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awritesthings1 · 9 months

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All The Things We Don't Say

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: An anthology of your life with Tommy, from friends to strangers to lovers, and all the little moments in between.

Warnings: 18+, implied DV, substance abuse, childhood trauma, ptsd, overprotective tommy, swearing, brief smut, longfic oneshot, feminist themes (motherhood & being a wife in the 1920s).

ao3 link

Smash!

“Pick it up!”

Your daddy was a drunk. You remembered the fact since you could walk. He stayed home while the working men left for the factories, then disappeared in the late hours of the morning until his eventual return when the slam of the front door woke the household up. Mother used to hold you at night as she curled up in your bed. She was sick a lot. Always sniffing into the back of your neck when you were asleep. Sometimes the sleeve of your nightgown would get soaked while she muffled her hiccups.

She looked sad, too. In the morning, she kept the curtains drawn and stayed away from the outside world. She told you it was to keep nosey Mrs. Gretel away from her family affairs. But Mrs. Gretel had left Birmingham two months prior.

By seven years old, you were the 'man' of the house. You had gone to sleep one night, and when you awoke, your mother had vaporized into the air like a rabbit in a hat.

“She left because of you,” your father slurred at you.

You hated him.

She left behind her long-sleeve dresses, scarves, and wicker hats that covered nearly every inch of her skin. They were far too big for you then, but when your father came home at the end of the week with a stack of cash, you ran to your mother’s closet, which had remained untouched until then, to find only cobwebs. Gone. Every single one of her dresses. You looked out at the moon in those early hours of the morning and swore to it that when you were bigger, you would get him back so much worse.

And so you were left to clean up his smashed glass bottles and scrub the alcohol out of the gritty carpet. Your little hands struggled to pluck the glass from the floorboards. In a year’s time, they were covered in little scars.

On your tenth birthday, you decided you were grown enough to take matters into your own hands. When he was passed out on the floor from whatever he managed to fill his pipe with, you grabbed the small bottles he hid under a loose floorboard and poured them into the gutter at the back of your house.

You turned to run back to the door when the contents of the bottle were empty, but a ball almost tripped you over. You gripped your tattered skirt before you could lose your footing and snapped your head around with a fierce pout.

“That’s my ball,” pointed a young Thomas Shelby.

You put your small hands on your smaller hips. “You kicked it my way on purpose!”

You weren’t entirely sure, but you suspected it.

“Maybe I thought you were pretty,” he grinned.

You noticed his two front teeth were missing.

“Ewwww! I would never go out with you!” You squawked.

At ten years old, you knew better than that.

Seemingly unaffected by your distaste, he continued. “Do you live there?” He nodded to the house whose roof was falling apart.

“What’s it to you?” You frowned stubbornly, not wanting to admit that, yes, that was your house.

“The curtains are always drawn,” he answered, walking over to pick up his ball from your feet. He was the same height as you were at the time. “My brother Arthur said it’s haunted. He saw a ghost in the window once. He said it was a woman and that she starved to death.”

Your nose scrunched up. "Well, he’s a phony!”

You ran inside said house and slammed the door shut.

He kissed you down by the docks that winter. It was your first kiss, and a clumsy one at that, so you didn’t remember much of it.

By thirteen, you had given in and sold the rest of your mother’s belongings to support yourself. You hated yourself for it, and that nagging voice inside your head told you that you were no better than your father. Oh, and your father? Your father lost vision in his left eye from a bar fight. Too bad it wasn’t both.

Sometime later, a boy two years older than you saw your wandering hand in someone’s bag at the fair and threatened to teach you some manners ‘the hard way’. You bit anxiously on your nails and pleaded with him because he was bigger than most boys his age, when Tommy’s brother Arthur (who you’d seen hanging around the Garrison) came passing by and threatened to ‘toss him about’. The other boy, not all believing in Arthur’s temper, rushed forward, and the two ended up rolling in the dirt, but by then you were gone with a stolen pocket watch in your fist. Nearly two legs and an arm deep in poverty, some quick cash, or a hero complex? You’d take the penny.

At fourteen, a lady knocked on your door. It was a lady of the night who had come to inform your father that he had fathered a son with her. You were glad it was a boy. A girl wouldn’t have stood a chance in the slums of Birmingham. Life was hard, but Birmingham was harder. Your father had refused to listen to the young woman and shooed her off. You never saw her teary-eyed face again.

At fifteen, your father attempted to wash his hands of you by marrying you off to the highest bidder. There was no real auction, but just about anyone who suggested a handsome sum of money did the trick.

“His name is William,” you exhaled, kicking your legs over the edge of the dock.

Tommy laughed. “You won’t marry him.”

“What choice do I have, Tom?”

Your finances were getting tight, and the gloomy pressure to take up working at night like many young ladies was beginning to loom closer and closer. You hated being a woman. Boys would never have to worry about selling themselves to survive.

“I’ll put a gypsy curse on him,” he decided, squinting his eyes from the bright reflection dancing across the water.

You hit his shoulder.

“No, you won't, because then you’ll be cursing me.”

The severity of your situation began to dawn on Tommy. No amount of pestering Polly for change to spare would relieve you of your burden any longer.

“That’s it, then?” He gulped, shifting his glassy eyes to the harbor.

You sighed and followed his gaze.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. I’ll never have to see dad again, and William promised to take care of me.”

Tommy scoffed.

You frowned at him. “What?”

He shook his head.

“What! Tom—”

“Don’t marry him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, here we go, why?”

“You know why.”

You were engaged to William on the eve of your seventeenth birthday. He was a very proper man and never dared to go any further than hooking an arm around yours on formal occasions. You were never attracted to his thin mustache nor the thick lenses he wore. In fact, he was incredibly awkward at social occasions, always checking his pocket watch and avoiding eye contact with whichever circle he stood in.

Tommy began to fade out of your life around that time. Margaret—a lady who had taken you on to help with the sewing of her family’s tailoring business—told you that Tommy was spotted arm in arm with another girl that week. You expected to feel jealous, but you felt nothing. You knew love would never be your right. Love was for the more fortunate.

You spent that year learning how to be a wife. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too different from what you did as a child—cooking and cleaning up like you did when your father came home, that is. It was comforting to have a routine in place. It meant finality—no one walking in and out of your life as they pleased, and certainly no more growling stomachs. Perhaps being a wife was a skill your mother never learned. You were grateful for William’s mother, who seemed to be more than enthusiastic to show you the reigns.

After a year-long engagement, you caught your fiancé, William, locked in a compromising position with another man.

“Oh,” was all you got out before leaving his house.

You lacked the special ingredient that marriages needed: love.

You sat down at the fountain across the street. William and his lover’s silhouette were visible behind the blinds he had drawn on the second floor, which peered over the sidewalk. You watched their shadows fluster their feathers around the room like headless geese, and for a moment your head surfaced above water and laughter frothed out between your sealed lips. Perhaps Birmingham made you a little mad.

You didn’t go through with the marriage. You suspected William was relieved.

That week, your father left. You never knew whether he left on his own accord or just never made it home one night. Either way, you never really cared to find out.

With nothing left to lose, you knocked on the Shelby family’s door at Watery Lane. Finn appeared around the other side of the door a moment later.

“Is Tommy home?”

Finn nodded, spinning on his heel to alert his brother. When Tommy did appear, his shoulders were tensed. Disheveled hair never looked so stylish on him. When you saw his suspenders (which were hastily thrown on), you wanted to ask who he expected to be at the door that he planned to answer dressed in such fashion but then thought better of it. He peered down at you, then checked over his shoulder before ushering you inside and up to his bedroom.

“It’s… smaller than I thought,” you landed on, taking in his room.

After all these years, you had never stepped foot into the Shelby home. You weren’t the type of person to come door-knocking.

You turned around to face Tommy after hearing him click the lock on his door.

“Are you hurt?" were the first words he had spoken to you in a year.

“No.” You pressed your lips together, eyeing everything from the bed to the view out the window.

Silence followed closely after.

“Then why are you here?” Tommy sighed.

Your vision began to blur then. “I don’t know,” you said honestly, trying to stop your bottom lip from trembling.

Desperately, you pushed your hair back and straightened up, attempting to hold yourself together. You must have looked like a puppet being held together by a string, given how poor you looked.

Tommy’s boots pad across the wooden floor. “You love me?”

Did that word truly exist? How could you answer if you never knew what it meant to love?

You don’t meet his eyes. He licked his lips, pushing your head up to meet his with his thumb. His eyebrows rose expectantly.

“I don’t know what to do, Tom,” you breathed, avoiding his question. “I’m all alone now. No William, no father…”

His lips parted, and you watched with fascination as the cogs turned in his head. “Yes… that is a problem." His breath fanned over your face.

You gagged, a reaction you yourself had not expected, before rushing to his door, only to remember that, yes, he had locked it, before turning to the nearest silver bucket in the corner to empty your guts.

The first thing you heard when you caught your breath was, “are you pregnant?”

No, but when you stand so close to me and I can smell the cigarettes you smoke and your freshly washed skin, I can imagine a future where we are married, and I see your face growing more disappointed as we age together because you married a woman who never knew how to be a mother to your children nor a wife who knew to tend to you with affection by your bedside when you’re ill.

“No,” you choked, spitting out the vile taste in your mouth. “We never did anything.”

You wanted him to know that. You wanted him to think that you never let William touch you because you never loved him, not because William wasn’t interested in girls.

A moment later, Tommy sat beside you on the floor and quietly combed your hair away from your wobbling lips.

“So, if you’re not pregnant and you don’t love me, why are you here?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. How were you supposed to answer that? After letting your guts loose in his room, you thought he would surely have booted you out the door.

A knock came on the door: “Tommy?”

“A minute, Finn!” Tommy growled at the door, refusing to back away from your trembling frame.

You were so hungry. Margaret had to cut back your hours ever since her husband fell ill. She spent more time by his bedside than keeping the store open, which meant you were making less than usual. The imminent closing of the store hung over your head like a taunting crow, gouging your insides like you were Prometheus. Birmingham your chains, a woman your fate, and the bird your punishment for thinking you deserved more.

“I should go.” You shivered at the draft inching towards your skin from the open window.

Tommy’s intense gaze stuttered, falling to your lap, where you picked at the dead skin around your nails. He cleared his throat, fishing out the key from his pocket. Although it was dull and muted from the years, it gleaned brightly in your eyes as if it were the reward you came for. Flushed, you grabbed it out of his hands without sparing a glance. Electricity sparked in those precious seconds, igniting a deadly fire in your belly.

“You’re cold." Tommy flinched at your touch.

You retreated as soon as the key slid into the hole and unlocked with a click. In your haste, you left the most valuable thing you owned there in his room.

Your heart.

The months went by, and summer arrived. The stories your mother told you left you expecting a bright gleam of air that would wash over the streets and paint each tree and every patch of grass a frighteningly bright green that would even encourage grumpy Mrs. Gretel to come out to preen her stubborn roses that would just not grow. Birmingham left less to be desired. The summer days never came, and that persisting bitter bog thickened, albeit with slightly less rain. There were gray clouds, smoke from the factories, and a shivering north westerly, which pushed said clouds at breakneck speed as if they had somewhere to be. You looked to the sky one day and said a prayer for blue breezes and sweltering sun, but the sky was empty.

Sometime later, men marched the streets armed with guns in their ‘dashing’ uniforms. A war, they said, a great one. Queues lined the street for the post offices and grocers. Rain rivaled the bustle of the city. What did it feel like to love someone so much as to stand in the pouring rain next to the gutter? You wanted that kind of love. Not the love you could only give yourself because even you didn’t want your own love.

One of the soldiers decorated in medals stood on a crate at the port, yelling something supposedly inspiring that captured the attention of many young men. The words honorable and patriotic were tossed in there like a delectable salad, enticing them in the way farmers held a carrot to a pig’s snout.

You pitied their mothers. Their daughters were married off, and then their sons were swooning over the idea of dying. Birmingham was filthy, rotting, and disgusting. You needed to leave.

You kissed Margaret goodbye on the cheek one Tuesday morning. Ever since your pockets turned out empty, you had been working as a bedside nurse for her ill-stricken husband. They were good to you, and they were probably the only people you could consider family.

She patted your cheek and said, "you're doing good to serve this country.”

You hadn’t had the heart to tell her you were leaving because the city was marring your flesh, so you slipped her the sugarcoated lie of wanting to join the war effort so that you might help others who were bedridden, just like her husband.

At the train station, you stood with your suitcases held tightly in both arms. You had to set one down to hold onto your hat as a train full of men waving their caps out the window pulled into the station. Some children weaved between the crowd, wagging a newspaper above their heads, hoping to make a quick penny. To your side, women wept for their brothers, husbands, and lovers.

“Who are you wishing off?” asked an elderly woman who was clutching her cane.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m boarding the next train.”

She laughed, and you wondered how old your mother would be now. Would she have grown wrinkles and settled into a deeper laugh like this woman?

“My dear, you have a bright imagination if you think they will let a woman on any of these trains.”

A sudden anger filled your blood. “Why not?”

“These men are heading straight for London, where they will be shipped away to France to fight,” the woman explained as if it were any other day.

“I’ll catch the next train then.”

She shook her head, and her frail hand curled tighter around her cane. “They’ve stopped the trains so they can transport soldiers to London.”

You frowned. “Then how will I leave Birmingham?”

You’ll never forget her dismissive laughter.

“My dear, you won’t.”

Men boarded the train, clapping each other on the back with a wink and a laugh. When a line of men on the platform thinned, the train whistled, and you looked over just in time to see Polly, Ada, and little Finn standing with their hands crossed over their hearts as they waved to the train.

No. It wasn’t possible.

But it was because you caught the gleam of the razors sewn into their peaky caps. Tommy, Arthur, and John all stood aboard the train, sticking their heads out and waving to Polly and Ada with a grin that wrung your stomach like a wet cloth.

Those countless daydreams you spun, the intricate webs you wove, began breaking down to thin fibers. In one pathway, you stayed there in his room and told him the truth you always denied yourself. You loved him. In another, you stood next to Polly, close to tears, as you begged him to come home safely. There was a resounding click in that moment as your breath stuttered. You had been the person who wiped away those futures, thinking it was nothing but an annoying spiderweb. Oh, how wrong you were!

“Tommy!” You left your suitcases behind and stepped around the old woman as you ducked under hugs and tearful goodbyes.

“Tommy!” You cried again with the gusto of someone who certainly shouldn’t be as concerned as they were considering you left him in his room that day.

Thankfully, his eyes eventually found yours as you pushed through the last line of people. You stood there and stomached all your regrets head-on. It was funny how, up until that moment, you managed to squash every seed of doubt. Why was it that you only realized what you had when it was slipping out of reach?

