#deceased!john shelby x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sopxhiea · 4 years

Text

Wicked

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Enemies to Lovers!

Warnings: Large age gap.

Summary: Alfie stumbles upon a very familiar face around Birmingham and he finds his feelings to alter as he watches her.

“Don’t fall in love with me.”

The weather is gentle against the lilies growing around. There are a couple kids running around under the chirpy April weather as the city moves on. The sounds of cars and footsteps fill the humid air while the smell of freshly baked bread escapes the bakery around the corner, inviting any hungry souls with a penny to spare.

The heels of your leather boots create loud thuds against the pavement’s surface while you check your pocket for the watch, eyes scanning the accessory in an attempt to stop time.

It’s a busy day.

There is a small job to be taken care of, a stubborn lad has to be threatened in exchange of some cash. It’s time to take the main road after that, visit the Shelby company to see the familiar man and get as much as you can out of him.

You look like a woman in love.

An outsider could mistake you for a foreigner to this town, your beige coat and airy summer dress compliment your skin as the heavy boots contradict the soft image created by the upper half of the outfit. You look like a kind person from the outside, someone who probably owns a cottage with her husband and lives quietly.

You’re far from that.

Your family business has shaped you into a sharper person than what you would’ve been. It’s made you a person capable of persuading just about anyone whether it’s for a murder case or some expensive jewels.

There’s no point on dwelling on it. You hadn’t chosen the live you were born into, being the only heiress of a gang was not your first choice anyway but you got on with it. You grew up learning how to conceal how you felt, learned to choke a man to death and even came close to doing it once.

An hour passes, you run your pretty mouth by a couple people in search of a name and a sweet little lady gives it to you not too long after. You don’t like to think about how all this thrills you, the reason why you’re so good at it is because you enjoy chasing men down.

Not too long after you visit to the given location, you return to the heart of the area with the information you needed and blood on your sleeve. You hide it by pulling the sleeve of the already oversized coat. You flash smiles, the way to the Shelby company is close.

Sometimes, you think of the past.

It’s a bad habit, you know. It makes you feel stuck, like there is war again and you’re the only hope the family has. There’s the horror of being young and helpless when you dwell on the past, it mostly brings doom and desperation from the painful years that cast a glassy look in your eyes.

But there are parts you don’t wish to forget.

You recall his name, Alfie. He had been a rival of your dad’s for a long time even after he’d passed away. He was relentless, stubborn and much bigger than you were. You were a teenager when you’d first seen him, he was a young man then. You had sworn to him that you’d get taller than he was, both in height and the status he upheld.

He was gentle, had been there all along while your family went through some rough patches that only left you and your little brother on the upper part of the soil that coated this earth. There was an understanding you had with the man, almost like your souls were made of the same parts.

He was the enemy.

You often told yourself that when his name came up in conversations. You didn’t have any contact left with him, the jewish community was on the far end of the city from where your business operated so there was no reason to mess with his area. It had been over four years since you’d seen him, the enemy.

You were grown now, respected and very well known. You knew the business, how the thick headed men operated and you were an expert in getting what you wanted, not the shaky small girl he knew you as.

Walking in the bet shop, you heard Tommy’s assistant call your name. You had been long lost family friends and the business benefited from an associate like the Shelbys. You were older than Finn by a couple months, making most of the people in the shop treat you like a small girl but his assistant knew better.

You were escorted to his room by a brunette woman, she seemed nice enough to let you know that he had another meeting. Her remark made you check your watch, you didn’t have that much time if you wanted to get everything done for the day. Your brother would be waiting for you in front of the factory soon.

Shaking your head, you knocked the door once and entered without the approving sound of ‘come in.

It was hard to comprehend the scene before you.

Tommy was sitting behind his desk, leaning back on the chair in a calm state. There was Finn, a smile spread on his lips when he saw you, he’d been a friend since you were kids. You didn’t return the gesture, your gaze fell on to the new blinder next. He had a similar look to John, just broader and he looked more like he was from Tommy’s mother’s side.

Then you saw him.

It took you a minute, his face was covered in the usual scruff but it was kept in a nicer shape. He hid behind his hat, you recognised the velvet fabric first and the owner of it not too long after. The sight of him with wide eyes, looking directly at you made you swallow while Tommy stood up.

“Y/N.” the Shelby spoke and you returned his gaze with a soft smile. It was half-assed.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Tommy spoke once more and Alfie got up, shaking his hand and muttering something into Tommy’s ear. You ignored the rush of excitement that washed over you when he passed by, the smell of vanilla and rum evident when he stopped by to greet you with his hat.

You smiled and spoke with a low hum. “Mr. Solomons.” you murmured as he inspected you.

You were not the little girl he saw in pony tails around the mansion anymore. You had grown up to be a woman, a very beautiful one at that. You didn’t look like your family, they were all average looking people with dangerous stares whereas you were much softer to the eye, it was like inspecting a well-done painting to look at you.

His eyes pierced through yours for a few moments, hand tugging at his beard while he spoke. His voice was all the same. “Lass.” he said, making you frown in the slightest because it made you think that he didn’t remember your name.

You were his rival more than anything. Your company ruled one end of the city and he did the same to the other. There was always hunger for more, wars and murders to make sure everyone stayed in their territory but also deals made behind closed doors to make sure one business controlled all over.

But you’d play nice.

You shook his hand, didn’t reach for your gun and waited a little for him to leave before you got down to business. Your deceased father would tell you to knife his throat if it weren’t for the multiple gang wars that would arise, so you stayed put and let him leave.

Sitting down on the chair in front of Tommy’s table after greeting Finn and learning that the new blinder was indeed Pol’s son, you got to business. There was whiskey drank and deals made as you tried to ease Tommy’s tension behind Alfie’s leave. You didn’t care that the man was stressed but to get what you wanted, you’d have to be patient.

Two hours later, you bid a farewell to the familiar faces and left the building. Walking towards the factory your little brother would pick you up from, you hurried your steps, making the dress swish around your ankles while a car followed you.

You knew who it was.

When the machine stopped right next to you on the side walk, you watched Alfie get out of the soft seats. He had a cane in his hand but he looked the same he did after the war. You looked right at him when he towered above you, no words spoken because you had to be careful with him.

He was the enemy, and had been for longest time.

“Why are you following me?” you spat, feeling warmth radiate off of his body at the close proximity.

He recalled the time you’d said you’d grow taller than him, it brought a smile to his lips as he spoke.

“I remember, yeah..” he said, fingers waving through the air as he spoke. “You were just a small fuckin’ girl then..” he chuckled and you waited for him to finish, arms crossed. “Tellin’ me, yeah, that you’d be taller than me when ya’ grew up.” he said, his smile was infectious but you concealed his affect on you.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” you spat back, ready to have a go at him as a look of pleasant surprise flashed across his face.

You’d always been the one with wits. He recalled the times when your teenager self would bicker with him, the playful banters would grow heated but he’d do nothing much after lewd images of you filled his mind. You were eighteen then, old enough to know what you wanted but young enough to mistake an enemy for a lover.

He knew better.

“You’re still fuckin’ fiesty, eh.” he spoke, nodding as he took the image of you as a grown woman.

“How’s business?” you ask, ready to mock him the minute he answered but he spat back another question.

“How’s Jack? he asked, seeing the slight rise of emotion in your eyes and that was enough for him. He knew your little brother well and knew what you went through to protect him.

“Jack’s fine.” you said, voice stern while amusement filled his blue orbs.

“So is business.” he spoke, answering your question and making the fire in your eyes light up once again.

You nodded, a soft smile on your lips while you uncrossed your arms. He’d seen you grow up even though he was the enemy since your parents had always been a fan of the mantra of keeping enemies closer than friends. He’d been there, casting in the shadows when they’d died, too and he was still there when the business had risen from the ashes you’d picked up.

“’s been some time, yeah?” he said, nodding at his own words while you forgot about your brother and the place you had to be

“It has.” you said, feeling yourself grow comfortable at the familiar conversations. They had been missed, he was the only man who knew how to speak to a woman around here after all, had always been that way.

“You’ve grown.

“You’ve aged.” you spoke, earning a chuckle from his lips. The sound of him was still the same.

He had aged, but like fine wine. It wasn’t the same way you’d seen man around here age, he’d just gotten better looking. He was young when you got to know him, barely had half of his might he possessed now. There were less wrinkles on his face than you’d seen a man his age have, he just looked rugged and you hated that your heart did a little flip every time he licked his lips.

“Got somewhere to be?” he spoke, realising that you had been going somewhere before he held you up.

“I do, actually.” you spoke, your voice was breathy and soft and he wondered how you would sound with his head between your legs. He nodded at your words, you looked at the road before you while he got to talking again.

“Why don’t we go for a cup of tea, yeah?” he asked, much out of the blue as you stared at him with wide eyes.

He was the enemy.

Sure he was attractive and much more pleasant to be around than your brother but your family had spent too much to be where you were. There were too many factors involved and no matter just how badly you wanted to say yes, you knew how to play this game well and that meant brushing arms with the jewish man before you.

He spoke once again before you could start speaking. “For ol’ times’ sake, right, no funny business.” he spoke, refraining from cursing every two words because frankly he wanted to impress you.

He sensed the hesitancy you had, it was only natural that you had doubts regarding the familiar face before you. You smiled first, there were too many ways this could go. He watched as you took in a deep breath, your chest rising as he tried his best to look at your eyes and only, it was amusing.

For old times sake.

“If it’s just for some old company..” you said, liking the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at you. “...you won’t mind Jack being there..” you spoke, knowing very well that he would in fact mind your brother being there.

It took him a minute. Of course he minded. He couldn’t show you that though, things were still pretty fresh in his mind. He remembered the way you’d catch him looking during a business meeting and frown, it made him smile to this day. He recalled the days where you’d spend the hours around his office, trying to find a stable deal for what your father wanted. You’d been young then, smart regardless.

“That’d be fuckin’ lovely, yeah..” he said, pulling at his beard as he watched you inspect him. “Missed the lad myself.” he said, clearly lying.

Jack and Alfie didn’t get along as friends but they were compatible enough to be business partners. They’d always bicker around but the words thrown around were much different compared to when you’d mess around with Alfie. It was more aggressive, not as light-hearted.

You nodded, telling him to come meet you in this coffee shop around the corner from his place. He smiled at your words, you still knew the address. You gave him a couple quick glances, one to look at his face one last time as he blushed under the afternoon sun and one to finally say goodbye.

He watched as you walked towards the car.

-----------

In the span of two hours, you’d managed to scold your brother, score a large deal and make it to the shop. Jack, who was a couple years older than you, was being a pain as usual. He wasn’t so unpleasant to the people you were making business with but he was to you, it was the bond you’d developed after everyone in your family had passed away.

You found yourself sitting in a wooden circle table with Alfie and Jack not too long after. They were chatting about the business, the incomings and the outgoings and all that. You listened intently, realising just now that you’d missed the way Alfie said things, not only because of his accent but his charisma and charm that had been mere illusions when you were small.

Alfie’s eyes landed on you as Jack talked about some deal you’d made just an hour ago. He started speaking about the buyers and the receivers of the deal but Alfie’s focus was solely on you as you poured some milk into the coffee cup. He watched as you stirred, not looking up at anyone and purely living in your own world.

You knew when Alfie had something to ask, he would.

You’d liked that about him. He was honest and blunt, didn’t beat around the bush and said whatever was going on in his mind. You only knew a handful of people who were capable of doing that and most were women.

Your eyes met his at last after a few fidgeting moments from your part. You looked at him, thinking that he’d probably asked something but you were living too much in your head to realise that there had been a real conversation going on in the first place. Your eyes were wide open as you spoke, making him want to giggle.

“Huh?” you said, Jack stopped talking and looked at you. “You said something, Mr. Solomons?” you spoke once again, the addressing him with his surname sting him but he’d be gentle.

“’s Alfie, luv.” he spoke and watched you nod, searching for an answer to your previous question.

“I said, right, do ya’ still got the dog?” he spoke, the question was openly directed at you.

You had a large dog when you were a teenager. It was a great dane, a black creature that would follow you around all the time. Alfie had last seen him in your dad’s office, the thing used to reach above your knee level.

You smiled at the question, he patted himself in the back for seeing your beautiful smile once more after all these years before he listened.

“No. He was getting too old so we put him to rest a couple years back.” you said, a glint of sadness evident in your eyes but Alfie swore that he almost missed it.

You faced him this time, a little more confident and asked him about his dog, Cyril. He told you about how he got bigger, even though he was already impossibly large the last time you’d seen him. The dull conversation then turned into a lively one, you chatted the day up, asking about anything and everything you were curious about until you looked to your right and Jack wasn’t there.

He had excused himself to go take care of some business, even though there was none to take care of currently. You guessed it was because of how intense the talk was between you and Alfie. It ran smoothly but the speed was much harder for an outsider to pick up, so was the sarcasm and the wit.

He also didn’t quite like the way Alfie’s gaze ran along your body from head to toe every now and then.

You weren’t a little girl anymore so Jack couldn’t boss you around, that was why he’d mumbled a small excuse and left you and Alfie alone. You dismissed the thought and kept on asking him about his new home, the one he’d bought in the years of your absence.

“I got them, right, to do the walls in fuckin’ oak.” he said, smiling at the end of the sentence while you chuckled to yourself.

You had missed this.

There had been a voice at the back of your mind this whole time, it was your father’s, warning about not sleeping with the enemy. You had low intentions of maybe kissing the handsome lad who was currently speaking about his new office, you didn’t know if you wanted to take it so far as to sleep with him.

He was the enemy.

There was flour on the his shoe sloes, he smelled of vanilla and rum. His skin was rough, the experience of life gave him a tougher look than the one in his eyes that were directed at you. He made you laugh, it was silly just how giddy this bear of a man was.

You shook your head, nodding along the words he was saying but you’d missed the question and so you were met with curious eyes of the jewish gangster. This was the second time you were daydreaming about him in front of him and a low colour of pink blush rose on your cheeks.

“You’re not the listenin’ type these days, eh?” he spoke, chuckling lowly when you shook your head.

“Sorry, I just..” you breathed out, your voice was much breathier now and he casted a hungry look in your direction. One you decided to ignore.

You didn’t say anything more, the shake of your head was enough to let him know what had been on your mind. He had always been able to see right through you, more so than the people you were related to by blood. You murmured a small excuse, telling him that you needed to leave and he nodded.

You offered him a smile as he continued to talk, both of you standing up now that the night was near. It had been hours of talking and you’d lost track of time. You needed to take care of some things at home and also listen to your brother bitch about how he’d been left out of the coffee talk you had with Alfie.

“I’ll see ya?” he asked while you waited outside the shop, he’d always been the one to address things a little to quickly than the average person.

“Do you want to?” you asked, the game of push and pull was natural in between the two of you.

He chuckled wholeheartedly and you ignored the small smile on your lips formed by the action. “Do I wanna fucking see ya?” he nodded, repeating the question as if it were something he’d never heard of but you nodded like it was common. It made him shake his head and lean closer to you so that you felt his hot breath against your face.

“I would love to fuckin’ see ya, lass, right, and I know, yeah, that you know that fuckin’ well at this point.” he spoke, eyes moving up and down along your body, just enough to make you forget that he was supposed to be the enemy.

You smiled wickedly at his words, you knew that he wanted to, why else would he be looking at you the way he was?

“Well, then..I suppose you know the rule.” you whispered against his face, making him weak in the knees. He was comforted by the wicked ways your mind worked and enjoyed this game all too well.

“What fucking rule?” he spoke, almost rolling his eyes when your lips ghosted over his.

You’d been waiting for this for so long.

“Mr. Solomons, you’re the enemy..” you spoke, seductive enough to earn a grunt of extreme approval from him and he felt your small hands on his chest. “We’re supposed to be hating each other, not flirting in a public setting.” you smirked as he listened you, eyes never leaving your lips.

“Tell me the fuckin’ rule then, yeah, lass, or else I’ll end up takin’ ya’ right here.” he spoke against your lips, you hadn’t kissed him yet but he was already drowning the moment your lips ghosted over his. You pushed him down by the slightest, making sure he wouldn’t do anything funny before speaking.

“As much I like the idea..” you breathed against his face, watching his eyes glisten with want. “..here it goes.” you spoke before listing the rules almost too quietly. You felt his eyes close when he felt you speak against his lips.

“Don’t fall in love with me.” you said, earning a low chuckle from him, he wasn’t gonna have something half his size order him around, no matter how aroused the idea made him feel.

He shook his head at the idea, he couldn’t deny that you were made to love. He’d been intrigued with the idea all those years back as well but you were entirely too young, no matter just how much you toyed with him at times. The age difference was significant still but you were much older now. Certainly not the rosy cheeked eighteen year old he once found amusing.

“Luv, ya-” he stared speaking but you cut him off, taking a step towards the man twice your size as he towered above you.

“Alfie, I don’t mind all the fuss right..” you spoke, very well aware of the fact that you were on dangerous waters but that made it even more appealing. “I don’t mind the sleeping around either. We just need to keep it casual.” you spoke against his face and he swore he would kill anyone to kiss right there and then. But he didn’t.

“Casual aye?” he spoke, mumbling something under his breath that you failed to catch.

You knew it would be hard and that it was a challenge, you knew he loved to love domestically, to show his girl off and worship her. You’d heard things and while all that sounded blissful, you’d have to do it under closed doors. That was the way go when you were sleeping with the enemy.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy but if you so badly wanna do this..” you swallowed while catching a glimpse of something in his eyes. “We have to be secretive.”

You watched him as he took a good look at you, almost like he was trying to see if doing things behind everyone’s backs would be worth it. Oh, it was so worth it. He tugged at his beard, trying to make some words out without being too blunt, scared of hurting your feelings when things hadn’t even started.

So he didn’t say anything. Neither did you. For a couple minutes, you just stood there, letting the light breeze touch the soft skin of your cheeks and play with the ends of your dress. He watched you while your eyes traveled across his ginger beard, looking like beams of sunlight when the gentle rays hit his face.

A smile formed on your lips while you walked towards him, close enough so that if you whispered anything, he’d be the first one to hear. You looked around, trying to savour the last moments before the soft sounds of your voice filled his ears. You would walk to your car after speaking and he would watch.

“Let me know if you decide to do this.”

-----

Tagging: @clairecrive @parkbearum @sourirez @bicevans @mollybegger-blog

a/n: First piece since being back and I apologise for how long it is. Lemme know if you want another chapter!

549 notes · View notes

sighonahurricane · 4 years

Text

Idk if this even means anything but I wanna do a Peaky FanFic Rec List so that I don’t have to scroll deep down into my dashboard to find the one I wanna read.

It’s basically a list of fics I like. And all of these except one or two are Tommy fics. These are a mix of headcanons and fics and long stories.

Now I’m really sorry but I’m terrible with links. Some of these might be my reblogs of these fics but please go to the original poster to read and leave notes.

Also, some of these are smut. Any mention that is marked with this “#” contains smut but has a story as well. Now I’ll put a “##” in front of those who are just only smuts.

And I’ll keep editing this list as and when I find new good fics, and I’ll colour them orange until I don’t add more so the orange ones are the latest additions. Mostly tommy fics.

Right so here it is (in no particular preference order)-

Modern Tommy with multi-lingual s/o. This thing has my heart right now and the writer even explained how he knew what he said in the end and it's jcrivbriuvnerijncanaenviernvi SO GOOD <3 <3

Just good business (Series) I don’t usually go for series because I don’t think the women match Tommy (no offense to anyone, y'all write amazing shiz). But this!!! This woman is really well written. I LOVE THIS!!! Go ahead read this without a second thought! (Smut just in part3)

So sexy goddamnit

🥵♥️ The last sentence omfg fuuccckkk

Tommy claiming you as his. This be sexy af and its amazing how this and the two fics above this have very light nfsw and almost no smut but still has so many feels in them <3

A modern Tommy x Lizzie x Grace (Series) (A little smut in the last part) #

The way he says do it again. A really short something but, goof af

Tommy going to his Custom Tailor with his wife. This is so perfect and in-character xnjesjsjskamsm

Tommy x Lizzie. This just broke me kinda. I’m left speechless. But I’m a sucker for good tommy x lizzie fics. And I love reading emotionally heavy things. So yeah. I love this. Tw: miscarriage, blood.

GQ boy. Because a modern Tommy Shelby would UNDOUBTEDLY feature on today’s GQ

Tommy holding his kid to his chest. I'm deceased okay bye

A broken Tommy This hurts me.

A feeling smut. Right now this is of my fav Tommy Shelby Smuts ever!!!!! This is just really good. # (#?)

Tom needs comfort sometimes, even if everything goes right (<3)

Strangers # (it's a series but this link here is to the 3rd part because it be ✨spicy✨)

Tommy Shelby Social Media modern AU. This is gold!

John Shelby Social Media modern AU. Again. Gold!

Modern Tommy bday

Shelby Boys taken over by triplets is the most adorable sight ever (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

A bath with Tommy. This concept is next level

Modern College AU. I absolutely LOVE THIS!

Tommy holding you. I like to see his soft sides. Sometimes.

My Love

The Talk. With the Shelby brothers. Sister fic

Political Views. This is a smut. And it’s so good! ##

Very Hot (Let me take care of you)##

Comfort

A REALLY sweet something short. Love this

Another comfort

Tommy is really just a sub unless you rip the buttons of shirt off ##

Shelby Sister . This was so wholesome tbh

Tommy living a bit of a normal life. Now I LOVED this fic because of how normal this is. Mentions of smut #

My property. Tbh Tommy Shelby claiming you as his is SEXY. obviously this is smut ##

Tommy and his daughter

Tommy needs to be held sometimes, doesn't he? (Slight mention of smut but nothing tooo visual) Ugh I love this🥺

T.Shelby Jr. Sister reader. It’s cute and funn

Just Tommy comfort again

Now- the fics that I love because they match or indicate canon (I actually love these the best tbh)

A Tommy x Lizzie post Grace’s death #

Another Tommy and Lizzie after Grace’s death.#

Tommy x Tatiana. Yes this is the only fic, out of the very rare, that I found to portray this crazy woman perfectly. I love the Tatiana and Tommy dynamic.

Tommy x Lizzie when Ruby is born. And tons of emotions. This made me emotional af. I might even have cried a little.

Cute chubby little baby Tommy

A S5 continuation. Now I LOVE this. Because very few fics have been able to portray a really good post-S5 scenario and I think this is one of my top3 (all 3 of which are in this list) S5 continuations. Clearly. No doubts. Go ahead read this!! #

Another S5 continuation Basically a Tommy x Lizzie. One of my top3 post-S5. This one is a bit short but HAS ALL THE FEELS I STG

A Missing Scene completion. What would've happened after the "In my head, I still pay you for it" scene. This is s apt, I can see it happening

This Bed of Shattered Bone. S5 continuation. Brilliant. That's all I have to say.

All the Tommy titles. This is a sibling fic. It’s funny and typical and just really good

A BIG SHOUT-OUT to the writers of these fics and all the others out there! Kudos to you guys!

P.s. I have written NONE of these fics. Credits to their respective writers!! Let me know about any broken links and I’ll fix them.

#tommy shelby #tommyshelby #peakyblinders #alfie and tommy #lizzie and tommy #tommy x lizzie #tommy x reader #tommy x oc #john shelby #john boy #ada shelby #soft tommy #smutty tommy #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #tommy fix

175 notes · View notes

moral-turpitudes · 4 years

Text

Golden Ring: Part 2

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Fighting, Swearing, Fluff, Gore, Smoking, Drinking, etc.

Word Count: 1,833

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Requested by: @captivatedbycillianmurphy (thank you!)

Summary: When the Shelby’s are on business, there’s no such thing as rest, not even for Y/N.

A/N: Totally had “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” by Cage The Elephant stuck in my head while writing this. (Also fun fact: they’re from the city I went to college in and they did a free show on campus once which was lit).

Part 1 | Part 2

Tommy drove through the late-night fog and along the dark roads that led to their warehouse, the wheels creeping by ever so slightly on the dirt covered streets. The gears shifted as he put the car in park and got out, and walked towards the old building.

He pulled out a cigarette and rubbed it against his lips as he walked further into the darkness, the only light coming from what he assumed were his brothers cigarettes in the distance.

“Aye, who the fuck are you?” One of the men asked, who was most definitely not his brother.

“I could ask you the same question. Why are you on my property?” Tommy asked, the light from a cracked window seeping in, illuminating the two men’s faces.

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Thomas Shelby. We’re here to take your stock. The weapons. The drugs...What are you going to do? Call your brothers? Make your whore of a mother appear out of thin air or something?” He asked.

Tommy sighed, straightened his coat, and took his hat off nonchalantly, flipping it around in his hand as he looked down at it, before landing a hard punch to the mans jaw.

His other friend quickly took off towards the door with two bags full of cocaine.

“I wouldn’t run if I were you mate. You won’t get far.” Arthur said blocking the door with John next to him holding a shotgun.

Tommy then grabbed his cap tightly and pulled his hand back, sending the razor blade straight towards the mans eye. He slashed open one of them to where he’d be barely be able to see out of it, and the other he cut out completely, leaving the man screaming bloody murder as he walked towards his brothers.

“Where are the other men aye?” He asked grabbing the man by his collar.

“By the cut, I heard them fighting so I stayed here with him.” He said pointing to his partner bleeding out on the ground.

“They aren’t there anymore, you little London boy. You don’t mess with the peaky fookin’ blinders and live to tell about it.” Arthur said inching closer to the young man.

He was shaking as he realized he was the only one of his gang left, his boss surely plotting his death the longer he stayed in Small Heath.

“I’ll give you one minute to run out of here, because I don’t think you’re worth killing just yet. You tell your boss that if he wants to do business he’ll come to me directly, or I’ll have to come to him, and he won’t want that.” Tommy said menacingly as he held the young man by his collar.

“Al-alright. I will, can you let me go?” He asked.

Tommy held him there for a couple moments just to watch him struggle before letting him go. The young man dropped to the ground and ran straight out, leaving his friend and other deceased gang members behind.

“Now, what did you lot do with the others? I’m not digging any graves tonight.” He asked, his eyes landing on John.

“Well Arthur beat two of them to a pulp. I told ya he would go feral.” John said giving a sideways glance at Arthur.

Arthur smacked him in the back of the head before he continued.

“Well John-boy shot one in the head, the other is drifting down the cut with 3 bullet holes in his chest. Do we have to fookin’ retrieve them now Tommy?” Arthur asked.

“If you don’t want the coppers to get on us again, then yes. I’d imagine it would frighten the women and children walking past the cut as well, we don’t want that.” Tommy said before heading towards the door.

He looked down at his golden ring before looking back at his brothers who angrily spoke up.

“You’re just gonna leave us here to do the dirty work then aye Tommy?” John yelled.

“I have some things to do. You’ve both buried worse, just make their graves deeper this time.” He said before looking at his pocket watch.

“It’s Y/N again isn’t it Tommy? Bastard can’t even handle a murder job without wanting to run home to his spouse!” Arthur said, chuckling as John smirked.

“You’ll understand someday Arthur. Just get to work or I’ll make sure you’re both buried with that gang of fools instead of buried in company work tomorrow.” Tommy said before stepping outside and lighting another cigarette before heading home.

Back at home, the sun was shining brightly through the bedroom window with you laying in it’s rays, the sun warm on your skin as you draped yourself across the sheets as sleep eluded you still.

Your eyes were tired, with dark circles starting to form as the thoughts danced around in your head at where your husband could be. It had been 3 hours since he’d left, not that time meant much when he was away, it always seemed to blur until he came home.

As you stared at the old stone fireplace, you could hear the door cracking open downstairs as familiar footsteps heavily echoed through the hall and up to the bedroom.

He cracked the door open as light as he could, not wanting to disturb you if you were asleep, but you moved so you were facing him as he entered the room, meeting his tired eyes and blood stained hands and face. His clothes weren’t much better off, knowing that would be a pain to wash out.

“You haven’t slept...” He said taking his cap off and looking at you. He undid his dress shirt and took of the suspenders that clanked as he set them down on the table.

“I told you I probably wouldn’t be able to, you know that my love.” You said as you curled up on the sofa, the robe around you shifting with your movements.

“What can I do to help ya then aye? I can’t have you passing out at work.” He said coming over to sit on the floor next to you.

You lazily ran your hand through his hair as he leaned into your touch. The blood from earlier still glinting off his face in the sunlight.

“Well you could go take a shower, you’ve become so used to being covered in blood you forget it’s all over your face.” You said giggling slightly, he smiled and you felt him laugh a bit as you dropped your hand to his shoulder, massaging it lightly.

“You’re right about that, do you want to join?” He asked, looking over to you as he smirked.

“Only after you’ve washed the blood off, and on one condition.” You said.

“And what is that?” He asked.

“You lay with me for a while since you’ve been gone more often than not this week...that might help me sleep, at least until we have to get to work.” You said.

He smiled and nodded in agreement before getting up to rid himself of last nights business. You reluctantly getting up from the comfort of the sofa to join him in the steaming shower not soon after.

Showers always made everything better in a sense, so after it, you had no trouble falling asleep in Tommy’s arms.

You awoke later to the sun shining even brighter than before, signaling the afternoon, and you felt his warm arms still holding you as you lifted your head up slightly to look at him. He looked peaceful when he slept, or at least when he slept near you. Other times he’d be wide awake as the sounds of shovels and the muddy tunnels plagued his mind.

You carefully got up to not wake him and looked at the clock on the wall, lightly ticking in the distance and your eyes growing wide at the realization.

“My god...oh no...not again!” You said hurriedly.

“Thomas wake up! Thomas!” You said shaking his shoulder lightly.

His eyes shot open and he sat up immediately, looking around the room for any danger.

“What is it Y/N?” He said groggily and calming down as he saw you frantically getting ready.

“We overslept! Polly’s gonna kill us! We can’t be late to another meeting...you know this.” You said scurrying into the bathroom as you heard Tommy swearing under his breath.

He walked in as you were doing your hair quickly and putting in minimal effort to look presentable. Tommy was shirtless and standing behind you brushing his teeth, with his pants and belt undone as he’d hurriedly thrown a new pair on.

“You can finish getting ready and I’ll wait in the car.” You said moving out of his way and slipping your shoes on and grabbing your coat.

That was always the one little thing he loved about you, as you would always get ready quickly which often came in handy when he’d steal you away before other meetings or parties, and you still looked remarkable even if you put in minimal effort.

Not long after you started the car, he was bounding out the door and climbing into the drivers side, giving you a quick peck on the lips before speeding off towards the shop.

You looked at the watch Tommy had gifted you a while back, it reading 12:30pm as you both headed towards the familiar streets. People looked on as Tommy sped slightly through the streets earning some concerned glances.

With a lurching stop, Tommy parked the car and help you out, letting you inside the shop first as he followed.

“Y/N...Thomas...nice of you to join us.” Polly said smirking at you both as you walked in to the packed meeting room.

Tommy shook his head as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before sitting down and lifting a cigarette to his lips, wincing as Polly loudly re-hashed some of the news and plans involving the business.

“Tom, the London boys boss is wanting to meet you. Your message was delivered.” Michael said, eyeing him as he lit his own cigarette.

“When will he be here? 3 in the morning?” He asked, yawning on cue as you smirked, remembering the annoying events of last night.

“Actually yeah...What? That’s what he said...” Michael said confused.

You and Tommy shared a knowing look, as he rolled his eyes back to his brother.

“Alright...tell him it’s doing me a disservice but I’ll meet him...with backup of course.” He said looking to John and Arthur, they seemed just as tired, and still wearing their clothes from last night.

“For fucks sake. As long as you bury him this time Tom.” John said.

Tommy smirked in response, turning his gaze to you as you lazily rested your head on your arm, Polly glaring at you until you straightened up.

As much as you loved your husband, it was a known fact in the Shelby family that the wicked never rested. So you sighed as you accepted your fate, knowing sleep would elude you once again until business was done.

Tag List:

(If you’d like to be added/removed just shoot me an ask/message!) :)

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @dreamwastakenx, @lovemissyhoneybee

#katiesfics #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #katiesWIPlist

102 notes · View notes

kaetastic · 4 years

Text

PEAKY BLINDERS

*gifs are not mine, credit to owners

Imagines

[*smut/nsfw][🌧angst][✿ fluff]

LUCA CHANGRETTA

*Stay Low | Luca Changretta x Blue-Eyed!Shelby!Reader

The third oldest of the Shelby’s has been sneaking behind her familys’ backs to be with the man she had loved ever since a kid.

*🌧✿History Unfolds Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 | Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John x Reader

A favour that is pending to be fulfilled calls Y/N to Birmingham, from a very old friend. However, the youngest Shelby soon discovers her past with his deceased brother, John, and the one who had ordered the murdering, Luca Changretta.

🌧✿Shirt

Reader falls asleep in Luca’s clothes.

*✿Prince Charming

Luca brings the Reader to a fancy family gathering, except, he can’t take his hands off of her when she’s in a fiery red dress, displaying her tattoos.

✿Mine

On the streets of London, Luca Changretta feels the need to show people what’s his.

*✿ A tease | Luca Changretta x Shelby!Reader

Times when Y/N tease the Italian with his native language, except, he seems to always (maybe) be stuck in situations he cannot respond.

✿ New York Guider | Luca Changretta X Mob!Italian!Reader

Y/N arrives at New York to discuss some deals, until she stumbles upon an Italian mafioso.

✿ How Do You Do This? | Papa!Luca X Mama!Reader

Luca remains at home while his wife rests in bed, exhausted and visibly sick. However, he didn’t know it would be this difficult to take care of the house and a child.

✿Trying To Focus

Maybe if Luca tried to ignore the figure that sat on his lap, just maybe, he can focus on his work.

✿ Mafia Aside

Despite being part of the criminalizing life in the mafia, Luca Changretta needs the surprise birthday for his girl to be perfect. Needs- all letters capitalized.

FINN SHELBY

*🌧✿History Unfolds Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 | Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John x Reader

THOMAS SHELBY

* Blue Eyes, Red Hands | Thomas Shelby x Changretta!Reader

Thomas Shelby grazes his eyes upon an unaccompanied figure on the bar, despite the exhausting, enjoyable night, he mistook the woman as innocent. She was not who he thought she was.

ISAIAH JESUS

🌧✿ Trouble | Isaiah Jesus x Shelby!Reader

The infamous trio of Isaiah Jesus, Michael Gray and the second youngest Shelby pay a visit to a bar, except, few unhappy passer-bys ruined the day.

*Lingering Eyes | Isaiah Jesus x Shelby!Reader

The Peaky Blinders spend their night at a ball, however, Isaiah notices the wandering eyes of other men on the second youngest Shelby.

ALFIE SOLOMONS

MISCELLANEOUS

🌧✿ ??? | Peaky Blinders x Eldest!F!Reader

Series

;) none yet

#luca changretta x reader #thomas shelby x reader #finn shelby x reader #alfie solomons x reader #michael grey x reader #polly grey x reader #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders oneshots #peaky blinders #peaky blinder #peaky blinders masterlist #peaky blinders imagines

287 notes · View notes

merakiaes · 4 years

Text

An Arranged Marriage - Arthur Shelby

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: #25 from the fluff-list.

Warnings/notes: This turned out longer than I meant for it to and I got a bit side-tracked. It’s so incredibly cheesy too hahah. Sorry if this piece makes no sense and is messy. I haven’t written fanfiction in a few months now so I might be a bit rusty, and it’s not proofread either so sorry in advance for any mistakes. Buuut I hope you will like it xD (The religion you hold in this story is borrowed from Game of Thrones)

Wordcount: 4373

Summary: You’re in an arranged marriage with Arthur for the sake of the Peaky Blinders and your father’s business.

Arthur had been all for it when Tommy married John off to Esme to make peace with the Lees, but now that he was in the exact same situation, he finally understood why John had reacted the way he had when he first found out he was about to walk into his own wedding.

Arthur was older than Tommy by three years on paper, but in mentality… even though he probably didn’t even realize it himself, he was younger than both Tommy and John.

Out of all of his siblings, he was the one who took their dad bailing the hardest. He had been forced to step up and help his aunt Pol take care of and raise Finn.

It had robbed him of a part of his childhood even though he had been a young adult at the time, and in a way, caused him to stay in that younger part of himself mentally; that vulnerable, soft, emotional part.

