#Dark Tommy Shelby x Black Reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queenoftheworldisdead · 15 days ago

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Legitimate

Chapter 2

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite! Thank you

Summary: Tommy’s thirst for power leads him overseas to the States, where he's after more than just business. What starts as a strategic move soon becomes something far more complex.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead. Dark Slow Burn

Dark Tommy Shelby x Reader

⌂

The neighborhood sits in quiet perfection, manicured lawns bordered by hedges that whisper of some unspoken HOA decree. You sit idle in your car, parked in the driveway of the massive luxury home. It's unnecessarily large for the area, its sharp angles and sleek lines standing in stark contrast to the more subdued, contemporary neighbors. Five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a game room—and even a pickleball court, a new popular accessory for the well-to-do.

Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, the other scrolling absently through your phone. The client is late—no message. Money the only motivating factor for your patience.

You run your tongue over your teeth, brushing away the faint smudge of rouge. Your gaze drifts to the movement behind you—a sleek black car gliding into view. It’s him.

You exhale slowly, giving yourself a final once-over in the tiny mirror. Usually, you don’t show houses outside of your listings. But he had been insistent, and with the commission on the line, you’d jumped through twice as many hoops just to make this happen. You’re not sure why you pushed so hard—maybe it’s the challenge.

With a practiced smile, you step out of the car, leather folder in hand as you go. The steady click of your heels on the driveway fills the quiet as you approach the car, each step measured and steady. The door opens slowly as you near it, smoke spilling from the door as he rises—unruffled. His suit is sharp, too sharp, like a blade in a dark room. Slim, tailored to perfection. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, barely acknowledging the world around him.

“Hello again, Mr. Shelby,” you say, forcing the words to sound natural. “Hope you found it here alright.”

“It’s a lot easier these days with one of these,” he says, his eyes still locking on you, as he waggles his phone before slipping it into his suit pocket.

“Right, well, right this way.” You motion to the house, tamping down the small flush of foolishness creeping up your neck.

He follows close behind as you step onto the stone path toward the door, his footsteps matching your rhythm. His presence feels louder than the silence around you.

“Oh, Mr. Shelby,” you begin, stopping short and spinning on your heels to face him. His brow rises slightly, yet his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Tommy,” he interrupts, his voice smooth, like velvet, but his eyes sharp—piercing.

“Oh, uh, right, well, Mr.—Tommy,” you correct yourself quickly, your words stumbling over the unfamiliarity. “I’m afraid the owners don’t allow smoking on the premises.” Your voice is small, unsure, as his closeness presses on your nerves, and his gaze lingers too long for comfort. “Sorry.”

He lets out a faint scoff, a smirk playing at his lips, before stubbing the cigarette beneath his polished shoe with a casual flick of his wrist.

“So you never said,” you continue as . “Are you looking to bring your family over? This seems a bit big for just yourself.”

“I do have a family back home,” he says, his voice low and calm, but there’s an edge to it. “But whether they’ll be coming here… well, that’s not something you need to worry about.”

“Right, sorry,” The words dry in your mouth, and silence thickens the air between you. You lift the key to the door, fingers brushing over the lock with a deliberate slowness, every motion feeling heavier. You can’t quite read him, and something tells you he’d rather keep it that way.

⌂

You sit on the couch, the cool weight of the wine glass steady in your hand as you absentmindedly flip through the listings. The low hum of cicadas barely reaches your ears, drowned out by the mounting frustration in your chest. The sharp clink of the glass against the table punctuates the silence as you take another sip, your eyes scanning the photos but not really seeing them.

You've heard the stories—difficult clients, high expectations—but Mr. Shelby was becoming the very definition. Every home you've shown him was met with some new criticism. The sting of each comment still lingers in your mind.

Were it not for the proof of funds he'd presented, you might have assumed he was simply playing the long game—wasting your time with no intention closing.

You set your glass down as your phone vibrates, the screen glowing faintly in the dim room. It’s him.

“Hello, Mr. Shelby.”

“Now, I’m sure I’ve told you to call me Tommy, haven’t I?”

You pause, hesitating before answering, feeling the tug between politeness and formality. “My apologies, but it’s late, and I’ve been drinking,” you admit, almost defensively.

He chuckles, low and unhurried. “Anything worth drinking?”

“Top-shelf grocery store brand,” you say with a half-smile he can’t see. The words slip out, the drink loosening a part of you that prefers to stay cautious, professional.

“Well,” he says, almost thoughtfully, “we’ll have to share a glass when we finally close on a house.”

His words hang in the quiet space, and you swallow, feeling the slightest pull of warmth at the thought. You let out a light laugh, barely more than a breath.

“At this rate, Mr.—Tommy—you may have to build one from scratch. I’m running out of listings.”

There’s a pause on his end, and you can almost imagine the way he’s leaning into his own quiet, perhaps smirking at the way you waver on his name. And though he doesn’t respond right away, you feel the weight of something unspoken, the strange pull between a man in search of a home and a woman who can’t tell if he’s looking for more than just four walls.

"Build a place from scratch, then? Only if you’re prepared to be the one I call on for, let’s say, expert guidance."

You almost scoff but catch yourself, letting his words linger in the air a moment longer than they should. You've been down that road before—and weren’t about to do it again.

"I’m sorry, Tommy, but if that’s what you’re after, I’m not the right person for you."

⌂

Quiet fills the room, and days go by without a word from him. Maybe you scared him off, or maybe he found someone more suited to his needs. You don’t worry too much, work is work. New houses come on the market, and potential buyers come and go.

Barefoot, you pad across the hardwood floor, heels in one hand, purse and keys balanced in the other. You love this home—every corner carefully crafted. Selling isn’t in the cards—not now, maybe not ever. Too much history is layered into these walls, even if staying means holding onto something you should’ve let go of long ago.

The art deco kitchen you fought tooth and nail to build greets you quietly as you step through the doorway. Your ex said it was dated, but you didn’t care—this was your dream. The marble tiles, painstakingly laid by your own hands, cool the bottoms of your feet as you head toward the mudroom.

Light floods the garage as you step in, your gaze catching on the boxes piled along the wall, their contents waiting for the day you stop putting them off. A small frown settles as you let the thought drift, slipping into the driver’s seat instead.

The soft purr of the engine fills the space as you buckle in, the garage door rising in a slow, steady arc. Carefully, you back out into the quiet morning.

That’s when you see it—a parcel on your porch, vibrant against the muted colors of the morning. You stop, putting the car in park, and step closer, brow creasing at the sight. The flowers, not your favorite but still beautiful, lay against your door, coupled with a bottle of wine and a card that reads simply, “Better than top-shelf.”

It would almost be romantic, if it weren’t so unnerving. You gather the items, scanning your quiet street, though you already have an idea who sent them. But how he found your address… that’s a detail you didn’t know.

⌂

#dark Tommy Shelby x reader #dark Tommy Shelby #Dark Tommy Shelby x Black Reader #Dark Tommy Shelby x WOC Reader #Legitimate

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brummiereader · 1 year ago

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😱 I am speechless! Well technically I'm not because I'm about to write an essay! This was SO Dark! My eyes were glued to my phone throughout, I think I may have even forgotten to breathe at some point 😯. I think this deserves two skulls for its darkness rating, holy crap I FREAKING LOVED this ❤️😈. I bow to you queen of darkness, please teach me your ways 🙏!

From the warnings alone and summary I knew I was in for a treat but I had no idea it would be this intense of a story. “Enough, Daisy!” After finishing the story I came back to this part because I suddenly realised that Tommy's sharp response to Daisy was because she had asked him about Y/N joining their nightly "adventures" instead of Alice. Which now makes so much sense with what Tommy said at the end that they need to stop their mutual hobby.

Holy crap...the office scene with Alice, Daisy and Tommy was wild 😳! The scariest part is Daisy's cool and calculated demeanour and it's contrast with Tommy's brutal and aggressive behaviour. They balance each other out into a formidable, frightening couple. I'm afraid it's out with the old in with the new Y/N...Mrs Shelby has her eyes locked on you 😈.

"Jammy git!” had to give this line a quick mention. This is so British, my mum says it all the time 😂!

What's so scary is Alice is completely under their spell, she even said herself how she would do anything for them even though it scares her. It makes me wonder if she caught on to the pattern of maids leaving for America like Elsa 🤔. I don't know why but I feel it's Daisy these young maids get enchanted by not Tommy, and it's Daisy they would do anything for.

Elsa has figured all of this shit out, bet she's thankful they never picked her now 😳! I bloody knew those wooden trunks were not used for their belongings! I had a feeling they would be used for their bodies instead, a detail I thought was really cleverly mentioned throughout!

The next scene was just WOW, holy shit that was dark! I was on the edge of my seat throughout 😱. "Do you think you can cum before he kills you?”....arghh this was crazy, brilliantly crazy! I literally gasped when I read that part, Daisy is so devilishly menacing, she's like no other character I have ever read! Taunting her with her own fate, wow...out of the two of them I reckon she's the darkest. BUT a big BUT....you then had Tommy cum as Daisy cut her throat and blood poured down on him. Murder kink unlocked for him, holy hell 😈! This was giving me "Gone Girl" vibes with a twist! “Goodnight, sweet darling.” this made me shudder, ruthlessly enchanting until the end. Having them have sex in her blood was something out of a horror movie, these two are insane but perfect for eachother! Maybe that's why his family didn't like her because she will only enable his sadistic needs!

Wow Lee! I think you maxed out your dark powers writing with this one 😍👌! As a fan of dark stories you couldn't have given me a better read that this, absolutely incredible! Well bloody done ❤️🔥! This is now up there with my fav dark reads 😈.

Careless People

Summary: Newlyweds Tom and Daisy Shelby are hiding a dark secret. They're known for being eccentric and a bit kinky, but could something more sinister be lurking beneath the surface?

Author's Note: Requested by @cillmequick for my 2K celebration An Evening at Arrow House. You asked what Tommy thought of everyone's speculation about his bride, but what if he’s aware of her sordid past and willing to indulge her? In this one, he and his wife are the ones driving others out of Arrow House!

Warnings: 🔞 smut, dub-con, blood, mention of weapons, murder. Dark fic proceed with caution 💀

Fear gnawed at your insides as you stood ready to serve your new employers, a pair of newlyweds just back from their honeymoon in Paris. The dashing Mr. and Mrs. Shelby sat before you at the dinner table speaking in hushed voices, brows knit in serious conversation. Their conspiratorial tone and occasional glances in your direction unnerved you to the point of paranoia.

“What’s she saying? Am I dismissed already?” you whispered to one of the other servants waiting table.

The girl only shook her head quickly, lips pursed together tightly and eyes cast toward the floorboards anticipating an incoming storm.

As if on cue, Mr. Shelby’s temper suddenly flared and he grasped his wife’s forearm hard enough to cause her to whimper in pain. “Enough, Daisy!” he barked into the silence of the room and you looked away feeling sorry for the young woman.

The other servants had warned you he could be temperamental, but you hadn’t expected him to be violent as well. Pushing away from the table, he stalked to the other side of the room for more whisky as Mrs. Shelby rubbed at her aching wrist.

She muttered a low complaint into her napkin that sounded something like, “You’re a brute.”

Their new marriage still seemed to be finding solid footing now that the honeymoon was over and the demands of life were creeping in around them. It was rumored that the Shelby family did not approve of Mr. Shelby’s American bride, though you couldn’t imagine why. Thus far she was a fair and honest employer, you’d even heard of an initiative she began which stated one deserving employee would be chosen each season to make their way to America, all expenses paid by the Shelby family. She said she wanted hard workers to have the opportunity to seek their fortune abroad.

You found yourself drifting away from the unpleasantness and into this enticing daydream as Mr. Shelby cleared his throat to speak. “Elsa, show Y/n to my office after dinner,” he commanded. You swallowed harshly wondering if this might indeed be your last night at Arrow House, but then something took you by surprise. Mrs. Shelby looked at you directly, a smile darting across her lips and a gleam in her dark, amber eyes. There was something in her charm that captivated you, pulling a smile from you before you realized. Your heart began beating wildly at the thought of winning her favor and you could think of nothing else while clearing the dinner plates.

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

“Down and to the left,” Elsa said before leaving you alone in the corridor. The haunting strains of a gramophone could be heard in the distance and you paced toward it, still uncertain what awaited you. Just as you reached the partially opened door, a harsh sound of a slap stopped you. Your ears strained for more over the music and soon a few raspy breaths could be heard through sobs. With curiosity piqued, your hand rested over the doorknob and you peered inside to see the upstairs’ maid, Alice, kneeling before Mr. Shelby.

The only light in the room came from a roaring fire. The orange flames cast flickering shadows upon the couple before you making it hard to see everything happening. However, you had an idea as you watched Mr. Shelby’s large hand grasp the back of Alice’s head and push her down between his legs harshly until she began to sputter. Her small hands clawed at his trousers as he sipped his whisky, the light playing across his face in an ever-changing, yet sinister mask.

“Choke for me, darling,” he rasped before groaning in pleasure on a harsh gag. He gave her a moment to rest, stroking her hair gently before resuming his thrusts, dragging her along his length in frenzy until he eventually stilled. His hands tensed with her locks caught tightly in his fist, eyes rolling back in his head as a string of curses fell from his lips. Then removing his hand slowly, Alice pulled away, tears streaming down her cheeks in dark rivulets from her ruined mascara.

Still breathing heavily, Tommy leaned down to her, taking her dripping chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Open,” he commanded and she obeyed wide eyed, holding something rich and pearlescent in her mouth that caught the light. He ran his thumb along her lower lip with a nod of satisfaction, spitting into her open mouth. “Swallow like a good girl,” he said with the raise of an eyebrow and she did so as she looked up at him, a dazed look on her face.

Your breath caught as you realized you’d witnessed something you shouldn’t have. Before you had time to consider the damage to Mrs. Shelby, you watched her elegant form emerge from the darkness. You clasped a hand over your mouth as you saw her help Alice stand on wobbly legs and capture the girl’s face between gloved hands before savoring her in a languid, open mouthed kiss.

Feeling as though you’d already seen too much, you turned to leave, but the creak of the old wooden door gave you away. You should have run in that moment, but for some reason you froze, entranced by what you’d just seen.

“Miss Y/l/n, come in,” Mrs. Shelby said warmly, extending a hand to you from where she stood. She smiled so brightly it was as though you were the only person in the room and you felt a sudden giddy nervousness take hold of you. Mr. Shelby straightened his appearance and gave a quick nod to signal it was his wish for you to enter, but you stood firm until Alice made a hasty retreat. She didn’t look at you as she passed, cheeks flushed a bright red even in the dim lighting.

“Sit down, Y/n. We have a proposition for you,” Mr. Shelby began, taking a seat behind his desk and producing a formal looking document.

“We do hope you’ll accept,” Mrs. Shelby added breathlessly as she guided you to sit beside her on the sofa.

—————————

“Are you sacked?” Elsa asked the next morning as you helped prepare Mrs. Shelby’s breakfast tray.

“No!” you said indignantly. “Would I still be making tea right now if I was?” you joked.

“Well? What did Mr. Shelby say?” she prodded.

You bit your lip. It was part of your signed contract not to disclose the nature of your exact arrangement with the Shelbys. However, the best part was so exciting you couldn’t possibly keep it to yourself. “They’re going to send me to America!” you said enthusiastically. “But I had to sign a contract for a…special program first.”

"Jammy git!” Elsa exclaimed. “Alice has been here three years so I knew she’d get picked, but look at you! You’ve only just arrived and already made an impression,” she mused.

“I know!” you thrilled, wanting to squeal with delight as you hoisted the breakfast tray up, but you were secretly worried about the months that lay ahead. Could you do what they had asked?

——————————-

One month later Alice was set to depart. You helped pack her things and she gave you all the advice she had for serving the Shelbys. However, something in her voice was off as you tied her apron for one last dinner service. “You feeling alright?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” she confided, looking around her empty room with a desperate melancholy. “Working for the Shelbys is like being consumed by fire,” she confided, swallowing harshly, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “But I like it. It scares me how much of myself I’d give them if they asked,” she exhaled on a shaky breath. She seemed afraid, but you weren’t sure precisely why.

