imagines :)

Ah shit, here we go

CRIMINAL MINDS

Preferences: 

Secret Santa

Birthday

Art

Appendectomy

First Impressions

Spencer Reid:

The broken ankle debacle

Caught

Relax

LAW AND ORDER: SVU

Barba: 

Decisions

Carisi:

Cops

DAREDEVIL

Preferences and blurbs: 

How you cuddle

How the brothers would react to you being a poker god

The brothers with a singer/dancer s/o

When you’re on your period

Stolen Clothes

Stolen Clothes 2

PDA

Vine Moment

Piotr Headcanons

When they meet your shitty ex

You go missing

Proposal

You tell them you’re pregnant

Someone flirts with you

Meeting the fam

First time he says I love you

Little things he does for you

Vladimir Ranskahov:

Winter Things

Not a Princess

Frank Castle: 

Helping Hand

James Wesley:

Pancake Fight

Death Becomes You

Favorite Wine

Shy

His Turn

Elevator of Love

King James

You look absolutely stunning

Matt Murdock: 

Sick Day

Nightmare

Panic Attack

Fluffy

Headcanons for a shy reader

SUICIDE SQUAD

Preferences: 

First “I love you”

DC

Harley Quinn: 

Stupid Ex

Catwoman:

AVENGERS

Preferences: 

It Is Your Birthday.

Art Project

Pet

Snapchat

You’re sick

How you surprise them

How they surprise you

What it’s like living together

Fall Fun

Vine Moment

Thor:

Haunted House

SUPERNATURAL

Preference: 

At a convention

Amnesia

Holiday shopping

Celebrating the holidays

Gabriel:

Imagine Pranking Gabriel With Song Lyrics

True Love

Sam:

Dean’s Advice

Crowley:

King of Hell on Earth 

King of Hell on Earth 2

Mistletoe

Promise

I want a hellhound for Christmas, Crowley Brown

Dean: 

Hell and Back

Dog Dean Days Are Over 

Baby it’s cold outside

Lucifer:

Devil’s kiss

Castiel:

A spell, pants, and Castiel 

Gadreel:

Surprise, surprise

Surprise, surprise 2 

XMEN

Charles Xavier:

Three Times

BBC SHERLOCK

Irene Adler: 

Sweater Weather

Sherlock:

Slip Up

PEAKY BLINDERS

Alfie Solomons:

Beauty and the Beast part 1

Do you have a masterlist? I’d like to read more of your work but couldn’t find one

If not, it’s okay! Keep up the great work, dove. 💓💓

Part two!

You didn’t know how much time had passed. Sometime you’d fallen asleep.

A small amount of sunlight trickled in through the window.

Your body ached worse than it did earlier. Thank god the room had a small bathroom attached to it. Desperate, you drank water from the faucet. The bottles of alcohol smelled too funny even for your sensibilities.

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Analyzing. Plotting. With a start, you recalled your plan to escape via the window, and ran the short distance across the room.

A car was parked by the curb. Men in aprons worked together to load it full of the “bread”. Too many to successfully escape from.

Now what?

Information was what you needed. Also, ideally, food. You could go without the latter for a bit longer.

You resigned yourself to waiting. The sun provided your only concept of time. You sat in bed, stared at the wallpaper. After that you checked out the desk. The stack of papers consisted of accounting receipts and bills from months ago. His company was doing better than you thought. No potential blackmail material here. By the time you finished sorting through it, the sun was high in the sky. Sitting back on the floor, you debated your next move.

Footsteps came up the stairs. Too light to be Mr. Solomons himself. It could have been someone coming to rescue you, although you’d assumed to have heard shouting at least.

“Who is it?” You demanded, scrambling to your feet. Something you learned from John-always be on the offensive, always get the first word in.

Whoever it was knocked on the door. “Food for you.”

“Keep it. I won’t eat it.”

“You won’t?” He faltered. He sounded exhausted.

“I will be on a hunger strike until I am released from this prison!” You slammed your fist on the desk.

“Can I at least...put it in the room? He’ll give me a right beating if I don’t.”

You thought it over. “Fine. Aren’t you one of the ones who threw me in here last night? You sound familiar.”

Through the small opening he shoved a loaf of bread, wrapped in cloth. “Yeah. My name’s Ollie.”

A strategy was presenting itself. “Ollie, does he administer you beatings frequently?”

He hesitated.

You prodded further. “I need to know what I’m in for.”

He mumbled something and said, “Only to those who deserve it.”

“That’s not fair, is it? When you think about it? I mean, right now, you’ve been pulled into this scheme of his. How much does he pay you? I bet you’re worth more than what he’s paying.”You leaned over so you could see half his face through the crevice.

Ollie raised an eyebrow. “He pays me pretty well, actually.”

