#I’ll never see Thomas with the same eyes

[cillslover]

hi love <33

could you write something about the reader accompanying tommy during john's death:(( i still haven't recovered from how sad the scene was, it may be super soft and full of fluff and a tommy in love where his wife is the one who makes him strong, this time you know a tommy who lets himself be cared for.

pls take this only if you like it and it doesn't stir up wounds because while i was thinking about it i cried to John again. :')

It’s okay to cry

Pairings: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Warnings: grief/loss, emotional breakdown, alcohol/substance use, guilt/self blame.

Summary: When Thomas Shelby receives the devastating news of his brother John’s death, something inside him breaks - but he won’t let anyone see it. Anyone but his wife Y/N.

A/N: Heyy!! omg don't even get me started on how I felt when I witnessed John's death for the first time I swear the show was never the same after John and Polly's death, like Grace was already too much did we have to add more to the wounds 😭 I love this prompt so much though, because in the show we never really get to see much of Tommy's grieving at all so I loved writing it and how I think it would've been if Thomas potentially still had Grace, I feel like he would be just like this with her only. Thank you so much for this!! I hope you enjoy and like it xx

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He already knew.

The words didn’t need to be said.

When the black car pulled up outside his office—two men he didn’t recognize stepping out - Tommy knew.

The silence between them said more than a telegram ever could.

They didn’t even reach the door before he was up from his chair.

“Which one?” he asked. Flat. Not cold. Just... flat.

The taller man hesitated.

Tommy’s voice cut sharper. “Which one?”

“John,” the man said finally, eyes lowering. “It was John.”

There was a long, weightless second that passed before Tommy moved.

Not a twitch in his face. Not even a breath.

And then he walked past them, down the steps, into the car. He lit a cigarette with steady hands.

He said nothing the entire ride to the morgue.

It was just off a side street in the city—quiet, clinical, lined with white tiles and peeling grey paint. The kind of place that pretended to be respectful of the dead, but felt more like a storage unit for silence and loss.

Polly was already there when he arrived, eyes rimmed with red but dry. Arthur paced the hallway like a caged dog, fists clenched, face twisted in something between shock and rage. Michael sat on a bench, elbows on his knees, hands over his mouth, pale as a sheet. Finn hadn’t arrived yet.

No one spoke when Tommy walked in. He didn’t greet them. Didn’t ask questions. He just headed straight for the viewing room.

A nurse met him at the door.

“Mr. Shelby, before you go in, I’ll need—”

Tommy stopped walking.

The look he gave her made her voice shrink into nothing.

“He's my brother.”

“Yes, but for official identification—”

He stepped forward. The air turned to glass between them.

“I am the official, sweetheart. Now get out of my way.”

She flinched but obeyed. The door opened.

It was colder inside.

Tommy’s shoes echoed faintly on the tile. The overhead light buzzed.

There he was. Under a sheet.

A slab of metal under him. Too clean. Too still.

“Take it off,” Tommy said.

The mortician blinked. “Sir, the police said we—”

Tommy’s voice dropped, low and final. “I said take it off.”

The sheet was pulled down.

And there he was.

John.

His skin pale, waxy. His lips blue. A bullet wound near his chest. Dried blood crusted at the collarbone.

Thomas didn’t move.

He didn’t gasp. Didn’t cry.

He just looked.

A full minute passed. Then another.

He took a slow step closer.

It wasn’t just John lying there—it was every memory, every laugh, every street fight, every half-sung pub song. It was the boy who used to trail behind him in Small Heath. The one who looked up to him. The one who never asked for this life, but lived it anyway. Loyal to the end.

Tommy’s fingers twitched at his sides.

Arthur finally entered behind him, shoulders tight, like his whole body was holding back a scream.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, voice cracking. “Fucking hell, Tom…”

Tommy didn’t respond.

He took out a cigarette, lit it with calm hands.

“Put that out,” the mortician said, quietly. “Sir, there’s no smoking in—”

Tommy turned to him with a dead man’s stare. “If you open your mouth again, I’ll shut it permanently.”

Polly entered next, slowly, her heels silent against the tile. She stood beside Tommy, her presence calm and eerie, like a storm that had already passed through and taken everything with it.

“He didn’t stand a chance,” she whispered. “Four of them. Cowards. Shot him like an animal.”

Tommy kept staring at John.

“He didn’t even get his gun up,” Arthur choked out.

Tommy’s cigarette burned down. He hadn’t taken a single drag.

The door opened again—this time a staff member with a clipboard. “I’m sorry, but if a family member could verify identity and sign off on—”

Without even turning, Tommy barked, “GET OUT.”

The man paused, blinking.

Tommy’s head snapped toward him, his voice louder this time.

“GET. THE FUCK. OUT.”

The silence that followed rang louder than the outburst.

“I said he’s family,” Tommy muttered. “He’s my brother. I know who he is.”

The man stammered and backed out.

Arthur moved toward the table, took John’s limp hand into his, sank to one knee like a prayer.

Polly stood behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

But Tommy just watched. Like a ghost observing his own wake.

He couldn’t speak. If he did, it would shatter him.

And he couldn’t afford to be shattered.

Not yet.

“Tommy,” Polly said softly.

He didn’t answer.

“Tommy.”

Still, nothing.

His eyes were glued to John’s face.

Arthur finally stood, broken and tired.

“You alright?” he asked.

Tommy turned toward him slowly, eyes dark and sunken.

“Don’t ask me that,” he said.

Arthur gave a single nod. No more words.

They all exited slowly, leaving Tommy alone.

He stayed.

He stayed for a long, long time.

He stood over John’s body like a soldier at attention.

He didn’t cry.

He would not cry.

Instead, he lit another cigarette with the first one. Took a long, bitter drag.

And whispered, just once, like it burned to say it out loud—

“I’m sorry.”

---

The storm had started just as he pulled up to the house.

It was the kind of rain that didn’t fall gently - just pelted the earth like it had a score to settle. The Bentley’s engine groaned as he cut it off. The lights from the manor glowed through the sheets of water, but nothing felt warm.

Thomas sat there for a while, hands on the wheel, eyes unmoving.

The echo of that cold metal room still clung to him. The smell of antiseptic. The pale color of John’s lips. The silence that had followed the words, He’s gone.

He should've went inside. But he sat there in the car.

Instead, lighting another cigarette with numb fingers. The last one had burned out on the dash.

By the time he did go in, the front door slammed like a gunshot behind him.

The whiskey was the first thing he reached for.

Not out of ritual.

Out of need.

Out of desperation.

He didn’t bother with a glass. Just twisted the cap off, took a long pull straight from the bottle. It scorched his throat but didn’t touch the hollow pit inside him.

The silence in the house was too loud.

He walked into the sitting room and poured more whiskey down his throat, barely swallowing between gulps. Then another bottle. Then the opium pipe.

He wasn’t trying to chase a high.

He was trying to get low enough not to feel.

Anything.

He collapsed into the armchair, still wearing his long coat, dripping with rain. His tie was loose. His knuckles were raw from gripping too hard.

A strand of hair hung over his eyes. He didn’t brush it away.

His head leaned back against the leather, and he stared at the ceiling, eyes wide but seeing nothing.

He didn’t move. Barely breathed.

For a moment, the fire crackled—and for a split second, it sounded like gunfire.

John’s voice echoed through his head.

“C’mon, Tommy, I’ve got this one.”

Then the memory twisted.

John’s face. Pale. Still. Cold.

The sound of the rain blurred into white noise.

He didn’t hear the front door open.

Didn’t hear the footsteps.

Didn’t even look up when she walked in.

Y/N stood at the threshold of the room, frozen.

He hadn’t told her where he was going.

But she knew.

She’d seen the way Arthur left the house earlier. The way Polly hadn’t returned her calls. And when the gramophone rang at nearly one in the morning, and no one answered—it wasn’t hard to guess.

Now, here he was.

The man she loved.

A war hero. A gangster. A legend to the world outside.

But here, in this room, he looked like a man who had finally broken—but wouldn’t let himself admit it.

She stepped forward slowly.

His eyes didn’t move. His hand clutched the neck of the whiskey bottle like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Tommy…” she said gently.

No response.

Her voice trembled. “I heard about John.”

His jaw twitched, but his face didn’t change.

She kneeled beside him.

The rain kept beating against the windows. The fire kept crackling. But in this moment, there was only the two of them.

Her hand brushed against his arm.

Still, nothing.

But she didn’t leave.

She pressed her forehead against the side of his thigh and just breathed him in. He reeked of smoke and whiskey and rain. But underneath that, she could still smell him. The man she’d waited up for. The man who never let anyone see him fall.

Except now.

“I know you’re trying to outrun it,” she whispered. “The guilt. The pain. The noise.”

Her voice cracked.

“But Thomas, you can’t. Not this time.”

Nothing. He stared ahead, eyes glassy.

She reached up, cupping the side of his face with both hands, gently turning his head toward her.

“Tommy,” she whispered. “Look at me.”

His eyes blinked once. Slowly. Then again.

And finally, finally, they met hers.

They were so red. So hollow.

Like someone had scooped the light right out of them.

Her thumb moved across his cheek, tracing the ridge of his cheekbone. “You don’t have to be Tommy Shelby right now.”

He swallowed hard. His throat bobbed.

“You can just be a brother,” she said softly. “A man who lost someone he loved.”

His lip trembled—just for a second.

And then he was out of the chair.

He dropped to the floor in front of her like gravity had yanked him down. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her into his chest so tightly it almost knocked the wind out of her.

He didn’t cry.

But his body shook.

His breath hitched and broke in his throat.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, clinging to her like he was afraid the room might vanish, like he’d fall through the floor if he let go.

“I can’t… I can’t fix it,” he whispered, voice strained and hoarse. “He’s gone, and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.”

Y/N ran her hands through his hair, pressed her lips to his temple, and held him tighter.

“You don’t have to fix anything tonight,” she said. “Just breathe.”

“I sent him,” he rasped. “I sent him out there. I signed the fucking order. I put the gun in their hands.”

“No,” she said firmly. “They pulled the trigger. Not you.”

His grip tightened. “I should’ve known. Should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve—”

“You’re human,” she said. “You don’t get to control the world. You don’t have to.”

He didn’t respond.

Just curled further into her lap, arms trembling around her.

“I miss him,” he whispered, so low it was barely a sound.

Her hand stroked his back. “I know, love. I know.”

They stayed on the floor for what felt like an hour.

Eventually, she coaxed him to bed.

Got him out of his coat. Helped him unbutton his shirt. His hands were too shaky.

She didn’t ask questions.

She didn’t comment on the bruises on his knuckles. Didn’t ask how much he drank. She just guided him through it all like a ghost in the storm.

Now, he lay across the bed, head resting heavy in her lap, the firelight dancing across his sharp cheekbones and closed eyelids.

He was silent. But his fingers never left her side, like he needed the physical anchor to stay grounded.

She stroked through his hair gently, lips pressed into a line.

And then, softly—

She tapped his forehead with the tip of her finger.

“Get outta there, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Tell me what’s going on in that mind of yours.”

His eyes opened, just a sliver.

He looked up at her.

And for the first time in hours, his voice was clear.

“I can’t stop seeing him,” he said. “Every time I close my eyes. On the table. Still. Pale. Like they took the light out of him.”

Y/N’s hand moved from his forehead to his chest, over his heart.

“You’re not meant to carry this alone.”

His voice cracked. “But I do. I always do.”

“You don’t have to anymore.”

Silence.

Then—

“Stay,” he said. “Just… don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

He closed his eyes again, breathing deep against the rhythm of her hand on his chest.

The storm still raged outside.

But in here, for the first time that night, he let himself be held.

—

The fire had dwindled to soft embers now, casting a warm, amber glow across the bedroom. The storm still whispered outside the windows, its rage calming into a slow, mournful rhythm, like even the sky knew to mourn.

Inside, the only sound was Thomas’ breath.

Unsteady. Hollow.

His head still lay in Y/N’s lap, his long frame curled slightly toward her like a man seeking shelter from a war that never ended. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring past the far wall, locked in some place in his mind where no one else could go.

Y/N sat against the headboard, legs stretched out, one hand stroking through his soft dark hair, the other resting gently over his heart. She could feel it racing beneath her palm—too fast, uneven.

Like he was being chased.

Like he hadn’t stopped running since he left the morgue.

And then, softly—she spoke.

“Hey,” she whispered, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

No answer. He didn’t blink.

“Look at me, Tommy.”

His eyes shifted, slowly, like it took effort.

She leaned down just a little, voice even softer. “It’s okay to cry.”

That broke something.

His throat clenched. His jaw tightened like he was trying to swallow it all down, but his body wouldn’t let him.

He blinked hard.

Once.

Twice.

And then a single tear spilled from the corner of his eye, sliding down the sharp curve of his temple into the fabric of her robe.

He didn’t wipe it away.

He didn’t try to hide.

Another followed.

Then another.

“I haven’t cried in years,” he rasped, voice nearly gone. “Not once. Not in France. Not for anyone.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her hand never stopping in his hair. “I know, love.”

“I didn’t think I could,” he added, eyes fixed on the ceiling now, wet and shining. “I thought whatever part of me that used to do that—died in the tunnels.”

Her fingers tightened around his.

“It didn’t die,” she whispered. “It just went quiet.”

She leaned down and kissed the side of his head, her lips lingering there. “You were always allowed to grieve. You just never gave yourself permission.”

“I don’t deserve to,” he said, barely audible.

Y/N’s brows pulled together gently. “Why would you say that?”

He didn’t answer right away. He swallowed, hard.

“I sent him,” he whispered again, voice raw with guilt. “John. I sent him out. I thought it was just another fucking warning from the Italians. I didn’t—” His eyes clenched shut as another tear rolled down. “I didn’t think they’d actually do it.”

Y/N rested her forehead against his, hand moving up to hold his cheek.

“None of this is your fault, Thomas,” she said, firm but gentle. “They pulled the trigger. Not you.”

“But I gave the order,” he repeated. “They came for him because of me. Because of this life I built.”

His voice cracked. “He was my brother, Y/N.”

“I know,” she whispered, kissing his temple again. “He was your brother. And he knew what kind of life he was in. He made his choices.”

“But he trusted me,” Tommy said, finally looking into her eyes again. “That’s what kills me. He looked to me to protect him. And I failed.”

Y/N leaned back a little, cupping both sides of his face, her thumbs brushing the trails of his tears. She shook her head slowly, her voice soft but unwavering.

“No,” she said. “You didn’t fail. You can’t control everything, love. You’ve been holding the world on your back for so long, you don’t even realize it’s crushing you.”

He closed his eyes again, and this time—he sobbed.

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t violent.

It was worse.

It was quiet.

Muffled into the fabric of her robe, his shoulders shaking with the kind of pain that had been festering for years. Decades, maybe.

Y/N held him like her arms were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. She didn’t shush him. Didn’t tell him to calm down.

She just ran her hands through his hair, over his back, across his shoulders, whispering over and over—

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

And still, his voice trembled against her chest.

“I don’t know how to live without him.”

“You don’t have to figure that out tonight,” she whispered. “Just breathe. Just be here. With me.”

His arms wrapped around her waist, tight. Desperate. Like he was afraid she’d vanish too.

“I feel like if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up and he’ll still be gone,” he muttered.

“I know,” she said softly. “But I’ll be here when you wake up. You’re not alone.”

Minutes passed like hours.

Eventually, his body began to still. His breathing slowed. He was utterly spent—grief-drained and emotionally exhausted.

He rested his cheek against her thigh, eyes half-closed.

Her fingers still threaded through his hair.

“You’re not weak, you know,” she said quietly.

“I feel it,” he muttered.

“You’re not.”

He didn’t answer, but his hand reached for hers again. She laced their fingers gently, resting them on his chest.

“I love you,” she said.

A pause. Then—

“I know,” he whispered. “And I don’t know what I’d be right now… if you weren’t here.”

She bent over slightly and kissed the crown of his head.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

They stayed like that deep into the night.

Not much was said after that. He didn’t need words anymore. He just needed her.

And she gave him everything she had—her hands, her patience, her warmth.

Her strength.

Because in the moments when Thomas Shelby couldn’t hold himself together—

She did.

[thatcrazyreaderofcrazybooks]

Hello people, sorry if these days I have not posted much but I was really busy… Anyway, I want to get back on track with a post that I’m sure everyone will love…

I do not know if you know, but Dylan O'Brien has a youtube channel, so I decided to go take a look and I swear that I fell in love with his videos; I would like to tell you roughly what they are talking about, but the beauty is that he does not have a specific topic, and goes from talking about the life of an actor from Holliwood to singing the songs of the Spice Girls. But ALL make people laugh! I have uploaded my favorite, and also the first one I watched and then the link of his channel. The next time I’m going to see the comments of the video that I posted I want to see yours too!

[briefinquiries]

Tommy Shelby x Reader: By Order of Blood

Summary: Tommy Shelby thought sending you away would keep you safe, until the carriage was intercepted. Now, as he cradles your trembling, broken body, he swears two things: he will never let you go again… and the men who touched you won’t live to see another sunrise.

Word count: 8.5k

Warnings: angst, violence, injury descriptions (mentions of blood, torture, SA), PTSD, nightmares, and panic attacks, emotional distress, and revenge-driven violence (also includes lots of hurt / comfort).

A/N: Lost all motivation to write my normal stuff recently, but currently rewatching peaky blinders and feeling all sorts of ways about my boyyy tommy shelby.

"Tommy, please. Don't do this." Your voice was barely above a whisper as the weight of the moment pressed down on your chest like a stone.

You reached for him, fingers trembling as they grazed the fabric of his coat. 

But he didn’t budge. He stood rigid, back straight, his jaw locked so tight you could practically see the muscle ticking underneath his skin. A cigarette burned low between his fingers, a thin wisp of smoke curling in the dim light.

His face was unreadable, a mask of cold detachment. It was the same one he wore when giving orders that decided life or death. 

"You’re leaving tonight," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

You shook your head before he was even finished speaking, your breath catching. "No– no, I don’t want to leave."

Tommy exhaled slowly, as if he was gearing up for a fight. "This is not about what you want."

Your throat tightened. "Tommy, please–"

"You’ll be safer away from me."

You let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Safer?" The word tasted bitter on your tongue. "Tommy, I’m safe when I’m with you. The further away you are, the less safe I’ll feel."

For a second, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Hesitation. Regret. Maybe even doubt. But then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. Buried beneath layers of steel.

His shoulders stiffened, his fingers tightening around the cigarette. "You’ll have guards."

"I don’t want guards." Your voice wavered. "I want you. What if something happens, Tommy? What then?"

His breath hitched, but he remained stoic. "It won’t," he said firmly.

You searched his face, desperate for something, anything, that would tell you he wasn’t as sure about this as he was pretending to be. That this was tearing him apart, too. But all you saw was cold resolve. Complete certainty. 

A hollow feeling spread through your stomach as the truth settled in your bones. He had already made up his mind. And there was nothing you could say to make him change it.

Panic pressed against your ribs. You wanted to tell him that being away from him would be worse than any danger that lurked in Birmingham. But you couldn’t find the words.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, Tommy took one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out with slow, deliberate movements. When he finally looked at you, his blue eyes were unreadable.

"The carriage is waiting."

The words hit you like a blow, stealing whatever fight you had left.

You felt yourself nod, but you didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say. Without another word, you turned and walked away, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence.

And Thomas Shelby let you go. 

…

The wooden seat beneath you felt cold and unforgiving. But not nearly as cold as the hollow feeling in your chest.

You sat stiffly, arms folded across your body. Your stomach churned– a mixture between fear, anger, and grief. Each emotion fought for dominance, and yet all you could do was stare blankly at the road stretching endlessly ahead of you, your surroundings blurring past the window.

You tried to rationalize his actions and remind yourself why he made the choices he did. But this didn’t feel like protection anymore. 

It felt like a punishment. 

The hours dragged. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and the occasional creak of the carriage were the only sounds filling the silence. You hadn’t spoken a word to the driver or to the men Tommy had sent to guard you. You refused. Who cared if they thought you were some entitled brat?

But then, suddenly, something in the air shifted.

You weren’t sure what it was at first. Maybe it was just a feeling, an unease that coiled in your stomach like a vice. But then you noticed the hooves come to a gradual stop. One of the guards riding ahead straightened in his saddle, glancing toward the dense trees lining the road.

Your pulse quickened, but before you could even part your lips to ask what was wrong, you heard the gunshot.

A sickening crack followed by shouting. One of the men slumped forward on his horse before crashing onto the dirt road in a heap. The horses screamed, rearing violently. The carriage lurched, sending you slamming into the side with a sharp gasp.

Another shot. Another thud. 

The second guard fell before he could even draw his gun. Then the driver let out a strangled yell, yanking hard on the reins. 

But it was too late.

Figures emerged from the darkness of the trees, their boots pounding against the dirt, moving fast. Panic seized you. Without thinking, you scrambled toward the door, heart hammering, fumbling for the latch. You could still get out, still run, still–

But when you threw your weight against it, the door didn’t budge.

The impact from the gunfire, the carriage rocking on the uneven road– it had bent the frame inward. The wood creaked, but the metal hinges were jammed tight.

"No, no, no–” you pleaded. You pushed harder, shoulders slamming against the door.

Then, the other door was yanked open violently, nearly ripping off its hinges. You barely had time to turn before rough, gloved hands grabbed you, wrenching you forward. You thrashed against them, kicking, clawing, screaming for them to let go. 

"Shut her up!" A voice snapped. 

And just like that, the back end of a gun slammed into your gut, knocking the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred as your body doubled over. Fingers fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so hard your scalp burned.

One of the men leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek.

"I guess Shelby should’ve sent more men."

Your heart pounded violently in your chest as the other men chuckled darkly.

Your hands shook as you tried to fight, but there were too many of them, too many voices, too many shadows closing in around you. You screamed again. 

Then, a final, crushing blow to the side of your head sent the world tilting. Your knees buckled. 

And then– total darkness.

…

The office smelled of whiskey and smoke as the low glow of candlelight flickered against the walls. Tommy sat behind his desk, fingers wrapped around a glass he hadn’t yet touched.

Across from him, Arthur was talking. Something about business, numbers, men needing paying, but Tommy wasn’t listening. He had been distracted all night.

His mind kept circling back to you. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself he made the right choice– that sending you away had been for your own good, that it was the only way to keep you safe. That image of you, eyes wide, pleading, your fingers brushing against his coat before he had forced himself to turn away remained at the forefront of his mind.

"Tommy, please," you had begged. 

He had ignored the way it made his chest ache, forcing himself to shut down the part of him that wanted to keep you close.

Because this was the only way.

Right?

But if it was the right choice, then why the fuck did it feel like such a fucking mistake?

"Tom?" Arthur’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Tommy blinked, setting the untouched glass down with slow, deliberate movements. His fingers tapped against the wood, a restless habit. "What?"

Arthur frowned, watching him closely. "You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said, have you?"

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw twitched. 

Arthur exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus, Tommy. Forget about it. You did the right thing, yeah? She’s safer out of Birmingham. You said so yourself."

Tommy leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face. He shook his head, reaching for the cigarette pack on his desk, desperate for something to quiet his mind. But just as he struck the match, the door burst open.

Tommy’s head snapped up.

John stood in the doorway, breathless and pale.

"Tommy–" he panted, eyes wide with urgency. "The carriage– we just got word– it was intercepted–"

For a moment, the words didn’t register. A slow, heavy silence fell over the room. Tommy just stared at him, cigarette burning between his fingers, unmoving. Then, a sharp, cold wave of panic slammed into his chest.

His chair scraped against the floor as he shot to his feet. "What?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

John swallowed hard. "One of the scouts came back. The men– the guards you sent– they’re dead. Driver too."

The room tilted. A deafening ringing filled Tommy’s ears, drowning out everything else.

No, no, no. No. 

"Where?" Tommy demanded, his voice now urgent, raw, trembling with barely contained terror.

"We don’t know yet–"

Tommy’s chest heaved, his breath coming sharp and ragged. "Find out," he snapped, grabbing his coat. His hands were shaking. "Find out right fucking now."

Arthur was already up, grabbing his gun. "We’re going after her, Tommy."

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing, trying to think, trying to breathe, trying not to fucking lose it.

He had sent you away.

He had sent you away.

His heart pounded violently, his throat tight with a kind of fear he had never felt before.

Not anger. Not fury. Not vengeance.

Fear.

Because if they had taken you…

If they had hurt you…

Tommy couldn’t finish the thought.

Because the moment he did, he wouldn’t be able to fucking breathe.

…

When you woke up, the first thing you registered was the pain. 

The deep, aching throb in your skull. The metallic taste of blood coated your tongue, thick and suffocating.

Your body felt heavy, your limbs sluggish as you tried to move, only to realize that you couldn’t.

Panic slid into your chest, sharp and immediate as you became aware of the restraints, of the rough, biting feel of rope digging into your wrists, binding them behind the back of a chair. Your breath hitched, vision swimming in the overwhelming darkness that surrounded you.

You struggled against the restraints, muscles screaming in protest, but the chair barely creaked beneath your weight. The air was damp, thick with the scent of rotting wood and stale sweat. Somewhere in the distance, you heard the faint melodic drop of water.

A basement. Maybe a warehouse. Somewhere completely forgotten.

A door creaked open and your breath stilled. There were footsteps– slow and leisurely. 

A shadow loomed at the edge of the room, then a man stepped forward, boots scraping against the concrete floor. The dim light of a lantern illuminated his features, dark eyes full of amusement, a smirk twisting his thin lips.

"Well, well," he drawled, tilting his head. "Look who's awake."

Your stomach coiled in disgust as he came closer, circling you like a predator playing with its prey. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay still, to keep your expression blank.

The man stopped just beside you, tapping a finger against his chin, mockingly thoughtful. "You’re prettier up close," he mused. "Is that why Shelby keeps you so close? Well… not this time I guess."

A beat of silence. Then, his voice dropped into something colder, sharper. "Where’s he keeping his next shipment?"

You didn’t answer but his smirk only widened. "Playing the silent game, are we?"

He moved closer to you, and before you could react, a sharp, stinging slap cracked across your cheek.

Your head snapped to the side, your vision blurring with the impact.

"You’ll want to answer me," he said menacingly. "Or this is going to get a hell of a lot worse for you."

You clenched your teeth, forcing your breath to stay even. 

He let out a disappointed sigh. "Stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Brave, even?" He stepped closer, gripping the arms of your chair, leaning in until his breath was hot against your ear. "But tell me, sweetheart… how brave do you think you’ll be when we’re through with you?"

You refused to let him see your fear. But inside, terror clawed at your ribs, sinking in deep.  

The man stepped back, studying you. His smirk hadn't faltered, but you could see the frustration flicker in his dark eyes.

"Not talking, eh?" He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if this were some inconvenience, some tedious task he had to complete before moving on with his night.

Then, without warning, his fist slammed into your stomach.

Your body jerked violently against the ropes, a strangled gasp ripping from your throat as the air was stolen from your lungs. White, hot agony flared in your gut, the chair beneath you rocking from the force of it. You coughed, your body instinctively trying to double over, but the ropes held you upright, forcing you to endure it.

Still, you said nothing.

The man let out a humorless chuckle. "Tough girl, huh?"

Another blow. To your face again. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowing the cry that threatened to escape.

"Tell me," he continued casually, shaking out his fist, "where the Peaky Blinders keep their weapons."

You lifted your head slowly, breathing heavily through your nose. Then, you spat blood onto the floor at his feet.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. And then, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so sharply you let out a strangled gasp.

"I was hoping you’d be difficult," he murmured, tilting his head. "It makes this so much more fun for me."

Deep fear curled around your bones like ice. Because you knew exactly what men like him were capable of. He let go of your hair abruptly, your head snapping forward from the force of it, pain splintering through your already throbbing skull.The next blow came before you could brace yourself. It was a heavy, brutal punch to your nose. Pain exploded behind your eyes, your body lurching sideways, nearly toppling the chair. Your ears rang, the room spinning wildly.

Your nose was dripping. It took you a second to realize it was blood, warm and thick as it trailed down your lips. Still, you didn’t speak. 

He let out a long, slow breath, tilting his head as he studied you. "I can do this all night," he said lightly, as if he weren’t already beating you bloody. Then, something darker crossed his expression. 

"But maybe," he continued, voice lower, silkier, more dangerous, "I could find other ways to make you talk."

Your stomach churned at the sight of his gaze, predatorial. Every muscle in your body seized as he took a step forward, one hand reaching for his pocket. Then, metal glinted under the dim light.

A knife. Not small, not discreet, but long, sharp, wicked.

He flicked it open with an almost lazy motion, rolling it between his fingers like a coin, as if the weapon was nothing more than a casual accessory to him. "You know," he mused, tilting his head, his eyes dragging over your bound, broken form with something close to amusement, "I've always wondered how many pieces a person can be cut into before they bleed out."

He crouched beside you, the blade dancing along his fingers, before slowly pressing the cold steel under your chin.

"Tell me what I want to know," he murmured, his voice almost gentle, like a whisper of silk against your skin. 

More silence. 

He smirked. A devilish grin spread across his face. “Maybe I'll start with the fingers."

Your heart pounded violently, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run, fight, do something– 

But what were you supposed to do? The ropes bit into your wrists, your limbs too weak, too battered, your breath too shallow.

"Think I'm bluffing?" he asked, watching your reaction. "Think I won’t carve you up, nice and slow?"

The knife dragged downward, grazing lightly along the column of your throat, just enough to prickle your skin, to remind you how easily he could cut deeper.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek.

