#Luca Changretta angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweetlikecandysstuff · 2 months ago

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Luca changretta x reader

Alliances,

Part 1 , part 2 , part 3,

Betrayel feels so bad, being lied to and deceived by someone you thought cared about you is the worst feeling ever. Alliances are starting to form. What could fate be hiding ?

(This series was requested by @theoriginalgirll 💓 hope you like this part too)

Warnings : light smut, fingering, oral( fem recieving), masturbating, angst

Luca stood frozen as he watched you disappear through the doorway, your retreating form tearing open something inside him that he hadn't even known existed. For all his strategizing, all his carefully laid plans, he had never considered this ... the raw, devastating pain in your eyes when you realized the truth.

"...she'll eventually accept it," Tony muttered, but Luca barely heard him. He was staring at the empty doorway, seeing only your face , the hurt, the betrayal, the absolute trust that had been shattered. The realization hit him suddenly: he'd broken something precious tonight.

Something that money or power couldn't fix. Something that went beyond apologies. Luca's heart heavy in his chest, he felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel... regret. He regretted ever thinking he could manipulate you, ever believing he could hide this secret from you. his feet moved om their own as he followed behind you.

You found refuge in the library, your sanctuary. The door clicked softly behind you. You wrapped your arms around yourself tightly, trying to stop the shaking. "Stupid," you whispered to yourself, "So stupid...". You believed him. You trusted him.

Your mind raced, replaying every moment with Luca, every touch, every word. You felt sick to your stomach, realizing that each memory was now tainted by his deception.

You tilted your chin up defiantly, blinking back the tears. "He didn't love you," you whispered harshly to yourself. "He was using you. He was lying to you the whole time." You swallowed hard, trying to convince yourself. "He never loved you."

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They spilled over, streaming down your cheeks as you let out a shaky, broken sob.

The library door creaked open quietly, and Luca slipped inside, closing it softly behind him. He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of you... vulnerable and broken. His heart ached to see you like this, to know he was the cause of your pain.

"Go away," you whispered, not looking at him. Your voice was thick with tears, though your eyes remained dry ... a testament to your iron willpower. Luca took a step forward, hesitation clear in his body language. "Mi amore..." he began, his voice cracking.

"Don't call me that!" The words snapped out of you like a whip, sharp and biting. You finally looked at him, your eyes blazing with a fire that cut him deeper than any physical wound. "You lost the right to call me that when you lied to me, Luca. When you used me, manipulated me."

He stiffened, your words hitting their mark. He'd expected anger, yes. But this...this raw honesty, this hurt... it made him feel like a monster.

"You know what the worst part is?" You continued, voice lower now, more dangerous. "I fell for it."

"I fell for it," you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. "I actually believed that you cared about me. That there was something real between us." You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "God, I was so stupid."

Luca's face contorted with anguish, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He hated seeing you like this... broken and disillusioned because of him. "Is that what you really think?" he asked, his voice barely controlled. "That everything was just an act?"

"Wasn't it?" you snapped back, your eyes challenging and accusing. "Wasn't it all just a game to you? A way to get what you wanted?"

Luca's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with anger and something else ... something that looked suspiciously like hurt pride. "You really think so little of me?" he growled. "That I could fake everything? The way I touched you, the things I said to you..."

You scoffed, refusing to let his words sway you. "Actions speak louder than words, Luca. And your actions were loud and clear." You paused, your voice dropping to a whisper. "You used me to get whatever deal you agreed on with Tony. You made me fall in love with you knowing it was all a lie. knowing that I never wanted to get married"

Luca recoiled as if struck, your words slicing through him like a blade. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, momentarily at a loss. "That's... that's not true," he finally managed, his voice strained. "It wasn't all a lie. At least, not for me."

You laughed then, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed through the room. "Save it, Luca," you spat, shaking your head in disgust. "You're a good liar, I'll give you that. Too good. and for the record, I'll never marry you."

Luca stood there, stunned, his pride shattered. He had expected anger, tears maybe... but this cold dismissal? This utter rejection? It cut deeper than any physical blow could. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You really mean that? you think you have a choice in this? you think I can just stop this arrangement?"

You crossed your arms, your eyes blazing with defiance. "I do have a choice, Luca. And my choice is to walk away from this farce of an engagement and marriage. You can tell Tony to go fuck himself for all I care."

Luca's face turned a mottled red, his eyes widening in shock and fury. "You can't just- you can't walk away!" he snarled. "Do you have any idea what will happen if you refuse this marriage? To you, to your family?"

You held your ground, unmoved by his threats. "Oh, I'm quite aware of the consequences," you said coldly. "But I'd rather face them than shackle myself to a man who sees me as a pawn to be moved. as for my family, they deserve whatever’s coming for them."

Luca's jaw dropped, his eyes searching your face as if trying to understand where this sudden fierceness came from. He closed the distance between you, his voice low and deadly. "You're willing to sacrifice everything for your pride? For your stubborn refusal to accept your role in this family?"

You met his gaze evenly, your voice steady. "Pride? Refusal to accept my role? No, Luca. I'm unwilling to sacrifice myself for a family that never cared for me. For a husband who doesn't love me. I'd rather stand alone than pretend to be something I'm not."

Luca's hand shot out, grabbing your arm roughly. His face was inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You think you're so strong? So independent? You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. Tony won't just let you walk away."

"You mean he won't let his precious bargaining chip go free," you retorted, wrenching your arm away. "News flash, Luca. I'm not a damn toy or a piece of merchandise. I won't marry you."

Luca's face contorted with anger, his hand moving to your throat before you could react. He squeezed, cutting off your air supply as he pressed you against the wall. "You will marry me," he growled, "whether you accept it or not. you. are. mine. and you're not going anywhere"

Your eyes widened in shock and fear, but you refused to back down. You grabbed his wrist, trying to pry his hand away from your throat. "Get your hands off me," you choked out, your voice hoarse. "You think threatening me will make me change my mind? You're disgusting."

"Disgusting? Really?" He pressed harder against your throat, making it painful to breathe. "Let me tell you something, princess. You're the only thing standing between your family and their total ruin. marrying me will provide safety for your family." His face twisted into a cold smirk.

You glared at him, your vision starting to blur from the lack of oxygen. "You're using my family as a threat?" you managed to rasp out. "That's low even for you. I'd rather see my family fall than live in a loveless marriage with someone like you."

Luca released his hold on your throat abruptly, stepping back as you doubled over, coughing to catch your breath. "You truly are a foolish little princess," he scoffed, adjusting his suit. "Fine. If you won't marry me for your family's sake, then marry me for your own. you love me, and you can't deny it"

"You're delusional," you snapped once your breath returned to normal. "I don't love you. God, how can anyone love a man who blackmails people and uses his power to get what he wants? You're a monster. And I'd rather die than marry you."

Luca's expression darkened, his face contorting with rage. He took a step closer to you, his voice low and menacing. "Keep talking, princess. See where it gets you." He paused, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. "You think death is worse than marrying me?"

"Answer me," he growled, his hand reaching out to grab your arm roughly. "Would you really rather be six feet under than be my wife? do you hate me that much now?" His thumb pressed into your arm, leaving a bruise. He was testing you, pushing you to see if you truly meant what you said.

You stood your ground, refusing to back down despite the pain in your arm. "I'd rather be dead than be tied to someone like you for the rest of my life," you declared, looking him straight in the eye. "You bring nothing but pain and destruction. I was a fool for ever trusting you."

Luca's grip on your arm tightened even further, his face reddening with anger. "You were a fool for falling for me in the first place," he spat. "I never hid who I was. You knew exactly what you were getting into." He pulled you closer, his face inches from yours.

"But you couldn't resist me, could you?" He sneered, his breath hot against your face. "You loved me, even when you knew I was as dangerous as your brother. So now, you marry me or suffer the consequences."

"Consequences?" You laughed bitterly, not flinching despite how close Luca now was. "What more could you possibly do to me that you haven't already done." How many more times do you plan to threaten me? Hasn't it sunk in yet? I. Will. Not. Marry. You,"

Luca's eyes flashed dangerously at your defiance, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what I'm capable of." His free hand moved to caress your cheek mockingly. "I could ruin everything you hold dear. Destroy your family's business. but it's ok, you're mad now and you're not thinking straight. I'll leave for now."

Luca released your arm abruptly, leaving you with a throbbing ache where his fingers had dug into your skin. He took a step back, his eyes never leaving yours. "You think about what I said," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll give you some time to cool off."

He turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. You were left alone, your heart racing, your arm throbbing. You sank down onto the couch, your mind reeling from the confrontation. You knew Luca was dangerous, but his threats... they were different this time.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. The pain in your arm was a stark reminder of Luca's grip, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside you. You looked down at your arm, noticing the red marks where his fingers had dug in.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes. You were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. This sudden turn of events was draining you. You curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow tightly and letting the tears fall.

Hours passed, the house remained quiet, except for the occasional soft sobs escaping your lips. The pain in your arm had subsided to a dull ache, but the mental turmoil remained. You were jolted out of your miserable state by the sound of the library's door opening and closing. your mother came in.

Your mother looked at you curled up on the couch, red eyes and puffy cheeks a clear sign that you had been crying. She sat down beside you, putting an arm around your shoulders. "Honey," she murmured softly, "What happened to your arm?"

You looked up at her, your heart heavy with unshed tears. you couldn’t believe that she knew about the arrangement and hid the truth from you. "So now you care?"

Your mother's expression turned guilty. "I... I didn't know how to tell you," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your brother made me promise not to interfere. He said it was for the best, that Luca would protect you and provide for you."

She paused, her eyes searching yours. "I never wanted you to get hurt, sweetheart. But your brother insisted that this was the best way to secure our family's future." She gently touched the red marks on your arm, her brow furrowing in concern. "Did Luca do this to you?"

You pulled away from her touch, your expression hardening. "Does it matter?" You snapped. "You all sold me like a damn property" You shouted, finally letting out all the anger and hurt you'd been bottling up.

Your mother's face contorted with anger and guilt. "Watch your mouth," she snapped back, standing up abruptly. "You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted to marry you off like this?" She crossed her arms, her eyes blazing with an unspent fury.

"Then why didn't you stop it?" You cried out, standing up to face her. "Where was your motherly instinct when you were signing my life away?" Tears spilled down your cheeks.

Your mother's expression crumpled, and for a moment, you thought she might cry too. But then her face turned stony, her voice cold. "I had no choice," she said flatly. "Your brother needed the alliance, and I needed to keep our family intact."

"So you sacrificed your own daughter?" You asked, your voice breaking. "You threw me to the wolves just to keep your precious family name intact?" You felt like you were going to be sick. Your own mother had betrayed you. The one person who was supposed to protect you above all else. "You think dad would've done this? you think if he didn't die, he'd sell me off to highest bidder?"

Your mother's face turned pale at the mention of your father. "Don't you dare bring him into this," she hissed. "Your father would understand. He always put the family first." She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Unlike you."

You felt a sharp sting at her words, but also a surge of defiance. "Unlike me," you repeated, your voice steady despite the tears. "Because I actually care about my own happiness and dignity? Because I don't think being sold off to some man is 'putting the family first'?"

Your mother stared at you incredulously, her mouth opening and closing several times before she spat out her retort. "Happiness? Dignity? You think that's what marriages are about?" She scoffed loudly. "Marriage is about alliances, power, and securing our legacy!"

"Legacy? You mean the legacy of selling off your own daughter?" Your voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. "Well congratulations, Mom. You've secured our family's power. I hope it was worth crushing your own child's dreams. and i am not marrying Luca." You turned away sharply, wiping your tears.

"Excuse me?" Your mother's voice cracked like a whip behind you. "You will marry Luca. That decision has already been made." She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor. "Do you think you have a choice in this? well, you don't, sweetheart"

"You will marry Luca Changretta," she repeated firmly, her eyes glinting with an unspoken threat. "You will bear his children and secure the Roselli-Changretta alliance. End of discussion." She crossed her arms.

Her expression turned cold, almost cruel. "You think you're so special? That you can refuse this marriage and everything will be fine? Let me make something clear, there traditions that we follow in our world... if you don't marry Luca, your sister will take your place. She's 16, innocent and she definitely does as she's told."

Your blood ran cold. You knew your mother was serious. She would sacrifice your baby sister's happiness without a second thought to maintain power. You could almost see the calculation in her eyes. "Your sister is more obedient. She won't cause problems like you do," she muttered almost to herself.

She stepped closer to you, her voice low and menacing. "So, you have a choice. Marry Luca and secure our family's future, or watch as your innocent little sister is thrown into a loveless marriage with a man twice her age. What will it be, darling?"

Your heart racing, you felt torn between your own desires and the gut-wrenching need to protect your little sister. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away, refusing to show weakness. "I hate you. I hate all of you."

Your mother scoffed, unfazed by your outburst. "Classic reply from a selfish brat like you. I should've known you'd only think about yourself." She sneered. "Answer the question... will you marry Luca or will your sister take your place?"

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll... marry him." Your mother's face broke into a satisfied smile, her earlier anger fading. "Smart girl. Finally making the right choice."

Your mother turned and left the room, already making plans for the wedding. You were left alone, feeling numb and trapped. You knew you had just signed your own death sentence ... a loveless marriage to a man you now despised, all to save your sister from the same fate.

Your sister chose that moment to enter the room, her big blue eyes filled with concern. "Did you... did you say yes?" She asked softly. You looked at her innocent face. You forced a small smile, ruffling her hair.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry that you have to do this. It's not fair at all!" She said as she hugged you tightly. You felt a pang of guilt as you hugged her back, knowing you were sacrificing your own happiness to protect hers.

Luca hadn't seen you since that night. He was busy with business meetings, his mind elsewhere. He felt guilty for being harsh with you, for threatening you. he just wanted you to believe him. he did fall for you, harder than he expected and he did indeed fight the urge to tell you the truth before you found out.

Days turned into weeks, and the wedding preparations were in full swing. You found yourself alone in your room one evening, staring at your reflection in the mirror. The grand dress hung on the door, a stark reminder of what was to come. There was a soft knock at the door.

You turned to see who it was. The door creaked open slowly, and Luca stepped in, his expression unreadable. He closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment, just looking at you. You felt your heart race, unsure of what to expect.

Luca's eyes flickered between your face and the wedding dress on the door. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. He walked closer to you, his presence overwhelming in the small room. He stopped in front of you, his tall figure blocking your view of the mirror.

Luca's gaze softened as he looked down at you, a flicker of genuine emotion crossing his usually stoic features. He reached out hesitantly, his fingertips brushing against your cheek in a feather-light touch. "I didn't come here to argue," he murmured, his voice low and earnest.

Luca's hand lingered on your cheek for a moment before dropping away. He shifted uncomfortably, his usual confident demeanor cracking slightly under the weight of emotion he clearly struggled to express. "...I came to tell you something," he began, looking away briefly.

His eyes met yours again, intense and serious. "I love you," he said, the words falling from his lips like a confession. "I know I'm not good at showing it. I know I've been cold, and harsh, and...and everything you hate about me."

Luca's expression turned anguished, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But I need you to know the truth before...before the wedding. I need you to know that I'm not marrying you just for the business, or the status, or any of the reasons you might think."

Luca's hand found yours, squeezing it tightly as if seeking comfort. "I'm marrying you because...because I can't imagine my life without you. Because the thought of waking up every morning without seeing your face makes me feel empty inside. Because...because I love you, damn it. since that night in the gala, I knew I wanted you for myself."

His thumb caressed your hand softly, his shoulders relaxing slightly as if unloading a heavy weight. "You drive me crazy, you know that? You're the only woman who can make me lose my temper and my self-control."

His lips twitched slightly, remembering. "You're also the most infuriatingly stubborn, independent, and brave woman I've ever met. You don't back down from me, you argue with me, you challenge me..." He paused, his eyes darkening.

Luca pulled you closer, his other hand coming up to cup your face tenderly. "...And somehow, I've fallen head over heels for that exact thing," he confessed softly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth despite the gravity of the moment.

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his voice barely above a whisper. "So you see, Princess? I'm not marrying you out of duty or convenience. I'm marrying you because I love you more than my own pride, more than my business empire, more than anything else in this world. and that contract was only a chance for me to get you."

Luca's eyes searched yours, a vulnerable expression on his face. "i think you realized these past few weeks that your family only cares about the status and the money... I'm not the enemy here." He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your lips.

Luca whispered breathlessly, his lips nearly brushing against yours. "I'm the one who truly sees you, who wants you for who you are... stubborn princess and all. Your family uses you, but I... I choose you. Every day, I choose you."

His arms tightened possessively around you, "You know what kills me? You're so used to people using you that you actually believed I was doing the same. You trusted your family more than you trusted me. You thought I was just like them." His voice hardened slightly, awaiting your response.

"And you know what's worse?" he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now, vulnerable but intense. "That I can't even blame you for thinking that way. I've given you every reason to doubt me." His fingers traced your jawline gently. "But don't you see?"

He ran a hand through his dark hair, clearly trying to find the right words. “I didn’t want it to be like this. I wanted to ask you the right way. I wanted to earn it. But your brother... he gave me no choice.”

You snapped your gaze to him. “Oh please. You had every choice. You could’ve walked away. You could’ve said no. You didn’t have to accept me like some cursed family heirloom.”

Luca stepped forward again, closer this time. “I didn’t accept you,” he said softly. “I wanted you.”

That stopped you. Just for a second.

He saw the hesitation in your eyes and pressed on. “You think I liked knowing you were forced into this? You think it made me feel strong, powerful? It didn’t. It made me feel like a monster. But I had to make a decision between protecting you from the mess your family's in, or losing you to someone far worse. People are circling your family like vultures. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been someone crueler, someone who wouldn’t have even pretended to care,

I'm sorry for making you think this marriage was just a business deal to me. Because it's not." His voice cracked slightly, revealing the depth of his emotions. "It's so much more than that. You're so much more than that." His thumb brushed over your bottom lip gently.

His self-control snapped. He captured your lips in a desperate, passionate kiss, pouring all his love, frustration, and apology into it. His hands framed your face as he kissed you deeply, his tongue demanding entrance. "Fuck the contract," he murmured against your lips, "I want you."

