#tommy with blue eyes agenda

[thebadfilmsideblog]

guys its tommy

(poem is musée des beaux arts by w. h. auden, it's the one in the book and the movie. the rest of the poem sucks though)

[starrluvs]

𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐕𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐀 | 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐉

cw: gn reader, oral (male receiving), experienced reader, inexperienced tomas, mentions of masturbation, deepthroating, pushed my sub/bottom tomas agenda into this, pet names, cum swallowing, minors dni!

wc: 977

a/n: LOL my occasional shift between the lin kuei bros had me thirsting for tomas this time. i've also been wanting to write something for tomas so i could use the nickname "tommie" ... so thank @euphoricbi (twinnem) for unlocking this vision for me, enjoy <3!

just imagine tomas receiving head for the first time.

his eyes didn't know where to look and he didn’t know what to do with his hands. tomas was sitting on the sofa with his legs parted, allowing you to slot between them on your knees. he’d never felt so aroused before… this was so much better than the nights he spent stroking his cock whenever he was alone and feeling needy (while thinking about you). 

being able to look down and see you beneath him– his cock glistening with your spit as you kissed and licked over every inch –it was something he wanted to keep stored in his memory forever. the only problem was that he couldn’t keep his eyes on you due to his own shyness. his blue orbs scattered to so many places, especially the walls and the ceiling. poor tomas even had the same situation with his hands. one moment his hands were gripping the cushions, and the next moment he would be fidgeting with his fingers and trying to hide his face.

you never took your eyes away from his face as you tried to be attentive as possible. his whimpers and moans were so adorable, but you needed him to relax some more. for a moment, you part your lips from his cock, making him shiver and look down at you again. “relax, tommie,” you place a kiss on the tip of his flushed cock, making him unintentionally jolt his hips up, “you can keep your hands on me, yeah?” your tone was soft enough for him to simmer down a little bit and remove the tense feeling that was coursing through his body. the czech assassin hesitantly nods and prepares himself for the feeling of your lips wrapping around his cock once again.

“fuuuck…!” his voice was shakey as your lips suctioned around his tip, swirling your tongue around it and collecting the bitter pre-cum that continued to slowly spill out of his cock. tomas already felt as if he was in heaven just from this action. your glossy lips looked so delicate on his rock hard member like this… and your eyes– there was no doubt that he was captivated by you.

tomas didn’t want to disobey your words from those few moments ago and nervously placed his shaking hands on the sides of your face, stroking your cheek bones ever so gently. he kept his hold on you, enjoying the feeling of his hands staying in one place despite not being able to cover his crimson dusted cheeks. the eye contact he held with you was something so mesmerizing, and you were the only thought clouding his mind– nothing else.

you could notice his volume become somewhat louder, making you let out a pleased hum. the vibrations felt so sensitive around his tip, making him gasp. “that.. feels s’ good–” even with the vulgar act he was partaking in, his voice somehow still managed to sound so innocent and angelic. for only a split second, you break your eye contact with him to close your eyes and focus as you sink lower and lower, until all of this length is in your mouth. the tip of his cock sat comfortably at the back of your throat. “w-wait!– if you keep.. doing that…!” you knew he must've been close just from the feeling of being fully engulfed in your wet cavern.

his hips couldn’t stay still as he unthinkingly rutted up into your throat, causing your gag reflex to react once or twice. and the sound of you gagging around his dick only made tomas feel more turned on if that was even possible. he hadn't even noticed how his brows were furrowed and his fingers were now laced tightly in your hair– he was really getting into it now. you raise your head and let his cock free from your mouth once again. his dick was fully coated and had a string of saliva that connected from his tip to your lips. you had full intentions to make your cute little tomas cum, especially once you were able to sense his efforts of trying to last longer. maybe he didn’t want this to end too soon? how cute.

you take a hand of yours to slowly pump tomas’ cock, making him hiss in pleasure, “i want you to cum in my mouth, okay tommie? and i want you to give me every last drop so i can drink it all up.” your voice dripped with lust and the lin kuei assassin could have came on the spot just from hearing you talk, but he wanted to be a good boy for you– he needed to wait so that he could cum in your mouth.

instead of doing it hesitantly again, he eagerly nods his head this time. “mhm, i promise i will–” he whimpers and you start to bob your head up and down on his cock, swirling your tongue around it while your same hand continues to stroke the areas your mouth doesn't cover this time. his hips start to mindlessly thrust and you adjust to try and find and match the rhythm he had. his grip on your hair never loosened up and only got tighter, meanwhile his eyes were closed as his head leaned back in pleasure. his cries never stopped flowing from his mouth, “i, i’m–  haah, fuckkk!.” tomas failed to complete his warning as his cock spilled all of his seed inside your mouth. 

you gently suckle on the tip and watch tomas as his head tilts back down to look at you– his eyes were glossy as his hips tried to pull away from how sensitive he was. once deciding to ease away, you make sure he watches you swallow all of his load. 

“you taste so good, baby.. wanna go again?”

[mischiefmanaged71]

In This Moment (1/?)

Summary: A single moment can spark a magnificent change in a person’s life. 

A/N: Peaky Blinders au, Ewan Mitchell (OC) x fem! reader

Shuffling through the papers in the stack in her hand, Y/N swung through the crowd of people in the office. The bustle of the morning prior to the next big job had many resources on hand, including herself. Y/N was working closely with Ada who was back in London on several agendas, including a more exclusive topic of certain figures of interest to Tommy and the Shelby’s business. She desperately missed her close friend, after all, being surrounded by the crowds of men consistently became tiresome. Having someone to talk to and relate was a different company than what the Shelby boys offered in their rowdy and explosive natures. Their tenacity and attitudes were something she had grown used to over the many years of knowing the family.

That very morning she received a call from Arthur, requesting her presence in the office at Tommy’s behest. It was probably an update, she suspected. Or something of the sort. She arrived early, peering around at the busy crowd so wandering about seemed the opportune moment. Polly’s door was creaked open slightly, giving her view into the person sat at the desk. An excited laugh escaped her as she knocked on the door, peering into the doorway at Ada sat with her son, Karl, in her lap. 

Y/N crashed into Ada’s shoulders, hugging her tightly “Ada! You didn’t tell me you’d be in. What’re you doing here?”

Polly smiled at the interaction as she overlooked her papers once more, a puff of smoke leaving her lips. 

“It was about time to get out of the house. Thought I’d bring Karl back for a visit too since things have calmed.” she replied, brushing her son’s hair back.

Y/N smiled warmly, caressing the boy’s cheek as he looked up and grinned at the familiar face of his aunt. Growing up on the same street as the Shelby’s meant chaos, fun and a many other things that couldn’t have been good when pairing five children. Although all different ages, Y/N felt she could hang around with the Shelby’s as one of their own. Precisely as to why including her in the family business wasn’t a second thought. 

“It’s great to see you.” Y/N nodded, “Lord knows we need more women around here.” earning laughter from both women. Karl clapped his hands in response.

“Busy morning? Earlier than you usually come in.” Polly pointed out, glancing up from her desk.

Y/N exhaled a breath, leaning against the desk, “Yeah, a few jobs to take care of. Arthur said Tommy’s got something for me. Not too sure what.”

“If you’re not too busy later, maybe we could have dinner together?”

“I’d love that.” Y/N smiled, her eyes drifting to the large window peering into the office space. Her attention fell on an individual standing to the side, out of the chaos. He had a straight posture, hands tucked in his pockets in a relaxed manner as he watched the room attentively. She ran her eyes over his blonde hair, these deep blue eyes somewhere far off where she wanted to gaze into. Her heartbeat picked up, the sound of it drumming in her ears. Y/N noted his strong jawline and appreciated it as the muffle of conversation bled into the background of her mind, overcome with a sudden interest in this stranger. 

Ada’s voice brought her back, “Y/N?” 

She furrowed her brows, returning her attention to the ladies “Sorry, did you say something?"

“Ada was just telling us about the lovely weather they’ve been having in London.”

The women shared a look before Ada continued, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “A bit distracted there?” peering through the window.

“No-I, uh.” a breathy laugh escaped her mouth. She was saved by a knock at the door brought their attention away as Arthur stood there, an expecting look on his face.

“Morning ladies. Hope I’m not interrupting.” he winked, “Tommy’s ready for ya.”

Y/N sighed, bidding her goodbyes to the ladies before following Arthur out. “Since when are you Tommy’s errand boy?”

“I’m not. That’s simply for your benefit.” he tugged his arm around her shoulders at the teasing smirk on her face, “Only the best for our, Y/N/N.”

“Of course.” she grinned, “Wouldn’t expect any less treatment from you lot.”

Arthur laughed, relaxing his arm as they crossed to the doorway, holding the door open for her. She sent him a grateful smile, passing through the doorway to Tommy’s office, the man himself sitting at his desk. The door shut behind the, as Arthur left.

“Good, you’re here.” Tommy noted, standing from his seat. Her attention drew to the other figure in the room, the stranger she had her sights set on. He was dressed in a similar fashion to the other men around; a dark coloured trouser, shirt and tie, with the matching coat for the cold Birmingham mornings.

Her mouth parted slightly, particularly at the beauty of his features up close and the mellow blue eyes that stirred something her chest. Y/N smoothed her expression out and appeared neutral as she focused back on Tommy. 

“It has come to my attention there have been occasions where your security has been in question.”

She nodded, not exactly reading into where Tommy was going with this.

“Arthur and I have come to a decision over it and we came up with a solution.” He gestured to the other man, “This is William Adler,” he gestured, “I’ve hired him to be part of your personnel.”

She remained silent for the moment, running it over in her mind as her thoughts came to a halt at the proposition.

“Right. That’s one, then.” she replied, glancing between the men. She stepped forward, folding her arms across her chest “What exactly is Mr Alder being hired for?”

“Anything you need, Mr Adler will handle it.” he clapped a hand on Will’s back, bringing the man’s eyes back to Tommy. 

He nodded, “If its any reassurance, not my first job in protection.”

A look of intrigue crossed her face before Y/N stepped to the side with Tommy, as she whispered in a hushed tone, “You didn’t think to ask me beforehand about this?”

“It’s for your benefit, Y/N. Adler will follow you around, keep you safe from those that wish to do you harm. Which is far too many when you’re a part of this family.” he nodded.

"I know, Tommy. You and Pol have done a lot for me, but don't you think you should consult me first before making decisions like this?"

"This is your safety we're talking about. I won't be arguing with you on this. Leave it." He sent her a curt look that silenced her next words. She nodded.

“If you have any problems, tell me and I’ll fix it.” patting her arm as he stepped to his desk. A puff of smoke left his mouth as he gestured to the door. 

“I’ll allow you two to be acquainted. You’ll be spending a lot of time together.” 

“Morning, Tommy.” Y/N nodded, still stunned on this inside as she managed a facade of decorum. Walking to the door, only to be met with Will’s taller stature holding the door open for her. She bowed her head to hide the blush forming on her cheeks, murmuring a thanks that she hoped he could hear before exiting Tommy’s office. Her heart beat faster in her chest as her thoughts ran amuck, the tread of his shoes thumping behind her. 

She swallowed, forming a sentence “I’m uh, Y/N.” formally introducing herself. The amusement on his face caused her to cough shakily, “You already knew that. Uh-it’s nice to meet you, Mr Alder. I hope I didn’t offend you at all, I was simply surprised.”

“Will.” he replied curtly, studying her face.

“Sorry?” she turned to him, a soft look on her face as she held onto his words. His voice was a melodic sound she could listen to forever.

“You can call me Will.” a smile tugging at his lips. “And it’s fine. I understand.”

“Right.” she smiled bashfully, “Sorry about that.” she gestured behind her at Tommy’s office.

“Tommy is mostly blunt. He’s the boss and...well, he makes all of the important decisions around here. Mostly without oversight.”

“My apologies for disrupting your routine, Ms. I understand its not conventional, but I believe Mr Shelby has your best interests in mind.” he dipped his head to look at her. 

“It appears so.” she blinked, shaking her head to continue walking down the corridor, “No, I uh-I’m sure we’ll get to know each other very well. Tommy should have just asked and...”

“If you ask me, I think we’ll get along just fine.” he turned his hands in his pocket as they arrived at Polly’s office. His back was to the window, while Y/N was in the frame. He leaned down, his breath brushing her ear, “A bit of advice.” 

Y/N felt her whole body freeze in anticipation, her blood pounding in her ears as she felt breath escape her.

“You can see through the window from both sides.” he glanced down at her with a coy look, a smirk tugging at his handsome face. Y/N’s mouth parted, staring up at him with this wonderous look before she shock back into her reverie, inhaling a sharp breath. She had glanced between his eyes and full lips for far too long to be considered appropriate.

“I-I’m to see Ada off.” she breathed, a shy smile as she brushed past him to Polly’s office. The door swung closed behind her as Y/N stared at the women who looked back with expecting looks. 

“What?” she deadpanned, breathless for the moment as she brushed her hair back. Her hands fell to her waist as she failed to push the thought of the man from the forefront of her mind.

Polly smirked at her dishevelled demeanour, sharing a knowing look with Ada as she tapped her pen, “You’ve got an interesting situation there.”

“Did you know about this, Pol?”

The woman shook her head, watching the exasperated expression on Y/N’s face stretch with her furrowed brows. 

“What happened?”

Y/N folded her arms, wetting her lips “Your brother has assigned me my own personal guard.”

Ada smiled, her eyebrows perking up at the man leaning against the pillar outside the office, his eyes averted to the crowd once more. “What’s the problem then?”

Y/N refused to answer, nodding her head back to the window as she glanced at his side profile. Her heart swelled at his perfectly sculped bone structure. There was this effortlessness to his whole demeanour and look that enraptured her attention unlike anyone had before. 

“The way I see it, this is good for you. You’re always working too hard. Having the help will do you some good.” Ada paused, “And it doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome too.” laughing at the devastated look on Y/N’s face.

“Don’t.” She held a hand up at Ada, glancing back at his profile through the window. Even his side profile was stunning. 

“Pol?” Y/N turned to the older woman, looking for reprieve.

She waved her hand, “I had no idea he would do that. And you know you’d better listen to Tom, lest he grow upset with you. Or worse, he’ll stop you from working altogether.”

She folded her arms, staring at Ada’s enticed expression. The woman was finding far too much delight in Y/N’s reaction.

“What? I don’t see why you’re so distressed. We both saw you eyeing him earlier.” Ada followed. 

Y/N folded her arms, “Exactly. Spending almost every waking minute by his side. Do you know what that’ll do to me?"

“Make you less miserable?”

Y/N choked out a laugh, “I’ll make a right fool of myself, Ada. This is not something I anticipated.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” the woman chided.

“You know me so well.” she narrowed her eyes.

“It’ll be fine.” Ada replied, grasping her hands, “This is a reassurance for us all. To know that you’re safe when we can't be there. It's a reassurance that'll set us at ease."

Ada would be right in that sense. Tommy meant well, it was just the methodology behind it that put Y/N off. She would have to learn to adapt and exist within this man’s presence. Even given the fact she felt she would buckle at the knees with a single look. 

“Do tell us how it goes.” Polly replied, a smirk on her face. 

“I’ll be sure to tell you all about it.” Y/N regarded, moving back toward the door where her new protector patiently awaited her return. 

How her heart was going to rule with the effect Will had on her was in question for sure. She would do what Tommy wished for his sake. 

Oh, what trouble would come with the sway of one’s heart. 

Anything could happen.

[hb-writes]

The Way Things Used to Be

Summary: 1925. Esme tolerated Clara’s updates on Ada or Karl. She allowed her sister-in-law to speak about their nephew, Charlie. And she even enjoyed when Clara voiced her complaints against Thomas Shelby, but anything that was accompanied by a positive emotion…well, talk like that was off limits, better left off the agenda…even if John didn’t mind it so much.

Characters: John Shelby, Esme Shelby (mention), Sam Shelby (John and Esme's baby) & Clara Shelby.

Request (from anon): 51, John y Clara <3

Content Warnings: Season 4 vibes.

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

Clara stroked her nephew’s small cheek with a gentle finger and tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling stirring in the pit of her stomach. In the distance she could hear the other children playing—their occasional shouts and giggles traveling back to Clara’s ears from out behind the barn where they’d been playing for hours now.

Esme had gone through the back door nearly fifteen minutes before, and the door that slammed in her wake seemed to set a quieting spell over the property. Even the baby who’d been screaming along with his parents' argument had fallen into a calm slumber after being transferred to Clara’s arms. No words had been exchanged when Esme handed her the baby. She hadn’t even met Clara’s eye before setting off on her march away from the house. Clara had lost sight of her quickly, Esme’s body disappearing beyond the far treeline with a quickness that shouldn’t have been possible. 

Not that Clara needed Esme’s explanation at that moment. She’d heard the argument from her spot by the backdoor. And even if she hadn’t, as far as Clara could tell, Esme and John’s fights always seemed to be sparked by the same thing these days, the same person—Tommy. 

And by extension, by Clara, who often brought with her news from the side of the family John and Esme no longer associated with. And even when she wasn’t bringing news, Clara simply reminded Esme of everything that had come to pass with John. 

Clara didn’t blame Esme for being angry with Tommy, or with her, for that matter. When Clara allowed herself to think on it, she was angry with him, too, for all that passed and the ways it was handled. She’d come to understand that what had happened wasn’t necessarily Tommy’s plan, and that they’d all had a role to play, but that understanding only extended so far. Her heart housed a rage that could rival Esme’s if she allowed it, but once upon a time Clara had tucked it away deep, allowing herself to get by when she had needed to, to forget the things that hurt too much to remember, the things she felt powerless to alter in any significant way. 

Clara allowed herself to hold onto that narrative—that she had no choice in it, but the truth was she didn’t want to make a choice. As unbearable as it was being in the middle of a family divided, Clara couldn’t fathom choosing between them, siding with one brother over the others. She couldn’t fathom losing any of them. And moments where she was able to talk freely about one to the other reminded her of a time when things were okay. Perhaps it was selfish, but Clara allowed herself to enjoy those moments. 

Clara pulled her eyes from the sleeping baby in her arms as John stepped out of the back door, his gaze sweeping over the back fields. She cleared her throat and John glanced at her, watching where Clara gestured with a small movement of her head, indicating where Esme had gone. 

John’s chest heaved with a big breath as Clara looked back to her nephew. John wouldn’t go after his wife. It would only cause more trouble, trying to bring her back before she was ready. While John dreaded being alone, especially in the wake of an argument, Esme needed time to sort herself on her own. She needed time to be free. 

The baby opened his blue eyes, bypassing his aunt’s gaze to find his father, somehow subconsciously aware of his presence. John took the now squirming child into his arms as he took a seat beside his sister, quickly soothing the baby back to sleep against his chest. 

Clara smoothed out her dress before settling her arms over her chest, unsure of what to do with herself without a nephew to hold in her arms, unsure of what to say to her brother’s silence. 

“She’ll be back,” Clara offered after a few more moments of quiet.

John scoffed. “Did she tell you that?”

Clara gave a slight shake of her head. “Just, she won’t stay mad about this, I don’t think.” 

It was more Clara’s hope than it was her thought though. She hoped Esme wouldn’t stay mad at her brother over something Clara had brought to her door step, a silly little story about Tommy she should have likely just kept to herself.

“I’m sorry,” Clara started, barely getting the words out before John shook his head. 

John knew it was as much his fault as it was Clara’s. Some part of him had encouraged her, eager for the story of their brother even though Esme was growing riled with every sentence Clara shared about him. Esme tolerated Clara’s updates on Ada or Karl. She allowed her sister-in-law to speak about their nephew, Charlie. And she even enjoyed when Clara voiced her complaints against Thomas Shelby, but anything that was accompanied by a positive emotion…well, talk like that was off limits, better left off the agenda.

“You and Esme were fighting because—”

“How exactly would you know what Esme and I were fighting about?” John asked. 

Somehow the feeling of being very small and very much in trouble took Clara over in that moment. John’s words and tone reminded her of a different time, a time when everyone was always getting after her and Finn for listening in on things that weren’t meant for their little ears. 

Before Esme’s voice had a chance to rise, John had sent Clara out to check on the children, sparring her from the lecture she’d half-earned for her brother. Clara had done the task quickly, ensuring the kids were all present before heading straight back to the house, catching more of their argument than she’d missed. So maybe this wasn’t much different than all those times she’d gotten told off with Finn. Maybe Clara should have given John and Esme their privacy. Maybe she shouldn’t have lingered by the door, listening in. Maybe she shouldn’t have known what exactly they’d fought about, but the time for maybes had passed them by now. 

“Did you eavesdrop on me, Clara Shelby?” John interrupted his sister’s thoughts, a bit of laughter sneaking into his voice. “Never did learn to mind your own business, did you?” he asked, nudging her foot with his as he tsked her. “Curious Clara, always creeping about. Not the first time you’ve heard me get told off.” 

Clara shook her head, much of her concerns about being caught out falling away as John’s gentle teasing lifted her spirits. 

