Masterlist: BETRAYAL

Masterlist: BETRAYAL

Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader x Luca Changretta

COMPLETE

Now also available as x OC story on AO3

Summary:

Tommy Shelby and Y/N (or, Matilda ‘Georgie’ George - OC) have been friends since they were four years old. Growing up on the streets of Small Heath they fell in love, only to be separated by the Great War. But when Tommy returns, he is not the same man. After the events of s1, their love rekindles and keeping it quiet from friends and family, the pair embark on a new relationship.

But when Tommy makes an impulsive, catastrophic choice one night, he finds himself having to live with the consequences. Consequences that eventually find him locked in a deadly battle against the woman he loves the most.

Warnings for whole story: 🔞 This is very angsty piece and littered with bad language. It contains some smut and some very dark themes, including domestic violence and sexual assault. For that reason, I respectfully ask minors not to interact. All chapters have their own warnings so please do check these before reading.

Credit: There are scenes and dialogue lifted from series 3 and series 4 of Peaky Blinders used throughout this story. I take no credit for Steven Knight’s writing or characters. Everything else is my own and I do not give permission for it to be replicated without consent.

STORY - complete

Part 1: It’s Always Been You

Part 2: You Could Be Happy

Part 3: New Places, Old Faces

Part 4: Vows

Part 5: Aftermath

Part 6: Black Hand

Part 7: Homecoming 🔞

Part 8: Women’s Business

Part 9: Deal With The Devil 🔞

Part 10: Photograph

Part 11: Leverage

Part 12: Gin

Part 13: Provisions

Part 14: Firelight

Part 15: Family Meeting

Part 16: Letters 🔞

Part 17: Black Star Day

Part 18: The Switch 🔞

Part 19: Revelations 🔞

Part 20: Vardo

Part 21: Negotiation

Part 22: The Fall

Part 23: Truths Within The Lies

Part 24: The Longest Night

Part 25: Submission

Part 26: Endgame

Part 27: Afterwards

Part 28: Epilogue 🔞

SHORTS

One shots, inspired by the story

From Paris With Love 🔞

A Sky Full Of Stars

The Princess of Camden Town

Til Death Do Us Part - dark!au spin-off blurb

Masterlists: TOMMY | ALFIE | LUCA | MAIN

Reckless

↝a/n: reader is indeed a badass in this. A dumb one- but a badass nonetheless.

↝pairing:Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

↝warning: death, murder, weird guys, set after Negan shows up, Alexandria, fear of losing a loved one (Daryl and reader, separately),, reader endangers herself, pigs (men),cursing, slightly proofread, idk it's kinda graphic ngl, reader is kinda crazy but who isn't in twd universe?

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 8.16.24

Note: Kate is reader's friend

“You ain't goin' out there.” Daryl said nonchalantly, bringing the lighter up to light the cigarette hanging between his cracked lips.

Taken aback, you could only stare at him. Watching as he leaned against the porch railing, looking at you with a calm look in his eye.

It's almost like he believed you wouldn't walk outside the gate of Alexandria. Like you would listen to him. You weren't about to argue about what you can and can't do, especially when a man is on the other side.

Huffing, you stomped past him, back into the house.

After Daryl finished the cigarette, he stood to his full height, turning to open the door. He grunted when the door wouldn't open.

“Seriously?”

You heard him on the other side, but didn't care. Kate was out there. Who was Daryl to tell you to stay in the safe zone, to not look for someone who would be out in the woods looking for you the second they heard you were missing? You knew it was dangerous, but that was the chance you were willing to take for a friend.

“Open the door.” Hiding the last bit of supplies, you twisted the lock, letting him open the door. Ignoring the glare he was sending you, you made your way to the bedroom, exiting with a blanket and pillow. “Are ya kiddin'? What, 'm I in the doghouse?”

“No,” you scoffed, throwing the blanket on the couch, and began to make it comfortable. “I'm not sleeping in the same bed as someone who thinks I can't take care of myself.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You implied it.” With that, you finally looked him in the eye, daring him to say another word.

Huffing, he made his way to the bedroom, slamming the door.

You stood in the darkness for a moment, thinking everything through, whilst also listening as he walked around the room, before the mattress springs creaked, letting you know he flopped on the bed. You give it 20-30 minutes before he gets up and tries to apologize, like he always did. You'd turn him down, of course, and he'd finally leave you alone for the night. Then you'd make your run for it.

Sticks and leaves crunched under your feet, the quiet of the night having the hair on your arms stand straight up. Light illuminated ahead of you, the flashlight held tightly in your grip, knife in the other hand. The backpack you were quick to pack only had a few things, but they were important. A pistol you stored with you at all times sat on your belt (only for emergencies), small first aid kit–in the hindsight you do find Kate– but she's hurt, a can of whatever was out on the kitchen counter that you didn't get the time to actually look at-it was probably a can of peaches or something-, water, and the thin blanket you kept sprawled across the back of the couch.

Hearing voices from the distance, you quickly cut your light, catching the smell of a fire, along with the sound of the crackle of wood and drunken laughter. You took your chance with your surroundings, putting your trust in what was blindly in front of you.

You managed to sneak closer, now being able to see the group from between the trees. They sat around the fire, cackling about God knows what, blood and grime coating their skin in a thick layer. They passed a bottle around the circle, taking a big swig to numb their reality. Looking around them, they set up an alarm type thing with empty cans connected to wire and string, something your group has done many times, especially when you were without a stable housing system.

Stained tents were close together, nearly side by side with how small the alarm system was. “She's a beauty.” One man snarled, standing to wobble toward one tent, unzipping it, bending over, and reaching into it.

He struggled for a minute, nearly losing his footing, before he straightened up, dragging the body over to the other guys. They whooped and hollered, passing the bottle around again.

The guy who pulled Kate out of the tent started playing with her matted hair, a nasty grin on his face. Your nails dug into your hand. There were 4 of them, all of which had an advantage for having Kate. Even if you were to attack them, they would probably kill her without a second thought.

She snarled, pulling at the rope that bound her hands behind her back. “Ain't she?” He bent down, closer to her ear. She pulled a disgusted face.

One guy cackled, loving her reactions for a sickly reason.

The handle of the knife nearly left a permanent indention on your palm, the skin beginning to sting.

