#A Rumble In Birmingham | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ma1dita · 2 months

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to catch a thief

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.7k

summary: (post-TLT, sea of monsters compliant/spoilers) The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. Your reunion with Luke is nothing you both could have ever expected. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: we’re so back trouble!verse ;) sorry for the post birthday hiatus on this, hope you like it! crack banter but err... she got a lil angsty

(posted 3/22/24, semi-edited)

—

When you wake up to the gentle rolling of the sea, it feels like a comforting embrace in a distant dream. Tangled within pristine white sheets, you could smell the salt through the small opening in the bay window–though this was a far cry from a fairytale conjured by your mind. This was your reality.

You wouldn’t call it a nightmare per se, but the circumstances were definitely less than preferred.

This is not the CSS Birmingham. No, that went up in flames. Retracing your steps to what led you to this—cushy cruise line of a prison, you reckon it’s been a few days now since you’ve become a stowaway, or a hostage. You haven’t quite decided yet.

Gods, this is what you get for passing up on that summer research internship.

Dropping off Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson at camp was supposed to be a fun walk down memory lane—until meeting with your dad, finding out Thalia’s tree had been poisoned, watching Chiron get fired, and essentially getting kicked out by the troll of a man who originally got sent to the Fields of Punishment for marketing the taste of human flesh made you remember that nothing at camp is the way it used to be.

Not like before, when you and Luke used to run it.

Your dad told you to go home and wait till you were needed. Home. Driving away from it this time around was harder than you thought it would be. You’d never been the patient type, and to drop everything just because a god told you to? Hilarious, really.

But almost a week later, after rejoining your friends on an undead ship that you let the kids commandeer, your vital mistake was thinking that Clarisse’s quest would be a breeze. Rookie move, since the last one you were on left you as scarred as Luke was. Even thinking of him now, you run your thumb over the rough patch of skin on your palm.

At the very least you hoped Tyson was okay. The last memory you have of the young Cyclops was watching him from your place on the ladder as he stopped the engines from overheating. Maybe it was the ex-head counselor in you, or your increased threshold to pain, but there was no way in hell you were leaving that kid behind.

The sound of voices from outside your door gets louder now, your throat feeling like you’ve been swallowing wads of cotton and a persistent ringing in your ear that hurts just as bad as when you watch Chris Rodriguez walk in with a plate of food. The last one he slid through the door bumps against his boot, still uneaten and he sighs.

“So what, you’re on a hunger strike now? I forgot how difficult you could be.”

You bark out a laugh. Thankfully it’s loud enough that it almost conceals the rumble of your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you mumble, “Wish it could be an idiot strike. I forgot how much of a bitch you are when it comes to your brother, Rodriguez. How long are you going to keep me here? It’s been days.”

Your former friend rolls his eyes at your dramatics like he doesn’t hold the key to your freedom.

“Three since you woke up, actually. Come on, you’ve gotta eat, or I’ll get my ass kicked,” he grumbles. You raise an eyebrow at that, walking towards the window to dodge the uncomfortable tension that fills the room. He plucks an apple slice off your plate.

“He couldn’t splurge on a balcony view? Monsters aside, it’s not like you’ve reached full occupancy.”

“There are more mortals here than you think. To be honest, he was worried you would find a way to overthrow us,” the tanned boy admits, placing the tray on the dresser. It was always a wonder to him how you and Luke were more alike than you think, even now—even when Luke hasn’t come to see you. Talking to you reminded him that you’re both pains in his ass, and Chris was still unsure of who to be more wary of, but he’s been in charge of watching you for the most part.

“Well tell your stupid captain he has no right to be worried about me. I’d much rather try to jump if given the opportunity.”

There’s no response, so you turn to face Chris who’s eating a croissant with a bashful grin.

“Seriously dude?”

“Listen, I’m hoping if I think of the right words to say, he’ll come in and deal with you himself. Opposite sides of a war and you’re still both giving me a headache. Just like old times,” he chuckles, flakes of pastry dotting across his chest plate. Your mouth quirks into a bitter smile. Old times, when Luke would shove you if he couldn’t think of a reply fast enough. When you’d punch him to get your point across if he wasn’t listening. How a kiss could end any waging war between the both of you.

You swallow, turning slowly to watch your reflection in the glass of the windowpane.

Why hasn't he come to see you? The first day, you remember spending out on the sea—treading water with no land in sight, calling out to your friends until your voice went hoarse, but you didn’t cry. You know better than to show weakness now, even when no one’s around. Chris tells you over a gulp of orange juice that you washed up next to the Princess Andromeda on the second day like it was fate. Though fate was never truly that kind to anyone; it felt like it was laughing in your face. Knocked out cold for two days after, and ignoring all of Chris’s attempts to keep you alive in the days that followed, you’ve been in this room ever since. You barely notice Chris’s departure.

Entering the ensuite bathroom, you splash your face and sip on water from the tap before stopping at the doorway. A shadow flits at the seam near your feet, someone standing just out of sight when you peer through the peephole.

But you know Luke’s there. Sons of Hermes have almost undetectable footsteps, however, Luke walking in and out of your life for as long as he has—there’s no inconceivable way to not know him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear the sound of his feet, but there’s a way the wind shifts your hair, your heart slowing in ease at his presence, and the scent of him reminiscent of skin kissed with the peel of an orange. The skin you used to kiss and greet and know like your own.

The shadow fades just as your hand reaches out towards it, leaving like he always does. Always out of reach.

Even as the Princess Andromeda continues to set sail upon the calm waters of the Atlantic Coast, you look out to the unending horizon and still feel like you’re drowning.

—

“Status report, soldier?”

Chris rolls his eyes, popping the last piece of apple into his mouth as he strolls into the command deck. The both of you had a flair for the dramatic—it serves as his reminder of why you two worked so well. Luke is sitting in his captain’s seat, watching the waves crash against the hull as the sun begins to set on the skyline.

“She’s angry. Anyone would be if they were locked up like that.”

“Well, yeah, but tell me something I don’t know. Something useful, Rodriguez,” Luke says, flicking his pocket knife closed. It’s still sticky with the juice of the fruit, catching onto his finger. He hisses, but then the sound of loud footsteps boom down the corridor, along with the sound of maniacal laughter as the door slams open. The two sons of Hermes look at each other curiously, knowing it all too well.

“You know, the next time you send a 9-year-old to stand guard, remember to not make it the one we used to throw into the lake,” you drawl, sauntering into the bridge and looking around until your eyes land on your ex, “and also remember that you taught me how to pick locks.”

Ethan Nakamura heaves behind you, hands on his knees before he stands to attention and salutes his captain.

“Sir, I was just following orders… and I’m not 9 anymore!” he snaps, glaring at you. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation makes it easier to get through. You thought being surrounded by the undead on the CSS Birmingham was scary enough, but standing in a room with ghosts from your past was somehow worse. Honestly, you learned a lot more by being in that room than if you were to jump ship like you wanted to.

“I taught you how to tie your shoes, Ethan. You’re always gonna be a little kid to me,” you scoff, brushing him aside and walking towards Luke, “your new digs are fancy, by the way. I could tell by all the teenage soldiers chasing me through the tourists.”

He stands up and meets you head to head, as the both of you inspect each other closely.

It’s been a long year without you.

You look thinner. You’ve lost the softness in your cheeks and your eyes are tired. He wonders what you chose to major in, who your roommates are, if you still think of him with a smile on your face. You’re still beautiful.

“You know me, I like to travel in style,” Luke says offhandedly, a half smile on his face. For someone leading a war against the gods, he’s calm in your presence.

“Back when I knew you, we traveled in a tin can that we also called a car.”

His clothes are nicer than anything you’ve ever seen him in. He looks really fucking good, for someone on the run. It’s almost frustrating to see how brawny he’s gotten, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms. You suppose he has nothing to do now but practice and spar (that or he’s definitely flexing for you). Pulling at the drawstring of the joggers you wear, you realize his initials are embroidered on the pocket. Pretentious fuck. Did he change you once you got on board?

Chris and Ethan suddenly get the feeling that they’re interrupting something—a reunion in a blockbuster romantic movie they’ve seen the mortals play out on the ship deck’s projector on Friday nights. The two of you stand there arguing like a married couple despite the fact you are no longer lovers and the bickering continues even when more of Kronos’ army files in. You laugh again at the sight of children walking in—some strangers, others you’ve sung to sleep in cabin 11, all still children, even back from the time before when laughter didn’t have to have a reason, light and airy in the summer sun.

“You’re sick, you know that? Did you just plan to let me rot in that room until it was all over? You didn’t even talk to m—”

“Classic, you’re more mad that I didn’t talk to you over the fact that you’re a prisoner,” he seethes, but you don’t stand down—not now or ever.

“Prisoner? I walked out and none of your Boy Scouts could do anything about it!”

His face is turning red now, jaw tightening at the angst but deep down he misses this—the banter, the thin line between hate and love you both tread on. You may be a damsel. But you were not in distress. To further prove your point, you swing an arm toward one of the boys in black (their uniforms were annoyingly corny), and they all take a step back toward the wall. Your eyebrows furrow, “What type of prison has guards terrified of the prisoner?”

He shrugs, “It was only time before you came and found me. I even gave you a bay window.”

That was not the right thing to say.

“I’ll fucking kill yo—”

“Sir? So do we try and detain her, or….” one of the demigods you don’t know interjects, and Chris Rodriguez sucks at his teeth before he responds.

“Alright. We’ve seen enough of the show. Everyone file out and let Castellan reunite with his girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND?”

“Girlfriend…”

The both of you look at each other, one in anger, the other in sheepishness now that you’re alone. It's even funnier that neither of you deny it.

“You left me there in that room, and by the sight of things around here you prefer being in the company of monsters than being with me, so by the gods, what do you want, Castellan?”

You fall into the captain’s chair exasperatedly, watching him watch you.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he says simply. “You can stay here with me, or you can go.”

“A choice? You captured me to tell me I have a choice,” you spit, as if that was the stupidest thing he could say. “You didn’t give me a choice when you left me.”

“It was a matter of the circumstances. And I didn't capture you—are you mad that I betrayed everyone or not, because I can’t really read you right now, trouble…”

Your eye twitches and your hands are in fists across your lap. Another wrong thing to say.

“Keeping me here until I get the nerve to talk to you is not a choice, asshole. Do you think you could just hide me away until the bad part’s over? To save me until everything's good enough for you?” Your eyes catch onto the droplets of blood that fall onto the hardwood flooring near your feet. His hand is bleeding, and like it’s nothing of the sort you reach out for it.

Luke thinks that if he lets you your hand will still perfectly fit in his, so after a moment, he pulls his hand away out of your reach. Pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket (also embroidered with his initials—note to self, never let a son of Hermes have money), you stand to wrap it around his hand to stop the bleeding. You pretend not to notice his heartbeat increase through the throbbing of the cloth.

“Don’t let my actions make you believe that what we had wasn’t good, trouble.”

“Stop calling me that. Why are they all scared of me? Why won’t you let me touch you?” you whisper, putting pressure on his finger until the blood clots. It doesn’t even hurt, to tell you the truth. Not touching you when you’re right here in front of him is a pain he can’t find the words to describe. But what he’ll never understand is that he’s right. You two were good together. You’d have him through the bad too, if only he let you.

“Because you might think you can fix me.” Or worse, you might change his mind. You don't have to say you love him for him to know it. A part of him wishes he didn’t have to do all of this to prove to you he feels the same.

“Would you have left with me?” he mutters. A wistful look cuts through your anger and he knows he’s finally said something right. His pocket knife is on the control board and your hands drop to your side again when you realize that he may have forgotten to tell his battalion of who you are to him, but he still remembers how you like your apples cut. The silence is loud, even with the twinge that comes with the pain in your eardrum as you sway a little on your feet. Your body still knows it can relax with him, knees buckling with a false sense of security despite your willpower.

“I would've made it so that there was no other option for you but to want to stay.”

A soldier bursts through the door and apologizes for the intrusion, but the both of you have found out all you need to know. The moment is over and Percy Jackson has been captured by the army in his efforts of trying to save the day. There’s a look shared between the two of you that wonders if this will become a trend.

—

Licking your lips as your…Luke guides you out onto the main deck with your hands behind your back, you can taste the salt in your air. It’s almost as evident as the surprise in your friends’ faces when they see you alive. This time, they don’t question your allegiance but in the chaos that ensues, for a moment, you do.

For a moment, you wonder what would change if you decided to stay with him. Would the sky fall under your feet? Would the gods kneel like Luke said they would? Looking at him in your periphery, you realize it’s not what the both of you want, even if it’s the easier way out—to be together despite it all.

The two of you against the world instead of the world against the both of you.

But he won't even touch you—he’s holding you over the sleeves of your shirt, too scared of what you’ve become in his absence. You suppose you’re scared of what he’s become too.

The realization hits that you could defect from your friends, family, and home. You could undo everything that you and your friends have worked towards. But nothing he can say will change the fact that he didn’t choose you.

Luke was right, then.

You did have a choice, one that he still forces you to make as you nod at Percy to flip his last drachma into the open water, opening a direct line of communication to your father to catch the thief—of both lightning and the beat of your heart, in the act.

You realize that if the gods were the least bit grateful that you’ve kept their kids alive for the past half-decade, perhaps fate would be on your side and Luke would still be yours. But life has a funny way of working itself out when Luke admits to the open air of another crime to tack onto his list.

“Kronos was right. I should’ve killed you, Percy.”

The son of Poseidon goads Luke into another duel and you survey your surroundings for a way out. Annabeth burns holes into the side of your head and it gets you thinking, moving faster than you have in days as you walk towards her and Grover. At the raise of your hand, the demigods holding onto the pair drop to the deck, incapacitated with illusions of madness they will never comprehend. The more of them that surround you drop like flies as Luke’s eyes flicker between you and the boy he has at swordpoint.

You’ve gotten stronger in his absence—you never needed to touch him to use your powers after all. Just waiting for the right moment to strike, attacking when Luke finally let his guard down for you. He cracks his neck, knowing you’ve made your choice, so he makes his.

“Get them.”

