#arthur always wanting to touch like brushing their fingers against john's arms or something just because it's grounding and john

[azudarlings]

john getting a human form but being constantly overstimulated by EVERYTHING from gravity to streetlights to the feeling of having a whole body and not just two limbs and a pair of eyes to the point where being touched feels overwhelming but the constant need to be close to arthur at all times is always there in the back of his mind.

so john will end up always near arthur, almost close enough for them to touch, but not quite.

though john wants to. very, very badly wants to. it just feels like recoil, how quickly he has to pull back because he just can't get used to the feeling of being physically human and whole yet.

[cllnmurphy]

ᴡᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ

Part 2

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Summary: Liana attempts to save Tommy, until she realizes how deep the scars are, forcing her to acclimatize to her new but familiar environment.

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Liana (OC)

Word count: 2K+

Warnings: Cold shoulder, suicide, time travel, borderline depression/trauma, abusive parents, kissing

A/N: thank u for all the supporttt.Next chapter will be more juicy trust

“Death is the only certainty- and it defines your entire existence. Every action, every plan, is made under the shadow of death. You live in constant denial of it, but it drives everything”

She sits between John and Arthur, deep in her thoughts, her brows furrowed, like always when she’s concentrated. 3 months was all she had. 3 months to get into that complex wired brain of Tommy’s and exterminate the disease infecting him.

Tommy kept his eyes on her, no matter what. When Finn started to throw up, everyone started packing up to go home. She knew this was her chance. While everyone headed to the door, she tugged on Tommy’s shirt, maintaining eye contact before speaking. “Could we talk?”, he nodded, taking out a cigarette as they find our way to a booth.

She fiddled with the watch in her pocket. Why was she getting nervous?!. “I got something for you.” She handed it to him, her hand lingering on his for a moment too long. She pulls her hand back sheepishly. “You said yours was broken so..”. In return for the gift, she gets the ghost of a smile. “Thank you Lia.” He says, his calloused fingers brushing over the glass. They both look to the door, where Ada stands patting Finns back. She gets up after Tommy does. And the walls are back up again.

Before Liana can say anything, “Cmon. Let’s go now”, showing a smile as she lets Ada take her to the Shelby house with few protests. After a ton of shots, Ada and Liana eventually pass out on the couch. Liana wakes up, surprisingly sober. She looks around to find only the light from the street, when suddenly she hears footsteps. She immediately gets up, “Tom?” He grunts in response and pours himself a cup of whiskey, sitting down and spreading his legs.

She walks forward until she’s in between his legs, wanting to see his face. “Nightmares?” She receives no response, she didn’t know it had been starting again. She lifts her hand to caress his cheek, the other on his shoulder. He pulls her effortlessly into his arms, his cheek resting on her stomach, their breathing in sync. And just as quickly as he came, he got up and left.

That night had never been spoken of again. In fact, he had only distanced himself more. But she wouldn’t take that. The exact reason why she ended up at his office at midnight, knocking on his door. He opened it and sighed at the reveal, she invited herself inside, closing the door behind her. They stood in silence before she calmly said, “You didn’t tell me your nightmares started.” He drank his whiskey in one gulp before responding, “didn’t think it was important.” She scoffed, “Ofcourse it’s important. It’s you.”

He didn’t believe her words, she didn’t know how to make him. She walked closer to him until they were almost touching chests. She wanted to hug him, still grieving his death. “Talk to me. Please Tom.” She said, her eyes watering as she rested her fists against his chests. Muttering pleas and lightly thumping his chest before he grabbed her fists, causing her to look up. “Don’t cross the line.” He said coldly, she could normally read his face, but right now she couldn’t even recognize it, a side she’d only seen once. In a moment she’d never want to relive.

She had almost given up on him after he shut the door in her face. It was inevitable, although heartbreaking. How could she give up when he had held her for hours as she cried. Time had passed quickly after Tommy cut contact. It wasn’t long before Polly had shared the news of his passing, still no cause of death. Although she had experienced grief before, the pain didn’t get any better

That same day, she went to the graveyard, her hand hovering over the watch, to which she stole from his office. It was easier than she expected, out in the open, almost collecting dust. She sat down on the wet dirt and let the cold shiver down her spine, gusts of wind coming frequently. She pulled out the watch and faced his gravestone. Was she going to face disappointment again? She knew she had to go further back in time for the root cause. She clicked the button again, closing her eyes as she went through Deja vu, tears streaming down her face unconsciously. She opened her eyes, no longer red or puffy,her cheeks dry. She looked around, immediately recognizing the atmosphere. This was too early. She looked down at her dress, her favorite when she was a teenager, shortlasted ofcourse. She was 17 again. She walked to her old house, letting her fingers scrape against the brick walls and breathing in the air. She figured it was late 1913 judging by the newspapers in the local corner stop. She quietly made it upstairs to her bedroom, blocking out her Fathers senseless words. Flooded with nostalgia as she looked around, but with it also came the tainted memories. The teddy she cried for hours into, the window she would sneak Tommy in. “Liana?”

Her head jolted, but as soon as she turned, she was in the graveyard, but without the nostalgic tint, replaced by the cold and shallow colours. She looked around and realised she was back in her current timeline. Was it a dream? She turned to her right to see Ada. Had she altered reality? Made them somehow grow closer. She always wanted a sister anyways. After being asked multiple questions about context, Ada frustratedly summarized the situation, they had went to Tommy’s grave to pay respect. Ada left her to grieve and Liana stared at the tombstone, once a boy with aspirations and emotions, now nothing but one of many names. Would she get another chance to save him?

It had been a week till she had been transported to her teenage years again, the longest one ever, having not seen the sun since, from pure shock and delusion. She hadn’t realised how much Tommy influenced her behaviour. She woke up from the birds singing softly, it had been so long since she had heard it. Feeling that familiar aura again, she sits up and turns to the mirror, surprised to see her younger self in the mirror, plumper cheeks and lips. She got out of bed, braided her hair messily and put on a casual dress before going downstairs, ignoring her father’s gaze and his unholy comments. She walked to the local library to meet with Ada, on the way bumping into someone. Looking up, she went into a catatonic state, having seen the same face in her nightmares repeatedly “Liana. You look pretty today.” She nodded slowly, “George.” Now that she was looking at him, she almost laughed on how she ridiculously drooled over him. After an awkward silence, she quickly walking past him with her head down. Hopeful that he won’t notice an absence of fangirling. What a start to the day.

She walked with a faster pace until she couldn’t see his tall figure behind her anymore. When she couldn’t, she let out a long exhale and took a corner, seeing Tommy leaning on the back of a wall, smoking. She smiled and took it out of his mouth, chucking it on the ground and stepping on it while jokingly cursing at him. Who knows, maybe that could’ve saved his life aswell.

“Liana, always a pleasure.” He smiled as she started walking and he followed behind her. “Where ya going?” He asked curiously.

“Library. I’m meeting Ada to study. You coming?” She asked smiling, taking in his scent before he patted her back after nodding and crossed the street to meet John.

Walking home happily from the library, she bought two new books to read. She opened the door, surprised at the silence before her dad grabbed her. “Where the hell have you been huh? With the Shelby’s? Fucking whore.” He spat, looking down at her. She pulled away from his grasp before running up to her room after he left to get another bottle. She rested her head on her knees and cried. The last thing she wanted to do was relive this life again.

Every day had been a repeat, she had locked herself indoors after her run in with George. She had been stuck in 1913 for a week already, would that turn into forever? Maybe she could occupy herself with more books. When she was about to go to sleep, she heard a knock on her window, a rock of some sort. She opened the window, immediately getting goosebumps from the cold. She looked out to see Tommy with Arthur. With little hesitation, she quickly but quietly went down the stairs and met them. They walked until they settled on some grass in someone’s backyard with a smuggled bottle of whiskey. Sharing sips and gazing into the sky, leaning onto a rock counting each star. Their peace was broken when a loud yell was heard, and a figure holding a gun could be seen, with fast reaction, Tommy and Liana ran in the same direction, grinning ear to ear and holding hands. They hid behind a bush far from the house, hearing the curses fade out as it started to rain lightly. Liana looked at Thomas and vice versa. Their hands still intertwined, making him blush slightly. Tom leaned closer, brushing his lips against hers with heavy breaths before she was pulled in, their lips crashing onto eachother. Her hands reaching up to his shoulders as he flipped her over on top of him as to not get her already see through white dress dirty. They paused and stared at each other, Tom taking in the beauty of Liana being straddled onto his hips, her hair wet and her dress semi- see through. Liana, hungry for more, initiates the kiss first, she held his neck as her tongue explored his, her hips involuntarily moving.

She moved his wet hair behind his ears and his hands found her waist. Perfect until their intimacy was broken by laughter. “Am I interrupting something then?” They both looked at Arthur, and she quickly got off of him, trying to muster up an excuse before he walked away, still laughing and expecting them to follow. He was never going to let that go.

She laid on her bed and revised over the events, surely she would’ve changed her reality by now. Her first kiss, was no longer that douche George, but it was Tommy. Her Tommy. She woke up in her bed, and for the first time, was relieved to still be in 1913. Although the war was being dreaded, it wouldn’t be long until. She had to make the most of it before Tom left. If he did, maybe she could convince him.

She left the house early, crossing a bakery shop and buying a small pastry Tom liked before making her way to his house. She opened the door and made her way inside to his bedroom, being trained not to wake any one in the house up. When she made it she stood at his bedside and shook him violently. He groaned as he woke up but she stood smiling and shoved the custard pastry in his mouth. He must’ve thought this was heaven. “Come on. There’s a new picture in the theatre.” With little protest, he gets up, putting on a random set of shirt and pants.

She meets him outside on his porch and he laughs as he walks down the stairs, still chewing the pastry. “Did you really have to wake up so early?” She smiles as she leads him to the theatre. Tommy saw her ‘crush’ on the other side of the street, surprised that she didn’t, she was practically drooling over him every chance she got. But he didn’t want to avert her gaze anyways, he let her blabber on about whatever she was.

He squinted from the sun until they reached the shade of the theatres. After two hours of a yawn fest, She walked out disappointed, whereas he just stared at her the whole time. They walked to his house before dark, “Do you want to stay for dinner?” Tommy asked innocently, standing on his porch. She considered the question before declining, knowing the consequences of being late. “Curfew. Sorry” He nodded and he turned to walk away. She hated to see him go, He was the only good part of this timeline. “Oh also-”, broke her out of her thoughts as she looked up.

“We’re taking John out for his first drink tomorrow, you should come.” She smiled and nod, still remembering the events from her original timeline. As he turned around to open the door, she reached out and tugged on his shirt, getting immense Deja vu but brushing it off. “Wait.” He turns to her and they stand facing each other in silence before his hands cup her face, pulling her in for a kiss as their heads go in different directions. She pulls away and smiles, leaving him breathless as she skips home.

Her dad was watching television when she came home, too lazy to question her and her mother didn’t care enough. She read her book before going to sleep, briefly touching her lips before going to sleep

The next evening she sat at her vanity, doing some light makeup before going to the bar they agreed to meet at. Getting in without being checked and finding the brothers sat at a booth, she finally noticed the way Tommy’s eyes sparked when she walked in, the way his back straightened. She sat down across from him and watched the drinks come and go, how John got absolutely zozzled, but also how Tommy’s eyes kept drifting to hers to see if she was laughing too.

Although her mind was occupied, She wondered how much had changed in her reality, if anything.

To be continued..

[istayniche]

Red Dead But It's...

Vampires: Kingdom of the Night

Tags: ArthurxOFC, JohnxOFC, vampire!Arthur, horror, slow burn, SA! mentioned

Chapter Summary: Odette and Arthur follow a trail of clues that ends with an unexpected development in Arthur's gift.

MASTERPOST

Chapter 15

Words: 3,993

The alley reeked of stale whiskey and piss, the kind of stench that conteibuted to the grime of Saint Denis like mud to a pig. Odette stepped over a puddle of murky water, her senses sharp. Dawn was creeping in, the sky a pale gray, but the shadows still hung stubbornly on the narrow passage.

Arthur walked a few paces behind. He crouched by a smashed crate, fingers brushing over the splintered wood.

“Blood,” he muttered. He sniffed the air. “Not old, either. Fresh.”

Odette moved closer, her eyes scanning the ground. A faint trail of crimson droplets led deeper into the alley. She knelt beside him, her gloved hand tracing the edge of the stain. “Human?”

His face screwed up tight, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. “Yeah,” he said finally, standing. “Human.”

She rose with him. The bite on his neck was mostly healed now, but it still stood out, a jagged scar against his skin. She’d seen him use his fear sense more and more these past weeks, his ability sharpening with every hunt.

His quick progression unsettled her. She knew how easily such power could twist.

“We’ll find them,” she said.

He grunted, moving further down the alley. Odette followed.

Up ahead, a door stood slightly ajar, the wood splintered near the latch. Arthur paused, revolver out. Odette touched his arm, stopping him. “Let me.”

She stepped past him, pushing the door open with a gentle nudge. The room beyond was dark, stagnant with a copper-sweet heaviness that clung to the back of Odette's throat. Her nostrils flared against the signature of blood. A single chair lay overturned, and the floor was streaked with long, smeared handprints.

Odette knelt, her fingers pointing out patterns in the blood. “Struggle,” she murmured. “They fought hard.”

She stood. For a moment, their eyes met, and she saw the restlessness in his. She'd overheard them wake up, he and John. The nightmares they shared about Dutch were vivid, she knew, but he never spoke of them. She didn’t blame him. She had her own demons she kept locked away.

“We need to talk to witnesses,” she said, breaking the silence. “Someone must’ve seen something.”

He nodded, turning back toward the door. “Place like this, people see plenty. They just don’t talk.”

“Then we’ll make them talk."

They stepped back into the alley, the gray light of an overcast morning peeking out. Odette adjusted her gloves, her mind already working through the next steps. She could feel Arthur’s presence beside her, solid and unwavering. There was a quiet strength in him, a determination that both impressed and unsettled her.

They moved through the alley, stopping at the first cluster of people they found huddled around a makeshift fire. The group eyed them warily, their faces gaunt and shadowed.

Odette stepped forward. “Morning, gentlemen. We’re looking for information about that break in across the way over there.”

One of the men, a wiry fellow with a scar running down his cheek, spat into the fire. “Ain’t seen nothin’."

Arthur loomed closer. “That so?” he drawled.

Odette smelled it before she saw it. Arthur’s fear sense. It always left a trace on him. The man's eyes widened ever so slightly, a faint hold of his breath. She watched as Arthur leaned in, dropping to a near whisper. “You sure about that?”

The man swallowed hard, his gaze darting between Arthur and Odette. “L-Look, I don’t want no trouble,” he stammered.

“Then tell us what you know."

The man hesitated, then nodded toward the alley. “Saw a gang of fellas draggin’ someone outta here ‘bout an hour ago. Big fellas, all wearin’ red. Looked like they was headin’ toward the docks.”

“Appreciate it,” Arthur said, straightening. He turned to Odette. “Docks?”

She nodded, her mind already racing.

They moved quickly, the streets slowly coming to life as the city woke. Odette could feel the tension in Arthur, the way his shoulders bunched with every step. She wondered if he could feel her fear, too. The fear of what he might become if he couldn’t control his hunger, his power.

As they approached the docks, the scent of salt and decay filled the air. Arthur’s steps slowed as he scanned the area. “We should split up,” he said. “Cover more ground.”

Odette nodded. “Be careful,” she said finally.

He gave her a small nod, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

Odette watched him go. She'd seen the way he looked at her sometimes, the way his eyes lingered just a hair too long, on her lips, her neck, her waist. Two centuries of life had taught Odette to recognize desire, but Arthur's was different, all tangled with fear and guilt, like he was afraid to want anything for himself after all he'd done. Still, she savoured those unguarded moments, when he crumbled ever so slightly.

She shook the thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand. The docks were lively now, workers unloading crates and shouting to one another. Odette moved among them, senses alert, mind sharp.

Somewhere out there, Dutch’s men were waiting. And she intended to find them.

Their trails eventually converged and met up at the same place.

The morgue was cold, filled with the scent of formaldehyde and death. Odette stood over the body, her gloved hand brushing over the exposed neck. The man’s throat had been torn open, the wound perfectly straight. Surgical. But it wasn’t the wound itself that made her blood run cold. It was the way the edges of the flesh were blackened, the veins beneath the skin darkened and shriveled.

She’d seen this before.

Arthur stepped into the room, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. He stopped beside her, his gaze falling to the body. “This him?”

Her throat felt squeezed at the sides. “Yes.”

Arthur studied the body. “This… ain’t fresh. He’s been drained for days, but the blood’s gone dark. Almost like it’s… burned.”

“It’s been corrupted,” she said low.

“Corrupted? What does that mean?”

Odette hesitated, her fingers twitching against the edge of the exam table. She didn’t want to tell him. Not this. Not now. But Arthur was staring at her, eyes sharp, and she knew she had no choice.

“It’s the Count,” she said, the words feeling heavy on her tongue. “This is his work.”

“The Count? Who's the Count?”

Odette sighed, stepping away from the table. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Count Ulysse Voyer.” she said carefully. “An ancient vampire. Powerful. Sadistic. He’s been alive for centuries, and he’s not the kind of creature you want to cross.”

“And he’s here? In Saint Denis?”

“I think so,” she admitted. “This… this is his mark. He enjoys leaving a trail, letting his victims rot in plain sight. It’s a game to him.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. “You know him,” he said finally.

Eyes met. “I do.”

"Care to elaborate?”

Odette hesitated. She hadn’t spoken of the Count in years, hadn’t allowed herself to think of him for too long. But Arthur was watching her, waiting, and she knew she owed him the truth.

“I wasn’t always a saloon owner,” she began softly. “I was born on a sugar plantation in Saint-Domingue. My mother was slave. I don't know who my father was. But I worked that plantation my whole human life. When the company went under, I was sold to the Count."

She noticed a subtle shift in Arthur's eyes, a momentary wavering, though his lips remained sealed.

She swallowed thickly. "I was his prize.” Her fingers tightened around her arms. “He took me to his private quarters. Violated me. Turned me.”

The mask of composure Arthur had maintained cracked slightly, the lines of his face solidifying into a shape that reminded Odette of marble statues she'd once glimpsed in the Count's grand hallways.

“After my feral period, he packed me onto a slave ship. I was caged, separated from the others after the hunger got to me one night and I… killed six people.”

“For two hundred years, I was his pet,” she trembled slightly. “He controlled me. My mind, my body. He invaded me every time I stepped out of line, showed me things I couldn’t unsee. He molded me into what he wanted.”

Arthur's fingers curled tighter, but he held his tongue.

“The war happened. Laws changed. Slavery was abolished. And when the time was right, I found my moment to break free,” she said, more firmly now. “That was just around the time you were born. I’ve been free of him ever since.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint flicker of the candle. “This Count… you're certain he’s the one who did this?” Arthur gestured to the body.

“Yes. And if he’s here, it’s not a coincidence. He’s looking for me.”

“Well, that’s just great.”

Odette didn’t respond, her focus drifting back to the body. The Count’s mark was clear. A dark, twisted signature left behind in death. She could feel his presence, his cruelty suspended in the room like a terrible stench.

Arthur stepped closer. “What do we do?”

“We find him. Before he finds us.”

 

The streets of Saint Denis were humming; carriages clattering over cobblestone, vendors hawking their wares, and the occasional shout of a drunk staggering out of a saloon. John Marston moved through it all like the wind itself, his collar pulled high, his hat tipped low. He wasn’t here for the noise, the people, or the stink of the city. He was here for the whispers. The ones that spoke of Dutch’s men, of bounties, of blood spilled in the night.

Behind him, a dozen paces back, Cécile Moreau trailed like a persistent stray. She wasn’t subtle, her wild green eyes tracking him with a ceaseless curiosity. At first, he’d ignored her, hoping she’d get bored and leave. But she didn’t. She never did.

“You plannin’ on followin’ me all day?” John finally grumbled, stopping in the shadow of an alleyway. He was annoyed and weary, too. He didn’t have the energy to fight her off.

Cécile shrugged. “Why not? You are the most interesting thing in this godforsaken city.” She crossed her arms. “Unless you’ve got something better to do?”

John scowled. “I ain’t a goddamn sideshow. Go find someone else to bother.”

She tilted her head. "But you’re so easy to bother, mon cher. It’s fun.”

"What do you even want from me? You ain’t helpin’, just lurkin’ around like some kinda... I don’t know, ghost or somethin’.”

Her smirk faded. “What do I want?” she repeated, lower, more serious. “Same as you, I think. To find Dutch. To make him pay.”

John huffed. He didn’t want to think about Dutch, not now, not ever. But Dutch was the reason he was here, the reason he couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop searching.

“I told you, Dutch ain't have nothin' to do with what happened to my family. And he ain’t gonna pay for nothin’,” John muttered. “He’s too slippery for that. Always has been.”

Cécile shook her head. “You don’t know that. He’s out there. And he’s hurting people. You and Arthur, both in denial.”

John stiffened at the mention of Arthur. He still didn’t know what to make of Arthur’s new… condition. It was hard to reconcile the man he’d known with the thing he’d become. Harder still to accept that Arthur was still Arthur, just… different.

“Arthur’s got his own problems,” John's shoulders pinched. “And Dutch ain’t the only one out there causin’ trouble.”

“No. But he’s the one who sent the men who did this to me.”

She met his eyes, unwavering. “Tell me, monsieur, how much do you know about what your precious Dutch had been up to the last few months?”

John didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this. But Cécile didn’t wait for his permission.

“His men,” she began, “they came for me. I was… I was alone. They hurt me. Took everything from me. And then they turned me into this.” She gestured to herself. “They said his name. Said it was Dutch’s orders.”

John’s stomach turned. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, that Dutch would never… But the words wouldn’t come. Dutch had always been ruthless, hadn't he?

“I didn’t see all their faces,” Cécile continued, colder now. “But their leader… He had a face like a rat. And he stank of cheap liquor and rot. He had a moustache and mean blue eyes.”

The realization hit him like a runaway train. Rat-faced, mean-eyed, and always too eager to do Dutch’s dirty work? It had to be... If she was telling the truth, if Micah was the one who’d done this to her…

No. It didn’t make sense. Dutch wasn’t like that. He was a bastard, sure, but he had lines he wouldn’t cross. Didn’t he?

John’s silence seemed to irritate Cécile. She stepped closer, voice rising. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that,” John snapped, though he wasn’t sure what he believed anymore.

“You didn’t have to.” Her eyes thinned into slits. “You think I’m lying. That I’m confused. That I’ve got the wrong men. Monsieur, let me tell you something—when someone does that to you, you don’t forget! Not their smell. Not their voices. And especially not the names they say over and over again.”

John looked away. He should be trying to argue, to defend Dutch, to tell her she was mistaken, but the pieces fit too neatly. Micah, Dutch’s attack dog, always ready to sink his teeth into whatever dirty job needed doing. If Dutch had ordered it, Micah would’ve been the one to carry it out.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

Cécile studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You didn’t know,” she repeated, softer. “But now you do. So what are you going to do about it?”

John didn’t have an answer for that. He just stood there, the noise of the city fading into a dull roar in the background. Dutch. Micah. Cécile. Arthur. It was all too much.

Cécile watched him for a moment longer, then shook her head. “You are a mess, mon cher,” she said, turning away.

John didn’t argue. He didn’t have the strength. He just followed her, his thoughts churning, the streets of Saint Denis stretching out ahead like a labyrinth with no end.

Arthur followed Odette through the narrow alleyway. The stench of rotting fish and sewage hung in the damp air, but his enhanced senses also picked up the copper tang of blood, faint but unmistakable.

"You hear that?" he whispered, catching Odette's sleeve.

She paused, head tilted. In the distance, voices murmured, too low for human ears, but clear as day to them. Arthur closed his eyes, focusing on his fear sense, letting it reach out like invisible tendrils into the darkness ahead.

"Three of 'em," he said. "One's scared. Real scared."

Odette's eyes gleamed in the darkness. "Good. Fear makes them sloppy."

They crept toward an abandoned warehouse, its windows boarded, roof partially collapsed. As they neared, Arthur caught fragments of conversation.

"He wants it done clean..."

"...can't afford mistakes..."

"...tomorrow night, just like Javier said..."

At Javier's name, Arthur paused.

They waited until two figures emerged, slipping away into the night. The third remained inside. Arthur nodded to Odette, and they moved.

