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hazelfoureyes · 30 days

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A Doe in Fall (Part 3)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦

Part 3 A tragedy

So enraptured with Alastor, you forgot how you left work on Saturday. Tommy didn’t forget. And he made sure you remembered. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for you, your paramour made a habit of helping quicken karma’s balancing act.

「warnings/promises: immediate physical assault (let’s be up front about that), allusions to sexual assaults having happened in the past to non-reader characters, HumanAlastor x FemReader, penetrative sex, Protective Alastor, bruises, somewhat graphic descriptions of murder, mentions to coerced prostitution, sex near a corpse (words that have the FBI watching me), stabbing, knife, bad burlesque names, gambling, my own new HC for the Radio Demon’s origins, another deer reference thanks to @n-after-me , chin quivering, Tommy doesn’t know French and it shows, posted early for @jazzmasternot, wrath」

Minors DNI 🤺

You walked into the theatre for rehearsals with a pep in your step, body still humming. It was like the usual adrenaline rush Alastor brought couldn't fade this time.

But it did, when Tommy grabbed you by the hair out of your makeup chair and threw you into the wall.

You couldn’t react, head ringing after it left a small indent in the drywall. Unlike before, you didn’t try to stand. Make him work for his second hit. And he did. Leaning down he yanked you off the ground by your arm and dragged you to your feet.

“Do you think you’re funny?” He shook you, you were sure you could feel your brain jostle. It was rhetorical, but you replied anyway.

“No, Tommy.”

“No. Exactly.” He backed you up onto the make up table, head pressed into the mirror. “Mr. Wilson was not happy. He pulled his contribution. I know you don’t have that kind of money. Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

His fingers dug into your cheeks, “No.” You genuinely didn’t. He was talking to you like you had been in the loop on whatever it was he had been doing on the side. All of this was as shocking to you as your actions were, apparently, to him.

“You’re gonna take whatever meetings I make until that money is back.” He let go of you and turned to leave but changed his mind. Coming back, he swung his fist and clocked you on the left side of your face.

You didn’t see it, but you heard the other girls running and pulling Tommy off of you, yelling and pleading for him to calm down.

“I worked really hard for you!” He shouted, jerking his shoulders out from under the hands of the other performers. What was he talking about? You hadn’t discussed any of this, asked for any thing from him. “I waited for a high roller for you. Real classy guy. Just wanted a private show! That was it!” He spit, “No, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is welcome now to ask for your time.”

You just held your face, unsure if you had the right makeup to hide the bruise before stage call.

“Well?! Say you’re sorry.”

You considered not saying anything. No response. When you looked at him, you could see the half a dozen other girls staring back at you, just say it. We have to rehearse.

“I’m sorry.” Eyes cast to the floor.

“For what?”

It hurt when you rolled your eyes, “For being ungrateful?”

He shoulder checked a few girls on the way out. A couple came to you.

“He’s got some gambling debt, he’s just using us to get ahead.”

“I have some stuff to cover that up for tonight.”

“He usually cuts us in.”

Tears stung your eyes, you were angry and humiliated. You could work elsewhere, with a little luck. Take a job at a diner out of the area where no regulars would stir up trouble. Maybe leave until Tommy got his debts paid off or whatever was motivating this recent streak of cruelty. But you didn’t want to run away. No one applauded waitresses. Maybe if you made yourself as unattractive as possible, no one would request you. Dirty your teeth, talk about other men, speak crudely.

“What exactly was he talking about?” you asked no one in particular. The girls were quiet for a beat.

“Well ya know, private shows for clients who can afford it.” High pitched and nasal, Florence spoke as she searched her make up station.

“That’s it?” Incredulous.

“Sometimes. You know how it is… woman left alone in a room with a man who has too much money or ego or drink. Doesn’t always stop at a dance.” Minnie had much more experience than you, “It isn’t our jobs. It isn’t normal. But, well, ya heard about New York right? They’re trying to make burlesque outright illegal…”

“Gotta enjoy the art while it’s just misunderstood.” Florence wiped down your mirror before setting her supplies down for you. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

By the time patrons began to stream in, you had blood staining the white of your left eye. Nothing you could do, but maybe at a distance it wouldn’t be noticeable. The bruise under your eye from his fist was easy enough to cover. The contusion from where your right cheek hit the wall was a little harder.

Luckily, the stage offered a buffer of space and the rest of the room was dark.

During your show, you tried to keep your eyes moving so the red sclera never stayed in one place too long. For the first time, the cheers did nothing for you. You felt your chin quiver, fighting back tears. You wanted to scream, to tell them to hate you and leave. Stop fucking clapping.

Ruth was naturally the first to come to you after your performance, “Want me to do the tour with you? Arm in arm around the hall.”

You took her up on the offer. It lightened the load, her taking charge of the conversation when people approached or bought you drinks. Luckily the bartender always poured the performers weak cocktails and watered down liquor to keep their heads on straight.

Ruth’s companionship afforded you precious time to plan, to consider how quickly you could find new work or at least a way out of this.

“What a treat. Two for one. Can I buy you both a drink?”

Ruth turned first to greet the customer, “Ooh yes sir! Gin and tonic, please and thank you. Autumn?” Your stage name drew your attention back to the world, turning finally.

“Alastor.” It fell from your mouth like a lead balloon.

He smiled down at you, his hand offering a little wave, “Hello. Surprise.”

Your face fell, a frown pulling down your chin. It took you too long to recover, batting your eyelashes and turning the corners of your lips up unnaturally.

“So you do have a beau!” Ruth slapped your arm, “I’m Skye, Skye Scraper. Pleasure to meet you, Alastor.” She extended her hand, Alastor planting a kiss on the back of it, concealing his smile at the name.

You tried to keep your eyes on the floor, head turned slightly away from him to obscure the neon sign of an eye shouting, ‘Weak!’

Unfortunately for you, Alastor wasn’t an oblivious man. Unless he was dancing or drunk. “May I have a moment alone with her?” Alastor asked Ruth. Ruth looked to you for your okay, and you just nodded. She gave a little nod of her own to Alastor and slinked away.

“Are you unhappy to see me, dear? Did I overstep by coming by unannounced?” You hadn’t heard him worried before, it pained you.

“No, no! I am… so happy to see you. I just had a long day.” You scanned the room for the darkest area to bring him. A booth would be best, you could keep him on one side of you. You gestured with a nod of your head.

“Ah, I kept you out too late.” Alastor didn’t move.

“Not at all, come on let’s sit down.” You reached back for his hand without looking at him, but when you pulled he still didn’t move. He remembered the way you pulled at the hand of that man in the alley the first night you met. Desperate to escape somewhere.

“Is there a reason you won’t look at me?”

Lie.

“Uh, no, I’m just embarrassed about this heavy stage makeup.”

Alastor paused, hand slipping from yours to adjust his sleeves. It was a nervous action, an attempt to self soothe, but you didn’t know that. “I should have asked before coming.”

“Alastor, it’s not…,” you kept your eyes down at your hands.

“Then look at me.”

Would he think you were incapable of protecting yourself? His pity would kill you. Perhaps he would decide a second rate burlesquer wasn’t worth making time for anymore.

You could intentionally wound him, say you don’t want to see him so he leaves. But that sword was double edged and you weren’t sure you’d survive that either. You weren’t making it out of this.

You finally looked at him. He leaned in, “What happened to your eye?” A slender finger gently tilting your chin upward.

Lie.

You thought too long for an answer. Why were you getting worse at lying? It used to be one of your best shields and swords but now you were so slow on the draw you were left defenseless. Vulnerable. His hand took yours, gently pulling you into the lobby and through the glass doors of the theatre.

Under the bright lights of the marquee and the street lamps, Alastor inspected your face. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, wetting it in his mouth before wiping the makeup off of your under eye.

“Alastor, people are staring.”

His eyes fell down, soft hands lifting your arm where a bruise was already formed. You hadn’t noticed that one.

“What happened?” He wasn't looking at you when he said it, instead cautiously wiping the makeup off your cheeks in search of more marks.