The monster scrambles across the deck but it approaches you first, clawing at the wood and barely missing your feet as you scream for help, defenseless without a sword and you hear Luke yell your name in alarm before a punching glove-tipped arrow sends it hurtling overboard.

Your eyes lock with his again as you disembark with the Party Ponies, you with your crew as he corrals the mess you made of his. It has to be the salt air that makes your eyes seem a little misty.

Your fates have always been tied.

You protect your home, and he does what he can to protect you. Luke looks over your form like he’s checking if you’re okay, even from a distance— and it makes you wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Someone leaving, and the both of you apart.

It’s weird to be the one leaving this time, but it isn't as easy as Luke makes it seem each time he does it. You avert your eyes once you see him put his hand in his pocket, him finding what you snuck in on the way to the deck. Luke pulls out a leather bracelet with a black camp bead, the one he missed in the year he’s been gone. He rolls the bead between his fingers, the thing you last touched before leaving him, an emblem of his archnemesis and the summer that changed everything—the consequences of his actions ripping you away from him. When he slides it on his wrist, it lightly clinks against the hilt of his sword, the lone clay bead a force of its own against Backbiter's reverberating power. He feels nostalgia for what could have been crawling through him—though Luke supposes he’s always been too vulnerable when it comes to you.

Is this what you’ve been feeling every time he walks away?

It starts to rain after you leave. Luke watches his crew take cover from the downpour, running in all different directions to hide away from the storm that ravages the Princess Andromeda.

But he stands still, looking up at the sky and hating it for how openly it’s able to cry. Luke is far away from home again—from you and it makes him wonder how much longer he’ll have to be away from you when being with you is what he truly wants.

The mission continues and the ship keeps pushing forward even as the rain washes over him, soaking through his armor and straight to the bone. Raindrops pelt through every crevice, though this onslaught is much kinder, more gentle, even when it’s angry. He closes his eyes and lets it touch his skin.

For a moment, it feels like you.

—

A hand penetrates the tide searching for yours, gripping onto your unconscious one. He’s spent hours ripping holes through time to try to find you, an advantage given to him in a dream by the Titan. The agreement, what keeps him from not running back to you is that you live—and as Luke pulls you out of the ocean waterlogged and turning blue, he wonders if it’s all a farce.

Losing you isn’t worth the wrath of the gods if you’re lifeless in his arms like this.

He shouts your name, pumping your chest with his fists and breathing life back into your lips until you cough out saltwater, head lolling against his knee. Luke’s fingers stroke your hair, touching you for the first time in a year. As life slowly brings the color back into your cheeks he silently thanks Hestia for keeping your flame alight. His soldiers call out to him from the deck, and he steels his resolve as he rows the lifeboat back to the ship. Still, Luke has to uphold his side of the agreement.

He wonders if you’d stay. Even if he knows the answer, Luke wonders if you would ever change it for him.

—

And they tell me you are evil and I answer: Yes, I know. –Patricia Smith

½ luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

#luke castellan x reader #trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #pjo x reader

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writers-hes · 9 months

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The Blind Man

You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn’t realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps, depictions of mental illness, abusive marriage)

They finally meet.

PART 1 / PART 2

PROTECTION SERIES TAGLIST | PROTECTION MASTERLIST navigation

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

There was nothing discreet with how you dressed. You were in all black, a black veil shielding you from the onlookers. Simon sent some money to Johnny’s wife, Beth, for a proper wake. His house was filled with white flowers and proper food. It’s the least he could do, that’s what he said. You were sitting beside the widow, trying to console her.

“Johnny used to talk about you alot,” she weeped. “‘That’s my girl! That’s my daughter and she’ll go places!’ That’s what he always said. He told me how you grew up in the brothel and how you were always willing to listen to his lessons in arithmetic.” Her eyes were red from crying and all you could do was console her. “Thank you for taking care of him…for taking care of us,”

“It’s nothing, Beth,” you assured her. “He let me into his bunker when my mum died,” you recalled. “He protected me from…from…as much as he could, you know?”

God. Just how many people could you lose in this fucking lifetime? First, your father but you’ve never really weeped for him. You never knew him. Second, your mum. She took care of you with how little she had. Third, Tommy. You never heard back if he was alive or not. Your protector. Fourth, Big Johnny. He’s always been the male figure that you considered as your father. Who’s next?

“I’m grateful for him,” you managed to choke out. You asked your security guards to go somewhere else, maybe a few feet or metres from the house. You wanted privacy. “I’m just so regretful to never have seen him and now he’s gone…”

Johnny died because of a rumble with some of the newer gangs in Small Heath. Some young lads mugged him on the way home and killed him. They threw his body by the docks where they thought no one would ever see him.

Your body suddenly fills with rage. Was this the work of the Blinders? Fuck. Why would they fucking do that? Beth excuses herself from you and you nodded. Picking on the rings on your fingers, you didn’t notice who sat beside you.

“Seems like we only see each other at weddings and funerals,” You gasped, looking at the source of the familiar voice. How could you ever forget? She told you what you needed to do to survive.

“Polly,” you gasped, extending your shaky hands towards her. “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” she replied. “Who would’ve thought, huh?” she asked. She lets you clutch her hand for support. “Where’s Simon?”

“He has business in Camden Town,” you replied. “He allowed me to go but there’s security around us right now. We can’t really talk, Poll—he’s going to, he’s going to—“

“I’ve handled it,” she said. “You can talk to me as freely as you would like, okay?” You nodded.

“I’m sorry for…for leaving,” you whispered. Your voice wavers and you feel the wetness in your eyes. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Darling…”

“He threatened to kill Tommy, Arthur, and John if I didn’t obey,” you confessed. “During the…the war,” You shut your eyes to hide from Polly. Her heart aches. You’ve always been reluctant to show your emotions but you are visibly hiding now. Cowering from the fear of rejection and of humiliation from Polly Gray. “He said that-that he knew people who could finish the job.”

“Don’t hide,” she coos. Your obedience was not in vain but she’d never tell you that. She didn’t want Tommy to act impulsively and she didn’t want you to lose what you already have. “How are you? You don’t need permission from a man, you know,”

“I know,” you nod. “You always told me but…Simon is all I have now. He trusts me and I don’t want to break that trust that I’ve worked so hard on. You told me to take advantage of everything and I am,”

“What have you been doing?”

“I have trusts, bonds, and investments to my name now. Simon couldn’t take them away from me. All sealed with a document that my lawyers reviewed,” you told her. Once a prostitute, always a prostitute.

“Johnny and I taught you well then,” she nods in approval. “That’s good. We miss you,”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Where’s Ada? I’ve to thank her for the house,”

“If anything, she has you to thank. She’s been going there a lot since you left. She said she feels more at peace there,” Polly replied. “When are you leaving?”

“After the burial,” you replied. “I have to leave and go to uh, Italy with Simon,”

“For what?”

“Some…business thing.” you replied.

“He’s showing you the world?” she asked, gesturing to your clothes. You knew it. It was too much for a funeral.

“Yeah. It’s too much isn’t it? I can-I can change into something else but, he likes these clothes,” you told her. “But can I—“

“No, you look good,” she says, stopping you from your worries. “You look like who you’re supposed to be,”

You look like who you’re supposed to be. If it was any other person, you’d be offended; but this was Polly. She always told you that you didn’t belong in Small Heath. “You’re too pure to belong here forever.” She’d always say. It’s funny, you felt like you never belonged in Simon’s world no matter how hard he tried to put you in it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask about Tommy and his brothers. How could you? You were too scared to know the answer. If Polly didn’t mention it, it’s probably for the best.

“I do wish you’d visit us more but I know your circumstances,” she said. “I received the letter from Simon along with a cheque of a few thousand pounds,”

“Did you encash it?” you asked.

“No,” she replied. Somehow, that gave you comfort. She couldn’t be bought. “I did it because I was so worried about what could happen to you. It didn’t have any details. It just said that he’d appreciate it if we cease all contact. He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

“No,” you shook your head. Not yet. “As unimaginable as it all is, he has never. I truly believe that he loves me, Pol. He tells me every day. He heeds everything that I say or do and has never had a mistress but I feel so terrible because I don’t love him that way,” you confessed, feeling like the weight of the world just lifted itself on your shoulders. “I’m terrible,”

“You’re not,” Polly said. “I told you to take advantage of everything but I never told you to love him, did I?”

You went home that day feeling lighter. You could always confide in Polly whenever you needed. You were just so heartbroken to know that that could probably never happen again. Your servants have left now. You told them that you didn’t need them during the night because of how small the house was. They stayed at a lodging for labourers nearby; except for the guards. They came with you wherever you go, even if it was only at a distance.

You were putting away the heavy gold earrings in the vanity in your room. It was dark, except for the lamp that you opened by the bed.

“You should really change your locks,” Your head whipped, earrings falling on the ground.

“Tommy?” you asked, rushing towards him in your most comfortable clothes. It was a long sleeved pyjama shirt that Simon owned. Tommy didn’t like it. “Oh my God. You’re here,” you breathed, shaky hands touching his arm. “You’re here…you’re here,”

“And you’re here,” he says, his voice void of emotion. He looked for the pressed flowers in the frame that usually sat on your vanity. It was gone. “You left,”

“I didn’t want to,” you said, removing your hands from him when you felt how cold he was.

“Did you plan on coming back? At all?” he asked. His rage blinds him. Why was he so cold and cruel? Why couldn’t he tell you how happy he was to see you again? He didn’t know how to handle his emotions. Years of longing…of heartbreak…of wondering if he could ever be good enough came down on him.

“Tommy?”

“It’s just a funny thing, isn’t it?” he chuckled, lighting up his cigarette. “You leave, make your way into the world, and then expect things to be the same.”

You frowned.

“It’s a funny thing. You promised to wait for me and you didn’t,” he spat. “All I ever looked at was your photo in those four years and you—“

“I didn’t want to leave, Tommy,” you whispered.

“But you did!” he exclaims. “You left me! You…you left me and married someone else. You decided that I could never grant my promises and fucked someone else. Like a…like…”

“Like what, Tommy?” you asked, stepping away from him. “Like a whore?” He’s never thought of you like that before.

“I never said that,”

“But you thought it!” You sit on your bed. “You see me like how everyone sees me. Fuck,” you shook, shielding yourself away from him. “How could you ruin this for us?”

“No, I’m—“

“Then, what? What is it, Tommy? You come in here to my house and pick a fight. You can’t blame me for the choices that I made! I had no idea if you were coming back. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Wait for me,” he demanded. “I told you to wait for me. I’ve been building us everything that we ever wanted but you were just so impatient,”

“How could I if you never wrote back?”

You looked up at him through teary eyes. You finally gave him the chance to look at you. You looked older, despite the garb that you were wearing. The sparkle was gone. You looked up at him. He’s different. Detached, cold, and emotionless. The blue eyes that used to convey so much emotion were gone. He wasn’t letting you in like he used to.

You both changed.

A shimmer on your neck catches his attention. It was his mother’s locket. You catch his eyes casting down on it.

“I forgot,” you croaked, looking away. “I’m supposed to give this to you.” He wasn’t your Tommy anymore.

“No, you should keep it,”

“It’s okay,” you nod, removing the locket from your person and putting it on the bed. It was the first time you’ve ever removed it and it felt like you were removing a leash. “You own it. You should give it to someone else. Someone that’s…that’s not me,”

“Y/N…love,” he tried but you shook his head. “It always belonged to you.”

“We’re not the same people anymore, Tom. You look at me and-and it’s how everyone else does,” you cried. “Like a whore. I’m selling my body and my future for a life like this. Right? I don’t want to have this anymore,” you said. “We grew apart and we’re older now. We’re not the same people,” You don’t love me anymore.

There was hell and there was a place below hell. It was where he was. How could he be so cruel to make you cry? How could he insinuate that you were all the same? How could you hint that he doesn’t love you anymore?

“I waited for you, Tommy. Waited for you to write back and at first, I felt…sad. Then, angry. You think I’m so disposable. So replaceable, right?” you asked. “I sent you letters every week. You always told me you’d protect me but you couldn’t even send me a letter telling me that you were alright. You couldn’t even protect Johnny!”

Maybe if he told you that it was Polly who intercepted those letters, you wouldn’t be so mad at him. Maybe you wouldn’t think that he’d abandon you so easily. Maybe you’d know that you were the only face that got him out of the tunnels. Maybe you’d know that it was your name that made him feel good. Like your name was some prayer he’s worthy enough to say every time that he felt like he was underground again. But how could he hurt you more than he already did?

“You were the one who replaced me,” Maybe you’d finally know that he loves you and that, if you could have just waited a little bit longer, you’d never have to worry if your hair was out of place.

“There was nothing to replace.”

Tommy brews in anger. To Polly, to you, and to himself. He couldn’t tell you that Polly intercepted your letters. He didn’t want to cut your relationship with her too.

“Fuck!” he roared. The barmaid comes in and asks Tommy if he was okay. He shrugs her off but seems intent on staying.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” she asked. He leans back, uninterested.

“Sure,”

“Happy or sad?” she asked.

“Uh, sad,”

“It’ll break your heart,” she says, smiling softly.

“Already broken,” he muttered. Already broken.

He sits there, unmoving. To be honest, he didn’t know why he was so mad at you. He was truly, utterly, and irrevocably alone now that you were gone. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to being alone. He prefered it sometimes. Maybe it’s because he always expected for the two of you to be alone together. Like you always were.

The fear of being unknown to you scares him. You’ve always known him—his whole heart and his whole soul. You’ve always known him but now, you’re gone. You’ll never know him the way you knew him. You were too different now and it rips through him like nothing else. You’ll never be there for him like you did. He’ll never know you like he did once. He could never pinpoint it but he hates how he was never enough for you. If only he could provide, if he could only protect, if only…

Here he thought he’d finally have a wink of sleep after four years.

You were on the phone with your husband after Tommy stormed out in anger last night. You needed to be comforted, to be told that you were right and that everyone else was wrong. It was one of the few luxuries you allowed yourself when you were with Tommy but you were positive that you’ve lost him now.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “I can always come down there, you know,”

“I know,” you nodded. “I just miss you,”

“You do?” You could tell that that inflated his ego. “If it’s any consolation, I missed you too,”

“Do you think…do you think you can be here for the funeral?” you asked before you could even stop yourself. Why were you bringing him here when Tommy was around? Were you bringing him here out of spite? To make Tommy what? Jealous? But then again, was it a sin to ask for comfort from your husband? Tommy would never understand. He was quick to tell you what he thought of you yesterday. It was the first time he did it but you couldn’t get it out of your head. If to him, you were a whore, then a whore you’d be.

