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jomarch-wannabe · 2 days

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It’s okay

Michael Gray x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Michael Gray x Girlfriend Reader

Synopsis: Michael longs for your company after killing his abuser, Father Hughes.

Warnings: Blood, angst, tears, allusion to SA, pretty much nothing pleasant in this fic

Author’s note: I feel that Michael’s trauma is really overlooked so I wanted to give attention to it.

In the damp, moonless street, Michael’s form stood paralyzed outside of your door, breaking the silence with his shivering breaths as a rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins. He gaze lingered over his fingers, covered in blood and twitching, as he gathered them into a fist, hovering against the wooden doorframe.

Each breath and movement felt like a monumental effort, extracting every ounce of energy from him. His jaw clenched, fighting to keep himself under control.

A wave of hesitation suddenly washed over him. He faltered and withdrew, releasing a deep breath and unclenching his fingers. His eyes squeezed shut as he ran his fingers over his face, pulling at his brows. His head throbbed with the weight of turbulent emotions, but he couldn’t allow himself to break in front of you. He had to be strong. He forced himself to step forward, swallowing the pain inside him that threatened to spill over at any moment. A dull, heavy, ache that filled his chest.

Finally, with an unsteady breath, he knocked at the door.

In a matter of seconds it swung open, revealing your familiar frame. As you opened your mouth to speak the words got caught in your throat, coming out in an unsteady gasp. Fear and alarm crept over you as your wide eyes took in his bloodied hands and face. He was almost unrecognizable, you knew him only by the shining of his green irises peeking through his crimson stained skin.

“Michael?” Your timid voice was barely a whisper as your fingers hovered over your mouth. “What’s happened?”

The shakiness in your tone made his expression soften with guilt. He stepped inside, pulling the door behind him and shutting out the cool outside air.

The silence in the foyer was deafening as you studied him for answers. Was he hurt? Who’s blood was that? Your mind raced with questions, but you tried to stay calm for him, holding yourself as you shuddered with nervous energy.

In the light, his masculine face became more pronounced, the angles of his cheekbones accentuated with dried blood. As he mustered the courage to speak, a bead of sweat gathered along his hairline, rolling down his temple.

“I’ve.. I’ve dealt with-“ he choked on his words, tightening his lips into a line in an effort to control their trembling. “I’ve dealt with Father Hughes.”

Sympathy welled up inside of you, bringing tears to the surface of your eyes. As you tried to blink them back, your throat tightened with emotion. His solemn tone, restless hands, and empty, tired gaze—all made your heart ache for him.

Hesitantly, he mustered the will to lift his eyes. They were red and weary. His expression communicated the weight of his pain; the permanent crease in his brow no doubt manifested from the chronic turmoil in his soul. The depth of his despair didn’t need words, it was spoken with his gaze.

“Oh Michael..” the words fled you with a breath, your lashes fluttering as you took him in. The trembling of his hands troubled you, exposing his nerves. In an effort to soothe him, you stepped forward, reaching your hand for his. Your fingers lightly grazed his, seeing if it was okay to touch him.

He willfully yielded to your touch, covering your skin in warmth and settling his shaking hand in yours. It was firm and sticky with dried blood.

His weary eyes slowly dragged over you, to the tenderness and concern in your wide lustrous gaze. Your sweet familiar scent enraptured him as he took in an unsteady breath. He felt his guard beginning to crumble, noticing the soft feeling of your fingers intertwined with his. As he gave himself permission to absorb the warmth and gentleness of your presence, he finally felt safe to let go. Sucking in a few quick breaths through his nose, he at last came undone, breaking down in sobs.

The foyer erupted with his gut-wrenching cry as his arms cradled your shoulders, the weight pulling you inexorably to the floor as he became consumed with emotion.

His nose brushed against your skin as he buried his face in your neck, desperate for relief from his suffering. Without a second thought your hands instinctively guided him into your chest, wrapping him in a secure embrace. He was warm to the touch, his body shaking uncontrollably as he let go, enclosing his arms around your waist.

