#i will now be working on tommy filth tonight

[moonlight-prose]

AND TOMMY TAKES THE WIN

[burnthatbridge]

8x03 coda

buck being melodramatic about gerrard 'taking him under his wing' also on ao3 if you prefer

Buck spends an age in the shower at the end of their shift. He’s sooty, yes, sweaty, definitely, but no worse than usual, a lot cleaner than he has been on certain occasions — like after trying to dig Eddie out of forty feet of mud, for example. But, even when the water has long run clear, he can’t shake the sensation of being covered with dirt. 

In fact, when he finally shuts off the water, wraps a towel about his hips, his skin scrubbed pink, he almost feels worse, dirtier than when he got in. The surface layer of grime gone, uncovering the muck at the core of him. 

The locker room is almost empty, A-shift long departed: Chim home to Jee and Mara, Maddie heading out for her own shift; Hen meeting Karen for dinner, Denny at a friend’s. And Buck’s been trying to wash himself clean for long enough that B-shift have passed through, all changed from their civvies to their uniforms and headed out into the station, some away on a call. 

The locker room is almost empty. It would be completely so if it weren’t for Eddie. He’s seated on the bench, fully dressed in his street clothes and shoes, hair almost completely dry from his own — significantly shorter — shower, scrolling through his phone. But he looks up as Buck shuffles into the room, eyes on him as Buck opens their locker, hefts out his bundle of clothes and dumps them on the bench, a couple of feet along from where Eddie is sitting. 

“You okay?” he asks, locking his phone, tucking it away in his pocket, entire focus shifted now that Buck’s there. 

Buck nods, reflexively. “’M fine,” he states, aiming to sound it. As he tugs on his boxers, he tries to change the subject, “Thought you’d be out of here by now.”

He and Eddie don’t have plans this evening, and Buck had mentioned at the start of their shift — back in the inverse of this moment, when he’d been sitting on the bench, ready, but chatting to Eddie while he got changed — that he was probably going to see Tommy tonight, so Eddie can’t be expecting them to make any impromptu ones. But there’s no denying that Eddie’s been waiting for him, all the way through his endless, hopeless shower. 

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, but doesn’t say anything further. 

Buck towels his hair furiously, then rubs his shoulders, his chest, his arms down, hard. He feels itchy, like there’s a film over his skin, a coating of filth. He tugs his t-shirt over his head, slides his sweatpants up his thighs. Collapses down on the bench and reaches for his socks, pulls on one, then the other. 

The clothes are clean: the tee, socks, and underwear fresh, and the sweats only donned for an hour that morning, for his trip to work. And yet, he still feels unclean, tainted. 

Buck looks over at Eddie, finds him slouched on the bench, arms braced behind himself, already looking back. 

Buck looks away. Plucks at the fabric of his pant leg, scuffs one socked foot against the other, shrugs his shoulders against the scratch of his shirt tag at the back of his neck. Sighs. Glances over at Eddie again. Finds warm brown eyes still watching him, waiting for him, soft and open. 

“I hate him,” Buck says, low, even though Gerrard has absolutely already left for the day, isn’t around to hear his words, and turns his eyes to the concrete of the floor. 

“I know you do.” Eddie’s voice is as gentle as his gaze. “You’re not alone in that.”

And that’s true, but it’s also not, because– Because Buck has been singled out. And he knows what that means. Has heard all the stories of Gerrard’s first reign of terror, from Hen, from Chim, from Tommy. Knows about the people Gerrard had it out for back then, and the people he had on his side. 

“No,” Buck says, hears how frustrated it comes out, but also how plaintive, “I really, really hate him.”

Eddie doesn’t reply, waits Buck out, while he tries to work the tangle of his thoughts into something resembling a coherent statement that he can say out loud. 

Because he does, he hates Gerrard, who has been so awful to them all, Buck included, but especially the people Buck loves most. Hates him for holding nothing but contempt for them being the thing Buck loves most about them: themselves. 

“He’s– he’s so fucking horrible to everyone.” Buck says, needlessly, because of course Eddie knows this, has been both the subject of Gerrard’s disdain and witness to him turning it on the rest of them. 

Only now, since Buck attempted to murder him and inadvertently ended up saving his life, Buck isn’t included with the rest of them, isn’t subject to Gerrard’s terrible treatment anymore. 

“But, now, he’s being nice to me. Taking me ‘under his wing’.” Just quoting Gerrard’s horrifying pronouncement from that morning makes Buck feel sick, nausea turning his stomach, climbing his throat. He can still feel the ghost touch of Gerrard’s arms around him, poison leaching into him at all the points Gerrard’s body touched his own. “It’s like he wants to mold me into someone just like him.”

Gerrard has seen something in him, recognized the same rot in Buck that resides in his own core. Like calling to like. 

“It’s like I already am.” Buck shivers, scrubbing his hands up and down his own arms, trying, fruitlessly to slough off this feeling, to shed his own skin. The first shower didn’t work, and he could hold out a futile hope that if he takes a second once he gets home it will finally work, but he fears no amount of water can wash him clean of this. The stain on him Gerrard has spotted and identified as kin permeated too deep, sunk too far, into his soul to ever be cleansed. 

“Hey.” Eddie grabs for one of his wrists, squeezes and pulls Buck’s arm down, holds on as he says, “You are nothing like him. And you never could be.”

“But,” Buck argues, clenching his free hand into a fist, taking the pain of his fingernails piercing his palm as penance, “If he wants to– to mentor me, he has to think he can turn me into the sort of man he is. He– he must think I’m like him.”

Eddie snatches Buck’s other wrist, puts pressure into his grip until Buck relaxes his fist, fingers no longer biting into his flesh. “Even if he thinks that, he’s wrong.” Eddie’s tone is vehement, but turns to a scoff as he goes on, “And if that’s his idea of mentorship, he’s as bad at it as he is at being captain. You’re not supposed to coach someone into a version of yourself, you’re supposed to help them become the best they can be.”

“He definitely wants to coach me in his evil ways.” Of that Buck is sure. And it feels like certain doom. 

But Eddie snorts, amused at Buck’s phrasing, not seeming to believe that Buck is standing on the edge, about to fall into an irredeemable version of himself. “I’m sure. But he’s not going to have any success in that, Buck.”

“He’s not?”

“Definitely not. Sure, he’s going to give you terrible advice and you might have to go play golf with him, and do whatever other horrific bonding activities he wants, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to turn you into him. That’s impossible.”

“Really?”

Eddie nods. “He’d have more luck getting Chimney to agree you should always be allowed the clipboard during stock checks, and we all know how likely that is to happen.”

“Chim would never,” Buck says because, really, Chim would never.

“Exactly.” Eddie releases Buck’s wrists, lifts one hand to grip his shoulder instead. “I know it sucks right now but we will be rid of him eventually. And we’ll get Bobby back, your real mentor.” Eddie smiles at Buck then, a tilted, lopsided curling of one half of his mouth. “Not that I think you need mentorship. You’re pretty excellent just the way you are.”

Buck nods, hoping so hard that eventually will come quickly, that they get Bobby back sooner rather than later, and trying to believe in himself. He kind of has to when Eddie believes in him, because he will always believe in Eddie, trust in what he says. But he still feels the cling of Gerrard to him. He scrubs at his bare arms once more. 

“You’re cold,” Eddie says, misinterpreting the motion, perhaps purposefully so. “Here.” He tugs the hoodie he’s wearing up and off, holds it out to Buck. “Take this, you’ll feel better.”

“You don’t need to give me that,” Buck protests.

“Well, I am,” Eddie says, shaking the garment slightly, coaxing Buck to take it. He grins. “Besides, it’s yours anyway.”

It is, Buck realizes as he lets Eddie hand it over, the fabric familiar to the touch, soft and comforting. 

Eddie stands from the bench, shoulders his bag, smiles at him. “Have a nice time tonight. Tell Tommy I said ‘hi’.”

Buck nods as Eddie crosses to the door and leaves, calling a see you tomorrow back over his shoulder. Buck watches his progress out of the station through the glass wall. 

Once Eddie passes out the bay doors, out of sight, Buck pulls the hoodie on. And in it, still warm from the heat of Eddie’s body and smelling like a mix of both of them and the laundry detergent they use at the Diaz house, he finally feels clean. 

[sweetheartedbylust]

“Too much” Motley Crue x reader NSFW

💋

It’s a gangbang y’all.Okay, so I really couldn’t control myself so y’all are just about get some absolute filth . I hope i satisfied all the Stan’s . enjoy hoes :3

Also thank you to the person who contributed some ideas for this fic! Love uu.

Somehow tonight you found yourself hanging at the crue’s place. How? Long story . And you also somehow found yourself on the couch with there hands roaming your body. They were like best friends to you at this point so you were taken aback when one by one the nights antics of drugs and drinking catches up with all of you .

“Bet she’s all wet by now huh?” Nikki snickered as his lips were almost near your boobs. “Aren’t you sweetheart?” Tommy said, coming up from your neck littered with hickeys. As your response came out stuttered, cocky grins soon took over all their expressions.

“Haven’t even done anything to you yet and you’re already trembling..” Nikki said pushing his face further into your boobs, sucking and licking until marks were made on you. By now, Vince was down at level with your underwear. “You okay with all this?” Mick lowly said in the back. He was so sweet..honestly made you wonder why he hung around all of them.

“Yeah.. y’all are good” you said as Vince played with the waistband.

“Damnit Vince, hurry it up. I need her.” Tommy said as Vince quickly clapped back

“Shut up Tommy,if anyone’s gonna get this pussy first it’s gonna be me” he smiled as he finally pulled your panties down and handed them off to Nikki for some damn reason.

“Now why in the hell do y’all need those” you said as Nikki sly smile took over. “Oh you know baby..to shut you up or just to keep” . You were only able to process his response for a minute before Vince’s mouth was on your pussy and working. “That’s it, be all good and slutty for Vince” Nikki said.

“Oh she is, nice and wet for us ain’t you whore?” Vince said as he came up for a minute. As you nodded. Desperate for something to be on you. By then Tommy and mick’s pants were nowhere to be seen. And Nikki was busy making his way over to you.

“Come here baby” Nikki cooed as he pulled your head near his lap. “Now put those pretty lips on my fucking cock” and that’s all you needed as by now mick and Tommy were in your hands and Nikki was in your throat.

“That’s it mhm, good fucking slut” nikki groaned as he felt himself falling into his pleasure more. By this point almost everyone in the room was about to fall over the edge. Including you. As by now besides the moans, your desperate muffled pleas to cum were what was being said. “Go on Vince let her cum” mick said looking down to the blond buried in between your legs.

“She’s such a pretty thing, so precious” Tommy said before Nikki interrupted.

“Yet still she’s a dirty slut..aren’t you baby”.and that’s what sent you over the edge. Soon after that..Vince came up and before another man could do anything you were put on top of Nikki with the rest of them surrounding you.

“Now doll face, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna ride this man’s dick, while we all watch and get to cum on your little body. Got it?” And with a nod. You felt Nikki’s dick entering you. And the 3 of the other men stroking themselves

“You needed to be fucked..to be used in the only way you know how. You don’t wanna think do you?” Nikki teased. Thrusting his hips back up to yours with each bounce of your hips.

“Do it for us sweetheart. Give it to us” mick said his hands grabbing your tits. The other two men getting off with their hands. Every now and then getting a touch on them as well.

Tommy was by this point almost in your mouth. As by now Nikki was encouraging him to fuck your throat. And he did.

“Go ahead baby. Open your mouth” he said as you did. He started slowly thrusting his hips into your mouth.

“Good fucking girl, riding me good. You want my cum in you huh?” You couldn’t even make words even if your mouth wasn’t filled by Tommy. Chasing his release.

“I’m gonna fucking cum all in this tight pussy and they’re gonna cum all on your face. You want that don’t you” he teased. Letting you lay down on his chest as he bucked his hips up into you.

“You look so pretty taking it” Tommy said on the brink of his release with another groan or two. You could feel his cum coating your throat as he pulled out of your mouth. And as Nikki took a couple more hard thrusts up into your pussy. You felt the knot in your stomach come undone.

“That’s right.. take it all”. Nikki groaned out. Calming down from his high. His dick not leaving you.

And with a warning from mick and Vince, ropes of cum coated your tits and your face. As they all calmed down and you sat there.

“Are you alright..I know we all kinda went a little far” mick said sitting down for a minute as you nodded and layed back and soon one by one they all just layed down with you, also processing the events that just happened.

The real question was, Are we still friends or something else.

-

[pedroscurls]

Guys Night Out

Character(s): Joel Miller (pre-apocalypse) and Reader (female, second person POV)  Summary: Tommy takes Joel to a strip club. Word Count: 7,160 (lol i got carried away) Author's Note: This is just pure filth lol, no context, no backstory, just Joel finally getting some much deserved release😉 Warning: smut!!! (lapdance, p in v, oral m receiving, woman on top, doggy style, brief daddy kink, dirty talk) Songs: Pony by Ginuwine // Untitled (How Does it Feel) by D'Angelo (bold+italics = song lyrics)

“Come on, Joel,” Tommy said. “It’s just one night out and I know Sarah’s sleeping over at a friend’s. What are you gonna be doin’ all night?”

“I don’t know, Tommy, maybe actually get some rest?” Joel said, lugging his tools into the bed of his truck. He knew that Tommy was right; he definitely needed to let loose and have some fun, especially since he had been working nonstop for the past few weeks. 

“Sounds boring.” 

“It ain’t boring.”

“Ah, so you’re just an old man then,” Tommy smirked.

Joel narrowed his eyes and gently slapped his younger brother at the back of his head. “I ain’t old and you know it.”

“Sure beats me,” Tommy replied, rubbing the back of his head as he quietly chuckled. 

Joel sighed and looked over at Tommy. “Where y’all going anyway?” 

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Does that mean you’ll come out tonight?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“How about this,” Tommy began, climbing into the passenger side of the truck while Joel climbed into the driver’s side. “I buy your first round.” 

Joel scoffed, starting the car. “Will I be able to choose what I wanna drink or are you gonna be doin’ that for me?” 

“Whatever you want, brother,” Tommy grinned. “First round’s on me.” 

Joel shrugged. “Alright, maybe. We’ll see.” 

“You won’t regret it.” 

“I’m thinkin’ I might,” he replied. 

“You’ve been working your ass off, Joel.” Tommy said, glancing over at his older brother as he began to drive. “You deserve a night out for yourself.” 

“As long as you promise we ain’t gettin’ in any trouble tonight,” Joel responded. 

“Me? Trouble?” Tommy feigned a gasp, followed by another laugh. “Fine, no trouble.”

“Alright, I’ll see ya tonight.” 

—

“Tommy, what in the hell?” Joel said, climbing out of his truck to see that Tommy had given him directions to a strip club. This wasn’t what he was expecting and it certainly wasn’t something he was used to. He knew that Tommy was the more outgoing, more friendly, more charming of the two, but he just didn’t know that this was the place Tommy wanted to be at when he said it was going to be a guys night out. 

“What?” Tommy chuckled. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“We’re at a goddamn strip club.”

“I know,” he replied. “I’m the one who gave you the directions.” 

“What are we doing at a strip club, Tommy?” 

He grinned, clasped a hand on Joel’s shoulder and led him inside. “Lettin’ loose.”

Joel immediately felt out of place once he walked into the strip club. It was definitely a sight that he wasn’t used to: plenty of men surrounding the stage with stripper poles, countless women (some even topless) dancing and roaming the floor to men who wanted their attention. Joel would be lying if he said that he regularly had sex; in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he did have sex. 

Sarah and work were his main priorities and anything that didn’t involve either of the two didn’t seem important to him. 

But now, as he followed Tommy to the bar, he found himself yearning for contact, for a woman to give him attention, for release of all the pent-up emotions he didn’t realize he was bottling in. 

“Alright, what you wanna drink?” Tommy asked.

Joel cleared his throat, shrugging a shoulder. “I’ll just get a beer.” 

Tommy looked over at Joel and let out a laugh, watching how uncomfortable his older brother looked. “Relax,” he said. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Joel narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw. “I was expecting a bar, not a goddamn strip club.” 

“What’s the difference?”

Joel shook his head. “You know damn well what the difference is, Tommy. Is this where you usually go whenever you go out?” 

“Not always,” Tommy chuckled. “But I wanted to bring you here because I feel like it’d help you let loose. You’re always so uptight, so focused on everyone else but you.” 

“I got a kid to look after. If I’m uptight, it’s because I need to make sure she’s taken care of.” 

“Right,” Tommy said, nodding. “Makes sense. I know Sarah’s your world, Joel. I ain’t sayin’ that’s a bad thing. I’m just sayin’ you gotta do some things for yourself once in a while.” 

Joel sighed, taking the beer from the bartender. Again, he knew Tommy was right. He was probably working himself to an early grave with the amount of hours he had put into work; even Sarah noticed how busy he had seemed. 

“Fine,” Joel said. “So, what do we do here? Take a seat and just hand out dollar bills?”

Tommy laughed. “That’s the premise of it, yeah.” 

Joel’s attention moved from his brother to someone who had come out from behind the stage. You were (obviously) wearing a skimpy bikini, almost too thin and revealing to even be considered clothes. Your hair was down and wavy, but as you walked towards the bar, there had been something different Joel noticed. Your eyes lit up and your smile managed to capture and hold his attention longer than the other women who were dancing or walking from table to table. 

You seemed genuine, more real compared to the other women and Joel found himself captivated. His eyes ran along your frame, watching as your hips swung with each step and when you met his eyes, Joel immediately looked away, almost like he was embarrassed to have been caught that he was obviously ogling you.

Tommy saw Joel’s eyes intently focused on you and he couldn’t help but laugh. When you had come closer to the bar and leaned against it, Tommy was the one to strike up a conversation. 

“Hi there,” Tommy said, taking a sip of drink. 

“Hello,” you smiled, looking up at Tommy. “How are y’alls night going?” 

“Going great now,” he winked. “Right, Joel?” 

Joel cleared his throat. He nodded and raised his glass in your direction. “We’re doing fine, ma’am.”

Ma’am? Joel was kicking himself with all the polite pleasantries, but the way you were staring intently at him had him fumbling over his words. 

Tommy snickered and shook his head. “Excuse my brother. He’s not– This ain’t usually his scene.”

“Oh? First time?” You asked, tilting your head with a smile. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Tommy chuckled. 

“I just ain’t used to–”

“Beautiful, naked women?” You interrupted with a grin. “That’s okay. It ain’t for everyone.”

Tommy let out a laugh and Joel felt even more embarrassed, but as you continued to look at him, he somehow felt himself relax. The fact that you weren’t throwing yourself at them like the other women who were probably instructed to do so provided a sense of comfort. 

“Well, I’m Sunshine,” you smiled. “If y’all need anythin’, just let me know. I’ll be happy to help.” 

Joel cleared his throat and nodded. When you walked away, Joel’s eyes fell to your backside. He bit the inside of his cheek and watched as you looked over your shoulder, meeting his eyes with a smile. 

“Sunshine ain’t her real name, right?” Joel asked. 

“Of course not,” Tommy chuckled. “By the way, ma’am?” 

“Oh, shut up.”

—

Throughout the night, Joel followed Tommy’s lead, but all he could think about was you. He had only seen you that one time at the beginning of the night, but hadn’t seen you since. That was until Tommy had excused himself to the bathroom and came back out with you walking alongside him. Joel straightened up in his seat and glanced over in your direction before Tommy took his seat back next to him. 

“I got you a little somethin’,” Tommy whispered, nudging Joel’s arm. 

“Tommy–”

“Joel, right?” You smiled, looking down at him. He was definitely one of the better looking patrons that came in and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t attracted to him. 

“That’s right,” Joel nodded. 

“Wanna come with me?” you asked, biting your lower lip. 

“Oh,” Joel furrowed a brow and glanced over at Tommy who gave him a smirk. “Where to?” 

“Let’s find out.” You gently took his hand, feeling the rough calluses. You had to wonder what he did for a living, but you assumed he worked a lot with his hands. They were even much larger than yours too and you wondered what else about him was big. 

“Tommy…” 

“I won’t bite,” you teased. “Unless you like that.” 

Joel cleared his throat and looked over at Tommy.

“It’s just one private dance, Joel. Relax,” Tommy said.

Joel stood up and looked down at you. This time, he caught you looking at him from top to bottom and it gave him a surge of confidence. He wondered if you found him attracted too, but maybe this was all part of the job: feign interest to get more tips. Eagerly though, Joel followed you towards the back of the room and watched as you entered another smaller room, much more private and distant from the front of the strip club. It was also much quieter, darker, but he can still visibly make you out. 

“So, Joel,” you said, shutting the door behind you both. “Is this okay?” 

“I– Uh,” he bit his lower lip. “I don’t see why not, darlin’. Is this okay with you?” 

You smiled at that. Not many men would be so polite and thoughtful as Joel and you found it endearing, charming actually. So, you walked towards him, entering his personal space until you were just a few inches away from him. He towered over you, but there was an aura about him that you found to be comforting, safe even. 

“More than okay with me.” Then, you moved your hands to his chest and gently pushed him until he was sitting on the sofa. Joel looked up at you, biting his lower lip in anticipation. He tried to remind himself that it would be absolutely embarrassing if he were to get an erection especially since it wasn’t going to lead to anything. It was just a dance. One dance and that was it. 

