#italian glass decanter set

[msmercury84]

"I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

South Philadelphia, New Year's Eve, 1945"

From "I Double Dare You-A Rendezvous With Destiny."

"Off with my overcoat, off with my gloves. Who needs an overcoat, I'm burning with love. My heart's on fire and the flame grows higher. So I can weather the storm. What do I care how much it may storm? I've got my love to keep me warm."

*Author's Note: Some sections are for readers over 18 years of age. In other words, smut warning. The expression "And how!" was popular with Bill Guarnere's generation. He used the expression in the book he wrote with Babe Heffron and I heard my grandparents use the expression, too. The depiction of Bill is based upon the actor's portrayal in the movie.*

A snowstorm was underway in South Philadelphia on New Year's Eve. Blowing and drifting snow made going out undesirable for the Guarneres and no one planned to visit them due to the weather. Since the storm was predicted in the newspaper and on the radio earlier in the week, Leigh ensured that she had everything she needed for a nice supper. She also made sure that the dress Bill gave her for Christmas was cleaned, pressed and ready to wear.

When Leigh returned home from work, it was much later in the afternoon. The snow caused the city buses to run late. She started to prepare supper and put a bottle of champagne in a bucket filled with ice. Employees of the CBS affiliate got champagne along with their Christmas bonuses.

She set about making a very elaborate antipasto while she cooked some steaks that came from her grandpa's farm. Leigh decided to make some spaghetti sauce with Italian sausage to go with some homemade pasta.

Earlier in the week, Bill mentioned that he would enjoy having a small serving of pasta "wit' that good gravy ya make" the next time they had steaks.

Leigh got a good recipe from Augusta for a marinade that was great for beef. The day before New Year's Eve, she combined garlic, red wine, some salt, a dash of pepper and a hint of oregano.

Prior to placing the steaks in the marinade, Leigh used a meat tenderizer on both sides of the steaks. Then, the steaks were placed in a baking dish. The marinade was poured over the meat. A lid was placed on the baking dish and the steaks marinated for 24 hours.

Since a snowstorm was going on, supper was later than usual. Traffic was crawling on all of the major thoroughfares. As the steaks simmered in a skillet, Leigh put on her new red dress, black stockings, a black lace garter belt, a black lace bra, black silk panties and her favorite black open toed high heeled pumps. She touched up her makeup, brushed her hair and headed back to the kitchen.

Leigh turned on the radio to have music playing while she finished the special supper. She donned an apron made of material with tiny red roses. Protecting her favorite dress was top priority.

A good bottle of red wine was open to allow it to 'breathe' before she put it into a decanter. Leigh used her best china plus the crystal wine glasses from the Andrews Sisters. The champagne flutes from the famed trio would be used for a midnight toast to the new year.

When Bill got home from work, he embraced and kissed Leigh after hanging up his snow covered coat on a coat tree in the kitchen and putting his gloves on the coat tree to dry.

"Baby, I love that new dress (he pronounced the word as 'dat'). You look like ten million bucks. Good thing we're stayin' in tonight. The snow is really comin' down an' the wind is ice cold. It kinda reminds me o' the Christmas Eve snowstorm in Aldebourne.

"Thanks, Honey." She winked, adding, "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

"What's goin' on, Sweetheart? Sounds like you're up to somethin'."

"You'll see, be patient. I'll make it worth the waiting."

"I like the sound o' that." Guarnere went upstairs to put on a clean dress shirt after quickly shaving. The atmosphere in the house was cozy, with the Christmas decorations, a fire in the living room fireplace and music on the radio.

Leigh set the table and lit the candles in cut glass candle holders. Bill helped her get supper served. He pulled out the chair for her to be seated at the dining room table. Leigh thanked him. Then, he sat down and asked the blessing.

After they finished their supper, Bill told her,

"Baby, that was one hell of a good meal. Ya went all out wit' the fancy dishes an' wine glasses. Everythin' was perfect. We couldn't get food this good from the best restaurants uptown." Leigh was pleased that he enjoyed supper.

"Thanks, Bill. Let me get the dishes and then we can get ready to celebrate the new year."

"Nothin' doin', Leigh. I'm helpin' wit the dishes. How 'bout I wash an' you dry? That way, your dress won't get ruined."

"That sounds like a good idea, Honey. A sweet, sexy man bought that dress for me." Bill grinned,

"I've gotta admit that guy has excellent taste in buyin' broads' clothes." Leigh playfully raised her eyebrows,

"Oh, so now I'm a broad, not your baby or your sweetheart?" She went into the kitchen to get her apron. Guarnere followed Leigh and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, gently pulling her close to him.

"Ya little devil. You know you'll always be my baby an' my sweetheart. I'm gonna tell ya what ya tell me sometimes, you're a sexy smart ass. Speakin' of a sexy ass, that dress shows it off to perfection." Leigh giggled,

"Thank you, kind sir. Flattery will get you everywhere with me." Bill let go of her and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Leigh put on her apron.

"That's good to know. We'd better get to work before we get up to somethin'. I'll bring in the dishes an' I promise to be real careful wit' 'em."

After Bill brought in the plates, silverware and wine glasses, Leigh put the leftover antipasto into a container that went into the refrigerator. While they cleaned and dried the dishes, Bill and Leigh talked about the way they had spent the past New Year's Eves since they got together. After the last dish was dried and put away, Leigh removed her apron and placed it on the kitchen counter. She embraced Bill,

"This year is very special. Not only because it's our first New Year's Eve as man and wife. It's extra special because, thank God, you survived." Guarnere tenderly kissed her.

"The man upstairs done most o' the work keepin' me alive, but you helped by cookin' for me an' bein' there for me. I owe you a hell of a lot, Baby."

"Thanks, Honey. You don't owe me anything. Getting married more than made up for everything. I was hoping to be your wife for a long time." Leigh had a smirk very similar to Bill's smirk when she added, "All you owe me is a good time later tonight."

"Oh, you can count on me givin' ya an extra good time later tonight, Sweetheart. Ol' Guarnere loves to satisfy a certain lady." Leigh got on her tip toes and playfully kissed the tip of his nose,

"And how! Remember when Perconte said he "really enjoyed Christmas Eve with the Guarneres," I was daydreaming about being your wife and having dinner guests over to visit us as I looked out the window at the snow coming down in Aldebourne."

"I asked ya what ya thought of Perconte sayin' that 'cause I wanted to know how ya felt about gettin' married someday. I was a happy man when I knew ya liked the sound o' what he said.

Do ya suppose they'll still broadcast the Guy Lombardo show on the radio tonight? We could have some nice music for our party here at home."

"Yes, Honey, it's scheduled for tonight. I saw the show on our schedule at work. New York City wasn't supposed to have as much snow as we have. The show should be starting in about ten minutes."

"I'll go ahead an' get the CBS channel on the radio so we don't miss anythin'." Bill went to the radio and got it on the desired station.

"I have the champagne chilling, do you want me to bring it in?"

"Not yet, Baby. Let's wait 'til it's closer to midnight so we can toast the new year. I really enjoyed New Year's Eve in Aldebourne when ya played the piano an' sang. Too bad there's no piano here, I'd love to hear ya playin' an' singin'". Leigh sat on the couch with Bill. He got a cigarette out of a pack on the table, lit it and settled back to cuddle with Leigh and listen to the radio.

"I'd love to have a piano, but they're so expensive. Truth be told, I miss playing the piano." Guarnere put his right arm around her shoulder and held the cigarette in his left hand so Leigh wouldn't accidentally get burned.

"Maybe someday I can buy a piano for ya."

"That would be wonderful." They listened to the live broadcast, enjoying the music. A half hour later, the band began to play "Moonlight Serenade." Bill stood up and stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Would ya like to dance, Sweetheart?"

"Yes." Guarnere took Leigh's hand and they walked to the middle of the living room floor. Bill pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her as Leigh wrapped her arms around his neck.

They swayed to the music, looking into each other's eyes.

"This reminds me of a very special night at Ft. Benning and our wedding reception."

"Guess this is our song. You're lookin' as beautiful as ya did both times we danced to this an' I'm still crazy in love wit' ya."

"I'm still crazy in love with you, too, Handsome." Bill gave Leigh a tender kiss. After the kiss ended, she added, "Our first New Year's Eve was when you gave me my angel necklace."

"You must love it 'cause you're always wearin' it."

"I adore it." The song ended and they sat on the couch.

"I'm still wearin' the St. Michael medal, even though the war is over. I think it helped save my life. Baby, ya don't know this, but I was standin' outside the door to Teresa's bedroom.

I wanted to know if ya really liked the necklace. I don't think it's right to eavesdrop, but it paid off. I went to bed wit' a big smile on my face when I heard ya tell Teresa that you were crazy 'bout me."

They continued to listen to the radio and talk. At 11:45, Bill got up, went into the kitchen and got the bucket containing the chilled champagne from the refrigerator.

Next, he carefully put the crystal champagne flutes on a small platter and carried the platter into the living room.

"How 'bout a drink, Baby?"

"Sounds good to me, but I don't want to drink too much. I want to enjoy every minute with you later on tonight."

"No heavy drinkin' for me, either, 'cause I wanna make love to you." He removed the foil from the top of the champagne bottle and popped the cork. Bill poured some champagne into both flutes. He raised his glass,

"To my sweet, sexy angel. Seems like ya understood me from the day we met. You're a blessin', Baby. I'm lookin' forward to what ya got planned." Leigh gently touched her glass to Bill's,

"To the handsome love of my life, you're a blessing, too. I plan to make you very hot and hard." Guarnere winked at her,

"That's my sassy angel." They sipped the champagne.

"It ain't bad. Matter o' fact I like this fancy soda pop." Leigh grinned at Bill's comment.

"It is pretty good. The champagne you got the night you proposed was the best I'd ever had."

"That guy at the front desk (the concierge) really knew his stuff." Soon, the radio featured the voices of party goers along with Guy Lombardo, counting down the seconds until the new year.

While the band played the traditional "Auld Lang Syne", Bill pulled Leigh close to him and gave her a gentle kiss at the stroke of midnight. The kiss quickly deepened and became passionate. When the kiss ended, Bill gently cupped Leigh's face in his hands.

"Happy New Year, Baby. I love you."

"I love you, too, Honey. Happy New Year. They shared another kiss and finished drinking the champagne in their glasses. Leigh got up from the couch.

"As they say in the movies, I'm going to slip into something more comfortable." She had a saucy grin as she added, "Don't go anywhere or start without me, you handsome dream boat." Guarnere had a wicked grin.

"Oh, I ain't goin' nowhere, Sweetheart. I'll wait right here for ya." Leigh went upstairs to the bathroom. She put in her diaphragm, washed her hands and reapplied her red lipstick.

Then she lightly powdered her face, touched up her minimal blush and her mascara. Next, she used her eyebrow pencil. She left the bathroom and went into their bedroom where she carefully hung up her dress.

Leigh got the red silk bra and tap panties set Bill bought her for Christmas out of its box in her dresser drawer. She got the matching red silk kimono from Julia from her side of the closet.

Before removing her panties and bra, Leigh opened her jewelry box on top of her dressing table and got out the red rose made of ribbon that graced the top of her birthday gift when she was living in Aldebourne.

Leigh got some bobby pins and carefully pinned the rose in her hair, placing it above her left ear. Satisfied with her efforts to secure the rose, she removed her bra, panties and slip, placing the items into the clothes hamper by the chest of drawers.

She put on the bra and tap panties. The panties covered her garter belt and her black silk stockings remained on. Next, she took off her black pumps and took them to the closet and places them in the shoebox in which they came.

Leigh got out a shoebox containing red pumps she bought at a clearance sale in a department store. The pumps, with stiletto heels, were a perfect match for her lingerie.

She left the bedroom and stood at the head of the stairs.

"Baby, are you ready to have a good time?" Bill had a big smile on his face as he watched her walk down the stairs. Leigh paused at the foot of the stairs and untied the kimono. She turned around and slowly exposed her shoulders and her back before she let the robe drop to the floor.

Knowing that Bill would enjoy the view, she bent over to pick up the robe. Her tap panties went up slightly in the back to show a small area of her behind. Guarnere once again had a wicked grin on his face.

She draped the robe over one arm and walked toward him.

"Do you see anything you like, big boy?"

"Oh, hell, yes! Baby, ya look like the hottest goddamn pinup girl in the world! That outfit an' those shoes are really doin' somethin' to me." He stood up and walked over to where Leigh stood. Bill gently pulled her close to him,

"You're beautiful, Sweetheart. Absolutely perfect an' you look as sexy as ya did in Paris."

"Thanks, Honey." Bill gently nipped at one of Leigh's ear lobes before kissing her neck. He delighted in her slightly shivering when his lips gently sucked at the skin on her neck.

Guarnere whispered into her ear,

"Does my angel like that?"

"Oh, yes! I love it." His hands moved down to cup her ass.

"Baby, your body was made to drive a man crazy. It should be against the law for ya to wear clothes. 'course I don't want anybody else seein' ya naked. I wish you'd go around the house just wearin' what the man upstairs gave ya."

They exchanged slow, sensual kisses. Leigh eagerly allowed Bill's tongue to enter her mouth. She sucked on the tip of it, provoking a soft groan from him.

Leigh felt his hard cock pressing against her. She broke the kiss for a moment, stepping back to allow enough room for her hand to surround and gently squeeze his cock. Guarnere made a hissing sound through clenched teeth.

She massaged him through the fabric of his trousers.

"Oh, Baby, that feels so damn good." Leigh unbuttoned his dress shirt, licking, kissing and sucking the skin on his neck and chest. Bill moved his hand inside the tap panties to cup her bare ass. He moved one hand to the front of the tap panties.

Guarnere smiled as he felt the obvious sign of her arousal. Leigh gasped as his fingers rubbed her clit. A few minutes later, she slightly shuddered as she came. Bill picked her up,

"How 'bout we take this to the bedroom?"

"We can't get there fast enough." Guarnere quickly carried her upstairs to their bedroom. He gently placed her on the bed as he turned on the light and walked over to pull down the shades.

Bill removed his shirt and let it fall to the floor. He sat on a corner of their bed to take off his shoes and socks. Then, he removed his trousers and boxer shorts, letting them join his shirt on the floor. He removed his artificial leg and sat up in the bed.

Leigh grinned and took off her red stiletto heeled shoes. She started to remove her bra, but Bill told her,

"Baby, leave it on, just for a little bit. Same wit' the panties, too. I got an idea. One time in Aldebourne, ya made love to me an' said it was all for me. I wanna do the same for you. Don't get me wrong, I still wanna make love wit' ya.

How about sittin' in front of me on the bed?" She got on the bed and did as Bill asked. He pulled her as close to him as possible and wrapped his arms around her.

"Just relax in my arms, Sweetheart, an' let me take care o' you." He kissed Leigh's neck, knowing how much she loved it. Bill caressed her shoulders and allowed his hands to roam lower.

"Baby, you have the most beautiful breasts." Leigh thanked him for his compliment.

"That isn't exactly what you wanted to say, is it, Honey?" Guarnere grinned, knowing that she would be aroused by him saying something off color.

"Ya little devil. You know how I think. I've always loved your tits. They're so goddamn gorgeous." Bill nibbled her ear, noticing that she slightly trembled with passion. He added, "Christ, Leigh, you've got it in spades!

You have a sweet, sexy ass an' you know I love your beautiful pussy." He paused to once again suck on the soft skin at the junction of her neck and right shoulder. Bill loved hearing the sounds of passion Leigh made.

Guarnere slowly pushed her bra straps down, uncovering her breasts. He told her, speaking in a soft, low voice,

"I'm glad I bought this set for ya. Sweetheart, red silk looks so good on you. Now, how 'bout I take off this bra so I can give those beautiful tits some attention?"

"I'm more than ready." Bill unhooked her bra and carefully put it on the small table by his side of the bed. He caressed her breasts with both hands as she leaned back against his chest. Then, he gently rubbed her erect nipples with his fingertips. Leigh started to moan softly.

"Your body was made for makin' love." He began to tug on her nipples. Leigh's breathing quickened. Bill kept on tugging on her nipples, knowing that she could come from this stimulation .

Soon, she slightly trembled in his arms. Guarnere was pleased that he made her come again. He moved his hands slowly down her body, all the while whispering in her ear,

"Such a beautiful baby. You're a fuckin' goddess. I wish I could take pictures of ya completely naked." Leigh trembled again, the idea of posing for Bill was making her even more aroused.

He slid the tap panties down her hips. Leigh briefly got out of bed to removed the panties, the garter belt and her stockings. She eagerly got back on the bed and sat facing away from Bill, leaning against him.

Guarnere wrapped his arms around her. He had picked up on the fact that his words inflamed her desire. His breath was hot in her ear as he whispered,

"You'd like that, wouldn't ya, Sweetheart? Posin' just for me." She answered in a breathy voice,

"Oh, yes!"

"I'd start out askin' ya to hold those perfect tits in your hands. It would make ya hotter than hell if I asked ya to play wit' those sweet nipples, wouldn't it?"

"Mmmm...yes, it would."

"I'd want ya to spread your legs an' let me get a nice close up picture o' that beautiful pussy. You would already be kinda wet, wouldn't ya?" Bill was enjoying the effect his words had on Leigh. She was trembling a little more and her breathing was starting to speed up.

"Yes, Baby, my pussy would be very hot and wet." Guarnere groaned, his cock was rock hard, but he was determined to give Leigh as much pleasure as possible. He continued to whisper in her ear,

"Hearin' you say that is so fuckin' hot. I'd ask ya to touch yourself."

"Oh, God! I'd do it for you, Baby." Bill grinned.

"Then, I'd move close enough to taste ya..." Leigh gasped, imagining the feel of his lips on her sex. Guarnere began to caress the soft curls between her legs.

"My angel's enjoyin' this, ain't no doubt about it. You're so wet, Sweetheart."

He stroked a few fingers up and down the open lips of her sex.

"Oh, Bill!'

Then, he began to gently rub her clit.

"Your body was made for fuckin', too, an' you're so good at fuckin'!"

Leigh was almost panting due to his words and the way his finger stimulated her clit. She moved against him, feeling his hard cock pressing into the cleft of her ass.

Bill rubbed her clit a little faster. Leigh couldn't speak, she just moaned louder. Soon, her hips jerked up involuntarily as another orgasm washed over her.

Guarnere continued to hold her and he kissed her neck as she came. When she had recovered, he asked,

"What way does my baby wanna make love? Do ya want me to love ya wit' my tongue and lips?"

Leigh got on her knees, facing him,

"Bill, you know I love that, but right now, I need your cock inside me!" She surprised him by straddling him and quickly lowering herself onto him.

He held her hips as she rode him hard and fast. Bill loved her breasts bouncing in front of him and he managed to wrap his lips around one nipple to suck it.

This made her go faster. Guarnere knew he couldn't last very long this way, but he wasn't about to tell Leigh to slow down or stop. All he could do was thrust up into her.

His groaning got louder.

"Oh, fuck, yes! So good, Baby!"

Leigh felt a tremendous orgasm building. She called out his name, not giving a damn if the neighbors heard her. When he felt her sex contracting around him, this pushed Bill over the edge.

"Goddamn!" They held each other as they came. After they got their breathing rates back to normal, Bill held onto her and gently turned on his side, letting her onto the bed.

Guarnere withdrew from her and then pulled the sheet up to cover them. He held her close, stroking her back as Leigh wrapped her arms around him.

"That was wild and wonderful."

"You're amazin', Sweetheart." He gently kissed her.

"You're pretty amazin', too, Bill. That was heavenly, although we didn't behave like angels." Guarnere chuckled,

"You're so damn good when you're not actin' like an angel. Let me get the rest o' the covers pulled up so we don't get too cold.

Once Bill covered himself and Leigh with the sheet and a blanket, he lay beside her. Leigh put her head on his chest and Guarnere wrapped his arms around her.

They were too exhausted to think of turning off the light or bathing. Before sleep claimed them, Leigh made Bill laugh and kiss her when she said,

"Honey, we definitely started the new year off with a bang."

[readitnreap]

Ghost stuff pt4

Angst and fluff kinda

This chapter contains drunk and angry Terzo and more poorly translated Italian.

“Fottuto traditore! Codardo senza spina dorsale! Pensa di potermi sostituire? Lo ucciderò!” Terzo’s words were punctuated by a large, glass decanter hitting the wall of his room and shattering. It had been empty, much to his liver’s dismay, but the glass still made quite a mess. 

He quickly downed the rest of the alcohol in his glass. He tightened his grip hard enough to break it. 

“Sono papà!” Terzo shrieked as the glass joined the decanter. The power of his throw spun him on his heel and he stumbled. He fell backwards onto the couch, panting. His gaze settled on the prismatic destruction, heart still pounding in his ears.

“More!” he barked suddenly, lifting his arm and snapping. He could hear the ghoul behind him doing as commanded. He was well aware it was out of kindness or affection. The tingle in his chest, the roar in his throat that assured him of his power over the ghouls was… gone.

“Bad idea, this,” the ghoul called Aether sighed even as he approached with another decanter and glass.

“Mi scusi,” Terzo hissed as he glared over his shoulder, “did I ask your opinion?” His own dark facade shone back at him, reflected in a silver mask.

Aether set the glass on the table in front of Terzo, then poured a generous amount and handed it to his once Papa. The ghoul’s tail tip flicked in agitation as Terzo downed the whiskey far too quickly, slamming the glass back down on the table for another round. 

The ghoul hesitated then slid the glass to the far end of the table. He turned to stare at Terzo, watching as the man’s expression turned even more sour and angry. As Terzo reached across the table for the glass Aether cupped his hand over it and unsheathed his claws to near their full length; Driving the pointed tips into the wood of the table’s surface and effectively imprisoning the glass.

“You too, amante?” Terzo’s voice was a quiver, barely above a whisper. He watched the ghoul stiffen from the attack, tail still for once. Terzo stiffened and leapt to his feet, flipping the entire table over.