Luca broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses and gentle bites. "I want you to look at me and see the man who loves you, not the man who tricked you into marriage." He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with intensity. you pulled him for another kiss, your hands moving to the back of his head

Luca's eyes darkened with desire as you pulled him back into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you tightly. He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming over your body as he walked you backwards towards the bed. "Is this your way of forgiving me?"

As your back hit the bed, Luca followed you down, his body covering yours. He broke the kiss to trail his lips along your jawline and down your neck, his hands slowly pushing up the hem of your shirt. "Because if it is, I'll spend all night making it up to you,"

"I can't just forget everything Luca, I can’t trust you that easy again..." you whispered, a few inches between your faces

Luca paused, his hands stilling on your shirt. He looked deeply into your eyes, understanding and respect for your feelings shining through his own. "I know," he whispered back, his voice gentle yet sincere. "I don't expect you to forgive me instantly."

"But I'm going to spend every single day proving that I'm worthy of your trust again. Until you finally believe that I truly love you... until you finally realize that the contract was just a silly, desperate way for me to keep you close"

He pulled you into another kiss, his hands slowly removing your shirt this time. He tossed it aside and began to unbutton his own shirt, revealing his chiseled chest. He broke the kiss again, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you were starting to thaw towards him.

He leaned down, his voice a soft murmur against your lips. "I won't rush you. I won't pressure you. I just need you to know that every touch, every kiss, is real. It's not for the contract, it's not for anything but the fact that I love you."

Luca's hands traced delicate paths along your bare skin as he spoke, his touch feather-light yet incredibly intimate. His forehead rested against yours, breaths mingling. "I fell for you long before that contract ever existed. Every moment with you has meant something real to me."

He slowly started to remove your pants, his movements gentle and careful. He was giving you every opportunity to stop him, to push him away. But as he slid your pants down your legs, he saw that you weren't stopping him, you were watching him. He swallowed hard, his self-control hanging by a thread.

Luca's hands trembled slightly as he hooked his fingers around your underwear, his eyes locked with yours, seeking permission. When you didn't stop him, he slowly slid them down your legs, revealing your naked body to his hungry gaze. "Fuck,"

He swallowed hard, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of control. "You're breathtaking," he whispered hoarsely.

His hands gently pushed your thighs apart, his voice barely above a whisper. "is this what you want? me on my knees for you?" you smirked at the sight on front of you, your heart pounding in your chest. He leaned down, pressing soft kisses along your inner thigh.

Luca's kisses slowly made their way up, his hands gripping your hips tightly. He could feel you squirming beneath him, your breathing growing heavier. As he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive spot.

"Spread your legs wider," he commanded gruffly, his voice muffled against your thigh. You complied, parting your thighs further and allowing him better access. He looked up, his dark eyes locked with yours as he slowly parted your folds with his fingers.

He watched your reaction closely as he gently blew on your sensitive flesh. Your back arched slightly, a soft gasp escaping your lips. He smirked against you, his fingers parting you further. "So responsive," he murmured before his tongue finally made contact, swirling around your clit.

He licked slowly, purposely, paying special attention to your clit. Your hips jerked upwards involuntarily, seeking more contact. Luca groaned against you, the vibrations sending pleasant shocks through your core. His hands gripped your thighs tighter as he continued his sensual assault, determined to pleasure you thoroughly.

His tongue worked relentlessly, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel your thighs trembling around his head, your hands fisting the sheets. Just as you were about to fall over the cliff, he suddenly stopped, pulling back and looking up at you with a wicked grin. "Not yet,"

Luca's mischievous grin widened as he observed your flushed face and heaving chest, clearly craving your release. He kissed his way back up your body, pausing to nip playfully at your hip bones. "Want something?" he teased, his voice low and gravelly.

"I don’t think you are in a position that allows you to tease me this way."

He chuckled darkly, his hands pinning your thighs down. "But you look so needy," he whispered, his breath fanning hotly against your stomach.

Luca licked his lips slowly, savoring your taste that still lingered. He released one of your thighs to run a teasing finger along your slit, smirking at how wet you were. "Mmm, you're absolutely dripping. This is all for me, isn't it? your future husband... the one you swore you won't marry..."

Luca's smirk widened as he recalled your previous fiery refusal to marry him. Now here you were, naked and aching under his touch, your body betraying your stubborn words. "Funny how things change," he murmured smugly, slowly circling your clit with his fingertip.

He could tell you were getting frustrated with his teasing ... exactly how he wanted you. Keeping eye contact, he deliberately slid one finger slowly inside you. "Is this what you wanted when you said you'd never marry me? My tongue... my fingers..." He pumped that single finger deliberately slow.

His smirk turned into a full-blown satisfied grin as your hips chased his finger, desperate for more. He added another finger, watching your face contort with pleasure. "Such sweet torture, isn't it? Knowing who has you like this..." He curled his fingers, hitting that perfect spot inside you.

You moaned loudly, your hands gripping his bicep. He just smiled, continuing to hit that sweet spot with every thrust of his fingers. "Your future husband has his fingers inside you, fucking you so slowly. And you love it, don't you?"

His voice dropped to a husky whisper as he increased the speed of his fingers. "You were so stubborn about not marrying me... now look at you. So wet, so needy..." He leaned down to whisper in your ear. "Who's in control now, hmm?"

He smirked at your breathy whimper, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted. He pulled his fingers out suddenly, leaving you empty and desperate. He held them up, covered in your arousal, and sucked them clean with a satisfied hum. "Delicious,"

"Look at yourself," he whispered, his eyes darkening with desire as he gazed at your body. "So hot, so wanting... Does my stubborn little princess want to come now?" He ran his thumbs along your inner thighs, knowing how sensitive you were. "Just say the magic words..."

He smirked, watching your breasts move with each ragged breath you took. He knew you were proud, knew you had a mouth that could shut down board meetings. So seeing you like this ... spread out, wet, and needy ... was his favorite version of you.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice firm but gentle. He leaned down, his face inches from your center, his warm breath fanning over you. "Say 'Please, Luca, let me come'. And maybe... just maybe... I'll let my stubborn little princess find her release."

"No... i won't give you that satisfaction, Luca,"

He chuckled darkly at your Stubbornness loving how you refused to give in even when desperate for release. "So. Fucking. Stubborn," he muttered, teasingly running his tongue up your inner thigh. "Even with your pretty pussy dripping and begging for my mouth... you know what... we should probably wait until our wedding night... maybe you'd learn to beg by then"

He stood up slowly, his eyes roaming over your body possessively. he fixed his clothes and started to walk away, leaving you lying there, unfulfilled and aching. then he glanced at the white dress and and left without any other word

As Luca exited the room, a low chuckle escaped him, knowing he had left you in quite the predicament. The audacity to tease you so mercilessly yet leave you unsatisfied was almost cruel. Almost.

The door closed behind him, leaving your body throbbing with need. You could still hear his satisfied chuckle echoing in your mind. "Bastard..." you whispered to the empty room, shivering, your skin still flushed with desire.

You know that you shouldn't forgive him so easily and yet you almost begged for him to let you come. This is so wrong, but oh how much you wanted his touch...

Later that night, as you lay in bed, the cold sheets mocking you with their emptiness, you couldn't help but hate him a little more. You tossed and turned, your hand creeping down between your legs out of pure instinct. "fuck.." you whimpered

Your fingers found your clit easily, already swollen and sensitive from earlier. You bit your lip to stifle a moan as you began to circle the sensitive nub, your mind filled with thoughts of Luca's face and the way he had left you hanging. "Goddamn him..."

you imagined it was his fingers touching you, his mouth whispering dirty things against your skin. Your touch became more urgent, more desperate as you imagined him there, smirking while you touched yourself.

Your fingers moved faster, pressing harder against your clit as you got closer and closer to the edge. You buried your face in a pillow to muffle your moans, your entire body tensing as you finally reached your climax. You came hard, biting into the pillow to keep from screaming.

As your orgasm subsided, you collapsed back onto the bed, panting heavily. The room was silent except for your ragged breaths. You felt a mix of satisfaction and frustration, knowing that even in your moment of pleasure, Luca's image had dominated your thoughts.

Your internal war continued. You hated how your body reacted to him. You hated that he could make you wet with just his voice. You hated that you had just masturbated thinking of him.

You rolled over, punching your pillow in frustration. The thought of Luca sleeping soundly, completely oblivious to the turmoil he had caused within you, only served to fuel your irritation. "Asshole probably doesn't even know what he does to me," you grumbled under your breath.

But of course he does.... he knows how much you want him, and he's definitely planning on taking advantage of that so you forgive him. And one thing you know he was certainly right about is that your family, does not give a damn about you or your happiness. They chose the money, the power that would come with this marriage. So maybe it's time you choose a side to stick to.

#luca changretta #luca changretta x reader #mafia romance #peaky blinders #stories #tommy shelby #x reader #fanfic #alfie solomons #imagine #request #arranged marriage #arthur shelby #john shelby #peaky blinders imagine #slow burn #original story #dark romance #angst

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vivianleighwishesshewasme · 25 days ago

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The Italian Beasts beauty-23

The takeover goes better then planned. Charlotte has concerns about Michaels ambitions

Initiation invitations

Luca was placing the paperwork in orderly little piles on the table. He'd reserved the best table in house at the Plaza Hotel. He'd been extremely satisfied with the job well done. He also hoped Charlotte's cousin would be as taken by the American opulence as she had been. The plaza was impressive and where the affluent and wannabe's wanted to be seen. Luca wanted to impress him so he would say yes to his next deal.

Michael had executed the plan beautifully and contained the damage to a minimum even when one deal had gone sideways. Luca had several member meetings today to discuss the success and potential of Michael Gray's endeavors. Everyone said the same thing: The young man had potential.

"This way sir." A lady's soft voice caught his attention. He slowly rose with a grin on his face. He waited until his low gravelly voice would only reach Michael's ears.

"Congratulations, you did a great job, several back there." Michael blushed at the compliment. Luca grabbed his hand and shook it firmly making the younger man look him in the eye. "I ain't the only one who was impressed by your, " He rolled his other hand, a gesture to show he was finding the right word, " Precision and quick thinking."

"It was all part of the job wasn't it. You told me to be discreet and quick." Michaels cheeks were flushed and his shoulders held high and taunt. He wasn't used to his work being complimented.

"Eh, when the job went sideways you…contained the threat with minimal damage done and thought quickly on your feet. I'm impressed, Michael. You should be proud." Luca meant what he said. "Humble. I like that." Luca shook his finger at him as they both sat down.

Michael immediately pulled out a stack of papers from his jacket and handed them to Luca. The other man pulled the tooth pick out of his mouth and grabbed the stack. They were the papers he'd asked Michael to grab out of the safes. Ownership proofs from his previous ownership dealings with his son Guisepe. They were clean and unbent. The kid was careful.

A lady dressed in black approached the table with a tray of coffee and dessert. Luca thanked her and pulled out a generous amount of cash. "Keep the change." He rasped out. He reached for the dessert. His fork hadn't even cut through the first piece before he felt Michaels eyes on him. "You treat people right around here and they are willing to go above and beyond for you. You can buy loyalty in America." He said offhandedly as if he had been discussing the weather. Michael looked overwhelmed but pulled the dainty coffee mug to him.

"What is this?" He asked, puzzled. It was like a shot of coffee.

"My lawyer will be here soon, so I ordered us espresso while we wait for my lawyer. Hope you like Italian coffee.It has twice the caffeine so it usually comes in a small cup." He shrugged as if it was common knowledge.

"When in Rome." He took a small sip. Luca chuckled and took a bite of his tiramisu and then a sip. Michael followed suit. " That helps." Luca chuckled at him.

"So you said we were waiting. Why do you need me here?" Michael asked, confused. He'd finally caught it. About time Luca though amused.

"One to brag about the fact that I have a competent family member and two to potentially sign these over to you in the event that you'd accept my offer and consider joining the Changretta family mafia." Luca kept his eyes down on his cigarette pretending as if he needed to look as he struck the match and brought it up to the paper. .He sat back and watched the myriad of emotions flit across the British man's face.

"Yes, I would like that very much." Michael didn't hesitate. Luciano grinned. The kid had been thinking about what he'd say if the offer had presented itself. Most people would make him start at the bottom first but Luca knew after the first successful job this morning that Micahel was different. He was ready and knew what life entailed. He had also spoken to Charlotte and found out Gina came from a Notorious Gangster in Boston. She was the beloved niece of Jack Nelson. She already had a taste of the finer things from the life the Organization could offer.

"Am I more generous than Thomas Shelby?" He taunted. Thomas might not be there but there was satisfaction in finding a diamond among the shit in Birmingham, especially one Tommy seemed to overlook.

"More organized too." Michael added in spite of his cousin. Both men chuckled.

"We aint a little back alley gang from Birmingham. We take care of our own including our people, that's everyone within our territory." Luca wanted to make sure Michael understood the weight and responsibility.

"I'm ready for it." He said sure of himself.

"Good." Luca stood abruptly and nodded his head. Michael stood as well, ready to shake hands with the lawyer and start the deal of a lifetime.

Charlotte had been in the living room reading a woman's magazine when Luca came home looking like a proud cat who'd caught a canary. She raised an eyebrow at him and giggled as he sauntered over and leaned down to kiss her on the lips. His calloused warm large hands enveloping her delicate face and holding her to his kiss gently. She loved how romantic and loving he was.

She had barely opened her eyes from the slow lazy kiss before she felt his warm breath ghost across her lips.

"Do you want to see an initiation dinner for the Mafia or do you and our little bambino need to stay home and rest? " His low voice was soft and soothing. She knew that tone.

She pulled back and really looked at him. He was keeping his romanesque face still, his green eyes staring into her grey orbs. He was too calm.

"Luciano," She said slowly and deliberately enunciating the vowels in his name. His jaw twitched and the little crows feet etched by his green eyes deepened. Shit, she was right. " You didn't ask him did you? " Charlotte's voice dropped to a low tone, almost a growl.

" I asked you to dinner Lottie. I didn't ask your opinion on business that doesn't concern you. He's a grown man." He searched her face. He wasn't in the mood for her to pick a fight. She sighed. She'd rather be there.

"You're right. He's an adult. Gina is probably happy…over the moon about it." She shrugged non committed. She kept her face blank.

"That's it?" Luca's eyes narrowed as is not believe her. He had been expecting a massive blow up. Perhapes Charlotte was growing up.

"That's it." she said non committal to her emotions.

"Okay, I'll see you in the bedroom." He rasped out and walked away from the living room area

She watched him go knowing the fall out was going to be massive between him and his son….Michael and Thomas.

#peaky blinders fanfic #luca changretta fanfic #arranged marriage #friends to lovers #original character #angst with a happy ending #vendetta #Charlotte Shelby Changretta #Italian beasts beauty #michael gray

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briefinquiries · 2 months ago

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Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 23

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 23

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: In the aftermath of the wedding chaos, you and the rest of the Shelby's take shelter. As the night drags on, you begin to learn more about Luca Changretta.

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language

A/N: omg I haven't updated in way too long, sorry everyone. this is sort of a filler chapter, but more angst and action coming soon :)

For once, you woke before Tommy.

The room was still dim, the pale light of dawn just beginning to filter through the curtains in soft, silvery strands. Everything was quiet, the kind of hush that only existed in those early morning hours before the world stirred.

And beside you, Tommy slept. His face was turned slightly toward you, the muscles of his jaw slack, his breathing slow and even. The furrow that so often carved itself between his brows had softened, gone entirely, like the weight of everything he carried had, just for a moment, let him rest.

You didn’t move. Instead, you watched him, your cheek nestled against the pillow, heart aching with something you couldn’t quite name.

He looked younger like this. Softer. Like the boy he must’ve once been, long before the war, before the business, before everything.

You let your eyes trace the familiar lines of his face, the curve of his mouth, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his lashes rested gently against his cheekbones. He looked so peaceful it almost made your throat tighten.

How many nights had you fallen asleep to the sound of him pacing the floor below, cigarette glowing in the dark? How many mornings had you woken to find the space beside you already cold, already empty?

But not today.

Today, he was here. Safe. Breathing slow beside you.

For a while, you didn’t move. You just watched him, trying to memorize the way the morning painted him in gold. The soft rise and fall of his chest. The way his arm had draped across your waist sometime during the night, still resting there like even in sleep he needed to know you were close.

Your thumb brushed over his wedding band, worn for less than a day, and something inside you twisted. Not out of fear, exactly. But the kind of aching love that came with knowing peace like this never lasted long. Not in his world. And not in yours, anymore.

Carefully, you let your fingers drift up, skimming the line of his jaw, the faint stubble there. You traced the scar just beneath his cheekbone, the soft dip above his brow, the lashes so dark against his skin. Your touch was featherlight, reverent. Like if you pressed too hard, he’d vanish.

He stirred. A quiet grunt escaped him, and his brow furrowed ever so slightly, the beginnings of a frown tugging at his mouth.

“‘S too early,” he mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

You smiled, the sound of him like honey in your chest. “Go back to sleep, then.”

He didn’t answer, just shifted, catching your wrist in his hand before you could pull away. Without opening his eyes, he brought your fingers to his lips and kissed them, soft and slow, then pulled you down into him.

You went willingly, melting into his chest, into the heat of him. His arm looped around your waist, strong and sure, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. Then your cheek. Then your mouth.

Lazy and warm and just a little bit greedy.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were open, half-lidded but focused on you.

A slow smile tugged at his lips, still heavy with sleep. “Think I’m going to spend the whole morning right here,” he murmured, voice rough. “In bed. With my wife.”

You raised a brow, teasing. “Didn't realize you were such a romantic.”

“I know better than to leave a warm bed and a beautiful woman without good reason.” he said simply, brushing his nose against yours.

Before you could reply, he rolled you gently onto your back, his weight settling over you, not heavy, just enough to remind you of his strength, his presence.

His eyes searched yours, dark and hungry now, but still quiet and unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world.

Your breath hitched as his lips found the hollow beneath your ear, as his hand slipped beneath the sheets, dragging slow over your waist, your hip.

“Tommy…” you warned, though it didn’t sound like a protest.

He hummed, the sound deep and satisfied, before pressing a kiss to your throat. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

Because in that moment, wrapped in linen and morning light and him, there was nowhere else you wanted to be.

…

Tommy left later that day.