"Because I will, sweetheart," he whispered, almost fondly. "And when I'm done, I’ll send the pieces back to Shelby. One by one."

“I don’t know where the weapons are,” The words spilled out before you could even think, desperate, shaky, but holding just enough bite to make them believable. “Tommy doesn’t tell me those things– says it’s not a woman’s business to know– that we’d break too easily if we got questioned.”

Your breath hitched, your pulse roaring in your ears as you held his gaze, willing yourself to look small, weak, unimportant.

He laughed. Low, dark, amused. He leaned in again, the overwhelming stench of sweat and smoke rolling off him in waves.

"You think I believe that?" His voice was smooth as he tilted his head, watching you with something cruel, calculating. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts, your hands twisting uselessly behind your back, fingers numb from the ropes cutting into your skin.

You didn’t answer. Because you knew better. Men like him didn’t want the truth. They wanted excuses to hurt you.

He sighed, feigning disappointment. "See, sweetheart, here’s the problem with your little lie." He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper, something smudged with dirt and blood.

"One of your guards had this tucked in his coat. An order from Mr. Shelby himself," he said, unfolding it with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Says to keep you safe. Says not to let you out of their sight."

The bastard grinned as he tossed the paper onto your lap. "Now, why would Thomas Shelby go through all that trouble for someone who doesn’t know anything?"

You felt cold all over. He knew. No amount of lying was going to save you now.

"Yeah," he murmured, standing upright. "That’s what I thought."

His hand shot out suddenly, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back. You winced, but didn’t look away. A cruel smile spread across his face. "That’s good," he murmured. "I like when they look at me."

Then, cold steel pressed against your cheek. You flinched violently, your breath stuttering, but he only grinned wider, his grip tightening, holding you in place. 

"You’ll tell me what I want to know," he promised, his fingers digging into your bruised skin. "Sooner or later."

The blade slid downward, slow, deliberate, tracing the delicate line of your jaw.

Then, it pressed in. A sharp, searing pain bloomed beneath your skin, and you gasped, body jerking instinctively, but the ropes held you tight, trapped.

A thin line of warm blood trickled down your cheek. He hummed in satisfaction. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, slow, taunting. "Maybe I’ll give you some time to think about it," he mused, releasing you with a sharp shove.

…

Tommy paced the office like a caged animal, fingers tugging through his hair, his mind racing faster than his body could keep up.

The room was too small, too fucking suffocating, and the longer it took to get information, the more his chest tightened, the more his hands shook.

"Where the fuck is she?"

No one had an answer.

Tommy turned on John. "Who told you? Who gave you the fucking word?"

John swallowed, shifting on his feet. "A scout, one of our boys in Small Heath– he saw the wreckage. The guards, the driver… all dead, Tommy."

His stomach dropped.

Bodies.

But no mention of her.

He felt sick. Cold. A new kind of fear he hadn’t felt since the war clawed its way up his throat like bile. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus. If they had taken you alive, that meant they wanted something from you.

He had to find you. Now. A sharp knock on the door cut through the tense silence. Isaiah stepped in, breathless, eyes wide.

"We’ve got something."

Tommy’s head snapped up so fast his vision blurred.

"Where?"

Isaiah wiped a hand down his face, shaking his head. "We don’t know for sure, but one of the lads caught wind of a group setting up shop in an old distillery just outside the city– on the outskirts near the river."

"Who?" Tommy’s voice was deadly calm, but the way his hands shook slightly at his sides betrayed him.

Isaiah hesitated. "You’re not gonna like the answer, Tom."

Tommy’s chest tightened. "Say it," he demanded.

Isaiah exhaled. "Sabini’s men."

The room went deathly quiet.

Arthur swore, kicking the leg of a chair so hard it splintered.

Sabini.

That filthy fucking bastard had been waiting for an opportunity to strike, and Tommy had handed it to him on a silver fucking platter when he sent you away. Tommy felt his pulse roar in his ears, drowning out every other sound in the room.

He turned to Arthur. "Get everyone. We move now."

His brother didn’t hesitate. As Arthur stormed out, barking orders to the rest of the men, Tommy grabbed his coat, his revolver already in his hand.

He didn’t just want to kill them.

He wanted to wipe them from existence.

Because they had taken you.

And Thomas Shelby was going to burn the fucking city down to get you back.

…

Your wrists were raw from the ropes, skin rubbed red and torn from how hard you had fought– fought for nothing, fought for no one to come, fought just to survive another minute, another second.

You were too weak to fight anymore. Your entire body was screaming in agony, every nerve burning, every muscle aching with exhaustion.

Your stomach throbbed violently, a deep, searing pain radiating from one of the larger gashes that had been carved into your skin. You could still feel the sting of the blade as it sank into your flesh, the warm trickle of blood spilling down your ribs, soaking into the shredded remains of your clothes.

What was left of them, anyway.

Your dress had been ripped apart, torn from your body in jagged, humiliating shreds, exposing bruised, violated skin.

The men had touched you, their hands roaming, gripping, forcing you still, their laughter ringing in your ears as they stripped you down like you were nothing more than something to be used.

You had fought, God, you had fought, thrashing, kicking, but their hands had been stronger, crueler, unyielding.

Now, you could feel the cool air biting at your skin, the exposed places where they had left their marks– dark bruises, bloody scratches, shame carved into your very bones. Your arms shook, the fabric clinging to what was left of you, offering little protection, little dignity.

You felt disgusting.

Ruined.

And even though they had been interrupted before they could take it any further, the damage was already done.

The way they had laughed. Cruel, mocking, like your pain was amusing, like your struggle meant nothing.

"Shelby won’t want you now."

The words had sliced deeper than the knife, burrowing into your chest, your ribs, your bones.

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

It was all still there, burned into your mind, bleeding into your skin like an invisible brand you would never escape.

And your ribs– God, your ribs. Every inhale was a battle, every breath felt like knives digging into your sides, sharp and relentless. You didn’t know if they were bruised or broken, but the deep, throbbing ache that rattled through your chest made you certain that something was damaged beyond repair.

Even the slightest movement sent sharp, unbearable pain lancing through you, making your vision blur, making bile rise in your throat.

Your face was swollen, beaten, the metallic taste of blood thick on your tongue.

Your body flinched violently as hands roamed over you, rough fingers gripping, bruising, tearing fabric, exposing too much. A cruel chuckle ghosted over your ear.

"Not so tough now, are you?"

The words barely registered through the haze, but the hot breath against your skin did, the weight of a body pressing against you. Suffocating.

You turned your head, gasping sharply, choking on a sob as your body tried to shrink away, but the ropes held you firm, like an animal waiting for slaughter.

Another pair of hands gripped your thigh, fingers digging hard enough to bruise.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to disappear inside yourself, trying to will yourself into a place where this wasn’t happening, wasn’t real.

Then– footsteps, shouting.

Not inside the room, but outside.

The hands stilled.

More voices now, low, urgent, laced with something that sounded close to alarm.

"Go check it out," one of the men shouted.

A few of them grumbled, hesitating, as if reluctant to leave, but then another loud thud echoed from beyond the door, followed by the distant clatter of metal hitting the floor.

The man above you cursed, pushing off of you abruptly, leaving behind a nauseating heat where his body had been pressing against yours.

"Fucking deal with her," he ordered the one who stayed behind before storming toward the door.

You heard them shuffle out, their boots heavy against the floor, the door creaking as it was pulled shut behind them. One remained. 

Then– Gunfire. A sharp, brutal crack shook the walls. The man froze. Another shot. Then another. Shouts of panic cried outside the door, the unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the ground. And then the door burst open.

The man barely had time to turn, barely had time to lift his knife, barely had time to do anything, before a bullet tore through his skull, the shot echoing like thunder.

His body crumpled to the floor.

More boots pounded into the room. Your swollen, half-lidded eyes struggled to focus, your mind fading in and out, but you knew– you knew those voices. Someone dropped to their knees beside you.

"Fuck– It’s her." The voice was urgent, but familiar. "She’s alive. Love, it’s me– it’s John. Can ya hear me?"

He moved to untie you, but you let out a small, broken noise. Weakly, you tried to turn away, as if you could somehow hide your exposed body from him– hide from what had been done to you.

"Shit– someone get her a coat, something!" John hollered. 

More hurried voices. More boots scuffing against the ground.

Then a voice rang out. "Get out of the fucking way!"

The tone was raw, shaking with rage, sharp enough to cut through the chaos like a knife. Everyone moved aside instantly.

Tommy’s blue eyes locked onto you, widening as he took in the bruises, the gash on your stomach leaking blood, the torn fabric barely covering your body.

Then, under his breath, so low it was barely a whisper, he muttered, "Jesus Christ.” 

His coat was off his shoulders in an instant. He crouched down and carefully draped it over you, covering as much of your exposed skin as he could. The weight of it should’ve been comforting, should’ve felt like protection, but you flinched. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through your body, making your breath hitch sharply in your throat. Tommy’s jaw tightened. His hands hovered, like he was unsure if touching you would only make things worse.

John knelt beside him, fingers moving to quickly undo the ropes. 

Your body swayed forward as the last rope fell away, your muscles too weak to hold you upright, but Tommy’s hands shot out instantly, catching you before you could collapse completely. He felt the way you tensed. The way your body tried to shrink away, as if you weren’t sure whether his hands were safe ones or not. 

“Can you walk?” His voice was low, controlled, but his heart was fucking pounding.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t even manage to look up at him– like you didn’t even register his question.

Your head hung limply forward, resting weakly against his shoulder. Your breath came in shallow bursts as the weight of exhaustion and pain dragged you down.

That was all the answer he needed. Without hesitation, he scooped you up into his arms. The moment he lifted you, a sharp, strangled cry tore from your throat as the wound on your stomach pinched.

“I got you,” The sound of your pain sent a violent shudder through Tommy’s body, his grip instinctively tightening. “I know, love. I know.”

Your head lolled against his chest, another small whimper escaping your lips as his arms adjusted their hold, careful but unrelenting. His breath was uneven as he stood, keeping you pressed tightly against him, shielding you as much as he could.

Your pain was his pain now.

Your suffering was his burden to bear.

And he was going to make every last one of those bastards suffer for what they had done to you.

The night air was cold, but Tommy barely felt it. His grip on you didn’t waver, his arms locking you against his chest, shielding you from the world as he carried you through the bloodstained corridors of the warehouse.

Every step he took was controlled, deliberate, but inside he was barely holding it together. You were too still, your body too limp in his arms. 

“Almost there," he murmured, his voice softer than he’d ever let it be, barely audible beneath the pounding of his own heart.

You didn’t respond. But when his arms shifted slightly, having to adjust his hold as he stepped over a body on the ground, you let out a small whimper of pain. His grip tightened instinctively.

"Shh," he soothed, his lips brushing against your temple, voice raw. "I’ve got you."

The car was waiting outside, its headlights cutting through the darkness, and the backseat door already open. Arthur was barking orders to the men, his voice clipped and deadly, but the moment Tommy stepped outside, all movement stopped. The others watched as he carried you– silent, grim, waiting.

They had seen Tommy Shelby furious before.

But this was something else entirely.

Without a word, Tommy laid you down in the backseat, before climbing in himself. He adjusted his coat so that it covered you again before guiding your head to rest more comfortably on his lap. 

The door slammed shut and the engine roared to life. The moment the car jolted forward, you let out another soft whimper, your fingers weakly reaching for him. 

"It’s alright," he murmured, as his hand brushed through your matted hair. "You’re alright."

You heard his words, but they felt far away… like a voice carried through water, muffled, distant. Your head shifted slightly against his lap as you forced your swollen eyes open. 

And then you saw it.

Blood.

Deep red, seeping through the white fabric of his shirt, thick and dark, staining the material all the way down to his waist. Your breath hitched. For a second, you didn’t understand. Your dazed mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process how he might’ve gotten hurt. 

Then it clicked. It wasn’t his blood.

It was yours.

Your fingers twitched weakly, brushing against the soaked fabric.

"Tommy–"

The word came out slurred, almost inaudible.

His hands tensed around you instantly. "I’m here, love," he said quickly, his voice sharper now, urgent. "I’m right here."

Your vision blurred. The world was tilting again. The blood, so much blood– 

"Tommy, am I dying?"

His arms tightened around you, his grip firm, protective, as if holding you together was enough to keep you here. 

"No," he said immediately, but there was something frantic beneath his voice now, something breaking. "No, you’re not dying. You’re alright."

You blinked slowly, the exhaustion dragging you down. 

Tommy turned his head sharply.

"Drive faster," he snapped, his voice thick with something close to desperation.

Arthur was already pushing the car to its limit, the tires kicking up dirt and gravel as they sped toward home. Tommy’s hand cradled your cheek, his thumb stroking gently along your skin, even as his grip shook.

"You’re alright. But you have to stay awake," he said, almost pleadingly. 

You tried. And really, you wanted to. 

But the last thing you felt before the darkness pulled you under was the way his fingers trembled against your skin.

…

You felt the car lurch to a stop, the tires skidding against the dirt, but the world around you was hazy, your body heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and pain.

You jolted further awake when Tommy shifted, pulling you onto his lap before he pushed the door open.

Then, a rush of cold air. Sharp as it bit at your skin. Tommy stepped out, his grip on you unwavering, unrelenting. There were voices, then footsteps. The sound of boots pounding against the ground. 

Polly’s familiar voice. "Oh, my girl," she gasped. “What have they done to her?”

You tried to lift your head, to focus, but your vision swam, the world tilting in and out of darkness. 

Polly was moving fast, her skirt rustling as she rushed toward you, her hands reaching for you before you even realized what was happening.

"Get her inside," she ordered, her tone sharp, controlled, but beneath it there was fear.

Tommy didn’t hesitate. You felt the urgency in his body, the tension coiling tight in his arms as he carried you up the steps, past the doorway, into the dim warmth of the house.

Everything was spinning. 

When he set you down, the wound in your stomach pinched and a warm rush of liquid poured from it. You clutched at it– felt the blood pooling between your fingers. 

"Tommy, put some pressure on that!" Polly’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.

Your breath hitched, your body already trembling from exhaustion, from blood loss, from the deep, horrible throbbing wrapping around your ribs like a vice.

Tommy moved instantly, his hands already reaching for you. You felt him brush your hands away before pressing a towel firmly against the open wound on your stomach. 

The moment the pressure hit, white-hot pain exploded through you.

You screamed.

 Your body arched off the mattress, hands flying to his wrist, gripping hard, your nails digging into his skin, trying to push him away.

"I know," Tommy rasped without budging, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might break his teeth.

You tried to twist away, but his hands didn’t move, didn’t falter, didn’t let up.

Your vision swam, a high-pitched ringing buzzing in your ears, agony coiling through your body like fire, licking up your ribs, burning through your spine.

Polly was moving fast, grabbing bandages, ripping fabric, preparing whatever she needed, but all you could focus on was the pressure, the unbearable weight of Tommy’s hands pressing against your stomach.

"Fuck," Tommy cursed under his breath. "Pol, do something. Help her–"

"I need supplies, Tommy," Polly snapped. "I need you to go get them."

You saw Tommy hesitate.

"Tom," Polly’s voice was firmer now, demanding. "Go. Now."

A beat. Then, the pressure on your stomach lifted as he moved away. The moment Tommy’s hands left your body, you felt the loss like a cruel snap of cold air.

Your breath hitched, your body instinctively tensing, but Polly’s hands were already there, replacing his. 

She pressed tightly against the wound, and fresh agony ripped through you, another strangled cry spilling from your lips.

"Shh, darling," Polly murmured, her voice softer now, gentler than before, but still edged with urgency. "I know, I know. We’re going to get you all fixed up."

You let out a soft, weak noise as Tommy moved, as if your body somehow knew it was losing its only source of warmth, of safety.

"I’ll be right back," Tommy’s voice was hoarse, raw, full of something broken.

And then, the door swung shut. 

Your fingers clutched weakly at the sheets, your body writhing slightly, trying to escape the searing pain, but Polly held firm. "Easy," she murmured, one hand moving up to smooth your hair back from your face, her touch gentle despite the blood coating her fingers. "Just breathe."

You tried. But every inhale sent sharp daggers through your ribs, every second felt like your body was tearing itself apart.

"That’s it," Polly encouraged, even as her hands remained firm, even as she continued pressing into the wound. "Just keep breathing, sweetheart."

Footsteps. A door swinging open.

Then, his voice.

"Here," Tommy said, sounding breathless as he stormed back into the room. His hands were full of supplies.

Polly barely glanced up. "Put them on the table."

He did, his movements fast and urgent. But the moment he turned back to you, his face fell.

His blue eyes flickered to the blood pooling around Polly’s hands, to the torn fabric soaked with red, and then, to your face.

Your body was trembling, your breath coming shaky and weak, your skin far too pale.

Tommy’s hands curled into fists. Polly looked at him before releasing the pressure on your wound.

"It’s not clotting," she said, flat, grim. Polly exhaled sharply, grabbing the needle and thread. "We’ll have to stitch it up."

His jaw clenched, his throat working around words he couldn’t say, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides. Without a word, he took his place back beside you, his hands finding your shoulders, his grip steady, firm, unyielding.

Polly met his gaze. "Hold her down."

And with agony in his eyes, he did.

A sharp, searing sensation that tore through your body like fire, ripping you from the darkness and into the cruel reality of the moment. Your eyes flew open, your breath catching instantly as a white-hot, unbearable sting shot through your stomach.

A scream tore from your throat before you even knew what was happening.

"Keep her from moving!" Polly’s voice was urgent, firm, cutting through the haze of pain and confusion as she clutched the bottle of alcohol she was using to clean your wounds.

Then, strong hands gripped your shoulders.

"Shh, love, I know, I know."

Tommy pinned you down, his weight pressing against you just enough to keep you still, but not enough to hurt you.

You fought against it anyway, your body thrashing violently, panic and agony blurring together as Polly’s hands worked quickly, pressing something sharp against your skin. Another wave of pain crashed through you, and you sobbed, gasping, your body twisting uselessly beneath Tommy’s grip. 

"Please–" Your voice cracked, weak and frantic, as the burning sensation only grew worse. “Please, stop–”

Tommy’s grip tightened, his breath harsh against your ear as he whispered, "I know,” he repeated. “You have to let her do this."

You couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear the pain, the sting, the relentless wave of agony pressing down on every nerve in your body.

But Tommy wasn’t letting go. His hands stayed firm, keeping you still as Polly continued, her voice clipped, professional– but you could hear the pain in it too.

"It’ll be over soon," she murmured, but it barely reached you over the sound of your own ragged sobs.

Another sharp pain seared through your ribs, and your body arched violently, another broken cry ripping from your throat. Your fingers latched onto Tommy’s arm, gripping him so tightly your nails dug into his skin.

He didn’t flinch.

His voice was hoarse, desperate, like this was hurting him just as much as it was hurting you. "I got you," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. "I’m right here, love. Just hold on. Just hold on."

But you couldn’t.

You felt yourself slipping away, the pain too much, too unbearable.

Your sobs grew softer, weaker, until the darkness swallowed you whole.

…

Sleep clung to you like a heavy shroud, pulling you under, keeping you trapped beneath the surface.

But then… voices.

Low, hushed, urgent.

You weren’t awake, not really. But the words drifted through the haze, barely reaching you, like an echo through water.

"I don’t know what happened in that room," Polly said, soft but grave, laced with something heavy, unspoken. "But our girl was hurt beyond what the eye can see."

There was silence– so suffocating that you could feel it settle over the room like a funeral shroud.

Then, Tommy’s voice, low, rough, dangerous in a way you had never heard before.

"What are you saying, Pol?"

A pause.

"You saw the bruises on her thighs, Tommy. The way her clothes were torn."

The words barely registered before a deep, unbearable shame clawed its way up your throat.

You wanted to pull the blanket tighter around you– to disappear, vanish, sink back into the darkness where none of this was real.

But your body wouldn’t listen. Your fingers twitched, barely moving against the sheets. Another silence. Longer this time. Heavier.

Then, Tommy’s voice, but it was different now. Not sharp, not angry. Shaken.

“Jesus Christ."

Another pause.

Then, a sound you never thought you’d hear from Tommy Shelby. A shaky exhale, almost like a breath that had been trapped in his chest for too long, forced out in a way that wasn’t entirely controlled.

You wanted to open your eyes.

Wanted to reach for him, for Polly, for something that made you feel whole again.

But your body was too broken, and your mind was too tired.

…

The room was quiet when you woke up.

Not the kind of peaceful quiet that brought comfort, but the kind that felt hollow, empty, like something had been ripped away. Your body felt heavy, every inch of you aching, wrapped in a deep, throbbing pain that radiated from your ribs, your face, your legs.

For a moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe too deeply.

Just listened.

The soft crackling of the fireplace. The distant murmurs of voices downstairs. The faint scent of whiskey, tobacco, and something familiar lingering in the air.

Then, movement

Your eyes shifted, and that’s when you saw him.

Tommy.

He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, his head bowed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he had been praying but never finished the prayer.

His hair was disheveled, his coat abandoned somewhere, his sleeves rolled up. He looked worn down.  Like he had been carrying too much weight for far too long.

Your throat felt tight. When you shifted slightly, trying to ease the ache in your body, the mattress creaked softly beneath you.

Tommy’s head snapped up instantly. His blue eyes locked onto you, and for a brief second they widened, raw and unguarded, before he jolted forward, hurrying to your side.

"Hey–" His voice was rough, low with exhaustion, relief, and something deeper, something broken. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m here. I’m right here.” 

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Your throat tightened painfully, your lips parting as if to form words, but all that came was silence. Then– tears. Hot, silent tears spilled over your cheeks, streaking down your skin before you could stop them.

Tommy’s breath hitched, his face contorting slightly, as if the sight of you like this physically hurt him.

"Hey," he repeated, his hands reaching up, cupping your face carefully, his thumbs wiping away the tears as fast as they fell. "It’s alright. You’re alright."

But you weren’t. And you both knew it.

More tears spilled, your body trembling despite the warmth of the blankets, despite the fact that Tommy’s hands were steady, firm, and safe. You let out a weak, shaky exhale, your breath stuttering.

Tommy’s jaw tensed, the pad of his thumb still brushing along your cheek.

"You’re safe now," he whispered, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. "You hear me?"

You closed your eyes and nodded weakly, but the tears kept falling. They wouldn’t stop– wouldn’t slow, no matter how hard you tried to breathe through it, to swallow it down, to push it away like it wasn’t happening.

His hands never left your face, gentle, steady, as if he thought you might shatter completely if he let go.

He watched you closely, his expression tight, unreadable, but his eyes gave him away. They were soft. Without a word, Tommy shifted, slowly, carefully, and sat on the edge of the bed. His weight made the mattress dip. And then, he reached for you. Not all at once. Not suddenly. Just gently. One of his arms slid behind your back, the other under your legs, his movements slow, deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t.  So, when he finally pulled you into him, when he gathered you against his chest, you just let him. Because the desire to be held so gently by him outweighed the pain in your stomach. 

A soft, shuddering sob broke from your throat the second your face pressed into his shoulder. His arms tightened and his chest rose and fell beneath you.

"I’ve got you," he said.

You just cried harder. Cried into his shirt, into his chest, into the only thing that felt remotely safe.

And Tommy just held you.

Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

… 

The hands were everywhere. Gripping, clawing, pressing against your skin.

Hot breath ghosted over your ear, cruel laughter filling the darkness as rough fingers bruised their way over your body.

"Not so tough now, are you?" 

You thrashed, but you were trapped, bound, helpless. No matter how hard you fought, kicked, screamed, you couldn’t get away.

"Shelby won’t want you now."

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

No. No, please.

You screamed.

You jerked awake violently, gasping, drenched in sweat, heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to escape. The room was dark, shadows stretching across the walls, but the nightmare was still there, lingering, suffocating.

A figure moved beside you, reaching for you–  Too close. Too fast.

"Don’t fucking touch me!" The words ripped from your throat before you even registered them, your voice sharp, frantic, trembling with terror. 

"Hey, hey, hey. It’s me. It’s just me."

You sucked in a sharp breath, your pulse roaring in your ears as the terror began to splinter, reality bleeding through the nightmare. Your eyes darted to his face.

Not them.

Tommy.

A shuddering sob broke from your lips as you reached forward. Tommy caught you immediately, his arms wrapping around you, holding you firmly but carefully.

"Shh, you’re alright," he murmured against your hair. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

His warmth grounded you, but the nightmare still clung to you like poison, lingering in your skin, in your bones. You inhaled, your cheek resting against the curve between his shoulder and neck. His scent wrapped around you, familiar and safe. He smelled of whiskey, tobacco, gunpowder, something darker, something uniquely him.

The fabric of his shirt was soft, worn, and beneath it, you could feel the subtle heat of his skin, along with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was faster than usual, uneven, like he wasn’t as composed as he wanted to be.

The silence stretched between you for a long time, a heavy, fragile thing hanging in the air.

Then, Tommy’s voice finally broke it. "What did they do to you?"

You stiffened. Every muscle in your body locked up, panic flaring hot in your chest. Your breath shook, your fingers twisting into his shirt as your mind raced, panicked, hesitated. 

If he knew, would he still want you?

"Shelby won’t want you now."

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done." 

The cruel messages from the men lingered in the forefront of your mind. You were damaged. Used. Broken. What if he’d see you differently now? What if he never touched you the same again? What if he’d– 

"Please,” he cut in. “I have to know." 

Slowly, you swallowed, your throat tight, aching, before you finally forced the words past your lips. "They–" your voice was barely a whisper. "They touched me, Tommy."

The air in the room shifted as Tommy stiffened. Then his jaw clenched, his breath sharp and ragged through his nose. Before you could process it, he was moving. Standing up and turning toward the door. For a second, your brain didn’t register it– or understand.

Then, it hit you. 

He was leaving… Heading straight for the door. Panic slammed into your chest, raw and frantic.

"Tommy–" Your voice broke, but he didn’t stop.

No, no, no– 

"I’m sorry, I– I tried," you choked out, your throat burning, your hands reaching for him but too weak to move from the bed. "I swear, I fought. I– I should’ve fought harder, I–"

Tommy froze in place.

You didn’t realize you were crying again, but the words kept spilling out, rushed and broken, desperate to keep him here, to explain how hard you fought. "I’m sorry," you gasped, barely able to breathe. "Please– please, don’t go– don’t leave me– I’m so sorry–"

Tommy turned sharply, crossing the room in two strides, and then, his hands were on your face, cradling you, forcing you to look at him.

"No." His voice was firm, steady, but his eyes… His eyes were shining, raw, and shattered. "This is not your fault."

Your breath hitched, but he didn’t let go.

"I should’ve been there," he whispered, voice thick with agony, regret, fury… at himself, at the men who did this, at everything. "You hear me? I should’ve been there. And I should never have sent you away. I was wrong. And I’m so fucking sorry."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Tommy wiped it away with his thumb, his touch careful.

“I thought–” you stammered. “I thought you were going to leave.”

"Christ, I’m not leaving you love," he murmured, his voice so quiet, so broken it nearly undid you completely. "I just–" he swallowed thickly, his jaw tightening. "I want to go back there and kill every last one of those bastards for what they did to you."

You closed your eyes, your body shaking, exhausted, drained. But when you leaned forward, Tommy caught you instantly, pulling you into him, holding you tightly against his chest.

"Please stay," you whispered, your voice thin, fragile, desperate. "Please, Tommy– don’t go."

His hands tensed against your face, thumbs still brushing against your cheekbones, his blue eyes searching yours, reading every ounce of fear buried beneath the words.

"I’m not going anywhere, love," he murmured, his voice low, rough with emotion, as if saying the words out loud solidified them in stone.

A quiet, broken noise escaped your throat– not quite a sob, not quite relief, but something in between.

His hands slipped down, his arms gathering you close. Your forehead pressed against his chest, his warmth grounding you.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against your temple, barely a whisper of contact, but the weight of it was enough.

"I never should’ve sent you away," he murmured, his voice softer now, but still laced with the guilt he would never forgive himself for. "And I promise you, love, I won’t make that mistake again."

Your fingers weakly clung to his shirt, your body melting against him as the last of your strength gave out. 

And Tommy held you together.

[rainrot4me]

How would each of the creeps react to their partner being severely injured?

✦ . jeff the killer

Freaking the fuck out.

His first instinct is blind panic masked as rage. Blood makes him giddy—but not yours.

“Who did this?” His voice shakes as he crouches beside you, hands trembling. “Who fucking did this?”

Jeff presses his hoodie into the wound, even as it soaks red. He tries to laugh, but it comes out cracked. There’s no humor in the moment no matter how hard he tries to make you giggle, even just a smile would give him some relief.

“C’mon, don’t close your eyes. Look at me. You’re gonna be okay. I’m not letting you die, not when I just got you…”

He threatens every single person in the room. When he can make sure you’re steady, at least long enough for him to get you to EJ, he goes quiet. Deadly quiet. And whoever did it? They’ll wish they’d never been born.

✦ . ticci toby

Absolutely lost, unsure what to do.

He freezes. Just freezes. You’re hurt, and his brain short-circuits. It takes a beat, but then the panic hits like a tidal wave.

“Shit—shitshitshit—okay. Okay. Breathe. You’re breathing, right?”

He hovers, hands shaking, unable to decide whether to pick you up or yell for help. He does both.

When you reach for him, he nearly breaks.

“Don’t move! Don’t move, just—just stay with me, okay? You’ll be alright. I’ll fix it. I pro-promise.”