Maybe if you brought something like a bow you could catch them off guard. But you didn't, alright?

You have a knife and a pistol.

“I think it's time to turn in, fellas.” Another guy stood, stretching his long, skinny limbs. The other guys mumbled an agreement, beginning to retreat.

Kate was dragged toward the fire by the original guy, “can't let you out of my sight, can I, pretty girl?”

Kate uttered a 'fuck you'.

The guy stood back from snuffing the fire pit with dirt, moving to lean over her. His hand caressed her cheek, dirt smearing. “ You have a mouth on ya, doncha?"

The knife slid across his throat in one quick motion, a garbled sound was put to an end as the knife punctured his skull quickly after. You laid his body down gently, glancing at the tents as you moved to Kate.

She silently watched you with wide eyes. To her, you just appeared out of the darkness, leaping over the wire and taking her and the guy by surprise. If anything, she didn't recognize you at first. You looked scary, crazed, even. Your eyes held a fiery she'd only seen a handful of times since the apocalypse started.

Finally untying her hands, where rope was tied in a tight knot, leaving her wrist red and raw, you heard rustling came from one of the tents, followed by, “I gotta take a leak.” Kate quickly scanned the dead body, taking the knife off his person.

You quietly blended in to the woods, running as fast as your limbs would let you. You could hear cursing from the tents. Far enough away, you slowed down, coming out of the woods. Kate heaved, rubbing at her wrist.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Rosita came back from the supply run, and she said you were taken.” The two of them had gone out early that morning, in search of something-anything to satisfy Negan.

“That was dangerous. Those were Negan's men.”

“They're disgusting.”

She couldn't disagree. You didn't see what they did before, or hear what they said. She was thankful for that. If she were to tell you, you'd turn around and go slaughter every one of them.

Coming to an abandoned, dead car, you settled in the driver's seat, helping her wrap her wrist and any small cuts she had on her body.

You offered her the can of peaches, opening it up with your knife for her. She took it, her stomach growling as soon as you uttered the word 'food'. She chugged the water. You watched.

You had known her before the apocalypse. She had it made, never having to starve or wait all day to eat, always having the comfortable bank account to just be able to buy whatever she was feeling at the moment. You had watched first hand as her life flipped upside down. Reckon she thought the same about you. Deep down, you knew she would've gone looking for you if the roles were reversed.

“They took everything we found, which wasn't much but still. I was going to drink that alcohol.” She broke the silence, slightly pouting her busted lip out. Your lip twitched, not quite finding the amusement in your body. “Surprised Daryl didn't come with you.”

“He didn't want me coming.” She nodded, understanding where he was coming from. “They were going to look for you in the morning, but a lot could happen between now and then. I couldn't risk it.”

“You're reckless.”

“You could've died,” you countered. Maybe you were reckless and stubborn, you didn't care at that moment.

The door suddenly swung open, a gun cocking as soon as the cold metal touched your temple. Kate yelped as she got dragged out, falling out on the broken asphalt. “You think you could do that shit and get away with it?” Alcohol wafted in your nostrils, hot breath fanning across your ear and neck. “Get out.” A harsh hand gripped your arm, pulling you out. He grabbed your knife, pocketing it before you had the time to use it. You could only see two out of the three surviving men from before. The other one was probably still at their camp, keeping an eye out.

The grip on your arm tightened.

Daryl stumbled out of the woods, hearing commotion on the old, worn down road. He saw the car, the men, your silhouette.

He saw the man in front of you, getting in your face. The darkness of the night didn't do anything to show your facial expression. But Daryl knew you, knew how you were holding your ground.

He loaded his bow, watching as a punch landed to your left cheek.

You fell to the floor, quickly shuffling closer to the car. You grabbed the jagged metal of the old can of peaches you had mindlessly discarded, swinging around and dragging it across his face, nicking your palm in the process, but you didn't care.

Daryl jogged closer, arrow ready to shoot, now aimed at the man holding Kate.

Before he could release the arrow, you grabbed the gun that was recently pointed at your head, swirling around to shoot the other guy right in the face, despite his scared protest, before aiming it at the man holding his face at your feet, cursing you, belittling you.

Daryl stood, stunned.

In the span of a minute and a half, you had killed two men without flinching.

—

The door to your bedroom creaked, Daryl stumbled out of it. He stood behind the couch, shirtless, his pants hanging low on his hips. His face was set in a scowl, his distaste about having to apologize evident on his face. “Ya know you're a badass. Ain't no secret. Didn't mean it like that, ya know that.” You grunted, giving him a taste of his own medicine. You were turned away from him, laid out across the couch as you glared at the wall through the darkness. The backpack laid under the couch, everything ready.

“Say somethin'.”

You turned on your back, looking up at him. You knew he was leaned across the back of the furniture, searching for your face in the darkness, you did the same. “Fine.” Your words held no truth to them, only evident annoyance.

He sighed, straightening his back. “It's dang-”

“It's dangerous, yeah, I know. Which is exactly why we need to look for her. There's no telling what has already happened to her, especially with Negan's men out there.”

“A group is goin' in the mornin'. First thing.”

You stayed silent. At least they were trying, and being smart about it. But you weren't using your brain, only your heart. She means too much to you to lose her. She's all you have left of the normal life, before all this.

“You gonna come to bed?”

Maybe you were being unreasonable.

“No.”

Daryl shuffled back to the bedroom, letting the door shut harshly behind him.

Three minutes later, you were quietly opening the back door and wiggling out. You blended into the night, walking around Alexandria without anyone noticing. You ran by the people on watch, making your escape. You ventured into the woods, Daryl's words in your head. You were a badass. Maybe not a smart one when it comes down to being rational, but a badass nonetheless.

Daryl shuffled out of bed, his throat feeling dry. His feet patted against the cold floor, hand coming up to rub at his eyes.

He stopped when he caught sight of the couch. You were probably asleep. Anger wore you out easily, he had noted very early on.

“Look, I know you're pissed at me, but I'm just tryin' to keep ya safe. I can't lose ya.”

The vulnerability was evident in his voice. Usually, you would comfort him, knowing he doesn't show his emotional state to just anyone.

It was true, he couldn't lose you. He fears he might actually go insane without you.

Ever since you two moved into the house of Alexandria, a fire burned in Daryl.