As his broad masculine frame curled up against yours, he seemed to shrink into himself, and he no longer appeared as a man, but as a scared little boy in desperate need of comfort.

“It’s over now Michael.. it’s over now.” Your delicate fingers stroked his face, catching his falling tears, like a string of broken pearls cascading against his skin. “You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.."

The soft hushing of your words encouraged him to let go, his pent up sobs muffled against the fabric of your shirt, staining it with his tears. The sound of his cry was painful and intense, you felt it's strength vibrating against your chest as he let out years of bottled up hurt, rage, and shame. It made your stomach sink.

“It’s okay.. shh.. let it out. You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to be a man. You can be weak Michael. You don’t have to protect yourself anymore.."

His words came out in choked gasps, struggling to speak through his uncontrollable sobbing. “I thought if I killed that bastard, the pain would be gone, but it’s still there. It’s still there y/n..” he moaned in agony, clutching onto you in desperation, his large hands squeezing your delicate frame.

The pain in his voice nearly took your breath away, “I’ll help you.. I’ll help you don’t worry.. I won’t leave you Michael. I won’t let you go.." Your fingers worked to pull his hair out of his face, sticking to his skin, damp with sweat.

He let out a broken, bitter sob. “It hurts,” he wept, shaking softly, quivering under your touch, “it hurts..” Slowly, he raised his head from the warmth of your chest, meeting your eyes with a pleading look. A veil of light came over him, it's amber glow illuminating his glistening irises, now red and swollen. A trail of snot ran down his nose, settling over his trembling lips. The sight nearly broke you.

“It’s too much.. it’s too much y/n..” He muttered through a coughing fit, choking on his tears.

He was overwhelmed with a spectrum of emotions. Feeling both relief and shame at the same time. Relieved that his abuser was gone, but the pain still remained, the abuse left it’s stain on him. He felt it lingering, like the cold unwanted hands that forced themselves upon him at such a young age.

He felt sick with shame for the person he’s become, for taking a life, even if it was meant to be done. Shame for being taken advantage of in the first place, for not being a man, for not being able to protect himself.

He thought of Charlie. Recalling the innocent posture of the boy sitting around the corner from him. It reminded him so much of himself; never fully realizing how young he was at the time. So defenseless. So helpless and innocent. The feeling of grief and pain that came with it all made him let out another violent cry.

The sight of Michael in such agony was too much for you to bear. You didn’t realize the depth of his suffering. He opened up to you in the past about his trauma, but you didn’t realize the extent to which it had affected him. He was putting on a front, like most men do, and that’s what hurt you the most.

A warm gathering of tears came suddenly into your eyes, and with a shaky exhale spilled uncontrollably down your cheeks. You pulled him close to you, cradling his head as you cried, speaking against his hair.

“I’m so sorry Michael.." your voice cracked with empathy. "I’m so sorry..” you wept, crying with him. “I’m so sorry..”

He let out a heavy breath against you, holding onto your words and nudging his head against your chest. He let out an audible breath under your touch, tightening his embrace. The depth of your compassion touched him deeply. That he had someone to cry with him, instead of spending those dreadful nights alone, staring at the ceiling as he shook under the sheets. Or time spent stumbling into dark alleyways, desperate to lay his hands on a new drug, anything to numb out the soul crushing shame. He realized now that the best medicine is an attentive ear, and a compassionate heart. The rhythm of your breath and the vibration of your voice against his ear soothed him.

“You didn’t deserve it.. it wasn’t your fault.. I’m so sorry..”

His shaking subsided after awhile, and his tears slowed. You continued holding him, rubbing your hands up and down his back, feeling his torso rise and fall with his expansion of his breath. You didn't dare to let go until he did.

He sniffled, speaking out in a congested voice. “I’m sorry I- I didn’t mean for that to happen.” A tone of guilt and shame accompanied the statement. He never intended to drag you into his suffering, to be a burden. He sniffled again, swiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“Never apologize Michael. Please. Look at me.” Your hands gently cradled his face, thumbing his jaw. “Please don’t apologize, you did nothing wrong. Your feelings are never a burden, not to me. It is devastating me to think that you were suffering alone all this time.”

