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mydear-corinthian · 20 days

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A Peaky Blinder || Shelby Family x reader

Synopsis: You encountering an assaulter while drinking on the Garrison pub. Pairing: Shelby Family x sister! reader (except for Finn & Ada) Warnings: sexual assault, gun violence, mentions of blood, and swearing Notes: Not proofread, there are some grammatical errors Click here to find the main masterlist. Click here to find the PEAKY BLINDERS masterlist.

This week feels like hell.

Loads of men barging in the shop, betting and betting like there was no tomorrow. As the accountant of the family and the business, it felt like hell.

A drink would help you stress down after a week of non-stop working. The trip to the family's tavern, the Garrison, was simple-- taking a short route there instead of the long way.

You opened the doors of the Garrison, immediately sitting down on the counter. You sat down, taking a deep sigh.

"Hello, (y/n). What drink do you want?" Harry, the bartender, asked you as soon as he saw you sitting down.

"It's alright, Harry. I'll get it," you replied, grabbing the big glass of bottle filled with your family's most famous drink, Gin, behind the counter's cupboard in front of you.

You opened the lid, tossing it at the side of the table, chugging the drink down.

"Rough week, innit?" Harry asked, wiping the unused glasses.

"Very rough week, Harry," you replied, taking a deep sigh.

"Why would people risk betting their money for a what? A race? It's funny but hey, who am I to judge? At least they're helping us work the business out."

The talk with you and Harry kept on going until both of your heads turned, looking at the doors after hearing them open harshly.

Three men entered the tavern. Dirty suits, hats on, and cigarettes designing their lips.

They walked up to the counter just beside you as they started to state their order.

"3 glasses of whiskey for us," you heard one of them order.

You just went on with your drink, Harry muttering an 'excuse me' to you before he was out of your sight, giving the 3 gentlemen their order.

"Slow down, love," you heard one of them.

You turned your head to them and tilted. "Sorry?"

"I said slow down drinking. You're too pretty to drink this whole bottle of yours to yourself.. and too pretty to be a whore either," he commented, looking up and down at you, licking his lips slowly.

He just called you a whore.

"What did you just call me, sir?" you asked in disbelief. You got up slowly, crossing your arms together, looking up at him.

"Ah, I get it. You're a feisty one, eh? A feisty whore.. I like it." he chuckled, his finger tracing your cheeks and then your curves.

"Fuck off, prick,"

Encounters like this in the Garrison were unfortunately normal. Weird, uncomfortable men doing this to women every day.

It was indeed normal but you can't help but be disappointed and sad for the women. Getting treated like this by men.

"Don't you fucking touch me," you shouted, slapping his hand off you.

You felt a hand gripping your jaw, your body pressed up on the counter. "How about I fuck you on this counter? Let these men watch us?" he whispered in your ear, his hand grabbing your hips harshly.

Mentally, you want to grab your gun and shoot him, on his groin, specifically.

and why not do it?

You turned your body, now facing him. A smile formed on your face. Your hands roam around his face and down there. Your hand cupped his manhood earning him a soft moan.

"Sir, I want to do something here.." you innocently said, your eyes meeting his and licking your lips slowly.

"Go on, love. Do it," he replied, and his two other friends laughed.

Your other hand was free, you used this opportunity to grab the small gun on your small bag and immediately fired his groin.

You let go of your hands on his right away. Blood is painted on your palm. You laughed, laughed at the sight in front of you.

The feeling of victory sprawled all over you. Finally putting men like him into their proper places and what they deserve.

He screamed in pain, cussing you out with all the swear words he knows.

Your brothers, except Finn and your older sister, Ada, rushed out of their small compartment just near the counter, guns in their hands.

You heard your older brother shout, "What the fuck is going on here!?"

Polly was with them, she looked at you and the man, she immediately knew what happened and she couldn't help but paint her face with a smirk.

"This whore shot my dick!" the man replied angrily, pressing his manhood, giving it pressure to avoid more blood coming out of it while his free hand was on your dress, gripping it near your neck.

Your brother's facial expression changed into disbelief when they heard the man calling you, their sister, a whore. Tommy inspected the man by looking at him up and down, mentally planning on how to take him down.

John scoffed in disbelief too, he grabbed his gun from his breast pocket immediately and pointed it directly at the man who assaulted you. He, then, harshly asked him, "Are you calling my sister a whore?"

