Immortal-Imagines

He shrunk back, sinking onto the bed. The looks she gave him was one he’d never seen before. Pure fire and rage.

“Please,” he said, quieter this time, softer.

She ran her hand through her hair. “Joel.” She shook her head, run out of words to say. “Please don’t follow me.”

The apartment door opened and closed. She was gone.

Joel let his head fall back on the mattress, the mattress they’d bought together, just a year before. The mattress he’d held her in his arms while she slept, kissed her, loved her.

She was sick of his indecisiveness. His unwilling to commit. And he didn’t blame her. Why would someone stick around when he couldn’t give her the life she wanted. The life she deserved. She wanted marriage and kids and a home. He wanted those things too, but fuck if the thought didn’t terrify him. All he wanted to do was take care of her, but his fear had gotten in the way and now she was gone.

He stared at the ceiling. Fuck. He’d really done it this time.

He must’ve drifted off because when he opened his eyes, sunlight bled through the curtains. And the empty space next to him reminded him with an awful twang that she was gone. He ran his hands over his face, sitting up and assessing the room. Her stuff was everywhere. She’d been in such a rush, she’d barely taken anything. All over one stupid fight. She’d asked him if he could see them with kids and he shrugged. He grunted. Said nothing, like he always did.

“Fuck.”

He grabbed his keys. It took seconds for him to reach the door and start the truck. He didn’t think, just let instinct lead him. He knew where she’d be. He knew what he had to do.

Her family’s lake house was only a half an hour drive, but he pushed the truck to its limit, taking corners like they were nothing. He was mad at himself that he’d let her go for this long. She’d said not to follow, but how could he just let her go.

His hair stuck up at odd angles and he was still in the clothes he’d slept in, but he didn’t care. That wasn’t the priority. She was.

He sped past shops, houses, neighbourhoods. The kind she hoped they’d live in one day. Out of their pokey apartment and into a place they could call their own. He’d make a crib for their child, teach them how to throw a ball and ride a bike.

You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Joel hated the cliché phrase, but it was true. He could see his life so clearly with her. The moment that door slammed it was like the future he could have flashed in front of him. The yard, the home, the wife, the kids. Why had he been so afraid?

He made it to the forest and the dirt track that lead to the house. He could see the lake in the distance. His heart skipped a beat and the little box in his pocket suddenly felt extremely heavy. He’d had it for a year or so now, but never plucked up the courage to ask. Or maybe he was afraid she’d say no. His pride got the better of him. But when she walked out, he knew what he wanted.

The truck kicked up plumes of dust, as it tore towards the lake. Towards her. He went over and over again in his head what he was going to say.

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you.”

“Please don’t go.”

“Be my forever.”

He wasn’t one for soppy cards or words of affection. He liked to show his love. But now, actions weren’t going to cut it. She needed to hear how he felt.

He parked up next to her car. It was like he blinked and he was at the front door, hand raised ready to knock. His stomach was in knots. Just do it. So he did. Two sharp knocks.

“Go home, Joel.” Her voice was muffled behind the door.

“Need t’ talk t’ you,” he said. When he was met with silence, he added, “Please.” It wasn’t as desperate as the night before. More of a request than a plea. The door creaked, just slightly ajar, and he saw her face appear in the crack.

“I said don’t follow me.”

“Y’know I’m no good at listening,” he gave her a half smile, hoping to defuse the tension and get her to open the door just a bit wider. It worked. The door swung fully open. She stood, arms crossed, in the threshold with a look of pure thunder.

“Go on,” she said, one eyebrow raised, “What do you want?”

Now or never.

Joel got down on his knee. It wasn’t how he pictured it, but then again none of this ever was. Her face dropped and her hands shot to her face.

“What are you doing?”

“Look, I know I’m no good at this soppy shit. I’m not good at anythin’ right now.” He sighed, looking at the ground. “I shoulda done this a long time ago.” He took the box out of his pocket and opened it. His eyes met hers. Tears ran down her cheeks.

“I don’t want you to do this just because I want it. I want you to want it too.”

He went behind the desk. You stood there, awkwardly playing with the hem of your dress. The breeze you felt from the lack of underwear sent a shiver down your spine.

Professor Miller opened a draw and took out your thong. Warmth rushed to your cheeks. Shit. Here we go.

He held it up to you, balanced on one large finger. You couldn’t help imagining what that finger would feel like, helping relieve the tension that was building in your core.

