Hi, I'm Lee! I'm an adult who enjoys reading and writing fanfiction in my spare time. Sometimes that includes dark themes or nsfw. Please read all warnings carefully.
Characters I write for can be found on my Masterlist . Fandoms include: Peaky Blinders, The Bikeriders, Top Gun Maverick, The Last of Us, The Bear, Mobland and The Pitt.
My requests are currently OPEN. I respond if you're polite and follow a few simple rules:
‣ MDNI (I block blank and ageless blogs)
‣ Send all requests thru my inbox
‣ I reserve the right to decline any request
‣ Tell me if you've sent the request to another writer
‣ Reblog fics you enjoy!!
I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated or posted on any platform, including Tumblr.
A/N: Polly's son Michael grows up in the shadow of violence and addiction. Nina belongs to @peakyswritings. Part of my American Teenager AU.
Michael Gray was six when he listened intently to the preacher who spoke about a better place for those who believe in the Lord, but he had far too many memories of nights that ended in yelling and broken beer bottles to believe his daddy had found salvation.
Polly was certain the bad memories would fade in time. After all, Michael was surrounded by his cousins and like them, was blessed with the Shelby good looks. The church ladies pinched his cheeks and offered up plates of pie to the adorable little choir boy.
But the more it hurts, the less it shows and Michael was very good at appearances. All through primary school, he was a polite young man who made straight A's and never gave anyone a moment's trouble. However, when he reached high school, the former child prodigy turned into an angry teenager with notebooks full of vitriol and a gun stashed in his backpack.
"I raised you better than this!" Polly shouted when she discovered it. "Is this how you want people to remember you?"
"Does it matter? Fate's already fucked me sideways!" Michael yelled back. It wasn't long after that he was removed from Polly's home, having started a fire in their kitchen. In the days and weeks afterward, he would be connected to several other cases of vandalism in the neighborhood and he was sent to juvenile detention.
By the time Tommy came home, Michael was living in a group home. The boy had an angry looking scar running the length of his abdomen which had been poorly stitched together in the infirmary. Rumors abounded, but the mostly likely suspect was a girl named Nina who'd run off six months ago. Michael didn't seemed bothered by it, shrugging it off, along with questions about his future.
"Think of your mother, Michael," Tommy implored each time he'd visit.
"I don't think about her at all," came the casual reply.
You're killing it in this AU, Lee!! I loved this too! The background you gave him seems to be very plausible! I do imagine him ending in some juvenile detention. Poor Polly, I'll never understand how Michael has her blood.
Never liked him, so forgive me if I cheer for Nina! Nina isn't there stabbing people just because so I'm sure he did something and he deserved it.
(And just wait until Michael knows his cousin fell in love with the infamous girl. Let me believe these two are going to meet 🤭)
@justrainandcoffee Tysm for your lovely comments, Flor! I have so much empathy for what Michael went thru as a child and yet I have to admit that it shocks me to think of him as Polly's son bc he's such a little shit when he's older! Nina was totally justified in stabbing him. TEAM NINA!!!
A/N: Polly's son, Michael, grows up in the shadow of violence and addiction. Nina belongs to @peakyswritings. Part of my American Teenager AU.
Michael Gray was six when he listened intently to the preacher who spoke about a better place for those who believe in the Lord, but he had far too many memories of nights that ended in yelling and broken beer bottles to believe his daddy had found salvation.
Polly was certain the bad memories would fade in time. After all, Michael was surrounded by his cousins and like them, was blessed with the Shelby good looks. The church ladies pinched his cheeks and offered up plates of pie to the adorable little choir boy.
But the more it hurts, the less it shows and Michael was very good at appearances. All through primary school, he was a polite young man who made straight A's and never gave anyone a moment's trouble. However, when he reached high school, the former child prodigy turned into an angry teenager with notebooks full of vitriol and a gun stashed in his backpack.
"I raised you better than this!" Polly shouted when she discovered it. "Is this how you want people to remember you?"
"Does it matter? Fate's already fucked me sideways!" Michael yelled back. It wasn't long after that he was removed from Polly's home, having started a fire in their kitchen. In the days and weeks afterward, he would be connected to several other cases of vandalism in the neighborhood and he was sent to juvenile detention.
By the time Tommy came home, Michael was living in a group home. The boy had an angry looking scar running the length of his abdomen which had been poorly stitched together in the infirmary. Rumors abounded, but the mostly likely suspect was a girl named Nina who'd run off six months ago. Michael didn't seemed bothered by it, shrugging it off, along with questions about his future.
"Think of your mother, Michael," Tommy implored each time he'd visit.
"I don't think about her at all," came the casual reply.
Nina Ferrante was a wild little thing, with a temperament that lived up to her surname and a knack for running away from home.
Disobedient and rebellious to the core, she lived her life as if rules only existed to be broken. Partying up all night, skipping school on the regular, sneaking out of Sunday mass to smoke and drink in the church’s backyard with the very rascals her parents warned her to stray away from.
She’s so smart, her teachers said. It’s such a shame she’s so out of control.
Brilliant kid turned good for nothing renegade, daddy’s little runaway skipped town for good in her senior year of high school, leaving everyone to wonder if she would even come back to graduate.
It’s just not my year, she would say. But I’m all good out here.
@peakyswritings REB, I'm screaming over how perfectly this fits Nina's rebellious spirit! The moodboard alone says "Don't fuck with me!" The "girls bite back" on her pocket is *chef's kiss*. You can't tell me she didn't stitch that herself after Mama Ferrante insisted she learn to sew 😜 Btw, I'm working on Michael's blurb next and something tells me they crossed paths in juvie at some point! Tysm for contributing to the AU 💕
Summary: As business pulls Tommy away from Arrow House once more, a church sermon and a single overheard conversation shatters the fragile balance of your marriage. But this time, it's not jealousy or pride that drives your reaction, it’s something far older, buried in your bloodline. And as “just business” echoes between you and your husband, the past quietly begins to make its voice heard.
Warnings: Language, angst, infidelity.
Word Count: 3.5K
[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]
You're my wife.
Three words. Three bloody words.
He heard himself say them. The way he said them. The weight of how he said them. And Arrow House, unforgiving and unmerciful, heard them too.
It wasn't some romantic, everlasting declaration of love, it was panic. The unfiltered and completely uncalculated panic of a man under pressure.
You hadn't struck one nerve, my darling, you'd struck three. Three questions, simultaneously asked and entirely unanswered.
Where did you stand in your husband's emotional hierarchy?
Where did you rank between business and his brooding mind?
And just why had your husband disappeared the moment those three damned words echoed off the walls of Arrow House last night?
Because you, brilliant, strong and beautiful you, had managed to strike the one place Thomas Shelby never liked to be struck.
That stupid bloody thing in his chest.
His heart.
But Arrow House remembered. The words still chimed from champagne glasses. Still lingered in the walls. And God love him, the poor bastard hoped they'd gone up in smoke alongside the endless noughts you'd burnt bright and mighty into the night sky.
But In the quiet that followed, as you stood stunned into silence, and he ordered you to bed in a desperate attempt to restore order to his rapidly unravelling world, Tommy slipped away with paperwork to file, phone calls to be made. Excuses rattling out one by one on deaf ears.
Because you and I are no fools, dear. Cupid up above in his candy-floss kingdom, no fool.
For the only fool in the West Midlands that night was Thomas Shelby. Foolish enough to believe his words had gone unheard. Foolish enough to think nobody noticed. Foolish enough to forget that Arrow House, always remembered.
There he stood, the brooding bastard caught in the crossfire of his own heart's betrayal, lingering at the threshold of your bedroom door watching you sleep in sunlight as dust motes glittered around you, driving the point painfully home of how he'd always found his wife.
For poised and polite, were the biggest lies you had ever told yourself you were.
Because as Tommy watched with the weariness of man hoping you wouldn't wake, hoping he could keep these mornings, these moments greedily to himself, he had, and always would find his wife…
Beautiful. Untouchable and completely unwilling to abide by his rules, his rigidness, his relentless need for control.
Perfect. You were fucking perfect.
And that? That was the bloody problem.
Go on then, you prat. Go fuck it up with more buffonary.
One step into your room, another step away from his iron control. Away from pretending he didn't feel an ounce of anything real.
Your husband's hand reached for the pen resting on the bedside table, scratching out yet another note that was beginning to look suspiciously like a roadmap to one man's increasingly doomed state of mind.
“ Gone into the city on business. Won't be back until late tonight. Ask Frances for an aspirin. And eat. Make sure you eat.
Yours sincer…”
Steady on Tom, what was that?
Not the bit about business. Your late return. The remedy to a hangover, or the growling demands of your wife's stomach.
That little flicker that escaped your thoughts and bled into the fountain pen.
You sure you wanna put that?
As Tommy's hand lingered over the last syllable yet to be scrawled, he reminded himself of his day's plans. The plan to prove to himself that the title of ‘Wife’, was but a mere note in the margin of his business books. A namesake assigned by law.
So, with a sharp scratch of the pen, he crossed out and erased any sign of sentiment he held for you and ended his note with a simple…
“T”
T. T for bloody twat, more like.
Look. It’s not my fault the frolicking fuckboy had found himself in yet another hotel room. I am but the mere pen to the treacherous little tart’s misgivings.
Believe me, my long-suffering sweet child, I am as mad as you are.
But before we call for his head on a spike, his heart the central ingredient in every hex we could ever curse the heathen with, let us pause. Let us clear our minds of the noise, the fury, the fog. And take one daring step into the seedy hotel room he was currently sat in.
“ Mr Shelby” she cooed, swaying her hips with each sultry step towards him, as he sat sprawled on the velvety lounge settee, like a businessman hungover on power, like a god who no longer enjoyed what stood before him. Or worse, like a man trying too hard.
Kneeling between his legs, hands sweeping up his tailored trousers, her nails traced the seams, eyes fluttering under his steel gaze as she played surrender, played the role of something that once gave him pleasure when his hand suddenly shot out, catching her chin.
“ What's your name?” His voice was rid of its usual control, the composure he armoured himself, fracturing under the pressure of performance.
He sounded hollowed out. He sounded tired. He sound utterly, completely, fucking exhausted with himself.
“ Whatever you want it to be” she purred, hands continuing their work, already assuming when Tommy's grip tightened, halting her half a second away.
He could do it. Let himself stoop that low. Let himself replay his wedding night with another woman and your name on his lips. Could perform, could pretend it was you under him, that he hadn't thought about that night every single night since.
But as his thumb swept slowly over her cheek, eyes shuttering a fraction to have your face appear in front of him instead of hers, he found himself wanting more than a replacement to warm his wrecked heart.
“ Leave” his voice dropped low, eyes snapping open, rising to his feet away from her to the window, away from the illusion of something he had almost convinced himself might prove he didn’t think about you every waking second of the fucking day.
“ But…” she began, uncertain, whether from the threat of an unpaid encounter or the sudden fear she was somehow lacking in what men were supposed to want.
“ Did I do something wrong?”
“ No” the word came out sharp, clipped, control snapping back into place before she believed he was anything more than the man he'd let you see. The one that cracked after a week of marital warfare. The one that had seen him suffocating in nightmares of the Somme. The one that couldn't even shag the stupidity out of himself.
“You didn't do a thing wrong. You did exactly what you were supposed to” he gave her some half-arsed form of an excuse as he nodded to the bundle of cash on the counter.
“But she didn't…” he murmured quietly to himself, eyes returning to the window, looking for the man he'd suddenly lost, when his tired gaze caught the wink of his wedding band.
But she didn't.
There it was. That nameless presence behind everything.
She didn't do as she was told. Didn't follow the rules of the arrangement. Didn't sit still, the obedient wife. Didn't stop his heart from thundering every time she walked by. Did absolutely everything wrong and somehow everything right to make Tommy realise that after three encounters, three women, third time truly wasn't a charm.
Go home, Thomas.
So, Polly was pissed off.
Not just with you, but with her harloting nephew you called husband.
And although I will always be partially biased on your behalf, darling, I can also see why the Shelby matriarch was currently knee-deep in damage control as she dealt with you two divs and the fallout from your spectacular firework display.
You see, Tommy did go home after his hotel visit that saw him come to the rather inconvenient realisation that the only woman he wanted was his wife. A revelation that, unfortunately for everyone involved, still existed entirely inside his own bloody head.
But alas, we'll do the mental arithmetic on that particular disaster another day. Because currently, word had travelled well beyond high society's circles about your little outburst.
Yes. That's right.
The word on Warwickshire's roads, stretching all the way to Birmingham's grotty gullies, was that the Shelby marriage was already in trouble, a mere month in.
Still with me? No?
Alright. The bloody maids had started yapping about your marital misery.
Christ.
And Christ was exactly the theme of today's little plan.
Because that's who you, Tommy and a grumbling, gangly-legged Arthur were currently being dragged off to visit. Like a trio of misbehaving children, under threats of God's judgement and one woman's wrath should you so much as dare put a foot wrong.
Heaven help us all. Polly was taking you to church.
It was suspiciously sunny when the four of you stepped out of Tommy's Bentley dressed in your Sunday best. Polly looking elegant in emerald as the church bells tolled for everyone to take their seats. Arthur looking awkward, like the church roof might collapse if he crossed the threshold. Tommy looking smart in Savile, with his hand to the small of your back. And then there was you, dressed in white, the wife of one month, being guided by Tommy into a sky-high building made out of granite and village gossip.
“Smile, darling. Play the part” Tommy hummed quietly in your ear, fingers flexing against the fabric of your dress, eyes cast down at you with, was that...a boyish smile?
No. It can't be.
Nobody made that man blush unless it was red with fury.
But as he walked you down the aisle, all eyes on the newlyweds who'd already made a name for themselves thanks to one maid's lack of discretion and love of distilled cider, that's exactly how Tommy felt.
A bloody boy.
Walking a tightrope, now he'd made a decision. Had constructed a new life plan without even informing one fundamental, and rather important, factor of said plan.
You, his wife.
