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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years

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Gateway Drug | Part Fifty-Six

A/N: Hey, guys! I know it seems like we're never gonna get to the good stuff because I'm not moving as quickly through the story as usual (10 chapters usually = 1 year) but that's because there's A LOT that's happening in 1987 and I don't want to rush through it because it's all important to the build up. But thank you for being patient, I promise it will get to the drama very soon!

Also, I would just like to know what are some of your Gateway Drug unpopular opinions??? Just send me an ask (anonymous or not, doesn't matter to me) and let me know if you've got one💜

Words: 4k

Warning(s): explicit language, domestic abuse, mentions of drug abuse

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After weeks of going back and forth over the Duff ordeal, Nikki and I had finally put it behind us.

Or so I thought.

I smile at my pastor as I take his extended hand for a second, the two of us exchanging "goodbye"s after service.

"Have a good week, Vivian." He tells me.

I open my mouth to reply but the loud sound of a Harley Davidson is causing he and I, and everyone waiting behind me to speak to him, and everyone already in the parking lot, to turn attention to the culprit.

Nikki stops at the curb on the street, arrogantly grinning at me and I nervously glance at my pastor.

"I-I'm gonna go. I'll see you next Sunday, good sermon." I assure him.

"See you then, Vivian." He replies, his eyes still on Nikki before I'm quickly making my way off the church's porch, my heels clicking against the pavement as I step to the street.

"Nikki, what are you doing here?" I ask him, and he looks at me over his shades.

"You gonna get on the bike or not?" He ignores me, chewing his gum, and I exhale.

"I'm wearing a dress." I state.

"I know, you look pretty." He looks me up and down.

"No, I mean I'm wearing a dress. I can't just straddle a bike at 55 miles per hour, Nikki. It'll be blowing over my head."

"Then take it off." He shrugs.

"Nikki."

"Babe, it's Los Angeles. Nobody cares if they see Vivian Sixx's panties." He brushes it off and I just stare at him, not wanting to tell him why that's still an issue.

His face shifts, his grin turns into a full-fledged smile, a boyish laugh flutters past his lips and he looks so, so amused.

"You're not wearing any?" He asks me, and I turn beet red, hitting at his arm with my hand.

"I couldn't. There was a panty line." I explain to him as discreetly as I can.

"You didn't wear panties to church?"

"Shh!" I cover his mouth with my hand for a second, glancing around.

It seems people are just staring because Nikki Sixx is in their parking lot.

I don't know if some of them even realize that he's attended a service here before.

"Well, lemme see." He enthusiastically let's out as he reaches for the hem of my dress that falls right about my knees and I swat his hand away, giving him a death glare. "You're dirty." He teases and I hug my Bible to me.

"Shut up."

He's suddenly dropping his switchblade from his pocket on purpose and it hits the ground.

"Oops. Wanna bend over and pick it up?" He asks me and I hit him again, causing him to laugh once again.

He reaches down and grabs it before patting the seat behind him.

"Viv, seriously, commando aside, get on. We have a hot date for brainstorming the video ideas for 'Girls, Girls, Girls'."

I look around again before just having to mentally say "screw it" and strategically get on without flashing anyone, making sure my dress lays between me and the seat.

Nikki and I give one last glance to the folks coming out of the church, looking at us, including the pastor.

Nikki offers a mischievous smile and a wave before crossing himself and I lightly hit his thigh while saying, "babe, quit, it's not a catholic church."

"Oh. Oops." He shrugs before taking off.

One thing about Harley Davidson, if you're sensitive to sensation, you will damn near be drowning yourself by the time the ride is over.

I scowl at Nikki as I take another paper towel and wipe myself clean as he leans against the door of the bathroom, chuckling at me.

"It's not funny. My dress is wet." I scold him.

"Well, it's not my fault your pot holds that much honey." He defends himself, trying to hold back more laughter.

I stare him down."Okay, I'm sorry. I'm being insensitive to your hyperactive pussy-juice glands." He let's out in a serious tone but he smirks when I look at him, again.

"Nikki."

"Shoulda worn panties, huh? Well, wouldn't have mattered that'd just be one more thing for you to gripe about leaking in."

"Keep talking and you won't get to dip your honey wand in the pot for very, very, long time." I threaten and he stops abruptly.

"Fine." He smartly says, rolling his eyes.

Once I get cleaned up, we're stepping into the studio just in time for Vince to sarcastically say:

"'Pussy. Everywhere. All kinds of pussy'."

As if he's mocking somebody.

"Stupid fucker." He adds, he, Tommy, Doc and Mick all turning to face us.

"I need to go back to church." I tell Nikki and he smiles, shaking his head a little.

"Hey, Viv." Vince greets me, looking me up and down, exaggerating the kiss of his teeth. "You look good today."

"Means a lot coming from someone who thinks groupies are the most beautiful women in the world." I say through a fake smile.

"Any woman with a good body and right equipment is the most beautiful woman in the world to me." He agrees, grinning.

"Swine."

"Dirty stripper."

"Strippers!" Tommy suddenly pipes and I look at him.

"Tommy, please, don't encourage him."

"No, for the video. Film it in a strip club." He suggests.

"Would that get played on television?" I ask.

"Fuck MTV. I'm down." Vince agrees with Tommy.

"Mick?" Tommy nudges at the guitar player, who shrugs.

"That's the whole point of the song, isn't it?" He says.

The three of them look to Nikki for final approval and Nikki looks at me, an evil genius smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Under one condition."

The one condition being...

"Are you out of your mind?!" I say to Nikki when we get back home as he continues to try to convince me.

We had to go by and get my car from church and I thought we had settled it before we even left the studio but just as we met at our front door, he asked me about it, again.

"Viv, it's like a four minute song and you won't be but in a few clips of the video."

"I'm not playing the part of a stripper, Nikki! I'm not..." I try to think of the words to describe everything an exotic dancer has that I don't. "...I don't have it." Is the best I can use to explain it.

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"I don't know but I'm not comfortable prancing around in heels and lingerie, dancing for strangers in a club and millions of more on television." I state. "I'm not doing it."

"Well you heard Sharise when Vince called and asked her. She said 'yes'."

"I'm not her, Nikki. Sharise can pull it off because she's sexy and sensual and confident enough for it."

He looks at me like I've lost my last marble.

"Vivian, are you fucking kidding me? You don't think you're sexy?!"

"No, I'm not, now drop it." I tell him, stepping to our bedroom.

Firstly, glory to God and all the saints said "amen", secondly...you can find me dancing half naked several times in Mötley Crüe's infamous "Girls, Girls, Girls" music video.

"Baby, you're perfect. What the hell are you talking about?" He follows after me and I sigh.

"Of course you think that because we're together." I state, about to get a shower and change clothes.

"Viv, seriously." He grabs at my wrist to stop me from walking away, his hand gently running across my cheek. "I am married to the most beautiful, smart, funny, loving, sexy woman on the entire planet."

"Thank you for the ass kissing, but if it's in an effort to get me to be in the video, it's still a 'no'."

"I was just reminding you of those things." He tells me, smiling. "Can you at least think about doing the video?"

"Nope." I reply, pecking his lips before stepping to the shower.

There is no way in hell I'm going to be in that video.

I don't know how the hell we went from that day to this:

My blood boils.