He pressed a kiss to your temple and made a promise to be back before dinner. A quiet apology hidden in the way his hand lingered at the small of your back before the door closed behind him, Arthur, and John.

Now, the house felt both too big and too full.

“You’d think,” Ada said from behind you, her tone brittle, “after his wedding ends in gunfire, maybe the groom would take a day off.”

Esme snorted from where she sat cross-legged on the edge of the hearth, flipping a playing card between her fingers. “Please. That man probably counts bullets the way most people count wedding gifts.”

“Enough, both of you,” Polly said sharply, though her voice was calmer than her eyes. She didn’t even look up, just cradled her teacup in both hands, her rings catching the firelight, gaze fixed on the flicker of flames like she was trying to read omens in the ash.

You turned, taking in the room fully for the first time.

Ada was pacing along the length of the rug, arms folded tight across her chest, her jaw set. She’d already burned through half a cigarette without noticing, the ash curling dangerously close to her fingers.

Polly sat in her usual chair, spine straight, elegance untouched by the weight pressing on the house. Her tea sat cooling in her lap, untouched.

Esme, ever the wildcard, looked like she could either laugh or start a fire, depending on who spoke next. Her foot bounced idly, knee jostling as she flicked the card again—King of Hearts this time.

You leaned a shoulder against the wall, your gaze drifting. “At least he slept,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Didn’t think he would. Not after everything that’s happened.”

Ada flopped onto the arm of the couch. “Must’ve been exhausted.”

“That or getting married really wore him out,” Esme said.

You snorted. “Probably both.”

“How’s Finn?” Ada asked, glancing toward Polly.

Polly leaned back in her chair with a quiet sigh, her hands resting over her cup like she was weighing the question. “Also exhausted,” she said. “I checked on him earlier. He was still dead to the world. Didn’t so much as twitch when I called his name.”

Your stomach fluttered, equal parts concern and relief.

“He looked better than yesterday,” Polly added after a moment. “Color’s back in his face.”

You let out a slow breath through your nose and nodded. “Good.”

Ada tucked her legs up underneath her on the couch and gave you a look. “So, how’s married life treating you? One full day in. Any regrets yet?”

You smirked. “Ask me after my next near-death experience.”

Esme chuckled into her tea. “That’s the true Shelby spirit.”

“Do you remember your wedding?” you asked Polly, more curious than anything.

Polly raised a brow, as if deciding whether to share. “I do.”

Esme snorted. “John told me there was a fistfight at the reception.”

“Two, actually,” Polly said primly, taking a sip of tea. “Only one was justified, though.”

You laughed, and Ada leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. “You know, I half-expected Arthur to give some drunken, weepy speech about the meaning of love last night.”

“He tried,” Polly said dryly. “I stopped him.”

Before you could respond, the sharp buzz of the doorbell cut through the laughter.

The four of you froze, eyes flicking toward the hallway.

Ada was the first to move, slowly setting her cigarette in the ashtray. “Who’d be coming around at this hour?”

Polly stood, setting her teacup down with practiced care. “Stay here,” she said.

You were already rising. “Polly—”

“I said stay.”

Her tone left no room for argument. She moved swiftly, her footsteps quiet as she disappeared down the hall. You, Ada, and Esme all exchanged a glance, the ease from moments before replaced by a slow, creeping tension.

Esme exhaled through her nose. “Fucking hell,” she muttered. “Nothing good ever happens in this house, does it?”

You tried to smile, but your pulse had picked up. You strained to hear—anything. Voices. Footsteps. But all you caught was the soft patter of rain and the faint groan of the floorboards.

A minute passed. Then another.

Finally, Polly returned, her expression unreadable.

She didn’t speak right away, just walked into the room and placed something on the coffee table between you. A box wrapped neatly in cream-colored paper. It was tied with a red ribbon with a card tucked beneath the bow.

Your name written across it in looping black ink.

You stared at it, unease prickling beneath your skin. “What is that?”

Polly didn’t look away from you. “There was no one at the door. It was just sitting there.”

Ada reached over slowly and plucked the card from the top. She flipped it open, eyes scanning the message inside. Her brow furrowed.

“What does it say?” Esme asked.

Ada hesitated. “It says, ‘For the bride. May your days be long and your nights quiet—while they last.’”

No one moved. Silence fell between you all, slow and suffocating.

Ada stared at the card for a second longer, then set it down beside the box like it might burn her fingers. Her jaw tightened. Your pulse thundered in your ears. You hadn’t touched the box, hadn’t even moved. It sat there on the table like it was waiting.

“Ada,” Polly said quietly and firmly. “Call Tommy.”

Ada looked up. “Is that really necessary Pol?”

“Now.”

Ada looked at Polly for only a moment before pushing off the sofa. She strode toward the hall, already pulling a cigarette from behind her ear with one hand and reaching for the phone with the other. You stayed rooted where you were, your eyes fixed on the neat red bow, now seeming almost cruel in its precision.

Polly stepped between you and the box. “Don’t touch it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you murmured, though your voice sounded far away. “Do you think it’s—”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But until we do, no one goes near it.”

In the hallway, you could hear Ada’s voice rising slightly, sharp and clipped. “I don’t care where he is—get him. Tell him it’s important— Christ, just put him on the bloody line—”

Your mouth went dry as you turned to Polly. “Is it… from him?”

Polly nodded once. “Luca Changretta.”

…

The box hadn’t moved.

Neither had you.

Polly sat across from it, arms folded tight, her expression carved from stone. She hadn’t touched her tea in over an hour. Her eyes stayed fixed on the neat red ribbon as if sheer will could keep it from doing something unspeakable.

Ada paced the hallway like a caged animal, smoke curling from the cigarette clenched between her fingers, her boots echoing softly on the floorboards. Every few minutes, she’d glance toward the front door—sharp, impatient, waiting for the sound of Tommy’s return.

Esme sat sprawled on the rug near the hearth, legs stretched out in front of her. She was rolling a cigarette with practiced ease, her fingers quick and precise even as her eyes flicked up, again and again, to the box. She hadn’t said much since it arrived, just muttered a few things under her breath in Romani now and then, like she was warding something off.

The silence was thick, the kind that hummed behind your ears. No one had touched the box. No one wanted to.

Then, soft footsteps from the stairs.

You turned just as Finn appeared, blinking against the low light. He wore a crumpled shirt and a dazed expression, his hair sticking up on one side like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Why’s everyone so quiet?” he muttered, voice still rough with sleep.

Ada turned toward him, visibly relaxing for the first time in hours. “You’re up. We thought you might be hibernating for a minute, there.”

Finn rubbed a hand over his face and yawned. He glanced around, eyes landing on the box on the table. “What’s that?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Polly said gently.

You moved toward him instinctively, scanning him from head to toe. He looked pale, but alright.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

Finn shrugged one shoulder, his eyes still flicking uneasily toward the box. “Okay. Kind of weird. My ears won’t stop ringing.”

You knelt beside the sofa, your hand resting lightly on his knee. “That’s normal. After something like that… your body is just trying to catch up.”

He glanced at you then, properly, and for just a moment, the little boy slipped through the cracks.

Then, the front door slammed open, hinges groaning in protest.

You heard footsteps. Fast. Heavy.

“Where is it?” Tommy’s voice cut through the house like a blade.

You turned just as he appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, rain clinging to his coat, eyes already scanning the space until they landed on the box. On you.

“Where is it?” he repeated, more to Polly now, breath ragged like he hadn’t stopped moving since Ada called.

Polly nodded toward the table. "There."

Tommy didn’t hesitate. He stalked forward, coat dripping, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jumping beneath his cheek.

“Did anyone touch it?” he barked.

“Just me,” Polly said. “But only the box. We haven’t opened it.”

You rose slowly, the back of your knees aching from how long you’d sat. “It had my name on it.”

“I know,” he said without looking at you, eyes fixed on the neat red ribbon like it personally insulted him.

He crouched low, inspecting it—silent for a moment that stretched like wire. You could see his mind working, grinding through possibilities, calculating every angle.

No one moved. The only sound was the quiet tick of the clock on the mantel. Then Tommy exhaled through his nose and reached into his coat, pulling out a pocketknife. He flicked it open, then crouched beside the table.

You watched as he slid the blade under the red ribbon and sliced it cleanly in one motion.

No giant explosion. No trick. Just silence.

He lifted the lid carefully.

Tommy’s jaw ticked once, then twice, before he reached inside and drew out a delicate silver necklace. The chain glinted faintly in the low light, and at the end of it hung a single small charm: a teardrop pearl set in filigree.

Polly peered over his shoulder, frowning. “Why would he send a piece of jewelry?”

“It’s not just jewelry,” Tommy said, rising to his feet.

He held it out, the necklace dangling from his fist like a noose. “It’s him saying he knows who you are. And what would suit your neck.”

Your stomach turned. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly cold.

Tommy’s gaze found yours then, sharp and dark and protective. “Someone was close enough to leave this at our door without being seen.”

Polly’s face was pale, hardening. “You think he’s threatening with proximity?”

Tommy’s grip tightened on the chain. “This is him saying he knows where to find us.”

Tommy stared at the necklace for another beat before turning to Polly. “Stay with her,” he said, low and firm. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Polly gave a single nod, already understanding.

“Tommy.” You stepped forward, eyes searching his face. “Where are you going? You just got here—”

His jaw shifted. “I need to make sure he doesn’t get closer.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He looked at you then, and for a brief moment, the fury faded, replaced by something rawer. Something tired. “I need to go figure out if anyone knew about this.”

Ada blinked. “What if no one talks?”

“I can be persuasive,” Tommy said, jaw ticking. His tone was cold now. “John and Arthur are already on their way to the Black Lion to lean on a few men we’ve had eyes on. I sent Johnny Dogs up to Digbeth to ask around the betting shops—see who’s been talking. Charlie went with him.”

You felt a chill run through you, not from the words, but the way he said them. Flat. Certain. Like violence was already a given.

“Tommy—” you pleaded.

He crossed the space between you and pressed his hands gently to your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You’re safe here with Polly. Just don’t open the door. Don’t leave the house.”

You blinked at him. “I don’t want you to go.”

His hands stayed on your face, steady despite everything. “I know,” he said quietly. “But I have to.”

Your throat tightened. “You don’t. Not right now. We could wait. We could—”

“We can’t wait,” he cut in, voice low but firm. “He sent this today. Tomorrow it could be something worse.”

You shook your head, pressing your palms against his chest like you could anchor him there. “I don’t care about necklances or cards or fucking threats—I care about you coming back.”

He didn’t speak right away. He just covered your hands with his own, holding them in place over his heart.

“I married you to protect you,” he said. “Not let you be threatened in your own home. Not to bring a war to your doorstep.”

You stared up at him, heart aching. “Here I was thinking you married me because you loved me.”

His eyes softened. “That too.”

You wanted to kiss him. To beg him to stay. But you knew better. Tommy Shelby didn’t run. Not from anything.

So instead, you said the only thing you could. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “I will. I always do.”

Then he kissed you—deep and certain, like it might have to last you both for a while.

When he pulled away, he turned without looking back.

And this time, when the door closed behind him, it felt like the whole house exhaled with it.

…

The hours passed slowly, stretched thin by the waiting.

Tommy didn’t call—not like you had really expected him to this soon. The quiet had its own kind of weight. Every creak in the house felt louder. Every car engine from the street set your nerves on edge.

Still, you did what you could to fill the silence.

Polly brewed another pot of tea, stronger this time. She moved with the same grace she always did, but her eyes were sharper, constantly flicking toward the window. Watching.

Ada had taken up residence on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she flipped through the paper, occasionally snorting at headlines and offering running commentary whether anyone responded or not.

“They described it as eventful,” she muttered, puffing on a cigarette. “Birmingham’s bloody standards, I suppose.”

You offered a small, dry smile, but the silence that followed felt like it had weight—like the walls themselves were listening.

Still, you did what you could to fill it.

Across the room, Esme sat cross-legged on the floor, her skirt bunched around her and her dark braid swinging over one shoulder. She was carving something small from a scrap of wood, the shavings collecting in a soft pile beside her like snow. The little figure looked like it might become a horse, or maybe a wolf—it was hard to tell.

Every few minutes, she’d glance up at the fireplace or the box still sitting tucked beneath the sideboard, her eyes narrowing.

Finn was curled up in the armchair near the window, a heavy knit blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He wasn’t reading the book open in his lap so much as staring through it, his gaze occasionally drifting toward the door.

You weren’t sure he even realized he was chewing on his thumbnail until Polly gently reached over and tugged his hand away, replacing it with a warm teacup.

“Drink,” she murmured.

He didn’t argue. Just nodded once, quiet as ever, and took a sip.

You watched him for a moment—how small he looked in that big chair, how tightly he gripped the cup in both hands like it might keep him grounded.

Later, Ada convinced everyone to help her bake something—though "bake" might’ve been generous. It was more her ordering Finn around the kitchen while you tried not to burn your fingers on the dishcloth.

“Better learn how to run the house if you’re going to be Mrs. Shelby,” Ada teased, hip-bumping you aside as she took over your attempt at sifting flour.

Polly made a noise in her throat. “Like any man in this family could run anything without us.”

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head as the oven clanked and groaned to life.

There was a moment where things almost felt normal. Like you were just five people in a house with too much time on your hands, not waiting for word from a man in the midst of waging war in the streets.

As dusk settled outside, casting long shadows over the floorboards, Polly poured a glass of sherry for each of you and lit the lamps one by one.

“I used to hate nights like this,” she said suddenly. “All the waiting. Reminded me too much of the war. Sitting and staring at walls.”

You glanced at her, something aching in your chest. Your fingers curled around the stem of the glass, the sherry untouched. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, throwing flickering light across the sitting room, and for a moment, you weren't in Small Heath anymore.

You were standing in a narrow hallway that smelled of iodine and burning wool. Your apron stiff with blood. The quiet in between waves louder than the screaming ever was.

"I used to wait, too," you murmured, eyes unfocused. "Back at the aid station. We'd hear the shelling in the distance, and we'd wait. For trucks. For stretchers. For whoever came through the door next.”

No one said anything.

You took a slow breath. “Sometimes… It was hours. Just silence. And the longer it went on, the more unbearable it got. Because I knew it meant something worse was coming. Something big.”

The image came back too easily—white bandages stained red, the tin cup of tea someone had tried to offer you with shaking hands, the endless shuffle of boots in corridors.

“And then,” you continued, voice low, “someone would come in missing half their face. Or screaming. Or already dead. And I’d move. I’d do my job. I’d stitch and clean and calm and talk and hope they made it until morning. But in those hours before?”

You looked down at your hands, flexing them like you could still feel the sting of alcohol and the way gloves would stick to your skin.

“In those hours, I felt so useless. Like a ghost in my own body.”

Ada reached out, wordlessly placing her hand over yours.

You didn’t look up, but you gripped her fingers tightly. “I’ve never heard you talk much about the war,” she said quietly.

You let out a huff. “It’s not something I like to remember.”

Polly, quiet as ever, just nodded.

You sat back in your chair, the warmth of the fire barely reaching your skin.

And as the clock ticked on, you waited again. Only this time, it wasn’t for the wounded to come through the door. It was for the man you loved to walk back through it in one piece.

…

The windows had gone dark.

Outside, the streetlamps buzzed to life one by one, casting long, fractured streaks of light across the living room floor. The day had slipped quietly into night, unnoticed until the shadows began to stretch.

Someone had drawn the curtains halfway earlier, but the wind kept nudging them open, making them flutter like restless ghosts. The fire had burned down to embers. The room was warm, but the silence made it feel colder than it was.

You sat curled in one of the armchairs, mug in hand, long gone cold. The others had grown quiet, too. Even Ada, who’d been talking just minutes before, was now staring blankly at the wall, a cigarette burning low between her fingers.

And then, finally, the phone rang.

Everyone froze.

No one moved to answer it at first. Polly was the one who finally rose from her chair, smooth and composed as ever, though you could see the tension in the set of her shoulders. She disappeared into the hall, footsteps light but brisk, the ringing still echoing in your ears.

No one spoke while she was gone.

Finn lay beside you on the couch, his head nearly resting in your lap and his blanket bunched up at his waist. He’d drifted in and out of sleep for the last hour, the tension finally wearing down into exhaustion. Now, his eyes were open again, watching the dancing glow of the firelight with a distant, heavy-lidded stare.

Your hand rested lightly against his shoulder, thumb brushing absently back and forth. He didn’t say anything, but he leaned into the touch like it grounded him.

“He’s gonna find the man who's doing all of this, right?” Finn murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

You glanced down at him. “Of course. Tommy always does.”

Finn nodded, but it was a quiet, solemn sort of nod. Not a child’s blind faith—something closer to a weary kind of knowing. Like he understood, even at twelve, that when Tommy Shelby went looking for someone, he found them.

“I wish I could help,” he murmured, voice barely above the fire’s crackle. “I’m a Shelby, too.”

You looked at the flicker of frustration in his young face, and the way his fists curled beneath the blanket. He was so young. Too young to be carrying that name like a burden instead of a legacy.

He stared into the flames, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Everyone else is doing something. Aunt Polly, Arthur, John… even Ada sometimes. I just get told to stay out of the way.”

Your fingers smoothed down the back of his hair, gentle, slow. “That’s not a punishment, you know. That’s protection. Because you’re important to all of them.”

He stayed quiet after that, eyes locked on the fire, jaw set in that stubborn Shelby way.

Polly’s voice rose faintly in the hall, sharper now. You couldn’t make out the words, but the tension in them cut clear through the wall.

Finn blinked slowly. “He’s mad.”

You didn’t answer.

Because yes—yes, he was.

But more than that, he was afraid. And that was always worse.

The call ended a minute later, and Polly returned to the room, her face composed but pale. You felt Finn tense as he shifted, pretending to still be asleep as Polly’s eyes swept the room.

“He’s alright,” she said, voice carefully measured. “Following a lead. John and Arthur are with him. Says he’ll be back late.”

Esme made a sound in the back of her throat and rose to her feet, brushing shavings from her skirt. “That calls for a drink.”

Without waiting for agreement, she crossed to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle—deep amber, expensive enough to be reserved for more than casual sipping. She popped the cork with a practiced twist and set a handful of glasses down on the table.

“No arguments,” she added, already pouring. “I’m not sitting here sober while we all wait for another ghost to knock.”

