#Escape Live Birmingham

[queenshelby]

Uncle Tommy (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Niece Reader

Warning: Smut, Incest, Taboo Relations, DDLG, Dub-Con

And yes, this was a request! Please comment and engage!

It was during the month of August that you moved back to Birmingham after having spent almost twelve years travelling with your mother Esma after your father died and whilst your mother disliked the idea, you were eighteen now and to put it bluntly, you were no longer a child and had to make your own decisions.

Your mother had met and married another man a few years ago, and you had no desire to be a burden on their newfound happiness so, when your Aunt Polly suggested for you to move in with either her or your Uncle Tommy, you were grateful for the opportunity.

Your Uncle Tommy had horses and you had always loved the idea of working with them, so it was an easy decision to move in with him. Your Uncle Tommy had a new wife. She was his third wife and whilst you thought that living with a man like him and his newfound love would be slightly awkward, you settled in easily. 

After a few days, you began to feel more comfortable in your new surroundings, enjoying your work with the horses and even though you had not seen your Uncle Tommy for over 12 years beforehand, he seemed genuinely happy to see you.

You came across as bright, intelligent and respectful and found yourself in your uncle's office quite often, helping him with paperwork and other business-related tasks. However, there was something peculiar about your Uncle Tommy. Something that made you feel slightly uncomfortable but also somewhat exited when he was around, although you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was.

He was a mid-forty-year-old attractive man with a commanding presence, handsome, with piercing blue eyes and jet-black hair. You never remembered him like this from your childhood. Now he seemed to have acquired a distinguished elegance - a byproduct, perhaps, of his wealth and power.

It wasn’t just his looks, but also the way he carried himself. Confident, commanding, yet respectful. He treated you like an adult and didn’t hesitate to give you the responsibility you craved.

But then, occasionally, you felt as though he made some advances towards you which you were not sure whether or not you should reciprocate. He was your uncle after all. He was a married man, and you were in a relationship with a good young man who happened to be working in your uncle's factory. 

On occasion, your uncle would put a stray hand on your waist, his fingers lightly tracing your curves as he leaned in close to whisper something mundane, his warm breath tickling your ear in a way that made you shiver.

You would quicken your pace, eager to escape the alluring pull of his nearness and return to the comfort of your own room. However, sometimes, you got lost in the moment, in his mesmerizing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through you.

One evening, after a particularly long day of work with the horses, you found him in the study.

He was sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a pen in the other. His eyes were focused on some documents in front of him, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

"Uncle Tommy," you said softly, not wanting to disturb him.

He looked up, his gaze softening as he took in your appearance. You were wearing a simple dress that hugged your curves and showed off your legs. Your hair was loose around your shoulders, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks under his gaze.

"Come in, Love," he said, gesturing to the empty chair in front of his desk. "What can I do for you?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"I just wanted to talk to you about something," you said finally. "It's about James, the young man I am seeing," you told him, causing him to furrow his eyebrows.

"What about him?" your uncle asked , setting his glass aside and giving you his full attention. There was a hint of something in his tone that you couldn't quite place, but it made you feel slightly uneasy.

"Well," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. "I just wanted to let you know that we're getting serious. I think we might even get engaged soon which means that, maybe, I would be moving in with him."

Your uncle's expression didn't change, but you saw a flicker of something in his eyes that made you feel uncomfortable.

"Love, you are fucking 18 years old, " he said, his voice low and controlled. "You should not be making decisions like that yet," he said honestly as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin as he looked at you thoughtfully.

"I respect your feelings for this young man," he said finally. "But I urge you to be careful, eh? Don't be a fool. You are a fucking Shelby and you  do not commit yourself to just anybody," your uncle said and you sat there in silence for a moment, digesting his words. You knew he was right, of course. You were young and had a whole life ahead of you. You should not make any rash decisions, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

"I understand Uncle Tommy, but I really love him,"  you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your uncle chuckled in response before leaning over the desk and caressing your cheek.  His touch was gentle, but the heat of it sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and danger at the same time.

"You are a beautiful young woman Y/N, " your uncle said, his voice dripping with suggestion. "And you deserve much better than a factory worker like him who seems to have no fucking aspirations to become anything more, eh," he added, his fingers tracing your jawline.

His fingers lingered longer than necessary, and you felt a strange heat spreading through your body. You knew you should pull away, but you couldn't bring yourself to move. Instead, you felt yourself leaning into his touch, your heart racing as your mind filled with forbidden thoughts just before his wife walked into the study.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt," she said as she entered the room, her eyes flickering between you and your uncle.

Your uncle quickly withdrew his hand, his face becoming impassive as he greeted his wife with a warm smile.

"No, it's alright, love. Y/N and I were just having a discussion about her future," he said, his voice betraying no emotion.

You quickly stood up, eager to escape the tension in the room, but you took what your uncle had said to heart. You knew that he was right and, over the next few weeks, the relationship between you and James became strained.

A few weeks later...

It was around 10 o'clock when you heard a knock on the door of your bedroom. You were sitting on your bed, reading a book and trying to clear your mind. 

"Come in," you called out, setting your book aside and straightening your posture as the door opened and your uncle stepped inside.

He looked striking as ever, his hair perfectly styled and his suit tailored to perfection. His eyes scanned over you in a way that made you feel both excited and slightly uneasy.

"Uncle Tommy, what are you doing here?" you asked as he entered your bedroom, closing the door behind him, before sitting down by your side.

"I just came to check on you, Love," he said , eyes gleaming as he looked at your young and naive figure. "To see if you were doing alright," he continued, running his fingers ran through your hair. "Frances told me that you have been having some problems with this boy you were seeing," he then admitted  , with a hint of concern in his voice.

You couldn't help but feel grateful for the attention, and somehow, comforted. You thus sat up next to him, wearing nothing but your satin nightgown, confiding about what happened between you and James.

"We had a little argument because he wants things that I am not ready for, you know. So, I have distanced myself a little from him for now and it's really making me sad," you answered honestly, and your uncle nodded before resting his hand on your bare thigh. 

Your uncle's touch sent a jolt of pleasure throughout your body, his skin was warm and rough, you leaned in slightly towards him, letting out a soft sigh.

"Well, I told you before Love, you deserve better than a boy like James fucking McFallon, eh," your uncle said with a gentle voice, running his fingers up your thigh, causing you to shiver.

"Now, tell me though Sweetheart, he didn't make you do anything you didn't want to do, did he? Because if he has, then I will need to deal with him,"  Thomas said, his voice a low growl.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and safety in your uncle's presence. You knew that he would always be there for you and protect you from anything that could harm you.

"No, he didn't. I just didn't want to take the next step with him yet," you said softly, looking up at your uncle.

His fingers were still tracing their way up your thigh, sending tingles throughout your body.

"And he hasn't touched you in any placed you didn't want to be touched, has he?"  Thomas asked, looking into your eyes with that piercing blue gaze.

"What do you mean by that?" you asked, in your rather naive mind, causing your uncle to chuckle.

"I mean, he hasn't touched you down here without your consent , has he?" Thomas clarified, his hand vaguely brushing over your clothed sex.

You felt a sudden heat rising to your cheeks as your uncle's words finally sunk in.

"No, he hasn't. I wouldn't allow it," you said, but your voice wavered slightly, giving away your uncertainty as your uncle's eyes gleamed as he nodded his head, pleased with your answer.

"Good, because if he had touched you right there without your consent, then would have had no choice but to fucking cut him, eh?"  Thomas said, as he gently caressed your cheek with one hand while rubbing his fingers over your panties with the other, before pulling the fabric to the side. 

You froze almost immediately , tensing up as you tried to comprehend what your uncle was doing.

"Uncle Tommy, you shouldn't touch me down there, I think," you stammered while, at the same time, inadvertently spreading your legs.

"You are right Love, I probably shouldn't. But doesn't it feel nice when I touch you there?" Thomas whispered as you rubbed his thumb over your clit, creating a strange wetness between your folds.

"It feels really weird, Uncle Tommy," you moaned as your uncle started to move his thumb in a circular motion, building up a strange and unfamiliar ache in your lower belly.

"Do you want me to stop?" Thomas asked, his voice husky and full of desire as he slowed down his movements, waiting for your answer.

"No, don't stop," you panted , your body coming alive under his touch.

Thomas smiled and resumed his previous pace while feeling himself grow hard beneath the confides of his pants.

"Do you think I could have a closer look at your treasure, Sweetheart? I would love to see that beautiful little hole of yours now, because it is getting so nice and wet for me,"  your uncle whispered in your ear while slipping his fingers under the waistband of your panties.

"Uncle Tommy, I don't know if that's a good idea," you said, gasping slightly as you felt your uncle's fingers touch your intimate areas.

"I promise, Love, I will make you feel really nice down there," Thomas reassured you, sliding his index finger over your wet folds. 

"Okay , but just this once," you agreed, reluctantly but with a hint of curiosity in your voice.

"Good girl. Why don't you lie down for me , Love?" Thomas suggested, removing his index finger from your wetness and giving you a soft pat on your bottom, encouraging you to lie back down on the bed.

You didn't resist and followed your uncle's instructions, biting your lip as he slipped off your panties, leaving you bare before him.

Thomas couldn't help but admire the sight of your body laid out before him. Your legs were slightly parted, giving him a glimpse of your beautiful, wet sex. Without warning, he then spread your labia open with his fingers, exposing your clit and inner folds.

"Such a beautiful sight, eh" Thomas whispered while gently tracing your folds with his index finger, causing you to shiver at the touch.

"You are simply stunning, Love," Thomas continued, awe in his voice as he leaned down to get a closer look.

"Have you ever put your fingers inside your little tressure box here?"  Thomas asked, his voice low and deep as he gently circled your clit with his thumb.

"No, I don't think I have," you replied, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves as your uncle asked you such a personal question.

"Would you like me to be the first one to do it?" Thomas asked, his eyes gleaming with desire.

"I-I don't know," you stammered, feeling yourself flush at the thought. "Is it going to hurt?" you asked, biting your lip as your uncle's fingers continued to explore your wet sex.

"Only for a moment, Sweetheart. But I promise, it will feel so good after that," Thomas reassured you, before slowly and gently running his index finger over your wet sex again. 

"Okay , let's try it," you agreed, feeling yourself getting more and more aroused by your uncle's actions and words.

Thomas couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as, very carefully, he pushed his index finger inside your tight sex, feeling your inner walls clench around it.

You couldn't help but gasp at the sensation, as your uncle's finger penetrated you for the first time. It felt strange and unfamiliar, but also incredibly pleasurable.

"How does it feel, Love?" Thomas asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"It feels...weird, but also kind of nice," you replied, finding it hard to put your feelings into words.

"Good, that's great Love," Thomas praised you, as a proud smile appeared on his face. "Now, I want you to relax and breathe deeply while I move my finger inside of you, okay?"

You nodded eagerly, taking deep breaths as your uncle slowly moved his finger in and out of your sex. It was an odd sensation, but also incredibly arousing.

You couldn't believe what was happening in this moment, but at the same time, you couldn't deny that it felt incredible. Thomas's fingers were now exploring every inch of your wet sex, causing you to moan and writhe in pleasure beneath him.

"You're so fucking tight, Love," Thomas groaned, as his finger moved deeper inside of you. "But I think I can get a second finger inside without breaking your barrier," he said tentatively  , looking deep into your eyes for consent.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, but you also couldn't deny the arousal that was building up inside of you. You nodded your head in agreement, and Thomas slowly slid in a second finger, causing you to gasp at the feeling of being stretched.

"That's it, Sweetheart. Just relax and breathe," Thomas whispered softly in your ear, as he continued to move his fingers in and out of your wet sex.

The feeling was still strange and unfamiliar, but the pleasure that accompanied it quickly overshadowed any discomfort you might have felt earlier. Your breathing became heavier and more ragged as your uncle's fingers continued their slow, teasing movements.

Thomas could feel your body tensing up beneath his touch, so he leaned down to whisper in your ear once more, "You're doing great, Love. Just relax and let me make you feel good."

He moved his fingers slowly at first, allowing you to get used to the sensation of being penetrated in this way. He could feel your tight walls gripping his fingers, and he knew he had to be gentle.

"Oh God," you moaned, your head falling back as you felt your arousal build. "Something strange is happening," you admitted, as you could feel a pressure building up inside of you, along with a warmth spreading throughout your body.

"Explain it to me, Sweetheart. What do you feel?" Thomas asked again, his fingers still working their magic inside you.

"It feels good, but I feel like I am about to wet myself," you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed.

"That's good. This means you are close," your uncle said as he started to circle his thumb faster on your clit, pushing his fingers deeper inside of you at the same time.

"Let go, Sweetheart," Thomas coaxed you. "Don't hold back, just let it happen."

You listened to your uncle, allowing yourself to fully immerse in the sensations rippling through your body. His words were like a switch, releasing all remaining tension and inhibitions, sending you crashing over the edge in a dizzying wave of pure pleasure.

"That's it, Love. Let it all out," Thomas encouraged you with a gentle smile, as he watched you ride this new and exciting experience.

"Oh my god. Oh fuck," you moaned as your body trembled and shuddered, the pleasure radiating outwards from your core  , pooling in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Your orgasm hit you hard and strong as you released your wetness all over your uncle's hands, leaving you panting and sweating. You squirted for several seconds, leaving the sheets soaked and you blushing with embarrassment.

"I-I didn't know that could happen," you stammered, your cheeks flushed red as you tried to regain your composure as Thomas carefully pulled his fingers out of you, resting his hand on your thigh, as he studied your expression. Your face was flushed bright red, and you looked utterly spent.

"How are you feeling, Love?" he asked softly, his voice thick with concern.

You blinked dazedly up at him and nodded slowly. "I...I'm okay, I think," you finally answered, your voice still trembling slightly as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Thomas smiled at you and leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead. "Good," he said simply before standing up, leaving your side for a moment.

You watched him through hooded eyes as he walked towards the en-suite bathroom, before returning with a warm washcloth to gently clean you up. His touch was tender, caring and you ought to ask whether you had indeed wet yourself , but you couldn't summon the words. He then threw the washcloth into a nearby hamper before reclaiming his prominent position on your bed.

"Don't be embarrassed, Love. That's completely natural," Thomas murmured softly as he traced the curve of your cheek with the pad of his thumb, smiling down at your amazed expression.

"I've just never... felt anything like that before," you admitted shyly, feeling just slightly overwhelmed by how strong your reaction had been.

"It wasn't bad, though. In fact, I think I might like it," you added, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you looked up at your uncle. "Do you think I could make you feel that good too?" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at your uncle with wide eyes.

"I am sure you can, but not tonight, Love. Tonight was all about you," Thomas replied, his voice gentle and soothing. "There is no need to rush things, we have all the time in the world," he added affectionately, before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead once more.

"Now, why don't you have a rest and we can revisit this tomorrow if you like," Thomas suggested, as he tucked the blankets around you, tenderly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You watched him as he turned off the lights and left your bedroom, before letting your heavy eyelids fall closed and slipping into a peaceful sleep.