Or so he thought. 

Joel watched you turn the music on. It filtered the entire room, shutting out the rest of the people from the outside as he remained completely focused on you and the way your hips moved expertly to the beat of the song. 

It really had been such a long time since he had any connection with the opposite sex. Joel found himself craving more and more of you specifically, especially with the way your eyes locked onto his. It made him feel special, like no one else in this strip club was significant enough to have your attention. 

But here he was, eyes locked with yours as you moved your body to the beat of the song. 

Each step you took, you found yourself in a heated gaze with him. His eyes were piercing through your soul, looking at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and it gave you the confidence to continue, to prolong this dance as long as you could. 

If you're horny let's do it

Ride it, my pony

Slowly, you straddled his lap and moved your hands to rest on the back of the couch. You heard him let out a quiet grunt once you were on his lap and you tried your hardest not to falter when you felt his bulge press firmly against your heat. 

Still, your eyes remained locked with his and Joel kept his hands on his sides, not sure what was appropriate or what was allowed. He certainly didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Joel felt your hips roll against him, applying just the right amount of pressure against the center of his jeans.

My saddle's waiting

Come and jump on it

Your hips lifted from his own, but your body continued to move. You accentuated each move and gently reached down to grab his hands, allowing him to place them on your hips. Your hands moved from the back of the couch to his chest, running them slowly up and down and feeling the muscle from beneath your fingertips. 

Joel gripped your hips, fingertips digging gently into your skin as he allowed your body to move firmly against his. The feeling of your hands running along him made him even more excited and when you finally broke eye contact, Joel took this opportunity to watch your body move expertly to the song. 

You leaned forward, lips hovering near his ear as your hips rolled against him, planting yourself back against his lap. “You enjoyin’ yourself?” you whispered.

Joel groaned quietly in response and held you in place for a moment, pulling back to look up at you. “Oh, Sunshine, you have no idea.”

The way your name left his lips suddenly got you aroused and you felt a wetness settle between your legs. This was highly unprofessional, but there was just something about him that made you want more. 

You stood from his lap and bit your lower lip. You teased the string of your bikini, watching as his eyes raked over your frame. When he saw you reach for the string, watching you teasingly pull it undone, Joel had to compose himself. In just a few seconds, your chest would be exposed and part of him wanted to stop this, wanted to take you back home so that he could finish the only way he knew how, but he had to remind himself that to you, this was just a job. 

But as he was anticipating your top to fall from your body, it never came. Instead, Joel watched as you moved your hands to his knees and up his thighs before you turned around and gave him a good view of your backside. Joel grunted lowly, which the music managed to hide, as he continued to watch your hips move, your butt moving to firmly plant itself against his lap again. Joel felt his lower half throb and stir awake every time you met his eyes, every time your hips moved against his. 

And as you looked over your shoulder at him with your lower lip between your teeth, flashing him an innocent look, Joel felt himself almost lose his composure. 

He wanted you bad. 

Just once if I have the chance

The things I would do to you

You and your body

Your hands remained on his knees as your hips rolled against his. It was obvious that you could feel his throbbing erection against you and while normally that would be a sign for you to end the dance, you found it hard to stop yourself. 

You wanted more of him. 

Joel felt comfortable enough to allow his hands to roam your body, so he ran his hands up and down your sides as your hips moved against his own. He had to wonder if you were getting excited too, if you were getting wet at the feel of him and part of him was hoping that you would make the first move and tell him to meet you after work. 

That maybe he wasn’t as crazy as he thought to think that only he was feeling some sort of connection with you. 

If you’re horny let's do it

Ride it my pony

As the song came to an end, Joel found himself dreading the moment you had to get up and tell him that this was over. Instead, he was surprised when you stood from his lap only to straddle him again, except this time, your face mere inches from his and your chest pressing against his own.

God, Joel wanted you so badly. 

“So,” you whispered, lips hovering against his own. “What’s the verdict?”

Joel licked his lower lip. “I think you ruined me, darlin’.”

You let out a quiet giggle as your hands moved to his shoulders. “That so?”

Joel nodded. “I don’t think anyone can top that, Sunshine.” Then, he realized that the feeling was mutual. Once your name left his lips, he felt you squeeze your legs together while you remained on his lap and a quiet whimper escaped your lips. This gave Joel another inch of confidence as his hands moved to your hips. 

“If this ain’t professional, let me know, but…” Joel began. “I wanna take you home.” 

You bit your lower lip. “This never happens. I usually have a rule and–”

“I understand,” Joel interrupted, feeling embarrassed that he even suggested something so crazy. “This is your job and–”

“But I want you,” you said, interrupting him. 

“You do?” Joel asked, surprised. 

You leaned forward, whispering quietly into his ears. “I’m practically soaked, Joel.”

Joel growled at that and pulled back to look at you. “Can I take you home?” 

You smiled. There it was again. So polite and gentleman-like. You were sure that if it was any other man, they would have taken you right then and there, but Joel… Joel was different. 

“I’m off in a couple of hours.” 

Joel nodded. “I can wait.”

—

Two hours later Joel was outside in the parking lot, waiting for you. He had told Tommy exactly what happened and his younger brother was all too eager to let this happen, to leave him here without a ride. Joel wondered if you would change your mind, but when he saw you come out of the building dressed in leggings and an oversized hoodie, he found himself even more attracted to you now than when you were wearing that skimpy bikini. 

“Wow,” he called out. 

You smiled and walked over to him. You were sure that once he saw you dressed in an outfit that wasn’t revealing or without any makeup that he was going to change his mind. Besides, it helped that the only thing you were wearing earlier was a very tiny bikini that didn’t leave much to the imagination. So, you expected him to change his mind, that he didn’t want to take you home after realizing that you weren’t what he wanted anymore. 

But the way he was looking at you told you otherwise. Even now as your entire body was covered up, your hair in a messy bun, and bare faced, he was still looking at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Stop,” you blushed. 

“What?” Joel smiled. 

“You’re looking at me.”

He chuckled. “You’re nice to look at.”

“Even without the makeup and tiny bikini?”

“You know,” Joel smiled. “I think I like you better this way.” 

You blushed and set your bag into the backseat of your car. Joel gently took your hand and turned you around to face him. He bit his lower lip as he looked deeply into your eyes. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he began. “We can just go our separate ways and–”

You interrupted him with a kiss, lips pressing against his as you stood on your toes. Joel melted into you as one hand moved to your hip and the other to cup your cheek. But before it could go any further, you pulled away.

“I want this. I want you.” 

Joel nodded and leaned down to peck your lips. “Good because I want you too, darlin’.”

The drive was short to Joel’s house and you found it hard to focus when you felt his eyes on you as you drove. You spared him a few glances and while there was a look of hunger in his eyes, there was also a sense of appreciation; Joel looked at you like you mattered, like you were special, like you were the only woman who deserved his attention. 

You pulled into his driveway and glanced over at him. When he climbed out of your car, you saw him rush around to meet you by opening your door. He looked at you with a small smile as he extended a hand out for you. You felt butterflies swarming within you and part of you hoped that whatever was going to happen next would happen again. Sure, you hadn’t had sex with him (yet), but you were absolutely sure that you were going to want more of him. 

“You always this polite?” You asked, climbing out of your car with his help. 

Joel chuckled and led you inside. “Only to the pretty ones.” 

You bit your lower lip and felt a blush creep up along your cheeks. Once inside, you glanced around and immediately felt how warm and cozy it was. You saw a few photographs with Joel and Tommy, but when you saw a younger girl, you glanced over at him. You weren’t sure if this was only going to be a one time thing, so you didn’t bother to ask, didn’t bother to pry out personal information from him.

“You want anythin’ to drink, darlin’?” 

You nodded. “Sure. Water’s fine.” 

Joel gave you a quick kiss and walked down the hall to the kitchen. You followed him eagerly as your eyes still took in your surroundings. This was so much different than your small apartment. 

“My daughter’s at a sleepover,” Joel said, handing you a glass of water. 

Well, that answered your question. You took the glass from him and took a sip, looking up at him. “So, you’re a dad.” 

“I am.”

“Daddy,” you teased. “It fits you.”

Joel narrowed his eyes and let his eyes rake over your frame. Despite the clothes that you were wearing, all he could imagine was that skimpy bikini you were wearing and how you had almost removed your top for him earlier that night. He gently moved his hands to your hips, backing you into the counter, trapping you between his body and the kitchen counter. 

“You’re trouble, ain’t ya?” he whispered. 

“You want me to be?” You took another sip of your water before setting it aside. Slowly, you moved your hands to wrap around his shoulders, looking up at him. “I can be whatever you want me to be, Joel.”

Joel let out a quiet growl and leaned down to brush his lips against yours. “So, if I ask you to bend over for me, you’d do it?”

“Happily,” you replied, biting your lower lip. 

“And if I ask you to get down on your knees, you’d do that too?” 

You nodded, feeling the wetness pool between your legs almost immediately. “Oh yeah… And if you asked me to beg, I’d do that without question also.”

Joel groaned and moved his lips to your jawline, gently nipping along the way as he moved to the side of your neck. You whimpered, feeling his beard scratch against you. Your eyes fell shut and you tilted your head back, exposing more of your neck for him. His lips moved along your skin, dragging teeth and tongue across plenty of hot spots that you didn’t realize you even had. 

You would be lying if you said your sex life was exciting, but the majority of the time, the men you had been with always seemed to only care about themselves. Though, it seemed like Joel was the type of man to cater to you and that brought an intense excitement that settled in the pit of your stomach. 

Joel moved his lips to your earlobe, gently nipping as he brought you flush against him. You could feel his bulge from beneath his jeans as you rolled your hips impatiently against him, needing contact and friction. 

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, darlin’,” Joel whispered huskily. “I’ll have you beggin’ for more.” 

You moaned quietly and gently pushed him away. He looked down at you with darkened eyes as you watched him reach down to squeeze himself. Clearing your throat, you grabbed his hand and led him back down towards the hall.

“Where’s your room?”

“Upstairs.” 

Nodding, you led him upstairs and once at the top, allowed Joel to lead the way. Once inside his room, you shut the door behind the both of you. Glancing around, you noticed how spacious it was and how big his bed was too. Everything in his room was neat, but his bed was messy. You had to wonder if he had done this often; you didn’t see any pictures of any women and he didn’t wear a wedding ring, so you assumed he was single. 

Joel must have caught on to what you were thinking because he stepped up behind you and rested his hands on your hips. 

“I haven’t been with anyone in a while,” he whispered. 

“What’s a while?”

“Years,” Joel replied. 

“And you’re choosin’ me?” you asked, turning around to face him. 

Joel chuckled and nodded. “You did a number on me, Sunshine. That dance earlier tonight did a number on me. I haven’t wanted anyone more than I want you right now.” 

You smiled and leaned up to peck his lips lightly. “Condom?” 

Joel nodded and pulled away to walk towards his drawer. You could hear him rummaging through it before he pulled one out and held it up in your direction with a grin. 

“You want another dance, Joel?” you asked, biting your lower lip.

Joel didn’t hesitate. He simply nodded and sat at the edge of his bed, looking up at you in anticipation. You let out a quiet chuckle and looked around him, taking note of the radio on top of his dresser. Turning it on, you smiled immediately at the song that came on. 

Girl, it's only you

Have it your way

And if you want you can decide

And if you'll have me

I can provide everything that you desire

Slowly, you grabbed the end of your hoodie and pulled it over your head, revealing that you weren’t wearing a bra. So, when Joel finally took notice of your exposed chest, he sucked in a breath and moved a hand to the center of his pants, palming it slowly. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. 

You smiled and tucked your thumbs into the waistband of your leggings, slowly pulling them down your legs. He watched you kick the fabric aside as you stood in front of him with only a white, lacey thong on. 

Joel watched your hips slowly move from side to side, but he felt a bit overwhelmed. He didn’t know where to look; you were so beautiful and he found himself looking at you from top to bottom repeatedly. 

Though, when he saw you drop to your knees and slowly crawl towards him, he let out a quiet grunt in anticipation. He shifted at the edge of the bed, keeping his eyes locked onto yours as you sat up on your knees between his legs. He felt your hands run up his shins to his knees and thighs before your fingers quickly worked to undo his belt and button of his jeans. 

Joel unzipped his pants and pulled it down his legs, kicking them to the side as his member pressed against the fabric of his loose boxers. He reached the end of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it over his shoulder as his eyes remained focused on you. 

You bit your lower lip as you watched him undress. The wetness between your legs were becoming increasingly noticeable as your eyes raked over his frame. He was certainly built, muscles flexed in his arms and chest and as your eyes deviated to his manhood, you just knew that he was big. Probably bigger than you ever had. 

Say, if you get a feeling

Feeling that I am feeling

Won't you come closer to me, baby?

You've already got me right where you want me, baby

Your hands moved along his thighs as your fingertips pushed the fabric of his boxers further up his thighs. From this angle, you could see a glimpse of his member and you bit your lower lip in anticipation. 

“I’m on my knees,” you whispered, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on his bulge. “At your mercy, Joel…”

Joel groaned and moved a hand to cup your cheek, his fingers curling to grasp your hair. He pulled you back gently and used his other hand to gently bring you to your feet. 

“I want that dance first,” he smiled. As you stood between his legs, Joel ran his lips along your abdomen, placing gentle kisses as he looked up at you. He was at eye level with your exposed breasts and he leaned forward to wrap his lips around a nipple, watching as your hands immediately moved to rest on his shoulders. Joel groaned against you, flicking his tongue repeatedly against your as it erected within his lips. 

“Joel…” you whimpered, fingernails digging into his skin. “I– I can’t dance if you keep doin’ that.” 

Joel smiled and pulled away. “Okay, okay. I couldn’t resist. You’re goddamn beautiful.”

You blushed and allowed yourself to listen to the music, your body immediately swaying slowly to the slow tempo beat. You straddled his hips, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you firmly pressed yourself against the center of his boxers. The thin fabric of your thong and his boxers separated the both of you, but it gave you a glimpse of how aroused he was. 

Slowly, you rolled your hips, feeling him pulsate from beneath the fabric. You groaned quietly, keeping your eyes focused on him as you leaned forward to press your forehead against his. Joel’s hands moved to your hips, lowering them until he was grasping each butt cheek in his large hands. He gave your backside a hard squeeze, bringing you firmly against him with each roll of your hips.

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

Say, I wanna know how does it feel

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

Joel would be lying if he said that he couldn’t feel the heat coming from between your legs. With each roll of your hips, he could feel your wetness stain his boxers and it only excited him even further. He knew that it would be tough to let you go after tonight; Joel wasn’t the type of person to sleep with multiple people, which is probably why he didn’t do this often. 

He hadn’t even gotten a taste of you yet and already, Joel was planning the next time he was going to have you over. You piqued his interest in a way he never felt before and while he wasn’t sure what that really meant, Joel was leaning into this entire experience. He knew for sure that he would never hear the end of it from Tommy. 

“Joel,” you whispered, letting out a quiet moan. “Tell me what to do.” 

Joel smiled to himself and gently moved his lips to your neck, watching as you arched into him. Your hips rolled against him, slowing it down enough to feel the outline of his length pressing against your clothed sex. 

“Get on your knees,” Joel said, looking up at you. 

Your eyes lit up in excitement and stood up from his lap, slowly lowering yourself on your knees in front of him. You watched him reach for his boxers and once he lowered them down his legs to reveal his erected manhood, you immediately squeezed your legs together. Clearing your throat, you ran your hands up his legs, inching closer and closer to his member. 

Joel groaned in anticipation. He felt his member twitch as your hands moved closer to him and once he felt your hand wrap around his length, he let out a quiet moan. Joel bit his lower lip as he watched your hand stroke his base eagerly and once he saw you lean forward to wrap your lips around him, Joel was sure that he would have exploded right there. 

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

Say, I wanna know how does it feel

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

Your hand could barely wrap around Joel’s girth and when your lips finally wrapped around him, you had to remind yourself to remain calm, to take it slow despite your urge to see how much you could take him before your gag reflex kicked in. 

You saw how his head tilted back and his eyes fell shut at the sensations you were giving him. He was naked before you and while you had his member in your mouth, you felt so much more aroused and excited. He obviously took care of his body, but he wasn’t overly ripped either. He was…

Perfect. 

Your saliva was coating his member as you began to bob your head up and down, finding the right rhythm with the strokes your hand was doing at the base of his member. You gasped when you felt him reach down to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling you away from his length with a quiet pop. 

He was looking down at you with dark, hooded eyes and chest heaving up and down rapidly as his member stood erect between his legs. You licked your lips and looked up at him, flashing him a small smile. 

“Now that I don’t mind begging to do.” you smiled. 

Joel growled and helped you to your feet. He stood with you and he looked at you from top to bottom before his hands grabbed the fabric of your thong before ripping it in half. You squeaked in surprise and stood in front of him, completely exposed and bare for his lingering eyes. 

“You’re wet for me, ain’t you, darlin’?” he asked. His hand remained in your hair and he gently squeezed to make you tilt your head back for him. Joel grunted, using his free hand to move between your legs, running his finger along the length of your sex. He leaned down and whispered huskily, “Oh, you’re soaked.”

“Told you,” you whimpered. “Joel, please…” 

Joel grinned against you and gently placed you on his bed, watching as you immediately spread your legs for him. He growled at the sight of you and settled himself between you, running his fingertips along the inside of your legs.

I'd love to make you wet

In between your thighs 'cause

I love when it comes inside you

I get so excited when I'm around you, baby

Joel was leaning back against his knees as your legs remained parted for him. His body did a great job with keeping your legs apart, especially when he ran his thumb along the length of your sex, seeing you squirm against his touch. He found your clit and slowly rubbed it in circles, watching as your back arched at the sudden sensation.

The tip of his member brushed against you, causing you both to let out a quiet groan. Joel didn’t falter for a second as his thumb continued to rub your clit in circles, applying pressure as he continued. With his other hand, he reached down and ran it along your abdomen and up to your breasts, massaging one into the pit of his palm. Slowly, he moved his thumb from your clit and slowly inserted one finger past your depths. Immediately, he felt your wetness and the tightness of your walls surrounding his single digit. 

“Joel!” You moaned aloud, moving your hands to grip at his sheets. Your eyes squeezed shut as your back arched, trying to squirm away from him. 

He grinned and moved his hand from your breast to drape over your waist, keeping you pinned against the bed as he began to move his finger in and out of you at a rapid pace. The sound of your wetness was heard, even over the quiet background noise of the radio. Joel licked his lips and slowly pulled away from you, bringing his finger to his lips. He sucked your wetness from his finger and grabbed the condom, tearing the wrapper open before he slid it over his throbbing length.

You slowly pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist once more. Joel was looking up at you with anticipation and you reached between your bodies to grasp his member, lining it up with your sex. You lifted your hips and kept your eyes focused on him before slowly lowering yourself onto his manhood, feeling a slight tinge of pain of his girth stretching you from the inside. 

Joel groaned at your tightness, his hands moving to your hips and giving it a tight squeeze.

“You are tight,” he growled.

“Maybe you’re just big,” you teased, feeling so full of him as you remained still on his lap once he filled you to the hilt. 

“Mmm,” he replied. “I’d say it’s both, baby.” 

Slowly, you rolled your hips against his own and allowed yourself to feel every inch of his length. Your hands moved to rest on his chest as you felt your walls slowly begin to give way to the size of him. 

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

Say, I wanna know how does it feel

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

“Joel,” you moaned, eyes falling shut as you began to lift your hips up and down his member. Your walls remained tight around him, milking him with each movement. 

Joel groaned quietly, fingertips digging into your hips as he helped you move along his length. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you; he knew how good of a dance you were, how well your hips moved, but as he remained buried deep within your depths, it gave him a different experience altogether. 

He held your hips still, giving himself enough space to begin thrusting upwards. Joel focused solely on you, how your eyes remained shut, mouth agape with moans continuously escaping your lips, and how your hands had squeezed his shoulders to hold onto him. With each upward thrust, Joel watched your breasts bounce, especially as his thrusts began to become a bit more erratic, a bit more rough. 

“Fuck,” you moaned aloud, slamming yourself down onto him as you felt yourself suddenly reach your climax. You collapsed down onto him, body trembling as your walls tightened even further around him. “Joel… Oh my god…”

He groaned at the feel of your walls tightening around him, wrapping around him in such a tight vice that Joel knew he was close too. It had been such a long time since he had sex that even he was surprised he was lasting as long as he was. 

Suddenly, Joel pulled out of you and scrambled to his feet. You watched him carefully, body feeling limp and your legs feeling shaky. Joel turned you so that you were on all fours which gave you the much needed rest as you pressed your cheek against the mattress. Your backside remained in the air and when Joel grabbed your hips to pull back against him, you were sure that another orgasm was fast approaching. 

Joel grasped his member and slid himself past your folds and into your tight depths. He let out a groan once he felt your warmth and wetness encompass his length, taking his time to slowly push himself further into you. He watched as your hands immediately moved to reach back, gently pushing at his lower abdomen as a sign that you probably couldn’t handle another. Joel took this as a challenge and grabbed your hands, holding your wrists and placing them firmly against your lower back. 

Now, you were definitely at his mercy. 

