Chapter 16 - The Babysitter (Save Me, Save You)

Chapter 16 - The Babysitter (Save Me, Save You)

Summary - With the wives officially on lockdown, everyone tries to get by the best that they can. Some better than others, of course.

Chapter warnings - stitches, threats of violence, explicit language, alcohol use, guns.

A/N - this unexpectedly became one of my favorite chapters to write. A couple sweet little moments before shit really hits the fan ❤️

Series Masterlist

Tag list - @celtic-crossbow @rosegoldrosieee @heidiland05 @princesssparkle2024 @spectacular-skywalker @itwasntaphasema @duckybird101 @skulliecadaver-blog

At the sound of your name, you startle awake. Your eyes immediately look to the stack of books on your nightstand, and spot Wild Pursuits: A Comprehensive Exploration of the Arts and Ethics of Hunting safely still on the bottom of the pile. You exhale a breath of relief, before turning to whomever rudely interrupted your sleep. It’s Tanya and Frankie, of course.

“What?” you ask, not very kindly. You had stayed up late last night, trying to scrub the feeling of Negan’s hands off of your skin unsuccessfully before tossing and turning for hours, only falling into a restless sleep when the sun was already creeping up. 

Tanya shushes you while climbing onto your bed. Frankie is behind her, peeking out the bedroom door.

“You’ll never guess who’s on babysitting duty today,” Tanya whispers conspiratorially.

“Who?” you ask, sitting up.

“Come look for yourself,” Frankie shoots from the door. 

Throwing your covers into a giggling Tanya’s face, you quietly pad over to the door, crouching below Frankie to sneak a look into the living room. Through the small crack, you immediately spot him: in the same chair as last time sits Daryl, one arm resting along the top of the chair and the hand of the other cupping his chin, watching. As if sensing you, his eyes flick towards the door, and you quickly fall away, out of his sight.

“Right?!” Tanya chirps, taking your place at the doorway, peering out.

“I wonder what he did to get stuck with us,” Frankie muses. “Doesn’t he have more important things to be doing?”

“It’s probably because of his injury,” you respond, thoughtfully. Both of the women’s heads snap towards you.

“So that’s who you were late-night doctoring!” Tanya nearly squeals. You try to whack her with the back of your hand but she rolls out of your reach. She stands up and grabs Frankie’s arm. “We’re going out there,” she says to you. “Hurry up and get dressed before we take him from you.” Then she pushes Frankie out the door, while you sit there, rolling your eyes at them.

By the time you walk out into the living room - wearing a simple black tee-shirt dress, hair loose and flowing over your shoulders - breakfast had arrived. Apparently Negan didn’t trust the wives to get themselves food anymore, so a platter of eggs, toast, ham, and fruit sat on the bar, accompanied by multiple cups of coffee. Tucking your random book you grabbed from your pile under your arm, you take one of the coffees and shove a piece of toast in your mouth before moving to one of the couches. You curl into one of the corners, conveniently right across from where Daryl was sitting. You don’t look at him, but you can feel his eyes on you. Instead, you open your book and settle in, only half paying attention to the scene around you.

The rest of the wives are helping themselves to the breakfast spread. Frankie and Tanya make their plates and move to sit on either side of Daryl, who accepts their presence with mild disinterest. 

Not to be discouraged, Tanya leans in towards him and asks, “Can I make you a plate, Dixon? There’s more than enough for all of us.”

“No thanks,” Daryl responds politely.

This is how most of the day goes by.

“Dixon, we heard you got hurt. Is there anything we can do to help?”

“‘m alright.”

“Want me to rub your shoulders? I used to be a massage therapist, ya know.”

“No thanks.”

“Hey Dixon, I’m gonna grab a drink, want anything?”

“Nah, ‘m good.” 

You can almost feel Daryl’s discomfort as your sister-wives - the voice inside your head makes a gross barfing sound - throw themselves at him.  You try to hide your smirks behind your paperback, but the low, scoffing sound from across the room tells you that he sees them anyway. 