The bell rang in the hall calling for everyone in the dining room. “I’m sure you’re just exhausted from all the preparations. You’ve been working long days, but soon you’ll be rewarded,” you said in an attempt to cheer her. “Just as I hope I’ll be rewarded one day,” you said gleefully.

Alice’s face fell as she looked upon you and you noticed how gaunt she’d become. You didn’t pay much attention at first as hard work did that to people. Your own parents had worked themselves to death with little to show for it, but you were determined to build something greater for yourself and you wanted to remind Alice of her own bright future.

Giving her a reassuring smile, you reached for her hand in solidarity, but she twisted away from you. It was then you noticed what looked to be rope burns on her wrist, red and irritated under the cuffs of her blouse. She yanked the sleeve of her uniform down further as you blinked, certain you were seeing things. “I’ll see you downstairs,” you mumbled as you backed away feeling disconcerted.

—————————

Thankfully dinner was uneventful and you soon forgot Alice. Mr. and Mrs. Shelby were in good spirits as they ate their lamb chops, chatting idly about a new business acquisition in Boston which would require his sister Ada to go abroad soon. Mrs. Shelby remarked about the shopping in the area and Mr. Shelby feigned a passing interest. However, one item caught your attention and that was a brief exchange about the upcoming stag hunt with his brothers. “Are you leaving in the morning, Tom?” Daisy asked offhandedly.

“No, we’ll have to wait for John. He arrives Saturday,” Mr. Shelby replied. Then he instructed the butler to have his guns cleaned.

After you’d finished your duties for the evening, you retired to your room, settling beneath the old tattered quilt you’d brought with you upon your arrival. Sleep came within minutes, a strange, but not unwelcome dream of Mrs. Shelby came to you, her face hovering over yours as her large brown eyes softened to the texture of velvet so soft you thought you could stroke it with your fingertips. Her dazzling smile beckoned you to reach for her and hold her in your arms before she leaned down to leave a love bite on your neck.

Soon after midnight, when the house was still and quiet, a sudden sharp sound broke your revery. You couldn’t be sure in your hazy state of mind, but you could have sworn you’d heard a gunshot. Shaking your head in disbelief, you burrowed beneath the covers trying to dissuade yourself of the notion.

However, in the morning everything felt upside down as the house was in a whirlwind of activity. Men stomped through the house and Frances bustled behind them, but no one else was allowed upstairs. When you inquired about your regular duties, you were assigned elsewhere with the explanation that Mr. Shelby was on his hunt and Mrs. Shelby was out shopping.

“That’s odd,” you commented as you began washing the floors with Elsa. You were certain Mr. Shelby said his hunt had been delayed, but it was none of your business so you continued working until Elsa scurried over to you.

“Y/n, Alice is missing,” she whispered urgently.

“Perhaps she left early,” you reasoned, but Elsa shook her head violently in disagreement. “Do you reckon she took another boat?” you asked in confusion.

“I don’t think so. She wasn’t meant to sail for two days and I saw someone take her trunk away before first light,” she said, twisting her fingers in her apron nervously. Glancing down the hall she made sure no one was coming before she added. “They’ve done something with her, I know it.”

“That’s not possible. Mr. and Mrs. Shelby have been nothing but kind and helpful,” you noted, wanting to believe all the lovely things you’d heard about the Shelbys. “I’m sure she’s on a boat. Let’s wait for her letter. She did promise to write,” you reminded Elsa. Although she agreed waiting was best, she didn’t seem to believe you, her brow etched with worry.

In a month, you were vindicated when a letter arrived from Boston. It was type written which seemed odd considering you’d never seen Alice use a type writer. However, it was signed by her and talked of nothing but happiness in her new home. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief that her sudden departure from Arrow House was nothing more than eagerness to begin her journey and she was quickly forgotten as work overtook everyone.

You were no different, learning what your new role would be. Aside from Frances, you had quickly become the second most important person in the household. If you were honest, the power of being held in such high regard by your employers was thrilling, but also burdensome when it came to dealing with other members of staff. The jealousy in Elsa’s eyes was unmistakable as she found it particularly difficult to hide her envy.

One day she confronted you about it, as you assumed she might, but you were not prepared for her venomous words. “You're so special all of a sudden?” Elsa seethed, pulling you from the corridor by your elbow.

“I-I'm not. I’m just another servant,” you demurred, feeling hurt and shocked by her outburst.

“Like hell. I know what you do with Mr. and Mrs. Shelby when you’re alone,” she revealed.

“I’m not sure what you think you know…” you began, but Elsa cut you off.

“You’re their whore. You let them use you in the most vile ways,” she accused, face contorted in an expression of utter disgust.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said indignantly.

“Think you’re so clever? We can all hear you,” she informed you. “They’re careless people, Y/n. Careless and cruel,” she said bitterly.

You sucked in a breath. “That’s not true,” you defended the couple you’d grown attached to. Wanting to know if others felt the same, you ventured, “Does everyone think that?”

“That’s not what you should be asking. You should be worried for your safety, Y/n. Ask why they wanted your signature or why they bought you that trunk to ship your belongings months before you leave. Have you thought about that?” she urged you, eyes boring into you insistently.

“What? What are you saying, Elsa?” you wondered aloud.

“The stable boy found Alice’s belongings in the barn last week and I've seen copies of her letter in Mr. Shelby's office. It’s what I thought all along, the Shelbys forged that letter from America. And that trunk? I think her body was in it. Alice is dead and they killed her!” she cried in desperation.

Your blood began to boil as you realized the lies Elsa was concocting. She was obviously upset she’d been passed over. However, you weren’t to blame. The Shelbys chose you for the opportunity in America. She would have to accept that she might never be the chosen one.

Seeing her sunken eyes and shaking hands you took pity on her. She’d obviously spent many a night thinking of her wasted potential. You decided it best to play along and tell her the ghosts she saw were real.

“Alright, Elsa, I’ll be careful. Thank you for telling me,” you placated her with a pat to her shoulder. She only sniffed at you in reply and you walked away with a toss of your head.

————————-

Three months later it was your final night in the Shelby household and you felt a calm acceptance of whatever was to come. Your time spent with them had strung together in an endless night, leaving you physically and emotionally drained. They were the most insatiable couple you’d ever met, constantly pushing you beyond the boundaries of your own understanding. Their “adventures” as they liked to call them left your body marked in all manner of bites, burns and bruises, but you wore them proudly. You had a need to please them and in doing so you felt yourself becoming a different person. In truth, you would have given them anything or done whatever they asked for a single word of praise.

When you arrived in their bedroom that warm July evening, wrapped in your silk robe from Daisy, you had no thoughts of denying them any last wish. Therefore, when Tommy began his aggressive lovemaking you succumbed to him, knowing Daisy would soothe the pain with tender kisses. You allowed Tommy's calloused hand to wrap around your throat possessively as you rode him, his thick fingers digging into your flesh and restricting your air until a lightheadedness washed over you.

The fuzzier your head became, the heavier your body, movements sloppy and uncoordinated. As you struggled to stay upright, Daisy took hold of the ties binding your hands behind your back to guide you. Then her skillful fingers dropped to your pulsing clit, rolling and pinching until the coil in your belly pulled tight. Noticing the overwhelming need in your eyes she whispered sweetly in your ear, “Do you think you can cum before he kills you?”

Your eyes snapped open in panic, body thrashing as Daisy’s girlish laugh filled the air. You tried to shake your hands free, but Daisy held you tightly as Tommy planted his feet against the bed and thrust into you with animalistic drive. When your fight had gone and the darkness descended upon the edges of your vision, you gave into the rushing in your ears like a lullaby, a single tear rolling down your cheek in surrender.

Then without warning, Daisy called out. “Tom, you brute, you’re scaring our pet!” His paced slowed and his hand uncoiled, leaving you to draw lungfuls of air that brought you back to life with a rush of overwhelming emotion. As Daisy hushed you, she began to lick your tears away, sucking at your delicate neck until a dark bruise formed. Your head dropped to her breasts with Tommy’s cock pulsing inside you and you trembled in relief.

“So good for us, darling,” Daisy praised you. “Would you like a treat?” she asked, holding your chin up and kissing your cheek gently. "You want to be allowed to cum now?" You could barely respond as your mind tried to process the notion that they were pleased with you, but Tommy’s hand connected with your ass in a stinging slap, bringing you out of yourself suddenly.

“Answer,” his deep voice urged and you nodded into her hand. “Good. Remember your manners,” he said, taking hold of your hip in a painfully tight grasp.

“Please, can I cum, sir?” you exhaled on a ragged breath, full of desire.

Tommy chuckled at your use of the term of authority he loved so much. He looked to Daisy and she nodded. Your eyes slipped closed momentarily as he resumed his thrusts, hitting the spot inside you that made your toes curl and said, “Cum all over my cock, like a good girl, but let us hear you.” You moaned for them as you willed your spent body to move, chasing the high you’d become addicted to over the past weeks and wanting to satisfy Tommy as well.

Daisy nibbled your earlobe as the waves of pleasure carried you, her intoxicating giggle echoing in your ear, distracting you from a swift movement at her side. You never felt the slice of the blade across your throat, only vaguely aware of warmth leaving your body as you looked down at Tommy in horror. Silenced by your injury, you could only watch as dark crimson sprayed across his toned chest.

Tommy came inside you with a satisfied shudder, your face crumbling in exquisite agony above him. As the light faded from your eyes, Daisy placed a kiss to your mouth one last time saying, “Goodnight, sweet darling.”

She helped Tommy lay you down as she sighed contentedly, then Tommy reached for his wife with a stern warning. “We have to stop this, Daisy,” he said, thinking of the calls he would have to make to Johnny Dogs and the men soon.

“I don’t want to,” she pouted. “I was smart this time, I used a blade so no one would hear,” she said proudly.

“Yeah…you fucking did,” he said with a proud smirk and pulled her in for a kiss that lead to a long, slow fuck in your blood. Frances would clean up in the morning when the body would be loaded into the trunk they’d purchased for your departure.

Your letter would arrive from America in a month’s time, the signature lifted from the contract you’d signed months earlier. It was all too convincing on the letter Daisy typed. No one would ever question it, especially not Liesel, their new toy who would join them tomorrow night for her introduction to the Shelby household.

She was already upstairs in the servants’ quarters placing her things in the trunk the Shelbys provided and thanking God for her good fortune. She'd met Elsa, of course, but not believed a word of the poor woman's ramblings about missing women and murders in the house.

“Careless and cruel” Elsa called her employers, but Liesel couldn’t understand why she would say such a thing. Careless people didn't take such good care of their employees, did they?

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year ago

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boo! surprise bitches! i'm doing kinktober this year! finally doing it! bet you didn't see that one coming, did you hehe 🕸

there is a good mix of both short and long stories coming your way throughout this (and i will also still occasionally post other fics this month that aren't related to this). also, a handful of these fics are darker in nature, thought it was fitting for halloween, so remember to read the warnings, if there's something that's not for you then please, as always, be kind to yourself and don't read the story.

masterlist | join my taglist

day one | sore

stepbro!sirius black x cheerleader!reader + dubcon massage

day two | don't smile

steve rogers + throat fucking + size kink

day three | stuffed

devil!eddie munson & angel!steve harrington + tentecles + double penetration in one hole

day four | a little fashion show

best friend!stiles stilinski + lingerie

day five | stay still

peter parker + bondage

day six | hold up, let me record this

jj maybank + tittyfucking + sextape

day seven | the palace guards

guards!poly!marauders x princess!reader + secrets relationship

day eight | it’s practically like we’re down there with them

mob boss!bucky barnes + exhibitionism

day nine | keep that pretty mouth shut

tommy shelby + keep quiet quickie

day ten | I couldn’t find it in me to wake you

poe dameron + somno thigh fucking

day eleven | I just want you a little longer all to myself

matt murdock + secret office sex

day twelve | nothing more than a toy

rafe cameron + using you like a toy to masturbate with

day thirteen | I still got a few rounds left in me

boxer!steve rogers + bathtub sex

day fourteen | open your fucking mouth

dark!wild west cowboy!joel miller + gun kink

day fifteen | tiny

miguel o'hara x fairy!reader + extreme size difference

day sixteen | the wall between us

cult member!steve harrington + fem glory hole + breeding

day seventeen | be a rebel, be bad, stay here and cuddle with me

spencer reid + aftercare

day eighteen | pleasant pile of pillows

brother's best friend!james potter + pillow humping

day nineteen | ring ring

sam winchester x reader x bf!dean winchester + phone sex + cheating

day twenty | window

perv!neighbour!billy russo + voyeurism

day twenty-one | say yes

fiancé!bruce wayne + possessiveness

day twenty-two | i can think of something better than that

bucky barnes + anal

day twenty-three | double check

dark!professor!ben solo + power imbalance + manipulation

day twenty-four | maroon

vampire!remus lupin + biting + blood kink

day twenty-five | i want you

pirate captain!miguel o'hara + sex as payment

day twenty-six | teamwork

pro football team!avengers (bf!steve rogers, bucky barnes, pietro maximoff, clint barton, sam wilson, tony stark, thor odinson) + gangbang

day twenty-seven | my little flower

din djarin + fantasy au + cockwarming

day twenty-eight | hysteria

doctor!aleksander morozova x hysteria patient!reader + historical au + fuck machine

day twenty-nine | can't fight the moonlight

werewolf!bucky barnes x gf!reader + predator/prey + monsterfucking

day thirty | magical mimic

eddie munson x witch!reader + magical mutual masturbation

day thirty-one | you can’t put it in

stepbro!peter parker + halloween pussyjob

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earlgreydream · 1 year ago

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shattered. | tommy shelby x reader angst

He promised you.

tommy shelby angst. because my heart aches.

"Where is he?" You demanded, glaring hard at Arthur.

Thomas' brother avoided your eyes, muttering to get back behind the bar at the Garrison. You reached out and shoved his shoulder, knocking him back against the bar, catching him off-balance.

"Don't ya fuckin' lay your hands on me, woman!" Arthur yelled at you, getting in your face.

"Tell me where Tommy is!" you yelled back, feeling dozens of shocked eyes boring into you.

You weren't afraid of anything, not even the Shelby's. You had been looking for Tommy, who had promised to meet you at the train station. You'd waited for him on the platform, suitcase in hand, waiting to be whisked off to France with Tommy.

Thomas Shelby had promised to take you to France.

"Tommy," you called to him, walking into his office.

You climbed onto his desk, sitting in front of him as he leaned back, taking a drag from the cigarette between his full lips. His large hand came down to your thigh, squeezing gently and rubbing your leg.

"Come to bed," you whispered, lips hovering over his cheek before pressing a kiss against his warm skin.

"I'm workin'"

You shifted, moving the straps of your slip off your shoulders, the delicate fabric fluttering down to gather around your waist, tempting Tommy with your bare upper body. He leaned back, taking a good look at you as he smoked, dark blue eyes drinking in every inch of you.

"But I need you," you whined, parting your thighs and pulling back the fabric to show him your sex, dripping with desire for him.

"Jesus fucking christ," Thomas swore, pushing your knees open as you tried to close them, teasing him.

"Come to bed."

He stood so abruptly you jumped, the mobster towering over you. After putting out his cigarette, Thomas lifted you up under your knees, carrying you upstairs naked, leaving your flimsy slip on his desk downstairs.

Within minutes, you were writhing on his sheets, pulling hard at his ink-black hair as he ate you out mercilessly. His hot tongue lapped up everything you had to give him, tasting you until you were reduced to ragged screams.

The first time you came on his tongue, but he promised more, moving over you to bury his cock in your soaking pussy, pounding hard and deep as you clung desperately to him. Your nails dragged red lines down his freckled back, your face buried into his shoulder, muffling your moans as his hips connected with yours.

He kissed your neck as you threw your head back, unable to stop a second orgasm from shattering through your body, squeezing tightly around him, pulling Thomas into the chasm with you.

"Don't, don't," you begged hoarsely as he tried to pull out, grabbing his arm to stop him.

"What? You want to warm my cock?"

"Please, stay inside me for a little longer," you begged, exhaling as he settled down, halfway on top of you, buried inside.

"I want to get away from here," you whispered, brushing his hair from his eyes, his head lying on your chest.

"I want to take you away from here," Thomas confessed, squeezing your waist, burying his face in you, fantasizing about taking you away from all of the violence of his job, to live happily together somewhere west of Paris.

