateful that the rain had ceased, yet wishing there was something to distract her from thoughts of Tommy. Sadness weighed heavily on her chest as she thought of what could’ve been between them by now. Marriage? A family? Every time she blinked, she saw blue eyes staring back at her. Small Heath invaded every one of her senses, the familiar smell of coal fire burning her lungs, distant shouting and car engines settling in her ears; they were odd things to be comforted by.

She finally arrived at the lodging house she was staying at and let herself into her room, the sudden silence oppressive. With nothing else to occupy her mind, she let out the shuddering breath she’d been holding all night, and with it, her tears fell freely down to her feet, the dam holding them back ultimately giving up. Y/n had stuck the pieces of her heart back together as best she could over the years, but all it took was one meeting with him to shatter it once again. Her ribs ached with the force of her sorrow, as if the shards of her heart were piercing her skin from the inside. She fell to her knees on the creaky wooden floor and clutched her arms around herself, sobbing like a child.

When she had received the invitation to the wedding, her immediate reaction was the throw it away, knowing that returning to Small Heath was a poor decision, knowing she shouldn’t even entertain the notion. But Y/n was tempted already, she found herself daydreaming about the town that had once been her home, imagining what it would be like to return. She accepted the invitation, writing a letter to her friend informing her she would come. Y/n pretended to herself that she was only going because she wanted to support her friend, wanted to witness her marriage. But she knew her reasons were selfish in reality. She craved to see Tommy like he was an addiction, so she’d packed all of her things and was on the next available train home.

When Y/n saw him at the Garrison tonight she didn’t quite know what to do. There was a cruel part of her that reared its head, telling her to be cold, give him a taste of his own medicine. But she found it wasn’t hard to be distant from him, her heart closed its doors as soon as he started towards her, reminded of the pain he’d caused.

Her entire reason for even going to the Garrison tonight was the hope that she’d see him, but when she finally did, all she hoped was that he’d feel a fraction of the misery he’d created in her, hoped that he regretted everything he’d done. The anger was a new emotion for Y/n, she’d spent night after night crying over her lost love, yet facing him now, she only felt a quiet rage simmering in the pit of her stomach.

Y/n climbed to her feet, feeling a little unsteady, from the alcohol or the night’s revelations she did not know, and peered out of her window. The glass was grimy with dust and soot, the town slept below her. The sky was an inky blue, never really turning pitch black during the summer, a permanent blanket of mist completely covered the stars. Her home hadn’t changed at all, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she had changed too much. She itched to run away from it all, return to London and pretend this had never happened, forget everything that once tied her to Small Heath. However, those ties were knotted around her every limb so tightly that no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get free, she couldn’t pretend that she had no feelings for Tommy anymore. He pulled her toward him like a string linked them and he was tugging, she feared that soon he’d pull her under if she let him.

Exhausted by the constant battle between her head and her heart, she fell into her tiny bed, head aching. Y/n fell asleep that night with tear-stained cheeks, she dreamt of blue eyes and rough hands.

~~~

The next morning, Y/n awoke fairly early as she’d forgotten to close the curtains last night and the morning sunlight was shining directly into her eyes. She groaned and checked the clock on her bedside table, it read 7:15am. Y/n decided against wallowing in her bed today and instead went to her cupboards to look for breakfast. She was wholly disappointed when she discovered the cupboards were empty save for some preserves, her stomach growled at the promise of food. So she pulled on a simple cream dress and black lace up boots and headed out into town to find something to eat.

There was something about walking the streets of Small Heath that felt so routine even after all these years, Y/n knew every pothole, every turn, near enough every face she passed. She didn’t realise how close she had strayed towards the betting shop until she saw the unmistakable heavy moustache upon Arther Shelby’s face. Panicked, she turned her head away from him, fully aware of his lack of tact, knowing he’d be asking all about her and Tommy if he saw her.

Safely away from being cornered by any Shelbys, the bakery just down the road from the BSA Factory caught her eye, if the display of various fresh breads and pastries hadn’t convinced her, she was thoroughly tempted in by the sweet smell emanating from the building.

Upon entering, she was hit by the noise of the shop, bakers slamming oven doors in the back, cashiers chatting to customers, so Y/n was confused when all the noise suddenly ceased. She looked around searchingly until her eyes found Tommy stood in the doorway, looking every bit the royalty of Small Heath.

He was dressed in his usual three piece suit, tailored to perfection, and it was only now Y/n realised how much he’d grown since she last saw him. His shoulders were broad and muscles thicker, he’d become every bit the man she always thought he would be. He seemed now to tower over her, even though they were still of a similar height. She tried to tamp down the heat rising to her cheeks as she took in his appearance, chiding herself for still being so attracted to him.

“Mr Shelby!” Cried the owner of the place, “So good to see you in here,” the owner nodded his head so low it looked like he was bowing. Y/n nearly laughed, a little twinge of pride swelled at just how much Tommy had made of himself while she was gone.

Tommy just nodded dismissively, his eyes never leaving Y/n. She watched as the rest of the customers shuffled out one by one, all either rightly scared of Tommy or simply having other places to be.

The way Tommy’s eyes raked over Y/n’s body made her feel self conscious, suddenly overly aware of her plain outfit and the fact that her hair was hanging down past her shoulders and not pinned back like usual. She felt irritated that she evidently still cared what he thought of her. Y/n suspected that he’d followed her in here just for the purpose of seeing her again, why? She couldn’t figure it out, but the casual way he stood, hands in his trouser pockets, not speaking, was starting to annoy her. Y/n could only think he was enjoying the effect this little game of his was having.

“What are you doing here?” She accused, like this wasn’t a place open to the general public.

Tommy smirked a little, seemingly amused, it just incensed Y/n that much more, “Just buying some breakfast, same as you,” He replied, warm voice heating her body more than the blaze from the ovens.

She couldn’t let herself be at his mercy, that one sentence sending a flush to her cheeks she could only pray he didn’t see, it wouldn’t do his ego any good. Despite his answer, he still hadn’t moved from his place, apparently content to just watch Y/n.

“Good morning, Thomas,” She bid him like it was a goodbye as she slipped past him at the door, doing her very best not to shudder as she brushed against him, the notion of breakfast flying to the back of her mind.

Y/n’s suspicion that he’d come to the bakery just for her was confirmed when Tommy followed her straight out of the shop without buying anything, despite his disclosure that he would.

Y/n turned to Tommy and met his eyes with all the courage she could muster, “Tommy, will you please just let me get through this stay in peace?” She pleaded, suddenly tired again even though she had only recently woken.

His eyes softened then, and they reminded Y/n so much of the way he used to look at her that she wanted to cry. Tommy reached out and took her hand before she could think to move away and it felt so right that it stole the air from her lungs. His hand was a little rougher than she remembered, a few more callouses rubbing like sand paper against her smaller hand, but it held the same warmth and the same delicate touch that seemed to juxtapose Tommy’s hard nature.

Her eyes widened as he started to speak to her again, she couldn’t focus on his voice over the sound of her blood rushing in her ears, “If you tell me to leave you alone, I will,” is all she heard him say.

She fought every one of her instincts as she pulled her hand out of his, heart aching a little at the loss, a tear she didn’t know had formed escaping her eye when she turned away. It would be so easy to tell him to leave, to save herself all this hurt, but Y/n knew she couldn’t honestly say that was what she wanted.

Even though it pained her to be near him after everything that happened, she was still in love with him, both sides of her feelings constantly warring with each other. She found that her head fell silent when he spoke to her.

Confused and perturbed by what she really wanted, Y/n walked away from him, fighting to keep her pace even. She expected Tommy to follow after her, didn’t know if she was disappointed when he didn’t.

~~~

Today was the day before the wedding and Y/n had only just got round to trying on the dress she’d brought for the occasion. It was a classy blush pink gown, hemmed just below the knees, cut low enough to expose her chest but still modest enough to leave something to the imagination. She slipped the fine fabric over her head, internally praying that it would fit, though she didn’t know what she would do even if it didn’t.

Blessedly, the dress fit. It was tight in all the right places, showing off her attractive curves, but it was just loose enough that the fabric fanned out behind her when she twirled. Y/n thumbed the delicate lace that covered her shoulders and allowed herself a small smile, she thought that maybe she could have fun tomorrow.

No sooner than the thought had settled into her mind, there was an insistent knock at her door. Y/n hurried over and peered through her peep hole, she cursed at the ceiling as she recognised Tommy Shelby tapping his foot impatiently, flicking his spent cigarette to the floor after his last long pull. She felt a little unsteady as she watched him stand there, eyes trained on his lips, the fluttering feeling she always used to get around him making an unwelcome appearance in her stomach.

Y/n considered pretending like she wasn’t there for a moment, staying silent as she mulled over her options. But she knew that Tommy wouldn’t have come if he didn’t know for certain that she was there, and he would absolutely do something stupid like break the door down just to get his way if she didn’t answer.

“How did you know I was here?” Y/n demanded as soon as she opened the door, immediately cutting Tommy off from whatever he wanted to say first.

“Not important,” Tommy replied coolly, and his voice was so smooth and warm like honey, the look in his eyes just as impossibly sweet that Y/n kind of wanted to punch him in the face so she wouldn’t have to see it.

“What do you want?” Y/n asked, turning away and fighting to keep in control as she found herself inexplicably hypnotised by Tommy’s being.

“You look beautiful,” Tommy avoided the question.

Y/n’s head spun a little as she watched Tommy watching her, she felt he had no permission to be looking at her the way he was, hungrily. She felt that the girl reflected in his eyes looked nothing like her. The history between the two simmered in the heat of his gaze as she tried to recall a time he’d wanted her so obviously as he did now.

She was dizzied by the sudden change in her relationship with Tommy. Just mere days ago they were no better than perfect strangers, and now the past she shared with Tommy had come back and hit her with the full force of a steam engine, now he was standing in her room, staring at her as if he hadn’t broken her heart. She felt like she’d been pushed and pulled every way Tommy wanted her to go, like he was a child and she was his rag doll. The worst thing was that she kept letting him.

“What do you want?” Y/n repeated, an unmistakable waver in her voice.

“I want to know if you’re ok,” He replied simply.

Tommy’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly, revealing the fine wrinkles at the corners. Y/n noted that there were a few more lines there than when she last saw him three years ago. She assumed he’d laughed a lot since she left. She didn’t know why her mouth tasted so sour at the thought.

“Are you joking?” She asked incredulously, laughing without humour.

She wondered then something that everyone wondered about Tommy; did he really have no conscience?

Did he really care about her so little that he didn’t notice how broken she was when she left? Did he really think they could just continue as if nothing had passed between them?

Y/n was silent for a long time, her hands shaking with silent anger, her face seething with heat when Tommy spoke up again.