“This funny t’ you? Some sorta joke?”

“No,” you mumbled, your confidence wavering.”

“Speak. Up.”

“No,” you repeated, meeting his eyes and wishing you hadn’t.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, babygirl.” He smirked and took a step towards you. You could feel wetness pooling at the nickname.

“You think it’s a good idea t’ give your professor your panties?”

This was swiftly turning from payback on him to payback on you. You weren’t having that.

“Yeah, thought you looked tense. Might give you something to relieve all that pressure.” The confidence was coming back. He raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting an answer. He was right in front of you now, the thong balled in his hand. You looked him in the eye, noticing the anger in his dark eyes. Not just anger, something else. Your eyes flickered down, to the now growing bulge in his jeans. Fuck. You tried to not let your shock give you away. He was huge. When you looked back at him, he had a cocky look on his face. You didn’t like it.

You used your last ounce of courage to trace a finger along his length. He sucked in a breath and before you could react, he hand was on your throat. You managed a squeak, before his other hand was under your dress. He was slow with his movements. He was teasing you. Shit.

His hand grazed your thigh. Just an inch higher and he’d feel how wet you were. “You me t’ relieve some pressure?” You tried to nod but his grip was too tight on your neck. He smirked. “Good girl.”

Finally his hand reached your clit. He brushed a finger over your core, so lightly but enough to make your knees weak. You gasped. Seeming satisfied that you wouldn’t move if he let go, he moved his other hand from your neck to your tit. You bit your lip as he pinched your nipple between his thumb and finger.

“You wanna cum for me, babygirl?”

You were his now. Any control you’d had in this situation was gone. He made sure of that.

He chuckled when you nodded and got to his knees. He pushed your dress up above your hips and pressed his lips to your centre. You nearly collapsed at the sudden contact. You had to grip hold of the desk, back still pressed against the wall, to top yourself from crumpling. He ran his tongue over your clit, one long movement, then kissed the inside of your thigh. You groaned. That one stroke left you begging for more. You knew how wet you were. You wanted him inside you.

“Fuck me.”

Professor Miller chuckled. “So desperate for me. So wet, babygirl.”

He licked your clit again, small and quick this time, repeating until you felt like you couldn’t take it anymore. You moaned. You were rapidly closing in on climax. Just before you could, he stopped. He stood up and you nearly cried. You were aching for his touch. Aching to finish what he’d started. You moved to finish yourself, but he grabbed your wrist before you could.

“Kneel.”

Your face was hot. You didn’t take in the words he was saying. Your thoughts were clouded by the pain in your core. “Please,” you begged. It was shameful, embarrassing. He’d done it again.

“I said, kneel.”

You did as you were told this time, kneeling down in front of him. He removed his belt and jeans, letting them slip to the floor. He wasn’t wearing underwear. You gasped. You didn’t mean to. He was so big. Seeing it behind clothes was one thing.

“You wanted t’ relieve my pressure, right?” he said, his voiced laced with confidence and cockiness.

“You didn’t relieve mine, Professor”

He lifted your chin with one finger. “Patience, babygirl.”

You wrapped your fingers around his length, taking it all in. It was your chance to make him suffer now, but you didn’t think he’d let you.

You ran your tongue across the underside of his cock and you felt his body tense. His fingers knotted in your hair and he pushed your head forward. When he slid into your mouth, he let out a guttural growl. You felt wetness trickle down your thigh. Asshole.

You pumped him back and forth, deeper and deeper each time.

“Can you take it all?”

You slid your lips all the way down his cock until it hit the back of your throat. He groaned as you released him. “That answer your question?” you looked up at him with doe eyes. His grip in your hair tightened.

“That pretty little mouth of yours doesn’t shut up, does it?”

You licked him again. You picked up pace with your hand, pumping him faster. You wanted to make him cum. You wanted him to think about this tomorrow. Make the lecture as difficult as possible. He groaned again, his breathing getting heavy. He was close.

You put your mouth back round his cock, still pumping with your hand. That did it. He spilled onto your tongue, moaning your name, hand tight in your hair. He jerked his hips into you.

You pulled out, swallowing. He looked a mess. Hair stuck up, face pink, panting. You smiled smugly. He didn’t finish you, but you won this time. You were now sitting rent free in his brain. Blowjobs and summer dresses. And you were sure this wouldn’t be the last. He would give you your release.