T

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[brummiereader]

Uptown Girl

(Masterlist)

Summary: A woman from high society, never needing or wanting for anything. Your world of jewels and silk gowns comes crashing down around you when your father's mounting gambling debts catch up with him, and he is forced to relinquish your home Arrow House before his untimely death to his biggest creditor, Tommy Shelby. But with your name on the deeds, and the land of your childhood home your only bargaining source of income to escape the union arranged since your birth to a monster of a man from your own class. You make your intentions of staying put stubbornly known to the Birmingham gang leader, as you clutch to your only remaining hope of freedom from the inevitable chains of a violent marriage. With neither one of you willing to budge on the matter until the iron clad documents of Arrow House are reviewed, you are both begrudgingly left without any other choice but to live together. What will become of your unusual living situation with the notorious gangster, and the arranged marriage you want to be free from? A way out, friendship, lust...love? One thing is certain. Tommy Shelby's abrupt appearance into your life will open your curious eyes to a whole other world that had been shielded from you since the day of your noble birth.

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, mutual pining, smut, domestic violence, mentions of suicide, violence

Authors Note: I basically took Alfie's passing statement of how Tommy acquired Arrow House and the trope "One bed, two people" and turned it into "One house, two strangers" and ran with it! The idea for this series and it's storyline, is loosely based off the lyrics to the well known song "Uptown Girl" by Billy Joel.

Teaser Trailer

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine (completed series)

Gif credit: @mushroomseb. Go check out their wonderful works of art!

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Imprisonment

Summary: Tommy holds you to a high standard in marriage, expecting you to care for the children, tend to the house, and serve him. It was all too much and in an attempt to escape from Tommy’s wicked ways, he catches you in a lie.

Warnings: Noncon, misogyny, physical/mental abuse, traditional values and expectations, spitting, degradation, humiliation, forced breeding

Thomas Shelby. The most important, handsome, dangerous man in Birmingham. The man every woman’s knees would give out for just one night with him and would risk their freedom for. 

If only they knew the rope he had around your wrists and neck throughout your marriage, constantly having to watch your tongue, dress elegantly to events with insecure men who used their position of power to have control over others.

What drew you in aside from his constant devotion to win you over was the fact he could provide for you and a family, he gave you a house to live in and share together. He took you in and loved you when you had no money, never once blinked an eye at another woman, always stood up for you but that all changed.

Currently seated in his office, rocking your newborn he was filling out paperwork jaw clenched, nothing but the sound of the clock ticking on the wall filling your eardrums.

Things weren’t how they used to be before the marriage.

There was no quality time together, no signs of affection other than a quick fuck when he decided he needed it. Date nights didn’t exist, the compassion was missing entirely it almost seemed as if Thomas was always preoccupied with business to care for you or the three children you’ve birthed. There were numerous times where you begged and pleaded for just a night out, for Frances to watch the children for one night a month at the least but he wouldn’t have any of it. 

Then whenever you’d question him as to why he was out late doing business matters with women you haven’t even met it would be a simple “it’s just business, nothing more”. But you knew that was a lie, yet you stayed, you stayed out of fear because you didn’t know who he was anymore, or the lengths he would go to, to keep you in the house.

Matters became difficult after your newborn was born, you’d only been married to Thomas for three years and it seemed all you were good for was carrying his children and doing all of the chores outside and in while he was god knows where handling the family business, the great Shelby Incorporated. When you reminded him of what he’d hired Frances for he’d simply respond with, “She’s not their mother, she’s not my wife. It is your job to watch after the children no matter what arises. I take care of the business, you stay home help Frances with chores and ensure that the kids are fed, bathed and taken care of, as a wife should.”

He held you to a high standard that was too much to bare and any opportunity to discuss and come to a compromise would be immediately dismissed as he “didn’t have the time to discuss such ridiculous matters”. 

You had a plan, a plan to take the kids and run to get away from this circle of madness, even if it meant raising the children on your own and working to make ends meet without Thomas’s help.

Their bags were packed and hidden away outside in the shed, covered with a blanket.

The sound of his pen falling aimlessly onto his desk pulled you away from your thoughts, sending your attention to him immediately as to act like nothing was going on.

He picked up the bottom of his whiskey glass, finishing off what was left in a singular gulp, before his blue eyes that no longer sparkled locked with yours in a moment of skepticism.

“Why were you out in the barn today? You fed the horses at sunrise and released them and if I recall correctly there’s still quite a few more hours until sunset.” Stiffening in your seat, you adjusted yourself to make it seem like nothing was wrong while your hands tightened cautiously around your sleeping newborn.

“Oh I just remembered that Harry left his sippy cup out there and he was asking about it. Didn’t exactly want to handle putting Daisy here down for a nap while he was crying for it.” Thomas huffed and folded his hands, his top lip twitched up as he reached for his cigarettes rubbing the rolled up tobacco on his plump lips before lighting it. You hated when he smoked around the children and he knew that. 

“Well I’d prefer you tend to the house, and we have two other children in case you’ve forgotten. Surely they needed you.” At that moment your third began screaming downstairs, he was beginning to start teething and was having his moment of discomfort. Tommy looked at the door expectantly, silently excusing you from the room without one more word, didn’t even offer to hold your newborn while you tended to Patrick.

The following morning after his coffee, he awoke you from your deep slumber dressed in a suit and tie, smelling of teakwood and mint. He was freshly showered, hair combed back while his hands were tucked swiftly in his pockets. 

“The garden looks like it could use your attention today as well. Wouldn’t want my money to go to waste. Also Frances retreived the mail when you weren’t awake, Harry is overdue for his physical so get that taken care of today.” He exited the room, picking up his briefcase on the way out.

When you heard the car door close outside you peaked out the window to ensure he had left and rushed to the closet grabbing a handful of clothes.

Your mind was running in every direction and you were damned if you weren’t going to have your freedom if not for you, your children.

The Shelby household was no place for children, guns everywhere, all out wars in the dining room, the degradation of women. Daisy didn’t need to see that or be taught she were less because of being a woman.

Tommy already had it planned out for her, her whole life sheltered until he found a man suitable to marry his daughter, it was dreadful.

Frances watched you walk rather quickly outside through the green fields of fresh flowers to the barn, carrying three bags. She wasn’t stupid and she was not going to lose her job over this.

After you closed the door to the car once the kids were buckled in she met you outside, causing you to roll your eyes and anxiety rise in your chest.

“Frances please spare me the you can’t do this, he’ll find you this and that. I will not raise my children up in a house like this with a man who shows no care or love for them! So respectfully stay out of it and do what you do best and go wash my husband’s blood stained clothes because it will never be enough to keep him satisfied.” With that you closed the door and made your way out of the driveway, on your way to freedom.

The backroads were empty as you intended not single soul in sight nothing but the warm breeze flowing through the rolled down windows, deer galloping in the fields. You were almost out of Birmingham on your way to a new life for you and the children.

Harry and Daisy were asleep in the backseat while Partrick was coloring in a book, kicking his small legs back and forth mindlessly. The sight made you smile widely.

Coming to a stop light you reached down to retrieve  your address book and directions to make sure you were going the right way but the sound of tapping on the window drew you out of your thoughts.

“Mommy, look it’s daddy!” You immediately froze in a silent panic, not wanting to look up.

When you didn’t move he reached his hand through the window, unlocking the door and taking a seat on the passenger side.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly until your knuckles turned white, the anxiety rising in your chest causing your breath to get stuck in your throat. 

The metallic feeling of his gun settled on your thigh.

“Now don’t make a scene my love. Arthur is going to take the car tonight and John is going to drive us all home. We’ll talk about this later.” Begrudgingly you brought your shaking hand up to put the car in park as a tears flowed effortlessly down your cheeks in defeat.

Stepping out of the car you gathered the kids, crying even more as you felt you failed them. 

“Mommy what’s wrong?” Tommy scooped Harry up in his arms, swiping the hair away from his forhead.

“Mommy’s not feeling well and asked me to pick you guys up. We’re going back home she needs to sleep.” 

The whole ride home the car filled with silence, Tommy’s hand never leaving your thigh as his nails cut deep into your skin. You were terrified to arrive back home in the prison he built just for you.

After putting the children in bed, telling them you love them you closed the door lightly while Thomas stood next to you outside their room, watching you intently.

Once the door was closed he leaned in against you, his lips just inches away from yours.

“If you attempt this little show of yours again I can assure you, you won’t see the children again. You won’t live to see another day.” He pulled you by your wrist ignoring your choked up cries and pulled you into the bedroom, closing the door behind you.

“You thought you could run away from me? Thomas Shelby? And I wouldn’t find out? Mistake number one was the fucking sippy cup. Frances watched you carry those bags out to the barn and phoned me immediately. Forcing me to cut the deal short and to reschedule. Do you think I don’t treat you well? That I don’t give you everything?” You stayed silent, tears streaming down your cheeks as his dominance and power over you filled the room just by the way he circled around you.

“Did you forget your place? Is that it eh?” He stopped in front of you, wrapping his large hand around your small throat, his hand tightened tremendously, forcing you to gasp for any type of air.

He began to laugh menacingly, darkly. His crystal eyes arose with a blue flame, eyebrows furrowing together in anger as he spat on your face.

“You live because I allow you. You are my fucking property, my dearly beloved.” Not letting go of your throat he began walking angrily with grit, slamming you against the wall where books tumbled down from their shelving.

His lips smashed into yours in a heated, hateful kiss, his free hand running down your thigh to your ass, gripping the flesh harshly forcing a desperate screech to escape your lips.

His knee forced your legs a apart as he unzipped his pants with his free hand.

His hardened erect member popped out freely, smacking against your abdomen.

You tried to protest, words barely even understandable while he slid your panties to the side.

The shadow of his dominating eyes loomed over you with power, his nose snarling while a singular vein in his forehead was standing out noticeably.

In one swift movement his hips bucked upward, his cock sliding between your bruised walls that no longer wanted him.

It stung, you were completely dry, your makeup running down your cheeks in a beautiful disaster, and Tommy took a tremendous amount of joy in reminding you how much power he had over you.

“Big will always fuck small darling. You feel that?” He thrusted up into your core mercilessly, ripping your dress down with a flick of his hand leaving your breasts exposed to him as they bounced up and down, causing you to try to hide your face to look anywhere but him.

“That’s all you are, nothing but an appendage, my little slave. Tell me when are you going to learn your role Y/N, eh?” Your hands left his on your thrust, trying with all their might to push him away but he was too strong.

“Thomas please!” He mocked you repeating those words in a childish tone.

You could feel your body beginning to betray you, his cock warming your insides as the pain turned to pleasure, but you stayed crying as shame fulfilled you.

He began to laugh, as he watched your slick begin to slowly ooze out of you, coating his cock.

“Would you look at that? Still a whore for me arent you? You should feel grateful I’m even fucking you, hasn’t felt the same since you gave birth, more spacious, not so tight anymore.” You spat in his eye.

“Fuck you!” He released your neck, causing you to drop straight down onto the dirty floor. 

As you were gasping for air his hand curled into the strands of your hair, dragging you over toward the bed.

Tossing you onto the mattress effortlessly he tugged his tie off, wrapping the expensive fabric between your lips, tying it.

His hand flew back, and came crashing down in a vicious stroke against your delicate cheek, the blow guaranteed to leave a bruise.

“Can’t have you waking the children now can I?” He flipped you over onto your stomach, his body boring over you as he spread your cheeks, taking your flesh in his strong hand aggressively causing you to let out a muffled screech.

He penetrated you once more, his head hung by the back of your head, his hot breath carelessly running down your neck as he drilled into your aching hole.

“Is this all your good for eh?” His balls slapped against your bruised skin, as he spit his venomous words in your ear.

“A nuisance throughout the day but an average fuck at night?” You could feel his cock pulsate in your soaking core, your walls clenching around him involuntarily while you struggled to breath, your head nuzzled into the mattress.

His hands intertwined with yours, his back arching with each forceful thrust.

“Maybe I should put another child in you hm? Would that keep you happy? Shut you up and remind you of your place?” Your muffled protests merely made him laugh, as if he cared what you thought. 

He knew the children were your weak spot and you’d never abort, no matter how much you despised him.

His cock inched deeper with every single movement, causing your thighs to turn weak beneath him as the feeling of ecstasy ran throughout your veins from being close.

“I’ve ruined you my darling. No other man would look even once at you knowing who your husband is and what a used out whore you are. So desperate to be loved you jumped in bed with the first man who gave you attention.” His words struck a nerve. Your mind swam in every direction trying to understand when love and harmony turned into the never ending abuse and destruction of any emotional connection you shared.

Thomas owned you in every way. He was your first love, first and only husband, first fuck, and your final downfall.

His breathing picked up, and you felt him pulsate, filling you deep with his seed once more, the warmth sending you crumbling beneath him, your muffled moans sounding like music to his ears.

He layed there for a moment, his fingers combing through your hair gently.

“You have one role. How difficult is that to understand love? Serve me and care for the children. That’s all I ever asked.” He undid the tie and you stayed silent, crying into the mattress when you felt him pull out and his seed puddled out of you, soaking the sheets.

“Clean this up, and we’ll go to bed.” The bedroom was silent that night as it was every other night, reminding you that this marriage would never be the same. The man that was supposed to love and care for you was now the enemy, his arm holding you in your place against his chest as he slept effortlessly while you were terrified to sleep in the place you once thought was your home.

[dolliethv]

Thinking Bout You

summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes I'm sorry!! After writing a romantic story and two stories with smut, I wanted to try something new with angst inspired by the song "Thinking Bout You" by Ariana Grande, enjoy it xoxo.

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 1,9k

It was a rainy afternoon in London, and the gray sky seemed to mirror your mood. With your brown hair tangled in a messy bun and your glasses sliding down your nose, you were lost in the designs for your final university project. You were studying Fashion Design and Production, a world you immersed yourself in to escape your own thoughts, especially when those thoughts revolved around Jude Bellingham.

Jude, the young English football star, had entered your life by chance. You’d crossed paths in a small café near the Birmingham stadium. You had been sitting, absorbed in your sketches, when Jude, soaked from a sudden drizzle and with a cap barely concealing his famous face, sat at the adjacent table. It was a chance encounter; your eyes met, and the rest, as they say, is history. But not just any history. It was one full of ups and downs, intense moments, and above all, pain.

At first, everything was beautiful. Jude was charming, charismatic, and had that infectious laugh that made your world, always so structured and orderly, burst into color and chaos. The first few months were a whirlwind of emotions, with text messages late into the night, video calls from hotels in cities you could only imagine, and promises to see each other soon whenever Jude’s schedule allowed.

On the nights you managed to meet, the world seemed to stop. The walls of your small apartment became witnesses to muffled laughter under the sheets, bodies intertwined in the dim candlelight, and whispered secrets at midnight. They were moments of intimacy you both cherished, where the worries of the outside world did not exist. Jude would often stroke your hair while you rested on his chest, and in those moments everything seemed perfect, as if nothing could ever separate you.

You clearly remembered the nights when Jude would hold you after particularly tough days. He’d wrap you in his arms and kiss you gently, assuring you that everything would be okay. You’d stay up late talking about your dreams, laughing at silly things, and planning a future together. Jude would tell you stories about his training, how he imagined celebrating his goals with you in the stands, while you’d describe the dresses you would someday design, dreaming of seeing him wear one of your jackets at an important gala.

