#peaky blinders oneshot

[runnning-outof-time]

The Brother That Always Wins | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @kpopgirlbtssvt

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader, with hints of John Shelby and Arthur Shelby trying their hand at flirting with the reader

Summary: (Y/N) is oblivious to the fact that three of the most powerful men in Birmingham are interested in her. When it's all said and done though, the brother that always wins, wins.

Warnings: language, drinking, terribly written flirting

Word Count: 4350

A/N: this story turned into an absolute ride, one that I enjoyed much more than I thought I would. It’s a bit of controlled chaos…I hope you’re ready for it. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message Me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

"The fuck are you grinnin' for?" John Shelby asked as soon as his brother, Arthur entered the snug. He couldn't help himself, his older sibling's grin was able to be seen from a mile away.

"I just helped the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen in me life," Arthur proudly answered, his chest jutting out slightly as he spoke.

"Helped in what way, eh?" Tommy questioned, his one eyebrow raised. He'd been reading the newspaper and keeping to himself, only half-listening as John talked away about whatever, but he couldn't deny that he was interested in what Arthur had to say.

"I bet you he just stood there and gawked at her!" John chimed in before Arthur could respond, a smug grin on his face.

"I did not!" Arthur snapped back at his younger sibling, sending a glare his way, "I had a bloody conversation with her and all!"

"What happened?" Tommy asked another question, slowly losing his patience as he waited.

"So she was walkin' with a box, right? A big ass box...one that's too big for a lady like her to be carryin’. But she was walkin' with it. And so I was watchin' her from across the road, because she was goin' the same way I was. We must've walked for some time, how long I don't remember. Anyways, she gets to this one stretch and she trips...loses her fuckin' balance or something. All of the things in the box go flyin'. So I did what any man does and ran 'cross the street to help her. We put all the shit back into the box and then when she looked up at me, I thought I was gonna die on the spot. She was so fuckin' beautiful, lads. Shy, and sweet, and just fuckin'...gorgeous. I swear to you that if she would've..."

"Get on with the story, Arthur," Tommy interjected into Arthur's tangent, making him snap out of the attraction-riddled daze that he was quickly slipping into.

"Yeah, right," Arthur nodded, shaking his head slightly as he tried to recall where he was. "She was actin' so shy and thankin' me for helpin' her clean the stuff up that I couldn't but just be, fuckin'..."

"Arthur," Tommy said in a warning tone.

"I'm gettin' on with it," he brushed his brother off before continuing, "I couldn't help but not want to leave her. So I asked her where she was goin' and she said to the school. That was out of my way, but I didn't fuckin' care. I carried her things to the school she went on with thankin' me again. She was so fuckin' gorgeous and...shit, boys, I think I might be in love," he finished up his story, continuing on with it despite the scoffs or stiffled laughter coming from his brothers.

"You said she was going to the school?" John asked a question once it was clear that Arthur was finished with his story.

"Yeah...she's a fuckin' teacher, mate. Even better," Arthur grinned.

"Did you get her name?" John asked another question.

"Course I did!" Arthur responded like it was obvious.

Silence fell in the snug then, the three men looking between each other. John waited on bated breath for a few moments before it became obvious that Arthur wasn't going to say it without being prompted. "What was it?"

"(Y/N), I think it was," Arthur recalled, his answer making John choke out a weird sound, one that seemed to be a mixture of a scoff and a laugh. "What?"

"She's Katie's fuckin' teacher, mate!" John exclaimed, his declaration making Arthur's eyes widen. "She is fuckin' gorgeous, I'll tell you that," he then agreed with Arthur, a wide grin now plastered across his face.

John and Arthur then went about talking about her after Arthur prompted his younger sibling to tell him all that he knew about her. Tommy sat in his chair, half reading the paper and half listening to their conversation. He couldn't deny that he was intrigued by his brothers' stories, and everything they said about her made him want to go and meet her for himself even more.

"Can I help you?" (Y/N) (Y/L/N) asked the man that she swore appeared in her doorway out of nowhere. He was dressed in an expensive looking three-piece suit with an equally as expensive looking overcoat over top of it, as well as a peaked cap atop his head.

"I'm looking for (Y/N)," the man answered.

"You found her," (Y/N) smiled, setting her book down on the desk to give the man her full attention. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I was directed to you by the front office. They said you're in charge of the donations?"

"That depends...if you're looking to donate to the building, you'll need to speak with our headmaster, but if you're looking to donate directly to the children, you can speak to me," she explained with a smile. She was proud to have been named the head of the board that made sure the children in the school had the tools they needed in order to thrive in the learning environment.

"I'm looking to donate to the children."

"Then you're in the right place," she chirped, "you can come over here and we'll get into the details of it," she said then, waving him over to her desk.

He finally entered the room, and as he walked over, (Y/N) felt the commanding aura that swirled around him. It wasn't one that made her scared, but rather one that filled her with intrigue.

"Can I have the name for the donation?" she asked once she had a piece of paper and a pencil ready.

"It's Thomas Shelby," he answered her, watching as realization sparked in her eyes. He couldn't help but think that Arthur was absolutely right - for once in his life...she was absolutely gorgeous.

"Shelby? I have a student whose last name is Shelby."

"Katie?" Tommy questioned, even though he already knew who she was talking about.

"Yes!" (Y/N) happily answered, "Katie's such a lovely girl. Who is she to you?" she couldn't help but ask.

"She's my niece," he shared, his words making her nod in understanding.

"What sort of donation would you like to make, Mr. Shelby?" she asked then, the pencil ready in her hand.

"I'd like to make it so that all of the children in the year you teach have whatever they need to excel in their classes," he answered, speaking in a nonchalant tone.

"Oh...my goodness," she gasped, stopping what she was writing as the weight of his statement finally clicked in her mind.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, it's just that..." she trailed off, unable to put her thoughts properly into words, "no one has made such a generous donation before."

"I like to make sure that others benefit from the wealth I've gained," he told her in an assured tone. Well that was one of the reasons why he'd made such a donation.

"I...uh, goodness, I don't even know where to start," she confessed, still genuinely baffled by his generosity. "Usually I'd go through with the person donating and we'd make a list of where the funds can be allocated, but with your overwhelming donation, I'm not sure I know what to do first," she added, a sheepish smile present on her face when she looked up at him again.

"It's nothing you'd need to have done in a hurry," he told her, showing that he wasn't upset by her unsuredness.

"I'd hate to waste your time now and make you wait..." she trailed off, biting on the end of the pencil as she tried to think of some ways his funds could be used.

Spending time with you would not be time wasted, Tommy thought to himself just as an idea came to mind: "what if we go for dinner at the end of the week? You can have time to think of ideas and you'll share them with me then," he proposed, his eyebrows raising slightly as he awaited her response.

(Y/N) took a moment to think about his proposition. It'd certainly be a good idea for her to have more time to think about it, and she couldn't say that she'd be opposed to having dinner with this man. "Dinner sounds nice," she gave her answer after a few moments had passed, "I'll come prepared with good ideas," she assured him with a smile.

"I'm sure whatever ideas you'll bring will interest me," Tommy told her, nodding once before he took a step back towards the door.

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby. It's a great pleasure to have you working with us," (Y/N) smiled, still truly overwhelmed by his generosity.

"The pleasure's mine, (Y/N)," he couldn't help but let a smile break onto his lips as he looked over her one last time. They said their goodbyes then, and Tommy exited the school. He was genuinely pleased with the fact that she'd agreed to have dinner with him. It was certainly a step in the right direction with her.

John Shelby entered the school that his children attended two days after his brother did. He was unsuccessful in finding someone who could help direct him to the room he wanted to visit, but thankfully found the woman he was looking for as she walked towards the main doors from down a hallway.

"Miss (Y/L/N)!" he called to her, hoping to get her attention.

To his luck, she heard him. "Can I help you?" she asked with a smile, one that made John feel like he was going to go weak at the knees.

"Yes. You're my daughter's teacher. Her name's Katie Shelby. I wanted to ask how she's been doing in class," he told her the reason behind him being there. Truthfully he couldn't care less about Katie's performance. School wasn't something he was ever interested in, but if it meant he'd be able to talk to an utterly gorgeous woman, he'd give the performance of the century.

"Oh Katie!" (Y/N) answered, her smile growing wider as she recalled one of her students, "she's amazing...such a pleasure to have in class. She's always working hard and staying on top of her assignments," she then gave him a run down on his daughter's performance.

John nodded as she spoke. He had no shame in the fact that he was only half listening to her answer; being too preoccupied with drinking in her appearance. Silence fell between them then as that topic of conversation passed quickly. John didn't want her to leave just yet, so he scrambled for another talking point. "I heard that you met my brother, Arthur, the other day," he said then. It wasn't his best choice of topic, but he hoped it would keep her around. His hopes fell when a look of confusion formed on her pretty face. Shit, John...save yourself here! "He, uh...he told me that he helped you with one of your boxes...?" he ended his statement like it was a question, hoping that she'd show some sort of recollection.

Realization did appear on her face, but the sentence that accompanied it was one that left John confused: "oh...it seems I've met two of your brothers," she informed him, effectively making him wear the same expression she had moments ago. She took the time to explain then: "Thomas came in a few days ago to arrange a generous donation to aid the children who come here."

Fucks sake. John couldn't help but sigh internally. Tommy had already sunk his paws into the territory John thought he'd have a leg up in. "Oh he did?" he decided to play it cool, hoping that his aggravation didn't bubble up to the surface.

"He did. The other teachers and I are all so thankful for the contribution," (Y/N) answered, her smile telling John that he was doing well at masking how he was really feeling.

"Well I'm happy to hear that," John stated, running a hand over his face as he tried to think of a way to divert the conversation away from Tommy. "I can't say enough how happy I am that my daughter has a wonderful, smart, caring teacher like yourself," he said then, deciding to go the compliment route. There were many other things he wanted to include while referring to her, but he didn't want to overdo it.

"Awe thank you, Mr. Shelby. As I've said before, Katie is such a pleasure to have in class," (Y/N) accepted the compliment with grace, a bashful smile forming on her face.

Silence fell around them for a few beats before John spoke again: "you're probably wantin' to get home, so I should probably go," he stated, nodding his head back towards the main doors of the school.

"Oh yes, it's certainly been a long day," she answered with a nod.

"I'll see you around sometime then," John began to say his goodbyes.

"You certainly will," (Y/N) sent him one last smile before John turned and exited the school.

John was thankful to see the majority of his family sitting around the main table of the betting shop when he entered it that evening.

"Where've you been, John Boy?" Arthur asked, everyone's eyes following John as he made his way to an open chair.

"I just left the school," John answered, his face straight as he spoke.

"The school?" Arthur questioned.

"Something happen with one of the children?" Polly asked, her brows furrowed.

"No, everything's fine with them," John quelled her concern.

"Why were you at the school then?" Polly asked another question.

"Ah I know...you were tryin' to see the hot teacher, huh?" Arthur chimed in before John could answer, a grin now present on his face.

John shot a glare in his brother's direction, slightly annoyed by the fact that he was a little too anxious to know. But with all of the eyes in the room on him, he figured he may as well give up. "Yeah, I went to see her."

"Did ya talk to her?" Arthur eagerly asked.

John didn't miss Polly's eyeroll before he answered his brother: "yeah, I did...and I was told that Tommy already went and talked to her." He couldn't help but glance at Tommy from the corner of his eye, seeing if his statement roused any type of reaction from him.

"Why would you have gone to talk to the childrens' teacher, Thomas?" Polly was the one to ask, her eyes now zeroed in on him.

"She told me that he wanted to make a donation to the school," John offered more information, a sour tone still present in his voice.

"Tommy," Polly sighed, bringing her hand up to her forehead.

"We've arranged to have dinner one of these upcoming evenings to discuss it further," Tommy nonchalantly shared more details of his meeting with (Y/N).

"Bloody hell, Tommy," Arthur grumbled, a frown on his face as he shook his head. He'd have no chance in hell with her now.

"Why was this not brought up in a family meeting?" Polly asked a sensible question, seemingly unaware of the brothers' reason behind their responses.

"Because I have decided that we need to start putting back into the city," Tommy answered, an authoritative tone laced into his voice.

"And you thought that the school would be the most logical place to start?" she quirked an eyebrow.

"Why not?"

"You're putting yourself into places you shouldn't be...if this blows up in your face, I won't be here for it," Polly spoke in a firm tone, showing her distaste for his decision.

Tommy held his gaze on her, an uninterested look present in his eyes. He didn't quite care what his aunt had to say about this, he was going to continue on how he saw fit.

Polly held his gaze, waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, she rolled her eyes and let out a scoff before turning and stalking over to the door. She stopped before she could grab the handle, abruptly turning to look at the three men sitting at the table. "If any of you make her cry or so much as hurt a single strand of hair on her head..." she paused, pursing her lips as she shook her head slightly, "you will have hell to pay." Her voice was flat, but her tone was serious, and she let no one respond before she opened the door and exited the betting shop.

"Ms. Gray, it's so nice to see you again," (Y/N) said with a smile as she found the older woman standing in the doorway of her classroom. "Is everything ok with Katie? We missed her in class today."

"Katie's fine," Polly quelled the teacher's worry, "she was feeling ill so she stayed home."

"Oh, ok. I hope she gets better soon," (Y/N) offered her regards with a smile, one that Polly reciprocated. "Is there something that you need?"

"Yes," Polly didn't beat around the bush, "my nephew, Tommy, came to speak with you the other day..." she began, trailing off in hopes that (Y/N) would continue.

"Yes, he did!" she took the bait without question, "he made a very generous donation, and then suggested we have dinner to work the smaller points of it out."

"And how did that go?" Polly asked with raised eyebrows.

"Very well," (Y/N) smiled in response, "the children are already benefiting from the money he's given. It was very kind of him to do this."

Nothing Tommy Shelby has done was done just for the sake of 'being kind', Polly thought to herself as she mentally scoffed at the younger woman's statement. "I'm happy to hear that the children are benefitting from it," Polly said in response, keeping her thoughts on her nephew's intentions to herself.

(Y/N) smiled in response, completely overjoyed by the kindness of the Shelby family that she was oblivious to even the mere thought of Tommy having other intentions behind his decision to donate. Nothing else was said then as the women exchanged parting words.

(Y/N) smoothed out her dress as she reached the doors of the establishment. She hoped that the outfit she chose didn't make her over, or under, dressed for the occasion. With a deep breath, she grabbed the handle and opened the door, the sounds of chatter and music smacking her in the face. She entered the pub with a smile, hoping to quickly find a familiar face.

Of course one of the Shelbys quickly found her at the door. It was their re-opening party after all, and a beautiful woman like (Y/N) was most certainly not going to go unnoticed.

"Oi, you came!" Arthur was the first of the brothers to spot her, and a big grin was plastered across his face as he moved over to greet her.

"Yes! This place looks lovely!" she answered, smiling as she looked around the room.

"We made sure to get the best of the best," he boasted, his grin still present. "And speakin' of the best...can I offer one of the best women I've seen a drink?" he smoothly transitioned, his one eyebrow raised as he looked at her.

"I'd love one, thank you," she answered, smiling at his kindness.

"Come on then," he stated, offering her his arm so that he could lead her to the bar.

She accepted it, walking over to an open seat so that he could go around the bar and get her a drink. She thanked him again when he set it down in front of her, and just as he leaned up against the bar, ready to chat with her, Isiah came to him with a matter of business. He left her with a slight frown and an 'excuse me, love,' before going off with the younger man. (Y/N) sat by herself, sipping her drink and enjoying the revelry around her. She wasn't alone for long though.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)...I didn't think I'd see you here," shock was present in John Shelby's voice as he came up beside her.

"I decided to stop in and see what all of the talk was about," she smiled at him.

"Well we're certainly happy to have you here," he grinned at her, trying so hard not to give her a once over. "Say why don't you come and share a dance with me?" he suggested.

"Oh, I couldn't," she turned down his offer, her shyness creeping in.

"Come on...a quick dance wouldn't hurt," he didn't quite give up hope.

"I'm rather terrible at dancing."

"You've not seen me dance then."

(Y/N) bit her lip to conceal her giggles, surprised with how forward he was.

"Come on..." John coaxed her, hand outstretched in her direction. She was hesitant, but accepted it, allowing him to lead her to the floor. "Just follow my lead and you'll be fine," he said, assuming the position before he began to lead her in a similar dance to what the other partygoers were doing.

(Y/N) couldn't help but smile as she danced around the floor with John. She certainly was having fun, not really thinking about what she looked like or what others thought. John couldn't believe that he was dancing with one of the most beautiful women in the room.

They danced for about two songs before (Y/N) excused herself, wanting to go have a seat. John allowed her to go, deciding that he'd go into the snug and check on Finn - who he knew was sneaking stronger drinks than what his brothers originally told him he could have.

(Y/N) found a newly opened seat at the bar as soon as she came to it. She was bummed that her drink had been lost, but she didn't need to worry about that for too long.

"You made it," Tommy Shelby's voice came from her left, making her turn slightly to see him approaching her from behind the bar.

"I did, thanks for inviting me," (Y/N) smiled at him, "this party's amazing!" she commented, glancing around the room.

"It is," Tommy agreed once she focused on him again, "can I get you something to drink?"

"Please," she smiled kindly at the offer, watching as he went about grabbing a bottle from the shelf. "I wanted to also thank you, again, for the dinner and the donation. The children have already gotten some of the supplies that we've received, and they're loving them," she shared some information once he came back with a glass for her.

"That's good news," he nodded, taking a drink from his glass then. "You know I was thinking maybe...maybe you and I could have dinner again, without the need to talk about the donations this time," he proposed, watching her intently as he waited for a response.

(Y/N) couldn't stop her eyes from lighting up at his suggestion. She had a lovely time with him at their first dinner. "I'd like that," she answered with a smile.

"Figured we could get to know each other better."

"That would be lovely," she agreed, giggling slightly at the fact that he was practically reading her mind.

The two then went about planning the dinner, agreeing on a time and place. (Y/N) couldn't help but feel giddy when he suggested a restaurant that was far more classy than the first place they'd met. If she wasn't excited before...she certainly was now.

As they spoke more, Polly Gray kept a close eye on them from across the room. She'd been watching the brothers all evening as they tried their hand at her. It became clear to her, though, that Tommy had ended out on top as she watched them converse at the bar. She could easily tell from how (Y/N) was invested in their conversation, giggling and leaning closer to him when he'd speak, that what he was doing was being received well. John and Arthur wouldn't have much of a chance now.

-One Year Later-

Slowly, Tommy lifted the veil up to reveal (Y/N)'s smiling face. He draped it over her head and let his eyes dance across her features, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt the joy radiating from her.

"We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) and Thomas Michael Shelby," the officiant began, commanding the attention of everyone in the church.

Ever since the evening of the party at the Garrison, (Y/N) and Tommy found themselves wrapped up in a whirlwind of a romance. Tommy proposed after five months of them being together, knowing that he wasn't going to find another woman like her. They spent five months being engaged and doing a great amount of traveling - it was the summer holiday for (Y/N), so she was able to follow Tommy wherever he went. Now they were standing at the altar in front of a great number of guests who were anxiously waiting to see them pronounce their love for each other.

Well...two of the guests were exactly anxious. John and Arthur sat on Tommy's side of the church, watching as the ceremony commenced. Both were happy for their brother, but they'd be lying if they said that they weren't bummed that it wasn't them up with (Y/N).

Everyone stood up and celebrated as the officiant pronounced Tommy and (Y/N) 'man and wife', and they shared their first kiss as a married couple.

"As always..." John started, elbowing Arthur in the ribcage as they both clapped for their brother, "Tommy gets the girl, and we've gotta sit back and watch."

Arthur couldn't help but snort as he heard what John had to say. "You're right, John boy," he agreed, shaking his head but nonetheless continuing clapping.

No matter what happened, or how hard John and Arthur tried to get ahead, Tommy would forever be the brother that always wins.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

[fandom-puff]

Smutty blurb idea:

You’ve been begging for attention all day and Tommy finally gives it to you with facesitting and overstim 🥺

🫡🫡🫡 haven’t written for Tommy in AGES!! Enjoy x this turned into a bit more than a blurb lol

Attention

Warnings: contains overstimulation, light sim/sub dynamics, facesitting, oral sex,fem!reader

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

You had read the same paragraph of your novel about six times now, and ‘read’ was being generous; rather, you had skimmed over the print, the words blurring and muddling as your eyes drifted to your husband, Tommy.

It really wasn’t fair, the way he sat at his desk, shirtless, smoking and sipping his whisky as he scanned over his paperwork.

Watching the way his muscles twitched as he moved, you let out a longing sigh, but Tommy had made it quite clear that he had to sort through his paperwork before giving you any form of attention- and he had warned you not to be a brat. Brats don’t get any attention at all.

As the clock crawled forward another half hour, you closed your book, setting it aside as you admired your husband.

“What?” He said, feeling your gaze burn through him.

“Oh nothing,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “Just admiring my husband, and willing him to hurry up so he can ravish me,”

Tommy cracked a small smirk. “I’m almost done, love,” he said gently, knowing how work often got in the way of pleasure.

**

True to his word, Tommy was pulling you upstairs ten minutes later, and you couldn’t keep the grin off your face.