He carries you like something precious and doesn’t leave your side. Sleep? Eating? Not until you’re better.

✦ . eyeless jack

Goes emotionally numb—long enough, at least.

It’s surgical, controlled, and practiced perfection. He’s done these same movements on the proxies endless times, but his jaw is clenched so tightly it looks painful.

“Lie still. Don’t talk. I’ve got you.”

He’s already halfway through assessing the damage before you can even speak. Blood doesn’t faze him—he knows how bodies work, but watching you in pain has a different effect.

You notice his voice get gentler, more reassuring. That’s how he keeps from freaking himself out.

“This will hurt, but I can’t let you bleed out. I’m going to fix this, love. I swear to God, you’re not dying on me.”

Later, when you’re stable, he won’t say much, but he’ll sit at your bedside all night, eyes never leaving your sleeping form. It may seem possessive, but he needs to be close enough to hear the rhythmic beat of your heart in your chest or he’ll drive himself mad.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Uncontrollable.

He’s angry at everything. At you for getting hurt, at himself for not stopping it, and at whoever’s responsible.

“What the fuck happened?” he barks, already pressing something to the wound.

He doesn’t say it, but you see the tears in his eyes.

“You keep your fucking eyes open. Don’t even think about it.”

Masky becomes hyper-focused, mechanical in his actions, but his hand won’t leave yours. Even as he snaps orders, even as he sews or stabilizes you just enough to clot the blood, and even as he has to forcefully lift you off the guard despite your pitiful crying.

Once it’s over, he drops the mask beside your bed and just sits, rubbing his face like he’s trying to wipe the guilt off. His fault or not, he’s taken it as a personal act against him.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

Deathly quiet in the most terrifying way.

He doesn’t say a word. Not at first.

Just kneels beside you, hands already working fast to stabilize. But there’s a tremble in his touch that you can feel despite your state.

“Shh,” he finally murmurs when you cry out. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His tone is so soft—and you never hear him like this.

Brian lifts you in his arms like you weigh nothing, like you’ll break if he breathes wrong. For all he knows, you certainly could.

Later, when you’re safe, he won’t let anyone else near you. His hoodie stays wrapped around you even while you sleep, even as he watches the heart monitor like a hawk. He won’t leave until you’re up again.

✦ . ben drowned

Spiraling.

At first, he thinks it’s a joke. Then he sees the blood.

“No. Nope. Don’t—don’t do this.”

Ben glitches across the room to you in an instant, hands on your face, scanning your injuries like he’s buffering through a nightmare.

“Hey. Eyes on me. Don’t you dare pass out. Don’t you fucking dare.”

There’s real fear in his voice, the kind that cuts through even his arrogance.

Once you’re stable, he clings hard. Refuses to log off the mortal plane until you’re laughing again.

✦ . clockwork

Commanding, as if you could follow the orders.

“What the hell happened to you?” she barks—but it’s fear, not anger.

She presses her fingers into the wound and winces like she’s the one hurt.

“You dumbass. Why’d you take the hit?”

She works fast, precise, muttering curses under her breath as she keeps you conscious. If it takes grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you back awake, so be it.

“You don’t get to die, got it? I didn’t come this far with you just to watch you bleed out.”

Later, she curls into bed beside you when you’re stable, whispering, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

✦ . laughing jack

Tries to find the humor. Fails miserably.

“Oh, look who decided to play with knives and lose,” he giggles, voice unsteady.

But when he sees the blood—real, dark, your blood—his smile falters.

“Oh no no no. This isn’t a joke. This isn’t funny. Not you. Never you.”

Jack doesn’t know how to fix it, but he tries. Hands clumsy, clown outfit soaked. He holds you like porcelain, like pottery crumbling in his arms. All he can do it cry out for help.

When you wake up, he’s humming a lullaby at your bedside, stuffed animal on your chest, eyes glowing like fading candles.

“Next time,” he whispers, “let me be the one who gets hurt, okay?”

✦ . slenderman

Pray to whatever god you believe in, man.

The air cracks. He appears in an instant, tendrils lifting you before you hit the floor.

His presence alone stills time. He doesn’t panic, but you feel the terror in the way his limbs tighten protectively, coiling just a little tighter than comfortable.

“Unacceptable,” his voice hums inside your head. “No one harms what’s mine.”

He doesn’t need medics. You’re healed within minutes by a pulsing energy, but it costs him energy in return. It doesn’t matter, whatever caused your pain has been erased from the universe within seconds.

Afterward, he keeps you hidden, locked in the safety of his realm. He holds you in silence, a powerful force cradling something fragile. It takes a long time before you can go anywhere without the looming presence following you around.

꩜ .ᐟ

[warnersister]

How the Peaky boys would react to “you wearing a sundress” -> headcannon

(NSFW) but more implied then truly written, but still read at your own risk

Tommy🪖

🪖it was a hot day, and you were rummaging through your clothing chest to try find something suitable to wear to bear the heat outside.

🪖Tommy had headed out early, business to attend to with Alfie Solomons.

🪖he hadn’t meant to wake you, trying to sneak around the bedroom to get dressed and get out of the house: especially after a… long night

🪖but still, you stirred and whined “Tom?” You breathe with a rasped voice “s’alright, back to sleep darling” he instructed but you endured, sitting up and stretching your arms high above your head and Thomas watched as the covers fell to reveal your bare torso and it took all his self control to stop salivating.

🪖you climbed out of bed and threw the slip dress over your head, heading towards your husband who was buttoning his shirt in the mirror

🪖you turned him towards you and swatted his hands away, and he allowed you to finish buttoning his shirt for him, finishing the top button and pulling the collar down to kiss him.

🪖”Solomons is coming by today” Thomas huffed and you looked up at him with narrowed eyes “long meeting?” You ask and he shakes his head “shouldn’t be” you nod “d’you want me to come by later? Bring you some lunch?” You ask and he connects his eyes with yours “y’know y’worry me when you stay in there all day” you continue and he offers a small smile. “I’ll take that as a yes” you say, kissing the corner of his mouth and tapping his chest, ushering him out of the door. “Go on, shoo.”

🪖he smirked and grabbed his cap on the way out, whistling as he went

🪖so there you were, already sweeting with mere silk on your body

🪖you saw a dress with the tags still on, yellow and billowing at the bottom: sundress

🪖you looked it over one before deciding it was the perfect choice for today’s endeavours.

🪖you’d nipped out to the market first, collecting some supplies to make him some soup or whatever you could conjure up.

🪖you even grabbed some sunflowers too; having bought him a vase for his office, thinking it needed some life brought into it, given the volume of lives that were lost in that room.

🪖later in the day you headed to Tommy’s office, assuming that his meeting must be done by now and to feed him.

🪖you’d headed to the Garrison, greeting Harry and having a few wandering eyes following you as you approached the Blinder’s designated room, thinking nothing of it as you turned the door knob.

🪖Tommy couldn’t be mad at your intrusion for the sheer sight of you. His pupils blew out of his head as he looked you over, he’d never seen this dress before. Yet his jaw gritted at the way Alfred fucking Solomons had the same reaction.

🪖”oh I’m so sorry gentleman” you said, pivoting to leave “no no, sweetheart. Alfie was just leaving. Weren’t you?” Tommy asked and Alfie creased his brows but with the eyes his business partner was giving him told him everything he needed to know. “Yeah yeah, just leaving Tom”

🪖Alfie stood, to leave and smiled at you “lovely to see you, poppet” Alfie said, you’d always gotten along with him; you hugged him as he welcomed it, and he grinned at you “you look gorgeous you, yeah? Lovely new dress. Fabulous it is” “fuck off Alfie” “yeah yeah I’m going, bye love”

🪖Tommy looked you over as the door clicked shut with tight lips. “I’m sorry Tom I didn’t think he’d still be here-” “have you had that on all day?” He cuts you off and you raise your brows “the dress?” “Mhm” “oh yeah, found it earlier. Never worn it.” You say, spinning to give him a giddy look at it.

🪖Tommy couldn’t help but smile “c’m ere.” He beckons you over and you approach him “I brought you some lunch-” you begin “nah, got all I need to eat right here” he says and grabs your hips, prompting you to discard your basket on his desk.

🪖he sits back in his seat; opening his legs to pull you to stand between them. He gently takes the fabric between his fingers, then drags his hands so slowly up to your torso, not looking at your face. You fidget anxiously, his hands dragging back down to the hem of the dress.

🪖”dangerous wearing this, love” he says, dipping his hands under the dress to rest on your upper thighs, finally looking at you. You smile. He realises how easily the fabric is lifted, pushing you back to sit on his desk “can’t do this to y’old Tom and expect to get away with it” he says, with a tut, unzipping his trousers and removing his suspenders as he pushes your underwear to the side.

🪖”I’m buying you more o’ these.”

Alfie🧸

🧸Alfie was sat reading the newspaper in his armchair, Cyril asleep beside him when you came into the room.

🧸”so, what do you think?” You asked and Alfie looked up but had to do a double take. A white sundress with frilled straps and tight torso. “Blimey poppet, what’s this then?” He asked, dropping his glasses to the end of his nose to get a better look at you.

🧸”a sundress Alf!” You say, “y’bought it last year, remember?” “Thought I’d remember buying something like this.” He says, standing to his feet, moving to take your hand in his own “give us a spin then darling” he says, turning you as the fabric billowed as you went only for your gorgeous beaming face to return to him.

🧸”now this is fucking fabulous ain’t it darlin’, fucking fabulous. Bloody love it. Suits you nicely” he mumbles as you smile “but y’can’t wear it” he says and your face drops “y’what?” You asks, brows furrowing. “Y’aint givin y’old man heart palpitations and expecting me to let y’out of the house, flower. Not like this” he says sternly, wagging an accusatory finger at you.

🧸”but we’re got to go to the market-” you protest “nah, we ain’t” he says, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder as you yelp. He flips the rim of your skirt up so he gets a great view of your ass, smacking it lightly “Alfie!”

🧸”don’t think I won’t shag y’on these stairs, treacle, now let me get up the fucking stairs, yeah?”

🧸then later in the day when you’d finally manage to coax him off of you and out of the house to the market, there was a hand permanently on your waist. And then at some point you bent over to smell some flowers and Alfie couldn’t help but lean his hips into yours. You yelped “Alfie!” You hissed. “C‘mon love I can’t cope.” He grunts, impatiently prompting the rest of the shopping to go by faster, flipping the skirt of the dress up again when he finally got back to the car.

Arthur🍺

🍺so. Fucking. Antsy.

🍺can’t keep his fucking hands off of you.

🍺left early, didn’t he? Ended up waking you up; banging all the doors shut and all that as he clambered out of the house.

🍺you decided that was your wake up call regardless, knowing full well that if he’d have left in a state such as the one he was in last night then it wasn’t good business. Meaning it’d perk him up for you to visit him and calm down his anger during the day, even if it was only a chat to rectify his emotions.

🍺you’d gotten yourself dressed without a second thought, inly to do a double take and head right back into the house when you felt the sweltering temperatures outside the from door.

🍺you’d rummage through your clothing chest, struggling to find anything suitable for such an occasion, used to the drizzly cool downpour of the indefinite English winter.

🍺then you spotted it; the sundress

🍺Arthur had gone mad for it last year, and it was forgotten about at around Christmas time when it was way too cold for attire like that, but now was the perfect opportunity to wind him up again.

🍺and you were in a teasing mood after the way he’d slammed the front door shut and made a crack in the mahogany.

🍺so you’d slipped it on, it was a lovely shade of pink; baby pink to be exact. Arthur loved that colour on you, made him forget all his troubles and appreciate his woman for a while - especially when he couldn’t get his hands off you. So, giving yourself a once over you spritzed a bit of the expensive perfume Thomas had kindly gifted you the Christmas prior, the one you knew Arthur liked the smell of, and headed out the door.

🍺you decided to stop by the bakery on the way to his office, the bakery with the young cashier who had a large crush on you who Arthur absolutely despised, and you knew it’d get him even more rilled up knowing full well that you’d been in that dress, had leant over the counter while the young lad stumbled over his words and explained what was in every one of them, let you sample the one that the lad knew full well was your favourite, and gave you it on the house with a tip on the hat and a kiss on the hand.

🍺yeah this was turning out to be a pretty good day.

🍺so you waltzed through the building, little spring in your step as you greeted all the turning heads who watched you as you walked.

🍺you knocked on his door “fuck off” and you opened it “sorry Arth, thought you’d want some company” you say in the shyest voice you could manage to muster. His demeanour immediately changed when he heard your voice, his posture settled but when he looked at you his mouth ran dry.

🍺”brought you a bun” you say, taking it out of the bag you’d brought and knew full well he looked at the branding on the paper packaging. His jaw went slack. “Fuck me love, y’tryna kill me?” He asked, taking his cap off his head and shooting his head beneath it. “What do you mean, darling?” You asked, feigning innocence, heading to his desk as you placed the treat in front of him. “You know fucking damn well what. That bastard dress is back again” he says, grabbing your waist with calloused hands to bring you closer to him and he looked you over.

🍺”wearing the nice perfume too, ain’t ya love?” He asked meekly and you nodded “warm day and I couldn’t find anything else. Saw how quickly you’d left his morning so I thought I’d bring you something to eat” you say with a small, innocent smile as you stroked his cheek. He swallowed hard, eyes unwillingly shifting from you to the pastry on his desk.

🍺”y’ve been to that fucking bakery, ain’t ya?” He asked, gritting his teeth “well it’s your favourite-” “and that little bastard was serving wasn’t he?” He asked again, eyes narrowing “who? Daniel-” “yes fucking Daniel that little cock rocket who thinks he can get in your knickers that’s who” he seethed.

🍺then it dawned on him. “And he saw you in this fucking thing” he growled, bunching the pink material in his hands as he huffed “m’sorry Arth. Didn’t think” you reply. Liar. “Nah I think you knew. Knew to tease y’old Arthur didn’t you?” He asked, thumb drawing small circles into your waist. You replied with a small smile “I knew it! Y’little minx!” He chuckled, shaking his head.

🍺”well!“You exclaim, taking his hands and prying them from your waist as his face dropped “I’ll leave you be. Enjoy your pasty. Love you.” You say, turning to make your leave and he almost growled.

🍺”where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He asked, standing up after you as you walked back through his door, failing to suppress your smirk. He pretty much sprinted after you, grabbing you roughly and throwing you over his shoulder to turn right back around and into his office. “Got all I want to eat right fucking ‘ere. You ain’t leaving this office in this bastard dress” he promises, slamming the office door behind the two of you.

John🥃

🥃bold of you to think you’re even leaving the house with it on.

🥃he’s not like his brothers, he wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye unless Tommy was literally at the door screaming for him, and even then he was quick to reassure you before he sprinted out the house.

🥃no he liked to wake up with you, especially now there were too many kids to count running around the house.

🥃he liked to wake you up with little kisses, grab you at the waist and pull you back into bed if you tried to leave, brush his teeth beside you in the bathroom, help get the kids ready, pick your outfit, and let you tie his tie which usually took a good half hour between all the songs he’d sneak in.

🥃gave him a sense of homeliness.

🥃a bit of normality.

🥃today was no different, he’d woke you up with little kisses, rolling you to sit on top of him, legs either side of his hips as he repetitively kissed you as you giggled and tried to rise for a breath.

🥃”mammy I’m hungry!” A voice came from the doorway and you saw your agitated son pawing at his pyjamas as he looked at you desperately. “Fucking kid interrupting. About to fu-” John mumbled quietly before you were placing a hand over his mouth with wide, warning eyes. He smirked at you. “Alright mate, I’ll come, leave your poor mammy alone” John answered, finally managing to pry your hand away. “Thanks daddy” he says, giddily, as John reluctantly placed you back in bed and rolled out, chucking a shirt on and turning back to you. “Don’t move” he says, wagging a jokingly warning finger at you and you laugh “yes sir” you salute and he smirk.

🥃”right c’mon mate.” John says, grabbing your son and slinging him onto a piggy back to go grab him something to munch on.

🥃you practically jumped out of bed to go grab the new sundress that you bought last week, you hadn’t shown John yet and decided that today was the day you were going to wear it, especially now you had the quick couple of minutes of peace alone.

🥃”right, little’uns eating his breakf- fuck me” you spun around to look at your husband and smiled “what d’y think?” You ask, “g’i us a twirl” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. You did as he said and pivoted around, showing how the dress spun with you.

🥃”it’s a sundress” you say “I can see that flower” he replies, walking up to you to have a good feel of the fabric, gliding his hands from your upper back to your waist as he pulls you into him “y’can’t wear tha’.” He says simply and you giggle “why’s tha Johnny?” You ask and he raises his brows “that little name tells me you know goddamn why gorgeous.” He says “y’cannea wear it cause I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off of ya.” He says, quickly turning to slam the door shut before picking you up and dropping you on the bed, climbing on top of you and leaning in to kiss you hungrily.

🥃you move to take the dress of and he shakes his head “now, now whole point of this dress is that it’s easy access now, ain’t it?” He hums “leave it on I’ll work around don’t you worry ‘bout me.” He says quickly with his tongue protruding to lick his dry lips as he looks you over.

🥃he dips his head under the hem of the dress and eats you like a man starved. “Mammy! Daddy we’re ‘ungry!” You hear from beyond the door and John stops his movement to come back up for air and clamp a hand over your mouth to stop the sounds coming out of it. John huffs, frustrated but clears his throat. “Harriet darlin’ can you reach the milk?” He asks after a minute “I can da’.” Her little voice replies “Toby can you reach the cereal?” “Uh-huh” the other retorts. “Great and Charlie? Bowls and spoons?” “Yeah I know where they are daddy!” The little one says “perfect. Harriet want you to get the milk, the big ‘un I’m not having you using up the fancy shit your mam bought from Camden. Y’here me?” He asks “yeah dad” “Toby, grab the cereal and Charlie get the bowls and lot.” He instructs “okay!” The collective voices come out. “Hannah need you to make sure it’s all gone to plan, alright hon?” He asks “sure thing” then you hear the patter of feel heading down the stairs

🥃”and I swear to god if any of you little shits make a mess y’ll all be up for the fuckin’ high jump!” He announces loudly, before quieting down and turning back to you “where were we?”

🥃and then when you’d finally managed to pry him off of you, he begrudgingly let you wear it “don’t forget we’re going to Alice’s garden party.” You say “what?” He asks, noticing how you’ve dressed all the kids appropriately “y’ain’t going looking like that flower” he says “I sure am. Come in you lot! In the car!” You say, ushering him out the door

🥃he managed to sneak you away one or two times at the party.

Bonnie🥊

🥊Bonnie’s just as bad as John

🥊cannot keep his hands off of you

🥊”’m takin’ y’ to Bonnie Gold’s fight.” Your brother said walking into the room “wear summot nice, that dress I bought you” “why?” “Just get dressed” you nodded at Tommy, not opposed to visiting Bonnie Gold any day.

🥊”is his sister coming?” Bonnie asked his dad hopefully and the man smirked “why?” “J’st wonderin’.” “Yeah well keep y’eyes on the prize” Aberama told him “she is the fuckin’ prize” “try keep y’hands off of ‘er until the fights over, yeah?” He asked and him and Bonnie just shared a knowing smirk.

🥊you put on the sundress Tommy had bought you the other week, deciding it was a nice enough day to have a breeze against your skin, plus you had a pair of lovely shoes to match.

🥊so you rocked up downstairs, dress on and ready to go and Tommy just gave you a once over “poor lads gonna have a fuckin’ heart attack” John said, laughing “shut up John” you reply, as he opened the door to the car for you, offering his hand to help you up. “You look nice” Arthur commented with a raised brow “damn fucker better win this fight”

🥊”Bonnie” Thomas nodded as he entered the building, followed by his brothers, you at the back with John who’d strung an arm over your shoulder. “Mr Shelby” he nodded at him, but was clearly distracted. “Don’t you worry, Bonnie. She’s right ‘ere.” Tommy says, moving out the way for John and you to come into his view. “Hiya, Bon.” You smile “hiya flower” he manages to muster.

🥊yet, his breath had caught in his throat at the sheer sight of you. Your gorgeous face, hair done up nicely, and a fucking milkmaid dress. Some lovely sundress that other men didn’t deserve to see. Bonnie’s jaw clenched.

🥊”right, we’ll leave the two of you for a minute. Aberama, let’s chat” Thomas said, leading the others away “if he tries anything come and fuckin’ find me.” John said, looking Bonnie over once with narrowed eyes before strutting off after the others.

🥊Bonnie smirked looking at you “y’look lovely” he said quietly, approaching you “not too bad y’self Bon” you giggle as his hands wrap around you, leaning down to kiss you gently. “This fuckin’ dress. Y’do it on purpose?” He asks and you crease your brows “do what?” You hum and he sighs “I guess you’re not beautiful on purpose are you darlin’?” He grins, grabbing your hand to drag you into his changing room and lock the door behind you.

🥊he picks you up and you squeal with a laugh, wrapping your legs around his waist as he holds you against the door. He slips his hands under the hem of the skirt and holds your thighs gently.

🥊”this fucking dress” he says, chuffed that he managed to slip his hands all the way up to settle on your waist and you just smiled at him. You could feel him toying with the waistband of your panties and you laugh “Bon we’ve only got ten minutes!” You giggle and he sighs “guess we’ve got to be quick then, ay sugar?” He asks, undoing his trousers and just merely pushing your panties aside.

🥊you lean your head into the curve of his neck, muffling the sounds erupting from your mouth and muffling them with his bear skin and he slid in and out of you. “God ‘m so fuckin’ obsessed with you.” He groaned “y’know what this makes me think of?” He asks and you shake your head in question against him. “Makes me think of a mammy. What a mammy should wear when she’s pregnant ‘nd can’t get into nothin’ else.” He mumbles. “This wha’ya were tryna do t’me?” He asks “tryna get me to make y’a mammy? Cause it’s working darlin’. So well.” You whine at his remark.

🥊and when you both finish you try to pull up from his shoulder but he holds you firmly in place “Nuh uh. You dress like a mammy y’become one” he says and you can’t help but smile at his statement. Eventually, he unwraps you from his waist and lets you down onto shaky legs. A knock comes at the door “five minutes, son. Get your hands wrapped” you hear Aberama say to him followed by leaving footsteps. You smile up at him “c’mon I’ll wrap your hands”

🥊you pull him to where the wrap is, sitting him down on the bench and standing between his legs as you work on protecting his hands.

🥊He was being extremely difficult

🥊trying to wrap a man’s hands when all he wants to do is have them under your dress is an extremely difficult task as he kept groping at your skin rather than letting you work. “D’ya want your hands wrapping or not?” You ask with a huff and he smirks “would rather be doing somethin’ else.” He shrugs, but lets you finish. And when you do he pulls you into a tight hug, leaning against the fabric where your breasts were constricted.

🥊”Bonnie, c’mon lad it’s time” you heard your brother say from beyond the door, knocking on it thrice (sausage roll video lol)

🥊Bonnie groaned from under your dress (you didn’t know when he’d managed to snake his way back under there) but you grabbed his hand and yanked him from his seated position to standing; pulling him towards the door and unlocking it to take him to the ring.

🥊Bonnie pulled the hand that was dragging him, sending you flying into his chest with a force that nearly winded you as he gave you one last kiss. “Bonnie! Go!” You giggled, pushing him away and towards the ring, taking a stand beside your brothers as the match began.

🥊The rounds went by painfully slow for Bonnie; regardless of the fact that he was winning - but in reality it was only a good few minutes of pure fighting.

🥊then when the match was finished, he waltzed over to the Shelby family like he owned the place and offered a blood-filled grin as it dripped down his chin.

🥊”well done Bonnie lad.” Tommy said, lighting a cigarette. “Cheers Tommy.” He replied, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. “Didn’t y’get some money f’this match?” John asked, lighting his own. “Nah he’s got his own trophy right over there” Tommy replied, nodding at you as they all turned to see you chatting with Bonnie’s father.

🥊”just do us a favour” Thomas told him and Bonnie immediately nodded “marry her.” “Don’t have to tell me twice, mr Shelby.” Bonnie told him with a chuckle, heading to grab you to resume your activities.

Isaiah♟️

♟️haha.

♟️again, bold of you to assume that you’re getting fucking anywhere with that thing on.

♟️feel like it’d be a black sundress, one with frills on the sleeves.

♟️you’d gone for a walk with Finn, Tommy having told you both to fuck off for a while while they dealt with some deeper business; so a stroll around seemed to be the choice at hand.

♟️eventually though, Finn had gotten distracted by a sign you’d read that said ‘pretty women here shilling for a good time’ and left you to fend for yourself, opting not to follow your twin into the whore house, yet you weren’t in your own company for long, feeling a cap placed on your head and an arm around your shoulders.

♟️“Hey pretty, what’re you doing all alone?” Isaiah asked, as he feel into step with you, but came to a sudden halt almost lurching you back. “And who let you wear that?” His eyebrows raised as he looked you over. “Why what’s wrong with it?” You asked “nothin’ nothin’. J’st don’t understand why it’s not on my bedroom floor” you smacked his chest and giggled “Isaiah!”

♟️”y’shouldnt have been let out wearing this, love” he said, backing you against the wall of one of the nearby buildings. “Well I was with Finn” you reason “hmm? And where is Finn now?” He asks, taking your chin between his forefinger and thumb, forcing you to look at him.

♟️”in some whore house” you mumble in reply. He scoffs “some brother”. Then he starts again “why don’t we turn my house into a whore house and get that dress off you and into my room?” He suggests and you roll your eyes “such a way with words”

♟️”y’look fuckin’ insatiable” he says, leaning down to kiss that sensitive spot on the crevasse of your neck. “Dunno how I manage to keep my hand off you most of the time, doll” he shrugs “and in this? Fuck y’not gonna be walking anytime soon”

♟️you laugh at him “you wish peaky junior, now I was enjoying a lovely walk before you came along.” You hum, pushing him back by the chest and he scoffs “I’m a Shelby I can fend for myself” you shrug “not while I make you a Jesus.” He retorts, smirking like he knew he’d won. “Whatever, Isaiah” you say, calmly walking away

♟️he laughs loudly, running after you “c’mon Mrs Jesus we’ve business to attend to!” He announces, swiftly placing a hand onto your chest and pressing you back against the wall, lifting you up and placing hungry hands under the hem of your dress “Isaiah!” You scold, “not here!” He rolls his eyes “fine”

♟️and he places and arm under your knees and one to support your head as he carries you bridal-style back to his house. You clutch at his suit jacket and squeal at his action, holding on for dear life until you got to his home.

♟️did not wait until you got to the bedroom

♟️defo had his way with you against the door once it’d been firmly slammed shut and locked

♟️and on the sofa

♟️and the kitchen table

♟️and then bedroom

♟️(you never took the dress off)

♟️and eventually when you’d decided Tommy was probably done with his important business you managed to coax a begrudging Isaiah to the Garrison with you, who’d initially planned to keep you up all night with him but instead you were heading to a pub instead of his bed; which you’d end up in later anyways

♟️”oh she’s alive!” Arthur said sarcastically as you join them, noticing your presence and subsequently you noticed Finn’s. “How long did you last? Two minutes?” You asked and he scoffed “fuck off” “and of course I’m alive, I’m fine. It was Finn who left me alone!” You say, blame bombing your twin who looked at you with evil eyes.

♟️then Isaiah popped his head round “plus I wasn’t alone I was with Isaiah” you say matter-of-factly and Finn grits his jaw “what’ve I said about staying away from my fucking sister you fucking scrubber” Finn growls, landing a pent-up punch to Isaiah’s jaw who stumbled back slightly. “Didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout fucking her did ya?” He retorted and then he was running for the hills with three brothers sprinting after him.

♟️”men.” Polly said with a roll of her eyes

Michael🎱

🎱he wouldn’t be here nor there

🎱loved how it looks on you

🎱but hates the fact that other men see you wearing it.

🎱he makes heart eyes when he sees you in it, believing it to be the typical dress of a wife and mother; so it pretty much feeds into his delusions.

🎱the only time it saw the light of day in public would’ve definitely been when he’d been courting you. When he’d been invited to some garden party of a rich aristocracy down southwards.

🎱what Tommy failed to mention was that the Capitalist had a daughter a few months younger than Michael, of whom was extremely well spoken, and ridiculously pretty.

🎱he’d obviously weaselled his way over to you and the rest was history.

🎱and of course, history tends to repeat itself.

🎱again, you were heading to a garden party: Shelby arranged this time around, to show your initial family that the marriage between yourself and Michael was going well and therefore Tommy’s expansion to a more wealthier estate was worth the investment.

🎱”I’ll meet you there darling, business to take care of.” Michael had told you that morning while adjusting his collar, allowing you to help him straighten the tie you had wrapped around his neck. “Okay” you hummed, he always loved how you’d never pried.

🎱in reality he was off to see a man about a dog, in other terms; kill a man. Kill a man who’d been eyeing you up like a fucking slice of meat the evening prior. Eyeing you like he wanted to eat you like a man starved, as if your husband didn’t have a firm arm wrapped around your waist and oversized number of carats around your finger.

🎱even had the nerve to try talk to you, had groped at your ass and Michael covered your eyes with one hand while he clocked the bloke around the jaw with the other.

🎱never wanted a woman to see him fight, especially his woman.

🎱so he went about killing the man the next day; well he’s probably dead by now. He took his cap calmly to the man, beneath that bridge by the canal, castrated then blinded the man and left him struggling on the ground, having a couple of lesser known Peaky men surveying the area for the rest of the day to make sure no aid was to come to him, and when his struggling stopped they were to sort his body out.

