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eddies-house · 7 months

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Six - Sugar

W/C: 4.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

A crybaby and the town grump walk into a bar...

A/N: idk why but this chapter was giving me so much trouble and i've been really doubting my writing and second guessing. It's more of a filler chapter but still important to the story. I'm super excited for what's to come tho!!

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Three Weeks Later

“Bambi, go home already. Your shift ended–” Eddie pauses to check his watch. “-jesus, like an hour ago. Why are you still here?”

The floors were pristine, mopped to perfection, chairs stacked on top of the tables, and rags started in the washer. Every glass found home on their corresponding shelves, all dried and perfectly polished for the following shift, not one imperfection among the twinkling surfaces. The place was spotless and there you were, standing on top of the bar in order to reach the top of the light fixtures which, judging by the amount of dust on them, went neglected for some time now. Your apron was long discarded on one of the barstools and sweat dripped from your brow, the epitome of hard work if he’d ever seen it. The Bourbon hadn’t been this clean in years.

“I’m almost done, I swear.” You reply quietly, clearly far more engaged in your cleaning frenzy than any conversation he was trying to coax you into.

“No, you’re done.” Eddie marches around the bar, revealing himself just in your peripheral. “Get outta here.” There wasn’t an ounce of venom behind his words, however, he was without a doubt becoming increasingly annoyed.

You chance a glance down at him only to find his standard scowl etched onto his face. Except, it wasn’t as mean spirited as you were used to and it hadn’t been for quite some time. It was cute; the way his lip would slightly jut out and how his smile lines were so prominent, eyes drooping in irritation. Endearing irritation that you grew accustomed to.

“I will.” You state, feather duster swiping through a satisfying amount of dust. “When I finish.”

“No, get down.”

Your first instinct is to obey without question. Listen to authority. But in the previous weeks, you’d found it easier to let loose. Sure, Eddie was always somewhat crabby but it never intimidated you and whenever he found himself particularly pissed off, he’d banish himself to the back office which aided in releasing any tension you’d built up throughout the week. So, it wasn’t that difficult to at least attempt some friendly banter. Especially if you could get him to crack a smile. It was a win in your books when he tried so hard to withhold it from you or even better, turned around completely to shield his broken composure from you.

“Don’t you have–what did you call it– ‘a shit ton of paperwork’ to do?” You joke.

“Ha. Ha. I’m serious, get down.” He mocks, glaring up at you, a stupid little tug pulling at the corners of his mouth. Barely noticeable, but you take note of it.

“‘M not gonna fall, if that’s what you're worried about.” You mumble, shaking your head.

“Judging by how many times you nearly eat shit throughout the week, I’m pretty worried.”

Pretty worried.

Saliva caught in the back of your throat, you try to play it off like dust that had gotten trapped in your airways, clearing your throat. Only, your body had just reacted far too quickly to his words, resulting in the failure of a simple bodily function.

“I do not…” You crouch down, poking the end of the feather duster at his chest. “...fall that often.” You pout.

“Yeah?” A tiny smile pulls at his lips. There it is. “That’s why I said ‘nearly’.”

If you could bottle up the look he was giving you, you would selfishly keep it all for yourself to stare at on bad days. Such mischief and amusement lingered in his gaze. Sparks lighting up the dark and cloudy haze he usually exhibited. Like fireworks against a colorless sky, beautiful hues popping left and right but after all, everything is always temporary.

“I don’t ‘nearly’ fall that often either.” You whine.

“Just get off my bar and go home.” Eddie demands, voice warm and buttery despite his intent to kick you out.

Staring at him expectantly, he relays the same expression to you with raised brows. In response, you cock your head to the side, luring the word out of him. He doesn’t quite catch on, eyes narrowing while you wait. A smirk appears on your lips as you remain perched on top of the bar, feather duster forgotten next to you. His eyes grow a few sizes as if to urge you to speak up. And then he gets it.

“Please.” It drips from his tongue like warm caramel.

His eyes relax, creases between his brows ceasing and lids becoming heavy. Another look you would mentally take a snapshot of just to hang it on the walls of your cluttered brain. You’d be sure to clear a spot just for it.

“Gladly.” You offer the same smooth tone, hopping off the bar only to lose your balance along the way.

And before you can face plant into the hard wood planks, two large hands stabilize you, holding your waist firmly until he is sure you aren't going to collapse, but not yet letting go. If you were to set aside your cowardly tendencies, you would look up and feel his breath against your face. And you’re sure you could probably count the faint freckles on his nose that you’d only seen briefly when almost colliding into him during a rush. You only remain glued to the floor, both your eyes and feet.

“Careful, Bambi.” He scolds softly.

“‘M sorry.” You murmur.

“No need to be sorry.” You timidly glance up at him. “Just–just be more careful.” He pleads.

You were good and ready for him to yell at you, fully prepared to recoil as he raises his voice but it never comes. And it hadn’t since that one time with the plates but you were like a skittish animal and long before you had even known him, any conflict had you in a corner every time, eyes full of tears and lip trembling. You could only hope you didn’t look as pathetic right now.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He begins to soothe, a certain nervousness in his voice. Obviously you did look just as pathetic if not more.

His hands had left your waist to graze over your shoulders hesitantly, concern evident in his tone while he consoled you. He shouldn’t have to console you for fuck’s sake. Why were you on the verge of tears over your clumsiness?

“Sorry, sorry. ‘M fine, I swear.” You attempt to suck back the tears, head tilted toward the ceiling, lip tucked in between your teeth anxiously. “J-just go do your paperwork. I’ll be gone in a minute.”

Just when you think–no hope that he walks away, those large hands are gently grabbing at your wrists as you use your fingers to push the tears back into the corners of your eyes. A soft touch that for some reason, only made you want to cry more.

“Stop apologizing.” Eddie says, attempting to catch your gaze, finding it difficult as you begin to stare at the floor, hiding huge watery globs under your eyelashes.

“Just–let me get my things–” You begin to voice shakily, vision blurred with tears that you resented.

“Sit down.” He demands calmly, concern carved into his features from what you can make out through blurred vision.

“No, no, it’s okay–”

“Right here, sit.”

Eddie directs you to a barstool, the distorted world around you becoming progressively more overwhelming by the second. And all because you almost fell in front of your boss and he had to catch you. It wasn’t your intention, appearing as the stupid girl who happened to be a gigantic cry baby, emotions too sensitive to the horrors of the real world. Though, that was the reality, wasn’t it?

“Sorry.” You whisper, a few rogue tears escaping after the good fight you put up.

At this, he releases a heavy sigh. You can’t help but feel childish and small, your confidence devastatingly lower than before as you try to regulate your shaky breathing and wobbly lip. You just needed a minute, one minute to ride out the wave of anxiety. Eddie lets your umpteenth apology slide, slowly slipping into the stool next to you.

“I’m–uh–I’m gonna go home.” Your voice is an octave too high for his liking.

“Not like this you’re not.”

You remain on the stool, embarrassed, your cheeks feeling hot with stained tears. This was hell if anyone ever asked you. Slowly but surely revealing just how big of a wimp you were. Sure, you’d shed a few tears when he screamed at you over the plates but he hadn’t even done anything this time. You reacted purely on instinct and it was humbling.

“Let’s uh, let’s try this…” Eddie starts, running a ringed hand through his bangs. He slides a napkin in front of you before reaching for your apron on the back of his stool, stealing a pen and setting it on the napkin. “W-write down, uh, write down your feelings?” He says, so unsure even he couldn’t take himself seriously.

With a sniffle, you try to hide your confusion as you stare at the bland brown napkin. Eddie groans and for a moment you think it’s because you’re not playing along but quickly dismisses the thought when he reaches for another napkin and steals a second pen from your apron.

“Um, it sounds–it sounds stupid. It kinda is stupid. But, um, you just write what you’re feeling? A-and it’s supposed to…shit I dunno. It’s supposed to help clear your head I guess?” He explains.

You wait for him to laugh, wait for him to mock your tear stained face and absolute lack of emotional control. You wait for the ‘why are you crying’ in the most condescending tone and the lecture as to why you had no reason to cry. It never comes. Instead, as you sneak a glimpse at him from the corner of your teary eye, and he starts writing.

“So, right now, um…” He clears his throat. “Right now I’m feeling, uh, concerned?”

You can tell he’s having trouble coming up with words and that this was difficult for him…feelings were difficult for him. Something you could heavily relate to.

“Or, uh, you c-can just write…whatever…” He trails off, clicking the pen against the counter repeatedly.

Rather than answering, you clumsily pick up the blue pen, dropping it once with a trembling hand before fully grasping it. Then you begin writing as he instructed. If he made fun of you for what you were writing down, so be it. You’d already embarrassed yourself enough.

You expected him to chime in by now, scoffing at what you had written down. But when you glanced over, he was doodling on his napkin, something that appeared to be a dragon. Minding his own business. Awkwardly, you set the pen back on the counter, causing him to peek over at you.

“It helped.” You mumble. “A little.”

“Good.” He replies, tapping his pen against the counter. “So, uh my therapist usually has me share once I write everything down–or at least share the main points. You don’t–you don’t have to but that’s just…that’s what we do.”

Eddie expects you to crumple up the napkin and throw it out. Then you would leave and think to yourself how ridiculous he is. He didn’t know how to help people–hell, he didn’t even know how to help himself most of the time. What he doesn’t expect is for you to shyly slide the napkin in front of him. Averting his eyes, he’s unsure if he actually has permission to read but when you nod your head ever so slightly, he still has trouble looking down at what you had scribbled out. It felt like he was peeking into your brain, something he felt he wasn’t worthy of.

Humiliated

Stupid

Exhausted

Anxious

Small

Burden

Crybaby

Lonely

So many words for such a small increment of time that you had been scrawling away on that napkin. So many words that held such heaviness.

“Wow.” Is all that he says upon his first glance over.

Anxiously, you suck in a breath, attempting to snatch the napkin back in regret only to fail as Eddie slides it out of your reach.

“It’s stupid, I-I’m gonna go…” You begin, hopping off of your stool.

“It’s not stupid–”

Then you were gone, a gust of wind practically slapping him in the face. He couldn’t find it in himself to complain, only troubled by the inner workings of your mind. It was all too familiar and he was beginning to feel as if he wasn’t the only one cursed with a diseased mind. Selfishly, he found comfort in that.

–

There’s only one thing worse than a shitty car. Two shitty cars. Specifically a shitty car and a shitty truck. Both unreliable, both sputtering every time Eddie put the key in the ignition. Grandpa Roy’s ‘Ol Reliable four-door sedan wasn’t living up to its name and was on the decline by the looks of it. It had been for some time, though he was alway able to find a temporary fix and keep it running. Today he had no such luck.

The truck, Sugar, was arguably in much better shape. She was well-loved, red paint chipping after years of use and a cracked rear window. The engine had its moments but she was still better off than ‘Ol Reliable.

“C’mon, Sugar. Don’t be like that.” Eddie mutters, turning the key in the ignition a few times more, only to be met with failure. “Fuck.” He whispers, hopping out from the driver’s side to prop the hood open, large hands splayed out along the sides as he prepares for battle.

With a sigh, he ties his hair back and discards his leather jacket on the ground in exasperation, even going as far as to give it a small kick away from his work space. A wooden work bench was strategically placed on the porch under the awning, leaving no issue for when winter came around so that he had easy access to his tools even in the most dreadful of snows. Snow hadn’t kissed the ground quite yet but the further into October it got, the more crisp the air became, a subtle announcement for what was to come.

A deep, resentful groan leaves Eddie’s chest as he trudged up the steps to the porch, lips all perfectly pouted while he reluctantly pulls each of his large rings off only to drop them in a cup he’d taken from a diner years ago when he made the move to Knife’s Edge. An already greased up rag was snatched from the worktop and tucked snugly into his back pocket.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

He counts to himself under his breath as he collects the necessary tools. It wasn’t like he had to be at the bar yet, though he would’ve liked to stop by the store to stock up on cigarettes and see if he could find any of those cocktail cherries on sale. He wanted to save where he could. Every cent mattered. Then he was more than likely going to sulk in self pity while trying to figure out how to summon money from the sky. Maybe indulge in a beer in his office. He couldn’t afford to comp beers for himself like that but he could dream. After that maybe he’d have a good cry before the chaos ensued again.

Those plans went out the window when Sugar decided to test his patience. Perhaps he should be grateful to his unfaithful truck for attempting to lure him out of the isolation he planned to encase himself in. It was one thing to isolate yourself at home, it was another to trap yourself at your place of work hours before it actually opened and beat yourself up over every little thing and question where it all went wrong.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit.” He reiterates to himself, tossing a wrench in his hand as he makes his way back to Sugar. “Go easy on me.” He begs.

The pumpkins you had been angling perfectly on your porch were suddenly so miserably uninteresting; how could they not be when such an erotic site was placed right in front of your prying eyes? Regretfully, your wet dream came to life. Except, you played no part in it and Eddie paid no mind to you. Not that he ever would. And even if he did, you’d made it clear that you were a nutcase.

You still couldn’t tear your eyes away from the way his arms flexed under his short sleeves and how he grunted while tugging at something under the hood of his truck. Drool could have been dripping from your chin and you wouldn’t notice, too hypnotized by his every movement. He had opted to wear some black converse today rather than his standard black combat boots. It was cute, you couldn’t lie, the small change made you giddy. And the way his shirt was riding up as he stretched himself over the engine felt like a tease. A peek at what you had once gotten a glance of while wasted but didn’t get to fully appreciate as your sober self.

God, you could recall the blurry image of him momentarily pulling his puke stained shirt off cautiously, revealing his lean figure. It was practically pixelated in your mind. As you reminisce on what your drunk self had taken for granted, reality feels just as distorted when Eddie’s eyes land on yours. Huge doe eyes, almost cartoon-like catching your attention as if a moth to a flame. You want to look away, you beg of yourself to look away but your inner voice is muffled; almost as though you were under an enchantment.

And like a siren call, his voice reaches you. You fear that you may be all too willing to drown just to hear it again.

“Will you hold this for me?” He shouts, almost desperately. Almost.

Your eyes widen, hands still resting atop a perfectly orange pumpkin while you sit pretty on your porch step. An Autumn dream. Suddenly, Eddie wishes he would’ve kept to himself rather than requesting your assistance. Had he thought it through, he would’ve opted to magically grow another hand. Instead, he stands with ruddy cheeks and syrupy eyes, glazed with adoration that he was frantically attempting to wipe from his vision, shoving the feelings that were oozing out of him back into his stupid sweaty skin.

“Um…” You reply in surprise, already crossing the border between properties, a shy stutter to your walk. “Well I don’t really know how to…” You trail off, suspecting that he could figure out the rest of your thoughts on his own.

Oh, how he regrets calling you over. His clammy hand clutches the wrench, providing no aid in his attempt to calm his nerves.

“You don’t…you don’t have to, uh…” He appears as if he’s battling his own thoughts, gaze casted toward the ground as his eyes dart left and right. “Can you just hold this?” He finally gets out, pointing to a part of the engine. “Sugar won’t start and I swear I can have her running again but it’d be a hell lot easier if you could just hold this real quick.”

“Sugar?”

“Sugar.” He confirms. “Oh!” Realization hits him. “Yeah, Sugar. My truck.”

“Okay…” You whisper, unsure.

You could almost forget the mortifying incident from the early hours of 3:00 AM as you took in his wet chocolate coated eyes, the light Fall breeze seeming to affect him. His lashes clumped together like art and his nose was tinted the perfect shade of rose, those faint freckles dotted along the bridge like little constellations.

“Just, right here.” He instructs, turning his attention back to Sugar.

Following his lead, you adjust your hand where it's needed, an uncomfortable, greasy residue coating your fingers as he works. From this angle, the afternoon sun casts a golden glow over his profile, flyaway curls highlighted in the light like a halo and nose endearingly round at the tip with lips tucked into his teeth as he concentrates. And then, his tongue pokes out, an adoring sight that only makes you yearn to reach out and graze your fingertips over the stubble threatening to emerge from his cheek.

“Thought you’d name it something more…tough.”

Your meek voice earns a glance over his shoulder, brows furrowed in that cute way that everyone always recognized as harsh and cold-hearted.

“What?” The way his eyes crinkle at the corners paired with his confused expression only give you more reason to let your stare linger a little bit longer, a bold move on your part.

“Um, Sugar–”

“Oh, Sugar.”

Simultaneously, you refer to his truck, interrupting each other while his elbow grazes your arm as he tightens a bolt.

“Uh, well…she’s, uh, the only girl in my life.” He jokes, quietly chuckling. “And, she’s not exactly brand new so I’ve gotta treat ‘er nice.”

“And…she can hear you?” You question, attempting to hide your oncoming grin.

This time, he only glares at you over his shoulder. There’s a comfort in the way his eyes seem to swallow you whole.

“Okay, okay, ha, ha. I know, she’s a truck–”

“And you keep calling it a ‘she’.”

Eddie pulls back, stepping away from the engine, prompting you to do the same as you stare up at him, a smidge afraid that you might have actually offended him. A few rebellious curls frame his face, creating the vision of a princely man who in reality, was nothing of the sort. Not in the sense that he wasn’t gentlemanly, only in the sense that he didn’t care what others thought.

“What? You never heard of people calling their car a ‘she’ before?” He asks, offense barely evident in his tone. More than anything, he appears to be amused by your observation.

“No, I have. Just didn’t think you seemed like one of them.” You remark.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Again his eyebrows crinkle in the cutest fashion, lip curling ever so slightly as he brings a hand to his hip. You begin to think that no one has ever looked so good covered in grease and you’d never been attracted to the smell of oil but you could make an exception if it meant you’d get to see his features this close. Eddie was a pretty guy. And the more his colors showed, the more entranced you became.

“I dunno, nevermind.” You attempt to divert the conversation.

“No, no, you have to tell me. Please enlighten me.” He crosses his arms, a smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“No, forget it!.” You giggle.

Eddie can feel his shoulders relaxing at the sound. Can feel his tension release even if just the slightest. His eyes relax, a lazy gaze focused on you. Everything suddenly feels so…calm. As if his life wasn’t falling apart. You were like some kind of drug that made him forget how shitty things were and if it only lasted a few seconds at a time, he would gladly invest in as much as he could until he overdosed. Which to be fair, he didn’t think was possible.

“No, what do you mean? Say it with your chest, I dare you.” He nods at you, eyes showcasing that same spark you’d notice every now and then. The spark only seemed to get bigger and bigger. One day you’d hoped to see a fire ignite, a full explosion of his personality.