He never called your name back. He just stared at you blankly as the train pulled away, unlike you, who clung to the image of his frame even as the train disappeared from sight and the crowd began to disperse. You stood there unblinking, hoping to soak up the last of him before you forgot the intensity of his eyes or the humming rumble of his voice. Because the idea of something you held dearly becoming a memory meant that it could as easily be forgotten, and that terrified you. Your eyes were watering now, against your best wishes.

You overheard Polly ushering Finn and Ada off. Finn rushed home without protest, but Ada stopped in her tracks when she saw you hunched over your knees in tears. She smiled weakly before chasing Finn home. It was then that Polly’s shadow approached your huddled frame. She didn’t say anything, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she expected you to stand and apologize for being such a mess. That’s when a penny clattered to the ground beside you. She squeezed your shoulder once before disappearing.

You kissed that penny as if Tommy would feel the power of it across the country, then ran back to Margaret’s, having forgotten your suitcases.

“Oh…” She exclaimed, slapping her tea towel on the counter when you walked into the kitchen. “You missed your train?”

Dread made your stomach tender and your breath short.

“I’m enrolling in the Red Cross.”

Throughout the war, you thought of Tommy every day until your stomach lurched. Would it have worked if you had stayed? Would you both have grown old together instead of subjecting yourself to the spray of dirt when a bomb went off nearby?

A day ago, your supply rations never came. It wasn’t like hunger was anything new, but when your mind was too focused on surviving the perilous weather, it was hard to save other lives. You made work with what little supplies you had left. The morphine went stint within hours of its arrival, and the cries of pained soldiers filled the medical tent all night. You did what you could, wiped sweat from their foreheads, and wrote letters to their mothers and lovers with what supplies you could scavenge. Some were written on cardboard from shell packaging, others on torn pages from the bibles they kept over their hearts. Pens were useless—the ink ran in the rain—so you scribbled everything down in pencil.

Before you left for France, you were warned of the bullets. No one ever warned you about the shrapnel, nor the bombs or grenades. They shattered soldiers’ bones beyond repair and left bodies unrecognizable. There wasn’t much you could do when most of their flesh was missing.

Keeping faith became an impossible task. Supplies were depleted, and nurses were dejected. Sally, who had been writing home for news of her brother, recently had her letters returned with the black stamp. Death—return to sender. She spent only an hour sitting on a trunk, letting her tears fall, before she got back to work. Grief privileged those with time, something no one could afford in these conditions.

Then it came—the day Arthur Shelby was carried in on a stretcher. You were making your rounds around the beds when a truckload of yelling men pooled through the entrance of the tent.

“Nurse!” They all yelled, some limping, others setting down stretchers of men on the dirt between the filled beds.

You and two other nurses dropped everything and ran over to attend to the wounded. They were all covered head to toe in dirt, groaning and clutching limbs that were twisted the wrong way. One in particular coughed and huffed while he fought against hands, which were fruitlessly pushing him back down on the stretcher.

“Let me go!” He yelled, wrestling against an older nurse.

“It’s alright, Mary. I’ll handle this one,” you patted her shoulder as you swapped places.

You dunked a washcloth into a bucket of water to wipe away the dirt in his eyes. “Calm down; you're safe here,” you said, starting your usual script of reassurances.

When the striking blue eyes squinted up at you, your blood ran cold. You froze before taking his head in both your hands, despite his protests. “Arthur? Arthur, it’s me!”

He loosened his grip on your wrist. “Huh?”

“It’s me! Where’s Tommy and John?”

He spat blood and gritted his teeth. “Fucking hell, where’s the whiskey?”

You laughed despite the smell of blood encompassing the tent. You quickly fetched the alcohol you had been using to clean wounds and pressed it to his lips. You weren’t sure if it was whiskey or not, but you reasoned he was in too much pain to be able to tell. He drank it with a groan of pleasure. You didn’t try to snatch the bottle away as he emptied it down his palette; you just sat and grinned at the way he suckled it like a newborn baby while you cleaned away his cuts.

“I’ve never been happier to see you, Arthur.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, his lips still wrapped around the bottle.

You tried to stay by his side for as long as you could before the second wave of patients came tumbling through the flaps of the tent. One of them lost their grip on the stretcher, and the patient went sliding into the dirt headfirst.

“Fuck!” They all swore, abandoning the stretcher to drag the limp man further into the makeshift hospital.

You rushed to help when a hand gripped the back of your neck. You yelped in pain as your hair got caught in a fingernail when they turned you to face them.

And there he was: Tommy Shelby, covered in a thick layer of dirt, heaving for air.

“Nurse! Nurse!” Voices cried for you, but between the ringing in your ears and the wrath in Tommy’s blue eyes, you were frozen in place.

“The fuck are you doing here, eh?” He yelled over the anguished men.

You suddenly felt stupid standing there in your Red Cross uniform.

“I was looking for you, I—”

His dirty hands cupped your cheeks—something you were painfully aware of from the uncomfortable itch from the mud on your flushed skin—and pulled your forehead to his.

“You think this is some fantasy?” He squinted. “You think there’s any fucking moonlight to kiss under here, eh?” He spat.

His eyes held that haunted look you had seen on many soldiers that passed through the medical tent. Your eyes watered. Perhaps it was from the humidity and dirt being kicked up as nurses and patients scuffled around, not because you could hardly recognize the man in front of you. The blood smeared above his eyebrow worried you, so you reasoned that he was mad because it had been leaking into his eyes. Dutifully, you reached to wipe it with the back of your hand. He grabbed your wrist harshly, bringing it down to your side. He was in shock; you scolded yourself.

“Where’s John and Arthur?” Tommy swallowed, flexing his hands.

You led him to Arthur, who had been left in his corner while the nurses attended to more serious cases. It hurt watching the brothers reunite after their ordeal, so you left them alone no matter how much you feared them being discharged before your return. After all, everything you ever wanted sat in that corner, but it would be selfish to coddle Tommy all to yourself. Still, you couldn’t help sparing a glance when you walked up and down the tent, attending to patients.

Later that night, he came to you under the candlelight of your tent. He cleared his throat upon entry. You were lying face-up on your cot when he cleared his throat and peeled back the entrance to enter. The candlelight painted the mountain peaks of his face in a dull amber and the valleys in a frightening shadow. You sat up, pulling the thick cover over your shift.

Tommy kneeled next to you, resting on the heels of his boots. He licked his chapped lips and itched his nose. “You don’t belong here.”

Your grip on the cover loosened. “Huh?”

Nothing prepared you for when he swung his brooding stare towards you. He exhaled loudly before running a hand over his face.

“You should have stayed in Birmingham.” He said it like a warning.

“And done what?”

Vulnerability never looked good on Tommy. His head hung and his fingers itched at the back of his head—a tick you used to love; now you weren’t so sure. Because your Tommy was never afraid, but this man in front of you was alarmingly tense despite the clear efforts to mask it.

What have they done to you, Tom?

Under the dim light of your tent, you barely recognized him. A stranger’s eyes were blown wide in a frightening state of shock, something most soldiers mirrored. War washed out the sweet blue pair you knew, refitting them for a steely weapon. You hated seeing him like this, so still, so unsteady, cocooned into the corner as if afraid to take up space.

You feared you looked no better. Having worked till the point of exhaustion, you usually found yourself awakening against a wooden crate or trunk to the cries of patients who demanded your attention despite your body not having the strength to stand. Today you had been lucky and found yourself crawling distance to your private tent when your knees started wobbling and your head lulling.

The wooden reinforcing of your private tent fought in vain to shelter your bodies from the elements; it still flapped and whipped about, sometimes rocking your cot. Yet Tommy remained still like those life-size stone statues you’d find outside an important building, brooding at the dirt and locked in an internal battle. You shifted to the edge of your makeshift bed and leaned close enough that you saw how the top buttons of his dirtied uniform were missing and most of his clothes were torn.

His arm, which was breaking out in goosebumps, lay heavily across his knee so that he could rest his forehead there limply. He looked in a bad enough condition that you feared the possibility of him succumbing to the wasteland threatening him outside your tent. You wrapped your arms around the scruff of his hair and pulled his face into your stomach, where he could hide from the terrible world. On instinct, his arms wound around your waist, and you felt his warm exhale against your skin through the thin fabric of your slip.

His tin water bottle clanged against the satchel he wore, which made you wonder if he had any time to rest at all if he still had all his equipment tied to his uniform.

“I didn’t…” His voice was muffled by your slip. He cleared his throat again, shaking his head.

When he dropped the thought, you spoke up. “Have you eaten?”

He slapped your thigh haphazardly. “No, do you have a cigarette?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead gently pushing him away so you could kneel beneath your bed and fish a cigarette from your satchel. You pinched one from its tin case, then thought better of it and tossed it on Tommy’s lap. Gratefully, he collected one from the case and lit it with a nearby candle. You watched his chest rise and fall as he took an especially deep drag. His eyes shut as the nicotine rushed to his head.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he muttered under his breath.

“How are you here, Tommy? One of the night nurses should’ve been on watch.”

“Oh,” smoke puffed out of his mouth, and he raised his eyebrows, “there is.”

“Then how—”

“I had to see you.”

The butterflies in your stomach dove. The blue in his eyes appeared translucent as they hazed over like a ghost. His shoulders were slumped dejectedly, and he had a hand pushing through his greasy, unwashed hair to relieve his neck from the weight of his thoughts.

He pointed to you then, with the cigarette nursed between his fingers. “I need to know why you changed your mind.”

“About what, Thomas?”

His voice slurred and slipped into a deeper register from the lack of sleep. "Why you came back. Why you came to France.” Tommy shook his head lazily. “You expect me to believe you had a sudden change of heart? What? You a patriot now?” An amused exhale curled out while he took another drag. “Well I don’t believe it.”

You began shivering despite the way your body flushed.

“How’s Arthur?” You tried to avert the conversation.

“Bloody drunk off his ass.”

“And you?”

Tommy held your stare and swallowed dryly. “Trying.”

“You can go join him if you wish.”

He looked at the entrance of your tent as if he were weighing his options, then shook his head and took another drag before clearing his throat. “It’s different now.”

Naïvely, you sank to the ground beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be.”

He sighed.

“I wish that were true.”

The next time you saw Tommy, you were working a shift at the hospital. After the war, you received a medal for your efforts, which easily got you a job in Birmingham. You pleaded with them to send you to any other hospital—London, Manchester, Liverpool—you didn’t care. Anywhere but Birmingham.

“You should be honored to work for me!” Exclaimed the head nurse at Birmingham Hospital, who didn’t seem too pleased with your distaste for the city.

You thought the job would be the final nail in the coffin, but you surprisingly got along well with the head nurse once you had put your animosity aside. So much so, she offered to lease you a room upstairs from hers.

Then came that dreaded night where you were finishing the filing of some documents when a patient was being rushed in. Your ears perked up, and you looked through the blinds of the office to see a man being rushed by. Something small and round had fallen off the stretcher while the nurses paid no attention, pushing him around the corner and down towards the operating theater. Curious, you exited the office.

And there on the ground was one of those peaky caps Tommy and his brothers used to wear. You knew this because you picked it up and nearly cut yourself on the blade that was sewn into the seam. You spent the next hour gnawing on your nails. Your imagination sparked ideas about the beaten man who was lying in an operating room two doors down in surgery. Was it Tommy? Arthur? John? The shadows under your eyes darkened at the thought. No, it was probably some other Peaky Blinder. The Shelby brothers were too careful. Still, you knocked over your coffee in a mad dash to the bathroom, where you heaved up your dinner.

You volunteered to stay until the morning, but the head nurse on duty for the night refused and sent you home. You didn’t sleep at all that night.

The next morning, you arrived early and made a beeline for the emergency ward. You grabbed the admission form and scanned the patient list. There were only two emergency patients who were listed under the final hour of your shift, a woman and a man, which made it easier to narrow it down to the man who was admitted at quarter to midnight in ward four, room seven.

When you peaked through the crack in the door, you knew you had been worried for a reason. Tommy lay under the covers, battered and bruised, with a swollen eye and a nasty scar where he had reportedly received surgery for trauma to the head.

You slipped inside quietly and closed the door. Tommy’s eyes were closed, and his mouth hung open, stealing miniscule amounts of air into his lungs. He looked as good as a ghost.

“Tommy…” You clutched his peaky cap (which you meant to return) between your fingers.

He didn’t move an inch, so you set the cap down by his bedside table, carefully watching the rise and fall of his chest.

What have they done to you, Tom?

On the second week, he woke up while you were cleaning the windowsill. He coughed, and you whipped around in shock.

“Nurse?” He asked hoarsely, blinking away the blinding light.

You rushed to his side, tears bursting like the fountain you passed on your way to work.

“Don’t move,” you urged when he tried to sit up.

“I have to get to London,” he slurred, only half awake.

You weren’t upset that he didn’t recognize you. You weren’t upset that he didn’t recognize you.

“Tommy… it’s me.”

He shrugged your hand off his shoulder with a hiss. “Fucking hell.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Please don’t move; I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You couldn’t hide the way your voice broke.

He looked up at you, then, through bloodshot blue eyes. You wished you knew what was going through his head. Happy or sad?

“Am I dead?”

“No,” you smiled weakly as a tear fell.

“Can I have a smoke then?”

“I don’t know how to love, Tommy!”

“Yeah? Yeah? That’s bullshit! Why do you keep coming back then?” He pinched your chin, glaring furiously into your eyes. “Eh?”

He stood so close that he blocked the light from the chandelier, which mournfully hung from the ceiling. You shivered in his shadow.

“I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

“But you did!” He accused, pointing in your face.

“It was a mista—”

“You fucking did!”

“Tommy!”

“I’ve had it! If you want to leave, then fucking leave; otherwise, don’t stand there all righteous waving empty threats over my head because I know you won’t leave.” He shook his head with a wild look in his eye. “No… You won’t leave. You won’t leave because you love me. You keep coming back,” he pointed matter-of-factly.

Tommy’s eyebrows danced between being terribly furrowed and alarmingly raised during his passionate monologue. It was rare for him to emit so much emotion these days. The war changed men, and Tommy was no exception. A chilling stillness framed his presence, which even you weren’t excused from. No more laughter, no more dreams of working with horses, because he was above all that now, wasn’t he? It was ambition that ground his teeth together and hollowed his eyes. Still, you couldn’t forget that the anger came from vulnerability, because it took a lot for someone to get under Thomas Shelby’s skin.

You moved to grab your purse, to make good on his word, but he halted your movement by grabbing your shoulders, roughly at first, before loosening his grip. You softened at his frantic demeanor. He was scared—oh, so afraid of you walking out that door again. But how could you ever explain it to him? You were never born for love. You would never know how to love him properly the way wives were supposed to because what you felt for Tommy was sickeningly deep. So much so that the mere impression of him sealed off your ribcage and ruined any chance of your heart beating for any other soul, so much so that you carried the weight of him in your bones because you could never shake him off.