In concern your eyes flicked over him, to his swollen eyes, and rashy cheeks ridden with tear streaks, forming paths in his red stained skin.

You stroked his face, speaking in a soft, comforting whisper, “Can I help you Michael? Help you get cleaned up?” There was a sense of patience in your words, a willingness and longing to take care of him.

He nodded against you, warm with gratitude and letting out a breath. He leaned against you for support, struggling to stand to his feet.

"It’s okay.. it’s okay..” you hugged him softly, wrapping your arms around him. His eyes watered at the word. It’s okay. It’s okay to feel. It’s okay to not be strong all the time. It’s okay to be broken. It’s okay to be vulnerable. The fabric of his blazer shuffled as he reciprocated your embrace, enclosing his heavy arms around your back.

Time seemed to stand still, getting lost in the rhythm of each others breathing. No sound to be heard but the gentle ticking of a nearby wall clock. You've never felt more pain, yet more peace in your entire life. In that moment, your souls were connected, as if your very beings were synchronized, your hearts beating softly in unison as your bodies firmly intertwined.

After awhile he pulled away slowly, raising his chin off of your head and looking down at you.

A sympathetic smile grazed your lips, as you reached for his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

The water sloshed with his movements as he sat in the tub, hunching forward. You took a rag to his skin, scrubbing softly, leaving a trail of suds down the curve of his back.

His soft breathing filled the silence as he felt himself relax, dropping his shoulders. Droplets of water clung to his eyelashes like beads, shimmering in the light as he blinked slowly.

He leaned one arm over the side of the tub, mindlessly stroking his fingers over your thigh, needing to feel your skin, wanting to be close to you. You were the only thing keeping him grounded, making him feel safe and soothed.

“You alright?” Your sweet voice interrupted his stream of thoughts, searching for his eyes.

The feeling of your touch on his skin was soft and patient, foreign to him, but healing. He nodded weakly, looking at you with a tender and appreciative gaze.

You smiled softly as you squeezed out the wash cloth, adding new droplets to the murky red water.

The deep baritone of his voice broke the silence, reverberating off of the tile walls. “Saving Charlie.. it reminded me of myself. Made me wish someone would have protected me. Don’t think I realized how young I was.. I was, I was just a boy, wasn’t I?”

He blinked, fixating his attention to the wall, as if lost for a moment in deep thought. After a long pause he let out a breath, speaking again.

"I promise to protect you." He found your eyes, looking at you sincerely. "And our children, if we have ever have any. Make sure they're safe."

Your face softened, warmed by his expression of loyalty. "I promise to protect you too Michael, with all that I have. I love you. We'll get through this, you just tell me what you need. I'll do anything Michael. Anything."

He smiled softly at your sincere and attentive gaze, taking your hand in his and gently thumbing the tops of your knuckles.

"Thank you y/n. I love you too. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” He whispered sincerely, raising your hand to his mouth and planting a soft kiss on your skin.

Taglist: @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @pacifymebby

#self reblog for sa awareness month #michael gray

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jomarch-wannabe · 2 days

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The Alienist 1.3 (2018) Daniel Brühl as Dr. Laszlo Kreizler

"You want to know what it feels like to murder a man?"

#wow I’m in love #daniel bruhl #the alienist #laszlo kreizler

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jomarch-wannabe · 3 days

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#iconnn #need an older man so bad #she’s so lucky #Lana Del Ray

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jomarch-wannabe · 4 days

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Tommy Shelby - Peaky Blinders S3E5

#he’s horny as shit here no one can convince me otherwise #he’s hungryy #looks like he’s about to destroy that 🐱#fuckkk #Tommy Shelby

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jomarch-wannabe · 4 days

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The Cloverfield Paradox (2018) Daniel Brühl as Ernst Schmidt

Watching this movie, I remember having a visceral reaction when Ernst first appeared. Daniel's attractiveness ranges from cute to hot, depending on his role: Andrea Marowski is cute; Thomas Lang is hot; Baron Zemo is both. Sometimes, it takes a while to reveal itself, like Niki Lauda. But this character, without even saying a word, was on fire.