“Nobody tells me no!” he shouted, slamming a hand into his chest. “Nobody!” Terzo turned and headed towards the liquor cabinet himself. 

Aether righted the table. He glanced at the broken decanter, the whiskey slowly dripping into the carpet. His attention was snapped away as Terzo opened the liquor cabinet. The ghoul narrowed his eyes at the man, meeting mis-matched pupils blown wide. They held each other’s gaze in a show down as Terzo purposefully uncapped a bottle of bourbon. Still maintaining eye contact he lifted it to his lips.

Aether teleported across the room in a fraction of a second. He slid up behind Terzo, chest flush to the human’s back. He wrapped one large arm around Terzo’s midsection and with the other hand reached for the bottle.

Terzo shouted and thrashed against the hold. He did everything in his power to not only keep the bottle from Aether, but to drink as much as he could before his defeat. The duo did an odd, flailing dance away from the liquor cabinet. In no time both their sleeves and the chest of Terzo’s shirt were covered in bourbon. 

Terzo was breathless but still struggled—that is until he heard Aether whispering. The former Papa paused and tilted his head ever-so-slightly over his shoulder. The ghouls spoke a strange, inhuman language that the Sister and Nihil called Abyssal. The sound hummed down his spine, like the ghoul was speaking to his very soul.

It was a deep, rumbling language that sounded more like a crackling fire and the roll of thunder than words. Fluency of the language varied from Papa-to-Papa but Terzo had never had the desire to learn. He had picked up a few words, mostly from his time with Aether. One word in particular was shared only between them in private and Terzo could guess the meaning.

He heard this word, whispered like a prayer against the back of his neck.

Aether continued pleading softly, wrapping his soaked arms around Terzo. He squeezed, trying to ground the human. His tail was stiff behind him. Knowing no-one was near to see, Aether let his mask dissolve into the air, pressing lips against Terzo’s skin as he whispered.

The ghoul suddenly felt Terzo stiffen. The man went tense and bent forward to release a powerful, passionate roar. Emotions as colors spun in front of Aether’s eyes, deciphering the sound coming from somewhere deep inside Terzo. The beginning of a release and Aether held him through it.

A long moment passed and Aether felt Terzo’s breathing go shallow, sucking at air. The man’s shoulders shuddered and without warning his legs gave out. The ghoul gently lowered them both to the floor, pulling Terzo tightly to his chest.

“Cosa ho fatto di sbagliato?” his voice was hoarse and almost silent. The ghoul behind him radiated heat and still that purring, rumbling voice. Terzo let his arms drop uselessly to his sides as Aether bent his legs up on either side. The embrace was compassionate.

“Chiesa still… not comprendere… sin,” Terzo tilted his head back to rest on Aether’s shoulder as the ghoul spoke in a broken mix of English and Italian. 

“What do you mean?” Terzo whispered, permitting the ghoul to nuzzle against his neck. The thin, spade-ended tail came to curl around him.

Aether wanted so desperately to tell Terzo the truth. He wanted to spill everything, share all the knowledge he had. He wanted to reassure him this was not his fault—could not have been his fault. The things he knew, things he’d discovered… they’d been carelessly left out in the open. None of this was Terzo’s fault and—and it was only going to get worse.

“Penso di amarti,” Terzo whispered, his eyes slipping closed. 

“Vino, drunk,” Aether sighed, tightening his grip as Terzo drifted into a drunken sleep.

[phiasabcn]

As he stepped inside, Phia felt a wave of relief wash over her. Despite the unspoken tension of their impending conversation, the air between them remained comfortably familiar. Nothing seemed out of place. "Not really," she replied, her smile warm and knowing. "I’ve just gotten to know your tastes pretty well by now." After all, they had spent countless hours together, both at work and outside of it, so it wasn’t surprising that they had come to understand each other’s preferences. "Only a little," she added with a grin, her eyes sparkling as she led the way to the kitchen. The table was already set, the plates and cutlery arranged neatly, a sign of her anticipation. As she reached for two wine glasses, she continued, "So, Italian, huh? I’m thinking red wine is the way to go." She glanced at the wine rack, considering her options. "Not the House of the Dragon red wine, though—that might hit a bit too close to home," she joked, nodding toward a bottle labeled after their TV show. With a chuckle, she selected a different bottle, this time an Italian red. "Now, I haven’t decanted it or done any of those fancy things. I’m no expert—I just drink it." Phia poured them each a glass and took a seat at the table as Tom began unpacking the food. "Italian always makes for good leftovers," she remarked, her tone light and teasing. "But you’ve always liked a bit of everything, haven’t you? No surprise there. I’ve never seen you light up as much as when there’s a buffet."

The few seconds that he stood by her door waiting for her to open up felt like hours and Tom had time to play in his mind, what he wanted to tell her, how he was going to say it. Would he just go for it? Would they dance around the subject, before actually going straight to it? Tom didn't want to seem desperate, he also didn't want to pressure her. Their texts had made him realize that she felt the same way towards him but that didn't mean that she would want to start something serious. Going slow could be a good option, going on a few dates even though they already knew each other better than most. When the door opened, he was pulled away from his thoughts, a smile spread across his face as soon as he saw her. "Hi." He greeted her, hugging her back tightly and placing a kiss on her cheek as well. "Am I really that predictable?" Tom asked, stepping into the house and closing the door behind him. "Whatever you're having. I chose the food, you an choose the beverages." He chuckled. "Cocky much, are we? I like that." He said with a wink before placing the bags with the food on the table. "I might have gotten a bit too much but I didn't know what you would like so I brought a bit of everything."

[i-fondued]

Kinktober 2022 | Ghost | Gentle Touches

A stolen soft moment with Cardinal Copia turns anything but gentle in the end

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader/Sister of Sin

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Sex (duh), Swearing (but now in Italian!), some fluff, all 3 papas show up at one point LOL

A/N: This one is full of fluffy moments but also smut so yay lol. This is also going to be posted to AO3 in a little bit, in case you’d rather read it over there.

Also I love how much other people are loving these little PWPs, it means a lot to me that people are commenting and sharing. Makes the staying up late (11pm is late okay?? I am old now, with a full time job and kids T^T) so worth it!!

Here is the AO3 link for those who prefer to read on AO3!

“Sister, the Cardinal is asking for you.”

I looked up from the large dusty tome I had been skimming, looking for a particular ritual Primo had asked me about the day prior, he said it was to help with the vegetables in the greenhouse. A younger sister smiled at me, leaning around the bookcase to my table.

“Yes, of course, thank you.” I reached for my habit, tucking my hair away again. “Did he mention what he needed me for?”

“I’m sorry, no. He just said to have you see him in his office.” She shrugged before slipping away, no doubt leaving the warm library that I called home. 

Packing up a few folders of translations and sections of sermons Cardinal Copia had asked me to look at after our last meeting, I pushed my work into the nearby filing cabinet and locked it behind me. Humming to myself I wandered from the library, down various hallways before ending up in the administrative office wing. His personal office door, large and ornately carved, was closed. I knocked twice before I heard him speak.

“Venire, er, come in!”

Cardinal Copia’s office was once a rather good sized space however since he had taken over the office became more cramped. The entire wall to the left was bookshelves filled from floor to ceiling, all his personal collection. In the center of the wall on the right was a large fireplace, a small fire crackling happily in the October chill, on either side of the fireplace were more bookshelves. 

He had two armchairs seated in front of the fireplace with a small side table between them. On the table was a small tray with a decanter of his favorite whiskey and two glasses, ready for whenever he was hosting a guest. His desk was in the center of the room, a large dark wood that was carved much like the door into the office. The surface was practically covered in books, papers, scrolls, and many other knickknacks from his travels. Across from the desk was a pair of chairs, both with plush and welcoming cushions. 

Today Copia was dressed in his black cassock, his biretta sitting on top of a stack of books on his desk. His gloves were also off, which was rare in a public setting like this, and were laid on top of his hat. My eyes drifted to the papers he was writing and I saw his hands were slightly ink stained, as he preferred to use a calligraphy pen rather than a normal one.

“Afternoon, Cardinal.” I smiled, sitting as he gestured to the seats in front of his desk. “The junior sister let me know that you had been asking for me. Is there something I can help you with? I brought the papers we had been working on…”

Copia didn’t speak right away, instead he stood and walked over to peek out of the door into the hallway. He closed the door softly, the lock clicking while my heart rate jumped up. Ah, that’s why he had been asking for me. I felt him hesitantly place his hand on the back of the chair. His fingers just barely brushing against my shoulder, a small shiver ran down my spine as I turned to look back at his mismatched gaze. There was so much longing in his eyes sometimes it took my breath away. 

“I-I just wanted to see you…” He mumbled, a slight pink blush spreading on his face. His fingers slipped under my habit and I felt his fingers toy with one of my curls. A smile broke out on my face, leaning into his touch as his other hand came to settle on my shoulder, massaging the muscles gently.

“I missed you too, Copia.” My hand came up to rest on his as I turned to smile at him. His cheeks flushed when I spoke his name, we both were used to referring to each other by title. I knew he loved it when I called him his name when it was just us.

His hand slipped from under my habit, pulling it off my head and tossing it onto his desk. I felt his hand come to cup my cheek as he came to stand in front of me, slightly leaning against his desk. I leaned into his touch, heart beating steadily in my chest as a warm feeling spread through my whole body. He took the papers from my lap and tossed them on the desk before leaning down and kissing me softly. My heart soared, beating wildly in my chest, as I felt his fingers brush softly against the skin of my cheek. He pulled away and I felt like I was floating slightly, my eyes fluttering slightly as the cardinal’s gaze locked with mine. 

“Cosi Bella…” He murmured before pulling me up into his arms, I squealed slightly before our lips met again. His hands were on my waist as he turned us, pinning me to the desk with his hips.

My arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to me, as our kisses became more frantic. His tongue brushed against my own as he nibbled at my bottom lip. I moaned quietly, fingers curling into his hair as his tongue coaxed mine into his own mouth. He teased mine, sucking slightly on it and I felt my knees wobble like I was a virginal sister all over again. His hands left my hips to bracket my body as he leaned against me, fingers gripping the wood tightly. 

“Cardinal…” I groaned quietly, my head falling to the side and offering my neck to him as I caught my breath. He rolled his hips into mine and I could feel how hard he was already. He kissed my sensitive neck softly, skillfully nipping and sucking on the exact spots that made my body thrum. “We shouldn’t…”

“I’ve missed you…” He echoed himself into my skin, lips brushing against the shell of my ear, the rumble of his voice causing a shudder to run through my body. 

“What if someone hears…” I couldn’t even finish what I was saying, a gasp slipping from my lips as his fingers curled around the hem of my robes. His bare hands were a rare treat against my thighs as he slipped a hand between us.

“They will not say anything.” Copia murmured, his knee pressing between my legs and pushing them apart. “The Papas are in a meeting with Seestor, they will be occupied for quite some time.”

His hand slipped to brush against the damp spot on my underwear, and I bit my lip to stop the moan from spilling out. My head fell forward, burying his neck. I closed my eyes, taking a deep steadying breath and tried to bookmark his scent for later. It was of old parchment, leather, and his very traditional Italian aftershave. I pressed light kisses to the little exposed skin of his neck before I got frustrated and leaned back to start unbuttoning his cassock. He paused and undid the buttons, his fingers skilled and faster than mine. 

Once they were undone to his waist, he slipped his arms from the sleeves, letting the robes pool at his waist. He only wore a white under tank top, along with a pair of suspenders, as he frequently told me the heavy wool would make him overheat even in the dead of winter. I smiled warmly at him as I slid back onto the desk, hiking up my skirts and letting him step between my legs. My hands pressed against his chest and I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my hand, my own heart thrumming away. His mismatched eyes locked on mine and we both blushed, a small giggle slipping from my lips. 

Copia leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine, before kissing me softly again. My hands traveled from his chest to brush against his arms, feeling the soft hair as they traveled down his forearms. I tangled his fingers with mine before pulling him against me, he leaned forward and I had to lean back against his stack of books and papers slightly. 

“Cardinal, your things…” I sighed dreamily, turning to look at what I was crushing with my weight. 

His answer was to reach around and push everything to the floor, the splash of papers sliding everywhere making me roll my eyes at him. Most of which was the papers he requested of me, now mixed with his sermons.

“I-I pick it up after…” He mumbled shyly, rubbing at my arms. “It is okay, Sister.”

I started to open my mouth to fire a sassy retort but it came out as a strangled sound as I felt his fingers brush against my core. He smirked, a rare sight from the shy man in front of me, and I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks before heading right to my belly. I felt him grind against my thigh as he lazily let his fingers slip up and down my soaked core. He pushed my underwear down, helping me lift my hips to slide down my legs. I watched as he tucked them into his back pocket and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. 

“Mia Cara…you’re so ready for me…” 

“Copia…” I whined, head thrown back as he teased my entrance with his fingers, barely brushing against my clit. I had to bite my lip from the moan that was fighting its way out. 

I heard the sound of fabric landing on the floor, his cassock discarded from his waist. I reached out, pushing the suspenders from his shoulders, and placing feather-like kisses on his skin. He practically purred under my hands and I couldn’t help but smile at him. We were kissing again, his tongue tangled in mine as I groaned rolling my hips to try and get any more friction from his fingers.  

“Ah, ah…” Copia tutted, a smirk on his face again, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. “I’m not sure that you have earned more from me Bella…”

“P-please Copia…” I whimpered, his fingers barely brushed my clit and my hips bucked forward, grinding against nothing as he pulled his fingers away. 

“In italiano, Sorella…”

“F-fottimi per favore.” I begged, not even bothering to try and be alluring as my hands slid between us and I cupped his cock through his trousers. I looked up at him, trying to do my best to convey fuck me eyes.  “S-sono stata una b-brave sorella, si?”

A hissed line of jumbled Italian left his lips before he crashed them into my own, hungry and blistering as he devoured me. I felt his cock jump under my steady attention before I started to undo the button and zipper. Copia, suddenly more impatient than me, tore at his trousers. He tugged at my hips, pulling me to the edge of the desk, before he rubbed the head of his cock against me. I moaned, rolling my hips forward as the heat of lust pooled in my belly. Slowly he pushed forward, stretching the walls of my cunt as he slid into me. 

I groaned as I laid back as my arms wouldn’t hold me up anymore, the back of my head hitting the wood gracelessly. My leg came up to curl around Copia’s waist as he eagerly slid deep inside me. I felt him begin to move slowly at first, knowing he was giving me a moment to adjust to the feeling of him inside me, before his right hand came up to grip my shoulder before he began to move in more earnest, deep thrusts. 

“Fuck, Copia…” I hissed, my right hand coming to curl around his bicep and digging little half-moon nail marks into his skin. He slammed into me, a steady but fast pace was set. “Don’t stop.”

His left hand pulled at the neckline of my robes, gaining access to my breasts. He rolled one nipple between his fingers and I arched up into his touch. He leaned down, still managing to keep the pace he set as he continued to chase his pleasure in my body, and slipped the other nipple in his mouth. My left hand slid into his hair, scratching at his scalp as he teased the little bud with his tongue and teeth. I forcefully pulled him over to me, my kiss frantic as I rolled my hips to meet his thrusts.

The erotic, heady sounds of our bodies coming together was all I could hear. Copia’s breath was quickening and I could feel the heat in my belly building. I let my hand slip between our bodies and I quickly brought myself to the edge with my finger, moaning his name in the quiet of his office. 

“Copia…I’m so close.”

“Vieni per me, Sorella.” He grunted in response, both hands now on my shoulders as he pounded into me, his steady rhythm occasionally broken by his own quivering body. He was close too, a heat pooled in my belly and I felt my head fall back again. 

Another swirl of his hip and I felt the wall of pleasure that had built in my belly come crashing down, my orgasm so strong my back arched off of the desk at a sharp angle. I moaned loudly at first before Copia’s lips crashed to mine, devouring the sound as best he could. My legs curled around his hips, pulling him to snap into my sharply as I rode out my pleasure. Another few static thrusts and he grunted into our kiss, I could feel his cock twitch as he came inside me. He gave me a few more weak thrusts before he all but collapsed on top of me, his arms resting on either side of my head. I lazily rubbed at his back as we stayed connected for what felt like hours, his head resting against my chest and listening to the rhythm of my heart return to normal. Blissfully I smiled, kissing the top of his head as his hands caressed my sides affectionately.

“Copia?”

“Si?”

“I…”

The doorknob to his office jiggled as someone attempted to come in. He and I paused, gazes locked in equal looks of matched terror.

“Cardinale?” My heart was about to come out of my throat, that voice belonged to Papa Emeretus III. “Cardinale ci sei tu?”

We looked at each other frantically, both trying to quietly convey something to the other. I begged him to understand that we should stay silent, pretend nobody was in the room. He seemed to agree, relief washing over me. That was before he opened his mouth.

“Si, Papa, dammi un momento.”

I was going to kill him. 

Copia stepped away from me, his now very flaccid cock slipping from me as he scrambled to pull on his cassock. His practiced fingers fixing up all the buttons, before he stepped towards the doors. I scrambled off the desk, slipping to hide on the other side of his desk. I peaked out from the side as Copia unlocked and opened the door just a crack. Terzo was standing there with a bright smile on his face, he couldn’t see me yet but once his eyes adjusted to the darkness I knew he would be able to see me.

“Yes Papa?” Copia spoke, eyes not quite meeting Papa’s face. “Is there something you need?”

“No, no Cardinale. I thought I heard something and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Terzo laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck as he look in Copia’s face. “Did you doze off, Copia? Your paints…they seem quite messy.”

In that moment, Terzo’s eyes locked with mine and he gave a knowing smile. Oh my god I was going to die, or throw up, or both. I darted back behind the desk and I heard the quiet chuckle of our current Papa.

“O-oh, yes Papa…” I heard the shock in Copia’s voice and I knew he was red as a tomato. “I-I’ve been working on your sermons all afternoon. I think I may have uh, dozed off. Si.”

“No worry, Cardinale. You rest, by the look of your office you have earned it Signore.” Papa laughed before bidding Copia a good afternoon. “I see you at supper, yes?”

“Y-yes, Papa.”

I didn’t move again till I heard the door close, peaking around the desk to see Copia leaning against the door with his hand on his chest. His eyes closed and his face a deep blotchy red. I stood on shaky legs, walking over to grab my habit and pulling it on before walking over to the cardinal. I gently pressed my hand to his cheek, smiling softly despite myself.

“He saw me, you know.”

“Si.” His face looking down, he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Terzo is a good Papa, he won’t say anything.” I soothed him as best I could, placing a hand on his chest before he pulled me into a fierce hug. “Copia..?”

“Ti amo, Sorella….”

“I love you too, Cardinal.”

His lips crashed into mine, pulling the habit off my head as he walked me backwards toward the mess on the desk.

…

When I finally left Cardinal Copia’s office hours later, dinner only an hour away, I was covered in love bites wherever my robes covered. A happy and sated look on my face as I turned away from his doors, however it evaporated when I saw the three people sitting at the bench at the end of the call smirking at me. 

Papa Emeritus I, Primo.

Papa Emeritus II, Secondo.

Papa Emeritus III, Terzo.

“P-Papas!” I blurted, bowing my head for a movement before a blush spread across my face. “G-good evening?”

“By the sounds of it a very good evening indeed, Sorella…” Terzo laughed before handing a crisp hundred dollar bill to Primo who looked both impressed and envious at the same time. “We’ll see our povero cardinale for dinner, si?”

“Y-yes your dark eminence!”

“Fantastico, see you then Sister.” Terzo waved me off cheerfully, I scampered away before I could simply die from embarrassment of being caught. I heard the sound of a smack on the head.

“Cazzo, Secondo. What was that for?” Terzo said.

“Leave the young Sorella alone,” Secondo grumbled. “Cardinale needs his own fun from time to time.”

“Apparently more than from time to time, Secondo…” Primo laughed. “Santana sii buono, Cardinale…four times…”

I practically ran from the Papas, holding in my own laughter and mortification.

[modernamericangirl]

Coming in slightly late but complete: here’s my contribution to the delightful Cobert challenge created by @avoverud! 

My prompt was “saying ‘I love you’ as a goodbye.” 

I’m sorry that this is probably a bit long to read on tumblr; I’ll try to post on FF or A03 as well! 

I.

Robert stood in the corner of the library nursing a glass of whiskey as he took in the scene. Harold and his friends were crowded round a card table lodging boisterous insults at one another; the smoke from their cigars curled slowly upwards before settling above them like a heavy raincloud. They were all drunk, horribly so, on illicit booze carted up by the caseload from the basement of Harold’s townhouse off East 58th street.

Robert shifted on his feet and pressed a thumb against his own glass, watching as a fingerprint appeared in the condensation. He considered that he might be rather drunk as well—a thought he quickly doused with the anesthetic burn of alcohol, taking the last sip from his now-empty glass. A footman materialized seemingly out of thin air with a decanter to refill the vessel. Yes, down with prohibition, he muttered to the waiting servant.

Had it been only three weeks since he arrived at that grimy New York port? He looked up to better calculate the time passed and was distracted by the mahogany-paneled ceiling. The dancing light from the immense marble fireplace reflected against the surface, and it made him dizzy. Yes—no—yes. It had been three weeks since he’d arrived. A month since last he was home.

The slap of a hand against the card table was enough to startle him to attention, and he listened as the raucous group of Americans pointed cigars and fingers into one another’s faces, laughing as they lodged claims of card counting and other tricks at their opponents. Robert watched his brother-in-law wave them back into their seats and gesture for the footman with the decanter in one fluid motion. With their glasses refilled, the game was allowed to continue in this den of iniquity.