When you looked back at life, all you saw was the absence of love. You used to imagine yourself growing up and falling in love with a handsome stranger, then getting married in a proper white dress to go live in your proper house. But when you looked in the mirror, you saw a ghost. The pathway of your life was laid out before your eyes once, and what you saw didn’t match the reflection. The man you were supposed to marry couldn’t even look at you, even if you cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until your fingerprints turned white and pasty.

Because what it all came down to was simple. You never got to become the person you envisioned. Instead, you were cursed to live as a blank slate and be consistently reminded of what you were supposed to be and of who you were: no one.

Tommy exhaled in a quick huff, pressing his forehead to yours so that he saw you clearer, without all the tension and bullshit in the way.

“Here it comes, Tommy.” You took a shaky breath. “I love you, but I could never be the perfect wife to you, and I would be a terrible mother.”

There, in all its ugly colors and shades, you hung yourself with the truth.

He shook his head as if he too couldn’t believe your words.

“Fuck’s sake! Forget about all that." His eyes watered out of frustration, but he was still puffing in anger. “I need you. You. Not some whore.”

You bit your lip to muffle the god-forsaken cry ready to erupt from the volcanoes you suddenly found roaring in your stomach. An earthquake overtook your hands the more you fought the inevitable eruption. You grabbed both his hands to stop yours from shaking.

“I have to be cursed; there’s no other way!”

“No!”

“My life slips through my fingers like grains of sand—”

“You’re not cursed!”

“And I can’t stop it, Tommy!”

“You’re not fucking cursed, and I’ll tell you why." Tommy cut you off. He leaned in, licking his lips, which had turned dry from all the shouting, and squeezed your hands. “Because my ancestors charmed dogs with their magic, they didn’t scare little girls with curses,” he paused. “But you… You waved a hand over my head, and now I’m no better than a dog.”

He closed the space between you, pressing his forehead against yours, and stroked both your cheeks, wiping at your tears. You held him there in a meek attempt at reciprocation.

You wished the world were ending so then you could grab Tommy’s hand and say, ‘I’m ready, Tom. The world is ending, so let’s kiss and love each other under the flames without any fear because the world is ending.’

But you were never good at expressing yourself with words, so you sealed it with a kiss, hoping he could taste the unspoken words on your lips the same way you tasted the tears. He responded in earnest, gripping you roughly by the scruff of your neck to seal the promise laden between your lips; no more running.

It was just your luck that you would bump into your ex-fiancé, William, while visiting a bar in London with Ada. You were buzzing from the warmth of three sweet liquors and whatever else Ada insisted you try, and everything was starting to seem a little funny by the time he approached you.

He engaged in pleasantries, swishing his wine around the glass and sniffing it occasionally, like many pompous older men tended to do. There was only so much smiling you could afford before you caught your reflection in the freshly wiped bar and realized how poorly your acting skills were. Ada was no help, muttering something about finding a phonebooth and then slipping into the belated and boozed crowd. It was then that the supposed nectar in your glass began to taste like the cleaning products—that nose-scrunching stench. Thankfully, William was too involved in some tangent to notice you muffle a gag into your palm.

The dazzling hum in your ears muffled out all his words. In your drunken state, William appeared to be more confident than what you remembered, but you were unable to decipher whether it was from a change of heart or if he was trying to fall back in your good graces. Otherwise, you were blinded by the roaring bustle of the bar and the delicious swell of music that seemed to reverberate across your being.

Growing a little bored with William’s story, your attention wandered over his shoulder, still being sure to nod every now and then as if you were deeply pondering his words. Not far away from his side, a man seemed to linger—a man who was careful not to reach your eye. You must have laughed a little harder than usual because William turned sharply to the man at his side, gave him a quick once-over, then returned his attention to you, but by then it was too late, and you knew exactly what William’s relationship was with this man and where William’s confidence had come from.

“You’ll make a fine wife and a finer mother someday,” William quickly added.

You cursed the witch inside you, who laughed from her stomach and used his shoulder to steady herself. Once upon a time, that was all you longed to hear, but now, with a half-spilt martini in hand, you couldn’t care less. Both of you had found happiness despite your unconventional circumstances, and there was no more to it. You could close that chapter without any loose threads.

A little drunk, you thanked him, disappeared, and never thought of him again.

“I can’t do it, Ada,” you stressed, beginning to feel uncomfortable with the baby in your arms.

Motherhood came rumbling into your life like a rusty engine spitting out oil. ‘Instinctual’, the mothers down the lane from Arrow House had said, ‘it’s like your body has been preparing for it your whole life.’ How awful, you thought, and by the time one of them finished speaking about their experience with their first, your nose was so scrunched in disgust that you would need an iron to flatten out the wrinkles. It wasn’t until now that you longed to be in their shoes, because nothing came naturally to you.

“He’ll latch eventually; he’s just a little fussy,” Ada reassured.

“Is it supposed to hurt?”

“It’s perfectly normal.”

Then, after an hour of rubbing your sons back on the verge of tears, he finally began feeding from you. Ada soothed your back the whole time and cooed softly to calm both you and your unruly boy. Sometimes she brought Karl. He would obediently sit on her lap, playing with his wooden horse, while your little Charles fussed.

One time in the early morning, when you were up attempting to feed Charles, Tommy rushed in alert with disheveled hair and sunken eyes.

“Sorry,” you mouthed, deflated your hardworking husband had been disturbed from his sleep.

He ran his hands over his face and sighed. You mistook his action for frustration and desperately tried to hush your baby. Tommy moved over to the rocking chair where you sat, trying to feed little Charles in your arms.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispered into the crook of your neck. “How is he?”

You flushed under the moonlight, suddenly embarrassed that your husband had caught you in this vulnerable position with the top of your slip peeled down. Your exposed skin hissed when he pressed a kiss against your pulse.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Tommy inhaled sharply against your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder to peer down at Charles. Charles had settled since Tommy walked into the room, acutely aware of his father as his little hands made a grabbing motion for him. Diligently, Tommy relieved your arms of Charles and cradled him close to his chest. Within minutes, the little baby was gurgling happily and blinking in a way that suggested sleep was on the horizon after all.

Your husband didn’t dare make any sudden noise as he gently set Charles in his cradle. Once he was surely asleep, Tommy guided you up from the rocking chair and into your shared bedroom.

“See?” you hissed, still maintaining a soft voice, “he only wants you.”

Tommy wouldn’t hear any of it, pulling you into his arms as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Your slip was still pooled around your hips, so he took the opportunity to plant a kiss above your breasts, where your heart was.

“He loves you,” he drawled in that husky voice of his. “I know he does because I do.”

Your head ached, but you couldn’t help the way your body reacted to his words and touch. Tommy’s wandering hands teased the silk fabric that clung to your hips as you felt his nose trail down to your breast, where he kissed one of your aching nipples delicately. Suddenly hot, you hummed in delight, the back of his shorn scalp pleasant beneath your nails. A grunt, bathed in that musk of his devours your senses. Inhaling sharply, he took the bud between his full lips, sucking, licking, and nibbling gently while his hands explored further down. Your head lulled back from the pleasure, gasping and withering under his skilled tongue.

The next thing you knew, Tommy was tugging the rest of your silk slip off and reminding you of just how much he loved you.

“Charles! Come here!” Tommy called.

Your little boy loved to play in the backyard of Arrow House. Much like his father, Charles adored horses. Big ones, small ones, black ones, white ones—but most of all, he favored his Shetland pony. Tommy had brought it for Charles before he could even walk. He said something about it being important for his son to be raised around horses from a young age. And while you didn’t necessarily disagree, it still stressed you out to hold your baby so close to such a large, muscular animal. You knew the Arabian breeds spooked easily, so you steered clear of them and were able to keep Tommy and Charles happy.

But now he had grown up so fast and was able to run around on his own two legs, climb trees, and bruise his knees on the way down. The sun beat lovingly on the apples of his cheeks as he dirtied his trousers, kneeling by the fence to feed his Shetland (affectionately named Biscuit) hand-picked grass through the gaps.

“Charles! We’re leaving!” You called when he ignored his father.

Stubbornly, Charles spun around to pout his lip and cross his arms. He glared at you as threateningly as a five-year-old could. You bit your lip to hide your smile because he really did look like a little Tommy with those big blue eyes. It would only be a matter of time before he perfected his father’s stare. With a sigh, you shifted your daughter into Tommy’s arms before approaching Charles, who was picking angrily at the grass.

You reached a hand out toward him, "let's go.”

“No!”

“All right,” you said decisively, spinning around, “Ruby will have all the fun then.”

“No!” cried your little boy.

You stuck a hand up in surrender and started walking back to Tommy. “No, it’s all right.”

“No, no no no!” Came his protest, chasing behind you as the gravel crunched beneath his boots.

You paid no attention to him, keeping your eyes trained ahead, silently relieved that your ploy worked. Tommy watched on in amusement while Ruby suckled on her thumb, curiously watching her brother storm closer.

“You hear that, Ruby? We’re going to spoil you,” a short smile played on Tommy’s face as he adjusted her so that she sat comfortably on his hip.

“And me!” Charles added and gave his best pout.

“No, Charles, you said you didn’t want to go,” you reminded him, raising your eyebrows.

“I do! I do!”

“Hmm,” you thought aloud, and held a finger to your chin while looking to the sky in exaggerated contemplation. “Very well, but only if you get in daddy’s car right this instant.”

He climbed into the backseat of the Bentley without further fuss.

When all the bags were neatly packed in the back for the day’s festivities, Tommy came around your side to sit Ruby on your lap. Quickly, he leaned in to kiss you and pinch your cheek, which swelled into a glowing grin.

He smiled back and whispered low enough for only you to hear, “got him wrapped around your finger, eh?”

You laughed. “Him and a few other Shelby’s I know of.”

The thundering sound of music could be heard from outside the theater on the corner of Old Pauls. Inside, patrons mused between champagne, dancing, and making a display of their wealth by bidding on little trinkets. It was one of the many charity galas Tommy had to attend because of his new move into politics. Usually, you enjoyed dressing for those sorts of things, but tonight you simply weren’t feeling up to it. Maybe it was the drape of your dress not sitting right or the new leather shoes that still needed breaking in.

Your shimmering smile faded into the crowd as you snuck through the back door in your satin bordeaux dress. Old Pauls sat perched above the cemetery it was named after. Conveniently across the street from the buzz of the theater, it was airily quiet and stuck out from the rest of industrial Birmingham. Your heels clacked across the pavement as you wandered up and down the garden, glimpsing at stone angels and silver plaques. All you had to light your path were the streetlights and the moon.

Your diamond wedding ring twinkled under the stars as you stopped to trace a name. It was the same as your mother's, but with a different last name. Still, you always wondered what happened to her. Had she gotten married to another man and taken his name? You expected to shiver at the idea, but you found that thinking of her no longer unnerved you. She packed up the title of mother when she left you all alone in that cramped house.

Light spilled out onto the pavement across the street when the entrance to the theater swung open. A few men flew down the steps and split off in different directions. Thinking it odd, you remained crouched until they disappeared around their respective corners. That’s when you saw Tommy exit through the same doors, throwing a cigarette and wiping at his brow while he looked up and down the street. Quickly, you stood and waved your arm to get his attention. When he noticed, he stormed down the steps and stalked across the street and through the gates of Old Pauls over to you.

“I needed some air,” you spoke up before he could get a word in.

His eyes wildly flickered back and forth from yours in a frenzy. Under the moonlight, they looked almost translucent, and, save for a ghost of blue, his pupils were wide.

“Why the bloody hell are you out here, eh?” He demanded, gently shaking your head between his hands for emphasis while his eyebrows rose expectantly.

“It’s quieter.”

When he tilted his head to the sky and exhaled, your stomach dropped at the sight of blood. Your ears, which had been tuning out the music, flinched when a shrill cry from a woman rang out the theater doors. The music was gone, now replaced with screams as all the patrons rushed out, tripping over each other like it were a race. You turned back to Tommy, now as worried as the others.

“What the hell happened? Are you hurt?” You urged, gripping his white collar, now red, to inspect where the blood was coming from.

“Not mine,” he cleared his throat, grabbing the hand on his collar to tug you down the street.

The frame of your world stretched a little wider, like light pouring in through open shutters. Car doors slammed, and drivers honked at the agitated crowd who ran this way and that across the road.

“Where’s the fucking ambulance?” Shouted a man who took no care to avoid bumping into you.

You stumbled back, your hand slipping from Tommy’s on impact. Rage flickered across his features briefly, having noticed the man push through you, but he reconnected your hands and continued walking fast. When he reached the Bentley, he urged you inside, holding your hand the whole way until you were seated in the passenger seat.

“What the hell happened, Tommy?” You repeated as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Someone got shot.”

Your eyes widened. “Are Polly and—”

“They’re fine.”

You sank back into your seat as the engine roared to life. Peaky Blinder’s followed the frenzied crowd, moving together like a pack of wolves onto the streets. They only parted to let Tommy’s Bentley through. Out the window, people were fighting and throwing fists as they all tried to escape the mayhem.

“Why aren’t they letting people through?” You asked after witnessing a Peaky Blinder block the road and refuse to let a car pass.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He never told you anything when it came to business. And although you suspected this was much more than the doing of the Shelby brothers, Tommy’s face never betrayed him. Simply put, if he didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t.

“Would anyone want to follow us?”

“No.” He exhaled deeply, cleared his throat, and then reached to give your thigh a squeeze.

You knew it was a lie when his eyebrows rose. He only did that when he was worried. Your tongue remained pressed to the back of your teeth the entire ride home.

The howl of the wind whistled down into the valley of the gypsy camp Tommy had brought you and the children to.

“Pack your things,” he had said one night after storming through the front door of Arrow House, “we’re going on a trip.”

Charles and Ruby cheered, but you suspected something sinister beneath his intentions.

So, there you were, picking at the grass by your feet while you perched on the bottom step of the gypsy wagon Tommy parked beneath a tree for shade. He kept quiet for most of the ride, absorbed in leading the horse around loose gravel and stones, or rather, he led you to believe he was lost in concentration. Because, when it came down to it, you knew Tommy better than to assume nothing was wrong.

The past week, he had been acting different, jumpy even. He ran into the nursery during the early hours of the morning on edge, as if expecting something to be amiss. You tried interrogating him, but he brushed it off, insisting things were fine. Fine—you began detesting that word. Fine this, fine that, but if things were really fine, then why was he on edge?

Then came the bloodshot eyes and the slamming of his desk drawer when you entered the office. Only this time he couldn’t deny the unmistakable jingle of a bullet, which rattled in the wooden compartment like some sort of airy death chime.

A black hand. One for each Shelby. And since you were now one too, that meant neither you nor the children were subjected to any special treatment. A week, he said, a week for his family to clear up the business while he stayed here watching over you like a shepherd to his flock.

And watched he did, standing next to where you sat, he found peace observing Charles and Ruby as they chased each other around the overgrown field. There he remained for an hour or so, frighteningly still, the only motion being his sharp jaw chewing on a mint leaf, somewhat reminiscent of the soldier in your tent all those years ago. Next to him, tied to the tree, the black steed filled the silence with snorts and grazed favorably on the loose roots and grass patches.