But over time, the distance and the demands of your respective lives began to take their toll. Jude found himself caught between his rising career and the media pressure that followed him at every turn. You, on your part, struggled with your own dreams and the growing sense that you would never measure up to the perfect world surrounding Jude. The nights that were once filled with laughter and conversation turned silent, with Jude too exhausted from training and you worn out after hours of working on your designs.

One afternoon, Jude called you from a crowded airport. It was the first time you didn’t hear excitement in his voice. “I don’t know how to handle all of this,” Jude said, with a vulnerability you rarely saw. “I need you, but sometimes I feel like I’m dragging you into something I’m not sure I can control.”

You felt a knot in your stomach. You needed him too, but the uncertainty and constant lack of time were starting to wear you down. Still, you tried to reassure him, hiding the tremor and pain in your voice. “We’ll get through this, Jude. We always do.”

First Confrontation: The Crumbling Reality.

One night, in a small Italian restaurant where you used to meet when Jude was in town, the tension finally erupted. You had arrived early, your fingers drumming on the table as you mentally reviewed what you wanted to say. Jude arrived with his usual smile, but there was something different about him. His gaze was distracted, as if his mind was somewhere else.

“I miss you,” you said, breaking the ice with a tone that sounded more like a plea than a mere statement. Jude looked up, his eyes reflecting a deep fatigue that went beyond the physical.

“I miss you too,” he replied sincerely. “It’s just that... all of this is so complicated.”

Feeling your emotions overflow. “I don’t know if I have you or if I’m fighting alone for something that I don’t even know still exists.”

Jude looked away, unable to sustain his painful honesty. “I don’t know how to do this better, darling. Football, the pressure... sometimes I feel like I’m losing everything that matters, and it really hurts.”

You leaned toward him, your eyes filled with unfallen tears. “And I feel like I’m losing you. I see you more in the news than in person.”

Jude clenched his jaw, struggling with the words he knew he had to say but that hurt too much. “Maybe we’re asking too much of each other... maybe this isn’t our time.”

Dinner ended in silence, both knowing there were no easy answers. You left the restaurant with a heavy heart, feeling each step take you further away from Jude.

Second Confrontation: The Unspoken Words.

A few weeks later, you and Jude tried to fix things during a rare weekend together. But instead of the reconnection you both hoped for, reality reasserted itself. You were at your apartment, surrounded by sketches and fabrics you had left unfinished. Jude sat on the sofa, watching you try to concentrate on your work, but the tension was palpable.

“Why don’t you tell me everything?” Jude broke the silence, his tone laden with contained frustration. “It seems like you’re not letting me into your life, like you’re keeping all your struggles to yourself.”

You dropped your pencil and turned to face him. “Do you want to know? I feel alone, Jude. All of this is too much. I try to understand your life, but sometimes I feel like mine has no place in it.”

Jude closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. “I didn’t want this to affect you like this. I always wanted to protect you from all of this.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “But you can’t protect me if it means pulling away from me. I need to be with you, not just in the good times, but in the bad ones too.”

Jude nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his own decisions and the pressure of a world that seemed to sweep them away. He moved closer to you and hugged you tightly, as if trying to capture that moment in memory, as if his life depended on it, knowing that things would never be as they were before. Both of you knew that the nights you shared, those of intimacy and tenderness, were no longer enough to keep you together.

The Last Conversation: Accepting the Inevitable.

Finally, on a cold January morning, you gathered the courage to face what you had feared for months. You found him at the door of the apartment that once was your refuge. Jude looked at you with tired eyes, knowing exactly what was coming. There were no shouts or accusations, only a silent understanding that, no matter how much you loved each other, your lives simply did not fit together.

“I will always love you with my life,” Jude whispered, his voice breaking as you gathered your things. “But I can’t keep hurting you.”

You nodded, tears falling silently down your cheeks. “Maybe we weren’t meant to last, but at least I have the memory.”

Jude looked at you, a lump in his throat, struggling against tears. “No one understood me like you did, baby… ‘nobody got me the way that you did.’ You’ll always be the only person who truly knew me, i love you.”

You smiled sadly, recognizing in his words a truth you both knew. “I feel the same way, Jude.”

The process of separation was slow and painful. Every time you saw Jude on TV, your chest tightened, reminding you of all you had left behind. Jude, for his part, every time he scored a goal, would look for your gaze in the crowd, hoping to see it, hoping to feel that everything you had lived wasn’t in vain.

Months later, you presented your final project, inspired by everything you had experienced with Jude. Your collection was called “Memories of Us,” and was filled with details that only someone who knew your story could understand: colors that reflected the emotions of your best days together and textures that evoked the fragility of what you once had. The collection was a success, but you knew it was not just a professional triumph; it was a bittersweet farewell.

[call-sign-shark]

Hi Shark 💓 I saw your post with the three word sentences and I'd like to request 6. "Be gentle, please." with Tommy. If you're more comfortable with writing for a different character then you're obviously free to do so! 🥰

Hi Daisy! Here we go dear 🥰 Finger crossed, I hope you'll enjoy that Tommy x Reader blurb! Honestly, I really enjoyed writing it.

Words: 993

TW: Smut content but no actual pornographic descriptions, mentions of murder, ambiguous ending (the ending is up to you), reader is nicknamed Hera.

Fire spread under your skin as his strong and calloused hands ran down your naked back to grab your hips in a bruising grip. How did you end up here, laying on the giant fur carpet in front of a fire place with Birmingham’s most infamous gangster touching you? The question had been playing on repeat in your buzzing skull the moment he had laid his fingers on you. A feverish sigh escaped from your quivering lips when Tommy’s hips crashed against yours. The wet caress of his tongue left goosebumps in its trail each time you would feel it on the sensitive flesh of your bosom. It was like the dancing flames of the fireplace, whose hungry tongues of blaze licked the logs that were feeding them until all remained was ashes. You clenched your fist in his dark hair, squeezing your eyes shut and throwing your head back at ocean of pleasure that was drowning you each time his hips moved. As you made love in his living room, the melody of your sighs and flesh snapping filling the room and swirling up to the ceiling, you still tried to gather all your remaining strength to hang on the reason behind your meeting.

“Hera…” He moaned against your breasts, the vibrations of his hoarse voice echoing in your whole ribcage and shattering your bones in a sensual earthquake. Your toes curled as his pace, slow and gentle at first, quickened. Lost in a maze of feelings and lust, your hand left his hair and joined the other one on his broad and muscular back.

“Deeper.” You hissed through your teeth as your nails dug in his skin and pierced his flesh. Your voice, eternally collected, was now shaken by a light tremor you hated to hear. You sounded begging. You sounded desperate. You sounded weak. And only God knew how you despised weakness. Well, not only God but also Luca Changretta, to be true. When the godfather of the American branch of the Sicilian mafia took you under his protective wing, he called you Hera — queen of gods, and furious dishonored wife of a monster. Besides him and a few capo, no one knew where you came from and why Changretta had a soft spot for you. Yet, the story behind your relationship was tragic.

He saw you one dreary summer night, crying outside of the church in your magnificent white dress stained with little crimson droplets. From what he had understand, you had caught your future husband cheating the day of your wedding and he was so enraged you found out about his secret affairs that he had beaten you until your legs collapsed and until your body was black and blue. When Luca Changretta cupped your face and laid a protective kiss on your forehead, he made you a promise: no other men would hurt you again, for he would make the most terrifying and beautiful monster out of you. Luca dived in your eyes and smiled, and as he did Y/N vanished in the aid of this new fierce entity that was now inhabiting you.They said Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and how right they were.

“Fuck —“ Tommy swore, at the edge of climax. All of his muscles tensed under the coiling and maddening pleasure that was consuming him — but Thomas Shelby was as stubborn as you were, and he hated to show any sign of weakness even more than you. That was why he choked his moans against your mouth and let his tongue force its way between your juicy lips. You scratched his back in response, small beads of blood darkening your nails. His pace was now frantic and brutal, turning your love making into more a battle than anything else. Sex was a fight you were both fiercely decided to win. But if Tommy had the rage of winning, you had the disgust of losing.

“Let it go, little boy…” You whispered against his mouth, waving your hips like a dancing succubus willing to milk him from his life. Your victory became evident as you felt Tommy’s legs shaking. He sunk his teeth in your lower lip and growled like an animal as he gave in — blown away by the fiery blaze of his little death, the gangster felt tears dawning at the corner of his turquoise eyes when he came. The burning sensation was so unbearable at some point he thought he was in hell. But was it really hell if he liked the way it burned?

You smirked, enjoying the end of the war you’ve just won.

Tommy and you were now sharing a cigarette, both naked and sitting on the comfortable rug while watching the dying flames that were flickering in the hearth. But despite the doubt that had started to plague your cold mind, you mentally repeated the mantra you lived by for years: You have to rise above the squabbling and chaos, and keep believing. You have to always keep your goals in mind… And your goal was to murder Tommy Shelby.

Why?

Because you were the most terrifying and skilled hitman of America, and someone had paid you to kill him.

And you were heartless.

You had not always been like this though… But the young eighteen years old crying princessa Changretta had almost raised had met the same demise as her savior: she was no longer alive. All remained was the still smoking ashes of a maimed heart and an empty body only animated by pure anger.

Tommy had barely stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray nearby when you pressed the cold blade of your knife against the fragile flesh of his throat. Yet, he did not seem surprised. Nor afraid. Quite the contrary, Thomas Shelby was tired. Just… Tired. He looked at you, his sky blue eyes staring into the void that constituted yours, and parted his lips to speak.

“Be gentle, please.”

That was all he said.

Somehow, he did not mind to die if the last embrace given to him was soft — even if it came from Death herself. You could kill him, it did not matter anymore, as long as you were as no one else since Grace had been with him: gentle.

You pulled him in your arms, hugging his exhausted frame in a final clasp, and tightened your grip around the knife.

Fine, you thought, I’ll be gentle then.

[hsdiaries]

Eight Count;

A Short Story — Eight Chapters.

Will be on wattpad here.

Harry Styles is the best underground boxer at Birmingham's yet still struggling to make a living.

Emilia Park is a nurse with her life in perfect order, shaped in every aspect to her personal appeal.

Each carry the wounds and trauma of their parent's addiction, each with their own approach on how to escape it.

Their close living quarters move them into even closer proximity when Emilia's apartment becomes Harry's place of safety. Together, they face the truth of their broken reality learning to accept each other and push each other into something greater than themselves.

26. ICU Nurse. Lives like the world is planned out to her convenience.

26. Underground Boxer. Lives life not knowing how he will get by tomorrow.

• chapter one

• chapter two

• chapter three

• chapter four

• chapter five

• chapter six

[birdaquarius]

The Weight of Goodbye — Isaiah Jesus/Evie Shelby One Short

Summary: Isaiah Jesus and Evie Shelby attempt to escape their complicated lives and forbidden romance for a chance at happiness together.

Happy (late) Birthday @novashelby! I hope you'll appreciate what I've written with your beloved character, Evie. I'm not gonna lie, it was a challenge to write with someone's original character and I hope I made her justice. Word Count: 3k. Pairings: Isaiah Jesus/Evie Shelby and Arthur Shelby, mentions of Thomas Shelby. Warnings: Violence, wounds and blood.

The setting sun painted Birmingham's industrial skyline in hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the turmoil in Isaiah Jesus's heart. He stood at the corner of New Street and Corporation Street, his worn boots scuffing against the cobblestones as he paced back and forth. The weight of the small velvet box in his pocket seemed to grow heavier with each passing minute.

Evie was late.

Isaiah pulled out his pocket watch, a gift from Evie's father on his last birthday – a reminder of his position in the gang and the complicated web of loyalties that bound him. Five minutes past six. His mind raced with possibilities, each more worrying than the last. Had she changed her mind? Had her husband, Reginald, discovered their plan?

Just as panic began to set in, he spotted her hurrying down the street, her hair escaping from beneath a modest hat, her brown eyes wide with a mix of excitement and fear.

"Isaiah," she breathed as she reached him, her gloved hand coming to rest on his arm. "I'm sorry I'm late. Reginald… he almost didn't let me leave."

Isaiah's jaw clenched at the mention of her husband's name. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

Evie shook her head quickly. "No, no. Nothing like that. He's just… suspicious. I think he knows something's not right."

They fell into step together, walking towards the canal where they could speak more freely. The streets were busy with workers heading home, the clatter of horse-drawn carriages and the distant hum of factories providing a backdrop to their hushed conversation.

"Do you have everything ready?" Isaiah asked, his voice low.

Evie nodded, patting the small bag she carried. "Enough to get us started. And James…?"

"Safe with my dad," Isaiah assured her. "He'll bring him to the station tomorrow morning."

They reached the canal, finding a secluded spot away from prying eyes. The water lapped gently against the stone walls, the occasional splash of a fish breaking the surface. In the distance, smoke billowed from factory chimneys, a constant reminder of the world they were trying to escape.

Isaiah turned to face Evie, taking both her hands in his. "Are you sure about this, love? Once we leave, there's no turning back. Your father, the gang… they'll never forgive me for taking you away."

Evie's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but her voice was steady when she spoke. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life, Isaiah. I can't live this lie anymore. I want us to be a family – you, me, and James."

The mention of their son, barely a year old and already the center of their world, strengthened Isaiah's resolve. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the velvet box.

"I know we can't do this properly, not here, not now," he said softly, opening the box to reveal a simple gold band. "But I want you to have this. A promise for our future."

Evie gasped, her free hand coming to cover her mouth. "Oh, Isaiah…"

As he slipped the ring onto her finger, hidden beneath her glove, a shout from the street behind them made them both jump.

"Evie! Evie Shelby!"

Isaiah's blood ran cold as he recognized the voice. Arthur Shelby, one of the senior members of the gang, and a man who had never approved of Isaiah's relationship with Thomas' daughter.

"Go," Isaiah whispered urgently, pushing Evie towards the shadows of a nearby warehouse. "I'll handle this. Meet me at the station at dawn, just like we planned."

Evie hesitated, her eyes wide with fear. "Isaiah, no. Come with me now. We can both-"

"There's no time," Isaiah insisted, already turning to face the approaching danger. "I'll be there, I promise. I love you."

With one last anguished look, Evie disappeared into the gathering darkness. Isaiah straightened his cap and turned to face Arthur Shelby, forcing a casual grin onto his face.

"Arthur," he called out, stepping into the lamplight. "What brings you down to the canal at this hour?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he approached, his trademark cap pulled low over his brow. "Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing, Jesus. Thought I saw you with someone. Tommy's daughter, perhaps?"

Isaiah's heart raced, but he kept his voice steady. "Just taking a walk, Arthur. Clearing my head before tomorrow's job."

Arthur circled him slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. "Tomorrow's job, eh? And what job would that be?"

Isaiah's mind raced. He hadn't been assigned anything specific for tomorrow, but he needed to buy time, to keep Arthur's suspicions at bay until he could get to Evie and James.

"The, uh, the shipment from London," Isaiah improvised. "Thomas wants extra security, what with the coppers sniffing around lately."