Really, he’d hardly seen Harold save a few dinners and this week at the trial. His trip had been spent almost entirely at Martha’s immense Italianate home a few blocks away. Martha insisted he stay with her—calling Harold’s looming trial a witch hunt and an impossible blemish on the family name in equal measure—and had paraded him around at any number of tea parties, lunches, and social events. He poured tea and coffee and politely answered question after question about the estate, the peerage, and even the after-effects of the war, as grey-haired women drenched in floral perfume and decked out in glittering diamonds and rubies smiled at him and complimented his charming accent. Very often, they asked after Cora. The questions would come as they talked of crowded ballrooms from lifetimes ago. They would claim a daughter or a niece had been such close friends with the beautiful Cora Levinson. They were the only questions that didn’t seem to set his teeth on edge, really, for he could smile genuinely, and he could tell them what he imagined Cora would want him to share: stories about the girls, about their grandchildren, about the London season. And they cooed with praise for his wife. She’d pulled it all off so seamlessly. And indeed, she had.

He downed the last of his drink now and rubbed a hand against his aching chest. Oh, he missed her—perhaps tonight even more than yesterday if that were possible. He trudged to an empty leather chair and waved, his arm loose and inaccurate, for the bloody footman with the whiskey. The man did not materialize this time, but his inelegant movement did have the unwitting effect of alerting his brother-in-law to his discontent.

Harold, who sat only a few feet away at the edge of the table, grinned at him with a fat cigar stuck between his teeth. Smoke wafted all around him and Robert, surrounded by the gleaming, dark wood of the library, was reminded of the opening passage of Dante’s Inferno.

“My champion!” Harold’s voice rang out; his friends clapped in loud, maddening unison. “Come and sit by me.”

Harold gestured with his own half-full tumbler to a seat already occupied by one of his adoring sycophants. The man moved immediately, though it took Robert longer than it should have to unsteadily reach the table. Immediately, he was drawn into Harold’s embrace, and the shorter man’s attempt to put an arm around his shoulder was enough to make him chuckle.  

“Have I told you all what a stand-up guy he is?” Harold grinned.

Robert shook his head, ready to protest, but he continued.

“—no, no. He is. You are.”

Harold was quite drunk. His eyes were glassy, and he peered at Robert with a curious expression.

“All the way from England for this bullshit. Stand-up guy, my brother-in-law.” With his free hand, for the cigar had been dropped onto a gold dish beside him, he picked up his glass and clinked it rather aggressively against Robert’s.  

“I was happy to help.”

Robert was surprised by the low tone of his own voice. He blinked once, twice, and then a third time; the men across the table had doubled in his vision, and he watched with passive interest as they seemed to float back and forth.

“Sure, sure.” Harold clapped him on the back and nodded at the footman.

Again, their glasses were filled. “You’re a real sport.”

Robert felt, certainly not for the first time that evening, a twinge of annoyance. It was late, far later than they ever stayed up these days, and he wondered if there might be some way to make an unnoticed escape back to Martha’s. But the room only seemed to grow louder in protest, someone turning on a record player, and Harold was still saying something, for he heard his name again in the brash tone of the man’s voice.

“—no, of course it wasn’t necessary,” he said to the dark-haired man nearest to them. Robert couldn’t for the life of him remember the chap’s name, though he was fairly certain he was a man of business. No—no. An architect. “—Mother insisted. But I think Robert’s had more of a positive effect on her tea parties than on today’s proceedings.”

Robert coughed at that and cleared his throat in what he hoped was a gesture of clear displeasure.  

“You know what I mean, Robert.” Harold smiled and wrenched the decanter from the servant just behind them. He poured two fingers of whiskey into their glasses.

“Or—”

He spoke slowly now, turning his attention from the task back to Robert, “maybe you don’t. My brother-in-law doesn’t have much of a head for business,” he explained to the men surrounding them. They’d all dropped their cards onto the table sometime during the exchange, having picked up on the frisson of tension between the brothers-in-law, and assessed the rather drunk aristocrat before them.

“Perhaps not.”

Robert spoke the words into his upturned glass. He swallowed slowly, very slowly, and the burn did little to calm his temper. “Though I do have rather a head for avoiding charges of bribery and conspiracy.”  

Harold’s face was impassive. If he was offended, his frozen half-smile and unblinking eyes did not reveal that fact. In some way, the blue, staring eyes reminded him of Cora—Cora when she was unhappy with him but would not say so. And the similarity chilled him. Harold continued to stare, letting silence fall over the table, and took a sip from his glass.

“You’re right,” Harold said finally. He nodded sagely at his own words. “Best to keep out of the fray. Right, gentlemen?” The men, wearing uneasy smiles, nodded in passive agreement.

“Carter!” Harold shouted for his butler and slapped a hand against Robert’s back. “Champagne. We need champagne! We’re celebrating, after all.”

“Here, here!” Glasses clinked together and claps sounded out. The men returned to their cards. But Harold’s hand remained pressed against Robert’s back, and he leaned in to speak quietly to him.

“Apologies,” he said, offering him another smile. “It’s been a long day for me.”

Robert nodded and rubbed a hand over his own tired eyes. “As I said, I was happy to help.”

Harold chuckled, though the sound lacked any mirth. “I appreciate your selflessness.”

“You’re family.” Robert answered politely.

“True. And it only cost us what—a million and a half? Two? Father never said exactly.”

The men at the table did not hear their exchange; indeed, their voices were nearly drowned out by the sound of corks popping. But it was enough to rouse him. And, oh, he hated him then—hated all of them, really. Harold was a spoilt, immature little man with an endless parade of dull, drunken friends to follow behind.

  Robert stood, clenched his swollen fingers into a fist, and wondered through the haze of drink how he could explain to Cora a physical fight with her own brother. It would make him feel better, he thought, to knock the man right onto the ground. But, no. That would not do. He could not hit him—not when Harold was still sitting and smiling up at him. What reason would he give her, in any case? After all, Harold was only telling the truth. The shameful, long-buried truth that somehow conspired to, even now, make him flush with embarrassment and regret. He said nothing but watched as Harold laughed loudly at his anger, the mirth from earlier miraculously returned to his countenance.

“Only joking,” Harold replied through peals of laughter. “Lighten up.”

But before Robert could respond, the door to the main hall opened and flooded the room with artificial light, revealing a gaggle of women in short, glamorous beaded dresses with bleach-blonde hair and lips painted red.

“Now it’s a party,” he heard Harold shout, and the room nearly vibrated with the hoots and hollers of vulgar cheers and greetings.

Robert knew he was far too drunk to stay for anything of this sort. And he objected to the way they were all drawn like moths to the light of the open door—to women who looked, in his bleary estimation, to be younger than Rose. It was, he thought seriously, ungentlemanly for these men to behave in such a fashion. And so, he escaped almost instantly, finding his freedom via the back-left corner of the library. He’d noticed a door carved out of the mahogany wall there earlier and had just enough sense left in him to recall it now. Finding it unlocked, Robert spilled into Harold’s office entirely unnoticed.

He could hear peals of laughter as he turned the latch behind him and poked around the room. They only seemed to grow louder once he sat at Harold’s desk and listened more intently to the sounds of the party.

He supposed he could wait them out.

He yawned.

He stretched his legs, and his muscles groaned in protest.

Minutes passed, but his heart still thundered as he turned the words over in his mind.

Harold thought him a fool. That much was clear. Perhaps he was a fool for coming here. But he owed her that much. Not in the way Harold had implied. But he owed her nevertheless: owed her for the way her hand slipped into his own at night, for her palm pressed against his forehead whenever he felt unwell, for every little sacrifice she made for their family without complaint, and for the very love they shared so freely even now, so many years gone. There was never a decision to be made; of course she needn’t have asked him to go. He would have captained the blasted boat himself to get here in time.  

But, oh, he missed her. He’d thought of her constantly. He thought of her asleep in their bed, her hair smelling of lavender and her skin pale in the early-morning light. He thought of her smiling at him from across the dinner table, her face aglow in candlelight. He thought of her voice and her laughter and thought perhaps most often of all of what she’d whispered into his ear in the great hall just before he’d gone.

Out of boredom or curiosity, Robert began to rifle through the compartments of Harold’s desk. He found an untouched flask of what was, upon further inspection, gin, and thick files filled with marked-up numerical reports. The mountains of paperwork were mostly unintelligible to him, and he began to consider if Harold’s assessment of his business acumen was not altogether incorrect.

Opening up another drawer, he found a packet of cigarettes, some wadded up cash, and, tucked between the pages of an address book that he flipped through, a yellowed family photograph dated December 1886 on the back in pencil. Even in the dim firelight he saw immediately a young Cora, standing taller than her brother, between her parents. He recognized the impassive half-smile as the one she often wore in the early months of their marriage. She looked impossibly young, yet somehow still herself, and it unsettled him to realize that he had not known this version of his wife. They had lived nearly all their lives together and yet there had been some time in the long-distant past when they had existed wholly without one another.

Robert considered pocketing the photograph but thought better of the potential theft when his eye cast over what he had been in pursuit of: a stack of unused writing sheets and envelopes. Snatching up a fountain pen from its stand atop the desk, he blinked down at the page before him, willing his vision to correct itself, and set pen to paper.

Darling, my dear

Cora, my darling Cora

Cora, if I could put to page what you mean

My darlling Cora, I have thought of nothing but your words to me

Cora, my darling, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I

He paused midway through this last attempt. No—that wasn’t right. It was Byron, wasn’t it? Or perhaps Shelley. No, he shook his head, cursing aloud. It was Austen, of course. Cora’s favorite. Ignoring a splash of ink on his palm, he reached for another sheet and tried once more, settling on a familiar turn of phrase.

My dearest one…

The scratch of the metal nib drowned out the raucous proceedings in the library, and before long he had a number of pages complete—and envelops addressed, too. But as he signed the final version, noting he still saw his name printed in double vision, he wondered if perhaps he might be better off reviewing the draft come morning. And so, he pocketed what he thought was his best work and clumsily gathered up the rest to dispose of once he returned to Martha’s, smoothing out the other papers he’d rifled through on the desk as well.

Engrossed as he had been in his task, Robert hoped for one blessed moment that the party had rounded to a close. But as he stood from the creaking leather chair, distant strains of decadent laughter and merriment sounded out once more. There was, he knew then, no clean escape route out of the townhouse. Taking Harold’s flask as a consolation prize, he exited the office from the alternate door across the room and flagged down the first servant he crossed paths with in the dark, marbled hallway to ask for a bed to be made up for him there instead.

II.

When Robert awoke the next morning to a deafening thump, thump, thump, he was stunned to realize the Americans were still somehow celebrating Harold’s serendipitous legal victory. He was even more stunned to realize a moment later that the sound was in fact emanating from his own head, which felt heavier than a block of ice and pulsed violently in protest when he moved himself to a seated position.

He hadn’t a clue of the time, though bright morning light was streaming clearly through the open curtains. The servants must have been through, too; emerging from beneath the heavy bedclothes in only his pants, he found his suit from the night before hanging and freshly pressed and another suit, somehow ferried over from his things at Martha’s, hanging beside it.

Robert dressed himself, moving slower than molasses without Barrow’s assistance, and cursed every sip of alcohol he’d taken the night before as he trudged downstairs and readied himself to face the Levinsons for yet another day.

Impossibly, Harold looked no worse for wear when Robert came upon him at the breakfast table, his face half-covered by the morning newspaper. An enormous plate of food lay on the table before him, and he held a cup suspended in mid-air as a footman refreshed his coffee.

“You’re up earlier than I expected,” he commented once Robert took the seat opposite.

“Quite.”

Harold offered him half the newspaper, but Robert shook his head—even that movement conspiring to make him wince in pain. A footman appeared with another plate of breakfast food, or what he assumed was breakfast to an American, and he looked up at the ceiling to avoid the smell. Moments passed before his stomach felt sure enough to hazard a bite.

He chewed slowly on a piece of bacon as Harold finally set the newspaper down in front of him.

“I apologize for what I said last night,” he said abruptly.

Robert hesitated. He remembered snippets of dialogue; he remembered briefly wanting to punch Harold right in the middle of the library among all his idiot friends. But he remembered little of what they’d said to one another.

“There’s no need,” he answered finally, swallowing the bacon and saying a silent prayer it stayed down.

Harold cleared his throat. “No, there is. It was unkind. What I said about the money.”

Ah. The money. Cora’s dowry. It remained in many ways the albatross around his neck—even now, even years after it was lost. He had come to realize, years into their marriage, that the shame would likely never leave him. Not completely.

“Maybe so. But you did not say anything that was untrue.”

Harold looked at him strangely, then. He folded the newspaper and set it onto the table beside him.

“You know, I never understood why my parents did what they did. Or, why Cora did what she did. In a way, I always thought she’d come back—”

Robert frowned, but Harold, who had been looking down at his plate, looked up with a faint smile.

“—I think I understand it a bit more now.”

“I—don’t follow.”

Harold chuckled. Without further comment, he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a few folded pieces of paper, and passed them across the table.

“I’m glad you came, Robert. Really. Thank you for everything.” He stood, nodded once, and exited the breakfast room in a few quick steps, leaving Robert to unfold the small bundle on his own.

Momentarily confused, his eyes scanned a series of smudged, crinkled pages before recollections of the night before settled heavily upon him.

My darlling Cora, I have thought of nothing but your words to me upon our farewell goodbye and I must, must tell you how desperately, no, madly, I love you  

He balled up the page quicker than he would have otherwise thought possible given his dulled reflexes and shoved the offending pages into his trouser pocket. Good god–hadn’t he stuffed those into his jacket? Or thrown them into the wastepaper bin? He thought hazily back over the events of the previous night and could now only recall stealing upstairs with Harold’s gleaming silver flask full of gin. Red cheeked, he pushed around the food on his plate and thought miserably about the four more days standing between him and the ship leaving the New York harbor.

He pushed a hand into his pocket once more and felt the sharp corners of his ill-begotten letter. Hadn’t he done his familial duty? Perhaps he might now be granted an early reprieve. He would do nearly anything, he considered, to return home to Cora.

III.

Robert stretched lazily and felt himself sink deeper into the soft bedsheets. The bedroom was blessedly warm and quiet, and he felt perfectly happy as he awoke in the sun-drenched room. Cora grinned at him as she crossed the foot of the bed, having extracted herself from his arms to gather up her rumpled nightclothes from the floor and to ring for breakfast.

“You look very content,” she smiled, pulling the nightdress over her head before slipping back beneath the sheets. She rolled to her side and pressed a smooth hand to the rough skin of his cheek.

“I am rather.” He reached up to grasp her hand and kissed her palm.

He’d been home for nearly a week now and had mostly found his way back into long-held routines. The house was together again after the bazaar, and he’d returned to a number of ongoing projects across the estate with Mary and Tom. He had not yet, however, returned to the breakfast table—electing instead to steal bits of toast and tea from Cora’s tray as he listened to her chatter on about all manner of things. Seeing her in the afternoon for a walk or for tea in the library was not yet enough. He had returned from America a man starved, and each moment spent with her now seemed to restore him to fuller health.

He shuffled just a bit closer and leaned in to kiss her, delighting in the way she hummed against his mouth.

“Darling—”

“Hm?”

He opened his eyes again and kissed the edge of her chin before returning to her lips.

“I’ve already rung for Baxter,” she murmured, halfheartedly pushing him back to his side of the bed.

“Tell her—”

He paused, then, and reached a hand below the sheets to find the edge of her nightgown. “Tell her we’ve changed our minds; we don’t need breakfast.”

He kissed her once more, his hand finding the smooth skin at her hip then, and felt his stomach flip as she smiled and laughed unguardedly into the small space between them.

“I do need breakfast after last night,” she said, applying a firmer hand to his shoulder to push him backward into the pillows. He frowned in mock consternation.

“Fine.” Cora laughed again at the dramatic sigh he emitted and reached far into the tangled bedclothes, nearly down to their feet, to produce his discarded pajamas from the night before.

“Put these on before you scandalize Baxter,” she teased.

He’d only just wrestled the still-buttoned top over his head when the woman in question knocked once, twice, and a third time at the solid wood door. Cora waited just a pause before calling her in.

Robert smiled politely at the lady’s maid, who seemed to somehow be moving even faster and more efficiently this morning, if that were possible, and he noted in silent thanks that there appeared to be two servings of toast on the tray and an extra teacup.

Almost immediately after settling the tray on Cora’s lap, the woman bobbed her head once, offering the briefest Milord, Milady, before stepping backward and looking at the door. But before Baxter could perform her hasty retreat, Cora noticed a large bundle of post brought up and arranged inelegantly on the corner of the tray.

“What’s all this?”

There was a long pause before the lady’s maid responded.

“I—I think it’s all from America,” she said simply.

Frowning, Cora waved the woman off—the woman who seemed altogether too happy to pace quickly back out of the room—and reached for the stack to investigate further.

“If Harold’s done something else,” she muttered.

“What on earth else could he do?” Robert chuckled, grabbing for a piece of toast. “Become a pirate and smuggle treasure on the open seas?”

His laughter faltered, though, just as he bit into a piece of bread slathered with raspberry jam and settled his gaze on the all too familiar handwriting, and the all too familiar return address, scratched across the envelope—across, he realized with a lurch, each envelope that Cora had fanned out across her lap.

“Darling,” Cora laughed. “Did you send me—” He watched her count. “—five letters before you left?”

Dropping the toast onto his lap, Robert reached with great speed to snatch up the offending post only to have Cora slap away his hand.

“They’re addressed to me,” she grinned. “And be careful; you’ll have me spill my tea.”

They were, unfortunately, all addressed to her. Though his accuracy had been found rather wanting. The letters ranged in address from Cora, Countess of Grantham to Cora Crawley to simply Cora, with the rest of their address to follow.

Cora used the edge of her butter knife to slice open the first letter and Robert felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. Reading over her shoulder, he could see plainly enough his own handwriting looping across the first page.

Cora, my darling, you must allow me to tell you how ardently . . . . I admire and love you

The rest of the page was blank, save a Robert xxx at the very bottom.

“Robert,” she laughed lightly again and looked at him with a raised brow. “Is that Austen?”

“Well.” He looked up at the canopy and exhaled slowly. “You know we’d all had a bit to drink at your brother’s that last night.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.”

“I think a servant may have mistaken some…errant jottings…for post I intended to send.”

Her brow remained raised. “Why, pray tell, would they do that?”  

“I may have left them addressed in my breast pocket,” he said slowly, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“I see. And all the rest?” She nodded down at the remaining mail.

“Much the same, I’d imagine.”

“Perhaps I should open them just to be sure.”

“Cora—”

He pleaded for their return as she opened the second one with altogether too much glee. And then the third. And then the fourth. She laughed and grinned in equal measure as she read aloud bits of nonsensical dialogue. Until she reached the last one. When he chanced another look, he saw writing that did indeed look more familiar, for it was the one letter he did intend to send.

My dearest one…

She was quiet as she read through the few pages, the lettering much neater and precise. He could recall now, far beyond the haze of drink from that night, most of what he’d written. He sipped awkwardly from his teacup and stared out the window until he felt her slip her hand into his own.

“I want so very much for you to know,” she read aloud, her voice sounding strangely high to him, “that I think of you in each moment, with my every breath. And your words to me that day are what I take to bed each night and wake up to every morning.”

Cora placed the letter carefully down onto the blanket between them and looked up at him, her eyes bright. She made to laugh, as she often did when faced with strong emotion, but found her throat tight and settled for a lopsided grin instead.

“Heavens. That’s strong talk for an Englishman.”

“As I said,” he explained gruffly, “your brother and his friends had gotten me quite drunk.”

She grinned down at their clasped hands and squeezed lightly. “It’s very sweet. Thank you.”  

“Anyway. You started it.”

“Did I?” She looked confused, genuinely so, and he exhaled sharply.

“You most certainly did. In the great hall? As we were saying our goodbyes?”

He could see realization dawn on her, and could see, too, the moment she settled for a look of false confusion once again.

“I can hardly remember anything before the bazaar.”

Robert watched her carefully. She had turned her attention back to the breakfast tray and was poking carefully around the delicate bone china. He knew that she remembered just as well as he did their conversation that morning. The way everyone had filtered out of the house, leaving them alone just for a moment of privacy. The way they’d stood so close to one another, closer than they might have otherwise, and the way she’d looked up at him and told him to kiss her. And then after, as they’d walked toward the front door hand-in-hand, she’d tugged on his sleeve just before they reached the vestibule and their waiting family. She’d stopped short, holding them there for the briefest of moments, and leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I do love you so very, very much.”

He'd had to bite back a silly grin as he spoke to that Blake fellow and to Evelyn Napier. He’d hardly been able to look back at her as he said his farewells to the girls and to Mama. And he remembered thinking as the car pulled down the drive that it might not be too late to snatch up all the cases and barricade himself back inside the house. Oh, how he’d hated to leave her then.

But now, with weeks and two passages across the raging seas between them, he could see how she blushed down into her morning tea to recall that sudden burst of outward expression. Leaning over to kiss her cheek, he considered then that he did not need or want for anything at all.

“It’s alright,” he murmured into her hair.

She turned to look up at him and found him grinning madly.

“We’ll call it even,” he explained, grabbing the pile of blackmail-worthy letters.

Cora’s laughter joined his own and she shook her head in surrender. “Fine.”

They did not speak again for some minutes until Cora, breathless, pressed a hand to his chest. It was, he knew, getting rather late into the day. It was time to gather himself up, ring for Bates, and lurch into the myriad tasks ahead of him. They could return to this subject later in the evening. But as he moved backward slightly, in the direction of his own nightstand, Cora hooked a finger on his half-open pajama shirt and smiled wickedly.

“Go and put this over there,” she said, gesturing at the breakfast tray. “And come back to bed.”

“Really?”

She nodded indulgently. “Perhaps I can inspire another impassioned missive.”

He laughed and shook his head, crawling across the bed to cover her body with his own.

“My darling, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I should like nothing more.”

[nottheangel-raphael]

"I'm sure it'll soon be seen that way," Raphael answered. "I'm not sure how many thought to look into the future based on this incident instead of focusing solely on the past and present. It doesn't seem Portugal will be the only one with a fallen leader." Seeing the future, of course, wasn't always set in stone. There were always variables when seeking out that information that came with what happened in the present. One person's action seconds after a vision could change the entire course of the timeline just viewed. However, it wasn't completely unbelievable to force the assassination narrative and add another victim to it in Raphael's opinion. "Do you really believe that a vampire that old would have ever taken his sun ring off?" he posed the question to Cairo. Sun rings were essential to vampires' survival in the day and Raph never took his off, not even to shower or sleep. Leaving it out of his line of sight left him at risk for something like what just happened to the Portugese councilman. "It certainly wasn't his choice either. He never set his affairs in order and now his country scrambles to find a new council representative," the ghoul added.