Hearing John's question made your assaulter's eye widen in fear and appalled. He knew he fucked up. He knew he was going to get harshly beaten up-- or worse, die.

"Sister? I-I didn't know she was your sister, Mr. S-Shelby." he stammered. His head shaking violently, begging for forgiveness for what he did to you.

Rolling your eyes, you slapped his face. "Great. Now you respect me because I'm a Shelby and not because I'm a woman, and put the gun down, John. I'll handle this, it's my issue."

"We're here for backup, (y/n), alright?" Arthur commented.

You sighed, your gun still in your hand.

"Look, mister. What you did pissed me off and did not help me calm down after an exhausting fucking week but since I want to show mercy, you are lucky. You are free to go."

The 2 men ran away straightly to the tavern's doors, exiting the bar in no time. Your injured assaulter bowed his head many times and muttered a 'thank you' while limply running to the exit.

"Get out of my bar now, my mercy expires in 10 seconds," you said, massaging your temples out of stressfulness.

The man was still inside the Garrison after 10 seconds but he was already close to the exit, still limping.

You shot the floor, just near his legs. He ran faster until he was finally outside of the bar.

You laughed again at the sight. You turned the safety lock of your gun again before bringing it back inside of your black purse.

You heard slow claps coming from your brothers and your aunt. They walked toward you while clapping.

"Handled it like a true Peaky Blinder. I'm proud of 'ya, sis." your oldest brother congratulated you. Put his arm over the back of your shoulders and gave you a side hug.

Polly cupped both of your cheeks, caressing it with her finger slowly. "I'm proud of you, (y/n). Your mother would be so proud of you." She smiled lovingly. She cannot contain her happiness after what you did.

"Wait- you said you had a stressful week? Is it because of the overtime at the betting shop?" John interrupted, recalling what you said earlier and made him ask you about it.

You nodded in response, "Yeah. There were a lot of customers and being an accountant isn't easy, y'know?"

Tommy inhaled his half-full cigarette while listening to the conversation. He doesn't want to see his sister being stressed because of work so he planned on giving you a paid leave. "If it's like that then you can leave for a while and be back once you're good. Michael can be our accountant until you come back."

You shook your head, rejecting his offer. "It's alright, Tommy. I can handle it but is it okay if I'll just work on half-days instead of full days?"

"If that's want you want then it's fine with me," Tommy answered.

THE END

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #john shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #polly gray

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kkurades · 2 years

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˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ RED LIPSTICK ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

━━ you feel flattered when charlie shelby asks to marry you while your husband feels like he could strangle his nephew

word count: 2014

pairing: fem!reader x john shelby

warnings: none

The Shelby's were always your family.

From a young age, you had been a Shelby. Even though you weren't blood-related, they were more of a family than your actual family could ever be.

While you and Ada were nearest in age, you had always been closest with John.

It didn't matter whether you were two youthful teenagers messing around or two passionate lovers who tried to find their place in the world.

You and John had always been each other's priority.

So, it came as no surprise when you turned out being pregnant by John at the age of sixteen.

You and John happily married each other as Arthur walked you down the aisle.

The day that your first daughter had been born was the day that John vowed to you that he would grant you more children if that was what made you happy.

So, you had five more kids after Katie.

Even though your life was far from ideal, you still loved it with every fiber in your body.

John was an incredible husband. He was always faithful to you and constantly made an effort to spend as much time as he could with you and the kids.

A particular thing that he loved to do was to spoil you. Anytime you even merely glimpsed at a dress, the following day it would be hanging in your wardrobe.

You had frequently told John that he didn't have to purchase you expensive items, but he constantly said that he loved to do it.

Tonight, you were wearing a black dress that John had bought you for a gala that would be hosted by one of Tommy's business partners.

You were seated on the bench that stood in front of your bed as you slipped on your heels. A giggle escaped your mouth as you felt John's wet kisses on the side of your neck as he crept onto you from behind.

“John, we can't do this right now,” you said while your husband wrapped his arms around you.

“We can do whatever the fuck we want,” he muttered against the base of your throat as his hands roamed over your body.

You tilted your head back onto his shoulder, which gave him more access to your neck.