You stood up, smoothing down your dress. Professor Miller pulled up his jeans and fastened his belt. Your thong was now on the floor. Before you could pick it up, he got there first.

“I think I’ll keep this.” He tucked it into his jeans pocket.

He moved behind his desk, sitting down in the chair you couldn’t help but picture fucking him in.

“You can go,” he said, looking at his laptop. But you weren’t done.

You put your hands on his desk, leaning over to make sure he could see down your dress. “Hey, professor?”

He looked up, then down. You smiled. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you didn’t make me cum.”

His eyes blackened and he shifted in his chair. You took a piece of paper from his desk, wrote your number and handed it back.

“Send me something nice,” you said, before turning to the door.

As you reached for the handle, you heard, “It’s Joel.”

Tag list:

She flopped down next to you, pulling your blanket over her lap. You wrinkled your nose.

“Have you showered?”

“No, why do I smell?” She held her arm up and took a quick sniff, answering her own question. “Gross.”

“You know you haven’t been to a single lecture?”

Kelsey shrugged. “I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again. Plus, you can catch me up, right?” She winked.

“Sure. There’s an assignment due next week.”

Kelsey pulled herself up. “Shit, on what?”

“The Great Gatsby. Professor wants an essay explaining the plot because he’s never read it.”

“You’re joking?”

“Nope.”

You sat in silence for a second, before you broke it with, “Want to go shopping?”

Kelsey groaned. “Normally it’d be a yes, but right now a tiny army are battling in my head and I’m running on beer and 2 hours of sleep.”

-

You’d saved up a bit of money over the summer, doing odd jobs here and there, so had some cash to spare. And some new clothes were step one of your plan.

The first shop you went to was teeming with summer dresses. You picked out a couple of red options, to replace the coffee-stained one, plus some blue and a little purple slip that you were sure was probably pyjamas or lingerie. It brushed your thigh, just short enough to fuck with an asshole, but still be kind of appropriate for uni.

You decided that was your choice for Monday morning. Start the week off right.

Professor Miller was already setting up when you walked in. No one else had arrived yet, which was intentional on your part. You wanted to be noticed. You wanted to tease.

“Morning, professor,” you said, as you passed him.

He grunted, not looking up from his papers.

You didn’t take your usual spot at the back corner. You sat in the middle, in plain sight. You took your essay from your bag and walked to his desk. The paper made a satisfying swoosh as you slid it under his nose. He looked at your then. That same dark look from day one in his eyes. His lips parted and you caught his eyes look you up and down. It was so quick that if you’d blinked you’d have missed it. When you leant over his desk, you revealed just the right amount of cleavage. He pressed his mouth into a line.

“My essay,” you said. As you walked back to your desk, you felt his eyes follow you.

Other students filed in, adding their essays to yours. Professor Miller didn’t look at you again.

He didn’t look at your for the rest of the lecture. It must’ve been hard, seeing as you were right in front of him. His eyes flickered onto you once, but just as soon as he’d looked, he turned back to the board behind him. You decided that this wasn’t good enough. While everyone was focused on a written task, you raised your hand.

Professor Miller’s eyes blackened as he acknowledged your hand. “What?”

“Sorry professor, can I use the bathroom?”

He grunted, which you took as a yes.

You stood, making sure you held his eye as you walked past him to the door. He looked pissed. Good.

In the bathroom, a wicked thought crossed your mind. You used the courage and anger that had built up since that first lecture and took off your black lace thong. You tucked it down into your bra so it was hidden. When you went to hand in your written task, you slipped the thong between the papers and put it in a plastic wallet. Sure, it was risky, but if it worked, the payoff would be perfect. Thank god for plastic wallets. You added it to the pile with everyone else’s and were dismissed for lunch.

A small doubt began to play in your mind as you sat down to eat your lunch. What if you’d got the wrong idea? What if you got kicked off the course? He was an asshole. He could report you, then what? Why did you have to be so stubborn and confrontational?

These thoughts only worsened when you stepped back into class to see Professor Miller, a look of pure rage, hands balled into fists, knuckles white, sat behind his desk. He glared at you when you walked in and continued to until you sat down. If he didn’t stop, other people would start to notice.

Thankfully, he didn’t acknowledge you for the rest of the afternoon. But that feeling of doubt stayed in your mind. You felt like you were going to throw up, but you couldn’t ask to leave. You didn’t want to draw any more attention to yourself. He’d looked pissed. What if he’d reported you already?