“Yes, but is it enough to compensate for the beatings?”

“Ah...he doesn’t beat me.”

“You sound like a decent person-”

“OLLIE! It’s been twenty fucking minutes, I need you to deal with Jack-“ Mr Solomons harsh voice echoed all the way up from the bottom of the stairs.

“I got to go.” Ollie said.

“Will you bring me dinner?” You begged, abandoning the idea of a hunger strike. You could gain his friendship. He could give you the information.

His footsteps began to fade. “I’ll try. I’M ON MY WAY!”

The conversation itself had not been productive but it was the foundation that was important. Ollie returned a few hours later with more food. He was warming up to you. He came back the next day, too, telling you he hadn’t learned anything new. You continued to inquire about the punishments he received and told him the blinders would never be so cruel. Of course, you informed they would give him a job, if he helped you escape-he gave a polite “No, thanks”.

As the days passed, the schedule of the bakery was becoming familiar. You could watch everything from the window. In the morning, it was quiet, with maybe a person or two smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk. By 4pm the workers descended upon the place, swarming like bees. From that time to early in the morning came all sorts of sounds from below, varying from shouting to the hissing of machinery. You came to the realization that the window was facing the back of the building and what you’d believed to be a street was actually some sort of alleyway. It explained why you saw very few other people-yes, it had occurred to you to yell out the window for help.

Ollie was the only person you had contact with. Sometimes Mr. Solomons would stomp up to the flat; you’d hold your breath, listening for a sign of whatever it was he was doing. You guessed he was getting something because after a few moments he would stomp back to the distillery. Once, he’d stop to ask if you were still living. You let him assume you were dead. He huffed and left. Other than that he didn’t bother you. At first it had been terrifying. You expected him to barge in and shoot you. But it never happened.

After three days, now that you had a sense of the routine, you decided to try something new.

Right after Ollie dropped off your lunch, you dared to leave your jail cell.

First things first; you needed a weapon. You could worry about the repercussions of killing a top tier gangster once you’d actually finished the job. It was no longer a business matter, it was a pride thing. Whether it was true or not Ollie claimed to have no knowledge of what your family had going on, you couldn’t wait for them to save you any longer. Time to take things into your own hands.

Like the room, the flat was dusty, and nowhere near being in style. Lots of strange trinkets lay scattered about. Including interesting, unrecognizable taxidermy creatures. The most obvious place was the kitchen. Checking every drawer and cupboard, you found nothing except an old box of crackers. Out of curiosity’s sake, you checked the icebox; you discovered some blocks of cheese and a moldy fruit. No knives, forks, plates. Had he assumed you would look for them, or was his house just..like that? Empty and sad?

Moving back to the parlor, you investigated every possible area. Even underneath the couch cushions, where you did find a few coins(which you pocketed, clearly, he wasn’t missing them). He didn’t even have a gun stashed away somewhere. Peakys had their weapons everywhere, even sewn into their hats. Unusual. Was this how the big city gangsters operated? So confident in themselves they didn’t need them to worry about defense? A more interesting angle: he assumed he wouldn’t need anything to defend himself from you. That he underestimated you provided you with a shred of comfort.

You stared into the room. The last thing you wanted was to admit defeat and go back into hiding. There had to be an obvious solution you were missing. No matter how many times you skimmed over your surroundings, nothing was coming to you.

A sound shook you from your concentration. Footsteps. And they were coming fast.

You lunged back into the room, taking painful care to shut the door slowly so he wouldn’t hear it lock. You waited, too afraid to move. Too afraid he would hear you and know what you’d been doing.

He passed by your room and stomped around into the kitchen. “Are you fucking alive in there?”

You swallowed.

“Right. Of course not.” He answered himself. “Are you hungry? My sister, bless her, has made me dinner.”

You cringed as he came back towards your direction. He knocked, so close to your ear that you jumped.

Running a hand through your hair, you said, “I’m not coming out.”

“I’m inviting you to a nice dinner.”

“The last dinner you invited me to, you shot Billy boy.”

He exhaled. “See, I was thinking we could have a discussion about that.”

A discussion. More like a negotiation. It had potential. You had to get something you needed first.

A beat passed. “I would like to go, however, you have forgotten to provide me with any clothes.”

“What?”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“What are you wearing now?”

You would not be acknowledging that question. Of course you were wearing the same thing you had been the whole time.

He shuffled and mumbled something before saying, “Oh, ah, right. I’ll see what I can get together. But you will come out, right?”

“Fine,” you agreed.