🎱you made your way to the garden party independently, having worn a darling sundress; white and pristine and freshly pressed, accompanied by a sun hat and some subtle shoes; conservative enough for Michael not to complain that you looked like a whore, but skin-showing enough not to overheat in this sweltering weather.

🎱you were there before Michael, embraced by John and given a kiss on the temple by an already tipsy Arthur who was in that sort of mood where a gent gets rather happy when squidgy, it was a fine line with Arthur.. happy to angered

🎱but you entertained him, saying your hellos and greeting the rest of the family you’d married into, patiently waiting for Michael’s attendance.

🎱he was there soon thereafter.

🎱and he was fucking seething.

🎱he took one look at you as his mouth ran dry, grabbed your wrist and dragged you away from the garden getting countless opposing arguments from the likes of Ada and John questioning what he was doing

🎱but nothing could soften the red he saw.

🎱how dare you wear that dress?

🎱practically threw you into the car, you’d never seen him this upset, let alone have it take it out on you; his loving, doting housewife of whom he trophied for every mistake he made, initially he thought you were his punishment from god.. sent an angel for a devil to take care of. But he’d gotten the hang of switching into a loving husband the minute he returned home

🎱but tonight was different

🎱”Michael, darlin-” “how dare you?” He seethed and you silenced yourself “pardon?” “How many fucking times have I told you you’re not wearing this fucking dress in public, hmm? And you wear it around my fucking horny cousin?” He growls and you don’t know how to reply “he looks at you like you’re a fucking piece of meet, sweets.” He tells you, finally looking at you

🎱”undressing you with his eyes. Watched him myself.” “John has a wife-” “John hires prostitutes. Y’think he’d be a better husband?” He asks, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel harder “no-” “no. Cause I’ve never hired a fuckin’ prostitute since we’ve been together, and I work hard for you, y’know. Got no where to take my anger out cause I love you so much.” He says and despite the harshness of his words your heart swells.

🎱”killed a man for you and I show up to you actin’ like a fuckin’ whore?” Your mouth opened agape and he chuckled darkly “think I didn’t kill that bloke? Think I’d leave him safe? Nah, not with my missus I wouldn’t” he confirms, placing a hand on your leg as he speeds back home.

🎱he stops the car and doesn’t move for a minute.

🎱”listen to me very carefully, flower. I’m going to change my bloody shirt, and you’re gonna go upstairs, lay on the bed and wait for me. Yeah?” He asks “yeah o’course Michael.” You say as you get out the car

🎱”and leave that fuckin’ dress on!” You hear called behind you.

Finn🎞️

🎞️Finn is just horny 25/8 icl.

🎞️doesn’t know what does it for him about that dress, but it does something.

🎞️it was a hot day, and the family was in some beer garden, Arthur already off his head drunk and the brothers just enjoying one another’s company after successfully ridding the threat of a rival family, the head now dead and the rest cowering to surrender.

🎞️Tommy told Finn to bring his lady friend, the one who worked at the bookshop along, decided it was time to meet the family, and so he did.

🎞️waltzed into your little hole in the wall, grinning as you peered your head around to see the customer who’d caused the door’s bell to chime, and you broke out into a mighty smile just as he did, him opening his arms for you to rush over and into a bone crushing hug.

🎞️even shared a sweet kiss as he said a gentle “hello pretty”

🎞️he noticed the dress you were wearing was new, initially not noticing it as he was too caught up in admiring you. “What’s this? Is it new?” He asked, taking your hand to spin you around. “It is” you grin, allowing the white flowing material to spin as he made you “it’s lovely” he says, noticing something about it but he didn’t know quite what.

🎞️”why are you here?” You hum with narrowed, suspicious eyes as you leant your chin against his dress “aren’t I allowed to say hello to my favourite girl?” He asks with a smirk “yes but I can tell there’s something. A look in your eyes.” You say and he sighs, defeated “party at the Garrison” he says “when?” You ask “right now” he says and you laugh “Finn I can’t just shut shop at 12 oclock on Thursday!” You say, as he reaches into his pocket, throwing ten whole pounds onto the counter “Finn! Where did you get that much money?” You gasp “don’t worry bout it. Enough for you to close?” He asks and you scoff “I can’t accept ten whole pounds, Finn” you tell him “sure you can cause I’m not having it back” he shrugs, pulling your hand to coax you out the door “okay fine!” You surrender as you relent, allowing Finn to pull you out the door and in turn, you lock your door behind you.

🎞️then when you showed to the party, you were greeted by tipsy cheers and hellos as Finn introduced you to his family, Polly and Ada immediately dragging you away to have a separate conversation as they question you about everything to which you giddily go along with.

🎞️John came to stand with Finn, where he was stood still; drink in hand as he watched you interact with his family. “What’s up, Finn?” He asked, nudging him with his elbow and Finn finally broke out of his trace to smile at his brother. “Nothin’.” He shrugged. “Can’t be about your missus, y’head over heels for her.” John said, and Finn immediately raised his brows in panic “no! no! Nothin’ like tha.” Finn said, shaking his head. “Then what is it?” John asked, looking at you, trying to figure his younger sibling out.

🎞️”dunno. It’s summot about that dress” Finn said, eyes raking over you as he tried to figure out what it was and his brother chuckles “easy access, mate.” John said and Finn creased his brows “y’what?” “Sundresses mate, fuckin’ kill me. Easy access innit? Don’t have to even take the dress off” John told him matter-of-factly, necking the rest of his beer in one. Finn’s eyes darkened and John couldn’t hold in his laugh at the realisation that Finn had settled that that was what it was.

🎞️John claps him on the back “if y’wanna sneak off I’ll cover” he said, but by the end of the sentence Finn had already started after you “cheers, mate!” He said to John “sorry, stealing her” he said to Polly and Ada against their judgement, dragging you away from the conversation and into the Peaky office inside the Garrison.

🎞️you giggle at his actions as he locked the dork “what y’doin sill?” You ask “party’s outside!” You say, as he picks you up and holds you against the door, dropping his hands for them to head under the hem of your skirt “right, ‘nd I’ve just figured out that this dress is driving me fuckin’ crazy” he says “you’re fuckin’ insatiable” he says “d’you even know what that means?” You ask and he shrugs “find me a dictionary later or summot.” He says

🎞️”what’s up with the dress” you ask, as he undoes his trousers “easy access innit?”

Aberama🌞

🌞Aberama is a cultured bloke

🌞by that I mean he’s had many a trips around the sun, and in that time good women are few and far between in his opinion

🌞so regardless of you being substantially his younger, he was positive that you were the woman for him and therefore he had to have you.

🌞recently you’d moved into his vardo with him, having left the urban life behind.

🌞he’d woken up one morning to the sun blaring at him through the unclad opening of the vardo, stretching his arms above his head in a mighty yawn, almost certain it was almost midday by this point; especially after the long trek they’d had to get to this sight the night prior.

🌞he reached his arm over, but the spot in the bed was cold and empty, a lone spot where you should’ve been laid. He creased his brows, shooting up in bed to a sitting potion, realising that you were no longer in the vardo at all.

🌞he groaned. Damn you and your early rising tendencies.

🌞he rubbed his eyes and pulled on a pair of undershorts, smirking at the remembrance of the night prior once you’d arrived. He popped his head out of the doorway, looking left and right but curiously not being able to find any trace of you.

🌞he climbed down the steps and placed his hands on his hips, walking around the side of the wooden structure towards the lake that trickled slowly downstream. And that’s where he found you:

🌞his gorgeous bride.

🌞he’d always told you that he never expected you to conform to the traditional gypsy wife role, never needed you to bear him any more children or do the cooking or cleaning. Hell, you could lay around all day doing nothing and he’d look at you with the same adoration he always does. He didn’t even expect you to want to live in a vardo, yet you’d shown up with a bag and a smile when offered.

🌞 yet you refused, you demanded to help. Demanded to conform. You would cook the rabbit he’d kill (given you’d been a bit sick at the initial sight of it). And you’d kill his clothes, paying no mind to any blood shed on it.

🌞you were knelt against the river bank, ringing some clothes out you just washed then placing them into a small wicker basket, in a dress he didn’t quite recognise.

🌞”what y’doin up, sweetheart? Thought I told y’to relax today” he started, beginning towards you. Your head spun and those wide, innocent doe eyes gleamed back at him “had a big journey last night. No good f’little girls to be working the day after” he said, matter of factly with a stern look.

🌞”just wanted to get these clothes washed” you mumble, placing the final garment in the basket. “And what’s this you’ve got on, hmm?” He asked, as you look at your clothes “oh it’s a dress” “Mm I can see that, darlin. Just never seen it before” he tells you and you stand to give him a little spin. “My sister bought it for my birthday” you said and he grunts, gently grabbing your hips to pull you into him and sway you back and forth along with the breeze, dancing to nature’s music.

🌞”well y’know what these dresses are?” He hums and you shake your head, placing both hands on his chest. “These dresses are the kind that mammys wear. The kind you’d wear when they’re all pregnant and swelled up with little babes.” He says, accusingly. “Kind that little wives wear that are asking for a hiding” he warns

🌞”didn’t mean nothing by it, abe. Just thought it was nice” you admit and he smiles “I know you did, princess. Just an innocent little flower y’are.” He shakes his head.

🌞”but y’ve seen the other mammys around the camp haven’t you? Seen how they’ve dressed. Think you know what you were doin’ to your old man” he teases and you shake your head “m too old to be a da’ y’know. Way too bleeding old. Punishing me ain’t ya? Just asking for a little’un” he tuts and you giggle as he picks you up bridal style and carries you back to the bed where he’d began

🌞”Aberama! The clothes!-” “Can fuckin’ wait” he grunts “got a little’un to put in ya first” he says, dropping you onto the bed and lazily flipping up your skirt to do what he did best.

🌞make your skin fucking crawl.

[ranoutofficssoiwritemyown]

Hello! Can I request the lads boys with a reader that’s typically super composed losing their composure? It could be something serious or super small, they just hit their breaking point.

Okay, this might be longer than I intended it to be but les go

Zayne

Zayne flinches slightly when you slam the door shut as you enter.

“Hello, dear”

“I can’t fucking believe it”

Zayne raises his eyebrow. He has never, and he can swear that he never, ever heard a swear word coming from your mouth, nor has he ever seen you this angry.

“Don’t these people look where they’re going at all? Look at my shoes, they were white when I left home this morning. At least three people have stepped on me. What the fuck?”

Maybe Zayne should thank god that you don’t notice how he sneaks a glance at the calendar and once he makes sure it is nowhere near your period he stands up and approaches you, however, you interrupt whatever he is going to say while you’re pacing back and forth.

“Then I was late to work, and to make matters worse I got stuck in the elevator. I was there for at least half an hour. And when I finally meet Jenna, because that’s why I was there actually since it’s my day off, I found out that I can’t go to any mission for at least three days, because a certain doctor doesn’t recommend it”

Zayne’s eyes widen at her last sentence. No, he’s not scared of you, generally. But he’s also never seen you like this. The thing is, you and Zayne are on the same wavelength. Both of you are calm and composed, even during arguments, which are rare, none of you raise your voice. Now he’s standing here watching you pace around in his office and shouting curses because you had a bad day, part of which is apparently his fault and… he fears for his life.

Only when he sees angry tears does he come out of the trance and grab your hand pulling you to him. He cups your face and you look up at him with a frown.

“Okay, take a deep breath with me” he inhales deeply and you copy him. He does it a couple of times before seeing you slightly relax “Good. Now, listen to me. I understand you had a bad day and I’m sorry that you can’t go on missions for a few days, but you had an injury a week ago”

You open your mouth to speak but he shushes you with his finger on your lips.

“Shh, let me. I know it’s healed, but you were on bed rest and even if you feel like it, you’re not completely fine. Let’s give it a few days, hm? Trust me, I’m not doing this just because.”

You stay silent and Zayne sighs.

“I’ll be off in an hour. How about you wait for me? Then we can go home and have hot chocolate while watching the show you’ve been begging me to watch together for weeks.”

“I wasn’t begging…” you mumble as you look down.

“What was that?”

“Okay”

“Okay,” Zayne kisses your forehead before you get comfortable in the armchair in the corner of his office.

Rafayel

‘Well, she needs a fucking exorcism’ is his first thought as he sees you stomping in his studio. Apparently, your cat is lost, and Rafayel might or might not have something to do with it. In his defense, it wasn’t on purpose. How could he have known that if he’d leave his door open that little devil would run away?

“I knew I shouldn’t have left him with you, I’m so stupid- actually no, you’re so stupid. How the hell did you lose him?”

“I told you, I left the door-”

“I know what you told me, it was rhetorical- god is your brain of a fish too?”

“Wow, that’s mean”

Rafayel pouts slightly and he would become dramatic in a moment if it wasn’t you being dramatic right now and you weren’t even doing it on purpose. Oh no, Rafayel has never seen you this furious, nearly having a mental breakdown and his brain short circuits.

“He must be so scared and hungry and… lost” You sniffle and Rafayel realises you’re crying.

“Hey, hey, look. We’ll find him okay? Thomas is out there searching for him. I’m so sorry I lost him but we’ll get him back, I promise”

“How? You don’t even-”

“Look who I found”

Thomas enters the studio with an orange cat in his arms. You run to him immediately and Rafayel sighs in relief. He thinks you would actually kill him if Thomas couldn’t find the cat.

“I owe you my life” he whispers to Thomas.

Rafayel approaches you, eyeing the cat in disdain.

“I’m never leaving you with him,” you say to your cat.

“Oh- oh no. Please don’t take him away from me”

You laugh at his sarcastic answer.

“I’m sorry I called you stupid”

If Rafayel couldn’t act dramatic before, now was the perfect time.

“Yeah, you should be. That was really mean, you know? Your words pierced through my heart like a dagger-”

You cut him off with a kiss

“Does this make up for it?”

“What was I talking about?”

You laugh.

Xavier

Xavier has never in his life regretted anything like he regrets letting you play on his gaming console. Who would know that as much as you are calm and collected, there is a rage in you that only the videogame can take out on the surface. Maybe not. Xavier knows you've been stressed lately and maybe you're taking everything on your teammates in some stupid videogame. Either way, it doesn't look good.

“Are you serious? You are a support for fuck’s sake, why are you taking my kills? I’m the adc here. I’m playing with degenerates”

You’ve been shouting at the screen for so long that Xavier becomes tired. He tries to tune you out, he really does, but there’s only so much he can take. He gets up from the bed and unplugs the gaming console. You look at him like he just stabbed you in the back.

“Wh-what- why? Oh my god, I’m gonna get banned for being afk”

“It’s my account, I’m gonna get banned and I don’t care. This game is driving you crazy… and me”

“But-”

“No,” he says it like, you’re a kid “Come to bed, I wanna take a nap”

“I’m not sleepy,” You say while yawning and Xavier chuckles slightly.

“Okay, come on”

You take his hand and drop to bed, taking him with you.

“I bought a new hero, by the way”

“YOU SPENT MY GOLD?”

“Shh, let’s sleep”

You shush him quickly as he grumbles something under his breath. Whatever, it's a much healthier coping mechanism anyway.

Sylus

Sylus didn’t expect to see you bawling your eyes out when he entered his bedroom. To say, he is surprised, would be an understatement. The most out of control he has seen you is when you… well, when you wanted to kill him, to be honest. Even then, he pulled the trigger on himself. So seeing you in his room, sobbing in his bed is something new and terrifying. In a second he is beside you, gathering you in his arms while you sob into his chest.

“Sweetie, tell me what’s the matter. You know I can make it disappear, whatever it is… or whoever it is.”

You don’t answer, couldn’t answer. But you try to get ahold of yourself.

“He-” and a sob escaped your lips again.

Sylus stayed silent to give you time to gather your words as he planned the most painful ways to murder whoever ‘he’ was, in his mind.

“He loved her and he didn’t tell her, because-” you sniffle as Sylus gets more and more confused “because he thought she would never look at him”

You grab the book beside you and suddenly everything makes sense. You’re crying because of a book. Sylus almost laughed, but he stopped himself from making a grave mistake.

“But she loved him too and now she’s married but they both still love each other. And she named her son after him”

Sylus understands half of it as he wipes your tears.

“What do I do with you, kitten, hm?”

“What?”

He laughs before kissing your cheek

“I’ll get the bath ready and tell me about the book while we relax, okay?”

“Okay”

“And maybe next time, don’t give me a heart attack”

You frown.

“It’s really sad. Doesn’t it affect you at all?”

“Fictional tragic love? Not my cup of tea. But coming home and seeing you having a mental breakdown over a book affects me… a lot, may I add”

You laugh sheepishly

“Sorry”

He kisses you, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Caleb

Caleb has known you since childhood and has seen every side of you… or so he thought. He can swear he has never seen you so angry and to make matters worse, you’re angry at him. Now he regrets every life choice he has ever made.

“Okay pipsqueak, calm down-”

Another apple comes flying to his face and he barely avoids it.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, you asshole. Am I your prisoner now? You locked me in your house while you were god knows where and even had the nerve to not answer my calls. I swear-”

You try to throw another apple at him but he grabs it before you can.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry but I wasn’t near my phone, what was I supposed to do?”

“Maybe not lock me into the house?” You exclaim.

“Oh, you’re so hot when you’re mad”

There is a moment of silence before you lunge at him.

“Fuck, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that- Ow!” He rambles as you hit his chest repeatedly. He steps back and trips over something. Next thing he knows, he’s on the floor and you’re on top of him, straddling his waist. You are breathing heavily as you blow loose strands of your hair from your face.

“There’s something wrong with you”

You say calmly and he stays silent.

“Why would you-”

“You tried to leave”

He says suddenly.

“What?”

“How would you know you were locked in if you didn’t try to leave?”

You look at him dumbfounded and almost started pounding on his chest again.

“I didn’t know what to expect when you’d wake up and I had to go to work. I didn’t want to come home and find you gone so I did what I could think of… And I really wasn’t near my phone when you were calling me, I swear.”

“you are so stupid”

You mumble as you get up. He follows you and dusts himself off.

“I wanted to get some air, take a walk but no my boyfriend is a paranoid freak”

“I’m your boyfriend?”

He grins suddenly. You watch him for a minute before letting out a scoff

“An idiot is what you are”

[darkmatilda]

𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer’s curiosity leads to the exposure of your shared secret

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, reference to spencer and reader getting married in vegas, the secret marriage not so secret anymore, penelope and reid being my favorite sibling duo, reader is trying to murder reid and im saying that with the straightest face imaginable, MASSIVE diva reader lore drop, oh and lowkey angsty ending

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.3k

𝐚/𝐧: request

“I’ve got him! I think I’ve got him…” Penelope spun halfway around in her chair, landing at her second monitor and typing rapidly, her fingers flying across the keyboard with focus. Spencer was standing right next to her, one hand resting on the desk, leaning over so he could see the results of her search. If their reasoning was correct, they had just managed to identify the unsub. But it was still too early to celebrate. “It has to be him! Thomas Murphy, 47 years old. Between 1994 and 2005 he worked as a plumber in Seattle before moving in with his now ex-wife… I’m sending you his address.”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Hotch replied.

Then the call ended — and that was it from their end. From Garcia’s office, there was nothing else they could do except stay by the phone in case they were needed again. Spencer finally straightened up and then, a bit aimlessly, dropped into the smaller chair beside his friend. Penelope was taking a deep breath and sliding her glasses off her nose to polish them with a yellow cloth patterned with flowers. He stretched out his legs and laced his fingers together over his stomach, trying to push away a certain stupid thought that had just appeared in his head.

“So…” Reid began, trying to convince himself it wasn’t too late to bite his stupid tongue. “We don’t have anything left to do. And I was thinking…”

“That you finally want me to teach you how to play video games?” Penelope offered smoothly, slipping her glasses back on.

Thrown off, Spencer furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose. “What? N-no, that’s totally not what I meant, I was thinking more like…okay, never mind. It’s stupid.”

For the first time, his friend turned fully to face him, squinting at him suspiciously.

“I forbid you to back out now. I’m far too intrigued. So?”

He held his breath for a moment before exhaling heavily. He could’ve just said nothing. But since he already had… and since he couldn’t shake the idea from his head…

“You know, I’ve been thinking lately about how much information about specific people you’re able to find in such an impressively short amount of time…”

“Oh my goodness, you want me to stalk someone for you!”

Despite the flush on his cheeks, the look on his face was absolutely, deeply, immensely offended.

“Using the word stalking in this context is a serious misuse,” he objected, raising both hands as if shielding himself from the mere suggestion. “And you should know that, working here. Stalking refers to persistent harassment, systematic pursuit and intimidation of a person that causes them fear, anxiety, and a sense of danger — it is definitely not the same as retrieving publicly accessible information from the internet…”

Penelope rolled her eyes dramatically.

“That’s just what people say. But the answer is yes, my love, I’ll happily stalk someone for you.”

Spencer felt like he couldn’t open his mouth and actually ask her to do it out loud. Deep down, he still thought it was stupid. But maybe he gave himself away — that flicker of gratitude in his eyes in response to her readiness. Penelope clapped her hands excitedly, spinning toward the screen.

“Who’s the lucky one? Kidding, you don’t even have to tell me. I know who it is.”

He scoffed at her confidence — how could she possibly know?

 “I bet you’re wrong…” His expression fell the moment Garcia pulled up the exact name he’d intended to give her in the first place. He pressed his lips into a tight line. “Okay, yes, that’s who I meant, but it’s not what you think!”

 “Sweetie, there’s no need to explain anything to me. I get it completely, even if you don’t get it yet.”

 He opened his mouth to disagree, only to find himself stalled by his own words. Especially that second part. He stayed quiet for a long moment, turning them over in his mind. What brought him back was her next question.

 “Tell me what you want to know.”

 He shrugged, genuinely unsure.

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like I want any sensitive, private information or anything I couldn’t ask about myself…”

 “Mhmm, just like I thought. Ex-lovers.”

 He quickly started shaking his head.

 “No… I mean… not exactly…you’re the one who suggested—”

 “Wait, did you know she used to be a model?”

Until now sitting with his back fully pressed against the chair’s backrest, Spencer jumped up so fast he nearly smashed his nose on the computer screen. Penelope didn’t even tease him, which indicated she was just as surprised. In the heavy silence, barely blinking, they watched an ad for a lip makeup line from about ten years ago. A brand small enough that they didn’t use real celebrities, but big enough that it was…impressive.

But Spencer wasn’t silent because he was impressed. He was silent, head slightly tilted to the side and lips parted just a little, because he had just realized he had never seen—or even wondered about—how she used to look. Younger, with a different hairstyle and even a different gaze, less experienced and less relentless, but still carrying plenty of confidence. Just not as much as now.

For the record, he also had to admit she was very attractive. But that part hadn’t changed.

Penelope mouthed wow—just the movement of her lips. Or maybe she had said it out loud, but he was slightly dazed, meaning focused on something else, and only registered the movement, not the sound. Either way, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, catching herself.

“Right. You asked about her ex-lovers.”

Spencer was immediately snapped out of his daze—meaning focus.

“I didn’t!” he protested, which, technically, was true. She had been the one to bring it up; he’d just failed to shut it down. But he didn’t want the responsibility for it sticking to him. Garcia had already gotten back to the keyboard when he went on. “I didn’t ask about her ex-lovers, that’s just your projection. Honestly, the last thing I’m interested in is her—”

“Oh, she was engaged once,” she cut in.

Reid froze.

“What happened to her fiancé?” slipped out of him before he could stop it.

Penelope gave him a sideways look, mockingly.

“Right. The last thing you’re interested in.”

“Oh, come on. You were so happy to help me stalk her, so now at least do it right and tell me what happened to her fiancé.”

 “Ouch, no need to bite. I’m trying to find out! Believe it or not, she’s my friend too and I’m also curious.” She opened some page in the browser. Suddenly, she paused, one finger hovering over the mouse. She turned slowly to Spencer. “We are disgustingly nosy, aren’t we?”

 “We…” Spencer hesitated, feeling like Garcia kind of had a point. But his curiosity won. “Maybe a little. Who isn’t. So what about the fiancé?”

 “Look, that’s them at his sister’s wedding.” All of Penelope’s moral hesitation evaporated as she showed him a photo. “I mean, the fiancé. And here they are together.”

They both went silent for a moment, judging. Eventually, Spencer gathered himself enough to form a truly eloquent, thoughtful sentence.

 “Compared to her… he kind of looks like…a loser.”

 “He lowkey looks like you,” said Penelope at almost the same time, apparently not hearing his previous comment. He gave her a look, which she ignored. His eyes went back to the screen, to the photo of them with their arms around each other, but this time he focused on the man beside her, absolutely disagreeing with his friend’s remark.

That guy looked nothing like him. Sure, he was tall, had brown eyes and a slender frame, but other than that his hair was darker. Two completely different people. As he analyzed their similarities, Garcia kept rambling.

 “You know, I’ve been out for drinks with her a few times and judging by the kind of guys who always hit on her, I was convinced her type was more…chunky guys, you know what I mean. Oh Reid, I feel bad that I found this. She never told me she was engaged, probably didn’t want to talk about it. I wonder what happened. Did they break up or… wait, you don’t think he… oh whew, haha, he’s alive and well. Look, he has a labrador now. So they broke up… WAIT!”

Penelope leaned toward the screen, her face suddenly tense. Spencer jumped in his seat.

 “What is it?”

 “Did you know she has a husband now… wait, is that the same guy…?”

A cold sweat flooded not just the back of Reid’s neck, but also his spine, ribs, and  even heels. He became cold sweat. He shook his head quickly, desperately trying to steer Garcia away from that thought.

 “You know, you were absolutely right, we shouldn’t be digging through her past like this, I’m really not comfortable with it…”

He trailed off — it was already too late. Penelope turned to him, jaw dropped in shock, eyes full of disbelief, accusation, and a clear demand for explanation.

*

Flowers and coffee.

Flowers and her favorite coffee.

That should do the trick, right?

Okay, Spencer wasn’t deluding himself—it wouldn’t. He was just hoping, really hoping, that when she inevitably decided to murder him, she’d at least do it in a not-particularly-brutal way. But seriously, if he delivered the news gently…okay, no, she’d still be furious. There was no avoiding it.

Spencer stepped into her lab after putting it off and standing outside the door for so long that the coffee he’d brought her was nearly cold. She was busy working, so she didn’t even notice as he approached, slowed, and finally stopped just behind her. A bit of her blouse was sticking out from under her lab coat—it was almost exactly the same color as the dress she’d been wearing in that photo with her ex-fiancé. Funny, that this was what he thought of right now...

“How much longer are you planning to stand there breathing down my neck?” she hissed, not showing even the slightest sign that she’d noticed him. But she had.

Startled, he stepped back half a pace. He cleared his throat—none of the twenty versions of this conversation he’d rehearsed had started like this. Think, Reid, think...

“I brought you something,” he said, just to break the strange silence that had fallen between them. They weren’t entirely alone in the room, but none of the other chemists paid them the slightest bit of attention.

The woman paused at his words, then slowly turned around, resting both hands on the counter behind her, raising an eyebrow even before she saw what he was holding. Once she did, her brows only went slightly higher.

“What’s the occasion?”

Spencer swallowed—her eye contact made him even more nervous. He couldn’t…he couldn’t just blurt out hey, I brought you flowers so you won’t kill me for the fact that I accidentally spilled to Penelope that we got drunk married in Vegas…

He decided to start vague. Then ease into the specifics.

“What’s the occasion…Well, I realized I never thanked you for last time. When I got beaten up and you…took care of me.”

Technically, he really hadn’t thanked her, so he sounded very sincere. Because he was sincere, with the small problem that this wasn’t the whole story. And because he sounded so sincere, he felt like with every word he said…her expression softened just a little more, showing not the slightest trace of suspicion.

Internally, Spencer was panicking.

He wanted her to be suspicious! He wanted her to be skeptical! He’d rather she were in a bad mood from the start, so the change that was about to happen wouldn’t be so abrupt!

A heavy feeling was crushing his chest.

“So, that’s what it’s for. Thank you.” First, he handed her the coffee, so she could set it down on the counter behind her, and then the bouquet.

Red roses—probably had some symbolic meaning, but he hadn’t cared when buying them. He just wanted them to be her favorite color and ridiculously gorgeous. 

She accepted them with an unreadable expression. The bouquet was so large she had to tilt it to one side so it wouldn’t block his face while they talked. Her head tilted slightly as well.

“Thanks accepted,” she replied with a nod.

It wasn’t a dry response. In fact, her tone was unusually soft. But also expectant.

Expecting whatever else he was about to say.

He drew a breath.

"You look…luminous, sophisticated, truly breathtaking today," he added, eyes wide from the stress, not blinking. “Penelope knows we got married.”

Her arms dropped sharply to her sides, bouquet and all, and a petal from one of the roses floated to the floor.

“Oh, I fucking knew it!” she shouted at him, punctuating it with a stomp of her heel. For his own safety, Spencer took another step back. “I knew the moment you started complimenting me. Before that, I was still holding on to the delusion that the flowers were actually out of the goodness of your heart and gratitude…”

 “...because they are out of the goodness of my heart and gratitude—”

“Shut up. Shut up, don’t you dare interrupt me or correct me right now.” She pointed a warning finger at him. But after a moment, her hand curled into a fist, and her eyelids clenched as she took a calming breath. Without opening her eyes, she ground out through clenched teeth, “How did it happen that Penelope—whom I obviously love, but who can’t keep anything a secret—found out?”

