#isaiah jesus fanfictions

[pacifymebby]

Bonjour daddy 😉 can I request the peaky boys with cuddling? Like who’s the big spoon, which positions who’s the most cuddly etc.. me has gotten her period so I’m feeling all 🙍🏼‍♀️

Hahaha a total side note, i made that same joke to b and he just smirked like, if thats what you'd like to believe I won't ruin ur moment haha

Tommy

🌿 Is very big on the standing up cuddle, opening his arms up to you and holding you nice and snug against his body, wrapping his arms right around you, one hand stroking through your hair or cradling the back of your head.

🌿Will rest his chin on top of yours, kiss your parting and close his eyes, breathing in your scent

🌿Is a very doomed man and is always lowkey aware that every hug could be the last time he gets to hold his angel so every hug is savoured. He focuses on memorising exactly how he feels in the moment he's holding you, every detail filed away in his memory.

🌿He likes to be big spoon, but more than that he likes to lie on his back with your body on top of his.

🌿Drawing patterns down your back quietly, again trying to remember every detail. Obsessed with the sensation of your light restful breaths tickling his bare chest

🌿Loves the skin on skin feeling, always chasing purity in love and it makes him feel so connected to you, so intimate.

🌿 When you're on your period he recognises the change in your temper and is very careful with you, he will try not to snap at you or show any sign of irritation because he's aware how easily wounded you are... He makes sure to hug you and hold you even more than usual

🌿Modern! Tommy would make sure you had a hot waterbottle and all the blankets you needed, get you cosy in bed or on the sofa in front of the tv to watch your favourite movie. He'll humour whatever trash you want to watch and lie there behind you, kissing you and playing with your hair, more focussed on you than the tv.

Alfie

🐻 Big spoon always because he just wants to hold you, wants to be able to put his hands wherever he likes.

🐻 Likes to hold you in sexual places in a non-sexual way. What I mean by this is that if you're little spoon he'll hold one of your breasts in his hand, but just that, simply holding it just because he can... And not because he wants anything more than just to hold you

🐻 Also likes to tickle you on purpose with his beard, his stubble brushing your cheek or your neck, making you giggle and squirm rousing you from your sleep for just long enough he can ask for a kiss.

🐻 His favourite place to cuddle with you however is in a rocking chair by the fire, you bundled up in his lap under a blanket, him holding you safe and snug, your head resting on his chest or shoulder. You're the most precious thing in the world to him so he likes to have you bundled up in his arms at any opportunity.

🐻 You could be busy around the house talking to him about your day or mithering and worrying, or asking him about business and he will refuse to talk to you about any of it until you've gone and sat down in his lap. He'll pat his thigh and open his arms for you, "now now zieskiet, whatve I told you eh, if you're gonna come home talkin me poor old ears off about that nonsense you've at least got to let me hold my little girl whilst I listen eh... Take pity on your old man yeah poppet?"

🐻 Very possesive, can't keep his hands off you ever so when you're cuddling he's constantly rubbing his palms over your arms, or holding your thigh, always doing little things to let you know he's there, that youre all his and he's got you.

🐻 Gives big squeezy bear hugs holds onto you so tight, keeps your face burried into his chest, blocks out the rest of the world so that all you can feel his him all around you.

🐻 Alfie's too old to be immature about your period and if anything he feels a little sorry for you, he doesnt like that he can't do much to help you but he always makes sure he's very gentle with you. Even more doting than usual.

🐻 Gives the best belly rubs, like he ubderstands that you need to do more than just rub your hands lightly over your tummy. He'll rub his hands together to heat them up first and then gently massage you until you're feeling a little better.

🐻 Modern Alfie wouldn't be embarrassed about going to shops to get your pads but he also wouldn't be going... He'd be sending Ollie so that you and him could have a good laugh at Ollie expense.

Arthur

🍂 Doesn't realise until one day you climb into bed after him and make yourself big spoon, wrapping your body around his, nuzzling into the back of his neck and kissing down the bumps of his spine, kissing his shoulder too, but he loves being little spoon.

🍂 It makes him feel so safe and loved, makes him feel cherished which is a very new feeling for him, not one he's ever experienced in adult life.

🍂 He loves being able to close his eyes and feel your fingers scratching and massaging his head. You like stroking the backs of your fingers along his jaw where his stubble is.

🍂 He doesnt admit that he loves this for a long time though, and you never ask about it because you know that if you do he'll get embarassed and deny it and then potentially never let you hold him again.

🍂Feels almost ashamed that he likes it because he's the man, so isn't he supposed to be the one making you feel loved and cherished and safe?

🍂 Blushes when you prop yourself up on your elbow looking down at him, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

🍂Will fall asleepy like that so quickly because its the safest he's ever felt.

🍂 He will however insist upon being big spoon at certain times of the month or when youre feeling unwell. He won't know how to deal with your period at all, he'll only know that youre more argumentative and that he has to be careful not to start a fight with you...

🍂 Doesnt like seeing you cry and you cry at everything when youre on your period so he will spend a lot of time hugging you close to him so that no one can see your tears. Leaves those long held kisses in your hair and you feel protected by him for as long as his lips remain pressed to your head.

🍂 Modern Arthur definitely gets embarassed about having to go to the shops for period pads, like, he definitely panics doesnt know what to buy, goes red, feels like he has to say something at the till even though he really doesn't need to.

John

🌼 Favourite way to cuddle you is to start by tackling you to the ground, play fighting or tickling you. Its like he can't just ask for a hug he has to play a game or trick you into it first...

🌼 Because he loves holding you and cuddling you and he loves kissing you too but he doesn't really know how to persue non-sexual affection without laughing it off and being unserious? The boy just wants a cuddle with his flower but he doesn't know how to ask because cuddling is "soft"

🌼 Definitely big spoon. Similar to Alfie, likes to have possesion of you, when youre wrapped up in his arms youre completely at his mercy and he can do whatever he likes to/with you.

🌼 Loves to tickle you and feel how with nowhere else to go you scramble and squirm further into his hold. And if he makes you jump even better because they you flinch and reach for something to hold onto, so you end up gripping his shirt or throwing your arms around his neck and clinging onto him just the way he likes it.

🌼 Isn't very good at tummy rubs alas, but thats because he can't get his head around the idea that pressing on your tummy when its sore, will help make you feel better "won't that just hurt more?"

🌼 Gives you lots of kisses though, will try to tease and tickle you to make you laugh and smile to distract you from the pain. I guess his cuddle style is playful.

🌼 Loves a naked skin to skin cuddle the best, likes to hold your bare body in his arms and draw patterns all over your skin as you fall asleep.

🌼 Lets you bite him very gently on the shoulder mid hug (one for the girls if u know u know)

🌼 9 times out of 10 cuddles with John lead elsewhere... Like, cuddling definitely puts john in a certain kinda mood

🌼 Oh you just wanted a nice sleepy cuddle? It might start off that way but after a minute or two of having his body pressed up against yours his minds wandered to... Places

🌼 Definitely does stuff like "got ur nose" just as you're drifting off and relaxing.

🌼 Surprisingly serious about your period, perhaps he wouldn't have been once, as a younger lad he'd have teased you or told you off for even telling him about that.

🌼 But he's a man now and he firmly believes real men need to take care of their woman, so he'll make sure you have everything you need. Will pretend to be embarrassed about having to go to the shops to get your period pads or whatever but actually doesn't care at all. He's only teasing you, trying to make you laugh at him by pretending to get really flustered about it.

🌼 His favourite thing to do is pick you up, sling you over his shoulder and then throw you down on the bed to cuddle you.

Bonnie

🍀 The cuddliest sweetheart you can imagine, always finding an excuse to give you a hug, always coming up behind you and making you jump when you're concentrating on something else, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and nuzzle into your neck, kiss your shoulder, just rest his chin on your shoulder or have his cheek pressed against yours.

🍀Loves having you sitting in his lap and will always choose a table at the Garrison with not enough seats for everyone so that he has an excuse to pull you into his lap. Really does just like to have a hold on you at all times. Even if you're not talking or interacting in any other way. He just likes to be physically near you.

🍀 Definitely similar to John, play fights, chases around the house/fields always just as an excuse to get his hands on you.

🍀Always pulls you in for a hug when you first see eachother/say hello. Will give you the tightest squeeze and lift you up off your feet.

🍀Loves carrying you, your legs around his waist, you holding onto him nice and tight, dependent on him.

🍀Dreams dreams dreams of the day you've lots of wee kids to cuddle with, the five of you getting huddled up and cosy in mammy and daddys bed for a bedtime story.

🍀When its you and him all cuddled up in bed for the night he likes to either be big spoon or have you asleep on his chest, his hand resting on your back. He often gets worried about the home being broken into or an attack in the middle of the night so he feels most comfortable when you're right there sleeping as close to him as possible. Means he can know you're safe as can be and he can be there to protect you.

🍀Loves naked cuddles, skin on skin, legs tangled, feels so close and warm and intimate and he's so in love with you, so devoted to you that he craves that closeness and only feels complete when he has you in his arms and he can feel your heartbeats sinking up.

🍀Will hold you/spoon you all night!!!! You will wake up wrapped in his arms and if you need to get out of bed for anything in the night sorry but Bonnie will not be letting you go without a fight. Loves to hold your head burried in his chest.

🍀 Probably not phased by your period and if he is he isn't going to show it at all. Doesn't like you being in pain at all and he's very good at giving you back massages and tummy rubs. He also knows that theres another way to help with period pain and he isn't scared of touching you when its your time of the month. (Bonnie and Aberama are the only two peaky men I think would finger you when you're on your period tbh, tommy might but I'm not entirely sure?)

🍀 Modern bonnie sends you a photo of the period aisle at rhe shops because he's confused but determined to get the exact right things for you.

🍀 He's always lowkey dissapointed when you get your period because that means no babies

Isaiah

🐀I think it probably takes him awhile to get particularly cuddly and affectionate. For all I imagine he's a tactile, flirtatious playboy type, I don't think he knows how to just hug it out or have soft sleepy cuddle you know?

🐀You probably initiate most of the cuddles, and he always tries to pull away before you're ready too, so you have to grip him extra tight and put up a fight...

🐀But then he gets a taste for that, feels good how you practically beg him for just a hug... You always ask him "Saiah can I have a hug please?" because unless you tell him you want to be hugged he won't think to do it... But he LOVES hearing you ask for that. "Saiah I wanna hug" when you're tired and whiny. He sometimes denies you just to make you ask again. "Say please love..." "God what am I to you? A fuckin hug dispenser?"

🐀He's always big spoon, because he's a fragile masculinity adolescent... He hasn't grown out of the complex of needing to be the man, so he's always the one cuddling you... He won't ever let anyone think he enjoys all that soft shit...

🐀But when no one is around he's actually very cute and sweet to you. Nose kisses all the time. A secret fan of the penguin kiss (where u rub noses idk?)

🐀I think he learns to be affectionate with you over time and is cuddly but mostly only in private. You have mastered the "hug me" eyes now and if you get them just right and you sit there looking at him like that for long enough he'll say "Right.. You've brought this on yourself y/n" as if you're in serious trouble, then he'll march over and sit himself in your lap squishing and crushing you until you can't breath for laughing. Only then will he give you a proper hug - but the cuddles are worth the torment you have to go through first.

🐀As bad, if not worse than john on the horny cuddler front. Is genuinely so confused about how he's supposed to tangle you up like that, bundled up against his chest so that every part of his body can feel every part of your body pushing against him, and not get turned on... A nice peaceful cuddle can become pretty heated pretty quickly. He'll feign innocence (sometimes he won't and he'll just slip his hand into your underwear and take you buy surprise) all his little caresses and kisses seemingly innocent at first but really, not at all...

🐀When it comes to your period Isaiah pretends he's man enough not to care, he'll screw his face up all "ew no way y/n fuck no..." then crack a grin and make out like he was only teasing you, but secretly he feels really awkward about it and doesn't know what to do. He'll panic at the shop, get annoyed when he buys the wrong thing and you send him back. But he's trying, he wants to be a good boyfriend so over time he'll do his best to learn.

Michael

☘️ Secret cuddler...

☘️ You have to work so hard to get him to trust you but once you secure his trust (once he knows you aren't going to laugh at him or tell his brothers what a sook he is) he will reveal his soft side to you and oh my god is he soft

☘️ He loves cuddling and being cuddled. Bug spoon, little spoon, sitting in an arm chair, picking you up and swirling you round, carrying you to bed for more cuddles, having you lie on his chest, him lying on your chest (secretly his favourite way to cuddle) any cuddling at all, he loves it

☘️ But his favourite is definitely lying with his head to your breast, your hand in his hair maybe giving him head scratches or playing with his hair, your legs closed around his body so that he's completely secure. He could fall asleep here so easily. He loves it. Especially after a hard day at the office or when his cousins are being particularly demanding.

☘️ He loves to cuddle you too, loves being big spoon when you're naked in bed, likes getting to hold you anyway he wants. Your legs tangled together, perhaps one of his hands holding your hands, kissing your shoulder, your neck, between your shoulder blades. He loves waking up in that position after a nap, the two of you nuzzled into one another.

☘️ Isn't awkward about you getting your period as such, he doesnt think its gross but he's very concious of social taboos so if you come right out complaining about period pain or saying that you've accidentally bled on your dress he'll turn such a bright shade of red. You always forget and it always makes you laugh.

☘️ Gets annoyed when you tease him about it

☘️ Is very worried that youre in pain. Worried too that you'll lose too much blood. It takes a lot to explain to him that you're not going to bleed out on your period...

☘️ Tries to dote on you but gets overwhelmed by all the demands and the things you need. Because he's so worried about getting things wrong or upsetting you.

☘️Won't give good tummy rubs or massages because he's too scared he'll hurt you. Will run you a hot bath and wash your hair for you.

[novashelby]

Why Not Me? - Isaiah One Shot

Pairing: IsaiahxReader(based on Evie...but friendly to all)

Warnings: No Sex, but intimacy. Mostly fluff.

Though it is not a smut, I am adding this to the 100 prompt challenge.

Word Count: 2k

Summary: She just broke up with her boyfriend and Isaiah is there to tell her what's up.

Please enjoy. I appreciate reblogs and comments. Likes are kind and thoughtful, and I appreciate you reading my work. However, reblogs really help writers out. So, please, considering rebloging.

“She’s crying again,” Finn said, rolling his eyes as he exited her room, the sandwich still in his hand. Again was the keyword. Some girls just suck at dating, and unfortunately for her, she was one of them. University didn’t make it any easier despite what her Aunty Ada said. Boys in university are intellectuals. Though, Ada herself didn’t know if she truly believed it. Finn sighed and bit one half of the sandwich before handing the other half to Isaiah, who’d been sitting on the sofa the whole time. “I’ll be back. I just got an errand for Aunt Pol downtown.” Finn swung his jacket on and nodded to his slightly older friend before leaving.

Isaiah put down his tea and turned his back, frowning a bit as he eyed the first door one reaches when climbing up the stairs. Her room. Poor girl spent quite a few days in that room crying. Though partially her fault. Isaiah slid from the couch and made his way up the stairs. Nervously, he hesitated knocking-his fist just hovering over the wood. Clearing his throat, he closed his eyes and knocked. When she didn’t answer, he knocked a bit harder, eyes glancing at the stairs. Through the door, there was a muffled, “Finn, I don’t want the sandwich…just eat it.”

Isaiah scratched his nose and stuttered out, “um-hey, uh…it’s not Finn. It’s me…Isaiah.” Never had he considered himself a nervous man. Women were never a challenge and he was always smooth with his words. But her? Tommy Shelby’s little girl was something else. You had to handle her delicately. There was a slight gap in conversation before she mumbled a wait a minute. For what? Tommy forbade her keeping a lock on her door…she was a sneaky child, a sneaky teenager, and now? A sneaky adult. “Can I just come-oh!” As soon as his hand touched the brass door handle, it turned and opened. His eyes couldn’t help but go to the toes and scale up to her head, skimming over her body. Isaiah felt heat rise to his cheeks. To avoid embarrassment, he looked off to the side. She’d been wearing her white silk bathrobe. Underneath? He doubted it’d be smart to start letting his mind wonder. A pretty girl. Perhaps not conventionally…like the girls he usually chased after. You know? The model type with toned legs and symmetrical physiques. 

But she was pretty. The unique type with features that weren’t carbon copies on every other female. Isaiah appreciated that about her. The way she never tried to force herself into any box. As his brain tried to connect the wires, he thought about how her thighs touched even when she walked or how her belly rolled when she sat. 

And she never fucking cared. She wore what she wanted, ate what she wanted, talked to who she wanted. Her confidence was unmistakable. That’s why her crying behind her wooden door after some stupid breakup was pathetic. He couldn’t understand it. One boy after the other, and she’d wither away for a few days. Over boys that probably were too weak to lift her against a wall. 

“Is there something you need?” she asked, breaking his train of thought.

“W-what?” he blinked. Her brows raised, a grin for the first time that day played on her lips. “Oh, oh! Sorry…um, are you okay? Finn said you were upset about someone-thing…something. Not much, of course. Not that it’s my business or any-”

“I’m fine,” she said, holding her bathrobe together with one hand as she placed her other one on his shoulder. “Thank you, Isaiah. Now, if you don’t mind,” she said, words dragging as she was sliding by him. “I’d like to take a bath.” His eyes followed her as she started to walk down the hall.

“Wait!” He called out her name, and she paused, but didn’t turn. “You don’t deserve that…any of it. And y’know, you don’t talk to me anymore…about anything. Once you went off to university, you just-”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, still not turning to him. Tears were laying heavy on her lids again. At one point when they were kids, the four of them would go off and cause mischief. But Finn was learning the family business, Martha was getting married, Isaiah was working under Tommy, and her? She wanted to study nursing. They were no longer kids. Instead, people with lives. It was a good day if she and Finn even had a conversation. What did she have to say sorry for? 

“Explain something to me,” he said, walking towards her. And it was his time to rest his hand on her shoulder. He spoke her name again and slid around her. It was her time to avert her eyes attempting to hide the wetness dripping down her cheeks. But Isaiah didn’t mind any of it. He knew she was crying. Gently, he cupped her face, but when she flinched, he dropped his hands. “What’s changed? Me and you?”

“Something had to have been for it to change,” she said, insinuating nothing had ever happened between her and him. He chuckled for a moment, itching the tip of his nose. “What?”

“It’s funny,” he said.

“I know, you laughed. I’m asking what is funny-”

“You,” he accused. “You’re funny, Miss. Shelby…you used to talk to me. We’d joke and dance. When Finn would fall asleep, it was you and I who’d finish off the whiskey and discuss life’s biggest questions.” 

“Times change-”

“You still live at home,” he said. “You still live at home. You go to the local university three days a week. You still frequent the same jazz clubs. You still go to the same parties! For fucks sake, you’re the same person…nothing changes that much in a few months.”