Probably in an attempt to discourage them, Daryl takes to sharpening one of his hunting knives. He frowns, however, when this only interests them more.

“You must be so good with those, since you take such good care of them.”

“‘m fine, I guess.”

“Can you show me how to do that?”

“Nah.”

“Come ooooon.”

“Don’t think your husband would be happy ‘bout that,”  Daryl says, scowling at them.

When Tanya lets out a loud “hmph!” you can’t hold in your laugh. This draws all three sets of eyes to you, where you sit attempting to read, one hand fiddling with the stitches on your forehead.

“Quit picking at those,” Daryl snaps.

You immediately drop your hand. “Sorry,” you mutter. Frankie and Tanya stare at you, mouths agape. Cheeks burning, you busy yourself in your book again, and they eventually lose interest in you and go back to pestering Daryl. 

By midafternoon, after lunch and several more attempts from Frankie and Tanya to engage him in conversation, another Savior enters the living room, relieving Daryl of babysitting duty. He gives each of you a quick nod before leaving the room. The new Savior - the young kid, Alden - takes up his seat by the door, apparently boring the two wives sitting nearby because they grab their things and move to sit by you instead.

“He’s a tough nut to crack,” Frankie murmurs under her breath, stealing a glance at Alden to make sure he didn’t overhear.

“How did you do it?” Tanya asks breathlessly.

You just shrug. “I didn’t do anything.” This earns you a glare from the two women.

Before they can press you further, Arat appears in the doorway, calling your name.

“Let’s go,” she orders.

“Where are we going?” you ask, rising from your spot on the couch. You can feel Frankie and Tanya exchange a glance around you.

Arat smiles a nasty smile. “Doctor’s appointment,” she says, sneering as you approach her.

“What-“ you start to ask but you don’t get to finish as she grabs your arm and pushes you out the door.

Stumbling once but regaining your footing, you start making your way to Dr. Carson’s old office, trying not to give your escort a reason to shove the barrel of her gun into your back. Along the way, you have to press yourself into the wall to make room for a handful of Saviors carrying crates through the hallway. You try to crane your neck to see what they have, earning you another push from Arat. Glaring, you continue walking towards the doctor’s office, not sure what you were going to find there.

To your utmost surprise, when you reach it, you are met by Dr. Carson. But not the one that you are used to seeing here: inside the small office, unpacking a box of supplies, is Hilltop’s Dr. Carson. A gasp escapes your lips before you can catch it.

At the sound he turns around. “Ah,” he says, putting down the box of bandages in his hand. “My very first patient here.” He leans over, looking past you to Arat. “Thank you, you can leave us.”

“Not a chance,” she spits. “Wives are under watch, Negan’s orders.”

“Not in here, they’re not,” the new Dr. Carson says casually. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, ya know.” When Arat doesn’t move, he continues, “You can wait outside if you must.”

Scoffing, Arat glares at both you and the doctor before stepping out the door and slamming it closed. 

Still bewildered, you just stare at the doctor.

“I know,” he says. “I didn’t expect to see me here either.” He sighs, looking down. “I just found out about my brother today.” 

Realization hits you like a ton of bricks. “I’m so sorry,” you say softly.

But he just waves you off. “It was a matter of time,” he says sadly. “Especially with these people.” An awkward silence falls between the two of you. Breaking it, he claps his hands, declaring, “I hear you have stitches that need removing.”

“How-“ you start to ask but stop yourself. Daryl, you think, smiling. Typical. He must’ve run into the doctor after leaving your room. You nod to Dr. Carson, who motions to the patient table.

You sit on it, and watch as he prepares to take out your stitches, a million questions running through your head. How did you end up here? Is everyone okay? What about Maggie and the baby?

But it turns out that you don’t have to ask any of them. Gloves on, he moves in close, inspecting his brother’s work. When he begins to snip at the stitches, he answers your unspoken questions.

“She’s okay,” he whispers, barely audible. “So is the baby.” He turns, placing the discarded stitch on the tray he had pulled over. “Rick and a few others have visited the Hilltop.” Your eyes widen as he drops another stitch onto the tray. “They’re planning to fight.” 