“The truth or wh-“

“Always. Never give me anything else.”

You sighed, and explained, “Tommy, the manager, he’s been shifting tactics for bringing in money because he owes some big bads a lot of debt. Private shows with performers that sometimes get hands on…,” his hands stopped moving but his eyes didn’t meet yours, “I never asked to be included in it. I wouldn’t do it. I was rude to a man Tommy introduced me to and I ran off Saturday. Yada Yada. He got me as soon as I got to work.”

Alastor didn’t reply, just turned on his heels and marched back into the theater. You chased after him, “I don’t need you to fight my battles!” You tried to get in front of him but he walked right past you.

“Not about what you need, dear, it's about what he deserves.”

Alastor asked the bartender for Tommy, who pointed to the short but stocky man talking to a group of guests. Alastor approached so quickly Tommy didn’t have time to greet him, instead just backing up until he fell ass first into a booth. Alastor boxed him in, one hand on the wall and one on the table, towering over Tommy as he sat.

“I hear you sell dancers by the night.”

You paced the lobby nervously. Would you be fired? What would Alastor say? Would Tommy hit him, too?

He re-emerged, “Come to my car, please.” He didn't stop walking as he said it.

You followed a few blocks down to his car, parked on the street. He opened the passenger door for you and closed it behind you. You wanted to ask if you were going somewhere, but thought better of it. A tight u-turn, he pulled the car into the side street where you’d first met each other.

Wordlessly he got out of the car, you opening your door before he could. Popping the trunk, he set the folded canvas inside a paper bag. Checking first, he placed it inside one of the tin trash cans.

You stood, waiting for an explanation.

Finally he stopped and made eye contact with you. “You have a date tomorrow, with me. Bring this to the apartment above the theater before Tommy and I arrive.” Opening your mouth to speak, he didn’t stop to let you add anything. “Preferably near the bed.” He closed the trunk, “Wear red, please.”

You searched his face for some kind of discernible emotion but found none. Those constricted pupils again, an animal staring back at you from behind a pair of glasses. There was no reason to ask him, it was obvious what was going to happen. Did you want to stop it?

Did you want to see it? Alastor at work?

“Okay. On all the points.” You looked back at the trashcan, “Canvas hidden near the bed. Wear red.”

“The extra clothes can go anywhere out of sight.” He leaned down, kissing your forehead, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your voice cracked a little, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

He nodded, “I can’t stay here.” Before getting into his car he turned and added, “Don’t cover the bruises tomorrow. He should see them.”

You nodded in return, “Are you doing this for me?” So quiet you almost hoped he didn’t hear it.

He paused, one leg already in the car and his back to you, “No. I’m doing it for everyone.”

You watched his car light up and leave the alley.

It’s not that you felt abandoned, you felt…. Stranded. You had to go back in there, alone, and put on the normal act but under abnormal conditions.

So it was happening. You hadn’t seen the first time. Just felt it. You didn’t see the second. You were going to actually see a man die. Not just a man, someone you knew. Someone you used to consider a friend of sorts. Before he got into whatever trouble was driving him to act like a flesh peddler. Could you do it? Could you watch a man be killed? Was that even what Alastor had planned?

Tommy found you the second you were back in the room, hand pressing too hard on the bruises he left on your arm. “You have a meeting tomorrow after your show. If you don’t show up,” he yanked you close, putrid breath of dead teeth you’d never been bothered by before this moment and bad booze assaulting your senses, “I will fucking kill you.”

You almost started laughing, bringing your hand to your mouth to hide your smile. “Okay Tommy.”

Fuck it. He was going to die anyway, might as well make it a date.

Ruth saddled up beside you as soon as Tommy was out of earshot, “Look at that smile. Quickie in the alley?”

Disgust, “Jesus, Skye, I was gone like, 5 minutes.” She shrugged. “Why does everyone think — is everyone fucking their daddies* in the side street?” She nodded. “Well, I’m not.”

“Prude.” She joshed before linking your arm in hers again, “We’ve got at least another hour of schmoozing. Tits up!”

Your smile came effortlessly that night, a thrum of excitement keeping you light on your feet. Not excitement for death, but for the very concept of being closer to Alastor. Would you see it happen, in front of you? Or would he have you leave? Either way, you were an active participant with a task list.

He trusted you, even if in a small way. Trust was so rarely given from the people who mattered. Men trusted you often; to be sweet when they tell you they were embarrassed about something, to lie when they ask if you orgasmed, to not steal their cash when they blacked out with their pants still on. Pulling it from strangers was one of your greatest pleasures. But it was easy. You were skilled.

Yet again, like so often now, Alastor was the exception. He didn’t toss himself at your feet. He stood tall in front of you and on his own terms offered you the things you wanted. You didn’t have to pretend to be demure, you didn’t have sit on his lap in silence and nod and laugh. Just yourself, as much as you could allow yourself to exist in the world. No tricks. If his trust was presented wrapped in a bloodied bow, well, you would thank him dearly and wear the ribbon round your neck like a trophy.

Many men spoke to you, but luckily your participation in conversation wasn’t something they really cared about. As they spoke, your eyes were looking past them and into the future.

However there was a sense of dread when you lied in bed that night. The excitement of getting closer to Alastor had melted into the fear there was no going back from this.

Something in your chest stung, a thorn growing from somewhere unknown. Three encounters (that he knew of) and already it seemed your thoughts were more Alastor than yourself. No person had ever made such an impression before. You didn’t like it, but it made you happy. Which is why you didn’t like it. Tying your happiness to another person was a reckless thing to do. You’d seen your mother and half sister both use a man’s attention as a replacement for being happy with themselves and it made them brittle and hollow.

Thinking of what would happen the following night, oddly, you were reminded of losing your virginity. You were a “late bloomer” and were terrified you’d never be you again after. Like something would be taken from you. You fell asleep to that thought, of what you’d lose.

Then you woke, uncharacteristically early, feeling none the bit rested. No dreams. No nightmares. A few seconds of darkness and suddenly it was morning. With the extra time you had you wandered into a department store before going to the theater.

When a sales woman approached you, asking what you were looking for, you were too tired lie.

“A red dress.” You didn’t have the makeup at home to cover your marks, and gave up being worried about it.

Unfortunately, it seemed it wasn’t so odd of a sight; a woman with a black eye.

“What’s the occasion? Apology dinner?” The woman fidgeted with the hangers while looking at you.

You grimaced, “No, a murder.”

She howled, “You are a hoot! Don’t we wish, huh? Let me pull you some options.”

You put the dress on the top of the paper bag, having hidden it under your make up table the previous night. Your fingers were trembling, applying your makeup needing deep breaths and concentration.

“Ruth, can you do my lips?” You turned and handed her the brush.

“The eye looks better.” She took your chin in her hand and painted your mouth a pretty shade of red.

“Thank you.” You offered her a smile but she didn't let go, “What?”

“You ever seen a cornered raccoon? Like one got in the house and your mom boxed it into a corner with a broom?”

A nod, yes, actually, you had.

“Who’s got the broom?” She asked. You knitted your brow, not understanding. “Who’s got you in a corner? Is it Tommy?”

You took your chin back, deep breaths. “No brooms. No corners. Just rattled still from last night.” Not a lie, surprisingly. “You thought of a raccoon? Really? Is it because of the eye?”

When you took your bow for the evening and turned to escape the stage lights for the darkness of backstage, you found Tommy leaning just outside the dressing room.

“Get changed, doors unlocked upstairs. Room 504.”

Grabbing the paper bag you ran through your mental checklist. Wear red, take off your make up, hide the canvas by the bed. An odd to-do list for murder.

The theater had two floors of modest apartments above it, the owners keeping two of the open for the theater’s use. One was for the owners should they ever visit New Orleans, and the other was multi use. Storage and a crash pad for performers or Tommy when he worked late.

The bag crinkled as you hugged it, looking over the small apartment. Boxes, decorations, a modest kitchen and a bed. The bathroom was quite large, a tub and shower head. Was this where the other performers went?