"It will be perfect. We'll have horses, I'll paint your barn red," he promised, his fingers gently stroking your bare skin as he spoke.

"I've never wanted anything else other than to be with you," you confessed.

"I'll get you away from here, I promise."

You had waited at the train station, and he never came. You watched the train to Paris come and go, shattering the pieces of your heart and dragging them away with it. Your throat was raw as you made the long walk back to the Garrison to look for him, to figure out why the hell he had stood you up and left you alone.

"John! Where the fuck is Tommy?!" you shouted, looking at his younger brother, turning away from Arthur after getting nowhere with him.

John looked at his feet, refusing to answer you. You picked up a glass off the bar and threw it at the floor, watching it shatter - just like your heart.

"Stop it, right now."

You knew the commanding voice anywhere - Tommy walked out from the back, his eyes hard as he stared you down.

"Where were you?!" you demanded furiously, your chest heaving as you forced back sobs.

"You will not continue to make a scene in my bar," he spoke with unwavering authority, stepping back and opening the door, silently instructing you to follow him.

"You will not tell me what to do!" the words burned your throat, your heel hitting the wooden floor with a resounding crack that sent a wave of certainty up your spine.

You could tell he was fighting back emotion as he walked up to you and grabbed your elbow. He was careful not to hurt you, but dragged you into the privacy of the back room.

"Let go!"

He released you, leaning back against the closed door so you couldn't get past him, trapping you in the room.

"Why, Tommy?" you asked, your voice shaking.

"I had to accept an engagement deal to the prime minister's daughter. It's for business, we need it to-"

You stepped back like you'd been slapped, a sharp pain exploding through your chest.

"For your business? Last night, you promised to leave it all behind and get away with me," you were unable to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks.

He leaned forward to touch you, but you drew away, backing against the opposite wall, putting as much space as he could between the two of you. Tommy brought his knuckles to his mouth, exhaling a wounded sigh into his hand.

"I have to do this, for my brothers."

"You promised me, Tommy. You slept inside of me last night! You said you loved me!" you screamed, breaking down into full-out sobs, crumbling into pieces.

The pain in his eyes was evident, but it only made you angrier. He had chosen his business over you, a loveless marriage over you - over all of the promises he made under the moon. Years of love and sex and memories shattered in a day, and you were left with no idea how to pick up the pieces.

"It's not just about me, it's not just about you."

"That's a weak excuse," you hissed, slapping his hand away when he reached out to touch you.

"I do love you," he whispered.

"You broke my heart, Thomas Shelby."

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader

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vervainandspritz · 12 days ago

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JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut

A/N: thanks for reading guys

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

Y/N was never a light sleeper, but this particular time waking up felt way more difficult than usual. Her head was hurting from all the crying and the last thing she could remember was Tommy holding her against his chest and the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with his own unique scent before she nodded off, unable to handle the recent events.

“Mrs. Shelby, you're awake” One of the maids spoke up with a gentle smile, putting a steaming tea on the nightstand by her side.

Sitting up, Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“I'm not a Shelby” She responded with more annoyance than she'd like.

“Oh” The older woman said with a hint of shame. “My apologies. Mr. Shelby asked to bring you tea and some pain relief tonic,”

Y/N nodded, thanking her quietly before she rose from the bed, looking around. The room looked familiar in a less than pleasurable way, just like the clothes she was wearing. Sighing deeply she walked out of the room, seeing the dark corridor of the places she once called home.

After getting refreshed and dressed, Y/N walked toward the grand staircase. She stopped cold, feeling goosebumps running through her spine in the worst possible way when she saw the monumental portrait of Thomas and her in the stairwell. One she used to see everyday. The eyes on the portrait looked as lively as ever, mocking the pain she held in her chest every time she saw it. There she was, the former lady of the house, laying claim to her domain even from the grave. The longer she stared at her, the more she felt Grace was taunting her. “You may have been his woman once, but I have his heart and his ring on my finger now.” The words rang in her ears, coming from the depths of her memory, loud as the day she heard them for the first time. Y/N couldn't seem to be able to tear her gaze away, silently battling the ghost that seemed to curse her relationship forever.

She stood there for a long moment, immersed in the painting so much that she didn't realise she was being watched.

Thomas stood in the doorway on the other side of the corridor, watching her silently losing the battle as shame gnawed on his insides. He should have thrown it away long ago, but it was the last thing on his mind as he desperately looked for Y/N everywhere. The dead woman on his wall wasn't a big concern.

“You're awake” He spoke up, unable to handle the silence anymore.

She turned around, almost startled, as he caught her staring at her. The first thing she noticed were the glasses on his nose, and she fought against the little smirk that tried to appear on her lips so badly.

“What am I doing here? Where are the boys?” She asked, straight to the point. Thomas shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, knowing she wouldn't be happy with the news.

“Boys are with Frances upstairs, playing.” He responded, looking her in the eyes. “You're not safe outside of Arrow house. You three need to stay here until the vendetta is over.”

“What if you had more men surrounding my flat instead?” Y/N bargained.

“It’s too dangerous and I need my men concentrated not spread out over cities” he replied, already prepared for the questions he knew she'd ask.

She wanted to argue so badly. Y/N wanted to be free from him and the reminders of the past that this house held. But she knew that receiving a black hand was a serious threat she didn’t have the capacity to handle by herself.

“The only reason I'm not leaving right now is because I need to keep them safe.” She said, stepping closer. “...and if anything happens to us, I want you to know that it's all your fault.”

Despite knowing and seeing the pure hatred in her eyes, Thomas could never fully brace himself for the impact of her words.

“Nothing will happen to any of you. I give you my word” He said, quieter this time.

“Your word means nothing to me, Thomas. Just… just stay away from us as much as possible.” Y/N added, wanting to walk away.

“You can't expect me to stay away. They.. are my kids. My sons.” He said suddenly, and the confidence and fierceness of his voice made her stop in her tracks. “I regret losing you every single day. Every day I grieved the loss of my bloody heart, and then I found out there's three I should have been grieving. But you're here, and so are they. So I won't let yo–them go.” He hissed out, almost frantically and the vulnerability in his eyes made her slightly tremble. It hurt even more, because she waited so long to hear.. anything. Any crumb of reassurance would be enough to keep her here, but he didn't say a fucking word.

Straightening her back, Y/N inhaled a deep breath, looking back at the bloody portrait who was witnessing the whole scene. Seconds later she looked at him again, and the fire in his eyes was more lively, outweighing the dead, judgemental stare.

“They won't call you their father. If you break this rule, you won't see us again.”

***

The next day Y/N woke up, bracing herself for another battle as she walked down the stairs and to her surprise, the portrait was… gone. Her heart thumped wildly at the realisation and she couldn't believe her eyes. Suddenly the tension in the house seemed to have lessened.

Walking to the kitchen, she noticed Thomas sitting by the table with a cup of coffee and a cigarette in his hand, as he read the newspaper. It felt weirdly domesticated and the thought alone made her smirk.

“Did the boys eat?” She asked, not sure what to expect.

“Frances fed them an hour ago. Tommy is napping in the living room, and Nick is picking daisies with Mary in the garden.” He responded in a calm tone, not tearing his gaze away from the newspaper.

Silence hung in the air as they each did their own thing

Finishing up her breakfast, Y/N cleared her throat again as she looked at the wall in front of her.

“The portrait is gone” She pointed out in an emotionless voice, not looking at him. A couple longer moments passed before she heard him exhale a cloud of smoke.

“What portrait? He responded, and Y/N’s lips stretched into a subtle smile before she grabbed her plate and walked away.

A couple days later Y/N still avoided him, occasionally getting to talk to John or Arthur, but both of them were distracted by the giant threat hanging over the family. Polly seemed to keep it together the best, coming over whenever she felt like it for some female company.

Y/N said her goodbyes to Polly, going to put the cups into the sink and cleaning the mess after Nick. She wasn't used to having maids doing everything for her, so it was more comfortable to just clean the mess herself. Nick himself was currently spending time with his uncles by the stables, and Tommy was… who knows where.

After cleaning, Y/N went looking for the other boy, asking Frances who just directed her to the little room where the toys were stored.

She expected everything, but not the view she saw arriving in the doorway. Little Tommy sat back on his legs, watching with wide eyes and furiously colouring the different shapes Thomas drew for him.

“Dat?” Tommy asked suspiciously, pointing towards the crooked flower on the paper and glancing at him with big eyes.

“This?” He asked with a grin, “that's a flower” he explained, to which the boy nodded, narrowing his eyes lightly.

“...and dat?!” He asked suddenly in a squeaky tone, seeing the car Thomas drew for him.

“That's a car. Almost” He chuckled, seeing the crooked shapes as he tried his very best.

Tommy nodded, grinning in the same way as his father before glancing at his mum.

“Hi!” He waved, before pointing to the flower again. “fwowa!” he said proudly, pushing his little chest forward.

Thomas just laughed quietly, putting the pencil down.

“Good job, little man” he said, before slowly rising from the floor with a groan.

“Oh God, I'm too old for this” He whispered with a chuckle, glancing at Y/N who wasn't able to suppress the smile on her face after she heard Tommy talk. “Don't smile like that, now it's your turn.” Thomas added, passing by her in the doorway, his shoulder brushing against hers.

***

The next couple weeks were… rougher. Changretta was relentless in his search, which turned into a couple of seriously dangerous situations where John got shot in the chest barely coming out alive. Polly didn't agree with a lot of Thomas' actions, despite his inability to back off right now. He stood his ground, no matter how difficult it was sometimes to keep Y/N inside Arrow house whenever worse moments would arrive. And they did, fairly frequently.

The pull he felt became stronger and stronger, no matter how many daggers she kept throwing. Spewing the words she held deep inside, reminding him of the monster he used to be… or maybe still was? He couldn't tell. The view in the reflection of his mirror was so blurry, that it didn't matter. As long as she saw him to be fit enough to be around boys.

The house was completely quiet as he made his way through the corridor, lacking the usual sounds of kids playing or Y/N walking from one room to the other. Walking past the library, he caught a glimpse of light coming from the room that made him stop in his tracks.

His hands trembled with anxiety. The fear settled in his ribs over three years ago and hasn't left him once, even though they were here.

Thomas was aware of how powerless he was once the vendetta was over. The thought of them leaving the house and never coming back was making his heart squeeze painfully, reminding him of the privilege he once had, but gave it up willingly. The fear was like a loop, tightening around his throat with each passing day as he grew comfortable coming home and seeing them here.

Walking into the library, Thomas was completely quiet, wanting nothing but to see her if it was all he could count on. He was completely unaware of the fact that she always felt his presence. Sometimes letting him stay, and other times making him leave so desperately that made him wonder whether it was possible to day from a broken heart.

Step after step he tried to control his shallow breathing as he finally saw her. Standing by the big shelf, he traced over the backs of books standing there for so long, it felt like they were always there.

“You wouldn't like that one” He spoke up quietly, noticing how she didn't even budge hearing his voice. It took a longer moment before she replied.

“How so?” Her voice was calm, light-hearted as she found herself lost in the countless stories filling up the wooden shelves. The nagging thoughts in his mind disappeared the second he heard her voice.

“Because you don't like uncertainty. It's filled with unanswered questions and has an open ending.” He thought for a moment before replying, well aware of the content of this book, because he read them all. In the moments of despair, trying to hold onto every scrap of feelings in the house so empty, it felt like nobody lived inside.

Sighing deeply, Y/N put the book back in its place, grabbing another one.

“Nobody likes uncertainty, Thomas. Holding onto the moment, unsure of what's to come.” She sighed, hearing his slow footsteps approaching. “A book is just a book. You can close it, and move onto another one anytime. If only life was just as easy.”

Silence in the room caused the whole scenery to become more intimate, unexpectedly even for him. Stopping mere inches behind her, he watched the back of her head for a moment, remembering the nightmares he had every night. Ones where he couldn't reach her, no matter how he tried.

His breath caught in his throat as he slowly raised his hand, moving it closer and closer towards her shoulder. Inches away, he noticed the goosebumps covering her skin. Without looking he reached out to the shelf, grasping onto the book he knew by heart, while his arm brushed against her own.

He stood close, too close, and Y/N knew it too well, yet she couldn't bring herself to make him leave or pull away. The way he trembled as his chest pressed lightly against her back made her stand still.

“You'd love this one” He whispered, not feeling brave enough to speak loudly. The uncertainty they talked about he knew better than anything else.

Her breathing became heavier, feeling him so close, the tingling on her skin she hadn't felt for so long almost made her flinch. Slowly, she turned around facing him.

This, Thomas didn't expect as she suddenly looked up, their eyes meeting in a gaze long forgotten, yet still alive and lively as when they looked for the first time.

“I don't read anymore” She confessed quietly, and his eyes couldn't help but watch her lips intently. The way they wrapped around the words she spoke.

The urge to grab and hold her closer was strong, almost too strong. Tommy tilted his head to the side, getting a better look at her face in the dim light.

“I can read it to you” He offered quietly, as it was the closest she allowed him to… just be near her.

So he waited, scared of ruining the moment as she moved closer. Their noses brushing against each other.

“I wanted you to speak, not read.” The sound of her voice was like the most beautiful music he ever got to listen to, even though the words were far from it. “...but now it's too late, and you're standing too close.” her breath touched his lips, taunting.

…and then she pulled away, leaving him standing there. Slowly making her way out of the library.

“You're cruel” He said, loud enough for Y/N to hear.

***

Y/N opened her eyes suddenly, sitting up as she took a deep breath, desperately trying to blink away the nightmare she had. The clock showed three AM in the morning, and her heart was pounding from the fear she felt. One she rarely felt anymore, feeling as Thomas was taking it over day by day, despite her unwillingness to share anything. Even the broken, ugly parts he ruined.

His cold eyes kept looking at her in the dream, so unfazed by the idea of her absence. The humiliation turned into physical tears rolling down her cheeks as the memories clouded her reasoning.

Getting up from her bed, she remembered the way he touched her. Avoiding her eyes, throwing his head back. Not bothering to bare himself, so eager to take but never give. Forcing her to pour from a completely empty cup.

Her bare feet were cold against the floor as she quickly made her way through the corridor, knowing where she'd find him. Swiftly opening the door to his office, Y/N didn't bother to say a word or wipe her tears away as she quickly walked up, not looking him in the eyes.

“Y/N?” He asked, taking his glasses off and setting them on his desk while she suddenly pulled him back, creating more space to straddle his lap. Tears kept streaming in a smaller amount, but never ending as she ripped his shirt open, baring his chest.

“What are you–” He tried to speak up, but she didn't let him, as she pressed her lips against his so aggressively his breath caught in his throat.

Pulling on his belt she unbuckled it skillfully, a motion she knew too well from all these years ago. The inner pain burned her chest as she kissed and bit him, while pushing his arms away.

“Shut up” She hissed, as the humiliation from the memories took over her mind. The shame of giving and never asking for more. Of being taken and left without any rest. Pulling his pants open she stroked him impatiently, doing just enough to get him going. It wasn't difficult, as he was the only man she ever slept with, knowing his habits and body more than she'd care to admit.

Her nails raked over his throat and chest, ripping a deep groan from his throat.

He didn't dare to ask, feeling and giving everything she wanted to take. Despite the burning, the physical attraction and need she felt was stronger, her arousal glistening and visible as she lined him up with her entrance, not caring enough to be slow or subtle as she sank down on him fully. A subtle moan pushed past her lips as she squeezed her eyes tightly, doing the same thing he used to.

His eyes were wide open, taking the beautiful sight of her on top of him, but the expression on her face made him hurt so badly, he thought he might not survive. He reached out, wanting her to look at him, but she refused, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly as she moved on top of him frantically chasing her release.

“Y/N” He begged quietly, as her hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing to cause pain.

“I hate you. I hate you so much” She whimpered, as his fingers dug into her thighs.

“Please” He whispered, and she let go of his throat, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Thomas wanted to reach out to wipe her tears away, but he knew she wouldn't let him.

So he leaned forward, his forehead pressing against her collarbone when he let out a shaky breath.

“I love you” He whispered weakly, holding her tightly as she haven't stopped moving even for a second, brimming on the edge.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you” She cried out, opening her eyes as she looked down at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were half lidded but he didn't give up, staring and repeating like mantra.

