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infiniteglitterfall · 5 months ago

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I guess this might be why the UK seemed to go so antisemitic so quickly

I'm researching the 1947 pogroms in the UK. (Actually, I'm researching all the pogroms and massacres of Jews in the past 200 years. Which today led me to discover that there were pogroms in the UK in 1947.)

From an article on "The Postwar Revival of British Fascism," all emphasis mine:

Given the rising antisemitism and widespread ignorance about Zionism [in the UK in 1947], fascists were easily able to conflate Zionist paramilitary attacks with Judaism in their speeches, meaning British Jews came to be seen as complicit in violence in Palestine.

Bertrand Duke Pile, a key member of Hamm’s League, informed a cheering crowd that “the Jews have no right to Palestine and the Jews have no right to the power which they hold in this country of ours.” Denouncing Zionism as a way to introduce a wider domestic antisemitic stance was common to many speakers at fascist events and rallies. Fascists hid their ideology and ideological antisemitism behind the rhetorical facade of preaching against paramilitary violence in Palestine.

One of the league’s speakers called for retribution against “the Jews” for the death of British soldiers in Palestine. This was, he told his audience, hardly an antisemitic expression. “Is it antisemitism to denounce the murderers of your own flesh and blood in Palestine?” he asked his audience. Many audience members, fascist or not, may well have felt the speaker had a point. ...[The photo of two British sergeants hanged by the Irgun in retaliation for the Brits hanging three of their members] promptly made numerous appearances at fascist meetings, often attached to the speaker’s platform. In at least one meeting, several British soldiers on leave from serving in Palestine attended Hamm’s speech, giving further legitimacy to his remarks. And with soldiers and policemen in Palestine showing increasing signs of overt antisemitism as a result of their experiences, the director of public prosecutions warned that the fascists might receive a steady stream of new recruits.

MI5, the U.K. domestic security service, noted with some alarm that “as a general rule, the crowd is now sympathetic and even spontaneously enthusiastic.” Opposition, it was noted in the same Home Office Bulletin of 1947, “is only met when there is an organized group of Jews or Communists in the audience.”

The major opposition came from the 43 Group, formed by the British-Jewish ex-paratrooper Gerry Flamberg and his friends in September 1946 to fight the fascists using the only language they felt fascists understood — violence. The group disrupted fascist meetings for two purposes: to get them shut down by the police for disorder, and to discourage attendance in the future by doling out beatings with fists and blunt instruments. By the summer of 1947, the group had around 500 active members who took part in such activities. Among these was a young hairdresser by the name of Vidal Sassoon, who would often turn up armed with his hairdressing scissors.

The 43 Group had considerable success with these actions, but public anger was spreading faster than they could counter the hate that accompanied it. The deaths of Martin and Paice had touched a nerve with the populace. On Aug. 1, 1947, the beginning of the bank holiday weekend and two days after the deaths of the sergeants, anti-Jewish rioting began in Liverpool. The violence lasted for five days. Across the country, the scene was repeated: London, Manchester, Hull, Brighton and Glasgow all saw widespread violence. Isolated instances were also recorded in Plymouth, Birmingham, Cardiff, Swansea, Newcastle and Davenport. Elsewhere, antisemitic graffiti and threatening phone calls to Jewish places of worship stood in for physical violence. Jewish-owned shops had their windows smashed, Jewish homes were targeted, an attempt was made to burn down Liverpool Crown Street Synagogue while a wooden synagogue in Glasgow was set alight. In a handful of cases, individuals were personally intimidated or assaulted. A Jewish man was threatened with a pistol in Northampton and an empty mine was placed in a Jewish-owned tailor shop in Davenport.

And an important addendum:

I've read a whole bunch of articles about the pogroms in Liverpool, Manchester, Salford, Eccles, Glasgow, etc.

Not one of them has mentioned that the Irgun, though clearly a terrorist group, was formed in response to 18 years of openly antisemitic terrorism, including multiple incredibly violent massacres. Or that it consistently acted in response to the murders of Jewish civilians, not on the offensive. Or that at this point, militant Arab Nationalist groups with volunteers and arms from the Arab League countries had been attacking Jewish and mixed Arab-Jewish neighborhoods for months.

I just think the "Jewish militants had been attacking the British occupiers" angle is incredibly Anglocentric.

Yeah, they were attacking the British occupiers. But also, that's barely the tip of the iceberg.

Everyone involved hated the Brits at this point. If only al-Husseini and his ilk had hated the Brits more than they hated the Jews, Britain could at least have united them by giving them a common enemy.

#jewish history #jumblr #fascism #antisemitism #when anti-zionism IS antisemitism #seriously if you declare that something is never ever antisemitism we know you're writing yourself a blank check to be antisemitic #like. you may not consciously be aware of it #but the more you're emotionally invested in the idea that anything said or done in the name of anti-zionism isn't antisemitic #the more you will ignore or fail to notice or outright defend things that other anti-zionists do that ARE antisemitic #not to mention things that YOU do or say or believe that are antisemitic #especially because most people aren't very aware of the details of different antisemitic tropes #you're not an expert on what is antisemitic and why to begin with and now you're buying into a belief that muffles your perception of it #and gives you motivation to disbelieve and deny it #and there's already psychological motivation to disbelieve and deny it when it's coming from you or your peers or people you admire #and then there's the belief that jews just cry antisemitism to silence valid criticism #aka the exact thing that we always say marginalized groups don't do. and that it's offensive to claim marginalized groups do. that one.#the entire discourse has been set up to protect and propagate antisemitic beliefs from the start #which is not particularly progressive nor is it necessary if you actually want to support palestinians but go off etc #wall of words

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whitesinhistory · 8 months ago

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White Mob Attacks Freedom Riders in Anniston, Alabama

In 1961, a group of civil rights activists known as the Freedom Riders began a desegregation campaign. The interracial group rode together on interstate buses headed south from Washington, D.C., and patronized the bus stations along the way to test the enforcement of Supreme Court decisions that prohibited discrimination in interstate passenger travel. Their efforts were unpopular with white Southerners who supported segregation. The group encountered early violence in South Carolina but continued their trip toward the planned destination of New Orleans.

On Mother's Day, May 14, 1961, a Greyhound bus carrying Freedom Riders arrived at the Anniston, Alabama, bus station shortly after 1 pm to find the building locked shut. Led by Ku Klux Klan leader William Chapel, a mob of 50 men armed with pipes, chains, and bats smashed windows, slashed tires, and dented the sides of the Riders' bus. Though warned hours earlier that a mob had gathered at the station, local police did not arrive until after the assault had begun.

Once the attack subsided, police pretended to escort the damaged bus to safety but instead abandoned it at the Anniston city limits. Soon after the police departed, another armed white mob surrounded the bus and began breaking windows. The Freedom Riders refused to exit the vehicle but received no aid from two watching highway patrolmen. When a member of the mob tossed a firebomb through a broken bus window, others in the mob attempted to trap the passengers inside the burning vehicle by barricading the door. They fled when the fuel tank began to explode. The Riders were able to escape the ensuing flames and smoke through the bus windows and main door, only to be attacked and beaten by the mob outside.

After police finally dispersed their attackers, the Freedom Riders received limited medical care. They were soon evacuated from Anniston in a convoy organized by Birmingham Civil Rights leader the Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth.

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morbidology · 5 months ago

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The haunting question "Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?" has perplexed and fascinated the public since 1943, when the skeletal remains of an unidentified woman were discovered inside a hollow tree in Hagley Wood, Worcestershire, England.

On April 18, 1943, four young boys—Bob Farmer, Fred Payne, Thomas Willetts, and Bob Hart—were exploring Hagley Wood, part of the Hagley Hall estate owned by Lord Cobham. In the course of their exploration, the boys came across a large wych elm tree. Curiosity led one of them to peer inside the hollow trunk, where he discovered what appeared to be a human skull, complete with some strands of hair and teeth.