Entering the bedroom, you made to get on the bed, but tommy grabbed your wrist. “Get undressed,” he told you, his hands already coming to the buttons of your blouse as he pressed kisses to your neck.

Your blouse fluttered to the floor, soon followed by your skirt, stockings, bra, and finally, underwear. “There she is,” Tommy hummed, his knuckle tracing the outline of your body. Goosebumps sprung under his touch, and you leaned into the hot firmness of his chest.

“How do you want me?” You breathed, not caring if he wanted you from the front of from behind, so long as he just took you.

“On top,” Tommy smirked, shucking down to his boxers and laying down, head propped against the plump pillows. You nodded, waiting for him to lay down, before moving to straddle his hips. “Not like that, love,” he said, and you cocked your head to the side. You had tried reverse cowgirl a handful of times, but it wasn’t your go to: Tommy liked to grasp and slap and suck at your tits, and you liked to bury your head into his neck as he lifted your hips up and down. But still, reverse cowgirl gave him the opportunity to pay attention to your arse, slapping and grabbing it. You began turning around, but tommy grabbed onto your hip. “No… up here, YN,” he said, and he grinned at your confusion. “Come sit on my face,”

Your face went from confusion to shock, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ shape. Of course, Tommy had licked you out countless times before, and you had sat on his face a few times- but they were mostly so that you could suck his cock at the same time. It had been ages since he had you ride his face.

“Come on, love… thought you’ve been waiting for some attention all day,” you bit your lip for a moment, before shuffling up towards his face, straddling his head.

Tommy groaned lowly at the sight of your cunt, just hovering above his face. Despite your hesitation, it was clear to him that you were desperate for his attention, in more ways than one. Fed up with your hesitation, he grasped your thighs, fingers squeezing at your arse, and pulled you towards his mouth.

As his tongue darted out to lick and suck at your clit, trailing up your slit as he lapped at your wetness. Your hands flew to the headboard as your hips bucked, rutting against his face. Shyness dissipated as hot, addictive pleasure flooded your being, and your cries of pleasure muddled with the lewd slurping between your legs, filling the room as Tommy brought you over the edge.

Your hips jolted and shuddered in his hands as you rode out your high, grinding against his tongue. But Tommy did not relent, and as you began shaking and whimpering and squirming away from him, he grasped your thighs tighter, holding you firmly to his face. He was openly moaning into your cunt now, his nose nudging your oversensitive clit as his tongue prodded into your cunt, drinking in your release like it was his lifeline.

“Tom,” you gasped, “Thomas!” One hand grasped at his hair, your nails scratching into his scalp. “‘S too much,” you moaned, but your body betrayed you, hips continuing to circle against his mouth. “Gonna- tommy-fuck! Gonna come again,” you cried, and tommy moved to suck firmly on your clit, pushing you screaming over the edge once more.

Tommy drew one more orgasm out of your overworked cunt, and if your head wasn’t addled with pleasure, you’d have been embarrassed with how quickly you came. Slowly, almost unwillingly, tommy moved you up from his face, helping you lay down as he moved on top of you. “You okay?” He asked, and you stared up at him, smiling dumbly as you nodded. “Good,” tommy smirked, his hand trailing between your legs, making you squirm. “Because I’m not done yet,”

#tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy Shelby x reader smut #Thomas Shelby x you #tommy Shelby x you #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders smut #request

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hey, could you maybe write something with Tommy where the girl he likes is a bit of a party girl? How would be react to her wild behaviour? 🥂

Hey Anon,

I LOVE this idea! Thank you for sending it in! Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: heavy drinking, fluff, murder, all the good stuff

He sat there watching her dance recounting all the times he’d been black-out drunk. None of them resulted in him dancing like a whore in public. Or laughing so loud it carried over the music. 

He didn't understand how the same woman that had single-handedly got him out of a bind with not only another crime family but also the police, was the same woman here dancing on a table. 

Just hours previous to the celebration she had shot a man and now she was here dancing like she always did. 

The club was dark but the pink dress she wore would glow even with the lights out. Her hair was messed up and somehow looked even better that way. 

When she got like this he wondered somewhere in the back of his mind if she was worth pursuing. Parties were her thing. He’d met her as an event coordinator and while she complained about how boring his events were they had got along very well. 

Too well. 

She was always bombarded with men offering her drinks, expensive trips, and houses in tropical lands, and yet she always came back to him. She wanted to be by his side even in the cold British rain. 

She danced until the song stopped then let out a loud squeal when Esme poured more champagne into her mouth. 

“WE WONNNNN” She called out with her bejeweled fist in the air. Everyone erupted into loud cheers around her. 

Getting into clubs to celebrate wasn't an issue for a Shelby, but she had an even easier time. She once got dared to leap off a loft railing onto a chandelier. Not only was it official lore woven into the fabric of London, the owner just shook his head and laughed when she did it. 

She was a friend, valuable business partner, excellent lover, but could she be a wife? His stomach twisted at the thought of being with someone else, that was a feeling he hadn’t felt since Greta. A frown fell on his face. 

Would that be something she wanted? He looked for her again dancing and singing her heart out. Would she feel trapped? 

The night wrapped up and she crawled across the backseat of the cab. She slumped against him and smiled up at him brightly. 

“I saved you today.” She slurred happily.

“Yes, you did.” He answered with the slightest bit of a smile on his lips. 

“You owe me.” She said bringing a well-manicured finger up to push his nose.

“Is that so” He grabbed her jaw gently keeping her face tilted up towards him. Her eyes flared and he didn't know what he would do without her. Even if she wasn't incredible at her job, and networking, even if she was just a party girl, he wouldn't want to be with anyone else. “How can I make it up to you?” 

“Stay with me?” There was a deep sadness in her eyes that took Tommy by surprise. 

“That’s the plan.” He whispered.

“Stay with me forever?” She clarified and he smiled. 

“Forever.” He kissed the top of her head and handed her the box that had been on fire since he started carrying it weeks ago. He felt like he shouldn't give it to her when she was drunk. It should be some grand gesture, a proper event with people around. That’s what she would want, but he felt like it was the moment. 

Her eyes went wide. 

“SHUT UP” She took the box and gave him one last look before opening it. 

“Would you -” 

“YES -” She let out another squeal waving her hands animatedly. After lots of hugging and screaming she rolled down the window to shout at the people on the street.

“I”M GETTING MARRIED!!!!!!” She pointed to her finger and laughed as random people waved and cheered for her. 

Tommy just leaned back into his seat and enjoyed the pure joy that radiated off of his soon-to-be wife. After shouting at a few more people when stopped at red lights she rolled the window up and climbed onto his lap. 

She pressed her lips onto his and they enjoyed the rest of the ride back to their London apartment.

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #peaky blinders #Peaky blinders request #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders imagine

[everythingelseisextra]

No Harm

Part Twenty: Scar Tissue

Part Nineteen of Twenty-One Description: I don't know how to describe it without spoiling it. Just trust me and read it (if you can handle the trigger warnings. Don't push yourself if you don't want to) Warnings: references to rape, heavy implications of sexual assault, copious blood, violence, possibly bad writing (we'll see what ya'll think), references to drugging/drug use, PTSD, unedited, no children reference Word Count: 6234 Tag List:

@theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @majesticcmey  @optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel  @ce1iat  @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist @cookiez56-blog @skxawngs @h0neylemon

But come here, fear. 

I am alive and you are so afraid of dying.

Joy Harjo- I Give You Back

You are an animal. 

Terrified, backed into a corner, tearing out your own hair, hissing and spitting and trembling. There’s blood dripping from broken skin, bruised, and handprints on your wrists, your neck, your hips.There’s a throbbing burn branded onto your neck, which will be used to identify you, if you were to escape again. There are no clear thoughts in your mind, just the primal terror of reliving a twisted childhood, of your body abused and used for the pleasure of men who laugh when you scream. Aching pain shoots through you with every breath, left over from the fight, from the battle you lost, from the autonomy you had no choice but to let them steal. It took four of them to hold you down.

The date-rape drug they administered slowly wears off, and you know that, soon, there will be a man. Or two, or three, that’ll enter this room where you sit with your legs curled up to your chest and your back pressed against the joint of two walls, and take you as they want. You know this. You know that most ‘clients’ want the women conscious, but not enough to fight. You know that, once it’s over, they’ll send you back into that drowsy, paralyzed state, or, worse, get you hopped up on cocaine or some other upper, so that you rely on them, so that you can’t leave. 

You don’t think about why you did this. You don’t think about the man you love, that you saved, you don’t think about the boy and the maid, the innocents. You don’t think about how they could’ve fought for you, would’ve fought for you to the grave, until everything around them was burnt to the ground, just to keep you safe. You don’t think about how, either way, there would’ve been a sacrifice. Your mind is static that you cannot hear through, and you are small, so small, insignificant compared to the great, monstrous fear that steals you from your body and sits you on your own shoulder to watch the violence take place. Once again, your skin grows far too thick for your soul, your consciousness, and all the pain echoes out towards emptiness, not towards you.

You would like to be able to make something beautiful out of this, to twist your suffering into something bright and bold and brilliant, but you can’t. Some things are just too dark to reflect brilliance. Some things absorb the light you try to bring to them. 

There’s no light in this room. You blink blankly through the darkened space, the bed next to you cleansed from its last bloody usage. From beneath the closed bathroom door, some light shines, flickering from a candle inside, lit to fend off the scent of sweat and sex and terror. False sweetness wafts out to you, your curled body still shaking. Your senses don’t seem to be working, shut down by the pure overwhelm, your eyes wide but unseeing. But, still, every little noise, every footstep in the hallway, every creak of the wooden floors, every murmur of voices through the thin walls sets you on fire, your whole body tensing, so scared it’s painful. 

You don’t believe in God, but you pray anyway. Some part of you, beyond the static, moves your lips in soundless begging. You want to die before it happens again. You want the pain to stop, and you want to feel clean again, to feel whole and free, like you did before. Before this. 

Your eyes flick to the bathroom door, the light shimmering at the crack on the bottom. Chills slide down your back and you shiver as the faint sound of someone trying keys in the lock on your door reaches you. You only have a moment. 

You stand on trembling legs and stride awkwardly over to the bathroom, your body flaring in too many places for you to truly feel all of them. Inside, sitting serenely on the vanity table across from the standing tub, the candle burns inside a glass casing. You blink at it, a twisting of emotions squeezing your guts in your abdomen. It feels like mercy. 

You lift the candle and, quickly, as the door opens behind you, crack the glass on the tub. A shard falls into it, and you reach down wildly to grab it and hold it up. Thick, sharp. You glance down at the candle, and, for good measure, throw it at the wall behind you, hoping, praying, that the fire catches. That the other women hidden in this hotel are given the chance to run free, perhaps from one tragedy to another, perhaps not even. Perhaps the only thing you’ll be given them is a way out of their hell, a slow, melting death, or a look at the night sky before being brought back into captivity. 

Then, slowly, you creep out of the bathroom, the blade of glass held in one hand, the edges cutting into your palm. There, standing in the darkness, silhouetted by the light of the bathroom, is a large, looming man, his eyes on you. He steps back, looking to the door, and opens his mouth, about to sound the alarm. In that moment, something in you switches. You change from prey to predator, from victim to inflictor, from slave to slaver. With two quick steps, you clear the distance between you and lunge at him, one fluid movement, and send the shard of glass into the one target you can fully see; his eye. He howls as you shove it into the socket, trying to shatter it inside of his eye. Hands grab at you and you find yourself being thrown bodily to the ground. You look up to see him lumbering around, one hand tearing at the glass in his eye, the other reaching out to support himself on one of the walls. 

You skitter backwards, dragging your exhausted body across the ground like a woman possessed like the old days, and retreat once more into the bathroom. There, a fire blooms, bright and undying, licking up the corner of the room and eating at the wooden walls. You reach into the bathtub and grab as many shards of glass as you can, holding them to your chest like you would a baby, cradling them as they cut into your skin. Now armed, you stand, look out into the room where light now floods from the open front door. More men. 

You tear out of the bathroom, a wild thing bewitched by the need to survive and self-defend, and take one of the shards of glass in your dominant hand, wielding it like you’ve known your whole life how to kill. Which, in a way, you have. 

There are two men in the room. The first comes at you, his hand going to a holster on his hip, and you react without thinking. You throw your entire body weight on him, pushing him to the ground with a running start, and, suddenly, you’re hacking at his face with the glass. It breaks into pieces in your hand, but you don’t feel the pain, don’t feel the slivers sliding deeper into your skin. 

The second man grabs your shoulders and pulls you back, shouting something you don’t understand, and, suddenly, you’re underneath him, his fist drawn back. He must’ve missed the glass held to your chest, for you grab one and stab up blindly. His fist comes down on your face regardless and your nose cracks; he hits hard and fast. You scream, a feral sound, and, as he draws his fist back a second time, you stab again, and this time, you meet your mark.

He falters, and you take the opportunity to slip out from underneath him and start for the door, only to slow to a stop at the sight of the first man with the ruined face, twitching with a pool of blood around him on the ground. The fire crackles behind you, beginning to spread outwards, and you make your decision. Scampering over to him, you kneel down and rummage through his clothes, looking, seeking, trying to find it. Your hand lands on cold metal and you yank. 

You stare down at it, then look up as the second man stumbles towards you. A shard of glass sticks out of his abdomen, blood dripping around it, his white dress shirt dyed, and, before you think about it, before you consider the consequences, you smile, point, and pull the trigger. 

He drops, and so do you, unused to the recoil. You rise quickly, your chest roaring with pain, and stumble to the doorway. Your nose throbs and blood cascades down your front, but you wipe at it with the back of your hand and steady on. The fire follows you, loyal and tame for now, but soon to become a monster, a cruel, mindless killer. 

Shouts fill the hallway; they heard your gunshot. Hoping against hope that you have enough ammo to fight your way through, you start down the hallway, choosing to go left at the chance that, maybe, that’ll lead to an entrance. And hoping that you don’t find yourself in a deadend. 

You breathe slowly, trying to calm your pounding heart. You’re the one with the gun. You fought your way out of your cage and are out, wild once more, prepared to fight again and again to keep your freedom. Or, if not, if you find yourself in a corner once again, you’re the one with the gun. You can take yourself out, if that’s what it takes, if that’s what you must do to keep yourself out of entrapment. 

Up ahead, a group of men wander out of an opening to your left, and your heart sinks. Too many of them. Far too many of them for you to take down on your own. Even if they’re not affiliated with the slavers, you stand out, blood dripping down your body, glass shards stuck out of your hand, arm, and bits of your chest. You put your head down and fall still, closing your eyes for a moment, then, slowly, you look up. 

What does one do, then, when facing a goliath? What do you do when you’re scared senseless, pushed far beyond what any person should have to endure? What do you do when you know you can’t win, when you know it’s a losing battle, when you know the other side won’t listen to your screams?

What has humanity always done, when we face the impossible? When we looked to the room and wished to land in the stars. When Gods clashed and people sobbed, when David faced his opponent with next to nothing to defend himself with? When wars ravaged the world and dreamers died and the sky met the sea in a flare of raging fire?

What do we do when the surrender is obvious, but hope still lives?

We fight. 

Tooth and nail, we fight. Until the end, when there’s nothing left to fight for, we clash and refuse to go quiet into that good night. We rage against the will of fate and show it that the human heart endures more than anything anyone could possibly imagine. We scream into the face of God and tell them to try us one more time, try again, see what happens. 

We fight. 

And so will you. 

You let out a breath, and you savor it, and for a moment, you belong to yourself again. For a moment, you’re so wrapped up in ferocity and hope and despair that you claim your body back. And you will not let it die here, and you will not let it be taken back. 

Your younger self stands in the fire behind you, watching as you walk slowly towards this group of men, blinking up at you with terrified eyes as you stand and protect her, as you fight for the freedom she never got to have, as you give back all the terror and confusion and awful, horrific pain that you felt growing up. Your younger self will watch as, one way or another, you find deliverance. 

You hold the gun up, aim, and prepare to pull the trigger as the first man sees you. His eyes widen and his lips move and they fall still, staring back at you in silence. Some of their gazes drop to the ground. Some of them step back. And others simply watch you, quiet and soft, with simple looks of respect on their faces. 

You pause, your finger resting on the trigger. The first man slowly shakes his head, then, glancing at the others, slowly leans down and places his weapon on the ground in front of him. A surrender. The others follow suit, almost seeming to bow to you as they place their guns on the floor. The first one looks over to you once more, chest rising and falling slowly, as if in a sigh or meditation. 

You won’t drop your weapon. You won’t give up the only thing you have to protect yourself. You won’t give away your liberty so easily. What does it say about the world you live in that the only way to earn your autonomy is to carry a gun? What does it say about you that you have to fight so viciously to keep yourself safe? Were you simply chosen to be this rabid dog, this creature with claws and teeth, this monster? Or is this what it means to be alive?

But you lower it, just slightly, to try to meet his eyes. A tremble shoots through you, then another, and suddenly you’re shuddering, the adrenaline you had slowly running out. Your injured body wants badly to give out, to crumple to the ground and surrender. But you can’t. You sway on your feet, your shaking body unstable, and catch yourself. Your head hangs again, but you stare up through your hair to face them. 

“We’re friends,” the first man says, stepping towards you. 

You shake your head and stumble back towards the fire, lifting the gun again. Crackling heat flickers on your back, and warms the aching muscles that whine relentlessly.

“We’re sent by Tommy. By Alfie.” He speaks to you softly, in the same voice you use to soothe a spooked horse. “We’re friends. We need you to come with us. You’ve made our job a whole lot easier.” 

You find yourself stepping back again, and the heat grows harsher, almost painful on your bones. It brings light to the shards of glass stuck in your body, tiny fires shining in them, and you think that, if you were to die, burning would be suitable. Your whole life, you think, you’ve been burning one way or another. One way or another, you’ve been alight. 

“Please.” He puts his hands up, palms facing you, trying to show himself to be weaponless, free of anything that could harm you. “Let us help you.”

Again, you shake your head. You’ve seen how these men coerce women into their trust. You’ve seen the soft words and casual conversation, the charm and the chivalry, the humor. You’ve seen others get drawn into this underground hell you’ve known for too long. And you’ve seen how easy it is for them to seem so kind, so easy-going, so helpful. 

You will not be manipulated.

He glances back at the other men, who watch him warily, then he raises a hand and sends them off with a swift gesture. They turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone. 

You, surrounded by fire, and him, at the end of the wooden hallway. Darkness and light. You can’t let him win, even if it means being consumed. 

“I— I don’t want to use force, but I will.” He steps towards you again. 

Your jaw tightens and you raise your gun again, staring over it at him, ready to pull the trigger at any sign of him moving closer. It’s a broken kind of fear you feel, that forces you to hurt others. Kill or be killed. 

“Please. Please. I know— They told me that you like horses, right?” 

You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue, second-guessing every word he speaks. 

“Right, well, Tommy had them taken care of yesterday, he said Iris is improving, I— I don’t know, please. Please come with me.” 

At the name of the horse, you lower your gun. They look into the women they take, yes, but they would have no way of finding out the gray horse’s name unless it came straight from you or Tommy. No one else was there to witness his naming, no one else was there to know he was given to you in such a way. 

“Yes. Yes. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. We won’t hurt you. Just— we’ll get you out of here. We’ll do our jobs and then we can all go home, right? We can all go home.” He steps towards you once again. “Just put the gun down. You don’t need it. You won’t need it.”

You shake your head, your shaking hand tightening on the grip of the gun. There’s a heart beating in your throat and a shuddering sensation running through your muscles, like you’re about to collapse. 

“Okay. Okay, you can keep the gun, just— let’s go, okay? Let’s just go.”

The fire surrounds you. You step forward, shying away from the extreme heat, and before you give yourself full permission, you’re moving towards him. You hold the gun up, the barrel pointing at his chest, an extra precaution to soothe your staticky mind. He nods and backs away, still facing you, then, after a moment, he turns and starts down the hallway. 

It’s a winding, maze-like building. You were brought in fighting, squirming and biting and scratching, doing anything you could think of to keep them off of you, out of you. You don’t remember the way out. For all you know, he could be leading you somewhere where he can keep you trapped, keep you compliant. He could be leading you to an ambush, where they’ll take you across the country and hide you somewhere you’ll never be found. 

Instead, you find yourself passing wooden doors, and seating areas, and even a phone sitting on a small table, and then, finally you end in the lobby. There’s people pushing to get out the door, trying to escape the fire you started, their shouts and exclamations filling the small room. The man in front of you pauses, then steps sideways, out of your way, to allow you a view of the full room. You expect to see the group of men who you’d seen before, but, instead, you find cold blue eyes locked onto you. In front of the chaos of people shoving out the door, dead still despite the racket and riot, he stands and watches you, expressionless, as if painted, frozen in a moment. And you stare back, trembling, still a creature of panic and violence. The room around you seems to fall silent, the rush of people flooding out slows. Your pain throbs. Your vision blurs. You shake. Red blood drips from your wounds and stains you from the lives you’d taken in a feral, terrified mania. And there isn’t a drop on him, no sign of a fight on his end, just a pristine blue three-piece suit. 