He left. You doubted if he would come back. In the small bathroom, you ran a bath, undressed and hopped in. Agreeing to this was idiotic. You should have taken your shot with the window. You slid further into the tub, considering drowning yourself. Be logical. Be cool. You couldn’t regret it now. Plus, Tommy could clearly tolerate Mr. Solomons. You could do it, too. There still could be a chance of proving yourself here somewhere. Looking down at yourself, you took note of the bruises on your arms and ribs.

A rap on the door signaled his return. “I got some stuff. The lads gathered it. I think it’ll fit you.”

“Leave it by the door,” you instructed, and waited for him to leave before you left the bath tub and snatched the bundle.

The clothes were nice. They weren’t what you would pick at a store, but they were nice and passable. You took your time getting dressed, appreciating a clean outfit.

To your surprise, Mr Solomons stood waiting for you when you opened the door. He looked disheveled, hair messy, linen shirt unbuttoned to reveal two more underneath. You hadn’t actually seen him since that night.

“Okay, I’m ready.” You straightened your spine, brushing off lint from the shirt.

“It fits. Good. Let’s go.”

He led you down the hall, to the dining room. He kept his space, staying ahead of you. He was carrying the cane, a silent threat. You were afraid of him, and had to do everything in your power to make him think otherwise.

“What’s this?” You questioned. “I thought you said your sister made dinner.”

“She did. See, I figure that walk from the bedroom to here was quite strenuous for you seeing as you haven’t left it at all.” He gestured to the table. It was set for two, the chairs facing each other on opposite ends. A few oil lamps lit the room.

Wordlessly, you sat down, wondering what the fuck you were doing.

He remained standing, messing around with the plates on the table. “Here, I got potatoes, you people like those, right?”

He received nothing but a glare in return. You helped yourself to the main dish which was some sort of pasta salad. It was cold, but anything was preferable to the loaf of bread you usually got. Mr. Solomons took a seat, watching you devour your meal.

“Is Arthur still in prison?” You managed to speak after a few bites.

“I’ll reckon he’ll be out soon. Although if you ask me it’ll be good for him.”

“That’s not funny.” It was. You stabbed a noodle out of resentment.

He grinned, his eyes crinkling.

“Were you in the war, Mr. Solomons?” You changed the subject to a more serious topic.

“I’m trying to have a pleasant dinner and you bring that subject up. And it’s Alfie.”

“Okay, Alfie.”

“So you’re a Shelby. Intriguing, that is. Tell me about it.”

“I’m not giving you information about Shelby Limited so don’t even try.”

“But it’s okay for you to try to weasel information from Ollie?” Alfie leaned forward.

He’d caught you. You were impressed, and furious. “Could you blame me?”

“I suppose not.”

All of a sudden his jokes weren’t as funny.

He ate in silence for a few minutes. You pushed the food around on your plate with your spoon(he had not given you a knife or fork, for obvious reasons).

“When are you going to let me go?”

“I haven’t quite gotten to that yet.”

“How is Arthur? Thomas? Michael? What did they put him in for, anyways?”

The questions bounced off of him. “How are you enjoying the meal?”

Your heart sunk.

“You can’t keep me in here forever! One of these days-“

His eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped in his chair. “Do you think that I’m enjoying this? Because I’m not. I can’t go into my own fucking house, can’t even sleep in my bed, have to sleep in the cellar like a fucking animal and now my back is all out of alignment.”

It was a joke. He was provoking you. He could not seriously be complaining about a situation he had created. You slammed your fists on the table, the only outlet you had for your frustration. “You’re crazy. You’re fucking crazy.”

The outburst encouraged him on. “Let’s discuss your conversations with Ollie, shall we?”

“No.”

“When I was in the war, there were stories, about these men who had been captured by the enemy. And you know what would happen? They would become friends, and want to join their side. Comical.”

“They sound like a bunch of traitorous morons.”

“Yeah. What I was thinking was, it’s kind of the opposite situation where you’re holding poor Ollie hostage with your demands. He said you told him you get feeble if you don’t eat for a certain period of time. And he spends more time up here than he’s supposed to. He’s not supposed to like that job.” Alfie pointed at you with his fork. HIS FORK.

“What do you expect me to do? Sit around the house all day until you decide to let me go?”

“About that. I was getting to that. I had an ulterior motive to bringing you out. To see how much of a fucking animal you are. To see if you can be civilized. Your beloved cousin is going to be at the races on Saturday. He’s quite furious, from what I’ve heard. I had it in mind that you and I could attend the races, you know, show him you’re not...deceased.”

“Show him I’m not deceased.” The words fell flat. “You’ll let me go, then? At the races?” The comment about being uncivilized, though warranted, stung your pride.

He shook his head as if the answer was obvious. “No.”

“I do not understand the point.” These games were tiring.

