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peakyswritings · 2 days ago

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Sorry for being late, Flor😭

I loved this second chapter!

The therapist at the beginning pissed me off a bit, I’m not going to lie. I get that it’s his job, but James would never. Though he did have a point when he warned him to be careful cause he can never know who he runs into — his life’s bad already, he doesn’t need a false accusation on top of that.

James and Rose’s dynamic is so freaking interesting, they had me attached to the screen. Conversation flows so well between them, and their chemistry is always top tier. I loved the little detail about teenage Rose finding him cute. She surely didn’t expect she’d find herself going out with him years later.

I also loved how James handled the situation when Rose was drunk. We have a true gentleman here.

"You're a very, veeery, handsome guy," she said later, stirring her words and resting her head on his arm. "A hottie."

This made me laugh😂 I really hope she doesn’t remember this cause I’m bet she’d be so embarrassed😂

For the first time he felt the urge to protect someone besides his younger brother. She awakened something in him and he felt, no mistakes, that it was a dangerous feeling.

I screamed. He’s falling, guys. And he’s falling HARD.

And he left breakfast for her🥹 stop, I love him in every universe.

This was amazing, Flor!🤍

Criminal • Part II

Prev. || RxJ masterlist

Summary: Despite her inner voice is telling her to be cautious, Rose accepts to drink something with James. He discovers a new, unknown feeling that invades his mind.

Warnings: Drinking.

Words: 3.1 k. Series Masterlist.

2019.

James hated therapy. The idea of telling things to a complete stranger sounded ridiculous but if he wanted to keep the privilege of working outside the prison, then, as part of the deal, he needed to visit the therapist the prison had.

The office the doctor had wasn't very different to other offices inside the Joy. White walls, the brown tiles and little windows that discouraged prisoners to escape. As if they were idiots enough to escape from the third floor with several guards pointing guns to their heads.

His name was Dr. J. C. Carter as the sign on the door said. James played with the sleeves of his uniform as he heard the questions the therapist asked.

"So, everything was fine."

"It wasn't bad. World is bit different now, but still the same."

"I guess it is," Carter said looking at James through his glasses. "You're different too. You were a young boy, now you're a man. That helps to see things under other perspective."

"It does."

He was just 18. For James that seemed to be a long time ago when his life changed dramatically the night he killed his father. Action he didn't regret but that he had the chance to do it again, then he'd be more cautious.

"Your papers said you didn't stay with your brother," Carter continued.

"No, I didn't. I'm not going to escape, if that's what concerns the pigs. That could bring problems to Jay and despite everything, I love my brother and I don't want that. I just slept with a chick. I stayed with her."

"Consensually?"

James frowned "Of course! I'm not a rapist! What fucking question is that?! Fuck! Go and ask the woman!"

"It's just a question, James," Carter said calmly. "I need to fill the report and I need the truth. We know you're not a rapist, but sometimes men can be unpredictable. It's just that."

"Accusing me to be that kind of beast sounds very judgemental to me! I'd strangle rapists, if they let me."

"Good to know, Mr. Thorne." Carter left his notebook and pen on the table and looked at him. "Just be careful outside. I don't know what your lawyer said, but I need to be honest with you: if people had the chance to call the police and play the card of a good citizen, then they will. There's nothing wrong with sleeping with another adult every weekend but be careful. I like when my patients had the chance to be part of society again and it'd be a shame if you lose that privilege."

James nodded.

"See you next time, Mr. Thorne," Carter said smiling and closing the notebook.

James heard the advice and after the first time outside, he chose his company in a better way. Sometimes he even visited the same woman for several weekends. None asked things and for James that was the perfect companion.

September 2020.

James felt a fire growing inside him, along with the curiosity, the girl that now he knew was named Rose, woke up something inside him. The indifference he usually felt towards other women, although several of them he found attractive, transformed into something new. Her shining brown eyes, her beautiful smile, her tiny hands holding a new cup of coffee as she talked to him… James felt he wanted to know her. As person and in bed, too.

"What's doing an Londoner girl here?" He asked, also drinking another coffee. Her accent was so obvious that she didn't need to tell him where she was from.

"I heard that this is a good place to escape from the law," she said, chuckling and when obviously she was joking, that only increased his interest and James stared at her under a new light. "My father lives here, I needed a change so I've been living here for the past 7 years."

"Do you live with him?"

"Not really. He has his own house and I've mine. Even when are in the same ground."

"Well, a little privacy it's always good. Any Irishman took advantage of your beauty and stole your heart?"

Rose snorted. "Are you trying to get information about my private life?"

"Maybe I want to know if I have any rivals I should beat."

"Oh, well, wow," Rose expressed and James saw her looking at him, like trying to investigate his soul but that was something he didn't want to, so just smiled leaning on his seat holding the cup in his hands. His soul belonged to him and none had access to it and preferred to keep it that way. "You don't waste your time, do you? Slow down because I'm not that kind a woman and definitely you'll need more than a donut to buy my trust."

"None told you that some men love women like you? I can smell temperament in your little body."

"Well, I'm the eldest sibling that helps you to train you for life. That and dealing with douche bags on daily basis."

He smiled sideways. "You think I'm one."

"I don't know but I think you are hiding things. It's Saturday evening. I bet you have something better to do than being here trying to talk to me that clearly I have nothing interesting to say. Men like you don't waste their time and they love to show themselves like a peacock, talking about the last phone they bought, the car or the bike. But you didn't, I found it very suspicious."

"Men like me? What that means? I guess you're used to men that try to compensate their small dick with big artifacts. It's not my case, sweetheart... And I'm very pleased to hear what you have to say during this Saturday evening."

"By men like you I mean guys looking for women ready to fuck. I can smell your testosterone same I can smell this coffee. Maybe you're not compensating your dick owning the last iPhone, but James… you're still a man looking for sex."

There was no way he could refute that because it was true. No meant no, but she hadn't said it yet and if something James discovered that last year was that he enjoyed the back and forth before the beautiful moment both, he and the woman, agreed to finally be together. Usually it didn't take long and he thought this was going to be the case.

2005.

Before going to school, Rose opened the newspaper that was on the table where her grandmother left it. The headline obviously was about the trial. She was sure that the the PM could die in that moment but none could pay attention to it because a young boy who killed his father in a very grotesque way, apparently, was a sensation and press loved that.

He was cute, she thought looking at his photo but immediately Rose horrified by her own thoughts. He was a murderer and news emphasized in the fact he was laughing when police found him next to the corpse. Yet, the thought that he was cute stayed with her.

It wasn't a big deal either, it wasn't like she was going to visit him in prison, declaring her love at top of her lungs. It was just the thought of a 17 years old girl, looking at the front page of the newspaper where this boy was. The posters on her bedroom showed Robbie Williams and Justin Timberlake, her crushes, not James Thorne.

Rose felt pity for him, not just his father ended up being a child abuser but now he had to waste the best years of his life behind the bars.

It was indeed a very sad life for such pretty boy.

2020.

There was no way she could remember his name and even if she did, there was no chance she'd recognise him. The 18 year-old boy had nothing to do with the 33 year-old man, beyond the eyes and hair colour. But if something that the girl she was and the woman she was now had in common was that both found James Thorne irresistible, even when one of them knew who he was and the other not.

"And you're not into that," he said regarding her statement but she didn't reply. Rose was. She did it a lot of times before and was sure she was going to do it again, too. The thing was that despite his pretty face, Rose felt something else but couldn't name what it was.

The aura, said her soul but she didn't want to listen.

"It's more complicated than saying yes to a complete stranger that bought me a donut, James. You can be a one of those men who love to seduce women only to have fun with them against their will and then what?"

"You think I'm a predator going after girls? I'm better than that, love."

"I hope so. My life is already a shit to also unblock a trauma. Where do you live? I always came here believe me when I say that I'd remember you."

The man smirked "Good to know. I live in Phibsborough." He replied looking at her like expecting some kind of reaction that never came. For her, the mention of Phibsborough meant nothing but just another neighborhood in Dublin. For him it was the truth, in that place was located Mountjoy. "Maybe I can invite you a beer? Just that," he insisted.

Rose looked at him, if it wasn't because he was everything she loved in men probably could have said no, but she said yes. She accepted because she felt tired, moody. Because she hated that Christine was right when she said that Rose was alone. Tired of feeling life was beating her up. Despite that voice in her head telling her to be careful, Rose couldn't help but feel she needed love too, even for one night. Maybe just a hug. And James, that handsome stranger, could give her that.

But things not always work the way one wants.

If he had been another man, the kind of men he saw on daily basis in Mountjoy, those he hated and despised with his whole soul, then he'd take advantage of her, but he didn't. No matter what Jay had said to him last time he saw his brother, didn't matter how much time passed since he had been with a girl, he respected them. One thing was seduce them to get in exchange bed and roof, James knew that he could never do anything against their will or, like in Rose's case, when they weren't conscious at all.

They flirted, they touched eachother in a very suggestive way, their lips almost touched the other and James found himself enchanted by her. That woman was playing like him like she was a spider and he was a bug trapped in her spiderwebs and that never happened before. It was him the one who attracted them.

But after a couple of beers, she drank some cocktails and soon it was obvious she was drunk. James stopped drinking to pay attention to and maybe take care of her. That wasn't what he was expecting, he couldn't deny how much he wanted her, how much he desired to have her legs wrapping his hips but it wasn't going to be that night.

"You're a very, veeery, handsome guy," she said later, stirring her words and resting her head on his arm. "A hottie."

"Do you think so?" he asked and chuckled hearing her.

"I do. I know I'm not and you probably have a loongg queue of really beautiful girls waiting for ya. So I'd consider myself lucky if you're still 'ere."

"Well, I don't have a long queue of girls. I don't even have one, so you're wrong. And you're also wrong if you think you're not pretty. That's the biggest lie of all."

"No, it's true. And I'm also a loser. I'm 32, I'm basically living with my father, my job sucks and all the dreams I had once, just boom… just exploded in thousand of pieces long time ago and I didn't have a serious relationship in centuries. If I ever had one."

