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lookingupatthesamemoon · 1 year ago

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janAUary #2 - fake dating

pairing: Beatrix x Ralph Cifaretto

summary: Beatrix has been told time and time again to never give Ralph the time of day. Of course, she thinks it’s funnier not to listen.

word count: 2.1k

author’s note: this is essentially somewhat of a reimagining of part of a fic i wrote this summer. it takes place near the end of sopranos season 3. Mack, Tony’s gf in this fic, is the s/i of a friend of mine :) banner is from @saradika

“Let me think about that and I’ll get back to you,” Beatrix said smugly. “Now, are you gonna order something or are you just gonna pester me all night?”

“Oh! Is that what you think of me? I’m a pest?” Ralph teased. “Why don’t you pour me a martini? Extra olives, and I mean extra!”

“A martini?” She asked, stifling a laugh. “That’s kind of a girly drink, no?”

Shockingly, rather than getting mad, he just cracked a joke back. “Hey, I prefer to call it metrosexual. Goes with my whole look, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” Beatrix replied. “Is this enough olives?” She asked, sliding the drink over to him.

“Hit me with a few more.”

She obliged, plopping another two, three, four olives into his drink before he was satisfied. Eight olives? Maybe he was a mad man after all. She watched him curiously as he stuck one with the toothpick, grabbing it in his teeth and sucking it into his mouth. She almost shivered - she hated olives.

Bea’s thoughts were interrupted by the bar’s phone ringing. She held a finger up at Ralphie as she went to pick it up, answering as pleasantly as possible. Upon picking it up, she heard Mackenzie on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Beatrix! Got a sec?” Mackenzie asked.

“Oh, uh, yeah, Mack, what’s up?”

“Well, I was just talking with Tony about this dinner thing we were setting up, and we wanted to invite you,” Mackenzie explained. “I don’t know how busy you are, but it’s Friday night if you wanted to come. I figured it would be nice to catch up some more, you know?”

“Yeah, definitely! Who’s gonna be there?” Beatrix inquired, already putting the pieces together.

“Well, me and Tony will be there, obviously, and then, um, Paulie and Ralph and whatever girls they bring. Oh, and Silvio, but I don’t think you’ve met him yet.”

“Okay, yeah… I’ll be there, Mack, count me in,” she smiled.

“Yay! Okay, so, we’ll be at Nuovo Vesuvio at eight on Friday - you know how to get there, right?”

“Yeah, I know where it is. Okay, I’ll see you, Mack.”

As she hung up the phone, she turned back around to face Ralph, who had very clearly been eavesdropping on her conversation.

“Was that Mackenzie?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, she was inviting me to the same dinner you just tried to.”

“Decisions, decisions, huh?”

“Well… I’m thinking we could kind of play around with everybody, you know?” Beatrix suggested, grinning deviously. “Look… I’ll just say, I’ve been advised against going out with you.”

“Oh, so they’ve been plotting against me here since I walked in the door, huh?” He chuckled.

“Exactly,” Beatrix nodded. “They know you’re coming with a date, they just don’t know who. So, I’m thinking… we should go together. It’ll freak ‘em out, you know? We’ll make sure to be the last two there, make an entrance, rub it in their faces a little? Let ‘em know they were wrong?”

“You know, I gotta say, Trixie… I like it,” Ralphie responded, taking a sip of his olive-overloaded martini. “Someone’s gotta remind ‘em that when you assume, you make an ass outta you and me, huh?”

“I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when we walk in together,” Beatrix laughed. “I don’t know why they’ve been making you out to be, I don’t know, a monster, or something. You’re more like a puppy dog I could keep in my purse. A feisty one, though.”

Ralph chuckled, taking another sip of his drink. He knew, perhaps, by the standards of other people, he was a monster. But what Beatrix didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, right? He watched her as she scrubbed at the back counter, popping another olive into his mouth. She wouldn’t go out with him for money, but she would go out with him out of spite? “So, we callin’ this a date, or what?”

“I don’t know that I would call it that,” Beatrix scoffed, a small smile gracing her face. “But, if you wanna call it that, go ahead. I’ll wear something nice, you’ll get to live out your little fantasy… It’ll be fun.”