“Seeing you around here has shown me just how dark my life is without you to brighten it up. I know I’ve no right to ask you to stay here but… I just really want to know if you’re truly ok living away from home. Away from me,”

Y/n had kept all the despair about hers and Tommy’s relationship trapped inside for the past three years. She pushed it further and further inward until it started filling her bones, weighing her down with every step further away from him she took. Now, as she watched his eyes softly gaze back at her, all of it rose to the very pinnacle, boiling over like an unwatched pot.

Barbed words were spilling from Y/n’s lips before she could stop herself, “No! I’m not fucking ok, Tommy. Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear that you shattered my heart, Thomas Shelby? You told me I wasn’t good enough. I - I wasn’t good enough for you.” Y/n finished her tirade with a broken whisper, she had started to cry somewhere in the middle of her sentence, not daring to look Tommy in the eyes, afraid of his pity. “You ruined me for everyone. I haven’t been with anyone else since I left because I gave every last shred of the love I had in my heart to you! Everything I did was for you. And you wasted all of it. So, no, I’m not ok.” Y/n breathed heavily, surprised a little fire wasn’t coming out of her nose by how her words had burned even her.

She heard the old floorboards creak and looked up to see Tommy crossing the room in two long strides, standing face to face with Y/n. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out, Y/n knew that if he did, she would crumble.

“So come back. For good. I know I hurt you and I- I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered, looking at her like she was the one who kept the world spinning. Y/n was sure Tommy had never apologised to anyone, so no one could blame her if she didn’t quite believe it.

They stood there for a moment, locked in each others eyes, each one searching for an answer, searching for a way back to their forgotten love. Y/n is so helplessly pulled in by the man in front of her, so inexplicably attracted to everything he did; she thought if they stayed like this any longer that she would just cave in, the part of her heart she gave to him still beating strongly in her chest. Her mouth quivered with unspoken words as she remembered the pain of Tommy’s betrayal seared into her skin, begging her not to let him back in.

“You’re sorry,” she bit back more tears, “Well, you don’t get to ask me to stay. You don’t get to toy with me like this. Are you enjoying this? You push me as far away from you as possible just to pull me back when you decide you want me again! And now you want me, what, because your ego is hurt by the idea that I could’ve possibly moved on? God knows, I’ve tried but you lurk around every corner of my life, waiting in the silence to remind me of what I thought I had. It hurts me every fucking day that I really thought you loved me too,” An ugly part of Y/n hoped every word was painful for Tommy, hoped they were like a poison, rooted in his brain, that they would stay there and remind him every day of what he’d done.

“I forgave you so long ago, so why are you trying to bring it all up again?” All the words that had been imprisoned inside her chest had escaped, she felt a little bereft without them. A new emptiness spread inside Y/n, making her feel faint with the weightlessness as she clung onto her night stand.

“Because I love you,” the world stopped.

Those words, spoken so gently, struck her with such force that for a minute, Y/n thought she’d been shot. Agony bloomed beneath her ribs and her fingers flew up to her chest to touch, she was confused when her fingers came away with no blood.

“No, you don’t, you’re only saying it because you think it will absolve you,” She replied, refusing to let the door to her heart swing open, no matter how hard Tommy was kicking it, “If you loved me, you would’ve fought for us back then. You let me go like it was so easy,”

“I do, I love you,” Tommy said, words coming out shaky, breath uneven, “I just couldn’t bear to see you hurt because of me,”

Even after everything he’d done, Tommy failed to see the irony in those words , “Hurt?” Y/n asked disbelievingly, “You killed me the day you wouldn’t say you loved me. Don’t think your confession will revive me now.” The words hung like lead in the air, neither one wanting to take their weight.

“Y/n-” Tommy began, a glint of something unfamiliar in his bright blue eyes.

“I want you to leave,” Y/n cut him off, Tommy’s every word reopened her countless scars, but now the pain was unbearable. He tried to touch her, but she recoiled so harshly that Tommy backed away, “Please.”