It was the only thing you were good at anyway.

“Of course,” he nodded. “This thing with Solomons is just shit work anyway. I’ll be there the day before. Will that be alright?”

“Yes,” you whispered. Are you really willing to let him inside the fort you’ve built with Tommy? “I lost my mom’s locket today and I…”

“You did?” he asked. He knew how important that locket was to you. You begged him to not take it off during your wedding. If only he knew. He bought you jewels but you never wore another necklace. “We can get you another one. Something that’s even more beautiful than the one you had.”

“I suppose so,” you sighed. “I love you,”

“I love you too.”

And you weren’t sure if you were still lying.

Simon arrives at your house sometime in the morning, before the sun rises. It was his first time seeing your house—being in your house. It was a small, shabby home with flowers. Have you always liked flowers? One of the servants opened the door for him and he entered. Poor you. Did you always live like this?

He spots you reading a book on the couch when you look up at him.

“How was your trip?” You close the book and sit upright. “I hope it wasn’t horrible,”

“I’m here now,” he sits down, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “You’ve been on my mind since you left. Is there anything I have to know?”

“I…I talked to Polly,” you confessed. The grip that he has on your waist tightens. “But we only talked about Johnny. She said that the police aren’t doing anything to know who killed him.”

“I see,”

“But I left after that. I’ve never seen her since,” you said truthfully. “I told her that we couldn’t meet again,”

“Thank you for not breaking my trust,” he said, removing his grip on you. “You know it’s for us, right?”

“Yes, I know,” you nodded. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Why were you understanding him more? Are you only agreeing with Simon because you hated Tommy at that moment? What’s the sudden change?

You were all gathered at Johnny's funeral. Simon was beside you, holding your waist protectively. Beth was a wailing mess by the coffin. They were putting him six feet under. Last night was the last time she’ll ever see Johnny’s physical body again. You were bowing your head down, trying to keep your tears away. Johnny had been the father figure and now, he’s gone too.

The ceremony ends soon enough with Simon never letting go of your body. The Shelbys have noticed. Simon was basically hounding you so you wouldn’t have to talk to others.

“I sometimes wonder if she stopped talking to us because she wanted to or if she was forced to,” Arthur said, looking at you and your husband. Ada was looking at Polly. They were the only ones who knew. They both agreed to never tell a soul because of how messy things could be. Tommy would wage a war if it concerned you. “The question is why is she letting him?”

Tommy walks to where you were. He clears his throat to make himself known. He watches your figure become rigid. Simon was looking at him, his hand still on your waist. If he could shoot this prick’s hand for even laying a hand on you—

“I’m Tommy Shelby,” he starts. “I just decided to come by and offer a quick greeting to your wife.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” Simon replied, his voice was strained and you were scared. Terrified. “Y/N didn’t tell me about you. Have you, darling?” There was a threat in his voice.

“Oh,” you nod, licking your lips. Your voice was wavering. “Mr. Shelby i-is someone I knew when I was a child, darling. He left for the war and…and…”

“We haven’t seen each other since,” he finishes. “I wish we could talk more,” Tommy added, confirming what he already thought. He didn’t spare you a glance and if he did, he didn’t make a show of it. “Mr. Coventry. Y/N,” he bowed, taking your gloved hand and kissing your knuckles. He walks away, leaving Simon’s anger and your anxiety behind him.

Simon didn’t speak to you on the way back. You tried but he only dismissed you with a cold shoulder. When you arrived home, he dragged you by the arm to the living room. You watched while the servants dispersed to give you some privacy. It was funny how they always pretended that they knew nothing.

“Do you really think I’m fucking stupid?” he roared, his loud voice vibrating the walls of your home. “You talked to Polly Gray but didn’t meet Tommy. At all,”

“You have to believe me, Simon. I never…it’s my first time seeing him again!” you pleaded, scared for Tommy’s life—scared for yours. Your arm hurts but you have bigger problems right now. What was a little bruise anyway? “I didn’t even know if he was still alive,”

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he asked. “It’s like everything that you’re saying are…are lies! I gave you everything,” he spits. “I gave you and your friends money. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in that fucking brothel fucking some twat who could never afford everything that I’m giving you. Is that what you want? Do you want to go back there?”

“Simon,” you tried. “I swear, I didn’t know he was still alive. Polly never told me. I—“

“Liar!” he says, stepping closer to you. He grasps your chin tightly, your head unmoving at the pressure. “I bought you. Don’t you dare fucking disrespect me. I own you,”

“Simon, please…” you cried. “I swear to you I didn’t…”

“Shut up,” he spits. “You’re fucking disgusting,”

He shoves you to the floor and you cry. He leaves without looking at you. He didn’t apologise for what he did. It was the first time he showed you what you were to him. A property. You didn’t sleep that night; you were just on the balcony, looking at the docks, wondering what would’ve happened if you had just waited.

The morning comes and you are tired. Simon just woke up and decided to stay with you on the balcony.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around your shoulders. “I’m sorry for doing that. I promise to never do that again. I was just…so angry because Tommy Shelby came to us. Do you see why you’re not allowed to be here? Why I hate it when you’re in Birmingham? These fucking rats have no respect,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Simon, you said things,” you whispered, looking up at him. Tears stained your cheeks. Everything that he said replayed inside your head over and over. What right did you have to demand his apology if he owned you? “You…”

Defeated, Simon sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You know that I’m doing this for us. I’m sorry,”

You could only nod wordlessly, blinking away the tears before they fall again. You didn’t notice the bruising on your jaw yet. You weren’t at the brothel anymore but up to what extent are you truly free? At the end of the day, you’re still weak. You still have nothing. At the end of the day, buttering him up doesn’t matter.

BIRMINGHAM, 1912

“One day, we’ll be able to buy those fancy, black cars and drive around London as much as we want.” Tommy said. He was in his work clothes, a greasy white shirt and his shaggy hair falling in different sorts of places.

“We will?”

“Yes,” he nodded, his shoulder touching yours. You were just about to work when he pulled you away. He asked if you wanted to come with him to The Cut for a little while and you agreed, finding it hard to say no to him. “I’ll get you one and then, I’ll get you a horse.”

“Don’t forget the house with a big lawn,” you giggled.

“How could I forget?” he asked. “I’ll buy that first,”

“Would you hate me if things don’t work out the way we want them to?” you asked. “I’m just wondering,”

“Why wouldn’t it? We’re staying together,” Tommy said, casting you a confused look.

“I mean, you’ll get a wife. I can’t live in the same house as her,” you said. “I don’t want to cause unnecessary problems for the two of you. I want her to be my friend too.”

“I’m not marrying,” he said. “Why should I marry? We come as a pair. Never one without the other. We won’t need anyone else,”

“That would be nice.”

“I get it,” he nodded. “You’re always my main priority. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about all that yet. As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine,”

“And if I’m not?”

“I won’t,”

“How are you going to do all this?” you asked. You always believed in Tommy.

“I’ll do everything,”

“You’re a man of ambition, Tommy. Did you know that you can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous?”

He ponders. He’ll deal all of his cards and fold if it came to you.

There were a million things you wanted to tell him at that moment. He does, too. He looks at you so…lovingly and so naturally that it doesn’t seem like anything anymore. Tommy really didn’t fear anything, except when it came to you. He’s scared to tell you the truth because he might change the course of things. He’s scared to never fulfil all of his promises to you. He’s scared that he’ll never amount to anything other than a greasy boy that you took care of.

He doesn’t say any of this, though, so he just smokes slow.

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

“I have to do something about it,” Tommy told his brothers, taking a swig of his Irish whiskey. He was composed but his mind was running at a speed that he couldn’t quite catch up on. Were you happy in your marriage?

“Tom, it’s better if you could just let her go,” Arthur replied. “It’s not my place, hm? But we saw them yesterday. Maybe it’s for the best,”

“It’s not,” Stoic as ever, he looked ahead.

“It’s a bad idea…” his older brother tried. “You’re fighting against a king. You’re not—“

“Why is everyone telling me that I can’t do anything? Why?” he asked. “I hardly recall asking for your permission, Arthur. You and Polly have been telling me what I can and can’t do.”

“Tommy, think about it. With the fucking guns and taking on this whole…thing with her. It’s too big. So, just let it go, eh? You’ll get yourself killed,” John added. He knew of Tommy’s affections for you. Hell, he knew what Tommy meant. John discreetly watched you and your husband. You couldn’t maintain eye contact, you couldn’t speak freely without a stutter. It was so different from the Y/N that he used to know but Tommy couldn’t be persuaded. He was living on the edge of life in the war that it didn’t matter to him if he died or not. He’s free from the fear of death; he could do whatever he wanted.

“I’m a man of ambition. You can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous,”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Tommy feels like the world was caving in. Fuck. He always hated sleeping, no matter how much he craved it. The darkness of his room and his closed eyes reminds him of the darkness of the tunnels. The walls and the tightness of the closed spaces; the unknown waiting on the other side. The lives he lost, the blood that his comrades spilled. He sits up, he hates how he couldn’t sleep because he’s always hearing the gunshots and the bombs in France. He hates being weak. Things were never the same and he so desperately wanted it to be. He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. He couldn’t see the faint lamp that burned on his bedside table. The ringing in his ears doesn’t subside. It was just fucking dark.

He looks over his bedside table and reaches for your picture. You always seemed to calm him no matter where he went. No matter what he does, you always seem to ground him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, taking a swig of his whiskey. As if that would just conjure you. He was sometimes convinced that your picture was an apparition of the time when everything was quieter. When his world had no guns and bombs. When you two were together. He frowns, taking his head in between his hands and cries.

If only he was stronger. If only he was rich. If only he could fulfil all of the promises he gave you. If only.

If there was anything he regretted, it was how angry he was when he went to your old house for your first meeting. He’s been waiting to be graced by your smile for years but he couldn’t control the anger that brewed inside him. He was so guarded after the war. But those guards seem to crumble around you, leaving him defenceless and vulnerable like a child.

A knock on his door arouses him. It was currently just before the sunrise; that hazy blue period that calms him before everyone else wakes. He checked from his window outside but there was nothing. Another knock comes and he sighs, going downstairs to check. He puts his gun behind him. He opens the door and it reveals you.

You were shaking like a leaf when his eyes landed on your figure.

“I don’t know…where else to…to go,” you whispered. He goes out and looks around to make sure that no one’s there. When the coast is clear, he takes your hand and guides you to the living room. He was hoping that no one heard anything.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

“Just…water, please,”

“Did you walk all the way?”

“Yeah,” he hears you say while he pours you a glass. “Sorry for disturbing you,”

“It’s alright,” he tells you, giving you the glass.

“Yeah,” you replied, drinking the water to avoid any sort of communication with your old friend. “Tommy?”

“Hm?” he asked, sitting in front of you and it’s so different it hurts. He used to sit beside you, knee to knee. He had to blink multiple times to clear his vision—to make sure that you were actually there. “What brings you here?”

“I…I…” you couldn’t say a single word before you broke into tears. It was then when Tommy actually looked at you, the bruising on your chin, your defeated stance. He trembles in anger but forces himself to let it subside and comfort you. “S-sorry,”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, love,” he whispers, sitting beside you this time and rubbing circles on your back. “You don’t have to talk about it,”

“Would you still…would you still protect me?” you asked and you were aware of how selfish you sounded. “You’re right. I’m a-a whore,” you chuckled, looking away from him. “I know I’m being unfair…marrying Simon and then coming here…”

It appals him for you to think that he’ll ever stop protecting you. It disturbs him for letting you think that way because of one argument.

Your chin was quivering as you tried to form a coherent sentence.

“I thought…I thought I was free but he laid a hand on me,” you tried. “Gripped my chin and called me his property,”

You told yourself that it wasn’t Tommy’s fault.

“All because you talked to me during the funeral,” you whispered. You couldn’t stop yourself and Tommy couldn’t stop himself from the emotions that linger. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault that you loved him.

“Let’s run away,” It’s all his fault. All his fault that he loved you.

“Tommy…” you whispered, shaking your head. “Did you know…did you know why I stopped talking to you?” you asked him. He didn’t. Maybe the reason why he’s so angry with you was because he didn’t know. “When you were in France, he told me that if I continue any form of communication with the Shelbys…he’ll locate you and your brothers and have the three of you killed.” You reveal to him. “You always said you’ll protect me but I wanted to protect you too.”

Your broken voice was something that he’ll never forget. Your fragile figure was something that he’ll never remove from his brain. You were…miserable. How could you let yourself be miserable for his sake? How could Simon let you cry? How could he break you? You were so strong, the strongest he’s ever known.

“I will kill him,”

“Tommy, no,” you whimpered. “I’m here to tell you that…that the best way to protect me is to forget about me,”

“You can’t do that to me,” Tommy replied, his voice stern. He was trying so, so hard. “Not when I waited to come home for four years.”

“It’s the best way,” you pleaded. “You can go start a family or…or do something else but if you really want to protect me, you’ll forget about me,”

You were so defeated, your figure curled to your heart like you were protecting yourself from everyone. Tommy could see the stutter of your body while you tried to control everything.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he tried, blinking the tears away but failing. His resolve was crumbling; popping the joints on his knuckles to ground him. It was then he noticed your nail beds, peeled and crusted with dried blood. You must have been thinking about it for so long. “You’re not giving me a choice here, love,” You must have been hurting.

“He’ll kill you, Tom. I wouldn’t be able to take it if I am the reason why your body’s thrown at The Cut.” you told him. “I let you go once without knowing for sure that you’ll come back alive. I’ll make sure that this time, you are.”

“So that’s it, eh?” he asked. “Your bastard husband threatens my life and you let him control you.” he licks his lips.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” you told him. “That's all I could do. You’re a man…you could have the world. I’m a woman and I can’t have anything unless I make it. This is me making it.” This is me making sure that I’ll never have to think about you.