And so, as Friday night rolled around, Beatrix found herself waiting around outside the Crazy Horse on her night off for Ralph Cifaretto to pick her up and take her to dinner. She had dressed up a bit - not for Ralph, of course, but to help with her commitment to the bit. She sighed, feeling the straps of her silky red dress sagging off her shoulders within the sleeves of her jacket. She opted out of wearing tights, but as the winter wind nipped at her calves, she began to regret her decision. In fact, maybe this whole night was a stupid idea. Before she could make up her mind about bailing, though, Ralph’s car finally pulled up. She watched him as he swiftly got out of the car, coming over to greet her. As she took a step towards him, she stumbled, her feet still not used to the heels she was wearing.

“Fallin’ for me, huh?” He chuckled, offering an arm to keep her stable. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Beatrix smiled. “You’re not bad yourself.”

“So, what’s our plan here?” He asked, his hands on her waist, their faces dangerously close.

“Why don’t you get me in your car first and we’ll go from there.” She smiled as she lowered herself into the passenger seat, to which he had so kindly opened the door for her. There was a certain air of giddiness between them both in the car, almost like they were teenagers about to score. Ralph clearly wanted to put the work in, as if things would become real if he tried hard enough. As much as Beatrix didn’t want to admit it to herself, it might have worked if he played his cards right.

“We should park further back,” Beatrix insisted as they approached the restaurant. Ralph looked over at her quizzically, relatively used to having prime parking at Vesuvio’s. “Well, we gotta keep an eye out for everyone else’s cars right?”

“Yeah, yeah, but then we got a longer walk… Whattya want us to be late?” Ralph whined.

“Fashionably,” she smirked. “Come on, Ralphie,” she pouted.

“Alright, alright,” Ralph sighed, pulling into a spot in the back half of the lot. “See how easy I fold for you?”

“Oh, please… So, what’s our excuse gonna be for getting in late?”

“… We could tell ‘em we were fuckin’”

“Yeah, right,” Beatrix laughed. “As if they’d believe I’d let you touch me.”

“Whatever… You know, I could get just about any girl in Jersey, but it’s you I’m after - doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Ralph… I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean, between Rosalie and your reputation… I can’t get involved. Besides, is it really that good to get all your girls with money? Don’t you want something better than that?”

“Sure, but, it ain’t that easy… I guess I’ve never exactly been the most lovable guy.”

Beatrix looked over at him, face full of pity. She put her hand on his knee as a sign of support, gently rubbing it with her fingers. By now, she was starting to care a little less about blurring the lines. Besides, she was about to play the role of his girlfriend for the evening - maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to start getting into character early.

“Come on, we don’t have to have this conversation,” he sighed. “I just saw Paulie go inside, we should probably follow suit, huh?”

“Yeah, let’s go. Let’s show them what they’re all afraid of. When we walk in there, I’m your girlfriend.”

He got out of the car, grinning slightly as he made his way over to the passenger side to help Beatrix out as quickly as he could. She couldn’t help but crack a smile, genuine this time, watching him get all nervous. She took his hand graciously, pretending for a moment that this really was serious as Ralph pulled at her. They walked briskly as they entered the restaurant, Ralph leading the way to he and his friends’ usual table, never dropping Beatrix’s hand. As the table came into his sight, he moved his arm to her waist, leaning down very briefly to whisper a “follow my lead” into her ear.

In the distance, Tony and Mackenzie immediately recognized Ralph as he weaved between other patrons. “Christ, here he comes, finally,” Tony muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I think I see Beatrix, too, coming behind him,” Mackenzie remarked. “Thank God she finally made it, I was starting to worry.”

It was only as Ralph and Beatrix approached the table, laughing together about God knows what, their hands already all over each other, that Mack and Tony began to put the pieces together.

“Ton’, everybody, I am so sorry we’re late,” Ralph sighed as he arrived at his seat. “This one’s just insatiable! We completely lost track of the time playin’ tonsil tennis,” he snickered.

Beatrix smacked him playfully in the chest in response, her cheeks turning a slight pink at the thought. As if. As the two of them took their seats next to each other, Mackenzie and Tony just stared, almost dumbfounded. Two empty chairs remained: one to the left of Beatrix, and one to the right of Ralph. Mack couldn’t believe what she was seeing - Beatrix and Ralph? Did his ridiculous attempts at wooing her actually work? How did that happen? Her jaw was resisting the urge to drop. Tony was sporting his classic unimpressed expression - this is exactly what he had hoped wouldn’t happen.

