hardyimagines

[hardyimagines]

Trapped

Incomplete request I recieved💗 ilysm, i’m specifically ending this at a point where I can do a part 2 should I ever get my ass around to it.

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The small dusty space you found yourself cornered in was far from ideal. The tight area stunk of spilled liquor and sweat-drenched men. The temptation to plug your nose in order to block out the scents was strong, but you were too busy banging on the sturdy, wooden door in front of you. Your palms were quickly reddening as you hammered them repeatedly against the block of wood, disregarding any and all restraint.

“Are you going to help me?” Your heavy puff of air told your boss that you were getting more and more agitated by the second.

“Right,” The bearded bloke in the corner straightened for only half a second before slouching once more against the wall and busying himself with his previous task — picking at his dirt ridden fingernails. “You’ve got it, pet, what fucking help am I gonna be, crowding you and hitting the door just as fucking noisily? We’re far from the lads, ain’t we? Nobody fucking hears you, yeah, not right now, but they’ll come fucking looking for me in no time. I am the boss, right?” His hands extended, as if ushering to his almighty self. He briefly looked toward you when the piercing heat from your unwavering gaze called his attention.

“Unbelievable.” You murmured before taking a small step back. The closet was tiny. Every time you twisted, your elbow hit the wall or a stray object that was perched on a shelf — and if it wasn’t something then it was someone and that someone didn’t take too kindly to the way you stumbled into his bubble of personal space.

Currently, you had your back pressed against the door you’d just been banging on. It was rough against your back, catching on the material of your dress. Your eyes moved from your boss, to the floor, and then back to him again. Your toes were inches from his, impossible to move elsewhere because of the clutter that lined the interior. How hard was it to clean this room out? It seemed like this was just the junk stash and you found it completely out of ordinary that the pair of you had managed to get locked away inside. You lifted your palms to your face and hid your expression from the man. You felt so.. seen.

Alfie noticed the tension and he expected it.

A week ago.

Alfie brushed his thumb along the cold sheet of glass that bordered his office wall. The window was stained with a blur of fog, murky and fuzzy making it hard for him to see anything in the street below. He lifted his hand to his face and lazily pulled at the soft strands that coated his chin, tugging and caressing them absentmindedly as he busied himself with anything except for work. He deserved a break every now and then too. A hot breath of air left his lips and wafted over the cold glass before vanishing as quickly as it had come. The man twisted away from the window and set off back toward his desk, but because of the new placement of your workspace, he tumbled right into the much smaller desk that you’d been given. His thigh rammed against the sharp corner, something which ordinarily would’ve pulled a string of curses from his lips, but when the desk shook, a thin piece of paper managed to slip free from its hidden position and fall willingly through the air to land beside the toe of his boot. He peered down at the thin sheet, ignoring the throbbing pain from the forming bruise and red, irritated patch of skin on his leg. He scrutinized the blurry words before slowly hunching over to grasp ahold of the corner of the page, lifting it from the dusty floorboards. His thumb moved along the soft paper, blue eyes drinking in every smudged letter on the initially blank sheet.

Privacy.

His brain warned him clearly. But temptation gripped every crevice of his brain and body, keeping him rooted in place. He read it once. Twice. He’d already overstepped, he couldn’t go back now. And seeing the words, *those words*, were enough for him to forget what was morally correct. He subconsciously moved toward his desk. The heavy thump of his loud boots accompanied the loud pump of his anxious heart as he made his way toward the sturdy, oak. Perching on the corner, he barely breathed.

Your handwriting was so satisfying. A swift swoop here and there, curves and circles and near perfect cursive. His touch grazed the borders, tender, as if it were you he was touching instead of a mere note. This was definitely an invasion of privacy, but the longer he read, the harder he found it to put the thing down. It was all about you and your feelings and the fact that you very much so felt something strong for him — your boss.

His cheeks had gone hot a long time ago. Though he was entirely composed. The usually cold room felt like it had been doused in gasoline and then lit with the stick of a match. Lugging the paper away from his eyesight, as if it weighed a hundred pounds, he shoved himself off of his desk and moved back toward your area. Lifting one of the books you had stacked high in a pile, he did his best to place the paper back in a secretive place. He wasn’t sure where it had come from.. not exactly, so this was just a guessing game. And a poor one at that.

The door behind him opened and before he could retreat, he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A sharp gasp left your lips, a sound of worry and plea. He could tell right away that this note was not meant to ever be read by him and she was humiliated to see that he had. Guilt surged, filled him in milliseconds.

“What is that?” Your voice cut into his raging thoughts.

“Nothing.” He growled, like he could defend your secret. “The paper, yeah, it just fucking fell. Wasn’t doing nothing, right, pet, just fucking putting the damn thing back.” He glanced in your direction, eyes glazed over. He was trying to mask his reaction. You straightened.

“Don’t lie to me, Alfie.” You whispered breathily. “Did you read it?”

He didn’t hesitate. Why would he? Lying to her wouldn’t benefit him. “Look, pet, it wasn’t fucking intentional — I wasn’t going through your things, right, just happened to hit your desk and the paper,” He barely had time to usher toward the thing before you curled into yourself. He felt the tension before he saw it. You were stiff, unmoving, and he could see your eyes growing increasingly watery. “I..” He couldn’t make excuses. How difficult would it have been for him to hunch over, grab the damn thing, and set it back on your desk? Apparently impossible. There was no time for him to even explain himself.. or comment on your feelings before Ollie had opened the door, mouth moving faster than he could conjure the words and the moment was gone.

But not the tension. Not the friction your little secret and his snooping eyes had conjured.

Present

That weight still hadn’t sizzled out. You’d been exposed without asking to be, and worse it hadn’t come from your lips and he hadn’t been given the chance to respond.

“I refuse to believe you can’t get us out of here.” Your quiet voice was enough to pull Alfie out of his wondering thoughts. He shifted stiffly before straightening. Your back was toward him again as you brushed your fingertips along the length of the door, searching for a weak point. Pushing once and then twice, you moaned out in agitation. Alfie sighed quietly before extending his arm. His fingertips were hot against your arm, but the contrast of his cold silver rings made you shiver before looking over your shoulder toward him. He knew how you felt for him. He knew how deep and strong the feelings you held for him were.. and it left you feeling vulnerable. Nevertheless, you kept a strong face, one that looked rather careless when he was touching you. Internally, you thought you might implode.

“Right, pet, shall I shout at the top of my fucking lungs in hopes of my voice being louder than the fucking machinery upstairs?” He hulked forward. His boots scuffed the ground audibly, hands withdrawing from your body before sliding along the length of his own forearms so he could roll his sleeves up. It was getting hotter and hotter with each passing moment in the tight space and he was getting uncomfortable from the claustrophobic closet.

His proximity was the least of your concerns. You didn’t actually think he was capable of aiding you in your escape. He had a point. Nobody could hear you, and the door wasn’t going to budge. You were damn near close to just sinking down to the floor and waiting like he’d said. But your stomach twisted with fury at being trapped.

You unknowingly shifted in front of him. Your foot retreated back a step, trying to get a better look at the door. Alfie stepped forward, ready to lend a helping hand finally. Your body hit his hard enough to make him grunt. He growled, grabbed your hip and straightened himself behind you, keeping you steady. The heat in the small space tripled, his fingers flexing against your dress before he closed his eyes and took a small step back.

“Right, get out of the way then before I damn near crush you.” He grunted, his fingers sliding around to your lower back, steering you aside. You maneuvered silently, the press of his body against your own staining your memory regardless of whether you tried to forget or not. You turned, hand bracing against his arm as you pushed past.

He wasn’t moving. Not at first. Rigid, strong. His arms hung at his sides, his breaths quiet. He was collecting himself. The warm press of your soft body against his had been enough to make his body react. He clenched his jaw and took a step forward, annoyingly turned on because he could still feel the indent of you molded against him.

He stepped around you, too fast, too rushed. His boot hit the shelf and it came forward without hesitation. Alfie had barely any time to blink before the metal fell against the wall and lessened the space they’d initially had. You let out a cry of surprise, followed by a groan of disbelief. “Mr. Solomons!” You seethed in panic. He was standing too close now, so close. He had no choice, one boot lifted to perch on the fallen shelf while the other planted comfortably against the floor.

The clutter in the closet near tripled and now you were really trapped. Trapped not only in this tight ass space, but trapped with a man that you were livid at. Your body was forced to settle against his. He shifted for several moments, tried to get leverage and move items that blocked his path to space, but barely anything budged. He let out a defeated sound and slumped uncomfortably against the shelf, wiggling now and then to try and get his arms free without knocking into you.

Beads of sweat formed lightly along the expanse of your forehead. You reached up in annoyance, wiping at your skin with the back of your hand. You tried to inch to the side, tried to step forward and give him a little more room. Every movement made you brush against one another. You refused to give up, refused to accept that you’d be stuck in here for who knew how many hours.

“Pet.” Alfie ground out. You didn’t respond, you merely hunched forward and wrapped your fingers around the bottom of the shelf, tugging in hopes it would loosen. “Pet..” he tried again, more warning present in his tone but you were careless as to what he had to say. You continued to squirm, wiggle, and fidget in front — on — him. It was only when he set his thick fingers on the curve of your waist that you stilled. “S’ a bit uncomfortable, yeah, all your fidgeting.”

You tipped your head in the slightest, the confusion in your eyes fading into realization. You straightened out of instinct, apologetic and alarmed that you’d been brushing against him and hadn’t even realized. Not to that extent. The motion of your body, angling upright, momentarily applied further pressure to the front of his crotch. Your entire face felt instantly hot and your pink lips parted to speak.

The words didn’t form, didn’t flee. The sight of Alfie was enough to render her silent. He looked somewhat shy, averting his gaze like he felt guilty for being any amount of aroused. He shuffled his feet in an attempt to draw your attention away from the space between his legs. You swallowed hard, blinked, and then tore your eyes away. You blames your dress, it was too thick for you to even notice what you’d been doing. After a few moments of shyly wringing your hands in the sides of your blue dress, you sucked in a quiet breath.

“That easy?” You whispered breathily in attempt to add some amount of comedic relief to the suffocating space. The corner of his lips twitched before he shook his head and gently nudged your form forward. You didn’t go very far for there wasn’t anywhere else to go.

“Right, careful, yeah. You were fucking rubbing against me — intentionally it seemed.” His eyes twitched, challenging you. He could make you just as uncomfortable — whilst still holding on to that playfulness.

“It wasn’t intentional.” You murmured in the small space. Your breaths hot and frustrated.

“Whatever you say, temptress.” The want to bring up the note he’d read, regarding your feelings to him, was strong but he didn’t want you feeling stressed or on the spot, especially when there was enough of that.

“What’s that suppose to mean?” You narrowed your eyes and turned to face him with an impatience. You heard the little dip in his voice, the accusation. There was a moment of hesitation, as if he was pondering just how far this little game could go before one of you would take something too serious. Nevertheless, he played on.