“I love you” kept spilling from his lips as she reached her peak, causing him to follow right after as they reached the release.

His head fell forward, tears escaping his tired eyes as she quickly got off of him, leaving him without a word.

***

Y/N was growing increasingly restless inside of the Arrow House. Her days had been filled with reading and finding activities to keep her sons occupied, which took less time than usual, as Thomas took every opportunity to spend time with them. There was one room she had only been in once prior on this visit. She shuddered at the memory of her desperate conflicted intimacy with Thomas. Y/N knew that room would hold a concentrated form of his presence and essence, even more so after that night. She wasn’t sure if she felt strong enough to enter his sanctum again, but while Thomas was away on business and her boys were having their afternoon nap, the curiosity overcame her hesitation as she entered his space.

It was incredibly… him with deep mahogany furnishings and sumptuous emerald accents. During that night, she had paid no attention to the surroundings in the office - only to him and her inner emotions. Slowly she went deeper into his study, turning on a lamp at his desk. She could picture him here with those round glasses on, absorbed in matters of business both legitimate and less so. To the side of his desk was a small curio cabinet filled with antiquities and presumably family mementos. It hardly garnered a second thought from her until she noticed a figurine on the top shelf next to an old photograph of Thomas and his siblings. It was the figurine.

Before the war, before everything changed, she and Thomas would wander around Birmingham together - young and full of optimism. Both their families were poor and doing their best to survive in the cruel world, but they were the dreamers of their respective clans. He and Y/N often visited a certain shop that sold trinkets and collectables. Y/N yearned to be able to spend money on frivolous little objects like these one day. There was a specific figurine that she longed to own: a porcelain ballerina with graceful fingers and a white and pink lace ruffled skirt. She thought ballerinas were the most fairy-like women that walked the Earth. Of course neither of them could afford such a beautifully crafted figurine, but Y/N swore that one day they would walk in that shop and purchase her ballerina without a second thought to the cost.

That never happened, yet here it was, that same figurine she had seen so many years before sitting in Thomas’ curio cabinet in his most sacred space of his home. She didn’t know what it meant, but she felt tears prick her eyes at the reminder of those beautiful days from their youth. If only they could be like that again. If only the war and the turmoil after it hadn’t soured the tender young love they had known.

“I see you found your way back to my study” Thomas’ deep voice called from the doorway. Y/N was startled. She had been so lost in her memories and feelings that she hadn’t noticed his presence. She shifted awkwardly.

“Yeah, it seems like it.” She responded, glancing towards the curio cabinet. He slowly came up closer, a small grin on his face.

“What did you find?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to the side. Of course he knew what she saw, but wanted to hear it.

“I can’t believe you remembered my ballerina” Y/N said, not meeting his gaze.

“I went back to the shop to get it, but old Mr. Jones said he’d sold it years before. It took some hunting, but I eventually found her. I was hoping to someday show it to you, but… seems like you found her instead.”

“Why?” she questioned him in a small voice.

“Because this is how I remember you. You always said the ballerina was like a fairy or goddess come to Earth, but to me… when I saw that ballerina figure, I saw you.” Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she glanced back towards the cabinet and then back at the man in front of her. Letting out a deep sigh, she wiped her eyes.

“Why now? Why did it take you so long to… to do this? Anything. I waited so long and… and now it's too late, Thomas.” She said, looking at him with an expression that crushed him. Feeling his breath hitch painfully, he felt his throat tightening. He had grieved over losing her and now that Y/N was physically here, she had never felt more far away from him.

After looking into her eyes for a longer moment, Tommy grabbed her hand, slowly straightening it against his palm while the other one reached to his holster, pulling out his gun. Y/N’s eyes widened, but his gaze remained locked on hers, not faltering.

Finally, he didn't feel the fear. Holding the loaded gun, he slowly shoved it into her smaller hand, aiming it forward before he closed his eyes. Pushing his forehead against the muzzle tightly, keeping her wrist upright.

“Then kill me.” He said out loud, the words hanging in the air for a moment. “Because otherwise I will never let you go, no matter how hard you try.”

Thanks for reading lol bye

@iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @garrison-girl-08 @chaimaarouaine11 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @honeymoon8

@dannysankletattoo

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corrupte3d-mindz · 5 months ago

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Forever a Shelby

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas and you get married.

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings:

protective! Thomas, cocky! Thomas if you squint, kissing, lap sitting,

Thomas Shelby stood at the altar, the weight of his suit jacket pressing down on his broad shoulders. The church was grand, decorated with white lilies and gold ribbons, a stark contrast to the gritty streets of Birmingham that he knew so well.

Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the stone floor. The pews were filled with both Shelbys and Changrettas, two families whose histories were steeped in blood and rivalry. Today, however, was meant to be a day of unity, a truce symbolized by the marriage of Thomas Shelby and the daughter of his fiercest enemy, Luca Changretta. Arthur stood beside him, a rare softness in his eyes as he glanced back at the congregation. He reached out, patting Thomas on the shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "Nervous, Tommy?"

Thomas turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could almost be considered a smile. "No, Arthur," he replied, his voice low and steady. "Nervous ain't in my nature." His accent, thick and rich, rolled off his tongue, a constant reminder of his roots.

Polly Gray sat in the front row, her dark eyes fixed on her nephew. There was a mixture of pride and apprehension in her gaze, a silent prayer for the future. Beside her, Michael leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed the gathering. Arthur's wife, Linda, looked on with a serene expression, her hand resting in her lap. John sat a few rows behind, bouncing his baby on his knee, his wife Esme smiling warmly at the scene. Ada, dressed in a striking blue dress, chatted animatedly with Finn, while Johnny Dogs and Isaiah exchanged hushed whispers, their eyes darting around the room. The tension in the air was palpable, a heady mix of anticipation and unease. Thomas felt it in his bones, the weight of expectations and the ghosts of the past pressing down on him. Marrying into the Changretta family was a strategic move, but it wasn’t a strategic move on his part, it was love. Yes, Thomas Shelby had fallen in love with a Changretta but the same could be said for her.

“Now, hush Arthur. She’ll be walking down that aisle any minute now,” Thomas murmured, his voice a low growl that carried an edge of authority. He straightened his posture, his gaze fixed on the ornate doors at the end of the aisle

Arthur looked at him again; “You sure you’re not nervous?” Thomas could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, waiting for his reaction. He turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Arthur’s for a moment before he replied.

“I said I’m not fucking nervous, Arthur,” he said, his voice low and steady, laced with a thick Birmingham accent that carried an edge of impatience. To emphasize his point, he kicked Arthur in the back of his left knee, causing his brother to stumble briefly. Thomas chuckled, a rare, genuine sound that broke the tension momentarily. He could always count on Arthur to lighten the mood, even if unintentionally.

The sound of the organ began to fill the room, a deep, resonant melody that signaled the start of the ceremony. The guests fell silent, their attention shifting to the doors that were slowly opening. Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment that would seal their fate, for better or worse; who was he kidding? It was for better! As the doors opened fully, revealing her figure, Thomas felt a rush of emotions. She stood there, framed by the golden light that spilled in from the hallway, her silhouette ethereal and almost otherworldly. Her dress, a delicate creation of black lace and satin, hugged her form gracefully, the long train trailing behind her like a whisper. A veil covered her face, but even through the sheer fabric, Thomas could see the outline of her features, delicate and serene.

Her father, Luka Changretta, stood beside her, his expression a mask of pride and caution. The tension between the two men was palpable, a silent reminder of the bloody history that lay between their families. Thomas’s eyes never left her as she began her slow walk down the aisle. Each step she took seemed to echo in his mind, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of his heart. He could see the slight tremble in her hands, the way she clutched her bouquet of white roses a little too tightly. Despite the nerves, she moved with a grace and determination that he found both admirable and endearing.

Arthur leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper in Thomas’s ear. “She looks beautiful, Tommy.”

Thomas nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from her. “Aye, she does,” he replied, his voice softer now, filled with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. In that moment, he felt a connection to her that went beyond their shared history, beyond the political and familial implications of their marriage. It was something deeper, a bond that he hoped would grow stronger with time. The sound of the organ began to fill the room, a deep, resonant melody that signaled the start of the ceremony. The guests fell silent, their attention shifting to the doors that were slowly opening. Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment that would seal their fate, for better or worse. But it was never worse, it saw always for better. As she reached the front of the aisle, Luka placed her hand in Thomas’s, a gesture heavy with significance. Their eyes met, while under the veil; a silent understanding passing between them, He lifted the delicate veil that covered her face, their eyes meeting in a silent understanding. This was not just a marriage of convenience or strategy; it was a commitment to each other, to the future they would build together.

Jeremiah stood before them, the priest's presence both comforting and solemn. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the chapel, echoing off the ancient walls. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together in holy matrimony Thomas Michael Shelby and _______ LaPaglia Changretta." His words carried the weight of history and expectation, binding not just two people, but two families with a fraught past.

Thomas's eyes flickered to the woman beside him. _______ LaPaglia Changretta. She was beautiful, her dark hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, her eyes a deep, enigmatic brown. Her dress was elegant, simple yet stunning, the black fabric contrasting sharply with her olive skin. She stood with a quiet grace, her expression serene, yet there was a fire in her eyes that spoke of strength and determination.

Jeremiah's voice cut through the silence. "Do you, Thomas Michael Shelby, take _______ LaPaglia Changretta to be your lawful wedded wife?" Thomas felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Every decision, every move he made was calculated, and this was no different. "I do," he said, his voice steady, firm. It was a commitment not just to her, but to the path he had chosen, the alliances he was forging.

He turned to her. "Do you, _______ LaPaglia Changretta, solemnly swear to love, honor, and obey till death do you part?" Her response was immediate, her voice clear and unwavering. "I do." There was a finality in those words, a binding promise that echoed through the chapel, sealing their fates together.

Jeremiah's proclamation was met with a collective breath, as if the entire room had been holding it in anticipation. "I now pronounce you husband and wife." The words hung in the air, a declaration that felt both momentous and surreal. Thomas turned to his new wife, his expression unreadable. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that sealed their union. It was a kiss that spoke of duty and obligation, but beneath it all, there was a spark, a glimmer of something more. As they turned to face their families, the applause was polite, restrained. This was no ordinary wedding, and the people gathered here understood the gravity of the situation. Arthur left the alter and walk to the pew to join his family. Their expression a mix of approval and caution. Polly Gray, ever the matriarch, watched with a keen eye, her sharp mind assessing every nuance, every subtle shift in the room.

The Changrettas were less expressive, their faces a mask of formality. Luca Changretta's presence was a dark cloud, a reminder of the delicate balance they were trying to achieve. His eyes bore into Thomas, a silent challenge that promised future confrontation. Thomas took her hand as they walked down the aisle, the weight of expectation heavy on his shoulders. Every step was a reminder of the path he had chosen, he wouldn’t ever regret it; the future he was forging. The guests rose as they passed, their eyes following the couple, whispers of speculation and curiosity filling the air. This was a union that would be talked about for years to come, a merging of two powerful families with a history of bloodshed and betrayal.

Outside the chapel, the sun shone brightly, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere within. The reception awaited, a lavish affair that promised to be both a celebration and a test of the new alliance. As they stepped into the sunlight, Thomas felt the warmth on his face, a brief respite from the shadows that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He glanced at her, her smile a beacon of hope in the uncertainty that lay ahead.

"Welcome to the family," Thomas said, his voice low, the Birmingham accent thick and unmistakable.

The kitchen was a stark contrast to the rest of Arrow House, filled with the smell of freshly baked bread and the earthy scent of the wood burning in the hearth. Thomas stood at the head of the room, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room, ensuring he had the attention of every man present. The weight of the day was palpable; this was his wedding day, a day that marked a significant turning point in his life and the Shelby family. His dark suit was meticulously tailored, each stitch a testament to his attention to detail, and his peaked cap sat jauntily on his head, casting a shadow over his face that made his intense expression even more formidable.

"Right, boys, you're all here," he began, his voice carrying the authoritative edge that had come to define him. The men around the kitchen, his brothers Arthur, John, and Finn, along with Michael and a few trusted others, like Charlie and Johnny Dogs turned their attention to him. Each face was a study in respect and a touch of fear, for they knew Thomas was not a man to be crossed, especially not today.

"Today, this is my fucking wedding day," Thomas continued, his tone brooking no argument. His words hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken understanding that this day was sacred, not just for him, but for the entire Shelby clan. It was a rare occasion of vulnerability, where the hard-edged leader allowed a glimpse of the man beneath the armor.

John, ever the irreverent one, couldn't help but interject. "Yeah, and you said there'd be no bloody uniforms," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and humor. The tension in the room crackled for a moment, a testament to the volatile nature of their relationships. Thomas fixed John with a steely gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Nevertheless... Nevertheless, John..." he began, his voice a low growl that seemed to reverberate off the walls. He took a step closer, his presence dominating the room. "Despite the bad blood, I'll have none of it on my carpet." His words were a command, not a request, and the message was clear: today was about unity, not division.

His gaze swept around the circle, making eye contact with each man, ensuring they understood the gravity of his words. "Now for my wife's sake, nothing will go wrong," he declared, his voice firm and unyielding. His love for his bride was a rare softness in his otherwise hardened demeanor, and he was determined to protect her from the chaos that often surrounded the Shelbys. Thomas pointed outside the kitchen, towards the bustling preparations for the wedding. "Those bastards out there are her family," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of disdain. He had little patience for those who might threaten the harmony of his wedding day, and he would go to great lengths to ensure everything went smoothly.

His hand traveled around the circle, pointing at each man in turn as he spoke. "And if you fuckers do anything to embarrass her, your kin, your cousins, your horses, your fucking kids, you do anything..." His voice trailed off as he fixed his gaze on Arthur, the eldest and most unpredictable of the brothers. There was a pause, a moment where the weight of his words seemed to settle over the room like a heavy fog.

Isaiah, leaning casually against the counter, broke the uneasy silence. "Tom..?" Thomas's gaze snapped to Isaiah, a flicker of impatience crossing his features. "To... WHAT!?" he barked, his voice low but commanding.

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What about snow," he ventured, his tone cautious. John eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Yeah, their women are sports, I’ll say that.."

"No. No. No." Thomas cut him off sharply, striding towards Isaiah with purpose. He stopped inches from his face, his breath hot and laced with the smell of tobacco. "No cocaine," he said, jabbing a finger towards Isaiah's face for emphasis. "No cocaine."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable as Thomas turned his attention to John, who stood to Isaiah's right. "No sport," Thomas said, waving his hand dismissively. "No telling fortunes."

He began to pace, the soles of his polished shoes tapping rhythmically against the tiled floor. Each step seemed to echo with unspoken threats, a reminder of the consequences of disobedience. He approached Arthur, his oldest and most volatile brother, stopping just short of him. "No racing," Thomas ordered, his voice a low growl. Arthur met his gaze with a slight nod, the fire in his eyes dimmed by his brother's authority. Breaking from the circle, Thomas crossed to Finn, the youngest of the Shelby brothers. Grabbing Finn's face with his left hand, he forced him to look into his eyes. "No fucking sucking petrol," he snarled, his grip tightening. He delivered a light slap to Finn's cheek, a reminder of the discipline he expected. "Out of their fucking cars."

Satisfied, Thomas released Finn and turned to Charlie, who had been lingering on the edge of the group. "And, you, Charlie," he said, his voice softer but no less intense. "Stop spinning yards about me, eh?" Charlie, taken aback, spoke up as Thomas turned his back. "I'm just trying to sell you to them, Tom," he defended.

Thomas took a deep drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he exhaled. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, a rare sign of the stress he carried. Returning to the center of the circle, he spun slowly, addressing them all. "But the main thing is, you bunch of fuckers," he began, his voice rising with intensity. "Despite the provocation from her family, no fighting."

He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Isaiah. The room seemed to hold its breath as Thomas slowly made his way toward him, the echo of his footsteps on the wooden floor punctuating the silence. As he reached Isaiah, Thomas lifted his chin with a firm but controlled hand, forcing Isaiah to meet his gaze. His eyes were cold, yet there was a flicker of something deeper—an unspoken understanding, perhaps. “Oi,” Thomas began, his voice a low growl that resonated with authority. He pointed a finger at Isaiah, his expression unwavering. “No fighting.”