“Isaiah-”

“No.” He shook his head. His hands gently gripped her arms, thumbs caressing her. She felt her body gently be pushed against the wall, head lightly pressing against a wobbly picture frame. She knew which one…the painting of her father’s mother. “You’ll fuck around with Tiny Tim from art class who can’t even bother to got to the door and introduce himself to your father-”

“I don’t need my father’s approval,” she snorted. “I’m grown-”

“You’re eighteen,” he said. “Hardly grown. Plus, you’re a lady under your father’s care. It’s the sensible thing to do-”

“And you introduce yourself to every womens’ father? Especially the ones you fuck on a Friday night and leave the next morning?” 

Isaiah went quiet for a moment before saying, “no. I don’t. But that’s different. And don’t ask how because I’m not explaining casual sex to you.”

That’s when she eased herself a bit, laughing lightly. That was the girl he knew. “And you, Mr. Jesus, enjoy casual sex? Why don’t you want to explain it to me, eh?”

He matched her smile, resting his forehead on hers. “Because, Miss. Shelby, casual sex isn’t for ladies. Besides, I think your father would kill me.” She looked down, playing with her hands as she wore a little grin. Isaiah cupped her face, thumbs caressing her lips before moving down to hold her hands. “You are much more than a casual encounter, Miss. Shelby,” he said in a whisper, bringing her hands up to his lips, and kissing them. 

“But how do you know I don’t like casual encounters?” she teased, but he wasn’t having it.

“Shhh,” he said. “It’s not like that…you and I, and I refuse to let it be that.” 

“And are you my father?” she asked. “Everyone in this family thinks I’m-”

“Don’t,” he stopped her. “You’re deflecting. You knew exactly what I was saying-”

“That you’ll respect me in the morning?”

“Shhhh.” He kissed her cheek, lingering there for a moment before asking, “why not me? Huh? Why Tiny Tim and Stupid Steve and Dumb Danny and Asshole Adam and Prick Peter, but not me? Not idiot Isaiah-”

“I never dated boys with any of those names except a Peter-”

“You’re deflecting again,” he said. “Why not me?” Gently, he grabbed her chin and said, “I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you unlike Tiny Tim….”

“Who is Tiny Tim?” she laughed, not exactly denying him. In fact, she snaked her arms around his waist and pulled him closer, feeling a sort of comfort in his chest. 

“That small fuck you were running around with last week,” he said, lowering his lips against hers. He brushed them against hers, a little smirk spread across his lips. She teased that he was being silly, but soon yelped as she felt him move his hands under her butt and lift her up. To hold herself steady, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Though he was pretty good about keeping her in place from the way he pressed her against the wall. “So, you didn’t answer me, why not? Why not me, Miss. Shelby? Huh?” 

“You never asked,” she grinned, just about pecking his lips. She pecked, but pulled away when he tried to lean in, teasing him. “So, I had to fuck around with Tiny Tim and Stupid Steve-”

“And Dumb Danny,” he added, moving in to kiss her, but she teased him again, biting his bottom lip. When he tried to rest his lips upon hers, she moved away again and kissed his jaw up to his ear, biting his lobe. 

“Don’t forget that prick Peter.”

“I want to forget,” he said, bracing her with his body weight and one hand while his other gripped her jaw, bringing her in. “C’mere,” he whispered, pressing his lips against hers. It was soft at first; just a string of pecks that became longer. His hand moved from her jaw and started to caress down her body. Without wanting to intrude, he slowly rested his hand upon her breast; not squeezing, just lightly running his hand along the curve before slipping it under the silk. As he moved it over her soft breast and down, the lacing came undone and the robe slipped down her shoulders. He stopped the string of light pecks and kisses, and asked, “we can stop if you’d like.” Shook her head, enjoying the feeling in her; warmth and excitement. She wasn’t an easy girl…her father made sure of that making sure she knew her worth. That’s probably why so many ‘boys’ left her…she never gave in so easy. 

She did him. Or was it really easy when it was something in the making from their youth? 

She licked at his bottom lip before nibbling and pulling it.  “Shhh,” she said as she took control, sucking and slipping her tongue between his lips, playing with him. Their pecks turned into fully blissful kissing that neither wanted to stop. Air was no longer important, they found as their lips followed each other’s movements. Her fingers tickled up the back of his neck to his hair before tangling in the curls. While his hand moved down her body, dancing over hips and walking over her thighs. Her skin was so soft, sweet, and innocent. He wanted nothing more, but to place a kiss over every inch of her body. For the first time, he felt like fucking was juvenile. It wasn’t about the sex. No. He wanted her close. It was all about the closeness. He wanted her so close to him that he could consume her. That he could just breathe her in and nothing else in the world would matter.

He pulled away, catching his breath, “sorry. Um, I don’t want to rush this.”

“What are we rushing?” she teased, trying to kiss him again, pressing herself against his aching crotch. 

“I want to take you to dinner,” he said, letting her down.  “I want to do it right. If I’m going to do this right with anyone, it’d be you. So, please, Miss. Shelby, can I take you to dinner?”

“I dunno,” she sang, reaching up and playing with his buttons. “Are you paying?”

He laughed out and shook his head, pinching her chin. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, alright,” she agreed, sliding from him and walking to her room. “But, you have to ask my father.” Isaiah grinned and eyed the phone on the small table downstairs. 

“Already on it, Miss. Shelby,” he called out. “What do you think I am? A lousy gangster?”

[birdaquarius]

Train Wreck — Isaiah Jesus One Short

Summary: Isaiah Jesus anxiously awaits his next match. Minutes before the fight, he discovers his coach, Tommy Shelby, has betrayed him. This revelation shatters Isaiah's trust and triggers a severe panic attack. As the betrayal sinks in, Isaiah's mind spirals into paranoia. He begins to suspect everyone around him, convinced they're all conspiring against his success. Even his girlfriend, who happens to be Tommy's daughter, falls under his suspicion.

P.S: I named Tommy's daughter Aelin but her name's optimal, you can name her whatever you want while read the story!

This one is for @novashelby as she's been nothing but extra supportive of me and my writing lately. I hope you and other Peaky Blinders fans will appreciate this one short which is, different from some I've seen on this site. Word Count: 2k. Pairings: Isaiah Jesus/Thomas Shelby's Daughter, mention of Isaiah Jesus/Thomas Shelby. Warnings: This story contains a scene depicting a panic attack.

Isaiah Jesus paced back and forth in the dressing room, his boxing gloves hanging loosely around his neck. The muffled roar of the crowd filtered through the thin walls, a constant reminder of what awaited him beyond the door. But it wasn't the impending fight that had his heart racing and his palms sweating. No, it was the betrayal that burned in his chest, threatening to consume him whole.

Tommy Shelby, the man he'd trusted with his life and career for the past five years, had sold him out. The news had come just hours before the match, delivered by a sympathetic referee who'd overheard Tommy discussing the fix with Isaiah's opponent. The words still echoed in Isaiah's head: "Take him down in the fourth. Make it look good, but don't let him last past the fifth."

Isaiah's fists clenched involuntarily, the leather of his gloves creaking. How could Tommy do this to him? After all the early mornings, the grueling training sessions, the blood and sweat they'd shed together. Was it all for nothing?

A soft knock on the door startled Isaiah from his spiraling thoughts. "Isaiah?" a gentle voice called. "Can I come in?"

He recognized the voice immediately – Aelin, his girlfriend of two years. The daughter of Tommy Shelby. The thought made his stomach churn.

"Yeah," he managed to croak out, his throat suddenly dry.

The door creaked open, and Aelin slipped inside. Her gaze widened as she took in Isaiah's disheveled appearance – his sweat-soaked undershirt, his trembling hands, the wild look in his eyes.

"Oh, Isaiah," she breathed, rushing to his side. "What's wrong? You look terrible."

Isaiah barked out a harsh laugh. "What's wrong? Everything's wrong, Aelin. Your father – your father sold me out."

Aelin's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"He fixed the fight," Isaiah spat, resuming his frantic pacing. "Told my opponent to take me down by the fifth round. Can you believe it? After everything we've been through, he's throwing me to the wolves."

Aelin's face paled. "No, that can't be true. There must be some mistake."

"There's no mistake," Isaiah said, his voice rising. "I heard it from John. He overheard your father talking to Arthur in the hallway."

"But... but why would he do that?" Aelin asked, her voice small and uncertain.

Isaiah whirled to face her, his eyes blazing. "Why? Because he never believed in me, that's why. He probably thought I'd lose anyway, so he might as well make some money off it."

"That's not true," Aelin protested weakly. "He's always believed in you. We both have."

But Isaiah was beyond reason now. His chest felt tight, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The room seemed to spin around him, the walls closing in. "Have you?" he demanded. "Or have you been in on it too?"

Aelin recoiled as if she'd been slapped. "What? Isaiah, how can you say that?"

"How can I not?" he shouted, his voice cracking. "You're his daughter. You've probably known all along that I was never good enough. That I was just some poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks, trying to play at being a real boxer."

"Isaiah, please," Aelin begged, reaching for him. "You're not thinking straight. You need to calm down."

But her words only fueled the fire raging inside him. Isaiah stumbled backwards, away from her outstretched hand. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision.

"Don't touch me," he gasped. "I can't... I can't breathe."

Aelin's face contorted with worry. "Isaiah, you're having a panic attack. Please, sit down. Take deep breaths."

But Isaiah couldn't hear her over the roaring in his ears. His legs gave out, and he slumped to the floor, back pressed against the cold stone wall. His chest heaved as he struggled for air, each breath a desperate battle.

Aelin knelt beside him, her voice soothing despite the fear in her eyes. "It's okay, Isaiah. You're okay. Just breathe with me, alright? In... and out. In... and out."

For a moment, Isaiah tried to match her rhythm, but then another wave of panic washed over him. "I can't do this," he choked out. "I can't go out there. They're all waiting for me to fail."

"No one wants you to fail," Aelin insisted, but Isaiah shook his head violently.

"Everyone does," he said, his voice rising to a near-hysterical pitch. "Your father, my opponent, the crowd – they're all betting against me. And you... you probably want me to lose too, don't you?"

Aelin's eyes filled with tears. "Isaiah, no. How could you think that?"

But Isaiah was too far gone, lost in a swirling vortex of fear and betrayal. He could see it all so clearly now – how everyone had been working against him from the start. His opponents, rigging their matches. The referees, turning a blind eye to fouls. Even the crowd, their cheers nothing more than mockery.

And at the center of it all, Tommy Shelby. The man who'd promised to make him a champion, who'd sworn to always have his back. How long had he been planning this betrayal? Had it been from the very beginning?

Isaiah's gaze settled on Aelin, her face blurred through his tears. She was still talking, still trying to calm him down, but he couldn't make out the words. All he could see was her resemblance to her father – the same eyes, the same determined set of her jaw.

"You're just like him," Isaiah whispered, his voice hoarse. "You've been lying to me all along, haven't you?"

Aelin's face crumpled. "Isaiah, please. You know that's not true. I love you."

But her words only twisted the knife deeper. Love? How could she claim to love him when she'd stood by and watched her father destroy everything he'd worked for?

"Get out," Isaiah said, his voice flat and lifeless.

"What?" Aelin asked, confusion and hurt warring on her face.

"I said get out!" Isaiah roared, surging to his feet. The sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness through him, but he pushed through it, stumbling towards the door. "Leave me alone. I don't want you here. I don't want anyone here."

Aelin stood slowly, her hands raised in a placating gesture. "Okay, Isaiah. If that's what you want. But please, try to calm down. The fight starts in twenty minutes. You need to get yourself together."

Isaiah let out a bitter laugh. "The fight? You think I care about the fight? It's all a lie, Aelin. Everything's a lie."

Aelin hesitated at the door, her hand on the knob. "Isaiah, I know you're upset. But you've worked so hard for this. Don't throw it all away because of what you think my father did."

"What I think he did?" Isaiah repeated incredulously. "I know what he did. And I know you're probably in on it too. Now get out!"

With one last, pained look, Aelin slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Isaiah's legs gave out again. He slid down the wall, burying his face in his hands. His chest still felt tight, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But now, instead of panic, a cold, empty feeling spread through him.

He was alone. Truly, completely alone.

The realization hit him like a physical blow, and a sob tore from his throat. All those years of training, of sacrifice, of pushing himself to the absolute limit – what had it all been for? To be betrayed by the people he trusted most?

Isaiah's mind raced, replaying every interaction he'd had with Tommy and Aelin over the past five years. Had there been signs he'd missed? Moments where their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes, or their encouragement rang hollow?

He thought of all the times Tommy had pushed him to train harder, to fight smarter. Had that all been part of the long con? Building him up just to watch him fall?

And Aelin... sweet, supportive Aelin. The woman he'd thought he'd spend the rest of his life with. Had she known all along what her father was planning? Had she been laughing at him behind his back, mocking the poor boy who thought he could be something more?

The more Isaiah thought about it, the more certain he became. It wasn't just Tommy and Aelin – it was everyone. His opponents, letting him win just enough to keep him going. The other boxers at the gym, pretending to be his friends while secretly hoping for his downfall. Even the crowd outside, their cheers nothing more than a cruel joke.

Isaiah's breath came faster as the realization sank in. He'd been a fool, a puppet dancing on strings he couldn't even see. And now, just when he thought he was about to make it big, they were cutting those strings and leaving him to fall.

A knock on the door jolted Isaiah from his spiraling thoughts. "Five minutes, Jesus!" a gruff voice called.

Five minutes. In five minutes, he was supposed to step into that ring and face an opponent who knew exactly how this fight was going to end. An opponent who was probably laughing at him right now, secure in the knowledge that Isaiah's own coach had sold him out.

Isaiah's stomach churned, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick. How was he supposed to fight when he knew it was all rigged against him? How could he step into that ring knowing that everyone – even the woman he loved – was waiting for him to fail?

He staggered to his feet, swaying slightly as another wave of dizziness washed over him. His reflection in the small, grimy mirror caught his eye, and he barely recognized the man staring back at him. Pale, sweating, with wild eyes and trembling hands – was this what a champion looked like?

No, Isaiah realized with a sinking feeling. This was what a beaten man looked like. A man who'd already lost before he'd even stepped into the ring.

For a moment, he considered running. Just grabbing his things and slipping out the back door. Let them all wonder what had happened to Isaiah Jesus, the up-and-coming boxer who'd disappeared on the night of his big fight.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Isaiah knew he couldn't do it. Not because of any misplaced sense of loyalty or obligation – those had been shattered beyond repair. No, he couldn't run because if he did, they would win. Tommy, Aelin, his opponent, all of them – they would get exactly what they wanted.

Isaiah's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms even through the padding of his gloves. No, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He would step into that ring, and he would fight. Not for glory or for victory – those dreams had turned to ash. He would fight to prove them all wrong. To show them that Isaiah Jesus wasn't a puppet to be manipulated or a joke to be laughed at.

He would fight because it was all he had left.

With trembling hands, Isaiah adjusted his gloves and took a deep, shuddering breath. His chest still felt tight, his heart racing, but he pushed the panic down, burying it beneath a cold, hard anger.

Let them try to take him down in the fourth round. Let them think they had him all figured out. Isaiah would show them all what happened when you backed a man into a corner and left him with nothing to lose.

As the door swung open and the roar of the crowd washed over him, Isaiah stepped forward. His legs felt like lead, his stomach a churning mess of acid and fear. But his jaw was set, his eyes blazing with a fierce, desperate determination.

They wanted to see Isaiah Jesus fall? Fine. But he'd make damn sure they remembered his name long after the final bell had rung.

[hb-writes]

Isiah Jesus & Clara Shelby

✵ Things They Left Behind - Parts 1-3: 1918. John, Arthur, and Tommy have just returned from France to rediscover the things they’ve left behind: Ada, a set of twins, the business, and a few treasures their youngest sister has been keeping safe for them. *COMPLETED*

✵ Little Lady Blinder Series: 1919. Clara Shelby is a kind girl, a smart girl, a well-behaved little sister in a town full of gangsters and ruffians. With the girl’s raising thus far being such a simple task, the Shelby family is left unprepared for all that accompanies a perfectly respectable little girl growing up and becoming a lady among Peaky Blinders.

✵ Seeing Stars: 1921. When Finn, Isiah, and Clara get themselves in to trouble with Polly, they’re left in the church to wait on their comeuppance.

✵ The Gentle Touch: 1922. Clara Shelby has an affinity for injuries and an aversion to medical care, a deadly combination if her best friend was anyone other than Isiah Jesus. 

✵ Something: 1922. Tommy has sensed a change in the way his youngest sister relates to the boys of Small Heath.

✵ The Council: 1923. The boy’s reaction to fifteen-year-old Clara Shelby being friends with the Watery Lane boys. 

✵ Close-knit: 1923. It’s Christmas 1923, otherwise known as the year of Clara’s Christmas sweaters.

✵ My Person: 1925. Clara and Isiah haven’t talked in weeks but after a drunken night filled with a break up and scrapping in Small Heath, Isiah insists on going out to Arrow House to see her. 

✵ Friendly Indulgence: 1925. Clara gets herself into a bit of trouble walking through town on her own. She’s already handled it, but when her best friend finds her outside the Garrison, he decides it’s not nearly settled. 

✵ Thirteen Minutes: 1925. When Clara finds herself scared and alone at two in the morning, she calls her best friend to come bring her home.

✵ LITTLE LADY BLINDER MASTERLIST ✵

[flowermoonsblog]

PEAKY BLINDERS FANDOM Can someone point me to fan fiction about Ada and Isaiah (whether they're here or on other writing sites). After watching 6X3, I was enchanted by their chemistry and sexual tension. I would enjoy reading more about it.‼️🙏🏽🙏🏽

[kaetastic]

LINGERING EYES

pairing: Isaiah Jesus x Shelby!Reader

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

word count: 3.5k 

warning: slightly nsfw ?? jealousy, mention of blood, mention of violence, language

note: I loved writing this one! The flow was so smooth and I couldn’t stop writing, so here it is! I was hit with inspiration after checkin’ out some prompts (i saw them on pinterest so i don’t know who’s the original blog, if it’s you please dm me 🥺)

“Take my coat.” 

White— pearly beads of opal tears were poked through with a piercing needle. The bawling drops of clams drooped from the yellow ceiling, hanging low as gravity clung onto the strands. While shuffling of polished shoes screeched into the air, ear-drumming squeals from yanked corks paced to overlap obnoxious laughs. The laughs worthed grands; the laugh of slithering serpents.

Despite the approaching night, there was no heaviness resting upon the awaken eyes, which only led to the fact that they have tolerated and befriended the aspect of long nights. Long nights of claimed hard work. Long nights of staying at work late to complete the pending task, allegedly. Bitterly, the woman who strayed near the marble bar assumed, even though she knew she was right.