Relief overwhelms you. Tears prick your eyes, but not wanting to disturb the doctor's work, you let them pour down your cheeks. They’re coming for me, you think to yourself. I’m going to be saved.

‘But what about Daryl?’ the small, forever pestering voice in the back of your mind asks. ‘Will they save him too?’

Yes, you tell the voice. They have to - they know him, they’ll save him from Negan’s grasp too.

‘Will they?’ the voice presses, doubtful.

They will, you continue. If they won’t, then I’ll make them. 

While you were arguing with yourself, Dr. Carson finishes removing your stitches. “All done,” he announces, sitting back to remove his gloves. “You’ll have a little scar, but nothing too bad.” He holds up the small mirror so you can see. Pushing your hair out of the way, you see the cut, now closed up and healing, and it makes you think of the scar Daryl has in his hairline as well. Matching again, you think, smirking.

Looking away from the mirror, you whisper, “Thank you.” Meeting his gaze, you try to show him that you are grateful for more than just the stitches.

“Thank me when we’re out of here,” he replies understandingly, patting your hands before standing up to open the door. Arat leans against the opposite wall, scowling. “She’s all yours,” he tells her. 

Without a word, she nods at you, and you follow her back to your rooms, mind reeling at the thought of your impending rescue. What is the plan? If anything is true about your people’s plans, they always started one way, then shit hits the fan, and then you have to improvise. What can I do to help from the inside? You already know Eugene was not sent here to deliver you a message, asshole that he is. Was someone else going to find their way into the Sanctuary? 

The next few days carry on with little excitement. Daryl’s been assigned to babysitting duty again each day, and Frankie and Tanya continue their quest to gain his favor to no avail. Meals continue to be delivered to the wives quarters, so you all have been confined to your living room or bedroom the whole time. The only exception to this was when Negan would send for one of you each night. You are grateful that he hasn’t called for you since the day he took you outside and then fucked you in the war room.

Daryl was still refusing to let anyone touch him or his wound but you, so you had to check his stitches and change his bandage in the small bathroom just off of your bedroom. You managed to sneak a few kisses but little else, with Frankie and Tanya talking loudly right outside the door, much to your chagrin. 

“They don’t quit, so they?” Daryl had asked while he held you, snuggled into his chest.

“No they don’t,” you answered him, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re like a shiny new toy to them, ever since you took me as your ‘reward.’ They’re hoping you’ll take one of them next.”

“Oh really?” he replied, chuckling. “Should I?”

You had pulled away, glared at him and said “I’ll kill you AND them,” which only made him laugh more. “I’m armed now, remember?”

“Yeah yeah,” he said, smirking, before pulling you back in for another kiss.

Were you being smart, carrying on like this with those two nosey women right outside the door? Not at all. But you craved Daryl like he was the air your lungs needed, and you couldn’t give up the opportunity to be with him, no matter how short or risky it was. 

Daryl wasn’t the best at expressing himself with words, but he had his ways of showing you how much he needed you too. His gaze frequently fell upon you, eyes flickering to wherever you stood over the shoulders of whomever was speaking to him. His hands found you, trailing up your side whenever you passed and taking up residence on your waist when he stood beside you at the makeshift bar. In your small moments of solitude, he held his forehead to yours, as if trying to press all of his unspoken words and feelings into your mind. You quickly learned the language of his eyes and his varying grunts. The stoic man was surprisingly easy to read, if one simply paid attention. And the more you did, the more of him you needed.

By the third evening of lockdown, everyone in the wives’ quarters was growing restless, even the Saviors stuck babysitting. Gary, the hotheaded, trigger happy one, was so pissed about being stuck in there that he got shitfaced at the bar, eventually falling off of his barstool. Negan was furious, and had him dragged out by his feet, and poor Alden had to take over for him again. Alden was young and a little naive, and the other wives quickly took advantage of that fact.

“Where are you going?” he asks Frankie and Tanya, who are making a beeline for the door.

“To Eugene’s room,” Tanya replies, unconcerned.