"Those are good news to me," he said and she slapped his arm, softly. "Life sucks, love. You're not alone in this. Bigger losers are out there and they think they're succeeding. At least you're honest."

"For being honest losers, then," she said drinking another cocktail.

It took him several minutes to convince her to stop drinking. He put an arm around her waist and helped her to go out the pub they were in.

Obviously she couldn't drive and he didn't dare to do it either, not to mention he hadn't been behind a wheel in a very long time. The only solution he found was open her bag and search for money to get a cab and her ID to know her adress and that's what he did. During the trip from the pub to her house, she fall asleep on his shoulder. It took him several minutes to get her to wake up.

He found her keys in her pockets and after some tries, he'd open the door and both entered.

"Now I'm going to take you to bed and you're going to sleep, sweetheart. You're a mess, God," he said taking her in his arms, bridal style and carrying her around the house.

He pushed two doors before finding her bedroom. When her back touched the mattress, he removed her shoes and covered her with her blankets but when he leaned forward to kiss her forehead, she tried to get up to actually kiss him but he moved his head away from her.

"You don't want to," she said and James heard the disappointment in her voice.

James used both of his hands to push her back to bed.

"I want" he said, tucking her curls behind her ear, "but if we do something and tomorrow you don't remember what happened, I'm going to get in big trouble. Just sleep, love. We will see what the sunrise brings."

"A hungover," mumbled her, closing her eyes, bringing the blankets near to her chin.

"That for sure," he laughed.

Rose was already slept when he stood up and went to her kitchen.

The house although small was nice and had beautiful decorations. He took the liberty to prepare himself a cup of coffee because his head was also spinning while looked around. There were some pictures of her with two young men that clearly were the brothers she mentioned that night. He noticed how similar they were despite the obvious height difference between her and the other two. They looked like a beautiful and happy family. He tried to remember if Jay and him had some kind of pictures together but none memory came to his mind. There was no time to build happy memories between the Walsh brothers.

Over the table he saw some sketches of dresses and even when he knew nothing about fashion, James thought they were beautiful but she didn't say anything about her doing dresses, maybe it was just a hobby. Maybe it was one of those crushed dreams she talked about. Like those he also had when was a kid.

He sat in her sofa and let out a sight feeling the warmth of the cup in his hands. That wasn't what he was used to, but at least had a place to sleep. He asked himself how longer he was going to be capable of doing that, at first it was fun but lately it felt like a second job despite the benefits of having a pair of legs just for himself during two days.

A funny smile appeared in his face when he listened a soft snoring coming from the bedroom. At least for a while her problems disappeared. For the first time he felt the urge to protect someone besides his younger brother. She awakened something in him and he felt, no mistakes, that it was a dangerous feeling.

If he had to kill again, then he was going to do it.

"Who are you, Rose Coldwell?" he thought. James removed his shoes and lay down on the sofa, putting his arms behind his head. He felt trapped but this time it wasn't the prison the one who had him captive.

Rose woke up because her head was killing her. She shouldn't have drinking that much. It took her some minutes to realise she was in her own bed but she had no memories of coming to her house. Messed up images of her and the man she met the day before, James appeared in her mind.

Oh god.

She kicked the blankets and sheets out of her and to her relief saw she was still dressed. Her shirt was still inside her jeans and even her hoodie and socks were on. The only missing thing were her shoes that she found on the carpet next to her bed.

Rose got up and went to the kitchen. There was no one there except a whole breakfast waiting for her and a note on the table.

/I hope you feel well this morning. Here you have something that will make you feel better. Enjoy it, love.

I'd like to see you again. If you want, I'm going to be at the same cafe, same table we met yesterday waiting for you when my shift ends at 5. Your car is still there.

XOXO, James./

Along with a jar of fresh water, a pot of black coffee were also some biscuits and two Alka seltzer waiting for her. Rose couldn't help but laugh, something she regretted because it made her head hurt even more but she couldn't deny the gesture was so nice that it was impossible to ignore.

All the negative feelings she had regarding him the previous day just vanished, like her hangover after the water and the Alka Seltzer. While drinking water, thirsty as she was, she thought how kind he was and how wrong she was.

Of course she wanted to see him again. Not just that day, probably other days too. If he was up to that, too.

Rose turned on the radio after finishing the breakfast and then went to take a shower. She needed one.

The broadcaster and a guest started to talk about famous criminal cases that for a while were the most important thing the news had to show and then were completely forgotten. James's case, among them. But Rose wasn't there to hear it.

When she left the shower, Bruno Mars was sounding and with a towel wrapped around her head she started to dance, smiling and thinking about him. She couldn't help but believe that he was the best thing that happened to her in a while. Probably ever.

Hey, baby, I think I wanna marry you...

@call-sign-shark @littlepeakydevil @zablife @cillmequick @evita-shelby @peakyswritings

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peakyswritings · 3 days ago

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Criminal • Part III

Prev.|| RxJ Masterlist

Summary: Rose asks James for a second chance, this time she's sober. The suburbs, an abandoned building and drugs could be exactly what they need.|| James remembers happier times.

Warnings: Blood. Weed. Fighting. Some obsessive-possessive behaviour.|| His best friend is here. (Even when he's not explicitly mentioned yet, Amos belongs to @call-sign-shark )

Words: 2.8k || Series masterlist

2005.

The first night in prison was the first time he saw his father again. He was wearing his favourite gray suit and a white shirt.

"Finally you are where you deserve," the ghost said.

"You too."

"I guess I am. You did a wonderful job, son."

"So, now I'm your son? For you, I never was your son."

"Maybe because the man you knew isn't the one that's talking now. You're projecting. I don't exist anymore. Maybe you're starting to lose your mind."

Mr. Walsh wiped his forehead and cleaned up the blood that was falling down his face. James saw a bullet hole in his forehead that wasn't there moments ago. It was the same spot where he shot when his father was sleeping.

The spectre smirked "I'm proud of you, James"

James closed his eyes and hummed an old song that he remembered his mother used to sing when he was a kid. When he opened his eyes again, his father wasn't there anymore.

James covered his body with the blanket the prison gave to him and looked at the dark sky through the little window the cell had. Just eighteen years old, although law said he was an adult and also a killer, but part of him was still afraid like when he was six and he and his brother heard the footsteps approaching the bedroom. Jay, three years old, was clutching his legs. Hearing his father was never good.

James left his bed and went to the sink to wash his face. The fresh water helped him to finally come back to reality: He was alone and safe. His father was dead because he had killed him and Mr. Walsh couldn't hurt him anymore.

The first night in prison, James didn't sleep at all. He preferred not to think that 25 years in that small place awaited for him.

2020.

She was there waiting for him when he entered the cafe again. There was the girl that intrigued him like no other ever did. Rose and her messy ponytail, her mischievous smile and her precious brown eyes.

There was a cup of coffee and two grilled cheese sandwiches waiting for him when he sat down.

"You survive the hangover," he said "and you came."

"I did. Both things. You came, too. I was afraid that you have changed your mind and I couldn't have the chance to thank you for what you did. And also I owe you an apology because ending up with a hangover wasn't my intention. Nor bother you, of course."

"Of course I came. I was counting the hours and listen, you didn't bother me. It's okay, we all have been there. Besides, it was cute... You," James replied and smirked you said things."

"Oh fuck!" Rose covered her face with her hands, completely embarrassed "I can't remember! Was it too bad? I'm sorry if I disrespect you! My life is a shit, I needed to forget but that's not an excuse. I'm sorry, James!"

"Easy, love! You flattered me, I'm not going to offend because of that. I'm not that kind of person and I see you're not that kind of woman either. And you bought me this," he said pointing at the meal in front of him.

"Thanks for being such a gentle soul, James." Rose said. "You deserved it not just for putting up with me, but for preparing a whole breakfast and the bought the Alka seltzer for me."

"It was nothing, sweetheart. I'd do it again. After all, it was fun. You were like fresh air. You say your life is shit, but you should see mine."

Rose looked at him while he was eating and smiled. He liked her and Rose knew that if she let him go, she was going to regret it. "Could you give me a second chance? Maybe this time I can do things better."

He stretched out his arm and stroke her hand, drawing patterns on her skin "How fool do you think I am to say no to you?"

James rested his head on the window as she drove through the city, once it was dark and both left the café. Slowly they left behind the illuminated buildings and pubs with joyful people to enter into the suburbs. Soon they could see darker streets, smaller houses, groups of teenage boys hanging around and some prostitutes.

"How a girl like you knows this place?"

"A girl like me?" Rose turned her head briefly to see him and snorted, paying attention to the road again "I'm not a princess, James, and if you think I'm one, let me show you my lands. It has the most perfect view of the city, none can bother you, people around are harmless junkies that cultivate the best weed you can see around and we're going there."

James looked at her and smiled. "You're fucking special, sweetheart."

Rose parked the car under an old tree and both walked towards an old, abandoned factory.

"If you need peace, this is the place," she said.

James hadn't been there before but like a lot of countries in the world, Ireland also had to close factories that soon became part of the landscape. With broken windows, holes on its roof, graffiti, the overgrown lawn, rats living there where people used to work before… The building was now a refuge for homeless people and drug addicts. Some occasional hookers also visited it.

"Aren't you scared?" he asked her.

"Here? These people want to be alone, Jamie, last thing they need is disturbances that could attract the pigs. Nothing ever happened… but in case it happens, you're here. Don't ask me but I feel safe next to you. Come on," Rose said and offered her hand to him. James hesitated for a some seconds but finally he took it and she brushed it with her thumb. Hand in hand, James let her guide him. She found a young couple who greeted her warmly, sitting in the shadows, only illuminated by the light of the cigarettes. The exchange didn't last more than a couple of seconds, she gave them money and they gave her a little plastic bag with the weed she mentioned before.

"Come, let me show you the best place on Earth."

The factory was big and cold. The numerous windows allowed the moonlight enter through them making the floor full of debris visible for them to walk without worrying about falling. Although James thought that Rose knew that place so well that could walk there with her eyes closed.