The lavish dress she wore that she plucked out of the most expensive rack in the store were no different than those women who were present. The women who had been dragged out from the comfort of their home to flutter a smile while they drowned in their husband’s gold, not knowing their mistress circled nearby. However, her privilege of wearing the fabric that was enough to feed a whole village was not the same as them. While it might not be her money, she knew that Thomas’s money was now as legitimate as the rest, despite the fluttering rumours weaving from mouth to ears.

Y/N grew up on streets that reeked of feculent piss and mud as face-paint. They, on the other hand, were nurtured by a maid, money already swimming in their bloodstreams while their parents spent days on end overseas.

‘You’re not a Peaky, Y/N.’ As the tornado in her champagne flute swirled, she glared at the red wine with irritated eyes. Despite her hating the proper way of holding the glass which was as posh as it could be, she reminded herself to where she was and who breathed in the same room as her. Recalling the talk she sat with her older sister who believed that the woman shouldn’t even bother to relieve her presence to the party, Y/N beamed her eyes at the smearing grey against the whites of the marble counter. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the destiny the Shelby’s will be cursed by, but heartfelt conversations were rare. The woman needed to get it out of her chest. She needed to tell her older sister the lingering eyes when she would walk down the streets. The elderly knew of the tainted reputation of the Shelby’s name, the main theme of the conversations whispered behind their backs. ‘No, but I’m a Shelby.’

That’s what she’ll always be. Just a Shelby. Not the woman who struggled through the obstacles of maintaining a deaf ear to her colleagues who would whisper under their breaths about her and her background. No matter what curtain draped over her, she’ll be seen as the younger sister of a gangster. Gypsy Shelby. Carnival wanderers. Y/N, the woman who sipped on wine in the dress of the same colour, will forever be known as Birmingham’s Infamous Gangster’s Little Sister.

Y/N was no longer the giggling child who swam through mud; she was no longer the girl with dangling tooths who hid her older brothers’ socks under her bed. Even Arthur, the eldest, has admitted how times have changed. Sitting on the stool was a woman, not a girl. A woman with cold, crystal eyes of a smeared cerulean blue that can only be glistened at a certain angle of light, a woman who had been prize hung upon the fair’s walls for men who were up to the challenge- that was until they heard of her last name. Unless they were cowards, they tiptoed away with the utmost silent steps. It was barely a handful of men who found the challenge of swooning the woman to be entertaining.

However, to be in radar with the Peaky Blinders themselves; to be in their loyal, trusted ranks, Isaiah Jesus just couldn’t find a fuck to give. There had been countless times he had seen eyes grazing over her figure, ogling her as if a taunting piece of meat. Would he be different to their scandalous actions? No, because he would do the same. The man just had a more discreet manner of observation. People with a name and money to flaunt might’ve shoved him to the edge since deep down, he knew that he’ll never be like them. But, at the end of the day, who was deep in her while she breathlessly screamed out?

“What?” Once her eyes peeled away from the intense rolling of liquid in her champagne flute, she shot a perplexed glance at the iconic oversized coat he would constantly wear. It seemed the memo to wear different had not reached the man. Her orbs glimpsed back to his face as if he had gone mental. The room had a barely noticeable breeze of wind that only kissed those who strayed next to the golden, colossal windows. 

“I said take my coat.” Isaiah repeated, arm extending, urging the woman to take it. 

There was no jest in his eyes. Isaiah wasn’t playing around, “It’s fucking hot in here.” There weren’t any trails of sweat visible on the woman, but there were beads of them crawling down her back. It seeped down through the minuscule crack of space between the velvet dress and her glossy back. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the same case for those who did not handle well with heat as some elderly men incessantly wiped their foreheads with their lavish cloth.

“Just fucking take it.” Isaiah didn’t mean to take another glance, but he did. Accidentally. The group of vigilant observing eyes did not quiver from the pair, well, it was mostly attached to the woman who was sipping on the red wine. However, the closeness of Isaiah and the Shelby had brought alarming thoughts in their heads. There wasn’t a plan so it wjasn’t part of it, it was more of an impulsive act of decision when one of them shot up from the seat.

In the corner of Isaiah’s eyes was a blur of an approaching figure, increasing in size. The pace was casual, gait relaxed with his hands tucked in the pocket of his waistcoat. A haze of shimmering gold sparkled, the intensity of the blaring reflection multiplied by a tenfold.

“I’m gonna suffocate, I can’t breathe already.” Y/N scoffed, mouth finding solace in the half-drunk wine.

With every step, Isaiah’s eyes wavered back onto the woman. A fire burnt in his chest, no, it roared behind his eyes as fury dumped a barrel of petrol into the growing rage. Doubts settled in. Was it truly rage? Or was he scooting around the idea of jealousy? Before his head caught a glimpse of his peripheral, his hands were already chained around Y/N’s wrist. A satisfied smirk crept up on his lips when the figure halted in his steps. Watching the woman he was about to approach thrash in the man’s grip, he gawked.

“Isaiah!” Although eyes were darted towards the catastrophic scene, Isaiah didn’t bat an eye, head too blurry with satisfaction. Y/N with ajar opened mouth was yanked away from her barely finished wine. It tasted rich. A privilege she had been surrounded with only recently. “What the fuck was that?”

Once he managed to drag her into a hallway of stacked barrels, he finally noticed the dripping beads of tears from the leaking metal pipe. As teardrops descended from the sobbing pipe, it puddled on the miniature lake. The hallway felt exposed to the frosty night of London. A breeze of the chilly air overflowed through the cracked open hopper windows.

Not too long ago Y/N was clamouring with the pungent odour, now, she was sure the secretion had become icicles, frozen. Isaiah wasn’t so different, his shoulders remained in the stance of shock. After yanking her hand out of his grasp, the dishevelled woman beamed at the man. His flared nose was tinted red. While he pressed his lips shut, the echoing noise of the bawling pipe trickled in to fill in the pregnant silence.

An exasperated sigh fell off his lips, “They were fucking you with their eyes.” Blinking in disbelief, she let out a scoff. The reason he had dragged her was because people were looking at her? Well, fucking her with their eyes?

“So what? And who the fuck are you to bother?” Isaiah’s jaw ticked. How was he to answer? The man himself didn’t know how to reply. Thoughts resounded off his head, springing from one side to the other as he tried his best to think of an answer. There was fire roaring in his chest. A flicker of blue plastered across the dancing red canvas. It burned hotter than a summer’s day, flaring scorches of heat than heatwaves when one would stray around the furnace who had been chugged by boulders of dusty coal. But actions speak louder than words. As his eyes flickered to meet hers, the flame on the candle died with a blow of air.

Isaiah was fired up, chest taut, fingers clenched, ready to hurl it in their faces’. It all vanished. The anger, the fire, the stirred up hurricane, it all wiped off from existence. Her hair that was once a coiled perfection which was a result of an hour of refining each and every lock, had become a wild, untamed bunch. It was no different to that of her hairstyle she would wear in the creaking morning after an exhausting night of moans and groans. The pearl necklace that draped down her neck sat on her shoulder, clumping up a rubble even though it hung above her cleavage a few minutes ago.

Frigid bites of the brick wall pierced into her skin. The bleeding words that rested on her tongue were exhaled into a familiar warm mouth. Long forgotten, the coat he could’ve used for defence to crawl out of the fancy ball to protect him from the chilly night, puddled into the ground. A groan grumbled out of his lips to puff into her moaning ones; although, Isaiah wasn’t sure if it was because his coat would be the absorbing cloth, soon to be drenched by the unknown liquid from the pipe, or it was because her wide open legs had curled around his hip. 

There were no words exchanged, only wanton moans and guttural groans. The world around them faded into black and white before it all was swirled in a hazy blur. The tiles of the mosaic painting were soon plucked out. The world didn’t exist, just each other. There weren’t any irregular singing notes of the pipe, no blowing of wind into the cracked orifices and no boisterous thrumming of heart in their ears. It was just each other's breathing and their fingers rustling faint noises of caress. 

An exhalation rolled out of her chest to gush out into the tensed air. Air that was once struck with chords of anger and jealousy, but now, it was trickling with need and lust. Knocking the back of her head into the wall, the gaps between her fingers were spurting of his curly locks. The piercing cones smeared over the brick walls embedded into her skin. If his mouth wasn’t planting bruises on her skin, it would’ve hurt a lot more. 

“Saiah... fuck, no hickeys...” Stuttering between heavy breathing which was from the nipping of his teeth on her skin below her ears, Y/N finally managed to breathe out the words. Although it had been an unspoken rule which was brought up only once (the first time they fucked), Isaiah couldn’t give a fuck. To have the Shelby’s as a boss, Isaiah had somewhat familiarized himself with the gears spinning in their heads while he watched them work on the field. Not Thomas Shelby, never Thomas Shelby. The man was impossible to see through, just like the murky canals of Birmingham. If his siblings had not succeeded in reading his mind, what miracle did he possess if he could do so? 

So it was no wonder the pair had not taken the risk of overlooked details such as markings on their necks to be seen. There was one thing Y/N could do when having scandalous ties with her brother’s employee, and that was to be one step ahead of any of them. Preferably Thomas Shelby. It was the least she could do. Nights when Isaiah would climb through her windows, she would complain about the aching in her stomach beforehand. Although, that plan nearly blew up on her face as Polly had incessantly banged on her door to check up on her paining niece. Oh, how they all would’ve lost their shit if they knew Isaiah was deep in her, thrusting his hips with lust before her aunt lingered outside her door. 

Y/N always pondered to how everyone would react to their relationship. Relationship? There never was an appropriate time where the two sat down to discuss the fire sparking between them. Even though she had tried to bring it up at points, it always led her to a moaning mess. The pair had scooted around the topic, ignoring its existence. But for how long? The stunt Isaiah had pulled back not too long ago was of pure jealousy, the feeling of someone else eyeing something of his. It was not something he had felt before, ever.  

Pulling his lips away, his eyes grazed over the masterpiece he had painted. Streaks of red trailed across the side of her neck in peculiar directions. While Isaiah admired his prominent markings, Y/N noted the curled up corners of his lips and his gazing eyes on the scene. Oh, she was too late. Worried if her brothers were to see Isaiah’s branding, formulas were scribbled in her head. All she had to do was avoid everyone, Finn and Arthur especially if she didn’t want a wildfire to burn. Finn who was still a babe had curious eyes and quick fluttering lips, Arthur on the other hand just had an agile tongue and a rock as a fist. If one of them was to even peek a glance at the hickey, the news would’ve crossed the other side of England. Ada was easy to avoid as the woman was not present at the party; however, Y/N could not imagine her never-ending rambling. Knowing her older sister, she was sure it would lead to pregnancy and stubborn questions about the mysterious guys.

The trio of Thomas, John and Polly was one to keep in mind. Y/N herself wasn’t sure why she had grouped the three together, but she knew they had one thing in common. Merciless. She wasn’t sure how it would proceed if one of them was to gaze upon the marking; she never wanted to see it happen. While the woman who had a painted canvas on her neck was concerned with future issues to which she hoped she would never have to stumble upon, Isaiah was a smirking mess. The thought of them seeing the art he had created flicked a lighter to his gun powder. Once his eyes grazed over her shut ones and her lips pecking of silent mumbling, he let out a sigh. The woman was overthinking again. The noise of her saliva smacking on her swollen lips only made sense to her head as she went over the whole plan. Avoid, avoid and avoid. Isaiah’s eyes brushed upon her smeared lipstick, he wouldn’t be surprised if some made way on his lips. 

Her train of words halted once a warm thumb grazed over her bottom lip. Although scribblings of words jotted in her head, nothing made sense as Isaiah’s lips were on hers once again. The layers of planning and never-ending what-ifs vanished, wiped from her head to be buried deep underneath the bedding of soil. Back splayed against the wall and legs around his hip, Isaiah’s fingers trailed down to clutch on her thighs, nudging the stubborn hem of her dress up, coiling it in a bunch. Tongues caressing one another while strings of wanton moaning brushed down the bristles of their throats, everything was long forgotten. There was no Thomas Shelby. There was no Peaky Blinders. Just the two of them.

“What the actual fuck.” With the familiar straining voice echoing through the narrow hallway, the feeling of need vaporized. Heat that was once beaming through their chest seeped into the air, dancing in the wind. The glass bottle in his hands shattered. Piercing shards of glass embedded into his skin, slashing through his blood vessels, but he could see nothing but red. Snapping the neck of the bottle into millions of fragments, Arthur no longer cared the good chug of whiskey he wanted to have away from all the lying cunts. Tonight was full of people who had dollar signs in their eyes while they grasped onto leashes around those who needed to pay back stacks of cash. More than fucking enough. If Arthur heard any of their voice, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

So, when Arthur decided to pull away from the crowd to enjoy even the crappiest stench of whatever the fuck liquified the soil that smeared along the bricks, he did not expect to see a Peaky boy’s tongue down his little’s sister throat. Even though the eldest Shelby wasn’t in many conversations (there was no need to ponder that all they wanted was Thomas’s cock), he barely noticed the disappearance of the second youngest Shelby, most likely because he was too focused on maintaining the position of his curled fists which were stuffed deep in his coat’s pocket. Despite him yanking out his red, thrumming hand multiple of times, a glare from Thomas was enough to remind him of the lingering eyes.

Feet descending down the wall, Y/N’s eyes didn’t blink once as she stared at the abrupt appearance of her eldest brother. Well, fuck. Fuck the plan. Fuck avoiding. Because the future she didn’t want ever was now, “Arthur.”

Without a word uttered between the two, a distance increased with every shove down their throats. Arthur Shelby was here. Arthur Shelby saw the son of the man he trusted pinned his little sister to the wall. Eyes were lassoed, ropes were thrown around, yanking stammering thoughts. Arthur’s eyes that were popped out of his eye socket did not quiver from Isaiah’s figure. The smear of red against the boy’s lips and his dishevelled waistcoat was enough for Arthur to go mental. Isaiah wasn’t sure how he felt. There was a jolt of inhumane voltage zapping through his heart before a snip of a scissor prevented it to ever be alive again. 

The man whose face oozed of litres of blood was a victim of whatever lurked under Arthur Shelby’s skin. If Isaiah wasn’t there to notice his motionless body, he couldn’t give a fuck, but he was. He saw men struggle to hold Arthur’s thrashing body back. The devil they called it. The plunging noise descending his throat and into the green lake in his gut trickled through Isaiah’s ears. He was dead meat, “Arthur, it’s not what it looks like- I can explain.” 

“Fucking not what it looks like?” Although the eldest Shelby stood at the other end of the hallway, his booming voice was as if he was right in front of them. Wavering the cracked neck of the whiskey glass, furious spit gushed out of his lips. Hair curtained to flare up, the man was beaming with steam. “Fucking explain why you looked like you were about to fuck Isaiah!” 

Speckled soil shivered from its land to rest upon the ground. The ground the building sat upon shook, shaking the glass panes to send raining shards of glass across the marble floor. Thomas stepped down the stairs. Seconds ago, the man was under the ceiling of solid gold, now, he was under dripping tainted water that pecked his shoulders. His face was unreadable although a twitch of his jaw gave away the underlying anger, “One fucking day, Arthur, you couldn’t give me one fucking day of silence?” 

Trailing behind him was John and Finn who were laughing at an obnoxious joke uttered by the youngest himself, something about his boxers ending up on the street. It fell into silence. Despite the warning Thomas had incessantly, stubbornly pressed on his accompanies of the night, a part of him had already predicted this was to happen. There was hope. There was hope that the night might’ve flown pass smoothly without a bump over the road. And then there was reality. Awry reality never resembled the plans in Thomas’s head. However, there was a second he had missed in his life. A second was forgotten, jumped over to the next beat of his heart. He didn’t need many words from the blood gushing out of Arthur’s curled fist and the mussed hair of the pair.

Well, there goes the plan. Out the fucking window it was. With a cigarette sighing on his lips, he gestured, “Go ahead. Talk.”

Maybe Y/N should’ve listened to Ada.

[peakywitch]

Know-It-All - Michael Gray

TW: very little plot after the straight up porn part that you'll find at the very beginning. Mature language, explicit content, dom!michael - If you are not 18 you read under your OWN responsability, i am no one to tell you what you can or can't do. Also, FREE OF SPOILERS! She/her pronouns.

A/N: 416 words. I needed to get this out of my brain, so enjoy the small thing.

MASTERLIST

It wasn’t up and down. It was a swift sway, where every single movement sent shivers that made my body react to his almost uncontrollably. And I mean almost, because his hands kept me steady, and feeling the soft yet deadly grip he had on my hips and the words that left his mouth reminded me how much I wanted to keep going. “Fuck,” he whined while throwing his head back and hardening his grip. He breathed in and sat straight again, his eyes met mine. “You look so good right now. Such a little, desperate girl. Who knew you were this desperate, huh?” he smiled “If I had known, I would have fucked you the minute I found out. But, you are here now” he said between heavy breaths, “, yeah, you are here. Cockdrunk, almost dumb…” as he spoke, he moved a strand of hair from my face, and placed it behind my ear. I couldn’t form a single word, the necessity or release had taken over my body and mind. I was always an insecure girl, about my height, my body, my arms, my legs… and none of that existed at that moment. The only thought in my mind was a constant reassurance of how good he felt inside of me, and the only two sounds my body could produce were: my moans and the raw sounds of him now fucking me bloody dumb. “Not only are you absolutely desperate, but you are also the most gorgeous girl ever, and there’s no one else I would rather fuck-” his statement got interrupted by a laugh. Oh, he noticed. “You liked it, hhm? Me, calling you gorgeous?” His laugh made his whole body vibrate, and I moaned involuntarily.

“Y/N?” he asked, “Y/N, what do you think?” Goosebumps travelled through my body, and as I looked up, I saw various pairs of eyes staring at me, waiting for an answer. “Sorry, I-I am… uh… what was the question?” I shifted in my chair, trying to find a comfortable position, one that would allow me to ignore how my body was reacting to the memory from the night before. “I want to know what you think about the way the business is going to be done,” Tommy spoke while trying to decipher where my mind was. “Right, the business. Yeah, as long as we stay legal.” Polly left out a breathy laugh, and I looked around the room, everyone was staring at Tommy, but Michael. Michael was staring at me, eyes knowing everything, and a promising smile.

taglist open:

@a-golden-sunflower-vol-6

@stydia-4-ever

@softxingtea

@lovemissyhoneybee

@girlwith-kalei-do-scope-eyes

@peakyrogers​

@writeroutoftime

[peakyblinders1919]

200

“There is no way anyone is that innocent.”

“Judgement… that-” hiccup, “sounds like judgment. Your judging me Mick.”

“I just find it hard to believe….”

“Hard to believe I’ve never fucked someone? It’s ok Mick, you can say it. It’s not a disease.”

Isaiah’s tongue grazed his bottom lip. Propped against the wall, a mere wallflower as the cocaine made conversation and vision blurry. “She’s not a prude. She knows how to use that mouth of hers.”