Ada stretched her legs out on the couch, accepting a glass with a shrug.

Polly raised a brow as she took hers.

You hesitated for half a second before accepting the drink Esme handed you. The liquid warmed your palm instantly, and you welcomed the sting of it when you took a sip.

Finn still lay beside you on the couch, quiet, still bundled under his blanket. His eyes were closed now, lashes brushing pale cheeks, his face slack with something close to real sleep. You watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his small fingers curled slightly around the edge of the cushion.

The hours slipped by slowly, thick with silence and flickering firelight.

No one said much anymore. The whisky had mostly been forgotten. Polly kept her seat near the front window, arms folded tightly, eyes fixed on the darkened street like she could will headlights to appear. Ada sat curled up in the armchair, chin resting on her fist, her cigarette burned down to the filter without her noticing. Esme stretched out on the rug, head tilted back, fingers tapping idly on the floor in a steady rhythm.

You were still on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, staring into the fire but seeing very little.

Finn had fallen asleep again, his breathing slow and even. You brushed hair from his forehead, pulling the blanket higher. He never stirred.

The house felt like it was holding its breath.

Finally—sometime past one—a car pulled up out front.

Everyone jolted upright.

The front door opened a moment later, and in stepped John, then Arthur. Both looked exhausted. Rumpled. John’s knuckles were scraped raw, and Arthur’s coat was soaked through at the shoulders.

But neither of them were bleeding. And neither of them were Tommy.

“What happened?” Polly stood immediately. “Where’s Tommy?”

Arthur let out a long breath as he peeled off his coat. “Still out.”

“He sent us back,” John added, voice low. “Said he needed to follow something up on his own.”

Polly’s jaw tightened. “Of course he did.”

Ada stood now too, eyes narrowed. “And he didn’t say where?”

“Said he’d be back before sunrise,” Arthur muttered, running a hand through his wet hair. “Said not to wait up.”

“Like hell,” Polly snapped. “What did he find out?”

John glanced toward Finn’s sleeping form, then back at you. “Someone who helped the Italians get close. Name came up in a backroom at The Barrel. Tommy wants to make sure it was real before he tells anyone.”

Arthur, still drying rain from his face with his sleeve, shrugged like it was out of his hands. “He said it had to be quiet. If word gets out that we know, this bastard’ll disappear.”

Your gaze drifted to the window. The rain had picked up again, tapping against the glass in a steady rhythm. You could just make out the reflection of the firelight behind you, but the street beyond was a blur of shadows.

Polly stood by the door for another minute before finally locking it with a quiet click, her jaw still tight. The echo of it seemed to settle something, if only on the surface.

She stayed there for a moment longer, her hand resting on the doorknob, eyes scanning the dark street beyond the frosted glass. The house behind her had fallen into a heavy, worn kind of silence—the kind that clings after too many hours of bad news and not enough rest.

John rubbed a hand over his face, rolling his shoulders with a grunt as he turned back toward the room. “I’m calling it,” he said, voice low but firm. “If he’s not back yet, he’s not coming until morning.”

No one argued.

It was the kind of resignation that didn’t need discussion anymore.

Arthur gave a small nod, already slipping off his coat, and Esme pulled the curtains tighter as she passed, muttering something under her breath about the cold seeping in through the floorboards.

No one made a move to leave the house. Not tonight.

Without a word, John and Esme drifted toward the back room they’d shared the night before, boots scuffing quietly against the floorboards.

Arthur bent down at the couch, brushing Finn’s hair back before lifting him carefully into his arms. The boy barely stirred, his head falling against Arthur’s shoulder, small fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Little bugger’s a deadweight,” Arthur muttered softly, but there was affection in it, deep and worn.

He carried Finn up the stairs, his footsteps slow and deliberate, while Ada trailed behind.

And just like that, one by one, the rest of the house began to dim. Floorboards creaked overhead. A door clicked shut. A blanket rustled into place.

Only the fire remained—low and steady, casting warm shadows against the walls.

Polly returned to her chair. And you stayed beside her, both of you facing the quiet like it was something alive.

Neither of you spoke for a long while.

The fire popped gently, and somewhere above, the faintest creak of someone turning in their sleep.

You didn’t say anything. Just stared into the fire until the shapes in the flames started to blur.

After a while, you asked, “Was it always like this? Before me?”

Polly huffed a quiet laugh. “You think this is new?”

You smiled faintly. “No. I guess I just thought… maybe it wasn’t this constant.”

Polly leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment. “The only thing constant in this family is that someone always thinks they can end it. And they always underestimate how far we’ll go to keep it standing.”

The fire crackled again, louder this time. You watched the embers pulse and fade, over and over.

The room fell quiet after that.

Your body grew heavier with each passing minute. The weight of the night, the fear, the warmth of the fire—it all tugged at your limbs.

You meant to stay awake, meant to be there when the door finally opened, and when Tommy returned.

But your eyes fluttered shut sometime after two, and the last thing you felt was the soft dip of the cushion beside you, the fire painting the backs of your eyelids in flickering gold.

And then there was nothing but sleep.

…

You stirred at the sensation of fingers brushing lightly across your forehead, the touch feather-light, careful. Gentle fingertips swept a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, then lingered for a breath too long, like the hand didn’t want to leave.

A voice followed, low and warm, barely above a whisper. It reached you through the haze of sleep like something half-dreamed:

“Sweetheart.”

Your brows knit slightly as your body slowly remembered where you were—the couch, the fire, the weight of exhaustion still clinging to your bones. But it was the voice that pulled you further awake. Familiar. Rough around the edges. His.

Your eyes fluttered open, lashes heavy, the dim glow of the dying fire casting him in soft shadow.

Tommy was crouched beside you, still in his coat, the collar damp from rain. His eyes looked darker in the low light, tired, rimmed with something too raw to name, but they softened the moment they met yours.

His hand stayed on your cheek now, thumb sweeping slowly across your skin, as if reassuring himself that you were real. Still here. Still safe.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding trembled out of you.

And without a word, you reached for him.

Your fingers barely curled around the lapel of his coat before he moved, leaning in and slipping one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back. You let out a small, unsteady breath as he lifted you from the couch, holding you close like something precious.

Your head dropped against his shoulder, your face nestling instinctively into the curve of his neck. He was warm beneath the damp chill of his coat, smelling of rain, smoke, and the faint trace of whiskey. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath your cheek.

He said nothing, and just held you tighter.

The house was silent as he carried you upstairs, every step slow, careful, deliberate. His boots creaked against the old wood floor, the faint sound of the fire still crackling somewhere below.

At the top of the stairs, he hesitated only long enough to shoulder open the bedroom door, the familiar scent of the space you’d shared the night before welcoming you like an exhale.

He crossed to the bed and lowered you gently onto the mattress, his hands never leaving you, not even as he pulled the blankets over your legs and brushed a final kiss to your forehead.

You blinked up at him, only half-awake now. “You came back,” you whispered.

He shed his coat, tossing it on the chair in the corner, before loosening his collar.

“I always come back,” he murmured.

Your voice was quiet. Barely a whisper against the hush of the room. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just worked at the buttons of his shirt for a moment, each one slow, deliberate, like even that required more energy than he had left.

“I followed a name,” he said finally, voice rough with fatigue. “It was someone who’s been close to us for years.”

You watched him in the low lamplight, your cheek still pressed to the pillow. His hands moved with tired precision, sliding the shirt from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without a second glance.

He had a bruise on his side—like a shadow blooming on his ribs. He ran a hand through his hair, then let out a long breath and turned toward the bed.

You shifted to make space, lifting the blanket as he eased in beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The chill of the room clung to his skin, but he was warm beneath it—his body radiating heat, his breathing still uneven.

Neither of you spoke as he pulled you gently into him, one arm wrapping around your waist, his other hand sliding beneath the pillow.

You curled instinctively against him, your forehead brushing his chest, your palm resting just over his heart.

“Did they talk?” you asked quietly.

Tommy’s jaw ticked. “Eventually.”

The word settled heavy between you.

You studied him in the quiet—how tired he looked, how far away his eyes had gone. Like some part of him was still in that back room, still in the moment he’d gotten the truth he’d gone looking for.

You swallowed, hesitant. “Who was it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the ceiling, his fingers absently tracing a line across your hip beneath the blanket. The touch was thoughtless, gentle—something to keep his hands busy while his mind worked through the damage.

“His name is O’Dolan,” he said finally. “Used to run messages for us. He helps with small jobs. He sold some information,” Tommy continued, voice flat. “Didn’t even ask who it was going to. Said he needed the money. Said he didn’t think it would lead to blood.”

Tommy’s jaw worked as he stared at the ceiling, like he couldn’t quite unclench it.

“He told them everything. Which doors we’d use. What time the guests would arrive. Which men were watching the grounds. Even mentioned you—”

His arm tightened around you as if he’d said too much, like the words themselves made the danger real all over again.

You felt it in the way his body tensed, the way his breath hitched just slightly before he kissed your forehead, soft, lingering. Like a promise, or maybe an apology.

You stayed still for a moment, soaking in the warmth of him, the smell of rain and smoke clinging faintly to his skin. But the question had already lodged in your throat, and it burned too much to hold back.

“What does Luca Changretta even want, Tommy?”

He stilled beside you, his hand frozen against your hip. You felt him inhale through his nose, slow and sharp.

“Revenge,” he said finally. “For his father. His name was Vicente Changretta. For so long, we were bleeding territory. Changretta was playing both sides—taking money from us and from them. Passing messages. Selling lies. We warned him twice. There’s been a lot of bad blood.”

His eyes flicked toward the ceiling, gaze far away now.

“Not long ago, John shot Luca’s brother—and it started a chain reaction. They tried to retaliate. Nearly put a bullet in Arthur. It escalated fast.”

You felt your breath catch.

“So I made the decision,” he said. “Vicente was handed over to us.”

There was no pride in his voice. No bravado. Just the blunt weight of a man who’d lived long enough with the choices he made.

“You killed him?”

Tommy shook his head. “Arthur pulled the trigger. But I tied him to a chair in a butcher’s shop. And now, Luca wants me to feel what he felt.”

You rested your head against him, heart pounding.

“He wants us to bleed,” he said quietly. “One by one. And he wants me last.”

You closed your eyes, your hand fisting in the fabric of the blanket.

“You weren’t supposed to be part of this,” he said, voice rough.

You looked up at him. “Too late for that.”

His jaw flexed. “I will protect you. I promise you.”

“I know.”

He met your eyes, and something shifted there—just for a second. The sharpness dulled. The weight settled.

You reached up and touched his face, your thumb brushing beneath his eye.

He caught your wrist gently, pressing a kiss to your palm like a silent promise. Then he tucked you back against his chest, his chin resting against your hair.

And in the quiet, with the storm still circling outside, the two of you held on to each other, because there was nothing left to say, and nowhere else either of you wanted to be.

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#tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby fic #thomas shelby x reader

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fallatyourfeet · 1 year ago

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No Negotiations (Thomas Shelby x Reader - One shot)

Summary: Tommy thought he had been very careful keeping his relationship with YN a secret, but no, his number one enemy had discovered you. And these things rarely playout well in the world of the Peaky Blinders.

Word count: 1807

Warnings: Quite a few F bombs and quite a bit of angst. Maybe it ends well, maybe it doesn't.

A/N: This fic was a request and it's been a long time coming. I'm so happy to finally post something again.

Gif: I don't know who this Gif belongs too, but I'd love to give credit to the creator if anyone knows.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

It was a particularly complicated time in Tommy’s life. There were a lot of different things going down. Dangerous things. And it most definitely was not a great time to be dating anyone. But YN wasn’t just ‘anyone’. To Tommy, she had very quickly and very unexpectantly, become everything. For the past year, it was YN that kept him sane during the whole fracture between his family. And with Luca Changretta still plotting his revenge against every single member of the Shelby clan, he thanked God that he had kept her completely separated from his family and business life. She was his escape. With her, his existence was simpler, uncomplicated. Cherished. Every secret second he stole by her side recharged him, settled him in ways he could never have imagined. Every night spent warming her bed gave him hours of blissful dreamless sleep. So, when he looked up from the ringside during the Goliath vs Bonnie Gold match to see her seat empty, he found himself unable to breathe.

Tommy started the night in good spirits, just happy knowing YN was there. Even if she was sitting anonymously across the opposite side of the hall, finding his thoughts already caught amongst the quiet moments he would steal away with her at the end of the night. When Arthur grew concerned of the men in Goliath’s corner, he urged him not to worry, to calm down and enjoy the match. And even when one of the men disappeared from ringside and Arthur felt the need to investigate, Tommy thought it was his older brother’s paranoia taking hold. But when Arthur didn’t return before the second man in Goliath’s corner slipped into the crowd, Tommy instantly found his stomach in knots, his eyes gravitating to YN’s seat.

It was empty.

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe she had slipped away to the ladies. Or maybe she found herself completely disinterested in boxing and left to wait for him at their hotel room. Or maybe the growing knot in his stomach told him something much more unthinkable was taking place. Jumping from his seat, Tommy wasted no more time, easily slipping through the crowd, following the same path as Arthur.

It was unnervingly quiet walking down the passage and into the back rooms of the venue, Tommy barely registering the excitement of the crowd as it faded into the background. Only interested in the silence around him. But it was too much. Bellowing out both YN and Arthur’s name, his voice echoed and bounced off the tiled walls around him, his call answered by a gun shot. Tommy’s blood ran cold. The deafening sound vibrated through every cell in his body as if it had pierced his very flesh and Tommy couldn’t escape the hollow feeling that YN was somehow tangled in the mess.

Tommy moved desperately in and out of doorways in the direction of the gunshot, finding nothing. Until he turned the corner into a dimly lit room. But there was no mistaking what he saw, and he knew the scene before him would be forever burnt to his memory, causing him instantaneous regret. Arthur hunched over, visibly shaken as he clutched at his blood-stained neck, working hard to regain his breath. But he was alive. And beside him lay one of the men from Goliath’s corner, in a pool of his own blood, his face half blown away. But it was YN. Standing in that very same room, a room she was never supposed to be in, that had the regret burning like fire in his throat. Backed up against the cold tiled wall her whole body was trembling, arms outstretched as her hands clamped around Arthur’s pistol; knuckles white.

Tommy stepped into the room, startling her. Terrified, her trembling body swung around to face him, waving Arthur’s pistol unsteadily in his direction. All her features were overcome with fear, drained and washed out, his regret now burning bitter in his mouth. Moving towards her, he outstretched his hands, recognition dawning across her face. And when he whispered her name, she fell apart.

Simultaneously, the pistol slipped from her fingers, as her body slid down the wall, Tommy reaching her before she hit the floor, cradling her head, whispering against her ear, “It’s okay… you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Shaking his head, he found it hard to keep control of his voice, guilt ripping through his words, “I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry… I didn’t want this for you… I…” Tommy felt sick seeing her this way. Because of him, she had taken a man’s life, she didn’t deserve that kind of burden and there was nothing he could do to take it back.

“Tommy.” Arthur’s hoarse voice broke through his stupor. Looking across to his brother, he was no longer hunched over, but was instead standing before him, a steady stream of blood running from a gash to his neck. Speaking again, he gestured to the body on the floor, his words rough and strained, “I don’t know who the hell she is, Tommy, but he was tryin’ to drag her out the fuckin’ door.” Running blood-stained hands through his hair, he rubbed the back of his head, “I ripped her from his grip, but he fuckin’ got me Tommy, he had me… I’d be dead. She saved my fuckin’ arse.”

Tommy shuddered, not even allowing himself to think about what might have happened if Arthur didn’t reach her in time, all while he was too busy ignoring his brother’s concerns. Sudden gratitude spilled from his mouth, “Thank you, Arthur. You were right… I didn’t listen, but you were fucking right.”

Arthur crouched down, and whispered as if there were people in the room who could listen, “Who is she Tommy, and what does Changretta want with her?”

Surely the fact that he was on the ground cradling YN was explanation enough, but Tommy answered anyway, “She’s my girlfriend… I love her… that’s the all reason he needs.” And it was those words as they left his lips, that brought about an instant and upsetting decision.

Luca Changretta was no longer a threat. He had been dealt with in the most final way. Until the moment Arthur unloaded a bullet into his head, Changretta thought both Arthur and YN were dead, leaving Tommy’s exit plan for the mafia boss sailing through without a hitch. But there was still one thing left for Tommy to do. Something that tore at his insides, just thinking about it. But there was no other choice.

It was necessary.

Staring at YN’s front door, he took a deep breath, unable to put it off any longer. Lifting the iron knocker, he tapped it against the timber and cleared his throat, waiting for the sound of her footsteps and yet, hoping not to hear them. Never had he waited at her door with such trepidation, any stress or worries usually melted away the moment his eyes caught sight of her house. Always far too confident that he’d never been seen. God, he had been so fucking stupid.

YN opened the door with one of her breathtaking smiles, she was not going to make this easy. Fuck, he was going to miss those smiles. Burning the image to memory, he went to speak, but she leaned forward and planted a kiss to his lips, her sweet voice announcing, “Thomas Shelby… you’re late, you’re never late.” Tommy inhaled deeply, knowing that soon enough he wouldn’t be able to recall the sound of her voice, when what he really wanted was to wake up to it every single morning.

Internally nodding, Tommy realised she was right, he had been putting this meeting off all afternoon, and when she stepped aside to let him come in, he found his feet cemented to her doorstep, his voice lost upon his lips. Seeing his hesitation, her features suddenly clouded with apprehension and concern. And it tore him to shreds. “What’s wrong, Tommy? What happened?” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him inside, sitting them both down in the parlour, “Tell me, what’s going on?”

Tommy didn’t want to be inside her house, he wanted to drop the news and leave, but she deserved more, so much more. Chewing on his lip, he inhaled deeply and cleared his throat, working hard to keep his voice convincing, “YN… I… I can’t be with you anymore.” YN jumped from the seat as if he’d slapped her. Tommy’s eyes shifted to the floor, concentrating on a scratch in the timber beside his foot, “It’s not safe anymore… people know who you are now… I… I’d never survive if something happened to you... I’d never forgive myself.”