This was one of the several reasons Tommy had taken on the leading role, both of their family and the business. Usually, Arthur didn’t mind. He didn’t like being in charge, he preferred someone else handling everything, Tommy in particular.

But now, now he wished he was the leader of the family. Because now, his younger brother was making him marry for the benefit of business. He was making him marry a woman he had never met in his life before and who was twelve years younger than him.

The biggest problem with the entire situation wasn’t that he didn’t want it, though. The worst part of it all was that he knew that no woman your age and with your status would be happily married to an old, at best average looking man like him.

And his age and looks wasn’t the worst part, either. It was his personality, or lack thereof, really. He had no personality. He was just angry, reckless and generally uncontrollable. Anger, that was all he was, and violence was all he had ever been good for.

He was terrified of marrying you, because he was terrified of terrifying you. And he knew he would at some point.

He had heard a lot about you from his brother when he had told him about his plans and that your father had accepted his offer. He said you were kind, thoughtful and pure. Everything that Arthur was not.

A girl like you didn’t belong with the likes of him. You belonged to someone much more worthy. Royalty, even.

But what Tommy had left out, because he had no idea, himself, was that your father would never marry you off without your approval. He would never make you do anything against your will.

Sure, you weren’t in it to the fullest, but you had never been in love before, and at this point, you feared you never would be with the way all men bored the crap out of you.

So what was the worst that could happen? You would eventually end up with someone you didn’t love wholeheartedly, anyway; you knew you would. So why not let it be while helping your father expand his business and partners?

The thought didn’t make you jump up and down with joy, but it didn’t appall you either. You could take care of yourself, and if your husband-to-be ever dared raise his voice or lay a hand on you in ill-meaning, you knew your dad would throw his agreement with the Peaky Blinders to the curb in a heartbeat to protect you.

The day of your wedding came only a week after your father’s parlay with Thomas Shelby, and your sister had been chatting your ears off all morning about everything that could possibly go wrong.

“What if he’s, like, really ugly?” She asked, tugging on your hair a little to roughly.

You flinched at the feeling and glared at her through the mirror, giving her the same answer you had given her the other thirty times she had asked that question.

“You should know by now that I don’t judge people based on the way they look, I judge them based on their personality. A man with a good soul is automatically b-“

“-is automatically beautiful no matter if his face is considered nice or not by the standards set by society.” She cut you off, imitating you in a much higher voice than you actually sported, rolling her eyes. “Yeah I know, you’ve told me.”

You gave her a flat look. “Then don’t keep asking.”

“What if he doesn’t remember the words?” She asked then, which actually got your gears spinning. What if he didn’t?

You belonged to a religion not many people outside your family did nowadays; The Faith of the Seven. A God with seven faces – the Father, the Mother, the Maiden, the Crone, the Warrior, the Smith and the Stranger – each aspect representing one part of life or existence.

You didn’t know whether or not your husband-to-be was religious. You didn’t even know his name. But either way, you felt slightly bad for the fact that your religion would be pushed onto him.

The wedding vows in your religion could be a mouthful for some people, yourself included.

“I barely even remember the correct order of the words myself, so if anything, chances are we both mess up.” You answered finally, causing your sister to huff.

But she said nothing more, quietly getting back to brushing out your locks. Eventually, your cousins and aunts filled into the back room of the church as well, no one wasting any time in getting you ready for your big day.

It was only when the wedding bells started ringing, indicating that it was time for you to make your entrance, that the anxiety any normal person should’ve been feeling the entire time but you hadn’t, caught up with you.

What if your sister was right? What if he was a real nasty man who would hurt you? What if he was so ugly you couldn’t look at him? You never cared much for people’s looks, barely at all, in fact. But now all the judgment seemed to come crashing down at once.

You knew this man was a good bit older than yourself, a whole forty years old. You had met many older men taking care of business in your father’s name, and you had encountered your fair share of men who in reality were just pigs in human vessels.

You could only hope to the Gods that the man you were about to get married to didn’t turn out to be one of them.

You walked into this mess fully prepared to never be able to love him, whoever he was, but you still carried some hope in your heart that you would grow to care for him.

And Gods knew you wouldn’t be able to if he turned out to be a grade A asshole.

But there was no time left to wonder, as the wedding bells were ringing over your heads in a way that was almost deafening, and your father stepped inside the backroom where you and the rest of the women in your family were gathered.

You stood up from your seat at his entrance and his eyes instantly found you, turning wide for a moment, before his entire face softened in a smile.

“Ah, darling…” He started, looking as if he was on the verge of tears. Which really wouldn’t surprise you. Your father might have been a fearless mob boss, but he wasn’t afraid to show his feelings. In fact, he cried a lot.

You plastered on a smile, feeling your lips tremble slightly with anxiety, as was the rest of your body.

He approached you, carefully grabbed your face in his hands and planted a kiss on each of your cheeks before pulling away to look at you with a big smile on his lips. “You look absolutely beautiful.” He complimented you. “And so much like your mother.”

Your heart tugged in your chest at the mention of your deceased mother, and you knew his did as well judging on the way his smile fell ever so slightly.

But he quickly shook it off and suddenly turned serious. “Are you sure you want to do this, angel? You don’t have to feel like you have to do this to please your old man, there are plenty other businesses to join with.”

His words tumbled around in your head for a moment, but you already knew what you wanted to do.

“I know you would never make me do anything, baba.” You smiled. “While I am doing this for the sake for the business and our family, I am also doing it completely out of free will. And besides, you’ve met this man’s brother, haven’t you?”

He nodded. “I have. He seems to be a very troubled young man and he still has a lot to learn, but he has a strong judgement, and I know he would never even propose something like this if his brother wasn’t just as honorable.”

“Then I trust your judgement about his judgement.” You nodded back.

Your father smiled at you for a moment, before finally letting go of your face and taking a step back with a heavy sigh. “Right.” He straightened out his suit and offered his arm to you. “Shall we?”

You took his arm without a second thought and got into position by his side, allowing your aunt to drop the veil to cover your face.

Her and the others then left the room, each wishing you good luck before leaving you alone with your father. You took a deep breath, staring straight ahead at the open door.

“Don’t let me fall.” You said to your father with a breathy laugh, your entire body shaking with nerves at this point.

You couldn’t see him through your veil, but judging by the ruffling of his suit, you knew he shook his head as he answered. “Never.”

The walk towards the entrance of the church was patronizingly slow, probably more so in your head than in reality because of the situation at hand.

You walked straight forward for about a minute, before taking a left turn, and by the sound of people standing up in the church benches and the bells having grown louder, you knew you had now reached your destination.

Your family was positioned at the left side of the church, and the entire Peaky Blinders clan that you had yet to meet and learn all the names of occupied the right side.

You still couldn’t see shit through your white, almost full coverage veil, of course. You only knew this based on what your aunts had told you while they had been getting you into your wedding gown.

Quiet murmurs could be heard the entire way down the aisle, most coming from the right side, although you couldn’t quite decipher if they were good murmurs or bad murmurs.

Out of instinct, you squeezed down harder on your father’s bicep, feeling your hands getting cold with fear.

You were beginning to have real second thoughts for the first time since accepting the indirect proposal, but it was too late to voice them now, as your father suddenly stopped, and only a second later let go of your arm, directing your icy, shaking hand into another, much warmer and bigger one.

The skin of his palm was calloused, evidently pointing at the fact that he had been through some hard labor in his life, and only causing your heart to thump harder in your chest as hard-working men were more often than not the ones who also beat and raped their wives.

Seemingly having gotten lost in your own thoughts, you had entirely missed the fact that the bells had now stopped ringing and that your father was giving you a soft nudge to the back, telling you to step forward.

You did as silently instructed, carefully squeezing your husband-to-be’s hand and using his help to step up on the small stairs he was standing on.

Turning to face him, you soon felt his hands graze the sides of your veil, and for a moment it almost seemed as if he was hesitating. But the next second, he had lifted the veil over your head, revealing your face to him and allowing the two of you to get the first look of each other.

And when your eyes met his and his face became visible to you, you almost sighed out loud in relief.

He wasn’t ugly, but rather on the opposite hand, quite handsome. His face was aged, without a doubt by the same labor that had caused the rough skin on his hands and fingers. And his eyes. His eyes were so blue, and so soft, you knew at once your father’s judgement had been correct.

This was no man that was going to hurt you. This was no man that would ever hurt any woman; he was a good man.

But while you gazed at him with deep interest, Arthur was absolutely speechless.

His brother had told him you were a looker, but you were absolutely beautiful. Painfully so.

And as he had no idea of the optimistic thoughts running through your head, he only grew more panicked at this, even more scared to ruin you now that he had met you, and fallen in love with you at first sight.

“Dear friends and family, ladies and gentlemen.” The priest, who you hadn’t even noticed up until this point, suddenly started, causing you to jump slightly out of fright.

You quickly recovered, and your husband-to-be gingerly grabbed your other hand to hold them between you.

“We are gathered here today, to witness and celebrate the union of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Arthur Shelby Jr. in marriage. With love and commitment, they have decided to live their lives as husband and wife. Today, as we create this marriage, we also create a new bond and new sense of family – one that will undoubtedly include all those who are present here today. Through your commitment to each other, may you grow and nurture a love that makes both of you better people, a love that continues to give you joy and also a passion for living that provides you with energy and patience to face the responsibilities of life. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity, to symbolize your new union of love, trust and friendship.”

The priest carefully tied a pure white silk ribbon around your hands, binding them together with a pretty knot on top.

“Now please, look upon each other and say the words.”

But the two of you were already looking at each other, him looking at you with astonishment, you looking at him with interest, but both of you looking at each other with satisfaction and just a hint of anxiety.

Together in unison, you began reciting the words your ancestor had done oh so many times before.

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

“Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

His voice was rough and held a thick Brummie accent. Any other peson probably would have found his deep voice a bit threatening, but you found it the exact opposite. It was soothing.

Surprisingly, he got through the words without as much of a stumble. You had expected him to mess up at least once, but no. Not one single mistake, and it made a weird kind of pride build up inside of you.

“You may now finally seal your marriage by sharing a kiss.” The priest finished, and you had never seen a man as uncomfortable as the one in front of you right then.

He was looking straight into your eyes, and in the corner of your own eye, you could see everyone awaiting the final finish with anticipation.

So you looked back at the man you now got to call your husband, gave him a nod so small it was barely noticeable. But he saw it and took that as the permission he needed to do the priest’s bidding.

He removed his untied hand from yours and slowly raised it to your face – so slowly, you almost wanted to hit him and tell him to hurry it on so that everyone could stop staring.

But you caught yourself. Who were you to judge him for being nervous? You had no idea what was going on inside his head, and you were just as nervous as he was.

And soon enough, his lips met yours anyway.

It was the lightest, most careful kiss you had ever received in your life, but in that moment it was enough to send your families into a roar of applause and whistles, the loud volume of it all bouncing off the church walls and echoing through the entire building.

The mere sound of their enthusiasm and support was enough to make you laugh, and much to yours and Arthur’s surprise, you grabbed a hold of the front of his suit and pulled yourself into his chest to shield your blushing face from everyone else as you laughed.

He visibly froze at the sudden act of affection, but when Tommy clapped him on the back in congratulations, he instantly came back to reality and put his arm around you, pulling you closer and with him down the steps to join your families with a proud smile of his own.

The rest of the evening was spent celebrating in the Garrison, a pub on Watery Lane that you found your husband was the proud owner of.

You drank and you laughed and everyone got along.

At some point, your father reached the absolute maximum limit of the amount of alcohol he could possibly consume, getting up on the table on shaky legs with your two uncles and a few men from the Peaky Blinders who were equally as drunk, all of them staring to sing on the top of their lungs.

You sat by Arthur’s side the entire evening, feeling strangely safe tucked under his arm despite barely knowing him, but when your father and his boyband eventually all fell down from the table, smashing another one in the process and sending the entire bar into absolute chaos, it was all getting a bit too much for you and you asked Arthur to go home.

To his home, where you would now be staying with him.

You had barely even stepped outside the door before a cold breeze went past you, pulling at the red dress you had changed into after the wedding ceremony, and your hair still put up in the wedding hair-do.

You didn’t shiver, actually enjoying the chilly breeze after being stuck inside the pub for several hours.

When that many people were crowded into the same room, most of them smoking and all of them jumping around like headless chickens on drugs at some point, the air eventually got very hot and humid.

But still, Arthur instantly started opening the coat clasped in his hands. ”Do you want my coat? It’s really cold out here.” He asked, holding it up and looking at you with careful eyes.

You were quick to shake your head. “Oh, no. You don’t have to do t-“

But he was already pulling it over your shoulders, smoothing the fabric out over your back carefully before quickly pulling his hands back to himself, stuffing them into his pockets.

“You’re my wife now.” He said, voice coming out as a mumble thanks to the alcohol he had consumed throughout the night, but you could almost sense a tinge of sadness to it, too. “Even if this probably isn’t the life you would’ve wanted, it’s my job to take care of ya and I’m not letting ya go cold.”

You felt your eyes, heart and entire body soften at his sweet words and obvious insecurity.

At the beginning of the day, you had had no expectations whatsoever to actually fall in love with the man you would be marrying, but with the way your heart skipped a beat just by being in his presence, your attitude was quickly changing for the better.

While you actually enjoyed the cold night air, you didn’t have the heart to tell him so when he was so obviously trying his hardest to keep you happy. And either way, you appreciated the gesture more than you could put into words.

A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips. You didn’t know if it was the whiskey currently pulsating through your veins or if it was the actually growing attraction that made you do it, but you soon found yourself taking a step closer to him and raising a hand to his face to make him look at you, as he was now looking at the ground.

His eyes met yours, and even though it was almost pitch black outside, you could see the sparkling blue color as clear as day.

“I don’t think I’ll have too much of a problem with the life I’ve been given.” You confessed, your thumb absentmindedly starting to rub circles on his clean-shaven cheek. “I already feel more for you than I’ve felt for any other man in my twenty-eight years of living.”

He shuddered under your touch and despite being a full-grown adult, he gave you a look so vulnerable and exposed it reminded you of a child. But not in a bad way.

Now, you weren’t sure whether it was the alcohol or genuine feelings that had made you act like you had up until now, but you were absolutely certain the next thing you did was purely the alcohol’s doing.

Without another word, you leaned your head up to meet his lips in a short but sweet kiss. He was startled by your sudden and unexpected action, that much was clear to you with the way he stood frozen in his spot.

But the alcohol being the cause of your boldness in this situation particularly wasn’t in a bad way. You knew you wouldn’t forget it happened, and you wouldn’t regret it, but you knew you never would have had the courage to make a move if you were sober.

After you pulled away, you just gazed at each other for a moment, before another breeze pulled through and this time made you shiver visibly.

Arthur came back to his senses at that, and wasted no time in taking you under his arm and starting to steer you in the direction of his house.

To a start, you had enjoyed the cold air, but now that the heat from the night’s festivities had died down, you were more than grateful that Arthur had given you his coat, as it was the only reason you weren’t a shivering mess upon arriving home.

That night, you slept in the same bed, but Arthur never tried anything. You didn’t talk much and neither of you made any move to get intimate. You just slept. Soundly. And so you did for the rest of the weekend, as well.

The first week was good. Really good. You didn’t talk much, but you shared glances, you got along, and enjoyed each other’s company. But going into the second week, everything was an absolute disaster. For you, at least.

You never would have thought you would catch genuine romantic feelings for him this quickly, but you did.

The first week you had appreciated the respect he was always sure to show you, but now that you actually harbored feelings for him, you craved his company and touch.

But he was scared. He was still so terrified of losing control, hurting you, or just scaring you away, because he knew from the moment your eyes met for the first time that he was completely whipped and never wanted to lose you.

He never told you out loud about how he felt, but you knew.

You had bonded with the entire Shelby clan during your first week together, Finn more so than anyone.

He was young, and despite having been raised by Polly and having several women around him daily, he had never really had a mother.

Unintentionally, you stepped up and took that role almost immediately despite only being ten years older than him. He told you all of the things Arthur wouldn’t talk to you about himself.

He told you about his time in the war, his issues and the demons that haunted his thoughts and came knocking when he least expected it, causing him to lose control.

And from that, you could draw the conclusion yourself that he was scared to hurt you.

You had planned to confront him on it one night, to tell him that you knew he wouldn’t hurt you, that you weren’t that easy to scare away, that you had developed real feelings for him and wanted to take your relationship to the next level.

But before you got the chance to do so, you proved it to him wordlessly when some asshole tried picking you up at the pub in the presence of the entire Shelby family, and you socked him right in the face and went off on him about his sexist tendencies like a mad-woman, having him running out of there with his tail between his legs and a bloody nose.

That was the moment Arthur realized that he had nothing to be afraid of; he didn’t have to worry about breaking you, because you couldn’t be broken.

All of the doubts fled his mind that day, and only a few days later, you were attached at the hip and acting like you had known each other and been in love for years.

Another two months later, you found out you were pregnant with your first child, and every night from then on when he would come home to find you sleeping with your hand resting on your growing belly, he could only stop in the doorway and stare at you.

Because who would’ve thought someone like you would fall so easily for someone like him? The most unlikely match in the entire world, and still, there you were.

Happily in love.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon #Arthur Shelby #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #john shelby #michael gray #polly gray

597 notes · View notes

giingers · 5 years

Text

The Worst of Nightmares (part one)

Request: Omg can I request one where the reader gets shot and bleeds in Tommy’s arms

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Tag list: @peachy-aisha @crazyonesarethebest @peachyblinderss @spaghettirogers @mclfoybaby

Enjoy guys! This is loosely based off of S2 EP5 but I’ve changed it around to suit the story.

“Love is the most beautiful of dreams and the worst of nightmares” - William Shakespeare

The rushing of his blood that coursed through his veins, the thumping echo of his heartbeat and the erratic breaths that fell from his chapped, dried up lips were the only sounds he could hear. Arthur was screaming nonsense at him while Aunt Pol cried from where she had thrown herself onto her knees but he couldn’t focus on any of them. He couldn’t even focus on the figure of his mother who had suddenly appeared in the dark corner where John now paced up and down. His brother didn’t even seem to notice her, but Tommy could see how she stood there, pale and unmoving, with the glow of the flames that now engulfed The Garrison flickering across her ghostly skin.

Where had she come from? Why was she here? She was dead wasn’t she? But he couldn’t answer those questions. Not when the most almighty chaos had just reigned down on his family. His eyes that had scanned his surroundings momentarily, now came to rest on the horrific sight that had caused so much destruction to his family.

You were in his arms, bleeding and frozen by the icy kiss of death. Your face was pale and your eyes were closed and no matter how much he had screamed your name he knew you were gone. He had ran so hard to get to you but when he had rounded the corner and saw the pub up in flames and your lifeless, bloodied body lying in the middle of the road he knew he’d lost you.

Get help! He had screamed loudly at his family, his throat scratching itself hoarse and his eyes filling with tears but it seemed none of them had been listening. He looked at you and through his blurry vision he could make out the outline of the deep scarlet patch that was soaking through your coat. His hands were slick with blood as he held you, he could feel it pouring out of the wound and through the wool of your coat to stain his hands.

How had it come to this? How had he let you die? It was all his fault.

“Tommy” he heard a voice say softly and he stiffened from where he knelt on the ground. His eyes flickered from your figure to land on the ghostly shadow of his mother who now was walking towards him with outstretched hands.

“Tommy” she said again softly “let her go, I’ll take care of her”

“No!” he almost screamed at her “I won’t let you take her”

Her eyes were piercing and they stared into his as she knelt down beside him, her cold dead hands taking his face. He hadn’t looked into his mothers eyes since he was a child, and despite the fact he was holding your dead body in his arms he felt some sort of comfort. He knew then and there that if his mother was taking you, then he’d end his own life shortly afterwards.

“Tommy, my darling boy” his mother told him gently as she stroked his face “wake up”

A jolt went through his body that was sharp and electric, and with it his eyes opened widely only to squeeze themselves shut again when the morning sun beamed harshly in the window. He was in a bed- of that he was certain as he began to familiarise himself with his surroundings. He was lying flat on his stomach and his face was pressed deeply against the pillow, and he was aware of the softest scratching at his back.

He turned around with a groan, his mind still whirling from the dream he had just woken up from. It hadn’t been the first time he’d had it either, and for the past month it had plagued him relentlessly each time he closed his eyes. Each time he dreamt it, it was always the same. You were dead, The Garrison was in flames and somehow his mother had been allowed to resurrect momentarily just to bring you with her.

All thoughts of his nightmare vanished from his mind at the sight of you as he turned over. His eyes met yours and your hand that you had been using to trace patterns on his naked back now came to his face. He sighed as your cool fingertips traced along his stubbly jaw and up towards the shaved velvety hair at the back of his head, each touch causing the nightmare to remain in the past.

“Morning” your voice was almost a whisper, but a croaky one at that, and Tommy smiled to himself as he shuffled closer to you under the warm covers.

“Morning, my love” he let a rough hand come to your soft face, and began to trace your features just like you were doing to him. Your hair was a perfect mess, now temporarily moulded into a tangle of knots that Tommy’s hands had created last night as he’d gripped the tendrils during the height of pleasure.

He thought then how bitter it was to love you so much and spend a night in your arms, only for it to be shattered by the cruellest of imaginings. It was almost like god himself was trying to persecute him. Thomas Shelby could never be fully happy. Some terrible act of violence always had to turn his happiness into prolonged misery.

“Did you dream again?” you asked him softly, a finger tracing under his eyes where Tommy was sure the evidence of his nightmares lay. He frowned a little, making a deep line appear near his forehead but your nimble finger only soothed it out with your touch.

“Yeah, I did” he sighed and now it was your turn to frown as you took in how tired he really looked. His skin was normally a placid ivory but now it looked like a deathly white with no blushing undertones at all.

“Was it the dream about your mother?” you asked him softly and he felt his heart twitch beneath his rib cage. He’d awoken many nights before with the horrific image of your dead body swimming behind his eyelids, but instead of voicing aloud the depiction of his nightmare he instead chose to tell you he had been dreaming of his deceased mother. Only a half lie, he told himself, and a half truth.

“Yeah, it was the dream about my mother” he spoke with a sigh as he pulled you closer to him under the covers. The warmth that was radiating from you was tangible, and he felt his heart thrum contently within his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist. A gentle kiss was pressed against his bare chest and Tommy let himself melt into your body, allowing himself to be consumed by comfort and by the thought that for now you were safe within his arms.

___________

The Garrison was eerie and still without the hustle and bustle of the usual rambunctious pub goers. There was no heavy clouds of dense tobacco smoke that swirled through the air or the sounds of clinking bottles and glasses. For most of the evening there had just been silence and calm for once, yet you now polluted the quiet with the soft threading of your feet and the jingle of keys as you made your way to the front door.

You had stayed behind for the evening to do some book work that Tommy had wanted you to do, trusting you to get it done before anyone else. You thought of him now as you stepped outside and shut the heavy door with a bang, the night time air chilling you under your clothes. You pulled your coat tightly around yourself and let a small huff out that made the air turn icy as it left your mouth, your eyes scanning the dark for the figure of your husband.

He was meant to meet you here and walk home like he had promised you under the covers in bed this morning but so far there was no sign of him. You just stood under the doorway and waited, your arms folded tight to keep in any warmth that you managed to contain and your eyes cast towards your feet.

Minutes upon minutes passed before you heard the voice. But it was not Tommy’s.

“Mrs Shelby?” the voice was clear and demanding, and your eyes jumped up to meet the shadowy figure that was getting closer to you. You felt your heart skip a beat when the man got closer, his face now half illuminated in the glow of the moon and half shadowed in the obsidian curtain of darkness that surrounded you both. His eyes were hooded and dark and they bored into you with a glare that you could only describe as venomous.

“Yes?” your voice was strangely calm despite the fact you were now feeling an undeniable fear. You’d nothing to fear though, right? Everyone knew who you were around these parts. The man had addressed you by your married name, and no one dared mess with a Shelby. Right?

“Sabini sends his regards”

The gun was drawn before you could even take another breath, and your eyes widened in fear as it was pointed at you- glinting dangerously in the moonlight. The sound that reverberated off every surface surrounding you was deafening and you shut your eyes tightly as you awaited the impact.

Naivety came before logic however, and for a solid minute your mind began to convince itself you weren’t wounded. But when a shaking hand came to clutch your side and came away covered in scarlet red any doubts began to trickle away. You swayed a little on your feet and threw a hand against the cold stone of the pub, but the pain was coming fast now like a horrific and stifling wave. It was like your body was ripping itself apart from the inside out and the hand that was gripping the wall faltered and before you knew it the ground was getting closer and closer until you were lying on your back.

The man who had just shot you was gone, you could barely hear his running footsteps in the distance, but his words rang loudly in your head. Sabini sends his regards.

Those words rang around in your head as you lay on the cold ground, nothing but the dark solitude and stony silence to keep you company. The world was dismal and quiet in that moment, and it became even darker as your eyes began to close.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic

248 notes · View notes

sopxhiea · 4 years

Text

Wicked

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Enemies to Lovers!

Warnings: Large age gap.

Summary: Y/N and Alfie keep their relationship under the sheets until another familiar face emerges, the dangers of being with each other prevail.

Part 1 | Part 2

"Were you jealous?" "No... maybe..."

“You grow on people, but so does cancer.”

The sound of paper shuffling fills the coffee smelling room, the windows are sealed shut. The oak walls are new, something done in addition to the decor in the office. There’s no record playing like there usually is, it’s a quiet day.

And there’s you.

There is a book in your hand, underlining your hearty attempt to do as little work as possible. It’s summer, the birds are chirping and the kids are running around. You’re on your last pile of papers, then you’ll be out.

The coffee is not cold, somewhere in the lukewarm area while your eyes catch a bird in the sky from the window next to your desk. Your floral dress is not usual attire, you’re not the one for girly things but it’s something he’s bought you.

Your head has been in the clouds, you think.

You have things to blame: work, your brother, business associates and the incoming season but you of all people know that the main reason for your distracted state is somewhere in Camden town shouting at his men for a small error.

There’s another appointment today, as your assistant tells you while you try your best to keep up the focus. It’s the Shelby company. You nod, they’re not the most pleasant but you’ve seen worse. You ask your assistant to be present in the room when they arrive so that things are more in order and he nods.

The pages of the book find your fingertips once again, the windows are now open. The smell of coffee mixes in with the freshly bloomed flowers around the office’s window as you read, enjoying the brief moment of peace before it’s interrupted.

Your head goes where you tell it not to, the place where you relive the events of the past. It’s not that the events are unpleasant, it’s quite the opposite if anything which is why you can’t afford to go there during work. You try to keep the thoughts in the back of your mind but a few surface regardless of your effort.

You recall all the moments.

His name on your lips like a prayer while the walls of your room echo, the only thing that can be heard throughout the house is his skin against yours and the moans he bestows upon you each time his hips meet yours. Your nails dig into his back, all he can feel is pleasure while you feel yourself find ecstasy in different forms.

There’s a loud knock on the door.

The Shelbys come in, they’re all in their casual attire but they can’t help to glance a look at you in a floral dress. You look much too picturesque for anyone’s seeing.

“Mr. Shelby.” you say before sitting down, it’s him, Finn and Michael today. You give Finn a generous hug as an old friend and Michael watches, there’s an uncertain look in his eyes but you ignore the lad and sit down.

“Ms. Y/N.” he says before his lips meet a cigarette, the other boys just watch you as the conversation carries on.

Thomas says something about the deal your deceased father’s company has to do with you, you nod and scribble down a few notes as he speaks. It’s almost like a ritual, you’ve memorised the lines of professionalism no matter how tight your family once was with the Shelbys. It’s no longer a family you’re concerned with, it’s a business.

An hour like that passes, you bounce a couple ideas off of each other and ask Finn about how he had been doing. Michael doesn’t speak except a few times to make snarky remarks but you’re quick to shut him down with your wit. You do not cast a look at him for the rest of the talk.

The older one out of them says something about a marriage, how John and Esme had been happy from an orderly marriage and the importance of having a family of one’s own, especially when it comes to a woman. You don’t listen to what he’s saying up until he says the last part and that’s when you put your pen down and stare straight at Thomas, eyes not wavering in the slightest.

“What is it you came here to tell me, Thomas?” you say, loud and clear and you catch a look in Finn’s eye, one that makes you panic in the slightest.

“Our Michael here has taken a liking to you. Your age is close to his. The business and the families will also surely benefit from something of the sort.” he speaks and watches you laugh and it’s genuine.

“So you’re saying I should marry your cousin, is that it?” you speak, bewildered at the thought but it somehow manages to amuse you, your assistant is listening the whole time while he stands next to you.

“I’m saying you should consider it, is all.” he says and you hear Micheal say a few words as well but your mind is way too blurry. You applaud the audacity Thomas has but the offer is much too rough and inconvenient.

Any girl would jump at the opportunity, you know. But you’re not any girl. You like the family, you’d known them for the longest time due to the family business you were involuntarily a part of. They’re ok people and the business would surely benefit from the finite alliance that would be formed.

But you find your heart to be somewhere else, in somebody else’s hands.

You dismiss the idea with the shake of your head and you see Finn beam up as you say no to the offer. He knows Michael won’t make you happy. You thank the Shelby family for the inappropriate offer and refuse to indulge. Thomas doesn’t seem too surprised but you find it hard to look past the disappointment in Michael’s face.

With a tight hug given to Finn as he whispers ‘good job’ into your ear for refusing his cousin, the office becomes empty again.

----

The room smells of flowers and rum, there are dried flowers in the vases, most of them are roses bought a week ago. The sound of shuffling in the sheets fill the room, it’s only your breathing against his for a second before you get up.

Your bare back is what he sees while your hair is in a low bun. He longs to caress your hair like he did a couple hours back but he knows your rules are the rules. They’re loud and clear and all he thinks of some days.

A soft sigh leaves your lips, a dull ache is present between your legs while you walk around the room, his eyes drink your bare figure but he’s seen and done entirely too much for you to be embarrassed or feel the need to cover up at this point.

You avoid the thumping of your heart when you see the adoring look he’s giving you.

He’s mature and experienced enough to know that there were bound to be feelings forming after a while. He is to blame, mostly, or so he thinks. You’re young, beautiful, smart and witty and he knows that this was bound to be casual and still is but he finds himself craving you more and more each time.

It’s a cliche story, he says to himself while watching you put a robe on.

He blames himself for falling for the trap. He’d been with many women, some in brothels and some in parties and nothing had mattered to him. There had been a couple memorable faces, ones he thought about but no one made his heart soar like you did, even though you were in front of him.

He’s heard about the offer from the Shelbys, maybe that’s why he thinks about you a lot more these days. When looked objectively, it’s none of Alfie’s business and he knows that. This is you, sleeping with the enemy and he applauds just how well you were able to hide everything, your tracks are impossible to trace back and no one knows you chant his name until you see stars most nights.

You catch the longing look he has in his eyes when you’re on the bed next to him once again. You sit up straight and face him as he leans back on the head of the bed. You raise your eyebrows, telling him to speak but you know him too well. He doesn’t need to say much.

“So you’ve heard?” you speak in the silent room once you’ve made a rough plan of how to handle things. You know he’s gotten attached to you despite this being an under-the-wraps thing, you have too.

“Heard what, luv?” he says, tugging at his beard while you eye his form that’s half covered with a white sheet. You offer him a smile, it’s not quite a grimace but he sees the sentiment and watches as you nod.

“Alfie...Don’t play dumb with me, please.” you speak, your voice is so soft that he feels his heart melt like butter at the last word. You look at him, like a little kid before he speaks.

“I have, yeah, Ollie told me about that fuckin’ Gray kid...” he speaks but his voice is soft despite his words. They don’t cut through you like glass but you feel a little hurt. He doesn’t seem to say what’s on his mind.

“And have you heard my answer?” you ask him and see a spark in his eyes. He stops cold at his tracks, hand no longer tugging at his beard but his sole attention on you.

All that he’s heard is that Micheal wanted to marry you, there was no answer given in what Ollie had told him. He’d assumed you’d said yes and that this was maybe one of the last times you were letting him in between your sheets.

He shakes his head.

“I said no on the spot.” you say not looking at him but he makes his reaction known when a grunt of extreme approval leaves his lips. He feels himself cheer up, a weight leaves his shoulders and you meet his eyes at last.

You see the real him, vulnerable.

“Good.” he says, nonchalant about it the second after but you catch something in his eye that tells you he’s happy, he looks relieved.

You then decide to test the waters, finding no harm in indulging in a little playful behaviour, mostly because he’s recovering from the happiness of you not marrying someone, let alone someone from the Shelby clan.

"Were you jealous?" You speak and watch a smile form on his lips, he looks like he doesn’t care as he answers to you. He pauses for a while, then he speaks.

"No.........maybe..." he says while a whole hearted chuckle leaves your lips. He watches as you laugh and not make a deal out of it. You like that he cares, even though it’s the one thing you’d agreed not to do.

It was undeniable, that this whole arrangement is set in dangerous waters. You were fond of him, had always been and letting him worship you in the bedroom just made it worse for you. You had your borders built, steel walls that would not melt.

But they were melting, slowly.

At times, it was his smile and the way he said your name, you felt yourself melt inside. Your skin against his as he caressed your knee under the table when you ate together, even though no one was around to witness the occasion.

You threw yourself onto the bed, your hair creating a contrast with the white sheets while Alfie practically swooned at the sight. He leaned against the headboard, a lazy smile on his lips while you chuckled at his words lightly. He lets himself get carried away, like most times when he’s with you.

And he forgets that actions have consequences at that moment.

--------

The inside of the closet is small, there’s a faint light coming from one corner that’s not fully shut. You hold your breath while the sound of talking slowly fades away. Your legs hurt from standing but you don’t complain, you can’t have the risk of someone hearing.

It’s the usual story.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon where you found yourself in Alfie’s office, on top of his desk as he planted all kinds of kisses on your neck to be specific. The deed is done until someone walks in, someone other than his assistant and you panic, resulting in you hiding in the closet next to the door where they hang the coats.

You hear the light footsteps leave while Alfie’s heavy thuds follow him until the door is closed. The doors of the closet open then, you blink a few times to adjust to the light and he watches you as you get used to the surroundings once again.

“I thought he was never going to leave.” you speak into the room, Alfie’s both embarrassed and happy at once.

He hates that he has to hide the most beautiful girl from the world and the relationship he has with her, if he has one at all. His love is domestic, he wants to show you off in his arm and sleep in with you. He finds himself daydreaming about how wonderful it would be just to be carefree, not be alarmed all the time in the case of someone seeing you two together.

But he’s the enemy. And it seems as though that isn’t going to change any time soon.

“Tha’ fucker is way too talkative for his own good, luv.” he says, amused at his words while he watches you sit down on the chair in front of his desk.

“He stayed for over and hour.” you speak while shaking your head, putting one of your legs on top of the desk while rubbing your knee to give some sort of relief from standing too much but your hands are no good for a massage.

So then, he sits next to you and takes your leg on his knee, slowly massaging his way up and down while you watch. He seems nonchalant about the act of kindness while his hands slowly caress the soft skin of your thigh and he feels you flinch at the discomfort caused by standing up for too long.

“It’s alright, yeah.” you hear him speak, it’s almost a coo like he was speaking to a baby and even though you ate being babied, you don’t speak.

You smile at him, it’s far too genuine for him to ignore and he stares at your lips as you speak, he finds himself far too deep in the hole of love for you. “You grow on people, but so does cancer.”

He smiles at first and then it turns into a hearty chuckle and you watch, feeling yourself to be too attached to the man before you. You know the rule, you’d set it up yourself.

Don’t fall in love with him.

But there he is giving you a gentle massage for no reason while mumbling something about the museum he went to as a kid. He says something about a painting and you hold onto the meanings but your head is far too gone. He switches the topic to the train tracks around but you don’t quite follow.

You know there are borders. He’s significantly older and a family enemy. You’d heard way too many things from one too many people about how terrible this bear of a man was but you can’t ignore but notice just how gentle he is to the ones that matter.