“ISAIAH!” She shrieked, due to the fact that she forgot he was there and in genuine response to his blunt words, blunter than hers. Not caring that they were gangsters or self-proclaimed “man whores”, she felt like she could be an open book around them. Her best friends. “Come out of the shades like the creep you are Iz. And I never said I haven’t done anything, I just said I haven’t had sex. There are other things you know.” The playful hint in her eye was ever-present, persistent as they fell on Isaiah. Lingering for a bit, her head dipped down snorting the white powder of the mirror-toped table with grace and all the shame and skill of a hooker. Whether she chose to engage in that kind of activity or not, she certainly knew how to use her body language to her advantage, tilting her head back and pushing her cleavage forward. There were certainly many perks to teasing men.

“Oh, she knows what she’s doing.” The boys whispered to each other.

“So you’ve never…”

“Never. It’s not classy.”

“Since when were you classy?” Michael teased.

“She’s classier than you mate. You’ll fuck anything with a pulse.”

Though she didn’t need Isaiah jumping to her defense, the wink she gave him in response suggested otherwise.

“I have what some would call dignity Michael.”

“You’re scared of something,” he let slip.

“You don’t get to tell me what I feel.”

“Admit it, you're scared.”

“Mick, stop. You're being a bastard.”

“No. It doesn’t make any sense. Someone who looks like her has never-”

“Mate, mate, watch yourself,” Isaiah warned, disguising his annoyance as caring friendship, a hand slipped around the blinder’s shoulders. “Just because she doesn’t want to fuck you means there’s something wrong with her.”

“So prove it. If you're not scared, do it. Do it with Isaiah.”

Simultaneously their eyes widened; hers in horror, his in pure disbelief. She mouthed an apology, begging her to understand and believe that he did not put him up to this. Deep down she knew he didn’t. She sighed deeply, taking a sip of cheery wine from the crystal goblet, watching the soap opera unfold in front of her as boys schemed in angered whispers.

“100 notes. I leave you two in here alone, and you come out a woman.”

“That’s enough Mick. That’s fucking insulting, yeah-”

“Make it 200 and it’s a deal.” She stood her guard, staring him straight in the eye. He didn’t scare her, men like Michael with closed, conservative minds didn’t scare her. Isaiah certainly didn’t scare her. Quite the opposite actually. She never felt more comfortable than around him, and that much was obvious as she looked at him and imagined it actually happening once and for all.

“You sure?” Isaiah mouthed her way, his hand keeping his drunk friend upright as he shuffled for his wallet.

“Thank you. Made a quick penny tonight, thanks Mick. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Soo…” she hummed, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching the moonlight glide over Isaiah’s tuxedo as he stepped back into the room.

“We don’t have to you know. You just swindled 200 notes from him, I’ll just say we did if you give me 100.”

“No, no… I… I earned this.” She laughed at his puzzled reaction, joining her on the bed.

The gravity that had always been there between them worked in full force, their lips instantly grazing each other without another spoken word. After the taste of him lingered on her lips, he guided her further back onto the bed, a hand behind her head. To say he hadn’t thought about this day was a lie, to say that he knew he would be the first person to sleep with her, well that he could have never foreseen. Nor prepared for it, so in the end, maybe this was the best way for it to happen. Drunk, thoughts clouded from the grip cocaine had on them, the forced dare, well maybe they’d have someone to thank on their wedding day.

Lips continuing to explore uncharted territory, his lips finding the dips and curves of her skin, sucking the hallow of her clavical, kisses pressed against the part of her throat where a moan escaped. Her hands played his hair, scratched along his back as she pulled him in for more. Inexperienced? No. Careful. Yes.

Playfully, her teeth grazed his lower lip, tugging gently yet with a force as to say she was in control and she was ready. It was all spurred on by the bulge she felt against her thigh. The sensation that followed flowed from her lips to her belly, heat rushing south of that until she clenched against him, in response to him. Instinctively her hips bucked up towards him, pulling away from the kiss to regain a breath of fresh air, the way her chest heaved in anxious excitement a clear sign that after all this time she was ready. And Isaiah was the one. Getting lost in those dark eyes, she didn’t know how long she knew, but perhaps she had always known. Maybe that’s why she had waited in the first place.

“Are you really sure about this? I mean… it’s not going to ruin our friendship?”

A finger on his lips was her way of silencing him, confirming that she was sure and the last thing he needed to worry about was this ruining anything. In her mind, nothing could be ruined by this.

Clothes found their place on the floor, and her hands found their home around his neck. Her mouth formed an “o” as he slowly pushed himself into her, being careful, slow, and caring. He kissed her until she adjusted comfortably and he only continued kissing her, lips never leaving her skin, as he began slowly. The feeling was unlike anything she had known and unlike anything she could have expected. She felt the sensation all the way down in her toes, curling as she moaned.

Almost as quick as it had happened it was over, leaving her to regain her breath, leaning over to press a trail of kisses along his exposed chest.

“Best 200 notes I’ve ever made.”

[comphy-and-cozy]

Sweetest Taboo - Michael Gray x Isiah Jesus x OFC/Reader

Summary: An unofficial part 3 to ‘Unravel Me’. The boys celebrate a tropical birthday. Modern!AU.

Word Count: 6.9K words

Warnings: Smut/NSFW. 18+. Cuckholding/hot wifing and threesome (sort of).

Series Masterlist

While Michael Gray isn’t exactly the poster child for cheery celebrations, he does believe that there are a few occasions worthy of celebrating, and a birthday is one of them. It’s one time per year that you can spoil yourself, he thinks, and everyone should indulge now and then.

It’s September, his girl’s birthday month, and he’s made it clear that he wants to spoil her rotten for her birthday this year, pulling out all of the stops on a tropical island getaway. The house he’s rented for two weeks is divine; sleek, modern, and a perfect slice of heaven fit for a Peaky Blinder lavishing his woman in luxury.

From the minute she steps off the plane, the red carpet is rolled out for her, ensuring that she feels like a starlet or some sort of high-end royalty each moment. When she enters the vacation home, there’s a large bouquet of flowers waiting on the counter, along with an expensive bottle of champagne. On the neatly made up bed in the bedroom lies a box of fine Swiss chocolates, and a stack of heartfelt cards from some of her closest friends.

The first few days are easy, catching up on sleep and basking in the sun. Michael’s itinerary is packed full of high living extravagance, complete with several five-star meals, a couple’s massage, private wine tasting, and, of course, plenty of beachside love-making.

On the third day, after a parasailing excursion and a delicious meal, Michael brings her back to the house. She looks beautiful, he thinks, with her floral skirt and glow of her skin, warmed by days in the sun.

“I’ve brought you another surprise,” he says, smiling sleekly at her. Her eyes pique in interest, unable to hide her excitement. As unselfish as she is, it’s nice to be treated like a princess sometimes.

He is pleased with her reaction, smug and confident, as he takes a few paces toward the door, opening it with anticipation.

A gasp is all that leaves her mouth, frozen temporarily at the sight of Isiah standing with one hand in his pocket against the doorframe, looking terribly handsome as he gazes at her, smiling. The large bouquet of flowers he has in his hand covers up the white collared button-up shirt he sports, but not enough to hide the flex of his forearms that are on display with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Isiah all but mumbles, watching her as she takes in the sight of him, allowing a moment for the shock to settle in.

She feels the butterflies in her chest fluttering, excited to have him there, and anticipating all that his presence might bring. Sliding off of her spot on the couch, she steps forward, trying to hide the desire she feels to run to him, instead opting to walk briskly to him to wrap her arms around him. He’s warm against her, his arms folding around her body tightly with a squeeze that transfers more than affection, but love, ardor, and desire.

Whispering a breathless ‘thank you’, she presses a kiss against his cheek as she accepts the flowers from him. She smells them, smiling because he remembered that peonies are her favorite.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers, looking up at him, and he can’t help but smile at her admission.

“Me too, sweetheart.”

“Did Michael show you this beautiful place he rented for us!?” she asks excitedly, setting the flowers on the counter before jumping back and grabbing his hand. “Let me show you around.”

Isiah follows, partly because he’s being dragged by her, but also because he can’t help but follow her like a magnet, as she gives him the grand tour. Michael is a few steps behind, amused at her excitement.

She leads him into the suite of the bedroom, the sound of the waves crashing outside creating a dreamy ambiance over the fresh, white linens on the bed. Isiah glances at it, wondering how many times Michael’s had her in this very spot, how many moans the walls of this room have soaked in, how her frame looks draped in nothing but the sheets. He’s subtle, but not subtle enough; Michael catches the flick of his eye and smirks to himself, just imagining the thoughts running through his mate’s head.

The breeze is refreshing and warm as she slides the collapsible windows to the side, leading them outside.

“This is my favorite part,” she explains, gesturing at the tall, sleek outdoor shower, a few feet away from the infinity pool that overlooks the vast private beach of the island. It’s open, protected only slightly from the beach view with one sheet of frosted glass, the other two corners lined with a deep cherry wood, a long bench on one end. Isiah observes, thinking he’d be fine to live here with her and this view for the rest of his life.

Michael is quiet, letting the ideas brewing in his head swirl to life.

Her tour at an end, she looks at Isiah, pausing to gauge his response. He grins, “Fit for a king and queen.”

“And you, Zay,” she is quick to add, looping her arm through his as she leads him back into the house.

A few hours pass, and soon enough, Isiah is settled into the guest suite of the vacation home. He’s not staying for long, but he’s pretty confident he won’t be spending much time alone on this trip. Not with the way she keeps glancing at him, fervor deep within the pools of her eyes, despite the fact that it’s Michael sitting beside her, arm around her, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on her shoulder.

They are enjoying a bottle of wine, some expensive bottle of Pinot Noir, with windows all propped open and welcoming the warm, salty breeze of the evening. It’s peaceful and pleasant, and the faint sound of the boys’ deep laughter can be heard even outside in the distance.

Another hour is spent catching up, cracking jokes, and telling stories. Another bottle of wine is split between the trio, the boozy haze combining dreamily with the warm air. She sighs contentedly, closing her eyes as she lays her head back against Michael’s muscular arm. Isiah’s eyes drag over the tantalizing bare skin of her leg, fingers yearning to drag along the outside of her thigh.

A comfortable silence falls in the room, only the sound of the palm trees rustling outside. Isiah wonders if the other two are thinking what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t want to voice his thoughts and spoil the mood or overstep his bounds. He shares a glance with Michael, and it’s like he’s read his mind, for all Michael responds with is a curt, subtle nod.

“Are you glad that Isiah’s here?” he asks her.

“Oh, yes, Michael,” she nods enthusiastically. “The best birthday gift ever.”

Isiah’s heart explodes with jubilation, elated that spending time with him is even a low priority on her birthday wishlist. He offers her a smile, which she returns, and she feels her cheeks go hot under his gaze.

“You know,” Michael continues. “I’m not sure I ever really showed Isiah the ropes.”

She glances up at him, eyes wide and curious. “The ropes?”

Michael nods, humming in the affirmative. “You know, show him what you like, how you like it.” He clicks his teeth. “How you like to be fucked.”

Oh. A shiver runs through her, his words enticing her far more than they should. While they had certainly had plenty of interactions the other way around, they had never played with the dynamic of Isiah watching Michael, and she loves the idea.

“You’d like that?” Michael’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts, and she looks at him, nodding. “Yeah?”

She clears her throat, eyes flicking to Isiah, to ensure that he likes the idea, too; she’d never want him or Michael to be uncomfortable. Fortunately, based on the way that Isiah’s staring at her with a dark hunger in his eyes, it seems he is definitely on board.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. He’s all in. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch you get fucked, could he?”

Read the rest on AO3!

[pacifymebby]

Hi! i love your blog sm! i was wondering if i could request a peaky blinders preference for how they would react if they were at a party and an enemy had their s/o’s drink spiked as a way to distract them so they could attack the peaky boys? i hope this makes sense haha Tysm !

Hi lovely thank u so much for the request, i am so sorry that youve waited so long for me to finish this!!! I loved the idea and u gave me so much to work with!! I hope its everything u wanted it to be hehe.

Warnings: spiking of drinks, violence tv level) also describe the feeling of being spiked during Bonnies which could be upsetting for some.

Tommy

🌿 He'd been on edge all evening, he didn't really want to show his face tonight anyway, one of those fancy parties he knew he had to host every now and then to remain a prominent, influencial member of high society...

🌿 But these evenings are always ruined by the other guests... If he had to put a figure on it he'd say he despises about 90% of the rooms population and if it wasn't for you dancing with him and acompanying him all evening he's not sure he wouldn't have shouted that to the whole fucking room...

🌿All in all he wasn't in the mood for a party, let alone the trouble that he could sense brewing, this darkness bubbling away under the surface... He could tell something wasn't quite right, he had that warning bell ringing in his head and everyone who entered the grand ballroom, Tommy counted them, assessed them, studied them for any tells...

🌿Tommy saw exactly what they did, saw your drink get spiked... But this is Tommy Shelby we're talking about, the man never misses a trick

🌿And when he saw that young lad slip something into your drink he knew exactly what it was for... He knew that they were only trying to distract him from the bigger picture

🌿And what better way to navigate the trouble than to let them believe that they had...

🌿So he swaps your drink, accidentally knocking the spiked drink over, along with several others, smiling and laughing it off, apologising, keeps the mood light all hands in the air like "never mind eh just a few spilt drinks"

🌿Then when he rejoins you and gives you your drink he wraps his arms around you and hugs you close, rocking you side to side gently, slow dancing with you. Giving you instructions.

🌿"Need you do somet for me angel," he says, "Don't worry it won't be difficult... Need you to pass out for me yeah, just go limp in my arms as if someones put somet in your drink and its hit you all at once... Not right now yeah, just... Sip your drink - its safe I promise - just sip your drink and dance with me now eh and then, when I go over there and start talking with John, you go talk to Pol or me sister and you tell em you don't feel so good, let them take you out for some air and then you do it alright? But make sure you're somewhere safe away from all this for me... "

🌿You're a little worried, "but why Tommy whats going on?" "Never you mind about any of that eh, you just do this one thing for me eh sweetheart, I'll take care of everything else..."

🌿So you do as he tells you and you go outside with Ada and Polly doing your best to act a little faint a little frail. And to you delight you convince them so that when you pass out in Pollys arms a woman nearby screams and Ada goes running inside to tell Tommy...

🌿And as the chaos errupts and the party falls into dissaray, the fighting breaking out between the Peakys and the rival gang Tommy is safe in the knowledge that youre alright, that youre outside away from it all, safe and sound. So he can concentrate on wiping out the bastards who tried to hurt his angel, tried to use you as a cog in their nasty plan.

🌿He's so proud of you! When the fights over and he's sure there are no more threats he comes to find you, Ada has laid you down on the bench in the garden and covered you with her jacket and when Tommy sees you he smirks, chuckling softly.

🌿He gives you a little applause, "Bravo love, bravo," he says sitting down and helping you up, his proud grin painting a bright smile on your lips.

🌿Ada and Polly being confused until the penny drops and they realise that they've been dragged into one of Tommys plans. Theyre furious that he tricked them like that but Tommy isnt paying any attention to the lecture Polly is giving him. He's just looking at you.

🌿"You should be on the stage angel, when I saw you for a second there you had me worried..." "Don't be daft," you smile shyly, leaning into him as he puts his arms around you and hugs you, kissing your temple, looking out at the garden with serious eyes.

🌿"Sorry I had to drag you into all that love, won't happen again..." but you both know it probably will and he knows now that he can rely on you to be quite the little actress whenever he needs you.

🌿"Glad I've got such a clever girl eh angel..."

Alfie

🐻 Fuckin hates parties, doesnt see why it cant just be you and him having a drink ans a dance cosy at home but then again, he's old, maybe you youngens still like a party... Mind you, he remembers being young (he ain't that old!) he wasn't much for parties then either...

🐻 But he can't insult Tommy Shelby by refusing his invitation and he takes a little joy from knowing that his old pal Tommy hates parties just as much, that at least at this party he'll get to do is two favourite things: dancing with his zieskiet and seeing Tommy Shelby pissed off.

🐻 So the two of you go to the party and he tries to keep his grumbling to a minimum, charming you with all his usual tricks, dancing with you and enjoying the jealous looks from all the other men in the room. He's certain that you must be the most beautiful woman any of these men have ever set eyes on and he loves knowing that you're all his. Loves being able to show you off subtly.

🐻 He dances with you and brings you drinks, he holds your hand at every opportunity, being extra possesive over you, he doesnt leave your side all even...

🐻 So when it happens he's shocked... Because how could it have happened? How could anyone have put anything in your drink without him noticing?

🐻 He's so shocked but this is Alfie and he knows he needs to keep it together, remain calm, remain unsettlingly calm. So he turns slowly with you still in his arms and he searches the room for Tommy Shelby.

🐻 Because this is Tommys fuckin party so its Tommys fuckin fault and Alfie isn't daft, he knows that this... Whats happened to you, your limp, seemingly lifeless body, is probably only the first step in someone elses plan.

🐻The thought flickers across his mind, perhaps this is part of Tommys plans, perhaps its Tommy himself who has done this to you, betraying Alfie - it wouldn't be the first time the old friends have betrayed eachother... But no, that would be too obvious and besides... Tommy has a little class, for a "gypsy" anyway...

🐻 So instead of threatening everyone in the room instead of firing his gun, putting a bullet through someones - anyones - head you know, just to relieve his frustration, just to calm his panic... instead of losing his mind he remains calm, walks purposefully up to Tommy and starts talking over the younger man completely ignoring Tommys company.

🐻 This is tommys fuckin party so its tommys fuckin problem and Alfie has already decided that whatever happens next he won't be sticking around to help his old friend.

🐻 "Alright Tommy my old pal alright have a nice night yeah cause me and my girl are goin now... I know I know we've not exactly stayed very long but you know how I feel about these fancy do's dont you... Fuckin can't abide em yeah... And anyway as you can see... As you can see right my girls taken a turn hasn't she, had a funny turn, passed out cold in my arms just now yeah like she'd just gone and fuckin died or somet..." he's getting theatrical now, those who were with Tommy are watching Alfie fearfully, they've heard about him, they know he can turn at any second and he sure as hell looks like he might be about to snap now.

🐻 "We were just dancing together just now, over there yeah by that big fuckin ugly tree someone seems to have just fuckin dragged in out the garden? What is that anyway a fuckin big ugly tree? You wanna fire whoever put that ugly thing there..."

🐻 Tommy is looking at Alfie and looking at you, putting the pieces together, trying to think quicker than Alfie is talking but its always difficult to stay one step ahead of Solomons when he starts on these rants.

🐻 "Anyway I digress I digress, fuckin ugly plant or not, it would appear that somehow, in your fine home... Yeah and that words important right cause as the man of my own house myself yeah, I like to keep my home nice and safe eh, a fortress if you will... Anyway, me and my girl we were just fuckin dancin right, she was just fuckin dancing, having a nice fuckin evenin and then, poof..." he lets his voice soften, making a little gesture with his fingers like hes snuffing out a candle, "its like she's fuckin died or something aint it... Look at her yeah, don't you agree... Fuckin lifeless mate thats what she is..."