“But you are all supposed to be under supervision,” Alden tries to argue back in a small voice. The exchange has captured the attention of all in the room. You watch from your spot at the bar, as Lauren and Dawn peer over their magazines at the young Savior.

“That’s what Eugene is for,” Frankie shoots back, rolling her eyes.

“But Negan-” he starts but she doesn’t let him finish.

“Who do you think ordered us to go?”

“I- uh.”

“You wanna ask him yourself?” Frankie challenges him, staring him down. 

Alden flinches under her cool gaze. 

Smirking, Frankie takes Tanya’s arm and they leave the room.

You watch Alden slump back into his seat, appearing crestfallen. You quickly find the least repulsive whiskey behind the bar, pour a generous amount into a glass and bring it over to the kid. You hold it out to him, and he looks up at you with wide eyes before taking it.

“Don’t take any of that personally,” you tell him. “They’re like that to everyone.”

“Thanks,” Alden replies gloomily. He takes a sip of the drink, grimacing. You look at him apologetically before returning to the bar. Atop it sat a glass of wine for yourself and your journal, which you regrettably have not spent much time writing in since your arrival here at the Sanctuary. You were working on a detailed account of your time here and everything that you’ve learned about Negan and the Saviors, in case it came in handy later on. You did, however, leave out the specifics of your relationship with Daryl, lest it fell into the wrong hands.

Sitting at your seat, scribbling away, you don’t notice the door to the living room open again until you hear voices and your name in that oh-so-familiar Southern drawl. Closing your journal, you turn to find Daryl talking to Alden near the entrance to the room. Your heart skips in your chest, but quickly falls when you hear their exchange.

“Negan wants ‘er,” Daryl is explaining to the younger Savior, who can barely meet his eye. He just nods.

Daryl looks over to you, where you stand clutching the bar with white knuckles. He nods, indicating for you to follow, and you have to use your other hand to pry your fingers off of the cracked wooden surface. 

Chest tightening, you follow him out into the hallway. You stay a few paces behind him, trying to calm the terror burning in your lungs, making it difficult to breathe. A wheeze squeezes out of you, drawing Daryl’s attention and he’s on you, hands gripping each of your upper arms, cerulean blue eyes boring into your own wide ones.

“Breathe, princess,” he murmurs softly. He helps you to take a few strangled breaths, eyes never leaving your own. 

“What does he want with me?” you manage to choke out, swallowing your panic the best you can.

To your surprise, Daryl smirks. “Nothing,” he replies. Then he breaks into a very big, very rare smile. “I lied.”

You open your mouth to ask what he means, but Daryl takes your hand in his large one and hurries you along. The two of you nearly jog to the familiar stairwell where you used to look for him, and he pulls you up the steps to the top landing. He quickly unlocks the door, and the cool air engulfs you like an old friend.

Stepping out into the night, you take a deep breath of what feels like the freshest air you’ve ever breathed. You close your eyes to take in as much of it as you can. Days of being locked in your tiny apartment had felt like being suffocated, but being up here felt like learning how to breathe all over again. Your chest immediately loosens, welcoming the crisp cold air. Spinning around in it, your eyes fall on Daryl, leaning against a low wall, watching you with a small smile on his face.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully.

“Fer what? I haven’t even shown ya the surprise yet,” he replies with a sparkle in his eye.

You gasp. “A surprise?!”

“C’mere,” he says, reaching out a hand that you excitedly take. He leads you further down the roof, away from the door. When he steps aside, you find it: in the middle of the roof, strung up between two large vents, is a hammock. 

You look up at him, speechless. His cheeks burn pink, and he scratches the back of his neck, looking away. “I know it’s not much, but-”

“It’s perfect!” you shriek, jumping up to kiss him on the cheek before running towards it. You sit on one end, your weight pulling it down a bit as you slip out of your shoes, then lay back, letting it level out. Above you, there’s no sign of the building that has become your prison; all you can see is the tops of the nearby trees and the endless starry sky. 

Sighing with delight, you look back at Daryl, watching you as always.