A fire that told him he could lose you at any moment, but also told him that he had to make it where he couldn't lose you. To try everything to keep you safe.

Negan was out there, in the shadows, waiting. He was waiting for one little slip up. He wasn't one to be merciful. Yet another threat on your head.

Daryl leaned forward, bringing his hand to find your body warmth, something to soothe him before he spirals. “Honey?”

He was met with cold silence.

—

“Well shit.”

You swirled around, gun aimed to kill. Daryl dropped his arm that held the bow, raising his other in surrender. A grin tugged at his lips, pure pride at seeing you take care of yourself like that.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

Those Summer Nights, When I Look in Your Eyes

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (No France) Warnings: Sexual Situations; Vague Smut

Summary: Daryl's childhood had lacked so much and at the beginning of the turn, he had never known love beyond Merle's version of it. Now, he had it all and he would never let them wonder how much he cherished them.

A/N: For @louifaith, I hope this is close to what you imagined for our archer. 🩵 - Also, I have Daryl calling reader "pip" because someone suggested him nicknaming her "pipsqueak" in another story and it has just stuck with me. I was as vague as possible about reader’s age but let me be clear - she is above 18. I don’t write for huge age gaps. I don’t judge those that do and I do read them. I just do not write them but I have no control over where your mind takes you. Anyway, the song he hums is attached. ;)

Life was good. 

For thirteen years, there had never been a point in time where Daryl had felt like he could say that and genuinely believe it. For an entire year, the Commonwealth had thrived. Not a single threat. The walls held. The governing unit was fair and compassionate. It really was like the old world. 

But not for Daryl. 

In the old world, he had been a drifter. A useless drifter walking in the shadow of his brother. No job, no friends, no purpose. And he had, at that time, liked it that way. 

Not anymore. 

Because now he had a job. He had friends. He had a family. He had a purpose. And he had everything he had lacked growing up. He had love, and not just Merle’s variation of it.

Carol had taken over Lance’s position when Ezekiel and Mercer had stepped up to govern. She had pulled Daryl aside and asked him if he wanted to stay in their reformed force, giving him the choice. His decision was to promptly decline. So they put their heads together to come up with something. 

Daryl possessed many skills, most of them learned by doing throughout the years. He had one condition that he would not negotiate on, however. 

Daryl’s time outside the walls was over. 

He agreed to train hunters to take his place and conceded to three weeks on the road with volunteers that he left up to Carol’s choosing. There was more than enough trust between them for him to be comfortable with who she would deem worthy to provide for the community. 

Then he was given the job of overseeing construction and structural upkeep, equipment maintenance, and of course, a seat in the governmental advisory council. He was nothing if not adaptable and took to his position quickly, finding that he liked it. He was respected and his suggestions for the good of the community were heard and considered. 

If he chose to hunt or ride, it would be for leisure but he’d hardly needed it in the past year. Domestic life had tamed the inner need to hide or escape that had been ingrained throughout the years even before the turn. 

Years ago, you had tumbled into his life. A hot mess that he had spent many a day battling the urge to absolutely throttle. You had a stubborn streak a mile wide that made his own nothing more than a small trail. He absolutely couldn’t stand you. 

Funny thing, time. 

Now you wore his ring and proudly carried his last name. You had wanted the ceremony, even if his proposal was lackluster. He had been seeking you out after the end of the Whisperers. 

“Where’s Y/N?” At first no one answered. He barely parted his lips, intent on asking again with a little more well placed ardor when a woman he recognized as a former Hilltop resident spoke up.  “I saw your wife! She’s over with the children!” He muttered his thanks and took a single step before you were finding him.  “Daryl!” Your body collided with his, knocking the air from his lungs. His heartbeat lowered regardless, feeling you there in his arms, alive and breathing and whole. “I couldn’t see you in the herd. I was about to come find you but Jude, she made me promise to stay.” “M’here. An’ they’re gone” He tightened his arms around you and rested his cheek on the crown of your head.  “So I’m your wife now, huh?” He felt the shift of your facial muscles against his chest, knew you were smiling.  “What of it?” He grunted. “Ya wanna be?” He felt his heart skip a few beats when you lifted your head to smile at him, beaming and beautiful.  “Of course, I do. Might as well be at this point. We sound like an old married couple.” Daryl snorted and then shrugged. “Then I guess we are.” “That simple?” “That simple.” When you grinned, he knew you would never let it be that simple. 

You got your wedding, simple and intimate, with only the few remaining people that were closest to the two of you. When Gabriel said the words, you got your ring, too. Oh, the hell and herds Daryl had gone through to get them. Matching bands, camelot black titanium. Crafted to withstand the way the world was. 

He was twisting the ring round and round as he walked home, tired from a full day’s work and more than ready for the weekend with his family: you, Jude, RJ, and his little River. His boy was nearly two years old, the spitting image of Daryl with a heaping dose of your attitude. 

You were younger than Daryl, still at an age where pregnancy and giving birth was not considered risky beyond the state the world was in and the lack of some resources. It was horrifying yet the best news he’d ever heard in his self-proclaimed useless life.

River Merle came along right in the midst of the unease in the Commonwealth. When they had taken you and River along with Jude and RJ, it had required all the power Carol possessed to stop Daryl from losing his goddamn mind. He was prepared to rip out entrails with his bare hands and use them to strangle each and every trooper that stood between him and his wife and kids. It was not a good time to support Pamela. 

It all worked out in the end when, bruised but alive, the people took back the Commonwealth.

And now, here he was. A husband. A father. A boss. A survivor. 

Life. Was. Good.

“Ya home, Pip?” The words habitually rolled off his tongue the moment he opened the door and stepped inside. Jude and RJ were watching a movie, the elder looking over with a hey, Uncle Daryl before turning right back to the television. It was the weekend. No reason to bug them about homework. 

“Where else would we be?” You called from the kitchen. Daryl unlaced his boots, was in the middle of pulling off the second one when you came out with River on your hip. “Someone’s cranky today.” 

“I ain’t cranky.”

“I’m not talking about you but assuming I was says a lot.” You smiled softly, passing off the baby while simultaneously stealing a kiss. “Hi.” 

“Hey.” He nearly melted, probably would have if you weren’t situating a small human right against his chest.

“Get a room.” Judith was rolling her eyes when Daryl shot her a harmless look. 