“Bloody hard to mind my own business with the two of you shouting so loud,” Clara answered with a smirk. “I imagine Ada heard you all the way in Boston.”

“Could be,” he scoffed. “Our Ada’s as nosy as you, so it’s bloody likely she was straining her ear anyhow.” 

Clara allowed herself a chuckle at that and John’s gaze strayed to the treeline once again. His eyes fell closed for a short moment as Clara’s laughter dissipated in the breeze. 

“I am sorry though,” Clara said again. 

“Don’t be.” John shook his head. 

“I shouldn’t have—” she started, unsure of her wording. “We don’t need to talk about…him.”

John shrugged. They didn’t need to talk about Tommy, but somehow the conversations always ended up there in one way or another. It was the same way when John spoke with Finn or Arthur, or Ada if she got him on the phone while Esme was out.

John met his sister’s eye. “You want to know a secret?”

Clara’s nod came as if the movement was automatic, as if her brother’s secret had to come to her whether she actually wanted it or not. But like old times, Clara did want her brother’s secret. She wanted his confidence. But more than whatever it was John was about to tell her, Clara craved the intimacy of it. The closeness. The return to a relationship of years that seemed far gone now.

John bit his lip, considering his words before he spoke. “I don’t mind the stories,” he offered. “Reminds me of the way things used to be.” 

Clara smiled, the shift of her face lubricated more by a sense of sadness than joy as a handful of memories flashed through her mind, a complicated mix of emotions tangled up inside her.

“But Esme…she doesn’t like it,” he continued, “So let’s keep the stories about Tom between you and me, eh?”

The baby called out, stretching his arms and clenching his fists as he opened his eyes. “You want to hear, too?” John asked the little boy. “Nosy as your aunties then, eh?” 

John snorted at the baby before he looked back at his sister. “Well, go on, then. Tell your nephew what that arsehole did next before Esme gets back. We’ll keep it between the three of us.” 

John settled back in his seat then and prepared to hear the rest of the story almost as if the fight with his wife hadn’t happened. He listened almost as if he hadn’t spent half a year in prison. He held onto his sister’s words almost as if he hadn’t nearly been hanged. He smiled almost if he was still close with the brother he hadn’t spoken with in over a year. He laughed almost as if things were still the way they used to be. 

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

[aemonds-sapphireeye]

10 Characters, 10 Fandoms!

Hey besties! I was tagged by the lovely @arcielee and now you guys are about to find out how weird (and bi) I really am.

THE Prince Aemond Targaryen, of course. This man has us all by the ovaries.

2. Anne Boleyn in the Tudors. Fun fact, Nat's portrayal of Anne made me realize I like women. She's that good. I would die for her. I would kill for her. I would let her top me.

3. Loki/Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak. They're played by the same actor soo I'm counting them as one. Loopholes. Tom Hiddleston is a sexy mf, he is.

4. Margot Robbie's Harley Quinn. Yeah yeah the first Suicide Squad was bleh but Margot's HQ is an absolute queen. Stream Birds of Prey.

5. Prince Zuko. I really have a thing for emo princes with daddy issues and a scarred eye, it would seem. This guy was one of my first ever TV crushes and to this day seeing him unlocks the fangirl squeeing of a 13-year-old girl.

He gets two gifs because he has a special place in my heart (and I want to push my Zutara agenda #zutarasupremecy).

6. Speaking of first TV crushes, it'd be a lie to not include Draco Malfoy. I hate Rowling with a burning passion and hope she falls off a cliff, but Tom Felton's portrayal of Malfoy had 14-year-old me losing her damn mind, so I'll include him for nostalgia. I just love a rich bad boy.

7. L Lawliet from Death Note. Oh look, another rich asshole. God, I have a type, and it's embarrassing. What can I say? His bad posture and eye bags that are darker than the places my mind goes at 2 a.m. have captivated me. And his spikey hair. Gotta love an anime boy with spikey hair.

8. Tommy Shelby from Peaky Blinders. We're moving from bad boys to straight up gangsters, because of course we are. He may be a literal crime lord, but that accent and those baby blues got me feelin' some kinda way.

9. Elizabeth of York from the White Princess. She is beauty, she is grace, I'd let her punch me in the face.

10. Daenerys Targaryen -we started with a Targaryen, so it seems only fitting to end with a Targaryen. Dany my beloved, my darling, my Queen. They did you so dirty.

Not sure who all's done this yet but I'm gonna go ahead and tag my lovelies @ewanmitchellcrumbs @em-writes-stuff-sometimes @bottlesandbarricades @aemxnd @eyelinerandcigarettes @lya-dustin and any other mutuals and followers who want to participate.

[dingbatnix]

Venture

Chapter 2

Mmm not much to say here, other than, after this chapter, I don't have anything else ready for this to put out.

Oh yeah! Thanks @da3dm for proofreading!!

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Dream + Tommy reference

Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,710

Warnings: Blood, Fear, ect.

It didn't take him long to find their camp. 

He stalked over to the pile of belongings, silently assessing the bags. While he wasn't officially a thief, he was quite fond of pilfering through others’ things, especially the things of hunters. There was always at least a few items of value stowed away. Plus, there was probably something edible he could grab.

He dropped to one knee in front of the pile and snagged one of the bags, tugging it open and digging through it. There wasn’t anything special, only a couple of glittering trinkets and a single golden ring. They wouldn't be worth much to trade, Dream estimated quietly. He pocketed them anyway, moving on to the next pack. This one had a few shimmering potions, which he inspected curiously before stowing them away. He would find out what they were later.

Dream flipped open another satchel and promptly froze. What…What the hell?! That's a kid, why would- He cut himself off, staring down at the little form. They were young, he could tell that much, maybe in their mid-teens if he pushed it.

The kid stared up at him with wide blue eyes set above pale, round cheeks. His face was framed by fluffy blond curls, which hung over his brow in a wild tangle. Long, ungainly legs pushed him further into the corner of the mesh cage while thin, twiggy arms curled defensively over his chest.

He was also terrified, Dream noted, and was doing a terrible job of hiding it.

“...Hey,” he murmured, suddenly acutely aware of how blood still dripped from his mask, still soaked his clothes, still stained his hands. He winced, leaning back a little. He frightened normal-sized people on accident. There was no telling what he looked like to the tiny teenager.

Scaring an apparent captive really wasn’t on today’s agenda.

…He should probably get the kid out of the cage, actually.

The kid stared up through the thin wire bars with thinly veiled panic when Dream reached into the bag, intent on grabbing the cage.

"N-No–Fuck!-" The kid clapped his hands over his mouth as the words seemed to slip out, cringing down further into the corner of the cage.

Dream paused at his cry before slowly drawing his hand back, out of view with a grimace. The kid shook, eyes wide.

“...Um,” Dream put eloquently, shifting to sit on his knees. He…he had no idea how to deal with kids. Adults, at least, could deal if his brash actions scared them, but children? He raised his hands dubiously, then lowered them. What…what did he do? He furrowed his brow, brushing a bloodied hand over his chin. Well, he didn’t want to traumatize the kid, so…

He decided to go with the subtler route. If anything, it’d be good practice for any future dealings with tiny frightened children.

“I’m Dream,” He murmured lowly, dropping his hands to rest in his lap. The kid only stared, puffing half-frantic breaths through his hands. 

“I'm not gonna hurt you, kid.” Yeah, that would surely convince him. Hmm. Dream cocked his head, an idea blooming. “The people that had you were hunters, right? Or traffickers?” He tensed even more, scrawny shoulders hitching up around his ears. “I'll take that as a yes. Okay, well, they went after me, so I killed them. You won't have to worry about them anymore.” The rigid form relaxed just the tiniest bit at the news, but his eyes widened substantially.

“I'm only here because I wanted to loot their stuff, so, um…yeah.” He paused. “I won't hurt you.”

What he said seemed to work, because the small blond slowly pulled his hands from his mouth and drew his head up from his shoulders. The tiny, almost indistinguishable blue eyes scrutinized what little of Dream’s expression he could see for a long beat before he slumped, apparently accepting the assassin’s words. 

Dream let a small grin slip on his face and leaned forward.

“Would you mind telling me what your name is?” The kid jumped, eyeing him suspiciously for a long beat, before he seemed to deflate and jerked a small nod.

“I’m Tommy,” he rasped quietly. Dream had to do a double take. He could have sworn he heard the word ‘bitch’ tacked onto the end of that. He shook himself. He supposed it didn't really matter.

“Tommy? Cool.” His grin widened. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but, considering the circumstances…” He swiped at some of the blood still adorning his mask and flung the droplets away with a dismissive flick of his fingers.

Tommy cringed, eyeing the smeared streaks on the mask. If the human was really telling the truth…then that would mean that the blood on his mask was from his captors. That would mean that this human had single-handedly murdered five armed hunters and, from what Tommy could see, escaped relatively unscathed. That meant that this human was dangerous. More so than the average sword-swinger. 

…Tommy didn’t think he should antagonize this one too much. He already regretted the habitual insult that had slipped out when he said his name. There was no need to actually make the man mad.

The human leaned forward, blocking out most of what Tommy could see out from the opening of the bag with his enormous frame. The beady little eyes of the mask bore disconcertingly down on the teen, and, unconsciously, he shivered. It was so creepy.

“Do you want me to let you out of the cage?” Dream broke the silence, cocking his head to the side.

Tommy’s eyes widened, and he shook his head fervently. He did not want to be out and around this human, thank you very much. The cage, at least, offered him some (flimsy) barrier of safety, kept him from being in open grabbing reach.

Dream hummed, bobbing his head in a nod. His hand rose, blocking half of Tommy’s view as it reached into the bag. Tommy’s heart spiked in fear.

“Alright, well, I'm gonna have to carry the cage anyway, kay?” Dream muttered, grabbing the mesh top. “I'm not just gonna leave you here.”

Gorey fingers poked through the top of the cage and curled around the wires. Tommy flinched as a few drops of blood splattered down on the metal floor of the cage, each plinking quietly against the cold surface.

With a nauseating lurch, the cage was hoisted into the air. Tommy flung his bandaged arms out, bracing them against the wire mesh at the sudden movement. He was thankful he was sitting down this time. Being thrown about the harsh metal cage was not an experience he liked to indulge in.

Almost as soon as it had risen, though, the cage was firmly plonked onto the mulchy forest floor. Tommy jolted, confused, when the huge, extremely fucking tall, wow, he just kept going, human stood and moved over to the rest of the belonging pile. He waved a hand lazily in Tommy's direction. 

“Just sit tight for a bit, alright? I’m gonna finish robbing this stuff.”

Tommy stared, a slightly offended expression growing on his face. Just find him and then just, just leave to go looting?! Just like that? It was like finding a tiny person, an abnormality, was nothing to this guy! Usually there was at least some sort of awe, or fascination, or, or even a touch of greed at his prospective uses! But no? This guy just up and ditches? 

It’s not that Tommy was complaining, really. He was quite glad that this Dream guy wasn’t poking and prodding and trying to estimate his sell price, but…it was the principle of the matter! He wasn’t acting like a normal person would!

Tommy froze when a horrifying thought popped into his head. What if…what if the reason the human wasn’t reacting normally was because he had done this before? What if he was used to seeing smallfolk? What if he was used to capturing smallfolk? No, no, it couldn’t be that, right? Right?

Tommy watched Dream root through the rest of the hunter’s belongings, the man humming whenever he found something interesting before it was whisked away under the green poncho. He…he couldn’t tell if the human was malicious or not! Tommy knew, Tommy knew, that some, a very, very select, small few humans were good, were nice enough to at least ignore smallfolk, and that some were even okay to speak to and interact with, but…the hard part was figuring out who it was you could trust. Who it was that wouldn’t try to murder you. Who it was that wouldn’t kidnap you. Tommy learned this lesson the hard way.

Dream stood, seemingly finished with his act of larceny. Tommy swallowed nervously as the huge boots strode towards him, audibly crushing the forest foliage underneath the massive leather soles, until they stopped just in front of the cage. The blood-streaked, innocently smiling mask caught the light of the dusking sun as the human bent and snagged his fingers through the thin wires at the top, and then the cage lurched as he picked it up.

Tommy slid across the metal floor of the cage, narrowly avoiding the large splatters of blood in the middle as it was moved to rest against the vast green wall of Dream’s chest, and huge, cloth wrapped arms curled around the front, trapping the cage against the human’s torso.

“Just sit tight for now, kay?” The human started moving, long, striding steps that rolled smoothly through the cage. “I’ve gotta find someplace to set up camp, and then I can check up on you.”

Tommy shrunk back against the cage bars, wrapping his fingers around the thick wires. The easy stride the human had taken barely affected the cage, but Tommy was still cautious. His thrumming heart had slowed from it’s breakneck pace, letting him breathe easier.

He settled back, pushing down on the uncertain queasiness in his gut. Tommy figured he would have nothing to do but to wait, wait until he could try to escape from this new danger. 

Tommy didn’t know what Dream wanted from him, but he was almost certain it wouldn’t be pleasant. When it involved the big folk, it never was. 

[theblueflower05]

hiiii i hope you���re having a lovely week 😚 now im curious about your WIPs, do you have anything going on? i love your writing sm! im so excited to see what you have 🥳

Hi babyyyyy.

Omg okay I’d love to do a little break down od the drafts that I’m currently giving energy to.

No joke, I have like 20 or so drafts for various Avatar stories that I’ve abandoned over the years- buttttt, I’ve narrowed it down to about 4 or 5 that I know I want to flush out and turn into full stories or one shots!

Right now on my main agenda are:

Sweetest Sylaung Part Two

First Love/Late Spring Part Four

Just because these are the next installments of already standing series’ and I really want to get the updates out so that you all can gobble them up and enjoy.

Other Works- Coming Soon!

Invisible Strings: A three part series about the arranged marriage between Neteyam and the Reader; who is the daughter of the Anotkayan(valley) Olo’eyktan.

She’s a few years older then him and is far more experienced then the sheltered Forest Prince. She’s more then happy to teach him a thing or two about how to be a good husband.

Aged up! Neteyam x Na’vi Reader - based on a request that I couldn’t stop drooling over!

Fear of the Water: Neteyam and Ao’nung have set their eyes on the reader for the up coming Fertility Season. She’s none the wiser…or is she?

Aged up! Neteyam x Reader x Aged up! Ao’nung

Just Out of Reach: You’ve had a crush on Jake Sully since he showed up at Hell’s Gate, ready to take Tommy’s place in the Avatar Program. You don’t care; wether he’s ten feet tall and blue or human and in his chair. You’re head over heels for him.

You’re convinced he could never feel the same and that you’ve gotta keep your feelings under lock and key.

You’re not as good at keeping secrets as you think you are.

Jake Sully x Scientist!Human!Reader

Honorable Mentions:

I’m working on a College!AU. Im not sure if you guys are interested in Human!Neteyam but um I am? He’s so fine. Im pouring so much time into creating social media profiles and like text threads and stuff!

I’ve gotten a few requests for Human!Neteyam so I’ll figure I’ll just smorgishborg them all up into one cute lil story!

Speaking of requests; please remember that I do them at my own pace. I don’t get paid to write- and have a very busy personal life! I promise I’m not ignoring you- I’m just so busy I want to cry lol

Also dying to write some Lo’ak! I never get requests for him😭

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Entrapment - 4 (Innocuous)

Please do not read this fic if this is not your cup of tea. You have been warned, by clicking on Keep Reading means you have understood the warning. I am not responsible for your content consumption.

Meet me at my place at 6, it's important. Your message flashed on Tommy Shelby’s phone while he was in a family meeting. He was giddy with joy for the first time in a very long time. Polly noticed Tommy’s smirk.

“Thomas, you look happy, care to share with the family”, Polly interrupted John’s rant.

“Nothing. I am just happy that there are no more issues to deal with today.”

The whole family knew that Tommy was hiding something but kept mum. They were used to Tommy playing cards close to his chest and would be informed when he saw fit.

“If that’s all, Poll, let’s conclude this meeting here,” Tommy asked.

“Anyone else has anything to add to the agenda?” Arthur asked, and the room stayed silent.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow at the ball”, Tommy added while putting on his trench coat.

Tommy got in his car and drove off to his destination, your quaint little apartment. He parked in the basement, tipping the security guard generously for helping you out with the maintenance issues.

He rang the bell, and your voice came from inside, telling him the door was open. You were so bloody careless. What if it was some armed mugger, a rapist, or a murderer? You had zero self-preservation.

He let himself inside, removing his shoes because your house was a shoe-free zone. He found you sitting on the couch, staring at the wall blankly, while the centre table had some pamphlets lying.

“Y/N, darling, what happened?”

“Huh?”

“You texted me and asked me to come over.”

“Oh, yeah, I did, Thomas. Sit down.” You hoarsely said.

He came and sat near you. You turned to face him, wanting to tell him, but your throat closed. Taking a deep breath, you looked into his cornflower blue eyes, fuck, the baby would be half him and half you… It would be a cute kid. Was abortion a mistake? No, it can’t be. A child should be brought into this world when you’re ready, right? You had let your thoughts run amok. Your hands were shaking, and this was one of the significant decisions of your life, a life that you created.

Thomas saw your hands shaking and placed his hand over them, giving you time to blurt out what he already knew.

“I am pregnant, and I don’t know how that happened. I know we used condoms, but they are only 98 per cent effective,” you babbled incoherently.

“I just wanted you to know. I am not planning on keeping it.”

Thomas Shelby’s eyes got colder, his icy demeanor resurfacing, and his head turned towards the fliers splattered across the table. Some were related to abortion, and some were to pregnancy care. He turned towards you, observing you. You were fighting a battle within, and you were lost.

“Do I get a say in this?”

You nodded, wanting to hear his part before taking a significant step. Thomas was, after all, the father of this baby.

“I am thrilled about this baby, and I don’t want you to get rid of it.” He said while touching your stomach to persuade you.

“Thomas… Babies are much work; don’t you think babies deserve to be brought into a committed, well-established relationship.” You present your case, not backing down from the decision.

“I agree, a child should be brought in a committed relationship, they should have a loving upbringing, and I am willing to work on it. I want us to have this child, a child who is half me and half you, a perfect blend.

“What we have is barely a relationship.”

“I know, eh, but I will rectify that, I will work on it, I promise, I promise to take care of diaper duties.”

You chuckled, imagining big, scary Thomas changing a diaper.

“Thomas, we barely know each other. I don’t even know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything?”

“How about I take you on a date tomorrow? Give me one chance to prove my worth, and if you’re not okay with what I have to offer, you can...”

You nodded. It seemed like a logical condition to you.  

You were yet to discover the limits Thomas Shelby was to go to have you. You were his, you would soon find out, but by then, it would be too late to run away.

[cheerynoir]

Pity the Children: Ch. 1

A Fragment. What do you get when you cross a grungy neo-noir sci fi with the gay agenda and a truckload of trauma? Mostly, this. Enjoy!

Jon sat in the Nite Owl diner and considered throwing himself off the wagon. His empty stomach chewed on itself, but it was a distant thing. He hadn’t been himself for a while. Stubble burned his palm when he rubbed at his chapped mouth, and his shaggy black hair hung in limp curls across his brow. His dark eyes burned from lack of sleep, and his skin—a freckled, burnished bronze on his best days—was wan and dry. He needed a hot shower, ten hours of sleep, and a fresh tub of shea butter. Even the synthetic stuff would be better than nothing. He had a bad idea and a flask. It was heavy as a dying star in his palm, cut in blue and violet from the neon sign shining out front. Anniversaries were always hard. Another one of his loomed, dragging itself closer with every hour. With it came the same old gang: dread and grief and remembrance. The cold, helpless anger that stuck in his windpipe like a knife. Guilt. Always, always guilt. Years ago, before this planet was terraformed and the many-Ringed city of Centralia and her mines were dug deep into its crust, before the scattered Generation ships touched down at all, before ice and fire swallowed the first Earth, Jon’s ancestors were Catholics in Mexico City. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Passed down from parent to child in a language people rarely spoke anymore. These days English was the new Standard. “English has always been the standard,” Jon’s Abuelita had told him once, before the air rotted her lungs and they’d had to burn her. “Al diablo con eso, nieto.” To Hell with that, she’d declared, time and again. She’d taught them Español along with God, same as her mother before her, and didn’t give a lick whether or not the government approved. Maybe that was where the guilt came from. Maybe his grandmother had planted that seed good and deep, when Jon was still young enough to sprout it. Or maybe you’ve just got a lot to be sorry for, Jonny. Do you even remember Tommy’s voice? That was Roan’s gravelled rasp in his ear making him flinch, though the man was three years dead. Dead, and the only one who’d ever called him that. Guilty and ghost-ridden, that was Jonny Wilde. With the flask still in his hand, standing at the crossroads and waiting for the devil. Three years alone, one year sober. Fourteen years a failure. Lord, anniversaries were hard. His fiancée, his best friend, and at the root of it all— He derailed that train of thought. Some graves were best left untouched. Christ, Mother Mary, turn your eyes away. I’m a sorry sight tonight. His throat was parched. Bone dry. His thumb worked at the cap of his flask with a soft metallic scraping— A mug thumped down onto the table, and coffee splashed down into it.