Biting your lip, you look at him sheepishly, doubting yourself. But something about his gaze eggs you on.

“You just…you’re all…big and bad.” You mumble, eyes finding themselves glued to the ground.

“Big and bad?” Eddie repeats.

It’s enough to have you backtracking, pathetically trying to erase your words. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, like a goldfish.

“See, it was stupid! I was being stupid. Just forget–”

“Why do you keep doing that?” He asks, genuine curiosity blended in his tone along with a dash of concern.

“Doing what?”

Your puzzled expression only makes his chest ache. Leaves crunch under your feet as you fidget, visually nervous. He hates that he always ends up making you uncomfortable, never able to get a grip though maybe he can blame his highschool-self. He never talked to girls and maybe if he had, he’d be having better luck right now. Who’s he kidding, maybe if he just wasn’t even himself he’d be making a lot more progress.

“Calling yourself stupid.” He mentions quietly.

No one has ever confronted your self-deprecating commentary, only ever remained silent as if to agree with you or they’d simply shift the topic. Never has someone questioned your reasoning.

“Oh…well I uh, I didn’t think I did it that often.” You begin to stutter, clearly taken back. He wishes he could rewind back to when you were bantering back and forth about his truck. He probably would’ve found another way to fuck up the conversation, even if he could go back and give himself another chance.

“But if this is because last night I wrote–” You start again, only for him to keep running his big mouth.

“A bunch of bullshit?” He states. Like it's a fact.

Your wide eyes aren’t a good sign.

“What?”

“Yeah. Bullshit.” He sounds so sure of himself.

“Oh.”

You physically seem as if you're deflating, your body closing in on itself, shoulders slumping while you take a step back. It was the opposite of what he wanted. But he could always count on himself to ruin a good thing.

“No, no! I didn’t mean it like–I didn’t mean–fuckin’ christ.” Eddie runs his clean hand down his face. “I didn’t mean it was bullshit. I meant that…I guess I meant that you shouldn’t feel like that?”

It’s quiet. Eddie knows he deserves a slap across the face, if anything. But you just continue staring at the ground, lost in thought. Moments pass and he’s starting to feel he should dismiss himself and hide forever. Forget fixing Sugar and just become a hermit.

“Why?” You whisper.

He doesn’t offer an answer, only shrugs slowly. He just kept putting nails in his own coffin.

“Don’t you…don’t you think I’m those things? Like…like there’s something wrong with me?”

Eddie steps closer, not enough to push your boundaries but still enough for you to notice. He tugs his lip in between his teeth, pulling at it anxiously while he thinks. And with his arms still crossed, one finger taps at his elbow in threes. You follow the action.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

“No.” He says simply, to which your head snaps up.

Cola colored irises are awaiting you, welcoming you in a way. A softer expression falls over his face, his cherub-like features becoming enhanced.

“I don’t think you’re those things.” Eddie says confidently. “I think you’re just right.”

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels

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callsign-bunnie · 1 year

Note

I need a part 2 on the Alejandro choosing sides but bc that shit is GOOD and plus I’m ready to go cry my balls out

Here you go. Here's your comfort

Rodolfo curled up in the bed Valeria had given him. She'd allowed him to stay at the mansion while he recovered because she felt bad. He doubted that. He knew she was just being smug. Because Rodolfo didn't want to go back to Alejandro. She'd won.

But, Rodolfo didn't care. He couldn't bring himself to. She'd put all of the blood she could back into his body. He should be mad or freaked out or something that she decided to take it out to begin with but Rodolfo couldn't even care about that.

Alejandro still hadn't even tried to text or call him. He had his phone. Valeria had been so smug about him keeping it. Alejandro knew Rodolfo was alive, too. Maybe he was grateful he didn't have to deal with Rodolfo.

Whatever, Rodolfo wished he didn't have to deal with himself, either.

He sighed as he felt the bed behind him dip. "Well... It appears..." Valeria started, clearly irritated. "We were both wrong." She muttered.

Rodolfo frowned and looked at her. She was holding her phone and then she held it out. Rodolfo frowned a little but took it. He pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Oh god, Rodolfo-" Rodolfo hung up. No. Alejandro didn't get to do that. He didn't get to just... abandon Rodolfo to die and then call like everything was going to be okay. Rodolfo handed the phone back and rolled back over.

Valeria... seemed shocked. "You won't talk to him?"

"No." Rodolfo shrugged, closing his eyes. "He made his choice. He didn't choose me. He chose you."

Valeria seemed to pause. "Alright..."

Rodolfo listened to her leave and then pulled the blanket up over his head.

Rodolfo woke up to a large commotion. He frowned a little and stood, confused. Valeria came in and growled a little. "Get up. Come on. Before he fucking kills half of my men." She didn't give him the chance to even stand, instead yanking him up.

"What the fuck?" He tried to yank his arm away but he was still recovering from blood loss and hadn't quite regained enough strength yet to fully wrench away from her.

She punched a code into a door and went through, half throwing Rodolfo into someone. "Jesus fucking christ, asshole, just take him back. He won't go with you, though."

Rodolfo winced as he slammed right into whoever she threw him at. Alejandro, he assumed, because he wasn't stupid. Rodolfo jerked away from him. "Don't touch me." He mumbled, a little light headed.

"Valeria, tell him the truth." Alejandro growled, but his arm went around Rodolfo. "Now."

"What truth?" She laughed, but Rodolfo could hear it. She wavered. He looked at her, frowning, and then looked up at Alejandro, who was... covered in a significant amount of blood but he looked like shit. His eyes were bloodshot and he had dark circles under them.

Even with how much Rodolfo wanted to hate Alejandro, he found his heartstrings being tugged at how awful Alejandro looked.

Alejandro let Rodolfo go and grabbed Valeria before she could leave. He yanked her over. "Tell the truth."

"No!" Valeria glared at him. "He knows the truth."

Rodolfo frowned. "Stop, Alejandro. Let her go. I'm not going back with you. You... made your choice."

"I didn't fucking have one!" Alejandro didn't look at him. He just looked down at Valeria, face in a half snarl. "So that's what you told him."

Valeria looked up at him and Rodolfo watched her face change. Her glare turned to a smug half grin and she shrugged. "He believed it, too. Ate it up. Makes me wonder just how much you neglect him that I barely had to enact 20 minutes of theatre and he just fell into the belief that you had abandoned him."

Rodolfo felt like a truck had hit him. "You lied?" He asked Valeria, frowning.

Valeria looked at him, shrugging. "I needed you to leave him. I knew it would destroy him and look what it did."

"Why would you do that to me?? It destroyed me!" Rodolfo yelled at her. He had spent so long believing Alejandro had just... left him to die and he just hadn't?! "What actually happened?!"

Alejandro let her go, finally, and she rubbed her arm, glaring at him, and then sighed. "I set it all up. I told Alejandro where to find me and to find you. But... I did it before we even had you set up to drain. I told him the wrong location. And then I faked the phone call that you heard. I did it brilliantly, too. Alejandro was met with an empty warehouse that only had the words "You chose wrong" on it and you were left with the idea that he would choose me before you every time." She laughed, softly. "And you believed it."

"You'll fucking pay for this, one day." Alejandro snarled at her. Rodolfo trembled. He had believed it. He'd believed that Alejandro just was fine with him dying.

Alejandro turned to Rodolfo and pulled him over. "We're leaving."

Rodolfo nodded, not able to fight him. He didn't even glance back at Valeria as he left with Alejandro, holding onto his arm. "You... you chose me..."

"Always, Rodolfo. She's a fucking snake, don't forget that." Alejandro mumbled. He helped Rodolfo into the truck and Rodolfo stared at his face the entire time.

"You chose me." He repeated, unable to help how relieved he was about it.

Alejandro stopped and then sighed, putting his forehead on Rodolfo's chest. "Every morning that I wake up, you are the first thought in my head. I glance at you and you flood my brain, I look away and you linger. Rodolfo, there was never a choice to make because I will go to you every single time."

Rodolfo melted and then tears filled his eyes. Alejandro had chosen him. He let out a soft sob and half threw himself at Alejandro, hugging him tightly.

Alejandro kissed over his face, hugging back. "Rudy, we need to go before Valeria changes her mind..." He murmured.

Rodolfo nodded and tried to calm himself as Alejandro pulled away and went around to the driver's side getting in. Rodolfo managed to keep himself together until they made it to the ranch and then the waves were pulling him under again. He sobbed and hunched over, everything hitting him again.

Alejandro pulled him into his lap and clung to him, kissing over his face again. "I will always choose you. I will always choose you."

Rodolfo couldn't stop crying. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. "I thought you'd abandoned me... I thought you had chosen her..."

"She doesn't even come close to you. She's a viper and you are the air I breathe..." He murmured. "Mi sol..."

Rodolfo sobbed harder at the nickname, falling into Alejandro and grabbing his shirt. "I love you... I love you so much..."

"I love you, too, Mi Sol. Please, please never doubt how much I love you..." Alejandro murmured, burying his face in Rodolfo's hair.

"You chose me..."

#by the way Valeria is a much bigger villain in this than I write her to be normally so i'm tagging this unsympathetic valeria #unsympathetic valeria #Alejandro Vargas #Rodolfo Parra #Alejandro x Rodolfo #Aledolfo #Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare II #Call Of Duty

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horrifyrr · 1 year

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HI GUYS I GOTTA POST THIS QUICK BCUZ MY MOM IS GOING TO START CHECKING MY PHONE NOW AND YES I TAKE CRITICISM

'Okk, it's started.' Kurt thought to himself. He took a deep breath, and started. "Hey guys! Uh, Kurt here. So- yesterday I made a poll asking what I should do for my next stream and.. f-fucking myself is- eh- wht you guys wanted to see so.. I went out and bought some things that I could use for this stream..!" Kurt leaned over and rustled through a bag of some sort, and pulled out a dildo and a vibrator. He then proceeded to smile nervously as he put the items down. "Uh.. how- how about we get started?.." He started to take off his shirt and pants, followed by his boxers, then lifting his legs up, showing his pretty pink hole. Kurt smiled as he looked over and saw viewers flowing in. Kurt let his one arm hold up his legs and grabbed something off screen, that turned out to be a small container of lube, he popped open the cap and poured some on his fingers and brought them down to his hole. He held his breath and stuck a finger in. He whined softly as he started working the finger in and out of him, leaning his head back. Soon after, he added another finger, starting to pick up the pace. Kurt's mouth hung low as he started to quicken the way he pushed his fingers in and out his his hole, clenching around himself. He then added a third finger and moaned quietly. "Ah- ffuuuck.." He whimpered out loud. He opened his eyes, looked over, and grinned widely as he saw the viewers and comments spilling in. "Ok, I- I think I'm done now.." He shakily said. He grabbed the vibrator and put a generous amount of lube on it, and proceeded to slowly push it into his hole. He groaned at the intrusion and leaned his head to the side. He slowly started to thrust the toy into him, letting out little moans and whines. Kurt tryed something out and pushed the toy deeper into him, causing him to yelp loudly. "I think I just- just hit something.." He tried to angle it to the bundle of nerves but failed, making him grunt in frustration. He pulled the dildo out of him and takes a few deep breaths before grabbing the vibrator and putting a bit of lube on it and pushing it into his hole. He grabbed the remote for it out of the bag and sighed, "Ok guys, here we go.." He turned it on to the highest setting and screamed out of pleasure. "Fuck fuck fuck FUCKKK!" He squeezed his eyes shut and scratched at the bed he was on. Kurt moaned loudly as the object continued to vibrate inside of him. "Mfgh- ah-.." He reached for his poor, neglected cock and started to stroke it, making him tear up at the overstimulation. "Fuuck.. I'm gonna- gonna cum- agh!" Kurt yelled as he came all over his hand while the toy was still inside of him. He painted as he reached for the remithe to turn it off which took a while, but he eventually found it and shut it off, dry heaving as he layed there. "W- well bye guys.. uh- thanks for… thanks for watching. Bye!" he threw up his peace signs and shut the stream off. "Jesus Christ.."

#kurt kunkle #spree #fanficton #smut #IM GOING TO CRY HELP

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patrickmdunn · 9 days

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opening paragraphs of random pieces of fiction i’ve been slowly working on over the last year

BLACKBIRD

Whispering Pines was a town built on a foundation of faith and flaky, buttery biscuits. Every street corner boasted a church, with stained glass windows catching the sunlight and spires reaching towards the sky. But at this moment in time, there was an undercurrent of suspicion, at least according to Sheriff Everett “Rustic” Hollis. Everyone may profess their love for Jesus and quick breads, but behind closed doors, they all were potential suspects in his eyes.

AMONG US

In the merciless grip of the Texan sun’s unrelenting heat, a vulnerable figure, stripped bare and pallid, sought refuge in the dense foliage of the mesquite bush. Huddled beneath the sheltered canopy of gnarled and twisted branches, his frail form trembled, begging for forgiveness from the untamed terrain.

CONVEYANCE

When his phone finally chirped, the text was short: Second Floor, Room 212.

A rush of nervousness overwhelmed him as he began to make his way towards the elevator, heart pounding with each step. He paused for a moment, standing rigid and contemplative, his thoughts swirling like a storm inside his head. His fingers drumming against his thigh as he debated the next course of action. Should he proceed or turn back? After all, he made the thirty minute drive to the boardwalk, illegally parked on the street, and crossed the parking lot of the Shark Shack, a rundown hotel that had somehow escaped his attention until now.

UNTITLED

As the hour of my eighty-fifth year drew near, I found myself buried within the confines of my study. The air was thick with the scent of decaying books and yellowed papers, their whispered secrets haunting me as I sat among them. The shelves were lined with ancient texts, their spines cracked and faded from years of neglect. Each book held a piece of my past, a reminder of the long stretch of time that I have spent within the walls of the Whitman House; a grand estate that has been my home since boyhood. Perched atop Copp's Hill, the highest point in the North End, it once stood tall and proud above all other buildings. But now, it seems to cower in fear, a shadow of its former self. What was once a symbol of elegance and history has become a place of darkness and foreboding dread.

WATCHER

The bartender poured another generous amount of whiskey into Angus T. Rutherford's glass, making sure to leave enough room for the splash of cola that he added next. As he took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol spread through his chest, easing the tension and numbing his senses. It was his third, or maybe fourth, drink of the night; he had honestly lost track. Each one went down smoother than the last, the familiar burn of the whiskey now a welcomed sensation rather than an uncomfortable one.

SUN GOES DOWN

In his four years of college, Liam Ryan experienced many firsts. He had his first kiss, his first blow job, his first time making love, and his first time falling in love - all with one remarkable woman. As a tall, skinny kid from the suburbs, Liam was reserved and somewhat shy around women. Growing up, he never quite knew how to act in a sexual manner. But in his freshman year of college, everything changed.

EMBRACED

The blue blanket was the only tangible connection that Evan had to his birth parents. The only thing that offered any semblance of their existence in his life. For years, he kept it carefully folded and tucked away in a closet, a reminder of what he could never have. Through the changing landscapes of life, as he wandered from one place to another, he always contemplated discarding it. But like a jumbled box of tangled wires and cables, it stubbornly clung to him, refusing to be left behind.

UNCANNY

As the sun descended beyond the horizon, splashing the sky with vibrant shades of orange and purple, Annandale-on-Hudson came alive like a living postcard. The small hamlet within Dutchess County, New York, was illuminated by the warm, golden light that cascaded over its streets and buildings. In particular, the riverside park that sat beside the mighty Hudson River seemed to be aglow, as if it were a magical oasis.

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itsyourchoicedevotionals · 1 year

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Step By Step

“I am Yahweh, your God. I am the One who teaches you how to succeed and Who leads you step by step in the way you should go. If you had only listened to My commands, then peace would have flowed like a river for you and success would wash over you like waves of the sea. … Go! Leave Babylon!… Announce it with joyous singing! Let everyone know! Proclaim it to the ends of the earth! Say it loud and clear: ‘Yahweh has rescued His servant…” Isaiah 48:17-18, 20TPT

Per the amount of dogging people do about the TPT and it’s translator Brian Simmons, these words should be way off from other translations. But it’s not. AMPC says basically the same words.

The Israelites complained the entire time they were in the wilderness. End result, out of 1,500,000 adults leaving Egypt, ONLY two went in to claim the ‘promised land.’ All the other adults died. Their children were allowed to enter. Calmly think about that……. Does this give you and idea of how much God likes complaining?

When those Israelite children went in to possess the ‘promised land,’ they didn’t follow instructions either. To this day, the Israelites have never possessed their God given inheritance. Not because Yahweh wouldn’t help them to get the land, but because they were too easily satisfied with second best. Was their attitude an unconscious effort to have something to complain about? Are we any different?

Many times God has instructed me to do something. I’ve second-guessed His instructions, because I couldn’t see all the steps laid out in front of me. Now in my senior years, I look back realizing God doesn’t give us step two, until we’ve completed step one. Had I understood this years ago….. What would my life look like today? Spare yourselves troubles, learn from my mistakes, please. My question to God nowadays is: ‘will you show me step one, because I’m anxious to obey.’ Why? I want success and peace to wash over me “as waves of the sea.”

Can’t you understand how God feels? I can. A friend of ours has asked us many times, ‘what do you believe I should do about .’ I’d pray for an answer. Most times I’d call him, telling him, ‘you might want to do and __.’ Immediately, he’d head off in the opposite direction, as fast as possible. His running has caused him many heartaches and countless lonely hours. Not following wise advice is like not following God’s counsel, “The way of a fool is right in his own eyes, but a wise man listens to advice.” Proverbs 12:15ESV.

“Listen to advice and accept instruction, that you may gain wisdom in the future. Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.” Proverbs 19:20-21ESV. If we neglect following wise advice, we won’t have the wisdom to store up for our future. Either way, the Lord’s purpose will still stand, but with our lack of wisdom we’ll miss Yahweh’s purposes.