🐻 "Alfie whatevers happened I promise you we'll..."

🐻 "Fuckin fix it? That what you're gonna do yeah?" Alfie cutting him off, trying not to lose his temper, nows not the time to start a fight, nows the time to get you home safe and sound.

🐻 "Well, you can enjoy the rest of your evening eh, gather all your gypsy boys up yeah, put your little thinkin caps on eh and fuckin fix whatever shit you've gotten yourself caught up in this time... But me an my girl yeah, we're going home now alright mate, cause I reckon when she wakes up yeah shes gonna have a pretty nasty headache, and the last thing I'd want for her now is for her to have to come round to the sight of your fuckin crooked mug... Mate."

🐻 Alfie would be suspicious of everyone, even Tommy who he has mostly ruled out.

🐻 As he's carrying you out to the car, calling for Ollie to bring the motor round, its Alfie who starts the fight, firing his gun once into the crowd, wounding one of tommys men with a bullet in the foot. He chuckles as he hears the cry of pain, hears the victim fall to the floor just as heavily as you had fallen.

🐻 His real priority however is you, now that he's let tommy shelby know theres bad blood between them, now that hes started a fight and left the party tumbling into chaos, all out warfare, all Alfie cares about is getting you home.

🐻 He sits in the back of the car with you cradled to his chest, bundled up in his arms like a baby. He'd be talking to you soothingly, stroking your hair, not sure whether you can hear him or not. Wanting to make sure that whatevers happening to you you know your alfies with you, you know not to be scared.

🐻Grumbling and snapping at poor Ollie because hes driving too slowly and then because hes driving too dangerously and you're getting jostled about in the back.

🐻 He doesnt trust hospitals and doctors but he begrudgingly takes you into one and sits with you all night, getting snappy and snippy with the doctors who he doesnt think are doing enough.

🐻 He is so relieved when you finally come round the next morning, he's not slept, not eaten, hes just sat holding you, even when his sciatica was playing up and he was in pain from sitting holding you like that for too long.

🐻 He is nothing but soft and tender with you all day, runs you a bath to help sooth your aching muscles, fussing over you and grumbling at anyone who dares disturb the two of you. Poor Ollie gets an earful when he tries to inform Alfie that Tommy Shelby phoned.

🐻 He feels so guilty that this happened to you on his watch, he doesnt say it to you outright, that he blames himself, but he does make you promises over and over again that when he finds out what happened, who did that to you, he'll be paying them a visit...

🐻 He was really scared for you, really scared that he was going to lose you, really scared that you might not wake up, that he might not get to dance with you or kiss you or see your pretty eyes awake and alive ever again and so for that reason he stays close to you for some time after that night, always holding you, always touching you. He kisses you every chance he gets. Even wants you to come into his office with him so that he can keep you close, sitting in his lap whilst he works.

🐻 "Next time Tommy Shelby invites us to one of his fancy little parties zieskiet, next time he sends us one of those fuckin little invites... Lets not bother yeah, lets stay home just me and you, can do all the dancin we like right here yeah poppet, can have all the fun we like right fuckin here yeah..."

Arthur

🍂 You and Arthur always go too far at these parties his brother hosts. Tommys out there trying to make contacts, trying to lobby and charm politicians and the nations elite, meanwhile you and Arthur are racing one another to the bottom of a bottle of whiskey you've nicked from the kitchens, getting silly and letting your hair down...

🍂 And you're already drunk, both of you are really really drunk!

🍂 So when you start acting like you've overstepped that hard to predict line into "one too many" territory, Arthur assumes that thats all it is. You've had one too many, surpassed your limit and now you're struggling to stand up or walk, leaning on him for balance.

🍂 When you tell him you feel a little sick he chuckles and teases you all, "Aye my love I'm not fuckin surprised eh, when you gonna learn eh sweetheart, you can't keep up with us big boys..."

🍂 But when you collapse in his arms he freezes. The smile wiped clean off his face because suddenly he understands whats happened. You aren't just a little drunk. Something far more sinister has happened.

🍂 And of course he's terrified, pretty much convinced that youre already dead... Your body is so limp, lifeless, your head fallen back, youe eyes closed. You look so fragile, so delicate, like a feather and yet suddenly he can feel the weight of your whole body and you feel so, so real, so heavy...

🍂 He's fucking terrified.

🍂But Arthur Shelby doesn't do "terrified" he has one emotional switch and thats rage. If hes heartbroken he gets angry, if he's bitter he gets angry, if hes scared, well, he gets fucking angry and thats what happens next.

🍂 He fires his gun up at the cieling, the bullet shattering the glass in the chandelier above you so that shards rain down on the now petrified crowd. The party disintergratea, the atmosphere shattered as the band stops playing and, beyond the crying of a terrified bystander, the scuffle of panicked men, the room falls silent, all eyes on him.

🍂 He's livid, his mind already hazing with rage so that he can barely think, he's breathing heavily, shallow ragged breaths.

🍂 "Right!" he shouts into the crowd, "One of yous has fuckin hurt my fuckin wife and no one leaves this fuckin room until I find out which fucker done it... By order of the peaky fuckin blinders!"

🍂 And of course, no one argues with him.

🍂 Tommy pushes his way through the crowd to his brother, tries to reason with him, one hand on Arthurs shoulder as he tells him whats happening, explains the situation...

🍂 "You need to let her go brother, give her to Polly eh, go on brother, let Polly take her now..." Tommys trying to reason with him but Arthur doesnt want to let you go. The only reason he gives in in the end is because Tommy tells him he knows whos responsible for whats happened.

🍂 When Tommy points out the men who have spiked your drink Arthur doesnt question him, doesn't ask how he knows, instead he loses the last of his control, instead he startes trembling with the adrenaline rush, the rage, the hatred burning in his veins, his mind white and blank, tunnel visioning towards destruction.

🍂 He goes feral, launching himself at the men who are responsible, horror movie scenes ensuing as Tommy and the Peakys all go to battle, cutting men left right and center. Arthur is the most blood thirsty however, driven by the image of your lifeless body, driven by the terror he feels in his tight chest every time he pictures your lifeless expression.

🍂 He can't be stopped and he beats and cuts those men until they're unrecognisable. He has to be dragged back from the smashes in head of one of them, covered in their blood and his.

🍂 He can't calm down, he's practically rabid with his own violence, his eyes dark and changed by his anger.

🍂 But when you come round hours later, when you enter the ballroom where Arthur is still smashing things, still throwing furniture and breaking glasses, doing himself damage, when you call out to him he hears you and he turns to look at you. All the energy draining from him, all the adrenaline leaving him panting and exhausted, just gazing at you in disbelief.

🍂 And then hes just a shameful guilty stream of apologies, hes sorry he let it happen to you, hes sorry you have to see him like that, hes sorry he's too bloody and disgusting to hold you, he's sorry hes ruined your beautiful dress, he's sorry he went too far again, hes sorry he wasn't there when you woke up, he's sorry he couldn't be more help...

🍂 The only way you can cut him off is with your hand over his mouth, looking deep into his eyes, combing your fingers through his hair and his beard and pressing your lips to his cheeks, to his forehead and nose and jaw and anywhere else you possibly can.

🍂 "S'alright Arthur m'love im alright I'm here and its all alright and you fuckin got em didn't you, fuckin saved me didnt you, love you so much Arthur, don't apologise for anything please love, I'm so grateful I'm your girl..." you whispering all these sweet things to him until he's sure he's going to cry, your eyes and his eyes watering.

🍂 You cleaning him up afterwards and then climbing into the bath with him. Probably fucking in the water nice and slow and gentle to use up the last of his adrenaline and sooth him the best way you know how...

John

🌼 Similar to Arthur, John just thinks you can't hold your drink. You're so much smaller than him but you always forget that when you're drinking, you've been on the gin with Pol and Ada and you haven't exactly been taking your time....

🌼 He thinks you're so funny when you're drunk, thinks youre so cute too, the way you lose yourself half way through a sentence trailing off sleepily. The way you have to lean on him, wrapping your arms around his waist and closing your eyes as if you're about to fall asleep against him.

🌼 And when you do fall asleep against him he just chuckles, "whatre y'like eh flower," he says shaking his head and kissing your cheek as he lifts you up and carries you to the edge of the dancefloor, making a bed for you out of dinner chairs, lining them up in a row and laying you down on them with the little ones who have already gone to sleep on similar makeshift beds.

🌼 He shrugs his jacket off and uses it as a cover for you draping it over your shoulders carefully, crouching down and kissing your cheek, taking a moment to admire your peaceful features. You're so pretty, he's so lucky... All the while never noticing that somethings wrong. Never noticing anything at all until its too late.

🌼 The men who spiked your drink had been expecting some kind of reaction, a ruckus of sorts, a ripple of panic which would start with you and spread through the party like a wave...

🌼 But nothing happens and they're left confused and growing ever more tense waiting to pull their move, knowing that their window of opportunity is running out fast

🌼 And in the end they have to abandon their plan because all is calm and everyone js still having a good night. John is laughing with his brothers and you, well, you appear to be sleeping peacefully with the children...

🌼 So they have to start a new commotion, one of the men taking out a knife and threatening some random politicians wife so that one by one the peaky men are dragged into a fight.

🌼 John doesn't make any connections between the commotion and whats happened to you, as far as he's concerned youre still sleeping... That is until he grabs one of these trouble makers by the collar of his shirt and the cheeky fucker licks his teeth in a grin.

🌼 "Wheres your girlfriend Shelby? Hope shes alright, would be a shame if something were to..." and just like that the penny drops and although john had only intended to wound the stupid bastard, when he realises what the man is alluding to he shoves him up against the wall and pulls his gun on him, shooting the nasty git right between the eyes.

🌼 He's feeling murderous then, no longer enjoying the fight as a bit of friendly sport. But before he can take revenge he rushes to find Pol and instructs her to take care of you, to get you to a doctor as quickly as she can.

🌼 He's worried about you, obviously, but he's also really beating himself up for being so stupid as to not realise that there was anything wrong with you. He takes that frustration out in the fight however, channeling all his anger and fear and upset into beating the living daylights out of his enemies.

🌼 He's anxious to get to you however and the moment he scans the room and sees that his brothers and the lads have everything under control he leaves to find Polly, to find you.

🌼 He irritates the hell out of Ada and Polly who are trying to attend to you whilst they wait for the doctor, because Johns not the most delicate or precise at the best of times and when hes all worked up and in a bit of a state hes even worse. He just keeps gettinf in the way, he wants to help but somehow everything he does actually makes it worse.

🌼 "For christ sakes John sit down!" Polly losing her temper with him when the doctor does finally arrive and he carries on getting in the way.

🌼 But John will not be reassured and he will not listen to the doctor or believe them when they try to tell him that you're going to be okay.

🌼 He gets annoyed when the doctor tries to leave. "Where the bloody hell dya think youre going shes still out cold!" "Mr Shelby please, she's only sleeping, she's going to be completely fine... Theres nothing more I can do for either of you but you have my assurances that..."

🌼 "I don't want your assurances doc, I want you to fuckin do something!"

🌼 Ada having to intervene and drag him away, telling him that if he really wants to help he should stay with you, maybe talk to you or something so that you know hes there with you... Shes despairing with him if shes being honest...

🌼 But John finally lets the doctor leave and he sits down with you, holding your hand, stroking your hair out your face and talking to you, trying his best to calm down and talk calmly and reassuringly to you.

🌼 Worlds wobbliest restless knees award goes to...

🌼 He's a worrier at heart, even if he usually seems so laid back and when you do come round he doesnt stop fussing or being anxious, in fact Ada tells you she actually believes he's gotten worse... If thats at all possible.

🌼 He absolutely dotes on you. He doesnt want to leave your side but he doesnt want you to go without and he doesnt trust anyone else to get your drinks or to bring you food so hes constantly torn between going to get you food or staying by your side.

🌼 Isn't affraid to admit how scared of losing you he was, tells you multiple times. Keeps taking your hand in his and just holding onto you clasping your fingers tightly. He doesnt want to let you out of his sight.

🌼 Overly doting actually to a point where you think you might go insane. "John love, sweetheart please calm down, I'm fine I'm fine I promise... I can hold my cup myself see, I'm alright really love... Are you sure you're alright you're exhausting yourself..."

🌼 But he won't let you worry about him and he forces himself to tone his anxiety down because he doesn't want you to worry about him.

🌼 Again, can't get over how fucking stupid he feels, he can't believe he thought you were just drunk. He can't believe he just left you in the corner with the kids. He has such a huge crisis of confidence about his abilities as a husband/father. You needed him and he didn't even fucking notice.

🌼 He's petrified it could happen again and he does a lot of growing up. You tease him that hes growing too serious in his old age and although sometimes he laughs and jokes along, sometimes he gets this dark guilty look in his eyes and he reminds you of what happened, what could have happened. Tells you again that he isn't gonna let you down like that again...

🌼 Obviously wont listen to you when you try to tell him he didn't and could never let you down.

Bonnie

🍀 If he was being honest, for all that he'd told Tommy Shelby he wanted fame and fortune, didn't want to be a traveller anymore with fucking nothing to his name, seeing how Tommy lived whenever he visited the Shelby manor, made him question whether he really wanted all those things afterall. There was something about that manor that made Bonnie uncomfortable, perhaps it was simply that wherever the Shelbys were involved there was trouble.

🍀 And that was why he had had mixed feelings about bringing you to this party...

🍀Thered been so many reasons he'd wajted to... Naturally... He'd been excited to show off his girl, to have all the other Peaky Boys see you in all your beauty, for them to see that the shy and somewhat reserved Bonnie Gold, could do just as well as them when it came to women...

🍀And he'd wanted to show off to you too, show you how different the Shelby family seemed to live. The wealth that Bonnie was being introduced to. He wanted to show you it all so he could show you all the things he was going to work to win for you with his boxing.

🍀And he wanted to treat you. In comparison to the other Peaky lads like Isaiah and Michael and Finn, Bonnie led a far more simple life. The other boys were always taking their girls out to fancy parties, clubs and restaurants but you and Bonnie didn't live that kind of life...

🍀So when Tommy told him to bring a girl if he liked, Bonnie knew he would be taking you...

🍀Even if he was a little apprehensive to let you so close to the darker half of his life which so often put him in danger and could put you in harms way too if he wasn't careful..

🍀But it was worth his nerves to see you smiling the way that you were now, dancing with him, drinking and laughing with Isaiahs girlfriend and Michaels too. You looked so happy, so beautiful under the twinkling candle glow which lit the ballroom. And he was happy that you were happy. He was proud that everyone could see how you shone like a little star in that room. How you fitted in perfectly...

🍀But neither of you saw that stranger slip something into your drink. A drink that had been intended for Ada Shelby who had been talking to you by the bar, your glasses side by side on the polished marble top.

🍀 At first you just felt a little odd, a little dizzy as though you'd done ten shots of gin without realising it and they were all hitting you at once and when you found Bonnie and told him you felt strange he smiled at you and teased you telling you you'd had one too many trying to keep up with "us big lads"

🍀 He tucks you under his arm and leads you out to the terrace for some air, kisses your cheek and scrapes your long hair back from your face and neck so that the cool night air might dust you and ease your dizziness.

🍀You make the mistake of asking for some water and Bonnie makes the mistake of leaving you alone outside to go and get you some.

🍀And by the time either of you realised whats really happening its too late. Your little world is blurring and spinning and you feel suddenly so unbelievably sick.

🍀So you stand up quickly, too quickly, desperate to get back to Bonnie because you have that worrisome feeling in your stomach, that instinct telling you that something is really wrong.

🍀And you bump into a stranger who holds onto your arm for a moment too long, making you feel even more like you might be in serious trouble.

🍀You call out for Bonnie, your voice much quieter, your words more slurred than you expect them to be. And of course when Bonnie hears you he recognises that something isn't right because you sound so distance. Suddenly he feels very far away from you...

🍀When he turns and sees you he drops the glass of water, not even noticing it shatter on the floor causing a stir. He rushes to you concern lacing his brows together, his young face grey with worry when he recognises all the tell tale signs of something he'd hoped would never happen to you...

🍀 You open your mouth to call out to him but as you do you falter, stumbling forward. You're lucky your boy is a boxer, agile and quick on his feet, because he manages to catch you just before your vision fails and your body falls limp everything feeling heavier and heavier until finally you find yourself completely lost under a thick hazy quilt.

🍀 You can feel that sensation of impending doom grip you then, the fear building inside you, your heart racing as you struggle against the lethargy and confusion which is dragging you down into the dark. You want to cry, want to cry out for your Bonnie to help you but you can't even move let alone speak.

🍀Bonnie is shaking, looking down at you where you lie limp in his arms, your body slumped against his. You look so pale, so washed out. You feel cold too. Its as if you're dead but he knows youre not. He knows exactly whats happened to you because he's heard stories from Isaiah about some of the shit that goes on in the city these days. Girls getting attacked by sleazy gits. Ones who can't charm women (or perhaps dont even want to) so they use drugs to make them vulnerable, to make them easy targets.

🍀He's livid. Pale with anger. His heart beating fast because he knows how dangerous these kinds of poisons can be. How much damage they can do. He's scared for you but he's fucking livid too. Who the fucks Tommy Shelby inviting into his home these days... How the fucks a gang leader as infamous as Tommy Shelby cutting about letting young girls get spiked under his watch.

🍀He kisses your forehead, whispering to you that you'll be alright, saying a little prayer, a hail mary for you, hoping you can hear him. Hoping that it'll bring you comfort wherever you are just then.

🍀And then he surprises not only himself but everyone else in the room, all the other young peaky lads watching him astounded.

🍀Because he walks straight back into the ballroom, still holding you in his arms, bundled up against his chest, the most precious cargo hes ever had to carry. He kisses you on the forehead again and he says another little prayer for you, and then he carries you right up to Tommy Shelby himself, Bonnies eyes full of a cold determination, his anger apparent in the grinding of his jaw, the complete disgust with which he looks at Tommy.

🍀 It must be the adrenaline shooting through him, it must be the funny way emotions like fear and heartbreak show themselves when youre young and impulsive, but god knows where the confidence to do what he does next comes from...

🍀"You need to sort your fuckin men out Thomas Shelby, I dont know what the fuck kind of lowlife bastards you associate with..." 🍀his dad tries to cut in and apologise to Tommy on Bonnies behalf but when he sees you he frowns too and steps back wincing when his son carries on.

🍀 "You need to be a bit more fuckin careful about who you call your fuckin friends Tommy, cause when I find the sick cunt who's spiked my lass am gonna slit his fuckin throat from ear to fuckin ear..."

🍀 "And you say we're the fuckin savages..." he spits on the ground at Tommys feet but he doesn't wait to hear the older mans response.