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 551, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death, abandoned baby

WORDS: 1168

“Quiet now!” Peter sent the TSA agent a withering glare as the babies were patted down. “Don’t you dare wake the babies!”

“That’s not on my agenda for today sir!”

Peter just grunted before being told that he could walk on through the metal detector.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Baby Teddy began whimpering as another TSA agent began to wave his wand over the four of them- my beefcake of a husband with the triplets nestled in his arms- Baby Mattie, Baby Teddy and Baby Jojo. Josh, Kenny and Johnny were all waiting for Peter and I to go on through, Baby Tommy and Baby Eve both being held by Kenny and Johnny respectively, and Elizabeth and Katie both holding their American Girl mini mes.

“I have a rod in my leg,” Peter announced, pointing his lips at a man in a uniform blue and grey shirt. “I handed him the paperwork that my doctor filled out.”

“Ah, okay then. Do you mind handing the babies over to Marriam and Danielle for a moment?”

Peter was grumbling as I went through the scanners, coming through and having my hands swiped.

“Okay miss- you’re good to go now!”

“Okay, gramacy!” I thanked her with a smile, grabbing my small suitcase, milk pump case and backpack from their assigned tubs. I also grabbed my husband’s backpack and the babies’ shared diaper bag, standing off to the side as I waited for him to be ready to go.

“Such sweet babies! How old are these three?”

“Well, they were born at twenty seven weeks on July tenths,” I hummed, holding an arm open for Baby Mattie and Baby Jojo. The second TSA agent handed Baby Teddy over to Josh, who accepted the happily sleeping little man from her.

“Oh, preemies! Well, they’re so adorable!”

“They are, yes!” I hummed, looking up as Peter was finally allowed access part the TSA checkpoint. “These three are the last added members to the Ratajczyk clan though- I had only recently been able to regain my body back!”

“I’d imagine so! But seriously though- your babies are so cute!”

I saw Peter with a smug smile on his face as he came up behind me to shoulder the babies’ singular shared diaper bag and accept the still sleeping triplets from Josh and I.

“Okay, so we still have forty minutes until our shared flight starts to board,” Peter announced, glancing over at the giant clock in the corner. “So come on now everyone- out gate is 36E.”

We arrived at the gate and quickly took our seats, Peter taking the babies to the bathroom to change their diapers, taking Elizabeth with him as reinforcement, leaving me to pump some milk for when the four babies would be hungry.

“Oh joy, babies on the flight! I bet you a thousand dollars that they’ll be crying absolutely nonstop during the entire flight!”

“Deal!” Katie chirped, shaking the laughing man’s hand.

Thirty seven minutes later, the boarding started and we were very quickly seated- Elizabeth, Baby Tommy and Katie were clustered together in three seats, Josh, Kenny and Johnny were squashed together, and Peter and I were seated together with the four babies napping side by side across my husband’s expansive chest, him squished uncomfortably into his seat up in first class.

“Good babies,” he cooed, pressing his lips to their heads. “Sweet babies.”

Baby Mattie let out an adorable baby yawn, opening his hazel blue eyes and fixating on his mommy, reaching out for something to grab onto.

“Hey, do you want me to take the babies’ bottles into the back and heat them up some?” asked a sweet flight attendant, smiling as I quickly got four bottles ready to be heated up, handing them to him and watching as he trotted off into the back.

Just then, laughter and cheers started to come through the plane as the flight crew was serving drinks and snacks. Within minutes, Baby Tommy came toddling up into first class, proudly brandishing a box with snacks, a happy baby smile on his face.

“Oh, he’s so cute!”

“What a little darling!”

“Thank you, little man!”

“Your mommy and daddy are doing a good job raising you!”

“Glad to hear that!” I called out, smiling my thanks as the flight attendant came back over with the bottles of warmed milk. Peter expertly maneuvered Baby Mattie and Baby Jojo over to me to feed while he took care of the other two babies in his arms. He tapped a few drops of milk from the bottles onto his wrist before the both of us began to feed the babies. “Nom nom nom!”

The babies in my arms reached out and grasped at my loose scarlet curls, guzzling down their bottles of mommy milk. I turned my head and cooed softly at the babies in my soulmate’s arms mirroring the same as me- one hand supporting their bottles and their other hand entangled in their daddy’s hair.

Baby Eve finished first, and was quickly burped by our neighbor right across the way. Next up, Baby Mattie and Baby Jojo both finished right around the same time, our neighbor’s husband taking them in and burping them finally, Baby Teddy finished his bottle and was burped by Peter.

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP sang out all four babies, almost at once, right being handed back to their daddy just as the pilot announced that the plane would be landing shortly.

“Yay yay!” yelled Baby Tommy back where he was sitting, getting laughter and cheers tossed his way.

“Yay yay is right,” I hummed delightfully, leaning my head up against my handsome older husband’s arm as the plane touched down.

Gramercy, thank you, old French? 

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

[sadattemptofawriter]

Dual nature ( Thomas Shelby x female! OC)

Chapter 3 - be a man

She, now referred to as he, did finally managed to fix the broken hoof. It was grueling work as most things are in Birmingham and she got herself injured a few times in the proses but she got the job done and that was all that mattered. It did not matter that the horse, ‘crown jewel’ they called him, stomped her foot twice and bit her trice. It absolutely did not mater that she burned her hand while working with the white hot iron of the horse shoe either. The only thing that does matter is that Thomas Shelby, the peaky devil, was pleased with her job and she now had a proper employment with them.

A job. She smiled to herself as she pulled her hair tight under her dark gray cap. A real job. Honest work, respectable work, with good pay to boot. It was more than she thought she would ever get. She was putting her skills to use and it did not involve sitting in a dimply lit room with stupid yarns and needles nor did it involve her spreading her legs.

Looking herself in the small mirror of her room she noted that, Mr. Strong was right. she did look like a scrawny boy. Her beautiful feminine curves now hidden behind tight bindings that give the illusion of firm pecks and loose purposefully ill-fitting clothes to push the ruse of the youngest boy from a working-class family wearing his older brother’s hand-me-downs. For the first time, she was thankful to the soot and dirt of Birmingham, that seemingly has covered every pore and crack of her being. Because thanks to them, her face was perpetually covered in dirt and smoke, soot and cinder simply from walking past the factories. Her girly face, covered and hidden. Her rosy cheeks, turned gray, flickers turned to black spots, lips turned dark from grime. No trace of a soft young woman.

Good. She tells herself as she picks up her pace on her way to Charlie’s yard. Remember, Minerva is no more. You are Byron. And you’ll do anything to establish yourself as such.

“Good morning, Charlie. Good morning, Curly.” She says upon seeing the two men just biggening to start up their day as well. She grinned. No mater how earlier she tried to get up, those two always beat her to it.

“Morning boy. I see you’re up earlier than even before.” Charlie says with a nod. His face may be still a cold, distant ghost but those blue eyes had warmed up to her. She reconned it was something most elder men had, a general fondness for the youth. Weather girl or boy, the elderly, seemed to care for them all. Was it that they saw us as their children? Grandchildren? Or perhaps it’s our vigor and stubbornness – stupidness – that reminds them of their younger selves. Was Charlie Strong seeing a son? Or a distant memory of himself?

Who knows.

I think even I’ll never know.

I doubt even he knows.

“what’s on the agenda today?” she asked.

“Tommy is arranged to buy a new horse. Yes, he has. We have to fix up a place for him next to Monageng boy. Nice and spacious for him to stay in. yes that’s right.” Curly went on as he led the way with tools in hand.

“Yes sir.” I said as I followed hot on his tail with my own tools in hand.

That’s how most of the day was spend. With me and Mr. Curly in the stables. After taking care of every single other horse, cleaning them, brushing their hair, cleaning their hoofs and so on. It was peaceful work. Hard work but peaceful, meditative if you will. It almost was as if my soul would leave my body. After that, we did exactly as Curly had said. We began to rebuild a section of the stables that was previously used as storage into a fine section for a horse that was coming soon.

“Well, this is as much as we ae going to finish today.” Charlie said as he came into the stables. His face sweaty and slightly grimy. The started his day always looking impeccable – as impeccable as working-class gypsies in factories can get – and by the time it was lunch time he was a walking ball of sweat and mud. Still much better than me, who has tripped on horse shir trice now.

“Noon already?” I ask as I lay aside the shovel, try to walk towards Charlie Strong and the door way out and proceed to trip on a pile hey on the ground and fall.

Charlie almost mediately laughs. Not the loud full belly laughs of Arthur, nor the mischievous mocking snorts of John, both of which I was hearing as I see their looming figures emerge behind Charlie’s. Charlie’s own laugh though is more like a scoff, as if he refuses to give me the satisfaction that I made him express anything.

“How is it that whenever I find you, you are either on yer ass or on yer face? Eh?” says Arthur.

“Hello Charlie.” John smiles. Seemingly the only man here who knows manners. Some manners. “Taking a nap Byron?”

“No!” I grumble as a I get up. “This is the fourth time. I keep falling… I think on this exact spot every time. Be honest with me, did you pull one of those gypsy curses on me? one that would make me fall? Or better yet, one that makes me embarrass myself?” this I say jokingly to John, between all the Shelby boys that I have met, he is the one most extreme with his emotions. This makes him very trigger happy, razor happy, punching happy but also a genuine jokester when he wants to be. If I read the room and the air around him well, I’ll be able to get away with a few jokes here and there. Given that Tommy Shelby does not hand me the death card.

“Nah. That’s all on yer own shit luck, little man.” He laughs as he chews his toothpick. “Come on, you been working awfully a lot lately with tommy hellbent backwards over his horse,” john points to the stallion in question who had his big heavy head in a bucket drinking. “why don’t you come with us to the Garrison and have a drink with us eh?”

It was said all-in good-natured humor, with a devilish smile and an arguably boyish dimple. But those eyes. Those eyes that were cold like ice, like cold dead frozen frost on a dead stags’ antlers. Not just frightening but also a telltale of death and all that comes with it. he would not accept no for an answer. There was never an option of no with these boys, these men. And their humors and smiles and laughs always masked it, but never concealed it.

“Of course. Let me clean up a bit then. Yes?” I try.

“No need mate. Here.” Arthur grabs a wet rag, one that I had been using to clean the horses and put a little shine on them, and proceeds to forcefully shive my face in it. momentarily panic aside I realized he is jokingly wiping my face. With a sinky, wet rag. For horses. “There you go. Now let’s go.”

I laugh it off as well. Men and their jokes. For some reason girls and later women never do such practical jokes on another. Or at least the equivalent of. With men, you push them, punch them, swear at them, say rude things about their sisters and after good minute of brawling they are best pals and all is well in heaven. But if you do this to a woman? God forbid, you nudge them in jest.

We walk out of the yard and I watch the people part a way for them – not me, them – like Moses and the Nile. Ever since I began my work for the Shelby’s that day I have been seeing this sight every time they walk and I never get used to it. women turn away not necessarily in fear, not at least the same fear they have when faced with a lecherous drunk, kids hide but peak curiously from their little hidey holes and if he is in a good mood, John would wink at them or boo them. Scare them off to their mothers. But the men, they had a reaction more visceral than anything I had seen.

The wild, rowdy, rude disgustingly vulgar men who would piss and spit on the shoe of any random person their didn’t like, these very same men would part ways, stand on the side of the walls like children when the school headmaster walks past them. They would look down and only down and their shoes as if they are the most fascinating thing in the world. They would take their hats off and bow their heads. “Hello Misters Shelby.” They would say. “Evening misters Shelby.” – “have a good day misters Shelby.” – “it’s on the house misters Shelby.”

How truly fascinating.

Is this what being a powerful man like? I think to myself often. Because I have seen men without power. And I have seen women in power. But nothing is quite like this. When a woman is in power, I think from what I’ve seen from being with my mother, there are two types of men usually.

The first, are the men who hate it. or resent it. they have some problem with a woman in power. Either they envy her, resent their own position, they want to take their woman in the kitchen or something. They ridicule the women, talk shit behind their back. Call them mean bitches, nasty shrews or moody cunts. The term moody mare was used so many times. This specific type of men, even when in a position lower, would still act like annoying little know-it-alls. We dealt with them plenty of times during the war. When dad and the boys were away and we were trying our best to keep the training business afloat. They were simple workers. New higher. And they still acted as if I – the girl who learned to ride long before I learned to walk – didn’t know the difference between a stallion and a filly. Their vulgar jokes about horses and my mother…

I’m sure no one would dare to behave like this around Tommy Shelby. Even if he is a Gypsy man of the working class.

The second type, were arguably better than the first if you feign ignorance to the look in their eyes. There were men who suck up to my mother. Pretending they respect a woman in her station. It’s fine, right until you see their gaze. Their crazed, hungry look like a feral stallion presented with the fillies of the royal family. Disgusting. Their fantasies and their needs that clouded their judgment.

Mother once said, when dealing with such man, that regardless if you are down on your knees or up on a pedestal, whether you are a queen of virtue or a loose whore, weather you are a mother or a daughter, weather you are aware of their eyes and smile to their gaze or ignorant and innocent to all their wolfish fangs, whether you are as nude as eve or as covered as holy marry herself, whether you are a friend, an enemy, a colleague or a stranger on the train. It is all the same for them. The is no escaping from the desires of men and what brews within their minds. We cannot control that. It was all fine that she had said that to me when I was fifteen and kissed for the first time.

It was not fine that she had said that was the ‘infernal agonies of being a woman’ in this world. Perhaps she had forged my world view. Perhaps it is her making that I am here. Standing between two of the most feared and respected men of Birmingham. The men accused of horrid violence and men whom I have seen relish in violence. And here, I wish nothing more in my life that I was like them.

For children to run away, for women to fear their lives and not their virtues and for men to part ways and not dare look me in the eyes with a grin of condensation.

I thank God for this opportune moment to be my own man. I promise myself to light a candle in the church tomorrow.

With a delighted shout of Arthur we entered the Garrison pub and the boys poured drinks on top of drinks enjoying themselves. They had no worries at all, the said happily that tomorrow they want to go to the fair. Enjoy themselves a bit of fresh air and get Fin – their youngest brother – an enjoyable day of fun with no worries.

How nice. I though. To have siblings that are still alive and get to take you out on a ride to the fair in a car. Then bitterly I remember. I used to have a car. I used to have a fancy beautiful car. Then I had to sell it away.

Why did I have to give away my life, all that was valuable and dear to me because I was not dear to my mother. Why. I ask myself. Then with a shake of my head, I discard all thought. I down a glass of gin with no more thoughts of lost dear things.

The day I stepped in Birmingham was the day I promised myself I would discard all nostalgic notions of memories or things that I hold dear. It is of no use to reminisce over things that are all gone and done with. The house, the car, the jewels, the fur, the lace, the horses – all 20 of them – they are all sold away and all I can do is to trust that my judgment on good respectable buyers was true and right.

Instead, I make a mental note. One day, I will have a nice car. No, I will have the nicest. And the 20 horses we had? I will have a stable with 200 horses. At that I snort into my fourth glass of gin. 200 horses, that’s a lot of shit to shovel. 

I drink and I drink and I think somewhere in the middle John shoved a lunch sandwich in my mouth and I  aet that. I remember them laughing and I remember them joking about a young boy turning into a man. I was good with holding my liquor, but even I –secretly a woman – could not go toe to toe with the likes of Arthur and John Shelby.

Later, when the men had their fun, they left and of course I wasn’t with them. They left the Garrison doing God knows what and I had to look at the clock on the wall to know I was almost late for work now. Honestly these men. Just because they are irresponsible idiots doesn’t mean everyone else have no obligations. 

With a drunken buzz I stumble and sway down the road. Thankfully, at least to some degree I know how to nurse drunkenness and the hangover afterwards. Curtesy of family thanksgivings at grandpa’s house. As I walk pass the stores one by one, I casually look at the people and their store windows. Walking slow helped with balancing myself in hopes of not making a fifth embarrassing fall in muds and I quietly observe and occasionally give a respectful tug to my cap as I walk the people I know. The butcher, the store owner I purchased some home appliances from and the seamstress that I visited once or twice. I see that they respectfully nod or smile at me, the ones that only know me as the young boy who comes and goes and those who have seen me with the Shelby men, they still behave kind and polite but with a small apprehension of a skittish cat. Ready to run away to avoid capture.

I smile mentally at the notion. I never though of myself as a power hungry person. I always though I was a person that simply was…good. A kind, generous hard-working woman who simply lives a mostly virtuous life. I suppose everyone thinks that about themselves. That they are good and kind and even though they may not be perfect that are at least not that bad.

I am beginning to think that I am in fact that bad.

Good. I’ll be able to survive here at least.

As I walk pass the clothing store my eyes catch a beautiful albeit modest blue dress with green little vines sewn on it. I almost wish I could have bought it. wised I could have worn it. I suspect the bodice had to be adjusted to my smaller breasts but the rest would fit me like a glove. Maybe Byron should buy a dress and send it to his family. Maybe.

It is then that I see in the reflection of the glass a small green patch moving. I turn in an instant to see a woman in nice green clothes. Like really nice clothes. They seemingly looked modest but really, they were not. They looked like a city woman’s attempt at working class. I would know. I tried the same. But it never works like that. You can’t wear clothes that are simple and say you’re working class. Because the clothes aren’t what people look at. Even here these people have really nice clothes they keep for weddings and such.

Rather it’s the little things that set her apart. Her hair was one of them. Beautiful styled long blond locks that sat in perfect waves with no split ends or soot stuck on it. her face was unlike any women in these parts. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was exactly, but I knew we were cut from the same cloth. In some ways at least. Another thing was her hands, from where I was and what I could see she had delicate gentle smooth hands, tell tale of not a single day of working class daily life.

Interesting.

“Excuse me, sir?” came a sickly-sweet voice, with an Irish accent from a pair of sweet and pink lips. It took me a moment to realize that the pair of soft pink lips belonged to the lady in green and the sir in question was  me.

“Yes, how can I help?” I ask looking her up and down. I had almost answered with a what do you want. Maybe that was more appropriate for the persona of a working-class stable boy but some things even I couldn’t change.

“Can you tell me the way to the Garrison pub?” she asked all polite and nice. What a classy lady.

“What business you have at a pub?” I ask as any man would while giving her an incredulous look. It was interesting to be the one handing out the look and not be the one on the receiving end of it. I do wonder if I make the same expression as hers when treated this way.

“I saw the advertisement for hiring in the papers.” She spoke. “Can you tell me where it is?”

Maybe I was wrong. She doesn’t seem all that bright if she’s explaining herself to any stranger. Or I should be careful because she’s using me for information or as an alibi.

I think I am being paranoid. But it would be safe to keep my eyes on this little lady in green.

“Alrighty miss.” I say with the smile of a young man pleasantly fooled or rather charmed by her. “You see that road? You go down there and after passing two cross roads you take a left at the second street. Go down four alleys and you’ll see the Garrison on your right. it’s a relatively big place and has a big sign. No way you’d miss it.” I say pleasantly.

Was there a more straight forward way or even a shortcut to the Garrison? Yes. Did I what her to deal with drunks and feel unsafe on purpose? Maybe.  Do I feel bad? Not necessarily. I feel if little miss covert here wants a job at a pub, she should at least have a handle on things such as potentially dangerous idiots. 

I reach the yard and right as I push through the gates, I am met with the unholy visage of the blue eyes devil himself. “Hello mister Shelby.”

“you are an hour late to the afternoon shift and you reek of alcohol.” He sates. That’s something I’ve noticed he does. He only states things like he’s reading facts. No emotions or depth behind his words and no indication of what he expects in response.

“My apologies mister Shelby. Misters Arthur and John invited me for drinking and I thought it would be rude to refuse.” As always honesty is better when not prompted by violence or force. If I tell the truth before he pulls a razor on me there is less chance of me getting killed. “It won’t happen again.”

“Me brothers got you drunk?” he asks as he takes a long drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke in my face.

“Well, the kept offering and I reconned it would be impolite to refuse misters Shelby.” I bow my head.

“So it would.” He agrees in a tone that seemed as if he’s mocking my submission to his brothers’ requests.

We both began to walk down the small path to the stables. I walked a step behind and kept my eyes on the road looking at his shoes as he walked leisurely.

“You never went to France did you boy?” he gave me an over the shoulder glance and nudged his chin upwards beckoning me to walk faster with him. to walk next to him instead of behind.

“No mister Shelby. A month after I turned eighteen the war ended and no matter how much I wanted to serve the crown and fight along with me older brothers and father…” I trailed off here. My brothers. My father. How I miss them. “I had no right to be disappointed that the war had finally ended.”

“I suppose not. No one should want the war to continue.” He says and lights another cigarette as he watched me begin the afternoon work and check on the hoof of the very same horse that got me my employment. “So, your brothers served. Where are they now?”