As Joel continued his slow thrusts, he heard your moans filter throughout his room, bouncing off the walls and mixing in with the sound of the radio and the sound of skin slapping against each other. His hips slowly rolled against yours, pulling out to his tip before he slammed himself back into you. Joel did this for a few more thrusts before he began to quicken his pace. He couldn’t hold it in any longer; he was about ready to burst. 

Joel’s thrusts were erratic, his hips pounding into yours from behind as he kept a tight hold on your wrists. His pace was frantic, brutal, merciless as he used your tight walls to bring him closer and closer to his own release. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groaned, releasing your hands to hold onto your hips. “I’m gonna come, baby…”

You looked over your shoulder at him and bit your lower lip, meeting his thrusts with a push back of your own hips. He kept his eyes focused on you and slammed into you roughly, causing you to flatten onto the bed as he finally came. Joel’s body shuddered at his climax, panting against you. 

He pressed soft and lazy kisses along the back of your shoulder before pulling out with a groan. Joel removed the condom and tied a knot before tossing it in the trash. He then moved to lie next to you, his eyes raking over your backside before you turned to lie on your back, giving him another great view of your exposed front.

“You’re perfect,” Joel blurted, looking over at you. 

Smiling, you leaned over to press a gentle kiss on his lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever–”

“Been fucked like that before?” he grinned. 

You licked your lower lip and nodded. “You definitely know what you’re doin’.” 

“Could say the same to you, Sunshine.” Joel winked. 

You looked up at him and quietly asked, “Should I go?” 

“What?” Joel asked, surprised. 

“I mean, do you want me to go?”

Immediately, he shook his head and wrapped his arms around your frame. “Hell no. I’m thinkin’ I should keep you.” 

You blushed and looked into his eyes. “So, this isn’t just a one time thing?” 

“Do you want it to be?” 

You shook your head. “No… I’d like to do this more often.”

Joel smiled and leaned down to capture your lips. Slowly, you found yourself leaning into him, his lips moving expertly with yours that it caused a sudden surge of excitement through your veins. 

“Then, it’s settled,” Joel began. “I’m keepin’ you, darlin’.” He leaned down and moved his lips from your own to your jawline and the side of your neck. Slowly, Joel settled himself between your legs as his lips moved further down your body. 

“Joel…” you whimpered. 

“I’m keepin’ you all to myself,” he murmured against you, nipping at your skin. “And I’ve been wantin’ to taste you all night long.” Joel was at eye level with your sex, running the length of his tongue along you which caused a loud moan to escape your lips. 

He pulled away briefly to look up at you, smiling to himself. While he hadn’t expected this night to go this way, he certainly wasn’t complaining. Joel was hooked and there was no way he was ever letting you go now. 

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

MidnightsWithDearKatyTSPB’s Recommendation List: May Pt. 2

Hi everyone. Welcome to the second part of May’s recommendation list. Can you believe we maxed out Part 1 linking availability? You guys are writing machines! With finals coming to a close and some of you graduating, I hope you are taking some time to enjoy reading and self-care. I’m so very proud of every one of you. If you would like a moodboard made for your story or character, feel free to send me a request. I would love to make you one. If you are interested in having your writing challenges featured here, your stories, or even your blog, please feel free to tag me in your works, message me, or use the hashtag MidnightWithDearKatyTSPB. Heads up, June may be all on one list. I’m going to my Grandmother’s 90th birthday and visit my family. I’ll get plenty of reading done while I’m gone, but I don’t know how much list-making I’ll get done. Enjoy the rest of your spring and the start of your summer!

<<May Pt. 1 💐

June 🐾 >>

Masterlist 📜

PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS:

DRABBLES/BLURBS:

Big Fan (Tommy's Version) by @atinylittlepain >> Tommy Miller ft. Ellie Williams - Summary: Tommy and Ellie stumble on someone very familiar to Tommy. | I was laughing so hard at everyone's reaction to this.

ONE-SHOTS:

2 Murphy's and a Peña by @violentdelightsandviolentends >> Javier Peña x Female Reader - Summary: Reader has a horrible date. Javier thinks she just needs a man who puts her needs first. (My Summary) | This was short and hot, just how you need it sometimes.

Aquatic Rehabilitation by @psychedelic-ink >> Joel Miller x f!reader - Summary: Joel has been experiencing knee pain for the past two months. When he finally sees an orthopedist, he learns that he has some minor damage to his meniscus. The doctor prescribes him anti-inflammatory medication and physical therapy, recommending swimming. At the pool, he meets you. | Wowza, that was really hot.

Drown in your Wrath and Fury by @movievillainess721 >> Dave York x curvy f!reader x (with a surprise guest) - Summary: You're Dave's prisoner...and old flame. Can you survive his wrath and fury? | It was so hot, I was blushing.

*I Crawl Home To Her by @johnwatsn >> Joel Miller ft. Sarah Miller & Ellie Williams - Summary: After being stabbed, Joel floats in and out of consciousness, between then and now, before and after, and his two daughters, both saving him in their own ways. | This is just a masterpiece of emotion, and it's so well written!

Look For The Butterfly by @lily-inbloom >> post-outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!reader - Summary: Sarah reminds Joel of something very important. | Don't mind me. I'll just be over here in the corner crying like a big baby.

Prove It by @joelscruff >> boyfriend's dad!Joel Miller x f!reader - Summary: Joel shows you how much he cares about you (in a slightly depraved way). (in connection with quickie and snack break) | Made my heart drop to the bottom of my stomach with emotions while supplying wonderful filth and excitement.

Request by @joelsgirl >> Joel Miller x Reader - Summary/Request: Reader is feeling awful because she's too warm, and the relief he feels when he sees her cooling off, physically and emotionally? | A charming short piece showing the caring side of Joel is what we need sometimes.

The Saint, The Sinner, & The Devil by @joelsgirl >> Mafia DBF!Joel Miller, Corrupt Javier Pena + Reader - Sneak Peak: “Yes, little one. You'll get to service us both tonight.” | Excellent and Filthy

Satellite by @jksprincess10 >> Assistant!reader x Javier Peña - Summary: Summary: You’re trying really hard not to fuck your boss. But everyone around you, including him, makes it really hard. | Javi could probably convince me to do anything.

Sharing Is Caring by @dreamsofmandalore >> Mafia!AU Joel Miller x Reader x Javier Peña - Summary: Several people asked what would happen if mafia enforcer Joel and corrupt agent Javi existed in the same universe. | Thank you for feeding our wildest imaginations.

Waffle House Confessions by @softlyspector >> no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader - Summary: You pick an inopportune moment to give Joel some news. | I felt like I was watching it play out on TV, and I was feeling all the emotions coming across—such a good one-shot.

Words by @joelscruff >> boyfriend's dad!Joel Miller x f!reader - Summary: You and Joel are left reeling from your boyfriend's discovery. (a direct sequel to prove it) | Cat has a way with words and emotions pulling you into her works.

SERIES:

I'm In A State (Prequel) | In My Hometown by @swiftispunk >> pre-outbreak!dbf!neighbour!Joel Miller x afab!fem!actor(ish)!Reader - Summary: The moment that sends you over the edge with your neighbour, Joel. | Perfect as always, Hannah. Thanks for making me giggle like a schoolgirl.

One For The Money, Two For The Show >> Rockstar!Joel Miller x Actress!Reader - Summary: When world-famous rockstar Joel Miller finds himself in some hot water with the press, his PR team suggests fake dating an up-and-coming actress to refine his image. However, when they actually start spending time together, the happy couple can’t stand each other. Will they be able to turn it around for the cameras, or will it all be for nothing? | Things are getting mighty steamy, just the way I like them. Feeling so blessed to be able to read this story.

To Polish Up A Diamond pt. i | >> @pedges >> Joel Miller x afab!reader - Summary: “We can get an annulment,” Joel says, cutting you off. It’s almost as if he couldn’t wait to say it, and you’re not sure why that stings so much. “Yeah—yes,” you mutter, swallowing the softball lodged in your throat. You clear it in hopes of sounding more compelling when you speak again. “Of course. Duh.”  -- or, the one where you wake up married to Joel Miller. | This is such an emotional roller coaster, and we are only just beginning. I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.

BLURBS/DRABBLES:

The Baking Lesson by @zablife >> John Shelby x f!reader - Summary: Gif Request - Sneak Preview: "C'mere gorgeous," John said, turning your chin toward him. "It can't be that bad. Just tell me," he coaxed with an encouraging smile. | John is very much my hero!

Sweetest of the Sunflowers by @peakyscillian >> Tommy Shelby x Reader - Summary: I picked the prompt “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me” for this one and also based it around the song 'Sun To Me' By Zach Bryan. | Moodboard is gorgeous, and I love how you can tell how much Tommy adores his fiance in this.

Pedro Pascal doesn't owe you anything... by @coulsons-band

Drama Actor Round Table: Pedro Pascal, Damson Idris, Kieran Culkin, Jeff Bridges, Evan Peters, and Michael Imperioli posted by @pedrohub

[dream-dove]

The Night She Bloomed

Carrie stood in front of her bedroom mirror, heart pounding as she adjusted the delicate, pale pink dress she’d spent weeks sewing. It wasn’t fancy or store-bought like the other girls’ dresses would be, but it was beautiful in her eyes. She smoothed her hair, touching the soft curls she’d worked hard to create, and smiled softly at her reflection. Tonight was prom night, a night she’d dreamed of for so long — a night that, for once, didn’t feel like a distant fantasy.

Her smile faded as she heard her mother’s heavy footsteps approaching, each one echoing like a warning in her mind. The door creaked open, and Margaret White stood in the doorway, her face twisted in horror and disapproval as she took in the sight of her daughter.

“Carrie…” Her mother’s voice was low and trembling, filled with disgust. “What are you doing, dressed up like one of those… loose girls? Do you know how this displeases the Lord?”

Carrie took a shaky breath, the familiar wave of fear and guilt washing over her, but she forced herself to stand tall. “Mama, I’m going to the prom. I’ve been invited, and… and I want to go.”

Her mother’s face twisted in fury, her eyes wide with a kind of madness that sent a chill down Carrie’s spine. “You think this is what God wants? For you to parade yourself in front of those sinful boys and girls, tempting them, inviting sin and shame upon yourself? Carrie, the Devil has you now!” Margaret’s voice rose, sharp and frantic. “You will bring down His wrath upon you, and on me!”

Carrie’s hands clenched, her heart racing, but something inside her — some small spark of defiance she’d never felt before — pushed her to speak. “Mama… no,” she whispered, then louder, “No. I’m not doing anything wrong. I just want to be… normal. I just want one night where I can feel like I belong.”

Margaret stepped closer, her eyes burning with a fervor that made Carrie’s stomach twist. “There is no such thing as normal, child. You are meant to be different, to be pure and holy, not tainted by the filth of this world. If you leave this house, Carrie, you’re choosing to walk the path of sin.” Her mother raised a trembling hand to her Bible, pressing it to her chest as if it could shield her from the sight of her own daughter.

Carrie swallowed, the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her, making her doubt, making her feel small and ashamed. But then she thought of Tommy, of his kind smile when he’d asked her to the prom. She thought of the endless days at school, the laughter, the whispers, the pain she’d endured just for being different. This night, this chance… it was the one hope she’d clung to, the one moment that might finally change everything.

“No, Mama,” she said, her voice steady despite her fear. “I’m going to prom. I don’t care if you think it’s wrong. I want to be like everyone else, just for once. And if that makes me a sinner… then so be it.”

Margaret gasped, clutching her Bible tighter. “The Lord will forsake you, Carrie! He will punish you!”

But Carrie didn’t let her mother’s words pierce her heart this time. She took a shaky breath, grabbing her purse and giving her mother one last look, filled with a mixture of sadness and determination. “Goodbye, Mama,” she said quietly, then walked past her, out the door and into the cool night air.

As she walked toward the school, Carrie’s mind raced with a flood of memories — the laughter, the taunts, the cruel names they’d called her. “Crazy Carrie,” they’d chant, pushing her books from her hands, spilling her lunch tray, casting judgmental looks and whispering behind her back. She remembered the endless nights spent in her room, praying with tears streaming down her face, begging for a chance, just one chance, to escape this life of pain and loneliness.

Tonight was her chance.

Carrie held her head high as she walked, her heart lifting with each step. She was going to prom. She was going with Tommy Ross, the most handsome, kind boy she’d ever met. She thought about how, when he’d asked her, she’d felt something in her heart shift, like hope finally blooming in a dark place. For the first time, she dared to believe that maybe things could change, that maybe her prayers had finally been answered.

She imagined dancing under the soft glow of lights, feeling laughter on her lips instead of tears. She imagined Tommy’s hand in hers, guiding her, making her feel like she was worth something, like she was meant to be there.

In that moment, Carrie dared to dream that her life could be different, that there was a world beyond her mother’s walls, beyond the taunts and cruelty. Tonight, she wasn’t “Crazy Carrie.” She was just a girl going to her first dance, with hope in her heart and a smile on her face.

As the school came into view, glowing softly in the distance, Carrie felt her heart swell. She’d fought for this moment. She’d defied her mother, defied her fears, and in doing so, she felt free for the first time in her life.

Tonight, she was going to shine. And in her heart, she knew that no one, not her mother, not her classmates, could take this moment away from her.

[theshelbyclan]

Angel

Summary: You cross paths with famous Thomas Shelby after killing someone he wanted dead, and you can’t help but recognise so much of yourself in this man

(Gif by @nofckingfighting​) A/N: The ever-lovely @psych0crybaby​ requested: good evening my dear. i saw that your request are open again. Could i ask for some Tommy with a total badass reader? Maybe where she saves their asses and no one knows where she is( and she just walks away) and then they see her again and ada explains to them that she mostly kills rapists and guys who harass woman because someone did the same to her when she was in the war? if you are comfortable with, if not have a good evening or day 🌺 I remember the first time I read this request and immediately being drawn to it. I did however want to do it right, you know? Like I really wanted to think about it, so I have. This comes with a warning for anyone familiar with PTSD, and some sexual abuse and assault is mentioned: this may be triggering. Sorry that it took a while to get this out, but I hope you like the result! Words: 4370 *** Breathe in. Look. See. Focus. Remember. Breath out. Throw. The first knife whooshed passed your face and hit the wall opposite you. The second followed quickly, almost magnetically. The third came after a small pause, the silence in which people feel a false sense of safety, and hit the target right in its middle. 

“You’re too pretty to be out here in the mud.” “Again,” you told yourself, “there’s four of them”. Everything comes in four, good or bad. So you moved suddenly, ducked and threw three more knives, previously hidden in your sleeves.

“You know you want it.” Like a cat you jumped up onto a roof and mid-air threw three more, taken from your pockets. But the hardest was yet to come. The last man was always hidden, always late, like that last knife. He too swished and betrayed. So from your boots, you took another knife, jumped down suddenly and planted it in the back of the invisible assailant. “Good girl…” The job was done. Now for the real work. “What happened to you?” And you told yourself, “I’m ready.” ***

“What is your concern, Tommy?” “The one minute. The soldier’s minute. In battle it’s all you get.” Thomas Shelby lived his life looking over his shoulder, but when he turned, there was nothing there. You see it happening, everything at once and there’s no avoiding it. It’s always there, right behind you. Like running through a house with the devil hot on your heels, finally finding the way out, but when you step into the garden, it starts all over again: you’re back at your starting point. You see, your body may be outside in the sunlight, but your mind is back at the house. That’s what it felt like, every day. “We live somewhere between life and death.” This is what existing is: always living somewhere between life and death, between sleep and awake. And the nightmares, they bled into the days, taking over slowly. “Is it another war you’re looking for, Tommy?” There was supposed to be one war, to end all wars. But instead, kids were sent out to die in the mud, and for what? All that blood, smoke, tears, sweat and carnage. Men blowing the whistles, boys praying and crying. Was he looking for another war? That would imply the first one had ended. “I’ll remember everything and forget nothing. I’m thinking ahead, thinking of every possibility, remembering everything that is happening…” As if he could forget. The smallest things could trigger his memories, taking him right back. When John was little, he used to be scared of a monster. Ada had told him that: that there was a witch living in the walls that you could only see in the mirrors. John didn’t sleep for weeks after her little story. And now, the monster turned out to be real, except no one believed in it anymore. Still, it was everywhere and you had to be constantly on your guard. Because it’s not just in the walls and mirrors; it’s always right behind you, creeping, slithering, crawling it’s way up your spine… And so he became a machine, no longer a human being, fuelled by whiskey and cigarettes only, always plotting. “Thomas Shelby against the whole bloody world, right?” And so he wrote, “My name is Thomas Shelby and today, I’m going to kill a man.” *** There had been five of you at home. And home was in Small Heath, though you moved house all the time. When the poverty got bad, the family was split up and you and mother went into a boarding house for women, while father and the oldest brothers went into a boarding house for men. You were alright with this, because father was a bad man, but you feared for your brothers. Mother was the sweetest woman to ever live, always making sure you ate before she did. You never noticed her withering away before it was too late. At twelve, you started working. Walking the docks and shipyards was dangerous, so your brothers tried their best to prepare you. They weren’t like the other men in Small Heath. “Take this,” one brother told you on the morning of your first shift, “Hide it, in those boots.” You’d gotten charity boots, the first one in the family! But walking in them still felt uneasy, and now he expected you to slide in a small knife as well? “When someone comes,” he continued, urging you with his fiery eyes, “you stick ‘m. Don’t wait, don’t hesitate and don’t ask any questions. When he comes, you stick ‘m and you keep on sticking ‘m!” This was the first lesson you’d been taught. Four brothers all taught their little sister and each had but one objective: keeping you safe. One gave you the knife, the other taught you how to fight and the third took the beatings your drunk father had intended for you. The fourth hadn’t any strength or knowledge to share, so he kept close. Wherever you went, he followed in the shadows, and it was like having your own guardian angel, made up of filth and smoke. When the war came, they all enlisted. Of course they did: they were good, strong and brave men. You saw them off, one by one, and after waving goodbye to your guardian angel, something inside you snapped. Inspired by their love and courage, you became a nurse and took up a post at the front. You became a guardian angel yourself. *** Tommy was looking for a war. After France, they’d taken over the Shelby enterprise again and he had ambitions of expansion. Still, there were those in Small Heath who’d forgotten about the Shelby’s and he had to re-establish their reputation. “It’s happened again, Tommy,” John said sombrely, during a family meeting. Tommy sighed and dipped his head forwards, “Will he live?” “Yeah,” his brother replied, “but what are we going to do about this?” Polly, the voice of reason, said, “You need to make an example of him, Thomas. Show him who’s in charge. We can’t have a few Irish rebels killing and beating up our runner-boys. It’s bad for business.” Tommy nodded slowly and was formulating a plan as they spoke, “He drinks at the Horse’s Head. That’s where we’ll get him.” “Are you mad?” Arthur questioned, “On any given night there’s at least fifty Irish in there. It’s like a bloody army!” “We’re not scared of some fucking Irish,” John spat. “We’re not,” Tommy looked at his aunt with whom he shared his strategic skills, “but we need to be smart about this.” “Smoke him out,” Polly added, knowing her nephew’s mind so well. “We need an incentive.” Everything was all planned out. Tommy had an explosion, a staged fight and the rum in place. The men would scatter, the police would be elsewhere and their target would run. As the pub would be set on fire, he would literally be smoked out. That’s where they would be. The plan was good, well thought out and each eventually had been dealt with.

When the night came, the first part worked like a well-oiled machine. A small explosion in the shipyards, John’s, had drawn the police away. It would take them a while too, seeing as the Communists held their meetings there. Danny Whizz-bang would be inside the pub, looking both menacingly and vulnerable enough to not attract attention among the rebels. He was doing good tonight; he’d be able to light the fire. Tommy, Arthur and a few other blinders were waiting in the alleyways. Smoke started emerging from the pub and Tommy’s head shot up at the shouts of men. As he was getting ready mentally, he thought: some day, I won’t be the one doing this work. As men started fighting and chaos ensued, he followed one insignificant figure with his eyes. This man ran, frantically, into the protection of one of the dark alleys. Tommy followed and shouted his name. The man turned and his face fell as he recognised the Shelby. He in turn grabbed his gun and pointed it at him, saying, “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” But as Tommy was about to pull the trigger, the man fell forwards. The irritation of an eventuality not anticipated shot through Tommy and as he walked forwards, he saw a small knife sticking out of the Irish’ neck. He died on the spot. His first thought was if he could still pass this off as a killing by the Peaky Blinders, because Polly had been right: they needed to make a statement. Of course he could. His second thought lasted a lot longer and actually drove him to action: who’d done this? The angle of the knife made him look up, towards the roofs. No one was there, but Tommy still ran. As a kid, he used to climb roofs. As an adult, he dug tunnels. It’s funny how both came back to him now. Fearing whomever it was he couldn’t see, he chased the murderer. Once up, he could easily recognise the signs: someone had been on the roofs. There were bits of dust where bricks had been falling, flecks of ash where someone had been smoking and the smell of soap where someone had been waiting. Still, the killer was long gone. *** You weren’t sleeping, but sort of dreaming with one eye open. You did that a lot. Nightmares kept you vigilant, even at night. The boarding house you were living at was positively Dickensian, but you didn’t mind. You came from nothing and had little trouble going back to it. Besides, there was no money coming in at the moment, so you didn’t have the funds for any proper room.