The vampire never saw them coming. Arthur tackled him from behind while Odette sealed the door with a flick of her wrist, using a vial of blood at her side to shape into a barrier.

"What the—" The vampire thrashed, but Arthur held him down.

"Let's have a chat," Odette spoke gently.

The vampire snarled, revealing yellowed fangs. "I ain't tellin' you nothin'."

Arthur reached for the club at his belt; wood wrapped in silver wire that Odette had crafted. He brought it down hard across the vampire's forearm. The silver sizzled against flesh, drawing a howl of pain.

"Try again," Arthur beckoned.

"Fuck you!"

Another swing, this time to the side of his face. The crack echoed through the empty warehouse.

Odette crouched beside the young vamp, hand twisting, reaching out to the blood inside him. The blood yielding to her command, thickening the veins in his neck.

"Where is Dutch?" she asked.

The vampire's eyes bulged as the blood tightened. "Don't know... exactly."

Arthur focused, reaching out with his fear sense. Images flickered through his mind: a church steeple, a crack of lightning, Javier's face, enraged.

"He's lyin'," Arthur said. "He knows somethin' about Javier."

At the name, the vampire's fear spiked. Arthur pressed harder, drawing out the image. Javier sinking his teeth into the arm of some poor sap, then exchanging his own blood. Beside him, bodies lie stiff, scorched black.

"That what you do?" Arthur said, "Find folks for him to turn?"

The vampire's laugh came out strangled through Odette's blood-grip. "Smart boy."

Arthur brought the club down again, this time pressing it slow into his calf. "Where?"

A sizzle, then a strangled cry. "The church... old church. A few miles deep in the swamps."

Odette's eyes met Arthur's. "And Dutch?"

"Never seen him." The vampire coughed. "Just Javier. Says he speaks for Dutch."

Arthur frowned. Could Javier be acting alone? Using Dutch's name?

"What's the plan?" She pressed.

Something changed in the vampire's eyes then. A glassy, distant look, like clouds had formed in his eyes. His lips stretched into a manic grin.

"Saint Denis will be ours. A kingdom of the night."

Arthur hit him again, his head snapping to the side as blood sprayed from his mouth. "What does that mean?"

"Saint Denis will be ours. A kingdom of the night." The same words, same inflection, like a broken phonograph.

Odette tried different questions, but the response never changed. The vampire began to laugh, high and unhinged, repeating the phrase over and over.

"He's gone," Odette muttered. "Something's broken in his mind."

The vampire's laughter grew louder, more frenzied. Odette moved swiftly, drawing a silver dagger from her boot. The blade plunged into his heart, and the laughter cut off abruptly. The body crumbled, and Odette stood back. The body exploded into a misty river of blood, coating them both even though they stood several feet away.

Silence fell between them as they stood over the remains.

"Javier wouldn't do this," Arthur finally said, wiping the blood from his face with a rough. "Not unless someone was forcin' him. Maybe Dutch ain't even involved."

Indignance flared. "You still can't see it, can you? After everything?"

"See what?"

"That Dutch is behind this. All of it." She gestured at the pool of blood. "These people are just pawns to him, Arthur. Like you were."

"You don't know him."

"I know men like him. I've lived two and a half centuries watching men like him rise and fall." Odette stepped closer. "He left you to die, Arthur. He killed your family."

"You don't know that," he argued. "Could've been anyone. Pinkertons, O'Driscolls—"

"Who else knew the location of your camp besides Dutch?"

"You don't know what you're talkin' about."

Odette shook her head. "You're not this stupid, Arthur. You're just loyal to him."

"And what if I am? Loyalty's all I got left."

"No." Odette's hand found his arm. "It's not."

Arthur pulled away. "Dutch took me in when I was nothin'. Raised me like his own."

"And then abandoned you." Odette eased. "People change, Arthur. Power can change them. Especially this kind of power."

He turned from her eyes. Deep down, he knew she might be right, but admitting it felt like betraying the last twenty years of his life.

"We should go," he said finally. "Before more show up."

Odette didn't push further, but as they slipped back into the night, Arthur felt her words in the tension of his shoulders.

He trudged through the mud beside Odette, keeping his distance. The vampire's blood had begun to dry on his skin, flaking off in rusty patches that matched his sour mood.

Dutch had raised him from a wild, angry boy into something resembling a man. The possibility that the man who'd shaped him, guided him, given him purpose, could be behind all this horror was almost too much to bear.

But the evidence was mounting, and Arthur had never been good at lying to himself.

"We should check that church," Arthur muttered, breaking the silence between them.

She glanced at him, her eyes catching the moonlight. "Not tonight. We need more information."

"And what? More folks disappear while we sit on our hands?"

"More folks disappear if we walk into a trap unprepared," she countered.

Arthur bit back any further argument. Even angry at her, he couldn't help noticing how the blood spatter across her cheek emphasized the curve of her cheekbone, how her determined eyes flashed at him. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and it was really starting to grate on his nerves.

"You think you know everything about Dutch," he said low. "But you don't know him. Not like I do."

Odette stopped walking, turning to face him. "And you think you still know him? After all this?"

"Twenty years don't just vanish."

"Twenty years of him using you, Arthur." Her nose scrunched up in frustration. It made her look fierce and vulnerable all at once. "You were a tool to him. A weapon he could point."

Arthur towered near her. "That ain't true."

"Ain't it?" She didn't back down, tilting her head. "What were you to him, if not someone to do his dirty work?"

"I was his son."

"Sons don't get left behind."

"You don't know what you're talkin' about," he said again, but the conviction had drained from him.

"I know what it's like to believe in someone who doesn't deserve it."

Arthur's hands curled into fists at his sides, and she leaned in closer, angry eyes scanning his face, their noses inches apart. Blood streaked across her forehead, matted in her dark curls, yet somehow she remained dignified, regal.

They stood there, too close, the tension between them shifting into something else. Arthur became acutely aware of her scent beneath the copper tang of blood. Jasmine, sandalwood, vanilla and tobacco. Heat pooling low in his belly quicker than he could process it.

Then it happened.

A wave of sensation washed over him, similar to his fear sense but entirely different. Instead of terror, he felt desire. Hot, urgent, and unmistakably not his own. Images flashed through his mind: his hands in her hair, his mouth on her neck, their bodies pressed together against the alley wall.

Arthur stumbled back in shock. Odette's eyes went wide and her easy composure cracked for the first time since he'd known her. She knew what had happened, what he'd felt.

"I—" She started, then stopped, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "We should get back. Dawn's coming soon."

Arthur cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at her. "Right. Dawn."

The moment stretched between them, awkward and charged. Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing when his fingers came away sticky with blood.

"Need to clean up," he muttered.

Odette nodded too quickly. "Bath should be ready upstairs."

They resumed walking, a careful distance between them now. Arthur's mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. Had his gift expanded? Whatever it was, the knowledge that Odette desired him despite their arguments, despite everything, left him feeling both powerful and terrified.

By unspoken agreement, they didn't mention it. Arthur focused instead on the practical matters at hand: the church in the swamp, Javier's involvement, Dutch's possible role in all this. Anything but the way her lips had parted when he'd stepped close to her, or the sound of her pulse quickening.

Some things were better left buried.

Chapter 16

[vandermorgans]

John’s always been good at wanting.

It’s the only thing he’s ever been good at.

Wanting so bad his stomach aches, his ribs feel too tight, his throat burns with it. Wanting so hard it makes him reckless, makes him stupid.

And Dutch is so easy to want.

He moves through camp like a force of nature, all broad shoulders and slow, deliberate movements, that deep, rich voice curling through the air like smoke.

He touches people when he talks— an arm around the shoulders, a hand at the small of the back, fingers brushing against an elbow, like they belong to him, like they’re part of something bigger.

John watches.

He hangs at the edges of conversations, laughter he isn’t quite a part of ringing in his ears. He listens to the way Dutch talks to Hosea, to Javier, to Charles.

Watches the way his eyes linger on them, warm and fond.

Watches the way his hands land on Arthur’s shoulder, squeeze, and stay there.

John waits for it to be his turn.

But Dutch’s gaze passes over him too easily these days.

John doesn’t know what changed.

Maybe it’s Arthur.

Arthur, who gets all Dutch’s easy smiles and soft chuckles, who stands beside him like he belongs there, like he’s always belonged there.

Arthur, who Dutch always sees.

John feels it like a stone in his gut.

He tries anyway.

He catches Dutch in the morning, when he’s sipping his coffee by the fire, watching camp wake up.

“Morning,” John says, sliding in close, maybe too close.

Dutch hums in response, doesn’t look up.

John waits a beat, then leans in more, enough that his knee presses against Dutch’s thigh. “Sleep well?”

Dutch takes another sip of his coffee. “As well as a man can in times like these.”

John forces out a laugh, shifts even closer, til their arms brush. Dutch doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t look at him either.

Then Arthur strides over, rubbing sleep from his eyes, mumbling something about needing coffee, and Dutch’s face changes.

His whole posture shifts, loosens, something warm and indulgent coming over him as he reaches out, clasps Arthur’s shoulder, squeezes. “You just roll outta bed, son? Look like you got in a fight with your pillow.”

Arthur scoffs, mutters something under his breath, and Dutch chuckles, clapping him on the back. “That’s my boy.”

John waits.

Waits for Dutch to glance his way, to pull him into the warmth of this moment, to remind him— you’re mine too.

But Dutch doesn’t.

His attention is all for Arthur, all soft and easy.

And John sits there, stomach hollow, coffee turning bitter in his mouth.

It’s like this all day.

John hovers.

He helps Pearson with the supplies just so Dutch might see him lifting sacks over his shoulder, might call him strong boy like he used to. But Dutch walks past, deep in conversation with Javier, doesn’t even glance his way.

He lingers by the hitching posts, saddling up The Count, but Dutch just tells him to hurry up, got a job to do, son. His voice is warm but distant, like John’s just another one of the boys.

John takes his time cleaning his gun by the fire, hoping for something, some kind of acknowledgment. Dutch used to tease him about his rifle, used to smooth a hand over his back and say, Gotta keep that trigger finger sharp, boy.

But Dutch doesn’t say anything.

John clenches his jaw. Feels something ugly coil in his chest.

Maybe he’s being childish. Maybe he’s imagining things. Maybe Dutch is just busy— there’s so much going on, so many people to take care of.

John tells himself it doesn’t matter.

But later, when the sun’s setting and camp has settled into the warm glow of lantern light and low conversation, he watches Arthur throw a passing comment over his shoulder and Dutch laughs— deep and genuine, the kind of laugh John hasn’t heard from him in weeks.

And John feels something break.

Something he won’t name.

He swallows it down, turns away, fists clenched tight.

Dutch will notice him again.

He just has to make him.

John drinks that night.

Drinks more than he should, more than he can handle, and it burns something mean and sharp in his gut.

Dutch is still at the fire, still talking low with Arthur, and John’s eyes keep dragging over. He can’t help it.

The way Dutch leans into Arthur, the way Arthur grumbles and rolls his eyes but never pulls away.

The way Dutch’s hand stays on his shoulder, fingers squeezing like it’s natural, like he belongs there.

John wants it.

Bad.

His stomach twists.

He’s always been starving for it— Dutch’s attention, his approval, his goddamn hands on him.

Feels like a dog waiting for scraps, like a fool, but that doesn’t stop the ache from sinking into his bones.

Dutch used to see him.

Used to pull him close without John having to beg for it.

Used to murmur my boy against his temple, ruffle his hair, grip the back of his neck and squeeze.

John doesn’t know what he did wrong.

Maybe he never did anything right in the first place.

The whiskey sloshes in his stomach. He stands, a little too fast, a little too unsteady.

He can fix this.

Dutch just needs reminding.

He stumbles over to the fire, drops himself right into Dutch’s space.

Arthur raises a brow but doesn’t say anything, and Dutch just exhales, long-suffering but patient.

“John,” Dutch says, amusement curling at the edge of his voice. “How much have you had to drink, son?”

John grins, too wide, too sharp. “Not enough.”

Dutch chuckles. But it’s light, distant, not the way he laughs with Arthur.

Not real.

John leans in, presses his shoulder flush against Dutch’s arm. It’s stupidly warm, solid, steady. He closes his eyes for half a second, soaks it in.

Dutch shifts, clears his throat. “You alright there, boy?”

John hums. Forces himself to look up, meet Dutch’s eyes. “You used to—” He stops, swallows, starts again. “You used to hold me more.”

The words are thick, clumsy. Regret burns his throat the second they slip out.

Dutch stills.

Arthur looks away.

Embarrassment crawls hot up John’s spine.

Dutch tilts his head, unreadable. “I still hold you, John.”

John shakes his head. “Not like before.”

Dutch is quiet. The fire crackles between them.

Arthur’s fingers twitch in his lap.

John clenches his jaw, forces a smirk, tries to play it off. “‘M just sayin’— I wouldn’t mind if you got your hands on me a little more.” He lowers his voice, lets it go soft and teasing, tries to make it light. “Ain’t you supposed to be takin’ care of me?”

Dutch huffs a laugh. “I take care of all my boys.”

Not in the way you take care of Arthur.

The thought is ugly, bitter.

John’s stomach curdles.

He wants to shove Arthur off his perch, wants to tear at whatever tether Dutch has strung between them and wrap it around himself instead.

But he doesn’t.

He just leans in more, presses his face against Dutch’s shoulder, his weight into him.

Feels solid hands settle against his ribs, steadying, holding—

And then gently pushing him away.

“Go sleep it off, son,” Dutch says, quiet but firm.

And that— that— is what shatters him.

Like he’s a child.

Like he’s intruding.

Like Dutch is taking pity on him.

John stumbles back, breath tight. Swipes a hand over his face and forces out a laugh but his voice is all wrong. “Yeah. Yeah, guess I should.”

Arthur’s gaze is heavy on him, but John refuses to meet it.

He turns, walks away.

Dutch doesn’t call him back.

[queenxxxsupreme]

Defender, Protector, Keeper (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: This is one of those things I write that should have a first part but.... It doesn’t.... I do plan on making more within this little.... world??? With this mom!reader and her son Ben. So sorry for this mess. 

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: violence, nothing out of canon, Micah is mean to children, mute child (is that a warning?) fluff, Arthur being a father figureish thing, soft Arthur, I don’t know what else to tag, blood? it’s all canon to the game

Summary: Arthur steps in to help you with your son after a run in with Micah.

***

“Miss Y/L/N! Miss Y/L/N!”

You moved out of the tent upon hearing Mrs. Grimshaw calling your name. 

“Right here, Mrs. Grimshaw.” 

“There you are. Where is that boy of yours?” She looked around as if trying to peek into the tent. I’ve got a little chore for him and Jack.”

“He was just in here helping me with laundry, but he wouldn’t mind giving you a hand.” You turned to go into the tent. “Ben? Mrs. Grimshaw needs your help.”

Ben, your five-year-old son, put the clothing in his hand down and looked at you. 

“Come on with me, Ben. I’ve already got Jack over by the woods.” Susan gestured for him to follow her.

“What are the boys going to do?” You asked her. 

“Help Lenny and Sean pick some firewood. The little fellas ain’t gonna pick nothin’ but some small kindling. The fellas– Well, Lenny won’t let the boys hurt themselves.”

You fought the urge to volunteer to follow your son. It was just little kindling sticks and twigs. It wasn’t like they were going to chop down entire trees.

Susan, sensing your hesitation, stopped just at the edge of your tent.

“They aren’t going far into the woods at all, Y/N. Charles and Bill are on guard duty and Sean and Lenny are going to be with them. Nothin’s gonna happen to those boys.” She assured you.

You nodded your head, reaching down to run your fingers over Ben’s hair. 

“Go on and help Mrs. Grimshaw, Ben.”

He silently followed alongside her. 

You continued to fold laundry until it was finished. Once that was complete, you decided to go out and see if there was anything else around camp you could help with. 

It seemed to be a rather mellow evening. No one was out doing any jobs nor was anyone talking about any jobs, which was a rarity. In the three months that you had been staying with the Van Der Linde Gang, you had quickly realized their lifestyle was fast paced and there was almost always something to do. 

You made your way over towards the tent the girls in camp stayed in. 

“Hi, Y/N.” Tilly greeted you first. She was reading a book.

“Hey, Y/N!” Mary-Beth was also reading. Karen sat on a chair next to the two singing. “You wanna sit with us for a bit? You’ve been working hard all day.”

“That’s okay, Mary-Beth. I think I should go see if Ben is doing okay with Sean and Lenny.” You looked around towards the woods.

“What’s he doing with those two fools?” Tilly put her book down in her lap. 

“Mrs. Grimshaw had him and Jack helping them with firewood.”

“Last I saw, Lenny and Sean were sitting over by the fire.”

A knot began to form in your stomach. Why hadn’t your son returned to you?

You moved to search for Lenny and Sean, but they proved to be easy to find. They were sitting at a fire with a few other gang members. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” You cut off Sean. “Where is Ben at?”

“Hi, Miss Y/L/N.” Lenny gave you a charming smile. “Ben and Jack went over towards John and Abigail’s tent. Jack said they were going to play.”

“Thank you, Mr. Summers.” 

***

You did indeed find your son at John and Abigail’s tent. He sat outside of it with Jack. Jack was talking about some sort of story that Hosea had told him about a bear while your little Benny just kept playing with his half of the deck of cards. 

“Y/N.”

You looked up to Abigail. 

“Hi, Abigail.”

“I hope you don’t mind that Jack brought Ben over. I know Susan had them working earlier.”

“I don’t mind.” You shook your head, smiling. You crossed your arms as you watched Ben. Jack didn’t seem to care that Ben was silent and wasn’t responding to him. Jack had learned since you both arrived at camp that talking wasn’t something Ben did, so he usually did all of the talking for Jack. You were thankful for this. In the beginning, you weren’t sure how young Jack would react to your quiet son. 

“Do you want to sit down and have a cup of coffee with me?” Abigail asked. “I don’t usually get much down time, but neither do you. You’re always running around.”

“Have to keep busy, you know.” You chuckled a little. “Coffee sounds nice.”

The both of you got your drinks and then sat down at a table not too far from the boys. 

“They grow like weeds.” She thought out loud, shaking her head softly. “I’m gonna have to get Jack some new clothes soon. He’s about to be too big for nearly all the pants he’s got. Maybe Ben could fit into what Jack can’t wear. Ben is a little thing. That way you don’t have to go out and waste money. I mean, the clothes aren’t perfect. Jack has needed them patched more than once. But they work.”

“That’s very kind of you, Abigail. Thank you.”

She gave you a smile.

“Momma! Momma!” Jack called as he ran over to Abigail. 

Ben rushed up to you, a smile on his lips. His hair fell into his face and he tried to wipe it out of his eyes but he didn’t do too good of a job.

“Hi, love.” You smiled down at him, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Are you having fun?”

He nodded, looking over to Jack. 

“Momma, can we go give Sean his cards back?”

“Where is Sean at?” Abigail asked, looking around the camp. 

“He’s just on the other side of camp at one of the other fires.” You told her, recalling where you had seen him earlier.  

“If Miss Y/L/N says that Ben can go, then yes. You can. But you have to ask her.”

Ben tugged on your skirt as if to ask you.

“Miss Y/L/N! Can we take Sean his cards?” Jack waved the stack of cards around.

“I don’t see why not.”

“I’ll race you over there!” 

You watched as Jack took off first with Ben just behind him. 

“I’m glad Jack finally has someone to play with and keep him company.” Abigail smiled. 

“They get along so well.” You nodded. “I was a little…. worried at first, if I’m honest.”

“Oh really?”

“Just because…. Well, sometimes it’s hard for Ben.”

Abigail nodded her head understandingly. 

“He’s a sweet boy, Y/N. You raised him well.”

“Thank you-,”

“You dumb little rat! Watch where you’re going next time!”

You stood up upon hearing the sound of shouting. Feeling the urge to find out what had happened, you ventured across camp until you found your son and Micah Bell. Micah had a hold of Ben’s arm and was holding him at an awkward angle. 

“When someone speaks to you, little boy, you’re supposed to answer them!”

“Micah!” You raised your voice. 

Micah turned his head to look at you but didn’t let your son’s arm go. 

Anger bubbled in your veins. 

“Ah, the whore. Maybe someone better teach this boy manners before he ends up worse than his ma.”

You pushed against Micah’s chest. Ben was crying at this point, trying to grab onto your skirt anywhere he could but Micah was finding amusement in pulling the boy away from you. 

“Micah! Get your hands off of that boy!” Abigail shouted. 

The next few moments happened all too quickly for you to know what exactly happened. But Micah released Ben and he fell backwards to the ground. Your hand flew up to smack him and you landed a nice hit on his cheek, but he was quicker than you and far more skilled in fighting so the backhand to your cheek came out of seemingly nowhere. 

You took a few steps back to keep from falling flat on your ass. You ended up hitting something solid. A hand found your side and another your arm. 

It was Arthur Morgan. He only took a couple seconds to make sure you were steady on your feet before moving around you to deliver two punches to Micah. The nasty man fell back as blood began to pour out of his nose. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Abigail rushed to one side of you and Mary-Beth came to the other. 

You didn’t answer them. You only pushed them away to get to your son. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sat in the dirt where he had fallen. 

There was a hand on your wrist that stopped you just before you could get to him. 

Arthur turned you back around to face him. You pulled against him, wanting desperately to get to your son.

“You’ve got blood on ya, pumpkin.” He murmured quietly, using his thumb to wipe away the little bit of blood from your busted lip. “He don’t need to see that.”

“Th-Thank you.” You whispered. 

“Can I pick him up? Move him somewhere else for you?”

You nodded. 

Arthur let you go and moved towards Ben. 

“Come here, Benny. You alright?”

Ben nodded his head, shyly tucking his face into Arthur’s neck.

Arthur took him to a table and sat him down on it, then pulled out a chair for you. But you couldn’t sit down just yet. You had to make sure he was okay. 

Your hands cupped his face and tilted his head up so you could check him over for any marks. 

“Are you okay, love? Does anything hurt?”

He held up his hands to you, showing that his palms were scraped up and bleeding a little. He sniffled, his bottom lip quivering. 

“I’ll get somethin’ to clean those up, Y/N.” Mary-Beth spoke, moving towards Strauss’s wagon.

Upon seeing the scratches and bleeding scrapes from Ben falling back and catching himself on his hands, anger welled up inside of Arthur. 

He turned and started to make his way towards Micah. 

“Arthur! Arthur Morgan!” Abigail called after him, but she couldn’t stop him herself. “John! Mr. Smith! Please!”

You couldn’t pay attention to what was happening with Arthur right now. Ben was important and took priority. 

You brushed his hair back and sat down in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry you got hurt, love.” You leaned forward to kiss his cheek. 

He wrapped his arms around your neck, careful not to touch you with his injured hands, and then slid down into your lap. 

A few moments later, Mary-Beth returned with a bowl of water and a few rags. Tilly was with her too, helping to carry bandages. 

“Are you alright, Benji?” Tilly asked. He nodded his head without lifting it from your chest. “He didn’t get too hurt by that nasty Micah, did he?”

“Think it just spooked him more than anything.” You answered her. “Thank you, girls.”

The items were placed on the table and then they left. 

“Ben, I need you to sit on the table so I can reach you, love.”

He shook his head. 

“We’ve got to get these scratches cleaned up, okay? We don’t want them to get yucky.”

A hand found your shoulder. You looked to see Arthur moving around your chair. 

“Lemme give ya some help. That way Benny can stay on your lap where he’s comfortable.”

You nodded your head, giving him a little smile as a thank you. 

“Hey, Benny? Can I see your hands?”

Benny shifted around on your lap so that he could easily face Arthur. He gave Arthur one hand. 

“This might sting just a bit, but I promise it’ll be over soon.” 

Arthur got a rag wet and began to clean the dirt and little bit of blood from Ben’s small palm. 

“You’re a strong fella, Benny. You know that?”

Ben sniffled. 

“I heard you helped Sean and Lenny with getting firewood. Did you carry all the big logs by yourself?”

A little grin tugged at your son’s lips. He shook his head. 

Once he was cleaned up and Arthur had carefully wrapped up his hands, Ben looked around for Jack. He was with Hosea. The two weren’t very far away at all. Ben shimmied down from your lap but stayed by you. His eyes were focused on Jack. He wanted to go play with his friend. 