“They all died.” I snapped, glaring at him. what right did he have to pry on such private matters? Then again he was the king of peaky devils. The damned blue-eyed devil himself. He saw himself with the right to do anything.

“My condolences.” He simply says. He puts off his what I can only assume is the millionth cigarette of his day and turns on his heels and leaves me. at the door he turns around just enough for me to see one third of his face blocking in the setting sun. “You can refuse them. My brothers. Your job is more important than playing nice with John or Arthur.”

And he’s gone with the gate closed behind him and I am left in the dark with two large horses and look at me with their ears turned forward and their inquisitive eyes. As if they are asking if that is truly the life, I have planned for myself or that perhaps the awfully devilish but barely visible smirk of Thomas Shelby was truly aimed at me. 

“Of course, mister Shelby.”

[misscarolineshelby]

Spanked

Part Two: First Day

Pairing: Modern Tommy Shelby x Reader Words: 1,345 Warning: None…This is only the beginning!

Original Blog: @queenshelby (this is just my backup account as I have been having Tumblr issues)

When you told your friends and roommates about what had happened to you that morning, they couldn’t believe it.

Whilst you were excited to be working for one of the largest enterprises in the UK, they were more intrigued by the fact that you were going to work directly for Thomas Shelby who was a well-known business man and who was quite popular with the ladies across the country.

The 39-year-old had quite a reputation which is what attracted these women. But you decided that you wouldn’t be one of them.

According to your friend, he was the perfect mix between an elegant business owner and a working a class man. He was different to many others out there and, unlike the other men in charge of other big corporations in the UK, he had built his wealth by himself.

Of course, when you read his name on the business card, you remembered reading the rumours in the papers. According to the London Telegraph, he was said to be involved in some illegal businesses as well and it was believed that he had built his empire through drug trafficking and illegal race fixing. But these were just rumours. Thomas Shelby hadn’t served any prison time and was never convicted of any crimes. It was only his brother, Arthur Shelby, who was charged with two murders but never convicted.

He was also involved in politics, having acted as an MP until it became too boring for him. Luckily for him, he maintained connections to other politicians and judges and, miraculously, he had no problems getting licences for any and all of his business operations.

But none of this bothered you much. You saw this job as an opportunity and stepping stone of some sort.

***

Despite your lack of interest in the man himself though, you listened to your friend’s advice when it came to appropriate office attire.

‘You cannot possibly wear this’ your roommate said as she watched you put on a grey coloured suit and a black blouse.

‘That’s what you wear to an office though’ you said somewhat confused while looking into the mirror.

‘Men like something to look at. At least wear a dress and show some legs. You never know, you might even find your prince charming’ your roommate then said with a cheeky smile before disappearing into her room and returning with three dresses for you to choose from.

Of course, she had a point. You had been single for two years and, before that, you had one boyfriend who was just as nerdy as you were. He was your first and your last.

After trying on all three dresses, you chose an elegant knee length black dress but, when you put on some stockings and shoes, your roommate shook her head again.

‘Oh god no. Please let me style you’ your roommate insisted.

‘No, I don’t have time’ you huffed out, looking at your watch.

‘I will style you up for your first day and then I will call you a taxi. I will use my father’s credit card. He won’t even notice’ your roommate said and, after some convincing, you reluctantly agreed.

Your roommate quickly found some suspenders and stockings in her draws and made you put them on. Then, she looked for some shoes, but none of the ones she owned would fit you.

Eventually, she found a pair of black high heels in your other roommate’s wardrobe who, luckily, had the same shoe size as you.

Finally, she applied your make up and straightened your hair. It looked perfect and she was certainly impressed with her own work.

‘Holy shit, I am fucking awesome’ your roommate then said and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘I look good’ you said somewhat surprised as you looked into the large mirror in your bedroom.

‘You fucking do. Go and get yourself a suitor’ she teased you and you shook your head.

‘No, I am there to work, not to flirt. Despite, I don’t even know how to flirt’ you admitted and your roommate couldn’t help but giggle.

***

When you arrived at the offices of Shelby Company Limited, you were greeted by a tall dark-haired woman who showed you to your new office.

It was near the reception area and you were surprised by the layout of the building. Everything was made of glass and the floors looked like marble. It was incredible.

Lizzie explained to you how things worked around the office and told you that you would be reporting to a man by the name of Michael Grey.

‘I thought I will be reporting to Mr Shelby’ you said somewhat surprised, causing her to laugh.

‘Sweetheart, please don’t flatter yourself. You are here on your merit but no one new reports directly to Mr Shelby apart from me and Michael Grey. He only likes to deal with people he knows and trusts’ Lizzie said before handing you your office swipe card and a stack of files for you to look at it.

Just as you sat down and Lizzie took a seat right next to you, talking you through the accounting software the company uses, you saw Tommy enter the reception area.

He was accompanied by a tall blonde woman who was wearing expensive clothes and was carrying a Louis Vuitton handbag.

‘Who is this?’ you asked curiously, causing Lizzie to look up from the computer.

‘Elaine Sutton. Apparently, she is the flavour of the month. He likes attractive women who don’t talk much, which makes her perfect’ Lizzie chuckled, seemingly annoyed by the woman.

‘How did you become Mr Shelby’s personal assistant?’ you then asked and Lizzie chuckled again.

‘I’ve known Thomas since he was eighteen. I used to be married to his brother, John Shelby, before he passed away’ Lizzie said and you were surprised by her directness and openness about it.

‘Any more questions or can we get back to work now?’ she then said and you apologised to her immediately.

***

Throughout the day, you developed an investment scheme to lower the tax rates the company was otherwise required to pay in the next financial year. This was what you had mentioned to Tommy at the café and you assumed that it was what he wanted you to do when Lizzie handed you the relevant files.

As you were working through them one by one, you also became to notice that Tommy himself was quite the talking point between the women in the office.

His blue eyes, his expensive suits and what tie he was wearing was on today’s agenda in the lunchroom and you couldn’t help but be amused.

Then, all of a sudden, there was dead silence. The room went quiet and no one said a word as the man himself entered the lunch room.

‘Can I get you anything Mr Shelby?’ one of the service employees asked nervously.

‘Can you tell me where the cable ties are kept, please?’ he said in his low gruffy voice and, just when the employee nodded and told him that she would fetch some for him, he approached you.

‘Office attire suits you much better than coffee-stained clothes Y/N’ he observed, causing you to swallow harshly, smile and nod.

‘Thank you for the opportunity, Mr Shelby’ you stammered out in response just as the service clerk returned with some cable ties for Tommy and he walked off.

‘He knows your name’ a short brunette woman observed. ‘I’ve been working here for a year and he hasn’t even noticed me’ she then said before offering you a cup of tea which you gladly accepted.

‘Well, I spilled hot coffee onto him yesterday at the Coffee Bean Café across the road which probably made stick’ you said somewhat embarrassed, causing the woman to laugh before introducing herself to you.

Her name was Emily and she was also working in the business advisory department. Just like you, she was smart and nerdy and you knew that you would be getting along well.

Tag List:

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@peaky-cillian  @queenyshelby ​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy​  @midnightmystic​

[sirensmojo]

"Big Bank!" - Hubby! Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Big Fluff, Old Money love story vibes.

Summary: Tommy decided to let his wife take care of his Gin. He comes to taste it for the first time after the Gin was met with great success.

A/N: We stand for a caring & trusting Thomas, sorry not sorry.

*Masterlist*

It was a windy day when Tommy entrusted you with his Gin distillery.

The sun was out, as your children were running around the garden, their giggling easing his mind. His head dropped backward on the garden chair as fingers of one of his hands were fidgeting with his cup or whiskey, as a cigarette was locked in between his lips.

Spring was early this year, much to your family’s pleasure. Spending time outside was something you loved to do, and knowing Tommy’s busy agenda, you made sure to make every family moment the best one.

No need to say time flew so fast, the days becoming months, becoming years.

Tommy and you was an evidence. From the day you bumped into each other in the London’s library his sister Ada used to work, you were inseparable. Thus you didn’t know each other for very long, but everything between you made this fact questionable.

You were acting as if you knew each other since children, a single look and you understood what the other thought. Not too many words were said, but not too many words were needed.

Although you weren’t Tommy’s first wife, you were “the perfect two”, making all the people you knew jealous and envious.

“My love,” you announced your presence when coming closer to the garden table as your husband was eyes closed. “I did some thinking.” You added, catching his attention.

Tommy straightened back his head and he was now facing you as you seated in front of him, glimpsing from afar of your three little boys.

“You know I don’t like your whiskey or any type of alcohol, truly.” You raised your brows, and he puffed on his cig, waiting for you to continue. “I want to make Shelby’s Gin.” You let out outright.

No need to turn around your wish, by the way he shifted position you already knew he was ready to hear anything, and you didn’t want to disturb him from his peace. You knew how he dearly appreciated those little moments in which he didn’t have to think about running a business or dealing with dirty gangsters and rude people.

“You want to do what?” He raised a brow not too sure he heard you well, but when he caught eyes of your lips curling at the corner of your mouth, he knew he had heard it well.

His family was his haven of peace and you would do anything to take off some weight off your Shelby’s shoulders. it was a regular task, a daily basis habit that you quickly took and that you’ll probably never lose.

“I already tried a mixture.” His deep voice accentuating your smile.

“It’s my turn now, you played enough with that, you need to focus on real business now. Put your mind elsewhere and let me fill my bottles.”

You couldn’t quite put your finger on what changed precisely, but you noticed a shifting in your husband’s expression along with the gleam animating his iris.

You thought it was worry.

You lost your father a few months ago due to lung disease and your mother died long ago when you were the age of your own children, and as an only child, you were now all alone without your parents.

Gracefully you had Tommy and the kids because if you hadn’t you didn’t know how you would’ve handled this loss.

As being a sensible cord, your husband didn’t bring it up, and he wasn’t the type of comforting people with words anyway, but he tried it his way, which means he bought you a ridiculous amount of new jewellery and books because he knew how much you liked to read and how you were a simp for big diamonds.

Incidentally, Tommy always found it funny how much time you spend with your nose in books while having a voracious appetite for jewellery. He would never miss an occasion to make fun of you when catching you reading as you had to wear glasses, and it was all funny and stuff till he too, had to wear glasses to read.

Now, in bed, you looked like two old people, instead, you were reading adventure and dramatic novels whereas he was stuck with political subjects.

“Okay.” He didn’t hesitate a single moment which made you smile.

“Okay?” you repeated, your smile growing as seconds passed. He straightened back, leaning over the table to you and his hands reached for yours.

You intertwined your fingers together with ease, sparkles spreading at the tips of each of it.

It was that way with every of his touches. He just had that power over you, which you were proud of as it was just love. It could never be anything else.

His deep blue eyes were anchored into your Y/C/E’s ones and you knew he was trying to bring you comfort. He knew what it felt like to lose people, and was ready to give you whatever if that meant to ease your pain.

You neared your faces and he ran his thumb over the end of your nose, down to your lips as cupping your cheek with his palm. Tommy’s head was slightly tilted to the side, his only purpose being to reach your soul with either his touch or his soul hidden behind his iris.

You leaned your head into his touch and closed your eyes for a second, enjoying that moment between the two of you as the breeze made its way to your neck under your mane.

Now, nearly five weeks later, all Birmingham was only speaking of the Shelby family as the people making “the good priced good gin” according to what you heard in the streets. From the fancy restaurant to the underground pubs, everyone in town had tasted of that oh so liked liquor.

Tommy first heard how good the gin was by his brother Arthur. He, who liked to get drunk all day long and all night long, was always keeping a bottle of it in his car or even on himself.

Then it was Ada, always offering him a drink of it whenever he would visit her.

(...)

It was 4 in the afternoon when Tommy walked through Charlie’s yard to join the Gin factory, when opening the door he was surprised to see you, seated at the old dusty desk filling paper and sipping on several cups.

Your husband frowned, “Y/N?”. He didn’t know if he should be worried or glad to see you working in such a place while drinking a lot knowing you’re not even a drinker in the first place.

You lifted your gaze to him and a huge smile instantly warmed up the atmosphere in the space, “Tommy!” You exclaimed as you got up. Being a bit dizzy you were strongly holding onto the table while getting up but you wanted to join him, and that’s when Tommy noticed your reddened cheek and little eyes.

“You’re drunk,” he stated, concerned. His expression shifted. He seemed a bit worried as he took one of your wrists to help you walk correctly.

You waved your free hand before you as to blow away his remark, “I was trying a new mixture for the Gin.” You informed him. You slid a hand into his rough one and stepped backwards, to the desk. “Here, choose one and tell me.” You proudly pointed to each of the cups. “This one on the left is spicy, the middle one a little too sweet for the Americans, this one to the right is the version that is out, and the last one is a bit strong. If the sadness hit too much.”

“The sadness?” Tommy asked while grabbing the third cup, being the gin that was already out. He was quite startled by how implicated his wife seemed to be, he didn’t actually think she would invest that much time and energy in this activity, but he was relieved she found a reason to get up every morning other than their beautiful family.

He knew how living a life without having or serving a purpose was meaningless and boring, even more, when being saddened by something you can’t control such as the death of a loved one.

The Shelby brother will sleep better now, knowing his other half found purpose somewhere, even if seeing her drunk was a sight he could never get used to…

At this moment, he felt the need to feel her skin under his touch before doing anything else, and that’s what he did, putting his hand at the end of her back, he pulled her closer, his thumb rubbing her skin over the fabric of her dress.

Tommy then drank from the cup and took his time judging the taste of it.

He opened his eyes and dropped the cup on the desk before turning to his wife, she was looking at him, impatience spreading all over her face. She seemed ready to hear Tommy’s opinion on her Gin... On their gin.

The blue-eyed man grabbed her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to Y/N’s. She closed her eyes a couple of seconds before opening them to a staring Tommy. He was fondling her cheeks with his thumbs before exhaling deeply, “I now understand why everyone’s talking about us, Shelbys, being fucking genius’, eh” He got distracted by her lips.

“This,” he pointed to the bottle standing at the corner of the table, and, once again, Tommy got distracted, he noticed words were present on the bottle down the name. “Distilled for the eradication of incurable sadness.” He read out loud.

A faint smile was found on his face before he agitated the bottle in his hand. He was proud.

He put down the bottle and directly sealed his lips to Y/N’s, the calling for love being too loud to resist.

That was exactly why it was her and no one else, she was always unpredictable and versatile. Who would have thought his bibliophile wife could be a real gem in the making of gin?

She put away, gasping for air before looking him in the eyes, “What? Did I never tell you the fact that my grandpa was making alcohol?” She teased his lips by speaking inches away from them, “I know one or two tricks. That’s why it’s selling well.” She concluded before pressing their lips together eagerly.

“This is a big bank, yea” He succeeded at saying in between two kisses.

[peakyblinders1919]

Recollection

Part 2 to collection

“What’s all this?” Voice monotone, he only asked out of courtesy since he knew the answer.

She came bearing gifts; it was always a good sign when she came bearing gifts. She must have been up a few whole hours before the sun to have accomplished what she did. A breakfast fit for a king, with eggs three different ways, bacon, sausage, porridge and freshly picked fruits from the garden tossed into a salad, freshly squeezed orange juice, plates of toast and jam, and his flowers from the night before in a vase as the centerpiece of the spread, always a nice touch. He took a seat and eyed the food, and her, somewhat hungrily.

“Can’t I just spoil my husband?”

“Well, as of last night I didn’t think I was such a thing to you.”

He watched her closely as she giggled. “Oh please, you know I wasn’t serious.”

He quirked an eyebrow her way as she wiped her hands on her apron, sitting across from him and blowing on the piping hot cup of tea in her hand for herself. “Oh come on, eat up. You’ll need your fuel today.”

An unsettling yet comfortable silence lingered between them as he studied her closely, though there was the faint sound of birds chirping in the trees in the orchard, making the scene a fairytale moment.

It was such a contrast to the night before, he wondered what had come over her. Last night she was a true vision throwing her jewels on the floor, and this morning she was the epitome housewife. She continued watching him, hoping he’d make a plate and truly accept her apology.

He poured himself a cup of tea and lit a cigarette instead.

“That was some stunt you pulled last night,” the words curled off his tongue, out of his rosy pink lips like the addictive smoke from his cigarette. “And I could almost say the same Mr. Shelby…”

The way the words rolled off her tongue, the formal title only used in a pleading manner. Her eyes were begging too, begging him for more. “Here.” A plate was put in front of him filled with his absolute favorites from the table, the gesture her final plea.

“Have you changed your mind since last night?” Eyeing the food, then her.

“What’s on the agenda for today? Will you be working in London or Birmingham?” It was blatantly obvious to him why she changed the question; she didn’t have an answer yet. Tension hung in the air like smoke, an invisible, unsaid pull between them, their words volleying their love, lust, and loathing for each other in perfect syncticy.

“Birmingham. Settling the Garrison tab and the labor strikes at the factories.” He kept his sentence short, why did she care about details finer than that? He held the power with his icy stare, silence continuing to linger, fighting against the incessant noise of time passing. He would sit there and continue waiting, waiting, however long it took to wear her down with those blue eyes of his. He knew what was coming, his mind just starting to wander when the scuffle of their undeniable love filled the hallway. The glue of their family saying good-bye as they’re carted off to school, Tommy normally would follow them out but he knew today was going to be different.

“You know, it’s been awhile since we’ve had the house to ourselves” she began, a tingling sensation sent down her back as she rolled her plump lips in between her teeth.

With a content sigh it was all confirmed, the breakfast and flowers and unanswered question.

“I really better get going-” he teased, getting ready to move towards the door ever so slightly, waiting for her to crack. He could read it on her face, in her body language, desire pouring out of her like red smoke.

“You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that, I said I have places to be”, *it doesn’t look good when someone of my status is late to work* he thought, though the more he thought the more he realized he could give two shits what his employees thought about him. She tried to hide the smile on her face, though it’s undeniable to ignore the feeling rising in her core. She knew what the others would say when she took him back like this, her cheeks flushed red at just the thought of the criticism she’d receive for seducing her cheating husband…

“What’s wrong then?”

“Nothing…” Pride swelled in his chest as victory settled over him. “And what did you have in mind?” He purred. Maybe this was the reason why he sought out others, why he brought her jewelry and flowers and Champagne as a “forgive me” gift, even on those occasions when he didn’t do anything to warrant them. Keeping her in the dark was dangerous for both of them of course, but it was a risk he was willing to take over and over again.

“Come on,” the words accompanied by his sly smile as he went to usher her upstairs, it was obvious who was in charge here. He had no choice but to push her skirt up her waist. Her hands worked quickly at his belt.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Finally apologizing…”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who should be doing the apologizing.” Now she was angry that he was taking this away from her too, but that didn’t measure up to the list of reasons why he was beyond infatuated with her and her toxic antics.

“It’s both of us who are sorry, hm? Is that right?”

“I’m giving you your heart back. Wrapped in a pretty bow.” Lips curled around her ear, traveling down her neck as he pieced back what he had broken bit by bit, inch by inch as he kissed between her breasts down to the spot above it where her heart lay below, beating unbelievably fast. Neither would admit how much they both needed this. Articles of expensive clothing scattered across the floor. A weight lifted off him to finally have her back in his arms rather than watching her leave. “I love you. I never meant to break your heart that way, you know I would never do that to you. I never stopped loving you, no matter what you believe, and I’m going to proper show you that. This is it. I promise. There’s no one else who does to me what you do. I care about you more than you could ever know.” Her pleasure and acceptance evidence in her moans spurred on by his words and his tongue.

In a tangle of limbs, he was inside her. Intimately, he found a way to her core that made her eyes gleam.

“You mean it? Really?” Her voice was already shallow, swallowed by her lack of air as he thrust into her at a rhythm that could only be described as love-making.

“I do.” His voice steady now, he swallowed a moan while looking her dead in the eye, fully. “I mean every damn word. I’ve got all my love to give to you. I love you. Don’t leave."

Truly want your thoughts on this and send in your ideas

[calif0rnia-lovers]

Lover of Mine #5.5 | Angel Reyes.

Series Masterlist | join my gc for updates since tags are acting weird

title: For Better, or For Worse.

rating: 💙 💔

As long as you're feeling the same, I'll follow you into the flames

sum: angel fears once it's out, his secret will be the final push you need to leave. instead of confessing, he sticks out the couple's retreat to give himself a few more days with you. he makes himself a promise: he'll tell you once you two return to santo padre. but a ghost from his past pushes angel's agenda forward a few days.

words: the standard for this series....long af (that's why I break it into sections so you know where to come back to when you take a break...but seriously, please take breaks on these long ass chapters)

Ez Reyes is a smart man. There is no denying it. However, Ez never thought he would struggle to tie a tie.

He is currently outside of his father’s truck. Kneeling before his nephew, Ez concentrates as he works through the instructions he Youtube’d earlier. A usually chatty Jeyson has been silent. He slept the entire hour's drive to school. When his Uncle woke him, Jeyson shot Ez a glare that reminded him of you.