Tommy looked so conflicted, a million ideas spinning through his head, so quickly they seemed to flash across his eyes. Ultimately, he heeded Y/n’s words and slipped out silently, leaving her alone once again.

~~~

Today was Y/n’s final day in her hometown. She thought back to the wedding as she folded away her dress, placing it on top of all her other packing so as not to spoil it. She sat through the entire ceremony with her mind entirely elsewhere, she felt a little guilty about it now but she hadn’t listened to a word of the vows. She would like to pretend that she wasn’t jealous, but as she watched the newlyweds kiss tenderly to rapturous applause, she felt a bitter pang in her stomach. As a teenager, she dreamed of that fate for herself, a pure white dress, fresh flowers in her hands, Tommy waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Y/n had felt tears pricking behind her eyes as she watched the couple exit the church, hand in hand, she tried so hard to feel happy for them.

Y/n closed her small trunk with a click and sat down on the edge of her bed, exhausted. She fumbled for the train ticket in her purse, a return ticket to London. She folded it safely away in her pocket and stood, wandering over to her window. She looked out onto the street below her, the summer sun cracking the cover of mist today, casting polka dot shadows on the cobbles.

Here in Small Heath, the houses were little and charming, warmth seeping out of every window you passed. The streets were never quiet during the day, always bustling with the community of a working class town.

Y/n sighed then as she thought about what waited for her in London. Row upon row of oppressively looming buildings, making her feel even smaller in a city so big. She was surrounded by thousands of people on the streets, yet she’d never felt so alone. Every day was the same, get up, go to work, come home. Y/n tried to be happy with it, she really did, but returning to Small Heath had ruined the pretence. It was like she’d left her heart here, and now that she was back, the beat was even stronger, refusing to let itself be buried again.

Y/n knew though that her love of her hometown wasn’t the only reason she was hesitating to leave for the train station. Her heart rate quickened as Tommy appeared in her mind, if she breathed in deep enough she swore she could still smell him in the room - his cologne, the Irish whiskey, the specific brand of cigarettes he always smoked. Her legs felt weak as she took it all in. Y/n struggled then to remember how she’d found the strength to walk away from this place those three years ago, to walk away from Tommy. Her resolve now was so weak that she prayed she could find that strength again today.

Y/n shut the curtains, blocking the view of the street below, wishing so desperately it was just as easy to shut out her memories of this place. As her hand touched the door handle, she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she left now, she’d regret it forever.

Her departure time drew nearer and nearer, so she closed her eyes and pulled the door open, holding her breath.

“Please don’t go,” the sound of his raspy voice made her eyes fly open, she pinched herself subtly to make sure he wasn’t a hallucination.

There he was, Tommy stood tall in front of her doorway, hair flopping over the sides of his head and chest heaving like he’d run all the way here. Tommy reached out one large hand and gripped Y/n’s arm, his fingers almost circling all the way around it. He clutched her as if he was afraid she was going to disappear.

Y/n dropped her case then, forgetting everything else as she searched his gentle eyes, only barely remembering to continue breathing. She could push past him, she could run away again into the arms of a city that didn’t care about her, or she could fall into Tommy and pray this time he’d catch her. But she knew her decision was made as soon as he spoke.

Y/n stepped backwards slightly, allowing Tommy entrance into the room. He pushed a hand through his mussed hair, peaked cap nowhere to be seen. Neither of them spoke for a minute, and Y/n wondered if it was a mistake to let him in, the possibility of her escape becoming slimmer and slimmer as time ticked on.

Tommy sat down on the bed and inhaled a steadying breath, “I meant what I said the other day,” he said, quietly as if admitting a secret.

“I know,” Y/n replied, and the confusion that overtook Tommy’s face almost made her laugh, his eyebrows quirked, lips slightly parted, “I said all those things yesterday because I’m terrified of letting you in again. I’m scared that I’ll let you hold my heart and you’ll crush it again. I’ve waited so incredibly long to hear you say those words that when you said them so easily yesterday, all the pain came straight back.”

Guilt was written all over Tommy’s face, pooled in the ocean of his eyes, colouring his slightly flushed cheeks, “I was just so terrified I’d put you in danger, couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt, so I hurt you myself, told myself I wasn’t worth your love anyway, you’d get over me. I thought it was for the best,” He admitted, palm rubbing into the socket of his eye when it began to glisten with tears.

Y/n went over to the bed, sitting slowly and gently the way one would approach a skittish horse, she put a tentative hand on his thigh, tension buzzing beneath her skin where she touched him. “When did you know you loved me?” she asked quietly.

Tommy looked up at her then and shifted so that they were closer, legs pressed together. Y/n fought not to blush like a teenager, the touch so intimate after all this time.

“About a month before I left for France,” Tommy began, and Y/n didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes when he spoke, “You were out in the garden with Finn. He’d just learned to toddle about and got a bit too confident, fell and skinned his knee,” Tommy didn’t fight the smile that rose to his lips, “And when he cried, you went running and you held him like he was your own brother, you got him to calm down better than anyone else could have. You held him and fussed him until he laughed again. You didn’t know there was anyone watching you, you just did it because you loved him,”

Y/n felt breathless as Tommy told his story, she didn’t know whether to be furious or thrilled that he’d loved her such a long time, “That’s when I knew your name was forever branded on my heart, Y/n. I knew that I could never see you hurt because I couldn’t protect you from my world.”

At some point while Tommy spoke, their faces inched closer together until their noses were almost bumping. He finished his confession in a whisper, his unmissable blue eyes flickering between Y/n’s own gaze and her lips, exposing his desires blatantly.

“You’re an idiot, Thomas Shelby,” Y/n breathed before Tommy leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.

The kiss was exciting yet comfortable, like a knew book from her favourite author; the writing familiar but the content all new. One of Tommy’s hands came up to rest on the back of Y/n’s neck, fingers weaving into the strands of hair there, sending a delightful shiver down her body. His other hand cupped her cheek, pulling at her bottom lip so he could take it into his mouth. Tommy broke away briefly, only to breathe, before he leaned in again, kissing Y/n torturously slow, learning ever crevice of her lips once more.

They finally broke apart, Y/n didn’t know how long later, she couldn’t control the whine from the back of her throat when they did. Tommy looked amused, maybe a little proud of himself and Y/n rolled her eyes at him. Tommy’s hands still cradled her head like something precious, their lips still tantalisingly close.

“I really don’t want to go back to London,” Y/n confessed against Tommy’s mouth, tiny sparks zapping every time their lips touched.

“Please don’t go back,” Tommy all but begged, stroking Y/n’s cheek with a calloused thumb.

She closed her eyes at the feeling, every fibre of her being giving up to him in that moment, “Tell me you love me and I’ll stay,” She said finally, her words so similar to those she’d broken her own heart with three years ago.

“I love you,” Tommy avowed as he kissed Y/n with a dizzying passion, his lips devouring hers as they told each other all the things words couldn’t say. Y/n’s hands found purchase on Tommy’s chest, feeling the rapid flutter of his heart behind his ribs, telling her he really did feel the same.

“Stay with me,” Tommy whispered, each word punctuated by a kiss, the two lovers unable to stop touching as if a magnet permanently held them together.

Y/n nodded, unable to speak as she felt Tommy’s fingers brush against her neck, against the exposed skin on her chest, goosebumps raising on her skin as she fought not to tremble.

All of her nerves were alight, the pieces of her heart coming back together as she kissed the man she’d loved for years; no big city could replace their small town love. London faded into nothing as she felt his tongue lick at her lower lip, her train long since missed as Tommy pressed his kisses deeper.

Y/n broke away just to look at Tommy again, his lips were plump, reddened by his ministrations, his eyes were fogged over with adoration, his hands still clung to Y/n anywhere they could hang on. She smiled one of those blinding grins she only ever saved for Tommy.

“I’ll stay,” Y/n promised.

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby fluff

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 2 months

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GIMMIE YOUR HCS ANY AND ALL OF HIM RN (heisenberg) 🔫😤

Okay, okay, okay! 🫶🏻

Here's the SFW Heisenberg HC list! You can find the NSFW one here 🖤

Very big thank you goes to @queer-crusader for indulging me in the Heisenberg brain rot 🖤🫶🏻

SFW Karl Heisenberg Head Canons:

🛠 Although Karl obviously got a temper, I can see him using feeling his emotions so intensely towards other things, too. Like caring and perhaps even pampering his beloved. Using his sometimes annoyingly headstrong attitude to sit down at his work bench for hours, tinkering rings and bracelets and maybe even a delicate necklace until he crafted something he deems worthy to gift you 💍

🛠 "Self-care...? The fuck's that now??" His reaction would be exactly the point why you sat him down to carefully pitch a few things to him. "When have you cut your hair the last time?" You arched your eyebrows. "What do I now and why the fuck does it matter?!" You pinch the bride of your nose and exhale a sigh. "Karl, it wouldn't hurt if you'd take some care of yourself. Or let me do it, yeah?" He practically glares at you from across the edges of his glasses before he answers: "Fuck that, absolutely not! Not gonna let you anywhere near that face with scissors." Your shoulders plummet down as you watch him stomp away with his hands thrown in the air but that certainly wasn't your last attempt.

🛠 Once Karl got a taste of not being alone in that nightmare factory of his, he'd very begrudgingly seek out your company in more intimate and personal moments than having you around in his workshop or sharing meals with you. The first time it happened, you'd thought this to be it, the end, el final, as you heard him sneaking into your room in the dead of night. Maybe you'd done something so horrendously wrong that he decided to toss you out for good. You froze to your saggy mattress, unable to move until the creaking of the floorboards stopped. You bit down on your lip nearly hard enough to draw blood, panic and fear cursing through your bloodstream but all of that almost evaporated into a shrill, hysteric laugh as you felt his massive form cup yours from behind. Gently spooning you from behind, one arm tenderly yet firm around your waist. He was warm...and weirdly comfortable, cuddly even and yet he'd be gone way before you'd wake up again. Neither of you talking about it at all.

🛠 Temper tantrums 😐 Temper tantrums all the time. Like a little boy who didn't get his favourite candy and now set his mind to making it everybody's problem. He'd roar and cuss through the entire factory until you'd have had enough at some point. Instead of trying to calm him down with gentle words and affirmations, you started ignoring him. For the first few times, that enraged Karl even more, his tantrums turning into a metal bending and tearing rage fit but the longer you stopped talking to him, even going so far as refusing to look at him, the more he quieted down. Eventually sitting down to apologize through gritted teeth and with crossed arms in front of his chest.

#tam rambles #asks are appreciated #asks are always open #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg fanfic #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil fanfiction

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thatruerealmwalker · 2 months

Text

"Sometimes... When I look at the other kids playing around, unaware if what's happening here... My Stomach Hurts..."

"When one of those Toys is Near... My legs Scream at me to RUN..."

"When night comes... and the Workers look over me while I try and sleep... My eyes threaten to Cry..."

"BUT I CAN'T... I can't show that anything is wrong, That I know..."

"I'll change my chosen toy all the time, be average on every test they give me, speak nothing of what I know..."

"I'll stall for as long as I can, buy myself as much time as possible. I'll learn every weakness, every flaw, of both this factory and those horrible Toys. I'll get stronger, faster, smarter, as much as possible without anyone catching on. I'll prepare as much as I can, for every fight, every route, every danger..." "So when the time comes..."

"I'll GET OUT OF HERE"

Hello there! This is William, a young orphan within the walls of Playcare, a new OC I made for Poppy Playtime! Specifically William was inspired by and somewhat considered an OC of the blog @realizinau and their wonderful work over there! (Hello!)

William is a kid who knows far, FAR to much then he should. Aware of what the toys really are, aware of what their doing to children like him, and aware that he is not safe within Playcare.