You left in the wee hours of the morning and Tommy lets you go without a fight. He thought that he was the one doing the protecting, when you’ve been protecting him all along. You were his most tender wound. Battle scars from France don't compare to the pain he’s feeling in the darkness of the house. Should he run after you? Should he heed your advice? What if he kills Simon? Will you be free then?

“Her husband’s dealing with Alfie Solomons,” he tells everyone during a family meeting. “I’ll deal with Solomons myself,”

“You’re waging a war that is bigger than all of us, Tommy,” Arthur said.

“I’m not asking for approval,” he only replied, his voice was monotonous; suppressing his emotions as much as he could. He swallows. “Information about Y/N’s home life has reached me. She told me that the best way to protect her is to forget about her.” He confessed.

“Well, shit,” Ada replied. “Surely…”

“Surely, I won’t.” he said, voice stern and determined. “I’ll deal all of my cards if I have to. Do you get that?”

“Tommy, it’s a bad idea. She’s right. With the fucking inspector on our throats and Simon Coventry…you’ll get yourself killed.”

“I have decided,”

“Then, what’s all of this for, then?”

“Just letting you know.” he says, looking at everyone’s face of disapproval.

When he exits the Garrison, Polly runs after him. She was determined to let him let you go for your safety. It was a sticky situation that Tommy was putting himself in. A semblance of power doesn’t mean that he’s powerful but he couldn’t seem to understand that.

“Tommy, do you want to save her because you want to or is it because you have to prove yourself to you?” she asked him, grasping his arm.

“Polly—“

“Do you love her because you do or do you only think you do because you need her? It’s alright to let her go, Tom. You have to realise that maybe she’s correct,” she reasoned. “The more you move, the more she’s constricted—“

“You took her away from me, Polly,” he spits. “How can I not love her when I need her beside me to even get a wink of sleep? Her picture was all I looked at in France. She is the reason why I’m alive—why I’m here. You took her away from me and I am taking her back. Does that look like love to you?” he demanded, shaking her arm away.

“You want to know what blinds a man as smart as you, Tom? Love,” she says. “You’re making things—“

“So I am blind,” he shrugs. “I vowed to protect her and that is a vow that I’ll take to the grave with me, Pol. You could help or not. It wouldn’t matter either way but you owe it to me to try. At least,”

A beat passes, Polly doesn’t speak. He nods to excuse himself, walking away as the blind man.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I’m so glad you’re still here.

Don’t forget to reblog / leave a comment if you liked it!

PART 4

TAGLIST: @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius @trixie23 @everythingelseisextra @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay @dasia21 @tsenthusiast1920 @aces-tattooartist @panda-luminary @ttaechi @spencerrxids @i-heart-food @fudge13 @affabletimelady @heartcereql @ce1iat @notalxx @1800-queen-trash

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #protection!tommy

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 3 months

Text

Idle Hands

I'm clearing out my drafts, so please enjoy this super short one shot. I'm not all that happy with this, but I've been working on it for months, and if I kept working on it, it was never going to get posted.

Contains: Historically inaccuracy around coconut oil and rum, fluff, smut (P in V).

933 words

John gets bored on your spa vacation.

When Tommy suggested you and John go to one of those new fandangled spa resorts by the sea to take a break from the rush and smoggy air of Birmingham, you knew it would be a change. What you didn't know was how bored you were going to be, one can only soak in the Grecian pool so much.

When you returned from your spa treatment, John was lying on one of the couches in your room, naked under the towel wrapped around his waist as he read the Birmingham Times, looking disinterested. You walked behind the loveseat and wrapped your arms around his body as he twisted himself to kiss you. He pulled back with a smile and took a deep breath. "You smell like that fancy rum we give to the Toffs at the Eden Club, the one from the Caribbean."

"Yes, I just spent the last hour getting a coconut oil massage." It was nice, but even a trained masseuse had nothing on John's strong, capable hands. You made the short journey around the seat and sat next to him, but he grinned and lifted you onto his lap. "What are you doing?"

His eyes filled with mischief as he placed his hand on your thigh. "I got lonely without you."

His calloused fingers grazed your inner thigh, his trigger finger the roughest as they slowly slid closer to the leg opening of your loose linen shorts. "I'm sorry, Dearest. You could have come with me. They did have a couples option."

He started running his fingertips up and down your leg, from your knee to just inside your shorts and back again, before letting out a sigh. "I'm bored shitless, love. There's nothing to do here."

You raised an eyebrow. "Nothing? I can think of a few things."

The way he grinned and tilted his head told you the game was on, and a bulge radially grew in the towel as he pulled you into a kiss. You couldn't decide whether to remove his towel or your shirt, and the room filled with laughter as your hands collided midair in the rush to choose. The towel fell away as the knot came undone, and a moment later, his hands found your bare skin.

He palmed your breasts as his lust filled eyes raked over your body. "You're so fucking beautiful." He pushed himself up and pulled you further onto his lap as his lips found yours with force, his teeth meeting your flesh as his hand moved to your lower back to press you to his hard cock. The kiss turned softer as his other hand made its way to your core.

He smiled into the kiss as his fingers ran through the mess between your legs. He swallowed your moans as he zeroed in on your clit and dug your nails into his ample bicep as your head fell against his chest. He was infuriating sometimes; his need to take his time and enjoy it like he was walking through an interactive art gallery made you far more desperate than you were willing to admit. "John, please, you had your fun this morning, have mercy on me."

His chest rumbled with a chuckle, and you fought the urge to sink your teeth into his plump lower lip as he brought his fingers down to your entrance. Just as you were preparing to protest again, he pulled his fingers away and grabbed his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. "Well, hop on Love." He held himself steady as you slid down and settled into his lap.

You stayed still, adjusting to his size as one of his hands landed on your lower back while the other found your cheek. His fingertips brushed your cheekbone as you started to rock your hips, and his nose bumped yours as affection poured from his mouth. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest as he took over the pace and you buried your head in his neck as your nerves lit up like the night sky during a bomb run.

He hit his stride, and an inferno followed the path his hand made from your back to your clit as he rubbed it in tight circles while your breath caught in your chest. Your teeth found the junction of his neck and shoulder as the sparks of pleasure grew overwhelming while the steady pressure of his cock on your G-spot made your thighs twitch against his firm body.

He was grunting like an animal, snapping his hips up at the end of each stroke to kiss your cervix before pulling out almost all the way and starting again. Your nails dug into his skin and opened your mouth to warn him of your oncoming fall over the edge, but he already knew and took you in a searing kiss as he pushed you over it. Your world spun as you landed on your back and he folded you like a pretzel as used all his leverage to slam into you.

It was so much it almost ached, but just as you were about to try to beg for mercy between desperate breaths, you felt him pulse inside you, and his weight collapsed on top of you while his chest heaved and his hips stuttered with aftershocks. He took a deep breath, and you felt his lips fall all across your face in gentle kisses. "You right, Love?"

You nodded. "I'm great. Are you still bored?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, I'm great too."

Fin

#john shelby smut #john shelby fanfiction #joe cole #peaky blinders fanfiction #john shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic #john shelby x you #john shelby x reader #john shelby/you #john shelby/reader #peaky blinders smut

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darklydeliciousdesires · 5 months

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Buffed Brass and Baritones - An Arthur Shelby/Reader One Shot Story.

A bit of Arthur smut, besties? Yes. Why not. Inspired by a statement shared by my lovely @call-sign-shark earlier today. This is for you, babe!

(GIF credit - @edmundhoar)

Words - 1,114

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

You’d never considered the Birmingham accent to be particularly sexy before, you had to admit. That was until Arthur fucking Shelby opened his mouth and let that rumbling baritone out, of course. Now, well... the man could recite something as simple as a grocery list to you and you’d probably come on the spot, such is your weakness for those deep, gritty tones.

“Are ya all finished, bab?” he asks as you meander outside of the back room door within The Garrison. “Everywhere nice and clean, is it?”

Instantly, your knees tremble. “Yes, Mr Shelby. Absolutely spotless.”

“Good.” His eyes rake over you, lips curling into a wide grin. “Then how’d ya fancy getting a bit dirty, eh?”

Did... did he really just proposition you?

“Well?” he barks, making you jump a little. “No good you standing there floundering like a bloody fish! Do you want me to fuck ya, or not?”

“I mean, yes, but...”

“Well then!” He rises from his seat, pointing in the direction of the bar. “Get your clobber off, go on!”

You know he’s loud and uncouth, but still, you’re taken by surprise, rooted to the spot, Arthur letting out a sigh as he reaches for you. “Fine, fucking fine! I’ll get your bloody clobber off!” Throwing you over his shoulder like a little rag doll, his big hand smacks hard against your bum, your squealing giggle filling the empty pub.

He seats you right at the very end of the bar, yanking you close, kissing you with all the passion and torrent of a storm, lithe body pressing to yours as his hands force your knees apart. Your shoes drop from your feet onto the floor, Arthur wasting no time in pulling your dress up.

Your eyes suddenly widen. “Shit! I’m not wearing my good knickers.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, raising an eyebrow at you as he yanks them off. “And now you’re wearing no knickers at all, bab.” Pushing your thighs apart, a rumble of desire sounds his throat as he sees your cunt splayed before him. “Blimey, ain’t you pretty.”

He dives straight in with no hesitation at burying his mouth against your folds, hungry tongue roving over you before settling to beat back and forth over your clit. Your hips rise, your mouth dropping open, staggered by the fast pace of it all. Arthur isn’t a man who entertains wasting time, though. Sex with him surely would never be any different.

He’s completely unrelenting with you, sucking on your bud greedily as he groans deep, the sound settling over your bones as the pleasure lights you up like a firework. His fingers sink into the soft of your thighs, eyes twinkling at you as he watches you enjoy it, smiling at you with a wink. “Like that, don’t ya?”

“Oh my bloody god!” you cry, you voice pinched tight. “How can anyone be so good with their tongue?”

He rumbles a chuckle. “Lots of practice, bab.” You don’t doubt that for a second. God, if he was yours, you’d never let him come up for air. He then slows, making you glimmer with long, flat licks, slowing until you begin to whine and shake.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, the tip of his tongue beating rapidly over your clit. “You’re drowning me.”

“Sorry,” you pant, feeling a little self-conscious.

He eyes you curiously, snorting a soft laugh. “Ain’t a a bad thing, love. Ain’t a bad thing at all.” He gives you a few more glimmer-evoking licks before straightening, hands moving to unhook his braces and undo his trousers. “I think you’re ready to get fucked now, beautiful.”

Pulling his cock out, he pushes straight into you… and in… and in… and…

“Jesus, Arthur!” you gasp, mouth falling open. “How bloody long is it?”

His grin is so snugly self-assured as he finally bottoms out, dragging back once more. “Long enough to make a donkey cry if I stood next to him naked.”

You laugh, and it turns into a shrill cry as he doesn’t hesitate in beginning to drive into you like a piston.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!” you grit, Arthur tossing your legs over his shoulders, smiling at how much you immediately love being on the receiving end of his long, hungry cock.

“Mmm, a pretty girl with a foul mouth,” he pants, turning his head to kiss your ankle. “My favourite kind.” Giving you the kind of pounding that has your screams filling the room, your body is shunted against the bar forcefully, your mouth hanging open in exclamation. He then slows, enjoying the hot, tight clutch of your cunt, his eyes falling to watch how his cock sparkles in the dim light, glazed in the velvet wet of you.

You can barely belive you’re doing it. You’re actually having sex with your boss, the man you’ve dreamed of for months. He is the sexual splendour you’ve always fantasised about, stroking your walls so deftly, so deeply, the power behind him barely contained. He leans to you, tugging your dress and bra down, his mouth raining kisses across your flushed chest, tongue seeking your nipples, circling slowly, slowly.

Adding a little more speed to each teasing thrust, he begins to stoke the bonfire of your pleasure, your flames crackling, feeling unmoored entirely. Your slippery walls flex around him in appreciation of his assailing, igniting you with the delicious depth of each thrust as you sheathe him, crying out, his hands bracketing your waist.

Something within him breaks at hearing your shrill wails, and once again he begins to pound into you with unmatched ferocity, giving you all that you craved, his self-control abandoned, his graveled groans intoxicating to your ears.

“Look how good you take it. Mmmm, yeah. What a fucking good girl.”

Everything is wild, fervid, uncontained and magmatic, both of you spiralling headlong into the kind of release that has your moans and groans filling the air along with the sound of your skin smacking together. It capsizes you, an undoing of all-consuming magnitude charging through you, the god-given talent of his fuck rendering you a shaking, panting mess beneath him.

“Bloody hell,” he pants, forehead rested between your breasts, placing a kiss on your sternum. “Dunno what else to say other than bloody hell!”

“You could say anything, Arthur, and it would leave me knock-kneed,” you gasp, reaching to stroke his hair.

“What,” he begins, turning his head to kiss your inner wrist, “even more knock-kneed than fucking you so hard atop the bar, your arse has probably buffed the brass?”

You pull a thoughtful face as he begins to laugh. “Maybe not that much.”

#arthur shelby fanfiction #arthur shelby smut #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby x you #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby fic #peaky fucking blinders

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motherofdogs1010 · 4 months

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Little Darling II (Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Summary: Birmingham has received a new club, one that is showcasing a exotic type of dance that is drawing in crowds, but it is one particular dancer that catches Thomas Shelby's eye... one that goes by the stage name: Little Darling

Warnings: 18+ only, eventual smut, dry humping, stripper!reader, mentions of prostitution/sex work, language, mentions of nudity, drinking, canon Peaky Blinders violence

A/N: I've seen a lot in interest in my story and a few people asking for a taglist, so if anyone interested, comment below! I'm still new to posting stories on Tumblr so please be patient with me ❤️ thank you for all the love, I also write on Wattpad ❤️

Also if anyone knows any good accounts that make dividers and banners for multiple fandoms, let me know! I plan on expanding into more fandoms like House of the Dragon and Law and Order: SVU!

💋 Dividers @firefly-graphics 💋 Banner @vase-of-lilies

Part I Part III

Y/N yawned as she stretched her body, she lightly slapped her cheeks in a effort to finish waking herself up as she moved about her kitchen. Last night's shift proved to be a good one thanks to the Peaky Blinders that had attended and the lap dance she had given to Thomas Shelby.