You murmur as he watches you with wide eyes. “Thank you.” And you put your foot on the floor, it’s no longer in between his hands. You know the massage is not done and neither is the make-out session you were having before someone decided to barge in but it needs to be.

He’s the enemy, you remind yourself.

You put your coat on and fix yourself up a little before facing him, realising that you’d lost some good time waiting for that man to leave but there are more important things to discuss.

“Alfie...” his name leaves your lips and he leans against his desk, watching you as the chains along his thighs find their place once again. “Do you want to keep doing this?” you ask, a part of you is scared but you need to know because you know both of you are in the edge. If this keeps going on, you’ll fall for him and he already has one too many dreams about you.

He tugs at his beard and the shade of blue in his eyes changes as he becomes serious. He knows you’re in the brisk of catching feelings and he already has. He also happens to realise that this was the one thing you asked from him, that he wouldn’t fall for you.

It was fun at first, he thinks. He didn’t mind that you weren’t in his bed the next day or that there was no sign of you after the sex. But then you’d made him breakfast and met Cyril, you’d stayed for a while after you’d been with him and laughed at his jokes and listened when he spoke, really listened.

He finds himself reliving the moments where the sunlight would illuminate your smile on the days where you’d scold him for not waking you up earlier. You’re far too young for him but that’s only on the age department since you’re maturer than anyone he’s known.

He wants to ask for more but he knows that’s not the deal he’s made with you.

Your curious eyes ogle him as he thinks, he’s not getting to be with you due to the position you both are in so he thinks it’s best to settle for what he has with you right now. So he nods and starts speaking.

“If ya’ want to, right, things have been fuckin’ smooth..” he says as you watch him speak, his words are harsh this time as they cut through you. “...and I, right, haven’t fallen’ for ya’ like ya’ warned me about..”

He speaks in a less bothered manner but you can see through him, he’s saying the last part to convince himself, it’s not directed at you so you nod. He’s lying, you know it but he’s grown enough to admit that to himself, or so you figure and nod with a cheerful attitude, even though things are shattering inside your heart.

“Well, that makes the two of us then.” you speak but unlike him, you’re good at not being vulnerable when speaking and especially when it comes to him. He finds it hard to conceal his real feelings with you so he doesn’t but you do, and you’re damn good at it.

He stands there, stunned and hurt. You feel the same way, about everything, but you’re clever not to show any emotion. You want the same things as he did but you were far too clueless when you got into this meddle, thinking that it would be a simple exchange of sex and a couple shared meals.

It might be your inexperience, he thinks, that you offered the opportunity in the first place since arrangements like these usually end in disaster and rarely without someone getting hurt. He’s willing to hurt if it means that you’ll get out of this without the pain of utter heartbreak but what he misses to see is that you’ve already started falling for him.

You shake your head with a chuckle at his expression but there’s not much to be said. He knows the consequences, he always has. It’s not a question of ‘if’ you’re going to fall in love with him, it’s a case of ‘when’ on both parts and you know this dance is a dangerous one, all that does is attract you to the idea even more.

You say the one thing that resides at the back of your mind each time you see him and he listens, nodding his head at your words while your soft voice fills the room.

“Don’t fall in love with me. That’s the only rule.”

And you’re out, leaving a confused and brokenhearted Alfie behind the now closed doors.

----

Tagging: @clairecrive @parkbearum @sourirez @bicevans @mollybegger-blog @97freaknik. @fuseburner

a/n: Let me know what you thought of the chapter!!

227 notes · View notes

kaetastic · 4 years

Text

HISTORY UNFOLDS. 1/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

summary: A favour that is pending to be fulfilled calls Y/N to Birmingham, from a very old friend. However, the youngest Shelby soon discovers her past with his deceased brother, John, and the one who had ordered the murdering, Luca Changretta.

word count: 14.6k (i did that)

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, smut, profanities, age gap (read note)

note: okay, so- i was kind of pissed that we barely have finn content. anyways, i wanted to clear a few things about this writing. it is set place in season 4, john died and luca changretta has arrived for his vendetta. finn is 18, the reader is 37. the reader’s last name is stein :D hope you don’t mind, enjoy and have a good day!

Part 2 | Part 3

Muffled thuds stomped against the ground. The heavy gait they trudged through the still air that had been spurted with blood was that of a crackling of thunder, ready to split the land into two. Weaving against one another like ruffled locks of hair, the piercing grass blades obeyed with every force that pressed onto them; the bed of green and yellow compressed into a hefty brick. Just like millions of menacing syringes pointing into the clear sky as if defending soldiers of the ground creatures walk upon, the patchy grass was ready to embed their toxins into bloodstreams. Despite the steel gun’s stomach filled with clanking bullets; men drowned in blood and bodies resting upon the ground as if it was up for display, the sky played with the merry rays of light.

A staggering sigh fell off her lips as her thumb caressed the chilling metal of the syringe that cried for help in her suffocating grip. Pressing into her head was the bulging intricate lines of the artwork on the tree, the leaves danced with every kiss of the wind. Almost as if it was calling the men that brushed their fingers over the trigger, painting the walls of the camp with dying blood. Blood of those wounded; blood of those who’ve saved countless lives of bleeding soldiers. Fear was the bandage that sloppily wrapped around her chipping heart. War was more than terrifying. It had been for the soldiers prancing around the land of blood. It had been for the wives and children back at home. It had been for their dogs who would stare at the door, waiting. Especially when sizzling barrels that were loaded with merciless ammunition were hunting for the sole survivor who had managed to flee away from their execution. She was outnumbered, guns to a single, used syringe.

Pressing her lips as tight as she had locked the door of her house that must’ve been drowning in layers of dust before she had hurled herself into the waging war, the battle that raged inside her sliced and butchered every thought of her making a minuscule noise. Even a slight push of both of the breathing organ could lead a body to stand as shooting practice. Y/N glanced down to the stainless steel syringe, neck-craning like an ancient spine of a parasol. Streaks of red stroke her arms as if her body was a the counter where the butcher’s knife met with the poor animal, the foul smell encroached her potency to breathe even though it was something she had already gotten used to. Well, she was forced to. However, she could not digest the fact that the liquid used to run through someone’s body, aiding them to breathe and live. The staining blood shook its leg, waiting to decompose on her freshly scrubbed apron.

If it wasn’t enough of the stark red glazing on her body, beads of the warm liquid coated her tongue as her teeth stabbed into it as if she was scooping up a plot of dirt to nurse another plant. Just like that back at home. Despite her menacing situation, she hoped deep down that the neighbours she placed her trust on, had taken care of her plants. Dread engulfed her body. A tremble waved through her quivering, overcooked noodle knees when the sound she despaired, trickled into her ears. Murmurings slithered behind her unstable feet like a starving serpent, brushing against her skin frequently with its uncomfortably slick scales, spiralling up her leg as it flickered its tongue, tasting the air for nourishment. Fear.

A string of rough mumbled words from a language she could not point out, poured into the silent air. Not long after, grumbles followed the statement before shuffling of feet rubbed against the compacted grass that once used to be a gorgeous, wide field. Now, it was no different than the streets of a run-down city, pressed as tough as the stone bricks that made up most of the homes. It holds the burden of carrying the names of murderers- killings in the name of their country.

Seconds ticked as hours. The sand trickled down the sleek glass as if crumpled soil had poured out of a cracked pot, one by one. It was agonizing to watch the substance from one side of the tent dive down to plaster down the walls; painting it as if a circus. The faint blotches of clouds that painted the fresh sky seemed to take its time to allocate to another area. Even though it felt as if her heart had been tugged out of her chest cavity to sing a song extremely close to her ears, Y/N tried her best to compromise her chest heaving; forcing her lungs to reuse the same air once again. On the other hand, the only question that remained in her head, blaring persistently was, for how long?

Before she knew it, a whirling of metal echoed through the still, open field. With modicum movements, her head reluctantly turned to face the man who dangled her life over the thin thread-like a puppet. Her throat became parched. Every bubble of moisture that was once the reason she could talk, evaporated from her mouth as death sat in the waiting room, reading the latest paper while he waited for her with great patience. Just like he was with everyone else.

“Found ya.” In broken English, an aged man with a revolver in his grasp snickered. Like a vicious serpent, his tongue flickered to slap his lips as if he was a child, sloppily shoving food down his throat. The scars that trekked down his face reminded her of the newly purchased china dinnerware she had placed on the top of the highest shelf for display, which unfortunately had all met their sorrowful ends; till this day, she pondered how the day would’ve gone if she hadn’t had nimble fingers. All she could see behind his eyes were suppressed anger; an unnecessary need of vengeance. The uniform he wore similar to that of a burlap sack, a boring beige. Despite the prominent lines of age that created a path on his face, the grip he held onto the firearm did not waver- the mouth of the revolver yawned between her eyes.

Birds chirped in the air like an orchestra, their singing was innocent- a gentle melody and a tune that was in sync so perfectly even though their volume stood on the same height. It rained over the bloody land, almost as if it was meant to cleanse the mess humans have created. While the half elevating bunk of the planet cheered with another passing day of joy, the latter was dancing in a bath of terror. This was it, this was the end of her line. If she had only listened to the incessant amount of warnings by several different people and the endless nagging from her friend who she looked back now, spoke only of truth, she wouldn’t be at gunpoint by a man who seemed to be thrice her age. Not to forget his face that looked as if it had a ride under a meat butchering blade. Just as she was, stubborn and blinded by the need to be right, Y/N had decided to oppose. What did she achieve? Nothing, but she was confident that her pride was tucked safely.

Fisting her hand into a ball with immense pressure that pierced her fingernails into her palm like a bed of nails, blood oozed out, seeping onto the dirt as nourishment; the glass chamber of the syringe let out a woozy crack. The only supply the abused land will ever get during the heinous battle would either be from astringent sweat plunging from the soldiers, the haunting lake of blood or the fitful rainfall.

With her eyes squinted shut and toes curled, the prayers she chanted in her head tugged the circular rope around her neck tighter, decreasing the diameter of the hole. Plucks of fibre dug into her skin, the voice in her head amplified- her call for someone. Religion was something the volunteered nurse did not insert in her life as much as some targeted individuals, for she found it irrelevant and obstructive to things such as routine and the words one would utter. However, she stood in front of the enemy, knees trembling with fear, calling out for a God she didn’t believe in seconds ago.

It seemed the trickling of sand had halted, the glass had scattered across the red floor, embedding itself into the decrepit wall. The elongated time that was predicted by a gypsy woman was a lie. The words she had believed once it had fallen from the woman’s lips. She was nothing but a hoax. Y/N acted oblivious to the idea that she would see death prematurely might’ve been because she had scribbled her name on that card- calling upon her death wish with limited time.

During the nauseating ride over the bumpy ground towards the slashing air, Y/N held no doubt that what she would soon see would be an image she would not be able to wipe off her head. However, she had doubted the countless possibilities that could have dropped upon her. Never did she see an ancient man that might as well be her grandfather, aim his revolver towards her.

It was only humane of her to wish that she would walk out of the vile battle in one piece. Everyone did so. But, it seemed that the gardener had tended to pluck out the most ravishing flower that would bring a bag’s worth of money.

There. An agonizing slow-paced train sauntered past her. Even though Y/N was stationed far away from the fields before, she was recently moved to another tent where she was slightly closer towards the bloodbath. And the bangs and slicing of the air with an agile speed from firearms were still new sounds she was getting familiar to since previously, the most she had heard was that of an accidental gunshot. Followed by a spine-chilling bang, was a piercing crack. It had not waited for a second to fall into the uniform pace of the noise. Like a collision of fist towards a drenched plot of soil, the sound rang through her ears. Then, the noise of an agile collapsing hefty object was absorbed by the starving land. Her eyes shot wide open. Immediately, she checked her body for a pool of blood to make sure that even if there was no pain, her body would’ve surely rotted by blood loss. But no, it was not her that had a bullet had flown through.

A thud was muffled by the layers of blood covered by yellowed–stained grass. The sword-like object sunk into the ground as an indent that was to be created by the soldier. Once her eyes had landed onto the corpse that would scar a hole on his head until his body would be part of the land he used to breathe upon, tracks of emotions overflowed through her. Speckles of worn off skin circled the gushing orifice, the crimson blood bursts out to paint the ground. Finally adding colour to his sorrowful uniform. The stream of blood that trickled down his nose reminded her of the water pipe at her house that needed fixing.

Snapping her head to face the hero who had tugged the barrier away from the early end of her life, saving her, a twinkle of relief gushed over her. With a pistol in his hand that was down one bullet, he let out a staggering breathe of air. The smearing of dirt across his cheeks had made it seem as if he had rolled his head over a land of flaky dirt with a splash of water.

“Tommy.” The man was pulled away from the trance at what he had just done.

Letting out a slight smile, he lent out his arm for her to grab, “Come on, get up, the others are still here. Just don’t forget to pay that favour, Stein.” Y/N nodded before grasping his arm. How could she ever forget the man who had been the reason she still had a future?

Obnoxiously boisterous rings from the telephone bounced off the walls of the spacious, palatial hotel room. The vibration of the wooden table under the machine sounded like incessant drumming of crying droplets from the clouds against a pane of glass. Blaring from the vent was frigid wind, kissing the exhausted pair who rested under the thick covers that were meant to shield them from the cold. It seemed it had not done its job.

Warmth radiated from the body that rested an inch away from her, a broad back that had been splayed with taut muscles, occupied the other whole half of the bed. The scent of sandalwood lingered on her sheets. The gentle caress of the cotton blanket was getting warmer. Her leg shifted to find a chillier spot under the blanket, accidentally brushing a pair of legs. An exhausted sigh brushed over her lips when the phone would not rest, continuing to dance on the table.

Since it was a bright and clear morning, Y/N had to cover her bare body, because the window that expanded the whole wall offered a jaw-dropping view of the city. The surrounding buildings might’ve not defeated the towering height of the hotel she stayed in; however, it is never a bad idea to stay safe. Before dashing across the wide window, she had tugged the diaphanous silk robe that was thrown haphazardly over the lampshade above the side table. As if the ringing had been a test for her morning patience, she stomped towards the machine with a huff- trying her best to prevent herself from making too much sound as she liked the sleeping guest to proceed with his needed, peaceful slumber. The frozen air had coated the wooden floor during the night, with every step she took, it kissed her feet like bites from a kitten. It sent shivers up her spine since the only thing that covered her body was a thin layer of silk.

Snatching the phone, she mumbled underneath her breath, not allowing the frigid air to get to her, “Paris, 146.”

The sudden desperate need for a gulp of water coated her tongue, the crying from her head caused the woman to softly tug on the wire connection so she could reach the pitcher. While she poured herself plain, old boring water, she waited for the other side of the line. A stream of water trekked down her throat; she thought it was a wrong call.

“Is this Y/N Stein?” The voice was so familiar, hoarse and raspy. She could smell the cigarette.

“Who’s asking?” Whispering under her breath, Y/N’s feet brushed against one another as all she wanted to do was jump back into the warmth of the bed. Y/N shot a glance at the body that laid peacefully in the blanket while took a sip of the refreshing water. The late-night activity had left her parched.

“Thomas Shelby.”

“Tommy?”

A hum vibrated into her ears, “Remember that favour back then?” Y/N hummed, fingers caressing the wire, twirling it and curling it into loops as she replayed the memory. “I heard that you were in France.”

“Still am, though, words spread quickly.” A chuckle was emitted from the other side of the line.

“Come to Birmingham,” This was it, the only time Thomas Shelby had made contact with her, despite him being her life saviour. Even though it had been eight years since they had last seen each other, there was never an attempt from both sides to invite one another for a reunion. Although a part of her had missed the middle brother who was six years a junior to her, the sudden recall of the man that she had done the most to wipe him off her memory by drowning herself in oceans of the strongest liquor, which had unfortunately failed (she had thought of the intriguing idea of possible brain trauma but what had halted her was if she wanted to forget the joyful memories). “And oh, bring some souvenirs.”

Without refuting the order, Y/N placed the phone back to where it resided. She let out a low chuckle at his words, finally piecing it all together after the call had ended. The wires were being watched.

“What a sight to wake up to,” A husky voice stated in a thick French accent, slicing the empty air into two loaves. Averting her attention towards the bed, her eyes landed on the male who leaned against the headboard, his elbows pointing up in the air- sporting his flexing muscles on display. The chestnut-haired male wore an irritating yet charming smirk that ran across his face, his pearly teeth glittered under the sunlight. It was possibly one of the reasons why he was in her room. “Come ‘ere.”

As she ambled- the prominent raising peak underneath the sheet was evidence that his eyes were running down her figure shamelessly as sinful thoughts ran in his head. She swayed her hips before halting beside the bed. Shrugging the translucent sheet off her shoulders, the robe pooled around her like mercury, exposing her at all her glory. It was not the first time he saw her naked. And it was only hope that it would certainly not be his last. The worry she had not too long ago of being seen by strangers from the opposing building had been thrown out of the window. Tugging the blanket off, his tongue ran across his bottom lip while he devoured on the sight, his eyes trained on hers as she indulged the throbbing shaft.

“Ah, fuck me.” A wanton moan fell off her lips at good-morning sight, already desperate for the bulging veins to caress and drag against her walls.

“So the lady says.” He groaned as the warm feeling of last night engulfed him. Strings of moans and groans like that of the night before rebounded from the walls.

Chatter and bickering hopped around the circular table. The chandelier that stood above them created wavering shadows with every muscle they moved. Warm and dim yellow rays coated the bodies. Even though sunlight shone inside the house, there was still a need for the electricity to be utilized. The men who did not have the privilege to sit on the chairs but have the opportunity to observe the constant feud watched the circle of people endlessly hurl words onto one another. Well, it was mostly between the pair of blue eyes and the distraught aunt.

The wallpaper was rich in green, a bland colour as a background to the contrasting blaring blue ceramic plates that sat above in the shelves. A faint knock rapped the wooden door. Since a battle was being undone in the room, the sound of the guest was engulfed by an unsatisfied individual on the table. The tension inside the room was palpable even though a door stood between Y/N and the conversers.

Running her eyes on the walls, she tried to spot something interesting along the hallway which she could get lost into. However, all she could think of was the souvenirs she had brought all the way from France; the long-awaited reunion of an old lover. She wouldn’t call it nervousness, she would never admit to such a label. So she went with the assumption that it was the jitters. The patiently waiting-woman couldn’t help but wonder if Thomas had told everyone about her or if she was going to be the surprise that leads to heart attacks. Just like at the pictures, a play of her memories with the middle brother pulsed with every beat of her heart.

After a few seconds had passed, her hands were quick to snatch at the pocket watch that was stuffed in her pocket. The door was yet to open. Turning back to look at the men she solely trusted, the English shrugged his shoulders- not comprehending to why they had not been in the room. Raising her hand in the air once again, she rapped the door. As if a sword had run through the thick air that was beginning to suffocate the arguing chests, silence barged through the doors. Enlightenment to the skulls that would’ve snapped into fragments.

“Finn, get it.” Bopping his head to his brother’s instructions without any bicker, the youngest dashed towards the door. Thomas took a puff of his cigarette, the swirl of smoke inhaled into his lungs, warming his chest.

An antagonizing slow creak blurted in the air, glueing all the eyes onto the unexpected guest. Questions sprinted in Polly’s head. Was it someone he had been expecting? He had looked calm and collected, though, that was just how the second oldest Shelby was, after the war. His face like a brick wall, only chips of cement could sputter out of his mouth while his face remained stoic. By the voices in the air, her doubt had been correct. It was hard to believe Thomas would do such a thing, inviting someone- most likely a stranger to a business meeting which should have only consisted of the closed Peaky Blinders, without informing others. It was something he rarely did if the other times were eradicated where he proceeded with his plan without informing the family. Oh, that was most of the time. There was no extra chair for the guest. The most understandable reason was Thomas wanted to introduce an ally that he has been hiding for God knows how long. Even that brought steam to puff out of Polly’s ears. Her eyes threw a glance at her nephew, whose back was facing the door, only taking frequent puffs of his cigarette. What game is he playing?

“Is Thomas Shelby here?” Finn did not help but notice the towering bodies behind her figure and the humongous bags they held- not even quiver, which should be a sign that it might’ve been an attack of sort. A slight tint of red stroked his face as his fingers brushed over the holster in his jacket. She was either a woman of power from the men behind her or she was nothing but a spoiled lady. Although he did deal with women with power from day-to-day bases, which was more of observing the women Tommy would tangle with, there was something that enchanted her ambience. A spell cast onto him.

Taking rapid glances at his appearance as he turned around to look at his brother for an answer, it was as if she could see his character like a display, seeing through him transparently. Not a bad suit, hair combed extremely cautiously and the face of a babe. She quirked an eyebrow, an interesting yet perplexing combination. Although he did look very familiar, Y/N didn’t bother to prod much into the idea as she sees faces every single day.

Finally facing her once again, he nods at her question. The slight opening of the door only allowed her to view the wallpaper and a head from the boy’s lanky shoulders, he shot his inquiry, catching her off-guard, “What’s your business with Tommy?”

Believing what he was doing was the right protocol, Finn proceeded with the short interrogation; even though it felt like it was being reverted to him every time he took a rapid glance at the men behind her, “Why? You his bodyguard?”

The recently changed boy to a man, wrinkled his nose, gaze focused on her as he tried his hardest to read her, much to his dismay, every item his eyes grazed over, it had only caused him to go in a loop. The array of golden rings decorating her fingers like a twinkling Christmas tree, caused him to assume that she might’ve been a lady flaunting with money. However, the endless list of questions Finn had thought of caused him to be nauseous as the acidic liquid elevated his throat. Where would she get her money from? “I’m not, I’m his brother. Will you answer the question or not?” Blaring across her mind were countless of possibilities that she could’ve said to respond to his question.

But, the bucket of water splashed across her blackboard, flooding it with a thick layer of glazed liquid, obstructing her ability to see all of the answers when his tongue had run across his bottom lip. Oh no. This was the youngest brother John had told her about during the rare days where they could sit back while others guarded. Her mouth gaped open to respond to his question; however, the deeper she swam in the mess, the harder it was for her to remain in search.

Finn raised his eyebrows, arms crossed to lean against the door frame- emitting a slight cocky aura which Y/N could not help but find slightly amusing and magnetic. Before he got back to his more respectful position when it felt like he was being judged by the accompanying man, Finn’s mouth gaped open to press the trigger again. Despite the voices in his head reminding that he was a Shelby.

“Just let her in.” Glances were thrown from the ladies, definitely not expecting the unexpected guest who would interrupt the meeting to be a female. What was she? The freshest whore Tommy had indulged in? If it wasn’t for Thomas’s interruption, she would’ve surely needed a seat for the torturing investigation. Somewhat not grasping the idea of how his brother knew of the guests’ gender, Finn followed the command without a word, opening the door wide open for the guests.

“Wait here.” Y/N’s voice of superiority caused soft trickling of fingers to brush up Finn’s spine. Since the door was blocked by Thomas’s body, no one could see who the individual was, unless they decided to take a risky side peek. However, the three men that stood next to the wall, obeying the command, with three massive bags in their grasp, had directly caused everyone to be pushed to the edge. What was Thomas planning? The corners of Tommy’s lips curled up once distant clicking of heels echoed closer towards his ears, but never a smile, never since Grace’s death. The door creaked back shut. Moving aside, Tommy revealed the woman that caused everyone to get riled up. The ones who stared at her with a slight recognition of her familiar face had finally pieced it all together once he had announced the guest. Finn took his newly given seat at a table, an honour, a prerogative. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wooden chair to watch the scene unfold.

“Thomas Shelby, it’s been a long fucking time.” A satisfied line sported on Tommy’s lips.

“Everybody, this is Y/N Stein, all the way from America. Was in my unit before she decided to desert us all.” The youngest in the room eyes’ widened at the sudden collision of information which leads him to be dunked into a mass of an ocean, it was overwhelming.

An amused huff escaped her lips at his obvious lie he had just hurled out on new pairs of eyes, well, it was half-lie and half-truth. Although it was not entirely a lie, he had just scratched off the surface, which without deeper context, it would’ve been an easy misunderstanding, “Close your fucking mouth, Tom,” Noticing that the rest of the group did not get the note, Y/N finished to defend herself. “I had to leave for some issue.”

Thomas rolled his eyes at her horrible attempt to drift from the topic, he was amused at how she was trying to humble herself, “Saved John’s life and off she went to Germany to spy for the fucking British Secret Service.”

Slapping his arm, Y/N stood flabbergasted that he had spilt her past during the war. Lizzie watched the interaction with vigilant eyes, alcohol was thrown onto the fire behind her eyes- feeding the voracious element. It was not just her though.

“Y/N Stein. It’s been so long since I’ve heard the name.” Shooting up, Arthur pulled the lady into his arm. He held on for seconds, not a thought of his wife would be roaring with confusion and jealousy flew passed his head as he embraced the reunion. During the bloodshed, the Shelby brothers had enjoyed her company, especially after John had fallen into a terrible condition, making them closer than ever. Even though the middle child was nowhere near his station, she had decided to aid him because it was the bloody war and every soul was worth it. “Those American had been rubbin’ their accent on ya, haven’t they?” The former war-nurse smacked his arm with a laugh, her head thrown back at his observation. Despite her exhausting agile trip, she had always found herself to be enlightened by the eldest. An electrifying thunder was zapping between Lizzie and Linda as they side-eyed the intimate reaction.

“What can you do when you’re surrounded by New Yorkers, amirite Arthur? Jeremiah,” Noting that there was short of one particular person she had hoped to meet, she raised the question she thought she wouldn’t even have to ask. Even during such a bloody time, John’s presence was always prominent and he had radiated an ambience no one ever could. Well, no one she had ever met so far. He could be a nut-head at points but he was always there for her when she needed someone. A shoulder. It was too quiet without him being in the room. “Where’s John?” The room had ebbed to silence once again. Wearing long faces that met with the floor, everyone had suddenly found the ground to be engaging.

After a few seconds which passed like an ancient and a decrepit train, Arthur amplified his voice to answer since no one had dared to reply, “He, uhm, he’s gone.” He stuttered while he fiddled with the rough pads of his fingers, knowing well the history the pair had. Tears welled up on his eyes even though he had bawled a lake-full of water not too long ago. A familiar ringing sunk into her ears as if she had been plunged into the dark abyss of water. No light shone down, terrified of what the deep beyond holds. Every frantic snap she made with her body, she was faced with the same darkness, her accompany, her watcher. The water had muffled her potency to hear, taunting her with indistinct chatter. Words she could not even make out.

“Oh.”

The rubble of fallen cylindrical death piled up like an insubstantial building as if struck by artillery. Before putting an end to the flaking red ashes, Tommy took his last puff, stabbing his cigarette into the glass ashtray. Crying out for help, it wheezed to permanent sleep, “Anyways, Y/N is here to aid us during this… turmoil,” The abrupt and direct change to business from Tommy had piqued her interest even though the bandages wrapped around her heart were draping down so loosely. Polly let out a chuckle of disbelief, gaining a warning glance from Thomas.

There was a switch in the man that flipped. However, she didn’t prod much into the point she had noticed since he had served four bloody years on the battlefield. Four torturous years of seeing blood and as for him, the narrow tunnels he had dug out for hours with crumbling dirt and sludge. “She will be assisting in the area of her expertise, firearm.”

“I will?” Y/N inquired with furrowed eyebrows. The woman who possessed dark bags under her eyes, leaned back into her chair when something seemed off-putting; her eyes watching like a hawk, so vigilant and persistent to dig deeper into the resurfacing secret. Never had Thomas mention her before, well, never did he talk about what had happened during the bloody war either. When Thomas had called her which was the only contact they had made, he had not written a letter informing her of details. She had understood his reason for not directly telling her over the telephone line; however, a scribbling of a letter would’ve allowed her to prepare to what was coming. Then after two days of the contact, Y/N had left whatever business she had in France to men she had trusted; she cruised on a boat towards her desired destination with no idea on what she was about to face. “Oh, yes, I will.”

Shoulders suddenly tensed, not at all expecting for her to be someone they had thought. Even the eldest Shelby stared at her in shock. The woman who wore the navy blue dress, that was not thriving in England, with an exquisite fashion of gold that embellished her figure, was part of a gun trading business? Although the thought died down slightly when their eyes glanced at the three men in splendid suits that came in with her, it still had shaken them to the core.

Ada elevated her eyes to find any points she could note from the woman’s appearance, noticing the fading trail of a handful of tattoos painting her skin. It was a smear of ink on her neck, although, it had only peeked out when she would shrug her shoulders. Tilting her head at her inked hand, Ada’s eyes squinted at the drawing that resembled what had cost her brother’s life. Before she could take another good view to confirm her suspicion, Y/N’s hands were then stuffed in her pocket for warmth. The Shelby made accidental eye contact with the woman she had been staring at.

An amused smirk sported on Polly’s lips as she took a sip of the warm liquid. There were many, multiple times Tommy had managed to baffle her; however, this, this was crossing his imaginary line by a great distance, “We already have enough guns.”

Tommy mumbled, not bothered to look at his aunt, “Pistols. Y/N here, have something much more... predatory.”

“Although I haven’t brought the lot of them, I’m sure my boys can handle an urgent call,” The three men stomped their way towards the table with a gesture of her finger, their gait shaking the ground like an earthquake. The hats they wore tilted to the sides, somehow still resting upon them despite it being hanging off the edge. Bulging through the material of the bag could’ve been assumed as useless sticks; however, if the straps were to be tugged open by the wrong audience, it could’ve been the cause for someone to be thrown behind bars that they would have to call home. “Got me the good batch of Rifles, Machine guns and Shotgun.”

The legs of the table shook, quivering at the abrupt weight pressed at the top of its head. Tremors vibrated through the wooden table before Y/N’s men tugged the sealed straps with such ferocity and strength. The bottle of rum danced to the beat, the liquid slammed into the container walls of the glass cup like the highest tide of the day. Flabbergasted at how the atmosphere had altered from a choking tension to amusement with a simple addition of a person, Linda could not believe it. Especially by the fact that it was a woman who had run the whole syndicate.

“Why more firearm? ‘Tis a vendetta of what? 15?” Arthur inquired.

Thomas nodded, he paced towards the table, fingers brushing over the chilly metal, “Heard that he’s involving Sabini’s men too, not just for vehicles. All he wants is his bullets to end up in us, reserved royally by the avenger himself.”

“These are my most trusted men,” Y/N uttered once Thomas threw a glance at her. Her head was held high as she watched them pluck the straps open to reveal the stack of firearms that had been stuffed in the bag. Pride torched in her body as she watched eyes glint. Nodding her head at each figure, she listed, “Gavin, Connor and Dante.”

“Italian name.” Polly blurted as her droopy eyes from the medication she had been consumed, peeked at the blare of reflection from the guns. Narrowing her eyes towards the man who backed away from the table to stand beside his boss, Polly quirked an eyebrow. The olive skin of the Italian had been painted with his raven untamed locks. The voice urged at her to keep a hairs’ breadth distance between her fingers and her gun that was tucked in the waist of her pants’. She barely knew the woman and she managed to drag an Italian into the Peaky Blinders’ meeting.

“Yes, he fell onto my plate when there were... mishaps,” Y/N declared. The man whose broad shoulders were squared intensely stared into Polly’s eyes, his head held up high as her glare did not quiver him. “He also teaches me some Italian from time to time. Although, I don’t have much time for that lately, do I?” The claimed Italian shook his head.

“You brought an Italian here,” Polly exclaimed prodding onto the point to why she was even speaking. Was Tommy calling for his death wish? “How do we know he isn’t part of that buffoon of a mafia?”

Before Y/N could even inquire her question, Tommy interjected, “Polly,” Having to see his friend being grilled alive by his aunty was not a pleasant sight that he would tolerate. Especially since this was also meant to be a business conversation; professional. Tommy sighed, “We can trust Y/N.”

“Clearly you do,” His aunt grumbled, flicking her cigarette case with a clash before lighting it up with haste as if the longer she thought about this ridiculous plan, the more ludicrous it will be. Although the time went passed by at an antagonizing pace, Polly would have rather have to go through with Tommy’s past, foolish acts, rather than watching him place all his trust onto a sole woman. “He could be passing information back to him.”

“Polly, that’s enough,” Tommy instructed with slight superiority in his voice. Polly glared at her nephew before smoke eased her mind. “I’ve heard words flying about that they have made a deal with Sabini, we must stay alert. Finn, go show the men their lodge, the building I had pointed out today while passing and Y/N’s also. I’ll send someone to check the guns, tomorrow, midday.”

Finn’s eyes widened at the job he had been assigned to, glancing at Isaiah who shrugged his head with a faint smirk that he would always wear. This was his chance to prove to Tommy that he was worthy of becoming a Peaky Blinder; that he was ready as a soldier ready to be deployed.

“Isaiah, you tag on.”

“Tommy, it’s not a fucking field trip,” Before Tommy could justify to why sending Isiah was a good idea, she had cut him off. “No, I swear to God, if I see a Peaky behind me I’ll use him as a shooting target. Plus, put a little trust on your brother, won’t ya?” Noticing the peculiar glances thrown between Arthur and a blonde lady, Y/N spoke up as she lit a cig. “What? Oh, the God part. Yeah, would’ve believed in him if it wasn’t for the war.”

Linda clenched her jaw at the insolent woman who had used the name in vain. Tommy took a second of pondering, before nodding reluctantly. Was it a good idea? However, he believed with the presence of the three, clearly strong men she had brought, she was safe. A catastrophic debate was set off in his head, questioning if he should risk sending a car to follow them. He signalled his head towards the three exposed bags. Isaiah paced towards the bag, strapping it to a close, ready to be handed back to its owner, “Oh, keep it here, my storage is full at the moment.”

Y/N stared at the bags as it was being strapped, a faint and faded voice whispered with an ever so lightly volume to take one for safety even though a pair of frigid metal were tucked safely in her coat. The voice had warned her of a premonition that reeked of imminent disaster where her two pistols were of no use, “Although, I’ll take this one.” Grabbing the straps on one of the bags containing the sole rifle, she slung it across her shoulder. Without a word, he bopped his head as a silent order towards the two men to proceed with the command.

Finn shot up with the idea that he would take the bag off of Y/N’s shoulder, to only tower over her figure with his lanky height. No words fell from his mouth when the task was simple: Be a gentleman. Finn’s lips wavered, opening and shutting as if he had something to say. Suddenly, his ability to construct a sentence had been hurled out of the window. The only female Shelby couldn’t hold back her amused chuckle at Finn’s lack of ability and practice on the opposite gender. Finn gazed into her eyes, Y/N’s eyebrows clashed into one another, furrowing in impeccable confusion to why he was acting so peculiar.

“We keep this at Charlie’s yard, yeah?” Since Johnny picked up the bag containing a whole load of shotguns, it had caused his shoulder to slump down from the hefty weight. Isaiah with his own set of weight quirked an eyebrow. Getting a simple nod from Tommy, the two men left the room. When the youngest had already dashed towards the door with pink cheeks from embarrassment, Tommy called, halting the boy’s huge strides, “Finn.”

With his great reflexes the flying car key that hovered from one side of the room to the other, fell into the palms of his hands. Finn stared at it with awe, a twinkle in his eyes of amazement and disbelief. It was not always every day when Tommy would hand his keys to the 18-year-old boy. The opportunity for him to drive a car felt exciting, especially when the key to it is in his hands, “You take care of the car or else you won’t be seeing the sun tomorrow.”

The sun yawed, exhausted at the tiring task it would do every day- repeatedly without a stop, unless, it was the end. The ball of flames crawled down; pleading help from his friend once more. Painted with streaks and lines of red, the sun had spread its largess across the warming yellow sky. A call to those who stood awake.

“So you sell guns?” It had been slightly intimidating with three men sitting at the back who if they were to protect the woman, they must’ve committed nasty work. Every so often, Finn would remember that they had snatched the straps with such strength that he began to ponder whose blood had been spilt on their hands, supported by the fact that they work with firearms. It was to the point Finn had to loosen his tie, sweat clamouring on his chest.