Spencer raised both hands in a defensive gesture, his brain spinning and steaming, doing everything it could not to reveal the actual circumstances of how it all happened.

“By accident—really, I… let it slip,” he lied, hoping the desperation in his voice would mask the lack of truth, and that she was too angry to act as a lie detector. “Honestly, it was my fault, I’m fully aware, I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry—”

“And you really thought that some stupid flowers would make me not angry?”

“Well, flowers and coffee—”

He had to duck to avoid getting hit in the face with them.

“I thought maybe you’d be less angry!” he explained. “And don’t hit me with them, they didn’t do anything…!”

“That’s exactly why I’m hitting you, dumbass.”

But that was, in fact, the last display of such open aggression toward him. Sure, she was still furious, tense and ticking but Spencer, watching from what he considered a safe distance, felt slightly more secure.

For a moment, silence fell between them.

She leaned her lower back against the counter, arms tightly crossed over her chest.

“You know we have to do something about this, right?”

Spencer nodded, terrified that saying anything might reset their relationship to what it had been two minutes and forty-one seconds ago.

“I already know what,” she declared. “And you, as compensation for what you’ve done, are going to help me. Also, put those flowers in some water.”

Naturally, he did as he was told.

*

“This is weird.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have spilled, and we wouldn’t have to do this.”

“It’s still weird! I mean, we could’ve just politely asked her not to tell anyone. I’m almost certain she would’ve respected that…”

“Exactly—almost certain. And I want full certainty. So hush, I think she’s coming.”

Penelope stepped into the interrogation room where they’d arranged to meet her, glancing around uncertainly.

“Are we even allowed to be in here?”

Spencer gave her a reassuring—and at the same time apologetic—look, even though he wasn’t entirely sure they were allowed to be there either.

His companion didn’t even flinch.

“My dear Penelope, do you know why we wanted to see you here today?”

Garcia sat down on the opposite side of the table—right where they usually placed the people being interrogated. Though initially hesitant and reserved, she suddenly clasped her hands together with an impressively bold expression.

“As a matter of fact, I do know why you wanted to see me here,” she declared, her eyes darting between their faces. “Because even though on a daily basis you claim you don’t even like each other, you literally got married. And that’s not something normal people do. I mean—I love you two, and I’m rooting for you—but those are just the facts.”

Spencer was watching her profile as she listened to those words. He noticed she rolled her eyes at the I love you two, and I’m rooting for you part. But other than that, she didn’t seem particularly moved by what Penelope had said.

 Unlike him.

Reid had apparently needed to hear it from a third party to start actually wondering if, yeah, maybe it wasn’t entirely normal.

“I guess we’re not normal,” she said plainly, shrugging nonchalantly. Then suddenly she sighed and looked at the woman in front of her with something almost like tenderness. “Penelope, you know I love you, but I will murder you if you tell anyone. Just to be safe, I’ve prepared this.”

She reached into the front pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a document.

 “A nondisclosure agreement. Just a little incentive for you to keep quiet.”

Both Spencer and Penelope stared at her, completely baffled.

His confusion was layered with something else.

“You’re really embarrassed you married me, aren’t you?” slipped out of him.

She turned her head toward him—they locked eyes.

Garcia stood up nervously from her chair.

“Maybe I should give you two a moment—”

She was stopped with a quick hand gesture.

“I’m not embarrassed that I married you,” she said, looking at him sternly. She barely blinked. “I’m embarrassed by the circumstances. And the fact that we still haven’t dealt with it.”

“Well, if I recall correctly, it was a mutual decision.”

“A stupid decision. What were we even thinking?”

Spencer felt a strange, uncomfortable tension inside him, in her, and between them.

Penelope clearly felt it too, because she quickly pulled the document toward herself and signed it with an exaggerated flourish.

“There you go. And now I’m off. Nothing worse than getting stuck in the middle of a marital argument. Kisses!”

And just like that, she disappeared, leaving the two of them alone in the interrogation room.

For a moment, the silence was incredibly heavy. Spencer was used to silences like that. He’d conducted dozens, if not hundreds, of interrogations. But this was the first time the silence felt like his problem.

They stood across from each other on either side of the short table, which, given the size of the room, meant they were fairly close. He no longer stole uncertain glances at her profile—he stared openly now, with far too many questions about her sudden shift in how she was approaching the decision they had once made together.

“We should’ve gotten divorced right away,” she said coldly, turning her head but not her body toward him. “Then it wouldn’t have gotten so...too real.”

Too real. Spencer didn’t even get a chance to reflect on those words before she walked out of the room, leaving the two of them, him and the silence, behind. 

Too real. He didn’t understand those words, not even when he did think about them. Or rather, he understood their meaning, their connection, what they implied but he didn’t understand how they related to them.

And yet, as the next few minutes passed, he remembered that small stab of excitement when Garcia agreed to look her up for him and the other sharp pang when he stared at the photo of her with her ex fiancé and maybe, just maybe, he was finally starting to understand what the whole too real thing had meant.

[lovexdeepspace]

“life without you.”

summary; months after breaking up with them, they come for reconciliation.

warnings; heartbreak, break-ups

note; wowowow the first part to this blew up and i am so beyond thankful for all the love! after this comes more requests :D

!! divider by @cafekitsune !!

first part | angst ending

“we should probably see other people.”

༊*·˚. xavier

it had been a couple of months since you broke things off with xavier and the way his face had contorted into one of subtle shock made you feel, well, better about things. although it had pained you to say the words, knowing that he was instantly hit with something — be it guilt, regret, sadness, whatever — made you feel better knowing it meant he still cared enough about you.

though the months of silence that followed had you second guessing that notion, no matter how many times you tried to tell yourself it was normal for this to happen and that you should take advantage of this time. you would never admit to anyone the many nights you would spend on your couch, waiting around late at night hoping that knock would come on your door and your sleepy hunter would be on the other side.

perhaps you ended up manifesting it one too many times, however, because now you stand pj-clad in your doorway with one hand on your hip and a raised brow as xavier held out a round, marshmallow-looking stuffed bunny to you.

“what’s this?” you deadpanned, knowing exactly what he was doing — you just wanted to hear him say it.

xavier’s lips pressed into a tight line as he avoided your eyes and muttered, “i really screwed up. i didn’t realize how good things were with you until i lost you.”

you stayed silent, motioning for him to continue when he glanced your way.

“i don’t deserve to ask you for forgiveness, let alone should i expect you to take me back,” he said, holding your gaze, “but i’d be even more of a fool not to try. i’m so, so sorry i put you in such a shitty situation.”

xavier pushed the bunny a little closer to you, brightening a bit as you took it into your arms. it was soft and downright adorable, a stuffed reflection of the man in front of you(though, again, something else on the list of things that wouldn’t be admitted by you).

“i don’t expect you to answer me any time soon,” he added quickly, filling the silence, “so i’ll just —“

“xavier.”

the blonde immediately shut his mouth, giving you his rapt attention. with a sigh you look from the bunny to him before extending a hand to him, albeit hesitantly.

“i was in the middle of watching a movie,” you said, earning a confused look. “do you want to finish it with me?”

if your heart wasn’t racing by that point, the way xavier’s face broke out in a grin before he grabbed your hand excitedly and pulled you into your own apartment had it pounding against your rib cage like a drum.

༊*·˚. rafayel

you recieved a torrent of snarky, snappy texts following your brief break-up with rafayel. he switched between gaslighting you that nothing was happening and that you were overreacting to him acting nonchalant about the whole thing; it was so bad that you had to block his number before you even got back to your apartment, which was a few blocks away.

it was weird to not have your phone blowing up all day long but, at the same time, the silence was a sort of reprieve while you dealt with the emotional repercussions of the whole situation. it allowed you some peace of mind and gave you the space needed to cope and, with the months that followed, grow more comfortable with not being in a relationship anymore.

you had finally found yourself at peace once again, keeping yourself busy with things to do like trying out the new restaurant downtown. as you were getting ready to head out, a knock came from your front door.

“just a minute!” you called, adjusting the collar of your blouse in the mirror before heading to the door and opening it. “oh.”

standing in front of you was rafayel and thomas, the latter giving you a sweet smile and a wave.

“nice to see you!” he chirped before giving rafayel a shove on the shoulder and gesturing to you. “i’ll be in the car.”

“good seeing you, too, thomas,” you called as he walked off, then turned to rafayel. “so. it took your manager forcing you for you to come see me?”

rafayel pouted at you and crossed his arms over his chest. “last i checked, you’re the one who blocked my number.”

you barked out a laugh, unsure as to why you’d be surprised about the audacity of this man. “well, maybe it’s because you tried to downplay my feelings!”

“well i’m sorry, okay?” rafayel retorted, matching your raised volume. “there, happy?”

“happy?” you echoed, running a hand down your face. “rafayel, if you really think —”

“you’re right.”

you froze, biting back the rest of your statement and raising a brow. “i’m right?”

rafayel nodded, dropping his arms to his sides. “i fucked up. like truly, undoubtedly fucked up. and here i am, thinking i can just say sorry and fix it all but that’s not how it works. i’ve got this whole front to keep up to protect my stupid ego but. . .” he sniffles and you realize there are tears in his eyes but he continues before you can speak up.

“fuck my ego,” he spat, clearly more angry at himself with every word he spoke. “my life has been complete and utter shit without you in it. i thought i knew what i was doing but i was wrong and i can’t even begin to express how sorry i am. i don’t deserve forgiveness or anything from you but gods you deserved an apology and i hope this is at least somewhat sufficient.”

rafayel sniffled again, the tip of his nose reddening as he wiped at his eyes. you were shocked to say the least, rooted to the spot as you watched the man you always thought to be so invulnerable breaking down in front of you.

slowly you reached out and your hands pulled his away from his face. he looked at you with wide, teary eyes as your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing the few remaining tears away. he whispered your name and you sighed, feeling all the hardened feelings towards the artist and your breakup softening to mush.

“i’ve missed you,” he whispered, leaning into your touch, and everything gets thrown out the window as you press a quick kiss to his forehead, then his cheeks, then the corner of his lips.

“i missed you too,” you said quietly. “come inside — i’ll tell thomas that i’ll drive you home later.”

༊*·˚. zayne

his coldness towards you was to be expected but still stung more than you could’ve expected. what made the break-up even worse was that you had to do it at the hospital and she was present for it all. you had tripped over your words and felt like a fool but knew, deep down, it needed to be done to prevent you from spending another sleepless night.

you had accounted for the way you’d feel when you’d find his clothes in your laundry; you’d accounted for the way your heart would surge whenever the rare occurrence came that you’d see him out and about in linkon city; everything was thought out and prepared for to avoid feeling too harshly.

what you had failed to account for, however, was how you’d feel when you came home one day to find zayne sitting on your couch with at least ten different bouquets of flowers surrounding him.

first it was shock — you quite literally dropped all your belongings. zayne raised an eyebrow at your reaction as if it wasn’t incredibly surprising to see him sitting in your apartment after having months of no contact.

second it was realization — you hadn’t taken your spare key back. as soon as it hit you your shock wore off and you groaned, running a hand down your face. after a long day at work this was the last thing you were expecting and needed.

last came the indifference. you gestured to him, then to the door. zayne stood slowly and walked around the bouquets, heading for the door. you were surprised up until he shut the door and headed back to his original spot on the couch.

“zayne,” you deadpanned. “that was a sign for you to leave.”

“do you really want me to leave?” the doctor asked, his steely gaze sending shivers down your spine.

no. “why are you even here?” you asked, defeated, purposely avoiding the question. “months of not talking and you suddenly appear in my apartment? what gives?”

“i need to apologize,” zayne replied bluntly, gesturing to the plethora of flowers surrounding him. “did the flowers not make that obvious? are they not enough? should i have gotten more?”

he looked somewhat distraught as he looked around him and you shook your head with a sigh to cover up the way the corners of your mouth twitched. you’d hardly seen zayne so stressed let alone stressed over flowers and if they were enough for you.

“zayne, the flowers are lovely,” you assured him. “more than i know what to do with, though.”

zayne nodded slowly, a bit more at ease. he stood once more and walked over to you, stopping right in front of you. he took a deep breath and looked you square in the eye, though you noted the way his eyes flitted down to your lips for a split second.

“what i did, how i treated you, all of it was unacceptable,” he said softly and you couldn’t help but already feel him worming his way through your walls. “i don’t know what i was thinking — or if i was even thinking at all. you are the most caring, respectful, and loving partner anyone could ever ask for. i was so lucky to have you by my side and i foolishly messed everything up.”

you wanted to reach out and wrap your arms around him, truly, but he still looked as if he had more to say so you held yourself back for a moment longer.

“you are everything to me,” he said, “and i will do whatever i need to do to regain your trust, your love, everything. however long it takes — days, months, years, nothing else matters to me more than you.”

you were in awe of the man standing before you, so moved by his words and actions that you couldn’t help but wind your arms around him and pull him close to you. you could feel him relax in your embrace, something that nobody else could do no matter what. with your cheek pressed to his chest, you smiled to yourself as you felt him press a kiss to the crown of your head and his arms wrap tightly around you.

“since i went a little overboard with the flowers,” he mumbled, “do you think we should take them down to the hospital and give them out to the patients?”

there he was. your zayne. sweet, compassionate, loving zayne.

taglist; @chim-i @reialbert @circusclownsam @yegrnn @kreishin @xmikanx @frobin4ever @keitthen <3 & all the anons that requested this!

[satellite-evans]

Familiar Echoes

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: When Y/N, the daughter of the duke of Ashbourne returns to Aubrey Hall, old feelings resurface between her and Benedict Bridgerton, sparking tension and intrigue. As they navigate past misunderstandings with the support of their families, they must confront their emotions and decide if their childhood bond can evolve into something more.

Word count: 4.7k words

Warnings: fluff, a little angst, mention of nude models, childhood friends, misunderstanding

A/N:

Hi everyone, this is my first Benedict fic so I am very excited, hope you guys will like it :)

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The sun cast a warm, golden glow over Aubrey Hall, its rays filtering through the trees and illuminating the vibrant gardens where the Bridgerton children played. Benedict Bridgerton, with his dark curls and inquisitive eyes, was only ten years old, yet he was already showing signs of the artistic and passionate young man he would become.

In the gardens, Benedict was engrossed in a spirited game of hide-and-seek with his siblings and their dear friends, the Y/L/Ns. The daughter of the Duke of Ashbourne, Y/N, was Benedict’s favorite playmate. Her laughter was his favorite and her eyes mirrored something so beautiful, so pure.

Benedict, you’ll never find me!” Y/N called out, her voice echoing through the hedges.

He grinned, determined to prove his best friend wrong. They had spent countless afternoons exploring the grounds, creating imaginary worlds, and sharing secrets that only they understood.

Finally, he spotted her hiding behind a rosebush. “Got you!” he exclaimed, grabbing her hand and twirling her around.

She laughed, her joy infectious. “You always find me, Benedict.”

He smiled, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I’ll always find you, Y/N.”

But the idyllic days of childhood were not to last. That evening, over dinner, the Duke of Ashbourne announced that his family would be leaving London for an extended stay in Italy. The news hit Benedict like a blow, and he struggled to hide his disappointment. He looked over at his friend and saw those same pure eyes filling up with tears. It broke his tiny heart into pieces.

“Leave London? Whatever for?”

Benedict was thrilled that his mother asked because he desperately needed to know why they had to leave.

“We have decided it is time to show our children the world. My father took me on similar journeys when I was their age, and those experiences were invaluable. I want Thomas and Y/N to have the same opportunities—to see different places, learn new things, and broaden their horizons.”

Your mother nodded in agreement, her expression resolute. “We believe it will be good for their education. There’s so much to learn beyond the walls of London, and we want to give them a chance to explore and grow in ways they cannot here.”

Violet glanced at the Viscount, her husband Edmund, who had been listening quietly. He smiled and nodded, understanding the importance of such a decision. “I agree with you, William,” he said to your father. “Traveling and experiencing different cultures can provide a wealth of knowledge and perspective that one simply cannot gain from books alone.”

Thomas, your older brother, seemed very excited about the upcoming adventure.

But Y/N did not.

She was thinking all about how terribly she was going to miss her dear friend Benedict and how awful it was going to be, not to be in his presence all the time.

After dinner, Benedict found Y/N in the music room, softly playing the pianoforte. He approached her, his heart heavy.

“Why do you have to go?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N looked up, her eyes filled with sadness. “Father believes it’s for the best. He wants us to experience life. He also mentioned that we will also visit Greece and many more."

“But what about us? What about our adventures?” Benedict’s voice cracked with emotion.

She reached out, taking his hand in hers. “We’ll always have our memories, Benedict. And we’ll see each other again. I promise.”

Benedict squeezed her hand, trying to hold back tears. “Promise?”

“Promise,” she echoed, her voice firm despite the tears in her eyes.

After staying a few more days at Aubrey Hall, the Y/L/N family departed, leaving a void in Benedict’s heart. As their carriage disappeared down the long driveway, he stood beside his father, Edmund Bridgerton, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Time will pass quickly, my boy,” Edmund said gently. “And you’ll see her again before you know it.”

Benedict nodded, but the ache in his heart remained. Little did he know, their next meeting would be years away, and the feelings he harbored would only grow stronger with time.

Years had passed since the Y/L/N family’s departure, and Benedict had grown into a handsome and talented young man. He pursued his passion for art with fervor, yet a part of him always yearned for the companionship he had once shared with Y/N.

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden glow over Aubrey Hall, when Lady Violet Bridgerton received the letter. She was seated in the drawing room with her children, each engaged in their own activities. Anthony was reviewing estate documents, Colin was reading a book, Eloise was writing furiously in her notebook, and the younger ones were playing a game by the fireplace.

"Everyone," Lady Violet called, her voice filled with excitement. "I have just received the most wonderful news."

The Bridgerton children looked up, curiosity piqued.

"What is it, Mother?" Anthony asked, setting aside his papers.

Lady Violet grinned. "We are to have guests. The Duke and Duchess of Ashbourne, along with their children, are coming to visit."

A chorus of reactions followed. Eloise raised an eyebrow. "The Ashbournes? Weren't they the family that moved away to travel the world?"

"Yes, indeed," Lady Violet confirmed. "The duke was a dear friend of your father. They moved away years ago, but they have decided to return for a time."

"Does this mean we’ll get to see Thomas again?" Colin asked, a grin spreading across his face. "I always liked him."

"And Y/N," Daphne added, her eyes twinkling. "I remember she was always so talented in the pianoforte and the harp."

Benedict remained silent, a slight blush creeping up his neck. He hoped no one would notice, but of course, Anthony did.

"Well, well, Benedict," Anthony said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "It looks like your childhood crush will be reunited with you," Anthony said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Benedict tried to maintain his composure. "Don't be ridiculous, Anthony. That was ages ago."

Colin chimed in, unable to resist the opportunity to tease his brother. "Oh, come on, Benedict. We all remember how you used to follow her around like a lost puppy."

Eloise snickered. "And how you would turn bright red whenever she spoke to you."

Benedict sighed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "I was a child. We’ve all grown up since then."

"Perhaps," Anthony said, leaning back in his chair. "But it will be interesting to see how things play out now that you’re both adults."

Lady Violet intervened, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Enough teasing, boys. Let us make sure everything is ready for their arrival. They will be here in a few days, and I want everything to be perfect."

As the family dispersed to prepare for their guests, the three Bridgerton brothers found themselves alone in the study.

Anthony leaned against the desk, his expression thoughtful. "It will be good to see Thomas again. He was always a good friend."

Colin nodded. "I heard he’s become quite the gentleman. And he was always supportive of Y/N’s education and talents. Not like most men of our time."

"True," Anthony agreed. "Thomas was never one to adhere strictly to societal norms. He always did what he thought was right."

Benedict, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. "I wonder how much Y/N has changed. She was always so passionate about music and poetry."

Colin grinned. "Still thinking about her, eh? You know, Anthony and I used to place bets on when you would finally tell her how you felt."

Benedict rolled his eyes. "You’re never going to let this go, are you?"

Anthony laughed. "Not a chance. But in all seriousness, Benedict, it will be good to see them again. And who knows? Maybe this visit will bring about some unexpected surprises."

Benedict sighed, but a small smile played on his lips. "Maybe."

Y/N stood by her bedroom window, looking out at the rolling hills of their estate as the sun began its slow descent. She was filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension about their imminent departure to Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons had always held a special place in her heart, especially Benedict, but years and distance had complicated those feelings.

"Are you ready, Y/N?" Thomas's voice called from the hallway.

Y/N turned away from the window and smiled as her brother entered the room. "Almost. Just gathering my thoughts."

Thomas gave her a knowing look. "Excited to see the Bridgertons again?"

"Of course," Y/N replied, smoothing down her dress. "It's been too long."

Thomas leaned against the doorframe, his expression thoughtful. "You know, Anthony mentioned in his letters that Benedict has been quite busy at the Royal Academy. Apparently, the place is famous for its...nude models."

Y/N's hand froze mid-air, her heart skipping a beat. "Nude models?"

Thomas nodded, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Yes, it seems our dear Benedict has been immersing himself in all aspects of art. Anthony said in his letter something about him knocking over an easel while staring at a rather attractive model. Everyone had a good laugh. Quite the scandal, isn't it?"

Y/N's cheeks flushed as she tried to mask her reaction. "It's part of his training, I'm sure. Nothing more."

Thomas watched her carefully, his smirk growing. "You’re right. Still, it's interesting, don’t you think?"

Y/N forced a smile. "What’s your point, Thomas?"

"My point," he said, stepping closer, "is that you seem unusually interested in Benedict’s artistic pursuits."

Y/N met her brother’s gaze firmly. "I’m interested in all my friends' pursuits. Nothing unusual about that."

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head. "Very well. But remember, Y/N, I know you better than anyone. I can tell when something—or someone—is on your mind."

Y/N lifted her chin. "And I can assure you, Thomas, that my mind is perfectly clear."

"Fine, fine," Thomas said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But if you ever need to talk about anything, you know where to find me."

Y/N nodded, grateful for her brother's support, even if she wasn’t ready to share her feelings. "Thank you, Thomas. Now, let’s focus on the journey ahead."

"Agreed," Thomas said, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

Y/N took his arm, and they made their way downstairs where their parents were waiting. As they stepped outside, she felt excited about the days to come. But also jealousy, which she never felt before in her life. She knew that it was none of her business what Benedict did or did not do. Nevertheless, she could not help herself feeling this way.

The journey to Aubrey Hall was filled with excitement and nostalgia. As their carriage approached the estate, memories of their childhood flooded Y/N’s mind. She felt a mix of eagerness and nervousness, wondering how much had changed. Still, there was a feeling Y/N couldn't shake away. The things that her brother told her about Benedict still haunted her. Benedict changed, she knew that for certain, but she really hoped that his feelings did not.

" It feels so strange to be back again," Thomas said, making Y/N turn to him. "It is like we have never left."

Her father nodded. "I get what you mean. It was like yesterday when you and Benedict were chasing Y/N and Daphne in the garden while Edmund and I were watching with a smile on our faces."

After mentioning the late Viscount, the eyes of your father started to fill with tears. He was in shock when the news came that Edmund passed away. It took him a few months to process the tragic loss of his closest friend. Y/N could not even imagine what Benedict went through.

"We all miss him terribly," your mother said, taking her husband's hand in hers. "But there is no need to sadden ourselves with the past. You will get to see Anthony as the new viscount. I'm sure he fitted the title well."

Your father smiled at his wife and kissed her hand. She always knew how to lift her spirits.

"Just like how Thomas will fit the title of the duke of Ashbourne well." Thomas rolled his eyes while Y/N and her parents started laughing.

"Believe me, father, that it will be years before I will get the title. You will live a long life with mama and your children and grandchildren by your side."

the funny banter between the Ashbourne family was not something new. They always have differed from the rest of the ton. There was no marriage pressure. The duke and duchess put the education of their children first, wanting nothing but happiness for them.

"Look, they have arrived!"

The Ashbourne carriage rolled to a stop in front of Aubrey Hall, the Bridgerton family waiting outside to greet their guests. The air was filled with anticipation and a touch of nostalgia as the two families prepared to reunite after so many years.

Lady Violet stepped forward with a warm smile. "Welcome, welcome!"

The Duke of Ashbourne, a distinguished gentleman with a friendly demeanor, was the first to step out, helping his elegant wife, the Duchess of Ashbourne, out of the carriage. Following them were Thomas and Y/N, who looked around with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"It’s wonderful to see you, Violet," the Duke said, embracing Lady Violet. "Thank you for having us."

"The pleasure is all ours," Lady Violet replied. "We’ve missed you terribly."

As the Ashbournes stepped out of the carriage, the Bridgerton children moved forward to greet them. Anthony, Colin, and Benedict engulfed Thomas in a warm embrace.

"Thomas, it’s been far too long," Anthony said, clapping him on the back.

"Indeed," Thomas replied, smiling. "It’s good to see you all."

Y/N followed, greeting each Bridgerton sibling with a warm smile and a hug, her demeanor friendly and welcoming. However, when she reached Benedict, her expression changed. She gave him a polite nod; her smile barely reaching her eyes.

When Benedict watched her getting out of the carriage, he only had one thought.

She is breathtakingly beautiful.

Her blonde hair changed into a darker shade of brown, but her eyes were the same. They were still mirroring such beauty he wished he could draw. Her smile was still contagious, affecting him immediately with his own.

" Mr Bridgerton, it is good to see you. How have you been?"

Mr Bridgerton? Why was she so formal suddenly? Was she not as excited to see him as he was seeing her?

"Miss Y/L/N, It is great to see you too. I am well, thank you for asking, been quite busy with my paintings."

Y/N’s gaze turned icy. "So I’ve heard." Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked straight inside, leaving Benedict standing there, bewildered.

As Benedict watched her retreating figure, he felt a pang of hurt and confusion. He glanced towards Thomas, who was already looking at him with a knowing look, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Sensing the tension in the air, Thomas was the first to speak. "Well, it is rather chilly out here. Let’s all follow my dear sister inside, shall we?"

The group laughed, the tension easing slightly as they followed Thomas into the grand entrance hall of Aubrey Hall.

As they made their way inside, the tension between Y/N and Benedict did not go unnoticed by the rest of the family. Lady Violet exchanged a concerned glance with the duchess while Anthony observed the interaction with a furrowed brow.

Once inside, they were led to the grand dining room, where a sumptuous feast awaited them. The grand dining room at Aubrey Hall was resplendent with crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the elegantly set table.

The Duke of Ashbourne, seated beside Lord Anthony Bridgerton, raised his glass. “To old friends and new beginnings,” he toasted, his voice rich and warm.

The toast was met with a chorus of agreement and the clinking of glasses. As the first course was served, Lady Violet began the conversation. “William, Eleanor, how has your journey been so far? Any memorable adventures?”

Eleanor smiled, glancing at her children. “It’s been a wonderful experience. We’ve seen so many beautiful places, and the children have learned a great deal.”

“Indeed,” the Duke added. “Thomas and Y/N have taken to it splendidly. Y/N, in particular, has been quite inspired by the landscapes for her poetry.”

Lady Violet’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Poetry, Y/N? That’s marvelous. You must share some with us later.”

Y/N smiled politely. “Of course, my lady. I’d be happy to.”

As the conversation flowed, it eventually turned to the Bridgerton siblings. “Benedict,” the Duke said, turning his attention to the second eldest Bridgerton, “I hear you’ve made quite a name for yourself at the Academy.”

Benedict, who had been quietly observing Y/N, nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. I’ve been fortunate to study under some very talented artists.”

Y/N, unable to suppress her irritation, interjected with a cool tone. “Including some very talented models, I’ve heard.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Benedict’s cheeks reddened slightly, but he maintained his composure. “Yes, we do work with models. It’s a necessary part of our training.”

The duchess, sensing the awkwardness, tried to steer the conversation back on track. “I’m sure the experience has been invaluable, Benedict. Art requires such dedication.”

Benedict nodded, but his eyes remained on Y/N. “It has been invaluable. Every aspect of it contributes to our growth as artists.”

Thomas, ever the peacemaker, chimed in. “Anthony told us about some of your work. It sounds quite impressive.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a tight smile. “Yes, very impressive. Especially the part where you managed to knock over an easel. Quite the spectacle, I hear.”

Benedict’s jaw tightened, and he glanced around the table, noting the concerned expressions of his family. “It was a mistake. One that was quickly rectified.”

Colin, trying to lighten the mood, laughed. “Well, Benedict has always had a flair for the dramatic.”

Eloise nudged her brother. “Perhaps a bit too much flair, at times.”

Laughter rippled around the table, but the underlying tension remained. Y/N felt a pang of guilt but was too stubborn to relent. She glanced at her brother, who gave her a pointed look, silently urging her to ease up.

Lady Violet, ever the gracious hostess, smoothly transitioned the conversation to more neutral topics, asking about the sights the Ashbourne family had visited and their future plans. The dinner continued, but the strained interactions between Y/N and Benedict cast a shadow over the evening.

As dessert was served, Lady Violet addressed Y/N directly. “Y/N, my dear, I’ve heard you play the pianoforte beautifully. Would you grace us with a performance after dinner?”

Y/N, grateful for the distraction, nodded. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

The meal concluded with polite conversation, but the tension lingered. Y/N excused herself to prepare for her performance, and as she left the dining room, she felt Benedict’s gaze on her, filled with a mix of hurt and confusion.