"Where are we going?"

"To Heaven," she replied and once again he found himself smiling.

They climbed the stairs until they reached the third floor. It was empty except for the sound of the leaking roof even when that night it wasn't raining.

"You come here often," he stated. She moved around like she had been living there for years.

"Often enough to have some belongings here," she replied and from behind a broken door she grabbed a black backpack. "Catch," Rose said throwing him a little box that when he took it in his hand noticed it was chocolate. "For later."

"Do you bring your guys here and you seduce them with weed and chocolate? With that enchanting smile of yours?"

"Only those who are named James."

"You don't know me, darling."

"I know enough about you to say that if you wanted to hurt me you'd have done it last night when I was completely drunk but you didn't. And that's enough for me."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I know."

Every time he felt nervous, unsure, James used to bite the inside of his cheek and he did it now. She made him nervous in a good way. It was the uncertainty of not knowing what to expect, the way that with any effort she made him smile and the way he wanted to wrapped her in his soul only to not let her go again. The fear that despite his words, he could hurt her. How did she manage to get inside his life in little over 24 hours? He didn't know but he did want to know. He wanted to have her next to him, under him, even when he didn't have the opportunity to kiss her yet but if something James knew was that roses and thorns belonged together.

They sat down in the edge of the broken window with their legs hanging out the building. She was right, the view from there was magnificent. The darkness of the surrounding areas contrasted with the brightest lights from the urban area. The autumnal breeze didn't bother them and the fact that, unlike the previous night, it wasn't raining made everything nicer.

Last time James felt comfortable talking with someone was long time ago when he was still a young boy, prior the killing. Mr. Walsh used to isolate him and Jay to the point they didn't have friends. He grew up being the quiet boy that every classroom had. It wasn't until he reached the adolescence, when finally was taller and stronger than his father and the man couldn't hurt him anymore, that James started to frequent other people. First were just boys from the neighbourhood that gave him nothing but a headache only talking about money and school girls, something he didn't blame them about but it wasn't what he was looking for. He needed to release the anger inside him and being a stupid rich boy wasn't what he was looking for. It didn't take him long to find what he needed, what he craved, outside his neighbourhood and at night.

He found his best friend the way it should be: during a street fight. James witnessed from the other side of the street at this tall black haired boy that was fistfighting two other guys, probably older than him. He didn't know why he did it, but he did it. James crossed the street and punched the one who was at the right of this boy that of course didn't see it coming. That was the first time James got involved in a fight but it was the beginning of everything. His fist found the jaw of his rival and then his nose. James himself was bleeding but God knew that he had tasted adrenaline and he had loved it. The anonymous guy lost his consciousness when James smacked his skull against a wall. He looked around and saw that the black haired boy also defeated the other man. Sweating and with blood on his face, he was also smiling.

"I'll thank you later," he said "but I think we should run before police comes."

So they ran. The first time of the many times they were going to run for their lives, happened that night.

For James, being there with her felt like going back to those years when he didn't know that every action had consequences. When after school instead of going back to his house, he spent time looking for trouble, smoking and forgetting about his problems in a very unhealthy way but that made him feel alive. And after over a decade and a half, he felt alive again.

He put his arm around her and kissed her hair at the same moment Rose snuggled up with him, rubbing her head like a cat against him.

"I crave intimacy," she confessed.

"Is that how you call sex?"

"No? I call sex… sex. I mean intimacy. The act of being yourself with someone else, no masks, no lines that you learnt from memory to say. Intimacy like being in the couch with the person you love watching the corniest movie created by humans and laughing together. No sex… intimacy. Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about."

James rested the hand that had the joint on his knee and shook his head. "Maybe I don't know. Maybe I never experienced that."

He wasn't laying. Intimacy for him meant meaningless sex and even more meaningless pillow talking. It meant him pretending to hear the women he slept with talking about their ex husbands, and James learnt how to nod only to forget everything the moment he crossed the door to never be seen again. He thought Rose was going to laugh but she didn't.

"A place called Notting Hill is a good way to start an intimate night for someone that never experienced that," she commented so casually that it took him unprepared. "Julia Roberts, Hugh Grant… yeah. I'd go with that one. Two big mugs of hot chocolate, cookies and a blanket over you and your significant other on top of both of you. Dancing together in the kitchen afterwards, too. That's intimacy." Rose turned her head to look at him that had his blue eyes fixed on her, his mouth a bit open. "Don't mind me… I'm just daydreaming, it's okay if you think it's boring or stupid. Of course intimacy also means sex. Sex is good, too."

"No, I don't think it's boring or stupid. I think it's nice, it'd mean peace."

"It could."

"Show me," he said resting his hand on her cheek "I need peace."

Rose tilted her head. Any other man could have mock at her but he didn't and his eyes said that he was being sincere. She took her phone from inside her pocket "If that's what you want… signal here is horrible. We can't watch a movie, but downloading music and dance helps when you have an emergency like now."

You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life...

"Not ABBA!" he said, with a funny smile as she moved from the window and went to the centre of the abandoned floor inviting him to go where she was.

"Yes, ABBA!" she replied already dancing like nothing mattered "because if ABBA doesn't make you move then, Jamie, nothing will. Come on, don't be shy."

It took Rose a while until he trusted her enough to move along with her. Maybe he didn't want to look like a fool, maybe it was true he never did something like that before. Or maybe it was long ago since he could do it to the point he forgot how it felt.

You come to look for a king…

James, that started that weekend as many others, looking for a woman who could give him a roof and a bed for two days in exchange of sex found himself dancing ABBA in the most unexpected place of all, after smoking weed and eating chocolate with a girl that seemed to be created by her mind but she was real as he was. He made her twirl and her curls followed her movements. He couldn't help but find her special.

The thoughts and feelings he had the day before intensified. She needed to be his.

'Take a chance on me', started to sound and the song brought them dangerously close one to the other. His hands went to her waist and touched her forehead with his.

"Tell me I can kiss you," he whispered, brushing his mouth on her earlobe.

"I'm going to offend if you don't," Rose replied feeling the familiar heat inside her.

She slid her hands through his hair and the soft touch of her fingers sent electricity through his spine. Easily he picked her up and held her body against his as his lips finally found hers. Last time he kissed a girl because he really felt it was very long time ago. 'That girl is looking at you,' his best friend whispered, chuckling. 'Have fun, Andrew,' he had said teasing him knowing how much he dislike his second name. Two nights after that moment, he found himself handcuffed inside a patrol. During the last year, he had kissed women because he had to.

Here it was different. Different from everything he experienced before and the new feelings were intoxicating him. Something inside him was growing like a cancer, invading all his cells.

Rose moaned when he carried her to the nearest wall and her back touched the cold, humid bricks. His whole body seemed to be glued to hers and that was a contact she desperately needed. Her legs were around his hips, something James wished for the very first moment, allowing her to feel him. Instinctively she rubbed against him and that awakened something primitive in him. James let his hormones take the control. He was still a stranger but she was ready to give him her soul if he asked. She tilted her head and the man intensified the kiss in a very feral, possessive way, something she not just allowed but also thanked. She couldn't mind if James took her right there, but he didn't.

ABBA's song kept sounding:

I can't get you off my mind

No, I can't let you go...

The old, abandoned factory was in ruins but still standing despite the odds and the same happened to them. They should have collapsed early in life but they didn't and now they weren't doing it because if something science says is that two negatives make a positive. The ruins of both made a very strong foundation and they were about to prove that.

"You're mine," he said breathing against her mouth, pressing his fingers on her lower back, under her clothes. Her delicate fingers were on his neck, stroking in that exactly sensitive spot of his. His body was craving for hers, but James had already decided that she deserved a better place that the nasty old building. His blue eyes were waiting for an answer and when he heard it, he smiled.

"I'm yours" she agreed.

@call-sign-shark @littlepeakydevil @zablife @evita-shelby @cillmequick @peakyswritings

#reading list

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peakyswritings · 4 days ago

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Little update here

As I’ve said a couple of days ago, I’ve started my uni traineeship, so I might be a bit slower with my interaction for the next month and a half. I’m not taking a break cause being here helps me take my mind off things a bit, but I’m going to be very busy and tired cause I also have to study for my exams.

Thank god the job is not tiring and everything’s calm for now, but I have to wake up at 6am everyday and come back in the afternoon, and I only have Saturdays and Sundays off, so when I’m home I’m pretty useless. Also I want to dedicate the little time I have to HBS, cause I don’t want to get to the point when I’m updating once every three months again.

So bear with me for the time being and please tag me on everything you make, I’ll jump in your notifications as often as I can🤍

Oh and also I have three asks left for the celebration and I’m planning on posting them this weekend. Summer might be over but it’s a state of mind😂

#update #self reblog

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peakyswritings · 4 days ago

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peakyswritings · 4 days ago

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Summary: The deeper you go the darker it gets.

Words: 5k

TW: manipulation, massacre, dark humor, cold-blooded chainsaw use, mention of domestic abuse, psychological torture, graphic depiction of torture, corpses and killing, very foul language, sexual references, evil MC, ASPD pushed to the extreme and grotesque, it's an American Psycho AU in which Amos is very much Patrick Bateman so you know what to expect: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. I'm not joking, he's fucked up and getting worse.

Notes: Aurora and Carmella Sabini belong to @zablife. Lily Callaghan belongs to @littlepeakydevil. Cast at the end.

PREV || MASTERLIST || NEXT

ᴏɴᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴀɢᴏ

The engine of his brand-new black Lamborghini Urus purred quietly beneath the hood, its vibrations reverberating beneath them. Flanked with leather interior and tinted windows so deep they blurred the world inside it into abstraction, the car was everything Amos loved aesthetically-wise. Let alone the overpriced matte-black finish.

Amos was in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel while the other rested near the gearshift lazily. Despite his relaxed posture and the collar of his shirt slightly undone in studied elegance, the muscles of his jaw were visibly taut under his trimmed stubble beard. In his left airpod, the song Gun Show by In This Moment was playing. Low growls, sensual moans, and heavy, distorted guitars pulsed into his brain like narcotics, but they weren't enough to drown out the high-pitched voice of his supposed fiancée, which kept buzzing in his right ear.