A lump forms in your throat. You take a deep, shaking breath and watch fearfully as he approaches you, his steps slow, his eyes on you, trying to read the expression on your battered and blood-covered face. 

Before he reaches you, there’s a gunshot, and all the motion and sound comes avalanching back onto you. Tommy stumbles, falling momentarily to one knee before staggering back to his feet. He turns to face the men who stand at the other entrance to the lobby, one of which holds the gun that shot the bullet that ripped through his shoulder, for the second time in two days.

Now there’s blood on him, soaking the fabric into a deep, liquid purple. Your hand grips the gun in your hand and there’s a burning sensation in your veins, in your muscles, in your mind, propelling you to step forward and fight for him, but the moment is gone, and the man with the gun is speaking. 

“Put your hands above your head, and we’ll talk.” He gestures with his gun, moving it upward in a fashion that doesn’t beg for questions. 

Tommy does as he says, slowly moving his hands upwards. “There are men who have orders to return here if—”

“Then we better make this quick.” He smiles a toothy grin. “We know where you live, Mr. Shelby. There are men positioned at your property, ready to trigger an explosion that’ll wipe your home off the map. You leave here, call off your men, and we’ll do the same. No one will need to know what happened here. Or…” he tilts his head. “Or we let you take that monster of a woman, and you get halfway home before you find yourself dead in hell, where you belong.” 

Tommy’s hand is pressed down on his injured shoulder, trying to stem the blood that gushes wetly. “That’s quite the plan you have.” 

His words come unbothered, unworried. Casual, almost. 

“You have a choice. Make it now.” 

Tommy nods and opens his mouth to speak, but, as he does so, footsteps behind you steal your attention. You whip around and find two women, dressed as staff of the hotel. Your eyes flick over them, and your heart skips a beat. There’s bruises hidden beneath their sleeves, a pallid, drawn look to their faces. Eyes wide and pupils blown large, it’s clear they’re not fully aware of their situation, perhaps new, perhaps too drugged to be lucid. 

You speak for the first time since you were taken. “Go. Go now. They’re distracted.”

They stare at you blankly, then look at each other. One of them, a young, pixie-ish woman, nods and speaks in a language you don’t understand. The other nods back, and the younger one looks to you again.. 

“You should come with us,” she says, voice faint and accented. “Come. While you can.”

You shake your head, looking back at Tommy, who wavers where he stands, face paler than usual. Losing too much blood. “I can’t. You go. I’ll be okay.”

“For a man?” She scoffs. “You’re as stupid as we were.”

“No,” you murmur. “You were never stupid.”

After a moment of silence, they pass by you, heads ducked, heading for the door. Your attention turns back to Tommy, and you realize with horror that he’s been stalling, waiting for something that might never happen, for the time to come for the men to return. 

He hasn’t learned the way you have that no one, no one, is ever coming to save you. You have to do it yourself. 

And, worse still, you see him fall to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer, too dizzy from pain and blood loss. Without thinking, you walk slowly, languidly, and step in front of his knelt form, a shield between him and the men. You look up at them, find their eyes on you, and smile faintly. The gun is warm in your hand. 

There’s laughter from a few of them, while others move towards the door, bored with the interaction. Disorganized, you think wearily. There’s probably no one at Arrow House. There’s probably no danger for Charlie or Frances. But you can’t bet on probably. 

So, instead, you make a gamble of your own. “Liszt is coming.” 

The quiet laughter goes silent. You hold your gun up, consider it, then, slowly, you hold it to your own head. The barrel presses into your hair and skin, warm. Beneath you, you hear Tommy let out a short breath. 

“Liszt is coming. He and Alfie are old enemies, and he’s brought him back to Birmingham.” You’re lying as quickly and smoothly as you can, making things up on the fly, trying to base every phrase in some form of truth. “I don’t think he’d like to find his regained prized possession dead when he gets here, now, would he?”

“You’re holding yourself hostage.” The man laughs. “And you think we’ll believe you?” 

“I might be lying.” You smile and tilt your head, moving the gun with you. You must be an image, blood-stained and bruised, dressed in ripped clothing, holding a gun to your own head.. “Then again, I might not be.” 

He hesitates, his eyes flicking from you to Tommy behind you and back to you again. He shakes his head, then lifts his gun, pointing it directly at you. “I’ll kill you myself, then. I’ll fucking kill you myself. What’ll Liszt do? What’ll he—”

“He’ll kill you.” Your blood goes cold and you widen your stance, begging the universe that you’ll get your message across. “He’ll kill all of you. There’s no law for him.”

“Not if I kill him.” he gestures at Tommy. “If I kill him, I’ll be rewarded.”

You shake your head and move the gun off of your head, looking down at it for a moment, then aim it at the man. “I guess we’re at an impasse, then.”

Tommy crumples behind you and your lip twitches into a tiny smile before you can hide it. You watch the man’s finger on the trigger, watch it shift, watch the faint gesture of a tensing muscle preparing to shoot. 

And the crack of a bullet flying fills the air and the world goes black. 

—

No one is really sure how both you and Tommy made it out alive that day. You know two things: that the first bullet sent came from the ground between your legs, shot to kill the man in front of you, and that, when the rest of them came upon you, the last thing you saw was the two women from before rushing towards them to hold them off. 

You’re lying in a hospital bed, about to be discharged. Light filters in through the windows, much brighter and cleaner than Tommy’s hospital when you were first getting to know each other. Strange, how he seems to care so much more about you than he does himself. There are other beds around you, but the curtains block your view of them. Some of your wounds, acquired through violent rape, were too private for your curtains to be open at all. Everywhere you look, there is white. 

The brand on your neck has been bandaged and cleaned, the glass has been removed from your skin, and your broken nose has been set. You’ve refused any painkillers, and you’ve been unable to move for the ache of it, the sharp shots of feverish pain through your muscles and skin too intense. And the bullet that dug deep into the area just underneath your collarbone has been removed. Any further down and you’d be dead. 

Every time a man enters your curtained space, you begin to shake. You remain calm and collected, your heart shuddering violently in your chest and your breath stolen by fear, but you don’t show it. You smile and speak as though nothing has happened, and the only thing that gives you away is the innate show of terror. Trembling, shaking, no matter how hard you try to still your aching bones. So, they send women. Nurses, mostly, soft spoken and smiling. They know what you’ve been through. Everyone who looks at you now will know, given the mark on your neck, the soon-to-be welts of painful burns branding you a victim. 

A blond nurse who’s seen to you several times in the last day returns, sending you a small smile and a quiet greeting. She checks your vitals one final time, then helps you stand. You clutch at her hand to steady yourself, trying to get used to the pain that burns through your thighs, your abdomen, the bandaged wounds on your arms and neck and hands. You’re a mess. 

She leads you down the hallway, down the stairs, and out into an unwelcoming world. This is the cleanest area he could’ve found to hospitalize you at, the best possible doctors serve here, and yet, you find your teeth chattering despite the warmer weather. You can’t fend off the shock of the sunlight, the innate fear of seeing people walking the streets, the overwhelm of senses as cars drive past. And, most importantly, you can’t stop the pure panic at the idea of seeing him again. 

You’ve refused to let him visit you since the night before, when you returned to consciousness. The idea of being alone with a man, even one you trust, scares you more than you care to admit. There’s this feeling of being the only prey in a world of predators, like you’re a target to everyone you see, like the earth is covered in patterns of blood that only you can see. You’re terrified. Truly, you’re terrified. 

And, thus, the shaking starts again as you’re led to the Bentley, sitting quietly in front of the hospital. And there he is. He gets out of the drivers seat and walks over, and you step back unconsciously, trying to create space between you, to get out of arm’s reach. His eyes flick to you, emotionless, and he opens the passenger side door. You slip inside, the hair on the back of your neck raising, chills running down your spine. 

He gets in, and suddenly, the world feels far, far too small. You’re trapped in a small space with someone who could easily overpower you. You close your eyes and let in a breath that sounds a little more like a gasp as the car pulls away from the hospital. You try to stop the shaking, try to subdue yourself, wishing that you could be sedated somehow, wishing that you could be calm. You know him. Better than you know anyone. He would never hurt you. 

You open your eyes, and you stare straight out of the windshield, refusing to look at him. Your blood is running cold, the feeling of light-headedness coming back to you as you struggle to breathe. In your line of sight, you see him, see his eyes flicking to you and back to the road, and then to you again. You see his eyes fall to your hands, bandaged and pulling on each other in your lap. You see him track the pattern of your shivering, the ebb and flow of motion that forces you to be in constant unease. You feel guilty. This is not his fault, this terror, and you know he feels like it is. You know he thinks you’re afraid of him specifically, not the rest of the world, not the unknown, not the pressing walls of the car. 

You drive in silence for some time, moving at a slow, steady speed. He makes no quick movements, smokes no cigarettes, shows no sign of emotion but for the slight tenseness of his jaw. The hand nearest to you is on the wheel, the one on the other side resting on the seat next to his thigh. You reach the countryside. The sun hovers high above the low grass, bringing it from green to slight brown, and you feel the summer coming, the death of the greenery around you for the sake of warmth. 

Your eyes are closed when the car falls to a stop. Your blood freezes over, and you don’t open your eyes. You haven’t driven far enough to have reached Arrow House. This, you think, this is when your fear is confirmed. No, it can’t be, it’s Tommy, the only person you’ve allowed to touch you in literal years. But, still, you fear the consequences of your vulnerability, you fear how easily he could take advantage. He would never. But he might. He would never. But he could. And you could do nothing about it. 

“Let’s walk.” He slips out of the car, walks around to open your door. “Come on.”

You stare at him, your shaking intensifying with the proximity. “What?”

“Let’s walk,” he says again. 

“Okay.” 

His tone tells you nothing, no hint of his intentions. You awkwardly lower yourself from the car, wavering as your feet touch the ground. On instinct, it seems, he reaches out to steady you. You flinch away, almost violently, and his jaw tightens. Without another word, he turns and walks off. You take a moment to calm yourself, then follow, each step aching where you were torn and bruised and battered. 

“Tommy,” you croak out. “Tommy, please.” 

He slows to allow you to catch up, but you keep a distance between you regardless, too worried to close the gap. He watches you expectantly, his eyes flicking over your face, reading you like an open book. Your heart is on your sleeve; he can see everything, all the fear you feel, the panic and the guilt. And, still, you shake. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, wavering in place, trying to hold yourself together. “I’m sorry. I’m— I don’t know— I don’t know what’s happening.”

He steps towards you, his mouth opening slightly, one hand lifting, then falling by his side. You’re so fragile, you think. You’re so damn fragile that he’s scared to break you, scared to touch you. As he should be. You really are close to an edge that you don’t understand how to back away from. 

You take a deep, shaking breath, your body stilling for a second, maybe two, before trembling again. “Please, don’t— don’t leave me. Don’t walk away. I’m— It’s just so fresh, Tom, I don’t know how else to be. I’m trying to calm down and I can’t, I’m just so scared and I can’t control it. I can’t control it. And it’s not your fault, it’s not, and I can’t even look at you—” 

You break off in a small, hiccuping sob, then shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the emotion. You wrap your arms around yourself, begging the world or whatever God will listen to help you, to make him understand. 

He’s quiet for a moment before speaking. “You remember when I called you. When I needed help.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but you nod anyway. 

“I needed a reason. Something to hold onto. Some kind of fucking hope in a hopeless world. And then you came into my life.” His voice softens. “I don’t know how to help you, my love, but I promise you I will try. In any way I can, I will be there. It is my fault, some of it. So, no matter how you change, no matter how fearful you become, I will stay by your side. I will do you no harm. Remember?”

You nod again, lip trembling with the rest of you, holding back tears. 

“Tragedy seems to love you as much as I do, eh?” There’s a faint smile on his lips, a sad one, almost as shaky as yours is. 

Finally, you manage to look at him, meeting his eyes. They’re blue and cold but inside, deep inside, there’s something of a fire, of a star, consuming itself to burn. For the first time, you understand, that star burns for you. That light is there because you are, and as long as you’re with him, you’ll get to see the beauty of it. 

You like that he looks at you like no one else could ever compare. It almost stills your trembling, at least for a moment, and you sigh, relieved. 

Slowly, tentatively, like a newly gentled horse approaching a human for the first time, you walk towards him. Your gaze is on the ground, your heart in your throat. You’re battered and broken and deeply, deeply hurt. There are scars in places you didn’t know you had, buried deep in the halls of your mind, but somewhere in there, there’s a matching ember, a matching star to his. 

Hope, you think. That’s what it is. That’s what you give to each other. You are two people who inspire each other to keep living, to keep moving on, and that’s the closest definition you can think of to love. 

You reach him. His eyes flick over your nose, now bumpy and held in place by a brace, and the bandage on your neck, then find their way back to your eyes. Then he nods, and starts to walk again, slowly this time, allowing you to keep pace. You stay with him, eyes on the horizon, and you feel yourself leaning instinctually towards him, despite the shaking of your body, despite the lack of breath in your lungs. 

“Can I hold your hand?” The question comes under his breath, barely spoken. 

You reach out and take his hand, yours battered and bandaged and painful, his callused and scarred. And you walk towards the blue horizon, and slowly, your shaking starts to still. 

Always. Always, you’ll walk together like this. 

Hand in unlovable hand. 

#only the wild ones #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic

[mlmxreader]

Walk Away | Alfie Solomons x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ “You fucking stay there” + “Love shouldn’t be something we have to hide”

[Maybe Alfie and partner have a fight about something in line with the business. Alfie continues on to conduct the dangerous work without them, but they end up there anyway because if he's stubborn, his partner is just as much if not more so] ❞

: ̗̀➛ You have never given up on Alfie, even when everything seems wrong and everything is awful, you have never given up on him - you are his only constant, if only because you're too stubborn to let him do it alone.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, smoking

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You and Alfie were far from happy with one another, scowling looks and short huffs, avoiding each other and every and any opportunity; it wasn’t always like that, though, even just half a day ago, things were absolutely fine and you and Alfie were just like any other couple in the world.

But then Luca Changretta came along, and you were far from pleased; the Italian-American gangster swinging his weight around everywhere and trying to play Alfie for a fool. You despised him and everything he stood for, even if he was far from Tommy Shelby in terms of being an absolute cunt.

But, as Alfie’s business partner, you made it known that you disapproved and that you thought getting into business with Changretta would mean death; Alfie refused, though, which was how the fight started.

He never raised a hand to you, never could or would, but shouting was a different matter; he could scream and shout at you just like you could scream and shout at him in return.

Everyone who worked for the pair of you knew better than to get in the way, scurrying off and scrambling away like rats aboard a sinking ship, desperate to find something to cling to; you couldn’t really say that you were surprised, though, you and Alfie were a forced to be reckoned with at the best of times.

But you could never give up on him, you could never bring yourself to be away from him for very long. Even if he was a fucking idiot. 

So you sat there, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the window as you scowled and folded your arms across your chest; the Italian squirmed, sparing an uneasy look at you.

“Call your dog off, Solomons.”

Alfie shook his head, glancing at you. “We’re not on speaking terms.”

Changretta’s mouth fell open as he gawked at him. “You’re not on speaking terms with your own right hand?”

Alfie shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “My lieutenant has a mind of his own, I can’t fuckin’ do shit - once he’s got a scent, he ain’t gonna fuckin’ drop it.”

You glared at him, sneering as you exposed a few of your teeth; Alfie shot you a look back, and Changretta shifted uneasily in his seat. Clearing his throat, Alfie slid a stack of papers towards Changretta.

“My agreements,” he started, “and conditions. If you cock up, because you lot always fuckin’ do, I want no part in it.”

Changretta’s hand shook as he reached for the paper, flinching when you moved and planted your hand on the stack, hunched over and glaring at him; he swallowed thickly, looking between you and Alfie and knowing that the latter would not do anything to call off his dog.

“You fucking stay there,” you growled. “Do not fucking move.”

“Why don’t you step outside?” Alfie asked Changretta. “I need a word with my right hand.”

Changretta was all too happy to do so, nearly bolting out of the office; Alfie glared at you, snatching your wrist in his hand as he stood up and squared up to you, his voice low and harsh.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving your fucking arse,” you replied with as much malice as you could muster. “Do you seriously think he’s gonna keep to his fucking word? Do you not think he’ll fucking kill you the second he gets the chance?”

He clenched his jaw, dropping your wrist so he could run his hand down his face, shaking his head. “We’ve spoken about this already. Don’t keep fuckin’ tellin’ me that-”

“That it’s fucking dangerous to go out tonight with that cunt?” You hissed. “Tough shit, Alf. Whether you like it or not, I’m not gonna fucking stop telling you - it’s dangerous.”

He grumbled, but he should have known better; as stubborn as he was, you could often be worse. He wouldn’t budge for any man, but you wouldn’t budge for anything, not even the end of the world.

He knew that you made him look… well, you made him look like there wasn’t a stubborn bone in his body.

“If you don’t like it,” he growled. “There’s the fuckin’ door. You’re more than welcome t’leave this un out.”

You scoffed, raising your hand and gently laying it on his cheek. “You’re a fucking bastard when you wanna be, Alf. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You best be careful,” you warned him. “Because I’m not gonna be there to save your arse this time.”

He watched, sighing heavily as you turned and walked away; he clenched his jaw again, swallowing thickly as he tried to steady his nerves. It was the first time you had ever walked out on him, the first time you had ever refused to be at his side for anything; even when you were in the trenches together, you never left him like that.

You never walked away.

When the deadly mists blew harshly across No Man’s Land, you always fixed his gas mask before your own, knowing the risks. But now you walked away, and if he was honest, he wasn’t quite sure if he knew what to do about it. Still, he brought Changretta back into his office, and he finalised the plans for the night.

Guns of all kinds were strewn across the table along with knives, fire bottles and a few explosives; Alfie looked at them, and almost laughed. It looked like the Major’s table back in France, only this time, there were no bayonets.

Changretta and his men were talking across the room, going over the final plans and ensuring that everyone knew what they were doing, when the door opened. Alfie looked up, and slowly crossed over to the door.

He was quick to pin you against it, his hands either side of your head as he swallowed thickly.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You put your hands on his chest, tugging at his shirt slightly. “Making sure you don’t get killed.”

Alfie sighed, his breath shaky as he dropped his head, pressing his face against the side of your neck as he dropped his voice to little more than a mumble. “You’re gonna get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

“A life for a life,” you muttered, trying not to smile when he gently kissed your neck. “You saved me in the Devil’s Wood. I’m saving you now.”

He scoffed, his hands trailing down to your sides as he grumbled softly. “I thought you weren’t gonna save me.”

“I had a change of heart,” you grumbled back, gently pushing him away so you could look into his eyes. “You once told me that love shouldn’t be something we have to hide - so I’m not hiding it.”

Gently taking your hand in his own, Alfie turned to look at the others. “You sure you’re willin’ to fuckin’ do this?”

“No,” you shook your head. “But I can’t let you get yourself killed without me.” 

#mlem writes #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons x yn #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons oneshot #alfie solomons one shot #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x yn #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy x you #tom hardy x y/n #tom hardy x yn #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy imagines #tom hardy oneshot

[romeulusroy]

Pedigree (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,211

A/N: Has it been a million bajillion kajillion years since I've written? Yes. Do I feel good about this? Yes strangely enough :P I've been reading a lot, so maybe that's helped. I haven't been feeling good lately, but this makes me feel better. It makes me think I haven't run out of words, that I'm not trapped in this block forever y'know? 💞  Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLISTS / TAG LIST 

You were out for blood. 

You wanted his head on a silver platter. Served to you. You wanted his mouth hung open, gory and gummy, his teeth pried from their sockets. You wanted his eyes, those eyes that bore so deeply into your marrow, eyes that undermined you every time he saw you, bright and cruel. Mocking. Pried wide open, watching his empire fall. The rest of him scattered. Discarded. Did it really matter? It used to. You used to fantasize about the day they brought him to you. All the ways you’d tear him apart, butcher him like he has done to so many. Leaving a single bullet hole, if he was lucky. Often, he wasn’t, not in your care. You wanted him to suffer the same way he has made you your entire life. Since then, you’ve come to a realization: those fantasies, with their theatrics, were childish. The kind of thing he himself would laugh at, call adorable, naive, cute. That laugh. It haunted you now. His head, his eyes, teeth, that is what you needed. He was all bark and no bite. Until then, you wouldn’t be satisfied. 

Once upon a time you worshiped him. He was your world, everything you wanted to be. Demanding, diplomatic, daunting. You wanted to follow in his footsteps, to rule with an iron fist. You did as you were told without a second thought, his toy soldier. You stitched a smile across your face every time he spoke to you, the anger and disappointment reigning in his voice, his words. How sharp they used to be, slicing you to ribbons. You’d be bleeding, hemorrhaging out on the floor by the time his speech was done. And when he was, when the air was thick with dismay, you collected your innards and thanked him, slipping back into the shadows until you were needed again. He spat insults at you from the time you could understand them. A few times you’d dodged a glass of something toxic, smashing into the wall behind you. Shards glittered across the floor, crackling beneath the soles of your shoes. It was your job to clean it up. It was your fault. Everything was. When a scapegoat was necessary, you were the first to come to mind. Given odd jobs beneath the rest. Ones that could have gotten you killed. Should have. Sometimes, you wished it had. Would that have made him care? Mourn your loss? Would there have been any change to his temperament? Probably not. There were always others desperate enough to slink their way into your position, the lowest of the low. Desperate enough to get close to him, to know what liquor he liked, what car he drove, what clothing he wore in hopes that it would rub off on them. Give them the same power. It made you sick. 

