#Luca changretta fanfiction

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Animal - A Luca Changretta/Reader One Shot Story.

It's here, besties! :D Hope you like it!

Words - 2,380

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

“I want you, Luca. I want you in every single way a woman can enjoy a man. I want your mouth all over me, your hands to touch every last inch of my flesh, to paint your pleasure across me like I’m a canvas, until every colour in the palette runs into the next. I want you to fuck me until I’ve no voice left, until I’m trembling and gasping for breath, until I’m begging you to stop, but pleading with you to keep going all at once.  

I want you to be rough with me, wrap my hair around your fist, fuck me brutally from behind until I gush all over your beautiful, perfect big cock. I want you to turn me over and fucking choke me on it, fuck my mouth until I gag and spit on it, making it wetter before you tell me that I’m you’re dirty little puttana and you love me for it. You know I’ll swallow every goddamned drop when you finally come for me, too. 

In short, my darling, I want the kind of sex that would make half the barbarity in the Old Testament look tame. Hurry, lover. I miss you.” 

The note fluttered from his grasp, a wide-eyed and very, very hard Luca lost to a sexual daze, the near ever-present toothpick in his mouth dangling from his lower lip. “Is this broad for fuckin’ real?” he whispered, wondering how in the fuck he was even meant to stand up after reading that, let alone put one foot in front of the other and then drive a car without crashing it.  

Not only had you told him how heavily your want was stirred for him, you’d told him in the dirtiest, yet most poetic way he’d ever had a message conveyed to him. He isn’t sure he wouldn’t have suffered a heart attack, had you actually whispered those words in person.  

He can, however, muster the strength to rise and, with trousers entirely too tight due to the colossal erection your words have left him with, walk somewhat awkwardly to the telephone.  

“Is that my insatiable Italian? 

“You’d be real embarrassed if it was your mother calling you right now, huh?” he drawls, rolling his toothpick over his lower lip with this tongue.  

“But it isn’t, so I’m safe,” you chuckle, “So, how can I help you? I take it you found my reading material?” 

“I did,” he confirms, “and how you can help me is getting over here right fuckin’ now. I’ll send a driver.” He hangs up before you can confirm your presence, knowing that just by the sultry tone of his voice, he’s tightly wound, and a tightly wound Luca is never worth missing out on.  

After all, watching him unravel is half the fun of doing the tight winding in the first place. 

Upon your arrival, you find him reclined on the sofa, long, lean legs spread, a hand rested to his thigh, index finger pointing very deliberately at the giver of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever received.  

“You called?”  

“And you wrote, didn’t you?” he smirks, looking you up and down. Oh, you’re in trouble now, the absinthe green glint of his eyes conveying a weight that should topple your nerves, yet it only serves to electrify. “Yeah, doll. I’m only surprised the paper didn’t fuckin’ catch fire.”  

Lifting your chin, your grin is all self-satisfied accomplishment, knowing that you've stirred the beast in him. It only ever prowls just below the surface, though, awakened at a moment's notice. “So, now I’m here?” 

He rises from the sofa, sauntering to you while reaching into his pocket, the press of his thumb releasing the long, sharp blade, the flick knife brandished. “Now the fun begins, baby.” Reaching you, his hand grasps your jaw, fingertips indenting your flesh, the precursor to a slow, sumptuous glide over your anticipation-riddled skin. Clutching your dress, he brings the knife up, slicing into the fabric, his hands grasping to literally tear it open.  

The sound runs sharp beneath your skin, sends flint strikes through your blood, the cold of the blade dragged into your cleavage before he cuts your bra from you, your undies next on the path of destruction. Stepping from your shoes, the floorboards beneath your feet feel cool in contrast to the inferno of his stare, Luca casting the knife aside, his long arms snaking around you as he puckers a searing kiss to your sternum, descending slowly as he drops down to kneel before you.  

“La mia dea,” he whispers, pressing a kiss upon your pubic mound, hands smoothing down deftly over every rise and fall of your body. “You should know you’re the only woman in the world I’d gladly fall to my knees for.” Lifting your thigh to rest over his shoulder, he runs his tongue up it in a in a languid glide, teeth closing in a sharp bite. “But that don’t mean I’ll fuckin’ go easy on you, though.”  

You’d expect nothing less.  

Letting the heat of his breath flutter over your sex, he teases you with the promise, tongue touching his top lip momentarily as he leaves you teetering on anticipation. He strikes like a viper, mouth wrapping around your slit and sucking with a hungry grunt, knocking the breath from your lungs. His hands glide down your back, resting on your bum, squeezing the rounded orbs in his big hands as the flat of his tongue seeks the pearl of your clit, beginning to work in a side-to-side beat.  

The fever he evokes rises like a summer storm, a swirling tempest of wet dragging against you, his piercing, green stare defying you to look away as your mouth drops open, a shrill cry shattering the silence of the room. Your hands move, one reaching to grip his arm, the other sliding into the silken raven of his hair, grasping, tugging hard as your hips begin to weave against the relentless beat of a very hot, very eager tongue.  

He has you clasped hard, but balanced upon one leg you feel precarious already, teetering, the pleasure beginning to throb strongly through your core, a grunting rumble from your lover causing a fierce prickle to jab against your insides. “Yeah, that’s what I wanted, getting to feel this pretty little cunt drip all over my tongue.”  

His hands continue to knead at you as his tongue drags down, pushing against your streaming little hole, the hook of his nose rubbing over your clit as he tongue fucks you with aplomb. A hail of pain meets your skin deliciously when he releases his grasp, hitting the round of your bum with a spank so hard, your eyes water. Another and he has you mewling, a third and you’re crying out in rapture, the honey of your cunt flooding his mouth, Luca licking your slow and firm back to your clit, wrapping the throbbing little bud in a hard, unrelenting suck. 

Your stance falters, and his hands clench at you, arms tensing as he keeps you upright. He might be skinny and lithe, but lord, he’s deceptively strong. He pulls you against the ferocity of his mouth further, tongue working you harder, meeting your gaze with a wink that sets the sparks in your belly to burn.  

The heat of his mouth suffuses through to your very marrow, builds rapidly like a supernova, the black holes of his inked pupils devouring the lush green as he watches you falling apart for him, being remade around the rapid, carnal beat of his tongue. The sensation of it sends tiny arrows darting through you, a mist of heat radiating your spine as you pant, your clutch within his hair and upon his arm tightening as you rock against each lick.  

“Fuck, Luca!” The words are torn jagged from your throat, chest heaving as it hits you in ceaseless waves. He groans as you trickle into his mouth, drinking the undoing from you as you cry out, every colour illuminating, throwing your head back and submitting to the never-ending inferno darting over your nerves. 

He releases your leg, letting your foot return to the floor, but holds you tight in his grasp, tongue gentling before kissing his way back up your shuddering body as he rises, the taste of your orgasm on his lips making your insides quake. You reach for his waistcoat, nimble fingers hurried in your quest for his nakedness, tie and shirt following, your diligence having him bare before you speedily.  

He presses a kiss to your neck, looking down at you with a mix of triumph and amusement. “Can you walk?”  

“Probably not,” you confess, watching his eyebrow flutter. 

“Fine,” he rumbles, making a circular motion with his long, outstretched forefinger. “Turn around and bend over.” You do as you’re instructed, anticipation ghosting your skin as you feel the heat of him behind you, Luca taking his cock and dragging it in tease over your slippery folds.

Sliding the head down to stroke over your clit, the lust tumbles through him wildly at watching your little hole spasm, pushing into you just enough to widen you, pulling out again and returning his cock to push against your bud.  

He did say he wouldn’t go easy on you.  

“Please, Luca,” you gasp, feeling him inch in again, no mercy given, leaving you empty once more. His hand weaves into your hair, an olive skinned, tattooed, gold adorned grasp clenching tight, pulling you flush against his chest.  

“You said that you wanted me to paint my pleasure across you like you’re a canvas, but baby doll, you know better than anyone I don’t paint within the lines.” His free hand slides up your body, grasping your breast, rolling your nipple in a tight crush between his thumb and forefinger. “Beg me.”  

“But...” 

“Ah, ah, cara mia,” he reprimands, yanking your hair so hard, the pain sears across your scalp. “Beg.” 

“Please, Luca.” Swallowing hard, your nerves buzz at the sensation of his cock sliding back and forth over your clit, keening to feel it fill your gaping hole. “Please fuck me. Please feed me every inch of that gorgeous, big cock. I need it. I need you. Please. I’m begging you.”  

He pushes forth once more, a few more inches stretching you out, his cock twitching against your walls before he leaves you bereft once more. “Beg again.” 

“Luca, I...” 

His hand meets your bum in a ferociously hard slap. “I said beg. Again.”  

Fire roars over the frost spiking at every nerve ending in your body, swallowing hard, your teeth crushing a bite upon your lower lip. “I’m begging for your cock, Luca. Please fuck me.”  

Again, he sinks back in, but this time you are blessed with every last thick, delicious inch, your walls stroked by hot, veiny hardness, the grasp within your hair released. His hands come to rest upon your hips, pulling back from you, until only the head of him remains. He lets you clench upon him, teasing you wickedly, forcing a primal groan when he fills you again with a sharp thrust.  

You expect him to continue in torture, but instead he gives you deliciously teasing alternation, pounding your heat rapidly one minute to slow right down the next. The thick head of his cock drags your wet plush slowly, so very, very slowly, sparks crackling, your heart thundering, his groans making your insides pulse with desire. 

It’s so good and he’s so thick and hot within you that you practically sob with pleasure, slow, slow, quick, quicker, slow, agonisingly slow, so quick you feel he’s going to go through you and then back to slow again, until he has you shivering violently before him. He roots himself deep into you, pausing, feeling you flex on him with greed, spanking your already stinging backside before slowly dragging back again, the friction delicious. 

He’s iron hard within your molten core, his tease giving way to speed and piledriving your slick with lethal intent, ferociously aroused. Your skin smacks together, his grunts peppering the air, drowning out the soft little cries you emit in response to this, a full-on attack to your insides. You feel as if your legs are about to give way, the timing perfect when he slips out, turning your body to throw you over his shoulder with ease, matching you to the bedroom.  

You’re tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll, Luca grasping your ankles and hauling you across the mattress, plunging back into you while holding your legs high and wide, giving you not a single drop of mercy from the carnal, animalistic onslaught he delivers.  

Each speedily delivered thrust has you sparking, your walls clenching around the thick heat driving into you rapaciously, his cock pumping your release into you strongly, the waves beautiful as his lightning cracks your sky, your hands gripping the bedclothes beneath. He lets you cool down, slowing within you, enjoying the way your slick muscles feel as they flutter around him. 

It takes no time at all for the pace to be set to feral once more, holding your legs against his chest as he licks a circle at your ankle, marking the area he then brands with his teeth, virtually growling with incandescent arousal. His stare is broken by his eyes closing tightly, a string of swears gritted, pulling from your soaking cunt, hauling your shattered body to the edge of the bed.  

“Open your fuckin’ mouth.” You do, his cock sliding between your lips, hand fisting tight into your hair and holding the back of your head firmly, hips beginning to pump against your face. “Yeah, that’s it, my dirty little puttana. Fuck, I love you.”  

He fucks your mouth like he doesn’t, hard, accerbic with you, making you practically choke on his cock until with a deep, guttural groan, he’s spilling into your throat, hot white swallowed down, just as you told him you would.  

“Mmmm,” you purr, after releasing his twitching cock, licking your way up to his neck, the black cross the focal point of your teeth. “If that’s what I get, I’m going to have to write to you more often.”  

#luca changretta #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x reader #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders smut #luca changretta x you #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #adrien brody

[loulouwrites]

Mad Woman . Luca Changretta

Warnings: angst, manipulation, domestic violence, mental illness, childbirth.

(2148 words)

(gif not mine)

She loved him from the moment she saw him. Her grandmother would tell her that love was something that you had to work for, that it grew as you got to know someone, but for her, it was instantaneous. She knew he was the man she would marry when their eyes met from across the room, his lips that were wrapped around a toothpick formed a charming grin as he tipped his hat towards her. He was the man she always imagined loving.

She was only 19 when they met, he was older, though not dramatically but he carried himself in a way that made him seem wise beyond his years. He was classy, smart, and charming. He made her feel stupid in the most spectacular way.

I want to learn everything from you.

They married in Spring. The wedding was a grand affair, both of their families delighted, everybody agreed that they were a perfect match.

Mr and Mrs Luca Changretta.

She was a beautiful bride, she spent most of her wedding smiling as the older women in the family complimented her beauty. He spent most of the wedding grinning as the men patted his back and made jokes that the wait was over, and the wedding night was almost there.

 When she was 21, she gave birth to a beautiful daughter, on their one-year wedding anniversary. She cried as the midwife handed her the little thing, wrapped in an expensive yellow blanket. The midwife fussed over her, wiping the sweat off her forehead with a damp flannel as the assistant went downstairs to inform the husband that his daughter had arrived.

She was so besotted with the baby that she barely took notice of her husband as he entered the room. He stood at the foot of the bed, fiddling with the toothpick in his mouth as he waited for the midwife to leave the room. He waited until the door was shut gently to approach his wife, moving to sit on the bed beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and kissing her damp forehead. She smiled at him briefly, before her eyes went back to the fussing infant in her arms.

“She’s so beautiful” She whispered softly, stroking her daughter’s cheek gently. Her husband didn’t respond immediately, instead she felt him remove his arm from her shoulder, the bed rising slightly as he stood up.

“Hopefully next time it will be a boy” He spoke for the first time since he entered the room. His beautiful wife’s smile fell from her face as she looked at him, he chose not to say more than that, he just sighed and left the room.

He didn’t even hold his daughter.

 The screams of a toddler could barely be heard over the screaming and smashing of plates coming from the penthouse. The staff in the home all sat in their quarters, a conflicted silence among them as the spared glances at each other, silently asking if they should step in.