“Fucking hell, love,” John mumbled as a grin appeared on his chiseled face.

Just before he could get any further, you heard the door to your shared bedroom open, revealing your third-born son.

“Mummy! Tell Katie to stop putting makeup on me!” He cried out, entirely ignoring John who looked like he was done with his life.

John loved your kids, he really did. But he can't stop questioning why they won't ever leave the two of you alone for more than five minutes.

Fred ran over to you before leaping onto your lap as he buried his face into your neck, which John had been harassing a few moments prior.

“Bloody hell, Fred. What'd Katie do to your face?” John asked his son as he caught a glimpse of red lipstick smeared all over his face and a deep green eye shadow covering the lids of his eye.

“She put it all over my face!” He hissed while he attempted to conceal his face into your neck as deep as he could.

“That's not true, mum! He asked me to do it for him!” You heard Katie yell from her room while Fred settled down in your arms.

John let out a groan before getting off the bed to get a damp cloth to get the cosmetics off his son's face.

While he went to the bathroom, you caressed Fred's back soothingly which lulled him to sleep along with your consoling flower perfume which you had applied earlier that evening.

When John returned, you carefully turned your son in your arms before softly wiping the makeup from his face.

After having made sure that his face was spotless you stood up to carry him to his chamber while John watched you quietly.

You put Fred to bed before making sure that all of your other children were all safe and sound in their beds.

You kissed them all on their forehead as they told you a 'goodnight mum' before you switched off the light and made your way back to your shared room.

When you entered your room, you noticed John slumping against the headboard while he stared at the wall opposite of him.

“John?” You leaned against the door frame as he glanced at you before he clambered off the bed and made his way towards you.

Your husband tugged you into his taller frame while kissing you gently. He kissed the corner of your mouth before he lowered his lips to your jaw. When he reached your neck, he instantly pulled back as a disgusted look was present on his handsome features.

You furrowed your brows curiously as he stormed off towards the bathroom that was attached to your bedroom.

A few moments later you followed him only to see him holding his tongue under the water.

When he looked up at the mirror where he saw your figure, he gestured to his neck as the water got all over him.

“Gret hot uhin mahuh aw awe joh ek,” he mumbled as you frowned with a perplexed look on your face.

“What now?” John rolled his eyes before repeating the same sentence. When he noticed that you weren’t going to comprehend what he said, he turned off the water before turning to you.

“Fred got fucking makeup all over your neck,” he snarled, which made you look in the mirror where you glimpsed red and green lipstick stained on your neck.

“Oh,” you simply said before grabbing a damp towel to get it off your neck while John went to change his clothes so that he would look appropriate tonight.

After having scrubbed your neck, you made your way downstairs. John was already waiting at the front door with an adoring smile on his face as you put on your coat.

“You ready love?” You nodded at your husband, taking his outstretched arm before making your way to his car.

During the car ride to the Arrow house, you chatted John's ear off, which he didn't mind even if he whined about it.

Briefly afterward, you reached your destination before you made your way inside where the rest of the Shelby's stood.

“You're finally here! I was beginning to think that you two got lost,” Arthur exclaimed as he caught sight of you.

“Nah, the kids were being pissy,” John wrapped his arm around your waist, catching the lingering stares of the men who surrounded you.

You greeted all of your in-laws before going to stand next to Tommy, who was supervising Charlie.

“How's Charlie?” Tommy turned to you, allowing his eyes to leave Charlie for the first time that night, which provided him the opportunity to take off.

“He's alright. How're the kids?”

“They're alright,” you echoed, which made his lips turn upwards slightly.

“I-” Tommy was rapidly cut off as he noticed Charlie nearing the two of you with a cheeky smile on his child like features.

You scrunched up your face in disarray at Tommy's interruption before you followed his sight line and noticed Charlie.

The young boy had slicked his hair back with water and had requested Polly to make sure that he looked decent.

The two of you silently stared at Charlie as he cleared his throat before extending his arm out towards you.

“Dear Miss. Y/l/n allow me this dance,” you noticed that he resorted to using your maiden name and that he addressed you with Miss instead of Mrs.

You and Tommy shared an amused glance before you accepted his offer.

“Of course Mr. Shelby,” you took his arm, having to bent down slightly because he was five.

He chose a spot in the middle of the room before he turned back to you and made you pick him up so that you were in the same eye line.