In the dark, you thought of the men on your list. One of the best things about the boarding house was its anonymity. People who lived here were the poorest of the poorest, only surpassed by those on the streets and the working houses. No one asked any questions, no one looked at each other and shame drove people into hiding. The large room was separated into small spaces by a few curtains only, but still, there was some sense of privacy. In the darkness, you could think. The worst thing about the boarding house was the sound. It wasn’t the crying babies, children whining for food or people fighting each other, but the sound of pain. Some women wailed in their sleep and it shook you to your core every time. Your mother had sounded like that. You had too, you knew it. Early in the morning, you left. “Where are you off to, eh?” the old lady who slept next to you asked. In some ways, she was the pauper’s queen and she got away with prying. “Work,” you replied shortly. The old woman laughed a hoarse laugh, “You’re not fooling no one, dearie…” As soon as you walked onto the streets, a calmness came over you. Poverty was familiar, but it frightened you too. It was like a hand around your throat, always squeezing just a little but more. Inside, especially, it was like drowning. In Small Heath, some women had started their first shifts at the factories already and men were shovelling coal into the big machines. Sparks flew and fizzled out in your hair. Soot clung to your already filthy clothing. In other words, nothing about you looked out of the ordinary. The rest of the day was filled with you practising two skills: observing and vanishing. You listened in on conversations everywhere, while timidly looking away when anyone did notice you. Men boasted of their achievements and women complained everywhere. But you listened for any signs of cruelty and found it easily. See, in a city forgotten by civilisation, no one notices cruelty anymore. It’s part of everyday life. You, however, had decided to change that. This was your revenge, or atonement, whichever way you looked at it. One man in particular stood out to you. His eyes were cold and his shoulders broad, and when his wife came to him during his break, he slapped her without warning. Sometimes menace leaves a certain aura and you could sense it in him. When a filthy child came from the factory as well, also on a short break, you motioned the child to come over. “Hey, love,” you said softly. The child didn’t trust you, but his sunken eyes still pleaded, “What?” “Here,” you offered him a bun you’d just stolen, “I need your help.” He hadn’t eaten in days, that much was clear, and with his mouth full of crumbs, he said, “Wiff whaff?” “I’m new here in Birmingham. Where can I get a job?” He pointed, “Ask the foreman.” You smiled gently, “Thanks, love.” “Where’d you get the bun?” he inquired, less shy with each bite. “My husband bought it for me.” “You not hungry?” This child was sweet, so he’d know, “No, you have it. We got more at home.” “Okay,” and he continued absolutely devouring the pastry.   Just before he walked off again, you asked him, off-handedly, “That man, over there?” you pointed at the man with stony eyes, “You know him?” The boy fell still, “Yeah. He works here.” “What’s his name?” “Don’t know,” he whispered, “But mum told us to stay away.” “Why?” The kid shrugged, “He’s a bad man I suppose.” “Like those Shelby’s,” you tried, knowing the kid would know them like everyone around here did. It worked. “Nah,” he laughed, “the Shelby’s would never touch a woman!” “Does he?” you asked, eyes narrowing. “Mum says so. Mum says women are scared of him, because he hurts them. All of them.” You nodded slowly, “Why don’t the Peaky Blinders take care of him?” He shrugged again, “Miss? Thanks for the bun, but I really need to get back. I need my job.” “I know,” you urged him, “Go.” In France, you helped the sick and dying. This is what you had come for and you’d given up everything to do it. With the telegram of each brother found dead, you became more focussed on the work. It was like you turned into a machine, running only on adrenaline. Sometimes you would work shifts of 48 hours, simply because the other nurse had collapsed, or because the bodies wouldn’t stop coming in. Fear became second nature and fatigue had to be ignored. But being tired also made vulnerable: you learned this when one of the superior officers followed you into the halls of the makeshift hospital. Remaining on your feet after working for so long was easy, as long as you kept on moving. But when he grabbed you and you paused, your knees started buckling. Maybe it’d been the fear, maybe it was his rank and maybe it was purely that fucking bloody war, but there was no fight left in you in that moment. He had his way with you and you just… froze. Shame and guilt drove you back to England and back into the shadows you retreated. And then, shame and guilt turned into anger and the guardian angel became an avenging angel. You didn’t have to wait long. After his work was done, you followed the man with the cold eyes, watching his every move. All your fears and the kid’s warnings were confirmed in a dark corner of a filthy street. The woman never stood a chance. And so you vowed: you would end him. *** “What’s up with you?” Ada asked pointedly. Tommy’s head shot up and he stared at his sister with vacant eyes. “Thomas Shelby, the man who never eats. A rare biological mystery, he is,” Ada commented sarcastically. He grabbed a fork and picked up a potato, “I eat.” “Hardly,” Polly commented. “I have work to do, so if you ladies don’t mind…” But Ada wasn’t finished, “You’ve been lost in thought all day. Mind sharing it with us?” “No really.”

“Because we’re just women or…”

“Ada!” Tommy sighed, “Something… happened. Something unexpected and I can’t figure out how.”

“And this bothers you.”

There was something deeply infuriating about having a sister who was reading the newspaper, right next to you, but never made eye contact, and still she was absolutely right about everything. So Tommy threw his head back and admitted defeat, “Someone killed a man.”

“It’s Small Heath.”

“Someone I wanted dead, but he got there before me.”

Polly sat back down and leaned forwards, “The Irish? I though we did that.”

“Yes, that is what I had people believe.”

Ada suddenly looked up, “How?”

“I failed to take it into my calculations…”

“No. How was the Irish killed?”

Tommy blinked a few times, “A knife. Thrown from the roof.”

His sister smiled faintly, didn’t say a word and then went back to her newspaper.

“Ada…” Tommy growled, “If you know something, tell me.”

“Why? I thought you boys were taking care of business now.”

He looked at his aunt for support, almost desperate, but saw from her face that he could hope for little sympathy there.

“Fine, what do you want,” he demanded.

“Respect,” Ada said coldly.

“You have my respect.”

“Good,” she slowly flipped the page, “Now tell me you need me.”

Polly’s smirk grew into a grin and Tommy cursed all women, right there and then.

So he cleared his throat, “Ada, please, tell me.”

“It’s almost like it’s physically painful for him, isn’t it?” Polly said conversationally to Ada.

“Fucking hell…” Tommy groaned, “Ada, I fucking need your help. Please just tell me what you know!”

“Fine,” she abruptly closed the newspaper, “You need to go to that pub in Digbeth.”

“The one by the water?” Tommy frowned.

“That’s the one. Next to that boarding house that should’ve been closed years ago. That’s where you’ll find your killer.”

Immediately, he stood up. Because even though he thought he’d been subtle about it, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the incident for days now. The killer, whoever he was, had taken over his thoughts entirely. It was dark outside already, but still early enough for the pubs to be open. He’d go there at once.

“Tell her I said ‘hi’,” Ada called after him as he left.

And Tommy retraced his steps slowly, “‘Her’?”

“Her.”

He paused for a second, but when nothing else came, “You know they don’t allow women in pubs.”

“They do her,” Ada chuckled.

“Ada, stop playing these fucking games!” he shouted, as he threw down his cap in anger.

She, however, didn’t even blink and repeated, “Her. It’s a woman who killed your Irishman. All the women here know her; she takes care of a certain kind of man for us. She doesn’t want it known and she rids the world of bastards, so we leave her be. It all works out.”

Tommy turned to Polly, “Did you know of this?”

“I’ve heard of her, yes.”

“Then why the fuck has no one told me before?”

Polly sent a stern gaze at her nephew from over her teacup, “I thought you weren’t interested in women’s business.”

***

When you walked into the pub, a small nod to the man behind the bar was all that was needed. Dressing like a man had many advantages and this was definitely one of them. Still, he knew you were a woman, but after helping him out one night, you were allowed in. So you sat in the corner and became one with the furniture, drinking your whiskey in silence.

And then it happened. One man, who had no business being here, walked in. Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders was considered royalty in Small Heath, so why would he be here, in this grimy little cellar pub?

The thought that he came looking for you never even crossed you mind at first. He leaned over the bar and ordered whiskey, asking a few more questions you couldn’t hear. You tried to listen more closely, but the more you did so, the more inaudible his words seemed to become.

Suddenly, he turned and looked you right in the eyes. Without a second thought, you jumped up, kicked the table towards him and made your way to the door.

“Fuck,” you heard him ground out, but still he was quick. In a flash, he had the door barricaded and a gun pointed at your head.

“Out!” he commanded everyone but you.

You felt for the reassuring blades under your clothes and relaxed a little.

“Now, Miss…” he started after everyone had left.

But you didn’t plan on being interrogated, so the first knife whooshed passed his head: a warning.

Thomas Shelby froze. Then it was like an animal awoke in him and he lunged forwards, tackling you down with him. While you were struggling, you tried to plant a second knife into his leg, but he rolled away just in time. With big eyes he stared at the weapon now stuck in the floor.

And so you were standing opposite each other, weapons of choice pointed at each other’s heads.

“Alright,” he said after a while, holding up his hands in a pacifying manner, “There’s no need to fight.”

“Spoken by a man who knows he will lose,” you replied, without missing a beat.

“You want a fight?” Tommy said quickly, “Then fight me like a man. No gun, no fucking knives. If my sister is right about you, you’ll fight me like a man.”

With that you scoffed and threw away the knives, right next to his head, into the door. It gave you such pleasure to see him shudder with each one, but your face betrayed nothing.

“Now what?” you asked.

“You tell me.”

“Fine,” you sighed and punched him in the face, hard.

As his head shot back, you noticed a flicker of surprise in his features, but he quickly recovered and his face turned emotionless yet again.

Your triumph didn’t last long. If anything, you arrogance had distracted you, so the three blows that followed from his fists came out of nowhere. One to the nose, one to the chin and the last one square in the jaw. Thank God you weren’t vain.

You took a breath in, made yourself focus and quickly jabbed him two times, before hitting him right in the eye with a mean left hook.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered, “Who the fuck taught you how to fight like that?”

“My brothers,” you replied, before you could stop yourself.

Tommy held up his hands and his two punches to your gut literally took your breath away. Meanwhile, he said, “Why aren’t they here to defend you now, eh?”

“Do I look like I need to be fucking defended?” With a sudden kick you were certain you cracked at least on of his ribs.

Wheezing, he leaned over, but managed to grab your leg in the process and flipped you over onto the ground, “Brothers still do.”

“They’re dead,” you said from the floor, “the Somme,” and with one quick motion, you’d tackled him with your legs, “What about you?”

“The Somme too. Verdun…”

Before he could recover, you climbed on top of him and started pounding his pretty face with your fists. Unfortunately, he quickly bucked you off and hit you with a nasty uppercut, which made you wonder about your teeth.

You crawled back a little and felt with a hand at your mouth: blood. Tommy leaned against the wall and was still panting, lightly tracing a hand over his ribs. The chaos subdued and you both rested.

“Are we done?” he growled.

You stared at him with a look that told him you could go on for hours like this, “What is it that you want?”

“I just want to talk.”

Quickly, you started thinking out your options. Clearly, he knew who you were and evidently, you’d killed the wrong person this time. Really, it was bound to happen at some point.

“Who was it?” you asked, “the one you didn’t want dead.”

“I did want him dead,” he said as he slowly lifted his cigarette case from his pocket.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He smiled a little and the gesture was so unexpected that the feeling it gave you caught you completely off-guard, “I wanted to be the one to kill him.”

You furrowed your brows, thought back and suddenly nodded slowly, “The Irishman.”

He pointed at you with his cigarette in hand, “That’s the one.”

In the silence that followed, you watched this man, this broken boy. His eyes started glazing over and you knew he drifted off to placed in the distant past. As he smoked slowly, you recognised the signs of a flashback so well and you suddenly became more curious than ever about this man.

He saw the same thing in you evidently, because out of the blue he said, “You and me. I think we understand each other.”

“Do we?” you said in a voice that demanded distance.

He nodded a little, “We kill.”

You laughed a cold laugh, “Are you insane like me?”

“Maybe I am…”

“Or just in pain like me?” you added.

He didn’t speak for a long time, like he was thinking what to say next, but then, suddenly, he broke the pregnant silence. “Who hurt you?” he asked, in a voice so low it was almost inaudible.

You leaned forwards and locked eyes with him, fire burning inside them, “Everyone.”

Tommy sat back and offered you a cigarette, but soon realised you wouldn’t take it from his hands without expecting abuse from them. So he threw it your way and you grabbed it gratefully. When you lit it, the two of you leaned against the wall in the same manner, postures similar.

“It’s time,” he announced, looking up at the ceiling.

You cocked one eyebrow, “Is it?”

“The minute is almost up.”

“And how does it end?”

He sighed, “With names. You’ve beaten me. I’m no longer Mr. Thomas Shelby. It’s Tommy now.”

And you smiled at him softly and replied with your own vulnerability, “Y/N.”

***

Masterlist

[wouldpollyapprove]

Long Walk to Birmingham

Request:  Hi can I request 18 from the Angst list please ? For Tommy Shelby

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings:Abuse, alcohol, language

A/N: This is barely edited because it was sooooo long. I do really like it though and there will be a second part because I feel that it needs one.

Masterlist

Glass shattered as the man’s rage wreaked havoc through the small cottage. Y/n shrank into the corner and prayed that perhaps he would forget about her. The china cabinet had been pushed to the floor, all her mother’s good china broken, and the dining table that her father had worked on for hours was in pieces. A tear rolled down her cheek at all that was lost. 

“I can’t believe this!” the man roared and grabbed a plate off the floor. “I can’t believe you went behind my back!” He through the plate at Y/n, it shattered inches from her head, getting a shriek out of her. 

“Dad, I’m sorry,” she let out. “But we need the money.”

He scoffed. “I decided what we need around here, little missy! Not you,” he pointed at her. “Not you, you fucking whore!”

Y/n pushed herself up and brushed off the powder the plate had left. Never once had her father said an ill word to her. Not once had he raised his voice to her. It hurt to know that she was no longer a child in that sense. In his eyes, she was now a target he could attack. “It was just-”

“Just what?” he asked, venom laced his words.

“Just an old horse,” she whispered, but he heard her loud and clear.

Her father stood before her in the blink of an eye, hand raised. It came down with a deafening sound. Y/n stumbled back, clutching her face. Tears sprung from her eyes, he’d never once laid a hand on her. He grabbed her chin and pulled her to him and forced her to look up at him. “Now, don’t you ever, ever, do anything like that ever again. You hear me?”

She nodded, tears rolling down her face.

“Do you hear me?” he asked again.

“Yes, yes sir,” she muttered as he released her.

That was 3 days ago and the anger and violence had only increased. 

Y/n was used to it, of course. Her father had always been a violent man. When she was a child, he only ever laid a hand on her mother. No matter how much her brothers and her wanted to get involved and save their poor mother from her abuser, she would have none of it. In her mother’s eyes, her father was the love of her life. He had saved her from a backwoods way of life in the middle of nowhere in Scotland. He was what brought air to her lungs and life to her heart. It hurt Y/n to know that her mother believed her father was no monster. All the pain that had befallen the family was always caused by him. 

Once he had gotten into a fight with a man at the pub in their small village. It had cost her father his job and the family was left to starve. He, of course, didn’t see it as his own fault. It was never his fault, not when his youngest son died from starvation that winter. 

Nor was it his fault when he sent his eldest son away to work in a factory because the family needed money. The poor boy never returned home as he had lost his footing and had fallen into the equipment. Her father said no one was at fault but the boy.

And so, when the man ran out of children to bury in the ground, he turned to his only daughter. Her father sent her away to Birmingham, which was only an hour or so from home, but still a foreign land to her. Y/n stayed with her great aunt, who was just as cruel as her father, made it clear that it was an inherited trait. She worked all the jobs she could manage. Five days a week she worked the morning shift at a bakery near her great aunts. Three days a week she worked at a pub and sometimes she would tutor children on days that allowed. The money she brought in was more than her father had ever seen in his whole life. 

He didn’t know an honest day’s work if it stared him in the face. 

She hated it, living in Birmingham, at first. It wasn’t home, even though home wasn’t much better. People were rude and everywhere was filth. But once she took the job at the pub, the city became brighter. For she had fallen in love.

Y/n never meant to fall for Thomas Shelby, half the time she wasn’t even sure if people were allowed to look at him, yet she fell. She fell so hard that she didn’t know how it felt to love. Half the time she thought she was dying because never had she loved anyone in her life. Her heart would clentch and flutter all in the same beat. Cheeks red, it was always hard to hide her feelings, but it didn’t matter either way. Mr. Shelby never really gave her a thought. He saw her, but she knew he just saw straight through her. She was nothing but the barmaid that worked for him. 

He would never see her in any light.

She was nothing but the daughter of a drunk and abusive man, who would never amount to anything. She would marry a poor man and have his poor children and forever stay poor. That was the life she was destined to and that is likely what Thomas saw when he looked at her. Y/n was not what he wanted in a woman if he wanted anything at all.

Y/n waited for the lights to go out beneath her door. Once the house was dark, she threw her covers off and quietly changed into a pair of trousers and a button-up shirt. She was tired of being home and, more importantly, tired of her father throwing her around. Her beatings had just gotten worse with each passing day. It seemed that her father liked that she had stepped out of line, it gave him a new toy to play with. She slipped on a pair of shoes and opened the window, careful to make sure it didn’t squeak. Climbing out the window, she landed on her feet and made her way to the road. 

It was a long walk back to Birmingham, but she could no longer live with the Devil.

Her feet ached the longer she walked, but there was no time for rest. One foot in front of the other was the only way she would make it to safety. Y/n knew that once her father learned of her departure, he would track her down because if she was gone, so was his money. So, ahead she went for that was the direction of the promised land. 

As she walked, all she could think about was what she was going to do once back in Birmingham. She knew that it was no longer safe to stay with her great aunt, meaning she had no home. Perhaps the bakery owner she worked for would allow her his couch for the night. His wife loved her and would probably allow it. She couldn’t keep the same jobs, though. Her father knew where she was employed and it would only be a matter of time before he would show up there looking for her. 

She would have nothing. No clothes but those on her back. No job. No house. No nothing. She was nothing but a street rat, how great. 

It was midafternoon by the time Y/n reached the outskirts of the city. Her stomach grumbled with each step down the cobblestone street. Her hair stuck to her sweaty neck and she was covered in dirt from the road. She looked like she belonged to the streets. Perhaps, she did now. 

Continuing down the street, her path came to an end at the steps of the Garrison. She knew it would be best to keep walking, refuge was somewhere, but not here. Yet, she couldn’t move. She wanted one drink. Just one drop of the drink that could make her feel less. Feel less of the blisters on her feet. Feel less of the bruises that covered her face. Feel less of her broken heart. 

With what little strength she had left, she opened the pub door and walked inside. No one noticed her arrival as everyone was too drunk to care. To them, she was just a man who had gotten off his shift at the coal factory, not some girl on the run from her father. Y/n went up to the bar, she noticed that the Shelby’s were occupying the private room at the moment.

“Harry,” Y/n said quietly, trying not to gain anyone’s attention.

The man turned, a towel and a glass in each hand. He raised a brow and looked her up and down. “Y/n? What are you doing wearing that?”

She sighed, “It’s a long story, believe me. Can I stay in the backroom for a while?”

He gave her a soft smile and nodded. “Would you like something to drink? On the house for you tonight.”

“I’ll take some whiskey.”

Before she could protest, Harry handed her a bottle. “You look like you need it, now go before Tommy sees you.”

“You won’t tell him, will you?” she asked, her eyes pleading with him to keep her secret. Her boss didn’t need to be aware that she had been beaten black and blue. It was no one’s business but her’s anyway.

“No, dear, now go.”

Y/n scurried off to the backroom, shutting the door behind her. Finally, alone, she let out a deep breath. 

Freedom at last. 

She never knew that freedom would be the back room of a pub in the middle of poverty, but did anyone know what freedom truly looked like. Y/n opened the bottle and drank down as much as she could manage. It felt good, the liquor burning her throat. It traveled through her veins, easing her pain. 

There was a large crate in the corner of the room that once held bottles of whiskey, now empty, Y/n decided to sit in it. Night was now upon her and there was nowhere else she could run. Might as well have her fun while she could. 

By the time her eyes closed, the bottle that Harry had given her was empty. Her lips were turned up in a smile. Freedom at last. 

Once everyone had left the pub, the Shelby brothers exited their private room. It was now quiet enough for them to have a conversation with Harry.

“How’d ya do tonight?” Arthur asked and finished off the last of his whiskey.

He shrugged, “Did alright, I suppose.”

Thomas nodded and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He pulled one out and placed it between his lips. “Have you seen Y/n lately? She was supposed to work yesterday.”

Harry turned pale, he had seen her for sure, but he didn’t like what he’d seen. “No, no. Haven’t seen her.”

The man raised a brow and pulled out a box of matches and lite his cigarette. “I’m sure.” He turned to his brothers. “We need to go over the plan for tomorrow before any of us leave here tonight.”

“Ya, I guess,” Arthur mumbled, he just wanted to get some sleep. “We can discuss it over a bottle of well-aged whiskey. Just had some shipped in from Ireland, it’s in the back. Let me grab it.”

Harry couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut at what would be discovered. But he promised Y/n that not a word would come from him and he wanted to stay true to that. 