“It means I think you’d love to see me all hot and fucking bothered, wouldn’t you?” He uttered hoarsely.

Your eyes snapped up to his own. “I think I’m already seeing that, Mr. Solomons.” The subtle eye-drop to his crotch made him straighten.

“I’m hardly bothered, yeah, just a little fucking..” He made an attempt to step back in the slightest, but he hit the wall immediately. There was absolutely no room.

“Stiff?” You almost giggled. Folding your arms over your chest slowly, you ran your tongue along your lips before nodding mockingly.

The man placed his hands on his hips, rings almost visible even in the dim lighting that fell on the pair of you. His eyes ran along your features before he slowly leaned forward, neck and head being the only thing that neared you, the rest of his body remained slouched against the wall. “Let us not forget, right, that I fucking read that pretty little note of yours, yeah, i fuckin’ did, so I think, if anything, you should be thankful you’ve got me right where you want me, yeah, instead of running your pretty little mouth? Unless you’ve got something you’re willing to confess?”

Neither of you had brought up the letter filled with your feelings, so the second that he did, you went rigid like he’d slapped you. The room felt as if it were an oven and you were on fire.

Clearing your throat noisily, you closed your eyes for a second, grateful for the dim lighting because you felt at least a little hidden. “Alfie.. you weren’t suppose to read that.” You told him softly. “And the fact that you did..”

“It fell.” He murmured. “I didn’t rummage through your fucking things, right, I wasn’t invading your privacy intentionally, pet, yeah, see, I was looking out the fucking window then, clumsy fucker I am, hit your desk and it fell.” He moved his hands around in visible circles, gesturing with every word that left his lips before he lifted his hand to the back of his neck, lazily rubbing the skin that resided there. It was a nervous gesture. You shifted slowly, eyes curiously flickering between his own.

“So? You picked it up and accidentally read it?” You shook your head.

“No. I picked it up and upon glancing.. I saw my fucking name and it made me curious, right, was just..” He didn’t know how to defend himself. He supposed he was still in the wrong. “I didn’t mean to go through your things.”

You nodded once. “Get us out of this closet and I’ll forgive you.” You whispered before turning away from the much larger man.

Alfie wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to get the two of you out. “Pet.. have you not been listening to a word I’ve been saying.” He paused. “I can’t just fucking beat the wall with my fist and shout, right, nobody will hear me. We just have to be fucking patient.” He grumbled before shaking his head. His hand discreetly slid to the front of his trousers, adjusting the restraining waistband.

Getting out of here would take time. Time that neither of you wanted to be stuck in. Too many things were left unsaid, too many questions unasked and unanswered.

It felt like an eternity that the silence stretched. Alfie would move every now and then, his hand bracing against her - mindful not to nudge or push too much.

“Can I ask you something?” His husky voice sounded so much rougher when he whispered. A shiver raced along your spine, something you weren’t use to feeling and found almost impossible to cover up. A light nod of your head was all he received in response. “If you’ve got all these fucking feelings, right, bubbling inside you and eating away at you.. why haven’t you said anything?” Alfie sounded so out of character, quietly making inquiries, almost as if he were too afraid to ask.

You were defensive, at first. Then you calmed before your mouth could respond. What was the point in hiding how you felt now anyway — he already knew, he just didn’t have the details.

“I didn’t think it appropriate to feel the way I do about you.” You told him almost inaudibly. Your focus was still on the rusted, cracked, but impossibly strong door.

“Because of the age difference?” He murmured, fingertips gliding along the block of wood you’d just touched. A small snort left your nose before you shook your head and tipped your head to the side to see him better.

“An age gap is the least of my worries, Mr. Solomons, I actually like the fact that you’re older.” The longer you spoke, the more you shied away, but he didn’t let you get too far. “You’re my boss. Didn’t peg you for the ‘sleep with my assistant’ type.” You confessed before brushing your fingers through your hair. “So I kept my distance.” You shrugged.

Alfie almost smiled, but just barely managed to bite back the involuntary twitch that formed at the corners of his mouth. “Now, I never fucking asked you to do that, did I?” He pressed, his hand shifting until he grabbed your elbow firmly and turned you around to face him. “Never once said I’d never date an employee.”

His eyes were dark as they searched the entirety of your face, drinking in details and imprinting them in his memory. He squinted, narrowed his eyes as his fingers lifted, brushing along the front of your throat. “You looked far too fucking pleased, yeah, to see me *riled*.” His tone was accusing as he stepped in closer.

You didn’t flinch under the proximity or his words. How long could you lie to yourself and pretend like this wasn’t exactly what you wanted? Your fingertips lifted, shaking only faintly as they brushed along the sleeves of his white shirt. You’d envisioned this thousands of times. But the real thing would never be like what you’d pictured. It would be so much more.

[hardyimagines]

With Time

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After Alfie Solomons returns to Season 5 of Peaky Bilders.

I found this from forever ago!😭 It’s not complete, it’s not perfect, but I figured you guys would enjoy it more than it just sitting for forever in my drafts.

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The tips of your fingers ran along the front of your black dress. It was a snug fit, but comfortable, easy to move in opposed to the clothing you wore outside the house. The soles of your shoes tapped against the floorboards quietly, alerting your boss of your sudden appearance since he wasn’t facing you.

“Mr. Solomons?” The softness of your voice made his brows twitch together for half a second. He brushed his thumb along his upper thigh, smoothing down the material of his wrinkled, black trousers before he looked over his shoulder and in your direction. The one good eye he had ran along your features, studying you curiously. “Was there anything else you needed?” The man in the armchair was slouched comfortably. He had one leg propped on top of the other, crossed so he could lazily rotate his ankle. He pursed his lips in consideration before letting out a low grunt.

“Tommy fucking Shelby.” The man pressed his palms against the arm of his seat. Grumbling incoherently as he unfolded his legs and pushed himself upright and off of the cushion. He took to a standing position and you merely squirmed in place. The intimidating man was a tower in comparison to you, and although he stood on the opposite side of the room, you continued to fidget. His heavy boots thumped noisily against the floor as he moved toward the opened doors in the center. The curtain blew lightly, sheer silk against the window pane. He curled his fingers around the handle, rings clinking lightly under the contact. He lazily leaned against it, eyes fixated on the blue water as it rolled toward the sand and crashed against the shore. “Did you, yeah, happen to overhear any of that?” He asked gruffly, referring to his meeting with Tommy.

You blinked slowly, unsure of how to answer his question. Honesty was always wisest, but confessing to eavesdropping wasn’t going to award you any praise.

“Now and then your conversation was a little impossible to ignore.” You murmured apologetically. “The walls aren’t soundproof, Mr. Solomons.. and it’s only the two bedrooms.” You lifted your hand to your cheek and scratched it nervously. “I didn’t hear much.” You defended.

The bearded man glanced over his shoulder once more, examining your small form as you squirmed under his stare. He sensed the nerves, like a predator would their prey. But he didn’t feed off of seeing you uncomfortable, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like seeing you flushed. He liked your shyness, it paired well with your kindness. He knew you could be outspoken, respected you for being mindful of when to be. Conversations between the two of you were easy, though quiet and simple they weren’t lacking. It was hard for him to not like you — you tended to your chores and even though your attraction to him swallowed you whole, you never lost focus. Or at least tried not to.

Alfie lifted his hand to his face, brushing his finger along the scarred section that stained the perimeter of his eye. His touch was delicate, tender, careful so he didn’t cause himself any pain.

“It’s alright if you did, yeah, I was just checking.” He murmured. Lowering his hands to the waist of his dark trousers. He let out a small grunt and then turned, his sole focus honing in on you. He was very aware of your feelings for him. Those doe-eyes, sparkling with nothing but affection were impossible to look past. He thought it was *cute*, sickeningly so. He returned your feelings, but he wasn’t a gentle man. He was violent, his life was surrounded by threats. It wasn’t a life he wanted for you, it wasn’t one he was going to give you since he saw it as lesser. He wasn’t as caring as he knew you deserved. You were gentle, non threatening, helpful. He was a tyrant - no care in the world for anything but his unfortunate greed. He squinted. Laying his hand on your arm, he brushed the length of it as sweetly as he could before patting your skin softly. “Take off the rest of the night, alright, pet, relax a little. Won’t need you to tend to me, right, because I’ve got a fuck ton on my plate now that Mr. Shelby’s paid me a fucking visit.” He ushered toward the hall.

Your bedroom resided across from his, so you knew this wasn’t a request. He was insisting. Nodding your head once, you sent him a very sweet smile before turning on your heel and heading for the hall.

The agenda for the night, after clocking out as his employee and being nothing more than his roommate, was simple; change into comfier clothes and don’t embarrass yourself by saying something foolish in front of the handsome man.

Alfie watched your retreating form momentarily before he returned to the armchair he’d been slouched in moments prior. His fingers grazed the velvet vest he wore, caressing the soft fabric as he eased himself down and on to the furniture. He knew the night would consist of waiting for Oswald Mosley’s voice to flood the radio in the corner and then the awaited gunshot, so he had time to kill. He looked toward the hall. He hoped you’d accompany him in the den after you’d changed. He enjoyed your sweet voice, hesitant questions, and the way you looked at him... He didn’t mind the company, and it would be a good way to pass the time. He was feeding himself excuses and he knew it.

Alfie felt hideous now. With a scarred face and a cloudy, ghost of an eye he couldn’t believe you stared at him so intently. You ogled him like he was the so-called god he’d been speaking about earlier to Tommy. He felt like he could be so open around you — no judgement and it left him feeling sick to his stomach. He hadn’t meant to hire a maid and then let himself grow attached to her.. he’d just meant to hire a set of helping hands while he got back on his feet. Life was different with only one, good-working eye. He sighed quietly before dropping his stare to his boots, attempting to distract himself by considering the next time he’d have them clean.

The sound of your bedroom door creaking open filled the quiet house. It slammed shut a few moments later, but he made no movement to look toward the corridor. He didn’t want you to think he was waiting on you.. not that it would matter if he was, but he forced himself to look toward the knick-knacks bordering the tall shelves in the corners of the room.

The peach-colored dress you’d changed into was a comfortable gown you’d purchased when Alfie had last paid you. It wasn’t long, but it certainly wasn’t short either. Alfie didn’t mind the fact that you dressed for comfort when behind closed doors.. this was just as much your home as it was his and he didn’t expect you to walk around in suffocatingly tight dresses at all hours of the day once you’d finished with your tasks.

The soft creaking of the floorboards beneath your bare feet were the only sound alongside the crackling that escaped the radio that Alfie had just switched on. You’d stepped into the sizeable room, lips twitching upward the second you caught sight of the Alfie — so handsome, and so settled. He was oblivious to your stare, you assumed, so you didn’t hesitate or try to be discreet in your ogling. It was only when he began to shift that you tore your eyes away and made your way to sit down adjacent to him.