“Tommy!” A few seconds of silence followed before she called his name again, “Tommy… you need to look at me!” This was not a good idea, no good could come from seeing her face, but how could he deny her? After everything she had given him over the past year. All those stolen moments and blissful memories… memories that would keep him functioning during all the lonely nights that would follow without her.

Lifting his head, he kept his gaze unfocused, worried her expression might destroy his resolve. Not that it mattered, her words and tone conveyed everything. She was furious. But she didn’t raise her voice once. “No… No Tommy.” Her comment snapped his eyes into focus and the determination he saw; on her face; in her posture, it took him by surprise.

Shifting in his seat, he couldn’t think, couldn’t stop the internal wall of his will from crumbling, with every word she spoke. “I won’t let you do this. I could die crossing the road today. I could get sick tomorrow and die next week. I could die giving birth or fall asleep and never wake up.” Drawing a breath, she shook her head, it was barely noticeable, “People die every day, Tommy, there’s nothing we can do about it, but I’m not going to let you give me up.”

Knealing down, her hands enveloped his face, demanding his attention, “I’m not going to miss out on a life with you, how ever long or short that may be… Do you not think I’m terrified of losing you too?”

Tommy shook his head, but his wall of resolve was gone, and he knew the words he spoke were no more than white noise, “My life… it’s dangerous… Just being with me is-”

Losing patience, she cut his white noise short with unyielding hands, refusing to let him look away. Her eyes were fierce. And her decision was final. There would be no negotiations. “Just shut up Tommy, stop talking. I love you. And I know you love me…. I’m not stupid, I know the risk I’m taking. But for you, I’m willing to take it.”

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby fan fic #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders x reader

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call-sign-shark · 7 months ago

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Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x You

Summary: It was supposed to be an entertaining evening. Boxing fights, booze and party. It wasn't supposed to be one of the worst days of your life. || Featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 4.5k

TW: angst+++, alteration of canon events, canonical violence, depictions of slaughter and body horror, main character death, Reader's husband dying, suicidal thoughts, graphic murder. Parts in bold are direct quotes from the show. Parts in Italics are direct quotes from preceding chapters. Also, Tommy will take more space in the next chapters.

Notes:

✞ Shorter chapter because it's extremely violent and angsty. Also, I'm super rusty so I tried to write it in a more direct style so it's prolly less poetic and beautiful.

✞ This is chapter 16 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The extraordinary general meeting of the Shelby Ladies Club.

This is what Polly called this unexpected little meeting in the bathroom right in the middle of the rigged fight happening a few rooms away. When you entered the lavatory with Ada complaining about the sparring between Goliath and Bonnie, Aunt Pol was taking a cigarette from the silver case she was holding while Lizzie was fixing her hair.

“I love your messy bun, Heaven.” Lizzie complimented when she saw your reflection in the mirror she was using.

“Thank you Liz. Ada scolded me and decided that it would be a better hairstyle for tonight.”

“You never style your hair except for braids and it’s a fucking shame considering how beautiful and long your white mane is.” The young Shelby sister insisted.

“If you say so,” You snorted, amused, “What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming? Leave these for Thomas.” You smirked, sitting on the edge of a sink with movements as nimble as a cat. Your little cutting remark had the expected effect: the three girls laughed with sincerity, somewhat amused by the beef between you and the family’s boss. They had eventually learned that nothing could ever ease the tension between the two of you, so laughing about the matter was the only thing they could do. A part of you couldn’t help but think that they wouldn’t find it that amusing anymore if they knew the unhealthy turn your mutual hatred had taken.

What did you feel when we kissed? A shiver ran down your spine as you heard Tommy’s husky voice, as charming as venomous, whispering in your ear. It might only have been a memory, but you could almost feel his hot whisky breath brushing your skin.

“Heaven has some news.” Polly’s voice resounded in the bathroom, snatching you from your thoughts.

“Me?” You asked, batting your bambi lashes in incomprehension before the understanding of the situation slapped you right in the face.

“Well, tell her. Now! While the men are screaming for blood.” Polly sneaked a cigarette between her thin, red lips.

Your blood momentarily froze in your pale veins for this unexpected pregnancy wasn’t something you wanted to talk about. For sure Aunt Pol didn’t mean to do harm, but the surrounding chaos and your last encounter with Luca Changretta seriously eroded your wish to have a baby. The baby who made you so vulnerable during times that were anything but good. Moreover, a quick glance at Lizzie’s sad and anxious eyes had been enough for you to understand that something was weighing on her shoulders. Something you had guessed for a few days. Something she needed to talk about more than you. The corner of your mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Well, I discovered something about Lizzie but I think she should be the one making the announcement. Shouldn’t you, Lizzie?” You winked, replacing one of your long white strands of hair behind your pierced ear with a naive pout. Glitters of hope and gratefulness suddenly sparkled in the ocean blue of the secretary’s eyes to whom you replied with a discreet nod before grabbing Polly’s cigarette case.

“I’m up the duff. And it’s Tommy’s.”

You took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke by your nostrils as the attention was now on Lizzie. Even though Ada almost choked on her sip of gin, she quickly showed interest in the tall woman’s pregnancy. The only one you didn’t fool was old and cunning Aunt Pol who gave you a brief “okay I get it” glance before turning back to Lizzie.

It’s a girl. Call her Ruby. Ruby Shelby. She’ll be a star in a Hollywood movie.

You watched the scene with a light smile floating upon your plump and glossy lips, satisfied by the outcome of your little trick as well as the surprising unconditional support Lizzie was receiving after years of being seen only through her job as a prostitute. Admittedly, the reason behind the little push you gave to Lizzie Stark was purely selfish, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you kind of liked the woman despite never really interacting with her. She got the attention, and you got peace. It was a win-win situation.

“Congratulations, Lizzie.” You said, your siren-like voice as soft as a lazy ocean.

“She’s a real Shelby lady now. Just like you, Devil.” Polly’s smirk betrayed her amusement. You rolled your eyes teasingly before proudly showing your left hand and wiggling your small fingers to display the magnificent wedding ring Arthur had gifted you.

“What about you Hev? When are you planning to give us a little Arthur?” Ada suddenly asked, Lizzie's news had visibly rendered her sour mood better.

“I think one Arthur is enough for now, don’t you?” You got up from the sink and carefully smoothed the folds your revealing black dress, “Anyway. Ladies, let’s rejoin our gentlemen.”

“I guess the meeting is over.” Ada added with a little chuckle

Joining deeds to words, Polly gently hooked her arm with yours in a motherly gesture and guided you outside, where the crowd’s roars were echoing.

Laughs and cheers filled the room as Johnny Dog put on a show to get more men to bet on the winner of this fight. Swallowing a mouthful of gin, your seraphic traits turned into a wince at the burning sensation the alcohol left in your throat – that new batch was strong, indeed. The sweet taste that exploded on your tastebuds, when the tip of your rosy tongue licked your juicy lips, made you grin, or maybe it was the all-consuming smell of sweat and blood that lingered in the air. It might come off as surprising for other women, but you enjoyed watching fights. There was something brutal but so real about them. After all, humans were just animals wearing suits. Animals which, according to you, had barely learned to speak instead of growling.

Your lips pinched the cigarette as you took another drag you quickly blew, your eyes following blood spurting from Bonnie’s nose and splattering the ground. Although quieter than Polly, Lizzie, and Ada, who were laughing, screaming, and sometimes nudging you in excitement at each violent blow the Romani boy gave back to his opponent, you had a lot of fun. Until a peculiar but familiar feeling blossomed within.

It started with a chill creeping down your spine and ended up with light tremors shaking your frail silhouette. Instinctively, you raised your piercing gaze and searched for Arthur somewhere among the crowded rows of folded seats. Your usual calm demeanor faltered as you noticed that your husband seemed troubled by something, rapidly glancing from here and there, attempting to read the room for whatever reason. He didn’t even pay attention to you, far too busy observing the men that were around the boxing ring. Eventually, Arthur stood up and left, his steel blue eyes fixed on someone he followed through the depths of the building. Let me do my fucking job! That’s what he barked at Tommy, or at least what you thought you overheard.

You frowned as a strange sensation rippled through your mind – like a distant, haunting whisper of something looming, a threat. Nervously swallowing your saliva, your first reflex was looking at Tommy. You couldn’t place it, but the odd feeling gripped you tightly like an omen you couldn’t shake, warning you of an approaching storm. It seemed like little King Shelby shared your inner agitation though, for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes dived into yours with the same nervousness and incomprehension. Whatever the many reasons behind your hatred, you were definitely on the same wavelength at this very moment. The silent conversation, expressed through brief eyebrows and eye movements, was more or less the following:

-Where is he going?

-I don’t know. It’s prolly the booze and the pills.

-It’s not. I’ll check.

-Don’t fucking do that.

You stood up from your seat with a clenched jaw and, feeling the vibration of this bad omen quaking your soul itself, you nimbly snaked in and out through seats and followed Arthur’s steps. As was the case for your husband a few minutes ago, the dark corridor into which you rushed engulfed your ethereal silhouette like a hungry giant.

“Fuck.” Tommy mumbled, straightening on his seat and leaning forward, “Fuck.” He repeated, torn between his own doubts and his disdain for you. Nevertheless, if there was one thing he had learned since you joined the family was that your gut feelings were never wrong. You proved it several times, starting by foreseeing Charlie’s abduction. The dark-haired gangster sniffed and nervously rubbed his chin, his catlike eyes going back on forth between the corridor and the crowd. A few minutes later, Tommy finally left the fighting pit.

Something was definitely off.

Cautiously walking through the maze of dark hallways dimly lit by a bluish light, you tried to ignore the maddening beat of your heart that was drumming so loud you felt it hammering in your temples. You didn’t really know where you were heading, nor where Arthur went, but the more you moved forward, the more this unbearable feeling of dread and panic invaded you. Your aimless wandering came to an end when the strong and metallic smell of fresh blood and the atrocious sight that followed jumped at your face.

No.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him – your husband, slumped on the ground, blood soaking through the collar of his shirt as it gushed from the wound across his throat.

No!

Time seemed to slow down, and your heart seemed to stop as you took in the scene: the gun the Italian bastard was holding in his steady hand aimed at Arthur’s head.

Panic crashed over you like a tidal wave, washing away everything but the rage that had piled up within you during all these years. In that moment, something primal and destructive snapped inside of you. In a blur of rage and raw instinct, and with a guttural scream that seemed too inhumane to come from you, you launched yourself at the mafioso, who barely had the time to turn around. Another furious shriek escaped from your quivering lips, similar to the rabid screech of a wounded banshee, and with your fingers curled into claws, your sharp nails slashed across his face.

“PUTTANA!” The man yelled and gasped, taken aback by your unleashed fury.

The mafioso fired with his gun in a desperate attempt to kill you but the brutal impact between your two bodies threw him off balance and the shot reached the wall instead of your brain. As his spine crashed against the tiled ground, Changretta’s henchman dropped the weapon. You gave it a brutal blow to make it slide away from him.

Another wave of insults followed as he realized that he struggled to overpower you. You were fighting like a cornered animal, wild and relentless. Your claws scratched him again and again, leaving raw and jagged lines of blood all over his face. The mafioso's strength was starting to falter as he realized that you weren’t just fighting to win; you were fighting to kill him, your body moved by the instinct of a bloodthirsty beast that refused to be caged.

"Stop it, you fucking bitch!" A scream of utter pain brutally tore the air as, completely out of your mind, you dug your thumbs into his skull, pushing harder and harder in an attempt to gouge his eyes. The Sicilian man produced a second sound so twisted that it seemed beyond anything a human throat could produce. The more you pushed with your thumbs, the more you felt his eyeball turning into a viscous pulp. The feeling of the moist and warm liquid on your fingers didn’t stop you. Nor the man’s wails of pure agony, with its pitch far too high and too broken.

“Ajùtami! Ajùtami!” He pleaded, his hands felt the ground in panic, searching for anything he could use to push you away from him. Anything to make you stop. Realizing that nothing was around him, not even the thread he used to attack Arthur, he managed to overcome the pain and gather his strength to grab your throat.

With your air squeezed, you wheezed and removed your fingers from his skull to claw his strong hands. “S-Stop!” Panic flooded you as your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. The harder you fought, the harder he strangled you. Seriously lacking air, you clawed at his arms, desperate to breathe, but his grip was iron. Now you had to do something and do it quickly if you wanted to have a chance to save Arthur.

Your thoughts raced, frantic, until instinct took over.

I love your messy bun, Hev!

The judas stick – now you had a chance. With one quick movement, you brought your hand to your bun and your fingers fumbled for the sharp metal judas stick that was holding your hair in place. It came in handy. With a choked sound, you drove it upward and sunk the sharp edge of the stick into the man’s side.

One time.

Two times.

Three, four, five, six…

Side, chest, shoulder, face…

Each impact was vicious and powerful, tearing through the flesh like butter and drilling into organs and bones with the sheer will of maiming your enemy. Hot blood splashed all over you and around, but you didn’t care. The only thing that made you stop stabbing him was when you felt the man’s grip loosen around your throat until his arms dropped on the red-smeared ground in a loud thud.

“Fuck!” You sucked in a sharp breath, your voice hoarse from being choked. However, you quickly got up from the corpse to run to your husband. “Arthur!” You screamed, rushing to his side, your hands trembling as you knelt beside him – or rather as you dropped to your knees, your legs unable to support your weight anymore. Panic seized you even more violently as you saw Arthur's deep wound and the blood—too much blood.

“No, no, no… not like this,” You whispered, voice cracking. You couldn’t lose him, not here, not now. Never. Your fingers brushed over his chest and, in your deepest desperation, you looked for his pulse. A pulse you found, but which was becoming slower and fainter as seconds flew by. “Arthur! Please!” You started sobbing, tears streaming down your face and mixing with the fresh blood that was painting your skin in a disgusting shade of red. You had to face the truth: Arthur was dying. The damages were too serious and the bleeding too much… But you were a witch. The gift of healing was coursing through your veins. The only problem was that if you tried to save him by using your magic, you’d hurt the baby. After all, that was what happened when you tried to kill Luca Changretta with a heart attack.

The baby.

Your husband or the baby?

Your heart painfully raced in your chest. Your erratic breathing and your sore throat made you feel like you weren’t getting enough air.

“I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

You could save him. You had to. Despite this torture of a dilemma and the harshness of the decision, nothing could change your mind, not even the feeling of your heart shattering into millions of shards. Closing your eyes, you placed one hand over his throat, the blood warm under your palm, and the other on his chest. Wasting no time, you channel all your strength – the connection sparked, and the raw, untamed magic you inherited from your mother surged through you. It seemed to work at first, his pulse lightly responding to yours.

But the more the magic surged, the more you felt a terrible pain in your belly. It started as cramps but quickly escalated into suffering so high that you felt like someone was stabbing you. A trembling squeal escaped from your red lips. You were killing it, you knew it. You were killing your own baby.

"Come on, come on," You muttered, pushing harder, forcing your will into his body. "Stay with me, Arthur," You whispered, tears streaking down your face, each sentence cut by muffled cries of the mafioso you had slaughtered and who was still alive— not for too long to be honest. He seemed to say something in Sicilian but you couldn't understand what. And you didn't care. "Just... stay with me." You gritted your teeth, doing your best to put up with the pain.

Click.

You froze.

“You nosey little slut. You should've stayed with the others.”

Your heart missed a leap at the unknown male voice, carried by a thick Italian accent. The mafioso’s colleague looked at you, gun pointed right to your head.

"Remember me?" He asked with a wicked smile, recalling the moment he had offered you a cigarette a few hours ago. During your brief chit-chat, he told you that his name was Damiano but you didn't make the connection between Changretta and his Italian heritage.

“Don't cry, you're going to meet with your husband again very soon." the imposing man added, a few seconds away from ending your life. However, Damiano didn't know what you were capable of. Even less now that you were driven by pure rage and despair.

“Shut the fuck up!” You suddenly yelled, your claws firmly anchored in your husband to make Damiano understand that no one would snatch him from your arms. Your voice, a seductive melody that could enchant like a siren’s song, suddenly sounded monstrous. Raw and primal, the way you screamed the threat echoed in the entire maze of hallways and made Tommy’s blood freeze in his veins, a few corridors away. “Fucking die!”

Damiano didn't know that he never stood a chance. You sealed that man's demise with one blunt arm movement as if you had wanted to chase a mosquito from your face.

"Wh-What..."

Damiano, fell on his knees next to his dying friend, and writhed on the floor. With his two hands pressing on his chest, he suddenly started to choke and, right after, threw up a great amount of thick blood. Apart from the vomiting, blood soon seeped from his eyes and ears, bubbling like something inside was boiling them alive.

"P-Please!" He begged but you didn't stop. The man obviously tried to scream but the only sound he could produce was disgusting gurgles.

"Don't worry, you're going to meet your friend pretty soon." You replied with a cold and sardonic tone before closing your fist, the man's lungs responding to your gesture by imploding in his chest. Like his colleague's arms did a few minutes ago, Damiano's whole body crashed against the floor with a thud.

Quickly, you shifted back your attention to your husband and kept giving him all your energy while ignoring the black dots that were dancing in front of your eyes, as well as the awful, unbearable stabbing sensation in your core. You were definitely hurting yourself by using your power that much but you didn't give a fuck. “Arthur, please.” You growled, a feeling of dizziness building up so bad that you didn’t even hear the hurried footsteps that were coming closer, nor the hoarse, familiar voice of your brother-in-law.

"FUCK!" You exclaimed. You were losing Arthur again.

The three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

The Peaky Blinder's boss took two steps back and brought his calloused hand to his mouth, fighting against the urge to puke – and God knew it took him a lot considering the atrocities he witnessed and did during the war. His turquoise gaze scanned the room, which had turned into a slaughterhouse. A fucking pool of crimson blood. First, he saw the limp and distorted corpse of Damiano, whose eyes were open wide in horror despite him being dead and cold. The terror in his frozen facial expression left no doubt about how awful his last moments must have been: he had suffered, and he had suffered more than a lot. Then, he caught a quick glimpse of the second victim. With his eyeballs reduced to a reddish foul mush, the lacerations on his face, and the abnormal number of stabbing wounds, the mafioso’s body was so maimed that it looked disgustingly grotesque.