She rubbed her eyes as she moved about to begin getting her breakfast ready. Working as a dancer might not have been ideal for some women, but the money was worth it as she was managing to use some of it towards her mother to help with her father since his failing health had put them in an troubled position.

After breakfast and getting herself ready for the day, Y/N grabbed her small handbag, wicker basket and hat, walking out the front door and locking it as she began to make her way to the market to buy food for her parents.

As she walked down the street, she heard the rumbling of a car beside her and she glanced over to see him.

"Hello there", Thomas Shelby called out to her. "Y/N right?"

Y/N felt her pace slow a little as shock came over her... how the fuck did the man find her? Cherry would never out her, they wore masks to hide their identities to prevent trouble that the working girls get from men and angry wives.

"Hello", she answered back with a unsure look. "What can I help you with, Mr. Shelby?"

He slowly followed her down the street, she passed by some people who quickly walked by them as she stopped and sucked in a deep breath, turning to look at the man.

"Just wanted to know when you're working next, Little Darling", he smirked, his voice teasing.

Her eyes widen a little in shock and anger as she gritted her teeth as he stopped the car, leaning back in his seat and she approached the door.

"Didn't Cherry tell you 'no talking about the club'?" she hissed, Thomas chuckled at her.

She hated how attractive the man was; the lap dance that she had given him the night before gave her a real close-up of his features and she was able to tell he found her attractive.... well, she could also feel how attracted he was to her but he did respect the rules of not asking for sex or a blowjob from her since that was against the policies Cherry had put in place.

"She did", Thomas said, amused as he began to light a cigarette. "But I haven't been know for being a rule follower, love."

"Who blabbed?" she demanded, he grinned a shit-eating grin.

"I believe her name was 'Sugar'", he replied as he took a drag of the cancer stick.

That damn bitch... Sugar, or Annie as she was actually called, had it out for her for weeks now for some unknown reason.

"I'm not telling you", she replied, "have some other dancer service you."

"Why don't you come on in?" Thomas asked, reaching over to open the passenger door. "I'm sure you'd be more interested in discussing... our matter of affairs in here."

Narrowing her eyes, she pursed her lips as she moved to sit inside the car and shut the door behind her. She placed the basket in the backseat as she stared at the man, who took another drag of his cigarette.

"We have no matter of affairs", she said, "I performed a service for you, that was it."

"A service?" he said, "you're making it sound like you had my cock in your mouth."

"Oh, don't be so vulgar", she said with a roll of her eyes. "If you wanted your cock wet, you could go see Lizzie Stark like every other man."

"Lizzie doesn't move like you do, darling", Thomas said.

"Unfortunately for you, if you want another dance", she said, gathering her things, "you either find another dancer down at the club to give you a dance or you wait."

"Wait for what?" he asked as he watched her get out of the car.

"For when I'm working."

With the money she made, she managed to get enough food for her parents for the next week or so; carrying the now heavy basket, she walked up the steps to her parents' home, lugging the heavy wicker basket as she knocked on the door.

She waited a few moments before the door opened, revealing her mother; her hair was tied up as she wore a shawl around her. Her parents were older, Y/N having been a miracle baby of sorts from what her mother would tell her because of her mother having been pregnant with her later in life.

"Y/N", her mother said with a tired smile. "You're father will be happy to see you."

"I brought you food", she answered, her mother's hands came to caress her cheeks.

"My sweet girl", her mother said before letting inside.

After going inside and leaving the wicker basket of fresh food in the kitchen, she left her mother to walk to her parents' bedroom, where her father seemed to be most of the time.

She found him sitting in bed as he just stared out into nothing.

"Hi dad", she greeted, sitting on the edge of the bed.

But he just continued to stare into nothing.

It was a day later when she went into work, Cherry was eagerly awaiting her when she entered from the back entrance. All dancers especially were meant to enter from there since The Scarlet Letter prided itself on its secrecy of the dancers, the girls may know each other under the masks, the customers did not.

Well, they shouldn't... except that bitch Sugar apparently was running her mouth as Y/N seethed.

"Y/N", Cherry grinned, pushing her strawberry blonde hair from her forehead. "You have repeat customer."

She sucked in a deep breath through her nose as she lowered her purse onto her vanity before saying, "Sugar's been running her mouth to customers."

Cherry's grin fell and a deep frown replaced it, "She's being a rat?"

"Seems like it", she answered as she moved to the wardrobe. "Ratted me out to Thomas Shelby."

"And by coincidence, he's here tonight", Cherry said with a shake of her head.

Y/N pulled out a blood red piece, the bra was made differently compared to the ones that were popular; instead of making her breasts flatter, this bra accentuated them, cupping them in vibrant lace and shimmer. The underwear was different as well, not like the shorts that she would normally wear under dress, but instead had thin string that went around her hips, red fabric covering her ass and front just enough to leave imagination to wonder.

"What did he want?"

"Wanted to know when I'd dance again."

Cherry was silent as Y/N moved to the drawers on the vanity, opening it and pulling out a matching mask.

"I'll have another talk with Sugar, let her know she's on thin ice."

She had those pinned curls again, a red feather on the side of her head where the hair was slicked up against her; the matching sinful red lips pouted as she slid down the pole. Tommy watched with a cigarette hanging, she was like a siren calling to him with those half-lidded, bedroom eyes that were haunting him.

Tommy knew Arthur and John were somewhere in the club, probably getting dances in the private rooms but he had to wait. He saw her sway her hips as she held the pole, he could feel his pants begin to tighten a bit as she slowly dropped down into the splits, a wink sent his way.

Y/N found herself straddling Thomas Shelby again, her head tilted as she stared down at him.

"I see you waited", she said, "didn't take you for having patience."

"In the right situation", Thomas said as he leaned back in the chair. "I can be a bloody saint."

She began to grind her pelvis down in his, a groan escaped the man as she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, her tits in his face as she moved like a seductress. Unfortunately, her grinding down on him added stimulation to her clit, making waves of pleasure begin to take over her.

"Awful rule you've got here, no touching."

Suddenly, she felt his grip her hips before grinding back up into her, a startled gasp escaping her as he grasped her chin and knocked off her mask.

"Too bad I don't like following them, darling."

He smashed their lips together and she moaned at the searing, hot feeling that seemed to tingle her body as she continued grinding... well, more dry humping down on Thomas.

She knew it was only going to complicate things, but at the current moment, she ignored it for the minutes of pleasure the man was giving her.

TAGLIST

@amanda08319

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby smut #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #cillian murphy #chubby reader #x reader #reader insert #reader x character #cillian x reader

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randomvarious · 9 days

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1990s Drum n Bass Playlist

Back to the Sunday night electronic playlist-posting mines for the next good while. This week I've got a little update to my 90s drum n bass playlist, with something that's very dark and something that's much, much lighter.

The dark one comes courtesy of a guy from the UK called Ambush, whose career only consisted of a couple 12-inches and an album between '96 and '98, and is not to be confused with *The Ambush,* which is an alias of German electronic music legend Oliver Lieb. Ambush made his debut with a 12-inch called Gain on Possible Records, a dark dnb label that was founded by Mick Harris, who was the former drummer in famed death metal band Napalm Death.

Taking up the A-side on Gain is a tune called "Tracking," which would later find its way onto a Possible double-disc comp called Sonics Everywhere in 1997. "Tracking" is this steadily burrowing piece of filthy subterranean grime, with this constant no-give snare hitting on every other beat while a simply demonic, distorted sub-bassline rumbles mercilessly beneath it 😈; potential theme music for the single-most evil entity in the universe. Only has ~1,100 plays on Spotify.

And for the yang to "Tracking"'s Yin, we have something pretty dang unique. UK future jazz-funk band RSL are not known for making drum n bass, but it appears that, three years prior to their debut release, they first appeared on a South African compilation in 1998 called ReRooted: Beatz From Da Ground Up, with "Elungelo." This is a song that appears to be sampling soulful traditional African folk vocals and then pairs them with beats—first, a nice and chill-grooved, bare-bones trip hop one, and then a sudden shift to dnb. And to be honest, I kinda dig the trip-hoppy portions more on this one, but if something has a considerable amount of drum n bass on it, then it automatically gets categorized as a dnb tune; those are just the rules. Around 9,100 plays.

Ambush - "Tracking" RSL - "Elungelo"

And for the YouTube version of this update, I was able to add those two songs to it too, but I also added another one that can't be found on Spotify as well. And this is another dark one, from a master of those dark dnb arts himself, Technical Itch. In '98, this Birmingham, UK native applied his craft with a remix of Manchester, UK act Perfect Combination's "Remember." Scratchy and blown-out snares, wormy bass squelching, and an occasional eerie synth to remind you where you are, which is a place that you really need to escape from, pronto 😰. This remix has appeared on a double-12-inch called Partisan Volume One, one of the first releases in the catalog of Partisan, an ultimately short-lived label that was launched after a group of staffers acrimoniously split from dnb juggernaut Moving Shadow. Song has a little over 4,800 plays on YouTube across a few different uploads.

Perfect Combination - "Remember (Technical Itch Remix)"

And this playlist is on YouTube Music too.

So this update now brings us to 13 songs that total 84 minutes on Spotify, but over on YouTube, we're now at 30 songs that total 191 minutes! There's just so much more great, obscure 90s dnb in that YouTube one, including a handful of cuts from a compilation that's not even listed on Discogs called Now What Kind of Music Do You Call That?

And if you want something shorter, I've also got a couple dnb playlists that are specific to a certain year from the 1990s:

1997 Drum n Bass: YouTube / YouTube Music 1998 Drum n Bass: YouTube / YouTube Music

Next week, some breakbeat!

Enjoy!

More to come, eventually. Stay tuned!

Like what you hear? Follow me on Spotify and YouTube for more cool playlists and uploads!

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

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The Boy in the Window 2~ Tommy Shelby x Reader (Series)

Chapter Summary: The things parents do, if they think their children are being threatened...

Notes: I am so grateful for the positive response the Prologue and Part 1 got, and I hope you like the continuation. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Here, you can find my [Masterlist] and the [Series Masterlist]

Warning: Physical violence, panic attack, fear of death. Canon conforming mention and description of violence. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Expect spoilers for Peaky Blinders Season 1-4.

Wordcount: 3334

Part 2

[Previously]

Emma.

That was all she could think about. Her first thought, possibly her last - the only thought that had ever mattered and never more than now.

Emma. Emma. Emma.

She stumbled back, her arms outstretched as if they could somehow shield her child from the gun in his hand. As if her desperate wish alone was enough to stop a bullet, to stop him.

And yet (Y/N) hadn’t even made it two steps before he leapt forward, grabbing her by the back of the neck. His hand dug into her hair, her skin and flesh.

She gasped in pain as he yanked her away, like one would do with an unruly dog. The force of his grip made it impossible for her to look up as he dragged her away from the sofa.

"Stay the fuck away from my-"

With his voice, his whole body froze, giving her just enough room to glance up from the position he had forced her into.

From blind rage, his expression had changed to confusion, his eyes narrowing in on the children lying together on the pillows. First, they were focussed Charlie, then they closed in on her daughter.

No!

Her hands shot up, clawing at his grip, nails digging into his flesh.

The pain made him wince, but his grip only ever tightened. His nails weren't nearly as long as hers, and yet she could still feel them cut into her.

But instead of pushing her down, he dragged her up, until her body crashed into his.

When he moved forward, she couldn't have struggled even if she had wanted to. Her feet dragged behind her on the floor helplessly, but the iron force still digging into the back of her neck kept her upright as he pulled her away from her daughter.

“N-no!”, (Y/N) tried to argue, but he didn’t even hesitate as he opened one of the dark green doors and shoved her through.

In the absence of his grip, she stumbled and lost her balance, crashing to the ground.

Her hands managed to break her fall, but she didn’t even feel the pain as she turned, scrambling on her back to get away from him.

Thomas Shelby was towering over her, still wearing the coat and hat to complete the silhouette every decent person in Birmingham knew to fear.

The gun was still in his hand, no longer pointed, but still very much sharp.

“Who are you?”, he demanded to know. He wasn’t screaming, but he wouldn’t have been more horrifying if he had - instead his voice had become a low snarl, like the rumbling the earth would give before tearing open and swallowing her whole.

Only in the frightening silence, did reality fully hit her, his frame, the gun, the marks she had made on his hand, from which crimson beads dripped down his fingers.

Oh God!

“What are you doing in my house?”

A fleeting gasp escaped her lips as she continued to scramble back, one hand outstretched as if they could hold at bay whichever hell he chose to rain down on her.

“Please-”, she whimpered, her heart thundering so violently in her chest she thought it might rip through her skin and end her then and there. Before he had a chance to.

He could kill her, if he wanted to. She had broken into his house- into Thomas Shelby’s house and she had attacked him, had hurt him, had drawn his blood.

People had been blinded for less.

People had vanished for less.

Her breath hitched again, as she stared at the green door behind him, the only thing that separated them from the sleeping children.

The gun would wake them and Emma would find her-

"Oh God please no!”

Her own voice, which had never been a particularly strong ally in moments of confrontation, deserted her once more and a pitiful sob escaped her lips.

“Please don’t kill me, Mr. Shelby, Emma’s got no one else. If I’m gone she’ll be all on her own- oh!”

(Y/N)’s words got stuck in her throat as tears burst from her eyes. The thoughts of being forced to leave her little girl behind, all alone, was too much for her and her head began to spin.

And the images her mind fed her, of Emma finding her either dead or dying was enough to pull the floor out from under her. She hadn’t been old enough to know her father except from the stories (Y/N) told her, bringing life to the picture on the wall, but she was old enough to remember her, and the sight of her body would never leave her little mind…if she was even allowed to remember it, that was.

Oh God….

It was as if someone had slipped a noose over her torso and pulled ever tighter so that even trying to breathe caused her physical pain. No oxygen managed to reach her lungs, no matter how hard she tried.

Her vision began to blur, as burning hot tears ran down her cheeks, so she had no warning before strong hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her to a stand.