“That’s a waste of two chairs!” Paulie commented, shaking his head.

“We would’ve told you ahead of time, but uh, we didn’t wanna ruin the surprise,” Ralph said, glancing over at Beatrix. She offered him a hand to hold once more, displaying their “love” for the others at the table. Mack almost gagged seeing it. She couldn’t stand Ralph - but she couldn’t tell Beatrix why.

Throughout the night, there was clear tension at the table, but Beatrix and Ralph were so caught up in playing pretend that it just rolled off their backs. It was what they wanted, to freak the others out. Once they had some wine down their gullets, it almost felt like they weren’t pretending anymore. Beatrix found herself hanging all over Ralph later into the night, playing the part so perfectly that she almost forgot it was supposed to be a one time thing. As much of a pest as Ralph could be, and whatever bad history he had, she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying his company.

Not too long after the dessert round, the group decided to call it a night. The meal was through, and the tension between Tony and Ralph was becoming hard to simply ignore. Sometimes, as Beatrix was starting to put together, the DiMeo crime family had to be handled like a clique of high school girls - let whatever petty drama was happening play out, and within a matter of days, they’re having sleepovers and wearing matching outfits again. They would probably cool down by morning. As everyone was walking outside, saying their goodbyes to each other with hugs and handshakes, Tony pulled Beatrix aside.

“Hey, Beatrix,” he started. “Look, I know you don’t know me too well, but, uh, and any friend of Mackenzie’s is good in my book. I just, uh, I wanted to let you know… If you would rather, you know, not ride home with Ralphie, for whatever reason, Mackenzie and I can-“

Before he could finish his offer, Ralph strolled back over, slinging his arm around Beatrix’s waist. She smirked, turning to kiss him, perhaps a little too passionately for a fake date. He looked at her in shock, his expression quickly turning smug as he remembered Tony’s presence. “Whattya say, toots, you ready to go?” He asked.

Beatrix simply nodded, giving a short wave to Tony and Mack as she and Ralph began to head back to his car. His arm remained around her waist far after they had left everyone’s view. The cold air had sobered him up enough to drive, but as he helped Beatrix into the passenger seat, he decided maybe they should just sit for a minute.

“That was nice,” Beatrix smiled. “Maybe I should give you a serious try.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Call me next week, maybe we can go for round two.”

#janauary2024 #rye writes !#self ship #ship: gladiator's paradise #suggestive #< not like super just a brief mention but still tagging just in case

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kwebtv · 1 year ago

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Gerald Tommaso DeLouise (April 30, 1940 – October 8, 2023), known professionally as Burt Young. Film, stage and television actor, author, and painter. He played Rocky Balboa's brother-in-law and best friend Paulie Pennino in the Rocky film series, his performance in the first installment of which earned him a nomination for the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor.

Television appearances for Young included The Rockford Files, Baretta, Law & Order, Walker, Texas Ranger, All In The Family, M*A*S*H, and Miami Vice. He made an appearance on The Sopranos ("Another Toothpick") as Bobby Baccalieri's father, who is dying of cancer and comes out of retirement to execute a hit on his godson, "Mustang Sally" Intile, as punishment for Intile having brutally beaten a family friend simply for chatting with Intile's girlfriend.

In a nod to his having served in the U.S. Marine Corps, he played a retired drill instructor in the short-lived 1987 ABC series, Roomies, where his character decides to go to college after his retirement. (Wikipedia)

IMDb Listing

#B urt Young #TV #Obit #Obituary #O2023 #Roomies

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dr-milfi · 2 years ago

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Melfi: Anthony’s attacks, how do they make you feel?

Carmela: Well, concerned of course. And helpless. A little frustrated maybe.

Melfi: with your inability to help him?

Carmela: To tell the truth I was referring to your inability to help him.

Tony: She has helped me. What are you talking about?