“You can go on, love.” You told him. He flashed you a little toothy smile before taking off in the direction of Hosea and Jack. 

Arthur stayed on his knees beside you for a few moments, watching Ben go. He let out a breath through his nose and shook his head. 

“That bastard is lucky I don’t put a bullet in him.” He rose to his feet, shaking his head. 

“Ben is okay, Arthur.” You turned your head to look at him. “He just…. He was just shaken up a bit. But he’s okay.”

“He hit you too. No man should ever treat a lady like that.” 

You admired his words, the way he viewed things. 

A little smile came to your lips and you watched him sit down next to you. 

“Well, Mr. Morgan. Not everyone has the same ideals as you.”

Arthur shook his head, fingers curling into a fist. He was still worked up over the situation. 

“It’ll be okay, Arthur.” You reached over to place your hand on his. “I can take a hit just fine. But I do appreciate you stepping in. It was really kind of you to help clean up Ben.”

He became a bit sheepish at your words, tipping his head down so you couldn’t see his eyes completely thanks to the brim of his hat. He cleared his throat. 

“Just-Just hate seein’ the little guy cry is all.”

You smiled a bit and gave his hand a squeeze before moving away from the table he sat at. 

Arthur watched you leave, then turned his head to watch the two youngest members of the gang with Hosea. Hosea was telling a story while Jack and Ben listened. 

Arthur turned his head back to see where you had gone off to. You were standing with Abigail near Pearson’s tent. Abigail said something that caused you to look at Arthur, a smile pulling at your lips then you looked back at her, shaking your head and bringing your hand up to cover your mouth. It was a poor attempt to hide a giggle. 

Arthur fixed the hat on his head and decided to go towards his horse. 

“When are you gonna tell her?” Charles spoke from his horse. He was messing with a strap of Taima’s saddle. 

“Tell her what?”

Charles rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

“I’m not oblivious to it, Arthur. I don’t think any of us in camp are.”

“To what?”

“That you fancy her.”

Arthur mounted his horse, shifting around in the saddle a bit.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Smith.” He adjusted his hat. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t.”

“You wanna come with me? Or keep standing there goin’ on about it?”

Taglist: @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql @brooke-supernatural16 @lassiee @hocdolliday @micahs-bird 

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[cherienymphe]

Gangsta’s Paradise (Michael Gray x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON BORDERLINE NON-CON, blackmail, loss of virginity, (for the sake of this fic let’s pretend that Finn Cole is taller than what he is okay)

! DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

summary: an agreement with the Peaky Blinders is almost a done deal...until you catch the eye of Michael Gray. You’re suddenly thrust into the equation, and your father must decide between losing everything or losing you.

~

Soft lips brushed over your bare shoulder, even softer hands guiding the strap of your slip down your arm, fingers dancing along your skin. Despite the cold weather outside, your room was sweltering, and you pinned it onto the man behind you...the man who was currently unwrapping you like a gift. With fear coursing through your frame, you realized that in a way, you were a gift. A pretty little gift given to the big bad gangster in exchange for resources and protection and whatever else your family needed.

Your eyes fell closed, and you thought back to the day where your father’s desperation had first begun. Desperation that you had ultimately underestimated.

You had been nervous as you tended to the dishes that day, glancing at the clock every now and then. Cleaning and tidying up was how you coped, how you attempted to calm yourself. It normally worked, but today was an exception. Looking around, you realized that there was nothing else to clean, and with a sigh, you leaned against the wall, biting your lip.

The rest of the family had gone to Birmingham. They’d gone to handle...business, and you being the only girl in the family since your mom died, you weren’t allowed to have a hand in the business. It had been a great deal of bitterness for you for years, ever since you were old enough to understand what was really going on, but now you had gradually accepted your father’s reasoning.

Your father and brother and uncles had left early, taking some of their best men with them. You knew they only did that for serious matters, and you had been worried ever since you saw them leave. You had scrubbed the house from top to bottom, and now you had nothing to do but wait. It was fortunate that you didn’t have to wait for much longer, hearing several cars come down the driveway.

No one greeted you when you opened the door, faces pinched and sullen, and you knew then that things didn’t go as expected. The only one to acknowledge you was your father, the older man pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before trudging inside with the rest. You swallowed, conflicted on whether or not you should say anything, but your worry got the best of you.

“How did it go?”

Before your father could answer, you heard your brother slam his hand into the wall, the pictures shaking from the force.

“Peaky fucking Blinders,” he spat, and your blood ran cold.

Your eyes met your father’s, and he gave you a look as if to say leave it alone, but you were in shock. You had never imagined that your family would start doing business with the likes of them. Everyone had heard of them, knew who they were and what they did, and the thought of your family being involved with them in any way was a terrifying one.

Everything those men touched turned to poison

“Father,” you had chided as soon as you walked into his office moments later.

From behind his desk, he held a hand up, the other pressed to his forehead as he sighed.

“Not now, Y/N,” he said, sounding tired.

“You promised that things would be different,” you whispered, ignoring his words. “You told me that we would start becoming legitimate, legal. That we’d start doing things right.”

“Y/N-.”

“You promised.”

He slammed his hand down onto the wood, making you wince.

“They’ve got their hand in every cookie jar that matters. Thomas Shelby is a political man, now-.”

You cut him off with a scoff, folding your arms over your chest.

“Only a fool would get mixed up with the likes of them.”

He shot you a scathing look, and you swallowed, looking away with a sigh.

“We need their influence, their resources...their allyship.”

Your eyes widened at this, realizing that your father intended for much more than a one time business deal.

“You can’t be serious,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond right away, simply heaving a sigh before turning his attention to the paperwork before him.

“I will do my best to keep you away from all this, but prepare yourself for seeing a lot more of them, eh?”

He didn’t say anything more, and when it became apparent that that was the end of the discussion, you turned and left. You could hear your brothers and uncles murmuring in the kitchen, going over the day’s events, no doubt, and you made your way upstairs. You never knew exactly what it was that your father sold, but you figured that drugs and alcohol was the gist of it. He’d been in the business for a long time, and he’d made a promise to you that he was going to put a stop to it. That he’d start making money the right way.

Getting mixed up with the Shelbys, the Peaky Blinders, was not the way to go about it.

You understood the appeal though. They had power, resources, influence. With them as an ally, people would think twice about screwing your family over...but was it worth it? Was it worth the increase in violence? Putting the family in the kind of danger you could never even imagine? Was it worth the devastation and death that seemed to follow them like a plague? The answer was simple.

No.

Your father didn’t seem to care about any of that though. Day in and day out, for weeks, you watched your family leave early in the day and return late in the evening, looking more irritated than they did the previous day. It was safe to say that negotiations with the Peaky Blinders was not going as expected. The frustration and annoyance was plain as day on your father’s features, and even though nary a word was uttered to you about anything, you could feel the tension mounting in the air.

The first time you actually met someone of the infamous family, it was a Wednesday. It was a rare day within the past few weeks in which your father was at the house. He had been holed up in his study all day when there was a knock on the door. You had blinked in confusion, trying to recall if your father had mentioned anything about company, but you had only just begun to move when you heard your father’s heavy footsteps traveling down the hallway.

“Stay back.”

Normally you would have argued against him, especially with a tone as harsh as his had been, but something in his voice made you listen. There was something in his eyes, something in the way he walked that made you understand the severity of the situation. You remained in the living room, listening as your father answered the door, unfamiliar voices eventually joining his.

Two men who you’d never seen before joined him in the hallway, standing between the kitchen and living room. You had slowly put your book down, story long forgotten at the sight of the strangers, and your movement caught their attention. Both of them were wearing hats and long coats, but you could still tell that their hair was dark. The lankier of the two was a bit taller, a mustache adorning his face while the other moved a toothpick around between his lips, a faint smirk crawling onto his face at the sight of you.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart,” the taller one greeted, and you quietly returned the greeting.

Your father cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

“Arthur, John...this is my daughter, Y/N. She likes to look after the house when I’m gone.”

It was the truth. After your mother’s death, the house was where you felt most comfortable, and you were more than happy to lock yourself in its walls. Especially while the rest of your family ventured out.

“Darling, this is John and Arthur Shelby. I’ve been doing some business with them, remember?”

You fought the urge to sneer at your father, keeping your gaze on the strangers in your home instead.

“Of course. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said with a tense smile.

Knowing you so well, your father could recognize the displeasure on your face, and if the other men before you noticed it too, they didn’t speak on it. You watched as they followed your father upstairs to his study, the younger of the two tipping his hat to you before departing. You remained there for a time before slowly exhaling, turning to make your way outside. You paid no mind to how long they stayed, spending the rest of your day away outside in your garden. Your mother always kept one, and you had done the same since she died.

That was the first of the few times you ran across Arthur and John Shelby. They were the only two that ever came by the house, greeting you with tipped hats and secretive smiles. You had grown somewhat used to their presence and faces, but not enough to be completely comfortable around them. You didn’t meet the rest of them, didn’t meet him, until weeks later.

“What?” you had breathed, staring at your father in disbelief. 

You watched as he rubbed his forehead, face pinched and eyes clouded over, telling you that he disliked this as much as you did.

“You’ll come to the next meeting with us,” he repeated, and you let out a sharp breath.

So you had heard him correctly.

“...why?” you eventually asked, sounding much calmer than you actually were.

“I know you hate them, but those Shelbys do have some morals about them. Things have been rather tense lately. It seems that we just can’t come to an agreement,” he sighed out, leaning against his desk. “...and I fear that things could become...rowdy.”

He didn’t continue, but you were smart enough to guess where this was going. When the realization hit you, your heart dropped, and you stared at your father like he was a stranger. The man you knew, the man your mother had married, would’ve wanted you as far away from any business dealings as possible. Somehow, the very same man was standing before you and suggesting…

“You think my presence at the meeting will make them behave...make them think twice about doing anything...violent,” you murmured, more to yourself than him.

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to, and you clenched your jaw.

“...and if it doesn’t-?”

“It will,” he argued.

“...but if it doesn’t…” you repeated with more force. “...then what? What will you do if they bring out the guns and razor blades right there? What will you do if they decide to use me to make you agree to their terms?”

Your father was silent, and you stepped towards him, eyes pleading.

“What will you do then?”

You watched as he straightened, standing to his full height as he looked down his nose at you. It was like you were looking at a completely different person, someone who wasn’t like your father at all. As you eyed him, you could see the stress on his face, the strain in his muscles, the conflict in his eyes. You’d had your suspicions that your family’s business with the Peaky Blinders was more serious than you could’ve imagined, but the toll it was clearly taking on your father confirmed it.

Even if you didn’t agree with what was going on, how your father went about getting what he so clearly needed and wanted, it was obvious that this was important to him. Since the death of your mother, very few things brought your father happiness. Very few things even halfway satisfied him, and hoping that this would, shoulders sagging with defeat, you agreed.

This was how you found yourself seated beside your father at none other than The Garrison. The pub was empty of any patrons or staff, only those important to the meeting present. Thomas Shelby, the man himself, was seated across from your father. He was as intimidating as you always believed he’d be, smooth voice having done nothing to calm you when he introduced himself.

John and Arthur, the two you were familiar with, were on his right while two more men by the name of Isaiah and Finn were on his left. They were one short in comparison to your father, his two brothers, your two brothers, and yourself, but an empty chair told you that one more was on their way. Seeing that the meeting had already begun, you deduced that their tardiness wasn’t a concern. Considering the nature of the meeting, a whole bunch of words that could be summed up into “who controls what”, you envied the mystery person’s absence. 

For minutes now, you had contributed nothing, but then again… That wasn’t your purpose. No, the purpose of your presence was to keep the men in line. Your entire purpose was to play on what few morals the men had, and you fought to hold in a laugh. With every member of your family being armed, you wondered if your father even believed this would work. Too busy stewing over how your father had purposely put you in harm’s way, you didn’t take notice of the pub door opening.

You were only pulled from your thoughts when the sound of footsteps finally registered. Considering that your back was to the door, you couldn’t see their face, and you didn’t want to appear nosey or unprofessional or draw attention to yourself in any way really by turning to look. You only glanced up when he finally came into your line of sight, and you observed him in the same manner that you did all the others.

Something about him reminded you of Thomas, but his features were much softer, not so harsh. However, that made him no less intimidating. He wasn’t sporting a hat, dark hair neatly pushed away from his face, and something about him was different from the rest. On his own, he didn’t look like he belonged with the rest of them, and as Thomas explained that he was their chief accountant, you got the feeling that that was purposely done. He introduced the man as Michael Gray, his cousin, and losing interest once again, you looked away.

You played with your fingers beneath the table, wanting to desperately be anywhere but here. You had a feeling that you’d get your wish very soon, taking note of the change in tone in your father’s voice. He sounded happier, relieved, and you glanced up at him, his relief contagious. As you did so, your eyes briefly connected with that of the newcomer, Michael, and you quickly looked away. Even still, you could feel the weight of his stare, and you reluctantly returned it.

He didn’t look the least bit ashamed at having been caught, bringing his cigarette up to his lips, a thick coil of smoke escaping them moments later. His face was hard to read, and you felt yourself frowning slightly. You blinked, eyes trailing to your brother on your father’s other side, but he seemed invested in the meeting. Everyone seemed to be...everyone but you and the man named Michael.

When your eyes met his again, it was just in time to watch him lean over, lips at his cousin’s ear as he whispered something to him. His gaze held yours the entire time. You glanced around again, feeling as if there was a meeting within a meeting going on, and you were the only one to notice. Brushing off the unease you felt, you sat back in your chair, eyes on the table. It was hard to ignore the heavy gaze that pinned you to your seat, but you fought to manage.

Especially since it seemed that an agreement was finally being made.

However, that sinking feeling in your chest traveled to your gut, settling there as you watched John move to whisper something to Thomas. The man, the leader of this great gang, paused for the briefest of moments. It happened so quickly, and John was back in his seat as if nothing had happened, and while Thomas’ words did not falter, the way his eyes briefly flickered to you had you straightening in your seat.

Your eyes fell onto the blue-eyed newcomer again, and he took another drag of his cigarette. Every single one of them wore smug expressions, from the first moment you’d been introduced to every individual man, you noticed that they all looked as if they owned the world. Michael Gray was no different, but the way he looked at you made you want to be as far away from here as possible. As more tendrils of smoke left his pink lips, you noted that he didn’t look at you like he just owned the world. He looked at you like he owned you too.

“Everything does seem to be in order, but...there is another matter I think we should discuss,” you heard Thomas Shelby say.

You looked to him, watching as he stood, his family following his lead and your family following theirs. You tightened your coat around you as Thomas gestured for your father to follow him into the back. His absence made you nervous, but you simply stepped closer to your brother as you watched him follow the other man.

“Let’s wait outside,” your brother said, and eager to be out of here, you hastily agreed.

Your other brother remained inside with your uncles while you followed Matthew, the middle child of you three, outside. 

“You alright?” he asked you as soon as you were in the fresh air. “You looked a bit tense in there.”

You watched him light a smoke, and you glanced away.

“The other one...the cousin, Michael… How much do you know about him?”

Matthew shrugged, exhaling.

“Not much. Doesn’t say much at the meetings, mostly handles the money,” he told you.

That did little to ease you.

“Why…?”

You were just about to tell him the reason for your curiosity when the door to The Garrison came flying open. You watched in shock as your father came storming out, your other brother and uncles hot on his tail.

“What’s going on?” Matthew asked, just as alarmed as you were.

Instead of an answer, your father simply grabbed your arm, and yanked you along. You almost tripped over your feet, and you looked at your father like he’d lost his mind. His face was clouded over, eyes thunderous, and you wondered what had happened in such a short time.

“What-?”

“Quiet,” he hissed, sounding the angriest you’d ever heard him, and your eyes widened at this.

“...but-.”

“I said quiet! Get in the car,” he spat.

He didn’t give you a chance to listen, opting for shoving you inside himself. Your foot was barely inside when he slammed the door shut, and you stared at the window in shock. Matthew joined you and your father in the car while the rest piled into the other vehicle. Your confusion only grew as the car roared to life, and you glanced up then to rest your eyes on a familiar face.

He leaned against the door to the pub, a fresh cigarette held between his lips as he lit it. His blue eyes were focused entirely on you, even as the smoke clouded his view and your father began to drive off, he didn’t appear to be interested in anything else but your trembling frame.

You sat at the dining table in shock, listening to the muffled sound of your father’s angry voice that traveled from his study. He was in there with the rest of the family, and he’d been in there for hours. He had barely looked at you when you all came home, heading straight for his office as he ordered the rest of the family inside. There was an unspoken agreement that that did not include you.

Still, the uneasiness from the meeting remained. You could still feel the heated gaze of the blue-eyed man, smell the smoke that drifted from his lips, see the way he watched you as he whispered to John. You could see the way Thomas had looked at you as John whispered to him, and this was what made you press your ear to your father’s study door hours earlier. This was what drove your curiosity to discover just what happened when you and your brother left.

“He wants her,” your father had forced out, sounding like he was going to be sick.

There was a long pause, and you had frowned in confusion.

“Who?” your other brother, Nathaniel, had eventually asked.

“The Gray kid! Polly’s son,” he spat as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He wants her.”

You could hear your father’s heavy breaths, hear him pacing, and the confirmation that the discussion was about Michael Gray did nothing to quell your confusion. The silence that followed was loud and heavy, something unspoken in the air that you had yet to understand.

“...what?” you heard one of your uncles murmur.

Your father heaved a sigh, sounding much calmer now.

“They are...prepared to meet us more than halfway if we let him have her,” he slowly said. “Everything we’ve been working towards, everything we’ve been yearning for… It could be ours in a matter of hours if we let him have her.”

“No!”

Nathaniel’s voice could be heard before your father even finished.

“Absolutely not-.”

“Nathaniel…”

“You’re not considering this...are you? Father…”

“They’ve given us the day to think it over-.”

“What is there to think about? She’s our sister, your daughter, not some whore on the street,” Matthew interrupted, his words making you freeze.

Bile threatened to spill from your lips as you stared at the door, slowly backing away, their voices becoming less clear as you did so. Your back was pressed to the wall as the truth settled over you, and you suddenly felt foolish for failing to put it together sooner. Your stomach swirled, fear settling into your bones, and before you knew it, your head was in the commode, expelling everything you’d eaten that day. The tears had come shortly after, and that was how Matthew found you hours later, sitting at the table with tears in your eyes.

“I know you heard,” he said, sitting across from you.

You hesitantly looked up at him as he poured a glass of whiskey.

“You never could keep your nose out of things. Told you years ago to stop listening in on father’s conversations-.”

“Well, I’m glad I did this time,” you tearfully spat.

Matthew sighed, sliding the glass towards you.

“I think you deserve it tonight,” he said as you threw him an odd look.

Your shoulders sagged, and you gratefully accepted it, scrunching your face up at the strong taste that hit your tongue. The both of you sat there in silence for a while, listening to your father’s muffled voice, and you took another sip.

“What’s he going to do?”

Your fear must have been evident because his hand rested on yours on the table.

“Hey...he’s not going to agree, alright? He would never…”

You shook your head before he even finished, sniffling as you took another sip.

“I don’t know, Matthew. I don’t know,” you breathed.

Your eyes met his, and he frowned at you.

“These past few months or so… He’s been different, and you know it. He’s made deals before, but it’s different this time. Everything he’s ever wanted is so close. It’s different this time, and you know it, Matthew.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. You both knew that it was different this time, and you shuddered to think about what tomorrow would bring.

The next day came and went, much to your relief, and although you were glad that your father didn’t give into the Peaky Blinders, into what they wanted from you...what he wanted from you, it was still an unacknowledged elephant in the room. They still left the house for business, but you didn’t know if it was with the Blinders or not. You shuddered to think of how that conversation went when your father refused their offer. 

You got the feeling that they weren’t used to not getting their way.

It was three nights later, three nights since that fateful meeting in which you’d caught the eye of Michael Gray, that you left your room to get a glass of water. The house was dark and quiet, an unusual sight seeing as at least one brother was usually up late in the kitchen, drinking or having a smoke. That wasn’t the sight that greeted you.

The kitchen was empty of anyone else, and you drank your water slowly. You hoped that things would be better now. You recalled how relieved your father had looked over the past few days, how much softer his features looked, and you desperately hoped that it was because the family was finally on the right track. You made your way back into the hall, glass pressed to your lips, when you paused.

The only light in the living room came from the moon, it’s rays bleeding through the windows and onto the furniture. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take note of the shape that didn’t belong. The shape of a man. Light flooded the room, and all of your breath left you, glass shattering at your feet.

You stared at him in shock, taking in everything from his neat hair to his shiny dark shoes. He was dressed much like he was the first day you met him, a dark grey almost black looking suit hugging his frame. He leaned back in your father’s chair, nursing a glass of Brandy, and it was then that you realized he’d been here for a while.

“Father!”

It was instinctual now, how your father was the first person you ran to. He didn’t respond, and you called for him again, cutting yourself off when a smirk slowly danced along Michael’s lips. Your mind whirled, and dread filled you.

“What are you doing in my house? Where is my father?”

A small chuckle escaped him, eyes twinkling with mirth as he slowly pulled out a cigarette. 

“What do you think I’m doing here, love?”

Your entire body froze, the implication behind his words clear, and you shook your head. You called for Matthew...then Nathaniel...then your uncles and your father again. The only thing that met you was silence, and your throat felt incredibly thick all of a sudden. The weight of your predicament fully settled over you, and you slowly shook your head.

“No,” you breathed in disbelief. “...no.”

The man before you didn’t respond, simply pressing the cigarette between his lips, reaching in his pockets for a light, no doubt.

“I don’t believe you.”

That was what you said, what your lips formed, but your heart and your head didn’t agree. Something didn’t feel right from the moment you woke up, and a part of you that you desperately wished would shut up did believe him. 

“Do you really think your father would allow anyone into his home without his knowledge or permission?”

You watched him pull a drag, smoke filling the air, and you stumbled back, running for the door. You didn’t hear him behind you, and for that you were relieved, but your relief was short lived. Upon swinging the door open, you were met with the sight of John and Arthur Shelby dawdling in your driveway. They appeared to be having a conversation when you opened the door, their voices abruptly cutting off at your appearance. John simply smirked at you from around the smoke in his mouth, Arthur tipping his hat towards you.

“‘Ello, sweetheart.”

With a shriek, you slammed the door shut in their faces, chest heaving with uneven breaths as the situation fully resonated with you. You stumbled back further into the hallway, and Michael was still in the same place as before, nursing a cigarette as you fought to figure out a way out of this.

“You can’t...you can’t do this,” you eventually murmured, glaring at him.

Michael simply fixed you with an even stare, smoke escaping from his nose, the cigarette dancing between his fingers.

“I’m a Peaky Blinder, love. I can do whatever I want.”

He said it with so much conviction that you knew he believed it, and the longer you stared at him, the more you believed it too. You warily glanced around, telling yourself that you might actually have to fight this man, might have to fight to protect what your father had wrongly given away. Even though part of you denied it, you slowly accepted that Michael was telling the truth. Despite the fact that your family’s business and even lives were at stake, your father had no right to trade away what didn’t belong to him.

Michael’s eyes never left you as you stood there, and you finally looked to him again when he cleared his throat. The cigarette rested between his lips as he slipped out of his jacket, and you swallowed at the dark look in his eyes. He took another drag.

“Before you do...whatever it is that you’re about to do…”

He parted his mouth, the smoke swirling in there for a bit before pressing his lips together, tendrils escaping his nose.

“You should know that I’ve shot men in the head with no hesitation. I drug my blade across a man’s throat once and reveled in the taste of his blood on my lips.”

You flinched, taking a step back.

“When Tommy first tried to scare me away, threaten to send me back to the village in which I grew up… I told him about a well there, that I’d blow it up with dynamite if he made me go back...didn’t care if my hands went with it.”

He finished his cigarette, putting the rest of it out, eyes boring into yours as he slowly exhaled the smoke he’d been holding in.

“I just knew it’d be worth it to see those pretty white bricks all over that pretty village green...and I meant every word of that.”

You didn’t respond, and his blue eyes slowly dragged over every part of you, taking you in from your hair all the way to your bare feet, lingering on the thin nightgown in between.

“It’s something about the violence, you see.”

His words unnerved you, and he continued.

“The violence, the blood...the fight...it does something to me. Gets me excited, all riled up, so please…”

He gestured towards you, eyes glinting with something that made your heart stop.