Verse 20 gives us another chance. Can you follow these instructions? The Lord wants His church to begin to proclaim freedom through our multiplied voices. He’s issuing instructions to the end time church. REJOICE with singing— in the midst of defeat. DECLARE our freedom from communism, one world government and all tyranny— while the opposite appears eminent. ANNOUNCE our freedom to everyone with praise and thanksgiving to God— before any good changes are seen. Why?BECAUSE words create life and death, see Proverbs 18:21. We WILL SEE what we are proclaiming come to pass. Or we can keep our timid mouths shut and accept the fate we do or don’t create. It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: Lord God praise You for the plans You have to prosper and set us free. Your ways are higher and perfect. Help us to decree and declare Your plans in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

#Jesus Christ #lord of lords #word of god #God #Holy Spirit #it's your choice #devotional #step by step #freedom #declare #complain #claim #love #hope #faith

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classycarla · 2 years

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09-28-2022

It's been a month since I wrote anything on here because I've been all over the place emotionally, physically, and life overall has been catastrophic in my mind. I have had no peace anywhere and found the only time I am able to recover is after many hours of sleep. I tend to overwhelm myself with activities after hours of contemplating new ones that I would like to do then get overwhelmed by the time and the lack of accomplishments experienced in a matter of 30 minutes. I have truly been struggling with time, organization, and overall motivation to wake up in the morning anymore. The more I open books to read and leave one for another I realize how hectic ideas can become. Ideas are endless and I spend much of my time chasing after ideas and discovering new information. My entire life this has been my method of thinking and many times have had trouble communicating with others because I have been lost in my own mind. I can sit down and think endlessly. I've had this pattern of behavior for many years now and I think this mode of being is getting to me now more than ever. I've grown up and have responsibilities that cannot be neglected like getting dressed in the morning, having breakfast, getting exercise, getting organized, taking my daughter to school and much more. The simplicity of my ideas that are not questions I have searched for the answers are ideas with solutions. Now I struggle to answer more complex questions and fact check them with the questions I have asked before while exploring new information. Technology has been a troubling topic for me because I struggle now more than ever with the amount of information in different mediums. Writing notes before would be a pastime for hours and now I have different ways of storing information. Two weeks have passed since I was going to the gym and I went back for two days. Completely sore and still contemplating on the time that is passing I give more space into my bed and less on my tasks. I have lost motivation and been relying on God's word to get me going up again with a new heart. It's incredible what the word of God can do and the advances it helps one person make. As much as I love my bible and going to church its difficult to keep my spiritual life together while managing everything else. I look forward to getting through all of John MacArthurs sermons because they all give me life in the name of Jesus Christ. Promise myself to keep up to date with my blog and maybe hold myself more accountable for my actions. Wish me luck my friends!

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leavingtarshish · 2 years

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Testimony Part 1

I’ve tried to perfect my written testimony of what Jesus Christ has done in my life more than once and I can never get it just the way I want it. So here I am again, sharing it on a new platform, and this time I’m going to just word vomit and leave it the way it is with no looking back or editing. My words alone hold no power, but I pray that Jesus does a mighty work through them.

I started having spiritual experiences when I was very little. When I was a toddler I had my first vision of a lion and a lamb on a piece of paper that contained my mom’s written prayers. Other experiences during my very early childhood years include receiving a stuffed cow just minutes after praying for one, my lost shoe being washed back to shore after walking a good distance without it at the beach and praying I would find it, a cricket suddenly appearing on my leg after praying for help waking up on the way to school, and I’m sure there are other experiences I’m forgetting.

My parents had me very young and we struggled financially. We were always moving from one grandparent’s house to the next. By the time I was in 2nd grade we counted 19 moves, and I have no idea how many more happened after that. Even still, my life was pretty picture perfect until my parents split at the beginning of my 1st grade year and my mom started dating someone new that fall. Then, my beloved uncle—who was more like my big brother—died in a horrible car crash that winter. My parents were not in good mental states at that time and as much as I know they loved/love me, and as much as they tried, things just weren’t good. The emotional neglect and instability instantly took a toll on my health. I was sick for months that year with various things and wasn’t even supposed to pass the 1st grade because of the amount of school I missed, but thankfully I did. Things remained chaotic until 4th grade, when my mom and her same on/off boyfriend had finally split ways for good. Up until then there had been lots of fighting between either the two of them or my mom & other family members. When I went to my dad’s he talked on the phone the entire time which left me alone in the big scary house he lived in. I was afraid of that house because I heard my mom talking about the demons she had seen while living at that house, which caused a crippling fear inside of me. I remember being so afraid I would wet the bed on purpose so I wouldn’t have to walk alone to the bathroom in the dark. I mention all of this to say, my early childhood trauma (that I’m not getting fully into) is what caused my first layer of spiritual bondage at an early age: fear of rejection, fear of the spiritual (I was afraid if I prayed to God I would see demons like my mom), fear of failure/performance complex/perfectionism (because I desperately wanted to be approved of and loved), and an eating disorder.

At the end of 4th grade, the anger started to set in and anorexia started creeping it’s way into my life. Now that things were settled my mind was trying to process things it didn’t understand, and while I didn’t know why at the time, I was suddenly filled with an anger towards my mom that was so unbearable I decided to move in with my dad. My dad was an appealing option at that time since he was living with his fiancé, was in a much better emotional place than he was living as a bachelor, and he simply wasn’t my mom. I felt safe with him.

Where was Jesus? I will say that throughout my elementary years my mom did her best to impart to me everything she knew about Jesus and give me all the wisdom/guidance she could. She did this because she knew that was the most valuable thing she could offer me as we were so poor by every other worldly standard. She was the one who led me to pray for the stuffed cow and shoe and wake up/cricket incident that I mentioned earlier. Not because a stuffed toy cow really needs to be prayed for, but because she wanted me to trust God and pray about everything from the beginning. Still, I resented her for most of my life for talking my head off so much about God and everything else in the world. It was overbearing and left me with no desire to really pursue God. The lies that came from my low self esteem also told me that God didn’t really love me and that I could never have the close relationship with Him that my mom did.

At this point I am a very broken, angry, anorexic 10 year old who needed her dad. So to my dad’s I went.

#testimony #jesus #jesusiscoming #jesusiseverything #jesusistheway #jesuslovesyou #jesussaves #belief in jesus #jesusislord #my story #new life #deliverance #spiritualwarfare

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writingwithacupoftea · 4 years

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Dusty Black Coat

Summary: Tommy Shelby is famous for his dusty black coat - it's part of his signature look. But, really, it's not just his anymore...it's his sister's as well.

Word Count: 2765

Trigger Warnings: References to sexual assault after the third set of asterisks (***).

A/N: Hey hey hey, how are we all doing? I’m so happy to finally share this fic with you, it’s one that I’ve worked really hard on and it was one of the first ideas I had for a Peaky Blinders fic. As usual, let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy it!!

Tommy and Y/N Shelby had a relationship that no one could quite make sense of. Some people argued that the siblings were too similar for their own good, and that was the reason behind their seemingly constant arguing.

But in between all of that, there were moments of tenderness. These often occurred in complete silence, as they simply enjoyed the other's company. Amidst the hustle and bustle of a Friday night in the Garrison, Y/N could often be found with her head rested on her older brother's shoulder, sipping a gin as they watched Arthur and John's drunken antics with soft smiles on their faces. Or, if you happened to glimpse through the window of the Shelby residence on Watery Lane, you wouldn't be surprised to see the pair curled up in front of the fire, reading late at night.

Yes, it was a complicated relationship to say the least.

Then Tommy went to France, and the residents of Small Heath realised just how much Y/N loved her big brother. Of course, she missed all of her brothers while they were away, yet it was the one that the 18-year-old spend the most time yelling at that she clearly missed the most. It wasn't tears or words that communicated it, however. It was the fact that Y/N Shelby was nearly always walking the streets wearing Tommy's long, black coat.

The seven-year gap in age between the siblings meant that it was very oversized on her body to begin with. But as the years passed and the war continued raging on, the coat grew to suit Y/N quite nicely as she moved into her twenties.

When Tommy returned home, no one knew that him and his brothers were coming back, so the family didn't have chance to prepare. In fact, the first time that he saw Y/N, after four years away fighting, she was fast asleep. Upon closer inspection, Tommy had noticed that she was clutching his coat close to her chest and frowned at Polly, who had followed him, in confusion.

"She's barely let go of it since you left," and with those words Tommy found himself mimicking the gentle smile that graced Polly's face.

Since that day, a newfound understanding was created between Tommy and Y/N. Yes, they still argued (a lot, as any member of the Shelby clan would testify), but there was also now an unbreakable bond between the siblings. No one, not even the two themselves, knew what was so different about it, as nothing really changed in their relationship. But there was something there.

Oh, and it was also as clear as day that Tommy's sweeping black coat was definitely now Y/N’s as well...

***

Y/N loved the glamour of race days, no matter what business was occurring alongside them. Getting dressed up, having a few drinks, catching up with friends that she hadn't seen in a while; yes, she adored going to the races.

Everyone usually stumbles straight into the Garrison upon the return to Small Heath, and continues the party there. Tonight, however, not everyone chose to go to the cosy pub.

Y/N knew that her work could wait until the morning, but the meeting today was crucial for the expansion process of the Shelby Company Limited, and she wanted to get it done now.

No one had been into her office for hours, and when she had left earlier that day Y/N had neglected to close the window properly, so the cold October air had seeped into every nook and cranny of the room. She tried to concentrate on the papers in front of her, but her thin (but beautiful) dress did nothing to keep the cold at bay and she couldn't write properly with her fur shawl on. Sighing, Y/N put her pen down and made her way to Tommy's office to see if it was any warmer in there. She hated working in an office that wasn't her own, it was too distracting, but she had to decide which was the lesser evil: distraction through cold, or distraction through location. As she looked around Tommy's grand office, however, she found the perfect solution to her issue: Tommy's coat was hanging on a stand next to the door. With a triumphant smile on her face, Y/N marched back to her office with the heavy material sitting nicely on her body.

An hour later, she was still going with her paperwork, still wearing Tommy's coat, and completely oblivious to the time and anything else going on around her. So, naturally, Y/N didn't notice her brother appearing in the doorway to her office, having noticed the light glowing within the room.

"It's not like you to miss a night at the Garrison."

Y/N jumped what felt like a mile in the air, dropping her pen in the process, and placed her hand on her heart. "Jesus Christ, Tommy! I bloody hate it when you sneak up on me like that!"

A small chuckle fell from Tommy's lips as he sat down on the chair on the other side of her desk. "We had a good day today, Y/N," Tommy stated before lighting a cigarette, "We're moving up in the world." He paused, examining his younger sister thoughtfully. "And that, Y/N/N, means that you can afford to buy your own coat." Tommy's serious tone was, in Y/N's opinion, completely undermined but the glimmer of a smile that graced his face for a matter of seconds.

Y/N huffed dramatically, "It's called being resourceful, Thomas. My office was like an ice box, and your coat was just hanging there. Really, if you're that possessive over it you shouldn't leave it lying around." She raised her eyebrows and smirked at her big brother as she put her papers back into the drawer and locked it. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I actually came here to get that so, come on, give it here"

"You can't be serious"

"I'm always serious, sweetheart."

Reluctantly, Y/N stood up, removed the warm coat and handed it over. Tommy put it on himself, before leaning over and turning out the light on her desk. "Fine, leave me to freeze to death, then you'll regret it."

"Wear something sensible next time then."

Y/N simply responded by sticking her middle finger up as she walked past him, and onto the streets of Birmingham.

(Barely two minutes into their journey, however, Tommy gave in. Hand in his pocket, he opened his arm up and Y/N cuddled into his side, his arm and half of his coat wrapped tightly around her. Suffice to say the pair felt the warmest that they had been since the war began.)

***

The damp early morning mist hung low over the grounds of Arrow House, and the sun was slowly beginning to rise in the distance. Y/N had barely slept, tossing and turning over and over again in her bed, her mind constantly replaying her argument with Tommy the night before. A rival gang had made threats towards the Shelby clan over a week ago, and Tommy had elected not to mention it to anyone. She didn't know why she was surprised, or shocked. But still, yet another row had ensued with her older brother.

As the clock on her bedside table ticked over to hit 5am, Y/N felt a desperate need to walk and think and breathe. And so, still wearing her nightgown, she made her way over to the stables, only stopping briefly to collect Tommy's heavy coat to keep her warm, not really thinking about her actions.

Y/N didn't know how long she had been in the stables. She had run a hand over all of the horses, speaking to them in hushed tones as she did so. Memories of her childhood came flooding back to her, and she was hit with a wave of sadness as she realised that the simplicity of their old life was long gone. Instead, she only had these lone moments to cherish, away from the chaos that Tommy's ambition had brought with it. Anger towards her brother hit Y/N once again, and yet she found herself hugging his coat closer to her, seeking comfort in it that everything would be okay in the end.

Thomas Shelby, she thought, humourlessly, the king of providing people with conflicting emotions; sounds about right.

She was removed from her thoughts, however, as Y/N heard her name being called out from afar. Speaking of the devil, she mused; but she decided not to alert him to her whereabouts. As Tommy's voice got nearer, she realised that she had heard him use that tone of voice once before, panic-stricken and desperate: when Charlie was taken. Guilt coursed through Y/N's body, and yet part of her felt a small amount of satisfaction. He needed to be reminded of the importance of family, something that had escaped him in the months following Grace's death, and to experience some raw emotion for once.

Moments later, Tommy crashed through the stable doors, wild eyes searching the place frantically. When they landed on his sister's figure perched on a bale of hay, he let out a breath that he didn't even know that he had been holding. Upon finding Y/N's bed empty when he woke up, and seeing the front door slightly ajar, complete, unadulterated fear had consumed his entire being. The only thought that ran through his brain was they've taken her...they've taken her...they've taken her...

And so seeing her, safe, unharmed and swathed in his coat (as she so frequently was), broke down any remaining barriers that were still left standing.

Tommy quickly gathered her into his arms, hugging her closer than ever before. Y/N was stunned – she and Tommy never hugged properly; it just wasn't their way. But, despite her anger, she melted into it, not wanting to let this moment slip away.

As Tommy pulled away, holding Y/N at arm's length to examine her for any sign of harm and finding nothing, he suddenly found himself able to speak again, though his voice hoarse from shouting: "Even when you're mad at me, you can't leave without my fucking coat, can you?" Y/N, unable to hide a small smile, slapped his arm and started to make her way up to the house, Tommy following closely behind, not wanting her to wander off alone again.

***

It was no secret that Y/N Shelby was a fiercely independent young woman (this often clashed rather badly with Tommy's desire to control, and the combination sparked many an argument between the pair). She hated people mollycoddling her, and so when she was still having nightmares a month after being sexually assaulted in a London club, Y/N didn't mention it to anyone. All she did was try to continue her work and life as normally as she could, constantly pushing her exhaustion to one side.

Of course, what she didn't bank on was the fact that Thomas fucking Shelby could read her like a fucking book. And a children's one at that.

He'd been there the night it happened: whilst Tommy had met with the club's owner, Y/N was dancing with a friend. She'd slipped off to get another drink from the bar (on the house, obviously) when one man thought he'd try his luck. Reeking of alcohol and speech slurred, he'd been incredibly...persistent...and because they were at the end of the bar on a crowded Saturday night, no one had noticed as the drunk pulled her into a back room, tearing at her dress as she tried to fight him off.

Well, let's just say that he wasn't very lucky that night – Tommy had noticed his sister's absence and somehow managed to find her before anything went any further. To this day, Y/N still didn't know how her big brother had done it, all she knew was that she'd never been so relieved to see him. She didn't really remember the journey to Ada's house, where Tommy had taken her to be looked after while he went and hunted down the man who had dared to do this to his little sister: he had only managed to get in a few punches before turning his attention to Y/N, and it wasn't enough. The only thing that Y/N could clearly recollect was cuddling into her brother's chest as she sobbed, knowing that she was now safe. He'd buttoned his coat around her trembling figure, and to Y/N it was like he was still hugging her as he drove, the one thing keeping her grounded.

She felt the man's hands on her body every time she began to drift off to sleep. But she wouldn't tell anyone. Carrying on like everything was normal was just her way of coping with things, and she didn't want anyone to take that away from her.

It was eight o'clock at night when Y/N returned to the offices of Shelby Company Limited. She had been at the gin factory all day, checking on the progress being made there, and she was now more than ready for Tommy to take them back to Arrow House so that she could put her feet up. But, to her dismay, Tommy was still working away at his desk.

"Please don't tell me you're gonna be long, Tom?"

The man in question looked up at his sister, taking in her slumped posture and the darkness underneath her eyes. Instead of replying, he simply poured two whiskeys, grabbed his papers and sat down on the sofa in his office, gesturing for Y/N to do the same. Sighing, she removed her coat and hat and collapsed onto the space beside him, taking a large swig of the whiskey once she was comfortable.

"I'll be as quick as I can."

And with that, Tommy continued to read. Lulled by the warmth, whiskey and peace, Y/N's eyelids began to droop and (despite numerous attempts to stifle it) finally let out a long yawn. Not taking his eyes off the document in front of him, Tommy moved the remaining papers from his knee and placed them on the arm of the sofa.

"Go on," he said, in what was (for Tommy, at least) a lighter tone of voice.

Letting out a dry chuckle, Y/N looked over at her elder brother and replied: "I'm not 4 years-old anymore, Tommy, I will not -"

But before she could finish her sentence, she let out another yawn, causing Tommy to finally look away from his work to raise his eyebrows at her with a smirk.

"Fine," Y/N grumbled, "But if we're here much longer I'll just annoy you until we leave."

She slowly started to lay down onto the sofa, resting her head on Tommy's lap, and he subconsciously found himself stroking her hair with his free hand. When Y/N was much younger, this set-up wasn't unusual in the slightest, and the young woman now found herself feeling far more relaxed than she had been in months. So much so that she kept finding herself nodding off, but would shake herself awake every time, not wanting the nightmares to begin playing again.

He didn't show it, but Tommy was disheartened that his sister still wasn't going to sleep. He had hoped that the familiar position alone might be enough to send her off, as Tommy knew that he had quite a bit of reading left to do and wanted Y/N to get some rest. Tommy was more than aware that his sister hadn't been the same since that night in London, but didn't want to mention anything to her for fear that she'd bite his head off.

The great Thomas Shelby was scared of his younger sister, who'd have believed it?

After a few moments of silent thought, he realised that the solution was simple. He reached around to grab his coat, which he had thrown over the back of the sofa, and placed it over Y/N's body like a blanket. When she looked up at him, silently posing a question, Tommy spoke to her softly.

"Get some rest, sweetheart. I won't leave you."