“You look extremely beautiful. As usual, of course,” he rambled nervously with negligibly flush cheeks while you danced softly from side to side.

“Thank you sir. You look very handsome if you ask me,” you remarked with a kind smile on your face, which made him giggle giddily.

John had been searching for you for the past ten minutes after having closed an agreement with one of their business partners.

He had felt exceptionally pleased with himself and was thrilled to tell his wife about his triumph.

When he asked Polly about your whereabouts, but she told him that she saw you last with Tommy.

So now he was making his way to his older brother who was staring off somewhere with a fond smile on his face while Arthur was cracking up beside to him.

“Tommy, have you seen Y/n? Can’t find her anywhere,” Tommy and Arthur turned towards their younger brother before they swapped an amused look.

“Careful there John-boy little Charlie is planning to steal your wife,” Arthur laughed loudly which drew in some unwanted attention.

John furrowed his brows as he followed Arthur’s finger which was pointing at Charlie, who had enveloped his legs around his wife’s waist while she swayed from side to side with a smile on her face.

“That little fucker,” John mumbled under his breath as Arthur laughed even harder if that was achievable, and a small grin arose on Tommy’s face.

Polly and Micheal drew near the brothers, having noticed them by Arthur's loud laughing.

“What’s going on?” Tommy grinned at his aunt and cousin as Arthur was practically rolling on the floor, while John didn’t keep his eyes off his nephew who had caught his stare and smiled mischievously at him which only aggravated him more.

“My nephew is a real lady’s man,” Both Polly and Micheal glanced at Charlie who was kissing your cheek while maintaining eye contact with his furious uncle.

Micheal grinned slightly as the corner of Polly’s lips turned upwards in amusement.

“I swear if he doesn’t get his fucking hands off my wife, I will,” John declared angrily before you caught them all watching you.

You smiled sweetly at your family, which made your husband smile back at you while Arthur was trying to retain his giggles.

When the song ended, you put Charlie down before he led you back towards the Shelby's who were watching you with amusement shimmering in their eyes.

John quickly took you back from Charlie, which made the small boy frown before he turned to his father.

“I want to marry Y/n,” he simply spoke.

Your eyes enlarged while you gaped at him, Arthur got into another fit of laughter while your husband looked ready to annihilate his nephew.

“No. Absolutely fucking not,” John stated, which made Charlie roll his eyes at his uncle.

“And why not?” He questioned sassy.

“She’s already married to me,” John replied, Charlie, walked over to you and held your hand while the rest of the family silently watched the scene unfold.

“So? She can divorce you,”

“She’s too old for you. She could be your mother. Besides, she’s your aunt,” Your husband looked ready to pulverize him.

“But if you two divorce, then she won’t be my aunt anymore. And any woman older than eighteen could be my mother. Didn’t you get her pregnant when she was sixteen?”

Micheal choked on his drink, and you stared at Charlie with a perplexed look on your face. Polly was full-on grinning, while Arthur was turning red from the lack of air.

“Get here you little shit,” Tommy held John back as his son backed into you, looking for your protection from your husband.

“I think you should run before your uncle catches you,” you whispered to Charlie, who nodded before taking off into the crowd.

“Well, that was fucking amazing,” Arthur spoke before downing his drink at once.

©cupidsheqrt , 2022.

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders masterlist #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders #john shelby #john shelby imagine #john shelby x you #john shelby x reader #tommy shelby #polly gray #charlie shelby #arthur shelby #micheal gray

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awakeningnostalgia · 5 months

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Peaky Blinders

“Men like us will always be alone, and the little love we get, we will have to pay for.”

– Inspector Campbell to Thomas Shelby

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hacked-wtsdz · 2 months

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Forever obsessed with characters who can’t go back. Characters who want to return to their place in the carton cutouts of life but the shape just won’t fit anymore. Characters who dreamt so hard of getting back home to find out that wherever they are isn’t home anymore. Characters back from the dead or the border with death for whom life suddenly takes a new shape. What will you do with it now, now that it’s so different from what you knew it to be? How do you sit amongst people for whom it’s the old shape and size and smell and taste? Characters who believe that they should be dead but don’t want to die and yet thread a bit too close to the edge. Characters who are dead and walking this life. Forever obsessed.