I can tell Nikki's smirking, despite his back being turned to me in his seat as "Wild Side" starts to fade out, sounds of the street playing in the song signaling it's ending.

I've managed to keep from saying a word, hoping the song got better at some point...except it only got worse.

Vince, Tommy, Mick and Doc all wait for me to say something.

Anything.

Nikki finally turns to face me, smirk tugging at his lips, eyes fucked on heroin, and I see nothing but the devil looking at me.

"Well?" He asks me, leaned back, hand covering his lips to attempt to mask his pride in pissing me off.

"Typically when you ask someone to repeat a prayer that's important to their faith, you don't write a song that completely picks apart and disrespects--"

"--Oh, here we go." He grumbles, rolling his eyes.

"I'm sorry, did you expect to write bullshit like 'our Father who ain't in Heaven' and think I would be ok--"

"--I expected you to fucking support me--" He starts but I stop him.

"--Somebody's up there or else you wouldn't be alive!" I state, talking over him.

His laugh mocks me, only causing more tension to fill up the room, and I have to keep myself from going at him.

"I'm alive because I fucking want to be." He hisses.

"That's real bold of you to say, Nikki."

"Oh, is it? Because it pisses God, or whatever else imaginary friend you cry to, off?"

"Nikki." Doc states, knowing he's just trying to piss me off at this point.

"Fuck off, Doc." He barks. "I took a meaningless chant and turned it into something useful. I'm sorry if you're too closed minded to accept that, Vivian."

I don't say a word, grabbing my purse and stepping to the door as fast as I can, not wanting to argue over something he thinks is stupid to begin with. "It really sucks you don't like, especially since you're a credited co-writer on it." He states suddenly and this stops me in my tracks.

"I'm what?" I ask through my teeth.

"A credited co-writer. Meaning when the album is put out, your name will be listed as one of the writers of the song." He explains.

I spin around to face him and he's looking at me innocently.

I'm not angry with the song. I'm angry he knew it would upset me, and instead of giving me a warning or being honest with me about it, he's instead saying everything he can to further hurt me, and he's proud of himself for it.

"I thought you'd be happy with that...you know, early anniversary present?" He's wearing a smug smile.

"Nikki. How you're going about it is disrespectful to me." I try to tell him, calmly.

"So is lying to me about who you're hanging out with."

That does it.

I get one good punch in before everyone's in an uproar, trying to separate us.

Nikki's got a fistful of my hair, and I'm hitting Doc as hard as I can, trying to get him away from Nikki so I can better access the feral bastard.

Doc gets knocked out of the way, and Nikki's other hand grabs at my throat while I kick at him roughly, causing him to let me go and stumble back a few steps before I'm swinging on him again.

Doc blocks my hit and Tommy and Vince keep Nikki away from me.

"Let the little bitch go, I wanna fucking show her something!" Nikki threats angrily

"You've showed me enough of your bullshit the last four years that divorce is something I'm looking forward to!" I shout back.

"Psycho cunt!"

"Mommy Issued Junkie!" I bite back, causing him to try to get to me again, and causing me to fight against Doc once more.

"Stop it!" Doc yells over us.

"Fuck you!" Nikki and I exclaim at the same time.

His cheek is bright red from where I hit him, and my scalp is burning from how hard he tugged at my hair.

"Guys, c'mon." Tommy tells us as they try to get us to calm down.

"This is starting to get ridiculous." Vince adds.

"Fuck off, Vince!" Nikki snaps.

"Shut the fuck up, Nikki." Vince puts in just as I say, "don't fucking talk to him like that!" in defense of Vince.

"Oh, have you been lying to me about how much time you spend with him, too?!"

"How much time are you really spending with Vanity, Nikki?! I can easily turn this back around on you!" I point out.

Nikki, Vince, and Tommy all get awfully quiet, Nikki's nostrils flaring.

I know he's spending more time with her, except he's never lied to me about it, he just doesn't necessarily tell me when they hang out. And it's because he wants me to believe he's off crack, and if they hang out, they're doing drugs together.

"Get the fuck out." He demands.

"Gladly. Don't bother coming home tonight. Just stay out, shoot up with Robbin and smoke crack with Vanity. I'm fucking done." I sneer before grabbing my things and slamming the door behind me as I leave.

But I wasn't done.

I scrub at another glass, hearing the front door being unlocked, and Nikki's steps coming inside before the door shuts and I hear him give out a heavy sigh.

I don't acknowledge him when he steps into the kitchen to grab a paper bag from the fridge, turning on his heel before heading back to the door.

He gets outside and I hear the sound of his bike firing back up.

"Damn it, Viv." I breathe out to myself, feeling guilty for what all I said to him, and a small part of me hopes he feels guilty, too.

I finish the dishes and immediately call Robbin, praying he hasn't gone out to meet Nikki, yet.

I'm ready to hang up by the third ring, until I hear:

"Hello?"

"Robbin, hey, it's Viv." I tell him.

"Hey, babe, what're you up to?"

"Are you and Nikki hanging out tonight?" I ask him and he hesitates.

"We are..."

"Where at?"

"Jeez, I don't know, Viv. Probably start at the Cathouse, end up at a strip joint or something."

"He's pissed at me, Robbin."

"Yeah, he called me from the studio when you left."

"I told him not to come home tonight."

"...And he's not." He replies.

"No, he's not, but I want him to."

"Then tell him."

"He's not gonna listen to me." I argue.

"Then don't piss him off."

"Well, tell him not to piss me off."

"Then, you tell him."

"I've tried, he doesn't listen to me."

The line is silent for a second and I blink.

"Hello?"

"This is why I'm not married. Jesus Christ."

"Robbin, you're engaged, remember?" I remind him.

"No, no, this is why I'm not married to you. Laurie's not cra--" He stops himself abruptly and I raise my brows.

"What was that?"

"Uh, oh, wow I-I think I'm breaking up on you, Viv."

I can tell he's rustling his hand over the phone, giving the effect of static.

"Robbi--"

"--I'll talk to him, love you, bye, Viv."

He hangs up and I exhale.

Karen comes into the kitchen, wearing a cocktail dress and heels, her hair and makeup done.

"I'm going on a date." She tells me. "If I'm not back by 2:00am, call the cops. I've been murdered." She sternly says.

"Got it." I nod.

"We're going out on the strip." She adds. "Which is all bars, clubs and strippers, so pray for me."

"If you see Vince, don't let him talk to you. You'll be in the back of his limo before you even realize what hit you."

"Trust me, I know, I have mace specifically for 'Vince Repellent'." She assures me, touching up her lipstick. "Alright, I'll see you later."

"Okay, have fun." I offer to her.

Once she's gone, I'm arguing with myself internally as I glance at the clock, trying to decide if I should try to reconcile with Nikki or not.

He'll be junked out and still mean, it won't do any good.

The shitty part is that I've noticed he's started to take maintenance doses through out the day, especially before we go out somewhere.

It's been easy to decipher if he's sober or not by just suggesting we go somewhere as simple as the grocery store.

When he's sober, he can't spend more than two minutes in a room full of people--five minutes, max, if I make him stay longer than what he wants to.

But when he's got smack going through him, he acts like his normal, social self.