The living room looked like a bombsite. The expensive China was shattered on the floor, wine was splashed over the flower-patterned curtains, flowers had been thrown out of the priceless vase, already wilting on the soft white carpet. The couple were stood in the middle of the room, spouting venomous words at each other, not caring if anyone could hear them. They wouldn’t dare tell anyone.

“I am such an idiot” The woman wailed, her black eyeliner running down her face “How could you?” She screamed, hurling a plate at her husband, who moved out of the way causing it to shatter on the wall behind him.

“You need to get a hold of yourself” He spat at her; disgust written all over his face “You look ridiculous”

His wife cried, putting her face in the palm of her hands, and moving to sit on the deep blue couch, seemingly the only thing in the room that had survived her rage. Her husband rolled his eyes, the woman on the sofa was unrecognisable to him, his radiant bride was now a sad, hysterical wife. It made him sick. It was almost as if she could read his thoughts, because as he stood there in despair, feeling nothing but resentment to the woman he married, she shot up from her seat and charged towards him, her arm raised to land a blow to his face. He blocked it easily, she was smaller than him, weaker than him, and grabbed the top of her arms, shaking her aggressively.

“You need to calm down” he said through clenched teeth as she cried like a wounded animal in his grip, he shook her more, his fingers digging into her skin in the most painful way, she couldn’t move her arms, his grip too strong. She anchored her face away from his as she spat at him, his arms loosening and the room quieting as they both registered what she just did. She watched him when he let her go, reaching for his pocket square to wipe his eye before his furious gaze met hers. She backed away slowly as he stalked towards her, his eyes darker than they were before.

“No, no, no” She muttered, shaking her head repeatedly as he reached his arm out and grabbed her, his other raising and landing a smack to her face. They stared at each other, their heavy breathing the only thing that could be heard in the once beautiful room. Neither of them said anything. They had had fights before, furious ones that had resulted in broken glasses and plates, but they had never laid hands on each other. He was the first one to break eye contact, removing his hand from her wrist as he made his way to the door. She watched him, tears in her eyes as he opened the front the door.

“Can I ask you one thing?” She asked, he didn’t turn around to face her, he just paused in the open doorway “What could she give you that I can’t?”

He let out a scoff, but he didn’t turn around

“A son” She let out a small cry as the door slammed behind him.

 The cries of an infant could be heard throughout the penthouse as Luca Changretta sat at the bottom of the stairs, his two daughters running around joyously.

“It’s here, the baby is here” The eldest, Violetta called out ecstatically, her little sister copying her.

Luca didn’t move from his seat on the stairs, watching his two children dance around, so excited that they were going to meet their younger sibling.

“Mr Changretta, your son is here” The midwife called from the top of the stairs.

“It’s a boy! It’s a boy” The little girls laughed, running past their father, up the stairs to the master bedroom, him following close behind them.

When he entered the room, his daughters were already hanging over their mother to get a good look at their little brother. He stood in the doorway, watching them, the little girls pushing each other out of the way trying to get closer to the new-born. His wife didn’t move, she sat like stone as the girls pushed and shoved each other, her eyes glued to the foot of the bed.

“Girls” Luca called out “Let your mother rest. You have your whole lives to get to know him” The girls groaned as the midwife ushered them out of the room, it was only then that he approached her, sitting on the bed and wrapping his arm around her.

“What shall we name him?” He asked her softly, reaching out to stroke his son’s cheek.

“I don’t care” She replied, her gaze not shifting from the bottom of the bed.

 She held the little boy in her arms as she shopped for groceries, resting him on her hip, her daughters running up and down the store, laughing amongst themselves.

“He’s a beautiful boy” She heard a feminine voice say from next to her, hummed in response, not looking up, instead choosing to inspect various tomatoes in her spare hand “He can’t be older than 8 months, right?” She just nodded at the stranger, still not looking at her “My boy just turned one. My first child” She rolled her eyes at the woman’s words, who continued “What’s his name?”

“Salvatore” She muttered at the woman, still not looking at her.

“I bet your husband was thrilled you finally had a boy. My son’s father was thrilled when he learned he had a son, unfortunately his wife was not” The woman laughed, it was a cruel laugh, one that was made to torment the other woman. She looked up then, meeting eyes with the woman next to her “That’s mine over there” She pointed to where a little boy was giggling with her daughters as they fussed over him “I named him Luca, after his father” The woman offered a grin, it widening at the look of horror on the other woman’s face.

“Violetta! Sofia! Let’s go” She called out to the little girls, forgetting all about the groceries.

 Luca Changretta loved his children. There was time when he thought he didn’t, that there was something very wrong with him, but when his son was born, his love for all of his children grew and he found himself besotted with, not just his son, but his little girls too. And while Luca’s love for his children grew, he saw his wife’s shrink. The woman that was once sweet and carefree became a shell of herself, he could almost see a grey cloud above her head as she walked around.

He knew the woman he loved was still in there and he tried his hardest to bring her back. He bought her dresses, took her to the finest restaurants and made love to her as he had always done, but she never seemed happy, and it frustrated him.

He slammed their bedroom door closed, watching as she lifelessly walked to her dressing table, removing her earrings as she sat down. He stood behind her, watching her reflection in the mirror as she removed the clips from her hair brushed it, her expression blank.

“You embarrassed me” He spoke lowly. She glanced at him through the mirror, but she didn’t respond, instead, she placed her brush down and stood up to walk to the bathroom. He grabbed her arm as she moved past him, pulling her towards him. Her eyes didn’t show any emotion, her face blank as she looked at him “You. Embarrassed. Me” He snarled, his grip tightening with every word but she still didn’t respond. He grabbed her other arm, resting his forehead against hers, closing his eyes “Say something” he whispered.

“Let me go” She sighed, as if he was boring her. Luca pulled his head back, raising his hand and slapping her across her face. Her face snapped to the side and she held it there as he grabbed her chin roughly in his hand, squeezing as he pulled her face towards his.

“You will not embarrass me” He spoke, roughly letting her face go before storming out of the room.

She didn’t cry.

 She laughed as her son run up to her at the train station but she felt numb inside, all she could feel was a gnawing in her stomach as she hugged her son, watching as his father approached her from over the little boy’s shoulder. She stood when he got close, holding her son’s hand in hers.

“Welcome home, amore” Luca said, kissing her cheek softly.

“Mommy where have you been? Daddy said you were sick” Little Salvatore asked his mother as they walked to the car. Images flashed in her head, the men in white coats holding her down, the nurses squeezing her cheeks as the forced bitter pills into her mouth.

“She needed rest. She’s all better now” Her husband told their son, his eyes not leaving hers as he held the car door open for her.

Violetta and Sofia hugged their mother when she arrived home, holding flowers and chocolates for her. She held them tightly, her face buried in their hair as they struggled to get out of her motherly grip.

Her beloved children dragged her into the dining room, where the cook had prepared her favourite meal to welcome her home. She tensed when she felt her husband’s arm slip around her waist, his mouth resting against the side of her forehead.

“It’s good to have you home, my love” His hold on her waist tightened, squeezing her body “Let’s hope you never have to leave again” He let her go, moving to take his seat at the head of the table. She paused in the entryway, glancing towards the housekeeper who offered her a sympathetic smile.

She was home.

authors note

Hey! This is my first story on here. I’m not super proud of it but it is what it is. I’ll be writing Peaky Blinders stories and had to start with my favourite trash human. If you’d like to request something, don’t hesitate! 

Thank you for reading.

#luca changretta #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #luca changretta imagine #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta fanfic

[klarolineashur1919]

Only We Matter Series

Part 9

January 3,1926

As it was

Luca pov

Shelbys.

I have all their files on my desk and I honestly could have done without them.

Penelope told me everything.

She always used to talk about her family.

That was one of the few things we had in common, we love and are devoted to our families.

To the people we love.

"I'm here to see Mr. Changretta, let me pass please" speaking of the angel.

"You think one of you can just walk in here?" Matteo better hope he doesn't do anything to warrant a bullet by the time I make it to the door.

"Please Mr. Changretta is expecting me" I gave a huff out as I was about to open the door at her calling me Mr. Changretta. I always thought that was a title for my father, I guess it's mine now.

Before Matteo can utter another word to her, I open the door watching him and her step back.

Then I make eye contact with her and realize I can't look her in the eye now. I look to Matteo who is looking confusedly between us but I'd rather him remain confused.

"Matteo, I suppose you know this is Penelope Shelby next time just let her in" I didn't wait for confirmation as I walked back towards my desk that I was sitting at.

As I sit down, I hear her take a seat. We sit in silence for a while.

"You came" I said also as a question, and she just nodded.

"Why did you want me to come here Luca?" There it is I missed hearing her say my name.

"I missed you" I said as nonchalantly as I could. We were silent again.

"Whatever deal you made with my aunt I wouldn't trust her" I finally made eye contact with her again.

"I know we'll see if she comes through" I said going back to looking everywhere but her. I try and not have memories come back to me of just a few years ago before all this shit started. I have other things to think about. Why did I ask her to come here?

"I wish it could go back to how it was" I look back at her, she's looking away from me. I take a look at her now and I realized why I haven't been.

The most obvious thing was the hair, she swore she would never cut her hair and I never thought she would. But here she is with a very short straight bob replaced the long curly hair that once made it pass her hips.

But I don't hate it.

She looks thin with her curves looking almost gone.

I'll miss them but I bet she still feels the same.

Her eyes are sad there's no light left in them; the clear blue looks like they became dark.

Even in the sun.

Her face the innocence, the youth and the easy happiness I remember always were there was gone.

It could almost make me cry.

"I know" Thinking it was the only thing I could say. I wished it too.

"Do you think it ever will?" She said with lack of hope.

"When the vendetta is done" I said matter of factly as I got up to get us the wine I brought over from my villa.

Because I decided years ago even with this vendetta, I will still have Penelope Shelby even if she wants me or not after I'm done with her family.

#luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta x shelby!sister #shelby oc #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta x shelby!reader #luca changretta x reader #Dark!Luca Changretta

[evita-shelby]

Beware the Ides of March!

Grab your knives and togas and join me on this Tumblr Holiday where we celebrate the murder of Julius Caeser.

🥖send a prompt for a moodboard or a fic where the only requirements are: must have a murder, a knife, and/or a party

🍷 write a fic or a moodboard with the same requirements from the list above

🫒 let's play Caption This! Send a gif or picture of a character(ocs welcome!) And I'll supply the caption. You can also send the caption and i will find the gif or picture

🗡 the Gladiator Arena: send me a poll and the participants and let's see who wins the fight!

Won't be restricting myself to just peaky characters, every character I've written for be it a cillian murphy character, BBC's World on Fire and now, Masters of the Air

Masterlist

#ides of march #evacore #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders ocs #tommy shelby x oc #eva smith shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #luca changretta x shelby sister #luca changretta x polly gray #luca changretta x oc #jack nelson x oc #lizzie stark x reader #michael gray x reader #jack nelson x reader #diane shelby #mota fanfic #world on fire bbc #bucky egan x oc #buck cleven x oc #no one has to know fic #its only a paper moon fic

[whentommymetalfie]

Update: Chapter 10 is up

Tommy is not sure how he’s ended up here. On the surface it appears like a dream, the penthouse in Soho, the successful husband who never misses an opportunity to spoil him, a life full of expensive dinners and parties. But beneath the glimmering surface lies a darkness unlike anything else.

One late night in an overcrowded ER, he meets someone who finally sees him. And from that moment on, something changes.

Sequel to 'All for Nothing'

Pairings: Established Tommy/Luca, eventual Tommy/Alfie

Warnings: Domestic violence, emotional/psychological abuse, gaslighting, manipulation, eating disorders

#Tommy x alfie #peaky blinders fanfiction #Modern AU #tommy Shelby #alfie solomons #luca changretta #tommy x luca

[red-riding-wood]

Hi)

Saw that you’d like to write something angsty or maybe dark on Peaky Blinders🙂

Maybe Luca Changretta x reader where they slowly fall out of love with each other but meanwhile realize that they still will never leave because they’re so used to the way things are

(Also looking forward to your fic with Dmitri from The Grand Budapest☺️) 😘

Absinthe

Luca Changretta x F!Reader

Peaky Blinders

Warnings: sexual references, mention of kidnapping/violence, mention of domestic abuse, language, very vague allusion to suicide, lots of angst (this is not a happy story lol)

A.N. Thank you for the request!! I hope this is what you had in mind. I sort of wrote this on a whim at 5 am when I couldn't sleep and I ended up projecting a lot of my own shit onto both characters so I don't know if it'll be to your tastes 'cause I'm a bit iffy on this one myself. And thank you; I really hope to start writing Dmitri x Alice soon and am so excited for it!

WC: 1504

“You will not survive on your own, amore mio.”

You hesitated, your heart sinking into your gut as you feared his words to be true. A shiver danced wickedly across the bare of your flesh.

And then, tugging the Italian silk of your dress over your body, you stood, his hand falling from where it had sat cradled in your lap. The empty in your chest split a little wider; those fingers used to squeeze your hip and pull you back to bed as he’d beg you not to leave. Now, they seemed to possess no love, perhaps not even want.

You cast a glance to where they lay limp against the mattress, and dared to observe his sullen look, his clenched jaw, the way that eyes that used to be so bright with adoration now wouldn’t even look at you.

When was the last time he’d really looked at you?

It was probably when you were kids, just barely out of school, and the gloating smirk of the boy had fallen around his cigarette, and his green eyes had glittered like peridot, as you told him yes.

Yes, to marrying him. Yes, to loving him in sickness and in health. Yes, ‘til death did you part.

And this, this sickness of the heart, it had not released you from your oath. Instead, it killed you, slowly, snapped the threads of your soul one by one, seized one shard of your heart each time you looked at him.