To him, you were nothing. Worthless. Incapable. There had never been a softness for you the way there had been for the others. You’d begun to think it was you. There was something wrong with you. Had you said something? Done something? Too many nights you lay awake, wondering what he could see that you couldn’t. There had to be a logical reason, hadn’t there? There had to be something in your flesh, your bones, your muscles. Something structurally, genetically, impossibly wrong. A speck in your eyes. An eyelash out of sorts. A freckle, a scar, a mark on your body that shouldn’t be there. Years you spent looking, watching, waiting for it to be explained so you could fix it and finally win him over. Small acts of kindness. Leaving him freshly picked flowers. Doing everything he said. Being well behaved. You stayed to yourself mostly, understanding things were different than before. He’d changed. They all had. He was monstrous. Hungry. Tormented. Every night you’d hear his screaming, crying out, crumbling from the inside out. In the morning, no one said a word. It’s been many years since then. You wondered if it was your memory distorting things, changing your own behaviors. No, no you were sure you’d been nothing but kind.

Whoever Tommy saw when he looked at you, whatever he saw, was not you. That much was clear. 

He blamed you for her death, Pol. He put that target on your back, on your chest, between your fucking eyes. The silence was the worst of it. The berating, the anger, the destruction, you’d grown used to it. It had become a dance, in a way. You knew all the right steps, all the best apologies, until he’d finally calmed down long enough for you to catch your breath, to straighten out the mess. Not this time. You were dropped from the family without a second thought. Ice ran through his veins. He wasn’t just changed, he was unrecognizable. Your throat was raw from pleading, sobbing, trying to get him to listen. To understand. On your hands and knees begging. You had no part in this, you were being framed. No one could believe you. You’d slipped up, gave out information you shouldn’t have. Thats the conclusion they came to. He didn’t just ignore you, he killed you. Murdered you. Everyone, everyone you ever loved, all the people you considered family, by blood and not, turned their backs on you. You wanted to pound your fists into the floorboards until they bled. You wanted to scream and cry and throw a tantrum. You would have prayed to a God that had never listened before that very moment if that meant he would give you a minute to defend yourself, proclaim your innocence, save your soul. The decision had been made, there was no going back. The Shelby name no longer belonged to you. It never would. If only you’d known how fast that title could be ripped from you. 

They moved on. None of them have reached out, spoken to you in secret. There were no letters, no calls, nothing. You grew a hard shell. Learned to adapt. To be on you own, completely alone. Without them, without him, you came to realize you were never the problem. You had never done anything wrong. You had not been born with a defect only he could sense. You were a child when he’d come back, so young, so fragile. You took his words to heart. All those years spent at the bottom, the youngest of the family, had taught you more than you ever thought. People believed him to be bulletproof. He was indestructible. Godly. You knew though, you knew the weakest parts of him. What kept him up at night. What drove him mad. You couldn’t get back all that time, all those years, your entire life. You couldn’t turn back the clock. You couldn’t make him change his ways. Those, he was too set in, a creature of habit. But you could make him pay. You could make him regret everything he’d ever said and done to you. Make him beg like you’d done countless times, your pleas ignored, berated. You could make him fear for his life. And when the time came, because it always would, you would not hesitate to pull the trigger the same way your brother had.

#writing #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby oneshot #thomas shelby drabble #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders x reader #x reader #drabble #oneshot #shalby sibling #thomas shelby x sister reader #shelby sister #shelby sister x reader

[prettygreenpills]

I have saved this idea for today and just saw your post about that I can request any day-

so basically, I want to request mean mistress Polly:) with some overstimulation, knife kink and bitchy!reader? I think this is it.

thank you so much!

Oh lord- I can say- you have a good taste in smut love-

characters: Polly Gray x fem!reader

rundown: you were pushing Polly’s limits and she shows you who is in charge

warnings: smut!, mean!Polly, mistress!Polly, gxg smut, knife kink, fingering, bondage kink, etc.

request status: opened

“You have some hearing problems?” She asked you as she turned back to face you and you frowned. “Since you didn’t follow my command.”

“I am sorry.”

“Mistress.”

“I am sorry mistress,” you said and looked into the pair of deep brown eyes which were undressing your already undressed body. You remembered of what had Polly told you before you zoned out and you sat onto the chair, wide opening your legs.

You were in her office where no one was. You heard soft footsteps and you knew it was the brown haired woman. As you heard her breath at your ear, you closed your eyes, shivering.

“Stretch those legs out,” Polly commanded and you really slowly parted your legs. The cold air hitting your body and since you were already dripping onto the chair, it was even colder for you. “I will show you what will you get once you push Polly’s limits. You have been playing a dirty game for the whole week Y/n. Did you think it would’ve gone without any consequences?”

“No mistress,” you whispered and closed your eyes. You knew that you had been bad in the previous few days and you knew you hadn’t thought Polly would take it- here.

Polly’s hand slid between your thighs. An idea of that couldn’t be bad at all could it? You had no idea what was Polly talking about, she seemed to pleasure you.

Her fingers found your clit and she started drawing slow circles while her lips were at your ear.

“First you dare not to come to the meeting. Then you don’t do the paperwork I gave you. Then you decide not to show up at work and then you act like a bitch. Where did this all came from?” Polly asked you, remembering you do the previous week and how it went.

“I-“ you wanted to answer her but as she knew what were you about to do, she used three of her thick fingers. And that already hurt.

“You? Cat got your tongue?”

“I didn’t do the most of that you said,” you whispered, fighting for some air when Polly started fingering you.

“Are you sure? I don’t think that,” she said, her voice lower. As she said this, she pulled her fingers out and then she took something. She walked in front of you, so you could see her and you saw a rope in her hands. “Legs to the chair,” she commanded and you put your legs into the position she told you.

Polly wasn’t even gentle. She tied your legs to the chair really tightly you were afraid she would cut your blood circulation. When she was done, you looked at the brown haired woman and she looked you into your eyes.

Without any warning, she used two of her fingers and started fingering you. She didn’t start slow or gentle. She started with the speed she liked the most and you whined when you felt her fingers brushing your walls, making you feel all floaty.

“O-oh-“ you moaned and let your head fall limp with closed eyes. Polly didn’t adjust your head, she didn’t care. You messed up and you were taking the punishment.

She did everything to make you cum. She licked your nipples from time to time, pushed her fingers deep inside or stimulated your clit. And you liked all of that. And that was the mistake.

When Polly saw your legs shaking a little and felt your cunt clench around her fingers, she kissed you onto your clit. When you gasped and pushed your hips up, Polly pulled away, not making you cum.

“Oh come on!”

“Shut up you slut,” Polly hissed and you whined out quietly. “You thought that I would let you cum?”

“Mhm-“

“Too bad,” Polly said and when she was sure the wave of orgasm faded away, she started again. First with circling your clit.

“Please-“

The woman in front of you totally ignored you. When she used her fingers again, she started even rougher than before. You threw your head back and clenched your teeth, letting out whines.

She seemed to ignore you. Once you heard how wet you were and felt the familiar tickling in your stomach, you didn’t say a word. Maybe she would let you cum like that. If she didn’t know you were close.

But Polly Gray wasn’t dumb as you thought. She looked up into your face, finding you biting on your lower lip and she felt you clenching around her fingers. Reaching her hand out, she squeezed your nipple along with pulling her fingers out, what left you feeling even more destroyed than you really were.

“Mistress!” You half screamed, half begged and when the comfortable sparks faded away, you whined out loudly. “Please- I will be a good girl, please-“ you begged her. As you opened your eyes again to look at her, you sucked in a breath. She was holding a knife against your throat. One of her sharpest ones.

“Then be a one. And follow my commands, hm?” Polly challenged you and you gulped that loud she could hear that. A smirk settled on her face and she kept holding the knife against your throat. Her fingers went further inside of you than ever and your breathing sped up.

“Oh-“ you moaned quietly, feeling the knife deeper in the skin of your throat.

Polly’s fingers were sliding in and out of you rhythmically. She was making you feel lot of different feelings but you were sure about that she was doing so good for you. And you didn’t complain. But if she would let you cum-

Her fingers felt thick. She was stimulating your clit with her other hand and you clenched your muscles as you were sitting on the chair, remembering of that you, your legs and arms were tied to it.

You felt your walls clenching. Your belly tickled and shiver ran down your spine. Your eyes were closing from the feeling she was making you go through and your toes started dangerously curling. Maybe it would be better if you told her about it-

But on the other hand, you didn’t want to. Polly became even rougher and you sucked in a breath. You needed just a little bit of her movements and you were ready to cum-

“Fuck!”

“Don’t you dare cum.”

“But mistress!” You whined loudly, feeling your head hurt. Polly smiled over your behavior and you gave up. You couldn’t hold it. “Fucking god!”

Polly immediately pulled out her fingers and backed away. You were on the edge, the highest spot. All you needed was a little push, only one stroke. But she didn’t give it to you.

“Please!” You screamed as loud as you could but it didn’t seem to help. Polly cleaned off her fingers and backed away even more. She checked your body on the chair and then she smiled.

“I think it was enough.”

“But-“

“If it wasn’t you can stay here like this until the morning,” she said and you decided to shut up immediately. “You’re learning fast, but not as fast as I would wish,” Polly breathed out and freed you.

The blood circulation returned to your legs and you massaged them. When you felt your core twitch, you just let out an unsatisfied breath and Polly chuckled.

With this, she left from the room and you breathed out in exhaustion, knowing that if you would fuck up one more time she could be even meaner.

#pollygray #pollyshelby #pollygray smut #dom pollyanna shelby #smut #Peaky blinders oneshot #writers on tumblr #gxg #polyannashelbygray #pollysmut #pollyshelbysmut #leabiansmut #domsubrelationship #dom x sub

[cottonwren]

If any tommy/alfie shippers haven't read @whentommymetalfie 's entire WTMA AU on Ao3, what the fuck are you doing. It's the best. It's all I will ever need. It is the lifeblood in my heart. It is the wind in my sails.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby imagine #alfie x tommy #tommy x alfie

[locke-writes]

Across Time

Author: locke-writes

Title: Across Time

Song: Young Love - Eli Lieb, with Arthur Shelby For: Anonymous

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,247

Tag List: @fangirlings-things​ / @imaginesbymk​ / @multifandomfix​ / @retvenkos​ / ask to be added

Arthur Shelby felt he was not destined for love. All Shelby's seemed only to be filled with pain. They were harbingers of destruction, there was nothing every gentle about them even if one mistook an action for softness there was often an edge underneath. Anger was what filled Arthur, what managed — at times — to sustain him. How could someone with such a brutal anger ever come to be loved? This thought often floated into his mind throughout the day.

There were darker thoughts that lived inside his mind, that appeared when he had begged them to stay away. Many men who went to war and returned had returned changed, no longer recognizable from who they once had been. Arthur knew there were those worse off than himself, yet still he knew he had been changed. There was no denying it of course, there was no denying anything about the war. He would lay in bed in the dead of night only to have memories appear, memories distorted and horrifying. Things that would frighten anyone if they saw them and frightened Arthur more because he knew that they were real.

Often the nightmares, or even the thought that they would come, prevented Arthur from sleeping. He could remedy this by getting drunk although there had been times where this had only made the nightmares worse, or he could remedy it by walking the streets until the sun rose. Whether anyone knew that he did the latter, they never spoke of it, nor of Arthur's frequency or being half asleep during family meetings. On most nights Arthur never saw another soul parading down the darkness of the city, he was alone, always alone. To some extent he liked it this way. He knew who he was and how he was perceived, during the day if anyone came walking down the street they might move to avoid him but in the middle of the night there was no one around to show how they feared him, to make him hate the kind of anger he had and the fear it instilled.

You started walking late at night when you couldn't focus on anything else, when sleep evaded you and your eyes kept roaming the same sentence of whatever novel you had been reading, over and over again. There was never an acknowledgement that Arthur was walking the city as well, never any understanding that this was something he too was experiencing. Whether he recognized you or even wished to know you again, he never made an effort.

When you were twelve you had met Arthur for the first time. With nothing to do you'd gone down to the river, throwing stones into the water. There were two boys one that might have been your age and one clearly at least two years younger. Arthur didn't introduce himself that day, just stood beside you after shouting something at Tommy before turning back and joining you in throwing stones.

Over the years you and Arthur had become inseparable. While you received your fair share of warnings regarding the Shelby family all your experiences convinced you that everyone was wrong. Certainly they led a life filled with crime, that much was true, but it wasn't as though any member of the family had any want in corrupting you, in making you run errands for them. Over the years as you and Arthur grew older, you found yourself falling in love with him.

Whispers of war began creeping throughout England and you knew what was to come. You knew that Arthur would leave, would go off to fight and might die somewhere away from home. You knew if he did then he would never know how you felt about him, which meant you had to gain the courage to confess to him.

You ran over the words in your head for weeks on end before you made up your mind to confess. One night you stopped him from leaving the betting shop, stopped him before he went off to the pub or had something to do with Tommy or John. He was silent for a moment after you told him, a silence that you feared greatly until he broke it not with words but with an action, with a kiss. He loved you too.

When the orders came for him to join up and fight, you were filled with sorrow. You knew that his promise to return to you was one that he couldn't actually give, you both knew. You wanted it to be true, wanted him to come home but there was never a guarantee anyone who went off to war, would ever come back. Fighting for your country meant sacrificing yourself so that the home you had left could go on existing even if you perished.

For a few months it was easy enough to keep up with the letters, to tell him in writing that you loved him. But then responses stopped coming and while you wished to believe that he was still alive, the lack of any proof seemed confirmation enough.  As the war went on there were whispers that the Shelby's who had left Small Heath, were alive, but it didn't matter what the rumors said, it only mattered what you could confirm. So you would always love Arthur, but you never felt that you would see him again until the nights when he began to walk the streets of the city.

Arthur knew what his lack of writing would have meant to you, what you would have assumed. It was why he never wished to correct this when he returned, he went out of his way to avoid you during the day. Of course you would have heard that he had come back alive, this was not where his worry stemmed, no, it stemmed from what you would think of him. He had changed and he knew this, what you might think of him know he was terrified of finding out.

You wondered just why he had been avoiding you, wondered why he never had come to see you after the war. Even if he no longer loved you it was better to know that he was there then to live in the middle of questioning what had gone wrong. For Arthur it was hard to come up with the words to tell you how he felt, to tell you he was sorry, to tell you that he wanted to know what you would think of him now. It was a conversation that had to have been done and yet he couldn't imagine what the outcome might be and that was where the worry came.

Night after night he had avoided you until he could take being apart from you no longer. He had to at least know if you hated him for what he had been like since his return. He wanted to know if you could still love him because his heart had ached every day since he had been home, broke every moment of the day in which he walked past you without a word. Whatever happened next he would accept it, he just had to know what that next would be.

He had never expected it to be what might mend his heart.

"Everyone's changed in some way Arthur. Whether you've changed more than others I don't know, but I do know that I'll love you always. Then and now you'll still have me."

#locke writes #peaky blinders #arthur shelby #peaky blinders fic #arthur shelby fic #peaky blinders fanfic #arthur shelby fanfic #peaky blinders oneshot #arthur shelby oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #arthur shelby imagine

[convenienc-e]

Are people still interested in peaky? Cooking up a new fic <3

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinder oneshot #peaky blinders imagine

[runnning-outof-time]

Hasn’t Burned Down Yet | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @asherlockfandom

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: (Y/N) proves that she's still not one to be messed with when it comes to her business. Tommy's happy he's not the one in the line of fire this time.

Warnings: drinking, mentions of smoking

Word Count: 3475

A/N: I’m sorry it took me so long to share this one with y’all…I’ve been going through it lately hah. I had a bunch of fun writing it though. I hope you like it. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: this can be read as a standalone, but to really know the Tommy and (Y/N) in this story, I suggest you check out the first part: The House’ll Burn Down…you can find it HERE.

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged!

"Someone's waiting up front for you, (Y/N)," Anna, one of (Y/N)'s employees, announced as she came into the back of the shop.

"Tell them I'll be out in five," (Y/N) responded, her eyes not leaving the latest sketch she was working on.

"He's not the sort that you keep waiting," Anna stated, her words making (Y/N) look up. The latter expected to see a look of worry on the former's face. Instead a slight smile was present.

"Ok...?" (Y/N) trailed off sounding slightly confused as she stood from her desk and walked to the front of the shop. Her brow stayed furrowed until she made it to the front counter and saw who was waiting for her.

"You forgot about my appointment, didn't you?" the man waiting out front asked, his one eyebrow quirked as a smirk played on his lips.

"Just come back, Mr. Shelby," (Y/N) dismissed his teasing question, trying her best to hide her smile as she motioned to him, making Tommy walk around the counter to join her.

"I've got the front," Anna announced, smiling at her boss.

"Thank you, Anna," (Y/N) nodded, sending the younger woman a smile before she began to walk back to the workroom.

"Why do you insist on keeping appointments here?" (Y/N) questioned as she led him to one of the fitting rooms. "This could be done on our own time, you know."

"I thought it was you who insisted on keeping a separation between business and pleasure, hmm?" Tommy commented with a grin, following her into the fitting room before he took hold of her arm and spun her to face him. He pressed his lips to hers and slipped his arms around her waist before she could say a word.

"Separation between business and pleasure, hmm?" she quipped once they'd pulled away, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Was you who wanted it, not me," he reminded her, sending a wink her way. (Y/N) rolled her eyes at the gesture, but she couldn't stop her smile from growing. "Wanted to do that from the second I saw you out there," he admitted then.

"Well I'm happy you were able to control yourself, Mr. Shelby," (Y/N) commented, patting his chest.

"I try my best, Mrs. Shelby," he responded, making her let out a breath of a laugh before she leaned in and kissed him again. "Your composure's easy to crack," he commented with a grin once they pulled away.

"Let's just get this finished with...before I become upset with you," (Y/N) said with a smile, pushing on his chest to break their embrace so that she could grab the things she needed to begin taking measurements.

Truthfully she knew the measurements of her husband by now, but Tommy still insisted on these fittings. He wanted to make sure that things were perfect. It wasn't that he doubted his wife's work, if anything it was because this gave him another chance to spend some time with her. Time was something that neither had much of due to their busy schedules.

Surely you’ve noticed by now that things have - obviously - changed between (Y/N) and Tommy. It most certainly didn't happen overnight though. After (Y/N) put Tommy in his place, she fully expected him to take his business elsewhere. But he stuck around, and when he realized that she wasn't going to change how she dealt with him, he decided to change his approach. One thing led to another and eventually, as of two months ago, (Y/N) found herself with a new surname. She honestly couldn't think of a time where she's been as happy as she is now.

Along with getting married, (Y/N)'s business has also taken off. She's now one of the most respected tailors in not only Small Heath, but the entirety of Birmingham. She worked hard to gain her reputation, and all of the countless hours that she spent mastering her craft have certainly paid off.

"What will you be wearing to the event?" Tommy decided to make conversation whilst (Y/N) was still taking measurements.

"Since when is that something you care about?" she playfully quipped in response as she moved over to her clipboard and wrote a few notes before returning to him.

"I want to make sure you match me," he gave his reason.

"Oh I'll make sure you do, darling," she smiled at him, her eyes finding his for just a moment before she motioned for him to hold his arms out so that she could take the measurements for his suit's jacket.

She bit on her bottom lip to try and conceal the smile as she brought her tape measure up and held it against the underneath of his arm. She did this to both sides before moving it down to hold it against his torso. She really had to bite on her bottom lip as she slowly moved her hand down along his ribs. Just like she expected him to, Tommy flinched the second her fingers touched the space below his ribs.

"Stop moving," she teasingly chastised him, continuing on with making her measurements.

Tommy just grunted in response, watching her closely as she finished with his left side and moved onto his right. Here she slowed her actions down substantially. He couldn't help but flinch again when her fingers brushed over that same spot.

"I said stop moving, Thomas," she rebuked him again, lifting her gaze up to match his, showing him the smile that was present on her features.

"You know what you're doing," he commented, his eyes narrowing as they stayed locked onto hers.

"I do," she chirped, tilting her chin upwards, "very well."

"Then you should know..." he trailed off, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes, "that I know those exact same spots on you," he paused, his eyes dropping to sneak a glance at her frame, "very well," he finished his statement by reaching out and pressing his fingers into the skin of her sides, where she was extremely ticklish.

These actions made (Y/N) shriek and quickly drop her hands so that she could try to get him to stop what he was doing. It wasn't an easy feat. "Tommy, stop!" she exclaimed through her giggles, finally managing to get ahold of his hands and pull them from her sides after a few moments had passed. "We're supposed to be professional here," she hissed at him then, trying her best to hide the smile that just wouldn't stay away. She stopped trying when she noticed that he was already smiling.

"Fair enough," he nodded, showing that he was conceding to her. "Finish your measurements."