Why hadn’t anyone said anything sooner? Why didn’t anyone leave yet?

Taking a second, you got to work. You opened the canvas and slid it under the bed, the smallest bit of edge sticking out for easy retrieval. Dizzy with the quickly settling reality of what you were doing, you sat on the floor for a moment. Trying to calm your breathing, you closed your eyes.

The fear of the unknown was suffocating you. There was a possibility Alastor failed and ended up hurt. Or, that he changed his mind and Tommy left you two to just hold hands on the bed for a sex-appropriate amount of time.

You patted your thighs and stood up. No time now for a panic attack. Alastor had a change of clothes in the bag, neatly folded and tied in twine. They were set onto the shelf above the closet.

And finally, yourself. Your dress was on and you stopped to wipe the make up off your face in the bathroom mirror. Still bruised, still nasty. The dress was nice though, carrying some of the weight for your battered mug. Red cotton, sailor neck and little gold buttons down the front. Flashy, brighter than the dark number you usually wore.

Would he like it? Most men looked for how a dress accentuated your curves (or hid them) but you had a feeling Alastor didn’t care so much about that.

You took your seat at the edge of the bed, thin mattress sagging from your weight.

The clock ticked, until finally the door opened and you saw something you hadn’t seen before and knew you’d never see again. Tommy and Alastor.

“Here she is. Autumn, this is Mr. Cerf. He's asked I stay in the apartment, apparently word of your attitude already spread among the upperclass.” Tommy wagged his finger at you in a playful way that was entirely out of place.

“Look at her. Pouting. Not very excited, is she?” Alastor smiled at you, softly. You felt for a second that maybe you entirely misunderstood. He looked calm, normal. Even peaceful.

“It’s always nice when they fight a little. But she won’t cause you any trouble.” Tommy patted Alastor’s back, who immediately shirked away.

“Do you like it when women try to fight you off, Tommy?”

A dry laugh, “Ya know how it is. They gotta act like they don’t like it so people still respect ‘em.”

A hum. Alastor’s smile falling entirely. A shadow settled over his face. “I see. That does make things easier.” He slipped on his short black gloves. “I always tell her she looks lovely in red. She rarely listens to me, but I’m happy to see she did tonight. It’s a special occasion.”

Once, you thought. You didn’t listen once.

Tommy nervously chuckled, looking from Alastor then to you, “What?” Alastor grabbed him by the back of the neck, pushing him to the ground and onto his knees. Hand fisted in his hair, knife pressing across his throat.

Alastor dug his knee into the small of Tommy’s back, “Tommy, I think you owe the lady an apology.” You let your feet find the edge of the canvas and slid it out with a kick. It glided across the wood and stopped where his knees met the floor.

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m sorry.” Tommy was staring at the waxed fabric in front of him.

You felt your eyes sting with tears, a smile breaking out against your will. “For what?”

“I—,” his eyes searched the room for an answer, your words bringing a pulse of Deja Vu, “It’s about yesterday?” He seemed to relax a little, “Come on. I said sorry. ” Looking back to Alastor. “I didn’t know she had a guy.”

Alastor yanked his head back to look him squarely in his eyes, “Wrong answer.” He pushed him down onto his stomach, “Come on Tommy. I like when my victims fight a little, too.” Sensing the taller man towering over him with the knife, Tommy scrambled onto his back to look at Alastor. Tommy started shouting, “Hey!! Someone!” But there was no one to hear him. That was the beauty of the space he always brought his dates to; it was too loud to hear anyone scream.

Funny how that works both ways.

Alastor shrugged, “Well that didn’t last long.” As Tommy backed up, trying to get traction on the slippery canvas and failing, Alastor straddled him. Tommy’s hands came up, one pushing against Alastor’s face, the other against the arm holding the knife. Alastor put both hands onto the knife’s handle, staring down into Tommy’s eyes as he inched closer to the man’s neck. “You look scared, Tommy. Are you scared?”

The other man shouted, eyes trembling as he watched the knife come down.

Alastor pushed through, metal sinking into Tommy’s throat. No pause, he withdrew and sank it again and again. Tommy’s hands fell from Alastor’s face, flailing slightly at his neck before slumping down. He was frenzied, stabbing at his chest and upward with wide eyes. You recognized those constricted pupils. They made sense in this setting. Alastor was panting, taking a second to split the skin from ear to ear in the middle of his melee.

You brought your knees to your chest, watching the crime unfold. Was this anger for you or truly for everyone? No one ever got so angry for you before, if you could be so conceited as to say this was for you. Your mouth opened and you spoke without thinking, no filter. “You look like an angry God. A jazz demon of wrath.” You smiled, the morbidity not lost on you.

Alastor stopped, frozen as he stared at you. For a second, he had forgotten you were there. He was always alone during these hobbies of his. Until recently. You looked like an angel in red and gold. Had he dyed your heavenly robes crimson? Or had you been made that way?

He dropped the knife, peeling his gloves off and stepping over Tommy’s decimated torso before kicking off his shoes.

You scooted back onto the bed and opened your arms, welcoming a strange after-kill cuddle. Your reward.

Alastor took off his bowtie, then his shirt. It took you a second, not realizing what was happening until he began to unbuckle his belt. “Now?!”

He nodded, “Yeah.”

“What the fuc— okay,” your hands flew to unclasp your stockings and roll down your panties. You mumbled to yourself, “Jesus Christ.”

As he crawled over you, warm gloveless hands tracing along your legs, hips, waist, you looked at up him with your now dilated pupils, “It’s murder? You need murder?”

He laughed, embarrassing you a little, “No it isn’t that.” His face nuzzled into your neck, “You’d go to hell? For me?”

You froze, you hadn’t really seen it like that.

“You’d damn your eternal soul,” his hips pressed into you, an unfamiliar hardness there that made you gulp, “just to spend time with me?”

How were you so heated over an erection? A dime a dozen, men practically threw them at women who offered them the slightest smile. Yet feeling him so hard against you, something you had been practically praying for, made you weak. A trembling virgin all over again.

Don’t lie, he always told you to be honest so you decided to try it out even if it made you feel at risk of harm. Your hands slid up and into his hair, gripping gently, enough to elicit a groan from him, “Well I was worried heaven wouldn’t have jazz, so… yeah.” You had to always say something a little in jest, to hide from the vulnerability of honesty, “This seemed like a better option.” The truth was, if you had to state it plainly, you would dive head first into hell in exchange for his smile. To hear his laugh. To feel his breath over your mouth. You were quite sure hell was more your scene, anyway.

“I’ll be sure to fill your afterlife with jazz every day, dear.”

How could he make hell sound so sweet?

“It’s a deal.” Fingers playing with his hair, basking in the warmth of skin on skin.

He leaned up, eyes scanning your face as he always seemed to do in these intimate moments. The feeling spreading down his chest was one wholly foreign to him, one he was struggling to put into his own words. You hadn’t run away. You opened your arms for him even still, welcoming your own damnation in exchange for… affection? Attention? Him? The reason didn’t matter, not to Alastor, and not now to his growing need. You didn’t even push him for more than he wanted to give, not yet needled him for details, secrets, sex. Could you really just be there for Alastor? Take him for what he was and what he wasn’t?

His mouth was salivating at the thought you’d give him anything. Reality was, you already had. His finger caressed the purple welt on your cheek. You were given pain and he returned it ten fold to its owner. A demon of wrath. He felt his cock twitching, underwear tented around him.

You smiled up at him, wiping a little streak of blood from his jawline, “You look quite pretty in red yourself.”

His head came to rest on your collarbone with a shaky sigh.

Had you said something wrong?

“Please, you’re already pushing me to my limit.”

Making a show of it, you zipped your mouth and pretended to toss the key. You wanted to reach down and pull off his remaining bit of clothing, to rub yourself against his manhood. But, you weren’t sure if that was something he would appreciate. You didn’t want to ruin his experience, to make him regret offering you something he so clearly didn’t need to give.

He removed his underwear, watching you unbutton your dress and pulling your arms free. Your bra, garter, and stockings were still on. Somehow he found it more scandalous than if you were completely naked.