“So.. that man,” You began to speak as you lowered yourself down on to the cushion. It dipped softly under your weight, warm and comfortable. “Tommy Shelby, was it?” The room was toasty despite the chilly breeze that wafted through the opened balcony to your right. You supposed it was Alfie that kept you feeling hot, and the nerves he sparked to life inside you just made you even hotter. Beneath his penetrative gaze, so unwavering and studious, there was no escaping the heat. He peered at you, hands folding across his stomach as he waited for you to continue. “He’s the one that shot you?”

Alfie almost smiled in amusement at the evident distaste on your face. “Old mate of mine, sort’ve.” He nodded once before looking back toward the seaside. “Bit of a cunt, really, yeah, he did happen to be the one to fucking shoot me.” You straightened slightly under the confirmation.

You gave a gentle hum of confusion, not entirely sure how he could so easily converse with someone who’d shot him. But there was a lot you didn’t know. He wasn’t the type to word vomit everything he felt. You sighed before leaning back in the chair and locking your gaze on the ceiling.

“If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I’d be.. functioning.” He grunted after a few moments. “Independent fucker I was before, yeah, didn’t have a maid or even a house that was slept in much. I was always moving, meeting, fucking planning.” His voice was hoarse and low, alluring to listen to. You squirmed slightly before shifting your stare back on the older man. “Swear, pet, if you would’ve been working for me years ago, yeah, you’d never see me.”

“Not true. I would’ve just barged in.” You argued with a small smile, playful, easy. “Sounds like you had too many problems, Alfie.. who was helping you then?” A little frown etched itself on to your pretty lips. The man sitting across from you sent you a light smile, which was more a twitch of the lips.

“I didn’t have a fucking scar on my face like this back then, did I, didn’t take a bullet to the fucking face, right, so I didn’t need fucking help.” His fingertips pinched a button on the front of his vest, lazily twisting it.

“No,” You agreed. “but your back,” You ushered toward him in explanation. “*and* your leg.” Your eyes dropped to the man’s thigh for a sliver of a second before you squinted. “Or you just didn’t care enough to take proper care of yourself?” Your tone wasn’t accusing or reprimanding. But it was laced with worry.

“I, yeah, I was too fucking busy to worry about small things like that. Tommy Shelby brought a shit ton of men, drama, and issues into my fucking life, right, my health was the least of my concern.” With his pinky, he ushered toward the lopsided cane leaning against the wall in the darkest corner of the room. “That there was all I needed.”

“Well, fortunately for you.. though it did take getting shot in the face, I’m here now.” You opened your arms shyly, gesturing to yourself as if to say ‘you’re welcome’.

His eyes creased, revealing his amusement before he shook his head and looked toward the radio which was still roaring with never-ending static. Basking in the otherwise silent room didn’t last long. You had questions to ask him, questions you hadn’t been able to ask in the beginning of working for him because he was always in pain from being shot and she didn’t want to overwhelm him, annoyed over how dependent he’d become, or sulking because he couldn’t turn time back. This was the most talkative he’d been since you’d met him, so to actually converse about things other than typical routine had caught you by surprise.

Scratching the bridge of your nose, your eyes trailed along your boss. It was typically you who started the small talk, picking a new topic each night. He would usually just grunt in understanding or agreement. Grumble and shake his head when he disagreed. “Did you um..” His eyes flickered back to you when you spoke again. She cleared her throat. “You’ve never said much about family, Mr. Solomons. I’ve worked for you for well over a year now and all you talk about is Cyril.. but what about your parents? Or.. a girlfriend or something?” You wanted to bite your tongue so hard that it sawed itself in half. ‘Do you have any relatives’ would’ve sufficed. You were sure he could read you like a book. The way you nibbled your lip in anticipation to hear what you hoped for. He was single. You were tempted to almost cross your fingers you were so internally desperate. Nobody ever came by to see him.. that was a slight boost in your hope, but then again nobody really knew he was alive.

Alfie straightened, broadened. He knew your question was solely to find out if he was or had been romantically involved with anyone, but he wouldn’t be so quick to assure you he was single. He liked seeing you fidget. “No parents to see or speak of, pet, they’re fucking gone, yeah..” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he’d said the words enough times that they didn’t bother him anymore. “No woman either. Told you, yeah, this job.. my old one, it didn’t give me any time to myself. What good would I be, right, to anyone if I were trapped at work all the fucking time, incapable of treating her right, yeah?”

You nodded once. “So youve been single for a long time then?” It made your cheeks feel hot to ask something so invasive.

He nodded. “Women at the brothel couldn’t even drag my tired body up the road for a visit. Ain’t been with a woman in,” He waved his arm. “Years.”

The way he stared at you made you feel suddenly as if you were suffocating. There was a large space between the pair of you, but you felt like his ringed fingers were locked around your throat and with each second that passed, he was squeezing harder and harder.

You diverted your state for a millisecond, caught your breath and then looked back. It wasn’t the topic of conversation that you’d expected tonight, nor was that the answer you’d prepared for. You sat upright now, absently picking at the hem of your dress.

The radio crackled in the corner, muffled voices worming their way through. You didn’t say anything else in regards to what you two had just been speaking about. You merely looked at him, lost in your thoughts, and wondered how you could offer him something so off limits, because of your working relationship, without him batting an eye.

Alfie pulled his tongue over his lips, the chair creaking under his weight as he shifted forward. His elbow pressed into his knee, his eyes momentarily fixed on the radio like he was preparing to suddenly be able to hear. But as it remained muffled and near impossible to decipher what was being said, Alfie let his gaze drift back to you.

You saw the consideration in his eyes. The wonder. But he was already reaching for a smoke, his widespread thighs adjusting as he sank back into the cushion. “Why’re you asking me, yeah, personal little fucking questions like that?” He asked, the force of his thumb driving into the lighter and coaxing the flame to emerge.

You were quiet, a small smile threatening to pull at your lips under the weight of his question. “I’m curious about you.”

Alfie nearly chuckled, but he bit back the urge to to let anything more than the crease of his eyes pass over his face. “Stay fuckin’ curious.” He huffed out gruffly. “Man like me, yeah, ain’t no fucking good for a girl like you, right?”

You didn’t flinch underneath his words. How could either of you have that answer without trying?

[hardyimagines]

[hardyimagines]

Equivalent

again! hello! i want to do a drabble for the characters that i intend on writing super lengthy stories for, so here is another little one shot / potential second parter so i can find my way back to Alfie

warnings: swearing!

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“Mr. Solomons.” It was difficult for you not to roll your painted eyelids. The shimmering powder that had been applied earlier that morning was visible even in the dimly lit establishment. “Let’s pretend for a moment that we’re both grown ups, can you handle that?” His obvious flirting was beginning to get on your last nerve and you hadn’t even been here for more than twenty minutes. The lengthy lashes attached to your lined eyelid almost tickled your shaped brow with each and every slow blink.

Alfie’s brows were hidden beneath the long brim of his thick, black hat. Beneath that accessory though, you were positive his bushy brows were arched by your mocking comment seeing as his eyes were glazed over with the most challenging and disbelieving tint you’d seen in a man’s eyes since your last business meeting.

His blue eyes fell away from your pointed stare in order to rake down the length of your curved neck and down to your exposed breasts. He could practically feel the way your eyes narrowed as he ogled your bosom. “Forgive me, yeah, but they were staring at me first.” The quiet squeak of his hand tightening around his thick-wooded cane caught your attention. You lowered your heavy gaze away from his features and inspected the way his knuckles whitened under his overbearing grip.

The eyeroll you sent in his direction made the small boy at the bloke’s side shuffle. Ollie, was it? The brunette was shifting his weight from side to side in the oak chair, fingers trembling around his grip on the clipboard. Not too long ago, Sabini had been sat in the chair you filled, exchanging words with his boss as Ollie hurried to scribble down each and every deal and agreement.

Temptation was strong. It was so strong, like the burning ache of desire you felt that stung the back of your throat when you stared at a glass of whiskey or rum. It was strong like lust, the swirling impatience that formed and suffocated your insides, curling in your lower belly with so much need. It was very similar to how you felt now - only instead of being tempted to have a shag or a drink, you were tempted to throttle the man across from you and hold the barrel of your polished revolver against the side of his temple. But you were far too mature, and far too admired to do something so risky without thinking twice.

“Mr. Solomons.” The man rubbed his lips together slowly at the formal approach once more. “Must I take my business elsewhere? I won’t be known for making deals with a child, and you,” You ogled him pointedly, as if waiting for him to drag his beady eyes away from your breasts and make eye contact once more. He did, but it certainly took a few moments. “wouldn’t surprise me if you started crying because you’re teething.” The challenging squint you passed in his direction made him straighten. He wasn’t fond of the way that you were speaking to him in front of his men, and he also wasn’t fond of the way he was beginning to enjoy it. Riling you up was proving to be fun. He liked the annoyance that swam in your gaze and the tension that built in your shoulders as you hunched forward to make yourself perfectly clear with every venomous word you spoke.

“Right, I’m sorry, aint I.” Alfie adjusted his cane slowly. Rotating the wood, he laid the length of it across his lap slowly before planting his hands down flat against the scratched table. His rings tinked quietly against the surface, dragging along the oak each time he’d swipe his hand in one direction or the other, scraping his jewelry in the process as he spoke. “We got off on the wrong foot, didn’t we, Miss. Go on then, right, let’s hear you little plan again. Promise you, this time, good old Alfie’s fucking listening.”

The saliva in your mouth was sucked through the gaps in your teeth. Swallowing, in order to moisten your drying throat, you shook your head in disbelief before absently beginning to rotate your ankle beneath the table. Unbeknownst to you, every rotate of your slender foot caused the tip of your heeled boot to lazily graze the calf of the well known man across from you, grazing his trousers in a way that made the man think you were flirting with him.

“I won’t repeat myself again.” You insisted. This was the last time he’d hear your offer. “I know you may think you’ve got some sort of manly power over me, since you’re no doubt intimated by a woman coming in here and making demands. But I want just as serious of a deal as any other hardworking person that comes through those doors. Now,” Alfie clenched his jaw as you swiftly continued on, unallowing him to cut in and state that he, in fact, treated women no differently than men. He just ogled them for far longer because they were much more enticing to stare at. After a few moments, he realized he was probably glad you hadn’t let him open his mouth, he probably would’ve said something unknowingly, and borderline, sexist. “I want you to do my heavy lifting. I can offer you men, several more hands to help you with all that you need done in your little distillery. I have clientele, angry one’s, that need to be disposed of. Unfortunately for me, that is a headache of a job to take care of and I’d much rather have a trusty bloke, such as yourself, handle that for me. Now, in return, I will help transport some of your bread.” You squinted in his direction, attempting to read him. “The white only. The brown is of no interest to me. I deal with bosses, men and women alike. I don’t make deals with low-down workers. Shelby, Sabini, Changretta, I know the lot of people you’ve been dealing with Solomons and not a single one of them would grasp my attention for even half of a second. But you, Mr. ‘I make a deal or death’..” There was a playful smirk playing on your pink lips now and a very long pause. “Are you going to shoot me, Solomons?” Lazily lifting your arm, you peered down at your red nails, painted perfectly before you slowly extended your arm and wiggled your nimble fingers.