I asked Izzy about it a couple weeks ago and he said Nikki's probably reached the point where if he doesn't have even the smallest amount of heroin in his system ever so often, withdraw symptoms and the pain of the impact the drugs have on his body, will start up.

And as for the social aspect, he said he more than likely doesn't know how to function without heroin as his anxiety buffer anymore.

That's ever more sad because Nikki use to be perfectly fine socializing without anything in his system. But now he can't even go to the Rainbow to eat with the guys, or go on a date with me, without shooting up to calm himself down and if he over does it on his dose, he's either too out of it to be social anyway, or he's a fucking prick.

Which only means one thing in my mind: Nikki's the farthest into it he can get. The next step, if he doesn't stop it, is funeral planning.

I step to our bedroom, deciding I'll just leave him alone tonight.

He and Tommy leave in a couple days, with the guys mastering and mixing their album, to New York to finish off the process there.

Maybe he'll have an epiphany while he's gone for a handful of days and come back and apologize for being a dick to me the past few days...more like "past few years."

Oh, yeah. I better have many jewels on my crown when I get to heaven for not leaving the crazy bastard by now.

How can I leave him? He needs good, solid people around him that won't sugar coat shit to save his ego and his feelings.

He needs me, and lots of God, but I've never been one to force my beliefs onto him, and I'm not going to start now.

Lately he's let off that he despises God more now than he did when we dated.

Again, I personally think there are actual demons fucking with his head, using his addiction to sneak in and start lashing out through him.

Our house even feels like it's riddled with something evil.

Dark energy, demons, bad vibes, whatever you choose to call it, it hits you like a wave when you step foot in the house.

Something sick and demented has built its nest and with Nikki's incline in his use, whatever it is has made its point clear: it's not leaving until Nikki's dead.

On my way to the bathroom, I notice his journal on his nightstand. He usually keeps them hidden from me, but I know he's written in one since before we dated because I've seen him write in one, but I've rarely just seen one laying around.

He usually keeps them put up.

A lightbulb goes off in my mind as I stare at the book that contains a multitude of sins and secrets in his handwriting.

"No. That's wrong. It's an invasion of his trust and privacy." I little voice in my mind tells me.

"He doesn't talk to you about private things as much as you think he does. Don't you wanna know what he really does when you aren't around...or how he really feels about you?" An arguing voice counters.

"He hasn't given you any reason to not trust him."

"Ha! That you know of. Read the diary and you'll probably have a multitude of reasons not to trust him."

"He loves you. He cares about you. He wants you. If he didn't, he wouldn't take your shit, and if you didn't feel the same for him, you wouldn't take his. Why do you need to dig through his confidential, personal, thoughts and feelings?"

"You two are married. If your husband has confidential anything he's keeping from you, that's a red flag."

"Give him the basic respect, Vivian. Don't read it."

"Fuck respect. He called you a 'psycho cunt' earlier. You need to get to the bottom of why he calls you awful things when he's on junk. Oh, yeah, because he thinks those awful things about you when he's sober, he just doesn't give a voice to them until he can't control himself."

"He loves you. He doesn't think those things about you. He just says them to get a reaction out of you."

"I bet he's about to spring a divorce on you."

I squeeze my eyes closed.

"Shut up!" I yell, silencing the voices, taking a heavy breath.

Deciding not to read it, I just pick the diary up and open his night table drawer, placing it soundly inside before closing it shut.

What I would have ended up reading, had I decided to let my curiosity kill me:

March 23, 1987

Van Nuys

4:47am

Fuck. Early last night Vanity called the house looking for me. I forgot Viv was at home and when I let the machine take the call, Vanity was fucked up and was spewing out everything she wanted to do to me the next time she saw me. I've never moved that fast in my fucking life to answer a phone. Viv would've had a stroke if she heard Vanity describe the kind of blowjob I'd be getting from her, but thank god Viv was by the pool.

She's starting to wonder when exactly I'm leaving my wife. I just keep telling her after the tour is over. I don't even know when I told her I was leaving Viv but she claims I promised her I was going to so now I'm even further in the shithole.

I keep waiting for Vanity to drop the bomb about mine and her's antics to Vivian. Anytime we're all hanging out, I'm bracing for impact, along with Vince and Tommy, and Vanity knows it. She uses it to her fucking advantage.

I'll say I can't spend time with her because I want to stay home or want to have a night with Viv, and Vanity will say something like, "I wonder if you'd have a home to stay in if she knew the truth" or "oh, I forgot about Viv. Should I tell her you forget about her sometimes, too?"

I want to break things off because I know it'll destroy Viv if she finds out, and I really have no business having a full-blown affair, or even seeing anyone else, but I'm nervous that Vanity will spitefully let Viv know what's been going on.

I'm fucking tired. Tired of living, tired of wanting to die, tired of junk, tired of sobriety, tired of my mistress (if you would even call her that...in my mind she's just a chick that gets the job done when I'm out of my mind and my wife isn't around).

I swear I'm two different people.

Sikki fucks Vanity, abuses Vivian and acts like a rottweiler with rabies towards other people when he's not in the mood.

I don't know who or what the fuck I am anymore. And I don't care, either.

P.S. - I've realized the reason so many of the greats OD when they're in their prime is because all the fucking girls driving them absolutely fucking crazy. It's hard to stay sober when you're fucking two of the hardest ballbusters in L.A. and their crazy infects you and starts to fester.

P.P.S. - Would it be bad if I admit I wouldn't mind "accidentally" shooting Duff in the leg? Call it junkie's intuition: I have a feeling, and I don't want it anywhere near my wife

#nikki sixx #mötley crüe #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction #gateway drug

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angelaiswriting · 5 years

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Children (3 of 4) | Michael Gray x reader

[original picture: probably pixabay but i honestly forgot]

✏️ Pairing: Michael Gray x wife!reader

✏️ Summary: Michael and his wife have been invited to Polly’s for a family dinner and have a bomb to drop: they’re expecting their fifth child. (Requested by Anonymous)

✏️ A/N: the prompt I was given was “Could you stop getting her pregnant? Or I’m going to have to get a bigger table for family dinner”. I tweaked it a little to fit the conversation, hope you don’t mind. I’m posting this earlier than my usual posting time because I might have to go visit my aunt soon.

✏️ IMPORTANT NOTE: do NOT send me spoilers about season 5, and do NOT strike up a convo about S5 with me bc only God knows when it’ll be availabe in Italy. Don’t tell me anything about S5, please and thank you 💛

✏️ Warnings: just fluff (and probably more kids than Polly is willing to look after right now)

✏️ Word-count: 2,511

<< part one: children << | << part two: anna and john << | PART THREE: A BIGGER TABLE | >> part four: warhorse >>

There is something indescribably peaceful in the sight of his pregnant wife, even when she’s not showing much yet – or, at least, this is what Michael Gray thinks as he helps his daughter anna with her brand-new red polish shoes. He helps his daughter but his eyes are trained on his wife as she secures the twins in their tiny navy blue coats.

His mother has invited them over for another one of her family dinners and has caught the occasion with both hands to celebrate Anna’s fourth birthday one more time – it doesn’t matter that they’ve thrown a party last week, because if Polly Gray decides to take it upon herself to spoil her only granddaughter rotten, then there’s no stopping her.