“Come on,” you call to him. “There’s plenty of room for two up here.”

Hesitantly, Daryl walks towards the hammock, and you shimmy over towards the far side to give him room to sit. Keeping his boots on, he turns and lays beside you, rocking the hammock, causing you to roll into his side. Instead of shying away like he would have a week ago, he reaches an arm across for you to lay on, and you curl into him.

Together, the two of you lay there, looking up at the clear night sky. A gentle breeze causes the hammock to sway like a baby’s cradle. The only sounds are the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. No walker growls, no gunfire, no stress. You wish you could bottle this feeling up and take it with you, opening it in your most dire times of need. But instead you just sigh.

“You alright?” Daryl asks, his low voice vibrating against you.

“Yeah,” you answer lazily.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing really, just enjoying the moment,” you say with another sigh. 

Relaxed and wrapped around Daryl, you can’t help but picture what life could’ve been like all these months if he had returned to the prison when he meant to: sitting around campfires, laughing with friends; looking after the children together; going out on runs, knowing someone always had your back; ending each long day, exhausted but happy, in each other’s arms. The fantasy squeezes your heart tight and makes your eyes water.

“You think you would’ve liked me back at the prison?” you ask him suddenly.

Daryl, of course, just scoffs. “Nah,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “I barely like you now.”

“Hey!” you protest, leaning up on your elbows. You go to poke him and chastise him, but he catches your hand and uses it to pull you in close. Landing on his chest, lips just inches from his, your breath hitches. Daryl’s hand snakes up to cup your face before pulling you in for a deep, languid kiss. You feel him smile against your lips, and your heart flutters in your chest.

When you pull away, Daryl’s still holding your face, rubbing a thumb along your cheekbone.

“I just want you to be happy here,” he says, barely above a whisper.

It feels like a shot to the chest. How can I possibly be happy here? you ask yourself. Your thoughts trail back to Dr. Carson’s words from the other day, about Rick and your people meeting with the Hilltop to plan how to fight back. You remember your determination to bring Daryl with you when you were rescued. How can you tell him any of this, when he’s making distinct efforts like this, with the intention of making you want to stay? I can’t tell him any of this, you think, swallowing hard.

Instead of answering aloud, you kiss Daryl again, long and slow, before snuggling back into him, head on his chest. A man of few words himself, he accepts this and pulls you in closer. 

The two of you stay this way for a while, until Daryl startles and snaps his fingers. “I almost forgot,” he says, reaching a hand into the pocket of his worn out jeans. He pulls out a keyring with a single key dangling from it. “Fer you,” he holds it out to you. “So you can come up here whenever ya want.” 

You take the key, holding it tightly to your heart. “Thank you,” you say for what feels like the millionth time with him. You lean up to kiss him again.

Suddenly, machine gun fire rips through the air. Daryl jumps up so quickly that it causes the hammock to flip, spilling you out onto the ground.

“What was that?” you yell, rubbing your freshly skinned elbow.

“I don’t know,” Daryl replies, running towards the edge of the rooftop to look over. You jam your feet back into your heels, and run to his side. Looking over, you don’t see anything. You strain your ears to hear, and the next time you hear the gunfire, the sound comes from behind you.

“It’s coming from inside,” you whisper, fear lacing your voice.

“C’mon,” Daryl grunts, grasping your hand as he breaks into a run for the door. You quickly stash the keyring in your bra as you try to keep up. 

Daryl flings the door open and leads you inside, not bothering to lock it again. The two of you rush down the stairs when he stops you, pushing you behind him while he looks out into the hall. Deciding it’s clear, he pulls you along behind him, one hand on you, the other unsheathing one of his knives. You swallow hard, wishing you had your knife on you, feeling stupid for being unarmed. 

When you and Daryl take another turn, you come across multiple Saviors running the opposite direction, armed to the teeth. Daryl grabs one of them by the back of his shirt.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

Eyes wide in fear, the Savior shouts three words you didn’t expect to hear: “We’re under attack!”