“Do fight back, hit me even… It’ll just make me want to fuck you that much harder.”

The tears finally skipped down your cheeks, and you stumbled back as he stood to his full height. With a shaky breath, you staggered up the stairs, running to the last room at the end of the hall, a guest room. You were quick to pull the window up, looking down below in worry. It was high up, that was for sure, but the alternative was worse.

Before you could even get a foot out, warm hands pressed into your stomach, pulling you back against a broad chest. A startled scream left your lips, and Michael’s hands traveled to your arms, fingers pressed into your skin as he held you tight. You leaned your head away from him as he pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in.

“Your father made a big mistake bringing you around us, eh?”

You couldn’t will your lips to move, too paralyzed with fear and nerves and anxiety for the unknown. The way he touched you was foreign, the scent that clung to him, a mix of cologne and expensive liquor and cigarettes, was foreign. The creeping sensation that blanketed your body was foreign. All of this was foreign, and more tears pooled within your eyes as the inevitable drew closer.

“He thought you’d keep us in line, keep us on leashes...but ever since I saw you, the only thing I wanted to do was take you like a fucking animal.”

You jerked in his hold, fighting to get away from him, but Michael tsk’d. 

“Let’s not spoil this, hmm? You seem like a good girl...if you catch my drift.”

More tears fell at his words, and he hummed.

“You do. You strike me as a well behaved lady of the house...and you girls like for this to be special, yeah? All gentle and loving,” he slowly mocked as he forced you towards the bed.

He shoved you onto it, knees pressing down on either side of you soon after, preventing you from going anywhere. Your tears soaked the sheet, and Michael’s fingers ghosted over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I want you to look at me as I fuck you.”

He gently turned you over onto your back, and you stared up at the man before you. Even in the darkness, you could see the blue of his eyes perfectly. They were bright and filled with a hunger that scared you, a hunger you had never been on the receiving end of before. Michael leaned over you, caging you beneath him as he pressed his forehead to yours, soon followed by his lips.

You’d kissed men before, but they were soft sweet nothings that could barely be called a kiss. You knew that if you wanted to marry well, contribute something of substance to your family, you had to be smart about your actions...your reputation. All of the men, realizing that you weren’t going to give them what they wanted, left. Accepting that your family and reputation came first, they always left, and it hurt every single time. 

But it will be worth it.

That’s what you constantly told yourself. After every heartbreak, every sneer, every harsh insult thrown your way about what a frigid bitch you were, you told yourself that it would be worth it. And yet...here you were...beneath a gangster, having your reputation ripped away from you by a man who stole and murdered and wasn’t decent in any way.

Life was funny.

After slipping out of his shirt, the flimsy material floating somewhere behind him, Michael guided your hands to his chest. Your trembling fingers danced along his taut skin, taking note of an imperfection. An old bullet wound, you deduced. The dark-haired man groaned into your mouth, pressing into you, and you could feel him hard beneath his trousers. The reality of what was about to happen seemed to slink around your neck like a noose, and you didn’t even realize that you’d started panting until Michael’s hand found your neck.

“I-I can’t- I can’t do this-.”

He shushed you, kissing you again.

“Behave...and I’ll be good to you. Breathe,” he urged.

You slowly did as he suggested, squeezing your eyes shut as his other hand pushed the smooth material of your nightgown up your legs. One hand was still on your throat as that same hand traveled to his pants, the sound of his zipper deafening in the quiet room. Your whole body went numb for a moment, ears ringing and vision blurring, and when you finally came back to earth, Michael’s hips were pressing against yours, nothing in between you.

He was speaking to you, you noted.

“...what?” you murmured.

“What’s your name, love?”

You swallowed, quickly darting your tongue out to swipe over your lips.

“Y/N.”

He repeated it, clearly liking the taste of it on his tongue. He nodded at you, drinking you in as he ran his eyes over your face, seemingly committing you to memory before sliding into you with one quick thrust. Your nails pressed into his skin, and he hissed, your own lips parting to let out a pained gasp. Michael held himself above you, a low groan escaping him as his forehead touched yours again.

“You feel fucking amazing,” he whispered, nose bumping against yours.

He held himself there for a long time, just feeling you. You weren’t naïve enough to think he did it for your sake, and you got the feeling that he wanted to drag this out for as long as possible. When he did finally move, your chest arched upwards, unable to handle the unfamiliar feeling. His hand was still on your neck, and you wrapped your hand around his wrist.

The feel of him inside of you was strange. You couldn’t describe it, but you felt full...you felt stretched...and in a way, it felt unnatural, but the heat that festered deep within your stomach said otherwise. One of Michael’s hands was pressed into the bed beside your head, holding himself up so that he could look at you. You remembered his words, and too terrified to disobey, you fought to keep your eyes on him.

His face was strained with concentration, eyes flickering between your face and down to where the two of you connected. The hand that was on your neck slid down to your chest, thumb brushing over a heaving breast before resting on your stomach, pinning you down as he snapped his hips into yours. It was too much for you, too much at once, and your lashes fluttered. 

“Look at me,” he roughly breathed.

“I can’t...I can’t,” you panted, head twisting from side to side.

You could hardly focus on anything other than the way he was thrusting into you, taking you to heights you never knew existed. He called your name then, and you reluctantly met his eyes, the hunger in them making you shudder.

“That’s right. Eyes on me, love. Keep your eyes on me while I fuck you,” he murmured.

The smugness in his voice and face made you frown, a spark of anger in you.

“Do you fuck all of your girls like this? Huh?”

He didn’t respond, pink lips simply curving upwards into a humorous smirk.

“...or am I special because you get to ruin my life and go on with yours?” you shakily spat.

Michael slammed into you then, forcing a choked gasp from you.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. You just focus on milking my cock, hmm?”

You wanted to hit him, spit at him, do anything other than lay there and take his unrelenting thrusts, but your body seized before you could do any of that. Your toes curled and your stomach clenched and your body shook as stars exploded behind your eyes. You hadn’t even realized what a moaning mess you had become until Michael paused just to listen to you, just taking you in with something akin to awe on his face.

You didn't have time to catch your breath before he was chasing his own high, hands pressed into your waist so hard you were sure you’d bruise. Your nails dug into his wrists, choked moans tumbling from your mouth as you clenched around him again, just in time for him to spill into you, releasing a long breath as he did so. You clung to him, tears catching in your lashes as you laid there, mind whirling at what you’d just done.

You flinched, shrinking in on yourself when his lips brushed the corner of your mouth just before pulling out of you. You winced at the action, staring up at the ceiling as you heard him moving about. You turned your head when you heard the strike of a match and watched as he lit himself another cigarette, pants just barely settling on his waist.

“So what happens now?” you finally asked, voice low in the dark room. 

Would your father and brothers come through that door tomorrow, pretending that they hadn’t sold you out? Would they be able to even look at you? Stomach the sight of you? Fresh tears kissed your eyes just as Michael spoke.

“Well…”

He took a pull, exhaling the smoke through his nose as he neared you.

“...I’m going to fuck you at least three more times before the night is over.”

You sat up at this, paying no mind to the pain in between your legs as you stared at him with wide eyes. Without realizing it, you gripped the end of your nightgown, pulling it to your knees as if somehow trying to prevent that very thing from happening.

“What-?”

“...and then I want you to pack a bag. Just some things that’ll last you a few days. I’ll be buying you a whole new lot of clothes anyway.”

“Michael-.”

“You’re my girl, now,” he quietly said, voice firm as he stood over you, free hand playing with the strap of your gown as the other held his cigarette to his lips.

You shook your head, staring up at him in disbelief.

“I...no. My family...they-.”

“Sold you away without a second thought.”

Your heart clenched as he threw that in your face, and you turned away as he reached for you. His fingers pinched your chin, jerking you to face him, and you swallowed. He bent down, staring into your eyes.

“You won’t have to worry about that with us...with me.”

He took one more pull of his cigarette before placing it on the nightstand, tendrils of smoke escaping his nose and mouth just before he pressed his lips to yours, fingers pressing into your skin as he settled between your legs.

~

tags: @cocoamoonmalfoy @trinittyy @ziamslarry-blog @a531a​ @s-u-t​ @sunshinechim-98​ @callmechannel​ @lil-hungryy​ @oneoftheprettynerds​ @scissorkidscult​  @madamerubrum  

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Swimming Lessons.

(1-1)

Short story # 9

2,350 - Words

Fandom - Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing - John Marston X Reader

Summary - Based entirely on Imagine # 662, which reads. imagine taking it upon yourself to teach John how to swim.

Warnings - Light smut, its just a handjob. (Cause I'm a horny bitch, especially when it come to Mr. John Marston.)

----

Looking to her left (Y/n) began snickering quietly when she noticed John snacking away on candy. "What?" John cocked a confused brow at her, still munching away. "You and your candy." (Y/n) shook her head with a grin. "What, I like 'em." John frowned, hesitating his chewing. "Oh nothing, I think it's sweet." (Y/n) joked making John roll his eyes playfully. "Ya got any to spare for your favorite girl?" (Y/n) hummed as she rode beside him, batting her lashes. "Oh I don't give Grace candy." John retorted as he pat his horses mane, his words making (Y/n) huff with a frown. "I see how it is." (Y/n) crossed her arms, spurring her horse into a trot. "Now hold on darling." John called out spurring on his own horse. "I was only playin' sugar." John nudged her shoulder, holding out a few pieces of candy. "And here I am, going out of my way to help you. And what do I get in return, the nerve of some people." (Y/n) sassed turning her nose up at his offer, a fit of giggles erupting from her when John practically pulled her onto his lap, hugging her tightly. "I'm sorry darlin'." John whispered into her hair as he nuzzled into her neck. "Oh alright, I forgive you." (Y/n) sighed playfully, adjusting herself back onto her horse, afterwards leaning over to plant a kiss on John's scared cheek. "Here sugar." John hummed as he grasped her hand, pushing a few pieces of candy into the palm of her hand. "Awe thanks honey." (Y/n) cooed making John chuckle at her, smiling contently as they continued their journey.

--

A few hours had passed and the sun was beginning to set. "We're almost there, but the path isn't the safest to travel at night, we should set up camp then continue in the morning." (Y/n) suggested. "Alright." John agreed with a nod of his head. "Where you wanting to set up?" John asked as they trotted across a bridge. "There's a clearing up ahead, looks like a good a spot as any." (Y/n) pointed to the clearing in the distance. "Sounds like a plan." John agreed as they neared the sight. "Where is it your wanting to go tomorrow?" John asked with curiosity. "Dodds bluff just south of widows Rock, there's an abandoned shack we can set up in." (Y/n) answered his question. "Why there?" John asked with curiosity. "Several reasons, one because the water up there is beautiful, and always a comfortable temperature in the summer, plus we're far away from our friends, so you don't have to worry about them teasing us." (Y/n) explained as they moved from the road to the grass to find the best spot to set up camp. "What exactly are we doing, that they would tease us about?" John eyed his girlfriend wearily. "I'm gonna teach you how to swim finally." (Y/n) stated as she dismounted, her words causing John to freeze up. "Swim?" He muttered in worry. "Yes John, swim." (Y/n) laughed softly as she unpacked her things. "I-I um..." John stammered nervously. "John sweetie, we'll take it slow I promise." (Y/n) assured him as she approached his side, resting a reassuring hand onto his knee. John smiled softly, his heart melting. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me." John whispered softly, his confession making (Y/n) blush under his tender gaze.

--

"So darling, how long you plannin' on us staying out here?" John asked as they sat up the camp, one tent for them, and the other to keep their supplies dry if it rains in the night. "However long it takes until your able to swim on your own confidently." (Y/n) hummed as she moved on to feed the horses some grain. "That could take awhile." John chuckled nervously. "That's okay, I let Arthur and Dutch know we wouldn't be back for awhile." (Y/n) shrugged casually. "How'd you manage that?" John asked as he finished up the last of the work. "I found a few gold bars while out exploring, and I donated two of them." (Y/n) hummed as she brushed her horse, John joining her to brush his own horse. "How many did you find?" John asked with astonishment, both surprised and impressed that she found any gold bars to begin with. "Four." (Y/n) smiled at him, a certain gleam in her eyes. "And what are you planning on doing with the other two?" John asked with a curious gaze. "Well someone real special has a birthday coming up." (Y/n) mused with a playful grin, making John feel all giddy inside like a little kid. "Darlin' you're just to much sometimes." John shook his head with a smile, making (Y/n) giggle softly. "You love me for it." (Y/n) shrugged, gasping when John hugged her from behind. "I love you for more than that baby girl." John cooed as he nuzzled into her soft hair, inhaling her natural scent.

--

When morning came around (Y/n) was practically bouncing with excitement, while John sluggishly followed after her. Having broke down camp and packed up, the couple continued their journey. The small road they took seep and narrow in some spots, making John understand why they didn't risk riding on last night. "There's the shack." (Y/n) pointed to the little shanty, a wide smile upon her pretty face. "The water looks kinda fast." John pointed out as they neared the small building. "It's slower upstream." (Y/n) hummed as she dismounted her horse. "If you say so." John murmured skeptically. "Are you sure no one lives here?" He added as he dismounted. "Yeah I've come up here a hundred times, no one's ever here." (Y/n) shrugged while unpacking their supplies. John wasn't convinced however and removed his bolt action rifle from his saddle, approaching the house first. "Let me just check first." John explained when (Y/n) eyed him funny. "Oh alright." She smiled up at him before he turned his attention to the door, which he pushed open slowly with his rifle. Humming with satisfaction John turned back to (Y/n), shouldering his rifle. "You were right, it's abandoned." He walked down the steps of the porch, taking the supplies from (Y/n)'s hands to take inside. "I would say I'm always right, but you've proven me wrong plenty of times." (Y/n) laughed as they continued their work, her words making John chuckle. "Oh you mean like that time you thought you wouldn't like it when I stick my-" (Y/n) threw an apple at him, cutting him off. "Yes John, like then." She sassed with pinkness in her cheeks, making John laugh a hardy laugh. "You walked funny for three days, but not once did you complain." He teased with a grin, making (Y/n) whine as she hid her face in her hands. "Can we please stay on task here?" She groaned between her fingers, making John beam with pride. "Sure thing sugar." He mused into her ear, relishing in the sight of her shuddering from his voice alone.

--

After everything was dealt with, and the horses tended to (Y/n) led John a little ways upstream. "Are you sure about this?" John asked as they began stripping out of the majority of their clothes. "What of someone sees us?" He added with a nervous glance. "We're far from the main road, and people don't really use this road. We'll be fine, and even if someone sees, it doesn't matter. What we're doing is none of their business." (Y/n) assured her lover, pecking his lips to comfort him. "Hey I want a real kiss." John pouted as he followed after (Y/n), who was now hip deep in water, having gone into the small stream that connects into to river. "Then come get it cowboy." (Y/n) teased as John stood on the back, having an internal debate. Gathering his courage he made up his mind, and began walking into the shallow stream. "The things I do for love." John huffed when he reached (Y/n), his hands instinctively resting on her hips. "I've got you baby." (Y/n) hummed before connecting their lips, the sweet feeling of her lips against his detracting him from his fear of the water. John's grip tightened when she began walking backwards into deeper water, their lips still connected in a passionate kiss. "Wait." John broke the kiss with a strained voice, looking at the water beyond her shoulder. "Hey John look at me." (Y/n) grasped his face between her hands, turning his attention solely to her. "Do you trust me?" She asked as she peered into his dark eyes. "Of course I trust you, I trust you with my life." John proclaimed with a series tone, knowing she'd never hurt him or betray his trust. "Follow me, and stay focused on me, I'll keep you safe." (Y/n) smiled softly, slowly walking back towards the river. John nodded his head, his grasp on her hips still tight as he followed her obediently. His breath came out shaky as he breathed through his mouth, his eyes still locked onto (Y/n)'s. With each careful step they moved deeper and deeper into the water, until the water rest now at chest height. "How you doing John?" (Y/n) asked as she stroked his hair back, smiling at him reassuringly. "I'm alright, just need a moment." He admitted his hands noticeably shaking against her hips. "Take all the time you need baby." (Y/n) cooed as she leaned forward, catching his lips to distract his mind.

When they broke for air John had relaxed quite a bit, now ignoring the sounds of rushing water, he focused solely on the woman before him. "I love you." He murmured softly, so touched that she wanted to take the time to teach him how to swim, something no one else had ever tried. "I love you too John." (Y/n) leaned into his chest, resting her head into the crook of his neck. They stood their in a relaxed tranquil state in the water, allowing John the time he needed to truly relax. "Let's keep going." He suggested softly. "How about we stay here, so you know you can stand up if you begin to panic." (Y/n) countered his suggestion, slowly lowering herself into the cool water until she was on her knees. "Okay." John muttered to himself as he followed suit, slowly lowering himself. "You're doing good." (Y/n) praised when he finally sank down before her, the water now up to his neck. "I'm terrified." John admitted with a shaky voice, wrapping his arms around (Y/n)'s hips now. "Relax sugar, I'm here." (Y/n) hummed as she rubbed his back soothingly, smiling when his back muscles relaxed under her touch. "You know I might just have to reward you for doing so good." (Y/n) mused with a suggestive tone, her words causing John's breath to hitch in his throat. "R-really?" He stammered with surprise, his excitement building in an instant at the lewd thoughts popping into his head. "Yeah." (Y/n) hummed softly, one hand slowly drifting under the water, and down his body. "(Y/n)." John murmured quietly, his cock hardening as her fingers brushed against it. "All for me?" (Y/n) smirked before slipping her hand into his underwear, grasping his manhood by the base, and giving it a gentle squeeze. "All for you." John nodded his head in agreement, his hips thrusting forward, desperate for more friction.

(Y/n) giggled softly as she began stroking his length, rubbing her thumb against the underside of his cock firmly, from time to time. John's mind went hazy with pleasure, his eyes closing as he rest his forehead against (Y/n)'s shoulder. "Just relax baby, I'll take care of you. Make you feel good." (Y/n) cooed and then began peppering his face and neck with kisses. "So good." John praised quietly, unaware of his surroundings anymore. (Y/n) twisted her wrist while brushing her fingers across the tip of John dick, causing a shutter to run down his back. John hissed in pleasure his cock throbbing with need, twitching a little as he neared his end. "Cum for me honey." (Y/n) encouraged picking up her pace, the erratic movements of her arm, made the water slosh around them. "(Y-Y/n)!" John stammered in a moan, ropes of cum spurting from his cock as he came undone for her. "Good job baby." (Y/n) praised her lover, still stroking his cock slowly, working him through his euphoric high. "(Y/n)." John murmured her name, pecking sloppy kisses against her neck. "John my sweet sweet John." She cooed tilting his head up to look into his eyes. "You didn't even notice." She added with a playful smile, her words causing John to take in his surroundings. His heart froze for a moment when he realized they were now much deeper in the river, his feet just barely able to touch the bottom. "See John, swimming ain't so bad." (Y/n) brushed his hair back softly, smiling at him warmly when he noticeably calmed. "Y-yeah I guess you're right." John smiled remaining relaxed when (Y/n) moved back a little, allowing him to float on his own. "It's kinda fun actually." John chuckled as he got the hang of swimming in place. "It is." (Y/n) agreed with pure joy, beyond happy to have taught John Marston how to swim. The couple spent the next three days swimming, and the next four nights making sweet love under the stars, and within the privacy of the little shack. Only leaving when John felt comfortable with swimming. The pair of them worn by the time they got back to camp, Arthur watching them excuse themselves straight to bed with a knowing smile.

[iamjessemccartney]

12 for the prompts? (Jarthur)

"Things you said when you thought I was asleep."

John still felt nervous whenever Arthur fell asleep. He knew full well by now that Arthur needed to sleep, that it wasn't any secret the poor man could use a moment's rest now and then. And it wasn't Arthur being asleep that worried John, but the way Arthur fell still. The way his pulse and breathing slowed and how his vision went dark as he drifted off. Every single time it happened, there was a sinking feeling where John guessed the pit of his own stomach would be, if he had one. And it scared him.

Every single time, he was reminded of every moment he'd felt the life slip out of Arthur's body. Of every round of Arthur's last words.

"You and me both."

"Faroe."

"Goodbye, John."

The fear and desperation in Arthur's voice at every one of these moments echoed through John's mind in a way that almost made him feel sick.

Back on the boat, after the island, with Arthur shot and bleeding out on the deck, John had said he would meet Arthur in the Dark World in an effort to comfort him. And he knew they were safe now, that the worst of it was over and they could finally just live, but every time Arthur slipped off into sleep, John couldn't help but think of those words he'd said. That promise he'd made. The promise that he would be waiting for Arthur, that Arthur wouldn't have to be trapped all alone- because John knew firsthand how horrible it was to be without company in a place like that. He'd spent centuries- lifetimes longing for some kind of reassurance that he wasn't alone, that there was someone left for him to rely on, someone left for him to get close to. That there was a life left to live, and one worth living. That there was something he could hold onto, no matter the cost.

John often found himself wondering if they would have even wound up in the same exact place, or if he'd have been made a liar. There were many paths in the Dark World, after all. He tried to tell himself that what mattered was the fact that, in that moment, he had been nothing but sincere.

And usually, John would relax once Arthur had been asleep for a while, using the hours of the night to reflect on their time together and rest in his own way. But there was something about this night that kept him on edge, even as Arthur dozed peacefully, completely unbothered by the world around him.

"I would have run to you, Arthur." John said the words softly, carefully. Almost like he was afraid of them. "I would have wrapped you in my arms and held you until the end of time. I would have stayed with you until- until the worlds fell to pieces and the light went out for good."

John moved his hand- their hand- over Arthur's chest, and tried not to think of the scars that lay beneath the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. He always made a point to keep his touch below Arthur's collarbone, not wanting to even chance his fingers brushing over the scar that ran across Arthur's throat. John's voice wavered as he continued. "Until every path had crumbled and there was nothing left of us but a whisper of the notion that we had ever even existed. You wouldn't have been alone."

He hadn't noticed the way Arthur had stirred until his groggy, sleep-addled voice sounded in the stillness of their bedroom. "I believe you," Arthur breathed, shifting to curl up on his side. He hugged their left arm close to his chest.

"I'm s-" John started, a sense of guilt settling in on him once he realized he'd woken Arthur up.

"No," Arthur slowly shook his head against his pillow. "Don't be."

"I-... How much-"

"Don't worry about it," Arthur mumured, doing his best to fight back a yawn.

John sighed, his fingers curling into a loose fist around the front of Arthur's shirt. "I don't ever want to lose you again."

There was a confidence mixed in with the drowsiness of Arthur's tone. "You won't."

John knew the words that were about to leave him were the most selfish ones he could have possibly said, but he couldn't stop himself. "Swear it."

Another yawn crept up on Arthur- one that got the better of him this time. He shifted again under the covers, groaning softly as he did, and then fell still once more. For a moment, John was convinced he wasn't going to respond.

Until Arthur's voice cut through the silence of the room one last time, just barely above a whisper.

"I swear it."

[deepdonutkid]

Kismet

Requested: No

Paring: Shelby!Sister Reader x Isaiah

Words: 5624

Summary: For a year now, you had a secret relationship with Isaiah and even when he is still in the same room with you, you can’t stop feeling lonely. It’s not that you don’t love him anymore, it more about the weight of the secret you have to carry. But with Tommy as you big brother you can’t risk, telling the truth or your man might get shot.

Note:

I was in the mood for a Shelby!Sister reader x Isaiah and it turned out to be way longer than I expected it... and I even cut out dialog... So here it is!

It’s also flavored with Junior Peaky Boys fun at the beginning. And I was inspired by my homegirl’s one shot called star and my story is an addition to hers, it’s the same night, but Bonnie has some other adventures than the reader and Isaiah.

Somehow I feel like everybody is a little ooc, but I couldn’t correct it.

Requests and tag list are still open, feel free to dm me or send me an ask.

tagging: @bonniesgoldengirl​ @justalonelyslytherin​ @theshelbyclan​ 

Warning: swear words, drinking, binge drinking, gambling, a hinted smut and a sweet ending

It was one of those nights, nothing special, just the usual fellows around the same table in the Garrison.  You had fun nevertheless. All your friends were right there, you had enough to drink and you had a luck hand today. The cards seemed to work in your fortune.

Deviously smiling you revealed your hand. You just had won this round and it gave you unholy amounts of satisfactions. “Ha”, you cheered: “Suck it up.”