Arthur's hand shot out, grabbing Isaiah by the collar and slamming him against the canal wall. "Don't lie to me, boy. I know you're planning something with Evie. Tommy is furious. He wants you both brought in."

Panic rose in Isaiah's chest, but he fought to keep his composure. "I don't know what you're talking about, Arthur. Evie's married. She's got a life in London now. Why would I-"

The punch caught him off guard, stars exploding behind his eyes as Arthur's fist connected with his jaw. Isaiah tasted blood, his vision swimming as he struggled to stay upright.

"Last chance, Isaiah," Arthur growled. "Where is she?"

In that moment, time seemed to stand still for Isaiah. He saw two paths stretching out before him – one where he betrayed Evie to save himself, and one where he risked everything for a chance at the life they'd dreamed of.

With a surge of adrenaline, Isaiah shoved Arthur back, catching the older man by surprise. "I'm sorry, Arthur," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I can't let you stop us."

Before Arthur could recover, Isaiah took off running, his feet pounding against the cobblestones as he raced through the winding streets of Birmingham. He could hear shouts behind him, knew that soon the entire gang would be on his tail.

As he ran, memories flashed through his mind – the first time he'd seen Evie, laughing in her father's office; the stolen moments in shadowy corners of The Garrison; the night James was born, and the overwhelming love he'd felt holding his son for the first time.

He ran until his lungs burned and his legs felt like lead, finally ducking into an abandoned warehouse near the railway station. As he caught his breath, slumped against a rusty piece of machinery, Isaiah realized he'd made his choice. There was no going back now.

With shaking hands, he pulled out a scrap of paper and a stub of pencil, scrawling a hasty note:

"My dearest Evie, I'm sorry, but I can't meet you at the station. They're onto us. Take James and go. Don't look back. I'll find you when it's safe. All my love, Isaiah"

He folded the note carefully, then slipped out of the warehouse and made his way to the small house where his dad lived. He opened the door at his quiet knock, James cradled in his arms.

"Isaiah, what's happened?" he asked, taking in his disheveled appearance and split lip.

"No time to explain, Dad," he said, pressing a kiss to James' forehead. "I need you to get this note to Evie at the station. First train to London. Can you do that?"

Jeremiah nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Be careful, my boy," he whispered.

With one last look at his sleeping son, Isaiah stepped back out into the night. He had a plan forming – a dangerous, desperate plan – but one that might just give Evie and James the chance to get away safely.

As dawn broke over Birmingham, casting long shadows across the industrial landscape, a solitary figure made his way towards The Garrison. Isaiah Jesus, battered and weary, but with determination burning in his eyes, pushed open the heavy wooden door.

Inside, he found exactly what he'd expected – Thomas Shelby, surrounded by his top lieutenants, all turned to face him with a mixture of anger and betrayal on their faces.

"Mr. Shelby," Isaiah said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. "I've come to make a deal."

Hours later, as the morning sun climbed higher in the sky, a train pulled out of Birmingham New Street Station. In a third-class carriage, Evie sat with her son James on her lap, tears streaming down her face as she read the crumpled note in her hand.

Through the window, the familiar landscapes of her childhood faded away, replaced by rolling countryside and the promise of a new beginning. She didn't know when – or if – she would see Isaiah again, but she clung to the hope that burned in her heart, as bright and unquenchable as their love.

Back in Birmingham, in a small, dark room above The Garrison, Isaiah Jesus nursed his wounds and steeled himself for the challenges ahead. He had made a devil's bargain, pledging his unwavering loyalty and service to Evie's father in exchange for their safety and freedom.

The road ahead would be long and fraught with danger, but as Isaiah fingered the matching gold band hidden beneath his shirt, he knew that every sacrifice would be worth it. Someday, somehow, he would find his way back to Evie and James. And on that day, they would finally be the family they were meant to be.

As the city stirred to life around him, Isaiah closed his eyes and whispered a quiet promise to the morning air. "Wait for me, my loves. I'm coming."

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Two)

Summary: As the war of words, and destruction of inanimate objects continues between you and the blue eyed squatter in your home, Mr Thomas Shelby. You are pulled back into reality from the distraction of his presence and quickly reminded of your impending, dreaded nuptials when your fiance pays you a visit. But with the Birmingham gangsters observing eyes never missing a thing. What will he make of your husband to be's unruly hand when he sees the true nature of your relationship, and that of the man you're set to marry?

Warnings: Language, angst, manipulation, domestic violence, use of one racial slur

Word Count: 4332

Authors Note: £17,000 British sterling pound in 1924, is worth £850,000 in todays value.

" Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr Abbott" you graciously greeted the piano tuner as you walked him to the main living area, crossing your arms in an attempt to put a stop to your fidgeting hands, and the relentless twiddling of your anxious fingers. How on earth were you going to explain this one? you smiled nervously to the portly man sporting an impressive moustache. It's perfectly curled, whiskery ends reaching the very tops of his wind-chapped cheeks.

After the previous days' eventful morning and a much warranted reminder that you were in fact, living with a gun-welding gangster. Tommy, your unwelcome housemate, single handedly took it upon himself to move your bullet-ridden grand piano into the living room and away from the vicinity of his quarters and ringing ears.

And with one morning of your musical skills having been missed, you were keen to reset the alarm for the following day. Or so, that's what you thought.

" What seems to be the problem then, Miss?" the man that had once sold you the precious musical instrument queried. His passion for his craft rarely seeing him leave his workshop where he preferred the sound of the ivory keys more than any human voice.

" Oh, just a small one" you replied, pushing the wooden door open. "A missing key" you found a way around to describe the charred bullet hole in the non existent note of B. B for bastard, you thought to yourself and the vandal that had destroyed it as your brow furrowed in confusion at the renowned craftsman who was now wide-eyed as you both stepped into the room.

"Oh, well this...this..." words stumped you as you turned your head to see your once glossy piano now in a piled heap of wood in the middle of the room. The hatchet used for it's barbaric destruction embedded at the very point of its woody mountain.

" Excuse me, for just, one moment" you forced a smile through the fury rapidly bubbling under your skin as you quickly turned on your heel, leaving the horrified pianist alone with the piano he had poured his love, sweat and tears into crafting as he pitifully pressed his finger down onto the only remaining chiming key of C. C for...

"Mr Shelby!" you shouted marching through the corridors in search of the only person capable of committing such a monstrosity as you came to a stop in front of the office door. Your learnt manners quickly escaping you when you stormed through without the polite formalities a lady such as yourself would possess, having had a governess for the majority of your childhood years.

"Mr Shelby!" You repeated, flying pass the opening door to see the squatters sleeves rolled up, a peak of chest hair visible through the open top button of his collared shirt your flustered stare had witnessed twice in already twenty-four hours. Hardly gentlemanly, you scoffed to yourself as your heated cheeks darted away from his causal choice of attire.

" On the mantel", Tommy said mid conversation, looking up from the papers between his fingers to the young worker with a brassy ornament in his hand.

"Mr..."

" No Beethoven this morning, eh?" He stopped you as he leant back into his leather chair with a satisfied smirk etched on his lips as you strutted forward, and the young employee made a swift exit. "Or maybe some, Mozart?" His lips tightened into a smile as he subtly cocked his head to the side, reaching for a much needed drag of a cigarette the stress of your presence gave him.

" What is all this?" you looked around the room, forgetting your barrage of accusations when your eyes widened at the many various objects he had added to your father's office to replace the ones you had hoarded.

" Oh, no, no, no. This won't do, this won't do one bit!" you said in horror, piling them into your arms whilst you made your way around the room as Tommy's scrunched brow followed you until you came to a stop in front of him. " This is my office you've just come in and commandeered. And my piano, you..."

" I think you mean my piano. In my living room. In my house, no?" Tommy corrected you as he lit a cigarette, his squinting eyes skimming over your figure hugging dress. You weren't exactly making it easy for him to look away. To ignore your bossy presence, he thought to himself as his blue-eyed stare lingered longer than intended before he snapped himself away from his wandering eyes and stood up, adjusting his tailored waistcoat.

" Look, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot" he said, playing the peace maker in attempt to replace the ferocious frown boring into him.

"The wrong foot?" You scoffed, shaking your head as he perched himself casually on the edge of the oak desk in front of you, the playful glint in his eyes toying with you through the cloud of smoke seeping from the rolled cylinder of tobacco between his fingers. " We got off on the wrong foot, the moment your foot stepped into my house and you shot, then destroyed my piano"

" Right. So those early wake up calls weren't to piss me off then? Drive me out, eh?" he cocked a brow as his tongue ran across his bottom lip, the slappable smile now teasingly glaring back at you, further irritating you.

"I...I"

"Yes, Y/N?" His brows raised, waiting for the smart response he knew your brain was trying to scramble together as he continued to keep you on a first name basis.

" I..." You stopped yourself, before you blurted something you would later berate your flustered brain for saying.

"Just so you're aware, Mr Shelby. I happen to play the violin too" you said as you wittiness finally caught up with the anger demanding all the free space in your head. "And poorly" you finished, stealing the smugness sitting on his teasing smirk as you quirked a brow. His widening eyes coming to the quick realisation that if he was going to get even an ounce of sleep to fill his notorious lack in slumber, there would need to be an urgent manhunt for the destruction of every musical instrument you possessed.

" Have at it, love" Tommy's heavy footing stomped after you as you turned for the door, his casual response hiding the protruding bone of irritation in his clenching jaw. " Last bit of fun until you're sent off to marry, eh?" He delivered the damning reminder of your predicament hot on your heels as your head snapped back to see him stood directly behind you, watching your satisfied smile drain.

" Cal Astor, no?" Tommy pointed to you, his cigarette resting loosely between the callous pads of his fingers. He'd been looking into you, gathering information, your mind urgently tried to weigh out how much he had learnt of your dire situation as your sharp glare met his. " One of the top ten richest men in the country. What a catch" he slipped the attained details of your fiance's status to you with a smirk.

" Tell me, Y/N. Why would a young lady such as yourself, weeks from marrying into one of the wealthiest families in the country care so much for bricks and mortar? " He questioned, blowing a cloud of smoke into the room as his interrogating stare bore into you while you stood momentarily lost for words once again.

"Oh, Sissy?" your brothers irritating pet name called to you from the foyer as a palpable silence settled in the room, pressuring one of you to make the first move.

" You have a guest, love" Tommy's gravelly voice broke the tension as he raised his brows, his challenging glare undisrupted from your brothers bellowing voice.

In a dramatic display of discontent for not only the way he had intruded into your home, but also, the details of your private life he had infringed on. You purposely released the items in your arms to the floor, when the sharp end of an ugly ornament stabbed you in the toe in the process, eclipsing your unfaltering stance to not have the stranger in front of you win another battle in the war he had declared.

Stifling the whelping pain now throbbing through your foot, Tommy waited and watched with curiosity. Thoroughly impressed that the lady in front of him, born with heirs and graces, had gone so long without a mere whimper, or foul-mouthed word. Was you really that bloody stubborn?

Holding in your impending scream, you swiftly turned your back and made your way out the door. Hobbling to the nearest wall, a stroppy, frustrated, grunt of pain left your lips while you lifted your throbbing foot, clutching your toe in pain as Tommy breathed out a heavy sigh and fell into the leather upholstered chair behind the wall next to you. How long would you both keep this up until you came to a solution? And how many toes, ornaments and any other inanimate object would be sacrificed in the process?

" Ahh there she is. My dear, sister" Johnathan greeted you as you walked forward through the bruising pain you had unintentionally inflicted on yourself.

" How's the houseguest?"

" Trespasser, Johnathan" you corrected him as you winced from one foot to the other, trying to ease the pressure of your swelling toe.

" Blimey, that bad?" he chuckled resting his heavy arm over your shoulders, forcing you back on to two feet with a shudder of pain. " Don't fret baby sister, church bells will be ringing soon. Then you'll be rid of this gloomy dump!" he said, squeezing you into him with a rough pat to your arm.

"Aha! Speaking of the husband to be" Johnathan said letting go as you looked up at the smartly polished dress shoes walking your way. Your stomach dropping at the sound of his voice beckoning closer.

" Darling" a voice broke through your brother's chatter as your fiance snaked his hand around your waist, leaning into your cheek.

" Cal" you meekly voiced as you turned your head away from him, earning you a scornful glare and a sharp squeeze to your hip.

"Playing hard to get are we?" Cal scoffed a laugh through his pearly whites, the insult of you refusing his affection in front of company further angering him and his tightening grasp that had become prone to landing blows to your delicate skin.

" You won't see my sister give in that easily, Cal" Johnathan laughed through the cigar between his teeth, oblivious as per usual to the true nature of his friend and acquaintance he had latched on to. Or rather, money he had latched on to.

"Indeed" Cal looked down at you with a smirk, having already had his way with you.

A moment of fear, of weakness. You told yourself when you had given into his forceful demands as he hitched up your dress whilst his heavy frame climbed on top of you.

Coerced, guilted, or even a last plea of naive hope on your part to have him finally let you be if you gave him what he wanted, you'd tell yourself in moments of reflection and sorrow for the part of yourself you lost that night when you dulled his predatory insistence with whatever drink you could find. Was that why you gave him so much power? Because he was your first intimate, and now tainted experience?

" Frances, one moment!" Johnathan called, jogging after your housekeeper as he watched her hurry away from your brother's long list of demands she knew she'd be dumped with if she didn't make a quick escape.

" You disappoint me Y/N" your fiance abruptly turned you to face him, now alone together, and away from observing eyes. " Was quite the surprise when I sent a car for you the other night and it returned, empty. My fiance, missing" he said as you tried to leave when his strong grip came down on your arm, bruising through your skin. "You're not going to go missing again are you, darling?" his irritation was felt through the sarcasm laced in his words.

Too many times had you avoided his invitations, had you purposely found yourself out of town when his presence increased with the death of your father and the rules of courting he had imposed to keep any premarital scandals at bay. The only rule your father had ever implemented in your life that you were thankful for.

" No" you shook your head, your strong character once again unable to stand up to the man you had unwillingly passed so much control of your words and actions over to.

" Good girl" he chided, a satisfied smirk growing on his lips closing in on yours as you flinched at his pressing hold around your reddened wrists, forcing you to endure his embrace.

" Johnathan, the car" he smiled breaking away, releasing you from his grip as he called for your brother who childishly waited on his every word.

Stood alone in the foyer, rubbing the taste of him from your swollen lips, the bruising soreness from your bluing skin, you watched as your brother entertained the man you had become to loathe, when your tearful eyes turned to see Tommy stood between the frame of the office door, having witnessed the most vulnerable part of your existence you had shamefully hidden away.

For be it poor or rich. A woman's woes in the time you lived in were always unheard, always played down to an inaudible silence. And Tommy was no fool to think otherwise, as he too stood silently watching you walk away without a word.

Sat in the bay window of your room later that morning, you smiled as you watched the stable hand pat down your mare's dusty coat, giving her the pampering she deserved.

"Your tea, Miss" Frances announced as she walked through the door with a silver platter of England's finest, freshly brewed. " Good heavens! What ever happened to your foot?" She said upon seeing your expanding toe precariously resting on a stack of cushions and books. 