#HE LOOKS SO GOOD #HE LOOKS SO CLEANN UGH #I JUST KNOW HE SMELLS GOOD #DANIEL BRÜHL

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jomarch-wannabe · 4 days

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Lee, thank you so much for your thoughtful comments. You’re always one of the first to reblog/comment on my work. I appreciate your effort and support.

To hear that your emotion are “in tatters” means I must have done something right 😅🥹 I’m in such an angsty mood lately it’s so exciting to write things that reflect that.

“We see the mortal man beneath the impenetrable exterior he displays to the world.”

What a way with words you have. I love your use of the word mortal. It is a bitter reminder that even Thomas Shelby is not omnipotent. I’ve always found it fascinating to explore his vulnerable, unguarded self. He’s so complex, there really is a lot that can be done with his character.

Your attention to the ending is much appreciated. I fully confess that I looked up the stages of grief, and tried my very best to present all of them in this fic (anger, denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance..)

I think it would be especially true that whoever Tommy’s wife is in the peaky fictional universe, she certainly would have many luxurious things. But what she really holds value to is Tommy. I think that is a feeling he isn’t used to having. Being irreplaceable.

Thank you again so much Lee!! I love you and I’m so thankful for you. 💗 I’ve got to get to reading your work. I’ve seen your recent posts, and have screenshots of them in my photos app to read.

Once finals week is over and I get a chance to breath I swear I’ll get to those!!

Afraid

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Tommy’s wife finds out about his diagnosis

Warnings: Angst, insanely depressing, tears, allusion to tuberculoma/illness, depiction of anxiety, tension, mentions of death, nothing happy in this at all

Author’s note: Derived from Season 6 when Tommy gets diagnosed with a terminal illness (I do use some dialogue from Episode 5)

The heels of your black t-strap shoes clicked against the wooden floor, echoing through the expansive halls of Arrow house. You approached Tommy’s dimly lit office in hopes of retrieving a book. He was into reading poetry lately, and you thought you’d borrow from him.

“Tommy?” You peeked your head in, surprised to find his office chair vacant. He must have stepped out for a moment.

A grand library lined the walls of his office, adjacent to his desk. The titles jumped out at you as you walked towards it, turning your head, and scanning over the names: Frost, Hughes, Fitzgerald. A cloud of dust swirled in the air as you pulled one off the shelf, holding it open in your hands and flicking through the pages.

You invited yourself to sit down, sighing as you settled into a plush, velvety red lounge chair. After looking over the book for awhile your eyes flicked up to his desk. A manila folder stood out against the dark wood. In curiosity, you got up, setting your book down and walking over to it.

You rounded his desk, flicking your eyes over the unlabeled folder. With a furrowed brow you opened it, running your painted fingers over the documents.

The thumping of familiar, confident footsteps grew in volume, nearing the office. Tommy’s figure entered, dressed in his usual attire. His eyes widened in surprise and horror to see you standing there. “What are you doing in here?”

“I was looking for something..” You defended absentmindedly; your attention engrossed in the files laid out before you. A sinking feeling brewed in your stomach as you observed the papers.

“What is this, Tommy?” The question came out in a shaky whisper. You chewed on your lip, thumbing through the doctor’s note and the x-ray, pulling it off his desk.

A curse fled him with a breath. He didn’t intend for you to find that. His jaw clenched as pulled the door closed behind him.

As your flickering eyes examined the black and white image, your hands started to tremble, trying to decipher its meaning as if there was an alternative one. “Tommy.. what- what does this mean?”

Silence filled the room as he walked over to the bar cart, pouring himself a drink. He was self-medicating. He didn’t even realize he was doing it. You watched him with worried eyes, waiting for him to say something. He was silent, taking a large drink of whiskey with an expressionless face, letting out a withheld breath. He didn’t even taste it anymore. Didn’t feel it’s warm burn going down his throat. But he did feel the cloud of turbulent emotions swelling in his chest. That was something he never got used to.

“Tommy?”