Arthur walked to the back room and stopped in the doorway. He wasn’t sure who was laying in the crate, but he knew no one should be. Without a word, he motioned for his brothers to come to his aid. Thomas and John came up behind him and peered over his shoulder and the figure that laid lifelessly in the whiskey crate. 

“It’s Y/n,” Harry said from behind them. Though he said he wouldn’t tell the brother’s anything, he knew that if he didn’t, they might shoot her. 

“What do you mean that’s Y/n?” Thomas asked, his eyes not leaving her exhausted body. 

Harry wrung his hands together, his nerves getting the better of him. “She came in a little bit ago, all black and blue and told me not to say anything. She looked like hell, but I gave her my word.”

He nodded, biting down on his cigarette. That was probably the reason she had missed her shift the day before. Thomas brushed past Arthur and walked up to the crate. Looking down, his heart ached at the bruise that took up Y/n’s cheek and the bags that were under her eyes. He didn’t know how it happened, but he knew it would never happen again. Scooping her in his arms, her bottle of whiskey clattered to the floor. “Let’s get her a proper bed.”

Y/n batted her eyes open, an unfamiliar ceiling staring down at her. Panic filled her chest, her breath coming in at ragged intervals. This was not where she was supposed to be. Not that she knew where she was supposed to be.

With a grunt, she pushed her body up, every muscle screamed for her to lie back down. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was racing a mile a minute, there was no way she was going to stay in bed. A cloudy mind, body riddled with exhaustion, Y/n imagined she was back home, in the small farmhouse that she had grown in. She had collapsed along the road and her father had picked her up, dragging her back to the hell she was trying to escape from. 

On weak knees, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and used the bedframe to push her up. The walkout of the small bedroom was a struggle, but once there, she knew that she definitely wasn’t home. Voices floated up from a flight of stairs and Y/n couldn’t help but follow them, her legs barely carried her down the stairs before she had to lean against the wall and catch her breath. 

“She’ll be alright, Tommy,” Polly’s voice reached Y/n ears. “Y/n’s strong and she just needs rest.”

“I know,” the man sighed.

Y/n reached the bottom of the stairs, her lungs screaming for air. It would have been a good idea to stay in bed, it was clear she needed to rest. But against her better judgment, she continued on her way and stopped at the entrance of a kitchen.

“Now, let’s not…” Polly dragged out as her eyes landed on Y/n in the doorway. She walked past her nephew and gently grabbed Y/n by the elbow. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, dear,” she led Y/n to a chair at the table. “Let me get you some tea.”

Thomas was leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest. Polly set a cup of tea in front of the girl before she excused herself. There was obviously something going on that Y/n was unaware of.

“Nobody’s seen you in days, Y/n.” He knelt in front of her and cupped her bruised face in his hands. His thumb circled the large bruise that was forming, it would be ages before it went away. “Seeing you in that whiskey crate, you had me scared to death.”

Y/n shook her head, letting his hands fall. “No need to worry, Tommy. I’m fine and you’ve got more important things to worry about.”

Tommy shook his head, that was not true. It was hard for Y/n to see, she had too many things to worry about, but the young man could never stop thinking about her. Day and night, she was in his thoughts. There was nothing he could do to keep her from his dreams, but there was nothing he wanted to do either. 

“Y/n… Y/n, you’re the most important thing I have to worry about.”

That was not what she was expecting. 

Sure, Y/n had always wanted Tommy to confess his feelings for her, but she knew it was impossible. It was only ever a dream in the back of her mind. She knew it would never happen. But it looked like she was wrong.

“No, I’m not,” she brushed it aside. As much as she had wanted this, she knew he was just saying it. “You have your business and your family to worry about. I shouldn’t make the list of worries.”

He shook his head, standing up. That was not the reaction he was expecting. “Why do you have to go and make this difficult?” he asked her. “I am in love with you and have been since you walked into the Garrison, looking for a job.”

Jaw to the floor, this was too close to the confession she had pictured in her head. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Tommy turned to the counter, bracing himself against its surface. “This is not how I wanted to tell you. All broken up because someone laid a finger on you,” he said more to himself than her. “Who did this to you, Y/n?”

Y/n shook her head, why was her life so screwed up? Why couldn’t she have a normal, happy family? Instead, she had a violent father, a blind mother, and dead brothers. Tommy turned back to her and stepped in front of her, his hand rubbing circles of his back. Before she knew it, Y/n was sobbing into his chest. “He’s never done this before,” her voice broke with every word. 

“Who, Y/n? Who?” his words were barely above a whisper.

She let out a sniffle. “My-my dad.”

Tommy instantly froze up. How could a father hurt his child like that? Granted, his own father was a piece of trash, fathers still should never lay a hand on their kids. “You’ll be alright, Y/n. I’ll make sure of it. That piece of shit will never touch you again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Firsts and Lasts

Pairings: Finn Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Prostitution (but no actual smut), talk of abuse

Summary: You grew up with Finn Shelby but after moving and losing contact with him, you find yourself in a desperate position to survive. 

A/N: I looked it up and Finn’s 21 and I’m trying to make the reader over 18 as well so please don’t come for me about underage stuff. I did say that she started working at 17 but that’s just cause realistically I can see that happening in this situation but there’s no actual depictions of underage stuff. 

A/N 2: It felt weird to write Linda as being excited about prostitution but this is set in season 4 episode... 3? (I think). Anyways, Linda is like canonically excited about it so yeah. Hope it's not too OOC the way I wrote it. I tried making her too exciting and bubbly about it cause I'd imagine she doesn't know how to act? Whatever, I'll shut up now 😂

___________________________________

This room, your clothes, everything about this life you lived, you hated. This room that you sat in, decorated with lavish, indulgent red and purple fabrics, reminded you of the disgusting, lustful men that consumed your time and body. The dress you wore was cut provocatively short and the sleeve was torn from that disgusting drunk last night. Your eyeliner had run down your cheeks from the tears of the early morning. 

In all honesty, you weren’t sure why you even cried anymore. It had been like this since you were seventeen and Paul, the man who ran the brothel you worked in, had found you desperate for money and taken advantage of it, manipulating you into prostitution. His abuse quickly became apparent but you knew you didn’t have the means to make it on your own yet so you’d agonizingly decided to stick with it until you had enough money to get as far away from the streets as possible.

“You’ve got yourself a job, Y/N.” Paul announced when he walked into the room you were sitting in. Your eyes shot up, the nerves that always started bubbling in your stomach when you were called on beginning to act up. 

“Who is it?” You asked, standing as Paul walked towards you. The man may have looked respectable enough but it wasn’t hard to see past that slick exterior to the perverted, greedy man beneath. He was a pimp after all and as much as he would like to believe people saw him as a legitimate business man, everyone in town saw him as nothing more. 

He began to fidget with your hair that hung in loose messy curls around your face, most of them having fallen since curling them last night. Last night was Friday. That was the brothel’s busiest day of the week. “Don’t know exactly but it was a Shelby boy who called. Don’t know which. But he asked for the best of the best and that’s you today, love.” 

What a compliment. The best of the best today. Not that being the best of the best when you’re a prostitute was really a compliment anyways. As he ran a hand down your face, you tried your hardest not to flinch away from his touch, feeling nothing but his filth on your skin. When he’d first picked you up and hired you, you’d fallen for this trap before. This false gentle exterior. But you flinched when he’d gotten a little too close for comfort and before you knew it, his open palm blew across your face. You learned quickly. 

Suddenly, his hand moved from your face to twist your hair around his fist and yanked your head back. You gritted your teeth through the pain and tried to maintain eye contact with him as he spat, “Now, girl, these is the Shelby boys. You treat ‘em good. You treat ‘em right. You don’t say no to anything. If I hear anything went wrong, you’ll be gettin’ the drunks tonight, ya hear?” 

Trying your best not to step out of place, you nodded silently, even though all you wanted was shoot daggers through the man. You knew better than to step out of place, at least in this position. 

“What was that?” He questioned, pulling harder on your hair. 

“Yes sir.” You managed through grit teeth.

Finally, Paul’s grip on your hair loosened and he threw a piece of paper at you. You caught it clumsily and unravelled it, seeing an address written there. “Be there at noon, go through the back. And for the love of God, make yourself look presentable.” Paul sneered at you in disgust before walking out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Shit, the Shelby’s. This would be humiliating. You’d lived a few houses down from them for years and had even played with Finn growing up, him being the same age as you. The older brothers shipped out about the same time as your father. Over that time, your mother wasn’t able to afford the house anymore so you had to move and hadn’t seen any of the Shelby’s since. Maybe, if you were lucky, they wouldn’t remember you. 

You glanced at the ornate clock that hung on the wall, the one that Paul bought to try to impress clients. It was 11:20 already and you knew that the address you had to go to, Shelby Company Ltd., was a twenty minute walk. That gave you twenty minutes to try to look presentable. 

Making your way to the back room that was full of beds that all the other girls who worked in the brothel slept in, you sat on the sad excuse you called a bed and pulled a mirror from the small trunk under it. Your H/C hair stuck up in an unruly ghost of what was yesterday’s curls. Your makeup was smudged and barely there where it needed to be. Your lipstick had rubbed off to be just a faint tint on your lips, which maybe was better than it being fresh. It made less of a mess this way. You’d noticed you were still in the same clothes as last night, having worked into the early hours. The shoulder was ripped too. Things definitely needed to be changed. 

Quickly, you fixed up your makeup and hair and changed into a different dress, no less  provocative but much more intact. By 11:40, you were on your way to Shelby Company Ltd. and at noon sharp, you were knocking on the back door.

While you waited for the door to be answered, you silently wondered which of the Shelby boys had called for some company, for lack of a better word. You had a feeling it wasn’t Tommy. He didn’t frequent the whore-houses much anymore. Arthur and John were married but, honestly, you wouldn’t put it past either of them to seek out companionship elsewhere. Your heart raced with anxiety, not looking forward to having any form of sexual relation with any of the Shelby boys that you’d grown up with, especially since they were so much older. God, you prayed they wouldn’t remember you. 

Suddenly, the door swung open to reveal a blonde woman you didn’t recognize, a big giddy smile on her face, “You’re here! Oh my gosh!” She squealed excitedly. 

A woman? This would definitely be the first woman that had ever requested your services but money was money. But as she reached down, pulling you excitedly into the building, you noticed the gold cross hanging from her neck and immediately doubted your initial assumption but you could be wrong. 

“Oh! Um, hello Miss…. Shelby?” You guessed. 

She shrugged, “Please, call me Linda. Now you’re sort of a surprise for our boy Finn, here. He’s a virgin so be nice though.” She whispered the last part with a smile, leading you through the mostly empty building.

Oh my God, you thought. It was Finn. You were supposed to do things with Finn, the boy you played with as children. Please, you prayed, don’t let him recognize me.

“She’s here!” Linda squealed into a room, pulling you along before you could even see who she was speaking to. 

“Oh shut up, Linda, before the poor boy hears you!” Another woman responded, her voice sounding vaguely familiar. 

You found yourself led to an open office where a man stood with his back to you. Linda knocked on the door and then ran off, leaving you standing there nervous and confused. The man turned around and immediately, you knew it wasn’t Tommy, John, or Arthur. This had to be Finn but he wasn’t the little boy you grew up down the street from. 

This Finn was tall now and his hair was cut in the trademark Peaky Blinder style, shaved close on the sides and longer on top. His skin was only slightly more freckled than you remembered from all those years ago. And even through this strange stoic attitude he now had, something you’d imagined was also learned through years of being raised by his brothers, you still saw an insecure boy in his eyes. 

 “Mr. Shelby?” You began, cautiously but still trying to sound seductive. This was always how you began house calls like this, with a ‘Mr.’ in front. Some men got angry when addressed by their first names by a “low-life whore” as you’d learned the hard way.

The man looked at you curiously, studying you in a way that most men didn’t. He wasn’t imagining you naked or trying to figure out the fastest way to get down to business. Judging by the way his brows furrowed slightly, he almost looked like he was trying to figure out who you were. “Yeah. Who are you? Did you have an appointment with Thomas?” He asked, hands in his pockets. He looked so official like this. 

Show time. You walked towards his desk, running your fingers gingerly along the chair as you made your way to him, “No… no… I actually would like to meet with you.” Your voice was sweet but thick, sexy eyes in full effect. 

Finn watched in a daze, his eyes following every sway of your hips, as you made your way around the desk and closer towards him. “What’re you doing?” He asked with no real momentum behind the question, totally trapped in your trance. 

You came up behind him, running your hands along his shoulders and down his biceps, “I’m just admiring the handsome powerful man in front of me.” You purred into his ear. His body shuddered slightly under your touch. As long as you could keep him under this spell, you were sure you could get in and out of here quickly and smoothly. 

Finn stiffened just slightly, “Wait, did Tommy send you? Are you a prostitute?” He looked over his shoulder at you and you could see the trance beginning to break. You could tell he was uncomfortable by this idea. 

“Oh, Mr. Shelby, don’t you worry. I’m just here to make you feel good. We won’t do anything you don’t want.” You snaked around to the front of his body, your breasts rubbing against his chest as you leaned up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “But we can do whatever you do want.” You leaned back biting your lip to find him with his eyes closed, leaning in to your every word. 

Slowly, you slid your hands down his chest and towards his pants, not going to undo them just yet but beginning to rub your hand skilledly over his growing bulge. His breathing hitched at the contact and you decided to start biting gently on his neck. A small breathy moan fell from his lips. 

Deciding he was ready, you pulled back and bit your lip, looking up at him through your lashes, “Any preference on how we do this?” You asked, keeping your smile and overall demeanor a little sweeter than you usually would. He was a virgin, after all. Be nice, Linda had said. Your fingers danced on his chest, choosing to tease him slightly.

But before he answered your question, he looked into your eyes and a look of sudden realization washed over his face. He grabbed your wrist and pulled it away from his chest. At first, you panicked, thinking you were about to get hit. It wouldn’t be the first time. Instead, though, he looked almost hurt, “Y/N L/N?” He asked, his entire demeanor shifting. “Is that you?” 

Your eyes widened and you were sure you looked like a deer caught in headlights. “No?” You tried your hardest to lie but the panic rising in your throat made the word come out more as a question. 

Finn let your wrist go when he saw your eyes flicker over to where his hand gripped your arm. “What’re you doing?” He asked, unable to comprehend that his childhood best friend could possibly be in this line of work. 

You didn’t know how to respond to the question. “I have to.” Your voice cracked when you spoke. Gosh, you hated how weak you sounded but there had been few times in your life when you’d felt this humiliated. You swore up and down since you started this at seventeen that you were only doing what was necessary to survive but you’d never had to face someone you actually knew while doing it. 

“No, no you don’t. Not if you don’t want to.” Finn insisted, looking down at you with worry filled eyes. 

You gave a sad laugh, looking away, “I do, though, Finn. But look, I’m not here looking for sympathy. I think those women out there called me to give you a good first lay. We can do this still if you want.” You straightened up, putting back on a sterner voice that you were sure wasn’t going to betray you. 

Finn shook his head, “I don’t want this. Not like this.” 

You nodded with pursed lips, secretly grateful that he didn’t want to continue. You weren’t sure if you could with him. “Alright then, I’ll be leaving. But, um, if you don’t mind… I know it’s lying but would you mind pretending like we did something. Anything, I don’t care what you say. I just need my employer to think that you were… satisfied.” 

Finn looked at you with sad confusion, “Wait!” He reached for you, when you went to leave, stopping you, “Wait, no, just, just wait a second.” You allowed him to pull you back into the room and push you gently to sit on the desk. His hands rested on your shoulders, his big brown eyes looking sincerely into yours. “What happened?” 

He knew the question was open but he wanted to know it all. You and he were best friends as children who did everything together. You were close with the Shelby family and were pretty much on track to join the company when you got older. But then you just disappeared one day without an explanation. 

You sighed, all the memories from the past that you tried to suppress coming back with a force, “Well, y’know that my dad got drafted about a year before your brothers. My mum couldn’t afford to keep the house after two years so we had to move. I didn’t know why we were moving back then and I didn’t even know we were leaving until the night before we did so I couldn't tell you. But we did. We moved to the far eastside of Birmingham.” 

Your voice began to crack, the part you tried your hardest to keep buried coming to light, “We got a letter saying that my dad was killed in the trenches right after we moved. Then my mum died of the Spanish Flu right after. I think I was about eleven. The police forced me into an orphanage but the older kids never got adopted so they ushered me out when I turned seventeen. I didn’t really have anywhere to go, no money, no home. I didn’t know anybody. And then this man Paul came up and told me he could help.” 

You didn’t need to elaborate any further for Finn to understand. “I’m sorry.” He said, unable to think of what else to say, “If we would’ve known, I’m sure we would’ve helped.” 

You shook your head, standing again, “Thank you but I don’t need your sympathy or pity. I didn’t come here for that. I’m fine.”

“Are you though? Cause it doesn’t look like it! You’ve been doing this for, what? Two, three years? Are you happy?” He asked. 

You scoffed, whatever pride you had left threatened by him. “I’m fine.” You repeated. 

Finn groaned, “That’s not what I asked. Are you happy? Do you like your life?” 

“No! Is that what you wanted? No! Of course, I’m not happy being treated like a fucking sex slave and forced to the will of whatever man makes a deal with Paul! But if this is what I have to do to survive, then I’ll fucking do it!” You were pointing harshly at him, using anger to mask every other unpleasant emotion.

“What if you didn’t have to do it anymore?” Finn suggested quietly, looking seriously at you. 

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t need your money, Finn.” 

“I don’t mean that. I mean a job. What if I could get you a real job here at Shelby Company Limited?” You scanned his face for any hint of a cruel joke but he looked at you with nothing but concerned sincerity. 

Could this be it? That opportunity that got you out of the sheets of violent drunks and into a real job? But just as that glimmer of hope began to shine, it faded away with the thoughts of reality, “I can’t. Paul… he’s beat girls for trying to leave before.” 

“He won’t touch you. You’ll be running with the Blinders. If he tries anything, we’ll fucking kill him.” Finn was serious, his eyebrows raised. 

He was right, you realized. If Paul found out that you were working with the Peaky Blinders, he’d never touch you. You could finally be safe from him. You looked up at Finn with tearfully grateful eyes and hugged him tightly, “Thank you, Finn.” 

Finn was taken off guard by your sudden affection, especially since you were yelling at him just moments prior, but relaxed and hugged you back, holding your body against his. Honestly, he knew he had no actual right to hire you or send out a hit on Paul without Tommy’s permission but that was beside the point right now. He’d find a way to keep you safe. 

[sinningismywinning]

Do As You Please - 1

   This wasn’t something you did often. Yet again, that doesn’t mean you haven’t thought of doing it more. The wet cobblestone clicked and cracked beneath your heels. The smell of musk and filth filled your nose. You tried to avoid bars at night, but after the day you had working alongside head seamstress Jeanne Tousaint, you could really use that bourbon.

 Everyone in Birmingham knew that the best place to drink was the Garrison. Well, all the men knew that. People weren’t particular about women strolling into bars, unless they were whores, or chaperoned by husbands. You knew people would strew you a line of shit once you sat down to drink, but you figured that you’d get too drunk to notice. You pushed open the doors, feeling the central slab of copper, grease your hands with grime.

With your head held high, you made your way inside the dimly lit bar. There was an uproar of conversations. You noticed a few heads turning your way, but this was a regular card you dealt with. The pub was packed, so finding a lone seat was hard enough. You sat far from the door with an empty seat to your left. On the other side of that empty seat, was a man who smelled like the floor of the bar. He had an unkempt mustache. For whatever reason, that stuck with you. The barman walked towards your section. He paused at the man who looked like he had been drinking all day. “Another one Mr. Shelby?” he questioned while puling away his empty glass. Another one? The poor bastard was drunker than a doorknob, yet the man behind the bar seemed to egg him on, or so you thought. 

The man mumbled back incoherently to your ears, but somehow the tender understood perfectly what he said. Must be a regular. It didn’t take long for the bartender to pour your drink. You thanked him kindly and slid your money to him. This process carried on 3 more times, until you stopped counting.Hours had passed, and time was not your friend. Everything in your vision was warping, and quite frankly you had enough confidence to chat up any patron in this vicinity. You loved being social, even in situations when you shouldn’t. It was easy to bite your tongue, but tonight was a night of fun. You spoke freely to the man behind the bar. He didn’t shut you down for speaking about your political beliefs, and quite frankly, seemed to treat you to the same standard as any man within that very pub.

 The man a few seats down had suddenly traded places, as he began to sober up, and you went in the opposite direction. He would occasionally chime in to whatever conversation you held. The bartender watched his words carefully around the man, but you didn’t get the hint to carry yourself the same way. “Say, I’ve never seen you here before,” he spoke directing his body towards you. Long nose. You always picked up on odd attributes.

“As I, to you.” You slurred raising your glass. Wrong answer. He wanted to know your name, not your input. You saw the squint of his eyes and couldn’t help but giggle. He was trying to pick your brains. “You’ve got a mouth on you, yeah?” You were a smart-ass, but alcohol brought that out completely. You nursed your drink as the bartender rubbed his stubble with angst. “Don’t all faces have mouths, Mr... Sheldon?” you shot back, trying to remember what the bartender referred to him as. He didn’t know whether to laugh, or pity you. “It’s Shelby,” he spoke deeply, getting the hint that you had no clue who you were speaking to. He was right, you didn’t. “Shelby, Sheldon, all sounds the same,” you quipped with a short laugh.