" Mr Shelby" you said as your eyes narrowed in on the trespasser now approaching your thoroughbred down in the courtyard.

" Mr Shelby did this?" Frances' eyes widened upon hearing your accusations as she examined your lack of care for your swelling digit doubling in size.

" No, Mr Shelby's ghastly ornament did that" you said briefly looking at your propped-up foot before your attention returned to outside. " What on earth is he doing?" You curiously observed the squatter, his presence a welcome distraction to your impending nuptials and crippling worries. Not that you would admit it, of course.

" Oh my" Frances's hand flew to her chest as she watched the bridle being adjusted to your saddleless horse. " I should go warn him" Frances turned to leave when you hoped up with a giddy smile as you searched for the shoe you would force to fit around your ballooning foot.

" No, no" you gently rested your hand on your housekeeper's arm, stopping her from sabotaging your fun. " Let him find out himself" you grinned as you limped to the door, leaving Frances shaking her head disapprovingly at the woman she had cared for since she was a rosy-cheeked baby, toddling from one foot to the other.

Stood by the stable door, you curiously watched as Tommy whispered words of gentle reassurance to your horse, brushing his hand down her muzzle as your steps apprehensively approached closer, unsure if the topic of conversation would be your finances heavy hand he saw earlier that day, you wished not to discuss.

" How's your toe?" Tommy asked, his cigarette resting loosely between his lips as he turned to face you with an emerging smile dimpling the corners of his eyes.

" My toe? Good as new" you lied, badly, as you crossed your arms at the amusing chuckle leaving your unwanted guests' lips." You should saddle her" you warned him as you watched him lead her towards you, secretly hoping he would continue his refusal to listen to your bossy demands.

" Was born riding, love. Think I can handle her" he confidently proclaimed as he shot you a wink. " Come on, steady now" he patted her side as you followed behind them, eager to see him unceremoniously take a blow to his insufferable cockyness.

" What's her name?" He asked as he lifted himself up, adjusting the reigns in his hands to his liking.

" Nelly" you said as you leant back on the wooden fencing of the small paddock, taking the weight of your throbbing foot you had shoved into the soles of your tightly laced boots.

" Nelly, eh?" Tommy quietly mumbled clearing his throat, suddenly doubting his riding skills as he looked down at the jittery creature bouncing from hoof to hoof. " Steady, girl" he managed to control her erratic movements as he pulled back the reigns with a gentle pressure. " Don't show me up, Nell. I'll never hear the end of it" he quietly whispered to your horse with a pat to her neck as you watched on with amusement.

" See, we're doing alright. Aren't we Nelly?" Tommy called out to both you and your horse as he trotted along the muddied ground. " She just needs some firm guidance, is all" he said as he passed by your rolling eyes. " With a horse like..." Tommy continued his unsolicited advice when a freckled orange and black butterfly passed in front of him, causing Nelly to rear up in fear before throwing him off and bolting away.

" Shit" Tommy huffed at the sound of your approaching hysterics as he lay in the mud, his ego having been embarrassingly taken down a few notches off it's high pedestal.

" Am I in hell?" he opened one eye to see your smirking face looming over him with your hand out for him to take, when your smile turned to a scowl and you let him drop to the ground once again. " No, still alive" he grunted as he pulled his body and throbbing head back up, resting his arms on his bent knees as he watched your horse trot towards you. " Her name wouldn't happen to stand for nervous Nelly, would it?" Tommy looked up at you both as he watched you nuzzle your head against her neck, her thumping heart slowly settling with your tender touch.

" Nervous Nelly, notorious Nelly. Even nutty Nelly at one point. My girl has earned herself quite a collection of nicknames, haven't you, darling" you said as you cupped your hand under her muzzle, letting her lick the saltiness of your palms.

" Here" you said, putting your free hand out for him to take. " Are you hurt?" You asked as you both hobbled out of the paddock back to the stables. Both a sight of giggling fits for the staff of Arrow House looking from behind the twitching curtains of your shared home.

" No more than your toe is" he smiled down at you as you walked beside each other, free of any bellowing voices or snide remarks for the first time in almost a week, having both taken a dramatic blow to your obnoxious stubbornness.

" Mr Shelby" you turned to face him as you gave the reigns to your stable hand. " How much did my father owe you?" You took the opportunity to ask the question that had been nagging you in your brief truce before the battle of words recommenced.

" £17,000" Tommy exhaled as he looked at you from the corners of his eyes, a feeling of pity for you and the burden your father had selfishly lumbered you with stopping him from making any smart remark.

With a future of little prospects, other than that of a high-society marriage, every woman such as yourself was destined for. Tommy had come to the knowledge that your father had secured your life by marrying you off into wealth rather than leaving you with his fortune to pave your own way in life.

As your eyes widened and the learnt details of your fathers debt and how big of a whole he had dug in his wake. A guttural feeling of dread weighed down your stomach at the large sum of money your father owed, nearly exceeding that of Arrow Houses' value.

" I will pay you back, Mr Shelby" you said as you looked back to your home and it's surrounding land. Suddenly feeling you had nothing else to offer other than your word.

"Look, Y/N..."

" I will find a way, Mr Shelby" you made a pledge you knew would be near impossible to uphold if the deeds to your house had indeed, no standing.

With a small nod of his head, Tommy gazed down at you as a brief moment of peace captured him in the silent breeze of summer blowing a lock of hair drifting across your cheek, glittering with the welcome rays of the midday sun. A silence you both welcomed in the neutral grounds of no man's land until the sound of your brother hurtling down the drive, car horn blaring, deafened your ears.

" Sister! I won it! I bloody won it! " Your brother laughed maniacally, high on his win with a wad of cash in his hands, having spent the entire morning in the casinos with your fiance.

" God's sake" you felt the embarrassment of your brother's presence as your eyes darted to Tommy undoubtedly judging your renowned noble name, questioning how a family such of your selves came to inherit it as you watched him ignite a cigarette behind the orangery glow of the flame.

" Sweet pea" Cal's voice approached you as you shifted away, stumbling into Tommy as you did. " Sorry" you apologised, tucking a rebel hair behind your ear with your flustered fingers as he steadied your fall with a gentle hand to your back, a touch foreign to you with the heavy strikes you had become accustomed to from the opposite sex.

"Cal, Mr Thomas Shelby. Mr Shelby, Earl Cal Astor" you introduced the two men as you stood in the middle, looking between their glaring stares as you subtly shrugged of your fiances hand on your arm in the process.

"Pleasure" Cal greeted him with a belittling tone of superiority with his hand out as Tommy's hovered momentarily in the empty space between them before lifting it to take a smoke. Only a mere nod of his head in acknowledgment of his presence.

Murder, theft, prostitution, gambling. Tommy did not only live a life in the dark shadows your fiance and brother would visit for entertainment. He was the maker of it. The master puppet to the riches seedy side of life he and his men would adorn with gold-collumed bars, and live jazz music to have them fill his pockets. He had met a dozen men like your fiance. Each a replica of the other. Each of them in the privacy of their home with wives, lovers and maids accustomed to feeling the back of their hand when money didn't get them what they felt they were owed.

There were many things Tommy's wavering moral compass didn't stand for. And have no doubt, he had seen the bruises on your wrists, the tears unspent in your eyes you hid as you hurried away earlier that morning.

"Excuse me. I have a business call" your unexpected houseguest said as he threw his cigarette to the ground, inches from the perfectly kept shoes of your fiance.

" Shelby!" he called with a mocking chuckle, angered by the blow of disrespect he'd been shown. " Perhaps you would grace us with your presence at our engagement ball next week. Then you can find the time away from your pressing business matters for us to get to know the Small Heath gypsy boy living with my soon to be wife" he tauntingly finished with his nose up, lifting the heavy gold signet ring of his family's crest to your lower back you had already felt on numerous occasions, the sharp end of.

Coming to a stop at the steps of Arrow House, you watched the notorious gangster with his hands seated in his trouser pockets as his back stayed turned to you, whilst you silently prayed he would refuse the invitation and childish game of belittling any class below him you knew your fiance was set on making a spectacle out of in sheer spite. A game you were not willing to play.

" Next week it is, Mr Astor" Tommy's low rumbling voice replied, never ceasing the opportunity to further his endeavor as his strong statue disappeared into the darkened foyer and the door shut behind him.

A potential for business, or rather a show of power to the man that had insulted his heritage so freely with one single disdained word used to rile him up and have him show his business acquaintances the true colours of the leader to the notorious cut-throat gang he had kept from their lives until any encouraging reminder was needed. For they were no better than him. Criminals with the most unsavory of dealings. And you had better believe, Tommy had no qualms being the one to show these men their own true colours, and the reminder that they were no different to any small-time thief from Small Heath with only a title of nobility slapped on the end of their name seperating them. No qualms at all.

NEXT PART

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@tiedyedghoulette

[tommysbentley]

Perfect - Tommy Shelby x Reader

“Can I hold you, Tommy?” you asked your husband as he sat on your shared bed. He was clad in his undershirt and boxers, glasses resting on his sharp nose as he read his evening paper.

Looking up from his paper, your husband drank in your figure. The short blue nightgown adorning your body, the lace trim kissing the tops of your thighs and caressing your chest. He admired the look of your freshly washed face, hair slightly damp at the hairline from the water splashing on it. He breathed in your scent, which he loved. You smelt warm and slightly floral, not overpowering at all.

After a long day, truly nothing was better than an evening in with his lovely wife. Wait. Were you talking to him?

“Sorry love, did you say something?” your husband said, snapping out of whatever trance we was in before.

You blushed as you climbed into bed next to him. You didn’t want to have to repeat your request again.

“Can I hold you, darling?” you repeated, quietly. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes, heat flooding your face.

“Why’s it you want to hold me? Always thought it was supposed to be the other way around.” Tommy responded, his charming smirk gracing across his handsome face.

You blushed again. How is your husband as handsome as he was when the both of you were in school? He laughed and pulled you closer, his large hand clasping your wrists and his face nearing yours.

“What’s gotten into you, doll?” He laughed as he pressed his palm into your heated cheeks.

“Nothing, Tom. Can’t a woman just want to hold her darling husband?” you bit back.

“I suppose so. C’mere, doll. Let me lay on ya’.” Tommy said, lifting himself to rest his head on you, and letting you wrap your arms around him.

“Is this okay, Tom?” you asked quietly, as you felt your husbands muscles relax and tension escape his body as he cuddled up on you.

“More than okay, this is perfect.” he responded, his speech muffled by the slip you were wearing.

The two of you rested like this for a while. The ticking of the clock and the sounds of your matched breathing all that was needed as you both enjoyed each others’ company. Your hands made busy rubbing your lovers head and back, fingers grazing his toned figure as he nestled on you. As much as you loved tangling in the sheets with your more-than-attentive husband, these acts of romantic intimacy were equally as nourishing to you both, and to your marriage.

Time together like this was sparse, with the Shelby Company Ltd growing day by day, your husband acquiring new factories, distilleries, and ‘deals’ almost daily. He felt bad for the time spent away from you, and always tried to send you gifts and little messages when the distance grew wearing on your marriage. Of course, Tommy knew presents weren’t enough to make up for lost time, but he hoped that it would remind you that you always lived a special corner of his mind. Regardless, you were endlessly proud of your husband - war and loss took their toll on him, but you were proud to see him grow into the man he dreamed of becoming when you were children. You loved that he could now accomplish his goal of providing for the Shelby clan and it’s posterity.

“This is nice, you know? Why don’t we do this more often?” your husband asked, turning to face you.

“Because, my love, one of us is is often too busy bouncing between Birmingham and London to come home and cuddle up to his wife every evening.” you responded, no malice behind your words.

Tommy released a sigh, reaching to grab a cigarette and a light. You took the lighter from his hand as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. You lit his cigarette for him and waited for him to take a puff before passing it to you. As you took an inhale of the cigarette in your hand, your husband pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you.” you both said at the same time, smiling once you realized you had said it simultaneously.

“Let’s get some rest, ay’ darling? Got a big day ahead of me tomorrow.” your husband said, putting his cigarette out on the crystal ashtray next to his beside. He lifted his shirt off, causing you to bite your lip as you explored the view before you.

“Oh, love, I don’t think I’m tired just yet.” You responded, your voice laced with a slightly seductive tone.

“Well then, doll. I think I have just the solution for that!” Tommy’s brummy accent deepening as he pulled you closer to leave kisses on your sensitive neck.

A/N: Hello fellow Tommy simps 🤠 my ask box is open for anything (thirsts/suggestions/whatever).

[red-riding-wood]

Hi darling, I have a request for a drabble if you feel inspired. ❛ people like us don’t get to decide when we’re done. ❜ from the prompt list with Arthur Shelby.

People Like Us

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x F!Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Warnings: graphic depiction of suicide attempts, blood and cutting, angst, comfort

WC: 1848

Definitely not just a drabble, got a bit carried away with this one. I'm sorry this is so late, Lee! Getting back on track with writing.

You’d thought everyone had left. But Arthur had remained; he always did, for at least a few minutes after, to make sure you were safe. He stood outside your door, watching the coppers stationed in the darkened alleys, occasionally knocking one’s teeth out when he didn’t think they were taking their watch over you seriously. Sometimes, when the night was most quiet, and the voices of those he’d damned did not plague his mind, he thought about admitting things to you – feelings, that you likely did not reciprocate.

Tonight, your bathroom light had been on, and your screeching pierced the walls of the residence and filled the night air of Birmingham like some sort of banshee.

Your eyes were foggy when the door swung open and the man nearly slipped making his way to you, a bruised hand clasping around the porcelain of the tub and a few locks of hair wisping over his eyes before the same hand was wrapping around you, pulling you up. Crimson streaked your vision as it dribbled down your wrist, pooling around you, staining the bathwater a pale, sickening shade of red. For one dreadful moment, you feared you might never escape it, that you would drown with the tang of bitter iron on your tongue and the blood-water would swallow your eyes, your throat, your ears.

But Arthur’s palm in yours was strong, and warm; it pumped a new life in your veins and sent shivers along your numb, tingling flesh, and heaved you from the waters of death in one dizzying sweep. Head rolling back, long fingers caught you, cradling you against the heat of his chest, the palpitations of his wild heart coming to you in shockwaves. Yours were frighteningly faint in comparison to his. 

You shivered in his arms – cold, suddenly, past the heat of the adrenaline – as your bare flesh met the biting air, curling in on yourself like a child. Everything took a second or two to register, maybe more – did time even exist? It must have; it must have, because you were fading fast. And Arthur was holding you, and your wet, metallic lips buried themselves in the soft fabric of his chest, desperate to hear the sound of his heartbeat drown out yours. Desperate to cling to the living.

“D – don’t let it take me,” you mumbled into his chest. He smelled like blood, bullets and sweat. He smelled like aftershave and cigarettes. He smelled like the lavender oil you’d given him to help him sleep among his demons. He smelled like home.

A thumb stroked lovingly over your drenched scalp. How could the same hands that had strangled a poor man to death last week be so gentle to you?

“No one’s takin’ you, love.” His hot breath sent another shiver through you, down the nape of your neck. But his words quivered. “Not as long as there is breath in me goddamn breast.”