"I'm telling you, Lake Como is much nicer in early June. Plus, my father knows someone who owns a private villa. We could host the engagement party and the pre-wedding shoot there. Think about it, Italian press, all eyes on us, it'll be divine!"

Carmella Sabini was considered undescribably gorgeous in that high-maintenance purebred kind of way. Her lips were filled with the right dose of filler, her nails were sharp, and her big designer sunglasses were pushed up into her brown, blown-dry hair. They had been dating for eight months now, mostly because her family had invested a disgusting amount of money in Von Bismarck Industries. And also because it was the only way to make his parents shut up and stop pestering him about his playboy-ness. Not that it kept them both from sleeping around.

Carmella flicked a glance toward him, waiting for his approval, but all he did was hum. Not in agreement, but simply to acknowledge that he heard something. She went on.

"I saw the cutest baby yesterday, it made me think... Maybe two kids? One boy, one girl. You'd be such a good father."

Amos finally turned his head, just slightly, and glanced at her like Carmella was a showroom mannequin that wouldn't shut up. Kids? A good father, really? Thank God he was exceptionally good at masking; otherwise, he'd have stopped the car and gotten out of it to throw up the lobster he had for lunch on the pavement.

"I think we should get dinner at that new place on Madison, tonight — what was it, Dorsia?"

She paused to brush a fake eyelash back into place.

"And then, maybe we could just stay the night at your penthouse. Unless you're working late again..."

When she was finally done, Amos took out his airpod calmly and let it fall into the cupholder.

"Marvelous. Let’s grab a drink at my place first."

And that was all it took for Carmella to beam like a beauty pageant queen. She clutched his arm, her red-tipped nails stroking the inside of his jacket as though she was petting a prize stallion.

"Mmm, Amos... You're spoiling me."

"Am I?" He leaned over at a red light to press a soft kiss to her temple, a gesture he had stolen from observing considerate husbands around him. Carmella giggled again and curled into him like a satisfied cat.

By the time they had entered the building, the gorgeous Carmella Sabini walked to her future fiancé's side, sparkling with pride. She had the shoes, the bag, the bloodline, the money — and now she had him. The most elusive, genetically perfect, high-society golden boy in the Occidental sphere. Her name would be hyphenated to his before summer and preceded by a noble title, of course.

Princess Carmella Sabini-Von Bismarck.

The first thing the Italian beauty did when she entered the penthouse was to sink into the soft leather of his white sofa like it was her throne. She crossed her toned legs, her posture impeccable, as she surveyed the living room and open kitchen.

"Honestly, babe, I love how minimalistic your place is. It's so... sterile but sexy, you know? Like the interior design version of you."

It wasn't Amos' voice that responded, but the first notes of his Spotify playlist he had put on to create a musical background. Still silent, the seductive businessman walked into the kitchen and headed to the fridge. The polished marble counters and glass cupboards gleamed with obsessive cleanliness, as if the place was a show flat.

He jumped a bit when he opened the fridge.

Shit.

A sharp, unpleasant sensation crept within him, but he managed to swallow it down as fast as the bile that rose in his throat. Because there, in the middle of the shelf and next to a cup of low-calorie ice cream, was a decapitated head. Female, brunette, eyes open and lips frozen mid-scream.

"... Goddamn it."

Amos pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, just like an ordinary person would do when realizing they had forgotten to buy milk.

Jesus Christ, again? Not the fridge...

Calmy, he grabbed the chilled bottle of Chardonnay beside it, and shut the door gently, as if that might make Becca — Brianna or Britney, he couldn't remember — disappear. Thing is, her name wasn’t the only detail he couldn’t recall: so was the killing, and God knew how he hated not being in control of the narrative.

"Is everything okay?" Carmella's voice erupted from the living room, playful and oblivious.

"Peachy," Amos replied with a velvet voice, "Just remembered I forgot to get some strawberries for tonight."

The Italian beauty giggled and watched him come closer, before he poured the wine with a steady hand. Not a single tremor, not a single crack in his composure despite hiding a severed head in his fridge.

"Chardonnay?" He offered, handing her the glass and winking at her, all charms put on.

"Ooh, yes, please. You always have the best wine. What's this one?"

"Puligny-Montrachet," He said, "White burgundy, rich minerality and light oak. No citrus 'coz everybody knows that citrus in Chardonnay is awfully pedestrian."

"That's so true." Carmella took a delicate sip and let a sigh of pleasure escape her lips, "Ah, tastes expensive..."

Because it is, dumb bitch. So is the fridge, but clearly that didn't stop me from defiling it. Shit, I just had it disinfected.

Amos sat next to her, his gaze flicking briefly to the kitchen before focusing back on her.

Carmella talked again, "I was thinking... Should we do a brunch with my parents on Sunday? My dad's been asking to see you again. You two really hit it off at the auction, remember?"

Yes, he did remember. That insignificant and boring evening hadn't been erased from his mind only because he had spent half the night fantasizing about slitting her father's throat with the steak knife and stuffing cocktail shrimps into the wound.

"I'll think about it, love. But what about we just make this moment about us only?" The tall darkness said, raising his glass and toasting her silently. She toasted him back, nestled against him for a short while, and finally stood up to walk around when she noticed he remained quite insensitive to her advances tonight.

The woman's heels clicked against the floor as she explored the penthouse like a queen inspecting her domain. With her glass of Chardonnay in hand, she stopped by the massive desk that stood near the bay window and blinked.

"Oh my God," she laughed, "You drew her again?"

Not able to answer without insulting her, Amos decided to remain silent. He simply stood up, walked to her, and stopped a few feet behind while sipping on his wine. His own reflection stared back at him from the window, emotionless but deadly handsome nonetheless.

Carmella picked up one of the pages, then another, then another. A dozen sketches laid scattered across the desk, all from the same woman, drawn with rough, delirious lines: an ethereal creature who looked like an unholy broken doll, white hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight, and two eyes so piercing they seemed to stare at the Italian diva in silent hatred.

Unbothered, she flipped through them.

"Jeez, Amos. You're obsessed." Absolutely unfazed, she giggled slightly. The high-pitched noise scratched inside his skull, "Let me guess, she's one of your whores? Maybe your favorite?"

Once again, he said nothing. The tall darkness just raised the glass to his lips again, his gaze fixed on the drawings.

"She's pretty, if you love creepy angel-looking sluts I guess. She looks kind of weird tho. Albino, much? And she doesn't even look like a real woman, like... She's flat as fuck."

Amos took a longer, slower sip, and though his emotions were usually dead, the flames of anger sparkled briefly in his stomach for no reason.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend your art. " She said, setting the drawings back down carelessly. So carelessly one of them bent and crease, but of course she didn't notice — or worse, didn’t care.

"White hair is so... aging." She added with a disgusted grimace, "And are those cuts on her thighs? Gross. You can be twisted sometimes, baby."

This time, Amos stepped forward. Every inch of him was calm, composed. His smile was polite even, but inside... Oh, inside the disgust burned like battery acid.

You artificial, hollow cunt. You fucking insulted her. And worse — your voice is giving me a migraine.

Of course, Carmella Sabini didn't see the storm in his eyes, but how could someone blame her when Von Bismarck hid the ugliness so well? She laughed again and headed back to the couch, staggering a little bit after she kissed Amos' cheek as she passed by him.

"God... The wine's strong." She muttered, then she flopped dramatically on the leather couch and kept drinking.

"Babe, what vintage is this? My head's buzzing..."

"2017." The businessman replied, already crossing the room, "Sugar masks the bitterness of alcohol. A poison hiding another one."

She let out a tired snort, "That's such a you sentence. You know, you're weirdly poetic sometimes.

He smiled in reply.

I know.

Five minutes later, Carmella was half passed out on the sofa, murmuring something about napping a little hour before going to the restaurant. Wasting no time, the tall darkness scooped her up in his arms bridal style, with care, and carried her down the hall to his immaculate bedroom. Tonight, the pristine white bedsheet was covered in a layer of plastic tarp. He laid her down almost tenderly on it, like a gentleman with a porcelain doll, before stepping back.

Carmella stirred lightly.

“Amos…? C’m'here…” Her feeble voice whispered.

No answer. Rather than joining her, he turned around and opened the closet, where a shiny chainsaw hung from the top of it by thick and rusty chains. The tool was of an indescribable beauty, raw and mechanical. Made of steel as cold as his heart.

The first notes of a slow and reverb version of Material Girl by Madonna resounded from the living room.

Amos started by removing his shirt first, revealing his god-sculpted body. A perfectionist at heart, he couldn’t help but fold it with precision and put it on the top shelf. Then, he put on black plastic gloves that he snapped at the wrists.

Chains chimed when he freed the chainsaw from them, as if responding to the lyrics sung in the other room.

Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me, I think they're okay. If they don't give me proper credit, I just walk away.

Carmella blinked up, trying to observe him through the chemical fog of her brain. The only thing she could notice was the abrupt movement of his muscular arm as he pulled on the rope start.

“Hey… What are you—“

Too late.

An acrid smell of gasoline filled the room at the same time the chainsaw roared to life, the chains rotating rapidly like the snapping jaw of a monster eager to devour fresh meat.

They can beg and they can plead, But they can't see the light (that's right)

Her shriek tore through the penthouse like a slaughtered cattle, high-pitched and primal, sounding like something that couldn’t be human, but it was quickly swallowed by the thick soundproofing of the apartment. Amos approached, a frenzied smile stretching his lips to his ears and revealing all his teeth, especially his sharp, pointy canines.

Panic drove Carmella mad, pushing her to kick out her legs. Her fingernails clawed at nothing, not even tearing gashes into the plastic she was on.

“ 'Cause the boy with the cold hard cash is always Mister Right!”