“Ruby was crying this morning. She’s scared, Tom." You sighed.

Tommy hadn’t been there when you woke up that morning in the caravan. He returned shortly after, ominous as ever, just as Ruby had begun to settle.

He tossed the stalk of his mint leaf into the grass and offered you his hand. You looked up at him in question for a moment, slightly suspicious of his intentions. Nevertheless, you slid your hand into his, and he stood you up, sat down on the higher step, and pulled you between his legs to sit on the lower step. He hugged you from behind as he slouched to rest his head on your shoulder, then exhaled deeply.

“We will be home soon,” he whispered in your ear, brushing your knuckles tenderly.

“For how long? Until we get another bullet in the post?”

Tommy’s throbbing forehead found solace in the warmth of your neck.

“You’ve never been one to run,” you continued, “what’s bothering you? We took a vow that we would share everything.”

He nuzzled his nose deeper into your pulse.

Frustrated, you tried to get up, but he held you firmly against his chest.

“Italians.”

“Italians?”

“Italians sent the black hands.”

You waited in silence for more information, but more did not come.

“Speak to me, Thomas.”

“I don’t want you any more involved than you are.”

“They’ve sent death knocking on our door; how more involved could I be?”

Tommy moved methodically, licking his lips and clearing his throat. He squinted his eyes up at the glaring sun.

“It’s nothing you should be concerned about. I’ll keep us safe.”

“Nothing I should be concerned over, Thomas? Just how many people are we at war with?”

He didn’t answer, so you turned your head away from him. Charles and Ruby had since settled by a patch of flowers. Charles was crouched over, helping his sister gather all the yellow flowers for her yellow dress.

The tension broke the surface then.

“Why are you still fighting, Tom? Is this,” you nod to your children and breathe in the fresh air, “not enough?”

You pictured Arrow House and its lavish garden, one to compete with all the wealthy families down the lane. You thought of Arthur, John, Polly, Ada, and all his family that lived to see his success. Everything, from the thoroughbreds in the stable to the fancy cars. The money itself was a testimony to his drive. What more could the gangster of Birmingham want when he already had everything?

You had gone and worked yourself up now because the world seemed blurrier than before.

Tommy, still on his guard, guided your chin to your shoulder so he could kiss the tears away. “It is enough.”

“Then make it enough. You’re respectable now, so stop the fighting.” Your voice broke at the end.

He hung his forehead on your shoulder. Like a flower sheltered away from the sun, Tommy wilted when he was away from his business. Usually, you were a strong enough light to keep him going, but whatever business he had gotten himself into was poisoning him, and ever the addicted flower, he kept running out to the fields, continuing to drink in the sunlight until it was too much and turned his leaves brow. Because business was what occupied his mind day and night, he was unable to turn the cogs of the engine off and let the air out of the tires.

A hand brushes your hair away to kiss the spot beneath your ear, airing out the destructive thoughts.

God, you loved him anyway. An overpowering feeling that ruled over calculating minds like Tommy’s and faint hearts like yours. You were no better than him—both addicted to a little sunlight.

The framed photographs on the wall shook as your third-eldest slammed the door to her room closed.

“I hate you!” She cried from the other side.

Your husband, Tommy, sighed to the ceiling, then stalked past you to his study, no longer interested in anything your daughter had to say. They had been at it for the last ten minutes arguing over some boy she was seeing, and your ears were just about ringing having witnessed it from the sidelines. You were left there in the hallway, an unwilling participant in the unspoken feud between father and daughter, and you understood that whoever you went to console would take it that you were siding with them, even though you just wanted to keep your family together.

Going to your daughter was the instinctive answer, but you knew she needed time to cool off. Tommy was the only reasonable choice.

You knocked on the door to his office before letting yourself in.

“Come to lick my wounds, eh?” He mused while smoking a cigarette.

Your lips wormed into a thin line. “This needs to stop, Tom.”

“Yeah,” he said, tapping the ash into his tray, “it will fucking stop.” He points with his cigarette, “I’ll make it fucking stop.”

You sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

The chair screeched as he stood. “I’m her father, and if I say she can’t see that boy, she can’t. It’s only a childish fling; she’ll get over it.”

He poured a whiskey and downed it by the time you walked around his desk so that you were face-to-face with him.

“They’re in love, Tommy.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed. “Well, that can be undone.”

You held his glare, a challenge lighting in your own. “So easily, you think?”

He paused mid-drag, catching onto the underlying meaning in your words. “No,” he said, setting the cigarette down in the ash tray and grabbing your shoulders. “Don’t act like that.”

“Act like what?”

“Like you’re threatening our love over some fucking boy that’s charmed our daughter. They’re too young.”

“He’s sweet.”

“Oh, sweet and nice, I’m sure. But he’ll have no place in this house.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I fucking said so!” He spat.

“Don’t yell at me.”

“Or what? You’ll leave me?” He huffed in amusement. “You won't; you love me too much.”

“You’re so certain?”

He paused for a moment and stared at you as if he couldn’t believe what you had said.

“Yeah, because we still fuck like two people who love each other, eh? And you’ve not told me no before, so if the day comes and your body no longer wants mine, then I’ll be worried. But until then, don’t test me with empty threats." His face hardened.

He knew you like the back of his hand. All bark, no bite. You loved him inexplicably, even after all these years, gray hairs and all. His face, body, and soul nourished you until you were satiated and full. And even if his eyebrows furrowed at times, you were willing to bet that it was for aesthetic, a shapely shadow gathered over the years from being the stoic leader the Peaky Blinders and Shelby family needed. How could you fault him for it?

Because, at the end of the day, you were a team. Even if he played the role of an overprotective father a bit too convincingly, he only ever wanted what was good for your daughter. Everything he worked for, ultimately, was for his family. A family man. And that came with its virtues and vices because, despite what Tommy thought, he wasn’t perfect; no one was.

Shrinking under his hands, you breathed a sigh and appeased him. “End this feud, Tom. Find peace with her. I don’t care what you do, but by the end of it, I expect to be able to sit down at the dinner table without having to beg my husband and daughter to look up from their plates.” You stroked his hands, which held your shoulders, and finally blinked up at him.

A haze of softness swept across his glare and melted the glaciers to a thin sheen of blue. The seams of exhaustion frayed one by one through his muscles. He nodded, licked his lips, and leaned down for a kiss of absolution. Not entirely prepared to surrender, you tilted your head so that he found the corner of your mouth instead.

“It will be done, love.” He brushed the apples of your cheeks tenderly. “And by tonight,” his voice lowered, “I promise you’ll forget all about it.”

Only then did you accept his kiss, eager to put the grievance to rest. Tommy, on the other hand, had other plans and stepped forward so that you were pinned between his desk and hips. He quickly began to gather your skirts above your waist, but you pulled away just as fast at the hiss of air against your exposed skin. An unsolicited gasp escaped his mouth when your knee brushed him there, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking deep into his eyes.

“Promise me you won’t break her heart. She might not be old enough now, but I don’t want you to put her off love forever,” you caressed his jaw.

“No,” he agreed, breathier than usual, flexing the hands that were still caught up in the fabric of your skirt.

“And our Daisy may never say it, but I know she loves you dearly. So please, Tom, be gentle with her. I don’t want her to grow up despising you. Tell her you love her, kiss her forehead, hug her.”

He deflated, and you watched him swallow his pride. Cogs turned against the sweltering lust, threatening to deplete the clever thoughts in that powerful head of his in favor of your careful touch. Please, please, please, you begged without uttering a word; agree with me on this, Tom.

Tommy leaned back down to rest his forehead on yours; his face gave nothing away. You were sure he had found something to say, which would make you feel like a fool for asking. However, when you embraced those faint subtleties of emotion flickering across his face like candlelight, so miniscule you might blink and miss it, you found nothing of the sort to suggest any hostile nature. Because Tommy loved you.

“I will.”

A/N: Tried doing a long one shot, what does everyone think? Yay or nay? Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taglist: @maliceofwonderland , @fairytale07 , @goblinjnr , @ilovepeoplesdads , @multidimensionalslut

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junicult · 11 months

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!! the bachelors as fathers

contains ; sfw! sooo much fluff. fem!farmer. unnamed child. established relationships — marriage. your child is implied to be around kindergarten age. men that are good w kids hehehe. not proofread / slightly rushed in some parts. i’ll edit it later LOL.

note ; i get asks on this topic at least twice a week. i’m finally caving. here’s my birthday gift to you <3

harvey.

- he was honestly made to be a father.

- despite his taller stature, there was something about him that felt so comforting.

- if a child had walked up to him all alone, sobbing with snot down their nose, he didn’t hesitate to kneel and help them find their parent.

- soothing them, grabbing their hand and asking questions to calm them down.

- no, it wasn’t a daily occurrence but it’s definitely happened to him a couple times. and each and every time he was able to help them relax, and easily reunited them with whomever their guardian was.

- he’s good with kids. always has been.

- he probably even had a babysitting job every now and then when he was younger.

- there’s was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to have his own when he grew up. and when you just so happened to stumble into his life, marrying him with the same ideals…well.

- you obviously knew he wanted kids before you got married.

- and when you realized you wanted him to be the father of your child; was another one of those instances where you got to see just how good he was with them.

- hearing how sweet he’s always been to vincent during his doctor visits, especially when the boy was younger.

- he’s a girl dad. say what you will, but he is.

- he’ll sit at the unbelievably tiny table, cramped in the tiny chair with his knees up to his chest while he tips back the empty teacup and his pinky in the air.

- he’ll even wear the tiara.

- zero complaints.

- you and his daughter would literally be the most important things in the entire world to him. he’d do anything for you two.

- like…ugh. oh my god.

- sometimes you’d come home late, and you’d walk down the hall to hear his gentle voice animatedly in your daughters dark bedroom.

- and you’d peek in, and there he was sitting at the end of her bed, quietly reading while she sleepily listens all tucked in.

- or even times when you’d wake up in the middle of the night to an empty bed, confused.

- so you’d walk out to go find him, having no clue where the hell he was so you check your daughters bedroom,

- and well, there he is. long ass limbs tucked and haphazardly strewn about to make room for your daughter who lays next to him sleeping peacefully in her toddler bed.

- he’s not asleep (obviously), but he lays with his eyes closed until you gently creak the floorboard.

- “she had a nightmare.” is all he says, and it’s enough to make you smile.

- even though he’s already so health conscious…it only grows after you have a child.

- “did you brush your teeth? make sure to get the gums.” “a balanced breakfast is the perfect way to start the day!” he sounds like a elementary classroom poster.

- the minute someone in the house sniffles…he’s checking everyone’s temperature.

- during the winter, he’s at the door wrapping your daughter in multiple puffy coats, scarves, earmuffs, gloves, before letting her step outside.

- you’re not off the hook either, but you never bundle up the way he wishes you would.

- “why doesn’t mommy have to wear this?” she pouts while he’s helping her in her thick boots.

- “why don’t you ask her that?😊” (he’s instigating.)

- i’m telling you, girl dad.

sam.

- his own kids weren’t on his radar when you guys first started dating.

- but he’s always liked them. especially when vincent was born.

- he was that lowkey irresponsible but very responsible older brother.

- like, he’d be in his teens telling his very impressionable younger brother to say bad words and then would act shocked when he got in trouble for saying them.

- but when it came to being the oldest man in the house while their dad was away, he really showed maturity in helping jodi and being there for them.

- and while you both established a committed relationship, that one day you’d want to be married and have kids—he idealized it a bit more.

- but then again, it was still one of those things you both needed to really think and talk about before you even acted on it, especially since you got married young.

- lol i feel like jodi or marnie forced u guys to watch jas and vincent for a weekend once.

- and after how well it went, that was kinda when it clicked that you guys were ready.

- he’s both a girl dad and a boy dad.

- he’d literally jump for joy for either outcomes. he was just excited to finally be a dad after years of daydreaming of it.

- as much as i don’t wanna say it, i still feel like he’d be much better at the fun stuff then the parenting stuff.

- i just think it’s bc he thinks with his heart more then his head, and when his child is sad and pouting, he’s too sympathetic to hold his ground.

- he wouldn’t leave it all for you to do, but he’d definitely be worse at scolding if you aren’t by his side.

- like, she colored all over the walls or something. his initial reaction would be to freak out and find a way to clean it before you’d find out (he doesn’t wanna add more work to your busy day), but then he’d scold.

- “no, don’t do that. wall, bad. paper, good. understand? nod if you understand,” …well he’s trying.

- then you’d come home to see him scrubbing the walls while your child blissfully doodles in her coloring book on the floor beside him.

- if he had a son, he’d have a little bit of practice from those few years where he babysat vince.

- lol, there’s a lot of features your son would inherit between the two of you.

- but personality wise…your son is definitely a mini-sam.

- and imagine one day, it’s the early stages of spring so sam’s typical allergies start to act up.

- you’ve always known how to handle him when he gets really sick. but picture your red-nosed, leaky-eyed husband standing behind you while you rummage through the medicine cabinet,

- and all of a sudden you hear a familiar sniffle from down the hall.

- you just freeze, slowly turning to face sam who’s making the same face that you are. until he starts to laugh.

- yeah. so now here you are, both of your boys snuggled in bed with the same sickly look, mumbling about how grateful they are that you’re there to care for them.

- and here’s the thing. if your son is sam’s mini-me…then i can assure you you’re stuck with two of the clingiest boys by your side.

shane.

- he never really thought he’d get a loving, happy family of his own.

- but he definitely daydreamed of it in times when he really just wanted an escape.

- he was always the best with jas.

- he doesn’t necessarily treat her like his daughter. but it’s not like she gives him any reason to.

- he doesn’t treat her like a child, per say. just kind of like another person. probably bc of their trauma bond lol

- he cares for her like an older brother cares for his little sister.

- so even though he has jas in his life, someone he cares for so strongly, he still doesn’t think of himself as being a good father.

- when he met you though, and you were so reassuring and sweet, that thought definitely changed.

- it went from him seeing a life alone, to pondering a family of his own.

- when he finally had the motivation to clean himself up, it approached a couple years since he’s been sober and it was definitely in the forefront of his mind to start a family with you.

- i also think of him as a girl dad. i can’t picture him as a boy dad at all not even gonna lie 😭

- like he’d be the kind of dad that would dress as the supporting character in your daughter’s favorite movie for halloween (spirits eve wtvr)

- also the kind of dad that’d join in on tea parties as well, just with the most plain look on his face despite him not minding being there.

- also…let me tell you there would be a whole inside joke swear jar thing in ur house.

- when your daughter was old enough to decipher what words were “good” and “bad,” the swear jar became very important.

- i think it started when you were pregnant.

- “ah fuck, i think i cooked this wrong. damnit.” he’d mumble.