The Sopranos S3E5 Another Toothpick

#the sopranos #lorraine bracco #dr jennifer melfi #tony soprano #james gandolfini #carmela soprano #edie falco #dr milfi #quotes #mine

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briankeene · 2 years ago

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Another Toothpick

Grief is a weird beast, and every time you think you’ve got a hold of it, the damn thing slips your grasp, all snarling and drooling. Last year, somewhere between the deaths of Dave Thomas and Jay Wilburn, I noticed a marked change in how I processed and dealt with loss. Namely, I shut down and compartmentalize and treat the passing of friends like I would a novel I have to write or a garden I have to tend or any of the other activities that fill my daily life. I approached those deaths with a checklist: “What do I need to do to help?” In Jay’s case, that was fairly easy, since Armand Rosamilia is overseeing his literary estate. In Dave’s case, I shouldered the workload, and though I grumble and complain about that workload from time to time, the truth is, I am happy to take it on, because I view it as something healthy to do. Trust me when I tell you, this is a far more preferable method to dealing with grief than the suicidal tendencies I felt after J. F. Gonzalez’s passing, or the abject numbness I felt after Tom Piccirilli followed him.

The Sopranos is my favorite television show of all time. This is no secret. I’ve got a poster signed by James Gandolfini, can quote every line of dialogue from all 6 seasons, and intimately understood the ending the night it aired. My dream convention panel is for somebody to allow me to talk for an hour about how The Sopranos is a frighteningly apt documentary about horror fiction in the late 1990s and early 2000s — just replace mob with writing and publishing. My least favorite character — the one I loathe above all others — is Janice. And one of the reasons I loathed her was her reaction in season 3, episode 5, titled ‘Another Toothpick’. When Tony reveals to Janice that Bobby’s old man is dying of lung cancer, she casually replies, “Another toothpick.” When Tony becomes rightly incensed by this horrendously misplaced metaphor until Janice points out to him that it was their mother who coined the phrase, in regards to terminally ill people. After watching The Many Saints of Newark, it’s pretty clear that Livia and Janice both ��m despite all their faults — were probably living with lifelong PTSD, as was Tony. With that in mind, the term can be forgiven and is somewhat understandable. It’s a coping mechanism — a way of battening down the emotional hatches for people who simply can’t take much more.

This evening we found out that my dear friend Lee D. Miller has a month or so to live. Cancer — severe and sudden. He and I served together in the Navy many, many years ago. Of the guys I served with, only six of our main crew are left now. A few of us are flying to Texas to be at his bedside next Friday. When his wife told us, I did not think “Another toothpick”. Nor did I wallow in numb apathy or careening suicidal thoughts. I did not jump into the fray and try to fix or take care of things. I did not do any of the things I’ve done over the last few years when it comes to grief.

Instead, I simply poured myself a drink, stepped outside, and listened to emergency sirens wail in the cool evening air. I consoled another friend who we served with. I looked at pictures of us all, barely out of high school and thrown into a world of unexpected shit all in the name of protecting this country — a country which seems to be coming apart at the seams.

I’m not sure I have the emotional capacity to properly grieve anymore. But I know that I will miss Lee, and I know that I love him. We traveled the world together — leaving a lawless, hilarious, sometimes bloody and always chaotic path across several continents and a host of time zones. We were both Joe R. Lansdale fans from early on. We (along with another friend) knew every line of every track on the Beastie Boys’ License to Ill, and we could alternate them, rapping in perfect time, much to the chagrin of everyone else we served with. I turned him on to Eric B and Rakim. He turned me on to Pixies and Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. He was a peacenik serving during the Cold War, but he was also a ruthless fighter and if you fucked with him, you were fucked indeed. We once saw him order a sandwich in a restaurant and immediately take half of it out to a homeless person on the sidewalk. We once saw him piss in a guy’s boots because the guy had done something to cross him. And I still can’t talk about our time in Cuba and the smuggled iguana, or the time after we were all discharged that we crashed a random small town high school dance without breaking into simultaneous laughter and tears.

Or maybe that’s just the grief.

I know how to grieve. I’ve had practice.

Anyway, Lee, I know Genise said you’re still aware, so when you read this, you just hang on a little bit longer if you can. Me and Blum and Buige will land in Dallas on the 28th. We’ll bring a few Norfallos with us. Maybe a few Mickeys Big Mouths. You have to stick around for that. Love you, shipmate.

You aren’t just another toothpick.