If someone were to ask him about something in the factory, he would most likely know, but would never dare even entertain answering those questions. He knows that one wrong step, one target on his back is enough to get him selected next... so he stays as average as he can, shows himself to be not soon-to-be toy material. He has it down to a science at this point, and he won't risk his life, not yet, not for a damn question.

He considers every toy in the Factory to be both horrifying and the highest threat to his survival and chances at leaving one day. He avoids and dances around them when he can, and recites literal self made mantras of every weakness and every way to harm or escape the toy in question he knows about within his head while around them if he can't (due to not being able to write anything incriminating down). Several times in a panicked state because he doesn't have the tools and weapons on him to follow any plan he has.

He is afraid of the Smiling Critters the most for the fact that he sees them and interacts with them every day, thus being the highest risk to him. After every interaction there is a chance he may genuinely puke in the nearest bathroom from his fear getting hold of him. He silently prays that they never take notice of him, or god forbid take interest in him and spend more time then normal around him. He would wear the most perfect mask while interacting with them but be screaming his Mantras internally while mentally holding a cross, especially around Catnap (due to his red smoke) (not sure if the Realizing Au has Catnap with his red smoke still, so if not he would most likely consider Bubba the most dangerous of the critters).

William's core desire is to leave the factory and never look back. He, when he is at least 80% sure he can get away with it (it used to be higher but he's getting desperate) gathers as much information as he can, about the layout, systems, patrols, anything to give him an edge when the time of his escape comes. He has also been able to make very small stashes of makeshift tools, weapons, and items around Playcare, all either to help him escape or fight back against a Toy should he need to. The most dangerous is a Flare hand he smuggled off of a GrabPack once, which almost got him caught.

William is at the point where he genuinely does not value any life inside the Factory other then his own, and would not hesitate to kill a staff worker or Toy should he have to. Again, nothing matters to William other then getting out... but that could change depending on events to come.

I'll be throwing some more stuff of William up later, but I absolutely tore my hand up drawing all this today. Hope you enjoyed!

#poppy playtime #smiling critters #poppy playtime oc #realizin' au #Catnap #my hand fucking hurts #and I don't know what else to tag this with #But I think the drawing came out wonderfully!#Also side note here #if William was not in this situation and going slightly (very) insane from fear his favorite critter would be Bubba.#But now Bubba is his most second hated behind catnap (Unless nappers doesn't got the that red breath)#Then bubba would be his most hated critter #Because Bubba is smart #and smart people notice things

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theshelbyclan · 2 years

Text

Meet the parents

Summary: Your parents want to meet Tommy, after realising you’ve been sneaking off to see him, but you’re a little afraid of whether he’ll behave

A/N: I just wanted to write the little piece, that’s literally all there’s too it XD Set around season 1, pure fluff and a little smut (Also, I’ve never written any form of smut before so be kind). Here we go!

Words: 2224

*****

“My parents want to meet you.”

Tommy blinked a few times, which made you realise you’d spoken out loud.

“It’s... Uhm...” you stumbled now, unsure of how to continue, “It’s just... I’ve been mentioning you, so they want to meet you.”

He smoked his cigarette in silence and finally said, “You’ve been mentioning me, eh?”

“They kept on asking, about where I went at night.”

“And what did you tell them?”

Somehow, his tone made you nervous, “That I was meeting up with a man.”

Suddenly, a sort of boyish mischievous glint came into his eyes, “And did you tell them what we usually do when we meet up?”

“No,” you blushed, “of course not.”

Tommy smiled and thought about how adorable you looked when embarrassed, “Better not.”

“So?” you asked again.

“So, tomorrow. 6 PM.” And with that, he’d put on his cap and walked out.

*****

It had only been a few months after the boys came back from France. You remembered that day so well: silently, they’d poured back into Birmingham, but they were like ghosts. So many boys who went off were absent now, but the men that had returned? They’d died too.

Your brother never made it back from France. Every day, you mourned him still, but life was too hectic for you to dwell on it. He’d told you, just before he left, “Remember to keep on living!” And so you did, with Thomas Shelby.

Without attracting too much attention to yourself, you walked through the lane, on your way to work in one of the shops. Before the war, and during of course, you’d worked in the factory, but Tommy didn’t want you to anymore. After he’d come back, he often decidedly little things like that for you, without many words. But you didn’t mind.

“Good morning,” you greeted one of your regular customers, who was already waiting by the door for you to open up, “I’ll be right with you, alright? I just need to sign this...” and you showed her the way into the shop.

You prided yourself on not being particularly noteworthy. You weren’t pretty, but not ugly either. You never had the best jokes or the most courage. Most people assumed you weren’t all that interesting and you definitely weren’t the most intelligent girl in Small Heath. But you were stable and practical, and a good cook. Or, at least, that was how you saw yourself.

Tommy entered the shops, just as your workday was coming to an end. When he looked at you, he saw something else entirely than your own self-image. From the second he’d seen you walk by, back when he was only fifteen, he’d taken note of you. To him, you were radiant. Not pretty and therefore easily replaced by some other pretty girl, not sassy or smart, trying to attract attention all the time, but you could light up the room without saying a word. And whenever you were near him, he felt calm. Maybe it was because you were so practical, but on Tommy it had the effect of him wanting to make an impression upon you, all the time. So he’d take you out, properly, he’d have gifts delivered to you and he would impulsively take you down to a special place near the Cut, just so you could be kids again, if only for a moment. You made him light, with all your simplicity. You made him at ease.

And so Tommy stood watching you, until you’d finished with a customer. Then he said, “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” you smiled, feeling his excitement radiating through those two words, “I’m not finished here yet.”

“Close up,” he urged, “We still have another hour before we have tea with your parents.”

“Tea?” you joked, eyes sparkling.

He smiled broadly and took you hand, but you protested, “I have to get changed first! Can’t meet them dressed like this.”

“Why?” Tommy furrowed his brows, “You’re perfect. Besides, your fancy clothes are only going to get messed up again, eh?”

Knowing exactly what he wanted then, you followed him out the shop, hastily locking up. Almost skipping, you followed him through the streets. He looked around to see if anyone was watching the two of you, but you didn’t care at this point. Your heart was beating in your chest for the excitement.

Under the bridge, he immediately pushed you up against the wall and went in for a deep kiss.

“Tommy!” You giggled, “What if anyone sees?”

“Let them fucking watch,” he growled in your ear and at once he made good on his statement by hiking up your skirt.

His hand made his way up your leg, around your thigh, searching frantically almost. And when he’d found your panties and touched you carefully, he grinned, “So, it’s not just me who’s been yearning for this all day...”

Like you’d been caught out, you blushed again. You’d felt yourself get wet the second he’d taken you from the shops and he was all you wanted now.

“Fuck...” he breathed, “All this, for some simple gypsy boy, eh?”

“You’re the most powerful man in Birmingham,” you replied, between moans.

“Yes,” he sounded a little breathless as his hand dipped into your panties, “And you fucking love it.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but as you did, he pushed two fingers inside of you, while rubbing your clit with his thumb. No words came out.

“Tommy...” you whispered, as you felt the stress and exhaustion of the day falling off of you. The warm sensation of pleasure seemed to engulf you, as he slowly moved inside of you. You opened your eyes for a second and saw him watching you.

For a second, he stopped and commented, “Fuck, you are beautiful.”

“That’s all well and good,” you replied, a little annoyed, but also not really, “but would you mind continuing?”

Tommy’s eyebrows shot up, “Very well.” And with that, he grabbed your legs, lifted you off the ground and draped them around his waist. You yelped out and the suddenness of his motion and he laughed along with you. And there he was again: the careless gypsy boy you loved so much.

With your back against the wall, he supported you with one hand and undid his trousers with the other. Meanwhile, he kissed you wildly, like he wouldn’t last another minute without it.

“Do you want me?” he questioned playfully in a low voice.

“Fuck, yes.” You were desperate for it now.

And so was he. Tommy pushed his cock inside of you, gently but certain. At once, a moan escaped your mouth. With a smug face, Tommy started bouncing you up and down in a perfect rhythm.

The sensation washed over you. Clinging onto his neck, you grabbed his hair and buried your face into his shoulder, to keep yourself from calling out. His movements were getting faster and you realised this wouldn’t take long. He did too, but always the gentleman, he took one of your hands and guided it down onto your clit.

“You first,” he ordered, as he traced a hand down your back. It felt like electricity running down your spine.

As you carefully rubbed your clit, Tommy adjusted his speed a little, not wanting to cum before you did.

But is wasn’t necessary. You felt the pressure building up in your abdomen and the familiar tingling sensation working its way down your legs. “Faster,” you ordered him about now, “Fuck, Tommy, make me cum hard!”

And apparently, just your words were enough for him. As he picked up the pace again, and you felt your orgasm take over, so did he. You arched your back and let your head fall back, as your muscles clenched around his cock. Another spasm went through you when he pushed in as deep as he could and ejaculated inside of you.

“Fuck...” he could only breathe, “Fucking hell, what are you doing to me? I’m like some fucking boy again, hardly able to fucking contain myself...”

“Me?” you laughed, after you’d gained your breath again, “What are you doing to me! I was a respectable girl once and now I’m being fucked under the bridge by a gangster!”

“Respectable, eh?” He smirked, after lifting you down from his waist and turning you around to hug you against his chest. Which was good, because standing was still a little hard at the moment. “There’s nothing much respectable about either of us.”

“Yes, there is!” you frowned, “Or there better be soon, because we’re expected at my parents any minute now.”

Tommy lit a cigarette and let his chin rest on your shoulder, “Or we could stay here. Go again. Your parents can fucking wait.”

“No, they can’t,” you said strictly.

He sighed in an almost disappointed manner.

“Maybe afterwards,” you smirked a little.

“Oh, well in that case!” He took your hand and marched off like a man on a mission, “Let’s go meet the parents! Come on, I haven’t got all day!”

*****

As soon as your mum had opened the door, Tommy had put on a big smile you hardly saw these days anymore. For a second, it had made you stumble for words. He’d introduced himself politely to both your parents and even told a few jokes to your younger siblings. He’d complimented the food, offered to help and had been an absolute gentleman throughout. You had no idea how to respond to any of it, but it wasn’t unpleasant by any means.

Only once, you got nervous. After dinner, your father asked, “We of course have heard of what you do, Mr. Shelby. Is it all true?”

Tommy cleared his throat, “People like to tell a lot of stories about me. Most are not true.”

“I don’t believe they are,” your mother reacted quickly, “You seem too sweet to be a menace.”

You send Tommy a look that said: Bravo, you’ve won her over.

Politely, Tommy smiled at her. But your father wanted to know more, “What is it that you do, exactly?”

“I’m just a simple man, a working man, just like you, Mister,” Tommy waved a hand, “And all I want is to make my business a successful one, and if I can make Small Heath a little bit safer in the process, that’s even better. You see, some people may call me a gangster or a criminal, but I look out for my own people. We’ve had it hard here, especially after the war, very hard. I want to make this place, my home, a better place and in doing so, I need to make sure some things change around here. We’ve had enough trouble with the big bosses and the police and petty gangs around here: I’m changing all that. And with Y/N by my side, her wisdom and down-to-earth guidance, I’m sure I can make a change.”

And just like that, he’d won your dad over as well.

After dinner was over, Tommy talked to your father some more in the front room. Your mum wanted to talk to you. She was as practical as you were, “Will he make an honest woman out of you?”

You looked over at Thomas Shelby for a minute and nodded, “I think he will.”

“Good,” she said, “And then maybe you can make him honest too.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you laughed a little, “Tommy does what Tommy wants, and there’s no one who can change him.”

“I think you can...” your mother mused, “But I think he already is a good boy, deep down.”

*****

It was still early when the two of you left the small house again. Tommy smoked silently and you walked alongside him.