With a swift, deliberate movement, Thomas shifted to his right, positioning himself in front of John. He didn’t waste a moment, his finger darting out to point at John with the same intensity. “No fucking fighting,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. John's smirk faltered under Thomas's glare, replaced by a nod of compliance.

Thomas moved again, this time to Arthur. Their eyes met, and an unspoken tension filled the air. Arthur, ever the wild card, was the one Thomas needed to keep in check the most. Pointing at his older brother, Thomas's voice was a commandment. “No fighting.” Arthur, his usual bravado momentarily subdued, nodded with a grunt, understanding the gravity of the order. Next, Thomas’s eyes fell on Michael, who was leaning against the wall with a nonchalant air. Without a word, Thomas pointed at him. Michael straightened up, his casual demeanor replaced by a look of acknowledgement. The silent exchange spoke volumes—Michael knew exactly what was expected of him.

Finally, Thomas turned towards Finn’s direction, his youngest brother, “No,” he said, his voice slicing through the tension. He then swung his gaze back to Arthur’s direction. “Fucking.” And finally, his eyes landed on Charlie's direction. “Fighting.”

The room fell silent once more, the weight of Thomas’s words hanging heavily in the air. Each man understood the simplicity of the command. In this room, defying Thomas Shelby was not an option. Thomas took a drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light, and exhaled a plume of smoke. He walked towards his coat, which was draped over a chair between Michael and Arthur. “Good,” he muttered, his satisfaction evident in the single word. With his back turned slightly, Thomas didn’t see the butler approaching. The man, new to the household and unfamiliar with the Shelby way, hesitated for a moment too long. The collision was inevitable. The impact was sudden, and Thomas spun around, his face a mask of fury. “Get the fuck off me!” he snarled, shoving the butler to the ground. The bottle of wine the butler had been holding shattered on the floor, red liquid spreading like blood across the wood.

Arthur, ever the enforcer, hurled his glass at the butler, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. The butler scrambled to his feet, fear written all over his face as he hurried out of the kitchen, leaving behind a mess of broken glass and spilled wine. Thomas exhaled one last plume of smoke before stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. He adjusted his coat, smoothing out the fabric as he straightened up. “Right,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. “Let’s get this done.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen, his family and comrades falling into step behind him. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the hallway as they made their way towards the main event. Thomas’s mind was already racing ahead, planning, strategizing, ensuring that everything would go smoothly. But the words he had spoken in the kitchen lingered in the air, a solemn vow that no matter what happened, there would be no fighting. Not today.

As Thomas Shelby sat at the head of the table during his wedding dinner, the room was alive with the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation. He raised the crystal glass to his lips, savoring the last drops of whiskey that burned pleasantly down his throat. Setting the glass down with a soft clink, his eyes swept across the room, taking in the faces of his family and the guests. His gaze lingered for a moment on his wife her beauty striking even in the dim candlelight. She was radiant, her smile lighting up the room. But as his eyes drifted to her father, he noticed the man's steely gaze fixed upon him. Thomas arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"You look absolutely stunning today, luv," Thomas remarked, his voice low and tinged with admiration. "Hard to keep me eyes off of you." He reached out to gently squeeze her hand, a small, affectionate gesture amidst the formality of the occasion.

"I can say the same for you, Mr. Shelby," she replied, her smile radiant as she returned his gaze, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

Thomas smiled, a rare, genuine expression that softened his features. His attention then shifted to her father, a man of stature and presence, seated a bit farther down to her. "Well, you're not the only one whose eyes are on me, eh?" he quipped, a hint of playful charm in his voice.

"Luv," he murmured, leaning towards his wife, "would you mind telling your father to stop staring me down, eh?" His tone was light, teasing, but there was a hint of challenge in his eyes.

His bride glanced nervously at her father, then back at Thomas. "Tommy, I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice tinged with apprehension, "but that's just how he is."

Thomas nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "I see," he replied, his voice low and measured. He leaned back in his chair, his mind working quickly. He was used to dealing with difficult situations, but this was his wedding day, a day that should have been free of such tensions.

There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of doubt in Thomas's eyes as he considered the weight of his actions. But then, with a determined glint in his eye, he reached out and gently cupped her face in his hand. She looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and he knew that this was where he belonged. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a silent declaration of his love and commitment. The room erupted into applause and cheers, the sound echoing off the walls as Thomas and Luka's families celebrated their union.

Hours had slipped by like fleeting ghosts since Thomas had exchanged vows, and now, in the quiet intimacy of their bedroom, he sat with his new wife perched gently on his lap. The flickering light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow, accentuating the soft features of her face and the delicate curves of her figure. He gazed at her, his eyes tracing every line, every contour, as if committing her beauty to memory.

"You're absolutely gorgeous, Mrs. Shelby," he murmured, his voice a low, husky rasp that betrayed a hint of awe. His hands, calloused yet gentle, cradled her waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on the fabric of her dress. The weight of her presence on his lap was a comfort, grounding him in the reality of this new chapter of his life.

"I like when you call me Mrs. Shelby," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody in the quiet room. Her words were like a balm to his weary soul, a reminder of the new life they were beginning together.

Thomas wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair. It was a moment of peace amidst the chaos that always seemed to follow him.

"I like it too," he replied, his voice low and gravelly. "It suits you, Mrs. Shelby."

"You're fuckin' perfect for me... y'know that?" Thomas's voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with sincerity. His hand reached up to cup her face, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. There was a gentleness in his touch, a rare vulnerability that he showed only to her.

Their lips met in a tender kiss, a silent affirmation of their love and commitment to each other. It was a moment of pure intimacy, a shared connection that transcended words. Her hands roamed freely, exploring his body with a familiarity that spoke of countless nights spent together. Thomas pulled her closer, his other hand wrapping around her waist, holding her as if afraid she might slip away. Their kiss deepened, a silent communication of their love and desire for each other. It was a dance they knew well, a rhythm that was uniquely theirs. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss even further. His hair, usually so meticulously styled, was now a tousled mess, a testament to the passion between them. She loved the way his hair felt between her fingers, the way it seemed to have a life of its own.

They broke the kiss, but remained intertwined, her head resting against his chest, his chin on her shoulder. They sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the day's events slowly settling on their shoulders. The gravity of their new union was not lost on Thomas; he knew the responsibilities that came with it, the need to protect and provide for his new family. His mind drifted to the future, a future now entwined with hers. He thought of the challenges they would face, the dangers that lurked in the shadows of their world. But he also thought of the moments of joy, the simple pleasures they would share.

Author’s Notes:

Y’all, I fucking love this oneshot..it’s so cute I finally did my own rendition of the wedding scene..ahhhhhhhh I feel like I got it just right y’all..ahh it’s fucking cute!!!

Deadass I should have written smut but nah, I don’t feel like it

386 notes · View notes

mydear-corinthian · 6 months ago

Text

Bait || Shelby family x reader

Synopsis: Reader went out partying and the Shelby family's enemy attacked her. Pairing: Shelby family x sister! reader Warnings: ANGST w/ comfort, reader gets injured badly, mentions of blood, stabbing, and violence, swearing Notes: rushed :C, gif is mine Click here to find the MAIN Masterlist Click here to find the PEAKY BLINDERS Masterlist

It was just a usual night in Small Heath. Due to the boredom, you decided to go outside and maybe have a little fun.

You dressed up. A long gold dress decorated your body. A feathered hat decorated your head. And a few pearl jewelry shined your neck, arms, and ears. Grabbing your gold colour purse, you exited your room, spiraling down the wooden stairs of your family's house.

As you went down, Polly saw you. "Where you going, love?" she asked, smiling.

Grabbing a cigarette stick, you placed it on your lips, leaning to Polly as your aunt was also about to light her long black stick of the cancerous stick. "Party, Aunt Pol. I'm getting bored staying in this house," you replied, your cigarette finally lit.

The matriarch of the family took a puff of her cigarette, her serious eyes locked on yours.

"Where? Who's going with you?" Polly asked.

"Oh, Aunt Pol.., I'll be fine. It's just 2 streets away from here. I'll be home at 2 am."

"Take care and enjoy love," she smiled, opening the door of the house's entrance, allowing you to exit the house.

The only real issue was that you were wearing heels on the short walk from the house to the party location. Warm lights and vehicles adorned the spacious mansion. The estate was packed with elegantly dressed people in suits. You headed straight to the mansion's bar as soon as you got there and ordered a drink for yourself. Your heels reverberated against the bar's porcelain tiles. Men made up the majority of the crowd, and they were all too busy chatting, drinking, and trying to find women to satisfy their lusts.

"Whiskey, please," you ordered. You sat down just in front of the barman, glancing at everyone while waiting for your drink.

There were a few faces, you knew them because of your brother, Tommy and some were rich clients from the betting shop.

Finally, the barman gently placed a glass of whiskey in front of you. "Your drink, Madam."

You thanked him, picked up the glass, and sipped, letting the alcohol wash over your mouth. After placing a couple more drink orders, you made your way to the dance floor and started to dance energetically to the loud music being played. You moved your hips in time with the song's tune. You're waving your arms in the air. As you danced with the women, the dance floor was filled with a chorus of woos and laughs. Drinks were chugged into your system in tremendous amounts.

You excused yourself and your new friends to go the restroom after a few hours of nonstop drinking and dancing. You were relieved that after eating at your place for a few hours, despite having numerous drinks, you were sober. You reapplied your clothing and your cherry lipstick as you straightened your hair in front of the big mirror. It's almost two, you realize as you glance at your pocket watch. Because you're the kind of person who takes responsibility seriously, is mature, and always arrives on time, Polly wasn't concerned about you going out late to party. After gathering your belongings, you put them back into your golden handbag and head out of the bathroom.

Finally saying goodbye to your new girlfriends, your heels found their way to the mansion's exit. Since you were sober already, you decided to take a walk back home.

As you walk through the dark streets of Birmingham, you cannot help but feel uneasy. You felt like you weren't alone at all. You felt that someone or somebody was following you.

And you were right.

Reaching for your pocket gun, you tried to protect yourself from the person who was following you by looking over your shoulder. You were too late, though. You were forcefully grabbed by two men, one of whom disarmed your gun. You were trapped against the wall by two rough pairs of arms, your head hitting the rocky concrete. Particularly on your stomach, you felt something cold and sharp graze your flesh, and the pain eventually got intolerable.

"What the fuck do you want!" you panted weakly, feeling a warm liquid drip on the side of your stomach.

"Just.. sending a message to your git brother," the low Irish accent sent shivers down your spine.

Campbell.

On the other hand, Polly was at the dining table, a cigarette in her hand as she watched the clock tick.

It was already past 2 and she started to get worried. You always come home on time - not even a minute late.

Polly hurriedly went to the telephone and dialed Tommy's number, her fingers shivering.

"Hello?"

"Tommy,"

"Pol? Why are you calling at this hour?"

"I-it's (y/n). She's not home yet and I'm starting to get worried. Oh God, Tommy. What if something happened to her?" Polly stammered, holding the telephone pole tightly.

"Not at home? I'll call John and Arthur." Tommy replied before ending the call.

You tried to move and get out from their touch but due to the injury that you had, you were getting weaker.

"Tell your fucking boss to fuck off!" you hollered, heaving due to the pain down your stomach.

Punches rained down on you so hard you were gasping for air and screaming in pain as two strong fists crashed into your stomach and chest. Every blow sent waves of pain through your body, causing your legs to buckle and your breath to come in short, frantic gasps. Every strike was brutal, breaking your will and power in the process.

During the cruel assault, a fresh, burning pain suddenly appeared in your abdomen. Compared to previous experiences, this feeling was sharper and stronger. Frightened, you looked down to see the sparkle of a blade pressing against your body again. The man with the knife was cautious, taking his time as he carved the initials "C.C" into your flesh. The letters were an endless source of pain and abuse burned into your mind.

Dizziness was starting to get worse and worse but you paid no mind as you built up all of your strength to get up and grab your gun that was thrown on the cold hard bricks of the dark alley. Your cold fingertips pulled the trigger, emptying the bullet chamber by shooting them non-stop.

Two bodies were now on the cold floor, both lifeless, and their blood pooling out of their bodies, mixing with the hard concrete.

"You don't fuck with the Peaky Blinders."

Taking a deep breath at what happened, you stood up but moaned in pain after you felt the cuts and bruises all over your body. Looking down at your stomach, your dress was slit and filled with your blood.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered. Leaving your bag alone and limply walked back to the house.

Every step was a painful fight and the walk seemed to go on forever. Your back was laden with weight, and the pressure turned your spine into a throbbing rod of agony. Your single shoe scraped the uneven sidewalk, causing sharp pains to shoot through your leg with each step. As you struggled to remain straight the world around you became hazy and wobbly, and your vision became less sharp at the edges. You could feel consciousness sliding away, hovering on the edge of darkness, and every breath was a strained gasp. If you returned home without passing out, you were quite lucky.

Thankfully, you did.

Your bloodied palm opened the silver-colored knob, twisting it, and opened the door with all of your might.

There Polly was, looking at you with widened eyes. She ran towards you immediately, checking up on you.

"Dear God (y/n)! What happened to you?!"

Your body became weak due to a lack of strength in your muscles. You had a really pale face. Your dress was stained and damaged by your blood, and your hair is disheveled. Your aunt's voice fades more and further, the walls in your head beginning to swirl. After that, all you could see was darkness.

Polly caught you before your head contact with the wooden floor. Your arm limped on her touch.

The whole Shelby family including Michael, arrived at the doorstep, looking at the scene in front of them with their eyes locked and widened.

"Help me out here!"

As Polly commanded, everyone went inside. Tommy, John, and Arthur carried you gently before placing you on the dinner table that was filled with glasses and plates. Tommy removed the items on the table before Arthur placed you there. Michael and Ada quickly grabbed the first aid kit that was inside the kitchen room's wooden cabinet.

When Polly teared up your dress, she gasped.

"C.C.. Fucking Campbell," Polly's voice hissed, seeing the carved initials on your stomach, bleeding harshly.

Your breaths started to get faint and weaker, your body started to get cold.

"Stay with me, (y/n)," Ada whispered between sobs as she watched Polly do something with your wounds and help her aunt hand out the supplies that she needed.

"Fuck.. Fuck!" Tommy shouted, walking in circles as he rubbed his temples harshly.

"Arthur, John, Finn, Michael, find Campbell immediately!" he ordered.

"Bring me back his fucking head."

Michael and the brothers moved quickly, their actions a blur of rage and anger. They took immediate action after realizing this. With a mixture of terror and determination, their hands trembled as they took out their firearms from their pockets. The icy steel of the weapons was comforting, a guarantee of justice for the wrongs done.

They left the home without saying anything, the wooden door slamming shut behind them with a loud crash. They were barely aware of the sharp, biting night air. Their only thought was to locate the person who was responsible for this.

"She isn't even part of this fucking shit and yet she was targeted,"

Polly's eyes shot daggers with Tommy's blue orbs while her hands focused on healing up the wounds all over your stomach.

"You better fucking catch him, Tommy."

As soon as Polly's done patching you up, she stormed out in front of her nephew, disappointed at him.

"I'll look out for (y/n). You heard Aunt Pol, catch that bastard," Ada said, fixing up the used cotton and alcohol before throwing it out.

Tommy sighed as he exited the house. Looking for the man who did this to you.

You woke up with the sunlight beaming on you. Looking at your surroundings, you noticed where you were right away.

Slowly, you tried getting up but your body fell again, moaning in pain.

"Easy, (y/n). Don't move, your wounds are still fresh," Ada said, slowly guiding your back to allow you to lie down comfortably.

"A-Ada, I was so scared... I didn't know what was going on.."

Your eyes were starting to get wet until tears were dropping down your cheeks as you recalled what happened last night.

You were so traumatized. You didn't want to remember again.

And that time, you knew that remembering is a curse.

"You're safe now, love. We're here now," Polly said, her arms locked with yours, giving you a comforting smile.

The door opened, and your brothers were there.

They immediately greeted you and asked how you were.

"God, love. I'm sorry that happened to you," your oldest brother, Arthur, said, gently combing your hair with his rough fingertips.

"It's okay, Arthur. I'm fine now,"

"We got him already," Finn remarked.

The gang leader showed up, his coat hanging on the chair. His footsteps echoed in the room as he approached you, placing his palms on your head.