Jeyson was fine the entire weekend that you were gone, but the moment he woke up this Monday to find you had not returned his entire mood changed. He has fought Ez tooth and nail the entire morning.

Ez glances up from the tie to Jeyson. “Hey, you sure you wanna go to school today?”

“I have to go to school” Jeyson mumbles.

“Yeah, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to take a break.” Ez offers Jeyson a smile. “If you’re not having a good day, it’s okay to stay home.”

“I don’t want to stay home with you.”

“That’s okay,” Ez chuckles. “What about Izzy?”

“I don’t want to stay home with her either.” Jeyson releases a huff before glancing down at his now fixed tie. He bends down to pick up his backpack. Slipping it onto his shoulder, Jeyson steps around his Uncle. “I want my mom to come home.”

Tommy’s gaze remains on the sleeve of his blue Stockton uniform. His fingers tug at the loose string resting against his wrist. He ignores the smirk on his older brother’s face. The passing of time has muddled the bruises on Tommy’s skin. The mixture of black and yellow stood out on the parts of him he's allowed to remain visible. No matter how he sits, the pain in his ribs is inescapable. Sleep has fallen to the way-side, the inability to get comfortable meaning he only gets it once he’s passed out from exhaustion.

“You didn’t tell me she was hot. Now I know why you were sticking up for her the other day--”

“I didn’t notice. I’m more worried about her getting me out of here.”

“Uh-huh.” Leo’s eyes roll as he watches his brother’s eyes pass over the crowded visiting center. “I’m just saying—”

“What’d you find?” Tommy’s fingers massage his temple, the irritation in his voice amplified by his brother’s antics. Lack of sleep and around-the-clock oversight and antics from Rogers has cut his fuse short. “If you didn’t find anything, you could've saved yourself a trip up here—and I could be asleep.”

“She’s not married—unless she has a habit of leaving her rings at home.”

“What? On the table?”

Leo shakes his head. “No. A jewelry box in the bedroom.”

“What about the kid?” “He has to be about eight, or nine? Name’s Jeyson. You were right, he’s definitely Angel’s. Wish I could show you the picture. He couldn’t deny that kid if he tried.”

“Yeah.” Tommy nods impatiently, motioning for him to continue. “What else?”

“Kid goes to some boujee ass prep school up north. Gilman something? Embroidered blazers, ties, the whole nine. His mom’s paying a pretty penny too, apparently, it's the best in the state. He’s into the typical shit kids are into. Star Wars, Spider-Man. Plays the piano, apparently, he’s actually really fucking good. Awards and all. His mom’s got him pretty busy. A lot of after-school activities. Looks like she and Angel rotate transportation...She must not be around right now tho.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Apart from the fact you’re still not transported to a new unit?” Leo scoffs. “The kid was with someone else when I was scouting. A girl and a kid with a prospect patch.”

“Mayans?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe his little brother...last I heard he was hemmed up here. Haven’t seen him around tho.”

“Maybe he got out?”

Tommy dismisses Leo’s suggestion. “Most cop killers don’t walk free. What else?”

“He’s not doing a good job of keeping his nephew safe. I talked to the kid.”

Tommy’s eyes open. “You did what?”

“He walked right off with me.” Leo quietly explains. He mistakes his brother’s silence as a cue to move forward with his story. “His uncle was so into his date he didn’t even notice the kid walk off with me--”

The sight of Tommy’s hand running down his face tapers the rest of Leo’s statement.

His voice comes out low, through his clenched teeth. “I didn’t tell you to touch the kid.”

“I didn’t touch the kid,” Leo’s eyes rolled. “I got him a funnel cake—” “I don’t give a fuck—” the slamming of Tommy’s fist against the table brings the room to a brief silence. The eyes that he has attracted linger on Tommy as his glare nearly burns a hole through his brother. Rogers shrugs off the wall nearby. He takes a step of warning in Tommy’s direction. “—what you did, Leo—it was stupid.”

“How else was I supposed to get him to talk to me?”

Tommy’s response comes out slowly. Each passing word increases his irritation.

“You didn’t need him to talk to you because I didn’t ask you to talk to him. Buying him a funnel cake, or whatever the fuck your grand plan was allowed the kid to see your face. He can open up his mouth and ID you—”

“ID me,” Leo snorts, dismissing Tommy’s claim. “Relax, Tommy. He’s not a state witness, he’s a kid—“

“Yeah, and according to you and his 'boujee ass prep school,' he’s a smart ass fucking kid, Leo.” Tommy lets out a long sigh. “The last thing I need is the kid opening his mouth to his mom about some random guy approaching him.”

“Don’t worry, I played it cool. Told him I was a friend of his dad. Maybe, if you had told me exactly why I went there I wouldn’t—”

It was something Tommy had explained to his brother during their last visit. The less you know, the better.

“I already told you,” Tommy rubs at his temple, the sudden throbbing causing his jaw to clench. “I needed to double-check something.”

“And that’s what I did.” Leo sighs. “What I want to know is, why the fuck you called me all the way down here to check pictures in some house.”

Tommy studies his brother for a moment. He shifts forward, his elbows settling against the table.

“You wanna know why I didn’t tell you? You don’t think, Leo. I ask you to do one thing—one fucking thing—and you almost fuck it up. If I wanted you to think I wouldn’t have told you exactly what to do.” Leo’s jaw tightens as his brother continues. “You trying to think leads to you doing dumb shit like kidnapping her fucking son—”

“I didn’t kidnap him,” Leo mumbles.

Tommy’s fingers massage his clenched fist. “You’re lucky I can’t reach across this fucking table right now.”

Leo’s gaze drops from his brothers. The look that lies in Tommy’s eyes is one he’s seen before—at least not directed at him. It’s the look that accompanied the acts that earned Tommy his nickname. Leo’s gaze nervously shifts towards Rogers who is still watching Tommy from his post.

“What do you want with her? Thinking she’s gonna give you a shot? Criminal is her type, and she’s definitely yours.”

“It’s not her I need. It’s Angel.” Tommy starts, his jaw tightening as his gaze remains on Leo. “And if you want Angel, you need her.”

“If she’s as good as you say, what do you need Angel for? You’ve been talking about her like she might actually get you off.”

Leo steals a brave glance at his brother. He watches as Tommy looks up from his tattooed knuckles.

“No matter how hard you pray, people like me and you don't come out on the right side of the law. No matter how fucking good she is, she can't get me out of this. This shit is stacked too high against me." Tommy’s gaze shifts to the clock overhead. “Did you find the necklace?”

Leo nods as Tommy stands.

“Good, go ahead and do what I asked.” Tommy pauses, his voice lowering as his gaze meets his brothers. “Nothing else, Leonardo. The time I'm looking at right now, I’ll fucking kill you right here if you pull some shit like that again.”

At some point Monday night, Angel abandoned his spot on the sofa to crawl into bed with you. His intention may have been to take one side of the bed, but to no surprise, he has failed.

You came to this revelation at two o’clock in the morning when you tried to roll over but found it to be impossible. You have been stuck on your back ever since. You attempted to fall back asleep but have not been able to.

Cheek pressed against your chest, arm wrapped around your waist, Angel hasn’t moved. He doesn’t move when your alarm goes off at 7:30 or when the knock comes on the door at 8:00.

The sleep Angel lost, the past two days over Tommy seems to have piled onto him. He only wakes when your fingers brush through his hair, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cheek.

“You have to get up and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” Angel mumbles. The sunlight peeking through the curtains prompts him to burrow his face against your neck. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you smile softly. “But, I’m hungry, and I can’t get our food with you laying on top of me.”

Your words are met with a huff before Angel rolls over. Resting on his back, he watches the fan spin as you get out of bed.

His first instinct is to check his phone. He pushes himself up, his body protesting with the sudden movement, once he realizes his cellphone is not where he left it.

“Where’s my phone?”

His palms pressed against his eyes as he pushes away the enticing thought of laying back down for a few more hours of sleep.

“It kept going off,” you look up from the plate in your hand. “Ezekiel kept texting you.”

“What did he want?”

Angel watches you shrug. “I don’t know. I put it in the drawer. I tried to wake you up, but you were literally dead.”

Angel releases a sigh of relief before reaching over to open the bedside drawer. Facedown, his phone has several notifications. He ignores the rest, focusing on those from his younger brother.

2:30 a.m. 📲 : You still up?

2:35 a.m. 📲 : Talked to Bishop. Found out what the shipment was

3:00 a.m. 📲 : Pretty sure I found something else

3:02 a.m. 📲 : Don’t know if this is the guy. If it is we might have a problem

3:03 a.m. 📲: Found this in the paper

3:04 a.m. 📲 : Check it out and call me back.

The last incoming message was a photo, the front page of the Daily Imperial Gazette. Angel scans the article as you climb back into bed. A few phrases stick as he reads, “Man charged in Santo Padre murder…” “Thomas Flores, 30, has been charged…” “...obtained representation from Lorente & Rothman…” “...Friday, Flores was denied bond…”

“I have to tell you something.”

Angel instinctively hits the power button on his phone. Glancing up, he realizes you haven’t even bothered to look up at him. Your focus is on the half-eaten croissant in your hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you explain as you take another bite of your croissant. “The case Samuel gave me—the one Aiden is helping me with—it’s for this guy. His name’s Tommy Flores. He has some pretty...intense charges, so you’re probably going to hear people talking about it soon. We had court Friday, and the judge...he’s pretty tough. He denied any form of a bond, he didn’t even bother trying to set a ridiculously high one.”

You glance up to find Angel’s eyes on you. His unreadable expression causes your brow to furrow. You mistake the look in his eyes as uncertainty.

“I honestly don’t think it’s anything you have to worry about.” Offering him a smile, you lightly roll your eyes. “But I’m going to have to start working late when we get back, so I need to know that what happened Friday won’t happen again.”

You wait for Angel’s response, but it doesn’t come.

“If I take over morning drop-offs, can I count on you to pick Jeyson up after school?” You continue. “Or, do I have to ask Isabela to do it...Angel?”

Angel blinks as your fingers snap.

“Are you listening to me?” The irritation he finds as his focus shifts to you causes him to nod.

Angel nods a second time as he takes in the look of skepticism on your face.

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

“So, you’re good with picking Jeyson up from school?” You clarify. “Every day of the week?”

Angel unlocks his phone, nodding for the third time. “Yeah. I’ll pick him up.”

“And if you can’t,” you reach forward. You catch Angel's chin forcing him to look at you. “You call and let me know the moment you find out?”

Nodding, Angel drops his eyes the second your gaze meets his. “I gotta call Ez.”

Despite his admission, your hand doesn’t drop preventing him from getting up. For a moment, Angel thinks you’ll let it go. For once, you will ignore the feeling you get each time you notice a change in him. It is something no one else in his life can seem to do. It is something you’ve been able to do your entire life. It is something Angel wishes you couldn’t do.

“What’s wrong?”

Angel shakes his head as you release him. He keeps his eyes trained on the plate in your lap avoiding your gaze as your touch brushes through his hair. It's a habit. Angel knows the moment he meets your gaze he’ll tell you whatever is on his mind. It’s impossible not to do when he knows you can read him best that way. He picks up what’s left of your croissant and takes a bite.

You sit your plate aside before closing the distance between the two of you. Angel’s eyes lift to meet yours as you settle on his lap. The warmth of your palms finds his cheeks as you take his face in your hands.

“I’ve known you nearly my entire life, Angel. I know you don’t believe it, but I can tell when you’re lying to me. Just like I can tell when you’re upset and anxious. And when you’re going to annoy me.” The soft smile on your lips brings a weak one to his. “There’s no point in trying to act like I don’t. What’s wrong?”

“You were right about Friday night. I wasn’t with Samuel. I wasn’t even in Santo Padre.” Angel lets out a deep breath. His voice low as your fingers toys with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Ez and I were in Mexico. I left when you were in court. I knew we weren’t going to make it back in time, but I didn’t want to have to tell you because I knew you’d be pissed.”

“What happened to your hand?”

He watches you lift it. Your finger traces the bandage.

“Cut it on a shovel.”

Your gaze lifts to find his focus on the path your finger traces.

“...okay.”

Angel shook his head. “It’s not okay—I fucked up. Forreal this time—“

"What? On Friday?” You let out a deep breath. “Angel, I know I freaked out. Missing the recital—yeah, it was fucked up—but it is not the worse thing you’ve done.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that.” Your eyes watch him release a tired laugh, his gaze down. "You defend me, even when you shouldn’t.”

It is true. Defending Angel has been second nature your entire life. Often you do it in response to others. But also in response to him. When you were teenagers, you learned a valuable lesson about him. Angel is his worst critic. He’ll talk himself down harsher than anyone, even those who hate him.

“It’s because I love you.” Your arms wrap around his neck pulling him into a hug. “Just because we fight and say stupid things to each other doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, Angel. If I haven’t been able to stop doing that our entire time together, I don’t know why you think a fight in a therapy session is going to be the final straw. Me not talking to you is just the easiest way for me not to say something I’ll regret later.”

Angel’s grip tightens around you as your lips press against his skin.

“At this point, there isn’t anything you can do or say that’s going to make me stop loving you.” The reassurance in your voice lifts his gaze to yours. “Okay?”

Your lips press against his in a soft kiss. You leave a second against his forehead before getting up.

“I have to take a shower,” you announce as Angel’s arm wraps around your waist guiding your body back towards his. Your fingers drift into his hair as his head rests against you. “There’s more food you should eat before we go out.”

The two of you stay that way for nearly a minute. Angel releases you as the sound of your ringing phone fills the air.

Silence from Angel Reyes is a bad sign. Such a rarity, it wrings your stomach into knots. It has been hours since you woke to find him sleeping against you. Angel has said just as little as he did in the morning. When you stepped out of the shower, you found him fully dressed and brushing his teeth.

You glance over your shoulder to find he’s standing where you last left him. Arms crossed over his chest Angel rests against the wall as far from the line as possible. With his sunglasses on, you can’t tell where he’s looking. The corner of his lips turns up into a small smile as you come to a stop before him.

“Who knew smoothies took forever to make,” he sighs as your arms wrap around his waist.

Resting your cheek against Angel's chest, you tighten your grip. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heart as his lips press against your hair.

“I want you to come somewhere with me tonight.”

“No,” Angel chuckles. You tip your head back, pouting as his gaze drops to yours.

He shakes his head as your weight shifts to your toes.

“Please,” you ask, your lips pressing a kiss against his.

“Last time I did that, you ripped me to shreds,” he laughs. “I haven’t even had time to recover from that.”

“It’ll be fun,” you promise. The second kiss you leave morphs Angel's smile into a grin. You leave a third, this one against his cheek. “I promise.”

Angel releases a long breath as you take a step back, a grin on your face.

“It better be,” he shakes his head as you quickly press a final kiss against his lips before turning to retrieve your order.

As you reach the corner, your cell phone vibrates in your back pocket. You don’t bother checking who it is. Aiden has called you three times. You had sent him a text message in response to his first three calls. Telling him to ask Isabela for help on whatever he needed.

The moment the call goes to voicemail, the vibration picks back up.

You force yourself to take a breath as Angel leads you outside.

“Hi, Aiden--”

“I know this week is supposed to be for you and Angel,” Aiden's voice comes out in a rushed whisper. “But, I need your help.”

“Where are you?” You ask as you take a sip of your smoothie. “And, why are you whispering?”

“I’m at the courthouse,” Aiden sighs. “I’ve been here all morning, and they’re giving me the run-around.”

“About what?”

“The Warden called the office this morning. You weren’t there, so I answered your desk phone. He didn’t give me many details, just that Flores was detained last night. They couldn't get him to say anything—to no surprise—but one of the guards said he was involved in an altercation with another inmate. Apparently, Tommy messed him up pretty bad—like...transported to the local hospital bad.”

Angel glances over at you as you slip out of his grip. You take a seat at the table he stops alongside.

In the short time, you’ve worked with Aiden, you’ve learned one thing. The moment he thinks there is something to panic about, Aiden will panic. So, if you sound stressed it kicks off his panicking.

Resting your face in your hand, you speak quietly. “So, he wasn't transferred on Friday as I'd requested? If he was he couldn't have gotten in a fight.”

“I know. Apparently this isn't the first one he's been in. The Warden said he looks like he’s been roughed up in the past few days. I’ve been here since first thing this morning—”

“Let me guess.” You rest back against your seat. “They told you there’s nothing they can do, with the prison being at full capacity they don’t have a cell for him?”

A brief silence falls over the receiver. Aiden’s brow furrows.

“Yeah—how'd you know?”

“That’s because it’s bullshit,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Judge Miller was hoping you’d leave and not press the issue.”

“Shit,” Aiden mumbles. “Shit, should I call Samuel—”

“God no. Aiden, I’ll tell you what to do, and say, just relax.”

“I lied to you.”

Angel glances down at you as your lips press against his knuckles. “About what?”

“About wanting to wait to get married.”

Your admission leaves Angel quiet. He opens his mouth to speak, but it closes as you place a second kiss against his skin.

You tilt your head back to find his eyes focused on the water.

“I was talking to Izzy the other day—not about getting married—but about you and...I mean...we’re trying to have another kid.” You backtrack as his gaze drifts to you. “That’s not the only reason, but I don’t want to spend another seven years playing house with you, Angel. I have tried so hard to find reasons why we should just leave each other in the past, but it’s impossible. I can’t help thinking that we’ve wasted so much time trying to fight it we should just get married.”

If he is excited by your words, Angel doesn’t show it. If he’s anxious by your words Angel doesn’t show it. The only response he gives is the furrowing of his brow as his pace slows before coming to a complete stop.

“I thought you’d be...a little happier,” you admit. The butterflies in your stomach seem to double in size as Angel's gaze focuses on your interlaced fingers.

“Right now?” Angel gently squeezes your hand, the smile slowly spreading across his lips causing you to shake your head. “A fancy place like this I’m pretty sure we could find someone to do it tonight.”

“Preferably with your son there,” you giggle as his lips press against your forehead.

“Just so you know,” Angel mumbles as he leaves a kiss against your lips. “You can’t take it back.”

“It’d be pointless,” you admit, your eyes focused on the incoming tide. “Regardless of what I say, you’re impossible to escape.”

“Like you said, it must be fate,” he teases as you step back towards the security of the shore.

“I didn’t say fate. I said I was tired of trying to outrun you.”

Angel’s eyes roll. “Okay.”

Pushing against his chest, you cause him to stumble backward making it impossible for him to avoid the incoming tide.

“Fuck—”

Angel’s scream is drowned out by the sound of your laughter. He tries to escape the chilled water but realizes it’s pointless as a second wave rolls through.

“Is it cold?” You ask the grin on your face prompting him to take a step in your direction. “Because it looked like it was cold.” The look on his face causes your laughter to return.

“You’re about to find out how cold it is.” The promise in his voice causes you to take a step back.

You catch sight of Angel’s smile before you take off running.

Between the giggles that leave you breathless and the sand between your feet, you don’t get very far before Angel’s arms wrap around you.

“I’m sorry, okay. Let me go, please?” Angel’s grip loosens as you turn to face him. “I really am sorry.”

A gasp escapes your lips as your feet leave the ground. Blood rushes to your head as Angel tosses you over your shoulder. It only takes a second for you to realize he’s turned and is carrying you back towards the water.

“Angel Ignacio Reyes put me down now!”

“Be careful what you wish for, baby girl,” Angel chuckles as he carries you into the water.

It doesn’t matter that you’re both fully clothed Angel carries you out until the water is waist-deep. He comes to a stop. Shifting you in his arms, he grins as your arms instantly wrap around his neck.

“You think this is far enough?” He asks as you take in your surroundings.

“I hate you,” you giggle as you meet his playful gaze.

“I could go further out,” he takes a step forward.

“Just do it.”

Judging by the mischievous grin on his lips, you expect him to drop you in. For whatever reason, Angel spares you a dunking. Instead, he carefully lowers you to your feet.

The chill of the water causes your grip to tighten around him. He waits until you’re standing to let go of you.

You can’t suppress the smile that finds your lips as he kisses you.

“You’re lucky you buttered me up beforehand,” he chuckles as you step around him.

He follows you back to shore watching as you glance down the beach, back towards the lights of the hotel. Your pace slows as you start in the direction of the hotel.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Despite the nod of reassurance, you force yourself to take another breath. You shake your head slightly, a tiny smile finding your lips. It takes a third breath for the feeling to pass. “I just—got lightheaded for a second.”

“Uh-huh. Funny how you get ‘lightheaded’ the second I take my shirt off. I don’t know why you still try and play this game at this point.”

Your eyes open in time to allow you the moment you need to react. Catching the shirt tossed your way, you watch Angel unzip his jeans.