Your friend shrugged and shoved his coins in your direction. All he said was a very grumpy “There you go”, but it pleased you.

You took the money and peaked around the corner. Where was Michael with the drinks? He was like a brother to you, but he was just your cousin. Maybe it was because you were born just two months before his older sister, Anna. Even though, she was gone Michael came back to his real family and now you were closer than ever. You cared for him, more than your siblings did.

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t hit him, if he just left the bar to fuck with some random girl. It was not about him having sex, more about leaving without telling anybody. Especially when he was supposed to get drinks for the table. You moaned and said: “Where is Michael?”

“Probably doing somebody”, Isaiah joked and lit a cigarette. Then he offered you one and you took it gladly. Actually, you bit your lip and gave him the side-eye, but you had to hide your smile in front of the others. Bonnie and Finny weren’t the smartest boys in Small Heath, but you wouldn’t risk it.

You had so much fun with Isaiah that you didn’t even know when it started. Months passed by, while you were completely caught up in your little game with him. Nobody knew it. That was mainly Isaiah’s fault. At first it amused you to keep your relationship with him secret, but now you were ready to tell your family about it. Your boyfriend didn’t like the idea.

Somehow you thought Michael started to notice. He gave you the glace, which said: “I know, dear”, but maybe you were just getting crazy. You just had to be more careful around others now and everything was fine.

The night was still young and you were keen to make Bonnie lose all his money today. He had won the boxing match earlier and the bruises were still visible, but unfortunately for him, he couldn’t win against you. It was just a card game, but it filled you with gleeful joy. This and the fact that Isaiah was sitting next to you. Sometimes he would brush your thigh with his fingers, which made you giggle even more.

“There he is”, yelled Finny while being so fucking drunk, like you never had seen him before. Michael arrived with messy hair and his tie was undone, but he had your drink and that was all that you care for. “Finally”, you fluted and ripped the glass of his hand: “Thank you, babe.”

And the whiskey was still cold, which meant he fucked the girl first and ordered the drinks afterwards. “How was she? Good?” you asked before you took a sip from your whiskey. You weren’t a lightweight when it came to drinking, maybe not as well as Arthur and John, but you could tolerate much more than Ada and Finny. Your little brother was so drunk, he looked like his head was all empty and yet filled with bullshit.

Michael sat down next to you and answered: “Mhh, she was okay, but she talked too much.” Then you felt the weight of a hand on your thigh again. A shiver rushed down your spine, but it was the wrong side. Your cousin had put his hand on your knee. “Everything alright, Y/N?”

You nodded. “Yeah, everything is perfect”, you blabbered hoping he wouldn’t keep asking questions, but he did. “Don’t be so worried, every time I’m with a girl. I know you’re still a virgin, but you can get some too. Tommy wouldn’t be against it.”

How wonderfully wrong he was. Neither were you a virgin nor would Tommy be okay with this. After all, you were his little sister and he wouldn’t accept the guy, you were sleeping with. Of course, Isaiah was a friend of the family, but after the whole thing with Ada and Freddie you had something to worry about.

The best snarky comeback was right on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t say it without letting something slip. ‘What gives you the idea I’m still a virgin?’ And yet you were silent as the guy who fucked you, sat right next to you. You felt trapped and decided to go straight forward. “Yes, he would. You know it and everybody in Small Heath knows it.”

“Oh whatever”, Michael mumbled: “Just drink enough and you eventually forget about it.”

You grinned and emptied your drink. “Fuck it, let’s play some cards. I’m not done with Mr. Gold over here.”  Then you took the cards and dealt them to start the next round.

Much later that night when you brought Finn back home and went straight back to the pub, in front of the entrance, you stumbled into Bonnie. “Is there a reason why you’re smirking?” you asked him. He was gleaming red and smiling like an idiot.

Then you remembered. “The singer, right?” Bonnie nodded and his grin got even wider. “You talked to her?” Again he gave you a silent answer. You grabbed his arm and pulled him back inside. He was a lot heavier than you thought, but then again, you were just a girl and he was a boxer.

Sometime it was weird to only have male friends, it just happened. Maybe it was because of your brothers. Maybe that’s why you never acted like a proper girl. Of course you felt like a woman and you liked your body, but in your eyes it was so much easier to talk to guys.

“Eyy, where did you found him?” Michael slurred and helped you to put your friend on a chair again. With your hands finally free you had the chance to explain. “Found him outside. I don’t know what he did there, but he talked to the singer.”

Both, Isiah and Michael nodded. It was only logical for Bonnie to freak out after it talking to her. He was there every Friday night looking for the singer and now his brain seemed to melt, just because she said something to him. But neither of you knew, what she said exactly. Maybe this was a problem for another night. It didn’t look like Bonnie was able to answer.

So you ordered some more drinks and sat back down again. In this separate room, which was reserved for your family, it was almost too tempting to get close to your boyfriend again. Isiah looked so good that night and it hurt to be unable to touch him… or to kiss him. But you would be satisfied with just holding his hand now.

It was a curse; you knew it soon after you realized that you loved him. He was handsome, charming and a loyal friend. There was no better man for you, even though you wished you could be together in public. And again you bit your lip and moved your chair away from him.

But you couldn’t think about this anymore, it was too frustrating and luckily somebody else caught your attention. It was Bonnie who mumbled very quietly: “I think she kissed me, but it could be a dream as well. It felt so surreal.”  You padded his shoulder and nodded to underline your compassion.

It was just the same with Isaiah. Whenever you two were alone, it was amazing and beautiful. He was so soft and romantic and he just made you happy. But every time you woke up and he was gone, the sweet scenery shattered. And out in public it was getting annoying to find excuses to be with him or getting away, so you could spend some time alone with him and you had to lie to your whole family about your whereabouts. Slowly it became exhausting.

There was nothing you could do about it, so you just drank your whiskey and talked with the boys about Bonnie’s singer and the girl Michael had. It was so easy for them to display their relationship in the public, but of course you didn’t have this privilege as a girl. Apparently, you needed to be protected. Or so it has been explained to you. You wasn’t concerned for your safety but for your freedom. Tommy said it was his job as your big brother to care for you, even if it felt like he was controlling you. You have always been the wild one among your siblings and everything was fine, until your mum died and your dad left. Then Tommy was in charge and sometimes his opinions would vary from yours, which led to fights. And yet you feared what he might do, if he found out about your secret.

All the sudden Bonnie fell from his chair and you groaned. Now somebody had to bring him home as well. First Finn and now him… but why they couldn’t take the whiskey today? You weren’t nearly as drunk as them, but still.

Isaiah stood up and picked his friend up. “I’m taking him home. I’ll be right back”, he said, before leaving.

Now Michael and you were alone. It wasn’t what you wanted. The only thing you could think of was smooching the sweet lips of your boyfriend. You were caught up in your little fantasy, when your cousin woke you up again. “Isaiah is acting weird lately.”

“Oh… really? I didn’t notice”, you replied: “He seemed normal to me.” Your hand grabbed the fringe of your dress. Talking about him made you nervous.

Michael moaned and fumbled for his cigarettes. He put them out, you took one and he turned his between his fingers, when he added: “I don’t know, maybe I’m getting paranoid, but I think he is hiding something from us.” Then he lit his cigarette and took a drag from it.

You inhaled sharply and stared into the void for a second, before answering: “Don’t be silly, he is just as loyal as ever.” Then you laughed and Michael joined in. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I just needed to get this off my chest.”

The rest of the conversation went just like usual. You chatted, you bickered and you had fun. While the bell already announced the new day, Isaiah came back.

In this tiny glimpse of a moment you couldn’t hide your smile and he reciprocated. Actually, you were just waiting for Michael to leave now. It was your plan all along, but patience has never been your strong suit.

It took three more rounds for Michael to say goodnight. “Take care of her, will you?” Isaiah nodded. When Michael finally grabbed his jacket and headed to the door, you felt unbelievably excited. Your fingertips slapped a melody on the table, while you watched him leaving. The door shut and now you had what you longed for all night.

You turned around and looked at him. Gosh, waiting felt like an eternity. Now you were the one smiling like an idiot. Slowly Isaiah came closer and his hand pulled you to him for a kiss. “Finally”, you whispered against his lips, before giving him what he wanted.

After you two parted you rested your head on his shoulder. Now you were getting tired as well, but you didn’t want to go to your bed. “I was waiting the whole evening for this”, he moaned and stroked your hair.

The smell of his perfume made you realized how much you missed him too, even though he was with you since you went to Garrison tonight. You moved closer to him and wrapped your arms around him to give him a tight squeeze. Then you signed: “I wish we didn’t have to hide” and buried your face in his shirt.

“Babe”, he replied: “We already had this conversation. It wouldn’t end well. Let’s just enjoy what we have as long as we can.” It hurt, but Isaiah was right. There was no chance Tommy was getting you off the hook, once he knew about it. And no matter how you explained it to him, he would still be against it. You were too young for stuff like that, as if he didn’t fucked Greta, when he was the same age.

You leaned back to see his beautiful face again. There was something in his eyes, a twinkle or something like that, but it always made you feel comfortable. A lick of your lip was enough to purpose the idea of doing something nasty. He knew you since you were children and it was like he could read your thoughts, especially the dirty ones.

Isaiah started giggling and asked: “Hey, babe, I still can cheer you up, right?”

Maybe it was time for some fun, different to the fun you had before with your friends. The word pleasure would describe it well and with his knowing look he gave you so many ideas. You laughed and nodded. “I think it might help when you do the thing with your tongue.”

“Oh”, he responded amused: “Like this?” And then grabbed you for a kiss and god, what a kiss it was. His tongue brushed your upper lip just to enter your mouth and explore it as if it was your first kiss. He even bit your lip playfully and kept going until you couldn’t breathe no more. Your knees started shaking and it was needless to say, he was the best kisser you ever had.

It took you a while to catch a breath again, but then you answered: “Yeah, just like this… But maybe we could go to your place and do a little more?”

He didn’t seem to be so sure about this suggestion. His thumb stroked your shoulder as he held you in his arm. Because he was so quiet for a second, you knew, he thought about this backwards and forwards. “But right when the sun comes up, you have to go back home”, he argued.

Again, Isaiah was right. You should take too many risks. Otherwise you might get caught and neither of you wanted that. All you could do was to shrug and agree: “Just don’t shoo me after we fucked.” There was bitterness in your voice. What wouldn’t you give to wake up next to him every morning?

The pub was almost empty, when you left. You couldn’t hold his hand on the way out. Everybody in Small Heath was Tommy’s spy. Back on the streets a cold wind blew. Now you had an excuse to go near him and he shared his coat with you. Isaiah was always so sweet and caring. You knew you wanted to spend your future with him. There was no other man and you wouldn’t get over him, not now and not in five years.

You even took off your shoes before entering the Jesus household and followed him on your tiptoes to his room. It was completely dark in the house and the silence was haunting, but good for you, you knew the way by now. The excitement made your fingers tremble.

Finally you arrived where you wanted to be the whole day, in his room. Isaiah closed the door as quietly as possible and started smiling. You walked up to him and started to unbutton his shirt. Now you didn’t want to waste any time.

And neither did Isaiah. He was ripping down your dress, which only worked because the straps were so thin. His hands were all over your body and you couldn’t stop kissing every inch of his skin. It felt like magic whenever he touched you. You moaned, when he played with your bare breasts. To silence you he put his thumb on your lips, which you took as an invitation to suck it. Maybe it was mean to tease him like that, but you were desperate for his affection.

An hour later you laid next to him, your head on his chest as he stroked your hair. “You should leave, before we both fall asleep, babe”, he whispered, which caused you to sign. Leaving now was draining, even exhausting. After this wonderful sex, you were too tired to move anywhere, not to the bathroom and certainly not back to your cold bed.

You pouted your lips and tilted your head, so you could give him your puppy eyes and a pretty please with cream and a cherry on top. “Just ten more minutes. Your bed is way comfier than mine.”

He laughed and kissed your forehead. “That’s just because I’m in this bed and you like to use me as your personal giant pillow.” Your fingers hovered about his belly. Even though his muscles weren’t tense now, you could still feel the strength lying beneath his skin.

While your index finger drew circles around his bellybutton, you whined: “Maybe… just maybe that is true, but I still want to lay here for a bit. Otherwise I start to feel like a whore, who only comes for sex and leaves silently afterwards.”  It wasn’t a knock against Lizzie or her job, but you didn’t like the feeling, when you got home and had to find sleep in your own bed. Even though you had a relationship with him, you still felt lonely. Especially when the sun was rising and nobody was by your side.

“You’re not a whore and you know that”, he argued looking a little concerned.

Then you turned on your back and stared at the ceiling. “No, I’m a Shelby and that is probably worse”, you scoffed.

Now Isaiah was silent and had no witty comeback for that. Maybe, because it was true. If you weren’t part of the family, you could be with anyone, whoever you wanted. Carrying the name Shelby was the only reason, why you had to hide your relationship with Isaiah.

After a while he mumbled: “Okay, stay for a while, but you should be back before they open the shop.” By that time you were already half asleep and yet his words made you smile. He wrapped his arms around you, the little spoon and purred like a cat. Just in this position the both of you fell asleep.

Loud steps were coming near the door, but they wouldn’t wake you up. The screaming of Isaiah’s name did. It was a familiar voice and it took you a couple of minutes to notice, it was your brother Finn who shouted and ran down the hall. Suddenly you were wide awake. You startled up and looked around the room. The sun was already up and shining through the window. Then you saw Isaiah, who was just as frightened as you were.

If Finn came rushing through that door, your secret relationship was no longer secret. “I locked the door last night”, he whispered, which was relieving to you, but still no perfect solution for this problem.

Now Finn arrived at the other side of the door and was knocking on it like crazy. “Isaiah, wake up! Y/N is gone. Nobody can find her and Michael said you were the last one with her in the bar”, your brother yelled. You could hear the panic in his voice, but you couldn’t get caught. Not now.

You stumbled out of the bed and collected your clothes, when you heard Isaiah ask: “What are you going to do? You can’t go out there. He will find out.” And you knew your boyfriend wasn’t concerned about Finn, more about Tommy.

The tension in the room was immense. You had to come up with a plan or your brothers would shoot your lover in front of your eyes.

Suddenly you knew what to do. You pushed the pile of clothing to your chest and squeeze it thigh, when you explained in a lower tone: “I’m gonna hide in the wardrobe and then you open the door and go with Finn away. Afterwards I can come out and then I go to the betting shop and tell the others I have fallen asleep on a bench or something.” It was not the best plan, but yet your only option.

Isaiah nodded and you climbed into the cabinet where he stored his shirt and jackets. The second you entered the small wooden space, you knew it was all going down. Call it intuition, call it divination, call it whatever power Polly owned, but you felt it rushing through your body. He closed the door behind you and then you could hear him stumble into his pants.

Only half clothed he unlocked the door to let Finn in. Isaiah was still sleepy. He wasn’t the morning type of person and before he hadn’t had his breakfast he wasn’t really available. Finn strode up and down. You heard is nervous steps. “Everybody is freaking out right now. Polly thinks somebody kidnapped her or worse. I mean, she has always been unratable in her doings, but this time my sister is really going of the edge. It’s already past lunch and nobody has seen her”, Finn explained: “This morning her bed was empty and I thought I shouldn’t worry, but now I’m afraid I should have said something sooner.”

The cabinet was very uncomfortable and yet you tried not to move or to make a noise, which would cause Finn’s attention. However, being in Isaiah’s position didn’t seem to be pleasant as well. He had to lie to his best friend about the whereabouts of his missing sister, knowing she was sitting right here. Isaiah patted his friends shoulder and said nothing.

Finn didn’t calm down and seemed to be upset, Isaiah wasn’t panicking like him. “C’mon, get dressed. We have to look for her. She might be lying somewhere in the dirt. We shouldn’t waste even more time, standing around.” Then he walked to the closet and opened just the door where you had been hiding.

Butt-naked you fell down to the floor and looked up to your younger brother, who had the same face expression as the one time you told him where the babies were coming from. Some when later you would look back at this moment and would have a good laugh about this, but right now it felt like your world was collapsing.

He should have seen you like this and it took you a whole minute to gather the mental energy to get back up at your feet and greet him like it was the normal thing to do in a situation like this. “Hey, Finny, there I am.”

Your brother froze mid movement and stared at you as if you were the first pink elephant the world has seen or a bear riding a bike. Then he broke the silence. “What?”, he winced. There was no anger in his voice, just total confusion.

Finn looked to Isaiah and then back to you. “You screwed my sister?!”

There was no answer to this question.

“How long?” Finn asked: “How long did you hide that from me?”

You glared over to you boyfriend as if you were asking him for permission to say something. Isaiah signed and nodded. There was no point in denying this anymore. It was over.

Now you had to tell the truth. “A couple of months, maybe a year or so”, you croaked and your voice sounded strange. Like it was not your own and even though you dreamt about finally opening up, it shouldn’t have been like this.

Your brother yelled: “A year?! A whole fucking year? Damn, I should be proud because apparently you two are excellent liars with no moral issues… you two deserve each other.” You heard the disgust and disappointment, when he spoke and it broke your heart. Back then, when the whole thing started you though he might be the only one of your brothers to understand you. How wonderfully wrong you were.

“No”, you said under your breath: “Don’t fucking do this to me. I would have told you, if you wouldn’t have run straight to Tommy after you knew. Everybody knows you can’t keep a secret. So don’t act like it was my fault or my mistake, because it’s not. I would have gladly told everybody, I’m like him very much, but you and Tommy and Arthur and John made it impossible for me to even talk with a guy who is not part of the gang. You can’t turn this around and act like you are the victim in all this.”

It was time for you to stand up for yourself and your decisions… and time for you to get dressed. You didn’t seem as responsible as you were when you were still naked and in front of the closed you have been hiding in. Now you knew how wrong it was to lie and hide your relationship, because it wasn’t their concern. It was your life, your body and your choice. Nobody could take that from you and certainly not your brothers. You weren’t afraid of them. All your life you saw how your brothers treated women and you said nothing about it, but this should change right now.

So you stood there, furious and filled with rage, put on your dress and your shoes and said one last thing, before leaving: “This madness has to end.”

You stormed out of the room- not caring for Isaiah or Finn- and heading for the King of Small Heath to throw him out of his high throne. Your hair was a nest and you smelled like a bar after a dirty old night, when you entered the betting shop. Nobody was there, just the regular family members.

Everybody seemed to be relieved to see you again and then came close to hug you. Ada was right next to the door and the first to greet you. “Oh my god, you’re back, sweetie”, she muttered.

Next was Polly who examined your appearance for cuts and other injuries. Of course you had none, besides the hickeys Isaiah gave you. She tried to take a closer look of your neck, but you pulled away, which caused her to ask: “What happened? Where were you all night?”

Now Tommy was coming up to you. His steps were slow, but fierce and the glare in his eyes was pinching. “Just from the smell I would guess, she was with a guy this night”, he scoffed: “She probably had a lot of fun, but now she should say, who that guy was, so we can take actions.” You knew he was addressing you, even though he didn’t phrase it like that.

“I don’t think, this is your business”, you replied with a grin on your face. You wouldn’t back down. Not this time. “But yes, I was with a guy tonight. So you don’t need to worry. I’m completely fine.”

Your older brother led out a little laugh, pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Well, well, well, I don’t care what you think. I’m your brother and it’s my job to make sure you’re safe”, he explained: “And now you tell me who he was.” Ah, past tense, a hint of what was going to happen.

You crossed your arms and tiled your head to give him a dismissive look. “Who said it was your job?” was your comeback, but your brother wasn’t remotely impressed. Neither of you would let the other win. You were too stubborn for this gesture of insight.

Others, including Arthur and John, were somehow intimidated by Tommy’s behavior, but not you. Actually, you learned too much from him to take his shit.  He taught you to help your head up high and how to outsmart your enemies.  Now you could use the same strategies against him.

“Ever since our father left and mom died, you act like you are in charge, but you’re not. We are your siblings, not your pawn, waiting for your command”, you hissed: “I have my own life and I make my own decisions and who I meet shouldn’t concern you.” Slowly your anger grew. It was a boiling feeling in your gut, like you were fueled with fire.

Tommy was getting gleaming red. You had hit the right spot and you knew you would hurt him with your words, but otherwise he wouldn’t understand. The words were stuck in his throat as he killed you with his looks.

Patiently, you waited for his answer. He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction, but silencing your brother was the best thing ever, since he was the reason why you felt miserable lately. “No comeback? No arguments, dear?” You loved to poke his wounds and you did it with a huge smile on your face.

“As if you would listen to me… You even said it yourself. You wouldn’t take my advice”, he responded and bid his lip. “But I don’t need to talk to you to teach you a lesson. You’re too young to fuck around town and I’m going to find the bastard who did this and kill him.”

The door was opened behind you and soon Finn entered the room. You gave your little brother the death glare you were known for. He shouldn’t get the idea he was allowed to talk about what he found out.

You should be raging right now, but all you could do was laugh. His empty threats weren’t as daunting as he thought. With nothing but spite you whistled: “I would love to see you try. I kept this a secret for over a year now and you noticed nothing. And now I can wait another year for you to find him… or I could run away… whatever you prefer.”

Now you’re pushing your luck. Finn could ruin everything, if he just said one wrong word. The palms of your hands were sweaty. It was a dangerous game you played there, but it was not like you could back out of it now. This was road of no return.

Tommy seemed to be more surprised than fuming, when he asked: “You slept with some geezers for a year now?” He respected your talent to keep it under the radar. Everybody who could shirk his rules deserved acknowledgement for putting up with this risk. Maybe he was finally realizing how much you had grown. You weren’t his little kitten anymore.

“No, not geezers, just one guy”, you corrected him: “But yes, that is true.”

You watched Tommy as he walked around the table, heading for the whiskey, while he nodded understandingly. “Mh, so you would say it’s love?”

A sign came from your lips. You already knew the answer, but you weren’t so sure, if you should say this out loud. After all, you didn’t even have a proper talk about this with Isaiah. Silence was filling the room, while you calculated your risks. If you said, you loved him and Isaiah wasn’t as serious about the relationship, you would look like an idiot. Good for you, he didn’t come to the betting shop to witness the fight between you and your brother. Finally you decided to tell everybody: “Yes, I do.”

“Good”, Tommy mumbled while he poured his whiskey: “Then you should have my blessing. Just give us the name now.” He took a sip and seemed to be amused by your embarrassment.

Talking about Isaiah, while he wasn’t present, was weird, but you knew why he stayed in the comfort of his own room. You weren’t mad at him for not running after you. This was your fight and not his. And after all your brothers were a little scary, when it comes to stuff like this.

But you had Tommy’s word now and nothing should happen to your man. You shrugged and rolled with your eyes. The fuss they made about this was still annoying.

Ada patted your shoulder and encouraged you to speak. “Do we know him?” The answer was yes, but it was also the reason, why you struggled to say it out loud.

Even John chimed in and kept pushing: “Yeah, what’s up with this fella?” He was smiling to let you know the mood had changed. Nobody was against you anymore.

“It’s…”, you started and fumbled for the seam of your dress: “It’s Isaiah.”

At first it was dead silence, while the others processed the information, then Arthur and John burst out in laughter. Finn seemed to be relieved, because he would have hated it to keep a secret like this. Your older sister was hugging you a little too tight and even Polly was smiling.

Tommy had a smug on his face when he muttered: “If that’s the case, then you should have your happiness.”

“Isaiah is a fine fella. You will be alright”, hummed Arthur. Apparently everybody was happy with your choice. You just had to stand up for yourself.

It felt like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders and then you could laugh about it too. But suddenly you remember that Isaiah was still waiting for his death in his room. “I should go and let him of the hook”, you fluted and already went to the door when you heard Tommy said: “Don’t get pregnant or he has to marry you.”

[starlordamn]

‘Us’ - Michael Gray Oneshot

Summary: you and michael shared a kiss a few weeks ago at the garrison - a sudden change from his usual behaviour of ignoring you. he no doubt ignores you again, making your lovesick self devastated but not surprised, until he shows up at your door at three in the morning.

Warning: angst technically, lil bit of fluff if you squint, that’s it really, i only read over it once so possible grammar mistakes sorry!

A/N: i enjoyed writing this, it took me a while for some reason as i wrote it over the period of two days, but nonetheless it was fun, in ya’ll can tell he is my favourite person to write for at the moment. enjoy!

taglist: @lemur46

-

It was just a kiss.