Class ended and all you wanted to do was run home. But Professor Miller had other ideas. As you headed for the door, you felt a large hand on your shoulder.

The UK rarely got warm days, especially in September, but for some reason the universe decided move in day was going to be a million degrees. You and Kelsey heaved box after box up the stairs of your new apartment complex. Sweaty was an understatement. And of course you were on the third floor with no lift.

“Do you… do you think we’ll ever feel cool again?” Kelsey huffed, wheeling what you hoped was the last suitcase through the door. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, wrinkling your nose at the amount of moisture that came off. “Please tell me there’s nothing else?” No sooner had you said those words, the door to the flat next door opened, revealing a tanned, toned looking Ken doll of a man. All muscles, abs and blonde.

Kelsey straightened up, frantically brushing fly-aways down and tugging at her now damp tank top.

The guy leant on the door frame of his flat and flashed you both a Ryan Gosling style grin. “You ladies need a hand?”

You had to restrain yourself from an eye roll. Sure, he was hot, but it was textbook pickup lines. Plus you were way too hot for sex. Kelsey didn’t seem to agree. She put on her best sex eyes, biting her lip.

If you weren’t careful you’d end up unpacking this whole flat yourself.

“I think we’re…”

“I could use some help,” Kelsey interrupted you. She gave you a quick, stern look, before looking back at the guy.

“I got some help in here,” the guy gestured to his apartment, looking Kelsey up and down.

“One sec,” Kelsey held up a finger to him, turning to you, whispering, “I’ll love you forever if you let me go with him. I’ll help unpack later, I promise.”

You shrugged. “Have fun. But if you’re not back in two hours I’m calling the police and assuming you’ve been murdered.”

Kelsey beamed. “Thanks, you’re the best.”

The guy held his hand out, which she took, and they disappeared into his flat.

You looked at all the boxes strewn around the living room. That was a job for tomorrow, when you didn’t feel like you were going to melt. You took your suitcase and dragged it into your bedroom. At least this room could be unpacked.

Just as you unzipped it, you heard the unmistakable moan then thud of what you assumed was Kelsey’s back against the wall. Shower. You would have a cold shower first.

Kelsey returned an hour later, looking suitably satisfied. You’d had a shower, unpacked most of your stuff and were now lying on the sofa with a handheld fan directly on your face. You raised you head as she walked in.

“Any good?”

“Useful,” was all she said, before disappearing into the bathroom.

You took that as she’ll be spending a lot of time next door.

-

The first lecture of a new course always felt like starting school all over again. A bunch of new people in a classroom not really knowing what they’re doing there. Kelsey had decided that lecture number one is always useless and opted instead to stay in bed. You didn’t argue with her. She was the kind of girl who walked to the beat of her own drum. An admirable if slightly irresponsible trait. But who were you to judge?

So you really did feel like the new girl. You sat at a desk relatively close to the back. It was still early so all the good seats hadn’t been taken yet. Just a few keen beans right at the front, then one other guy on your row.

You rummaged in your bag, with that awful feeling that you’d forgotten something. Shit, laptop. And you didn’t have a notebook. Not a good start. You contemplated asking the guy on your row if he had a spare piece of paper, but he looked so blazed that you’re not sure he would even know what class he was in. Instead, you figured it was early enough in the class to rush to the nearest supply cupboard, which you hoped was in plains sight.

You grabbed your bag and rushed to the door, not seeing the figure walking in.

“Fuck!” You collided with his body, the coffee in his hand now all down your dress. You looked up to see who the poor student was whose drink you were now wearing and your heart sank.

This man looked close to 50, but a very good 50. His hair was tousled and he had a strong jawline, accentuated by his rough beard. There were mature students, of course, but the feeling in your stomach told you this wasn’t a student.

The man took a couple steps back, glaring down at you with a dark look in his eyes. “Class hasn’t started yet.” His Southern drawl caught you off guard. American? Your body couldn’t decide if it was anxious, sick or horny – or a combination of the three.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I was just… I forgot my laptop. I can get you another coffee,” you rambled.

The man pushed past you, setting his bag on the desk. He wasn’t dressed like your previous professors had. He was wearing a dark blue t-shirt, tight around his arms, and jeans. He took a pad out of his bag, ripped out a couple of pages and held them in your direction. You took them, unsure whether you should go back to your seat or go to the bathroom and clean up the mess your dress was now in. He decided for you.

“Sit.”