Frightened by their grisly find, the boys initially kept the discovery to themselves, fearing they would get into trouble for trespassing. However, the secret proved too heavy to bear, and one of the boys eventually confided in his parents, who contacted the police.

When authorities arrived at the scene, they retrieved the nearly complete skeleton of a woman, along with fragments of clothing, a shoe, and a gold wedding ring. The woman’s right hand was missing, later found buried nearby. The skeletal remains were sent to Professor James Webster, a forensic pathologist, who estimated that the woman had been dead for about 18 months, placing her death around October 1941.

Professor Webster's examination revealed that the woman was around 35 years old, 5 feet tall, with irregular teeth, including a distinctive dental feature—a missing front tooth. He suggested that she had been dead for approximately 18 months before her discovery and that she had likely been placed in the tree shortly after her death, as the small hollow would have made it difficult to fit her body after rigor mortis had set in.

The cause of death was determined to be asphyxiation, possibly due to being suffocated or strangled, although the exact circumstances remained unclear. Despite extensive investigations, the police were unable to identify the woman. Missing person reports were checked, dental records were examined, but no match was found.

The case took an strange turn in late 1943, when graffiti began appearing in the West Midlands area. The first message, written in chalk on a wall in Upper Dean Street, Birmingham, read: "Who put Luebella down the wych-elm?" Subsequent messages shortened and refined the name to "Bella," and variations of the phrase "Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?" began appearing on walls and buildings across the region.

The identity of the graffiti artist remains unknown, but the messages suggested that someone knew more about the woman’s identity or her fate than they had revealed.

Over the years, numerous theories have emerged regarding the identity of "Bella" and the circumstances of her death. Some of the most prominent theories include:

Witchcraft: One theory suggests that Bella may have been killed as part of a black magic ritual. The removal of her hand, a practice known as the "Hand of Glory" in folklore, lent some credence to this idea. The Hand of Glory was believed to possess magical powers, often associated with witchcraft and sorcery. However, there is little concrete evidence to support this theory.

Espionage: Another theory posits that Bella was a spy during World War II. This idea gained traction in the 1950s, when Margaret Murray, an anthropologist and archaeologist, suggested that Bella could have been involved in espionage, possibly as a Nazi spy. Some speculated that she might have been a German cabaret singer and spy named Clara Bauerle, who had parachuted into the area during the war and was killed after her cover was blown. However, no concrete evidence has been found to confirm this theory, and Clara Bauerle's records suggest she died in Berlin in 1942.

Romani Connections: Some researchers have suggested that Bella might have been part of a Romani group or a traveler community. This theory is based on the fact that many Romani people lived in the area during the 1940s, and some witnesses reported seeing gypsies in Hagley Wood around the time of Bella's presumed death. However, like the other theories, this remains speculative.

Local Knowledge: There are suggestions that the graffiti artist had local knowledge and possibly knew more about the case than the police were able to uncover. The use of the name "Bella" might indicate that someone in the community recognized her, but chose to remain anonymous.

Despite extensive investigations, the true identity of Bella and the circumstances surrounding her death remain unknown. The case was reopened several times, and modern forensic techniques have been suggested to re-examine the remains and the evidence, but so far, these efforts have not provided definitive answers.

#True Crime #Unsolved #Cold Case #Mystery

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kvetchlandia · 1 day ago

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Bob Adelman Civil Rights Demonstrator After She Had Just Been Firehosed by Police, Birmingham, Alabama 1963

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writers-hes · 9 months ago

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In the Bleak Midwinter

SYNOPSIS: You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn't realize that war could change you both. (angst, abuse, canon-typical themes, death, war, MDNI, mature themes) AN: Don’t look at the comments / reblogs if you don’t want spoilers!! But please discuss what you think once you’re done reading 🤍

PROTECTION SERIES TAGLIST | PROTECTION MASTERLIST navigation

“So fucking close…” he whispers to himself, inhaling. He turns around and looks up, maybe he could conjure you right now. One last time before he died. “Oh and there’s a woman…a woman who I love and I got close. Nearly got fucking everything!” he shouts. “Oh, what the fuck. Get it done, boys,” he tells them. He kneels before the man.

“In the bleak midwinter…” Tommy says to himself, voice raspy and tired. “In the bleak midwinter…” he whispers to himself, his body shaking. He didn’t know where he was. He just knew that he was going to get killed today. The hole on the ground is where he’ll be buried and he never got the chance to be with you. “In the bleak…in—“

He couldn’t die today. Dread fills his body. You were still at the tracks with Simon. This wasn’t a part of the plan. He was supposed to kill Simon. He was supposed to have fun while doing it while you sat, unaware with Alfie Solomons in the private room. Sweat trickles on his face, and he closes his eyes. The blood on his forehead had dried up and his heart was beating wildly in his chest. He couldn’t believe that the last thing he ever did on this fucking ground was smoke a cigarette. So close. So close…so fucking close.

The sound of a gun going off echoes in the vast field and he finds himself inside the hole. He stays there, appalled.

“Get out of the grave, tinker! Be on your fucking way!”

He stumbles out, unbalanced. Shock was still inside his body. He trips and lands on his face, his palms on the wet ground and he screams. So fucking close. He shakes his head, standing up and sobbing as he did so, on the way home…on the way to you.

He pours himself a glass of Irish whisky. He’s got some ideas for the future of the company…and also, he’s planning on getting something.

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, earth stood hard as iron…

BIRMINGHAM, 1922

Tommy couldn’t believe his fucking luck. How many times does he have to wait for things to finally fucking settle? How many more years should he wait for you? He didn’t mind—how could he ever mind when it came to you?

He couldn’t forget the relief that washed over him when Alfie called him to say that the job’s been done. He was supposed to get the locket in his office and go to the tracks but Alfie stopped him.

“Y/N killed Simon Coventry,” Alfie said. “Shot him dead like…mush, bone, mush. Saw her checking for his heartbeat after. I told her not to cry over spilled milk,” he snickers. “Do you get it, mate? Spilled milk?”

He tells Tommy about how shaken you were after the police investigation…how you kept it to yourself until the last officer went out. You were wailing and stuttering ‘he’s dead’ over and over. Alfie told him that he will get one of his men to send the gun to his office for safekeeping. Tommy knew that he should give you some time but he couldn’t wait anymore. He knew that you sold your London mansion and lived in Birmingham now. He knew that you bought the mansion with the garden; the one where you both used to frequent in as kids. He knew that all because he had some of the Blinders guard the property from afar. He knew that all because he passed by the house to get a glimpse of you but the house was quiet, eerie, and lacked life. Polly nor Ada couldn’t get in yet. It all happened too much…too fast…in a span of years, to have Simon dead at the sound of a gun was shocking.

It’s been a year and he couldn’t believe he waited that long to come visit you when he knows you the most. He shakes with anticipation everyday. He was looking forward to seeing you last year, to finally telling you all about his love for you. Maybe it was him who needed you more because you made your own world without him, but he couldn’t give a fuck anymore. You’ve both been apart for what felt like decades and he will burn the world if he’s apart from you for a day more.

It was raining and he drove to your house in his black car. The mansion with a garden. How foolish you both were when you dreamed those dreams. Life was never that easy. Blood was shed, lives were taken for his ambition. It didn’t matter right now. Not in this second. The rain just gets stronger. He forgot his umbrella but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered right now. He could see your figure from the back of the house looking through the French windows of your new home. Funny, you both got what you wanted. He got the Arrow House and you had this manor but they were both so fucking lifeless. He imagined a different house. He imagined a house with kids, with you during the war. He was looking at you and frowned when he saw you leave. Should he knock at the door? Should he just go back? Did you even want to see him?