"Angel put your shirt back on–I’m serious.” The warning in your voice stretches the smile on Angel’s lips. Your eyes leave him, long enough to drift back to the glow of the hotel’s lanterns still visible. The laughter and music cause you to step in his direction. “You are not getting naked on the beach! Are you trying to get us kicked out of here—”

“I wasn’t planning on going in naked,” Angel laughs. It is an admission of truth, but the sight of your panicked gaze causes a mischievous grin to take over his features. “But, I’m down to if you are—“

“No—"

“You know what?” Angel nods as he tugs his foot out of his jeans. “Your plan is better.”

“Angel—“

There’s no point throwing in a protest. Angel has fully stripped down to his briefs.

You step forward as he moves to push them down.

“I am serious, Angel. Do not do it.”

He rolls his neck before letting out a loud, and exaggerated, “fine.”

“But the only way that’s coming back on,” he nods towards the shirt in your hands before taking a step back. “You gotta join me.”

“I’m not doing this.”

Angel shoots you a look of skepticism as he takes another step towards the water.

“You’re already wet,” he chuckles. “Might as well get in.”

You remain where you are as Angel turns and makes his way into the water.

He waits until he’s waist-deep to start swimming out. He disappears out of sight as you drop his shirt to the ground. Stepping out of your flip-flops, you roll your eyes as you watch him resurface under the moonlight.

“Hurry up!” Even with the distance between the two of you, you can see Angel’s grin in your mind perfectly.

Despite your initial protest, you stay in the water for nearly an hour. Angel stands alongside you. His right-hand rests against your spine, his left interlaced with yours as your float. He watches you, his eyes admiring the moonlight against your skin as you focus on the stars above.

“I can’t remember the last time I looked at these,” you admit.

He smiles as your eyes drift shut. “Mom used to freak every time she caught us sneaking onto the roof to look at them.”

“That’s because you fell off one time. Nearly gave her a heart attack.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time.”

You bite back a smile as Angel’s lips lightly brush against yours. They drift to the bridge of your nose as you release a soft giggle.

“Speaking of mom’s, yours came by last week.” Angel watches as the smile on your face slowly fades. “You were at work. I was taking Jeyson to school. She said she’s been calling you.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you admit. “She’s blocked.”

“I was thinking...since we’re heading back a day early, we should stop by your mom’s on the way back–”

“No.”

Angel releases a deep breath. He wasn’t naive to think you would jump at the idea. But, since seeing her, Angel couldn’t get the thought out of his mind.

“I know ya’ll don’t get along, but my mom’s not here to see Jeyson grow up. I think he should be able to know the grandparents he has left.”

“I get that, but I’m not doing it.”

Your eyes remain closed as you concentrate on the waves gently pushing against your skin.

Angel doesn’t say anything else on the subject. He knows your response will stay the same. It has for the past nine years. He also doesn’t say anything else because he knows he’s the reason you won’t budge.

The hatred your mother has for Angel may be misplaced, but she is too stubborn to admit it. She has always blamed Angel for many of your actions, starting when you were kids. Anytime you didn’t go through with what she had planned for you, Angel was to blame. You missed curfew in high school Angel was to blame. You skipped school on your birthday Angel was to blame. You didn’t attend the college she spent her entire life preparing you for Angel was to blame. You got pregnant out of wedlock Angel was to blame.

It had all came to a head at your baby shower. Angel wasn’t there, but it was the first time he’d ever seen his mother truly angry. Sure, Marisol had gotten mad at Angel countless times. But seeing how mad Marisol was as she recounted the fight she had witnessed between you and your mother, Angel was shocked.

He never asked what words were exchanged, and he didn’t have to. All he knew was that from that moment forward, everyone avoided the subject of your mother.

“I get what you’re saying, Angel,” you sigh. “But, if my mom truly wanted to get to know Jeyson she would apologize. I can’t bring our son around someone that has said the things she’s said about you. If she can say them about you, she can say them about him because Jeyson is your son.”

“Shit, I really look as bad as I feel?”

The smile on Tommy’s face grows as you look up. The heat covering your skin seems to rise as you start to speak.

“No—” You wince. “I’m sorry for staring—it’s rude.”

“It’s all good,” Tommy chuckles as he watches your eyes leave his.

He watches as you bite your lip. Whatever is on your mind, you don’t share it. Instead, your eyes linger on the bruise beneath his right eye. You’ve seen enough damage on Angel to know how bad it must have looked a few days prior.

“Hey, relax.” Tommy shifts forward in his seat, the sound of his shackles dragging across the table causing your attention to refocus. He meets your gaze. “The Doc cleared me—gave me my two Advil and sent me back to my cell. I think it’s safe to say I’m not gonna die.”

Despite the smile on his face, your head still shakes.

“Yeah, but I still feel bad that it happened. I was supposed to double-check the clearance of your paperwork.”

“Trust me, it’s not your fault,” Tommy chuckles. He watches your eyes drop to his freshly bruised knuckles. “It’s mine. The funny thing about this place is, you always run into people from your past. My mom used to said I never knew when to stop talking. I might have said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

You watch as Tommy’s eyes briefly drift over your shoulder to where Rogers sits in the corner. His smile returns as his gaze drifts back to you.

“So, I take it you had fun.” He notes your raised brow before backtracking. “The Warden said he called your office and your boyfriend answered, said you were out of town.”

Your eyes roll. “Hey, go easy on my boyfriend. He’s the one who went to the courthouse. From what I hear, he slammed Judge Miller hard because your paperwork has been approved.”

You take in Tommy’s skepticism. You slide the signed form across the table, allowing him a better view.

“Signed by the Warden as well,” you point out. “Thanks to Aiden as soon as we’re done here, you’re being moved out of the unit.”

“No shit?” Tommy chuckles. He nods in approval as he scans the form. “I’ll be sure to thank Aiden when I see him. Guess you were right. He’s got some balls after all...Look, I know I’m not the easiest client….so um….Thanks for pushing for this. Making sure everything was straight. Most people would’ve just left me where I was.”

“Yeah, well I can’t have you die before I get fully paid.”

The laugh Tommy releases brings a smile to your lips. He settles back against his chair as you pick up your pen.

"I need you to understand that this new assignment may not be your favorite," you explain. "You're being moved to a new unit, but I can't get you moved again. That means, you can't do anything else, Tommy. Do you understand me?"

Tommy nods. He looks up as your hand finds his.

"This," your lift his hand forcing him to take in his swollen knuckles. "The shit you pulled. You're lucky they didn't throw you in AdSeg. That's 23 hours in your cell. No phone calls, no visits. Nothing. The only reason they didn't throw you in there is because they messed up, and didn't want Aiden to draw a motion against the judge. I don't care what you have to do, but you better learn to walk away from a fight. Now."

"I know." Tommy sighs as you let him go.

“Then do it. My job is already hard enough as it is. I can't have you trying to kill someone while you're already here for murder. Plus, the judge is pissed because of the paperwork Aiden had to file. That's not good for either of us. So, that means I need your help.”

His brow raises, the corners of his lips turning up into a smirk. “I thought I was supposed to be the one asking for help.”

“True, but help is a two-way street.”

Tommy hesitates for a moment. His eyes drop to his knuckles as he lets off a light shrug.

“What do you need?”

“For you to tell me why you were meeting with Alexander Maddox the night you were arrested.”

Tommy’s smile fades quicker than it came. His jaw tightens as he shakes his head.

You sit forward resting your elbows on the table.

“Tommy, if it’s about the MC.” Tommy’s eyes lift for a brief second. Long enough for you to catch a glimpse of the shock in his eyes. You lower your voice. “I know you’re with the Horsemen—”

Tommy shakes his head. “Look—I get you got a job to do, but—there’s just shit with the MC I can’t talk about—”

“I know how this stuff works—”

“Got a lot of personal experience with an MC?” Tommy asks.

His question causes you to release a deep breath.

“If you don’t want to tell me anything, fine. But when it comes down to it, Tommy. People will cut you off to save themselves.” The irritation in your voice lifts his gaze. “That shipment you were carrying, was not a dime bag. Your brothers will let you go down for this. Hard. They will let you rot in here for the rest of your fucking life if it means avoiding a R.I.C.O. case.”

Tommy’s brow furrows. “What’s a R.I.C.O.?”

His question throws you off. The pure confusion on his face causes you to backtrack.

“You seriously don’t know what that is?”

“I mean—I’ve heard of it...how do you know what it is?”

“It’s what you pay me for,” you remind him.

“Then I guess I’m paying you to explain it to me.”

The moment you step outside of the elevator, you come face to face with a wide-eyed Isabela.

“Is your phone dead?” She asks the irritation in her voice causing your brow to arch.

“Off—I had a client meeting with Tommy. I thought I told you—”

Isabela ignores your response, her eyes focused in the direction of your office. “Yeah, whatever. I’ve been calling you for the last freaking hour—”

“Sorry—ow.” You wince as Isabela catches your arm. She pulls you to a stop. “What?”

She releases her grip, but she sidesteps. Blocking your path, Isabela places both hands on your shoulders. She ignores the look of confusion on your face, her gaze studying yours.

“How are you?”

Her question causes you to hesitate. “...Fine...why?”

Isabela takes another moment to study your eyes as if she doesn’t fully believe you before nodding.

“Just so you know,” she sighs as she takes a step back. “I did not let her in. Aiden did. He didn’t know any better—bless his heart—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your mother.” Isabela winces at the look on your face. “She’s in your office. Promise me you won’t make a scene.”

“It’s never me you have to worry about,” you mumble.

When you enter your office, you find your mother is not where Aiden asked her to sit and wait for you.

She is standing behind your desk studying a photo that she holds in her hands.

“Put it back.”

She jumps at the sound of your voice, her body turning so that she faces you.

“Put it back, please.”

Her eyes return to the photo of Angel seated on his bike. A grinning Jeyson is seated in front of him, clinging to the handlebars.

“He looks so much like his father.”

You cross the room. Taking the photo, you place it back in its original resting place before dropping your purse onto your desk.

“What do you want?” You ask as you watch step around your desk.

“Is that a way to greet your mother?”

“According to the last time we spoke, I don’t have one.” You recollect as you take a seat. “It’s been...nearly nine years, so my memory might be a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure that’s what you told me.” Your brow furrows as she moves to take the seat across from you. “There’s no need for you to sit. This conversation won’t last long. I have a meeting in a few minutes. What do you want?”

Your mother’s jaw tightens as she remains standing. Her eyes roll as she speaks. “I take it he didn’t pass along my message.”

“He did pass along your message, actually,” you admit. “Believe it or not, Angel said I should call you and listen to what you had to say. I just chose to do what I’ve done for the past nine years—ignore it. If you’re not going to answer my question, mom, then you can leave.”

“Your father and I want to see our grandson—”

“No.”

She expects more, but your attention has already moved on to the papers you’ve dropped onto your desk.

“See, I told you the conversation wouldn’t last long.”

“Y/N,” your mother objects. “It’s been nearly nine years.”

Your fingers interlaced as you force yourself to take a deep breath. You surprise even yourself as your voice comes out quiet and calm.

“I told you before. I do not want you near my son, and I meant it. I don’t care what excuse you’ve come here to give today. I’m not changing my mind. Your only hope is to speak with his father, and hope he’s more forgiving than I am.”

Aiden stops in the doorway, his eyes widening as he reads the room. He takes a step back but pauses as you give him a warm smile.

“Hi, Aiden! Please tell me you haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

“No,” Aiden clears his throat. His eyes briefly pass to your mother whose gaze remains on you. “I haven’t.”

“Good. Can you order two of whatever you’re having? I’ll pay. We have to go ahead and look over this case.”

Aiden nods as you add, “great. Can you also escort my mother downstairs? She’s ready to leave.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your retreat.”

Aiden’s apology breaks your concentration.

Seated on the floor of your office, Aiden has his back pressed against your desk. His usually polished appearance is disheveled. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His tie and jacket are discarded on the back of your chair.

His apology is one he has been working himself up to share for the last three hours. Each time he thought of sharing it, he’s backed out. At this point, he’s run out of pointless conversation and has reached the bottom of your takeout container that he took over.

“What are you talking about?”

Aiden’s eyes remain on the chopsticks in his hand.

“Isabela told me not to call you about Tommy,” he clears his throat. He steals a glance in your direction. “She said it should wait until you got back—but as usual—I panicked and called you. Now you’re back early--”

“Aiden, you didn’t ruin my retreat,” you sigh. Your palms rub against your tired eyes. “It was rocky was to begin with.”

The admission silences the office. Aiden nods before opening his mouth.

“So,” you smile as you lightly bump his shoulder with yours. “Please, don’t worry about it. Angel was probably happy you called so he could leave.”

Your gaze returns to the slow-paced printer. Upon learning you were coming home early, Aiden had sent you a text message.

📲: I have some stuff to show you about Tommy.

And by “some stuff” Aiden meant a board. He had stolen one of Samuel’s whiteboards from the conference room. The entire surface is covered in your notes and information from Tommy’s files.

“I can’t believe you did all this while I was gone,” you stare at the board. “Your girlfriend might think you’re spending too much time on me.”

Aiden’s smile is sheepish. “If I had one, I wouldn’t have had time to do this.”

“Well, remind me to find you one because this is amazing.” The tease causes Aiden’s smile to grow. “I’m serious, Aiden. I can’t believe you thought you couldn’t be any help.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” he shrugs, his gaze focused on the paper in his hand. “They’re all your notes, I just organized them.”

His eyes widen, a grin finding his lips as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Call it whatever you want,” you smile. “But I still get to say thank you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he rubs the back of his neck before glancing over at you. “We’re a team….speaking of...I found this.”

The picture he lifts is not new. It is one you’ve seen before. Your brow furrows as you take in the pregnant woman on display.

“I already know who that is,” you admit. “It’s the girlfriend of—”

“Alexander Maddox.” Aiden nods. “Right. I kept going back to your notes. You had one question. Why was Tommy meeting with Maddox in the first place?”

Your head shakes the confusion on your face prompting the rolling of Aiden’s eyes.

“How is this the answer?”

“You were asking the wrong question.” A mischievous grin slides onto his face as Aiden realizes you’re still not following his train of thought. “I can’t believe I figured something out before you—”

“Oh my goodness, Aiden—”

“When he was arrested, Tommy was carrying a shipment--”

“Yeah, something he shouldn’t have been doing by himself.”

Aiden’s brow arches. “You got a history of drug trafficking I don’t know about?”

“You’d be surprised what you pick up on this job.”

Aiden shakes his head as you motion for him to continue.

“While I was working, I kept thinking back to our conversation at the courthouse,” Aiden continues. “You said Tommy’s smart—"

“He uses people to get what he wants.”

“Exactly,” Aiden grins. He lifts the picture in his hand. “Why would Maddox meet up with someone from a rival club, in the middle of the night, with his pregnant girlfriend in tow if he was threatened by them?”

Aiden doesn’t bother answering the question. Instead, he waits for you to make the connection. The smile on his face remains as your eyes widen.

“Because he was there to make a deal.”

“Exactly!” Despite the smile on your face, Aiden’s face dampens. “...but that’s as far as I got. I don’t really know what made Tommy kill him—”

“Of course you do, Aiden.” Despite your reassurance and the confidence in your voice, Aiden’s expression hasn’t changed. “Your brain just needs a second to catch up. Maddox didn’t keep up his end of the deal. He probably tried to screw Tommy over. Not realizing that Tommy would kill him, girlfriend in tow.”

"Well, now we know why Tommy's been tight-lipped about that night. Probably doesn't want it to get out that he was skimming from the club's business."

The hug you give him brings the same response as before.

“I should help you out more often.” Aiden chuckles as you give him a squeeze.

“Careful,” you tease. “Angel’s not too fond of sharing.”

“Speaking of Angel…” Aiden’s gaze meets yours. “I know you asked me not to say anything to him about Samuel—”

“It’s okay.”

Aiden nods, but he continues. His rambling brings a soft smile to your lips.

“Yeah, but I just...I didn’t want you to think I was okay with what Samuel did.” His words come out quietly as he shakes his head. “The way he talked to you...it wasn’t right. You work harder than anyone here—including him—and for Samuel to do that was fucked up. I didn’t say anything in the meeting, and I should have. So, I just...I told Angel when he asked about it.”

“He would have found out eventually,” you laugh softly. “Besides, now Angel likes you.”

“For real?” The smile on Aiden’s face stretches into a grin as you nod.

A silence falls over the office as Aiden’s head rests against the desk. His brow furrows as your eyes fall to your hands. There is a final question on his mind. One he’s tried to find a way to raise since he started flipping through your notes on Saturday morning.

“Are you pregnant?”

The question lifts your gaze.

Aiden reaches into the pocket of his shirt. Your eyes widen as you take in the white card he produces. It is a card you spent the entire morning trying to find. The scheduled appointment one you have yet to share with Angel.

“It was in the notebook you turned over for me and Samuel to review,” Aiden explains as he passes the card over. “Don’t worry. I saw it before he did...I figured he was the last person you wanted to know.”

Your eyes focus on the date. A week and a half away. The initial scheduling may have been premature, but you couldn’t shake the feeling Angel was right.

“Uh...no—I mean, it’s too early to tell.” You turn the card over before looking up. “I should know by this date, so can you not tell anyone about this? I haven’t even told Izzy...or Angel for that matter. I don’t want to say anything until I’m a hundred percent sure.”

Aiden nods, a soft smile on his lips. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” You allow your head to rest back against the desk. “I don’t want to get Angel’s hopes up too early.”

It was the only thought you’ve had from the moment you woke up alongside Angel that moment. But as you glance back at the card in your hand, you know the truth has nothing to do with Angel. It’s not his hopes that you’re afraid of letting down.

You place the card aside, pulling your knees to your chest. Your gaze drifts to the board before you. The two of you sit in silence, eyes focused on your work. Silently willing your brains to come up with one more revelation before packing it up for the night.

"Alright," Aiden huffs. "I think we've gotten as far as we can get tonight."

HIs brow furrows, a chuckle filling the air as he fingers brush against your arm.

"Didn't take you for a tattoo person."

You glance over at him, following his gaze to the ink on your arm.

"Yeah, well, you've never been dragged to a tattoo parlor with Angel," you laugh. "Now, I try to avoid them at all cost."

"It's pretty cool," he grins, his eyes lingering on the design. "He has one too? Matching?"

"Yep," your eyes roll lightly. "Please don't tease me about teenage decisions."

"I won't," he chuckles. Aiden sits forward, lightly patting your leg before moving to collect the trash.

“Aiden?”

“Huh?” He glances up from the takeout containers in his hands.

“How long was he in Chino?”

“Tommy...uh, hold on.” Balancing the containers in his left, Aiden quickly rifles through the stacks of papers spread across the floor before him. “Says here...he was in Chino for....30 months.”

“Any way we can figure out where he was housed?”

“I don’t know,” Aiden admits as his eyes scan the wrap sheet. “His charges were nothing compared to now. Petty crime, so he wasn’t housed at maximum. Why?”

Once his question is met with silence, Aiden glances over his shoulder at you.

“What’s wrong?” The concern in his eyes slowly morphs to fear as he takes in your expression. “Did I miss something?”

“No, I did.”

“What do you mean?”

Before he can pose the question, you’re already pushing yourself to your feet.

“Go home, okay? It’s getting late—don’t worry about the mess. I’ll clean it up in the morning.”

Although you’ve managed to mask your expression, the trembling of your hands causes Aiden’s brow to furrow.

“You sure?” He objects. He quickly stands, stopping you from grabbing your keys from your desk. “I can send an email about his placement in Chino—”

“No.” Your response comes out more panicked than you want. You quickly backtrack. The reassuring smile you give Aiden not holding the weight it’s meant to. “I’ll do it in the morning. I have to go see Angel.”

“Okay.” Aiden nods. He passes over the sheet watching as you excuse yourself.

Jeyson Reyes sits at the table in the center of the clubhouse, his math homework abandoned. His attention is devoted to the bowl of skittles in front of him. He has spent that past minute carefully picking out his least favorite skittles—the yellow.

“Word on the street is you got a birthday coming up,” Angel accepts another yellow skittle before popping it in his mouth. Jeyson’s eyes widen as he briefly pauses the task at hand. Angel’s brow furrows as his eyes study his son’s face. “How old are you turning again? Five—”

“Nine!”

“Nine? Nah--that can’t be right.” Angel shakes his head as he takes in Jeyson’s broad grin. “I don’t believe you—”

“Uh-huh,” Jeyson nods, dropping another skittle into his father’s palm. “I turn nine in seventeen days.”

“Shit—”

“That’s another dollar in the swear jar,” Jeyson reminds him as he passes Angel another skittle.

“I know,” Angel chuckles. He rests back against his seat, his eyes lingering on your son as he quietly admits. “I can’t believe you’re that old.”

Jeyson’s nose scrunches. “I’m not old.”

“Yeah, you are,” Angel laughs, his hand brushing against Jeyson’s hair. “You’re almost an adult.”

“I’m still a kid,” Jeyson giggles as his eyes lift to meet his father’s. “You’re old—”

“Hey—I am not old,” Angel retorts, the feigned look of offense causing your son’s giggles to increase.