It was when Y/N had ordered for the direction to change to a new route, the youngest Shelby didn’t bother to prod. So he had done as he was told, however, it was only the three men that had gotten off the vehicle. Although it wasn’t his ill-intention, he had eavesdropped on the exchanged words between the boss and the daunting men. It was something along the lines of making calls and warehouses. Finally, Finn was left alone with the woman sitting by his side. Once the newly man had cleared his throat, he decided to pick up a conversation with the woman; not liking the present of a heavily-pregnant, awkward silence. No communication happened between the pair despite them sitting next to each other for nearly an hour as the sun had set. The only noise that made way to play a melody was the rough drumming of the engine, unnecessary bumps and screaming from the civilians who had not cared for their rest.

“I do, yeah,” Y/N let out a chuckle at his obvious question, Finn nodded. Tapping the steering wheel to an asynchronous rhythm, he tried his best to eliminate the idea of making a slight mistake. Not will it only cause an ending to his life by his older brother, it would cost Y/N’s also. With the sudden thought that popped in his head, his palms were drowning in sweat. Not a good idea. “You in the Peaky Blinders?”

Although it might’ve been a stupid question since he had worn the signature cap, Y/N had to flow with the questions thrown back and forth; not liking the silence between them. A hum was muffled by his throat, “I am,” A huff came from the engine as the vehicle entered a path where the roadwork was not so great and smooth. “So, were you a nurse when you were in the war? Not assuming that you could’ve been anything, of course, working in the war offices for example or a cooker. I just thought you were a nurse because that was pretty common.”

Darkness cast over the vehicle as a gigantic red-bricked house shielded the car from the blaring moonlight. A chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips when Finn had finished his rambling, turning her body towards the boy whose face was splashed with red paint; she found it adorable, “I was in fact, a nurse. You guessed correctly.”

“Medals?” If it wasn’t for Thomas’s words about wounding the car, Finn would’ve glanced at the woman, which was a horrible idea because his face was crimson from already displaying all his red pumping and running veins.

“Turned them to these.” Blaring into his eye were sparkles like that of a smear of twinkling stars, iridescent gold shimmers stirred in the gems, despite it being a golden ring, the gem still captured his eyes with its dark brown backdrop.

An awkward silence filled the ambience once again.

The inquiry played against Finn’s ears, “What exactly is the issue you all are currently facing that made Tommy call me?” There were a hundred of ways he could answer her, maybe structure it so she would be satisfied. However, he was made clear by no other than Tommy that it be he who would do the elaboration over the plan with her.

“Tommy said he’ll talk to you about it, didn’t want me to mess something up.” The lady who was twice his age chuckled, shaking her head at the older brother’s actions.

“Typical Tommy, always hogging the queen piece to himself.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

“You seem close to my brothers,” The chestnut-haired boy stated an obvious inspection. “When you heard that John died, you looked devastated.”

“A blunt observation said as a statement without holding back.” Y/N quirked her eyebrows, tilting her head in slight amusement. Trying her best to not chuckle at the blushing boy, “Have they taught you no manners, boy?” Y/N liked that her words had brought up such a reaction. Something she had never witnessed. Most likely because she had always been with men. Tinting his cheeks with a darker splash of red, she could see that we were trying not to take a peek at her.

“I’m not a boy,” Finn gritted his teeth, the clench in his jaw could’ve snapped his teeth into fragments of mints. “I’m a man. I’m a Shelby, I don’t need manners.”

Y/N’s eyes blinked at his response, “Even the serpents of politicians have some manners, what would that make you?”

Heavy breathing fell from his nostrils, his clench on the steering wheel tightened as he felt himself being belittled. Never had he been treated like this, if his now-deceased brother was excluded, especially from a female.

Noticing the air had gone still, Y/N mumbled, turning her attention to her window on her side, “You know, Tommy had saved my life during the war,” She stated, her eyes watched as the boats danced over the gentle crashing of waves on the canal before they had entered another route. “I’m practically in debt to him.” Even though she knew she was possibly going to be off the line, her mouth had not halted. “Tell me, Finn, you wear that hat like a tiara. Are your cuts and scars hidden?”

It seemed Y/N had hit a soft spot, “Are all your bags at the place?” Finn pursed his lips, teeth clawing back as he tried his best to not unleash what he wanted to hurl back at her.

Y/N hummed, “I did not only bring three of my men you know? With this line of work, I must be out of my mind to do such a thing.”

Before Finn could agree with her factual statement, an exhausted huff came from the back of the car. The speed that it once sprinted through declined, halting the vehicle to the side of the road, underneath the shadow of a building. Glowing down with faint rays of light, the moon’s spotlight had only glistened over the road. Flickers from the street lamp was a battle cry, an indication that war was striding over.

Finn scowled at the inconvenient breakdown. Already irritated, his hands rested over the heavy door, ready to grab a can of petrol to feed the starving car.

“Don’t!” Tugging his collar down to slam his back into the cushion of the seats with her hovering over him, a familiarized sound Y/N had gotten used to, had swept through the air before grazing the glass. Two cracks banged through the empty street. A chorus of shatters sprinkled the floor as a decoration. Shattering into a million prickling fragments, the flooring of the car was now like a bed of snow made up of pins. Finn laid under her with a gaped opened mouth, breathing heavily when his ability to breathe was restricted for a short second.

He gritted his teeth, the infant glass shards caressed his face. The claws dug into his skin before diving down, his face like a mountain as their blades provide a safe landing like an ice axe. Never was it a good idea to take a peek at your enemies who had been targeting you with a rifle; however, Y/N had only taken a glimpse before they decided to brush their finger against the trigger. The car that had suspiciously rested in the corner of the building with men in impeccable suits and a homburg hat was the only thing Y/N needed to know what was to follow.

“We’re being ambushed.” The woman declared, stating the obvious. Blood sprinted down her body, her heart strenuously pumping to supply. Her eyes widened as the adrenaline rushed through her body.

A string of thoughts ran through Y/N’s head. Then, it all clicked together like a flawless combination for a gun. Rummaging her fingers through her lanky coat, she pulled out what looked like a cigarette case. Finn gazed at her object before darting it towards her as if she had gone mental. She flicked it open with ease despite the dripping sweat that painted her hands, to reveal the reflecting mirror. Without a conscious thought, she shifted to find a better angle. There. Once her mirror had spotted the prominent shadow figures, their hats peaking in the air as if a shooting target, she let out a light chuckle. As light adjusted, the corners of her lips curled down when her eyes grazed over the machine gun they had dragged out, throwing it on the hood of the car. However, it seemed they had been watching through the scope the entire time as another sole bullet swished to fracture the now dead street lamp. The light dimmed down. Standing under the shadow provided by the blocky building, Thomas’s car was hidden away from the spotlight.

Finn’s shoulders tensed as the shatter of glass echoed through his ears once again. The terrible music would drive him to insanity. Even though he was in a tight situation, he couldn’t help but think about what Tommy would’ve thought about the minuscule yet probably visible scratches from the glass shards. Not to mention the vehicle that would need heavy repairing. He was dead meat. Not to forget that he was the one who decided to take a shortcut towards her lodge- the shorter route with horrible scenery. What a way to show an outsider Birmingham.

“Listen to me, Finn, alright?” The younger boy gazed into her eyes, his mind deteriorated as Y/N hovered over his body upside-down, with an inch of distance between them. Strands of her swirly hair kissed his skin, tickling it with slight grazing. Her eyes were captivating, enchanting him into a place he had never been to; a place he wished to stay forever. Realizing he had not answered her question while he was lost in his thoughts, he nodded with a gulp. “Good, I need you to stay low,” With her superior voice, she commanded the young boy, shivers crawled up his spine as his mind travels to other words she could utter. “Don’t get out, stay here and raise the bag when I tell you to. You understand?”

Her breathing and voice breezed over his face, casting a spell on him just like the white powder he would sniff to ease his mind, “Yes, I mean yes.” Noticing that the pitch of his voice was a bit too high, he cleared his throat, lowering it deeper. Before he could process her words, he had given in to an order he didn’t like. What was he supposed to do? Actually, stand down? He’s a Shelby for fuck's sake. Although cheering in his head agreed with the idea, the cuts on his face played a taunting game. With ever slight contraction of his face’s muscle, his skin tore apart wider. But what was he thinking? He had never been in a situation like this. If he was, his brothers would be the one to step in front.

With minimal movements and sounds, Y/N reached the handle, cranking it down. Shutting her lips and eyes as she opened the door, a faint begging in her head hoped that a sound would not be produced. Much to her dismay, a creak resounded from the rubbing of metal. The silence was too good to be true, the promise it uttered was broken. A series of banging boomed even though they could barely see anything. Embellishing the black car, bullets whirled through the metal to pierce the back seat.

As cotton was thrust up into the air, Finn curled into a ball, hands against his ear. Indistinct chatter from the corner of the building was followed by fusses. Like running a wooden stick against an odd, wavy metal sheet, the loud noise they made as they had reloaded the machine gun for another round of massacre echoed through the still air.

If they had been slightly more precise or weighed with more luck at a random shot, they could’ve already put Y/N in a vulnerable state. A scowl sported on Y/N’s lips, men like them have been given a horrible plan. Sure it might be a good thing for her since she is currently being targeted, victory should never be celebrated until the deed is over. Even though they might get a good shot from the bottom of the vehicle, it seemed their scrawny little brains were only present for a lazy kill. To bring two heads on silver plates, served to the King which should be more challenging than this.

Tommy’s car was not too far away from the wall of a building with Y/N’s side of the car facing the wall. An advantage for her to sneak out of the vehicle. Also benefitting from the shadow that cast over the car, the rays of light shone upon the opposite side as if they stood under a spotlight, giving her a better chance at an angle she could work with.

Landing on the floor with gentle movements like a cat, she crouched down before opening the back door. Finn, who had already twirled to his stomach, watched as she successfully dragged the bag from the back seat, “Y/N,” He whispered, calling out her name as if a lost child to his mother. She snapped her head to face him. “I can’t just wait here while you out there.”

Nearly moved by his thoughtfulness, she stared at him blankly before realizing a fault, “Ah, right,” A twinkle sparked on Finn’s face when it seemed she had given him the chance to participate. However, it diminished when she had tugged her coat to reveal her silky shirtwaist, to only pull out a pistol from her shoulder holster. It then made home on his palm; before he could tug it out of her hand, she stared dead-centre in his eyes. “Remember, don’t even try to look at them. Tommy will hang me if anything was to happen to you.”

Even though he was disappointed he had been treated like a mere child who was being watched by his brother’s friend, he nodded in understanding. Shivers crawled up his spine once again as the tone of her voice brushed against his back with frigid touches.

Strapping the bags open, the scent of leather filled her lungs with a tinge of metal lingering on her tongue. The rifle was lodged on her lap. Thrusting the safety lock back into the bag, a clash banged onto the stone pavement. Thankfully, it was overlapped by an abrupt commotion at the end of the block.

“Finn, take this,” Handing the leather bag to the young man, she watched as he pulled it into the vehicle. “On my signal.”

Like a duck, Y/N waddled towards the back tire. Her golden compact mirror in her left hand while her rifle in the other, she positioned the mirror to see the two individuals under the moonlight. They stood behind the hood of the car with a machine rifle propped on a tripod, the dagger-like ends pierced into their vehicle.

“Now.” As soon as the order was given, Finn, who had rested on his back, raised the slightly flimsy bag into the air. The men who waited for any sign of movement or life caressed the trigger without any hesitation. A long chain of bullets commenced an open fire. If the bag was a creature, it would’ve been murdered with the third bullet which flew through its heart. Not caring to why the shadow had not yet slumped into the seat, their guns continued to ring through her ears. Y/N hovered her finger over her trigger as she angled the scope to her desired spot. Finn’s breathing became heavy as the bullets rammed through the material as if it wasn’t even there. He hadn’t heard a crack from hers yet. Before he had the chance to call out her name as if to wake her up from her dream. A clap echoed through the road.

Bouncing off her rifle, the bullet sprung into the still air like rice on a drum. Twirling like a prestigious ballerina, its toes peaked below, thrusting its heavy body ever so slightly. A heavy thud echoed through the dark alley. The motionless body rested onto the ground with a gushing volcano between his eyes.

Indistinct clutter bounced off the walls. The other man who had watched his accompany fall onto the frigid ground grasped the pistol grip. Y/N’s body snapped to lean against the tire, the rifle rests on her chest as the ballistic man intensely pulled on the trigger. In her head, she was on her knees as she could not risk shifting back into the car for safety. Even a millisecond without the protection of the tires, she was exposed to the gunfire. A wince fell off her lips as a clash of bullet met with the ground before reflecting to ting with the brick wall.

For Finn, it felt like hours; however, the boy had not experienced the bloody rain of war. Before she knew it, the raining of furious bullets had halted. A groan of irritation echoed from the corner of the building. The gun must’ve overheated. Peeking over her shoulder to take a rapid glance at the corner, the man had disappeared. Without a second thought, she grasped the ball grip before flicking it shut, reloading the ammo. Squinting her eyes, she hovered her scope over the tires. Another clap resounded off the walls. A cry burst from the tire that had begun to sink the balance of the car onto the ground. There was no angle she could shoot the man if she hadn’t moved from her position, hasty stomping faded away from the scene.

“Fuck.” Y/N uttered under her breath before she made a sprint towards the running body, her fingers wrapped around the other pistol in her holster. The rifle she had used was thrown to clash against the floor.

Noticing the haunting silence, Finn made a silent prayer before he sat on prickling seat. Through the smashed glass, the dagger-like ends met to a point for him to see the woman running away from the car, “Y/N!” Finn yelled at the top of his lungs, not caring that he might’ve had a bullet targeted on him.

“No! You stay there!” She ordered before running over the bridge that curved over the canal. Leaning against the wall of the building, she took a peek at the gun that sat on the hood of their Model T. When entering the firearm business, an eye that twinkled with gold could read the gun as if it was a person. And read the gun she did. It was a Benét-Mercié. A French design. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took a glance at the man she had murdered.

His eyes stared into the moonlight, the art she had indented between his eyes was a masterpiece. She had been around and fraternize enough men to note that he was an Italian. She had hopped around with a fair few amount of Italians to reassure her assumption. Although the machine rifle they had used was the gun utilized in the war, it had left her perplexed. Even though the location of her business was in free land America and she had a twinge of experience with the machinery, she could not comprehend to how they had gotten a French gun. Overall, what was an Italian doing with a French gun?

A groan from the narrow alley trickled into her ears, remembering that there was another one to complete the pair. Y/N sauntered with light steps as if a predator had finally spotted its meal for the day. Hasting towards the man, Y/N heard a curse uttered under his breath. Tugging out his hair in frustration, his hairs swirled around his fingers like a whip. His neck nearly snapped as he looked at the peak of the wall, separating him from his ability to escape the madness he had entered.

Finally noting her presence, he turned around to face her. The dread overflowed his eyes as he glanced at the corpse of his accompany. She narrowed her eyes as he pushed himself into a damp corner, cowering away from her. It was as if he was shrinking, a prey to her. To a woman?

“Who sent you?”

For a few seconds, his staggering breathing was the snaring to the incredibly busy road. However, his hands moved swiftly to grab the pistol he had safely tucker in his holster. Y/N’s fingers moved faster. Another press to the trigger and a bullet made home in his arm. An agonizing yell roared through the alley, a pair of legs did not hesitate to start running towards the direction she had sprinted to. The hole in his sleeves made a garnish to his plain suit, the red staining like wine. Red, ancient wine. Kicking the pistol out of his grip, Y/N held her gun’s on his head. Sweat swam down his face as his body made place on the floor. He clutched his hand, squeezing the gushing wound. It was burning like a blister had been rubbed over.

Making her way towards the wounded man, she harshly tugged on his hair, “I said, who sent you?”

He quivered as the cold kiss of her gun pressed on his temple, a battle of whether he should answer her or not was thrown out of the window once he realized he was standing over a string between life and death. Except, he had never seen her ever before. A pathetic yet desperate thought made to his non-existent head. There was hope that this woman was of no power, just another whore to the Shelby’s. Even though he had just witnessed his accompany fall onto the floor with a hole between his eyes, he had tried his hardest to lie to himself that it was all that young Shelby’s doing. In no way was he about to give in, “Sabini! Darby Sabini!”

However, it seemed his tongue had slipped the wine glass onto the floor. A bullet submerged into his skull, snapping his bones into fragments as a burst of blood splashed onto her face, “Y/N.” A gentle voice called her from the entrance of the alley. The woman who had been in the business for several years had to the gentle tone in her life. Unfortunately, it was only resounded by people who had fork-like tongues. Serpents.

This time, it was like a caress against her arm with care as if she was fragile glass. Nothing she had heard of, “Finn.” The young boy stared at her with wide eyes, the gun he held in his hand was clearly of no use anymore. Like an unnecessary amount of jewellery worn on women’s whose husbands danced with the devil, the beads of blood dotted against her skin. Finn glanced at the slumped body. There was only white in his ajar opened eyes, the colour that usually adds an indication of identity had rolled up towards his brain.

Finn liked to believe it was an instinct because he had one older sister; although, a part of his heart opposed to agreeing with the belief. The boy dashed towards the woman, gripping her arms with a slight tug; not too much force to hurt her, “Are you alright?” Turning her left and right to check for any wounds, he was relieved when there was no hole to indicate a bullet had plunged into her.

“I’m quite alright, just a little parched.” Finn chuckled at her sudden appearance of amusement despite her being covered in blood. It must’ve been her careless head to forget the merciless weather Britain possessed, her frigid, shivering hand, made way to rest on his face. Like accidentally electrifying oneself, the boy jumped at the freezing contact.

She tugged her hand away once she had noted the slight tick from his muscle, it was probably uncomfortable on him. Grabbing the two frozen hands into his own, the size of his hands had practically covered hers in one go. Rubbing his gloved thumbs in circles on her exposed palm, he looked down at her to gaze into her eyes. His height towered over her, “You didn’t bring gloves.”

“I noticed,” She mumbled. There was an unexplained glance at his lips. He did too. Without a word, Finn removed one of his hands from hers, leaving the other to warm her up. He tugged out his handkerchief from his jacket’s pocket to wipe the crimson red from her face. Although he had tried his best to not get pulled into her eyes or lips, he had lost. In the midst of wiping the droplets that rested on the corners of her lips, he could not move a muscle.

There were roars in his gut that he couldn’t help but to notice their protest to crawl out of his stomach and to shove him onto her. Although he had pulled himself out from the incredibly enchanting place, she had walked away towards the slumping corpse before he had the chance to proceed. Disappointment engulfed him. The dancing handkerchief tangled with the chilly wind, the white cloth had been stained like a spill. It quivered in the air like a surrender flag, a reminder to him that it was her who walked away, leaving him alone with the fabric he had brushed her skin with. “You know these men?”

“Looks Italian to me.”

“Said Sabini sent them.” Y/N glanced to face his reaction.

“Well then, aren’t they fucked.”

Ringing resounded off the walls of Tommy’s room. Seconds ago, it was tranquil with the indistinct sleep-talking by the clock. Now, all he could see was red. The darkness that confined and comforted him during the night glistened with the light rays from the radiating moon. Glueing his eyes onto the white ceiling, he waited patiently for the noise to stop so he could claim the rare times he would be able to sleep. Even though the air was suited freezing to his content, his seething anger for the attention-calling object warmed the covers for him. The sheets were no longer comfortable. Running his clammy hand down his face, there was always something stopping him from achieving what his heart desired; although, he just wanted a snooze because he had started to notice that he had looked mental (comments by nearly everyone who had the courage to, seeped through his day). Irritation coated his tongue. Bitterness hopped around his mouth when he realized that there were some fortunate people out there who were fast asleep. Then, there was him. A groan left his lips as he had finally been pushed to the edge.

When the hope of silence had not been met, Thomas hurled the blanket off his body. A flood of haphazardly thrown pillows that covered with his comforter caused annoyance to tug onto his ears. His patience had slacked down with a blink of his eyes. Narrowing his eyes onto the obstructive machine, the corners of his eyes were blurry with fuming anger. Almost yanking the telephone with his immense strength, the machine palpitated on the wooden table, swaying left and right like a dancer. Who could blame him? Someone had just disrupted his sleep.

“What?” Tommy sneered with murder dripping from his mouth. His tense grip on the phone could snap the metal in half. Although he wouldn’t usually pick up the telephone with such anger since the line of his work is practically embedded into him, this night, his thoughts were chugging faster than he could swallow down a pint of beer. His head was restless.

The stress in his eyebrows evaporated once a familiar silvery voice echoed through his ears, “Tommy, we’ve been ambushed. Two men.” Even though his grasp onto the metal remained with a constant force, the heat he had concocted sprung into the air once he had realized he could’ve lost two people within a night. His immunity to the frigid floor deteriorated, the floor pierced kisses as if it were incessant stabbing into the numb soles of his feet.

“Whose men was it?” The clock on the wall of his house groaned, its arms dancing in coordination as it watched the man’s ears fume with anger like a furious train once a familiar name fell off his little brother’s lips.

“Sabini.”

A breathy exhale sunk into the phone, Tommy’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to digest the situation. The rumours were true, yet, he sent his guests off without any protection on his side. How could he assume that her three men were enough? He should’ve let someone trail after them, despite her objections. There was already an overflowing amount of issues thrown onto his plate, “Where are you now?”

“Y/N’s lodge. Said that it’d be safer for me to stay at hers for the night.” Finn twirled the wire of the telephone, the door of the bathroom had been closed for a while.

Tommy hummed in agreement. The late timing of the day restricted his ability to construct words, especially with the fact that another meat had been thrust onto his plate. An exhausted exhale muffled the other side of the line, “Well, she’s right. If those men do not crawl back to Sabini with your head, they will double everything up. I’m sorry to say this Finn, but you’ll have to spend the night there,”

An indistinct mumble escaped Finn’s lips. Before the boy could place the phone back to where it resided, his brother spoke up once again, “Where’d you sent them off to?”

Without any additional word to the vague question, Finn answered with the assumption that there was someone who dared to listen to their conversation, as always, “Y/N had her men come in, showed them the canal.”

“The car?”

“No opened garage, so they made one open up.” A creak from a door trickled onto Tommy’s ears from Finn’s line.

“I should have sent Isaiah to drive her home.” Before Finn had the chance to react, his gaze flicked towards Y/N. Although it was inappropriate for him to let his gaze linger on her, he couldn’t help but stare at awe. The golden edges of the dress-robe enchanted the translucent material that draped over her shoulders. A faded feminine voice in the distant mumbled incoherently to Tommy’s ears. The man could only make up some words, stitching them in a sentence before the voice was slightly more pronounced.

“Finn, go clean yourself up, I’ll clean those wounds in a second.” A minute of silence passed. Finn let out a hum once she quirked an eyebrow at him for his confirmation. It was a wonder to how easily she had him with a glance. His eyes followed the woman’s figure before she disappeared into the sliding door of her room.

“Wounds?”

“Nothing serious, just cuts.” Deep down, Finn knew it would not be a simple task to remove the tedious glass shards that penetrated his face. A part of him shook its head, not agreeing with the idea that it would be painless.

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning.” The call then ended. A shiver tremored through Thomas as he finally realized how chilly his room was. His feet paced faster before he threw himself onto the bed. Within a tug, all the items that scattered over the floor sat back to where it resided. Although the comforter was as soft as he could remember by his late wife’s choice, soft would not be the one to comfort his restless head while two significant people of his life had just been ambushed. Not a wink of sleep decided to greet him.

Staring down at the bustling street even though the moon had made a clear appearance in the night, men had women around their arms as they stumbled down the road. A half tipsy smile was worn on their faces. Y/N watched the lively road, trails of cars and strings of people occupied the area. As she leaned against the window with her arms crossed, she pondered over the saddening news that had cracked over her head like a spoiled egg. There was regret in her chest that roared actively without rest for years- screeching at her to make the simple contact. Now, she could give herself in as she had not landed her ears onto the thought. Despite the day ageing old, the city never sleeps. Oh, how she wished she could see him for the last time.

Coating her tongue was the ancient red of champagne. Swirling the cup after every dashing thought that sprinted across her head, her attention had reverted towards the day that didn’t seem to want to find an end. A creak of a door echoed through her ears. Pulling her eyes away from the mesmerizing street, she was met with a freshly showered Finn.

Since he had been forced to stay down and not participate in the killing, there was no spill of blood on his suit. It was ideal because the woman did not want to pressurize another shop to open for her to only end up doing a shopping spree. However, it was not the same case for Y/N as her outfit had been splattered with red. So, she wore the other silky shirtwaist she had brought from her recent trip to France

“Hope you don’t mind me using that soap.” The boy mumbled. Thrown over his arm to dangle like a swing was his patterned, green tie, resting above layers of his other clothing that he had decided was not of use to wear. Left in his white shirt and his olive green suit-pants, he scratched the crook of his neck as he wore a sheepish smile at the poor decision he had made. What could he have done? It was the only available option.

“Absurdly not,” Y/N uttered. As her eyes lingered longer than it should’ve been, she gestured towards the abundant of couches for him to rest on. “Come on, take a seat, I’ll get the stuff.”

Finn rested the clothing on the head of the couch, eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she had hastily placed the cup onto the coffee table before dashing away into her room. He plopped down onto the couch that was richer than the liquid resting in Y/N’s cup. His hands sat on his thighs as he watched her disappear into her bedroom.

“So, uh, Ms Stein,” Like those pesky squirrels that would dominate the trees in New York with an acorn attached to their hands, the woman rummaged through her bedroom as if she was to find a treasure. Her fingers dug deep in the bag, hands grabbing onto objects that might have possessed the shape of the items she had visualized in her head. As her hand had brushed against a paper-like box, she was quick to yank it out of the bag. “You married?”

The absence of response had caused the peaks of Finn’s ears to tint red at his pathetic question. Who was he to question her? They were barely even friends. Heck, he had just met her. But she did save him, does that mean something? Peeking her head out from the bedroom with the item in her hand, she narrowed her eyes.

“You see this?” Holding her hand up in the air, she twirled her hand around to show the boy her empty fingers, all her rings had been removed. She thrust the flimsy item onto the glass coffee table, a faint noise resounded by the minuscule object. Entering her room once again, her arms plunged in the massive leather bag to find the next item in her imaginary list. “I would’ve probably been at Rome maybe if that dirtbag had not cheated. Happily married,” Y/N let out an amused chuckle at the absurd thought. ”What a joke.”

“Oh.” Finn mumbled under his breath after realizing he had thrown himself into a hole he could not climb out off. If she had been in the war with Tommy, of course, she had at least been married once. What was he thinking? The air was heavily poured with furious yelling from the road and Y/N’s struggle to get the desired items out.

“Also, call me Y/N, we’re friends now right?” Finn hummed in agreement as he gawked at the abundant amount of medical items bundled up in her arm. Shock overflowed in him when he realized she had brought all of this in her bag.

“Had you brought all of this? Is it a nurse instinct?” A chuckle echoed from the room, causing a smile to plaster on Finn’s face when he had achieved what he had in mind. A sparkle blared into his eyes when the shiny metal reflected the light rays to him. Beaming his eyes at the off-putting objects, Finn had suddenly become nervous, “Why did you tell me to head to bath first? Wouldn’t it be better if you had removed these first?” His fingers hovered over the glass that embedded his face, decorating his skin like jewels on a mistress’s extravagant dress.

Noticing that his feet could not rest on the ground as his legs bounced incessantly, Y/N held back a laugh, “Needed a clean surface,” She kneeled next to the coffee table and widened her arms, the items clashing with the tables- letting out a horribly written tune. “We wouldn’t want to risk with infections now, do we?”

It was that tone again, he had hated it deeply but all he could do was swallow it before it would climb out of his throat to only be splattered across her face. Finn nodded, oh boy, was he in for a ride.

Finn sat on the couch with his fingers digging deep in his knees as the frigid tweezers plucked out the daunting pieces of glass. He sat on the couch with his white shirt on, his suit hung up on the coat rack. The blaring air conditioner caused shivers to crawl up his spine; however, thanks to the glass being plucked out of his skin, his body had created enough warmth to heat him up like a fireplace. Iron coated his tongue as his teeth sunk deep into the muscle. Although he had expected about only half a dozen worth of glass shards, it seemed it had beat his expectations to ruin.

“Ow!” He let out the familiar wince. Gritting his teeth so harshly, it was enough for it to wear off like brittle bricks. Despite his luck on trying to concoct a more painful site on his legs by pinching it, his mind always redirected to the obnoxiously close distance between his scarred face and her hands. It was chilly like the night’s wind not too long ago when they were in the ominous alleyway. However, in the comfort of her hotel, it was warm and cosy. Every so often, the metal of the equipment would kiss him, tugging out the embedded fragments. Due to the close proximity, Finn could not help but sniff out the silky scent of lavender. He wasn’t too sure if it was from him but it had comforted him through the excruciating pain.

Y/N huffed at his incessant amount of wincing. She could not believe he had not yet tolerated the pain despite having to pull out a couple already, “Stay still, won’t you?”

The tweezers that rested in her fingers rested over his shoulder. Every time she had gone anywhere close to his face with the equipment, he would flinch away- a repeated task she would have to repeat by shifting closer to him. She rolled her eyes once he had moved a couple of inches away from her.

“How can I? It bloody hurts.” Finn scoffed, his hands pinched his leg as he tried his best not to touch his face that was still home to a couple of glass shards.

“I swear if you move again.” Y/N declared, her hands ready to remove another fragment from his face.

With another yank of her tweezer, he let out the wince before shifting away. If he had repeated this at least three more times, he would meet the ground as it was the edge of the seat. Frustrated at his actions, her hand landed on his thigh, a bit too close to his liking as her leg was thrown over his so she could ground him on one place. Now practically shoulder to shoulder, Y/N gently rested her hand on his chin. His eyes that gawked at her actions were forcefully beaming at the other side of the room as she restricted his movements, “I told you. If you move, I’ll make a scar on your face and it will not be a good mark for that future girl.”

Before he knew it, she was once again, pulling out another shard. This time, it was different. Her hand made place on the side of his unwounded jaw, making sure he had not flinched. It was like a breezy kiss of a windy day in Birmingham, the scent of the lavender flower swirled through his nostrils. A distraction at the incredibly close interaction. However, before she could pluck out another piece, he pursed his lip. A slip of a giggle rung into the air.

“What’re you laughing at? You big dork, stay still.” Finn mumbled an apology. Trying his best to transform into a serious man, Finn’s back shot straight up. Y/N pulled away, an irritated reaction wore on her face as he had just made her multiply her effort due to his height. It was better when he had his shoulder hunched forward, giving her an easier access to his unfortunate face. He noticed this and pressed his lips shut, attempting to not allow a laugh seep through the cracks of his lips. If it wasn’t for Y/N’s agile pull, she would’ve costed real damage.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m laughing.” Finn gave up, a few beads of tears fell down the side of his face as he began to go insane.

“You’ve gone mental,” The pair chuckle as Y/N clamped onto a rather large piece. Pondering if it was because he had laughed at nothing, which might’ve worn her patience off, the extraction of the massive glass compared to the rest was slightly more painful. When he had let out the annoying wince, she had let out a huff. “Don’t be such a baby, it’s just a pinch.”

His flickering eyes snapped towards her, “I am not a baby.”

“And I’m not a woman.”

“Plus, I think your nurse hands are getting rusty after those years.” With his eyes shut tight, he waited for her to inflict damage from his insult. The tweezers stood a hair’s breadth away from his skin. In an agonizing pace, he opened his eyes to look at her reaction. She stared at him with mouth gaped wide open in disbelief. She could not believe he had just insulted her fine work.

“Hey!” She smacked his arm, Finn let out a laugh to cover the pain. His fingers worked deep to massage the area of tremoring pain. “Fine, you do this by yourself, then.”

Hurling the tweezers onto his palm, she shot up from the couch to walk away. A part of her wanted him to try to clean himself up as she would wander around the room aimlessly. She wanted to hear him whine like the little boy he is. With his length fingers, it curled around her wrist in one go. The warm contact sparked the fire before she was tugged to land on his lap. With a huff, she stared at him with eyes of an owl. Once she realized how incredibly close the distance between them was, she resisted. Trying to tug away from his intense grip, keyword- trying, his grasp held a strong force to keep her in place but not too immense to kiss bruises on her skin. The racing of her heart pumping sang a song in her ears. The sudden close proximity had left in her in a state of shock. How does she respond?

“I won’t be able to do it,” Finn mumbled, his arms resting on her lap before it slithered around her waist. “You do it.” His fingers bloomed open, the kissing of the chilly metal was heated with the warm air. In an antagonizing slow pace, Finn took his time to curl open her fingers so he could squeeze in the tweezer in her grip. Leaning back into the couch, he clenched his jaw before readying himself to go through the torture once again.

Part 2 | Part 3

110 notes · View notes

kaetastic · 4 years

Text

HISTORY UNFOLDS. 3/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

word count: 17.4k

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, smut, profanities, age gap (read note)

note: finally! it is the last part and I can finally finish my other works! thank you for reading! finn is 18, the reader is 37

Part 1 | Part 2

It had been nearly five weeks, some would call it few which passed by in a blink of an eye; however, it was not the same case for Y/N as she was forced to sit in the bed, tucked with puddling sweat in the sheets of her bed while she was being nurtured by her own employees. Even though the poor quivering doctors who had been ‘kidnapped’ (Dante liked to call it guiding) had said that it would be good to walk, she has to keep in mind to not push herself. The woman was not having any of it.

There were so many things to listen to, so many mouths babbling, so many feet dashing in and out of her room while she was in the bed, forever to be plastered over the surface by suffocating tight bandages. With that, she was caught scribbling in her book after three weeks. Dante had steam gushing out of his ears when he stumbled upon the sight, knowing the book resided in the living room. The only reason he was furious was due to the fact that the furthest distance he had strictly ordered to her was the only window in the bedroom, which was ten steps away from her bed. Three days after his hour-long lecture, she was found smoking and sipping on whiskey in the open kitchen, a newspaper splayed out on her lap.

Despite the words from other advisors, she waved it all off as if she was flipping away from the sports’ section of the newspaper. What made matters worse were she had been counting the days she had last seen or met up with Finn. Every time she would try to focus on the work that laid in front of her, to blind herself from the tremoring pain muffled by the bandage, much to her men’s dismay, her mind would revert to him and the night he had stayed with her. The oozing ink in the pen would dry off like clothing hung up in the snoring wind for the never-ending counting days.

The very unfortunate time Connor had barged through the front door he was met with a very bare man. It didn’t go so well with his boss. During her venting, three minutes in and Y/N was clutching on her waist. The woman insisted stubbornly that she was fine, however, the men knew better than to believe the lies she sputtered. In all honesty, she felt fine. Halfway through week four, she had tried to relieve the frustration of being strapped to the bed and pain from the wound by meeting other men. Some she had met while prancing down the street or strolling around the nearby park. To only end up alone in her room, sipping on whatever liquor was strong enough to haze the thought of Finn. None of them was like him. Their touches didn’t feel like his. Had she gone through all the trouble for a cuddling session?

So for days, she has been desperate for anything. Any chance or luck for someone to fall on her platter; she was starving, her mouth drooling to devour a meal, heck, she can even shove down a whole horse right at it. When she wasn’t scribbling on her books or worrying about her business in America, she had enough time to ponder. Even though she had these time to leisure, she wasted it all on trying to relieve the pent up frustration by going to places.

“Is there anything on my schedule today, Dante?” The woman quirked up, shaking her feet that were perched up on her wooden desk, a hair’s breadth away from her container of pens. One wrong kick and the floor would be an exercise to clean (not to her, of course). Her windows were cranked open, the wind blew whistles into the hotel room, breezing an infant tornado. However, the space between its frame and the window was minuscule. A faint odour of smoke and factories danced in the air, all the way from the industry side of Birmingham. With her body slouching lazily on her rotating chair, the seat let out a desperate squeak as she shifted sharply. Although it was the long-awaited day for the removal of the bandage, she had done what she was told not to do as soon as the bandage was removed, which was sitting in a manner that could make the wound worst. While her chin laid on her chest, a burgundy glass of wine swirled in her cup, dancing in a regular choreography. The surface of her tongue was coated with the sweet, intoxicating flavour.

The man lifted up the leather book, his raven hair swept down to curtain his eyes. As his fingers descended down the dates, the caress halted when it landed on the current date.