The questioning look in his eye was enough to make you want to giggle. He was pondering every word you’d said. Even if the deal hadn’t sounded too entirely tempting, the fact that you’d said you only deal with the big boys and girls was enough to make Alfie swirl his tongue around in contemplation. “Being that you’re talking about me fucking over a few not-so-friendly men, what kind of protection does that leave me with, yeah? I think, right, actually, I fucking know, the second I breathe out the word ‘deal’ to you, the three of them’ll just barge in here, right, and have my fucking head.” His hands lifted to his chest before opening in a widespread motion, palms pointed toward the ceiling and bracelets shaking under the movement. “Now, why don’t you make your deal just a little more flattering?”

You rubbed your teeth together absently before fixating your orbs on the ceiling. “Didn’t expect you, of all people, to seek protection.” You supposed you were asking him to screw over several of his previous business negations though. But 200 barrels of white bread was far more money than 300 barrels of brown. Oh, he was going to work for you, in fact, he’d probably beg if you’d have let him. “Alright, Mr. Solomons. I can offer you a new relationship with the police. And not one like Tommy Shelby was offering.”

“The police round here, yeah, can’t fucking stand me. I don’t think that’ll be enough protection.” Alfie ground his teeth together. He was a big boy. He’d gladly kill Sabini, Changretta, and Shelby if it came down to it. But he’d like to avoid a bloodbath if at all possible. But not having to watch his back every second of every day would be nice.

You hummed lowly, absently pulling your attention from the ceiling so that you could look back toward Alfie. “I’ll double the men then. Send some to be lookouts. My men are highly professional and far more capable than the lousy gits you’ve got standing guard.” You pressed your palms against the table and slowly began to lift yourself up and out of the chair. Rising above the seated men in front of you, you passed him a slow smile. “I’m a woman that a lot of people want dead.” Trustworthy as you may be, the very deal you’d made Alfie had been offered up to several other’s too. Fuck over so and so, work for me instead, and I’ll give you things you’ve never dreamed of — that was the big, tempting headline nobody had said no to thus far. That being said, those at the shit end of the stick always tended to be on the hunt for you. “And I’ve been in business for probably as long as you have. I have good people watching my back and I can promise to ensure you the very same.” There was a long silence. Ollie’s pen scratching the length of the paper was the only sound in the room before you reached in Alfie’s direction. “Do we have a deal?”

Alfie stood slowly. Adjusting the hat that sat on his head, he slowly lifted the cap up and off of him before placing it on the table. He smoothed out his previously flattened strands of hair and rubbed down the length of his beard, from the tops of it, down and along the length of it. He was fucking around now, you could see that. His thumb nail scratched at a rough patch of hair and his bent pinky grazed his lips as he put on a lengthy display of consideration.

“Five..” You exhaled breathily.

Alfie quirked a brow.

“Four..” You continued, a look of distaste forming in your dark pools.

Alfie was almost smirking by this point, hand falling away from his fast to collide with the table.

“Three..” Your word dripped with impatience, but your tone was neutral, as if you had all the time in the world. “Two..” You said, rolling your neck to the side. Extending it, you let your eyes flutter for a moment before shoving them back open and giving a final warning. “One.”

Alfie’s hand slid nicely into your own. His was much larger and veiny. The cold jewelry tickled your digits as he firmly gripped your small palm in his own and gave it a gentle shake. “Deal.” He said quietly, holding his blue eyes steadily on your own unwavering one’s.

With a firm, final squeeze, you made motion to pull your hand away, but he lugged you back forward so that he could lean against the table. You gasped in surprise, almost losing your balance as he hauled you forward just enough so his pink lips could lay against your ear. You held your free hand up quickly to cease the rushing sound of men’s feet. You never went anywhere without at least six of your guards. Two in the room, two outside the room, and two outside the building. “It’s fine.” You dismissed them breathily, Alfie’s manage to catch you off guard was evident in your tone.

“If you, yeah, fuck me, I promise I’ll fucking do the same to you.” Alfie ground out. There was a warning in his words that you picked up on rather clearly. His threat was serious, but he’d purposefully worded that sentence to pull a particularly strong eye roll from you.

“It isn’t wise to threaten me so soon, Mr. Solomons. And I promise you, if I were to fuck you, you’d be dead.” Your dainty hand lifted to press against his strong shoulder. Tapping the muscular surface triumphantly, you turned your head so that you could stare him in the eye. Every breath he let free wafted over your own lips and his nose was practically touching your own. “Good evening, Alfie. It was a pleasure.” Hardly, you thought to yourself. This man was going to be a headache.

And with that, you pulled away and turned on your heel. Your strong stride was the last thing Alfie Solomons saw before you pushed the heavy doors open and left without another word. He could hear the clicking of your heels, fading with every footstep as the noise signaled your departure. You were gone now, but the room still faintly smelled of vanilla and his hand was still burning from the warmth of your small one. Ollie inspected the smirk Alfie wore, watching as the man straightened.

“I like her.” Alfie noted.

Ollie shuffled in his seat. “Want me to write that down?”

Alfie almost scoffed. “No.” The burly man grunted, sending the lad a look as if he had two heads. “No, but I do want you to go ahead and schedule me another meeting with that one.” He was already looking forward to seeing that annoyed curve of your lip and the challenging squint you seemed so keen on giving him. He was positively curious to know more about you, and that was never a good thing for Mr. Solomons. He was too curious for his own good. “Right, lads, back to fucking work.” He clapped, shooing everyone from the room as he grabbed his hat and his cane. He, too, piled out of the room. His footsteps were much quieter, much slower, and unlike your powerful aura and pleasant success, he traipsed up the stairs feeling a sense of longing. He hoped he’d see you again, very, very soon.

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Is this awful!? It feels awful. ),: Mr. Solomons and I have been apart for so long, we’re gonna find our way back to our mesh. But I hope you guys enjoy this for now. I’m half asleep and felt like drabbling lol <3

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[hardyimagines]

THANK YALL FOR 6K🤍🤍🤍🤍 I LOVE AND APPRECIATE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU🥰❤️

[hardyimagines]

Lost

Drabble to try and get me going!

4.6k words 🤍🤍

Warnings : sexual assault, sex, prostitution, swearing!

again!! i used Google translate for the French, so I apologize if it’s incorrect / and I didn’t put translations because reader isn’t aware of what they’re saying! so if you want translation feel free to ask!🤍

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Every muscle in your body was tight and sore. The strain that had been put on your worn out frame had been enough to crush you four times over. Your digits were stiffly curled around the thin pelt underneath you. Your toes ached under the pressure of your curled form, knees drawn into your chest and cheek halfway off of the overused pelt, laying partially in the dirt and melting snow. Every heavy exhale you sent free caused wisps of your hair to lift under the strength of them before slowly floating back down to lay against your rosy cheek. “Okay, get off me.” You ground out to the man. His limp, bare chest was rested against your exposed back. He sneered, brows twitching in the slightest before he drew his cock out of you and then began to push himself up and on to his feet.

Over your shoulder you could hear the sound of his trousers, the jingling of his belt as he began to refasten it and make himself more presentable. He clasped the buttons closed on the front of his shirt before retrieving his holster from one of the nearby branches and reattaching it to his person. “Toujours un plaisir.” The man chortled, using the toe of his boot to push a canteen of water in your direction. “Buvez. Le prochain homme arrivera sous peu.” He teased.

When the man departed, you mustered up all the remaining strength in your body before slowly sitting up. You were always clueless when they gave you departing words, but they each received the same scowl regardless of what their words meant. Reaching for the lousy clothing that had been given to you when they’d first snagged you, you began to drag the thin cloth over your head and then the mangled coat. Once dressed, you reached for the canteen in your stuff, shaky grip and took a few sips. The bottle was then discarded in your lap. You folded your arms over your chest and fixated your gaze on the dancing fire about fifteen feet away. Getting up to warm your bones sounded delightful, but making yourself present under the stare of all the Frenchmen sounded awful. Every man would be reminded that they could easily have their fill of a woman if they wanted, you were of easy use. With that thought in mind, you curled into yourself and let the painful bite of the cold winter night have it’s way with you until one of the other man decided they’d like to too. You closed your eyes. This was how it had been for weeks, and you were sure that this was how it would be until they decided to dispose of you.

A week later.

“Y/n.” One of the men towered over your slumbering form. “Oi.” He shook your hip with the toe of his boot. “Wake up.” He growled quietly, doing his best to avoid waking any of the other gents.

You groggily lifted your head from the pelt, blurry eyes settling on the man’s face as you stared up at him. “Mh?” You groaned out tiredly, head already threatening to fall back against the soft fur beneath you.

“Morning, girl. I’m awake,” He ushered to his crotch. “And so’s he.” His English was probably the best out of everyone here. It wasn’t terrific by any means, but he managed just a little bit every now and then. Without any hesitation, he dropped his fingers to his trousers and began to pry them open. The belt clinked with every scrape of the metal before the suede hit the damp fabric of his trousers. He dropped to his knees beside your twisted legs before lazily beginning to pry them open. You’d stop putting up a fight a long time ago, so you let out a few unhappy grumbles before tipping your head to the side to try and get comfy again.

“Pierre.” A sudden voice sliced through the cold air and hit your ears. It was almost enough to make you groan out again in distaste. You were so tired. “Il n'y a pas de temps pour jouer avec elle aujourd'hui. Nous devons passer à autre chose.”

You opened one eye, peering up at the bloke that towered over the two of you. Again, you were clueless over what was being said, but when Pierre rolled his eyes and immediately began to refasten his trousers, you let out a small sigh of relief at being left alone. Though, that relief was short-lived. The man that had just disrupted Pierre was now gripping your wrist and hauling you up and off of the pelt. “Bouge toi.” He grumbled. His eyes were dark, even as the sun weaved through the shaking twigs to illuminate his brown orbs. “Bouge toi!” He repeated when you made no movement at all, you merely stood there, staring up at him. He gave you a small nudge, pushing you in the direction of the other men.

Several of them were mounting horses or tying pelts and supplies on the trusty steeds. With a few empty blinks, you hauled your heavy legs in the direction of the animals. Crusted remnants of sleep clung to the corners of your tired eyes. You absently pressed your fingers against the rough spots, dragging them away from their current placement and flicking them into the snow below. “Am i riding a horse?” You spoke up.

Each man took a turn ogling you when you voiced your inquiry, unsure of how to respond. Horse was the only familiar word in your sentence. Pierre grunted, pointing toward a white horse with black speckles. “With me.” He said shortly. The heavy intake of air you drew into your lungs was released noisily, powerfully. Since being with the Frenchmen, you’d only had to move campsites a handful of times, only when it got dangerous because of the weather or impossible to make a fire because of the wind. Indians weren’t an issue for the surrounding men, for the last time any had come along, some sort of deal had been struck between the blokes. You didn’t know what had been said since not a drop of their arrangement was in a language you understood, but it didn’t really matter to you. At least they weren’t trying to harm you.