Jeyson reaches over pointing towards the beard Angel’s hand passes over. “You have gray hair—lots of it.”

His father’s gaze narrows as Jeyson’s grin stretches as far as his cheeks will allow. As if to soften the blow, Jeyson drops two more skittles into Angel’s palm before eating one of his own.

Angel’s smile remains as he watches Jeyson redirect his attention back to the bowl of skittles on the table.

“Have you thought about what you want for your birthday?"

Jeyson shrugs. “Not really.”

“Not really?” Angel’s brow raises. “You’re counting down to your birthday, but you don’t know what you want?”

Jeyson lets off a second shrug, his concentration on the skittles causing Angel’s brow to furrow.

“You know we’re gonna end up getting whatever it is you want,” Angel smiles as he ruffles Jeyson’s hair. “You’ve been doing everything you’re supposed to in school.”

Despite Angel’s words, Jeyson’s gaze remains down. He chews on the inside of his cheek. The action causes his father to slide the bowl of skittles aside.

“What’s up? You don't think you can get what you want?”

Nearly a minute passes before Jeyson answers Angel’s question. His voice comes out quietly.

“I want you to stay at home.”

Angel’s brow furrows. The response is not what he’s anticipating. “I am staying at home.”

“My home, not yours.” Jeyson clarifies. “Where mom and I live.”

“That is where I’m staying.”

“You didn’t Friday. Is it because you don’t like living with us?” He asks quietly

Angel’s eyes drift shut, the tightening of his throat causing him to shake his head.

“Your mom and I—” Angel’s voice trails off as Jeyson looks up from the table to meet his gaze.

It is a conversation neither of them has breached before. One Jeyson has found himself thinking about more and more. One Angel knew he would eventually have with his son, but he hadn’t anticipated it to be now. He had also hoped you would be around to help him.

“You having two homes has nothing to do with me not wanting to live with you—or your mom. You don’t remember it, you were too little, but your mom and I...we used to fight a lot.” Angel continues. “I wasn’t nice to her, and I made her cry a lot. So I had to leave. I didn’t want to leave you or her, but I also didn’t want to hurt you or your mom. It took me a while to learn how not to do that. Friday...I couldn’t come home because I didn’t want to fight with your mom.”

“You still made her cry.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Leaning over, Angel brushes his hand against Jeyson’s hair. His touch forces Jeyson’s eyes to meet his. “You know how you and your friends get mad at each other? Sometimes we get mad at the people we love because we don’t see things the same way. But your mom being mad at me has nothing to do with you. Okay? Just because your mom and I might fight, it doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”

The soft smile Angel offers him prompts Jeyson to give him one in return.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m staying with you and your mom or at my house. I love you. That’s not ever gonna change. Never has, never will. Got it?”

Jeyson nods, his smile growing as Angel places a kiss against his skin.

As Jeyson's attention returns to the bowl of skittles, Angel reaches into his kutte. He pulls out the white envelope that he found in the mailbox upon your return home.

He studies the unfamiliar handwriting. Printed in block letters are his name and your address. His gaze passes over the generic American Flag stamp and date pressed into the right corner. The lack of a return address causes him to flip the envelope over.

Angel waits until he comes to a stop outside of the clubhouse to give the envelope a second glance. Tearing the side, he reaches inside pulling out a single index card. The handwriting matches that printed on the envelope.

An anniversary gift for the Old Lady.

Angel tips the envelope. His stomach tightens as the chill of a silver chain hits his palm. The buzzing of his phone in his kutte pocket goes ignored. He doesn’t need to unravel the chain to know who the necklace belongs to. He has looked at the necklace nearly every day since he was eighteen.

The continued vibration of his phone forces an irritated “fuck” from Angel’s lip before he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“What?”

“This is a prepaid call from Thomas Flores, an inmate at the state correctional facility. All phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring. To decline the call, please press nine. To accept the call and all charges that will be incurred, please press one.”

Angel doesn’t remember committing the act of acceptance. A moment later, Tommy’s voice echoes through his receiver. For a man locked inside the walls of Stockton, his voice is calm and lighthearted.

“Damn, it’s been a minute since I’ve heard your voice, Reyes. Can you believe I missed it?”

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” Angel growls, his grip tightening around his phone. “How’d you get this number?”

“Come on, Reyes--give me some credit. I got it the same way I got your address,” Tommy chuckles. “I had to make sure to wish you a happy anniversary. It just passed, right? What is it six—no—seven years? Hopefully, the two of you are doing better these days—”

“Why are you calling?”

“That’s the funny thing,” Tommy sighs, the smile on his face stretches into a grin. “See, I was in my cell a few weeks back, thinking to myself—got a lot of time for that nowadays���and naturally, that led to me thinking of you. And how I missed my old cellmate. Then I remembered...you owe me a favor.”

“A favor? I don’t owe you shit--”

“That’s not how this shit works. I think the person who’s owed a debt gets to decide when it’s paid in full.” Tommy pauses, the silence from Angel’s end allowing him to continue. “Funny thing, I wouldn’t have even thought to call on you for this, but you made a simple mistake all those years ago, Angel. You talked too much...If you don’t want someone to use your Achilles, you don’t share it.” Angel’s brow furrows as Tommy’s words slowly begin to sink in. “Now, you know I’m not a religious man, but I bet you can imagine how good I felt when I realized that God, himself, dropped Y/N into my lap. What are the odds that she and I got brought together? Huh? It’d be a shame to let this God-given opportunity go to waste, don’t you think?”

“What the fuck do you want, Tommy?”

“A lot of things,” Tommy admits. “A turn with your pretty wife for starters. The way you put it, she’d do just about anything for you--”

“She’s not doing anything for you--”

“That’s okay,” Tommy chuckles. “You’ve always had my back when it came down to the wire.”

Angel’s head shakes. “No—Fuck this—I’m hanging up. I told you that night. One and done—”

“I take it you got my gift,” Tommy ignores Angel’s declaration. “And...judging by the unnecessary hostility I’m sensing in your voice, you took a trip down South recently.”

“I want what you took—”

“And you can get it back—scout’s honor.” The sincerity in Tommy’s voice would fool a stranger, but not Angel. “After you help me out one last time. For old times sake.”

“I’m not helping you do shit.”

“Damn,” Tommy sighs. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

“And you’re gonna leave her alone. Come up with an excuse, I don’t care. You’re finding a new attorney—”

“No can do, Reyes. See, I don’t benefit by losing her.” Tommy explains. “Unless you wanna consider my proposal. Last time I’m offering. I think you’ll find my way is the easiest—for everybody involved.”

A silence falls over the line. The trembling of his hands tightening Angel’s grip on his cellphone.

“Alright, well, my time is almost up,” Tommy yawns. His eyes pass to the clock overhead. “Plus, I know it was a lot to dump on you, so I'll give you the night to mull it over. Tell your lady I said thanks for visiting me today.”

Angel’s continued silence brings a grin to Tommy’s face. His chuckle fills this receiver.

“You haven’t told her yet….Tell me, what do you think she’s gonna say when your secret gets out? Do you think she’s gonna stick around this time? If that shit gets out, you’ll be facing more than some 18-month stint in Chino, Reyes. You’ll be facing some real-time. Ask your baby brother how that shit sits with you. All it’ll take is some rumors about the location of a missing state’s witness to start swirling...evidence anonymously getting dropped into the hands of the right people...then you and I just might be sharing a cell again.”

“Trust me, you don’t want that shit to happen.”

“Maybe...maybe not...only time will tell.” Tommy sighs. The calmness of his voice is the opposite of the feeling causing Angel to force out an unsteady breath. “Do me a favor, check with your old lady on how to get on my visitation list. I think you owe me a visit, make the shit quick, Reyes. Maybe she can get them to expedite the paperwork. You got a job to do, and your clock is ticking, homie.”

There is no need for additional words to be exchanged. Tommy hangs up, leaving Angel standing at the end of the driveway. No matter how hard Angel tried to resist—or tried to appear that he was—Tommy knew the hook was set the moment the call began.

When you pull into the clubhouse lot, you find Angel standing at the base of the clubhouse steps.

His eyes meet yours as you park, but he makes no move to meet you. The question is out before you can step around the front of your car.

“Do you know Tommy Flores?”

Angel’s eyes may be on you, but his mind is somewhere else.

“What?”

“Thomas Flores. He was serving time in Chino. Longer than you—thirty months—but you were there the exact same time. Did you hear about him while you were there?” Your question is met with silence. Angel blinks. His brow furrows as he watches you cross the lot. “I know it’s a random question, but Angel it’s really important. Okay?”

It’s common for people to cross paths. Chino is not a prison. It’s smaller than Stockton. Inmates flood in and out like clockwork. That's what your mind can produce in the time it takes you to come to a stop before him.

But it’s the look in Angel’s eyes that tightens your stomach.

It’s a look you’ve only seen once in your life.

Nearly two years ago. A night you hadn't revisited in quite some time.

When Angel had shown up unannounced at your house. This was nothing new.

Only this time, the pounding on your front door had woken you, Jeyson, and nearly half the neighborhood.

Your initial assumption was that he was drunk—it wouldn’t have been the first time Angel had shown up after a few beers and a shitty hookup only to find his way back to you. Begging you to let him stay the night, swearing to plead his drunken case, only to pass out against you the moment you were seated on the sofa.

Only this time—the moment you’d gotten the door open you were crushed by his weight. Angel's grip had been tight. The pressure caused you to wince as his face burrowed against your skin.

For once, you couldn't detect alcohol--just sweat and dirt. His grip had tightened as you tried to move back and take a better look at him.

You didn't get much out of him that night. The most you could get him to do was shower. Which was for the best because, by the time you'd helped him dry off, Angel's adrenaline crashed. He’d passed out in your bed a minute later.

In the morning, he didn’t produce much of an explanation.

"Sorry if I scared you last night," he'd mumbled as he headed to the door. "I know you asked me not to show up—unannounced like that but—I just wanted to see you."

“Yeah,” Angel nods. “I knew him.”

You wait for elaboration, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Angel takes a step back. He finds a seat on the steps, his left hand reaching up to rub his eyes.

“Yeah, I knew him? What the hell does that mean? You knew of him, or you kn—”

“No, I knew—I know him.” Angel releases a sigh, his fist crumpling the envelope he holds. “He was my cellmate.”

“No, he wasn't.” The response is automatic. The laugh you release echoes across the parking lot. The meaning behind Angel’s silence doesn’t fully register. Your brain is still reeling, trying to find a rational explanation to deny his statement and what it means. You shake your head. “No, he wasn’t. That is not fucking possible—“

“Cellblock D. That’s where they house all gang-affiliated inmates. They don’t give a shit if you’re an MC or not. It’s all the same.” Angel quietly explains, his eyes watching the realization begin to sink into your features. “They put you together with guys from other places, knowing you might not have a brother to watch your back if you need protection. Tommy’s cellmate had recently been discharged. So, after intake, I took the open space—“

“Angel, stop. I can’t have you telling me this,” you cut him off. The sight of your widened eyes not deferring Angel’s train of thought. “Do you know what this means for my case? Why couldn’t you just lie to me—”

“Because what I need to tell you is worse.”

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[pseudonympls]

From Wounds

Part Two of Love Blooms

Chapter CW: sexual references. smoker! bo

Chapter word count: 7.2k

Slamming the wood in the hole behind me I shed my blue uniform and sank to my knees next to the hearth, my flimsy slip the only barrier against the cool of the room. The emptiness.

Then the tears came.

Hot, thick and fast they spilled from me, Charlie meowed dolefully and encircled my prone body, trying to supply comfort where none could be received. Heavy gasps left my mouth and I felt the sadness bubble simmer and boil to a red hot poker of anger, torturing my insides with its frenzy.

Suddenly I wanted to hurt, wanted to hurt so much that I would perhaps cease to exist. How could he? How COULD he? Tommy left me, he promised, PROMISED that he would return. Return in a year or two and fill me with his children, dote on me ceaselessly, pick up our lives where we left off on that fateful day in 1939. 

How I longed to be handled by his rough, calloused hands again, explored by him, as he I. 

I was filled with rage. Anger at Hitler, at all the men who swore to invade Europe and our solitary island, to purge the land of what they saw was impure, to force their vile agenda on the rest of the world. Anger at Tommy for leaving me. Knowing he had no choice in the matter only made me more furious. My fists came to the rug by the hearth and my fingernails dug into the low pile until they ached. I wished to feel any pain, anything to override this hollow in my chest, in my heart.

I screamed and wept and fought with myself for hours, the frustration of the last seven months finding a place - its need to be released, the pressure valve squeaking with insistence. 

Slumped up against the wall in our - my - living room, after being catatonic for a while, I finally brought my left hand level with my eyes. Seeing the gold band Tommy had given me, as a symbol of our bond, of our everlasting kinship, made me want to heave.

Indignation rose up in my throat and I croaked at the ring, “H-how could you leave me” I whispered, tears falling from my eyes, the well which I had summoned them from thought to be dry, was replenished anew.

Fumbling with my right hand to pull the ring off I groaned, feeling the separation from my skin like the dismembering of a body part, the physical pain of it singing deep down into my bones.

“You promised, you’d come back, you promised me!” I half moaned, half screamed, and hurled the small ring across the room. It spooked Charlie as it bounced off the wooden sideboard, and rolled underneath the cushy loveseat in the middle of the room. 

I stared resentfully, hatefully at the spot where I knew it lay underneath the sofa, for a second too long, and then I was in floods of tears again, scrambling to my knees in an effort to find it, as if the ring contained Tommy himself, locked away, in his symbol of love and commitment for me.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m,-T-Tommy” I whimpered, my knees scraping painfully on the wooden floorboards, catching on an errant nail I hissed, but didn’t slow my search.

My fingers clasped over the cool ring and I brought it to my lips, kissing it like it was him, like I would never let him go.

“I’m sorry, I-I love you” I held the ring to my chest, and I knew then that was where it must reside. Later, I strung it on a simple golden chain I’d got as a birthday present when I turned sixteen, and hung the ring around my neck. I kept him close to my beating heart, the gold almost never leaving my skin. Looking at the pale indent around my ring finger I pressed into the tender flesh with my fingers, feeling the absence so much more pronounced now. Tommy would always be with me, warming my heart, but I had to start to learn that I couldn’t keep holding on to pain forever, I couldn’t keep holding on to him forever. I had to keep him with me, but in a different place now. Stored in my memories instead of in my heart. Little did I know, it was just the beginning of grief. 

At the bedside I politely requested my patients call me Nurse Worsley. Saying my maiden name spread across my tongue like the coppery tang of blood, but hearing it from the mouths of others was a soothing balm to my ears. Whenever someone slipped and said Mrs over Miss, my heart skipped a beat and I remembered who it used to beat for, whose sole purpose of pumping blood around my body was for - him and him alone. The memories began to fade but the feeling remained, permanently twisting like a knife in my belly.

* * * 

At the bedside I stayed, day and night, more often than not neglecting to stay in my own bed, merely taking naps where I could in the spare cots, being roughly awoken by a fellow nurse when an emergency arose.

One afternoon when my shift was almost at an end and the empty, meaningless life without work began, I was tending to the few potted plants we had around the wards, thumbing a particularly dry peace lily leaf, when I heard a raucous sound coming from the reception area.

We gathered in huddles, ready for action as we heard the echoes near us, freeing up trolleys and such to prepare for whatever onslaught was to come, but as the sound neared, I heard less and less chaos, and more and more laughter - more than I’d heard in a very long time.

Two Americans bearing a stretcher ambled into the ward, a man’s legs leaning off the side dangerously, as he laughed and winced at the same time, the other men keeping up his spirits as they jostled him around. 

All three in white t-shirts and blue shorts, varying degrees of covered in mud and heaven knows what else.

“Wh-what has happened?!” the doctor said, stepping toward them in great strides, and gestured to one of the free beds in the corner of the ward. 

“Bo was training and slipped into a…ditch, is that what you call it?” one of them said, scratching their head inquisitively.

“I thought this was something much more serious, having you rambling in here so loudly” the doctor scolded, dismissing the case with one hand and speaking to me - relegating the case to a subordinate in his impatience.

“Nurse Worsley, please take care of this one” I nodded and helped the men lay Bo out on the bed, the men removed the stretcher, and stood awkwardly by his side, bewildered expressions painted on their faces.

I slipped my glasses on and began to examine him, rolling back the fabric of his socks, caked in mud, I saw a fair amount of distention next to the bone, dark purple bruises were already beginning to frame the pale skin on his ankle. “How does this feel sir?” I said, pressing slightly with my fingers and feeling for swelling beneath the muscle, earning a prompt yell of pain from the blond man, wrestling with the bedcovers like they meant him harm.

“Shit!” he shouted, “Apologies, it really hurts, Ma’am” the American said, writhing on his stretcher like an unearthed worm, pain stretching his features.

“I am sorry about that, but I need to be as thorough as I can in order to help you” I continued my assessment, trying to touch him as little as possible - the nurse's best tools were her eyes, not her fingers, after all.

“I understand, Ma’am” he replied, and I thought I recognised that voice, but swiftly pushed that notion out of my head in favour of diagnosing the problem.

I turned toward the men who had brought him in and asked “What exactly happened, can you tell me in as much detail as you can, please?”

The shorter one of the two gingerly stepped forward, looking at his mate for support, but the other man's eyes were squarely focused on the purple, distended ankle in front of him, his face all but drained of colour.

“Uh, Private Burnham was doing his drills, as we-as we all were, but he, uh, fell into a ditch?” 

“Okay, and Mr Burnham, what did you hear, if anything, when you fell?” I needed as accurate a picture as possible to gauge exactly what had happened. Failing that, we could always x-ray.

“I heard this awful popping sound, and I’m positive my ankle…” he smacked his lips together, his face resembling the pale, insipid moon on a clear evening as he chewed his words  “bent the wrong way” he finally finished, looking as if he wished to stuff the words back into his mouth and swallow them whole.

“Please get Mr Burnham prepared for an x-ray, we’ll need to have a closer look at that talus” I had the orderlies wheel Mr Burnham away and practically glowed as I saw the approval radiating from Doctor Smith, not too bad for my first trauma case.

* * * 

“Mr Burnham your ankle is broken I am afraid, so it will be bed rest for you, for at least the next six to eight weeks” the Doctor pointed out the deep fracture groove on the smoky, black and white film of the x ray, and he winced in response.

There was little more we could do, other than to set the bones and keep them from moving,

“Ack!” Bo spat as I readjusted the cast surrounding his ankle, he brought large hands up to his face and peered through parted fingers as I worked.

“I am really sorry, sir, I just need to keep your ankle stable so the healing can start” I bit my lip at his squirming, unable to imagine the pain he must have been in.

“No-no, it’s fine, really, you’re just doing your job…Nurse…?” I finally stopped wrapping his leg and stood back, he lowered his fingers and gave me a pained smile - the light not quite reaching his eyes.

I hesitated, chewing on my lip for half a second before I decided “It’s Nurse Worsley, sir” - I picked up his files at the foot of the bed and pretended to leaf through them - knowing full well that I had already signed off everything for today, and nothing more needed adding.

“And you are Mr Robert Burnham, is that correct?” I half smiled as I checked his file - “28 years old, born in Massachusetts…” I scanned through the rest of his details “You are six foot six?!” I blurted out before I had a chance to even pause on the thought.

“That’s right, you can’t exactly tell that when I’m lying down, I guess” he smirked and gestured to his thickly casted ankle.

“My friends call me Bo, by the way” he raised an eyebrow, and flicked his fingers through his short blond hair, glancing away from me with a nervous look in his eye.

“Well, Mr Burnham,” I said pointedly  “I hope you have a lovely day, you know where I am if you need me” I replied curtly as I turned my back on him to walk back to the nurses station.

“Uh, Nurse?!” He called, and I turned, before the hem of my dress had time to catch up with my body, fighting a small laugh as I faced him again.

“Yes, Mr Burnham?” 

“I do need something, actually” he started, a wide grin on his face showing off an undoubtedly bright smile, despite his obvious pain and restlessness - the light shone from it and doused me in his glow.

I walked back to the bedside and tilted my head, “What can I do for you?” I asked, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. His relief at having corralled me to his side once more made me feel an odd sort of pull in my stomach, something oddly familiar, yet so alien.

“Well, Nurse, you seem oddly familiar to me, and I couldn’t help but try to place your voice, you were that nurse that bummed that cigarette off me a few months back, at the summer mixer, right?” he threaded his fingers together just below his ribs and I fought back a laugh, felt a blush creeping up my cheeks as I tried to remain professional. He surprised me, I hadn’t even once thought back to that night, the once sundrenched afternoon turned hot, stuffy evening, manning the mead stall, getting high off my own supply and itching for the cool burn of a cigarette between my lips - and he had been the one to provide that relief.

But all of a sudden it made sense, he had been the soldier who had given me the cigarette, those months ago at the summer fete, his face scrunched up in pain - not loose and light as I had seen him then, deep furrows carved across his forehead and his sky blue eyes narrowed.