“Why the fuck am I here?” Arthur murmured quietly beside Tommy as you found your seats, Polly bracketing the other side, containing you and Tommy into something manageable in case either of you decided on mischief during Sunday mass.
“Because these two idiots have made a holy show of their marriage. And you are well overdue a seat in God's house of repentance” Polly leaned across you, hushing her halfwit nephew before she had to deliver a backhand of damnation to his skull.
“ Pol” Tommy breathed heavily, irritation threading through his voice at the reminder of the current state of his marriage. Not because he wanted to distance himself from the mess. But because he'd already made his decision, already resolved to turn this thing between you into something more than an arrangement, to stop running from it, while you remained ten steps behind, still believing he'd spent the week hopping between brothels disguised as hotel rooms.
But before Polly could snap back, and double down on every reason why she'd hauled you two here this sunny Sunday morning, the priest began what would become an hour-long sermon, carefully chosen and precariously pointed.
The sanctity of Marriage.
Blimey. Clearly the gossip had made its way to the pulpit as well.
As each word droned out across the congregation in that same practiced, lifeless cadence, a man speaking on vows he’d never once had to live, Tommy found himself shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Wanting.
Or rather, wanting your attention that was.
Because as the priest spoke of duty and devotion, the sacred bond between husband and wife, Tommy’s gaze, despite himself, kept drifting back to you.
“ Still waiting on that call from Holyhead, Tom?” Arthur murmured quietly beside him, or at least, as quietly as Arthur Shelby was physically capable of being.
“Mm” came Tommy's mumbled reply, eyes drifting back to you for the fifth time in as many minutes, while above him, the priest's voice rose a fraction for those in his flock he found seemingly distracted.
“Marriage, is not a convenience of the flesh nor a passing arrangement of comfort, but a covenant forged before God Himself”
“The Scots are putting pressure on the Liverpool line” Arthur returned under his breath, all whiskey-laced and tobacco-tongued, entirely unconcerned with the holy man now looking increasingly offended by the Shelby side of his congregation.
“ It's handled, Arthur” Tommy murmured, eyes fixed on you sat poised and perfect beside him as he fixed the cuffs of shirt, while the priests rose an exasperated octave above the brothers.
“For in the vows exchanged at the altar, there is no clause for selfishness, nor amendment for betrayal”
“ What did our man say at the docks…”
“ Would you two pack it in” Polly cut through Arthur's hushed whispers with a sharp tongue and even sharper eye. “You idiots would do well to listen”
Told off and halfway to being grounded despite having outgrown shorts by three decades, the two brothers straightened in their seats as Polly shot them one final formidable look.
Feeling the weight of the priest's eyes, his aunt's, and every gossiping granny in a five-mile radius waiting for him to prove Sandra the maid right, Tommy did what any husband under public scrutiny would do.
He staked his bloody claim.
“ Don't fight me on it. People are looking” he murmured against your ear, halting your little grumble before it could evolve into a fully formed growl as his arm slipped around your shoulders while the sermon rattled on.
"It is a wife's sacred duty to honour, obey, and esteem her husband above all earthly men. Not challenge him, but support him faithfully in all things”
Christ almighty. This man was a breath away from a bludgeoning.
Had he forgotten he was preaching to West Midlands wives and not law-abiding ladies of London?
But before you could react and get yourself hauled to the witch's pyre, Tommy did you the service of putting his own two bloody cents in.
“ Here that, darling? Honour and obey. No challenging me” Tommy grunted beside you, as an increasingly dangerous grin began to emerge on his smug face. “You've been slacking on your wifely duties”
Look at him. Thoroughly enjoying himself now he'd finally found a sermon that supported his argument.
The bastard.
But then…
"The Lord asks far more of husbands than obedience. He asks for devotion. Fidelity. Self-sacrifice and patience. For a wife is a fragile creature, to be handled with care and love”
Ah. Now that tasted scrumptiously sweet.
And as Arthur snorted with amusement, like he'd just been informed the Pope himself was making a pilgrimage to the holy land of Small Heath, a thoroughly smug smile flashed across your face now.
“Dont start getting a big head. You're far from fragile, sweetheart” Tommy whispered low and gravelly against your ear, thumb coming up to steal that smile straight off your face.
“ Careful now, Tommy. Handle me with care” you replied quietly, brow cocking in a challenge that looked nothing like a fragile woman, and everything like one looking to pick a fight.
“ Of course there are many ways to honour, or even worship, a husband beyond supporting him” Tommy shifted closer, voice hushed, though not quite hushed enough for Polly to miss as she readied herself to smack the boy into next Sunday.
“ I’m sure there are” you replied in an equally quiet whisper, indulging his little game as you turned your head and caught the mischievous twitch at the corner of his mouth.
This was good. You were flirting. This was flirting, right?
And for one brief moment, it certainly looked like it. Until you opened your mouth and decided to scandalise the entire Shelby pew just to watch your husband squirm.
“Just don't forget, Tommy” you murmured sweetly, as you gazed adoringly into his blue eyes before you went for the kill. “A woman only needs to get down on her knees to worship. A man, on the other hand…”
“ Must bow much lower. Onto his…stomach”
Holy mother Mary of God, girl.
The silence that shrouded you four was almost deathly loud, the kind that rang in the ears, thundered in the heart.
Arthur, bless him, nearly choked on his own breath.
Poor Polly closed her eyes and prayed for the salvation of your soul.
And Tommy, who had faced guns, knives, and the Somme itself, suddenly found himself completely unprepared for the woman sitting beside him.
You had quite literally, dear, taken the air from his very lungs.
And you weren't done.
Because just as Tommy was trying to recover from the racy implication you'd just forged permanently into his mind, you decided to hammer another thought into it.
“ I was thinking, while you were away on business” you leaned into him now, voice warming his ear now.
“See, I might not ever be able to take a lover physically. But I can in…thought.
“ What did just you say?” Tommy's head snapped towards you, his body going rigid beneath the weight of your words.
“ I said, in thought” your voice remained sweet, conversational and composed. “Could be the man two pews down. Could be one of the workers on Arrows Houses grounds. Could be anyone”
“ I have a very vivid imagination” Your eyes drifted lazily around the church as Tommy tracked every movement, every glance that landed anywhere but on him.
“ Enough” he breathed, a one worded command balancing on the edge of a growl as possessiveness flared in his eyes, like he could simply will the words back into your mouth and erase them from existence.
Because here he was, having finally abandoned the easy release he'd sought in Soho hotel rooms. The terms he'd once agreed with your uncle now quietly cut from the contract in his own mind.
His wife had just calmly informed him that she'd live her life fantasising in a way he couldn't stop her. Reach her.
And despite every mistake he'd ever made, despite every hotel room and every act of stubborn self-sabotage, the thought of you imagining anyone but him warming your body and bed, felt like a physical blow.
The rest of the sermon passed in complete silence. As silent as the ride back to Arrow House, where Tommy smoked his way through a packet of cigarettes, carrying the weight of every fuck-up he’d managed to make in the month he’d been married to you.
He wanted to fix it. Wanted to reach for you and tell you he’d worship you in every way imaginable if you’d just forgive him for his own cowardice.
But that’s not how it works, Thomas.
You can’t scramble to salvage the wreckage you created simply because you finally realised you were too afraid to feel anything beyond business.
No. Now Tommy would have to wait. Watch. Endure. For however long it took for you to want something other than the arrangement he’d once so adamantly insisted on.
You’d only made it three steps into Arrow House when the phone in Tommy’s office shrilled, and business came calling.
You shouldn’t have listened in. Should’ve stayed in your wing and kept to yourself, like you’d managed to do for most of your marriage.
But when you overheard his plans to travel with his brothers, not to London, not to Manchester, but to Holyhead in Ireland via passenger ship, all poised politeness drained out of you, and you walked straight into his office, a wife frankly fed up with her husband’s fuckery.
“ You're leaving. Again” Your voice was sharp now, void of any softness or care you took with your words. Because this wasn’t just a weekend away. This was Tommy crossing countries, leaving you, the wife, behind with nothing but sharp words and threatened thoughts of imagined men to keep her company.
“ I don't have a choice” his voice answered differently this time, no sharpness, no constructed words said to placate you. Only regret, and a softness that showed he truly did care.
For as you stood there staring at him, afraid you were about to lose him to someone else’s warmth, Tommy stood there afraid he had already lost you to his own stupidity.
“ It's just business, love” he murmured gentler, quieter. And he meant it, he meant every single bloody word of it as he took a careful step towards you.
But all you heard was something older, familiar. Something inherited.
Words spoken to a woman not so different from you as she stood on a doorstep and watched her husband disappear down the road without looking back.
Words that had shaped your world into something that went so dreadfully wrong once before.
“ That's what my father used to say…”
*I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below 🖤*
[Next Part] coming soon!
Tag list: @imyourlittlechaos @cillianinlove @kmc1989 @awanood
@brummiereader "Twat", "frolicking fuckboy", " little tart", "...couldn't even shag the stupidity out of himself." I'd be inclined to feel sorry for Tommy after that barrage of insults...
But I don't!! He's finally getting a taste of his own medicine with that barb from Y/N about mental infidelity. He clearly hadn't been expecting such an ironic turn of events. Just as he's unable to think of anyone else, she's looking at everyone!
But let's back up to discuss how they got to church. I'm imagining Polly dragging them each by their ear 🤣 And I assume she brought Arthur bc he's always in need of pastoral guidance? All I could think is, he's bored enough to concentrate on business so maybe Tommy should hold all company meetings in these pews!
As always, the humor and wit you infuse into your female leads creates the most entertaining moments. The thinly veiled quip about oral was my fave! Up until then, John or Arthur prob held the title of most inappropriate things said in church, but it belongs to Y/N now 🏅
However, I was most shocked by that ending. “That's what my father used to say…” 🤯 Now I think I know why Richie is hell bent on making Arney's life as miserable as possible! Speaking of miserable, Tommy's uncharacteristically soft tone did tug at my heartstrings. He wants his marriage to work and he doesn't want to disappoint her 🥹
How do you manage to make me hate him, then love him so ardently? Anyway, in case it wasn't clear, I adored this chapter and I can't wait for more tomorrow!
I tried to stick to @zablife American Teenager theme, but even Ethel Cain's brand of sad and miserable isn't enough to bring Jack down lol
cw: mentions of racism,lynching, homophobia, refrences to West Side Story and teen pregnancy
I knew it was love
When I rode home crying
Thinking of you fucking other girls
But when you
Said that you’re in love
I never wondered if you’re sure
Ethel Cain, Dust Bowl
The unlikely couple, the star player of the football team with a future so bright it could blind you and the girl who trusted tarot better than she trusted her handful of friends.
She stood out like a sore thumb when her dad brought her to this small town he lived in when he wasn’t ‘working’. The South wasn’t the most hospitable place for those who aren’t a certain color and certainly those who do not fit a certain mold, but it beat the noise and smells of the big cities even if they had to keep their heads down and stick to their own kind to make sure they didn’t end up hanging from trees like its 1950.
And just like West Side Story, she met him at a dance where she was supposed to be with a boy who her dad approved of because God forbid would happen to her if anyone knew she swung both ways. Jack had been crowned the homecoming king while her name had been submitted as a joke so the obnoxious blonde twat who’s mom accuses her of theft anytime she goes to their store beside him could gloat. Eva didn’t care about it but when the King of the School offered her a dance ‘cuz I always wanted to do this’ she took it and made sure to rub it in her face.
He liked her this whole time, except she didn’t believe him, and after the homecoming ended he spent the rest of the year proving it by never giving her a moment's peace. The witch knew she’d be punished for going out with him, but as long as she didn’t end up being the María to his Tony what harm was there.
She didn’t realize how much she loved him until she began feeling jealous and even threatened by the girls who didn’t give up even when they made their relationship official.
I love you, she’d blurted out when confronted by the boy demanding to know why suddenly she was so angry at him as he drove her home from school.
Took you long enough, I love you too, he’d said with a stupid smile and kissed her stupid while parked outside her house.
My dad’s not home, four words that would get her in trouble a month later when the pregnancy test came out positive.
Still, in this miserable little town Jack loved her and she loved him and unlike West Side Story, theirs was a happy ending.
@julyzaas-writing-blog It's time we injected some happiness into this bleak town so ty for this lovely imagine!! You chose the most hopeful lyrics of hers to draw from and they work perfectly for Jack and Eva! And the moodboard is so sunny and peaceful. I want to live here too 😍 Tysm for adding your talent to the project, Juli!
Summary: While suspicion quietly brews beneath the rafters of Cape Hill Brewery, you and your husband continue your private war on the grounds of Arrow House. But when Tommy returns from London for a second time, you unveil the ultimate act of retaliation, forcing him to confront the possibility that, in your eyes, you may only ever be third in line.
They say keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
But what about family?
Husbands and wives. Parents and children. Brothers and sisters.
What about those tied not by blood, nor rings, but history?
A history that ran deep and rotting beneath the pretense of keeping appearances, keeping order, keeping everything aligned to one man's lifelong mantra.
Composure over chaos.
And where exactly does one draw enemy lines once love, resentment and history begin merging into one another?
Where exactly had connections soured into something barely passing as polite civility?
And where exactly was the man whose rigid rules oversaw a hundred and one men?
Where was your Uncle Richard?
There. Right there.
Up in the rafters at twenty seven, Cape Hill, Smethwick, Birmingham. Stood stoic and still, looking down at one man out of a hundred and one.
Arney.
Your father.
Brothers by law only. Your uncle watched the ease Arney carried himself with, watched charm slip effortlessly into conversation around the huddle of men below.
His men. His workers. Workers that should be minding machinery. A brother-in-law that should be minding his own business.
And above them all stood an old soldier dressed in a three-piece suit, a uniform never truly hung up and forgotten, merely stitched into something different. Something socially acceptable.
And he was watching.
Now, I could make a joke here. One that’d earn a giggle, a gasp from the old biddies, set their tongues a’wagging.