That is what you were trying to convince yourself that it was.

About two weeks ago you and Michael had been at the Garrison late at night, it was near closing time, some three in the morning. You both weren’t drunk, but tipsy enough to let things be said that usually wouldn’t be. Or in this case it was something done that wouldn’t normally be done.

You both shared a kiss. The type that was anticipated for what felt like hours. The longing stares at each other’s lips, the hesitance as you both leaned in as if you both knew it was wrong. Yet it still happened. His lips had crashed with yours before you even had chance to register it, and you kissed him back like your life depended on it. And it was only the morning after that you remembered. He remembered too and you secretly hoped he would say something but he would never.

See, you had always been close with the Shelby family, Polly was like a mum, sister and aunt all mixed into one for you. Tommy, Arthur, John and Finn were the mischievous and protective brothers you never had. You sat in on family meetings, you were as good as blood family to them. But with Michael it was different, from the outset he was cold to you. You don’t know what it was about him that made you fall for him, but you did and you fell hard. Head over heels hard. The type that keeps you up at night. The type that makes your heart soar when they’re in the room. And the type that makes you feel dizzy.

That’s what was making you so confused. Michael had shown no interest in you whatsoever, so that night in the Garrison – you had thought – was a dream. It took a good few hours of mental debate to finally conclude that it was real. Unbenknownst to you however, Michael had fallen for you the second he laid eyes on you. Everything about you just made him love you. The way you walked with Tommy’s paperwork, sometimes stumbling and then laughing at yourself flushing slightly with embarrassment. The way you would make jokes with the others and looked truly happy to be in everyone’s presence all time. And the way your kindness stretched to him even though he’d been nothing but cold to you.

He didn’t want to put you in danger. You worked for one of the biggest gangs in the country, hell it was a dangerous life not just a dangerous world. But with his line of work he could never guarantee things to you that he wish he could, what if one day he didn’t come home to you, next seeing him in a church in a coffin. He could not leave you like that nor ever put you through anything like that. So that is why he wanted to forget about you. Forget about, forget about the kiss.

But he couldn’t. He loved you. And you weren’t alone in thinking about the kiss. No matter how hard he tried to forget he couldn’t. So that’s why he ended up on your doorstep at three in the morning on a Sunday.

“Michael!?” You blinked a few times to make sure this wasn’t a cruel dream. You stood in only your nightdress, looking a mess from just being woken up by Michael knocking on your door.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You opened the door a bit wider revealing slightly more than just your head. Your heart was beating quickly at the topic that could possibly arise, why else would he be here at 3 in the morning on a Sunday of all days, because you were sure as hell it wasn’t because Tommy had more urgent paperwork for you,

“Can I come in?” He asked rather expressionlessly. His hands were in his pockets casually and he looked at you blankly waiting for you to say yes. You nodded and stepped aside so he could enter your house. He crossed the room and stood awkwardly in front of the fireplace that you had just started up again. You shut the door before making your way over to him and standing opposite him, but not too close.

“Michael why are you here?” You spat it out. You had to. You didn’t mean to be blunt, it was just that he was giving you nothing, not even his body language expressed anything to you. Michael opened his mouth to say something before shutting it again. You stood waiting for an answer. But you knew you weren’t going to get one. It was Michael. Before this he had only spoke a total of twenty words to you.

“Michael say something,” you pleaded now, he was beginning to make you nervous in a negative way.

“I don’t know what to say.” He finally spoke. His voice was quite wavered and he sounded frustrated. How dare he get annoyed with you when he was the one who had been stood on your doorstep.

Silence fell over the room, it wasn’t awkward but it was filled with tension, of what kind you couldn’t tell. You didn’t know whether you wanted him to go or stay.

“Are you high Michael?”

“What?” His eyes became fixated on you and he sounded slightly hurt.

“Are you drunk?”

“No I’m fucking not.”

“Why are you here?” Silence. “If it’s to mock fun of me, I get it. You were drunk and I was stupid. But I don’t need it rubbed in my face, I don’t need the whole ‘I didn’t mean it’ lecture so, you’ve made it very clear already that’s the case so, if that’s all then please me alone.”

Tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes. You really were stupid falling for someone you couldn’t have. Someone who didn’t want you. Turning around to walk upstairs, you expected him to show himself out but he didn’t.

“Y/N wait,” he grabbed your arms gently and pulled you back. You spum around to face him, he was much closer to you now but you shook your head.

“You. Kissed. Me.” Tears rolled down your face. You were so humiliated.

“And I’m not here to apologise for that.” His voice was sincere as he raised a hand to your face, brushing his fingers against your cheeks to wipe the tears away that he had created in the first place.

“Wait, what?” You stood in absolute confusion and astonishment waiting for him to expand on what he just said.

“I meant it Y/N, I wasn’t drunk at all, I knew what I was doing and I meant it.” Both of his hands cupped your cheeks now, his eyes looking into yours and he spoke truthfully.

“But,” you pulled his hands away from your face making him frown slightly, “why the cold exterior, ignoring me after, and before even, I just…” You trailed off, fidgeting with your fingers. You didn’t fully believe him.

“I just wanted to protect you.”

“From what?” You scoffed, folding your arms.

“I didn’t want to ever risk any harm to you, a-and what if I never came home to you one day, I would never want to put you through that.” His voice was raise slightly, pointing at things as he spoke. You had never seen Michael express this much emotion at once and you didn’t know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Michael, I was involved in this gang before you came back, you don’t think I know how dangerous this life is? I learned to use a gun at ten years old and used one at twelve, I don’t think I need protecting.”

He rolled his eyes, “if you want to be like that the—”

“No I’m sorry,” you interrupted him, “I didn’t mean it to come out like that, I know you were doing what you thought was best.”

He nodded before the room fell silent for a few second.

“Look if you don’t feel the same I can go.” He rambled, as if he had just snapped back into reality and realised what he’d just said.

“Michael, I love you, you idiot.” You searched his face for a response and you got one. He smiled. The first time you had ever seen him smile and it was beautiful, happy Michael was far better than sad Michael.

“I love you too, I always have.”

“You have a funny way of showing it you know,” you laughed and so did he, running a hand through his hair.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” You raised your eyebrows at him.

He put his hand on your shoulder and gently steered you into the wall behind you until you were pressed up against it. His hands travelled across your neck and collar bone to move your hair out the way, while you blushed at the touch of his skin against yours. He placed his hands either side if you on the wall, trapping you against it and him, before he leaned in slowly, placing his lips on yours. Unlike he previous movements, his lips were not gentle, they were pressed against yours needily as if it would be your last. You kissed him back, snaking your arms around the back of his neck and looping them together to pull him closer to you. His chest pressed against yours as his hands slid down the wall to your rest on your shoulders. You felt so floaty with his lips on yours, he was better than any drug you had every tried and even more intoxicating. The way his lips moved against yours made your knees feel weak, you just couldn’t get enough.

Removing your lips sadly from his after what felt like hours, your breath was shaky and rushed, so was his. You pulled him close, going on your tiptoes to rest your head in the crook of his neck and you whispered quietly, “we’ll make ‘us’ work, Michael.” He kissed the top of your head lovingly before wrapping his arms around your waist. He was going to make you two work out, even if it was the last thing he did.

[amysteryspot]

Just Tonight - Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Requested: No

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: The Shelby boys had returned from France in time for Christmas, but as (Y/N) expected, things weren't that easy to deal with for none of them.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW/+18), swearing, mentions of drinking and death.

Word Count: 3027

A/N: Oooooooooooooookay this turned out a lot more angstier and smuttier than I first predicted for something that is supposed to be a holiday fic. This is loosely based on the storyline used on "Better with you" and "Out of time". It's better if you've read those first, but it's not required. I really, really hope that you enjoy it. As always, your feedback is highly appreciated.

Song recomended: Sober by Loreen

(Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname | (Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread by a beta.

If you want to be tagged in my stories, just send me a message.

(gif by @nofckingfighting​)

It was Christmas again. (Y/N) couldn’t ignore the irony of it all. When the Shelby’s and her father had left Small Heat with the rest of the man to go to France, the promise was that they would be back before Christmas. Well, they did return before Christmas, just four years later than they believed they would.

She had lost the spark to celebrate the holiday after they left. In 1914, she and her mother had joined Polly, Ada, Martha, and the kids on Christmas Eve. The next year it was just her and the rest of the Shelby clan. Somewhere along the way, (Y/N) had lost hope that the boys would ever return.

Her fears had been proved wrong two weeks ago when Arthur, Tommy, and John stepped out of the train in Small Heat. And even as relief washed through her, it took (Y/N) a second to recognize that the men who came back weren’t the same who had left.

The past few days had been strange, hard to deal with. It wasn’t easy for the men to be back and it wasn’t easy for the women to get used to having them back around. Everyone was learning how to deal with all the changes and as (Y/N) had learned from a young age, the process wasn’t always smooth.

“Let’s say our prayers,” Polly announced as she sat down.

Tommy scoffed and (Y/N) nudged him with her knee, making him roll his eyes, taking her hand in his as all of them closed their eyes as Polly prayed.

It was strange, all of them sitting there, around the same table, eating, drinking, and celebrating when so many of them didn’t have the opportunity to return. Tommy had never been a man of God, especially after his mother died, and his father left, and after Greta. Certainly not since he signed his name to go to war. (Y/N) knew that better than anyone.

“It’s good to have you all back,” Ada announced, after a long moment of silence, eyeing her brothers from behind the rim of her glass.

“It’s good to be back,” John mumbled when his brothers failed to do so.

“This is a little bit different than what we got used to,” Polly commented, smiling.

In the past years, they had lost (Y/N)’s mother and Martha, the first two years weren’t all that good, so hunger was something they had to get used to. Now, with the betting shop going steady and the boys back, there was more reason to celebrate than normal.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine how hard it has been,” Tommy sneered, laughing sarcastically.

(Y/N) looked up at Polly who just shook her head.

“It wasn’t easy staying behind, Tom,” Ada reasoned, looking at her older brother.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine how hard it was. Staying here, in the comfort of the house, while we were…”

(Y/N) interjected before he could continue and make a bigger mess out of something that was already difficult, “It’s not a competition, Tommy. We know it wasn’t easy for you all out there, but staying here wasn’t easy too. One thing doesn’t erase the other.”

He looked at her then, nothing but ice on his glare, knuckles white from gripping the fork too tight, but said nothing in return, huffing his disagreement.

Silence fell on the table again, the only noises that could be heard were the ones from the cutlery scraping against the plates. This certainly wasn’t the celebration all of them had in mind.

Saying that the rest of the meal was tense would be an understatement. The children ended up easing up the mood, and (Y/N) thanked God if He was listening, for that little blessing.

After they finished, (Y/N) was collecting the dishes to go wash then when Polly stopped her.

“You did most of the cooking, let me and Ada finish the cleaning. Go sit by the fire with a drink and rest a little bit.

(Y/N) didn’t fell for Polly’s act even a little bit. She knew very well what the Shelby’s matriarch wanted—for her and Tommy to make amends over a drink by the fire.

John had gone home with the children, Finn was already with Arthur on the parlour, the oldest Shelby was probably already half-way drunk, considering the amount of alcohol consumed during the meal. She was a little bit tipsy herself, all of them were, in some way, except for the children.

Sighing, (Y/N) picked up her glass from the table, ignoring Ada’s complaints on the background, and headed to the place she wanted to avoid.

As she had guessed, Arthur was almost passed out in one of the couches, a bottle of whiskey by his side. Finn was curled up beside him, one of Arthur’s hand protectively on the boy’s shoulders, as the child dozed off.

She couldn’t contain the smile that appeared on her lips and faltered a little bit when she looked at the other side of the room, finding Tommy sitting there in silence, contemplating the fire.

(Y/N) ignored his eyes on her as she went to pour herself a glass of gin and chose to sit down on the armchair, instead of the couch. What she couldn’t ignore was the frown on his face as she settled down.

None of them said anything for a while, long enough for Arthur’s snores to take over the place.

“I should put Finn to bed,” (Y/N) said, putting her glass down on the center table, meaning to get up.

“Let them stay there,” Tommy’s voice startled her and she turned her head in his direction to see him getting up from the couch and placing his glass on the table, besides hers. “Common, let’s go upstairs,” he invited, extending his hand to her.

(Y/N) sighed, knowing that whatever ruffle started between them never lasted long, and silently accepted his invitation, letting him guide her up the stairs. They were both slightly drunk, but that wasn’t enough to prevent her from hesitating at his door—the room brought her too many memories. The last time they were there alone had been on the night before he left to war—the night she had given herself to him.

Tommy must have noticed her hesitation, leading her inside with a gentle pull, and closing the door behind them.

“Polly said that you wouldn’t enter the room for weeks after we left.”

(Y/N) hummed in answer, watching him sit down on the bed and pat the spot beside him for her to follow. She obliged, studying the peeling wallpaper for a moment.

“And then I wouldn’t leave it, ‘cause it smelled like you,” she admitted, choosing to ignore the little smirk that appeared on his lips, “Until it didn’t anymore and I stayed anyway because it was the closest thing I had of you.”

She looked at him then, to find his gaze already on her, a solemn expression on his face as he assured “You have me now.”

“Do I?” (Y/N) asked, blinking slowly as she felt his hand take hers in between both of his.

She wasn’t certain about anything anymore. They had known each other for all of her life, gone through terrible things that only brought them together even more. But since the day they said their farewells at the train station, (Y/N) wasn’t sure about their feelings for one another anymore.

“You always had,” he assured, not a hint of doubt on his face, “since the moment your mother put that tiny bundle of covers in my arms and you stared back at me with these bright (Y/E/C) eyes of yours.”

He smiled at her, one of those barely-there smiles that were Tommy’s Shelby signature, turning his body toward her, so they were face to face. “You’ll always have me, wanting it or not.”

“As if I ever won’t,” (Y/N) murmured, shyly, more to herself than to him.

Tommy smirked, bringing her closer, cradling her face in between his hands. “Good,” he praised, low and deep, placing a kiss on her forehead, and then a second time, louder and clearer, “Good. ‘Cause I have some plans and I’ll need you by my side.”

“God help us! Thomas Shelby has plans,” she jested as a way to lighten the mood. It only worked for a brief moment, as he smiled and shook his head, but his hands never left her skin as he came closer to her, their noses brushing against each other.

Looking up at him through heavy eyelids, (Y/N) said his name as a warning, one Tommy chooses to ignore, leaning in to extinguish the final bit of space separating them and bringing their mouths together.

(Y/N) doesn’t fight him. Don’t believe she has it in her to refuse him, not when she, herself, had been craving his touch since the moment they said their goodbyes before he left for France years ago. Since he had touched her, made love to her the night before he left. Since the moment he kissed her for the first time when she was fifteen.

She kisses him back, holding his wrists between her fingers, as hungry as he is to get a taste.

“Tommy,” she protests again, weakly, the feeling of his lips trailing down her neck to her collarbone fogging her mind. “Tommy, we shouldn’t.”

He growls in disapproval, lips never leaving her skin, as his hands trail down her body, catching her by the waist and hoisting her up to his lap.

She gasps, not yet used with this new source of strength that the war provided him with. Memories that she tried so hard to bury come flooding her mind.

“I need you,” he breaths against her skin, “Just tonight.”

Taking his face in between her hands, (Y/N) forces him to look at her. He looks lost, like a boat that was left adrift, desperately looking for something that can bring him back to the shore. The look in his eyes is more vulnerable than seductive as he just stays there, unmoving, gazing back at her, waiting for an answer, just as she did years ago.

(Y/N) gives in, nodding. His lips are on hers in a heartbeat, hands grabbing at her hips and bringing her flush against his body. They both moan at the slight friction as her legs tighten around his hips.

Desperately, they start to unbutton each other’s clothes in a hurry to get the skin on skin contact. When she is down to her undergarments, having taken pity on him and freed herself from the slip, his eyes travel down her body, taking in every inch of exposed skin.

She remembers their first time together, how he did the same thing, looking down at her as if trying to engrave the image on his mind and (Y/N) suddenly feels vulnerable.

Tommy doesn’t give her much time to think, spinning them around and laying her down onto the mattress. His mouth explores her skin like it was a map he has to memorize. He places open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone and chest, unfastening the brassiere to kiss, lick and nibble at her breasts, chuckling against her skin as she takes a fist of his hair in between her fingers, tugging it not so gently at the feeling of one of her nipples being dragged against his teeth.

He tortures her with his ministrations until he is satisfied with the writhing mess she’d become. Then his kisses move down, and down until they reach the waistband of her bloomers.

Looking up at her, hunger in his eyes, Tommy hooks his fingers on the fabric, bringing it down her legs, along with her stockings, leaving her bare before him.

Again, he takes a moment to look down at her through heavy eyelids. She is not sure about what she sees in his cold eyes, but whatever it is, it brings a shiver down her spine.

Partying her legs, Tommy lays down on his stomach, bringing her calves to rest on his shoulders. (Y/N) lets her head fall back, closing her eyes at the feeling of his fingers parting her lips and his tongue licking up a stripe from her entrance to her clit.

She moans against her palm, trying to muffle the sound, her other hand fisting the sheets as he chuckles.

“Patience, love,” he purred, “I’ve been waiting for that for too long, let me enjoy you.”

Her mind can’t register the words, not when his mouth was on her again, kissing, and licking, and nibling, making her go crazy. (Y/N) didn’t remember the last time that a man had willingly done that, much less if any had made her feel this way with just his mouth.

(Y/N) has to bite down her lower lip to prevent any sounds from coming out of her mouth as she feels one of his fingers slipping into her.

Tommy doesn’t seem pleased by it, “Common now, (Y/N/N), don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

“Your siblings are on the house,” she warns.

“From what I remember you weren’t worried about that the last time,” he retorts back, mirth dripping from his voice. “Besides, they’ve heard worse. John went back home with the kids, I’m pretty sure that Finn and Ada left with Polly, Arthur is too drunk to bother. You have nothing to worry about.”

She doesn’t get a chance to fight back when he adds a second finger to the first and licks at her clit at the same time. (Y/N) almost doesn’t recognize the sound that leaves her lips.

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, fingers curling inside of her and making her curse under her breath. “Don’t hold back, come for me. I want to feel you coming all around my fingers. Want to know how it tastes.”

It’s all too much for her to handle. Having him back home, safe and sound, the feeling of one of his hands holding her down as his fingers play with her, the sound of his voice praising her… Her eyes close, toes curling as pleasure washes over her body.

She comes to her senses again with the feeling of his lips on hers. (Y/N)’s hands find the back of his neck to bring him closer, savouring the heady taste of her on his tongue.

He breaks the kiss, getting rid of the rest of his clothes in a hurry as she watches, getting acquainted with this new version of him. She had patched him up enough times to distinguish his old scars from the new ones. He was stronger, had more muscle on his bones, looked sharper when he had been softer before.

There was no denying that the man who came back from the war wasn’t the same that left for it.

Joining her again, he positions himself between her legs, holding himself up on his elbows, as he kisses her again. Both of them take a sharp intake of breath when their bodies meet. He rocks against her, the friction making her hiss against his lips.

“Don’t tease,” she half warns, half begs.

Tommy smiles, parting her folds with one hand and rubbing his cock against her cunt, swearing against her ear.

“So wet,” he coos, rolling them around again, so she is straddling him.

He pulls her close, resting her forehead against his as she positions herself over him. Tommy’s strong hands guide her down his cock slowly. The feeling is better than what (Y/N) remembered and she has to fight the urge to just close her eyes and get lost in the sensation.

Maybe it would’ve been better if she had because the look of pure awe in his eyes is something that (Y/N) doesn’t know if she will be able to forget.

She lets him guide her at first. He is surprisingly gentle, waiting for her to get used to the stretch, setting a slow pace as he helps her move, dropping praises at her ear, of how good she feels, how wet she is, how well she is taking him.

It doesn’t take long for her to feel the familiar sensation of pleasure pooling down at the low of her belly, encouraging her to pick up a rhythm of her own. Hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage, (Y/N) rolls her hips more firmly against his, taking him all the way down, before increasing her speed.

“Fuck,” he pants against her ear, lips searching for hers as his fingers dig deeper onto her waist.

It feels too good, him filling her up, hitting so deep that it’s almost too easy to get lost in it. She grabs at his hair, tastes the sweat on his skin, traces the inked lines on his chest and arm while moaning his name.

“Just tonight?” the reminder comes out as a question, one that he answers against her lips, eyes locked on hers.

“Just tonight.”

Her chest tightens with his words but she doesn’t have time to delve into it, not when Tommy starts to thrust up into her and all she can feel is him, moving inside of her, lips on her skin as he groans her name.

She feels his cock throbbing and his release follows right after. He doesn’t relent though, sneaking a hand in between them to massage her clit while he moves her up and down his still hard cock. It doesn’t take long for her orgasm to hit her with full force, she is too far gone, becoming putty in his hands.

As the coil inside her belly snaps, (Y/N) gasps his name, searching for his lips in desperation. The pleasure is overwhelming, she doesn’t want it to end, doesn’t want to face him tomorrow morning and pretend that this meant nothing to her. A single tear escapes her eye, she feels his fingers brushing it off and opens her eyes to see the little frown on his face.

Kissing him again, she relinquishes the feeling of him still inside of her, trying to burn it into her memory, because she doesn’t know if he will still be there in the morning.

.

Taglist: @stressedandbandobessed7771​ @captivatedbycillianmurphy​ @internalmess3​ @giowritess​ @theshelbyclan​ @peakyxtommy​

[a-libra-writes]

Bathing With the RDR2 Gang

This is 150% self indulgent please forgive me. Im only in like chap 3 of the game haha but i cant resist. rockstar please cant i just give everyone a bath and nicer clothes??? let me give tilly lots of dresses i beg you

In this imagine, you’ll be warshin: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Sadie Adler, Micah Bell, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Tilly Jackson, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Karen Jones

ARTHUR MORGAN

He’s bashful about it at first, even if you’ve been together before, but it doesn’t take long at all for him to relax. He really enjoys the closeness of it, and how intimate and calming something as simple as sitting in water can be. It’s a little cold, which just makes him want to hold you closer. If he’s had an exhausting day, he’ll lean on your shoulder and close his eyes, slowly dozing off as you run your fingers through his hair. You figure you should let him rest, and you wash the rest of him while he sighs contentedly against your wet skin. After a bath, regardless if it’s in a river or tub, he’s always worried you’ll catch cold. He packs an extra jacket or shirt of his for you to wear. If you had a warm bath at the saloon, he’ll be in such a snuggly, intimate mood that he’ll grin as he carries you to the room.

JOHN MARSTON

You’ve never met a man who gets as mangy as he does, and so quickly! You have to drag him to a river to properly wash, since he seems to just splash water on his face and arms and call it a day. John fusses with embarrassment at first and can’t believe you actually brought fancy soaps (any soap is fancy to him), but he quiets down once you strip. Once you’re in the water and lathering him up, he’s bashful from the attention but actually really likes it. He can’t help himself from getting handsy, almost clingy, but he stays obedient and rinses off when you tell him. He’s not so fond of the saloon tubs, even with the hot water, because it just feels too cramped. The openness of a lake or river, along with the bright sun and noise of nature, is just objectively better.

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

While he loves sharing a bath with you, it’s definitely an indulgence and one you both don’t always have time for. So when there’s time, he makes sure it’s a cozy tub with plenty of hot water. He thinks it’s adorable if you want to wash him and care for him, because he’d rather do that to you. Sometimes he’s chatty and playful, other times he’s tired and thoughtful, but Dutch always likes to just hold you and soak for a bit. He’ll make sure you’re dried off and warm first, and he’ll want to keep touching you, so he’ll want to dress you and escort you to the room. Dutch really can’t get enough of your skin when it’s wet and smelling so nice, so you aren’t going to sleep anytime soon. 

HOSEA MATTHEWS

He enjoys bathing out in nature, even if there isn’t always time for a proper wash, so your suggestion to take a dip in the lake amuses him. He’d rather wash you first, enjoying the simplicity of doing something like that for someone he loves. You two often end up chatting and joking about this or that while you just take your time and enjoy the sunny day. Hosea doesn’t mind if the water is a little cold, it invigorates him better than a cup of coffee. He always urges you to dry off and dress quickly so you don’t catch cold, and he’s the one who double checks to make sure you both brought a spare change of clothes. Hosea doesn’t mind a hot  bath in the saloon, even if it is cramped. It makes him terribly sleepy, though, he’ll rest his head in the crook of your neck… but he’d rather not fall asleep in a giant porcelain bowl, so he’d urge you to head to bed with him. 