River’s little arms went straight around his father’s neck, his little hiccups and sniffles muffled against Dary’s shirt. “S’wrong, lil’ man. Mama houndin’ ya over veggies like she does me an’ RJ?” River pulled back, rubbing his left eye with a chubby fist, looking at Daryl with a scowl that he knew very well adorned his own face more often than not. Even being so content with his life, he couldn’t seem to rid himself of what you called his resting bitch face.

“Daddy.” Was all the boy said before burying his face back into Daryl’s shirt.

“He had a nap?” Daryl was jostling his son as little as possible while ridding himself of his precious vest, tossing it over the back of ‘his’ chair at the dining table. His large hand covered a wide expanse of the small boy’s back when he rubbed soothing little circles, following you into the kitchen. You shook your head and took the lid off the pot on the stove. The scent of meat and herbs wafted toward Daryl and his mouth watered, but first thing was first.

“He wouldn’t go down. I think it’s a daddy day.” You smiled at the sauce but it wasn’t meant for the pasta topping at all. Daddy days were Daryl’s favorite. River wanted absolutely no one but him. The baby would fuss during meals, refuse to nap, and absolutely forget about bath and bedtime unless Daryl was there.

“I got ‘im then. See if I can get ‘im down for a bit.” Daryl was ducking and angling his head to catch River’s attention, finally earning a shy smile when blue met blue and the archer scrunched his nose and stuck out his tongue. Pressing a kiss into the mess of wavy hair, he noticed you standing with your back against the countertop, a certain type of smile on your face.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just sexy.”

“Pfft, stop.”

“We are so playing chess tonight.”

Daryl arched a brow. “Yeah?” 

You nodded, your smile morphing into something else entirely; something sinful. “Oh, yeah.”

Dinner done, older kids in their rooms after teeth brushing and goodnight hugs, Daryl sat in the nursery with a sleepy River resting his head on his father’s shoulder while the chair gently rocked. The baby’s hair was only the least bit damp but he smelled of the lavender lotion that you always seemed to have near the changing table, instructing Daryl to use it after baths and before bed because it was calming.

Bathed and in a fresh diaper and pajamas, mini-Daryl was beginning to drift off while his father simply rubbed his back or kissed his cheek or even held a little hand just to count the fingers over and over. Soon enough there would be potty training and pre-school—Carol had said that was still a thing in the world now and yes, they had one in the Commonwealth—so for now, Daryl just wanted to soak it all up, take it all in.

River would likely be the only baby the two of you would have, so not a single second was being wasted or taken for granted. You kept a daily journal of simple things that some might find trivial but Daryl knew he’d be reading that journal often enough to wear the ink right off the pages. Sometimes, he missed things because of work, but in the end, that’s what happened when you were a parent, he supposed. His old man didn’t care about milestones or daddy days, and his mama wasn’t around for bath time or boo-boo kisses. River would have it all. And as long as they were his to care for, so would Judith and RJ. In fact, since the baby had Daryl, you were currently reading a story to Rick and Michonne’s son before bed.

Man, if Rick could see Daryl now. Would his brother even recognize him? God, would his brother even recognize him? He let his mind drift for a moment to Rick and Merle, just long enough to keep them close and then he was back to River, pressing a kiss to a chubby cheek. 

You would always rock and sing to the little one but he didn’t need that from Daryl. There was just something about their bond that didn’t require words and hardly even movement. It had been that way since the moment you had pushed him into the world. He had cried, red-faced and angry and cold while Tomi leaned to put him onto your chest. You had your time with him, cuddling and nursing, his little sounds still expressing his discontentment with the change from your warm womb to a loud, bright world.

They had Daryl take off his shirt, which he didn’t understand until you explained better than any doctor or nurse could. The moment River was pressed against his skin, the connection was apparent to anyone who saw. The baby went silent, wide eyes mirroring the ones Daryl himself had. He had felt guilty for the longest time that River wanted you to feed him and then he wanted his daddy back immediately. He still had his mommy days and you said that was enough.

You were always supportive, never angry or jealous. You’d share the moments with him while he enjoyed them with you. 

It was all what he’d never had, so he’d make sure River, Judith, and RJ never went without it.

His eyes were slow to open, squinting at the traitorous window that dared let the morning rays creep across the bed and to his pillow. It took a few sluggish blinks to remember what day it was and that he was free to go back to sleep until River required either you or him. With a deep breath, he stretched his arms above his head and looked at you, still wrapped around him with your head on his chest. Naked. Still so very, very naked.

He was barely in the bedroom door before you were pushing him against it, almost catching his fingers when he attempted to mute the sound of it closing at his back. You had his shirt unbuttoned and your mouth on his before he could even take a breath. “I told you,” you panted against his lips, “we’re playing chess tonight.” Daryl grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you easily, spinning you to press you against the door. “Goddamn right, we are.” The first round was a frenzied bout of moaning and skin slapping skin, hands covering mouths to keep the noise down. Your nails had left gouges on Daryl’s ass and back, clawing at him for more. You weren’t unscathed. A bruise was blooming on the curve of your right breast, a perfect black and purple bite he had inflicted at some point. It ended with you lying across Daryl’s torso while he was flat on his back with the pillow halfway over his face. Panting and sweating while the sheet covered neither of you where it mattered. Why it was anywhere near either of you was anyone’s guess. The second time was slower, every second savored. Your fingertips memorizing his face while his hips rolled into you, back arching to push himself deeper. His lips were on your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks and mouth. His fingers danced down your ribcage and back up to your breasts, gentle caresses while he pressed his lips over the mark he’d left earlier. You didn’t have to try hard to roll him over. He went willingly, his hands going straight for your hips. You let your fingers roam his chest and stomach. His scars were yours to explore, he’d given that power over to you long ago. The marks no longer held him prisoner after you’d shown him how to be free. You were incredibly attracted to the way his body had softened with age and he worshiped each wrinkle and stretch mark that time and pregnancy had gifted you. You loved each other wholly, without condition. 

And you laid where you had collapsed, goosebumps on your skin from the cool morning air. Daryl didn’t want to go back to sleep, so he laid there, watching you and just enjoying the silence with the knowledge that his family was safe. That you had survived together and built something so precious.

When River began to fuss, it was Daryl that slipped out of bed and left you to rest a bit longer. He had no qualms with being the one to get up earlier to take care of the baby.