(Y/N) let go of his hands with a huff and bent down to grab the tape measure that had been discarded when this all started. They then sent each other a look: (Y/N) to check if he was really finished with his previous tirade, and Tommy to tell her 'no more funny business'.

The stare down lasted a few moments, but nothing else happened once (Y/N) resumed taking her measurements. The only time the envelope was pushed was when Tommy spun (Y/N) around and managed to sneak a kiss just before she crossed the threshold into the front of the shop.

(Y/N) made sure that Tommy's suit complimented her dress for the gala they were attending that evening. She had picked out a royal blue evening gown, and made sure that Tommy's suit was a charcoal color and had a blue tie to bring it together. She also wanted to include a blue pocketsquare but Tommy fought it, saying that the tie was enough. (Y/N) finally conceded when Frances came and announced that their car had arrived, instead telling Tommy that he'd need to make this up to her in some way.

Now the event was in full swing. (Y/N) stayed by Tommy's side, joining him in the conversations that he was having. She was able to add meaningful viewpoints, and Tommy appreciated that. Her presence was way more than just a prize on his arm.

"Mr. Shelby, I must bring attention to the fine suit you've got on," Elliot Thorsby, a man who was a prominent figure in automobile sales, began as he approached the couple. (Y/N)'s smile grew as she heard what he said. The suit she made had been getting compliments like this one all evening. "Might I ask where you had it made?"

"Me wife’s the one who made it," Tommy was happy to share, nodding his head to the woman standing on his right. "She makes all of my suits."

"Ahh," Elliot responded, looking surprised as he nodded slowly. "Is she open to taking on new clients?" he asked then, still speaking to Tommy.

"Now that's something that I wouldn't know personally," Tommy began, glancing over at his wife before he continued, "why don't you ask her yourself?"

Elliot held Tommy's gaze for a few beats before it seemed like he snapped out of whatever bubble he was in. That was when he finally turned his attention to (Y/N). "Are you taking new clients, Mrs. Shelby?" he asked, his bushy eyebrows raised in wait.

(Y/N) took a moment to respond to the question. She figured that he deserved to wait a few moments longer. After all it was him who decided to ask it indirectly in the first place. And she honestly quite enjoyed watching him squirm in his spot; obviously not used to being on the receiving side of this sort of situation.

"Well I've already got quite the schedule lined up, but for you, Mr. Thorsby, I'd be willing to make an exception," she finally informed him of her decision, a professional smile gracing her features.

"You would?" he sounded elated, almost like a kid on Christmas.

"I would," she affirmed with a nod.

"Wonderful," Elliot grinned. He paused as a man came to his side and whispered something in his ear. "You'll need to excuse me now, a business matter has come up. We'll reconnect at the end of the evening and schedule a time," he told the Shelby couple once the other man had left.

"That sounds fine," (Y/N) nodded at him, then accepting the handshake that Elliot extended to both her and Tommy. He was the first to leave the conversation, leaving the husband and wife to turn to each other.

"Got you another client," Tommy commented on the previous coversation as he fished the tin of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"We'll see how it goes," (Y/N) answered in a nonchalant manner, smiling at her husband as she shrugged her shoulders.

The earliest Elliot Thorsby was able to come to (Y/N)'s shop in Small Heath was two weeks after their initial conversation date.

She greeted him with a smile before telling Anna that she'd be taking this client and that the younger woman should man the desk while she was gone. Once everything was squared away in that regard, (Y/N) waved on Elliot for him to come back with her.

Things went well with the fitting. (Y/N) was able to get a good read on what Elliot wanted and had some great ideas for a design before she was even finished with the measurements. Now she couldn't wait to get some time alone to get started on her beginning sketches. But first she had to see Mr. Thorsby out.

The two returned to the front of the store. (Y/N) told Anna that she was able to return to her previous project, leaving her and Mr. Thorsby alone at the counter. She quickly got to work on calculating the price of the fitting visit and also what the suit would cost. She then shared that final price with him without second thought.

A few moments passed and Elliot still hadn't offered up the money yet. This made (Y/N) glance up from the ledger she was writing down the sale in. "Is there a problem?" she asked with raised brows, immediately noticing the sour look that was present on his face.

"Don't you think the price is a bit...much?" he questioned her.

"No, sir. It's spot on with what I normally charge," there was no hesitation in her answer.

"Yeah, but..." he trailed off, obviously not pleased with the response he was given. "But given my relationship with your husband, and the business we've conducted together…” he paused again, “well don't you think that warrants a lesser price?"

It took everything in (Y/N) to stop the scoff that she wanted to let out in response to his statement. It made her look of confusion quickly turn to one of surprise. "Your relationship and the manner in which you conduct business with my husband does not have any effect on how I run my business, Mr. Thorsby," she began, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, "I take pride in my work and I know how much my suits are worth."

"But for a man with my standing, don't you think that..."

"You'll pay full price for the suit," she cut him off before he could even finish his statement.

Hearing her blatant demand made his jaw go slack. "And if your husband gets knowledge of the manner in which you're treating his associates?" he decided to try another direction.

"My husband pays full price as well," she quickly shut him down for the second time, not in the slightest bit fazed by his threats.

"Your own husband?" there was bewilderment in Mr. Thorsby's voice.

"He knows how much they're worth," (Y/N) doubled down, once again speaking in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I think you're making a rather grand mistake here, Mrs. Shelby," he tried one last time to try and turn the tides in his favor.

(Y/N) didn't waste a moment worrying about his threat. "I think I'll be just fine," she assured him, a tight-lipped smile forming on her face. She hoped that it added salt into the wound she'd inflicted upon his ego.

"You're not afraid of what'll come once word of this gets out?" he still continued trying. It was almost comical now. She sent him a look; a non-verbal way of asking him 'are we finished here?'. But he paid no attention to it, instead trying one last line that he used when he didn't get his way. "Do you not know how much power I hold?"

Ahh, the power card, (Y/N) thought to herself as she continued to try her hardest and hold back her scoff, where have I heard that one before?.

She was way passed finished with him and his droning on at this point. His pestering had brought her to the end of her professional rope. She was trying like hell to keep herself composed and not lose her cool. She wanted to keep taking the high road.

A few moments passed before she took a deep breath and finally responded: "I've dealt with the likes of you before, Mr. Thorsby. I've been given threats harsher in nature than the one you've just told me. My shop hasn't burned down yet. So I'm not worried about what your comments on the prices of my suits will do to my reputation." Her eyes never left his as she spoke, showing him that she meant every single word.

Another pause arose, and (Y/N) wondered if maybe she'd finally gotten through to him. Maybe he'll finally leave.

But, of course, he stayed standing in front of the counter. "Are you sure this is the path you want to take?" he gave one last try, his eyebrows raising as he tried to keep up his imposing figure. It was more then obvious that said figure wasn't working on (Y/N) though.

"Are you going to pay for the suit, Mr. Thorsby?" she asked him, no longer wanting to entertain his theatrics, her eyes still locked onto his. It became even more apparent as each second passed that she wasn't going to change her mind on this.

"You'll regret this, Mrs. Shelby," he finally conceded, but not without throwing one last threat out there.

"As will you, Mr. Thorsby. Have a nice day," she nodded, still unfazed by all of it as her dismissive goodbye made him turn and exit her shop. She stood stoic and watched as the door shut behind him. Only when she was finally alone did she shake her head and let out a huff. "Prick," she muttered to herself before she tore the ledger sheet out of the book and crumbled it up.

"Do you remember Elliot Thorsby?" (Y/N) asked as she moved over to the mantlepiece in Tommy's office later that evening.

"Course I do," Tommy responded without up looking from the paper he was reading, "what about him?"

"He came for his fitting today," she started, grabbing one of the decanters and an empty glass so that she could pour herself a drink.

"And?" he asked for more information, finally looking up at her just as she spun to face him.

(Y/N) didn't answer right away, instead bringing the glass up to her lips and taking a healthy swig from it. She hissed at the burn that accompanied the whiskey as it slid down her throat and tried her best to smile at her husband. Tommy raised his eyebrows at her as he removed the glasses from the bridge of his nose, now waiting intently for her to share something with him.

(Y/N) brought the glass back up to her lips and held it there as she let the silence linger for a little bit longer. She didn't quite know why she was waiting so long...maybe she enjoyed watching him as he tried to hold his intent composure. "I don't think you should work with him anymore," she finally told him.

"Why not?" he immediately asked for more information.

"He felt that he should pay less for his suit because of his connection to you; felt that I should honor your relationship and then threatened me when I wouldn't adhere to his tactics," she happily told him about her interaction with the businessman.

"He threatened you?" Of course this was the part of her statement that Tommy fixated on.

"Well he tried to...the threats didn't really take," she shrugged, finishing the rest of her glass.

"What did he say to you?" he was still hung up on it.

"Tommy it was nothing," she brushed his worry off. His expression didn't change. (Y/N) let out a sigh before she began walking in his direction. "He told me that I'd lose my clients because he has influence," she told him as she stopped in front of where he was sitting. He looked up at her with raised eyebrows as he turned the chair in her direction. She took that as her signal to sit on his lap. He went back to staring straight ahead once she sat. It didn't take long for her to notice that he still wasn't completely convinced. "Tommy..." she trailed off, taking hold of his chin so that he'd be looking at her again, "what're you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that maybe I should go have a word with him."

"I told you it's fine. I handled it, and I'm not worried about what he's claiming he'll do," she assured him. A smile creeped onto (Y/N)'s features as she thought of something else to add. "Besides, it's not like he threatened me with arson...like this one client I had.”

Tommy couldn't stop the grin from forming as he immediately realized what she was hinting at. “Who’d threaten something like that, hmm?” he questioned, playing along with her.

“Someone who really wanted to try his luck,” she answered, letting go of his chin so that she could wrap her arms around his neck.

“I’d say the risk paid off,” he wagered, his hold on her tightening slightly so that he could pull her even closer.

“It seems like it did,” she agreed, leaning in and pressing her lips to his.

Their kiss was short, and he was soon parting from her to share the next move that he’d thought up. “Any business with Thorsby will be finished tomorrow.”

“Stop thinking about him and kiss me, Tommy,” she responded, her lips brushing against his as she spoke.

He chuckled at her abrupt statement and wasted no time in doing what she asked him to. His lips were back on hers within seconds, and Elliot Thorsby was the furthest thing from each of their minds.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @notyour-valentine @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @deadcrowcalling

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

[dandelionprints]

Don't Be Late

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N (lil bit of fluff, angst, tormented Tommy and comfort)

Summary: When Tommy makes a promise to his wife he could never imagine that breaking it could potentially cost Y/N her life.

Warnings: bad language, a couple of slur words as used in the show *not words that I myself deem acceptable!*, a lot of violence, mentions of injuries, blood and death. Reader discretion is advised, do not read if you feel uncomfortable with this kind of content

Word Count: This is a long one coming in at 6,800k

A/N: It's been a while since I've written a full blown fic but I was on a roll so I just went with it! I hope you enjoy, please do like, reblog and/or comment your thoughts on it, I really appreciate the feedback x

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"It's been three days, Pol. Why won't she wake up?"

He leant forwards in his chair, a hand gently grasping  Y/N's as she lay motionless on her hospital bed. Her body was battered with violent purple bruises and cuts covering what seemed to be every inch of her body.

The last three days had been hell, with a mixture of so many emotions running through him  that he didn't know where to put and the not knowing. Worry, anger, sadness. Guilt. So much guilt, it consumed him. 

Tommy wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to forgive himself for not being there to protect her. It could be said that it was a case of "wrong person, wrong time", but that did nothing to subside the sense of dread that filled his stomach whenever he thought about the brutality his wife had been through, all because of him. How scared she must have been on her own waiting for him to come and save her, but he came too late.

"Give her time, Tom. She's been through a lot, her body’s trying to heal, we can't rush these things. Besides, the doctor said this morning that the swelling and bleeding has started to go down so she is getting better. Slowly. We just have to be patient", Aunt Polly delicately placed her hand on his shoulder, softly stroking her thumb back and forth over the newly clean shirt. 

Polly had brought a clean set of clothes to the hospital after seeing that Tommy was too terrifed to leave Y/N at the hospital alone for even a second, leaving him wearing blood soaked clothes for the first day. Y/N's blood.

"I should've been there Pol. None of this would've happened if I hadn't gotten too cocky and dragged John and Arthur down to London to Sabini's club. All this for a fucking business expansion"

He lowered his head and brought his free hand to his forehead, pinching at the sides as if to relieve some of the stress growing with tension there.

"Fuck!", he shouted before quickly covering his face with his hand.

Tommy could feel tears springing to his eyes as he glared down between the gaps in his fingers at the speckled hospital floor. He was so tired of crying in the presence of anyone that wasn't Y/N since the night this whole shit show happened, it made him feel weak knowing other people could see that in fact, yes, Tommy Shelby does have emotions. Y/N  was the only one he'd been able to willingly show any kind of vulnerable emotion to since he'd returned from the war.

The sound of a lighter flicking open followed by the quick sizzle of a cigarette being lit came from behind him as Polly took a drag, before holding it within Tommy's line of vision. 

"Here, take this".

He hesitated for a moment, making sure that no tears would fall, then slowly lifted his head and reached for the now softly glowing cigarette bringing it to his lips and taking a long pull, exhaling the smoke as if it were the stress partially releasing from his body.

Aunt Pol watched him carefully, almost as if she were waiting to see if he was going to explode like a ticking time bomb or finally let his shoulders relax and sink into the chair. She was thankful when he chose the latter, slowly leaning back against the wooden frame, still holding onto Y/N's hand.

"You should go back to the house, Tom. Get some rest. I'll stay with her until you come back", she spoke softly, her own eyes tired from the constant secret worrying she'd been doing as well as sitting with Tommy next to Y/N's bed the last three days.

"No. I won't leave her, Pol. I can't leave her, it's my fault she ended up like this, I can't risk them coming back or the risk of her...", he stopped his words in their tracks as a lump formed in his throat. The tears that had only just subsided now came back, threatening to spill over, "Of her dying. Alone. Without me here letting her know she's safe, that I'm sorry. So fucking sorry"

Polly's face grew empathetic as she saw the pain etched all over Tommy's, the vacant glassiness of his eyes that had only grown darker over the past few days.

"She's not going to die..."

"She might, Pol!", his anger exploded then, the ticking time bomb she'd been waiting for had finally gone off.

The chair scraped on the floor as he stood, letting go of Y/N's hand, before turning to face his aunt who remained seated, not taking her eyes off him.

"How can you be so sure that she's gonna live, eh? How can you be so sure that she's ever going to open her eyes again?"

There was less accusation in his words than it seemed, more like a plead for some kind of reassurance or promise that the love of his life would be okay, that she'd return to the real world again.

Polly stood, then, calm and collected. 

"Because I know Y/N Shelby, and so do you. She's a tough girl, it'll take more than Sabini and the fuckers who did this to take her down. Now, go home and get some sleep. I'll stay here with her, give her a wash and read some of your poetry outloud. The nurses say she can still hear what's going on around her, that she may even end up dreaming of things that are being said so we'll be having no more talk of death. John said he'll take the next shift of watching the door so tell him when you get back to come here. You know he won't let those bastards go anywhere near her if they so much as step foot near the hospital"

Polly’s eyes remained on him like a mother scolding her child until they did what they were told. She knew that he was still reluctatant to leave Y/N's bedside but felt relief when he subtly nodded to her, stubbing out his cigarette and picking up his coat before leaning over Y/N to place a kiss on her head, being careful to avoid the purpling bruise that was forming there.

"I'll be back in two hours, Pol, then you can go home and get some sleep", he said simply, making his way over to the door.

"Not two, six. You need a proper sleep"

He narrowed his eyes at her without saying anything, his lips twitching as if ready to disagree with what his aunt had said.

"I'd say eight but I know you won't be able to stay away for that long. What good are you to her if your eyes can't even focus on what the gun is aiming at? Go. Get some sleep"

Three days earlier

They'd agreed that they would meet at 8pm later that evening, after Tommy finished up with business for the day, where the family car was stored in the garage near the Shelby family home.

"Don't keep me waiting too long", she giggled, stroking his face with the palm of her hand.

"Who says you'll be waiting?", he smiled, taking the hand that was on his cheek and bringing it to his mouth, placing a soft kiss to it.

The Garrison hadn't opened for the day yet but the Peaky Boys were starting to gather at the bar, getting in a pint before the days business was about to begin. John and Arthur were already trying to place a bet with Isaiah about who could down the most pints before blacking out with Arthur claiming it to be him.

"Eh, lads! No more drinking until business is finished for the day, and Arthur, I could place twenty pound on it being anyone but you who could drink the most", Tommy interrupted, leading to a cackle of ladish jeers. 

Y/N laughed before getting Tommy's attention once again, this time placing a finger beneath his chin and gently pulling his face towards hers.

"I know you, Tommy Shelby. You like to be on time when it's for business but business is also what makes you late to see me"

He felt a pang of guilt hit his stomach at her words, he knew she was right. He'd lost count of how many times he'd come home to find her curled up in front of the fire in his office fast asleep. How many times he'd either carried her up to bed or simply placed a blanket over her while he continued working into the early hours of the morning. 

"I promise, love. I'll be at the garage at 8pm sharp"

This time he leant forward and touched his lips to hers, taking in the sweet flavour of her lips that he loved so much.

"Go on, Pol will be waiting for you"

She paused, "Is it bad to say that I don't believe you?"

"I promise, Y/N"

She wanted to believe the sincerity in his eyes but a tiny part of her knew that she'd more than likely be kept waiting out in the cold while he finished up business for the day. 

"Okay", she half smiled, "I love you, Mr. Shelby"

Tommy kissed her then, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen across her face behind her ear.

"I love you too, Mrs. Shelby"

---

It was already dark by the time she'd made her way to their meeting point with only the glow from a firepit in the workshop opposite as the main source of light, rain flooding down onto the pavement outside in typical autumnal British fashion creating the sound of pattering on the old tin roof of the garage.

Y/N sighed as she leant against the black Ford Model T, taking a look at her watch. 8:03pm. 

'Well, it's only three minutes late, let's see if he's here before four minutes late', she thought to herself. 

There wasn't much to see in the garage other than old petrol can's and some oiled rags that had been dropped lazily on the floor, not that she could see much anyway with only the fire for her source. In fact, it only stretched as far as half the length of the garage, where unbenownsed to her there were men that were lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting victim. 

"Get 'em!"

The sound of a thick London Italian accent echoed through the cold rickety room and all Y/N could think to do was to cower against the car, waiting to be manhandled in some kind of way, the panic instantly settling into her chest.

It was obvious that the men who now had their fists blowing punches to her face didn't have a clue it was in fact a woman they were beating and not a man, probably due to the fact the fire was doing little to show that she'd wrapped her scarf over her head to stop the rain from ruining her curls. They didn't realise until she mustered enough strength through the continuous punches to let out the loudest scream she could.

It was only then that the men took a step back as the same voice from before bellowed out, "Stop!"

She held her hands up to her face and felt a slick warm liquid quickly covering them, the skin beneath it sore to the touch. Her left eye was blurry from the mixture of what she could only assume to be blood and swelling, but she could just about make out the silhoutte of a slim man with a hat standing near the wall.

The adrenaline was already kicking in helping to keep some of the pain from showing it's full potential, but her fight or flight hadn't seemed to of made an appearance yet. All she could do was stand there, frozen to the spot, her hands still holding her bloodied face.

"You must be Tommy Shelby's missus", spoke the man with the hat, taking a step forward confirming in the dim light that it was who she'd feared it would be. Sabini.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?", he smirked, leering towards her only inches from her face, "Apologies for the misunderstanding, we thought you were Mr. Shelby"

Her heart dropped into her stomach at the thought that this beating was meant for Tommy, that she knew they intended to do more than land a few punches to his face. She spat at the ground infront of Sabini's feet.

"You're lucky it was me and not Tommy, he'd have your eyes the minute you laid your hands on him", she was surprised by how even she managed to keep her voice despite the sheer panic coursing through her. 

Y/N knew it was a lie, that Tommy would be far too outnumbered to take on five of Sabini's men on his own especially without being able to see much.

Sabini laughed, throwing his head back slightly before stopping abruptly and grabbing onto each of her arms.

"You listen here you little princess, I don't think you quite understand the extent of how pissed off I am at your fella. You see, him and his brothers came to my club in London two nights ago. The Eden Club. A well run establishment, I'm sure you've heard of it. Anyway, they caused such a fucking scene that I've had to take matters into my own hands. I was planning on getting to Tommy, show him how scared he should really be about barging into one of my clubs, but it seems I may now have an even better way of sending that message".

Even with the light uneven across his features she could see a sly snarl creep onto Sabini's face, his breath fanning against her skin as he spoke. It was enough to make her want to wretch.

"Right boys, forget about Tommy. I want you to do what you were going to do to Tommy to her"

Her heart flew straight into her throat, threatening to jump out of her mouth at any moment. She wanted to throw up but the best thing she could do now would be to gain as much attention to passers by as she could. She screamed again only to have her mouth covered by Sabini as two men took over the hold on her arms.