Michael, on his part, is not complaining, either, not when his mother has so kindly – for Shelby standards, that is – proposed to keep the children over for the night. It’s a blessing, if he has to be honest, and it’s not because he doesn’t love his children, but rather because he’s in desperate need of a peaceful night of sleep. This is the one thing he hasn’t been able to get in a while and despite the fact that the twins have turned two just the months before, they’re already following in on their brother John’s path.

“Daddy?”

He picks Anna up in his arms when he’s done tying the laces of her shoes and he pecks the tip of her nose as he hums in answer.

The girl’s arms are wrapped tightly around his neck before he has the chance to tell her to hold on tight and the second later, she’s pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

“Think Nana will let me sleep in her bed tonight?” she asks and the look she gives him makes him chuckle.

He doesn’t know where this trait of hers comes from, whether from the Gray or the Shelby half of the family; all he knows is that his princess is able to use it to her advance. All she needs is the right look in her eyes and a slight pout on her lips and even the fucking King would do what she says. If she ever ends up working for the family business – he reasons as he puts her down on the ground after the couple of minutes spent sitting on the table of the big room –, she will be a great addition to the team. Clever eyes, even smarter and sharper tongue already at this age, he’s sure there’s nothing she won’t be able to achieve if she sets her mind on it. She had the unyielding stubbornness of the Grays and the blind courage of the Shelbys, and both traits are paired to his wife’s wit and kindness and that’s all Anna will need to succeed in life – or to fall, but Michael is not thinking about it now nor will he think about it later on in life.

“You give her this look,” he simply suggests with a chuckle, “and I’m sure she will. Now go call John, it’s time to leave.”

After that, two-year-old Henry is in his arms while Paul is in his wife’s. It’s always so beautifully weird, to look at his two youngest sons and see them one the carbon copy of the other. They have his green eyes and his wife’s hair and when they laugh, they have his cousin John’s chuckle.

“Michael?”

Y/N is looking at him with the brightest smile on her face when he turns to the side to glance at her.

She’s fucking glowing – he wants to tell her this much. Wants to tell her she’s his fucking star, the light of his life. And he knows it’s her usual pregnancy glow, but she’s so fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect his knees always wobble a little when his gaze lands on her. And he wonders what he’s done to deserve someone like her – to have the chance to fall in love and have a family of his own with her.

“You shouldn’t encourage her.” She’s chuckling, his wife, and all he wants to do is close the distance between them, cradle her face as he holds his son to his chest and kiss her – fucking take her breath away and make her weak in the knees as he pours all he feels for her into the kiss.

“She doesn’t need my encouragement,” he shrugs.

And it’s the truth – whether he tells Anna to use her doe eyes and pleading pout on the next unfortunate soul or nor, his daughter would always do what she thinks is best to reach her goals. At that, she’s a young Polly Gray at heart and Michael often thinks this is the reason why his mother has decided to spoil her, to bend the knee and give her what she wants. She is probably the one truly encouraging her in her antics, seeing more potential in her than she does in her nephews.

Y/N answers with an amused shake of her head and a smile, and Michael knows she agrees with him.

Then, before she has the time to speak, Anna is dashing down the stairs with John at her heels and they’re both laughing. It’s that kind of laughter that fills your belly and your heart even if you’re not the one currently laughing and it still – and always, without the shadow of a doubt – makes you smile. It brings you back to a childhood forever gone and it reminds you of the weight that has settled on your shoulders growing up. And while that weight is still there and always will be, it’s suddenly lighter, not that heavy to carry as you end up chuckling.

“Children!” His wife doesn’t need for her voice to boom in the hall of their mansion, for their children always listen to her. They just know it’s better to listen to their Mummy rather than to displease her. “John, take your sister’s hand,” she says, shifting Paul on her other hip. “And Ann, you can play hide-and-seek with your brother and your cousins when we get to Nana’s house, yeah? Not before.”

Unsurprisingly, the siblings listen and as Michael watches John take his sister’s hand in his hold, there’s pure, scorching pride bubbling up in his heart. He looks at them and the only thought – the only prayer – in his mind is: please, don’t grow up.

All he wants to do is stop time and enjoy his children’s childhood – their laughter, their games, even their cries in the middle of the night because they’ve just woken up from some unpleasant dream. He wants for John and Anna and Paul and Henry – and even his fifth unborn child – to remain young forever, to not know the shadows that lurk in the daylight, to not feel unsafe because Daddy and his family have made themselves moronic enemies.

Sometimes he thinks of Esme when this wish comes up and he wonders where she and the kids might be. He wonders whether they’re safe, alive, happy as both Shelbys and Grays are still stuck in sticky quicksands.

Polly’s house is a bedlam, even though a much quieter one now that the children have been fed and are full, playing in the living room as the adults still sit at the dining table.

It’s quiet and the smoke of his cigarette seems to tickle Michael’s skin as he inhales it. The cigarette is light between his fingers, but it’s also an anchoring weight that keeps him tied to this world as he floats in his own, private bubble of fatherhood happiness.

Anyone that looks at him sees his glow just like he can see his wife’s. He’s not as heavied-down as he used to be once. His step is lighter, his smile is brighter and there’s a contagious twinkle in his eyes that just wasn’t there before John’s birth. It just gets bigger and brighter the more children he has and right now…

Right now he wants to scream from the rooftops that another one is in the oven, slowly baking, and that he loves his wife so much that he’d have ten more children with her. Boys, girls, twins – it doesn’t matter, it never does. He just wants to give her the gift of motherhood one more time – and then, one more time – and to be given that of fatherhood again and again and again.

He lives for his children. Sometimes, he truly does. He wakes up in the morning and they’re his first thought and when he has to leave for work early in the morning, when the house is still floating in slumber, he presses a kiss to each of his children’s forehead and he looks at them for a second or two with a dreamy smile on his lips. And he knows – he just does – that his day is going to be okay.

They’re also his main concern – as it rightfully should be. And he wants to give them the best life he can afford. And if they asked, he would give them the moon because he’s just so utterly theirs that his heart aches and warms him up from the inside.

And when he looks at his family – at Tommy, finally smiling; at Finn and his lovely girlfriend; at Arthur, finally happy with Linda at his side, and then at his mum, glowing as bright as the sun as she sits there, with the people he loves like her children –, he feels at peace. There are no enemies here, no dangers, just a bunch of probably dysfunctional but nonetheless still happy people drinking and smoking because fuck, it’s so good to have a family these days.

And it leaves his lips before he realizes the words are there, pressing behind his teeth.

“Y/N and I are having another kid.”

His voice is soft and faint, and his heart is even lighter. He almost feels high – almost – and it’s the warm ecstasy of something far better than cocaine. And despite the confession not being loud, all conversations stop and hang in the air as all eyes turn to look at him.

The silent is buzzing and in the background, playing in another room, everyone can hear the children laugh and talk together as Anna – the only girl – tries to organize some game where she is the only commander.

“Is this a plan or…” Arthur’s question fades into silence as his cousins and sister-in-law and mother process what Michael has just said.

That Y/N and I are having another kid feels almost like a bomb dropped when nobody was expecting it and the deflagration confuses the ground for a moment before life starts breathing again.

“The doctor says I’m eight or nine weeks in,” his wife answers.