Something along the lines of,
A military man, an Englishman and a Scotsman all walk into a bar…
But with Richie stood there looking the fun sponge to every possible gag I could ever make, we should, for the sake of paying attention, follow that unwavering stare of his instead.
Because that, dear reader, is where every question and every answer you wish to know begins.
Dad knew he was watching.
Shit.
Actually, Arney didn’t know he was being watched. He felt it. A pressure. A pull. Perhaps even a fucking promise. One that made your father stop mid-sentence, glance over his shoulder, and find his brother-in-law staring down at him from his watchtower, with a different kind of ease, one that quietly said…
Finish up and follow.
Your uncle turned without a word and disappeared back into his office, fully expecting Arney to comply with the silent command that had just come down the line.
Jaw working, your father's head swung back around, face relaxing into a boneless smile as he felt the weight of being measured for his mettle beneath the hardened eyes of the Scotsmen.
“ Duty calls” Arney slipped back into that effortless ease to mask the irritation, the frustration of being ordered about by a man who held no authority over him beyond a claim through blood.
“ See that it does” the Scotsman murmured lowly, all Govan docks and Glasgow grit as he rolled a tightly coiled cigarette between the calloused pads of his thumb and forefinger.
Hands slipping into the pits of his trouser pockets, your father gave a slow nod, a subtle jerk of his chin, before swivelling on his Sanders Derbys, heading up the stairs. Up into the rafters.
“ Richie” your father announced himself through familiarity as he slinked into your uncle’s office, settling into the leather chair opposite his desk.
But Richard didn’t sit. Didn’t respond. Didn’t so much as look Arney’s way.
He stood exactly where he had before, still as stone beside the glass window, eyes sweeping over his business, his brewery, and every bastard under his pay until they settled once more on your father’s new friend below.
“ We leave in five” he finally spoke, all calm control, as Arney's eyes followed his brother-in-law’s silent scanning, the merciless sorting through indispensable to dispensable.
“ Right, right…” your father charmed away your uncle’s rigidness, easing deeper into the curve of the leather chair, legs crossing loose as his hand slipped into his pocket for a cigarette.
“ Richie. I was thinking…the deliveries, east into Warwickshire…”
“ Thomas Shelby's solliciter is overseeing the deeds” your uncle cut clean across your father’s attempted offering of advice, eyes fixed on the Glasgow-born worker hauling a barrel of whiskey onto his shoulder below.
“ Right…” your father murmured through a cloud of smoke, idle fingers finding the hand-stitched tailoring of his trouser pocket, and the King George penny tucked deep within.
“ The route into the east though, I was…”
“ We're leaving” Your uncle finally turned, letting the command settle into silence as he stood there watching your father, watching the man who spoke to his workers like he already had an understanding with them.
For a long beat, the brothers bound only by law stared each other down. Arney’s lower gaze strained beneath the unwavering eyes of your uncle holding him firmly in place, as a very different understanding began to seep through the civility between them.
Richie didn’t trust his workers. History had taught him not to trust your father. And he sure as hell didn’t trust himself to stand down from the watch long enough to finally hang that uniform up for good.
The retired soldier hadn’t known a day’s rest since before the war. And as control and composure became the rhythm of his life, he expected every man to fall in line beneath his command.
“ On your feet, Arney”
“ Move”
Mr Paisley was a fumbling sort of man, whether by personality or practice dealing with demanding gangsters, one could never truly tell.
But as he laid out the deeds to Arrow House before you, that shaky hand of his steadied just enough to pass you his silver-plated pen beneath a set of unwavering blues.
“ On the dotted line, Mrs Shelby” he guided your gaze beside Tommy’s scrawled signature, the very bastard in question looming over you like a storm cloud moments from raining on your parade.
That magnificent, spectacular, petty parade of yours, if I do say so myself. One momentarily stalled to sign your name onto Arrow House.
“ What are the terms again?” You queried, a completely justifiable question that was absolutely, irrefutably not asked solely for the purpose of winding the wanker up for a second time in the space of five minutes.
“ If I keel over first…” Tommy murmured, slipping a cigarette between his lips, cupping the flame, the words practically dragging themselves out through a puff of smoke as he took in another heavy lungful. “You get Arrow House”
“ Ah. Yes. Then I look forward to your demise, husband” you replied cheerfully, back straightening as the pen scratched your name into the deeds while a very nervous-looking Mr Paisley glanced between you both with what should’ve passed as laughter, but came out rather squeaky instead.
“ Thank you, wife” Tommy replied just as merrily, flicking ash onto the pristine floor like some bloody hooligan violating his own house rules. “God knows I could do with five minutes peace”
What a simply splendid, premeditated murdering married couple you two made.
Move over Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. The Shelbys were making marital executions a recreational pastime.
“ All seems to be in order, Mr Shelby. I'll have my secretary send copies to your London office for your review on Thursday”
Woah. Hang about. What was that? London, Thursday.
Was the roaming Romeo about to fuck off for yet another bout of fuckery in Fulham?
Yes he was. Yes he absolutely bloody was.
Bastard.
“ London” the capital left your lips too quietly to be a question, too precise to sound like a wife probing for answers.
“ London for business” Tommy clarified...twice “Business”
Once because he wasn't wrong. And a second time, because despite the warring rhythm you’d found with one another, despite the gentle touch you’d once pressed to his pulse to ease him through troubled sleep, he needed the reminder.
Needed you to remember that your union, your marriage, was still a matter of…business.
Your chair instantly scraped back.
“ Leave. Now” Tommy’s voice came out low and absolute, head snapping toward the solicitor as you slowly rose to your feet.
The rest would have to wait. Your uncle’s meticulous eye over the remaining papers now suspended for another day because Tommy needed Mr Paisley out of Arrow House before Mrs Shelby decided poised perfection in front of company was a standard belonging to a past and rapidly pivoting personality.
“ London” you murmured a second time, almost amused. Almost in awe at the audacity of your harloting husband if it wasn’t for the sharpened edge beneath the word as your heels struck marble out in the foyer where an audience awaited.
John and Arthur.
Fan-bloody-tastic.
Tommy needed to contain this before chaos truly ensued. Before you deemed tampered whiskey, Christmas carnage and passive-aggressive agony aunts unworthy of your wrath.
And more importantly, before the two amused idiots he called brothers decided this was one for the Shelby history books.
“ London” the word seemed to climb an octave higher toward one man’s long-awaited oblivion as you spun on your heel, stopped, then marched away. Whiplashing Tommy straight into following you through the foyer and out into the gardens.
“ Arthur. John. Leave” Tommy ordered, though both brothers were already half a step behind him while his eyes stayed fixed firmly on your swaying hips, your rigid spine cutting across the gardens.
“ Nah. Think we'll stay, brother” Arthur’s wolfish grin only worsened matters, forcing Tommy to choose between throttling one of his bastard brothers or chasing after his brazenly beautiful wife currently storming across his pristinely cut lawn in heels.
What an odd little fella. Somebody fetch the lawn mower and give this man a coronary with a two-centimetre-too-short turf.
“Oi. Not another step” Tommy’s voice dropped low, fingers lifting with a cigarette trapped between them like he was barking orders at one of his men instead of his maddening wife whose hand had just curled around a potted marigold.
“ You wanna have it out, eh?” Tommy shifted his weight onto one foot, hand pausing midair as his eyes dropped to the threat of being pelted with a ceramic flowerpot.
“ Come on then, wife. Let's have it out, then” he shoved the cigarette between his lips, muttering through smoke as he shrugged off his jacket, rolling his sleeves like he was about to wrestle you beneath the wisteria.
“ Yeh…I dunno about this, brother. She's looking proper pissed off” John observed from where he’d slouched against the brick wall while Arthur smoothed down his moustache, ready to make a wager on the war currently unfolding in the back garden of a Warwickshire house.
“ Tenner says she's lobs at it him” the eldest Shelby held out his palm, ready to secure both bet and his next brandy down the pub.
“ Done” John shook on it, as both brothers watched your knuckles whiten around the terracotta pot.
“ You bastard, leching little lordling with the emotional depth of a concussed pigeon!” you shouted across the lawn, the colourful and imaginative insult leaving Arthur and John staring on in pure delight.
Well.
You’d finally cracked, dear. Poise and perfection be damned. Might as well commit to it now.
And you did. Rather dramatically, in fact, when the flowerpot went sailing through the air straight at Tommy’s head, he ducked with considerably more finesse than you’d managed upon first launch.
“ You're gonna regret that” Tommy stalked forward, voice dropping low enough to dare you into escalating beyond the petty warfare of the past few weeks.
“ Yeh. Already do…” your voice tightened. Eyes tightened. That wandering bloody hand of yours tightened too around, you guessed it, another fucking flowerpot.
Christ.
“ Because I missed!” you hurled back as the second pot went soaring across the gardens, narrowly missing all three Shelby brothers when they collectively hit the ground.
“We're under fire, men!” Arthur shrilled with barely contained amusement as decades-old training kicked in, years spent fighting in France nothing compared to one furious female with a penchant for launching flowerpots.
“ Take cover, comrades! She's got a swing on her!” John barked through a grin, flipping the garden table onto its side to shield himself and his fellow soldiers from the incoming shrubbery.
“ Enough!” Tommy shot to his feet behind the garden table now repurposed into trench cover, foolish enough to believe his oh-so-scary presence alone might bring about a ceasefire.
And what did he get for his troubles?
Yep.
Another flowerpot.
“ Christ woman!” he bellowed around the cigarette, somehow still clinging on for dear life at the corner of his lips as he ducked back down.
“ Her uncle's gonna turn up any minute, and see I can't handle my own fucking wife. I need a plan” Tommy muttered darkly, squinting through the slats of wood to see his beautiful and absolutely bloody mental wife waiting patiently for one of them to surrender her husband for the greater good.
“ Thank fuck. We need reinforcements. The enemy is advancing” Arthur whispered with the excitement of a man having the time of his life while beside him John had entirely abandoned combat readiness in favour of unapologetic laughter.
“I’m gonna write this in me memoirs” John announced between wheezes, his future book bound to bankrupt Tommy when he'd buy every copy to save his bloodline's reputation.
“Battle Amongst The Buttercups. The Great War Of Warwickshire”
“ Terror comes in flying terracotta.The West Midlands War Over One Wanker's Wandering Cock” Arthur immediately supplied with a snort of laughter, as Tommy slowly turned to stare at both brothers like he was genuinely considering which one to sacrifice first in exchange for safe passage across the lawn.
“ Shut up. The pair of you”
“ Darling...love” Tommy attempted affection, only to make an absolute cock-up of it when he followed with…
“ How about you just calm down, eh?”
Idiot. Absolute idiot.
There exists at least one singular, universal phrase known to mankind that should never, under any circumstance, be uttered in the presence of an already furious woman when your odds of castration are looking increasingly favourable.
And that is, calm down.
Where's that butter knife?
“ What did you just say?” Your eyes narrowed on the garden table, focus sharpening into something dangerous, already armed with more ammunition when steady, unhurried boots stepped into the warzone.
Richie.
Uncle Richie.
Too blinded by the blaze of fury aimed at your bastard of a husband, you were spared the full weight of your uncle’s stare, watching you systematically fall short of every lesson he had ever drilled into you, as you lost yourself to emotion in real time.
“ Put it down” Your uncle’s voice carried across the lawn, calm, controlled. Composure over chaos. Always.
Because where Tommy provoked emotion, your uncle condemned it. And as you turned your head to find him standing still and unyielding at the edge of the garden, your father stood in his shadow, the flowerpot suddenly slipped from your fingers.
Everything went silent.
Slowly rising to his feet, Tommy watched his furious, fire-eyed wife settle back into herself, into that poised perfection he had begun to resent.
That wasn't a composure born of you. It was one that had been taught and maintained. A reflection of the man Tommy himself had learned to become as the version that felt too much, hurt too much, could never afford to be seen.
“ Go inside, and gather yourself” your uncle ordered as Tommy’s hand lifted, as if to interrupt, to say something, to tell him to let his wife breathe, let her feel, when he himself had spent years suffocating under the same form of survival.
But he didn’t. Instead, he stood in the wreckage of your retribution and realised Richie had kept you reserved for a reason.
And for the first time, he asked himself the question he hadn’t thought to ask before…
Just what had his wife survived?
Here we are again.
Look, I won't sugarcoat it for you, darling, but your husband was currently mid-fuck.
Back in Soho, with a Soho girl, having a Soho shag.
Six days had passed since war broke out in your Warwickshire garden, when flowerpots became a form of artillery, where composure finally cracked under pressure.
And now Tommy was back in London for business. Just like he said. Just like he warned you.
Only the release he’d come for was turning out to be more of a chore than a relief.
“ Yes, Mr Shelby” she moaned, each thrust met with rehearsed perfection.
“ Quiet” Tommy snapped, voice clipped, irritation cutting through as her performance became increasingly unbearable.
And don’t doubt yourself, dear. Because it wasn’t lost on him. And it won’t be lost on you either.
For your wedding night, a mere month ago, still echoed in his head. Only then, the sound hadn’t annoyed him. It had undone him. Made him feel something beyond what was supposed to be a marriage of means.
“ Enough” he ordered as he looked down at her properly now. Wrong hair. Wrong eyes. Wrong body. Just fucking…wrong.
With a final thrust he finished, feeling as unsatisfied as he did when he began.
How long was he going to keep doing this?
Proving a point? That he didn’t care?
That he wasn’t affected? That the day he met you in his office, and you gave him nothing, was the day he gave you everything.
“ Get out. Get out now”
As the door to his hotel room shut, Tommy sat in silence and let himself think of Arrow House. Of his wife. Of his wedding night. Keeping the memory untouched now that he was alone with it.
But back in Warwickshire, you sat in the darkened hush of the grand estate, staring out across the grounds, knowing your husband was somewhere in London making a mockery of your marriage under the convenient guise of business.
Petty didn't cover it anymore. You felt vengeful. A woman pushed too far, too long, under one house and one man’s rules.
And what came next would be your grand finale.