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gifsontherun · 3 years ago

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The Sopranos | 3.05 "Another Toothpick"

#The Sopranos #Sopranos #GIF #TV #2001 #Tony Soprano #Carmela Soprano #Dr. Jennifer Melfi #Jennifer Melfi #Dr. Melfi #James Gandolfini #Edie Falco #Lorraine Bracco #SopranosS03 #Sopranos: 3x05

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thebluecometblog · 4 years ago

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Honorable Mentions

While I was putting together this list, I compiled my top 30 favorite episodes of the series and strung it together from there. I know there’s a ton of episodes not included in my top ten that people would argue need to be up there, but there’s so many brilliant pieces to this story it’s nearly impossible to make everybody happy. Before we reach #1 on our top ten list, here are the other 20 episodes that rounded out my top 30:

Whoever Did This (Season 4, Episode 9)

Long Term Parking (Season 5, Episode 12)

Employee of the Month (Season 3, Episode 4)

Kennedy and Heidi (Season 7, Episode 6)

I Dream of Jeannie Cusamano (Season 1, Episode 13)

Calling All Cars (Season 4, Episode 11)

The Second Coming (Season 7, Episode 7)

Boca (Season 1, Episode 9)

Another Toothpick (Season 3, Episode 5)

The Ride (Season 6, Episode 9)

Soprano Home Movies (Season 7, Episode 1)

College (Season 1, Episode 5)

Army of One (Season 3, Episode 13)

Meadowlands (Season 1, Episode 4)

All Due Respect (Season 5, Episode 13)

The Strong, Silent Type (Season 4, Episode 10)

Proshai, Livushka (Season 3, Episode 2)

The Sopranos (Season 1, Episode 1)

Irregular Around The Margins (Season 5, Episode 5)

Mayham (Season 6, Episode 3)

#the sopranos #topten #toptensopranosepisodes #tony soprano #carmella soprano #christopher moltisanti #silvio dante #paulie gualtieri #james gandolfini #edie falco #hbo #hbo shows #david chase #new jersey #the blue comet #thebluecomet

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carmelasopranono1defenseattorney · 1 year ago

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ohhhHHHHHHh that smug grin on tony's face i want to kill him. knowing that a large portion of the fanbase takes tony's side over noah's too is so revolting and i'm starting to feel like people working on this show are genuinely racist. like has there been a single person of color on this show who hasn't either been heinously evil or only exist for the main characters to be racist towards them

#sopranos sunday #another toothpick

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zreezree · 7 years ago

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The Church: Chapter 2

Summary:

Imagine waking up in a church dressed in a priest’s robe and stockings, munching on eucharists for breakfast. Not only were you not in 2018 anymore, but seemingly in the time of the Peaky Blinders. It was supposed to be a silly dream, but when you’re gazing into the icy eyes of Thomas Shelby and trying to hide your sacrilege : things get a little interesting and kooky.

A Thomas Shelby X Reader story.

Chapter 1:

There is nothing more efficient for a wakeup call than whacking your head against an organ. One that was playing a jolly ol’ tune as your personal wake up call.

“Peace be with you.” The priest’s nasal voice echoed through the church.

Rubbing at the throbbing egg on your head you muttered,” Yeah peace be with friggen you too buddy.”

Bloody instrument.

By the time it came to your shift, you walked in the musky pub with paper bags filled with your necessities and other…goodies. Like the fresh cinnamon scroll and hot loaf of bread. It was still warm in your hand when you placed the bags behind the bar.

“[Your Name], was it? I’m Grace, by the way.” A soft, Irish voice alerted you.

Grace.

Her blonde hair was combed perfectly to the side, a bright smile painted her pink lips as she held out a delicate hand.

Grabbing it in a shake, a chuckle escaped you,” Yeah, we barely got the chance to catch a breath last night. Pleasure to properly meet you, Grace”

Within seconds, the three of you were busy cleaning and pouring drinks.

The moment the clock stuck four, hoards of men came barrelling demanding drinks left and right.

“What do you think of having some singing in here?” Grace voiced, placing a tray of empty glasses down. Her hands cupping her waist as she batted her eyelashes sweetly at Harry.

“It’s not something we do here.” Harry mumbled, grunting as he shifted an empty barrel to the back.

“Well we should. I’ll give it a go.”

In a matter of seconds, you found her atop of a table singing an old, apparently well-known song to the patrons.