“The point? The point. You want a fucking rhyme or reason to all this? Tommy Shelby, the little bloke, had a bit more power than I was expecting. Sabini, hmph. I don’t care for that man. And I get the impression that Mr. Shelby is going to be around for awhile. He knows his brothers a mess. Me putting him away, that’s business, he knows that. It would have been more merciful to put that thing out of his misery, is my personal opinion. You, however, you’re not part of the business, no matter how much you eavesdrop or sneak around. I fear that Thomas has some...fucking superiority mental complex, and would seek a personal revenge if anything happened to you. I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to deal with that shit, to be quite frank.” Alfie ranted, facial expressions changing with every sentence.

His observations were accurate, except for one part. “It’s my Aunt, you see, she would kill him. So it’s more out of a fear of her than any personal beliefs.”

Alfie stared at you. The same intense stare from the night of the unfortunate celebration. You stared back, unwavering.

He gave a hearty laugh. It shook the table.

You closed your eyes and buried your head in your hands. So he didn’t have time for personal revenge, but he had time to keep a prisoner.

“Funny! Funny, that is. I’ll have to keep that in mind.” His laughed died down to a chuckle.

Releasing a long exhale, you lifted your head. Realization hit you that he was not your friend and this was not a regular dinner. You were a hostage, and some sort of entertainment for him. He could hire any prostitute on the street to listen to his stories and jokes. This was meant to be humiliating.

“You’re going to wait for Darby Sabini to crack. And when he falls, you’ll go crying back to my cousin, and take over what’s left of Sabini’s empire. That’s it, isn’t it? Why you’ve aligned yourself with him so you can learn everything about how he operates his business?” The words tumbled from your mouth as soon as they popped into your head.

The energy in the room shifted. You’d made a mistake. The crazy, jovial Alfie had disappeared. What sat before you was Mr. Solomons, gangster. “I could shoot you in the head. Would you like for that to happen? Or shall I remind you that you are alive by my good fucking graces and perhaps you should act accordingly, and not accuse me of anything you have no understanding of.”

Your hands trembled as you set down your spoon. A few moments went by. The man across the table was staring you down, waiting for a reaction. Honestly, you wanted to cry. Not over what he’d said but because of the whole thing.

“Thank you for the dinner,” you spat, rising from your chair. “I think I will be retiring to my room.” You bit your tongue to keep from adding, ‘enjoy sleeping in the cellar, asshole’.

He offered no objections to you leaving the table, still watching you with that unsettling look. You expected him to yell or moan about how it’d been a joke. Ask you to come back.

Instead you got a gruff, “We’re going to the races on Saturday. That’s it.”

His eyes followed you until you made it to safety.

He was out there, waiting. You could feel it. Would he try to speak to you again? Why? What would he do next? Panic started to grow within you. You crawled into the bed, beneath the scratchy wool blanket, and buried your head under the pillow.

It was quiet.

In the silence of the room you were aware of how deeply you missed your family. Even Arthur, who you were starting to feel sympathetic for. Finn most of all because no one had likely told him what was going on. You missed your queen-sized bed, with your clothes, and your books and your things. The reality of it was setting in. You had to get through until Saturday. No doubt Tommy would have something planned. You had to convince yourself that there was hope.

Part 1

Authors note: this is my first time writing for Peaky Blinders, and my first time writing a fic in a while, so please feel free to bully me for my inaccuracies! also I might change the title later cuz idk what else to title this. Enjoy!

—-

Polly pretended to disapprove of you and Arthur’s shenanigans. Reality was, she knew with you around, Arthur couldn’t get into too much trouble. True, it was not the most respectable of hobbies for a lady, to be playing cards and hanging around bars every Friday night. However, Arthur couldn’t be getting any whores pregnant when he had to watch over his young cousin. And he’d make sure you’d stay out of trouble, too. Tommy had a similar line of thinking. Although with this latest scheme, you weren’t sure you had his full support.

“Are you sure this is the best idea?”

“I think,” Arthur paused for a beat, stroking his mustache. “It will go smoothly. You want to prove yourself, that you can function in this line of business, this is it.”

“And what did Tommy say about it?” You questioned. He’d sent Arthur in his place for a meeting with Mr Solomons. You were sitting in the car outside of the distill- bakery. Arthur insisted that you come along to this meeting. Camden Town was a bit nicer than Birmingham-though not by much.

“You know Tommy, he’s, well, you know,” he blustered. In the back seat, Billy coughed.

So Tommy was not aware of this arrangement. “Right.” But you were not going to NOT go in.

You’d bumped into Mr Solomons once. He’d been leaving after having a conversation with Tommy. You scampered away before he could say anything to you. Not out of fear of him; you ran away because you were afraid Tommy would know you’d been eavesdropping. Though Mr Solomons had made a reputation for himself, from what you’d overheard, he sounded like a bit of a clown.