SADIE ADLER

Honestly, she’s a little too embarrassed to squeeze in a tub with you, so a quick wash in a river is preferable. Her first thought is to strip down and get it done quick, but it’s a pleasant surprise when you want to sit in the water and help wash her for a bit. Only a bit, she says, but she ends up enjoying the smalltalk and admiring you. She’d rather wash herself, but she wants to help you reach any spots you can’t get. If she’s feeling more relaxed and sentimental, she’ll want to take care of your hair, too. Sadie prefers bathing with you at night, half because it feels more private, half because it feels like you have all the time in the world and you both can just enjoy each other’s company and the stars. It always makes her feel less tense and helps her sleep a little better.

MICAH BELL

Good lord, it’s like wrangling a cat. Your chance of success is significantly higher if he’s drunk and you promise sex afterward. You all but push him into the river, he grumbles and swears the entire time, he can’t believe you have “soap and shit”, also he can’t keep his hands to himself and wants to drag you into his lap. You could’ve washed his hair in just a few minutes, but it takes longer because you keep swatting his hands away and scolding him for nipping at your neck and shoulders. He’d never admit how nice your fingers feel on his scalp, even if it relaxes him to the point where he’s quieter and less handsy. You don’t bother taking him to the saloon for a dip in the tub because there’s no way he’ll give a shit about bathing when you’re squeezed in such a tight spot with him.

CHARLES SMITH

He loves bathing in rivers and lakes with you; he’s the one to casually suggest it first. It’s just such a simple yet private and loving thing for him, he can’t keep the grin off his face as you strip down and join him in the water. He wants to spoil you first, really touch and enjoy every inch of you, but he melts in your hands when you start washing his hair and rubbing his broad back. His favorite time to do it is at night, since you look so beautiful under the glow of the moon and the stars. If you both are feeling more playful, he’ll definitely splash at you or drag you to the deep end to swim around. Once you both are thoroughly clean and tired, he’ll want to fetch your dry clothes for you, and he always packs a blanket in case you want to sit out and enjoy the night. 

BILL WILLIAMSON

Well, your offer embarrassed him at first, but then you teased him and playfully dared him and well, now you’re here at the riverbank and he’s stripping down in a huff. You were surprised how shy he was at first, since it wasn’t the first time you’d been naked together. Bill wasn’t sure where he should put his hands (or his eyes) and how deep in the water you wanted to go, but once you cuddled close and started washing him, that all melted away. It’s exciting and fun to him, and he likes the soaps you use on him. Even if they smell girly and flowery, it’s what you use, and it’s nice to have your hands on him. Maybe this is why they’re so soft? Afterward he’d really want you to wear one of his shirts back to camp, and he’s disappointed when the smell of your soap eventually fades off the flannel.

JAVIER ESCUELLA

He jumps at the suggestion when you first make it, and he’s the sort to prefer the saloons and their hot water. First of all, hot steaming water, often with bubbles because of the soaps you bring, and he gets to keep you as close as he pleases and “accidentally” brush against your body at all angles. No downsides here. He dislikes the cold water of lakes and rivers; the sun is rarely strong enough to warm them. He’s very weak to you washing his hair. He’ll lean into your touch and give you all sorts of kisses and praises as you run your fingers through it. He’s in such a giddy, warm mood afterward that he wants to dry you off himself and carry you to the room, grinning like you two are newlyweds. There’s no way he’s letting the night end with just a bath. 

SEAN MACGUIRE

Alright, he talks big game when you suggest it, grinning that of course he couldn’t turn down such an offer, and you two won’t be doing much bathing, if you get his point. You just roll your eyes and tell him to follow you. The thing is, once you start stripping down without a care, he starts getting a little red in the ears. By the time you’re both nude and you’re relaxing in the water, he’s flushed to his neck but still trying to make jokes. He’s startled that you actually want to help him wash, and when he does the same, he’s seriously conflicted on where to put his hands. Once he’s relaxed, the “accidental” touches are gonna happen all the time and a splash fight will break out. Once you’re all dried off and heading back to camp, he totally talks big game and wants to kiss on you and brag about your little dip, as if it’s something scandalous.

LENNY SUMMERS

He’s totally flustered at your suggestion but there’s no way he’s not doing it. He’d rather go to the river, especially at night, since it feels more private and something about a stuffy, heated saloon bathing room is a bit … much. Besides, this way you can see the stars and moon, and be as loud as you want. Lenny’s nerves all but melt away once you both start talking and washing, and he gets in a very content, cuddly mood. He makes a point to remember the soaps you like so he can get more if he comes across any, and he wants to help you dry off so he’s sure you won’t get too cold. He’ll probably suggest sitting by the campfire for a bit, just to be sure (and just because he wants to keep cuddling).

KIERAN DUFFY

This poor man, why are you teasing him like this? He’s so sure there’s some kind of punchline, but you walked with him all the way to the river, and now you’re stripping down … He’s so flushed with embarrassment, but there’s no way he’s not following you into the water. Once you joke around with him and talk to settle his nerves, the tension finally leaves his shoulders. He’ll be a little unsure about you touching and washing him, but he’s glad to do the same for you, trying very hard not to get distracted by the softness of your skin. Once you’re ready to get out, Kieran suddenly worries about you being cold, and he really insists on you wearing his jacket on top of your’s, and that you ought to sit by a fire to warm up. It’s cute how much he frets about this. 

TILLY JACKSON

Tilly will pick warm water and a cramped tub any day of the week, and really, it’s not so bad since you’re both ladies and she’s fairly short. She finds the cramped space comical if anything, and you both will be wiggling and giggling while you wash off and just leisurely enjoy the bath. She’s the type who doesn’t like to prune, but she won’t get out until you do. She has a nice collection of soaps and often finds ones you like, and helps you wash after you help her. Afterward she definitely wants to cuddle and probably apply some lotions; you think it’s cute how much she likes feeling so clean and pretty. All that plus the saloon’s mostly cozy bed makes you two feel like fancy ladies living in luxury, and you both grin and recall it for a least a week afterward. A dip in the river is so … unexciting by comparison, you both just sigh and wash quickly before you shiver to death. 

MARY-BETH GASKILL

Your offer made the color rise to her cheeks, even if you’d been intimate before. Why hadn’t this occurred to her? It seemed like a private thing, but she was too interested. She always thought a hot bath was the height of comfort, but when you took her to the river, she was in awe over how quiet and cozy it was as the sun set. The colors of the sky and stillness of the water was so romantic! She likes being the one to undo your hair and clothes, although she’s shy about you doing the same and wanting to wash her. Mary-Beth loves having nice soap to wash with and will admire you for having several on hand. She can’t help but be full of giggles and give you lots of kisses while you both sit and chat.

KAREN JONES

She’ll laugh at such a “saucy” suggestion, but she’s game for either a quick dip in the river or a trip to the saloon. When it comes to a warm tub, her usual jokes and fun will peter out as she gets sleepy and cuddles up to you. No matter where you two are, washing her hair and massaging her back makes her tired, and she’ll curl up in your arms and tease you about carrying a nice lady back to her bed. Once you two are dried off, she’ll wake up enough to help tie your hair up and dress for bed or for the day, depending on when you bathed. If it’s the morning, she’ll need just a few kisses and hugs to be energetic again. If she’s still chilly afterward, she’ll borrow one of your jackets and wear it well after she’s dried off.

[peakascum]

Somebody’s Baby

Shelby Sister & Fluff.

Y/N opened the door and quietly stepped inside by walking on her toes. She basked in the warmth of the house as she locked the old, rusty door and set her purse on the hook, making sure to count the shoes at the entrance. It was a habit she picked out from a young age, to count her sibling’s shoes when she got home. She can't recall when exactly she picked out the habit but it was a way to make sure that each and everyone of them were safe in their home, even as adults. 

As she finished counting the shoes she finally let out a content breath. Her eyes closed as she leaned into the wall and a smile slapped itself across her face.

Thomas Shelby was still awake when he heard the front door shut. It was late but the tapping sound on his newly torn window couldn't let him sleep. The man slept through bullet showers in France but lost sleep over the sounds his windows made. Even so, his sister was out and he liked to remain alert just to be sure she got home safely. A sigh escaped him as he watched her count the shoes that littered the entrance, turning into an amused smirk. She turned right back around, leaned with her head against the wall and welcomed in a smile that soon turned into a childish giggle. She quickly placed her fingers on her lips, delicately brushing over them, something truly out of a scene from those romantic films.

“I take it you're smitten over him?” Tommy laughed, watching her jump slightly startled. “When have you ever said the word smitten?” You said, head remaining pressed against the wall. “Since Ada dragged me to see that bloody awful film.” You both laughed quietly at that. She had the worst taste in pictures. 

“Oh I see,” she said pushing herself off the wall, “and here I was wondering what had you tipping your cap at women on the streets.” He laughed at that, “No, no. I’ve always done that, Y/N-“ her laugh cut him off, “Yes, of course! Ever the gentleman, Mr. Shelby.” She bowed her head in mockery and his eyes twinkled at her.

She was the youngest Shelby and by far the most loved.

She sat down as he poured her some whisky, “Are you gonna tell me his name?” She shook her head and stared at the drink intently. “You'll just scare him away,” she looked up at his big eyes, so much like their mother’s. 

“You know I wouldn't do that to you.”

“I know, I just-” she sighed and rested her head on her free hand, “I just don’t want to get my hopes up.” Tommy stared at her hoping that his eyes communicated all the things he wanted her to know. “A name is not needed. A name’s a name.” She referred to her own, of course. Whenever anyone heard the Shelby name they immediately assumed the worst. Said her brothers were scum, her father a deadbeat, and all just tooth, rotting criminals. If they could only see through her eyes how unbelievably wrong they were. No matter the amount of dirt they dragged in the house, or the amount of times they trotted through the door soaked in blood, Y/N saw her brothers as good people trying to deal the cards they were given. Always turning a blind eye to every ilegal bidding, but never entirely naïve of their ways.

Tommy worried for his sister and often joked that she had to have been raised by another family. She loved to read and was practically self taught after befriending the book store owner. She got lost in the yellowing pages of books she found and then rambled on for days about the character’s antics. Unfortunately, this made her an easy target at school. They mocked and kicked her, leaving the young girl friendless and lonely, so she befriended the adults. An “old soul” Polly had called her. So when he heard of her date the evening he promised to not get in the way, just content in seeing his baby sister building a life for herself. 

“Is he at least a good man?” He asked.

“He treats me well.” She smiled.

He huffed, “Well is not good enough.” Her eyes crinkled at her brother and tilted her head to the side, “He respects me and buys me flowers. Those pretty ones I like from the market.” Her tired eyes twinkled for the first time in her life making her look younger, a look Tommy wished he could see more. 

Arthur came trodding down the stairs in a tired manner, arms swinging to his sides, only to stop at the bottom and stare at his two siblings. “Oi!” He raised both arms in disbelief, “nobody tells me fuckin’ anything, eh?” They chuckled at him. Y/N shushed him and extended her hand for him to take. “Oh hush Arthur, this was improvised.”

“Yeah I bet, improvised, yeah.” He kissed the top of her head and sat down beside her as Tommy poured him a glass. “You had a date tonight, didn’t ya’?” She nodded. 

“Apparently he treats her well and buys her flowers.” Tommy said in sarcastic tone making Arthur raise his brows. “Flowers, eh? He buys ya’ flowers.” 

“He does and he’s good and that’s all you need to know.” She said definitively making him chuckle.

“You know I bought flowers for this girl once,” he started, making his sister face him completely, “she was a pretty, little thing so I bought her flowers.” Tommy let out a laugh, “Oh fuck I remember this.”

“Anyway, I’m walking over to her house, really excited and all cause y’know how could she not like flowers? I tripped on the fuckin’ sidewalk, landed on horse shit, scraped my bloody, fuckin’ knees,” she let out a squeal at her brother’s misery, “The flowers were already battered and ruined, but I pushed through.” He took a long pause and she stared at him, gesturing with her hands for him to continue the story. “And well that’s that. Turns out she was allergic to them flowers. Head grew two sizes and I had to pay for the hospital bill. Her mum still flips me off every time she sees me.” Tommy and Y/N laughed. He had the worst fucking luck. 

He chuckled at her laughter, always said it was the most joyous thing he’d ever heard. Arthur also had immense respect for her and often thought that he was forever indebted to her.

He would never forget one specific incident, which he never brings up, but it still plagues him every time he sees her. One night after a couple of rounds at the Garrison, Arthur stumbled into the house knocking everything in his path. He entered the living room and quickly plopped down on the couch beside her sulking figure. He rambled on drunkenly about a woman he had met and how Tommy had managed to seduce her. He rambled as his little sister took him to the bath and helped him in his drunken state. She fed him, stroked his hair, and tucked him in as if he were a kid. But Arthur failed to see the look in her eyes, the tears that raised down her youthful cheeks, and the way her hands trembled as she laced her fingers through his hair. He failed to notice the red sheets and how she could barely walk while dragging him from room to room. He failed to notice the way she selflessly helped him after having been raped on the alley just beside their house. As quickly as the thought came into his mind it went, leaving a ghostly smile on his rugged face.

And in came Finn through the door with an excited smile seeing his siblings at the table. “Oh! And where have you been?” She asked as he kissed her cheek and taking the whisky from her hands. “Been around. Might have dropped by the pictures.” He had a tantalising smile on his face as his sister widened her eyes at him. “Might have eavesdropped on your date.”

“Okay, okay! Spill Finn-boy.” Arthur said excitedly as her gathered more glasses to fill with whisky. 

“Finn stop! You did not-“

“I did too. Interesting choice my dear sister.” She narrowed your eyes at him as the newly poured whisky touched her tongue. “Not as interesting as your choice in ladies Finn. Multiple, might I add.”

The room roared in every direction, a symphony of Shelbys asking questions and laughing. Something so rarely seen because, really, it was only reserved for late nights like these. And their smiles all reserved for you and you only. Finn was the only one who truly knew where his sister was and with whom. After all, he was good friends with he man who dared to ask her out.

Little did her eldest brothers know but just as little Y/N Shelby closed the door and leaned against the wall, Isiah Jesus had done just the same as he watched her enter the Shelby household. His head had rested against the door, cheeks flushed and eyes full of life. He had adored the girl ever since he could remember, becoming completely helpless at the sight of her youthful cheeks and kind eyes. 

As the teasing conversation continued, Polly peaked her head through the kitchen door. She had been awoken by laughter, which was a relief to the countless nights she had woken to the sounds of bullets and screams. Her tired eyes crinkled at the four siblings. Hand making its way towards her heart and sighing a little prayer up to John and their late mother. Oh, if they could only witness this precious moment. If they could only see how protected and loved the youngest one was. 

[queenxxxsupreme]

Hi!! Could you do a rdr2 oneshot and Arthur is a chubby boi and insecure about it?? I'm a hoe for chubby Arthur 🧍‍♀️many thanks!!

A/N: Omg I haven’t been able to find enough chubby!Arthur on here but I love him!!! My masterlist is here and here is the link to go to if you want to be on any of my taglists!

Warnings: poor self image and Arthur hating on himself

***

“Thank you for giving me a hand with dinner tonight, Y/N.” 

You looked over your shoulder to Pearson, offering him a little smile. 

“I wasn’t busy and I don’t mind lending a hand.”

“I’m glad someone helps out around here.” He muttered, sending Molly a brief glare. She sat at the table across from you, touching up on her lipstick. You had been chatting with her while you cut up vegetables for Pearson. 

“Would you want her cuttin’ up vegetables for dinner?” You asked him, keeping your voice low enough so she wouldn’t hear you. “Might end up losing a finger in the stew.”

“That would be somethin’.” He chuckled. 

As Pearson moved towards his wagon to retrieve something, you picked up your conversation with Molly. She was as worried as could be about Dutch.

“Dutch is…. He’s got a lot on his shoulders right now, Molly.”

“But you see that he’s different too, don’t you?” She put her compact mirror down and looked at you. “I’m-I’m not just goin’ crazy, am I?”

“No, Molly. You aren’t.” You shook your head. “If you’d like, I can see if Arthur would be willing to talk to him.”

She was quiet, her eyes finding Dutch. He was standing at the fire not too far away with Hosea, John, Micah, and Ms. Grimshaw.

You put the chopped carrots into a bowl and wiped off the blade of your knife. As you moved on to the potatoes, you looked up to find Arthur. A few minutes ago when you had last checked on him, he was sitting at another table across from camp with Sadie. He was still there, but Sadie was gone. 

He still appeared to be tense and to have something on his mind. All day, he had been grumpy and distant. After he insisted that nothing was wrong, you were somewhat convinced that he had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

“There she is. Mi amor.” 

You turned your head to see Javier move around the table you were at. You smiled at him.

You had met Javier long before you ever joined the Van der Linde gang. You were close friends with the outlaw and had a rather flirtatious relationship with him, though it never went further than flirty comments.

“When are we going to go on that fishing trip, cariño?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You picked up a potato and began to peel it. “I reckon when you can buy me one of them fancy boats.” 

“A fancy boat? What do you need a fancy boat to go fishing for?” Javier eyed what you were doing, paying attention to your knife work. “You handle that knife well, amor. Who taught you so well?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing very well he was teasing you. He was the one who taught you how to use a knife. 

“Some fella I met a while ago.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Arthur move. You turned your head to watch him walk away, taking note of how fast he moved and how tense he appeared. You wanted to follow him and make sure he was okay, but you had to finish helping Pearson with dinner. 

***

A while later, Pearson called for everyone to come get dinner. You excused yourself from the table with Hosea, John, and Lenny to go find Arthur. The grump was upstairs in his room. He was laying on his bed with one knee bent slightly and his eyes focused on the ceiling. Upon hearing the bedroom door creak open, Arthur sat up. His broad shoulders were hunched and he didn’t meet your gaze.

“Supper’s ready, darlin’.” You held the door open for him.

“Not hungry.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Are you sure? You haven’t eaten much all day.”

“Yeah, m’sure.” 

You watched him for a few moments. Your stomach twisted up into knots at the sound of his voice, small and weak. Something was wrong. He just was being stubborn and keeping it from you. 

You looked out into the hall, listening for a few moments to see if anyone else was in the house. Luckily, everyone was outside having dinner. You stepped back into Arthur’s room and closed the door behind yourself. Your footsteps were quiet as you crossed the room to sit down on the bed next to him.

He kept his eyes on the wooden floorboards between his boots, unable to bring himself to look at you. He knew the second he looked at you, the second he gazed into those Y/E/C eyes, he’d be done for. He’d pour his heart out and bare his soul to you. It happened far too often when he felt like this. 

You placed your hand on the back of his head, fingers gently combing through the dirty blond hair at his nape. You leaned over to kiss his shoulder, not minding that you were kissing the material of his dark blue button down. 

“I know you better than you think, Arthur Morgan.” You murmured against his shoulder. “You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t want to…. But I am here for you always.”

“Ain’t nothin’ you can do, pumpkin.” He whispered. 

“I’m sure there’s something I could do.” You studied his profile, admiring everything from his lashes to the curve of his chin. You reached over to place your hand on the side of his face and gently turned his head towards you.

Blue eyes met yours. You smiled. He tried to but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was forced. It didn’t belong on his lips. 

“I-I just….” He trailed off, pulling your hand from his face. He kept ahold of your hand, dropping his gaze to where he now held your hand in his lap. “You know there’s always gonna be…. There’s gonna be better for you out there, pumpkin. Someone better for you than me.”

Your heart sunk at the realization that this was what had been on his mind all day.

“Arthur Morgan, there is no one better for me than the man sittin’ right here next to me.” You squeezed his hand. 

“That ain’t true.” He murmured. “Why didn’t you and Javier ever get together?”

“Arthur.” You said his name gently. “We’ve been over this. Javier and I are just friends. Nothing more. I don’t see him that way and he surely doesn’t see me that way. I’m a flirt, you know that. All sweet talk.”

“I know. Just…. I ain’t nothin’ like Javier or Charles or even Sean or Lenny. I’m more like Bill or Pearson.”

“And what in the world makes you say that?” You furrowed your brows together. “Arthur, you’re nothing like Bill or Pearson.” 

“Startin’ to look like ‘em.” He muttered. 

“Oh, Arthur.” You placed your hand on his thigh. “No you don’t–,”

“Don’t say that, Y/N.” Arthur stood up suddenly, taking a few steps away from the bed, turning to face you. He ran his hands over his face then back through his hair. “It ain’t so subtle, Y/N. Shirts ain’t fittin’ like they used to. And my belts, they’re needin’ to be put on a different loop than they used to be. Soon I’ll have a gut like Pearson or Williamson!”

“Arthur.” You said his name calmly, but he wasn’t finished yet. 

“And you! My god, Y/N! You don’t deserve an old ugly bastard like me! You don’t deserve the kind of life I can give you! You-You deserve a house and somewhere to call home. You deserve to have a family and somewhere stable to be. You don’t deserve this life. You deserve better.” His voice lowered to a broken whisper as he looked at you with teary blue eyes. “So much better than I could ever give you.”

You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. You looked down as tears welled in your eyes. 

He had stopped yelling his frustrations but now his tone had shifted to something more hoarse and broken. 

“I-I just…. When I look in the mirror, Y/N, I can’t find a single damn thing worth shit. And that just ain’t fair to you.” 

You brushed the tears from your cheeks, biting down on your trembling bottom lip. 

As Arthur stood there a few feet away from the bed looking at you, guilt began to form a nasty ball in the pit of his stomach while he watched you cry.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, pumpkin.” He wanted to move to your side to comfort you, but his boots were stuck to the wooden floorboards beneath him.

You shook your head softly, not yet trusting your voice. You patted the space on the bed next to you, silently telling him to return to where he had been just a few minutes earlier. 

He shuffled over to sit down next to you, allowing you to wrap one of your arms around his that was closest to you. You tucked your nose into his shoulder, inhaling his scent for a few minutes. 

“Arthur Morgan. Where to begin?”

“That’s the million dollar question.” He chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. You smiled a little, but it was hidden since you were still nose deep in his shoulder.

“I think you’re still as handsome as ever, no matter what weight you gain. And if I’m being honest with you, I don’t mind it at all. You always tell me you like to put you head on my thighs/”

“‘Cause they’re soft and comfortable. Perfect for naps.” He placed his hand on your thigh and as if to prove a point, he gave you a soft squeeze. 

“Exactly. There ain’t nothing wrong with being soft and comfortable, Arthur. And just because you’ve gained weight doesn’t mean you don’t deserve me. The two have no correlation.” You lifted your head from his shoulder and reached over to take hold of his chin. You turned his head so that he had no choice but to face you. “I love you, Arthur Morgan. You’re a good man with a heart of gold. If there’s better out there, I don’t want it. I only want you, ya hear?”

He nodded softly, leaning over to kiss your forehead.

“Hearin’ you talk so badly about yourself breaks my heart. You’re so much more than you think.” You kissed his cheek, your thumb gently tracing the stubble along his jaw.

“M’sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for it. We can fix it. It’ll just take some time and a lot of effort from you, you stubborn man.” You let his chin go and placed your hand on his knee, rubbing gently. “Do you want to go downstairs and have dinner with everyone else? Or do you want me to bring our bowls up here?”

He thought about it for a moment, his hand on the small of your back racing circles into your shirt.

“Let’s go down there. I could use some fresh air.”

You nodded, giving him a smile and a kiss on the cheek. 

Taglist:  @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[writeroutoftime]

birthday

pairing: john shelby x reader

summary: it’s you birthday and when the love of your life and your family forget your birthday, you aren’t sure how to react 

warnings: none 

words: 1745

a/n: I wrote this story for @smallheathgangsters​, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEAH!! Thank you for being the wonderful person you are, I truly hope that you had an amazing birthday and that this year brings so many wonderful things your way. I’m so glad to call you a friend, and I hope you enjoy this story - even if it is kinda cheesy!! Best wishes!! 💛

oOoOo

As the morning sun rose across the streets of Birmingham, small peaks of light filtered through your bedroom curtains and dosed you in the morning sunrise. With a yawn and a full body stretch, you reached across the sheets and your eyes shot up at the lack of another body wrapped around yours. Normally, John had at least an arm thrown over your waist, but that morning you only found sheets cool to the touch.  