It took another fifteen or so minutes before the entirety of the group was ready to get a move on. Men lifted themselves on top of horses and those that chose to travel on foot were working as if they themselves were mules, carrying heavy pelts on their backs and towing along bags full of supplies - food, extra clothing. This group had a strange amount of belongings, but seeing as they’d raided your home, you could only assume they’d done that before and after to others.

Riding with Pierre wasn’t as annoying as you thought it would be. Because he couldn’t make passes at you and flirt for the whole ride, it was relatively silent. Occasionally he’d offer you a drink of water or crane his neck around to ensure that you were still in place on the horse, but apart from that he kept to himself.

“Descendez des chevaux. Il y a des hommes devant.” One of the men on foot whispered, extended his arm in the air and holding his palm open wide to signal for everyone to halt. He was at the head of the group, thick fingers curling around the rope attached to the pelts before he discarded his things on the ground. The snow crunched dully beneath the impact of the man’s belongings before he slowly reached into the back of his trousers. His dirty fingers curled around the handle of his gun, slowly withdrawing it from its nestled position before he laid the long end of his rifle on his knee and lined up his shot.

“Wait.” One of the men hissed. It was the only word you recognized and it immediately caught your attention. You extended your neck, a poor attempt to try and see past the trees and in the direction that the man was aiming. What did he see?

Whatever it was, it had seen him first.

A loud shot rang out, echoing through the cold air. The man at the front collapsed in the snow, a red pool forming beneath his head almost immediately. You gasped in surprise, wild eyes flickering from left to right. You had no time to even react, the horse you were perched on reacted first. The animal lifted himself on to his hind legs, sending you and Pierre into the snow. You coughed out sharply as your back collided with the hard ground. There wasn’t enough snow in this area to help prevent any pain from your fall. You choked out a raspy, “Ow.” But the surrounding Frenchmen were more worried about themselves. They yelled, shouted, and ran, desperately trying to seek cover and line up their own shots. Those that weren’t fighting were trying to get their belongings to safety.

Shot after shot rang out and you continued to lay there in the cold snow, allowing the falling flakes to settle in your messy strands and stick to your eyebrows. You stared up at the clear sky, watching as birds soared overhead, leaving the nearby trees to seek peace and quiet elsewhere. Oh, how you wished you could fly.

“Quitte la! Quitte la! On peut trouver une autre femme!” It was the last thing you heard from the Frenchmen before the sound of horse hooves retreating pounded against your ears and departing footsteps. It was quiet for only a few moments before new voices rang out. English almost sounded foreign.

“Oi, there’s a girl!” A voice called out.

“Grab her!” Another demanded.

A bloke, the one that must’ve spotted you, set his legs on either side of your hips before leaning over your body and snagging the front of your fur coat. With ease, he jerked you up and off of the ground before immediately beginning to haul you off in the very direction that the Frenchmen wouldn’t dare tread. You stumbled over fallen bodies and tripped over dropped supplies.

“What the devil was she doing out there with them?” Someone inquired harshly.

“Probably one of ‘em.” One sneered. “They’ll come back for her. We can’t keep her around.”

So many voices, and so many men. You struggled to look between each one that spoke up, so instead stared at the snow as your feet sunk deeper and deeper as the patches grew thicker and thicker.

“Girl.” A man spoke up. His tone was much softer than the others. “What of the Frenchmen you were traveling with?”

Silence from you.

“See, captain. She’s one of them. Doesn’t even know English. I say we kill her. Them French, they killed all are people. Why should they get her back?”

Captain Henry planted his damp boots firmly on the mushy gravel beneath him. His blue eyes were calm and cool as they raked over your features. Curiosity swam in his stomach and uncertainty raced along his rigid spine. “Girl.” He tried again, paying no mind to any other words spewed.

“What of them?” You finally spoke up. The quietness of your tone warned the men to tread carefully. You held all the information they needed to know and by upsetting you, they’d learn nothing. It was clear, when you lifted your watery eyes to the Captain and sank your teeth so roughly into your trembling bottom lip, that you were lost and no doubt had been for a long while.

“Why were you with them?” He tried again.

The man at your side adjusted his hold on your coat and with a firmness that the gents didn’t expect, you rotated and pushed him off of you. Bridger stumbled in the slightest, his brows arching for half a second before he pulled his hands back to himself and retreated.

“I had no choice.” Your answers were short and sweet. The captain didn’t blame you, but each simple answer you gave spurred another ten questions.

“Why?” He tried again.

“They killed my family.” You murmured.

“When?” He rubbed his teeth together.

Your eyes glazed over with annoyance. “Does it matter?”

The captain grunted. “It does.”

You pressed the tip of your tongue against your cheek before allowing your eyes to drag along the length of the men. There were probably forty frenchmen and only about ten or eleven men in front of you. “I don’t remember.” You said flatly. “They raided my home. Killed women. Children. Men. Stole the animals, our pelts, our food. Thought they were gonna kill me,” You let your sentence trail off.

“And yet, here you are. Why?” The captain grunted. His long legs carried him toward a nearby log. He lowered himself down and on to the oak, dusting off his trousers before he planted his elbows on his knees and scrutinized you.

“Because men will use anyone for just about anything if they feel powerful enough. And I suppose that a little lonely something like me didn’t pose much of a threat.” You were beating around the bush, and you could see the questioning tints in everyone’s gazes. They all knew what you were talking about, but wanted to hear that said explicitly before making assumptions.

The captain didn’t speak this time. A younger boy did. “Sex?” He asked. His simple question received several pointed looks and you, you gave him the cruelest of all.

“Look. Can I go?” You said firmly.

“And where on earth,” A low rumble of a voice raced through the air. It practically pounded on your eardrums. “do you think you’re gonna go? Said so yourself, your family’s all gone.”

The soles of your boots crushed the snow beneath them as you rotated to face the newest addition to the group. Your accusing eyes found the man with ease, stood off to the side all on his own with his thick fingers tracing the length of his rifle. He had a bandana wrapped around the front of his head and his lengthy brown strands lifted with every blow of wind.

“Fitzgerald, surprisingly, is right.” The Captain confirmed. “You’ve got no food. No horse. And no help. You don’t even know what direction you’d be headed in. And I promise you, if you stay with our group, the only thing you’ll be forced to do is help us with the heavy lifting. Pelts. Food. Supplies. Your services will not be required elsewhere.”

John smirked slyly. Although it was awful to hear that you’d been forced to be physical with the frenchmen, he certainly wouldn’t complain if you were to offer him those same services. He rubbed his teeth together, blue eyes traveling from the stream in the distance to latch back on to you as you spoke again.

“What’ll you do if I run?” The question was airy, curious. The man had fair points and you were grateful for that, but at the same time, you didn’t trust that all the men here would keep their hands to themselves.

The Captain shook his head. “You won’t.” And with that, he stood and began to rally the group. He instructed that everyone was to search the dead bodies for lootables and necessities alike. What couldn’t be of use could be pawned and what couldn’t be pawned could no doubt be eaten or worn.

Fitzgerald closed in on you shortly after the Captain was finished speaking. The heavy thud of his footsteps hit your ears like a drumstick would a drum. You didn’t budge from your spot, instead you kept your eyes fixated on the surrounding men as they began to scatter.

“Now listen, I don’t know what the captain was thinking, telling you you’re not required and whatnot to take care of our needs. Fucker’s married, that’s why he don’t give a damn about offering you money or pelts or warmth to keep us warm.” He came to a stop when his chest almost grazed your back. “I ain’t seen a woman in a few weeks, haven’t been touched by one in months. Now, I’d be willing to give you quite a few of my pelts if you’d be willing to show me what it was you were doing with those Frenchmen.”

Your jaw popped under the clench of your jaw, teeth creating a sharp scraping sound each time you ground them together. The Frenchmen were rough and angry lovers. And by the sound of it, this bloke would probably be the same. You turned around to face him after a few moments had passed. At least this one was offering to pay. “How many pelts?”

Fitzgerald sneered down at you. “Three.” He said flatly. He had more than he needed. “How’s that sound?”

You rubbed your teeth together harder. It was cold and he looked like he’d be able to warm you up. And pelts, you could sell eventually and then you’d have enough money to find yourself a spot to live. Course, you’d need more than just three pelts, but maybe he’d want this to be a reoccurring thing, or you could offer the same deal to the other men. You tried your best to swallow the gulp in your tight throat before moving your hand to lay against the curve of your waist. Sleeping with men wasn’t ideal, it made you feel disgusting. But perhaps you could do it for just a while longer, and with these men you could have some ground rules. Like no scratching, biting, or abusing.

“Deal.” You told him softly. The shaky inhale you pulled past your dry, pink lips managed to pull his attention to the chapped layer of skin.

“Well then,” He moved his heavy gaze to the busy men before looking back down at you. “let’s go.”

Surprised internally but bored externally, you scoffed out a soft, “Now?”

“What better time?” Fitzgerald barked out. His hand lifted, easily curling around the front of your coat before he hauled you against him and then rotated to drag you off and away from the peering eyes of the other men.

Glass frowned deeply, his eyes meeting Henry’s. “Fitz took the girl.”

Henry scowled. “I figured he would. But I made it clear, she’s under no obligation.”

Glass rolled his eyes. He and Fitz never saw eye to eye, they hated each other to put it simply. How on earth could a girl find a bloke like that attractive enough to shag? Even if it was for payment.

Fitzgerald led you down the icy slope and toward a small gathering of rocks, surrounded by an endless amount of trees. “Will this do?” He inquired, already beginning to peel off his heavy coat. He laid the fabric out and over a flat area of rocks before directing his stare toward you. He highly doubted that location would be something you’d complain over, it wasn’t as if there were some luxurious beds just laying around in the wilderness.

You licked your lips slowly before hoisting yourself up and on top of the rock. Settling down relatively quickly, your cold, nimble fingers slipped toward the coat you wore, pushing it off of your shoulders so you had double the padding to lay on. Fitzgerald followed you up and on top of the rock, his eyes growing darker as a possessive tint took over.

“I’ve never paid a woman for sex.” He stated, already beginning to lower his hands down to lay against the pelt on either side of your head.

“And I’ve never taken pelts as payment. Usually food or water.” You informed him before slowly shuffling your weight against the rough rock.

“Ah, you’ve made an exception for me. Why’s that? Do you find me attractive?” He was cocky already and you hated that you rather enjoyed it. Giving an effective eye roll, you slipped your hands between your body and his own. Fisting your hands in your thin dress, you began to drag the material up and along your thighs, exposing them to the man and the winter air. “Not really proper attire for being outside in this weather.” He commented, studying every inch of your flesh as it was revealed to his hungry eyes. “I’ll give you a pair of trousers, but what more will you give me?”

You sucked in a long breath, the bones of your knees finding the sides of his hips. “I’ll let you kiss me. I don’t ordinarily let men do that.” Perhaps that wasn’t much, he may call you foolish and scoff at that being a fair deal. But John merely fixed his heavy stare on your face and gave a soft nod. He hadn’t even been considering kissing you, he figured this was a pretty quick ordeal - fill you, fuck you, leave you. He supposed that hadn’t changed, only now it would be a little more intimate with a liplock.