The weekend went by fast, as it often did. Sunday night, he found himself sitting on the couch after the kids were all asleep. He had helped clean up after dinner and was contently watching you pick up toys and fold laundry. He didn’t step in to help because he had no intention of allowing you to continue for long.

“What?” You finally inquired, obviously catching him staring.

“Nothin’.” He smirked, huffing a laugh that came out as an exhale through his nose. You were still regarding him when he stood and beckoned you with a finger. “C’mere.” Your pretty eyes narrowed but you placed the unfolded towel on the top of the pile in the basket and stepped into his space. Daryl wasn’t romantic, truly believed he didn’t have it in him to be anything near it. Still, when he guided your arms to his shoulders and lowered his hands to your hips, he watched you melt.

“There’s no music, Daryl.”

“Don’t need it.” He shrugged, just swaying back and forth with you, pulling you closer until you rested your head against his chest.

“The formidable Daryl Dixon is dancing with me when there’s no music playing. This’ll make the papers. It’ll be the headline.”

“Stop.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss into your hair. He was smiling when you sighed, somehow pressing yourself closer to him. You didn’t react at first when he started to hum, whether you were in shock or just relishing the moment. Maybe both. You let him continue.

It was an old tune, one from a favorite album released more than a decade before the first walker rose from the dead. The tune was slow and deep, his chest vibrating with every drone. Finally, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, the corners of your mouth perked.

“What is that?”

“How dare ya! S’Ozzy, woman.” He feigned offense but was tenderly tucking your hair behind your ears.

“I’ve never heard it.”

Daryl scowled playfully before scrunching his nose. “Remind me why I married ya?” You wrapped yourself around him and with the fondest smile he had ever let cross his face, he held you tighter.

“Because you love me.”

“Yeah.” He breathed. “Yeah, I do.”

With All Of Me | Part One

For: Anon Characters: Rafael Barba/(Female) Reader Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault/Rape Word Count: 2,059 Notes: So, I got these three prompts all at one time in a row, and they lended themselves to a three-part imagine. So I hope y’all enjoy this short story!  Prompt: Imagine a Barba x Reader where you’ve been assaulted and are too scared to name the assailant because they are of a higher rank. Part One | Part Two | Part Three

“Barba,” the prosecutor answered, his phone balanced precariously between his shoulder and ear as he accepted coffee from the barista behind the cart. He smiled his thanks, carefully adding a small serving of sugar before swirling it twice with the skinny stick and tossing his trash before snapping on the lid.

It was supposed to be an easy day. He didn’t have court, he had one meeting about striking a plea with their most recently indicted criminal, and there was a conference that afternoon on tracking the movements of serial criminals via social media. There was no doubt in his mind that he could even call it an early night. Yet, Benson’s incessant and frantic mumbling on the other end of the line was starting to make him doubt the simplicity of his schedule.

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Late Night Brilliance

Pairing: Rafael Barba x Reader

Summary: Barba shows up at your house unexpectedly one evening to go over a case. What began as an honest need to work through some inconsistencies, turned into a battle to maintain professionalism and composure.

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), oral (M receiving), mentions of F receiving oral, fingering, light dom/sub vibes (Rafi is totally a dom).

A/N: Spanish Translations:

Querida/Cariño/Nena: Terms of endearment (darling/sweetheart/baby)

Meirda: shit

Por favor: please

The rest will be in brackets and italics after the sentence.

You were in the middle of eating your Chinese takeout when you were disturbed by a knock at your door. You weren't expecting any company and had been taking full advantage of a quiet Friday night in.

You sighed quietly as you pulled yourself off the sofa and went to answer the door. A shiver of surprise ran down your spine as you peered through the peephole. You groaned inwardly, glancing down at your rather disheveled appearance. You'd thrown on an old baggy t-shirt and leggings when you'd gotten home from work, but one look at the man standing on the other side of your door filled you with regret.

You pushed down any feelings of dread--and butterflies--as you opened the door and greeted your visitor with a warm smile. "Rafael Barba. What brings you by at 6:30pm on a Friday?"

Your tone was light and teasing, despite the unease you felt internally. He gave you his signature half-smirk, eyes quickly scanning you from head to toe, making you feel even more self-conscious.

He was wearing a beautiful three piece navy pinstripe suit with a lovely pink tie. You had no doubt he had matching suspenders under that damn vest...you hated how good he looked even after a long day of work.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said in a tone that indicated he knew damn well he wasn't interrupting anything. "I was hoping to talk to you about the Milligan case."

"Nothing better to do on a Friday night, Counselor?"

He chuckled. "My options were to spend the evening in my office, at home alone, or come spend it with a beautiful woman. I chose the latter."

You were more than a little surprised by his words, though you did your best not to show it. The two of you were known to flirt occasionally, but neither had dared to cross the line. A relationship between the two of you was out of the question, not that he was even interested in pursuing one with you. After all, he was married to his work and you were quite far from his type...you'd seen Yelina.

"Lucky for you, I also have no life outside of my job," you teased. "Come on in and make yourself at home. I've got Chinese food if you're hungry and I just opened a bottle of Merlot."

Rafael followed you in, shedding his suit jacket and draping it across the back of a dining chair. He began to roll up the sleeves of his white button down and you felt a stirring in your abdomen. "Chinese sounds amazing, but I can't say I'm a fan of Merlot."

It took you a moment to register the words he'd spoken as you were too preoccupied with not revealing how incredibly sexy you thought he looked in that moment. "I, uh--I think I have some bourbon if you're interested."

You practically bolted to the kitchen to look in the cabinet where you kept the liquor. You desperately needed to be as far away from him as possible before your face gave away the thoughts in your head.

"Bourbon sounds good."

Your eyes scanned the cabinet, locating the half-empty bottle at the back of the shelf. "Two fingers or three?"

"Three," he answered, voice much closer than it had been moments before.

You turned around to see Rafael leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest. Your eyes nearly rolled into your head at the sight and you let out an audible sound you hoped could be interpreted as surprise.

You poured the drink in silence, before handing it to him and gesturing for him to follow you to the living room. "We can eat at the table if you prefer..." you trailed off.

"Not necessary. The couch looks perfectly comfortable."