🍀Instead he leaves with you immediately, doesnt stay to realise the true extent of the drama which kicks off after he leaves and even when he hears about what went down in the end he doesnt care. All that matters to him is you. When he's leaving with you all he's thinking about is how he's going ti get you home safe, how he's going to take care of you...

🍀All in all the attackers are going ro regret their mistake because had they hit Ada there might have been a bigger fight kicked off, her brothers picking any poor sod in the crowd of guests to fight with. But because they hit you its all over much quicker. Bonnie doesnt let you become a distraction, he really does just carry you all the way home where he can keep you safe, watch you through your unconsciousness and make sure youre alright.

🍀He spends all night sitting up with you, talking to you quietly, kissing your hair, cradling you to his chest, worrying about you. Saying those little prayers for you hoping that you can hear him or at least feel his presence. Hoping that you can feel his love for you, hoping you know that hes got you, that youre safe.

🍀 "S'alright little dove s'alright my girl ive got you you're safe sweetpea, won't let anything happen to you lovely..."

🍀When tou come round you wake in his lap, his hand in your hair, one hand on your wrist as he counts your pulse. He's so worried about you, the longer you've been out for the more stressed hes become. His dad came home not long after he did, Aberama had had to stick around and help when the fight had broken out, he'd also had to try and save face on behalf of his son and his short temper...

🍀 "My my bonnie that was quite the performance..." "I'm not gonna apologise so don't even try it..." Bonnies still absolutely seething and will be for some time, he's angry that Tommy would let those kinds of men into his house and he can't be reasoned with. He's definitely going to hold a grudge.

🍀But when you come round properly he drops his temper and shows you only gentleness ans care, ever so sweet as he dotes on you. Doesn't try to hide his relief, doesn't try to play it cool. Tells you how worried he was, how scared he was he might lose you...

🍀He asks you how you're feeling, tells you not to lie to him or play it down. "What do you need little dove, anythin at all yeah you tell me, gonna look after you i promise..." but you don't really need him to promise you that because you know it already.

🍀In the end you have to try and talk sense to him about the whole Tommy issue, you remind him what hes working towards, "Don't throw all that away over some stupid accident Bon, you're gonna be a star remember, gonna be my champion..."

🍀"Come in Bon, forgive and forget, what is it they say... Bury the hatchet..." "Aye I'll bury it alright... In the back of his fuckin head!" "Bonnie i mean it! Please!" and eventually he has to give in and take you seriously but not without that boyish smile, not without joking about his grudge from time to time and not without making it very clear that he isn't going to apologise for what he said that night, or for leaving before he could help thwm fight. "Alright, alright sweetpea, no bad blood i promise alright if thats what you want I'll forgive him... But am not apologisin to him... I did exactly what any good lad would do eh, got to look after my girl, gotta protect her first, shes the most important thing in the whole wide world..."

🍀He does feel like he should have done more, he regrets not realising sooner, regrets even taking you to the stupid party in th3 first place. From then on he's far more protective over you, hyper alert whenever hes out with you, doesn't ever let your drinks out of his sight, doesnt ever let anyone else buy you a drink. Doesnt ever leave you on your own, not even to get you a water when you really have had one too many. Certain he wont let anything like that happen to you ever again.

Isaiah

🐀 Similiar to John, Isaiah doesn't realise somethings wrong until its really really wrong and the fights already kicked off.

🐀The two of you would have been trying to outdrink one another all night. This was one of Tommys parties, one for all his legal business contacts and endeavors and Isaiah wasnt exactly expecting to be pulling his gun on anyone or getting into any serious scraps.

🐀However when a fight does break out, when some uninvited guests turn on Arthur and pull a knife, Isaiah's first thought is of vulnerable drunk you somewhere on your own in the party, perhaps off with Ada in the bathroom or with Lizzie at the bar.

🐀He only realises the depths of the danger you're in when he shoves a half concious thug to the floor and out of his way, pausing amid the choas to look for you, to see whether you've returned from the bathroom. But instead he sees Ada, sees her with tears in her eyes, her face white as a sheet. She looks terrified and although there could be any number of reasons the Shelby sister looks so scared Isaiah knows in his gut that shes crying because of you. Somethings happened to you.

🐀"Ada what is it whats wring where the fucks y/n..." and when Ada shakes her head and bursts into tears he fears the worst. Thinks something fucking awful has happened to you.

🐀He has this moment of hesitation, torn because the fights still raging and he knows the peakys need him to stay and fight. But he's terrified, so scared that you might be lying on the floor somewhere wounded or worse, dying, without him...

🐀"Ada tell me what the fucks happened," he snaps because hes panicking. Later he'll feel guilty for scaring the young lass but just then shes the least of his worries. He can think only of you. Total tunnel vision panic. When Ada manages to tell him whats happened she starts crying harder and Isaiah feels his blood run cold. He wants to run to you but he knows there's nothing he can do fir you, knows the only way he can keep you safe now is if he makes sure not a single one of these intruders gets out alive.... So he tells Ada to go find Polly, tells her to make sure she geta you help tells her to keep the both of you safe.

🐀He's in a blind panic, his adrenaline rushing him making it hard ti focus, hard to think and all he can do is launch himself at an attacker and take all his anger and fear out on them.

🐀Knowing that one of these men has hurt you motivates him and unlocks something plain sadistic inside him, he doesnt stop fighting until hes sure theyre all dead and even then with some of them he goes overboard, cutting people who are already dead/as good as dead. Kicking at their limp bodies until their blood stains his shoes and the walls, until its splattered over his body and the other bodies which now little the floor.

🐀John has to drag him away from the body of a man who's barely recognisable anymore reminding him of you, reminding him that you need him, "Come on Saiah, enough... She'll be coming round soon and when she does she's gonna need her man eh? You gotta be there for her mate, you've got to calm the fuck down, clean yourself up... Last thing she wants see is you covered in all this blood..."

🐀Then all the fight leaves him, hes stressed, can't control his ragged breathing, can't control his shaking. Suddenly he doesnt know what to do with all that fear and upset and for a minute he's scared he's going to cry in front of everyone. Isaiah definitely puts a lot of pressure on himself to be as tough as Tommy and the older Peaky men and the fact that his response when his girl is unconcious is to cry rather than rush to protect her makes him feel sick and a little disgusted with himself. Which obviously translates to more anger...

🐀So his temper flares and he can't calm down and even when Pol tells him to breath, to relax because youre going to be fine, Isaiah cant and doesn't accept that. He just gets pissed off that anything bads happened to you at all. And when he snaps at Polly all "Don't tell me to fucking calm down woman! Thats my fuckin girl there, fuckin out cold don't tell me to be fuckin cold!" he gets a hard slap off the woman in question. "Watch who you're callin woman peaky boy or it'll be you on the fuckin floor alright..."

🐀Only then does he come to his senses, suddenly apologetic and a little more meek. A little humbled by that stark slap to the face. It was what he needed in the end to calm him, to remind him who needed him and who he needed to be in that moment.

🐀And then Lizzie and Ada start wishing they could give him a slap too because he's fussing around you and getting in the way and he isn't helping at all...

🐀"Sit down for fuck sake Isaiah, fussin like that ain't gonna help her..." Ada trying to shoo him away, Isaiah straight up ignoring her and hovering around you anyway.

🐀Will be there when you wake up, will say sorry a million times, will not be able to handle the guilt. Makes a lot of very murderous promises. But youre actually kind of fine, just tired and achey, all you really want is for him to lie diwn with you and hold you whilst you rest.

🐀"saiah please," you yawn making grabby hands at him, lethargic and sleepy with little tears in your eyes, "just want a cuddle, come here calm down be alright just want... Cuddle..." him chuckling at you, a smile painted on his lips by your sweetness despite the stress he still feels.

🐀When he climbs into bed with you and holds you in his arks you hold onto him too, you can feel the adrenaline still pumping through his body, can feel his fast heartbeat and the way hes trembling. Youre not so naive as to point it out or ask him about it, instead you kiss his chest and nuzzle into his hold and you thank him for saving you and for being there when you woke up.

🐀Youre a sweet sight to behold and Isaiah is overcome with relief, a rush of emotion hitting him as he realises just how seriously he feels for you, how much you really mean to you. He loves you so dearly and as you're lying there held close to his chest he really realises for the first time that if anything were to happen to you he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

🐀So he makes a silent vow to you and himself that from then on hes going to be your protector, hes going to be there whenever you need him. That hes never going to let you get hurt again, never going to put you in harms way. He stops messing around so much, stops getting as drunk as he used to, really grows up and starts viewing everything to do with the peakys as serious, as a potential threat to you.

🐀Later you ask him to tell you exactly what he did to the bastards that gave you such a sore head and he lights up telling you about it, very satisfied to remember that he made sure they got what they deserved. And you're kind of delighted to hear it too, the kind of story that just make your stomach turn, your body cringe in empathy when he describes the injuries those gits suffered... Instead it makes you feel safe and secure knowing that you have a man who would do literally anything to protect you.

Michael

☘️ He's always enjoyed these parties, theyre so wildly different from anything he ever knew when he was living in the countryside... They make him feel like a real man, like an adult... They're so far from anything he ever expected for himself growing up

☘️And its even better now he has you to spend the evening with, to have on his arm looking beautiful, the most desirable woman in the room. He loves the feeling of entering a room and feeling jealous eyes on him, or shocked eyes. Women who look at him and see his girl and know they don't stand a chance. Me who instinctively drop the hand of their girlfriend when they see you. Michael loves to see it, the attention the two of your draw, the power you have over a room without even having to try.

☘️But that night he finally sees the flipside, the dark threat which looms like a shadow, which follows the shelby men and their partners wherever they go. The truth of the matter is that wherever you go, no matter who you're with, no matter what who is there to protect you, there always a chance that someone out there, someone nearby wants to harm you.

☘️ And tonight it so happens that that is the case. That someone in that crowd of giddy tipsy party goers, has their eyes on you, has foul plans for you...

☘️When it happens, when the 'poison' hits you don't really know whats happening but Michael does. He recognises the signs imediately, the way your eyes cloud with fear and confusion, the way your lips tremble and slope downwards as if you were suffering some kind of turn. He realises that somethings wrong but he doesn't know what to do and when you fall limp into his side, your body heavy against his, the poor lad panics. He freezes.

☘️And this panic is something he will never be able to forgive himself for. Something he'll curse himself for everyday for the rest of his life.

☘️But thats what he does. He panics. He freezes just clutching your lifeless body to himself, staggering back a pace or two, feeling like he might be about to collapse too.

☘️Honestly he thinks you're dead or dying, he thinks he's already lost you, that theres nothing to be done and when he drops to his knees holding onto your body like his life depends on it, he doesnt realise he's shouting for his mother until she rushes to him in a panic herself.

☘️ "Mum!" its that shout that stops the party, but its his next words, words which fall on a hushed and confused low murmuring crowd, "I think shes fuckin dead mum i think shes fuckin..." which cause the evenings downfall.

☘️In that sudden silence a scream is heard somewhere else in the house. It shatters the concerned murmur hum of whispers from onlookers and suddenly sobering perty guests, the scream ricochetting around the ballroom. Honestly Michael hardly hears it over the thrum of his petrofied heart beating in his ears.

☘️Tommy and the other peaky men all rush to find the source of the scream and when Michael doesnt move tommy stops and yells for him...

☘️ "Leave her Michael come on get up, fuckin get up!" he shouts to his younger cousin, no heart for you the girl passed out in Michaels lap, no consideration for Michaels world which is shattering around him in pieces on the ballroom floor. "Fuck sake Michael fuckin move!" he yells his voice carrying across the room, other guests watching in fear when still Michael doesnt move, still clutching onto you, still mumbling to his mum in a blind panic that he thinks youre fuckin dead...

☘️He's so torn because he knows he can't stand up to Tommy, he can't shout at him or put up a fight - even though all he wants to do is tell his older cousin to get fucked - but he also can't stand the thought of leaving you. Can't bare to hand you over to his mother when he really believes that if he does he'll never get to hold you again.

☘️He's so scared and he just sits there on the floor, on his knees, still holding you, your head hanging lip, your eyes shut, your body so unbearably still. He just sits there distraught looking between you and Tommy until tommys temper flares. "fuckin move michael..."

☘️ "Go on love go with your cousin," Pol tells him, "you go and you fuckin kill em for this eh, fuckin kill em... Ive got her, she'll be alright i promise you Michael, you fuckin kill em alright?"

☘️So he pulls himself together, stands up shaking, fighting back tears, a looming sense of dread and devotion, a doomed feeling taking hold of him from the inside as he follows Tommy through the house to the fight which has broken out, which is raging on.

☘️ But he's distracted fighting because you're all he can think about. He's so worried about you and it means he misses a couple of tricks, taking more of a beating than he should have done. Getting cut by a blade, getting a kicking that leaves him feeling weak and full if self loathing. He feels humiliated, even after the fight when he's had his fair share of little victories. Even when hes headbutted another lad out cold and sent his unconcious body staggering back and falling with a thud to the dining room floor. Even when hes plunged a kitchen knife into the back of another.

☘️By the time the fights over he's bruised and bloody and he looks worse than you. Hes in a foul mood, his temper thin and stretched tight because he feels that shame looming over him.

☘️He's genuinely humilated by everything, the fact that he let that happen to you, the fact that he was so scared, the fact that he didnt put up a good fight, that he's ended up battered and looking like a man who can't defend himself or his woman. A man who is only really half a man. He feels pathetic.

☘️ And that gives him a foul temper which he almost takes out on you. Earns himself a slap from his mother who tells him not to be so fucking childish, "Wipe that fuckin sullen look of your face Michael you stupid stupid boy... Y/N fuckin needs you so stop your sulking and step up for her!" "She needs you Michael, more than your fuckin ego needs you now get in there and promise you'll never let anything like that happen to her again..."

☘️And that's exactly what he does. When he returns to you he sees the little tears in your eyes and when you try to apologise to him all, "Michael I'm so sorry, I should have been paying more attention, I should have been more careful... Oh god look at you you poor thing I can't believe it this is all my fault.." he holds his finger to your lips and hushes you. "Stop that eh love, be quiet none of this is your fault... None of this alright... Don't you dare say sorry again sweetheart..."

☘️ He holds your face in both his hands and puts his forehead against yours, closes his eyes and lets out a sigh of relief. Sheds a tear that trickles down his cheek. You're alive and thats all that matters, you're alive and he's so relieved. He hasn't lost you, you're still here. That means he has a chance to make this right. That means he can do things right from now on, be the man you need him to be.

☘️ Thought I was gonna fuckin lose you angel, thought you were gonna fuckin die... But here you are, you're alright now and I'm never gonna let anything happen to you ever again, gonna keep you safe now and always yeah?"

☘️When you ask if he's crying he denies it, then he makes you swear on his life you'll never tell a soul, and that you'll never ask if he's crying ever again. You kiss his cheek where the tear is and smile whispering that you promise. That you love him. That its going to take more than a little drink to drag you away from him.

☘️ He's far more wary around you, who you talk to, where you go, far more protective. And he starts working out more, starts going to the boxing ring with Isaiah and Finn, and when he fights he tries to tap into that panic he felt, pictures your lifeless body and channels all his emotions into every punch, the adrenaline making him ten times a better fighter.

☘️ Loves to hear you tell him how strong he's getting, loves when you run your hands over his arms to feel his muscles and say things like "How could I ever feel in danger when I've got you protecting me?"

[novashelby]

Isaiah x Evelyn~Ducky

"Evelyn," Isaiah started, uncomfortably swallowing, eyes swirling around the room. Her family watched as the two had a bit of a row. Sighing, he leaned in. "Don't make me say it...here."

Evelyn leaned back in her seat, lips pursed. "And why not? How can you be so bashful over something like that?"

He let out a whine. "Cause...cause it's embarrassing....."

"Say it...."

"Fine," he grumbled, leaning in. In a whisper, he said, "I love you, ducky."

[ijustwant2write]

Watch Your Words-Arthur Shelby x Shelby!Daughter!Reader

(GIF credit to @paulinska44stark)

Tags: @captivatedbycillianmurphy @jenepleurepasbaby @amirahiddleston @bloodorangemoonlight @haphazardhufflepuff @mzcrazy2

Masterlist

Prompt List

Requested by anonymous: 'can you do a arthur shelby one where the reader is his daughter (16-17) and they get into argument and he says something he doesn't mean and she runs off and everyone starts to get worried when they cant find her but she with bonnie or Isaiah and Arthur finds her and they talk and he apologizes and they make up'

Characters: Arthur Shelby x Shelby!Daughter!Reader, Isaiah Jesus x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Alcohol abuse/drunkenness, neglect, swearing, crying, fluff

                                       *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I moaned as I stirred that morning, hating how little sleep I had got. My father had been out once again, stumbling in at who knows what time, not keeping quiet and sounding like he was having a fight with himself downstairs. It wasn't unusual for him to drink this much, he used to do it a lot more, and I thought it had stopped for a while; the company was doing well, there hadn't been as much trouble recently, my father had been more present in my life. However, I watched it all crumble before me, returning to nights by myself, cooking for one, not having anyone to talk to.

Before heading downstairs, I peeked into my dad's room, wondering if he had made it upstairs. I was wrong, hoping that he was sprawled out on the sofa. Again, I made the mistake of thinking he wasn't that drunk, finding him lying down on the kitchen floor, two of the chairs from the dining table knocked over, as well as smashed glass surrounding it.

Sighing, I brushed some pieces of glass away from his head, hoping he would want to head to bed as soon as he woke up. Dad was on his back, head tilted to the right as he lightly snored. His coat had been in the hallway, along with his hat, but he had failed to take his jacket off, it was half way down his arms.

"Dad," I quietly said, shaking him lightly,"dad!"

He jolted awake, taking in a sharp breath, trying to figure out where he was. When he saw me, he groaned, wiping a hand over his face. Helping him sit up, I prayed that he wouldn't be sick (I had dealt with that situation too many times), not saying anything yet as I didn't know what mood he was in.

"Fucking hell." his voice was raspy, still rough from the night before."Did I wake you up?"

"Last night you did. But it doesn't matter."

"Sorry love."

"It's alright." I lied, managing to sit him down in a chair."Do you think you can stomach something?"

"Nah."

I didn't press further, grabbing a broom and sweeping up the glass into a pile. He said nothing more. As I got rid of the glass, making sure there were no more pieces we could step on, I noticed his fist on the table clenching up.

"Dad? You OK?"

"Just thinking about last night." he mumbled.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"Don't worry. It's not for your ears. Go on, go get dressed."

I did as he said, knowing he was particularly sensitive at this moment. It was quiet downstairs when I was getting ready, a blessing and a curse. He could be sat down gathering his senses, trying to sober up, or he could be working himself into a frenzy. It had happened before, and I was scared it could happen again. I loved my father, he had raised me well, considering that we were Shelby's. Though I supposed I had Aunt Polly and Aunt Ada to thank for that, not him. He had always tried to be around when I was younger, wanting his child to know her dad. But as I got older, when I could become more independent, that's when he realised he could have a bit more freedom, especially since the woman (my mother) he fucked wanted nothing to do with him, just to look after the child they created.