“Are you coming or are you going to stay in the car like a baby?”

“I’m not a baby,” you protested and stepped out into the cold air. “Finn is a baby.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t invite him for a reason.” Arthur punctuated the sentence with a slam of the automobile door.

You adjusted your outfit, making sure you looked proper and professional. “Let’s get this over with.”

A man awaited you by the door and led you inside the distillery. It was dark, and damp. The odor of rum-er, bread, permeated the air. The smell made you light headed. Your shoes echoed on the cement, the loudest sound in the room.

As you descended into the labyrinth, a man appeared from behind a corner. Mr. Solomons himself.

His hat cast an ominous shadow over his face- definitely planned for theatrical effect.

He did not react to your presence. If he recognized you he gave no sign. “Welcome, welcome! You must be Arthur!”

“Mr. Solomons,” Arthur greeted, offering a hand.

“I’ve head so much about you,” Mr. Solomons said. The amusement in his voice was evident. He wasn’t taller than your cousin, but he was stockier and way more intimidating. Billy stood on the opposite side of you, wary of the large man.

Arthur replied, “Shalom.”

You cringed. Mr. Solomons gaze flickered to one of his men behind Arthur.

“Let me just say, Shalom,” Arthur repeated, painfully serious. You felt ill. If it were a less tense situation you would have smacked him over the head.

Solomons tilted his head just enough for you to get a glimpse of the look of incredulity on his face.

“Shalom!” He said. “So glad you could join us for this most joyous of celebrations! And I see you’ve brought friends for the occasion.” Solomons nodded in your direction. You’d been instructed by Arthur to not speak too much or get involved. The same went for Billy.

Arthur shifted on his feet. “This is my cousin, and my associate. Shall we discuss business?”

“Cousin, eh? From the sounds of it, there’s a new Shelby every fucking week.” Mr Solomons chuckled. “Come along, come along.”

He lead you into a room with a table in the center. Something was off. Perhaps it was the comment Arthur had made. It had surely offended them. The Solomons men hadn’t even looked at you. Not that you wanted to be looked at. It was unusual, though. They weren’t even looking at each other.

Something else in the room caught your attention; a goat tied to the leg of the table. It bleated sadly at you. You resisted the urge to pet it.

Mr Solomons circled the table and gestured. You took note of the pipe in his hand that also seemed to function as a cane. “Take a seat, why don’t you?”

Arthur hesitated, both you and Billy watching him before making a move.

He took the chair on the end. Some of the Solomons boys were standing behind the three of you in a perfect line. Another one took a chair next to Mr Solomons, still not looking at you.

Mr Solomons himself remained standing, studying Billy like he was the most fascinating thing on the planet. “And you’ll be...”

“Billy,” Billy said.

Mr. Solomons focused his attention on you. “Shelby?”

“(Y/n),” was your answer as you sat down at the table. There were plates and cups arranged before you. You kept your hands in your lap, careful not to touch anything.

“(Y/n)...You know, out there in the sand, out there in the desert where me forefathers come from... started out as a little speck...”

“Is everything alright?” Billy leaned over to whisper to Arthur. One of the men lurking around had shut the door behind you while Mr. Solomons rambled on. Arthur tried to dismiss Billy’s concerns with a wave.

“Billy, don’t worry mate, yeah, if you want you can leave. If you need to go to the little boys room or something you can leave.” Mr. Solomons interrupted, sounding a little too much like a school teacher.

“He’s alright, he’s alright,” Arthur grinned, rubbing Billy’s shoulder. “Billy boy.”

Your stomach churned. Something was wrong. This was not the kind of conversation that Tommy and Mr Solomons had had the day you eavesdropped. This was not the simple meeting you were promised.

“You want to stay?” Mr Solomons asked Billy; staring at him so intensely you had to look away.

“I’ll stay.”

“You stay there, then, treacle.” Mr Solomons grimaced, and his voice suddenly became much louder. “So! The pharaoh! Have you heard of him?”

Without thinking, you nodded, and he pointed in acknowledgement at you.

“He kept my people, the Jewish people, in slavery for thousands of years.”

“Persecuted, right,” Arthur interjected, pleased with himself for making this astute observation. Mr Solomons eyes lit up with amusement.

“He did, he persecuted my race. killing the innocent, right. So this feast that we’re having here , is basically the day what when the Jewish angels decided the evil fucking Egyptians had pushed their fucking luck!”

“Right,” Arthur added.

“It’s part of our tradition to do this, for in order to make it good with god to kill a king.”

Oh fuck. You glanced towards your cousin. By the look on his innocent smiling face he had not come to the conclusion you had. Okay, keep it cool. From the rumors you knew Mr Solomons was an intelligent man who spoke in idiotic riddles. You could have been misreading things. Sabini could be the pharaoh in the story.