All the men joined, singing out their hearts. With reddened faces, some had their arms linked around each other’s shoulders and were swaying to the lyrics.

You had to hand it to Grace, the lady knew how to sing and get men in good spirits. It even made serving a lot easier and you were not tempted to break any wondering hands.

However, the men abruptly stopped singing all of a sudden.

Tension rose through the pub as three men strode in.

The blades in their caps glimmered as men around them gulped and held their breaths.

Grace, the charming yet suicidal lady continued singing.

Her clear, soprano voice rang sweetly as the hidden blue eyes of Thomas Shelby landed on her.

Their eyes connected.

She stared at him as she hit a high note, holding her dress as she gently closed her eyes.

As though she were serenading him, and him alone. No one else seemed to exist.

You inhaled deeply, feeling something drop in your stomach.

The warm smile you had on your face seemed to disintegrate into nothing but a thin line.

Your hands found the cool touch of glass, picking up a rag to polish glasses in a haste.

She stared at him intently, batting her eyelashes oh so innocently.

It hurt. Like someone had a needle and was picking away at the beating organ in your chest with it. Slowly, yet painfully torturing you.

Swallowing, you tore your eyes away.

Murmurs began to slowly break the silence in the room and within seconds, the pub was back to its indistinct cacophony of loud chatter.

Arthur strode to the bar, his moustache framing his wide smile.

Chuckling, you got a shot glass ready and had it filled just as he slapped his hand on the bar.

Arthur raised his glass,” Cheers.”

“Cheers big ears.” You returned, winking.

Arthur immediately began spluttering after downing his whisky. His face red and tears began to form in his eyes as he choked into laughter.

“Where’d ya come up with that one?” He sputtered, wiping a tear from his eye. He must’ve been already drunk.

“Aussie slang, that’s what we usually say before making a toast.” Arthur nodded, still chuckling as he staggered away.

“Cheers, fucking big ears.” You heard him mutter before dissolving into another chuckle.

At the corner of your eye, you saw the Grace hand Tommy a bottle of whisky. Irish of course.

Pursing your lips, you forced your eyes away and began to scrub glasses.

Rather firmly.

Too firmly, because it cracked and broke in your hands

“Ah fuck me! You muttered heatedly, hands carefully grasping the glass shards and dropping them into a wooden bucket.

“Harry do you have any clean cloths somewhere?” You asked, seeing droplets of blood seeping heavier over your palms,

“In the cupboard on the other side of the room,” called Harry from the other side of the bar.

“Excuse me folks,” you muttered past by patrons, stepping left and right through sweaty bodies.

It was all fine and dandy until one of the inebriated customers decided to pinch your bottom.

Feeling your blood reach boiling point, you immediately swung an elbow at the dirty pervert’s jaw, who immediately fell back like a sack of potatoes.

“What in the flying fuck is going on here!” Arthur bellowed out sauntering over to the passed-out man.

You were already at the bar, rinsing your hand under water, completely oblivious to the rest of the activity in the bar.

Your mind began questioning how exactly clean was pipe water in the 1920’s. Because disease and infection could screw you over royally.

Arthur immediately began howling in laughter when he saw the passed-out man.

“Oi, Tommy, John. Get a look at this!” He cackled.

“Someone pummelled him good.” John whistled appreciatively while Tommy’s eyes scanned the scene. There was blood on the man.

“Who’s the fella who did this? We need him on the bloody blinders! Heck, I should spar him!” Arthur gazed at the patrons excitedly, waiting for any indication.

Immediately fingers pointed at your cursing form.

“Ow! You son-of-a yanky-doodling-donkey,” you spat out while pouring water over your gaping wound.

Arthur blinked.

Slowly his shoulders began to shake before he erupted into laughter.

John began chuckling as well, hardly believing what he was seeing and hearing.

Tommy stood still, impassive as always. His eyes were hidden under his cap as his eyes zoomed onto your cussing form.

“She’s a pretty one, that new bar maid,” John smirked.

“A little feisty…”

“….” John turned to his side, only to see Tommy take off his cap and light a cigarette.

His eyes were firmly on you as his lips took a deep drag, slowly exhaling white smoke.

“Oi! Save some of the girls for us, will ya?” John snorted, rolling his toothpick between his lips.