Your breath was shaking, uneven as the excitement took control of you. There was a not totally unfounded fear you'd black out from hyperventilating.

Alastor lined himself up with your heat and pressed in, making a hard to decipher face as his brow knit up and he bit his lip. You were already so wet, not a hand or mouth needed from him. He wondered if you shared more than an acceptance of justified homicide; your body so relaxed and welcoming to him.

With a few shallow thrusts, he was fully sunk into you. You may have let out a cry. An emptiness you hadn’t clocked was suddenly gone. Was this what Zeus meant when he said the two souled humans were too powerful and tore them apart to weaken them?

Was this sex, or love? The word made you nervous. But—- if he offered it to you in both palms, you’d suffocate yourself in his hands.

He began to move in earnest, thrusting in and out slowly. You had expected the frantic moves of a horny virgin. Instead he was moving with control, hips rolling into you like waves gentle and steady where the lake met land, not slamming like many men before him.

Had it been any other dick, you’d whine and begin moving yourself against it for that needed speed. This was Alastor. Dripping pleasure into your open mouth like a drought-breaking summer shower.

You didn’t recognize your own sounds, already panting and moaning as a warmth spread from the place where his cock was sliding around inside you.

Alastor tried to keep calm. Even when his body was sensitive, he wasn’t used to the mental work needed to fight off his orgasm. Usually he had the opposite issue, struggling to stay focused enough to finish. Mind wandering to more productive chores.

But you were so wet, so accepting in body and mind. He watched your eyes close, one hand gently clawing at the blankets, the other reaching down to touch his lower stomach every time he thrust back in. For the first time in a very long time you really truly wanted to remember who was at the other end of the dick you were enjoying.

Languid moves. Swollen cockhead hitting the bottom of your walls, the top, the end, pushing still a little further.

“I’m sorry,” Alastor leaned down over you, kissing at your jawline, “For making you wait so long for so little.”

His rhythm picked up then, burying himself deeper into your sopping cunt and dragging out enough to pull back that quiver of his release.

You shook your head, lips tingling. “Nothing little here.”

He attempted a laugh, losing his breath. He wanted to last longer, to make the experience worth your while but he could feel you dripping down his balls and it weakened him with alarming efficiency. Finally the frenzied speed you witnessed earlier was turned to you, you brought your legs up, holding at his sides. “Darling I need to-,” he moaned into your ear.

“Please stay.” You clung to his neck, nails grazing at his shoulders.

Alastor’s voice was soft and sweet, a small moan and a gentle grunt. His legs spread more, trying to get every centimeter of himself into you. Hips now grinding in a small circle, but not losing any of the comfort of your warmth. You felt him still pumping that welcomed heat into you, and you tightened around him, drawing out your own moan. He hissed, “Sensitive.” Your legs were shaking like leaves in a storm, no orgasm but the pleasure nonetheless intoxicating.

The front of your brain felt like static, perhaps from the lack of oxygen as you had uncharacteristically lost your breath under Alastor.

Like losing your virginity, after the fear faded and you were able to find a moment for introspection, you found yourself larger than before. The edges of your canvas expanded out, new parts of yourself unfurling for you to explore. Nothing had been lost, only gained.

Alastor kissed at the dark circle under your eye, at the bruise of your cheek, he lifted your arm and kissed gently at the purple and blue spots there too. He had lied, and he wasn’t sure why, but maybe he’d find the will to admit it to you someday.

He had left yesterday to keep from strangling Tommy in the center of the theater, finding himself in a rage. He rarely felt anger. His killings always about retribution, about karma, about righting the scales. He needed to leave to keep from losing his composure.

He lied to you in the alley, unable to look you in the eye when he did it for fear you’d see it. You always seemed to see him with a clarity others didn’t despite such a short time together. He struggled to hide from you and it was as exciting as it was frightening. A testament to your similarities.

He hadn’t done it for everyone. No. His personal moral code fell to pieces when he saw your bloodied eye and bruised skin. He would have killed Tommy even if he had been a good man, even if you’d been the instigator. None of his murderous rules mattered. And it scared him.

(Next Part Next Week, orz)

*slang for boyfriend, often a rich one

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

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🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x you #hazbin #the radio demon #human!alastor #human alastor

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warnersister · 1 month

Text

Peaky blinders headcannon ->

“the boys finding out the reader is a virgin”

Find the request here

Tommy🪖

🪖Tommy had been courting you for a good few months now; much longer than he would any other woman. But he quite liked you so he was more than willing to make an exception for the lovely young lady that had just moved to the area.

🪖You’d moved for a fresh start, away from your past and to Birmingham. You’d packed your bags and left home and got on the train - taking it as far as it would go and got out when the conductor pleaded with you to disembark as they’d start the journey back to your beginnings.

🪖You’d accepted the job at The Garrison, noting the sign in the window as you aimlessly wandered the streets, mindlessly questioning your intentions. The sign in the window was almost a call from God and you hurried inside, being greeted by the bar man and a few raised eyebrows at the young girl with her life in a suitcase and hair all tangled. “Y’alright love? Look like you need a drink.” You shook your head. “A job is what I need. Still hiring?” You asked and he looked you over once. “When can you start?”

🪖So eleven months deep with a flat and a job you were quite happy in Birmingham. Your specialty straying away from being a barmaid and more towards being a hostess and front of house staff. You’d seat people and prepare the hotel lodgings upstairs, and arrange rooms and port for pesky business when it came down to it. And in the process you’d captured the attention of a certain blinder who believed he had no business interfering with the life of a young maiden just getting back on her feet, but you entertained him so who was he to be so austere and deny himself such pleasures?

🪖You were shutting shop on a Saturday night, footfall substantial and you’d finally managed to kick all drunkards out of the pub after much struggle and a bit of help from John Shelby, who’d tipped his hat and went on his merry way. You’d grabbed your coat of the hanger, hearing the door bell chime behind you “we’re closed” you announced, pivoting on your heel “I know.” That all familiar voice sounded and you peeked your head. “Alright, Tommy?” You ask, getting your bag and fastening your coat; preparing for a cold winter night in Birmingham.

🪖He stepped closer and you, in turn, stepped backwards until you were trapped against the bar. “This has gone on for long enough,” he says gruffly, staring deep into your eyes and studying your face. You’d raised your brows “what has, Tom?” He shook his head and chuckled slightly. “You and I; ‘m so sick of seeing you and not being able to have you for myself.” He tells you, right arm wrapping around your waist and head dipping slightly.

🪖Your hand came up to hold him where he was and he stopped, in question. “Not like this Tommy.” You say, looking away but he grasps your chin gently to pull you back to face him. “Not like this?” He hums “Thomas, I’ve never..” you lead off hoping he’d understand what you were implying. He thought for a moment before it clicked. “Never?” You shook your head “never.” His Adams Apple bobbed as he swallowed a lump in his throat “never.” He mumbled. “And how should I go about this the right way?” He asked, settling his hands on your hips and smiling slightly.

🪖“Dinner and a nice walk.” You say and he nods with a hum. “How’s tomorrow?” You shake your head “not leaving Harry to deal with your lot on a Sunday.” “When you next off?” He asks “Friday.” “Then we’ll go out on Friday.” You nod and smile, but point a judging finger at him. “No guns” he smiles “yes sweetheart, no guns.” “And no peaky business” he shakes his head “no business.” “No fighting either, at all” you warn and he chuckles “I promise” you lean your hand up to caress his face and he leans into your touch. “Take that bloody razor blade out of your cap too.” He raises a brow “how do you know about that?” “You underestimate the amount of times I’ve carried Arthur out of this bar and nearly sliced my hand on that thing.”

🪖“I want to see Thomas. No Shelby.” You say and he blinks. “Then Thomas you shall have.” “May I walk you home?” He asks and you smile up at him “you may” and he offers an arm to walk you to your house, looking forward to taking the last of your innocence the following Friday.