“What?” He shouted suddenly, making you jump. “For Christ’s sake, what??”

His chest rose and fell with his labored breath, running his fingers through his hair as he looked at you with raised brows.

“Are you..” you choked, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “Are you ill?”

Silence again. You held yourself in anticipation, smoothing your palm over your neck, pulling at your necklace to gather more air.

“Yes! Alright? Yes. I’m fucking dying. What does it fucking matter anyway..” he scoffed, reaching urgently into his pocket for a lighter.

His insensitive, casual air of speaking made you tremble with nerves, anger, and confusion. You threw the papers down on the desk, striding across the room to meet him. His detached expression illuminated from the flame of his lighter, casting aglow the pale blue eyes hiding from yours. He took in a drag, letting it out and raising his head to look at you. Internally, he was repelled by your sympathy. As if you were a nuisance for caring about him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You cried, blinking back tears. “How could you keep this from me?” Your heart was pounding as a sense of hurt and betrayal came over you.

“It wasn’t for you to know.. alright?” He explained in his usual placid tone, gesturing a hand out as he spoke. “I was developing a plan, making sure everyone is taken care of.” A breath of gray smoke entered the air with his exasperated breath.

Tommy didn’t know how to take care of himself. He avoided it. He knew if he looked inward there would be too many problems and not enough time to solve them. So, he made everyone else his project.

You let out a painful scoff, taking a few steps back in disbelief. “You and your plans Tommy!” An aggravated groan came from you as you rubbed your stressed fingers over your face, trying to ease the building pressure in your head.

“When everyone is taken care of financially, I’ll take myself away..”

Your hand fell from your face, blinking at him in shock and confusion.

His expression remained unchanged at your display of protest. “Before that I will be going to Canada, to collect payment for a shipment worth five million pounds.” The tip of his cigarette dragged over his lips as his brow furrowed in thought. “Which I will share among the Shelby family..”

A gray cloud of smoke followed his moving lips, standing out in the amber light, swirling in a haze. It reminded you of the fragility of human life, that in one moment it can disappear like a whisper, dissolving into the air.

“And that will be my legacy." His gaze split from you as his jaw clenched, internally at war over speaking his next words. "Instead of me, there will be money. Because to most of the people close to me that is what I am!" He raised his voice with his rising adrenaline, pointing a finger in emphasis. "Fucking money.”

The statement felt like a punch in the gut, taking your breath away. “What? Tommy that’s not true..”

“Eh?”

“That’s not true Tommy..” the nerves made you tremble, holding your stomach with your hands to settle the sick feeling.

“All them bullets that missed. It’s funny. It’s funny is what it is! Made it through fucking France- all of it, and fucking tuberculoma is what takes me. Christ.” He turned from you and poured himself another drink, indulging it quickly. A bead of liquid spilled down his chin, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. He leaned forward, holding onto the edge of the table. The tendons in his hand twitched as his frustration grew.

“You’re afraid Tommy.”

His temple jumped from the pressure of his clenched jaw as he turned in your direction, straightening his posture. “What?”

“You’re afraid..” you whimpered sympathetically, tip-toeing towards him with woeful eyes.

“When you’re afraid..” you whispered sadly, venturing to stroke his temple with your fingers. “You over-explain yourself..” the pad of your thumb stroked his skin softly, damp with sweat. “you talk and you don’t stop..”

The tension in his shoulders eased from the warmth of your touch. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He felt trapped. You knew him too well. Knew him more than he knew himself sometimes.

A surge of empathy came suddenly over you like tidal wave that couldn’t be reasoned with. You could feel his grief, weighing on you against your will. It’s feeling began in your stomach, rising to your throat, when you finally broke the silence, letting out a choked sob. Your fingers came over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound.

You took a few careful steps towards him, breathing shakily as you dared to close the space between you, sliding your delicate hands around his neck.

“Fuck off.. fuck off..” he whimpered at your attempt to embrace him, pushing your arms away. His strong hands grabbed hold of your wrists, resisting your touch.

“Tommy..” you whispered sadly, fighting his attempts to flee. You cried, struggling to wrap your arms around him.