Michael takes his cigarette from his lips with his left hand and shifts his right on the table to take his wife’s hand in his. He loves her – he looks at her and that’s his only thought. Love bubbles up beneath his skin, love buzzes through his veins, love fills his belly and his heart alike and he feels light, peaceful, at ease.

It takes Polly a while to talk, to form words in her mind first and in her mouth later. And when she eventually breaks the trance enough, Tommy has already stood up to wrap his cousin into a hug.

“Another one?” There’s clear shock and surprise in his mother’s voice as she looks up at him from her chair, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Michael shrugs and his wife chuckles as she stands up to let the men kiss her cheeks in their usual congratulatory manner.

“Are you… Are you two competing with John, by any means?”

John is still a sore and delicate button, one no one ever pushes, but today’s different. Today John’s death isn’t as painful, and his blood on his pristine shirt isn’t as crimson. It’s a throbbing pain in the back of their mind, sure, but it’s not the mind-shattering, heart-stopping memory it’s used to be for a while.

“The more of us out there, the fewer problems we’ll have, right?” Michael jokes, pulling his wife into his side and planting a sloppy kiss on her lips.

Y/N beams, eyes closed and smile wide as she melts in his arms and he can’t wait to be back home. He can’t wait to be back home alone with her and show his wife how much he loves her all over again – how much he loves her and their children and their slowly-growing (or quickly-growing, as Polly would insist) family. How much he loves his domestic life and his warm wife and the rascals he has for kids.

What damage could one more bring?

They all chat away happily as they take their seats and Polly is the only one who’s silent. No one pays her any attention for a minute or two, but when the take her silence in, all chatter stops.

“Don’t you think it’s time to… take a step back for a while?” His mother is downing her drink when Michael looks at her. “You know, take a break, enjoy peace for a while before going for another?”

He’s surprised. And sort of scared. He never thought his own mother would be against him becoming a father one more time, but now that she’s talking like this… His blood slowly turns cold, the grip he has on his wife’s hand turns tighter and he’s suddenly too terrified to move a muscle.

It’s like his happy bubble bursts – it flies too close to a thorn and the second after, there are only minuscule droplets of water raining down.

Polly grins then, though, and she chuckles and when she does, the blood starts flowing again in his veins. Relief washes over him and it all happens in a fraction of a second: one moment he’s tensing up like a violin’s string, the next his back is relaxing against the chair and he turns to glance at his wife with a look in his eyes that can only mean oh, thank God!

There’s a third moment to that quick metamorphosis of events: Polly pulls him up to his feet and has his face in her hands in a second before she kisses his cheeks. And he’s never seen her this happy.

“For fuck’s sake, Michael!” She’s laughing and nothing has ever felt sweeter than the sound of his mother’s laughter in this moment. “Stop getting Y/N pregnant or I’ll need a bigger table for family dinners!”

They all join in on her laughter when Arthur adds a “Or a bigger house” and the happiness is contagious and scalding and for once they all laugh like Michael’s children when they play with each other.

Michael and his wife are planning to have one more kid, though. Don’t tell Pol and the Shelbys!

Feedback and PB requests are welcome! ❤️

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @mblaqgi

Peaky Blinders: @whimsylavender @thethyri @friendleyneighbourhoodvillain @flowers-in-your-hayr @oddsnendsfanfics @medievalfangirl

People that might be interested: @sweetvengeancee @kellydixon01

#michael gray #michael gray imagine #michael gray x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #fic: children (michael gray)#angelaiswriting #michael gray fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction

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quarterfromcanon · 5 years

Text

Verity

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 28 - Advice [3,834 words]

Heather’s eyebrows lifted but she held still when Valencia brushed back her curls and attached the earpiece. “Surveillance headsets again, huh? Doesn’t really say ‘small, intimate affair,’ does it?”

“Just because this is a vow renewal and not a wedding doesn’t mean I’m willing to stop being efficient and detail-oriented,” Valencia replied while pushing her corresponding receiver into place. “I have a reputation to uphold, even when the event is for someone I know. Especially then, so prospective clients will see that I maintain my standards at all times. Besides, Paula is one of our closest friends. I want this to be perfect for her.”

“Totally. She deserves it,” Heather concurred. “I’m down for pulling out all the stops. I just wanna check that you’re not making more stress for yourself when you don’t have to.”

“I think Paula and I have established a balanced arrangement.” Valencia nodded toward the mauve binder on the table. “Elegant but not elaborate. A touch of class, but still cute and fun.”

“Okay, if you say so. I know you’ve both put a lot of hours into brainstorming.”

“Yes, we have.” Valencia plucked up the mic with one hand. She caught the neckline of Heather’s shirt between the thumb and forefinger of the other.

“You know, the last time I helped you with one of these, you let me put the headset on myself,” Heather commented as Valencia made adjustments.

Valencia secured the speaker near Heather’s heart. “Last time, I wasn’t revisiting a familiar activity.” She lightly grazed one fingernail over the sensitive skin below the fabric before withdrawing both hands from Heather’s chest.

Heather held her gaze and smirked. “It’s a nice change, but I’m glad that suit has stayed the same.”

Valencia angled so the fitted pants could be admired in profile. She winked. “I thought you might like to see it again.”

“Solid guess.” Heather clipped Valencia’s microphone for her and smoothed the cloth around it.

“I haven’t used these in a while.” Valencia regarded the equipment with concern. “We’ll need to try them out.”

Heather rested her forehead against the hollow of Valencia’s throat and spoke in a hushed tone while she activated the nearby speaker. “Assistant Coordinator to Head Coordinator. Test -- one, two, three.”

Valencia rolled her eyes even as her fists disappeared in Heather’s hair. “You are the worst. I meant checking over distance. March it outside, wise-ass.”

Heather kissed Valencia’s nose before following orders. “I’m on it.”

She left through the back door and strode parallel to the house until she reached the edge of the property.

Valencia’s voice traveled over the comm. “Okay, that’s probably far enough. Can you hear me?”

Heather turned to peer into the distant window at Valencia, who was standing on tiptoe as she strained to keep sight of her girlfriend. “All clear,” Heather verified, “but there’s a tiny woman in black watching me from my kitchen. She’s either a lost stagehand or an easily distracted robber. I think I’m gonna have to investigate.”

Valencia’s tongue tucked into her cheek and her eyebrow arched. “Are you going to be like this all day?”

Heather tried to appear contrite, but she knew Valencia could detect the poorly-suppressed grin when she spoke. “Sorry. Serious now.”

“Mm-hmm.” Valencia crossed her arms, unconvinced. “I’m going to need your word of honor.”

Heather strolled back across the lawn. “Have you and Rebecca been watching period pieces again? Nobody in this era talks like that.”

“Somebody does now.” Their eyes met when Heather drew closer to the glass, and the slight edge in Valencia’s tone softened. “It’s just really important to me for everything to flow smoothly.”

Heather came back inside and crossed the floor. She wove her fingers between Valencia’s and clasped. “Like you said, everything’s under control. Plus I’ll help with whatever you need from me. Best behavior. I promise.”

Valencia freed one hand to access her mic. “Head Coordinator to Assistant Coordinator?”

Heather played along and did the same. “Yeah?”

“I'm thankful you agreed to be part of this. I know I get tightly-wound when I’m working.”