The remnants of the red tide clung to your bare skin, ringlets of drenched hair clinging to your neck, threatening to choke the life from you. In the pitch black of your mind, it frothed at the seams, spilling into the void that seemed to span wider, and wider, until you were lost in the middle of an ocean.

“Arth… Ar…” Delirious, spinning – everything was spinning. Your nails dug into his skin, fabric bunching in your shaking fist, and you gasped, aftershave and blood and lavender all flooding your senses before blackness came to you in a staccato rhythm, once and twice and once and twice and twice and once and thrice…

---

Your blood was starting to dry on Arthur’s shirt when he came inside to see you. He’d injured two men when they tried taking you from him during your blood transfusion, and he’d nearly killed another as he’d been dragged to the alleyway behind the hospital. There, he kicked at brick walls ‘til the leather of shoes peeled, and punched ‘til his shoulders screamed in their sockets and his knuckles split open. Cursed that damned god of his for letting this happen to you, threatened that if he did not return you to him, he would bring Hell down on the heavens.

His neck still burned with an inflamed red mark where he’d torn the chain of the cross from his neck, the metal now stained with your blood, too. Everything, everything was painted in it, everywhere he looked, and his own bloodied knuckles clenched around the cross tightly.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Shelby. I didn’t know – “

“Just lemme see ‘er,” Arthur told the nurse, the gruff of his voice nearly cracking from his wailing and screaming in the alley. The only reason they had let him in was because of the name he bore, and once he knew you were okay he’d personally see to it that each one of them understood the repercussions of denying a Shelby.

Like a mouse under the stare of a mad dog, the nurse scurried off, doors shutting and leaving the room quiet save for the steady beeping, and the creak of the floor beneath Arthur’s torn shoes.

Watery eyes took in your half-conscious form, curled up in the hospital bed just as you’d been curled in his arms, a light gown draped over you. You were still shivering.

While relief settled in the pit of his twisting stomach, grief still knotted his throat, and as much as he tried to hold the tears back, he tasted both salt and blood on his tongue as he lowered himself beside you, bloodied and ringed fingers ghosting across your arms, as if fearful that he would hurt you. 

A sliver of white light tore along the blackness, and your eyes squinted shut, a pain throbbing in your skull. Every thread of sinew and marrow seemed to ache, deep inside your body where you didn’t even know pain could exist, and the red tide lapped at the blurred edges of your mind as you lay flat on your little island in the middle of the sea. The rock beneath you was soft as you rolled your head over, a clean, unfamiliar scent seeming to send your mind into turmoil, shifting your reality between the light and dark, like a pendulum that swung across the white of the heavens, an eclipse that brought you pain and light one moment, darkness and cold the next.

The soft touch of the angel was warm along your arms as the light shattered the black sky, and you gasped. Its touch waned, and you arched your back to sit up, hand reaching feebly for it in the unknown. “Angel…” you thought you breathed. “Angel… don’t go. Don’t leave me here.”

Don’t leave me here to be swallowed by the red tide.

Your fingers grasped something tangible, something soft and warm, a fire burning beneath softness. Flesh, hot against your palms. Lavender and iron called to you, and finally, strong hands wrapped around you to pull you close.  

“I ain’t no angel,” a familiar, lulling voice spoke as light cleaved the darkness in two and tore it, strip by strip, from your starry gaze. “But I ain’t goin’ anywhere, love.”

“Arthur.” You smiled around the name, lashes fluttering as you blinked against his blurry visage. Messy strands of hair flopped over his winter-blue eyes, and you clung to the collar of his shirt, dizzy but supported by his hands on your spine, rough and worn against your skin where the hospital gown split.

The pendulum swung against your skull, and your gut roiled with nausea. Your eyes wandered to the wrists that had been bandaged, the red tide seeping into the white. Something beside you beeped to the swing of the pendulum, but broke its rhythm suddenly. Your heart leapt to your throat.

“Shhh,” Arthur said, thumb making little circles over your spine. “We’re gonna get you home, love.”

The red tide began to seep into the corners of your vision as images hurtled towards you in the wide, never-ending ocean. The bullets strewn across your end table, each etched with a name that would haunt your dreams as those before them had. The porcelain of a bathtub, as pallid as the boy’s face who’d taken shrapnel to his chest not twenty feet before your eyes. The heat of the blood-water, like the heat of the fire that had devoured the Garrison the night your innocence had been lost.

“I don’t want to go back,” you pleaded with him, panicking as you found yourself attached to a thin, red tube.

Your fists pummeled his chest weakly and your knees kicked against his leg, and your frail body writhed beneath his grasp, but despite his heart breaking, he did not release you. The burn of the chain he’d snapped from his neck reminded him of the rope that he’d tied years ago, and he could feel a chasm opening beneath his boots as his legs had kicked from under him like yours did now.

And as you finally began to settle, wracked by soft sobs, he cupped your cheek in his bloodied hand, and he looked into the same eyes that had saved him, as he repeated your own words back to you, the words that still echoed in his mind whenever he thought of pulling the trigger on the trouble in his head or tying another noose,

“People like us don’t get to decide when we’re done.”

God damn him, damn his selfish soul for the look in those eyes that had once been so strong, for the way your jaw trembled against his hand. His lip curled, quivering, another tear streaking across his face as he tried desperately to keep the last, frayed threads of his sanity from snapping. Tried to hold himself together so that he could save you.

Because as much as it broke his heart to see you like this, and as much as he cursed his brother but mostly himself for dragging you into this life, he could not lose you.

“You hear me?” Arthur’s voice rose as his fingers dug into your jaw, his gentleness overcome by desperation as the noose tightened round his neck. The hinges of the bed creaked as the wooden stool had, and you watched as his face flushed red. He was going to break.

You shimmied forward, wading through the red tide, finding the water to be shallow here as you crawled onto his lap and buried your face in the crook of his neck. Hugging him so tight that you kept the shattered pieces of him together. That you snapped the rope on his noose and he gasped for air against the lavender and blood of your scalp.

“I hear you,” you murmured into the warmth of his neck, and when you shut your eyes, you stood ashore from the red tide. The sweat and tears against his flesh still smelled of the sea, and though these waters thrashed, they ran clear. And you knew that your angel would guide you through them.

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @evita-shelby @minaethrym @shelbydelrey @zablife

[lavender-romancer]

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ───

Tommy Shelby

Dalmatian

♡ You've been giving Tommy lovbites

Comforter

♡ Tommy loves when you stroke his hair

Falling

♡ Tommy has to leave you and he cant bear it

Affair

♡ You had an affair with tommy before the war

Lavender

♡ You’d known this family for around 10 years and been Tommy’s wife for almost 6. Even after two kids, you still feared for his life every day

Our Terrible Love

♡ Trying to compare yourself to Grace was a losing battle

Your Kinks Are Weirder Than Mine

♡ You and Tommy enjoy making fun of eachother but especially when it comes to your sexual tastes

Supernatural

♡ Tommy doesn't know how to live on without Grace and he had begun seeing her again

Heartbeat

♡ Your marriage with Tommy has been turbulent recently, the prominence of betrayal and loneliness in the union takes a toll on your connection.

Loving Girl

♡ You’ve always known you would be a better partner for Tommy, after Grace died you had to reassess your motivations for being close to Tommy because he needed a friend more than ever before

Best Made Plans

♡ You and Tommy are both 16 and sneaking out to get drunk seems like the most imprtant thing

The Bug Collector

♡ Tommy's obsession with thinking something was always out to get him manifests in an irrational fear

Say It

♡ Your final early morning in bed together before Tommy plans to go to Miquelon Island and kill Michael

Fools

♡ There was a secret you had always kept about yourself, only giving yourself to strangers and being yourself in the shadows. You were a fool to think that anything but hurt feelings and betrayal would be the result

♡ Male Reader

♡ Ongoing

One Two Three Four

♡ You met when you were sixteen and from there your lives ebbed and flowed closer and further away from one another but there was always something that brought you together.

I'd Do Anything

♡ Ongoing

One Two Three Four Five

♡ You were a nun in Dublin but when you decided to take action against those in powerful positions in the church you had to escape. When you turn up in Birmingham and begin a relationship with Tommy Shelby will he be able to protect you from your past?

Crosses on my Body

♡ Ongoing

One Two Three Four Five Six

♡ You’ve been involved with the Peaky Blinders business for a few years now, undiscovered as a woman posing as a man. Now the Shelby boys have grown suspicious of you and want you found out.

Deceiver

♡ Ongoing

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

♡ Neither of you are strong enough to talk about your problems in your marriage, you coexist in a state of sleepless nights and last chances but can any of that change when you start visiting a therapist?

Tired of me

♡ Ongoing

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Remembering Sunday

♡ Retired

♡ A recollection of your life from th moment you met Tommy Shelby

One Two Three

Ruthless

♡ Retired

♡ Your marriage with Thomas is breaking

One Two Three Four

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Arthur Shelby Jr.

Wavy

♡ You’re at a club in London that Shelby’s trash and end up smoking weed with Arthur

Missed Plans

♡ Arthur promised he would be there for the dinner you had planned but when he doesn’t turn up you decide to tell him some unexpected news

Crush

♡ You’ve always liked Arthur but admitting your feelings to him felt too intimidating to follow through on 

Love Me

♡ You and Arthur are deeply in love but your great beauty makes Tommy question your motives to wanting to get close to the family

We Don't Talk Anymore

♡ Completed

♡ You and Arthur were deeply in love but you couldn’t handle the disfunction of the relationship made it break down and it had to end, when you see eachother again it’s horrifically painful

one two

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ───

Finn Shelby

Meant To Be

♡ You and Finn have been extremely close from a young age and he’s always had feelings toward you but he didn’t know if he was quite prepared for those feelings to be unearthed 

Take Care

I Loved You

♡ You stumble upon an injured man on your walk home, you help him clean up and he’s more interesting than you expected

Date

♡ You and Finn were previously in love but now you’re gone and Finn has to ponder over his feeling

My Escape

♡ You and Finn have some sweet moments

I.

♡ You work extremely hard at your studies and with strict parents breathing down your back being in a relationship with Finn Shelby brought the chaos you craved in our life

♡ Drabbles

♡ “stop being so cute”

♡ “just smile, I really need to see you smile right now”

II.

♡ “I knew you didn’t want me”

♡ “Why does everybody love you?”

Blood Flows

♡ Retired

♡ You've known Finn for years and as your relationship became more romantic, it also became more toxic

one two three four

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ───

John Shelby

Teenage Sweethearts

♡ You’ve grown up with the Shelby family being near you constantly and were the closest to John for years until he met Martha

Blind Date

Stay With Me

♡ You and John have both been set up on blind dates but you don’t realise it’s with each other 

♡ You've been having an affair with John and now you're badly injured

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ───

Reader Shelby

♡ This section includes fics where you are a Shelby sibling or one of their children

You're John's eldest daughter and you're hurting

♡ John’s daughter is hurting and he hasn’t been awake enough to realize, she’s vulnerable and needs his help

The reader is the youngest Shelby

♡ You’re the youngest of the Shelby family and you’re annoyed 

Arthur is your single Dad with PTSD

♡ After your mother died Arthur struggled with parenting you, he had no one to lean on, no one to blame for his mind, and no way to support you through your childhood 

He Wasn't There

♡ Might continue

♡ Alfie Solomons x Reader

♡ You’ve grown up without a father figure, your mother died when you were young and it’s only when you get thrown out of your Aunt’s house in London that you start looking for the man by the name of Shelby

one two three four five six

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ───

Alfie Solomons

Birmingham Lass, Camden Girl

♡ You may hold loyalty to the Shelbys of Birmingham but a visit to Camden makes you think slightly differently 

The Problem

♡ You’ve known Alfie since you were both sixteen and both you love the other but when business gets in the way who’s the problem?

♡ Alfie x Jewish Reader

Sunset

♡ Retired

♡ You get employed as Alfie's secretary for him to show off at parties but soon your connection becomes more than that

one two three four five six

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ───

Michael Gray

Home Late

♡ Michael promised he’d be home early to be able to spend some time with you but he didn’t show up when he should have however he found a way to make it up to you 

Almost Lover

♡ imaging a life without him was inescapably hard but you couldn’t go back, you couldn’t give in 

I'm Fine, Thanks

♡ You’ve always known how to fight but meeting Michael Gray when you’re in one wasn’t what you were expecting 

Just a Girl

♡ Michael has had a crush on you for a while and he keeps asking you out to no avail meanwhile Isaiah is finding it very entertaining 

♡ You’re about to get married to the love of your life but there is only one problem with that... you despise weddings 

Marriage Story

♡ Retired

one two

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Peaky Blinders Taglist

@queenofkings1212 @severewobblerlightdragon @cl5369 @fairypitou @stressedandbandobessed7771 @shadow-of-wonder @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns @curled-hair-red-lips @lucystivinsky1315

[irenethewoman]

Mrs. Shelby - Chapter One- Escape (part 1)

This chapter is quite long, it’s going to be in two parts. Hope you enjoy.

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In October 1914, I found myself in Birmingham. The train came to a halt on the platform, and as it did, a person in brown hastily disembarked from the car. I scanned my surroundings cautiously. The platform lay in dimly lit solitude, the air was chilly, so I draped my half-worn cashmere coat around me and hastened forward, my gaze fixed ahead. My hope was to secure a job in Birmingham that would sustain me, putting an end to my northward travels. My intention was to find a place to rest and recuperate for a while before seeking employment. With all the men away at war, the factories surely lacked labor. Ideally, it would be an office job, but upon arriving at a hotel, I discovered a hole had been cut into my wallet, and the coins inside had vanished. The gaping gash, created by a blade, danced in Birmingham's cold breeze, taunting me. The innkeeper's eyes spoke volumes; he clearly regarded me with suspicion, assuming I had ulterior motives. Over the past two weeks of fleeing, I had endured much hardship.