I returned to him once I was ready for the day, slowly stepping into the kitchen. My heart sunk at the sight of whiskey in his hands once again. How could someone drink so much and continue? I had been drunk before, and I didn't enjoy the headache the next day.

"Dad, did something happen last night?" I hesitantly asked, slowly walking towards him.

He scoffed."Some people don't understand what respect means. I'm Arthur fucking Shelby, I don't think twice about killing a man."

I hated when he spoke of killing. It was something I always pushed to the back of my mind.

"You would not believe what this woman said to me last night. She...she said...how the fuck did I end up with a daughter like you? How could my daughter, who apparently has the heart in an angel, look me in the face everyday and smile? Hm? Well go on then, answer her question!"

"Dad, she was just trying to win you up."

He took a swig of his drink, clumsily leaning back in his seat."No, no, she meant that! And I want to know too. Since you're so perfect, what are you doing in the Shelby family?"

I backed away, now pressed up against the wall opposite him."You're not making sense. Look, I'll cook us something to eat, it'll help with your headache."

"The only headache round here is you."

"What?"

"Don't know why your whore mother left you on my doorstep. I'm a killer, how would I know how to raise a child?"

"Just shut up dad, you're wasting your energy over this."

He shot up from his chair, causing it to hit the cabinets behind him."Don't you tell me what to do!" 

I flinched back, hitting my back and head on the wall. He had never hurt me, but there was a different rage in his eyes, and I was scared that this was the look his victims saw before he killed them. 

“When I fucked her, I was drunk, done a few lines, eh? I didn’t even know her name, but it didn’t matter. She might have been a prostitute, she might have been a woman at the club. But it didn’t matter.”

“Dad,” I sobbed, wondering if I should just run,“please stop talking like this.”

“I’ve slept with hundreds of women, never had a baby turn up though. But of course, just when things were going good for me, I got stuck with you. I had to spend money on you, feed you, dress you, shit, I had to make sure I knew what the fuck I was doing and be there for you. My fucking life went out of the window.”

I didn’t need to hear any more of this. Taking my chances, I darted towards the hallway, throwing open the door and running into the street. People on their way to work (or coming back from a long night out) watched as I sprinted past them, tears streaming down my face, despite the wind repeatedly drying them. I had heard my dad call for me, and I was sure he had fallen down trying to come after me. Stumbling into Charlie’s yard as I slowed down, I sighed with relief when I saw that no one was there. It seemed stupid to come here, when it was my family that owned it (and they were the people I wanted to be away from), but it was also somewhere I felt safe. Sniffling, I used one of my dress sleeves to wipe away the tears, now idly walking around the place. It was so dirty here, gloomy and dark; it reflected the mood at the moment.

Sitting down on a chair, that was terribly out of place, outside the stables, I leaned back, hating how the cold air hurt my lungs from running. My throat was recovering from being dry, but now there was a metallic taste in my saliva. It wasn’t lady-like to sit like this, but who gave a fuck? Coughing before spitting on the floor, I sunk deeper into the chair, legs spreading out to make it comfier.

“What’s little Miss Shelby doing all the way out here by herself?” I heard Isaiah call. However, the cocky smirk he held disappeared when he saw my teary face.“Shit, what’s happened?”

“My dad.” I sobbed, sitting up properly when he knelt in front of me.“He’s just drunk and...he said some things.”

“What things?”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble, Is.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Isaiah held on of my hands that was resting on my lap.“You’ve never been this upset before, he’s clearly said something that’s hurt you.”

“I’m tired of his habits Isaiah, he’s gone back to his old ways. I hate it! I don’t understand how he can go out almost every night and drink to that extent. He’s broken things in the house, he’s been sick, he’s fallen down the stairs, and yet it continues! And today, he said hurtful words to me. Told me how I was just the child of a whore, I was unwanted, he was basically saying he regrets taking me in when he could have easily given me to an orphanage!”

“Hey, calm down.” Isaiah kept his voice quiet.“He’s drunk, you know that. And that means he doesn’t mean those things.”

“They say that drunk words are your true thoughts.” I snapped.

“(Y/N), please listen to me.”

Reluctantly, I looked down at him, trying not to smile at the image of our hands interlocked.

“Your dad loves you far too much for his own good. He’s only ever loved his family, as in his brothers, sister and aunt, and that was just the normal. You were different. Yes, you weren’t planned, meaning he hadn’t prepared himself to welcome yet another person in his life.And he had to throw himself into parenthood, had to realise he was looking after a child. It was like going cold turkey for him. Now I’m not excusing his words or actions from earlier, he shouldn’t have ever said such things to you. But he worries, he worries because he loves you so much that he doesn’t even understand it himself.”

“I know that deep down...it just hurt. And I’m scared that he’s going to keep doing this to himself.”

He sighed, standing up, tugging on my hand.“Let’s go. We don’t need to be in this sad place.”

I slightly smiled, still holding his hand as I stood. However, he let go, taking off his coat and putting it on me. Luckily I was just tall enough for it to not drag on the floor, otherwise I would have dragged it through mud. He made his usual cheeky remark about it ‘looking better on me’, causing me to roll my eyes but laugh all the same. He distracted me as we walked, trying to steer the topic away from family matters.

"Isaiah, do you want kids?" I randomly asked.

He chuckled."Was that an offer?"

I shoved him away from me, causing us to laugh."You know what I meant you prick."

"Yeah, I do. It's still early days for me, especially since I'm doing a lot more for the boss and all that. But once I find my girl, I'll want to have my own family."

"That's very sweet of you Is. I can see you being a father, and a good one at that. Once you grow up a bit that is."

"You're wanting a mature man then, eh (Y/N)?"

"Yeah, do you know of anybody?"

He pretended to think."Nah."

The dreadful feeling that had been stuck in the pit of my stomach was almost gone, until I saw my dad running around the streets, obviously looking for me. Poor people in the street were bombarded by questions, he was terrifying to them. When he saw Isaiah and me, he was relieved, taking long strides towards us. He didn't look angry anymore, but I was still wary, hoping Isaiah would stay beside me.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) love, I've been looking everywhere for you!" he exasperated, trying to catch his breath.

"She was down by Charlie's yard." Isaiah explained.

"Why didn't you find me straight away?"

I butted in before he got angry with Isaiah."I was upset, Isaiah cheered me up. I wouldnt have come back anyway."

"I'm sorry (Y/N). I really didn't mean anything that I said this morning. It was the alcohol, I swear!"

"You'll use this excuse for the next time too."

"There won't be a next time, I promise!"

"Dad, do you know how much you upset me today? You basically told me you didn't want me, you called my mother a whore. There were so many random things that came out of nowhere, and it was purely to hurt me because you were hurting."

"I know. A woman in the bat last night reminded me of how your mother was, or at least I think she did. She made the same comments, saying that I didn't deserve to have such a lovely, good hearted girl as a daughter."

"No, sometimes you don't. But you're lucky that I love up to that title, because I love you too much to let this get in the way of our relationship."

"I'm going to stop, I won't do that again!"

"You're not going to drink again?"

He hesitated."I...I mean-"

"Dad, I was joking. I'm not expecting you to quit drinking altogether, just don't drink as much. And not just because you say mean things, because you've hurt yourself in the past. And there's so many people who are after you."

"Alright love, I'll hold back. For you. Am I forgiven?"

"For now." I hugged him, still upset, but knowing that we had to move past this in order for him to get better."I'm going to stay with Isaiah today though. I feel like we should spend some time apart, for the rest of the day at least."

"Why with Isaiah?"

"Because he's my friend, and he's helped me take my mind off things. I'll see you later dad." I kissed his cheek before grabbing Isaiah's hand again, dragging him away.

"You know you're dad is going to kill me right?" Isaiah said once we were out of earshot.

"He won't. Not if he wants me coming back for dinner tonight."

"I'm going to lose you that soon?"

"You would be so lucky Isaiah."

[hb-writes]

The Routine

Summary: Routines are nice. Familiar. Predictable. Safe, even when they hurt. Self-reinforcing bits of comfort that have Isiah and his Small Heath girl biting their tongues and swallowing down their desires.

Characters: Isiah Jesus x F!Reader/ Unnamed OC

Content Warning: Some implied sexual content but nothing graphic.

A/N: A little delayed, but this piece is for @amysteryspot's 1k celebration (Congratulations again! ❤️ ) - Read the other submissions here.

Here's the AO3 link if you prefer to read it over there.

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder/ Shelby Sister) Masterlist

The evening sky seemed impossibly light, a hazy veil revealing not even a single star, pale with the promise of the season’s first, and probably only, snow. The winter weather would be a welcome addition to their walk home, she thought to herself with her face tipped to the sky. A pleasant end to a busy week, at least.

And then there was the hope that a snowy Friday night might give way to a slow Saturday morning, what with the covered streets making it so there'd be no place to be before midday. Or at least, she hoped that might be the case.

She hoped the snow would mean John and Esme wouldn’t be calling her over to theirs before the sun was up. The impending snow brought with it a smidgen of hope that John and Esme would spend their morning in, snuggled up with their lot, delaying their usual Saturday outing by a few hours at least. And as much as she loved the routine, she’d be happy to not have John Shelby greet her at his door before six in the morning with a cup of strong tea in one hand and a screaming infant in the other.

Less than six hours prior, she'd almost used the responsibility of sitting with the kids as her excuse to say no to Isiah's invitation in the first place, a justification to spend her night alone at home instead of at the loud, bustling pub. It was such an easy excuse. She'd relented only when Isiah reminded her how many times she'd turned them down lately and when he reminded her she’d be good for nothing by Saturday afternoon whether she went to the pub or not.

Isiah wasn’t wrong. She was never quite sure if it was her or John’s kids more in need of being put down for a nap by the time their parents arrived back. She always spent the rest of the day lounging about regardless. And she never drank much anyway, sipping slowly from a whiskey, maybe a second if she was thirsty or needed loosening.

Tonight she’d needed loosening, enough so that she still felt light, a steady hum ringing through her as Isiah walked her home. Whether or not the snow postponed her morning plans, allowing her a late lie-in, the impending snow meant she would sip her evening tea in a special kind of peace, allowing her mind to clear itself of the fog of alcohol as she looked out the window at the blanket of white steadily covering the dusty Birmingham lane she called home, the cobbled streets pure and clean and untouched while most of Small Heath lay bundled up in their beds, the rest of them still getting properly boozed up, unaware of the wintry weather or anything outside the walls of whatever pub they’d selected for the night.

"He's been after her for two weeks now," Isiah continued on with his report on Finn’s latest romantic endeavors, something they hadn’t been free to discuss at the pub, "a bit hopeless, really, but—"

She giggled as the first snowflake caught on her eyelashes, a second and third quickly following to melt against her warm cheeks.

The sound of her laughter cut Isiah off as he slowed his pace, turning to watch her twirl in the falling snow, his stomach clenching as he watched the unfettered glee on her face.

"Snow's a nice change, isn't it?" she said, tipping her head to look at him, his hands shoved into his pockets to spare his chilled fingertips.

It was better than the rain, Isiah supposed, but it was still bloody cold, especially at this time of night. He glanced up at the same sky she’d been watching for most of their journey and then he nodded towards the row of back-to-backs on either side of the lane. “Yeah, it'll be nice until they’re all up and about muddying the streets.”

She snorted. "Isiah," she whined, "must you always be such a—"

"I'm right," he interrupted. "You know I am."

She hummed, shrugging her shoulders as they got moving again. "You are right about our Finn, I suppose. A bit hopeless."

She idly wondered whether Isiah thought the same of her. She was over a year older than Finn with no prospects of the romantic sort. At least Finn made an effort. No one would say the same of her.

"Maybe you should've gone over, Siah. Help him catch the posh girl."

Isiah grinned as he glanced at her. “Yeah, and who would you entertain yourself with if I did that?”

Celia’s name was on the tip of her tongue, but it was a wasted argument even though Celia was her closest confidant. The girls had only spoken a handful of words the entire night, wrapped up as she was with Michael these days, and even if Celia’s attention hadn’t happened to be directed elsewhere, Isiah rarely left her side if his pestering was enough to get her to the pub. It was simply the way of things between them. Isiah forged on before she could even suggest otherwise. “And what does our Finn need my help for anyway? Boy’s a royal fucking Shelby prince, ain’t he?”

She smiled at that bit of truth. Their dear friend was a Shelby boy, a title that afforded him an edge over most lads in Small Heath regardless of whether he knew how to wield the power or not. But there was another bit of truth that Isiah didn’t always tout—not with her at least—but she knew it anyway.

He was a handsome boy, always had been, even when they were kids. It worked in Isiah’s favor more often than not, but it also meant that the presence of one Isiah Jesus was of little benefit to his friends. His cheeky smile muddled things, and that was before he deigned to open his clever, ever so charming mouth.

Regardless of intentions, the only person Isiah helped in order to bring a girl home at the end of the night was Isiah.

She tried to remember the last time she’d walked herself home from the pub, or the last time it had been anyone other than Isiah escorting her for that matter, but nothing came to mind, not since she’d started working at the Shelby offices, at least.

They’d made a habit of it, slipping out during the sliver of time she’s come to think of as the in-between, the time after homes were shut up for the night but before the pubs closed. The time seemed to belong only to them, like the quiet streets of Small Heath were theirs and theirs alone.

Isiah always made the offer to escort her at just the right time, the gesture always coming just before she’d been poised to stifle a stubborn yawn behind her hand, almost as if she were on some sort of schedule and Isiah had memorized it. Memorized her.

Not that memorizing her would be a terribly difficult thing to do. She wasn’t an enigma like some girls, far from mysterious or intriguing like the girls Isiah usually chased after. She was a bit of routine to him. Easy. Steady. Consistent.

Her nights out at the Garrison were just as predictable as her days at the company offices, tucked away with correspondence letters and rows of accounting from eight in the morning onward, taking her lunch at the same time each day—enjoying the same sad meal, too—always having to be reminded to head home by someone at the day’s end.

By Lizzie or Michael or Finn or Isiah, usually.

By Tommy Shelby or Polly Gray, on the far rarer occasions.

‘Go on. Go enjoy your evening. Must be something you’d rather be doing.’

That’s what they all said, but she found she liked the routine of work. She liked having something to keep her mind busy. She liked that it was predictable. Correcting words and grammar in the correspondence before it went out, tallying up the numbers at the bottom of the page. They were consistent things.

Safe.

Calculable.

Expected.

Comforting.

Like her, they didn’t often hold many surprises.

Just like how things were with Isiah.

Routine.

Expected.

There was a certain cadence to their interactions—smirks and laughs shared at Finn’s expense, one accepted invitation spared for every three of her declines for a night out with the boys at the pub—all of it the comforting balance of a friendship well-maintained and understood.

She knew their routine, knew him.

She’d done some memorizing too.

She could always be sure that Isiah would keep her company at the pub and predict her yawns, escorting her home before the whiskey glazed her eyes, and by the time she was tucked away behind a locked door, she knew Isiah would be back to the pub. She knew he would end his night with one of the girls sitting beside whatever girl Finn was sweet on for the night.

Tonight, she imagined it would be the brunette. The one who had been eyeing Isiah for half the night. The one he’d smiled back at.

In her mind, Isiah was a different person after he dropped her home or on the nights when she didn’t venture out in the first place. It was almost like there was a side of him he didn’t show her, a side that they both knew didn’t quite fit into their routines. He showed up in the tender moments they both retreated from, the brushes of hands when he passed her drink or a turn of phrase with a particular form of charm.

But she knew Isiah didn’t shy away from girls. He charmed relentlessly and got up to mischief. He always left with someone. He had his own pattern, his own little routine that didn’t involve her.

“Well, she had pretty friends, at least. I’m sure you can take one of them—”

Isiah’s feet skid on the cobblestone as he rounded on her, his eyes on hers, a smirk touching his lips as he watched her, her lips parted in surprise at his sudden closeness.

His hand brushed her waist before dipping into the pocket of her coat, his fingers fumbling around for her keys. “I’ve already got my hands full taking you home and putting you to bed, don’t I?”

Isiah slipped his hand back out and dangled the ring in front of her, his eyebrows raised in wait of a response. Her mouth felt too dry for a rebuttal, her body still searing from the feel of his hand against her side, almost like she could feel his touch in every limb.

She cleared her throat to cover the betraying whimper released from her lips and snatched the keys from Isiah’s hand, quickly moving around him to the door. Her heart pounded in her chest as she worked the key into the lock, struggling as Isiah settled leaning against the door frame beside her.

Part of her wondered if he could hear her heart beating so painfully hard in her chest, She couldn’t imagine him not hearing it considering how quiet it was out on the lane—nothing between them but the crinkle of falling snow and the subtle scraping of her stubborn house key against the lock.

She huffed when the door finally gave way, stepping in and aside to let Isiah go first, another of their routines. She shifted out of her coat and slipped out of her shoes, watching as he moved about the flat, switching on the lights and surveying the small collection of rooms. He lingered in the living room with the couch between them as she finally stepped out of the hall and started tidying the space, readying herself for her evening in.

“Big plans this evening?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes at him, tugging a blanket from the back of the couch and reaching out for a book, which Isiah picked up first, holding it out for her to take.

He knew what she did once he left her alone just as well as she knew what he did once he made it back to the Garrison. She’d drink her tea and read her book and head to bed once her mind grew clear and her eyes grew tired though she imagined clarity might take a bit longer tonight. She was feeling muddled, something she’d like to blame on the whiskey though a part of her, the part that fluttered at meeting Isiah’s eyes as she took the book into her hand knew very well it was more than that.

“Right, of course,” she snorted as she cradled the novel, flipping idly through its pages. “The nice lad from down the way slips in just after you leave.”

She’d expected a laugh out of it, her attempt at a little banter, her voyage into the unexpected, but when she turned to face him, Isiah’s face was distinctly unreadable. She looked at the floor then, swallowing at the lump in her throat and internally smacking herself for the deviating words.

Isiah cleared his throat, finally steering them forward through her jumbled mess.

“Well, I supposed I should take my leave, then.”

Back on course, she thought to herself, her head nodding without a conscious effort.

“Wouldn’t want to leave the lad waiting out in the cold.” Isiah’s voice was teasing though the meter read as slow and meandering, a bit uncertain even if she was too distracted to hear the distinction. “And it’s probably best to get him in before the snow comes. Wouldn’t want to leave any footprints for the neighbors to find. You know how people talk.”

She let the words settle between them, any chill left over from the walk home leeched from her body as heat flooded her instead, the warmth of embarrassment hot in every inch of her. Hotter even than the weight of Isiah’s hand against her waist had left her as he sought her keys.