You dragged your tongue over your teeth before moving your hand along his waist and down to the front of his trousers. “Well, get on with it then.” You murmured. “I’d imagine it’s been a long time for you and I don’t expect you to waste time.”

Fitzgerald gave a short nod. Falling back on his knees in an upright position, he swatted your hands away and got to work on his trousers. The front unbuttoned swiftly and the zipper practically slid south as he pulled the fastening undone. He wiggled his slacks down and around his knees, not even taking the time to do the same to his underwear before he leaned back over your form. You assisted him with the final article of clothing, fisting your hands in his undergarments so you could drag them down his pale thighs to join his bunched trousers.

John adjusted his knees and pulled himself in closer to you. His hand lifted to his mouth, cupping beneath his chin so that he could spit into his palm. You didn’t miss the light twitch of the corner of his lips, a notion you would’ve missed if you hadn’t been staring at how full those things were. He lowered his hand back to your body, not even hesitating before he began to smear his saliva along your slit. He didn’t care about foreplay, but he also didn’t want this to be painful and uncomfortable for you. Your cheeks immediately burned red from his touch. None of the Frenchmen had taken the time to do that.

He hoarsely cleared his throat before taking his shaft in hand and beginning to guide himself forward. The slick surface he’d created immediately made it easier for his tip to push past your entrance. He filled you much easier than any other man had and he pulled a reaction from you that they hadn’t received either. One of your hands immediately lifted to clamp on to his shoulder and your other slid to his throat, laying there as you relished in the arousal that began to swim inside of you. Although this sex was being paid for, it didn’t feel so forced like all the others had. And this was a bit of a bonus, Fitzgerald wasn’t ugly.. not in the slightest.

“I hope you’re not expecting me to be gentle with you.” The man on top of you whispered out, shaking you from your thoughts of admiration. Ecstasy dripped in his words and desire swam in his squinted gaze.

“No,” You murmured out. “just like I’m not expecting you to run your mouth the entire time either.” Your snippy retorts and quick little comebacks were managing to pull the faintest smirk from the man.

“Alright then.” He said flatly before moving his hands to your waist. His touch was gentle, though he’d said he wouldn’t be, and his hands felt big enough to swallow your whole waist. You spread your legs a little wider, inevitably waiting for him to begin thrusting. It didn’t take much longer, you felt the way he drew his hips back and the shift of his knees before he thrusted himself back forward. Your body jolted beneath the first buck of his hips, and he was already gawking at the bounce of your breasts. You let out a broken whimper and he repeated the exact same motion. Hauling his hips back, he shoved them back forward and steadily began to buck into you. Your insides clenched around him eagerly, the moisture effectively helping to make you feel much better than any other time. You gasped out shakily each time he filled you, slender fingers digging roughly into the rock. One one hand, your nail beds were threatening to chip under the sheer force of you clawing at the stone. And on the other, John’s skin gave way beneath the force of your nails, leaving half moons etched into his flesh as your body rocked beneath his own.

“Fuck me.” He groaned out breathily. Every shaky exhale he let free hit your lips hotly. You gasped beneath him with every strong thrust and he groaned and grunted, watching as your features twisted. He liked to think he was the only man able to get this reaction from you, and though that was a long shot - it was true. John lowered his forearm and placed it above your head, using his other to maintain his weight and balance, preventing himself from crushing you as he steadily rammed his hips against your own. One of your legs curled around his waist on its own accord, helping you to selfishly lift your hips just enough to send his cock driving directly into a delicious spot inside you. His toned, clothes chest rubbed against your own, and you could see his greedy eyes desperately waiting for your breasts to become exposed. It was far too cold for that though, perhaps laying in front of a fire or the safety of a cave, but it was entirely too vulnerable on the rock for your bare skin to be revealed that much. You’d catch your death, and he’d already decided that this was not going to be a one time thing.

Your head lifted off of the rock and your chapped lips found his pink, just as dry, ones. You kissed him like your life depended on it, forcing him to swallow every yelp and whine that built in your throat. He devoured every sound and made you do just the same, filling your mouth with every noise of ecstasy that tried to fill the cold air. He felt surprisingly hot, pounding into you mercilessly was making his insides burn. A part of him felt as if he may overheat, but the noises he was driving out of you were enough to spur him on.

He figured, in that moment, if it was three pelts to sleep with you and he had so many to sell, that you were just as good a consumer as anyone else. The only difference was that with you he was getting sex, with others he’d get money. This was somehow so much more worth it. He kept going on these fucking hunts because he was trying to find some sort of life for himself. He was just aimlessly living. Just letting his life run its course. And it was so boring. But this.. this was rather exciting. He silently wondered if he’d even have to pay every time. He was willing, but he was sure he was going to want you more times than he had enough pelts for.

He let out a broken growl and forced himself into you harder, faster, fucking you well and truly forcefully enough to almost send you falling off the rock. But his arms had you trapped, you weren’t going anywhere unless you wanted to. And he could tell, as you arched and bucked and begged, that you were doing just fine beneath him.

———————————————————————

okay!! so! i went a completely different route than i originally intended to in my head, but im not unhappy with this one 🤣 i just need to do some drabbles to get back into the flow of things (-: i hope you guys enjoy! and i was considering doing a part 2, but it really just depends if people like this or not! OK, ‘NUFF RAMBLING <3

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[hardyimagines]

Babe your writing still fucking slaps. I salivate over anything you write. Please don’t think your writing isn’t up to par because it very well is

*happy tears*💜💜💜

[hardyimagines]

You are beautiful, I hope you know that and if you don’t well let me say it again, you are gorgeous 💕

[hardyimagines]

So I just binged the entirety of your max x reader fic and I am so in love with it and how you write in general- I’m seriously over the moon with the fact that I got to read it. You made me love Max even more and the take you did of the story was so so so good! Seriously, I love it and I’m glad I got to read it! Thank you for sharing that amazing work! 💐💕🥺

im so glad that you enjoyed them!!! I hope my future Max fics will be just as amazing for you as my previous ones!

[hardyimagines]

Sorry I'm not confident enough to come off of anon but I dunno how I managed without your imagines until now and now that I have them?? I cannot, go, without???? You're literally an angel?? I think I can see your glow from here because thank you for your overflowing talent and self in general!!! This has been a PSA. No I won't take criticism from any haters, thanks y'all. ^_^ ❤

COME OFF ANON <<3 I WANNA GIVE YOU ALL MY APPRECIATION. YOURE SO SWEET❤️

[hardyimagines]

miss u queen i hope you are taking time to yourself to be okay and better

thank youuuu <3 i appreciate the kind words and incredible patience from everyone. you’re all fucking STARS. ily

[hardyimagines]

Hiii, love! I hope everything is alright with you and that you drink water and have some good sleep! I came back to the Tom Hardy fandom and peaky blinders and I- I’ve basically read everything from your materlist! And I’m not even finished hehe. Everything is so goooooood and I more than adore it. Gosh, readers are so lucky to have such a wonderful writer here on Tumblr. Mate, you’re more than incredible! You art are wow. As Alfie would say: It was fucking biblical, mate. Have a nice everything

[hardyimagines]

Hi!! I love so much ur writing style!! You’re so talented 🥺 ily

ily most and i appreciate your kind words <33 definitely makes me wanna get back into writing!

i sincerely apologize for the delay in responding to your ask ),: please forgive me!!

[hardyimagines]

Hello! Just wanted to say that your fanfics are amazing! 💕 They make my days better (and I'm sure I'm not the only one in this situation 👀👀). Thank you for everything, hugs! 💕💕

❤️🥰im glad you’re enjoying them!!!

[hardyimagines]

hi, just discovered ur blog and wow just wow IM CRYING BC I FINALLY FIND GOOD TOM HARDY CHARACTERS FICS OH M GLDOSYEAKA .. yea 😳 thank u 💗

anytime!!! <33 please never hesitate to make requests ❤️❤️

[hardyimagines]

😳✋🏼please forgive me, I just realized I reposted a gif of Lady Dimitrescu like DAYS ago on this blog and not my blog dedicated to her 💀 thats so embarrassing but..

I HOPE YOURE ALL DOING FANTASTIC🥺🥺

[hardyimagines]

A Crave For Fame

Would love a Forrest piece, maybe where you’re cornered by some bad guy and Forrest steps in and you nurse him. Bandaging his wounds and what not. You get really close to his face and he acts nonchalant about it but you’re really shy. Ends in a heated kiss. Lots of fluff.

TW: Mild Violence

———————————————————————

1932.

The bar smelt like thick liquor and dried throw up. The top of your nose was red and cold from the chilly wind as it whipped around outside swirling in circles, shaking tree branches until they were forced to drop their leaves, whisking up grains of dirt and sending them flying in the direction of those who were outside. It was a dust storm of some sort, that’s what people were referring to it as. The air outside was orange and murky, it looked as if the clouds had descended and were making the world all puffy and one big blur.

The tips of your painted nails slid along the straps of your bright red apron. Unhooking the fabric from the silver hook on the wall, you briefly ogled the peeling paper, crisp and dangling like a hangnail waiting to be ripped off. The apron wasn’t exactly required, but you found that it definitely helped to wear something in order to prevent having alcohol sloshed and spilled and stuck on you when rowdy customers would shake their heavy fists and bounce their heavy, drunk bodies on the counter stools.

Regardless of how many times you wiped down the counter, it always seemed to have a slick, sticky feeling to it and the lemon scent only masked the stench of whiskey and rum for a limited amount of time. The sign outside read ‘Restaurant’ and the sign further forward read ‘Gas station’, and while there was a small supply of gas and a short list of food items on the menu, that wasn’t at all what this place was truly selling.

It was the prohibition era. People were parched and the only way to quench their thirst was by giving them a cold beverage that scalded their throat as it went down. The smooth liquor was rich, bitter, sweet, plain. Everybody had their preference. You weren’t much of a drinker, but pouring beverages was easy enough and from the looks of approval you received all the time, you’d assume you were doing a pretty good job.

Working for bootleggers was never something that had spiked your interest in the past - and maybe it wouldn’t have when you had sauntered up the hill when it was pouring down rain a year ago, but one look at the man had charge had sent you reeling. You didn’t want to work anywhere else.

Forrest Bondurant was one of, if not, the most attractive men you’d ever seen. He had big blue eyes and a head of constantly gelled hair. Why he went through the trouble of styling such a mess, you didn’t know, majority of the time he wore a hat on top of it anyway. He was always strolling around in his big gray cardigan with a button down or another sweater underneath. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d overfilled the shot glasses on the bar and spilled liquor all over your fingers and the counter, just because staring at him was such a distraction. He didn’t notice though, and if he did, he didn’t say anything.