God help Thomas Shelby.
Well.
No one was going to stop you.
Not even Cupid, perched somewhere up in whatever heathen heaven he presided over, watching romance like it was sport.
This was either masterful. Or complete madness.
And as Polly, Arthur, John and Finn stood in the foyer of Arrow House with more than forty guests and their plus-ones behind them, none of them looked particularly inclined to be the ones to intervene either.
“ Tommy's gonna lose the plot when he walks through that door, Pol” Arthur murmured low over his whiskey tumbler, eyes sweeping across the preparations unfolding around him while MP’s, aristocrats, businessmen and unsuspecting guests mingled beneath the chandeliers.
“ Serves him fucking right” Finn muttered before Polly could answer, earning himself a sharp clip on the back of his skull from his older brother John.
“ Bitter much, Finn? John hissed quietly, firm hand locking around the nape of his younger brother’s neck before he could slip away from the consequences of his own stupid mouth. “ You’ve been encouraging her all bloody day, you little shit”
“ What?” Finn shrugged him off with barely contained resentment, that Tommy had wed and bedded you before he even managed a second date.
“ Fucks off to London every other week. Should have been me to take her home that day”
That landed. And not a single Shelby missed it.
“ Don't let Tommy hear you say that” Arthur warned, voice lowering, all amusement gone as he fixed Finn's envious eye with a steady look.
“ Why because it's true? He don't even like her”
Ah. There it was.
The dangerous thing about youth and younger brothers that thought they knew the way of the world.
Because with age comes understanding. And the mistake boys like Finn made, and would soon come to learn was, silence did not mean absence.
“ That what you think, eh?” Arthur muttered, frustration with his thick-headed brother bleeding through every irritated inch of him.
“ He just added her name to the deed of this house, you prat”
“ Arthurs not wrong” Polly cut in over her wine glass of Bordeaux red. “ Keep that to yourself. Last thing we need is a battle between brothers over a woman”
“Where is the bloody woman?” John muttered, brow furrowing as his eyes swept the foyer searching for his serpentine sister-in-law who'd slipped away without warning.
“ Standing with the best view in the house” Polly smirked, as her eyes lifted. Then Arthur’s. Then John’s. And lastly Finn’s.
All of them looking up to find not some simpering little wife beaten down by a bastard determined to call marriage business, but a Queen.
And she was about to teach the King a very valuable lesson.
Happy wife.
Happy life.
Wheels crunched on gravel. The lights dimmed.
A car door slammed. Voices quietened.
Boots marched up the stone steps. Bodies vanished.
The front door swung open and Tommy demanded…
“Frances? My wife?”
And the room erupted.
“SUPRISE!”
The band instantly kicked in. Streamers flew. Confetti rained down over him as guests surged forward offering handshakes, congratulations and cheerful wishes of…
Happy birthday.
Yep. That’s right.
Thomas Shelby, gangster, wartime relic, Member of Parliament, had just walked into his very own surprise birthday party.
Two months too early.
This was, quite possibly, Tommy's very definition of hell. A living nightmare where he now found himself trapped into politeness, forced to mingle well into the early hours without hunting down and throttling his fucking wife.
And just where was his dear wife?
Tommy’s gaze swept sharply across the sea of bodies as he suffered through half-hearted handshakes from every bastard in Birmingham who’d arrived for the free…
Was that Fabergé caviar?
The low growl barely escaped him before his eyes snapped upward toward the second-floor landing.
Found you.
And there you stood. A Queen presiding over her court looking utterly devastating, with a wicked smirk ghosting the corner of your lips as you slowly raised your glass of Dom Pérignon toward Don Dickhead himself.
You little fucking…
“ Easy, birthday boy” Arthur moved in quickly before Tommy took it upon himself to empty the house of everyone and everything except him and his wife.
“ I’m going to murder her, Arthur” Tommy muttered, eyes locked on the upper floor as his brother shoved a glass of whiskey into his hands before they found your throat.
“ Yeh, well, it's gonna have to wait. Birthday cakes coming”
And just like that, one enormous frosted monstrosity appeared as the guests gasped in awe at the lavish rosettes and iced ruffles.
Someone had clearly ransacked her husband's bank account.
Well done, darling. Hit him where it hurts.
“ Speech! Speech!” Some overfed toff called out across the room, urging Tommy to address his guests, as your husband's focus stayed entirely on you and your descent down the stairs.
“ Speech…” Tommy muttered absently, sharp eyes sweeping, losing your circling prowl somewhere in the hoard of bodies.
“ My wife? Someone find my wife” the order came down, demanding you be found. For if he couldn’t pull you out of your game, then he'd drag you into his.
The crowd’s heads turned, bobbing as they searched for the missing member of their celebration, when, like something out of a gunslinging western, you emerged through the shifting bodies of party goers.
“ Ah. There she is. My wife” Tommy's voice dropped low and gravelled, eyes narrowing in on your slow approach as his hand stretched out for you.
“Come here darling. Come stand beside your, husband”
Barely within an inch of him, his hand come around your back, clamping over your waist as he anchored you into his side.
“ Thank you all for coming to my surprise birthday party” Tommy addressed the room, calm, controlled composure firmly in place, and a subtle death grip around your waist.
You weren't going anywhere. Not tonight.
He was going to make sure you endured this the same way you’d forced him to endure the whole fucking thing.
“ Of course, I'd like to express my gratitude to my family for helping facilitate this celebration” Tommy continued, gaze cutting across the room one by one to Arthur, John, Polly and Finn. Each of them now considered complicit in the ambush.
“ And finally…i’d like to thank my wife” his eyes dropped to you, held captive by a clamp to your waist as you sipped calmly on a glass of champers. “ Who went out of her way to make this day special for me”
“ You shouldn't have. Really” he gazed down at you, with marital bliss in his eyes…
No. Forgive me. I meant…
“... with murder in his eyes”
“ Make a wish! A wish!”
A chorus of birthday hecklers rang out as the colossal sized cake was wheeled into view.
Hauling you in with him, Tommy held you tight, bending over to blow out his candles, as you murmured quietly through the last tendrils of smoke…
“ What did you wish for, darling? Another woman to warm your bed?”
“ No. For you to behave”
“ Mmm” you hummed fondly, as you locked eyes in a lovers gaze to every else but Tommy's family, who watched in silence as the last flicker of flame died down, all of them aware they were standing on the edge of something none of them could stop.
Your grand finale.
More mingling. More monotoned conversations about money and motorcars. Tommy endured every last bit of drivel these dandies considered interesting, all while his eyes tracked your every movement through the room.
“ Enjoying yourself, wife?” The voice came low behind you, hand sweeping around your stomach as he pressed into your back, anchoring you in place at the grand foyer window overlooking Arrow House’ grounds.
Waiting. Patiently waiting.
“ Having the time of my life, husband” you murmured, laced thick with enough sarcasm to poison the rest of his year into January.
“ Now, listen…” Tommy's voice dropped an octave, grip tightening at your hip as he leaned in, chin settling on your shoulder, breath warm against your ear.
“ When everyone leaves. You and I are going to have a civilised conversation about…”
The words were cut short. Not because of you. Not because of some of eager toff. But because out in the garden came a whizz. Then a crack. Then one mighty fucking bang.
Fireworks. You'd brought fireworks.
Good god, girl.
The room surged forward to the windows in a wave of gasps and cheers as the brightly coloured display lit up Arrow House in all its glory, while the gangster behind you froze into something very unfestive.
“ How much?” Tommy muttered, one breath away from a growl as he watched his money go up in flames.
“ Oh I forget. Lost count after the third nought” you lightly mused, tilting your head in thoughtful reflection. Or what passed as it, that was.
“ Look, darling! There goes another hundred” you gasped in delight as another rocket tore into the sky.
“ Right. That's enough” Tommy turned you sharply in his grip, reaching to put an end to the spectacle when you stopped him mid-pivot.
“ Wait. Wait…the grand finale”
And there it was, in all its horror.
Yours and Tommy’s names, lit up in an obscene heart-shaped catastrophe of sparklers and smoke, an arrow punched straight through the centre like Cupid himself had taken poor aim in a drunken fit of enthusiasm.
Well done, dear. You'd made the chubby little cherub very proud.
“ Look…” you cooed over the sparkling spectacle of pinwheels and jumping jacks currently making a mess of his pristine lawn.“ We're so in love”
“ When everyone leaves. You'll have nowhere to hide from the conversation we're going to have about the rules of this house and your role as my wife” Tommy drawled low against your neck, spinning you with him to face the room.
“ Thank you for coming, everyone” he addressed the guests smoothly, charm slipping back over him like his freshly tailored suit from Savile Row.
“But it's been a long evening. And we're newlyweds” The statement was suggestive enough to earn a few chuckles from politicians, businessmen and the country bumpkins too dazzled by fireworks and free whiskey as they collected their coats and gloves.
“ Arthur, see everyone safely out. Now”
“ Tommy, don't do anything stupid” the eldest Shelby muttered quietly, sensing the streak of madness in his brother after an evening of his wife's warfare.
As the last guest filtered out and the front door of Arrow House slammed shut behind them, only you and Tommy remained amongst the wreckage of your Warwickshire home.
“ I’m going to bed”
“ You stay right there, Mrs Shelby” Tommy turned toward you, shoulders rigid, stance immovable beneath the weight of a conversation long overdue.
“ You knew the terms. You walked down that aisle knowing every one of them. And yet, I've spent the last week being punished for something you already understood” Tommy stalked closer, eyes hardening into those of a husband depleted of patience.
“ This…” his hand cut between you both, to the wreckage of his mansion, his marriage, the entire month of warfare waged beneath his roof.
“ Is a temper tantrum over a business arrangement, you agreed to”
“ No” your voice cracked despite your scrambling attempts to keep your composure.
“My hand was forced to keep your business running. To stop scandal stripping you of everything you’ve worked for while I drew the short straw”
“And now I’m supposed to smile sweetly while my husband disappears to London every other week to warm someone else’s bed while I sit here like a footnote in your fucking ledger?” your chest heaved, heart thundered behind your ribs as you stared him down across the marble foyer floors.
“ Short straw?” Tommy scoffed a laugh, mocking in every way that made your back straighten like steel.
“ You have everything you could ever wish for. And still, it's not enough for Mrs Thomas Shelby, is it?”
“ I didn't wish for a husband that beds women on a bi-weekly fucking rota!” you hurled across the room, wild-eyed and without restraint as fury licked up your spine.
“ Well that's what you fucking got! That's what I am!” Tommy roared, marching toward you hard enough to shake the four walls of your home.
“ I’m the man that pays for everything. Houses, whores…
wives!”
The word hit harder than the rest.
Not because he meant to say it. But because somewhere in the middle of his anger, Tommy Shelby had stopped sounding like a businessman defending an arrangement, and started sounding like a husband furious his wife was hurt by him at all.
Wives. One among three.
The last in line on a list of women Tommy had paid parts of himself to in various ways.
But in what way had he paid for you?
How do you tally up and slap a prize tag on a moment? A split-second decision to save someone from a snowstorm. From scandal. From ruin.
How much of a man’s life should that cost him?
“That's what I am to you? You stepped forward, eyes searching for something, anything, that would tell you otherwise.
“Something you paid for?
Another step.
“One out of three?”
“ This is a business arrangement”
His finger came up with a warning.
“ Third prize?”
“ You agreed to this”
His jaw tightened.
“ Third in line, Tommy?”
A final breach into his space, and your husband snapped.
“ You're not third anything!” the roar ripped through the room, eyes wild, body heaving as his hands held you in place.
“ You're my fucking wife!”
And there it was. A claim as clear as day. Not business, not an arrangement, not the terms he repeated to himself so he could sleep at night. But…
His wife.
*I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below 🖤*
[Next Part] coming soon!
Tag list: @imyourlittlechaos @cillianinlove @kmc1989 @awanood
@brummiereader Darling Brummie, I'm sorry it's taken ages for me to leave comments!
Tbh I left this over as a reward for myself after completing some of the blurbs for my new AU. I can't tell you how excited I was to finally sit and read, tho I had to stop myself from skimming too quickly so I wouldn't miss anything!
First I have to tell you how much I adore the cheeky narrator of this series! I can picture our mischievous little cupid, leaning over to whisper the asides with a devilish smirk. But his comments aren't the only thing giving me fits of giggles, the absolute chaos Y/N unleashes in this chapter was pure delight. The flower pot scene alone!! OMG, the way I howled at Arthur and John's reactions 🤣 A very close second is the fireworks scene when she's adding the amount of each as they explode. And that sarcastic little jab, "Look...we're so in love"!!
However, I hadn't expected the revelations from Tommy when we see the story from his POV. The frustration that he can't replicate the wedding night was both insulting and sort of heartbreaking. (Ofc you can't just get another Y/N, you idiot!! She isn't a pet goldfish 🙄) At least he makes some statement about her importance to him by the end. Albeit, screaming "you're my fucking wife" isn't exactly the declaration of love one would hope for. (We'll give him time to finesse it 😉)
I'm still scratching my head over Y/N's family dynamic. Surely Tommy noticed her uncle's iron like grip of control when they were negotiating her hand in marriage, but he seems to be aware of it's consequences now. That scene in the garden when Richie puts an end to the Buttercup Battle is chilling. And the way Arney knows Richie is boring a hole into his back at the brewery?? 😬 I know it isn't unusual for men of that generation to be stoic, but there's something unnerving about him I can't quite place.
As always, you create such compelling characters I can't get enough of. Off to the next chapter for more🏃♀️➡️
ᴀᴜɢᴜꜱᴛᴜꜱ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ — american teenagers au by @zablife
↳ see Heaven here.
TW: blink-you'll-miss-it ref to +10 age gap and hunting parties.
Amos belonged to a world most people would never see.
Old money. Blue blood. Penthouse apartments overlooking Manhattan. Cigars, martinis, private clubs, diamonds pressure and pure cocaine. He was a man who signed contracts worth more than what most people would earn in a lifetime and he was beautiful as he did. Beautiful in the way Apex Predators were.