 He didn’t know where you had came from. You were dressed well, and seemed to take care of yourself. You couldn’t be a whore, or a street vendor. This puzzled him more. “Names Arthur, just leave it at that,” he shook his head with thinning patience and turned his body back to the bar. You were a tricky thing to figure out. You noticed the bar drop in noise as a man walked in. He solemnly nodded to a few lads sitting down in booths. Once he filled the gap between you and Arthur, the bar resumed its previous momentum. The man depressed his posture to quickly light a cigarette. His eyes glanced to you, but only momentarily. He didn’t have to flag the man down from behind the bar, it was almost as if the bar-hand waited in place for his arrival. 

You watched the interaction as you sipped your watered-down bourbon. “The usual, Mr. Shelby?” he asked sincerely. The man now sitting next to you just nodded in response. Another Shelby? They certainly didn’t look alike, and they didn’t have the same affect on a crowd as the other did. It puzzled you. You leaned forward and looked down the bar at Arthur. Some would say your balls were bigger than most. “Brothers? Or Cousins?” you asked completely dismissing the presence of the man in-between you. Arthur let out a laugh and just shook his head. He found it entertaining to watch you run your mouth with disregard. Some would find it disrespectful and embarrassing, he simply found it amusing. “Brothers,” he spoke turning to the bar-hand. “Her drinks are on me.” He had taken a liking to you.

Your eyes widened. You didn’t know whether to be flattered, or annoyed. It was as if he spoke down to you by saying that. “I haven’t drank in a long time,” you swirled your glass. “You sure you can keep up with tonight’s habit?” Now the tables turned. He was on the other end of not knowing whether to be annoyed or curious. Maybe both. His brother, the middle-man, didn’t take his eyes off of you. He wanted to see how Arthur would play this one out. The drinks were having quite an unruly effect on your mouth. “Like what you see, love?” Your words made the bartender cringe. Tommy tilted his head with amusement. “Alright miss, I think its time I catch you a walk home,” he spoke lowly. The middle man raised his hand, “No James, it’s quite alright.” he spoke with a smoother voice than his brother. James nodded from behind the bar, not wanting things to get out of grasp.

“Maybe I do like what I see,” he turned to you. His sharp eye contact was more than what you expected. Usually men were intimidated by you. He seemed to have the higher ground with this altercation. Arthur shook his head from behind him in disbelief that his brother was feeding into this. Just as you were about to respond he beat you to it. “How much do you charge?” His words floated just like the smoke that left his mouth. He knew better. He knew you weren’t a whore. You were too posh to be one, and you set your standards low to even drink in a place like this. You let out a hearty laugh. If you didn’t, all of this liquid courage might’ve made you smack him. Men and their entitlement. That’s all that rang through your brain. You could tell by his suit that he had money. Yet, the way he spoke showed that he was raised here, in the slums.    

“I charge more than what you could ever afford,” you stammered, caving in to his false perception of you. Bastard. “Tommy,” Arthur spoke trying to divert his attention from you. “Ooo, like Tommy gun?” you retorted to get under his skin. He may be blunt but you were rude. His face didn’t move in reaction. “No, Tommy as in Thomas,” now he knew why Arthur didn’t move away from you after drinking. No one else spoke to them like this. No one else dared to speak to them like this. You couldn’t be genuine with your remarks, you had to know who they were. How could you not know who the fucking Shelbys were?   

 “Can’t afford? It’s not about money, its about standards.” He said turning away from you. You weren’t going to be walked over like this. You set your drink on the bar to get a better grip at your words, but you managed to tip it over. It spilled onto his lap in a genuine accident. People in the booths were already eyeing your altercation with the brothers. “Aw fuck!” you stumbled trying to stop the spill of the glass. People went dead silent, some even stood. Most knew that the patience of Thomas Shelby, was none.

 You immediately reached for a rag resting on top of the bar. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-” You reached to dry his shirt. Boundaries and bourbon didn’t go hand-in-hand. He grabbed your wrist to stop you. Even in your moments of coldness, you still apologetically tried to help. He opened his mouth slightly to say something, but quickly closed it. You were just a drunk girl on the wrong side of town. He had figured that much by now. Your eyes locked with his. “I think its time for you to go home dear.” Arthur spoke with pity as he got up to stand next to his brothers seat. It wasn’t suppose to be a night like this. Thomas’ cigarette burned in the ash tray. You were defeated. Embarrassed by your actions. He held his grip a little too long. When you looked at his hand he let go of you.

He turned over his shoulder to see everyone else in the bar drawn to you. No one broke their gaze. He turned to Arthur. “I’’ll take her home. Don’t need someone from here following her, and throwing her body in the Cut.” he poorly whispered. Arthur nodded in agreement. Thomas came into the bar to occupy his mind. He didn’t need your interaction weighing him down, as well as how he’d feel if you, a woman, was killed after he let you drunkenly leave the pub. He turned back to you, “Let’s go.” He spoke with no room for interjection. You knew better than to be rude in an instance like this. You looked down at your feet as the floor moved and wobbled. Your eyes played tricks on you as the alcohol warmed your chest. His hand found the small of your back as he pushed your way through the crowd. You didn’t expect your night to end this way.

[mintjamsblog]

Wet (by MintJam)

Peaky Blinders fic: Tommy x Alfie

Read on A03

Summary: In which Alfie is not feeling himself.  

"He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off."

Warnings: NSFW!

Wet

It’s raining when Alfie wakes up on a Thursday morning. Proper rain. Not the usual damp London drizzle, but big, fat droplets that seem to fall too slowly and land too loudly. He hasn’t looked out yet but he can hear them smacking thickly against the glass, warning him to stay put. It makes a pleasant change, he supposes; it’s usually the birds that wake him first, welcoming the not-yet-dawn, although it seems they’ve all taken cover this morning, too busy keeping their feathers dry. Contrary little fuckers, birds; happy enough to chirp delightedly each morning over the Somme, heedless of the acres of filth and stench of death, and yet silenced by a simple downpour.

He lies still, listening to the water collecting in the gutters outside, running down the street and gurgling noisily into the drains. His sheets are drenched and he needs a piss. He ought to get up. No doubt the rain had a hand in conjuring up last night’s choice selection from the darkest recesses of his mind: Old Archie Pembroke. Fucker should have paid up of course — was one of the few that could afford to. Alfie had made sure it was a suitably watery end for the landlord of The Ship, The Lock Tavern and The Black Buoy. Drowning. In a barrel of his own beer. The ripples it sent through Camden doubtless saved the lives of a dozen other landlords who thought better of standing up to the volatile Jew thereafter. One life wrung out for the loyalty of dozens; he’d do it again in a trice.

The level of detail his subconscious mind can recall always staggers Alfie — the strength of grip required to keep a man's head beneath the surface; the frantic gasps for air after each submersion; the surprisingly long time it took for him to finally stop struggling.  He'd forced the bar staff to watch (there's really no point in the theatre of it without an audience to spread the word) and they had gasped their way into his sleep too. Still, it was a far better death than many Alfie witnessed in France. Gas was the worst. When you've watched a man retch up yellow liquid from the depths of his own lungs over two whole days and nights — before finally drowning in it — then it's hard to feel sorry for a man like Pembroke.

Funny how the battlefield is not the thing that haunts Alfie. It haunts Tommy, he knows that much. Not that they ever discuss or even acknowledge that fact unless absolutely forced to. If Tommy’s aware of Alfie’s dreams then he doesn’t let on. Which is fine. It’s the same tack Alfie’s taken many times in reverse because no good comes of dragging those thoughts into your waking hours, far better to leave them wrapped in the sheets. Food or a fuck is Alfie's preferred medicine — although seeing as the cupboards are bare and Tommy hasn't been in London for days neither is on the menu this morning.

The rain continues unabated as he splashes cold water over his face; washes his eyes, his hair, his beard. The dream refuses to wash off, its remnants cling to him like smoke; not the specifics, just a vague feeling of unease that he knows will last well past lunchtime. Which is why, when Edna shuffles in, a blast of petrichor in her wake, he welcomes the distraction and insists she drink tea with him. She knows the score, knows she'll find wet sheets when she heads upstairs, but Alfie's strange gruff manner doesn't bother her. She'd never have lasted this long if it did. And so they share tea and Alfie asks after her brother, a man so wrecked by the war he never leaves the house. They share the bagels Edna brought in comfortable silence until, with warm tea and food in his belly the heaviness starts to lift. Alfie can't help but think of his mother, like Edna a hard-working, uncomplaining woman. He wonders vaguely what she'd make of the man he's become? Would she be proud or dismayed? Neither, probably, she was always a pragmatist. Alfie's pulled from his thoughts by the shrill ring of the telephone in the other room. It's Olly, all of a panic — there's been some sort of flood at the bakery. He's starting to wonder if his watery dream was an omen.

–––––

The mess at the bakery is nothing short of a disaster; the priority is keeping the surviving barrels dry and protecting the molasses (that stuff is still not easy to come by — not quite the liquid gold it was a few years ago, but valuable nonetheless). He spends half the day knee-deep in cold, filthy water and the other half bellowing at his staff, the insurance broker, several suppliers and anyone else with enough of a death-wish to come within 5 yards of him. Which all means that by the time he gets home he is freezing, stinking and ready to kill the next person to so much as look at him the wrong way.  He runs himself a bath (upstairs; he's too tired to fill the copper tub) and lies in the warm water pondering the fucking fortune it's gonna cost to sort out the buildings — not to mention the lost stock, revenue and good will. The one saving grace, if you can call it that, is that the whole shebang appears to have been an act of God, which at least means he doesn't have to add retribution to the list of actions required (the Lord God Almighty is outside even Alfie's jurisdiction). He lays there, eyes closed, and tries to empty his head, to think of nothing, to think of the value of sight, but his mind is too busy and it isn't long before he finds himself wondering what's been happening with the Shelbys. In and of itself, this fact is downright bloody disturbing. The last thing he needs in his current mood is an unsolicited image of John and Arthur skittering across his mind — it's enough to make his already disinterested cock retreat back inside his body entirely. Fucking hell. He's not one to cast aspersions on the virtue of the late Mrs Shelby, but the idea that Tommy was born of the same blood as those two gormless idiots is just ... well it's fucking preposterous is what it is.

If he's honest, he's a bit disappointed that Tommy hasn't been in touch for days. Not that he's made any running himself, of course. Tommy will be in touch when he's good and ready. Or when he's spectacularly fucked himself up somehow. One or the other. He drags himself slowly out of the bath and decides to turn in for the night because he's not feeling all that great — throat a bit sore, chest a bit heavy — all that fucking cold water no doubt. It doesn't prevent the ghastly dream that follows shortly after, it's William Taylor tonight (stabbed in the chest) although he wakes halfway through the grisly climax because there's banging coming from downstairs. Shit, he forgot to lock the fucking security bars. He grabs his gun as he stumbles onto the landing, physically shaking off the nightmare as he limps down the stairs. It’s Tommy, of course, and he's clearly had a couple of drinks ... not a skinful, but enough to make him a little louder than usual.

"You haven't locked the fucking security gates, Alfie."

"Well hello to you too, darling."

Tommy's looking at him strangely, brow furrowed. "Did I get you out of the bath?" he asks.

Alfie looks down, momentarily perplexed, before realising his undershirt is soaked. "Yeah, yeah, s'nothing," he grumbles. "Shitty day, that's all." He'd rather not have to explain exactly why he's drenched in sweat, but one of the benefits of sleeping with an emotionally repressed numbskull is that he's highly unlikely to pry. Especially when he's had a few. Alfie heads back upstairs and straight to his room, retrieving a fresh undershirt from the press. He's just changed into it when Tommy appears from the bathroom, looking less clothed but more bemused. He sits down on the edge of the bed and opens his arms in a clear signal he wants a hug. He's definitely had a drink, then. Alfie walks into the embrace, stands between his open thighs and lets warm arms wrap around his waist. Tommy rests his head against Alfie's stomach for a moment and it fucking warms his cockles, even if the man does smell of whiskey. Of course then Tommy opens his mouth and spoils the whole bloody moment, but that's him all over innit? "Nearly broke my fucking leg in there," he mumbles into Alfie's shirt. "S'water everywhere. Wet my socks. And you didn't empty the tub, it's full of cold water."

"All fuckin' right," Alfie says defensively. "Anything else you'd like to complain about? It is me own bleeding house, mate." He was going to add an amusing quip about whales and blowholes but his brain doesn't want to play ball. It wants to close down for the night, despite the slightly drunk man clinging to his middle who is now trying to nose down his shorts.

"I really need to get some shut-eye, mate."

"Too tired for a blow job?" Tommy says, fingers tucking into Alfie's waistband.

"Fraid so," Alfie mumbles, at which Tommy looks absolutely incredulous. Which is a bit offensive actually. It's not like he's a total whore on an average day now, is it? Although, actually ...  where Tommy is concerned ... now that he looks back on the past few months ... well whore's not quitethe word he'd choose. He can't help it if he's generally enthusiastic. Because Tommy is genuinely the best shag of his life and can get him hard just by walking through a door... usually ... bloody hell, which is a sure sign he's not one hundred percent tonight, but doesn't mean ...

"Alfie? You sure?"

"Fuckin' hell Tom, never thought I'd say this, but yes."

"Alright," Tommy says, pushing himself up. Only now he's fucking pouting. Alfie can't resist reaching over and flicking the bottom lip that's protruding just enough to have crossed the line between sexy and childish. It doesn't go down well – Tommy smacks his hand away irritably and proceeds to unbutton his shirt. If Alfie was feeling more himself he'd find a suitable way to repay Tommy for that. But he's not. So he doesn't.

"Just get in, Tommy," he sighs as he pulls back the covers and slides one leg into the bed. The sodden sheets make him recoil instantly, "Oh for fucks sake," he yells. Tommy looks up at him sharply. "S'fuckin drenched. Just like this entire wretched day. I'm gonna sleep in the spare room." He heads for the door in exasperation, fully expecting Tommy to follow. He doesn't. He just stands there looking like he's been slapped. "With you, you bloody idiot," Alfie snaps, grabbing Tommy by the hand and physically dragging him across the landing. How come, right, he's the one who's just relived, with ungodly realism, a brutal (albeit necessary) stabbing; he's the one who feels like shit, and yet Tommy's the one who needs reassuring?

He gets into the spare bed and manhandles Tommy into some sort of spooning position. He can't tell whether the man's still pouting or not, but the way he presses his back against Alfie's chest suggests not. He kisses the back of Tommy's head, hopeful of a more peaceful night now that this surly, peevish little gypsy is back in his bed. Well, not his bed, technically. His spare bed. But the point stands. He's asleep within moments.

–––––

The bloody birds are back on form the next morning, little bastards, cheerily welcoming the new day. At least that means the rain's stopped. He's confused for a moment when he opens his eyes, can't quite place where he is. He feels rough as old boots – his head aches, his throat feels like glasspaper and his limbs feel like sandbags. He's overslept, must have done, the sun's already up and there's no sign of Tommy. He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen either; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off. Not only that, but there's a towel in the bed. It's all bunched up and digging into the backs of his knees uncomfortably, but it's very definitely under him. He digs his fingers into his eye sockets as if that might rub some recollection into them. It doesn't, so he throws himself back down against the pillows instead.

"Morning, Alfie," Tommy says a couple of minutes later, carrying a tray into the room. Alfie tries to reply, but all that comes out is a strained croaking sound. He coughs and tries again, but it's not much better. Fucking hell he is on the back foot here — Tommy is up and dressed and back to his usual rigid self. He's looking as beautifully buttoned up as ever, whilst Alfie doesn't even know where his clothes are, let alone how he got out of them.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Tommy mocks. "Has Alfred Solomons lost his voice?" He looks fucking delighted with himself. Bastard.

"Well," Alfie croaks, "I am of course only here to ensure a smile passes your lips at least once a week. Glad to see my misfortune has achieved that already this morning."

"Shut up, Alfie," Tommy says, "you sound like a toad."

It's a fair point. Rude, but fair. He manages to stay quiet for all of twenty seconds before curiosity gets the better of him. He has a feeling he's not going to like the answer to this question but he asks it anyway.

"So did you have your wicked way with me last night whilst I was unconscious or has an evil fairy performed a vanishing spell on my clothes? Hmm?"

"They were wet," Tommy says dismissively, before swiftly changing the subject. "Thought you might like something to eat," he says, placing the tray down on Alfie's legs. "Tea, toast and some weird-looking pastry things," Tommy says, recoiling from the plate.

"It's a type of food, Tommy. Some of us actually enjoy that, you know."

"They remind me of pissing contests in the school yard."

"You what?" Alfie splutters.

"You know, all of us boys would line up and see who could piss the highest up the wall. That's what they look like — a row of little dicks."

"Fuckin' hell Tommy, that is just nasty." Despite which, he finds himself wondering who won, even rooting for eight-year-old-Tommy. His brain is quite clearly addled. "They're called rugelach; Edna makes 'em. You should try one."

"No thanks," Tommy says, grimacing. "Only dick I wanna put my lips around is under those blankets."

That makes Alfie laugh, or at least try to, it catches in his throat and turns into something between a wheeze and a cough.

"I've gotta go," Tommy says, leaning over to give him a peck on the forehead. "Think you'd best stay here, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah, m'not going anywhere. All that bloody water. Must've caught something."

"I'll be back later. Got people to see."

–––––

Alfie spends half of the day in bed, hoping he can sleep off the worst of whatever this is. He avoids the towel and the damp sheets by sleeping on Tommy's side, but eventually his back forces him up — staying still for too long never does it any good. The light is grey and watery, must be afternoon by now, so he finds himself trousers and an undershirt, pulls them on as carelessly as ever and covers them with not one waistcoat, but two. He wraps a scarf around his neck for good measure and makes his way downstairs. One thing's for sure, he can't go to the bakery in this state. Men work harder for a monster than they do for other men – it doesn't do to humanise oneself with the staff. He makes an exception for Edna, calls Olly and has him send her over even though it's not one of her days. Be easier, maybe, if he installed a phone at her house. He makes sure to berate Olly soundly for all the things he knows will be sliding in his absence, as much to satisfy his irritability as to keep up appearances.

His theory on leadership is reinforced nicely by Edna's reaction to his watery eyes and rasping voice. "Oh Mr Solomons, you're not well. You must let me light you a fire. I'll bring honey and lemon. And make you some soup."  See? Just like that he is no longer a leader of men but a little boy, as feeble and fallible as the rest of them. Much as he can't stand fussing, he can't deny that the soup, when it arrives, is deliciously welcome.

"If you could change the beds, Edna, please," he says, blowing across his mug of hot lemon. "I'll have a visitor tonight."

"Very good, sir. But ... " she pauses, nervously, "are you sure you're up to guests?"

And there it is again, that line being crossed purely and simply on grounds of his temporary infirmity.

"I'm up to this one," he answers gruffly.

Once she's gone he takes himself back up to bed. His whole body feels heavy and slow and unusually cold but the clean sheets are a luxury he can never take for granted — not when he's slept too many days and nights in mud thick with excrement and the slime of rotting flesh. Give him cool, crisp cotton over lice-ridden wool for the rest of his days and he will consider himself blessed. He should bathe really, but he can't face the bother. Maybe in a little while...

A hand on his cheek wakes him that evening. Fingers unmistakably cool and dry. He's fully clothed atop his sheets and feels a little better for the rest. But he's  cold.

"Come downstairs for a bit, it's warmer," Tommy says quietly. Bloody hell, he hates this, feeling weak, coddled. He's tempted to refuse on principle. But Tommy is waiting for him on the landing and the fact that he isn't pushing forces Alfie to comply. "Not sure I can be arsed, mate. Too much bloody effort," he mumbles as he follows. He draws the line at Tommy holding his hands out, though.  "I'm not a bloody invalid," he snaps, before undermining his point entirely by taking them nonetheless. Well, lying down all day has made everything seize up a bit more than usual.

As they reach the living room it's obvious that the fire is roaring in the grate. In front of it is his huge copper tub, like a ship ready to set sail, already steaming. And, that is something innit? He perks up a little at the sight, before frowning again, because it is rather disconcerting that Tommy managed to come into his house, get the tub from the yard and complete the laborious task of filling it with hot water without Alfie ever waking. He should be bothered by that. Very fucking bothered. Except there's a pleasant warm feeling in his belly that he chooses to go with instead.

"Come on then, get 'em off," Tommy chides, gesturing to the clothes he's still wearing, "before it gets cold."

The hot water is a joy to his aching joints. He's just leaning back against the high end when Tommy, fag dangling from the corner of his mouth, uncorks a small brown bottle and pours something into the water. The room immediately fills with a fierce, fiery smell, like pepper, or mustard, or fuck knows ... cloves or something. It's pungent and so acrid it hits the back of his throat.  "Good god, Tommy, what the fuck is that? Are you tryin' to off me?" he coughs, just as the ash falls off into the water. Bloody hell, no finesse that boy.

"It's good for the chest," Tommy says, obliviously putting the cork back. "Fetched it from Ada's this afternoon."

"Smells like it's meant for horses, not humans."

"It is," Tommy answers bluntly, swirling his hand in the water to spread it through.

"Fucks sake, you're not even joking are you? You can take the boy out of the caravan..."