"How are you now?" he asked, sighing.

"Fucking scared, Tom. I nearly died! This is fucked up."

"I know, (y/n). I know."

Polly stood up in the middle of the small argument, shutting the both of you. Her fists curl up like a ball, her brows knit together.

"Let her rest first, Tom. She had enough already," she said.

"I'm sorry," he apologized softly before exiting the house.

Tommy felt simply anger and guilt. Even though his sister isn't involved in the business, she was the one targeted. She's currently in there getting better from the physical and emotional trauma she recently went through.

"You're safe now, love." Polly gave you a comforting smile before asking the other Shelby siblings for breakfast.

"Thank you, Aunt Pol."

#peaky blinders #x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #peaky blinders angst #arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #john shelby x reader #john shelby #michael gray #angst

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cillianhead · 13 days ago

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Twitterpated || Tommy Shelby x reader

summary: You and Tommy spend your first spring together in the sunshine.

this is just a little short n sweet blurb for you all

WARNINGS: Mostly Fluff, the tiniest bits of smuttiness... Tommy gets a bit handsy, cuss words/adult language. 18+ MINORS DNI

It wasn’t often that you’d have days like this in Birmingham. The sky was usually grey with gloom and rain all around, in fact, you were used to the clouds, and you were well acquainted with the bleakness that was Birmingham.

But here you sat with your legs draped across your husband's lap and the sun shining proudly in the sky. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight. It almost felt like something out of a daydream. You wore a pretty little sundress, one you never really got to wear considering the typically cold and dreary weather— but once again, it was warm for once. Warmer than what you were used to.

Tommy sat with an open shirt, pale skin exposed from beneath his unbuttoned dress shirt. Oh, he looked divine. Your soft, nimble fingers caress his hair, and for once, he's not smoking a cigarette. For once, Tommy's mind isn't somewhere else, it's entirely on this moment. One hand of his had slipped up underneath your skirt like the cheeky bastard that he was, thick fingers toying idly with the waistband of your skimpy little panties. It wasn't something Tommy thought he was capable of feeling. Contentment, that's what he felt. It clung to him, heavy in his chest, the feeling was sweet and syrupy in a way... You couldn't remember a time you had seen him so relaxed. Besides, when he was in bed with you, of course. Tommy wasn't sure he deserved to feel this way. You had been in his life for a good five years by now, you had given him two little children, and all of your unconditional love. You were the kind of woman he'd never question his loyalty to; he knew you just wanted him for him and not for whatever other reasons women had wanted him for in the past.

Though Tommy did sometimes question why someone like you-- pure, innocent, and sweet, would love someone like him-- dark, tortured, and incomplete. The picnic blanket beneath you was red and checkered, the perfect gingham pattern, and hell, there was even a wicker basket full of fruit and half-eaten baked goods. In your idyllic bliss, you were eager to tell Tommy about your day and he was eager to listen... or at least that's what you thought. You rambled cheerfully on about the kids, and Tommy would nod gruffly, hand squeezing your thigh and body leaning into yours just a little more. You didn't think much of it when his gaze drifted away from you and slightly off into the distance; you were so consumed in chatting away that you didn't even notice the sound of hooves trotting gently in the grass towards the two of you. There was a stern look on Tommy's face, a look of deep concentration that seemed to be slipping away second by second as he stared off into the distance.

And then there was that goddamned smile of his, that dazzling grin that had practically charmed the pants off of you when you first met. But he wasn't looking at you in this moment, no, he was looking at the beast before him. Tommy's eyes glimmered with a certain fondness you had only ever seen him look at you with. That's when you stopped talking, wondering who or what he could possibly be looking at with so much love.

It didn't surprise you to find out that it was a horse he was looking at.

"Tommy, what are you-" You started before following his line of sight, finding your eyes landing on Tommy's favorite horse of them all. She was a big black mare, her name was Hestia... And god, you couldn't even be mad at Tommy for giving love eyes to the horse instead of you. He was always easily distracted when it came to his horses. "Tommy!" You scolded with a light smack to his chest, causing him to break out of his trance and snap back to you. "Are you even listening?" You laughed incredulously. "'Course I am, baby... keep going..." Tommy grumbled, squeezing your hip reassuringly. But his head only turned to look up at the horse once again, who chuffed happily at the sight of him. "Hello, Hesty..." Tommy crooned, reaching one hand out to pat at her muzzle. "Looking well, girl... how you liking this weather, eh?" He asked as if the beast would respond. She let out another short series of huffs before wandering off to graze in the long pickle-green grass. As soon as Tommy's attention was back on you, you were colliding your body with his and latching your mouth onto those sweet pair of lips of his. It was too much. It was just too much. It turned you on when Tommy got all sweet and tender like that, it made you feel all fuzzy inside. The fact that he loved his horses so much... made your heart practically burst out of your chest. He grunted into the kiss, though swiftly responded in turn to your needy kisses with his tongue probing into your mouth and his hands gripping at the meat of your hips. Tommy loved it when you got like this. "Easy, girl..." He warned lowly as you straddled his hips. As you lifted your head from him to look down at him, there was a prideful sparkle in those cerulean eyes, a look that made your chest ache and your core throb. "Actin' like a bloody mountain lion, hm?" Whatever story you had to tell was completely gone from your mind, all that mattered to you now was feeling up your dearest husband and soaking in the warm rays of sunlight that were just so rare around these parts. It didn't matter that you were out in the open, it didn't matter that the birds and the bees would see you ravish your husband on this crimson picnic blanket. Right now, you were just two animals getting coupled up for the spring, just like all the other creatures who wandered nearby.

Even after all this time together, you were both undeniably and passionately twitterpated by one another. And it would stay that way for as long as you lived.

Hi all... I hope you enjoyed this sappy little piece, I miss you all... I know I don't write as much these days. I'm working my way through a really long Robert Capa fic which I hope to get out soon!

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders smut

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i-try-to-write-stuff · 9 months ago

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Stolen Wife - 2

Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace, but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”

This blog supports Palestine. Zionists are not welcome here.

You were both nervous and excited, when the nice lady invited you and Rueben, you could sense his hesitation, and you were ready to make an excuse to get out of it but when her son tugged on Rueben’s slacks and asked Rueben to come see and meet his friends, you could sense Rueben’s resolve melting a little. You smiled, seeing your big soft teddy bear of a husband accepting the invitation of little Charlie Shelby.

Rueben looked at you with questioning eyes, you smiled and nodded. Rueben promised that cute little boy that he would definitely come to meet him and his friends at the ball.

Your husband was an introvert and so were you, but he had the courage to ask you out after two months of fleeting glances in the local coffee shop you both frequented. You were pretty sure Rueben timed his breaks to come to see you during those two months just like you used to wait for him for a chance to see charming and handsome devil you now proudly called your husband. Destiny is weird but for you, Rueben was your destiny, and you were his…

His club business had brought him to the U.K., Birmingham specifically, but you had cousins in London, so you decided to tag along with your husband and visit them and then join your husband in Birmingham. It was a nice change of pace; both of your professional lives were hectic and so this mini vacation of sorts came at the right time.

Your husband is ex-Navy, and he does not trust many people around him or even his business anyone but his squad, and they even adopted you into their little family, something you are eternally grateful for. You asked your husband if his squad could join both of you after a weekend together in Birmingham and your husband agreed with no qualms, little did you know, half of his squad was already planning on joining both of you on this elusive business trip. Rueben always has backup, he never wanted to be involved directly but Tommy Shelby insisted on joining him at his mansion, Arrow House, as his guest but Rueben refused, you can never trust anyone in this business especially the new partners.

Half of Rueben’s squad had already landed in the U.K., prior to his visit to the King of Birmingham, and the other half was back at home. Rueben made sure to book the suite under a fake name, nothing that could be traced back to him or you…

Rueben picked you up from the train station, he loved your quirks, how you hated public spaces like clubs but loved trains, how you pretended to love coffee for him but in reality, you loved tea. How you always made sure to pack him lunch and always made him make dinner for both of you. Rueben never thought he could have a normal life, but meeting you made him believe he at least had to give it a shot, he dragged his feet for two months only to later succumb to his crush, infatuation, his desire to see you daily whatever you can call it. You were his world and he was yours…Your relationship was something true, something solid, something filled with love and determination, something only few people ever find in their life and you were the lucky ones.

At the ball –

Your gracious husband bought you a cool purple gown because he wanted to make you feel like a queen, his queen…Who would’ve thought for once in your lifetime you and your husband would love dressing up? Both of you were giggling like teenagers and acting like royalty.

Just like you assumed the ball was extravagant, more extravagant than anything you had ever seen before. You looked at the wastage of money, these assholes can easily donate money, but they need these stupid ass-kissing events to donate to children in need…

You held on to your husband tightly, out of your element but still giddy about dressing up with your king bear. Just like you, your husband did not leave you alone even while mingling with the people he knew…

“Good evening, Mr. Fitch, I did not expect to see you here…” Tommy commented in his Brummie accent as he joined your group of people, and they left both of you alone with this new person.

“Hello, Mr. Shelby…” Rueben greeted, and you could sense Rueben’s unease.

“I was convinced to join your charity ball by a very insistent Charlie Shelby, whom I couldn’t disappoint.” Rueben replied, you may have missed the implication, but Tommy didn’t, just like Charlie, you were not involved.

“And you must be Mrs. Fitch” Tommy turned towards you, his eyes consuming you.

“Hi, I’m Y/N” you say meekly as you extend your right hand to shake Tommy’s, but Tommy Shelby had something else in his mind, he brings your hand close to his eager lips, kissing the back of your hand much to your shock. You look at your husband clearly annoyed just like you. You feel a chill running down your spine. You take back your hand quickly, trying to escape this man. You lean on your husband to send him a clear signal and your loving husband grabs you by the waist and tugs you towards him, in his embrace… Rueben kisses the top your head to calm you down meanwhile Tommy Shelby watches the interaction enviously. Rueben is fuming with anger, but he is smart, he knows Tommy has his eye on you, something Rueben had been trying to avoid from the start. There is a tense atmosphere around the three of you, thankfully Grace joins in unaware of the charged scene and asks Tommy to mingle with other guests, Thomas Shelby leaves reluctantly with his wife while you plead with your husband to take you back to your hotel, not wanting to endure the steely blue-stare of the devil.

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queenoftheworldisdead · 18 days ago

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Legitimate

Chapter 1

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite! Thank you

Summary: Tommy’s thirst for power leads him overseas to the States, where he's after more than just business. What starts as a strategic move soon becomes something far more complex.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead. Dark Slow Burn

Dark Tommy Shelby x Reader

🍸

You push through the heavy doors, hoping that just this once, you won’t be the first to arrive. Soft music plays in the lounge, where sleek pendant lights cast an amber glow, and the scent of leather mingles with a faint trace of old whiskey.

You scan the area, letting out a resigned sigh as you confirm it—you’re the first to arrive. It’s as though they’re all just waiting for your inevitable ‘Where are you?’ text before they even begin to leave home

A hostess steps forward, her professional smile firmly in place. "Good evening. Are you meeting someone?"

“Yes,” you say, glancing over her shoulder for any sign of your group-maybe missed them the first time. You give out your friend’s names and cross your fingers as she searches her digital notepad.

"Not yet. Would you like to wait at your table, or perhaps at the bar?"

“The bar, please,” you say, fighting off a frown. Better to blend in with the half-empty space than to sit alone in open view.

She gestures to the bar, where a few patrons are scattered in quiet solitude. You thank her and make your way over, settling into a seat at the far end, where the light is dimmer. The bartender doesn’t notice you—he’s glued to a muted game on the TV overhead—but you don’t mind. This quiet corner, with its polished brass rail and cushy stool, isn’t as bad as waiting in the section alone.

The group chat lights up with those same hollow assurances—they’re “just ten minutes away.” You scoff. Ten minutes will likely stretch to thirty, if not longer.

A low prickle crawls up your neck, subtle at first. You resist the urge to look up, grounding yourself in the glow of your phone. But the feeling sharpens, like the thickening air pressing against your skin.

Slyly, you keep your head low and peer out of the corner of your eye, catching a figure in the periphery—a shape standing tall, moving slowly, drawing closer.

The figure-a man slides onto the bar-stool beside you. You ignore him, fingers tightening around your phone, though his presence feels close, deliberate. He says nothing, just reaches into his pocket, pulls something, and taps it against his palm.

You hear a strikes a match before the sharp scent of sulfur mingles with the aroma of dark liquor. You catch the faint crackle as he takes a slow drag.

“Hey, you can’t smoke in here,” the bartender says, his voice breaking the low murmur of the lounge. But the man beside you seems to barely react, only exhaling another slow stream of smoke.

“Get the lady a drink,” he says, his accent curling through the words, smooth and deliberate, with a quiet authority that lingers in the air. Your brow rises, the urge to look over at him consuming you. He’s staring at you, talking about you, and you feel a weight settle in your chest, uncomfortable under his gaze.

He is handsome—handsome in a way that seems almost out of place, like a face too perfect for the room. His blue eyes cut through you, scanning you unabashedly, and you shift uncomfortably, trying to look anywhere but at him. His dark hair is neatly cut, and his square jaw sharpens his features as he takes another drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling in the air around him.

The bartender’s expression flickers, a hint of worry flashing in his eyes. “Y-yes, sir,” he stammers, nodding quickly before turning to you, clearly unsettled. “What’ll it be, ma’am?”

"Uh… an espresso martini, please.” You’re not sure why you picked it, but the words slip out before you can reconsider. The man beside you takes another drag, his gaze unwavering, a faint smirk edging his lips. He must be someone important, you think—or perhaps the owner?

Your phone hums softly in your hand—a welcome distraction. You glance down, mouthing a faint thank you before turning away, though the weight of his gaze doesn’t fade. As you type a quick message to the group, his presence lingers beside you, casting a shadow you can’t quite ignore. Maybe next time you’ll just wait in the car.

🍸

Your small group barely fills the wide curve of leather seating, the empty glasses accumulating on side tables in quiet succession. As you anticipated, they were all late—blaming traffic and other excuses that didn’t quite hold up.

You lost count of the drinks hours ago, and it’s clear everyone’s at their limit. Claire’s unsteady laughter spills out as she grabs for another glass, and Sarah and Beth scramble to keep her from sliding out of her seat, the chaotic scene sparking a new wave of laughter.

It’s all familiar—like a half-forgotten memory from college, when time stretched thin and nights seemed to last forever.

Tonight had been planned for weeks, a celebration for Bethany. She’s getting married, and the sparkle on her finger is hard to miss, a cluster of diamonds catching the dim light like fragments of some distant star. She recounts his proposal with a shy smile, every detail met with wide eyes and laughter, hands reaching out to admire the ring. These gatherings have grown rare since she met him, but you don’t mind it. Everyone’s older now, a few with kids, married, while you’re content to stay in, alone.

The shift from crowded clubs to quieter lounges feels nostalgic, almost soothing—until you catch a glint of something just out of view. You can feel him there, the man from the bar, like a shadow lingering at the edge of your night. He’d paid for your drink earlier without a word, his gaze heavy, cigarette smoke trailing like a ghostly reminder of his presence.

Bethany’s laugh snaps you back, her voice lifting over the chatter. “You don’t have to get me anything from my registry—just a McMansion if you can manage it,” she teases, her grin mischievous.

You match it with a wink. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I heard you’re on a hot streak,” Sarah chimes in, raising her glass. She’s right—you have been. Four houses in six months, commissions that exceed your expectations.

“Oh man, I’ve been begging Andy to get into flipping houses,” Claire chimes in excitedly. “ But he threatened to block HGTV.”

"Well, if you’re aiming for divorce, I wouldn’t recommend it. House flipping is a pain—it causes so much stress in relationships."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and the atmosphere shifts instantly. You can feel the tension rise. They know how you got into the business—with your ex—and how that relationship ended.

"Not to say it can’t work, just that there’s a lot of money—and stress. Just look it up on Reddit." You scramble to recover, but it’s too late. You’ve definitely put your foot in your mouth again.

Bethany’s smile tightens, and the others exchange glances. The tension is clear, but before it fully settles, Bethany checks her phone. “Well, on that note, maybe we should call it a night?” she suggests, barely stifling a yawn. There are no objections.

You flag the waitress and ask for the check.