Love Will Take You There

Masterlist

Prologue: You grew up with a gift that anyone would envy: time travel. Some people would travel to the future to fix their mistakes, others would travel to the past to hold on to it, but that wasn't you. You loved reading biographies about tragedies in a family or situation to change their destinies, so when you read the story of the Shelby family one day you felt compassion for those people and decided to travel back in time to help them so that their story wouldn't end so horribly. What was a simple plan becomes complicated when you begin to fall in love with Thomas Shelby, changing the course of your decisions.

Warnings/Info: Mention of weapons, it's adapted to the series but I changed several things, Peaky Blinders: Season One and Two, SMUT | 18+ ONLY (MINORS DNI).

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Last Chapter

So tired 💤

No Negotiations (Thomas Shelby x Reader - One shot)

Summary: Tommy thought he had been very careful keeping his relationship with YN a secret, but no, his number one enemy had discovered you. And these things rarely playout well in the world of the Peaky Blinders.

Word count: 1807

Warnings: Quite a few F bombs and quite a bit of angst. Maybe it ends well, maybe it doesn't.

A/N: This fic was a request and it's been a long time coming. I'm so happy to finally post something again.

Gif: I don't know who this Gif belongs too, but I'd love to give credit to the creator if anyone knows.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

It was a particularly complicated time in Tommy’s life. There were a lot of different things going down. Dangerous things. And it most definitely was not a great time to be dating anyone. But YN wasn’t just ‘anyone’. To Tommy, she had very quickly and very unexpectantly, become everything. For the past year, it was YN that kept him sane during the whole fracture between his family. And with Luca Changretta still plotting his revenge against every single member of the Shelby clan, he thanked God that he had kept her completely separated from his family and business life. She was his escape. With her, his existence was simpler, uncomplicated. Cherished. Every secret second he stole by her side recharged him, settled him in ways he could never have imagined. Every night spent warming her bed gave him hours of blissful dreamless sleep. So, when he looked up from the ringside during the Goliath vs Bonnie Gold match to see her seat empty, he found himself unable to breathe.

Tommy started the night in good spirits, just happy knowing YN was there. Even if she was sitting anonymously across the opposite side of the hall, finding his thoughts already caught amongst the quiet moments he would steal away with her at the end of the night. When Arthur grew concerned of the men in Goliath’s corner, he urged him not to worry, to calm down and enjoy the match. And even when one of the men disappeared from ringside and Arthur felt the need to investigate, Tommy thought it was his older brother’s paranoia taking hold. But when Arthur didn’t return before the second man in Goliath’s corner slipped into the crowd, Tommy instantly found his stomach in knots, his eyes gravitating to YN’s seat.

It was empty.

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe she had slipped away to the ladies. Or maybe she found herself completely disinterested in boxing and left to wait for him at their hotel room. Or maybe the growing knot in his stomach told him something much more unthinkable was taking place. Jumping from his seat, Tommy wasted no more time, easily slipping through the crowd, following the same path as Arthur.

It was unnervingly quiet walking down the passage and into the back rooms of the venue, Tommy barely registering the excitement of the crowd as it faded into the background. Only interested in the silence around him. But it was too much. Bellowing out both YN and Arthur’s name, his voice echoed and bounced off the tiled walls around him, his call answered by a gun shot. Tommy’s blood ran cold. The deafening sound vibrated through every cell in his body as if it had pierced his very flesh and Tommy couldn’t escape the hollow feeling that YN was somehow tangled in the mess.

Tommy moved desperately in and out of doorways in the direction of the gunshot, finding nothing. Until he turned the corner into a dimly lit room. But there was no mistaking what he saw, and he knew the scene before him would be forever burnt to his memory, causing him instantaneous regret. Arthur hunched over, visibly shaken as he clutched at his blood-stained neck, working hard to regain his breath. But he was alive. And beside him lay one of the men from Goliath’s corner, in a pool of his own blood, his face half blown away. But it was YN. Standing in that very same room, a room she was never supposed to be in, that had the regret burning like fire in his throat. Backed up against the cold tiled wall her whole body was trembling, arms outstretched as her hands clamped around Arthur’s pistol; knuckles white.