#this is ofc about Tommy #and polly #dead already #tommy shelby #polly gray #peaky blinders #arthur shelby #lizzie shelby #anakin skywalker #darth vader #vaderkin #star wars #dean winchester #spn

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kittenonpluto · 16 days

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Peaky Blinders season three | episode one

#peakyblindersedit #peakyblindersgifs #pollygrayedit #graceshelbyedit #polly gray #grace shelby #helen mccrory #annabelle wallis #peaky blinders #*casgifs

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sparksetfire · 6 months

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Arthur being my favourite Shelby brother - underrated (?) moments

#peaky blinders #arthur shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders gifs #gifs #tvgifs #tvedit #peakyblindersedit #cillian murphy #paul anderson #michael gray #polly gray #ada shelby #ada thorne #hes so silly

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eyemarchshelby · 10 months

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Natasha O'Keeffe new photoshoot by: Benjamin Eagle

"Some prints from a shoot with the lovely and incredibly talented @natashaokeeffeofficial in early spring" -Benjamin Eagle

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everythingelseisextra · 9 months

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Work

Part Eleven: You're Like Me

Description: After a miscommunication, Tommy apologizes in the only way he knows how. Warnings: Language, self-hatred, Thomas being inept at communication Word Count: 2439 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @globetrotter28

You are brave. You insist on this in the cab, and you insist on this when you walk up the driveway, and you insist on this when you knock on the door. You have courage. You think this as you settle in the dining room, at the edge of the long wooden table, the high ceiling and portraits and pale yellow lamps and grandfather clock making you small, insignificant. You speak with strength. You tell yourself this as Tommy walks in, checks on you, and all you can do is nod when he asks if you’re ready. You are worthy of him. This one is the hardest for you to master, the hardest for you to hold onto. You remind yourself this as you hear him greet her, hear their footsteps in the hallway.

When she appears in the doorway, all drawn back shoulders, piercing eyes and impeccable fashion, you lose all sense of yourself. You stand and bow your head, as if a queen has appeared in Arrow House, which in a way, she has. Like Tommy’s, her eyes flick over you like a cat watching a bird, that intensity and deep rooted sense of predatory analysis. She walks right up to you, and you resist the urge to step back, to remove yourself from her aura.

“Polly Gray.” A cigarette dangles from her lips and her outstretched hand is steady, stable, while the one you reach out to shake with shakes slightly. When you don’t respond with your name, her thin smile widens slightly and she tilts her head. “And you are?”

You open your mouth to speak, to give her something, anything, and nothing comes out. Frustrated and embarrassed, you look to Tommy for help, but he gives the slight shake of his head, barely moving it. You’re on your own.

Polly glances back at him, amusement in her sharp brown eyes. “Does she talk?”

“When she wants to.” His answer is immediate. His gaze flickers between the two of you, so neutral that you can’t read what he thinks, whether there’s shame in those deep blue eyes. Whether he regrets choosing you, out of all the women in Birmingham and England and Warwickshire.

“Now would certainly be the time.” She looks back at you, expectant. “Have you not got anything to say for yourself?”

You bite your lip, gaze still on the ground beneath you, desperately wanting to speak, to be strong, to be the person you want to become. You know you can, know you’re capable, but your voice gets stuck and your heart freezes and your lungs stop working and suddenly you’re frozen in a panic you feel in your body but not in your mind.

“I think speaking is a base-level necessity, Thomas.” She turns and starts the long walk out of the room, slowing as she passes him. “You could do better.”

“You don’t even know me.” You step forward, dragging your gaze off the ground to stare at the back of her head. She’s paused, listening as your cracked and clenched voice reaches her. “You have no idea what my life has looked like, and you decide that I’m not good enough just because I can’t always get the words out?”

She chuckles and turns to face you, that reserved smile back on her lips. “That’s more like it.”

Your brow furrows. “Forgive me if I’m not as thrilled as you are.”

“Tommy told me you’d take some convincing. Worth the work, he said.” She moves back towards you, slow, languid, a panther pacing.

“Did he, now?” You shoot a look at him, and find his eyes away from you. “You planned this, did you?”

He takes a drag from his cigarette, gaze still pointedly elsewhere. “Had to. Only way to get you talking.”