Drops of rain wet his coat and he removed his Peaky hat, tossing it away to fix his hair. He should’ve gotten an umbrella. His shoes slosh with every step and the chill eats away his bones but he will be warm soon.

Thunder wakes the Birmingham sky and he sees you…a few metres away from him in your dress.

“Tommy!” you called, an umbrella in your hand. You rushed towards him to give him shelter from the rain. The mud from the grass made your bare feet wet but you didn’t care. Tommy was here…he was finally here. He meets you halfway, underneath your black umbrella. He smiles, chest against yours.

“We can’t fit,” he chuckled, a glimmer of the youth that you used to see in his eyes appearing. “Y/N,”

“Tommy,” you replied, a bashful smile on your face. “Let’s go inside,” you tell him but he holds your arm to keep you from leaving. “Tom?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his hand coming up to touch your face but he wasn’t sure. Was it alright to touch you now? “I—I,” he tries to think of words to say, every single emotion getting trapped in his throat. He coughs, shaking his head. “I miss you,”

A single tear trails down your cheek and you wipe it away.

“Looks like the world is finally quiet,” you replied, smiling at him. “I’ve missed you too, Tom,” you chuckled, laying your head on his chest. “I’ve missed you so, so, so much,”

He nods, wrapping his arms around you. You look at him again, a small smile on your face.

“Did you know that…that—“ he coughs. Fuck.

“Tommy?”

“I’ve always thought of ways to tell you this back in the war and I just—I guess the delays and everything and fuck, love. I’ve loved you since we played with your toy horses outside the brothel,” he breathes out. “And I’m sorry, so, so fucking sorry that it took me so long to tell you. That you had to go through all that because you thought that I didn’t love you when I did. I’ve loved you since then and I still love you now. I love you and I just hope that I’m not too late because God, Y/N. You were the one who saved me..who protected me all these years and I can’t lose you again,” he tells you, his hands cradling your face. “I thought…I thought I was going to die when Sabini’s men took me, Y/N and all I could think of was you. How were you? Were you free? You were the only one in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I love you, Y/N. I love you so, so much,” he adds tenderly, his forehead against yours. You were smiling at him, tears streaming down your face. Tommy loves you. Tommy loves you.

“I love you too, Tommy,” you whispered. “I’ve loved you all this time. I can’t believe we’re finally here,” you smiled at him. Tommy throws away the umbrella in your hand. He takes your chin with his fingers gently. Tommy could feel his heart beat faster and faster. He knew that if he'd kiss you now, he’d dream of your beautiful face and soft lips forever. With bated breath, he takes in your expressions, trying to look for any signs of doubt but he couldn’t see it. Is this how it’s like to kiss the face of an angel? He licks his lips and then…and then, he kisses you. He was reborn. His reincarnation was complete. Earthly lifetimes before this had nothing on the life that he will build with you. He loves you. You love him. Tommy kisses you with years of passion and tenderness in his heart. The crease on his brows melts away and your whimpering sounded like God whispering to his ear. Nevermind the rain, nevermind everything. You were here and so was he.

Tommy’s been staying over at your house ever since you professed your love for each other. He’d leave in the morning to attend to some business and then come back in the afternoon, shedding layers of today’s work into your arms.

“How are you so beautiful?” he asks in hushed tones. His finger trails down your cheek gently. “I love you,”

“Tommy,” you chuckled. “You’ve been showering me with praise.”

“I’ve been waiting all my life to say these things to you, love. I’ll make up for those lost years everyday.”

“I love you, Tommy,” you told him, rising from your position to kiss his cheek. “I don’t think I can love anyone else as much as I love you,”

“Pol knows about us,” he whispers. “I think John and Arthur are wondering where I’m always off to because they never see me home,”

“Nothing escapes past her,” you told him. “I miss her…I still can’t believe she intercepted those letters. I don’t know…I can’t hold a grudge against her but I can’t…”

“It’s alright. I understand,” he replied. “Took me a while to get over it too because…because if she didn’t, we’d have all of this earlier,”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you loved me before?”

“I wanted to tell you before I left but I can’t make you wait for me that long. I knew I was coming back to you but what if I couldn’t?” he asked. He holds your body closer to him. The hushed tones that you spoke in made the bedroom so homey, comfortable, and nice. His chin falls on the top of your head. “Why didn’t you tell me that you loved me?”

“I didn’t want you to love me,” you told him. “I was a prostitute, Tom and I…I don’t want to love you when I can’t give you all of me,” you whispered.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I would have done something to make sure that you wouldn’t have to do any of that.” he said. He takes your fingers into his, weaving his with yours.

“Are you off to see Y/N again?” Polly asked, sipping on her tea while she watched her nephew fix his coat. Tommy patted himself down, making sure that everything was in place.

“Of course, Pol,” he smiles. “Off to see my woman,”

“Can…can you tell her that she’s invited for Sunday’s dinner?” Polly asked, wiping her worries away by rubbing her hands. “I’ve missed her. The family misses her,”

“I’ll try to,” Tommy replied. “But don’t expect anything, Pol,”

“Of course,” she replied. Her lips pursed together. “I wanted to tell her about…how sorry I am for the things I’ve done. It should have been your decision to stay in touch and not mine, no matter how much I justify it. I—I feel as though it was my fault for putting her through all of that, Tom,”

“Thank you, Pol,” Tommy nodded.

“What has she been up to these days?” she asked.

“Fixing her estate and her properties,” he replied. “She’s been mostly cooped inside the house,” Polly only nods to herself, unsure of what to say. Tommy leaves with a click of his tongue.

When he arrived at your house, you were in your office, sorting through some of the documents Simon left you. You look up at him from where you were sitting with a smile and he takes that as a sign to come closer. He kisses your shoulder lightly before reading over the documents.

“You want to rest?” he asked, voice husky. He puts his hands on your shoulders and massages you gently.

“Thanks, Tommy,”

“Polly’s inviting you to come to Sunday’s dinner,” he says. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to nor do you have to answer now. Ada’s gonna be there along with Karl. John and the kids…Arthur and Finn. Pol and then, me,”

Tommy kisses the top of your head, watching you sort through the papers.

“Can I…can I think about it?” you asked him. You could see how important it is to him but you couldn’t agree just because he’s Tommy. It didn’t work that way anymore. He hums, satisfied with your reply before sitting on the chair adjacent to the table.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

“Just…some of his unsettled accounts,” you sighed. “I want them paid to avoid issues,” you told him. He takes a document and reads it over. Oh. “I want to start a foundation for children or at least, fund an orphanage and a school,”

“Do it,” he tells you. “Simon has left a considerable amount of properties to last generations.”

“What time should I go to Arrow House for Sunday’s dinner?” you asked. Tommy halts and looks at you with a grateful smile.

“I’ll come get you,” he says, kissing your cheek. “Thank you. I know it’s not easy,” he tells you. You only nod, if Tommy can look at you like that again, then a thousand awkward dinners don’t mean a thing.

Sunday comes and you stand at the door of Arrow House with his hand on your back. He could see you fumble nervously. You almost looked shy. An amused smile graces his face. Why would you be so shy when you’ve told John off multiple times? You helped raise Finn. Ada basically considers you as a sister. You were the only person that Arthur respects. Polly thinks of you as her daughter.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his raspy voice coating you like honey. You nod and he chuckles, opening the door to his mansion.

The Shelbys were everywhere. Ada was running after Karl and John’s kids. Arthur was laughing at something that John probably said. Polly was nowhere to be found, probably fussing in the kitchen.

“See? It’s like you never left,” he comforts you. He knows better than to have the attention all on you so he tries to slip past everyone without being noticed. Still, your arrival was much awaited and soon enough, you were engulfed in strong arms.

“Y/N!” John greets, hugging you tighter. “Oh, everyone! Y/N’s here!” he announces and you chuckle.