Alfie🧸

🧸Alfie recently started attending his local synagogue, at first yes: to reconnect with his faith, but now it was to see the young woman who attended every day, volunteering as your father was the rabbi. Albeit that sounding wrong, Alfie thought the rabbi was bordering on ancient and you were younger than him, but you were nearly twenty six so that wasn’t too bad.. right?

🧸“Ah Mr Solomons, back again I see” the rabbi commented, noted the recent inclination of Alfie’s presence at the house of God. “Well, been trying to reconnect.” He told his superior. “With God or with my daughter?” The rabbi asked and Alfie’s brows rose. “E-excuse me?” He choked on his words. The rabbi smirked with a slight twinkle in his eye “I’m not stupid” “no, of course you’re not-” “I’ve seen how you’ve been eyeing her.” Alfie quietened for a moment. “Well, y’see she’s a lovely young lady” “I agree, that’s how I raised her.” “And I’d like to ask her for dinner, with your blessing, f’course.” Alfie began to ramble but his elder cut him off.

🧸“Not with the business you’re in, Alfred.” And his mouth ran dry. “For her I’d get out of it, move to Morecambe, open a bakery, marry, have kids, y’know I’d raise them proper.” Rabbi Kaplan again hummed “but that sort of business isn’t the kind you can get out of, is it?” “You did, Abe.” Alfie corrects him and there’s a moment of contemplative silence. “You’re right I did. But no one hurts a rabbi.” “Then I’ll get ordained.” Alfie shrugged. Abraham looked at the man before him. “Gods punished me enough. He knows how much physical pain I’m in. And ‘m not gettin’ any younger. Neither’s she. ‘nd I never wanna be in this business anymore. Wanna settle down, dogs, kids, grandkids, the works.” Alfie says and Abe’s tongue protrudes from his lips to lick his dry lips as he thinks.

🧸“If I allow this, he’s watching.” The man looks up “I know.” “And if I allow this, she calls all the shots.” Alfie nods “wouldn’t have it any other way” “as in she says no, means no. She wants to go for a walk at two in the morning, you take her. She wants to come here, you bring her. She wants to get married, you wed her.” The man took two steps closer so him and Alfie were closer than any Rabbit should be with his child “she tells you to jump of the docks, you jump.” Alfie’s eyes don’t falter. “Done.” Abraham closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face “alright, you have my blessing.” Alfie nods, trying to suppress his glee, shaking the rabbi’s hand and walking towards the front of the synagogue where you were sat counting donations.

🧸“Excuse me missus” Alfie clears his throat and you look up at him, swallowing with a lump in his throat “yes?” “I was wondering if you’d like to go for an eat to bite, I mean a bite to eat, I mean-” you giggle at him “yes Alfie I’d love to go out with you.” Alfie sighed in relief and smiled down at you noting how the rabbi had wandered off elsewhere. You sealed and locked the cash box, storing it where I belonged and Alfie held his arm out for you to take “shall we?” You grin back at him “we shall”

🧸You’d been seeing Alfie for going on several months, and today he’d arranged for a restaurant to be shut down in order for the two of you to enjoy some peace and quiet together. You’d enjoyed a lovely romantic meal, accompanied by a bouquet of white tulips and a sneaky kiss to Alfie’s cheek, which he was grateful that they were covered by a large beard - disguising his beat-red features.

🧸Alfie was walking you back to his house, as you’d both previously agreed that you’d stay for the night and head towards Morecambe Bay the following day: to pick out a cottage on the seafront.

🧸You had some clothes at Alfie’s house, for events such as this where you’d decided to stay or go elsewhere the following day without needing to drop back home for anything. You were uncoiling your hair, and your gentle giant came around to hug you from behind, kissing up your neck until you giggled from being tickled, turning to kiss his lips.

🧸Your eyes surveyed one another’s for a moment, him leaning back down to kiss you in a more seriously insinuating manner - sciatica obviously not bothering him today as he managed to pick you up and lead you to his bed. “Alfie wait,” you say quickly and the man immediately stopped “what’s wrong treacle? If y’don’t want to we’ll stop here ‘nd-” “no it’s not that” your left hand fiddled with the rings on your right “what’s wrong flower?” He caressed your cheek gently. “Alfie I’ve never done anything before.” You say and his brows form a line in confusion. “Y’what?” “Alfie I’m a virgin.” You say and time almost stands still, Alfie nearly felt sick as he’d been handling you like a woman of the night and not a dignified young lady of whom was vastly inexperienced. “‘M sorry alf.” You say, looking down. Alfie grasps your chin and forces your eyes to connect with his “it’s me who should be apologising, sweetness. Your old man didn’t know. ‘V been handling y’ like ‘y know what you’re doin’.” He says gently. “And if y’ don’t want to, we don’t have to.” “No Alfie I want to.” And you could swear you could see the hearts forming in his irises, lenses constricting into something unnatural but simultaneously not animalistic. “I’ll take good care ‘f y’ love, just lay down for Alfie and let ‘im work his magic, yeah?” He says, laying you back gently on the bed, vowing to handle you like a porcelain doll in a box of feathers.

Arthur🍺

🍺You were several years younger than Arthur, he never felt like you were - he was as immature as any lad two decades his senior, but with you he never felt his age.

🍺The peaky blinders had been invited to a lavish banquet, black tie, chandeliers, live orchestra, the works. And Arthur never shied away from an opportunity to show his lover off, especially when that dress hugged you perfectly and your matching black gloves made you look so dainty and proper. He was proud to waltz into that event, feeling almost smug with ‘such a babe’ on his arm.

🍺The evening began wonderfully, three courses, all of which Arthur found laughable as he questioned the waiter why his entree was only a piece of rocket and slice of undercooked stake. Drinks were flowing and he was happy to get tipsy while to congregated with Polly and Ada, smitten to see you engaging so well with his family and them requiting his adoration for her.

🍺You’d stood at the bar, trying to gain the attention of the bartender to order yourself another rum and coke and your date an umpteenth pint. “Hiya can I just have a rum and coke and an apple juice?” You ask the man and he raises an eyebrow. “He’s so drunk I don’t think he’ll tell the difference.” He laughs and nods, heading off to get the top of shelf rum Arthur had requested he’d serve you earlier.

🍺“Gorgeous night, isn’t it?” A voice asked from beside you and you peer left, a young gentlemen with slicked back black hair asked as he knocked back the rest of the whiskey he’d been nursing for a while, requesting another as well as your drinks being on him. “Yes lovely.” You say shortly. “Well I was just thinking-” he begins smugly, before hissing and you look back at him quickly to see whatever is the matter. His finger was drawing blood as the new glass he’d been given was chipped on the end, in turn slicing the edge of his finger. “Oh dear, here let me help” you grabbed one of the inscribed handkerchiefs from the pile and applied pressure on his finger, only noticing your proximity when he chuckled. “What a first acquaintance” you laugh and agree. “You’re good at this” he hums “nurse in the war.” You say, not really wanting to reflect on the past.

🍺“May I buy you another drink for your troubles? Or possibly dinner?” He inquires with an up quirked lip. “No thank-” “I think she’s quite happy with the fella she’s got, son.” An angered voice quipped from behind you through gritted teeth, an arm snaking around your waist as the boy’s face ran pale. “Mr Shelby, sorry she didn’t say-” “she shouldn’t have too. Now fuck off before I kick the living daylights out of ya.” Arthur threatens and the previously smug man makes himself scarce.

🍺“Arthur,” “c’mon. We’re leaving.” He says, dragging you through the crowds of people and hailing a taxi, still gentlemanly opening the door for you but clambering in beside you, the smoke billowing from his ears fogging the windows. “Fucking little boy thinking he can talk to my fuckin’ woman, fuckin’ bastard” he reiteratively mumbled under his breath until he reached his house, roughly taking you from the car and throwing a wad of cash at the driver.