Moments later you curled back into your blankets and tried to let sleep wash over you once more, no longer confused. Every year on your birthday, without fail, John managed to slip out of bed before you woke up and recruited your children to make you breakfast in bed. While it usually ended with John shooing your child outside while he cleaned up the egg and flour streaked kitchen to prepare something edible, the thought always warmed your heart. 

Though, of course, your children would still find some way to cause mischief before the day had truly began. One year, Katie presented you with a bouquet of wildflowers they had found, and you had struggled to contain your giggles at the sight of the rest of your children’s face and clothes smeared with dirt.

However, when you heard no banging of pots or pans, early morning quarrels between Will and George, and no hushed whispers and giggles as your family attempted to sneak up the stairs to surprise you, worry began to flow through your veins. Quickly, you wrapped your robe around yourself before you padded into the kitchen to find your family.  The only one you could find was John, you sat calmly at the kitchen table, a cup of juice in his hand as he concentrated on the paper spread out in front of him.

“Morning, love.” John greeted coolly when he heard you walk in, not even sparing you a quick glance.

“Morning.” you responded look around, slightly dazed by the sight before you. “Where are the kids?”

John’s voice kept the same, nonchalant, tone as he turned the page of the paper. “Oh, Polly’s watching ‘em today. “

A glimmer of hope bubbled in your chest at your husband’s words. Maybe this had been John’s plan all along – a day alone just for the two of you. It was something you hadn’t the luxury to enjoy in quite a while, and you were well overdue for some quality time with your husband.  “So, any plans for today?” you asked slyly as you walked towards John, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and placing a kiss behind his ear.

“Not really. ‘Less you count Tommy dragging my ass in to work today.” he said with a slight chuckle.

Had he really forgotten? you thought to yourself as you pulled your arms back to wrap around yourself and watched John go about his morning like any other day. The thought made your heart clench, but you decided against speaking up. John had never forgotten your birthday in all the years you had known him, and while that made the fact that he had this year sting a little more, you also decided he was it must have slipped his mind because of how hard Tommy had been working him recently. Besides, it wasn’t like you wouldn’t have other birthdays, perhaps you simply overreacted.  

“Well, I’m off, love.” John told you, offering you a quick peck on the lips before he adjusted his cap and was out the door without another word.  

You were left, stunned, and staring wistfully at the door. With heavy feet you dragged yourself upstairs to prepare for the day, taking the time to bathe and pamper yourself in the way that your life hadn’t allowed you to over the past few weeks. You decided that even if John wasn’t going to spend the day with you, there had to be other’s that remembered, and the day would be celebrated in style.

As the morning wore on, you rung Ada up to see if she would be open to a nice afternoon out to have a birthday lunch and do a little bit of shopping. That hope was quickly crushed when Ada picked up and immediately told you she was late for a shift as the two of you spoke. Polly was just as evasive on the phone, claiming she was taking the kids out and rushed you off the line without wishing you a happy birthday. You didn’t even bother to call the office because you knew if Tommy had called John in, then Arthur and Finn wouldn’t be far behind.

Dejected, you slumped onto the couch with an exasperated sigh and pulled out a book to fill the time, but once you realized you had read the same sentence over and over, you shut the book and decided to walk through the meadow that surrounded your house. When the sun began to set, you made your way back to the still empty house and ran the last stretch of land when you heard the phone’s shrill ring.

“Hello?” you asked, desperate for contact with another person.

“y/n?” Tommy confirmed through the receiver. “You need to come down to the Garrison.” he commanded – no ‘how are you’ no ‘happy fucking birthday,’ just him barking orders, as always.

“Why?” you pressed, the anger finally beginning to boil inside of you.

There was a sigh from Tommy’s end before he responded. “Because John-Boy’s drunk off his ass and needs someone to bring him home.”

“Fine.” you spat and harshly slammed the phone back on its hook.  

The entire walk to the Garrison, you rehearsed the lecture you had for John and any other Shelby member unfortunate enough to cross paths with you. While you first thought you could excuse John’s forgetfulness, knowing that he had abandoned you to get drunk, you couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Upon reaching the Garrison, however, you noticed the noise that normally flowed from the doors and windows was absent.

Slightly concerned, and with hesitant steps, you made your way to the entrance, cursing yourself for not bringing the small gun John had gifted you so many birthdays ago. Ready to attack at a moment’s notice, you headed into the pub to be meet with a pitch-black room, until -  

“SURPRISE!” you heard from every corner of the pub as the lights were switched on to reveal the Garrison overly decorated with streamers, balloons, and confetti all around.  

Front and center of the crowd stood John with a huge smile on his face, surrounded by all of your children who ran up to hug you. The rest of the Shelby clan stood off to the side clapping and cheering up a storm – even serious, stoic Tommy had a smile on his face as he held Charlie in his arms.

There was a chorus of “Happy Birthday, y/n” as you were led you to a table off to the side with your birthday cake, a handful of presents, and what looked to be handmade cards. You smiled at each and every one of the cards that your children made you and they gave you hugs before Linda ushered them together to take them home for the evening.

It only took a few seconds after that before a drink found its way into your hands as you went around to hug Ada, Polly Arthur, Tommy, and even Finn. They all expressed their sorrow for having to act like they had forgotten the birthday of one of the most important people in their lives, but you assured them this was well worth the suspense. As you tried to converse with some of the other guests at your party, a pair of hands suddenly covered your eyes, resulting in a yelp to pass by your lips.  

“Happy birthday, angel.” John whispered into your ear, and you spun around to face him with a smile on your face.

“You remembered!” you exclaimed and wrapped your arms around John and burying your head in his chest.

The look that crossed his face was slightly guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t enjoy acting like that to you, I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised.” you said and kissed him to let him know that you weren’t mad in the slightest and that it was truly one of the sweetest things someone had done for you in a while.

John pulled away from the kiss after only a few seconds but dragged you off to the private room of the Garrison and told you to sit down. With your head tilted, you watched John as he pulled out a wrapped present from his pocket and handed it to you before he sat down as well.

Eagerly, you tore into the wrapping paper and threw it to the floor before you gasped at what was inside. Inside the small box sat a beautiful, diamond ring that sparkled from all angles, complete with two, smaller peridot stones set on either side of the main diamond. Tears sprung to your eyes as John knelt down in front of you and gentle took the ring out of the box.

“I know we’ve been together for so long, but I did promise you a ring you truly deserved when I was able to buy it.” he reminisced and looked up at you sheepishly.

The memory made you smile and cry a bit more out of happiness. All those years ago when you had found out you were expecting Katie and John proposed, it was with the ring that currently sat on your finger. While you cherished the ring with your whole heart, John never felt it was worth of enough for you and vowed that when he had made a name for himself, he would give you another ring.

“It’s beautiful.” you whispered and allowed him to slip it onto your ring finger, your old ring moving to your right hand until you could find a chain for it.

John lovingly rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone and lifted your hand to brush his lips against your knuckles. “Thank you for being my beautiful, perfect angel. I love you.” he confessed, more than happy to be sappy and emotional in honor of your birthday.

“I love you too.” you told him and grabbed his face in your hands and kissed him once more, looking forward to the many other perfect birthdays you would spend together.  

[babylooneytoonz]

200 Followers Appreciation Post

I'll be very honest, two months back when I joined Tumblr, I hadn't expected that my writings will be read by many, and the last thing I had expected was to be followed. Now look far we've come, from 0 followers to 200.

A personal thank you and a lot of love to each and every follower of mine.

I think this is the best part of our fandom. We love each other like family.

As a little token of my thank you, I decided to publish two of my requests combined as one today. Hope you like it. 💓

Tommy Shelby x Fem! Reader

Request 1- Prompt "We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies."

Request 2- Reader was always in love with Tommy, thinking he can't love her back she starts writing cheap novels as a way to deal with it. Her books become popular and everything is cool until Tommy finds out about her hobby and notices similarities between her writing and real life.

Warnings - Angst

GIF Credits - @thomasshelbyltd thank you. ❤️

A Maid's Diary

 You slumped against your desk, letting your head rest against the old wooden table top, your elbows on either side of your face. Your desk was a cluttered mess, with sheets of paper flooded all over. In your hand, you held a pen, as you were just seconds back, scribbling vigorously on a parchment as an idea had just hit you, and just as swiftly, the idea had vanished from your mind.

You couldn't forget and you couldn't forgive your best friend, Linda, for having betrayed you by sharing your diary to a local printing press, who had, without your permission, published your countless feelings that you had penned down in your little diary, without even your consent, although they didn't take the credit for it. You were still the writer, even though the publishers never published your real name on it, just a pen name.

As much as you hated to admit it, the little push made by your friend had worked tremendously and your popularity had grown amongst the lower middle class especially; as that is where you hailed from. They loved your modesty, they loved how humble and down to earth you were, although you were extremely talented.

Little did they know, that the book that had been published, as an act of mistake, was actually based on your life.

"What is it that you are reading?" Tommy pushed his round glasses over his eyes, as he looked through them and fixed his broody stare on his wife.

Grace was sprawled on the couch in his study, shimmering in a beautiful pearl white satin nightgown hanging loosely over her slender frame, her natural blonde hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She seamlessly brought up her ring studded hand to her hair, running her fingers through the locks as her eyes came to rest on her husband.

"Would you look at this Tommy?" She raised a red little book in her hand, showing it to him briefly, before she sat back more comfortably. Their son, Charlie, crawled about on the carpeted floor, playing with a toy train. "I don't know who this woman is, but if you read this book, you would feel like you are a bloody part of it."

"Is it one of those fucking love stories again, Grace?"

"It's much more than that, love. It's complex. It's like reading a person's life, living her memories."

"Right, well, I'm out, I've got a bloody meeting with Arthur at the pub." He stood up, sliding his hand into his waistcoat and pulling out the pocket watch, taking a quick glance at it. He then kissed his wife a goodbye, lifting Charlie up in his arms, "Be good, you cheeky little oaf."

Little did he know, how that would be the last week, that he was spending home with his wife. The next week, Grace Shelby was shot, and she couldn't make it.

As days inched by, Tommy started growing more and more morose. Although he didn't show it, those around him felt it everyday. The snapping and the yelling increased, and Tommy found himself sleeping less and less, and chugging down more and more of that alcohol to keep his mind at rest. There were weeks when Tommy didn't see his son. Although he felt guilty, for neglecting him, as the poor child had lost his mother, just like he had lost his wife, he couldn't bring himself to face him, as he reminded him so much of her.

Soon, weeks turned into months and finally, Tommy's agony subsided to a bit. It wasn't as if it was an overnight process, but somehow, over the course of time, Tommy didn't feel the hurt anymore, as he initially did— or maybe, he learnt to live with it.

One night, when the nightmares crippled him to such an extent that he found himself unable to sleep, he decided to go through Grace's belongings, something he had kept locked up in the attic, afraid to touch them. Holding a lantern in his hand, he walked up the flight of stairs, the old floorboards creaking underneath the weight of his foot as he stepped into the dinghy little room. In a corner, a brown crate was hoarded up, keeping all of Grace's belongings.

Pulling off the the wooden board that was nailed shut, he pried it off and ran his hand through the dust coated silk dresses, his fingers gently brushing against the fabric. He let out a weak, pained exhale, slowly sliding down against the floor, pulling his hand out as he started fumbling around his pockets for a cigarette.

With a lit cigarette in his left hand, he slid his right hand back in, feeling around the box until his palm hit something hard. Pulling it out, he saw a little red book that was now turning a shade of purple at the edges. The book was coated in a sheet of dust, causing Tommy to squint his eyes slightly and scrunch up his nose as he brushed the dust off its cover.

A faint smile, a fond remembrance of Grace reading this book with such enthusiasm brought a weak smile to his lips. He took a drag of his cigarette, pulling himself off the floor and pocketed the book, walking out of the attic.

It was his eyes, eyes that could hold an entire ocean in them, that captivated me. I often found myself looking at him, stealing glances, when no one was looking. A part of me begged for his attention, hoping, yearning that he would atleast give me a glance but he never did.

The more he read through the passages, the more he realized what Grace had meant. This was not just a book, it was someone's life, it was someone's feelings. The words were simple and not at all fancy, the backdrop set was not that of a fine mansion, it was a tiny little house, in a clamoured street, a family of five siblings, four boys and one girl, and the writer, who was just a servant. The writer knew the love she felt for one of the sons of the house was wrong, improper and it was forbidden because she was a servant and they were her employers but she couldn't help how she felt, no matter how hard she tried to forget. Tommy couldn't help but feel drawn— drawn to the writer's pain, her anguish and the feeling of being stuck at the end of a self destructive, one sided love. He knew what it meant to not get to be with the person you loved. He had experienced the pain, although in a different sense but somehow, he could relate. Although Thomas Shelby didn't show any feelings, he had eventually fallen head over heels in love with Grace Burgess and life with her had been a life of roses and poppies, while he was a crown of thorns; that Grace bravely adorned on her head.

It was a cold night, and I was freezing. I could feel my cheeks turning to stone and my hands fervously rubbing against my arms to keep myself warm. I could see them right in front of my eyes; the whole family. They looked happy. They brothers were teasing their sister, who had a look of dismay plastered over her face, and the youngest brother, who was just a toddler, ran about the parlour, sucking on his thumb. I wondered if it was selfishly wrong of me to think of him in this way, to imagine how our little household would have been, had I been bound to him by marriage. I wondered if it was a sin, wondering what I would have named our children if we had a handful of them.

Thomas found himself leaning back comfortably in bed, straining into his glasses, wanting to read more, although his body and his eyes were beyond tired. It was as though he could see a glimpse of his life before the war had been, right through someone else's eyes. He could see little Finn, perched on the carpeted floor, running his toy train all over it, making a weird engine sound with his mouth while John and Arthur teased Ada for something she had probably said. He could picture himself by the window, staring at the dimly lit sky, the illuminating stars, thinking of the moment Greta took her last breath, her frail hand falling limp in his warm one.

How unlucky had he been with women, he had watched the women he loved die, in in his arms.

As I scrubbed the dishes in the kitchen, I could hear the curses in the parlor. He was screaming at himself, bringing the dishes down, breaking them one by one. No one dared stop him, because no one wanted to be slammed against the wall or have to be the one taking a porcelain hit on his face. I wondered if I should step in, maybe give him some tea but I didn't. Maybe, he didn't need it. It was only later that I found out he had lost the love of his life.

He shoved the book aside and sat up straighter, running his palm through his face, his breathing shaky and rushed. He grabbed his cigarette box off the bedside table and lit himself a cigarette. Maybe reading this book had been a mistake, it was opening up all his raw wounds that he had buried away.

He was leaving. I wanted to ask him when he would be back but of course, that would have been such a silly question. And besides, he had a lot more on his plate, why would he want to speak to a servant? I stood behind the kitchen wall, listening to the solemn parting, the shuffling of feet, listening to them leave until finally I could hear them no more— I could hear him no more.

Years after years, I went on with life, with a smile on my face. I did what I always did in the mornings; scrubbing the floors clean, washing the dishes, preparing supper and doing the laundry. At night, though, I thought of him and his blue eyes. I wondered if there was any news, for I hadn't heard anything about him in ages. Maybe my prayers were finally answered, the war ended and they all were back home. Only they weren't themselves. The war had killed a part of them. They were the ghosts of war, left to meander the Earth until they finally died.

"Mr. Shelby?" Tommy sharply looked up, his eyebrows straightened into a visible frown.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Charlie's asleep, the supper's ready. I was wondering if I could get a night off—"

"Mary, you may. You have bloody worked hard enough to earn a night off. Go on then, hurry up, it's pretty dark outside."

He watched her leave, staring at the door before bringing his gaze back to the book, wondering if the writer was out there somewhere. And he wondered, and hoped, that she had finally gotten to be with the man she loved. She deserved it. She deserved all the happiness in the world.

I finally mustered the courage, after what seemed like eternity, to speak my heart out. I was afraid of rejection, but he deserved to know. I deserved to be free of this heavy secret in my heart. I didn't care if he would ask me to leave, stop coming to work from tomorrow but he needed to know I loved him. So, I stepped out into the chilly night, wrapping myself with whatever warm I could find. I walked and walked, until I was at his pub. Of course, he wasn't there. With a heavy heart then, I thought of going back home, through an alley, that was a shorter route. Little did I know, I was never going to get the man I loved for he already had the woman he loved, the woman from the pub; that barmaid. I saw the man I was in love with, from a window, the way I always imagined him to be with me, kissing her and stroking her cheeks. It was as though I heard a devastating sound somewhere close by, but it was nothing but my heart—shattered into two.

Thomas Shelby was many things, but he was not ignorant, or dumb. He slammed the book shut, shoving it on the bedside table. His heart was racing rapidly and he could feel blood rush through his veins. Arching his body forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, he buried his face into his palms. Every single detail in the book, every single piece of writing was something he had experienced before. It couldn't be a mere coincidence, could it? He slid out of bed, stomping through the hallway into his study until he was perched on a stool by the telephone his fingers frivolously moving against it. He knew what he had to do now.

"Pol?" He mumbled into the phone the instant he heard her on the other side.

"Tommy? It's fucking midnight, what's the bloody matter?" Tommy didn't mind he had woken her up. He needed answers.

"Do you remember a maid that worked for us?" He sighed into the receiver.

"Tommy, we have hired a dozen fucking maids, which one are you talking about?"

"She was with us when Greta died, when we went to war—"

On the other side of the telephone, Polly's demeanour softened. She remembered you, she even knew how you loved Thomas, but she could never bring it up to her lips, because she knew that you and Thomas had no future.

"Yes."

"Do you know where she is? And for fucks sake, don't lie."

Your coffee mug lay on the table untouched, smoke bellowing out of it in waves. Outside your window, snow drizzled from the sky, like tiny droplets of fur falling to the ground, your garden sheeted in pristine virgin white.

"Love, you have to bloody see this," your friend Linda's voice echoed through the closed door, loud enough to alert you.

"What is it?" You threw open your window, watching your bestfriend stand at the gate, her eyes fixed to your window, "Just get your bloody arse down here (Y/N), I have to show you something. Come on out, now."

Annoyance.

You practically ran down the flight of stairs, not even stopped to calm your breaths.

"Jesus, Linda, it's fucking snowing, I'm going to freeze to—"

"Sorry love." Linda gave you an apologetic smile, her index finger pointing towards the silhouette of a man leaning by your front gate, slowly sliding out of the periphery of gaze. Neither were you watching her. You were watching a ghost of your past, that stood leaning by the metal gate on your front door, a cap on his head, a long overcoat drawn over his scrawny body. He had gotten weaker than you had last seen him.

"Miss (Y/N)." His voice was curt, yet warm, without a trace of malice in it. After all these years, he was right here, on your doorstep.

"Mr. Shelby? Would you like to come in?"

He shook his head, rather, his eyes and you knew that he didn't want to talk in the confines of your home, under prying eyes. He slowly pulled out a book from his pocket and your eyes widened. Your fingers flew to your lips and you felt a rush of blood in your body, an instant feeling of being in the warmth of a fireplace. You wanted to reply, but you couldn't find the words.

"You read my book, you found me out."

"It wasn't that fucking difficult to figure it out, love."

"Jesus, would you please come in? It's freezing out here, you're going to bloody catch a cold—"

He cut you off as you turned to walk in, grabbing you by your arm, not hard, but firm enough to stop you from walking. He then pulled you towards him, your front hitting his hard chest, to look into his face.

"It was you all along?"

You didn't know what to say anymore. He had found you out. After all these years.

"I don't understand—" You whispered, shaking your head. You couldn't lie, his eyes were making you nervous and all the feelings that had simmered over the course of time were finally lighting up again. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it will get published."

"Do you believe in destiny?" He cut you off.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to mentally think where he was going with this, "Perhaps, Mr. Shelby, but you need to be clearer than that."

"I didn't believe in fucking destiny, until this minute. I can't believe I'm fucking saying this—" You could see reluctance in his eyes, an inward fighting. You could see that he was thinking hard, probably having a hard time figuring out what he should say to you. "You remember Greta?"

You were hundred percent sure you weren't smiling, but had you been smiling, it would have withered.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby, the girl that died holding your hand, the girl you loved."

"Good, and what about Grace? The woman you saw at the fucking window."

Your cheeks reddened at the remark with embarassment, making you regret how he had read that part. That was a private thing between Thomas and Grace.

"I didn't mean to pry, I was just passing through the alley and I looked up and I —" You voluntarily bit on your tongue in an attempt to silence yourself because you knew you were babbling and your words were not making much sense. You needed to compose yourself, compose your thoughts.

"I married her, yeah? And do you know what happened then?"

You closed your eyes briefly, hoping he wouldn't see the pain in your eyes. When you blinked your eyes open again, you straightened slightly, almost taking a step away from him. He caught your arm, pulling you back to him.

"We have a lovely boy together, Charlie, he's three almost."

You wondered if Tommy was here to chastise you, to make you apologize, or maybe, your book had caused a rift in their marriage.

"She was shot. Fucking took a bullet that was meant for me. I fucking watched her die. Twice, (Y/N). I think it was my destiny. Will you ask me why?"

"Mr. Shelby—" You hopelessly began, trying to tell him how sorry you were about what had happened. But what could you do? It wasn't as if you had shot Grace.

"Just bloody ask me why."

You stiffened at the harshness of his voice.

"I- Why?"

"Because this fucking destiny had something else in mind for me. Perhaps it was you all along, the one I was maybe meant to be with."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words, a sudden palpitating feeling in your heart, a sudden throbbing in the back of your mind. You pulled your arm away, wincing slightly at his sudden outburst, instantly moving away.

"Your words make no sense. Will you please stop?"

He parted his lips in an attempt to reply, but all that shot out of his plump lips was foggy winter air and he shut it. His hand flew to the side of your face, but he didn't touch you. He merely took a loose strand of your hair, curling it over his index finger. You could feel the sudden tension, his lips so close to you, you knew if you didn't stop him, he would kiss you. And later regret it.

"Mr. Shelby, this is a mistake. If I was your destiny, I would be the one buried in a grave and not the women you loved. I did love you," you spoke, hopelessly pulling yourself one step away but this time he didn't make an attempt to pull you close, perhaps having sensed your reluctance.

He raised his eyebrow, "Did?"

"I still do, but I don't think we were meant to be."

"I see," he almost stepped closer, reluctantly, fighting for control at the back of his mind. This was a new feeling. He knew he didn't love you yet, but at the same time, he knew he was in love with the woman from the book. The woman who had always loved him.

"Why?"

A single word can hold a vast meaning. A single word can have an answer that you could probably write a book on.

"Because Thomas .. We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies," you whispered in a low voice, tears shrouding into your eyes.

"Yet there's a bloody thing that binds us to each other. Something neither you nor I can see," he mumbled under his breath, sliding his hand into his pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes.

You didn't know what to say to him. Your mind was fervently throbbing through your skull. Your heart leapt with joy but your mind didn't let you be at ease. He waited a few seconds but when he realized you had made up your mind, he decided he will not push you. You had given him the answer. You didn't want him. He nodded softly, letting his eyes wander down to your feet for a bit before giving you a last look as he turned his tail and started walking off, his boots crushing the snow as he started walking away.

And just like that, you realized that history was repeating itself. But this time, it was all your fault. You were letting him walk away when you could finally be happy.

"Thomas stop.." His name flew out of your mouth even before you could clamp your mouth shut. You saw him freeze, but this time, he didn't turn your way, but with his back turned towards you, you missed the hint of a smile that crossed his lips; the way you had stopped him meant that he still had hope.

"I would like to work for you again, does Charlie need a nanny?" You bit your lip.

It was nothing, but yet, it was a start. If destiny really wanted the two of you together then you wanted to try it out from the beginning, maybe make the man fall in love with you and not the woman who wrote the book. You wanted him to love you and not pity you.

"Twenty shillings, you stay at the Arrowe House, no further will be discussed on that, yeah?"

You gave him a weak smile, although you could not see his face.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Shelby, first thing in the morning at 9."

He nodded and then, sliding his hands into his pockets, he walked away, his heavy boots crushing the snow underneath, generating a squishing, crunching sound until you could hear him no more. You couldn't wipe that smug smile from your face as you looked up at the sky, scrunching up your nose when you felt something cold; perhaps a snowflake had landed on the tip of your nose. It was a start, a start of a new day and who knew, perhaps a new life for you. Needless to say, you were excited.