“Get the fuck off me..” he whispered harshly, looking at you with watery eyes. His pale blue eyes glistened with tears as he looked over you, his brows knit together sadly, resembling the look of a scared child.

You sniffled in response, thumbing his cheek tenderly. The warmth of your touch coaxed a bead to slip from his eye, rolling down his face.

He knew he couldn't win this war. The grip on your wrists loosened as he let go of your arms. With defeated steps he closed the space between you, dropping his head into your chest. He took in a shaky breath, fanning your skin, before letting go completely, dampening your blouse with his tears. It’s been bottling up in him for so long. He tried to hide it. Tried his best to keep it a secret. To stay strong for you. But he couldn’t. You always gave him a safe space to be weak.

“Oh Tommy..” you wept, your voice was ridden with grief. For the fact that he was bearing all of this on his own. That he was dying right in front of you, and you didn’t notice. You didn’t notice and you hated yourself for it. He was so good at hiding.

Your hands rubbed up and down his back, as he tightened his arms around you, holding onto you like you would dissolve if he let go. Trying to imprint the feeling of your body in his mind to remember it in the next life.

You cried with him, holding his shaking body against yours. “We can.. we can find a doctor Tommy we can find someone.. we’ll bring you to church Tommy.. we’ll pray.. Polly will pray with us.. I know it..” the words tumbled from your lips, unable to stop yourself as you stroked your fingers through his damp hair.

“I don’t want any of it Tommy. The cars, the fancy clothes, the- bloody house, my jewelry.. I’ll give it all away.. I just need you.. I’ve always only needed you. You’ve always been enough for me.” A painful cry came out of you as you held onto him, needing his support as much as he needed yours.

There was never enough time. Always so many things. Things that end up in land fills, that don’t bear the erosion of time. It was all worth nothing to you now. The one thing that mattered to you most was dying.

He sniffled, letting out a groan and raising his head from your chest and looking at you.

“Y/n..” he whispered, thumbing your face, and making you look at him. “y/n.. look at me..”

“There must be, there must be something we can do Tommy..” your lip trembled as you spoke, placing your hand over his. Your fingertips ran over his knuckles, soothed by the strength of his hands.

His forehead rested against yours, speaking in a low whisper. “These things happen sweetheart. Can’t stop time. Some things we can’t control..” he spoke clearly now, collecting himself and thumbing your cheek.

“You can’t leave Tommy.. you can’t leave me..” you hiccupped tears, swiping your under eyes with your fingertips. “I’m sorry Tommy.. I don’t mean to cry..”

“Shh.. it’s okay love.. I’ve had more time with it.” He soothed, brushing away the wetness with his thumb.

“I can’t do it without you Tommy.. I’m nothing without you. I’ll be half of a person without you Tommy..” you gasped for air, feeling like your head was going to explode from the pressure.

Sensing your distress, he tried to comfort you. “I’m still here sweetheart.. alright? Just breathe with me. I’m still here. We’re together right now. Can you feel my hands on you? My voice whispering in your ear? Eh?” He whispered, smoothing his warm hands down your back.

You nodded, sniffling, feeling your breathing slow.

“There you go.. it’s alright.. it’s alright.. come ‘ere..” his firm hands guided you into his chest with little effort, cradling your quivering frame. He settled his chin on your head, letting out a shaky breath and kissing your hair, breathing you in.

“You don’t have to face it alone Tommy.. for Christ’s sake please don’t let your ego win this war.” You whispered against his chest, nudging your head against him. “You need someone to burden this with you and a thousand times I would.”

“I know sweetheart.. I know.. I know..” his familiar, soothing voice vibrated against your ear as he spoke.

“Stay with me Tommy..” you whispered sadly, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat, and the soft sounds of his breathing. “Don’t let me go.. please don’t let go..”

He swallowed sadly, tightening his grip around you. “I promise, I’ll stay with you every second love.. I won’t leave you..” he sighed shakily, his pale eyes glazing over with a distant expression, “not yet."

#interactions #ilysmmmm

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jomarch-wannabe · 5 days