Then he saw Arthur.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and pungent scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

Tommy reacted immediately and knelt near his brother with a panic so uncontrollable that it swept away every ounce of coldness and self-control he usually displayed. He slapped his brother's cheeks several times in a vain attempt to help him come back to a conscious state but it didn't work. Thomas Shelby's fist hit the floor with frustration as the feeling of powerlessness crept into his heart. He was losing another brother and there was nothing he could do to save him.

But you could.

"Heaven, d'ya hear me?"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses saturated with one unique sound: a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

“Oi! Listen to me!” Tommy’s powerful voice suddenly snatched you from your daze just enough time to catch your attention and plunge his turquoise iris into your Arctic eyes.

“I—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t...” You repeated in a whisper, just like a broken record, because your husband’s pulse was weakening again, blind to your exhausting and painful efforts. Arthur was dying, your baby was dying and the intensity of the pain you went through was so insufferable that all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wait for death to make this nightmare stop.

Tommy rapidly shifted his body to be by your side, his sharp eyes focused, but softer than usual. “You’ve got this,” he whispered, meeting your panicked gaze. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” He pressed his hand firmly over yours, steadying the trembling fingers that worked to save his brother. His voice was low, gravelly, but laced with a quiet strength he tried to share with you. His grip was warm, grounding you in the chaos, his presence like an anchor. At that moment, the weight of the world felt momentarily lighter with him by your side. You replied to his help with a muffled sob.

"You've got this!" Tommy tried to keep you from falling apart but the sight of a thin trickle of blood slowly running down your nose worried him almost to death. He looked at you and he knew. He knew that you had given everything – every ounce of your energy to save his brother, your magic now drained. Your hand trembled, still pressed to Arthur’s chest, but the world around you was seriously fading to black.

Caught amid this Hell with Tommy by your side, you didn't hear nor feel Polly, who had found the crime scene.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him,

"We're fucking losing her too!" Tommy exclaimed, "fucking help me!"

"Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream one last time. A haunting and otherworldly wail that pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The smell of blood hid Tommy's musky perfume that was tingling your nostrils. The deafening ringing in your ears covered Polly and her nephew's voice. Your breaths came shallow and weak, your body becoming heavier as darkness crept in. Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut. In one final movement, you collapsed beside your husband, your last thought a silent hope that he would live.

Or that you would at least die trying to save him.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature

#Arthur Shelby #Arthur Shelby x Reader #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Arthur Shelby x oc #Paul Anderson #Heaven Shelby #Peaky blinders oc #John Shelby #Polly Gray #Luca Changretta #Luca Changretta x Reader #Arthur SHelby imagine

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runnning-outof-time · 1 year ago

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Congratulations, I adore your story!!

Could you please do 23 with angst and then fluff? Thank you so much I appreciate it!💕

Thanks so much for sending this in, anon! I’m so happy you like my stories! I decided to go with Tommy for the character and chose “I don’t want to go.” for the prompt because it was the 5 word #23. I hope you don’t mind that. Enjoy! :)

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

Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!

To Keep You Safe

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: season 4 spoilers (like right from the jump), language

Word Count: 1042

Summary: (Y/N) and Tommy discuss the decision to have her go into hiding while the war with the Changrettas rages on.

Things were heating up in the vendetta between the Shelbys and the Changrettas. What both sides thought would be a quick battle had now turned into a full-on war. And after Luca managed to get to Michael in his hospital bed and try to get him to switch sides, Tommy was convinced that no one was safe.

He called a family meeting. He arranged it in the morning and it was set for that evening. The air in the room was so thick with tension that you could practically cut it with a knife. (Y/N) noted that they were currently in the midst of a thunderstorm, which she had a feeling was foreshadowing for what was to be talked about.

And oh boy was she right. Things were quiet between her and Tommy that night. Neither of the two spoke a word to the other before they both went to sleep.

(Y/N) didn’t really sleep much though. No matter how many times she wished it wouldn’t, tomorrow still came.

Soon enough, there was a man in a car sitting outside their Watery Lane home.

“I don’t want to go,” (Y/N) huffed as she crossed her arms. She was aware of how much she sounded like their three year old daughter, but she quite frankly didn’t care.

“You have to, love,” Tommy insisted, not wanting this to turn into something bigger than it had to be.

“Why?” she asked, her one eyebrow quirking upward.

“Don’t fucking start…” he trailed off with a sigh.

“You owe me a reason, Thomas. I’m not just going to be shipped off into the fucking wilderness for no fucking reason,” she harped on, sharing her feelings about the decision that had been made — essentially without her consent — the night prior.

“You know why,” he told her, insisting it was common sense.

“Enlighten me anyway,” she shrugged.

“(Y/N).”

“Tommy.”

“It’s to keep you safe!” he finally came out with it, his voice raising as his eyes went wide, showing the frustration and stress he was currently under. “It’s to keep you fucking safe.”

(Y/N) was taken back by his outburst, but she really should have expected it. She was poking a bear; a powder keg that was bound to explode sooner or later. “You’re keeping me safe here, though. And besides, it was agreed between the both of you: no civilians. No women or children,” she pointed out in a softer voice, recalling the rules of the vendetta that he’d told her a few weeks prior.

“Yeah, I know that was agreed upon,” Tommy started, nodding as a sigh escaped his lips, “but with how things are going…we need to expect everything. And I can’t have you get taken by him or his men as a way to get me. So I need you to go. Just for a little while.”

Silence fell between them as she took a minute to think things over. The last thing she wanted to do was leave Tommy’s side while all of this was going on.

“I don’t want to leave you, Tommy,” was the next thing she said. She couldn’t get through the sentence without choking up, tears brimming up in her eyelids.

Tommy exhaled a breath before he closed the short distance between them, taking her into his arms just as her body began to shake from her sobs. “It’ll just be a little while, love,” he spoke in a soft voice, his chin rested on the top of her head as he rubbed her back in a comforting manner.

They stood like that for a few minutes. (Y/N) had no shame in crying into her husband’s suit coat. She didn’t want to let him go and leave because she was afraid that this would be the last time she’d see him.

“Hey, the car’s waiting outside,” Tommy was the one to speak first. He loosened his hold on her as he did, moving his hands to her shoulders so that he could bring her out at arms length.

“I know,” (Y/N) nodded, sniffling as she wiped her tears away. “I’ll miss you, Tommy,” she added then, looking at him with watery eyes.

“I’ll miss you too, love,” he responded without a second thought, raising one hand to run it down her cheek.

“Make sure you go visit the kids for me…or at least send Pol or someone if you think it’s too risky,” she added, thinking of her children who were currently residing at her parents’ home.

“I will,” he assured her with a nod.

(Y/N) took a moment to look at her husband then, making sure she could commit every part of him to memory. She didn’t know when she’d see him next. Her bottom lip began to quiver as that thought stuck in her mind.

“It’s just a little while,” Tommy repeated what he’d said to her before.

“I know,” she nodded, holding back the tears. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeated the phrase, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. (Y/N) held him there, making their embrace as long as it could possibly be. But eventually she had to pull away, and as she did, she finally decided it was time. “I should go.”

“I’ll come get you when this is finished,” he promised her, their eyes locked as he spoke.

“Just stay alive,” she said to him, sending one last smile her way before they finally broke their embrace so that she could grab her things.

Tommy ushered her outside and made sure she got into the vehicle. He then gave the driver and his accomplice strict instructions on what to do. After sending one last smile to (Y/N), he let them go and headed back inside.

He took two steps away from the door and placed his hands onto the side table sitting there so that he could brace himself as he leaned back against it. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, his family flashing in his mind. Then he released the breath he’d been holding and stared straight ahead. This vendetta would be finished soon, and he’d make damn sure of it.

**tags are in a reblog, so that hopefully the notification gets sent

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby blurb #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #k’s 3.5k celebration

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xmalereader · 1 year ago

Text

— BloodHound —

Thomas Shelby x Assassin! Male Reader

SUMMARY: Luca changretta is on the hunt for the Shelby family wanting revenge for the death of his father. Thomas’ family is already involved with the situation and wants to keep them safe and goes to Alfie for some help. Alfie gets him on contact with an assassin, one who keeps every inch of his body covered and a mask to hide his identity. Thomas isn’t sure how to feel about the appearance; everyone calls the him the BloodHound.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, NSFW, mentions of death, slight reader x Luca, some Alfie and reader, language, blood, gore, betrayal, semi mite reader, angst, mentions of sex, prostitution, clubbing, alcohol consumption, trauma, 1920s history, small descriptions of reader.

『 Chapter One 』

….coming soon

TAGS: @prettorett @one-green-frog @mooonboyyyyy @harleyzoom @tslmn1031 @justalonleyboy @riddle-me-this-1948 @inspector-m3 @xx-rfg-xx @thelordsergei @sadcatrei @multifandomsimp69

|| If you wish to be tagged comment below! ||

#male reader #Thomas Shelby x male reader #Thomas Shelby #the peaky blinders #the peaky blinders x male reader #cillian Murphy #bloodhound series

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darklydeliciousdesires · 11 months ago

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Hi Lovely!!! I was so suprised no one did a Luca ask so if ur inbox is still open, could we have 9 or 10 with Luca please? Love love love your work 💕

Hi babe! Thanks so much for requesting this :) I hope you enjoy where I took it!

Words - 357

Warnings - Violence, angst

“A life where I don’t wake up next to you every morning isn’t a life worth living.”

He tells you this often, usually as you bask in one another's arms while the morning light creeps in slowly, both the morning and you barely woken.

Luca never fails to make you feel anything short of completely adored, worshipped, even. He's romantic, and not afraid to show that. He treats you like you are worth your weight in gold, a man whose intentions you never need to question.

This is why you cannot fathom his silence since leaving New York to enact a vendetta. This is not Luca, therefore you know, you feel it so sharply in your soul, that all is not well. He'd never not check in with you, never allow you to become embroiled in worry and turmoil. It isn't him, and it never has been.

Your entire being aches in loneliness for the warmth of his body against yours, your heart pining for his love, but weeks pass and still nothing. You hear on the grapevine that his crew has returned to the city, but there is no word on Luca. Not until the awful truth finally reaches your ears.

"Tommy Shelby shot Luca in the head. The Changretta mob is no more. Capone is moving in, taking it all. They all work for him now."

You never did suffer traitors well.

Matteo never saw it coming as he swaggered with purpose through the streets of Brooklyn, streets that the mafioso giant of Chicago now presided over with an iron fist, Matteo his Capo of the Tri-State area. All he has on his mind is his new-found power, revelling in the whispers that state Capone wishes to elevate him even further than that.

Those are the last thoughts that enter his mind before a bullet blows a hole in his skull from behind.

Some might think you foolish, to gun a mobster down in the middle of the street in broad daylight. You no longer care, though, because a life where you don't wake up next to Luca every morning isn't a life worth living.

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta x you #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fic

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sweetlikecandysstuff · 2 months ago

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Luca changretta x reader

The devil's bargain, (Part 1)

Reader is a very smart and powerful lawyer, however, she recently started working on a case against Luca Changretta, and she certainly seems to be winning the case. What does Luca think about this?

Part 2

The courtroom was thick with tension, the kind that made men shift uncomfortably in their seats and loosen their ties. The case against Luca Changretta had gripped the entire city, everyone wanted to see if the infamous Italian mobster could finally be brought to his knees. And you? You were leading the charge.

You stood at the front, poised, sharp eyes locking onto the judge as you laid out your argument with effortless confidence. Facts, truths, and hard evidence... everything was stacked against him. You knew it. The jury knew it. And Luca? He just sat there, watching you with an amused smirk, one leg crossed over the other, fingers adjusting his cufflinks like this was all some elaborate joke.

But you weren’t here to play games.

By the time court adjourned for the day, murmurs filled the room. You had made your case strong enough to shake the foundations of his empire. Your reputation had already been stellar, but this? This could be career-defining. You walked out of the courthouse, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, the weight of victory pressing against your chest.

When you reached your office later that night, your breath hitched.

Luca Changretta was already there, sitting at your desk, his hands folded neatly in front of him, that devilish smirk still dancing on his lips.

"You make quite the impression, bella," he mused, his deep, velvety voice curling around the words like smoke.

"I don’t recall sending you an invitation, Mr. Changretta."

He chuckled, standing up at an unhurried pace, his dark eyes drinking you in as if he was savoring the sight of you. "No, but I figured... seeing as you've taken such an interest in me... I should return the favor."

You scoffed, placing your case down. "Oh, I’m interested, alright. Interested in watching you rot in a cell."

He tilted his head, stepping closer, the scent of expensive cologne and danger wrapping around you. "You don’t scare easy, do you?"

"Not even a little."

Luca's smirk deepened. "That’s what I like about you, cara mia."

You crossed your arms, ignoring the way your pulse quickened under his gaze. "You came all this way to flirt? I expected threats, maybe even a bribe. Or did you finally realize you’re losing?"

His laughter was low, dark, and amused. "You think this is about winning and losing?" He reached for a strand of your hair, twisting it gently around his finger before letting it slip through. "No, this is about something much more... interesting."

You swallowed, but stood your ground. "And what exactly do you want from me?"

Luca leaned in, so close you could feel his breath against your skin. "You’ve become a problem, tesoro mio," he murmured. "And yet, I can’t decide if I want to destroy you… or keep you all to myself."

A thrill shot through you, but you masked it with a sharp glare. "You don’t get to decide, Mr. Changretta."

He chuckled again, but this time, it was different... less amused, more intrigued. "Oh, but I do love a woman who fights back." His fingers traced the edge of your desk as he moved, circling you like a predator playing with his prey.

Except you weren’t prey.

You were fire, and you weren’t about to be extinguished.

"You can play all the mind games you want," you said, voice steady despite the heat simmering between you. "But in the end, I’ll be the one writing your downfall."

Luca exhaled sharply, his gaze darkening with something wicked. "Then let’s make this interesting, shall we?" He leaned in just enough for his lips to ghost over your cheek, the faintest touch that sent an unwilling shiver down your spine.

"You want to take me down?" he whispered, voice dripping with challenge. "Then do it. But don’t be surprised when I start playing a game of my own."

And just like that, he stepped back, walking toward the door with that same slow, confident stride. He paused at the threshold, looking at you over his shoulder.

"Until next time, avvocato."

And then he was gone, leaving behind nothing but the scent of danger… and the unmistakable craving for more.

You exhaled sharply, pacing your office after Luca had left. The audacity. The arrogance. The sheer nerve of that man. You had faced criminals before, murderers, liars, the worst of the worst... but Luca Changretta was something else entirely. He didn’t just play the game. He was the game.

And now? Now, he had made it personal.

But he had made one crucial mistake.

He thought he could rattle you.

You smirked to yourself as you sat at your desk, running a hand through your hair. If he wants a game, I’ll give him one.

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

The Next Day,

The courtroom was packed, buzzing with anticipation. The case was nearing its climax, and every journalist, politician, and high-ranking official wanted to see the untouchable Luca Changretta finally fall.

You walked in with confidence, head held high, dressed in a sleek black ensemble that made you feel like a queen about to deliver a royal decree.

And there he was.

Sitting at the defendant’s table, completely at ease, looking like he was attending a business meeting rather than a trial that could ruin him. His dark eyes met yours the second you entered, and that smirk was already in place.

Cocky bastard.

But you didn’t waver. You didn’t blink. You just gave him the kind of look that said, You should be afraid.

As you presented your argument, listing every charge with evidence that was damn near airtight, you felt his gaze burning into you. But you refused to look at him. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

Still, you felt him.

It was almost infuriating.

When the court was dismissed for the day, Luca stood, adjusting his suit, moving at that same unbothered pace. As you gathered your things, you heard his voice... low, teasing, just as he passed behind you.

"You look good when you're winning, bella."

You turned swiftly, eyes flashing. "I always win."

Luca chuckled, tilting his head. "That so?" He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Tell me… do you always enjoy it this much?"

The way he said it sent a dangerous heat through you, and you hated that he could do that. That he could make your skin prickle with awareness even when he was the enemy.

You gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. "You should worry less about my enjoyment, Mr. Changretta, and more about your sentencing."

His smirk deepened. "You make it sound like you actually want me locked away."

"I do," you shot back.

But his gaze flickered with something… darker.

"No, you don’t."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already walking away, his words lingering in the air like smoke.

You hated that he was right.

You hated it even more that he knew it.

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

You were up late, going over case files, your mind working through every angle, every potential weakness in Luca’s defense. You needed this win. You needed to prove that no man... no matter how powerful, how deadly... was above the law.

And yet, your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

To the way his voice sent shivers down your spine.

To the way his eyes watched you like a wolf toying with its prey.

To the way he made you feel… something you had no business feeling.

Then, as if conjured by your very thoughts, there was a knock at your door.

You froze. It was past midnight.

Another knock.

Slow. Measured.

Your pulse quickened.

Reaching for the small gun you kept in your drawer, you moved carefully, unlocking the door just enough to see...

Luca.

He stood there, maddeningly calm, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bottle of expensive Italian wine. His smirk was infuriating, a slow, knowing thing that curled at the edges of his lips like smoke.

"Now, before you shoot me," he said smoothly, tilting his head, "I thought we could discuss our… arrangement."

Your grip on the door tightened. "What arrangement?"

Luca stepped closer, so close the scent of his cologne... dark, rich, sinful.. wrapped around you. "The one where you try to destroy me in court," he murmured, eyes gleaming, "and I see how long it takes before you admit you want something else entirely."

You scoffed, but the way your pulse quickened betrayed you. "You really think you can charm your way out of this?"

His smirk deepened. "No, cara mia. I think I can charm my way into something much more interesting."

You hated the heat curling in your stomach, hated the way he could make you feel anything at all when you should be focused on ruining him. But as he held out the bottle, watching you with that devil-may-care confidence, you did something reckless.

You let him in.

As you pour two glasses of the expensive wine, your eyes never leaving Luca's as you hand him one. You take a sip, the rich red liquid rolling over your tongue, a small hum of appreciation escaping your lips.

Luca watches you intently over the rim of his glass, swirling the wine gently. He sets the glass down, leaning back on your couch, his eyes glinting with unspoken challenge.

He spreads his arms across the back of the couch, a picture of casual confidence. His gaze slowly rakes over you, appreciating the way the wine has stained your lips a deeper red. "You know, for someone so determined to take me down, you're not half bad at entertaining a guest,"

"For someone who's supposed to be behind bars, you're unusually comfortable in someone else's home," you counter, crossing your legs elegantly as you take another sip. Your eyes lock with his, displaying equal parts challenge and... something else you can't quite admit, even to yourself.