Heather’s eyes flicked appreciatively over Valencia’s pantsuit. “You can growl commands in my ear any day.”

Valencia blushed in spite of herself. She gave Heather a peck on the cheek. “Good to know.”

___

Valencia carefully slid the curler free from the cluster of auburn locks. She stood back to let Paula get a proper view of herself in the mirror. “There. All set.”

“You girls are gonna spoil me,” Paula declared while she turned her head from side to side. “I can’t remember the last time styling my hair didn’t involve trying to brush my teeth and yell to Tommy down the hall at the same time.”

Valencia conducted a final scan of her friend’s pale pink dress. “Well, today you won’t have to handle a thing except carrying that bouquet and reading your vows. Rebecca has your index cards.”

Paula caught Valencia’s palm as she smoothed her sleeve. “Thanks again for helping me make it all happen. I’ve actually had a lot of fun cooking up plans with you.”

Valencia beamed. “Me, too.”

Paula extended her other hand to reach for Heather. “And thank you for helping me do my makeup. You saved me from a dangerous combination of jitters and mascara.”

Heather ran her thumb over Paula’s knuckles with a small smile. “Anytime.”

“All right, come here. We’re doing a group hug.” Paula tugged them both toward her.

Heather’s and Valencia’s arms overlapped when they leaned into the embrace.

Valencia rested her chin on Paula’s shoulder. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Paula tightened her grip affectionately. “Back at ya, honey.”

The door flew open and Rebecca bustled into the room. “Okay, Father Brah’s waiting in Hall A. Josh has the tech rigged and ready. I think we’ve g-- Ah! Perfect timing. Hold it right there. I’m coming in.”

The girls giggled and maintained the pose so Rebecca could throw her arms wide to envelop them all.

Valencia disengaged with obvious reluctance. She gave the hem of Heather’s blouse a tug to get her attention. “We’ve got a few last-minute concerns to take care of, but we’ll see you in there. Rebecca, you’ll hold down the fort?”

Rebecca saluted and replied in a voice that sounded like several British regions blended into one. “I won’t let you down, ma’am.”

Heather and Valencia stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind them. Valencia blinked rapidly as her mid-event agitation kicked back into gear. “She’s doing accents now.”

Heather’s lips turned up at the corner. “And you were worried about keeping me in line.”

They veered to the right and spotted Brendan with Tommy waiting outside the bathroom for Scott. Brendan fished something metallic out of his inside pocket. He turned it over between his fingers.

Valencia changed course and zipped past him, snatching the item out of his possession without breaking stride. Brendan jumped but did not fight the confiscation. The blazing look he received was enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Not on your mom’s special day,” Valencia snarled through gritted teeth.

“It’s a Swiss Army knife!” Brendan protested with his hands lifted in surrender. “I just needed the toothpick!”

Valencia shot him a parting skeptical glare and turned on her heel. “Tell it to the hand, Silas Botwin!” she called when she swept away.

Tommy offered a belated greeting. “Hi, Heather. Haven’t seen you since RenFaire. Cool necklace.”

Heather gave them a jokingly formal nod. “The Brothers Proctor. Yeah, um, thanks. I’ve gotta go before she finds out Brah’s going to rap about Jesus or something.”

Heather jogged to catch up with Valencia.

Brendan waited until she was out of earshot before he nudged Tommy. He mimicked his brother’s voice. “‘Cool necklace.’ Good going, Buttface. Real suave.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “Heh heh heh. That’s funny. You know what else would be funny? If I told Valencia about that Scottish knife in your sock.”

“It’s a sgian-dubh and it’s ceremonial - you know that - but fine, all right, point taken.”

The final preparations were made without further incident. Invitees from the law firm and warehouse settled in foldable chairs while Josh piped instrumentals through a strategically hidden sound system. Valencia’s attention was divided in at least half a dozen directions as the start time approached, verifying that all participants were following their cues, but Heather managed to guide her to a spot in one of the front two rows.

The next classical selection played. Entrances at either side of the hall swung wide. Darryl and Mrs. Hernandez held the doors to the left so Paula could step through them. Hank and Sal from the barbershop quartet cleared the way for Scott on the right. Brendan moved forward to extend an arm to his mother and Tommy escorted his dad. The spouses met in the middle of the room and their sons took seats nearby.

Valencia calmed somewhat now that the first phase was well underway. Her hand found Heather’s and rested on her knee. Father Brah said a few words about Paula and Scott, touching briefly on their history as parishioners and his increased familiarity with them through counseling. He led a short prayer - devoid of improvisation, much to Valencia’s and Heather’s relief - and then introduced the guest speaker: Rebecca.

She rose from her chair beside Valencia to stand before the temporary podium. Heather could see her hands trembling when she adjusted the microphone. Rebecca unfolded a piece of paper and smoothed it flat.

“Um, hi, everyone. I thought a lot about what I would say today. As all the people in this room already know, I’m Rebecca Bunch. But, to Paula, I’m Cookie. I call her Mama. Brendan and Tommy have actually been really cool about that, so, thank you both for letting me be an honorary member of your family.”

She found the boys in the front row and smiled. Tommy inclined his head. Brendan thumped a fist against his chest.

Rebecca laughed and continued. “In the time since she became my best friend, Paula has helped me learn so much about love. She has an encyclopedic knowledge of vampire romance novels and rom-coms from the last four decades, but the best way she has taught me true love is by example. Her heart is so full and so fierce that, when you have her in your corner, it's like no problem is truly insurmountable. I know Scott feels the same, and that’s a major part of what brings us here today. Scott and Paula got married a little shy of two decades ago, and they’ve experienced a ton of life events together -- good, bad, and everything in between. Some of the problems would have broken a weaker bond, but they are standing before us now stronger and more committed than ever. Their journey kind of rattled a revelation loose in my brain recently. This is the sort of thing that seems obvious in retrospect, but it’s hard to genuinely understand until you encounter it in real life. As much as I’ve always loved sweeping fictional romances, and I probably always will, love is a lot more than that first choice we see in stories. It’s the ongoing choices we make, day after day, to stick by each other through all the years that follow. Voluntarily Ever After. It’s saying, ‘I can get by on my own, but I will save room for you. When I face the highs and lows of this life, you’re who I want by my side.’ The new engraving on their wedding bands commemorates that lasting devotion. Paula, Scott, do you wanna tell everyone what’s written inside?”

Scott’s hands clutched Paula’s while he recited the first half of the inscription. “In any universe...”

Paula beamed tearfully and squeezed his palms. “... I’d pick you.”

Rebecca blinked to contain her emotions before turning back to the assembled guests. “To wrap this thing up, and in honor of a couple that is embracing something new built on an old foundation, I decided to share a traditional reading with a fresh twist. In keeping with my proclivity for fairy tales, this passage comes from one. My dearest friend deserves only the finest in the world, so I’ve chosen a quote from the most epic fairy tale of all time: the Bible. The beginning should ring a bell; after all, why veer from a classic? But I couldn’t resist making a few little personalized tweaks and, well, you’ll understand in just a sec.”

She flipped her paper and took a deep breath.