This was why she didn’t play, why she left the deviations and forging of new paths to Isiah, happy enough to remain in her lane. This was why she kept to their routines, harder to muck things up that way.

“Right,” Isiah said, stuffing his hands back in his pockets when the silence between them stretched beyond comfort and he grew certain she wasn’t going to give him a response. “Well, I guess I should leave you to it, then. Get back to the pub and make sure our Finn doesn’t hurt himself, eh?”

She forced herself to laugh, to meet his eye for a moment, to rebound with something familiar to them both.

“I’ll walk you out,” she said, dropping her book on the couch, moving toward Isiah and the hall that led to the front door.

She wasn’t sure what it was—maybe the extra glass of whiskey at the pub or the lingering feel of Isiah’s hand against her waist or the arresting feel of his eyes on her as she approached. Maybe it was a magic spell put on her by the unexpected snow—but without thinking, she deviated again, slipping in front of Isiah before he could reach the door.

Her hand closed over the cool metal of the knob and she waited, stuck somewhere in between her desire to keep to their routine and her desire to chase after the all-encompassing feeling that coursed through her veins, the one settled in the pit of her stomach and flooding her mind, the cold of the doorknob against her skin the only thing grounding her.

This was the part of the evening where she bid him goodnight. Where he parted from her with a smile and a bow of his head while he stood out on the walk, always reminding her to lock up after him. She’d roll her eyes and nod before closing the door.

She never knew Isiah waited outside every time, lingering on her threshold to hear the comforting sound of the lock clicking into place. The summation of their humble routine.

“Your lad will be wondering what we’re up to if you don’t open the door soon, love.” Isiah kept his tone light, but tension still welled up in her body. She rolled her delicately covered shoulders, Isiah’s eyes venturing up and down her back as he tried to read her.

“There’s no lad,” she mumbled, breathing deeply through her nose, her eyes closed, her teeth pinching the tip of her tongue as a few other words welled up inside her.

Isiah’s voice sounded so close she imagined his lips were mere inches away from her ear when he responded, his body hovering just beside her, so close she could feel him.

“I know,” he said, a lie, because while a part of him thought—hoped—her words had been nothing more than a put-on, there was a nagging part of Isiah that knew it could be true.

He’d made no move, retreating from his desire every time something surfaced within him, dismissing any of her movements as nothing more than friendship. It was easy enough to believe there could be someone other than him, someone other than the men in her novels.

“You gonna open the—?” Isiah stopped himself as she turned, setting her back against the door, eyes still squeezed shut.

“What if you didn’t go back?”

Isiah wanted to see her eyes. He wanted her to repeat it. He wanted to hear it again to be sure. She squirmed against the door as the silence between them grew uncomfortable once again.

Isiah smirked when she finally opened her eyes. “You want me to stay?”

“Only if you…”

Isiah’s hand caught her warm cheek, stopping her before she hid her face away from him in order to study the hardwood. “What do you want, eh?”

She hesitated for only a moment, her head leaning into the gentle caress of his hand for a cycle of steadying breaths before she reached a hand around the back of Isiah’s neck to pull his lips to hers.

Isiah’s hands found her waist, the same scorching fire from before burning through her as his fingers moved over the thin fabric of her dress.

“I want you to stay,” she said, dropping the entrancing words into the desperate space between their kisses.

Isiah tugged her body to his, slipping a hand from her body just long enough to click the lock in place, a new summation to their humble routine. From now on, she would be the only girl Isiah Jesus ended up with at the end of the night.

[interstellarrambles]

could I perhaps request something fluffy for Bonnie? like he takes his so out in the country for a date, like a cute picnic or something!

@peakyrogers I apologise for the long wait, I really hope this is everything you couldve asked for my dear, please enjoy!

requested, bonnie gold × genderneutral!reader

warnings: none! pure fluff

picnics. bg.

alone, you sat on the steps of your vardo, a warm blanket around your shoulders and a head full of daydreams about your lover sleeping behind the door. the mug clasped between your fingers was doing well at warming your previously chilly bones and waking you up for the day ahead; camp had been set up a few days ago and Bonnie had told you he wanted to spend the day with you alone, now you finally had the time.

speaking of your love, he must have been exhausted: the previous night had been a lively celebration with music and dancing (and lots of kisses from you), his whole family congregating in one place before they headed off in groups this morning. you and bonnie and his immediate family would remain here until word from Birmingham arrived on his next fight, when you would have to trawl back to the city against your will.

a small fire nearby provided a calming background for your dreaming, interrupted only when your lover gently opened the door, warning you of his presence. a quiet "good morning" slipped between your lips as you welcomed him with a fast, adoring kiss, wary of the fact his father sat not too far away and would surely tease you given the chance.

"heya pretty baby, how do you feel about a picnic?" he whispered in your ear as he embraced you fully now he was no longer leaning to reach you. his raspy morning voice, tainted by sleep, still managed to bring a flurry of butterflies coursing through you and you almost blushed at the pet name.

"I couldn't think of anything better, but you need to get dressed first Bon," you giggled, pointing out his current state of undress. though, you of course weren't exactly complaining about seeing him shirtless in only his trousers.

knowing he would want you to help him tame his curls you followed him back into the varda, gently tapping his bum as you went.

one tantrum about wanting to pull you back into bed for more loving later, and many moments spent teasing his curls into the messy version of them that was your favourite,  you were both laying in a random field. splashing out slow sibilance with its rushing water, a nearby brook played a melodious backing track to your afternoon as the two of you talked about pretty much anything and everything.

somehow, much like a headstrong river, you meandered onto the topic of the future, one you'd never really thought of before.

"well what do you think?" bon ventured nervously, gently moving his face away to watch the birds gathering in the sky so he wouldn't have to see your face in response.

"I never considered it. I always thought it'd happen, like marriage or settling down, but never had anyone in mind," you whispered carefully, not needing any unnecessary noise to disturb your sunsoaked peace. thinking about it for a moment, you turned to bon and in an attempt to ease his nerves, you kissed his cheek and coaxed him to look at you properly.

"there won't ever be anyone else Bon, it's always going to be you," tenderly, he traced shapes on your neck with his thumb, eye to eye with your gentle gaze he had never felt anything so strong as his love for you.

"what about my boxing?" he replied, though he couldn't stop the smile on his face from blooming.

"what about it darling? you'll win and I'll celebrate with you, same as always," and there it was. you kissed him, and he swore it was still the first time, just like it always would be, you dissipating his nerves and making him feel truly alive.

up close, you could see his freckles, darker now in summer than they would be any other time, and you marvelled at the sweet wonder of your lover. his hands swept down to your hips and rested there content; his lips still warm against your skin, the river still flowing, though it seemed somewhat more lively now. as if rejuvenated by the colossal force of young love at its finest and adoration in its purest form.

everyone believes their lover is better than any other but with Bonnie, you knew it was true. and he knew it of you too.

[siriuslyshewrote]

Deep End

John Shelby x Reader

Set in Series Three, 1924. John is 29, and Reader is 28.

“I don’t want this to break you, but I’ve got no one else to talk to.”

The kitchen was silent, completely and utterly, the opposite of usual, when you would have five small children screaming and causing mischief. Your hands were wrapped around a cooling mug of coffee, a cigarette dangling from your lips, a plate of uneaten plain toast in front of you, from hours ago, made by Polly, before she took the kids to hers. You couldn’t have them here, not tonight, not after the bombshell Poll had dropped on you this morning.

Well, perhaps ‘bombshell’ was not the right word. You’d had an inkling for weeks, one that you pushed out of your mind, stomach bubbling with stress (or morning sickness, maybe). Because, of course, some part of you knew that you were pregnant - of course you did, hell, you’d already had five of them. This, however, would be the first pregnancy you had cried about ; really, truly, sadly, cried about, since you discovered about the existence of Katie, on your sixteenth birthday. Katie, however, had turned into a surprise you became ecstatic about.

You couldn’t see that happening, this time, though.

You twisted the wedding ring on your finger, the one that you had taken off several times this week, telling yourself it was just because of how swollen your fingers were. It wasn’t, deep down, you knew that. For the first time in twelve years of marriage, you were suddenly thinking of not being married at all. You and John had had some horrific arguments over the years, but somehow, it was the not arguing that made you contemplate leaving John. The traitorous thoughts had been whirling in your head for a while, making you cry yourself to sleep in the cold empty bed half the time - because John never came home before the early morning anymore.

It was the long nights, the worry and the crippling fear, that his work would result in a terrible ending - with either he, or one of your children dead. It hadn’t ever been something you had thought so in depth about before, as the children grew up without incident ( Katie being thirteen in a few weeks ), but with the knowledge of a new baby, came the anxieties you always had when pregnant, but this time ten-fold. Your brain had been haunted all day, with images of your newborn being targeted by one of the many enemies the Shelby’s had, or taken like Charlie had been. It occurred to you, how naive you had been before, to let the children roam the street, alone. You couldn’t help but -

The door opened, loudly, creaking hinges that John had promised to fix months ago. You jumped in fright, hand almost reaching towards the cool gun that lay on the counter top, before you heard the familiar sound of John kicking off his shoes in the hall, making more of the familiar scuff marks on the wallpaper you’d picked out yourself when John first showed you this house, when he put his hands over your eyes, guided you down the street carefully, Katie, a small toddler at the point, hanging off his back. When he’d laughed, as you opened your eyes, given you the cold keys, when you’d cried with hormonal joy, throwing your arms around him. When he still had the time to be around his family, when you felt more like a treasure than a burden.

“Hey.” His voice was hoarse, like he’d yelled a lot today, and preoccupied, like his mind wasn’t really in the room.

You didn’t look up, surprised he was home so early, just swirled the tea around in your cup, watching the pale liquid move back and forth in little waves. Usually, you’d get up and put the kettle on the stove to warm, or pour a drink of whiskey, depending on the hour, but your ankles were sore and you felt sick, and most of all, your emotions were churning.

“Hey.” You spoke quietly, running your nail through the grains in the wooden table, dented from years of raucous family dinners.

You heard the clinking of a glass, the slight strain to reach the tallest shelf, where the liquor was kept, far enough to evade the grabby hands of the mischievous younger children.

“Where’s the kids?”

“Polly said she’d have them tonight.” You couldn’t stand staying sat, staying still, so you went to the fridge, began to pull out food that you could cook for dinner.

He let out a humoured snort. “God help her. They’ll fuckin’ destroy her house like they ‘ave ours.”

“Or maybe that’s you when you’re pissed off your head.” You snapped.

“What’s up with you?” His voice was half confused, half irritated. “You’ve been in a foul mood all week.”

You snorted, pulling out a frying pan from the jumbled cupboard, one of Edwards stuffed teddies falling out along with it, god knows why.

“I’m surprised you’ve noticed.”

“Hey.” His voice was quiet, hand tugging on your wrist gently. “What is it?”

You pulled away from him, tugging at the material of your dress absently, not able to meet his eye.

“I need to tell you.. Well, I need to talk to you.”

He laughed, but it was anxious. “What is it then? Come out with it.”

“I’m pregnant.” It was blunt, not said with tears or smiles or laughs. Said with a sad voice and blank eyes, and a heavy heart.

His mouth lifted up at the corners in a wide smile. Every single one of the kids, John had been overjoyed with, and you knew this one was the same.

“That’s what you’ve been upset about, eh? That’s good, ain’t it?”

He almost moved to hug you, but you turned away, throwing some vegetables into the pan.

“No. No, it’s really not, John.” Your voice cracked.

“Y/N, you’re scaring me , now.. What’s up - I thought you’d be happy-“

“How can I be happy, John, eh? I’m fucking exhausted. I’m tired, of running after the kids all day and all night because heaven forbid Edward sleeps through the night. Or George wets the bed and wakes up the other lads. Or Elizabeth has a bad dream. And you know, they all want you, but you’re never fucking here, and so I get it. And I get hit with the ‘where’s daddy?’ Over and over and over. And I can’t fucking tell them because I don’t know myself, do I? Should I tell them their dads at some whore house, or in London, or at Uncle Tommy’s, or Pols? Cause I surely don’t fucking know.”

Your words jumbled together, talking so fast you barely said a word, desperate to get the words out, off your chest.

“Would you prefer me not to work then? For us to live in this shitty house for the rest of our lives, with the kids crowded into two bedrooms?”

“This shitty house was enough for you, once.”

“This family was enough for you once. But clearly we’re all a burden to you, eh?” He was angry, but his eyes flickered, as if dreading your response.

“Don’t you say that! Don’t you say my children are a burden to me, John Shelby!”

“So it’s just me that is, then! Have you finally decided I’m not good enough, then? God knows your fucking mother tried to tell you enough times-“

“When have I ever said you’re not enough!”

“It was only time before you got sick of this life wasn’t it? Before you wished you had your old life back with your big fancy country house and your parents posh bloody titles, and-“ John continued, lighting a cigar, his hands shaking.

“I’ve never missed that! This is the life I chose, okay! You know what I do miss, John? I miss the old you. The one who would bring flowers home, or dance in the kitchen with me while the baby’s bottle was warming up, or take us on day trips to the country. I miss the husband who was there for me. Who didn’t take the risks that put our whole fucking family in danger.”

John was silent for a few moments, as you breathed heavily, your eyes full of tears, and not from the cooking onions. You heard him get up from the chair behind you, and you turned, to see him hold out a hand.

“Can I have this dance, then?” He spoke quietly.

You sniffled, wiping your nose with your hand, like a child, but took his hand all the same. Because it was John, and you could never resist John. Because you loved him, because you were loyal to him, because you wanted so desperately to keep the family you adored.

Your chests were close together, his heart beat - faster than usual - pressed against your ear as you cried quietly into his striped shirt.

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I know.” He spoke, hands running through your tangled hair.

“I just miss you. I just want you home.”

“Please stay. I’ll make it work, okay? I’ll be home more, I’ll help with the kids more - I’ll make it work. I’ll make you happy again.”

You nodded your head. You weren’t sure if everything was going to work out, or if you would be having this conversation in a few weeks time with a different outcome. But for now, with the promises from John, and his strong heartbeat in your ear, you knew you would stay.

Because, whether it be for an hour or for a month or for the rest of time, you had your husband back, the same boy you’d known when you were sixteen, who’d promised you the world.

Permanent Tag List (comment to be added ✨)

@haphazardhufflepuff

@meteora-fc

@cass-danvers

@peppermintbars

@smallheathgangsters

@lovemissyhoneybee

[smallheathgangsters]

Bloody Pretty Nurse | J.S.

A/N: since I want to get back into writing, but i don't have much free time, i have to keep my fics short for the moment. i still hope they are just as enjoyable! :)

Pairing: John Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 848

Type: pure fluff, even though i am so bad at it lol.

Summary: Field hospitals are not all about suffering and healing. Every now and then, there's space for a little fun.

Tag List: @livingforbarnes @shelbyreilly @multi-fandom-iimagines @lovemissyhoneybee @peakyblindersengland @lucillethings @callmesunshinexx @simonsbluee @anyasthoughts @sophieshelby

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In the beginning, the war was loud. Making you cover your ears every other minute. Shieling them from the awful sounds the men, the bombs, the guns, the horses made. But it wasn’t the yelling and gunshots and neighing that were haunting you at night. The worst was the screaming of wounded men. The agony, sending chills down your spine, making you want to close your eyes and run. Run for safety, run for silence. Run for anything else than the horrible noises war created.

But after weeks and weeks of hearing the crying and wailing and everything else that was going on outside the tents, you had gotten used to it. Not in a way that made you less affected by it. But in a way that made you able to cope with it. And do your job. Successfully and precisely.

You were carefully stitching up a large cut on a young, overall not so badly wounded man. He hissed and clenched his jaw, trying to be as brave as possible.

“Almost done,” you announce, sending the needle through his skin one last time and pulling at the thread, closing the opening completely. “Voilà.”

Just as he opened his mouth, most likely to thank you, two men barged into the tent, supporting a third on their shoulders.

Immediately, you jerked up, waving them over to you. “Over here!”

You pointed to bed at the end of the tent. “You can lay him down on there.”

After they placed him on the squeaky bed, they quickly informed you about what had happened, before leaving you alone with the soldier.

Every single time, you were in awe at how devoted those men were. Returning to the chaos right away, not using the time in the tent to take a short rest or maybe even clear their head for a second. Right back into it, without any sign of hesitation.

You moved your focus back on the wounded soldier. “Gunshot in the leg?”

He nodded, eyebrows knitted together to a frown and looked down at his blood-soaked trouser leg. “Obviously, yes.”

“Well, at least your still alive,” you said with a shrug. “And you’ll be able to take a break from duty until you’re back in shape again. I’d say that’s a plus.”

Even though he was in obvious pain, he sent you a stupid grin, amused by your remark. “You’re one of those nurses who make you forget all about the pain.”

“You’re clearly suffering,” you stated, a chuckle escaping your mouth, before leaving to get your equipment.

When you returned to the man with the wounded leg, who was audibly cursing to himself, you announced, that the first step would be taking out the bullet.

“First time in a medical tent?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he answered, his breath going fast. You could see little droplets of sweat on his forehead.

You tilted your head, confused. “Unfortunately, because …?”

He lifted his shaky arm and gestured at his surroundings. “Bloody pretty nurses.”

Instantly and without being able to control it, your eyes rolled in their sockets and you let out a deep sigh. Then, you picked up a pair of anatomical tweezers and held them in front of his face. “Another stupid word and this will be painful.”

“Excuse me?” he exclaimed, his expression panic-stricken.

You laughed. “That was a joke.”

“God, woman. That’s not something to joke about,” he exhaled while closing his eyes for a moment.

He was pretty. Despite his leg being ruined, his face was perfectly intact. Besides the dirt and the sweat, you could not spot a single scratch or scar. And you spotted freckles. Beautiful, messy freckles.

“Let us share each other’s names, so you don’t have to call me woman and I don’t have to call you idiot.”

He huffed, trying to act annoyed, but failing completely when the corners of his mouth started twitching. “John.”

“I’m –”

“No wait, let me guess!” he interrupted.

You cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“My senses are telling me your parents named you … Y/N.”

You mouth unwillingly fell agape.

John snickered childishly. “I’m surprised my reading-skills were able to impress you that much.”

“Reading …?” you questioned, before it dawned on you.

The name tag. You had completely forgotten about always being labelled.

You quickly closed your mouth and pointed the tweezers at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“I though you weren’t going to call me that?” he protested, but you ignored him and sat yourself down on a nearby stool to finally start the procedure.

When you touched his leg to cut open the trouser leg, he flinched. Reflexively, you took a hold of his clenched fist. When his eyes met yours, you gave it a little squeeze. “I’m not going to hurt you, relax.”

He gulped. “I know.”

You gave him another reassuring squeeze and felt him loosen up. He sent you a weak smile. “You know I lied to you before.”

“You did? About what?” you asked, confused about his change of subject.

“You were the only bloody pretty nurse I was talking about.”