Tears welled up in the younger Shelby's eyes as she nodded slightly, grateful (for once) that Tommy knows her better than she knows herself. Y/N curled her knees up slightly and snuggled in to the warm, dark material. Feeling her brother's hand securely on her shoulder as he rubbed his thumb backwards and forwards over it, and inhaling the scent of whiskey, cigarettes and just Tommy, Y/N knew that nothing could get to her...and so she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders sister #tommy shelby x sister reader #tommy shelby x sister!reader #shelby sister #shelby!sister #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic

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alindakb · 2 years

Text

Soundless Love - Chapter 5.1

Harry looks at his diary. The amount of homework for the upcoming Christmas break is ridiculous. It’s just two more days and then they will all be on the train home. Harry doesn’t get why the teachers hand out extra work for the holidays. It’s unfair if you ask him. He’s supposed to be on break, as in free from school. Iris doesn’t mind, she says it’s great that she can still study while at home. Harry is sure she will think differently when she gets there and sees all her neglected toys. And when Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius are at the house the entire time, she won’t have time for all the extra work.

“I’m going to experience a Muggle Christmas this year,” Ron says. “Mum and dad said it was okay to go to Hermione’s.”

Harry puts his diary away and looks at his friends. They sit in the Great Hall, finishing up some homework before dinner starts. It started with just Harry, Draco, Neville, Hermione and Ron. But just a few minutes ago Ginny and Luna joined them. It’s still more than half an hour until dinner, but it seems the Great Hall is already filling up. Ever since the Christmas decorations went up last weekend it’s the favourite spot for most students to do their homework.

Hermione rolls her eyes. “It’s not that different,” she says.

“But don’t you worship the birth of this man named Jesus?” Luna asks.

Harry doesn’t listen to Hermione’s answer. He’s heard this before. She explained it all last week when Ron asked her about it. And the truth is, Harry doesn’t really care. He’ll go home and enjoy some nice meals with his family. And get lots of presents. That’s what Christmas is all about. Who cares about Muggle beliefs, or the old magical celebrations concerning the winter solstice? These days it’s just a time to spend with family and friends and get new stuff.

But first, he needs to finish this Potions essay while Draco is still around. Harry looks in his book again and reads the passage about Chizpurfle carapace. He doesn’t get why it’s so hard to open them and the way you should handle them, so Harry pats Draco on his shoulder. Draco looks up from his parchment and signs: “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry says. “Just need some help.”

“Okay,” Draco signs.

Harry points at the passage he’s been reading. “I don’t understand,” he explains

Draco shakes his head and then pulls his reusable parchment from under his books. He starts to scribble and Harry waits. When the paper is pushed into his hands, he can’t help but laugh.

‘We’ve been over this a million times. Start REMEMBERING!’ Draco writes. ‘You need to feed them to a Venomous Tentacula. You lure the Chizpurfles to the plant with the Lumos Duo Charm. This works because the Chizpurfles are attracted to magic. Then you wait for the plant to eat the Chizpurfle. It will spit out the carapace when it’s done.’

Harry rubs his hand through his hair. Why can’t the book put it down this simple? Somehow Draco can explain the material in a way that makes sense to Harry. This is why Harry works on this essay now. He will never be able to do it without Draco’s help. Even his mum can’t explain it as Draco does. When she does it, Harry also gets confused half the time.

“Thanks,” Harry signs and then they both focus on their work again.

“Bill is going to be disappointed you won’t be home during Christmas,” Ginny says.

Harry looks up from his work. “Is he coming home from Egypt?” he asks.

“Yes, both he and Charlie will spend Christmas at home,” Ginny says.

“Even Charlie? It’s been a while since he’s been home, isn’t it?” Neville asks.

“Yes, always too busy with his dragons,” Ron answers. “But I’ll see them after. We’re spending New Years at my place. The fireworks are better than the Muggle stuff you see sometimes. I don’t want to miss that.”

“You sure you will survive without your mum’s cooking?” Harry asks. It’s the one thing Ron always brags about, how good a cook his mum is and how amazing her Christmas dinner is. He must truly be in love with Hermione to let that pass him by.

“He will help cook his own dinner this Christmas,” Hermione says. “And then he will understand that it’s wrong to keep house-elves as slaves to serve ours.”

Everyone groins at that statement. Ever since Sirius opened his mouth about how useful a house-elf would be and Hermione figured out what house-elves are and that they don’t get paid for their services, she’s been on and on about starting a movement to free them all. She doesn’t understand that Dobby was the crazy one of them all, the only elf Harry ever met that wanted to be set free. Most elves are perfectly happy where they are and enjoy the fact they get to serve wizards and witches. But Hermione just points out it’s the same as Muggle slaves and that there was a reason slavery was made illegal. Harry doesn’t get it. If the elves are happy, then what is the problem with having them? It’s not that they have a bad life. Most of them are content and well treated. Not all families are the Malfoy s who disrespect their elves. And with what Harry has learnt over the past couple of weeks, Dobby was only mistreated by Draco’s father. He was Draco’s friend, and Draco misses him whenever he goes home.

“What are you and your dad doing this Christmas?” Ginny asks Luna. Luna looks up from her copy of the Quibbler and smiles at them all. She’s a bit weird, but somehow, she brings the best sides of Ginny out, so Harry doesn’t mind having her around. Even if she has the craziest ideas and beliefs in fairy tales.

“Oh, we’re going to Iceland to try and spot a Blibbering Humdinger,” Luna says. “Father is excited. He’s got reports that they have been spotted there for weeks now.”

Hermione opens her mouth to say that the creatures don’t exist, but Ron stops her by placing his hand on her mouth. “That’s great, Luna. I hope you will spot one too,” he says. Then he throws a small piece of parchment at Draco to get him to look up from his essay. “What are your plans for Christmas?” Ron asks.

Draco raises his eyebrows and turns to Harry and signs: “He knows I’m deaf, right?”

Harry laughs and nods his head.

“What did he say?” Ron asks.

Harry shakes his head. “Ron wants to know your plans for Christmas,” Harry signs without saying it out loud.

“They are off on another private conversation,” Ron complains as Draco pinches his lips together and shakes his index and middle finger twice.

Harry repeats his signs, but slower this time. Draco shakes his head and Harry pulls Draco’s parchment towards him and writes down Ron’s question.

“Hogwarts,” Draco signs.

“You’re staying here?” Hermione asks. Neville signs the words before Draco has to turn to Harry again.

Draco nods. “Dad doesn’t want me at home,” he signs.

“That’s fucked up,” Neville says. And Harry agrees with him. Christmas is supposed to be a time spent with family. And to have your father tell you he doesn’t want you to come home, that must hurt. Harry wouldn’t know what to do with himself if James wrote to him to say he doesn’t want Harry to come home. He would be so upset that by now he would have already destroyed something. But Draco didn’t say a word. He looks calm. As if it all doesn’t matter. But it does matter. Harry doesn’t want Draco to be alone during Christmas. Nobody should be alone with Christmas.

“What did he say?” Ginny asks.

“Something about his father,” Hermione says. “It went too quickly for me to follow.”

Neville looks at Hermione with widened eyes. Harry’s belly flutters and his mouth falls open. “You’re learning signs?” he asks.

“Yes, of course,” Hermione says as if it’s nothing.

“What do you mean of course?” Ron asks. “Don’t you think you already have enough on your plate with all the subjects you’re taking this year?”

“This is more important than my school subjects,” Hermione answers. “It’s not fair that Malfoy can only understand half of what we’re saying. So the sooner we all learn to include him, the better.”

Harry wants to jump over the table and hug Hermione. She’s the best friend ever for just going to the trouble to learn signs next to her massive workload.

Ron groans and drops his head on his Charms book. “I’m going to have to learn too, don’t I?” he asks.

“Yes, we can start with the basics this holiday,” Hermione says while she pats Ron on his head. Ginny laughs until Hermione looks at her and she realises that she will have to start with a BSL crash course too and she groans.

“Oh, this is fun,” Luna says. “We’ll all be able to chat without Draco feeling left out.”

Harry looks at Draco who’s turned back to his homework. He never minds that he can’t follow any of them. He loves the silence. Harry has learnt that by now. But still, it would be great if all their friends would be able to communicate with him without the need for translators or pieces of parchment. But that doesn’t change anything to the fact that Draco will be all alone this Christmas. Harry doesn’t think any Slytherin ever stays over at Hogwarts during Christmas. It will be so depressing. Harry can’t stand it. He has to make sure that Draco has a good Christmas, one he will enjoy.

‘You want to come to my place for Christmas?’ Harry writes. He places the parchment on the book Draco is reading. Draco looks up and raises his eyebrows.

“So you won’t be alone?” Harry signs.

Draco shakes his head. “I don’t mind,” he signs.

“I know. But you can meet Sirius.” Harry answers. Draco’s eyebrows pull closer and Harry knows he didn’t follow. Harry quickly writes down what he just signed and then repeats the movements.

‘Your deaf uncle?’ Draco writes down.

Harry nods and then has to suppress the massive smile that wants to form on his face as Draco agrees to come. He grabs a clean piece of parchment and starts to write. He needs to tell his parents there will be an extra person joining them for Christmas. And he needs to make sure they understand that he and Draco are just friends and that there will be no talk about Harry being gay and maybe having a crush on Draco. He just hopes his dad and Uncle Sirius will be able to control themselves, or at least have Lily and Remus on their case if they don’t. Harry sprints to the Owlery to find Hedwig and send her off to Godric’s Hollow straight away, not responding to any of the questions yelled after him when he rushes out of the Great Hall only moments before dinner starts.

MASTERLIST

#soundless love #drarry #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #deaf draco malfoy #Hermione Granger #Ron Weasley #Neville Longbottom #Ginny Weasley #Luna Lovegood #christmas plans #homework #BSL

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rina-writes · 4 years

Text

Survivalist Shower

Summary: [Throwback to the Surviving in the Australian Wilderness videos when Ethan was a MOOD.] Ethan is more than relieved to come home and you’re happy to welcome him as long as he showers first.

Warnings: Smut Lite ♦ Mostly Fluffy

Ethan walked into the Airbnb with the saddest expression on his face. You heard him long before he walked in through the door. He and Grayson were arguing from the car. As usual. They arrived about 8 hours earlier than the planned time. To be honest, you had expected them 12 hours earlier than the predetermined time, and you thought you were being generous. You were glad that you had food ready for them to eat because the look on Ethan’s face said he needed it.

“Babe…” He yelled, weakly.

You removed your apron and ran over to him. You gasped. He looked terrible. He was covered in mud, his skin was splotchy from sun burn, you could see mosquito bites (or was it a rash?!?) on various parts of his body and he had plastic bottles taped to his feet. Without thinking about it, you gave him a big hug. He hugged you tightly, taking in your scent with a deep breath. Grayson theatrically moved past you two, using his weight to push you both out of the way, in an effort to remind you that you were blocking the entrance. The crew walked around you two with ease, trying not to interrupt your precious moment.

“How can you hug him right now, Y/N?” Grayson asked, teasingly. “I bet he stinks.”

You laughed. “Clothes can be washed, but emotional wounds from neglect last forever.”

Ethan nodded, making an approval noise, but refused to let go of you. He like a child holding on to you like his security blanket. You would be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy it. This soft, adorable version of Ethan was one of your favorites. There was something heartwarming about seeing a pretty big dude cuddling into you for comfort.

“Come on, babe.” You said, breaking the hug only to see the pout forming on his face. You laughed and patted his head. “I’m still right here.”

You glanced at Nick Fry who had walked in with the crew. He was the survivalist they had met in Australia who had helped them on their adventure. If anyone would know what’s up, it would be Nick. You couldn’t tell if they were blowing it out of proportion if it was really as bad as Ethan’s face said it was. There was also part of you that knew Nick, the person who had been doing this since he was a child, may be a bit biased.

“I’m guessing they had a rough time?” You asked, with a sympathetic smile.

“The Australia Wilderness is hard enough.” Nick explained, his Aussie accent thick. “Being vegan only made it 10 times worse for them. I genuinely felt bad for the guys.”

You looked at Ethan who was just standing by the doorway zoned out. His face looked so innocent: his eyes wide, his hair sticking to his forehead with a mix of mud and sweat, his lips in a seemingly permanent frown. From the shoulders down, it was easy to remember that he was a grown man. He was tanner than usual thanks to the Australian sun and his muscles were rippling. His abs were more defined, probably because he hadn’t eaten in awhile.

“I think Ethan took it a bit harder.” Nick said, following your eyes. “Kyle told me you fixed up a nice spread for them though.” Nick smiled, “I’m sure that would pick them up.”

Ethan’s face lit up as he looked at you. You swear you could see the green in his hazel eyes clearly as they twinkled. Right on cue, Grayson ran from the kitchen with an excited expression.

“DUDE!!” Grayson yelled. “Y/N THREW IT DOWN. WE GOT VEGAN BURGERS, VEGAN PIZZA, VEGAN FRIES, VEGAN WATER...”

“Vegan water is definitely not a think…” You couldn’t contain your laughter as you actually tried to correct him. It didn’t matter anyway, as Grayson continued to yell out the “menu.” You really did throw it down, knowing they would need the pick me up.

“Alright, alright.” You clapped your hands together. This was how you got the boys’ attention. It was tip you learned from their mom and it never failed you. It even worked on Nick and the crew who had their full attention on you.

“Showers first. All of you...no messing up my nice Airbnb dining table.” You commanded.

There was some grumbling, but everyone went to their respective bathrooms. Nick offered the crew to come to his place for showers since it wasn’t too far. As everyone dispersed, you were surprised to see that Ethan was still by your side. He snaked his arms around your waist and in one quick motion carried you to the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” You asked, between laughs.

“We’re showering.” He explained as if it was completely obvious what was going on.

“Why am I showering? I didn’t go in the wilderness.” You pretended to protest. In reality, you loved it when he swooped you in his arms. He knew this; which is why he always did it when he had the chance.

He put you down in his bathroom and happily stripped off his clothes. It always impressed you how quickly he got naked. You smiled softly, seeing his tush still a bit paler than the rest of his body, but not by much.

You started to remove your clothes as well while he got the water temperature ready. As he tested the water with his hand, he answered your question.

“You hugged me, so you’re dirty too.” He grinned. “If I’m being honest, I kind of just want some cuddles. I didn’t like being out there in the wilderness. I wish I could always be with you.”

“Oh E…” You said, finally ready for your shower. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Since you were cooking all day, you weren’t wearing anything too fancy. You removed your oversized t-shirt and the pajama shorts you wore underneath followed. You were wearing your comfiest bra and the soft underwear that made your butt look nice without giving you a wedgie.

Ethan was taking it all in. His mouth was agape as he started breathing heavier. You could hear him panting over the water. His breath hitched as you removed his undergarments.

“I swear…” Ethan looked you up and down. “...I think you look hotter now.”

“You’re just dehydrated.” You teased, stepping in to the tub.

“Nu uh.” Ethan said, following behind you. “I had the water you sent me and those chocolate covered dates. You take such good care of me. And now you’re standing here looking so good.”

When he said, ‘so good,’ he pressed you gently into the wall of the shower. You could feel the cool tiles on the front of your body and you turned your head to look at him. He groaned, pressing his thumb into your lips.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby.” His voice came out like a moan. “It drives me even more wild.”

His voice was deep and raspy with desire.

“A-Are we going to shower?” You asked, your body trembling with anticipation. You hadn’t seen Ethan like this in a long time. You had a pretty healthy sex life. Granted, it had been awhile. You had been in Australia for about 10 days now, and as a courtesy to everyone else, you decided not to sleep together on vacation. You also didn’t mess around much when you were at his parents’ place in Jersey, so all together it was over two weeks since you were intimate. It probably didn’t help that he was still getting off his high of being in civilization again.

Using his thumb and index finger, he held the top of your neck firmly and pulled you in for a kiss. It was a hungry, greedy kiss. It didn’t take long for his tongue to enter your mouth and his hands to press you against his chest. He tasted salty and smelled like trees, but it still felt really good. It was Ethan after all. Your hands had memorized every dip and curve on his body, and they were currently rubbing up and down his back. You just wished that you could enjoy him squeaky clean. The mud was really putting a damper on the mood.

You leaned back and he leaned with you, suspecting nothing. His hands squeezed and caressed every portion of your body. You reached your hand back and with a quick motion, turned the water all the way to the cold. You shivered, but Ethan broke this kiss to yell loudly.

“JESUS, BABE” Ethan yelled. “F-” He stopped himself, never wanting to swear at you. He backed away pressing his back to the opposite wall. He shook his head, his chest heaving.

“Sorry,” You said, obviously not apologetic, turning the water back to its warm temperature. You tried to hide your smile. “I just think I deserve a clean boyfriend.”

Ethan groaned. “You could have just asked. Like a normal person.”

“But this was soooo much more effective.” You teased. “And fun.”

“Good god, woman.” He pulled you close to him. “Now, you’re all cold. And your nips are freaking stabbing me, goodness.”

“Sorry,” You stuck out your tongue. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You grabbed a wash cloth and some soap and lathered it up. Starting from his neck, you massaged the soap into his skin. He put his hands behind his head, watching you lazily. He occasionally let out a grunt of approval when your fingers touched his skin past the wash cloth. As your hands got more and more south, his breathing became jagged. You teased him a bit, going back up to wash his armpits and his arms, dropping down to his legs and his feet, and even turning him on his stomach to get the backside.

“Baby, please.” Ethan moaned out.

“What are you getting so worked up for?” You teased staring up at him, squinting past the water. You were squatting down comfortably, his thighs at your level. “It’s just a sponge bath.”

Before he could respond, you started to wash his most sensitive area.

He hissed as you washed him gently and his hips bucked toward your hands. His heart swelled with the amount of care you put in to washing him. He was still aroused, but it just made him want to carry you to the bed make love to you instead of the animalistic pounding he desired a few moments earlier. He smoothed your hair before gently nudging you to stand up. You frowned a bit. Usually at this point you would blow him and Ethan wasn’t one to refuse it

“Let me wash off and then I’ll return the favor.” His voice was a whisper. You blushed and nodded softly. You loved this version of Ethan. This was the Ethan that caressed you and made love to you for multiple hours while cooing words filled with love. Of course, you liked freaky Ethan as well, who would push you against the wall and drill into you until you felt him in your guts. It was the versatility that made your love life, in the bedroom and outside of it, so special.

He washed off the soap and rinsed his hair. You made a mental note to shampoo his hair when he was done. You grimaced as you saw all the sludge covering the tub. You were excited to see their next video, just to understand what happened. He grabbed some face soap and washed his face. He then made his way over to you.

He kissed you, sensually pressing his lips to yours as he rubbed your sides. You melted in his arms as you kissed back with more intensity, letting out a little groan. You moved to wrap your legs around his waist and he chuckled, breaking the kiss.