“Right,” Arthur said again. What was Tommy doing at this moment?

“That is the ritual of the sacrifice of the pass over goat.” Mr Solomons said.

Everyone at the table turned to look at the bleating creature.

Arthur looked ill. “A goat?”

Mr Solomons gestured to it. “Yeah, we’re gonna sacrifice it. Tonight. That’s part of the reason why we have to shut the doors as well.”

You wished Arthur had let you keep a gun. You were a sitting duck. Every muscle in your body tensed, ready for the action. No, Tommy wasn’t the pharaoh.

“But this year we thought we’d give the fucking goat a name!” He grinned.

“You named it.”

“We fucking did.”

You averted your eyes as a man put a knife to the goats neck. “Arthur?”

“You named the fucking goat.” He shifted in his chair. It seemed as if he was catching on.

“Evil fucking Egyptian pharaoh-“

“The fucking-“

“And you know what we called it?”

“What’d you call it?”

Your hands balled into fists.

“Tommy Shelby,” Mr Solomons answered with a hint of triumph.

As the blood of the goat spilled on the ground you dropped to the floor. Chaos ensued; a gunshot fired so loud your ears rang. It took a few seconds for your hearing to return. Arthur was screaming. You looked up to see poor Billy slumped in his chair, covered in blood, not moving. You brought your knees to your chest and covered your head to avoid any potential stray bullets. Three of the men had to restrain Arthur, who thrashed and cursed.

Heavy footsteps approached. You scooted back further under the safety of the table. Trying to help him would be useless; you were outnumbered and they had guns.

Arthur went quiet, his freckled face pale.

The back of Mr. Solomons came into view.

“That’s that. So, and the evil Egyptian scum was finally cleansed by the blood of the Passover goat. Mate.”

You covered your moth with a hand.

He kissed Arthur’s cheek twice. “That’s for Sabini.”

Then he promptly bashed Arthur over the head. Funnily enough, it brought back memories of all the times you’d seen Arthur do the same thing to someone else. The urge to laugh overwhelmed you.

Mr Solomons dropped into a squat and placed the gun he’d shot Billy with into Arthur’s hand.

While he was in this position he noticed you under the table.

“Ah, hello there,” he grunted, eyes looking you up and down.

You wanted to swear, or grab the gun from Arthur’s limp hand, or do something very impressive.

He stared at you, waiting for a reply.

“Hi,” you sputtered out. “Is he dead?”

“Oh, nah, that would ruin the fun. You were not supposed to be here tonight.”

“I know.”

“Right. What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

“Let me go?” You suggested. It was worth a try.

He scratched his beard, lost in thought. “Cute, but I think not. That wouldn’t exactly wrap things up nicely, would it?”

A heavy pause lingered in the air. You pulled your knees in even closer, in an instinctual effort to protect yourself.

“Ok. Well! Lads, why don’t you take our guest upstairs?”

“Excuse me? No, no way.”

One of the men grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“Hey!” You struggled to get your arm free.

Mr Solomons stood up and turned away from you.

“You’re gonna kidnap me and you can’t even look me in the face! Fucking coward!” You shoved the man off but slipped in the blood on the floor, letting him get the advantage.

Another grabbed your other arm and despite your best efforts you couldn’t elbow him off. The near tumble had discombobulated you.

Mr Solomons glanced over his shoulder, as cool as a cucumber. “My good friends the London police are here if you’d prefer to go with them.”

The shock of what he’d said made you forget to fight. “Wait, what?” He didn’t have police on his payroll. Oh, Sabini did, how could you forget?

“Get the fuck off me!” You screamed.

The two men dragged you out the same moment as the doors flung open. A group of police stormed the room.

“Fucking animal came in here with a gun and he shot him in the face!” Mr. Solomons gestured with his cane, ignoring your pleas for help. “And my lads restrained him. Look at him! He’s dead! Is he dead! He’s fucking dead!” His false astonished voice followed you down the hall.

You fought back with all your effort.

“Stop fucking fighting, you’re lucky he didn’t shoot you too!” One of them said.

“Oh, how kind! How generous! Please be sure to thank him for me! Arthur! Arthur!” You didn’t know why you were screaming for him. They were carting him off to jail. Fuck. Would Tommy know? How long would it take for him to find out? “Bastards!”

Going upstairs was the worst part; you managed to slither out of their grip and ran up a few steps before tripping onto your face. They at least had the decency to not laugh.

The upstairs appeared to be some sort of flat. The two assholes threw you into the closest room, probably out of desperation to be free of you.

“What are you going to do with me?” You demanded, although you were scared of the answer.

They exchanged glances. They had let you free but blocked the door.