He could smell the obvious nerves rolling off of Cairo before him. Clearly this wasn't something his son had ever done before or maybe it was his connection to Aurelius as the third genetic parent inducing guilt. Or doubt that they could even take down someone as old as Aurelius. Raphael's high level of confidence ignored those worries and he rose from his seat to the cart with a crystalline decanter and two glasses. He poured the whiskey into both and brought them over, handing one to Cairo. "I think it is the best opportunity we have right now," he admitted. "We are all targets every day as councilmen. Aurelius' power and age could have made him cocky enough to keep his guard down. What a shame that worked against him," the Italian mused out loud, bringing his glass to his lips for a drink. "What do you think, Cairo? Would you believe it?" And most importantly, would Lucien come to accept it.

continued from here

Cairo wasn't surprised at the ease his father took the situation with a joke and the smirk he gave as the younger walked into the study. He had been since the discussion kicked off. It was expected. Raphael was a councilman and getting those seats, depending on the country, never came with ease from what Cairo found. None of his parents had such a high body count where he grew up, but here it was undetermined who was the highest.

As it stood, Cairo's was zero and now his first one was going to be one of his father's and a strong one at that. There was no doubt in him it was self-defense at this point. His own impulse to protect his family and himself had led him to where he was, but that didn't make it any easier to reconcile. Patricide wasn't exactly top on his list of things to experience in the real world.

"What do you mean assassination? Is that what happened to Portugal's councilman?" Cairo knew there were steps being taken to investigate, especially those with exceptional divination magic to see what could be found. Extra was taken as well to protect those in the castle so he wasn't concerned about any there knowing Lucien wouldn't take it seriously because he never took anything seriously until it was past the point of no return, which seemed to be a familial trait.

"Or are you going to push that narrative with his death?" Cairo knew from his own experience coming out of that machine the transition wasn't easy. Disorientation was the least of many things that went wrong. That gave them an advantage and there being two of them. Of course that didn't change Aurelius was over 5k and a powerful dark magician that could crush Cairo with a thought. Raph would probably fare better.

[foreficfandom]

Tag Yourself: Ace Attorney Aesthetics!

❁ Phoenix Wright: Collecting coupons. Hearty stew for a winter dinner. Homemade embroidered handkerchief. The clacking of an old keyboard. Coffee mug collection. Apple turnovers. Warm cardigans in the spring. Mint chapstick. The smell of maple wood. Children’s cereal. Watching the sun set over a concrete jungle.

☯ Maya Fey: Collecting cheap earring studs. Incense-stained fingers. Pirating movies. Dipping fries into milkshakes. Fairy lights. Temporary tattoos. Shiba inu puppies. Lilac silk. Fir needle tea. Neon headphones. Moss-covered stone. Tinted fruit lipgloss. Burgundy wood. The tinkling sound of tiny bells.

♕ Miles Edgeworth: Earl Grey at sunrise. Knit cardigans. Leather-bound classical literature. Crushed velvet. A crackling fireplace. Painting in oils. Crystal decanters. Linen parchment paper. Designer-brand silverware. Jazz standards at 2am. Wine-red lipstick. Mahogany and maple. Taking long baths. The scratching of a pen on paper.

☀ Apollo Justice:  Buzzing streetlamps. Midnight comic book binge. Character-themed shirts. Gummy candies. Vending machine stickers. The touch of fresh newsprint. Cans of cold beer. A field of summer grass. Quiet guitar ambience. Warm afternoon rain. Sandalwood and patchouli. Sipping coffee on the train at dawn.

♫ Klavier Gavin: Luxury skincare. Instagram pictures. Bulk bags of mini-sized Butterfingers. Black cold-brew coffee. Gunmetal crucifix earrings. 2am fast-food runs. Vintage polaroids. Sun-softened bedsheets. Malibu goth. Sophisticated old radio stations. Golden champagne. Overnight road trips in a luxury coach bus.

☾ Athena Cykes: Air Jordans. Mangonadas with extra lime. Nature hikes. Fruity-tasting tinted lip balm. Family movies. Wind chimes in the summer breeze. Eucalyptus and mint. Bubble baths. Vollyball on the beach. Painted terracotta flowerpots. Old scrapbooks. Pop songs from all around the world. Charcoal pencil stains. Fresh, warm bedsheets.

⤲ Simon Blackquill: Empty diners at midnight. Neon storefronts. Late-night Playstation sessions. Chilled bottles of artisanal stout beer. Framed ink paintings. Okazu bar food. Black leather boots. An autumn thunderstorm. Wasabi peas. Cast-iron pots and pans. The smell of nail polish. Dried lotus pods. Pure, undisturbed morning snow.

♤ Franziska von Karma: Dior lipstick. Concerto piano. Fountain pens. Almond trifle dessert in a five-star hotel. Clove cigarettes. Filled moleskin sketchbooks. Ten pairs of Louboutin heels. Bourbon cherries. Marble columns. The creaking of Italian leather. White onyx and silver chains. Loose-leaf tea. A delicately perfumed restrain order.

❀ Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: Bamboo broth during a chilly spring evening. Delicate embroidery. Echoing footsteps. An engraved elk antler haircomb. Artisanal wool tapestries. Rice water. A pale sunrise. Sparrowsong in the wind. Warm hands. Wooden chests. Stained glass roofs. Willow tree blossoms. Roast whole lamb with peppercorn and herb.

[write-a-bad-romance]

Only If You Hurry (Comte/Leo)

Pairing: Leonardo x Comte, with hints of Vlad x Comte

Rating: T

Word Count: 1738

Prompt: Hurt/Comfort, Leo and family matters, modern AU

Ao3 Link: Here

Note: I'll be referring to Comte as "Saint-Germain" throughout this fic because I don't want to spoil his first name. Also, his views about same-sex relationships do not reflect the author's actual opinion.

Vanilla-scented smoke trailed behind Leonardo as he located the door to Saint-Germain's apartment and knocked furiously. The sound of a violin was abruptly cut and replaced by footsteps approaching the door. 

Leonardo didn't need to announce who he was. The man inside already knew.

Or maybe not. Saint-Germain still needed to look through the peephole to make sure. Leo heard the sound of unlatching as he stared at the tip of his scuffed leather shoes, a stark contrast against the grimy maroon carpet.

All the money in the world and still he refused to move someplace newer, fancier. But then, the entire building is HIS anyway. 

The door opened with a heavy creak as Saint-Germain's worried face came into view.

"I wasn't expecting a guest. At least not tonight." The blond man sighed, "But at this point, this is your house as much as it's mine, isn't it?"

Saint-Germain backed away to allow Leonardo some space. The moment he stepped into the room, he noticed an ornate decanter of wine and matching glasses on the coffee table.

"I thought you weren't expecting company," Leonardo smacked his lips. The living room was bathed in a warm golden glow, just like everything Saint-Germain.

"I had a feeling knew you'd come."

The larger man decided to let further comments die on his tongue. He marched towards the burgundy velvet armchair and sunk against the cushioning. Other men of his size would complain about how cramped it was, but Leonardo welcomed the snug comfort it offered.

He loved sitting at this very chair and let himself soak in the familiarity of his surroundings. Even more so when the master of the house was around and he would—

Leonardo batted his thoughts away as Saint-Germain probed him. "Is this about that date you mentioned a few days ago?"

"Jeez, how did you know?"

"Just a guess. To be honest, I can't tell you if you just came back from your lab or a fancy restaurant on a hotel rooftop." Saint-Germain gestured towards Leo's desultory choice of clothes. "You're not even trying anymore."

"Yeah, well. She’s a friend of my cousin, my only good cousin. How was I supposed to refuse?" 

"Family matters. I understand." Saint-Germain poured from his decanter and passed it onto the slouching man. "But you can't keep doing this if it means coming to me moaning about it."

"Grazie," Leonardo accepted his friend's offering, but not without almost dropping the glass and letting its content spill onto Saint-Germain's antique Persian rug. "And thank you for being such a good friend and taking in the burnt of my woes."

He wasn't far off from the truth. Despite his harsh words, Saint-Germain would always nod and listen with that almost-holy, serene visage. And without fail, the man would offer him little quips of advice, some soothing words here and there. Sometimes, outright spats were inevitable. But even then, it was Saint-Germain who stood his ground and made Leonardo spend the rest of the night reflecting and repenting.

The weary lecturer closed his eyes and sighed. The good, young doctor wasting all his attention on me? This can't be right.

"Was she really that...undesirable?" The occupant of Leo's thoughts picked his violin once again and pressed it against his collarbone. "How long did you, erm, last?"

"Dio. You make it sound so obscene," Leonardo scoffed. "She wasn't. It's just, well...."

Saint-Germain let out a wry chuckle and gave him a hearty smile. "I see. So it's your tastes that's currently leaning towards....men. Did I put that correctly?"

"Well, I guess you're not entirely wrong." Leonardo hoped he could blame the wine for the rosy tinge that swept across his cheeks.

"Understandable," Saint-Germain cradled the instrument on his arm, a faraway gaze to his eyes. "Once you're accustomed to the comforts of a man, it'll take you a while before you stop searching his image in other men."

Leonardo threw a pointed look at the oblivious man. That's not how it works. 

Besides, aren't you just talking about yourself?

"Really," Saint-Germain ignored his indignant gaze and sat on the loveseat across Leonardo, his own filled glass in hand. "Even if you've dropped hints here and there, wouldn't it be better if you confront your family and tell them the truth?"

"Those were major hints I've been dropping," Leonardo raised his voice. "I had another cousin calling me just to ask about some guy in my Facebook photo from five years ago."

"And?" Saint-Germain licked his wine-tinted lips. Grazioso, Leonardo wanted to say. "What did you tell him?"

"I asked him what his point was. He hung up immediately after," Leo snickered. "Guy must have been scared shitless of me sounding so angry. I never showed that side to him before."

"See?" The blond man sighed, pouring himself a second glass. "Deflecting questions is not a confirmation. Neither is silence."

Leonardo watched intently as the other man rose from his seat to get his violin. His best friend looked enticing in a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he had to admit. The ensemble would've been made perfect if Saint-Germain had on a black waistcoat—

Damn the alcohol for letting my mind run loose.

"Anyway, since you're here to drink your sorrows away," Saint-Germain lifted his violin. "Why don't I play something for you?"

Leo bit back a scoff. That's not the kind of comforting I need, but that's about the only thing I can get from this. More than this, and it’d be—

"Sure," He flashed a cheeky grin, "Are you taking requests? Wait, no classics. I don't want you to lull me to sleep."

Saint-Germain set his bow on top of his violin's strings, the instrument waiting in position. "Anything for you."

The pair laughed their worries off into the night, accompanied by Leonardo's off-key singing. It was tiring, the Italian thought. 

But relaxing, in its own superficial way.

“Anyway,” Leonardo spoke much later as he began gathering his belongings. “How’s it going with your cara mia?”

Saint-Germain seemed taken aback by the sudden question. “Oh, everything is fine. Why do you ask?”

“No,” Leonardo paused, wondering if Saint-Germain noticed the awkwardness of his phrasing. Not that it mattered, going by the inanimate turn of his voice.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Ah there it was, Saint-Germain’s signature stern look that appeared whenever Leonardo managed to land a crack on his defenses. “Now, look at you, fussing over someone else’s love life over your own.”

“I get it, I get it.” Leonardo waved a hand in defeat as he made a beeline towards the exit. “Besides, it won’t do if your girlfriend notices I’m going to your apartment all the time. She might get suspicious.”

“She already has,” The smaller man gently pushed Leo’s back as he ushered him out of his abode. “Now go home and get to bed. Don’t wander off into some bar for another drink. Or guy.”

“Santo Dio! No need to keep scolding me! Save your lectures for later!” Leonardo laughed, his face completely flushed. “Thanks anyway. See you when I see you?” 

“Anytime for a dear friend.” Saint-Germain patted the padding of Leonardo’s jacket.

“Right. Ciao.”

Leonardo cursed in Italian as he slammed his fist on a nearby wall.

“Shit.” He ran a sweaty hand over his weary face. “What was I thinking? Wasting my time and whining to the very person I want."

Leonardo could never say he loved the man. He longed for him. He lost sleep over him. Crying for him might be a little too much, but still, it was the blonde hair and amber eyes that followed him to sleep and starred in his dreams. 

And every time, Leonardo would wake up panicked, alone and panting.

And desiring.

He remembered carefully warning his 'wards' Salai and Melzi, "Never go for unavailable men. Don't give in to the delusion that you're somehow going to make it work, whatever it takes."

"Withdraw while there's still time. It's not worth it." He admonished severely.

Leonardo laughed at his hypocrisy, disgust welling in the pits of his stomach. Even if his frivolity hadn't corrupted Saint-Germain, the other man had enough poison in himself to get the job done. Time and time again, he would gaze into the man's golden orbs and find nothing there. 

He would give so much of himself to others but never oblige anybody else to fulfill him. Would never allow anyone close to his heart.

Leonardo knew he couldn't handle him, Saint-Germain and his darkness. And neither could the man endure him. So why did he—

How did he fall in this deep? 

Leonardo shook his head and carried on with a forceful stride. They were fools, both of them. But Leonardo was an absolute abject for letting his heart and brain to be wholly governed by the image of a man who clearly wouldn’t look his way.

Nor anywhere else.

Saint-Germain stared dumbly at the blinding screen of his phone. There was no delivery notification under his latest message.

She was still blocking him. He could only pray the email reached her inbox and didn't end up in the spam or whatever abyss she subjected him. He couldn't afford another postponement. If he was lucky, this weekend, they'd have one last dinner, and Saint-Germain would offer to end their meetings.

Leonardo and his colleagues would praise him for being the one in control, always the dominant one. They believed Comte could pull away gracefully and call off his relationships at the drop of a hat.

Oh, if only such was the case. Saint-Germain battled day and night to gain control over his erratic feelings, hidden under lock and key beneath his impassive facade.

The constant battles made him vulnerable. Weak people had no business supporting another, not when they could barely stand on their own two feet.

And he was so close to baring it all to the very person he'd laid his eyes on. 

Leo can't keep seeing me like this. So prone and useless.

You're a strong man who deserves an even stronger man. It will never be me.

He recalled Leonardo murmuring to him over another round of wine on the balcony of some hotel a long time ago.

It should be easy, being with the one you love. 

Love isn't supposed to hurt or tire you out. If it's running your heart rugged to the ground, then what's the point?

Right?

Saint-Germain twisted the silicone casing of his phone furiously. He didn't know. How could he answer?

What was love supposed to feel like?

Joyeux anniversaire, Comte! Sorry I’m offering nothing but angst on this jolly day! :’)))

This was actually a request from anon, but I decided to make a longer piece from the prompt. The original draft had Renaissance influences thrown in, but things got hectic and I couldn’t continue my research. So I decided to go with mu usual jam: Modern AU.

Also, I think I overdid the hurt and added too much angst. I hope it’s okay.

Thank you to @ashavazesa for helping me brainstorm ideas. I’m sorry things didn’t come out like we intended to, but your suggestion (namely, Comte playing the violin for Leonardo) stuck with me and it fit nicely. Thank you!

[millenniumfae]

Ace Attorney! Aesthetics: Tag Yourself ...!

❁ Phoenix Wright: Collecting coupons. Hearty stew for a winter dinner. Homemade embroidered handkerchief. The clacking of an old keyboard. Coffee mug collection. Apple turnovers. Warm cardigans in the spring. Mint chapstick. The smell of maple wood. Children’s cereal. Watching the sun set over a concrete jungle.

☯ Maya Fey: Collecting cheap earring studs. Incense-stained fingers. Pirating movies. Dipping fries into milkshakes. Fairy lights. Temporary tattoos. Shiba inu puppies. Lilac silk. Fir needle tea. Neon headphones. Moss-covered stone. Tinted fruit lipgloss. Burgundy wood. The tinkling sound of tiny bells.

♕ Miles Edgeworth: Earl Grey at sunrise. Knit cardigans. Leather-bound classical literature. Crushed velvet. A crackling fireplace. Painting in oils. Crystal decanters. Linen parchment paper. Designer-brand silverware. Jazz standards at 2am. Wine-red lipstick. Mahogany and maple. Taking long baths. The scratching of a pen on paper.

☀ Apollo Justice: Buzzing streetlamps. Midnight comic book binge. Character-themed shirts. Gummy candies. Vending machine stickers. The touch of fresh newsprint. Cans of cold beer. A field of summer grass. Quiet guitar ambience. Warm afternoon rain. Sandalwood and patchouli. Sipping coffee on the train at dawn.

♫ Klavier Gavin: Luxury skincare. Instagram pictures. Bulk bags of mini-sized Butterfingers. Black cold-brew coffee. Gunmetal crucifix earrings. 2am fast-food runs. Vintage polaroids. Sun-softened bedsheets. Malibu goth. Sophisticated old radio stations. Golden champagne. Overnight road trips in a luxury coach bus.

☾ Athena Cykes: Air Jordans. Mangonadas with extra lime. Nature hikes. Fruity-tasting tinted lip balm. Family movies. Wind chimes in the summer breeze. Eucalyptus and mint. Bubble baths. Vollyball on the beach. Painted terracotta flowerpots. Old scrapbooks. Pop songs from all around the world. Charcoal pencil stains. Fresh, warm bedsheets.

⤲ Simon Blackquill: Empty diners at midnight. Neon storefronts. Late-night Playstation sessions. Chilled bottles of artisanal stout beer. Framed ink paintings. Okazu bar food. Black leather boots. An autumn thunderstorm. Wasabi peas. Cast-iron pots and pans. The smell of nail polish. Dried lotus pods. Pure, undisturbed morning snow.

♤ Franziska von Karma: Dior lipstick. Concerto piano. Fountain pens. Almond trifle dessert in a five-star hotel. Clove cigarettes. Filled moleskin sketchbooks. Ten pairs of Louboutin heels. Bourbon cherries. Marble columns. The creaking of Italian leather. White onyx and silver chains. Loose-leaf tea. A delicately perfumed restrain order.

❀ Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: Bamboo broth during a chilly spring evening. Delicate embroidery. Echoing footsteps. An engraved elk antler haircomb. Artisanal wool tapestries. Rice water. A pale sunrise. Sparrowsong in the wind. Warm hands. Wooden chests. Stained glass roofs. Willow tree blossoms. Roast whole lamb with peppercorn and herb.

[msmercury84]

"I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

South Philadelphia, New Year's Eve, 1945"

From "I Double Dare You-A Rendezvous With Destiny."

"Off with my overcoat, off with my gloves. Who needs an overcoat, I'm burning with love. My heart's on fire and the flame grows higher. So I can weather the storm. What do I care how much it may storm? I've got my love to keep me warm."I

Author's Note: Some sections are for readers over 18 years of age. In other words, smut warning. The expression "And how!" was popular with Bill Guarnere's generation. He used the expression in the book he wrote with Babe Heffron and I heard my grandparents use the expression, too. The depiction of Bill is based upon the actor's portrayal in the movie.*

A snowstorm was underway in South Philadelphia on New Year's Eve. Blowing and drifting snow made going out undesirable for the Guarneres and no one planned to visit them due to the weather. Since the storm was predicted in the newspaper and on the radio earlier in the week, Leigh ensured that she had everything she needed for a nice supper. She also made sure that the dress Bill gave her for Christmas was cleaned, pressed and ready to wear.

When Leigh returned home from work, it was much later in the afternoon. The snow caused the city buses to run late. She started to prepare supper and put a bottle of champagne in a bucket filled with ice. Employees of the CBS affiliate got champagne along with their Christmas bonuses.

She set about making a very elaborate antipasto while she cooked some steaks that came from her grandpa's farm. Leigh decided to make some spaghetti sauce with Italian sausage to go with some homemade pasta.

Earlier in the week, Bill mentioned that he would enjoy having a small serving of pasta "wit' that good gravy ya make" the next time they had steaks.

Leigh got a good recipe from Augusta for a marinade that was great for beef. The day before New Year's Eve, she combined garlic, red wine, some salt, a dash of pepper and a hint of oregano.

Prior to placing the steaks in the marinade, Leigh used a meat tenderizer on both sides of the steaks. Then, the steaks were placed in a baking dish. The marinade was poured over the meat. A lid was placed on the baking dish and the steaks marinated for 24 hours.

Since a snowstorm was going on, supper was later than usual. Traffic was crawling on all of the major thoroughfares. As the steaks simmered in a skillet, Leigh put on her new red dress, black stockings, a black lace garter belt, a black lace bra, black silk panties and her favorite black open toed high heeled pumps. She touched up her makeup, brushed her hair and headed back to the kitchen.

Leigh turned on the radio to have music playing while she finished the special supper. She donned an apron made of material with tiny red roses. Protecting her favorite dress was top priority.

A good bottle of red wine was open to allow it to 'breathe' before she put it into a decanter. Leigh used her best china plus the crystal wine glasses from the Andrews Sisters. The champagne flutes from the famed trio would be used for a midnight toast to the new year.

When Bill got home from work, he embraced and kissed Leigh after hanging up his snow covered coat on a coat tree in the kitchen and putting his gloves on the coat tree to dry.

"Baby, I love that new dress (he pronounced the word as 'dat'). You look like ten million bucks. Good thing we're stayin' in tonight. The snow is really comin' down an' the wind is ice cold. It kinda reminds me o' the Christmas Eve snowstorm in Aldebourne.

"Thanks, Honey." She winked, adding, "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

"What's goin' on, Sweetheart? Sounds like you're up to somethin'."

"You'll see, be patient. I'll make it worth the waiting."