"Listen here you little bitch, whether you like it or not, you're getting a beating. If Tommy's not man enough to face me himself and resorts to showing up to one of my clubs instead then this is what happens, someones pretty little face gets smashed in"

"You're a fucking creep! Tommy will be here any minute and I'm sure his brothers will be with him too, you won't know what fucking hit you!", she spat, the venom spewing from her mouth.

Sabini wasted no time in landing a hard slap against her already throbbing cheek making her splutter out whatever saliva she had left. He didn't leave it there though as his gripped both hands around her throat, squeezing as tight as he could.

"We'll be glad to see Tommy and his brothers, we can have a nice little catch up. Those boys couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery no matter how hard they tried so I'm not too worried. Carry on boys"

He let go of her throat leading her to gasp for air, her lungs felt like they were on fire with every harsh breath.

She didn't even have time to brace herself from the punch that was swiftly administered to her stomach, knocking out every bit of air she had managed to gain back, bringing her to the ground with a hard thump. Her head bounced off the ground sending a shockwave of pain running over her skull and down her neck. 

The punches were now followed by the kicks of steel toe capped boots, each kick more painful than the last until she almost felt numb. Where the fuck is Tommy?

She wanted nothing more than to scream out for him, to hear him running towards the men with bullets flying, ready to put an end to this nightmare, but all she could do was sob as the pain coursed through her.

"Boys, hold her up", Sabini's voice cut through the sound of the thumps and thuds, his voice menacing laced with a sneer.

Two men gripped Y/N's arms and yanked her back onto her feet, knees buckling beneath her with one of her ankles too weak to bare any weight. She was pretty sure she had some broken ribs and that her ankle was much the same way but she knew there was nothing she could do about it now. The only thing she could do was let her head loll forwards with sheer exhaustion. 

It was hard to keep her eyes open as her head was pulled up by a harsh grab of her hair, weakness taking over her entire body.

"Look at me. I said look at me!"

Another firm yank of the hair had her gaze just about managing to focus on Sabini, his eyes showing a glint of evil.

"I want you to tell your dirty gypsy husband that I'm coming for him next, if he wants to take over my race tracks then he's gonna have to fight for it"

"You're a fucking pig Sabini", her voice was hoarse as she spoke, her head longing to fall fowards again and let her eyes shut.

"Take my fucking name out of your mouth! 'Ere, Franco, take my name out of this scum's mouth"

She wasn't prepared for what came next as a blade was forced inside her mouth, her cheeks slowly being cut as well as a part of her lip. The taste of the metallic blood filled every tastebud, the only noise she was able to make were muffled groans as the cold metal sliced roughly through her skin.

Her body suddenly dropped to the floor once more, the sound of the mens foot steps starting to fade as they made their way towards the back of the garage and through a hole in the wooden panelling. 

"Don't forget to give your husband my message, if you survive that is", Sabini's spoke, a chuckle following him as he finally left her and made his way out the same way as the other men. 

She had no energy to even cry any more, a numbness enveloping her body and the blood still slowly seeping out of every cut she'd sustained.

She couldn't focus on anything now, the need for sleep becoming too great to keep her eyes open. She didn't even hear Tommy's footsteps quickly approaching the garage a minute later where she lay in a pool of her own blood. All she could do was let her eyelids drop as she slipped into darkness.

—

"Y/N! Oh fuck, Y/N!"

His cries bellowed through the bleak surroundings, the only movement to be seen was the flicker of the flames from the fire in his peripheral. 

“John! Arthur! Where the fuck are you?”, he screamed into the night before turning his attention back to Y/N.

"C'mon Y/N you need to wake up now, c'mon sweetheart", his desperate pleas did nothing as he cradled her head, her blood soaking into his trousers. He could see her chest rising and falling but knew that it was getting slower and slower with every moment that passed by.

It'd only been a minute or so since he'd gotten there but he could've sworn it'd been more like an hour, his heart thumping so hard that he thought it would surely pop out of his chest. 

"John! Arthur!"

Tears were streaming down his face, dripping onto Y/N's blood soaked cheeks, leaving streaks running through the red liquid.

He knew his brothers were meant to be on their way with the promise of a bed at Arrow House for the night. He just hoped that they would be sober enough to help deal with the chaos that was going on.

There was so much blood that he didn't know what to do. Sure, he could leave Y/N and go get help himself, but he didn't want to leave her alone for even a second. He'd already let her down once this evening and he'd be damned if he was going to let her die here alone on the cold stone floor, or have the people who did this to her come back and finish off the job.

John and Arthur came stumbling through the open door of the garage, an arm wrapped over each others shoulders as they laughed about how many women they'd managed to pull that night. As soon as they saw the scene in front of them though, the laughing soon stopped and they both straightened up, their eyes almost not wanting to look at the state before them.

"Who the fuck did this, Tommy? Where the fuck are they? I'll fuckin’ get 'em Tom I fuckin’ promise you, those bastards won't get away with this!" John's hands had grown into fists with his knuckles turning white, the anger twisting his face into pure hatred.

"It doesn't matter right now, John. Just go and get help, call a fucking ambulance!", Tommy looked to Arthur whose expression had turned more into terror than anything else, "Arthur, I need you to get Pol, tell her Y/N's hurt, badly. Tell her I need her here, I need... just get her Arthur, now"

It took a second longer than Tommy would've liked but both brothers soon turned and ran out towards the Shelby family home, their legs wobbling beneath them as they went.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so fucking sorry", Tommy sobbed as he gently stroked her face, pulling her in closer to him. His mind was racing with all the questions he was dying to know the answer to.

He knew he should be worrying about who it was that had done this to her but he was pretty sure he knew the answer to that already, and he wasn't about to waste what time he might have left with his wife thinking about that. No. All that mattered right now was that Y/N was going to live, that her eyes would open and she'd look up at him with that brilliant smile he loved so much to tell him that she was okay, that she was going to survive this.

Flashing lights appeared outside whilst Tommy had his head rested on Y/N's, whispering over and over again how sorry he was and how much he loved her. The pain he felt was all consuming and he knew he'd give anything to be in her position right now, just like it should have been.

Even when the medics came to retrive Y/N he couldn't bare to let her go, he insisted on carrying her into the back of the ambulance and holding her all the way to the hospital. They knew better than to argue with the Shelby man but managed to convince him to allow for her vitals to be monitored on the journey there, her pulse rate rapidly declining.

Polly hadn't arrived at the garage quick enough so Arthur had driven both Polly and John to the hospital at speed, swerving all over the road as they went, the tires slipping on the slick ground beneath them.

When they finally got there they saw Tommy disappearing through the double doors with Y/N still in his arms, a trail of blood on the floor behind him. This was going to be a long night.

—

The doctors had managed to get her heart rate back up to a reasonable pace by the time she was settled into a private hospital room. Fluids were being administered consistently alongside different medicines flowing through the tubes, her wounds now dressed with bandages and a thin blanket covering her black and blue body.

"Mr. Shelby, your wife has been through a terrible ordeal, it's a miracle she's still alive", a tall man with slicked blonde hair and glasses spoke, a clipboard and pen in his hands.

"When will she wake up?", Tommy tried to shake off his annoyance at the doctors statement of the obvious, of course this was a fucking terrible ordeal! Anyone with eyes could see that. He just wanted the facts that mattered most.

"Mr. Shelby, as I said, your wife has been through a terrible ordeal..."

Tommy grimaced, "I fucking know she has, don't you think I can see what's right in front of me? That and the fact I found my wife lying in a pool of her own blood half dead? Just tell me, when will she wake up?"

He was growing tired of not having answers to the main question he had and knew he wouldn't be able to relax until he had a definitive answer.

"The honest answer Mr. Shelby is that we don't know. To be blunt we're not sure if she's going to"

Tommy's heart dropped into his stomach.

"As you know, she's been through...", the doctor paused, not wanting to use the term 'terrible ordeal' again, "A lot. We've taken some images of her brain and we can see that she has some bleeding and swelling. We're not sure that she can recover from something like that, we can only hope that she will. Her injuries are severe, Mr. Shelby. As well as the damage to the brain she also has some internal bleeding, broken ribs, a collapsed lung, brusing to the esophagus, cuts to the inside of her mouth and a broken ankle. We're doing everything we can to ensure that she'll recover from this but it will take time. I'm sorry"

A ringing sounded in Tommy's ears, a noise so defeaning that he couldn't focus on anything right now other than the fact Y/N might not make it through this. His chest tightened and he found himself struggling to breathe, the sheer weight of the words he'd just heard sitting heavy on his chest.

"Are you okay, Mr. Shelby?"

"Leave. Now, please. Leave!"

The doctor wasted no time in carrying out Tommy's order as he scurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Tommy fell to the floor, his knee's weak and unable to hold him upright. He clutched his chest as he gasped for the air that seemed to have become so thin in the room. Tears that had gathered in his eyes began to fall and there was nothing more he could do than kneel there on the cold floor as his world came crashing down around him. 

If he'd of been there at the time they'd agreed then this wouldn't have happened, not to Y/N anyway. It would be him laying in the hospital bed in front of him instead of her, or he'd be laying in a ditch somewhere ready for some poor passerby to find when dawn came. 

He knew for a fact that the guilt that was growing in strength would never leave him even if she did make it out of this, that he'd always blame himself for not being on time. 

A small knock on the door brought him shakily back up onto his feet again as he gripped onto the frame of the bed. Tommy managed to wipe away his tears just in time for Polly, John and Arthur to walk into the room. 

He couldn't look at them, only at Y/N laying in the bed. Her lifeless body was slightly sinking into the mattress beneath her, a mess of hair covered in congealed blood surrounded her head.

"Is she going to be okay, Tom?", John's voice quietly cut through the silence like a knife. 

Tommy took a moment before letting out a sigh, the lump in his throat wanting to escape and cause tears to come flooding out. 

"I don't know. The doctor said that she's got bleeding and swelling on the brain amongst other things. They don't know if she's going to wake up".

The room stayed silent with no one wanting to say a word, both for fear of upsetting Tommy further and also because what else was there to say? There was nothing any of them could do to make the situation better or to make light of any of this.

Tommy took a seat next to Y/N's bed side and held her fragile hand, longing for her to wrap her fingers around his, but of course she didn't. Even that alone was enough to make his heart break.

"John. I need you to arrange for the blinders to be on a rotation of a look out. I don't want anybody coming in or out this hospital without us knowing about it. Arthur, take Isaiah and a couple of the blinders with you to London, I need you to find Sabini", Tommy spoke plainly, not taking his eyes off of Y/N.

"Yes, Tom", Arthur nodded, motioning for John to follow his lead out of the room.

"Oh, and Arthur? When you find him", Tommy turned to look at him now, his eyes cold but somehow a fire lit in them, "Bring him to me. Alive"

—

Three days later

As expected, Tommy arrived back at the hospital within four hours instead of the six Aunt Polly had ordered. 

He couldn't sleep. Every time he'd managed to drift off he was soon awoken by nightmares of Y/N's screams as she was repeatedly kicked and punched, the sound each one of the blows made making his stomach churn. He could see her body laying there in a pool of blood with sobs wracking her chest... her calling out his name and him not being able to reach her even though he could see everything that was happening. 

Tommy woke up in a cold sweat, his clothes soaked right through and his hair wet. He decided he was better off admitting defeat than to try going back to sleep, the thought of having to see those images of Y/N whenever he closed his eyes was enough to make his blood run cold. 

His childhood home was quiet when he made his way downstairs. Ada had taken Finn to Arrow House under her watchful eye with Karl, it was better to be in a house that was stocked with firearms than back in London with nothing but a single pistol and where Sabini could be lurking in the shadows. 

John had gone to the hospital to take the next watch and Arthur was somewhere in London seeking out Sabini and his lackeys, waiting to hand him a blow that would make the Italian man wish he'd never come to Birmingham.

Tommy decided on having a bath before putting on clean clothes, taking a look in the mirror before he left. His complexion had almost drained of colour over the past three days with the exception of the dark circles that appeared under his eyes, much darker than usual. 

"God I hope she wakes up soon", he muttered to himself, adorning his peaky cap and reaching for the door handle before stepping out onto the bustling streets of Birmingham, lighting a smoke as he made his way to the hospital.

When he walked through the doors of Y/N's room he noticed something different. Aunt Polly was no longer sitting there with sadness in her eyes, instead she was stood next to the bed holding Y/N's hand, a small smile upon her face.

His eyebrows furrowed with confusion and his pace slowed as he approached her.

"What's happened?" he asked, nervous energy rushing through him.

"She moved, Tom. All on her own, she moved!"

Polly was beaming now, fresh tears sprang to her eyes and she had to resist the urge to hug him.

"What do you mean she moved?"

"I mean, I was reading her one of your poems and holding her hand. Her fingers started to move as if she was trying to tell me she could hear me. She's still in there Tommy"

His heart swelled in his chest although he didn't want to get his hopes up too much, there was nothing worse that breaking your own heart with false hope.

"It might've just been the nerves jumping, Pol. She probably doesnt have control of her body right now", he knew he sounded like dismissive bastard but he couldn't bring himself to believe that Y/N could do that but not open her eyes.

"Stop being so bloody negative Thomas. I'm telling you exactly what I saw with my own two eyes. Read to her yourself, you'll see", Polly scolded him, picking up the pages she'd left on her seat and going to hand them to him.

Tommy said nothing but shook his head towards the pages and instead took a step closer towards Y/N's bed. 

Polly placed Y/N's hand in his and softly spoke, "Y/N love, if you can hear what we're saying then squeeze Tommy's hand, let us know that you're still there".

He held his breath as he waited to see if she'd respond, his eyes watching her fingers like a hawk.

"She's not moving, Pol. You're seeing things with the lack of sleep, go home and get to bed, I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere"

"Don't tell me what you think I may be or may not be seeing and certainly don't tell me what to do. You may be a man now Thomas but I'm still able to lay you across my knee and give you a good hiding", her eyes glared daggers into the side of his head as he continued to stare at Y/N's fingers, unmoving on top of his.

"I'm sorry Pol, I just can't... I just can't stand the thought of having the hope there that she'll show me she's okay if she never actually...", he stopped dead in his tracks.

His mouth dropped open and his gaze widened in shock as Y/N's fingers started to slowly lift upwards before coming back down to rest on top of his fingers, trying to curl themselves around his.

"Y/N? It's okay, I'm here. You're safe", he placed his free hand over hers and leant over to kiss her head, the bruises still prominent, "I'm sorry Y/N, I'm so fucking sorry".

Tommy couldn't hold back the tears that were coming and let them spill out to fall down her cheeks, the overwhelming burst of relief he felt within his soul was like nothing he could explain. 

Polly stood with a hand over her mouth, a smile beneath her fingers. 

"T-T-Tommy?..."

Did she just speak?

His head shot up, eyes wide in disbelief. When he caught the first glimpse of her face he could see that her eyes were slightly open. Her eyeballs had red spots on them where blood vessels had burst, either from the pressure of being strangled or from the numerous hits to the face she'd sustained. He tried to hide the shock that hit him and gently cradled her face with both hands, careful not to press down on the discoloured blotches that lay beneath them.

"You're awake, you're... I-I can't believe it", he stuttered, scanning her face for any kind of expression.

"Y-you... w-w-were... late", she croaked.

It was almost as if he'd taken a stab to the chest as her words met his ears and the guilt came flooding back.

"I know, I'm so, so sorry Y/N, I really am. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for this, not for as long as I live"

He stifled a sniff as his tears continued, a sob escaping his lips as his face screwed up into pure anguish.

"I-it's... okay", she murmered, taking a deep breath, "do-don't be... s-sorry... I-I'm j-just... glad i-it w-wasn't... you"

"No sweetheart, no. It's not okay, none of this is okay. Because of me, you're lying here in a hospital bed, completely black and blue with internal injuries and broken bones, all because I got too cocky and tried to challenge that fucker. I swear to you, Y/N. I'm gonna put a bullet between his eyes for this, he's not going to get away with it".

He brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face and she smiled softly, the memory of him doing to same back in The Garrison just before she'd left him that day, just before all of this happened…

"H-he said t-t-to... g-give you a... m-message..."

"No, shh shh, it's okay. You don't need to tell me anything right now, you need to rest and get better. You can hardly speak. Tell me anything you need to when you start to feel better. All I care about right now is that I have you, here, alive. No amount of money nor business could come close to how happy I am right at this very moment"

Two Days Later

She'd been awake more frequently over the next couple of days with each day being better than the last. Her bruises had now started to turn a lighter shade of blue with greens and browns dotted through them and the bleeding and swelling on her brain had improved significantly. 

The doctors were stunned at how well she was doing, they half expected her to die within the first few days she'd arrived at the hospital. 

"How are you feeling today?", Tommy asked as he stroked her hair from his position on the edge of the bed.

"A bit be-tter than yesterday", she softly smiled. She couldn't deny that she still felt like absolute shit and that every time she breathed it felt like she was trying to push air through a straw, but she was just relieved that she'd survived this whole ordeal, "Can you h-help me sit up a b-bit please?"

He instantly stood and gently swooped an arm beneath her legs and the other behind her back, carefully lifting her up before sitting her back down on the bed and repositioning her pillows behind her against the headboard. She winced with the motion but tried her best to hide it. She already knew that Tommy had so much guilt eating him up inside, it almost felt like if she showed him that she was in any kind of pain that it was a reminder of how much he'd fucked up.

"Is that okay?"

She nodded slowly, aware of her aching neck with every slight movement.

"Good, it's nice to see you looking a bit more like yourself", he smiled, his eyes studying every inch of her face.

"Sabini t-told me to tell y-you t-that he's coming for y-you next and that I-if you want to take o-over his race tracks then you're gonna h-have to fight for it... I'm s-scared, Tommy"

Tommy moved his chair closer to the bed, so close that his knees were touching the side of the frame, and took her hand in his.

"I promise you Y/N, you have nothing to be scared about. I know that I broke my promise before about being on time and it cost both of us more than I thought possible, but I swear to you, right here, right now in this moment, I won't let that fucker come near you ever again"

A response to that seemed impossible. Of course she wanted to believe her own husband but when he'd already broken one promise, one that had ultimatley almost led to her death, how could she possibly believe that he'd keep this one?

He could see her thoughts running round her mind, her eyebrows furrowing and mouth twitching like she didn't know what to say.

"Look, I know I fucked up massively. I will never be able to explain to you how sorry I am and I'd understand completely if you didn't want to be with me any more, but please believe that I will do everything in power from here on out to make sure that you're safe"

He was almost scared to hear what she was going to say. Did she want to leave him? Was he destined to lose his wife, not by death this time, but from the sheer fact she didn't think he could keep her safe?

"I-I could n-never leave you, T-Tommy Shelby", she smiled, her lips curving up into her bruised cheeks. 

Tommy stood up and brushed his lips against hers, laying a tender kiss upon them before pulling back slightly, enough to still feel her breath on his face.

"Just p-promise me one m-more thing", she spoke, looking into his eyes.

"Anything"

"Don't ever be l-late again"

He grinned, the twinkle in his eyes that she hadn't seen since waking up returning once more.

"I promise"

———

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#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby x you #cillian murphy #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby fanfiction

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi so I have a kind of specific request but it doesn’t matter at all what you do with this information could I request a Thomas Shelby and reader fic where the reader only has one eye after some form of circumstance (it can be completely up to you if you want to list it) and after that they are rendered emotionless and have no care for what happens to themselves or others and towards the end they show some form of emotion (example would be a small smile or Wrinkle of the eye to show a form of gratitude etc) this was out of the blue and I thought it sounded cool so I thought I’d request (I’ve never requested something in my life from here)

Dear Anon,

I loved this request. I changed a couple things up a bit and hope that's alright. I'm always struggling to find gifs for fics and thought I would try out making little pictures for it.... not sure how I feel about it yet. Anyway thank you for waiting so long, hope you enjoy it!

Warning: reader got injured as a child and has lasting damage from it

Tommy was never sure what to think of you, he wondered if that’s how people felt about him. You had an elegant voice, the kind that made him think without a doubt that you could sing. It was soft and feminine, none of which reached your features. You were very pretty but completely unemotional. There was a large scar over your eye, but you didn’t cover it. The pink glass orb replacing your right eye was sparkly, part of him thought you enjoyed how unsettled it made people. But that would imply you enjoy things at all. 

He could set you on a task and you would always come back in a timely fashion giving him a nod then going back to your desk at the betting shop. You stayed out of trouble, kept out of family drama, so much so that it made him feel the need to keep a closer watch on you. 

All day you were professional, speaking the bare minimum. You drank black coffee but only once it was cold and took small sips. You would give John a swift shake of the head when he offered you a glass of whiskey. 

He could tell you gave John the creeps, John would talk for hours if you let him, and you would barely give answers to his questions.

“I don’t know how you trust her.” John had whispered to him before running out the door. He wondered this himself. 

“Where bout’s do you live, love?” Tommy asked coming over to stand in front of her desk. 

“A few blocks away.” You said softly, he hated how badly he wanted to hear you continue. 

“Want me to walk you home.” For her protection, he told himself. With the days getting shorter he should make sure someone walks her home. 

“No thank you, Mr. Shelby.” You said politely. 

“Call me Tommy.” He said wanting things to become more casual between the two of you. 

“Tommy,” She said his name in a way that made his heart lurch. He knew he was in trouble. Your green eye looked at him with a cold stare. Surly he could make you feel something if you gave him the chance. 