🍺As soon as you entered the house you were trapped against the closed door, his lips attacking yours unexpectedly as you struggled to keep up with his might. “I’ll show him who you fuckin’ belong to” “Arthur” “little boy makes up nothin’” “Arthur” “scream my name so the little bastard will fuckin’ hear me” “Arthur I’m a virgin” the man stopped immediately, expression stopping form angered to a more gentle one. “Y’what love?” He asks quietly, tight grip on your trapped wrists loosening “I’ve never had sex before Arth, sorry for not telling you.” You could see him visibly sobering up. “Oh my darlin’ m’sorry I didn’t know.”

🍺This was the only time you’d made Arthur feel his age, his lover a virgin. “I’ll take good care of you sweetheart, if y’let me.” “Show y’ what you’ve missed out on” he chuckles and you laugh, allowing him to pick you up to carry you up the stairs and into the bedroom.

John🥃

🥃Waking up this morning and getting married to a stranger wasn’t on your bingo card. But here you are. Kneeled at the alter beside a smirking young lad who was in a similar situation. “By the power invested in me, I now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The stranger smiled and you and kissed your lips sweetly.

🥃The reception was just as hazy. Drinks were flowing and laughter was heard. Your father and Thomas Shelby seemed at peace for once and all was right with the world. When slow dancing, John had held you close and embraced you like you were young lovers wed, not total strangers at the chapel. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear and smiled as you giggled back at his remarks, fighting with icing on the cake and having an overly fun time with one another’s families after the initial shock from the morning. After all, he was incredibly charming and you couldn’t get out of a gypsy marriage that easily. Not in post-war Britain.

🥃You headed back to the Shelby Manor in a car strung with cans, attached by young children earlier in the day. You looked out the window to the vast house, feeling a hand tugging gently on your hair, the owner tucking it behind your ear as you looked at home. “Glad we’re married cause I could never pull you if I tried, gorgeous.” He comments and you laugh. “You’re joking. One drink and I’d be a gonner.” “At least we got to skip the funny business” he took your chin between your forefinger and chin “cause your all mine now, darling”

🥃He’d hurried you to your room quicker than anticipated, giggling like school children up to no good. He’d kissed you tenderly once inside, behind closed doors and away from the interference of all other prying eyes.

🥃He spun you gently, hands dropping to focus on the details of the backing of your dress; unthreading and untying the intricate lacings applied to keep the gown tight to your person. The dress fell and pooled at your ankles, him attacking the now bare skin with open-mouthed kisses and gentle pecks to the untouched skin.

🥃Coming to your front, he cornered you backwards in small steps until your legs hit the bed and you fell backwards onto it - him on top of you, kissing down your bodice animalisticly. “John?” He stopped and looked up with a hypnotic gaze in his eye “yes love?” “I’ve never had sex before.” You say shakily and he stops all movement. He falters for a moment, before climbing slightly higher in order to be face to face with you “never? You’re a virgin?” You nod back and he swallows the heavy lump in his throat as his briefs tighten.

🥃“Well then what an opportunity to consummate the marriage, aye darling?” He smirks “if you’ll let me that is” you smile and offer a kiss to his lips, him getting the green flag and go ahead to give you the absolute night of your life.

Bonnie🥊

🥊Bonnie was an old fashioned lad. From a young age he drempt of the stereotypical traveller lifestyle - never a singular home, him the homemaker, wife on his arm and umpteen kids running wild. It sounded like heaven. And from the moment he’d set eyes on you Bonnie had decided that that was your role - destined to be by his side. You weren’t a gypsy yourself, but he was certain he could sway you but either way he was happy to compromise as long as he had you.

🥊Tonight was one of, if not the, biggest night of his life thus far. The largest and most important fight he’d ever partake in, not only against the reigning champion which would secure his fate of being the new ruler, but also performing in front of the Peaky Blinders - prove himself to the trust Tommy Shelby had bestowed upon him. And most significantly, you were watching.

🥊He was stood in his changing room, allowing you to gently wrap his hands while his father gave him a pep talk. “Five minutes son.” His dad said, patting his back and nodding at you as he left to give you a minute alone before his spotlight moment. You finished wrapping the cloth around his palms and took his face into your hands, forcing him to look at you. “How we feeling champ?” You ask, trying to wake him up from his dystopian trance. “‘m scared m’love.” He mumbled as you frowned slightly. “Why’re you scared? Talk to me Bon, get it all out. You scared about the Shelby family? I’ll kick ‘em out-" “scared ‘m gonna disappoint you.” He says and you falter.

🥊“Bon you could never disappoint me, why would you think that?” He sighed, looking away before beginning to admit his desires. “Just wanna make you proud. I want to marry you and give you my children and travel as a family. But if I lose you won’t want to do that.” He grumbles. You chuckle slightly. “You’re such a dafty, Bon.” You say and his eyebrows crease. You lean into kiss him as he happily requites the gesture. “Bonnie of course I want to be with you either way. I don’t care if you loose, hell I don’t care if you don’t want to fight and walk out, I’ll walk right out with you.” You say.

🥊“I never knew you felt like that but I’d love to marry you Bon and have your children and I’d be willing to travel with you. I just need you to stop fretting and go win this. I love ya Bonnie.” You say, leaning your forehead against his. “You mean it?” He asks, giddily. You nod “I do”

🥊“God if I win this we’re gonna get started on those kids.” He says, getting riled up as the minutes tick down. You laugh at him “anything you want, Bonnie. Always wanted my first time to be with you.” You say and time stops. His father knocks on the door to hail his son out to the ring.

🥊“BONNIE!” “You’re a virgin?” “Yes” “BONNIE COME ON!” “And you want me to take your virginity?” “Yes Bonnie I trust you. Now go.” He hurries out of the door reluctantly, all riled up and heading for the ring.

🥊The knockout was inevitable, his opponent out cold in a matter of rounds, blood flowing freely from Bonnie’s nose as he celebrated by raising his hands victoriously above his head, father and Blinders crowding him to pat him on the back and exchange congratulations. But none of that mattered. It was just faint ringing in the background. All he could see was you stood a fair way back from the celebrating men climbing over the limb body on the ground no one had seemed to care too. He looked upon your innocent doe eyes and soft smile staring back at him as he blew you a kiss; and never has he been so desperate to get away from his own party.

🥊And after a good few hours and countless attempts to get you all to himself, you were back in Bonnie’s humble beginning: laid on your back as your boy thrust into you gently, trying not to hurt you while simultaneously trying to adhere to his desperation for you. “Faster Bon, please.” “Wanna give me a child? Is that it?” He asks and you nod meekly, as he quickens his pace desperate to bed his maiden in his own place called home.

Isaiah♟️

♟️Isaiah had been trying to get to you for many many years. Countless attempts proving fruitless from not only your rejections, but also your elder brother’s: Finn’s. Any time Isaiah had any suggestion on courting you he was shot down by his friend, who’d smack the back of his head and scold him for thinking such things. “I’ll cut your dick off and shove it in your ear if you keep thinking about my sister with it” he’d tell him.

♟️But tonight, oh tonight. Darling you looked ravishing. The Blinders were celebrating a grand festivity at Shelby Manor, someone was getting married.. or someone was dead, Isiah needn’t have cared less. Because when you cascaded the stairs, Mary Jane’s on foot and tight black dress clung to your bodice, Isaiah had to physically refrain himself from grabbing you from the get go.

♟️Sure, he’d mingled with others and drank freely with the brothers; but not once did he stray his eyes away from your figure, never letting you out of his sight. Not when you looked so delicious and drinkable, mouth running so dry he’d have to reiteratively lubricate it with whiskey. A bit of the good ole’ ‘Dutch-Courage’, aye?

♟️Finally noticing an opportunity when you brother wasn’t lingering over your shoulder, scolding you for wearing such a gown, Isaiah made his move. He slivered to the bar beside you, where Harry was offered a well-paying job serving for the evening and told him to get you another of whatever it is that you were drinking. “Your brother lets you wear a dress like this?” He questions, knocking back the rest of his whiskey and hailing for another.

♟️“No. But I am not Finn and he is nor I” you tell him, nursing the edge of your glass with your finger absentmindedly trailing it. He leant closer. “Tell you, if you were my woman that dress would be on the floor of my room right about now.” He promised and you shivered at the thought. “But I’m not your woman, am I Isaiah?” You rhetorically ask, sipping and please to feel the alcohol running down your throat.