Guarnere went  upstairs to put on a clean dress shirt after shaving. The atmosphere in the house was cozy, with the Christmas decorations, a fire in the living room fireplace and music on the radio.

Leigh set the table and lit the candles in cut glass candle holders. Bill helped her get supper served. He pulled out the chair for her to be seated at the dining room table. Leigh thanked him. Then, he sat down and asked the blessing.

After they finished their supper, Bill told her,

"Baby, that was one hell of a good meal. Ya went all out wit' the fancy dishes an' wine glasses. Everythin' was perfect. We couldn't get food this good from the best restaurants uptown." Leigh was pleased that he enjoyed supper.

"Thanks, Bill. Let me get the dishes and then we can get ready to celebrate the new year."

"Nothin' doin', Leigh. I'm helpin' wit the dishes. How 'bout I wash an' you dry? That way, your dress won't get ruined.

"That sounds like a good idea, Honey.  A sweet, sexy man bought that dress for me." Bill grinned,

"I've gotta admit that guy has excellent taste in buyin' broads' clothes." Leigh playfully raised her eyebrows,

"Oh, so now I'm a broad, not your baby or your sweetheart?" She went into the kitchen to get her apron. Guarnere followed Leigh and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, gently pulling her close to him.

"Ya little devil. You know you'll always be my baby an' my sweetheart. I'm gonna tell ya what ya tell me sometimes, you're a sexy smart ass. Speakin' of a sexy ass, that dress shows it off to perfection." Leigh giggled,

"Thank you, kind sir. Flattery will get you everywhere with me." Bill let go of her and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Leigh put on her apron.

"That's good to know. We'd better get to work before we get up to somethin'. I'll bring in the dishes an'  I promise to be real careful wit' 'em."

After Bill brought in the plates, silverware and wine glasses, Leigh put the leftover antipasto into a container that went into the refrigerator. While they cleaned and dried the dishes, Bill and Leigh talked about the way they had spent the past New Year's Eves since they got together. After the last dish was dried and put away, Leigh removed her apron and placed it on the kitchen counter. She embraced Bill,

"This year is very special. Not only because it's our first New Year's Eve as man and wife. It's extra special because, thank God, you survived." Guarnere tenderly kissed her.

"The man upstairs done most o' the work keepin' me alive, but you helped by cookin' for me an' bein' there for me. I owe you a hell of a lot, Baby."

"Thanks, Honey. You don't owe me anything. Getting married more than made up for everything. I was hoping to be your wife for a long time." Leigh had a smirk very similar to Bill's smirk when she added, "All you owe me is a good time later tonight."

"Oh, you can count on me givin' ya an extra good time later tonight, Sweetheart. Ol' Guarnere loves to satisfy a certain lady." Leigh got on her tip toes and playfully kissed the tip of his nose,

"And how! Remember when Perconte said he "really enjoyed Christmas Eve with the Guarneres," I was daydreaming about being your wife and having dinner guests over to visit us as I looked out the window at the snow coming down in Aldebourne." 

"I asked ya what ya thought of Perconte sayin' that 'cause I wanted to know how ya felt about gettin' married someday. I was a happy man when I knew ya liked the sound o' what he said.

Do ya suppose they'll still broadcast the Guy Lombardo show on the radio tonight? We could have some nice music for our party here at home."

"Yes, Honey, it's scheduled for tonight. I saw the show on our schedule at work. New York City wasn't supposed to have as much snow as we have. The show should be starting in about ten minutes."

"I'll go ahead an' get the CBS channel on the radio so we don't miss anythin'." Bill went to the radio and got it on the desired station. 

"I have the champagne chilling, do you want me to bring it in?"

"Not yet, Baby. Let's wait 'til it's closer to midnight so we can toast the new year. I really enjoyed New Year's Eve in Aldebourne when ya played the piano an' sang. Too bad there's no piano here, I'd love to hear ya playin' an' singin'". Leigh sat on the couch with Bill. He got a cigarette out of a pack on the table, lit it and settled back to cuddle with Leigh and listen to the radio.

"I'd love to have a piano, but they're so expensive. Truth be told, I miss playing the piano."  Guarnere put his right arm around her shoulder and held the cigarette in his left hand so Leigh wouldn't accidentally get burned.

"Maybe someday I can buy a piano for ya."

"That would be wonderful." They listened to the live broadcast, enjoying the music. A half hour later, the band began to play "Moonlight Serenade." Bill stood up and stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Would ya like to dance, Sweetheart?" 

"Yes." Guarnere took Leigh's hand and they walked to the middle of the living room floor. Bill pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her as Leigh wrapped her arms around his neck. They swayed to the music, looking into each other's eyes. 

"This reminds me of a very special night at Ft. Benning and our wedding reception."

"I guess this is our song. You're lookin' as beautiful as ya did both times we danced to this an' I'm still crazy in love wit' ya."

"I'm  still crazy in love with you, too, Handsome." Bill gave Leigh a tender kiss. After the kiss ended, she added, "Our first New Year's Eve was when you gave me my angel necklace."

"You must love it 'cause you're always wearin' it."

"I adore it." The song ended and they sat on the couch.

"I'm still wearin' the St. Michael medal, even though the war is over. I think it helped save my life. Baby, ya don't know this, but I was standin' outside the door to Teresa's bedroom.

I wanted to know if ya really liked the necklace. I don't think it's right to eavesdrop, but it paid off. I went to bed wit' a big smile on my face when I heard ya tell Teresa that you were crazy 'bout me."

They continued to listen to the radio and talk. At 11:45, Bill got up, went into the kitchen and got the bucket containing the chilled champagne from the refrigerator.

Next, he carefully put the crystal champagne flutes on a small platter and carried the platter into the living room. 

"How 'bout a drink, Baby?" 

"I'll have a glass or two, but that's all. I want to enjoy and remember what we do tonight."

"No heavy drinkin' for me, either, 'cause I wanna make love to you." He removed the foil from the top of the

champagne bottle and popped the cork. Bill poured some champagne into both flutes. He raised his glass,

"To my sweet, sexy angel.  Seems like ya understood me from the day we met. You're a blessin', Baby. I'm lookin' forward to what ya got planned." Leigh gently touched her glass to Bill's,

"To the handsome love of my life, you're a blessing, too. I plan to make you very hot and hard." Guarnere winked at her,

"That's my sassy angel." They sipped the champagne.

"It ain't bad. Matter o' fact I like this fancy soda pop." Leigh grinned at Bill's comment.

"It is pretty good. The champagne you got the night you proposed was the best I'd ever had."

"That guy at the front desk (the concierge) really knew his stuff." Soon, the radio featured the voices of party goers along with Guy Lombardo, counting down the seconds until the new year.

While the band played the traditional "Auld Lang Syne", Bill pulled Leigh close to him and gave her a gentle kiss at the stroke of midnight. The kiss quickly deepened and became passionate. When the kiss ended, Bill gently cupped Leigh's face in his hands.

"Happy New Year, Baby. I love you."

"I love you, too, Honey. Happy New Year. They shared another kiss and finished drinking the champagne in their glasses. Leigh got up from the couch.

"As they say in the movies, I'm going to slip into something more comfortable." She had a saucy grin as she added, "Don't go anywhere or start without me, you handsome dream boat." Guarnere had a wicked grin.

"Oh, I ain't goin' nowhere, Sweetheart. I'll wait right here for ya." Leigh went upstairs to the bathroom. She put in her diaphragm, washed her hands and reapplied her red lipstick.

Then she lightly powdered her face, touched up her minimal blush and mascara. She left the bathroom and went into their bedroom where she carefully hung up her dress. Then, Leigh got the red silk bra and tap panties set Bill bought her for Christmas out of its box in her dresser drawer. She got the matching red silk kimono from Julia from her side of the closet.

Before removing her panties and bra, Leigh opened her jewelry box on top of her dressing table and got out the red rose made of ribbon that graced the top of her birthday gift when she was living in  Aldebourne.Leigh got some bobby pins and carefully pinned the rose in her hair, placing it above her left ear. Satisfied with her efforts to secure the rose, she removed her bra, panties and slip, placing the items into the clothes hamper by the chest of drawers.

She put on the bra and tap panties. The panties covered her garter belt and her black silk stockings remained on. Next, she took off her black pumps and took them to the closet, placing

them in the shoebox in which they came.Leigh got out a shoebox containing red pumps she bought at a clearance sale in a department store. The pumps, with stiletto heels, were a perfect match for her lingerie.

She left the bedroom and stood at the head of the stairs. 

"Baby, are you ready to have a good time?" Bill had a big smile on his face as he watched her walk down the stairs. Leigh paused at the foot of the stairs and untied the kimono. She turned around and slowly exposed her shoulders and her back before she let the robe drop to the floor.

Knowing that Bill would enjoy the view, she bent over to pick up the robe. Her tap panties went up slightly in the back to show a small area of her behind. Guarnere once again had a wicked grin on his face. She draped the robe over one arm and walked toward him. 

"Do you see anything you like, big boy?"

"Oh, hell, yes! Baby, ya look like the hottest goddamn pinup girl in the world! That outfit an' those shoes are really doin' somethin' to me." He stood up and walked over to where Leigh stood. Bill gently pulled her close to him,

"You're beautiful, Sweetheart. Absolutely perfect an' you look as sexy as ya did in Paris." 

"Thanks, Honey." Bill gently nipped at one of Leigh's ear lobes before kissing her neck. He delighted in her slightly shivering when his lips gently sucked the skin on her neck. Guarnere whispered into her ear,

"Does my angel like that?"

"Oh, yes! I love it." His hands moved down to cup her ass.

"Baby, your body was made to drive a man crazy. It should be against the law for ya to wear clothes. 'course I don't want anybody else seein' ya naked. I wish you'd go around the house just wearin' what the man upstairs gave ya."

They exchanged slow, sensual kisses. Leigh eagerly allowed Bill's tongue to enter her mouth. She sucked on the tip of it, provoking a soft groan from him. Leigh felt his hard cock pressing against her. She broke the kiss for a moment, stepping back to allow enough room for her hand to surround and gently squeeze his cock. Guarnere made a hissing sound through clenched teeth. She massaged him through the fabric of his trousers.

"Oh, Baby, that feels so damn good." Leigh unbuttoned his dress shirt, licking, kissing and sucking the skin on his neck and chest. Bill moved his hand inside the tap panties to cup her bare ass. He moved one hand to the front of the tap panties.

Guarnere smiled as he felt the obvious sign of her arousal. Leigh gasped as his fingers rubbed her clit. A few minutes later, she slightly shuddered as she came. Bill picked her up,

"How 'bout we take this to the bedroom?"

"We can't get there fast enough." Guarnere quickly carried her upstairs to their bedroom. He gently placed her on the bed as he turned on the light and walked over to pull down the shades.Bill removed his shirt and let it fall to the floor. He sat on a corner of their bed to take off his shoes and socks. Then, he removed his trousers and boxer shorts, letting them join his shirt on the floor. He removed his artificial leg and sat up in the bed.

Leigh grinned and took off her red stiletto heeled shoes. She started to remove her bra, but Bill told her,

"Baby, leave it on, just for a little bit. Same wit' the panties, too. I got an idea. One time in Aldebourne, ya made love to me an' said it was all for me. I wanna do the same for you. Don't get me wrong, I still wanna make love wit' ya. 

How 'bout sittin' in front of me on the bed?" She got on the bed and did as Bill asked. He pulled her as close to him as possible and wrapped his arms around her.

"Just relax in my arms, Sweetheart, an' let me take care o' you." He kissed Leigh's neck, knowing how much she loved it. Bill caressed her shoulders and allowed his hands to roam lower.

"Baby, you have the most beautiful breasts." Leigh thanked him for his compliment.

"That isn't exactly what you wanted to say, is it, Honey?" Guarnere grinned, knowing that she would be aroused by him saying something off color.

"Ya little devil. You know how I think. I've always loved your tits. They're so goddamn gorgeous." Bill nibbled her ear, noticing that she slightly trembled with passion. He added, "Christ, Leigh, you've got it in spades! You have a sweet, sexy ass an' you know I love your beautiful pussy." He paused to once again suck on the soft skin at the junction of her neck and right shoulder. Bill loved hearing the sounds of passion Leigh made.

Guarnere slowly pushed her bra straps down, uncovering her breasts. He told her, speaking in a soft, low voice,

"I'm glad I bought this set for ya. Sweetheart, red silk looks so good on you. Now, how 'bout I take off this bra so I can give those beautiful tits some attention?" 

"I'm more than ready." Bill unhooked her bra and carefully put it on the small table by his side of the bed. He caressed her breasts with both hands as she leaned back against his chest. Then, he gently rubbed her erect nipples with his fingertips. Leigh started to moan softly.

"Your body was made for makin' love." He began to tug on her nipples. Leigh's breathing quickened. Bill kept on tugging on her nipples, knowing she could come from this stimulation. Soon, she slightly trembled in his arms. Guarnere was pleased that he made her come again. He moved his hands slowly down her body, all the while whispering in her ear,

"Such a beautiful baby. You're a fuckin' goddess. I wish I could take pictures of ya completely naked." Leigh trembled again, the idea of posing for Bill was making her even more aroused. He slid the tap panties down her hips. Leigh briefly got out of bed to removed the panties, the garter belt and her stockings. She eagerly got back on the bed and sat facing away from Bill, leaning against him. 

Guarnere wrapped his arms around her. He had picked up on the fact that his words inflamed her desire. His breath was hot in her ear as he whispered,

"You'd like that, wouldn't ya, Sweetheart? Posin' just for me." She answered in a breathy voice,

"Oh, yes!" 

"I'd start out askin' ya to hold those perfect tits in your hands. It would make ya hotter than hell if I asked ya to play with those sweet nipples, wouldn't it?"

"Mmmm...yes, it would." 

"I'd want ya to spread your legs an' let me get a nice close up picture o'  that beautiful pussy. You would already be kinda wet, wouldn't ya?" Bill was enjoying the effect his words had on Leigh. She was trembling a little more and her breathing was starting to speed up.

"Yes, Baby, my pussy would be very hot and wet." Guarnere groaned, his cock was rock hard, but he was determined to give Leigh as much pleasure as possible. He continued to whisper in her ear,

"Hearin' you say that is hot as hell. I'd ask ya to touch yourself."

"Oh, God! I'd do it for you, Baby." Bill grinned.

"Then, I'd move close enough to taste ya..." Leigh gasped, imagining the feel of his lips on her sex. Guarnere began to caress the soft curls between her legs. 

"My angel's enjoyin' this, ain't no doubt about it. You're so wet, Baby." He stroked a few fingers up and down the open lips of her sex.

"Oh, Bill!' 

Then, he began to gently rub her clit.

"Your body was made for fuckin', too, an' you're so good at fuckin'!"

Leigh was almost panting due to his words and the way his finger stimulated her clit. She moved against him, feeling his hard cock pressing into the cleft of her ass.

Bill rubbed her clit a little faster. Leigh couldn't speak, she just moaned louder. Soon, her hips jerked up involuntarily as another orgasm washed over her. Guarnere continued to hold her and he kissed her neck as she came. When she had recovered, he asked,

"What way does my baby wanna make love? Do ya want me to love ya wit' my tongue and lips?" Leigh got on her knees, facing him,

"Bill, you know I love that, but right now, I need that hard cock inside me!" She surprised him by straddling him and quickly lowering herself onto his cock. He held her hips as she rode him hard and fast. Bill loved her breasts bouncing in front of him and he managed to wrap his lips around one nipple to suck it. 

This made her go faster. Guarnere knew he couldn't last very long this way, but he wasn't about to tell Leigh to slow down or stop. All he could do was thrust up into her. His groaning got louder.

"Oh, fuck, yes! So good, Baby!"

Leigh felt a tremendous orgasm building. She called out his name, not giving a damn if the neighbors heard her. When he felt her sex contracting around him, it pushed Bill over the edge.

"Goddamn!"  They held each other as they came. After they got their breathing rates back to normal,  Bill held onto her and gently turned on his side, letting her onto the bed.

Guarnere withdrew from her and then pulled the sheet up to cover them. He held her close, stroking her back as Leigh wrapped her arms around him. 

"Oh, Honey, that was wild and wonderful."

"You're amazin', Sweetheart." He gently kissed her. 

"You're pretty amazin', too, Bill. That was heavenly, although we didn't behave like angels." Guarnere chuckled,

"You're so damn good when you're not actin' like an angel. Let me get the rest o' the covers pulled up so we don't get too cold. Once Bill covered himself and Leigh with the sheet and a blanket, he lay beside her. Leigh put her head on his chest and Guarnere wrapped his arms around her. 

They were too exhausted to think of turning off the light or bathing. Before sleep claimed them, Leigh made Bill laugh and kiss her when she said,

"Baby, we definitely started the new year off with a bang."

[imaginesbymk]

PINK + WHITE.

—chapter eight ; the flapper girl.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, drinking

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

“TERESA, would it kill ya to quit staring at me? I'm tryna do my work here." He fumbles for the ballpoint pen that fell out of his shaky hand. Even when his eyes were down, he still felt hers following his every move when he picked up certain sheets, watching his lips curl when he read a sentence on a report from his father, or just overthinking if Teresa was judging his appearance. There's nothing on my chin, is there? Food in my teeth?

"Am I making the Italian mafioso Luca Changretta nervous?" Teresa leaned over the desk to trail her finger down Luca's chest where she could tease him by gripping the line of his blazer and rip the buttons off. "The same Italian mafioso that got some amateur in Los Angeles to beg on his knees?"

Luca didn't look up from his work. "He was trying to be sneaky and spent nearly a hundred dollars worth of gin for his mistress."

"Is that something you would do? Spend every dime to make his mistress happy?"

"I spend money on myself, to make myself look and feel good, some for business and for special occasions. But I also save," Luca glanced at her, mostly at her cleavage. "And you're not my mistress. I'm not even married. My mother wonders when I'm ever gonna tie the knot with a woman back home." Luca sighs and takes a break, resting his head for a moment. He grunts, rubbing his temple.

"Want me to take over?"

"No," Luca pulls her closer, using his other hand to set his folders to the side so carelessly. "Come here."

She obeys, allowing him to lift her up and carry her on top of his desk.

Luca kisses her. "Ciao, bella," he whispers to her. He kept going, making his way into the sensitive spot of Teresa's neck, his lips pressing against it so gently.

Teresa chuckles, feeling his hand run up her dress. "Who are you? Dracula?"

"Hm?"

"I mean you sort of look like him. You're about to drain the blood out of my neck, so you need me to be in the right position."

"Dracula draining the blood from a flapper girl, eh?"

The sounds of knocking on the heavy wooden doors made Teresa hop off the desk, thinking it was one of his men, or even his mother. She wouldn't contain the embarrassment of being affectionate and intimate with someone's son. It could possibly be the maids, but not the same ones from the hotel Luca stayed at. He fancied staying at a manor his father bought somewhere up north, his family members occupying the other rooms just a few ways down, but just spacious enough for everyone, even for a Welsh named Teresa.

Luca clears his throat and turns the knob. The servers come in with the trolley cart of a decanter and two glasses. "You ordered whiskey, Sir?"

The Italian watched the servers roll in the bar cart and nodded at him before shutting the door on their way out. "You like whiskey, amore?"

"Love all kinds of poison." Teresa walked over to the cart, picking up the vessel. She lifts the glass lid and brings it to her nose to let in a good smell. "Rich, like you."

Luca scoffs. "Yeah, if you drink out of that decanter, you'll become a part of us."

Teresa scoffs back.

"What? Teresa, becoming a soldier was like striking gold."

"I'd rather stay here and sit in the gardens, or walk around this palace wearing only my stockings."

Luca shrugged, imagining the erotic sight. It's happened before and he experienced it first-hand. "I bought you those stockings," he comments, staring down at her legs.

"I'll become a part of your family when the cows come home."

"Oh, come on! Don't gimme that. My family likes you."

"Seriously?" Teresa makes a face at him, and he responds by rolling his eyes.

"Okay, maybe it'll take some time."

"Your mother called me a brazen hussy the other day. Like what you said, she wants you to marry a woman in New York. She's mentioned a name, the woman is close with your family and she often visits at dinner parties? She came to the wedding." Teresa smirks. "She's Italian."

Luca grunts, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "Viviana."

"Signora Viviana must be the whole package."

"We consider her family, but I can't imagine marrying her," Luca shook his head, pouring himself a glass of the whiskey. "Matteo would be crushed."

Teresa was already ahead of him, nearly downing the whiskey, ready for a refill. She brings the glass to her lips, about to take in the last sip. "Do you want to get married?"

"Someday."

Teresa nodded.

"When we were at my cousin's wedding, as best man, I watched two people who were so in love exchange vows. I really felt the love my cousin had for his wife that day. And I know one day that'll happen to me. I'll marry the most beautiful bride who is my whole world. I'll be able to wake up next to her and remember how she likes her coffee in the morning."

"She'll be the luckiest wife."

"I'll treat her like a diamond."

"She'll come around. I'm sure she's somewhere out there, searching for you. Hell, she could be right on your bloody nose," Teresa jokes.

Well to be fair, the woman named Viviana was right on Luca's nose for quite some time. She shared her beautiful smile with the family, and Luca did admire her, respected her when she paid her contribution to the family. She could be waiting for him to return home as of right now, and throw her arms around the Italian so they could spend a night drinking champagne on a balcony.

Yet, Luca didn't set his lust and attention on Viviana. Not even at his cousin's wedding. Luca was picky when it came to his preferences with people, that's part of being a Changretta. But there was someone he wished his mother showed at least some respect to, a woman whose eyes light up like stars whenever Luca says her name...

Yeah, he answered to himself, watching Teresa refill her glass from the whiskey decanter. Maybe I already found her.

TERESA ran her fingers through her head, thinking about what she told Finn the other day that made the young boy rush back to Small Heath before she could settle down for her lunch break, taking her words with him. The blinds that gaped in between to let in the last bit of afternoon sun into the dark room of her office gave out the blonde locks she styled for yet another casual day. Simply walking down each corridor and back to the departments was a way to wastefully tear down the strands to her cheeks as she kept her head down so carelessly.