The injustices I'd encountered, unlike any I'd known in the past 15 years, left the Baroness in a melancholic state. I had wanted to unleash my anger, to scold the innkeeper, but considering my current predicament, discretion was the better part of valor. I couldn't risk leaving a lasting impression that might lead to my being taken back to London. So, I swallowed the sharp retort on the tip of my tongue, turned on my heel, and exited with my head held high. It wasn't until I was out of the innkeeper's view that I crouched down on the street, wrapped my arms around my knees, and wept. If my father were still alive, this would never have happened! He had aspired to marry his little princess into No. 10 Downing Street. The memory of Nurse Claire and Sister Mary helping me pack on that night remained vivid. The wet nurse had packed my luggage with nearly all the jewelry and coins I could carry. My pregnant sister Mary had suffered at the hands of her child's father, my illegitimate brother, for concealing my whereabouts. I'll never forget how Nurse Claire clung to me in tears inside the dark closet, preventing me from rushing out. We had held each other in silence while Sister Mary's voice faded into the distance. I would never forget the sight of the bloodstains on the marble floor of Turner House as we hastily departed. Shards of shattered glass glistened under the crystal lamp's glow. We had left in a hurry amid my sister's screams, and Nurse Claire had personally escorted me onto the northbound train. Despite my pleading, she had refused to accompany me, choosing to stay in London. Her brown eyes had been brimming with tears as she'd said, "Live well, miss, live well..." The gnawing hunger in my stomach pulled me from my reverie. I needed to survive, for the honor of Baroness Turner, for Nurse Claire and Sister Mary. Only through survival could I have a future. I wiped away my tears and, after patting myself down, retrieved three chocolate pieces wrapped in gold foil. It was a humble brand available at malls. In the past, we had imported Swiss and Belgian confections, and I wouldn't have touched this variety. But now, with not a penny to my name, I welcomed it gladly. As I unwrapped the chocolate, ready to take my first bite, I noticed a young boy sitting across the street, about the age of my brother, his blue eyes locked onto me and the chocolate coin in my hand. We shared a prolonged gaze from across the street. He was a child, and I, in my desperation, was acting rather childishly myself. Eventually, I made my way over, suitcase in tow, and sat beside him, offering him the unopened chocolates. My intuition told me he was a runaway. To run away at a time like this, he must have been loved and cared for at home. Perhaps he was the little angel I needed to escape my troubles. He accepted the chocolates but seemed in no hurry to open them. I paid him no mind as my hunger overtook me, devouring the chocolate in my hand. "What's this?" he asked softly, eyeing me as I ate. "Chocolate," I replied honestly. "You're lying. The chocolate here doesn't look like that," he retorted, still fixated on the chocolate in his hand. True, even though it was a cheap brand, the glittering wrapping paper had an irresistible allure to children, not to mention the delicious chocolate within. "But this is how they make chocolate in London," I shrugged. "I've tasted better ones, from Switzerland and Belgium. The French are skilled in making chocolate desserts too. We used to have a French chef at home, and his desserts were exquisite." The boy's interest grew with each word I spoke. It was a promising start. "So, can I come to your house?" I feigned regret, "I'm afraid not. We had to let that chef go." The boy's bright blue eyes dimmed at my response, but I quickly added, "But I did learn a few dessert recipes from him. If there's a kitchen, I can make some for you." After some internal struggle, the boy finally stood up, took my hand, and led me to a busier street.

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Saying Grace

Tommy and grace visit her family before the wedding. He gets taught what saying grace at dinner means. Now he has a plan. Don't interreact if under 18. Smut

________________________________________________________

Saying Grace

Every experience Tommy had up until then didn’t fail to make him as nervous as this.

Grace's family had invited him to Galloway for an engagement celebration dinner. They were staying three days.

Charlie fussed most of the ride which hadn’t helped Tommy's nerves. Grace had also mentioned that her brothers had fought in the war.

Calvary. He snorted in disapproval. “Fought, when?” was all he said. She hadn't brought it up again. He remembered how useless they’d been during the Somme and Verdun. “The Calvary as as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike, Grace.” She laughed and lightly punched his arm. The analogy amused him too. He’d have to remember to tell John that one.

Grace, Charlie and Tommy had just gotten settled into the large manor house twice the size as his in the countryside. Grace's mum had burst into the room to hold the baby. She didn’t say two words to Tommy but he could understand her wanting to see her first grandchild from her only daughter.

The day dragged on not getting any less awkward. He tried staying out of the way just enjoying wandering around looking at the family history. He really only cared about one person's background if he was being honest.

He’d loved to see Grace's old dolls, ribbons and various accolades from school. He always knew she was highly intelligent. He loved seeing paintings and portraits of her growing up. His favorite had been her horse pictures. She’d never told him she showed horses and rode. He was so proud to call her his.

And he’d been right. She was a posh girl.

“You haven’t stopped smiling since we got here. Trying to uncover my deepest darkest secrets?” She whispered seductively in his ear and she wrapped her arms around him from behind.

He chuckled and reached behind him holding her closer.

“I love seeing these awards and portraits of your accomplishments. You never tell me these things Grace.” His voice was deep but calm. He was in her personal space. He was at home.

“It's not polite to brag about them and honestly it was so long ago.” she mussed and grinned, rocking them both side to side to only music she could hear. The fact that she’d won a singing competition for all of Ireland was the most impressive accolade in her collection.

“We’ll for what it's worth. I’m proud.” He bent his head to the side and placed a kiss on her temple.

“Thank you.” She blushed and kissed his jaw. A sharp knock at the door and an announcement for dinner pulled them away from each other, at least for now.

____________________________________________________________________

Dinner was interesting. He was getting used to the high life at his manor but he swore some of the Calvary members of her family were going above and beyond to make him uncomfortable.

Little barbs about Birmingham streets, gypsy living and silly things here and there. Nothing Thomas hadn’t ever heard before. It was annoying that they lacked creativity to their insults honestly.

Dinner was served and everyone but him and of course the baby bowed their heads.

“Tommy, we have to pray.” Grace's mother closed her eyes, bowed her head and held her hands out for everyone to join with the person next to them. He raised an eyebrow and closed his eyes while smiling because Grace glared at him.

“Don't know how the gypsies do it but we call it saying Grace.” James, Grace’s annoying little brother who had missed out on the war by a year had to pipe up.

“It's done before every meal.” Her grandmother spoke next. Tommy hoped Grace's eyes were closed. He tried clearing his throat but a laugh escaped instead. She squeezed his hand tighter as a warning.

He laughed out loud and tried not to stifle it but he couldn't help himself. He has to explain why later…or rather show her why it was so funny.

“I’m sorry, go ahead and say Grace.” He cleared his throat again and closed his eyes lost in his thoughts

_____________________________________________________________

“I’m sorry about dinner.” He stood watching her sit on her bed unbuckling her dinner shoes. She tossed them into the closet and sat back grinning at him.

“Tommy, why did you laugh before prayer? I know you aren't a protestant or catholic but…I'm confused.” Her eyes darted around his face trying to understand. It was out of character for him.

“We’ll posh girl, I have an answer to that, but I told you I'd have to show you.” He grinned wickedly at her as she stood before her and spread her legs to stand in between them. He bent down, getting on his knees in front of her.

They both knew what was coming next.

Tommy grabbed her hips and pulled her toward him. She twisted so she could unhook her garters to help him. His strong calloused hands reached up and pulled down her panties. He didn’t need to remove anything else.

He kissed and nipped at her inner thighs to her knees. He was teasing her but he loved to get her worked up. It was worth the rush of pleasure for her. He didn’t care about himself at this point. This was all for her.

“Oh, I forgot.” Tommy pulled back and closed his eyes.

“What are you doing Tommy?” Grace's tone was laced with confusion. Was he praying!?

“I have to say grace right, that's what a proper man does before a meal.” They both chuckled but her eyes danced with desire. She should have known why he laughed at dinner. His humor and quick wit was stunningly quick.

He licked, sucked and ate her thoroughly until she came screaming and panting his name like a prayer.

“Oh God, Tommy.” He pulled back satisfied with his work. His smirk made her wet all over again. She knew they weren’t done for the night.

“Now, that's a prayer I would mean and happily get on my knees for penance.” He laughed and stood, leaning over top of her he bent down and let her taste herself on his tongue.

She eagerly rose up to meet his passionate kiss. Her hands undid the buttons to his vest and slipped it down, tossing it somewhere by the foot of her childhood bed.

He never broke the kiss as he unbuttoned his shirt tossing it where she decided their clothes were going. She quickly stripped him of his pants as he pulled off her dress. He didn’t care if it was ripped. She could afford another one. They were both almost animalistic at this point. Her nails gently drug down his back only to leave harder nips and love bites on his neck and shoulders. She even bit his lip at one point pulling him in closer. He of course had to lean in and deepen the kiss.

His thrusts were building up and getting more erratic. She crested into the orgasm just before he did.

Maybe being here wasn’t such a bad thing he thought as they both rolled over into one another breathing heavily.

Not if he could use her family's words to defile her in her bedroom for the next few days.

_________END_________________________________

[everythingelseisextra]

Scar Tissue (Tommy's POV)

Part Twenty of Twenty-One

Description: Tommy makes a deal. Weeks after the night of your escape, you and Tommy finally talk. Warnings: mention of rape, self harm, references to suicide, guns, language, UNEDITED BE NICE TO ME I'M TRYING Author's Note: My portrayal of the reader character is not what I originally planned, but when I wrote the first draft, she felt too much like a victim and not a survivor. My apologies if it feels inaccurate. Word Count: 3079 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @Majesticcmey  @Optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel  @ce1iat  @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist @cookiez56-blog @skxawngs @h0neylemon @kmc1989 @darling-imobsessed @eleanorthemo

Liszt is not a man. Liszt is not a vengeful God, sent to this earth to scorch the lives of innocents with brutality and thinly veiled torture. Liszt is not even a single entity. 

“It’s a group, yeah? A group of well-sourced people united under the cause of money,” Alfie explained, the day before the fire, the rescue, though it’s arguable who rescued who on that night. “They know what you don’t. They’re connected in a way that you aren’t. And you think, right, that you can wriggle in there and start a cave-in, but you can’t, now can you? Now, I knows a man who’s part of this organization. A Lisztomaniac, if you will, who might be pushed in your direction if the right price is offered to him. Deplorable, that shit is, but knowing how to move people from one place to another is, eh, useful.”

I know now that this is not a group I can destroy. They are not united under a single person, but spread between countries, well-connected. What I can do is protect my own. What I can do is business between men considering their women. She’s done enough fighting. I failed her once; I refuse to do it again. 

I’ve been on the outskirts of a twisted world for months now, watching, waiting, trying to collect information that, knowing what I know now, was beyond me. There’s a humor to it, that I spent those days searching for an answer that dangled above my head when all I did was look down. Above me, puppeteers watched their puppets dance. 

I meet one of those puppeteers at a pub not far from Birmingham. A quiet, clean place, where well-dressed men sit and smoke at the bar, glasses of amber or dark liquid sitting in front of them. A gentleman standing at the bar glances at me as I walk in, says something to the barkeep, then moves away to a table. No one else takes notice. Unusual. 

There’s a holster over my shoulders and a gun rests below each arm, underneath my suit jacket, and still, I am wary. Those I met that night were drones, and even they overpowered us in sheer numbers. These are the Kings and Queens of the hidden ring, royalty of a sick trade. I meet him at the table, he shakes my hand and murmurs a greeting, and we both sit. 

He doesn’t speak, just watches me with large brown eyes. I pull a cigarette from the case in my pocket, light it, take a drag of it. I exhale my words with the smoke. 

“There is a price to living. Name it. For the woman who escaped you, for the girl, Hollis.” I sit back in my seat, casting my gaze over him, a discrete, weakly-built man with tight lips and a raised chin. “I assure you, I can pay it.”

“We have no need for money, Mr. Shelby.” His voice is quiet, soft, almost gentle. “We have a need for assurances and alliances from prominent figures in certain trades.”

A thin-lipped smile spreads on his face. 

“I was told that Liszt has interest in different currencies to support his—”

“Currencies can be defined as loose as you like. I’m simply a spokesman for this territory, after all. And I don’t need money from anywhere.” His fingers steeple on the table. “You are dealing with me, not Liszt.”

“Tell me, then.” My eyes slide down to the glowing embers at the end of my cigarette, then back to him. 

“You are a political man, Mr. Shelby. You have a rising name.”

I incline my head. I have a faint, sickening sense of where this path leads, can feel the seed of a secret being planted in my mind. It will grow, I think, until I cannot keep it anymore. I blink, and it’s gone, replaced by the gentleman in front of me. 

“We request only that you not expose Liszt, or the white slave trade, at any point in your career. We request that, if the circumstances arise that we cross paths once more, you turn a blind eye.” He gives me another smile. “Hollis isn’t the only young woman in our roster in the surrounding area, you see, and if more are unearthed, well, you must simply carry on.”

I take quiet note of the apparent fragility of their organization, how one man could speak out and blow it all apart. If I had known, if Alfie had told me names, this could all have been avoided. And, yet, I sit here blind, the man across from me nameless, and his demands unavoidable. 

I nod once. “I understand.”

“You have a son, I believe, Mr. Shelby?”

“Yes.” I keep my face straight, despite the urge to curl my lip. I can hear the threat behind his words, the warning of what would happen if I were to break this agreement. 

“A good boy, I assume, having been raised by a man such as yourself?”

I stand, pushing my chair back. “Where’s the girl?”

“Charlie is his name, if I’ve been informed correctly. He stays at your home in Warwickshire most days.” He smiles up at me, those gentle words, so conversational, a thinly veiled threat. I shake my head. He’s offered no new information, no new danger, and so I step out from in front of my chair. 

“Where is Hollis?” 

“I see you’re itching to leave with her, Mr. Shelby, but I’m sorry to inform you that Hollis has work to complete. She will be delivered to your home in a week’s time.” 

It makes my skin crawl, the softness of his voice, the elegant way he stands to walk me to the door, all the while speaking of children forced to serve in ways they must hardly understand. Even more so, the way I have such little power in this bargain, how they seem to be placating me. 

I drop my voice as we reach the exit of the pub. “Understand that if she is not, I will use the information I’ve been given.” 

“We understand, Mr. Shelby, but would also like you to note that it does little to poke the bear.” He smiles and opens the door. “Good day, Mr. Shelby.”

—-

She comes out at night. I hear her ghostly footsteps in the hall outside the drawing room, bare on the cold tile. If I move to view her, she slips back into the darkened corridors of the house, skittish of my sight. I’ve asked Frances to watch her, so I know that she ventures from the room she’s barricaded herself in to eat and drink, to clean and bandage the wounds of the day, wrought out of fingernails or the inky sharpness of pens or whatever else she can find that is sharp or hard enough to pierce or scrape her skin. While she creeps around the kitchen, I make my way to her room. 

Sometimes I find vomit on the floor, half dried from the day of sitting, or sometimes I stumble upon a smashed vase, a remnant of some stricken panic or fit of rage, I can’t be sure. Either way, I clean up in silence. Change the bloodied sheets and search the room for anything sharp, try to slip into the mind of someone self-destructive. I find myself staring at the still-warm indent she leaves in the bed, where she feigns sleep while the sun is out. My eyes slide shut and I remember in the hospital, her hand slipped over my waist, her breath on my back. Some of the tension leaves me. There was closeness once; if I’m good, if I’m strong, there will be again. 

I’ve been hearing silence on the other side for too long now. She haunts Arrow House, somewhere between living and dead, a purgatory that she commands both of us to stay in. It’s lonesome, stuck in this cycle of missing each other. When she feigns sleep and avoids me, I am too cowardly to chase after her. There is power to her refrain, to her quiet. Filled with a silence that neither of us know how to break. 

I blink. I’ve been looking endlessly at this hollow spot on the bed, lost somewhere. I have never felt further from her. Even for the distance I’ve created at times. Even for the moments of anger and fear that we’ve nurtured between us. 

She died, I think. Somewhere in the violence of that night, her life ended. She’s like me, now, living each day like it doesn’t matter any more. Drifting through weeks on end without contact with any form of humanity, disassociated from any light or form of life. 

I sit down on the edge of her bed. There’s a window at the head of it, and I face that, looking out at the silent stars. Her sickness weighs on my own, and I hate that we are separate. There is nothing keeping her here with me, no reason for her to remain alive when all she has are nights she spends alone in the dark. 