♟️“Oh god if you were.” He said, trailing off. “I’d have you married, knocked up, never not pregnant. Have your last name Jesus. My dad would do the ceremony, y’know. Get you a nice little bouquet and pretty white dress I get to ravish you in afterwards.” He said “well you’ve got it all planned out, huh Mr Jesus?” You snort but you are backed against the bar, two hands either side of your waist as your belittled by the taller between you.

♟️“Believe me I’ve dreamt of the day since I first saw you, just your fucking brother wouldn’t let me.” You eye his lustful expression. “As I said, Isaiah. I am not my brother, nor is he I.” You repeat slowly, relaying that your older sibling(s) had no say in what was going on at that moment. “You’re playing with fire, little girl” he warned “then let me get burned” you say, batting your eyelashes doe-like and innocently, as you dared him to make the move your core had been dying for for decades.

♟️His nostrils flare as you wrap his tie around your hand and yank at it harshly, bringing an ear close to your lips to offer a promise never before foretold. “Isaiah I’m a virgin” you whisper, before releasing his tie and straightening his suit. He follows the lump in his throat before surveying the room once and looking down at you, grabbing your hand to drag you through the crowds of people and into the safe proximities of his bedroom for newly discovered events.

♟️The evening died down and the chatter faltered, as Thomas Shelby announced a new betrothal in the family. However he was unable to promise the two, because the bride and groom were missing.

Michael🎱

🎱Oh god I’ve been waiting for this one. Michael absolutely eats that shit up.

🎱You and Michael were first acquainted when himself, Thomas and John travelled to the Cotswolds in order to engage in some legal business with the Wentworth family - Tommy spoke business with the ceo of the family, while John entertained the mother and Michael; the daughter.

🎱Michael was an old fashioned man with old fashioned views. He liked his women obedient and untouched and willing to listen to his every word - just like they were supposed too.

🎱They were welcomed into the home by several butlers, two to open the grand doors - three to take their caps and the others to lead the family to their guests. “Thomas Shelby.” They heard, and a dignified gentleman descended the stairs, an unnecessary cain in one hand, the other wrapped around his wife as they descended the central staircase to the visitors, a young lady trailing behind.

🎱“Archibald Wentworth.” Thomas smiled at the man and nodded out of respect. The man walked up to him and shook each of their hands firmly. “How longs it been old chap?” He asked Thomas. “Too long, old friend.” Thomas replied, and they engaged in friendly conversation as neither had seen each other since their fathers dealt with similar business in their own youth. The elder woman approached John who kissed the back of her hand and she curtsied, him remaining respectful as their shared introductions. You however, approached Michael who looked back at you fondly. You curtsied to him and he bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure Mr Gray.” You say, voice soft and unbroken. He took your hand and kissed the back of it gently. “All mine, Miss Wentworth.”

🎱“And please, do call me Michael.” He told you, smiling gently. “Well in that case you’re compelled to call me Yn.” Michael studied your face; never in his twenty one years of existence had he seen such beauty before. Your skin was fair and undamaged - soft to the touch. Your nails were clean and manicured with a neutral colour. Your hair was cascading down by your ears, as if instructed to sit perfectly, framing your face. You eyes were innocent yet appeared all-knowing - your mouth formed into a graceful smile. And you carried yourself with such proper dignity; it was admirable.

🎱“Yn my darling?” Your father spoke from beside him and you turned to face him on command - trained to do this. “Yes father?” “Please will you accompany Mister Gray into the living area? I’m sure you’ll both be quite comfortable in there.” You nodded once at the man. “Certainly, father.” “It was a pleasure to meet you gentleman, and see you again Mister Shelby.” You say to the other two, before leading Michael into the living area - which was nothing short of double the size of his childhood home.

🎱“May i offer you some tea?” You ask, as you settle in the room. “That’d be lovely, thank you.” You nod as the maid by the for stepped out to grab tea. “Normally I’d make it myself, however it is improper to leave your company unaccompanied.” You joke and he laughs in response. Soon, the tea arrived and you served it for Michael, who took the cup and saucer thoughtfully and nodded in thanks.

🎱“It’s a lovely home you have.” You smile up at him. “Thank you, I’m sure my father works tirelessly to afford it.” “You’ve no job?” He asked, awaiting the words that he was utterly and totally in love with you. “No, I’m trained in etiquette - to be polite, to cook and to clean.” Michael listened to you thoughtfully. “So you’re kept awfully busy then?” You nod. “Busy however I don’t mind it, I get to live in this glorious building with a loving family and life skills. What more could a girl want?” You confirm and he was sure his eyes were forming hearts.

🎱“And I’m sure you have quite the line of suitors with your beauty.” You giggled but tried to compose yourself. “No sir.” His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Surely you’re already married, how has a man not captivated a lady such as yourself. I’d do it myself if it wasn’t for the line of men ahead of me.” You looked down, blushing, before looking back up at Michael. “There is no line and there are no suitors. It is simply me, myself and I.” You tell him.

🎱“And you Michael? Have you a wife?” You asked, batting your eyelids. “No, in your words it is simply… ‘me, myself and I’.” “And what business do you do yourself, Mr Gray?” You ask. “That is not the sort of information for a lady’s ears. It is not good business.” He almost scolds and you nod. “Oh I understand, my father is not too dissimilar. Staying safe in your business, I hope?” He basked in the way you simply understood, didn’t pry. “Not quite.” He said, raising an eyebrow. He rolled up his left sleeve slightly and you gasped. “Oh you poor man,” you say. “You must treat these with oil, that way they shall heal better.” You scold, touching his skin gently. “Well if you were my wife you could sort it out for me.” “Oh certainly Michael, I wouldn’t allow you to come home damaged as such without properly patching you up.” You say, seriousness written all over your facial features.

🎱“And what do you do with the rest of your time, this afternoon per se?” He ponders, sipping his tea. “Well as you said yourself I’m quite a busy person regardless of what I occupy my time with.” You peer down at the dainty wristwatch wrapped around your wrist, Michael estimated the small device at a hefty sum. “At two o’clock I have etiquette lessons.” You say “and at three?” “At three I read in my library” “how about four?” “At four I have a date.” His face dropped. “A date? With who?” “William Wordsworth.” You giggled at his expression which sighed a breath of relief. “Oh I see, she lives the poems she could not write.” He says, quoting the famed poet. “More like she writes the poems she could not live.” You reply, and Michael notices a longing stare as you probably imagine the life you would have, if not the heir to an infamous delegate.

🎱“And no man has yet compared me to a summers day.” You admit. “You have not yet met your Shakespeare.” You smile, enjoying how he understood your references. “Nor my Victor Hugo” “ah but you have not yet died so nobody may quote ‘Demain, dès l’aube’.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “For I am always the poet, never the poem.” You speak; in words of your own. And Michael cannot stop himself from reaching up with his free hand to caress the soft skin of your cheek gently. “It is impossible. How can a man write anything short of a novel about a maiden so fair?” He question, and you find yourself absentmindedly leaning into his light touch.

🎱“You’re a charmer, Mr Gray” you speak, voice barely above whisper “I’m no charmer, just a man who knows what he wants” he leans to whisper in your ear “is it working?” He meets your eyes with a cheeky grin on his face. “Certainly.” You both finished your tea and the trolley was taken away, miscellaneous chatter arising from each of your lips.

🎱“Madam?” A voice squeaked from the door behind you both. You spun on a pivot to look at the young maid by the entrance. “Yes Beth?” “Mister Wentworth has requested you and Mister Gray return to the foyer” she said, avoiding your stare. “Thank you Beth, we shall be there shortly.” The woman nodded before clicking the door shut behind you to allow you to make your own way there along with the company. Michael’s face contorted: annoyed, but relaxed it when you faced back to him.