See what happens when you open your mouth, 'Resa? She sighs, knowing that revealing her past love to be the man that's after the Peaky Blinders would either cause high tides between her and them, or maybe even her and Luca himself, or maybe more pestering phone calls from Tommy.

Luca. He's a malicious man, she couldn't deny that. He would get his way without an issue, and if someone had to object about that, if someone were to challenge a man with such high power, would they live to tell about it? She would hate having the idea of handing the one thing she has all to herself to a man who would gladly have paintings hung in his gigantic home. The Changretta family distributes gin in and out of America with the exception of handling Alfie Solomons' rum, anyways, so why would he want to claim an art gallery all the way in Wales?

The thought of Luca threatening to put a bullet through hers or any one of her loved ones' heads sent a chill in her body. Would Luca ever do that to her? Would the Italian ever have the thought of harming someone he had a past relationship with? Would he regret it?

What was even left of Teresa's loved ones, anyhow? She wasn't as close to her team to consider them family. Perhaps one time she scolded the manager for not realizing one of their employees smoked a cigar when the gallery has a strict no smoking indoors rule, but she couldn't live with the thought of having them indirectly killed by the New York mafia. Come to think of it, she didn't have anyone, which is just as disheartening as having someone to protect. Maybe if she never got her brother killed that day—

She walks out after setting her teacup in the tiny space left open on her desk. Normally she would hear distant chatters from the tour guides speaking to the guests, or just guests speaking among each other, talking about whatever piece they lay their gaze on. But she frowned when she noticed how empty the gallery was, except for maybe five guests. Given that it's still hours in the early afternoon. Why wasn't it busy?

Teresa approaches two guides, asking the question that swirled her head. "Where is everyone?"

"I believe the gallery is in need of an upgrade." One of the tour guides spoke out, a bit of nervousness in their voice to speak up on feedback to the owner.

"Was deco not enough?"

"Most of it has already been seen, Miss."

The Welsh shook her head. "What does that even mean? The people wanted to see deco, we gave them deco. I provided rum to the guests on the grand re-opening, I made sure this place is clean and shiny from every inch of every corner. How could this place already be dead? At this hour?"

The tour guides slightly shook their heads, shrugging.

Teresa sighs. "Fine. Have any of you seen Mason?"

Mason Miller was hired on the spot when his well pressed suit and love for Rococo struck admiration for Teresa. She saw her younger self in him, almost like she was looking in the mirror of the past. Someone at a young age so passionate, she needed him as extra help.

"With all due respect, Miss Griffith, there hasn't been enough—I would say razzle-dazzle, to the place. We have a lot to catch up on, or guests will yawn and find themselves out the exit."

"Mason, this is a gallery, not a circus." Teresa scratches her neck. "It's been days since the opening. Our blood, sweat and tears shouldn't be a one time thing and dropped down to rubbish."

Her assistant shrugs. "Well, these days people don't wake up and think about visiting a gallery, y'know? You can find art deco everywhere you go; fancy dinner parties, manors. It inspires what we wear on occasions."

Teresa stares at her desk. "If Luca Changretta were to ever own this gallery, would he fix this problem? Make the place go fucking bankrupt?"

"I'm sorry, w-who? Luca Ch..." Mason asks, skimming through his clipboard of names he might have missed pinpointing and scheduling a meeting with.

Teresa looked at her assistant, realizing she spoke out her thoughts. "It's nothing. You're dismissed."

"Thank you." He smiles to himself as he bid an exit out of her office for Teresa to be back with her thoughts. Her jaw clenched. I will not let my team down, and I will not give my gallery to a mafioso.

"Actually, Mason?" the young lad stepped foot inside again, peering in with his full attention on one odd request. "Luca Changretta, that's his name. I'd like for you to find where he is at the moment and set up an invitation via letter. Let me know when he responds at your earliest convenience."

"Miss...?"

She didn't stop rationalizing it. She even settled for it faster than deciding not to ally with the Peaky Blinders. Mason Miller stared awkwardly at his boss as she set her focus back on her notepad laid on her desk. "I'd like to meet up with Luca Changretta."

+ enjoy my scene edit above! my peaky blinders editing account is @/fcknshelbys via ig.

[turtlepated]

The Ghost and the She-wolf

Part 7

------

Let me preface by saying, sorry for the long wait! It has been super crazy these last several weeks (as I’m sure it has been for, like... everybody.) and I’ve been distracted.

But! 

The wait is over!

Thank you all so much for your patience and your feedback and I hope you enjoy! 

Tag List

@nikkivfx , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @insomni-snacc , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @young-erstill , @dilfyjuice @monsterlovinghours

------

You kept pace with Zhuk as he and the man he’d introduced as Scarabee strolled amicably down the otherwise deserted street that ran from the fountain near the docks straight through the heart of the seemingly vacant settlement. There were houses, inns and taverns, shops and stables, all completely bereft of life. Zhuk and Scarabee were engaged in pleasant conversation, mostly about their respective illicit trades. You gathered that, unlike the seafaring larceny Zhuk partook of, Scarabee made his way smuggling spirits. Rumrunning, on the surface, may have seemed like the milder of the two crimes, but you knew for a fact that rumrunners could be every bit as nasty and cutthroat as any pirate, and there were many who did both.

“If you’ll excuse my ignorance, gentlemen,” you interjected, both of them fixing you with expectant looks. “Where is everyone? There’s a whole town here with no one residing in it.” The two men exchanged a poignant glance before breaking into laughter. Zhuk was more composed, chuckling warmly deep in his barrel chest while Scarabee made no attempt to stifle his amusement. You frowned darkly at them, pointedly stopping where you were and folding your arms impatiently over your chest, waiting for them to collect themselves. “Apologies, volchista,” Zhuk all but cooed, trying to soothe your ruffled feathers. “It is a fair question, particularly if one does not know any better.”

“We didn’t mean anythin’ by it, cher,” Scarabee assured you, his mismatched eyes still glittering with mirth. “And as an added antidote to our rudeness, allow me to explain.” 

He gestured with his walking stick and his free hand to the dark and empty buildings that lined the main street where you all stood. “You’ll find that we all have different names for this place. I myself, as you may recall, like to call it Carrefour. Means “crossroads,” you see. And that’s what this town is, really. The dead come here from all over, but this is not the place where they’re meant to remain. It’s a waiting room of sorts, a stepping off point to whatever comes next.”

You frowned, not understanding, and Zhuk elaborated. “The town has always been here, we think, always exactly as you see it now. The departed arrive, some may linger for a time as you saw when you met your men, but eventually they all go on.” Your frown deepened, guilt twinging in your chest again at the memory of Mathers and your crewmen fading away before your eyes. “Where do they go?” Zhuk smiled sadly. “That we do not know,” he answered, his voice a deep throaty rumble.

“Wherever it is we were meant to go, I suppose,” Scarabee added with a nonchalant shrug. At his words you turned to gape at him, realization striking you suddenly, that he must be… like Zhuk in some way. He grinned his feline grin as he watched you appraising him with a new comprehension, speaking to Zhuk while keeping his eyes on you. “Mon amie, just how much have you shared with your charming companion?” Zhuk only hummed pensively, scratching at his whiskery chin. Scarabee’s grin widened, his green-and-purple eyes narrowing shrewdly at the Russian captain for a moment, reaching his hand into an interior pocket of his opulent black and gold jacket and withdrawing an expensive looking pocket watch, checking the time. If you weren’t mistaken, there appeared to be human finger bones dangling from the chain like charms.

“We’d best adjourn to the house,” he said, closing the watch with a sharp snap and stowing it once more. “The others won’t be long, and I believe we have much to be getting on with.” Zhuk nodded in return and you all set off down the main road again, soon leaving the ghost town behind and finding yourselves in thick jungle. You swallowed, unsettled by the thick shadows between the tightly packed trees, the rustling of leaves as though something were moving just beyond the narrow trail. Almost subconsciously you quickened your pace to keep stride with Zhuk. It felt like things were watching you, unseen, from within the impermeable darkness to either side. The two men appeared utterly unconcerned, so you did your utmost to show no trepidation as a pair of large gates of dark wrought iron loomed ahead.

Raising his walking stick, Scarabee gave the cold iron a resounding tap with the head of his stick and they creaked open of their own accord, swinging shut with a decisive and jarring clang as the three of you passed through them. “Ma petite chérie,” said Scarabee grandly, bowing at the waist and gesturing you forward. “Welcome to our humble abode.” Your breath caught in your lungs as you took in the sight of the domicile before you. An Italian renaissance manse, four floors with twin pairs of chimneys at the front and rear of the structure, a roof of scarlet tiles, the entryway flanked by arches and marble pillars, a raised stone courtyard flanked with creeping plants.

You were vaguely aware of Scarabee snickering to himself at your stunned silence, Zhuk stepping up beside you with a chuckle. “Come along, volchitsa,” he rumbled. “Come and meet the rest of the family.” The next several minutes were a whirl of activity. Zhuk looped his arm around your unresisting hand and led you into the mansion, up the red carpeted stairs of the great hall, down corridors of gleaming marble floors and rich carpets, past rooms with vaulted ceilings and sparkling chandeliers, wood paneled walls and paintings and all the other trappings of nobility or even royalty. Zhuk and Scarabee ushered you into what looked to be some sort of parlor or smoking room, a lavish fireplace at one end of the room already made up and crackling heartily. Most of the walls were taken up by shelves, laden with books in dozens of tongues and a vast array of brick-a-brack from every corner of the world it seemed.

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Zhuk, indicating the number of large armchairs situated in a vague half circle by the hearth. Still somewhat overwhelmed by the grandeur all around you, you sank into the first chair you came to, your head unable to stop from swiveling all around, trying to take everything in. Zhuk crossed to a side table and poured himself a measure of clear liquid that you felt sure was not water, setting the crystal decanter back in place. “Anything for you, Scarabee?” he called to the other man who stood by the hearth, one hand braced on the mantlepiece with the other perched on his hip, his coat swept back as he gazed absently into the crackling flames as though studying them. “No, thank you, I brought my own.” Reaching once more into his coat he produced a flask. “Though our guest might be grateful for something to settle her nerves. She looks anxious as a lamb in a den of wolves.”

Zhuk moved to stand by your chair, fixing you with a concerned look. “I’m perfectly fine,” you insisted, proud of the way your voice didn’t waver despite the unease roiling in your stomach. How had your attempts to capture a pirate led you here? To an island that should not exist, sitting in the smoking room of a mansion owned by men who, by their own admission, were meant to be dead? Zhuk did not seem convinced by your feigned poise, reaching out a hand to sweep a loose lock of hair back over your ear. “There’s no need to be frightened, moye sokrovishche,” he murmured. “No one here will harm you.” He let his fingertips linger on the curve of your jaw, and you turned your head to meet his eyes. He spoke the words with such assuredness; it wasn’t merely an empty statement for your benefit, he would see to it that no harm came to you regardless of what did or did not happen when these “others” arrived.  

Scarabee seated himself in one of the adjacent armchairs, crossing his legs and observing the two of you with an inscrutable expression. As one, all three of you turned to face the tall open double doors at the sound of rapid footfalls coming down the marble hallway toward the parlor. A moment later another man strode into the room, heading straight for the side table where the drink service was set. 

“Well, lads,” he said aloud in a definite Irish lilt to no one in particular. ���We are well and truly fucked.” Zhuk rolled his eyes as Scarabee chuckled, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Always a pleasure, Ciaróg,” he replied, apparently unbothered by the vaguely troubling assertion. Ciaróg hummed, having already splashed what you took to be whiskey into a glass and raised it to his lips, draining it in one go and pouring a second portion. “Didn’ I tell ya that Renard bastard was trouble?” he said, pointing accusingly at the other two. “Told me I was frettin’ over nothin’, said there was no chance he could talk his way out of the noose, but lo an’ behold! They went an’ made him a fuckin captain!” 

Zhuk grimaced, still standing somewhat protectively by your chair. “Please, Ciaróg, at least attempt to calm yourself,” he said. “And watch your language, we have a guest.” Ciaróg had already planted himself heavily in one of the vacant seats, the amber liquid in his glass sloshing precariously, looking up at Zhuk with a puzzled expression before his eyes finally landed on you. His brilliantly green eyes widened, brows shooting up toward the bill of the flat cap atop his head. 

“Bless my eyes,” he said slowly, his previously harried demeanor dropping away at once. He sat himself up straight, favoring you with a rakish grin. “Beggin’ your pardon, rud álainn. Did’na even see you sittin’ there on account of Fionn mac Cumhaill tryin’ to keep you hid from me.” The playful Irishman thumbed at Zhuk, who rolled his eyes again and sighed through his nose. You could only blink, taken aback by the blatant flirtations, taking in his appearance as he did yours: shoulder length hair, several thin braids decorated with beads and bits of colored thread, the bridge of his nose dusted in freckles.. Seeing the three of them all together you did notice similarities: their pale complexions, in the muted greens and grays like that of a corpse; the unnatural greenish hues to their hair; the decidedly inhuman quickness of their movements, even something as simple as their eyes tracking on another. 

“Cia!” called another voice from outside the doors. “Amigo, where did you go?”  “In here,” Ciaróg called back, eyes still on you. “Come an’ meet Zhuk’s new friend.” At once yet another figure appeared in the doorframe, a lanky man with a dancer’s frame, a mess of dark green wavy hair swept back from his forehead, and a singularly amorous look on his face. Good Lord, how many of them were there?! “Zhuk, have you been keeping secrets from us?” he purred, crossing the room in a few long strides and gracefully lowering himself by your chair, nonplussed when you recoiled slightly in equal parts embarrassment and surprise. The newcomer caught your hand in both of his, delicately grasping your wrist and the tips of your fingers in his hands as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Estoy tan contenta de conocerte, encantadora dama,” he mumbled against your skin. “Steady on, Bajo, you’ll scare the lass off!” Ciaróg chastised, slumping back in his seat and swirling his glass while the man he’d called Bajo backed off from you with a laugh even as you withdrew your hand from his grasp and bunched it stiffly into your lap with the other hand. Zhuk loudly cleared his throat, glowering at the two like a thoroughly exasperated teacher scolding a pair of rowdy pupils. “Are you two incapable of behaving yourselves?” Cia and Bajo, looking utterly unapologetic, merely grinned back at him but Bajo did at least rise and give you some space, seating himself in the chair between Scarabee and Cia. “Can you blame us, amigo?” he asked, plucking Cia’s half empty glass from his hand while his attention was on you and Zhuk and draining it, earning a scowl and a muttered curse in Gaelic. “It is very unlike you to have a guest. And such a pretty one at that,” Bajo went on, winking and blowing a kiss at you. You blushed, trying to remain stoic and unruffled but you had certainly not expected this. Zhuk was a powerful presence, a feared pirate, you had expected his associates to be like him, but it seemed he was the lone voice of reason amongst lunatics. “Anyway, what’re we waitin’ for?” Cia asked, glancing around the room as if counting heads. “Of course… Where’s the Italian?” he griped. You had also taken note of the one empty chair. Presumably you were seated in Zhuk’s customary spot, while the others had gravitated towards their seats in a way that indicated familiarity. Which left one seat still unoccupied. It was Scarabee who answered, having been silently observing the proceedings since he sat down. “On his way. He sent word.” Cia scoffed, swatting Bajo on the upper arm to get his attention. “Must be at another one o’ his fancy dinner parties,” the Irishman joked, the two of them sharing a laugh at the remark. This time it was Scarabee who interrupted their frivolity, rapping the metal tip of his cane on the dark hardwood floor. “While we’re waiting on Scarfaggio, why don’t you elaborate on your earlier comment, Ciaróg?” Cia’s brows raised again. “What? Y’mean about how we’re all fucked? What didja think I meant? Renard, o’ course! We always knew what a cunt he was, but now he’s a cunt with the Royal Navy at his back!” Zhuk winced, glancing apologetically at you before turning back to Cia. “Radi vsego svyatogo, sledi za svoim yazykom!” he nearly growled. Cia leveled a long suffering expression at him and flipped him off, eliciting snickers from Bajo. “What I’m sayin’ is that the lil bastard is out there now practically with his own private armada!” “What?” you asked, alarmed, four heads turning towards you. “How many ships does he have?” Bajo ticked them off on his fingers, “Colossus was the first iron-side, there’s at least three more; two in the Atlantic and one in the Caribbean.” “There are four more besides Colossus,” Zhuk corrected. “As we had the misfortune of discovering in Java Sea.” Cia was nodding emphatically. “We’ve seen what one of those things can do, y’know what two can do? I saw ‘em do it, they’ll skewer both sides of a ship with their fuckin lances and then steer away from each other. Tear the ship apart!” 

You suppressed a shudder as a chill crept down your spine, thinking about how close you had come to witnessing such savagery firsthand. You’d always heard the rumors, of course, about Renard and his pet project, but the idea of his reach extending so far, spanning oceans was distressing to say the least. “So for now, he only has five,” you said, thinking out loud. “Those five will soon be the least of our problems.”

All eyes turned to the back of the room one final time as the fifth man strode into the room. He was impeccably dressed in an officer’s dress uniform, dark hair slicked back with one errant curl resting on his forehead as he approached the assembly, stopping just short of his empty chair but not sitting down. 

“It would seem that Ciaróg’s hyperbole was more accurate than even he knew,” the newcomer went on, withdrawing a folded piece of paper from the inside of his tailored coat. “This letter indicates that Renard has some sort of presentation to make before the Board of Admiralty, including the Lord High Admiral himself. No one knows for sure what he plans to bring to them, but most suspect he’s actually petitioning them for the funds to make a fleet of ironclads.” 

“Learn about all that at your little soiree?” Cia teased, earning another scowl from Zhuk and Scarabee as well as the sharply dressed new arrival. “Yes, Ciaróg, as a matter of fact I did,” he retorted through gritted teeth, and you got the distinct impression that this was a recurring conversation. “As I have told you again and again, it’s never about the party, the part is merely a device used to display power, wealth, prestige. There are few better places to obtain information than from a gathering of wealthy, prideful revelers looking to brag about their ambitions or achievements. Perhaps one day you may realize that the contents of a ship’s papers can be every bit or even more valuable than the contents of her hold.” 

“Yes, of course, Scarafaggio,” said Scarabee, sounding like a referee in a boxing match. “We are all aware of your contributions to our endeavors and continue to appreciate all your efforts. What else did you find out?” Shooting one last scathing look at Cia and Bajo, who were still glancing at one another as though barely able to contain themselves, Scarafaggio schooled his expression once more. “Apparently he plans to make his presentation at the grand masquerade being held at the Lord High Admiral’s estate. They’ll be celebrating his thirty year career, and I shouldn’t doubt there will be some intrigue related to who will fill the post when he retires. We can count on Renard to throw his hat into the ring, and if his ironclad fleet proves as successful as Colossus and her sisters, there is a troubling chance that he may well get it.”

--------

Yay! First time writing all the boys! It was NERVE. WRACKING. But I like what I ended up with? 

Sorry no ETA for part 8 yet, but in the meantime I will make available the Google doc so all the various parts will be in one place together in order to make it easier to re-read! And I’ll also put the tags to the previous chapters below.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

And hopefully this link works, if it doesn’t let me know!

[thisbitchinthecorner]

For @drawlight Day 2 Snow Prompt!

1933

The streets of London are slowly being blanketed by a layer of thick, fluffy snow. A gentleman makes his way through the cold, seemingly unbothered as droplets fall onto his face and gather upon the crown of his head.

He arrives at the door of his bookshop, the cumulation of all his efforts and his own personal space to support his ever growing collection of texts. A warmth fills his body as he steps through the door. The space is indeed magnificent, and while customers have been shuttling into his shop here and there for countless years since it opened, mostly he is left to his own devices to work and occasionally, socialize.

The door opens suddenly with a snap, and in saunters a sharply dressed figure, elegantly tailored and impeccably refined. He dusts the heavy white snow off his coat and removes his black hat, placing it carefully on the rack.

“Fancy a chocolate, angel? They’re from that new Italian bakery that just opened downtown.” The demon said as he casually walked around the stacks of books still laid upon the floor. “Funny trying to find a shop open, despite it being Christmas Eve.”

“You know I’m never one to say no to chocolate. But what is chocolate without a little wine?”

“Oh!” Crowley said with delight. “You still have some stashed away then?”

“Perhaps a bottle or two.” Aziraphale winked as he produced several bottles of fine red wine.

“Take any one you like, some of them have rum in them.” Crowley offered, “The lady says she only makes them at Christmas and that she adds a little love message on the bottom of one of the wrappers, but only if you’re lucky enough to find the special one out of the batch.”

“No luck here, what about you?” Aziraphale said as he tossed a confection into his mouth. “Oh! This one has nuts!”

“Nnnnh.” Crowley shrugged his shoulders as he took another swing of wine, leaving the candies untouched.

They sat in Aziraphale’s small office, as they had so many times before, drinking and laughing, bickering and lamenting, as the snow continues to fall.

“Now angel, this has been a delicious evening, but I’m afraid I must be leaving.” Crowley hiccuped as he swayed gently.

He walked towards the rack where he placed his hat, and set it back atop his head. Aziraphale, looking remarkably concerned as he watched the snow from the window, quickly hurried toward the door.

“The snow has gotten worse, and I fear the conditions are near impossible to navigate tonight. Perhaps it’s best you remain here until the storm blows out.” The angel fussed.

“Ahhh, don’t be so worried! Now, stand aside and let me go.” Crowley sputtered as he sidestepped past the angel and reached for the door handle. He opened it, and the wind nearly off its hinges, allowing a burst of cold air to sweep into the bookshop, sending papers flying.

“Oh come now, you would go out into the cold on a night like this?” Aziraphale chided.

“Are you suggesting that I stay the night here?”

“Well, your car is under several meters of snow and you don’t care for the cold.”

“You are most correct, I don’t care for the cold. But it’s not a long drive, and I’m certain my car will be warm.”

“I am suggesting, simply, that you wait out the storm here.”