The front door opened with a loud creak, the hinges loudly alerting whoever had just entered that they were in no shape to be handled so roughly. The door swung shut, slamming loudly behind the new guest. His eyes shimmered green and his teeth sparkled white. The man removed his top hat and strode up to the counter with so much confidence you could’ve upchucked. Men like him made you want to spit in their drinks.

“What can I get for you?” You asked, not bothering to stop and give him the eye contact that he was clearly searching for.

“Something light.” The man said. “I won’t be staying long.” He pressed his elbow against the counter, but made no mention of the filth or the stench.

It wasn’t busy yet, but there were always people inside. Either they slept the night at the bar counter, on the floor, at a table, or outside, or they showed up as bright and early as the sun did, ready to start drinking the day away. Most of the customers that tended to be here so long just made their own drinks when you rested. Forrest knew them, you knew them, so there was no harm done. But this man, he was a completely new face.

“Something light as in water?” You said, pouring a shot of water and replacing it with the shot of vodka that one of the men had been drinking. He was green in the face and looked about ready to faint. You knew he needed to be eased off the liquor, you couldn’t just flat out say that - people reacted too differently to know if it would be a threat or not to cut someone’s intake off.

The man snorted. “Why would I come into a bar for a glass of water?”

You arched a slow brow. “The same reason you’d come in and ask for something light - we have liquor, straight from the bottle. It’s not dolled up and pretty, we don’t have any mixers, it’s just straight alcohol.” You didn’t say another word, instead you finally let your eyes flicker to his own, resisting the urge to glare. But your patience was wearing thin. You didn’t have time for games and he was beating around the bush.

The man sighed. “Moonshine.” He said before lowering himself down on the stool. “And maybe a drink of you?” You could hear the amusement in his voice, as if he were positive you’d take him up on his offer. He found himself hilarious.

Turning on the heel of your pointed boot, you wrapped your slender fingers around the neck of the silver bottle. Rotating, you poured a perfect glass of moonshine and then set the glass down in front of him. No spillage. The liquid was filled to the brim. Extending your arm, your palm creased as you curled your finger inward, waiting to be paid.

Instead, the man grasped your wrist and pressed it against the bar counter. “How about you give this one to me for free? Since I don’t see you marching that ass of yours from out behind the counter.” He patted his lap for good measure. “I went ahead and saved you a seat,” He motioned to his thigh again. “but you know, you’re being awful rude.”

Your eyes creased in the corners, stare hardening as the man tightened his hold on your wrist. Forrest was a shout away, but you were a big girl, not some maiden in a tower waiting to be rescued. Attempting to jerk your arm back to yourself, you hissed under your breath when he turned it at an odd angle. All the other men in the room were out old or oblivious. You could scream their names and they probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

You flinched as he began to rifle through his pocket.

“I’ll give you something.” He said, masking the tone of his voice for a more gentle and apologetic one. But you weren’t an idiot, so you didn’t let your guard down. But it wasn’t as if you could just rip your arm away from him. He was insanely strong and you, unfortunately, didn’t get much upper arm strength pouring drinks. Before you could utter a word, he pressed a cigarette against his lips and lit the end. The brownish-orange tip of the stick illuminated with bright orange embers as he inhaled and the smoke lifted from the end of the form of payment.

“Let me go.” You insisted, practically ripping at your arm so hard that your wrist had gone numb from his tight grasp.

“After I pay you.” He said. You didn’t know what to expect, a puff of smoke being blown in your direction? The man pinched the stick with his knuckles, clasping it between his pointer finger and his middle finger. He rotated it swiftly, pinching it then between his thumb and pointer finger. As suddenly as he moved the smoking tip toward your flesh, your eyes flickered with realization. And then you began to squirm.

“Hey..” You pulled harder. “What are you doing?” It was so obvious. But in a panicked state of mind were you expected to speak adequately. “Let me go, please..” Begging was never one of your strong suits. It just didn’t fit you. You hated it, having to ask someone to have mercy on you. But you didn’t fancy smelling burnt flesh, or feeling the pain that would come along with seared flesh. Scream for help, your brain said. You’re a big girl, but you can still ask for help, it reminded you.

The ashes fell from their loose spots on the cigarette, floating across your skin, dusting it with kisses. The ashes gathered on the counter as he lowered the hot tip of the cigarette toward your flexed forearm. Forrest’s name was on the tip of your tongue, but the pink muscle felt swollen and useless. There was a block in your throat that wouldn’t let your voice free and for the first time in a long time, fear surged through you like a whirlwind, resembling the very state of weather outside. Your body ran hot with fear and as you jerked your elbow to the side, the glass of moonshine toppled over and clattered against the floor.

Pieces scattered along the floor as the cup smashed on impact. If that wasn’t enough to lure Forrest out of office, then perhaps your cry of agony would. But the bloke was just a sliver of a second too late. The tip of the cigarette grazed your skin, enough to leave a slight burn, but as quickly as the glass had broken, Forrest had appeared.

He didn’t hover in the doorway to inspect what was going on. Someone had their hands on you and right away, it was unacceptable. The big, burly man strode forward. His thick fingers curled in the caramel flannel that the bastard was wearing. Forrest snatched the cigarette from his pinched fingers and immediately snubbed the lit tip out by pressing the hot surface against the man’s cheek.

The bloke let out a nasty yell, finally releasing your arm. You lifted your hands, on instinct, to cup over your ears, blocking out the sound of his pained shouting as best as you could.

His cry was like a signal though. The doors flew open and three other men piled in. It was rumored that the Bondurant brother’s were all invincible - especially Forrest. He’d survived a lot - brutal attacks, life-threatening illnesses, having his throat slit, his heart broken, wars. But could he take on four men?

Dropping your hands from your ears when the yelling stopped, you crouched down and began to twist the knob on the safe. It was a sixteen digit pin, so it would take a moment to open, but the revolver inside had six bullets, so you be able to wipe out all of the men with that if it came down to it. You weren’t peering over the bar counter to see what was happening. You were scared - terrified. A part of you wanted to leap into your boss’s arms and give him a bear hug, another part of you wanted to hide in those big arms of his and just forget that your arm had almost been burnt to a crisp. Instead, there was just a very small burn. It was nothing to worry over, nothing in comparison to the burn on the man’s face.

“What the fuck are you all standing there for!” The man rasped loudly, clutching his hand to his face as if the skin on skin contact would help him. “Get him!”

All three men moved forward. One was smoking a cigar - very nonchalant as he marched toward Forrest, one was sweating like he’d just ran a marathon, and the other was blinking furiously as if the dust outside had momentarily blinded him.

Forrest stuck his hand in his pocket and used his fingers to make the shape of a gun. The outline was bulky and visible and the three men hesitated, if only for a second. “I’d think very carefully on what you’re ‘bout to do next, boys.” Forrest spoke softly. His voice was quiet, slow. It was silky against your ears.

You poked your head out for half a second, blindly rotating to nozzle all the way to the left - 11, and then all the way to the right, 5. Inputting every single number as quickly as you could, you jumped in fear at the sound of a sickening crack. You jumped up, expecting to see Forrest laying in a heap on the floor, but instead it was just one of the other men. Forrest stood with his bloodied hand hanging at his side. Blood dripped from the brass knuckles he wore, droplets staining the wooden floorboards. Forrest sneered.

“Who’s next?” He inquired. “The man with the cigarette burn, the broken jaw, the blind one, or the sweaty one.” He flexed his fingers for a moment, waiting impatiently for one of them to charge at him.

What he didn’t expect was for the untouched duo to jump toward him at the same time. He sent his fist flying directly into one of their spine’s, but with the help from the bastard who now had a permanent scar on his cheek, Forrest was sent directly down and on to his back. The men tackled him and you trembled on the spot.

Shakily crouching back down, you began to finish off the code. Forrest’s groans of pain were evident. He was rasping, moaning, putting up as much of a fight as he could. He swung his arms and tried desperately to cover his face. Two men grabbed his arms and pulled them apart, leaving his face and stomach vulnerable to their boss.

The man’s cheek was sunken where the hole was forming. His eyes were red and watery and his stance was slightly shaky. But he had the upper hand as he moved forward. His hand dropped to his pocket and without any hesitance, he pulled a knife free from a holster.

“Now then, why don’t I reopen that cut on your throat?” The man sneered, already beginning to crouch down. Forrest’s nose was bleeding, his eye was swollen and purple. You were sure his stomach would be doused in bruises in the morning and his fingers would be cramped, locked, and jammed.

The safe opened with a quiet buzz and you, with an eagerness, desperately grabbed the handle of the gun and stood. Your hold was steady and your aim was perfect. You’d been working here for a little more than a year, and Forrest had taught you how to shoot within your first few weeks.

Extending your arms out, you held the gun steady as you cocked the revolver. “Hey, asshole.” You said breathily. “If you lay one more finger on him, I’ll kill you.” You could tell by the man’s tense back and resistance to look in your direction that he knew you weren’t bluffing. He slowly tucked away the blade and then sucked in a deep breath of air.

“You’re the first group of people to put up such an unnecessary fight. My brother’s and I, this is what we do, free alcohol from the bootleggers and pretty women are an extra bonus.” He snorted before looking in your direction.

You scowled, before demanding. “Leave..” And although you wanted them to, to all just pile out toward the entrance and get the hell out of here, it worried you. What if they came back sometime in the night when everyone was vulnerable and sleeping? Your eyes were distant as you pondered how this would end. You could blow another hole in his other cheek, though that one would be far more deadly. Or you could let them go.

“Forrest..” You whispered. His guidance was definitely a necessity right now. It wasn’t too often you found yourself in this position. The floorboards creaked underneath you as you shuffled your weight from foot to foot. Forrest sat up with a low grumble, clearly trying to hide the fact that he was in pain. He jerked his arms free from the hold the men had had on him and as he began to stand, he spun around and grabbed the back of their necks. Shoving them toward one another so their skulls rammed into each other, he shoved them both to the floor and then retrieved his brass knuckles. Two opponents down, and one more left.

Forrest gave each of them a few extra punches to the face for good measure, wanting them to realize that they truly weren’t a match for the invincible Bondurant. He whirled around to face the last man, the one who thought he could lay a hand on you, the one who thought he could use you as an ashtray and that would be fine.

The man did that to all of the bartenders, marking them in each town he passed through. His real name wouldn’t live on in the history books, but what he’d done would. Who wouldn’t want to read about a man that burned bartenders with a cigarette butt as a form of payment? It made him want to laugh on the spot.

Instead, he dove head first across the bar counter and directly into you. When it came to fight or flight, your reflexes were clearly to just freeze. His body sent yours crumbling to the floor. It was sticky and disgusting because you only mopped on the weekend. You have a sharp cry of pain and fear as he ripped the gun from your hand and pressed the tip against your chin. “Now then,” He sneered down at you. “You didn’t want a cigarette burn, maybe you’d like a bullet wound. I won’t kill you, I need you alive so you can tell the story about me.” His eyes creased with his lopsided grin and his breath - it stunk of peanuts and smoke. He didn’t even take a sip of the moonshine, it sat prettily on the bar, the liquid shaking from all the movement in the bar.