- “we should probably stop saying those before the baby comes.” you hum, and he looks at you all confused.

- “saying what?” bc they’re in his daily vocabulary to the point where he forgets they’re “inappropriate.”

- so there came the swear jar. and every now and then it’d be a little inside joke when he swore, you’d look at him like, “drop a dollar in the jar😁”

- and when you’d say one, he was so petty matching your exact tone and smile.

- your daughter just grew up with it. it became an even bigger inside joke when you were all sitting at the kitchen table one night, he leans in to take a bite of food and, “shit! that’s hot.”

- before you even said anything your daughter smiles exactly like you would, “that’s a dollar in the swear jar, daddy.”

- ur both STUNNED. and also very proud in a sense.

- you just burst out laughing while he tries to think of a counter, but really, he’s too amused to even say anything back (thus drops a dollar in the jar!)

- 😓😓he’d be the sweetest when it came to his daughter all sad about something.

- no matter what it was. even if she as much as scrapes her knee, he would be so affectionate.

- he’s not the “walk it off” kind of dad.

- if she came to him sobbing, he’d immediately calm her down by picking her up and propping her on the couch, searching for the stuff you use for wounds in the cabinets.

- “it’s okay, you’re okay. it was just a little scrape, you won’t even feel it tomorrow.”

- and he’s wiping her tears, pressing a kiss to her forehead before going into the freezer and getting her ice cream (before dinner😨) saying, “don’t tell mommy, okay?”

- although you try finish up work early enough to tuck your daughter in bed, sometimes you end up running late.

- so uh…shane sometimes forgets to put her to bed, and of course she’s not gonna say anything!!! bedtime is a child’s worst nightmare!

- and usually when that happens, you’d end up coming home to the sight of the two of them, knocked out sharing the same blanket on the couch, cuddled up together while the tv’s still on.

- and when that happens, well, you find it a little hard to take that sight away.

sebastian.

- girl dad. sorry i just had to start with it.

- maybe i could see him with a son, but honestly…no i can’t.

- but i’m not gonna lie to you,

- for a while i feel like he didn’t want kids. not really at least.

- he’d think about them and it was always a nice idea, until he really thought about it and all the mess that babies come with lol.

- plus at the point in his life when you two met, he just wasn’t ready. for a while at least.

- when you talked about it, the topic of children was only on the table. you knew you wanted them, just not yet.

- it took a good handful of years before you actively started trying.

- even though he was prepared during your pregnancy, i feel like it didn’t hit him he was a father until after ur baby was born.

- he fell in love. swear.

- like…that tiny, wrinkly little lump was his. he helped make that. and not only was it his but it was also the woman he loves’.

- it took him a while to get into the system of it all when it came to caring for the baby. i’m talking changing diapers, feeding, burping, things like that.

- but when he was left alone with her, he was kinda in his own little world. he could hold her all day and never get tired.

- and that was a concept so crazy to him bc he didn’t get that kind of love from a father growing up.

- which is exactly why i feel like he’d actually be such a great dad.

- he could be stern when he needed to be, but never strict.

- “eat your greens,” kinda dad LMAO. especially if you were the one to make them.

- when she’d come up to him with the messiest doodle of your little family on a piece of paper, he’d think of it as a masterpiece.

- he’s not very expressive tho LOL like he’d look at the drawing and only smile, a little “thank you,” in a sweet tone.

- that’s just how he is lol. on the inside he’s sobbing.

- it would always end up on the fridge.

- he spends a lot of time at home.

- which results in a lot of time he spends with your daughter, even while he’s doing his own thing on his computer working.

- but nearly every day he was greeted with a, “daddy, can we go somewhere? what’s mommy doing?” and depending on where you were, he’d help get her shoes on and take her out on a walk to go find you.

- she got her outdoorsy side from you, that’s for sure. but because she needs a guardian, he’s gotten much more used to being outside.

- it was often you’d be working on your crops outside, wiping sweat from your forehead & turn around to your daughter eagerly wanting to help.

- now, this is not to say that your relationship w sebastian was poor before you had your daughter, i’m not saying that at all,

- but because of her adventurous personality, and clinginess to the both of you—your bond grew even more.

- “she wanted to see you.” he’d sheepishly smile, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead while you both turn and watch her feed the chickens.

- “didn’t you have that website to finish?”

- “…okay i wanted to see you too.”

alex.

- absolutely wanted a family. holy shit there’s zero doubt in my mind.

- he’s kinda wanted a more traditional household, probably based on the ideals he grew up with.

- but he absolutely didn’t mind you being the breadwinner. he honestly enjoyed it much more.

- he’d spend hours daydreaming about living on the farm with you. carrying one child on his shoulders and holding the other’s hand while guiding them around the town’s fair.

- and lowkey, i feel like one of his favorite topics of conversation was discussing how your children would be raised lol

- talking in bed at night like, “i think our son would be a gridball fan. maybe even grow up to be a player himself.” while he sighs longingly.

- which also ties into me believe he’s a boy dad. you know he is.

- i definitely feel like he’d have a boy and a girl. it’s his dream.

- he’d be fine with two boys or two girls but when he daydreamed about his future, it was always you, your son & your daughter.

- it’s just once again the traditional picture of a household and even though i don’t really think he’s that old fashioned after he met you, i still believe he’d want 2 kids.

- he would seriously daydream it all the time. the months of your pregnancy, when you found out it was a boy he really saw his future fitting like a puzzle piece.

- after a couple years, your son (who may i add was literally his mini-me) got a bit older, you both discussed it was time for another.

- and when you found out it was a girl…god. i definitely think he cried, disagree all you want.

- he’s such a caring dad. i believe he wants the best for his children, and he knows what it was like to be neglected so i can never imagine him being like that.

- first of all, you already know every single day of the summer he’s bringing them down to the beach.

- packing a bag, (that takes him halfway through the day before he realized he forgot towels) propping up beach chairs & an umbrella for shade.

- he’s never opposed to a good sand castle. especially when he remembers to bring the little molds that help with the foundation.

- kneels in the shallow end, standing close to his kids when they want to swim.

- and he’s always a fan of recapping it with you at the end of the day.

- “tell mommy what you found at the beach,” he ushers, bouncing your daughter on his hip while your son eagerly begins.

- i feel like after having children, not only is he a good dad, but he becomes an even better husband to you.

- he just loves how hard you work for him and your family, so you can bet on mother’s day, or your birthday, he’ll be all about making it special for you.

- all of them wake up earlier then you, making breakfast (well, watching him make breakfast) before they put it all on a plate and deliver it to you in bed.

- ur the kind of parents that other parents are jealous of, y’know?

- he’s just so in love with you, and the kids you made. it makes him love you even more.

elliott.

- he’s always wanted kids. he would find himself daydreaming, even when he was in his early twenties, about one day raising a child with the person he loves.

- when he met you was the start of his writing career.

- at that point, it was a little underwhelming, which was the perfect opportunity to get start a relationship with you.

- you were both fairly busy, but the thing about his job was he could lounge in your cottage while you were off working,

- and when you were able to spare a few minutes, you could stop in and see him.

- while your relationship progressed, you began the discussion of getting married and having children one day.

- it just so happened to be right when his career was taking off when you finally settled into your lives together.

- which postponed trying for a little while, but eventually you were able to.

- lol, i’m gonna say it;

- without a DOUBT a girl dad.

- oh my god he would daydream of having a little you running around, tuft red hair with your sweet smile.

- and with how melodramatic he is, imagine that projected onto your daughter LMAO.

- if you couldn’t find him in his typical writing room sometimes, all u had to do was walk to your daughters room where he propped up his own little desk.

- just so he could be near her.

- he also is just entranced at all times, he loves holding her, just looking at her.

- he’s extremely helpful.

- for the most part, he was always immediate to react if your newborn needed something. the second she’s cry, he was up on his feet telling you to stay put.

- he’s just very understanding with how busy you are, and he never minded spending more time with his daughter.

- if it was the middle of the night, and she needed something, he’d always shake his head to you pushing off your blankets, whispering, “i got it, my love. go back to sleep, i’m sure she’s fine.”

- especially on days where he knows you’re particularly stressed, he’s not letting you lift a finger.

- anyways, it carried on when your daughter got older, too.

- she’d walk in all, “mommy, i threw up,” & he was on his feet to help before you even registered what happened.

- he’s just always been fantastic help.

- one of his favorite things to do is read to her.

- similar to harvey, except ten times more.

- he’s acting out each part, using different voices for different characters, making a grand show of it all just to hear his daughter giggle.

- it’s become a habit every night, and since you’re typically busy most evenings, it’s often you’ll come in to find him mid-storytelling.

- even if you intend on reading to her, you always end up stopping to let him finish. he’s so entertaining with it that even you’re interested in this plot line for 2 year olds.

- he’ll never skip this routine.

- and when he kisses her goodnight, he tucks her in, pushes her hair from her forehead and bends down to plant a soft kiss.

- “goodnight, sweetheart. sweet dreams.” he always says.

- he’s gentle with you, he’s even gentler with her.

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hometoursandotherstuff · 2 months

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This is insane and it just came out yesterday, and will open on Aug. 21st. So, who wants to stay in the new Polly Pocket house? It's so weird, though, it's all open and you sleep in the tent thing. Located in Westford, MA, it fits 4 guests in 1bd and has a private 1/2 bath (so don't even think about showering or anything.)

It's hosted by Polly Pocket herself, so I'll let her describe the photos: Hi, friends! Sleepover at my place! You in? I’ll be off on a 35th birthday adventure, but my life-sized Slumber Party Fun compact is all yours for the night.

Play dress-up with my wardrobe. Suit up for adventure with my dresses, glamour jacket, scarves, and more!

Craft some bling for your BFFs. Unleash your creativity at my picnic table—aka Friendship Bracelet Station.

Raid my kitchen for your fav ‘90s goodies. It’ll be all that and a bag of chips! And lots of candy, too. My compact is stuffed to the brim with all my favorite snacks from the greatest era in snacking history. Ring Pops and Push Pops and Baby Bottle Pops, oh my!

Be kind, unwind, and rewind with a movie marathon on literal video cassettes. Remember those?! The couch pulls out, so snuggle up. BYOB (Bring Your Own Blanket).

At night, embrace the outdoors and camp out under the stars in my Action Park Tent. Whisper secrets, tell ghost stories, and giggle into the night while cozying up in one of the four sleeping bags I left for you.

Other things to note: My compact doesn’t close because, like me, it’s always open to adventure. So, what do you think? I don't know why they went w/the compact instead of the house. I don't like the openness. Maybe it's a temporary installation?

https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/1177661634882168657?

#polly pocket airbnb #polly pocket #other stuff

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wileys-russo · 8 months

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cold snap II l.williamson x reader

I have no idea where this came from or what it really is besides a whole loft of softness cold snap II l.williamson x reader

the early winter cold snap came as no surprise to anyone who'd spent a few years living in england, and if you'd lived there your entire life it was just another unfortunate but expected consequence of the dreary uk weather.

that wasn't to say that though you always knew it coming that it wasn't unpleasant, from the plummeting temperatures, icy roads, snow covered yards, frosted windows and the icy chill of the wind as it pricked at any and every sliver of skin it could find like tiny little pin pricks.

but though it had its downsides there were some perks to the temperature drop, to you the key thing being the fashion. you'd always loved the feeling of being bundled up in a multitude of clothing. hoodies and jackets and coats and scarves and beanies, you had it all and would near drown yourself in layers like a burrito.

not that you really needed them when you had the best defence against the cold you could ever hope for, leah.

leah who loathed the cold, hated the temperature drop and detested winter with all her might. any chance she got she'd whisk you both off for a weekend away somewhere warm, which was seldom given her career choice and insane schedule.

but the best defence against the cold snap was her body pressed up against yours, arms tightly squeezing you as you'd melt into her embrace, warmth flooding your body as her rosy pink lips gently peppered tender loving kisses against any sliver of skin they could as if trying to protect it from the incoming cold.

it was routine to find yourselves wrapped up together in a mountain of blankets on the sofa wearing one anothers hoodies and limbs entangled. your body cradled between leahs legs as her hands would creep up your top to find your stomach, tracing gentle patterns on the skin with her fingertips.

the gentle lull of her heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of her chest would reward you with a sense of safety and security you knew you'd never find with anyone else, not that you ever felt the need to test the theory.

leah was perfect, and she was yours as much as you were hers.

you'd always been a morning person by nature especially having valued your studies as a teenager you were always early to school, hidden away in the library with your nose buried in a book or scribbling down notes.

leah who was your best friend at the time ribbed you relentlessly for it. but the blonde was hardly ever on time for class herself and you'd often teased she was even late to her own birth which her mum roared laughing at.

but over the years you'd tried to break her out of her sleeping habits leah learned that those little pockets of time alone with you in the library before school were some of her most treasured memories.

she'd watch you over the top of the book she was pretending to read, eyes flickering down to the page when you'd look up and almost catch her with a smile.

leah loved how you looked those mornings, your eyebrows furrowed and glasses nearly slipping off the end of your nose as you'd quietly mumble along to what you were reading, finger tracing along the words as you went.

to leah you'd always been an anchor point. reliable and dependable and endlessly endearing, and yet always seeming just out of reach as you'd flit from relationship to relationship never really settling down with anyone long enough to allow them to get to know you.

but that was where leah knew she'd always won because there wasn't a single part of you that you'd not opened up and shared with her, and much to the infuriation of your partners over the years leah was always your go to person for everything and anything, and the first person you'd go to with any sort of news good or bad.

it didn't take leah long to realise that she was in love with you, but fearing that if she stuck her foot into the rotating door of partners you'd spun over the years that her feelings might not be shared and she'd be rejected or worse lose you entirely, so it took her a long time to be honest with you.

her mum had known of leahs true feelings for years and was forever encouraging leah to open herself up and be upfront with you, and there were too many times to count where leah was sure she was about to do it but then she'd chicken out right at the last minute.

but as leahs football career began to grow and afternoon trainings and weekend games turned into her missing days and sometimes weeks of school for camps, tournaments and academy commitments it had finally clicked.

you were just as much in love with leah as she was with you, though neither of you were yet to actually realise this.

but what you did both learn was that distance makes the heart grow fonder and the more time you had to spend apart the more you silently yearned for one another.

it was your final year of high school and leah had just returned from a tournament in morocco with the england under 19's squad. with the yearly cold snap having just kicked in and the blonde having coming from scorching temperatures you'd died laughing as she turned up to school in about ten layers.

"yes miss i've been told and i've already been given my warnings! but its fucking freezing and these don't do anything." leah snapped at your english teacher who warned her for the grey hoodie she had on beneath your uniform, yanking at the paper thin blazer covering her.

you'd grabbed her knee beneath the table and squeezed gently, giving her a warning look as leah mumbled an apology and your teacher hummed but let her outburst slide much to your relief.