Later that evening, Y/N sat at the grand pianoforte in the drawing room, her fingers dancing gracefully over the keys. Heart filled with the hauntingly beautiful melody of a piece, she knew the room—Benedict's favorite.

The Bridgertons and Y/L/N's watched in silent admiration, but Benedict’s eyes never left Y/N. He was captivated, every note and every word pulling him deeper into the memories of their shared past. As the song drew to a close, Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and as the last note lingered in the air, a single tear slipped down her cheek. Across the room, Benedict’s own eyes misted over, a tear tracing a path down his face as well. The rest of the family exchanged knowing glances, sensing the intense, unspoken connection between the two.

Y/N stood, curtsied, and, with a polite smile, excused herself from the room, needing a moment alone to compose herself. As she walked down the dimly lit hallway, her heart ached with a mixture of regret and confusion.

Benedict, unable to bear the distance and misunderstanding any longer, quietly followed her into a room. “Y/N, wait,” he called softly.

She stopped but didn’t turn around, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “Yes, Benedict?” Her voice was calm but strained.

He approached her cautiously, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. “Why are you treating me like this? What have I done to deserve your coldness?”

Y/N finally turned to face him, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and hurt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Benedict. I’ve been perfectly polite.”

Benedict shook his head, frustration evident in his voice. “No, you haven’t. You’ve been distant, cold. This isn’t like you. Please, tell me what’s wrong so that I can fix it."

She crossed her arms defensively, her gaze piercing. “I don’t know what you’re imagining, but there’s nothing wrong. Perhaps you’re just seeing what you want to see.”

His frustration bubbled over, and he stepped closer, his voice low and intense. “This isn’t about what I want to see, Y/N. This is about what’s real. You’ve changed towards me, and I need to know why.”

She took a step back, her breath hitching. “It doesn’t matter, Benedict. Go back to your paintings and models. I could not care less."

His frustration turned to desperation, Benedict reached out and gently but firmly grasped her arm, pulling her back towards him. They stood face to face, the tension between them crackling with electricity. His voice was a murmur, filled with desperate longing. “But you do care, don't you? Why do you care, Y/N? Tell me.”

Her eyes locked onto his, the intensity of his gaze making her heart race. She tried to look away, but he cupped her cheek, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Tell me, Y/N. Please.”

Her defenses crumbled, and she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t care. Why should I? What you do is your own concern.”

His grip on her arm tightened slightly, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned in closer. “You do care. I can see it in your eyes. In your big beautiful eyes. Why won’t you admit it?”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling with the effort of holding back her emotions. “Because it’s easier not to. Because admitting it means facing the truth.”

“What truth?” Benedict’s voice was a mere breath away, his lips inches from hers.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could no longer deny the truth to herself or to him. “That I never stopped caring about you, Benedict. That I’ve loved you since we were children, and the thought of you with someone else… it breaks my heart.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned in closer, his breath mingling with hers. “And I’ve loved you, Y/N. I’ve loved you every single day we’ve been apart.”

She closed her eyes, the tears finally spilling over. “Then why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I was a fool,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way. But I can’t keep it inside any longer.”

Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. The world seemed to fade away as they poured all their longing and love into that one moment, finally allowing themselves to feel what they had denied for so long.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. “No more secrets,” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky but filled with hope.

“No more secrets,” Benedict promised, his eyes shining with love and determination.

They stood there for a moment, holding each other, the weight of their confessions lifting from their shoulders. The tension that had once filled the air was replaced with a sense of peace and newfound understanding.

Just then, a voice broke the silence. "Well, well, what do we have here?"

Y/N and Benedict sprang apart, startled, as Thomas stepped into the hallway. His expression was serious, his eyes locked on Benedict. Y/N's heart raced, fearing her brother's reaction.

"Thomas, I—" Y/N began, but Thomas held up a hand to silence her.

"I always knew I’d have to deal with this day," Thomas said, his voice low and dangerous. He turned his gaze to Benedict, who stood his ground, though a hint of apprehension flickered in his eyes. "Benedict Bridgerton, you have compromised my sister's honor. There’s only one way to settle this."

Y/N’s eyes widened in fear. "Thomas, please, don’t—"

Thomas continued, a stern look on his face. "We must duel."

The hallway fell silent, the tension thick in the air. Then, to Y/N's utter astonishment, Thomas’s serious expression broke into a wide grin, and he burst out laughing.

"I’m just kidding!" he exclaimed, clapping Benedict on the shoulder. "You should have seen your faces!"

Benedict let out a relieved laugh, shaking his head. "Thomas, you nearly gave us both a heart attack."

Y/N exhaled deeply, her heart still pounding. "Thomas, that wasn’t funny!"

"It was a little funny," Thomas said, still chuckling. "But really, everyone in the drawing room is waiting for you two. They’ve been hoping for this day for a long time."

Y/N and Benedict exchanged a glance, their relief mingled with the lingering rush of adrenaline.

Thomas gestured back towards the drawing room. "Come on, let’s not keep them waiting."

As they re-entered the room, the gathered family turned to look at them. Lady Violet and the duchess’s faces lit up with delight, and Daphne’s eyes sparkled with joy. The Duke of Ashbourne stood beside Lady Eleanor, his expression warm and approving. Anthony, Colin, Eloise, Gregory, and Hyacinth were also present, each showing various degrees of amusement and happiness.

"There you are!" Lady Violet said, her smile warm and knowing. "We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost."

"Come on," Colin said, grinning broadly. "Don't keep us waiting. Are you finally together or not?"

Y/N's cheeks flushed as she glanced at Benedict, who nodded, smiling. "Yes, we are," she said, her voice clear and steady.

Lady Eleanor’s face lit up even more. "Well, then, I think it’s safe to say we can start planning a wedding."

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. "Mama, it’s way too soon for that!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing even deeper.

The Duke of Ashbourne chuckled, patting Y/N's shoulder gently. "Your mother is just excited, dear. But we should let the young couple take their time."

Colin and Anthony, standing near the fireplace, exchanged a look and grinned. "Well, Benedict, looks like you’ve finally caught the eye of a Duke’s daughter," Colin teased.

"Always aiming high, aren’t you, brother?" Anthony added, his tone playful.

Benedict, his arm still around Y/N, beamed. "I guess I’ve always known what I wanted."

Daphne approached Y/N, embracing her warmly. "Welcome to the family, officially."

Y/N’s heart swelled with happiness. "Thank you, Daphne. I’m so glad to be here."

Eloise, ever the sharp-witted observer, smirked. "Well, it’s about time. I was beginning to think you two would never figure it out."

Gregory and Hyacinth, the youngest Bridgerton's, clapped excitedly. "Does this mean we get to have another party?" Gregory asked, his eyes wide with anticipation.

Hyacinth grinned. "I hope so! I love weddings!"

As the evening continued, the family celebrated the long-awaited union. Lady Violet and Lady Eleanor eagerly discussed wedding plans, while the Bridgerton brothers teased Benedict good-naturedly.

Thomas, watching the scene with a satisfied smile, caught Y/N’s eye and gave her an encouraging nod. She smiled back, her heart full.

Later, as the festivities wound down, Y/N and Benedict found a quiet moment together. He took her hand, his eyes full of love. "I meant every word I said earlier, Y/N. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

She looked up at him, her heart brimming with emotion. "And I love you, Benedict. More than I can say."

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. "Let's always be together. Always."

"Agreed," she whispered, feeling the weight of the past lift away.

As they stood there, surrounded by family and love, Y/N knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful future together.

[voidsaez]

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— for eternity. ( gally tmr x reader ) abuse !!

a/n : monthly post coz i never use tumblr lol, anyways i rewatched the first tmr movie n i realized hes lowkey insane

summary : after thomas found a way out, you’ve been clung to his every word. your boyfriend, isn’t happy.

There was nothing more Gally could ever ask for. You, him, and the rest of the Glade living in peace—a perfect harmony.

For months now, everything had been great. The two of you became a rare constant in a world filled with uncertainty.

He’d never felt more secure, more alive, than with you by his side. That was, until Thomas arrived.

In less than a week, the newcomer had somehow found a way out—an escape. You were overjoyed at the prospect of freedom.

Gally? Not so much.

-

“We don’t need to leave!” His voice cracked with urgency as he cupped your face, trembling thumbs pressing into your skin.

“Isn’t this enough? You have me—we can stay here. Forever.” His words came out rushed, his tone laced with desperation.

You shove at his hands, trying to make him pull away. “Are you insane? We’ve finally found a way out! After three years!”

His gaze hardened, his grip tightening. “Don’t you see?” He pleads, his voice frantic and pleading at the same time.

“Out there, it’s worse! You’ll see! This place, the glade—it’s safe. We’re safe here.”

You could see his demeanor changing, his eyes wild. It was love—yes, but it was twisted, fevered, consumed by desperation.

“You think it’s better out there?” He spat out, his voice a harsh whisper. “You think you’ll survive out there? you won’t.”

His grip tightened, to the point you felt like your bones were about to crack. Like it was more a warning than a plea.

“Let go!” You yelled out, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge.

He laughed, hard, cold, humorless. “You think they care about you, huh? Thomas? Teresa? They’ll leave you to die once it gets hard.” He says.

“But not me.” He says, his voice softening, almost sounding tender. “I’d never let that happen to you, I’ll protect you.”

“Protect me?” You snarled, “This isn’t protection, Gally, this is madness!”

His jaw clenched, clear displease in his eyes. “Madness? no, no. Madness is trusting them.” He says, with a deranged smile.

“Madness is thinking they’ll get us out of here alive.” He continues on. “You don’t get it, do you?” He asks.

“Thomas. Thomas is the problem—him and Teresa, they’re the reason we’re suffering! If it weren’t for them, we’d be happy.”

What the hell is he trying to say?

He speaks with innuendo, his words starting to sound past insane. “What are you saying?” You ask, stomach twisting.

His smile widened, almost dangerously. “I’m saying,” he said slowly, “we don’t need them. The Grievers, they’re hungry.“

Your blood ran cold. “They’ll take care of Thomas and Teresa. All we have to do is offer them over to the Grievers.” He says.

“You’re not serious,” You whispered, horrified. He was starting to lose it.

“Why?” He asks, stepping closer again. “They’re a threat, baby. To me. To you. To us. I won’t let them take you from me.”

“Gally,” You breathed, your voice trembling. “This isn’t you. You don’t mean this.”

He reached for you again, his hands almost gentle this time, but the madness in his eyes didn’t fade. “I mean every word,” he said.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if it means sacrificing them. Even if it means..” He trails off, looking at you.

You used to love his smile, the way he rarely ever did made you feel special, like his smile was reserved for only you.

But then, he smiled again, sharp and terrifying. He’s gone. That isn’t him.

“Don’t do this, Gally, don’t make me hate you.” You say, stepping back away.

His expression softened, “You’ll thank me one day.” He says, simply.

The sound was sickening. His fist slamming into you. A sharp crack that echoed in your ears, while your body went limp.

-

You weren’t his partner anymore.

You were his prisoner.

[ceyanabbiolo]

CONTRACT //C.S [11]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

warnings: Argument, crying, angst.

wc: 6262

Chapter 11: I See Where We Stand Now

Thomas Devereaux stood in my office like he owned the place—perfectly tailored suit, polished shoes, and a face that never cracked unless he needed something. I didn’t offer him a seat. He took one anyway.

He cut to the chase. He always did.

“I assume everything with Aurora is…manageable?”

I kept my eyes on the report in front of me a second longer before closing it. “She’s not a crisis, Thomas. You don’t have to check in like she’s a quarterly risk.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just making sure things stay on track. We can’t afford distractions.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just making sure everything stays on track. We can’t afford distractions.”

“Distractions,” I echoed, leaning back in my chair. “Right.”

Thomas glanced around my office like he had a stake in it. “I assume you're busy.”

I closed the file in front of me with a quiet snap. “Trying to figure out how my uncle’s still stealing from me.”

Thomas’s face stayed composed, but I caught it—just a flicker of something in his eyes. “So Michael’s still out there.”

“He is,” I said, watching him. “And when I find him, he’s done. I’ll make sure of it.”

Thomas tilted his head slightly, tone measured. “You think it’s that simple?”

“I think it’ll be over once I get my hands on him,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “Unless someone’s helping him, and I just haven’t found them yet.”

“Or he’s smarter than you give him credit for,” Thomas offered with that same unreadable smile.

“Michael?” I gave a humorless laugh. “The man’s a coward who couldn’t run a corner store without screwing it up. He’s not doing this alone.”

Thomas shifted, but he didn’t respond.

I leaned forward. “Unless you know something I don’t?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “Just speculating.”

Silence pressed in for a moment.

Then he asked, casually, “If you do find him, what happens to the engagement?”

I looked up. “What about it?”

“Are you planning to break it off?”

The question hung, a little too precise. My jaw tightened.

“I haven’t decided.”

Thomas nodded slowly, but his eyes were hard. “I’d think carefully before doing that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

He took a step toward the door, then paused, turned halfway back to me. His voice was cool, even, but final.

“Because not everything in this arrangement is about what you get out of it.”

I held his stare. That wasn’t a concern for Aurora—that was something else. Something colder. I didn’t respond.

He left without another word.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just suspicious—I was pissed.

I pushed back from my desk, jaw clenched, and made my way over to the lounge. The soft clink of glass was the only sound as I poured myself a cup of whiskey. I didn’t usually drink during the day, but something about Thomas always made my blood pressure spike.

He was getting under my skin—and not in the way a business partner should. Every conversation with him lately was the same. Always circling back to the engagement. Always pressing like I’d lose something by letting Aurora go.

But this entire thing? This marriage arrangement? That had been his idea.

I took a slow sip and stared out the window, watching the city blur beneath the clouds.

Aurora.

The name alone made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t fucking like. I tried to hate her when we first met. Wanted to. It would’ve made things easier if she were cold or calculating—like him. But she wasn’t. She was soft-spoken, stubborn when it mattered, and so goddamn kind it disarmed me.

I didn’t do relationships. That wasn’t new. I didn’t like handing over pieces of myself, didn’t trust what people did with them. I liked control, distance, and clarity. And feelings—real ones—they blurred the lines I worked too hard to keep clean.

I wasn’t supposed to care about her. She wasn’t supposed to be more than a name on a contract. But now, things were shifting. Slowly. Quietly. I could feel it, like a wire pulling tighter every time she looked at me, like she saw something good beneath the surface. 

Aurora was supposed to be business—clean, contained, untouchable. I’d spent my entire life keeping business far away from anything personal. However, lately…When I saw her curled up on the couch with a book, moving around the kitchen like she belonged there, or simply existing quietly in the same room as me—something in me shifted. I hated to admit it, but I couldn’t shake the urge to be close to her. To touch her. Like being near her settled something I didn’t know was restless.

That wasn’t part of the deal. I didn’t sign up for wanting someone. Especially not her. Getting attached—catching feelings—that’s how people lose control, and I don’t lose control. I can’t lose control. 

But no matter how many times I remind myself that this is temporary, that she’s Thomas’s daughter, that this arrangement is just leverage—I still find myself looking for her in the apartment. Still find myself remembering the way she occupies space. The smell of roses is everywhere. 

That's where the problem lies. She's starting to matter. The second she starts to matter, she becomes a threat. 

That didn’t seem to keep me away, though.

When I got home that evening, I found myself heading toward Aurora’s room. I paused just outside her door, hearing her voice through the crack—light, relaxed. She was on the phone with Jen, laughing about how Jen had no clue what to get her for Christmas.

Christmas.

The realization hit me then—it was next week. The year had blurred by so fast, tangled in meetings, contracts, and... her.

I left her to her conversation and headed to my room, peeling off the day with a long, hot shower. The steam did little to clear my head.

Later, I made my way down to the kitchen, where Ana had already set the table. She insisted I sit, even though I told her I could manage. She waved me off, muttering something about me needing to “eat properly for once.” I didn’t argue.

Not long after, Aurora walked in.

She was barefoot, wearing a soft beige sweater and flannel pants, her hair loosely tied back. She took the seat across from me, her gaze gentle but steady.

“Hi,” she said softly, her voice still carrying the echo of laughter from her call.

“Hey,” I replied, nodding as I picked up my fork.

For a while, we ate in silence. Forks clinking. The kind of quiet that doesn’t demand to be filled—but you feel it pressing anyway.

Then she spoke. “So… Christmas is going to be at our house this year.”

I looked up slowly. “What?”

“Christmas Day,” she clarified. “Eve will be at my parents’. But the next day… here.”

I set my fork down, jaw tightening. “Since when?”

“I talked to my mom earlier—”

“You talked to your mom,” I interrupted, heat rising. “And decided that Christmas would be hosted here without even asking me?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she kept her voice even. “I didn’t decide anything, Chris. She suggested it, and I couldn’t exactly say no.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how things work with them.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “You of all people should understand that.”

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. “This is supposed to be a business arrangement, Aurora. Not some holiday Hallmark movie.”

She flinched at that, just barely. “I know.”

“Then don’t invite the entire goddamn world into our house like we’re playing house.”

“I didn’t invite the world,” she said quietly. “I just didn’t want to argue with my parents. I thought you’d prefer that.”

I stared at her across the table. She wasn’t backing down. There was a quiet strength in her tone that I hadn’t heard before.

“And I thought…” she added, voice softening, “I thought maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have your mom and brothers here, too."

I was getting angrier, and deep down, I knew my anger wasn't at this Christmas party or Aurora.

“I don’t like surprises,” I muttered finally, pushing my plate back. “Especially not ones that involve pretending like we’re something we’re not.” 

Aurora seemed to have got taken about by that comment, “what do you mean?”

I looked up at her, jaw tight. “I’m talking about how we’re not actually together, but somehow I’m supposed to sit around the tree with your parents like I’m already their son-in-law.”

She sat back a little, her face falling. “They just wanted to include us—”

“No, they wanted the illusion,” I cut in. “And you gave it to them without asking me.”

Her voice was soft now. “I didn’t think you’d care this much…”

“Well, I do.” I raked a hand through my hair. “Because this—” I gestured between us, “—was never supposed to feel real. And now you’ve got your mom planning dinners and your dad checking in on our ‘progress’ like this isn’t just an arrangement.”

Aurora’s expression darkened, hurt flickering in her eyes. “You think I’m doing this on purpose? That I want to pretend like we’re something we’re not?”

She stared at me, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you didn’t stop me either.”

I don’t know what came over me in that moment—maybe it was the conversation with Thomas earlier, or the unsettling realization that I was getting too comfortable with the girl sitting across from me.

The silence in the dining room stretched on, thick and heavy. Aurora barely touched her food now, and I could see the way her appetite had vanished. I regretted ruining her dinner, but I couldn’t shake the defensive wall rising in me, the one that protected my heart from her, even though every part of me wanted to let it down.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke up. “Chris,” she started, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

I looked up at her, my eyes meeting hers. 

She drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself before finally asking, “What are we?”

“Because we live in the same house,” she continued, voice softer now, cracking ever so slightly, “we sleep under the same roof, I see you every single day, and still, I don’t know what we are. Not business partners. Not friends. Not strangers. Not lovers.”

Her gaze dropped, like she couldn’t hold mine anymore.

“You sometimes hug me,” she said quietly. “Kiss me. Compliment me like I mean something to you…and then you pull away just as fast—like you have to remind me you don’t do relationships.”

Her voice broke a little on that last word, and I felt it—like something twisting in my chest.

I was realizing the impression I had made on her, I should have known that she was going to start feeling something. 

“I don’t know how to feel around you anymore,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s just part of the arrangement.”

Her face twisted into something between disappointment and disbelief. “Say something.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Aurora,” I muttered, the coldness creeping back into my voice. “I never promised you anything.”

“You don’t have to promise me anything,” she said, voice small, broken. “But you can stop making me feel like I’m nothing more than a convenience to you.”

That hit harder than I expected, and my breath caught in my throat. Every word she said felt like a slap, each one more painful than the last. But I couldn't stop now. I had to finish what I started, even though the words were starting to choke me.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I said, though it sounded like a lie, even to me. “But I can’t give you what you want. I can’t pretend like I feel things I don’t.”

My last words hit her like a blow, and I instantly regretted saying them. I wanted to take it all back, to tell her I didn’t mean it. The truth was, I was lying to myself, pretending like I wasn’t starting to care about her. Pretending like these words weren’t eating me alive from the inside out. Because they were.

Looking at her now, her face a mixture of confusion and hurt, made me feel like I was choking on every breath. I wanted to pull her into my arms and apologize—tell her everything was going to be okay—but I couldn't. I was trapped in my own mess of emotions, and I hated myself for it.

After a long silence, she finally spoke, and her voice was small, barely audible.

“I see where we stand now,” she said, her words soft but with an edge that made it clear she was trying to hold it together. “Sorry for thinking this arrangement was becoming something more.”

I couldn’t bring myself to respond right away. The words were already out, and now, it was too late. She continued without waiting for me to say anything. 

“I guess I just wanted to believe it could be something else.” Aurora gave a bitter laugh, but it didn’t sound like amusement. 

She took a long, shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as she turned away from me. “But it’s fine. You were right. We’ve got this arrangement, and that’s all it is. No need to make it more than that.”

“Don’t look at me like that. Don’t act like I’m some victim here. If you don’t feel anything for me, then let’s go back to how it was at the beginning. You stay in your room, I stay in mine, and we pretend like we don’t even know each other.” Her words came out in a rush, like a final declaration, before she stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor.

The anger in her voice hit me like a punch, but I didn’t move, didn’t react.

Aurora wiped her face quickly, then turned to walk away, her steps heavy as she made her way to the door.

"Just leave me alone, Chris," she whispered, her back to me. "Please."

I wanted to say something, but the words were caught in my throat. Instead, I just sat there, the room feeling emptier than ever, as she disappeared down the hallway.

My stomach twisted with something unfamiliar—guilt, maybe. I hated the feeling.

It was starting to hit me that she might actually pull away for good—that I wouldn’t get to touch her, be near her, not like before.

The weight of what I’d done was finally settling in.

If keeping my distance was the plan all along, I never should’ve let it get this far.

AURORA

I didn’t sleep much that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. That look he gave me—blank, unreadable, like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks slowly weaving himself into the quiet corners of my life. Like I’d imagined all of it.

I stayed curled up on the floor longer than I cared to admit. At some point, I dragged myself into bed, but it didn’t help. The sheets smelled like him. A faint trace of his cologne still lingered from the time he sat at the edge of the mattress, asking me if I was sleeping okay. I’d wanted to believe he cared then.

Now I just felt naïve.

For two weeks, Chris had let his guard down, bit by bit. He brought me coffee when I worked late in my studio. Sat at the edge of the bed and asked about my sketches, even when he clearly didn’t care about fashion. He kissed my forehead once when I nearly fell asleep on the couch. And for a moment, I let myself believe he was trying.

I thought I was past the point of hoping for more. But his presence had started to grow on me—quietly, dangerously. I liked when he was around. I noticed when he wasn’t.

I hated that.

I hated that I was the one left feeling small and stupid, while he got to retreat behind that cold, unreadable exterior like none of it ever touched him. Like I was just imagining everything we’d built—no matter how small it was.

So when I heard Ana in the hallway, moving through the quiet house with her usual rhythm, I didn’t go out to greet her. I couldn’t. I didn’t want anyone to look at me and see the cracks.

Then came the soft knock on my door.

My chest tightened.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Go away, Chris.”

A pause. Then a gentle voice replied, “Miss Aurora, it’s just me. Ana.”

I blinked, my shoulders sagging. Of course it wasn’t him.

I stood slowly and opened the door. Ana stood there with that same quiet, maternal concern in her eyes. The kind you didn’t have to earn—it was just there.

“You okay, sweetheart?” she asked.

I nodded, even though the lump in my throat said otherwise. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Ana glanced over my shoulder at the mess of sketches and the barely touched cup of tea on the desk.

“Tired doesn’t look like that,” she said softly.

I stepped aside and let her in. The warmth of her presence made something in me ache.

She walked in, sat on the edge of my bed, and patted the spot beside her.

I sat.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I didn’t need to say it—and she didn’t need to ask. She always knew when something was off.

Ana didn’t rush me. She just sat there, holding my hand, thumb brushing against my knuckles like a silent reassurance. The air in the room was heavy, and I hated how small I felt in that moment—like everything I had been holding in for weeks was finally starting to slip out.

“It’s okay to cry, love,” she said softly. “You don’t have to hold it together all the time.”

That was all it took. My throat tightened, and I leaned forward, burying my face into her shoulder as the tears came—slow at first, then full, aching sobs that I couldn’t contain.

She rubbed my back gently, letting me cry, not saying anything until my breath slowed.

“I’ve known Chris nearly his whole life,” she murmured. “And he’s always been this way—guarded, distant. He’s been through things that taught him how to shut everyone out. It’s not you, Aurora.”

“Then why does it hurt so much?” I asked, voice breaking again. “Why does it feel like I made it all up in my head?”

“You didn’t,” she said gently. “I see the way he looks at you. He’s scared. That’s all. But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

I shook my head and whispered, “I just wanted someone to choose me. Not because of who my father is or what this arrangement means. Just me.”

Ana’s eyes filled with sympathy. “You deserve that, and so much more. And I promise you, one day, someone will. Maybe even him… if he figures it out in time.”

My voice cracked again. “He kissed me like he wanted me. He stayed up talking to me at night. He made me laugh. I thought—I thought maybe I was more than just a fiancée in name.”

More tears streamed down my cheeks, and I leaned into her again. “And now I just feel so small. So invisible. Like I made it all up in my head.”

Ana rested her chin on top of my head. “He does care, even if he doesn’t know how to show it. I’ve seen it. But I know that doesn’t make it hurt less right now.”

I sniffled, gripping the fabric of her blouse. “I don’t think it’s just about him. I feel like I’m drowning. I don’t have control over anything. Not this house. Not my future. Not even who I’m supposed to love.”

Her hand stilled on my back, pulling away just enough to look into my eyes. “I know, sweetheart. Your life has never truly been yours, has it?”

I shook my head slowly. “It feels like everyone else is deciding who I’m supposed to be, what I want, and every time I try to push back, I feel guilty. I feel like I’m letting my family down.”

“You’re not,” she said firmly. “You are allowed to want something different. You are allowed to feel angry. And you are absolutely allowed to cry. Don’t ever apologize for that.”

“I just wanted one part of my life to feel like mine,” I whispered, voice breaking again. “And for a second, I thought maybe he could be that. Maybe we could be that.”

Ana’s arms came around me again, tighter this time. “Then he needs to figure it out, and if he doesn’t, that’s his failure, not yours.”

I closed my eyes and let myself cry again, quieter now, but still raw. There was something comforting about being held like this, by someone who didn’t expect anything from me. Who just let me be. Eventually, the tears slowed, and my head started to ache.

“I think I just need to lie down,” I murmured.

Ana nodded and helped me to my feet, brushing the hair out of my face. “I’ll leave a glass of water on the nightstand. You try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

“Anytime, love.”

As she turned off the light and quietly left the room, I crawled under the covers and stared at the ceiling, the ache in my chest still heavy.

Christopher

When Aurora said she wanted things to go back to how they were before—like we’d never talked—she meant it. It’s been almost a week since the fight, and she hasn’t said a single word to me. Not even in passing.

She left for school early every morning without a sound. Came home, went straight to her room, or disappeared into the studio with the door locked. Meals were taken in silence, alone in her room. And if I ever passed her in the hallway, she wouldn’t even look at me.

It was starting to gnaw at me. There was a whole woman living under my roof, and I barely knew what she was doing, how she was feeling, if she was even okay.

And it shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

I caught myself listening for the soft creak of the floorboards when she moved. I waited for the sound of her studio door closing, for the hum of her playlist through the walls.

It was pathetic—how much space she suddenly took up just by not being there.

She was gone without ever leaving and I couldn’t fucking stand it.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to keep things simple. Distant. Professional, which was what we were technically doing right now.  She wasn’t supposed to get under my skin.

I came out of my office, running a hand through my hair, the weight of my thoughts still pressing on me. I was still fuming about the tension between me and Aurora. The silence had been suffocating, and the house felt more like a prison than ever before.

I saw her. Aurora, stepping out of her studio, her focus fixed ahead, determined not to look at me. Her posture was stiff, as if she was preparing to glide by me like a ghost, pretending I wasn’t there.

I almost let her. Almost.

Something in me snapped though.  Maybe it was the way she was avoiding me, or maybe it was the fact that I was sick of pretending like I wasn’t affected.

I moved before I could think, reaching out to grab her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

Her head snapped towards me, her eyes wide, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. The tension in the air was thick enough.

I held her wrist firmly but didn’t pull her toward me, just enough to stop her from walking away. “You think we can just keep doing this?” My voice was low, almost controlled, but underneath, there was something raw. Something that I wanted to break through. “Ignoring each other like we're strangers?” 

She looked at me, her expression hard to read, her eyes not quite meeting mine but still holding my gaze. “Yes,” she said finally, her tone flat. “That was the plan.”

I studied her for a moment, taking in the way she was clearly holding herself back, as if trying to make herself as distant as possible. I couldn’t help but notice it—it was like she was trying to shut me out, to pretend I wasn’t there.

“What about tomorrow?” I asked, my mind still tangled in the mess of everything that had just happened.She furrowed her brows, looking slightly confused. 

“What about tomorrow?” she asked confused. 

"Are we still doing Christmas Eve at your parents’ house?” i asked still holding her wrist. 

She sighed softly, as if she had expected this question. “Well, yeah," she replied, her voice clipped, almost mechanical.