The Italian shook his head, “Today’s free day. Tomorrow, get ready to buy a bottle of whiskey. So… can I go to the pub?” Shooting a glinting smile, Dante hugged the book to his chest as if a little kid, pleading to his mother for a lemon sweet. Y/N let out a huff, her head was thrown back into the back of her chair.

“When have I stopped you?” He nodded, agreeing to her point.

Even though she had tried her hardest to get over with the work that had been piling on her desk, towering above her and nearly grazing over the ceiling, the thought of Finn somehow made way into her head- even when her task had nothing to do with the boy. To say the least, it frustrated her, especially with the fact that her efficiency in completing work has been declining. No matter how many papers she stuffed in her ears, nothing stopped his appearances in her head.

An exhale fell off her lips, slightly heavier than she thought it would’ve been.

“Anyways, good. I want to visit a friend today.” She mumbled, kicking her feet off before placing her cup on the table. Dante watched his boss as she paced around the room, a compass hovered over her head while she dashed left to the right. Her dress that rested below her knees danced in the air, slicing it in half with every sprint. After yanking her coat from the hanger with a swift tug, the clothing that was made for frigid weather let out a huff as it was thrown over the wooden table.

It was possible for her to visit Finn, entirely possible. There really was nothing stopping her from visiting him, except for the extensive list she had concocted for herself. It had killed her to why she hadn’t done so, a thought of her reverting the direction of the car to pay him a visit popped out in her head before it was poked with a pin. No, it was harder than it sounded.

Polly’s words swirled in her head, hovering around her mind as she would scribble against paper all day. Women like us. What had the lady meant? Every time she would dismiss that thought and not worry about the age gap since Finn was technically considered a man, she remembered that he was the younger brother of the man that had saved her. Heck, Finn was fresh out of the womb born when she was nineteen. That was a lot to digest. But a part of her clung onto the moments where it seemed he had returned back the same kind of affection.

If she could not fall asleep, all she had to think of was the night he pulled her out of her bedroom during the sobbing incident. He didn’t even ask after the night, leaving it in the past. Although a part of her had been slightly grateful since she wouldn’t be able to conjugate sentences if he were to ask, another part of her believed that he truly didn’t care, a faded idea was that she was just his host after all- he was just repaying back that deed. However, she had been slightly upset that he hadn’t bothered to prod in, he hadn’t insisted for her to open up. The woman herself was a frustrating mess. The road split into two, could she not go through the middle? Maybe it was for the best.

There were so many reasons that should’ve already been embedded into her head to why being around Finn wasn’t good for her or for the boy himself; however, looking back, she liked the aura he radiated when she was around him, she felt different. A good different.

“Where you goin’?” Dante inquired. He watched as his boss smoothly slides into her shoulder holster before stabbing her metal key into the lock, yanking open the drawers which sent quivering tremors throughout the container. Whatever had been chucked in the drawer had danced to the earthquake-like beat.

Bending, Y/N squinted her eyes for any sign of her pistol. Her fingers rapidly wrapped around the gun. She twirled it around, her eyes ran over the firearm for a quick inspection. When she made sure the safety pin was still intact, she tucked it safely in her holster, “Near the bridge.”

Dante bopped his head even though a part of him had been driven to confusion. Normally, she would either go to the club alone or at fortunate times, she would call the day off for everybody. He still remembered the joy radiated from Connor when he had heard the news. Only because Y/N had thrown one of the clients she could not tolerate due to his irritating voice. Everyone agreed with her opinion, the nasal tone was no different than rubbing a squeaky cloth on a window. His eyes followed her as he watched her slide into her coat in one swift, “Do you need me to fetch Connor to drive?”

Y/N shook her head, “There is no need.”

“You should take at least one of the boys, I’ll come.”

While she struggled to pick up the car key from her desk, she threw a glare at the man, “You stay here and watch over the boys. I know that last slice of pie was eaten by one of you. You keep your eyes out and tell them I’ll shoot a bullet through their forehead if they touch my last piece of cake, I’m sure they do not wish for a third eye to be a permanent tattoo.”

Without waiting for his response, she had left her room. The carpet caused her heels to sink into the bedding, she let out a huff at the factor that would slow her speed down.

Although it was a risky move to leave the hotel or leave the city overall, she knew that it would be impossible for the opposing side to know that she was involved in the situation. If they had found out, though, she would just applaud. She hoped that they hadn’t thought about inspecting each and every one of the garages since it was random and out of the blue. There, she would run into some trouble. No target had hovered above her forehead just yet. Tommy didn’t save her so she could prance on the street or take a tour around England while his family was held on strings by the mafia.

Inserting the keys in her car, she let it rest in place while she leaned back into the seat; her fingers subconsciously already ready with the flaming stick of cancer. While going down the elevator, she had noted the unrelenting eyes thrown at her as if she was a mere museum display. They weren’t even bothered to hide behind a cloth. Disgust prickled against her skin when it didn’t stop there. There were an abundant amount of judgmental people who would elevate their eyes to look run their eyes on her figure.

Sauntering down the street were white-haired men who waved their golden canes and women with their head held up so high that the flap of their head might just flip open. It was not quite like America. However, the amount of times eyes had gazed at her while she sat in the car alone had multiplied tenfold. They were probably wondering where the real owner of the car was. She chuckled, shaking her head before starting the heavy journey.

The ink from his pen smeared the paper, seeping into the sheet as he scribbled with confidence after he had read the line for the second time. Strokes of black lines finally set into the sheet of paper once he had given it time to rest. Raising it in the air, Tommy narrowed his eyes, squinting as he ran his orbs over the lines once again. Nothing wrong with rechecking. The man clicked his tongue when he spotted the unsatisfactory word.

As soon as the paper glided back down onto the wooden table, his fingers were agile to scribble over. The sheet was organized, neat and professional. That was until the intended marking he wanted to be a sophisticated dot was dragged to draw a line across the paper.

“Fucking hell, Finn,” Thomas let out a huff, creaking back into his seat as his eyes gazed at his youngest brother. Was his office a barging room now? Slight aggravation roared in the boss’s gut at the paper which seemed his son had plucked out for a quick drawing session. “What do you want?”

Resting the pen onto the table, Thomas pulled his glasses off. Finn gazed around the room before he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a creak, “I heard you were going to send Arthur to tell Y/N of the party.”

“So this’s about Y/N then?”

Thomas saw right through him like a beam through a badly-woven sheet of wool, cutting through the pores with an exhale. Finn cowered his true intention by a blush, although, he felt like Thomas already knew. Watching people be read by Thomas was amusing since they tried hard to stack bricks around them, thinking they had him on the other side. However, all Finn wanted was his older brother to lose that ability or power of doing so.

“Well, what do you want to know about it?” Yanking a fresh cig out of the metal case, Thomas rubbed the stick over his lips before flicking his lighter.

Finn pursed his lips before he made way towards his older brother, his strands of hair had curled out in peculiar angles, almost as if he was in a haste to meet Thomas. His fingers brushed over the bulging strands of cloth from his flat cap, “Could I be the one to tell her?”

Narrowing his eyes, Thomas leaned back against the back of his creaking chair. A swirl of smoke danced from his cigarette while he stared at the youngest Shelby. Just a little bit of digging and he might be able to find a treasure chest, “Is there any particular reason to why you would want to do such a simple task?”

The youngest chewed his bottom lip, eyes darted to the shadowy corner, “Not exactly… Could I just tell her?”

With the dangling stick resting between his fingers, Thomas raised the cup of whiskey. He took a quick sip before he tried to read his brother once again, “I was planning to just ring her a call, simple as that.”

“Well, I’ll do it, I’ll go meet her.”

A moment of silence squeezed in between the brothers before Thomas rapped the air with his huffing cig, “Shagged her yet?”

“Huh?” Eyes shooting wide open, Finn’s ajar mouth suddenly became parched, lost at words from his brother’s words.

“You stayed at her lodge, defended her against Polly and Ada. Now you want to be the one to invite her, personally, might I add. So, have you shagged her yet?”

Finn’s cheeks tainted red before he shook his head. The vapour swirled into his nose, warming his lungs, “Good, she was close to John,” Noticing the confused stare from the youngest of the Shelby, Thomas quirked his eyebrows. “Well then? Why you still here?”

Never had Finn sprint out of Thomas’ office as fast as he ever did.

As the breeze kissed her skin, she sported a smile that had not faltered or quivered. Nothing was there to threaten the curved line. When her eyes darted towards her left after she made sure that no objects were obstructing her way; that the vehicle was on the right path, she took in the view of the gentle and young stream of pure, nearly crystal-clear water. Beheaded flowers glided over the smooth stream as if a basket-worth of the unfortunate greeneries had been dumped, its white petals gave the flower equilibrium, floating. No matter how hard of an effort the flowers tried their best to close their arms, luck was not on their side. The sweet pollen was bare in the open as if it called for the blade ends of bees to suckle onto its treasury. While it floated over the water, it sang in falsetto. Amusing infant-like curls of waves nudged against the odd land, which curled and twirled in an almost peculiar way that mother nature herself would never act upon.

Even if one was to be shackled in gold chains towards their banks, their money would never be adequate; it wasn’t possible to have such an astonishing view in the cluster of bar-like buildings. Here, in the middle of nowhere, was a sea of colourless diamonds, with a tint of hazy blue which had labelled a price tag that would cause ones’ eyes to bulge out of its socket, and a tranquil melody, a song sung by no one, yet, clearer than the freshest record player on the market. In the midst of a city, weaving canals were the bloodstreams of death and feculent odours. It was humorous, a plot of land, ruled by the dominating creature was nothing to an open area- where there was no crown, no king. Just survival. Without a doubt, the only thing that could stand against the clarity of the stream in the fields would be the new batch of glass cups that would sooner or later be the wives of countless of lips; home for attentive liquor. The wind was a monitored road, heavily watching the children pass the street towards their school for education, the empty bags they had brought sacked the heaviness that sat on her shoulder for weeks on end. Not even liqueur, a close friend she had opened up to, can relief of the lively thoughts in her head.

There were no other disturbing noises, no other exhausts that had tainted the air (even though she wished she had just chosen to walk, the distance would’ve caused her to collapse like an emaciated horse), no yelling and no other reminder of the city life, other than her car which was her sole accompany. A smear of bleeding red jam against the white toast was the extensive field of bristles of grass whose heads stood erected like swords. Despite the bedding of blades, there were elegant heads of flowers that protruded in between the warriors. Her fingers drummed over the steering wheel, she began to hum, which was muffled by her throat as she imagined the life she had desired in the past.

A life in the forest, a family in a humble, little cottage in the middle of nowhere. Was it even possible? A man whose hands had been dipped in blood? It was forever to be stained. No matter the barrels of cleaning agent, no matter the intense concentration. How had she expected him to drop the empire he had ruled over for a fairy tale? Even though he was a speckle of dirt in the past, her broom swishing technique was not yet solid, despite it already being two years. Her mind swatted the thought away. It left her at awe how a sauntering thought could ruin her mood. That was until she had to force upon her head to ponder of joyful memories she had actually enjoyed.

Once a blur of what would normally be claustrophobic and grey, trickled in the corner of her eyes, her lips faltered to a tight line. The tree that hovered above the plot of land, protected the buried bodies under it like a parasol. Y/N let out a staggering exhale at what she was about to do. Was she even ready? It might’ve taken eight years for her to overcome, was it enough? While her brain chattered amongst its belief of how she had succeeded to wipe that part of her memory, her heart, in piercing shackles, disagreed. Although she wanted to turn the vehicle back into the deadly fumes of the city, the time had ticked short. The graveyard waited patiently as if it had expected her visit. Various shapes of standing blocks of stone stood out from the breathless view of nature which she’ll never be able to get tired of. A calm resting place for inanimate bodies. If she had the chance to choose where her body would be buried, it would be here.

After halting the exhaust, she hopped out of the vehicle, trying her hardest to fend off the hefty thoughts that would only chain her to the car, her only escape. Inhaling in the air, she noted that it was light, a twinge of sweetness swirled in the batch as if dripping honey. While her eyes were shut tight, she sucked it in as if she had been starved of it. Cleansing the fumes of city life in her lungs, the crisp strands made home in the warm organ, she made sure to cover every nook and crevice. The woman who wore a coat that was the colour a tone down of cigarette ashes lingered near the ton of metal before taking a hefty step. It reminded her of the unforgettable war, the heavy sludge of mud she had to trek into, to drag a wounded soldier to safety.

The air was truly one of a kind, it would be considered as an extinct species in the bustling life in the city with all its deadly vapours and feculent odours. If it was to be bottled up and released into the tainted air of the city, the existence of humans alone would cause it to shrink to death. Every step she took towards the location felt like it had been inching down, engulfed by the starving ground. The strings that held her beating heart snapped, after all the years it had to endure while she wore her heart low- the line was bound to wear off, it plunged the organ into the gurgling acid of her gut. The holster that she had been wearing daily ever since she had entered the risky business, suddenly felt like a hefty cargo hook. The feeling was uncanny to that of when she had been given her first shoulder holster, given by someone who had engraved ‘L’ on the front of the strap.

Finally, after what felt like ages, she stood in front of the tomb. The engraved letters that spelt out his name blared into her eyes. Seeing his name in her head was different than seeing it in reality. Her hands curled into a faint fist as thoughts bounced off the walls of her head. The woman squatted down, her knees brushed against the poking heads of the grass. The soft caress of flowers and the breezy wind was the only anchor wrapped around her ankles that kept her from floating away from reality.

Her mouth stood, gaped open, there were so many words she wanted to regurgitate out of her chest, yet, it had clogged in her throat, obstructing the path of air. The coat that draped over her shoulder felt like an awful whole load of weight sitting on her. Reluctantly, she pondered if removing her coat and her defence was a good idea, especially since she was out in the open, where she was vulnerable. Was she to risk her life in the field of grass over buried bodies? Yes, all in the name of respect and trust in those who watched over her. Tugging off her navy swing coat, her fingers brushed over the warm leather straps of her shoulder holster. A second passed; she hesitated before she slid them off. The ground muffled the thud of the metal with its thick layer of soil, the pair of her favourite firearms accompanied each other onto the grassy ground.

Fiddling with the hem of her sand-coloured skirt that stooped below her knees, she sat, pondering with lively thoughts in her head that milled around, the tranquillity of the air gave her the opportunity to think, which might not be pleasant since there was a chance for her to overthink. An offer the city could never be able to provide unless she had downed at least two rock glass worth of vodka, neat. Even though she was enjoying the memories that were played in her head, she had finally spoken up, “Wished I got here earlier, you could’ve shown me around Birmingham,” Y/N sent a smile at the carved name as her fingers brushed the blades of grass. The woman could imagine his face, his voice and his reaction. Eight years of nothing. “You wouldn’t have been underground.”

The smile she wore flew off her face, the wind fled from the scene with the joy it had just stolen. Wincing from the pinching ache in her leg muscles, she let out a huff before making herself a place on the ground, somewhat reluctantly, indenting the field; it took a long second to get used to as the blades pierced into her, mercilessly. Even shifting to find a more comfortable position was painful. After succeeding, her fingers played with the neck of the flowers. “Finally met your brother, saved him too,” She grinned at the thought of the youngest Shelby as she patted the head of the flower who let out an uncomfortable groan. Before it snapped its face away from her, not wanting to be assaulted, once she had let it go from her suffocating grip. “I remembered when I saved you.”

Her fingers halted, hovering above a neighbouring quivering daisy who danced to the tune of the air, “Blood covered you from head to toe, thought you were a mental man before Tommy came to me,” The poor flower was caressed by her finger. “Not a mental man,” Her eyes flickered towards the tombstone. “A good man.”

An ache twanged in her chest as she laid out the heavy words that had been piling up for eight torturous years, “What happened during the war was a mistake, I’m only quoting whatever you said,” She chuckled when she could practically hear his voice trickle in her ears, his chuckle felt nostalgic. The clarity was as if it was just a faint whisper from the night before. “It must’ve been rough after hearing the news that Martha had passed, she was a strong woman. I wouldn’t know how it’d feel if my husband left to fight for the country while I stay at home, a babe in me,” Y/N sent a glance at her belly before she darted her eyes towards the carved name. “Even though what we did was a mere… moment, I can’t forget about it,” She mumbled. “When I left for America, all I could think about was you, though for a period of time… it was suppressed. You said you were the kids will be looked after you, all by yourself, I remembered asking if you needed help… you said no. If only I had stayed... if only I had insisted.”

Beads of tears rested to glaze her eyes, a haze coated her vision, “I’d assume they’re doing fine with your new wife.”

“They are,” Her eyes snapped wide, the tears she held on her eyes splattered into the air, breezing through the wind to splash upon thirsty greeneries. As she hastily yanked her pistol from the holster, there were a series of tremors pulsing in her fingers. Y/N stared at the figure, elbow pierced into the ground while her lip quivered from her oppressed tears that sat behind a thin sheet of a dam. “Woah, woah, there’s no need for guns, hey...”

Behind her layer of salty tears, she could make out that it was Finn. His lanky height, his cut of a hair and the way his voice smeared against her ears. Squatting down to her level, he rested his hand above hers that gripped on the firearm. He pushed it down to point it at the ground, away from him. Although he had not experienced such a situation where a gun was so closely held for his head, his reaction was calm and collected. While staring deep in her glossy eyes, he swam through the endless barriers. Finn managed to gently remove the gun from her grip before he placed it back on her coat.

His face hovered over hers by a hair’s breadth, their eyes lingered as if locked. Y/N couldn’t believe this was the second time he would get to see her like this, frail and weak like a quivering doe. Before she had the chance to wipe the tears off, his hand rested on her cheeks as he took a casual seat, pulling her to do the same. As soon as his thumb pressed softly against her eyes, she let out a sob. His heart drummed against his ribs, had he poked her by accident? He had been extremely meticulous. What he didn’t expect was for her to bawl in his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a desperate hug. Without a thought, he shifted closer towards her, his hand laid behind her head as she let out bursts of tears.

It felt longer than it should’ve, but Finn was not complaining. The view of her against the atrocious field was a sight. The memories of her and John had overflowed her head, it was seeping out of the bucket to flood and concoct a puddle. The soothing caress of Finn’s fingers against her hair had placed her in a tranquil mood. When her sobbing had died down, a melody worth dancing to was sung by the stream of water and the rustling of the sole, lonely tree. Not a sorrowful tune. There was peace the place engulfed them in, more comforting than any blanket she had slept in. Although a thought flew by for Finn to pull away, the boy hadn’t bothered. Growing up in a family of violence and harm, the Peaky Blinder boy found the warmth of the place to be just like when he was a mere boy, cared for. Weaving through the locks of her hair, his fingers were wrapped as he prodded his digits into her roots. Finn sprung into the spotlight when he found the beats of the song to be catchy. The humming of a lullaby echoed from his throat, the muffled noise resounded down his chest and into the woman’s ears.

“I’m not a baby, I’m a man,” Fingers brushing over the drenched puddle of salty tears, which was worth a scandalous rumour, she chewed the bottom of her lips as she waited for his reaction. A loud cackle hurled into the air, a booming noise that awakened the slumbering flocks of birds. There was no doubt, it was not difficult to find his laughter pleasing and almost like a strum of an ethereal strum. It was contagious. The disease jumped into her before she knew it, she joined by letting out a chuckle. Although she would’ve liked for her head to remain on him, the cloth had become damp- slapped onto her face, a favourite method of Dante’s to wake the woman up from her sleep. Finally pulling away from his chest, the weight placed on his chest had been removed. “I’m sorry, I don’t easily cry… I don’t know what’s with me lately, it’s just…”

Finn gawked mockingly, “What? I make you sad?”

“No! no!” Y/N shouted, smacking his chest which caused him to let out an amused chuckle. “It’s just, I just let it all out when I’m with you.”

Finn watched the way the strands of her hair flew in the sky as she sprung her gaze towards the field. Taking note of the way her fingers were fiddling quite nervously, he dragged the mood up, “So I’m your doctor now, huh?”

Throwing her head back in laughter, the grin on her face hadn’t been wiped off as the moment felt surreal. A glint of sparkle twinkled in his eyes, “Yeah, you fix me.”

“Then, I must’ve done a good job.” A chuckle bounced off his cocky statement.

Gesturing her head towards his flooded stain on his suit, she mumbled under her breath, “I’m sorry about that.” The boy glanced down, words sprinted around his head as he tried to find the correct method of replying. Never had he had to deal with a woman bawling her eyes out on him.

Even though he hadn’t found the perfect way to reassure her, he threw the coin into the canal with fingers crossed, “Just a few hours in the wind and it’ll not even be there,” She nodded, the back of her palm swiped over the line of tears obstructing her vision from the gorgeous view. Although a part of him had brought up the idea of raising his voice to ask her what had been causing her such sorrow, in hopes of maybe lifting the weight off of her shoulders to ease her from the pain, he decided to revert the topic.

“Wait, how did you know I was here?”

“Oh, right, Tommy sent me to your hotel,” The half-lie and half-truth echoed into her ears. It was more truth than a lie, although, he had not bothered to interject the part where he had insisted, forced, his brother to send him, to deliver the message to the lady. How great of an actor the boy was. Y/N hummed at his reply, fingers rummaging through the pocket of her dress before pulling out a compact metal case. The engraved lines on the silver cigarette case were intricate as if a show plane had carved peculiar swirls in the air. “Asked around and Dante told me, so here I am, inviting you to a party.”

Finn gazed down at the open case, it had been full except for two, the lid clanked as she waited for him to take one, his nimble fingers accepted. As her stick rested on her lips, she flicked her lighter for him. While his cigarette was dying to flaking ashes, she lit hers, “Party?”

Finn hummed, body leaning back as he perched upon his hands, face coating by the warm rays of the sun, “Tommy decided to play truce before the war, called the guy and now we gonna have a drink with them.”

Driving herself to the brink of death by bottles of English liquor didn’t sound like a bad idea. Sadly, if she had known this activity was to happen during the vacation, she would’ve brought flasks of the finest her tongue had ever laid upon, all the way from home. Blinking from the most pathetic and ridiculous idea she had ever heard, she stared at him in disbelief, “You’re gonna drink with the man who murdered your brother?”

Finn let out a heavy sigh as he still could not figure out his brother, who was the leader of the business. Tommy was always like assembling a gun from the base, complex and evasive, “No one knows what’s going on in Tommy’s head, not sure why he’s doing this… It’s Tommy.”

“That’s Tommy, alright. When?”

“Next Friday, dusk.”

She let out another hum while she scribbled a not in her head, hoping that she would be able to remember to tell Dante to jot it down in her book. Finn chewed his bottom, lively words scurried around in his mind. Although he had wanted to propose the idea of her going to the party with him, doubts engulfed him, wholly, as if it had waited to starve itself. Surely she could’ve found someone else? Someone older? Someone who didn’t look like a babe? Cloudy vapour swirled out of her lips like that coming out of a chimney, the deadly fume was ready to sprint, dash out of the cave of her mouth, ready to evaporate into the free air. Except, only a strand fled with the breezy wind while the rest stirred into her nostrils.

“Michael can do that,” Yanked back into reality, she stared at him to continue. Someone had mentioned that name. “My cousin, Aunt Pol’s son, can do that smoke…thing.”

Her eyebrows clashed for a second as she tried to piece together what he was trying to inform. Realization kicked in when his finger wiggled at her cigarette.

“Didn’t see him at the meeting.”

“He’s recovering. Was shot at John’s house.”

Silence emitted from her lips. Another drag to cloud her thoughts, another pull to loosen her head and another inhale so she could meet the reaper who had taunted her. Specks of dirt crawled into his nails as if it found solace in the tight crevices, clumps and clusters chained their arms together to form brown streaks. As he took a drag of his cigarette, the other hand was occupied with another method of relieving the roaring nervousness. The lines of the Earth concocted a painting, a barrier formed when his fingers dug into the bedding of the grass, “Was wondering if you would like to… uh… maybe go with me?”

With high hopes, his fingers buried dead in the soil crossed, “Of course.”

Finn wore a goofy smile.

“Wear blue. Dark blue, you would look dashing in it,” Redness crept onto his pale cheeks at her compliment before he frowned, trying to recall the clothing in his closet. When the woman noticed his change in demeanour, an idea sprung into her head after she inhaled the smoke in. Ah, the wonders of cigarettes. “Alright then, upcoming Monday, come to my hotel and I’ll bring my finest tailor all the way from Paris.”

Finn’s eyes widened. Was she really willing to do all that for a party?

“Y/N, that’s like… grands.”

A chuckle fell off her lips at his reaction, “Isn’t that the point? We’ll be matching. Unless, of course, you don’t want that.”

It was as if he had been trapped in a corner, the clock above his head had sung a limited tone. He glanced at her quirked eyebrow, “No, no, I’d love that.”

When she glanced at the sky, the once blue became an ombre of yellow and purple, stirred in the middle of the two warm colours was a faint line of grey. The gradient was like an astounding backdrop of a painting, worth three grands at least. However, it wasn’t enough for a painter to take a glance before smearing his paint against the bleached canvas. The corners of her lips curled down as it was a sign of the approaching night, they would have to split up. The rustling of the surrounding trees indicated the pair that the flocks of birds have arrived at their homes, ready to slumber during the breezy night.

“Well then, that’s it for the day.” Y/N mumbled, pushing herself up before muttering a thanks to the Peaky Blinder for dusting her coat up, strands of grass sprung off the cloth. Taking a final drag, the stick let out a desperate cry as the fire began to deteriorate its top portion of its body. With a flick of her thumb, the stick met with the grass blades. Its death was painless and quick. To not disrespect the resting dead, she made sure to discard it elsewhere. Not to taint nature. As she put her shoulder holster back on, tucking the pistol she had used at Finn, back in, her arms slid into the cooling sleeves of her swing coat.

“Sadly.”

A minute of their eyes lingered onto one another when Y/N leaned in to place a chaste peck on his cheek. Oh, how Finn wished it would’ve lasted longer than a second. Pulling back, she grinned, “Thank you for staying, not a lot of men do that.”

Finn stood astonished, he watched as she got into her car. His eyes glued onto her, she waved him a soft bye before driving into the distance. His hand rested on his cheeks, a smile crept on his face as he played the memory on repeat. If only he had it recorded, he could play it on the pictures endlessly. The cigarette in his fingers rolled its eyes, the boy who seemed to be struck with love stared at the street she had faded away into. She had called him a man, Finn was a man.

As the familiar door swung open, the scent of perfume that reeked of money rammed into his nose. It had been a battle of floral against liquor. Finn’s lungs had been assaulted the Peaky Blinder was met with a man, who was dressed so freely, Finn was sure he would have been the walking-gawking figure if he was to step outside of the house. The two hooks at the end of his pointy moustache prodded in the air. Although Finn had tried his best to ignore the fact that the man had ran his eyes on his figure, judging him, the man’s eyes flickered back to the woman who stood on a circular wooden platform that rested in the middle of the living room, obstructing the path towards the kitchen. Well, if one could squeeze through the narrow alleys between the table and its wall.

The boy allowed his eyes to be fascinated by the beauty of the nude-coloured dress that sat perfectly on her. However, his cheeks flushed red when he was caught gazing upon her exposed arm, sleeveless with lace ending up to her shoulders. “Finn!” After a stretched out week, Y/N had been waiting for the time the Peaky Blinder would pay her a visit. It had finally approached. The woman sported a wide smile that ran from one cheek to another, her joyful mood had been lifted higher. “Glad you could make it, Finn, this’s my finest tailor from Paris.”

Victor rolled his eyes while he paced back towards his client. Finn who had been stranded made way to sit on the couch that possessed an unspoken memory. The word fine was of low standard, the compliment served no justice to his splendid talent, “Baby, I’m more than fine,” Y/N let out a giggle. Though, it was cut short when the French man had accidentally tugged a string a bit too tight. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Victor,” Roaming his eyes up and down the figure, Victor’s eyebrows clashed before he stood on his tiptoes so his mouth hovered over the lady’s ears. The additional height added from the platform caused her to be taller than him. “’Tis one looks young, is he underage?”

Y/N let out a scoff as she rolled her eyes. Finn, who had been the statue pointed at, threw perplexed glances at the figures. Were they talking about him? He was only right to assume as they kept darting rapidly towards him. Victor, who had been Y/N’s tailor for some time had been there for most of the guys she had gone through. Only those she had been serious with. As a tailor, a worker of art, he had remembered all of their faces as if it was just yesterday they had walked through his door for an outfit.

Although Victor was pleased with her way of enchanting customers towards his shop, Y/N wasn’t doing charity for the men. It was something he had yet to unfold. All of their faces had a streak of wrinkle, the person that had entered the room was a boy. No line of age. The French man recalled her visit to his shop with a Greek man. Victor’s heart was at ease when he had heard they pulled away, mutually. The chiselled jaw and the Adonis’ figure screamed for Victor.

“Come on, Finn, after this is your turn.” The guest nodded, his eyes attached to the woman’s figure, nothing can peel his eyes away from the ethereal sight.

“So, Mr Shelby, what’re your true intentions with our Y/N ‘ere?” Noting the awkward silence, the question buttered by Victor’s thick French accent smeared over Finn’s confused face. The corner of his lips curled up. Oh, the boy made the teasing so easy.

“Huh?” Finn blinked his eyes at the man.

“Victor!” Y/N threw a smack on his chest while he yanked a square piece of cloth from his blue-grey waistcoat. Letting out an entertained giggle, the 37-year-old man hovered the material over her skin, pondering if the tone was spectacular enough.

“I’ve seen all sorts of eyes on ‘er, what’s it you want from ‘er?”

Stammering, Finn squeezed out an answer, “Well, I want to go to the party with her.” The older man let out a huff from the disappointing reply even though he enjoyed the teasing game.

“Obviously. What is it? Money? Sex?” The blood vessels in the boy’s cheeks dilated, smearing crimson red across his face. He did not see that coming.

“What? I have to ask because I’ve seen those eyes before,” Although she was better at suppressing her tinting of cheeks, Finn could see a twinge of red. It was a less vibrant shade than his, though. “So what’s it, kid?”

“I’m not a kid.” Victor hummed, flicking out his measuring tape. The string of cloth sprung out of his chest pocket to bounce in the air, ready to be yanked for measurement.

Slow-paced days sauntered past, not by a blink of an eye, though. The countdown until the party had caused everyone to be pushed to the edge of their seat with tense shoulders. Well, Thomas especially since he had wanted everything to be top-notch. If he could describe the party in a phrase, it would surely be, without a doubt be reeked with gold. And reeked with gold it was. After overseeing the lavish bar, he had hurled the stacks of money for the place to be drowned with stacks of money that were once in his bank. He still hadn’t figured out why he had done so (wasting money that caused Polly to stumble); although, a part of him believed that he wanted to leave a mark on the Italian to the power that bled in him. The consequences of any side of the party to oppose the set punishments had been secured and agreed by both sides. Though, the Italian believed that the English should finally consume the right liquor, so, he had shipped his preferred liquor (that of his own company) to the social gathering.

Y/N let out the air she didn’t know she was even holding in. The dark blue flapper dress sparkled even under the faint light of the distant moon. It was embedded with slinking strands of jewels which draped down as if sagging curtain lines. Stars decorated and embellished her dress, it felt ethereal to have the whole galaxy plastered against the skirt, priceless. Twirling in front of the golden mirror, she wore a grin that peaked from one cheek to the other.

Lost in the specks of glitters, the knock on her hotel door peeled her attention from the enchanting sight. Victor had made dozens of her outfits if she was lucky to visit Paris. However, his style had always left her astounded.

On the other side of the door stood an incredibly nervous Finn. Drowning in sticky sweat from head to toe, Finn wondered how many more litres of the liquid his body could secrete despite the chilly night from the recent showering of rain. The palms of his hands were drenched with beads of sweat, the tie he wore was suddenly too tight despite the incessant amount of times he had adjusted it. Finn’s fingers unfurled over the tie as he remembered the conversation with his eldest brother.

“Whose petrol did you suck, huh, Finn?” Arthur cackled, hand smacking over the youngest back. Under the hazy light of their house in Watery Lane, Finn’s suit was a blur of rich blue. After running his fingers down the lavish-looking suit, the eldest couldn’t believe Finn was capable to enchant someone.

While Arthur was rummaging through the table of clanking glass bottles, Finn mumbled with a smile he couldn’t help but sport, “Y/N got it for me.”

The scavenger hunt for the whiskey bottle halted. Arthur’s calloused fingers hovered over the packed alcohol glass containers that called for him, “Y/N?”

Despite the buzzing in his ears, Finn’s hum as a reply made way to the eldest ears, “We’re going to the party together.”

Taking a second to realize his words, Arthur poured himself a cup of the liquor, “You and her close?”

The smooth cloth caressed against his fingers as he straightened the waistcoat for the hundredth time. Clicking his tongue, Finn replied, “Sure.”

Arthur nodded, chugging down the whiskey in a gulp. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the blur of the younger man, fondling with the pocket watch. Finn could not stay still. The youngest Shelby was rocking on his feet, fingers in and out of his pocket, hands straightening his waistcoat. There was only one viable solution to his nervousness.

Finn’s eyes brushed over the blue bottle. Relief engulfed his body at the sight. While tapping out a line of the white powder onto the wooden table, making sure it didn’t seep into the cracks, Arthur inquired, “D’you know their history?”

Midway of the line, Finn’s neck craned up to glance at his brother. Although Finn did not know the pair his eldest brother was talking about, he shook his head. Arthur proceeded, “We always thought John had the ring ready. Even Thomas heard bells singing in his sleep. The war was horror and yet, the two of them made it worth fighting for.”

The bottle in Finn’s hands shook, glass dancing to the tighter grip he held. His dead brother was in love with Y/N? Steadying the heaving of his chest, Finn breathed in the line. Finn shot up, shoulders rolling to pick up his date for the night. There were questions blaring in his mind that were in need of answers, desperately. But tonight, the drugs were his leash.

Before he had the chance to yank his tie and alter it, the door creaked open. His jaw grazed over the carpet floor. The dress she wore glittered under the hallway lighting, the hem had been sliced into dangling strands, brushing over her knees. Maybe Y/N should’ve taken a breather before opening the door, maybe then she had the time to compose herself.

“Y/N..,” Finn mumbled, still in awe. “You look fantastic.”

The woman pressed her lips at his compliment, her cheeks flushed crimson red, “Thank you, Finn, you don’t look bad yourself.”

The cheeky smile played on the boy before he extended his arm, to which she gladly took. During the car ride, Finn had made countless glances towards the woman who sat next to him. It was a miracle he did not crash the vehicle.

Once the car had stopped in front of the golden building, Finn mumbled a ‘wait’ before zooming out of the car, opening the door for her. A pleased smile crept onto the woman’s lips. While the pair sauntered towards the smeared light of the bar, a trio trailed behind them. Silently following their boss, the three men were dressed in uniform clothing, an oversized coat hung on their shoulders.

As they approached the elegant green door, the moonlight bounced off the golden doorknobs to shimmer the iridescent sparkles. The air outside of the club was hefty and still. There weren’t a lot of people capering on the street. There were only half a dozen men who had been moving about.

“So, when do you plan to visit me in America?” With her fingers caressing over his velvet suit, she hadn’t bothered to throw a glance at where she was even walking, placing all her trust in him to guide the two.

Finn chuckled. Although her face was hovering a hair’s breadth away from his, he didn’t muster the courage to change his gaze. If what had left him astonished and speechless, how could he react to her up close? The closeness between the two allowed him to sniff the strong yet chill scent of vanilla.

They were closer towards the bar, now. Their glass panes of the French door was hazy, it was smeared with a blur of plastered yellow paint, obstructing the passer-by’s ability to take a glance on who partook a glass of whiskey. However, the crying of the trumpet and chill jazz seeped out the crevices of the door, to play in the silent cry of the night. On the empty street, wandering mice could dance as they scour for food for the night.

Halting in front of the door, Finn turned his shoulders to face the woman. His fingers trailed from her arm that had wrapped around his to her bare fingers. Tingles trickled on the skin he had run over, despite the occasional singing of the wind.

Y/N’s eyes watched him in interest, where had he gain all this confidence? The question was hurled through the window as her head gone blurry. His warm lips pressed against her evening glove-covered knuckles. Flickering his eyes to meet hers’, Finn couldn’t help but sport a satisfied smirk once he spotted her cheeks flushing.