“Well, help me carry something to the pub then? That on the way to yours?” 

“That would not be a problem.” You gave him a nod before he went into the back room trying to think of something to carry to the pub. He tossed some bottles into an old crate. Coming back into the main room he watched you pull your jacket on. 

He Put the crate down on the desk and pulled out his wallet. He handed it to you and picked up the crate of empty bottles. Your expression was the usual stony mask not even a hint of confusion. 

“Ready?” You gave a nod then followed him out. 

“I’ve never had someone want to walk be home this badly before.” Her voice had him feeling tangled up inside.

“It’s dark.” He said dismissively. 

“As it is every night.” She said softly. She wasn't going to let him win, he couldn't think of anything to say as he felt your eye on him again.

You followed him to the pub and he left the crate at the doorstep. You stared at him for a long moment and he swore he saw a slight twinkle in your eye.

You turned on your heel, moving into the dark alley way. You lifted your arm up showing you still had his wallet. 

Tommy didnt need more of an invitation. 

____________________________________

Tommy walked you home every night, and every night you left him on the doorstep. You avoided gatherings at the Garrison, so that was his only real time with you. A part of him felt that he should be asking you questions, try to figure you out. But the desire to be silent with someone was greater than his curiosity. 

This routine continued as the nights got colder and he wondered if you enjoyed it at all. 

The shop was closing up and he was making his last phone call. You were organizing the papers on your desk. The door opened to the shop and Charlie ran through. Tommy’s stomach clenched wanting to know why he wasn't home with Polly. He assumed the boy would come right to him and continued his phone call while keeping an eye out. 

He went to you and he felt a sense of discomfort. Charlie wouldn't understand that you were closed off, he was only four. He came around the side of your desk and peered up at you. 

_______________________________________________

You were almost done you work when the door opened and shut, you paid it no attention as it probably didn’t concern you. You were about to open the bottom drawer of your desk when you saw a little boy peering around the edge of your desk. He was quiet and observant. You wondered what had messed him up to make him that way. Ah, yes this was Grace’s son, that explained it. 

“Are you a pirate?” He whispered, his eyes focused on the pink glass eye. 

“No, but I was taken by pirates when I was young.” You tapped your eye, feeling a flicker of enjoyment as the boys eyes got wide. 

“What happened!” He was so eager, and you remembered being that way as a child. You opened your top drawer and pulled out some candy you kept in there. 

You slid a piece across the table and the boy smiled. You felt Tommy come out of his office. 

“Maybe your dad will let me come over sometime for a bedtime story, I can tell you all about it.” You ruffled the boy's hair, knowing your words were more for Tommy than him. 

You gave the boy a smile, it took a bit of concentration but the boy took in a breath. You thought maybe it didn’t look right and that maybe you frightened him. 

“The pirates took you because you're so pretty.” The boy's eyes were wide. You let out a small laugh and winced with the familiar pain that followed. 

“Feel like a sleepover?” Tommy asked picking Charlie up. Typical Tommy, willing to use his kid as a bargaining chip. The boy clung on to his father but moved so he could keep looking at you. 

“No bottles for the pub tonight?” You were being cheeky, but he wouldn't understand that. 

“Nah, we can deal with it tomorrow.” 

You gave him a slight nod and followed the boys out of the betting shop. Polly was there talking to a lady in a house coat. You assumed they must have been neighbors at one point. She greeted Tommy with a smile but looked slightly startled to see you there. 

“Thanks Pol.” He said and she gave a warm smile to you. 

“You have a good night.” You gave her a nod then she continued her conversation with the woman. Tommy carried Charlie back to his car and he opened the passenger side for you. You got in, pulling your long skirt in after you. 

“Can I sit on your lap?” Tommy was closing the door and you held out a hand to the boy. He got settled on your lap and rubbed his cheek on the fur collar of your jacket. 

“So soft.” He murmured. You held on to the boy enjoying the embrace. Thankfully the boy was very still and easy to sit with. The drive was about a half hour and you realized Tommy added about 20 minutes to every night just to walk with you in silence. 

____________________________________________

You let the maid take your jacket and didn't miss the way Tommy’s eyes looked over your figure. You felt a twinge of anxiety, how badly you would like to be touched in a way that wouldn't hurt you. 

Charlie was rattling on about something and grabbed your hand leading you up to his bedroom. He showed you his various stuffed animals. Tommy took him into the bathroom to get him washed and dressed. 

“Promise you’ll wait!” He called out of the little attached bathroom 

“Promise.” You called back, you sat on his bed, and took in the space. He had a lot of books and soft toys. A knot in your throat formed as you felt the little girl in you scream in envy. You assumed Tommy had the same type of kid somewhere deep inside of him. His boy was kind and polite, observant and smart, and never had to worry about things. He had clean clothes, a nice room, books to learn from, and a dad who came home every night. 

He might have been smoking and drinking, murdering after breakfast, whores for lunch. But you knew that unless he was away for business, Tommy came home to his kid. It was a work ethic you had a great deal of respect for. 

The boy ran out of the bathroom in a soft pin-striped pj set and took a leap up onto the bed landing next to you. 

“Now tell me about the Pirates.” He said with hungry eyes. 

“Well, it all started when I was small.” You told him a wild story. About being left behind by your family, how the forest took you in as one of its own, growing up with magic. One day you were dancing along the cliffs, spinning in the wind and singing, when a pirate captain snatched you right off the rocks. How he had carved out your eye in hopes of gaining the ability to see the magic in the forest. It didn't work and eventually, the mermaids crashed his ship, leaving you stranded in the water. You floated along until his dad pulled you out of the cut. 

“How did you survive in the water that long!” He whispered in awe. 

“My magic’s not in my lost eye, it's right here.” You pointed at your heart, wishing people could see more of it. 

“Can you get a blue eye so we can match?” He asked and you could feel Tommy’s discomfort. 

“I suppose I could try and ask the fairies to make me a new one.” 

“Time for bed Charlie,” Tommy said softly. 

“Will you come back again to visit?” Charlie said grabbing your arm as you tried to stand up from his bed. 

“That sounds like a nice idea.” You tried to smile again and it ended up as more of a wince. He didnt seem to notice. 

_______________________

You followed Tommy down the stairs, amazed he hadn't just taken you down the hall to his bedroom. Maybe you upset him, thinking about it you were a little bit gruesome with the details and Charlie was really small. 

You kept following him surprised when you moved away from the front door, he walked towards the other end of the house and then pushed open a heavy door. 

He pulled you into a warm and well loved kitchen. It smelled like lamb stew and you realised he was going to try and feed you dinner. You panicked slightly before taking a breath, he invited you to his home. If he doesnt like you, he doesnt have to have you back. 

He motioned for you to sit and poured two glasses of whiskey. 

“I have wine, gin -” 

“I can’t drink -” You said hoping you didnt seem rude. He simply raised and eyebrow and then put both gasses in front of his spot at the table. 

“No alcohol.” You clarified. 

“Oh, Tea, water, juice?” You thought about which would be easiest and settled for juice. 

“Juice please.” You watched him pour a glass of cranberry juice into a whiskey glass. 

You thought about sipping it but you felt too shaky at the moment. 

“So Pirates eh?” 

“Sorry if I scared him -” 

“Nah, he liked it. Got me curious as to what actually happened though” He brought you a bowl of stew and a spoon. You looked down at the inviting warm mixture. Would it be worth risking it? 

“Hmmm.” You sighed and then realized that he kept you around because of your work ethic, telling him the truth just meant he wouldn't have a romantic interest in you. A sadness flooded you but it was better to get these things over with. 

“Well, I dropped a glass in the kitchen when I was little. My dad hit me and I hit my head on the kitchen tiles. The glass got in my eye I have -” You took a shaky breath. “A lot of nerve damage in my face. Sometimes it’s a bit hard to talk or move my face. I’m in a great deal of pain everywhere most of the time actually.” 

Tommy studied you carefully. 

“I’m sorry.” The words hit you like a bus, another failed conquest. You took another breath. He motioned for you to eat and you looked down at the large pieces of lamb.

“Might not be graceful.” You whispered, hating the anxiety humming through you. Can’t he just say this won’t work out and take you home? 

“Nothing about me is graceful.” He shrugged. “Do you - Can I help?” his kindness took you off guard. 

“No thank you.” You took a spoonful of broth and slurped it down. It took you the better half of an hour to get the soup finished. Tommy talked though which was nice. He was quiet like you, something you enjoyed about his company.  

“Stay in my bed?” 

“Oh.” You wanted to say yes. Even if it was just for night you wanted to know what it felt like. “I’ve not - I don’t know if I ca -” 

“Just to sleep then?” 

“I can do that” You smiled knowing it was crooked and painful to look at. He smiled back at you and it was also pained and crooked. 

________________________

Her staying in Tommy’s bed for the night. Neither of them sleeps normally, so they end up talking for a lot of the night. He puts on some records and they lay in silence listening to the music. 

He stops seeing whores at lunch after that

After a while, it’s full-on dating and they prefer each other's company rather than lying awake alone. 

He notices her pain now and tries to help her out any way he can.

He asks her if touch is painful and she shrugs not sure how to give a solid answer - he tries a variety of things to make her feel good. 

Charlie is happy and likes your stories but understands that sometimes you can’t talk. He will sit next to you and make up his own stories to make you feel better.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #charlie shelby #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders request

[everythingelseisextra]

The Ends of The Earth

Part Eighteen: Love Song (Tommy's POV)

Author's Note: From here on out, the story will be quite a bit darker. We are reaching the climax. There will be no graphic sexual assault, but there will be heavy implications of such. Once again, read at your own discretion. Description: You and Tommy go for a ride, and, later, an incident leads to a major change. Warnings: blood, guns, references to sexual assault and rape, canon-typical violence, Tommy fucking up again, language Word Count: 4937 (sorry) Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @majesticcmey  @optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel  @ce1iat  @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist @cookiez56-blog @skxawngs @h0neylemon

The moon will be full tonight. 

Dusk falls and you saddle Draco, your last horse of the day. You’ve been sleeping more these days, finding some kind of peace in the companionship of Tommy. Still, you sometimes wake up tired, exhausted by old phantoms of scars and the touch of rough hands. It’s a flip of a coin whether you rest, or find yourself awake at night. 

You haven’t seen Tom all day. He woke before you did, and you heard the echo of his footsteps as he left the room, the creak of the door as he closed it behind him. You’ve found him to be quiet, light on his feet and gentle with his hands, and he barely wakes you when he moves about the room. You know, though, that he’ll find you when he returns, as he always does. So, before you go mount your horse, you wait for him. He’d never tell you, but you’re certain that he worries when he returns and you’re not in the yard. 

Minutes later, he appears. Hands shoved in the pockets of his suit jacket, eyes firmly on the ground in front of him, face hidden under the shadow of his cap. You turn to watch him approach, scanning him only to find dark shadows under his eyes and a pallid, stressed paleness to his skin. You nod to yourself and turn away, heading towards Nifty’s stall without a word. Tommy stops by Draco’s head, stroking his nose, murmuring to him. 

You bring Nifty out and tie him next to Draco, then face Tommy, meeting his blue eyes, confirming quietly the plan that’s formed in your head. The horses touch noses, greeting each other, nuzzling. Tommy nods and you smile at him, reaching out to briefly touch his arm, then walking to the tack room to pull Nifty’s saddle out for yourself. 

A few minutes pass, and you’ve tacked up Nifty and handed Tommy the bridle for Draco. The two of you mount, and slowly, the horses take you out of the barn, out past Arrow House, and towards the hills that remind so strongly of the countryside around your old home. This is the routine you’ve created together, the silent agreement of getting away from the life that he feels stuck in. It harkens back to who he used to be, and you think that, sometimes, it gives him the chance to feel like a boy again, to claim back a childhood that wasn’t fully what he needed. On rough days, when he comes home with the expression of a beaten man, you go for a ride together. Sometimes you go fully in silence, not interrupting the rush of the wind and the chill of the weather. Other times, you speak quietly, talking about nothing and everything, all the little things that usually go unnoticed. You share a need for expressing the sharp darker edges of your personalities. You think that, often, you look around you and want to tell someone that you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, holding on, when really you just want to fall. But how can you say that to someone other than him? How could anyone but him understand what you’re trying to put into words?

Early Spring turns the trees into bones, thin and white and strong. You turn your head, steering your horse one-handed, and run your eyes over Tommy. They stop on a spot of red on his cuff, half-hidden beneath his suit jacket. 

It explains the drawn expression on his face. You don’t question whether it was necessary. You gather your reins and pick up the trot, posting in silence, and he follows you faithfully. You choose the route and he follows, giving up control for once in his life. The horse’s hooves beat unwaveringly on the path, and then quiet as you turn off the beaten trail, leading the two of you through the grass, out to the tamed wilderness. 

He breaks the silence. “Where’re we going?” 

You glance back at him, slowing your horse. “I found somewhere new. Trust me.” 

He inclines his head slightly. You look forward once more, tracking your way through the barren, but starkly beautiful hills. The groggy sun sends arcing shadows down over the pale grass, cast from the bare trees and shrubs and the moving bodies of the horses. In contrast to the muted land, the sky boasts bright burdens, red and orange and streaks of yellow and pink through the clouds. 

After a while, you slow to a walk, sighing as your hips and thighs fall into the familiar swing of NIfty’s movement. You don’t look back at him when you speak.

“Who was it?” 

He thinks before he responds to you, probably considering a way to avoid answering truthfully before giving up, deciding that honesty goes the furthest with you. “A man who had eyes for a young girl.”

Your blood freezes over, then slowly thaws out, leaving you with a tingling sensation through your veins. You huff a breath, hand shaking on the reins before you clamp it down on Nifty’s mane, and nod slowly. “You’re doing things without asking me about them first.”

“I didn’t think it was my responsibility to inform you of business that doesn’t—”

“Tom, you’re walking blindly into a dark room you’ve never been in before that I have memorized. If you’re going to do this against my will, at least let me advise you.” Draco’s ears flick towards you, as if he too listens to what you have to say. “I used to know this world you’re trying to destroy. I probably still do. Let me help you.” 

He looks down at Draco’s arched neck, chest rising and falling with a sigh. “It was a man who thought I was interested in one of the girls. It was his girl, he said. I told him I wouldn’t interfere. He must’ve seen the look on my face because he was coming at me, yelling about ownership and first-come, first-served.” His eyes flick to yours, trying to read an empty page. “I didn’t kill him.”

“It was self defense and a petty bar fight.” You close your eyes for a moment, trying to fight off the fierce beating of your heart. “You were good not to kill him.”

He makes a small, noncommittal noise, and you open your eyes. 

“Tell me what you’re planning.” 

He shakes his head, a small movement, slow and hesitant. 

“Why not?” You stop your horse, and Draco stops instinctively. “Why not tell the only person who knows what this is like, Thomas?” 

He doesn’t respond, just watches you passively. 

“I won’t try to stop you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You meet his eyes. The wind rushes past you, whipping the words out of your mouth and sending them hurtling away. “I know I couldn’t even if I wanted to. You’re as stubborn as I am.” 

“I will tell you when the time comes.” His voice is steady, certain. “That time is not now.” 

“Fine.” You shake your head, shivering faintly in the cold. Anger burns quietly in you, that you are not being allowed to save yourself, that you have to rely on a man who will not tell you how he plans to be your savior. Years and years of dreaming and rage has turned your madness into something holy. It’s almost silent, an ember buried in the ashes, but it exists, and it’s inconsolable. Your anger is what allows you to pull the trigger and smash a skull, allows you to tolerate pain and suffering in order to reach your goal. Whoever said that anger was iron, heavy and burdening, should’ve known it was made of fire, light and destructive and glowing in the dark.

You turn back and face the hill you’re about to climb. Once again, there is no path. Craggy rocks scatter over the surface, broken in places, and small ditches and gopher holes pattern it. Still, in the midst of the minutely dangerous land, there are hoofprints laid down from the first time you’d come this way. It is the road less taken. 

You slide your leg back and pick up the canter. Your heart rises in your chest as the frigid wind casts across you and you’re taken over by the strength of the animal beneath you. Behind you, the shadow of Draco and Tommy ripples on the uneven ground. Slowly, you release the reins, and let the retired racehorse relive his days on the track, stretching out his legs and flattening out. 

The summit nears, but out of the corner of your eye, you see Draco falter, then slow. You do the same, stopping and twisting in the saddle to face him. 

“Where are we going?” Tommy lifts his head to gesture towards the flattening hill above you. “That’s a dead end, there.”

“If you want me to trust that you’re going to take care of yourself, you get to trust me that I’m not going to lead us off a cliff. Believe it or not, I also don’t want to die.” You smile faintly, a little thrill shocking through you at the truth of the words. Despite the conflict, despite the instability of your circumstance, you feel alive for the first time since before you were sent to France. And you don’t want it to end. 

“I trust you,” he insists. 

“Good, then let’s go.” You look forward and slip once again into a canter. Before you know it, you’re at the summit, riding along a flat ridge, a gentle decline on either side of you. You live, for a moment, in the pink sky, swimming through the clouds on frigid air, nothing around you but emptiness. Then you blink, and the land comes back into focus, and the height makes your heart skip a beat. You grin. 

Glancing out of the corner of your eye, you see Tommy’s head swiveling, on alert, taking in the view of the world, and, in a way, his world. His massive house suddenly small enough to pinch between two fingers. Problems shrunken in the scheme of sunset. 

You walk along the ridge in silence, watching the sun drown in the color of the horizon. You used to ride like this on your own, trying to make the world seem small, trying to break out of the shell you lived in by literally gaining some perspective. It was quiet, yes, but never peaceful, to go out by yourself. The singular hoofsteps did little to drown out your thoughts, little to shift the tides of emotion that rippled in and out of you. It promoted a deep emptiness you could never explain, a hunger for something like the love you had for the other girl, your comrade in the war of your childhood, so ravenous that you felt you would eat yourself alive from it. The price of freedom was loneliness. 

You watch your shadows travel over the craggy edge of the path you’ve created, and, slowing your horse to near Draco, you ask a question that’s been hanging on you for days.

“Why don’t you wake me when you have nightmares?” 

Usually, you’re called back to the land of the living too late, once he’s sat up and calmed himself, except for when he talks in his sleep. You catch the jagged end of his fear, the deep breath of centering, the relaxing of tensed muscles. Asking a question, offering comfort, doing anything other than watching helplessly makes him shy away from you, the closest you’ve ever seen him get to nervous. And, so, you smile sadly and wait for him to lay back down before you allow sleep to wash back over you.

“Why don’t you?” His response is not an accusation, not shutting you down. It sounds genuine. You know he plays games, know he struggles to turn off the finely-dressed, hard-masked version of himself, and part of you goes out to him when he’s earnest. 

“Because it feels… private.” It’s true that you don’t wake him when you dream. Like him, you want to boast a certain toughness, like the world could kick you while you were down and you’d still stand up, spit out a tooth, and grin. There’s no amount of rakish armor to subconscious terror. There’s no hiding the effect it has in the first moments after. It feels different, though, for you than to him. “But you’ve told me what you dream about. I know it already.”

“It feels private because it is. You’re asking me to let you in on who I am when there’s no business to be done and no fight to be won. It’s not impressive and it’s not pleasant to look at.” His voice remains even, casual, as if this means nothing, as if he hasn’t allowed you to catch a glimpse into his mind. Draco tosses his head, his mane catching on the dying light. 

“Why do you have to be impressive to me?” You halt Nifty to allow Tommy to catch up to you, so you can look him in the eye.

His voice grows quiet, his eyes holding steady with yours, the lowering sun reflecting like an ember in his pupils. “Because, I have to make up for the fact that it’s me.”

Something sharp shoots through your heart, and you breathe deeply, hands tightening on the reins. Mixed thoughts rumble like an earthquake in your mind. He does have something to make up for; he made a mistake, and for that, you have to hold him accountable. But, not for being himself. You can’t blame him for that, can’t punish him for having to work to be good to you. Horses have taught you that you can never discipline someone for trying. You can never hurt someone for a failed attempt. 

He has quite literally fought a war, and is still battling it with every breath he takes, and he is learning to be kind to you, which is a war in and of itself. 

You don’t know how to express to him that, one way or another, you want him. Not the performance he puts on, not the shallow and violent image he creates, not the emotionless husk he can become when hurting. Maybe to some people, there wouldn’t be much more to him than that, but you know. You know that beneath the cracked and rocky surface, there’s black soil, soft and rich, and you have a shovel, and you’re ready to dig. 

“Please, don’t.” It’s pathetic that that’s the only response you can come up with. “Don’t make up for it. I’m not— you hurt me, Tom, but I’m not angry, not anymore, and I barely blame you for it, though maybe I should. It’s like being a victim can become a habit, and I’m trying to break it, and all I need is for you to help me do that. Don’t make up for it. I want you to be you. That’s what I like.”

“It’s not something to be turned on and off.” He clicks his tongue and Draco moves forward, and you pick up the trot to get ahead of him again, continuing to lead the way. 

“Well, you can wake me up when you dream.” You shrug. “That would be a start.” 

“You can do the same.” His voice is light. You catch a small smile on his lips. 