“John…” Tommy warns but before his little brother can let you go, Arthur slings an arm around your shoulder.

“How are you, dove?” he asked.

“I’ve been well,” you replied. Ada comes next, shooing her brothers away to have you all to herself.

“Y/N. It’s been so long since we last saw each other. You loom as radiant as ever! I hope my idiot brother’s treating you well, hm?” she asked, pointedly looking at an amused Tommy who was leaning by the fireplace. “Seriously, how are you? Are you doing well?” she asks in a more serious tone.

“I am,” you replied. “Sorry it took me a year to recover,” you replied.

“We understand, Y/N. We could’ve waited longer but Tommy here couldn’t. He was so fidgety!” she chuckled. “Basically pissed on everyone for a whole year! He almost got in a brawl with Arthur. That’s how miserable Tommy was but then again, you’ve never really seen Tommy being aggressive,”

“I haven’t,” you replied. Honestly, you were so glad that Tommy kept his gang and violence from you. You’ve never seen him land a punch even though you knew that he slept beside a gun.

“Thank you for coming, though,” Ada says. “We all missed you and we wanted to come visit you but Tommy warned us to give you time and space until you’re ready after what happened,”

“You know that I’m always happy to be here. Everything was just too much at so little time, Ada,” you replied. “I’m sorry if I ever made it seem like I didn’t want you to be with me when I moved back here. I needed room to grow and heal,”

“You don’t have to apologise, Y/N. In any case, I actually feel quite guilty for the things that I allowed myself to put you through. All of us played a part in your marriage with Simon Coventry. I just…if you’re being forced or if there’s an inkling that you don’t want to be with Tommy—“

“Ada!” you laughed lightly. It puts a smile on her face. How long has it been since you laughed like that? “I’m alright. I love Tommy and I love your family. There’s not a day that I don’t want to see him. I’m always looking forward to his visits and when he can't, I still do the same anyway.” you told her.

“That’s great,” she smiled. “I’m happy for you, Y/N. Tommy’s really lucky,”

You were so engrossed with your conversation with Ada that you didn’t see Polly approaching. It was Ada who called Polly over. Tension settles on your spine; creeping up like ice. Your throat dries and Ada coughs.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, smiling at you encouragingly before leaving. Polly walks towards you cautiously, scared that she’ll scare you. You smile at her tightly, your cheeks hurting from the control.

“I…” you sighed, looking away. “I know that you want what is best for me but you didn’t have to intercept the letters,” you started. “I know that we didn’t know when Tommy’s coming back…or if he’s coming back and you wanted me to take the opportunity to–”

“Y/N,” she stops you, a soft hand on your crossed arms. “You don’t have to defend me. I’m so sorry for what happened and for what I did. I had no right to do what I did. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be happy…you’d–” she chokes. “I’m so sorry, my love,” she whispers, a stray tear on her face. She tries to shake it off. “I’m really sorry. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me someday,”

“But I forgive you, Pol,” you told her. “It was hard to do so and it’s harder to repair what we lost but you can’t blame yourself for the things that Simon did. We both didn’t know,” you told her. “Thank you for apologising and…thank you for always looking out for me,”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so, so, so sorry,” she cried. She could feel her throat tighten and her eyes glisten. You smiled at her. Maybe this was what you needed to finally close that part in your life.

The afternoon was filled with reunions and with warmth. A regular weekend at the Shelby’s, just like when you and Tommy were younger. Oh how you’ve missed them–how you’ve missed having a family.

The night was quiet at the Arrow House. Everybody left at the sight of nightfall, dimming laughter filling the halls. You and Tommy were at the drawing room in the second storey of his mansion, looking at the cars that left one by one. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, his chin on the crook of your neck. He breathes in and kisses what he could kiss.

“You alright?” he asked, pulling you closer.

“Very,” you told him. “Made me realise how much I missed having your family around…I miss having a family,”

“You are a part of us, you know that, right?” he asked.

“I know,” you replied, laying closer to him.

“You can be a part of us. A real Shelby,” he whispers. “Y/N, look at me,” he asks of you, removing his hands gently and turning your around.

“Tommy?”

“Did you know Polly told me that only love can blind a man as powerful as me?” he asked. “I realised that wasn’t the case. It was you all along, love. My love for you is secondary. You’re the one who makes me weak, who makes me blind. I love you so much. I’ll burn the world if it means that you’re safe, you’re with me, and you’re happy. Y/N, do you want to be a Shelby?” he asked. He pulls out a ring from his bolster shakily. You’ve never seen him nervous. “I’ve held onto this for so long. This was the first thing I bought when I came back from war,” he says. The gold ring with a single diamond glimmers. “I thought of getting you something else…a bigger diamond, maybe but material things don’t matter to me anymore. The only thing I can promise is my love, my loyalty. I am the only thing I can promise you. I’m quite scared because if you’ll marry me, you’ll marry a man and you will marry a curse. I can’t…I can’t go on like this anymore. I can’t go on without you anymore. It’s selfish, I know but will you marry me, Y/N?” he asked. You stood there, dumbfounded.

“Tommy–of course, I’ll marry you,” you replied, tears streaming down your face. “I’ve loved you for so long,” you chuckled, extending your hand towards his equally shaky ones. He puts the ring on your ring finger. It has always belonged to you. “I’ll marry you right now. Oh, Tom,” you cried, kissing him feverishly. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer. Is this life even real?

“Let’s go to my bedroom,” he rasps and you nod. He holds your hand with his gentle ones and sits you on the bed. He smiles at you in the dimming light of his bedroom. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. He was afraid to see you disappear if he was too loud. “So beautiful for me,” he says, tucking a stray hair and kissing the spot under your ear. You hum, fishing for the buttons of his shirt and he chuckles, forcefully removing it from himself.

“Tom,” you whispered, unbuttoning your dress. He nods, leaning on the headboard and letting you straddle him. The softness of your skin against his was sending him over the edge but he chooses to control himself. He lets your dress and brassiere fall on your shoulders, your breasts bare to him. He angles himself, taking a nipple in his mouth and licking it softly. You whimpered, the feeling of his mouth on one of the most sensitive parts of your body was something that you never thought was going to happen.

“Is it alright if I bite?” he asked and you nodded. “Say it. Come on, love,”

“Do whatever you want to me, Tommy,” you mewled, hands massaging your silky breasts while he sucks on your nipple.

“Fuck, love,” He groans at your response, bucking his hips unexpectedly. “The things you do to a man, Y/N. The things you do to me,” his hands travel on your sides, goosebumps appearing from the softness of his touch. Tommy cups your heat through your underwear. “Remove your dress for me,”

You nod, the cold hitting you all at once when you raised yourself from him. He watches the fabric flow so softly until you are left with nothing but your underwear.

“Remove that too,” he says, and you nodded. “You’re so obedient, Y/N,” he praises. “May I?” he asked and you nodded, a thick finger dipping in your wetness. You both moaned at the contact before he removed it slowly. You watched as he brought his finger up to his mouth, making a show of licking you off of him. “You’re so sweet,”

“Tommy,” you whimpered. “Don’t tease me,”

“Alright, alright,” he replied. You remove yourself from him, laying down on the bed with your legs spread wide. He can see your pussy glisten and he curses himself, removing his pants hastily before joining you. “Spit,” he orders you, his hand waiting expectedly by your mouth. You obliged and watched him jerk himself off. “Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he says.

“Tommy–”

“Please,” he begs. “I’ll do it. I’ll fucking do it,”

“I want you to make love to me, Tommy,” you whimpered. “Please show me how much you love me,”

“Oh, love,” he groans. Tommy comes towards you, so close, so warm. His hands found your knees and he caressed your knees. “You're so beautiful, darling,”

“Tom,” you mewled. His prying fingers found your heat. He cups your mound and then parts your folds, rubbing them up and down. He smiles at you, leaning over your figure until his nose brushes yours.