Tommy stepped into the room, startling her. Terrified, her trembling body swung around to face him, waving Arthur’s pistol unsteadily in his direction. All her features were overcome with fear, drained and washed out, his regret now burning bitter in his mouth. Moving towards her, he outstretched his hands, recognition dawning across her face. And when he whispered her name, she fell apart.

Simultaneously, the pistol slipped from her fingers, as her body slid down the wall, Tommy reaching her before she hit the floor, cradling her head, whispering against her ear, “It’s okay… you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Shaking his head, he found it hard to keep control of his voice, guilt ripping through his words, “I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry… I didn’t want this for you… I…” Tommy felt sick seeing her this way. Because of him, she had taken a man’s life, she didn’t deserve that kind of burden and there was nothing he could do to take it back.

“Tommy.” Arthur’s hoarse voice broke through his stupor. Looking across to his brother, he was no longer hunched over, but was instead standing before him, a steady stream of blood running from a gash to his neck. Speaking again, he gestured to the body on the floor, his words rough and strained, “I don’t know who the hell she is, Tommy, but he was tryin’ to drag her out the fuckin’ door.” Running blood-stained hands through his hair, he rubbed the back of his head, “I ripped her from his grip, but he fuckin’ got me Tommy, he had me… I’d be dead. She saved my fuckin’ arse.”

Tommy shuddered, not even allowing himself to think about what might have happened if Arthur didn’t reach her in time, all while he was too busy ignoring his brother’s concerns. Sudden gratitude spilled from his mouth, “Thank you, Arthur. You were right… I didn’t listen, but you were fucking right.”

Arthur crouched down, and whispered as if there were people in the room who could listen, “Who is she Tommy, and what does Changretta want with her?”

Surely the fact that he was on the ground cradling YN was explanation enough, but Tommy answered anyway, “She’s my girlfriend… I love her… that’s the all reason he needs.” And it was those words as they left his lips, that brought about an instant and upsetting decision.

Luca Changretta was no longer a threat. He had been dealt with in the most final way. Until the moment Arthur unloaded a bullet into his head, Changretta thought both Arthur and YN were dead, leaving Tommy’s exit plan for the mafia boss sailing through without a hitch. But there was still one thing left for Tommy to do. Something that tore at his insides, just thinking about it. But there was no other choice.

It was necessary.

Staring at YN’s front door, he took a deep breath, unable to put it off any longer. Lifting the iron knocker, he tapped it against the timber and cleared his throat, waiting for the sound of her footsteps and yet, hoping not to hear them. Never had he waited at her door with such trepidation, any stress or worries usually melted away the moment his eyes caught sight of her house. Always far too confident that he’d never been seen. God, he had been so fucking stupid.

YN opened the door with one of her breathtaking smiles, she was not going to make this easy. Fuck, he was going to miss those smiles. Burning the image to memory, he went to speak, but she leaned forward and planted a kiss to his lips, her sweet voice announcing, “Thomas Shelby… you’re late, you’re never late.” Tommy inhaled deeply, knowing that soon enough he wouldn’t be able to recall the sound of her voice, when what he really wanted was to wake up to it every single morning.  

Internally nodding, Tommy realised she was right, he had been putting this meeting off all afternoon, and when she stepped aside to let him come in, he found his feet cemented to her doorstep, his voice lost upon his lips. Seeing his hesitation, her features suddenly clouded with apprehension and concern. And it tore him to shreds. “What’s wrong, Tommy? What happened?” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him inside, sitting them both down in the parlour, “Tell me, what’s going on?”

Tommy didn’t want to be inside her house, he wanted to drop the news and leave, but she deserved more, so much more. Chewing on his lip, he inhaled deeply and cleared his throat, working hard to keep his voice convincing, “YN… I… I can’t be with you anymore.” YN jumped from the seat as if he’d slapped her. Tommy’s eyes shifted to the floor, concentrating on a scratch in the timber beside his foot, “It’s not safe anymore… people know who you are now… I… I’d never survive if something happened to you... I’d never forgive myself.”