Her first instinct was to push against him, tugging at his arms to free herself, trying desperately to get away from him.

But it was no longer her life that mattered, no longer her own safety that was her concern. She had already forfeited any right to that as soon as she drew blood. Only Emma mattered now.

And so (Y/N) forced her hands to still, as desperate, rambling pleas spilled from her lips.

“Please don’t hurt her, please, oh God please!”, she sobbed.

Her legs gave way and she would have fallen again, if his hands hadn’t tightened around her arms.

They only loosened their grip once they had pushed her down into something soft. His hands were still firm, but they were no longer forceful, and had lost the intention to cause her pain.

The tears that streamed down her cheeks like a waterfall made it impossible for her to see more than mere shapes and blurs.

All the while, his hands were still clasping her shoulders tightly, when his thumbs began to stroke up and down, up and down.

“No one’s killing anyone.”, he said, “Just breathe, eh?”

Up and down his thumbs stroked. Up and down. Up and down.

“Please…”, she whimpered.

“No one’s killing anyone, you have my word.”, he said once more, applying slightly more pressure. Up and down. Up and down.

It was a strange rhythm but one she could try to match her frantic breathing to. They were still broken apart by sobs and the occasional gasp or hitch, but slowly the veil, woven of tears and terror, lifted, allowing her to see him.

Although (Y/N) didn’t know if perhaps that might be worse.

He waited until her frantic sobs had turned into shaky sniffles before attempting to talk to her again.

“No one’s getting killed, alright?”, he insisted, leaning closer in the expectation of a reaction.

All she could muster was a faint gasp but Thomas Shelby deemed it good enough and nodded, getting up from the sofa he had pushed her into.

But that didn’t mean he suddenly grew soft.

“How did you get in here?”, he demanded to know, asking from a safe distance.

“It was open - “, (Y/N) whimpered.

“The back door- I don’t know. I think that’s how Charlie got out. It was open when we went back.”

The tears continued to stream down her cheeks, her chin, her neck. She even felt them trickle down her chest.

“If I had known how to reach you or anyone, I never would have come in here- I never would have dared, Mr. Shelby. I don’t want any trouble. Please.”

Another sob broke froth from her already aching chest.

“But I couldn’t leave him alone, could I? He’s only little and-and was so frightened. He wouldn’t let go of my dress.”

The memory came suddenly, crashing over her like a wave, and yet she could cling to it.

If she could convince him, could make him understand that she didn't have any bad intentions, then maybe, just maybe, she had a chance.

“He wouldn’t let go, or of my hand or anything. He wouldn’t let go and it wouldn’t have been right to leave him alone. It wouldn’t have been right, Mr. Shelby - not without anyone to watch him!”

Her rambles were only stopped by a pitiful sniffle.

“What do you mean without anyone to watch him? I told-”

His voice cracked like a whip, making her cower as if he had struck her.

“I don’t know. He was all alone. Once I knew where he came from, we went looking but no one was there so I thought we’d wait until someone came back-”

Her chest rose and fell with quaking breaths.

Then, a strange look washed over his face, as his eyes, still ripped wide open, turned away from her. She could sense the wheels turning in his head as he began to pace. And that couldn’t be good.

“Please, Mr. Shelby- I-I I am just a small person. I just want to take my daughter and leave. Please, let us leave. We’ll go- we’ll go and leave Birmingham and never come back. You won’t ever have to see or think about us ever again. We’ll be gone and…and…”

Another sob tore from her chest.

“I don’t-”

“Want any trouble?”

His voice was almost soft.

(Y/N) nodded faintly, not daring to meet his eyes.

The man sighed deeply, and then he reached into his coat pocket.

Oh God, she thought. This is it.

Forcing her eyes shut, she knew she ought to pray, but she couldn’t.

The only thing she could think of was Emma- darling Emma, and cling to the foolish hope that she might not have to see what he would do to her.

“Take it.”

It wasn’t an order, but a demand all the same.

When she finally dared to open her eyes, she saw his hand outstretched. But it did not hold a gun, or a knife or even a razor, but instead a pristine white handkerchief, embroidered at the side with his initials.

Her eyes snapped up to him, but he only nodded.

(Y/N)’s own hands trembled as she took it, bringing it up to dab under her eyes.

It didn’t do much good. The tears just kept coming.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, eh?”, he said, walking around to the desk on the other side of the room.

He picked up a chair and sat it down in front of the sofa, pulling up the expensive fabric of his trousers at the knee before he sat down.

“Now,”, Tommy Shelby said, “tell me what happened. In order and without -”

He waved up and down in reference to her hysterics.

So (Y/N) tried her best, telling him everything- from thinking it was an imaginary friend, to seeing him in the kitchen, to finding out who he was after lunch and waiting for someone to return.

She didn’t mention the part where she thought the boy had been kidnapped, nor when she had thought he had been abandoned and left to a cruel fate by his famously cruel father, who had but moments ago pointed a gun at her.

And then given her his handkerchief.

“So I put them to sleep and waited…”, she finished with a sniffle.

Somewhere along her report he had dropped his head, but she knew better than to assume it meant she was allowed to stop.

Even now she only stared at him, breathing heavily as if she had just run a race. Her body ached as if she had. At first, the fear had dulled the pain, but now she felt it in her knees, on the palm of her hands, at the back of her neck and in her chest, agony spreading with every breath.

Then he shook his head and got up, pacing once more.

His hands reached up and rubbed the sides of his head, as if trying to ward of a headache of his own.

(Y/N) only watched him, frozen in her seat like a girl called to the headmaster’s office.

Only she was in danger of more than a smacking from this man.

Up and down he paced, up and down.

When his gaze fell on her again, it almost seemed like an accident, as if he had forgotten she was there.

Then he tilted his head before slowly walking towards her.

“I know you.”, he realised, pointing at her. “I know you, don’t I?”

She nodded faintly, wishing with all her heart that she could have denied it.

With a scoff he shook his head.

“You’re Edith (L/N), aren’t you?”

Darling Edith.

She would have known what to do, how to react, what to say…she always had.

“Edith’s my older sister.”, she whispered. Or was.

The flu had taken her, fast and unyielding. It hadn’t even given her the time to say goodbye to her braver, more beautiful sister.

“Then you’re…you’re…”

“(Y/N).”, she helped him. “But it’s Hale now. Not (L/N)”

Her name, her maiden name ghosted over his lips in a whisper that made her skin crawl.

Then he sighed deeply.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, (Y/N).”, he finally said, his voice so soft it set her teeth on edge. “You can go.”

“I-I can?”

He nodded.

"Take your daughter and go home. There’ll be no trouble.”

A faint whimper escaped her lips, and then she ran for the green doors and into the living room, but once she saw the two of them, still sleeping soundly in entire oblivion to what had occured, she forced herself to a stand, clasping a hand over her mouth as she gathered herself.

I mustn’t wake the children!

They shouldn't have to see this, not any of this. It would only frighten them.

Carefully she pulled the blanket away, detangling it from Emma’s limbs and then her limbs from Charlie’s, before draping the blanket over him again.

She didn't take the time to tuck him in- she only wanted to get away.

Emma's limp body was heavy in her arms, but she could have weighed a ton more and she still would have carried her.

She did not dare turn around, especially not as she felt his gaze on her back as she crossed the few steps to her own kitchen door, thanking God in heaven that Emma didn’t wake.

Once inside, she locked her doors and drew all the curtains before carrying Emma upstairs. Only when her daughter was secure in her bed, (Y/N) fell to her knees in front of it, shaking like a leaf - the image of the gun and the man that held it burned into her, leaving scathing marks on her mind and body alike.

Exhaustion had claimed her more than sleep had done, still on the floor in front of her daughter’s bed, an arm around her middle.

It was the pain in her back that finally woke her, revenge for the uncomfortable position she had put it through in the last hours.

That alone made last night’s occurrences impossible to forget.

When she stirred, (Y/N) felt weary, body and soul, and yet she dragged herself into her own bedroom.

She didn’t bother going down to heat the water before she splashed it against her face.

It wiped the stains of her tears away, but not the redness in her eyes, nor the dark circles beneath them. The marks on her knees, her palms and the back of her neck also didn’t vanish - all a lingering reminder that it had not been a nightmare, but cruel, harsh reality.

Soon, with the light falling into her bedroom, Emma woke as giddy and as excited as the morning. She soon went off to play, chatting to her toys as of they were real, while (Y/N) stumbled down to make her some breakfast, her whole body throbbing with something beyond physical pain.

As she was laying the table, she noticed a shadow outside the door.

Cautiously she opened it.

There was the basket she had used to carry the food over and inside not only Emma’s but her own folded winter coat, and the one she had lent to Charlie.

Right on top was an envelope.

It wasn’t addressed, but it didn’t have to be.

(Y/N) stared at it for a while before daring to open it, as if the hand that had sealed it could escape the paper enclosure and threaten them once more.

But in the end, she knew waiting wouldn't make it better.

It was in a neat, if somehow small handwriting, with dominant first letters.

(Y/N),

I want to thank you for taking care of my son.

You don’t have to worry about trouble from me, or anyone else in my organisation. In the letter you will find compensation for your efforts.

Thomas Shelby

His signature was far more extravagant than his words had been, but between the letter and the envelope, she pulled forth a ten pound note.

A gasp escaped her lips. That was more than she made in the last two months work.

She didn’t want to accept money like that, not from him, earned by whichever dark and grim means it had been, but at the same time- that was almost half a year’s worth of groceries-

“Mummy, Mummy, come see!”, Emma cried out.

At once, she dropped both the letter and money and ran upstairs, wondering what next horror would await her there.

Instead, Emma was braced on the windowsill, a wide smile on her lips as she waved.

On the other side of the courtyard, she could see a smile just as wide, which only ever grew when she appeared.

Charlie began to wave with even more eagerness when she came into view.

Then, she saw him turn his head to answer.

“Come along, Emma!”, she swiftly said, pulling her away before the taller figure had a chance to appear in the window.

“Breakfast’s ready.”

She had gotten her fed and was brushing out her hair in her bedroom upstairs, when she heard the loud banging on the back door, as if someone wanted to tear it down by sheer force of hand.

“You stay here!”, she ordered at once. “Emma, I’m serious. You stay here!”

“Why, Mu-”

Her look silenced her and she nodded, her hands reaching for Mrs. Tatters.

The pounding only grew as she hurried down the steps.

She didn’t have to ask who was standing on the other side of the door.

Her heart skipped a beat as she considered her options.

She could grab Emma and make a run for it but how far would she get in this city of his?

She could reach into the knife drawer, and then what? Last night had shown she was no match for him, not even close, but even if by some miracle, she could protect herself and Emma from him, she'd never make it out of Small Heath alive.

The pounding made her flinch once more, reminding her that she had no option, none but to pray and open the door.

As soon as she turned the lock, she jumped back as if she had burned herself, leaving it to him to open the door.

“Morning!”, Charlie chimed brightly, waving at her the same way he had done from the window earlier.

“Can you take him?”, Mr. Shelby demanded.

Her eyes widening, unable to comprehend the meaning of his words.

“There’s an emergency. I need to go and I need him to be safe.”, he insisted, hissing the words through clenched teeth.

There was a shine in his eyes, which she couldn’t place, lost somewhere between genius and madness.

“What?”

When he realised, he wouldn't get an answer, he decided to forfeit any need for it.

Instead, he just dropped Charlie into her arms and set down a bag he had carried in the other.

“I’ll pay you whatever you ask, just take him and keep him here until I come to fetch him.", he shouted, already backing away.

“But Mr. Shelby-”

The door to the Watery Lane house fell shut before she even had a chance to argue, leaving her standing in the no man's land of their two homes, Charlie in her arms.

“Dad says I can stay!”, his son announced with a tone of pure delight and triumph, wrapping his arms around her neck and leaning his head against her shoulder.

She stared at the firmly shut door for several seconds, before the realisation settled that he was, in fact, not coming back.

“I suppose so.”, she whispered.

For what other option remained?

End of Part 2

[Here you can find: Part 3]

Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind! If you are interested in more, here is my [Masterlist]

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emotionalcadaver · 11 months

Text

Part 13: Dance of Darkness

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess x OC

Summary: Their day starts with a funeral, and somehow it only gets worse from there.

Word Count: 3,389

Notes: I am so sorry that it’s taken me so long to get this out! I’ve recently been juggling finishing up college, family visiting, some health issues, and my other stories so things have been a little chaotic. But I hope you enjoy this next installment! No warnings.

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

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Chapter 1: Bird of Doom

Lucy tugged her black coat a little tighter around herself to protect against the chill of the wind that brushed lightly over the graveyard. Her eyes fixed dully on the pile of dirt that sat beside the open grave, every once in a while flicking over to glance at Ada, holding little Karl close to her. The priest’s words were little more than numbed mumblings. Nothing that he had to say was of much value to Lucy anyway.

She supposed that there was something twistedly funny about the whole thing; a priest standing there, speaking of God and heaven and eternal souls, when the Devil was standing right there over the grave, hands crossing in front of him, head bowed just enough so that his hat hid his eyes in its shadow. So that no one could tell if the orbs with which he used to see were red or blue. His shoulder brushed against hers, an eternal, warm comfort in the otherwise harsh coldness of Birmingham.

When the priest had finished speaking, Tommy took a few measured steps forward and cleared his throat, giving a brief, yet heartfelt speech about his late dear friend, Freddie Thorne.

Thunder rumbled. Esme and John’s baby was crying. The black veil that was covering Polly’s face flapped in the wind. Every once in a while, Ada’s chin would tremble; the only evidence that she was fighting back tears.

Lucy had to give her credit for how well she was handling the whole thing. Perhaps Tommy’s little sister was actually much stronger than she had ever given her credit for.

The ceremony ended with them each taking a handful of dirt in their hands, tossing it into the grave to splatter onto the top of the coffin already settled in the hole. Taking a step back for the next group to toss their handfuls of dirt in, Lucy trailed behind Tommy and Ada towards the exit of the cemetery. Ada had her arms wrapped around herself, while Tommy spoke to her in a quiet voice, trying to convince her to come back to Birmingham. Ada ignored him, instead focusing on the unfairness of the wealth he had acquired over the years. As if he needed to feel guilty of the rewards he’d more than earned through years of hard work and diligence.