However, rumors followed him wherever he went. They were stories exchanged over expensive dinners, about hunting lodges, parties that stretched until sunrise and human being hunted like animals for fun. Something about Amos conveyed the sort of wealth that stopped asking whether something was right and started asking whether it could be bought. Nobody ever accused Amos of anything, though. How could they when his Netflix smile charmed so easily?
At thirty years old, he was left stuck in a dying farm town in the middle of summer because of a blown tire and an empty gas tank. It should have been a minor inconvenience, a forgettable stop on the road back home.
Months later, a woman was dead and a church had burned to the ground. Amos had vanished, and so did the local prom queen. The town blamed him, naturally. That's likely to happen when a stranger rolls into town in an expensive car and eyes like two bottomless pits of darkness.
What is never mentioned is that, for all his money, power and awful habits, Amos had never believed in the Devil, not knowing he might have welcomed it into his bed.
@call-sign-shark Ooh, I see the vision so clearly! In years to come I'm sure townspeople will retell this as a warning to young girls about talking to strangers. Laughing to myself as I think of Hev as the wolf in sheep's clothing instead of the other way round.
I have to mention the deliciously dark moodboard bc there's so many incredible details to take in. The stag head mounted on the wall and the cocaine pentagram are my faves! I'm also loving the titles you chose for your blurbs and moodboards! Your babies fit right into this cursed little town I've built. Ty for letting them come out to play!
ᴘᴛᴏʟᴇᴍᴀᴇᴀ — american teenagers au by @zablife
↳ see Amos here.
TW: blink-you'll-miss-it ref to +10 age gap and murder
You love blood too much, but not like I do.
I am the face of love's rage
She was the kind of girl people didn't know whether to crucify or sanctify. She was the unexpected prom queen coming from a dying farm town, all pale blonde hair, blood scent and sharp teeth. She loved enchanting men to extort money from them, collecting animal bones in mason jars and disappearing into the woods with a rifle slung over her shoulder.
Her mother, a very pious creature whose husband left after impregnating her, was pitied by the other women of the town. Poor Anna Lavey, with her cold bed, calloused hands, and wicked daughter. Heaven, that was what the woman called her hellspawn, had learned how to kneel, smile, and hide the rot within her from an early age. A wolf in lamb clothing.
By her eighteenth birthday, everything changed and Heaven had become something else entirely. A little obscene hurricane wrapped in revealing clothes and cigarette smoke, who left splinters in everything she touched. That was also the year she vanished with a thirty-year-old Wall Street drifter who rolled into town like a bad omen.
One morning, her mother was dead, the church was burning, and Heaven was gone. Years have passed since then, but the old women still whisper about her name. They shake their heads as they recall what her mother used to thell her every Sunday before service:
Go to church, Heaven. Or else the Devil will get you.
And maybe, in the end, he did get her. Or maybe she climbed willingly into his car and called him Amos.
@call-sign-shark Vibrating with excitement that Hev became a resident of my little town!! When you mentioned her as the mean prom queen, I knew she'd be perfect for the job. And I'm in love with the Carrie references sprinkled throughout. She leaves a dead mother and a burning church in her wake?? Fuck yeah! Why do I get the feeling she found a way to pin arson on Arthur btw? 🤭 Tysm for contributing not one but two stunning moodboards to my AU! I'm off to read Amos' now! (Can you hear me squealing with delight?)
A/N: So sorry it took me ages to come with the next chapter. I was almost done but then decided to rewrite half of it. I haven't forgot about the fic and it's still continuing but a bit of life got in the way 🤭 Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Smut, MDNI.
Words: 6.4k
MASTERLIST
They rode in comfortable silence, the horses moving at an easy pace along the narrow path. The wind carried the warmth of the afternoon across the fields but Aurelia was fairly certain the warmth in her cheeks had very little to do with the sun.
John rode slightly ahead at first. Every now and then his horse drifted closer to hers again, like he couldn't quite decide whether to lead or stay beside her.
Eventually he glanced over. There was a smirk sitting on his mouth. "Bit quiet now." He mentioned casually.
Aurelia kept her gaze ahead. "I'm enjoying the ride."
"Mm." John studied her, noticing how she was suppressing a smile. "Could've fooled me."
Her eyebrow lifted slightly. "Oh?"
"Yeah." He answered, shifting in the saddle. "You looked a bit… distracted back there."
Aurelia turned her head slowly. "Did I?"
"Mm." He hummed again, entirely too pleased with himself. "Thought you were the sensible one."
She let the silence stretch a moment before answering. "I was." She answered.
John chuckled under his breath. "Was."
She shot him a look. "If I recall correctly, Mr. Shelby." She dragged out the formal name on purpose. "You were the one who started it."
He grinned broadly. "Did I?"
"You did."
He considered that as he was genuinely trying to remember. "Can't say I regret it."
Aurelia shook her head faintly, though a smile was prominent on her lips. "You're impossible."
"You're the one ridin' out with me." He smirked.
"That was your invitation."
"And you accepted."
She glanced sideways at him. "That may have been a lapse in judgement."
John's grin widened. "Funny way of showin' it."
Aurelia exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head as she guided her horse slightly ahead of his.
John watched her for a moment before nudging his own horse forward to catch up again. "Glad you brought that dress now, are you?" He teased. "Must be hungry after... all the ridin'."
"Oh shut up." She rolled her eyes playfully.
John leaned slightly closer in the saddle, voice dropping just enough to carry between them. "Don't pretend you're not curious."
Aurelia held his gaze until she nudged her horse forward again. "Don't get ahead of yourself."
John watched her ride ahead, a satisfied smile pulling on his lips, knowing this was definitely worth the trouble. "I know a faster route." He caught up with her again. "And I do mean faster. Give them a good run."
"Lead the way." She said coolly, although his teasing had sparked nerves low in her stomach that were impossible to ignore
The ride back slowed as they let the horses cool down and the estate came back into view, the wide fields giving way to the familiar gravel drive that curved toward the house.
Aurelia guided her horse alongside John's, the quiet bustle of the stables returning them gently to reality. John dismounted first, landing easily before reaching up to steady her horse as she swung down. His hand closed briefly around the reins near hers.
"Horse nearly outran you back there."
Aurelia looked up at him, brushing a bit of dust from her riding gloves. "I believe it was you who suggested the faster route."
John's mouth twitched slightly. "Didn't hear much complainin'."
She raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't."
He chuckled under his breath, taking the reins of both horses and leading them inside. He tacked them off while Aurelia tried to help where she could. Eyes wandering over to John now and then, curiously watching him as she finally caught a glimpse of his true self.
When he finished and they both fed the horses some hay, he squeezed her elbow gently. "Come on."
They walked up the gravel path together, the house growing larger as they approached. The afternoon sun had softened now, long shadows stretching across the lawn.
John pushed the front door open and stepped aside to let her pass first. The quiet order of the house greeted them. The faint smell of polished wood and something warm from the kitchen drifted through the hall.
Footsteps approached as Ruth appeared from the corridor. "Mr. Shelby." She gave him a short nod before she looked over at Aurelia, a polite smile on her face. "Miss Aston, nice to see you again."
"Nice to see you too, Ruth." Aurelia smiled kindly.
John nodded in response. "Ruth." He glanced over at Aurelia. "Is the room ready for Miss Aston?"
"Yes, sir." Her gaze shifted politely to Aurelia. "If you'd like to follow me, Miss."
Aurelia glanced toward John. "I'm not staying the night, John."
"I don't expect you to." He answered before he looked at Ruth. "I got this, thank you."
Ruth nodded and turned to leave.
"Come." He nudged his head slightly, gesturing Aurelia to follow him.
She walked up the stairs after him. "John, I mean it, I'm-"
John stopped in front of one of the guest rooms and turned around, making her almost bump into him. "I said, I don't expect you to. But the least I could do is give you some space to change, don't I?" He raised his eyebrow cockily.
She looked up at him, feeling the warmth of his body close to hers.
"Relax." He warned gently before opening the door for her. "Take your time, dinner will be ready shortly."
The guest room was neat and airy, the late afternoon light falling through the tall window across the bed where her small suitcase had been placed next to.
"Okay...yes." She breathed softly.
The warmth of his hand on her waist made her look up again. She smiled and brought her hand to his neck, pulling him down slightly to press a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."
John grinned as his thumb rubbed over the fabric of her coat. "I'll see you downstairs."
She watched how he made his way to his own bedroom, then the room fell quiet as she closed the door behind her. The ride replayed faintly in her mind, the laughter, the teasing, the warmth of his hand steadying hers.
And the kiss.
She exhaled softly and moved toward the bed, opening the suitcase. The dress inside was simple but elegant, a deep shade of blue that suited the evening light. She changed slowly, smoothing the fabric once it fell properly into place before adjusting her hair in the mirror.
By the time she stepped back into the hallway, the house had grown quieter. Following the faint sounds of movement downstairs, she made her way toward the main room.
John was leaning casually against the sideboard with a glass in hand. Sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, waistcoat fitted sharply against his frame and a cigarette resting on his lips. He looked up the moment she stepped into the room, a look that slowly turned into a stare. He caught himself and pushed himself off the sideboard slowly, taking the cigarette between his fingers.
"Bloody hell." He muttered under his breath.
Aurelia stopped at the doorway. "Is something wrong?"
John shook his head faintly as he pressed his cigarette into an ashtray before walking toward her with an ease that suggested he had entirely forgotten the drink still in his hand. "No." He assured her. His eyes moved over her once more, slower this time. "Quite the opposite."
Aurelia felt the warmth rise in her chest under that look. She folded her hands lightly in front of her. "Well." She started calmly. "You did insist on dinner, so I thought to wear something nice."
John's mouth curved again. "Yeah." He offered his arm almost casually. "That, you do."
Aurelia regarded the arm he offered before placing her hand lightly against it. The gesture felt strangely formal for the two of them, considering what had happened not much earlier beneath an open sky.
John seemed to notice the same thing. He smirked lightly as he guided her toward the dining room. "Don't look so suspicious."
"I'm not suspicious." Aurelia replied smoothly. "I'm simply surprised."
"By what?"
She glanced up at him. "The sudden display of manners."
John huffed quietly. "Got plenty of 'em." He replied. "Just don't bring 'em out for everyone."
His words earned a small smile from her.
The dining room was already set when they entered. Candles had been lit, their warm glow reflecting off the polished wood of the table. Dinner had clearly been prepared with care.
John pulled out the chair for her before taking the seat opposite. The two of them settled, the quiet of the house wrapping around them.
A maid entered briefly to pour wine, then disappeared again without lingering.
John lifted his glass slightly. "To surviving the ride." He teased.
Aurelia tilted her head. "That's hardly an achievement."
"You nearly fell off twice."
"I did not."
"You did." He answered calmly, trying to see if she would bite more. "Horse just had the decency to correct it."
Aurelia stared at him. "I think we've known each other long enough that I can see trough some of your manipulation techniques now." She leaned back with a satisfied look on her face.
John smirked widely, not expecting she would call him out like that. "Easy, Miss Aston. I'm just messin' with you."
Dinner began easily enough after that. The conversation drifted through lighter subjects at first, horses, the countryside, a few dry remarks about the people John dealt with in town.
At one point Aurelia mentioned a business matter she had been working on in the city. John listened more closely than she expected, asking the occasional question with a surprising level of interest.
"You enjoy it." He observed, head tilted slightly.
"My work?"
"Yeah."
She nodded slightly. "It would be odd if I didn't. I mean, everything I have was built all by myself."
John leaned back a little in his chair, studying her. "Most people build things so they can stop workin' eventually."
"And what would I do with the time?"
He shrugged. "Enjoy it."
Aurelia considered that. "I do enjoy it."
Her answer seemed to satisfy him before they ate in comfortable quiet again. John's gaze drifted over her once more, slower this time, thoughtful in a way that made the air between them shift subtly again. "You look different tonight."
Aurelia set her glass down carefully. "Is that meant to be a compliment?"
"Yeah."
"It’s a terrible one."
John chuckled. "You looked good earlier too."
"In riding clothes?"
"Mhm." His voice dropped just slightly. "And without 'em."
Aurelia’s eyes lifted to meet his across the table before she took a slow sip of wine. She looked calm but she felt her pulse skip for a second. "You are very bold tonight, Mr. Shelby."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "Been bold all day."
Their eyes held again. A quiet tension stretched between them, lighter than before but not less present.
John broke it first, leaning back again as if nothing had happened. "Drink?" He asked, lifting the bottle.
Aurelia allowed herself a smile. "Just one more."
John topped up her glass before pouring one for himself, setting the bottle aside with a quiet clink.
The candlelight had deepened now that the evening had properly settled outside, the soft glow reflecting off the table and catching faintly in Aurelia's hair when she tilted her head. John had noticed it multiple times as his eyes drew him back to her every single time.
"So." He started, leaning back slightly in his chair. "London."
Aurelia looked up from her glass. "Yes?"
"You ever miss it?"
She thought about the question and shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Sometimes."
John nodded once, waiting for her to continue.
"It's… different." She continued. "Everything moves quickly. People speak like every moment is important."
"And here they don't?"
"Here people speak like they already know how things will end."
That earned a faint breath of a laugh from him. "Fair."
He took a sip of his drink. "You always plannin' on stayin' here? Or do you want to go back someday?"
"I built my company here."
"That wasn't my question."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "No." She agreed. Her eyes wandered over the table, then met John's again. "I'm not certain."
John looked at her quietly. "You don't like not knowin'."
"No. I don't."
He smirked slightly. "Thought so."
Aurelia rested her elbow lightly on the table, chin against her fingers as she looked at him. "You enjoy pointing that out."
"Enjoy watchin' you pretend you're not bothered."
"I’m not pretending."
"Mm."
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're very smug for someone who was half conscious in the street two nights ago."
John's lips parted slightly, the words stuck in his mouth. "Low blow."
She chuckled softly. "You deserve it."