The times that hurt the most were always when you looked him in the eye, because you saw your own need reflected in their decaying depths. It might’ve been easier if they were vacant, if they were as cold as his loveless touch and his bitter disposition.

“I may not,” you said. Silences weren’t uncommon between the two of you anymore; you never had anything to say that was joyful like you had in your youth. Breaking it felt like the air had simultaneously returned to your lungs while also being held captive, for you always couldn’t help but hope that he’d say something kind, but also didn’t know how long the silence would stretch afterward.

“But I’m hurting, Luca,” you said, your voice breaking now as a tear threatened to bead on your eyelash, and your chest tightened. “And this is the only way I can think of to be free of my pain. Other than…”

You swallowed a cruel lump in your throat. You didn’t wish to think about the alternative you had once considered.

Animated suddenly by a burst of raw yet barely caged violence, Luca tugged his robe sharply around his shoulders and fumbled for the box of matchsticks on the desk. He wedged one between the teeth he used to knead at it, his inhale deep. Both efforts to soothe a soul darkened by rot.

“I have to leave,” you said, but you had hardly made it more than a few feet to the door before his fingers had wrapped themselves vice-like around your wrist, yanking you back so that you nearly tripped over your heels. His wedding ring bit into the delicate flesh, chilling as it was painful.

And you had no choice but to look him in the eye.

“You’re not leaving,” he growled, his tone almost predatory but that gaze, green like absinthe, entrapping you in a sea of emotions, pleading to you in morose glimmers that peeked past umber stripes of rage.

As you fought your tears, you conceded to his grasp, knowing he could easily overpower you if he wanted. And you shook your head, your lip curling bitterly upwards at what you had to utter,

“I’ve changed. I’m not your wife anymore.”

“The papers state otherwise.”

“Is this really what you want?” Your lip trembled with your own fury now – a fury that stemmed from your agony because you had nothing tangible to blame it on. And you struggled against his grasp feebly. “Do you really want a wife who’s unhappy? A wife who goes to bed every night with a hole in her chest?”

Luca’s grip softened, and for a moment, you thought you saw hurt flash across his irises. He turned his head away and brought his fingers up to brush across the faint stubble of his jaw.

And when his grip released, your wrist had never felt so wretchedly cold, and when he slammed the door behind him, your chest had never felt so achingly empty.

---

He had been so close to hurting you that time. Really hurting you, like he did the men who crossed his family or offended his honour.

But he could never hurt you. At least, he told himself such things, because in some ways, when he looked at you – still a stranger to the scars of violence that riddled his own flesh – he could sometimes see a ghost of the girl who used to be his lover, who used to be the girl with the shy smile and the beguiled gaze.

His fingers travelled across his chest to his lips, as he uttered his final prayer. The incense of the chapel burned nearly as thick as the smoke of the cigarettes he used to worship. Before you had made him quit.

And what had he done for you? He had done everything. He had given you a marriage, when you had nothing to your name, had given you the finest silks and jewelry and had taken you on a perfect honeymoon to Italy where you had made love with his name chanting from your lips like a prayer. 

Luca twirled the toothpick in his teeth bitterly.

But in saving you, he had condemned himself. Even in the solace of this moment, he found himself craving your touch, however frigid it had grown. Found himself incomplete, numb.

He’d taken an interest in another broad recently – a maid, but beautiful, with a soft, heart-shaped face and gently curved hips that begged to be ruined.

But it sickened him to touch her.

Because she wasn’t you.

---

With Luca away, you had had time to pack your belongings – just the ones that you needed. All purely practical, except for a letter, its ink bleeding at the edges of its handwriting, the love draining from the words he’d once written you when away on business.

Though you knew you’d regret taking it, it had felt wrong to leave something that used to make you smile with so much joy.

You waited for the train in the dead of night, the wind your only companion as it howled through the archways of the station. But it was not enough to quell the fear in your gut or ease the weight that pressed harder against your suffocated chest with each passing second.

You stifled a sigh as a sharp whistle split the distant, foggy air. And you once again fought back tears that welled in your eyes.

And then the winds shifted, and the cedar and ambrette notes of his cologne stirred something in your chest. You shivered as the warmth of his body settled behind you, long fingers running down the sleeves of your arms. The weight lifted only slightly on your chest, and oxygen returned to starved lungs.

“I told you you weren’t leaving, amore mio.”

You shut your eyes, swallowing against the knot in your throat.

And you thought, with this weight no longer sinking into aching ribs,

I’m not gonna make it on my own.

Your luggage was dropped to the concrete as the train came chugging along, rearing its head of iron and steel from the mists.

His fingers laced through your own, squeezing gently at them, tugging wickedly at a frayed thread of your soul, and you reciprocated, remembering a time when you had worshipped this very hand.

When you turned, his hot breath was exchanged with yours, and the full scent of him washed over your tired bones in a bittersweet familiarity.

And when he kissed you, an ember sparked in your gut that only he had ever been able to ignite, and the heat that pooled in your core was not a desire but a need.

Iron spiked your tongue as you pulled apart, some wrath that still brewed inside you having drawn blood from his lip while your hand cupped his cheek in an almost reverence.

Absinthe eyes sank intensely into yours, and though you knew from that gaze that he wanted you dead, he also needed you just as much as you needed him.

“You were right,” you breathed, your voice a mere whimper against the noise of the train. “I can’t survive on my own.”

Locks of his dusky hair teased your scalp, and his thumb traced the flesh behind your ear soothingly. And you had no idea that, had you boarded that train, his men would’ve been ordered to gag you and deliver you screaming back to him. And though as your foreheads pressed together and your tears spilled from shuttered eyes, it did not banish the pain from the hole that split wider in a chest that bled as slowly as the ink of the letter.

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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[runnning-outof-time]

Ok, I’m Curious…

Feel free to share and say why in the tags!

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[serendipitiashelby]

Serendipitia | Thomas Shelby fanfic MOODBOARD

SINOPSE No período do pós-guerra, Noemi Stein retorna à Birmingham, onde retoma seu elo com Ada Shelby, também sua aliada política no perigoso movimento sufragista. Compartilhando um pequeno sobrado pelas apertadas ruelas de Small Heath, passam a planejar a abertura da primeira livraria da região. Entre ideias eufóricas (e necessidade de dinheiro para financiar o imóvel), Ada leva Noemi a uma grande festividade da família Shelby. É ali que Noemi conhece, pelo encanto dos encontros fortuitos e inesperados,

onde, pelo poder da serendipidade, encontraria aquele que

um amor que nunca estaria escrito nos livros da futura livraria. Er

LEIA NO WATTPAD

MOODBOARD

#thomasshelby #cillianmurphy #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby smut #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #ada shelby #arthur shelby #polly gray #luca changretta #john shelby #shelby family

[victoria-daydreams]

The Dressmaker

AN: So, I did it, I wrote a Luca Changretta fanfiction. This was supposed to be 1k words at max, but of course I went overboard. If this story seems all over the place, I’m sorry but I promise it made much better sense in my head.

Trigger warnings: racial slur, my attempt to write sexual tension, knowing nothing about sewing

Word Count: 3.3k

The crackle of static and then the slow melody of a bow drawing across the strings of a violin floated into the ears of the young woman seated behind a polished mahogany counter. Selina let her pencil glide across the paper, a few faint lines here, a dark outline over there. All was quiet in Miss Clarke’s Dress Shop, the store located right on the corner of the street. Everyone on the street knew who she was, for she was constantly mending or designing pieces for customers that frequented her shop. Not to mention, that Selina’s dress shop was infamous for its wide variety; fabric of every conceivable color and style exploded from the racks.

However, there was another clientele that Selina extended her services to in a much different capacity. The Peaky Blinders, also known as The Shelby’s, often used the space in her basement as storage for their shipments. They appreciated her discretion and Selina was more than to happy to help, because that’s what family is for, right? Selina wasn’t a Shelby by blood, but she was a Shelby through and through and no one dared to dispute that.

Orphaned at young age due to her parents dying from disease, Selina had no where to go, but in swooped Polly who happily adopted her. According to the older woman, Selina’s mother and her were good friends; faintly she could remember Polly’s face as a young child before her parent’s death. Still, Polly raised her like she was her own and was fiercely protective of her.

Out of nowhere, a saucer and teacup was placed down onto the counter with gentle clink. Selina lifted her head and looked over to see Naveen’s friendly, brown eyes staring back at hers.

“Still cracking away at it Lina?” he asked, holding a teacup of his own.

“Unfortunately,” she sighed, letting the pencil fall from her fingers. She grabbed the handle of the porcelain cup and raised it to her lips. A contented hum left her. “Bless you Naveen, you made it just how I like it,” Selina said, a smile on her face.

“You started teatime without me?” Julia questioned, looking up from the hem of a dress she was inspecting. “Some friends you lot are,” she commented, letting out a scoff.

“The teapot is still hot, plenty of time to pour yourself a cuppa and join us,” Naveen joked, moving further down the counter.

“It’s not the same though,” Julia complained, shoving her hands into the pockets of the same white coat they were all wearing. “There’s something about the way you make my tea that makes it fantastic,” she said, leaning against the counter.

“Better luck next time,” he wished, with a smirk as he put his cup down.

Naveen picked up a pair of shears lying on the countertop and held them up to the light. The blades glinted dully. Reaching underneath the counter, he grabbed an emery stone and positioned the edge of the blade against it before running the shears across it repeatedly.

“What do you say, Lina?” Julia asked, causing her to whip her head from watching Naveen to her. “Be a friend, and make me a cup of tea,” she suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Selina answered dryly, picking up her pencil again. “The lord has blessed with you two hands and two feet,” she continued. “Use them,” Selina suggested, flashing her friend a smile before focusing on her sketch again.

“The next time you two need a favor, don’t bother coming to ask me,” she warned playfully, as she walked to the back room.

“Oh, I’m shaking in my boots Julia,” Naveen retorted.

Selina laughed quietly as her pencil scratched against the paper as she fidgeted with the details. Just then, the bell to the door rang signaling a customer had just entered the shop.

“Welcome to Miss Clarke’s Dress Shop, how may I help you,” Selina greeted cheerily, without having to think about it as her eyes remained glued on the paper.

She received no response, just eerie silence. Selina felt herself stiffen, now noticing that Naveen’s scrapping had also came to an abrupt halt as well. Her head snapped up and towards the direction of the door, Selina’s blood ran cold but she kept a stoic expression. Standing at six feet tall, a hawkish and smartly dressed man with half a smirk was flanked by more men similarly dressed as him.

“Fuck me,” she thought.

Whoever this man was, he definitely had a presence, a certain air about him that commanded your attention and respect. The type of man that when he talked, people listened. It reminded her of Tommy. The worst part of all though, was that the stranger was undeniably handsome.

"Yes, can I help you?" Selina repeated calmly.

“Where’s the funeral?” the man asked, walking further in the shop.

“Quite the accent. He’s certainly not from here,” she thought to herself. “Italian, but he sounds American as well,”

The stranger’s voice was smooth, reminding her of honey. Instinctively, Selina went on alert. This man, whoever he was, radiated a persuasive aura and a potentially manipulative one as well. His tone said it all. She just knew underneath this man's gentlemanly exterior hid a hibernating beast.

“Why all the solemn faces?” he questioned, looking around the room, before his eyes connected with hers.

Those coal black, mournful eyes burned into her dark brown ones intensely, and she returned the stare in equal measure. It was not the time to show even the slightest amount of fear.

“Solemnity isn’t the right word,” Selina answered, as Julia slowly emerged from the back room with boxes in hand. “Maybe it’s confusion my colleagues and I share,” she corrected, putting the pencil eraser to her chin.

“And what’s so confusing about us?”

“It could be the fact that there are…….” Selina trailed off, starting to count the men standing behind him with her pencil. "One, two, three, four, five, six,” she counted, before finally pointing her pencil at the man with inky black hair who was clearly the leader. “Seven,” she finished, staring pointedly at him.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Naveen’s hand had discretely moved to underneath the counter again. This time, he wasn’t reaching for a sharpening stone, his hand was resting on a revolver.

“There are seven men standing in my dress shop, and I don’t know why that is,” Selina stated, glancing around the room.

He grinned, “Ah, so you’re the owner of this fine establishment, you’re its namesake,” he said, walking up to the counter and standing directly across from her. “Well, Miss Clarke, have you considered that the seven men standing here might want dresses made for their girls?” he suggested.

“And yet, none of you brought any of your ‘girls’,” Selina observed, wagging her pencil. “Hard to do measurements on your girlfriends if they’re all figments of your imagination,” she remarked, which the man smirked at.

He leaned against the counter, his eyes boring into hers once more.

“Signorina, I’ve been told you deal in a great many services,” the man hinted, as she placed the pencil down.

“As do many other dressmakers,” Selina retorted, interlocking her fingers. “Signore,” she added.

A smirk tugged at the Italian’s lips, his eyes merely twinkling with mirth at Selina’s use of his language.

“How many deal with the criminal underworld?”

That one sentence caused an uneasy silence to envelope the room. Tension hung in the air, tight and overbearing. The atmosphere was suffocating.

“Shit,” she thought.

“Mr. Varma and Miss Russell, we have deliveries that need to be taken out today,” Selina informed, gazing between the two of them. “Why don’t you two do it now, before it gets too late,” she said, as the man pushed away from the counter, a smug grin on his face.

“Miss Clarke—”

“Now, Miss Russell,” Selina ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,”

Julia nodded in defeat and slid off her white coat and hung it up. Reluctantly, Naveen mimicked her movements, carefully pulling off his coat as well. Grabbing two of the three white parcel boxes, each neatly tied with a bow, Julia walked between the Italian man and Selina, shooting her one last wary glance before leaving with the chime of the bell. Naveen’s eyes swept over the room as he took the last parcel off the counter, slowly moving away from her.