“I see.” Your voice grows tight. “Was I all you expected, then, Mrs. Gray? Do I meet your expectations?”

“It’s Polly.” Her smile stays, almost threatening in its own right, proof that no matter what you say, you will not shake the ground she stands on. “You don’t need to be like that. Tommy’s been needing a good woman on his arm. Glad to see he’s found one, after how the last one worked out.”

You laugh humorlessly. It’s supposed to be a compliment, you know this, but Polly also must know that any intelligent woman wants to be more than an ornament on a man’s arm, a trophy for him to parade. She underestimates you, views you as another pretty face, and you don’t know how to prove her otherwise. She’s not to be taken at face value, either. The Shelby’s, the whole lot of them, hide beneath a facade. Arthur’s is brute strength, John’s is humor, Tommy’s is intensity, and Polly’s is charm. Ada seems to be the only exception.

“I think I do need to be like that, actually.” You cross your arms, fingers playing at the shirt you wear. “I’m stepping from one dangerous world to another. I’d rather keep my guard up, thanks.”

“Danger comes from wanting more than what you have.” She glances at Tommy, quick and sweeping. “I doubt you’ll do that.”

You’re at a loss for words. How do you explain to her that you never had the privilege of wanting more? How do you explain that you’re stuck as a child learning to crawl, and you can’t lift your head to see that others can walk? Her words point towards Tommy but squash you at the same time, making you simple and lesser.

“This is wanting more.” You look down. “This is more than I’ve ever had.”

Your vulnerability earns you silence. You think that, in their world, no one wants to admit that they’ve been hurt, that they’ve been on the ground looking up at the sky, wishing they could fly like the birds. No one wants to admit that they’re human. And you just did exactly that. After a moment, you look up at them, afraid of what you’ll see but even more afraid of what you might miss.

Polly’s eyes lock onto Thomas’. Quiet communication flows between them, something so quick that you can’t follow. Within a couple seconds, Tommy gives her a subtle nod, and she sighs. Her eyes shift back to you, searching your face for something. You swallow hard. Keep your head up, your shoulders back. Meet her eyes and let her peer into you.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she says to you, her tone softer than before, more welcoming.

“I do.” You think it might be a lie. You think you’re stepping into a storm that you’ve never weathered before, thinking that you can save yourself while battling the wind.

“And you.” She turns to face Tom again. “I hope you tell her what you’re doing.”

“I do.” His eyes flick to yours, and you immediately look away. You don’t feel warm towards him at the moment, don’t feel like allowing him the privilege of silent connection.

“Alright.” She smiles faintly at you, then turns to start her walk out of the room. “Then my job here is done. See you at the meeting, Tom.”

You watch her go, your heart in your throat. You close your eyes and fall into a brief fantasy where everything is simple and everything is good. In this world you aren’t battered or bruised, aren’t scarred or scared, and you’re brave enough to speak without being manipulated to do so. In this world you know that his ‘I do’ was not a lie like yours. In this dream you hold a knife and your hand does not shake when you lift it.

Tommy clears his throat and you open your eyes and the world of your creation disappears, and you’re left with the coldness of the dining room, the emptiness of the fifty seats, all but one unoccupied. You sit back down and place your head in your hands, your elbows on your knees.

“Thomas,” you say, a little hesitant, a little scared. Now that Polly is gone, now that your own mask has dropped, there’s hollowness to your chest and a strange pulling sensation on your eyes, like you haven’t slept in days. “Am I just… work to you?”

He stays where he is, leaning against the wall to your right, his suit jacket in one hand and his cigarette in the other. As usual, he seems to be searching for something in your expression, eyes observing the subtle changes in your face like one would study a newly-discovered animal. His jaw works slightly and he looks away. “Sometimes you are. Sometimes you aren’t.”

You look down at your hands in your lap, your fingers pulling at each other until they hurt, then relaxing. “Oh.”

“Everything’s fucking work.” He gestures vaguely, voice too tense to be calm but too casual to be conflict.

“I’m not supposed to be work,” you say quietly. “I’m not supposed to be part of that.”

He pauses, dropping his arm with the cigarette to his side and furrowing his brow slightly. He opens his mouth to speak, but you stand and speak before he can.

“I need to get to the horses. I better go.” You start for the door, half hoping he’ll follow you, try to convince you to stay, but he doesn’t. He stays where he is, watching you go in silence, his brow still furrowed in that strange, almost confused expression.