The embarrassment that now engulfed you was unbearable. You stank of coffee and your dress that was once red was now slightly brown and damp. And he hadn’t even asked if you were alright. Dick, you thought. What a shitty term this is going to be.

Other students were now filing in, so you went back to your original desk, thankful you were in the back. It didn’t stop people from turning to look at you. This was your new reputation. Fuck, why couldn’t Kelsey have been here? You envied her choice to stay in bed and wished you’d done the same.

“Now that most of you are here, I’ll start. I’m Professor Miller. I’m taking your English lit classes this semester. Maybe next ‘f you’re lucky.”

Who did this asshole think he was? Attractive, sure. Asshole, definitely. A rage started to burn in your stomach. You’d apologised to him.

“’f you’ve done the summer reading you’ll know we’re covering The Great Gatsby this term. I dunno what it’s about. Never read it. Your first assignment is to write me an essay explaining the plot.”

He leant forward, hands on his desk. “Any questions?”

You frowned. Maybe another degree was a mistake. This seemed like it was going to be a massive waste of time.

“You,” he gestured in your direction. “’s there a problem?

“No, I…”

“Good. This isn’t a class to sleep through. ‘f you’re not gonna take it seriously, get out.”

He gave you a look. It was a look that said ‘don’t fuck with me’. The rage that had been bubbling inside you was now full on erupting. Did he really think he could humiliate you in front of a new class and not get something in return? Your eyes quickly flickered to his hand. No ring.

You smirked, folding your arms. Heat settled at your core. You thought you saw some of that in his eyes. They were black, rage mixed with something else. You held his stare for a moment longer. He was the first to break.

You frowned and stood, letting the towel fall to the floor. It was late, maybe 10pm. You walked into the bedroom and peaked round the curtain. You were suddenly very aware that all that was keeping you from exposing yourself to the neighbours was that thin piece of fabric.

On the street below was a large removal truck. The back was open and a ramp led down. You squinted, trying to make out the source of the commotion. Someone was moving into the house opposite you. A light was on in the front window, but you couldn’t see movement.

“Please be nice,” you thought aloud. The last occupant had been a miserable old bat, hell-bent on telling you everything that was wrong with your front garden at every chance she got.

You dropped the curtain and turned back to your dark room. The streetlamp cast an orange glow over your bed. A sign. If you were going to be any use to anyone tomorrow, you should get some sleep.

-

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

You groaned. That alarm seemed to get earlier and earlier every day. You swatted aimlessly in the direction of your phone, eventually hitting the right button.

The morning sun poked through the curtain, reminding you of the impending responsibilities of the day. The duvet felt so soft on your bare skin. As the warmth of the sun settled on your face, you felt another kind of warmth. One a little further down your body. A hand slid down your stomach. You sucked in a gasp.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Agghhhhh!”

You’d snoozed it. Dammit. Retracting your hand, you stepped out of bed. It was no use enjoying any form of pleasure right now. Your phone killed the mood. To be honest, it had been a while. It wouldn’t have been difficult to get back there. But the alarm reminded you of how late you’d be if you stayed in bed a minute longer.

Begrudgingly, you got up.

The removal van was still there when you walked out onto your driveway. Still no sign of life though. You had no particular interest in making friends though. As long as they kept to themselves and didn’t pester you with gardening tips, you’d get along fine.

The day went exactly as expected. You downed at least 8 cups of coffee, led a meeting to a room of bored looking businessmen and ate lunch alone in your office. People didn’t tend to want to eat with the boss. Especially the newly appointed boss. Your promotion had sadly come with some downsides. People smiled and shuffled past you quickly in the hallway, as if they weren’t a good 15 years older than you. Grown adults afraid of their 26 year old boss? Please. There had been a lot of movement at the company, so you guessed people didn’t want to be the next to go.

You drove home, eager to get in the bath with a glass of something cold and release some tension. As you turned onto the street, you noticed the van was gone. You drove exceptionally slow past the house, unapologetically nosy. Still no sign of people. The only indication that someone was living there was the sound of music floating out of the open window.

You recognised the song, but couldn’t place the name. Arctic Monkeys maybe?

Pulling into the drive, you contemplated going over an introducing yourself, out of sheer curiosity. You battled with that thought for a little longer until it got too hot in the car to sit there much longer. You were about to get out when you noticed movement in the rear view mirror.

A man, or rather the back of a man, walked past the open window. You only caught a glimpse, but from what you saw, he was tall and broad.