Forrest stepped toward the bar to help you, just as the man jerked you up and to your feet by your hair. Your eyes were opened wide and your eyes were pleading. The barrel of the gun caressed your soft skin, stroking your chin until he dared to move the gun to your lips. You jerked your head away, scoffing under your breath at the audacity of this man. He must’ve thought he was in a movie with the way he was behaving, talking about himself as if one day he’d be some big story. Your watery eyes moved to Forrest. He hadn’t budged. His knuckles were bloody and dripping - his blood or the men’s blood he didn’t know. All he saw was red. He felt hot and irritated, at a loss of control.

“What do you want?” Forrest said. His voice was so monotone. He sounded like he was taking someone’s order for food, not trying to save your life.

The man chortled. “I want you to light a cigarette and put it out on her body. I’ll let you choose where.” The man moved his hand to the back of your neck, roughly pinching it before he shoved you as hard as possible out from behind the bar and in the direction of your boss. He didn’t follow, he kept four feet between himself and the two of you. The gun was cocked and pointed, all he had to do was shoot.

Your feet didn’t cooperate with your mind, especially not after being forcefully sent flying forward. You rammed right into Forrest’s broad chest, arms immediately lifting so that you could clutch on to his cardigan. No part of you worried that he’d actually do what he was told. This was Forrest, he had a way out of everything - you hoped. Lifting your watery eyes to his own as he pressed his thick fingers against your elbow, steadying you, he checked your face for any signs of injury before slipping his other arm around you as well. You’d never been so close to him, pressed flush against him with hardly any room to breathe.

The man reached up and pinched the front of his hat. Removing the accessory, he lowered it to your head, shielding you from what was to come. Should he be shot, he didn’t think that was something you should see. You blinked slowly, your breaths seeming louder than usual beneath the oversized hat. You couldn’t see much, nothing but the ground and his belly as it rose and fell with every inhale and exhale.

So what happened next made you flinch. It was loud, so loud, there were screams of pain and the sound of cracking bones. Forrest hadn’t moved, he was still standing firmly with his feet planted against the wooden floor. His fingertips dared to brush along your arm, slow and assuring as he watched the scene play out. His brothers weren’t the best fighters, they weren’t the best when it came to confrontation, but regardless of what was happening they’d always have his back like he had theirs.

Without explaining what was going on, Forrest merely lifted the front of his hat so that he could see your features. Inspecting you closely, he let out a quiet grunt before giving you the best smile he could muster. With a swollen lip and a bruised eye, the expression didn’t seem fitting. Who’d be happy at a time like this? Relief colored his features as he slowly brushed his knuckles along your warm skin before he parted his lips to speak.

You beat him to it though. “Thank you..” You whispered softly before dragging yourself back. You didn’t want to suffocate him or make him uncomfortable by clinging to him. There was no longer a threat. “Come on,” You murmured softly. “Let me look at your injuries.” Peeling the hat off of your head, your slender fingers slipped through his own and you slowly guided him toward one of the tables. It was wiped clean, void of any crumbs or liquor, so you set the hat down on the surface and then nudged him gently to take a seat.

Forrest’s knees popped under the pressure and his bloodied hands moved to his stomach. It was only then, when he felt the pressure of the brass knuckles, that he realized he hadn’t taken them off. His fingers felt swollen and stiff and his arms refused to move for a few moments.

You have him a soft smile before slowly reaching for his hand. Your touch was delicate and slow as you pried the brass knuckles off of him. Setting the tool on the table, you turned around to fetch the first aid kit from behind the bar, just as Howard and Jack were hauling the bloke toward the exit. They’d be back for the other three as well.

You stepped over the unconscious bodies on the floor - some drunkards, and the three others were Forrest’s attackers. Retrieving the fallen revolver, you uncocked the weapon and slipped it back in the safe before securely closing the black case and then retrieving the plastic first aid box. The white handle fit snugly in your small palm as you pulled it free from its place under the bar.

You didn’t have the confidence that you’d be able to fix Forrest up as good as new, but you were certain that you’d be able to prevent anymore swelling, help some go down, and patch up the spots on his face that were bleeding. Your boots clicked softly against the floorboards as you made your way over to the table. Setting the box down, you undid the clasps on the front and then pushed it open. Dragging out the small container of alcohol, some gauze, a few wipes, and an ice packet, you gave him a small smile.

Forrest watched your every movement through one good eye, and one half-opened, swollen, purple eye. His nose was busted and bleeding and purple in the center. It didnt look broken, but it certainly looked bruised.

“Could I wipe your hands clean?” You asked softly. There was always an ever present shyness to you when it came to the man seated in front of you. You didn’t know what it was about him that made you feel so nervous, but you felt the need to shy away after every word exchanged.

He gave a quiet hum before lifting his hands and laying them on the table. His knuckles were tense and bleeding in various places. The impact of the brass knuckles hammering against a man’s face, still brought a small amount of pain to the man’s knuckles. He shuffled, watching you as you slipped your hand into his own and lifted it. The sun poured in through the window, falling across the injury so you could see perfectly. You opened the bottle of alcohol, dousing the cloth in it before you gently began to wipe away the smudges of blood and then cleaned the opened wounds, cuts and scrapes that bled like gashes.

He didn’t wince or jerk away even though it stung horribly. It wasn’t a matter of protecting his ego, everyone experienced pain at some point in their life. Adjusting his hand lightly, he cleared his throat before letting his thick fingers drop to his lap when you were finished cleaning them up. “Would you have really shot him?” He asked suddenly.

Your eyes lifted to his own as he asked such a thing. You stepped away again to retrieve some ice, but his words burned your ears. As you filled the ice pack, you couldn’t help but wonder what the honest answer was. Would you have shot him? Blinking a few times, you carried the ice pack back over to your boss and slowly lifted it so that he could hold it in place over his eye. “Yes.” You said after what felt like an eternity to him. “In the leg.. perhaps, or the arm.” You offered. “But I don’t think I couldve killed him.”

Forrest gave a soft nod. “I didn’t expect you to.” He assured you before giving you the best smile he could muster. “I’m incredibly grateful that you.. well, put your life on the line for me like that. He could’ve killed you.”

You snorted. “You and me both. But we’re fine.” Guiding his hand to the ice pack so he could hold it on the wound, you then began to tend to his nose. There wasn’t much you could do, apart from clean up the dried blood that rested underneath his nostril. He had stubble, dancing along the length of his warm flesh. His cheeks and his jaw were coated in the fine hairs, giving some texture to his face as your hand cupped the sharp surface, thumb grazing his chin so that you could tip his head back.

The close proximity was numbing. You felt like you’d been swallowed by a flame. Maybe it was the way the sun illuminated the both of you, but the heat you felt was completely internal. Fidgeting for a moment under his unwavering stare, you watched as the white cloth turned red and his red skin returned to the initial paleness it ordinarily was. Crumbling the rag, you laid it on the table before leaning into him so you could get a better look at his eye. You moved the ice pack, squinting as you inspected the damage.

“I’m not doctor, Mr. Bondurant.. you’re probably better off having this injury looked at.” You suggested before straightening. Your arms slowly crossed over your chest, warm fingertips tracing the sleeves of your shirt.

Forrest grumbled something incoherent before giving you a soft nod. “Feels just fine.” He lied.

“Forrest.” You scolded him. “It’s swollen shut.”

The man arched a brow. Very rarely did you use his first name. His large palm lifted, covering his eye so that he could watch you through the swollen one. “See. Works just fine.”

You squinted challengingly before shaking your head in mild amusement. The man was insufferable. You made movement to turn to clean up the first aid kit tools, but he grasped your forearm tenderly in his large palm.

“Id know if something were wrong with my eye, Y/n, because you look just as beautiful through my swollen eye as you do with my two good ones.” He pulled you in his direction, his expression a pleading one. “Perhaps you should take one more look at it.”

Your brows furrowed at the compliment he’d given you before you stumbled in his direction. Laying your nimble fingers against the unsturdy, wooden arm of the chair. Inspecting his eye as he asked, you gave him a small, shy smile. “Mr. Bondurant, I believe you..” Though you weren’t sure if you did or you just wanted to put some proximity between you and his body. He was so warm and inviting, it drove you up the wall.

Forrest leaned forward. He enjoyed seeing you squirm so much. You were riddled with your fear of being unliked by him, even though it was clear he felt the same things for you. The man’s hand was gentle as it slid up the length of your arm so he could brush a few of your tresses back and out of your eyes.

Your cheeks felt unbelievably warm in this moment. You were sure that if they could be, they’d be the color of a ripe tomato. Lifting your free hand to steady yourself, you pressed it against his strong shoulder. “What are you doing..?” You breathed, attempting to rack your brain for some sort of explanation for his actions. Your brain refused to help you, it was completely blank. The closer your face grew to his own, the hotter you became and the more your brain shut down. You felt like a blob of jello.

He couldn’t help but smile. He sensed your shyness, which was exactly why he didn’t offer any words. Just actions. He figured they’d speak louder. Besides, he had to thank you in some enjoyable fashion. Why not with a kiss? The man spread his thighs wide enough to give you a place to stand. Drawing you forward, he moved his hands to your curvy waist and held on to you as his hot breaths began to mingle with your own.

All at once, your brow smoothed and your mind was completely blank. You saw nothing but him, heard nothing but the hammering of your own heart, smelled nothing but him - and he smelt like smoke and liquor, you felt nothing but his hard body under your palm, and soon you’d taste nothing but those big, pink lips of his. Your own mouth parted, incredibly too willingly, and all at once your mouth’s molded together like long lost pieces to a missing puzzle.

Your body fell into his lap, arms appearing to be insanely slender as they curled around his wide, broad, muscular shoulders. Forrest moved his hand to your leg, steadying you with one hand on your thigh and the other laid against your back. His mouth was slow, tentative, and curious as it moved in sync with your own and your’s was hungry, exploring, and needy. The shyness you felt crept away, but it didn’t go too far, it was just silenced by the romantic exchange he was leading.

His lips were as soft as you were imagined, and he tasted like honey and coffee. You pressed the crook of your elbow against the back of his neck and let a sultry moan fall from your lips in approval. Every brush of his fingers against your spine and feel of his tongue gliding against your own, sent sparks of electricity jolting throughout your body.

You still didn’t understand why he was kissing you, but was there really a point in questioning it? Maybe he was just grateful. Maybe he’d been hit so hard in the face he thought this was the right thing to do? And maybe, you hoped it was for this reason, the incident had helped you both find the confidence to grow suddenly closer. You were careful not to let your nose bump his or your hands to stray too far in fear of hitting an injury. What this meant and how far this would go didn’t cross your mind though, because in this moment there was only him and those sweet tasting lips of his.

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A/N: This is my first fic in almost a year so please bear with me🖤 ( ALSO NOT MY GIFS ) also it’s been soooo long since I’ve uploaded, I can’t remember how to do a ‘keep reading’ on mobile, so please message me and let me know how!!