🎱“I believe it is time for us to depart.” You tell him. “When may I see you again?” He asks, holding your hands in his own. “Whenever you wish, Mister Gray; should my father allow.” You tell him, before slowly leading him back to where you originally met. There, the rest of the men along with your parents stood as you’d left them - engaged in unwavering chatter. “Ah, Mister Gray - treated well I hope?” Your father asks and Michael nods at the man. “Certainly.”

🎱After some goodbyes and a hug for your father’s old friend Thomas, Michael smirked at you and kissed the back of your hand and whispered promises that you shall meet again.

🎱The men walked back to the car in silence, Thomas lighting a cigarette once inside. “How’d you like her?” He asked, eyeing Michael before nicotine smoke billowed from his lips. “She’s a lovely young lady.” Michael tore his eyes away from his cousin and back to the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you as you drove away; but to no avail.

🎱“She’s a gentle lass. Innocent and proper.” Thomas continued and Michael squinted at him, wondering what the man was getting at. “Doesn’t need corrupting.” “I know that Tommy, what you on about?” “We’ve come to a business agreement with Archibald Wentworth. They in exchange for protection and a good deal of Shelby business, his daughter would marry a gentleman.” Thomas stubbed the last bud out on the leather of the car. “I trust you can fit that role?”

🎱Before either of you really knew it the two were being wed on the great estate of the Wentworth Mansion, both smiling at each other at the end of the aisle like giddy school children with a secret. Within the hour you were husband and wife and Michael had the life and wife he had so hoped and dreamed for.

🎱The reception was a glamorous event; dancing and drinking and the celebration of you being safe, and the Shelby name moving up in the social hierarchy of local reputation. Yourself and Michael had snuck off for a moment alone with one another, to discuss the whirlwind of a day and plans moving forwards together. “May I say my darling you look absolutely divine.” He comments, taking your hand to make you do a full 360 turn to display your attire to him. He swore the dress was adorned entirely in Tiffany crystals. “Thank you, you are too kind.” He tuts “I can never be too kind to my wife.” He smiles.

🎱“And may I be so reckless to say I cannot wait to get this dress of you either” he smirked and you raised your brows as your cheeks reddened. “If that is no problem of course, my lady?” He confirms and you nod. “I apologise for my experience, for I have never before been with a man.” You admit, bashfully and his mouth ran dry. “Never?” You shook your head in confirmation. “Never, Michael.” You say and he gleefully picks you up to spin you around as you laugh at his response. “Well my darling, I hope you know I am prepared to take more than good care of you this evening. And of course continue the family name.”

Finn🎞️

🎞️You were the first girl Finn really cared about. Sure, he’d been on dates and hired whores to satisfy his desires. But he’d never really given much thought into actually taking his time with a girl. Until he saw you working at the bookshop two streets in the wrong direction from the Garrison.

🎞️Him, Isaiah and Bonnie were basically being little shits on the streets of Birmingham when he’d saw you organising shelves through the window, brow furrowed and tongue slightly protruding from your lips as you struggled to place an old hardback on the top shelf. The other two lads had carried on walking whereas Finn had stopped, the other two halting a few ways down to road to figure out where their third had gone, turning to see him awestruck at the bookshop window.

🎞️They hurried back, laughing at the boy who was notably illiterate. Finn could not read, nor write but was staring into the bookshop. “What y’ doing Finn? No picture books in there!” Isaiah joked, straining to see what Finn was so intently staring at. “Ah the girl” Bonnie elbowed him. “She won’t want you mate.” Isaiah informed him “she’s got Shakespeare and Wordsworth. You don’t even know who I’m on about.” And Isaiah was right. You did look dignified and well read because you were. And he was just Finn.

🎞️But he found himself two street in the wrong direction every day nearly, at least when he could find time to slip away. And Isaiah and Bonnie were sick of their lovesick friend ditching them to stare at a stranger awkwardly through a window. Then one day, when the three were repeating their galavant from the first time they saw you, Isaiah shoved him in the door.

🎞️The bell chimed and you turned from your stepladder “just a minute!” You climbed down and approached the disheveled boy at the door. “Can I help you?” You ask “book” he says and you crease your brows “…book?” Isaiah chimed in behind him “he wants to buy a book” he confirms as he smacks Finn around the back of the head. “Any book in particular?” “My first alphabet!” Bonnie exclaims, and the two boys begin cackling loudly and Finn grits his teeth and pushes the two out of the door.

🎞️“Eh what do you recommend?” He asked, scratching the back of his head and his eyes wander on all the paved backs of untouched literature. “What do you like? Fiction? Non-fiction?” Finn looks at you gone out. You look around for a simple poetry book you know is easy to understand “here, try this it’s one of my favourites” Finn nods and turns the book over in his hands and has a quick flick through. “How much do I owe you?” He asks, pushing his hand into his pocket. You shake your head “just come back and exchange it once you’re done.” Finn nods. He could do that. He thanks you and begrudgingly heads out the door to his friends who were still hounding him for the situation and he just smiles at you through the window.

🎞️Finn was getting ribbed week in and week out by both his friends and older brothers, Arthur drunkenly questioning in front of everyone why he hadn’t hired any whores recently and why books were appearing by his bed when he couldn’t read. The family laughed as his face reddened, Isaiah explaining that the lovely young lady down the bookshop had his interest peaked.

🎞️“Y’got her in bed yet?” John asked with a smirk and the younger boy elbowed him sharply. “No.” He mumbled. “No? Ol’ ‘just want a shag’ here hasn’t gotten a lady in bed?” His brother joked. “No she’s not the kind of lass I want to put off.” “Ah” Tommy ruffled his hair. “She’s the real deal then?” He smiled while lighting up another cigarette. Finn thought for a moment before nodding. Yeah, you were the real deal.

🎞️“Date” Finn said as he crashed through the door of your bookshop. You raised a brow at him. “Date with me, please.” He says, panting. “Finn are you alright?” You ask, placing a hand on his back. Me nods, heaving and placing his hands on his knees. He’d just ran here from being with his family. “Do you want to go on a date with me?” He asked when he’d finally gotten his wind back. You smiled and nodded. “Yes I would Finn, when?” “Now.” You raise your brows. “Right now?” “Yeah. If you’d like.” You look down at the dainty wristwatch you were wearing and decided it was wishful thinking if you thought that you were going to get any more footfall in the next hour before you closed. You hummed and nodded. “Sure, let’s go.”

🎞️Finn took you to one of the nicest restaurants in Birmingham in walking distance, waiter seating you quickly after he noticed who Finn was, handing the two of you two open menus. You looked over the options, but was soon distracted by Finn’s conflicted face. “You alright, Finn?” He nods. “What’s up?” He ponders for a minute before mumbling something. “Sorry?” “I can’t read and this has no pictures.” He admits sheepishly, averting his eyes from yours.

🎞️“You can’t read?” You ask, mulling over the past several weeks where you’d be too-ing and fro-ing with Finn with your book recommendations. “But you’ve been borrowing books for months-” “just to see you.” He says, looking down as a smile began to grew on your lips. “I understand if you want to leave. You’re smart and pretty and I’m just an illiterate gangsta.” He says, mentally readying himself for your leave. You placed your hand on top of his where it was laid on the table. “Finn that’s so sweet.” His brows shot up. “You did that for me?” You ask, biting your lips as he affirms your question. You place a chaste kiss to his cheek as you realise just how much the blinder truly cared about you.

🎞️“Let’s get out of here.” You say, breaking the silence. “Seriously?” He asks, moving closer for a more private conversation. “I’m serious. Let’s go.” You say, “really? We don’t have too if you don’t want too-” “Finn Shelby. Let’s go.” And you didn’t have to tell him again, running back home like two giddy school children, hiding away in his room for the rest of the evening, ended by you laying on his bare chest while he drew shapes into your relaxed shoulder.

🎞️“That was better than I expected for my first time.” You admit, staring at the ceiling. It takes a few minutes for Finn to clock onto what you’d just said. He looks down at you, movement of his thumb faltering. “You were a virgin?” He asks, lump in his throat growing as he forced himself to swallow it. “Yeah.” He smirks.

🎞️“Nice.”

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