The tall darkness sang happily before slicing through his supposed fiancée’s ribs with the roaring chainsaw. The first burst of blood sprayed and hit the wall with a wet sound, painting a crimson arc across the asepticized whiteness. A second spray followed, finer this time, like a reddish mist splurting out of the woman’s body.

Carmella’s stomach split open. The blade kept groaning against her cartilage and bones as Amos pressed harder.

“Try getting a reservation at Dorsia for the same day, you fucking bitch!” He screamed, his usual calmness turned into a temporary burst of burning rage.

Carmella’s hands tried to hold her guts but the pink organs slipped between her trembling fingers, sleek with blood.

'Cause we are living in a material world And I am a material girl!

Amos’ dark eyes, wide open and dilated with pleasure, didn’t blink as he relished the red blood that drenched the bed. It was pooling beneath Carmella’s hips and shoulder, but also streaming down the plastic tarp.

Soon, the Italian queen wasn’t screaming anymore; only the rumble of the chainsaw mixed with the song still playing in the living room floated in the air, the vibrations dancing with the gasoline smell. That Sabini slut wasn’t anymore, just a lump of mutilated flesh that would end up with all the others dead.

Peace, at last...

The tall darkness stood motionless at the foot of the bed, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled but deep rhythme. Crimson blood clung to his skin and face, long trickles sliding down the ridge of his abs and gathering at the waistband of his boxers. Some more hemoglobin dripped from the chainsaw's blade onto the floor with a soft tap... tap... tap.

Amos tilted his head. His black eyes first shot a glance at the bits of flesh stuck on the saw chains, then at the body on the bed — or rather the amount of ruined flesh and bone. One of Carmella's arms twitched post mortem.

Then, without warning, Amos threw his head back and shivered. Not from fear or disgust, but with a rippling euphoria that tore through him and got him hard.

No more giggling. No more wedding plans. No more shrill voice needling his skull.

And most importantly… no more insults to her.

PRESENT TIME

The metallic stench of blood and rot was the first thing Amos registered when he regained consciousness. That, and the bitter coldness of the concrete floor that bit to his knees. The world was still spinning, and the copper tang of blood clung to the back of his throat, but it didn’t keep him from noticing the sharp sensation of a thick rope digging at his wrists and binding them behind his back.

A groan escaped his lips when a harsh white light, that erupted from a hanging lightbulb above, momentarily blinded him, but also revealed where he was.

The Sabini-Cacciatore meatpacking plant? Charming.

“Well,” he croaked for his voice was hoarse from the knock to his skull, which still throbbed painfully, “I know I’m into bondage, but a drink first would’ve been polite.”

Stiletto heels hammered against the concrete, then stopped.

“I see your sharp tongue survived,” said a woman’s voice, smooth but with just enough gravel to hint at cigarette consumption and expensive bourbon, “Shame Carmella didn’t.”

Amos blinked several times, until a feminine silhouette cloaked in a brownish fur coat became clear.

Aurora Sabini looked down at him, a Vogue cigarette burning through her sly, manicured fingers. She wasn’t just Carmella’s sister, but the current head of the Sabini’s empire, and, from experience, no one ruled an empire without the intelligence, the ruthlessness, and the unforgiving nature such a task required. The only similarities Aurora shared with her late sister were her appearance and sharp Italian beauty, though her features were thinner. Plus, he had to admit that she was pretty brilliant and fearless, nothing to do with the other Sabini hardbody.

Her cigarette flew away as she threw it, only for her to unsheathe the blade strapped to her thigh. It didn't seem to faze Amos, even when she crouched down in front of him slowly until their faces were inches apart.

“Missed you too, darling.” He replied with a self-sufficient smirk.

It didn’t amuse the tigress. Not at all. Without a word, she grabbed his jaw violently and tilted his face up. The coldness of the blade followed quickly, kissing the curve of his cheek and dragging its pointy tip upward to his cheekbone.

“Tell me, Bismarck,” she drawled, her breath sweet with the vermouth she had just drunk before the abduction, “I wonder what would remain of the charm if I destroyed that perfect little face of yours?”

She pressed the knife just enough for it to nick at the flesh — a bead of blood rolled down slowly from his perfect skin. And though Amos didn’t flinch, something rattled inside. His looks were both his mask and weapon, what he held the dearest.

Not. The. Fucking. Face.

“Cut me and I'll bleed Dior, darling.” He taunted, though he swore that whore would regret damaging his looks once he'd chain her to his car and drag her at full speed through the highway.

“Arrogant prick.” Aurora gave a small, amused snort before slapping him. It wasn’t a hard blow, but rather a condescending pat that aimed at showing that she was in charge. She stood and faced him, relishing the sight of cruel Amos Von Bismarck down on his knees — what a treat.

“You know, the press said my sister fled the country. That she emptied her accounts, changed her name and vanished by choice.” Aurora had started circling him like a predator as she spoke, “Even the fucking cops believed it. And my father, God rest his naive soul, believed it too. But me?…”

She stopped behind him.

“I knew she was dead the moment she stopped answering my calls. I just didn’t have the proof, but I knew… And somehow your name was the only one that made sense.”

Amos let the silence settle, testing his ties discreetly.

“Sad, really.” He said without the slightest trace of compassion in his black eyes, “And now you’re gonna torture me until I confess a crime with no evidence and a missing corpse. That’s a bit cliché, don’t you think?”

The fierce Aurora, queen of NYC, stepped in front of him again. She tapped one feet against the floor violently, the sound tearing through the air and echoing in the empty factory.

“Wrong guess. I don’t need your confession.” Her fist tightened around the knife until her knuckles whitened, “but I want you to know that your little game of pretending is coming to an end.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her big brown eyes, “And for the record? Your tricks don’t work on everyone. I always knew something was wrong with you. You had this look in your eyes… That void.”

The Italian tigress, fearless as ever, pointed him with her blade.

“Turns out, I was right.”

Amos’s irresistible yet cocky smile disappeared, slowly fading away from his charming face until all that remained was an utterly empty expression. His pitch-black iris shone with as much life as a rotting corpse.

“Atta girl.”

Still kneeling, the monster tilted his head slightly, and his dark eyes caught the overhead lightbulb like two obsidian stones. There was no fear in him, no regret or panic. Only a faint and cruel boredom.

“So you dragged me here to scare me?” He said at last, his voice flat.

This sudden change in him, combined with the fact that he wasn’t wrong this time, made Aurora choke on whatever she was about to retort. To that, Amos gave a little sigh as if entirely disappointed.

“I thought you were smarter than this…”

“You’re a fucking murderer!” She snapped, losing patience, “And I’ll do worse than torturing you, fucker! I’m going to let the world know what you did. That empire you built, the magazine covers, the deals, the public image — I’m going to burn it all down. Piece by piece. I want everyone to see how shallow and disgusting you truly are, and I won’t rest until you rot in a bloody padded cell!”

Unexpectedly, the reply Aurora got was a laugh — short, echoing like a gunshot in the stillness.

“Said the one who murdered too.”

The air shifted, as well as Aurora’s fierce and fiery composure.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, Come on.” He complained, now sounding annoyed, “Luca Changretta? Your charming husband? Mob prince and domestic abuser, ring any bells?”

The Italian beauty froze as she felt her confidence suddenly crumbling now that her little secret was being spilled.

“I noticed the bruises you tried to cover with Chanel concealer. Noticed the pathetic way your hands trembled when he was near, and how your voice dropped half an octave when he raised his.” He leaned forward just enough for it to feel intrusive, even if he was tied up, “And now he’s dead. How convenient.”

The Queen of NYC faltered, jaw clenched.

“You— You don’t have proof.” She hissed.

“You sure?” Amos smiled again, seductively, “Yet, love, if I’m going down… I’m taking you with me.”

And that was all he needed to say. Not even a single explicit threat, for the silence he let drag spoke louder than anything. Her mind did the rest.

Aurora’s frame started to tremble as she tightened her grip around the knife, but the gesture was not because she intended to use it. It was because she suddenly felt the distinct, nauseating sensation that he had always been the one in control.

“I’m not scared of you, Amos.”

He didn't reply.

Growing fed up with playing the meek prey on its knees, Amos slowly rose to his feet instead, with the same unnatural poise he used to adjust his tie. A thin stream of blood still trickled down his temple and smeared along the edge of his sharp jaw, but the rest of him was pristine, his breath even and not a fold in sight on his shirt. With only one brutal movement of his arms, the ties snapped — he used ropes on his victims often, so he knew their weakness obviously.

One of the henchmen shifted a fraction forward, unsure he should intervene, but the businessman’s head turned slightly in his direction. Just slightly. Whatever was behind those pitch black eyes of his, it was no longer pretending to be human, and the man saw it.

The bodyguard froze like a deer in front of a car’s headlights, petrified like the rest of them.

Only Amos moved, walking to Aurora until he faced her before straightening to his full height —6'4" —, his shadow falling over the dainty Italian queen. Aurora might have held her ground, but her breath caught. Some primal part of her yelled to run away from this aberration wrapped in Valentino couture mixed with violence and gore.

“Now that we can talk I have to confess something,” He started, staring at her unblinking.

“God... Your sister was so bloody insufferable...” His voice, low and steady, sounded like honey.

“She talked constantly. About wedding, babies, yachts, her latest designer shoes and so on… I swear that shrill little voice of hers always bounced like a coked-up birdie…. "

Amos leaned in slightly, his lips brushing Aurora's ear and sending chills down her spine. The sweet fragrances of myrrh, tonka, and vanilla he used grew suffocating, to the point she felt nauseous as it clung to her long brown hair.

"Also, she used to cling to me like some needy, purring, pathetic thing. The way she called me "babe" made me wanna throw up so bad."

Tears started to fill Aurora’s eyes, for the combination of utter terror and his sick, twisted words broke the last defences she had. For a moment, Aurora didn't breathe. Couldn't breathe would be more precise. The silence that followed his words stretched longer. Her mouth was slightly open, as if to say something, but no sound came out. Not even an insult. There was just the sound of her pulse, pounding in her ears like a drum.

He stepped back.