I stepped a little closer to her, not letting the distance between us grow. “And what about before that?” I asked, my voice softening just enough for her to hear the quiet frustration in my tone. “Were you planning on talking to me before tomorrow night, or should I just assume we’re still not doing that?”

She met my eyes then, her chin tilting up in defiance. “You’re a grown man, Chris. I assumed you’d be ready by 7:30 without me having to tell you.”

I stared at her for a long moment, the sharpness of her words stinging more than they should’ve. There was an edge to her voice that I couldn’t ignore, and it made me feel more confused than I already was. Very different from when we first met. 

Without another word, she yanked her wrist harshly from my grip and hurried toward her end of the house, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. I didn’t chase after her, but I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in my chest. I wanted to hold her, to tell her that I was sorry for everything. But I stayed rooted to the spot, frozen in the mess I had created.

I stared at the empty space where she had just been, my mind racing. Slowly, I came to the bitter realization: I was fond of her. I hated admitting it, especially to myself, but it was there, undeniable. Every time she was near, every time she spoke, I felt something shift inside me—a pull I couldn’t explain.

Even though the truth settled into me, I convinced myself that it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t love. No, I couldn’t love her. I didn’t even know how to love anyone. My entire life had been about control, about keeping people at arm’s length so I wouldn’t have to feel the weight of something real. I didn’t want to open myself up to that kind of vulnerability, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be the kind of person who got attached.

So, I pushed the feelings down, buried them where they couldn’t get in the way of everything I had built for myself. It was easier that way. But the more I tried to bury it, the harder it became to ignore the way she affected me. The way her presence lingered, even when she wasn’t around.

I didn’t love her. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

At exactly 7:30 PM, I stood by the car, leaning against the door, checking the time every few seconds.

At 7:41 PM, she finally appeared.

Her burgundy dress clung to her frame perfectly, elegant but simple. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement with each step. Her hair, usually up in a slick or messy bun, was down tonight, falling past her shoulders in soft waves. She didn’t glance at me. Didn’t say a word.

I opened the back door without saying anything, and she slid in like I wasn’t even there. Not a thank you. Not even a look. She could play cold all she wanted. I didn’t care. At least, that’s what I told myself.

The drive was quiet. Tense. I kept my eyes on the road, hands on the wheel, pretending I didn’t feel the weight of her silence pressing against me like a brick.

When we pulled up to her parents' estate, the place was already glowing—twinkling lights strung across the balconies, wreaths on the doors, and cars filling the driveway. Classic Devereaux perfection.

I stepped out and rounded the car without a word. She didn’t wait for me. By the time I opened her door, she was already reaching for the handle herself.

We walked toward the entrance in silence. From the outside, anyone watching would think we were the perfect couple. 

As we stepped into the house, the warmth of the Devereaux estate immediately hit me—golden lights, the scent of cinnamon and something rich baking in the kitchen. A soft piano played somewhere in the background. Staff moved around quietly, guests already scattered through the foyer with champagne flutes in hand. The usual.

Thomas was the first to greet us. Of course.

“There you are,” he said with a wide smile, already walking toward us. “Fashionably late, as always, Aurora.”

Aurora gave him a quick hug, mumbling a polite, “Hi, Dad.”

When he smiled and complimented his daughter, I could still see it—the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, the subtle hint of disapproval behind every word. It made my blood boil.

Then his eyes shifted to me. “Chris.”

I gave a nod. “Thomas.”

He clapped me on the shoulder like we were old friends. “Glad you made it. Come in, come in. Everyone’s dying to see the two of you together.”

Aurora didn’t flinch, but I caught the subtle way her shoulders tensed.

Her mother appeared next, air-kissing Aurora’s cheek before pulling her in for a longer embrace. “You look stunning, darling,” she beamed, before glancing at me. “Chris, welcome, sweetheart. Merry Christmas Eve.”

“Merry Christmas,” I returned stiffly.

We were ushered in, champagne glasses quickly placed in my hand. Aurora didn’t look at me. Not once. She stood by her mother, answering questions and smiling when necessary, but there was a wall up. A clean, cold barrier that even I couldn’t break.

The thing was, I had no one to blame for that but myself.

She wasn’t mine to be jealous over. But damn, seeing her smile politely at all these people, looking like she belonged everywhere but near me, made me hate how much I missed the version of her that used to quietly knock on my door just to say goodnight.

Aurora had been swept into a conversation with a group of girls I recognized from the engagement party—her cousins, I assumed. She offered them a smile, one of those carefully practiced ones she wore at events like this. The kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

My gaze lingered on her a little too long.

It was only broken when a few older men came up to me, launching into questions about business, investments, and what it was like to be a CEO in my twenties. I nodded along, gave the usual answers, but my mind wasn’t there. It kept drifting back to her.

We were in the living room now—the same one where I saw her for the second time. The day she came back from class, shocked to learn she’d be moving in with me. She hadn’t taken it well, and later that night, I found her crying in her room. I hadn’t meant to see her like that, but I never forgot the way she tried to hide her pain behind quietness.

Later, when we were all seated in the dining room, surrounded by silver cutlery and glistening wine glasses, I found myself distracted again.

She was sitting two seats down from her father, and in front of me. 

The dining table and room were filled with every seat occupied today, unlike when it was just me, Aurora, and her parents. 

I kept looking at her—at the way she politely smiled, the way she carried herself like she belonged here. But all I could think about was the first night I met her. The night she walked into that hotel lounge in a brown satin dress, quiet and composed, her eyes wide but unreadable. 

The girl from that night... she hadn’t left my head since.

Now, she was sitting close enough to touch—but farther from me than ever. ​​

Thomas handed me a glass of brandy as I sank into one of the leather armchairs beside him. The men around us chuckled about a joke I hadn’t caught, and the air smelled of expensive cigars and old money.

“So,” Thomas began, swirling the amber liquid in his glass without looking at me, “how’s everything holding up at the house?” His tone was casual, but I caught the edge beneath it. “Fine,” I said simply, keeping my voice even.

He finally looked over at me, the corner of his mouth tugging into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Aurora hasn’t caused you too much trouble, I hope?”

I clenched my jaw for half a second before answering. “No. She’s been fine.”

“But I’m glad it’s working out,” he continued, voice smooth, condescending in a practiced way. “I knew it was the right decision to put the two of you under one roof. Structure is good for her and for you, too, I think.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You think I need structure?”

Thomas gave a short laugh, leaning back in his chair with that ever-knowing smirk. “We all do, Chris. Especially at your age. So much success, so young—it can be hard to stay grounded. I’ve seen men crumble under half the pressure you’re carrying.”

There it was again. The subtle reminder that no matter how much I built, how much I proved, he still saw me as a kid playing dress-up in a grown man’s world. Someone not quite worthy of standing beside his daughter.

“I’m not crumbling, Thomas—” I started, but didn’t get the chance to finish.

“Mr. Sturniolo,” a voice interrupted. I turned to see a man in a crisp black shirt, camera hanging from his neck. “Mrs. Devereaux requested a photo of you and your fiancée. She wants one... now.”

Thomas let out a hearty chuckle, clearly enjoying the interruption. “Well then, don’t keep her waiting.” He turned to me, lifting his glass once more. “Go on, son. Go take a picture with my daughter.”

Every part of me wanted to decline. To say no, not now, not after everything. But too many people were watching. Guests mingled just outside the sitting room. The weight of expectation hung in the air like perfume.

So I gave a short nod, forcing myself to rise to my feet.

As I stepped out into the grand hallway, I saw Aurora stood near the staircase, her hands clasped in front of her, shifting her weight nervously between her heels. She wasn’t smiling—her expression was tight, guarded, like she wasn’t sure whether she should breathe or brace for impact.

She looked stunning. The burgundy of her dress caught the glow from the chandelier above, casting warm light over her shoulders. 

Aurora’s gaze lifted when she saw me approaching.

Our eyes met—and for a split second, it was like we were alone in the hallway again. No guests, no photographers, no pressure. Just her…and me. But whatever flickered between us disappeared just as fast. She quickly looked away, smoothing down the front of her dress, a nervous habit I’d seen before.

“Alright, you two,” the photographer said brightly. “Let’s get one nice shot for the family. Stand a little closer… yes, perfect.”

I stepped beside her. She didn’t speak, and I could feel the wall she’d built between us.

“Mr. Sturniolo, hand on her waist?” the photographer prompted, oblivious to the quiet tension.

My jaw clenched, but I placed my hand gently on her waist. She flinched—barely—but enough for me to notice. She didn’t pull away, though. She just stood there, like this wasn’t the first time she had to pretend.

“Aurora, hand on his chest. Chin up a bit.”

She obeyed. Her fingers grazed my chest like I was fragile glass. I didn’t breathe.

“Now, just one more—maybe something a bit more candid. Chris, why don’t you give her a quick kiss on the cheek? Something soft—natural.”

Aurora stiffened beside me.

I should’ve said no. Should’ve shrugged it off and walked away. But instead, I leaned in.

She didn’t move.

My lips brushed her cheek, just for a second. That smell of Roses fills my nose

When I pulled back, I didn’t look her in the eye.

The flash went off.

“Beautiful,” the photographer said with a satisfied grin. “You two photograph like a dream.”

But it didn’t feel like a dream, and I needed to find my uncle and get out of this.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: Ok, guys, here comes the problems. To be fair, the major plot is in a few chapters, because bro...obviously Chris isn't actually staying away from her common now. Thomas thought...he's gonna cause problems. Like and reblog! mwahh] – ceyana

tags: @loser41ifee @bluestriips @cherryystemm @mattsfrenchtoast

(I want to add a lot of people to this tag list, so comment! Don't be shy. kisses <3)

[aperturesdaughter]

Ever since we found out that, canonically, Thomas has a wife and child, I’ve been dying to see a 5 star memory involving Rafayel and MC having to emergency babysit his daughter. I got impatient and realized I could just write it myself so self-indulgent Rafayel x MC fluff 🤍🤍🤍🤍

—————————————————————————

“Thomas, wait! You can’t just-“

“Rafayel, MC will be here any minute.” Thomas paused, hand on the doorway. He spun around to face Rafayel. “Look, Amelia’s not even awake right now. She’ll probably still be asleep by the time your miss bodyguard gets here.”

“She barely even knows Amelia! I don’t know if she knows how to take care of a baby!” Rafayel protested in a hushed whisper.

“Well, she can take care of you just fine!” Thomas retorted. Rafayel scoffed and folded his arms. “You know I wouldn’t ask you guys to do this if I didn’t really need you to.” Thomas sighs. He meets Rafayel’s gaze. “I’m not just gonna leave my wife to deal with her broken down car in the middle of nowhere herself, especially not at this time of night.” He explains. “You know if you and MC ever have kids, I'd do the same for you. And Amelia knows you. You’ve held her plenty of times while I’m tied up talking to a curator.” He explains. “Hell, you were one of the first to hold her, remember?”

——

Rafayel remembered very well the day he had to take over Thomas’s job for him when his wife went into sudden early labor during a massive art exhibition. Despite his annoyance at having to take over the business side of the art world (even after Thomas insisted all Rafayel had to do was sit there, answer the same 5 questions over and over, and look pretty) he couldn’t ease his anxiety about Thomas. He had seen the man in stressful states before, but nothing like this. Nothing like Thomas going as white as a sheet after a phone call with his petrified wife interrupted talks of pricing one of Rafayels pieces. The way he didn’t even politely excise himself, just looked to Rafayel and stuttered out “It’s Sonya. Something’s going on with the baby.” And in response, Rafayel uttered a sentence he had never and hasn’t since spoken to Thomas. “Go. I’ll deal with the exhibit.” Rafayel struggled to admit it out loud ever, but under the sass and whining, he and Thomas’s relationship was important to him. He spent the next hour talking business, trying desperately to get the curators out of there. Once it was over and the dust settled, Rafayel was one of the few non family members to join in on the anxiety-ridden waiting room at the hospital. It had been hours, and Sonya’s condition had been touch and go. Thomas had been popping in and out, updating everyone every few hours. Finally, after a full night in the waiting room, Thomas slowly reappeared, tears stained on his face, but a slight, exhausted smile as well.

“It’s a girl.” He exhaled. Rafayel watched as Thomas and Sonya’s family gathered around him. He breathed a sigh of relief, his heart finally able to settle. After family had gone in to see Sonya and the baby, Thomas was surprised to still see Rafayel, half asleep in the waiting room.

“You’re still here?” He chuckled. Rafayel was unsure how to respond, so he just shrugged.

“Do you wanna see her?”

After greeting and congratulating Sonya, Rafayels eyes fell to the baby girl sleeping in the clear bassinet at Sonya’s side.

“Her names Amelia.” Thomas picked her up gently and gestured toward the soft arm chair at the side of the room. Before he could protest, Rafayel found himself sitting, putting hand sanitizer on, and suddenly holding a very tiny, fragile human. He didn’t tell Thomas this, but it had been the first time in years Rafayel had ever held a baby.

——

The tension from Rafayel’s shoulders drops as he sighs. “I know, I know ... .Ok just…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, staving off the already forming stress headache. “get back safe. And soon.” Thomas nods and holds up his phone.

“You know my number. Keep her breathing. Keep her away from anything flammable. Don’t let her swallow anything big and inedible. You’ve got this.” And with that, Thomas shuts the front door of his house behind him, leaving Rafayel in the uncomfortably quiet house.

He slowly lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and looks around the room. His eyes fall on the small screen of the baby monitor next to the couch. Slowly, he walks toward the monitor, incredibly aware of the sounds of his footsteps in the now, nearly empty house. Slowly, he settles himself onto the couch, facing the video feed on the baby monitor. The slightly grainy footage shows Thomas’s daughter lying on her back in an empty, but comfortable looking crib. He watches for a few seconds, eyes narrowing in on the picture.

She’s breathing, right?

Rafayel fiddles with the volume control and holds his breath, straining to hear anything resembling a sign of life. A sudden knock at the door startles a gasp out of him, his hand rushing to clutch his heart.

“Raf? It’s me.” MC’s familiar voice rings out from behind the door.

Oh thank god, it’s her he sighs. He turns quickly again to the baby monitor to see that the baby has shifted positions slightly, her arms curling tighter to her sides. With a sign of life observed, Rafayel lets himself relax and walks toward the door.

“Hey, I got Thomas’s text!” She exclaims as soon as the door is opened. “I’m glad to see the house is still-” her snide comment is immediately cut off by Rafayel’s finger pressing against her lips “...standing” she whispers.

“Excuse you” Rafayel chides, “The baby is sleeping.”

“Sorry, my bad.” she relents, a smile playing at her lips. “If you worry I’m just gonna wake the kid up I can just head out-” before she can finish her sentence, Rafayel scoffs and pulls her inside.

“Absolutely not.” he pulls her into a hug “I’m glad you’re here. Trust me.” he pulls back and cups her face in his hands, still whispering. “What else am I gonna offer as a human sacrifice if the baby demands blood?” MC rolls her eyes and pushes him away.

“You act like an almost one year old infant is going to bring about your downfall.” She walks toward the kitchen table where Thomas’s written instructions lay. Rafayel fidgets where he stands while she looks over the list. “Okay, this doesn’t seem too bad.” She comments. “Theres formula in the pantry, clean bottles, Thomas listed all the emergency numbers. He’s got it all here for us.” She looks back up to see Rafayel has taken his position on the couch, yet again watching the monitor closely. “Raf?” He’s stuck watching the grainy footage, holding a pillow close to his chest. MC sighs, folding up the list to stick in her pocket and walks toward her clearly anxious boyfriend. She joins him on the couch, leaning against him to observe the footage as well. “Yup. She’s still there.” she jokes. He turns to look at her, an uneasy look in her eyes she hasn’t seen often.

“Do you…know much about babies?” he asks. “I don’t… I just-” he sighs. “I’ve never done this before.” He turns back to look at the footage.

“I know enough.” she reassures him, rubbing his arm. “I used to babysit some of the kids in my neighborhood when I was a teenager. A lot of girls did. It was a good way to get money in the summer.” She brings her hand to his chin and turns his face to meet her gaze. “You’ve been around Amelia before, you know she loves you.” she chuckles. “Or at least she’s very entertained by pulling your hair. Why are you so worried?”

Rafayel sighs and leans into her, finally turning away from the monitor so they can both lie back on the couch. “I just- I don’t want to do something wrong.” he sighs. “I always panic when I hear a baby cry. They never say what’s wrong so you’re just stuck with a loud, screaming child.”

“Yeah, 9 month olds aren’t the best communicators.” MC nods. “But luckily, their needs are very simple. If she wakes up crying, we just have to see if she’s hungry, fussy, or just needs a change of clothes.” MC slips her hand into Rafayel’s. “And if it’s anything more serious, we have a working phone and access to emergency services.” she reaches up and toussles his hair. “I promise, we don’t need to panic.” Rafayel chuckles and pulls MC’s hand away from his hair.

“Hey, leave some of that for Amelia. She might need it.” he brings her hand to his lips and places a gentle kiss on it. “Thanks for being here.” She smiles and brings her hand to the side of Rafayel’s cheek, letting him nuzzle into it.

“Of course. And who knows, she might just sleep through the whole-” Before she can finish, MC is cut off by a slight whine coming from the baby monitor. Their eyes quickly fall back to the grainy footage to see Amelia’s arms twisted up by her head, a scowl forming on her face accompanied by small whimpers that are gradually becoming louder until finally, she releases a full on cry.

“Ah! No! What did we do wrong?!” Rafayel turns to face MC, clear panic in his eyes. She chuckles.

“Nothing, babe, we didn’t do anything wrong.” She pulls him up off the couch with her. “Come on, let’s go see if she needs anything.” Although reluctant, Rafayel lets MC lead him up the stairs to Amelia’s room. Once at the baby girl’s door, MC stops and looks at Rafayel expectantly.

“What…what’s that look for?” He asks, confused.

“She knows you better than me.” MC explains. “We’ll probably have better luck if you’re the first one she sees.”

“But you said- I- I don’t” he stutters

“Hey, Raf.” MC grabs his shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “She’s not a sea monster. She’s not gonna bite. And she’ll probably feel safer seeing you first.” She explained. “I’ll be right behind you.” Rafayel looks at the door again, the wailing inside has only gotten louder.

“Okay. Do I just…” he trails off, looking toward MC.

“Just go in, talk to her a bit, be gentle, we’ll see if we can find why she’s crying.” MC explains. She pushes open the door slightly and leads Rafayel in. Immediately, Amelia’s head turns in the direction of the door and her whining subsides. She tilts her head and murmurs a bit before returning to her previous whines. Rafayel moves toward her slowly, hands resting at the edge of her crib. Despite his nerves, his heart squeezes a bit in his chest when Amelia looks up at him, arms outstretched and hands grabbing for him. Before he realizes it, he’s reached into the crib and scooped Amelia up into his arms, balancing her on his hip. “Hey, little sea monkey.” He coos. “What’s got you all sad?” Amelia wiggles a bit in Rafayels arms, her tiny hands grasping at his shirt. “Oh good. Her hand is covered in drool” Rafayel deadpans.

“Is someone trying to eat their hands?” MC coos at the baby. “Are you so hungry?” she chuckles. “We could try and give her some formula.” she suggests.

“Good idea” Rafayel chuckles. “Better than her trying to eat my shirt.”

The three make their way downstairs with Rafayel carefully holding tight to the still wiggly baby.

“Thomas left instructions for making her a bottle in his note, right?” Rafayel asks.

“Yup, you just keep holding her and I’ll make one.” MC calls back, already searching through the pantry.

“You sure you don’t want a turn?” Rafayel asks over the baby girls heightened whines, hiking her up higher onto his hip. “It’s one heck of a work out.”

MC scoffs. “What, and ruin what the two of you have?” She looks back at the two of them, Amelia now chewing at one of Rafayels fingers. “She loves you.”

“She loves the taste of me.” he grumbles, pulling his finger away.

“A lover of seafood. Can’t blame her.” MC smirks as she pulls the tin of formula out. Grabbing a clean bottle from next to the sink she measures the formula out and fills it with water.

“Aren’t humans able to feed babies with their own milk?” Rafayel asks. MC chuckles as she seals the bottle and begins shaking it.

“Yeah, but not all mother’s breastfeed and those that do can switch to formula after a few months.” She guides Rafayel over to the couch with Amelia. “And in our case” She sets the bottle on the coffee table and scoops Amelia up gently out of Rafayel’s arms “I’m the only one out of the two of us with the required…equipment but Ameilia’s not mine and you have to have been pregnant for your milk to come in.” she explains.

“Huh…” Rafayel watches as MC hold Amelia in her left arm and brings the bottle to the babies lips. Amelia’s whimpers immediately cease as she latches onto the bottle. He observes her in silence, pulling slightly at his now sore shoulder.

“Aren’t Lemurians mammals as well?” MC asks “Or do you guys like…lay eggs?” Rafayel chuckles.

“No, we do not come from eggs.”

“Do Lemurian women also breast feed?”

“Yeah, actually. I was suprised to learn that humans were similar to us in that respect.”

“Man, I have so many questions for Talia now that I think about it.” MC remarks as she sighs, leaning back against the couch as Amelia continues feeding.

“Why Talia?” Rafayel scoffs, “Why not your Lemurian boyfriend?”

“Raf, I’m not gonna ask you about the typical gestation period of a pregnant Lemurian woman.” MC retorts.

“Hey, I-” Rafayel stops himself. “You know what, fair enough.” he relents. Amelia’s body has become much more relaxed as MC pulls the now empty bottle from her lips. Amelia yawned in response, stretching her arms out stiffly. MC lifts Amelia up and sits her on her lap. Amelia’s eyes blink blearily toward Rafayel, a low whine starting back up in the back of her throat. Her hands reach out toward him, her little fists reaching out to try and grab him.

“Oh, someone wants Uncle Fishy” MC giggles, handing the child back over to Rafayel. Despite his still lingering anxiety, Rafayel’s lips pull into a small smile as he carries Amelia over to his lap. Carefully supporting her head, he bounces her slightly on his leg.

“Feeling better, sea monkey?” He asks. Amelia mumbles and coos in response, reaching up and grabbing a handful of Rafayel’s hair. “Gah- hey!” he whines. MC chuckles before reaching over to unclasp Amelia’s tiny fist.

“She really likes you.” MC comments. “Look at her smile”

“I guess she’s got good taste.” He responds. Amelia sighs heavily, her eyes beginning to droop again. Almost instinctually, Rafayel immediately lays back, letting Amelia rest her head on his chest. A silence settles over them with only the sound of Amelia’s tiny breaths becoming steadier.

“See? Not so hard.” MC whispers. “You’re a natural.” Rafayel looks over at her, a quiet smile pulling at his lips.

“Don’t jinx it. She could still burst into flames somehow.” he whispers.

“Babies aren’t as fragile as you think.” MC comments “It’s obviously good to be careful with them, but they can handle a lot.” MC runs a finger through Amelia’s soft curls, admiring the now, nearly asleep baby.

“Well we make a pretty good team, so that helps.” Rafayel whispers. He leans down and kisses MC lightly on the temple. “Hey, I think she’s asleep!” he whispers.

“Yeah, I’d say soOkay, little one let’s see if we can get you back in your crib.” She whispers. She stands and gestures for Rafayel to follow.

“But she’s already asleep!” He protests, his hand moving protectively over her back.

“Trust me, babe. It’s a lot better for everyone if we can transfer her back to her crib.” Rafayel sighs and stands up slowly, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby.

Back in Amelia’s room, Rafayel gently sets her down, holding his breath. Amelia squirms slightly, but ultimately settles. Before he can pull away, Amelia’s hand grasps onto Rafayels pinky finger. Wordlessly, he looks up at MC.

“She’s trapped you.” She whispers. “We’re stuck here, I guess.” She joins him next to the crib, leaning against Rafayel’s arm.

“Either that or we’re gonna have to amputate.” he sighs. “She’s got a death grip on it.”

“How will you continue to paint?” MC muses

“Maybe she’ll show me mercy.” he laughs “Can I please have my finger back so I can keep my hand and your dad can keep his job?”

He moves his pinky finger slightly, testing the waters. Amelia sighs and relaxes her hands, freeing Rafayel from his confines. Silently, he looks back at MC who gestures for him to follow quietly. Carefully, they both sneak out of the dark bedroom and close the door softly behind them.

“See?” Rafayel whispered. “Told you we had nothing to worry about.”

—------------------------------

A few hours later, Thomas braces himself before opening the door to his house, unsure of what he’d find. Upon entering his home, however, he finds Rafayel and MC asleep on the couch, curled up next to the baby monitor.

[sakurasannan]

The death of me Finn Shelby x reader

Sooo ima try something, this an original idea, my first time writing, not a repost just me and my ideas

Pairing: Finn Shelby x fem! Reader

Warnings: 18+ characters MDNI, smut, language, innocent reader, established relationship

2:45 a.m

Finn wasn’t back yet, you were laying in his bed worried about Finn, you knew he was a peaky blinder but he was never home late, you were overthinking every possibility when the the sound of the front door opening and closing pulled you out of your thoughts.

Finn was as quietly as possible dragged into the house by his ear by John.

“What the hell Finn?! Picking up a fight? For what reason?” John had plopped Finn on the couch as he himself sat on an armchair rubbing his face in frustration as he spoke.

“For what reason? Bloody hell John you would have done the same thing if that guy was talking about Esme” Finn spoke matter of factly as he glared daggers at John ignoring the sound of Thomas storming down the stairs, with you not far behind but staying upstairs deciding to keep watch from the handrail.

Thomas, who was finally achieving some sleep was woken up by the sound of his idiot brothers arguing over hell knows what, “oi! What’s all this about? Can’t you see the time?!”

John looks at Finn waiting for him to explain.

Finn slowly sighs and stands up to look at Tommy, “I had a fight at the bar, nothing special”

“Nothing special?!” John quickly smacks Finn on the back of his head and glares at Finn “tell Tommy what the fight was about then!”

Finn tightens his jaw as he thinks about the outcome of this conversation and decides it’s best to come clean. “Some asshole was talking about [name], that asshole thought it was a good idea to criticize my girlfriend in my face!”

Tommy at this point was just fed up “and so you thought it was a good idea to throw hands with this guy? Are you really that stupid?”

“Hold on! She called her a gypsy scum! And that she was too easy bets she would get on her knees for every man she comes across!” Finn grips his hat tightly as he recalls what the man had said about you, how he had basically called you a whore.

Slowly you creep down the stairs and run up to Finn “a fight? Are you alright? You’re not hurt right?” You gently cup Finn’s face with your hands and inspect his face worriedly.

“I’m fine, im fine” Finn gently grabs one of your hands and kisses your palm softening his gaze slightly.

You turn to look at John and Tommy and lower your head “thank you for bringing him home John, and I’m sorry he woke you up Tommy, can we talk about this in the morning? It’s late”

John nods in acknowledgment and Tommy sighs and gently rubs his temples to soothe the growing headache “I suppose it’s best to talk about it in the morning you’re excused”

Softly you smile and grab Finn’s hand and drag him upstairs to his bedroom.

You softly close the door and look at Finn and frown “I was worried about you, but that doesn’t matter, what did that man mean when you said he said I was easy and get on my knees for any man?”

Finn softly sighs and shrugs off his coat as he goes to sit on the edge of the bed “I’m sorry I worried you sweetheart, it wasn’t my intention to arrive late, and besides what that bell-end said is nothing to worry about.

“Well I for one think he’s wrong, I’d only get on my knees for you” softly you smile and look at Finn proudly.

On the other hand Finn looks at you flabbergasted as he starts to grow a pink in the face.

“What?” You asked so innocently like what you just said was the most normal thing you could tell your boyfriend “Don’t believe me? Here I’ll prove it to you!” You quickly stand in front of Finn and slowly get on your knees as you look up at Finn.

Finn’s heart nearly stops as you get on your knees for him, his breath hitching in his throat as he stares at you.

“Oh my god..” A quiet whimper escapes his lips, his eyes roaming over your form. He couldn’t tear his eyes off you, his body temperature suddenly raising as he stared at you.

You smile innocently and then realize how his pants begin to look tighter around his groin “see? Only for you”.

Finn softly tries to reposition himself as he feels his cock get harder the longer he stares down at you “fuck, you’re… you’re going to be the death of me” Finn softly groans as he looks at you with lustful eyes.

Softly you run your hands over his thighs and look at him “Finn? I want to prove my statement will you help me? Teach me”

Softly he groans and guides one of your hands onto his hard dick “massage it and then take it out”

Softly you nod and follow his instructions and start massaging his clothed dick as he whimpers and groans.

“T-take it out sweetheart, take it out and put it in your mouth” Finn growls as he feels himself become harder and harder by the second.

So you quickly undo his trousers and pull out his glistening hard dick, hesitantly you run your thumb over the slit and spread all the pre over his tip.

“Fuck!” Finn moans and looks at you begging you to not tease him.

You look up at him and lick your tongue then confidently put his tip in your mouth and start licking his slit with your tongue.

“Fuck, yes! That’s it sweetheart” Finn gently picks up your hair and starts guiding your mouth up and down his length.

“You’re a natural sweetheart, fuck so good” Finn has become a soup of babbling nonsense as you suck him of and he uses your mouth as a makeshift fleshlight.

“S-shit I’m gonna come!” He groans as he pushes your face against his pelvic bone as he comes in your mouth.

Softly you look up at him and drink up every single drop and then pull away looking at him dazed “see? Only on my knees for you”.