I look to the night sky and wait for the edges to lighten, for the black to give way to misty gray, then pale yellow, then wander into the subdued oranges and pinks of a new day. I wait for her footsteps, and when I hear them, I don’t turn. I keep my eyes on the dawn and my elbows on my knees, chin resting on clasped hands propped up between them. 

She falters in the doorway. I’m usually gone by now, gone back to the side of the house that still belongs to me. She wavers, her appearance in my periphery rippling like water disrupted. I rethink how it all happened, how my fatal mistake turned her into this haunted figure in my house, this otherworldly woman, one foot in the grave. 

I open my mouth to speak, but before I can, she steps back and disappears, back into the bowels of the manor. I stand and follow, trying to move as light as she does, as silently. My essence is heavier than hers, burdened by the worldly needs and wants and desires, whereas she becomes this separate being, breathing but not alive, feeling but not vibrant. 

I follow her down certain half-lit hallways, with the dawn glowing faintly through windows and our shadows passing on the opposite walls. Her shoulders are drawn back, her head held high, each step certain and purposeful. 

When she finally stops, it’s in a room I rarely visit. Books line half the shelved walls, but she gives them no notice, walking to the windows that cover the other half. In the dreamy morning light, she seems to float, the colors wrapping around her. I release a slow breath. I can’t say it, but even after everything, she’s beautiful. 

She sits on the bench in front of the windows and faces me, crossing her legs and tilting her head. I haven’t heard her voice in weeks, haven’t been this close to her in days. She’s become a recluse of a certain kind. 

I find I can’t speak, even with my intentions being to find something to say. What do you say to someone who went through a hell that you would never understand? What do you say to someone who has no reason to trust you?

She shakes her head, turning to look at the bookshelves, a faint smile on her lips that quivers. “You don’t even know what to say.”

“Can I sit?” I ask. She follows my gaze to the open space on the bench.

“I think you should stand.” 

“You’re avoiding me.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. I am clumsy in the art of verbal tenderness, a child new to the gentle touch of a kind word. 

“Do you blame me?” Still, she stares at the bookshelves, not at me. 

“No.” I try to soften, try to be calming, an anchor. I’m used to rousing, to evoking something closer to hatred or vengeance. I am not good at this. “Something needs to change.”

“Yeah? What do you suggest?” There’s bitterness to her words.

“Your horses need keeping.” I flip open the cigarette case in my pocket and pull one out, light it, take a drag. “Charlie asks for you. He wonders what happened to you.”

She scoffs. “Back to life as usual, then. Pretend it never happened.” 

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes.” She looks at me. “You did.”

“What I’m saying is that you need to live.” I incline my head slightly. “Stop doing this shit you’ve made a habit.” 

“You know…” She closes her eyes. “Yesterday, when you were at work, I went into the drawing room. Grabbed the gun and held it to my head. Put my finger on the trigger.” She exhales, sounding as though even just the thought gives her relief. “I didn’t pull it. I will not let you bury me. I will not let you find me dead on your desk, brains spilled onto the paperwork. So I’m doing the next best thing.”

I remain composed. I take another drag. Let the smoke fill my lungs, drying out my throat. “I—”

“I’m at peace with it. I’ll wither away, slowly carve my body into scar tissue. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Nothing does.” She shrugs. “Sleep during the day, eat at night, go back to sleep.”

“I made an agreement.” I step towards her and her eyes snap to mine. “You belong to me, and they know that. So, you leave here, make your own way. You live. I won’t shelter you if you choose to wither.”

A rueful expression falls over her, and she stands slowly, drawing herself up and facing me. “You think I fear you still? You think there’s part of me that thinks you can hurt me, abandon me? I know who you are, now. Little man with a big gun, afraid of the dark. You couldn’t save me. I saved me. You could never own me. I won’t join in your game of make-believe.”

I change tactics as quickly as she counters them. “Your horses need you.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy, will you ever say something you really mean?” Her jaw clenches. “All you do is play games. If I wanted that, I never would’ve tried to escape.” 

“I’m as—”

“‘I’m as bad as they are,’ yeah, whatever, you’re not. You can pretend you are all you want, but I’ve seen both sides.” She mocks me, a hint of disgust in her words, which fades away with her next sentence. “You’re a man who tries to be good as best he can, and I see that.”

I take a breath. Words bubble like a babbling brook in my head, fragments slipping through my thinking. She wants me to say what I mean. “You live in my house and I never see you. You wound your body and refuse to acknowledge it. You want to die.” My gaze wanders to the windows behind her, out into the pale morning. I take another drag. “‘Suppose I’m selfish.”

She crosses her arms. “Why?” 

Honesty does not come naturally to me. I glance back at her, hiding my hesitation by appearing to analyze her expression. I speak slowly, a plodding, thoughtful pattern to my words. “It’s not right to wish for you to be whole and healed when the pain you feel is my fault.” 

Her head tilts again, and she nods. “You miss me.” 

I pause, then sigh. “Yes.”

“It was your fault. That doesn’t mean I blame you. And— maybe I didn’t say this in the most straightforward way— I’m alive because of you. If it wasn’t for you being, well, you, I’d have blown my brains out by now.” She blinks slowly, eyes falling as she does so. “You refuse to say whatever you feel, you get stuck in your own world, but you’re also… earnest. You’ve been taking care of me for weeks even though I haven’t allowed you to. I can’t leave you alone. I can’t leave you like that.” 

“How do you find the words?” I find myself asking. “How do you talk easily about this?”

“I don’t know. I feel as though the person who went through all that isn’t me, sometimes. Like I watched myself be raped and hurt instead of being present for it. I can talk about it because I’m separate from it, mostly. Other times, though…” Her head lowers. “Other times it’s all I can feel.”

I resist the urge to step towards her. “Something needs to change.”

“Why?” Suddenly defensive, she steps back and sits back down, head still bowed. “Why does something need to change? I’m fine. Everything is fine. We can keep going like this for—”

“I can’t. I can’t watch you wither. I’m too—” I huff out a breath, fingers tightening on the cigarette. “Too fucking fragile for that.”

She laughs humorlessly, then sobers. “I think I’m sick in the head.”

I nod. “You can be sick in the head and carry on. You can be fucking scared and shell-shocked and still live. Let me help you.”

Her eyes, still pinned to the floor, flicker back and forth. “I don’t need—”

“Yes. You do.” I step forward and she flinches, then softens. “You need me. I need you. Let us be, then, or neither of us will feel alive.” 

Her next words are mumbled, half agonized, half hopeful. “I’m not the woman you love anymore.”

“I have faith that no matter who you become, you’ll always be someone I adore.” The words slip quietly from my lips, and I lift the cigarette to them, hiding the vulnerability I shared. 

She swallows hard, head still bowed, arms wrapped around herself. Slowly, I close the gap between us and reach out, fingers gently touching her chin, lifting her head. 

“Chin up,” I say quietly. “Back straight. Will you let me help you, now?”

She nods, staring up at me with those glassy eyes, a touch of light in the pupils. She hesitates, then stands. I step back, hand falling to touch her arm, where shallow cuts lace. 

“I wish we’d met sooner,” she murmurs, stepping forward to lean her head on my shoulder. “We would’ve done so much good for each other.”

“Not too late.”

“No,” she sniffles quietly. “Not too late.” 

[fuckyeahphelpstwins-blog]

Frozen beneath you.Oliver phelps

phelps masterlist

Summary:

In the winter of 2008, Oliver Phelps drowns his pain in alcohol, using the reader’s innocence as his escape. Consumed by guilt, he knows he’s dragging her down, but he can’t stop himself as he spirals deeper into darkness.

The snow outside fell like a shroud, cloaking the city of Birmingham in silence, interrupted only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional howl of wind. The flat was cold, both in temperature and in atmosphere, the peeling wallpaper and stained carpet remnants of a life once lived. Now it was a sanctuary for Oliver Phelps—his escape from the world, from his past, and from himself.

You had no business being there. The sharp bite of winter clung to you, seeping into your bones as you stood in the doorway, watching him from across the room. Oliver was hunched over a bottle of whiskey, the liquid swirling in the glass like poison, reflecting the dim light of the single lamp in the corner. The room smelled of stale alcohol and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.

You didn’t belong here, yet here you were, drawn to him in a way that made no sense. You, with your wide, innocent eyes, your pale hair falling loose around your face—a face so pure and untouched by the ugliness of the world, almost reminiscent of some porcelain doll. But he needed you. In his own twisted way, he needed you to keep the darkness at bay, even if it meant dragging you down with him.

Oliver’s fingers curled around the glass, and he threw back another mouthful of whiskey, the burn doing little to numb the gnawing void inside him. His eyes, glassy and bloodshot, drifted to you, standing so still, like an apparition. “Why do you keep coming back?” His voice was low, rough, slurred from the alcohol but edged with something more dangerous.

You didn’t have an answer. Or maybe you did, but you couldn’t say it aloud. You shouldn’t be here, not with him like this, not when the walls of his world were crumbling around him. But you stayed. You always stayed.

“I shouldn’t let you in,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His hand reached for the bottle again, and he swore under his breath as his fingers fumbled, knocking it over. Whiskey spilled onto the floor, soaking into the carpet like a stain that would never come out.

You stepped forward, your voice soft, almost hesitant. “Oliver, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” he growled, standing abruptly. His eyes locked onto yours, a storm of emotion swirling beneath the surface—anger, guilt, and something darker. He took a few unsteady steps toward you, the alcohol making him clumsy, but his intentions clear. “Don’t tell me what I need.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he closed the distance between you. There was a wildness in him tonight, a raw, untamed need that scared you—but also pulled you in. He was using you; you knew that. He had been using you for months now, every time the weight of his demons became too much to bear. You were his release, his escape from the torment he couldn’t face on his own.

His hand gripped your arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the power he held in this moment. He towered over you, his presence overwhelming, and the scent of whiskey on his breath made your head swim. “You think you can save me?” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re some kind of angel?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his lips crashed against yours. There was no tenderness, no warmth—only desperation and a hunger that had nothing to do with love. His hands were on you, rough and unyielding, pushing you back until your body collided with the cold wall.

“Oliver, stop…” you whispered, but your protest was swallowed by his mouth on yours, his fingers digging into your skin. You were trapped, pinned between him and the unforgiving wall, your heart racing as fear and desire warred within you.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. This was how it always was. He would pull you in, take what he needed, and leave you feeling empty, discarded, like the bottles littering the floor. And yet, you never said no. You let him use you, because somewhere deep down, you thought you could fix him—that you could be the light to guide him out of the darkness.

But tonight was different. Tonight, there was no pretending. No illusion of affection or connection. There was only raw need, and Oliver was drowning in it. His lips moved from yours to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”

You wanted to cry, to push him away, to make him see what he was doing, but you couldn’t. Your body betrayed you, your heart betraying you even more. You wanted to save him, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

The room was cold, the winter air seeping in through the cracks in the windows, but you barely felt it. All you could feel was him—his hands, his lips, his weight pressing down on you like the snow piling up outside. You were his salvation, but you were also his victim.

When it was over, he stumbled back, collapsing onto the couch with a heavy sigh. His head lolled to the side, his eyes glazed over, the alcohol finally pulling him under. You stood there, your back against the wall, trembling as the reality of what had just happened settled over you like a dark cloud.

You felt dirty, used, but more than that—you felt powerless. This was who Oliver was. This was who he always would be. No amount of love or innocence could change that.

The room was silent now, save for the sound of his labored breathing. You looked down at him, passed out on the couch, his face twisted in pain even in sleep. He was a man haunted by demons you could never truly understand, and you were the angel he dragged down into hell with him.

You pulled the blanket off the bed and draped it over him, your heart aching in a way you couldn’t explain. Maybe you should leave. Maybe you should walk out that door and never look back. But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Because in some twisted way, you needed him too...

pt.2

(Oliver phelps my dearest xoxo)

[randomvarious]

1990s Drum n Bass Playlist

Back to the Sunday night electronic playlist-posting mines for the next good while. This week I've got a little update to my 90s drum n bass playlist, with something that's very dark and something that's much, much lighter.

The dark one comes courtesy of a guy from the UK called Ambush, whose career only consisted of a couple 12-inches and an album between '96 and '98, and is not to be confused with *The Ambush,* which is an alias of German electronic music legend Oliver Lieb. Ambush made his debut with a 12-inch called Gain on Possible Records, a dark dnb label that was founded by Mick Harris, who was the former drummer in famed death metal band Napalm Death.

Taking up the A-side on Gain is a tune called "Tracking," which would later find its way onto a Possible double-disc comp called Sonics Everywhere in 1997. "Tracking" is this steadily burrowing piece of filthy subterranean grime, with this constant no-give snare hitting on every other beat while a simply demonic, distorted sub-bassline rumbles mercilessly beneath it 😈; potential theme music for the single-most evil entity in the universe. Only has ~1,100 plays on Spotify.

And for the yang to "Tracking"'s Yin, we have something pretty dang unique. UK future jazz-funk band RSL are not known for making drum n bass, but it appears that, three years prior to their debut release, they first appeared on a South African compilation in 1998 called ReRooted: Beatz From Da Ground Up, with "Elungelo." This is a song that appears to be sampling soulful traditional African folk vocals and then pairs them with beats—first, a nice and chill-grooved, bare-bones trip hop one, and then a sudden shift to dnb. And to be honest, I kinda dig the trip-hoppy portions more on this one, but if something has a considerable amount of drum n bass on it, then it automatically gets categorized as a dnb tune; those are just the rules. Around 9,100 plays.

Ambush - "Tracking" RSL - "Elungelo"

And for the YouTube version of this update, I was able to add those two songs to it too, but I also added another one that can't be found on Spotify as well. And this is another dark one, from a master of those dark dnb arts himself, Technical Itch. In '98, this Birmingham, UK native applied his craft with a remix of Manchester, UK act Perfect Combination's "Remember." Scratchy and blown-out snares, wormy bass squelching, and an occasional eerie synth to remind you where you are, which is a place that you really need to escape from, pronto 😰. This remix has appeared on a double-12-inch called Partisan Volume One, one of the first releases in the catalog of Partisan, an ultimately short-lived label that was launched after a group of staffers acrimoniously split from dnb juggernaut Moving Shadow. Song has a little over 4,800 plays on YouTube across a few different uploads.

Perfect Combination - "Remember (Technical Itch Remix)"

And this playlist is on YouTube Music too.

So this update now brings us to 13 songs that total 84 minutes on Spotify, but over on YouTube, we're now at 30 songs that total 191 minutes! There's just so much more great, obscure 90s dnb in that YouTube one, including a handful of cuts from a compilation that's not even listed on Discogs called Now What Kind of Music Do You Call That?

And if you want something shorter, I've also got a couple dnb playlists that are specific to a certain year from the 1990s:

1997 Drum n Bass: YouTube / YouTube Music 1998 Drum n Bass: YouTube / YouTube Music

Next week, some breakbeat!

Enjoy!

More to come, eventually. Stay tuned!

Like what you hear? Follow me on Spotify and YouTube for more cool playlists and uploads!