"hey you need to calm down you can't afford an afternoon in you've got training." you warned quietly, her head falling to your shoulder as you shared your textbook, leah having overslept and turned up late she'd forgotten almost everything bar her head.

but with her mood only worsening as time went on you'd opted not to tease her for it, rather doing everything you could to try and make her first day back easier. "i wish i was in bed." leah mumbled with a frown, tapping her foot against yours to signal to turn the page which you did.

"you and me both lee, you and me both. lunch is next anyway, then two more classes and you get to run around and get all dirty and sweaty like you love!" you pinched her cheek and again turned the page as her foot knocked against yours.

"two classes you aren't in." leah huffed, pulling her head off your shoulder and slumping backwards into her chair, arms crossed over her chest with a frown.

the bell to end class cut you off before another word could be said, leah shoving your books back into your bag for you as the two of you joined the rest of your friends, making your way to where the six of you always ate together.

"leah!" you laughed as the girl attached herself to you from behind, hugging your back firmly to her front. "m'hungry and i'm cold." the girl mumbled, having already eaten her food you knew she was eyeing off yours.

"and thats my problem how exactly?" you mocked, shoving the last mouthful of your sandwich into your mouth and leaning up to kiss her cheek. "mate the betrayal!" leah gasped, fingers digging into your ribs as you squealed and tried to push away from her but the girls iron grip was unbreakable.

both of you missed the knowing look shot among your friends, all of whom had front row seats to your endless pining over one another over the years and had spoken to the pair of you individually about no longer dancing around it.

"wanna go to the library?" leah asked, chin resting on your shoulder as you reveled in the warmth from her body hugging yours. "is leah catherine williamson willingly asking to go somewhere with books!" you gasped sarcastically as she flicked your ear.

"yeah its warm in there they have heaters!" "alright you've sold me lets go."

"stop looking at me and read those notes, you need to catch up!" you kicked her from where the two of you sat cross legged on the floor, hidden away behind the aisles. "but its so boring man!" leah groaned, snapping the book closed and dropping it in her lap.

"then go find a book thats interesting, i have to finish this." you chuckled, gaze dropping back to the homework in your lap as leah rolled her eyes. "thats not even mandatory and we got it an hour ago, you don't need to do it right now!" leahs foot nudged the book.

"its not mandatory for me but you're behind and its mandatory for you. so if i finish it now then you can take it with you and copy after training so you won't need to stress." you answered without looking away, swatting her foot away as leahs face softened.

it was at that moment as you sat together in the library, hair tucked away in a beanie and glasses once again hanging off your nose that leahs body surged with adoration for you and for the first time along with that came a confidence she'd lacked until now.

"hey. can we talk about something?" her foot bumped you again and hearing the obvious switch in her tone of voice you nodded, putting aside your notebook and raising your eyebrows to show you were listening.

"so i have this friend yeah? and she's sort of got this massive dumb crush on someone shes really close to, like her best mate." leah started, avoiding your eyes as she looked up to the roof and you frowned a little.

"okay." you nodded slowly, encouraging her to continue. "but she's afraid that if she tells her best mate that they won't feel the same way and it'll make it weird between them." leah continued, still not looking at you as you moved so you were sitting beside her.

"okay." you repeated, unsure if you were misreading this as your hand sat dormant by leahs. "so what would you do?" leah asked, a lot quieter now. "if i was your friend?" you clarified as she nodded, neither of you making eye contact.

"i would tell your friend that lifes too short, that she should tell her best mate. because if they are close then even if the feelings aren't the same it won't ruin anything, and if the feelings are the same then by telling them she won't miss out on an opportunity to explore that." you answered honestly, heart hammering now as you hoped you weren't misunderstanding.

a silence fell between the two of you the only noise the gentle chatter of your peers scattered around the library but in your own little bubble all you could focus on was leah.

suddenly your pinky moved just a few centimetres, gently nudging leahs before stilling. holding her breath leahs own pinky inched sideways a little grazing yours, and slowly you felt it interlock, eventually her whole hand grabbing onto yours and interlacing your fingers.

"so i'm sort of in love with you and i have been for years, and i don't know if this makes things really weird and if it does then i'm so sorry but you're like the best human ever and-" leahs head snapped toward yours as she started to ramble making your lips curl into a smile.

leahs words died in her throat as you cleared the gap between you and cut her off pressing your soft lips to hers, pulling away as the blonde stared at you dumbstruck.

"does that fix your friends worries?"

several months later and you and leah were even more smitten with one another than before. with school nearly finished you knew leah was angling for a contract with the arsenal senior team and when leah wanted something she put her entire being it making it happen.

"hi love! she's still upstairs, even though she knows we need to leave in five minutes!" leahs mum amanda greeted you with a hug before yelling upstairs making you laugh. "im nearly ready woman keep your pants on!" came leahs yell back making her mum roll her eyes.

"charmer she is." amanda sighed as you shot her a grin and she hurried off to make sure jacob was ready to go, the four of you headed to watch him play with his own team.

jogging upstairs you entered your girlfriends bedroom but frowned unable to see your actual girlfriend inside of it. "rah!" you jumped about a foot in the air as hands grabbed your waist and spun you around.

"dickhead! don't do that." you scowled as she put you down, doubled over laughing as you kicked her and she whined, flopping down onto her bed. "leah you're not even dressed, hurry up!" you groaned impatiently.

"okay sorry mum!" the blonde mocked, disappearing into her closet as you clicked your heels together impatiently. "stop that! its stressing me out." leahs head popped out to point to your feet as you smiled and continued to do it making her eyes roll.

"leah we need to leave, shift it!" amanda yelled from downstairs as you stood up, the blonde finally stepping out of the bathroom fully dressed. "ready now?" you quirked an eyebrow. "mm not yet, one more thing." leah held up a finger as you sighed, hearing amanda huff from downstairs.

to your surprise your girlfriend grabbed your hands and pulled your body into hers, one hand cradling the back of your neck as the other nudged your chin upwards and her lips captured your own.

"we need to go!" you laughed quietly into the kiss, trying to pull away as leahs grip on the back of your neck tightened. "they can wait thirty more seconds." leah grinned, teeth tugging on your bottom lip teasingly.

but right as it started, the kiss came to an abrupt end as leah pulled some sort of material over your eyes. "come on! god you're always making us so late babe." leah groaned holding her hand out as you adjusted the beanie she'd put on you and rolled your eyes.

"you know being cute only gets you so far williamson."

once at the game you and leah tried to be discreet as you sat down together, not having told either of your families just yet. but with amanda on your right and leah on your left with her aunt and cousins sat behind, it didn't take long.

the two of you were pressed as much into one another as you could be, leahs arm draped over the back of your seat as you leaned into her side and she'd whisper things into your ear every few minutes making you grin or giggle.

your feet would tap and poke against one anothers playing footsie like a couple of children, one of your hands resting on leahs knee, fingers playing absentmindedly with the strands of denim which protruded from the rips in her jeans.

you both missed the amused looks from leahs mum beside you who'd just been waiting for one of you to crack and tell her after she'd unknowingly caught the two of you making out in the living room one afternoon, choosing not to make herself known and rather leaving you both to it.

but as the game continued leahs advances seemed to get bolder, her lips kissing your cheek and forehead with a loud smack as you'd huff and shove her away making her grin and do it over and over again, for once barely paying the match any attention.

"stop! your fingers are freezing." you laughed quietly, wrenching her hand away from where it travelled up your hoodie. "and your stomach is very warm, stop being selfish!" leahs hand crept back up, cold fingers pressing teasingly into your ribs making you squeal and smack her.

"girls." you both looked up as amanda called for you, subtly pushing leahs hand out of your lap. "you know this means no more sleepovers and closed doors under my roof, yes?" amanda smiled as you choked on air and leah hit your back, giving her mum an incredulous look of shock.

"mum!" was all the blonde managed to scoff out in surprise as both of your faces burned bright red.

"what? i gave you lots of opportunities to tell me! you missed your chance love."

nowadays, the cold snap still came and your girlfriend still loathed it, but she made sure to take full advantage of all the perks she could squeeze from it.

which is why her arms tightened around your torso as you tried to get up, causing you to smile. "baby?" you spoke softly, running a hand through her blonde her, her face calm and still, eyes squeezed shut. "leaaah!" you sang out slowly, finger tracing gently across her face.

all you received was a huff and a grunt as she rolled over, burying her face in your neck and tangling her legs with yours. "come on i said one more hour and its been two now, get up!" you laughed, tucking a hand up her hoodie and scratching at her back.

"if you wanted me to get up you'd not have started that love." leah sighed happily, shifting herself even closer into you. "don't you dare! give it back." her head popped up and she cracked one eye open with a glare as you retracted your hand.

"doesn't belong to you." you teased with a smile, moving your hands beneath you as leah scoffed. "does too!" leah argued, both eyes open as suddenly she was on top of you. "so does this, and this, and this, and this and-" she peppered kisses all over your face and neck as your laughter filled the room.

"baby its cold and its raining and we both have the day off, just want cuddles." leah flopped back down on top of you, lips curled into a pout as you rolled your eyes playfully.

"fine! one more hour."

that hour again became two and with leah well and truly dead to the world this time you managed to wiggle out of bed, leaving her tucked away in the covers as your body screamed for coffee.

you sighed in relief as the first sip hit your lips, taking a seat at the counter and staring out the window, watching as each raindrop smacked the glass and trailed down carving its own little path.

"what part of i want cuddles did you not understand!" you glanced over your shoulder to see leah with the duvet wrapped around her, hood covering her bed hair and an annoyed scowl on her face.

"what part of one more hour did you not understand?" you smiled teasingly, sipping at your coffee as she rolled her eyes. "is the heat on? im actually freezing." leah mumbled, her body quickly moving to wrap around yours.

"go put another layer on then baby, the heat is on." you chuckled, craning your head back to press a few lazy kisses to her jaw, head resting against her chest. "can't believe you chose coffee over me." leah grumbled.

"well one fuels me and the other drains me so..." you trailed off with a shrug, squealing as suddenly you weren't in your chair anymore, feet off the ground as leah carried you into the living room. "leah!" you laughed as she dropped you onto the sofa and crawled on top of you.

"look! its like our private little kiss cave." the blonde beamed, tugging the duvet over her head to engulf the both of you like a fort as she hungrily kissed you, stealing the air from your lungs as her hands slipped up your hoodie.

"baby your hands are freezing!" "oh really? see my lips are the coldest right now, you would be a terrible girlfriend not to help me warm them up."

#woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #engwnt #woso community #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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bruciemilf · 8 days

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I NEED more Poolverstorm content!

MY TIME HAS COME!

minute ororo shows up Wade is instantly obsessed. It’s not even romantic at first, — man’s saw how badass, caring, compassionate , patient, powerful, capable and brave she was and immediately went ‘new bestie acquired’

Will never stop bullying Logan for not choosing her since day one. Sir. If you think Wade’s gonna let him fumble the same bag twice you are MISTAKEN—-

Every interaction they have shortens Logan’s immortality (his bisexual senses are tingling and he needs 2-7 business days to recover)

One of Logan’s favorite memories from childhood is snowball fighting, sledding, — everything involving winter.

Wade likes autumn because it gets him one step closer to Halloween and he can finally order the pumpkin mega blast from Starbucks without feeling guilty. Ororo makes both happen specifically

WADE MAKES HER LAUGH!!! SO MUCH!!!!

Whenever someone asks Logan why he puts up with it, he just shrugs, “He makes her laugh.” (He’s so in love with Wade it makes him look stupid)

Wade had to plan an entire thing to ask Roro out. It was supposed to be extremely extravagant and complicated and grandiose, but, Logan went to Ororo instead, cheeks slightly flushed, and groaned something like, “Idiot’s just trying to impress you. Just…Don’t laugh too much? “

She already planned on accepting it, but she’ll indulge them.

Roro starts wearing Logan’s dog tags once they start going out. Wade basically steals everything from shirts to belt buckles, boots, tank tops, some of her necklaces, scarves, heels

Wade being slightly insecure about taking off his mask around them. At least at first. He tries to accept and adapt, — but it’s hard, when dating the prettiest people in the entire world! After Hugh Jackman, at least.

Ororo gently kissing his bare cheek one day, — maybe he lost his mask while trying to clean, or maybe Laura took it for her and Ellie’s play pretend games. She gets right and Logan gets left. “I like this face.”

“Yeah. Well.” He laughs because he’ll cry if he doesn’t, “you’ve always had a thing for weirdos.”

“Shut up, bub.”

“Okay, fine! Hot weirdos.”

Wade explaining how they call marry Roro legally if they kidnap the pope:

Logan is their GUARD DOG!!! Missions? One breath away from their neck. Claws out and ready. Shopping? Arms crossed, scowl on, daring someone to bother them while Wade tries to justify a 400 dollar Lego pruchase.

“My darling. No.”

“But it’s the WOLVERINE collection, Ro!”

Ororo sighs and gives Logan a Look. “Talk some sense into your husband, please?”

“When he’s annoying he’s YOUR husband.”

Blind Al and Ororo? Best of friends. Mother in law/awesome wife who loves her weird ass sons. Would test Ororo at first, like, “You can have everyone in this world and you pick those two? Why?”

“Wisdom has been chasing them but those two can run.”

“…Come sit next to me. You like cocaine?”

“Um—“

“OOOkay, — mushy introductions over, Laura, grab Mary, we’re LEAVING—“

LAURA ELLIE KITTY JUBILEE MOMMY DAUGHTER RELATIONSHIP WHEN!!!

Wade seeing how gentle Ororo is with the kids while still being firm, getting them in line when they don’t listen, but wrangling them expertly?

Ellie actually,,, ate her vegetables? Laura didn’t stab anyone over doing the dishes? Jubilee actually goes to sleep before 6 am?

“We have GOT to get her pregnant.”

Logan is so fucking tired. “I don’t think there’s a cure for whatever you’re on.”

“Alright, FINE. Get ME pregnant then.”

#wade will take one for the team #ororo munroe #logan howlett #wade wilson #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #ororo x logan #rolo #poolverstorm #writing #x men

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silkval · 10 months

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♞】 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴- 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 Ⅱ

how much do the genshin boys crave your attention, and whats their style?

★fujoshis, wlm and minors please fuck off- you will be blocked★

♢】 scale of neediness

》 patience ★★★☆☆

》 intensity ★★★★☆

》 frequency ★★☆☆☆

》 touchiness ★★★★☆

》 publicity ★☆☆☆☆

oh, xiao, what a gorgeous little pet he is. quiet, obedient, loyal as a dog- and as protective as one, too. just the perfect darling who was at your beck and call at every moment, quite literally- need some company? a pretty face to look at? a sopping hole to fuck? He would be at your feet instantly, albeit a little red-faced and stuttery, despite how many times this very scenario had previously occurred. It was clear that he was absolutely smitten with you, always ready to fulfil your every desire and be by your side.

the poor boy couldn't even spend more than a week without your presence, constantly seeking reassurance and attention. It was both endearing and slightly suffocating- not that you minded, though. it was certainly quite the sight to see when your darling xiao would appear before you could even finish calling his name, already staring up at you with those gorgeous, gilded eyes- pupils wide as he’d cock his head, staring at you expectantly as his hands went to find purchase in yours- waiting to be order on his knees or to bend over a table- anything, for you.