“So now they’ve made you ashamed of us, eh?” Tommy cleared his throat, raising his cigarette to his lips. Lucy sighed, linking her arm with his in what she hoped would be some form of comfort. Much as she understood where Ada was coming from in a way, she didn’t understand why she had to be so harsh with the rest of the family when they just wanted to help her. Not to mention that all she ever ended up accomplishing was hurting Tommy’s feelings, hard as he may have tried to hide it.

Polly came up behind them, interrupting to give an update on Karl, who was off playing with his cousins. She smiled through her veil, then took a step forward. “Ada. Are you coming home?”

“I’m going home,” Ada corrected. Tommy was looking down.

“It’s alright, Pol. We make Ada embarrassed.”

“That’s not what I said,” Ada snapped back.

“You didn’t have to,” Lucy said. Tommy tightened his grip on her in silent warning, and she locked her jaws shut before she said anymore while Tommy tried to explain to Ada the potential danger she would be in during the expansion in London. She wasn’t convinced.

“The expansion means it’s gonna be dangerous to be a Shelby in London for a while,” he shot a look at Ada that was notably concerned, particularly for him.

“Yeah. Well, I’m not a Shelby anymore. And I’m not a Thorne now either. I’m free.”

“I’m not sure that argument is going to be persuasive with the gangsters in London, Ada,” Lucy tried.

Ada looked at them all. “I’ve got to get Karl home.”

Polly reached out to her as she walked past, but then pulled her hand away. Tommy had his lips pressed together, drawing in a slow, deep breath, worry etched into his face like stone even as he told Polly he would get some of their men to watch Ada’s house until the danger was over.

It had started up raining, big fat droplets splattering down onto them from the sky. A man on a motorbike had come roaring up the path, speaking urgently to Arthur, who began to walk promptly towards them, gesturing to Tommy, who moved to meet him halfway. Lucy went to follow, but not before she heard Polly muttering under her breath.

“Till the danger passes. That’ll be the bloody day.”

∗ ∗ ∗

“You’re really sure that you don’t want me to come with you?” Lucy fretted, crimson painted lips rubbing together with worry.

“Yes, love, I’m sure,” he said, trying hard not to let her fussing irritate him too much. She was just worried; he couldn’t exactly begrudge her that. “I need you to begin organizing a clean up and refurbishment of the pub. I don’t want it to be out of commission for very long.”

Her arms were crossed over her chest. “Alright. I’ll make the calls.”

“I’ll meet you after,” before he could step out the door, she took a step forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Tommy rubbed her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

“Don’t die.”

He bit back a laugh. “I won’t. Promise.”

Stepping back, she pecked him once quickly on the lips. “Okay.”

Tugging his hat on, he stepped out the door and began walking briskly down the road, pulling a cigarette from his case and setting it between his lips, lighting it. She’d been a little more clingy than normal, as of late. He wondered if it had something to do with Freddie. Perhaps his rather sudden death had affected Lucy more than he thought. Or maybe it was the knowledge that soon they would be heading back into London. And London for Lucy held a lot of conflicting, dark memories.

It wasn’t like he particularly minded. And if being closer to him made her feel safe, he wasn’t about to scold her over it. But this particular meeting was one that he needed to attend alone.

The explosion at the Garrison while they were at the funeral had taken him by surprise and put them all on edge. He was hoping that this meeting would reveal at least some answers as to who was behind it.

Then he could send Lucy to cut their eyes out.

∗ ∗ ∗

He spent the entire walk back to the office stewing, his frustration only mildly dissipated by the time he threw open the big double doors to his office. Lucy was sitting at the round table near the fireplace, scribbling at some papers.

“Oh hey, you’re not dead,” she said, greeting him with a chaste kiss after he’d shut the doors behind him.

“Funny,” he grumbled dully, walking to the desk at the far end of the room, tossing his hat onto the wood surface and collapsing into the chair behind it. Lucy came around, hopping up to sit on the desk in front of him, finger trailing over his arm.

“It didn’t go well?”

He just grunted, one hand holding his cigarette, the other snaking around her waist, and she laughed in a combination of delight and confusion as he pulled her from the desk to instead sit straddling his lap, burying his face in her neck. She smelled like cigarettes and her perfume, and when her fingers petted through his hair and massaged at the nape of his neck, he allowed himself a brief reprieve of peaceful contentment. Amazing, how she could almost instantly make him feel better with just a simple touch.

“It’ll be alright,” she said. Tommy nodded, leaning back from her neck to look into her deep green eyes. He would tell her about the new situation with the Irish and the assignment they had forced upon him in a moment. For now, he just wanted to bask in having her nearby. Allow her presence to soothe his irritable mood and shot nerves.

“The information you gathered about that Irene O’Donnell and her son came in handy,” he informed her.

“Oh, good.”

“I need to make a call,” he reached for the phone, pulling it from its cradle. Lucy made a move to get off of his lap, and he tightened his arm around her waist. “Just where do you think you’re going, eh?”

She laughed again as he pecked a kiss to her jaw while he tucked the phone against his ear.

“This will just take a minute,” he promised. Lucy nodded, body resting more heavily against his chest as she got more comfortable.

∗ ∗ ∗

She sat on a stack of crates beside Tommy, legs swinging. He was leaning against the crates, eyes staring out the opened entrance of the garage. Neither of them said anything, both just silently brooding over the task that the Irish had assigned to them.

Well, technically to Tommy, but he’d gotten permission to bring her along. And it wasn’t like she was going to just leave him to carry out the assassination on his own.

They both snapped to attention when Moss approached them.

Tommy mumbled a few orders to him, handing him a wad of bills from his pocket.

Moss pocketed the cash. “I’ve got some information you might be interested in. No charge. An old friend of ours is coming back to the city. He’s, uh, just passing through, he says,” as he continued to describe this ‘old friend,’ Lucy’s blood grew cold, jaw clenching. Moss bid them goodnight, and they both watched as he walked away. Lucy hopped down from her seat on the crates.

“He can’t mean who I think he means, can he?”

Tommy pressed his lips into a thin line and Lucy groaned.

When she’d heard from her sources of information that Grace had shot Campbell in the leg at the train station, she’d laughed for about a solid five minutes. When she’d told Tommy, he’d grinned, eyes dancing with silent mirth and approval. It was the least that the old bastard had deserved.

She’d hoped that the multiple humiliations, both public and private, that Campbell had suffered during his stint in Birmingham would mean that he would be reluctant to show his face in the city again.

Apparently not.

“Is it just me, or is our list of potential problems growing by the day?” she asked.

“No,” Tommy said, tossing his cigarette to the ground. “It’s not just you.”

∗ ∗ ∗

They arrived late to the family meeting on purpose. Half the time John or Arthur were late anyway; they might as well get a taste of how fucking annoying it could be.

The hum of Polly’s voice was the first thing Lucy heard as Tommy held the door open for her to step into the betting shop, but when they strode into the room, everyone went silent. Polly had been staring at Esme tactfully from where she was standing near the double doors. Esme was seated on the stairs, a book in her lap.

“I’m told only family are allowed to speak,” she said. Lucy felt her eyebrows lift. News to her. Eyes snapping accusingly to John, he met her look with a stubborn glare. It was no secret that if John had it his way, Lucy would probably have gotten her lips sewn shut by now. Jackass.

“Everyone’s allowed to speak,” Tommy disagreed. “On your feet, Esme. Let’s hear what you have to say.” John cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot. “I speak for our household. So, could–”

Tommy fixed him with an ice cold, stern gaze. “John, this company is a modern enterprise and believes in equal rights for women,” Lucy didn’t think she’d ever loved him more than she did in that moment. He looked back at Esme, again encouraging her to speak.

She put her book aside, bracing a hand on the banister to raise herself up to stand on the staircase, towering over the rest of them. “I’m not a blood member of this family,” she started. “But perhaps, indeed because I’m not a member, I can see things in a different light. So I’ll get to my point–”

“That would be nice,” Polly ground out. Lucy felt a sudden rising desire to slap her. These people. They really seemed to have no appreciation for how cold and unwelcoming they could be; how difficult it was to actually become a member of their inner circle. And how intimidating it was to speak to them all the way that Esme was. Of all of them, Tommy was the only one who had actively accepted Lucy into the group with open arms. Still, after years of nothing but loyal service, the others froze her out.

It was hard not to be bitter about it.

Esme spoke in her soft, low voice. About the things she had heard about London and the wars that were forged down there between the gangs. “London is just smoke and trouble, Thomas,” she concluded.

“‘Thomas?’” Polly quoted incredulously. Lucy rolled her eyes. That was his name, wasn’t it? Or did Polly think that she was the only one who had the right to call him by it? Tommy leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, watching Esme closely as she spoke.

“Thank you, Esme,” he said, taking the glass of whiskey Arthur offered him from over his shoulder. “Firstly, the bang in the pub had nothing to do with London. Understood? The bang is something I’m dealing with on my own with Lucy. Secondly, we have nothing to fear from the proposed business expansion so long as we stick together. After the first few weeks, nine tenths of what we do in London will be legal. The other tenth is in good hands. Isn’t that right, Arthur?”

“That’s right,” Arthur concurred.

“Some of you in this room have expressed your reservations. Fair enough. Any of you want no part in the future of this company, walk out the door,” Tommy gestured. Lucy glanced amongst them, waiting. “Right now,” he was staring specifically at John. “Go and raise your chickens. For those of you with ambition, the expansion process begins tomorrow.”

At that, Polly started. Arthur brought his glass to his lips, smirking.

No one moved towards the door.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Polly. Give me the combination.”

She ignored him. Straightening, he shoved his hands into his pockets. He supposed that she was overdue to have another fit with him about the way that he was running things. But still, the last thing he had wanted to hear when he came in to open the safe was how he should have spoken to her first before making decisions about the expansion. Or to be questioned about why he had gone to the Black Lion pub.

Oh, and she had changed the combination to the safe. Probably just to annoy him.

Why, why, why did they all insist on making everything so bloody difficult all the time?

“What happened to the pub is Irish business. We’re in a situation where, for everyone’s safety, it’s best if some things remain undisclosed.”

Polly looked up at him, setting down her pen. “You’ve told Lucy.”

Tommy sighed. “Lucy’s helping me with it. But there’s no reason to get the rest of you involved.”

“But you tell her, and not me?”

He looked at her, levelly. “Yes.”

Polly’s jaw twitched, but she thankfully didn’t push the matter anymore. “So why tomorrow?”

He internally counted down from ten, and then told her, again, his plan to head into London while all the bosses were at the races. The Italians and the Jews had been at war for months, and the Jews needed allies.

“Yeah, but we don’t,” Polly shot back.

“We need a foothold at the southern end of the Grand Union. The Jews control Camden Town.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Lucy has eyes and ears in London. They’ve been providing us with information.”

“Information that you trust?”

“Lucy’s information is rarely bad, Polly. She does good work. And she knew the current leader of the Jews during the time that she lived in London. She didn’t know him well, but she knew him. That gives us an angle in.”

The expression on Polly’s face was fearful and suspicious as she fretted. Afraid that he was going to get himself killed. Probably even more afraid that he was going to take the whole lot of them down with him.

Still, he tried to explain. To get her to understand.

He was pretty certain that he failed, in that regard.

“Now, please, open the fucking safe.”

Polly looked away only for a moment before standing and going to the safe. “You know it was a fine speech you made in there, about this company believing in equal rights for women. But when it comes to it, you don’t listen to a word we say.”

He looked away, keeping his jaws locked tight. He listened to Lucy. He listened to her advice and her opinions all the time. But he doubted that would count for anything to Polly and her absurd, undying hatred of the woman who was both his lover and his assistant.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Love, are you okay?” Lucy was curled up in the seat by the fireplace, glass of whiskey balanced loosely in her hand against her thigh while she watched him where he was seated at his desk.

“I’m fine,” Tommy mumbled without looking up. “Why?”

“You’ve been quiet. More than usual.”

Sighing, he set his pen down, leaning back and rubbing at his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“Did Polly say something to you?”

“Polly always has something to say to me these days.”

“Mm,” she angled her head in agreement. Resting his knuckles against his lips, Tommy examined her.

“Lucy?”

“Yes?”

“I…you don’t think that I don’t listen to women, do you?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean…you don’t feel like I ignore your opinions, do you?”

“What?” she looked truly stunned. “No! Never!” she unfolded herself from the chair, striding across the spacious office to him in a quick few paces. Setting her glass down on the desk, she smoothed her hands over his hair. “I’ve always felt like you listen to me. Even when we disagree or you decide to go against my suggestions,” a rare occurrence, admittedly. They were so often on the same wavelength when it came to most things, business and otherwise. She shot him a knowing look. “Polly just thinks every idea she’s ever had is pure gold. If you’d listened to her, the company wouldn’t be even close to what it is now and she’d still be buying secondhand jewelry and telling fortunes on the side to make an extra buck. I’m not saying she doesn’t have good ideas or insights, but she’s not always as irrefutably correct as she tends to think she is.”

Tommy hummed. “Yeah. You’re right,” he leaned his head against her, feeling the steady thumps of her heart through her clothes. “Thanks,” with a sigh, he decided now might be as good a time as any to bring up the other thing Polly had said to him that had been prickling in his head since their meeting. “She thinks it’s Grace’s fault.”

“What? How?” Lucy stiffened at the name, and with his ear against her chest he was able to hear the way that her breath caught in her lungs.

“Who knows? She seems to believe that I don’t trust any women now ‘cos one betrayed me,” he tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, as if the answers for how to deal with his aunt were written up there somewhere. “She says that I should just forget about her.”

Lucy started unconsciously fiddling with the plain gold rings that adorned her hands, staring at a spot on the wall. Her eyes contained the same lost, pained expression that he was sure crossed his own every time he thought of Grace.

“Easier said than done.”