“Wait,” Selina called, grabbing his arm. She rose from from the stool and pushed herself onto her tip toes. She leaned towards him as if she was going to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Be careful. Make sure that you aren’t followed,” she whispered, her lips close to his ear.

“Christ, you’re not sending the boy to war,” the man jested, causing his henchmen to chuckle.

Selina’s eyes narrowed, but she remained silent as she pulled away from him.

“I’ll be careful with the dress, Miss Clarke. Don’t you worry,” Naveen assured, sending her a smile as he backed away.

“Make sure you take the scenic route, Mr. Varma,” the man ordered. “There are some things Miss Clarke and I need to discuss,” he explained, glancing over towards her.

Naveen shifted his eyes to Selina and she nodded her head, mouthing “Go,” to him. The little bell rang again, signaling to Selina that she was now utterly alone in her own shop which was currently being occupied by a group of strange Italian men.

“You run a tight ship, for a dress shop. I’m impressed,” he said, nodding his head. “Most times I tell people to do something, they do it, stranger or not. But not your workers,” he noted. “They look to you for your blessing,” he noted.

“It’s like you said, this is my namesake. What I say goes,” she countered coolly.

He chuckled, “You’ve got spirit, I like that,” he commented, pointing a finger at her.

Abruptly, the man started speaking in Italian and his henchmen immediately filed out of the shop.

“So, do you want a dress made or not, sir?” Selina asked, crossing her arms. “Though, I still don’t know how would you do it. Your girl isn’t present for measurements,” she said, an expectant look on her face.

“I’m staring at the perfect model,” the Italian stated, almost purring.

There was a hunger in the man’s eyes as they traveled down her body, and oddly enough, it sent delicious chills up her spine and flooded her body with warmth.

Selina’s eyebrows rose, “Women come in all different shapes and sizes,” she pointed out. “It’s simply impossible for she and I to have the exact same measurements,” Selina explained, shaking her head.

“Let me worry about that,”

“How am I going to take the measurements? I sent Mr. Varma and Miss Russell out,”

“I’ll do them,”

Selina couldn't help it. Her poker face broke as she let out an incredulous laugh.

“You?” she questioned, her brow arched. “You’re not a tailor,” she stated, looking him up and down.

“My uncle is one,”

“Oh, quite the qualification,” she quipped.

“Humor me,” he said, another smirk on his face. “I want to talk business with you,”

“Other than dresses?” Selina asked knowingly, unbuttoning her coat.

“Other than dresses, Miss Clarke,” he repeated, as she laid the coat onto the counter.

“Hmm,” Selina hummed, moving from behind the counter. “For your girl’s sake, I hope you know what you’re doing,” she commented, brushing past him.

She walked towards a section secluded from the rest of the shop. Immediately her eyes fell upon the two cushioned chairs near the open entrance, the three panel mirror directly positioned in the center of the room, and a single door to the changing room. Entering the space, Selina stood in front of the mirror and briefly shut her eyes while rubbing her temples.

“This is such a terrible idea, why did I ever agree to this? I don’t even know who I’m speaking with,”

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Selina reminded loudly, still massaging her temples. “How am I to do business—”

“Luca Changretta,” he murmured hotly against her ear, his breath leaving goose bumps on her flesh. “Of the Changretta Family,” he added, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Can’t say that I’ve heard of you, Mr. Changretta,” Selina responded, trying to control her breathing.

She needed to remain calm, and keep herself composed and grounded. She refused to show him how much he was affecting her. That would just be embarrassing and mortifying.

“I’m truly hoping that there’s another Changretta family out there, and not the one I’m thinking about,” she thought.

“But,” Luca began, his cold nose butting against her ear. “I’ve heard of you, Miss Selina Clarke,” he informed, finally pulling away from her. “The dressmaker who has a penchant of keeping her ear to the ground,” he went on, now standing in front of her.

“It’s not a crime to be a well-informed citizen, is it?” Selina asked curiously, looking up at him.

“No, I suppose not,” he agreed, shrugging his shoulders.

“Then why—”

She was cut short, inhaling sharply as slender fingers slid around her waist and cinched a ribbon of measuring tape tightly against her. The motion had her nearly made bump chest to chest with Luca. He gazed down at her, studying Selina with shrewd eyes; reading her like an open book. She felt like she was being pried apart by the dark pupils roaming her face. She felt completely naked. Selina drew a shuddering breath, each and every one raising her chest up and down

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, she was surprised that Luca couldn’t feel thumping in her chest, but she was eternally grateful.

“However,” he continued, briefly glancing at her lips. “Not many citizens make it their business to know the ins and outs of the criminal underbelly of their city,” Luca remarked, his eyes focusing back to the measuring tape.

“And why is an American interested in learning such knowledge?” Selina wondered, finding it much easier to breathe. “Don’t you have your own criminal underworld to worry about?” she asked again. He ignored the question and instead removed the tape from around her. “Unless, you’re a criminal yourself,” she figured, feeling the tape drop to her hips.

“I’m not just any old criminal, Miss Clarke. I’m head of a mafia family,”

“Fucking hell, the Sicilian mafia!”

Gingerly, he brought his arms around Selina, circling her bust and pinching the tape at the side. Luca stared at the number before smirking to himself, not even bothering to hide his gaze on the hint of cleavage from her top.

“Men can be such pigs,” she thought.

“The Changretta Family,” she began, getting his attention away from her breasts. “Still doesn’t ring a bell,” she lied.

“I wouldn’t expect it to,” Luca answered simply. “But I do know, that you’ve heard of another prominent family in this city,” he said, with a knowing stare. “One full of fucking gypsies,” he added.

“You’re talking about The Shelby Gang,” Selina replied, her face neutral.

“Shit, what did Tommy step into now?”

“Indeed I am,” Luca confirmed, as holding her arm up with his large hand and stretching the tape along it, starting to measure her left arm.

“Of course I’ve heard of them, who hasn’t?”

Luca read the tape before pulling it away, “What have you heard then?” he questioned.

“The same as everyone else I suppose,” Selina answered absentmindedly, as Luca finished measuring her other arm. “Cuts people a smile and blind ones that can see. Fiercely loyal to each other and little bit volatile,” she described, shrugging her shoulders. “Of course, that depends on which way the wind blows each day,” she noted.

In a way, Selina was being truthful, she mostly kept herself out of Peaky business, focusing mainly on her craft. Of course, that is not to say Selina did not know the ins and outs of the organization, she was very much aware of their dealings. Today was different, as it had shown Selina that her approach staying out of it didn't always go to plan. The Peaky Blinders affairs had landed right on her doorstep.

He paused, “You must heard more than that,” Luca said, eying her skeptically.

“Must I?” she asked back, cocking her slightly. “I hear just enough that my ears don’t get cut off,” she retorted.

The room fell silent and the tension between them was palpable again. It was thick and bulky, impossible to ignore. Luca and Selina stared each other down, neither backing off from the other. It was there, a new type tension began to unfold, one of the carnal nature. Selina felt something stir deep inside, something that she hadn’t experienced a while. Longing. Desire.

“I’m quite sorry that you traveled all this way and I couldn’t be of assistance,” Selina stated, finally breaking strained silence.

“Oh, just the opposite sweetheart,” Luca replied, the heat in his gaze burning through her like a wildfire.

“If I may ask,” Selina began, looking up from her lashes. “What’s an American mafia leader interest in a British one?” she asked, her voice cautious.

Luca let out a series of tsks and shook his head. Already standing close to each other, he reached his hand out and gently ran a finger down her cheek.

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head about that,” he answered, tapping the tip of her nose.

“You think I’m pretty, Mr. Changretta?”

“I think you’re a helluva lot more than pretty, Miss Clarke,” Luca stated, staring at her lips once more.

Another shiver coursed through her from the combination of his accent and his close proximity. Selina was inches away from him, their lips barely touching, breath mingling together in the tiny space between them.

“I do have one more thing to share with you,” Selina admitted breathily.

“What’s that?” Luca asked, his breathing just as ragged.

She stood up on her tiptoes, leaning forward to press her lips to his. But, at the very last second she dipped her head and ghosted her lips over his jawline.

“You’re a terrible tailor,” she whispered into his ear, before drawing back as he chased after her mouth.

Luca let out a frustrated puff of air, chuckling lightly against her cheek.

“You’re a fuckin tease,” he said, a slight growl in his voice.

Selina smiled as she used her hand to cover his own, guiding the slender fingers to slip up underneath her skirt.

“You didn’t take measurements of my thighs,” she reminded, her tone dropping an octave.

Her skirt rose all the way to the apex of her right hip, revealing thick thighs encased in sheer material of her stockings. Luca swallowed audibly, his fingers tracing over the fabric.

“Silly me, how could I forget,” he murmured, slowly dragging his eyes over her exposed leg.

Luca knelt in front of her, letting his cool fingers caress the bare skin where the stockings ended. Slowly, his hand curved over her hip, squeezing roughly at her backside. Unconsciously, Selina’s head fell backwards, her lips parting with a breathy sigh as her eyes fluttered shut. Her heart was beating wild in her chest, like it was about to explode. The only thing keeping her steady was her hand on Luca’s shoulder and the grip on the back of his neck.

He tugged at her leg slightly, pulling her closer to his face and slid his nose over her rich skin. Luca inhaled deeply, breathing in the flowery perfume she put on in the morning before planting his lips on her flesh. Slow, languid, and hot open mouthed kisses that trailed up her leg as Luca started to undo the clips holding her stocking up.

Loud gasps and pants escaped past Selina’s lips, her eyes screwing shut instinctively. Luca’s hair was no longer neatly slicked back, not with her manicured nails mussing it up. Suddenly, the cool sensation of the measuring tape around her thigh, shocked her. The ribbon almost felt like it was burning her already hot flesh. Pulling away from her thigh with a soft smack, Selina could feel Luca’s damp, warm breath fanning across skin.

“Since I’m no tailor, I may need assistance on where to measure from,” Luca stated, his breath coming out in short puffs.

A genuine smile finds its way to Selina’s face and she lets out an airy giggle, opening her eyes. Luca was already staring up at her, the intensity of his stare made her heart skip a few beats. Selina ran her fingers through his hair, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck.

“Mr. Changretta, you’ll be glad to know that there are three ways to do that,” Selina informed, a pleased smile on growing on her face. “And I would be more than happy to teach you,” she offered cheekily.

Part II

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #black fanfiction #black oc #luca changretta x reader #black!reader #luca changretta #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders oc #luca changretta x oc #poc!reader #woc!reader

[mlmxreader]

Busted | Luca Changretta x gn!reader

@king-trash-cryptid asked: "Youre a fucking idiot" with luca changretta?

summary: Luca’s got a temper on him, and that means you sometimes have to patch him up. 

tws: minor injuries, bruising, blood, swearing, smoking 

word count: 782

Luca was in trouble again, as per usual, as his temper had gotten the better of him and he had been involved in a fight with a group that belonged to a rival mob; he was badly bruised and beaten, his lip split open and a black eye, a couple of broken ribs and cuts all over his hands and arms, but he was more worried about the fact that his tailored and expensive silk shirt had been ruined by the blood and dirt stains more than anything else. He was more worried about his fucking clothes, and when he got to your place, he was beyond pissed about that goddamn shirt being ruined; even when you sat him down at the kitchen table, and pulled a chair close, one of his legs between both of yours as you took the shirt off of him and chucked it onto the table so that you could examine his wounds. 

“They busted you up pretty good,” you sighed, a frown on your lips as you tutted softly, at least the cuts weren’t too deep, but you could see a little bit of the deeper layers of tissue, not enough that it was massively worrying, though. “You’re gonna need stitches, baby.” 

Luca scoffed, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair, irritated that it wouldn’t go back into place and was a ragged and scruffy mess. “Stitches? Really?”

You nodded, daring to meet his gaze. He looked pissed, and you rolled your eyes. “What the fuck were you thinking, Changretta?”

“Mio orsacchiotto, please,” he grumbled. “Scream at me later.” 

“No!” You scoffed, moving to straddle his lap as you shook your head, careful not to agitate his ribs as you placed your hands on the back of the chair either side of his head. “Luca, you’re a fucking idiot - as much as I love you, you are a fucking cunt and an idiot when you wanna be.” 

Luca didn’t want to, it hurt too much when he did, but he couldn’t fight back the smile as he looked up at you, raising a brow. “You’re really that pissed?”

“Yeah, I am,” you nodded. “Because you’ve fucked off, gotten yourself into a fight, and you fucking-” 

You got off of his lap, a grunt of disgust coming from you as you paced around the kitchen, grabbing various bottles and cloths and tape and scissors and chucking them on the table; you were still annoyed as you rolled yourself a cigarette and lit it up, shaking your head when you looked at him. 

“Caro,” Luca called softly, smirking when you actually looked at him and didn’t shake your head. “It was just a little scrap.” 

“You’re a fool,” you huffed. “A fucking idiot and a fool.” 

He chuckled, nodding as he leaned back in the chair and leaned his head against the back of it, looking at you sideways as he hummed quietly; all these years, and you were still there patching him up. All these years as your boyfriend, and he was still looking at you as if you were the best looking person in the world, knowing that your annoyance and irritation came from fear and anxiety and would melt away the second that he was patched up and safe; all these years, and you still loved him as much as he did you. 

“Ti amo con tutto il cuore.” 

“Oh, fuck off with that shit,” you laughed, finishing your cigarette and sitting back opposite him, you grabbed the bottle of stuff you needed to clean the wounds, and put it on one of the cloths. “Dick.” 

Immediately, Luca knew that it was all going to be alright, he knew that you would forgive him soon enough; he leaned forward, and gently kissed your forehead when you started to clean out the wounds on his hands, holding back a wince and trying not to seethe as the stinging sensation tore through him. He was better at hiding it when he knew that you were the one cleaning the wounds. Between each stage, he would kiss your forehead, and when you pulled back, he pulled you in so that he could kiss your lips. 