“‘Love is patient. Love is kind.’ It is being ready to do the work. It is passing through the Ring of Fire. It is heart-to-heart conversations over late night pie at your kitchen counter. It is somehow turning evening game shows and study sessions into couple bonding activities. Love is agreeing Thelma & Louise Brad Pitt is still the dreamiest Brad Pitt. It is making memories in moments big and small, whether it’s finally taking a vacation or playing board games around your dining room table at home. Love is finding your own path. When you travel that path, and find the one you love, you should hold on tight.”

Valencia’s fingertips curled against Heather’s hand. Heather returned the pressure and shifted across her seat until their sides touched. Though they kept their attention on Rebecca’s speech, both indulged in a private smile.

___

The ceremony was a vision of pastels and mood music, but the reception provided a burst of rich colors and myriad sounds. Rebecca tested pretzel flavors from her new shop in addition to the catered cuisine -- a table beside which Nathaniel lingered beyond plausible explanation given that he wasn’t even holding a plate. Darryl and Maya reenacted their viral dance from YouTube. Tim and Jim fenced with sword picks from the hors d'oeuvres platter.

Once everyone made their first trip through the buffet line, Josh turned down the current track from his set list for an announcement. “All right, party people, let’s make some noise for the West Brovinas!”

Paula stole a glance at each Gurl Group member in turn but politely set aside her cutlery to listen. The men assembled in front of her table to croon “Bright Was the Night.” Though being the center of attention was clearly not something Paula enjoyed, the visible displeasure faded over the course of the performance as she looked into Scott’s eyes. His sincerity was disarming. When the final note faded, he stepped forward with hat in hand. Scott bent low, lifted the boater to hide their faces, and spoke words only his wife could hear. Paula pulled him in for a kiss while onlookers clapped.

Heather witnessed the highlights of the evening, but following Valencia took up every spare second in between those moments. They made countless circuits around the rented space until she started to regret her choice of footwear. When cake was served, all that remained was general socializing and celebration. Heather used that opportunity to still Valencia’s frenetic pacing with a caress along the underside of her elbow.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Did I miss something?”

“Yeah, the part where you take a breath and have a good time with our friends.” Heather wrapped her arms around Valencia’s middle. “Babe, it’s almost the end of the night and you haven’t sat down once since we left the other hall. I don’t even know where our food is because we ate on-the-go and put it down somewhere.”

“If I don’t stay focused, nothing gets done,” Valencia said defensively. “That’s what being a party planner is. It’s like being a conductor or a director. I have to know how everything fits together and see it through from start to finish.”

“Which you’ve done, hella thoroughly, as always. There’s a gap in the schedule until cleanup. For the sake of our arches, can we just slide these shoes off and take an actual break?” Heather protruded her lower lip.

Valencia tried to glower, but it wouldn’t stick. “All right, but my shoes are staying on. I don’t think they mopped very well.”

Heather shook her head with a chuckle. “Close enough. So, are we gonna talk about the other reason your Boss Lady mode is cranked to eleven tonight?”

Valencia broke eye contact and stepped backward. “What do you mean?”

“This job is important because you care about the guests of honor, but you’ve also got something to prove.”

Heather studied Valencia’s features while the latter fidgeted.

“No more than usual.” Valencia feigned interest in a centerpiece.

“Bullshit.” Heather’s assertion was gentle, her stare unwavering. “This is your first time running the show on your own since Beth.”

Valencia glanced in Heather’s direction but could not lift her gaze. “It’s fine. I don’t need her.”

“No, you don’t,” Heather agreed, “but it’s understandable if something feels off and you’re nervous about the transition. You were together for, like, nine months. As partners in more than one sense of the word. Nobody’s expecting you to just bounce right back from it. Sure, you’ve moved on relationship-wise, but other pieces are still settling into place. You and I both know there are a bunch of little recoveries that come with separating your existence from someone who was part of it for that long.”

“It sucks.” Valencia stamped her foot. “I understand it’s my fault for mixing personal and professional, but I don’t want what happened to cost new business if clients don’t trust me to juggle responsibilities. You wouldn’t believe the competition out there or how fast they can spread any gossip that gives them an advantage. All it takes is a single seed of doubt.”

Heather held Valencia’s face between her palms. “You were always really good at this. That was true before, and I think it’s even more so now. Look around. Everything in here was all you. People are having an amazing time. That photographer’s getting kick-ass photos for your website. No one is going to dispute that you’ve got the necessary skill set. The only one left who needs to believe that is you.”

“Easier said than done.” Valencia sighed. “You know how my mind works. Even if strangers don’t say bad stuff about me, some part of me is convinced they will.”

Heather shrugged. “Then prove them wrong. The real voices and the ones you imagine. Also, in the meantime, go easy on yourself. The two of you had a rhythm. You just need a chance to get your groove back.”

Valencia’s mouth twisted. “How you would you advise I do that?”

Heather removed Valencia’s earpiece and mic, then her own, and pocketed them all. Valencia reached for the comms instinctively but let the theft go uncontested. “Maybe,” Heather posited, “what you need is to get your groove on.”

Valencia raised her eyebrows. “That’s your solution? ‘The Cha Cha Slide’ will cure my insecurities?” Her expression shifted and her head tilted to the side. “Wait, are you asking me to dance?”

“That pretty much sums it up, yeah.” Heather rocked back and forth on her feet. “Do you want to, or...?”

Valencia did not reply aloud. She simply led Heather by the hand toward the dance floor as a slow song began.

“Okay, I’m reading that as a ‘yes.’” Heather grinned playfully.

Valencia’s lips twitched and her wrists crossed behind Heather’s neck. “Just shut up and hold my hips.”

Heather complied with a laugh. She nuzzled Valencia’s hair and closed her eyes.

“It’s funny,” Valencia remarked, “but when you, Josh, and Scott were working on the music, I was pretty sure I heard that you get a rash from ‘all the Ed Sheeran flavor of shamelessly sugary crap.’”

“Oh, I do,” Heather insisted without missing a beat. “I’ll be covered in hives within the hour, so, let that be on your conscience.”

Valencia snorted. “It’s very romantic of you to endure a ballad-based allergy for me.”

“I know.”

Valencia winced and groaned. “I might reconsider your earlier suggestion about the shoes. These heels hurt like hell.” She leaned against Heather’s shoulders. “What are the odds of you carrying me to your car when all this is over?”

“Considering my back problems continue to exist? They aren’t in your favor. If you’re hurting that much, I’ll try because I love you; just know we might not get very far.”

They stopped swaying. Heather gulped.

“Wow,” Valencia murmured. “You said it. We haven’t... That was the first time.”

“Yeah.” Heather's eyes widened and her jaw clenched. “Shit.”

Valencia pulled away enough to see her. “Did you not mean it like that?”

“I meant it,” Heather confirmed, “but no pressure at all. That was super early. I won’t be pissed if you’re not there. We were literally talking about everything you’re dealing with, like, two minutes ago. It was just... a fact.” She lifted her shoulders helplessly.

Valencia coaxed Heather forward until their foreheads touched. She traced her thumbs over Heather’s cheekbones and along her jaw. “If you’re too fast, then so am I, because I’m completely in love with you.” Valencia exhaled shakily. “I’d argue that ‘early’ depends where you’re counting from, because we’ve already been there for each other through a lot. Will other people think it’s quick? Does it retroactively call my past two relationships into question because this one is so natural by comparison? Honestly, I’ve realized that I don’t give a damn. I spent enough time pretending to feel things when I didn’t or not feel them when I did, and I’m done. This is the truth and I’m not apologizing for it.”