“Tommy!” A few seconds of silence followed before she called his name again, “Tommy… you need to look at me!” This was not a good idea, no good could come from seeing her face, but how could he deny her? After everything she had given him over the past year. All those stolen moments and blissful memories… memories that would keep him functioning during all the lonely nights that would follow without her.

Lifting his head, he kept his gaze unfocused, worried her expression might destroy his resolve. Not that it mattered, her words and tone conveyed everything. She was furious. But she didn’t raise her voice once. “No… No Tommy.” Her comment snapped his eyes into focus and the determination he saw; on her face; in her posture, it took him by surprise.

Shifting in his seat, he couldn’t think, couldn’t stop the internal wall of his will from crumbling, with every word she spoke. “I won’t let you do this. I could die crossing the road today. I could get sick tomorrow and die next week. I could die giving birth or fall asleep and never wake up.” Drawing a breath, she shook her head, it was barely noticeable, “People die every day, Tommy, there’s nothing we can do about it, but I’m not going to let you give me up.”

Knealing down, her hands enveloped his face, demanding his attention, “I’m not going to miss out on a life with you, how ever long or short that may be… Do you not think I’m terrified of losing you too?”

Tommy shook his head, but his wall of resolve was gone, and he knew the words he spoke were no more than white noise, “My life… it’s dangerous… Just being with me is-”

Losing patience, she cut his white noise short with unyielding hands, refusing to let him look away. Her eyes were fierce. And her decision was final. There would be no negotiations. “Just shut up Tommy, stop talking. I love you. And I know you love me…. I’m not stupid, I know the risk I’m taking. But for you, I’m willing to take it.”

Resources for Writers

If you’re coming to this list from a reblog, please click through to the original post as it may be updated with more content!

Please note I haven’t read everything on this list, so I can’t speak to all it contains/ accuracy, ya dig?

Writing a Blind or Visually Impaired Character by @mimzy-writing-online​

Resources For Writing Deaf, Mute, or Blind Characters by @thecaffeinebookwarrior​

Writing Sign Language F.A.Q by @concerningwolves​

Words for Skin Tone | How to Describe Skin Color by @writingwithcolor​

Words to Describe Hair by @writingwithcolor​

So You Want Your OC to be Jewish by @bailey-writes​

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Body Language Cheat Sheet for Writers from @theinformationdump​

Cheat Sheet for Writing Emotion by @thewriterswitch​

How to Write a Realistic Argument by @she-who-fights-and-writes​

How to write softness by @oriorwriter​

Writing villains / villains motivations by @the-modern-typewriter​

Personality traits/flaws by @rivalwrites​

Writing Consent - written for The Witcher fandom but the advice is actually general, by @hailhailsatan​

How to Write Characters in Realistic Polyamorous Relationships - by @simplyoriginalcharacters​

How to Write OCs With Trauma

Writing Enemies to Lovers by @pianowritesstuff​

How to write a kiss

❧ So much more is under the cut!

Keep reading

Unchained Melody (Masterlist)

Summary: It had been one year, seven months and fifteen days since you had left Arrow House, since you had left your husband and four month old son behind. Both you and Tommy were blissfully married in the joys of parenthood until a heavy cloud of hopelessness and withdrawal settled above you, pulling you under a suffocating blanket of depression and loneliness until you ran, fleeing from it all. A week turned into a month and then a year, each day making it harder for you to go back to the two people in your life you loved more than anything the world possessed. That was until one spring day at the local market you'd visit every Sunday to get a glimpse of your son when your past collided with you and your husband's unexpected presence forced you back to Arrow house, back into a home you no longer recognised, and a governess hired by Tommy hell-bent on you not getting in the way of her desire to be the lady of the house and replacing you as the new, Mrs Shelby.

Warnings: Language, angst, post-partum depression, fluff, mutual longing, smut

Sneak Peak

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six (completed series)

Gif credit: The incredibly talented and wonderful Ria @alicent-targaryen. Go check out her gorgeous creations. Our fics wouldn't be the same without her talent!