“Hey,” he tells you. He watches you closely and he wonders why he never had the courage to tell you how much he loved you earlier. The curve of your lips, the lashes on your eyes…he wanted to memorise every part of you and commemorate it. He leans down, his mouth on your mouth, kissing you so slowly. This is love, you thought. Tommy nudges your legs wider apart, his tip pressing into your wetness. “Fuck, love,” he rasps, rutting into your more roughly.

“I need you inside me, Tom,” you breathed. He nods, aligning himself on your wet slit. He feels the anticipation run through his veins. He never would have even dreamed of this. In a slow stroke, Tommy’s cock finds its way inside easily; years of longing, passion, and pent-up emotions seeping through your pores.

“You’re, ugh—“ he groans. Fuck. “Don’t fucking move yet. I’ll—“

“Tom—“ you mewled, grinding on his pelvis in circles. You felt full; you felt complete.

“Love, please,” he begs. “Let me…let me savour this. Want this to last,” He feels your body relax and he sighs. Really, if he decided to move now, he’s only going to embarrass himself. He curses to himself, ashamed that he had to pull himself back a little bit. “I’m going to move, yeah?” he asked and you could only nod. Tommy leans his figure over yours, his lips landing on your nipple. He licks on it lightly as he adjusts himself. He pulls out slowly, before going back in slowly.

You both moan in unison. Tommy continues his movements while he sucked on your nipple. Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling it softly.

“I love you, Tom,” you whimpered,feeling his cock rubbing inside. “I love you so much,”

“Mmm,” he only hums, his attention on your other nipple now. Your fingers find their way onto your clitoris and you rub circles on it while Tommy fucks you deeper. “Fuck,” he groans, breaking away from the comfort of your arms and leaning back. He removes your hand and raises one of your legs. You watched as Tommy fucks you faster, but now it was deeper and you felt more full because of your new position. “Oh, fuck,” he rasps, his thumb coming in contact with your clit.

“Tommy,” you moaned when you felt his rough thumb rubbing circles. “Fuck, I—“

“It’s alright, darling. I will take —good—care—of—you,” he said, thrusting harder into you to make his point. “You won’t have to worry about anything anymore. You have me…your Tommy,”

“My Tommy,” you whispered, as if it was a new concept when Tommy knew that he belonged to you from the very start. Still, hearing the words come from your mouth excites him.

“Say it again,”

“My Tommy,” you repeated. “Fuck, Tommy,” you mewled, pinching your nipples together.

“Fuck, you want me to fuck babies into you?” he asked, quickening his pace.

“Yes, Tommy, please!” you whimpered. “Going to make you a daddy,”

“I’m going to make love to you everyday and cum inside your pretty pussy, yeah?” he rasps, his cock fucking your wet pussy harder. “Oh fuck,”

The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, your wetness welcoming him with every thrust fills the room. You were both high, moans and grunts filling every crevice of the room. Tommy fucks you sloppier while your fingers play with your clit.

“I’m close, ugh—Tommy,” you grunted. “Tom, Tom, Tommy,”

“Let go, love,” he whimpered. “Go on,”

His words fuelled you and you released a high pitched moan as he felt your walls clench around him. The feeling of your pussy milking him sends him into overdrive and you feel it. You felt his warm cum coating your walls.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moans, thrusting his hips into you even more to chase his orgasm. “I love you. I fucking love you,” he rasps, collapsing into you.

“I love you, Tommy,” you replied, playing with the soft tendrils of his hair. He lays there, unmoving, his softening cock still inside you.

“Let’s stay like this forever,” he says, kissing your breast.

“Alright,”

“Now, you’ve seen me,”

“And you’ve seen me,”

BIRMINGHAM, 1925

“Tom!” you shrieked, looking at the muddy footprints that stained your white carpet. Over the last few years, you both decided that it would be best to stay at your place instead of the Arrow House. You both agreed that it was too dark and too lonely. It was so unlike the lush gardens, the water fountain, and the scurrying feet of the maids in your house. Besides, Tommy liked it here better. It was brighter, happier, and his nephews and nieces loved to visit.

“Oh no,” he hears a child say. “Oh, no, no, no,”

“Shh,” he crouches down to her height. “If we’re quiet, mum won’t see us,”

“Thomas Shelby! I told you to leave the boots outside whenever you’re out with the horses,”

“Dad—I don’t want to get mummy mad,” she whispers. “Let’s say sorry,”

Tommy looks at his daughter with wonder in his eyes. He never knew he’d love someone else as much as he loves you.

“Alright,” he nods, bracing himself. “Come on,”

His daughter holds his hands and gets out of the hiding place. She immediately cowers behind her father when she sees the hand on your hip.

“It was dad’s fault!” you heard her say, running towards you and hugging your legs. “Daddy did it!”

You frowned at Tommy but he could see the smile that dared to crack.

“Oh, bub. Where’s your loyalty to your old man, hmm?” he asked, a hand over his heart. “Darling, I must let you know that…” he trailed off kissing your cheek first. “Our daughter here is a natural,”

“Tommy…”

“I know, I know,” he soothed, massaging the crease between your eyebrows. “We’re sorry, right, bub?” he asked your little girl. She nodded, looking up at you. “Traitor,” Tommy whispers to himself before ruffling her hair.

“Just don’t do it again, alright?” you asked him.

BIRMINGHAM, 1913

“Do you think there’s a future where the two of us can be together?” Tommy asked. Upon seeing your panicked reaction, he coughs. “What I meant is…that we’ll still be like this,”

“Of course, we will,” you replied. “Only better…because by that time, we won’t have to worry about anything anymore because we’re together.”

“Really?”

“Of course, Tommy. You’re the most important person in my life. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you too,” you replied, looking at him, trying to look for his reaction. You looked away when you saw the ghost of a smile paint his features. He’s always been so handsome.

“You won’t,” he replied, taking your hand to make that promise. “You won’t ever lose me,” he tells you.

“I guess, I won’t.”

END A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long to upload this. I really am sorry. I'll be uploading a separate author's not soon. But for now, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. TAGLIST: @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius @trixie23 @everythingelseisextra @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay @dasia21 @tsenthusiast1920 @aces-tattooartist @panda-luminary @ttaechi @spencerrxids @i-heart-food @fudge13 @affabletimelady @heartcereql @ce1iat @notalxx @1800-queen-trash @sweetwanderlust05 @globetrotter28 @thebestandworstdayofjune @reggxe-a @verreuckteli @vampireluck @zoexme @liter4ti @quixscentsposts @homosexualjohnwayne @charli123456789 @Maria_elizabeth21

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #hurt/comfort #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #fluff #smut #protection!tommy

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kisses4kaia · 1 year ago

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in my feelings - tommy shelby

summary; you hate tommy shelby. tommy shelby hates you. from the way he walks to the way he talks, you hate him. and from the same things, he hates you, too. infinitely. imagine your dread when you are put in a position where you are forced to gain thomas’ help.

warnings; smut, angst, enemies to lovers, angry sex, rough sex, piv, and all around dirty fucking filthhhh, oh yeah and a shit tom of cursing☺️

a/n; angsty enemy’s to lovers with tommy shelby?? me thinks yes

PART TWO OUT NOW -

as your father tells you that he has to sell the farm you grew up on, the soil that held so many memories, the land that raised you to be the woman you are today, your heart broke into a million pieces.

because, see, without the land, there would be no places for your horses or other beloved animals to go, meaning you would have to sell them, too.

when the tears began taking a seemingly permanent residency in your eyes, he pulls you into a hug. “no, no, there has to be another way!”

and as the tears stained your fathers coat, he spoke. “there is one thing,”

and that is exactly how you got here. sat across from your mortal enemy since your schoolgirl days, tommy shelby, in his office.

he had that stupid, smug, annoyingly hot, smirk on his face.