…but oh, when you nonchalantly mentioned that you'd be away on a business trip for a few days in inazuma? oh. oh… he could handle that, couldn't he? he’d be a good boy, he promised- so with that, the conversation was over and done with, whisked away by the night of pleasure that followed suit.

until it had been a few days since your departure- and xiao was losing it.

As the days passed, Xiao's longing for your return grew more intense. Every moment without you felt like an eternity, and his touchiness increased as he yearned for your presence. His patience, once a strong suit, was tested as he anxiously awaited your arrival. The publicity of his desires once kept between the two of you, began to wane and seep into his every move as his desperation for your attention grew.

tsk, the poor thing- it only took three days for xiao's stoic facade to crumble. He was aching for your touch, your voice, your very presence. he thought he'd be able to bare it; hell, he had spent centuries with no company but the depths of his thoughts before. but now that he had you? it had barely been the first day since you had left and he had already started counting down the hours.

…but that didn't last long.

day 4. and the poor thing just couldn't handle it. he had been desperately grasping onto one of your favourite scarves that you had left behind for him, the soft fabric pressed flush against the pinked tip of his nose as a restless pout graced his lithe features- where he had been positioned for the last… 10 hours. trying to get some damn sleep. but how could he, without your presence? it was too, too much. within the blink of an eye, xiao appeared in front of you- unprompted. right in the middle of your bed with the mere whisp of smoke, resulting in a very… confused reaction on your behalf.

but of course, that didn't last long- you could barely let out a questioning hum before your darlings hands had already found their way against your skin, the smaller male gasping at the mere contact, yet not wasting a second before pulling his frame directly to yours as if you were a magnet- before whisking you both away, leaving only a swirl of smoke in your path as you now reappeared in your shared bedroom- that was… quite the mess.

from the nest-like flurry of blankets and your clothes strewn in some strange order on your bed to the box of tissues half used and scattered around- some dampened with tears, others dripping with slick- it was clear xiao had certainly got a little desperate.

…even more so, when you were interrupted by xiao swiftly tugging your body against his, both of you tumbling down against the plush of your bed- but before you could react, the needy little thing was already writing beneath you, soft pants and strained whines a dangerous combination with that look of his… oh, just how could you deny him?

“aww, looks like someone missed me quite a bit, hm, princess? go on, then- be a darling and spread your legs for me, yeah?”

#【writings #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #sub xiao #genshin impact #dom reader #sub character #genshin x reader #sub genshin impact #top reader

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dittanyinbloom · 1 year

Text

Note Taking

Ominis Gaunt x fem!MC (there is only one gendered term in the very last line). 1.8k. No specific house. Fluff and a bit of MC embarrassing themselves.

Based on this post I made about having HoM with Ominis.

.💕✍🏻💕

“In today’s lesson, we will cover a truly thrilling event. . .,” Professor Binns had just started class, but half the students were already dozing off.

It was widely accepted that History of Magic was merely used as a free period. Whether that meant catching up on sleep or doing last minute homework for another class, one thing was certain: no one paid attention. Attendance hardly mattered since Professor Binns rarely ever engaged with the class directly. In fact, you would bet he didn’t even know a single students name or even the exact year. Everyday he floated into class, discussed whatever curriculum he felt like, then drifted off through the wall to his office at the end of the period without so much as a goodbye.

To say the least, it was no one’s favorite subject, that is, except you. Every Tuesday and Thursday, you practically skipped to your afternoon slot of History of Magic. With all the extracurriculars other professors sent you on, and the adventures you went on without their knowledge, you were elated to have time set aside for assignments and catching up on some sleep. Those horrible demiguise statues Mr. Moon asked you to find were really taking a toll on you lately.

Perhaps the most exciting part of class was that you didn’t share it with Sebastian Sallow. Now, he was a very lovely boy for helping you out on multiple excursions, but his presence could be intense at times. This could be simply fixed by spending time with your other friends. Natty, Poppy, and even Amit were great company and just as, if not even more helpful than Sebastian. But that boy had one thing drawing you back every day to meet up. .

Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian’s right hand man and arguably his moral compass. Oh, how you would spend hours practicing spells with Sebastian in the Undercroft for the smallest chance that Ominis would walk in to study, or have a chat, or sometimes even join in on the dueling. That was the only time you ever saw him without his school robes. Neatly folding up his sleeves and grinning like a mad man when he landed a blow on Sebastian, who as of late, rather deserved a few jinxes thrown his way.

History of Magic was the only class Ominis sat beside you in. It was hardly the place to make conversation since even the softest of whispers would be heard by the extremely bored students around you. Nevertheless, you were content with just sitting beside him and admiring his lazy smile as he drifted off into what was probably his fourth nap of the day.

That was one of the first odd quirks you had noticed about the boy. While you ran around the castle from one fool’s errand to the next, you often passed by Ominis lounging about on benches, windowsills, and most often the floor. Sometimes he was snacking or working on revisions, but more often than not the boy was merely napping, just out in the open, where anyone could step on him. The first few times, you had gently woken him up and offered to help him to his common room, but he always acted as though you were the strange one for not letting him sleep in the middle of a hallway in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower.

Now whenever you saw him, you hummed in endearment and graciously covered him with your scarf as a makeshift blanket. You used to have an array of scarves, but now half of them were likely stuffed in a trunk deep in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory, never to be seen again. It was a small price to pay, in your eyes.

“Seb told me to tell you to meet us in the library after classes,” Ominis said as he leaned forward on the desk, getting in a comfortable napping position.

“Does he think you’re an owl?” You teased.

“Something about you being more likely to say yes if it comes from me.”

“I see,” you whispered, hoping he didn’t hear how flustered you had become. “So he’s scheming again?”

“You say again as if he quit to begin with.”

“Well, you know I can’t say no to an adventure.”

“Exactly why the two of you will be the death of me. Wake me up if anything crazy happens?”

Nothing ever would, at least, not while all the other students that usually caused trouble were sleeping as well. You dated your parchment for notes then began doodling to stay awake. As of late, the professors had been elated with your progress and stopped giving you so much extra work. Not much catching up needed to be done since most other students couldn’t take on a troll alone and live to tell the tale.

Your eyes wandered to study the pretty moles Ominis had scattered about his face and neck. The unhinged, love stricken part of your brain desperately wanted to draw little love hearts or flowers around them. Your fingers twitched, but you controlled your urges and drew hearts all over your notes instead. This was turning into a common occurrence. Most of your history notes contained one or two key points from Binns, a few random drawings, and many iterations of your deskmate’s name scribbled about. At the top corner of every parchment you would even write your name with his last name along with the date. And oh, how the two went so well together.

The period flies by while you daydream of holding Ominis’ hand or kissing his beauty marks as the two of you part ways. The sound of students scuffing their chairs in the worn wood flooring brings you back to reality. You tap Ominis on the shoulder. For a moment your hand lingers, drifting between his shoulder blades.

“Ominis, class has ended.”

“Already?” His voice was almost a whine which was strange because most students jumped at the opportunity to leave history class.

“Don’t sound too disappointed. Binns might offer to go on for another hour if he knows a student is willing to stay.”

You had one more class before meeting the boys in the library. Sebastian seemed to be awaiting your arrival, spotting you the moment you walked in, and waving you up to join them on the second floor. As you greeted them, you set your scarf and robes on the back of the chair.

“You really do need to come by our room and grab your scarves,” Sebastian commented. “They’re taking over.”

“Hmm, yes. I am missing quite a few at this point.”

The culprit, though it wasn’t entirely his fault since you were the one always covering up his sleeping form, went pink at the mention of scarves. Despite looking as though he wanted to add to the conversation, he quickly went back to writing the twelve inches for Sharp’s latest assignment.

“So, Sallow, why have you dragged me here today? Are we going treasure hunting again?”

“Sorry, little adventurer, today’s request is rather boring in comparison. Thought it would be a good time to start revising for O.W.L.s, and I need help in History of Magic. I’ve managed to fall asleep every single period since the start of term. . Quite impressive if you ask me.”

“Don’t know why you thought to ask me. I hardly pay attention in that class.”

Sebastian tilted his head to the side, frowning in confusion. “But, Ominis said he can hear you writing notes all period.”

Your eyes flicker to Ominis almost in a look of betrayal. He seemed as focused as ever on writing, either exuding an excellent poker face or genuinely not showing any interest in being mentioned by Sebastian. Quickly, you swallowed down your own emotions and insisted, “Well, sorry. My notes for that class are very scattered. I mostly just draw to keep myself awake.”

“Anything would help. I honestly don’t even know what we’re meant to be learning about. Nellie heard there might be a quiz next week. My uncle can not hear about my grades slipping on top of everything else.”

Seeing the innocent look of terror on Sebastian’s face made you melt a bit. In his defense, he didn’t know you made a fool of yourself by doodling his best friends name across your parchment twice a week. He was just asking for notes, which was something the three of you often shared.

“I can. . read them to you?” You compromised.

Both boys gave you an odd look, but Sebastian agreed without much hesitation given how desperate he was.

“Suppose I should be writing this down too, if there really is a quiz coming up,” Ominis said with a grimace.

You unrolled your parchment and began to read. Both boys studiously jotted down every word. Hopefully you were explaining everything accurately. There were clearly periods in your notes where you had dozed off between key moments, but unless Binns was looking for his exact wording on the quiz, the three of should should be able to pass.

“It’s with an ‘A’, Grimbald, not Grimbold,” Ominis said out of the blue.

“Thanks,” Sebastian muttered as he went back to add a flick of ink to his ‘O’. He seemed unbothered but Ominis’ correction. You, however, were too tongue-tied to continue reading. Sebastian frowned at the silence and finally looked up at you. “Is there not more?”

“How. . ?”

“Oh!” Realizing your confusion, Sebastian was quick and rather proud to explain his best mate’s ability, “Ominis can hear the letters, or, dunno really. You explain it better, Ominis.”

Suddenly, Ominis went ridged like he had been caught in an act. “When the room is quiet enough, I can pick out the sounds of a quill or chalk on the board. Letters all have a distinct cadence to them. Some sound too similar to be distinct like ‘b’, ‘d’, and ‘p’, but I can make an educated guess.”

“So you can hear what people are writing?”

“Precisely!” Sebastian spoke up with a wide smile. “Brilliant, isn’t it?“

“It is. . quite the talent, Ominis.”

“Thank you.”

You cleared your throat and went on with the lesson. Just because Ominis knew Sebastian’s penmanship did not mean he had your memorized, or that he even listened in the first place. After all, he slept through every class, and you weren’t bold enough to write his name in such a way while he was awake.

Still, knowing of his ability left you wary. The next time you sat with Ominis in history class, you were meticulous with your note taking. No doodles, no love hearts, no childish name writing. Those days were over. They had to be because if Ominis somehow didn’t already know about your embarrassing crush, you were not going to give him the opportunity to find out.

This time when you wrote your name and the date at the top of the parchment, you used your own last name. After that was finished, you moved on to title it “The Goblin Rebellion of 1752”, but you hadn’t gotten past “The” when a hand landed on your knee.

Warmth spread across your thigh while chilling nerves sprinkled down your spine. You nearly fell out of your chair at the touch, causing Ominis to squeeze down harder, keeping you firmly in your seat.

“Ominis?”

He almost seemed angry, but he kept his voice a low whisper for only you to hear, “What do you think you are doing, Mrs. Gaunt? Title your notes appropriately.”

~You can find part two here~

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #my writings

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mossyivy · 5 months

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Young parents but it's re2 leon or re4 leon... he has a cute and sweet girlfriend but he ended up getting her pregnant by accident (ahem) and now he needs to learn how to take care of his pregnant girlfriend.... (He watched Twilight and was worried about the possibility of she breaking like a stick like Bella.) 👛anon.

(RE4 Leon is 27, you think 27 is young?? I'm 27 bless you 👛anon 🥺)

This would probably fit better with RE2 Leon. A rookie cop who accidentally knocked his girlfriend up. Obviously he's happy regardless, you two love each other and he knows he'd want a family someday. It just so happens to be sooner than he thought.

I'd picture him going bat shit insane. Talking about how you'll snap like a twig and you're just staring at him like 🤨 babe... We're not have a vampire baby.

Yeah, but like WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS!?

Would definitely buy every parenting book he sees. He wants to be prepared. Extra precautions after you move into his shoe box of an apartment cause he wants you close by. Definitely walking around putting up those corner covers they have for counters and tables so kids don't cut their heads. Even though you're a grown ass woman... He's just scared you'll bump your belly and hurt you or the baby.

The moment you start getting cravings he's on it any time of day.

You want cookies at 3am? Insomnia cookies here he comes.

You text him that you want noodles while he's sitting at his desk at work. He's an hour late coming home from work because he stopped at two different markets to get any flavor of instant noodles he could find so you'll be able to enjoy your meal.

You want grilled steak in the middle of fucking winter?! BABE GET YOUR COAT, WE'RE GOING TO OUTBACK!

Definitely overwhelmed with all the responsibilities he puts on himself because he refuses to let you do cleaning or anything to requires lifting. And yes, even if it is light!

Leon put most of the nursery together (cute little alcove in the living room until y'all can find a bigger apartment or rent a house). Quite literally only let you supervise, which irritated the hell out of you but he loves you and you know he's just paranoid.

Once the baby comes though, he's awake for days... You're recovering and he's taken on the role of father very seriously. So sleep deprived he's probably stared at the baby thinking he can't see their chest move. But they wiggle their little arm and his stomach nearly falls out of his ass he was clenching so hard.

At one point he'd be rocking the baby to sleep during your recovery and close his eyes for 2 seconds and suddenly it's morning. The babies not in his arms and he starts freaking out. So freaked out he looks under the damn couch for his kid. But you come out of the kitchen carrying a bottle and the baby in one of the swaddling scarves and he can breathe again.

But all in all Leon would be a fantastic father!

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #resident evil x reader #🌿 ivy replies #🌿 ivy writes #leon s kennedy

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purple-goo-writes · 10 months

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So I've been knitting/crocheting a lot of stuff for my Ko-fi shop to sell (along with Christmas Presents) and my brain just hit me with this idea-

I'm unsure if it's bee done before but what if as a ghost or at least halfa, Danny can imbue things with emotions which affect the person using that item. Like if he imbues a pillow with calm emotions a person is able to sleep more soundly.

And what if Jazz suggested he take up a hobby unrelated to heroing to help him destress from well fighting Ghosts, being hunted for his mere existence, etc and he takes up knitting. Blankets, Scarves, hats, plushies, etc. And after learning of his ability, starts imbuing what he makes with Love, Happiness, Calm emotions to better help those who get them.