Alfie rests his head on the back of the tub. As the smell recedes a little it becomes familiar, sparking a memory of the first time he ever set eyes on Tommy, all those years ago. "This what you used after the Italians did their job on you?" he asks.

"It is."

"Fuckin' hell, talkative tonight, aren't we?"

Tommy ignores him as he throws his cigarette end into the fire and starts removing his cufflinks, rolling his shirt sleeves up to the elbows. When he's done he pulls a footstool over and seats himself right up against the tub. "Sit up a bit," he orders, as he scoops water into a small cup. Alfie complies, wondering what the fuck he's doing. "Look up, you don't want this stuff in your eyes." Alfie is just about to ask him why when Tommy pours the water over the back of his head and starts raking his fingers through his hair. He feels like he ought to protest, but Tommy's already doing it again, pouring the water and raking it through, three times, four times, all brisk efficiency and alright, this has taken Alfie a bit off guard but he is suddenly intrigued. Tommy's movements are swift and awkward and he's very definitely looking at anything but Alfie; almost like he's embarrassed. Which is kind of odd, because it's not like anyone asked him to do this did they? He can see Tommy leaning down for something out of the corner of his eye. "That better not be any more of that horse potion," he mumbles, but it's soap, which Tommy is lathering furiously between his palms as though it's done him an evil in a past life.

The next thing he knows the soap is being slapped onto his head. Tommy proceeds to scrub at his hair so roughly it makes Alfie's head joggle on his shoulders, and yet he can't help but smile broadly. Here he is, a grown man approaching the fourth decade of his life, having his hair washed like some school kid visiting the nit-nurse. The man doing it is so bloody awkward it's comical, like he's actively trying to sabotage his own (rather thoughtful) gesture by deliberately going about it in a way that suggests he doesn't care at all. It really shouldn't be so fucking endearing. Alfie suppresses the desire to outright chuckle, because despite the absurdity of the situation he doesn't want it to end. Instead he shifts himself slowly backwards until he's leaning against the end of the tub again. Tommy stands up and walks round behind him, and somehow, being out of Alfie's line of sight seems to relax him a bit — his movements slow down and his fingers soften, which in turn allows Alfie to settle. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Tommy's fingers as they slip down to his shoulders, more sure of themselves now; they start a slow, firm slide upwards, thumbs pressing into the nape of his neck, fingers splaying out behind his ears. That's it. That's much better. When they reach the top of his scalp they start turning small circles around his crown, his hairline, his temples. Bloody hell, it feels good; he lets out a low, satisfied groan.

"Alright?" Tommy asks quietly.

"Yeah s'alright. S'fucking good, mate. Really fucking good." And so Tommy keeps going, firm fingers pressing and scraping all over his head and neck until it's sending actual shivers down Alfie's spine, and not just from the pure physical pleasure. It's the fact that Tommy, a man generally oblivious to his own physical well-being, is lavishing attention on him. Care. Part of Alfie wants to rebel, to fight the implication that he needs this in anyway, but the truth of the matter is that no one has ever done anything like this for him before. His mum must have done, once upon a time, but he's blowed if he can remember it and damn sure the bath wouldn't have been this hot or the fire this bright. And so he contents himself to watch the water — glowing orange like a sunset as it reflects the copper and the flames — and to lap up every delicious second of Tommy's hands on him. It's affectionate and intimate and Alfie would like to acknowledge that he appreciates it; to tell him that it means something. But in the end he's too wary of breaking the fragile silence, so he sits and sighs and silently enjoys the attention.

Eventually Tommy fills the cup again and pours water over his hair; Alfie has to sit up a bit so that it doesn't run onto the floor and Tommy moves to better reach him. He uses one hand to shield Alfie's eyes from the soap, smoothing his palm and pushing the water backwards. It makes Alfie's stomach flip, alarmingly. Just the way he's being so damn careful about it, tilting Alfie's head, stroking his hair, concentrating.  Hard to believe that it's Tommy. Tommy, who is always so stroppy and closed up and desperate to maintain his distance and his composure. Tommy, who only articulates anything meaningful under duress. Tommy who stripped his damp clothes in the night; who pretends not to know the real reason for the wet sheets; who brought him a towel to sleep on and breakfast in bed. Tommy who fetched some remedy from Ada's and heated pans on the stove to fill this cumbersome old bath — despite there being a perfectly functioning one upstairs — because he knows it's what Alfie prefers. He wishes it was easier just to say all that out loud, but it's not, is it? Because it will make Tommy self-conscious and evasive and defensive and then Alfie will have to spend hours (if not days) coaxing him back round. So he reverts to safety, to actions not words, because this is what they do.

"Get in," he growls. Tommy looks down at him, a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth. Alfie grabs his wrist until he drops the cup and looks him straight in the eye. "You, are gonna get in here in the next sixty seconds or I'm pulling you in with your clothes on."

"You feeling a little better?" Tommy asks, with an actual, proper smile.

"I'm planning on feeling a little gypsy," he replies, pulling harder on the arm. Tommy starts to move, irritatingly slowly, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his trousers (too easily Alfie notes). "You need to eat something," he says.

"Fuck off," Tommy snaps back, and Alfie chooses to fight that battle another day, because he's meant to be feeling appreciative. Instead he focuses on the sight of Tommy folding himself up between Alfies legs, back to his chest, both facing the fire. It never fails to amaze him, how small Tommy can make himself, so lithe and wiry he can bend in two. He smoothes his wet hands across Tommy's shoulders, making his skin glisten. He really has a rather lovely neck, Alfie thinks as he leans down to kiss it, slipping his hands around to smooth over the pale planes of his chest. He is too fucking small, but it's hard to care when he’s nestled into Alfie like a cat, practically purring as Alfie continues to nuzzle at his neck. When his fingers find Tommy’s nipples they tease gently and a low sound vibrates in Tommy's throat. Alfie squeezes harder, pinching both nubs painfully and not letting go. The water splashes gently by Tommy's left foot as he flinches at the harsh touch, which only makes Alfie let out a low groan of his own.

He doesn't relent, just pinches harder still until Tommy tenses his feet against the foot of the bath and pushes back against his chest. Fuck, there he is, Alfie's needy little bastard. He finally lets go when Tommy hisses. And just like that, the atmosphere has changed, been charged. He runs one hand down Tommy's side and slides it over to cup his cock, satisfyingly hard already. "Mmmm," Alfie whispers into his neck, gently teasing his balls, "think you've earned yourself a reward. Get on you knees."

Tommy hesitates, turning to peer over his shoulder at Alfie. "I thought you weren't feeling well," he says. Which is not an outright refusal, is it? More a play for time.

"Never said that," Alfie replies. Which is true. Plus he is never going to amit that the gypsy potion might be doing some good.

Tommy slowly starts to lift himself, confused but compliant, clearly a good boy tonight. "That's it, face the fire," Alfie says, hands already stroking up and down Tommy's thighs, admiring the view. He's kneeling upright, between Alfie's knees, back to his face.

"Alfie, what are you doing?" he asks, sounding a little fed up.

"Just hold onto that end for me," Alfie says, nodding towards the foot of the bath. He resists using the words "bend over," even though that's exactlywhat he means, because they both know Tommy doesn't like it.

"What the ..." Tommy starts to protest and Alfie just cuts him off. "Just do as you're told, eh?" Tommy swallows and reaches towards the end of the tub reluctantly. When he's got both hands on it, back slightly arched, Alfie lifts his knees, one at a time, and places them either side of his own. That's better, the stance is wider and he runs his hands over the smooth cheeks now just in front of his face. He really wants Tommy to bend down lower, but he's willing to take his time. He leans for the soap and lathers it up to a thick foam before reaching for Tommy's cock — less hard than it was before, signalling his self-consciousness. It's disappointing, but Alfie is unperturbed. He proceeds to massage the soap all over Tommy's balls and cock before stroking over his arse. "What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy asks, sounding a little shocked.

"Just returning the favour, love," he says, tone all innocent. His intentions are anything but as he rubs his thumb down the crease between Tommy's pale cheeks, feeling him flinch each time he passes the hole. He's enjoying the view immensely as he rolls Tommy's balls with the other hand, soaping them gently like a pair of delicate eggs. The hand on his arse keeps stroking the crease, up and down, catching on that puckered little hole on each passing glide. Tommy is starting to relax, to push back slightly and lower his head. That's it, Alfie thinks, like coaxing a kitten to a saucer of milk, he'll go gently and get what he wants. He slides his hand back to to the re-hardened cock, spreading the suds until everything is soft and slippery and too captivating to ignore.

He can't help but stare at Tommy's arse while he slides his hands over everything. He pushes the tip of his thumb into the hole and quickly back out - the little gasp from Tommy like music to his ears. He repeats the movement, quickly, eagerly, just short, sharp stabs that make Tommy clench and Alfie sigh.

"Just stay there love, right fucking there," he says, gripping one thigh like a warning. He picks up the cup and pours water from the small of Tommy's back, watching as it floods down the perfect crevice of his arse. When the soap has all gone he slumps slightly in the water and prises the cheeks apart with his thumbs. Tommy rocks forward slightly at that, everything tightening against the scrutiny, but Alfie keeps his grip, keeps him spread. Then he does what he's wanted to do for a very long time and flicks his tongue over the tight little entrance, once, twice, three times.

Strange that this should  feel forbidden, despite everything else that they do. Which may or may not explain the gut-punch of lust overtaking Alfie right this bloody second; the unusually vocal sound Tommy makes as he sloshes forward in the water does absolutely nothing to quell it — it's as if he's trying to escape, but Alfie just puts his hands round the front of his thighs and pulls him back into place, because he has no intention of stopping. But neither does he have any idea of what might actually feel good to the recipient, he realises. It can't be that different from kissing he figures, so he presses his lips to the hollow dimple and licks softly, reverently until Tommy responds with a strange, strangled sound.

"Just relax," Alfie mumbles, because fuck this is turning him on; the heat, the smell, the smooth, fluttering muscle – the way Tommy's subtly resisting – pulling away and tightening up so that Alfie has to grip his hips hard and hold him in place. He lets his tongue flatten and skates it upwards, firmly, licking the length of his crease slowly, repeatedly. He pays some attention to the back of his balls but can't help but return to lick over the central nucleus, wetting him, lapping him, tasting him.

When Alfie's tongue dares to dip inside Tommy's head droops dramatically downwards; he moans out a curse and seems to collapse, shoulders dropping like he's suddenly boneless. His head rests on his forearms, draped over the end of the bath and he groans so carnally that Alfie feels his stomach lurch and his cock respond. He starts sucking as well as licking, sealing the entire loosened ring with his lips and flicking gently with his tongue. Tommy loosens up further — moans and pushes back — which just makes everything easier to reach, to admire. He delves as deep as he can with his tongue, intrigued by the feel of it, so tough yet so soft. He keeps stopping to look, pulling back and opening him before plunging back in with his mouth. Fuck, he is in awe, as usual, of how delightfully Tommy moves, intermittently bearing down and clenching up like he's drawing Alfie in.

The problem is that Alfie's neck his aching, and though he doesn't want to stop, not with every flinch and every quiver so delightfully on display, he knows Tommy's knees must hurt too. Not that Tommy's complaining, but then again he never does, even when Alfie hurts him. Which is what finally does it, forces him to make the move because he wants Tommy enjoy this too.  

"Upstairs. Now," he growls, pulling himself upright and slapping Tommy's arse for emphasis. They both move impressively quickly, fleeing the bath with a haste that showers water and soap over everything. The each grab a towel and head up the stairs, like children playing tag.

Once in his room, Alfie lays Tommy on his belly and stuffs enough pillows under his hips that he looks like a fucking invitation, perfectly positioned for Alfie to lick until his tongue burns from the exertion. Which is exactly what he does. He delves and circles and laps at that perfect pink ring like a tiger grooming its cub. Any earlier malady is forgotten in his hunger for every squirm and sigh and stifled moan from the man beneath his mouth. By the time he crawls up the bed Tommy's arse is so slick with drool that he doesn't even bother with oil; simply laces their fingers together as he lines himself up and presses relentlessly in. Tommy gasps as he's entered, arching rigidly against him, and making a high, shaky sound that turns Alfie's legs to liquid. When his full weight rests flat on Tommy's back he just waits, marvelling at how he can fit himself inside the taut little ring he's been licking. It doesn't look possible, and yet here they are, slotted so tightly together. When, after a minute, everything is quiet and utterly still he murmurs, "there we go," softly against the curve of Tommy's ear.

And then he fucks him, slow and heavy, like he wants him to feel every inch and every ounce, to understand the weight of his want. And when even that's not enough he wraps his arms under Tommy's chest and pulls him onto his side. Actions are easier than words for Tommy, he's learnt that much by now, so Alfie wraps him tight around the chest and fucks him till he's exhausted, till everything hurts. He presses their bodies so close together it's like he's trying to join them with pressure, to cold-weld them together. Tommy just lets him, shallows his breathing to compensate and lets Alfie fuck him senseless.

Only when he's trembling right on the edge does Alfie loosen the embrace, moving one hand down to stroke him thoroughly through it. Tommy comes with a sharp gasp of breath, which makes Alfie moan unabashedly — lost in the sight and the sound of Tommy letting himself go. He can't see his lovely face at this angle, but he knows that his mouth will be open, his eyes closed, his brow gently furrowed. He kisses the parts he can reach — ear, neck, shoulder, clavicle — so focused on those that he's not even thinking of his own climax, just pumping his hips on pure instinct, lost in the moment, until Tommy makes a strange whimpering sound and taps his arm frantically. And for some reason that brings him back, tips him over until he is coming too. "Fuuuck," he groans as he floods into Tommy, shuddering helplessly as he tries to hold still.

Tommy goes limp with relief, slumping drowsily onto his belly and Alfie moves heavily with him, arms still wrapped round his chest. They lie like that for several minutes, still stickily joined together. Tommy clenches once round Alfie's softened dick as it withdraws in a hot rush of slick. He seems half-asleep but still murmurs irritably at the loss, which makes Alfie want to kiss him all over again. He presses his lips to Tommy's back, smoothing a hand down his side, pausing to pull the sheets up slightly, before he starts to shiver. He sinks lower, kissing all the way down Tommy's spine to the small of his back, revelling in the smell of sweat and sex and Tommy. And affectionate as this is, his mind is being slowly overtaken by an obscene and confusing thought. He's mildly troubled by it (or more accurately, by what Tommy might think of it) but he'll find out soon enough because he's already shuffling down the bed, under the sheets, kissing as he goes. Tommy groans sleepily as Alfie pushes one of his knees up the bed and out of the way because he wants to look, to see where his cock has been, what it's done to that innocent pink hole. God, he can smell himself down here which surely has no business feeling so satisfying. He moves one hand to spread Tommy's arse and is vaguely aware of an irritable response, above the rushing of blood in his ears. "Alfie, what the fuck...?"

"Shhh," he soothes, before biting Tommy's arse-cheek gently, teeth clenching round the firm muscle. Then he pulls it aside, looking straight at the evidence of his defilement. He moans involuntarily, a sound that rattles in his aching chest, and runs one thumb up the cleft of that beautiful backside. Tommy's hand comes round to swat him, but Alfie just grips it easily and holds it in mid air. He is focused shamelessly on that glossy, wet passage — can't help but push his thumb back inside — just to see how easily it glides in now that he's fucked it open. He pumps a few times, insistent but gentle, watching the mess that drips out of him. It's impure and possessive and Alfie couldn't care less until Tommy frees his hand and grabs his hair and pulls him up the bed. "Fucking hell, Alfie," he sighs, which might mean he's cross or self-conscious. Or neither. He sounds more tired than anything. Either way, he escapes to the bathroom, leaving Alfie alone with his thoughts.

"Who else you done that for?" Alfie asks when Tommy slides back in beside him.

"What?" Tommy asks, frowning. "If you mean have I ever let anyone lick..."

"Not that!" Alfie laughs, he know enough to be sure that that was a first. "The other stuff. The bath and the hair and ... you know, the towel and that."

"Charlie," Tommy says, reaching over to the nightstand for his cigarettes. "He likes it when I do bath time. Ada, when she was a kid. Arthur was never interested in helping." He pauses as he lights the cigarette. "My mother... towards the end." He looks wistfully at the ceiling as he blows his smoke in the air. Alfie just stares at him, picturing all the things he's just said, thinking of all the things he doesn't know about Tommy. How that always surprises him.  "I can look after people you know," Tommy says, looking mildly affronted.

"Hmmm," Alfie says in a tone that sounds entirely unconvinced. "Just not yourself, eh?"

"Fuck, off," Tommy replies, but he doesn't actually deny it. He finishes the cigarette and turns to stub it out in the ashtray before pulling Alfie in close. It feels strange to be the little spoon, but Alfie goes with it, shuffling down under the covers. He's going to regret the exertion in the morning, he can already tell, his chest feels like it's filled with hot sand. He might have to hold onto that little brown bottle, without telling Tommy of course, because he did manage to forget feeling ill for a while. Bloody hell, what is happening to him? Fucking horse medicine. But he drifts into sleep happy and sated and to dreams that are filled only with stallions. Which wouldn't be his first choice, let's face it, but could be an awful lot worse.

[glamrockmonarch]

Pls do a 2019!Rog dirty imagine :(

Omg Anon! Are you ok? Are you in pain? Let me heal you with some fluff and filth! Sorry for the wait, I hope it is worth it!

Warnings: Yeah, it’s smutty my friends. Also, I didn’t proof-read this.

Ps. I got carried away. The songs in here are “Stomp!” by The Brothers Johnson, “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” by The Rolling Stones “Rock You Like a Hurricane” by Scorpions, and “Livin’ On a Prayer” by Bon Jovi.

You are dancing in your room in only your underwear. Roger had to go to a meeting with Brian earlier, some sort of dinner with the new director for Bohemian Rhapsody; you had decided on not going with him so the men could get down to business without any distractions, you doubt Brian would show up at the restaurant with Anita.

While Roger left you decided on taking a long bath, it would be a great way to relax after a stressful couple of days. You have been pressured by your bandmates to write at least a couple of songs for your next album, but your brain has proved to be dry of creativity and inspiration. And although the bubble bath has done wonders with your back and legs, you need to let out some steam.

It has just been so long since your last tour. You miss the stage, the thrill of playing for the audience, the sweaty hugs you share with your bandmates ones the show is over, damn, you even miss sleeping on a tour bus.

So, of course, you get your favourite Fender precision bass and pull the strap over your head once you step out of the bathroom in your lilac panties and bra. With the speaks in the room turned on and the volume all the way up, you press play to one of the playlists on your phone. “Stomp!” by the brothers Johnson plays in the room and you start playing the line by heart, fingers feeling stiff at first from the few months since you last played this song during a recording session for Roger’s stuff. Once you’re comfortable with remembering the song you sing along too, moving from one side of the room to the other, stomping along to the beat. You sway your hips and turn.

“Stomp, you don't want to quit, put your heel where you're feeling it…” you sing.

The next song is one by a band you have discovered recently, the heavy bassline flows along with the sound of the guitar, you turn your amp up to overpower the speakers and get the sound of your instrument of choice to come through louder while you sing along to “Overnight”, letting your fingers go over the strings and close your eyes in innocent glee. Once the song ends you feel your spirits lifted, and go to your closed with your phone in hand. Leaving the bass on your bed, you go through your clothes and find a fur coat Roger gave you as an anniversary present, with it on you press play on a different playlist, distancing yourself from your the more funky music you are playing right now.

Skipping into the room with the beautiful black fur coat on, barely covering your ass and hanging open while you grab your bass and play again you dance around, jumping to the rhythm of the rolling stones’ “(I can’t get no) Satisfaction” you smile to yourself getting all the satisfaction you need from the simple act of pulling on the strings with your index and middle fingers as your left hand works the frets. It is only after a few more songs, while you play along with the Scorpions that Roger walks in on you putting on your crazy show. Your voice is loud and clear, rough and raw as Meine’s. Your husband closes the door, with all the care in the world not to make a sound that could make you aware of his presence. You shake your hair that you did not wet in the bathtub, it falls around your shoulders as you dance for a moment longer.

“He's licking his lips, he's ready to win, on the hunt tonight for love at first sting!” You move your leg, stomping on the carpet with your bare foot as you play along.

It is until the end of the song that you turn around and find the drummer watching you. With a hand coming up to your chest you jump back and close your eyes. This is not something embarrassing for you, it’s not the first time you have done something alike.  

“Cheeky rock and roll in the bedroom?” Roger wonders as the next song starts to play.

It’s Bon Jovi, so you have to admit, it’s pretty mainstream stuff. You shrug and look down at the fretboard, waiting for the bassline to start, you think you remember all of the songs, and it does take a few seconds into it for you to really get the hang of it, most of them you have not played in months or even years. Like riding a bike, you have surprised yourself tonight with how well you can still play most of them.

The bass comes in and you pay attention as your fingers move almost by instinct on the four strings of your bass; once the drums kick in you look up at Roger with a grin, cocking a brow as you enjoy yourself, dancing again, moving your shoulder to the beat.

“Tommy used to work on the docks, union's been on strike, he's down on his luck, it's tough, so tough…”

You start singing to him and move your lips in dramatic moves, even throwing your head back when the “Woah’s!” come up, making sure to shake your hair around.