Heather enfolded Valencia in her arms. They kissed through the end of the ballad but took no notice. Midway through the next song, they resumed dancing. Valencia’s cheek rested on Heather’s biceps while she observed their friends and the circular lights that intersected on the floor. Heather saw Maya at a table watching them, both hands over her heart and mouth forming what looked suspiciously like the word ‘goals.’ Heather’s shoulders shook at the exaggerated reaction but that did not prevent a pleased flush of heat from spreading down her back. She cradled her girlfriend closer and breathed in the smell of her perfume.

“You were right,” Valencia mumbled against her skin. “Dancing actually did make things better.”

Heather smiled. “I surprised even myself with that one.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Valencia teased. She slid her index finger up to the tattoo of Wilbur the Robot and traced a heart over his chest. “I’m talking about my outlook too, though. At least for the moment, I’m feeling less overwhelmed. Carrying on with planning by myself isn’t a defeat; it’s a comeback.”

Heather brushed her lips over Valencia’s forehead. “I’m glad we agree.”

Valencia relaxed and heaved a contented sigh. “Whatever else happens from here, I’ll be able to face it. I have everything I need.”

#H+V FF #CEG Writing by Me #Helencia #Heather x Valencia #BRB GONNA DO A VICTORY LAP AROUND THE HOUSE #Oh my gosh #I MADE IT #Thank goodness #I set a goal for myself that I wanted to finally finish this within a month after the end of Femslash February & I *just* made the deadline #I'm planning on making a post later to kinda get out all my happy celebratory feels but for now in these tags all I can say is #AAAAAAAAAH #I'm so pleased I can sit back and see all 28 together in one place - COMPLETED.#BEST FEELING

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kingsmanstories · 5 years

Text

God’s Plan

Eight

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: the usual

Tags: @v-torya @wefracturedmotivation @reyloshipper-starwars @retrocontessa

Catch Up: God’s Plan Masterlist

It’d been a whole week since you moved into Arrow House with Thomas, and you still wasn’t used to how big the place was. It was huge, pretty much like a maze, and you relied mostly on the staff Tommy had hired to not let you get lost in a hidden room somewhere.

Tommy had finally given in, letting you go to work as long as he accompanied you there and he took you home again in the evenings. If he needed to stay longer, he’d get you to stay at Polly’s until he was finished his work. He wasn’t taking any chances with your safety, not after what he’d found a week ago.

Things had been oddly quiet, and Tommy never really went very far into the details of what was going on. You’d assumed the Solomons man had lent an extra few hands to Tommy, and it was working. You wasn’t sure at all on the situation, however you put it down to Thomas trying to keep you in the dark as much as possible to keep you safe.

You sighed a breath of relief as the warmth of your new home greeted you after a long day of staring at numbers, and you begun to hang up your coat and hat, head turning when you heard Thomas swear under his breath. “What’s wrong, Tom?”

“I forgot something at the betting shop, papers for Alfie.” Tommy sighed, running his hand over his face, wondering what he should do. He really needed these for Alfie, they contained important information on the individuals they were dealing with. On the other hand, he was petrified of leaving you home alone.

“Go and get them then love, I’ll be fine.” You insisted, leaning up to peck his cheek before slipping off your shoes, placing them neatly on the metal rack. “No one knows we’re here, do they?”

Thomas’ mind immediately flicked back to the note that was left at Watery Lane with your name on it and sighed, weighing up what he should do. He wouldn’t be long, the journey there and back wasn’t far. It’d be an hour at most, if he got held up along the way. You were right, nobody knew you were here. “Fine, I shan’t be long though. Ring the shop if anything happens at all, alright? I’ll come straight back.” He pecked your cheek, and then your lips. “I love you, Mags.”

Your smile was wide and bright, it was the first time Thomas had told you he loved you. Wrapping your arms around his middle, you rested your head on his chest. “I love you too, more than anything.”

Thomas smiled, a smile that was reserved for only you, before pulling away and heading for the door again. “Remember, ring if you need someone.”

“I will, don’t worry so much. I’ll be fine, Tom.” You waved at him before he left, and you busied yourself with some knitting you’d started in the week.

Knitting wasn’t exactly the thing you were best at, but you were getting better. It kept you occupied while you couldn’t work as much and you were actually starting to enjoy it.

The sound of the front door slamming shut jolted you out of concentration of your knitting, causing you to drop a needle. Quietly cursing, you put it to one side before waiting for a familiar voice to call out to you - that never did. “Thomas?” You called as you neared the foyer of the manor.

There was no reply.

Hearing unfarmiliar footsteps, you hastily looked around for a weapon. Your eyes fell on a gun on one of the side tables and you grabbed it, hiding it under your cardigan. “Who’s there?”

The footfall fell silent, and the only sound that could be heard was your heavy breathing in the foyer. Chest rising and falling from anxiety, you untucked the gun from your cardigan and looked around, jumping when your eyes fell on a man in a fedora. Aiming your gun with shaky hands, Years pricked at your eyes. “Who the fuck are you?” You whimpered, finger resting weakly on the trigger.

“I thought you was the tough one, unbreakeable. I guess I was wrong, Margaret.” An accent which was a mixture between Italian and American dominated the room, and it shook you to the bone. “Tommy Shelby messed with us, so we will mess with him.”

“You fucking won’t you bastard-“

He pulled up a gun, silencing you as he aimed at your heart. “Thomas makes a lot of bad decisions. The worst of them all has to be putting his trust into Alfie.” The man walked out of the shadow and into the light. “He was never any friend of yours. That’s how I’m here now.”

“W-Why do you want to kill me?” You whimpered, both hands trembling around the cold metal of the gun as warm tears slipped down your cheeks.

“It’ll break Tommy if you die, and if he breaks,” The man taunted, fiddling with his toothpick, “We can get whatever we want.”

He edged closer to you, gun still aimed at your heart, and yours at his head. You pulled the trigger, but the only sound the gun made was a quiet click, no ammunition.

Dropping the gun to your side you felt hopeless, your whimpers turning into sobs as you begged the man to leave. Between sobs and incoherent mumbles and the man’s loud footsteps, you didn’t hear the door open behind you and the cocking of a gun.

Crossing over your chest and mumbling a prayer as the cold metal of the man’s gun pushed into your chest, you braced yourself and squeezed your eyes closed.

There was a bang, but there was no pain.

Slowly opening your eyes, you saw nothing but the body of the man that was about to kill you. Before you could register it, two familiar arms wrappped themselves around you, so tightly like you would slip away.

“Fuck, Maggie,” Tommy panted, throwing his gun on the ground behind you, a hand running through your hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never should’ve left you on your own, if I hadn’t-“

“Don’t say that, Tom.” You whispered between sobs, head pressed to his jacket. “It’s not your fault, none of this is your fault.”

Tommy kissed your head, shaky hand resting on your back. He needed to be more careful, and he knew it. Guilt overcame him, and he held you a little bit closer and a little bit tighter. He didn’t know who the bastard was, but he’d find the rest of them.

“I love you, Tom.”

“I love you,” Tommy took a breath, chin atop your head, “more than anything.”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader

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