‘Hm.’ you thought. ‘Definitely not an old lady.’

The rest of the evening was occupied with curious thoughts of the man over the road. Who was he? Was anyone else living there? What did he do? And most importantly, what did he actually look like?

-

Treating yourself to a later start, you decided to take the opportunity to go for a run. It had been a New Year’s resolution for the last few years, but you were only now motivated enough to action it. That’s what you were telling yourself anyway. Subconsciously the curiosity was killing you.

It was another hot day, so shorts and a sports bra worked to keep the sweat levels down. You tied your hair up, out your headphones in and headed out.

You decided to stretch on the driveway first, reliving the last time you’d been to the gym and the fact that you’d barely been able to move the next day. You bent down into a lunge, completely unaware of the dark eyes, watching you from not too far away.

Once you were satisfied that you’d limbered up enough, you ran to the pavement and almost immediately into a lamppost. Everything went black as you thudded to the floor.

You squeezed your eyes shut, head pounding.

“Shit, you okay?” A low voice spoke to you from somewhere above. The Southern drawl confused you. It was an accent you didn’t recognise.

You blinked, the world slowly coming into focus. A stinging sensation travelled from your head down into your eyes. Your hand went there automatically.

“Ow.”

A large hand suddenly pressed over yours and you recoiled. Blinking again, the source of the sudden contact materialised in above you.

A man. Tall, with a rugged beard and a mop of hair to match. His eyes were dark, as they looked down on you with concern.

“Fucks sake,” you muttered. This was the new guy. Not the impression you wanted to make. What an idiot.

The man chuckled, a smirk creeping onto his lips. It was almost smug, mocking you. Heat flooded your cheeks. Dammit, this man thought you were stupid. In that moment, you were.

He took your hand in his and pulled you up so you were sitting.

“Took quite a hit there, darlin’ he said, that same smirk still on his face.

“I’m fine.”

You tried to focus on his face, the dizziness slowly subsiding.

The man looked you up and down, quickly, a shift in his eyes. So quick that you wondered if you were making it up. Heat flushed your face again. And between your legs. Shit.

“I’m just over there,” he gestured across the street, “You’ll need to ice that.”

You didn’t have much time to protest. He pulled you to your feet, leading you towards his house. The sensible part of your brain told you to pull away. To turn around and head back to the safety of your own home. The curious side, and the slight wetness in your leggings, said ‘do whatever he says’.

His house was startlingly lived in. There were no cardboard boxes as you’d expect for a man who’d just moved in. Everything had a place. You’d never been inside the house before, but you’d imagined when the witch lived here everything smelled like lavender and had a sickly floral pattern to it. This man had either done some crazy renovating, or his predecessor actually had taste.

The floors were dark wood. The walls painted white. There were no pictures on the walls.

He left you standing in the hallway, whilst he walked into what you assumed was the kitchen. The house smelled of him. Like wood and smoke, but in a good way.

“Hey, I can just go back to my house. I don’t want to be any trouble,” you called to him.

He returned with a bag of frozen peas. “Come in here,” he said, leading you into the living room. There wasn’t much furniture, just a leather sofa, a guitar and a TV. You weren’t sure if he was a minimalist, or if there really were a stack of boxes hidden somewhere.

He sat you on the sofa next to him and pressed the peas to your forehead. You winced.

“Really, I can just go…” You trailed off. This time you hadn’t missed it. The dark look in his eyes. It scared you. It made you feel good.

(Y/N) glanced around, raising her eyebrows. “Bad time?”

John stood and pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down,” he said.

(Y/N) frowned as she sat. John seated himself next to her, clasping his hands in front of him. “So? Who died?” (Y/N) asked. She looked around the room again. “And where’s Arthur?”

Tommy sighed, rubbing his temple. “He’s been arrested.”

(Y/N) stood, all humour gone from her face. “How do we get him out?”

John put a hand on her arm and she sat back down, fists clenched.

(Y/N) had known the Shelby’s since they were all children. She’d grown up across the street, so knew about all of their not-so-honest dealings. When she turned 18, Tommy decided she could play a more permanent role in the families business deals. She could hold her own and the boys had learnt that the hard way. Play fights as children had turned into bloody noses and black eyes as they grew older.

“What. Happened?” (Y/N) asked, her voice full of anger.

John slammed his palm against the table, the sound echoing around the room and making the other flinch. “Alfie fuckin’ Solomons,” he said, through gritted teeth.