“so, you’re telling me, that you need to marry me,” he practically laughed in your face.

“i don’t need to marry you, the farm does. if we get married, then a portion of your income goes to my family. and then, after saving enough, if everything goes right, we can get divorced and we never have to speak again.” you explained.

he nodded. “okay. say i do accept this outrageous proposal, what’s in it for me?”

you figured he may ask that. “my late mothers brother is the chief of police in birmingham. i can make a few calls, get them on your payroll, only without the pay.”

“but i am paying, aren’t i?” he furrowed his eyebrows and nodded once, making a statement more than a question.

he’s a smart man, so you figured he may say that, too. and here came the most humiliating part.

with a sigh, you spoke. “as my husband, you can… have me whenever you want,” you memorized what you were going to say earlier when it came to this, and only spoke from that script.

your voice was low, static, the humiliation of having any emotion in your voice would be too unbearable.

you honestly couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth and apparently, neither could tommy.

you weren’t so bothered by the prospect of fucking thomas, as much as you hated to admit it. it was just knowing that he would definitely hold it over you to the worlds end.

“you’re so desperate to save this farm, that you would let me fuck you whenever i want, however i want? if i pay you? you do realize that’s the definition of whoring?” he was genuinely amused at your proposition.

you scoffed, in disbelief kf his immaturity. “yes, i do realize, thomas. and yes, i really am desperate,”

he seemed to be in thought for a moment before speaking. “and what makes you think i want to fuck you? you’re really so narcissistic?”

you genuinely laughed at this. “you’re one to talk about narcissistic. and you’ll fuck just about anything that moves, i can’t imagine i’d be much of an exception,”

thomas chuckled lowly at this, his face seemingly challenging you. you wouldn’t let yourself be bullied, so you straightened your posture and finally asked. “so?” your voice was flat, almost disinterested.

he stared at your face for a few moments, like he was trying to break past your stoned demeanor.

“alright. we have a deal.” he confirmed. you nodded, fighting back happy tears.

as he held his hand out to shake, you glanced at it once with a silent decline.

“what, you’re ok with letting me fuck you like a whore whenever i want but you don’t want to shake my hand?” he stood, and because you wouldn’t let him have power over you- ironically enough- you stood, too.

“i didn’t realize you were so sensitive, shelby,” you spoke up.

“and i didn’t realize you were so headstrong, shelby,” he enunciated the last word, letting the epiphany set in for you.

oh god, you were going to be a shelby. for at least a few months, you were going to be a shelby.

you tried to make peace with the fact, but the it was just gnawing at you that all of this was plain unfair.

nonetheless, you shook his hand.

—

“what’s she doing here?” arthur’s thick accent sounded throughout the room.

tommy decided it’d be best for you to be there when he informed his family of the arrangement.

“well, brother. that is because she is my soon-to-be wife,” he cut straight to the chase and your eyes widened at his directness

polly nearly spat out her tea, john bursted out laughing, and the whole room was generally in an uproar.

ada, too, was puzzled, but quickly sedated the energy in the room with a loud “shut the fuck up and listen to the man!”

you were sat on a chair next to thomas’ standing body, not speaking.

“you two are getting married? you two? has hell frozen over? can pigs now fly?” john joked, but was serious in his disbelief. and he was right to. it wasn’t a secret that…

it all started in year nine. tommy was a 10th year and obnoxiously ‘cool’. he would hang out with the secondary school boys, sleep with their sisters, and torture anyone who’d let him, and most people did.

he was smart, but so were you, and you would not let him.

you were the only 9th year at the top of a predominantly year 10 class, tommy being a close second.

see, the shelby boy wasn’t used to anybody being better than him in any sense, but you made him get used to it.

he couldn’t stand you. from your way-too-short plaid skirts, to the way your hand would shoot up at every question asked.

he hated how he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you in class when you had your hair tied up in a pretty ponytail, gnawing on the eraser of your pencil, your eyebrows twisting in confusion when you couldn’t figure out an answer on a test.

just looking so innocent.

and most of all, he hated the nights he spent with his hand wrapped around his aching cock, whispering your name to himself like a prayer until he came hot strings of cum all over his heavy chest.

tommy rolled his eyes at his family’s immaturity. “it’s an arrangement. she needs money, and her uncle is the chief of police. we can take the coppers off our payroll,”

he left out a small detail but you weren’t complaining.

“after a few months, we’ll get a divorce and we can forget we ever crossed paths.” you spoke for the first time in the meeting.

the transaction seemed simple enough to most people in the room, and they all seemed to accept it.

“anyone have a problem with it? speak now or forever hold your peace,” he called out to the room, waiting for a potential objection.

and one never came. “alright, family meeting adjourned,” tommy waved everyone out of the room.

—

the weeks leading up to the wedding felt like they went on forever.

polly dragged you by your wrist to what seemed like a million different modistes and boutiques, dress shops and spas.

it was exhausting, but in bad there is good.

ada became your closest friend. she was the only person who knew about the other condition to you and tommy’s matrimony.

you were friends even as schoolgirls, despite you and thomas’ disdain for each other.

and now she was your best friend, and you felt inclined to make her your maid of honor.

the hours before the wedding were the worst of it. at least six women were in the room at all time, scrutinizing you to the moon and to saturn. they studied and judged every crevice and line on your face and body.

after being poked and prodded at for forever, it was finally time to walk down the aisle and see your soon-to-be husband.

you were in an over the top, yet elegant gown, the purest color of white you’d ever seen, with a sheer veil covering your face.

you did look quite beautiful, you thought as you looked in the mirror. but you couldn’t help but begin to cry.

you cried because you thought the day you’d see yourself in white would be under much different circumstances. you wanted to marry someone you loved, and for that someone to love you, too. and lord knows, thomas shelby did not love you.

even despite your own feelings for him.

ada came up from behind you in the floor mirror and rested her head upon your shoulder. “you look beautiful,” she spoke, noticing, yet disregarding your tears.

“thank you,” you sniffled. “it will all be okay. i spoke to tommy, he’ll treat you well, i promise,”

her words provided some much needed console to you. “thank you, addy. i wouldn’t have made it had you not been with me. thank you, and love you,” you turned to look at her face.

she just smiled and hugged you. “in less than an hour, we’ll officially be sisters. that should prove some motivation to get your ass down that aisle!” she exclaimed, already tugging on your arm to leave the room and enter the chapel.

you laughed and allowed her to pull you away, long since forgotten your woe.

—

“with the power invested in me, i now pronounce you man and wife. you may now kiss the bride!” the priest announced, signaling for you and tommy to get off of your knees and kiss.

as you both rose to your feet, thomas brought his face to yours in a seemingly disinterested kiss, it almost seemed practiced.

it caught you off guard, and caused a deep sadness in your belly, but you shut it down as ada, polly, esme, and all of the female shelby’s came to congratulate you.

you and your new husband were dragged outside to the car, destined for tommy’s estate, where festivities would begin.

the drive was short, and your patience was thinning, as you just wanted this all to be over.

you knew you were in for a long night as people began flooding into your new home.

and like every shelby-hosted event ever, an all-out rager-like party commenced.

thomas would not speak to you. unless, of course, somebody who was none the wiser to your contract would mention how in-love the two of you seemed. then he could not stop smiling at you, holding your waist tight, even sometimes kissing you.

you had never wanted to die more.

you must have drunk atleast eight glasses of champagne by the end of the night, just trying to get through it.

and that is how you spent the rest of the evening. you got through the first dance, you got through the kind old women talking about what an attractive couple you both made, and you got through seeing tommy flirt with other women at his own fucking wedding.

and at last, it finally came time for the party to end. you practically shoved people out of your door, ready to sleep in your no-doubtedly own bedroom.

you knew it was an arrangement, it was a tale as old as time, and yet you still couldn’t help but feel disappointed. nothing went the way you wanted, nothing. and at the end, all you had to show for it was a farm. it was actually kind of hilarious.

a maid hurriedly showed you where you’d be sleeping, and as you walked into the room, you realized it was indeed thomas’, with the way papers were stern all over the desk and the whiskey on the tray beside the bed.

she was gone before you could turn and ask any questions.

you groaned and sat down on the settee across the room from the bed, your dress making it impossible to see your feet as you tried to remove your heels.

your hair was next, pulling the many pins out of the intricate hairstyle.

you were almost out of this nightmare of a dress, before your zipper got stuck. “fuck,” you groaned.