Tommy slowly turned his head, giving a cold, unblinking look to his younger brother.

Taking another drag, he turned away and stepped forward towards the bar.

“[Your Name].” He uttered, seeing your form jump away from the sink.

You immediately turned around, holding a cloth to your bloodied hand.

“Ah fuck.” It just came out.

Swallowing, your eyes darted around the pub as it finally landed on Thomas Shelby.

His face was unreadable, lips pursed around a cigarette as his eyes followed along your clutched hand.

His blue eyes lifted to meet yours, setting butterflies aflame within your stomach as he stared at you impassively.

“Follow me.” A direct command that left no room for you to protest.

Wordlessly, you followed the man. His cigarette smoke lingered behind him and swirled at your face before dissipating.

Immediately when you entered the side room, he closed the doors behind him and gestured his hand at the chairs to sit. The room was darker, with fading oil lamps.

Sticking another cigarette to his lips, he lit it up and took a drag. The harsh crackle of the matchstick made you flinch as you sat down, tentatively clutching your burning hand. His intense blue eyes never leaving you as he swiftly waved the burning match, snubbing its fire.

“Let me see.” His deep voice with a heavy Brummie lilt demanded, albeit softly.

You froze, looking up at the approaching man. Slowly you peeled off the cloth.

“Stop.” He ordered, making you pause.

He took a seat and placed it right in front of you. Taking your hand ever so gently he sat down and began to unroll the bloody cloth.

His fingers brushed against your bare skin at times, sending bouts of strong electric currents through you.

He felt warm.

Almost familiar to your skin. And you ached for more.

This was bloody dangerous.

“Stiches.” He stated, snapping you out of your wondering thoughts. His eyes were locked on the deep cut in your palm. His cigarette held by the sides of his full, luscious lips. They almost reminded you of the lips of the cherubs that decorated the church. Ironic that you were comparing to what could be the devil himself to the likes of an innocent cherub.

You nodded,” I haven’t had the chance to ask if Harry had a needle and string.”

His eyes left your hand to meet yours in a gaze. The eyes of a killer. A predator.

This man made the Godfather look like a little school boy.

You were trapped by his beauty and the danger he possessed.

“Wait here,” he gently released your hand and walked out of the room. A sigh escaped your lips, drearily lifting your left hand to your eyes.

Why were you here?

Moments later, Tommy returned with what appeared to be gin, a needle and thread.

“Thank you,” you whispered as he placed everything on the table beside you, snubbing his cigarette in an ash-tray.

You immediately lifted your hand to grab the bottle and fresh cloth, only to be commanded,” Stop.”

It was sharp and to the point. The man was of little words, but that’s what made him so intimidating when he spoke.

You paused, pursing your lips as you dragged your head up to look into his eyes. The dimness of the lamp painted dark shadows along his face.

His sharp jaw line appeared even more pronounced.

It was as though somewhat drew a line in between his face and painted an eerie contrast of light on the left of his face and dark on the right.

His blues eyes seemed to gleam through obscure shading the shadows made on this face.

Taking the cold bottle of gin from your fingers, he poured it over a white piece of cloth.

“It’s ok, I’m a nurse I can do it.” You whispered, moving to take the cloth from his hand.

He merely moved it away and pinned you with his impenetrable look,” Perhaps, but nurses need both hands.” He gestured to not only to your right hand but your left. You hadn’t realised that you cut the left one so badly.

“But-“

He gently took your left hand and looked at you in the eyes.

“Take a deep breath,” he warned as he placed the cloth over your hand.

The burning stung so bad that you had practically bit your lips to the point of bleeding to keep from crying out. A tear even managed to escape your clenched eyes.

You felt a gentle thumb wipe them away. You opened your eyes to once more only become entranced with his.

His thumb continued to gently stroke your cheek, almost tenderly as you hung on for the last seconds of pain.

Finally, he took the cloth off and removed his other hand from your face.

He picked up the needle and poured gin over it. He even managed to thread string through the needle with a practised precision.

“You’ve done this before...”You uttered. You did not recall a time while watching the series of Thomas stitching.

“Yes. In the war.”

His eyes met yours once more, as he took your right hand and placed it on the table. He moved the oil lamp closer to the hand to see better.

“Breathe,” he whispered, before piercing your skin.