“If I didn’t know better, angel, I’d say you wanted me to stay the night.”

“Crowley, how you drive in the best of weather is likely to get you discorporated, much less trying to drive in this mess. This is an issue of safety.”

“I could just miracle myself home, have you considered that?”

“And leave your car? That doesn’t sound like something you would do, considering it is new.”

“Alright, I will stay! You’ve convinced me. Happy?”

Azirpahale was suddenly embarrassed, nervous about his being so insistent that Crowley stay. He began to question his reasons for asking the demon to remain; perhaps it was the alcohol, or the sudden desire for company. He shivered a bit, unsure what to say next.

“Let’s get back to drinking then, angel. Please tell me you have more wine or scotch or anything.” Crowley laughed as he put his hat back on the coat rack.

“Perhaps I do.” Aziraphale mused. “Too bad you don’t have anymore of those chocolates.” He grumbled.

“Who’s to say I don’t?” Crowley grinned as he pulled another box of chocolates from his jacket pocket.

“You? You had those this entire time! Who were you intending on giving them to?” The angel asked, clearly annoyed.

“I was planning on leaving them here for you as a Christmas surprise, but someone insisted on me staying and therefore ruining the surprise.” Crowley declared in exaggerated tone as he sauntered through the bookshop, plucking pages that had scattered onto the floor.

“Well, then I suppose I should offer you a drink and my hospitality as an attempt to remedy my faux pas.” Aziraphale said as he opens a cupboard, revealing several decanters filled with honey colored liquor.

“Holding out on me then, angel?” Crowley picked up his glass and offered it to Aziraphale, who generously filled it to the brim before filling his own.

“A toast, to another Christmas spent with good cheer and good company!” Aziraphale relaxed and permitted himself to laugh as some of the alcohol spilled over from cups onto the floor.

“Tempt you to another chocolate?” Crowley teased.

“Must you put it that way?” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, as he plucked a chocolate from the box, as he did, a small slip of paper slid off and landed on the floor. “Oh! What’s this?” He leaned over, plucked the paper from where it lay, and read it aloud.

“il mio amore per sempre” Aziraphale read, his voice soft and gentle. He smiled warmly, his gaze met Crowley’s, he was surprised to see that the demon has been watching him. “It would appear that I found the lucky chocolate!” He declared as he set the slip down on the table beside him.

“Lucky indeed.” Crowley nodded, tipping his glass. “Happy Christmas angel.”

“Happy Christmas Crowley.”

The night wore on, and the pair continued their drinking and laughing long after the storm ended. Crowley made his exit late morning, leaving behind his hat and taking with him an empty box that once contained an assorted selection of lucky chocolates.

[mrsterlingusa]

Buon Appetito

The side table is set for a delicious dinner prepared with tomatoes picked in the garden. The cabbage leaf dishes are Bordallo Pinheiro of Portugal. The Italian majolica is vintage. American brilliant cut glass decanter. Francis I sterling silver dinner forks and serving pieces by Reed and Barton.

Photography by Mr Sterling

[twistedrunes]

George - Chapter 24

A Peaky Blinders Fanfiction

This is a series. If you’re new here welcome! I would recommend you start at  the beginning:   Chapter One More chapters of George are available on the Masterlist Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. All original work is my own.

Hello Friends!

Well, it’s finally done! Chapter 24. Thank you all for the encouragement, support and love and sorry it has taken so long. With a particular shout out to @prettieparker86, @pure-bastard-extract and @blinder-secrets who put up with my incessant moaning and for their feedback and help with story development. 

This chapter contains events from Season 4, but do not occur as per canon (i.e. out of order). 

Until next time - Twistedrunes xox

Chapter Twenty-four: The End is Nigh

Warnings: language, angst, smut, violence, discussion regarding canon character death, racial slurs.

“You ready to head back?” Johnny Dogs asks as he closes the door on the gun vault in the cellars of Alea House.

You turn the key, and tug the handle to make sure the door is secure, then drop the key in your pocket. Your heart leaps as it clunks against the jewellery box still there from earlier. “No thanks, Johnny. I’m staying here during all of this.” You reply, working hard to keep your voice even and level.

“An’ Tommy knows ya staying ‘ere does ‘e?” Johnny asks cautiously.

“Yes Johnny, he knows.” You assure him with a smile and a pat on the shoulder “I’m not a Shelby or even related to a Shelby, I’m safe. Those Mafia boys aren’t interested in me.”

Johnny regards you sceptically, but gives a small nod in acknowledgement “Right then, as long as ‘e knows.”

You smile and walk Johnny to the back door, waving him goodbye before heading back inside. Making your way slowly through each floor and room of Alea House. Checking in with each of the staff, telling them where you will be if there are any problems. Finally, you make your way towards your office.

Isaiah and Peggy are at reception when you arrive. Peggy’s eyes are puffy and red. She runs towards you and throws her arms around you, quickly breaking down into tears again. You share a drink with her and Isaiah exchanging news before you are alone in your office. You pour another drink and sit at your desk, pulling the jewellery box, ticket and key from your pocket. You set them on the desk and close your eyes. In the quiet your brain immediately travels back over the past two days, spending the night at Tommy’s, the attack on Michael and John, Alfie, Changretta. All swirling in your head. You’d known as soon as you heard of the shooting that the current plan for New Year’s Eve could no longer go ahead. You pour another large drink and pick up the phone.

“Good afternoon, The Barbican Hotel” A bright voice answers.

You shake your head, it was afternoon already. “Good afternoon. I’d like to speak to one of your guests.”

“Of course ma’am who would you like to speak to?”

“Monsieur Pas.”

“And your name?”

“Hunter. Miss Hunter.”  You drum your nails on the desk while you wait for the call to connect.

“I’m sorry Miss Hunter, it seems Monsieur Pas isn’t available at the moment. May I take a message?”

“Um,” you pause, trying to word a message he would understand. “Yes, please. Could you please tell him that Miss Hunter called from Alea House. Unfortunately, due to a bereavement, we are cancelling the fireworks at our New Year’s celebrations, and I was calling to see if he would like me to organise some other form of entertainment for his guests. Thank you.”

--------------------------------------------

It’s late, Peggy and Isaiah long gone, when there is a light knock at your door. You’re fatigued and looking forward to a few hours’ sleep tonight before the funeral tomorrow. You curse internally, no-one would knock if there wasn’t a problem. “Abraham?” You call. Alfie’s men’s had assumed all security positions at Alea House after the shooting when all the Blinders were called back to Small Heath. Alfie had assigned Abraham to you personally. Abraham had been one of Goliath’s sparring partners and close friend, and while it pained you to see him, he was kind and good at his job and was smart enough to let you do yours un-hindered. He wasn’t quite as big as Goliath but was still a formidable presence.

“There’s a Monsieur Pas here to see you,” Abraham says.

Fuck.

“Yeah, bring him up, please.” You say trying to keep your voice even. Heart pounding, mind suddenly intensely focused and muscles primed you stand. You move quickly to the coat rack, pulling on your holster and a jacket to cover it. You check the gun is loaded before checking your appearance and refreshing your lipstick.

There is another single knock on the door. You open it with a fake smile frozen on your face. “Monsieur Pas, what a pleasant surprise.” You say holding out your hand to Changretta. He takes your hand in his and turns it so he can kiss the back of it.

“A pleasure.” He drawls.

Repressing the desire to shudder, you look over his head. Abraham meets your gaze waiting for your instruction spoken or otherwise, you give a small shake of your head and look from one of Changretta’s goons to the other. Abraham nods in understanding, assuming an ‘at ease’ stance with his arms folded over his chest. Changretta straightens, and you stand aside and motion him into the room. Changretta steps forwards and his two guards go to follow. “Sorry boys, only room for two. Pop down to the bar, and the girls will look after you. Abraham will show you.” You say nodding your head in the direction of the bar.

The goons look past you to Changretta. He nods and gives them instruction in Italian. The men remain where they are but turn their backs to the door. Abraham stands facing them, staring through them as if they were part of the wallpaper. Satisfied you close the door and return to your side of the desk. “Drink?” You ask holding up a decanter of gin.

“Anything but that shit,” Changretta says. You set the decanter down with a shrug. “Compliments of the season. I see you received my gift.”

You set the glass of whiskey in front of Changretta. “Fortunately, it was me that found it and not the houseful of Blinders I had this morning.” You say evenly, pushing them across the table. “I can’t accept.”

“No, I insist,” Changretta says pushing the items back towards you. “You would do well in New York, you should consider it. And, of course, you would be well looked after.” He adds tipping his glass towards you before taking a sip.

Folding your hands in front of you, you ignore the gifts. “I don’t need looking after Mr Changretta. Now I’m sure you didn’t come here just to check on your gifts, what can I do to help you this evening?”

“I got your message. I have to say I’m disappointed.” Luca’s drawls.

“Disappointed? What did you expect?” You exclaim, unable to hold your tongue.

“I expected that I would have the pleasure of killing the Shelby’s myself,” Luca replies coldly.

“Then you should have gone to John’s yourself instead of sending your goons.” You shoot back.

“It wasn’t you?” Changretta asks, forehead furrowing as he lets the surprise show.

“If it were me they’d both be dead.” You respond icily. “Michael was very clear, Italians.” You jab your finger into the blotter for emphasis.

“Cazzo!” Changretta spits as he leaps to his feet. You bring your hand to your gun. He turns on his heel and opens the door. Rapid instructions fire from his tongue. One of the guards replies before he nods once and leaves his post.

Changretta returns to his seat, and you regard him with an arched brow. “You assured Mr Solomons’ and myself professionalism Mr Changretta. You told us you belong to an organisation of a different dimension. Now I see, perhaps, you mislead us.” You mimic his pattern of speech.

“The order did not come from me,” Changretta says leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence.

“That doesn’t reassure me.” You reply flatly. “A lack of discipline on the part of your men endangers me. I am deep in the hornets’ nest if there is even a whisper of my disloyalty I will be dead. No warning, no black hand, just the honour of a bullet in the back of my head.”

“They were not my men,” Changretta says removing the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at you.

“They were Italians.” You shrug, “I suggest you find out who’s actually giving the orders here Mr Changretta before it ruins our plans.” You stand. “You need to resolve the issue and come up with a new plan.”

Changretta stands, gaze icy, “I would be cautious if I were you. A woman, such as yourself, in a business such as this, times like these, accidents happen.” He traces a line down from his eye to his cheek, “Who would cry for you?”

You smirk, tracing your finger along the scar on your cheek. “No one Mr Changretta. I have no one to avenge me. But I warn you, that means I have to avenge myself. Something I’ve been doing for a while now, my father, the men who took me as payment for my father’s debts, Sabini. All of them, what is it your people say? Sleeping with the fishes?”

Changretta sucks his teeth and tilts his head at you “Maybe the Jew is correct,”

“Speaking of the Jew.” you cut off whatever insult he was brewing up, “Next time you come through him,” Changretta mutters under his breath and rolls his toothpick across his lips again before turning and opening the door. “Mr Changretta.” You say lowly. Changretta turns to face you. “The Shelby’s, they have eye’s everywhere. Fucking come here again, and I will shoot you on sight. So go back to London, sort out your shit and have Alfie call me with the new plan.” You conclude.

Changretta mutters again and spits in your general direction. In a heartbeat, Abraham has knocked Changretta’s remaining guard out and has his gun pressed to Changretta’s temple. You hold your hand up, and Abraham removes the gun but doesn’t re-holster it. “It’s alright Abraham, Monsieur Pas is just leaving, would you be as kind as to help his men to their car?” Abraham spreads an enormous hand over Changretta’s man’s back fisting his clothing and lifts his head from the floor and before dragging him towards the stairs. He waves his gun towards Changretta indicating he should follow.

“I’ll be seeing you soon doll,” Changretta says pressing a kiss into the tips of his index and middle fingers.

“I look forward to it.” You say after him. You watch until a group of Alfie’s men join Abraham at the top of the stairs. Back in the office, you sit heavily in your chair, snatching your drink from where it lay untouched you knock it back in one mouthful. Standing again your eyes fall on the gifts Changretta had left. You snatch them up and throw them in your top drawer.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Running as hard as you can you try to maintain the distance between you and the Thing behind you. Black and formless and emitting a high pitched squeal, all you know is you need to get away. There had been a clear path moments ago, now there was nothing, just a wall of dead and dying vegetation. The screeching gets louder, rattling in your brain and confusing your senses. You plunge forwards, headlong into the branches that tear at your clothes and scratch your skin. Lifting your arms to protect your face you stumble onwards.

Suddenly you are free. Dropping your arms you look around trying to orientate yourself, a barren field lays before you. The ground has been farrowed and crows circle overhead. You can feel the Thing behind you, again you run. The noise reaching deep into your guts and twisting them.  Looking over your shoulder to gauge the distance between you, you trip. Flying forward before ploughing your face into the friable earth. Your mouth fills with it, choking you push yourself up.

All around you, the earth is moving, like a pot of simmering water, seething just below the surface. You watch with growing horror as hands push-up through the soil. Stained red and black they emerge grasping around them for something to latch onto. You scream as fingers scrabble against your legs, clawing at your flesh and pulling you down.

 “Fuck!” you gasp as you sit bolt upright in bed. On your side table, both the alarm and phone are ringing. It’s almost deafening. You lift the receiver from the phone as you bash the alarm. You take a deep breath in the following moment of silence before lifting the receiver to your ear and speaking into the mouthpiece. “Hello?”

“Anna!!” Alfie’s voice booms down the line. “I thought I must have missed you.”

“No, I just woke up. What time is it?” You ask, still trying to get your brain to function.

“Ten thirty. You ‘right love?” All the verbosity is gone from Alfie’s voice, and you can almost feel his warm hand on your back.

“Fuck.” You choke, fighting back the tears.

“Anna?”

“I’m fine Alfie, I just overslept.” You attempt to placate him.

“Yeah, don’t fuckin’ bullshit me ‘right.”

You sigh “I’m just tired, I had a late night and then a nightmare. Plus I need to get ready for the funeral.”

“It’ll be over soon sweetie. How about you come up to London for a day or two yeah?” Alfie offers. You are about to decline when Alfie continues. “You can stay at the house, see your niece, catch-up with old friends.” Suddenly it’s clear, he’s spoken to Changretta, and you need to meet.

“That sounds good Alfie. I’ve got the funeral today and then a meeting in Small Heath tomorrow. I should be up there tomorrow evening sometime. I’ll call from the station before I get on the train.”

“Perfect. See you then.” Alfie agrees.

You hesitate before you ring off, “Alfie?”

“Mm?”

“Hannah’s not my niece, you don’t have to do that.”

“Fuck off. She is if I say she is, right, plus Selene agrees. You’ll not get away from us that easily love. Part of the family aren’t ya?”

Your throat tightens, and you close your eyes. “See you soon Alfie.”

“Ta-ra Aunty Anna. Keep your head down love, stay safe ‘ey.”

“Bye.” You say before you hang up. You lay back in bed for a moment, blinking the tears away. It will be over soon you remind yourself as your feet hit the floor.

 “Good morning Anna.” Peggy greets you as you enter the reception area, she has a brave smile fixed in place, but it does little to hide the red-rims of her eyes.

“Morning Peggy.” You say your gaze falling on the floral wreath on the counter.

“It just arrived,” Peggy says noticing the direction of your gaze. “It must be for John’s funeral, but it was delivered here. The boy insisted he was told to deliver it here, to you, and not Small Heath.”

“What did the card say?” You ask.

“What card?” Peggy replies.

You pluck the small envelope from amongst the white roses and open it. ‘St Marks. 11:30 am.’ There is nothing else. You resist the temptation to swear. “I’ll take it with me.” You tell Peggy lightly. “I’ll be in Small Heath today and tomorrow, and then I’m going to London overnight. Abraham will stay here with you, not safe for a stranger like him in Small Heath at the moment, he’ll look after you.”

Peggy opens her mouth to argue, but seeing the look on your face, she thinks better of it. “See you soon.”

“Call the betting shop or Alfie’s if you need me. They’ll be able to reach me.” You say picking up the wreath and turning to leave.

Peggy’s hand grasps as your arm preventing you from leaving. You turn back to face her. “Everything’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” Peggy implores you, her face is simultaneously filled with fear and hope.

Placing your hand over hers, you squeeze it gently. “It will all be over soon.” You assure her.

------------------------------------------------------

The church is quiet and still. Christmas decorations, holly and candles, are still present throughout the hall. However, there is not a soul to be seen. As you entered the church, you had caught sight of a flurry of robes disappearing out the back door. You check your watch and finger the handgun in your pocket, your eyes sweeping the room. Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself to stay calm. You glance at your watch, eleven-thirty on the dot. The sound of footsteps come from the back of the church.

A large man, in a double-breasted suit and a trilby hat, walks towards you. You can’t help but smirk as you recognise him. The handsie oaf from your meeting with Alfie and Changretta, you drop your eyes to his neck and curl your lip into a cruel smile at the pink raised flesh where you had cut him during your last encounter.

“Hey, doll! Miss me?” You greet him cheerfully, your voice sounding far too loud in the reverent silence. The oaf says nothing, settling on glaring menacingly. You hold your arm out in front of you, index finger raised. “That’s close enough, you won’t be touching me today.” The goon continues towards you. “Uh-uh, Mr Solomons’ is not here to protect you today.” You say. He grunts, stops and unconsciously rubs his neck. “I’m armed, and I’m not giving it up.” You say clearly, removing your hand from your pocket and showing him the gun.

He shakes his head with another grunt and steps closer. You lift your arm and aim the gun at the middle of his forehead. He pulls his gun on you. You glare at each other silently until another set of footsteps echo through the church. Fast and light the steps are definitely female.

A small woman, with a dark lace scarf over her head, pauses at the altar, genuflects and crosses herself. She hisses at the goon, and he lowers his gun. “Let the whore keep her gun.”

The woman meets your gaze with an arched eyebrow, you lower your gun, but don’t put it away. “And who are you to call me a whore?” You challenge.

“I am Mrs Changretta, Luca’s mother.” She says haughtily, “and you are the Shelby whore.” She concludes with venom.

You smirk and shrug “Your son is the only one paying me for services rendered Mrs Changretta.”

Mrs Changretta’s eyes blaze “Best you keep that in mind, you are nothing more than hired help. No matter what trinkets he dazzles you with.”

“Mrs Changretta, I can assure you I’m not easily dazzled.” you cut her off bluntly. “I have a busy day, as I’m sure you are aware, so would appreciate you being brief and to the point. What do you want?”

She pauses, eyes roving over you seemingly sizing you up. “When this is done, and my son leaves for New York, lose your ticket.” She says coldly.

You look at the goon over the top of Mrs Changretta’s head wondering to which Changretta his loyalty lay. He was from New York, so you suspected Luca, but you couldn’t be sure. Dropping your eyes back to Mrs Changretta’s you lick your lips before replying. “And what if I feel like a trip to New York?”

“These nighttime visit’s he makes to you, leaving once the deed is done, you are a fool to think you will ever be anything but a whore to him. I have organised a bride for him upon his return. She is a good Italian girl, from the old country. I will bless the union, the Don will bless the union. It is done.”

You laugh coldly, wondering if it is worth correcting her or if her mistake can be used to your advantage.

Mrs Changretta scowls at you before opening her purse and removing a large envelope. “Ten thousand pounds to stay away from my son. We have important work to do when we return to New York.”

Taking the envelope from her hand, you place it in your coat pocket before ducking your head and whispering so the goon cannot hear. “Just between you and me, I never have nor do I intend to fuck your son. Our arrangement is simple, the Shelby’s die and I get Alea House. I will not be going to New York.” You straighten grinning and patting the pocket with the envelope in it.

A begrudging smile forms on Mrs Changretta’s lips. “You know, the men, they call you Ira di Dio. The wrath of God.”

“So I’m told.” You reply disinterestedly.

Mrs Changretta fixes you with her steely gaze. “Funny isn’t it how men mistake the traits they admire in other men as supernatural when they see them in a woman.” She pauses, and you shrug again. She steps closer. “But really women are more suited to wrath, to vengeance. Men tend to be more, sentimental.”

As you watch her, a coldness grips your stomach. Whispering again so the goon can’t hear you, you move your mouth next to her ear. You can smell her perfume. “It was you. You ordered the hit on John.” You pull back to look at her face to gauge her reaction. She shrugs the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she steps closer again and you lift your gun to her side, pressing it against her ribs. “Because you thought Luca would hesitate? That he might spare John like John spared you?” You hold her eye, not looking up when you hear the click of the goon’s gun being cocked behind her.

She smiles and runs her gloved finger along your jaw, her face twisted in a cruel smile. “It’s why we have you. You will do what needs to be done to avenge your love, and Thomas will pause. Not for long I’m sure, but long enough.”

--------------------------------------------------------

You walk as quickly as you can in heels across the field to the caravan, noting the firewood and branches packed around it. You glance at it for only a moment as you reach the edge of the group of mourners. You duck your head in silent greeting as you pass Tommy, Arthur and Reverend Jesus. You notice Arthur’s hands are stained red, his eyes slightly wild. You look to Tommy to try and work out what has happened. Tommy’s tongue slides between his lips, pulling the bottom one between his teeth as his eyes meet yours. Your stomach jolts under his gaze as he searches your face. His hand moves slightly from his side, reaching towards you.

“Tommy, can I have a word?” Johnny Dogs says from behind you.

Tommy’s fist clenches for a moment as he kisses his teeth. Looking past you to Johnny he dismisses him. “Later Johnny, ‘ey?” Then turns his back on both of you and tells the Reverend to begin.

You find a place between Finn and Polly, Daisy and the baby aren’t there. Finn notices you looking around “Better they stay home, too cold for the baby.” He says simply. You nod and squeeze his hand gently. Finn holds onto your hand and turns slightly to face you. “It’s going to be alright, isn’t it? Tommy has a plan?” He asks quietly, his face a mirror for Peggy’s.

“It will all be over soon.” You tell him.