He smiled at the sound of her. "Probably." He drank again, then his gaze drifted over her once more. "Glad you came."
The comment was simple, almost casual but something in his tone was different. Aurelia could tell immediately. "So am I."
The honesty seemed to surprise him. He looked down at his glass for a moment before pushing his chair back. "Come on."
Aurelia glanced up. "Where are we going?"
John shrugged as he stood. "Somewhere nicer."
She watched him walk around the table toward her side. "That sounds quite questionable."
"Hasn't stopped you before." He stood beside her chair, offering his hand this time instead of his arm.
Aurelia looked at it, then up at him. "You're being suspiciously charming tonight."
John gave a small shrug. "Don't get used to it."
The wink he gave her was the last push she needed. She placed her hand in his anyway. His grip was warm and steady as he helped her to her feet.
When she stood close enough, he leaned in just slightly, voice low enough that it barely carried beyond them. "Unless you like it."
Aurelia's breath caught and a soft laugh left her lips. "We'll see."
John's grin lingered as he led her into the sitting room, the door closing softly behind them. The room was warm with the low burn of the fire, shadows shifting lazily across the walls. He moved to the sideboard, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a pair of glasses without asking.
"Here." He said as he handed the glass to her. "Better than the stuff at dinner."
Aurelia accepted it, their fingers brushing briefly. "You say that as if I'm qualified to judge."
"You are now."
She lifted the glass, taking a small sip. The warmth spread slowly, welcome after the long ride and dinner.
John watched her over the rim of his own drink. "Careful, though. That one bites back."
"I'll take the risk."
"That seems to be a habit of yours."
Aurelia lowered the glass, giving him a measured look. "Once again, you invited me."
"Yeah."
"And you're surprised I came."
John smirked and shook his head. "Not surprised. Just… impressed."
"With what?"
"You keep sayin' yes."
Aurelia tilted her head slightly. "Should I stop?"
John let out a quiet chuckle under his breath. "Don’t start that."
She leaned one shoulder lightly against the wall, observing him. "Start what?"
"Pretendin' you don't know what you're doin'."
"And what exactly am I doing, John?"
He noticed how she said his name like it meant something more. He stepped a little closer, glass still in his hand, his expression calm but his eyes sharp with amusement. "Ridin' halfway across the countryside with me. Kissin' me like that… then sittin' here lookin' innocent."
Aurelia raised an eyebrow. "Innocent?"
"Yeah."
"You started every one of those things."
John nodded. "I did." He leaned slightly closer, voice lowering just enough. "But you did nothing to stop it."
Aurelia looked up at him, eyes challenging him as she took another sip of her whiskey. "No."
John watched her before letting out a soft breath through his nose, amused by the way she kept teasing him. "Fuckin' dangerous woman you are.” He finished his drink and set the glass down on the sideboard beside him.
He took her hand and moved toward the fireplace. "C'mere."
Aurelia frowned slightly. "Why?"
"Because." He muttered, gesturing toward the hearth.
The firelight caught the deep color of her dress as she moved. The quiet crackle of the fire filling the room again.
He glanced sideways at her, grinning. "You're smilin'."
Aurelia looked ahead, pressing her tongue against her teeth to stop herself.. "I am not."
"You are."
"That's the firelight."
John snorted softly. "Sure, Ree."
She finally turned her head toward him, the smile still there. "And you are enjoying yourself far too much."
"Course I am."
"Why?"
John shrugged lazily. "Good ride. Good whiskey." His gaze drifted back to her again. "Good company."
The way he said the last part made the air shift again. They caught each other's gaze.
John moved behind her. She felt his hands settle at her waist. He drew her back against him, the warmth of him eclipsing even the fire. He dipped his head to press a slow, certain kiss beneath her ear. When he pulled back, he let his chin rest on her shoulder. "Night's still young, eh?"
The sitting room had grown quieter as the evening deepened. The fire had burned lower, leaving the room wrapped in a softer glow, the kind that blurred the edges. Their glasses sat forgotten on the small table nearby. Somewhere along the way the conversation had faded. It had started with another drink, and another, a few shared laughs and the continuing of teasing remarks here and there.
Now Aurelia found herself half reclined against the arm of the sofa, John much closer than he had been a moment ago. Or perhaps much closer than either of them had intended.
Her legs rested on his lap, his hand on her thigh, warm and steady trough the fabric of her dress. His thumb moving gently as if he hand't quite noticed he was doing it.
"You were sayin' something." John murmured.
Aurelia dragged her attention away from him with some effort. "I was saying that I won't make it too late."
John hummed in acknowledgment, though it was clear he wasn't listening hard anymore. His attention had drifted to her lips, noticing how her lipstick had slightly smudged the corner of her mouth. Probably his fault. He reached out without overthinking it any longer, his thumb gently rubbing along her skin.
His touch lingered and they were both very aware of how close they were again.
John held her gaze, eyes soft but pupils widened.
Aurelia let out a slow breath. "This is a terrible idea."
"Probably." John quietly answered.
Neither of them moved away. John leaned in, their lips met once more, soft at first but the longer it lasted, every careful boundary they had been pretending to keep slipped quietly out of reach
John hovered over her on the sofa, one arm braced against the cushions beside her. His shirt had come open, the last few buttons had given up during one of their earlier kisses, leaving the fabric parted across his chest from where Aurelia's hands had caught it earlier. His waistcoat had long since been abandoned on the floor.
Aurelia suspected she looked little better herself. A few loose strands of her hair fell around her face, her dress had shifted higher where they had moved across the sofa, the dark fabric gathered slightly beneath John's hand as he had moved it up on her thigh.
John's lips had found her neck now, the slow trail of kisses along her skin drawing a soft breath from her that she didn't quite manage to hide. "John…"
The sound of his name seemed to pause him for only a moment. His hand moved slowly from her thigh, along the curve of her side before settling at her waist. His fingers tightened when she pulled him closer.
Aurelia tilted her head back just enough to give him space, her hands pulled him closer by his neck while her breath caught quietly as his lips brushed very carefully along her throat.
When John lifted his head again, a strand of hair had fallen loose across his forehead, his breathing slower but heavier than before. He looked at her and let out a soft laugh.
"You know..." He started, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know what you're doin' to me."
She felt her cheeks heathen up, her hands running down his chest as she softly sunk her teeth in her bottom lip,. "I could say the same to you."
His eyes darkened, lips turning into a soft smirk while he felt a joint of surprise in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah?"
She nodded, eyes not leaving his face.
John's eyes lingered, searching her as if he was trying to understand something.
Aurelia's fingers brushed the back of his neck. "What?"
He let out a huff. "Nothin'."
"John." There was a slight warning in the way she said his name.
His smile widened. "Really. Nothin'."
Her fingers came up in his hair, gently raking trough.
John reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles brushing her cheek. The gesture felt strangely gentle for a man like him.
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. "We should probably call it a night."
Aurelia raised an eyebrow. "Probably?"
"Yeah." He didn't move.
A smile tugged at her mouth. "That doesn't sound very convincing."
John stared at her for a moment, then he chuckled. "No." He admitted. "It doesn't."
He stood and offered his hand. When she took it, his grip lingered longer than necessary. "Come on."
Aurelia smoothed her dress, though the faint flush in her cheeks remained. John ran a hand briefly through his hair, as if putting distance between them might improve the situation.
The soft sound of their footsteps broke the silence of the house as John led her towards the stairs. Once they reached the top, he stopped. Aurelia barely had time to look at him before he reached for her, one hand settling at her waist as he kissed her again. Whatever patience he had been trying to hold onto, finally ran out.
He guided her down the hall. The bedroom door closed softly behind them, shutting out the rest of the house. The room was dim, lit only by the low lamp near the bed and the faint glow from the lights outside that slipped through the curtains.
John's hand was still holding hers. Neither of them seemed in a hurry to let go.
Aurelia looked around the room briefly, the dark wood furniture, the neatly folded jacket draped over a chair, the books stacked on a side table. She noticed the faint scent of tobacco and cologne that seemed unmistakably his. It felt strangely intimate to be there, standing in a space that belonged entirely to John.
When she turned back, he was already watching her. His shirt hung open now. Aurelia's eyes lingered longer on the broad planes of his chest she met his gaze again.
A slow grin appeared on his face. "What?"
Aurlia shook her head. "Nothing."
"Bullshit."
She laughed at his reply.
John took a step closer. "You've been starin' at me."
"I have not."
His grin widened. "Right." The look he gave her made denial feel pointless.
After a moment his expression softened slightly. "Still time to change your mind, you know."
Aurelia closed the remaining distance between them. "That would be terribly disappointing."
John chuckled. "Yeah. Thought so."
He looked at her, ready to lean in before Aurelia beat him to it. Her hand came up to his jaw as their lips connected, making the rest of the room disappear. His hands settled at her waist as he pulled her closer, the warmth of his body drawing her in.
Aurelia's hands slid back to his chest, fingertips brushing across the skin beneath his open shirt before drifting upward around his shoulders to push it off entirely
A quiet hum of approval escaped him against her lips.
When they broke apart, John studied her again with that same soft, amused look he had given her the whole night. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Impatient, are we?"
Aurelia smiled "You were taking too long."
He laughed. "Fair enough."
"You alright?" She asked softly.
"Haven't felt better."
"You sure about that?" Her hands drifted to his belt.
His gaze followed them, before returning to her face. "Yeah."
Her lips brushed softly against his as she worked the buckle free. "Could change your mind."
John exhaled trough his nose, eyes darkening with something more focused. "Could you now."
Aurelia pulled his trousers down, hand slowly sliding over his boxers before hooking her fingers in the waistband to pull it down, freeing him. She watched how his jaw tighten before she slowly wrapped her fingers around his member.
Her hand pumped his shaft gently, while a shaky sigh left his lips as he watched her trough half closed lids.
Her lips left a trail of soft kisses from his neck down to his chest, moving with just enough pressure to keep him desperate.
"Fuck..." A soft growl left his lips.
He watched her lower herself, leaving kisses all over his stomach before kneeling down in front of him. Before he could react, he felt her lips wrap around him, dragging another groan from his throat.
"Ree..." He let his head roll back slightly, eyes closing briefly and his hand in her hair to guide her.
Aurelia kept going. The room filled with low groans and quiet curses for a while until John spoke up.
"Fuck... Stop." His voice sounded shaky, his hand stayed tangled in her hair.
She looked up at him, slowing her pace.
His lips parted slightly. "I mean it... don't." His grip on her hair loosened when she let him go. "Fuckin' hell." A sharp exhale left him, jaw tightening as he looked away for a second, like that helped nothing at all.
Aurelia rose back up slowly, steadying against him and meeting his gaze, while she caught her own breath. "Was it-"
"It's fuckin' amazing, alright." John cut in before she could finish. "That's the problem." He let out a short, rough laugh as he pulled her close again.
A giggle left her mouth as he pressed his lips in her neck. "C'mere then."
His fingers found the small zipper of her dress and unfastened it with steady ease. The fabric loosened, slipping away as he guided her out of it without breaking eye contact for long. His hands found the opening of her bra, unclasping it effortlessly.
"Beautiful." He murmured.
Aurelia looked up at him, cheeks flushing lightly.
John tilted her chin up with a knuckle and kissed her slowly. His hand gently cupped her breast, while his thumb slid tenderly over her nipple, earning a soft whimper from her. His lips slowly trailed down from her neck to her breasts.
Her hand held onto the back of his head, as soft, breathy sounds left her mouth.
His fingers hooked into her panties, sliding them down her legs, abandoning them on the floor with the rest of their clothes.
A startled laugh slipped from her as he lifted her easily, her arms looping around his neck, lips finding his immediately. John exhaled a quiet laugh against her mouth, carrying her toward the bed without breaking the rhythm between them.
Her fingers ran over his toned chest as he hovered over her, the warmth of their bodies drawing each other in.
Aurelia's breath hitched when his hand moved between her legs, slow but certain. Moans escaped her lips as his fingers worked gently on her.
John watched how her composure slipped in small, telling ways she didn't bother hiding from him anymore. He felt her hands slip to his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin.
"John..." She gasped, breath quickining as her hips reacted to his movements.
"Mhm." He hummed softly in her ear as he added pressure with his thumb.
She felt his fingers curl, each motion more intense than the other, hitting every spot she needed him to.
Moans and whimpers became louder while he drove her closer to the edge. Her grip on his shoulders tightened and John felt the last of her resistance disappear. For a moment she could only bury her face against him, as she tried to catch her breath.
A low chuckle left his mouth as he looked at her. "There you go." A low whisper reached her ears, his breath brushing against her skin.
She met his eyes, cheeks warm and hair undone in a way that didn’t quite belong to the careful version of herself she usually showed the world. Her hands slid down his arms slowly, then settled around his biceps.
John's lips parted slightly to make another remark until she caught him off guard by pulling him into a messy kiss. A pleased groan was muffled against her lips when he felt her hips gently moving against his.
Aurelia's nails traced across his skin, sending a ripple of goosebumps over his arms.
"Needy, eh?" He murmured against her lips, voice lower now.
"Yes." Her answer came without hesitation, breath catching slightly as she looked at him.
He watched her before he responded. "Lemme fix that for you."
John positioned himself, hand steady on her waist as the other braced himself on the mattress beside her.
A gasp left her mouth when she felt him stretch her in the way she so desperately wanted. His hips rolled steadily against hers while he let out a low grunt.
Her legs wrapped themselves around him as he served her the delicious friction they were both chasing. She reached for his hand, holding it before she intertwined their fingers.
He took both her hands in his and pinned them above her head while he leaned in closer. His gaze fixed on hers, breathing turning heavier.
John's thrusts became faster and strokes deeper. He watched how Aurelia tilted her head back, eyebrows furrowed while pleasure took over. Her fingers tightening against him as the world narrowed to nothing but touch and heat and the sound of their breathing tangled together.
"Oh fuck... John..."
Low groans escaped his throat before he let go of her hands and grabbed one of her legs, lifting it to rest it on his shoulder while his other hand held onto her hip.