“Now who’s the eager.” He put on his best impression of you. “A-Are we going to shower?”

“Not fair that you work me up like this...” You muttered with a pout.

Ethan gestured to his hard on. “Welcome to my world.”

He took the wash cloth from your hands and raised your arms up. His eyes scanned your body, but not in the same lustful way he did before. This time he was looking at you like a work of art.

“I can’t believe you’re mine, baby girl.” Ethan cooed in your ear as he start to wash you. “So beautiful, so kind, too good for me…”

He cleaned every crevice of your body. It was almost embarrassing. Every curve and crack was cleaned, with special attention to your sensitive areas. You were a moaning mess and he kept edging you on.

“It’s weird…” He teased, his voice still husky as he touched your core. “I thought I cleaned this spot before.”

“You know what you’re doing…” You managed to moan out.

“What am I doing?” Ethan asked, working his hand in your core. His fingers inserting inside of you, twisting and curling in the way he knew you liked.

“Pleasuring me…” You moaned.

“Say my name,” He whispered in your ear. “Say the name of the man pleasuring you.”

“Ethan!” You practically yelled. Half to adhere his request and half to scold him. “I still have to wash your hair.” Your voice softened, still embarrassed at how loud you said his name.

“Gosh…” Ethan groaned, removing his fingers. “You really know how to kill a mood, babe.”

You laughed weakly, your body aching for Ethan to finish what he started. You tried to shake off the feelings and poured some shampoo into your hand. You reached up to get to his head and he tip toed, a silly grin on his face.

“Ethan...stop..” You groaned as you tip toed as well to reach him. The shampoo was dripping off your hands.

“What?” He feigned innocence. “What am I doing?” As he backed away making you stumble into him. He supported your weight easily.

“Are you not hungry?” You asked, getting annoyed. “Do you want to starve? Or do you want to eat the dinner I prepared?”

He reached between your legs, his finger lightly brushing against your clit, and smirked. “I want the dinner I prepared.”

You blushed and changed the subject back to the important matter. “Oh my god, can you bend down? How am I supposed to wash your hair?”

“I got one better.” He picked you up, letting your wrap your legs around his waist, giving you access to his hair. He rested his face on your chest, blowing bubbles, while you shampooed his hair. You made a mohawk with it before washing it off. You enjoyed these moments too. Just being silly and having fun was just so...you and Ethan. He put you back down and rinsed your hair as well.

A bang on the door made you both jump with surprise. You bit your lip as you looked at Ethan, both of you trying not to laugh.

“If you two think I am going to wait for you to finish screwing around, you’re so wrong.” Grayson said, through the door, but of course, since it was Grayson, it was like yelling.

“It’s fine!” You yelled back. “We’rec coming.”

“Eww too much details.” Grayson teased.

It took you a second, but Ethan started laughing immediately.

“Oh my god I hate you both.” You groaned.

“Come on, babe.” Ethan turned off the water and kissed your neck. “Let’s go eat your delicious food and then finish where we left off. I can’t let my dessert go to waste.”

He ran his fingers on your left inner thigh, making sure to lock eyes with you as he did.

“Okay…” You said, softly.

“Okay?” Ethan grinned, getting out the shower and handing you a towel. “No retort? Ooh, you’re going to be putty in my hands, tonight, baby. I see it in your eyes.”

“Shut up…” You looked away, drying off. “I was worried about you. You’re not the only one who had a lonely night.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He kissed the top of your head. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You smiled. “I know...the dinner was a preemptive thank you.”

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan blurb #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan scenario #ethan dolan smut #dolan twins scenario #dolan twins #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins smut #r-writes-fic

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reineyday · 3 years

Text

some feelings abt touya and bnha 302 in general! (long post)

jesus this whooooole chapter makes me so so so sad for touya, like he's canonically a crier and i just have all these images now of him crying off to the side while enji looks at his other kids and gives them the time of day. knowing that he was/is a frustrated crier makes the fact that dabi cant cry cuz of his burned tear ducts that much sadder ohhman

one of the things i cant get over is how touya was SO shunned by his dad that when he went to go tell enji about his fire turning from red to blue, he says "i might be as awesome as shouto sooner or later!" like?? this boy is 13 and shouto is 5 yet he's talking like the brother that's eight years younger than him is better than him and thar it's just a fact. the sky is blue, enji wants to beat all might one day, and shouto is better than the rest of his siblings. nevermind that he's only five and just wants to play with his siblings (and dont even mention to me how shouto says he wants to play with "touya and them" cuz im gonna fucking cry abt it. like even though touya's accepted he's bottom of the ladder in this family, shouto clearly wants some sort of acknowledgement from his older siblings and especially his older brother. IM FVCKN SOBBN). enji has made it clear in this family that shouto was what he was looking for and everyone else is not as important, and i knew this from shouto's pov but it's kinda wild to see it implied so casually in touya's words.

"you'll be glad you created me! i just know it!" HOLY SHIT. god my heart. oh my fuck. literally all enji had to do was show up to the fucking mountain, and he couldnt even do that? what the hell?? your son asks you to go to the mountain, you tell your wife not to let him go traim but she said she couldnt stop him, and instead of going yourself to make sure he's okay and BECAUSE HE ASKED YOU TO COME (and with an actually valid reason, no less! fire changing colour is kind of a big fucking deal!!!) you just?? let him go and let him stay there??? my god the amount of times touya must have burned himself and the trees with tears in his eyes. ahhhHHH!!!

what kills me (and touya too soon?) was that we thought before the back story started that enji forced touya to train till he burned up. then when 290 came out--and definitely after 301--we thought maybe touya overtrained himself and burned up. and sure, he was definitely overtraining, but to find out that the burns that "killed" him started just bc he was crying so much he lost control and didnt know how to ease up on his flames? he was upset and literally trying to get himself to stop crying, and then he just set himself aflame and burned up cuz of all his emotions??? that HURTS. holy fuck.

i cant believe natsuo's feeling lowkey guilty for not socking enji in the face like he wasnt EIGHT???? and let's be real, enji woukdnt have fucking listened to natsuo telling him to talk to touya--he already wasnt listening when touya would straight up say "look at me" and when even rei said touya just wanted enji to look at him and notice him. listen, i know sometimes miscommunications happen in families and children are embarrassed to admit they want attention and so their parents remain unaware that theyre not giving their kid something they want, but touya was as clear as can be on MANY occasions, and even rei agreed touya needed the attention and enji just wasnt listening.

also i know there was discourse abt touya being sexist by telling natsu that "the women in this house are good for nothing" and mb it was partly diff translations cuz i feel like saying "this house" makes it specific to rei and yumi instead of all women everywhere, but even disregarding that--i think it's a valid thought for him to have when rei wasnt standing up for him (where he could see, at least) and yumi admitted herself that she was too scared to interfere and so just tried to fix things and keep appearances. i feel like based on what touya's seen from them, it makes sense that he has that opinion. (also gonna mention that i think rei's and yumi's choices also make sense and i think they were valid, seeing as how they were afraid as well.)

and poor natsu being woken up in the middle of the night (what was implied to be often enough, esp cuz it seemed they share a room and their futons are close) bc of touya's pain. that's a lot of emotional responsibility for an eight year old, and it is also so sad that at 13, touya didnt have anyone else to turn to but his kid brother. at 13, i remember being fully aware of the distinction in maturity between an 8 year old and myself, and it sucks that touya couldnt go to anyone but a younger child with all his pain. i bet yumi being too scared to interfere translated to touya as "she wouldnt help me" and thats another reason he didnt go to the 2nd oldest when he needed to vent. (also not related to this but how the FUCK was natsuo so tall at 8 years old? wh a t)

this chapter. this fucking chapter. my heart aches for touya, and it's just such a huge fucking shame he didnt get the attention and validation and support he needed. there must have been workarounds so that touya could safely use his quirk. there weere DEFINITELY better ways to support your son through a self-destructive quirk, ways that involved actually being there and seeing him. i feel like if someone showed him the attention he needed and talked him through how to better control his emotions (and by extension, his flames) and a positive and healthy way, he could have been someone so great. and if he ever learned how to set aside the way he felt infefior to shouto and saw that shouto just wanted to play with his cool older siblings, it might have been really beneficial to see that there was someone there who thinks he's cool and gave him attention just bc he was an older brother, who needed him when everyone else in the househild didnt seem to need him.

and lastly, the fact that the chapter ends with rei saying that shouto is the family hero and that shouto will have to face dabi?? and it makes me angry that shouto has to take on that responsibility. that he was five and suffering for things he wasnt even a part of, couldnt be properly aware of, bc he was so young. he just saw that he was separated from his siblings and that his dad bullied his mom, then grew up shouldering enji's heavy goals and high expectations and abusive training alongside the barely-there memories of his older brother who died (i say barely there bc if natsu didnt even know shouto liked cold soba, shouto was definitely not around enough to have solid memories of touya before he "died"), and now he has to do the emotional labour of fighting his villain brother (who i bet shouto lowkey empathizes with when he thinks abt it late at night) as well as suffer the physical consequences of that agni kai. and it makes me angry that he has to do that, bc he's a Good Guy and he probably feels he has some sort of filial and familial responsibility. he's only 16. he just wanted to play with touya and them, and now he has to deal with this horse shit dabi's causing cuz his dad's an emotionally neglecting asshat who couldnt see past his dumb fucking ego until he saw shouto play with a bunch of kids during shou's remedial exam a decade after his eldest son burned himself to death. what the fuckety fuck.

lastly, since we saw touya burn uo the way he did... did he really just like... burn so much his jaw fell off, and that's how they found the jawbone? cuz holy hot (BURNING too soon???) damn that must have been painful as all hell. i wonder if next chapter we get to see if someone found touya at the park and helped him out and sorted out the jaw bone thing, or if we finally get to see if deku wakes up lol.

anyways this chapter hurt my heart big time, and i kinda wanna draw kid touya crying while being overlooked by his family to let out some of those feelings but we'll see.

and i still stand by my idealistic and naively optimistic hope that dabi gets redeemed and they soend some actually time together as a family (without enji. or at least, with an enji that has apologized to touya in seiza. like, forehead-to-floor apologize.)

does this hope sort out how dabi redeems himself, seeing as how he's murdered people in cold blood and shouldnt be excused for that bc those actions are also inarguably terrible? no. not sure how he could redeem himself for that kinda stuff honestly, but it doesnt mean i dont still somehow want the todoroki sibs to get along, cuz im weak for mending families.

also id like to send a huge kudos out into the world to rei todoroki for being firm for once and for also not running away from her mistakes like her asshole husband has been. i really admire and respect that. she was afraid and being abused, but now that she's been away from enji and has had time to heal, now that her and shouto are in the mend and she's seen that her eldest son is alive and a villain, she's a place where she can acknowledge that even though she was a victim too, she played a part in touya's emotional neglect and she's taking responsibility and that speaks to some incredible fucking strength. damn.

i hope one day that dabi realizes the same in regards to his mother and natsuo, who shouldered a lot of his emotional pain and suffered the consequences of his outbursts (even though his emotions are valid and his outbursts understandable, he still hurt rei and put a lot of pressure on natsu), and i also hope he sees that for all that he hates his father, his whole existence revolves around enji and it's a shitty place to be (and then he'll have ANGST abt it and that shit will be!! so good!!!)

yeah i think those were all my feelings. i had so many lol. their family situation is so difficult, i hope they all turn out okay and alive and healing.

oh i guess i also wanted to say that i kept calling enji an asshat and asshole cuz he was for sure, but i still think his redemption is valid and im glad he's taking those steps to be a better person by being a better father. i dont know if id want his family to forgive him for all that horrible shit he put them through (im personally hoping that no matter what anyone else does, natsuo will choose to to cooperate in the healing of his family as a unit but will never forgive enji) but i think it's good of people to try to be better than they were yesterday regardless of whether or not they get forgiveness. i dont personally like enji, but i dont hate that he's getting a redemption. i just hope it's a redemption that makes sense and forces him to put in the work, and isnt something like a death sacrifice for shouto or dabi. i want him to be alive and i want his redemption process to hurt like a fucking bitch while he forces himself to make better choices and be a better person, cuz redemption isnt supposed to be easy in the slightest. i GUESS all the crying he did in 302 was a good start.

anyways, if for some reason you read all the way down to the bottom--hello! and thanks for reading haha. cheers! :)))

#rei rambles #bnha #bnha 302 #todorokis #todoroki touya

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Tactile

Personal self-imposed challenge I set for myself today: write a story. So I did!

NSFW, mostly PWP. Dewey Finn/reader.

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul @janitor-boy @angelicspaceprince @ironmansuucks @beetlebitchywitch @turtlepated

Enjoy! ~

His wrists weren’t bound, but you did use his tie to cover his eyes.

Pulling it around his head to make sure the knot was at the side so it was comfortable made his messy hair messier. Dewey grinned and surged upwards using his core to try and kiss you. He missed, getting your jaw instead, so as you backed yourself off the bed you returned it properly. His smile was contagious and the kiss broke as you smiled too.

Laid out nude on the sheets, you took the opportunity to just look him over for a second. Maybe sometimes he was surprised you liked his body, but you did, all soft belly and hair and all. When your silence and non-movement stretched to an uncomfortable length, he shifted a little. “Baby? You still there?”

You shook your head to pull yourself back into the situation at hand. “Yeah. I’m still here. Sorry. Was drooling over your body.”

He snorted a laugh, but it didn’t sound too self-depreciating this time.

“Are you ready?”

He wiggled a little. “Yep!”

“Good . . .”

With his affirmation you shuffled over to the box you’d put by the bedside table in preparation for tonight. You picked it up and set it at the end of the mattress, hopefully far enough away that he wouldn’t kick it. Opening it, you chewed the inside of your cheek to decide what to use first.

Start easy, you thought.

Your fingers found and wrapped around a feather. You brushed it along your own arm for a moment to test it. Satisfied it was the softest thing in the box, you copied the motion on his forearm.

Even with him waiting in anticipation, it took a few moments for Dewey to realize the soft edges of the peacock feather were being drawn up his arm. When he did, he chuckled and twisted his arm to expose the more sensitive underside of it. Pulling the feather up and down the limb until he was accustomed to it, you then moved it without warning to his shoulders, then down his chest.

He didn’t react much, truthfully. The feather was very light. You liked watching the iridescence of the eyespot against his skin, and repeated it several times over his torso. You even brushed it lightly over his lips, which did make him sputter a little in surprise, and then dragged it down to his groin, running just the barest tips of the feathers over his cock and balls. He shivered and gave the tiniest moan, but you were pretty sure it was just out of habit and not because what you’d just done was overtly stimulating. That didn’t bother you. There was more to play with.

You continued, but with your free hand also found the second feather in the box. Heavier, sturdier, than the peacock’s, you moved the two in tandum along the skin of his thigh, then pulled the peacock’s feather away and dropped it to the mattress, leaving only the other one in its place.

This one tickled. Dewey wiggled a little as the tip of it traced designs over his skin. Goosebumps broke out on his arms; seeing that reaction that made you smile. Shifting on the bed, you reached downward to start at his toes--which made him jerk, a little, as involuntary as his goosebumps--and drew it up one leg. Occasionally you moved it back and forth instead of a straight line, for variety. You brushed it over his cock, just a passing touch; he wasn’t hard, yet, but he wasn’t completely flaccid anymore, either. You followed the line of hair from his pubic bone to his bellybutton, then up his chest. Flicking his nipples with it, when they became hard, you drew around them with the softer edge again. Further upward, you paused at the hollow between his collarbones. When he tilted his head back, you took the invitation to use the feather to stroke his neck and his scruff, then teasingly followed his jawline to his ear. The tip of the feather traced the shell of it, and that made him twist his head away. “That’s too ticklish!” he complained lightly. You laughed and didn’t push it. “Okay.”

Idly you dragged the feather over his chest while you considered what to do next. You’d only had a vague idea of how you were going do this. He didn’t know you were buying some time; he just relaxed under the feel of the feather on his skin. Rummaging in the box made him tense, which caught your attention, so you did it again. His anticipation was fun to watch. Deciding to use your hands next, you brushed the feather over his lips like the first, earning the same reaction of surprise, then you discarded it too. The small bottle of massage oil you’d pulled out of the box wasn’t anything special: no warming properties, no scent. It was edible, though. You watched him try to figure out what you were doing by cocking his head a little as you popped the top of it, but it made no other noise as you poured a healthy amount into your palm. Giving Dewey a couple more seconds to simply wait, letting the anticipation help fuel his responsiveness, you rubbed your hands together. The sound of it was recognizable, and he smiled. Massages weren’t uncommon between you two.

You smiled too, even though he couldn’t see it. Then, once your hands were warm enough, you put them directly on his chest. His smile widened and then his lips softened with the slight moan that escaped him as you ran your oiled hands over him.

You massaged his chest and stomach. You used heavier pressure on his shoulders, because he stored tension there. You didn’t neglect his hands. Several times you added more oil to make your administrations smooth, and by the end, your hands were tingling and his skin was shiny. Because this activity wasn’t novel and previously massages ended in other physical activities, he now sported a full erection. With an indulgent chuckle, you reached between his legs and gave him a gentle tug. Dewey had groaned while your hands were on him, and now gasped at your fingers surrounding his cock. You didn’t add additional oil as you stroked him; what remained in your hand was enough to add a thin coat of lubrication. His hips bucked a little upwards but you didn’t call attention to it. His chest also rose and fell more quickly.

Giving him a few more twisting strokes, including using your thumb over the tip to collect and smear him with his own pre-come that beaded there, your own breath came a little sharper. It was fun making him feel good. Before it went on too long, however, you released him. Dewey groaned at the loss.

Reaching over to the bedside table this time, you grabbed the glass sitting there carefully. Your hand was mostly dry, but your plans didn’t include dumping it over him, although that would fit the theme of surprise sensations tonight! Giggling to yourself, you took a drink. “What’re you laughing about, baby?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you assured him. “Ready to keep going?”

He nodded. The blindfold hadn’t slipped.

Taking another drink, you set the glass down. Then you got off the bed. Picking up the box and the discarded feathers and half-empty bottle of oil, you dumped them back into it before setting it back on the ground. Dewey had cocked his head again, trying to ferret out exactly what you were doing. Like before, you gave him no clue and padded to the end of the bed to crawl up it from between his legs.

He tensed until you settled there. “I think I know where this is going,” he announced. “Hmm,” you replied, wordlessly.