He sat down on one end of the couch and you sat on the other, as far away as you could possibly get without sitting on the arm. He raised an eyebrow at you, but didn't comment on the awkward distance you'd managed to put between you.

"So you--um--you wanted to talk about Milligan?" you asked.

"Not exactly. I wanted to talk about the victim, Shelly."

"What about her?"

"Something about her story isn't sitting right with me."

"Okay..."

"I want you to go over it with me again. Maybe give me a fresh set of eyes and a different perspective?"

"I'm not sure how much help I can be, Barba. I was in the room when she disclosed--that's not exactly a fresh set of eyes."

"Perhaps, but you are a psychologist. You see things very differently from the rest of us."

You sighed. "Alright, I'll bite. Where do you wanna start?"

As the two of you began to discuss the case and the inconsistencies in the victim's story, your discomfort started to evaporate. This is what you were passionate about--what you were best at. Everything else simply faded away and Rafael became just a colleague, not a man you were hopelessly romantically interested in.

Two hours passed, but it felt like no time at all. Your coffee table was littered with files and papers, and both you and Rafael were leaning over it, examining pieces of evidence. He was mere inches from you, but you were so absorbed in what you were doing that you hardly noticed.

"Cariño, can you pass me that witness statement?" Rafael asked.

You grabbed the paper he was referring to and handed it to him, eyes still scanning the page in front of you. The term of endearment didn't even register in your mind, nor did he seem to realize he'd even said it aloud.

After a few moments, Rafael asked you another question. "Do you have the surveillance photos from the bar?"

You pushed a few folders out of the way, digging the file with the photos out from the bottom of the stack. "What are you looking for?"

"Her outfit."

"Why?"

He didn't answer as he flipped through the photos, finally landing on the one he had been looking for. "Look at this."

He handed you the photo, which you'd seen before. "Yeah that's Shelly leaving the bar before the assault."

"Right. Notice her outfit?"

You glanced at the photo again. "Typical night out attire. Why is this important?"

He handed you the statement he'd been reading earlier. "She came directly to the precinct after her assault to disclose, right? Nowhere in her initial statement does she say she ever changed clothes."

You'd been there the night in question, had sat beside Olivia as she took Shelly's statement. "She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt," you stated.

"So why didn't she tell us she went home first?"

"She might have been worried we would judge her or blame her for the assault because she wasn't dressed like a nun."

"Yeah, I suppose that's possible."

He looked a little crestfallen, like you'd rained on his parade. He knew in his gut Shelly wasn't telling the whole story, but he couldn't prove it. He needed a single thread...just one thread to pull on. He needed to know now before the trial began and the defense unraveled the entire case.

A thought dawned on you. "No semen, no body fluids," you mumbled as you searched the coffee table for the rape kit report from the hospital.

Rafael watched you, unsure of what you were thinking.

"Ahh!" You grabbed the report and flipped through it. "There was evidence of trauma to her vagina and several bruises on her body, but there were zero traces of any DNA that wasn't hers."

"Okay, but that's not uncommon."

"Perhaps if she'd waited to report, I would agree, but I think there's an alternative reason."

He raised an eyebrow and waited for you to continue.

"She went home and showered."

Realization dawned on his face. "Didn't you or Olivia ask that question?"

"Of course we did, but I think she was scared to tell us, scared of what we'd say."

"We need to reinterview her."

You nodded.

Rafael pulled out his phone and called Olivia. He relayed what you'd discovered and asked her to reinterview Shelly the following day. Olivia agreed and thanked him for letting her know.

"You're brilliant, you know that?" he said as he hung up, vivid green eyes locked on your face.

"Minor detective work, at best," you said with a shrug. "I've been doing this long enough that I should be able to put pieces of a puzzle together. Besides, as you rightfully mentioned, it's my job to study and understand human behavior."

He smiled. "Even still, it was good work."

"You found the pieces, I just put them together."

"Take the compliment, (Y/N). You know I give them so rarely."

You laughed. "Alright, alright. Thank you, Rafael."

His expression shifted slightly, gaze darkening as he looked at you. "I don't think you've ever called me by my first name before." Even his voice was lower, huskier.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks. "I--uh, I'm sorry."

He reached out and grabbed your hand. "Please don't apologize. I liked hearing it...very much."

Heat began to spread through your entire body, coloring more than just your cheeks. You were unsure how to respond--the unfamiliar territory both daunting and exciting.

Rafael mistook your silence for discomfort, immediately removing his hand from yours and looking incredibly uncomfortable. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Everything in you wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure him that his words--and his touch--were welcome, but you knew that would be crossing a line you couldn't uncross.

"No worries," you mumbled.

The awkward silence stretched on for a few moments, during which time you were silently kicking yourself for making things weird.

"Well, umm, thank you for your help tonight. I-I guess I should be going," Rafael muttered lowly.

He started to get up and gather the papers strewn about the coffee table. You knew you should help him, but you didn't move--frozen in place with indecision. He couldn't see the war raging inside you, couldn't hear the thoughts screaming in your head.

After what seemed like an eternity, you finally forced out two words, "Don't go."

Rafael paused, holding a few papers in one hand and a folder in the other. "Pardon?"

You swallowed thickly, rising to your feet. "Please stay."

Surprise lit up his handsome face. "It's getting late," he said softly. "Are you sure you want me to stay?"

You nodded.

He slowly set the papers back down and came to the other side of the coffee table, positioning himself directly in front of you. He reached out, tentatively placing his warm palm against your cheek. You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

"I need to hear you say it, querida," he murmured.

Your bright (y/e/c) eyes met his, a surge of confidence making your words clearer. "I want you to stay, Rafael."

His lips parted slightly, partially in surprise and partially in arousal. He stepped closer to you, closing the gap between you. His lips ghosted over yours before finally pressing gently against them, pulling you into a soft kiss.

You wanted nothing more than to lean into his kiss, to feel his hands on your body--you wanted to know what it was like to be worshipped by him, to make love to him.

But the rational part of your brain--the part that kept you on the straight and narrow your entire life--had managed to rear its ugly head. You couldn't drown out the voice in your head screaming at you that this was wrong--that you couldn't do this with him...he was your coworker, for god's sake.

You suddenly pulled away from him, voice coming out in a rushed whisper, "We can't."

While he was disheartened at the sound of your words, he wasn't really surprised. It wasn't forbidden--technically--but that didn't make it easy, or even right. "I won't force you, cariño."