Luca's lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, cara mia. I'm not just any guest."

His face inches closer to yours, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension. His gaze drops to your lips, lingers there for a moment before snapping back up to your eyes. "I'm the man you can't stand to lose to. The man you hate to want."

You feel your heart rate quicken, your breath hitching slightly at his proximity. You set your glass down, your hands curling into fists on your lap. Your voice comes out low, steady, a mirror to his own. "And what makes you think I want you at all, Luca?"

Luca's smile widens, his eyes gleaming with triumph. He knows he's gotten to you, that you're protesting too much. He reaches out, gently lifting your chin with his finger, tilting your face up to his.

"Because if you didn't, you wouldn't be arguing so hard." His thumb brushes lightly against your lower lip, a feather-light touch that sends a jolt through you. "You wouldn't let me get so close. You wouldn't still be sitting here, talking to me, drinking my wine."

His hand drops back to his lap, but his eyes remain locked with yours, intense, knowing. You feel your resolve shaking, the professional mask slipping. His voice softens, almost tender. "You're damn good at your job. The best I've ever seen."

He leans back, giving you some much-needed space. His eyes never leave yours, full of respect and something deeper, more primal. "But you're even better at denying yourself what you truly want."

You feel the sting of his words, recognizing the truth in them. Your resolve wavers, the attraction you've fought so hard against threatening to overtake you. You take a deep, steadying breath, your fingers tightening around the stem of your wine glass.

Luca watches the internal struggle play across your face, his expression a perfect blend of understanding and amusement. He takes a slow sip of his wine, savoring the flavor ... and the moment. When he speaks again, his voice is low and laden with barely restrained desire.

"Tell me to leave. But first, look me in the eye and convince me , convince us both , that you don't want me as much as I want you." His gaze drops to your lips, his intentions clear and unmistakable.

You stare back at him, your heart racing in your chest. The room feels smaller, the air thick with tension. You open your mouth to speak, to issue the command that would send him away ... but the words stick in your throat. Because deep down, you know he's right.

"That's what I thought." His voice comes out rough, almost tortured with wanting. He sets his wine glass down carefully, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and gently takes your wine glass from your trembling fingers. "You're fighting a losing battle here."

He leans in closer, his face inches from yours. His breath is warm against your skin, carrying the scent of red wine and something distinctly Luca. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, parting them slightly. "Stop fighting, cara. Give in to what you really want."

His words are a soft command, a whisper of temptation that echoes through your entire being. You feel your resolve crumbling, the walls you've built to keep him out shattering one by one. Your breath hitches as his thumb slides deeper into your mouth, grazing against your tongue.

His eyes darken with desire, his pupils dilated with hunger. Slowly, almost reverently, he pulls his thumb out of your mouth, trailing a spark of electricity in its wake. "Tell me to fuck you. Say it out loud, and I'll do it right here on this sofa."

Your body tenses, your breasts tightening as your nipples harden. Your mind screams warnings, your professional self shouting 'No! Bad idea!' But your body... your body has different plans. You swallow hard, your voice lower, huskier than before.

"Jesus, that look..." His voice is barely more than a ragged whisper. "Even when you're fighting yourself, you're the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen." His hand moves to your thigh, warm through the fabric of your dress. "Just say the word, Bella."

His fingers trace a slow path up your thigh, making your breath catch. "Is it 'fuck me'? Or 'get out'? Which is it going to be? Because one word... that's all it'll take."

The room felt impossibly small. Every nerve in your body was ablaze. Your lips parted...

And then... You chose.

Part 2

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enretrogue · 1 year ago

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𝗝𝗔𝗡𝗨𝗔𝗥𝗬 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 𝗙𝗜𝗖 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗦 (𝟮)

༝༚༝༚ = Black/POC Works ⎢ 24’ Fic Rec M.List

ONE CHICAGO:

Connor Rhodes

Mine — @halsteadlover

Dream Partners — @sjhhemmings

Comfortable — @kiddbegins

Babysitting 101 — @iamwhoami

Emergency Love — @callsign-dexter

Plan — @lcvesjj

Jay Halstead

Kiss It, Kiss It Better Baby — @halsteadlover

Haunted — ^

Night Struggles — ^

Our Little Family — ^

A New Milestone — ^

Under Fire — ^

Shadows From the Past — ^

“Ladies love a guys who’s good with kids” ⎢ Part 2 — @poppadom0912

Uncle and Niece (Platonic) — ^

Love on Ice — ^

30 Hours — @dandelionfairyyy

Halstead’s Favorite Duo — @ballarkeselection

Exciting — @fangirlfrom-hell

CPD Gala — @hereforhalstead

Home — @deanstead

The Way You Are — @loislane41319

PEAKY BLINDERS:

Alfie Solomons

Interviews for New Beginnings: Part 7 — @muneca-lemon-steppa

Request 24 — @fandom-puff

Living with Alfie Solomons — @heavencanbeaprisontoo

The Silent Treatment — @warnersister

Luca Changretta

Living with Luca HCs — @heavencanbeaprisontoo

Thomas Shelby

Me Time — @garrison-girl-08

Daddy’s Princess — ^

Tommy Convincing His Wife to Stop Being Angry — @wutheringcaterpillar

Of Bending and Breaking — @call-sign-shark

Mr. Forgettable — @mrkdvidal1989

Time After Time Chapter 14 — @all-mirth-no-matter

Wedding Day — @cillianthinker

When She Laughs, The Heavens Hum a Stun Gun Lullaby — @saintmuses

SONS OF ANARCHY:

Filip “Chibs” Telford

The Last to Know — @kdogreads

Imagine Being Chibs’ Old Lady ⎢ Part 2 — ^

Imagine Taking In the Teller Boys With Chibs — ^

Very Soon — ^

My Dove — ^

Ruin — @bullet-prooflove

No Words — ^

Teach Me How to Ride — @violentdelightsandviolentends

Pussyfooting — @indifferent-depravity

Happy Lowman

Violent Little Thing — @fanficimagery

Your Family Disapproving of Happy — @imagineredwood

Angst to Fluff Prompts — @ravennaortiz

Flash Fic Request — @withmyteeth

Cocoa Wars — @darqchilddaydreamz

Miss Me — @marvelous-slut

Just for Today — @obsessedasusual

Jackson “Jax” Teller

Relentless — @violentdelightsandviolentends

Heatwave — ^

Insomnia — @spaghettificationandpretzels

You Aren’t Meant to Be Back Until Christmas Eve — @rebelwrites

Only Mine — @thisreadswhatever

Fluff Prompt — @youvebeenlivingfictional

I’m Sorry — @pumpkin-writes

Rescued — @garbinge

Harry “Opie” Winston

Nowhere to Be — @drabbles-mc

Stolen Sweater — @i'm-just-a-mississippi-girl

Good Honest Work — @spaghettificationandpretzels

#navigation

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zablife · 1 year ago

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The Things I Would Do For You

Luca Changretta x fiance reader

A/N: Requested by the lovely @cillmequick. Based on this list of prompts. Prompt was "It terrifies me what I would do for you." Here's a twist for you, this was going to be dark and I made it fluffy!!

Warnings: language, mention of a weapon, brief fight, angst with fluffy ending

You could hear the brewing argument from the kitchen, your brother’s high nasal voice clashing with the manly tenor of Luca's. You gritted your teeth as you willed him to stop, but each time Marco dared to raise his voice to your powerful fiancé, you seethed with indignation.

Unable to shut out the sounds of his disrespect, you foisted another deft chop at the cutting board, imagining your brother’s neck there in place of the vegetables. Just when you thought you would scream, the voices ceased and your hand froze in midair.

Heavy footsteps thudded across the floorboards and the kitchen door swung toward you with a rush of warm air. Your eyes instantly shot across the room to your brother in question. However, the dark look of disapproval resting on his brow announced his decision before he had need to speak it. "You're not marrying that stronzo! I've already told him I'm sending you to Sicily next month."

That’s when your simmering temper climbed to a blazing inferno. Whipping around to face your brother head on, you announced, “I won't go! No one can keep me from him.”

The haze of anger overtook your body before you realized you were swinging at him, the large butcher knife still clutched in one hand raising above your head in a menacing swipe. He grasped your shoulders in an attempt to overpower you, crashing you both into a nearby wall and knocking the weapon from your hand and the air from your lungs.

The harsh metallic clang of the knife reverberated off the tiles like an alarm bell, the shock separating you to opposite corners of the room. Gasping at what you’d just done, you scrambled off the floor and dashed down the back stairs to the alley. Feet pounding against the creaky wooden steps, you rushed to find somewhere to hide.

It was Luca who found you pressed tightly against a wall, clutching a packet of cigarettes to your chest. You hadn't noticed they were crushed in your fist until his long fingers unfurled yours gently, a sigh escaping as he plucked one out and placed it to his lips.

There was only the rush of your desperately beating heart as you watched him light it for you. Handing it over into your trembling fingers, he patiently waited for your shoulders to relax with the first long drag.

You were waiting as well. A confession on your lips you knew he needed to hear. Blowing smoke over your shoulder to avoid his gaze, you shamefully admitted, "I'm not a good Catholic girl like you think, Luca. I could have hurt Marco tonight."

His eyes softened as he reached to stroke your cheek. "You couldn't hurt anyone, cara mia."

You shook your head against his hand. "I could if you asked me to," you declared, staring into his eyes earnestly. "It terrifies me the things I would do for you." The lovesick twinge in your voice assured him of your loyalty, making his chest swell with pride.

He enveloped you in a tight embrace, head resting upon the crown of your head as he promised, "I would never ask you to. As long as you're my girl, you'll be taken care of and protected."

At those words you began to cry softly. Luca cradled you there, stroking your back with his large hands and the silence comforted you until you began to think of Marco again.

"What do we do about my brother?" you asked with a sniff.

"I'll handle it. You don't have to worry anymore," he said, tilting your chin up to meet his twinkling eyes. A charming smile spread across his face as he added, "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

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

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@red-riding-wood

@polishcrazyone

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@jomarch-wannabe

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

@helen06dreamer

@chaosinkest1996

@thegreatdragonfruta

@pietroxreader

@galactict3a

@ietss

@mostly-marvel-musings

@justlulu

@cillmequick

@darklydeliciousdesires

@the-wise-old-elf

@justrainandcoffee

@call-sign-shark

#Luca Changretta fanfic #Luca Changretta imagine #Luca Changretta x you #Luca Changretta x reader #Luca Changretta x y/n #Luca Changretta

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moneyonthesideee · 11 days ago

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MASTERLIST

(This blog is new and has no work yet, the lists will be updated when I post something)

Star Wars (The Movies)

The Acolyte

The Mandalorian

Andor

Peaky Blinders

The Witcher

Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Lucifer

Shadow and Bone

Vikings

Grand Theft Auto Games

Squid Game

Umbrella Academy

Only Murders in the Building

Supernatural

Sherlock

The Originals

MCU

The Last of Us

Pirates of the Caribbean

I'm open to requests for characters and fandoms

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

IN THE WORKS:

Loki x Sister! Reader: Post Loki's 'death,' the reader reflects on what might've been a cry for help (Angst)

I Love Him, I Love Him Not (Diego Hargreeves x Reader): Reader has no recollection of this man before her or anyone named Diego Hargreeves for the fact. Yet, he claims to love her, and confidently claims she does too.

Being Luca Changretta's Wife Headcanons

NEW:

Dating Tommy Miller Pre-Outbreak Headcanons

Unsaid (Jecki Lon x Fem! Reader)

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evita-shelby · 1 year ago

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National Anthem

Chapter 12

Cw: miscarriage, prophetic nightmares, death, mention of kinks, some sex, angst

To those who playes 2 truths 1 lie, so sorry lol

Taglist: @thegreatdragonfruta @zablife

Jack’s smoked through tomorrow’s cigarettes trying to make sense of it. Rosie dreamt of doctors performing a lobotomy that apparently killed her, Junior dreamt he’d be shot in the head as he rode in a parade.

Laurie used to have nightmares of dying in mud and rain until he died in a trench in France in 1914. His sister Katie had dreams of coughing and choking on her own blood. Their mother once said their father had cursed blood, and that was why he got killed when he was a boy.

The gangster remembered all those times his enemies cursed his name and now wonders if curses can be passed on to children. He should talk to his wife about this, she knew more about this bullshit anyways.

“Tell me what?” speak of the devil. Wearing her velvet robe and braving the cold just to see what’s bothering him. They should be in bed, his witch trying to keep warm cuddling with him and thinking about the bungalow in Florida and that hammock in the backyard.

“Junior dreamt he died.” He could lie, he’s done it before, but he’d also like to sleep in his own bed instead of the couch tonight. Besides Eva would kill him for not telling her about this new development.

“Well, he did get pretty sick, there were times I thought he wouldn’t survive it.” She admits joining him on the freezing porch. He’s banned from smoking indoors because his witch couldn’t stand the smell when she was pregnant and now the habit stuck.

“Not that, he says he saw himself as an adult waving at a crowd and being shot in the head.” Jack takes one last drag of his cigarette before handing it to his wife. Eva only smokes when shit’s too dire to take on without one or in the wonderful occasions where she came from uninterrupted sex. Too bad it’s the former.

“When I see death happen, it usually doesn’t. You didn’t die that day in your office, the neighbor’s kid didn’t get hit by a car and I have yet to die.” This was more of a reminder than an actual explanation for this. Apparently, she can only predict a real death if it’s coming for people she doesn’t like or knows well.

“You can teach him and Joey how to shoot when they’re old enough if it eases your mind.” But it isn’t a real guarantee that this applied to the kids. She admitted she was scared about losing him that day, held him tightly that night and those after as if he might die.

Fucking hell, he never thought he’d have to deal with this shit when he decided Eva was gonna be his wife that day.

“Do you regret it?” she asks fearing he might. Evie’s mind reading has become so normal to him he’s no longer surprised his witch catches on to his thoughts like that. Makes it easier to unburden himself with her, doesn’t even have to voice it half the time.

“I never have and never will, sweetheart.” Jack is a man with few regrets, he never does anything unless he wants to and when he doesn’t, he sticks with it to the bitter end. Choosing her would never be one of them.

By May Junior’s nightmares are almost forgotten. Everything goes so well it is scaring her.

They have a house in New York now, a lovely mansion too big for them with servants catering to their every whim and armed men loyal to them. Jack’s success had merited such a move and after Junior’s nightmare, he was loath to leave them behind now.

Luca Changretta was gearing for a war overseas while Jack laid out the framework for their takeover from right under his nose. Even his Family were considering killing him to prevent the White Hand from taking their place.

They were making strides in society, all the must have invites, rubbing elbows with the right people and teaching people not to fuck with them. They’ve just returned from Calvin Coolidge’s inauguration after rubbing it in their competitor’s face.

John D. Hertz had been the unlikely bastard to learn that last year. He wanted protection from the Checker Taxis and his other enemies and would’ve gotten it if his words about her hadn’t pissed off Jack. Something that had caused an attack on the company stocks with the help of their connections.

Now it was the turn of the men who owned the rights to a western movie Eva foresaw making it big.

It had started with a movie house that refused to let Eva into their establishment on their first few dates as man and wife, then the entire chain out of spite and now Jack was aiming for Hollywood after securing New England and most of the East Coast.

She hasn’t rewarded him for this achievement yet, and because nothing else has managed to get her to shake off the unsettling images, Eva decides to wake him early on his day off. He won’t mind, loves it when she makes use of his morning wood for their mutual pleasure.

Would erase the nightmare from her mind along with her refusal to have another baby so soon after Kitty. He loves breeding her, loves seeing her fat and needy and loves its when her tits are full of milk.

He's a dirty bastard, anything and everything will find its way into the blessed times they can have fantastic uninterrupted sex. The new house lets them do that more often. Sometimes they’ll lock themselves in that room far away from the family wing made just for their sexual escapades and go at it like unhinged demons.

“Nightmares again?” As expected, Jack is very amenable to a good fuck before breakfast. Their three older children were at school and Kitty was sleeping like an angel, gave her the perfect opportunity to forget what haunted her dreams.

“I want to forget them.” She admits it in between kisses knowing he won’t say no. “Help me forget them, Jack.”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

It is to no one’s surprise that Eva finds herself pregnant by Father’s Day. She is not happy about it, there is a terribly bad feeling about this pregnancy. Eva blames it on her vanity and loss of figure, not wanting to burden him with what she saw in her reading that day.

She won’t tell him the cards say they won’t be born.

Not all pregnancies agree with her.

Though not as bad as Rosie’s, this one is one of the bad ones. The doctor hasn’t put her on bedrest ---even if he did, she’d ignore it--- but you could tell something wasn’t right by the way she carried herself.

There’s something she’s not telling him, something his witch believes he can’t tell from looking at her. Been married for six years on the dot, Jack wagers he knows her better than anyone now.

“What’s wrong, Evie?” he asks, cornering her in her powder room as she got ready for their anniversary dinner tonight.

“Fucking department store didn’t have my color again.” She grumbles after applying lipstick a shade brighter than she likes. Evie likes to make herself up like a vamp, with dark burgundy lips and darker eyes to sell the whole mystical beauty look she has.

“Eva.” He warns against her lying and gets to the point. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me. Something about the girls we’re having.”

“Nothing’s wrong, just pregnancy fucking me up. Now hurry up, we’ll be late for the reservations.” Half true.

She’s weepy and tired all the time. Her sex drive going from wanting to kick him off the bed if he breathes in her direction to seeking him out in his office as if he hadn’t fucked her before he left. Still got five months to go, a lot could happen between here and January.

The nursery is half decorated, she’d put off ordering a crib for the twins and acted as if she were tempting fate this time around.

“I tell you everything, Eva, why won’t you do the same?” he asks her as they head downstairs, she turns to give him a look for guilt tripping her about it and in the next second she missteps and falls the rest of the way down.

Jack’s too beside himself to leave her side. The fall hadn’t been too severe, no bones were broken, no lasting head injury nor internal bleeding. The babies hadn’t made it as she fell on her stomach enough times to kill the poor things.