It gave you the few extra seconds needed for the ice in your mouth to melt. Once it was gone, you didn’t tease him; you opened wide and took his cock in with one quick swallow. Dewey almost folded in the middle at the sudden shock of cold. He’d never once asked about the ice water you’d brought in to the bedroom tonight. “Jesus--christ, baby--” You didn’t let the cold continue to overwhelm him. You pulled back and off and he relaxed.

“So you knew this was where this was going?” you questioned him lightly.

He shook his head. “N-no, I-I--”

You didn’t let him finish answering you. To interrupt him, you did it again. Swallow, release. Swallow, release. By the fourth or fifth repetition, the chill in your mouth had mellowed, and you stayed on his cock longer, sucking at him to continue to impart the remaining temperature to him. Dewey groaned and gasped and one hand went to your head, as it tended to do when you were blowing him. When it tightened and the noises he made became a touch more keening, you pulled off once more because you knew his signals. He was close to the end.

You weren’t done with him yet though.

His cock was dark and shiny, and bobbed against his pubic bone with the sudden lapse of sensation. Leaving him working for breath you shook his hand off your head and went back to the table. Digging into the water, you grabbed an ice cube.

Letting it melt in your hand, you allowed drops of cold water to hit him on random places on his chest, stomach, and thighs. He groaned with each one and tried hard not to put a hand back on his cock. You let one drop of water dribble onto the underside of his shaft, and that made him jump again.

You laughed.

The cube was smaller now, and you used it directly on his skin, lightly dragging it on his chest and nipples and down to his bellybutton. His shuddered and twisted in the sheets a little, and by the time you drew the very tiniest sliver of the remainder over his mouth, it was completely gone. He licked his lips through his panting. “Baby, please. Please!”

“Please what?” you replied, wiping your hand dry on the sheets before going back to the bedside table.

“Please . . . I don’t know, just please!”

You laughed out loud again. He laughed a little too, but there was an undercurrent of desperation in it and it ended with a groan. His cheeks were flushed.

You looked over him. His skin was still slicked from the massage oil; water had beaded up on it. That was good. You’d used the oil specifically so this next part would be easy to clean up afterwards.

He’d been teased with feathers, made warm with your hands rubbing him, and surprised by cold. Carefully you picked up the candle you’d lit before all this started. You’d done your research and chose one that was specifically designed for what you had in mind. You’d even tried it out on your forearm to learn how high to hold it and what the difference in temperature would be closer versus further away.

Like the cup of ice water, Dewey hadn’t asked about the candle either.

Even more carefully than simply picking it up, you lifted it high over him, almost a full arm’s length up, and let a tiny amount of wax dribble onto his shoulder.

Dewey yelped and jerked.

“Too hot?” you asked immediately. It took a second of panting before he answered.

“ . . . no.” “Okay to do it again?”

He nodded, and this time the blindfold did slip a little. You didn’t readjust it.

You did your best to avoid areas with lots of hair. Keeping the candle high, you dripped melted wax on his shoulders, the undersides of his forearms, his belly. Each droplet made him jump at the contact and hiss a little, but he moaned and wiggled too as it dried on his skin. His cock remained hard.

After you’d taken your time to paint him in random splashes of wax--the candle was marbled with different colors, so that had transferred to him--you blew the flame out and set the candle back on the table.

He’d been so indulgent, allowing you to have some fun, even if you hadn’t told him ahead of time. Gently, you undid his tie from around his head. Dewey blinked owlishly and lifted his head to look down at himself. Some of the dried wax cracked as he moved.

He held a hand out to you. More wax crumbled and fell to the sheets. The water that had been beaded on him dripped over his side too. “Wanna finish me off?” he asked with a wink. “More than anything,” you replied truthfully. Playing with him had turned you on. “Let’s go take a shower? Two for the price of one: getting you cleaned up and getting you off.”

He laughed and agreed, and you hauled him off the damp sheets. He followed you to the bathroom, cheekily pinching your bare ass as you went. You were already thinking about how you could use the spray from the water and temperature changes to continue what you’d started in the bedroom, and finishing with him standing behind you was going to be your final reward.

fin... maybe? lol

#writing #fanfiction #Dewey Finn #Dewey Finn x reader

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Something Just Like This - CH33

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: Fluff, NSFW, but also so much angst. I’m sorry.

WC: 3799

A/N: I posted two chapters back to back. Please read CH32 first if you haven’t yet.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Y/N’s busy with class for the next two months, finishing four paintings for a school exhibition and of course Dean ends up buying one of them (he wanted to buy all four but she told him that they only have space for one painting at the apartment), and spends a ridiculous amount on it, too. But the money is for a good cause so she let him.

He shakes hands with her teachers at the exhibit and she thinks it’s ridiculous how everyone is fawning over him, teachers and students alike. She can’t blame them though, Dean can turn on his business persona like a switch and he’s charming, too. Which, in hindsight, put her in this position as his girlfriend in the first place.

The girls of her class corner him, and she just laughs when he looks over to her as she talks to another male classmate, his eyes are screaming for help.

She decides to help him after a long while, goes to his rescue and pulls him to the side, ignoring the eyes of the girls because they are clearly shooting her daggers.

“Thanks, but you could have come sooner.” He places his hand on the small of her back, guides her out of sight of spectators.

“Dean Winchester the gangster needs help?” She grins cockily and he bends down to steal a kiss.

“Oh my god, they are really together?” Someone hisses through their breath and it sounds like someone from her class that she doesn’t really socialize a lot and both Dean and her grin into the kiss when they heard it.

“You’re stealing my thunder, Dean.” Y/N laughs, braces her hand on his firm chest and pushes him away a little.

“‘M sorry.” He chuckles, brushes over his lips with his thumb, checking if she left lipstick traces on them. “I overheard a girl telling her friend that she wants to call me daddy and wants me to wreck her pu—”

“—Oh my god,” She huffs out, clasps a hand over her mouth for a brief moment, “Please tell me you didn’t say anything weird.”

Dean shrugs, “I winked at her and she ran away.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “I guess it’s time to go home before you scare all the people away.”

“Awe, come on, not everyone!” Dean wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer. “Only girls who bite off more than they can chew.”

“Did I bite off more than I can chew, too?”

“Oh,” He pecks her lips. “You can chew perfectly and swallow it all down too.”

She groans with an eye roll, making Dean laugh out loud.

***

“This will be our last meeting.” Y/N says as Linda sits down on the bench next to her.

“Yes.” Linda agrees. “It just pains me that I’m not able to say proper goodbye to you.”

“I still have your number.”

“But I won’t have yours.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll contact you if I will need you to bail me out.” Y/N jokes but Linda’s not laughing.

Linda sighs, “Look, I know it’s us who make you do this, but you can still back out. I just want you to be absolutely su—”

“—I am.”

“Good.” Linda nods.

“One week, Linda. I’ll send you the details.”

“As soon as I have that, you’ll get the details for your part of the deal. All your records will be erased.”

“And you will give Dean a fair deal.”

Linda nods, “I promised and you signed the papers.”

“You won’t dig for other crimes. And it means that he can walk free.” She has to make sure, even if she already knows.

“You have my word. We’re concentrating on the corrupt mayor.”

“Good.” Then with the next breath she adds, “Anything new on Ketch?”

“No. Nothing. It’s like he disappeared from the earth.”

“I’m sorry I could be no help.”

“That’s okay, you have enough on your plate right now.”

Y/N parts with a courtesy nod, her eyes are teary. She’s never going to see the woman again who took care of her as if she was her own.

Back home, she starts on writing a letter, crumbles up each and every page she starts because there are just no words that she could write that would make him understand what she’s going to do.

She abandons the letter pretty soon and instead, she draws. This time, she draws both of them. They’re in bed, with him holding her, the two cats snuggle up to them. She leaves the drawing by her bedside table.

***

Dean’s been in high spirit in the week that leads up to their coup. He’s away more often but he’s always in a good mood when he comes back.

Like tonight, when he comes home and waves a black manila folder in front of her face. “Take a look.”

“Will I find dead people in there?” Y/N asks suspiciously, “Because I just had a big bar of chocolate and I don’t think my stom—”

“—Jesus, just take a look.” He laughs.

Bubbles sits on her lap and she has to readjust to look at the folder without disturbing the cat. She opens it to find different pages of property listings. All of them are somewhere remote, with a huge backyard. The houses are different sizes, but they all have the same style. They’re mostly old and need a lot of renovating and they are spacious. They’re also all fairly priced.

One of them she really likes, it has four bedrooms, a big attic and there’s a porch that goes around the house. It also has the old style window shutters which she guesses it’s more for decorative reasons. The house used to be white but the paint is coming off. Also the shutters used to be dark blue but the color’s been washed off as well. On the next page she sees the aerial picture of the house. The backyard is a huge meadow, dropping down to what seems like a large pond.

Dean has since leaned over the sofa and watches her as she looks through the pages and then he asks, “What do you think? You like it?”

“Yeah,” She replies. “They’re all beautiful. They need a lot of work, though.”

He shrugs, “I’ll have time.” Then he adds, “Which one do you like best?”

She feels guilty and doesn’t really want to choose, if she’s honest. “I can’t choose.”

“Come on,” He smiles and it’s genuine, she can see that, “I like this the best.” Dean points his index finger to the listing that’s also her favorite. The house with access to the pond and space in the backyard to hold their own music festival.

“Yeah,” She agrees. “That’s beautiful.”

He inches closer to her, his breathing a mere inches from her ear and she looks down at the listing, hoping that he doesn’t notice the flush of her face. “Can you imagine? Living there? I mean, with me?”

“Dean,”

“Not now, but if you can imagine it, I’ll buy it, fix the place up.”

“It’s not right for me to tell you what you should do with your money. If you want to buy something it should be because you want to and my opinion should not matter.”

“But it does to me.” He noses at her temple, kisses her there after.

“I know.” She mumbles and then she sighs and answers, not because she wants to but because it seems easier that way. “Yeah, I like that one the best, too.”

Dean grins from ear to ear. “Awesome.”

Thankfully they couldn’t talk about it more because Dean has gotten a call and has to go. He kisses her forehead, then her lips. “When this is all over, I’ll have more time, okay?”

“Okay.” She tries to smile.

***

Dean’s in his office, decides to spend the last night before the coup at home because he had the feeling that he was neglecting her, which he really didn’t but she guesses that he too could feel something coming up.

So instead of going out, he excused himself to make a video call from his office. “I’ll be in there for about two hours. If I should not come out by then, please come get me.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I wanna spend the night with you.”

He gets up and adjusts his pj pants. She has to laugh, kind of hopes that the people in his video call would see his pants. Hopefully, he has to get up and get something and then someone who has some balls will call him out on it.

Two hours came and went and Dean’s still holed up in there.

She decides to go get him but she gets out of her clothes first, drops them along the way to his office and knocks twice before she goes in there naked.

Dean’s jaw drops when he sees her and for a moment she has to laugh because he just stares.

“Dean? You still listening?”

She knows that voice. It’s Cas.

“Huh,” Dean looks back at his screen, “Yeah, I’m here.”

Y/N grins cockily and lowers herself to her knees, crawls under Dean’s desk.

She’s kneeling below the desk and places her hand on Dean’s knees, pushing them apart and she looks up to see Dean still staring at his screen, his lips between his teeth.

He risks a glance down and looks at her grumpily before he rolls his eyes but he doesn’t stop her as she works her hands up his thighs. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of his pants. He even helps her, lifts his ass so she can push the pants down to his knees.

“Yeah,” Dean clears his throat. “We should go through the timelines again one last time.”

She grins as she kisses the tip of his dick, it’s already half hard and she hasn’t done anything yet.

“Tomo— holy!” Dean shouts as she takes him into her mouth and sucks him. “Sorry, the cat.” Dean apologizes and then he goes on. “Anyway, tomorrow our trucks will leave an hour earlier than the train.”

She gobbles him down, tries not to make a choking sound.

Dean has a poker face but one of his hands comes down, strokes her cheek as she looks up at him with her mouth full of his cock.

Taking it out, she holds his dick up, works her tongue on his balls and goes deeper to his rim. He leans back a little, giving her more access.

“Ffff,” Dean hisses through his teeth before he asks a question into his screen. “Everyone knows when they have to be where, right?”

There’s a lot of Yes and Yeah’s in reply to Dean’s question. “1.30AM the train’s gonna leave.”

Cas takes over and she’s back at licking and sucking him and even though he shouldn’t, Dean’s stealing a glance down at her, licking his own lips as he sees her sucking at his cock his hand takes the strand of hair that has fallen into her face and tucks it back behind her ear.

“Thirty-six hours, gentlemen. Thirty-six hours from the start to the finish line.” Dean says and she knows that he means that it’ll take thirty-six hours for the last truck to reach its final destination and from there on, it gets loaded into other vehicles but that won’t be Dean’s concern anymore.

“We’ll work in shifts to track everything,” Dean goes on and she tickles the head of his cock with her tongue, making him pause to take a breather. When Dean has himself under control, he goes on. “I want everyone holed up in the bunker. And I swear if someone screws this up, he won’t live to see the end of those thirty-six hours.” The last syllable came out as a little choked moan.

“You okay, Dean?” Cas asks and she’s trying not to laugh out loud. Thankfully there’s a fairly huge cock in her mouth.

“Yeah,” Dean looks down at her, his expression unreadable. “Anyway, gotta go, this cat is driving me crazy. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

He doesn’t wait for his men to say goodbye, instead he clicks on disconnect and slams the cover of his laptop down, his large hands grab at her arms, pulling her up and she has to let his dick pop out of her mouth.

Dean places her on his lap so she’s straddling him and he lays his forehead on hers. “You’ve been a naughty little kitten.” He mumbles and kisses her, his arms wraps themselves around her middle.

“You said I could come get you.” She says as they part and Dean chuckles.

“Not like that.”

“Well, did you not like it?” Her arms are around his neck, and she nibbles at his ear, sucks in his earlobe.

“Love it.” He says and then he lifts her up a little, “Put it in before I’m dying here.”

She giggles as her hand finds his throbbing cock, positions it below her pussy and sits down. She moans out in pleasure and throws her head back when she feels him filling her.

Dean takes the opportunity, leans forward to suck at her throat, kisses down to her chest.

He lets her choose her own pace, kisses her and talks to her like he always does. It’s nothing hard and fast this time. It’s slow and sensual — love making, not fucking. Dean takes her nipple into his mouth, sucks at them, making her arch her back. He praises her, tells her how beautiful she looks when she comes on his cock. It gets slippery and wet and she’s sure that the chair needs some serious cleaning after.

It’s good, so good and she cries into the next kiss.

Dean comes deep and hard. Holds her close and stays like that for a long time. “I love you.” He whispers and she buries her face into the crook of his neck.

He’s about to move when she tells him to stay like this. “Just a while longer, please.”

He relaxes in the chair, letting her lay her head on his chest as he trails his fingertips over her back, traces along the bumps of her spine.

“Come on,” Dean says, and turns his chair around, gets up with her still in his arms and her legs wrapped around his middle. She cringes as his soft dick slips out with a squelch.

Dean kicks off his pj pants as he proceeds to walk out of his office.

“Where are we going?”

“Taking a bath.” He says with a bright smile but then he notices the trail of clothes she left behind. “And then we clean up the mess.”

She laughs against his throat where her face is still buried.

***

Y/N zaps through the channels while Dean paces around the apartment, he’s on the phone as always. Understandably so, as tonight’s the night.

He hangs up, fetches his overnight duffel and walks over to her, takes his time to sit down and she abandons the remote, climbs onto his lap. It has become her favorite place throughout the months.

“What’s your plan?” Dean asks and she knows he means for the time he’ll be gone which will probably be around forty hours from now on.

“I don’t know, the usual, class, eat, sleep, repeat.” She lies.

“Just no partying when I’m not here, okay?” He has that amused look on his face.

“Yes, daddy.” She grins cockily and he kisses her.

It’s soft and she likes that but it always leaves her wanting more so she goes in, kisses him hard. She closes her eyes, thinks of the things they’ve done, thinks of him and her, thinks of what could never be. She pours everything she has into the kiss. A kiss that says so much. She kisses him, wants him to feel that she’s sorry, she doesn’t mean to and most of all, she wants him to know that she loves him.

She cries into the kiss too, making Dean stop to cup her face, brushing away the tears with his thumb. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Y/N sniffs, “Just worried.” Another lie.

He kisses her forehead, letting his lips linger there for a fraction longer than he normally does. “Don’t be.”

His fingers skim down her face, and he kisses between her eyebrows, kisses her nose. “Will you be here when I get back?”

She nods.

Yet, another lie.

Dean smiles. “Good, I got something to tell you when I’m back.”

She texted Linda about the intel and in turn, Linda has texted her things that she need and a comfortable amount of money was left on her bank account for a head start.

Y/N packed one backpack with essentials and left everything else, as well as her car, with Dean.

She walks out of the building, walks to a bus stop that’s more than four miles away and gets into the next bus that arrived. She doesn’t have a plan, she just needs to get out of the city.

Y/N goes into the store in between buses, buys another phone card and drops her old SIM into the trash can outside.

And then she’s off. Doesn’t really know where to go. Doesn’t know what to do but she’s sure that it’s the right decision. At least one of them can be happy and she’s taking the fall. She wants Dean to be able to have the future he desires, one he’s working so hard for — because if Dean doesn’t deserve happiness, no one else really does — even if it means that she’s not part of it. She hopes that one day he’ll see it. Hopes that one day, he’ll forgive her. But most of all, she hopes that he forgets her.

The freight train has been stopped midway, as they predicted it would. But the trucks got over four States by the time and split in all different directions already. That’s a win that Dean takes.

The train conductor doesn’t have a clue about anything, and the wagons are all empty, so that shouldn’t be a problem either.

Now they have to wait until all the trucks have reached their destinations.

He texted Y/N after the train got stopped by the Feds but she didn’t answer. He doesn’t dwell on it, thinks that she must be busy so he sits back, and waits with the others, hoping and maybe even praying a little that everything goes as planned. Paints a picture in his head how he would get a Pizza on his way home, how he’s going to tell her that everything he worked so hard for finally fell perfectly into place.

Dean imagines the time after. Thinks that he’s going to blindfold her and drive her out to the house he bought. Get on his knees right there. He thinks of the words he’s going to say when he wants to persuade her to marry him, hopes that he will get a word out of his mouth at all.

“It’s done.” Cas says as he gets off the phone and there’s silence for a full minute because nobody thought that they could pull that shit off.

And then realization hit and it’s like Holy shit we did it! They shook hands, shoulder bumped, fist bumped and Inias walked in with a dozen beers.