“Well, we’re not sure. He didn’t really give us instructions.” One said.

“I could give you some instructions. How about you go shove a-“ the threat was enough. Without rhyme or reason you charged at them like a bull.

Before you could spring your attack, they slipped out, locking the door behind themselves.

Slamming your fists on the door, you swore at them, every word imaginable.

Once you exhausted yourself you switched gears. Taking in the room; you noticed a bed shoved against a wall, a large, messy desk, and a small window. The style of the room was at least ten years out of date, and was covered in what looked like ten years of dust. This must be where Mr Solomons slept. For someone who had money he didn’t live like it.

You moved to the one window in the room. Here was a potential escape route. Except for the crowd of men huddled outside smoking. They wore aprons, like the others you saw. There was no way you could get past all of them.

But you could once they left. The only issue was making sure nothing happened to you in between then and now.

Who knew what upsetting plans he had for you? He fucking shot Billy. He could have shot you. Maybe the only reason he did it was because the police were nearby. He could be on his way up here at this very moment.

You needed to block the door. Anything to stall for time.

There was a coat rack in the corner that you used. The large cabinet full of decorative China plates looked easy to push; after a few tense moments of pushing you abandoned it and went for the desk. You investigated your work. The door could still be opened a few inches. Anything more than that would be blocked.

It should be enough. It didn’t feel like it. You were becoming aware of the heavy, dull ache in your muscles. Your ribs hurt from you dropped to the floor and bruises had begun to appear on your arms. You sat down on the creaky bed. If you were trapped in here, you might as well enjoy the “comforts” of this place.

A few hours passed. It had to be the next day already. Your thoughts were with Arthur, wondering if he’d woken up from the bashing yet. And Tommy, if he knew you were being held hostage. He was smart. He’d get you out of this. Unless he’d finally had enough of your antics and disowned you. No, no. Polly, John and Ada wouldn’t let that happen. You were spiraling and tired but too paranoid to sleep. Laying back on the bed, your eyes closed as you strained to listen for any sound. Why in the ever loving fuck had you let Arthur do this? When had he ever done anything smart?

Someone knocked at the door.

“Fuck off.” You said, a conditioned response from years of your cousins barging in on you.

Mr Solomons huffed. “Yes, yes. Listen. I’m not going to shoot you-well, I might if you get on my nerves- I have actually come to the conclusion that you may be quite useful to me.”

You sat up. “What?”

Mr Solomons opened the door, and to your relief, it got stuck on the desk. “Moving my fucking desk around?”

“I doubt I’m any use to you,” you said in your bravest voice. “Tommy will be looking for me. And he will want revenge for your betrayal with Sabini.”

He jiggled the door again. It didn’t budge. “Yeah, exactly. Revenge and all that. And I know he’s fond of you- you were at his house that day- so if I have you, right, as leverage, he’ll be less likely to put a fucking bullet in my head.”

“Did you really put Arthur in prison?”

“Yes, and I’ve just gotten word that Michael...Gray, is it, he’s been locked up too. So Tommy is probably a bit busy at the moment.”

Michael? That was probably a lie. A bluff. Polly would be in shambles.

“So are you going stay in there forever or are you going to come out?” Not taunting. Curious.

“I’ll stay in here.”

“You can come out, I’m not going to fucking hurt ya-“

“I saw you shoot Billy in the fucking head! And nearly kill Arthur!” You barked and flung the nearest object you could find, an empty bottle, at the door.

He cursed and shut the door before the bottle could slam into his head. “Didn’t you listen to a fucking word I said? Tommy Shelby would really come after me then.”

“Fuck the fuck off!” Another bottle flew through the air for good measure. This time the liquid contents splattered on the papers on the desk.

“Fucking hell,” he growled. “Stay in there as long as you want then, yeah?”

Okay I couldn’t think of a title for this so.. just enjoy, I guess. 

The first  time you met Will Graham he had been...rude. It was at a crime scene, and technically, you weren't even supposed to be there. You'd been having lunch with your friend Jack Crawford when he got the call, and he didn't have time to drop you off at your house, so he let you tag along.

"You can't do this! It's unfair, and you know it!" You pleaded with your boyfriend Rafael. The current case he was working on was horrible, complex, and disturbing. A man had held a woman hostage and forced her to help murder another woman. Barba had decided the best option would be to go after both the woman and the man. But you knew that the woman was innocent, she hadn't wanted to kill the other one but had to to save herself.

"Honey, please, I know you're upset but you just don't understand how it -" Rafael tried to explain but he just came across as condescending.

You threw your hands up in the air. "I don't care about the politics, okay?! This lady went through hell and now she's going to have to spend the rest of her life in jail!" You grabbed your bag off his desk.