While his thumb brushed over the bumps of her knuckles, he mumbled, moving his body closer towards hers, “When this war’s over and I get to convince Tommy, I’ll go to America.”

“You need permission from your older brother?” An amused chuckle fell off her lips.

Nothing fell off Finn’s lips while the carefree song trickled into his ears, “Yes, he needs to know I won’t be coming back to Birmingham.”

Bloodshot up to her cheeks, before she had the chance to react, Finn interlaced his fingers with hers. Their digits weaved through one another as they stepped closer towards the bar. While Finn tried to suppress the smirk that had curled up on his lips, Y/N’s eyes never found the convenience to blink, had he meant what he said?

As soon as the door creaked, cracking a gap between its frame and the slab of wood, boisterous chatter and jazz fled into the night air. Gold sparkled into her eyes. It was an overwhelming amount of the precious metal. If the marble counter and silver sparkles weren’t enough to blind her, bodies that passed her blared their sparkling gold into her eyes. The incessant amount of gold prickling her vision made her ponder, was the night holding something grand?

They made only three steps into the bar when they were stopped.

“Weapons? We’ll have to pat you down,” Y/N’s eyebrows clashed in confusion. “Both of the parties ban weaponry.”

Finn nodded when he had recalled a smear of memory in the family meeting, though, he couldn’t remember it vividly because he had snoozed off. His fingers slithered into the inner pockets of his jacket, the frigid material caressed his skin before he had brushed against a freezing metal that clunk with his nail. Tugging the pistol out, it was soon out of his grasp. The doorman turned his gaze to the woman, although he was to walk away, Y/N let out a sigh.

“Finn, one second,” The Peaky Blinder’s eyebrows furrowed before he extended his arm which she graciously took. A tint of red was smeared against his and the doorman’s cheeks when her hand crept under her dress. “Here.”

The blushing doorman reluctantly grasped the firearm, “Oh, one second, just one more.”

Finn couldn’t even lay a glance on her, his crimson red cheeks had not yet cooled down when he had turned his gaze away to give respect to the woman. The air was sliced with a sharp blade. His mouth gaped open when his eyes landed on the weapon gripped in her hand.

“Take care of her, or else you won’t ever hear another trumpet.” The doorman vigorously nodded at the order before he paced away with the weapons.

Poking his inner cheek with his tongue, Finn looked at her, impressed to how she had brought two weapons, “What else you got under there?”

“Finn!” With a smack against his chest, the pair let out a series of laughter as they descended down the red carpet, their heads turned to gaze at the extravagant bar. Thomas had outdone himself. It must’ve cost stacks.

“Tommy booked the place, it’s only us,” Bopping her head, Y/N didn’t bother to inquire what was lingering behind the, ‘us’. “Thank you.”

The figure that weaved through bodies passed on flutes of champagne while a silver tray rested on his palm. Finn handed one to the woman of the night. After a nod of gratitude, the employee paced away to serve the customers.

“Y/N, this is my cousin that I told you about, Michael.”

Clasping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, Michael wore a large grin, “Talked about me? I’m honoured,” Finn’s smile dropped down when the Grey mussed his hair. Despite him being recently discharged out of the hospital, Michael’s strength would never abandon him, no matter the dose of morphine, “Glad to meet you.”

Once they shook their hands as a greeting, Michael’s figure faded into the crowd, either returning back to his mother or to tangle with a woman, “You’ve caught yourself a big fish there, Mr Shelby.”

The pair’s neck turned to face the voice, to be greeted by the father and son duo, “Mr Aberama Gold, Bonnie, this’s Y/N, she’s the ally providing us the guns.”

“Indeed, with that face of yours, no one’ll suspect a thing.” She didn’t know if she was to smile at his words. Soon, their figures were diluted in the crowd.

Her fingers dug deeper into Finn’s arm when her eyes landed on a familiar, too familiar man. Y/N’s eyes blinked rapidly, not knowing if she was hallucinating or if her champagne had been spiked. The caterpillar of a moustache that sat below his nose was just like it was three years ago. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Matteo’s eyes narrowed at the familiar group of men trailing behind the couple, which was met with the opposing Italians’. Then, it all clashed once a booming voice echoed through the bar, “Y/N!”

The woman’s eyes didn’t mean to graze upon the heads rotating to face who the eldest Shelby had called for… but, she did. As if he had been pulled away from an amusing conversation, the matchstick that rested on his lips nearly clashed against the marble floor. Arthur’s figure sprung out of his seat when he saw the lady of the night entered the bar.

Her gaze with her ex-fiancé remained. His aquiline nose pointed at her as if it had been surprised by her abrupt appearance. Surprised was an understatement for the Italian gangster. The red streak on his cheek had remained, a forever scar he would have to bear. As his hand descended to place the glass of liquor onto the table, the black ink flashed a smile towards the woman. The same tattoo artist had painted the same tattoo on the same spot for the two. What a fool she was, to think they would end up together. The memory of her nagging about his hairstyle seeped through her head. He stuck with the horrible slick back?

“Why’s he here?” Y/N whispered under her breath, too quiet as the band’s bustling noise filled the room.

“Hm?” Finn hummed, however, noticing her gaze towards the man who had killed his brother, Finn’s jaw clenched before replying, “Luca Changretta sent men to kill John.”

Just like that, the idea that the night would be one for her to enjoy had demolished into a rubble of bricks and dust. She tried her best to digest the new information, but it was too much. Her ex-fiancé had killed the first man she had loved?

Eyes watched as the Italian gangster rise from his seat, chattering died down with the suspenseful pace of the Italian towards the middle of the bar. Two pairs of eyes set upon his unexpected action like starving vultures, in need of the hidden truth. Even though Arthur had not seen his brother’s murderer stand up behind him, he gleefully sauntered towards the girl, to only be halted by Johnny.

“Y/N.” Luca breathed out, the name falling off his lips like the silk sheets they used to drape over their shoulders while their bodies connected as one. He had said the name multiple of times when she had not played a figure in his life anymore; it was nothing like her standing in the same room as him. Although his eyes flickered towards her arm wrapped around the youngest Shelby’s, his chest finally felt free. It wasn’t the same for her. Her chest tightened with every step they both took towards the middle of the bar. Finn’s hands were occupied with two cups, focus lingered on the pair. While Luca wore a faint smile, Y/N bore an unpleased frown.

Luca’s tongue raised from his bottom teeth, ready to mumble her name again. Silence weaved through the bar. His hand rested on his sizzling cheek, the spot she had slapped him was now throbbing with pain. A series of gasps echoed in the air once the noise of her hand meeting with his cheek trickled into their ears.

“Not as painful at the last one.” Luca chuckled it off as if to give a sense of clarity towards the prominent watchers, cracking his neck.

“What’re you doing here?” The venom dripped from her lips, her eyes narrowing on his dark eyes. Was he the mafia the Peaky Blinders were against?

Luca huffed, not liking that he was being watched while he was having a long-awaited conversation with her, “I could ask the same to you.”

“You lost that privilege years ago.” At the mention of why they had split apart, Luca’s jaw clenched. In the middle of a party, set by Thomas Shelby, the murderer of his father, his ex-lover was to converse to him about his mistaking past while they were being watched by strangers?

“We should talk in private, away from wandering eyes,” Luca mumbled, deeper as if he had not wanted any eavesdropping ears to hear him. “Amore.”

A scoff fell off her lips when he dared to call her the nickname he had given her when they were in love.

“Don’t call me that.” The Italian couldn’t help but pace back a couple of steps when her pointing finger prodded his chest, fingernails stabbing his sternum. His hands raised in surrender, gesturing to everyone he would not dare to lay a finger on the woman.

“Parliamo altrove.” (let’s talk elsewhere) The Italian words fell off his lips like a sharp dagger, embedding into her skin. The tone and words would’ve sent her knees to quiver, it used to but not now.

She rolled her eyes at his attempt to fade away from the crowd, was he trying to protect his reputation? “Fanculo!” (fuck that) She stomped closer, forcing his neck to crane down at her. “fuck you!”

Luca let out an exhausted huff, hand dragged upon his face at the uncooperative woman, “Se sei ancora arrabbiato-“ (If you’re still mad) He was cut off by her disbelief scoff.

“If I’m still mad? If I’m still mad?” The tone of her voice raised, she finally realized the silence from the band. “I saw my fiance in bed che abbiamo condiviso with another woman and you expect me to be fine?” (we shared)

“Tesoro-“ She cut him off again

“No!” Her index finger pointed at him, fumes of anger burst from her ears. “You go back to the whore you fucked e tu la chiami Tesoro,” (and you call her treasure). “Because Luca,” His name fell off her tongue like silk, he gazed at the beads of tears threatening to gush out. Her finger quivered at the amount of anger she had suppressed. “You love your treasures, not throw them away.”

He bit his inner cheeks at the remembrance of how the names he would call her fell off his tongue in a series of moans. Having had enough, Y/N spun back to face Finn who had watched the dispute with mouth hung open.

“Let’s go, Finn.” Without a thought, the Peaky Blinder placed the barely drunk cups onto the counter before trailing behind her out of the bar.

“Y/N!” Luca yelled at the fading figure, to only be halted behind the wall of the trio.

Cold air engulfed her. It was no longer still but the presence of the strong wind caused her exposed shoulders to shiver, quivering at the breeze. Finn who saw that she was quivering, not sure if it was because of the sudden drop of temperature or what had happened in the bar, moved his nimble fingers to tug off his coat, draping it over her wavering shoulders. Bitterness lingered on her tongue, a stir of emotions had been provoked out of her throat, tugged from the deepest over her chest. All she could hear was the coat singing as it lands on her shoulder, the rapid clicking of her heels and a pair of feet shuffling behind her, trying his hardest to keep up with her pace. Although she wanted to mumble a ‘thanks’ to the one who had gifted her warmth, she was afraid a sob would echo into the air. Two times she had allowed Finn to see her in such a broken state which was two more than enough.

A waver from the fire well confined in the walls of the gas lamp played a peculiar puppet show against the dark night. With her head craned downwards, her eyes had lingered on her fast-shuffling feet that wanted to flee away. The tightness of her ribs suffocated her lungs, holding the organ as a hostage. Before she could take another step, the familiar scent of cigarette filled her nose. Finn’s eyes faltered close as his chin rested on her head, his fingers weaved through the locks of her curled hair. Her fingers clutched on his jacket, nails digging into the lapels of his jacket as if to hold her body up. Blocked by the lingering odour of cigarette and salty tears, Y/N let out a sob once she had realized she was crying. Once the realization kicked in, the streams down her cheeks splashed onto the concrete as if a drizzle.

Finn’s arms wrapped around her head, covering all angels of her sobbing face. Had she digested it all? Doubts rammed in when she replayed what Finn had said about the Italian. An ugly cry echoed out of her throat. All she could see was the scatter of clothing, haphazardly thrown across the wooden-floored hallway. None of the female apparel was owned by her. Not the blue laced brassiere, not the drenched knickers. Was it easy? The question she had grown to live with ever since he had dragged a whore into the bed she and him had made love for countless of times. The question she had wanted to ask but feared her tears would be seen by him. Was it easy to fuck another woman who wasn’t her? Because Y/N could vividly see the first few months she had tried to get into a bed with someone who wasn’t him. It took four years for her to only want him.

She could hear the wanton sounds trickling into her ears as if to taunt her. Staggering moans stirred with groans. Not hers, it wasn’t her. Three years of their relationship and a year into their engagement. That was all it took for him to fuck another woman.

Footsteps approached Finn from his back. Although the man had wanted to twirl around to take a glance at who snuck up on him, he had a sobbing girl in his arms.

“We’re leaving, Tommy called for a meeting.” Arthur patted his youngest brother’s shoulders, glancing at the locks of the woman before sauntering away into the fading darkness.

The Peaky Blinder didn’t want to do it, but he pulled away, fingers trailed from the back of her head to her drenched cheeks. As his thumb wiped the stream away, her eyes were glossed with a layer of haze that sparkled under the moonlight. He mumbled in a tone as if he had a newly born kitten his grasp, “Never had I have to hold a beautiful lady cry in my arms three times.”

That was enough to pull a chuckle from her. Craning her neck back down to view the petite puddle of her bitter tears that would soon be engulfed by the occasional rain of England, Y/N bit the bottom of her lips at his jest. The corner of Finn’s lips curled up as he succeeded before gently pulling her face up by his hooked index finger, “He’s not worth it. He doesn’t deserve a jewel.”

His eyes flickered to her pursed lips. Before they knew it, their lips moulded into one another, fit into each other like a perfect puzzle piece. His hands trailed down towards her waist, softly pulling her to his body before one laid on her cheek. Her fingers were soon laid flat on his chest as their eyes shut tight. Y/N pulled back, inhaling the fresh air as the ones in her lung had been used up.

“So you deserve a jewel?” Finn threw his head back before pulling her into a long-awaited kiss. “Let’s see what shit Tommy has to say, eh?”

With his hand weighed on her shoulder, her fingers brushed over the bumpy hills of his knuckles. Finn and Y/N’s eyes watched as a ruckus spiralled out from the family. Arthur’s clenched jaw caused his neck veins to pop out (nearing to explosion), his body was seething with anger while a series of never-ending words hurl from his lips as if it was a catapult, all inclusively directed towards his only younger sister. The room was suffocating, particles of fury and red were stuffed in the walls that seemed to inch inwards, ready to strangle the irritating war. Scoffs and slamming of hands on the wooden table was the irregular tune made by the refuting family. It was prominent on who was on which side, it was clearly separated by the extensive table; splitting the two groups apart. Although the topic of the argument had started with Y/N’s connection that was correctly presumed by none other than Ada, it had somehow lead to their past mistakes as children. It went from ‘passing information to the enemy’ to ‘you sold my favourite hairclip for bread!’.

Fluttering petals of rosy red crawled up Ada’s neck, smearing her face. The woman was educated, intelligent and smart; however, her patience and will to live while arguing with her stubborn eldest brother was short. Arthur would mock her witted reply which enraged her. If she didn’t have the speck of maturity in her (and the reminder that she was a mother), Ada would’ve sprung onto the table and smack the man. It was like a bloodbath with the two, on the other hand, it wasn’t the same for the aunt and the nephew. They took casual puffs of their preferred cigarette, although, it seemed that Polly was the one who would spark a comment after lingering her eyes on her only niece.

Rummaging her fingers through the pockets of Finn’s single-breasted overcoat that was still draped over her shoulders, she pulled out the clanking chain of the pocket watch. It was twenty minutes past eleven. In the line of firearm business, late nights was an aspect she had to learn to adapt to. However, late nights was also the time she had had enough which is why doing business with the woman so late could only end up with a disastrous ending. Connor copied his boss’s actions before he pressed his lips, ready to watch the scene unfold before him. The three men threw knowing glances at each other as they have seen it first-hand, experienced to what a late hour can result in. Dante tried his best to not let the laugh fell off his lips when he recalled the time one of her clients ended up on his knees. Late nights call for a catastrophic boss.

In the corner of her eyes, puffs of migrating clouds peeked into her view. Although the room had practically reeked of the deadly fumes, the nearby scent provoked her to snatch one for herself. If she was to go through another minute of their hurling words, a cigarette would be the first good cause. However, it didn’t have the same promising results a bottle of good ol’ whiskey provided.

Craning her head as if she had been enchanted to, the mist called for her, whispering her name in a blurry yet choral tone. Dante’s orbs that were once set upon the family that seemed to be cracking like a fine China piece, darted towards the pair of eyes who had been ogling his cigarette. Although there was a slight argument to the presence of the Italian in the room, he was glad Thomas had won with a swerve just like that of a politician. As he passed her a cigarette, the Italian could feel a pair of eyes pierce onto his cheeks. The corners of his lips curl up like a mischievous serpent. Hovering his lips over her ears, blocking the boy’s view of the woman, Dante mumbled in a raspy voice he would use for whores, “Il ragazzo.” (the boy)

There was no need for her to inquire when she felt a tighter clench on her shoulder. Finn’s eyes seethed anger, a red coat of paint over the glass pane of vision. Y/N hummed, picking up the hints of what the Italian implied. Slightly amused by herself participating in the scheme, Y/N swam in the stream, ready to flow with the boat’s rocking. Dante wore the devil’s smile as he pulled one cigarette for his boss. A sigh of relief fell off Finn’s lips once he noticed she had just wanted a cig. The sense of jealousy gushed out of his skin.

Dante’s cigarette was dying alone in his other hand, its flaking ashes pierced into the carpet with a sizzle. So why was he rubbing another one over his lips? The Italian did not quiver his eyes away from the gawking Shelby as he dampened the unfiltered cigarette over his lips. Dante placed the cig on her lips, a colossal smirk sported on his lips. While her cigarette waited for the fire to burn its head, Y/N’s eyes batted like a curtain in a windy summer’s breeze as she gazed at Dante, the stick was now on fire with a flick of a lighter. There was a shimmer in her eyes, a plaster of sparkle. It was something Finn had wanted, all to himself.

Connor shook his head, slightly entertained by Dante’s wit and ability to piss people off with his sharp green eyes. Once her lungs were warmed by the intoxicating bonfire of fumes, she shot up from her seat, startling the pissed off Finn.

“Alright, listen, I’m going to make it short and simple. After I left England, I went to America. Met Luca, got engaged to him. He helped me build what I have today. Four years in our relationship, he was in bed with another woman. Now, it’s incredibly late at night and I’m sure your children are very much missing you at home. Goodnight.”

With a bop of appreciation for their understanding, her three men trailed behind their boss. Finn darted his eyes at the creaking door; impulsively, he dashed to run outside of the building. The wind whistled, breeze swirling around his body that was not protected by his coat.

“Finn… what’re you doing? It’s late. You should be getting some rest.” Patting her gloved hand over his red cheeks, she entered the car.

Noting her men was not around, he quirked up, “Where’re your men?”

Once she started the car, she turned to face him, “They needed to finish something.”

He gnawed on his shivering lips, contemplating on the idea, “Take me with you,” Before she had the chance to give a reaction, he proceeded. “I can protect you.”

Patting the indent of a pistol that was tucked in his trousers, Y/N narrowed her eyes if it was a good idea. Because the last time it was the two of them, the night had not gone so well; she could defend herself just fine. However, there were times you say fuck it, “Fine, get in.” Without a word, he hopped in.

“Have you ever touched a woman?” Heavy puffs of air grazed over her skin as her fingers brushed over the fuzz of his face. Finn’s eyes flickered to hers, away from the smeared paints of her lips. The grip he held on her waist loosened as the words began to swirl in his head. Was she going to walk away if he had said no?

Running his tongue to moisten his lips, the Peaky Blinder reluctantly shook his head. Strands of hair poked down to curtain his face, his brown locks blocking his eyes. With a finger hooked on his chin, Y/N gently pushed his face to meet hers. He gulped before saying the words, “No, I haven’t... touched a woman.”

It was a blurry haze. One second they were swimming deep in each other’s gazes, the next Y/N’s body hovered over his. Finn tugged her body as he laid down on the loveseat, her body laid in between his legs. A hair’s breadth away from his lips, she mumbled, “Then I’ll be your first.”

Finn nodded, fingers trailing from her arm to her cheeks, “I want you to be the first.”

As she urged him to stand, her fingers trailed to his forearms, pushing it to wrap around her waist. The tremoring pain in her toes had pinched as she tried to reach his lips. Their tongues danced with one another, puffs of heavy air gushing into each other.

“You can go lower.” A twitch played in his pants as the trousers began to feel tight and clamouring with heat. The breeze of her words brushed against his ears. With slight reluctance, his hands splayed down to rest lower. Although the corners of her lips had quirked up once he had listened to her words obediently, she let out a squeak when his fingers began to knead it.

“I know,” Finn mumbled on her lips as he tapped his fingers. “Overheard Arthur.”

Y/N let out a groan. Throwing her head back at his horrible interruption, she glared at him, “Finn, lesson one, you do not talk about family when you’re going to fuck.”

He giggled, pushing his face into her the crook of her neck, lips running over her collarbone with a brush of his skin. The scent of lingering vanilla trickled on her skin, swirling into his lungs as if an enchanting spell.

Her fingers trickled down his exposed chest, finger tugging his boxers. A wince slipped through his teeth at the smacking pain. Lost in the caress of her tongue, Finn didn’t bat an eye at her fingers that slipped through his boxers. An audible groan echoed, his thighs clenched at the hand around his tightness. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as she caressed his length in a languid pace. With a smirk, she watched as he couldn’t find stability to stand properly. Breathless exhales fell off his lips, the puffs of air caressing her shoulders.

“Y/N…” Her staggering name stammered into her ears once her palm met with his dripping slit. Frustrated at her slow pace, his hips thrust into her hands, followed by a guttural groan from the man. Although she wanted to tease him, she guided him into the bedroom. Not without a whine echoing from his lips, though.

Nudging him onto the bed, Y/N’s bottom lip let out a cry when her teeth bit down onto it. Finn’s body bounced on the mattress before he pushed his back to lay on the wooden headboard. Although he still had his boxers on, Y/N could feel the rush of heat spurt through her veins. His eyes wavered on her running fingers. A twitch in the only layer left which covered the tent growing, caught Y/N’s eyes once her garter has snapped open. Without quivering from his eye contact, she hurled the lace bra to the side. It screeched on the wooden ground before halting. Finn gulped, his throat suddenly parched at the sight.

In a blink of an eye, his boxers were thrown without care; she was on him. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, whites covering the area that was once placed for her coloured iris. Pants and moans trickled between the two scorching hot bodies. Finn’s grip on her waist tightened once she had accidentally clenched around him tightly like a vice.

“Fuck…” Finn growled, heavy breathing coated over her pebbly nipples that bounced with her pace. The night dragged towards the bright morning, filled with relief.

Glistening light poked at her hefty eyelashes with a temper of an untrained dog who waited for his breakfast. Even though the sun was already hung high in the sky with warm rays radiating upon the city, the two slumbering bodies could not be bothered to pace with the world’s set speed nor did they bat an eye at the world’s attempt to yank them out of their comfort. Honks seeped into the crack of the window which was stuffed with the yelling of people. People who were sauntering side by side, however, the volume of their voices was as if the other had stood all the way on the other side of the road.

Lingering in the air was a barely traceable scent. The twinge residual of the perfume she sprayed the night before toned down. The overpowering scent of whiskey and cigarette springing off their coats fought an easy battle with the perfume. It was the first time she had slept without the excessive amount of perfume spraying.

Craning her neck up, the corners of her lips curled at the ethereal sight. With his eyes shut tight, chest heaving at a casual pace, Finn had looked peaceful, tranquil in his own sleep. As her eyes grazed upon the smearing of her kisses against his pale skin, her fingers brushed upon the red marks of her lipstick, tracing imaginary outlines along the marks, up to his jawline. Nuzzling her head into his arm, the drumming of his heart echoed into her ears. A song she could fall asleep to.

“Good morning.” Finn croaked out, body aching which urged him to stretch. Hands caressing the headboard, he dropped his arm to drape over her shoulders, pulling her closer to his warm body. Their bare legs weaved with one another. They scurried from the chilly edges of the bed to find solace in each other’s presence and warmth. With the addition of them slumbering late at night and their exhausting activity, the two had not bothered to cover themselves.

“Good morning to you, too.” The pair giggled, lips meeting. Bodies finally facing each other, Finn’s fingers caressed her cheeks; he swirled the loose strand of hair while their lips moulded into one another. Back arched for his teasing-paced fingers to plunge into her, a knock slashed the tension air. A huff fell off her lips; a giggle echoed from his at her disappointed in the interruption.

“I’ll get it.”

Toes already poking out of the sheets to be engulfed by the frigid breeze, a shiver crawled up his spine once the warmth of the covers was no longer defending him. Faint rustling from the door seeped through the cracks as if the person could not find a casual position.

“No, stay here. I’ll get it.” Although Finn was slightly reluctant, he nodded at the hand gripped around his wrist. Once his body submerged back into the pad of heat, his eyes lingered on her figure as she sauntered towards a robe, body bare for him to gaze upon. Running his tongue across his lips, he gnawed on the flesh until she was out of his sight. With a frigid weapon in her hands, Y/N moved like a cat, sneaking upon without producing a quiver of sound.

The pistol was useless. After a mumbling of ‘Room Service’, followed by haste shuffling of feet against the carpet, Y/N waited until the shadow faded; no presence of the person. Jumping quick on her feet, the woman yanked the trolley in before slamming the door shut as if she was being watched with a target hovered over hers. What was she to fear? She knew Luca was the enemy, what would he do? Stacked upon each other as if building blocks, pieces of freshly cut fruits sat as a tower, somehow still balanced. Surrounding the tower were plucked out leaves, thrown around it for decoration. An uneaten part. Almost as if hidden, a piercing corner of a card poked out from the plate, the rays of light bouncing off the material to shimmer in her eyes. A sigh brushed her lips.

‘Six-thirty. Inkberrow Hotel. Stratford-upon-Avon. Henley Street. Do not bring any of the fucking Shelbys. –L.C’

A noise that was midway of a scoff and a huff echoed in the air. The familiar handwriting was smeared with frantic scribbles, almost as if he had left to write the note last minute. A few more months and she would’ve had the same last name.

“Bed’s getting colder.” Her eyes faltered shut, hands raised to tangle her fingers with his hair after placing the gun on the tray. A pair of slithering arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her back to press against him. Pressing a chaste kiss on her exposed neck, a smacking noise played in the air, causing a giggle to trickle out of her. Although her fingers were nudging the paper into the pocket of her robe discreetly with invisible movements, Finn’s eyes brushed over it. However, he didn’t bother to prod as he had other ideas in mind.

Craning her neck to the side, her lips hovering a hair’s breadth distance away from his, Finn could feel the warm breeze when she mumbled, “Yeah? Let’s make it warm.”

A twitch stammered and she let out a squeal once his arms raised her in the air.

Even though Y/N held onto the hope that Finn would remain longer in her sheets, there was a minuscule part of her that knew he was to leave anyway. So, it did. A ring from Thomas and the youngest Shelby would obey without any refute. However, it didn’t mean she would give in without a fight. So while he suggested for them to shower, she had grounded him into the bed for a short while before he had trekked to the bathroom with her on his back, clinging onto him like a monkey. With the first phase of her plan gone to waste, she proceeded with the second phase, which was in the bathroom.

Although she had tried to linger the moment by brushing over his chest, it had only worked until he recalled the urgent call. Once they were out of the bath, Finn had only gawked at her before his bare body had been covered with his suit. How had she been infatuated by him? Finn was a spell, a dangerous one. A part of her had tugged on the time for him to leave because she had wanted him to stay longer, but she knew, underneath the bubbling surface was her tight chest had not been ready to meet the long-awaiting appointment. Despite three whole years. Were three years even enough?

Once Finn had left the hotel after countless of sights that urged him to stay, to which he had yanked away from, she was left on the edge of the bed with the crumpled note arched on the tips of her fingers.

As the door cried in the still air, Luca’s wrist halted, hovering over the sheets of paper with a pen whose ink had begun to dry. Although he was in the midst of scribbling vital information, the blaring lines had only smeared against his eyes, his brain was not able to process the moment he had been waiting for, for far too long. The air he had enjoyed with a twirl of breeze and a stitch of his whiskey had suddenly felt hefty on his shoulders. The pressure tightened around his chest like a whip. Fragments of his ribs cracked like china dinnerware that met the ground with a clash, floating in his chest cavity to pierce against his muscles. Once the door met with its frame; the shuffling of the maid had faded, Luca’s tongue swept over his pearly white teeth.

Y/N noticed there were no overpowering sounds trickling in the background. As his eyes grazed over the ink one more time, he pushed his back against the chair, shoulders squaring up. With a caress, the sleek, luxurious pen which must’ve cost more than an average one since it was embellished with gold and jewel of diamonds, the pen rolled over the wooden table to play a suspenseful tune. Finally, his eyes met hers. It felt like the night before. A voice in his head shook in disbelief as it implied its opinion. This is just his imagination, he had too much. Although he took years to compose himself, build himself back up, sometimes, time is not what one needs to start a decent conversation. Without a thought in his head, he blurted out, “You fucking the Shelby boy?”

The frog leapt out of the crevice of his mouth; the creature hopped onto the hovering lily pads in the air. Her eyebrows clashed in confusion at the brash accusation, “Three years and that’s the first thing you say? Be grateful that I’m giving you the privilege to even speak.”

A staggering breath sang out of Luca’s lips. With a gesture towards the guest seat on the desk, he popped in a matchstick into his mouth. Noting bad habits were pulled out, Y/N lit a cigarette, reluctantly plopping on the seat. Luca watched with furrowed eyebrows at the smoke dancing into her lungs. The Italian man hated the horrible habit she had during their relationship, always bugging her on how it would be the death of her. While his tongue danced with the wooden stick, his eyes lingered on her casually dragging the cig, “You still smoke that shit?”

“You still biting matchsticks?” Without a word, he nodded, tongue poking on his cheeks. There were countless thoughts in his head, yet, time felt so restricted. As he ran his eyes over her dress, he pushed himself off the table.

“What’re you doing here?” The air was an ocean. Sunk at the lowest level of water, the pressure sat on her shoulders. She was a fish roped to an abandoned ship, struggling to flee away from the sauntering sharks. Silence. Her fingers brushed over one another as she watched him pace towards the alcohol cart.

“Whiskey?” A hum played in his ears. His square back faced her as he refilled his own cup since what was about to happen clearly needs whiskey, and another cup for the guest. Placing a cup in front of her, he plopped back into his seat. “What’ve you heard?”

“A vendetta.”

Luca hummed, his eyes glued onto the swirling tornado in his cup just like when he had been told of the heart-breaking news by none other than his distraught mother, “They killed Angel and Father.”

Digging a grave in the shrivelled velvet purse, her fingers were engulfed by the warm stitching. Although the history between the pair was rough over rugged waves, memories will linger. Y/N will never forget the high admiration the Italian held for his father. To be groomed as the heir and the successor of the empire that Vicente has yanked out from the deepest of American soil, words murmured about Luca had been hurled around, an inevitable future everyone could see. Y/N remembered word-to-word. Feared for their quivering loyalty, the people who had even the minimal of ties with the Italian syndicate, had to learn their consequences first-hand if they were to step out of the boundary.

Despite him being portrayed as this painting of the devil in a cloth of black, there was an underlying layer, beneath the one he had coated himself in. Y/N got the privilege to meet that part of him. The Italian did not hover the façade of a mask in front of his family; in fact, the belief of blood being thicker than water was the reason they all had gotten along. Uplifting when surrounded by his blood relatives, Luca had been an excellent older brother. Everyone could claim so even with a glance. Y/N’s throat suddenly became parched in realization. Luca had lost the only brother he had, “Luca…”

Not tearing his eyes away from the cup of whiskey, he mumbled under his breath, “Mother misses you, wished you were home.” Before she even opened her mouth, he gulped down the whole drink.

Ever since Luca had courted the woman, it was definite for Y/N to be interrogated by the Italian. During the course of befriending his family, Audrey had taken a liking to the girl. Seeing the effects Y/N held on Luca, Vicente had peeled his wife’s overprotective layer, which soon caused her arms to wrap around the woman. The feeling of acceptance by the Italian mafia had been a foreign emotion. To be seen as one and not a threat built a tie with each member of the syndicate. Chewing on her inner cheek as if a stress-reliever, she took a sip to ease the pain, “Have you told her?”

“What do you take of me? Of course I told her,” Luca’s gnawing teeth sawed on the matchstick as if a blunt saw. Though, he was more of a beaver who had migrated elsewhere. Painfully recalling the moment he had cracked the reason to why his ex-fiancé had fled away, to his mother, a sorrow scowl sported on his lips. “Didn’t talk to me for two weeks. She heard that I was drowning in a bar, then she cooked up those pasta you liked.”

“Go home, Luca. Staying here is no good for you.”

Hurt layered his eyes as the strain his voice staggered down the steps, “Why should I? You won’t be there.” Luca’s head darted away. The sentence clogged in his throat. You won’t be at home. Deep down, Luca knew, no matter what he would do, nothing would bring back the scorching love the two had. Had, the past he should’ve already moved on from.

“No, I won’t be at home. But I know that Capone is singing in victory while you’re here.” The Italian let out a scoff while his towering figure shot up from the seat. The chair let out an ear-pitching screech, no different than that of a triggered explosive.

“It’s for Angel and Father!” Pain weaved through his words. With a slam on the table, flying sheets of paper danced in the air as the empty glass swung in place.

To be courted by the Italian had taught Y/N countless of things not many knew about him. After four years of being with the man himself, Y/N had concluded that he was as persistent and stubborn, “It is for Angel and your father, but you have to go back. Here, you’re vulnerable. Capone is King in your absence.”

“I was vulnerable when they died!”

Scoffing at his words, she too, shot up from her seat, her purse was slapped against the surface, letting out an echo, full of frustration, “I was vulnerable when I found my husband was fucking a whore!”

Taking a second to digest her words, Luca mumbled with a clench in his jaw, eyes narrowing, “So I leave their deaths in vain?”

“Going back to New York and staying there is not leaving their deaths in vain. You know I’m right, when have I ever been wrong? Go back Luca,” Splaying on his large hands that were once a source of warmth on her cheeks, Y/N’s hands pushed his palm onto his beating heart. “And remember them here. Their deaths will never be in vain.”

Eyes trailing from her hand to her eyes, Luca mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

A haze of misty smoke drowned the room. Dangling between his fingers was a huffing cigarette whose head has been flicked to a pile of cremated ashes. The faint sizzling echoed from the crystal ashtray, accompanying the only other present sound of paper turning. While his fingers glided over the sleek sheet, Thomas took a drag of his cig, pondering to the typed lines. Although it was nearing noon, he felt he needed a haste nap in his bed. Terribly. The lines of words squeezed into one another, clumping up into balls of black ink just like the period of time when he had not owned a pair of glasses. Except, this time he did (all to blame the immeasurable volumes of liquor he had chugged down). An unreadable tragedy. Letting out a frustrated sigh after his head could not digest the word, the warm vapour of his cig wrapped around his head as if a blanket. No matter how many cups of liquor he had refilled, the droopiness in his eyes was impeccably heavy.

Finally over with the uncooperative feeling, Thomas shifted the stick to his non-dominant hands. The frigid kiss of the pen bit into his palm, sending shivers up his arms. Even though he wanted this to be over; he wanted the day to end, the papers must be read thoroughly as any slipped lines could be the end of his empire. But, honestly, Thomas was nudged. Fuck it. Gliding over the surface in one swift movement, Thomas scribbled his signature. Somehow, the black strokes seemed as if he had pondered with great thought. The loop of contemplation between the ‘o’s concocted a circle, an orifice to the hole he was forever to be stuck in.

Boisterously, the crying door let out a pleading creak. Thomas’s eyes snapped away from the dozen sheets of paper he had gone through that sat on the top corner of his desk, even though a hefty stack rested on the left side, the glistening crown it wore blared into his eyes for hours. A slight furrow in his eyebrows played before he clicked back his pen, taking a sip of his drink, ready for what news the woman came in for, “Call it off.”

Without a word uttered, Thomas quirked his eyebrows at her statement. Shutting the door behind her, Y/N made way to lean against a wall, swirls flaming from her cig created a hazy mist around her. The battling of two cigarettes trickled in the air while the lingering odour of whiskey cowered in the corner, “I know when you’re planning and you’re planning something right now. So, call it off.”

Thomas blinked his eyes. The rays of sun danced through the cracks of the blinders, blaring into his eyes. Placing the vision-helper onto the surface, his fingers made way to massage the clenching that rested behind his eyes. If only he could pluck the orbs out to satisfy the itch. Glowing a minuscule orb, the light source sitting on his desk smeared a flickering green onto his face (a contribution to his sleepiness), “What the fuck are you saying?”

“Luca’s leaving.”

With a sweep against his ears, the clenching muscles in his lungs halted. The gears and spanners in his body did not creak a limb as his brain processed her words. Thomas wasn’t sure what to feel. A can of petrol regurgitating its contents into the bonfire he made from the vain death of his brother. It was a bitter scorch of fire, swirled in a cooling mint. Despite the refreshing drinks he had consumed, all of its effects wiped off once the words were stuffed into his throat, “What?”