“So, how did I do?” he asked casually.

“Not bad!” you complimented, “Mum even called you a ‘good boy’.”

Tommy shot you a look like that was one of the most offensive things he’d heard in a long time.

You smiled fondly at him, “I think she’s right.”

“Good boy...” he grumbled, “I’ll fucking show you ‘good boy’ in a second!” But he winked when he met your eye.

“It’s cold...” you complained a little.

Tommy took your hand, “Are your hands cold?” And he put both his and your hand into the pocket on his long coat. It was the smallest of gestures but it warmed you right up.

You leaned into him and whispered, “Let’s not go back to the bridge?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to fuck under a bridge in the cold... do you want us to do it there forever? Always hasty?”

“Nope,” he said matter-of-factly, “When we get married, we’ll get our own house. And as my wife, I’ll fuck you on a satin pillow, every day, like a princess.”

“So, pretend we’re married already?”you ventured. Because honestly, sometimes it felt like you couldn’t wait another day to become Mrs. Shelby.

He locked eyes with you and pursed his lips a little. And you pressed on, “You’ve met my parents already. I mean, it’s practically done.”

Tommy stopped in the middle of the streets and thought about it for a while. Then he decided, “Alright. But I just need to make a small stop on the way.”

“What for?”

“To get a satin pillow!”

*****

Masterlist

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders smut #theshelbyclan #meeting the parents #young tommy #cillian murphy

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lupineaerosol · 7 months

Text

traveler pt. 3 | thomas shelby x f!reader

not my gifs! dm for credit

parts one and two

pairing : thomas shelby x time traveled!reader

word count : 2431 (shorter chap but i love it sm)

summary : it's been a few days of a quickly forming schedule, and while running errands find yourself attempting to calm Danny Whizz-bang down from a panicked state. later on in the day you return to the Garrison to find a second woman attending the bar, and she was singing. a moment with thomas and a flashback!

warnings : alcohol mentioned, PTSD and panic attack, knives, blood, cigarettes(?), jumpscare(??), mention of guns

notes : this chapter came together super fast and im honestly really proud!! was a total headache trying to get the timeline all correct n shit but this came out perfect n i think yall are going to loveee it

It had been a few days of work, breaks, a quick shopping trip when you could spare the time with the money you earned from individuals at the bar, and sleep. Last night’s sleep had been filled with half remembered dreams, and the morning as foggy as your icy dawn in Inverness. You swung your feet out of bed to softly touch the floor, and you start your day. Warming water downstairs in the bar for a quick wash back up in your apartment. Brushing your hair with your fingers, and marking down a growing list of items you would need to purchase, more major things crossed out at the top. Blouses, skirts, undergarments, socks, bedsheets, lamps etc.

With the leftover clean water you were able to wash your dirty shirts and hang them to dry near the window. You tugged your sneakers onto your feet and laid your skirt over them neatly when you stood from your bed. A yellowed and previously white shirt a tad too small tucked into the green skirt, and a brown shaul you found, forgotten in the dresser of your bedroom.

Venturing out with your list in hand, you first stopped at an Italian cafe purchasing a small pastry and a tea you enjoyed sitting at a table outside. You took a long sip followed by a sigh, and a familiar face came into view: Danny Whizz-bang, and he looked distraught.

He was muttering to himself, gripping his hat from off his head and holding it to his chest as he sunk into a seat near you. A chair fell loudly next to him after he had bumped it with his hip. Rocking back and forth, nearly shivering. You had to help in some way, with the distant booms of the factories and clattering noise of the street he was only getting more wound up.

“Excuse me,” You looked over at him with gentle eyes. “Do you have the time?” A gentle distraction, one simple task to take his mind off of whatever was happening behind his eyes.

Danny slightly jumped in his seat at the sound of your voice, but he began to pat his chest for a watch. His fingers fumbled and the chain to the watch shook subtly. “It’s a quarter past eight, ma’am.” His voice trembled, but he looked slightly less wild.

“Thank you,” You paused, looking back down to your pastry briefly. “Would you like to share this? I don’t think I’ll be able to finish it.” You tried to incorporate a small smile into your words, it didn’t quite have the comfort you intended.

“That's quite alright ma’am, lovely wife at home makes all the meals I need.” His eyes darted around the street, still disturbed. A loud boom and he jumped, only to then put his face down and yell loudly at his feet. An Italian gentleman in an apron stepped out of the cafe, talking and gesturing angrily in half broken English about how Danny was scaring you. Danny muttered into his hat and stood suddenly, the stress of the situation rising once again.

“Sir, sir I am fine, please don’t worry.” You tried interjecting, but the man raised his voice and began to yell for Danny to leave, finally pulling a knife from his pocket and threatening him. Danny’s eyes glazed over with rage and fear, lunging at the smaller man and redirecting the knife into the cafe owner. You stumbled back, seeing red pour from the Italian’s stomach. Danny was pulled away from the other man, remorse and regret smearing his face like a painting. Tears welled up in both of your eyes, and you didn’t attempt to get near him again. People chattered busily from around the street, and after a pause, Danny was off and running down the street.

You returned home after your errands helped calm you down, a basket full of new clothes that finally fit you hanging on your arm as you push through the doors of the Garrison to see Harry behind the bar and a blonde woman standing on a chair singing. The Garrison was silent under the melancholic song floating from her mouth. Harry never mentioned a new hire, and there was no way this could be his wife, she stayed away from the tavern like it was cursed. The blonde was pretty, and Irish from the sound of her singing. You claimed a spot at a golden support beam near the doors, not wanting to take attention away from the community enjoying music.

The men had started to sing along, a lovely chorus rumbling through the building. It warmed the space, and you could almost hear the bricks echoing in harmony. The doors swung open and closed, and Mr. Shelby appeared to your right, his group following closely behind him. Men shuffled away and stopped singing along as the intimidating group claimed their spot to listen to the woman sing, an air of disapproval emanating from Thomas.

Thomas was so near to you the heat radiating off his jacket made its way to your skin through your shirt and it felt like he diffused pure electricity. Had your hand been at your side, his knuckles would have bumped yours. You held your breath without consideration as to why. You didn’t even notice he had taken your breath away just by standing next to you.

The blonde finished her song, and Harry approached Thomas with a smile. “We haven’t had singing in here since the war.” A long stare, cold and captivating from Thomas.

“Why do you think that is, Harry?” Thomas’ voice was crystal clear, and as he stepped away from you and into the corner room. You were immediately aware of the cold that replaced Thomas. An as he went to close the double doors, his eyes glanced back to catch yours, and for a split second you were captivated entirely by just how entrancing and menacing the man could be.

Earlier in the day

Thomas walked into the Shelby house with a bottle, his hat tossed carelessly to the side on a table. “Let me see him.” A short glance at Arthur’s face and it was obvious he was hurting. Blood spackled across his face and the first few buttons of his shirt. “Well here, have this.” Thomas handed his older brother the bottle and he took a drink.

“Give me that.” Thomas took back the bottle and doused a bit of cloth in the brown liquid, taking Arthur’s chin and pressing the alcohol into a gash in his cheek. Arthur hissed, “You’re all right.” Thomas tried comforting him, and Arthur’s right hand came to grip the younger man’s forearm.

“He said Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham.” A long pause between the group. “National interest he said. Something about a robbery.” Arthur’s voice had a hint of rage. Thomas stepped back, lit cigarette hanging from his lips lazily.

“He says he wants us to help him.” Arthur continued.

“”We don’t help coppers.” John piped up from his place in the doorway.

“He knew all about our war records. He said we’re patriots, like him. Wants us to be his eyes and ears.” A cold emotion gripped the room, the feeling of breaking a lamp as a child and needing to hide any other evidence of misbehavior.

“And I’ve heard rumors he’s already keeping ears on us with the new women at the Garrison.” Arthur’s voice was flat, and Thomas’ mind went to the two women he had recently met. The American (Y/H/C) with the glass of water for Danny and the Irish blonde. “People say that she was on the train with him, saw the files he was carrying.” Suspicion heightened the tension in the room.

“Fucking copper couldn’t put anyone in the Garrison to listen in on us, Harry keeps his staff straight.” John defended the familiar old establishment.

“Regardless, I told the copper we’d have a family meeting and take a vote.” Arthur guided the conversation back to the Inspector, and it almost seemed like he was suggesting they become spies for the police. Silence gripped at the throats of the family, and Thomas hesitated with an answer.

“Why not? Hmm?” Arthur turned on the offensive. “We have no truck with the Fenians or communists.” Thomas simply stared at the table.

“What’s wrong with you?” Arthur turned to face Pol. “What the fuck is wrong with him lately?”

“If I knew, I’d buy the cure from Compton’s chemists.” Aunt Pol responded, lighting a cigarette.

After the crowd had settled back into their seats in the Garrison, you ventured up to your apartment and unlocked the door, placing your things inside and turning to leave again to start helping downstairs. As you again pulled the key from the door a shadow appeared from behind you.

“Why did you visit the police station?” An unfamiliar voice rang through the empty hall, chatter from the bar filling the silence. You turned around slowly, adrenaline at the surface of your skin. You were unfamiliar with the man’s name, but you recognized his face. He was in the group of men Harry had talked to about you a few nights ago. “Now is not the time to lie, madam, and I would appreciate it if we could speak quickly, I have a beer downstairs waiting for me.”

Your stomach sunk, knowing that there was no lying your way out of the situation. “I had been traveling from Inverness to London when I met a man on the train. I didn’t know he was a policeman when I explained to him I had lost my passport, and he offered to help get me a visa. I only visited him to explain I didn’t need it anymore.” Your hands twisted the fabric of your shirt anxiously while you spoke quickly.

“Did you see what files he was carrying?” His gruff voice commanded your attention.

“Uhm..” You paused, trying desperately to recall what the hideous green folders had typed on the front of them. “Uhh, Oh! Something about a munitions robbery, and the suspects that they have.”

“Did you see any of the names?” He pressured again, leaning slightly closer.

“No, none at all.” You had backed up flush against your door, the wood creaking quietly.

The man leaned back and nodded, thin dirty-blonde hair poking out like straw from under his hat. Your words seemed to appease him to whatever capacity. He straightened his cap and muttered a quiet ‘thank you for your time’, before turning to leave.

“How did you know I visited the police station?” You asked, still shaken from the question.

“There are eyes in this town madam, you’d be wise to make your intentions clear to them.” Was all the answer you got from over his shoulder.

Boxes and crates with their lids slammed down on top of and hammered into place. Two men loading a riverboat in the dead of night, a third walking from the road with a cigarette floating lazily from his hand to his mouth.

“Uncle Charlie, a word.” His flat cap reflected the quarter moon on a razor’s edge.

“They are aboard. There’s no moon.” Charlie Strong stepped down the wooden gangway. “We can take them out to the turning point beyond Gas Street and leave them on the bank. They’ll be found by railway men first thing.”

The nephew put his cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag, smoke trailing from his nose and mouth as the dragon exhaled.

The pause was too long for Charlie Strong’s liking. “Is that an agreement?”

The young man’s face scrunched for a second and then fell. “I changed my mind.”

“You what?”

“I have an alternative strategy.” The plot unraveled in his mind, yet another calculated step navigated with ease. Everything came easy to the Shelby boys when they put their minds to it, and that was why Thomas was in charge. “Tell Curly to take her out to the old tobacco wharf. There’s a lockup mooring we used to keep cigarettes. He knows it. When the boat leaves your yard, it’s no longer your concern.” He shared his cigarette with his uncle.

He took a fast drag. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Have you not seen the streets? They’ve sent a fucking army to find these things.”

“That’s right. They’ve shown their hand.” Thomas said casually.

Charlie scoffed. “Their hand?”

“If they want them back this bad, they’ll have to pay. That’s the way of the world.” Thomas’ eyes moved to his uncle’s. “Fortune drops something valuable into your lap, you don’t just dump it on the bank of the Cut.” He pointed his chin to the river with a lift of his head.