“Oh, I-I think it must’ve been me, yes” I replied curtly, my mind casting back to that evening, remembering his smell, the woody, musky scent that exuded from him - not at all unpleasant but oddly comforting, magnetic.

“Well, you’re not all how I imagined you - not that I had been imagining you, y’know” he stumbled over his words. I was aware of how dark it had been in the alcove that night, how little of him I had seen. How my mind had filled in the blanks, etched features where there were none. A mere moonlit silhouette broken only by the glowing cherries that perched on each of our lips. The fireflies dancing in our vicinity, not lighting the way but providing a facade of detail, but I certainly didn’t remember the chap who gave me a cigarette being this handsome, this aloof - the only clue that alluded to these being the same men was his charm, his impertinence.

“Indeed, well I do think you ought to be resting, don’t you?” I turned on my heel and ran off at as slow a pace as I could muster, not letting myself hear a reply - if there was one at all.

* * * 

Crawling out of the initial devastation at the fresh hell of news, I threw myself into work. The hospital became my lifeblood, I lived to work. Tommy had always said I could do it - little did I know I’d be doing it without him by my side. Using it as a distraction from the ache, the absence.

The general and his men had also visited Tommy’s parents, they had reached out to me and I had responded, but seeing them as I passed the farm shop on my way to the hospital drove a stake through my heart, seeing Tommy’s eyes in his mothers, and his fathers smile, the way their dimples aligned. They had treated me like the daughter they never had from the very beginning, but I could barely stand the sight of them, in the end, truth be told.

I was able to keep my tears locked away for some time, until one day. Seven months and eight days after the general had come to my door and effectively ruined my future, torn apart my dreams and my love right in front of me. 

I had come to the hospital, ready to throw myself into my work once again to placate my eternal stomach ache, to find a bunch of marigolds, tied together with brown string laid on my desk.

My breath caught in my throat and I shrank away from the desk, seeing them lying there…was this…was this someone’s idea of a joke? An awful jibe. Who would do such a thing? My mind raced with the possibilities. 

It was not uncommon for me to get advances from men, but now there were far fewer. All the eligible men between the ages of eighteen and forty one had been drafted. Men in senior medical positions were exempt from the draft, so a few younger men remained on at the hospital. Working above us, some of them would have been far better suited to the army, an occupation for killing, as opposed to an occupation for healing. 

Which left a paltry selection. Not that I was interested, the broken shards of my heart still poked and prodded at my insides, my heart in principal and in memory still belonged to Tommy, despite all the time that I had willed myself to forget about him. Flitting back and forth between black, inescapable despair and utter denial that Tommy was lost, somewhere in the deep annals of Southern France, making his way back to me, fulfilling his promise every day as he weaved through the grass, trudged through the mud, to return to me. 

Looking at the innocent bunch of flowers like they would strike like a venomous viper at any moment, my fellow nurse, Belle, placed her hand on my shoulder and said “They’re from Vince. Doctor Murphy? Aren’t they lovely, freshly cut and in season, too” - she didn’t realise how much her words bit me, how they sank into my skin and rendered me immobile, how knowing that Doctor Murphy had put these on my desk, thinking it was a kind gesture or a casual flirt of some kind, meant to make me feel a hot rush of fancy or a blush of flattery - but all it made me feel was cold, sick to my stomach and deeply embarrassed.

“D-Doctor Murphy?” I muttered under my breath, still not quite capable of acknowledging them.

“Yes, I saw him do it just before you got here, he must be thinking of courting you, lucky you! He is awfully handsome, don’t you think?” The words swirled around my stomach like a winter storm: icy, sharp, and equally as numbing.

I turned on my heel and whispered into Belle’s ear “Tell the Ward Sister I’m sick, I…I need to go home and rest, tell her I’m sorry” I daren’t look at her face to see her reaction as I bolted out of the wing and down the pale blue corridors, the smell of cleaner and catheters filled the air and it was all I could do not to vomit right there and then. Finally, making it out of the side entrance I promptly threw up into a bush, what little I had eaten and drank that morning now lying between the branches of a hydrangea plant. Gasps and sputters pushed and pulled out my mouth, and the dew filled morning air did little to soothe my burning windpipe, or my tortured soul.

 * * *

“How are we feeling today, Mr Burnham?” I asked as I checked his chart - a little longer than usual, to buy time.

“I’m actually feeling great, uh, but I’m afraid my brain is turning into mush in here, have you got any books lying around?” he shuffled up the bed a little, back straight against the white metal bed frame. I could tell he was restless - how could anyone not be, surrounded by these four walls - the weak autumn sunlight pouring through the windows was hardly enough stimulation for someone as astute as he.

His fellows had brought him some clothing, grey trousers - that had to be severely folded up to allow for the cast, and dark green shirts - which he often wore with the sleeves neatly pushed up, his top button or two undone, revealing that white shirt underneath, a peek at the man inside.

“I’ll see what I can find, sir” I did a quick whip around the neighbouring wards and found a couple of books, The Road to Wigan Pier by George Orwell and a compilation of poems by Edgar Allan Poe. 

“Here you go” I said, proudly proffering my finds to him, earning another full watt grin.

“Well,” his eyes surveyed the floor as if he were following a trail of ants about their morning walk, or a terribly intricate pattern that he couldn’t quite discern - “I was hopin’ that maybe…you could read to me?” the sheepish grin reached his eyes and somehow made them sparkle with impish brilliance.

His smile was about as infectious as the common cold, and I readied my hands on my hips as my mind tried to pull together a decent response, but something in the way he looked at me made any salacious quip fall right out of my vocabulary.

“Forgive me, but I am the nurse and I am certain that it is your ankle that is injured, not your eyes - is that correct?”

He smirked and raised his eyebrows, a playful look about his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitched.

“I suppose you are correct, but, forgive me if I am wrong, but are you awfully busy right now?” 

“I suppose I am not” I hit back, glancing around at the largely empty ward, save for a few elderly residents that required minimal care.

“Well then, could you perhaps humour me, and read for me a little bit?” he waved the books in front of me, and something I shouldn’t necessarily have noticed jumped out at me - the way his large hands wrapped around the books, dwarfing them in his grip.

I sighed and pulled up a visitor's chair and folded my skirts underneath me. I sat and pointed to the two books now in his lap “Which would you like me to read first?” his eyes lit up at my acquiescence, the quirk of his brow and the way his sheepishness all but disappeared, replaced with a smug kind of self satisfaction that drew along all the lines of his face but was never spoken. Never uttered, only in body language did it rest.

“The Road to Wigan Pier, I’ve never heard of it actually, Poe can wait till later” he handed me the book, and I tilted my head to the side in mock surprise “Oh, Poe can wait until later?” a little taken aback at his conviction that there would even be a “later”.

“Oh yeah, I mean you are the one that said that she’s got a few weeks left, she’s still cookin” he nodded down to his ankle, then his eyes honed in on the book in my hand, an expectant look in his eyes that I would come to crave.

“You do have a few weeks left until we can start your rehabilitation, I suppose,” I agreed, hastily opening the book to the first page.

“The first sound in the mornings was the clumping of the mill-girls' clogs down the cobbled street. Earlier than that, I suppose, there were factory whistles which I was never awake to hear.” 

Unlike many of the patients I had read to over the years - depressed old men left without wives, or wriggling children, none had held their attention so closely to me, until Mr Burnham came along. I am certain, as my eyes danced across the page, his never left me for long. As I read, I attempted to look up every now and again, to engage him in the bleak story, to find that he was looking at me, eyes half lidded and relaxed, totally enraptured in my words, he nodded along at every slightly humorous moment, and shook his head at every sombre one, not once did I see his concentration falter, or his mind move somewhere else, he was firmly there, with me.

Mr Burnham largely kept to himself, as long as I supplied him with ample reading material and kept to our agreement of me reading him a chapter or two per week. As I periodically glanced up to make eye contact at important plot points or simply to get a break from the page, I memorised the way he looked at me. That gentle, unassuming look - like he would listen to every single word that came out of my mouth with his undivided attention, until the end of time - or at least until I finished reading. 

When I was busy he would often be seen writing in a small black book, and I did often wonder what he was noting down, the way he got lost in it - how it sucked him in completely, I almost envied how caught up he seemed, how fully lost in it he looked. 

To signal he would like reading to, he would put his little black book and pencil neatly on the bedside table, and clasp his hands together at his chest, catching my eye whenever he could, so often so that I couldn’t ignore him - I gave in to this more than a couple of times, leaning into the notion that he was pestering me to read - but all I wanted was to sit with him and while away an hour reading, discussing the finer details of a story, have his eyes on me.

“What do you write in that little black book of yours, Mr Burnham?” I enquired one morning, pointing to the well leafed leather bound book by his bedside.

“Words, mostly” he smirked up at me from the bed, his lips wrapped around a cigarette, the crumpled packet of Lucky Strike’s lying beside the book. Framing his bed with smokes and words - I had thought, how very fitting.

I raised my eyebrows in impatience as he plucked the cigarette from his lips and gave a deep chuckle “I’m joking, of course.” he waved the hand carrying it over to the book “I’m a writer, a poet, a playwright, or as my parents like to call it” a signature raise of his own eyebrows in response “A waste of space” he brought back the billowing smoke to his lips and inhaled deeply.

“That answer your question, Nurse?” his fingers interlaced at his ribs yet again, the dancing light caught on draughts of the early morning rain outside, reflected in his blue pools.

“I suppose it does” I sighed, looking out toward the dreary day, the distinct pitter patter of the rain was the soggy backdrop for today.

“Well, now that’s cleared up, would you be so kind as to read to me?” He pulled my attention back to him, and I swore I saw a flash of lightning in those eyes - but this phenomenon wasn’t simply a reflection, this time.

“What poem would you like me to read today?” I settled into my usual chair next to him, as I reached for the small pile of books he had acquired over the last few weeks. Poe was on top.

“Annabel Lee” he said without hesitation, shuffling back into his usual listening posture, back straight against the bed frame, his oceanic eyes and face poised for listening, the slope of his brow as relaxed as his body toward me.

He stubbed the spent cigarette in the ashtray beside his bed, his keen attention all focused on me in that moment - every moment I spent by his side.

“Okay, then, let me just” I flipped through the book in search of the poem, but Bo took it out of my hand and deftly found the page I searched for, and handed it back to me.

“It seems like you hardly need me to read to you at all, if you know this book so well” I took it from him with raised eyebrows, to which he replied “Oh, I have had plenty of time in here, but absolutely nowhere near enough of it has been spent listening to your sweet voice, Nurse” 

My mouth went dry at his words, every inch of my mouth soaking up every last bit of moisture as I absorbed what he had said to me, screwing my head on correctly I managed to summon up enough courage through my initial embarrassment. 

“I…Mr Burnham, you must be careful to keep our relationship professional, some people would consider what you just said to be teetering on the edge of what is acceptable” I huffed, mortification coating my words, tightening around my throat. 

“I’m just being honest, I could listen to you read to me all day” he threaded his palms together behind his head - clearly revelling at how uncomfortable he had made me, not caring one iota about what was acceptable or not.

“Unfortunately, sir, I do have other patients to attend to, and I am afraid that I would lose my voice if I were to even attempt such a thing” I regained some of my impudence, swallowing the embarrassment deep down inside me.

Feigning concern, he removed his hands from the back of his head and pressed one up to his chin - the blond bristles of a few days without shaving bowing down to his fingers “Well now, Nurse, we wouldn’t want that, not at all” after the moment had passed he smirked, and I saw another peek of his gorgeous teeth.

“But I am aware that my ankle is almost fully healed, and I wouldn’t like to waste a minute whilst I am in your care, so please, if you would?” his large hand gestured down to the open book in my hand, my own gripping the spine dangerously tight - at the way he dared to speak to me.

Colour heated my cheeks as I wilted underneath his compliments, and began to read.

It was many and many a year ago,

   In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

   By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

   Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

   I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

   Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

   My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

   And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

   In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

   Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

   In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

   Of those who were older than we—

   Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

   Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

   In her sepulchre there by the sea—

   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

“It really sounds different coming from you, more hopeful than sad” Bo mused, letting the words hang in the air like dust motes on a stream of morning light. They hovered for a moment, before I broke the silence.

“Do you think?” I closed the book and handed it back to him, my cheeks pink with the compliment he had paid me.

“Oh, absolutely, Emily” he smirked at his use of my first name.

“It’s Nurse Worsley, sir” I corrected him, brushing my hands down the front of my skirts, I was about to stand, before he piped up again.

“May I ask you something?” fresh lines on his forehead, etched in worry, eyes creased almost shut, I had a devastating feeling of foreboding when I sat down to read to him that day.

“You may” I took the poetry book back and leafed through a few pages, feigning interest at the words but they were mere blurs in front of my eyes, as my heart beat through my ears, the roaring almost insurmountable.

“Wh-why do people call you Nurse Worsley, and Nurse Davies? I couldn’t help but notice, over the few weeks I’ve been here-” I breathed, the raucous beat of my heart stilling its cacophony - it was not the question I had anticipated.

My anxieties bubbled just beneath the surface, not quite sure if he’d put the pieces of the puzzle together yet. I had never once mentioned Tommy to him - after all why would I have? Burden a patient with my woes, with my heartache, that certainly wasn’t a part of the oath we had sworn.

The current of tension had been palpable for a few weeks, although I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was merely one sided. How I had been so long without any kind of heat, perhaps I was getting overwhelmed with the attention - however platonic, my mind was whipping and moulding it into something completely different, his stolen glances, the way I had caught him looking at my hands. Surely it was all naught. 

“Oh, I-” I begun, but I found it all too difficult to continue, to realise the feelings that had been harbouring inside me for this past week, how I had pushed them aside as they filled that aching chasm inside, not wanting to truly come to terms with what I was feeling, and indeed who I was feeling them for.

A delicate mix of shame and self hatred swirled around my belly at how I had let myself forget Tommy already, only two years after his death, how I had spiritually moved on. 

“I’m married” I blurted, surely seeing those words slice like a knife through his calm disposition, the blue dulled in his eyes, even though he did well to hide it, I could tell that they hurt him.

“B-but my husband, he died, well, pronounced Missing In Action, in France, two years ago” - I didn’t think Bo’s expression could get any worse, but I was proved wrong. I saw the pain tear across his face like a right hook, almost in slow motion I saw his jaw tilt upward, blue spheres covered with his eyelids, scrunched tight. It mirrored exactly how his face looked whenever I touched his ankle in his early stages of healing. Wounded.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry” he eventually said, not a hint of unsincerity in his voice, his pallor positively dark grey in the misty morning light, he looked physically unwell, and usually, despite his broken ankle he was usually pink cheeked and chipper, I had done this to him. Drained him with only a few simple words.

“S-so the reason that I go by both names is because I know that I am married” - my fingers instantly went to the warm gold ring nestled against my sternum. “But I have not felt married, or loved” my voice cracked audibly and I resisted the urge to cry as tears filled my eyes “for some time now, of course” 

“Of course” he mirrored, and I saw his eyes glance down to my hand cradling the book in my knees, “I-I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have brought it up if…” he trailed off, beginning to gesticulate, as I finally regained control.

“It’s quite alright, it is normal to speculate on these things, anyway, Mr Burnham, I must really be getting back to my rounds” 

Instead of retorting back, he pursed his lips and nodded solemnly. As I walked away I bit back the tears, I had earned something from him I had with everyone else - pity. Little did I know how much that pity would change, into something much more beautiful. 

* * * 

My parents lived long enough to see me and Tommy wed, my mothers incessant shaking hands clutching together in joy as our friends and family threw rice at me and Tommy as we exited the church. Fresh faced and ready to start our lives together. My father next to her in his wheelchair, the love pouring out of the man that would sadly break my heart in two the following week, my mother not departing too long after him - death caused by a broken heart, they had said. It was indeed common for a spouse to pass shortly after their other half slipped through the veil. What was so puzzling to me is how I didn’t follow that rule - after learning of Tommy’s death - how it broke me. Physically and mentally, my body a mere shell of what she had been, my mind tortured daily with the ragged, weeping thoughts - the hopes that he may return, injured, beaten and skeletal - but return all the same. Still my Tommy.

We had failed to conceive, though not for lack of trying - in that first windswept year of our marriage we barely stopped, every evening a glorious opportunity for lovemaking. Every sleepy morning he would drag me, half naked out of bed and bend me over the footboard, and whisper delightfully filthy things into the back of my neck as we rocked our way into the morning. 

“The only way to start the day,” he said, pulling my limp, loved out form into his embrace before we ate breakfast together, still glowing from our union.

It was not to be, and as there was no way to test fertility at the time, we had quickly assumed that I was barren - my womb as dry and unforgiving as the desert. Knowing that I couldn’t bear a child, near enough broke me, and I spent many a night curled up in bed, my tears soaking the pillow beneath my head. Tommy’s body caging my own, trying to offer some comfort, my soul so irrevocably damaged by this blow. Perhaps my purpose in life was to help others, offer medicine and relief, to bear that cross for them, but not to become a mother. 

It was around aged sixteen that I began to attract the attention of the opposite sex. Men and boys, all around me, usually doctors in senior positions, would proffer themselves to me. Embarrassingly, I even received a few marriage proposals, of which I gracefully declined each and every time. I was told I was crazy by my friends, “But he’s a doctor” my friend Belle said. His status didn’t matter to me, what did matter was that I wasn’t interested in love, all I needed were my patients and my parents, I would reply. 

Starting my nursing degree I was bullied to no end. A lot of the girls and women I was housed with were a lot older than me, and I was told their malice came from a place of jealousy. The friends I did have told me that the bitter old crones were jealous of my dark curly hair, or my impeccable bedside manner. Some of these women would sooner maim their patient than heal them, I came to find out.

A few years later everything changed, when a new family moved into our small town. It was a rare occurrence you see. Everyone in our little town knew everyone. You got your milk from Timothy down the road, Peter by the stream kept chickens, and Doris the headteacher's wife was the town gossip. Everybody knew everyone, until the Davies family moved into town.

Eric Davies was the patriarch, an older man with a kind face, and moustache, around the age of my own father. Violet Davies, his wife, was a stern looking lady with a soft spot for John Steinbeck novels, and finally their only son, Tommy. 

Well, Tommy was special.

The Davies family moved into town and quickly set up their own garden and farm shop, utilising the fertile soil in our ground to grow the most incredible, exotic plants you’d ever seen. Great big towering greenery seemed to shoot up in no time, gorgeous colours and delectable aromas. They sold cuttings of the plants often, and they definitely were the talk of the town.

In my circles, the talk was less of the Davies’ impressive, towering flora, and more so their towering son. My mind was certainly not focusing on boys at the time, but Tommy got my head turning as much as he did the next girl. He stood well above the majority of the young men around town, his dark brown, curly hair and chocolate eyes making the girls of the town’s knees grow weak in his wake. 

A familiar passtime of many of my friends was to go to the Davies’ shop, buy a sixpence worth of flowers and spend most of the time ogling at Tommy, who was wearing a white singlet, his shoulders glistening in the heat of the afternoon, digging up parts of the garden to allow for new plants or crops.

I had managed to avoid doing such things for the longest time, by now I had achieved my nursing certificate and was practising at the doctors surgery, with weekends at the hospital. 

One particular patient I had at this time, God rest her soul, was Jean, Jean was suffering from a malignant tumour in her breast. The poor lady was only in her late thirties, and had a family by her side, day and night. The doctor in charge of her case told me, in no uncertain terms, that we had done all we could do for Jean, for now, it was just about keeping her comfortable, and letting her spend the rest of her time with her family, the small solace that would provide.

My stomach twisted with sadness at her and her family's predicament. I knew what it was like to have sickness in the family, it was life-changing, devastating. You needed every comfort you could get. Taking my usual route from the hospital, home, I passed the Davies’ garden shop, and saw the most stunning marigolds right next to the path. I gasped. I swore I had never seen such gorgeous foliage in my entire life. I immediately thought of Jean and her family, and without a second thought, I walked through the gate.

A little bell above the door announced my arrival, and I heard scuffling in the back.

I expected Mr or Mrs Davies to come out of the door but, instead, I saw their much taller, much younger son emerge from the back office. His hair, wild, his white singlet, stained a little with dirt from the garden, he shot a beaming smile at me, leaning his hands down on the wooden counter, his hands dark, dirtied from the yard work.

“Oh, hello there” I said, unable to ignore his infectious smile, sharing my own with him as he tilted his head to the side. 

“Emily…Worsley?” he said, his left eyebrow cocking up, which unexpectedly threw my stomach into a somersault. “Y-yes” I replied, eager not to linger, but the silence that drew between us was thick with something unnamable, and I stammered to reply something that resembled a sentence. “T-the marigolds by the gate, I was wondering if I could get a cutting of them…if you’d be so kind…” I stuttered, my nerves getting the better of me.

Tommy smiled, and that was the beginning of our grand love story. Marigolds, for a regretfully ill patient of mine, I have to thank for it all. For him.