“It’s been taken care of,” she informs, to everyone’s surprise and delight. You have a feeling it’s him again—the one from the bar. He’d paid for your drink earlier, a gesture that should feel charming, yet instead it lodges like a thorn, unsettling.

You half expected him to make some move, some overture, but instead, he kept to himself, a silent presence that filled the air with the sharp sting of his cigarette smoke.

“Who?” Claire asks, her voice filled with curiosity. She twists around, scanning the area for the mysterious benefactor.

You watch the waitress fidget with the edge of her order pad, her gaze shifting from Claire to her manager and back.

“Sorry, ma’am. I don’t know,” she replies meekly.

“Oh, boo!” Claire sighs, shrugging as she reaches for her nearly empty glass. She dismisses it with a quick laugh, while the rest of the group gathers their things, ready to head out. You glance back to where you last saw him, but he’s gone, leaving only a faint, sharp smell of smoke in his absence. A bit of relief fills your lungs—though the unsettled feeling lingers.

🍸

You wait for Claire to climb into her Lyft before you order your own. Your head is a little light, the faint warmth of the alcohol still swirling in your veins as you shift on your heels and order your Lyft. Though you were the first to arrive, you’re always the last to leave, making sure everyone gets into their rides safely.

Your nose picks up the scent of cigarette smoke again. You think it’s him—the strange man from the bar. Of course. Same old game—buy drinks, and suddenly he thinks he’s entitled to more. Irritation crawls up your spine, a familiar, almost automatic response. Well, you're not the naive college girl anymore. You don’t go home with guys just because they bought you a drink.

“Looks like you were making sure everyone got home safe,” he observes, his tone light, a hint of curiosity behind it. “That’s pretty thoughtful.”

“Did you and your friends have fun?” he asks, his accent soft but distinct. You blink, the world spinning just slightly, the edges softening with the alcohol still lingering.

“Yeah,” you reply curtly, a bit slurred as you strain to keep his gaze. It’s easier with the haze of alcohol. At the bar, his stare had been sharp, insistent—too much. Now, it’s different, quieter, but still heavy with something unspoken.

“Heading home?” he asks, stepping closer. He’s taller than you thought, his lean frame filling the sharp lines of his tailored suit, the sharp cut of the fabric emphasizing his broad shoulders and commanding posture.

“Mmm,” you nod, rocking back and forth on your heels, suddenly feeling a sharp edge to your own behavior. You don’t know why you’re being so dismissive. He bought you drinks, paid for the tab—but then again, you’re used to guys in places like this always wanting something more.

“So, you’re British?” you try and rest your mood, offering a soft smile. You should be nicer—he was kind to you. “Are you visiting?”

“Yes. I’ve been here a while, thinking about sticking around a bit longer.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” you say with a slight, nervous chuckle. “I’ve always wanted to see London. You know, see the queen, the big clock, have tea at tea time… but I’m not the biggest fan of flying.”

“London isn’t always easy on newcomers,” he says, his voice low and smooth. His eyes hold yours, and there’s a glimmer of something else—you’re just not sure what. “Sometimes, you need someone to show you the ropes. Maybe even… look out for you.”

And there it is. He wants something more, of course—he wasn’t just being nice. His smooth words, his calm demeanor, all part of some unspoken game. The unease tightens in your chest, like a warning bell growing louder with every passing second.

“Well, if you ever decide to move here permanently, I’d love to sell you a house.” You pull a business card from your purse, swaying slightly as you search, trying to steer away from whatever it is he might be hinting at.

You hold out the card, your legs wobbling slightly. He looks down at it, a hint of a scoff escaping him before dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. His gaze sharpens, making your skin prickle.

"I wasn’t angling for your number," he says smoothly, tossing his cigarette down and crushing it beneath his shoe.

Did you misread him? He’s just some foreign guy trying to be nice. You’re bad at assumptions on a good day, and with the booze kicking in, you probably look like an ass.

"But I’ll keep you in mind when I’m ready to settle down," he adds, taking the card. You can't tell if it's out of pity or politeness. Either way, you feel bad.

"Right…" Your voice falters, a hint of embarrassment creeping in.

A car horn breaks the brief silence, impatient and sharp. He glances at the idling car, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I think that might be for you, love.”

Thank goodness. The relief presses down on you, stifling the embarrassment that rises like smoke, suffocating your chest. You nod, offering a quiet goodnight, hoping he doesn’t see the flush spreading through your veins. The sound of your footsteps feels too loud, each one echoing the unease twisting in your gut. You wonder if it will follow you—this feeling, like a shadow—until you're far enough to breathe again.

#Dark Tommy Shelby x Reader #dark tommy shelby #Dark Tommy Shelby x Black Reader #Dark Tomy Shelby x WOC

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slut4thebroken · 1 year ago

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Cillian Murphy & Characters Masterlist

Smut - ❤️

Fluff - ✨

Angst - 🖤

Dark content - ❗️ (noncon elements)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

main masterlist

𝑷𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅:

༺˚ʚ Cillian Murphy ɞ˚༻

Stepdad!Cillian x cheerleader!reader ❤️

Stress relief ❤️

༺˚ʚ Emmett ɞ˚༻

Second Chances ❤️❗️

Ultimatum ❤️❗️

Emmett x wife!reader “series” ↓

Home Improvements ❤️

The Recipe ❤️

༺˚ʚ Jackson Rippner ɞ˚༻

Partners ❤️

All Work, No Play ❤️❗️(ongoing)

Practice Makes Perfect ❤️

Stranger ❤️

༺˚ʚ Jonathan Crane ɞ˚༻

Exposure Therapy ❤️❗️🖤✨ (ongoing)

Favorite Toy ❤️✨ (sub!jon)

baby bat ❤️❗️(blurb)

Meant to Be ❤️❗️

Nymphomania ❤️

Dangerous Game ❤️

Doctor’s Orders ❤️❗️

The Incident ❤️❗️

Erotomania 🖤❤️ (ongoing)

Safe ❤️❗️

Teacher’s Pet ❤️❗️

༺˚ʚ Neil Lewis ɞ˚༻

Stuck ❤️

Little Black Dress (pt. 1) ❤️❗️

Until Next Time (pt. 2) ❤️❗️

Just a Dream ❤️❗️

Tease ❤️

Bully stepbro!Neil pt. 1

Promise ❤️

Pool Party ❤️

Possessive!Neil x bsf!reader drabble

Vacation ❤️❗️

Stay ❤️❗️

༺˚ʚ Raymond Leon ɞ˚༻

Timekeeper Raymond Leon 🖤 (pt. 1)

Daddy’s Little Girl ❤️

༺˚ʚ Robert Capa ɞ˚༻

Trapped ❤️❗️

༺˚ʚ Robert Fischer ɞ˚༻

Childhood Enemies Turned Lovers? ❤️ 🖤 ✨ (ongoing)

Name Your Price ❤️

Party Favor ❤️❗️

The Deal ❤️

༺˚ʚ Thomas Shelby ɞ˚༻

Tommy’s Pet ❤️

Sweet Dreams ❤️❗️

Needs ❤️

༺˚ʚ Other ɞ˚༻

Earn Your Prize ❤️ (choose your own character)

༺˚ʚ Head Cannons ɞ˚༻

Stalker!reader pt. 1

Stalker!reader pt. 2

Glory hole

Dad/stepdad finding your vibrator

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call-sign-shark · 1 year ago

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After the Storm, the Sun || Tommy Shelby x Reader

➢ Prompt "Don't you Dare" requested by @runnning-outof-time

Words: 1K (no proofreading)

If there was one thing you had never seen since your wedding with the infamous Thomas Shelby it was his smile. As both his wife and new secretary, you knew every feature of his face and how they contorted at his emotions’ discretion. Slightly, almost imperceptible. But day after day you ultimately learned how to read through the lines and catch those glimpses of faint emotions. For instance, you could tell he was mad by the way his sky blue eyes became blank and his brows slightly furrowed. That was when you knew someone had cross the line.

When it came to sadness, the change in his traits was even more subtile but nonetheless heartbreaking for observant eyes. He would avoid looking at you, rather focusing his attention on paperwork or something else as if a sole glance at your iris could break the fortress he had spent years building around his heart. All of these held no secret anymore for you — But regarding joy, you could not tell.

You started to wonder if Thomas was even able to feel happiness, or if the war, responsibilities and Grace’s death had definitely faded colors away from his life and turned it into a dull black and white movie whose ending would be definitely woeful.

Sometimes you would caught sight of a light, almost imperceptible smirk at the sharp edge of his lips — especially when Arthur would stumble on his own feet. It also happened that one time John almost choked with his toothpick after laughing too much at Finn’s clumsiness. But these short moments of innocence usually disappeared as quickly as they had appeared as if they had never really existed. Thomas’ genuine smile was a mirage and you, the thirsty and exhausted wanderer lost in the desert of his heart. At first his lack of positive emotions was mere detail, an interrogation born out of curiosity. Yet, the idea of making him smile soon became a bit too obsessive to admit. That was how you came to the decision to do everything in your power to snatch a sincere smirk off your morose husband — a silly mission John, Arthur and his young wife Heaven agreed to join in.

He did not smile when John stole clothes from Polly and made his best imitation of their Aunt, even though it was hilarious when he fell on the floor because he did not know how to walk with heels.

He did not smile when Arthur, wasted with whiskey, cut half of his mustache when he was shaving. The unfortunate event led him to shave it off and wait for it to grow back. Half of Small Heath could not recognized him for days. Let’s not be afraid to state that he cried a little.

Nor did he smile when Heaven’s gargantuan watchdog, Kaiser, jumped on her small frame, happy to see her, and shoved her right in a puddle of mud, ruining both her white hair and her expensive new coat. The expression on her face had been priceless. As well as Arthur’s silly way to run to her.

You laughed each time, almost straining your ribs, but your husband did not even smirk.

As days passed your hopes crumbled bit by bit, until you gave up on the idea. A sigh escaped your lips as you watered the roses of the mansion’s garden, for when Tommy’s darkness started to infect your mood the only place you would find peace was that place in which hundreds of wonderful flowers blossomed. Lost in an ocean of colorful petals, you did not notice the threatening black clouds that were coming your way, with an urging desire to rain down on you. When the first lightning bolt striated the sky, its roaring thunder making you jump like a scared cat, it was already too late.

You ran to the mansion, shutting the door close behind you. It was at that same moment, when you were looking down at your soaked up body with a look of pure despair on your beautiful face, that Thomas came out of the living room. His piercing blue eyes, whose quiet oceans had been darkened with memories of war, fell upon your frame. And then it happened. A little sparkle lit up in his irises at the sight of you, his wife, caught in the rain. Your entangled wet hair, your new dress sticking to your skin, your runny make up…

“The fuck are you looking at Thomas Shelby?!!”

Tommy took off his little glasses and, all of sudden, burst into laughter. The melody of joy, long forgotten, washed away the dust of his tired soul and boomed in the hallway. Laughing was so unusual for him that the corner of his mouth felt numb after a few seconds, but Tommy got the giggles and could not stop. You wanted to yell at him, to tell him it was not fun, but the beautiful symphony of his laugh awoke the flame of your love. It was the very same laugh he had before the war. Before Kimber. Before Campbell and all the other bastards… Scared of moving by fear of disrupting such a rare vision, you remained still. It was Tommy who broke down the distance between you and wrapped your hips with his strong arms, not minding to ruin his own expensive suit.

“I love your laugh. I wish I’d hear it more often.” You said with a little smile, your fingers gently caressing one of his hollow cheeks. He has been so stressed out he had barely eaten in a week.

“Well, you should get caught in the rain more.” He replied, raising an eyebrow, “You look like a wet cat.”

“Fuck you.”

“Language, Mrs. Shelby.” He leaned forward to kiss you but you denied him. Surprised, Tommy frowned and looked at you in hope of getting a reason behind your refusal, "Come on, kiss me."

“No.” You taunted him, freeing yourself from his embrace and taking a few steps back toward the closed door of the mansion.

"Don't you dare, Y/N." He warned you, for the cunning gleam in your eyes foreshadowed what you were about to do.

"Catch me, Tom!" You suddenly said, before rushing outside and running under the batting but warm summer rain. In truth, you were convinced he would not follow you.

How wrong you were.

“You bet I will.” He muttered to himself, putting his glasses on the nearest furniture before joining you in the chase.

The rain was pouring in Arrow House, but for the first time in years, sun shone bright in Thomas’ heart.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivated me, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Arthur's wife is Reader in the ongoing series Heaven in Your Eyes.

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

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red-riding-wood · 11 months ago

Text

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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motherofdogs1010 · 7 months ago

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Siren I (Dark!Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Summary: A new singer has come to Small Heath and has unfortunately enraptured the soul of a big-time, Birmingham gangster...

Warnings: 18+ only, eventual NONCON/DUBCON smut, forced marriage, dark!Tommy, obsessed!Tommy, singer!reader, eventual pinv sex, eventual pregnancy, dark shit will be happening

A/N: Song used ''Young and Beautiful"- Lana Del Ray

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

Tommy was skeptical when Harry had said he found a singer, the man saying that he needed Grace more for the bar tending than her singing. Harry had said that Grace protested but soon enough shut her mouth once he had found a suitable singer for the pub, someone Harry had said was the daughter of his best friend.

Tommy had been in the snug with his brothers when he heard a woman singing, her voice lulling him in a way that differed from Grace's soft singing.

It intrigued Tommy so much that he stood from his seat, ignoring the looks of his brothers and walking out of the snug to see a woman standing on one of the chairs.

Her voice was hauntingly beautiful as he listened to the song.

I've seen the world, done it all, had my cake now Diamonds, brilliant, and Bel Air now Hot summer nights, mid-July When you and I were forever wild The crazy days, city lights The way you'd play with me like a child

Her hair hung in thick curls and her eyes were drawing him in as lightly swayed as she continued her song, Tommy noted that the other men in the bar were calm as they listened. He never realized how calm a pub full of men could feel even when Grace had been singing away her tunes.

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul?

She wore a black dress, a odd color to wear since most of the women here in Birmingham tended to stray away from such a funeral color unless necessary. Tommy took a drag of his cigarette as he went to lean on the bar, listening to the song that felt almost like a sad love letter in a way.

Dear Lord, when I get to Heaven Please let me bring my man When he comes, tell me that you'll let him in Father, tell me if you can

His mind, for once, felt calm like the voices of tunnels were no longer existing in his battle-wounded mind as Tommy ignored Grace's presence. The woman singing felt as if she was one of the mermaid singers drawing him into the sea from his ship, ready to drown him so he could be with her forever.

All that grace, all that body All that face makes me wanna party He's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

Peace was not something Tommy had been granted since the war, using drugs, alcohol, and prostitutes to just get by.

But her voice was drawing him so well and his mind was quiet!

Quiet, can you believe it?

He needed that quiet, he needed her! Tommy brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled the nicotine as he mind began to unravel as he listened and watched.

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul? I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?

He needed to possess her for himself, break her down until all she knew was him and that healing voice singing for her whenever he wanted, whenever he needed.

France had changed Tommy and it wasn't for the better. He wasn't the same man who envisioned himself working with horses and laughing along to the newest joke John had come up with.

Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful? Will you still love me when I'm not young and beautiful?

"Another one, Tommy?" Grace asked, holding the whiskey bottle.

Another song was what he needed and he was going to do whatever it took to have it all to himself.

Her time singing had come to a close that night, Y/N in the back room of the Garrison collecting her purse and lighting a cigarette as Harry came into the room with a small envelope.

" 'Ere you go", he said with a grin. "How's Small Heath holding to your expectations?"

"It's certainly not California", she remarked and he chuckled.

"Ya use to all the sunshine", Harry joked before leaving.

California, specifically Los Angeles, had been her home and before that, France had been her temporary home as she was a nurse during the war.

Coming home had been something of shell-shock for her, she had witnessed blood and guts and heard the screams of men she was treating to coming back home with her mother where she was expected to be normal. She tried for her family's sake, she truly did but in the end, it felt suffocating and thus, her move outside of America.

Collecting her things, Y/N looked inside the envelope at the bills given to her when she heard the door open once again.

"Hello there."