His soft, comforting words made you want him even more. You sighed quietly and leaned your forehead against his. "We shouldn't," you whispered so softly he almost missed it.

His hands had settled on your hips and he began to rub soothing circles into your sides. "Can't or shouldn't?" he asked lowly.

Your trembling hand pressed firmly against his chest in a way that made him feel like you were pulling him closer, not pushing him away. "Please," you begged softly, neither of you sure of exactly what you were asking for.

Rafael's left hand slid lower on your hip, the tips of his long fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your bottom. His right hand pulled you closer to him, holding you flush against his body. "Tell me you don't want me--don't want this," he pleaded, voice husky with desire.

Your lips trembled against his mouth, body responding to his like it was made for him. "I can't..."

His left hand moved to grab you more fully, eliciting a soft moan of need from your lips. "Querida...tell me to stop."

"Please don't stop," you whimpered. "I need you--por favor, Rafi."

"Mierda," he growled, pulling you somehow even closer to him. His lips crashed into yours with a hunger you couldn't describe--a hunger you returned in kind.

The next several moments were a flurry of hands all but tearing at each other's clothes, desperate to feel skin to skin contact. In what had to be a record pace, the two of you found yourselves standing in nothing but underwear in the middle of your living room.

Rafael grabbed you tightly and tugged you down with him as he fell into a sitting position on the couch. You straddled his strong thighs, lips still hungrily devouring his.

He groaned lowly as your pelvis ground against his erection, the intense need for friction almost painful. His soft hands ghosted up your back, unclasping your bra with practiced ease.

You pulled away from him just long enough to send your bra flying across the room. Rafael licked his lips in anticipation before leaning forward to capture your nipple between his soft lips.

You sighed softly, fingers twining through his hair in order to hold him tightly against you. He used one hand to massage your other breast before switching to ensure both received equal treatment.

"Rafi," you whimpered as the need to feel him inside of you continued to grow.

"Si, hermosa?" he murmured.

You ground down against his erection again, silently telling him what you needed.

His hands immediately went to your hips, halting your movements. "I need you to tell me what you want, querida."

"You," you begged.

He smirked. "Puedes hacerlo mejor. Usa tus palabras." [You can do better. Use your words.]

If you were being honest with yourself, your Spanish was not nearly as good as it had been when you were younger...after all, you hadn't really spoken much Spanish since high school. Working with Nick Amaro, and now Rafael, had forced you to revisit your knowledge of the language in an attempt to brush up. Thankfully, you understood a hell of a lot more than you spoke, so you were able to piece together what he was telling you to do.

"I want you, Rafael, please."

"I'm right here, hermosa."

You glared at him, which earned you a patented smirk in response.

"Si quieres algo solo tienes que preguntar," he murmured softly. [If you want something, you just have to ask.]

You bit your lip. You weren't a shy person, but you had never been very vocal during sex in the past. Your partners didn't often ask you what you actually wanted, so you weren't even sure how to respond to him.

"I want you to touch me."

"Donde?" [Where?]

You realized he wasn't going to let you get away with not being explicit, but you couldn't quite bring yourself to say the words out loud. Instead, you grabbed his right hand and guided it between your legs, placing it firmly against your extremely damp panties. "Here."

Rafael smiled wolfishly. "Now was that so hard?" His voice was teasing, but there was a heat in his eyes that betrayed exactly how turned on he was.

He didn't give you a chance to respond as he pulled your underwear aside and slipped his fingers between your dripping folds. You gasped softly, hands gripping onto his shoulders for support.

"Is this what you needed, cariño?" His fingers gently toyed with your clit, providing some stimulation, but not exactly what you needed.

"More, Rafi, por favor," you begged.

In response, Rafael slipped two fingers inside of you, twisting his hand to form a come hither motion as he sought your sweet spot. His thumb provided the pressure against your clit that you so desperately needed and you moaned loudly as his fingers found your g-spot.

"There we go, nena. Te tengo." [I've got you.]

You clung to his shoulders as his expert fingers worked you closer and closer to the edge. You were almost surprised by the ease with which you felt your orgasm approaching--you couldn't remember the last time you'd cum from nothing more than a man's hands.

Rafael slid a third finger inside of you and began to add more pressure to his movements on your clit. The stimulation was exactly what you needed and you knew your orgasm was close. You were hesitant to tell him, but you also didn't want him to stop. "Rafi, I'm so close--please don't stop."

"I won't," he murmured, changing nothing about his current movements. "Quiero sentirte venir." [I want to feel you come.]

Your breathing was labored and your legs had begun to shake--a surefire sign of your impending orgasm. He could feel your walls squeezing his fingers and he couldn't wait to feel the sensation around his cock.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as your orgasm rushed over you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Rafael slowed his motions, but didn't stop until you began to whimper and squirm away from him.

He pulled his fingers out of you and lifted them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan of enjoyment. "Tastes so good, nena. Can't wait to taste you properly."

Your eyes widened slightly, having found the action extremely arousing. Your gaze then traveled down his body, landing on his still clothed cock. Your eyes flicked back up to his, your expression practically begging him to fuck you properly.

"Hay algo que quieras?" [Is there something you want?] he asked with a smile.

"I'd really like you to lose the boxers."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, enjoying your demanding tone more than he'd expected. "Stand up for me, querida."

You did as he asked, albeit slowly.

He lifted his hips and slowly tugged his boxers down, finally freeing his painfully hard cock. Your eyes widened slightly, gaze appreciative of his member. He was both thick and long, and the head was leaking enough precum to give you the strong urge to taste it.

Your eyes never left his cock as you tugged your own panties off, wanting to be just as deliciously naked as he was. You started to drop to your knees, but Rafael reached out and grabbed your arm.

"What are you doing, nena?"

"I wanna taste you," you answered softly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, swearing softly in Spanish under his breath. "As much as I would love to feel your pretty little mouth on my cock, I don't think I can take it."

You felt incredibly disappointed and your expression must have shown it because his gaze took on a slightly pitying look.

"Just a taste?" you pleaded.

He couldn't deny he wanted it as badly as you did--probably more so, but what really pushed him over the edge was the sound of your soft voice begging him. He didn't wanna say no to you--ever.

He released your arm with a soft sigh. "Está bien--just a taste." [Alright.]