“Brothers and sisters,” The Reverend says, bringing silence to the congregation.

Finn nods, smiles weakly and retakes his place beside you. He doesn’t release your hand.

The Reverend begins a hymn, his deep rich tone joined quickly with Polly’s clear voice, Linda and Arthur join soon after, Finn too. Not knowing the hymn or the words you remain mute. As the song concludes and the melody is snatched away by the wind, the Reverend begins the service in earnest.   

Shamefully you aren’t able to concentrate on the proceedings, fatigue testing your resolve and apprehension tensing your muscles. As Tommy begins to speak, you feel a new wave of tension. He tells of a day in France, the day they were meant to die, talking about all that had come since. The second life. As he speaks, Johnny, Charlie and Curly touch torches to the kindling surrounding the caravan, as the blaze grows and the flames begin to catch on the caravan you close your eyes, trying not to think about John, wondering where Esme was now and how the children were adjusting.

The second life, is that what you were on now? Or was it your third, fourth? How many times had you slipped through death’s clutches since you’d woken on the floor of your childhood home, dragged yourself through the gutters and alleys, and scraped an existence in the ditches? How many times since you joined the Shelby’s? How many lives had you had? How many were left?

The sound of gunfire rips you back to the present, you duck down, dragging Polly and Finn down with you. Hissing at them to stay down, you draw your gun and begin crawling towards the gunfire. Tommy hasn’t moved or even ducked his head.

He takes a few steps towards you “It’s alright everyone, everything is under control.” He places his hand under your arm. “Just some local Italians chancing their luck. We knew they were coming, we have men handling it. Everyone is safe.” He concludes drawing you up to your feet. He doesn’t even glance at you before turning away.  

The gathering disintegrates, Linda storms off and Ada chases after her. Tommy and Arthur are in huddled conversation. Polly spits curses at Tommy for dishonouring his brother’s funeral. Amongst the commotion you leave. You have a shipment of guns to look over before the meeting tomorrow. When you reach the car, you look back. You see Johnny Dogs approaching Tommy and being sent away again with a shake of Tommy’s head.

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Miss Hunter.” The Blinder whose name you can’t remember opens the door to the factory for you.

“Thank you. Do you have the key?” You ask.

The Blinder holds out a key. “Do you want me to come with you? Carry that?” He nods to the small suitcase you were carrying which contained your tools and some work clothes.

You shake your head, “No. You stay here. I need to change, I’ll use Tommy’s office. ”

“Miss.” The man nods.

 --------

“Anna? You in here?” Curly’s gentle tone calls out across the room.

“I’m here, down the back.” You call back sticking your hand up over your head and waving it. It’s the first time you’ve looked up since you entered the workshop. The peace and quiet of the empty factory combined with the familiar rhythm of cleaning and checking the guns giving you a few hours peace.

“’Allo Anna.” Curly says as he picks his way through the crates. As you come into view, he pauses for a moment, looking you over from head to toe, jacket, shirt, pants and work boots. “George?”

“Either is fine Curly, but I’ll be George tomorrow for the meeting with the Golds, yeah?” You say kindly.

Curly simply nods.  

“George.” Charlie greets you as he too comes into view. “What do you think?” He says nodding at the crates.

“Yeah, they seem fine. All clean, mechanisms are smooth.” You reply, and Charlie nods. “You taking these to the shop?”

“Hmm.” Charlie grunts affirmatively. “Got boys here to load the truck when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, just this box to go.” You say motioning to the crate on your workbench.

Charlie sticks his head out the door and shouts “Right boys! Come on now, get the lead out. Don’t want to be here all fuckin’ day!”

You return to your work, quickly finishing off the crate in time for it to be loaded with the last of the boxes. As the men load it, you lean back against the wall, exhaling slowly and allowing your eyes to close for a moment.

“You want me to take you somewhere?” Curly offers kindly.

“No, thank you. I have my car.” You reply.

“Right we’ll be off then. See you tomorrow, George.” Charlie says, ushering Curly from the room.

You wave goodbye from the factory door, before trudging upstairs.

 Closing the door to Tommy’s office, you rub your hands over your face and cross the room to the desk to help yourself to a cigarette. Dragging deeply you pour yourself a whiskey and collapse onto the lounge, carefully avoiding your dress which was hanging over the arm. You hang your head back, eyes closing as you breathe deeply. The room smells of Tommy.

Feeling safe and surprisingly warm, the fire had been lit at sometime today and only required the addition of one piece of timber before the flames came to life again. You toy with the idea of just curling up for a nap. Mocking yourself for your weakness, you push the thought from your mind. Busying it instead with mentally checking and rechecking the plans for tomorrow. But fatigue has you firmly in her grasp, you seem unable to hold a thought for more than a moment at a time. Your mind begins to wander, back to the funeral. What would happen when you died? A funeral with friends and loved ones like Goliath or John? Not likely. A pauper’s grave with no mourners? Perhaps. A bullet in the back of your head and an unmarked grave? Probably.

Unexpectedly your eyes fill with tears, one escapes and races towards your hairline, you catch it with your index finger. With a shake of your head, you stand, crushing out the cigarette and placing the empty glass on the side table. You curse yourself for being sentimental. This was not the time nor the place. You wipe your face crossly before tossing your jacket on the table, adding the armbands on top and pushing your boots off with your toes. You hang your holster over the back of a chair, rolling your shoulders enjoying the relief from its weight before you make quick work of the buttons on your shirt.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs make you freeze. No-one should be here, other than the Blinders on guard. With the blinds closed for privacy, you can’t see who it is. Heart in your throat you realise you didn’t lock the door. Recognising it’s too late, you pull your gun from your holster and step around the table positioning yourself and raising the gun at head height. The footsteps pause outside the door, the handle twisting slowly. The barrel of a gun pushes the door open. Your index finger moves from the guard to the trigger of your gun. The brim of a cap casts the face below it in shadow, your finger begins to flex. The brim lifts, the light from the office immediately revealing sharp cheekbones and sharp blue eyes.  

“Fuck!” You huff in unison, both lowering your guns.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asks, re-holstering his gun before he closes the door.

“The guns for tomorrow.” You say putting your gun on the table and self-consciously gripping the edges of the shirt together between your breasts.

“They finished?” Tommy says putting his cap on the hat rack by the door.

“Yeah. Curly and Charlie and some of the boys are taking them back to the betting shop for the morning.”

As you speak Tommy moves closer, until you’re standing toe to toe, Tommy’s finger stroking over an exposed patch of skin on your abdomen. “Why are you in here?” He asks quietly.

Your breath catches, “I needed to change. No ladies toilets.”

The corner of Tommy’s mouth twitches in amusement. You meet his gaze as his palm slides under the shirt and onto your waist. “Do you make a habit of greeting men with a gun and your shirt open, or just me?” He brings his other hand to your neck, running his fingers down the edge of the fabric, his hand closing over yours where it grips the fabric tightly. He pulls you closer, eyes searching your face. “You’ve been crying.” He says cupping your cheeks in his hands and brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“Not really.” You reply.

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asks quietly as his hands glide down your neck to your shoulders.

“Just sentimental I guess.” You smile weakly.

“You sure that’s all?” He asks before he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is tender but brief. “Everything alright at Alea House? You only just made it to the funeral.” Tommy’s question is asked evenly and the comment made without rebuke. “I was worried,” Tommy concludes pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You lift your face to watch his. “Why? What’s happened?”

Tommy sighs and lets you go, walking to his desk he removes his jacket and hangs on the back of the chair, he drops his collar and tie on the work surface as he lights a cigarette and takes the first few drags. While Tommy undresses, you do up the buttons on your shirt. He plucks a piece of tobacco from his lip and drops it in the ashtray before he speaks again. “Early this morning the Birmingham branch of the wire cutters union called a strike to protest the pay disparity between male workers here and female workers in one of our other factories.” Tommy pauses, as he pours a glass of whiskey and takes a sip before continuing. “While the factory was being emptied someone unlocked the back door.” Tommy takes another mouthful of his drink before taking his glass and the decanter to the lounge. “Entering through that door, two men employed by Mr Changretta, entered the factory and attempted to kill Arthur.” Tommy refills your glass as he speaks handing it to you and nodding towards the lounge indicating you should sit next to him. You move your dress to the table before you sit, Tommy carries on with the story. “While those men were attempting to kill Arthur a third party entered my office and removed all the bullets from my gun.”

“What? Why?” You manage to splutter.

“At 11:30 this morning I had a meeting with a Monsieur Pas from France.” Tommy says hanging his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Who is, in fact, a Mr Luca Changretta from New York.” Tommy finishes the sentence with a slight growl as he empties his lungs of smoke.

“Fuck,” You whisper your heart pounding.

Tommy’s head snaps up and turns to face you. “What?” He demands.

You take a sip of your drink and steal the cigarette from between Tommy’s fingers, taking a deep drag before handing it back. “Last night Luca Changretta came to Alea House to confront me about cancelling the plan for New Year’s Eve.” You pause, and Tommy nods for you to continue. “He accused me of organising the hit on John. I convinced him that it wasn’t me and told him that Michael had said it was Italians. He denies any knowledge.”

“And?” Tommy prompts when you pause.

“And, this morning before I left, a funeral wreath was delivered to Alea House, for me.” You feel Tommy stiffen next to you. “Attached was a card instructing me to be at St. Marks’ Church at eleven-thirty.”

“Tell me you didn’t go,” Tommy says quietly.

“I did.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Tommy explodes slamming his hand down on the arm of the lounge. He turns on you, and you find your voice is stuck in your throat. You shake your head desperately and slide away from him. Tommy’s eyes close for a moment before he speaks again, “Who did you meet?”

“Mrs Changretta.” You say quietly, your gaze fixed firmly on the glass you were resting on your knee.

“What did she want?” Tommy asks clearly trying to hold his temper.

“Well, now I would say she wanted to make sure I was nowhere near you or this factory. But at the she said she wanted me to refuse Changretta’s offer to take me to New York.”

Tommy tosses back the rest of his drink, standing and turning away from you to refill his glass. “New York?” He barely manages to get the word out.

“On Boxing Day when I went home to collect my weapons and clothes, there was a gift for me on my kitchen table. No card or note. Just a jewellery box with a tennis bracelet and a first class ticket to New York.”

Tommy turns and looks down on you, blue eyes clear and bright. “He wants you to be with him?” He asks simply.

You stand up and place your hand on Tommy’s chest “I don’t know.” You admit. “He wants to ruin you, to take everything you have.”

“I know, he told me,” Tommy says quietly.

“Maybe he thinks I’m part of that.” You offer. “I haven’t given him any reason to think I’m interested in him, I mean I haven’t,” You can’t say the words and can feel tears filling your eyes again.

Tommy’s eyes close as he meets yours, instantly reaching out and wrapping his arms around you. “Shush,” He assures you bringing his hand to the back of your head guiding your cheek to his chest before sliding his hand down your neck caressing it with his fingertips.

As you press against him, your fingers gripping tightly to the sides of his waistcoat, you whisper “He could have killed you, Tommy.”

Tommy kisses the top of your head. “No, you’re right, he wants me to suffer. We agreed, no children, no civilians. So Finn and Charlie and you are safe.”

“Safe?” You challenge, as you pull back and meet his eye unable to help a half smile. “I'm not a civilian. There's no such thing as safe for people like us Tommy. Ever. There’s only not in danger right now.” Tommy’s eye’s flash and he looks up at the ceiling, his jaw setting. You bring your hand to his cheek, bringing his eyes back to yours.

Tommy holds your gaze, arms wrapping around you tighter. You can see he wants to argue the point with you, to tell you, you’ll be safe. But he knows it’s a lie and can’t bring himself to do it.

“It was her.” You whisper into Tommy’s chest.

“What?” Tommy asks ducking his head to hear you.

“It was Mrs Changretta that ordered the hit on John on Christmas day. She thought Luca might spare him because he spared her. She said men tend to get sentimental. She said that’s why they have me because I’ll make you pause.”

You feel Tommy’s chest expand as he takes a deep breath, “I would.” He sighs into your hair. You clutch at him tighter, lifting yourself up to press your lips to his. “Stay with me tonight,” Tommy says as he breaks the kiss.

You shake your head, already pulling away slightly “I can’t Tommy. I need to be at the shop to look after the guns. It’s the easiest way for me to blend into the other Blinders in the morning. Leaving with all of them. Plus there’s no room for me, with Mary and Charlie it’s already full.”

“There’s room in my bed,” Tommy suggests, resting his forehead against yours.

“How would you know?” You ask taking his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing along his cheekbones, the pads caressing the dark circles under his eyes. “Have you slept?”

Tommy shrugs and shakes his head, as a soft, guilty smile forms on his lips “You?”

“Here and there. A few hours last night.” You assure him as you place your hands over his and unwrap his arms from you “You should rest now, here, I’ll keep watch.” You offer, guiding him back to the couch. As he sits you pour a glass of whiskey and light another cigarette, handing both to Tommy. Tommy attempts to catch your hand as you turn away, but you pull it free easily, looking back over your shoulder. “I need to change.”

Plucking your dress from the arm of the lounge you cross the room and hang it over the back of one of the chairs surrounding the table with your jacket on it. You undo your shirt buttons and the buttons on your pants and go to lower them, but pause looking back at Tommy again. Tommy nods and sinks down further in the chair taking a mouthful of whiskey. “Go on then.” He says huskily.

“Tommy.” You say in exasperation. “Can you close your eyes?”

A smirk forms around his cigarette as Tommy’s eyes close incredibly slowly. You roll your eyes at his games. But, assured he’s not watching you turn away and slide the pants off your hips. They crumple around your ankles, and you pause for a moment adjusting the garter belt, suspenders and stockings that you hadn’t bothered to remove when you changed before. Satisfied everything was correct you duck down to collect the pants. Looking behind you Tommy meets your eye. “Will you please stop looking?” You cry, using one hand to ensure the tail of your shirt is covering your behind and snatching the pants off the floor with the other. You toss the pants on the table before looking back towards Tommy crossly.

He’s no longer on the lounge but standing behind you. His hand sliding over your hip and pressing against your stomach before he pulls you against him. “I can, but I won’t.” His voice is deep and hungry, the growl reverberating through his chest into your back. You can feel his need pressing against your ass. His free hand lifts your chin and holds you in place while he lays claim to your mouth. Not loosening his grip until you relax against him. He presses kisses along your jaw, his breath is hot on your ear. “We can’t waste a moment.” He insists, kissing your neck as his hand slides from your stomach down over your underwear.

The warmth of his hand makes you shudder. His name falls from your lips, and he grinds against you. Your teeth press into your lower lip as you rock your hips. Tommy’s fingers glide against the gusset of your panties, the satin adding a delicacy to his demanding touch. You dig your fingers into his thigh as you try desperately to stay on your feet. “Tommy,” you gasp, managing, just barely, to step away, turning to face him. Tommy grabs your hips in his hands, fingers digging deeply into your ass, pulling you back against him harshly. You fall against him, unable to stay steady on your feet.

“Careful,” Tommy says softly guiding you back towards the lounge. As the backs of your legs press against the coolness of the leather, you push his holster from his shoulders. Tommy catches it as it falls down his arms and drops it on the side table. It is followed by a flurry of clothing, you sit on the lounge as Tommy slides the suspenders off his shoulders, and you quickly unbutton his trousers. Eagerly pushing both trousers and boxers to the floor while Tommy removes this shirt, undershirt, shoes and socks.

Before you can touch him, Tommy is lifting your feet onto the lounge and laying you back against the arm.  You sit up slightly to remove your shirt. “Leave it on.” Tommy groans. Again you reach out for him desperate for contact. Tommy’s head drops back as your hand wraps around his shaft, cursing under his breath as you glide your hand along his length. After a moment, Tommy’s eyes open, surveying your body closely before he brushes his fingertips down your chest. You arch your back wantonly and feel a thrill as Tommy’s eyes dilate. His hand travels lower, your stomach twitching under the touch. “Remove your panties.” He instructs his voice deceptively calm. Releasing him you quickly undo the clips on your stockings and slip your fingers under the silk to roll them down. “No,” Tommy says, cupping you with his hand, “just the panties.” Your hips lift as if of their own accord desperate for more. Before you have the chance to do anything else Tommy grabs your panties and rips them down your legs, dropping them on top of the pile of clothing. His hand returning to cup you again before you fully realise what’s going on.

Squirming you take hold of his free hand, pulling him towards you. “Tommy,” you sigh.

Tommy hesitates; he wants this, needs it as badly as he once needed opium. For the same reason, to block out the pain of the world and to leave him warm, fuzzy and disconnected. But he also wants more, he wants the comfort of you with him, unlike the hangover of opium which drew him further into himself, made him believe there was no hope or reason to go on, you give him those things and more, peace, understanding and acceptance. "Mm," he hums.

“Tommy, please.” You whimper needing him close to you, wondering where he has gone in his head.  Tommy places his hand above your head on the arm of the chair, growling approvingly as you open your legs to him. He positions himself between your thighs. You press back, whimpering as you feel his heat pressed against you. Tommy’s arms wrap around you as he kisses you again. His tongue breaches your mouth, and you moan with the feeling of him. “Tommy,” You mumble against his lips, fingers clutching at his ass and pulling him against you.

Tommy adjusts himself slightly, gliding into you, like a hand into a silk glove. Your foreheads come together, and your breath merges as your bodies do. Tommy’s mouth falls to your neck as your hands glide over his back. His hips roll slowly, the wave of pleasure driving your fingers into his hair, tugging on it as the sensations threaten to overwhelm you. “Is this what you needed?” Tommy’s voice is tight and airy against your ear, causing your body to clench around him. Tommy moans in response and increases his thrusts slightly.

The two of you melt into each other, breathing and moving as one. Both losing yourselves in the warm embrace of the other.

“Tommy!!” Arthur’s bark follows immediately after the sound of the door crashing open violently.

You reach up and pull the blanket down off the back of the lounge in a desperate attempt to try to cover you both.

“Fuck off Arthur!” Tommy yells back, looking over his shoulder at his brother.

“This is more important than you fucking some whore.” Arthur spits.

Tommy’s face darkens, and he stands, pausing to ensure the blanket is covering you. “She’s not a fucking whore,” Tommy says coldly.

Seeing your face, Arthur’s face crumples “No, no, no. Fucking no!” He moans turning away from you, as he turns back, he pulls his gun from its holster and points it at you. “No,” he repeats, his attention turning to Tommy “Fuckin’ why her? Of all the fuckin’ women you had to fuck her!”

“Arthur put the gun down,” Tommy says calmly taking a step towards him, either unaware or uncaring about the fact he is naked.

“Just fuckin’ listen to me, brother. For once just fuckin' listen.” Arthur begs, plunging his free hand into his coat pocket.

“Arthur,” Tommy says as calmly as he can, moving closer to Arthur and reaching for his arm carefully. “Arthur, look at me. Put the gun down and let’s talk about it.” Tommy nearly manages to take the gun, but Arthur snatches his arm away violently.

“No! Tommy! She’s fuckin’ betrayed us. She’s fucking sold us out to the Mafia! To Changretta!”

“No,” Tommy begins glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Johnny saw, Tommy.” Arthur continues “Fucking saw her meet Mrs Changretta at St Mark's before the funeral. Fucking found this,” He pulls a jewellers box and crumpled piece of paper from his pocket tossing them in your directions, “fucking ticket to New York Tommy. Fucking jewellery Tommy.”

Tommy reaches again for Arthur’s gun, and Arthur lashes out at him, sending Tommy stumbling backwards and landing heavily on his ass on the floor.

Arthur turns his full attention and the gun on you again. “Why?” He demands as tears begin to flow. “Why? Fuckin’ loved you like a sister, like a brother. A fuckin’ brother in arms, you were. Would have fuckin’ died for you. Why?” He wails, contorting himself as he tries to contain his agony.

He looks from his brother to you, pointing the gun at your head and straightening. His jaw set as he cocks the weapon. 

“Arthur.” You begin finally being able to form a thought. You sit up slightly. “It’s not,”  

Arthur cocks the gun, he hesitates for a moment. “No!” Arthur screams. The word is obliterated by the bang of the gun.

The ringing in your ears and the acrid smell of charred paper helps you realise you are not dead. The room is silent for a moment as you turn your head and look up at the smoking hole in the wall.

The sound of flesh striking flesh violently draws your attention back. You open your eyes and find Arthur on his back on the floor with Tommy straddling him. Punching him again and again and yelling incoherently. Arthur’s gun lays under the table, apparently lost in the initial onslaught. Arthur is trying his best to shield himself from the blows while sobbing, that he had to do it. 

“Stop!” You yell at Tommy. He shows no sign he’s heard you or of stopping his onslaught of his brother. Wrapping the blanket around yourself, you hurry to where the men are on the floor. “Stop!” You cry again, but Tommy continues. Arthur’s bleeding from his nose and mouth, and he’s already getting a black eye. You launch yourself at Tommy, knocking him off Arthur and onto his back with you on top of him. “Tommy Stop!” Tommy quickly flips you on your back straddling you with his arm raised. You brace yourself for the strike, turning your head and closing your eyes.

The strike doesn’t come. Instead, Tommy begins clawing at the blanket checking you over. “Tommy stop.” You cry again. “I’m fine he missed.” Tommy sits back, looking at you for a moment before collapsing against you.

“No, Tommy.” Arthur sobs quietly.

Tommy’s face is buried in your chest, so you physically feel the force of his cry “She’s with us, you fucking idiot. She’s working for us, against Changretta.”

Arthur rolls onto his side, his arms wrapped around his head as he begins sobbing in earnest. Tommy's eyes close, and he presses his forehead against yours before sliding off you and reaching for his pants. He puts them on and stands, plucking yours from the table and handing them to you. You’re decent in seconds. As soon as you are you crawl towards Arthur and wrap your arms around him. “It’s going to be okay Arthur.” You assure him gently. “It will all be over soon.”

Chapter twenty-five - Before Dawn > > >

As always I look forward to your thoughts, comments, questions and suggestions. I’ll see you all again for the next chapter.

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