“Forgive me?”

You shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”

He dared to laugh as he nodded. “Still pissed?”

“Not as much,” you admitted. “But don’t you fucking dare do that again - don’t you fucking dare go getting yourself in goddamn… I don’t even know what to call it!” 

Luca grinned and ran a hand through his hair again, able to feel the bandages grace against his scalp in such a light way that it made him itch. “Si signore.”

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#mlem writes #luca changretta imagine #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta one shot #luca changretta #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x yn #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders luca #luca peaky blinders #peaky blinders #bbc peaky blinders

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Nobody's Girl - A Luca Changretta/OC Story.

Okay, okay! I got the message quite clearly that just a few of you are more than a wee bit excited for this, so regardless of the poll results, ya bestie over here is giving you the first chapter. Everybody gather round and meet Emily Jane. She shyly says hi.

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,224

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Brooklyn, 1923. It was a dangerous place to be in certain areas of the New York borough, where bullets fell like rain and crimson bled plentifully into the gutters. Its misdeeds were becoming famous, the mob swelling like a well-fed beast, prowling the streets unleashed, snarling and hungry. In Brooklyn, the mafia were the kings, whether you, your mother, your cousin or the cops liked it or not.  

It was generally advised that you did not protest.  

Wiseguy compliance was safer than the alternative, and everybody knew it. When they came knocking, offering fistfuls of dollars to store barrels mostly containing contraband beer, gin and whiskey within the warehouses of legitimate businesses, the proprietors knew that you either said yes or you died. That money you were so generously handed would be earned back, though.  

“So look, uh, you gonna be lookin’ after this cargo for us, right? That means there are gonna be certain guys on the street who ain’t gonna be too pleased about you working with us. So, what I’m gonna do is have a few of my guys lookin’ out for ya. Fifty bucks a week and nothin’ happens to your business, or your family.” 

The story was the same for any other business within the radius of their turf, racketeering forced upon you whether you guarded contraband alcohol for them or not.  

It was generally advised that you paid them the fifty bucks.  

Of course, when it came to the families going to war with one another, there was nobody there to protect you, whether you paid into a protection racket or didn't. If the police were called, they generally – and purposefully - arrived too late, the large wedges of cash stuffed into their back pockets by whichever mob crew were buying their compliance ensuring that.

No, when the gunfire erupted and turned the silent streets into a bloodied cacophony, you knew there was only one thing to do.  

It was generally advised that you duck.  

On that particular chilly November night, though, with the threat of snow hanging heavy in the air from the thickened clouds above, one young woman opted not to duck. Instead, she chose to walk right out into the carnage, for it was perhaps the only avenue she could tentatively tread upon in order to save herself from hell.  

The Changretta’s and the Calabrese's had been at war with one another over turf for months, disputes rife over what mob presided over which area, promises of blood come good after negotiations had failed, leading to the shootout between both crews in the dead of night.

Bullets peppered the air, tattooing the buildings and cars along the street, screams and shouts only just about audible over the thrum of heavy machine gun fire, men diving and dying left and right. The sins they fought and died for knew no difference, but somewhere in the madness, these men of bloodthirsty savagery had a line they would not ever cross.  

The Changretta mob scanned the desolate street, high alert agitating their blood, neurons firing rapidly as they watched the area, looking, waiting for movement. The enemy had been thinned to what appeared to be nothing, their bodies littering the ground, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more lying in wait.  

Luca’s unblinking eyes toured the darkness, daring to slowly rise from his concealed place behind the front wing of a shot-out Ford, each step crunching the shattered glass beneath his feet. Nothing. They’d accomplished the extermination mission sufficiently, not a single Calabrese goon left breathing.  

“Boss! On your left!” 

At his right hand’s call, Luca spun, directing his gun at what his eyes picked out through the inky night, a glowing light splitting the dark, his men beginning to fire.  

“Stop, fuckin’ guns down, now!” he bellowed, his cadence rising sharply, way above his usual silky, rumbling drawl. “It’s a girl, you dumb fucks.”  

She seemed to glide over the ground, her feet bare, platinum hair matted and tangled, the white lace of her dress torn and bloodied.  

“What the fuck? Is it a trap, or what?”  

Luca turned to view Enzo with a slight shrug, his hand reaching out to grasp his arm when he raised his gun. “Ah, aspetta, aspetta.” At being told to wait, his right hand once again lowered the machine gun, both Italians watching as the girl continued her walk, her eyes wide and dazed, her face bloody, purple welts marking her features. The closer she got, the more of them Luca noticed, angry and swollen upon her pale skin, the infliction of brutality tarnishing much of her body, a body that buckled as she suddenly fell, collapsing in the middle of the street.  

“Ain’t no trap.” Moving out fully, Luca strode through rivers of blood and bullets, removing his long, wool coat, wrapping it over the barely dressed blonde as he crouched at her side. “Hey, what the fuck happened to you, huh?” He gave her cheek a few gentle slaps, trying to rouse her. “You with me? C’mon, wake up.” This truly wasn’t the time or place for damsels in distress. He had himself and his guys to think of before all else.  

Her eyelids fluttered, blinking rapidly a few times as she came to, curling herself smaller. Her mouth opened, and Luca was sure she said something, but her voice was ghostly, so quiet he was scarcely sure she’d spoken at all.  

“What? I can’t hear you.” He leaned closer, craning his ear, just about able this time to hear her words.  

“There’s a bomb under your car. Twenty seconds.”  

With widened eyes, his head spun round to where his assembled crew waited. “Move! The fuckin’ car is live, move!” Pulling her up off the street and into his arms, he and his men began to run, covering the ground rapidly. They’d gotten a good hundred feet away, yet their eardrums still all but ruptured when the TNT blew, reducing the Buick to an inferno.  

They took cover behind another car, a car Enzo rapidly broke open the door of, cranking the engine into life. “Let’s get the fuck outta here, eh?”  

So, it looked to Emily like she was leaving one set of wiseguys and going with another as the tall, slender man who held her jumped into the back of the car, three other guys piling in, the car shuddering out from its spot and being directed in the opposite direction to the blast.  

“Hey boss,” Dante piped up from the passenger seat, nodding at the blonde. “Who’s the dame?” 

“You know as much as I do.” He was just about to ask her that very question, looking down to see her head lolled over his arm, out cold once more. Whatever the fuck she’d been through, he could gauge it was a lot. Giving him the kind of information she had, though, information that had saved him and his crew from being blasted to smithereens, he wasn’t just about to let he be on her way.  

If she knew about the bomb, then what other information might she have? The firefight had not exterminated all of the Calabrese mob, just a mere handful of foot soldiers.  

Exiting the car on the corner of Third Avenue, Luca strode towards the doors of Bella Vita, the bar turned speakeasy he owned, the doormen nodding to him and swinging the doors open. He took an immediate right, the thumping blare of jazz music and patrons having a fabulous time hurting his still fragile, bomb-blasted ears, another large man employed for security purposes opening the next door he came to.  

It closed with a heavy thud behind him, the wall of noise muted, Luca beginning to climb the stairs that led to his spacious apartment. It had only been home for seven months, since he had the former three dwellings gutted out and fashioned into something more resembling the comfort he was accustomed to. High standing members of the mafia did not reside in shabbiness.  

His former abode, a sprawling townhouse upon the Upper West Side of Manhattan, was now solely home to his ex-wife and three children. For a quicker divorce from the wretched, screaming harpy whom he had once loved very dearly, he considered it a cheap price to part with for the sake of his sanity. Her alimony was also eye watering, but it wasn’t like Luca didn’t rake in serious bank.  

He’d also never deprive Milania, Guiseppe and Alessio of anything. His sons were the apple of his eye, and his daughter, well, she was quintessentially daddy’s little girl. He just wished she had a smidgen less of her mother’s hot-headed temper. Then again, he supposed he deserved every ounce of it, not being a particularly good husband to Filomena.  

Well, it was subjective, really. He provided for her, took her out regularly, bought her an abundance of luxuries from expensive jewellery to beautiful furs, but he did have somewhat of a predisposition for sticking his cock where he most certainly should not have stuck it. Filomena had all but turned a blind eye to his philandering ways, and Luca knew that was why he’d continued to do it, because she'd let him. She didn’t care, it seemed, so why should he?  

Maybe if she’d have been the kind of woman to crack his jaw and tell him in no uncertain terms that he was hers and hers alone, he might have fixed up and adhered to the fidelity he’d promised her, but she never had. It went right over his head that this is what he should have pledged without the threat of violence in the first place.   

The final straw finally drove her into action, though, arriving home earlier than he’d expected one day to find him in bed with two whores, one astride his face and the other riding his cock. There weren’t many women out there who could witness the man they loved in that kind of scenario and still continue to love him. She’d given him nothing but pure, unfiltered hell in the time between, Luca agreeing to all of her demands, just as long as she didn’t touch either his car collection, his speakeasy, or his home in the Catskills.  

Carrying the mystery blonde over to the lounge area of the open plan apartment, he placed her down on the dark, oxblood leather chesterfield, noticing that she’d come round again. “You wanna drink, sweetheart?”  

She nodded, beginning to tremble a little. “Hey, you’re alright. I ain’t gonna do nuthin’ bad to ya.” Emily doubted his sincerity, knowing wiseguys as well as she did. His voice was half salty rumble, half viper’s hiss, but each word was delivered with the kind of hush that made her feel soothed, she had to admit. The quietness of his tone made a nice change from being yelled at. “Whaddya drinkin'?” 

“A water, p-please,” she stuttered, Luca nodding. He’d been offering liquor, but water he could do, too.  

He paused before going to fetch it, crouching before her, studying her wounds a little more closely now she was under the brighter lights within his home. “Those cuts are nasty, doll. Who fuckin’ did this, eh?” He reached for her face, regretting it instantly when she shot across the couch, curling into a ball at the opposite end. “Woah, hey. Like I said, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I just wanna help you, and for you to tell me what you know about the Calabrese guys. I’m guessin’ you know a whole lot, to know one of ‘em stuck a bomb beneath my car.”  

She trembled, her eyes wide, her silence profound. “I’m gonna get you that water.” He rose to his feet slowly, knowing he had to treat her as if she were an injured fawn, everything slow and steady, save her from becoming furtherly spooked.  

Caring for another, though, was somewhat beyond his usual skill set. Luckily from his own scrapes, he both knew how – and possessed the necessities - to clean up wounds before they became an infected mess, going to the bathroom and pulling out gauze and a bottle of iodine, returning to the kitchen to fetch her requested glass of water.  

He handed it to her, moving to his drinks cabinet then and pouring himself a large measure of whiskey, returning to sit in front of her on the coffee table. “You gonna let me clean you up?”  

She shook her head, spilling several drops of water as she lifted the glass to her lips, downing it in its entirety.  

He nodded, sucking the matchstick he was chewing before removing it. “Alright. You gonna tell me what you know?” 

Again, she shook her head.  

He shrugged, a little agitated, but knowing he had to play his cards carefully. “I got all night, doll. Could start with your name, though, if the rest is too much to ask.”  

She wanted to trust him. Hell, he could have simply dropped her from his grasp and left her there on the street, but he’d taken her with him, back to the safety of his apartment, no less. Of course, though, it was to gain information. Then again, if it was solely that, why was he trying to help her? Men who sought only answers to their questions seldom had the interest to clean wounds. Hell, they usually jammed a gun to your tonsils and told you to spill all as soon as they removed it.  

Who was she to him that he’d care whether her cuts were bathed? Still, it took him a patient wait of just over a half hour until she finally spoke.  

“Emily Jane,” she finally replied, swallowing hard. “Emily Jane Mortensen. Most people just call me Emily, though.”  

He lifted his chin, pointing to her water glass. “You want another in there, Emily?” 

“Please.”  

Well, she had a name, at least. It was as good a start as any. “You know,” he began, long legs extending as he rose to his feet, walking back over to the kitchen area, “the Calabrese’s won’t do shit to you with me around. If that’s why you’re scared to talk, ain’t no mind, doll.” Returning to her, he resumed his seat upon the coffee table, handing over the glass. “Like I said, though. I got all night.”  

Protection. Something she’d longed for, but could she truly trust it? She knew exactly who he was; Luca Changretta, the big boss, the number one apex predator at the top of the mafia hierarchy. It was either the very best, or the absolute worst place that she could have ended up. “Gino Calabrese ordered Joey, his youngest son to have the bomb planted, so that if the firefight didn’t kill you, the blast definitely would.” 

His eyebrows rose a little, chewing the matchstick slowly. “And you know this how? Who are ya, to Gino?” 

Finishing her water, she reached to place it upon the coffee table, Luca taking it from her, resting his forearms back to his thighs as he leaned forward, looking expectant. “Um, nothing to him, but to his son, I – well, I was his card counter. That’s kinda moot now, though, since you and your guys put about sixteen bullets in his chest.”  

His lip curled slightly. “Card counter?”  

“Yeah. I have a real fast brain for math, so technically I can’t ever be beaten in a game of blackjack. I won Joey thousands upon thousands at games all over, from Vegas to Reno. Illegal games, too. Women don’t usually get a seat at the table, but I got to, because...” 

“Cuz’ Joey boy was partially sighted, I’m guessin’, right? You were his alleged eyes, but truly, you were there to tell him when to make his moves, amirite?” 

God, he was very sharp. “Correct,” she confirmed, although Luca still looked slightly dubious, reaching behind him and grabbing something. He turned back to reveal a deck of cards, sliding them from the box and giving them a rapid shuffle.  

“Show me.” Standing, he moved to sit beside her on the couch, dragging the table nearer and dealing out as he were the house, Emily moving a little nearer.  

“Alright, so I mostly use the Hi-Lo strategy. It means if the ratio of high to low cards is higher than normal, the player can make bets that are larger when the deck is favourable.” 