Dean stays and drinks the beer, not because he wants to but because it’s expected from him. But then he excused himself, told his men that he’ll be in touch for a last meeting, already breaking into a run up the stairs of the bunker.

At home, he parks his car next to hers. So at least she’s home.

“Honey, I’m home!” He calls but realizes that the lights are all off. One the cats came around to greet him.

Dropping his keys into the bowl at the entrance, he walks into the bedroom but she’s not there either. He takes a look into the bathroom, thinking she might take a bath but it’s empty.

The echoes of his steps on the hardwood floor is kind of disturbing to him. Something’s off. He can feel it.

He tries her art room next, nothing to see there either other than some unfinished paintings.

On the way back into the living room, he tries calling her but the voice says that the caller can not be reached.

Dean rushes back to the living room, thinks about going out and tries her school when a sheet of paper flutters to the ground from the kitchen counter.

He picks it up, his heart is racing, his hands are shaking. He’s already near tears because he’s not an idiot, he knows it before he even read her words. He crouches down to pick it up and stays down to read it. Thinks that when he gets up, he’s gonna end up down on the floor anyway because his knees feel weak.

Dear Dean,

I crumbled up so many sheets of paper because no word could express my feelings. No words could ease the pain I’m feeling. No words would be enough to explain my decision to you and make you understand. This is my last try because time is running out. And there’s really just one thing I want to say to you.

I’M SORRY.

I know that you might not accept my apology but I hope that one day, you will.

Now that everything’s over, you can start all over. I wish you happiness Dean. You deserve nothing less.

Y/N

Ps. My love for you was and is real. Never doubt that.

He balls his fists, making the paper crumble in his hand.

He doesn’t know how long he stays down there but he wakes from his trance when Bubbles shows up next to him, nuzzles her face against him. One tear drips down the tip of his nose and Dean brushes at it with his hands. “Okay,” He sniffs, “Okay.”

Dean picks up Bubbles and walks her to the feeding dish where Cuddles was already waiting. He sits down with them and they look up at him as if they know what’s going on.

Pouring their food into their dish, he sits with them, back leaned against the fridge and he waits until they’ve finished eating. Dean knows that he should be mad, should feel angry, should maybe drown himself in alcohol but he can’t bring himself to do anything at all. He feels so many things at the same time, hurt, anger, feels his heart breaking off bit by bit, feels nauseous, and he’s still shaking but above everything, he feels numb.

CH34

#something just like this #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #mobster!dean #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #nathalie writes

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moral-turpitudes · 3 years

Text

Deal with the Devil: Ch. 8

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Blood, Knives, Angst, Mentions of Death, Fluff, etc.

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Isla Maxwell (OC)

Word Count: 4,493

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | *7* | 8 | 9 | 10

The next morning, Isla lied there enveloped in the sheets as she slept soundly. It was the first night in years that she’d slept decently, the screams from her family not plaguing her mind for once.

Thomas had woken up an hour before, silently staring at her for a while as she slept. She was menacing yet delicate, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why she was growing on him. Maybe it was their shared motives? Or the way her eyes sparkled in the moonlight like when they’d first met. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because he’d finally met his match. Someone who would call him out on his bullshit without fear. Someone who made him work for what he wanted. Someone who found it hard to navigate life but figured they’d try anyway. These were all things that ran through his mind as he walked aimlessly around her small room while getting dressed.

While fastening his belt closed, his gaze landed on a picture attached to her mirror, a man and his wife, and two older children sitting under a tree. Their once small wooden house in the distance as their smiles graced the photograph. He gently plucked it from the mirror, running his finger over the dark, burnt edges, and flipped it over to find faint handwriting scribbled on the back that read: “Maxwell Family Photo, Spring of 1919. William (55), Jane (50), Isla (20), and Isaac (15).”

The year 1919 threw him back, as he remembered adjusting to civilian life again after the war. The nightmares of France still fresh in his mind as he battled between them and the business that had been left in his hands. Knowing that in only a couple years his life would change for better, and for far worse. He had been around 29 when all the responsibilities fell on his shoulders, and at that same time Isla had been only 20 as her family burned before her. The scars of both their pasts a painful reminder of what they’d gone through.

But it was now-a whole 10 years later-that he’d finally realized that it hadn’t all been in vain. Maybe he was meant to shake hands with devils and walk past them, just to get to this point. To hold out long enough just to see if he could finally end the one man who harbored so much destruction in him. And to finally meet someone who didn’t need him, even though he needed her.

While lost in thought, Isla’s voice pierced the silence as he rubbed a hand over his face.

“What’d you say love?” He asked, putting the photo back as he walked towards the door.

“I said I couldn’t believe you stayed. Usually any man I’ve brought here leaves by dawn.” She said, putting her robe around her bare body and securing it tightly. Her hair was tousled and her eyes strained from the light in the window.

“Why would I leave?” He asked.

“I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve noticed with others.” She said, getting up and going into her kitchen. She got out two cups and got to work on making tea, mentally slapping herself for even voicing any insecurities.

“Do you not have someone to do that?” He asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Do you not have someone to wipe your own ass?” She quipped back. He smirked and blew out a cloud of smoke in her direction.

“No. I do that myself thank you.” He said.

“Exactly.” She said, smirking while swatting away the smoke.

“Are you always this cranky in the morning?” He asked.

“Are you always this annoying?” She asked back.

After a moment she spoke, waiting for the tea kettle to go off. The awkward tension hanging in the air.

“I don’t particularly like mornings, unless I’ve had tea first.” She said, quickly taking the kettle off the stove as it whistled, and pouring some of the tea in the cups. The steam rising up and filling the air with a sweet aroma.

“Here you go. Now if you’re going to stay here, don’t fuck with anything. I have work to do.” She said, taking her cup into her room while she got dressed. Thomas finished his cup and sat it on the counter, his eyes gazing into her room only to be cut off by her giving him the middle finger and shutting the door. With a smirk, he headed towards her office where his things were, deciding to make himself somewhat presentable. After a few moments he heard her footsteps as they padded along the floor.

“So I’m trapped here till you’re off work aye?” He asked, following her with his eyes as she walked, her emerald green dress getting his attention.

“Yes.” She said, sitting her cup at her desk and looking at the bloodied paper work from the past couple of weeks.

Thomas wandered around the office looking at the books and chain smoking as she flipped through the papers and her journal. Growing antsy at the fact that he couldn’t be at his own office discussing politics or planning missions.

“Is this how you treat all your victims?” He asked, sitting in a chair in front of her desk. He waited for her response, hearing a small sigh escape her lips as she looked up at him from her paperwork.

“My victims don’t make it this far. You’d be tied to a chair naked with your throat slit if you were one, love.” She said, quickly writing something down and closing her journal. She could hear him let out a small laugh at her answer.

“Why do you keep everything in there?” He asked pointing to it. It’s edges worn from the last 10 years.

“I keep track of every letter or important interaction with my connections. It’s just in case I need it to prove something. You never know when this lifestyle will catch up to you.” She said, lighting a cigarette and checking the clock on the wall.

“You’ll get to meet Nick and John by the way. They’ll be here soon.” She said.

“Hmm” he mumbled, reading over the newspaper on her desk. The mention of the name John causing a dull pain in his chest.

“So you killed all these men aye?” He asked, pointing to the papers in a desperate attempt to hide the pain.

“Yes.” She said, getting up to grab her knife.

“You going to kill me now? After all we’ve been through...” He said jokingly.

“No. I was going to practice throwing. Have you tried it?” She asked, twirling the knife as she walked towards him.

“I’m better with guns.” He said.

“Oh, well this is more fun. Watch.” She said, sitting in her chair and aiming for the dartboard on her wall in the distance.

“Normally you’d be standing but I’ve learned to do it sitting over the years. Helps me think while I’m working.” She said, aiming and hurling it towards the bullseye.

“Almost knocked Jays head off the other day. It’s shame I didn’t.” She said, retrieving it from the board.

He smirked as he observed her, mentally noting how she threw it with good form while sitting but even better form while standing, thinking of how she could come in handy when he needed to take down various people at a distance.

“Have you ever hit a moving target with them?” He asked as she picked up another knife.

As if on cue, Nick and John walked in, neglecting to announce themselves once again.

She quickly hit Nick in the shoulder as he walked in and John in the leg, both hits making them yell out in pain.

“To answer your question, yes.” She said walking over to them with hand towels as they struggled.

“Jesus fucking christ boss why’d you fucking knife us?” John yelled.

“I’ve told you both a thousand times to knock before coming in. I have a guest here.” She said, the men followed her gaze to Thomas who was standing with his hands resting behind his back.

“Where’s Jay? He should’ve been here by now.” John asked, shoving the towel onto his leg.

“He betrayed me.” She said. Their faces paled as she looked down at their wounds, getting up to retrieve a sewing kit.

“Drink this cuz it will hurt.” She said, as she stitched their wounds closed. Thomas watched silently from afar as she went about her business.

“If you want to see for yourselves, you can go to his apartment. Me hitting you both was a warning.” She said, her eyes boring into theirs as she lowered her tone.

“Have you both been going behind my back?” She asked.

“N-no...we would never. We’ve just been keeping an eye on things like you told us to.” Nick said, looking nervously at her when she touched his arm, his heart rate increasing as she came closer.

“Next time anyone decides to betray me I’ll do more than just throw a knife at you. Is that understood?” She asked, getting up and throwing the towels in the fire, Nick gazing at her as she walked away.

“Yes ma’am.” They both answered as they composed themselves. Thomas on the other hand was quietly dealing with the noise in his head as her voice snapped him out of his daze.

“Now, I want you to meet Mr. Shelby. He’s the one I’ve assigned you to, as you both know.”

Isla retreated back to her desk as Thomas introduced himself, her mind racing as well but instead of noise, it was over the plans she’d slept on for weeks.

“I’ve called you all here because usually I’d tell you where our next hit was. But today I wanted to discuss our protections in place and the plans for the rally. You see...Jay outed me to a member of Mosley’s party. Therefore, one of his men followed me to Small Heath and tried to attack me all because Jay tipped him off and got a little too acquainted at Mr. Shelby’s shop. For protections sake, I’m going to need both of your all’s full cooperation for this to go smoothly, because I only have you two and our small band of connections left. Is that clear?” She asked, as they sat down at her desk, Thomas standing near her as she stared them down. His gaze settling on Nick as he’d noticed him staring at her.

“Yes.” John said, and Nick nodded along, avoiding her gaze.

“Very well. So, the plan is for you two to continue keeping watch, not so much for information but for protection now. Mr. Shelby and his family may as well be in the same amount of danger as we are so we have to do all we can to keep each other safe. If you suspect something, I want you to contact one of us. I don’t care if it’s by phone this time, just use the payphones around town. Our plan is to then have some of the blinders stand guard here and around where we usually go for business with our clients. This way we can all have someone near at all times. Do you have a problem with that gentlemen?” She asked, lighting another cigarette.

They shook their heads no as she gathered a map and various pages and spread them out on her desk. Thomas quirked an eyebrow as he examined it, wondering how she came in possession of such a thing.

“Good. Now before I let you both go, I wanted to get a plan set in motion for the big rally. What have you both found out so far?” She asked.

“Well uh, it’s been confirmed that he’s having it at Cheltenham. Heard a bunch of those bastards talking about it when we snuck into a meeting the other day. He’s expecting a big turn out, bigger than the previous rally.” Nick said.

“You’re essentially working with him Mr. Shelby, do you think we’d be able to take him out?” John asked.

“We’ll have to. He’ll help bring us into another war if he’s not stopped soon.” He said bluntly, remembering that night when he felt the world crash around his shoulders as he watched men he cared about get stabbed and shot to death amongst the crowd of people, the screams of everyone filling the room as he watched his brother Arthur almost bleed out from behind the stage. The cool metal of his gun grazing his temple as he yelled into the moonlit fields, thinking his only way to end the madness, the heartache, and this insatiable power struggle would be to end it all at once. Luckily, for him and his family he didn’t pull the trigger though, as he realized his time on earth wasn’t quite finished yet.

Isla’s voice pulled him back to reality as she spoke, pointing at the map.

“You worked in the tunnels right?” She asked, her eyes going from cold and calculated to a slight bit concerned as he stood there staring where she pointed.

“I did. Why?” He asked.

“I was telling them that we may need men down below. There’s tunnels used for moving equipment and things so you don’t have to worry about digging. But they lead straight to where the back of the stage is.” She said, pointing to the light outline on the drawing.

“Alright. I’ll have a couple of my men in the tunnels. What about you aye where are you going to be?” He asked.

“Wherever you are.” She said. It pained him to hear her answer, knowing last time he had people following his lead, he watched them die or come remarkably close to it.

“Alright, well what’s the tracks security looking like? Can we get in through the back?” He asked.

“I wouldn’t. They’ll have security there too, we’ve seen it.” Nick said.

“I could work around that...” Isla said, twirling her pen as she cringed at the thoughts flashing in her mind. Remembering a few perilous nights spent trying to get information.

“You don’t have to seduce them.” Nick said, looking down at his hands. His eyes avoiding hers as he swallowed hard.

“I was going to have to resort to it at some point...why not go out with a bang?” She asked smirking.

“Jesus...” Thomas said, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

“What? I know it’s not the best part of the plan but it may be our only shot considering how things went last time.” She said looking at Thomas, never failing to mention how he came just short of killing Mosley himself.

“You don’t know what he’ll do.” Thomas said, putting the last of his cigarette out.

“He doesn’t look like the nicest person boss, I-I wouldn’t risk it. You don’t have to do that.” Nick said softly, his eyes sheepishly looking down as she looked at him.

“I’m doing what I can, don’t worry about me. I’ll use that as my last resort alright? We can’t afford to have anyone slip away. Mosley has around 30 members left here, unless he somehow gains a massive following in the next few days.” She said, her eyes scanning the map and floor plan of the racetrack.

Meanwhile, Nick stole a glance at her, quietly admiring her intelligence. He never told her how he felt, knowing she’d probably chop his head off all the same, but he kept his attraction hidden as he watched with sad eyes as Thomas stood by her, knowing they’d been doing more than writing letters back and forth.

“So...say we actually make it in through the back. What’s the next steps then? Do we just bloody shoot him and resort to her plan if it doesn’t work? It’ll cause chaos if we go in there on a killing spree.” John remarked, breaking the silence.

“Some of the blinders will be in the tunnels, and some will be in the two corners where his followers will enter. The area where his party members will be is the tricky part though because that’s around where all our main targets are. In these documents, they noted where they’ll sit just in case an attempt on Mosley’s life is made again. For this reason, I’m hiring some of my connections to stand in as fascists in the crowd, here.” She said pointing to a slew of seats near the front of the stage.

“When and if things get tense, we’ll have snipers in various areas ready to go. They’ll be setting up the night before to avoid any of his men seeing them. If all goes according to plan, Mr. Shelby will enter with me through the back and you two will follow. After that, it would be wise to wait him out.” She said.

“Why would we wait him out?” Nick asked.

“Because he may be running late.” She said, pulling out his pocket watch from her desk.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Thomas asked.

“Turns out, not only was the man who followed me to the Garrison trying to kill me, he apparently was Mosley’s little errand boy. After rummaging through his pockets I found his watch and a crumpled receipt in Mosley’s name from a repair shop. He’ll probably realize it’s gone and go mad looking for it. In the off-chance that he leaves his room to look for it, this would probably be our best shot at taking him out before it starts....You got rid of that mans body though didn’t you?” She asked, looking up at Thomas.

“Yes. They won’t find a thing.” He said, sitting down on the edge of her sofa.

The men looked at her with bewildered expressions. She herself even doubted her plan slightly, but she was never one for doing things according to plan anyways.

“Look...I’m not saying it’s foolproof, but this could cause a distraction and every second counts. We’ll all be in the same area as Mosley if we get there early. If we can take down some of the members before it starts, we can pick off the lot at random times to avoid suspicion. If we can’t get him before it starts, we’ll wait him out and continue with everyone else. If he starts getting suspicious, I’ll resort to seducing the bastard, but if that fails...we’ll just have to resort to chaos.” She said.

“Did they mention how many of his members will be in the stands watching?” Thomas asked.

“10, that leaves 20 of his other members elsewhere, so that’s where our people come in.” She said, circling Mosley’s dressing room and their point of entry, along with the areas where everyone will be on the paper.

“What if this doesn’t work?” Nick asked.

“Then we’ll die. Just keep an eye out and do your job. If you can take his men out in broad daylight you can surely take some out at night aye?” Thomas said, remembering how he had to reassure people before running through trenches and digging tunnels, the scraping of shovels still playing on loop in the back of his mind.

“Alright...what’s the pay then? We may not even come back from this so it better be good.” John said, crossing his arms in his seat.

“Double what I paid you last time, you’ll also receive a part of Jays last paycheck since he won’t be needing it where he’s going.” She said, putting everything except her map away.

“Really?” Nick asked.

“Does it look like I would lie to you?” She asked, looking him in the eye softly, glancing at both of the puncture wounds on their bodies.

“No ma’am. When are we to meet that day?” Nick asked, getting up from his chair and wincing as he moved his arm.

“It won’t be until evening but I’ll brief everyone around 5 and then we’ll head out at 7.” She said before waving them off. Once the door was shut she sighed in relief.

“Jesus fucking christ this better work...Do you think it’s a stupid plan?” She asked, pouring herself a glass of whiskey.

“Not entirely. I just can’t lose more people.” He said.

“When did you ever care about losing people?” She asked, pointedly.

His eyes met hers in a quick glance, with his jaw clenching as he got up.

“I never wanted them to die you know.” He said, pouring himself a shot.

“Who? Aberama?” She asked, remembering his demise.

“No. All of them. The ones I cared about. If you’d like me to go in order...” He trailed off, taking a swig of the whiskey.

“Please do.” She said, not realizing she signed up for a lecture.

“It started off with my mother, whom I still see in the mirror everyday when I look at myself. Then a woman named Greta whom I loved before the war. And then there were the men in France whom I’d seen blown in half by grenades and buried alive in tunnels...” He said, walking towards her.

“Is that-“ She started to say as he took her hand in his and placed it on his chest. His heart was beating firmly against her palm as he continued.

“After that, my friends who’d served and came back with me passed, then my first wife Grace was killed. Not long after that my brother John was shot, and recently there was our beloved hitman and his son...and almost myself.” He said, his eyes looking at the brown liquid in his glass as he stepped away from her. The reflection of himself reminding him of a monster.