“You’re blood Tommy, I’ve always looked out for you like a dad.” Charlie paused. “You’re going to bring holy hell down on your head. This copper takes no prisoners.”

The young man nearly scoffed out loud. “I’m told he didn’t serve.” His eyebrows raised for a split second. “Reserved occupation.”

“Is it another war you’re looking for, Tommy?”

His voice turned stern. “What did you find out from (Y/N)?”

“She’s not working with the copper, but she wasn’t telling the entire truth.” Charlie spoke of the young woman Thomas requested he talk to. “But whatever you heard was correct, she was at the police station a few days back. She'd traveled down from Inverness, met the copper on the train. All she saw was a munitions robbery suspect list.” He took another short hit from the tobacco.

“Harry said that she was honest, she talked about how she couldn’t afford the trip to London. He said he hired her because he needed to. He couldn’t turn her away. But most importantly, he trusts her.” Charlie continued.

“You have to bring her into the business. If word gets out she knows about the guns, that copper will torture her. She’s an American, she’ll stay loyal to whoever gets to her heartstrings first, Tommy.” Charlie’s voice held genuine concern for your wellbeing. It seemed the only men you met in Small Heath wanted to protect you. “Don’t let an innocent person be hurt in the crossfire, Thomas.”

“I’ll talk to her, get the full story.” Thomas sighed, frustrated, he had far better things to do than sniff out a possible rat at the Garrison. He turned to fully face his uncle emphatically. “The tobacco wharf.” He tucked a set of keys into the older gentleman’s pocket. “By order of the Peaky Blinders.”

And walked off into the night.

a.n. : TEEHEE i love this chapter sorry if its confusing as all hell at time but i tried me best,,,, im also still completely unaware as to how to make a taglist but im gonna figure it out (maybe) !!!

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #Thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #arthur shelby #john shelby #peaky fookin blinders #polly gray

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archiveikemen · 4 months

Text

『 Dark If 』 Story Event: Chapter 1

Jude Jazza

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

❥･• Warnings and FAQ

Prologue

Victor: May you have a happy ending, Miss Kate. — Into the twisted fairytale world you go.

…

I woke up in a bedroom inside a lavish palace.

(Erm… right, I’m the “Princess” of this country.)

(... Huh? Why do I know that?)

Memories of being raised as a Princess of this country slowly came to mind.

(It seems that I have two sets of memories. One from my original world, and one from this world.)

But there was a strange feeling of certainty that both of them belonged to “me”.

King: … Are you awake, Kate?

Kate: Good morning, Father.

After knocking on my door , my father entered my bedroom wearing a worried expression.

King: Knowing that the wicked fairy’s prophecy is only a few months away… I can’t be at peace without personally confirming your safety every morning.

I was born as the Princess of this country, and spent my life living a sheltered life in confinement within the palace.

The reason for that was that… I was cursed.

The wicked fairy who placed the curse on me said, “10 years from now, the curse will take effect when she pricks her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel”.

— That fairy apparently returned to a castle hidden deep in the woods after making that prophecy.

My parents gathered every spinning wheel in the country and destroyed them. Everyone working in the textile industry was made to work in factories, and I wasn't allowed anywhere near them.

(But… neither my father nor my mother knew why I was cursed.)

Kate: Why doesn't anyone know the reason why I was cursed…?

King: … That night, you had a quarrel with me and ran away from the palace. You then lost your consciousness and collapsed in an alley.

King: By the time you were brought back to the palace and seen by the royal doctor, you were already cursed.

King: At that time, the wicked fairy who was with you admitted to cursing you…!

(Ah… so that’s what happened. But I have no memories of the events that led to me collapsing in the alley.)

(I should have seen that person back then… why can’t I recall anything?)

Perhaps it was due to my vivid memories of living in this world, or that I came into this world from England; but I found it hard to comprehend.)

(Oh well, there’s no point in thinking about that now.)

Kate: If the curse takes effect, I’ll fall into a deep slumber for 100 years… right?

I muttered based on my memories, and my father nodded with tearful eyes.

(A cursed spindle… the world I’m in is definitely that of the story “Sleeping Beauty”.)

(If we go along with the original plot, it’d probably be better to fall into a deep sleep because of the curse, but…)

The man who introduced himself as Victor said that there was “something missing” in this twisted fairytale world.

If I fall asleep before I find what’s missing — I won’t be able to look for it for the next 100 years.

(First things first, I need to break this curse to give myself more time to find it!)

Kate: I’m going to try asking that fairy to lift the curse.

King: W-WHAT!? You absolutely cannot do that!!

Kate: I’ll be fine with a few guards to escort me.

King: Even the royal guards fear him! I’ve sent people to assassinate him several times, and all of them returned in terrible states…!

Kate: In that case, I’ll go alone. With my experience as a postwoman, I can smell danger when it approaches.

King: Postwoman? H-Hey, wait—!

…

Leaving my panicking father in the castle, I came to an old castle hidden deep in the mountains.

(Come to think of it… the me in this world has never tried doing it this way before.)

(I was always sheltered and protected by my father.)

(For some reason… I never found the curse itself frightening.)

Strangely, I didn't think that sleeping for 100 years was a bad thing, and I never desperately tried to break the curse.

(I wonder why—)

…

(Is this… the place…?)

The castle was shrouded in thorny vines and had no gatekeeper, there were no signs of anyone’s presence.

Suppressing the feeling of fear that had risen due to the atmosphere of a villain’s stronghold, I cautiously poked my head inside and looked around.

Kate: P-Pardon me. I’m… not here to deliver mail. I’m here to have my curse lifted—...

Tall Young Man: … Good evening.

Kate: AAAAH!?

Tall Young Man: Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you… are you alright?

Ellis (The Thorn): I’m Ellis, the assistant to the master of this castle.

Ellis: I was ordered to deter all visitors, like the thorns of the vines outside.

(I went through the trouble of coming all the way to this place, no way I’m letting myself be turned away so easily…)

Kate: I’m Kate. I came all this way to meet the master of this castle.

Ellis: Hmm… okay.

Kate: Huh!? Is it really okay!?

Ellis: Mm-hmm. Because you came all the way here and that’ll make you happy.

(He says it’s okay… I’m kind of concerned about the security of this castle…)

Ellis: Oh, but he hates having uninvited guests over. Be careful.

…

Ellis: Jude, you have a guest.

Jude (The Fairy): Tch… I told you to turn away all uninvited guests. How many times do I have to repeat myself?

Jude: Make them leave, even if you have to hurt them—

Jude: —...!

The man addressed as “Jude” had a sinister look in his eyes. He looked up from the book he was reading, and his eyes widened the moment he saw me.

Jude: You…

(He knows who I am…? That means he’s the one.)

Kate: You’re the one who cursed me, aren't you?

Kate: I apologise for the sudden intrusion, but I’m here to speak to you in regards to lifting the curse.

Jude: … Ah?

Jude’s face contorted in response to my words.

The blatant expression of displeasure made me flinch, but I wasn’t about to back down.

Kate: If you won't lift the curse, then extend the timeframe at the very least!

Kate: You can curse me again once I’ve found what I’m looking for.

Jude: …

Kate: I’ll do anything for you to even just give me more time.

Jude: … Anything, you say?

Jude: Since you say that, I’ll make you work here as a servant.

(S-Servant…!?)

His cold smile sent a chill down my spine.

Jude stood up from the sofa and walked up to me, making my entire body stiffen in anxiousness.

Jude: Just so happens that I was planning to prick you myself with a spindle on your next birthday.

Jude: This saves me the trouble of going out to find you.

Kate: … [scared]

Sensing danger as he reached his hand towards me, I instinctively backed away; only to realise that Ellis was standing right behind me, leaving me no way to escape.

Kate: My father will most definitely not stay quiet about this…!

Jude: Hah, it doesn't matter how many useless soldiers that useless King sends. I’ll torture all of them to their deaths.

Kate: …!?

His long fingers wrapped around my neck; he pulled out a collar from who knows where and put it on me.

Jude: Now I can blow your head off whenever I want.

Jude: From the moment you came here, it was already too late, Princess.

Jude: You won’t be returning to the castle. You’ll stay here and obediently suffer from your curse.

(I—)

(This might’ve been the wrong decision.)

There was no use in regretting my decision, and so I remained captive in his castle for several days—.

As much as I didn’t want it to, life in this castle eventually felt ordinary.

…

— Clang!

Kate: Again…!?

Ellis: Yeah. Sorry, Kate.

Jude: A freeloading servant has no right to complain.

Someone who had a grudge against Jude showed up at the castle — this was no new occurrence for Jude and Ellis.

(Even though they would be struck by lightning, blown away, or killed instantly with just a single glance from Jude…)

Fallen Man: Ugh…

Jude: Why so quiet? What happened to all that audacity you had when you barged in?

Not a single day went by in this castle without a blood bath.

And as the “servant”, it was my job to clean up after them — that wasn't something I chose for myself, but I was always told to stay in my room.

Kate: I’ve been wondering… why do so many people have something against you?

Ellis: As a fairy, Jude naturally becomes a target for assassins.

Jude: You’re the Princess of this country, and yet you don’t even know that. Your life must've been truly sheltered.

Jude scoffed.

Kate: Don’t you think it could also be because of your personality? You treat people harshly, giving them a hard time.

Jude: You have some nerve, lecturing your master.

Jude: I’m always free to punish you if that’s what you want, though?

Jude hooked his finger under the collar around my neck and pulled me closer to him.

Looking into those sadistic amethyst eyes from such a close distance made me strangely uneasy, like I couldn't maintain my composure.

Kate: … N-No, thank you!

I smacked his hand away and headed straight back to my room.

(I need to stand up to that man and make him extend the curse.)

More than that — it was infuriating to constantly be looked down on by him.

…

This castle had a huge collection of books.

During the day, Jude would get involved in violent fights, and somehow get his hands on all sorts of books and materials through making deals with shady merchants.

At night, Jude would shut himself in his study.

Kate: Just what on earth does Jude always do in his study?

Ellis: I don’t know the exact details, because even I’m not allowed to go in there… but I do know that he’s researching something to fulfil a promise he made a long time ago.

Kate: I see… so you’re not allowed in his study, huh.

Ellis: Yeah. But he didn't specifically say that you’re not allowed in there, so I think it’s okay if you do as you please.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #otome #cybird otome #ikevil story event #jude jazza

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archangeldyke-all · 5 months

Note

hello there... I'm super late to the party as I just binge watched Arcane like two days ago and I am FERAL for sevika, I have a problem honestly...anyways firefighter!sevika and nurse!reader or doctor!reader has been floating around my brain, like imagine how nervous you get when she gets called to a massive fire and how worked up she gets when you have to attend a really bad trauma scenario (something greys anatomy worthy) omggg the overprotective vibes are killing me

welcome to the sevika sphere!! i'm gonna change reader to an EMT because i know a bit more about that than i do nursing or doctoring, hope that's okay! also... this is not accurate at all to how any of these kinds of operations or protocols go but whatever

men and minors dni

you work on different sides of town so while you're always interacting with firefighters on calls, you don't meet sevika for a while.

but when a factory fire breaks out on sevika's side of town, all available units in the city are called over to help.

you meet her there, and it's like a movie scene.

she jogs out of the flames, a man slung over her shoulder, dramatically pulling her helmet off and shaking her hair out of her face. for a second, time slows down. then she's dropping the man on the gurney in front of you for you to start administering oxygen, and everything speeds back up again.

the two of you don't talk until the fire's out and all the injured have been shipped off to the hospital. the fire chief is chatting with the factory manager, your boss is talking through the radio to dispatch.

"haven't seen you around before." a voice speaks up beside where you're loading up the truck. you look up at sevika, free from her protective gear, in a form fitting t shirt and cargo pants, grime on her face. you smile.

"i work on the other side of town." you say, cracking open a water bottle and taking a sip.

"that's a shame. was hopin' i'd see you around more often." she says with a pout. you choke.

sevika gets your number after you stop sputtering.

you two click instantly. she takes you out for a casual coffee that weekend, but you talk for so long that coffee becomes dinner which becomes a hookup at sevika's place.

gossip travels fast, but it travels even faster among first responders, and you come into work on monday to cat calls and congratulations on your new 'figherfighter girlfriend'