“couldn’t wait for me before you started undressing?” your heard thomas’ deep voice from the door. he was teasing you, obviously, but you really weren’t in the mood for it.

“thomas, i’m tired. you try spending 8 hours in a dress of this size, then see if you want to tease me for trying to get out of it as soon as i can,” you quickly snapped back, and also quickly getting frustrated with the zipper.

he seemed to understand that you were not be messed with at the moment, so all he did was approach you, turn you around by your shoulders, and tug the zipper down until the dress pooled at your feet.

you hurriedly stepped out of it and sighed, feeling like the weight of the world was off of your shoulders.

“thank you, thomas,” you said contently, rubbing your shoulders, not realizing your compromising position.

you were half naked, only covered by your meticulously created and tailored white lingerie, and knee-high white socks.

apparently, thomas’ eyes could not force themselves to your face, because even as you realized his gawking and called him out for being so materialistic, he wasn’t seeming to follow what you were saying.

instead, all he did was walk over to you, place his hands on your waist like his life depended on it, and kissed you deeply, the kind of kissed you yearned for at the alter.

you almost got lost in it, before all the horrible memories of this past night came flooding in. you quickly pushed him away and slapped him right across his perfect cheekbones.

“fuck was that for?” he’s asked as if he was taken aback, yet made no effort to move away from you.

you scoffed with a laugh, but nothing was funny. “you know, i would be surprised had i not known you,”

“what are you talking about?” he seemed as though he was getting mad at you being mad, which you caught and fueled your anger further.

you got up in his face, sticking your finger in his chest and spoke condescendingly to him.

“you know, you could at least wait until after the fucking wedding to start to begin practically sticking your dick in every woman you see!”

“we never agreed on loyalty! that wasn’t part of our arrangement!” his voice began to increase in volume as well.

you glued your eyes to his piercingly blue ones and leaned closer to him. “i hate you, thomas shelby.” you whispered, yet your tone was anything but gentle.

“yeah? well, you can bet i hate you more,” he stood straighter, his height forcing to you look up at him.

the two of you stood there, waiting to see who would break eye contact first. he did, looking down at your lips, but just as quickly, he was right back onto your eyes.

“fuck it,” his thick accent almost growled, grabbing your face and smashing his lips unto yours.

this one was different from the one earlier. that one was a feigned love, a lust. this one was angry, hateful, and sultry.

oh, how you hated him, however his aggression intrigued you, making you kiss back even harder, forcing your tongue into his mouth.

your lips stayed connected as tommy walked you back to his desk.

your tongues fought for dominance and only disconnected for air. he fumbled with his belt before sliding off his jacket and removing his shirt.

he roughly pulled down your panties and unclipped your bra with one hand.

“jump,” he muttered into your mouth. you do so and he catches you, preceding to sit you on the desktop.

tommy runs his middle finger down your slit, collecting the embarrassing amount of wetness from you.

he chucked lowly before gripping your hips and lining his cock up with your entrance. “hate me, huh? i don’t think this cunt quite agrees with you,” he teased, but you were quick to rebuttal.

“i don’t think your dick agrees with your supposed hatred for me, either,” and you were right, his cock was painfully hard.

he suddenly decides he’s tired of teasing and pushes his full cock into you, bottoming out when he feels his tip prod at your gummy wall.

a choked gasp was emitted from you, and it sounded like heaven to thomas. he groaned as he pulled out almost all the way, then slammed into you again.

his speed is relentless, showing no mercy for your unprepared pussy. as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t deny how good it felt.

you wrapped you legs around his hips and tangled your hands in his hair before whispering in his ear, “i fucking hate you, hate you so fucking much,”

his growls were animalistic as his thrusts became more determined. “fuck you,” tommy gritted, right before a long since held in moan fell from his lips.

as much as you hated to admit it, you found your orgasm building in your stomach, the heat becoming unbearable.

“oh, shit, i’m gonna cum, oh my god,” you moaned loudly, your pussy tightening around him.

your release came to you in a hot white flash, your back arching impossibly more, your chest pressing against his, and you were on the very edge of the desk now.

a string of curse words and moans flowed from your lips like chords from a song tommy never wanted to end.

you whined at the sensitivity of your cunt, tommy not ever slowing down. “sh, sh, shhh. i know, i know, doll. i’m almost there, just hold on a little longer,”

soon, his hips met yours in one final, deep, long, thrust as he released bands of warm hot cum into you.

“fuck me, y/n,” he let out an exasperated laugh as he pulled out of you, watching the both of yours ecstasy pour from your abused hole.

“i believe i just did, thomas.”

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #cillian murphy #tommy shelby fanfic #oneshot #kaia writes! 💌#this was sooo fun #i need to write more for him #send asks you guys !!!!#kaia writes tommy

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lunarflux · 2 months ago

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x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: chapters 9 & 10 are queued for thursday and friday aaaahhhhh

part 8: a talk over whiskey

word count: 2,232

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill her, Tommy," John grunted with his fist clamped tightly at his side.

Tommy watched as his brother paced around the room. Arthur managed to find something unsettling about you, a night months ago when you reported police movements to a quiet rival that led to John laying bloodied on the street. The moment John learned it was you, his face turned with rage, demanding Tommy speak to you about what else you'd done to damage the Blinders through your dealings.

Tommy remained stoic. Polly sat with her cigarette softly burning between her fingers, unamused and unphased by John's anger. Arthur watched, unwilling to admit he was entertained by the sight.

"Call her in here, and we're going to have a chat—"

"Settle down, John boy." Arthur tried to place his hands on John's shoulders but was pushed away.

"Tommy, those fucks nearly gutted me!" John pushed further, "and I'm going to return the favor."

"We already put an end to those boys, John," Tommy sighed, lighting his cigarette to numb the tension in his head. "Nothing more to be done, so let's move on."

John grabbed a letter opener from a nearby desk and gripped it until his knuckles turned white. "Call her here, Tommy. I swear to God. Just one fucking cut, and I'll avoid her face for your sake."

Tommy blew smoke towards John's face, and it encased him in fog. He grabbed the edge of the opener and pulled John close. "I said, enough. You're not going to touch her. With a dull knife or your cock—no one touches y/n. Am I clear?"

Polly chuckled from her quiet corner. She held her cigarette to her lips with a sigh, entertained yet annoyed with a man's ability to hold a grudge. "Maybe it's time you have a serious talk with your ghost, Tommy."

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The room cleared, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Tommy stood by the window, his silhouette outlined by the soft light of the streetlamp outside. You could feel the tension in the air between you thicken with each passing second. The door clicked shut behind Polly, John, and Arthur, leaving you two alone in the quiet of the room. Tommy turned slowly.

“We need to talk,” Tommy said, his voice measured, though you could hear the edge in it. He wasn’t angry—not yet—but there was something sharp, something raw in the way he spoke. “And if we don't settle this now, then my brothers will resort to much less graceful methods.”

You didn’t respond. You let the silence drag on, allowing the weight of his words to hang in the air.

"We know about Cheltenham. And the blueprints."

Without a single shift in your expression, you spoke, your voice cold and steady, every word calculated.