"Yeah, I fucking HATED her. The only time she got me real hard was when she laid dead and dismembered on my bed after I chainsaw-ed her, finally shutting the fuck up.”

Aurora stared at him, her vision blurring with both tears and a dizzying kind of disbelief. This was a joke. A sick, perverse bluff. It had to be. Her teary brown eyes looked at his mortifyingly good-looking face in the hope of finding a hint of a lie, but then came his smile, which made her spine chill.

She had faced cartel bosses, even put bullets in the heads of men twice her size without blinking, but this? This wasn't a man with a taste for power. It was a black hole in human skin. A creature that didn't fear anything, not even pain, death or God.

Silent, hot trails streaked down her cheeks, ruining her makeup.

“You’re — you’re inhumane.” She stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The monster’s lips curled into a chilling grimace as he pointed at her with a finger.

“No, Claudia. That's not true. I’m in touch with humanity.”

C-L-A-U-D-I-A.

The name sliced through her like a chainsaw through Carmella. Only Luca had called her like that, in a need to rebrand her his. No one else. And while Aurora Sabini was a wild thing, she said nothing. She just stood there, trembling like she used to do the first time Luca beat her black and blue.

She hadn't just lost. She had never stood a chance.

Finally, Amos readjusted the collar of his shirt, bored, and headed to the factory's exit. As he passed by her, he offered her a charming wink; however, he wasn't done with her per se. Once Amos had reached the door, he glanced at her one last time over his shoulder.

“You wanna know the worst of all?”

His eyes darkened with cruelty, all the white of them seemingly disappearing under the swaying lightbulb.

“She wasn’t even a good fuck.”

Days later at night, Aurora Sabini stepped into her luxurious apartment. Still shaken, the heaviness of the late events was weighting on her like a prey who had narrowly escaped a carnivorous beast.

“Fucking psychopath,” She muttered under her breath, replaying her last encounter with Amos on repeat, as she reached for the light switch.

Her stomach dropped when the chandelier enlightened the room.

On the dining table sat several Chanel gifts in pretty bags, their ribbons tied in perfect little bows. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

It couldn’t be possible.

Aurora approached cautiously, as though heading to a trap, until her eyes landed on a card nestled among the bags. The paper was painted in a shade of white called bone.

Thank you for the lovely evening, darling. Yours always, — Amos V. B.

She stared, unable to blink, the words blurring as panic surged up her spine. Tears streamed down her pretty face instantly at the realization that all of this wasn’t random. Every thing about it was aimed at mimicking her abusive husband. The same sick gifts after his violent outbursts — the same honeyed gestures that made her feel insane, gaslighted.

Aurora's hand shot up to her mouth, and her knees buckled. The Chanel bags and card weren't the only things on the table. There was also the cutting chains of a chainsaw, clean, shiny, but insanely sharp.

A dry sob scraped out of her throat, followed by a scream. Amos hadn’t laid a finger on her, and yet, he had gutted her all the same.

Bleach reeked in his nostrils. Despite spending the last two hours cleaning the mess, the acidic smell of the chemical didn't mask the stench of blood — it only made the copper sweeter and more cloying. Knelt on the floor, Amos scrubbed hard, the swish of the sponge echoing across the penthouse. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up and stained, and his hair completely disheveled.

Note to self: pace the homicides. They are stacking up. Too fast. Too messy.

He stopped, breathing shallowly, and scanned the room. Fuck, even he had to admit that it wasn't a flat anymore but a darn slaughterhouse. Seemed like he wouldn't get to sleep tonight if he wanted to clean the mess properly. Thank God the hearth helped a little, its flames dancing hungrily as they devoured fabric, leather, a watch, a phone, and ID papers.

When Amos rose to his feet, he wiped his hands on a linen towel already ruined beyond saving. Then, he plucked his phone from the counter, tapped Riley's name, and cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder. It only rang once.

"Hey?" Riley's sunshine-warm voice replied.

"Kitten, I was thinking of you." His tone had turned sultry and sweet, although he returned to cleaning.

There was a surprised silence, then a delighted snort on the other end.

"You never call first."

"Well, I figured I owed you a dinner. A proper one. Next Friday, maybe? I'll cook." The monster stepped over a puddle of blood as if it were nothing more than spilled wine, and walked to the rug.

He heard Riley melt through the speaker despite his attempt to hide it, "Why so suddenly?"

"Honestly?" Amos drawled, lifting the rug fully now and revealing the severely mutilated body of a man hidden underneath.

Because I figured out that you might look like my ghostly stripper from a doggy-style pov. And you always milk me dry.

"Because you have no idea how badly I've wanted to hear your voice today."

Riley let out a little sigh, smitten "Shut up, you're gonna make me fall for you, asshole."

At his sweet reaction, Amos couldn't help but let out a quiet, warm chuckle — almost a genuine one. A w H e 'S S o F u c K i N g C u T E, he thought as he carefully grabbed the corpse's leg and dragged it to the black plastic bag near the door.

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing..." Amos purred, licking his lips like a predator already salivating. "So? Dinner next Friday?"

Riley was silent for a beat, overwhelmed.

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll text you the time.”

Good boy. In a way, Amos couldn't help but be vaguely touched by his adorable and almost total devotion to him. It was flattering.

The businessman hung up before the little Korean boy could add something too emotional that would ruin the moment, and stuffed the remnants of the dead body in that darn bag, already filled with clean dismembered arms, a severed head, and several organs. That was what he called clean work!

At 4:00am, Amos strolled out, dragging a heavy trash bag behind him through the narrow and grim streets that led to an industrial recycling machine nearby. He threw it there and headed back to the penthouse. The light sensation that coursed through him made him feel slightly high.

That was until a soft voice pulled him out of his post-kill haze on the way home.

“Mr. Von Bismarck?”

He looked.

Here was a curly redhead girl with a sea of freckles, chocolate eyes, and a black wolfdog on the other end of the leash she held.

"Didn't expect to see you this late," she added lightly.

Amos replied with a dazzling, utterly disarming smile. Almost as disarming as his impeccable outfit despite the late hours: long dark Armani coat, black suits, red tie, and a white shirt beneath.

"Neither did I, Miss Callaghan. Night walk for Shadow?"

"Yes, I wanted to take König, but he was sleeping like a baby."

"I must say that I'm deeply impressed by the love and devotion you have for other living beings. Must be exhausting to be this... kind."

"It is, but I like it. I always felt like the world needed more kindness so I'm just contributing to what I believe." She explained.

"How... adorable." The edge of his lips twitched briefly.

Lily nodded, undescribably adorable and polite, but here was the truth: she was just hiding how uncomfortable she felt. First, he had never been this warm with her. Second, his perfection in the middle of the night was utterly creepy, and third, she really felt that something was off. In fact, he looked a bit ... agitated.

"And you, what were you doing here?"

Fuck, she had barely asked that she already regretted. The little scared whine Shadow let out for no apparent reason didn't help though.

"Well," Then, with the same chill as if he were commenting on the weather, "I had to return some videotapes."

A fresh breeze blew at her face, making her fiery hair catch the moonlight as she stood there, frowning at his odd reply. His grin suddenly widened, flashing wolfish teeth, which sent an unpleasant shiver down the cute vet's spine.

"Oh, I see. Well, g'night then, Sir."

"Good night, Lily."

Now it was getting scary for he never called her by her firstname.

Unwilling to stay one second more in this dark street where she was alone with Mr Wall-Street-Psycho, Lily left with hasty steps. Weirdly, Shadow squealed a second time in fear as he followed her because just behind, Amos was watching her stray away for a moment longer than necessary. His soul-sucking black eyes narrowed, unblinking, and burned at her back.

His breath quickened.

His stomach tightened.

He could attack her. Force her to the vet clinic and IV her to her dog just for the fun of it.

The more he watched her, the more the reality blurred in his mind. A weird, buzzing sound rattled inside his skull, similar to a deafening ringing. Suddenly, he saw morsels of the pavement floating around the disappearing, fragile silhouette of Dr. Callaghan, as if the ground disintegrated under her feet.

Kill her. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her. KILL HER.

It was the sound of his own breathless, deranged laughter that snapped him back.

A glove hand rose to the side of his head — to the spot where a subtle but insistent pressure pulsed, like something swelling behind his bones and threatening to seep through the crack.

And for a moment, all he could do was laugh again. At her. At himself. At the absurd image that had just flickered through his mind — the sidewalk outside crumbling into tiny, floating shards like broken concrete in zero gravity.

Concrete floating. Sure. He was fine. Totally fine.

“Jesus,” he whispered to himself, for he still trembled from the echo of that lunatic giggle of his and momentary psychosis. “Get a grip, man. You're not that crazy."

Cast:

tagging:

@justrainandcoffee @evita-shelby @welcometolechiffrescasinoroyale @elizabethblood9 @jelly-rei @littlepeakydevil @peakyswritings @zablife @cillmequick @the-makingsofgreatness

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peakyswritings · 5 days ago

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Little update here

So bear with me for the time being and please tag me on everything you make, I’ll jump in your notifications as often as I can🤍

Oh and also I have three asks left for the celebration and I’m planning on posting them this weekend. Summer might be over but it’s a state of mind😂

#update #dreadful September’s here

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peakyswritings · 6 days ago

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Omg this is so beautiful😭😭 no matter the universe, these two make me melt every time

Intimacy

"Show me," he said resting his hand on her cheek "I need peace."

Part of ch.3 coming this Friday.

Criminal || RxJ masterlist

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peakyswritings · 6 days ago

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What is he doing?🫠

The moodboard’s stunning, btw

“Jesus,” he whispered to himself, for he still trembled from the echo of that lunatic giggle and momentary burst madness. “Chill the fuck out, man. We’re not that crazy, eh? Hip To Be Scared • Chapter 2, coming on the 4th September.