You grinned, feeling pleased at having won. You dropped to your knees and gripped his cock in your warm hand, gently stroking him before leaning forward to lick the precum from the tip. Rafael groaned at the feeling, followed by a string of Spanish curses as you took his cock in your mouth.

The sensations you were providing him had him making more noise than you'd ever imagined. His fingers fisted into your hair and his hips jerked as you pleasured him--a feeling of pride settling into you as you listened to his moans. You felt powerful, having made the great Rafael Barba turn to putty in your hands.

His grip in your hair tightened and he pulled you off his cock much sooner than you would have liked--a groan of displeasure leaving your lips in protest.

"Get up here," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was the same tone he used in court when he was tearing someone apart on the stand.

You immediately did as he asked, once again straddling his thighs, but this time, you awaited further instructions. Everything about his demeanor oozed dominance and you were more than happy to slip into a submissive role for him.

He gripped his cock and slid the head between your folds, sending sharp bolts of pleasure through both of you.

"Dime que me quieres," he demanded. [Tell me you want me.]

"I want you, Rafael," you answered instantly.

He smiled at your clear willingness to obey. "Dime que me necesitas." [Tell me you need me.]

"I need you."

He leaned forward so his lips were inches from your ear. "Vas a gritar mi nombre?" [Are you gonna scream my name?]

"Si, Rafi! Please!" you begged. "Te necesito dentro de mi." [I need you inside of me.]

He rolled his hips up slightly, pushing the head of his cock into you. He held you tightly in place, not allowing you to move lower.

"More, please!" you cried, desperately trying to lower yourself onto him fully.

"Rogar por esto, nena. Dejame escucharte." [Beg for it, baby. Let me hear you.]

"Please, Rafi, please," you pleaded. "I'll do anything--please. Please just fuck me!"

His grip on your hips lessened just as he rolled his hips upwards, allowing him to plunge into you as you pressed yourself down on him. The tip of his cock brushed against your cervix, sending a jolt of pain through you, but pain quickly turned to pleasure as he began to move.

"You feel so good, querida. So tight and warm--made for me, weren't you?" Rafael murmured into your skin as he slowly rolled his hips.

You whimpered slightly, the slow pace not enough to soothe the burning ache within you.

He noticed the way you shifted, clearly seeking more friction, so he loosened his grip on you, allowing you more freedom. You gripped onto his shoulders, using them as additional leverage as you began to ride him properly.

Salacious sounds filled the room, a mixture of your bodies joining together and your shared moans and whimpers. Rafael's mouth nipped and sucked at your pulse point, your collarbone, and your lips--anything he could reach.

The position was enjoyable, but Rafael sensed you needed more--and he felt the need to take over. He pulled you in close to him, holding you tightly as he stood, flipping you onto your back on the couch.

You gasped in surprise, delighted at the change in position. Rafael immediately took charge, bending your legs towards your chest and thrusting into you hard and fast.

"I need to feel you cum, hermosa. Dime que necesitas." [Tell me what you need.]

You were a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him, and your brain was struggling to make sense of the words he was saying. It took you a moment to understand, but even then you couldn't find the words. Instead, you slipped your hand between your bodies and began to rub your clit.

Rafael pushed your hand out of the way, replacing it with his own. He'd be damned if he wasn't the one who made you fall apart. "Vendrás por mi?" [You gonna come for me?]

"Rafi!" you cried out--the only coherent thing you'd said in minutes.

Your pussy clenched down on his cock, squeezing him so tightly he nearly came on the spot. He continued to fuck you exactly as he had been, fingers still pulsing against your clit.

Moments later, you came with a loud cry of his name, wave after wave of intense pleasure crashing down on you as he rode you through the orgasm.

He removed his hand from your clit, using it instead to grip the back of the sofa, his other hand supporting his weight on the arm. He chased his own high, finding it a few seconds after you. He groaned your name as his hot seed filled you up, hips still pumping for a few moments before he collapsed on top of you.

You wrapped your arms around him as he came down, aftershocks wracking both of your bodies.

Once you'd both caught your breath, Rafael lifted his head to look at you. He smiled as he took in your fucked out appearance--evidence of your enjoyment written all over your face.

"You're so beautiful, querida," he murmured.

You blushed. "So are you."

He chuckled. "I'm not quite sure a man wants to hear that he's beautiful."

"Eres muy guapo, papi," you said with a grin.

His eyes darkened slightly. "That's much better."

He pulled himself up so he could kiss you properly. When he deepened the kiss, you found yourself heating up--the desire once again building in your core.

"How 'bout I take you to bed and properly worship you, cariño? Would you like that?"

Your eyes widened. "You don't have to..."

"I know, but I want to. I wanna taste that pretty pussy properly before I fuck you again."

You grinned a little, enjoying the twinkling in his eye as he looked at you. "Second door on the left," you stated, pointing down the hall.

"Perfecto," he murmured as he stood up. He leaned down and scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, and began to carry you towards the bedroom.

"Rafi!" you yelled in surprise, a soft giggle leaving your lips.

He tossed you onto your bed and crawled on top of you to kiss you deeply. "Now, if it pleases the court, I'd like to spend the next 15 minutes with my head between these sexy thighs."

Your cheeks blushed as you chuckled lightly. "It pleases the court very much."

He gave you one last grin before lowering himself between your legs and sending you to heaven as many times as your body would let him.

Always Mine.

After a one night stand leads to a pregnancy, Tommy longs for a relationship with the child that’s out of his grasp.

This was requested by a lovely anon, I hope i’ve done you proud.This is a GIF IMAGINE. (All gifs belong to their rightful owners).

Word count: 3900      Warnings: Swearing, mentions of drinking/sex/loss. 

11th February 1914, The Garrison.

It had been Arthur that night who had insisted on going to the Garrison, determined to drag Tommy out of the heartbroken slump he had been in for six weeks straight. It had been six weeks since he’d lost his Greta, six weeks since he last held her hands in his and felt even a tiny bit whole.

There was whisky, and music, smoke, and ash. Arthur with his hand wrapped round the barmaid and a cigar in the another. John, who had barely even drank before, had found his place in a poker game in the back den. Every one had found their place but Tommy, whose eyes kept wandering over to the blonde in the corner- her face the same deflated expression as his.

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