During college when Danny moves to the city his college is in, he starts selling them on the side.

And an item somehow ends up in the hand of the local hero who grows intrigued by the maker. Could be Metropolis with Kon/Danny or maybe Star City with Roy/Danny pairing if you don't want to rehash him meeting the Bats.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc au

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 7 months

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Don't cry. || Nikto

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: E Words: 3K~ (this one got away from me) Pairing: rogue asset!Nikto x civilian!Reader cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT., bad/incorrect medical care, injuries (described), being held at gunpoint, verbal and physical threats, blood and gore. other tags: you/your pronouns. fat/chubby!reader, no russian. Summary: A stranger takes you hostage in your own home and demands medical care... But you might have gotten more than you can chew. a/n: YES, Nikto’s voice actor is only 5ft10 but he’s 6ft5 in my mind, and I’m in charge sooo.

It's cold as all fucking hell in your small town. No. Not as all hell. Because you're pretty sure hell is supposed to be boiling hot.

Why did your family have to come from this small town in bum-fuck-nowhere Russia? And more importantly why did you decide to move back here after college?

Oh, yeah. The house. The little home that your grandma lived in since she was a child, that was fully paid and required no rent, and had very low property taxes due to it being ancient… And was left to you in her will.

Well, in days like these, you can't help but despise the stupid fucking house.

The pipes are frozen, which means you've resorted to getting water from the local firehouse every morning, as do the rest of your neighbors. Plus, it's freezing even with multiple layers of clothes and socks and scarves on. You sleep in front of the fireplace all winter and still fear you'll be dead in the morning.

Every year it's the damn same.

Maybe going to study in Moscow and then doing your master's and doctorate abroad softened you up. But you didn't remember it being so fucking cold.

Having as much meat on your bones as you do, it really shouldn't be as difficult as it is to withstand the cold. Sometimes you wonder if all those damn studies about how fat helps preserve body heat didn't apply only when people had heat to preserve.

Those are the thoughts in your head as you throw your last log in the fireplace and realize you need to get more from the woodpile outside. "Mother fucker goddamn piece of shit..." You complained.

Throwing on a winter coat over your robe, you stuff your double-socked feet into your winter boots, cover your head with a beanie and wrap yourself in a scarf.

Then you venture outside with the flashlight from your junk drawer, to illuminate the way. The wind outside is biting and the snow is tall, causing you to almost trip over your own feet.

"Fuck... fuck... fuck... cold." You grumble under your breath.

Sticking the flashlight between your teeth, you grab a few logs of firewood and slip them vertically into a black milk crate at your feet, trying to hurry so you can go back inside.

As soon as the box is stacked as full as you can carry, you bend at the knees and hurl it up by the handles, gritting your teeth against the flashlight between your teeth.

That's when you feel something hard press against the back of your head... and you hear a muffled voice. "Don't scream. Don't look back. Just move." The command chills your spine more than the -17ºC weather outside.

Your eyes shoot wide open in a panic and you have to force yourself to resist trying to look back. Instead, you nod and wobble your way along to the backdoor while carrying the heavy crate of firewood.

Once you slip inside, you set the crate down in the kitchen floor and take the opportunity to look out of the corner of your eye at the the stranger that held you hostage.

He slams the door shut behind you and deadbolts it shut, then he rushes to the window, ripping the curtains shut.

He's wearing a flight suit and military gear but it's all in a navy color that you don't recognize… Maybe the Navy? But what would a Navy soldier being doing here alone, in the middle of the woods in your land locked town? Plus, he's clearly armed, carrying a pistol in one hand. The other wraps around his midsection and he's leaving a trail of small blood droplets on your floor.

His face is covered by a mask that looks more like a bunch of denim patched together than anything, leaving only his eyes showing. It’s even bolted to itself to not be easily removable.

“Where?” He asks you, eyes and gun trained on you as you straighten up and show your hands in innocence.

“Where… Where what?” You ask in confusion. Your body trembles all over and you’re pretty sure that you’re going to piss your pants if he keeps staring at you like that and barking vague orders at you.

“WHERE?!” He insists, raising his voice in a growl that sounds more animal than human. “WHERE. ARE. WE?” He adds, his voice boiling with anger and condescension.

“P-Provrsk!” You shout the name of your town as you flinch away from his own raised voice. Your gaze is locked onto him, taking in his mask and the blue eyes that stare at you from behind them.

You’ve never had to worry about a masked intruder in your home, ever. This is a small town, this sort of thing doesn’t happen here. Especially not one that looks like he’s deserted from the FSB.

“DATE?” He shouts at you again, making you flinch once more as your whole body tenses and curls into itself in fear.

“8th of February… Thursday.” You reply, your eyes beginning to well up in tears. “Please… don’t hurt me…”

You’ve never been the crybaby type, in fact, you’d say you’re pretty good at staying contained in your day-to-day life, even when life is beating you down… But something about a 2 meter tall man in your kitchen shouting at you while waving a pistol around terrifies you to your very core…

With a deep breath, he leans himself back against the kitchen counter and another animalistic growling escapes him as his left leg straightens and twitches under him, his knee likely weakened. He’s still clutching his side with his hand and more blood puddles at his feet, dripping between gloved fingers.

He looks like he’s immeasurable amounts of pain and considering he seems to have walked here with an injury that’s still bleeding, you can’t help but wonder if the adrenaline isn’t starting to wear off.

The sight of him is pitiful… And for a moment he’s not some terrifyingly “You need… a doctor?” You ask him, more in a tone of affirmation than of question. He needs a doctor and you know it.

“No doctor.” He replies sharply, showing he still has all his mental faculties in place… Somewhat.

“You’re hurt.” You remark softly. “Bleeding all over my floor.” You add. You’re trying your best not to shake and cry and you’re not quite sure you’re succeeding.

“No doctor.” He insists as he shifts his weight around on his legs and hisses. "Needle, thread and alcohol." He demands of you and you’re not stupid enough to disagree with the armed man.

“In the upper cabinet behind you… The metal tin.” You instruct while barely pointing your finger at the cabinet door on his left side for fear that any more sudden movements will cause him to take you as a threat.

He sets the gun very carefully on the edge of the counter so that his free hand can reach up and over, patting at the cabinet, throwing the door open and feeling around inside for the aforementioned metal tin.

He’s been smart enough to put your small kitchen table between you either way, preventing any sudden lunging activity from you.

He never once turns his back on you, not even his face. His eyes are still locked on you, sending shivers down your body, making sure you don’t try anything… Not that you’d be stupid enough to dare.

He finally grabs the repurposed butter cookie tin and sets it next to him on the counter before grabbing the pistol once more and aiming it at you. “Metal spoon.” He demands.

“Over there… second drawer from the left…” You point discreetly at the drawer by the stove.

“Get one.” He demands again and so you do, hands raised, taking very tentative steps across the kitchen, your heavy snow boots thudding against the floor.

Carefully, you lower your hand and pull open the drawer. Before you can even try to grab a spoon, you hear him bark at you again. “Only a spoon. Don’t try to grab a knife.” He warns you.

Nodding very slowly, you reach inside the drawer and retrieve a metal table spoon and show it to him. “Stove.” He orders you again.

“Heat it up?” You ask softly and he grunts in what you assume is confirmation as he nods curtly at you. “I need matches.” You point at the drawer again and very slowly fetch the box of matches before closing the drawer.

Turning very carefully toward the old stove, you turn one of the knobs and strike a match, lighting the burner before extinguishing the match. “Heat the handle.” He demands and you nod in understanding as you peek at him sheepishly.

Slowly, you grip the spoon by the bowl and hold the metal handle over the flame, moving it ever so slightly to ensure an even heating up of the tip, your eyes locked on the flame and the slowly reddening type of the metal spoon.

While your back is turned, you can hear some rustling and a heavy thud on the floor. You assume he’s getting rid of his heavy gear in order to patch himself up… “Hurry up.” He barks.

“I can’t speed up the fire.” You reply softly, too afraid to speak too loud.

“Watch your tongue, or else I’ll cut it off.” He adds, his voice grunted through as you hear some more rustling. His threat was enough to send chills down your spine and sent you back into muteness.

Another minute or so later, you can feel the heat spreading across the whole spoon and even the bowl is too hot to hold. “It’s ready.”

“Move, quick.” He demands and you turn to face him, finding him still in the same spot, across the kitchen, leaning against the wall. He’s shed his plate vest, and undone the zipper of his flight suit, removing the sleeves and leaving it to hang around his hip. That exposes his torso completely, per lack of any undershirts or other layers. You wonder how he hasn’t frozen out there in just a flight suit…

The sight of him is so shocking and… disgusting. You feel your stomach turning, the warm meal you had an hour ago threatening to come out the way it came. He’s covered in scars, his chest speckled in patches of red skin or pale, melaninless skin, something you can only assume are burn scars.

The right half of his torso is covered in dried blood, sporting a hapharzard, thick suture that you can only assume he did a few days ago considering how swollen and red the skin around it is… Infected.

And, of course, the pouring, wet, red blood that escapes from his left side… It looks like he took a gash on it… maybe a gunshot, maybe an explosion, who’s to say… But he’s definitely got a hole and he’s leaking like a faucet.

“MOVE!” He barks at you, causing you to jump, startled out of from your shock-induced trance and you quickly rush over. He grabs the spoon from you with more aggression than you expected and shoves you away with a swift elbow to your side, to force you away from him. You fall on your ass, grunting softly upon landing.

When you were younger, kids used to joke that all your fat would serve as an airbag in the case of a car crash, but the truth is, as you landed on the floor, you ass and legs hurt… As did you side from the elbow you took to it.

Your eyes well up in tears at the soreness on your body, as well as the sound that escapes him and reverberates through your kitchen as he sticks the red-hot spoon handle onto his open wound, gritting his teeth behind his mask as he cauterizes the wound shut. The sound is terrifying, like a gurgle mixed with a shout and an animalistic growl. (find the scream inspo here)

You don’t want to look. But he’s doing this inches away from your face. You can’t help but watch in horror.

HIs legs shake underneath him and he struggles to keep himself upright but succeeds by landing his elbow and forearm on the edge of the counter. The hand that’s holding the pistol, the left one, flexes around the handle, fingers trembling with the pain. He struggles to stay on his feet as his right hand keeps softly twisting the spoon handle in his wound before pulling it out.

He grunts as he lets the bloody spoon fall on the floor at his feet and his head falls back with a couple more grunts and huffs, resting on the upper cabinets, his right hand clutching the wound again for a moment. You’re sobbing on the floor. Something about the sight you just got broke your resolve for a moment. You’re afraid… Very much so.

Just as you’re trying to calm yourself down, crawling backward over to the table to use a table as support to stand up from the floor, the sewing supplies tin crashes onto the floor at your feet with a ruckus so loud you can’t help but squeal.

Looking up at him, you notice him glaring at you. “Suture.” He demands angrily.

“I-” You attempt to speak but you can’t. Too afraid and too choked up to succeed in more than a light stammer.

“SUTURE!” He repeats his demand, his voice loud and sending chills to the innermost part of you as he leans forward a bit to look at you.

“STOP YELLING AT ME!” You shout in return through whimpers and whines.

“Stop crying. You have no reason to cry yet.” He warns you, his voice bitter and mean.

Your whole body quakes as you sob and scramble up on all fours, to grab the tin of sewing supplies from the floor. You pop it open with shaky hands and rummage inside, searching for your pink pin cushion and, upon finding it, you plucked out a needle.

“You’re scaring me…” You were able to get out through trembling lips as you grab a spool of black thread.

“We will do much worse than scare you if you don’t start moving faster.” He tells you. “Do not test my capacity for violence.” He adds. “Now move.”

Slowly, you crawl over to him and kneel between his parted legs. You’re so close, you can smell him… And he smells gross… He reeks of sweat and piss, which mixes with the metallic scent of his blood, and gunpowder that lingers on his flightsuit which he now wears as pants only.

Your trembling form makes you struggle to thread the needle but after a few attempts, you succeed and unfurl much more thread than you’d realistically need. While you do so, his pistol changes grips and his right hand holds it aimed right at your head.

Slowly, you push the needle through his skin, grimacing at the wet noise it makes as you drag it through and you hold back a gag and a sob as you try your best to suture him shut.

You don’t know much about medicine… But you’re pretty sure you’re supposed to do a ladder stitch so you can pull the thread taut at the end and ensure the injury closes… So that’s what you start doing, trying your best to not tremble all the way through it.

He’s holding himself surprisingly calmly through it as you stab his skin/wound multiple times… You risk looking up at him, your eyes still teary, your lips trembling, your face red from holding back tears and a gag.

All you find is a pair of soulless blue eyes staring down at you through the two holes of that mask. They seem as cold and unforgiving as the snow outside… They’re bloodshot and the pupils are dilated. And he seems to be looking at you with a predatory gaze that makes you feel small and insignificant.

"Who are you...?" You ask tentatively, surprising yourself at how small your voice sounded, how meek.

"Nobody." He reply as he leaned the pistol against your temple. “Finish.” He demands.

Gulping and nodding, you finish the stitching and pull it taut, which earns you a hiss from him. You tie off the thread and snip it off with a pair of little scissors from the sewing supply box.

Just as you’re about to pull away from him, the needle between your pointer and middle fingers and your hands raised in an act of peace, he pistol whips you across the temple.

You squeal in pain, and throw your hands on the floor to support yourself from fully falling on your side, losing the needle somewhere in the tile floor of the kitchen. Your eyes are cloudy with tears again as you whimper in pain, unaware of what caused that violence.

Is he going to kill you? Steal from you? Make you prisoner in your own home?

“Don’t move.” He demands. “It’s not finished.” He warns you as you struggle to get back on your sore knees.

You watch in horror as he shifts position, to no longer be kneeling on his elbow on the counter, and instead straightens up. His right hand continues pointing the gun at you and, very slowly, the left inches his flight suit down some more.

Slowly, you’re exposed to the sight a large gash across his left thigh, that draws down diagonally to his left knee which is swollen red and bruised…

As well as an obvious lack of underwear and a semi-hardened cock laying against his right thigh, the hilt surrounded by bushy blonde pubes. Your eyes double in size and you have to once again contain yourself from gagging and crying in disgust.

“Get back to work.” He demands as he points at the wounds on his leg. “And don't you dare cry." He adds. "Or else I'll give you other reasons to cry about.” He warns as his hand glides over his cock.

This is fully inspired by the beautiful work written by @391780, gotta love all the nikto ficlets and all the fat!reader stuff! Also wrote this a bit as a request by @ms-rayray who asked me for fat!reader stuff, and also a shoutout to @xxshadowbabexx and her eternal love for nikto.

#ikea writes 💚#cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #nikto #nikto cod #dark fic #cod nikto #nikto x reader #call of duty nikto

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