“He’s going back to New York.” Y/N mumbled, fingers running over the velvet spines of books stuffed onto the bookshelves.

“And why the sudden change of mind?” There were so many ways he could react; Thomas Shelby didn’t know which one was appropriate with his current mood.

“Gave him an offer.” Quirking an eyebrow, the corners of Thomas’ lips curled up.

“Will I be invited to the wedding this time?”

“I’m not marrying him,” Y/N almost huffed out. “Said that I’d work with him.” Thomas hummed, fingers lacing into one another as the back of his mind began to calculate a plan. Well, plans. To kill or not to kill. Pondering to himself, Thomas branched out in the countless of ways of response. Was he to leave his brother’s death in vain?

“Good. Cause Finn would not shut up about how good you were.”

The smoke seeping down the column of her throat screeched to a halt, clogging the airway at his words. A tint of red smeared her cheeks at the prominent smirk the man wore. Oh, was the boy done for.

A layer of light glazed over the green-tint of water, grazing over the horizon in smears of blurs. The island her foot once rested upon faded in the distant, it became nothing but a haze of grey. Orbs of yellow embedded the vertically-placed cuboid buildings while a stroke of gold plastered across the city. Sinking into the vast, never-ending horizon of cerulean blue, the arms of the sun widened, radiating rays of warmth upon the night before it slumbered.

Crashing of waves sang into her ears, the overlapping of the warm grumble from the ships’ horn and the hasty shuffling of feet against the deck created a sense of adventure. With a lot of memories and experience in spending countless of days entrapped in the cabin over the migrating waves, Y/N had found herself accustomed to the smell which some people would found sickly. The twinge of salt and smeared breeze of the pure ocean trickled in the air, not an odour that a new traveller would find pleasant.

Chattering of overflying birds who wouldn’t find the need to rest their vocal cords played from above, raining upon the travellers as if series of bullets. With the kissing of wind engulfing her figure, Y/N stuffed her hands in the warmth of her coat pocket. The corners of her lips curled down at the memories she decided to reminiscent. People she won’t be seeing for quite some time; a grave she won’t be able to visit.

Other presence of people ebbed. Nauseated by the overpowering pungent of blocks of salts, the onlookers who had exited from the boat to the wooden deck to embrace the view shuffled back in. Only one remained. Y/N’s eyes never left the sacrificed, infant waves who rammed into the rusted metal sheets of the boat. Too lost in thought to realize the temperature of the air faltered, zipping down to bites of frost. Echoing from a great distance, which trickled closer to her proximity, a pair of feet rubbed against the beads of rain decorating the deck.

Seeping through the barrier of salt with a muffled slithering, the odour of freshly smoked cigarette battled with the ocean’s musk, “Let’s go back in, it’s cold out here.” Once the words fell off his chilling lips, her body tingled up the new change in temperature. Finn placed a chaste kiss of heat on her cheeks, despite frost cracking on his lips. Their gloved fingers tangled with one another, weaving like irritating locks of hair. Making their way to their designated cabin, warmth gushed through their pores. A heart can be mended back, you just need to find the right string.

Part 1 | Part 2

67 notes · View notes

kaetastic · 4 years

Text

HISTORY UNFOLDS. 2/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

word count: 15.4k

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, fluff, smut, profanities, age gap (read note)

Part 1 | Part 3

Darkness cast over the city. The trimmed ribbon of the black cloth wrapped around the sky with a tailor’s meticulous, delicate fingers. Although in Paris, stars would be vomited against the dim night, there was only a handful that embellished the sky of Birmingham. Threading through her legs were the silky sheets of her hotel bed which were merely thrown over her, to only droop over some parts of her exposed skin. When the civilians finally took notice of the cowering stars, the bustling noises had decreased as the arms of the clock tiptoed to the number four. It would’ve been easier for Y/N to sleep through; however, the milling thoughts in her head found no need to rest. A toothpick sat in her eyelids, obstructing the eyelids’ abilities to shut. A sleepless night while a smear of bitter honey spluttered across the sky, the bucket of paint had been kicked to slash against the grey painting.

Despite her excessive amount of tossing and turning in the sheets, no position had been comfortable. To rest a limb in one spot for far too long was shoving the clenched muscles in a scorching furnace. Poking a toe out of the sheets tickled shivers up her spine while cuddling it under the covers were drenching her back in sweat. This was an issue she had already had a sorrowful farewell with. Well, she thought she had. Moments of too early in the morning like these were rare unless she was up working (not a good idea) or out for a party, she would've already been in the comfort of her bed. After having to already deal with it a few years ago, she had sat down with her bottle of vodka; she was in a conversation not even artillery would pull her away from. It should’ve been the past. After countless of huffs and exhausted groans, she laid on the side of her body as her eyes stared into the abyss of the early-morning sky which had been trespassing hints of the approaching sunrise.

It seemed sleep was only an idea and her body being a court, disagreed vehemently. Nothing seemed to go hand-in-hand. Her body was prickling with heat, her fingers wanted to only caress her frigid guns and her mind had amused her by replaying the recent call she had received from her boys.

“Y/N, twelve boxes are on their way. What are you doing up? It’s one am. Didn’t expect you to pick up. Are you drunk?” Once a hum echoed through Gavin’s ear, he let out a sigh while the sight played in his head. “Better head to bed, Thomas said he’ll be sending someone by midday, you’ll be needin’ good rest.”

“Yes, mom.” Gavin scoffed. The corners of Y/N’s lips curled up as she imagined him rolling his eyes at her offensive words.

“I’m not sure if you could recall but there was a customer you had… dealt with in the past, he goes by Edward Coleman,” Picking up from the singing silence, Gavin unwounded the story. “The coal guy,” When greeted with a continuation of silence, he let out a sigh. “The one who came in that bright green suit.”

“Oh yes, I do remember that one. A ghastly choice. I remembered I gave him a card to my tailor. Though, I don’t think he bothered to visit..,” Gavin hummed from the other side of the line. “Before Luca gave a piece of his mind…”

Her voice faltered to silence at the abrupt mention, Gavin raised his voice, slashing a blade through her train of thoughts before it could be dragged on. Having to be her assistant ever since the beginning of her business, he had been beside for most meetings. He had been the one she had gone to when she was in need of advice (a choice as he didn’t participate in petty jests unlike Dante who found solace in patching drenched cloth of gin in other people’s trousers). Gavin, accompanied by the two other men had comforted her while she downed on burning liquor; however, he was the only one left, the other two passed out on the ground of the club. With so, he had been her bank of moments that weaved through her and the infamous American-Italian mafioso, “Yes, that one. Two of the cargoes will arrive at his warehouse. We had dumped four previous boxes when ties were… cut. So, all that is left is your call with the man himself.”

The call ended before Y/N’s fingers glided over the rotary phone. After half a dozen of lines uttered out of her intoxicated lips, it led the woman to successful extortion.

Although she would’ve normally slept with a grin after the cooperation and good news, it was not one of those nights. Even the perfume she would spray whenever slumber decided to dispute and resist, held no effects against the exceptional night. A faint yet prominent incense danced in the bedroom. The scent of freshly blooming flowers tangled with the gentle kiss of the morning’s dew grass. The young scent of petals floating on the surface of a lake twirled in the air.

Even though she had incessantly insisted, possibly nagging to Finn that he should take a good rest on the bed which was more comfortable than the rigid couches which she had noticed are only appealing to the eyes, not to the touch- he had declined every offer she placed onto the table. It was difficult for her to accept rejection because usually, it would only pour in oil to fuel her stubbornness. Without a doubt, she would fight until she had won, that was until a gentle yawn fell off his lips. Never would she forget the innocent lingering behind his eyes and the beads resting on his eyelids when the sound resembled like that of a meowing kitten played on her ears, she had decided to give it up and obligate to his idea.

The frizzly laces embellishing the nightgown caressed her skin, pricking into her whenever she made a slight shift in her position. Her feet brushed over one another when her head had decided to replay back memories that used to bring butterflies to flutter in her stomach. Lifting her hand in the air, the moonlight twirled through the glass pane to create a terrifying shadow of her obstructive hand. The finger did not possess a necklace. Finn’s abrupt question mumbled in her head, echoing as if a voice had whispered in a grand, spacious room. Her fingers twirled around, dancing to a mellow rhythm as her eyes run over the empty finger. It was at least a year ago when there was a prominent mark that her skin wore, the imprint labelled her as a fragile woman, exposing her to fluttering eyes that dared to glance at her fingers to only be sold by the fact that she was a mere lady who had been another case left by a man. Nothing rings and gloves can’t hide.

An ache in her chest thudded her hollow ribs, closer to the walls as if it desperately pleaded to burst out. Her head stared up straight, eyes tracing over the ceiling. The intricate and meticulously winding of gold around the white ceiling blared into her eyes. A staggering exhale filled the hefty air. Her eyes squeezed shut as tightly as possible as she rested her hand on her warm radiating chest. Clamming with sweat, her palms that clutched her hands dug it into her chest. It was as if it was yesterday, the scent of another woman’s perfume lingering in the air as if she had been splattered and dragged around the house. The scattered clothing that she knew she hadn’t owned painted the floor by trailing to the room she used to share with a man she would’ve called hers. If the ring was meant to label her as a taken woman but his heart was not set on hers, what was the point?

Even though it was four years of struggling hills, uncertain highs and sorrowful lows, it had always been him. She was so certain. Even other people would raise their voices to mention how the pair worked so well together. However, Luca seemed to always rant about it when they get home since he had believed that all they wanted to do was suck-up. Through so many incidents that would drive a couple into insanity, they had made it through, together.

Only for a day to end a four-year commitment. A night he had claimed to be full of gushing tears that he had collected behind a dam for several weeks; a night he had chugged on bottles of liquor. To only end up in the same bed he had made love countless times with the woman he had sauntered up the marble stairs to the towering ranks of the firearm business, with another woman. A whore his cock found solace in. That’s what the Italian claimed his side of the story was. The tightening of her chest was like a curling hand squeezing the joy stuffed in a ball, collapsing her airway, leading to rapid intakes of air. She could hear her ribs crack, crying out as it pierced its blade-like fragments against her muscles. Gouging her fingers deep into the comforter that had started to fire up, a diamond splashed onto her pillow- he was not worth a cent for it. There were memories and moments she wished she could see purely, not this one. It was a haunting sight, an unforgettable tightening.

Everything was vivid in her head. How badly she would like to smear that piece of memory with ashes of her cigarette. The unorganized bed she had arranged in the bright morning had been a routine before landing a kiss on the cheeks of who she thought would’ve been her forever loving husband. But no, he was a cheating man. A man who had escaped death multiple times. Bullets may have made home in her skin, but the moans of another woman in bed with the man she gave her heart to, it was that split fragment of toxic ammo that had embedded in her heart.

Shooting up like a flick of a cocked shotgun, her body stood straight as heat pierced into her skin. A staggering breath left her dried-up lips once again while she tried to anchor herself in reality. Nothing played in her eyes nor a twinge of scent trickled in her nose. Without missing a second, she sprung off the bed to clamber towards the cart that possessed the liquids that could potentially save her from the reunion with her memories. Once she stood next to the closed doors, she yanked out the bulbous glass head before tilting the container, forcing it to vomit its content into her cup. His hoarse, raspy voice played in her ears. She could feel his soft and gentle brushes of his calloused fingers against her delicate skin while his frigid rings spiked shocks. The plan of filling the liquid to the maximum was cut off, she abandoned the idea before chugging the burning liquor down her parched hatch.

With few swallows, she gripped onto the golden stand, clutching it once she felt her legs quivered as if her cane had been snatched. The ringing in her ears caused her to smile when the torturous memory had halted; his voice was not heard, his touches were not felt. A blissful moment she had indulged herself in. As her legs gave up on her, the faint second of the flickering feeling overlapped with the ear-drumming loud crash she had caused; the sound she was oblivious to. But whoever watched her from the above despised the whole of her, enjoying the torturous memories even when she had a second of joy to find solace in. They played his hands caressing her arms with gentle care, a hand hovering over her waist as their bodies swayed in a slow beat. Before a soft kiss was pressed onto her cheeks, his musk rubbed onto her.

Finn’s body jolted up as if high volt of electricity had thrust through his veins. His heart palpitated in his ears. Worry overflowed in his body, without wasting a second of time, he barged into the room, slamming the door open with a pouncing heart. The sight left him perplexed and speechless for a minute before he was pulled back into reality. It seemed she had that effect on him. Something no one has ever done before. It was like a painting hung on lavish museum walls that had all the possible guards tolling over it, the sentinels guarded the precious and meticulously painted masterpiece with hawk-like peripherals. Sat on the floor was the bawling woman, a heavy sob squeezed out of her throat as her fingers clutched her thin nightgown. Glass seemed to haunt Finn as it painted the ground once again, flooding the floor around her but none had, thankfully, made home in her skin.

“Y/N.” Finn uttered, his eyes darted around the room to only see a few standing glass cups on the cart, half of its’ accompanies had already been murdered. Kicking the glass away to the side to create a clear path towards the fallen woman, Finn nudged himself through the route he had made, squeezing through the narrow alley. Her name fell off his lips; it was so saddening, full of pity and a twinge of concern. Springs of tears burst from her eyes as she bawled out with heavy breathing, her lungs bounced vertically, nearly squeezing out of her throat.

“I’m sorry.” The amount of her mumbled apologies left Finn’s heart to ache, the sight was still something he had yet to digest as he had just woke up from a much-needed slumber. Swatting the air with her hands when Finn had tried to get a hold of her, Y/N helplessly let out a staggering sigh before her quivering knees tried its best to push her off the ground. He pulled back, thoughts sprinting in his head as he wondered what he should do. While he watched her regain her strength by standing, his impulsive act caused his wiggly arms to snake around her back once she had tremored. Y/N’s body went limp in his arms as her energy diminished in thin air. All her pent up anger and sadness wasted through gushing of tears.

Resting in his arms which had been a task after shifting in awkward and uncomfortable positions, Finn’s head hovered over hers as he walked out of the bedroom and into the living room. Her ears rested on his chest, his heartbeat singing a cherish song. Despite her being on the edge of sleep, her eyes had not found the weight on her eyelashes heavy.

“What’re you sorry for?” Finn inquired in a quiet tone, slightly reluctant at her vulnerable state. His eyes tried his best to not glance down as some parts were inappropriately exposed to him. Although his muscles had tensed at the thought, he could not help but remember it was as if he had been talking to a fragile child. Finally plopping down onto the couch he had slumbered not too long ago, his feet were ready to pace towards the opposite couch. Her fingers dug into his arm, a quivering order mumbled out of her lips.

“Don’t go.” She mumbled, her eyes shadowed from the iridescent rays of the moon.

With that, she fell deep into the darkness of sleep.

Tommy barged into his office with an unhappy frown on his face, his gait thumped thunder with every step. The floor danced with every beat he had inflicted like a colossal earthquake, springing everyone’s desk into the air as they halted their typing. The door to his room quivered in fear as he slammed it close behind him, never taking a second peek if the wavering slab of wood had not been damaged. Why would he? The stacks of money stashed in his bank were enough for him to replace the door endless amount of time. The grand rolling chair screeched painfully against the floor like his son’s cries when the infant was in need of milk. Seeping out of the door’s crack to play an awful tune for his workers as if they needed more torture to be present, the noise demolished their ability to hear. Glances were thrown, confusion to what had managed to ruin their boss’ day so early in the morning. Lizzie stared at the stable door before turning her gaze to the rest of the workers, “What you looking at?”

Without raising a voice, the female employees proceeded with the task that sat on their tables.

Grabbing the telephone with ease, he cycled his finger on the rotary phone. His movements were smooth like a silver line. No, more like a slithering serpent who was ready to bite. A familiar Italian voice quirked up.

“Sabini.” As soon as his name echoed into the speaker, the Italian gangster hurled it back to its place, fear engulfed his bones. Thomas sneered at the game the man was playing. A few months ago, they were ‘friends’. Had he truly teamed up with the blood of his father’s homeland? If the first call he made as soon as he entered his office had already caused his blood to boil, what else does the day have for him?

For the following few hours, Tommy had spent his time making endless of calls, even though, Lizzie had entered his office multiple of occasions with a stack of papers in her arms for him to sign, his attention had rested on the calls rather than the texts on the papers that needed his signature to finalize. He wanted to make sure his little brother and his old friend was safe; however, Tommy could not risk any more lives so that his worry could be demolished. Peace called for sacrifices. If only the location of Y/N’s hotel had been in his major circle, he wouldn’t worry much. Unfortunately, an old friend can make you impose on things just for you to impress them. Thomas had stepped out of his line.

Tommy could not blame her though, his abrupt call had led her to hastily interject the event between her plans. Although it was on the edge of Birmingham, the area the Peaky Blinders had control over, across the line were possible allies to the Italians. It seemed everyone but him were siding with the Sicilians. His eyes beamed at the silent telephone before he impulsively committed to a need.

Ringing up his aunt, Tommy mumbled once the tone from the other side faded to a feminine voice, “Finn and Y/N had been ambushed last night.”

However, before he could continue to what he wanted to say, the older woman had screeched, “What?” Painfully massaging his abused ear, his mouth gaped open to proceed. He was yet again, too slow. “And why have I just received this news now?”

“There was nothing we could do.” Tommy huffed.

“Where’s Finn?”

“Y/N’s hotel.”

Polly let out a scoff at the mention of the woman who had left a mark of an impression on everyone, “Great, just great. Were they shot?”

“Finn said a couple of cuts, nothing bad.”

A moment of silence sneaked into the line before Polly raised the question she had formulated, “What’s the plan?”

“We sneak you in.”

Leaning back into his chair, the ear-screeching noise pinched Tommy’s ears. Although he had been slightly exhausted from the amount of calling he had made, the phone had itched a call he needed to make. He let out a sigh before picking it up, dialling the number.

“Finn?”

“It’s Y/N.” The woman replied with eyes shot red as if her orbs had been dipped in crimson red. A sigh of relief fell off his lips when the familiar voice played on his ears.

“What happened?”

Y/N mumbled a nasal reply, a consequence from the volume of tears gushing from her now-dry eyes, a nuisance a couple of cups can’t fix, “The car broke down, no gas. Don’t fret, I had it repaired in the garage.”

“You didn’t have to, Y/N,” Thomas sighed. “I’ve sent a few of my boys to scour around. No Sabini men were seen. They probably crawled from whatever hole they came out of. It’ll be fine to leave the hotel, I don’t doubt your skills.”

Y/N placed back the phone back to where it resided. That was Tommy’s way of thanking her for saving his brother’s life before she took notice the additional presence in the room. Y/N threw a glance at the boy.

“Oh, Finn.”

“Tommy?”

Y/N nodded with a faint tint blush playing on her cheeks. Last night’s encounter was so embarrassing and humiliating. How could’ve she let him see her in such a frail state? Now all he could think about is probably how unfortunate of a woman I am. The plan was simple with sieve-like holes, if she acted like it didn’t happen, he too would forget about it… eventually. Finn’s eyes lingered on her, a part of him wanted her to possibly speak up about what had happened last night. It was not something he could just throw out. But then he remembered that he was merely a guest in the woman’s hotel room, a nanny for her friend’s younger brother. He leaned against the table, eyes watching her as she paced away. It was a bit too bright in the morning to Y/N’s liking; she squinted her eyes as she made way towards the kitchen for any indication of food. Although coffee would satisfy her perfectly, the prominent growl from a starving stomach quirked her ears.

“Come on, let’s get some food to fill up the belly shall we?” Her hand made home in Finn’s as she guided him towards the couches in the living room. Throughout the short walk, his eyes were glued on the connected hands, a warming heat radiated from hers to his like a warm furnace. Had she forgotten about what had happened last night after passing out from the amount she had consumed?

“What’d you like Finny?”

“Finny?” Finn’s eyebrows furrowed, finding the name to be atrocious. Never had he been called Finny. It sounded like a fish.

Y/N chuckled as the name was repeated in her head, she loved her absurd creation, “That’s gonna be my nickname for ya,” She grabbed the velvety covered menu from the coffee table as soon as the two plopped onto the couch. Flicking it open to reveal the abundant offer of meals, she crossed her legs. “Has anyone called you that yet?”

“No, until you made it a thing.” Finn huffed. He had not found one good bit of the nickname. “You made it longer?”

With a glare, it had successfully shut him up.

“Read what you want,” Finn didn’t move a muscle, frozen in place at the word that had haunted him. His blood ran cold as he tried to digest her words. “Come on.” He shifted on the loveseat, however, leaving a prominent distance from her. A huff brushed her lips while she moved closer towards him until their shoulders were practically brushing against one another. It was like last night again.

“Well? Which one do you like?” The black inked strokes blared into his eyes. The printed words quirked an eyebrow at the boy, taunting him in a high pitched voice. Although he could make out only a few words, the rest let out a scoff at his inability to even read it.

“I, uh,” He stuttered, eyes darting around the page with nervousness. There was an attempt to read a line in his head, to only be stuck every time he was faced with a longer word than six letters. The fancy and elegant words used was something he had barely come across, he could not understand any of it. Disappointingly, he turned the offer down, hoping she would let it go. “I think I’ll pass.”

Y/N pushed his hand away that wanted to hand her the menu, “No. You’re eating. So, choose.”

A minute passed and Finn had yet to give her an answer. This was it, just like every other girl, she would walk away and leave. Her patience would wear off. With his terrible previous experiences, Finn had already visualized the scene. She would only let out a jab and a hysterical laugh before hurling him out of the room as if abandoning a new-born puppy.

“Are you worried about the price? You don’t need to think about that, just-“ Finn had cut her off with a tone that was louder than he had expected it to be.

“No! No, it’s just uh…” Finn shut the menu before resting it on his lap. Nearly melting into the seat, he let out a sigh as he could imagine the disappointment plastered over her face as he would spill an unfortunate secret. Already reading his posture and the air, Y/N had beat him to it before he could say what was hurling in his head.

“You can’t read or you don’t know the meaning of the words?”

With his head hung low, his fingers fiddling with one another in nervousness, he confessed, “I can’t read.” Like a beetroot, he flushed red at his embarrassing secret. He shut his eyes, ready for the painful laugh to be targeted at him, prod him, and taunt him. But nothing.

Reading the ambience, it must’ve been something he had tried his hardest to hide away from the eyes of people who could potentially use it against him. She pulled his shoulders with the softest of touch, making him face her. Gently caressing his cheeks, she softly lifted his face so he would gaze into her eyes, “I’ll teach you.”

Even though he would’ve accepted the offer without missing a heartbeat, he had remembered that he was a Peaky Blinder. A twinkle sparkled in his eyes at her generous offer which diminished into a dull shadow.

“You don’t have to, it’s fine, I’ll pass the food.”

Ignoring his refusal she flapped the menu open once again, being as stubborn as she is, “You see this one? Have you ever had pancakes?” Her voice nearly matched a squeal when she realized pancakes had probably not made its way to England’s top food ranking as of yet. Excitement bounced through her veins when his head shook to a no. Before he had the chance to inquire her, she had dashed to her phone. What seemed to be a long list of ingredients, she went on and on, specifying to probably her men of what items she needed to make the breakfast.

With her, the heaviness on his shoulders declined. A smile sported on his face as he stared at her while she made the call.

“Tommy, I’m telling you, you have to check her background,” Ada incessantly repeated like a broken parrot as she followed her older brother who had not found a place to rest. After Ada had barged into Thomas’ office without a set appointment, to which she called bullshit because she was family, she had been roped around him as if a lost dog who had been stranded on the street for just one day. Thomas paced from the bar to gazing out of his office, her babbling bounced off his ears into the air.

His eyes did not quiver away from the flopping newspaper as his eyes sprinted across the path. The cigarette dangling in his fingers let out a sigh as he took another long drag. An eyebrow sprung up when he had read another interesting headline which enchanted him to read the colossal paragraphs. Before he could indulge himself into the news, it was snatched away. Irritated by him ignoring her, she had enough. “Tommy, I saw it. I saw the black hand.”

“Ada, you barged into my office with no appointment,” The woman crossed her arms, letting her weight to rest on one leg as she cocked one hip. “As you know, I’m a busy man,” Tommy leaned back on one of the couches, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Did anyone else see it? Just you? Ada, you must have fallen terribly ill,” Tommy stated before ambling towards his desk as work occupied his mind. The time he had given himself to rest and ponder had been ruined by his younger sister. Ada let out a huff when the tone of his voice resembled without a care, so nonchalant, it was exhausting to keep up with him. She had always wondered how Grace even dealt with the cryptic man.

“So you were not deaf after all,” The man hurled a glare at her. Resting the newspaper onto the desk, she splayed her hands on the surface, eyes narrowing onto him with a sparkle in her eyes that she would use when she was a mere child to get what she had wanted. “I’m telling you, you have to look into it.”

Tommy inhaled the smoke, contemplating of the request before he let the vapour take over his head, he mumbled with defeat, “Fine,” A cheer nearly left her lips as she believed she had won the case before he beamed back into her eyes like a set artillery target. “We’ll wait for a family meeting,” Tommy rested his arms onto the polished wooden table, fingers swinging the lit cigarette as if it had not been on fire. “What I’ll be doing is going against her back, an old friend.”

Despite his emphasization at the adjective (as he expected her to rethink of a choice, since of how open-minded she is known to be), Ada sported a faint victory smirk that would linger on her lips longer than it should’ve. She had left the office with a gold medal around her neck, a proud present to winning against her frustratingly strategic brother. As soon as the door made contact with its doorframe, Tommy hurled his hands to grab the telephone. Countless of calls were made, words exchanged and deals weaved. Once again, his hands had been buried, not in dirt nor blood, but history. Oh, was it shocking.

The older woman let out a huff as she exited the car, the drive was not as long as she had expected; however, time and age had recently been paying her a visit with ancient joints. The petit velvet bag of a dark purple had blended with the fashion on the street. Every corner she would turn, she would be greeted (more like stared at) with prissy people who were overflowed with layers of clothing, even though the sun had prominently made its appearance. Although the small storage space in her bag led her to carry a limited amount of items, she had only tried to stuff the necessary items she was told to bring tightly in the pouch. The request of Tommy’s list and the vague description of her nephew’s wounds didn’t help in what medications she needed to bring.

They were all suffocated against one another, just like the cramped houses in Watery Lane. Bitterness coated her tongue when she nearly broke her neck to view the never-ending skyscraper. The highest floor might be above the clouds. Glances from the people who were drowned in gold, threw a glance at the woman, their voices and staring were not as discreet as the thought they were. Were they even trying to hide the fact that they were gawking? Polly nearly let out a loud scoff before unbuttoning the top three buttons of her dress to reveal the blaring necklace. It had nearly blinded those curious eyes. A scowl sported on her lips as she made way to her location. Rich people.

The footsteps of Polly Grey were muffled by the lavish red carpet that warmed her shoes she had recently purchased from Paris. Even though the streets were overrun with people with who had their name in ranks, the only person Polly had encountered so far on the desired floor was a housekeeper who struggled to push the cart against the stubborn carpet. As she had stood in the elevator that was playing soft jazz, she had noted fewer people were in the walls of each level as she ascended the altitude. It was most likely because it was the second last floor from the top. Polly could not help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy although she was impressed by the amount of gold she had been flashed in her eyes with. Her eyes ran across the scribbled strokes on the trashed piece of paper before her hands curled to a fist. A faint crumple noise was emitted, the last cry of death before it was stuffed in the great depth of her coat.

Once Polly’s wandering orbs landed on the gold-plated number on the door (the amount of gold had started to feel obnoxiously overwhelming; just like that of a wrong meal), her hand raised to let her presence be known. However, it stopped mid-air when squeals of joy and screaming of excitement seeped out of the room. Furrowing with great confusion, she tugged the corpse of the piece of paper she had murdered seconds ago. Had Tommy given her a wrong address?

The only way of confirmation was to knock on the door. But before her questions could jump on the train, the name she had nurtured for echoed through the silent hallway. It might’ve not been a nuisance for surrounding guests since there were only a handful amount of rooms in the level (all largely spaced out), it was too early in the goddamn morning for her to deal with such jutting rays of happiness.

“Finn! Stop!” A ruckus played behind the door as an echoing metal clattered on the floor. Polly wore her stoic face, her head trying its hardest to figure out what was happening behind the slab of wood. After listening to the horrible music for a minute, she had had enough, all she could imagine was the mess being concocted as she waited. Rapping the door as loud as she could, Polly sent a faux smile towards the housekeeper who snapped her head at the boisterous sound; who then returned the gesture. It seemed that her presence had been noticed for the commotion had died once and for all. Although the whispers were meant to be low and discreet, a pair of rapidly thrown back hushes made its way to Polly’s ears.

Nudging Finn’s arm to open the door once Y/N had tugged out her gun in her hung coat, he let out an annoyed huff when the speckles of her white powder layered on his. Finn cleared his throat to reset the deepness of his voice. Resting against the wooden door, Finn leaned on his right shoulder as he fiddled with his fingers.

“Who’s there?” The obnoxiously forced-deep tone coming from the boy had caused the woman to stifle giggles. It had sounded so peculiar on his infant-like face. Indeed, over the night, the two had created an immense bond. Biting into her hand to cover her slithering giggles, beads of tears trickled down Y/N’s eyes when a noise similar to that of the passing of gas seeped through the cracks of her fingers. Finn shoved his shoulder for her to stay put even though he was also struggling to maintain silence after already letting out a chuckle.

Polly Grey did not have time for laughs and giggles. The older woman whose shoulders were slumped down from annoyance let out an exhale, “Open the fucking door.”

The giggling bundle of a pair was overwhelmed with dread. The joy they wore on their faces ago had vanished in thin air once they realized who it was. Dragged onto the floor were their elongated faces, puddling onto the floor like liquid mercury. Finn had expected Tommy to send someone else, possibly Arthur, but he had hoped his aunt wouldn’t be the one to see him in such a state. When the irritated voice squeezed through the cracks between the door and its frame, all Y/N wished she could do was sneak in (more like throwing a rope down the skyscraper for them to do mountain climbing) a dozen of her men to wipe the messy room in a second.

The pair gazed into each other’s eyes. This was not how it was supposed to be. How could Y/N forget that Tommy was to send someone at such a random time? Well, in all honesty, it had been midday just like he had said; however, when one enjoys, the time passes by in a blink of an eye.

Glancing at the mess they had made, it would be entirely impossible to clean it within a time span of a minute. Well, that is the assumed maximum time Finn would say was his aunt’s very limited amount of patience. Chewing on his bottom lip, he stared at the woman whose face was entirely smeared with the flour. Y/N returned the gesture, nervous to how they were going to assess the situation they were stuck in.

The air surrounding Finn was one of a kind. She had never experienced something so refreshing and new. Never in her thirty-six years of living had she stumbled upon anyone who had ambience the boy had. The aura around him seeped through her, tugging onto her skin, making her feel young, pre-war. Although they had just spent a night together, the hefty elephant that sat on her shoulder diminished once Finn was next to her. In the back of her head, she had hoped that the route led her to somewhere pleasant, just to be reminded by herself that this was her friend’s younger brother, her fling of a lover’s younger brother. It felt like she was deceiving her past and the choices she had made.

“Uhm, just a minute, aunt Pol.” Finn stuttered before he had dashed towards the kitchen that rested at the other side of the humongous living room. To only be halted midway. Dripping from his aunt’s mouth was anything but patience.

Polly let out a breathy exhale before declaring the demand, never had she thought of herself to say it with the two people she had least expected, “If you both are fucking naked, you have ten seconds to put on your clothes before I fucking put a bullet through this door.” Y/N had been walked on a few times in her life, not something proud she would claim to be; however, although she was not going to be walked on (currently), it felt exactly like that. The rush of embarrassment and misunderstanding tinted their cheeks to crimson red. The far fetch accusation was truly off the rail track. Polly thought Y/N was shagging her nephew?

Y/N nudged at the boy to finish the conversation with his aunt, not wanting to interrupt the already awkward talk. Finn rolled his eyes before he raised his voice. At the start, he roared with confidence, until he stuttered, “We aren’t naked, we’re just…”

“Well, if you ain’t bare then open the fucking door, won’t ya?”

Finn let out a sigh of surrender, raising the white, plain flag into the air as he gave in. Y/N didn’t bother to oppose, placing the gun on the wooden table (if she didn’t like being welcomed to a house with a gun, no one else probably does). The two readied themselves to be put on a mocking display. If time was to be dragged, suspicion about what the pair had done would arise. And Finn had no idea on what his aunt would whisper into his brother’s ears if he decided to not open the door as soon as possible. The longer he took to open the door, the more intense ideas in Polly’s head would multiply by a tenfold. Giving in after the wordless agreement between the two by a nod, Finn pulled the door to reveal his aunt.

“Finally. I swear if you two were fucking, Tommy would’ve…” Polly mumbled, her gaze was flickered from the interior of her bag towards the pair. A slight relief plunged into her when they truly were wearing clothes. Even if there were no fussy noise of putting back clothes on, she was glad the two had not danced around with each other. It was bad for business. The pair could not read Polly as she began to digest what stood before her. She stared in disbelief. The gorgeous marble kitchen counter was covered with the contents of the bag of flour, the white powder had puked all over the surface as if spilt whiskey. It was as if a tornado had danced in the room all night.

“What did you both do?” Her hands rested on her chest as she blinked her eyes at the mess they had created. The pile of eggshells were enough for a farm to commence a business, yellow yolk oiling up the floor, waiting for anyone to slip on it. Bowls were scattered across the floor of the kitchen, all with various attempts by the boy.

“Well, I taught Finn how to cook pancakes.”

With a harsh tone, resembling like a mother’s scold, she narrowed her eyes towards the woman, “Ms Stein, you are here because Tommy had called you for business. Not to meddle around with his younger brother,” Polly scolded, grabbing Finn’s shoulders to dust away the flour that sat on his shirt as if he was a child. “I had expected much more from you when I heard that you volunteered in the war.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. The feeling of being looked down as if a kid did not feel good. Y/N’s upbringing was a topic she had redirected away from, never giving in too much information about it, if only she had not counted that one, heinous man who she had spilt everything to. She was dumb, pathetic to even tell him of something so valuable to her, to his cheating arse. But she could never recall a memory of being shouted at.

“Aunt Pol,” Finn grabbed a hold of his aunt’s wrist, halting her from dusting the dirt on his shirt. A pink tint played on his cheeks when he remembered Y/N was still there, her eyes grazing over the two. “Y/N had been nothing but generous and caring towards my presence in her room. Heck, she even saved my life.”

The pair made contact and the two chuckled at the coincidental meeting of their eyes. He glanced back at his aunt, expecting her to at least slightly soften her mood against the lady. However, it seemed she remained unfazed. Typical aunt Pol.

“Y/N? What? Are you two friends now?” Polly scoffed at the news, arms crossing as she darted her eyes between the two. When the interrogated individuals did not reply, she let out a winning smile. “You, wipe the flour from your suit, you look like a child,” Aunt Pol flicked her wrist to point at a random direction, indicating the bathroom. “While Ms Stein and I will sit down and converse, like the women we are.”

Finn darted his eyes between the two female, incredibly unsure if it was a wise decision if he had left. The second he would return to the living room could be worst as the ambience surrounding the pair was already impeccably suffocating. Polly nearly let out a scoff of disbelief when she noticed he needed Y/N’s nod before leaving. Like a dog on a leash.

Pacing into the grand hotel room, Polly let out a hum of approval as she scanned the lavish furniture.

Y/N made her way to the couch after the door was shut behind her. Plopping onto a seat while she fiddled with her fingers, her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip, “What happened to John?” Although Y/N liked finding things her way without inquiring questions since it kind of made things look desperate, how would she investigate the death of a fling of a lover?

Polly halted in her steps before sauntering towards the wide window, amazed at the incredible view, “You have a great view,” Y/N hummed in agreement while she visualized it, although, she could see it lose to other sceneries she had flown through. A minute of silence passed before Polly raised her voice, “John was in the comfort of his home, padded in with his wife and kids. Pathetic man can’t even listen to his brother’s orders,” Y/N’s hand fell onto her lap, the mention of a wife had caused her attention to flicker towards the ground as she imagined what could’ve been if she was to stay. “Michael took bullets because of that man.”