#reader insert #x reader #chubby reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x y/n #thomasshelbyxreader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you

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little-diable · 10 months ago

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The Test of Time - Tommy Shelby (smut)

This is an idea I have been playing with for a while. It is very dear to me, so I hope it'll also be to you! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: When Professor Shelby meets his new student, he's instantly fascinated by her, not understanding why he feels this connected to her. But the second their hands touch, both feel themselves thrown back in time, meeting centuries ago. It seems like love will always stand the test of time.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, lots of fluff, mentions some war time stuff and blood, small breeding kink, professor x reader relationship, age gap

Pairing: Soldier!Tommy x nurse!fem!reader / Professor!Tommy x student!fem!reader (3.7k words)

4th of August 1916, Northern France

The air was sticky, his hands were muddy, dry, and heavy. He had to blink more often than his eyes liked, worsening the headache he had been plagued by for months. A shaky exhale left him, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut to try and keep calm. There was no way out, he was stuck, below the ground, and if there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was panicking – at least not if he wanted to stay alive. He couldn’t risk being shot for going against a command, for being frightened like a boy.

Voices echoed through the tunnel, ringing in his ears like another bomb going off in the distance. They had to work fast. They had to work precisely, otherwise they’d eventually be buried by the dark soil, swallowing them whole as the enemy won the battle.

“Shelby!” A raspy voice ripped him out of his panicked state, he was shoved, forced to move faster, to keep on digging even though his hands were bleeding and the blisters kept growing. He had to keep digging, had to keep digging, had to keep digging. Before the darkness would swallow him whole.

February 2024, Birmingham

The sound of his shoes meeting the ground echoed through the empty hallway, eyes set on his black iPhone. It was too fucking early for his liking, silently cursing his faculty for forcing him to hold these early morning classes. Not once had he met a motivated student who wanted to talk about the First World War with him at 8 am, and as much as Tommy disliked the students he found himself surrounded by, he couldn’t blame them for being tired.

If he could, he’d occupy all afternoon classes, wanting to discuss his research topics with those who were actually interested in modern warfare, strategies, politics, and so on. And yet he knew the chance was slim, forced to back down and make room for those who taught the mandatory classes.

With a sigh leaving him, Tommy stepped into the room he taught in every Tuesday morning, putting down his bag and shrugging out of his coat before he lifted his gaze. He was still on his own, wondering when the handful of students would pour into the room, probably seconds before class started.

Tommy plopped down on the uncomfortable chair, he placed his laptop down – hoping that he could at least catch up with the morning news while still being engulfed in silence. He tried to focus on the words, tried to cling to the information he was fed, though without any luck, interrupted by the sickly sweet “Morning!” echoing through the room.

His eyes found an unfamiliar pair, not used to being greeted this enthusiastically in the morning. It took him a second to reply, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the woman. She must have been young, and yet he instantly found himself drawn to her gorgeous features, the soft hair he wanted to feel beneath his fingertips.

“(Y/n), right?” She had emailed him about a month ago, warning the professor that she’d have to miss the first two weeks of his course due to some family trouble. Back then he hadn’t cared about her missing out on it, it was on her to catch up with his teaching anyways, but now he couldn’t help but wonder how he had managed to miss out on having her around for even just a second.

“That’s me! Sorry again for my absence, Professor Shelby.” He shot her a small smile, not daring to speak up as his throat grew tighter. What the fuck was going on with him? Tommy felt as if he was drowning, as if the cold ocean was soaking through his black clothes, sticking to him to add more weight to his frame. He didn’t know her, knew only her name, and yet he felt strangely connected to her.

He needed to get a grip, needed to redirect his focus before he’d forget his surroundings and the information he was supposed to pass on to his students.

……

“Professor Shelby?” (Y/n)’s voice echoed through his office, making a small smile tug on his lips as his eyes found hers. She stepped into the room, carefully closing the door behind herself before she walked up to him. Wordlessly he pointed towards the chair placed close to his table, piercing blue eyes watching her sit down.

“I have to say, I’m impressed, (y/n). You’re the first to ever score 100 on this essay.” The smile that grew on her lips left Tommy choking on his air, forcing his eyes away from her face. It had been a selfish move to invite all students to his office hour, telling them that he’d like to give them each some verbal feedback. But deep down Tommy didn’t give a single fuck about his students, at least not about the others, having eyes only for her.

“I wanted to leave a good impression, especially after missing out on so much.” He was forced to look at her again, shooting her another smile as he reached the essay out for her to take. His heart started racing the second her fingers touched his, vision growing blurry, unable to notice that she was going through the same confusing sensations.

“Help! We need help!” The screams echoed through the tent, ringing in her ears as she watched the soldiers move closer. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the soldier whose face was covered in blood and mud, forcing her to run towards them.

“Place him down over there, quick!” Panic was flushing through her. No matter how many soldiers she had helped before, no matter how many lives she had saved, (y/n) couldn’t help but fear these moments when she held their lives in her hands. She needed to work quickly, and couldn’t wait for the other nurses to return from their visitations, there was no time to lose. “I need you to hold him down.”

Her eyes met a pair of piercing blue ones, momentarily robbing her of any air left in her lungs. She had to redirect her focus, bloody fingers trying to clean the soldier’s cheeks as the handsome man held him down. No words were spoken between them, she needed to concentrate, needed to stop the soldier’s bleeding. Feeling the other man near did something to her, something unfamiliar she hadn’t ever felt before.

“Here, I need you to bite down on this.” She pushed a wooden piece between the guy’s teeth as she reached for her tweezers. A deep inhale of air was sucked into her lungs. Even though it wasn’t the first time she was about to pull a bullet from somebody’s skin, (y/n) couldn’t help but feel nervous. Before she could even try to move, she felt the handsome man’s hand on her knee, softly squeezing the flesh to try and wordlessly support her. She could do it, and could help the hurt soldier, especially with the support of the man who was sitting close to her.

“Alright, this will hurt.”

“Uhm,” Tommy had to clear his throat, blinking a few times before his vision began to clear up. (Y/n) was still sitting close to him, wearing the same confused expression as Tommy. Both stared at one another for a few moments, wordlessly, before she grasped the essay. Her eyes flickered down to the paper, trying to recollect her thoughts.

“Thank you again for this, I think it’s best if I leave now.” He didn’t get a chance to reply, could only watch her disappear before he could even try to speak up. Tommy’s heart was still racing, mind not understanding what had just happened.

Had this been some trick of his brain, something he had read about in a book or seen in a movie? And yet it didn’t explain to him why the woman had looked just like (y/n), and why (y/n) had been just as dazed as he had been.

It took Tommy a while to move, shaking his head as he drowned the last sips of his now cold coffee. He needed to get out of his office, needed to grab a few pints with some friends, anything to distract himself from what had just happened, and from (y/n).

……

“Here, let me.” She watched him light his match, stepping closer to help her light her cigarette. Both blew out the blue smoke, watching it dance in the warm August breeze. Tommy was covered in soil, hands and face dirty, just like his hair, and yet neither of them seemed to care, wanting to feel one another close.

It had been days since she had helped his fellow soldier, making it through the night and all the following ones, left to survive with a big scar gracing his cheek. Ever since that day, Tommy and (y/n) had searched for one another, needing to learn more about the one they couldn’t stop thinking of.

“Do you miss home, Tommy?” (Y/n)’s whispers rang in his ears, loud enough to distract him from his surroundings, the shots going off in the distance, the calls, and cries. He was sure that no matter where he’d be, no matter who he’d be surrounded by, if (y/n) was close, he’d always find himself focused on her.

“Always do.” A hum left her at his reply, unconsciously moving closer to him, breath getting stuck in her lungs as his arm found its way around her waist. Their eyes met, his piercingly blue and full of pain and sorrow, hers filled with questions, longings, and confusion. She watched his gaze flicker down to her lips, taking another drag of his cigarette before he dipped his head down.

(Y/n) didn’t dare move, silently praying that he’d kiss her, that he wouldn’t pull away, wrapped in darkness’s comforting veil. But before he could move, they heard the calls growing louder, forcing all soldiers to return to their positions. Their eyes met once again as he stubbed his cigarette out, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and disappeared.

(Y/n) woke with a gasp, hands pressed to the warm mattress she had been sleeping on for the past hours. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing, still focused on the dream she had just been forced through. Ever since she had experienced that strange moment in Professor Shelby’s office, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him, of what her mind had pushed her through – what had felt like a memory but couldn’t be one. And now she was dreaming of him, her professor, and yet he wasn’t a professor, at least not in her dream.

She needed to talk to him, or at least touch him again to figure out of it had been a trick of her brain or something that would happen again. He had looked just as confused, dazed even, unsure what had happened the second their hands had touched. Perhaps she could speak to him after class, or show up at his office, whatever it took to be close to him again.

……

“Professor? Do you have a moment for me?” He had disappeared too quickly after class for (y/n) to even try to catch up with him, forcing her to wait a few hours before she could turn up at his office. She watched him take off his round glasses, leaning back in his chair as a soft “Of Course” left him.

For a few moments, they were engulfed in silence, eyes wandering over one another’s features, wondering how to express what they were plagued by. But even though (y/n) tried her hardest to speak up, she couldn’t, throat too tight, mouth too dry. Professor Shelby broke their silence as he cleared his throat, rising to his feet to slowly move towards (y/n).

He kept his distance and leaned back against his desk, and yet she felt him close. Though not close enough, feeling herself pulled towards him like a puzzle searching for its last missing piece. With a sigh breaking through him, he reached his hand out for (y/n) to take, watching the hesitation tugging on her features.

“It’s alright, I don’t understand it myself, but I guess it’s on us to figure this out. Whatever it is.” Her teeth ran along her lower lip as (y/n) stepped towards him, letting go of one last exhale before she carefully grasped his hand.

“Look at me, (y/n). I’ve got you, I’m alive.” His voice rang in her ears, watching the tears drip down her cheeks as she stared up at him. She clung to his hand, cursing this very war for pushing these unfamiliar emotions through her. God, she had counted the hours, had lost hope, sure that Tommy was no longer alive. And yet here he was, alive, breathing, not even bleeding.

She hastily took a step away, eyes wide, lips parted. He had his eyes focused on his hand, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Neither of them dared to speak up, not understanding what was happening, why these things that felt like memories were pushed through their brains. Only slowly did the professor dare to lift his gaze, studying her panicked features.

“What is happening? What is that?” (Y/n) choked on her words, torn between confusion and the pain she felt deep inside of her. It felt as if she was grieving something or rather someone. A pain she was so unfamiliar with, she couldn’t even understand what it was trying to tell her, what she was plagued by.

“I don’t know, (y/n).” He spoke her name all too softly, sounding just like it had in her head moments ago. With wide eyes she kept studying him, needing to feel what had happened again, still not believing that this was something but a trick of her brain. All he did was watch her, eyes following her every move, even as she came to a halt in front of him, standing far closer than moments ago, he didn’t dare move. If there was one thing Tommy wanted to avoid, it was scaring her.

“Can I try something?” Their eyes held contact as (y/n) murmured the words, waiting for his spoken consent before she moved. A quiet “Yes” left the professor, wondering what she was about to do, not expecting to feel her soft lips meeting his.

“You have to be quiet, love.” His raspy voice left her buzzing with excitement. Tommy had her pressed against a car, swallowed by darkness. Their lips met carefully at first, with her arms slung around his neck, and his hands placed on her waist. Neither of them could hold back, deepening the kiss within seconds as they hoped that no other soldiers, nurses, or commanders would find them.

“Don’t stop, please.” He had taken over the kiss, forcing her down on his desk to stand between her thighs. Both were torn between the pictures their minds were painting and the feeling of one another’s hands exploring their bodies. Whatever it was that had pushed them together, they didn’t want to break the spell, needed to keep close.

“Will you let me have a taste? Ever since I saw you for the first time I wanted to get my mouth between those pretty thighs of yours.” Her eyes were wide, lips parted to try and suck some air into her aching lungs. (Y/n) could only nod her head, forgetting how to speak, how to express the emotions she so desperately wanted to explain to him.

With their eyes holding contact, Tommy undid her trousers, pulling them down her legs before he pushed her damp panties to the side. The groan that clawed through him at the sight of her bare cunt left her walls clenching around nothing, needing to feel his fingers, his mouth on her. But the second he brushed two fingers through her slit, collecting drops of arousal, she found herself stuck in another memory.

“Oh god, oh god. Right there.” Her eyes rolled back into her head, pressed against the mattress of the bed she hadn’t been lying on for years. It had been hours since they had returned from France, not daring to leave one another’s side once, hours they had spent hiding away from those who had waited on them for years, only focused on exploring their bodies without needing to worry about curious bystanders. His tongue brushed along her folds, moaning at her taste as his arms tightened their grip on her thighs.

“I guess you’ve always tasted this sweet.” His words drew tears to her eyes, overcome by a wave of unfamiliar emotions, set on drowning her. Tommy kept moving his fingers as his tongue explored the spots she needed him to touch, choking on his name. She needed to hold onto him, needed to bury her fingers in his skin, but her fingers couldn’t move, could only cling to the edge of his table. “My pretty girl, fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“What a sight for sore eyes, I’m a fucking lucky bastard.” Tommy’s raspy voice filled their shared bedroom. He leaned back in his chair, chest bare, legs stretched out. Smoke left his nostrils, eyes set on her naked frame. She walked closer with a smirk on her lips, enjoying the way he marvelled at her, how he watched her every move. “I don’t deserve you, my pretty wife.”

His wife? Them, Married? Fuck, if these flashes were truly memories of their past life, she couldn’t help but thank whoever had pushed them together once again. Another shot at this life with Tommy by her side, another shot at this life with a man she had loved in other centuries. Love that would always stand the test of time.

“I need to be inside of you, will you let me fuck you?” (Y/n) pulled Tommy in for a kiss, groaning into his mouth as she felt his covered bulge rubbing against her sensitive cunt. Their kiss was all tongue and teeth, growing more heated by the second, while Tommy’s impatient fingers freed his cock. He parted from her to roll a condom down his cock, and yet their eyes never broke eye contact. “Last chance to stop this, I need you to tell me you want this too.”

“Oh fuck, of course I want this, Tommy. Fuck me, fuck me like you’ve always fucked me.” Her glassy eyes met his, both were clearly overcome by the emotions they still needed to adjust to. He pushed into her slowly, fingers interlaced with hers to hold her close. There was no need to adjust, it seemed like their bodies remembered one another the same way their minds did.

“Forever mine, I will never let you go.” Tommy rasped his words into the darkness as he fucked her into their mattress. He couldn’t help but admire her, needing to take in every inch of (y/n), silently hoping that tonight he’d get to fuck another baby into her. Her moans left him smirking, fingers rubbing her pulsing bundle in sync with his thrusts, needing to push her over the edge any moment now.

She didn’t allow herself to wonder what their life together had been like, and how many children they have had together – at least not at that very moment. All (y/n) could concentrate on was the feeling of Tommy fucking her ruthlessly, cock forcing her walls apart with every thrust.

With her forehead pushed against his shoulder, (y/n) moaned his name, already close to letting go. Both were shaken up by what kept on happening to them whenever they touched one another in another place, bringing up memories that felt like they were straight out of a movie. It was unfamiliar and confusing, and yet it was anything but scary, no, it left them filled with excitement, needing to learn more about one another and the life they had once shared.

“It’s alright, love, cum for me, cum on my cock.” Tommy’s gritty voice left her choking on her gasps, letting go with a moan. He kept on snapping his hips, enjoying the way she clenched around him, how she trembled from her intense orgasm. All because of him. With his thoughts set on (y/n), he came, letting go with a groan.

For a few moments, neither of them parted from one another, holding on before he slowly pulled away. Neither of them spoke as they redressed, caught in their thoughts. Only as Tommy pulled her in for another kiss did (y/n) allow another smile to tug on her lips.

“If you’ll allow it, I want to love you in this lifetime too, hold you close like we were destined to be.” With tears once again welling up in her eyes, (y/n) pulled him in for a breathless kiss.

Tommy had his eyes set on her sleeping figure, hand stroking her hair. His thoughts were torn between the memories of the tunnel, of the darkness he hadn’t been able to escape from for long. But it had all been worth it, because of her, because of the woman he had married, the woman who was the mother of his children. And if there was one thing Tommy was wishing for, it was getting the chance to love her in all upcoming lifetimes too.

#Tommy Shelby smut #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders imagine

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