“We’ll give it a shot!” You go up to him and catch him laughing as you turn your back against him, almost kneeling entirely as you play through the chorus, rubbing yourself on him until he sings along with you.

“Woah, we're halfway there!” You sing to each other standing as close as possible with your bass in between your bodies.

Roger loves your attitude when you play and he cannot feel any more turned on while he watches you deliver a confident rendition of any song with your fingers working either the bass on a way only you know how to.

Once the song comes to an end you put the bass away in the corner of the room, leaving it in its case. One of Roger’s songs comes on and he goes to grab your phone to see what else have you got in your playlist.

“I can’t believe you have this playing.” He says. “What has possessed you?”

A grin appears on your face and you run up to him, taking your phone from him, as the sound of the music vanishes you turn the Bluetooth off and place your phone on the dresser. When it got quiet you put your arms around his shoulders and watch him as he looks at you with a playful grin on his face.

“What?” You giggle, feeling silly for what you had been doing just a few minutes ago.

It takes your husband a moment to explain himself, but he does not have to say much, it is his gaze falling on the valley of delicate skin that stands between your breasts, and the lick of his lips when your coat opens a little more and he catches a glimpse of your shoulder that gives him away.

Pouting, you take a few steps back and go jump on your bed, sitting on your heels you model the coat for Roger.

“Do you like this?” You pull the collar up and tilt your chin down. “It’s soft and warm.”

Roger knows what you are doing and it is something he has to admit to being into. You bite your lip and blink with an innocent expression on your features.

“Do you want to feel something soft and warm?” This time it is more of a coo.

Roger’s breath catches on his throat and he feels himself growing more and more distracted by you once you bounce on your heels and run your hands on the fur. He comes to the bed and you stand on your knees in front of him, pulling at his shirt to throw it away somewhere.

“I’d like you to take it off, love, we don’t want to ruin your pretty coat.”

The game is familiar, you play it a few times every now and then. If you fuck with the coat on, you risk of staining it with body fluids or worse: tearing it.

Already with your mind made up you push the coat of your shoulders in a swift move, Roger kicks his shoes off and his hands find your waist, pulling you closer. You kiss, his lips leading yours in soft motions that have you gripping his shoulders while his hands run up your arms, his fingertips tickle your skin and you moan into the kiss once he slips his tongue inside your mouth. Without saying anything you reach down to pull his zipper down and help him kick his pants off only for Roger to feel around your back to undo the clip of your pretty bra. Once the piece has fallen to the floor his lips pull apart from yours and his hands cup your breasts. Still, his with your lips parted and your hands on his cheeks you gasp and moan at the feeling of your husband’s hands massaging your breasts, he brings his mouth to your collarbone and puts his hands on your waist now, sliding down your body to leave small marks with his mouth everywhere. He loves to hear you moan and enjoys the way your fingers tangle in his hair when he gives you pleasure.

You are not shy at all, so you let him know what you like, how you want him to touch you if you want him to do something different.

“Rog…” You catch his attention and he brings his face up to give you his attention. “Can I suck you?”

Your husband kisses your nose and lets go of you, motioning for you to do as you please with him. So you climb off the bed and go down on your knees in front of Roger, you pull his underwear away, watching his penis spring out of the constrictive boxers. You bite your bottom lip, looking at Roger with an almost innocent look on your face. You put your hands on his hard cock and bring his length to your lips, you give it a short kiss right on the tip only to test the waters and hear Roger sigh. So now you know you ought to go slow. You lick him a few times, teasing him a little before wrapping your lips around his thick cock, licking and sucking him you feel his hands dig into your scalp and he helps you find a pleasurable pace to blow him. Roger throws his head back, he feels so close to cumming he has to stop you before it’s too late. You smile up at him once he has had enough of your mouth.

You kiss his neck when you stand up helped by him. You drop your panties and reach to pick them up, placing them on your husband’s hand.

“Darling...Rog,” you cup his face, “I think I just wet my panties!” You fake concern with your eyes opened wide.

You watch him chuckle with your underwear in his hand. He feels it between his fingers and nods.

“I think you did.” He confirms, “I would have to check…” He cocks a brow and nods towards the bed.

With a sigh you crawl into the bed right in front of Roger, sticking your ass out for him. He follows you, climbing on top of you with a smile, unable to keep up the farce he pulls you back and stands behind you on his knees.

“Oh, is this how it is tonight?” You look back over your shoulder and see Roger wink at you. “Well, get on with it!”

Roger laughs and pulls your hips back towards him, he drags his cock along your folds, feeling the wetness that has gathered in your pussy. You let out a shaky breath and close your eyes while he plays with you for a minute, he enjoys the way you shake to the simple contact, but of course, nothing beats the feeling of being buried to the hilt inside you. And with that in mind, Roger positions himself at your entrance and squeezes your hips as he pushes into your tight pussy. He closes his eyes, relishing in the sound of a long moan that escapes your lips as he fills you.

“Don’t wait, don’t…” You bring your hand to the headboard for better support, “just - just fuck me, please!”

“Oh, Y/N…” Roger is not against this, but he has to wonder if your eagerness will cost you in some soreness in the morning. “Here we go, love!”

You feel him pull out almost entirely and then back in, it stings but also feels so good, you push your hips back onto his. With heavy breaths you start picking up the pace, getting closer as he hits you hard in that sweet sweet spot that lies deep in your core. You can feel your voice getting higher in pitch and Roger’s hand travels up to your neck as he thrusts into you. He bends down and reaches between your legs, rubbing your clit and whispering into your ear.

“Are you gonna cum for me, huh?” He says. “Are you gonna make that pretty sound?”

“Rog…” You whine but it sounds in no way sad, or angry.

“That’s the one…”

“Rog!” You feel like you are about to combust when he rubs your clit faster.

The only sound in the room is that of skin slapping on skin mixed with the headboard tapping on the wall, your knuckles turn white and you come undone at Roger’s mercy, feeling him still fucking you through your orgasm. Your walls tighten around his cock as he tries to keep up the pace thrusting into you until he cums inside you. Roger calls your name and buries himself into you as far as he can go, his seed spreads inside you and leaves you breathing heavily.

You let go of the headboard and collapse on the bed, hugging a bed to your chest while Roger pulls away and goes into your bathroom to get some paper towels to clean you up. After you are both clean and tucked into bed you kiss Roger’s hand as he spoons you; a silent show of affection he returns by kissing your hair.

[stupidpianist]

27 october 2018

10:00: Shut off alarm, hit snooze. I set my phone’s snooze to ten minutes, I should probably lower it to five because of the frequency with which I “snooze”...

10:10: Shut off alarm again, put it to snooze.

10:20: Turned off all alarms until alarms at 11h. Got up and chugged giant glass of water from Brita.

10:21: Back in bed. Trying to sleep more, not ready to “start the day” yet.

10:40: Woke up from strange nightmare in which the world was experiencing an apocalypse, hard to remember exact details, remember being on an ark-like massive boat, trying to escape from some kind of antagonistic war force? Remember there being a corrupt leader. Almost 99% of my dreams are about banal things, like, literally Googling things and reading Wikipedia, the other 1% are always really dangerous apocalyptic or life-threatening situations in which I’m trying to save as many people as possible.

11:00: Shut off alarm, turned over to right side, went into “fetal position,” thought, “wow, this is comfortable, wow, this is so comfortable.”

11:30: Woke from another weird dream, dreamt that I was seeing the band Ghost perform in Montreal, only, the crowd was really diminutive, and most of the people in the audience were inexplicably not paying attention to the show at all. I was able to go right up to the stage. They played a few songs. I woke up. Weird. Going to get up now and clean my bathroom, it needs a “thorough scrubbing.”

11:31: Chugged another massive glass of water from Brita. So satisfying, one of the most satisfying things, waking, feeling dehydrated, taking glasses of water “to the face.” Mm. Yum.

11:32: Cleaning bathroom. Have probably super-harmful-to-environment chemical thing that is used to scrub porcelain surfaces. Have my “trusty,” “handy dandy” cleaning sponge. Have paper towels. First scrubbing tub, it’s gotten so grimy, wow… I remember when I used to work in a local ice cream parlor in my town, and one of my favourite things to do would be to mop the floors. The other employees and managers found this really weird, always said, like, “nobody wants to mop the floors,” but I always explained that it was one of the few activities that you could see the 1:1 results of your efforts immediately after doing it, and so I found it really really satisfying. Feeling the same way right now, scrubbing the tub, seeing all the muck and filth wash away with every little sponge motion.

Moving onto the sink now, first have to clear everything off of it. Electric toothbrush, check. Plastic comb, check. Gatsby hair product thing, check (when Phoebe came to use my wifi she was like, “of course you use Gatsby,” and I thought “oh crap, I’ve been ‘caught,’ I’ve been ‘pigeonholed’”). Toothpaste, check. Razor, check. Scrubbing sink now, scrubbing hard, scrubbing efficiently. This chemical stuff really “works wonders,” there must be some seriously bad stuff in here… Should I be using gloves? I don’t have sensitive skin, I’ve never really had problems with… With chemicals and my hands? I don’t know, seems like I should be using gloves right now.

11:43: Okay, deep-clean scrub finished, going to shower now, been looking forward to showering since last night. Don’t know why, I shower every day? I don’t know, maybe it’s from excitement that I’m, like, “preparing for the night,” going to meet up with person I met for drinks with a few nights ago this evening, extremely excited to do this, so, like, the shower is, like, propelling me into the day? Which gets me closer to the evening? I don’t know I DON’T KNOW I’m just trying to say I’m really hyped for this shower, okay? Going to put on some sweetass shower music. I got the best shower tunes, hit me up if you want the “sickest, dopest” shower playlists. I can curate them to your specific genre or BPM preferences. Just let me know, “drop me a line.”

11:48: Putting on clothes now. Going to “throw on” my “edgy pants,” and a thermal top, and “FUNERAL” hoodie, and Walnut Hill jacket. “Standard attire,” heheh. Wondering if I should also wear my raincoat? It’s supposed to rain steadily this evening, but I don’t want to be, like, sweating… I also don’t really mind the rain, it’s just water, it’s really not that big of a deal, it’s just like, you’re wet, so what? I’ll just bring my super crappy umbrella with me, that should be enough to mitigate any “water damage” my body could take. Read in Disaster Artist yesterday that Tommy had a daily routine of drinking five Red Bulls. Reminds me of me in middle school. “Fiending for” a Red Bull today, really “jonesing” for one, going to put some change in my pocket and grab one from a dep on my way to school.

12:00: Backpack: PACKED. Wallet: IN POCKET. Keys? I GOT THOSE TOO, BABY. Going to head to school and update this liveblog, and then practice piano for however many hours my brain lets me. Not sure what kind of “piano vibes” I’m getting today, but I hope it’ll be good?? Have also been putting off listening to Daniil Trifonov’s newest album, it’s Rachmaninov’s second and fourth concerti, and some Bach transcriptions. I really don’t like the fourth concerto, and I only sometimes like the second, even though I was super obsessed with it when I was younger, in my early-and-mid teens. Remember texting one of my friends, someone I feel more fondly towards than almost any of my friends, Alex, how long it took him to learn the first movement of the second concerto, just as a baseline so I could compare my own timeline and see if I was “on par” with how good at learning new pieces I wanted to be, and he told me he learned it in something ridiculous like one afternoon. He’s one of the most self-determined people I’ve ever met, maybe the most self-determined, miss him a lot. Should send him a message, why haven’t I done that...

Sorry sorry yeah so I’m going to take some time too and listen to the album in the practice rooms. Will probably/inevitably give me more practicing motivation. I am a huge fan of Trifonov. Will let you people know how the album is.

16:25: Packing up my piano books. Hey hey hey! Hi hi hi! What’s up YouTube!! If you’re wondering how the practicing went, it was… Satisfactory. I started warming up with some Schubert, his last sonata, and promptly started like sobbing uncontrollably. Can never seem to make it more than a few pages in before this always happens. Played through the first movement and second movement, no repeat in the first just to “save time” as I intended it to be a warm up, and created a pretty substantial pool of tears on the practice room floor by the time I was done. How the heck does anyone practice pieces like this without becoming a giant mess of tears?? Dissociate? I don’t know.

Felt really really good to play through it, though; one of my favourite pieces that I love the more and more I work on it. I thought I sounded really good in the Schubert, so I moved to Alkan, which was substantially worse. Felt like I had really heavy brain fog, like, a dense miasma of brain fog. Was able to play, but felt distinct disconnection between what my hands were doing, and what my head was thinking. I really hate that sensation, when you don’t feel in control of what you’re playing, so I switched to Thalberg, which was a bit better, but really just felt off. Played it through and did a little passage work before turning to Beethoven, opus 110, another one of my favourite sonatas, and my favourite Beethoven sonata by a long shot. After working on this pretty intensely I was like, okay, so you practiced for an okay amount of time, four hours or so, and even though you didn’t sound good, or feel good, you still did work, and you still put in effort.

Haven’t gotten groceries in a long time, going to head to Provigo to get supplies for massive Greek salad and pasta, here’s what I’m gonna get:

-bell peppers

-cherry tomatoes

-english cucumber

-lemon

-kalamata olives

-dill (maybe, if i want to “splurge”)

-red onion

-feta cheesee

-pasta sauce (i’m lazy i don’t wanna make it myself don’t judge me okay)

-mushrooms

Have the rest of the ingredients like dry pasta and stuff for Greek salad dressing at home. Gonna try and “beat the rain,” too.

16:45: Success in the grocery store. Also ended up buying a large scented candle as a bit of an impulse purchase; I really like things that create pleasant/comfy/cozy scents, and my Airwick thing I plug into my wall ran out of oil, and I don’t have any more incense, so I was like, “yeah, my mom loves scented candles, I love scented candles, let’s get a scented candle, yes.” Chose “Cashmere Woods” scent. It’s brownish in colour. Hope it smells as good as the name implies, one can never tell just by pure sniffing of the unmelted wax… Very… distrustful… Oh, oh! Also got bananas. Need some breakfast food that I can take and run out of the door.

16:56: Home. Going to unpack groceries and then read more of the Disaster Artist in bed, I think. Will also catch up on some YouTube tech videos. Feeling like a real nerd right now.

16:59: Got a Facebook message from the person I’m seeing again tonight!!! Okay so we’re going to meet at 22h, that gives me enough time to be productive before then, getting really cozy in bed, “settling in” for a nice read. Heheh. Ho ho ho. Something about “hehe” is just so funny to me, I still can’t place why, can any of you help explain it to me?

18:13: Got through a whole slew of tech videos, a whole mess of tech videos. Was just starting to read Disaster Artist when I heard the notification sound from my speakers hooked up to my laptop on my esk that notifies me when my younger brother signs into Overwatch. “Chatted him up” and he said he could play A FEW ROUNDS. MULTIPLE. Do you people realize how huge this is?! Usually he just has time for one! Maybe it’s because he has a long weekend? Monday for him is a teacher’s day or something, so he gets it off. Either way, here we go!!!!

19:37: Wow those were some INTENSE games. Played tank for some of it, then DPS for most of it. Haven’t actually played Tracer in so long, I used to main her so hard. Still my favourite champion to play alongside Junkrat. We played pretty well, won most of our rounds, wow, my adrenaline is so pumped up from that, can’t believe it’s been over an hour?! Holy heck that flew by. Brother going to eat dinner now, recommended that I make greek salad. Will probably do that, or maybe go for a run?? I don’t know, I’ve been so physically inactive the past week, I feel like a slug, I should at least do SOMETHING.

20:08: Yeah my adrenaline is pumping way too hard. This always happens, as a kid even if I was just having a “playdate” with a friend, I would get so so so, uh, not anxious, but like overly excited? Manic? That I literally couldn’t focus on anything or sit still, so I’d just run around doing menial activities while sweating through my palms profusely and just feeling a huge tightness in my chest. This still happens to me, but not as strongly, I think?? Unless I’m super excited to see someone, which I am tonight?? I need to “burn off some steam,” think I’m going to go on an intense bike ride, okay, see you guys soon, yes yes YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES

20:13: CHRIST ON A CRACKER I forgot it’s raining now!!! OH NO HOW AM I GONNA crap crap I don’t have a flipping fender for my bike so if I go biking I’m gonna get soaked crap crap crap maybe I’ll just take a walk and blast music?? Yeah that’s feasible, won’t get too “wet” from that it’s gonna be great, I’ll do that, okay!!!! Just “thinking out loud,” here, folks, move along, nothing to see here, nothing at all.

20:41: Back from walk. Was really nice, rocked out to some Ghost (Rats, Con Clavi Con Dio, Cirice, Faith, in that order, I think?) and just chose some side streets off of Saint Laurent. Picked up a “quille” of 10.1% Labatt that the person mentioned wanting to get after she taught me the Quebec slang for those 1.17L, or 40oz dirt cheap big bottles of beer. Can’t call them 40s here, different system of measurement, can now call them quille. Seems astounding it took me this long to learn the term for it. Also got some Unibroue beers to “balance out” the pond scum that is 10.1 Labatt, even though it seems like my best friends here and I all concur that 10.1 Labatt is strangely delicious? Like we’d voluntarily, and do voluntarily drink it. Ooh, and some Powerade, lemon-lime flavour, my favourite. I’ve always preferred Powerade to Gatorade in terms of taste for as long as I can remember. You may be asking, “George, that’s a lot of liquids, why did you even get the Powerade, that’s just sugar water.” You’re right, but I just got my pay stubs from the last two weeks so I know how much I made so I was like, “you can go crazy, it’s the weekend before Halloween, do it, loser.” And you know what??? I DID IT. Going to eat a turkey sandwich now. Internal monologue repeating, “a nicely stocked fridge means a nicely stocked mind.” Hehe. Eheheheh.

[ifandomalot]

Destroyer

↑ Summary: How Tommy deals with the thoughts of loosing you after a fight, and him telling you to leave. **Gif creds to owner!**

Tommy struggled with himself on a daily basis, life seemed to always be taking jabs at him, trying to knock him down, along with this trying to protect his family, Charlie and you, and loving you all was hard, but he always made it. Today was a different day, today not only has the biggest investor of Shelby Company limited back out, but Michael has informed him that a new gang is arising in the area.

With a long sigh, he leans back against the comfort of the leather chair. Taking a long suck of his cig, eyes meeting with the light of the ceiling. Stress wasn’t a stranger, at this point stress, loss and anger he welcomed with open arms seeing it being one of the only things he could feel. Except when It came to you.

Thomas was so broken, believing that god himself had given up on him, but you were the one who brought all of the good back. With you life suddenly had meaning other then killing his enemies, and rising up to the top.

“Thomas!” The yelling filled the hall of the office, him letting out a sigh, knowing what will be coming next. The door opened with a shake, as you allowed yourself right in. 

“What is it now my love?” The tone seemed almost mockingly as he walked over to the bottle of whiskey in the corner of the room, pouring a glass for himself, knowing you wouldn’t want any. 

“Don’t Love me, I heard what you’ve done. I don’t care what you think of the Shinner’s, they are my fathers friends, and I hear one of them are killed, and guess what? With fucking razor blades to the face!” You spoke, heart squeezing inside the confines of ribs. “You promised me Tommy!”

Never ever can he catch a break, something has to go wrong, someone just has to bug him, and he wasn’t having anymore of it. “I do not talk orders from you. Yes I have promised you, but I will not allow my family or company insulted by filth, you are not my fucking mother.”

“Oh fuck you Thomas! They are my family, how the hell are we going to have a wedding if they’re going to fight the whole time?!”

“This is more important then our damn wedding!” Of course, you wouldn’t show it, but it kind of hurt at the words, being with Tommy for such a long time, you were looking forward to finally marrying him.

“You’re an asshole!” Tommy rolls his eyes, leaning against the desk, “What is happening to you?”

“What is happening to me? I’ve been like this, I’ve always been and I’m not changing any time soon. You knew this the moment we got involved, if you don’t like it, fucking leave!”

Thomas’ thoughts were everywhere, the alcohol clouding all judgment he once had. That was it, quickly you left slamming the door, leaving tommy alone like he seemed to wanted the whole time.

Hours passed in a daze, by the time Tommy had gotten home, he was completely drunk, the house was lit up with yellow lights shinning through the darkness. 

“Da!” Charlie mumbles, little feet carrying him to his father, Tommy smiles picking him up, leaving small kisses along his cheeks and forehead, but stopping at the sight of Mary still here.

While you and Tommy both had jobs at day a baby sitting was necessary but by the time he’d gotten home, Mary was always gone, dinner being cooked by you. “Miss (Y/N) told me she was going away for a few days, and that I was to cook dinner as well as stay with Charlie.”

Tommy nods, placing Charlie gently on the floor. “Pa gotta do some work, I’ll be up to tuck you in tonight.”

His office’s quietness welcomed him, soaking in all of his feelings of regret and guilt. Always he had to mess something up, something always had to go wrong with him involved. It seemed silly, that he was already starting to miss you, sure you’ve gotten into plenty fights, but never had you left.

The string of the relationship was cutting down, severing the bond of two. Tommy will always believe what has been said to him only years before, he is a toxic person. He does this to himself. Everything beautiful is destroyed by his hands, or shaped into being destroyed, and currently the relationship you both have.

But this might be the line for him, the worse you could ever done. Destroying the most beautiful thing close to his heart. You.