It was hard enough as it is when you were merely in his presence to breathe.

He took precise movements, almost rhythmically piecing your flesh and gently pulling the thread.

Sucking a deep breath, you moved your head away. If you looked at him doing the process, it hurt more. Trying to distract yourself from the pain you asked,” Did you hear everything I said while I was turned around?”

Tommy paused in between a stich, a slight twitch on his lips. If only you turned around to see it.

“Yes.” He continued as you grit your teeth.

“Fuck.” You let out, then immediately uttered,” Sorry.”

“Who are you [Your Name].”

His deep voice uttered, carefully pulling the string to merge your skin together. It was not a question, but more of a ‘polite’ demand.

“I’m me. “ You grit out. Pausing, knowing most likely he wanted more.

“A swearing school teacher, nurse or whatever you want to call me.”

“Mother-fu-“ You managed to stop yourself just in time.

“Why are you really here.” Once more not a question.

You groaned, he really was a stubborn man. Was he really interrogating you now of all times?

Of course, he is Thomas Shelby. He never does anything without some purpose behind it.

“I don’t know. To make a living, like every other, Ow, fucking person.” His eyes lifted momentarily to yours, impassive but with a warning gleam.

“Where are you staying at?” You winced as the thread burned when pulled together.

“Nearby.” His eyes snapped at your face immediately.

“Meaning?”

“Ow near fucking by, like a five-minute walk.”

You heard him release an exhale as he finally finished stitching you.

“Where [Your Name]?” He asked once more, bringing his hand gently to move your face to look at him.

His eyes once more locking yours in a strange hypnosis. He knew the power he had behind those baby blues.

You knew it as well only that did nothing to stop the gentle flutter within your stomach.

“I’d rather not say that to a stranger?” You begged, praying that he wouldn’t press you.

But no. You had forgotten that this was Thomas Shelby. Leader of the Peaky Blinders. The gang leader always gets what he wants, when he wants. Ruthless in his demands.

“I thought we were passed the point of being strangers.” He washed his hands with gin and cloth, eyes still intently on you.

“Why do you need to know?” You challenged. There was no way you were telling Thomas Shelby that you lived behind an organ in a church. Handsome, terrifying gang-leader be damned.

His once inquisitive eyes hardened at the challenge.

“I am not a man used to being denied [Your Name]…”

Oh, you knew that.

His eyes seemed to darken as he took out a cigarette, running it briefly over his lips before the snap of a matchstick lit it.

Precise. Dangerous. Seductive.

He took a long inhale, his lashes blinked ever so slowly at you.

His exhale seemed to blow smoke straight past you.

Eyes darting and feeling your cheeks redden, you bit your lip.

You were so fucked. The man knew exactly what he was doing.

You needed to do something. Anything.

Swallowing

Without warning you brought out your bandaged hands and cupped his cheeks, pressing your lips against him.

Gods. He was warm, and it felt as though satin had encased your lips.

He tasted of a decadent balance of whisky, cigarettes and something uniquely him. Addictive.

Before he could react, his own hand lifting to brush your cheek, you immediately threw yourself back. Eyes wide you looked at him for an eye blink before bolting out of the room and out of the Garrisons as though hell itself were chasing at your heels.

It may as well have been.

You challenged Thomas Shelby.

You caught him off guard.

You kissed Thomas Shelby.

It was that or attempt to knock out a feared gang leader.

The chances of the happening were slim to none, he was a fearsome war veteran.

Sure, you may have studied martial arts, but it helped you out against your daily idiot. This man was no idiot.

You began to sprint your hardest, hoping that no one would come after you. Within minutes you found yourself desperately scrambling up the window in the church. Almost in tears at how much it hurt to climb with your cut hands.

But you made it.

Once more almost breaking a bone as you toppled two metres down inside the church on the cold marble ground.

You laid on your back for minutes, trying to calm your breathing and your poor overactive heart.

You kissed him.

The giggling cherubs above you seemed to give you a thumbs up through the flickering candle light.

…The worst thing is, you wanted more.

More of his lips.

To be wrapped up in his scent.

To curl your fingers into his hair, while you traced his plump lips.

He had you long before you even knew it.

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

#peaky blinders #reader-insert #reader #fanfiction #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #reader x thomas shelby #imagine #thomas shelby x reade

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