He noticed it instantly, how when presented with the opportunity to show off her skill, she unwound from the nervous, tense little waif he’d carried into his home just over an hour before. “How’d you know if the deck is favourable?” he asked, a frown knitting between his dark brows as he pointed at them on the table.  

“You have to track the ratio of high to low cards by assigning them with a value. You begin at zero, then as each card comes up, you add it to your tally. Cards two to six have a value of plus one, cards seven to nine have no value, and cards worth ten and also aces have a value of minus one, so you keep adding and subtracting, betting accordingly. Watch. Hit me.”  

He dealt her another card, Emily tapping it. Another was placed. “I’m holding.” Turning the other cards, he saw she would have won her hand had they been playing for cash. He made her do it another five times before he truly believed what she could do, sitting there with slightly widened eyes.  

“Look at that, huh?” he spoke, gathering the cards from the table and returning them to the pile. “No wonder he kept you around.”  

She shrugged. “Shame it wasn’t of my own free will. All of this mess I’m in, it was because I tried to get away from him earlier, so he took a set of brass knuckles to me. Wasn’t the first time either.”  

He studied her face, his jaw tightening. Luca had few codes of honour, and not taking his fists to a woman was high upon that list. He hissed a breath, his eyes narrowing. “Fuckin’ asshole. I’m extra glad I shot the living fuck outta him now.”  

Dropping her gaze, she folded her arms, looking at her bare feet. “So am I.”  

Reaching for his drink, he knocked it back, truly feeling glad that Joey no longer breathed. If there was one thing he truly detested, it was a woman beater. He didn’t have much to be proud of in his life, morally speaking, but he had never and would never raise a hand to a woman. Ever. “Fuckin’ brass knuckles, Jesus above. I know how much those fuckin’ things hurt only too well.” 

She snorted softly, her eyes finding his again, her heart doing a little somersault as she watched the peridot shards glint at her through the low light. Hoo boy, he was a handsome one. Deadly, but handsome nonetheless. “Who on earth is brave enough to take a set of brass knuckles to the famous Luca Changretta, and live to tell the tale?”  

He smirked, rising to his feet. “Nobody these days, but when I was still comin’ up, plenty of guys.” Moving back to the drinks cabinet, he took the bottle of whiskey, turning to her. “You want another water in there, or somethin’ else? I got just about everythin'.”  

Peering at him over the back of the couch, he felt his inside pinch a little. She was so tiny and cute. “Could I have a vodka rocks, please?”  

“You can, but ice I don’t have. Gimme a sec.” He strode across the space again, heading back down the stairs, the sounds of music growing louder and then returning to the dull rumble, Emily moving to pull on the long coat around her, feeling chilly. It smelled of him. The woody, musky, yet slightly spicy notes of whatever cologne he wore filled her nose as she held the soft lapels to her face.  

The sudden blare of music signalled his imminent return, the tall Italian appearing from the stairwell once more, carrying with him an ice bucket he placed upon the table, going back to the cabinet and collecting the whiskey and vodka bottles, pouring a large measure into her glass, dropping the ice in and handing it to her.  

“Thank you,” she spoke, Luca noticing her manners were impeccable, also watching her face as it twisted into a grimace, Emily hissing before straightening her leg, examining her grazed knee.  

He gestured to her injuries with a sweeping hand. “Gonna let me help you with that yet? You’re kinda bleeding all over my couch.” 

In an instant, she looked horrified. “Oh, I’m so sorry, and probably your coat, too. I’m an idiot, I'll sit on the floor.”  

He moved swiftly, shaking his head. “It’s fine, ain’t no bother, doll.” In truth, it was, but he kept that to himself. Blood cleaned off, he had to concede. This girl, he needed to keep her sweet in order to keep on feeding him further information that he sensed she possessed. Joey Calebrese might not have been high up within his criminal family, a street guy who was not yet elevated at the time of his death (and which was why, Luca guessed, he’d used Emily for her card counting skills to make the kind of bank his lower standing didn’t allow for) but being around them, she was bound to know more.  

She was a valuable asset, and he’d treat her as such.  

He picked up the handful of gauze and iodine, moving back to the coffee table. “It’s gonna sting like fuck, but you likely know that.”  

She did. Bracing herself, she clenched her teeth as one by one, Luca dabbed each cut and graze with the iodine-soaked gauze, wincing, hissing at the burning, sharp sting. “Gonna be a little black n’ blue for a while, honey,” he drawled, his mouth tilting into a smile. “Still pretty, though.”  

He winked, and it sent a spark through her, although the rational side of her brain told her that allowing herself to be charmed by a dangerous mobster was the last thing she truly needed right then. He didn’t make it easy, though, being attentive to her, looking as good as he did. She’d always had a thing for older men, and she could guess he likely had at least a decade and a half on her twenty-three years.  

“So, you gotta home I can take you to, people wonderin’ where the fuck you vanished to?”  

Home. It was a word she didn’t really have any true comprehension over, the place that to everyone else acted as a sanctuary, a safe haven, had truly been anything but to her. “No, I don’t.”  

“No port in a storm, huh?” he asked, gently lifting her leg to rest upon his slender thigh, smoothing her dress up a little to reach a cut beneath. His hands were so hot. Yet another spark flared within her belly.  

“No, no port.” She paused, meeting his eyes, knowing he was expecting more. “I’ve no idea who my father was, and my mother was a drunk, still is for all I know. I don’t have any siblings either so when I was eighteen, I left California and made my way across the country to New York. Wanted a better life for myself. It didn’t exactly go to plan. I have a habit of trusting the wrong people.” 

He looked away from her then, eyes flitting to her knee, pressing the gauze onto an open cut. He was definitely a man she shouldn’t have trusted, and he wasn’t entirely sure why that suddenly prickled quite sharply at his conscience, but it did.  

“You probably don’t trust me, but if you wanna crash here until you find your feet, you’re welcome to.”  

She looked at him with big, grey eyes full of hope. “Really, you don’t mind?” 

He sniffed. “Wouldn’t have offered if I did.” Placing the cork back into the iodine bottle, he moved to take a seat beside her again, picking up his drink. “Might be better if you do, actually. The Calabrese’s are likely lookin’ for ya. If you vanished and didn’t wind up as a dead body, and I didn’t get blown up, then it don’t take no genius to work out that you ratted on ‘em.”  

Shit. She hadn’t even considered that. It was a fear Luca was banking on playing upon, and it had worked flawlessly. “S’okay, though, sweetheart. As long as you’re with me, they ain’t gonna touch ya. You’re fine.”  

Was she, though? Emily truly had to wonder. She pondered over it for the rest of the night, Luca telling her she could go take a bath and clean up, loaning her one of his shirts to wear that absolutely buried her, telling her he’d take the couch while she slept in his bed. She tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. 

“I ain’t exactly a gentleman in a lot of respects, but you ain’t gonna sleep on the couch. Nah. It’s fine.”  

Was it, though? As her tired eyes fluttered, lying in the comfort of a big bed that smelled like her host, she truly did have to wonder.  

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders smut #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fic #luca changretta #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #nobody's girl #luca and emily #adrien brody

[noforkingclue]

Choices (Dark!Luca Changretta x reader)

A request for @thereddahliaa  who asked for:

Dark Luca Changretta, where they are lovers, (the reader is married to a sweet rich man) and she gets pregnant with Lucas's baby, and the reader tells him that she can't have him and that she doesn't want to see him anymore because she doesn't want to keep cheating on her husband because he's a good man and loves her?

I hope you enjoy the fic!

Warnings: dark fic, coercion

Peaky Blinders tag list: @stylesofloki, @ohshititsfenharel, @lenaskyler02

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @imjustassaneasyou, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian

“This needs to stop.”

You knew that Luca heard you. He stopped writing for half a second because returning to the papers on his desk. You took a deep breath and stepped away from the door and further into the lion’s den. Your heels didn’t make any noise against the carpet as you approached Luca’s desk and you could see him smirk as you moved closer, further away from your escape.

“I said,” you repeated, “That this needs to stop.”

This time Luc looked up at you. He rested his elbows on his desk and said,

“Why.”

“Because I love my husband.”

“Which is why you let me fuck you.”

“That’s… different.”

“Why?”

“You know why?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“To save my husband.”

“Yes,” Luca stood up and slowly made his way around his desk, “Maybe the first time. But what about the times after?”

“Because I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

“Of me,” Luca flashed you a brief smile, “Have I ever given you a reason to fear me?”

“You threatened to have my husband killed.”

Luca shrugged. It was as though the prospect to tearing you away from the man you loved meant nothing to him and, truth be told, you knew that it didn’t. Your eyes followed him around the room as he poured two large glasses of whiskey. He held one out to you and you shook your head.

“No thanks.”

“Why.”

“I want to keep a clear head.”

“You’re not going to get drunk from this. It’s one drink.”

“I don’t want it.”

Luca pressed the glass into your hands. You winced and looked into his eyes. They held the same cold look that they got whenever something didn’t go Luca’s way. He curled your hand painfully around the glass and raised it to your lips.

“Drink.” He said

“No!”

You pulled your hand away and threw the glass across the room. It shattered against the wall and you flinched at the noise but Luca’s eyes never left your face. He stepped away and lit a cigarette as he walked back round to his side of the desk. He sat down and gestured to the chair in front of it. You collapsed into it and put your head in your hands.

“How many months?” he asked

“I-“

“Do not lie to me.”

“Two months.”

“Then why are you only telling me now.”

“Because-“

“You’ve told your husband.”

You opened your mouth to argue but one look from Luca had you closing it with a snap. You looked at the ground and nodded.

“He’s a good man,” you said, “He deserves to know the truth.”

“That you’re carrying another man’s child.”

“He… wants to raise it as his.”

“Then he’s weak.”

“I disagree.”

This was the first time you had openly disagreed with Luca and from the hard expression on his face you could tell he wasn’t happy. He leant back in his chair as you forced yourself to maintain eye contact with him.

“So that’s why you’re leaving.” Luca said at last

“Wh- How did you know?”

“My dear,” Luca gave you a charming smile, “Did you really think that you were being subtle? When it comes to things I care about I am not so foolish as to let them out of my sight.”

“Things,” you gave him an incredulous look, “I’m not an object. I am a person.”

You stood up and looked down at Luca who hadn’t risen from his chair. You had finally had enough for him. You wanted a fresh start, away from the man who nearly destroyed your life. As you marched towards the door a strong hand clasped around you wrist and you were pushed against the door.

“Don’t walk away from me,” Luca’s lips grazed your cheek, “I didn’t say you could leave, did I?”

Luca’s voice was soft, a sharp contrast to the words he said. You closed your eyes as tears fells down your face. Luca gently brushed them away as he said,

“There are two choices,” he said, “Firstly, you’ll leave your husband. Something you should’ve done when I first asked you to.”

“Leave him? Never.”

“Ok.”

Luca stepped away and you slumped to the floor. You looked up at him and said,

“What’s option two?”

“Why should that concern you when you made it clear that you wouldn’t consider option one?”

“I deserve to know.”

Luca took another drag on his cigarette before saying,

“If you will not become mine willingly that only leaves me one other choice.”

“Which is?”

“To remove your husband permanently.”

“You mean kill him.”

The realisation struck you and you hugged your knees to your chest. It felt like your blood had been replaced by ice and your chest felt tight. It was as though the room was closing in around you. Luca dropped to his knees and grasped your hands, dragging you back into reality.

“I’ve given you your choices,” he said, “Now think carefully and most importantly, think of our child.”

He stood up an offered you his hand.

“The choice,” he said, “Is yours.”

#fanfiction #Peaky Blinders #reader insert #request #luca changretta #luca changretta x reader #dark

[klarolineashur1919]

Only We Matter Series

Part 11

January 5,1926

River of Memories

Luca pov

"There's been an accident" I remember this bridge. This river.

"Why don't you move it out of the way?" I say not very politely. I remember me and her here.

"What?" I swear british cops are worse than American ones. They're dumber for one.

"I said, why don't you clear it so that we can get past." I try to say more politely this time. Why did we have to get stuck here? I grind my teeth to smile at this stupid cop.

"What's that accent?" I try to muster up all the patience I could for an answer....I know I was going to need it.

"We're Americans. We're here on business, so..."I think this is me nicely trying to tell him to hurry up but he doesn't look happy.

"Well, you're going to have to wait." I bite my tongue and try to control my seething. I don't want to be here..It brings back memories.

"Jesus Christ, this guy." I stared at the river. I remember when I came here with her in the summer of 1921. She said gypsies would use this river. We didn't have proper swim clothes with her is a chaste shift dress and me stripping down to my boxers. I remember how she blushed and ran away from me to the water. I wondered if I would ever see her blush again.

"We waited for you fucking Yanks until 1918. It'll be clear in 20 minutes, all right?" Thinking of her calmed me. I remembered when she went into the water it was the first time I saw a different type of look in her. She was always happy, innocent and sweet. But when we swam, I saw how she looked at the water with a out of place sadden expression. "Pen what's wrong?" I cupped her cheek and she blushed into my hand smiling. "Nothing" she said trying to keep a safe distance between us at the time. "Pen" I pulled her closer and she looked at me questioningly. She knew I wasn't going to let her go till she told me. "It's quite depressing" She said trying to brush me off but I wasn't letting go. "Tell me" I pulled her into a hug. She looked at me nervously, it was rare we were like that then. "My mother drowned when I was little, I watched her drown...I haven't really been in the water since" I didn't want to remember those kind of things about the Shelbys. But the look on her face then, was the one she had now and it didn't seem out of place. It killed me. I didn't want to think about it.

"Yeah, all right. Thank you, Officer. Thank fucking hell." I said angerily. I didnt want to remember what she used to be. I had to remember why I was here. My Vendetta.

"1918 What the fuck is he talking about?" Matteo said confused in Italian.