“Where’s he buried?” Without a word, Polly swung the pouch over her shoulder, waiting for it to be taken. Y/N threw a glance of confusion at the woman’s back before standing up to take it from her grasp.

Tugging the bag open, Y/N was greeted with crushed boxes of band-aids and stuffed stitches.

“I already have most of these things.” The former war-nurse mumbled, snatching a vial of glass from the bag, raising it in the air as she inspected it under her dim light. The minuscule grains of what seemed to look like iron fillings caused her to stare at it with confusion before she assumed that it was merely a gypsy medicine. Tucked in her hand were plastic bottles of medication, some had labels while others remained anonymous. The bag was then zipped back shut.

“I know. Tommy insisted,” Placing the bag on a nearby couch, Y/N snatched a cloth to wipe the rest of the dirt that tainted her appearance. “Next to the bridge,” Polly mumbled, Y/N’s attention swung towards the answer. “John is buried next to the bridge,” Y/N bopped her head. “Finn is merely a young boy, he may have turned eighteen not too long ago but he is half your age. And I know, women like us have loads of experience with men.”

Y/N blinked at the woman, never had she thought she would have this conversation with her friend’s aunt. Women like us? What the bloody hell is the woman on about?

“Are you here to talk me out of this ‘affair’ or to visit my guns?”

“I have come here as your client, not his aunt.” Polly answered, turning her back to face the woman.

“Great. I had written my boys a letter overnight and they shall fetch it with the earliest boat to England. However, I’ll be glad to show you the bundles I would label as… failure to depart.”

“Why had you chosen such an… elegant street?” The disgust worn on Polly’s face had somehow made way to display her disliking towards the group of people, despite the brick of walls she had structured when she was out on the golden street.

The woman who drove the car let out a pondering hum, wondering to how she was going to reply to the controversial question, “Well, I’ve had a few shares of resting in places here and there. You hide with the sea of serpents, you just surrounded yourself by soils of crimes.”

The boy who sat at the backseat of the car let out a chuckle at her choice of words. The minuscule noise caused a faint smile to sneak onto Y/N’s lips at her unintentional jest. Although Finn had whined like a baby towards the older woman for him to drive the vehicle which had left his aunt to be perplexed to how close they have become overnight- leading to her thoughts to clash against one another, Y/N had denied his request. Two bullets for the two guests in her car remain. The chance of a scope still targeted onto the two is high, however, whoever stood on the opposite line are still unaware of the former nurse’s appearance and connection to the Peaky Blinders.

No words were stirred in the air as the vehicle approached the warehouse. Finn watched as the scenery drastically change. Not too long ago, they were plunged in a bath of gold and the next, they had been looked down upon by bleak ominous walls. Bulging bumps raised to the surface of his skin once he felt eyes stare deep into him. The inanimate orbs lingered its gaze on the car with vigilant focus, except, it had seemed to be blended in the scenery. The colossal walls reminded him of the malicious kids when he was in elementary school. Smoke danced from the chimneys which looked like bread tainted with branching moulds, as it relieves its anger into the surrounding air.

Although it was peculiar to find trees in such an isolated environment, the colossal bush of trees was smeared grey, just like that of the sinister buildings and its huffing fumes. It was not as tall as the factories, but it was able to massacre a group of five if it decided to limp onto the ground. Gravel was sprinkled haphazardly over the crumbling dirt, a hopscotch-road to those who were lost; a temptation to steer away from the actual path. Y/N clearly was not since she smoothly drove the vehicle as if she knew the layout in the back of her hand.

If it wasn’t haunting enough, the boisterous sound of clashing seeped out of the cracked holes of the factories. Springing onto one another, slabs of metals that was the weight of three tanks slapped each other with pent up anger, held back for years. Through minuscule gaps, scorching blurs of red sprung out of the orifices to sizzle onto the bald ground. Polly took a peeking glance at her nephew, whose glued eyes stuck onto the glass pane, which darted with the curiosity of a child who was finally let out to explore the cowering part of the world. A smile crept up on her lips when the realization kicked her. Finn had not changed even though he was considered a man now. What a joke, sending a mere boy to the war.

The roads were wiggly lines of torturous turns. Loops that were thought it was not even possible to concoct sat at every turn, waiting for the visitors to enjoy the ride. It swirled an effect on heads that was no different than a sea-sickness on a rocking boat on a furious stormy day. Like a serpent who had been fed well during its lucky hunt in the weaving ropes in the jungle, it branched off into valleys. The route was truly a mess. Finn couldn’t help but stare at the driver in awe. She had manoeuvred the vehicle without a halt to the side of the road; she didn’t consume a second to ponder before swerving to a corner. It impressed him to how she had remembered such a mind-playing layout. While Finn tried an attempt to rewind the path they were on, his head clenched. The perplexing of the never-ending roads was able to drive someone to insanity. Connecting the dots to why it had looked so mysterious and sketchy, Finn assumed the path was a ruse to minds who had dared to trek through the maze. If only the poor souls had noted the first indications of incessant branching routes, their spirits wouldn’t be hovering on the plot of land.

Although they had once driven on a main road that was wide in size, the children connected to the parental path were various in size. The main road was no longer seen. Well, it was lost in the branching of paths. After countless turns and rounds, the guests who sat at the back truly had lost their ability to recollect the starting point of the journey. Finally, after the last right turn, the vehicle had stopped.

Realization struck Finn as if a hammer striking the anvil. The factory compromised of a grand square, accompanied by two other smaller boxes on its side. With bronze door as wide opened mouths, the building seemed to be a yawning face with men pacing out of its body at a mixture of pace. Some dashed with hurry while carts of sizzling sticks of metal bounced in their arms, while some sauntered at the leisure speed, hands stuffed in their pockets. After passing by handfuls of similar-looking buildings, Finn noticed this was the first with people outdoors. A chill trickled up his spine. Previous factories screamed of terror and horrifying noises with no actual evidence of presence. It almost brought his heart at ease with relief. However, that was held on waiting when his eyes grazed over the strokes of dusty grey on the workers’ figures. Maybe they hadn’t noticed the fresh appearance of the visitors, but workers proceeded with the task pinned on their heads. Not for one.

“Come on, don’t want those guns waitin’.” After parking the car on a random plot of dirt and making sure it had gone deep to slumber, Y/N hopped out. The air was only slightly different than that of Birmingham. Instead of sniffing in people’s filth, the rapid exchange of goods between the green leaves and the deadly smoke created a breathable air, much tolerable. Balance. Soon, Finn had joined the woman once his aunt was out of the vehicle.

Even though Y/N could’ve halted the car at a closer distance towards the building, the risk of embedding sprinkles of iron dust into the newly changed tires was impeccably high- taking a glimpse at the exterior of the building was enough for one to not take such chances. After all, she was the one who renewed the car. Once his aunt left the vehicle, her mouth gaped open to start a conversation with her nephew, it was left hanging as she watched him dash towards the other woman. Polly stood in place, left dumb-founded while her eyes lingered on his fading figure.

The crunching of rocks and packed pebbles under a pair of feet echoed in the light mist surrounding the factory. Hearing it approach her, the sound intensifying with every stride, Y/N struggled to suppress the quirking of her lips. With a casual pace towards the haunting building, Y/N paced, hands rammed in the warm pocket of her coat, eyes caressing over the building. Before they had entered the woozy route, the air capered with light and innocence (compared to the current situation), now, under the smoke of factories, chains hurled on her shoulders, weighing her down. A faint mist hazed the peripheral if one was to squint harshly. Residing in the dead-centre of the plot of dirt and iron, the factory was surrounded by gloomy logs of trees, whose leaves contrasted with a smear of dark green. Without the presence of the dim buildings in the territory of nature, the weaving branches in the forest would’ve been packed full of creatures. However, there were no other signs of any other life, except that of humans.

“So, Y/N,” Finn quirked up. With those two words, her chest clenched, her fingers crossed in hopes he would not prod onto the issue that occurred last night. Thankfully, Finn had decided that it wasn’t the right time for him to ask her even though he pondered that it might help (in some way) get the concern off her chest if she agreed. An aching part of his chest believed that maybe he was just not worthy enough of being told. A feeling of intimidation cowered in his chest when he felt eyes elevate up and down on him.

Despite being a Shelby, Finn’s experience in his family’s business was nothing compared to the problems Isaiah would deal with or what Thomas would face. He hated it because he knew, they were treating him like a mere child due to him being the youngest. Sadly, there was nothing he could do to oppose them. Even a stroke of a cut that mysteriously appeared would set his family off like a fizzing bomb. Raising his voice would not lead him anywhere, especially when John was present who would swing him around like a ragdoll. Now, he wasn’t and Finn was set with the task of being his deceased brother. Although Finn wore the hat with the razor tucked in it, he had barely used it. Other than the useful times of slicing open a fruit or tearing a paper into two. It was most likely due to the fact that he hasn’t found a need to yank the metal out. He always had his family suffocating him, stealing all of his valuable oxygen as they stood like walls in front of him. But the day before, he was invited to sit at the table. “This your warehouse?”

Y/N’s exposed hands were laced behind her back, cold wind kissing her skin, she had almost let out a sigh of relief when he had not asked her about the incident. She ambled towards the gazing man, who was drenched in dirt, “No, not really. I just had to twiddle some strings and… imply coercion.” The boy nodded, there were so many things he wanted to talk to her about, or more likely, inquire. It was rare for Finn to find someone he could turn to with pounds of words stuffed in his mouth, since of his intimidating upbringing and his environment. However, with her, he had the urge to regurgitate everything out. There was always this need to converse with her, which nudged him to flick his tongue. Delicate silk glided in the tone of her voice, wrapping around his neck to tug his body into her.

“Is your business only in America?” She threw a glance at the curious boy. She could see the resemblance between him and his older brother, Thomas, they were both like a broken radio- always questioning everything at anytime they could. Like a pet parrot that just cannot rest its vocal cords.

“Nosey, I see,” Before Finn had the chance to defend himself, she nudged her shoulders against his as an indication that she was only teasing. “My shipments reach as far as land goes.”

“How come I barely hear your name then?”

Y/N hummed as she thought of an answer, “I try my best to steer out of the papers, didn’t like the face they put on for me. My cargoes don’t ship to England anymore though, had enough of unpleasant experiences here. Not Tommy, never worked with him until now, of course, whatever he needs, I’ll get it.”

“So, all the guns are here?” Y/N craned up at the monstrous building.

“That’s a risky move, Finny. I had them distributed to different ports under different names, wouldn’t want the cops on my tail now, do we?” He shook his head like a puppy who had been kicked under the sobbing sky. “Plus, only two boxes arrived here this morning from France. Had to… cut off some orders from clients as a consequence. These guns are for her to see, I’ll be shipping them off as soon as we’re done. I’m not passing on rusty ol’ guns.”

It seemed the direction the woman was walking towards was to the sole man who had his eyes pinned on them. His body was able to gain the victory prize of every fair, the sledgehammer he held in his hand shot glares at Finn. Everything was just as intimidating as its surrounding, even the wooden box that would look innocent outside a store was tainted black. As if it had been dipped in mud, his overalls peeked a twinge of the original colour of blue while the rest had been smeared with brown. Approaching closer towards the factory, Y/N raised her voice at the great idea her head had concocted, “Would you like to one day visit my workplace, Finn?”

The boy nodded like a child, a twinkle in his eyes sparkled at the opportunity he had just scored for himself.

“Well then, I’ll make sure to be ready with that ticket to New York City” He nodded once again, wearing a wide grin on his face.

“’is no place to run around, lass.” The man warned, bouncing his hammer on his hand while his eyes lingered on the lanky boy.

“A shipment has been stuck here from January, hasn’t it? And a pair had arrived in the bright early morning of today. I heard no matter how many times you tried to bring it up to the police, they never bothered to pass by. Have they?” Y/N let out a chuckle at the thought of the winding street, her eyes wandered around the towering trees. “Wonder if they resting nicely under these trees. How many boxes?” Y/N stuffed her hand in the warmth of her coat, fingers flickering ever so often against the blade sheets.

“Six. Four from the year before and two in the mornin’.”

“You ever cracked ‘em open?” The man nodded. “How much?”

“A dozen.”

The corners of her lips curled up as everything seemed to proceed with her flawless plan, indeed, intuition can be the wagon waiting patiently outside of your house, “Stein.”

The man glanced at her forwarded hand, his eyebrows quirked up as he ran his eyes against her outfit. A woman who was embellished with wealth due to the silky dress halting at her knees, was willing to shake her bare hand without a glove shielding her from the prominent mess painted on him? “Harold.”

The calloused tips of Harold’s fingers pierced into hers for a short period of time. While they were shaking as a greeting, Finn threw a glimpse at the side of his eyes before leaning his body closer to Y/N, her hand still shaking with Harold. During the whispering, Finn’s eyes lingered on her hand which was sure to be painted with his greasy dirt, “Why are there so many guns?”

“Like I said Finny, four of these batches are the ones I have not succeeded to send off to their desired places. Had to stop them off at England.”

The sound of cries emitted by pebbles as a pair of heels pierced into the back pulled Y/N away from the conversation with the man. It halted. Y/N’s shoulder twirled around, her attention darted towards the only other seen woman in the isolated area, “This is Polly Grey and Finn Shelby.”

The musky warm tone wads of fresh cash were yanked out of her coat’s pockets, the rolled-up money sat heftily in her hands as if she had held a bun. Pressing her index finger onto her tongue, a faint bitter taste soon faded before she swiftly yet meticulously filtered through the stack of paper. Finn gawked, eyebrows tugged at his orbs wide open at the number of sheets that she had, stuffed in her pockets, unbeknown to him. It was as if cash had been nothing to her, even the bulge in her pockets wasn’t visible at a far distance.

After separating what seemed like a fair and adequate amount, the lion’s share of the stack, she tugged out a dozen more sheets, slapping it on the main cash, “This is for listening to your boss’s urgent call and this a… tip,” Y/N mumbled, when she felt eyes blared onto her back, she pulled away from the thick wad of cash before taking a glance at the Shelby’s. She shrugged her shoulders at the gazes. “I’m feeling generous today.”

With a stoic face, Harold grabbed the cash. He let his eyes ran around what seemed to be fresh sheets before stuffing it in his pocket. A slight twinge played in Finn’s pupils, the man seemed unfazed when the bulky stack had crumpled under his immense grip, possibly damaging the sleek, pointy ends. A huff left Harold’s lips before he guided the trio into the judgmental building.

Clammy sweat trekked through the valley of Harold’s fingers, his arms that looked like two massive petrol barrels nudged the grand door with so little effort. The metal sheet creaked before the guests were splashed with an overwhelming amount of sounds. Ear-drumming and pitching noise blew up their ears, drills and deafening sound of hammering massacred their ability to hear. No one had acknowledged the presence, their necks stuck onto what rested on their space as they proceeded with their tasks.

Y/N was the first to follow Harold, the family trailed behind her. As the woman’s eyes ran over the men behind the welders, weapons were suffocated in their grips- spraying spheres of fiery red in the air, she let her eyes to be enchanted by what sat on their workbench. Before Finn had the chance to sprint to Y/N, his aunt sprung onto him like a serpent, yanking the boy back by his wrist so he would walk next to her- at the same pace. Tugging his arm out of her grasp, he threw her a look of confusion, why was she treating him like a child?

“You are not her bitch.” Despite the boisterous noises, Y/N was not too far away from the two, to eavesdrop on the gossip. Following in suit, the guests stopped when Harold halted. Glancing over her shoulder, Y/N realized they had walked straight down the warehouse, no quirky lefts or right, just a straight path. She had also noticed that fewer men had occupied the space at the end of the building, only carts of metals and tools hung onto the wall.

Rummaging his fingers through the pockets of his apron, Harold plucked out a set of clashing keys that cried like punished crows. The keys were raised in the air before his meaty fingers hovered over a rather dusty one. After a few seconds of unsuccessful obtaining of the key, he had achieved it, blowing air as puffs of dust evaporated into thin air. Harold rammed it into the lock.

The door let out a creak, not budging its arms towards the individuals despite his effort. He had attempted it once again, finally achieving a victory with a much stronger force. Finn pressed his lips, his eyes darted at the forever traumatized item when he saw a bent was indicated on the metal key.

After a cry was let out from the door, it had been convinced to open. Revealing speckles of dust dancing in the hazy light radiating from the smeared windows, invisible particles swung in the air, rocking in a soothing pace before resting on the thin layer of dust that covered the true ground. Wooden boxes were stacked upon each other, some painted with sombre colours while the rest remained to their true natural colours; although, their original outer skin was chipped off. In an odd way of organizing, the storage room was compromised of stairs, concocted by the stacked boxes.

No light was capable of shining upon the crooks and canny of the room that seemed to elongate with every step, shadows won the battle as light could not obtain a victory. Even though it seemed as if no one had stepped in the room for quite some time, due to the lack of footsteps that would be visible because of the thin crust of dirt present, no rats or wandering creatures were seen scurrying or squeaking, none had inhabited or claimed the room as theirs with a trail of piss.

With every stomp Harold took, puffs of clouds swirled around the ground as he continued straight into the never-ending room. Without another nauseous turn, he stopped in the middle of the room, a long box resting in front of his feet, “This is it.”

Standing next to the buff man, Y/N ran her eyes at the box with her hands tucked in the safety of her coat. Polly narrowed her eyes on the still woman. The aunt watched her with caution, meticulously on every slight movement of any muscles. A hefty air stooped upon their shoulders, the males were holding their breath they didn’t know they were holding until their exhale joined the rest of the speckling dust.

“A crowbar?” Harold nodded when her order was made clear, he squeezed through suffocating spaces before he stood under the sunlight once again, the tool in his hand. As if she had done this multiple time before, Y/N squirmed the claw of the crowbar that resembled the fork-like tongue of a serpent, into the faint gap of the box. With a push of her arm, the box let out a screech as its head flew open. Finn’s eyes widened as he watched her squat down, the crowbar standing still in her grasp. He did not expect her to do so; however, it seemed she kept surprising him. It was something not every lady would do while they wore a dress or just anything a lady would do. Before he could reach out to her, to possibly aid her in any way she would need, his aunt stopped him with a glare of her eyes.

Brushing her fingers over the carpet of bulging wooden splinters, ready to pierce a hole in thick skin, Y/N dusted away the layer of wood. With a few more caress at the corner of the top of the box, a black scribble of a wavering line that sat below a circle was dug out to the eyes of the viewers.

“Wonderful,” Her body shot up, hands clasping onto one another as she patted the dirt on her knees. “Would you lead me to the way of the newest additions?”

With so, Polly Grey had a smear of impress plaster over her face as she watched the sole woman handle what was usually considered as a man’s work. An empire she had controlled, all by and to herself. However, Polly had not let down her walls, just yet.

After driving out of the suffocating environment of trees and smoke, the vehicle had reached the streets of Watery Lane. Hopping out first, Polly stood near the vehicle with the full pouch in her hand, returned back to its owner without an item taken, glancing left and right as she waited for her nephew to join her. Finn bit his lips as he pondered if he should let out the words that had been lingering on his tongue ever since the drive. Not batting an eye at Polly’s glare, the boy removed his infamous flat cap, holding it to his chest before he poked his head towards the front seat, his lanky height caused his legs to poke the back seats.

“Where’ll you be going?”

Since Y/N had been glancing frequently at her rear-view, snatching every chance she could look at the boy, she had noticed his tongue was curling, wrapping around something he had wanted to say but hadn’t found the right time to do so, “Won’t you like to know?” After a few blinks and silence emitted from the Shelby, Y/N pulled her attention away from her coat where she had been digging deep in. Turning her body around to face him, a smirk sported on her lips at the close proximity which was something the boy hadn’t notice. A smear of pink-tinted his cheeks as he shifted on his legs. “I have some business to deal with.”

“I’ll see you again.”

“That sounds more of a statement than a question, doesn’t it, Shelby?” The boy let out a grin, a sparkle played on his teeth before he took a lingering glance at the woman, wanting to savour the moment and embed her face into his memories. Finn exited the car, standing next to his aunt who uttered nothing.

The pair watched as the car drove away. An eye-contact was coincidentally made between Finn and the woman through the set mirror. He wore a wide grin that ran from one ear to the other, pinching his cheeks from the elongated time of joy. As soon as the car had faded away as it took a turn, Finn trailed behind his aunt. They paced into the Shelby company building, ready for the pending topic in the family meeting.

As the chairs were dragged, their legs let out ear-pitching shrieks, the rubbing against the wooden floorboard played a nauseous tune before weights were thrown onto the seats. Thomas paced from one side of the room to the other, a lit cigarette rested between his fingers as thoughts ran around his head. No one could read him, no one ever could. His expression that he wore on his face was always stoic and straight, even a quirk of his lips was uncommon at points.

“Why’s he wearin’ that grin on his face, huh?” Arthur laughed, landing an echoing smack on the youngest brother, causing tremors to shake down his lanky body that had begun to tower the rest of the elders, a grimace seeped through the cracks of Finn’s teeth. When nothing came out of the boys’ mouth, Arthur let out a cackle as he tried to read the silent air before he made way to the table to serve himself a cup of the liquor that had practically enchanted him.

Polly noticed the faint smirk cowering on Ada’s lips to which the aunt threw an eyebrow at. Wonder what got the Shelby woman to be in such a happy mood. Polly leaned back on her groaning seat, her arm crossed as her legs rested on one another, shaking while she waited for someone to start the meeting.

“Well, what is this about?” Polly raised her voice. There was no time to fiddle and play around. Jumping to the gun, Polly wanted the reason for the abrupt meeting to be hurled onto the table because she could no longer be the Gypsy woman that read the cards laid on the table.

Thomas halted in his spot, he took a puff before beginning his introductory speech, “Today’s meeting has been brought to my attention by our dear, Ada,” The smile that was worn on the only female Shelby was wiped off from her figure once all eyes in the room had beamed towards her. Ada hurled a glare, knowing the intention of her brother. “Now, with our recent addition firearm supplier by my dear, old friend, Y/N, there has been prominent… disagreement. Ada, why don’t you tell them of your encounter?”

Once again, all eyes were thrown onto the woman who was baffled by the abrupt push under the spotlight. Thomas wore his normally stoic face, taking frequent huffs of his cigarette as if nothing lurked behind those eyes that watched her unfold before him. But oh, she knew, behind those eyes, he was enjoying this. This was amusing to him.

“Thank you, Tommy,” Ada mumbled, a scowl sported on her lips, her eyes running across the room. An elongated speech was being jotted in her head, the pen dipped into the ink before another surge of idea engulfed the now inferior thought. “It has seemed our recent addition to the business has caught my attention,” Finn’s ears quirked up, all of his attention had been dumped onto his older sister at the mention of Y/N. “It is not my place or position to judge of her… being. However, I noticed a peculiar-“

Before she could go on with the length writing that she had perfected in her head, she had finally learned that this was her family and not an audience of prestigious bodies that she would need to impress by utilizing words buried in the deepest of graves, words they wouldn’t even know of, “Oh get on with it, cut to the fucking point.”

Ada huffed her eyes flickered to Thomas. The leader of the gang gestured a hand for her to continue, leaning against a column while he enjoyed the warmth of his cigarette. She rocked her body like a resting boat before throwing up what she had wanted to say, “I think Y/N might be working with the Italian mafia… or with Luca Changretta.”

Never had she felt so humiliated ever before. There had been multiple of times she had felt embarrassed but nothing could be equalized to being at the centre of attention by your family’s eyes, unwantedly. Especially when a burst of breathy laughter was directed towards you. Arthur wheezed, his cheeks were painted crimson red while boisterous strings of amusement left the oldest sibling’s lips. Confused, Finn’s eyebrows furrowed, his body pulled away from the column he was leaning against. Where did Ada get such a horrendous idea?

“Did you just fucking say what I think you just said?” Arthur snorted, his hands rested on his stomach, trying his hardest to entrap another wave of breathy wheezing. A huff fell off Ada’s lips, eyes lingering onto something else as nearly everyone was against the accusation.

After Arthur’s reaction had died down, Polly raised her voice to interject her own opinion, “I think so too.” Finn shook his head, eyes snapping onto his aunt’s figure.

“What?”

Lighting up a cigarette, Polly took her time, huffing a cloud before proceeding with her agreement with her niece’s statement, “I believe Ada.”

“You think that Y/N has some kind of tie with Luca Changretta?” Finn stood in his place, baffled with what the woman had just said. Not too long ago, she was starting to get used to the other woman. Now she was against and talking behind her back?

Polly took another huff, “Yes, is that a problem, Finn?”

A scoff fell off his lips, “Just an hour ago you were saying how impressive it was for her to do all this crap, now your shit talking about her?”

Thomas took a long inhale of his cigarette, eyes lingering on the two quarrelling, well, it seemed Finn was the only one putting effort in the argument as Polly seemed to only prod her finger into him.

“I was commenting on her skill, which is not affected by her possible relation to Luca Changretta.” Finn scoffed once again, eyes darting at the roof in disbelief. “You’ve spent a night with her Finn, have you gone soft for the lady?”

Lingering his eyes on his aunt for a quick second, the boy ran out of the room with a scowl playing on his lips.

“What got his knickers tied up?” Ada inquired to which everyone quirked their shoulders.

Squinting her eyes at the obnoxiously bright rays of light of the rising morning, swirls of cloud lazily twirled from her stick. The cigarette dangled in her fingers, swinging around as flakes of ashes sizzled onto the ground. Tugging out the singing chain of her pocket watch for nearly the hundredth time, her eyes blared onto the longest arm that had passed the number six, a hair’s breadth distance away from hovering over seven. An annoyed huff trickled in the air, similar to that of her cigarette’s smoke. The designated driver of the day sat back, arms crossed; heavy eyes shut tight as if he was ready to plunge into his grave. That was exactly where he was going to be nudged to when a grumble echoed into the frosting air. The fedora sitting on the edge of his head let out a scream when it plunged onto the floor of the vehicle. Connor shot up, head snapping around like a frantic owl with his hand slipped in his jacket, fingers gripped on his pistol.

The thought of leaving the late Italian man to proceed with the utmost vital meeting with her old friend passed her head as if an exhausted, brittle train. It threw its eyebrows at her, waiting for the woman to glance at the brilliant idea. Nearing to the end of the track that led to a solid mist, the train waited patiently before its lips twirled into a grin. As soon as her lips breathed in the chilly air which was a mixture of her cig and the smell of Birmingham, the door of the house slammed open. If it was already frail and ancient with the hinges nearly losing all hopes of attaching the slab of wood to its frame, then Dante must’ve ended its life quick and painlessly. An echoed ‘oof’ resounded off the walls of the neighbourhood, the pair of women who had nearly been decapitated by the flying door screeched to a halt. The intricate weaved strands of lace covered their beloved hands even though the air was as far away from hell as it could be. Scratching the nape of his neck, he stared at the demolished door that rested on the brick sidewalk, obstructing the path, forcing people to awkwardly scoot around it. Y/N’s eyes had never darted away from a scene as rapidly ever; however, it seemed Dante’s mishap had snatched the first rank of the achievement.

In a scrunched up jacket, the Italian resembled a kicked out husband who had been caught cheating by a far more dominating wife. A chuckle played in her head. Poking his head back into the house, he let out an unclear scream with words glued onto one another. Y/N could only make sense of ‘broke’ and ‘door’. Connecting the dots, the woman assumed that he was informing the only sober and awaken man of the issue. To only be replied with a screeching ‘what.’ Dante shot a sheepish smile to the women who had witnessed a possible crime, before tipping off his hat. Except, he had left it on the coffee table. Connor watched in amusement as Dante realized the absence of the only cover of his untamed, wild hair. However, just like the man he was, the Italian swirled his pinched fingers around his head before he mumbled in the thickest accent of the land he had been born on, “Mmm, the air today is splendid.”

To assume that Dante was embarrassed was an underestimation. Humiliated, that was the reason for his flushed cheeks as he sprinted through the streets, plunging into the backseat of the car. All he wanted to do was dig himself a hole; hideaway for eternity and to never meet another pair of eyes, ever again.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Y/N took a drag of her cigarette before scolding the man-child as if she was his mother.

A blur of figures had passed the area he had created a scene on. They lingered over the door as if it had been yanked out like the arms of a ragdoll. Dante’s ears began to redden as he slouched in the back seat, head hidden under the peripheral of the window. Was it possible to erase a memory? Ideas began to bounce off the exasperated man. Fredrick forgot his name during the brawl against that boxer. Unfortunately, it was only horrible ones which would only lead to brain concussion.

Sniffing the enclosed vehicle, she turned around to stare at the man, “How many bottles have you gone through?” Still trying to digest what had just happened, the curious man peeked his eyes above the window line to only plunge back down when he was met by countless pairs of heads. “Tug up your flyer, won’t you? Your dick is covered with a whore’s lipstick.”

He yanked the metal back up, shifting in his seat, uncomfortably from the fact that his boss had seen a glimpse of his dick and the lingering of eyes on the street. Before he had the chance to raise his voice, a panting Gavin rushed to the vehicle with a dishevelled appearance. Zooming past the suffocating crowd without a second-thought about the visitors, a series of gasps bounced off. Although he was enjoying the tranquil hour in the bath not too long ago, a terrible boisterous call echoed through the silent hallway of the lodge. Y/N felt like a single mother, nursing her adult children who were still dependant on her breast milk.

The door creaked back open, droplets of water splashed onto the ground from the mop-like hair of the American. Gripping on the car, he breathed out in intermittently broken syllables from the exhausting run, “The port at Liverpool, the machine guns had been taken… by a gang called The Snatchers.”

Taking a deep inhale of the smoke which nearly killed her off, her eyes glared into the void as her head spun around. Dots in her head danced with one another, swirling on a platform.

Dante pushed himself up, head poking into the front seat, the darting eyes of the crowd did not quiver him from the sudden news, “Well? Whose turn was it to fetch?”

After taking a deep breath to stabilize himself, Gavin mumbled, “Fredrick and Henry.”

“Weren’t there supposed to be five men?” Connor quirked up.

Dante shook his head, finger pinching the bridge of his nose, “No, after retrieving previous cargoes successfully, I cut some men out.”

“That’s nearly a two-hour drive. We won’t be able to make it in time.” Connor stated while a waver weaved through his words.

The woman took her last inhale through her nostrils, the warm fumes wrapped around her head; her only solace and bliss in the situation God had decided to test her with, “We will, we just have to be very careful.”

Suddenly, the crucial meeting with Thomas Shelby had been thrown into the canal. And oh, if only they could read her mind.

Sharp clicks paced with the heartbeat of the kneeling American. The dried up blood created cracks at the edge with a tender middle. The frayed edges of what used to run through Fredrick’s bloodstream had now smeared against his face as if he had been a canvas for a rouge try-out, or whatever ladies pat on their cheeks with. If his younger sister was to test his face with her newest addition to her collection of beauty products, he would be the result of the horrible attempt. With every energy left that he could muster; with every last bit of power he could mumble a desperate prayer to whoever had watched down on his pathetic life, he had realized it was a she.

“Now, now, what you doin’ near the ocean, kitten?” Even though she was to be at the meeting place with an old friend who she was in debt to, there was no time for her to play dress up for the event. She felt the happenstance of the abrupt commotion and Tommy’s request for her to dress for a horse ride nearly chilling. “Oh, you brought friends for us to play with.”

Trailing behind her were glaring, flared nostrils of shotguns. The only Italian in the damp, humid storage for the shipments, clenched a tighter grip around the stock which let out a faint crack, once his eyes rested upon the bloodied victim who endured his wrong decision. A freshly plucked out cigarette rested in between her fingers. The stick huffed with its exhale flying through the air. Roars of ships sang alongside the crashing of waves against the concrete of the port. Bitter salt twanged as the heavy secreting pores of the ocean regurgitated in the air. The thieves wore hefty buckle belts. The narrow diameter squeezed their waists which bulged out to gravitate downwards.

“Funny thing is, my business is clean. There was a time I played with blood because you see, I don’t like when people touch what’s mine. Got away with the papers when they overtook my cargoes. Rest in peace.” Moving her fingers in a cross gesture, she shut her eyes to listen to the tapping of feet chanting behind her. The soil had been trickled with streams of water from the exterior of the building, the light drizzle of rain spewed a rather, merciful coat of water. “Honestly, I can’t remember their names because I’m too busy to deal with shits like you.”

A minute of silence played in the air, no response from the stealers before they all broke into hearty laughter. Their hands splayed against their obnoxiously rounded stomachs that seemed to be drowning in barrels of liquor while they squeezed out crow-like cackles as if she had uttered a jest.

“Yeah? Shouldn’t you be sucking your husbands’ cock?” Once the words fell off the man whose face was uncanny to that of a snapping turtle, another series of laughter weaved through them. Deliriously, their snorts were no different than that of a crying hyena whose head rested on the cutting board. “Or mine, looking at that awfully empty finger.”

Y/N’s fingers curled into a fist. She felt exposed even though that was the entire plan when she had removed her gloves, shoved it into the car as soon as the car halted. Pressing the trigger was more efficient without the barrier. From an American grazing eye, she had yet to adjust to the frigid air circulating on the island. In the beginning, her knuckles were overdosed on the shots of morphine swimming in her bloodstream. Now? Strands of heat were ready to strangle his collapsing throat. To press the button which would end the whole mess caused her head to release endorphins. Pissed off, just ever so slightly, at the unfair amount of participants, they were one to three. Y/N should’ve known better than to hope because nothing seemed to be cooperating with her. Her blood boiled under California scorching sun. In the furthest back, protected by the walls of slices of bread, was a leg perched on her wooden crate. As if an arched back to heighten the hobbit’s stooping height. Noticing the clench of her muscle in her jaw, the man continued at his jabs.

“Why? Were you whoring around? Hm? Wouldn’t mind those pretty lips of yours around my cock.”

Taking in another drag, she whiffed the fume through her nose before the wind had the chance to drift it away, stomping on the dying stick once it was no use to her. As if a rehearsed silent code, cocking of guns sang behind her, followed by a choir from the startled men.

“Hope you don’t mind me shoving my gun in your ass.” And the first gunshot echoed through the bustling port, followed by a melody of cracking of air.

“Fuck. I missed the meeting with Tommy.”

“There is a hole in your waist and you worry ‘bout a reunion?”

Rolling her eyes at Dante’s antics, Y/N let out a groan. The muscles around the embedded bullet clenched around the foreign object which clearly should not even be in her. A blistering pain echoed in surges, each rounds a higher level of endurance than the previous. Flushed with pink tint smeared across her face, beads of sweat trickled down her pores, which had been gushed out as a cooling mechanism to ease the scorching heat of the gunshot. Grinding her teeth as if stone mortar to pastel, powdered sugar puddled in the cracks before swimming in with her huffing saliva.

“Today’s the only day he’s free and I fucking missed it.” With her head thrown back onto the seat where trails of sticky liquid clamoured on her back, she wanted to lean away from her pesky kids who persistently cried out for a jar of lemon sweets.

Dante let out an annoyed huff when her body leaned away even though he had been trying his best to place pressure on the gushing hole. Her sailor blouse had been drenched with the litre of fleeing blood, “Would you stop? Before we can get to the bloody place, we’d end up with your corpse.”

“Say what you want, I’ll be here haunting your asses.”

“We can’t go back to the lodge, supplies ran out.” Connor stated, eyes darting at the rear mirror.

Dante quirked his eyebrows at the driver from the backseat after he had managed to grip around her shoulders tightly, not blinking an eye to the noise that was a mixture of a hiss and a grimace, “You saying we go to the hospital?”

Although she was in agonizing pain, the word fell into her ears as if a droplet before a storm. Her business was official. She had the law on her side with stacks of paper to indicate her license. But if she was to be dumped into the hospital, drowning in her own blood, most likely three-quarters corpse, she didn’t want to deal with the cops. All they were going to do is nag and ramble while she would be wrapped in bandages like a mummy.

“Can’t go to the hospital. They’ll ask too many questions.”

“Well, then my queen, where shall I drag your dying body to?” Dante sardonically threw an eyebrow.

“The hotel, I’m sure I can work with what I have.”

Part 1 | Part 3

76 notes · View notes