"Wait, come on, don't leave, we can talk this through, I'm sorry," Rafael came around his desk and grabbed your hand gently, his eyes searching yours to estimate just how angry you were.

Pausing for a moment, you stared at him then glanced away, pulling your hand away as well. "I can't even look at you right now." You whispered.

Rafael was stunned. He blinked and gestured as he stuttered, trying to come up with something else to explain.

You didn't wait to hear. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you flung the door to his office open. You didn't care if everyone was staring at you. You knew they heard but you were standing up for what you believed in. And Olivia and Amanda agreed with you so you knew you weren't completely crazy.

You stormed out. Stupid Rafael. It was impossible to think straight. You decided to pick up a pint of ice cream and lock yourself up in your apartment, and binge watch happy tv shows so you could forget how awful the real world could be sometimes.

As you were laying up on your couch you resisted the urge to check your cell phone. In your heart you knew you couldn't forgive Rafael if he sent the innocent woman to jail. It was against everything you believed in, and you couldn't be with a man who would ruin someone's life just to further his career.

But... What if he called or texted saying he was sorry? That he wasn't going to prosecute? You were about to reach for it when you heard the noise at the door. It was a short and abrupt knock.

"(Y/n), it's me," the exasperated voice of your boyfriend came from behind the door. You paused, unsure of what to do. As quietly and quickly as you could, you snuck up to the door.

"Come on, I can hear you sneaking around in there." Rafael tried to hold back a laugh.

He knew you too well, damn. "What do you want."

"I want to say I'm sorry..I know this is difficult for you." Rafael started to speak but you weren't interested in his apology.

"But are you going to prosecute her?" You interrupted sharply.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. You felt your heart sinking with each moment that passed.

"You know I have to." Rafael whispered. You could hear the pain in his voice and it took all of your strength not to run out there and comfort him.

It took a moment for you to think of a response. "You don't have to do anything."

Rafael exhaled. "I'm sorry."

You frowned, and balled your hands into fists. "Your job is to help innocent people, not put them away for things they didn't do. And I can't ... " you didn't want to say that you couldn't be with some one who could do something so wrong.

There was another pause, and Rafael spoke again. "I think I should go." His tone was flat and cold.

You didn't want him to go. Oh god, why were you letting him go? "That's probably a good idea." You said even though you didn't mean it.

There was a brief moment where you thought, maybe he'll change his mind, and he'll say he was wrong and I'll forgive him. But suddenly, his footsteps started moving away from your door and down the hall.

You stood there by the door, not sure if that really happened. Did this mean you were over? You went over to the couch, flopped down and screamed into your pillow. Everyone told you dating a high profile lawyer was a mistake.

--

The next morning you went into work as usual. You didn't let your colleagues know just how pissed off you were although they were definitely wary, occasionally shooting you looks out of the corner of their eyes.

"Hey, Barba's on tv," Fin said, pointing at the large tv on the wall.

"Whatever, he's on tv all the time," you said, and it came out a bit harsher than you intended.

"No, this is about that case.." Olivia said as she leaned forward, keen to hear Barba.

You clenched your teeth and tried to stop yourself from looking at the tv. There was paperwork to be done! And you already knew what he was going to say!

Fin got up and turned up the volume, standing under the tv as he stared at it.

Well, you were going to hear it anyways, better go ahead and look.

In an unusual twist Rafael looked unkempt and tired. "I have decided that we are going to prosecute Mr Martinez for homicide and kidnapping."

You waited for the next part, but it never came.

"As for Miss Howard we will not be taking action as we believe she is innocent and was a victim of Mr Martinez and not an accomplice. Thank you." Barba left the podium and a news reporter took over.

"Did you do this?" Olivia turned to you, her mouth agape. You felt equally shocked, but you couldn't stick around to talk. You had to find Rafael! There was no time to talk about whatever the hell just happened. You grabbed your coat and bag and headed out the door.

You ended up running into Rafael halfway between the precinct and his building. He looked equally frantic and excited to see you. For once, a bright smile broke out across his face. You hadn't seen that in awhile.

"Rafael! You saved that woman!" You rushed out, grabbing his hands. Rafael gently pulled you inwards, closer to him. His whole demeanor seemed to change; you could sense him relaxing.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen," he murmured. "I knew. I knew the whole time it was wrong."

"Then why didn't you..." You trailed off, trying to think of something to say.

Rafael pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. I might get in serious trouble for this. But I guess I'd rather be known as a compassionate lawyer than a political one."

Rafaels green eyes were weary with all the stress of the day and the uncertainty of the future.

"Thank you," you whispered and wrapped your arms around him, laying your head on his chest. He sighed and closed his eyes, and absentmindedly stroked your hair.

He kissed your forehead and you looked up at him, content.