when you ask sevika if she had used those specific words with her friends, she just shrugged and asked if that was okay.

since then the two of you have been inseparable.

it's usually you who wakes up in the middle of the night scared out of your mind that one day sevika just won't come home from work.

sevika's had several close calls and one near death miss since the two of you got together. (the near death miss inspired sevika to propose to you. she woke up from her coma asking for you and the second you arrived, she choked out the words, 'marry me?' you guys eloped the same week she was discharged from the hospital)

sometimes sevika will come home from work and you'll be so relieved to see her you burst into tears.

you often tune into the dispatch radio on your off days, listening for her engine number and their status. sometimes, if you're lucky, you can even hear her voice.

so usually, you're the worried spouse.

tonight it's different.

tonight you get called to an active hostage situation, on standby to treat the hostages when they are released, whether it be peacefully or with police fire. you hope it will be peaceful. gunshot wounds are a lot of work, and you've had a long shift already.

you don't have to worry about that for long, though, because when your truck pulls up as first on the scene, the three cop cars that arrived moments before you are riddled with bullets, all of the officers incapacitated inside.

lacy, your boss and driver, curses as she pulls up on the scene. Beside her in the passenger seat, toya is rambling codes into the radio, alerting dispatch of the scene you've driven up on. "i count five officers down." toya says.

a clear calm settles over you, the same calm that always guides you in these moments. your mind focuses on protocol, emotion secondary to your eyes flickering over the scene. "six." you say to toya. "six down. two dead, four severely injured. passenger and driver in five have abdomen wounds." you say, pointing to squad car five ahead of you. you move your finger to the left. "twenty two's driver is dead, shot in the head, but his passenger is alive. i can see her moving. can't make out any injuries." you point to the final car. "driver is alive in seventeen, but unconscious. his passenger's dead."

you move as you speak, grabbing your kit and tossing toya hers. you can't leave the vehicle until more police arrive, but the adrenaline is building in your body, your hands shaking and feet tingling, ready to hit the ground running.

somewhere down the street, sirens begin wailing. you and toya sigh in relief, only to scream when a gunshot rings out and the windsheild shatters.

another shot rings out, the back door lock of the ambulance pulverized by a bullet, and the doors swing open as you, lacy, and toya turn to face your attacker.

"out of the truck now!" the masked man screams. you gulp, following his directions with your hands in the air. the three of you jump out of the truck. "you!" the man points his gun at you. you freeze. "you want your friends to live?" he asks. you nod. he points toward the bank he'd just ran out from. "come on." he says, putting his hand on your shoulder and walking you toward the bank, keeping his gun aimed at lacy and toya.

you follow him. shock is the only thing keeping you calm. just as the door slams behind you, three squad cars come peeling up the street, arriving at the scene. you let out a breath of relief that lacy and toya are safe now.

"i got one!" the man behind you shouts into the bank, leading you to the back of the building and into a conference room. inside, you count twelve hostages, and three more gunman. one is on the floor, clutching his side, bleeding through his fingers. "i got one, boss." your captor says as he shoves you forward. you blink, gulp, then launch into action.

"i need space." you choke out as you crouch beside the bleeding man. you help him lay horizontially, slinging your bag off your shoulder. "i need an assistant." you say looking up at your captor. he nods. "do you want it to be one of your guys or one of the hostages?" you ask, trying to keep your voice level and calm. you focus on pulling on a clean pair of gloves. you don't think beyond that.

"one of my guys."

"are they gonna be able to keep their temper in check if i tell 'em what to do or are they gonna shoot me? 'cause if you shoot me your boss is shit out of luck." the man hovering above you considers this, then nods to the group of hostages on the ground. you address them.

"do any of you know any basic first aid?" an old man raises a shaky hand. you nod him over. "what's your name?" you ask him as he crawls over to you.

"j-j-j-jerry." he stutters out.

"okay jerry, put these gloves on." you hand him a pair of gloves. "and take a minute to take some deep breaths. you're okay. i need you focused--not shaky." you say. the man nods, pulling his gloves on and taking deep, meditative breath. you begin slicing open the man's shirt.

he's been shot through the stomach and from what you can make out, the bullet is still lodged inside. he's bleeding steadily, but not profusely enough for an artery wound, which is good.

"jerry, you're my hand-it guy, okay? when i need something, i'm gonna tell you what it looks like and where you can find it in my bag, and you're gonna hand it to me. got it?" you ask. he nods. you nod back at him. "good. main pocket in a white paper package there's some gauze. get that." you say to jerry. then you look down at the man beneath you.

"hello sir, me and my friend jerry here are going to be helping you out tonight. what's your name?" you ask the groaning man.

"i'm not giving you my name, you pig." he grunts out. you sigh. jerry presses the gauze in your hands.

"i'm not a cop." you grunt out as you begin sopping up blood from the man's stomach. he flips you off. "whatever. how long has it been since he was shot?" you ask the man standing behind you, still pointing a gun at your head. he falters.

"five minutes, maybe? since those cops got here." he says. you nod.

"alright. well, you got two options. if you think you guys are gonna be outta here soon, i recommend option one, which is me stuffing his wound and applying pressure. he'll bleed out eventually, but not if we get him to a hospital in time, which me and my friends can do with our ambulance." the man grunts at you to continue. you nod.

"option two is I take the bullet out and cauterize the wound. it's gonna hurt worse than getting shot, there's a chance he'll die of shock, but if we do it right we can buy him an hour or two." you say. the man above you curses. his masked friends anxiously titter. a phone on the wall rings.

"fuck!" he shouts, storming over to answer the phone.

"you need to give me an answer!" you call after him. "gauze." you say to jerry.

"give me a second!" he shouts. he answers the phone. "hello." he says. on the other line, a negotiator speaks. you soak up more blood with gauze.

"i need an answer!" you shout at the man.

"shut the fuck up!" he shouts at you. he heaves a breath, then speaks into the receiver. "unless you can promise us a getaway van and immunity, we're not fuckin leavin'!"

fuck. he's going rogue. the police are gonna come barging in, guns-a-blazing, and these stupid fuckers are dumb enough to try killing hostages. for a second, you break, an image of sevika waiting at home for you flashing through your mind. she's making her chili and corn bread tonight. what if you don't get to taste it?

"miss?" jerry asks, gently nudging your shoulder. you snap back to reality, taking the gauze from his hands and pressing it against the steadily bleeding wound. the man below you is delirious, fading in and out of consciousness as he loses more and more blood.

"fuckin' stitch him up. we're not leaving." your original captor says to you.

it takes four more captives to hold him down as you cauterize the wound. you do it with a thin metal rod and a blowtorch-- provided to you by your captors from their lock breaking kit. as the rod heats up, you sanatize the wound.

"the tiny in the inner pocket, the long pliers." you demand. jerry finds them in a flash, handing them over to you. "hold him down." you say to the four hostages.

when you fish the bullet out, he wakes up, groaning in pain.

"stop-- stooooop! please stooop!" he screams. a hostage still sitting against the wall vomits. you continue digging.

"sir focus on your breathing, we're doing this to keep you alive." you speak down at him calmly. he spits at you. you break a second time, anger and fear overpowering you for a flash as you dig your instrument against the tender torn flesh of his side. he passes out again. serves him right.

with the man unconscious, the process is much smoother. you pull the bullet out in one piece, tossing it beside you on the floor. the rod is red hot when you press it into his wound, a sizzling filling the air as his skin bubbles and burns. jerry leans over to throw up at the smell.

you've never done this before-- and this certainly isn't the proper way to do it. but with a gun to the back of your head you do the best you can guess with your preliminary medical knowledge and available resources.

it's a success... in the sense that the man is still breathing. the wound isn't bleeding nearly as profusely, but it's still sluggishly spurting from time to time. his chest is sweaty and pale. the hostages who were helping you are traumatized and shaking.

the phone rings again.

"you done?" your original captor--the new boss with the old one unconscious--asks you. you nod. he answers the phone.

"hello?" he asks. you can make out the muffled voice of the negotiator on the other line. a gunman moves you and your five hostage assistants to sit against the wall.

with nothing to do but sit, your focused haze begins to fade. you become aware of your body, no longer on autopilot. your mind starts thinking again, thoughts about what's going on outside, toya and lacy and if they're okay, and then sevika.

you choke. oh fuck, no, don't think of sev. don't think of sev or else you're gonna start crying. god is this what she feels like, trapped inside a burning building? this hopeless sense of dread? this debilitating desire to see your wife one more time?

jerry nudges you. "you good?" he whispers. you gasp, reaching out to grab his hand.

"i have a wife." you say to him. he squeezes your hand.

"she'll be happy to see you when this is all over." he says. you nod.

"how about you?"

"three kids. they're old enough to take care of themselves... hell, one of them's expecting their own baby in december," he says, laughing. "but i'm still not ready to leave 'em." he says.

"do i need to shoot a hostage!? what do you people not understand about FULL IMMUNITY?" the masked man on the phone screams. a woman beside you faints. "matter of fact-- i got one of your own in here? ain't that right officer?" the man asks, looking at you. you blink.

"i'm not a co--"

"you want another cop dead? i know i got at least two of 'em out front! you wanna make it three?" he asks. silence follows as the negotiator speaks. your heart is in your ass.

"listen. my wife's name is sevika. if this goes bad, you need to tell her i love her. you need to-- you need to tell her i'm never gonna leave her side. tell her i'll always love her and--"

"you're not gonna die, miss." jerry cuts you off.

"but if i do!" you say, pleading with the man beside you. "if i do you have to tell her--"

"i will." jerry says, nodding. "i will." he promises.

"they wanna talk to you." the masked man rasps out, looking at you. you blink.

"i'm not a cop." you say. he rolls his eyes.

"tell it to them." he says, gesturing you over to the landline. you stumble to your feet, shakily approaching him. his finger is on the trigger of his gun at his side, ready to shoot at a moment's notice. you look to jerry. he crosses his heart. you take the phone.

"hello?" you shakily speak into the receiver.

"is this lacy's missing crewmate?" a voice asks over the line. you take a shaky breath.

"yeah." you say.

"what's the situation inside?"

"twelve hostages, thirteen including me. one man down, gunshot to his chest. i patched him up best i could."

"he's one of the captors?"

"yes."

"and how many are there?"

"four." you say.

it's silent for a moment, the negotiator likely speaking to someone else. you can hear the faint chatter on the other side of the line, police barking instructions, sirens sounding, reporters demanding questions. "are any hostages hurt?" the voice asks suddenly.

"no. one just passed out, but i think it's just shock." you say. silence again. you take a breath, trying to focus on staying calm. over the line you hear people scream and tires screeching. there's a faint commotion, then, a distant voice.

where the fuck is she? where the fuck is she!? get off of me-- where is she??

you'd recognize that voice anywhere. it's sevika.

you burst into tears.

"are you alright ma'am?" the negotiator asks. when their voice quiets, you can make out various curses and threats sevika throws out as people try to subdue her. you choke. the masked man beside you scoffs, then turns to speak to his partners.

"can you put her on the phone?" you whisper, your voice wobbly.

"what?" the negotiator and gunman ask at the same time. you wave the gunman off, pointing at the receiver. when he turns around, you turn around too.

"that woman causing a scene-- that's my wife. sevika. can you put her on the phone? please?" you beg, your whispered voice shaking. it's silent on the other line. "please!" you squeak.

silence.

then... "b-baby?" a shaky voice comes through. you gasp.

"sev." you whimper.

"baby, oh my god." she cries into the phone. "oh my god, are you okay?" she sobs. you shake, your hand coming out to catch yourself on the wall beside you.

"i love you." you whisper. "i love you and i'll never stop loving you, honey, even when i'm gone." you whisper. sevika gasps on the other line.

"don't say that!" she shouts.

"they-- they're talkin' about killing a hostage. they think i'm a cop. i don't think i'm gonna--"

"shut the fuck up!" sevika growls. you stop your hushed rambling. "you're gonna be fine, baby, i'm gonna see you real soon, okay?"

"sev--"

"say it!" she begs, her voice cracking. you weep.