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders #lucy winters #lucy winters x tommy shelby #my ocs #my fanfiction #dance of darkness #fanfiction #lucy winters x tommy shelby x grace burgess #tommy shelby x grace burgess #tommy shelby x grace burgess x oc #grace burgess x oc #grace burgess #grace burgess x lucy winters

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year

Note

hello bubuuu, how are u? i hope that ur fine :) can I request something? could u write strangers to lovers with ghost x fem reader? ignore this if ur uncomfy :) xx

the only time i've ever been made uncomfortable by an ask was when an anon asked me if i would write a fic where the kink was breeding and i was...floored, and not in the good way

but here you go <3

**********************************************************************

The first time he shows up in her bar it’s an hour to closing, there’s barely a handful of people in the bar at this point, most of her regulars already gone home for the night. He’s an odd one to peg already, dressed in all black, hood raised, and a black mask covering his forehead and lower face; only his eyes are exposed, but even then, they’re covered in what looks like soot. He sits on the very last stool furthest away from the doors and waits.

“What can I get you, babe?” she asks, propping an elbow on the bar.

“Bourbon, neat,” he replies, a rumble of a voice like thunder on the distant Birmingham skies.

She hums as she gets a glass. “Any specific kind?”

“Kentucky.”

“Ah, a good ole boy, aren’t you?” she teases and grabs a bottle of amber liquid; pours more than a generous amount for him, she’s not about to question his day, it already looks like a rough one. She places it in front of him about the time he’s pulling out a tenner. “On the house,” she smiles and his hand freezes before he puts it away.

“Thanks,” he mutters lowly, and she can tell he wants to be left alone while he drinks.

She throws the towel over her shoulder and givers him another smile. “Let me know if you need anything else, babe.”

When she comes back a few minutes later, he’s gone and she’s rather surprised that she hadn’t even noticed the man leave, as big as he was, she should’ve at least seen him, but not even Barry, her bouncer, saw him. She reaches for the glass and chuckles at the tenner tucked underneath it.

***

“You’re not from Birmingham, are you?” he asks, one evening, and she’s shocked to hear him even talk to her.

“Me?” she repeats, as if he’s speaking to anyone else. “No, I’m not from here.”

“The bar’s American.”

“It is. Based on World War Two and other American wars. A family friend who took me in as a kid was a Vietnam vet. I dedicated the bar to him and other Americans who fought in wars then and now.” She cleans a glass. “You military?”

“Army.”

“From the way you carry yourself, I say special forces. SAS, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.”

She takes a long look at him, the mask riding just above his upper lip. “You’re an odd sort of fellow, you know that, right?”

“I’ve been told.”

“So, what’s the deal with the mask? Is it a comfort thing? Security? Both?”

He looks back at her, slate gray eyes staring right through her; it makes shivers ripple up and down her spine. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I am bartender,” she chirps and sets the glass down. “I like to know my regulars.”

“I’ve only been here twice.”

“And if you didn’t feel comfortable, you wouldn’t’ve come back, babe,” she says knowingly, looking at him. “Have a name?”

“Ghost.”

“Hmm…how fitting.” She sets another bourbon down and takes the empty glass he has. “Let me know if you need anything.”

***

It’s a regular occurrence over the next few months to see Ghost in her bar an hour before closing. She recognizes he likes the silence and peace that last call brings. She’s gotten into the habit of setting his drink up exactly a minute before he walks in. Which is always ten on the dot.

This time, when he sits, he pushes the glass forward and she’s confused. “Want a fresh one?”

“What do you like?” he asks, looking at her.

“Oddly enough, I’m not a good ole girl.”

He smiles at that, and she knows by the way his gray eyes crinkle.

“Why don’t I make you something I’d like and see how you like it?”

“Surprise me then, love.”

It only takes a few minutes of vigorous shaking and switching liquors and Ghost has a tall, yellow fruity drink in front of him, complete with whipped cream and pineapple on top.

“Voilà.”

He blinks. “What…is that?”

“Hawaiian Rum Punch. Spiced and dark rum, pineapple liquor, passionfruit and pineapple juice. Little bit of sun in the gloomy English weather.”

Ghost snorts as he picks it up and takes the straw in his fingers, sipping it. “Funny.”

She waits, a slow-spreading grin on her face as she watches for his reaction. “Well?”

“It’s good. A little too sweet for me,” he replies honestly, and puts it down. “You’re good though.”

She reaches over with the towel and nicks the corner of his mouth where the whipped cream got him. “I know I am.” As she walks off to attend to another customer, she calls, “Drink your bourbon, good ole boy!”

***

It’s the rare night that the bar is closed that she’s out on her own, visiting an older family friend at the base on the other side of the city. She’s only been once, but this time, he’d insisted on her coming. Plus, she had a bottle of old whiskey on hand, so she knew he wanted that too. He escorts her inside, answering her few questions she asks with more grunts than answers.

“How’ve the missions been going?”

“Good. Just finished a hefty one out in Syria.”

“Interesting. Have to tell me about it tonight.”

“I will. Soap will want to brag.”

“Soap?”

“New team member. Made the mission a success with his demolitions.”

She smiles as he wraps his arm around her outside the door. “It’s good to see you, Price. It’s been a while since you came to the bar.”

“I’ve been coming, you just haven’t seen me there.”

Her brows pull in confusion but he opens the door and there’s a group of men surrounding a card table; all of them look up, but one looks shocked.

“Ghost?” she asks and turns to Price. “Did you send Ghost to scope out my bar?”

“I had to keep an eye one you somehow,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know your Uncle Tommy would’ve wanted me to.” He nudges her. “Besides, Simon would’ve protected you if anything bad happened.”

“I can protect myself,” she retorts, sticking her nose in the air. “I only went through six months of rigorous training with you and Uncle Tommy.”

She walks over and around Ghost with the bottle, grabbing a glass from the table to set beside him; cracking the bottle, she pours him a round before leaning on his shoulders and asking, “So, Simon, is it?”

Simon takes the cigarette from between his lips, grinds it out before he looks up at her and replies, “I thought it was ‘babe’?”

“I call everyone babe.” She smiles at him. “If you want to be special, you’ve gotta take me out.”

“I can do that.”

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little-diable · 2 years

Text

A woman's helping hand (1/3) - Tommy Shelby

Ahh I’m so hyped for this! It was time for another crime story, here we go with my new mini series. Please reblog if you enjoyed reading this, I'm always open to chat about this series with you. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: A serial killer is keeping the people of Birmingham on their toes, with the number of victims rising higher each night, Tommy and the Blinders are forced to interfere, eventually having to rely on the help of a woman. The woman that warms Tommy’s bed at night, the woman that has always been kept in the dark about their business.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected vaginal sex, degrading, spanking, choking, talks of murder and blood, mentions rape (but no description of it)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (1.7k words)

Header by @hidingsikki

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Part 2 Part 3

“Have you read this?” Arthur’s voice filled the dining room, eyes focused on Tommy who was staring socially ahead, barely sparing the man a glance. Arthur threw the newspaper he was holding in his hands onto the table, forcefully hitting Tommy’s tea cup. And for a second nothing but silence filled the room, echoing off the four walls as if their final verdict had been spoken.

“Can’t have one morning to ourselves, eh?” Tommy’s eyes met (y/n)’s, who kept glancing between the men surrounding her. One by one she studied them, their grim expressions, the cigarettes hanging between their lips and the barely noticeable expression of uncertainty tugging on their features.

They were afraid. But of what?

Slowly Tommy picked the newspaper up, not sparing the maid who was cleaning the wet table any of his attention. His eyes moved along the lines, eyebrows furrowed together as he found himself deep in thought.

“What is that? A fucking waste of my precious morning with my wife, that’s what this is.” An annoyed huff left Tommy as he pushed the paper against Arthur’s chest, hoping that he and the other Blinders would finally leave his home. But his prayers went by unheard, once again did Arthur open the newspaper, placing it down on the now dry table.

“A serial killer keeps the people of Birmingham on their toes. Another victim has been found, dumped near the canal. Too many cuts litter the man’s face, he couldn’t be identified yet. The cruel work of a gang?” Arthur read the article out loud, eyes finding Tommy’s whenever he inhaled another deep drag of air. The man kept quiet, not reacting to the gruesome words that rolled off Arthur’s tongue.

“Wake up, Tom! That’s bad news, fucking bad news. We can’t afford to have any more attention on us, not when the deal with the,” a loud “Shut up” rumbled through Tommy, shutting his brother up before he could spill any further information. Information Tommy tried to shield (y/n) from, not wanting to pull her into the mess of his business. A sombre fact the woman was awfully aware of, forcing her to rise from her seat, hands folded in front of her waist.

“If you excuse me, I am still quite tired.” The men watched (y/n) leave, patiently waiting till the sound of the bedroom door falling shut echoed through the house. No longer did they care about Tommy’s morning, no longer did they care about wasting any time, fully focused on the pressuring fact that a serial killer was walking freely around their city.

“This is nothing but gossip, you hear me? You are making a fucking fool of yourself, Arthur.” Tommy reached for a cigarette, and with the first pieces of ash he burned a hole into the newspaper. But the men kept pressing on, sitting down on the empty chairs to force Tommy’s attention onto the problem at hand.

“Tom,” John took off his cap, eyes closing in on his brother, whose features dripped with annoyance. “This is serious, seven victims so far. The number keeps growing nightly. We have to do something about this.”

Tommy didn’t reply, deep in thought he kept watching ash fall from his cigarette, falling like the soldiers he keeps dreaming about at night, barely able to sleep through an hour or two, ripped from his nightmares. There were pressing matters keeping him busy, deals he was working on, the business he had to care for, a serial killer wasn’t something he wanted to waste any of his time on. But even Tommy seemed to understand that whoever was making trouble in his city, only meant bad news for their business.

“Alright, we gotta be fucking smart about his. Do we know anything about whoever is doing this?” Tommy reached for another cigarette, impatiently studying his family members who only shook their head no.

“Gotta start somewhere, eh, John, see what you can get your hands on, I don’t care who you’ll have to pester with this, just be fucking quick. Arthur, ask around the Garrison, maybe some will talk after a drink or two.” He rose from the seat, cigarette left to burn out as Tommy started moving towards the stairs, ending their conversation right there and then.

“What about you? What will you do?” John’s voice forced Tommy to halter in his step, eyes fluttering close in annoyance before he turned towards the curious men. Like God - or rather the devil - about to judicialize them, Tommy towered over the men, staring them down.

“I’ll apologize to my wife for my fucking brothers disturbing our morning together.” He left them standing, making his way into the bedroom, where (y/n) was patiently waiting for him. She held a book in her hands, barely reading the words that have oh so carefully been printed onto the expensive paper.

“I was wondering if you’d return at all.” A chuckle bubbled out of her, the book found its way to the ground as Tommy moved closer. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, allowing him to press his front against hers, settling between (y/n)’s outstretched thighs. A searing kiss was shared between the lovers, Tommy’s hand disappeared underneath her dress, caressing her warm skin, the skin he had touched only a few hours ago.

“As if you’d doubt my return. I’ll always find my way back to you, love.” He cupped her heat with his calloused fingers, groaning against her lips at the loss of clothing separating his hand from her cunt. “Have you been sitting bare with my brothers around?”

“Perhaps I was simply gambling, hoping that you wouldn’t manage to stay away for long.” Tommy pushed himself off her frame before he flipped her around, front now pressed against the mattress. Quick movements shuffled her dress up to her waist, exposing her bare behind to his twinkling eyes. And without a warning, his palm connected with her skin, set on burning his handprint into the spot.

“Such a desperate whore, you got no shame, do you?” Her moans left his cock twitching, growing harder in his trousers with every passing minute. She was soaking the spot she was lying on, arousal dripped from her slit, sticking to her skin like honey dripping down one's lips.

“Five more, then you’ll take my cock like the slut you are, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” (Y/n) could only reply with another moan clawing through her, whimpering at every hard slap that connected with her skin. She felt her clit pulsing in need, hoping that Tommy would finally give in and fuck her, burying his cock deep inside of her.

And like a prayer being heard by whoever was listening, he let go of her, hands working on his tight trousers to pull his cock free. With one hand slung around her waist, Tommy pulled her back against his front, forcing her to kneel on the warm mattress in front of him. He pushed into her from behind, ripping open her walls as if he had never fucked her before, claiming (y/n) with every ferocious thrust.

(Y/n)’s cries left her like a shout leaving a dying woman, desperate for any help. But no help would come, not with Tommy Shelby having his grip on her body and soul, forever marked as his. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tommy fucked her with no mercy lingering in his system, set on pushing them over the edge in no time. His hand found her throat, squeezing her windpipe to heighten her senses, watching how goosebumps littered her body. Excitement. Anticipation. And the thrill of death over life.

“Taking my cock so well, fuck, I always knew you were the right one for me.” Tommy murmured his words into her ear, eyelids falling shut as her walls started fluttering around his cock, pulling him even deeper into her. Soon she’d cum, let go with his name rolling off her tongue, a sound so sweet Tommy would have no choice but follow her down the rabbithole.

The sound of their bodies slapping together rang in their ears, filling their every vein with the aching need of pleasure they were oh so addicted to. A bittersweet feeling they’d chase even in the darkest nights.

“Cum for me, soak my cock.” Blindly her body followed his command, she came with a moan, having to hold onto his forearms to stabilise her trembling frame. Tommy fucked her through her high, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible, not up for letting her go just yet.

(Y/n) felt Tommy imprint himself on her walls, filling her with his hot cum, a feeling she should be all too used to, but still found herself moaning over like an easy woman doing this simply for the money.

Tommy gently let go of her as he pulled out, watching his cum drip from her cunt, making a mess on the sheets. He couldn’t help but chuckle, enjoying the blissful expression tugging on his wife’s features. Wordlessly he started cleaning them with the towel kept nearby, only fully letting go of her as he started redressing himself.

“I’ll have to go now, can’t leave them alone for long.” He kissed her one last time, forcing a moan of protest out of (y/n) as he parted from her.

“Where are you going?” She called after him, but without any luck. Tommy didn’t reply, once again leaving her in the dark.

“We don’t have much. Just his name, Abe Chimes, he was a regular at some brothels in the area. Apparently he was known for being too rough and not paying for any services.” Arthur leaned back in his seat as he watched Tommy turn towards him, leaning against his office table.

“A fucking rapist?”

Please like and reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this, come talk to me about my writing, let’s spill some tea or thirst over our favorite people. xxx

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