“Thomas...” She said walking over to him and taking his hand slowly.

“I have blood on my hands that I can’t wash off Isla. I can only be of so much use until someone I love dies because of me.” He said, walking over to the window, the daylight streaming in and illuminating the room in a yellow glow.

“You didn’t pull the trigger on them Thomas. You may have planned something for them to do, but you didn’t take their life. You may have been there for some of them when they needed you, but you didn’t kill them, love. You can’t hold yourself to that.” She said, walking up behind him and taking his hand once more.

“I almost shot myself in the fields at my own fucking house. Good thing I didn’t do that aye?” He asked, wiping a stray tear from his face as he turned around.

“I’m glad you didn’t. Who else would I have gone to for help? Who else would I have here with me?” She asked.

“You don’t need me though. You have everything under control here. You don’t need me...” He said, looking into her eyes.

“I may not need you here...but I want you here. There’s a difference.” She said, cupping the side of his face with her hand and gently pulling him to her, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

“What?” She asked, as she saw him smirk as they pulled away from each other.

“I can think of one person who wouldn’t mind having you.” He said.

“Who?” She asked.

“You’re own little errand boy. Nick...if that’s even his real name.” He said.

She smirked and shook her head gently, never noticing until now that he’d been more agreeable than John since she’d hired them, and how he’d never failed her, not once.

“He should’ve said something then. I would’ve had two lovers aye?” She said, giggling as Thomas pulled her closer.

“I’m just joking, he’s great for business, but I only have my eyes on one man...besides Mosley of course.” She said, cringing internally.

“Who’s that?” He said, his hands snaking their way onto her hips.

“You.” She said, kissing him once more before breaking away.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked as she pulled away, watching her gather things at her desk.

“I’m putting this stuff away because we have to get going. I have to get you back. Your family will think I’ve kidnapped you.” She said, locking her drawer and grabbing her coat and purse.

“I thought I was trapped here.” He said, crossing his arms.

“I’ve changed my mind now that I’ve met you.” She joked, thinking back to their first real conversation.

“I’ll drive you back to your shop. Besides someone like me wanting you, I can only imagine how wanted you are back at home by now.” She said.

“Alright. You know I’ll be back though.” He said, following her out the door.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” She said, walking hand in hand with him out to her car. The busy street bustling with people as they quickly got in.

As she drove, there was a comfortable silence, the sun streaming in as she coasted along various roads. Both of them lost in thought as she neared his shop.

“Does your family really know what we’re doing?” She asked, before he got out.

“Yes. My family is what makes up this business so they have to know. I’ll be bringing it up tonight, I’ll let you know how it goes.” He said before getting out of the car and walking quickly into the shop. She scanned the road behind her and observed the people milling around the dark muddy streets, hoping none of them were Mosley’s party members. She slowly drove away, her eyes looking through the rear view mirror every couple of minutes as her paranoia grew.

When she neared her apartment, she looked around once more, parking by a pay phone to call her various connections. Knowing one man in particular would love nothing more than to aide in taking out fascists.

“Alfie? It’s “I.” I know you never get calls from me but it’s urgent. I have a plan.” She said, her heart racing as she waited for his gravely voice to roar over the phone.

“Right, so you want me to almost get killed again? To help you and little Tommy out aye? Well...he’s a bit dumb ya know. He’s taken lots of hits to the head over the years. I’ll help you...but I can’t give you all me men, love.” He said.

“I know. I’ll pay you back for taking all those flower sacks last month how about that? I’ll give you the same pay as I would Tommy for all your efforts though, it’s a lot of money.” She said.

“It’s a damn shame he didn’t kill the fucker the first time innit? I guess I’ll accept, but after this I’m going back to Margate, love.” He said, she could hear Cyril barking in the background.

“It’ll work out, I promise. Give Cyril some kisses for me aye?” She asked.

“Alright, say....if Tommy gives you trouble you know where to find me. He’s always been bad with women.” He said.

“Goodbye Alfie.” She said, rolling her eyes as she hung up and made her way home.

As the day gradually came to a close, she sat in her office, racking her brain for how she’d take down his men. She had her gun and a plethora of knives, but as the gears in her mind shifted, she felt she was lacking something bigger. Something that could really make a statement if need be. Something...explosive.

“Shelby Company Limited, this is Polly speaking.” She heard his aunts voice say over the phone.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Shelby, please.” She said hesitantly, not wanting to reveal her name.

“Who’s calling?” She asked.

“I.” She said quickly, fumbling with the mail in her hand.

“Oh...one moment.” She said, hearing the line buzzing.

At the shop, Polly set the phone down and marched to his office, knocking harshly.

“Come in.” He said, noticing the disapproving look on her face.

“You have a call. I don’t know if it’s some whore you’ve been with or that writer but she said her name is “I.” Sounds awfully suspicious to me.” She said, her patience wearing thin with Thomas ever since her fiancé’s death.

“Put her through, I’ll take care of it.” He said, flicking his hand at her so she’d leave.

“Hello? Isla?” He asked, the phone shaking in his hand as his tremors set in slightly.

“I didn’t tell her anything. Wasn’t sure who to call though. I have a question.” She said.

“Alright? What is it?” He asked, frustrated that he’d been tore away from his work.

“Do you have any machine guns or hand grenades by any chance?” She asked.

“Why in the hell would you need those?” He asked.

“Just in case.” She said, hanging up quickly.

Thomas put the phone down and sighed, knowing he’d have to go to the warehouse instead of straight home.

“Oi! Where are you going?” Arthur asked, walking in just as Thomas prepared to leave.

“I’m going to need your help. Come with me.” He said, taking Arthur by the arm and dragging him out the door.

The two of them walked out of the office, leaving Polly and Michael to their own devices amongst the plethora of workers. Finn had been rarely seen at the shop, constantly running off with girls or doing Johns old tasks when he wasn’t snorting cocaine with Isiah.

“She’s insane Tom. Are you really bringing her machine guns and grenades?” He asked.

“Yes. She’s our only chance at ending this whole thing. I haven’t done all this for nothing Arthur. Tonight I’m holding a family meeting about all of this.” He said as they parked near the warehouse. Charlie and Curly greeted them as they made their way through the piles of dirt and scrap metal to the locked doors.

“About what Tom? Killing Mosley?” He asked, as he picked the lock.

“Mhmm. We have a plan.” He said, shoving the doors open as Arthur sighed, looking around the room they hadn’t been to in months.

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x female!reader

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byorder-fanfic · 4 years

Text

The Mechanical Dragon

Summary: Marion Qing was born with a spanner with her hand, and Arthur Shelby was born with a paintbrush in his. The two spend their youth in Charlie’s Yard, with Peaky caps proud on their heads. But what happens when war tears their lives apart?

Word count: 2499

Warnings: Mentions of racism, war, amputation, mental health

Author’s Note: This is an idea I’ve had for a while, and I hope I did alright. I have lots of Peaky Blinders OC one shots like this in my drafts, so look forward for some more! If I've said anything incorrect or offensive, please correct me. Hope you enjoy xx

Marion Qing was practically born with a spanner in her balled up fist. That's what her mother always proudly said to her friends, as they all watched the toddler graduate from jigsaw puzzles to pulling apart a clock that'd stopped ticking. Ever since she could walk, she had always trotted to where sparks flew and fires burnt as blacksmiths laboured over steel benches. Ever since she could talk, she had asked question after question about the hows and whys the mechanics worked. That was how she met the Shelbys. She had found her way through Small Heath to a little Yard that was thick in craftmanship and (although she did not know at the time) stolen bits and pieces she ached to tinker away at. Suffice to say, she had ran as fast as she could when a very surprised Charlie Strong found the ten year old sat on the floor, her grey dress thick in soot as she managed to work out how to fix the gramophone that had been collecting dust. Only, as she turned back to check that she wasn't being followed, she hurtled into the chest of a very surprised teenager, Arthur Shelby Jr, who had been sketching some horses from his Uncle's stables. After explaining her predicament, he had merely laughed and walked her back to Charlie, who was holding up the gramophone with an agape mouth that turned into a coy grin when he saw the girl slowly make her way back, holding hands with his eldest nephew.

"So, how'd you like a job?" He said. Although he'd deny it every time Arthur brought it up, the grumpy man managed the smallest ghost of a smile when Marion laughed and hugged him with her thin arms.

The rest is, as they say, history. Arthur had introduced her to the rest of his family, who had been more than welcoming to her. She and Tommy were the same age, and she was the best mentor for Ada, teaching the girl how to win fights against her brothers. Polly had been sceptical at first of the small girl with a loud voice and a joking personality to rival John's, but then Marion brought her a rose twisted from metal sheets she'd found, and her heart was taken with the little girl. The Shelbys had been her top defenders, fighting boys that made lewd comments and threatening to cut off the eyes from anyone who pulled their eyelids in a taunting manner. In response, she'd break the noses of anyone who threw slurs at the brothers and nearly killed one boy who'd gotten too handsy with Ada before the rest of them could lift a finger. Marion grew up like the boys, her skinny frame filling out into lean muscle and strong arms that proved she could fend for herself. She was a part of the Shelby siblings hand me down clothes cycle, always getting Arthur's old shirts and slacks that she'd have to cuff a dozen times to fit. She was permanently covered in oil and grease, which Tommy used as an excuse to avoid her plentiful hugs. Arthur, however, didn't care if he was in his Sunday best- he was already ready to drop whatever he was doing to hold the girl in his arms, coming away with second-hand stains and a big smile. When they joined the Peaky Blinders and rose their way to the top ranks, Marion had her very own razor blade cap that John had sewn for her (a little bit of his blood dried in the seams- he had nimble fingers, but it was a tricky project) as she paraded around Small Heath, safe and happy. Charlie was practically a father to her, since hers had died long ago, teaching her everything he knew and watching her learn things herself. As he got older, he'd just sit back and watch as Arthur and Marion slid under rusting cars, laughing along to their jokes and teasing that always occurred between the three musketeers of mechanics. When his sister died, Marion made him his very own frame with a black and white photo of the late Rose Shelby in. It was before the plague of Arthur Shelby Sr settled in her eyes, like death in the baby blue irises. She was shaking as she gave it to him, the only time she had, and ever will shake. She had been expecting a nonchalant reply or a little gruff huff, but he took her in his arms and hugged her tightly, whispering a soft 'thank you' in her ear.

When the boys went to war, she worked in the factory, building munitions for them to fight with. When she wasn't working, she was at Charlie's Yard to help out with the odd bit of work, and distract herself from missing the laughs of the Shelby brothers. She helped teach Finn to write when Polly was busy with business and Ada was off organising Communist meetings, and had helped him write many letters to be sent off to France. Sometimes, she'd help Martha with the kids, but she was never any good at babysitting. Rather, she fixed cribs and built a cot mobile for baby Katie. It was the second year after they'd left when the accident happened. Well, the factory called it an accident, but Marion knew it was a product of purposeful neglect and tight funds. As a particularly experience blacksmith, she'd been given the more technical work of building bombs and other explosives. One faulty piece of machinery, probably taken from Charlie instead of properly bought from a proper shop, and the trigger was set off. Thankfully, she had thrown it before she ended up all over the walls. Unthankfully, the explosion had blown her very heavy table (that was supposed to be secured onto the floor) into her. She'd trapped her leg, shrieking so the whole of Small Heath could hear. They'd had to amputate. It wasn't too bad, though. With a little bit of wood and nails, Marion had fashioned her own prosthetic. As a woman, she was used to strapping her stockings up, so, with a piece of leather, she managed to attach the limb to a sturdy garter to keep it on. She didn't go back to the factory, which had received an earful of complaints from every Shelby woman, and a lot of strong words from a red faced Finn and a morally supportive Isaiah Jesus nodding in the background. Instead, she stayed at the betting shop, doing errands where she could and fixing horse shoes and the like.

When the boys came back, they were in for a shock. Not only was little Finn taller than they remembered and Polly wasn't drinking so much, but their Marion had lost a bloody leg!

"Why didn't you tell us?" Arthur demanded as soon as he put her back on the ground. He'd picked her up and swung her about as soon as he saw her, before he realised there was a limp block where her leg should be.

"Wanted to see your face," she shrugged nonchalantly as John less-than-subtlety gawked at it, earning a nudge in the ribs from Martha. "I'm glad I did- it's a fuckin' picture, mate!"

The rest of the boys sent off to France had a similar reaction. It was the funniest thing she had ever seen when thirteen year old Isaiah and ten year old Finn were reprimanding fully grown blokes from staring at her. They'd both been there as she whittled the wood, offering to help at every single moment. It annoyed Polly endlessly, wondering why all the enthusiasm couldn't be devoted for doing errands for the betting shop. It was all false complaints, as the boys were doing something other than worrying for the next letter, and learning some useful skills, like woodwork. The boys also helped her with her surplus of jokes on the matter.

"How'd it happen?" Danny had asked the first night back, as they all sat in the Garrison, Freddie and Tommy in the middle of some sort of dispute the rest were attempting to politely ignore.

"Ah, well, it's a tragic story." She said it loudly and theatrically, clutching her chest. She no longer wore Arthur's hand-me-downs, opting for her own softer shirts that smelt fresh and new, until she spilled whiskey and petrol on it. Isaiah and Finn gave each other knowing looks. God knows how the boys managed to convince Polly and Jeremiah to let them come along. But, with two glasses of tap water and an understandable amount of clinginess to their family who had left for years, they were hardly in any trouble.

"She barely survived," Isaiah echoed as he attempted to get even closer under his father's arm (if that was even possible), who was watching him fondly.

"She's a true hero!" Finn raised his glass like he'd seen his brothers do plenty of times before, earning a scoff and affectionate hair ruffle from Tommy, as Arthur sat back in his seat, waiting to hear more. John wasn't there, instead he was spending his first night home with Martha and the kids. He was happy to be back and more than happy to babysit every day, especially with Martha feeling under the weather recently.

"Well?" Freddie asked, resting his elbow on the back of his chair.

"It was 1916," she said solemnly. Polly and Ada shared a roll of their eyes, going unnoticed by the boys. "Business was hard, me and my ma didn't have enough money for the flat." She let her face go blank, silently praying Finn could keep his giggles in for a second longer. "So I had to get money another way."

"You sold your leg?" Tommy sounded astonished, his wide eyes believing the lie she was feeding him. Then everyone started laughing, and he rolled his eyes.

"Nah," she grinned against the rim of her glass, as the rest of them shared snicker and a sigh and cocked their eyebrows at it. "Factory had faulty parts whilst I was building some explosives, it knocked a bench onto my leg and crushed it."

"Fuck," Danny whispered, looking at her with wide eyes. The rest of them looked at her sympathetically, a look she didn't enjoy.

"Oh well," she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "Guess I can join you idiots with one foot in the grave, hey?"

The Garrison was filled with laughter, Arthur bringing one arm around her as his booming voice carried through the room. They spent the rest of the night celebrating, instead of wallowing, something they were all thankful for.

Arthur was fascinated by it, always asking if it hurt or how did she make the joints move so well. Marion wasn't too bothered, happy to give him a distraction from his 'Flanders blues'. He was the only one she told about the phantom pains, and he confided in her about the nightmares, each holding on to the other in their struggles, each trying to help the other. When she asked him to paint it for her, he gave her the sweetest, wide-eyed look of astonishment that made her giggle.

"Are you sure?" He repeated that about a thousand times, more so when he actually set out the acrylics he got when he was younger.

"Yes, I'm sure," she'd always reply, with a roll of her eyes. The final result was beautiful. When Arthur had dragged her away from Charlie's Yard (cautious of the walking stick she'd been using whilst her leg was temporarily out of use), she felt excitement course through her, heart beating faster as she stumbled up the stairs to Arthur's little room. He'd sat her on the bed, leaving the stick on the floor as he turned around to show it off. She'd expected horses, as that was always the thing he'd draw the most. Instead, she saw red. From the ankle to the thigh, a scaly, scarlet creature coiled around the wood, intricately and painstakingly painted in a familiar fashion.

"A Chinese dragon?" Her voice was breathless. She'd grown up isolated from her culture, just like how the Shelby family had lost their Romani roots when their father forced them to settle. There were many Chinese families around Small Heath though, who spoke in Cantonese and Mandarin that she longed to understand, and wore pretty patterns that she envied. She'd told Arthur all this when they both got pissed on her eighteenth birthday, just a bit before Finn was born. That was the first time they'd kissed...and did other things, although they'd never spoken of it since she woke up alone.

"Yeah, I remember, y'know, that night..." he sounded unsure, eyes darting everywhere but in her eyes, hands twisting his cap together. "And, well, I thought it'd look pretty. So, I went to the suit shop, and asked for a pattern to copy. I wanted to make sure it wasn't...y'know, uh, offensive or nothin', but if it is, I can go over and try somethin' else, or-"

She cut off his blabbering with a rough kiss, teeth clattering and her giggles as his moustache tickled her. He hadn't had that at twenty one, but it wasn't an unwelcome addition. Her newly painted prosthetic sat between them on his bed, digging against her right knee as Arthur tried to pull her closer in his eager kiss. Thy broke apart, him blushing and her smiling. With an arched eyebrow, she pulled up her skirt (she didn't wear them a lot, but it made the process easier when she did), revealing to Arthur her knickers and the garter belt she'd fashioned after a few lessons from Polly, below the straps was the scarred stump, ending a few inches above where her knee once was. She noticed his wide eyes with a little bit of newfound shyness as she slipped the cushioned end around her scars, clasping the leather straps onto the belt with a few clicks.

"That's fuckin' amazing," Arthur whispered as she looked up at him. He started to blush again. "Listen, Mari, I...I want you to know that, when we were eighteen, right, and I...when we...well, I shouldn't have left ya." He sighed, looking down to his empty hands. His cap had fallen to their floor once his attention was diverted elsewhere, and he was attempting to replicate the twist of material with his rough hands. "I loved ya then. I love ya now. I just didn't know, still don't...how I'm supposed to be good enough for ya."

"You know," she said, admiring the dragon that flew up under her skirt (she was certain Finn and Isaiah were going to awe at the painting). "Just don't leave again, okay?"

"Okay," he breathed out, pulling her onto his lap (successfully, this time) as he kissed her again, making a silent promise to himself that he'd never let go.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders oc #arthur shelby #arthur shelby x oc #john shelby #tommy shelby #isaiah jesus #finn shelby #charlie strong #polly gray #ada shelby #freddie thorne #danny whiz bang #jeremiah jesus #martha shelby

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