"i-i-i'll see you soon, baby." you choke out.

"who the fuck are you talkin' to?" the masked man behind you asks. you freeze.

then the wall caves in.

you wake up on a gurney, swat members and paramedics running past you. there's a ringing in your head.

you look to your left. toya is grinning down at you.

"knew you'd fuckin' make it!" she says, giddily. you smile. you're dizzy in a fun way-- likely concussed. you blink asleep.

you wake up again outside, lacy nudging you awake. "no sleepin', kid." she commands as she takes your vitals. you nod.

"what..." you try. your brain's still rattling around in your skull. words aren't as easy as they usually are. toya understands you, though.

"swat blew the wall in and took those goons down! you and all the hostages are safe. you got the most damage-- rubble hit your head pretty hard." she explains as she shoves an IV into your arm. you blink.

"sevika?" you ask. lacy chuckles at your feet.

"what'd i tell you? second thing she asks is where's her wife. ridiculous." lacy says. toya rolls her eyes.

"baby!" sevika's voice calls from across the parking lot. your head whips over to see her, sprinting at the three of you at full speed, pushing a few people out of her way. you giggle when she shoves the cheif of police to the side-- he stumbles on his feet as he tries to catch his balance.

she's by your side in a flash, grinning down at you, tears running down her cheeks. you recognize the comforting warmth of morphine beginning to flood your veins. or maybe it's just love. you giggle up at her.

"hi, pretty." you say, lifting a hand up to cup her cheek. she shoots down to kiss you, nipping on your lip, shoving her tongue into your mouth. you giggle.

"i'm right here!" lacy grunts out. toya wolf whistles.

"i told you you'd be okay, didn't i?" sevika asks as she pulls away, her eyes locked on yours. you nod dreamily up at her, unsure of what she's even talking about, in love with her all the same.

"you're my wife." you say, amazed. toya and lacy burst out in laughter. even sevika giggles. "what's funny?" you pout up at her. she kisses you again.

"you're the most beautiful, smartest, sexiest person in the world." she says. she gives you another kiss. "i'm never letting you leave the house ever again." she presses a third kiss against your lips. "i love you so fucking much." she says, tears running down her cheeks.

you grin, happy to have your wife kissing you so passionately. you gently brush her tears away. "come here." you demand, scooting over in your gurney to make room for sevika. she laughs, and crawls in beside you, despite the protests lacy and toya shout out at her. she wraps herself around you, kissing you firmly on the forehead. "love you." you whisper.

"love you." she says back to you.

toya and lacy load the two of you in the back of the truck.

they fake gag the whole way to the hospital as you and sevika make out in the back.

taglist

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika x you #soft sevika

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writingawaymylife · 8 days

Text

A/N: so I read @icyblogs fic about Ghoul!Simon and I was so inspired, and suddenly, this idea had me in a chokhold. I was so tired last night I couldn't write it, but literally, the moment I got up, I was writing this out on my phone. I did a quick read through and tried to find any mistakes, so I hope it's smooth, but I did write this in a hour, lol

Synopsis: Simon has spent two years trying to survive after a rude awakening to the new world. Losing everyone close to you is an experience he never wanted to suffer through again. Navigating the world alongside that grief doesn't make it any easier. It seems, however, that the world has finally decided to give him some mercy.

Word count: 1,800+

Warnings: swears, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of a severed hand and violence, please tell me if I missed anything

Simon had been stuck in some facility when the bombs fell. Some test. It's not like he wanted to stay in there, but they were testing out something related to the effects of cryogenic stasis on the human body (especially those who had peak body performance), and the week long study "just happened" to take place a few days before the bombs dropped. He had been told that if he took part in this, that him and his partner would be safe in a vault, but now he's waking up, and it's been over 200 years and everything is destroyed. He is mourning everything. The loss of his friends, his life, and you. Sweet you.

Waking up to this world bring so much grief that he nearly loses him mind, but he pushes through. Everyone that he ever loved and who ever loved him would want that. You would never forgive him for giving up. So, he eventually just falls into a life of survival. Odd jobs here and there, traveling. He often thinks back to who he used to be and his life, but he forces himself to focus on what is in front of him. Keeping himself afloat through the continuation of everything he'd known from before the Great War.

He's at a small town in the middle of nowhere yet again. Nursing a few shit wounds and an ever shittier whiskey as he tries to shake off some of the stress of the day. Raiders had taken up in an abandoned factory near the town, and he'd been hired to clear it out. Simple job for him really, yet even being out in the wasteland for a while now, he still finds himself missing his team. The companionship and the way they all worked together like awell-oiled machine. He tries not to think about how lonely it makes him, but some things just aren't so easily forgotten.

The bar is pretty full, much to his surprise, and the knowledge that he has found himself in yet another town where half the population begins getting drunk by 5 pm is putting him on edge to a certain extent. He's seen how easily people begin to pull out their weapons at the slightest provocation. So he keeps himself in the corner of the bar with his back to the wall, his rifle leaning against the table at an immediate grabbing distance as his eyes do idle surveys of the room It's unlikely that anything will turn sour, he knows that, but the past two years out here have only further emphasized all those years in the military; and he isn't keen to just let it all go for moment of lazy relaxation.

Then he hears something. It's drowned out by the other conversations filling up the space, but it rings something in his head, a small little echo of what once was. Leaning into that feeling shouldn't be so easily humored, he knows this, but beyond the veil of gravel and radio static there's something so familiar. A melody he hasn't heard in so long, one he can't help but soak in and embrace. His eyes are trying to find the source, weaving through the crowds, before they land on the weathered, spike shouldered, leather jacket of a Ghoul. He can't see their face, but something about the curves of their body looks so intimately familiar that he finds his hand shaking as it grips the glass. Inklings of recognition fire through his synapses, forcing him to stay on their back. They're talking to a man beside them, nodding along and shrugging before they're speaking again, and Simon feels like he's going fucking insane. The knowledge of that voice, that same intonation, forcefully summoned to the forefront of his mind.

Then the ghoul turns their face.

Everything comes to such an aggressive halt he nearly wheezes. His eyes never leaving their face, scarred and worn and-

You.

You're sitting there two hundred years after the end of the world in some leather jacket and vest, a rifle strapped to your back and two pistols in your waist holster. There's a severed hand on the table between you and the person, marred and glinting with a few rings, and the man you're talking to nods approvingly at it. Giving you a swift pat on the arm before handing over a rather comfortable looking pouch of caps. Then the man says something, and you're laughing, and yes, it's different and rough and age worn, but he would know it bloody deaf.

Simon can't move. He's thinking about all the years you've been out here. The pain, suffering, the ghoulification process that he has heard stories of, the things you must have done to keep yourself from going insane. His eyes are honed in on the pouch of caps, and he knows that you've had to become strong in a way that he wasn't there to help you through. While you fought through two centuries of destroyed civilization and were shown the worst of humanity, he had been safe and tucked away in a vault. It wasn't his fault. Not entirely. That doesn't stop the mind-numbing guilt that has come back and multiplied twofold. Nor the anger he's feeling that is mixing with that nauseated realization that everything he did, all he had sacrificed, had been for nothing. He had left you for months on end while the world was falling apart, and you didn't even get the one reason behind all of that.

Every reeling thought has that flight response he hadn't had in so long flaring, but he can't move, can't look away. He keeps looking at you and the way you talk and hold yourself, the similarities shifted through years of experiences. You still gesticulate but it's more toned down, arms staying relaxed where they rest on your thigh and the bar as your fingers dance in the air with whatever you're saying. That little smile you still do is on your face, but he can see how the light in your eyes has changed. Not gone, but as if it has taken on a different filter, colours being more highlighted than the ones that once were.

There's a slightest twitch where your brows once were before your looking around the bar, and he doesn't have time to look away, to hide his face and the shame he believes it will bring before you're looking at him. Eyes snapping to his and your body freezing in place. The man beside you is continuing on, but you aren't paying attention anymore. Your head is tilting. A furrow on your lips as you scan his face while he is unable to leave your eyes. He can see the slow build of shock and pain as recognition kicks in full force. Leather and spike clad shoulders almost shaking as you grip at the room temperature beer you were drinking. He expects horror next. Hatred. You had begged him to stay with you before, your pleas ignored from his desperation to keep you safe. The man stops talking, following your gaze and landing on Simon, but whatever he says next is ignored.

You're almost stumbling out of your chair as you land your feet on the worn bar floorboards, boots planting themselves firmly for a moment like you're hesitating. Eyes scanning and rescanning his face like you don't really believe what's in front of you. Then something clicks in your eyes and you're fucking barreling towards him. For a moment he expects you to try and kill him, and he wouldnt have even tried to stop you. He would have let you press the barrel of your gun into his forehead and paint the wall and tables with his blood and brain matter. But there isn't an ounce of aggression in your eyes as you roughly push past a couple of customers in the way, only such bone deep desperation and begging, suffering hope. Other customers are looking at you with shock at the suddenness of your actons. like you've suddenly gone feral as all conversation comes to a jagged stop. But no one moves, too interested to see what they probably hope to be an entertaining fight after a rather quiet evening.

When you get to him, you are stopping so quickly you collapse to your knees in front of him. Sucking in air like you didn't run twenty feet but miles, eyes pleading and shining with tears as one of your hands rests on the rough wooden floor like it's an anchor. The few nails you have are digging into the rotting spots, most definitely shoving splinters into the thick skin of your fingertips. The other hovers in the space between you two, fingers twitching as you seem to struggle between keeping them open, or pressing them against your fist to avoid giving into the desire physical contact he can see so plainly in your features. It falls back down to your lap for a moment. Neither of you are saying a thing in the dead silent bar as you give him such a begging look, his eyes start to burn.

Such heartbreak and fear and grief should never grace your face. It shatters him, dismantling him to his base atoms and burning away at his skin and organs. You're almost struggling to breath while Simon can't even remember how to when something finally breaks down within you. Your quivering hand reaches up again, cautiously, fearfully almost, to cup his jaw as you look at him like he's some mirage of shade and water after years in the desert.

Your voice croaks, the gravel in it emphasized by your scarred and aged vocal cords as you say his name likes he's your god. Bowed before an alter and finally being graced with the presence of a deity you've spent your life worshipping. "Simon?"

It's like he's been splashed with cold water, jolting him from where he sits as he leans forwards and practically scoops you up onto his lap. The other people are ignored, their stares insignificant as he wraps his arm around your waist and dig that hand into the soft leather there, his other hand coming up to the back of your head. He's pressing your forehead into his as you settle on his lap. Its like he can finally breath, that bone crushing weight leaving his chest as he sink into so many different emotions they become static, unimportant now that he has you in his arms and can feel your body and weight. Ragged breaths match your own as your arms tangled around the other, and he can feel the solid muscle and sinew under your thinning skin as you hold him so tightly. Like you're trying to fold him into you, make him a permanent part of your worn and weary body so he never leaves.

He vows than that he'll never leave you. Never go without that touch that hasn't changed despite the stark difference in your hands. Whatever happens now doesn't matter as long as he's with you, and he'll spend the rest of his days making you know that.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #fallout #modern warfare #this was fun but i really should get back to me other fics now lmfao

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