"Mm... Ree." He felt her every move, every shiver, every small gasp and it drove him mad in the best way.
The rest of the house had long since fallen silent. Only the bedroom remained awake, filled with uneven breaths and the occasional creak of the bed beneath them. Nothing else seemed to matter, all that was left was the press of bodies, the rhythm of breath, and the way she kept saying his name like it meant something more every time.
John's back rested against the headboard, one arm draped lazily across the pillow behind him. His eyes lingered on Aurelia as she lay next to him. Her cheeks were still flushed, her hair spread across the sheets beneath her. He found himself looking longer than he meant to
John reached toward the nightstand, his fingers closing around the cigarette case. He flipped it open and slid a cigarette free, settling it between his lips. The metallic click of his lighter broke the silence as the flame flickered to life.
He took a drag and glanced back at her. "Want one, love?"
Smoke curled from his lips as he paused "D'you even smoke?" A faint frown crossed his face. "Come to think of it, I've never seen you do it."
She looked up at him, taking in the sight of the man hanging nonchalantly against the headboard. "Sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
She shifted closer, gathering the blanket around herself. "Usually after a few drinks."
He hummed at her answer.
A small smirk tugged at her mouth. "Or when I've had sex with my boss."
John stared at her for a second, then he laughed. "Jesus Christ." His grin widened as he shook his head. "You've got an answer for everythin', haven't you?"
Aurelia smiled at him.
"Might as well start another round if you keep speaking like that." He smirked.
"I wouldn’t mind." She teased as she moved closer, her hand resting on his chest.
"Course not." John smirked. He took another drag of his cigarette and tipped her chin up gently. Their lips met for a brief, lingering kiss, then he blew smoke carefully into her mouth. "Me neither."
Aurelia let the smoke escape slowly while John watched her. He handed her the cigarette. "I thought I had you figured out by now. Turns out you've been holdin' out on me."
She put the cigarette between her lips, inhaling before passing it back. Smoke curled toward the ceiling as it escaped from her mouth. "Maybe you didn't try hard enough."
John chuckled. "If I was only just as observant as you are…" He winked, putting the cigarette back between his lips.
Aurelia rested her head against his chest. "You know more about me than you tell me."
"Hm." He hummed. "I like to be the observer now and then."
"Now and then." She chuckled and looked up at him. "Of course."
He smiled and took the cigarette from his lips before placing it between hers, holding it until she was done. "I remember you sittin' in my office downstairs for the first time." His other hand came up into her hair, fingers carefully brushing trough it while a grin grew on his face. "And look at you now."
"Oh shut up." She slapped the back of her hand softly against his chest. "I’m not that kind of person."
"Your actions speak so loudly, I can't hear what you're sayin'." He smirked.
She looked up at him, her lips parting slightly. "John!" She scolded, though the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth took the sting out of it. "It's your fault."
"Oh is it?" He stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray. "Is it that or is it because you like me?" His smirk grew wider.
Aurelia held his gaze, feeling a jolt in the pit of her stomach. "Maybe both." She mumbled.
He let his hand rest on her waist. "What was that?"
"I said maybe both."
"Thought so." He grinned and caught her hand between his fingers. The kiss he gave her was slower than the ones before.
"You know." He murmured. "For a clever woman, you miss some pretty obvious things."
Aurelia frowned, as her eyes searched his face. "Such as?"
He grinned. "The fact I took you halfway across the countryside."
A small laugh left her lips. "That's your evidence?"
"Nah." His eyes wandered down to her hands. "Just one of many."
She simply looked at him, the smile on her lips faltering slightly before understanding settled across her face. "Oh."
John looked up at her then, grin tugging at his mouth as he watched her reaction unfold.
Aurelia let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as if at herself. Her body turned to straddle him, arms slipping loosely around his neck.
His eyes followed her movements, until they locked on hers. His hands rested on her waist, thumbs tracing her skin in a way that made her breath hitch.
"I like the sound of that." She admitted, studying his face. "You know... the thing you're not saying."
For once he didn't have a smart answer ready. Just watched her with an expression that was becoming increasingly difficult to hide.
"You're much softer like this." She murmured, noticing the rare absence of walls behind his eyes. Her lips brushed his softly. When she pulled back she held his gaze, fingers soft against his cheek.
His hand settled at the small of her back as he leaned into her touch. A strange warmth stirred in his chest, light and restless, like a thousand wings beating beneath his ribs. He couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him this way. Or made him want to stay still long enough to be seen.
Aurelia held his face gently as she pressed small, lingering kisses across his skin.
John let her.
His hand drifted slowly along her back, his thumb tracing absent patterns. It was then that he realized he hadn’t been cared for like this in a very long time. Not just the soft touches and the caring gestures but the way she looked at him, as though there was something worth holding onto beneath all the sharp edges.
Each kiss seemed to drive the truth a little deeper. She didn't want something from him, had no expectations. She cared.
A tightness rose in his throat, sudden and unwelcome. He stared past her shoulder for a moment, willing it away. Men like him weren't supposed to be undone by tenderness. Yet his eyes burned all the same.
He closed them, concentrating on the steady rhythm of his breathing the sting behind his eyes betraying the calm he was trying to hold. Then he felt her lips brush softly against one eyelid. His hand tightened slightly against her waist.
"Enough of that." He murmured, knowing he wouldn't be able to stop himself if she kept going.
He gently pushed her back far enough to reach for her face, pulling her in. The kiss was immediate and needy, carrying everything he couldn't bring himself to say aloud. And when the ache behind his eyes finally eased, he slowly pulled away.
She looked at him, breathless and smiling. "Damn it, John."
A laugh escaped him as his hands slid down her body. "What?" He asked, amusement in his eyes.
Before she could answer he rolled both of them over with ease in one fluid motion. He braced himself beside her head and let his weight settle, just enough to remind her who was in control.
A surprised sound broke from her, quickly dissolving into laughter.
“I think you deserve something more, eh?” He smirked. His hand brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear before he leaned down.
Their lips found each other effortlessly, while their bodies moved slowly in sync. The room faded into the quickening rhythm of breath and movement, the kind that didn’t need anything said at all.
@peakyltd I'm certain this is how I looked as I read this chapter, Daisy! John is so charming 😍 And I love the flirtatiousness between them throughout the ride and dinner. The playful banter built to an incredible climax in the bedroom (no pun intended).
Most of all, I adored the glimpse of vulnerability beneath John's bravado. I was teary eyed when he got emotional at the end 🥹 He's so in love!! As always, your writing reads like poetry and I never wanted it to end. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go squeal into my pillow 🤭
A/N: Ada and Irene are best friends and maybe something more? Part of my American Teenager AU.
Irene sat quietly at the Robinson's kitchen table, feeling disconnected from reality as her mother explained Ada wouldn't be returning to finish her senior year. Irene began to shake as the rush of blood through her ears muffled the words that came next. Glancing down at the xo tattoo on her wrist, her mind wandered to happier times when she and Ada sat side by side getting inked. Ada held her hand the whole time, allowing Irene to cling to her for support. She wished she could live there forever.
The unlikely friendship of a sarcastic, irreverent brunette and a soft spoken, artistic blonde came to be the year before when they struck up a conversation about music during Study Hall. Their debates about the best bands of all time led to hours spent making compilations of their fave songs to share with each other. Ada's CDs were often untitled except for a cheeky message like "Trust me" scrawled across the front in smudged marker. Irene's were decorated with hand drawn designs and a track list with notes to evidence the thoughtful process behind her choices.
By the time the weather turned cold, they were spending every afternoon together in the warmth of the Robinson's shed, the frayed wire of Irene's earbuds dangling between them. And when Ada suggested they smoke weed to enhance the experience, Irene didn't object. In fact, she silently reveled in the closeness each time Ada would shotgun smoke into her open mouth.
It was around this time she began to wonder if her friend might sense her infatuation as their lips brushed in the haze of smoke or savored the taste of the cherry lollipop passed between them. A kiss seemed inevitable six months ago. Now she learned Ada was pregnant? Nothing made sense. As Irene drifted back to the present, she found her cheeks wet with tears. They continued to flow until the day Ada left town with her new boyfriend.
"Tell me why, Ada..." Irene sniffled, unable to let go when something lay broken between them.
“Freddie loves me,” Ada uttered softly, her brown eyes large and apologetic.
Don’t you know how much I love you? Irene wanted to scream as she watched Ada shove her belongings into the back of Freddie’s car.
Irene banged on the passenger side window as the engine roared to life. "Don't leave," she begged, pressing her hand to the glass. But Ada couldn't bring herself to look Irene in the eye.
“She might be your girl now, but she was my girl first,” Irene thought, as Freddie drove away with Ada, unsure how she’d been left behind.
The title says it all. You hear that Freddie Thorne?! She was Irene's girl first 😤!
Can't believe you broke these two up and my heart...again 😭. I can't imagine an AU or even canon world without them.
Glancing down at the xo tattoo on her wrist, her mind wandered to happier times when she and Ada sat side by side getting inked. I live for these little details. But this one feels like it will be a very bitter sweet one for Irene, everytime she looks at it.
Ada's CDs were often untitled except for a cheeky message like "Trust me" scrawled across the front in smudged marker. This made me snort a laugh. I love how her and Irene are almost polar opposites in everything, but they make it work in their own way that's truly endearing.
Ada would shotgun smoke into her open mouth. So hot 👌🏼.
"Don't leave," she begged, pressing her hand to the glass. But Ada couldn't bring herself to look Irene in the eye. Ada noooo 😭. I've just realised this is on the same timeline as your other series! The emotional wreckage you're doing to my heart right now, Lee 😩.
unsure how she’d been left behind. This right here! Because I'm asking the same thing. They were practically joined at the hip. But I think the big difference between Ada and Irene is, Ada kinda bulldozes through life, and gets swept up into the next thing, whereas Irene is more cautious but long lasting. So it's maybe easier for Ada to keep moving forward while Irene is left thinking when the sudden change happened, If that makes any sense? Which it probably doesn't 😂.
@brummiereader I promise I didn't intend to create an "I Hate Freddie" fan club, but it appears we have matching jackets now so I reckon we wear 'em? 😆
But srsly, you nailed it when you mentioned Ada having a recklessness about her. She doesn't mean to hurt Irene, but she knows she has when they talk by the car. You're also right about Irene's willful ignorance. Ofc she's aware of Freddie, but she doesn't want to think about that until it's too late.
No matter how much I torment them, I do desperately want them to find one another again! Flor mentioned that perhaps Freddie dies and Ada and Irene raise Karl together. Juli weighed in as well, suggesting some song inspo about bffs killing the husband and moving to the country. I have to say, I don't hate the idea of Ada and Irene operating a roadside strawberry stand 💕 Sounds pretty idyllic to me!
A/N: Ada and Irene are best friends and maybe something more? Part of my American Teenager AU.
Irene sat quietly at the Robinson's kitchen table, feeling disconnected from reality as her mother explained Ada wouldn't be returning to finish her senior year. Irene began to shake as the rush of blood through her ears muffled the words that came next. Glancing down at the xo tattoo on her wrist, her mind wandered to happier times when she and Ada sat side by side getting inked. Ada held her hand the whole time, allowing Irene to cling to her for support. She wished she could live there forever.
The unlikely friendship of a sarcastic, irreverent brunette and a soft spoken, artistic blonde came to be the year before when they struck up a conversation about music during Study Hall. Their debates about the best bands of all time led to hours spent making compilations of their fave songs to share with each other. Ada's CDs were often untitled except for a cheeky message like "Trust me" scrawled across the front in smudged marker. Irene's were decorated with hand drawn designs and a track list with notes to evidence the thoughtful process behind her choices.
By the time the weather turned cold, they were spending every afternoon together in the warmth of the Robinson's shed, the frayed wire of Irene's earbuds dangling between them. And when Ada suggested they smoke weed to enhance the experience, Irene didn't object. In fact, she silently reveled in the closeness each time Ada would shotgun smoke into her open mouth.
It was around this time she began to wonder if her friend might sense her infatuation as their lips brushed in the haze of smoke or savored the taste of the cherry lollipop passed between them. A kiss seemed inevitable six months ago. Now she learned Ada was pregnant? Nothing made sense. As Irene drifted back to the present, she found her cheeks wet with tears. They continued to flow until the day Ada left town with her new boyfriend.
"Tell me why, Ada..." Irene sniffled, unable to let go when something lay broken between them.
“Freddie loves me,” Ada uttered softly, her brown eyes large and apologetic.
Don’t you know how much I love you? Irene wanted to scream as she watched Ada shove her belongings into the back of Freddie’s car.
Irene banged on the passenger side window as the engine roared to life. "Don't leave," she begged, pressing her hand to the glass. But Ada couldn't bring herself to look Irene in the eye.
“She might be your girl now, but she was my girl first,” Irene thought, as Freddie drove away with Ada, unsure how she’d been left behind.
@peakyswritings My poor babies, I love them so much, I must torture them in every AU 🙈 To answer your question, I don't think Ada is afraid to show her affection for Irene. Our little heartbreaker is just a whirlwind of chaotic energy, moving from one thing to the next so quickly she doesn't think about consequences. She absolutely has a moment of regret leaving Irene behind, but by then it's too late to back out of her plans with Freddie. As always, ty for loving and supporting my OC! It means the world to me that others are as invested as I am 💗
This is a one shot connected to a modern AU John Esme piece I am working on that's based on thoughts I had about Johns mental health & his own relationship to fatherhood. ( link here - https://archiveofourown.org/works/85656036 )
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
A lively voice broke through the haze of drunken whispers around him, his head shooting up, “Well look who it is!”. The tall muscular man stood openly, arms already stretching outwards. With a groan, the younger, averted his eyes at the recognition of his brother. A trail of alcohol creeping in right behind him.
“Piss off Arthur”, he shifted in his seat. Seriously? Does it look like I have fucking time for this right now?