“Oh, we making deals now?” You lean your head back, looking up at the blazing sky. Pink clouds wandering through bloody red, darkening. A cold breeze searching for warmth to steal. 

“I got the impression you wanted equality.” He almost chides you, teasing, and you feel your heart lift. 

“So, we’re in agreement, then.” Ahead of you, an overcropping looms, dark and sharp rock casting a shadow over the ridge you wander on. “You wake me, I wake you.”

You step into the shadow of the overcropping, cool air raising the hair on your arms. You urge Nifty forward, thirsting for the view, the rush of a great height, the faint fear of a vertiginous cliff. The dark edge of the rock over you comes into sight, the ridge you walk on curling around it. Your eyes pin to the darkening sky beyond it, now a deep, warm orange, and, slowly, you turn the corner. 

The cliff drops off in front of you. The view underneath it brings layers upon layers of green; hills and rippling grass, pathways and roads cutting through them. On the horizon, the dark, glowing smudge of a city stands, faint lights twinkling. Above, there’s color. Beyond description, sprawled out luxuriously across the dome of the sky. Deep blues twist into pinks and oranges and purples, splattered with the brightest stars shining through. The sun rests half-gone on the stark line of the horizon, the space around it golden. Wind whistles and the horses grow still, almost respectful of the culmination of the long walk they’d just taken. 

“How did you find this?” Tommy asks quietly.

You shrug. “Had a bad day. Wanted to find the ends of the earth.”

For a while, you watch the sun lower, the sky darken, and the world slowly fall asleep. The horses swish their tails, ears turned back to listen to any possible cues you might give. Twilight comes, and faint purple surrounds you. 

“We should go back.” Tommy breaks the silence, tugging on the reins to back his horse away, about to turn towards the overcropping’s edge, back to where you came from.

“No,” you say.

“No?” 

“No.” You shake your head. “We’re staying here until it’s dark. The horses can find their way at night.”

“Why would we do that?” There’s faint amusement in his deep voice. 

“Because.” You turn to look at him. “How long has it been since you wasted some time? How long’s it been since you fully watched the sunset?”

He considers you, blue eyes holding as much darkness as the falling night, then his lips purse slightly and he nods to you. “We stay til the sun is gone. No longer.”

“No longer.” You mock him, shooting him a grin. “C’mon, Tom, waste a moment with me and quit thinking about the work you have to do at home.” 

He offers you a faint smile back, lifting his chin to face the lilac horizon. “The air is cleaner up here. Helps clear the muck.”

“It’s crisp. Makes you feel a little more alive.” That’s why you brought him here, to the end of your little earth, this cliff’s edge between the city, the wild lands, and Arrow House. For some, the rush of the cool night air would mean little. But the two of you have learned that the smaller things in life are what keep you alive. The two of you know how to give yourself another reason. 

“Yep.” There’s a sort of settling in the word, like he’s come back to himself after a long day of pretending to be someone else. It’s low and rumbling, quiet, like he’s holding something else back, too hesitant to place another phrase into the ether between you. 

“What?” You ask, twisting to place a hand on the cantle of your saddle and face him. 

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“It’s never nothing with you.” You say it gently, and Draco’s ears prick towards you, recognizing your calming tone of voice. “Too much going on in that head for it to be nothing.” 

“I said it was nothing, then it’s nothing.” His voice grows defensive. 

“Alright.” You look back at the sunless sky, light still spread over the horizon like a blanket. “It’s nothing.” 

—

You’ve known he’s been hiding something for a while now. He’s good at hiding it, you’ll admit that, but still, you can see it. He allows you to probe his day, his work, his thoughts, except for certain odd corners. Little details he won’t confide, locations and names and blocks of time that he leaves out. You don’t ask him why, don’t ask him what. His words amble through your mind, and you track them carefully, trying to piece it together. You remember infiltration, and you remember the men who touched you, the men who drugged you, the men who hurt you and never faltered. 

Part of you blames yourself for the events that transpired next. You hoard your worries like a dragon with gold, unwilling or unable to disrupt the peace that hovers over Arrow House. The men who came after you are dead, and the fear of being pushed out, thrown into a world that will never welcome you, has dissipated. You are too much a coward to speak up. 

It happens all at once, it seems. Your slow, steady life speeds up exponentially, cascading out from a single, horrible event. 

Night falls. The horses sleep in their stables or out in the pasture, and the house is quiet. You sit on the floor in the entryway, toying with the hem of your shirt, worry icing your veins over like some internal ice age. Time ticks on, and you’ve heard nothing from him, and you hate to be the woman left at home, waiting for the man to come back. Part of your independence fades away the longer you sit and wait for him. Still, his line of work is dangerous, and he usually calls. 

You lean your head back and close your eyes. The silence buzzes around you. Frances has gone to sleep already. Your mind drifts, and despite your best efforts, you slip into a kind of frenzied stupor, images flashing in your mind's eye, brow furrowing, not quite awake but not quite asleep. 

The front door bangs open and you’re on your feet, backing away and drawing yourself up, preparing to fight. The world spins; you stood up too fast. Bright lights shine into your eyes, and a silhouette marches up the doorway, shouting something you don’t comprehend and you stumble backwards, about to turn and run. 

“Help me get him inside!” 

You recognize the voice and falter, poised, ready to bolt. 

“I said, help me get him inside! Come on, don’t bloody run away from me. Help me!” Arthur. His voice shakes, anger and fear mixed together. “Come on, woman, get your man.” 

You come back to yourself and walk forward, then, as Arthur comes fully into view, start into a jog. You see blood. Smeared up his front, as if he’d been carrying someone bleeding profusely. Your heart stutters in your chest and you flat-out run towards the car in the driveway. Arthur follows behind you. 

You find Thomas laying in the back seat and your eyes sweep quickly over his body. Eyes open, breathing hard, fresh blood spilling from what looks to be his chest, dripping down onto the seat beneath him. He groans and writhes, as if trying to escape the apparent pain, then falls still and quiet when his eyes land on you.

“What did you do?” You matter to him as Arthur appears behind you. Silently, you move over to let him take Tommy’s front half and drag him out of the car, then you take up the rear and support his legs, holding him up. 

“Got himself shot, is what he did.” Arthur shakes his head, face in sharp relief in the headlights. “Shoulda seen the other men, though.” 

“Do you know what happened?” You reach the doorstep and head inside. Arthur seems to know where to go, what to do, so you follow his lead. You’ve done many things in your life, but doctoring a gunshot wound is not one of them. “Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?”

“Just a bullet.” He shrugs and moves into the kitchen, pulling out a chair to place Tommy down on it. 

“Just a bullet?” You stare at him, momentarily stunned by the incredulity of this family and the amount of bullshit stored in their heads. 

“Aye. Just a fucking bullet, isn’t that right, Tom?” Arthur cuffs his shoulder and Tommy nods vaguely, his eyes still stuck on you. He’s been quiet. Too quiet. “Alright, you stay with him, keep him upright, keep his fucking eyes open. Got it?” 

“Got it.” You don’t ask where he’s going, just watch him stalk off, with that predator’s walk all the brother’s seem to have, one filled with confidence and self-assertion. Once he’s gone, you turn to Tommy, lean down, and lift his chin. “What the fuck did you do?” 

Clear blue eyes stare into yours, and you can almost see the thoughts chugging behind them, despite the pain he must be in. 

“Thomas.” Your other hand reaches out and slowly shifts his jacket away from the right side of his chest, where most of the blood appears to be coming from. A hole in his shirt, turning the white to pure crimson, not on his chest, but on his shoulder, marks where the bullet pierced him. “You tell me. You tell me what happened before Arthur comes back, or I will make a not-fun experience even worse.” 

Your heart races. His eyes slowly close and you shake him roughly. He winces, brow furrowing, tsking quietly. “There’s been a setback. It’ll be dealt with.” 

“A setback in what?” Your tone darkens. His eyes open and bore into yours, gaze so intense that chills rise up your spine. He doesn’t respond, so your grip on his chin tightens. “A setback in what?” 

“There’s a girl. Hollis. Went to get her out today. Found a man with her. I couldn’t let him fucking live. Couldn’t do it.” His eyes stay steady on yours. “The bartender heard me. Sent men in. Got lucky getting out the way I did.”

“Thomas,” Your tone is deadly quiet. “You killed a client. You were seen on the way out. They know who you are. They probably followed you here. There’s no fucking muzzle on the mouth that just bit you, and they are coming after you. I told you that you couldn’t win this war.” 

He groans, leaning his head back on the chair. His blood drips serenely onto the floor. “It’ll be handled.”

You grab his shoulder, just above the bullet wound, and he gasps as the pressure shifts the skin around it. “You’ve doomed us both. Do you understand that? You’ve fucked both of us over and there’s nothing—”

You take a breath, then stand up, turning to face the door. “There’s nothing you can do…”

But you. You can stop all of this in a moment. You can satisfy the bloodlust and the predatory need of the men he’s angered, you can give them a chew-toy, a distraction, a pacification. There’s an extra pair of lights pulling into the driveway.

You look down at him. “You fucker.”

You almost laugh. You either comply, give yourself up, or you watch Tommy and Arthur and likely Frances and Charlie be killed or, worse, taken in. This is the fragile thing about freedom. It doesn’t fully belong to you, not now, not ever. It relies on a web of people to hold you up, and when one person stumbles and falls, the rest tumbles down with it. You just didn’t expect that person to be Tommy. Freedom is the line that connects you to him, and you are about to hang yourself with it. 

There’s a try at the front door, then the quiet clicking of someone picking the lock. Footsteps move slowly into the house, at least four pairs of them.

You take one final look at him. You are Tantalus submerged in water, the apple above you, and you have given up on reaching. Those blue eyes, that perfect face, the sudden realization in his expression. 

“Run,” he says. “Just fucking run. Forget about us and run.”

You shake your head. “I fucking love you, you know that?” 

It’s the trolley problem. It’s a philosopher’s dream. It’s the moment that you decide what kind of person you want to be. It’s when you decide, finally, that you won’t run. 

There’s a rumbling sound in your ears, like thousands of people rolling over in their graves. There’s a look on his face that you’ve never seen before, some kind of shock and awe and terror and deep, unspeakable sadness. You smile faintly as the footsteps stop in the doorway and, out of the corner of your eye, you see a gun raised to point directly at him. 

You will walk gladly into hell knowing that you’ve caught a glimpse of heaven. You will face the brimstone face on, and you won’t expect to be saved. There is no purgatory for you, not anymore. This body belongs to you. Nothing they do to it will ever change that. It is yours, it is yours, it is yours. In a thousand agonies, it belongs to you, and you love it for that fact. 

You turn to face the men in the doorway, slowly raising your arms above your head. You are a child again, and you are watching your mother give you away, and you are watching the first love of your life be shot. Never again. Never again will you helplessly stand by as someone you love is hurt. 

As you step away, giving yourself up to the men who will never care for you, never respect any part of you, never see you as anything more than a few holes to use, you hear a quiet response behind you. 

“I love you, too.”

#only the wild ones #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic

[ikinremu]

if you could do like a dumbification reader and thomas shelby i’d die happy please and thank u :)

Hi anon, thank u sm for requesting!! Hope you like it <3

Think Straight

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

! Smut Warning !

Tags: Dumbificiation, P in V, Unprotected Sex, Cream Pie

"You just couldn't think of anything else, could you?"  Tommy scoffed, wooden door rattling shut behind the pair of you. 

Your linen coated back pressed up to the wood, a familiar set of eyes honing in on your own.

"Wanted me to fuck you, is that it?" He spoke, raising one complacent brow. His hands immediately found your waist, drawing your eager bodies closer to one and other.

An intense arousal simmered between your legs, triumphant in the knowledge you'd be getting what you'd longed for. You could resist sporting a smile, nodding softly in response.

"Tommy," You began, unsure where you'd even take the sentence, though before you had time to contemplate the matter, Tommy slid a single finger into your mouth.

"Shh," He hushed, "I've heard enough from you."

Your eyes widened momentarily, feeling the callous pad of his thumb roll onto your tongue.

Using the unoccupied hand to lower the waistband of his trousers, he released his hard length with a low, relieved groan, feeling you whimper slightly against his thumb.

You reached out a hand, impatient to have him against your palm, though he dismissed it with a hint of a smirk, "So eager, eh?"

Tommy wasn't wrong; you were. Despite his presence being right before you, it wasn't enough. It wouldn't be until he was inside you.

Sliding one vacant hand beneath your skirt, he pulled the sodden cotton of your panties aside, completely baring you to his touch. "Fuck," He uttered, "You're soaking."

You murmured something practically unintelligible against his thumb as it lay against your tongue.

"Do what you're good for a spread those legs for me." Tommy commanded, a blatantly clear sense of amusement laced in his tone. And it was driving you beyond wild.

You hastily obeyed, parting your thighs, curious eyes flitting directly to the piercing pair before you.

He seized his thick, bare length within his hand, angling his tip with your drenched, welcoming cunt. With a deep, gruff groan, Tommy slid right past your drenched walls, stretching your tight cunt.

Tenderly, you moaned against his thumb once again as he filled you so flawlessly. Your heavy lids screwed together with nothing but sheer pleasure as he planted his first thrust, rocking you against the door. You instinctively swung your legs round his pelvis, desperate to feel him further.

"Gonna fuck all the thoughts out that pretty little head, eh?" Tommy assured, the pulse of his tip hitting tauntingly in your soaked pussy as his hips bucked up.

Your lips sealed as his thumb slithered from the warmth of your mouth, grabbing handfuls of your behind with both large, splayed hands. Your head lolled back, finding rest against the door, teeth sinking ferociously into your lower lip. You clenched around him, squeezing his length as his hips jerked erratically, lips curving into a slight smirk at your noises.

"Poor thing." Tommy mock frowned, "Can't think straight can you?"

You whined with broken breaths, shaking your head less than subtly, mouth falling open as his thick tip striking your g spot in a perfect rhythm. You writhed a little as he gave your ass another squeeze, arousal spiking even higher.

"That's it, all you can do is take it, hm?" He teased, greedily pulling your heat against him with each escalating thrust, "Making a pretty little mess of yourself on my cock, eh?""

His words merely fuelled the sultry fog in your head, sopping cunt twitching around his shaft,

"F-fuck.." You practically babbled out, "So good.."

"I know," Tommy chuckled in acknowledgment, switching one hand to gently cup the flush of your cheek, "Making that perfect cunt feel so good, isn't that right?"

Suddenly, the very same hand was shifting between your legs, fingertips toying with the drastic swell of your clit, only enhancing your pleasure.

Your eyes couldn't resist but flutter shut, back hollowing an arch against the door.

"Look at that.. all fucked out." He taunted, entirely unable to do anything except lust over the sight of you, watching wildly as his cock brought you closer and closer.

His skilful digits didn't relent upon playing with your swollen clit, drawing the most intoxicating moans from your throat. His bare length twitched inside you with each following thrust, evidently losing composure.

"You want me to fill this sweet little cunt?" Tommy grunted, edging nearer and nearer as your walls spasmed around him, "Give you something to think about for once?"

Nodding, you uttered trails of quiet, messy 'pleases' between your shallow panting, feeling an euphorically familiar knot become apparent in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter as you were so fulfillingly stretched around Tommy's cock.

As the pressure of his fingers quickened against your sensitive cunt, the knot so suddenly snapped, body shaking as you were hit by the ferocity of your orgasm.

Your now over-responsive pussy quivered weakly, a loud moan escaping you, Tommy doing the same. With one faulty rock of his hips, a familiarly warm burst found your cunt.

Chest rising and falling rather dramatically, your breaths gradually grew steadier.

Tommy studied you intently, offering a proud smile as he snaked a hand upwards, gently tapping the side of your head, tutting, "Nothing going on up there, hm love?"

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the requests/asks feature on my page - it’d be so greatly appreciated!

#smut #smutty #drabbles #oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader

[mlmxreader]

As Long As I’m With You | Alfie Solomons x m!reader

Anonymous asked: Can I request Alfie with the prompt "I didn't mean to get so jealous"? Thank you!

summary: you don’t care where you are or where you’re going, as long as you’re with Alfie

tws: brief mentions of war, swearing, jealousy and possessiveness, threats of gun-related violence

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

You and Alfie had been at each other’s sides for more years than you could care to count, and although many thought that you would be closer after serving in the war together, nothing much changed; you were still the only one who ever caught his eye, and he was still the only one who ever made you laugh until you were unable to make any noise.

You weren’t his right-hand man, even if Tommy Shelby had insisted on calling you such, you were Alfie’s partner, and his equal in every sense; Alfie answered to no one when it came to business, except you. You didn’t answer to anyone outside him, either, that was just the way that things were; any business dealings or decisions that needed to be made, you and Alfie would talk it through.

You were his partner as much as he was yours, and almost everybody understood that. Everybody with any decency understood, at least. 

A single shot so many years ago had completely changed the world, but it had left your relationship with Alfie completely untouched, and for that, you would always be thankful; even if everything wasn’t perfect all the time, given his temper and given how prone he was to things like jealousy, you never would have changed it for the world.

They were things that made up your Alfie, things that made you glad that you had chosen to be at his side for so long; even if you didn’t like them they were still parts of him, and you had promised to love every piece.

You weren’t about to go back on that, as if you were an honest man, you would be able to admit that you would have followed him into the trenches all over again; you would have followed Alfie anywhere, so long as it meant that you could be there when he read the morning paper and handed you the crossword sections.

As long as you could do that, you would have followed him anywhere, and you would have gladly taken up your role as a shock troop all over again if you had to; as long as you could do the crosswords, you would happily go back to doing what you did in the war. Right by his side, as always. 

But for now, there was no war, and although tensions were unstable when it came to politics, you and Alfie were happy enough; living in Camden and working together, you were happy. Even Tommy Shelby with his union busting thugs couldn’t get between you. 

You swiped a hand down your face, looking over at Alfie from your place on the windowsill as he shouted at some Italian from America who was trying to fix something or other; the language Alfie used was always coarse and blunt, no matter who he was talking to, but he really did not like the man trying to get in on the business whatsoever.

You couldn’t really be sure why, if you were honest, as he seemed nice enough; when he first walked in, he kissed your cheeks and told you how handsome you were and how you must have been smart for being able to stay in business for so long - Alfie fucking despised him, though. 

“Your, uh, your husband,” the businessman gestured to you. “He’s quite a looker, ain’t he?”

Alfie clenched his jaw, and tensed up as he placed his gun on the table, glaring up at the Italian. “You so much as look at him again, and I will shoot you right between the fuckin’ eyes.”

“I’m just sayin’,” the Italian purred. “He’s a looker, Mister Solomons.”

“And I’m just fuckin’ sayin’, if you look at him again, I will shoot you,” Alfie replied. “He’s my fuckin’ husband, not yours, mate. So get. The. Fuck. Away. Yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, sighing as you decided to keep your mouth shut, turning back to your crossword as you cleared your throat and wiped your nose on the back of your sleeve; Alfie had always been prone to jealousy, you were used to it, and although you didn’t like it so much, you learned a long time ago to make the most of it.

“Alfie, it’s three o’clock.”

He glanced at the clock, then glared at the Italian again. “You’re out of time, mate. Get out.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” the Italian chuckled, grinning at you and waving before he finally took his leave.

Alfie locked the office door, and loomed over you as he folded his arms across his chest. “That cunt’s too friendly with you.”

You looked up at him, and you grinned as you licked your lips, trying not to laugh. “Oh, Alf… do you really think I’d let anyone take me away from you?”

“No,” Alfie admitted, pushing your legs off of the windowsill so that he could sit beside you, a harsh sigh coming from the back of his throat as he shook his head. “But he shouldn’t be lookin’ at you like that anyway - you’re my fuckin’ husband, and you’re my fuckin’ business partner - you’d be his boss if he were gonna work with us.”

“He’s just being polite,” you shrugged. “He don’t mean anything by it, y’know.”

He didn’t trust the other man to have thought that way, but he trusted you enough that, after giving it a little thought, he nodded and he sighed. “I didn’t mean to get so jealous, I just… y’know.”

“Yeah, I know, Alf,” you hummed, gently patting his thigh. “But, you wanna know something?”

“What?”

“No matter what happens, no matter who walks in and says shit like that to me or to you,” you started, “at the end of the day, I’d follow you anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere,” you nodded. “As long as you can get a morning paper so I can do the crosswords while you look at the headlines. I’d follow you anywhere.”

Alfie smiled, putting his arm around your shoulders as he sniffled and cleared his throat. “Well, you might wanna pack your bags.”

“Why?”

“Y’know my little cousin?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “What about him?”

“He’s got his bar mitzvah comin’ up,” Alfie told you with a hum. “And I’m fuckin’ takin’ you with me, because you know what’d happen if I showed up to a family event without you.”

You couldn’t help but to laugh as you shook your head. “So, we’re going on a trip?”

“For a week,” he nodded. “Just you an’ me, for the most part… that sound alright with you, sunshine?”

“Always,” you agreed. “As long as I’m with you, Alf, I don’t care where we go, or for how long.”

#mlem writes #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons x yn #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons oneshot #alfie solomons one shot #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons fluff #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders x yn #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders bbc #bbc peaky blinders #peaky blinders #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy x you #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy