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red-riding-wood · 3 months

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Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly.

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined.

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room.

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

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383 notes · View notes

red-write-hand · 6 months

Text

"As long as I still love you, my eyes will never grow dark to you.”

pairing -> thomas shelby x f!oc

trope -> hurt/comfort, argument, tommy being kinda a shitty husband

warning -> argument, tommy being kinda a shitty husband, fluffy ending (i promise)

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He sat back in his plush chair. Today wasn't a good day in general. Between his brothers pissing him off and a couple business deals going south, it seemed like he couldn’t catch a break. He tilted his head back while his eyelids fluttered close. All he needed was time. All he needed was peace and quiet. He knew he was forgetting something but he couldn’t tell what he was forgetting. Like something was supposed to happen but nothing happened. He shook his head and started to pour another glass of whiskey. Another storm was brewing on the horizon. He hadn’t even realized it until it was too late. The great big door swung closed. The house had grown darker than it usually was, the dark oak everywhere kept it ambient but now, with the threat of something coming, it seemed even darker. Someone hung up their coat. Then it dawned on Tommy who had just arrived. His wife. His wife who had tear stained cheeks and wet hair. She didn’t look at him as she kicked off her shoes. His thoughts started to quicken as he tried to figure out what he had forgotten. Turns out, she was going to answer that for him.

“For a man who projects the idea that he is on top of everything, you seem to forget what you say is most important to you.” She silently walked up to their shared room, quietly shutting the door behind her. He could hear her faint tears through the door. What had he forgotten? He sat back down in his office. He took a long drag of his cigarette. What was happening today? What was so special about today? What exactly had he forgotten? Upstairs, she slumped against the door. Her cheeks felt hot tears slide down them as she cried for a husband that took her for granted. She knew this was not true all the time, not the nights where he kissed the length of her body and made up for all the long nights and forgotten promises, not the days that he took off work and spent the day in bed with her, not the times where he noticed that she was uncomfortable and he slipped his hand in hers to reassure her that he was there, not the times where he let her cry in his lap until she fell asleep. Then again, this was a rather important thing to forget. Today was special. Today had been the happiest day of her life a year ago. She didn’t know, she couldn't fathom how he could forget a day like today. So she cried. She cried with her back against the door of the bedroom that they used to sleep in every night, the bedroom where they had planned on trying for children, the bedroom where they both forgot about the world and just focused on each other. She could hear footsteps outside the door. She reached a shaky hand up and locked it from the inside. She would rather cry herself to sleep against the cold, hard floor than face her husband who had forgotten her once again. She heard Frances, Thomas’ maid, from the other side of the door.

“Mrs. Shelby, Mrs. Thorne wanted to give you these–” Tony cracked the door open slightly to look at the small parcel Ada had left her. It had a small note attached to it. She thanked Frances and took the package inside, then relocked the door. She carefully pulled the brown paper off for it to reveal a small box of chocolates. The note had fallen to the floor, which Tony now started to notice. The note read, ‘Just in case you needed it. Remember that he does love you, even though he does get wrapped up in himself. Happy Anniversary to my favorite sister in law. Yours truly, Ada Thorne.’ Tony smiled and tucked the note under the box of chocolate. She heard a different set of footsteps come up to the other side of the locked door. It was much heavier and sounded much more familiar. She took a deep breath. She heard something hit the floor. A few curse words in a Birmingham accent floated in through the crack in the floor. She didn’t know what exactly she should say. Yes, she was angry, so she should chew him out? Then again, she was sad, should she guilt trip him? Make him feel all the feelings she was feeling? Another emotion surfaced, fear. The fear of abandonment. The fear that one day, he would leave her. The fear that she was slowly getting taken for granted by the man she loved most in the world. Again, she started to cry, then she felt something soft hit the hand she had been leaning on. It was a napkin from the dining room of the Arrow House. She smiled through her building sadness. This was how they had communicated the day of their wedding. They had passed notes on several stacks of napkins since it was customary for the groom to not see his bride. They had both thought this rule was silly and a little outdated but you don’t argue with Aunt Polly. The notes on their wedding day had been words full of adoration and love. Now the napkin that had been riddled with tear stains had two simple words on it.

‘I’m Sorry.’ She blinked a few times but this just made the napkin more and more wet. The handwriting was his. This was the handwriting that had moved millions of dollars. This was the handwriting that had written letters full to the brim of teasing words and innuendos while he was in London and she was in Ireland. This was the handwriting of the man she loved more than anything in this world. This was the handwriting of her husband. This was the handwriting of the man who had forgotten his own wedding anniversary. She gulped down another wave of tears and mustered up enough resolve to finally get words out.

“But are you though?” She could hear the breath being released from the other side of the door. She could almost hear the wheels in his head turning, trying to solve this problem quickly, but there is no quick solution to this. She was not the kind of girl who would say that a couple of kisses and a night of sweet love making would be a sufficient apology. She needed something much more substantial. She could hear him trying to think of the right words, the right phrasing, the best way of regaining the love of his wife back.

“You have all the right in the world to be angry at me. You have all the right in the world to walk out on me. That is, as of right now, what I deserve. I have taken you for granted and forgotten many things I shouldn’t have. Yell at me if you have to. I will leave you alone if you need space to cry. My only request is that we figure this out together. This day, last year, we were married and you told me something that has stuck with me every single day–” He paused, trying to remember what she had said exactly to make sure he got his point across perfectly.

“As long as I have love in my heart for you, my eyes will stay a pale gray. No matter what happens. No matter what I have to go through. As long as I still love you, my eyes will never grow dark to you.” He finished her quote with a long silence.

“When you walked in from the rain, your eyes were darker than I’ve ever seen them. I wish there was a quick and easy way of fixing this so that I can have my Tony back to the way she was before I started to fuck up this entire thing…but there is no easy way. There never has been. You do things methodically, I do things sporadically, sometimes with a plan, sometimes spontaneously. Our love exists in the balance between erratic and consistent. If there is any way I can reclaim your love, I will go to any lengths for it. I know you might not believe me but your love, Anthony Bentini Shelby, is the thing nearest and dearest to my heart. Your love that is fleeting than trying to cup water in your hands, your love that makes a man fall to his knees at the sight of it, your love that is only shown to the most worthy of souls. You have changed the course of my life with your love. You have changed my soul with your love. If there is any way, if there is even a possibility of your forgiveness, I will wait weeks, months, years, sitting against this door, until you come to your verdict…and if you so choose to walk out, I will not stop you, just know that you have changed every single member of the Shelby family.” She didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know if she should say anything after that. Thomas hadn’t spoken that much in weeks. He had let out a few sentences at most to her but nothing this long. Nothing this…important. She pulled a pen out of her jacket pocket and wrote carefully on the napkin before sending it back under the door. She simply wrote, ‘I forgive you.’ She cracked the door again to let her hand through to the other side. He laced his fingers between hers. She could hear his breath evening out. She could feel her own slowing down and she could feel her tears drying. She silently giggled when she felt him drawing small designs with his thumb into the back of her hand. She could hear his voice, now cracked and choked up.

“Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Shelby.” She could feel him plant a small, gentle kiss to the back of her hand. He was never gentle about anything. The trademark of his love was that he tried to be more gentle with her.

“Happy Anniversary, Mr. Shelby.”

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fandom-chic · 10 months

Text

Please Please Please: Chapter 1

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy realize there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

A/N: Hi everybody! This Peaky Blinders fic is a SLOW BURN ROMANCE and will start off quite fluffy! Let me know what you all think and if you would like to see more.

She knew exactly which day it was when she first met him. She wouldn't forget it for the rest of her life. It was the spring of 1898, and her family had just moved to Small Heath. Her father had grown up there, and she remembered hearing stories from his boyhood, calling it "Magical Small Heath." She was ecstatic to go to such a place. It sounded like a dream come true.

But she was mistaken.

The rancid smell of the town seeped into every aspect of life there. The colors were dreary, the weather was raw, and the people seemed indifferent to everything. To top it off, the house she called home had maybe four rooms in total: her bedroom, her parents' room, the kitchen, and the bathroom. It couldn’t even be compared to her family’s old home in the country. During her first month in Small Heath, she often found herself staring out of her shoebox-sized bedroom window, yearning for some semblance of familiarity.

"You can't stay in your room all day," her father would say, standing at the doorway.

"I can try," she would mutter back, tracing the condensation on the window pane.

"I bet you can," he muttered under his breath as he turned to leave. He stopped abruptly and looked back. "The least you can do is meet the neighborhood kids. Don't turn your nose up at everyone just yet." All she could manage was an eye roll before her father left her to her own devices. She continued to gaze out the window, imagining herself somewhere else amidst the gray roads of Small Heath.

As day turned into night, she felt herself starting to drift off. Her eyes fluttered as her chin rested in her hand. Just as darkness began to envelop her, she heard a loud bang. Her eyes shot open, expecting to see a bullet hole in her window. Instead, all she saw was a ball lying in the garden below. It hadn't been there before, but now it found its place in the grass. She focused her eyes on the ball for a moment, and that's when she saw him.

He couldn't have been much older than her, maybe eight or nine years old. He leaned down and picked up the ball, rolling it over in his fingers before looking up at her. His eyes were the most colorful thing she had seen in Small Heath, like a sea of warmth amidst the coldness. She couldn't help but smile at him, and he returned a small grin. Then, he jogged off into the streets of Small Heath. She knew she had to say hello.

Her father was pleased to find an empty room the following day as he walked by her doorway. She didn't know where to find the boy, but she knew she had to search for him. She scoured the streets until her stomach rumbled, indicating it was lunchtime. With a sigh of defeat, she made her way back home. As she approached the front steps, ready for lunch, she heard a noise that stopped her in her tracks.

"Oy!" she halted and turned back to see a familiar pair of blue eyes. It was him.

"Hello," she said, feeling a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

He held up the familiar-looking ball. "We need another player," he raised an eyebrow. "Wanna join?" All she could do was smile and nod. He returned her smile and motioned for her to follow him. She gladly obliged.

Walking by his side, they made their way down an alley. She couldn't help but notice how his clothes hung heavily on his thin limbs. If his shoes weren't so big, his pant legs might have dragged on the ground. His cheekbones seemed more pronounced than those of a child his age. She knew she couldn't be the only hungry child in Small Heath.

"I've never seen you before," he said, tracing the seams of the ball with his forefinger.

"My family is new to town," she said, feeling compelled to share more. He grunted in response as she started to hear the voices of other young boys.

"Then welcome to Small Heath. I'm Tommy," he paused, holding out his hand. It seemed unusual for such a young boy to introduce himself in such a mature way, but she sensed that he must not lead a typical life.

"Nice to meet you, Tommy. I'm Y/N," she hesitated before adding, "I hope we can be friends." His lips curved into a smile. She wished she could capture that moment in a photograph and live within it. This was the day she made her first best friend.

As the two children ventured farther down the road, Y/N finally distinguished voices. They approached closer until she could put a voice to a face. The voice that rose above all the others belonged to a boy who appeared a little rougher than the rest.

"It's my fucking turn," he said, emphasizing the final syllable of the curse word. Her eyes widened in surprise. In her seven years of life, she had never heard such language. She looked over at Tommy for a reaction, but all she saw was a smirk.

"Oy, Arthur, it doesn't matter," the angry boy turned toward Y/N and her new friend, "because it is Y/N's turn." Her eyebrows inched up slightly. She had never played baseball before. She always saw it as something boys did while girls played "house" off to the side.

"It is?" Y/N questioned.

"She's gonna mess up all the teams," Arthur moaned, waving an arm toward the five other boys behind him.

"Then we'll start a new game," Tommy said, sounding determined. She knew Tommy was younger than Arthur, but the older boy seemed to respect him.

"Fine," Arthur mumbled, "but she's on your team."

"Of course, brother," Tommy said. They were brothers. Even more unusual, she thought, as the two boys went to the pitcher's mound to discuss teams. Before she knew it, Y/N found herself holding a bat, waiting for a ball to come flying towards her.

"What do I do?" she whispered to Tommy, who stood a few paces behind her. He chuckled to himself.

"Hit it and run like hell," he replied. She nodded hesitantly before turning to face Arthur. He made eye contact with her and tossed the ball in her direction. Instinctively, she flinched away.

"Strike one!" yelled the catcher. She knew flinching like that was the wrong move. She looked over at Tommy, who masked his disappointment by gazing up at the sky. She knew she had to hit the ball. She raised the bat higher as another ball flew toward her. This time, she kept her eyes open as she took a swing.

"Strike two!" the boy yelled again. She could hear the grimace in his voice. Resigning herself to the idea that baseball may not be her game, she heard her name being whispered loudly. She turned her head to see Tommy.

"Hold the bat like this," he said, mimicking holding it horizontally in front of him. "Don't swing, just hold it out." She nodded and made eye contact with the pitcher. She was determined now. When the ball came hurtling in her direction again, she held out the bat. When she heard the light tap of the ball barely grazing the bat, she knew she wasn't out. She smiled to herself and then over at Tommy. He looked at her wide-eyed before yelling, "Run!"

She sprinted like lightning to first base, and before she knew it, she was safe. She had officially played baseball and had made her mark on the game. She felt victorious in her own way. As she basked in her moment of triumph, Tommy took his turn at the plate. Too caught up in her own accomplishment, she didn't hear the bat make contact with the ball. She also didn't look up in time to notice the ball whizzing right at her. It wasn't until the hard ball struck her gut that she realized Tommy had hit it. She clutched her middle, crumbled to the ground, and let out a scream. Rolling onto her side, she held herself in a fetal position, trying to find some comfort, but the pain was too intense. Tears began to stream down her face.

Between the sobs, she finally noticed Tommy kneeling beside her. "Are you okay?" he asked. No, she was not. He knew that, just as well as she did. The pain was one thing, but the embarrassment in front of her new friend was unbearable.

"I should go home," she mumbled, wiping away a tear.

"Are you sure you want—"

"Yes," she spat. With that, she forced herself up and trudged home. She refused to look back at the boy she had hoped would be her friend. How could he be friends with her now? With the crybaby who didn't know the first thing about a friendly neighborhood game of baseball? She lay face down on her bed as soon as she arrived home, vowing to remain there for the rest of her existence. This was her life now—a loner with no friends.

She couldn't have been there for more than ten minutes when she heard a knock at the door. She heard her mother open it and footsteps approaching her room.

"Y/N," her mother said as the door creaked open, "you have a guest." She rolled her head to see Tommy standing in her room.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, as her mother shut the door behind Tommy.

"I wanted to see if you were okay," he said, stepping further into the room. "Getting hit like that hurts."

"It did," she said. "It hurt like hell." She heard a chuckle from Tommy.

"I can imagine," he said, dropping onto the floor beside her bed. Y/N rolled over, staring at the ceiling as a beat passed.

"I understand if you don't want to play with me anymore. No one wants to play with a crybaby," she kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, not wanting to see Tommy's rejection.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because," she felt her fingers tense with anxiety, "they ruin the games and then run home to their mommies. How can that be any fun?"

"You actually sound a lot like Arthur right now," she could hear the humor in Tommy's voice, but she didn't want to look at his face just yet. "Maybe we can play a different game then." This statement shocked her. Now she looked down at him to see him gazing up at her.

"You still want to play with me?" she asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice.

He smiled and sighed. "I don't know," he said, fiddling with his fingers and averting his gaze. "I guess I do."

The moment she gave him a small smile, Tommy knew he was forgiven.

"We can ride horses next time in the fields outside town," she felt her eyes widen at his suggestion.

"You have horses?" giddiness bubbled in her stomach.

"No," he smirked to himself, "but I know where we can find some."

That day, Y/N knew she had met her best friend. Tommy, though, knew he had met his soulmate.

Next chapter

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call-sign-shark · 1 year

Text

Heaven In Your Eyes || Masterlist

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC (Heaven Lavey Shelby)

Additional content/Info: CLICK HERE

Fic Summary: He meets her at church one dreary night, guided by her singing. Her name? Heaven Lavey. White ivory hair, fair porcelain skin, and petite shape, this almost ethereal creature is Arthur's strict opposite. Yet, all it took was one dive into her heavenly eyes for him to be convinced God has sent His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul. The two lovebirds, obsessed with each other, are determined to live their love no matter people's judgments and no matter the dangers of a Peaky Blinder's life. They are together through the best and through the worst.

But behind her holy appearance and sweet facade, Heaven Lavey is dangerous. With rumors of witchcraft and murder, her shady past weighs on her shoulders. And if she is a blessing for Arthur Shelby, she will soon prove to be a curse for those who dare to stand in her and her husband's way. Even Thomas Shelby himself.

She is Arthur’s Angel, but don't get fooled by her doe eyes: for the rest of us, she is the White Devil.

And by extend, you are too.

Why? Because Heaven Lavey… It’s you.

TW: Major character death, explicit sexual content, canonical violence, graphic description of violence, blasphemy, witch trials and burning of innocent women, dependent relationship (if Arthur and Heaven are happy in their relationship, they are obsessed and possessive, which leads to bursts of violence and deifying from Arthur. By no means I am claiming their relationship is healthy, but it is what works for them)

ACT I.

♢ Ch. 1 || Heaven in Your Eyes

♢ Ch. 2 || Never Did, Never Dared

♢ Ch. 3 || Something Wicked This Way Comes 🔞

♢ Ch. 4 || Dead Bird at Witchin Hour

♢ Ch. 5 || The Hell in His Eyes

♢ Ch. 6 || The One They Should Have Burned

♢ Ch. 7 || Of Matches and Gasoline 🔞

♢ Ch. 8 || Tango on Broken Dreams

ACT II.

♢ Ch. 9 || For Whom the Bells Toll

♢ Ch. 10 || Closer to Heaven or Closer to Hell? 🔞

♢ Ch. 11 || When The Bridges Burn

♢ Ch. 12 || As They Always Did

♢ Ch. 13 || Cross My Heart and Hope to Die

♢ Ch. 14 || Pure As a Lamb 🔞

♢ Ch. 15 || Women Like Me in a Men's World

♢ Ch. 16 || Après Moi le Déluge ( c o m i n g . . .)

♢ Ch. 17 || ( Il Diàvulu Biancu)

♢ Ch. 18 ||

ACT III.

♢ Ch. 18 ||

♢ Ch. 19 ||

♢ Ch. 20 ||

♢ Ch. 21 ||

♢ Ch. 22 ||

♢ Ch. 23 ||

♢ Ch. 24 ||

♢ Ch. 25 ||

♢ The series can be longer.

Some events from the show are taken and obviously reworked. Yet, except for a few quotes and scenes, everything else is imagined by the author.

Related works - in chronological order-

♢ From Blood We Will Grow

♢ To Bark and Bite

♢ Kaiser Meeting Cyril (requested)

♢ A Bone to Pick With It (requested)

♢ Perfect Lines

♢ Savage Daughter

♢ A Slice of Us (Modern!HYE)

♢ Love Ritual (@zablife's celebration)

♢ The Woods Whisper 1, 2 (Halloween Horror)

♢Little Lamb 1, 2, 3 (Yandere!AU)

Moodboards and other content

♢ Playlist

♢ Moodboard Aesthetic

♢ Moodboard Chapter 6

♢Heaven In your Eyes Act II trailer

♢ Moodboard Chapter 12

♢ Heaven in your Eyes chapter 16 trailer

Looking for more? Check out Heaven's masterlist I and II.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @he6rtshaker @bemyqueenofdarkness @cljordan-imperium @cjarbo @red-riding-wood @rysko

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queenshelby · 8 months

Text

Auctioned (P. 1)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

The rain fell relentlessly, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of Y/N's heart as she walked down the dimly lit streets of Small Heath.

It was a neighbourhood perpetually caught in the grip of shadows, where whispers of danger cascaded through the air like an ominous secret.

Clutching her coat tighter around her trembling form, Y/N navigated the labyrinthine alleyways towards her destination. The wind howled, carrying with it a sense of desperation that seemed to echo her own.

After mere minutes of walking down the street, the brothel she had worked at as a waitress for the past two years stood ominously before her, its ornate facade a stark contrast to the gritty reality of its surroundings.

It was a daunting place she had visited many times before. Both of her sisters worked there, and it was Y/N's eldest sister who had orchestrated tonight’s ordeal.

When Y/N was only sixteen years old, her eldest sister told her not to give away her innocence lightly as, according to her, a woman’s virginity was a commodity these days. Men were willing to pay much money for it, and six months after Y/N turned eighteen, she decided to partake in one of the brothel’s first-ever auctions.

“There are many men here tonight and you are the only virgin” Y/N's sister told her, causing Y/N to cringe but remain silent. “In three months’ time Em, we will be debt-free” her sister then reassured her as rumors of illicit dealings and forbidden desires swirled around the brothel’s walls, warning Y/N and the two other girls partaking in tonight’s events to tread with caution.

Y/N's determination propelled her forward though nonetheless, into the grand hall of the establishment and, albeit with trepidation lingering in every step, she pushed through her anxiety. The weight of her decision bore down on her shoulders now, the knowledge that she had offered her innocence for sale causing a knot of guilt to form in the pit of her stomach.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, the creaking sound reverberated through the room, capturing the attention of its mysterious clientele, including men that were twice and three times Y/N's age.

Seeing them, gave Y/N second thoughts. She disappeared again into the back of the room, telling her sister that she was unsure as to whether she could go through with this and, once again, her sister reminded her of what was to come if she did not.

“Trust me Em, it is better to fuck one guy for a few months than a ton of them for years. You will have money once your time is up. It will be worth it” her sister told Y/N, who reluctantly nodded.

The deal was to give up her virginity and three months of her life to the highest bidder and in the brothel’s owner’s opinion, such offering was going to attract a bid of at least one-thousand pounds.

One thousand pounds was more than Y/N could make in five years, thus she agreed, setting herself up for a good life of her own.

***

Glancing through one of the open doors again, Y/N saw that the auction room was illuminated by dim candlelight, casting elongated shadows across the velvety red curtains that framed the stage.

Many men were still arriving, taking their seats and talking with each other. Y/N could count at least fifteen thus far and were astonished by the fact that all these wealthy men were prepared to pay for her inexperience.

Then, a hushed silence fell over the crowd as another man walked in and it was your sister who peaked through the crack in the door with you now, trying to ascertain what was happened.

“Oh shit” she said as she looked at the man who just walked in. His sharp features were framed by a weave of dark hair, blue eyes piercing the dimly lit room with a predatory intensity. This was Thomas Shelby - a figure whispered about in hushed tones, notorious for his criminal empire, and feared even by those who claimed to know him.

“Who is he?” Y/N asked nonetheless, curious about this handsome but intimidating-looking stranger.

“His name is Thomas Shelby. You would have heard of him?” Y/N's sister said, causing Y/N's chin to drop as, just like everyone else, she had indeed heard of him. He was often referred to as the king of Birmingham, a man whose name had become entwined with notions of danger and darkness. He had blood on his hands and was a career

Criminal who was so powerful that even the police did not stand in his way.

“It is time, come on” the owner of the establishment then said and, with trembling legs, Y/N walked into the room, accompanied by her sister.

All heads turned as Y/N's presence filled the room, but she did not take notice of anyone but him, secretly hoping for this stranger to make a bid.

Y/N's breath hitched as, within seconds, her eyes locked with those of this dangerous man, his icy blue orbs penetrating through her like a shard of glass. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he could see every secret she held close to her chest, every fear she carried.

Thomas smirked at her, his lips curling with a dangerous mixture of arrogance and charm. He adjusted his tailored suit with the precision of a man who commanded respect, his piercing gaze locked upon the platform where the auctioneer eventually prepared to begin, with you by his side,

The auctioneer's voice boomed through the room, shattering the silence like a crack of thunder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we present to you a rare opportunity. Up for sale to the highest bidder is this young woman's innocence and her services for three months, at a location of your choosing” the man announced and, immediately, whispers raced through the air, mingling with the pounding of hearts.

Eyes flickered from Y/N to Thomas and back again, playing a silent game of anticipation and curiosity. Y/N's cheeks burned with a mix of nervousness and defiance. This was her choice, her chance to take control of her own destiny and yet she hoped that, at least, someone she could be attracted to would become her bidder.

As such, Thomas Shelby was clearly the most attractive and intriguing man in the room and, whilst Y/N had heard tales of Thomas Shelby, the man who straddled the line between the law and the underworld, she was not afraid.

Thomas Shelby’s notoriety preceded him like a shadowy myth and, again, his lips curled into a barely perceptible smirk, his features a carefully crafted mask of unreadable intent. The flicker of amusement in his eyes danced with a darkness that weakened Y/N's knees.

Was here to bid, she wondered? Or was he for the show and the sheer absurdity of it all?

"Let us not waste any time," the auctioneer then continued, his voice dripping with a blend of excitement and intrigue.

"Bidding for Miss Y/N begins at five hundred pounds" the actioneer then announced and the crowd stirred, pockets of murmurs rising like a symphony of anticipation. The forbidden allure of Y/N's offer had captivated them all, and now they were hungry for the chase.

Thomas Shelby remained a silent observer, however. His eyes locked onto Y/N's form with an intensity that made her feel exposed. A shiver of uncertainty crawled up her spine, but she refused to falter. She had made her decision, and she would see it through to the end.

Then, the first bid pierced the air, followed swiftly by another and another. The numbers climbed higher, the desperation of the bidders mirrored in their furious gestures and sharp intakes of breath. From her vantage point on the stage, Y/N watched the faces blur together, a sea of greedy desire stretching out before her like a treacherous ocean.

Among the throng of potential purchasers, only one stood out to her still and this was Thomas Shelby. His eyes were unwavering and fixed upon her. Bids soared into the thousands, the clambering voices echoing through the rafters. In this room of twisted desires and hidden intentions, Y/N's worth was being calculated, her innocence commodified.

A sense of nausea swirled within Y/N's gut, the weight of what she was about to lose hitting her like a sucker punch. She knew the money would bring temporary relief, but the cost of her first time being handed over so coldly – it was a sacrifice she could never fully comprehend.

Biting her bottom lip, Y/N steadied herself, her gaze finding solace in the not-so-innocent eyes of Thomas Shelby across the room. She had set this chain of events in motion, and she would have to live with the consequences, whatever they may be. At last, the bidding war reached its peak, the crowd growing restless, each participant desperate to claim the illustrious prize. The air crackled with anticipation, a storm waiting to unleash its fury.

The auctioneer, sensing the crescendo, roared, "Going once, going twice..." The tension in the room reached a fever pitch, every person holding their breath, their gaze transfixed on the stage. And then, in an instant, Thomas Shelby's voice, low and commanding, cut through the silence like a knife.

"Ten thousand pounds" he said and the room gasped, a collective intake of breath that snaked its way through the assembled throng.

Thomas's bid was a declaration, a statement that he alone was the one who would possess her at a price that was much higher than any other bid before.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, her pulse reverberating in her temples. She locked eyes with Thomas, her voice trembling as she promised herself that she would not crumble beneath his intimidating presence even though he wanted her to, by simply looking at her.

"Sold to Thomas Shelby for ten thousand pounds!" the auctioneer's proclamation hung in the air, sealing Y/N's fate like a binding contract.

A mixture of relief and trepidation surged through her veins, her steps faltering as she descended from the stage, her composure teetering on the edge. Thomas approached her with a measured stride, his every move calculated and deliberate. He extended a gloved hand towards her, a pale contrast against the darkness that seemed to radiate from him.

"Y/N, is it?" he asked, his voice a low timbre that held a hidden power, causing in Y/N to nod silently.

"It appears you now belong to me" he then asserted and Y/N paused for a moment, feeling herself teetering on the precipice between freedom and captivity.

“It seems so” Y/N responded as she chose to swallow her fear and accepted his hand, their fingers intertwining in a pact that neither of them fully comprehended.

“Very well then” Thomas responded before he pulled her closer and Y/N felt the weight of his reputation settle upon her shoulders. The echoes of his criminal empire whispered around her, the unknown dangers lurking beneath the surface of this enigmatic man.

With every guiding step, Thomas led her out of the brothel and into the night, the rain washing away the remnants of her former life. The world around her seemed to fade into insignificance, her focus solely on the ruthless man who had claimed her as his own.

***

Eventually, they emerged onto the dark streets of Small Heath, the rain obscuring their silhouettes as they walked side by side. Y/N's nerves danced with a mix of apprehension and curiosity, her mind frantically searching for answers to the questions that suddenly enveloped her.

"You've heard of me, eh. So you know what I do?" Thomas stated, his voice cutting through the raindrops like a razor and Y/N hesitated to answer for a moment, her words momentarily catching in her throat.

"Yes. I have heard that you are dangerous," she finally admitted, the honesty laced with a touch of fear. A hint of a smile danced across Thomas's lips, his eyes narrowing with a blend of amusement and something darker.

"Dangerous, eh?” he chuckled. “Well, I suppose that is not entirely wrong. Although, one might argue that danger can be seductive” Thomas then asserted and Y/N absorbed his words, feeling a shiver run down her spine. She couldn't deny the magnetic pull she felt towards this enigmatic criminal, as if some inexplicable force drew them together despite the odds stacked against them.

"Why me?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breathy plea. The question hung in the air, mingling with the quiet patter of raindrops on the pavement. Thomas stopped abruptly, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. His gaze bore into her, stripping away any pretence that either of them wore.

"Because I saw something in you that intrigued me. Despite, what kind of criminal would not want someone as innocent as you to corrupt, eh?" Thomas joked as the rain continued its relentless assault, washing away the remnants of Y/N's innocence and revealing a strength that had long lain dormant within her.

This journey was not just about the loss of her virginity – it was an awakening, a test of her own resilience. The intoxicating mix of danger, attraction, and the unknown propelled Y/N forward, her heart pounding in her chest like a wild creature. She had embarked on a journey into darkness, and she was determined to emerge on the other side, transformed.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas and friends #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby x oc

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shelbystales · 8 months

Text

Stay - One Shot

Tommy Shelby x Reader - Masterlist

Word count: 4532

Requested by: @morrigan-crowmwell

Summary: Tommy realizes that despite him trying to avoid it, he loves and needs you.

Warning: angst, fluff and rough smut with dirty talk?

A/N: This was inspired by a brazilian song called "evidências", as requesteted. I hope you like it😘 .

English is my second language so I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

He entered forcefully, pushing the door of your room open like a hurricane.

"Stop it," he ordered, pointing his finger at you.

You glanced at him, but your hands kept busy, packing your bags, shoving clothes into a bag that was clearly struggling to fit even half your dresses.

"I told you to stop," he said, approaching you and closing shut the door of your small wardrobe.

"Make me," you said irritably, trying to force the door open, but his hand on top of it prevented the process.

You rolled your eyes and carried on, your determined hands struggling with the stubborn zipper. You tried to wrestle the wardrobe open once again, a frown deepening on your face, but just as before, his hand on it prevented your success.

You sighed loudly, grabbing your bag from the bed and headed toward the door, ready to leave the scene.

He grabs your wrist firmly, preventing you from reaching the door, stopping you from leaving.

"Let me go!" you shout and struggle against his grip, but he doesn't let go of your wrist. His gaze seemed disturbed like he was out of himself. "Are you drunk?" you ask, pulling your hand, hating the fact that he's stronger than you.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, and you clearly notice the knot in his throat.

"Tommy, you're hurting me," you say as the strength of his grip on your wrist becomes stronger.

"You can't do this. You can’t leave me" he says.

"Why do you care?" you ask angrily, pulling your wrist as you feel he loosened his grip on it and took a step back.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, his eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of frustration and desperation. He runs his fingers through his hair, a sign of his internal struggle.

“Tommy, what the fuck? You can't just barge in like this and do this” you said angrily

he swallowed harshly and looked around the room, the same room he had been with you many many nights before. The same room where he sleep nestled against your neck, smelling your scent to prevent his fucking nightmares. The same room he told you he couldn’t be with you, that he didn't want to be with you. The same room he broke your fucking heart.

“It’s not fair,” you added, letting go of your bag to fall loudly to the floor.

“Fair?” he chuckled “life isn’t fair” he said frustrated.

His response only fueled your anger.

It felt like he was dismissing your feelings, brushing them aside with his cynicism. You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him with a mixture of irritation and hurt.

"Life isn't fair? Is that all you have?" you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Tommy clenched his jaw, his fists curling at his sides. His eyes held a storm of conflicting emotions – regret, anger, and an undeniable pain that seemed to cut through his tough exterior.

"It's not like that, ey" he said, his voice strained. "I never wanted any of this to happen."

"Oh, so it's not your fault then?" you retorted, your tone dripping with bitterness “you stood right there” you pointed at one side of the room “and you told me you couldn’t fucking love me anymore! Like, what the fuck! Poor misunderstood Tommy Shelby… you wanted me to beg? to do what?! To run after you like a fucking dog. To beg for your love. Was that it? Tell me, what did you want?”, you couldn't restrain the anger in your voice

He winced, as if your words were a physical blow. You could see the pain in his eyes, a flicker of regret that he was desperately trying to hide. But it was too late for that – the dam had broken, and the flood of pent-up emotions was pouring out

“That’s because I love you” he said, making you laugh in disbelief

“Fuck you!” you barked at him

“When I said i didn’t want you anymore, thats because I still fucking do” he spat out.

“What? Are you bloody high?” you shook your head

He seemed to search inside for the right words. It was clear he was struggling.

“I can't let you leave” he stated

“Its not up to you” you answered coldly

“I will blow every road out of this damn city if I have to, drown every boat. But you are not leaving, eh” he warned, his finger raised, pointing at you as a warning sign

“I hate you so much right now” you whispered, your words seeming to have an effect on him. He breathed deeply and looked at the ceiling of your room

"Look, I know I messed up," he admitted, his voice quieter now.

"You damn right you did," you said, your anger still burning hot.

His frustration crackled in the air like an electric current. Everything was spiraling out of control, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He watched as you challenged him, your voice a mix of irritation and hurt. It was a pain he was intimately familiar with, one he had tried to distance himself from.

He knew he was the architect of his own misery. The moment he let himself care, truly care for you, he had opened the door to chaos. His heart, so carefully guarded, now laid exposed and vulnerable.

He took a step closer to you, his gaze intense, burning with a mixture of what you assumed to be anger and fear.

His heart raced in his chest, each beat a reminder of what he stood to lose. He wanted to grab you, to shake some sense into you, to break down the walls he had built between you.

But his hand remained at his side, clenched into a fist. He could feel the heat of his anger pulsating through him, but it was masked by an even greater terror - the terror of losing you.

"You think I wanted this?" he finally spat out, his voice raw. "You think I wanted to hurt you?"

You didn't answer, your eyes locked onto his, a mixture of defiance and something deeper.

He ran a hand through his hair, the usually impeccable locks now disheveled, mirroring the chaos inside him. Every step he took seemed to carry the weight of his uncertainty, his fear of losing something he hadn't realized he'd grown so dependent on.

"This is bloody ridiculous. I can't do this, alright? I can't bloody bear the thought of you walking away," he muttered to himself, his voice taut with frustration.

His gaze flickered to the door, as if half-expecting you to disappear beyond it any second. The very idea seemed to send a jolt of panic through him.

"You drive me mad!" he said, his voice rising in agitation.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing uneven as his gaze darted around the room, searching for some form of escape from the vulnerability clawing at him.

"I've denied it, tried to pretend I didn't need you, that I could bloody well do without you," he admitted, "but I need you," he practically spat out, the words almost foreign on his tongue. "More than I care to fucking admit. You're under me skin, in me bloody bones, and I'm terrified of what that means. I’ve tried but I can't fool me heart, I can't keep lying to meself”

His voice cracked, the dam of his emotions threatening to break completely.

The room felt stifling, a cage that held him captive with his own fears. Tears welled up in your eyes, the battle between your anger and your love for him raging within you. You took a shaky breath, your own vulnerability exposed.

"You can't leave," he said, his voice low but laced with a desperation that belied his usual composure. "I won't let you. I can't." His admission hung in the air, raw and unfiltered.

Tommy's agitation reached a fever pitch, his body tense, his eyes wide with a mix of anger, fear, and something deeper that he struggled to name.

He couldn't let you go – not now, not ever. The very idea of you slipping through his fingers was enough to shatter his carefully constructed world.

You stared back at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

A mixture of anger and hurt still lingered within you, the wounds of his past actions still fresh. But now, in this charged moment, you could see that he was baring his soul to you.

You didn’t know what to do, what to say. part of you wanted to shout at him, to slap him to push him to the floor and kick his guts… but at the same time, part of you wanted to run to his arms, to kiss him, hold him strongly… truthfully, Your heart ached as you watched him struggle

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His eyes followed your movement, a mix of anticipation and apprehension in his gaze.

Your hand reached out, your fingers gently uncurling his clenched fist, the gesture a silent reassurance.

"I can't lose you," he choked out, his voice a mere whisper, his eyes searching yours for some form of understanding.

"I don't want to leave," you admitted softly, your voice breaking “but… you can't just come in here and say all of that after causing me so much pain. The past won't just disappear, Tommy. You can't just expect me to forget everything and come running back."

He shook his head, his hand shifting to cup your cheek, his touch warm against your skin. "I'm not asking you to forget," he said, his voice gentle but urgent. "I'm asking for a chance. A chance to make things right, eh? to show you how much you mean to me. I know I fucked up. But I need you, I need your lips on mine." His thumb gently brushed over your bottom lip. "I’ll give you my life, you can do whatever you want with it. I just want to hear you say yes, that you'll give me a chance to fix it. To fix us."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, torn between the memories of pain and the yearning for something more.

His thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped your eye, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Tommy… I…," you whispered, losing your words.

His gaze bore into yours, his thumb now tracing a path from your cheek to your lips, a feather-light touch that ignited a spark within you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of sincerity and vulnerability, a stark contrast to the tough exterior he often presented to the world.

"Say you'll give us a chance," he murmured, his words hanging in the air like a fragile plea.

His hands still cupped your face, his touch warm against your skin. His eyes danced between your lips and your eyes, a silent request for permission.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the battle between your head and your heart reaching its peak.

His touch, his words, they were like a balm to your wounded soul. And in that moment, you found yourself leaning in, your lips just a breath away from his.

"Tommy," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I want to believe you."

His eyes held yours, a mixture of relief and longing in his gaze. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his lips brushed against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss.

The kiss was short and when his eyes locked on yours again. his hand cradled your cheek, his thumb tracing light patterns on your skin as if he didn't want to let go.

You took a deep breath, embracing your own vulnerability. "Tommy, I…I can't go through the same pain again. I won’t forgive you again"

“You won’t need to” he reaffirmed, his voice unwavering. His thumb kept brushing your cheek.

You nodded slowly, feeling a mix of apprehension and hope you gave him a small smile, trying to give him some comfort. As response, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a tight embrace, His heartbeat thudded against you.

It was like a weight lifted off both your shoulders, replaced by a warm sense of security. You leaned into him, resting your head on his chest.

His fingers played with your hair, his touch gentle and soothing.

There, in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe in the possibility of healing.

He pressed a soft kiss on the top of your head and breathed deeply your scent, a scent that soothed him as a reminder of home.

“I love you” he whispered in your ears

“Fuck… I love you too” you said holding stronger onto him.

He pulled even estronger, his arms pressed strongly against you as if he was afraid you would slip away

As his arms held you close, his aftershave and Cologne mixture scent mingled with the warmth of his skin, enveloping your senses in a heady combination. Your fingers traced the contours of his chest, feeling the texture of his skin under your touch.

His fingers, which had been tracing patterns on your back, now ventured lower, roaming over your ass, his touch light and teasing.

His lips brushed against your forehead, a soft and lingering kiss that held a promise of more.

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed along your spine, sending a trail of tingling sensations.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your eyes locking onto his with a mixture of anticipation and a touch of apprehension.

"Tommy," you murmured, your voice barely audible, but laden with unspoken desire.

He swallowed audibly, his eyes darkening with a hunger that mirrored your own. His fingers moved from your back to gently lift your chin, tilting your face up towards his and then his lips were on yours, a kiss that ignited a fire within you.

His lips moved against yours with a fervent passion, his hands sliding down to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair as you responded to his kiss with equal fervor.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck, placing soft kisses along the way. Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed your skin, sending a jolt of sensation straight to your core. Every touch, every brush of his lips, was a delicious torment that fueled the growing heat between you.

"Fuck, I've missed you," he breathed against your skin, his voice husky with desire.

The confession sent a shiver down your spine, the intensity of his words adding fuel to the fire burning within you. Your fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with a sense of urgency. His hands mirrored your actions, working together, desperately to rid each other of the barriers that separated your bodies.

As the last button came undone, his shirt, suit and gunholster slipped from his shoulders, revealing his bare chest.

Your fingertips traced the lines of his tattoos, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each ragged breath.

Your dress was eventually discarded to the floor along with his clothes. You felt so desperate for him, both almost ripping each other's clothes off like animals.

Leaning against the wall across him there was a full-body-length mirror giving him a perfect vision of your ass, and back as he moved his kisses around your neck and shoulders.

He put a hand on your ass and caressed it softly before drawing his hand back and spanking it hard. The slap was sharp and loud in the small bedroom and it mixed with your moan. You dug your nails on his back.

“You're so fucking hot,” he said, noticing the skin of your ass becoming pinkish forming his handprint, moving to the other cheek, he squeezed it once, before slapping it just as hard.

He didn’t lose time, his lips met yours, sliding desperately.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as if trying to express all the longing you had held back. The taste of him, the pressure of his lips moving against yours, were like fuel.

With a swift and confident movement, he scooped you up in his arms. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his lower back as he carried you effortlessly towards the bed, where he gently placed you against the sheets. His lips never leaving yours.

He pinning you to the bed, kissing you with even more passion as he pressed his aching dick into your body through fhe fabric of his pants and briefs.

With your arms pinned against the bed, he started kissing your neck and kissing his way down to your breasts, and began to circle one of your nipples with his tongue.

“oh, Tommy. Fuck” you moaned as he closed his lips around one of your nipples, sucking it firmly.

He kissed your collar bone and moved to your earlobe, biting it playfully.

“Tell me how bad do you want it” he whispered, his voice hoarse

“I want it so fucking bad. Fuck, i need it” you moaned

Tommy slid his pants off as if his life depended on it, his briefs slipping off along with it.

He flipped your body so that your stomach was pressing against the mattress. A movement that he did so effortlessly. Giving him the perfect view of your ass, which, according to him, was the most beautiful part of your body.

He took his hand and gave your ass another firm slap, before firmly grabbing both yout asscheeks and spreading them apart.

“So fucking beautifull” he praised.

he leaned over you, his face now close to yours, where he left a few kisses on your cheek. his mouth right next to your ear again, just because he knew that turned you on.

“I going to fuck you real good, ey” he said, his hands sliding between your legs, a finger sliding inside of you.

“Please” you moaned, spreading your legs a bit more apart

He stood back up, so that he could rub his dick against your asscheeks a few times before positioning it against your wet folds, leaning slightly, applying more and more pressure as he adjusted his posture before completely sliding inside of you.

“Fuck, yes” you moaned as you felt him inside of you.

He reached one of his hands to hold at your shoulders, while the other reached one of your arms, pulling it to your back, holding you firmly as he started pounding nice and hard against you.

With every stroke you felt him deeper, moans left your lips involuntarily. His name eventually mixed with the sensual sounds leaving your lips, making Tommy wish you’d never stop. Every moan serving as a fuel for his hard thrusts to get harder and deeper

“Fuck, fuck… Tommy. Oh fuck” you moaned and felt the same strong slap on your left asscheek, then on your right “yes! just like that” you told him

Everytime your perfectly red ass pressed against his hip bones his mind took mental pictures, he would be daydreaming about you like this for the next few days. This, you… was exactly what he needed. The only one he needed.

“You like it, hm?” he asked breathlessly as he slapped your ass one more time

“Yes, yes I do” you told him, biting your lower lip.

“Fuck you feel so good” he let his head fall back, momentarily taking his eyes off you. “Tell me, y/n. Tell me you love it”

“I love it Tommy. God, I love your fucking cock so so much. Fuck just like that” your words spit out so quickly, desperate for him not to stop.

He held at your hips pulling them against him everytime he thrusted, making the movement rougher by the minute.

You were feeling so overwhelmed by the feeling of him deep inside you that the orgasm that washed over you was inevitable. It wasn't common but vaginal orgasms happened once in a while with you, making you impressed everytime it did.

“Fuck! I coming, i’m coming” you told him, as the orgasm washed over you, your face buried on the duvets

Without letting you recover from it, he pulled out and rolled you over to your back, your tits now reaching up, hard for him. He leaned over to kiss one of them as he pinched the other one hard.

“Fuck!” you cried at the feeling

He then laid beside you, pulling your hips to him as he did “Get up here and sit on me”, he said and you slowly stumbled upwards to mount him.

Your head spinning slightly, out of breath as you were still feeling the effects of pleasure course through your veins. As you got on top of him you held his cock, stroking it a few times before directing it to your entrance and slowly lowering your hip, sliding his cock back inside of you, where it belonged.

“Fuck yes, ride that cock, real nice” he said as your hips moved back and forward. Tommys eyes were a combination of lust and admiration as he looked up to your bouncing tits and moaning lips.

Both your moans filled the room and you could feel his body shake slight from the pleasure building up at every hip movement. He reached to hold both your nipples, pinching and twisting them, making the pleasure harder to handle as your legs started to feel weaker.

Tommy leaned upwards pushing your hips against him, dictating the intensity of the moves as he was now working with you, his hips moving up, as yours pressed down on his.

“Fuck, i’m getting close” He muttered

“Me too, oh god. me too” you told him and took your fingers to start caressing your clit as you continued the movements, feeling the knot in your stomach starting to grow stronger.

“Yeah, Just like that, ride that, fucking, cock” he said pausing between words everytime his hips pressed up.

His grip tighter on your hips, his eyes fucking you as the most lustfull moan escaped his lips, his primal instincs taking over as he moved up, throwing your back against the bed as he started to fuck you faster and harder than ever before. His grunts, getting deeper and louder.

“Fuck! Don’t stop, don't stop! Fuuuck” You cried surprised at the new feeling. Your nails digging at whatever piece of flesh of his you could grab hold, scratching his skin.

You were already so close and his attack just made everything more intense, the knot that was forming before, was already strong and ready to explode. But for some reason it didn't, it just kept growing and growing.

“Fuck, your pussy feels so fucking good” he told you out of breath, his atack on your nipples returning as one of his hands pinchend and twisted them.

All you could do at this point was moan the words fuck repeatedly, your body starting to shiver. Your moans were turning him on so hard you knew he wouldn't last longer.

“Fuck, so close, so close. Don’t stop” you warned him,seconds before your body freezing as the best orgasm washed over you, your head spinning, a burning feeling washed over around your entire body as your skin felt hotter.

The sexiest moans leaving your lips followed by Tommys name, and that combined with your shivering state, was enough to push him over the edge. He couldn't hold anymore, a primal grunt escaped his lips and his moves got uncoordinated as he emptied himself inside of you, coming so hard he thought he would pass out, his vision getting blurred. After a few more strokes, he allowed himself to collapse on the bed beside you.

"Holy shit," he whispered, his voice still tinged with disbelief and desire as he caught his breath.

The room was silent now, just the sound of your labored breathing filling it as you both recovered. Your labored breaths began to synchronize, creating a rhythm that seemed to echo the connection between you.

Tommy's fingers brushed against your skin, as he moved to kiss your neck and collarbone. His touch, now gentle and caring.

His hand cupped your face, his fingers caressing your hair as he gazed into your eyes. You smiled at him and he smiled back, a small smile, but a huge one for a man like him.

“That was something” your voice laced with a mixture of amazement and satisfaction.

His chuckle resonated in the room, a sound that felt like a secret shared between the two of you, since not many would ever hear the sound of a Tommy’s Shelby chuckle

“Yes it was… Want a cigarette?” he asked and you nodded, watching him stand up and grab his overcoat, searching for his pack of cigarettes.

He found his pack and lit one cigarette. The sight of him, half hard as he slid the cigarette over his lips before lighting it felt like the sexiest thing you’ve seen. The flicker of the cigarette illuminated his features in the dim light, casting shadows that danced across his face.

Slowly, he began to approach you, his eyes fixed on yours. He held your chin gently, making you sit, his fingers warm against your skin, as he took a drag from the cigarette. The smoke curled between his lips before he leaned in, exhaling the smoke into your mouth. The act was surprisingly intimate, making your core tinkle.

He took another drag from the cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours as he sat beside you. The air seemed charged with electricity as he exhaled, the smoke curling around you both like a fragile veil. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned closer, his lips a whisper away from yours.

"You're something else, you know that?" he murmured, his voice husky with a mixture of arousal and admiration as he held your face and kissed you, feeling the taste of the smoke on his lips.

"You're not so bad yourself," you replied, your voice a low murmur .

His lips curved into a half-smile, the playfulness in his eyes contrasting with the intensity of his gaze. The cigarette rested between his fingers, forgotten for the moment as his focus remained solely on you.

the intensity of his gaze was overwhelming, he was fucking you with his eyes. your lips finally met in a hungry, passionate kiss, his lips moved against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own, a craving for each other almost as if you hadn’t spent the last minutes fucking eachother senseless.

As the kiss deepened, his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

When your lips finally parted, breathless and flushed, his words reached your ears like a plea. "Don't you ever think of leaving again."

You met his gaze, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the depth of his fear and desire. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, the intensity of the moment a testament to the connection you shared.

"I won't," you whispered, your voice laced with determination. "But you have to promise me something too." His brow furrowed slightly, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he waited for your words. "Promise me that you won’t shut me out again," you said, your voice soft but firm. "No more pushing me away, Tommy. If we're going to do this, to really make it work, you have to be all in."

He studied you for a moment, his gaze searching your face as if trying to decipher every emotion you were feeling. And then, with a nod, he gave you a small, genuine smile.

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dreamerschroniclesofstories · 4 months

Text

Crawl home to her

A/N: thank you so much for your love on my previous work “ Goodbye, Tommy Shelby”, i appreciate it so much, i will officially be starting the sequel next week. i'm currently very busy with end of term uni assignments. For this fic you are about to read, i would recommend listening to work song by hozier.

I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR YOU TO REPOST THIS ON ANY OTHER SITE AND TO TRANSLATE THIS.

Summery: who would of thought a conversation with Polly, after another war riddled nightmare, could cause tommys love to come back to him.

Word count: 1,748

The dark. Tommy's worst enemy since the war. It isn't the dark that scares him, its the noises of the consistent banging of shovels and the pained yells of men coming from his walls that taunt him every time he closes his eyes. Usually, the opium he keeps hidden in his draw stops the noises for a few hours.

But not tonight.

Tommy gasps as he opens his eyes and sits up, the room spinning as he slowly sits on the edge of his bed, putting his hands on his head, trying to calm down, his heart races inhumanly fast, he swears one day his heart would burst through his chest.

Like every other night, Tommy stands up, grabs a cigarette from his pouch on his bedside table and leaves him room. the floorboards creak as he walks past the other bedrooms that hold his two brothers, Arthur and Finn, and the bedroom that holds his aunt Polly. The old wooden floor has been shaped over time by each sole of the Shelby family, from generations of living in the house.

Tommy walks into the kitchen and stops in his tracks when he sees Polly sat at the table, he raises an eyebrow as he takes the cigarette from between his lips, continuing to walk to the small table that holds the whiskey. He pours himself a glass.

" why are you up poll?" he asks confused, then gulps down the whiskey from the glass.

" much like you Thomas , nightmares" she whispers, holding her mug of tea in both hands, making sure the warm steam hits her face so it could protect her from the coldness of the night.

" i don't know what you're on about pol" he grumbles, pouring himself another glass of whiskey, then he walks over to the table and sits down across from Polly.

Polly raises an eyebrow, watching Tommy as she sips her tea. Polly knew Tommy was lying, since he was child she could sense when he wasn't telling the truth. He knew this, that's why Tommy chuckles quietly.

" and you pol?" he asks knowingly, wanting to change the subject, leaning back in his seat then takes a drag of his cigarette, seconds later blowing out the smoke.

The small kitchen area was filling up with smoke. Polly delicately places her mug down onto the table, grabbing a cigarette from her own pouch.

"i have the sight Thomas, i have nightmare almost every night" Polly explains, then lights the cigarette before taking her first drag "your's is about the war" she determined.

" it's not serious Polly, every man that came back from France. mentally never leaves" tommy whispers.

polly smirks " yes but most of those men have someone at home to help them, you did but you pushed her away" she points out.

Tommy immediately tenses up, he has not spoken to or about her since before the war. By her, he means his childhood best friend, Alice. They had met during school when Alice was left out on the first day of school and Tommy noticed and went over to Alice to talk to her. Since then, if you saw one you knew the other would be close by.

However, a week before the war. Alice and Tommy had an argument after Alice found out Tommy enlisted. They did not talk it out in time before Tommy left. When Tommy came back, he was a changed man, he did not want Alice involved in the life he had become involved with.

" don't pol" Tommy warns.

" she's a seamstress now Tommy, has her own little shop on the other side of town, sometimes i see her at the markets" she shared.

When Tommy and Alice were teens, Alice always talked about making dress's when she left school. However, she was always self-conscious about the dresses she made and use to show them to Tommy. He was her number one fan, he use to encourage her to sell them, Tommy was the only person who believed in herself.

Tommy smiles slightly " she does?" his eyes sparkle slightly, causing Polly to chuckle.

Polly nods " she lives two streets behind her, next door to Mrs. dingle, the baker"Polly explains.

Tommy stands up and grabs his coat, not saying a word to Polly as he leaves.

Alice's flat

A sleepless night, in Alice's mind, was a chance to mediate about the previous day and the day that was coming. Mediation helps Alice to feel the energy of the world sparkling at her finger tips. The energy asks her to let them in and help her dreams become a nighttime reality.

It was one of them nights for Alice, she sat on her one person couch by her window, watching as the stars twinkle down onto small health, making natural guide lights for the men going home from a late nigh at work. Alice found the night sky beautiful, she finds that the stars look like snowflakes in the night, yet they are forever still. Alice found it amazing that for centuries and millenia's, everyone had seen the same constellations.

Alice stood up, going to her kitchen to pour herself another cup of tea, the sound of a knock on her door makes her flinch. It is two in the morning, who would be knocking on her door.

Alice picks up her gun from her kitchen draw and walks to the front door, even though she doesn't speak to Tommy anymore, she knew she needed protection encase someone who knows they were friends comes after.

She takes the safety off her gun and begins to open the door, as the door inches open her heart feels like it was about to burst from anxiety.

Alice frowns when she sees a man standing in front of her door with his head tilting down, his peaked cap covering his eyes but she knew who it was immediately.

"Tommy?"she whispers, her voice soft but also shaky. They had seen each other this close since before the war.

Tommy lifts his head, making eye contact with Alice, His eyes are the same. They were the colour of every dancing sky, filled with infinite hues of that are illuminated by newborn light.

He coughs slightly " can i come in?" his voice vibrating through her bones, causing a much welcomed and missed vibration.

Alice nods and moves to the side, allowing Tommy to walk into her small but homely flat. He takes off her cap, Alice closes the door then walks back over to her kitchen.

"Would you like a drink?" Alice asks, looking over at Tommy, who was taking his coat off.

"whiskey?" he asks, sitting at her small dinning table.

Alice smiles and nods, she takes the bottle of Irish whiskey from the back of her cupboard, then takes the whiskey cup from the cupboard as well before walking over to Tommy.

"are you in trouble?" she questions, placing the glass in-front of Tommy then pours the whiskey slowly.

Tommy frowns " i'm not, why would you think that?" he asks confused.

" you are Thomas Shelby, you have a lot of enemies and we have not spoken for nearly five years Tommy, so why are you here?" she points out, sitting down across from him.

" i heard you are a seamstress" he states, taking out a cigarette from his pouch, lighting it. All the whilst, not breaking eye contact with Alice.

She chuckles " you came here at nearly three in the morning to talk about my job?" Alice raises an eyebrow.

Tommy smirks slightly " There's only so much a man can take of his four walls" he admits.

Alice hums " having nightmares? I've heard a lot of men that came back from France have them, some so bad they go to the hospital" she whispers, her eyes now full of worry.

" i'm Thomas Shelby, you don't have to worry about me" he jokes.

Alice rolls her eyes and stands up, walking around the table, pulling out the chair beside Tommy and sits down, grabbing his hands gently " you were my best friend Tommy, of course i'm going to worry about you. Don't give me the Shelby bullshit" she affirmed.

Tommy smiles for the first time since he came back from France "glad to see you have changed"

Alice smiles softly " i'd never changed Tommy, i'll forever be me, for you" she admits.

Both of them did not say a word to each-other after that, the tension was thick between them. Tommy gently lifts his hand, stroking his thumb down Alice's cheekbone down to her lips, her pale skin was like the silk of the petals of white roses in the summer. Tommy glances down at her lips, his thumb gliding over her plump bottom lip. Alice inhaled softly at the touch, her lips were as good as her eyes. Painting a picture of her emotions.

"i love you" Alice blurts out.

In the stillness of the moment that follows her confession, there so much both of them can say. Alice doesn't regret what she say, sudden moments are a risk but sometimes they are necessary to get what you want. So instead of tommy replying, he gently puts his hand on her cheek and pulls her in. Kissing her.

Kissing her softly but with passionate purpose. Kissing her, immediately stopped the sound of shovels and the sound of mens screams.

Theres a muffled sound of shock from Alice before she softens into the kiss. Her delicate hand finding her place on the back of tommys neck , her lips move against his, as if she was whispering a question over and over again for him. He pulls back slowly, thinking she would want him too.However, Alice follows him, chasing after his lips. Her glazed eyes opening.

in that kiss, was the sweetness of their passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into one moment.

Alice smiles happily, looking between tommys eyes, her eyes full of love. If any one moment in Alice's life were to ancher her soul , creating a tie to this reality. it would be the moment she fell in love with him. She realised that she had a protector born for pure love and how could she not love that? How could she not love all of Thomas Shelby. He is the rope and the knot to her vessel that is now in safe mooring. For this, she will forever be his.

Alice strokes tommys cheek softly " you've come home to me"

A/N: EEEK! i am so proud of this one. Please leave a like, comment and/or re-blog. It is all appreciated xx

#peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders masterlist #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby fic #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fluff #tommy shelby fluff #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby angst #tommy shelby angst

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zablife · 2 months

Text

You're No Good For Me

Tommy Shelby x OC Satine

Summary: When Tommy comes into possession of a new club, the Shelbys want to know more about the beautiful and seductive performer working there. What happens when Tommy confronts her about her hidden past?

Author’s Note: Requested by @goodnightkatherine who wanted to see Tommy with a jazz singer men are obsessed with.

Warnings: language, mention of drinking, violence, possessiveness, hints of dark!Tommy, PTSD, mention of a weapon

“Bloody hell, the tits on her! Didn’t I tell ya?” Arthur asked, a wicked smirk curling around the edges of his whisky glass. His eyes never left the stage where a voluptuous ginger haired beauty leaned over the crowd. As her gloved hand seductively slid along the curve of her hip, a slight shudder ran through Arthur. He shifted in his chair, adjusting his trousers just as her ruby lips parted once more and she purred the last line of a lovesick ballad into a golden microphone.

“They’ve got a little perch for her up in the rafters and she swings on it like a bird. Last night she even did an act with red silks where she tied herself-“ Finn started, excitedly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Arthur cut him off. “Shouldn’t he be working the door?” he rolled his eyes toward the table, irritation visible in his clenched fist.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, studying the effect she had on his brothers and every other man in the club. “Go on, Finn,” he ordered with a jerk of his chin.

As the number came to an end, he placed his cigarette between his lips and clapped stiffly, the deafening noise drowning out the huff of a laugh that escaped before an honest assessment. “So this is why you want to stay in London, eh?”

“S right,” Arthur affirmed eagerly as he poured another round. “You need someone to keep an eye here.”

“On the club, Arthur,” Tommy reminded his brother with a sharp note of warning.

“And she’s part of it, ain’t she?” Arthur grumbled.

Tommy shook his head warily, “Remember what dad used to say, brother. Fast women…”

“And slow horses…”, Arthur interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I know, I know, Tom!”

Tommy held Arthur’s gaze for a moment as he finished bitterly, “Will ruin your life.” He stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray, glancing back toward the empty stage. “I’ve things to do first, then I’ll give you my answer,” he replied, abruptly ending their conversation.

“Go on then. Don’t let me keep ya,” Arthur bellowed with a sweep of his arm. Allowing the king to exit in grand fashion, he remained at the table unwilling to allow his baby brother to spoil his evening or his plans for the future.

———————————-

The passageways beneath the stage were dark and winding, causing Tommy’s chest to constrict unnaturally. It didn’t bother him when there was chatter from the girls, but now it had become eerily silent save for the rush of blood through his ears. Tommy made haste to the dressing rooms, forcing his boots to thud upon the concrete floor a bit harder than necessary.

Soon he came upon the room he sought, breathing a sigh of relief at the glow of pale orange light seeping from beneath the door like an outstretched hand saving him from the smothering darkness. Like a beacon it called to him and he pushed the flimsy panel open without knocking, any pretense of formality forgotten.

“I need to speak with you,” he informed the woman sat at the vanity. The redhead looked up with a look of bored detachment, powdering her nose as she raised her eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a foreign lilt he immediately recognized as French.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked incredulously.

“Are you an admirer?” she asked with a sly smile. Tommy cocked an eyebrow at her, but she only giggled in return. “I have many of those.”

“No, love, I’m not here to throw roses at your feet,” he confirmed.

“That’s a pity. I like roses,” she pouted.

“So I’ve heard from your previous employer, but there’s going to be a new arrangement. You see, as of last week, I own this club,” Tommy informed her as he clasped his hands behind his back.

She turned slowly to face him, head tilted to catch a glimpse of his shadowed face beneath his cap. “Are you here to fuck me?” she offered breathlessly.

Tommy shook his head. “No, nothing like that," he assured her, removing his cap slowly and placing it on a nearby chair.

“Then this job will be easier than I expected,” she purred, standing to her full height. She was easily a foot taller than Tommy and she carried it with a casual elegance.

“What’s your name?” he asked, fishing his cigarette case from his pocket and turning it over in his palm.

“Satine,” she replied without hesitation, a smirk playing on her lips mischievously.

Tommy laughed mirthlessly, the sharp note of annoyance clear as he rolled his eyes. He took a moment to light his cigarette, the flame of his lighter flashing in her cat like eyes. “Your real name,” he pressed in a low, dangerous voice, taking a step closer to where she now stood.

In such close proximity she was able to scan the details of his face, pale skin still youthfully freckled but the sunken cheeks and dark circles beneath his eyes bore the passage of time. She looked away before he could glimpse the recognition hidden in her gaze, but she’d already lingered a moment too long.

Tommy seized on it immediately. “You think I don’t know you behind a few rhinestones and hair lacquer,” he taunted, exhaling a large plume of smoke toward her. Leaning in to capture her face in the palm of his callused hand he hissed, “Say your fucking name.”

She tried not to recoil, but the tight lipped smile that tugged at her mouth gave away her discomfort. “Why do you need this?” she asked, jerking her chin away in defiance.

“Cos I want you to admit what you are...what you did,” Tommy spat, hand flying to her delicate neck as he forced her against the opposite wall.

Red nails clawing against his wrist, Satine shook her head. “I-I did nothing…” she sputtered.

“Yeah, you did nothing," Tommy nodded in agreement as he emphasized the last word. "Left me for dead," he seethed, tightening his hold until she was left gasping for air before him.

Her eyes welled with tears as they had that final night spent together, tucked away in her tiny flat making promises of a life together after the war. Back then he didn’t care that she fucked Barney first, knowing he would be her last. She’d promised him she’d be his forever. She said, "I'll wait through any storm to be by your side."

It was that thought alone that drove him to dig after the tunnel collapse, clawing his way from the depths of the blackened earth to seek her embrace. There was nothing but emptiness waiting in her flat, however, the neighbor apologizing with sorrowful eyes when forced to recount the man come to collect her. For the better part of a year, he chased a ghost before returning home to Birmingham alone.

As the memories washed over him in quick succession, Tommy allowed the rage to consume him. He watched her head loll and her eyes roll back in the moment before losing consciousness. A low whimper from her pulled him out of himself, the intoxicating sound of her causing his hands to shake uncontrollably. With that, he released his grasp and backed away to the center of the room as nausea gripped him.

Satine fell forward clutching her chest, a coughing fit descending upon her as she struggled for breath. “T-tommy,” her desperate voice called out. The sound echoed around him like the beating of the shovels inside his skull and he turned away clutching his head.

“You’re no good for me,” he reminded himself as he screwed his eyes shut. But I want you still, his tortured mind replied, fingers fumbling beneath his jacket for the cold comfort of his revolver...a decision to be made.

-----------------------

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#Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x OC #Tommy Shelby

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themultifandomgal · 28 days

Note

Hey I got a request for peaky blinders

So basically tommy is a single dad to a girl she is 2 years old and you got you was I’ll and tommy was in a meeting and you was bored she u walk. In and tommy yelled at you So you run off and started crying you find John and Arthur and told they what happened how u was I’ll and they find tommy to tell him he was a dick about yelling at you then he told u he was sorry

Hope that make sense x

Tommy Shelby- Just Want To Protect You

I hope this is what you wanted.

YN and Tommy haven’t been dating all that long, she knew he was a single dad and his daughter, Mary, came first no matter what. YN also knew that he was a dangerous man, but she didn’t care. To her Tommy was a caring man who loved his family (even if he didn’t show it), all he wanted to do was keep YN and his daughter safe.

Unfortunately Mary had been ill with a cold the last week so while Tommy was in meetings YN would take on the roll of looking after her, however today YN woke up feeling rough. She has a headache, stuffy nose and scratchy throat, but still being a mother figure to the young girl YN takes on the task of looking after her and and house while Tommy is in his office working.

“I want daddy”

“I know” YN replies bouncing the crying girl in her arms “but daddy is busy. Why don’t you take a nap. You might feel better and when you wake up, daddy might be finished”

“Ok” Mary sniffles snuggling into YN’s neck. YN takes Mary to her bedroom and puts her down. She stays with Mary until she’s asleep. Feeling rough herself she decides to go and have a nap herself, however due to her blocked nose and now cough, YN gives up after half an hour.

Making her way down stairs she decides to make herself and Tommy a cup of tea. Feeling bored YN knocks on Tommys office door before walking in

“Hi love, I made you a drink” YN says walking in placing the tea on his desk, Tommy just grunts in response “Mary is asleep, still has this awful cold. I said maybe once she wakes up you’d be finished with work”

“And why would you tell her that?” Tommy looks up to YN

“I just thought that you could have a break, you can sit in your chair and work all the time. Mary misses you”

“I can’t just stop working because Mary wants me to”

“I’m not saying that. You’ve been in here since 6 this morning. It’s now 1 and you’ve not had a break or anything to eat”

“I can’t”

“Fine. Guess I’ll be looking after your sick child all day again”

“I didn’t ask you to”

“Then who will? Your to busy with you fucking businesses to even notice that she’s been crying for you this morning”

“Don’t you swear at me!” Tommy yells standing up “Mary isn’t even your daughter so if she’s so much of a bother why don’t you just go!” Feeling taken back YN takes in what Tommy just said

“Fine” YN replies keeping her tears back.

Asking one of the maids to keep an eye on Mary, YN leaves the house and makes her way to the Garrison where she sees Arthur and John

“YN” John waves his brothers girlfriend over

“Hi” she sadly says

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s our brother done this time?” Arthur sighs

“It’s just that, I don’t feel well but ive been taking care of his daughter who’s also ill. When I told him to have a break from work he just blew up”

“Our brother is an idiot YN, I’ll speak with him” John replies

“No don’t. He will know I’ve spoken to you and he will probably have a fit. I’m gonna get a drink”

That evening YN sits her home with a book in her hands, when there is a knock at her door. Putting her book down she heads over feeling confused to who could be at her front door. Opening it up there is Tommy holding flowers in his hands

“I’m a dick I know. I’m sorry”

“You better come in” YN opens up her door wider so Tommy could enter “where’s Mary?”

“At home. Ada has her. I know I shouldn’t have shouted at you, your ill and been looking after my daughter. You didn’t have to but you did. I just get so scared when it comes to you and Mary. I just want to keep you safe and we have a problem with the business. I didn’t want you involved, I didn’t want to worry you”

“Tom, I’m your girlfriend. If we want this to work you can’t shut me out”

“I know I know. Arthur and John knocked some sense into me. Let me make it up to you. Let me cook supper for you. Treat you like a queen”

“I’d like that” YN smiles.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby

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all-mirth-no-matter · 10 months

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You join the Shelbys for Christmas Eve dinner.

Warning: language, alcohol, smoking, ethnic slur, heavy fluff, probably bad retelling of Greek history don’t come at me

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 11: Dazed & Confused

I bet you know just what you’re doing. You’re not the type that’s used to losing. First you build me up, then with just a touch, leave me here in ruins. Something ‘bout your eyes, I can’t even walk in a straight line, under the influence. Oh, I’ve been dazed and confused, from the day I met you. Yeah, I lost my head, and I’d do it again. Either I’ve seen the light, or I’m losing my mind. There’s something ‘bout you, that’s got me dazed and confused. — Dazed & Confused, Ruel

God you felt so stupid. It wasn’t like you were a stranger to this house — hell, even a stranger to having dinner at this house. But after meeting Tommy, it didn’t feel like just having dinner at a friend’s place anymore. Would this nervous feeling ever go away?

You’d gone all out for this special occasion, with Ada’s help after you’d expressed your nerves. She’d been far too giddy for your liking over your anxiety. But you let her take you shopping that morning and helped you tame your hair and even refrained from fighting her when she shoved a deep red lipstick into your hands after claiming that it was too dark for her to wear.

Your hair had to be re-managed after your shift at the pub that afternoon. Apparently, Harry closed the place for Christmas Eve night. You thought that was a mistake, surely men were looking for some drunken solace after the children had gone to bed, but you bit your tongue at Harry’s excitement and accepted the extra time off.

After the age of twelve, Christmases in your house had become a less-than-joyful time of year for you. It felt like a switch — one year you were a happy kid surrounded by excited parents drinking hot cocoa and waiting for Father Christmas — and then the next you were fighting over hanging tree lights, complaining about going out into the crowded malls, sitting in three separate rooms of the house to numb yourself with whatever was on the TV at the time. The littlest things would set off your mother, leaving you either raging with anger or crying in the garage waiting for your father to get home.

The magic had disappeared along with your childhood. And it only got worse after your father died. You’d been reckless those first couple years, sneaking out any chance you got to run around town with your friends. When you left for college, you selfishly dreaded coming home during the breaks. That’s when your mother’s psychosis started to get worse.

Looking back, you couldn’t help but wonder if your mother hadn’t been alone for all that time, if she’d had someone to confide in or even just to talk to, if her sanity could have been salvaged, even just a little. But deep down you always assumed it was something darker going on inside her that made her act the way she did. By the end, if she wasn’t numb, she was crying, and you just had no idea how to handle her.

After her death, you simply avoided holidays, always volunteering to work the extra shifts or treat it as if they were any other days of the week.

Since arriving in 1918, you’d been so preoccupied with surviving, with trying to figure out what was going on, the idea of Christmas or any other holiday had been nonexistent. Which is why you’d been surprised at Tommy’s (or technically Ada’s) invitation to a Christmas Eve dinner.

Fidgeting with your dress, you stood nervously at the doorstep and knocked. Behind the door, you could hear the sound of voices and pots banging, even a gramophone playing.

The door swung open to reveal Ada, shouting her hello before pulling you inside for a warm hug. You chuckled at your friend, who clearly had been enjoying some pre-dinner drinks, and walked further into the house.

The betting shop doors were open, the tables that usually hosted piles of books, papers, and money now cleared and replaced with plates, napkins, and silverware. You took a scan at the guests around, surprised at the number of people here.

You recognized a few of them — the two men who’d been with Tommy and his brothers last night at the Garrison, Benji, and the man who stood out on the streets preaching. Then there was Martha sitting near the fire with Polly at her side, looking better but still not completely on the mend. Finn ran past you, shouting as the older of John’s kids chased after him. The rest of the men in the room you didn’t recognize.

“Y/N!” Polly shouted, finally noticing your arrival as she left Martha and pulled you in for a hug. It appeared she’d also been indulging in some pre-dinner drinks, this being the most affection she’d ever shown you. “Let me get you a drink and then introduce you.”

She shoved a glass of something brown in your hands, a quick sniff indicating it as whiskey, and began to walk you around the room, starting unfortunately with the group of men Benji was with.

“Lovelock, Scudboat, and Hancock, this is Y/N. A family friend and barmaid at the Garrison. She’s under our protection, so you know what that means.”

“Aye ma’am,” Scudboat smiled, nodding his head respectfully before lifting his hand. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

You smiled genuinely at the man, already appreciating his vibe. Lovelock didn’t offer any words, but nodded and gave you a smile and handshake as well.

Hancock, or Benji as he’d introduced himself to you as, gave you a smirk. “We met last night,” he said suggestively, lingering his hand around yours longer than you thought was appropriate. “But it’s good to see you again.”

You didn’t respond, pulling your hand away and instead offering a polite smile. Luckily, Polly pulled you away to work the room.

Jeremiah was the name of the preacher, accompanied with his young son, Isaiah. You were curious how he fit in with the group, but saved your questions for another time.

Charlie and Curly worked at the Yard down by the Cut. You realized this must have been the ‘Uncle Charlie’ that Tommy mentioned the other night. They were both quiet, but nice. Curly was beginning to ask you if you liked horses, but Polly shoo’d him before pulling you along to the next man.

Danny Owens, or Whizz-Bang as he mentioned everyone called him, said he could only stay for a drink before going home to his wife and kids. He was fidgeting with his hat, muttering something about wishing Freddie or Barney could be there. Obviously you recognized Freddie’s name and wondered if you’d finally get to meet Ada’s mystery man. It wasn’t the case though as you finished the rounds of introductions.

A shout of the men behind you caused you and Polly to turn, seeing Arthur and John enter the room. They welcomed everyone around them with a loud greeting. You kept your eyes on the doorway, waiting for the one family member who had not yet arrived.

As if on cue with your thoughts, Tommy walked into the room quietly, leaning against the door edge to watch the scene. His eyes scanned the room until they fell to you. The corner of his mouth rose in that familiar resilient smirk, obviously unused to being caught doing his surveillance. He gave a subtle nod over his shoulder before pushing off and turning toward the family room.

Your heart raced a little as you took the bait, excusing yourself and grabbing your drink before walking across the betting shop floor. When you walked through the door into the family room, you heard the gentle shut of the door behind you, but your eyes were transfixed on the tree in front of you.

You’d noticed it when you first walked in, but now, the simple Christmas tree was lit with candles tied at the end of its branches.

The last time you saw a Christmas tree lit up, it’d been multicolored and flashed like a bad shop neon sign, glued to the plastic thistle of a fake tree. The sight of it at the time had made you groan at the very idea of the holiday you dreaded, thinking about all the money that was wasted during this time of year on stupid decorations like that one and worthless presents that would just end up in the garbage in a month.

But this. The real fire dancing on the wicks, sending beautiful shadows across the whole room against the lush pine leaves. It was enough to take your breath away.

“We lit it just now with the kids.” Tommy’s deep voice behind you brought you out of your trance as you felt him move to your side. “We’ll re-light it again before they go to bed.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he replied as you finally looked over to him, his eyes already on you. The implication of his words and that look made you blush.

You bit your lip as you shook your head and the possible compliment off. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” you found yourself admitting.

Tommy’s brow creased. “Do they not have Christmas trees in America?”

“Um, they do. Just not decorated with real candles,” you replied, not exactly lying but not responding with the whole truth.

You weren’t entirely sure when electric tree lights would be invented, or common place, even. To avoid further questioning, you asked one of your own, a genuine query you couldn’t help but wonder now that the bewilderment had faded.

“Does the tree ever catch on fire?”

He chuckled softly, “Yeah it has. That’s why we only light it for a little while each night, usually before the kids go to bed. This year it hasn’t yet, surprisingly. But the year before we left, Finn was tryin’ to light it for John’s kids and lit the whole bottom row on fire. Luckily Pol was there to put it out before the house caught.”

You were watching him as he told the story before he let a short breath out his nose and a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, as if reminding himself of his own memory had been a pleasant surprise.

He cleared his throat, his smile returning back to his neutral expression as he busied himself with pulling his cigarette box out of his pocket and lifting out a stick. He ran it between his lips before lighting the end, the action causing you to lick your own lips before you remembered something.

“I, um — I got you a gift,” you said, feeling suddenly very embarrassed.

He paused at your words, his brow creased as he watched you pull a small box out of the handbag you’d been carrying.

“A gift?” He repeated, turning his body away from the tree and toward you.

You shrugged, trying to shoo away your nerves. “Yeah, ya’know, it’s Christmas. It’s not anything super fancy, but saw it this morning when Ada took me shopping and I just, I don’t know, I thought you might like it. Sorry it’s not wrapped,” you lifted the box and offered it to him.

Tommy took it tentatively, his brow hooked as he examined the plain cardboard. “You didn’t have to,” he said, not yet opening it.

“I know. It’s just — it’s a thank you,” you finally spat out, your eyes chancing a look up to meet his, “for everything.”

His brow was still creased as he looked down, and your embarrassment and stupidity reached it’s peak as you realized how much of a mistake this probably was.

Did people not get each other gifts in the 1900s? Ada hadn’t said anything when you picked it out and asked if she thought this was something Tommy might like. She had given you a shit eating grin, but hadn’t deterred you or told you you were being weird.

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying, turning away from him to try and hide how red your face was. “You don’t have to use it, you don’t even have to open it, I’ll just take it back and we’ll pretend this never happened—“

“Y/N,” Tommy’s voice said softly, causing you to look back over at him, the box open on the table and the cigarette case now in his hand.

It was a simple case, minimal decoration around the border, but the minute you saw it, it made you think of Tommy and his damn cigarettes. Part of you wanted to get it engraved, something snarky about killing his lungs — but you could only afford the case, so you got it on a whim. It’d definitely been more than you could afford, but it was the holidays, you reasoned. You’d start saving again next week.

Tommy tested the case, using his thumb to click the flap open, then closed it again. He did that a couple times before letting out a humored breath out of his nose, the corner of his cheek rising as he pulled out his box and moved a few sticks into the case.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely as his eyes found yours, lifting up the case to emphasize before smiling back down at it. “It’s the best Christmas gift I’ve gotten in years.”

You swallowed, dropping your head as your cheeks reddened again. The feel of his fingers against your cheek caused you to lift your head again, not realizing he’d gotten so close. Your eyes found his, serious and soulful as he peered down at you, the light from the candles dancing off the glassy orbs. God, he was beautiful.

A bang on the door caused you to jump before stepping away. Polly shouted from the other side, instructing you both that dinner was ready and to get our asses out there.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Every time.”

Tommy met your laugh with his own softer one as you turned toward the door. Before you could reach it, he grabbed your arm and spun you back toward him, pulling your body against his as his lips crashed against yours.

He wrapped the hand still holding your gift and his lit cigarette around you to curve your body against his, his other hand raking through the base of your head and neck, nearly lifting you up to meet his hunger. Without a second thought, your own hands found themselves around his shoulders as you clung to him, your kiss matching his eagerness. You tilted your head and opened your mouth just enough for him to dive in deeper, breathing in sharply through his nose as you let out a needy moan.

Fuck the dinner, screw all the people on the other side of the door. You’d let him take you right here on the couch, on the floor, you didn’t care. All you cared about was his hard body against yours, his hands gripping at you, his mouth and where else it could consume you.

When you found your feet flat on the ground again, he pulled his lips away just enough before giving you another slow kiss, then another, before pulling away completely.

He smiled as you caught your breath, still surprised and slightly disoriented from the action. You thought he was going to kiss you again as he brought his hand back to your cheek, but instead he used his thumb to rub what must have been smeared lipstick off your face. A pathetic whimper left your throat at the disappointment.

“Better not keep Pol waiting,” he said easily, adjusting his suit and sliding his new cigarette case in his jacket pocket before pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his own lips. You watched as the white fabric turned red from your lipstick and smirked, thinking of other scenarios where you could leave pieces of you with him throughout the day.

He noticed your look and rose a brow as you licked your lips, shooing those ideas away for more socially appropriate ones as he opened and held the door open for you.

Ada and Martha were helping to set the table when you joined them, grabbing two plates from Polly before adding them to the make-shift dinner table. Once every seat was served, Ada pulled you into a chair next to her. You looked at the head of the table, expecting to see Tommy but surprisingly it was Arthur who stood up and rose his glass. To his right sat Tommy, then John and Martha; to his left was Polly, then Ada and you.

Arthur cleared his throat, causing everyone to quiet and turn their attention to him.

“Um,” Arthur cleared it again, pulling down at his vest as he fidgeted. “I um, I’m not much for speeches. But um, I wanted to— wanted to thank you. This year— these years, being away, it’s been—“ his voice chocked as he looked toward Tommy.

Tommy smiled up at his brother and stood, gripping Arthur’s shoulder as he held up his own glass. “It’s been good to be back,” Tommy said simply, finishing Arthur’s prompt, possibly not in the same direction Arthur was heading, but a good detour to keep the moment light. He continued to keep his arm on his brother’s shoulder, as he addressed the rest of the room. “We all know the hardships and blessings we’ve been dealt, this year especially. And soon, it’ll be a new year. A fresh start. This is our opportunity to seize, and we’ll be damned if we’re going to let it slip.” His eyes flicked to you before rising his drink higher. “A toast, a simple toast, ya brotha’?” He pulled Arthur closer as he chuckled, rising his own glass higher with his brothers. “To good fortune, good health, good horses! Happy Christmas!”

“By order of the Peaking fuckin’ Blinders,” Arthur added, his voice strong again.

Everyone exploded with cheers as they raised their own glasses and shouted “Happy Christmas!”

The night went on as everyone ate and talked. You were enjoying the dinner, laughing as you watched the family dynamic between the core Shelbys as they enjoyed each others company. Everyone’s inhibitions and guards seemed to be set aside tonight, giving you what you assumed was a rare glimpse at what dinners pre-war must have been like for the group.

On the other side of you sat Charlie and Curly, and you were grateful that Benji had been placed at the end of the other side of the table, just far enough so that easy conversation wasn’t possible. But you felt his eyes on you, causing you to shift in your seat every now and then when you’d catch his gaze. After the second time it happened, you found yourself sighing, knowing you’d have to have an awkward conversation at some point with him to convince him you weren’t interested.

The dinner party was winding down, with most of its guests already gone. Even Ada had given you a kiss on the cheek before whispering that she was sneaking out. She wiggled her eye brows, causing you to roll you eyes and shove her away, whispering your own ‘be safe’ back at her.

Of course, Benji took the opportunity to swoop in to fill the opening.

“Your first Christmas in Small Heath?”

You nodded, taking a sip to keep your mouth busy.

“I’ve always liked winter over summer. Sure, it gets bone cold, but there’s less smoke in the air during the winter,” he mused, topping off his own glass and offering to do the same for you.

“That so?”

He shrugged, “Dunno, just feels like it, I guess. Maybe it’s more to do with the days being shorter.”

You nodded, slightly surprised at the insight. “Could be.”

“Do you have to go back to the Garrison tonight?”

You coughed at his unexpected turn in subject. “Um, no, Harry closed the pub for Christmas Eve.”

“So you’re free, then? We could go get a drink—“

“We have a drink,” you replied, holding up your glass. “And we’re guests at a party.”

“Come on, no one would miss us if we left—“

Scudboat appeared behind Benji, dropping a weighted hand to his shoulder. “Gotta go, Hancock.”

Benji’s brow creased as he scoffed. “Now?”

“Aye, it’s Russel. Just got the order.”

Benji huffed, “It’s Christmas Eve. Can’t we do this after the holiday?”

“You know the drill. It’ll hurt his family more to see that face Christmas morning. Will make him think twice next time. Tommy’s orders. Now!”

Scudboat left you both as Benji turned back toward you, blowing a big breath out of his nose as he cursed under his breath. “No rest for a Blinder.”

No rest for the wicked, you found yourself thinking, your tongue too tied to say the words aloud. Russel — you recognized the name of a copper from the family books. He’d been one of the more recent discrepancies you’d alerted. And now he was going to get beat up, or cut, on Christmas Eve.

And it was on Tommy’s orders. You swallowed down a big gulp of your drink as Benji said his farewell.

“Ready?”

Tommy’s voice behind you caused you to jump startled. You turned to face him, his own expression seemed slightly perturbed as he watched the Peaky boys leave the shop.

“Ready for what?” Your voice wasn’t as strong as it normally was, feeling both caught off guard as well as slightly uneasy about the darker side of Tommy.

It wasn’t like you were an idiot. You knew this came with the territory. Tommy Shelby was a gangster, as much as he wanted to call himself a businessman. Violence was as much a currency of this business as money. And here you were, contributing to that violence.

But you knew the world you were now a part of wasn’t that simple. Maybe this copper deserved it, maybe he didn’t. If you were going to be a part of this company, you’d have to trust the people making the calls, even if it went against your own moral code.

Did you even have a moral code anymore? Were you just making excuses?

“To talk, like I promised,” he replied, his eyes finally moving back to you. “Unless you’d rather join Hancock.”

His jealousy caused you to chuckle, despite your prior thoughts. “I told you last night I wasn’t interested in him.”

He hummed, “Maybe you ought to tell that to him then, eh? This way,” he placed his hand to your back as he directed you back toward the house.

You noticed him exchange a look with Polly before leaving the room.

“Where are we going?” You asked hesitantly as he directed you toward the stairs.

He didn’t answer you, instead taking the lead as he brought you to the top of the stairs and opened the door. “My room.”

The room was small and plain. A bed even smaller than yours in the corner, a nightstand, a chair, a dresser, and a fireplace. The decor was also minimum: a mirror hung at the head of the bed, a lit lamp on the nightstand, a crucifix on the wall by the door, and a few other photos and paintings dispersed between the walls, nightstand, and fireplace, which was also already lit.

The air smelled different in the room. There was something else, in addition to the outside air, sweat, and cigarettes that you’d grown used to. Your eyes searched for a source, but gave up when Tommy closed the door behind him.

“You’re not worried someone will hear?” You asked as Tommy chose to sit in the chair by the nightstand, leaving you to either continue standing or sit on the bed.

“This room is pretty sound proof, long as we don’t do any shouting. The other guests will leave through the betting shop doors. They won’t stay for long, Pol knows that we’re here and will clear them all out soon enough and lock up behind ‘em. I’ll walk you home when we’re done,” he said, pulling out the cigarette case.

He pulled out another stick and ran it across his lips, causing you to lick your own and making you fully aware that you were finally alone in a bedroom. God, your stupid libido. First you were questioning your own morality, and now all you wanted to do was jump his bones.

“Did you, um — did you drink the tea yet?”

Your eyes flicked back toward him, surprised at his question. “That where you want to start?”

He shrugged, lifting up the case before setting it gently on the nightstand. “I hadn’t intended, but in the spirit of gift giving, seems as good a place as any.”

You turned away from him, anxiously avoiding his question by continuing to examine the room and get your mind out of the gutter. The box in question was currently sitting in your dresser drawer, shoved in there after you’d finally unpacked so you wouldn’t have to look at it.

“And why not?” Tommy followed-up, taking your silence as a no.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before answering, “I have to think about it. I’m convinced it’ll either give me a seizure or just end up being a really bad cup of tea — both of which I believe will happen before it lets me talk with the dead.”

“Perhaps you should talk to Pol. She’s always been more in tune with that side of things, she could offer you some guidance.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, still unconvinced.

“We’ll revisit that another time, eh. Where is it that you want to start, then?” He asked.

Your mouth felt dry as you tried to consider your options. Honestly, you’d expected Tommy to take the lead in this debrief, almost demanding answers or explanations. You hadn’t expected him to hand you the reigns, and you found yourself struggling to get a grip.

He was watching you as you considered his question, refusing to speak first. You took a gulp of your drink before finally sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“My nightmares — the two dreams that I had in the wagon, I’ve never had dreams like those before. I’ve had realistic dreams before. Mundane or stress-induced dreams where I’m living out my normal day and then wake up and can’t believe I have to do it all again. I’ve had dreams of memories, replaying of certain events. Hell, I’ve even lucid dreamed, where I recognized a dream I’d had before and been able to change the dream. But I have never in my life had dreams like the ones I had in that wagon.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked toward the wall across from him, some recognition in your words. If you hadn’t been so lost in your own recounting, you might have picked up on it, but instead you continued on.

“It felt so real — more than a memory, like I was actually standing in that garden, feeling the wind against my face. But it wasn’t my memory. It wasn’t me. It was like I was watching and feeling the memory of another.”

“Whose?”

You swallowed before looking back up at Tommy. “I think I was dreaming about the story of Cassandra and Apollo.”

You left out the part where in your dreams Apollo just happened to look exactly like Tommy, just with golden eyes. The logical part of you knew that your brain was just inserting what it knew into the dream. Wasn’t it a known fact in your time that people only saw the faces of those they knew in their dreams? That’s all it was, you told yourself.

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette. “You goin’ to explain who those people are, or just leave me in the dark?”

“Do you know much about Greek mythology?” you asked, trying to gauge how to approach this.

Tommy shook his head. You took a moment to collect yourself, your brain ready to jump into explanation and story telling mode. This was one of your favorite subjects, after all. You took a sip of your drink before leaning against the wall, making yourself more comfortable on the bed.

“Where I’m from—” you started, swallowing as you decided to stop trying to hide the little details of your life — if you were going to do this, you might as well dive in. “I got to learn about it in school, mostly in language arts or social studies. I asked a teacher once why we were taught Greek over other mythologies, like Norse or any Asian religion — she seemed to believe it was because of the influence the Ancient Greek, and then Roman, society had over Europe, which then influenced Western civilization. There’s written records on top of word-of-mouth story telling that has lasted tens of thousands of years. And the influence they still have on philosophy, architecture, military, governance, agriculture, medicine — hell, even the word alphabet is Greek for alpha and beta, the first two letters of the Greek alphabet. Shakespeare wrote plays based on the mythology, Renaissance artists created masterpieces in an attempt to bring it to life. She said it was close to the same reason we learned about Medieval stories even though there’s no historical truth to King Arthur and Camelot. But we all learned them. And it started with literature.”

Tommy blew a puff of smoke, seemingly unimpressed with your pretense. “Ok.”

“Two of the oldest works of literature that’s still widely referenced are Homer’s epic poems — the Iliad and the Odyssey. The stories are pretty significant because of their themes about fate, glory, heroism, pride, wrath. And there’s so many phrases that originated or were inspired by the stories: an Achilles heel, Trojan horse, a face that launched a thousand ships, stuck between a rock and a hard place—”

“You’re losin’ me, Y/N.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’m just — I’m trying to figure out how to make it make sense. The Iliad tells the story of the Trojan war, a ten-year battle between the ancient cities of Troy and Sparta, mostly focusing on the abduction of the Spartan Queen Helen, and the hero Achilles who was recruited to help save her. That’s a crazy oversimplification of the story, and honestly I’ve read so many retellings I’m not even certain on the actual story anymore. But it’s really quite interesting if you want to hear about it some time — I think you would especially find the character of Achilles interesting—”

“Y/N,” Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he waved his hand along. “Madam Despoina said you were named after a Trojan princess. That was Cassandra, ya?”

The sound of Tommy saying your middle name out loud for the first time made your chest tighten.

You nodded, avoiding the feeling. “A Trojan prince was the one who stole Helen, the Queen of Sparta, so the Spartans and the Greeks attacked Troy to get her back. Cassandra was a Trojan princess who was also a priestess.”

Tommy hummed, “And you said that God gave her the gift of prophecy, but then He wanted to fuck her and she refused.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his retelling. “Something like that. But the Greeks didn’t believe in just one God, they had a pantheon of gods, goddesses, titans, and other creatures who all had roles they played in the creation and general day-to-day motion of the world and its people. One of those gods was Apollo.”

He leaned back in his chair, “The god Madam Despoina kept going on about.”

“Exactly. He was the god of, well, a lot of things — but he’s mostly tied to references of the Sun and light. He’s also the god of music, the arts, medicine, archery, town building, and prophecy.”

“And that’s where the Delphi come in?”

“Yep. They were priestesses who spoke his word at his temple, where people would travel from all over for a consult with the oracles. The Greeks considered this temple to be the center of the world.”

“So the princess wouldn’t fuck this god Apollo, so he cursed her. Why not just take back the gift?”

“A common myth is that a god couldn’t undo the work of another god, even their own work. So when Cassandra wouldn’t sleep with him, he couldn’t take back his gift of prophecy. He cursed her instead. She had no choice but accurately predict the future, but no one would believe her. Throughout the war, she tried to warn the Trojans, her family, of the dangers of their actions, but they couldn’t believe. Eventually, the visions of disaster and frustrations of being called a liar and madwoman drove her insane.”

“Why didn’t she just lie? Say the opposite and then they’d believe her?”

You shrugged, smiling at hearing the same question you’d asked your own teacher. “I don’t think she could lie. I don’t think she could even stop herself from telling the prophecies, otherwise I don’t see why she wouldn’t have just shut up early on.”

“What happened to her?”

“She predicted the fall of Troy, and the deaths of her family, we well as her own death. Before that, during the siege, she was raped, and then given away as a concubine to one of the Greek Kings. She and the King were then killed by the Queen and her lover.”

“And what happened to Helen?” he asked, genuinely curious it seemed to the story.

“In Homer’s story, Paris, the Trojan prince who kidnapped her gets killed along with most of the rest of his family, and she’s reunited with her Spartan husband.”

“Lucky her.”

You scoffed, “Comparatively, I guess.”

“Does the story match up with your dreams?”

“Kind of. In the stories, it’s always implied that either Cassandra promised that she’d sleep with him in exchange for the gift and then refused when he came to collect, or that she didn’t promise him and he just assumed that she’d give herself to him if he gave her the gift. Madam Despoina seemed to imply that there was another side to the story.”

“Which is?”

“In my dreams so far, it seems like maybe they actually both were in love with each other. But then something shifts and he’s cursing me— her. And that’s when I wake up.”

“That explains why you kept saying you were cursed,” Tommy mused, taking another sip of his own glass before reaching for the bottle that was already on the nightstand and refilling it. He offered to refill your own glass, which you accepted. “And the main question — what does that all have to do with you?”

You took a deep breath, taking a big gulp of your drink, the warm liquid burning down your throat. “I think Madam Despoina thinks that my mother named me after the Cassandra from this story. It seemed like she was implying that I’m a descendant of Cassandra, or I don’t know, maybe a reincarnation? Both of which are ridiculous.”

Tommy’s brow creased, “Why?”

You shook your head, flopping down to lay flat on the bed, setting your glass on the nightstand. “Because it’s just a story, it isn’t even real! Homer wrote the Iliad like hundreds, maybe thousands of years after the war would have happened. If it even did at all. There’s some evidence of civilization in the area Troy is thought to have been, and even some evidence of war I think, but still. Now, the odds of Madam Despoina being a descendant of the Greek Delphi may be more likely, since there was more evidence of the temple discovered and records found. I still think it’s highly unlikely, but who am I to question her. Maybe some distant relative passed along the stories and traveled across Europe.”

“That’s the rumor,” he nodded. “Came from Balkan gypsies, they say. Would explain why their clan is so deep and connected.”

“As well as the divinity shtick.”

“And the tattoo, it connects you,” Tommy added as he stood up out of the chair and walked toward the bed, lifting up your legs and sitting at the end of the mattress, pulling your legs back to drape over his lap.

“I got this tattoo on a whim,” you said with a shrug, as of trying to shake it off your back. “I just drew it one day and decided to get it for my first tattoo.”

He chuckled, “So, what, after everything you’re just goin’ to chalk that up to a fuckin’ coincidence?”

You huffed, “I don’t know. What else am I supposed to believe? That I thought of the tattoo because something in my blood or heritage or some mythological corner of my subconscious knew that one day I’d need to meet a Balkan gypsy family of fortune tellers who’s ancestry dates back to my own?”

“Is that harder to believe than the two of us having dreams of each other before we’d ever even met?” He asked, the question feeling like a cold splash of water.

“No,” you groaned, throwing your hand over your face. “Both are just as ridiculous.”

Tommy rubbed your leg reassuringly. “Just one more question, and then I’ll drop the subject — for now at least.”

You sat up, realizing you were practically in his lap as you waited for him to continue.

“When I went to speak with Madam Despoina alone, she told me that our fates were entwined. That I shouldn’t repeat the follies of her god and that if I listened to you, if I didn’t push you, if I trusted you, we would achieve so much more together than apart. That you can predict the future, and I would be a fool to take your advice lightly.”

“Tommy, I can’t—“

“Can you predict the future?” He asked softly, running his fingers along your jawline.

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.“ You looked between his eyes, swallowing before dropping your gaze. “I know things. Not everything, I can’t predict Ada’s future or tell you what Harry’s going to have for dinner a week from now. But I know that the prohibition amendment will pass in America at the beginning of the year. I know the worker strikes will only continue to get worse. I know the Irish will continue to fight against the British government for independence, and eventually between themselves. I know that jazz music is going to be everywhere.”

“You knew when the end of the war was goin’ to be,” he added.

“And I know other things — things I can’t—“ you swallowed, lifting your eyes back to his and bringing your own hand to his face.

“Perhaps you are Cassandra,” he said, his eyes moving down to your lips, “and this time, I’m to believe you. I’m to protect you from this bloody curse.”

Your breath hitched at his words, “You— you believe? Me, all this? How?”

“Talk to Polly. Drink the tea. Who bloody knows if Madam Despoina is telling the truth or if she’s a fuckin’ nutter. But I trust my gut, and my gut has wanted you from the moment I saw you in my dreams.”

“Really?” You whispered with what little breath you seemed to have.

He smiled, humming. “And since you yelled at me down by the Cut.”

“I didn’t yell,” you chuckled, feeling the mood lighten again, your face just a breath away from his own.

He pulled you forward just enough for your lips to meet for the fourth time that night, kissing you softly. You kissed him back, the build up from tonight and two nights before making you needy.

“Tommy,” you whimpered when his mouth left your own for your neck. You swallowed thickly as an insecure thought crept through your mind. “I’m not a doll though, Tommy.”

“I know,” he said against your skin, his breath causing you to shiver.

“I don’t know how to help you,” you added, suddenly worried about whatever promises Madam Despoina seemed to be making for you.

He pulled away from your neck to meet your eyes again, running his hand through your hair. “You’ve already helped me, Y/N. I don’t care if you can tell the future — I don’t care if you can’t. I just know…” he paused, his adam’s apple bobbing as he rest his forehead against yours, “I need you, Y/N.”

>> next chapter

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nyasiaaaaa · 8 months

Text

In the Bleak-Mid Winter

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem reader (Nurse)

Summary: This is a story about two people who become constants in each others lives, and eventually fall for each. While one learns to love again, the other learns the cost of loving a man like him.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Cursing, Tommy eating, Mr.Campbell, sexual harassment, reader eats, Thomas Shelby ( If I missed anything or you think something should be added please tell me.) ( Also Y/N is on dick, IDKY she acts like this)

A/N: part 1 takes place during season two, part 2/3 season 3 and 4/5/6 season 4. This is a Slow burn there will be smut eventually.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

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

You heard the paramedics before you saw them; you were sitting at the nurse's station having a late dinner amongst the other nurses when they burst through the door shouting.

"Male, early thirties, beaten severely, Bp 80/60, in and out of consciousness"

You had rushed over and led them to the next available room in the ER; so you and the doctor may start your examination. The doctor surprisingly showed up with the emergency instead of half an hour later. The paramedics set the man down on the gurney and got out of your way, but not before calling the man lying in front of you by name and assuring him that he was in good hands.

'Wait" you yelled after the paramedic, making them stop and face you

"You know this man, your family … or friend," you asked as you prepared a bucket of warm water with soap.

"No, miss, he's not friend nor family; I just recognized him, is all." the paramedic responded with a tight smile.

"And his name," you asked cause you didn't catch it the first time he said it.

"Thomas"

You thanked the man before turning back to your patient. You started to wipe away the blood and mud that caked his face making him unrecognizable, to the point where you were confused about how that gentleman had recognized him.

You continued down his body, cleaning him up where need be so the doctor could assess and work properly. As you cleaned a nasty cut along his bruised ribs, he began to stir, and his eyes opened.

"Sir, hi, do you know your name," the doctor asked him as he flashed a light in and out of his eyes

The doctor waited, but the man didn't answer, that's when the doctor looked towards you for help.

You grab the mans hand, squeezing it, causing him to look in your direction; you smile gently at him before asking him, slowing.

"Sir, do you know your name"

"M- my my name," he whispered, out of breath

"Yes sir, do you know it" You squeezed his hand again, encouraging him along

"It's Thomas"

"Very good," you praised him

"My name is Thomas Shelby."

You froze right in your tracks, dropping his hand and stepping back. You heard the doctor praise him for getting it right before asking questions about his pain, medical history, and allergies.

The doctor waved his hand towards you, motioning towards you to write his responses down, but you didn't even acknowledge him. You couldn't even move.

Thomas Shelby, thee Thomas Shelby. The most dangerous man in Birmingham is lying on your table with his life in your hands.

It was starting to all make sense now, why the paramedics knew him but didn't associate himself with him, why the doctor had rushed over so quickly to care for him.

You then realize that If this man dies, then you die.

That was all you needed to hear; you grabbed your clipboard, pulled yourself together, and began to write down the things you heard. The doctor finished his assessment, and told Thomas he would come back shortly to take him to surgery, and he would have the nurse give him a couple of papers to sign while he waited.

You rearranged the papers on your clipboard, putting the ones he needed to sign in front, then grabbed an IV and Morphine bag to set up a line. You handed him the clipboard as you put the bags on the hanger and began to put gloves on.

"What that," he asked, his head nodding towards the two bags as he turned the pages signing each of them before looking at you directly in your eyes.

"I -i-its a-a mo-morphi-e dr-drip a-and an IV ba-bag.”

You might have spoken more clearly if he wasn't staring at you with those eyes. It wasn't like what you had thought. You always thought that if you ever looked this man in the eyes, it would be no different than looking at the devil himself, especially after all the stories you have heard and the people you've seen who have been sent to the hospital in body bags after their dealings with him.

You expected to see hundreds of souls trapped behind his eyes, but instead, you just see a man, nothing more, just a man.

"Your papers," Thomas said, handing you back your clipboard as he looked at you looking at him.

"T-Thank you," you replied, tearing away your gaze as you walked towards the end of his bed, placing the clipboard along the edge.

You then walked back up to him, took his arm, and searched for a vein before placing the IV.

You flashed him a smile before snatching your gloves off and waking out of the room for much-needed air.

You walked till you were out of his sight, then you pressed your back against the wall before sliding down it all the way and placing your head in between your knees.

You breathed in and held it before breathing out; you repeated this action four more times before you started to calm down. You sat there for a few more seconds before the doctor returned with more people to begin moving Thomas to surgery.

"You think you can scrub in, or do you need a minute," the doctor said to you, his voice laced with annoyance.

You nodded your head as you stood up and followed him. You ignored his comment toward you as you had understood that this man holds Thomas Shelby's life in his hands, and there is no room for him to fail.

When you came into the room, the other nurse had already started to change Thomas into a gown and put a net on his head. You went around the gurney and flipped the stoppers on the wheels so that you may move it when ready.

Soon he was all changed, and it was time to move. You had placed yourself at the head of the bed while the other two nurses stood at the side.

"Let's go," you said as the three of you began pushing Mr.Shelby down the hall toward the surgery wing.

As you walked down the hall, you tried your hardest to not look down, even though you felt eyes on you, burning you as they looked at you. You tried to keep your eyes straight, but you couldn't and decided to look down. And when you did, you saw his bright blue eyes staring right back at you.

His eyes are intense and chilling, yet you still stare at him as he stares at you. But his stare has more meaning behind it; he's looking at you curiously, even turning his head to, what you guess, is to get a look at your name tag.

You break away your eyes from his as you hit the doors to the surgical wing pushing them open. You push him toward his room before leaving to wash up for his surgery as the other nurses get him ready and into place.

After scrubbing up, you dry your hands before placing fresh gloves on them. And walking over to Mr.Shelby and sitting on a stool at his head.

"Ok, Mr.Shelby, we're about to start your surgery. Today you are having surgery on your liver and kidney, which both have ruptured. I'm going to place the mask on your face and have you count back from ten, ok," You say to him as you set up the oxygen and gas machine for him.

He nodded his head, and you processed to place the mask on his face and nodded towards him to begin counting backward.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six….."

You secured the mask before standing on the opposite side of the doctor.

The surgery took four hours when It was only meant to take two; most of the time, Doctor Brown was on his game, but today, You had assumed that it was because of who the patient was that he was nervous and stressed himself out. But that wasn't the case; he became sloppy, too sloppy, to the point where you had to take over, finish and close-up. And when you had gone over to his side to take over, you had smelled it, on his breath, Whiskey. You couldn't believe that he would take a drink before performing surgery on a patient. You m didn't say anything though and simply left it as if it was him being nervous that he held Thomas Shelby's life in his hands.

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

The next time you saw Thomas awake was when you went into his room to check his vitals.

“ Good Morning Mr.Shebly; how are we doing today,” You asked as you garbed his wrist, checking his heart rate and writing it down before moving to check his blood pressure with the wrap.

“ Thomas and Fine”

“ Well, Mr.Shelby, that’s Great to hear; how’s your pain on a scale from one to ten,” you asked as you wrote down his blood pressure and moved on to check his IV and Morphine bag.

“ Thomas and 7”

“ Mkay, you can turn up your morphine drip with this dial “ You stopped taking to show him the action of the cord before continuing, “ And I see you haven’t eaten …….. Thomas.”

“ I can tell you know who I am, so you know that I can not eat any old food brought up by any old nurse.”

“ Well, I assure you the food isn’t poisoned.”

“ Please do; go ahead and have a bite.”

“ Sure,” You said with a smile as you reached down and grabbed the spoon before scooping up some mashed potatoes and bringing them to your lip.

You were about to take a bite when you thought about it; this is Thomas Shebly, Birmingham's very own gangster; he probably has a lot of enemies.

They could be in the hospital right now or were when they poisoned his food. You looked down at the spoon before looking over at him.

“ I will get you a new trey made by me personally,” You said as you gathered your things and the tray and headed for the door.

“ And how do I know I can trust you,” he asked with a straight face

“ Why would I save your life and perform surgery on you just to kill you a couple hours later.”

He responded with a nod in agreement

“ Oh, and Thomas, you a visitor a Mr.Campbell, shall I send him in”

“ Yes”

You let the door shut behind you as you walked down the hall, briefly stopping at Mr.Campbell to tell him that Thomas may see him now before going down the steps to the kitchen.

The closer you got to the basement, the louder it got, people, yelling, pans slamming against each other, and the smell of piss and bleach was so strong it made you gag and shiver.

The kitchen was the first door on the right. You entered and immediately regretted it. Two rather large men were in the kitchen; though you don’t come down here often, you know that you’ve never seen these men in this hospital anywhere and that they weren’t the chefs.

“ Can I help you miss?” the shorter of the two men asked

“ Um, a patient of mine didn’t receive his food, Ive come down to retrieve him some.” You replied, your eyes shifting between the two as you walked up to the window in the wall.

“ Which, uh…. I mean, what’s your patient's name” the taller one asked as he stood up from leaning against the wall.

“ W-why”

“ Standard procedure,” the taller one said to you, shrugging his shoulders as he stepped closer.

You thought for a second and came to the conclusion that you would instead give this strange man a name than pick a fight you most certainly can’t win.

“It's for Mr.Shelby, Thomas Shelby”

“ Ah, Mr.Shelby, ok, one meal coming right up,” The short one said as he turned to grab a plate and began putting food on it.

You tried to watch him carefully as he fixed the plate, but the taller man stepped in front of you, blocking your view and taking up the whole window.

He bent down to your eye level before he began talking.

“ What’s a pretty nurse like you doing down here? You don’t run food.”

His breath reeked of cigarettes and rum, making your face scrunch up in disgust before stepping back.

“ All the food runners were busy, and Mr.Shebly needed food; I don’t mind doing another job; I’m happy to help.”

You realized that now that you’re not as close, you can see more, not much, but you did see when the other man sprinkled something all over Thomas's food before giving everything a quick mix.

You look back only to catch the tall man looking at you, well, more like at your body, which you were very grateful for, seeing as you didn’t get caught.

“ Oi, here’s the food, miss,” The shorter man said, handing you the plate after the taller one moved out of the way.

“ Thank you,” you said before scarring off.

You dumped the food in the trash in the hall before jogging upstairs; you passed the nurse's station before turning right back around and reaching under the station table to grab your paper bag with your lunch.

Then you headed straight for Thomas's room. You opened the door and closed it behind you locking it.

You see Thomas sitting on the bed, struggling to bring his cigarette to his lips.

You walk over and place your bag on the bed before snatching it out of Thomas's hands and taking a hit of it yourself. You breathe in the cig and pace the floor several times before blowing it out.

“ What, what happened,” Thomas asked

“ Two men in the kitchen, they didn’t belong. I know that for a fact; one blocked my view as they fixed your plate, and I swear, I fuckin swear I saw him put something in it,” you said, looking at him before taking another long drag and putting the cig back in his hands.

You begin to pace again, not feeling yourself calm down despite taking a couple of drags of the cig; you still don’t know why people smoke them things.

“ And,” Thomas began as he pressed his lips to the cig before taking a long drag and breathing it out, “ Where is the food now.”

“ I threw it out, of course; I’m not gonna get blamed for making a hit on Thomas Shelby,” you said, throwing your hands up as you looked at him with your head cocked to the side, confusion written all over your face.

Thomas took another long drag before saying, “ Welp, problem solved.”

“ H-how can you be so cool about this? They tried to kill you.”

“ Darlin, I’m in here cause someone tried to kill me, it's not the first, and it's not the last time,” he said before taking one last drag and putting the cig out.

He looked at you momentarily before tilting his head and pointing toward the brown bag at the edge of his bed.

“ Oh, since we can’t trust the food, I’ve brought you my lunch, which we know is not poisoned. And before you decline, you going to be needing your strength. I’m assuming that you will be cutting your time here short.” You said as you took the food out of the bag and walked over to the stove in the room.

“It's soup, so I must heat it; while it's heating, I’ll pack a goody bag of bandages and cleaning wipe, some morphine too; when do you think you’ll be out of here.” You asked as you filled the pot with the soup before placing it on the burner and turning it on.

“ I’ll be out by tonight.”

Your head snapped over to look at him

“ What,” he asked

“It's just too far too soon for a man with injuries like yours to be traveling

on foot, are you going far”

“ Far enough”

“ I’ll help you to where ever you are going,” you said, walking back over to his bed.

“ And why should I trust you.”

“ Well, let’s see, I just saved your life, and like you said, Mr.Shebly, I know who you are and what you do. And I’ve decided that I’d rather have you as a friend than an enemy,” You said before walking over to the door, unlocking it, stepping out, shutting it behind you, and locking it again.

You then heading off to collect supplies.

By the time you got back, the soup was ready, and you poured it back into the bowl and brought it over to Thomas, who tried to sit up but was too weak and fell back into the bed. You quicken your pace to him and set the bowl on the table before helping him sit up.

“ Slow down; you mustn’t tear your stitches,” You told him, placing pillows behind his back and helping him sit up.

He reaches for the soup but winches again in pain, he tries again, but you slap his hand.

“ Let me, “ you said as you picked up the bowl from the table

“ No, I can feed myself. “

“ Obviously not, now open wide,” you say as you dip the spoon in the bowl and hold it to his lips.

He just looks at you with a straight face; you drop the spoon back into the bowl.

“ I’m sorry,” you say with a light laugh, “ but please, you need to eat” You bring the spoon out of the bowl again before placing it into his mouth.

You stay silent as he eats, repeating your actions over and over again. Bringing the spoon down to the bowl and scooping up some soup before bringing it to his lip. You do this while looking up, down, at the soup, and then at him, all while his eyes stay on you.

Soon you are on your last spoonful of soup, and you accidentally cause some soup to run down his lip as you had pulled it out too soon. You immediately grab a napkin bringing it up to his chin.

“ Sorry, I-“ he cuts you off, grabbing your writs, stopping it mid-air, looking you right in your eyes.

“ I’ve got it,” he said as he grabbed the napkin from your hands before wiping his chin, then licked his lips.

Your eyes trail down his face onto his body, slowly as you study every part of him, taking your time before returning to his face. And still, his eyes are on you, lookin' at you as you look at him.

“ Do you want to fuck” he asked

You panicked

“What? No, I was just c-checking on your body like, umm, you cut and bruises to make sure everything looked good,” you said while standing up, taking the bowl with you, and placing it back in your brown sack.

“ Well…. Um, you leave tonight. I will be back to help you get dressed after my shift. We can go; I, uh, have other patients to check on, so I’ll be back then, and I’ll keep the door locked, ok.” You say, keeping your eyes on the ground as you collect your things and made haste towards the door. You quickly open the door shutting it and locking it before leaning against it.

This is Thomas Shelby, a cold-hearted killer, you tried to convince yourself. But man is that man easy on the eyes. You blow out a puff of air before placing your things back under the table at the nurse's station and walking off to check on your other patients.

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

You finished your work quickly and got off earlier than anticipated; it was around 10 when you headed towards Thomas Way.

You unlocked his room and entered; you didn’t bother turning on some light; the moon provided enough light, and you were trying not to draw attention to yourselves.

You slowly walked over to him; he was sleeping on his back; you got up close to him before whispering.

“ Thomas…… Thomas wakes up” You reached down towards him to shake him a bit “ Thom-“

He reached up and grabbed your wrist, but unlike last time, it wasn’t gentle. You struggled to free your hand from his grip as you pulled back while he looked at you, confused.

“ Thomas, it's me, please” You let a cry slip as you tried to get him to understand. It was clear that Thomas wasn’t all the way there.

“ Thomas,” you said a bit louder, causing him to let go of your wrist.

He shook his head and looked down before looking back up at you and your wrist, which you now cradled in your other hand

“ I-Im so-“ You cut him off before he finished

“It's fine, come on, sit up,” you said as you grabbed his shoulder, guiding him the way you wanted him to sit.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed before you walked towards the back room to gather his clothes and walked back.

You placed his top on the bed before getting on your knees to put his socks and pants on. This time you heard no complaint from him as you helped him. After you put on his socks, you scrunched up his pants legs before putting them around his ankles.

You then pulled them up to his thighs as far as they would go before clearing your throat. He then stood up, and you stood up with him slowly pulling the pants up as you went. He almost fell when he stood tall, catching himself before he did so using your shoulder to balance himself.

You pulled the pants to his waist, tugging a bit before zipping them up and buttoning them. You keep your head down, even though you want to look up; you feel his eyes on you, looking down at you. His whole body towering over you. It was equally as inviting as it was intimidating.

He moved his hand slowly down your arm

to your wrist. He took it into his hands and brushed over it softly.

“ I’m sorry.”

His words made you look up at him

“It’s fine.”

He drops your wrist, and you reach down and pick up his shirt, bunching it up in your hands as you stand on your tippy toes to place it over his head.

He bent down to help you carefully slip his arm into his shirt before pulling it down and tucking it into his pants. You then click his suspender into place before slipping them over his shoulder.

After you get back on your knees, place his shoes on his feet and tie them. When you finished, you helped him put his coat on. You grab the rest of the things you packed for him and place them in a bag before tucking them in his coat.Lastly, you grab his hat, place it on his head, pulling it down to cover his face more.

“ Ok, so we’ll stop at the nurse station so I can grab my thing, then we’ll head towards the back of the hospital to leave; that way, no one will see you,” You say as you start walking towards the door.

You walk out the door and towards the station, grabbing your coat, placing it on, then your purse, before walking to the backend of the hospital.

You grab Thomas's hand, pulling him closer as you begin to approach the final long stretch of hallway.

“ I have to keep you close so people will assume we’re together.” You say

“ Why,” he asks

“ Cause …….. “ you trail off, “this part of the hospital is where people bring others to have…… a good time. That’s why it's the perfect place to leave. There’s no security and no one’s concerned with who comes and goes.”

“ Ah, so you do what to fuck”

You immediately stop in track and face him,

“I do not Im trying to “ You stop mid-sentence when you see a slight smile on his face. He’s joking, trying to ease the heavy tension between you two.

You grab his hand again, pulling him along the rest of the way, ignoring the people in your peripheral who are getting to know each other. You finally get to the door pushing it open and are greeted with a rush of cold air.

You and Thomas step out of the hospital into the south parking lot, which is entirely empty. You look at Thomas, waiting for him to lead the way; he wraps his arm around you, placing some of his weight on you as he starts walking.

“ Is it far where we’re going?” you ask, looking up at your breath dancing in the air.

“ No, not far, 30 minutes at most”

Besides the occasional whine from Thomas, the rest of your walk is quiet. As you near your destination, or you assumed cause, Thomas asks you, “ You live near here or far? If so, I’ll have one of my men walk you home.”

“ Oh, now I have peaky protection; this friendship is starting off better than I thought. But yeah, I live close no need for a chaperone, though. I’ve lived in Birmingham all my life. I know how to take care of myself.”

And that’s the end of that conversation; soon, you approach some gates to a well-known boatyard.

“ We’ve arrived,” you asked

“ We have; I can make it from here,” he says, and you let him go

“ Very well, Thomas, till next time, bye.”

He nods his head towards you and says your name before walking away. Your heart skips a beat never having heard him say your name till now, and you never told him. You can only assume that he read your name tag at some point. You flash him a smile before walking home.

Since you got home late that night, you didn’t have to sneak in to avoid your landlord. You were a couple of weeks behind on rent, the hospital didn’t pay well, and these apartments were a bit out of your reach, but they were the only ones that were halfway decent and not rat infested.

The next couple of days, you continued to work double shifts so you could make enough money from rent. Every day, people asked you if you were ok, you had been forgetting to complete things and messing small tasks up.

This was unlike you, but every time you let yourself think, your mind would drift off to Thomas. You kept rethinking every moment you were together, replaying every moment like it was a scene from a movie.

Eventually, you were told to take the rest of the day off; people assumed you were too tired to concrete, seeing that you had worked doubles for the last three days. You didn’t protest because you had to admit you were pretty tired.

When you arrived home, you wished you had fought the people at the hospital a little more.

As soon as you walked into your building, you ran into your landlord, who was collecting his mail from his box.

“ Sir, good afternoon. I don’t have your money now, but soon, I will have it in full soon, and I shall give it to you no later than next week.”

His body wasn’t facing you, and he didn’t answer you, so you reached out and touched his shoulder.

“ Sir ?”

“ Huh, oh, it's you; I hope you weren’t talking to me; I don’t mean to be rude. My ears haven’t been working the best of late.”

He was talking, but you weren’t really paying attention; he had some nasty fresh bruises on his face, cuts above his eyes, swollen eyes, and a busted leaking lip that he kept bringing a towel up to dab.

“ Sir, what happened? And I said I will have my rent to you by next week.”

“ Oh no, I’m fine, just some bumps and bruises, and no need to have the rent to me; from now on, you live here for free,” he said and started to walk off.

“ But sir, wait, I don’t understand why,” you asked, yelling after him

“ What was it that them peaky boys had said” Your eyes immediately widened; you had caused this. “Oh yeah, the rent for the girl is free, or the house burns down.”

You were about to apologize, but he had already returned to his apartment. You stood there for a good minute before heading upstairs and fixing some tea and food.

You sat down and ate your snack, staring at the wall as you sipped your tea. Then you laughed and kept laughing; your landlord was a horrible man who once tried to get you to offer sex as payment, and by getting, he locked you out of your apartment until you had his rent, you had only been a day late when he did it, and it took you a week to get his money. You had to sneak into your apartment through the window every night and leave out the same way every morning.

He got what was coming for him, with his crazy rent prices like we live in the city.

You smiled; this becoming friends thing with Thomas was already working for you. You had hoped that, that wasn’t the last time you saw Thomas.

And it wasn’t.

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby fanfic #oppenheimer #cillian x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x oc #cillian murphy fanfiction #john shelby #arthur shelby

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Please Please Please: Chapter 13

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy know there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

A/N: Final chapter my friends! Thanks for reading this, it means a lot to me. Enjoy <3 Also for those who are curious, the title of this fic is based off The Smiths song, "Please Please Please, Let Me Get What I Want". Give it a gander if you haven't.

Previous chapter

Year: 1924

Her curls did not want to sit properly on her shoulders. Y/N had been standing in front of her mirror now for twenty minutes, focusing on the strands of hair that would not cooperate. They seemed to be skewing and frizzing in directions she could not control. Even running a comb to loosen the curls did not seem to do the job. Finally, Y/N sighed and let her hands fall to her sides, accepting that this was the mess that was her hair that day.

She just wanted to be perfect. She had to be.

A day like this is one that sticks in someone's mind for a long time and she must leave a favorable impression. Or at least pass as somewhat graceful, especially in the wake of what has happened.

“Mummy!” Her daughter’s shout reverberated through the house, interrupting Y/N’s racing thoughts. It may be for the best that she approached this day with her mind as a blank slate. That was what this day was, blank and with zero expectations. If it was anything else to her, it couldn’t be. One may say that was cruel and unfeeling. Y/N didn’t really know anymore.

“Coming sweetheart,” Y/N shouted back, dabbing a final blot of red lipstick upon her lip before heading out of her bedroom door. When she entered Jane’s room, she saw the little girl in her PJs still, holding a doll in each hand. Jane looked up at her mother, using the doll to gesture towards her.

“Play with me, Mummy.” Y/N let out a sigh before heading to her daughter’s bed, holding up the dress she laid out for Jane.

“Janey, I told you to put this dress on,” Y/N said, annoyance mixing into her voice. Jane frowned, fixating back on her dolls.

“I don’t want to,” Jane stated, as if the conversation was over.

“Well, you have to.” Y/N retorted tiredly, not wanting to argue with her five year old daughter.

“No,” Jane whined, standing up and throwing the dolls to the floor.

“Yes,” Y/N responded, “We have to leave in ten minutes or we’re going to be late.”

“I don’t want to go,” Jane screamed, the tantrum on the precipice of beginning. Y/N could feel frustration simmering in her gut as she bent down to her daughter’s height.

“I know you don’t want to, love, but there’s no one to watch you,” Y/N said, placing a hand on her daughter’s arm, “Plus, you don’t want Mummy to be alone today, do you? She’s going to miss you so much.” Her daughter’s face softened immediately, as if the idea of her mother being all alone was the worst thing imaginable. Jane quickly shook her head, grabbing the dress from her mother’s hands.

“No, I don’t want you to be lonely.” Y/N nodded at this, feeling that with each day that goes by, she is becoming more and more like her own mother. The guilt tripping was beginning early. Y/N helped pull the dress over Jane’s head and took her daughter in. She truly was the best thing in your life.

“Ready to go?” Y/N asked. Jane answered with a nod. Y/N gave her daughter a smile before taking her and leading the two of them out the door. It was too nice out today to drive, so Y/N decided to let them walk. It wasn’t the farthest walk in the world, only twenty minutes away. The weather seemed to put Jane in a better mood as she began skipping down the road of Small Heath. Looking down at her daughter, Y/N couldn’t help but see herself. This was about the age she was when she moved to Small Heath. This was the age she was when her life changed and she still isn’t sure if it was for the worse or the better. Regardless, William would be so proud of their little girl.

The walk went by quickly and soon they were there. It was a small funeral, smaller than Y/N expected, especially since the deceased was a well loved member of town. Y/N and Jane went into the church and were greeted by a closed casket as well as a beautiful portrait of her, Grace. The barmaid from that day all those years ago. Y/N stood and examined every inch of it, taking in the soft blue eyes and the quaffed blonde hair. Tommy did pick a beautiful wife.

To be honest, Y/N still wasn’t entirely sure why she was here. She and Tommy hadn’t spoken since that day five years ago. It was probably for the best, even if Y/N had spent many nights dreaming up conversations with her best friend. She played back that last night in her head, wondering what would’ve happened if she let him stay. She sighed to herself, squeezing her daughter’s hand gently.

Deep down, Y/N knew why she was here. He was her best friend and, even if he wasn’t there on the worst day of her life, she had to be there for him. A tear pricked the corner of her eye as she pushed that thought down as people began to file into the church.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s take a seat.” At that, the woman and her daughter went to one of the back pews and took a seat. The two of them observe the service from afar. They weren’t family and they were barely friends anymore.

Loved one after loved one spoke about Grace, remembering the wonderful woman that she was. The event seemed to almost drag on until Tommy finally rose. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as he looked out at the crowd. She hoped he wouldn’t see her as she tried to hunch into the pew.

He cleared his throat of tears before speaking, “I didn’t think this day would come. The day I would have to say goodbye to my Grace,” His voice wavered slightly but he continued, “But here we are. Grace, I love you beyond words and I will miss you for the rest of my life.” At that, he was done and he was seated. It was short but sometimes that’s all you can say when your spouse suddenly dies.

Soon after this, everything came to a close. Y/N and Jane rose quickly and began to head out. Tommy didn’t need to know she was here. As she’s about to make her way out the door, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She froze, not sure if she should look at who was behind her.

“Hello, love,” she relaxed at that voice. Arthur. She turned around and brought the man into an embrace.

“Arthur Shelby, it’s been too long,” she felt his hands go around her waist and hold her close. He then pulled away, putting his hands on both her shoulders, taking her in.

“Each time I see you, you just get more and more beautiful,” Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his comment. His gaze then moves to the little girl attached to her mother’s hip. He bends down, going eye to eye with the child.

“And you must be Jane, you look just like your mum,” Jane, usually not a shy girl, hides in Y/N’s skirt. Y/N gave a small chuckle as she looked back at Arthur.

“She’s not usually like this,” Arthur shrugged.

“It’s not every day a little girl has to go to a funeral.” Arthur stopped himself short before he could say anything else. He looked into Y/N’s eyes to see if he touched a nerve and noticed the slight sadness that entered and left her face. It was just a moment, but anyone who knew Y/N would’ve noticed. He cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing, “I’m sorry again about William.”

Y/N’s gaze immediately went to the corner of the room. This was a discussion she was used to having at this point. It had been three years since she lost her husband, but the wound still hurt. It was like the scab got peeled back and slowly picked at until blood started to flow.

Y/N let her hand fidgets with her skirt as she tried to look back at Arthur, “It’s alright, it’s been years now.” Arthur takes her hand from her skirt.

“That doesn’t make it any less awful,” He gave her hand a squeeze, “The least I can do is ask you back for drinks at Arrow House. I’m sure the rest of the family would want to see you.”

“Arthur, I’m not sure-”

“I won’t take no for an answer.” Y/N sighs, considering what the next part of her day would look like. Before she knew it, she was on the grounds of Arrow House. It really wasn’t a house though, a mansion was a more apt word for what this estate was. Even though the home could’ve fit hundreds of people in it, only a couple were there now. Family and Y/N and Jane, but Tommy nowhere in sight.

Everyone seemed to disperse around the house, including Jane who went off with Ada’s boy, Karl. Y/N tried to schmooze with the Shelby family, but couldn’t help her eyes from wandering. She had to find Tommy. She knew he was somewhere in this mansion. There was no way he wasn’t. So, when people seemed distracted, she left the crowd and began searching. It didn’t take a lot of exploring before she noticed a door with a light peaking through the bottom. Her curiosity didn’t allow her to knock; she reached for the doorknob, pushing the door open.

Y/N was correct in her assumption because there Tommy was, head in his hands as he sat hunched at his desk. She knew she should make her presence known. She knew the least she could do is say hello. It would force him to look up and acknowledge her. But that’s not what she did. She couldn’t because all she saw was the boy with the baseball from all those years ago broken into millions of pieces. Her feet led her right to him and her body did what it had to. She scurried over, taking him into her arms.

His instinct was to twitch away, even try to swat at the random hands but then he saw her. Even though it was years, he couldn’t help but lean in. He knew it could’ve been decades, even lifetimes and he would always lean into her touch.

“Y/N.” The word came out in the timbre of a whisper, but Y/N heard it. It was her Tommy, how could she not?

“Tommy.” His arms wrapped tightly around her waist as her hand went into his hair, stroking it. “I’m so sorry.”

She waited for Tommy to respond, but he didn’t say anything. He just held her. So she let him. She let him take her in like she had so many times before and she felt a semblance of peace. Maybe for the first time in a long time. Minutes ticked by like this before Y/N felt Tommy move. She looked down at him to see him rising to his feet. Soon, her hands were on her cheeks as he gazed into her eyes.

“I can’t believe you came,” he whispered. Y/N couldn’t help but lean her forehead against his. He let her.

“You’re my best friend, Tommy,” she responded, her voice quivering, “it’s what best friends do.” She felt him twitch at that, knowing she may have accidentally hit a nerve.

“You can’t say that, Y/N,” the volume of his voice began to rise, “when William died I was nowhere to be seen. I left you alone like a fucking coward.”

“Don’t say that,” Y/N soothed, but Tommy pulled away.

“No, I will,” Tommy said, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “Your fucking husband died and I couldn’t put my ego aside long enough to see you.”

Y/N stood in silence, watching him, taking in his words. At the time of William’s funeral, Y/N was half a woman. Not even, she was not even one percent of who she used to be. She was all alone with a toddler and a restaurant, unsure of how the next day would go. And despite all of that, she wished she could cry in Tommy’s arms. She also wanted to punch his chest in frustration.

When she received the news of Grace’s death, she was ready to stay home. To spend a day like any other day, until she got a knock at her door. When she opened it, Polly stood before her, more sullen than Y/N had seen her in years.

“Polly, what are you doing here?”

“Hello, Y/N,” she said, letting herself in. She took off her gloves and took in the home quickly, before continuing, “I wish I could’ve come with better news but…” she trailed off before continuing, “Tommy’s wife died.”

Y/N’s hand instinctively flew to her chest, “Oh god, that’s awful, what happened?” And Polly explained the series of events of the last few years and the rise to power the Peaky Blinders had come to which, inevitably, led to Grace’s death.

“I’m so sorry Pol, what a terrible thing to happen,” Y/N said, “Please send my condolences to Tommy, I’m sure he needs it more than ever right now.” Y/N had expected the conversation to be over now, but Polly didn’t move.

“He needs you, Y/N. More than ever.” Y/N averted her gaze from Polly. The last thing she wanted to do was see Tommy.

Y/N let out a sigh before saying, “Polly, I’m not sure that’s a great idea. Besides, he didn’t come to William’s funeral and that was-”

“I know, but you have to realize he couldn’t.” Polly’s hand went to Y/N’s, giving it a squeeze, “He may seem like a man who is invincible, but with you… it’s different. He becomes that little boy again. You’re more than he is and I think he knows that.”

And those words stuck with Y/N, especially here in Tommy’s office. She didn’t care about his ego anymore or the jealousy or any of that bullshit. All she knew was he needed her. So she reached out to him, hoping he would come.

“It’s the past now, Tom.” The words shocked him and seemed to surprise her as well, but anger had to leave at some point. “You’re my best friend, you always have been and you always will be.”

So he goes to her, pulling her into his arms. Even after all this time, they still fit like puzzle pieces. True, they were a bit more jagged now, but they still were perfect matches.

“I love you, Y/N,” She knew those words were real.

“I love you too.” And slowly, they knew that one day, they could heal.

End

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