Finn chewed on his thumbnail. The young boy never quite had the knack for the violent jobs his brothers did. (Y/N) was protective over him, mothering him from the day he was born. However, it was John that she was closest to. They were the nearest in age and always had a bond that rivalled even John’s own brothers. With that bond came feelings that both were too afraid to admit.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “What did I tell you? Don’t make deals with the Londoners! Nothing good will come from it. Especially from Alfie Solomons.”

“Don’t, (Y/N),” Polly said. (Y/N) nodded at her.

“Sorry,” she said, “So, Tommy, the plan?” (Y/N) raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“The witnesses that testified are Alfie’s men. I say if Alfie wants my business, his men will withdraw their statements,” Tommy said, stubbing his cigarette out on the table. Polly tutted. John smirked, getting an immediate scowl from her.

“I’ll help,” Finn said.

“You’ll stay here,” Tommy replied, not looking at his brother.

“But…” Finn began. Tommy held up a finger and Finn trailed off.

“John, get some of the boys together,” Tommy instructed. John nodded and stood.

“So what am I? Part of the furniture?” (Y/N) said, standing and folding her arms.

Tommy lit a cigarette and left the room without a word.

(Y/N) threw her arms up and gave John an exasperated look. “Am I invisible?” she said.

“Come on, (Y/N). You know there’s not a lot you can do here,” John said.

(Y/N) scoffed, “I can threaten men. It’s not difficult.”

“I know you can, but these aren’t just any men. They’re Alfie’s boys.”

“So?”

“Look what they did to Arthur.”

“Even more of a reason for me to help. I’m not sitting on the side lines and waiting for the men to come home so I can cook them dinner.”

“You know that’s not what I mean, (Y/N),” John sighed.

“Then what do you mean?”

John looked down. “Look, I don’t want you getting hurt, okay?” he said.

(Y/N) scrunched her nose. “Seriously? I’ve been in far more dangerous situations than this, John.”

John met her eyes, suddenly not so sure of his words. “I know. But, I don’t know what Alfie’s men are capable of. I don’t know what they’d do to you.”

(Y/N) smirked, “Are we really going to go down the ‘It’s because I’m a woman’ route?”

John chuckled, “I know you can torture and kill men better than all the Shelby’s combined. But, this isn’t a fight you should be in.”

(Y/N) took a step towards him. “What’s going on, John? This isn’t like you. You never worry this much.”

John sighed. He glanced down. “I worry all the time. About my family, the company, you. Especially about you.”

(Y/N) took his hand and smiled. “You don’t need to worry. You know I can hold my own. You said it yourself.”

“I know, but…” John didn’t know what else to say.

(Y/N) took his face in her hands. John met her eyes. “But you care, right?” she said.

John nodded.

Though she cowered before her father, Mary knew what to do in a fight. A childhood spent in pubs, Birmingham pubs no less, had taught her a few tricks. So, when a fight broke out between two patrons in the Garrison, she clutched the knife strapped to her thigh, ready to intervene.

Luckily, the Shelby’s arrived in time to prevent any blood being spilt. Threats were dealt and harsh words exchanged, but no bodies to clean up. The culprits were thrown from the pub and Mary relaxed a little.

Arthur had flicked his hard from his face and gone straight to Mary for a drink. It had been a week and both were working up the courage to look each other in the eyes more frequently. The fact that it had been a week also meant that it was time for Polly’s verdict.

Once the pub had closed for the day and the last few woozy men sent packing, Polly asked Mary to sit with her. The Shelby brothers were long gone and the only other person present was Harry. He busied himself with cleaning glasses and trying to subtly eavesdrop on the conversation, a skill which he hadn’t quite perfected.

“Now,” Polly said, seating herself opposite Mary, “A week is up and I’m pleased to tell you that I’ve decided to keep you on.” Mary couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “You’ve proved yourself to be an excellent barmaid,” Polly continued, “And I have it on good authority that you work hard.” She glanced over at Harry, who smiled, before quickly making himself scarce.

Polly looked back at Mary, leaning forward slightly and taking the girls hands in her own. Mary frowned, unsure as to why the sudden change in tone. “Mary, I need you to be honest with me if you’re going to become a permanent fixture here,” Polly said. Mary’s heart rate quickened. She knew what was coming. Despite the money that she’d been bringing in, her father’s violent tendencies hadn’t ceased. In fact, he’d grown more careless with her. A large, purple bruise bloomed on her wrist, where he’d thrown her across the kitchen and she’d hit the table with a thud.