"Talking about the war. Everything here is about the war." This river Pen told me everything , her mother, her father, about what happened to her brothers in the war and how she studied psychology in university to have helped them. I fell in love with her more here.

"Luca if I may be so bold.." He wouldn't dare. I gave a look would give off the expression to anyone else not to finish their sentence but Matteo wasn't that bright "how do you know the Shelby girl" I looked back out of the window picturing me and her in the water. Her smile.

"My mother taught her years ago...She liked her a lot. She ended up working for the family as a seamstress. .We met and we got close...It went on for years and the year I finally proposed..Her brother started the war with my father" I didn't even look for a reaction as I told him. There was a moment of silence and I already lost all patience I had.

"Right, come on, let's go move it ourselves. Fucking idiots." I get out of the car and I realize what is blocking the road.

"What's this? Whose wagon is that?" Matteo says going right up to the cop.

"They're Gypsies. A tribe of fucking Gypsies." I start to still and remember Penelope's words from years go. "Gypsies use this bridge all the time, well the river at least to smuggle or other things."

"Well, we can move it..." Matteo tries to get past the cop but is pushed back. "Oi! I said it'll be clear in 20 minutes." I heard a voice in my head. Her voice "I need you Luca..I need you alive." We need to get out of here.

"Let's go. We'll find another way out of here." I make my way back to the car and Matteo Follows.

"Go. Get us the fuck out of here." I kept hearing her voice, her ramblings before we parted last.

"Tommy will find a way to kill you Luca anywhere you least expect it" she said pleadingly to take heed to her words.

"Come on, fucking move! Make a fucking move!" Her voice won't leave my fucking head.

Her voice was a warning.

"Please Luca stay cautious..Stay safe" She cried.

Then the gunfire started and I ducked.

I got out of the car and started shooting.

I shot and I prayed silently I would hit one of those gypsy fucks.

I prayed silently I would make it out and see my love again.

#luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta x shelby!sister #shelby oc #luca changretta fanfiction #dark!luca changretta

[evita-shelby]

Reader insert Masterlist

Part 2

(Masterlist 1)

Ran out of space lol

Tommy Shelby

Only Joys will come (part iii of nights on the January)

Happy wife Happy life (drunk!Tommy x wife)

Promise (tommy x sick!reader)

Chance (tommy x ex!reader)

Ths Red Room (tommy x reader x eva) vampire!au

Torture (tommy x wife!reader)

Fatal Attraction (tommy x assassin!reader)

Cuddling(part 2 for happy wife happy life)

Death shall set you free (tommy x wife!reader)

The Devil of Small Heath (kelpie!Tommy x witch!reader)

A Dull Party (Tommy x Eva/Reader x Tatiana)🔞

Moon (tommy x witch!reader)

Lamb(sequel to moon)

Dad!Tommy fics

Ghosts of New Year's Past (Tommy & Diane(oc daughter) & Polly’s Ghost)

Luca Changretta

Persistence (luca x shelby sister)

The fabulous miss shelby (part 3)

Two for One (Luca x reader x Eva)

Jack Nelson

The professor

Hunt(vampire hunter au)

Michael Gray

Finn Shelby

Preacher's Daughter (kid!finn x Jeremiah's duaghter!reader)

Isiah Jesus

#tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x fem!reader #tommy shelby x wife!reader #tommy shelby x male!reader #luca changretta x fem!reader #luca changretta x reader #isiah jesus #isiah jesus x reader #finn shelby x fem!reader #michael gray x fem!reader #michael gray x reader #jack nelson x reader

[flowermoonsblog]

PEAKY BLINDERS FANDOM Can someone point me to fan fiction about Ada and Isaiah (whether they're here or on other writing sites). After watching 6X3, I was enchanted by their chemistry and sexual tension. I would enjoy reading more about it.‼️🙏🏽🙏🏽

#peaky blinders #isaiah jesus #ada shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #luca changretta #tommy x reader #peaky blinders smut

[red-riding-wood]

OC: Charlotte Griffin

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: Charlotte Griffin, on a quest to emerge from her family's dark shadow, becomes a spy in a gang war that puts her loyalties and desires into question as she grows closer to the man who is meant to be her enemy.

WARNINGS for whole story: eventual explicit sexual content and references, explicit violence and gore, mentions of physical abuse, language, ethnic slurs

The steel of the revolver was cold as my fingers brushed its trigger guard, Thomas pressing its handle to the palm of my hand. My fingers curled around it tentatively, though I hoped that he did not notice this. The last time I had held a gun, it had been my twin brother by my side.

“This is a revolver,” he said. “Six shot. Always hold your finger above the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”

Though it could hardly be called a smile, my lip quirked at that. Alexander’s choice of weapon had been a revolver, and the weight felt familiar in my hand, as did the sight of the chamber. But I did not want to talk about such things.

Thomas pulled a small box of ammunition from his pocket, and withdrew a brass bullet.

I cocked a brow at him as words began to form on his lips, and I said, “The next thing I know, you’re going to tell me this is a bullet.”

Thomas hesitated, the brass between his fingertips glinting in the light of the afternoon sun. His eyes seemed to glitter, and the quirk of his lip mirrored mine as he examined me.

“Those are .455 rounds,” he said, and handed one to me. The bullet was even colder against my fingertips, and though they itched to slot it into place, I awaited Thomas’ instruction patiently.

“Now…” he said. “… you see this on the side? You pull that, break it open, and load your bullets.”

Alexander’s revolver had been a Colt .45. An American model, a single action that required each round to be chambered individually. I’d never used a break-action, though I’d known it to be my father’s weapon of choice. Something sinister seemed to crawl its way to the bright of my soul as I did as Thomas asked, smothering the light. I hoped he did not notice the way my fingers trembled as I loaded the sixth bullet.

“All right, close it like that, now – yes, just like that. Now, you’re live.”

“I don’t need to cock the hammer?” I asked, my thumb hovering over the mechanism.

Like Luca, Thomas always seemed to take his time before answering, even if he knew his response. He was currently lighting a cigarette, dragging it along his bottom lip in the way I’d learned to be a habit of his. Only when a puff was blown and his lighter was placed back in his pocket did he say,

“No.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes – I was perhaps becoming too comfortable around him, letting my guard down in a way a spy should not, especially not a spy who dared dance with the enemy – and I situated myself so that the targets were in sight, the winds cordially still today so not a leaf rustled in the apple trees alongside the gongs.

Thomas came to stand beside me as I aimed, a cloud of smoke encircling him, his eyes shadowed by the cap he wore and still squinting against the sun, his thoughts hidden past his inscrutable countenance.   

The Webley kicked hard, though it wasn’t the kick that startled me, but rather, the memory it attempted to drag me into, of Alexander’s body pressed against my spine and his hands hovering over mine to steady my aim, of his chiming laugh when I started crying and shaking, of the warmth of his loving hands as he took the cold gun from me and brought me into his arms.  

“It’s not going to hurt you,” he’d told me. “Only those you point it at.”

Thomas side-eyed me, his lip curling into a tiny smirk that seemed to both humiliate and infuriate me. Unlike Alexander, his amusement was more smug than it was playful, though I was not a child anymore. And I was determined that he didn’t see me as such, that he didn’t see me as the little posh girl from London who was too frightened to shoot a gun.

“I’m all right,” I said, a little too defensively, and I attempted to steady my shaking hand as I eyed the gong; the bullet had hit the outer edge. “Let me try again.”

I sucked in a breath, and I banished the memories of Alexander, letting his warmth and his lovely laugh fade away, letting the cold bite of the winter air seize my marrow past my coat and flesh and bone, letting my boots sink into the soil of the pasture, letting the sounds of birds whelm the silence. And on my exhale, I squeezed the trigger.

I recovered better this time from the recoil, and my eyes remained focused on my target, on the bullet that had crept just an inch or two closer to the bullseye.

Thomas’ smirk remained.

I took another shot. And another.

And his smirk waned. And while my flesh crawled and while I knew, from the screaming light in my soul, that I should not have been pleased, my own lip tugged into the slightest of smiles, the hot rush of adrenaline spiking my veins.

Only when the sixth shot was fired and I lowered the Webley did my chest heave a tremulous breath, and I swallowed against a knotted throat, as if forcing back the doubt and the pressure, and, most important of all, the memories.

Thomas stepped forward, making his way to the front of the range, and I followed as he mumbled past his cigarette,

“So, when did you learn to shoot, eh?”

As we came further to the gong, my eyes raked across the impressions the bullets had made, all offset from the bullseye by perhaps a few centimetres. Not perfect, but far from awful.

“You don’t reckon it’s beginner’s luck?” I said, coming to stand by the gongs.

“Not with that grouping.” Thomas pointed with his cigarette to the impressions left by the bullets.

I swallowed again, and studied my grouping so I did not have to meet his eye as I said, “My brother taught me.”

The slightest whisper of breezes stirred the wisps of hair from my eyes, and  I shivered beneath my thick overcoat.

“I hear you have a lot of brothers.”

The unease in my hesitation was palpable, so much so that I knew Thomas could sense it. Anyone could. I had been trying so hard not to think of Alexander and his mischievous blue eyes and his warm embrace.

“My twin brother. Alexander,” I said past the ever-growing knot in my throat. “He used to say I needed to learn, to protect myself from bad men.”

“Bad men.” He mulled over the word, before quirking his lip. I met his eyes to find a glitter in their aquamarine depths. “Like me?”

“Yes,” I said, having found the irony in my business here but only tasting it on my tongue now. “Like you.”

“Your brother was wise.” Thomas handed me six more bullets.

“He was.” I swung my head away from his gaze as I reloaded the Webley. “Reckless, but, clever. He caught on faster than anyone in that family. Including me.” I slotted the last bullet into place with lead in my gut, eager to change the subject from my brother if only to someone who hadn’t left a fracture in my soul. “Except for maybe my cousin. The only one who seemed to get away. Granted, she went to live with the Gypsies – that’s what my brother said. She likely went mad.”

“But you stayed.”

The Webley snapped shut, and another silence fell between us. I found myself looking him in the eye again only to find an unexpected intrigue in bright blues.

“I stayed.”

“And why did you stay?”

“For my brothers, mostly,” I answered in earnest, my tone taking on a grave note as I said my next words, “My father was a bad man, Mr. Shelby. They needed me.”

“And yet, here you are.”

My lip quirked. And I spared myself one moment and one moment alone to feel an amount of guilt for having left. Who was there now to take care of Ivan when he drank too much? Who was there to keep the others safe?

No one, and yet… there wouldn’t have been even if I’d stayed. My father would’ve found a suitor for me eventually, would’ve married me off to form some allegiance with the Solomons or the Sabinis.

“I started to listen to my ambitions rather than my heart,” I told Thomas, knowing full well that the threat of an unhappy marriage wasn’t the only thing that drove me away. Something had pulled me here; for whatever reason, Small Heath, with all of its bad men and its relentless bloodshed, had whispered thoughts of a throne to me.

Though, I didn’t necessarily want to tell Thomas these thoughts, either. The last thing I needed was to have him suspicious of me desiring more than what he was offering. So, I changed the subject,

“And who taught you to shoot, Mr. Shelby?”

A puff of smoke spiced the winter air, and he rolled the cigarette between his fingers, gaze fixating somewhere on the distance as if I had ceased to exist. He didn’t look me in the eye when he finally said,

“Let’s head back, shall we? See if we can group all your shots.” Cigarette wedged back in his teeth, he turned, black coat swishing at his heels, but I kept my feet planted in the sodden earth.

“Was it your father?” I called to him, raising my voice over the faint bluster of the wind as he walked away. “Most men learn from their fathers.”

He stopped, head sinking just below his shoulders, as if the weight of the world was finally beginning to bury him. I yearned to witness his countenance, to learn what emotions he hid beneath those eyes of frozen tides. And he turned, slowly, his cigarette cast to the earth and stubbed out with the toe of his boot, as if the taste were suddenly foul.

The cap rose to reveal those aquamarine eyes, and when he looked at me, I thought I almost detected a rage burning in those icy depths. “My father was a bad man.”

“Worse than you?” I cocked a brow.

Thomas Shelby nodded, slowly, the flame of rage flickered out, as if silenced by the winds, silver fragments of his eyes a hollow vestige of what once had been, just like the tendrils of smoke that rose from beneath the toe of his boot.

“Worse than me.”

Though eager to pry, I allowed another silence to stretch between us. I found that there was more to learn about people from the spaces between which they spoke than their actual words, but his eyes were squinted tight against the glare of the setting sun, and the peak of his cap still shadowed them in a mysterious dark that was fitting of his cryptic nature.

“That reminds me,” I said, tone shifting as I walked forward, deciding to release his gaze so as not to make my curiosity overly known. “I wanted to ask your permission to take a day or so to visit London. I have business there. But I can be back as soon as I can.”

“What sort of business?” he asked as I fell into stride beside him, and a breath slowly hissed from my nose as I recalled Aberama’s threat, as the golden line of the horizon winked like that of the citrine amulet I would need to fetch.

“Business with bad men,” I said, and caught his gaze out of the corner of my eye. Something flickered through it that was too fleeting to catch, and it ate at the pit of my stomach. But I clarified, the word bitter on my tongue, “Family.”

“Very well, Charlotte. We can go over the details when we get inside.”

And across the sprawling acres, a maid in black and white waved a frantic hand in the air to catch our attention, the other clutching at her skirts as she rushed from Arrow House. Frances, as I recalled, her withered frame unmistakable even at this distance.

A look passed between Thomas and I, and I pressed the weight of the revolver back into his gloved hand. Whatever was going on, it was surely better off in red hands than white. 

---

I tried not to betray the way my hand trembled around the phone as I set it down on the finely veneered cedar-wood desk of Thomas Shelby’s personal home office.