“Oh come on John boy! Don’t be boring.”, the corners of the man’s mouth stretched out wide mimicking that of a conman. Sizing up the other, how many hits it would take. John’s shoulders hunched down with exhaustion. Yet, with a sigh, he gave in. Standing up he plastered on a smile and performed a simple shrug. A slight apathy still hiding in his eyes.
Arthur gave out a bellowed cheer in delight. Clasping his hands on his brother's shoulder and hurriedly guided him towards the pub’s bar. Banging his hands on the counter as he confidently recited an order as old as time.
“2 Irish whiskey’s neat!”
Arthur turned to face John, “You caught up with dad lately?”, an all too cheery tone for the question. John shot him a glance, his nose wrinkled. Right, a hurt dog doesn’t leave its owner.
“Why the fuck would I want to?”, he shot back. Quickly he turned on his heels, drink in hand. Ready as ever to sprint as far as possible. Arthur’s hand tightly clasped itself on his arm. Squeezing him back in. A dumbfounded look was etched into his brother's face. Rolling his eyes he shook off the iron grip. Carefully marching his way through the drunken crowd. Arthur hurriedly followed behind.
Suddenly John halted to a stop. Swiftly he turned, “Fuck off Arthur.”, his breathing ragged with contempt. Still not getting it. Staring down at his brother his eyes narrowed. “Sorry that I have a fucking brain eh? That I can see what he’s fucking trying to do.” John barked. Arthur’s smile dropped.
“You’re being unreasonable John. He’s changed, I know he has.”, he took a step forward, “If you just talked to him you’d-” a loud crack as John’s fist collided straight into his brother's jaw. Arthur stared back in disbelief. Blood filling up his mouth. With a gruff look he spit it out.
“You going to hit me back? We both know you want to eh? The apple never falls far from the fucking tree.” John jeered. The older brother’s fists clenched, shallow breaths as he tried to push the rage back in his throat. With a sigh John knocked back the rest of his drink, his body swaying as it moved towards the bathroom.
“He’s fucking changed.” Arthur said through gritted teeth. With a sudden hurriedness he lunged forward. Gripping John’s shirt and pushing him against a wall. John suddenly froze. A sudden peacefulness to his face, acceptance almost. Narrowing his eyes Arthur looked at his brother with sudden disgrace. The two brothers stared at each other for a moment, one fast one controlled.
Then John flung his head forward smashing it against Arthur. He stumbled back as his body wobbled. A fury lit within him. Crowds began to pause, murmuring whispers, forming a circle around the two. Punches were flung around as sweat went flying. Arthur stumbled forward as John ducked around and under the punches.
Finally, a barman cried out, “Oi! Stop or get out of here.”. With a halt the boys finally paused. Their breaths heavy. Disheveled hair held up with sweat. John’s eyes were glassy as he took in what he had done. Stumbling back he bolted into the bathroom. A cubicle door slamming shut.
Arthur instantly chased after him. Calling out the younger boy's name with caution. Shit. Too far. Fuck, too far. The sound of hurried paced steps made their way through the locked door. Arthur hesitated right by the sinks. Conflict working its way through his brain.
“Why?”, he finally croaked.
“Go.”, a broken out cry, “Please.” Arthur let out a deep sigh. Solemnly he sulked back away, each movement sending a hurling reminder of tonight’s events. Secretly, and not without guilt, he sent out an alert. His fingers twitched as each key was pressed. With a slow deep breath he freed himself of his own guilt, sharing it is easier is it not?
A strangled cry escaped John’s throat, another door slammed. John thrashed his fist into the stall door. Pale white flesh of his knuckle ripping apart against the cool hard plastic. A steady stream of tears had begun to flow freely. At least he knows how to forgive. A dull buzz rang out through his pocket. Fuck. The date.
It had taken John & Esme a year to finally admit that it had never been casual, for either of them. They were to be finally celebrating a month that night. John lurched over to the porcelain seat nearby. An ache grew from his stomach as its very few contents spilled right out. “Missus Twat”, light of the screen burning his eyes, shakily he accepted.
“Hey, you ready?”
“Yeah, about that actually.” John let out a muffled wince as he moved, “Already at the Garrison, me and Arthur got into a thing.”. Esme let out an agitated swear. The pitch of her voice raised ever so slightly. John carefully cut Esme off, “It’s not that big a deal alright. Just a little disagreement, you can meet me here.”, he argued.
The explosive sound of shrieken singing came bursting out, John winced. Mumbling apologies to Esme he pulled away. Attention turned to the familiar shoes that stood at the door. Arthur. Can’t get worse from here can it?, “Let me guess Arthur sent you.” he accused. A high pitched squeak broke the silence as John unlocked the door painstakingly slowly.
John couldn’t look Thomas in the eyes, staring off to the side as shame coursed through his veins. Thomas’s brows furrowed as the pieces of John’s appearance clicked in his mind. He tilted his head towards the sink. John trembled as he awkwardly limped forward. Resting himself up against the sink. Thomas returned with the first aid kit in hand. His eyes flickered to and from John. Clusters of his skin had already mottled. Shades of purple, green, blue blooming out from under. Thankfully, the bleeding had slowed itself already. Coagulated clumps remain on his knuckles, bits and pieces smeared throughout his hair.
With a cough Thomas caught John’s attention. The grovelled tone of voice shook something back into place.
“It’s going to sting.”, an absent nod. John winced through his teeth as the wipe gently ran across his skin. Thomas took it all in. The glassy eyes, clenched jaw, sharp breaths.
“You miss her?”
John finally dared to look at Thomas. His eyes were narrow, a command. Yes. “It’s fine.” Thomas took in a sharp breath. They had been here before. “Don’t give me that shit John,” his voice suddenly apprehensive, “we all miss her.” The room fell into silence as Thomas carefully inspected the rest of the boy's wounds. Don’t. They don’t get it. Not like this. Thomas took his time carefully wrapping the bandage around John’s knuckles. Everything about him was all too composed for a place like this, a night like this. “At least now Esme won’t lose it when she sees you.”, he teased.
John ran his hand over his face, exhaustion taking over. “Yeah.” His eyes darted around the room. Thousands of possibilities ran through his head, racing to plan out the solution for each. Make the blow into as much of a gentle touch as he could. Thomas clicked his tongue.
“How ‘bout we get you a drink then? That’ll help,” he instructed. John aggressively nodded his head. He bolted up, staggered his way right back to the bar. Thomas carefully drifted through the crowd after. Cold blue eyes, burning a hole directly into John’s head. It didn’t take him even a second before a first shot was ordered, and downed. Thomas clapped John on the shoulder as he coughed. Signaling to the barman for another round.
At the clicking sound of kitten heels, John whipped around. “She’s here,” If any god exists please save me now. Esme bolted forward, her hand grasping John’s jaw. The man winced as he was posed around for her inspection. He scanned around for his brother's backup only to deflate, none to be found.
“What did you do?”, fuck, “Nothing.”
Esme raised her eyebrow, fluent in his language, John gripped her wrist. Carefully he led the way to their spot. Esme sat up straight in the booth. Her arms crossed carefully around her chest, her shield. John looked down at the table. Carefully he tried to steady his breath. Esme’s brows furrowed, Don’t look, her hand gliding across to his. He raced his hand into hers. All of his weight tunnelled into his grasp. Dying men will still grasp for a lifeboat.
“Arthur thinks I need to catch up with ,” his voice cracked, “our dad.”
Esme squeezed her hand back. “Get what he was doing but, fuck, today of all days.”, there was no light left in the boys voice. Esme shifted herself closer towards John. She rested her hand on his cheek, gentler than before, with admiration in her eyes.
“You could have called me-.”
“No, you don’t really want that Esme,” his head peeled away from her hand. The look in her eyes crumpled, Remember, she doesn’t know. If she did she would agree. Don’t fuck this up, or at least try to not fuck it up more.
“Just leave it. It’s our anniversary. Got plans for us tonight,” he teased.
“What, so I can kiss you better? Esme batted her lashes, a subtle smirk on her lips. “That could be arranged,” he hummed. John grinned wildly as Esme turned back, searching for a nearby spot. Esme released a gasped moan, John's body slinked around the table as their lips met. Pulling his head into her hands she pulled them to the bathroom. Their bodies tangled together on the way. Abruptly Esme pulled them away into a stall. A hypnotic look on her eyes, “Come get me.”
John dived in. His lips met Esme’s with passion, a soft hum escaping her lips. John grasped Esme’s waist. Pulling her body taut against his. She let out a soft gasp as her back met with cool plastic. John gently lifted her leg up, the heel of her shoe scraping against his back. Frustrations from the night melted away as his mouth began to travel down her neck. Esme’s nails scratched against his head. Slowly he went further and further down, sinking lower onto his knees. Esme whined as John’s lips pulled away. She melts with a sigh as his fingers graze exactly where she needs them.
“Oh you like that don’t you?” Esme nodded furiously. John darted his tongue out against the center of her legs. Her hands tugged at his hair, leading him exactly where she wanted. John stilled his tongue as Esme rutted herself against his mouth. His pupils were blown wide as he watched her in a haze of his own pleasure. The fog of fury was lifted into waves upon waves of pure euphoria. Esme’s deep brown eyes met his, her breath just as wild as his, and he dove in with fervor. Moans and gasps of delight breaking out through Esme’s breathy laughs. John gripped her thigh, her breath hitching.
He nibbled just below where she craved him, he stared at her sweetly. The gentle boyish charm that made him hers shone brightly in his eyes. “What do you say we take this elsewhere? So much left to do. “ Esme smirked, she knew she should be mad but this always was more fun. John let her be wild, he reveled in it. Esme ghosted her heel around the tightness in his jeans. He let out a sharp curse, hips bucking. Esme teased, a sly smirk as she made a show of her exit. John pushed himself up, wincing with the reminder from before, darting himself right after Esme. A smirk of his own right where it belonged.
This was good! You really depicted the violence and self destructive habits of the brothers so well. Arthur's faith in their dad always breaks my heart, and John's self destructive mentality sucks me in.
I will definitely need to hop onto your AO3 for more!
@scruffydogyap I agree with Ginger that this feels spot on for the brothers! Their emotions live right at the surface waiting to explode, which is exactly how John reacts to Arthur. You created such a lovely contrast with Tommy's composed demeanor. It reminded me of the S1 scene when he's counseling John. However, the detail of him being too calm for the situation was a clever addition bc we know he's always anxiously recalibrating everything in his head. And I can't forget Esme's cameo bc the feisty part of her personality is so well balanced with the tender affection she holds for John. I'm sure he forgot all about his father by the end of the night!
A/N: Tommy struggles to break free from small town life and his father's shameful legacy. Part of my American Teenager AU.
Tommy's boots thudded across the weathered floorboards, avoiding the picture on the wall he feared he was coming to resemble too closely. He stuffed his bruised knuckles into his jacket, turning his pocketknife over in his hand absently. Then he barreled out the front door to get a jump on the Kimber boys lying in wait.
It had never been in Tommy's nature to be violent, but his father always demanded it, deriving twisted pleasure in pushing his boy to fight back. "If they strike once, you just hit 'em twice as hard," the ruthless patriarch would say, a glimmer of light escaping the dark abyss of his eyes. It was the same sickening look of satisfaction that came over him when he was butchering a deer or watching their mother cower in fear of his ringed hand.
Tommy's senior year of high school was spent waiting for the day he'd escape, the same as his brother Arthur had done two years before when he enlisted in the Army. "M not gonna die in this fucking house," Tommy told his siblings and he meant it. It didn't matter that his father had been in prison for four years, awaiting lethal injection. They all expected Arthur Sr. to walk through the door any time, having made a pact with the DA or the devil.
In the end, he never did, but somehow the scandal left in his wake was worse. Girls in town weren't allowed to spend time with the Shelby boys. The fevered murmurs rose whenever Aunt Pol brought them to church. "The man beat his wife to death. You're a fool to think it isn't in their blood too!" Then the choir would sing a heartfelt tune about forgiveness, but all Tommy ever heard was "God loves you, but not enough to save you."
Lizzie Stark was the rare exception. Unafraid of the terrible rumors, she openly pursued Tommy. "I'm never gonna leave you," she promised every time he pressed her into the old worn mattress. She would have followed him across every state line, but he left her waiting four long years without a word.
@zablife this one felt so much darker than the others you've written so far with Arthur Sr. story mixed into it.
avoiding the picture on the wall he feared he was coming to resemble too closely. And I truly think this was always a fear of Tommy's. It's a gutting realisation when you see yourself slowly morphing into someone you resent 😬.
It had never been in Tommy's nature to be violent, but his father always demanded it, deriving twisted pleasure in pushing his boy to fight back. Gosh, I love how you've explored where that violence in the siblings likely originated from. It was literally taught and undoubtedly beaten into them. Very hard thing to change the course of how your life started. Even harder to battle against it when you're not violent by nature. Poor Tommy 😔.
It didn't matter that his father had been in prison for four years, awaiting lethal injection - "The man beat his wife to death. You're a fool to think it isn't in their blood too!" God 😬. That's an horrific event to follow you through your child and teen years. Like, can you ever really escape the gossip and scandal of that? And it looks like they all tried to in different ways.
Lizzie and Tommy are cut from the same cloth. And the fact that she was the only one to not join in with the towns gossip, speaks volumes about her character ❤️. Because at the end of the day, the Shelby's lost their mum too.
@brummiereader Yeah, I really leaned into his dark side here, imagining the absolute worst based on what we know from canon. The scene where he fights Arthur has never left my mind bc he's so brutal. It didn't seem like a leap to imagine him losing his temper with his wife and beating her to death. I honestly can't imagine what that would be like for his children to process. I'm not sure Tommy ever does. I imagine he avoids sentimentality about Lizzie's kindness bc he fears the rage that could be lurking inside himself. And if he thinks he has an ounce of his father's cruelty within, he would try to keep his distance. (Ofc that's a bit difficult when they're fucking, but Tommy is good at compartmentalizing.) Tysm for reading, Brummie! Reading your insightful comments always makes my day ☀️