“Were you expecting an apology or did you want me to skip ahead?” You watched him closely, your gaze unwavering. “Maybe get on my knees and beg for forgiveness?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer. “And we know that you sold out John to a dealer. Not that the aftermath is something you'd care to look into, however,” he muttered, low and dark, like he was trying to find something in you that would make sense of this entire mess. “You need to tell me how many fucking times you've put me in a compromising position.”

You allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to tug at the corner of your lips. “So, I suppose we're past apologies, and we're going straight for the begging.” You took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you both. “Is that what you want?”

Tommy stiffened, his eyes darkening as he leaned in. “This is not about what I want,” he shot back. “I need to know who I let in my fucking house and who I'm trusting with my business. Now, I have kept John at bay. He's ready to jam a knife in that pretty little neck of yours, and if you don't give me an explanation, I might let him.”

You held his gaze, your eyes unflinching.

“Well?” he asked, the single word hanging in the air.

You took another step closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him. The air crackled with tension, the weight of his anger threatening to spill over.

“Yes,” you said, your voice dropping lower, teeming with mild intimidation. “I did sell the blueprints. Yes, I did tell men when not to place their bets. Yes, a man came to me and asked where the police would be that night. And yes, I told him where John Shelby would be. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Tommy thought, at the very least, you'd sound remorseful, but you didn't. You didn't sound scared at all. You were confident in your words, and you didn't grace him with any of the details. He took the folder from his desk and placed it in your hands.

"Only took Arthur a few days to find all of this."

You laughed, a sound that never failed to leave him unnerved. You threw the folder back on his desk, then crossed your arms across your chest with a deep sigh. "Tommy Shelby, you are... Far more predictable than I thought you were.

"I wanted to see how far you’d go to unwind something you couldn’t control. And I wanted to see if you’d ever truly confront me about it. The real question, Tommy, is whether you’re going to let me walk away now or if you’re going to keep pushing—because I’ll give you what you’re looking for, but I need to know how far you’re willing to take it. What are you willing to risk?”

Tommy didn’t answer. His gaze locked with yours, and it was almost as if time slowed, the two of you measuring each other in that space. There was no fear in your eyes—only cold certainty. But there was something else in Tommy’s. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak. His jaw worked for a moment as if he were deciding whether to challenge you, to press further, or to let the conversation drop.

You lifted your heel and pressed down onto the scattered papers, twisting your ankle like you were stomping out a dying cigarette. "Everything in here... Never asked yourself once why it was so easy to find. Didn't consider even for one fucking second that it was left in the open because I put it there for you. Practically handed it to you on a platter with tea."

You held your head high, not once giving him the room to tear his eyes away from yours.

"Sokolov never leaves that office on the edge of Birmingham. Him, yes? And Caddell, the man who bets every Sunday. Probably at the Irish pub because he's there most nights. You wouldn't have found Bedlam, no, because you and Arthur chased him out of town with your razorblades in tow. So, that means, you found his former bookie, Kennedy."

Fuck, he continuously swore under his breath as you used all of your knowledge against him like a pistol slowly pressing into an open wound, ready to fire with the twitch of your finger.

"It is not in my nature to be vengeful. It's the vengeful who come to me if only to ease the burden someone else placed on their heads. They paid. I delivered. You've made a lot of enemies, Tommy, and many of them were willing to pay me to dwindle you down until you were nothing. Now, I gave them what they wanted," you explained with the subtle shake of your head, "and here you stand. Alive. So that means that regardless of what I sold, none of it was enough to take down the great Thomas Shelby."

The faint twitches in Tommy's fingers stayed hidden at his side as he listened to every word, each pushing on the back of his neck with a force only you could remove.

"You are one flame that no amount of truths and lies can snuff out." You let out a slow breath, your posture unchanging. “It was never anything personal. Just business.”

He looked at you for a long, lingering moment. For the first time, he seemed to hesitate. Then, with a slight shift of his expression, he finally answered, voice quiet but firm.

“No more games, y/n.”

You didn’t smile. You didn’t give any hint of satisfaction. You merely gave him a long, knowing look.

“That's not for you to decide.”

You turned to leave without another word, but the weight of Tommy’s gaze followed you as you walked out.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

That evening at the Garrison, the usual bustle settled into a calm that felt almost too peaceful. Following your less-than-pleasant conversation, Tommy left to tend to other business, but Arthur and John were restless, pacing around the bar. Assuming Tommy told them what transpired between the two of you, it seemed as if Arthur was weary, and John was irate, his anger towards you spilling out until you felt it from the other side of the room.

You kept to your own corner, nursing a tepid glass of whiskey while the Blinders jeered over nonsense that you didn't bother to try to understand. The muscle in your neck was tense. It didn't happen often that you felt like you overstepped, but backing Tommy into a corner felt much different than you were used to. He listened without argument, but the twisting of his nerves left you uneasy. Perhaps it was too much.

The other side of your thoughts slowly overshadowed the doubts though, reminding you, once again, that he started this. He looked into you. And while you knew that would happen eventually, the scene was much more poetic when you imagined it in your head.

The undercurrent of eyes watching you attempted to pull you from your moment of solitude, but they knew, underneath the face of indifference, you were studying them, too. For the first time, they could feel it: you weren't just a cold, calculating ally. You were watching over them—closely.

With a heavy sigh, you pulled a cigarette from its box and held the match to its tip. It burned, and within seconds, your lungs filled with the crackling numb sensation you needed.

It happened quickly—the subtle shift.

John stumbled by the bar, his head turned down with drunken laughter as Arthur commanded the room with a story from another night. A stranger approached him slowly, a glass in one hand while the other was pinned to his thigh. You narrowed your eyes, the faint glimmer of silver catching your attention.

In that moment, it wasn't instinct that took over. It was cold, calm, controlled fury.

You pushed your seat back, grabbing the neck of the open bottle of whiskey as your cigarette fell to the floor. With a single swing, the sound of glass shattering broke the noise, and the inevitable silence fell soon after. You barely made a sound as the man's head knocked against the bar. Pieces of glass protruded from his cheek, blood trickling down his neck in a scarlet ribbon.

John and Arthur watched you. Your chest heaved, and your eyes were squared on the man who only moments earlier held a knife at his side. The dagger lay in a pool of whiskey, staring back at you from the floor.

John's eyes narrowed, flickering to you then to the men who arrived at the Garrison with the stranger. He picked up the knife slowly, toying with the tip against his palm with a gentle chuckle.

The men, seeing that you weren't just another patron, hesitated. They looked at each other, then back at you, not knowing who was the bigger threat—John, who played with the knife, and you, silent and still. It wasn't fury, not blind rage. It was control, and somehow, that made you all the more terrifying.

They didn't bother with words as John walked towards them with a face that said he just needed to give the word. One word, and the Blinders would tear them apart. They left quickly, one of them muttering something about this not being worth the fight. Your gaze never wavered from them as they retreated.

John placed the knife on the counter and turned to you, his head tilted like he was processing what you'd just done.

Arthur was the first to speak, his usual cocky demeanor a little more subdued than normal. “That was... Interesting.”

John nodded, suddenly sober and all too aware. “We could’ve handled it.”

You scoffed softly, shaking your head with a low chuckle. "I'll remember that next time."

Arthur and John exchanged glances, both unsure of what to say. Arthur cleared his throat as he pulled a cigarette from behind the bar. He reached forward to give it to you, but John held up his hand. He pulled out his own box of cigarettes from his pocket and held it out.

“I guess, we're even.”

You didn’t respond at first, instead stoically pulling one from its box. John held the match for you, and in the silence as the cigarette burned, his lips turned upward in a smirk. He watched as you blew the smoke into the air.

"Arthur," you sighed, holding up your hand as the whiskey dried against your fingers. "I'm going to need another drink."

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