Finn still high from his orgasm pulls you up and rips your nightgown off.

“Round two is going to be better”

Reposts are appreciated 🥳 I’m sorry if it’s a bit shit but I really wanted to give it a go!

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 77: A Proposition

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

*Warning: Talk of intimacy

The few days’ journey to Belfast slips by like a blur. I’m driven to an elegant hotel and am told to wait for my parents’ arrival, which should be tomorrow. The man I’m marrying is said to be in Scotland and will be arriving tomorrow as well. I’m to spend the night before my wedding in a quiet, lonely hotel room. Each minute that ticks by only increases the tightening in my stomach. Lord, I feel like I'm going to be sick. I really wish Dílis was here to keep me company.

But at least the selected dress is decent. A bit bland for my taste but it could be worse. I decide to slip it on and model it in front of the tall mirror. Moeder chose one with a high neckline and flowing skirt, although I could do without the long sleeves. Even the veil looks too bland on me. The only upside is that it helps to hide my fresh scar. Although this is supposed to represent the happiest day of my life I can’t help but feel incomplete.

My reflection in the mirror confirms it. I’m not the same person I was fourteen years ago. Back then I was carefree and naïve. Now I’m sad and tired. Tired of putting myself off. Surely I’ve gone the distance to earn romantic love? Perhaps this marriage will deliver it… Even if it will be with a man I might not love.

Is that the life Thomas was used to? Being surrounded by despair, desperate for any form of happiness even if it was paid for? Even after all this time I will still be clinging to past feelings. 

“God, you look beautiful.”

My eyes fly open and I gasp when I see an addition to the reflection. His scent of scent of mint, ash, and cigarettes fills the room and floods my senses.

“You-? You’re here?” 

I spin around, almost tripping on the skirt. I am not imagining this. He is here. Thomas is here. In my hotel room, staring at me in a wedding dress. Ada let it slip to someone. And now I can’t hide it from him.

“Please leave,” I request evenly and turn away. “If you don’t mind I’d like to spend the last few moments I have alone in peace before my life changes forever.”

Thomas, looking like he’s had no sleep during his trip here, drops onto the bed’s plush mattress. I don’t even bother to care about how much dirt he’s getting on it.

“Have you even met him yet?”

I take a breath and keep up the charade. “Vader says I’ll learn to love him. I’ve tried to love others in the past but they couldn’t look away from my connections to you.”

At least with Bonnie he understood how gangs work. But most of the men I explain my past to believe it’s unladylike. Lord knows I tried to move on but no one ever seemed the right fit.

“Honestly I don’t even know if I can love anymore.”

“You will never stop loving people,” Thomas assures. “But you can’t marry him.”

I quirk a brow and humor his statement. “If I remember straight, I seem to recall you saying that I don’t decide your life and that you don’t decide mine. Why the sudden change of heart?”

Thomas keeps looking at me and shakes his head, as if the situation is inarguable. “You just can’t.”

“Since when is my love life suddenly your top priority?” I poke at him. I need to know.

He stands up from the bed but I don’t feel spooked. “You think I don’t care?” 

I put my hands up my hips. “You never showed any interest until now. My moeder’s not waiting any longer for me to find someone so vader’s arranged for me to marry a complete stranger. One of Uncle Colon’s friends, apparently.” 

He takes another look at my dress. “I knew you were leaving. You never said anything about marriage.”

“I didn’t want you to feel… obligated to worry. You have enough on your plate as it is.” I bunch up the skirt and step over to set my veil down on the dresser. “What difference does it make? I still need to protect my familie’s legacy.”

Thomas watches me carefully. After a few seconds he tosses his cap on the bed and runs a hand through his hair. Damn it, Thomas! Come clean with whatever you’ve got to say and don’t make yourself at home here!

“First I thought Grace was the only one who understood. Even after you warned me about her,” he begins. “Now I have begun a new life. And I want you in it. Arthur’s right. I never showed interest because I was suppressing myself.”

That doesn’t sound like him. “Why would you do that? You always jump at the chance to speak your mind.”

“Because you deserve better,” he answers immediately. “You’re… You’re you, Verena. Innocent. Being caught up with a man like me only leads to trouble, as you’ve found out. I can’t let that happen to you again.”

He’s right. It is dangerous. But it has also been liberating. We’ve both lost people. We’ve both waded through battles. 

“Thomas, if you know me at all then you know I don’t care about taking chances. I mean, I decided to stay in Birmingham, didn’t I? I could have ran back to Brooklyn with my tail between my legs.” I push aside my conflicted feelings and step closer. “But I wanted more out of life than starting out as just a simple housewife. Working with the Peaky Blinders, working with you, has given me the biggest adventure of my life.”

He doesn’t know how to respond. I’m sure not many have shown gratitude for this. But there is another loose end I need to pull.

“If you don’t think I should be caught up with someone like you then why did you chase me here?”

Thomas presses his lips together and goes to lean his head against the wall, both hands holding him up. “I can’t forget you, love. No matter how hard I try, the thought of letting you go without a fight is something I can’t suppress any longer. I... love you.”

So we’ve been playing the same game. “We’re both at a standstill, then."

I hear him hum against the wall. “Could I at least talk to your father and get him to consider arranging your marriage with me instead?”

Praise the Lord. Did he just…? Is that a proposal?

My lips curl into a delicate smile. “You haven’t even asked me.”

“You’re right. How inconsiderate of me.” 

Thomas steps back from the wall, now wearing a small glorified smile of his own, and walks right up to me. Our chests are nearly touching. Slowly, he sinks down to one knee, never letting his gaze fall. He looks beautiful like this. Blue-eyed, rugged, and covered with dirt.

“Verena.” He reaches for my small hand. “Verena, Verena. Before I lose you forever will you please do me the greatest honor of letting me be your husband?”

The oddly-phrased question makes me smirk teasingly. “Hm. Never heard it put that way before.”

“Please?!” He begs and leans into my dress’ fabric. “Don’t leave me. Not again.”

As I stand there looking down at him I can’t fight this blooming feeling of desire. “Are you sure-?”

“I’m absolutely fucking sure. I love you so much and if I see you with another man then my mind truly will be lost.” His eyes look up to me again. “Admit it. You want this too.”

“Thomas…” I murmur as a prayer, hoping God will hear me.

Should I risk this? Who's to say that the mystery man in Scotland can't do better? But all my heart can do is replay the pining for Thomas inside my head. 

“Do you still love me?" Thomas whispers. "With God as your witness please tell me you still love me.”

The question he asked before. Back when I thought my love would never be good enough for Thomas Shelby. Now he kneels before me, imploring for it. 

“I could never stop loving you, Thomas Shelby.”

“Then stay with me,” he asks, snaking his arms around my waist. “Let me keep you. The family loves you, Charlie adores you.”

In his eyes I see the same vulnerable look from the first night I comforted him. Back when opium was the only suppressant he trusted, and love was unheard of. He has become my adventure and I have become his peace of mind.

“I will stay.”

Thomas lets out a long-held sigh of relief. “You’ll stay.”

“I will marry you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Thomas Shelby, I would love to be your wife. So, so much.” I bring my hands down to cup his face, running my thumbs over his stubble. “But you need to tell me this is exactly what you want because I’m never waiting around again. This is a done deal.”

“Yes, yes! I want you so much, love. I need you to keep me sane.”

I smile wider and lean down. “Alright. Then you need to promise me three things.”

He doesn’t blink. “Anything.”

“No cheating,” I demand firmly. “There will be no other women. I don’t care what the situation is. If you have any problems you need to work out then you come straight to me. Understand?”

Thomas’ smile drops and he looks up at me with a serious expression. “I promise. I promise, Verena. And if I ever am fucking daft enough to break that promise you can shoot me down in cold blood.”

I study him for any signs of uncertainty but there are none. “Thank you. I’ll remember that. My next request is that you won’t shadow me everywhere I go. I don’t need a bodyguard, Thomas.”

He hums and presses himself closer against me. “Can’t help it, love. You know what kind of business I get into.”

“That’s the last part.” I tap his head. “No more burning the candle at both ends. You need to set some time aside for Charlie and Duke. To be a vader.”

The gangster stands up and begins to get a naughty gleam in his eye, running his hands over my dress. “And what about setting time aside to please you?”

My breath catches but I fight to stay calm. “The kids come first. Charlie needs his vader, especially since he just lost his zuster.”

Thomas slinks closer and I feel him back me up against the dresser. “What if he needs another brother or sister?”

A child. As if my life hasn’t been filled with them. But the thought makes me giddy nonetheless.

“Another Shelby running around? Sounds dangerous.”

Thomas brings my arm up and starts trailing kisses down my pale skin. “You will make a wonderful mother, Verena.”

My face flushes and I swear each kiss he gives me makes my heart soar. “You sound awfully confident.”

“It’s like you said. Our warranties are about to expire.”

I gawk at him playfully. “Are you saying my biological clock is ticking? Still cocky as ever. Pun definitely intended.”

“God, I love you,” he sighs and buries his face in my braided hair. “You’re still not offended by me, eh?”

That’s odd. “How so?”

“Because others still say it’s dirty to mix with Gypsy blood.”

“This again?” I utter and run a hand over his neck. “Thomas, you could be half alien and I would still love you. Being a Gypsy gangster’s wife is not something I will be ashamed of. Do you know the dark deeds my Uncle Colon has done?”

Thomas grunts darkly. “‘M sure I don’t want to.”

“Marrying you is not the worst thing my familie has done. So do you promise not to cross familie with business?”

“I promise,” Thomas reassures and goes back to feeling a hand across my bodice. “Darling… I can’t wait to see you round with my child.”

God, those words are music to my ears. The wheels are already spinning in his head. He’s been wanting this just as much as I have! And yet I’m still held back on account of my faith and my familie’s wishes.

“We need to wait, Thomas,” I note sadly. “It needs to be official.”

He lets out a deep whine. “I’ve waited this long…”

“You can wait some more. I am not having a child out of wedlock.”

“So proper,” he jokes softly when I lead his hands away from me.

“Take it or leave it.”

Thomas rolls his eyes and leaves a kiss on my cheek. “I suppose my patience isn’t completely worn out. But the minute we’re alone after the ceremony I’m fucking you until you can’t walk for a week. I want to show you just how much you mean to me.”

The image of him laying in the tub flashes through my mind and I feel myself start to get excited. My body feels like it’s about to melt from all the romantic attention. My chest is wound tight and my face feels red hot. But it’s not from embarrassment. It’s from anticipation. 

I am his, and he is mine. Although that sounds like a marvelous statement I cannot help but think of how that image could look.

I swallow and regain a steady tone. “A thought just occurred… I- I don’t want people to assume I’m only marrying you for profit.” I bite my lip and keep my eyes focused on Thomas’ muddy shoes. “Like Gina.”

Thomas presses his lips together and leans down to look at me with profound admiration. “Fuck that bitch. Darling, you are nothing like her.”

“I know. But it’s people like her who give Americans a bad name. People will see me marrying you and assume I’m just another woman out for money.”

He runs a gentle hand over the scar on my cheek. “People don’t see you that way. If they do, I will correct them. You are a respected part of this family, Verena. Everyone will respect you even if I have to encourage it further.”

By “correct” and “encourage,” I think he means “force.” I would press against it but there’s something about the way he promises it that makes me believe Thomas will always protect me.

“How should we tell the others?” I ask softly.

“Simple. Tell ‘em we’re engaged.”

I tilt my head at him. “With no explanation?”

“Your father says you need a husband.” Thomas shrugs and smirks. “I’m your man.”

He leans in to kiss my cheek again and I look back at my veil. “Speaking of which, you better talk to vader before the sod I’m supposed to marry gets his hopes up.”

Reluctantly, we both pull away and go back to standing apart. I fuss with my dress and he retrieves his hat, as if the last ten minutes never happened. Did I dream it all-?

“I’ll be very convincing,” Thomas sasses as he strides back to the door.

I point a finger at him. “No killing.”

He reaches for the doorknob and stops. In the blink of an eye he paces back and wraps his strong arms around me, pressing us together. My body goes stiff but I think it’s because of nerves. No part of me wants to back away from this. No longer does my heart hurt from fear or rejection; instead I am confident and feel taken care of. When Thomas leans in and our noses touch my knees feel like they’re going to collapse.

“Soon you will be mine,” Thomas whispers, running a hand over by braids.

“I am yours, Thomas. Have been all these years.”

To say that kissing is meaningless is absolute nonsense. But when Thomas leans in and I can finally kiss him it’s not as grand as books make it out to be. There are no sparks, no butterflies. It feels… wet. It is certainly something I need to grow used to, not that I am being too critical. 

I’ve waited so long and, in this moment, the sensation of Thomas’ soft lips on mine and the feeling of his warm hands caressing me makes me feel more special than anyone else in the world. I am no doubt new to this but it’s no secret why every married couple I know treasures romantic affection. This is a love that has been growing for a long time.

@sherbitdibdab @meadows5

[dorkyteenagedirtbag-ks]

Synopsis: In the Glade’s chaos, Newt and his lover like to tease each other to forget how hard life can get there.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Thomas had just come out of the cage, sprinting at full speed. It was actually pretty impressive-until he fell flat on his face.

Everyone burst out laughing, but Newt and I quickly rushed over to help him up, trying to calm him down.

After all the fuss the new Greenie had caused, we went back to our usual tasks. Technically, it was my day off as a Runner, but I still kept myself busy-mostly to stay close to Newt.

He was my boyfriend, I guess? Or something like that. Honestly, I didn’t care what we called it

“Newtttt?” I called out to him as he worked.

“Yeahhhh?” he replied in the same singsong voice.

“What do you think of the new Greenie? He runs fast, and he looks pretty well-built...” I said, watching him carefully.

“Well-built, huh? How long have you been looking at him?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you jealous?” I grinned, amused by his reaction. It made me happy to see a flicker of jealousy in him-it was rare between us. Most of the others felt more like brothers than anything else.

“I’m not. Why would I be? The guy tripped after running just a few meters,” he scoffed.

“You definitely sound like someone who’s jealous, you know,” I teased, trying to hug him. He playfully pushed me away.

“I said I’m not. Now move-I’ve got work to do.”

I crossed my arms and pouted, but before I could say anything, we heard Thomas scream for help. He’d been sent to fetch something for Newt.

Newt immediately dropped what he was doing and ran toward the sound. I followed close behind.

We found Ben attacking Thomas. We pulled them apart and checked on Thomas-he was a bit shaken but okay. But Ben... he wasn’t. After examining him, it was clear he’d been infected.

With heavy hearts, we had no choice but to banish him into the Maze.

Later, after everything had calmed down, I found Newt sitting alone in a quiet spot, lost in thought. I sat beside him, just watching his side profile. To me, it was perfect, like everything about him.

“I’ve never seen you run that fast before,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Are you in love with Thomas or something? Should I be worried?”

“Mmh, well... he does have nice eyes, some decent muscle, and he-”

Before he could finish, I slapped my hand over his mouth.

“Say no more. I’ll just go die in the Maze tomorrow so my heart won’t shatter,” I said dramatically.

He laughed and looked at me, his warm brown eyes softening.

“I was kidding, you know. I’ll never love anyone else. You’re my one and only,” he said, closing the gap between us and pressing a slow, tender kiss to my lips.

I kissed him back, leaning into him.

“You’re my one and only too.” I said with a smile.

- 𝐊𝐒

I know I was supposed to write the part 2 of the Kenma's oneshot but I got a big hyperfixation on Thomas Brodie-sangster 😭 As soon as my hyperfixation will end I'll write the part 2 of Kenma's os

[kiss-theggoat]

I’m back again! I’m a sucker for Thomas Hewitt okay, and there isn’t enough about him! I was wondering if you could do another fic about him, a childhood friend of Thomas’s who moved away comes back in town. She ends up staying with them while she is in town, unknowingly having interrupted their killing plans, leaving a victim down in the basement and unknown from reader. But when the family isn’t home (who knows why) victim escapes and attacks reader. Reader attacks back but ends up killing the victim on accident. In fear she hides the body but the guilt kills her and she ends up telling Thomas. (I know out of character stuff)

A/N: Thank you for the request, I really love writing for Thomas and hope you like! 🖤

Surprise!

Thomas Hewitt x F!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Summary: After years of being away from home, you finally decide to visit your hometown…only to see it’s been shut down. Only one family still lives there, and thankfully, you know them, and they offer to let you stay there! But…after a few days, you start to sense that something isn’t right.

TW: Canon-Typical Violence

The drive to Texas was long, but as you watched the dust and sagebrush go by, your chest swelled with excitement. You hadn’t been back in your hometown since your parents made you leave when you were younger, and now that you finally had your own car and your own money, the first thing on your list was to visit that sleepy little Texas town you’d missed since you left. The only issue was that as you kept driving…you noticed that all of the street signs leading to town were decrepit. You thought…well, you’d been gone a long time…just normal wear and tear under the Texas sun, right?

Wrong.

As you drove into town…you felt your chest tighten at the state of things. Almost every single building was boarded up, windows shattered and spray painted, signs on the ground and covered in dust. There was no way that anyone lived here, hell, the only stoplight in town didn’t even work…

Your car sputtered to a stop in front of what used to be your favorite little convenience store. Where you used to go inside and beg your mom to buy you all of the candy she said was off limits. The same store you got caught stealing a candy bar with your best friend and thought you both might get arrested by the sheriff. You slammed your car door shut, dust clouding around you in a plume of sadness in nostalgia. It was so quiet…not even a cricket…until you heard a siren.

How can an abandoned town have law enforcement? You raised a hand to block the relentless sunlight, turning to the source of the sound, where an old cop car rolled up beside you. The tint on the windows was definitely illegal, but thankfully, the sheriff slowly rolled it down, revealing his scowling face, eyes blocked by sunglasses.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in town?” He asked, lip stuffed with chew. His voice was gruff, but sounded so oddly familiar to you. You leaned in closer, eyes squinting in order to get a better look at him. You peered at the name badge…Hoyt. That didn’t sound familiar at all…but then he said your name. You continued to look at him in confusion as he pulled his sunglasses off, his eyes full of recognition. This man obviously knew you…but who was he?

He stepped out of the car and shut the door, leaning against it as he spit a puddle of black sludge onto the ground. “Well I’ll be damned. Thought I’d never see your pretty face again.”

“I’m sorry…it’s been a long time since I’ve been here and…the name Hoyt doesn’t ring any bells.” I told him, pointing at the nameplate on his chest.

“Oh this is a buddy’s uniform. Lost my own badge. The name Hewitt ring any bells? Charlie Hewitt.” He spit again, closer to your shoe this time, making you cringe and step away just a little. At first, you didn’t remember the name Hewitt either…until you remembered Thomas. The one boy in your class that never came to school, was always bullied or called names because of his face. Your eyes lit up as you made eye contact with him, a smile spreading onto your lips.

“Hewitt! Yes! I remember Thomas.” You said happily. If the Hewitt family was still here, then the town couldn’t be completely shut down, right?

This seemed to annoy Charlie in a way, his lip curling up into a sneer at the sound of Thomas’ name. “Course you remember that big oaf. Hard to miss ‘im.” He spat the rest of his chew onto the ground, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, “Where you plannin’ on stayin’?”

This made you sigh. You were hoping the little motel would still be open, but you’d just driven past it, and from the looks of it, its only residents were probably rats and roaches. “Well, actually…I probably have to drive back to Austin tonight. I didn’t know the town had…” you stopped talking, eyes landing on Charlie’s wrinkled face, not wanting to say anything rude about the hometown you shared.

“Gone under?” He broke out into a wheezy laugh, making it very clear to you that he’d probably been smoking like a chimney since you left. “Yeah. Not a lotta folks left. But Austin’s a long way and it’s gettin’ dark…not safe for a pretty little thing like you to be alone.” The way he spoke sent shivers down your spine. You knew him…but he seemed …different. His eyes had a sinister glow to them, the way he stared down at your chest made you want to hop in your car and never come back. “Why don’t you come stay at the house? M’sure Luda Mae would love havin’ another girl around.” He took a step closer to you, eyes still focused where they shouldn’t be.

You spoke quickly, definitely quick enough to make your uneasiness known. “No, that’s okay…I really don’t mind driving back into the city.”

This seemed to amuse Charlie. “Oh, we insist. Tommy will be there…don’t think he’s seen someone like you in his whole life.”

For some reason, the mention of Thomas made you actually want to go. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but your memories of Thomas, while very little, were only fond. He was a big kid for his age, and very misunderstood, but always very kind and quiet. And…he did say there would be another girl there, right? So you wouldn’t just be alone with this creep. Maybe going to visit the Hewitt’s would be a nice walk down memory lane.

“Okay…sure. It is getting pretty late, I guess.” You agreed, making him smile and show off his stained yellow teeth.

“Perfect. Just drive behind me.” He told you, opening the door to his cop car.

The drive to the Hewitt’s home was longer than you’d thought, and their house was huge. As you parked behind Charlie, you stared up at the house in awe, seeing every single window illuminated. You supposed that with the entire town pretty much out of commission, they owned whatever property they wanted. Your shoes crunched against the gravel as Charlie led you inside, and the moment he opened the door, a feeling of discomfort settled deep in your stomach.

The house was cozy, but eclectic. Too eclectic, like every item inside belonged to a different owner at some point in time. It smelled like a mixture of expired perfume and rotting meat, a sickeningly sweet film settling on your sweaty skin, making it hard to breath inside the home. You stuck a smile on your face anyways, not wanting to seem rude as you were led into the dining room. It seemed as though you were interrupting dinner, everyone already seated in front of their bowls, full of some sort of stew. Your presence immediately turned heads, all six eyes fixed on you and Charlie standing in the doorway.

“Well I don’t believe it…” The lady whispered, who you immediately recognized to be Luda Mae. God, she’d gotten old. You remember her being old when you were in elementary school, and part of you wondered how she was still alive. Across from her sat an elderly man, who somehow looked twenty years older than her. He was sitting there, eyes on you but unfocused, like he was staring at the air between you and the table. Last to meet your gaze was Thomas.

Your heart sank when you saw him, or what was exposed. The leather mask covering his face upset you beyond reason. You knew that Tommy had been bullied for his looks when you guys were little, but never thought he’d make a custom mask to wear, even around his family, and at dinner for god's sake. That’s when it occurred to you, he wasn’t even eating.

“Found ‘er down by the old gas station lookin’ for a place to stay. Ain't she pretty?” Charlie asked, his voice low and predatory as walked towards his seat at the head of the table. The way he spoke about you, like you were just a piece of meat, made your skin crawl.

You gave everyone a polite smile and a little wave before speaking. “Well, I expected the motel to still be open…really, I can find somewhere else to stay, I hate to impose if-“

“Oh don’t be silly!” Luda interrupted. “We’d love to have you. You’ve just gotten so pretty…hasn’t she Tommy?” Your eyes shot to a very flustered looking Thomas, his eyes fixed on his steaming bowl of stew, still untouched.

“Please dear, have a seat, you’re just in time for dinner.”

To be completely honest…you didn’t want to eat their dinner. Something about the house and their demeanor made you want to leave, but if there was one thing you learned about growing up in Texas, it was to accept the hospitality.

“Thank you, Luda Mae.” You said softly, accepting the seat beside Thomas. Charlie scooped a full ladle of soup into a bowl and set it in front of you. With clammy hands you grabbed the spoon, noticing that none of their silverware matched. The spoon you had was delicate, handle slim with swirled details adorning the shiny silver.

All of the Hewitt’s stared at you with prying eyes as you scooped yourself a bite. It contained a chunk of meat, a carrot, and an onion, along with the broth they soaked in.

The moment that stew touched your tongue, you knew something was wrong. The meat tasted off, way too gamey. You’d had your fair share of meats, different kinds of game and homemade foods made with hunting prizes but this…unlike anything you’d ever tasted. It was tender, and didn’t taste bad, but the unfamiliar taste tainted the whole soup, causing alarm bells to go off in your head.

You were soon distracted by the sounds of the family scarfing down their own dinner, spoons hitting porcelain and lips smacking. In no time, your bowl was empty, and so was everyone else’s…except for Thomas’. But, this seemed normal among dinner time as Luda Mae cleared the dishes without a word.

“Tommy. Show our guest to ‘er room for the night, would ya?”

The wooden chair screeched against the floor when Thomas stood. He just seemed to keep going…he towered over you. You craned your neck to stare at him, mouth open and eyes widening. You stood from your own chair, noticing how much larger he was than you. You stood at his chest, and he easily doubled you in width.

Without a word he started walking past you, and you figured he meant for you to follow, so you did. The more you explored the house, the less cozy it got, and by the time you made it to the guest room, it was plain and simple, just a bed with white sheets in the middle of an empty room. Thomas stood at the door, taking up the entire entrance.

“Thank you, Thomas.” You said quietly, giving him a small smile that made him turn away from you. “It’s really nice to see you.”

The longer you stared, the more you realized that he was still the same old Tommy. A gentle giant with pretty brown eyes that sucked you in until you didn’t want to look away.

Just as you were getting lost in your thoughts, Charlie shoved Thomas aside, holding your bag that you’d left in your car.

“‘Ere you go, gorgeous.”

“Thanks, Charlie…” you said softly, grabbing the bag. That was nice of him, but you don’t remember giving him your car keys…

“My rooms just downstairs if you need anythin’.” Charlie sent you an uncomfortable wink, reminding you to lock your door tonight, and walked away. Thomas stood with his head down, still in the doorway.

“Uhm…goodnight, Thomas.” You said softly, a smile gracing your face again. This time, he looked at you. And you could’ve sworn that before you closed the door, his eyes crinkled, like he might’ve smiled too. You closer the door, and grumbled at the lack of a lock, finally getting ready for bed.

A shriek yanked you from your peaceful slumber, making you sit up straight in bed. Your heart was pounding, and you reached over to turn on the small bedside lamp. You were hoping it was just a nightmare, something you could just ignore and go back to the weirdly comfy mattress but the longer you sat there, the more you heard. Footsteps, whispering…but they sounded so frantic. Not like someone getting up for a glass of water or a midnight snack.

Slowly and hesitantly, you walked towards the door and pulled it open, bare feet finding every single splinter in the floor until you were finally in the hallway, staring down the stairs in the dark with wide, fearful eyes. Everything seemed fine…until a woman stumbled into your field of vision. She was bloody, open wounds on her back in an odd spot…did she just break into the house? She was near the front door and none of the Hewitt’s were with her. You stared at her, panicking, especially when you made eye contact.

Your blood went cold and you quickly backed up, barely hanging onto the banister.

“You have to help me, please! You have no idea what is going on here, we have to get out, you have to help me!” The girl started to ramble, but her voice was a whisper-like scream. Her bloodied hands hit the stairs and she began to crawl towards you.

You stared blankly, overcome by the fear and shock of seeing her inside the home…before you knew it, she made it to you. She gripped your ankle with a sticky hand, pulling you closer to the stairs. “Please!” She hissed, her eyes wide and crazed.

Instinctively, you tried to kick her hand away from you, pulling away. You felt your breathing speed up, panic overwhelming you. “Get off me!”

Her eyes flashed with realization, and she immediately recoiled. “You…you’re one of them…oh my god!” She wailed, voice full of dread and tears flowing down her cheeks. One of them? What did that even mean? This sorrow and dread only lasted a few seconds…before she turned to rage. Her face scrunched and it was like she’d been struck by lightning, body invigorated and suddenly strong enough to function. She stood and lunged at you, hands on your shoulders.

Your breath left your lungs as she slammed you against the wall, the back of your head aching in a way it never had before. In an attempt to get her off of you, you pushed her as hard as you could, feeling the slick blood on her shoulder and her neck where your hands hit her. Your eyes were closed tightly as you shoved, but it didn’t take vision to know what happened to her. Her body stumbled down the stairs, thumping all the way down, groans and grunts escaping her as she trailed blood all the way down.

You covered your mouth with your trembling hands…you’d just killed someone…you felt nauseous, you could feel your stomach turning as you stared at her body at the bottom of the stairs, laying limp. You prayed and prayed that she’d move, but she never did. A door slammed open from somewhere downstairs and that’s when you realized…

You’d just killed someone inside of someone else’s home. Tears rolled down your face and you slid down the wall to the ground, knees shaking and unable to support your weight anymore. Heavy footsteps approached the dead body at the bottom of the stairs…and Thomas came into your field of view. He stared nonchalantly at the woman, but turned to face you when he heard your sob.

“Thomas I’m so sorry I don’t know what happened…” you whispered, face bright red from crying and entire body shaking. Thomas stood still for a moment, but when he started moving, nothing could’ve stopped him. He knelt on the stairs in front of you, huge hand taking yours.

The warmth radiated through your fingers and up into your arms, making them feel less shaky and cold and traumatized. You stared up at Thomas, bleary eyes filled with tears, realizing that he wasn’t mad…or scared…he wanted to help you. Relief overwhelmed you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moving closer to him, arms wrapped around his broad waist, head buried against his chest. With your panicking, you barely noticed the fact he wore a button up and a leather apron, droplets of blood smearing against your cheek. You didn’t care. Thomas wrapped his tree trunk arms around you and held you against him…it was like nothing else mattered. Comfort washed over you and for a moment you felt like you hadn’t just killed a woman for no reason.

“S-she just attacked me, she jumped at me and grabbed me and she was yelling and-“

Thomas’ hand gently stroked your hair as if to shush you, his cheek resting against the top of your head as he held you as close as he could.

There was nothing that would stop him from being close to you. Not the three bodies in the basement, and definitely not the bitch that hopped off the hook.