The moodboard literally fits what will happen in this upcoming chapter.

tagging the readers: @justrainandcoffee @evita-shelby @welcometolechiffrescasinoroyale @elizabethblood9 @jelly-rei @littlepeakydevil @peakyswritings @zablife @cillmequick

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peakyswritings · 6 days ago

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Return To Sender (Part Six/Dark!Tommy)

Summary: Tommy Shelby is out, and with little patience to spare, he's only agenda upon release is you. But when careful preparations hit a roadblock, his plans for an unforgettable reunion force him to make his presence known in true Thomas Shelby fashion. Demanding and, utterly unavoidable.

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, language, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, delusional take on love, manipulative behaviour, psychological abuse, stalking.

Word Count: 3K

Authors Note: Sorry about the long wait everyone! This chapter stumped me a little.

[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]

I'll find you. I'll find you, darling, his roaring voice, fuelled with intent, dwindled into a soothing lullaby, replaying endlessly in your thoughts as you sat motionless, eyes fixed on the hypnotic to-and-fro of his necklace hung on your vanity mirror, swaying gently in the morning breeze.

With absent thoughts and equally absent hands, your fingers lazily traced your lips, lingering on the bruising kiss that bit like a promise, you were too blind to see was one disguised as devotion, made not in your best interest, but from obsession, control and pure unchecked, hot-blooded possessiveness.

Tommy’s words were nothing more than the threats of a desperate man, clutching to keep his favourite piece on a chessboard of a game well played, facing down kings, cornered by knights, with nowhere left to run.

And run you should. You should be fleeing to the far corners of England, packing your life and fleeting dreams into a suitcase with a one-way ticket out of the rotten underworld he was dragging you toward by the ankle, if it weren’t for the pendulum swing of gold that had slowly rocked you into the illusion of safety.

I'll find you…I'll find you, darling.

" I'll find you, too..." you whispered through a cold breath, a thought stolen, held hostage by his chanting prayer as you absentmindedly surrendered to the sway of his gifted medallion, when a sudden gust of wind spun it around, forcing your eyes to confront the claim he had staked against your will.

Mea sola. Mine alone.

" Fuck! What is wrong with you?!" you seethed, sharp and vicious, each word a cruel blow against yourself, as the spinning words mocked you with another teasing turn, yanking you from your tunnel of thoughts.

What was wrong with you? How had it come to this? To this very point where your quest for truth, your unbridled ambition took a backseat as Tommy took the wheel of you mind?

With heavy feet and heavier thoughts, you made a sharp beeline for your typewriter. For if you couldn't purge his touch from you, couldn't erase the taste of his lips from yours, you'd rewrite them for what they truly were. Weaknesses.

"Tommy Shelby. Thug. Manipulator. Connoisseur, no, con artist. Small Heath's own devil in a tailored three-piece suit. Feared by every man. Seducer of every woman with a feeble mind. But not this woman..." the pads of your fingers slammed down on each metallic key, firing word after resentful word like the chamber of a revolver. Unrelenting, unyielding until every bullet found its mark and all that was left was the whisper of smoke from the iron barrel.

"For I have felt the devil's breath, have looked into his molten eyes, and saw nothing but untamed greed. And yet...yet..." you read aloud every stroke of the key, until words failed you, leaving the uncomfortable truth straining through your fingers, begging to be written into history.

" And yet... I can't stop feeling the weight of his hands on me. The heat of his body flush against mine as his lips claimed me in one, unforgettable, searing kiss. How my pulse betrayed me. How my heart quickened against a tide of fear and want crashing against every sense I possess" You shifted in the creaking wooden chair at your kitchen table, eyes drifting over your typed words to the woven basket of rotting oranges, the abandoned reminder that Tommy had infiltrated your private life, a truth you now stubbornly refused to face.

With the mind of a woman too far gone to stop herself, you moved the heavy typewriter along the weathered wood, shielding his unwelcome offering from your conscious mind before committing your last, damning words to paper.

"Because I want. I want fiercely. I want him. I want all of him..." you paused, eyes widening with horror at your lapse in sanity thrumming in your ears, deafening you with your private confession glaring at you in blotted ink until you pushed the typewriter from you as the very words, the very keys, scorched your skin.

"God...what have I done?" You whispered the accusation, pointing an unforgiving finger at yourself as your mind relentlessly tormented you, dragging you back to him, to the pull of his presence.

For you could still hear the deep drawl of his gravelly voice, murmuring your name as his smoky breath brushed against your heated skin. Could still feel each deliberate touch, see each teasing smirk charming its way into every wall of defense you had armoured yourself with.

Fucked. Royally, utterly, fucked, you sat there drowning in your own damnation, in your own doing with shaky hands that betrayed every ounce of your slipping control.

With a sudden, desperate belief that you could erase your deepest desires, you yanked your typed confession from the cold metal machine, crumpling it into a ball of damning words before hurling it across the room, where it slammed into the adjoining bedroom wall with an unforgiving thud.

Out of sight, out of mind. No. He was out of sight, out of mind. Or so you believed.

For the brazen following of peaked hats, the sound of muddy boots scuffing along cobbled paths may have ceased the moment you fled the prison gates, leaving you with the foolish belief that Tommy and his men were now at arm's length. But the truth, the harrowing reality of your predicament, was far more dangerous, far more daunting.

Yes, Tommy's men had been pulled back. All orders to follow you, to keep a watchful eye, had come to an end. But not because of any change in plans, nor had it stemmed from disinterest by their enforcer. No, it was because the very man who had commanded them, demanded their absolute obedience, was now free to fulfill every... last...one...with clinical precision himself.

He was out. Tommy was out. And the first thing on his agenda? You.

"Brother's waiting, Tom. Chop, chop, son" Terry the guard barked his brazen orders with the ease of a man who believed his pressed uniform, his neatly knotted tie would save him from it being used to noose his neck to the ceiling pipes as he leaned lazily against the bars of Tommy's prison cell, peeling shavings of orange skin into the threshold of the Brummie gangsters' territory.

" You're littering, Terry. In my room" Tommy observed with a casual coldness, eyes flicking down to the shreds of disrespect now scattered across his neatly kept accomodation.

" Off the job now, chief. Pleasentries stopped when the pay stopped" the officer scoffed, ballsy enough, foolish enough to show his disdain for the gang leader as he nudged the peelings with mocking insolence with the tip of his shoe to Tommy's boots.

Brows furrowed, Tommy's eyes assessed the daring insult, weighing it against his morally skewed code before his leather boots crushed the citrus shavings beneath his heel as he stepped out of his cell, embarking on his walk of freedom.

Heavy steps against brick stone, Tommy's looming shadow passed the line of cells where his fellow housemates, thieves, beggars and murderers alike nodded with respect, bowed their heads to the keeper of their rotten world they'd all eventually answer to.

"Gates!" Terry barked, stood with Tommy in the frosty cobbled courtyard, his bellowing command slicing through the bitter November chill that had freezed the city to a standstill.

As the last iron frontier to Tommy's freedom scraped against the granite stone, a car sat idly, fumes curling into the winter air, as the gang leader's most loyal commander leaned against the polished metal frame, rough hands shoved into his trouser pockets, with a wolfish smirk welcoming him.

" The prodigal son returns" Arthur grinned, kicking off the car by his leather boot, with that infamous Shelby swagger that radiated a confidence both obnoxiously charming and unnerving.

"Arthur" Tommy's Stoic greeting was one his older brother had no qualms breaching when he roughly grabbed his arm, yanking him into a chest-crushing boisterous hug.

" 'ere, get this down your gullet. Fire up those rusty lungs" Arthur sniffed, heavy hand slapping his brother's back with the tact and grace of an overzealous Rottweiler as he shoved a silver-plated flask of Ireland's finest into his hands.

With a smoke perched between his lips and his throat quenched with notes of oak and spice, Tommy’s head lulled back, laced boots planted squarely on the stoned slabs of his territory as his eyes drifted shut, savouring the first breaths of freedom.

"That's it, Tommy lad. Breathe in the stench. Good ol' proper Birmingham shit. Quality stuff" Arthur chewed, grining with amusement as he watched his younger sibling refuel himself on the grimey elements of their hometown that had moulded him into the man he'd become.

" Nearly forgot. A crown for a king" Arthur presented Tommy with the holiest of woven relics left in his care after his brother's unexpected, and unjust, incarceration.

As the peaked cap, every thread a testament to who he was, to what it represented, rested in his hand, the calloused pad of Tommy's thumb slowly traced the blade edge stitched into its hem as he surrendered himself to the burning sting, to the possession taking form.

"Where to then, brother? Into the city?" Arthur's lack of subtlety smirked through his lips as Tommy adjusted his cap, tilting it low over his brooding eyes, with his only priority forming tight in his throat.

" To my girl, Arthur. So we can get fully acquainted"

Car wheels coming to a steady rumble along the gritty road, Tommy’s eyes scanned the quiet cobbled street. The lingering alertness, the steady hand of his soldiering days, keeping him cautious, weighing every danger that could threaten his plans as he straightened the lapels of his jacket like a man polishing himself to woo a woman into his charm.

" Little crush, brother?" Arthur teased, watching his sibling groom himself into the image of a respected gentleman, as if merely making a house call, and not a renowned gangster about to add another crime of passion to his lengthy list of felonies.

"No" Tommy grunted through a throaty breath as he strained behind him to the upholstered seats, weathered hands curling around his weighted wool coat.

"No?" Arthur cocked a curious brow as he watched his brother shrug the padded garment on with precision, cuffed sleeves straightened, shoulders rolling under the tailored stitching.

"Not little, Arthur" Tommy corrected with a twitch of amusement curling at the corner of his mouth as he pulled out a pair of leather gloves from within his coat pocket.

"You're one sick puppy, baby brother" Arthur chuckled, humoured by their shared taste and methods of procuring women.

"Puppy love, Arthur. I'm a man in love" Tommy eyes glistened with reverence for his former predicament, a sudden belief in the forces of fate spurring him on as he pushed the car door open.

" Key" He demanded, palm out and waiting, leather snapping taut when his fingers curled around the forged piece of iron dropped into his hand.

"Keep a weathered eye out, brother. And if things go south...noise' Tommy gave his orders he expected to be understood and followed with the same meticulous attention he applied to every waking moment of his life.