Polly looked down at the bruise and then back up at Mary. “Who did this to you?” she asked, her voice soft, like she was trying not to scare a baby deer. Mary’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t,” Mary whispered, “He’ll kill me.”

Polly squeezed Mary’s hand gently. “No, he won’t,” she reassured, “We’ll protect you.”

“How?” Mary managed, before letting the tears spill down her face.

“Tommy and the boys. They’ll keep you safe. You’re one of us now,” Polly said. A sob bubbled to the surface, as Mary collapsed into Polly’s arms. She didn’t care to maintain her composure. The emotions she felt were too overwhelming. Relief, happiness, fear, belonging and, most of all, freedom. She would finally be free of him.

“You can stay with us. We won’t let you out of our sight,” Polly said, patting Mary’s back. Secretly, Polly felt just as protective of this girl as she would her boys. Taking care of Mary was like giving Polly the daughter she so sorely missed out on. Mary needed a parent. She needed comfort. Polly was happy to be the mother she couldn’t be to her own daughter.

Mary pulled away, wiping her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, “I don’t know how I’ll ever show you how much this means to me.”

Polly smiled, “No need. Now, collect your coat and bag. We’re going home.”

Since her mother’s death, Mary had never met anyone who would even come close to replacing her. Polly was a kind woman with a no-nonsense attitude. She was protective of her family and Mary couldn’t wait to be a part of that. She had a home.

~

The front door to the house opened and the three Shelby brothers entered. Polly, Finn and Mary sat at the kitchen table. All eyes went to the door when the boys walked in.

Tommy’s eyebrows pulled together at the sight of the barmaid in the house and his hand immediately went to his gun, tucked under his coat. Polly raised her hand to stop him. “There’s no need for that, Thomas,” she warned. Arthur stared, not quite sure if what he was seeing was real. It just added to the mystery of the girl. Why was she here?

Tommy dropped his hand. “Why’s she here?” he asked, echoing Arthur’s thoughts. He tossed his cap on the table, the razor blade in the peak glinting in the candle light. Mary shuddered.

Polly stood. “Finn, look after Mary,” she instructed the young boy. Finn nodded. Polly beckoned for the boys to join her in the hallway. Arthur looked back at Mary, smiling a little at the scene of her and Finn in an intense thumb war. Polly brought his attention back, snapping her fingers in front of him.

“Mary will be staying here for a while,” Polly said. Arthur’s stomach jumped when she said that.

“Why?” John asked.

“It’s not safe for her anywhere else.”

Tommy ran a hand through his hair. “Pol, I’m not prepared to fight a war with whoever wants her. I don’t know this girl. I know nothing about her. Why should I want to protect her?”

“Thomas, you don’t live here anymore. You don’t get a say,” Polly said.

“Yeah, but I do. And Arthur. So, why should we give her protection?” John said.

“You have your own house, John. You don’t need to live here,” Polly said, “In fact, I’d wish you’d take those kids and wife of yours and give use some peace and quiet.”

John shrugged, “Closer to the business, isn’t it.”

“Who’s after her?” Arthur asked. He could feel his rage bubbling just below the surface, a remnant of the anger he’d long since gotten under control.

“It’s her father. I had some of the boys do some digging,” Polly said, quickly, noticing the change in Arthur’s behaviour, “He’s a drunk and a bastard. I’m sure you can all relate.” She looked pointedly at Arthur. He held his hands up in surrender, grateful for Polly’s instant distraction. “How was I ‘sposed to know dad would run off with the money?”

“Because he’s a drunk and a bastard,” John retorted, smirking and nudging his brother in the side. Arthur ignored the comment, instead saying, “So, you want us to kill him? Or just rough him up a bit?”

“Neither, for now. I need to get some more information. Perhaps ask her a few questions, if she’s comfortable,” Polly said.

Tommy nodded slowly. “Fine,” he said, “But, if her father comes banging on that door, I won’t hold back.”

Polly nodded “I wouldn’t expect anything less. That girl is one of us now. She needs our protection.”

So now Arthur knew. He’d gotten what he wanted. Her secret. And it just made him want to protect her more. He would have no problem in fulfilling Polly’s request. Now Mary was living in the house, it would make it easy for him to do so. He’d sit outside her bedroom with a gun if he had to. All that was left to do was gain her trust.

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