You work in the orange hour of the evening, sweating and thirsty and hungry and ignoring all of it. Work, work, work, all of it a reminder that you yourself take up too much energy, that you’re a burden on those around you. You squint in the falling light and convince yourself that the extra liquid in your eyes comes from the dryness of the coming cold.

You thought that, maybe, he’d tolerate you. That his lying and stealing and cheating and all the crime that creep through his bones would balance you out. That all the pent-up anger and vulnerability and broken promises and the gentleness of your touch would make up for the fact that it was you he was looking at, you he was pursuing. You didn’t want to be saved, you wanted to feel worthy of being saved.

You’re a chore. You’re work.

You retire to your house long after the sun has set, wiping the sweat from your brow and skipping the bath to crawl into bed. You don’t close your eyes. Staring out at the stars in the sky, wondering whether you’ll ever be small enough to fit into someone’s life. You’re a broken thing, and yet, you stare out at the sky like you did when you were a child, wanting to touch the stars even if they burned you.

A few hours later, the clattering of machinery and the steady pound of horse hooves outside your house disturbs your stupor. You sit up in bed, trying to see through the haze of night. Squinting, the shape of a horse-drawn carriage comes vaguely into view. You catapult out of bed, pulling clothes on haphazardly, and your bare feet patter down on the cold wooden floor as you make your way to the kitchen. You unlock a drawer, open it, and pull out a gun, ready to defend yourself, unwilling to be a victim in your own home.

You rush out into the night, and freezing air hits your face. You’re not dressed for the cold, wearing a simple short-sleeved shirt and pants. You hold the gun up, aiming carefully at the carriage from the doorstep, waiting for someone to draw a bead on.

“Put the gun down.” Tommy’s voice calls from the carriage. You do as he says, stepping back into your house to place it back in its drawer. When you come back out, your eyes fall on a gleaming white horse, elegant and seemingly glowing in the night.

“What the fuck?” You step down onto the driveway, slowly approaching Tommy, who holds the horse’s lead rope loosely, allowing him to hold his head up high, staring out into the darkness.

“You didn’t get a horse from the track.” His quiet, irritatingly calm voice answers your question smoothly. “Figured you could use someone helping you.”

“Tommy.” Conflicting thoughts bounce through your skull. You don’t want to see him, not after what he said, but he’s brought you a horse all the way from the racetrack, something that usually costs you a few months worth of savings. You open your mouth, then close it and shake your head, not knowing what to say.

“His track name is ‘Watch Me Forever.’” He reaches out a hand to stroke the stallion’s neck. “Needs a barn name.”

“This is the gray you liked. The one with the broken leg.”

“Paid to have it fixed. A few months of recovery and he’ll be ready.”

“Tommy.” You resist the urge to punch his chest. “You can’t just do that!”

“Why not?”

“Now I’m— I’m in debt to you.” You shake your head. “You can’t do this.”

The stallion’s neck arches and he reaches down his soft pink nose to sniff at you, ears forward, eyes soft. Tommy is quiet for a moment, and all that’s heard between you is the warm breath of the horse.

When he speaks, it’s not the usual, well thought out, precisely planned phrasing. It’s awkward and rambling and, you have to admit, endearing. “Gentling a horse is work. It’s not easy. Teaches you more about yourself than it does about the damn horse. Makes you a better person; more patient, kinder. It’s— It’s work, but if I could choose between that and anything else, I’d choose the horse every fucking time. Does this make any sense?”

You stare at him, and a weight lifts off of you. “Yes. I think it does.”

His eyes search your face, soft and beseeching. “You understand me?”

“Thank you for explaining what you meant, Tom. I forgive you. I—” You hold back the cliches bubbling in your throat, trying to push you to say something too soon, too recklessly. “I understand you.”

He nods, looking as relieved as you feel. His eyes turn back to the stallion, his posture straightening, his expression moving back to something harsher, more businessman-like. “What will you call him, then?”

“I think… I think Iris is good.” You stroke his soft nose, looking at his eyes, one blue, one brown

“That’s a woman’s name.”

“It’s a fucking flower, Tom. Flowers don’t have gender.”

He shrugs. “Iris it is, then. Iris it is.”

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