" Noise?" Arthur's confusion caught between his brows as a begruding grumble for his brothers' cryptic command and lack of elaboration left his lips.

"Aye. Noise" Tommy gave little to no explanation, slamming the door shut before Arthur erupted into a tirade of questions that would test his fraying patience, and urgency to be reunited with you.

"Noise he says. Like I'm a one-man brass bloody band' Arthur mumbled under his breath, as the weighted hem of Tommy's coat billowed around his frame in a gust of biting wind, fingers flexed and splayed against the creaking leather of his gloves as he stalked forward, eyes sweeping the area with predatory precision.

Scanning the small courtyard of stacked crates and overfilled dustbins, a satisfied smile creased Tommy's lips as the door yielded to the key, slowly creaking open for him to see your less than satisfactory living arrangements with immediate anger, quickly coiling tight within his chest

" Fucking bastard" his fury landed swiftly on your landlord as his eyes flared with the promise of retribution for his girl, his woman's former quarters crumbling between his fingers as a dusting of plaster fell onto his polished boots.

As his creeping steps climbed the rickety wooden stairs, Tommy's pocketwatch snapped open with a flick of his thumb, confirming the strike of the hour as Westminster bells began to toll into the grey skies, and the countdown to your arrival began.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N..." an exasperated huff left his lips as he rattled your door handle, watching the broken lock give way with nothing more than an encouraging nudge.

"...anyone could walk in" he murmured through a strained breath, the irony lost or rather, arrogantly ignored by him as his focused honed in on your poky flat.

Unimpressed with your cramp accommodation, his audacity and intrusion into your privacy only further justified his presence and need to haul you away into his care and safety as he swaggered into your kitchen.

"How...quaint" he drawled, stalking through your small living quarters, leather boots coming to a scuffing stop at your kitchen table as his eyes narrowed in on the basket of rotting oranges he'd had thoughtfully delivered to you with your health in mind during the sickly time of the year.

"Tut, tut, tut" he scolded, dragging the small basket to your bin, dumping them into the tin cylinder with a calculated flick of his wrist, before his gaze, dark and sharpening, settled on your most intimate of spaces.

Coming to a stop at the threshold of your bedroom, Tommy scanned the disorganised space, as a surprisingly fond sentiment for his girls' chaotic nature, and resurfaced fascination that had twisted into an obsession to claim every nuance of your character selfishly for himself, creased the corner of his lips.

Stepping in, Tommy perched himself on your cushioned mattress, the creaking leather of his gloved hand stretched and wined over your plush duvet with controlled restraint, before sweeping under your cushion to find the silky garment every primal urge within him had hunted and found.

Fist curling around the thin slip, the treated leather enclosed around his hand snapped taut with fraying desire as he lifted it to his face, breathing in a lungful of your intoxicating perfume through gritted teeth as his body shuddered with a tortuous ache.

" Fuck, sweetheart..." his voice dripped with want, as he released the night gown you'd so unfairly teased his rapidly dwindling restraint with, when his eyes caught sight of a small stack of bound photos sat on your bedside cabinet.

Easing himself in for the long run, Tommy settled himself atop of your bed, legs crossed with nonchalance as he unraveled the captured momentos, acquainting himself with his future in-laws with careful scrutiny, every flick of his gaze a calculated observation of whether they were deemed worthy enough to be part of your blessed future with him.

" My, my..." Tommy's mouth tugged into a dark smirk, husky voice simmering with a heat that shot through his body as he pinched one photo in particular between his fingers of you, laid before him in black and white, with a scandalous amount of flesh on show.

Claiming the illicit moment as his own, Tommy slipped the photograph into his possession before swinging his legs over the metal frame of your bed, rising to his feet with a subtle adjustment to the strain beneath his buckled belt.

With a muffled grunt at his tailored composure fraying at the seams, Tommy strolled deeper into your room, when a glint of gold caught the corner of his eye.

You kept it. Not only that, you'd placed it with care, front and center in your daily routine. Something that didn't go amiss by Tommy when he crouched eye level to the precious trinket with a possessive smirk, flicking the pendent into a deliberate to-and-fro when a car horn suddenly split the hush of the small neighborhood banjo.

"Fucking, Arthur" Tommy growled lowly at his brothers' subtle signal, one that risked jeopardising your long-awaited reunion as he straightened his back, flattened the crease in his pressed suit with a casual stroll into your kitchen when the sound of your approaching voice was accompanied by another.

"Shit" Tommy breathed sharply, his usually calculated self suddenly caught off guard by the sound of a female companion walking in tandem with you up the rickety stairs.

With his only route of escape, the one you were mere seconds from passing through, he slipped into the dark shadow behind the open door adjacent to your bedroom wall, eyes flicking down at the crumpled ball of words you had launched in frustration that morning beneath his boots as you stepped inside.

" Where is this pub meal, then?" you asked Dottie, your trainee and assistant, with a weary sigh, bag coat and shoes tossed on and under your kitchen table, as your brow scrunched at the sudden absent mountain of spoiled oranges.

" The Queen's Arms, Newhall Street" your assistant murmured, glancing around your mismanaged attempts at ordered chaos in your home as you racked your mind over a morning of confessions and your stubborn refusal to face the glaringly obvious that had suddenly disappeared.

" Still lost for words?" she asked, coming to a stop beside you as you hovered over your typewriter, fingers brushing the metal keys that had scorched your skin, pulled every want and desire onto paper.

" No. Just not the right words, Dottie" you replied mind drifting absently as Tommy's boot shifted over the typed words.

Thoughts disheveled, day disheveled, you suddenly had the urge to bring order to your life, starting with your discarded coat when you sauntered to your bedroom door, tip toes and reaching your hands, hooking the winter garment over the wooden frame.

Just a breath's distance from him, your body mere inches from his reach, you turned your back to the door, unknowingly teasing him toward the brink of losing all self-control.

Not like this. Not this way. This had to be done... properly, Tommy's eyes darkened, swirling with intent as you shifted off center, enough for his senses to drink you in, for his gloved hand to subtly trace the hem of your skirt, for a finger to hook under the rippling fabric, slowly dragging it up the back of your thigh with parted lips.

Smoky breath hot against your neck, Tommy watched as your skin puckered along the smooth slope of your nape, your delicate fingers reaching to smooth the prickling goosebumps, when you suddenly stepped forward, skirt slipping free from his finger, leaving him with nothing but a low growl, rumbling quietly from his chest to ease the tight restraint strangling his throat.

He could take you now. Haul you and your belongings into his car. Leaving your unexpected friend as collateral in his plan to whisk you away to safety, he mused menacingly, jaw working hard, straining into a tight knot when mercy and enough restraint had the foresight to see that discarding your companion so carelessly may just put a downer on your impending nuptials.

As Dottie took it upon herself to impose some semblance of order in your chaotic life, moving from the kitchen to your bedroom, toppling your belongings into your arms as you trailed behind, Tommy’s exit path cleared, allowing him to slip away unnoticed. But not without a little reading material to see him on his way to his new destination.

Crumpled words now in Tommy's possession, Arthur's amusement didn't go unnoticed as he watched the notorious Brummie gang leader with heat in his step, fleeing the scene like a reckless teen half his age sneaking out of his sweetheart's house.

" Alright, Romeo? Where's Juliet?" Arthur couldn't help himself, a raspy chuckle rumbling in his chest as he watched his brother swing the car door open, crumpled love letter in hand.

"Arthur" Tommy's gravelly lilt warned him, flattening the paper with his palm, as he settled into his upholstered seat, eyes scanning, lips tugging into a pleased smirk at the typed confession in his hands.

" Well then?" Arthur sniffed, gaze sweeping the cobbled streets, cautiously aware of how trouble always had a peculiar way of finding them, even when they were on their bestest behaviour.

" I've been invited to lunch. Seems I'm a wanted man" Tommy neatly folded your damning words into his suit pocket, each syllable of your desperate confession echoing in his ears.

I want him. I want all of him...

The long mahogany table stretched far across the small pub, with every notable writer, every ranking superior from the paper's headquarters gathered to celebrate your upcoming article on one of the most sought-after men in Britain. Tommy Shelby, every journalist's prize interview.

It was set to be the biggest piece not just of the year, but of the decade. And yet, in your endeavour to make history, to be top dog, top story, headlining every paper across Britain, you'd not only found yourself at the top of Tommy's priorities, you'd let yourself fall for a man that would murder and maim every smug, cigar- smoking bastard for looking at him the wrong way.

" To Y/N!" Your boss's voice boomed as he rose to his feet from the head of the table, toasting your success with a zesty glass of buck's fizz as you sat silent, fingers clasped around the stem of your glass, with Dottie's gentle encouragement to drink up, nudging into your side.

As cheers and toasts filled the tightly packed room, your boss's guzzling appreciation for the orange champers became the laughing delight of his lackeys, when the pub's wooden doors suddenly swung open with a gust of brittle November air, boots scuffing the aged stone with a foreboding weight that brought the celebrations to a steady simmer as the late party comer sounded their prescene.

" To, Y/N..." Tommy stood in the doorway, the winter chill at has back throwing the long lines of his tailored coat into the room.

As every head snapped toward the sound of his boots stalking across the worn floors, to each deliberate long stride closing the distance to the table of celebrations, his menacing stare swept the crowd until the scorching heat in his eyes locked on you.

He was out. He had been released.

As your breath hitched sharp in your tightening throat, heart slammed hard against your chest, the realisation struck you. Every inch of him was claiming you, every second his eyes pierced into you became a silent promise of what would come next. He was here for you. He'd come to collect you.

" Who the bloody hell are you?" your boss Arney voiced through a gruff bark as Tommy's gaze remained fixed, unwavering on the only person in the room that held his attention, his total possession.

" The name's Thomas Shelby" he drawled, smokey words crawling through gravelly lungs, as his eyes pinned you in place, a breath away from claiming you in one single, delusional, undoing statement that would shatter you in two.

" Her man"

*I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below 🧡*

[Next Part] coming soon!

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