But Thomas did not pay such subtleties any mind. “What’s going on?” he demanded, his tone darkened by an urgency I had not yet witnessed from the collected gang leader. His fists were balled, shoulders hunching as he rested his weight on the desk.

“It’s Matteo. Luca’s requested a meeting… at one of the local churches. He says I need to be there in thirty minutes.” My tone, thankfully, did not share the same trepidation as my hands. I had learned to exert more control over my words than my body language.

“Why?” Thomas’ eyes darted across my features, impatient for an answer. It was almost unsettling how much haste brewed beneath his demeanor. “Did he say why?”

“He did not,” I said, my mind whirling, thinking back to my last interaction with Luca – the blood on his desk and gloves, the way he had dismissed me so bitterly. “I have a very bad feeling about this, Mr. Shelby. We may not have ended on the safest terms.”

“We’ll do as he says. But I’m ordering ten men on horseback, and three in cars, on the road. What church is it?”

Fear prickled my flesh. I shook my head. “Mr. Shelby, I think it’s much better that I go alone. I’ve come this far; I don’t want to lose his trust. Sending reinforcements could be more dangerous than sending me alone.”

For one moment in which I swore he could’ve heard the raucous beating of the heart that nearly chattered my teeth, those twin blues bore into my soul, piercing through the layers of carefully-constructed dignity and calm, striking the pitch black of my soul where both fear and something too dark to fully discern dwelled.

For the briefest of moments, I thought I might’ve glimpsed something like concern in the bright of his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, at last sparing me from the icy hooks of his gaze. “I’ll have a mare saddled for you in the stable. You know I don’t trust taxis, Charlotte. I trust horses. Your father was a regular at the races, always placed a hefty sum of coin on his bets. I imagine with your upbringing, you were taught to ride?”

Alexander had been the one to teach me to ride, not my father. Sometimes a horse could take you places an automobile couldn’t, places away from watchful eyes and cruel hands, from biting sneers and bitter disapproval. Away from misery and sin.

I could do nothing but nod, trying to swallow my heart since it had crept to my throat, and the heels of my boots clicked against the flooring as I made my departure, knowing Frances would await me on the other side of the door to escort me through the labyrinth of the manor.

As I reached for the doorknob, I paused, my eyes catching on a photograph on one of the tables. A blonde woman, her features fine yet striking, her eyes a pale grey and her flesh a milky white, her head held high despite the weight of the sapphire strung around her neck. Her hair was tied back but held unmistakable curls, and though she donned a brilliant wedding gown and she smiled, some kind of sadness brewed beneath those pale irises and seemed to reach for the empty of my soul, sending a cold shiver through my bones, as if her ghost was reaching for me as Alexander’s had.

She must’ve been Thomas’ former wife, I reasoned. I’d glimpsed portraits of her around the house, hadn’t paid much mind until now. My eyes wandered to the lock of champagne hair at the base of the frame, the one that coiled around the little red ribbon that had been placed alongside it. Grace Burgess, her name was in life; she had been killed on order of the Changrettas. 

I looked back to Thomas now, where he sat in his chair, flipping through some documents rather tensely, a coil of smoke rising from the cigarette he clenched between two shaking fingers and his dark brow sewn by stress.

“Mr. Shelby…” I wasn’t quite sure why the words left my chest, but they were gentle, perhaps softer than I had anticipated them to be. As if they came from the dwindling light still shining past the black of my soul.

Pale eyes met mine again, brow raising. He took a puff of his cigarette. “Yes, Charlotte?”

I managed a small, sad smile, not unlike the woman in the photograph’s, and shook my head, unsure of what I had wanted to say.

“Nothing, Mr. Shelby,” I said, and bid him farewell, hoping that the heavy door that swung shut behind me would swallow whatever weakness, whatever strange kindness had consumed me in that brief shift of reality.

---

Dusty was the air aroused by the drum of hooves against the pavement, and it reeked of rubbish and soot in these narrow streets. I didn’t think I would ever become accustomed to the sour undertones of urine and the brawling men who threw themselves about as if they were wrestling children.

The air was shattered by the sharp crack of a bottle that smashed against the brick of a colonnade; the streets were beginning to widen, lighten with the faint trace of dying light through the smog-ridden air.  

I eyed the coat that was swishing at my heels in time with my horse’s strides, the ink black of the thick fabric dimming gradually with each fleck of dust that it collected. The mare’s beautiful white coat was greying, sullied by such filth. I nearly scowled, but set my gaze ahead, to the dark swathing of ebony beneath the awning of the ivory church.

The evening’s light limned the church’s colourful, stained windows in a graceful sort of beauty, and shadowed the recesses that were hidden by the surrounding buildings in a sinister sort of dark. Of course Luca had chosen this place. It was fitting for someone who seemed to hide the wretched half of his soul.

Anxiety brewed beneath my flesh as I pulled gently back on the reins, the mare seeming to sense this as she nickered to announce our presence, cone-shaped ears swivelling back to me before settling on the building ahead. She pawed at the concrete, the jarring scrape of her hoof tensing my shoulders as I swung gracefully down from her saddle. She nickered again as I led her to the hitching post, still trying to drum something up from the barren earth, as if calling upon the souls of the damned. She began to thrash against her reins, dark eyes flaring wildly.

“Shhh,” I said softly, my leather-clad fingers ghosting her snout, letting her smell me, my other hand reaching round to her sturdy neck to lightly brush off some of the dust that had collected on a coat that had once been pure as the snow.

“I know you’re afraid,” I told her with the same gentleness in my tone that I had revealed to Thomas. I glanced down her line of sight to the church, a shudder tracing my flesh as I imagined Luca awaiting me. “But you cannot show them.” My eyes darted around to the onlookers who were beginning to take notice of the mare’s display.

She eased if only slightly under my touch and my words, and so I led her to the hitching post beside the nearest building for good measure. A hot breath whickered against my hair, stirring up fine strands of champagne locks. I couldn’t help but smile, and patted her affectionately as I tied her to the post.

My smile faded as I approached the door to the church, brushing what I could of the dust off from my coat. A cold chill seemed to work its way beneath my flesh, and I took a sharp breath in as I attempted to force down my nervousness, my doubts.

Luca may have worn two faces, but so could I.

I knew that I courted death each time I met with the man, and I knew that last time, I had dared too close to the flames of his wrath. I knew that someday, perhaps, I would no longer prove useful to Luca, that the false information from Thomas would run dry or he would find someone else for his dirty work, but perhaps that someday had drawn closer than I had imagined.

But surely not even Luca would rid of me on holy ground?

The church was barren, quiet, the air stale, but not a complete assault on the senses. Rather, the scent of myrrh and the faintest trace of smoke glided across an oily odour that indicated a fresh paint; I slipped a leather riding glove from my hand and ran a finger across the benches. It came up wet.

I rubbed the oil paint between my fingers and turned my attention to the black-coated man who stood before the altar, a beaded rosary clasped between slender fingers and held to the Virgin Mary statue as if in offering. As I approached, my heels clicked against floorboards that groaned and wailed as if caging spirits of the underworld, as if kept at bay by the rusted nails and splintered alder.

The smell of the incense grew stronger, the myrrh almost innerving in comparison to the piss and grime of the streets. The man’s head was bowed, hat tipped to obscure his features. But I would’ve recognized his voice anywhere.

“So it seems you are not of Hell after all, Miss Griffin.”           

His voice was serpentine, each syllable hissed more than spoken, though the undertones seemed to rumble low from his chest.

The rosary was tucked away into a pocket of his overcoat, and the silhouette of a face tilted towards me.

When was the last time he had called me by that wretched name? I tried not to dwell on it too much, tried not to remember the cold feel of the Webley in my hands and how it had reminded me of my father.

I smirked, once more forcing down the bitterness and the questions and the doubts, and said, “Out of the two of us, I wouldn’t think my soul would’ve been the one in question.” My voice, in contrast, seemed to pitch too high.

We were a few feet apart now, and the incense that burned on the altar masked the scent of his usual cologne. But pale green eyes fell upon mine beneath the shadow of his hat. From the last rays of the daylight, the windows bled upon pale features, softening a sharp cheekbone.

I took a step forward, heart thudding in my chest, and reached my hand out to remove his hat with a smirk still plastered on my painted lips. I was tempted to rub the oil of the paint across the felt, for I knew how much he prided himself in his appearance, but I switched hands and relieved it from a neat bed of jet-black hair. The back of my hand brushed along his jaw, the contact intentional.

“You know, it’s a great disrespect for a man to not remove his hat upon entering a house of God,” I told him.

“Then maybe you’re right,” he said.

“I’m right about a lot of things,” I said, and placed the hat beside the incense. “Just like I’m right in assuming that you didn’t forget to remove it. You just wanted an excuse to have me this close to you.” I paused, my eyes seeking his for any signs of emotion before adding, low yet soft, “Again.”

Pale greens narrowed, flitting across my own features. He was studying me. He seemed to do that a lot. And as two-faced as he was, not even he could hide the wick of burning sin that seemed to set them alight for just a mere moment.

And then he was turning his back, and fitting a toothpick between his teeth; an angular jaw moved against the grain of the wood. He was most likely in contemplation.

“If I wanted to be close to you, piccola spia, you’d be begging to never see me again.”

A tickle of a current darted along my ribs at his words, and I cocked my head at him. “Is that a threat, or a flirtation?”

The toothpick twirled slowly between his lips, and he turned to catch me in the side of his gaze. “While you know I enjoy our pleasantries, don’t make the mistake of thinking this is a social call. I summoned you here because I have a lead on Shelby’s whereabouts.”

“Of course,” I said with a tight smile. Using people was the way of the world. I hadn’t forgotten that I was still just a tiny pawn in his game.

“Tommy Shelby is entering a fighter into a boxing tournament come the end of winter.” Luca wound his way back to me, the boards groaning again beneath his weight, lost souls screeching. “High stakes. High bets.” His overcoat settled at his heels as he came to stand before me again, closer than we’d been before, as if to prove some sort of point. I tried in vain to disguise my rapid blink as a hot breath fanned across my cheeks and that damned toothpick shifted in his mouth.

“As you will come to learn, Luca…” I purred. “… I have many uses.” My brows raised a fraction, my eyes once again seeking his for that inkling of desire that sometimes graced their pestilent green. I received more than my wish; they swept down across the corset that hugged my stomach tight to the curve of my hips, and dragged leisurely up to the hint of cleavage that my gossamer scarf failed to hide.

“But brawling is not one of them,” I said, as his eyes met mine again. They were brighter, if only by a tinge.

“He will be there, in the audience, along with what’s left of his little gang,” Luca told me. “I need you to get my men and myself in.”

“You’re going to kill Thomas in the middle of a tournament? That’s bold, even for you Italians.”

His lip curved into the semblance of a smile around his toothpick, and he tilted his head at me this time, eyes narrowing again. “You doubt my ability, piccola spia?”

My eyes roved across him, at the toothpick that had stilled between thin lips, at the faint gleam of mischief in his eye, and I smiled back.

“That wasn’t what I said, Luca. I have no doubt in your abilities… but my answer is no.”

His smile fell slack, and the mischief was gone from his eyes. As he was rendered speechless, I turned to the alter, wafting a gout of the incense towards me and inhaling deeply, relishing in the aromatic scent of the myrrh.

I know you’re afraid, my own words echoed in my skull. But you cannot show them.

The fabric of an overcoat teased the line of my hip, and a rush of stale air stirred my skirt faintly from my ankles. A hot breath raked down the side of my neck, fluttering the threads of champagne locks that seemed to dance at the corners of my vision. The shiver that ran down the length of my spine was from the incense, and nothing more.

“No? Your answer to me is ‘no’? You’re fortunate, piccola spia, that you are not put down like the rest of those filthy dogs. But you’re not fortunate enough to answer me with ‘no’.” His toothpick rattled in his teeth with a bitter wrath.

I still had not become used to this side of him, this temper that flared beneath the surface of such poise and control. But unlike him I kept my calm despite the mad thrum of my heart against my ribs; my hand stilled where it wafted the incense, and I spoke evenly, “I still have a reputation to maintain among the ranks of those ‘dogs’, Luca. And I will not be caught letting you in to the event.”

My throat tightened, collapsed beneath the force he applied to his fingers, rings hard and cold against my sensitive flesh. I sputtered, and gasped, the scent of the incense tapering as did my oxygen.

Green eyes flashed, and a broken toothpick hung, suspended by one thread of wood, from his lip. His nostrils flared and his body pressed close to mine, backing me into the sharp edge of the altar, as he looked me in the eye.

“You knew about the event?” he half-growled, half-hissed.

I gulped beneath his grasp, and parted my lips to attempt a defense, but tuned my ears to the sound of a whinny and the click of a chambered bullet outside the glass of one of the majestic windows.

We both quieted; his grip loosened, and a glare was cast upon me before his attention turned to the window, and incense flooded my aching lungs.

As I sputtered, I glimpsed the silhouette of a horse and rider outside the stained glass.

“You brought the cavalry, I see,” Luca said, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly against the roof of his mouth. The toothpick fell to the floor and he swept a few stray wisps of black hair from his forehead.

Of course Thomas had disobeyed my request. But for what purpose, I wasn’t quite certain of. Images of the blonde woman with sad, grey eyes returned to me, haunting me.

“A man won’t even remove his hat in the presence of God... who knows what else he might do to me in here,” I said, my voice slightly raspy from the hold he’d had on my breath, but my tone dipped in a sultry tincture.

Chest still heaving with an ireful breath but clearly attempting to calm himself, Luca’s gaze flashed to me again in a strange yet satisfying mixture of virulence and curiosity.

“Be there. Have a Mr. Bennet on the guest list. And my men, too. Or this one…” The brass of the bullet gleamed in the soft bath of the emerald and magenta light of the window as he held it up to me. “… this one’s for you.”

NEXT CHAPTER coming soon!

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