She hadn’t been told yet, the doctors had suggested he be the one to break the news to her after seeing Eva’s medical history. Jack has no idea how he’s going to confirm that her heavy bleeding is because they lost their unborn daughters.

Two tiny little things that barely looked human inside the doctor’s receptacle. Rosie had dolls that small, he thinks as he looks away from the babies they hadn’t even considered names for yet.

“I didn’t see them in the cards, they were never going to be born.” His wife finally tells him what she was hiding for four months. Just because the cards said nine babies didn’t mean all of them would live, she explains, and he listened to what she had resigned herself to as they mourn their dead babies.

His triumph over the Black Hand on January 1926 finds him smoking in the veranda after Eva tells him she wants to try again because the cards say they’ll have a baby boy next year.

#evacore #eva nelson #jack nelson x oc #jack nelson x eva smith #national anthem fic #cw: miscarriage #cw: death

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red-riding-wood · 1 year ago

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Hello! If you didn't come here from my masterlist, here is where you can read my other works!

I'm open to writing pretty much everything -- angst, smut, fluff, etc. I specialise in dark!fics and nothing is too wild here (though I reserve the right to decline requests if I don't feel comfortable writing it) but will try my best with all requests and welcome a variety.

(But I'll love you more if you send me the most twisted, filthiest shit.)

I will add or remove characters to those I write for as I feel up to it, and will cross out those who I am not currently open to receiving requests for. **(Currently only feeling inspired for writing Cill characters.)**

If you send on anon and do not hear back from me about your request in a day or two, this means I have accepted your request.

Currently only accepting MxF requests, will likely do x reader, 2nd person POV if not specified, but I can happily write from third or first person POV as well! If you'd like it specifically from one character's perspective, or whatnot, please let me know that, too.

CILLIAN MURPHY

Tommy Shelby

Jonathan Crane

Jackson Rippner

Robert Capa

Neil Lewis

Raymond Leon

Tom Buckley

Emmett (A Quiet Place)

Jim (28 Days)

Jonathan Breech

Robert Fischer

Jim (The Delinquent Season)

Lenny Miller

Will add more as I watch and rewatch more of his films! If you have a character to request who's not on this list, send it in anyway and I'll watch what I need to for it.

PEAKY BLINDERS

Tommy Shelby

Arthur Shelby

Luca Changretta

Aberama Gold

Alfie Solomons

John Shelby

GAME OF THRONES

currently closed

EDITS/GIFS

If you'd like to request a GIF set, I'm also open to requests but know that I don't do these very often! Here is my masterlist for edits.

Cill characters

Peaky Blinders

Game of Thrones

← MAIN MASTERLIST

#requests #cillian murphy #tommy shelby #jonathan crane #jackson rippner #robert capa #neil lewis #raymond leon #emmett a quiet place #jim 28 days #will add more characters #fics #fanfic #fanfiction #fic requests

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saintsir4n · 2 years ago

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WARNINGS: ANGST, BLOOD AND MENTION OF VIOLENCE

___

1914

PRIMROSES are what flooded the small foyer of the Dawkins home. Who were they from? Thomas Shelby and Luca Changretta. Men that weren't good with their words so they believed that sending Eden's favourite flowers was a grand apology.

And did it work?

No, Eden got rid of them.

At first, she suggested that she should drown them in the cut, inviting the pair to come and witness it but no she didn't want to be near either of them. Celestine was against the idea of Eden burning flowers, claiming that was a bad omen so instead she got rid of them.

Luca knew he shouldn't have talked to her in such a way, regarding her private escapades, and her private relationship with Thomas bloody Shelby but he couldn't help himself. For the last couple of days, he received an earful from his youngest brother who continuously checked in on his best friend, fearing that somehow the glass sliced her skin would leave her without a hand.

Eden was fine, her hand might have been bandaged up, no splint needed, but that couldn't say the same about her heart, her mother did ask how she injured herself despite knowing because two small birdies informed her...

Isaiah and Finn knew all and were willing to say anything with the small price of sweets.

This in turn gave Tommy the idea of ensuring the two troublemakers were always around her, being his little spies, to see how she was doing and who she could be talking to. She turned him away at every chance, so how else would he find out what was happening to the woman that he stole his heart?

And how else would he find out who was also knocking at her door whenever he wasn't around?

Since he physically couldn't go everywhere and anywhere at once he came up with an idea, to get his best friend – not Freddie – Greta of course to have a friendly chat with the stubborn woman who avoided him with the quickness of a bloody quarter horse.

When Eden got the invitation to come to the Jurrosi household, to say she was irked, was an understatement.

"Not to be rude Greta, why am I here?" she questioned.

Greta's eyes never left hers, "Thought we should talk."

Eden narrowed her gaze, sitting opposite the Italian woman, with a table between them, acting like a barrier just in case Eden lost her temper, not like she was prone to, but recently her mood fluctuated like the stock market.

Eden tended to move like a snake, especially when she was analysing someone. The melancholic appearance of the other woman was the first thing that she noticed when she stepped into the house. Kitty, Greta's sister, let her in, greeting her with a tight-lipped smile before leaving for work, where their parents were. The Jurrosi home was slightly bigger than hers, presenting as homely, but there was something off about it, perhaps it was the lack of pictures on the walls or the plastic smell in the air, it just felt like a facade to her.

So pale, she wanted to say, not to be rude, just at the slip of the tongue. Eden had known Greta for years, never speaking only exchanging glances or forced smiles but they knew more about the other from whispers around Small Heath. So when Eden saw the lack of colour on the usually tanned woman's complexion she was confused.

Eden caught the occasional sniffle or eye rub, but the coughing was apparent.

So she scooted forward and picked up her teacup and passed it over, watching as Greta fumbled with the handle before getting a good grip.

"It's a cold," Greta stated, with a voice that thickened each day.

Eden tutted, "Dont look like a cold."

"You've been a nurse for how long?" the sick woman retorted, settling down her cup and rubbing her nose.

Eden snorted, "Don't need to be a nurse to know you don't look well. Have you seen a doctor?"

"They said it was a cold."

"Just a cold?"

"Just a cold," the older woman responded, growing more annoyed by the constant questions regarding her health. She felt...fine. It will pass, is what many people told her.

Eden made a face, "Greta —"

"We're not here to talk 'bout me," she interrupted, rolling back her shoulders as much as possible without straining herself.

"We're here to have a chat about Thomas, I know," Eden mused.

"Thomas?" Greta laughed, "he told me you call him that when you're mad at him. His aunt does the same."

Eden shifted in her chair, "He tells you about me?"

With a stiff nod, Greta said, "He tells me enough."

"And what do you call you when you're mad at him?"

"Nothing, I just ignore the bastard."

"Which I've been doing," Eden said, fidgeting with her fingers.

"Which you've been doing," Greta repeated with a hum, "and is he letting you?"

"You and I both know he isn't, sends Finn to mine constantly, Isaiah too, always tryna to pick 'em up, even bribing the poor boys with sweets. Doesn't know when to quit."

Greta weakly disagreed, "He's got limitations."

Eden shook her head, "For now, but Thomas won't take no for an answer."

"Believe me I know."

"Oh I know that too, you're his... best friend," Eden remarked, taking a sip of the tea in front of her, keeping the cup close to her chest, when a humourless laugh escaped the older woman.

"Come off it Eden, I am his best friend."

"And was there a time you wanted to be more?" Eden prodded, quirking up a brow.

Greta cast an offended look, "I beg your pardon."

"You heard me, the line between friendship and relationship can be blurred, shot down, swept away if you want it bad enough."

Greta scoffed at the accusation, "And you think I want it do ya? Want that line to be swept away."

Eden shrugged, "Like the cut, the waves may be gentle, don't mean they aren't persistent."

"You...comparing me to that fuckin' canal?" Greta leaned forward, gripping the teacup in her hand tightly, it might shatter.

Eden kept going, "Was tryna be subtle, but we're women that both can and sometimes don't want to read between the lines, but I know what I see, I know you like Thomas, just be honest."

"You think I owe you honesty?" the sick woman didn't fight her impending glare, nor did she have the energy to.

Eden's tongue swiped over her red lips before they pursed together, "You brought me here, wanting to sit down and talk about Thomas, but when it's time to talk about the fucker, you don't want to, why's that?"

A tickle crept up Greta's throat, forcing her to clear it, "My relationship with Tommy —"

"— your relationship huh?" the amused look on Eden's face only irritated Greta more.

"My friendship with him ain't any of your concern."

"It is when it's a threat to our relationship," Eden's tone lowered, but that didn't intimidate the older woman.

"So you see me as a threat, is that what this is?" she asked, rubbing her stuffy nose.

Eden looked at her with indifference, taking another sip of the cup of tea, before placing it down and thinking of her next words.

"A threat, but not to me, not at all, you're a pretty girl, kind, so I've been told. You've been there for Thomas when I haven't and I commend you for it because he can be a barrel of laughs...until that barrel is full and wants to take aim."

Greta placed down her tea, then rubbed her temples, "Enough with the metaphors, Christ, Tommy said you were one for talkin' but never realised how much until now."

"Just want to understand you," Eden wasn't lying, she didn't intend to come at the older woman, no, she wouldn't fight over a man, not when that man was acting like a foul git who needed to be smacked. No, she didn't want to act like how Tommy did whenever he saw Enzo, or she would be no better than him.

"By asking if I liked him?"

"Like," Eden corrected, picking at her bandage.

"I don't... but I did," for the first time Greta's gaze dropped, wanting to avoid the intense stare Eden was shooting her, she felt it heighten with her words.

Spendin' so much time with our Tommy she's turnin' into him, she thought.

"So I was right," the caramel-skinned girl muttered, clenching her jaw and digging her nails into her bandage, she thought it was only a matter of time before the wounds opened up.

"Hardly, it's in the past," and the past stays in the past, a sombre expression took over Greta's face.

"And when did you realise that?" Eden pressed on.

"When I realised no matter how much I wanted him, he always wanted you."

A silence enclasped the two women who orbited Tommy Shelby in different ways.

To Greta, Eden was a beauty, a rare one, a jewel that was only held back by the smoke, the mud and the debris of Small Heath. No wonder why she had so many lads under her spell, from black country to Little Italy, there was no doubt that the tales of the coloured nurse that laughed her way through town didn't carry across the midlands. Greta wasn't a fool, she knew the moment her best friend set his sights on the girl who was only two years his junior, he wouldn't relent, even if she was interested in someone else at the time, even if she only spoke to his younger brother or even for some reason she wouldn't go for him, he would somehow make it happen.

From the Vardos and canals that swept through Birmingham city to the heart of Eden Dawkins, she knew that was where Tommy Shelby would end up.

And as his best friend, she had to be supportive all while mending her heart in silence.

Greta's gaze darted all around the perfectly imperfect features of the younger woman who stared at her with sympathy as the grip of her bandaged hand loosened and rested on the side of the chair she sat in.

Eden didn't know what to say, in fact, her rapid blinks and drying throat, lead her to down the rest of her tea before sitting back in her chair.

"He's my best friend and I'm his, and that's how It'll stay with 'im, now do you understand me?"

Eden didn't respond, Tommy only has eyes f'me. She cursed herself for coming across in such a way.

She was later pulled from her thoughts when Greta broke out into a coughing fit, causing Eden to dive forward to help her drink more tea, even rubbing her back, to soothe the pain.

Doesn't seem like a cold, Eden continued to think. Being a nurse didn't mean she had all the answers, but she knew enough, the pale skin, weak movements and hoarse-sounding voice... if it was a cold it would've passed a while ago, along with Ada and Mrs Martin's. Unless it wasn't treated properly, or soothed with the right remedies...

Now settling back in her chair, Eden hung onto Greta's words.

"Now listen, you should forgive Tommy, he's a lot and I know he is, trust me there's been times when I didn't think we would stay friends for long but he pulls you back in, like fish on a bloody hook. Forgivin' 'im don't mean forgettin', just means you either accept him at his worst so when his best comes along you appreciate it."

"He doesn't trust me, what's the point of all of this if he don't trust me," Eden breathed out, furrowing her brows at the notion of forgiving the man who pained her.

How he approached her, to him yelling and screaming so the whole lane could hear their business was unacceptable in her eyes. Seeing how her mother and father behaved... that's what she wanted, but was that too much to ask for? Respect. Even when Cecil discovered the events that transpired, courtesy of Jeremiah being told by Isaiah, he wanted to take out his shotgun and put the bullet in Tommy himself.

"Eden, you're a pretty girl, smart too, but if you wanted to leave him, you wouldn't have come to visit me and you definitely wouldn't be wearing his mother's pendant."

Eden's eyes drifted to the Black Madonna, she never forgot to put it on every morning.

It was the first thing Greta saw when she walked in, and it made her feel like shit in all honesty, since it was a family heirloom, one that wasn't just given out to any random sod off the street. Tommy gave it to the woman who was his new priority.

"I promised I wouldn't take it off," Eden mumbled, ensuring the pendant was centred over her dress.

"So you won't take it off?"

Eden didn't verbally answer, the little shake of her head was enough for Greta.

Greta almost smiled at the answer just before another coughing fit took over her.

Before Eden went to help her, banging at the door brought her to a halt.

"Go and see who it is will ya?" the knocking was doing her head in. Eden hesitated to leave her but with one final push she went, "Go."

Rushing to the door, Eden pulled it open, revealing a panting Finn.

"Finn?" with bulging eyes she glanced around, wondering if anyone was with him, "what's wrong?"

He blurted out, "It's Arthur, come quick."

—

With her nurse's bag, she arrived at the Shelby home with Finn stumbling behind her. Eden felt bad for leaving a sick Greta alone, but she made sure to send word for Kitty, worried that she would hurt herself.

Polly was the one to usher the young nurse into the house, amused by the worry on her face and how she tightly gripped a blushing Finn's hand.

Arthur's face was drenched in blood that partially belong to him, a black eye mucked up his vision and a cut lip made it hard for him to talk. He sat at the kitchen table wincing each time Eden tried assessing how to treat his wounds.

John laughed at his brother each time he groaned, whereas Tommy didn't say a word, keeping his eyes solely on Eden who didn't spare him a glance much to his chagrin. Not one even a fucking word.

But she still wore the pendant, it suited her so well, so he was content for now.

"Let's go finn, wanna play a card game?" Ada approached her little brother, not wanting him to see any more than he already had.

He hesitated and whispered, "Will Arthur be alright?"

"He's in good hands," those were the last they heard from the youngest Shelbys before they ran upstairs.

"You'll be a great nurse like your mum," Arthur voiced through the pain.

"Shut up Arthur. What were you doing?" she gritted out, trying to stitch up the gash on his cheek, all while attempting not to tear her own wounds.

"It was only a game."

"Drunken game," Polly remarked, unimpressed, "at five o'clock, would ya look at that."

"It was brilliant," John added.

"Shut up John," Eden had to he fast when cleaning the wounds, realising how fast it was pouring from his flesh, making Arthur wince and reach for her side.

An action that Tommy saw and the fact Eden had no reaction to it, none at all, made him tense.

His eyes darkened as he spoke, "Brother... stitches won't be the only thing you need if you touch her again."

They all turned to him and Arthur dropped his grip.

"Tommy it was an accident," John murmured, receiving a scowl in response.

"Men and their bloody egos will forever bore me," Polly commented, coming to smack the back of his head, not caring for his attitude in the slightest.

Arthur winced, "Apologises brother. Sorry, Eden."

"Nothing to apologise for," Eden said before Tommy could, causing him to crane his neck to the side and stare, "Now stop movin', don't want me to scrape your eye with this needle do you?"

She needed to apply the carbolic acid to prevent any bacteria from spreading or infecting the wound.

"'Course I bloody don't," Arthur grumbled.

"You and that temper Edie," John snickered, "you ain't killin' your patience are ya? wouldn't be surprised if you took that approach."

"Shut up John," Tommy wanted to snatch his toothpick out of his mouth and hit him, but that didn't stop him from thinking. Eden did have a temper but he doubted she would ever kill anyone.

Eden let out a humourless laugh, "They succumb to their wounds, what ya tryna say? That I'm shit at what I do."

John sighed, "Never said that."

"Didn't have to."

"Only messin', you'll be the next Marie Stension or whatever she called 'erself."

"Who?" Polly laughed at his mispronunciation.

"Mary Seascole brother," Tommy deadpanned.

Ignoring the exchange, Eden prodded, "Who did you get into a fight with then?"

"Those Italians was sayin' shit about you Eden, I heard it when we went to the Chain, I did. They wanted in on our game and we let 'em, but they started runnin' their mouths and you're my brother's girl. I weren't gonna let that shit slide," Arthur explained, gripping the table.

"Yeah that's all I fucking am these days," Eden said, with an eye roll, much to Polly's amusement.

"What's the supposed to mean?" Tommy took a step forward.

"What I just said." was the first thing she said to him since walking into the house, "and which Italians were they?"

"Friends of your boyfriends," John said, further pissing off both Tommy and Eden.

"You what?!"

"Luca, not the other two," John raised his hand in surrender,

She shot a glance at Tommy, "Suppose you told him to fight them then?"

"It's only a game, Eden," he answered wryly.

Tommy knew he couldn't hurt the Changrettas directly so he went about it in other ways. He knew if he somehow hurt Enzo, Eden most likely wouldn't talk to him, well she hadn't for days. He got people to attack and fuck up a few market stools in Little Italy, by order of the peaky blinders, so a few friends of the Changrettas robbed their booze supply. A truce needed to be had, but on the business front, a couple of pubs had paid the Blinders for protection against the other side of town, so he didn't want to stop. Not really.

"Next time I'll be sewing up your faces if this keeps goin' on," Eden stated, almost finishing with the last stitch.

"Only a matter of time," Polly shook her head, "I didn't raise you to be witless."

John didn't hold back his laugh, "Only Arthur."

Tommy cracked a smile.

"Oi, I went to school," Arthur yelled at his laughing brothers.

"When it suited you."

Tommy watched her bandage his brother's face with expertise. He never noticed how advanced she'd gotten since she started at the local hospital. It was exhilarating to watch her at work, taking charge, and getting things done...it was a turn-on.

"Ease up Charlie Chaplin, you're not dying," Eden nudged a wincing Arthur when she wiped down the rest of his face.

John chuckled at the insult, never realising how his oldest brother's thick moustache made them look.

"She ain't wrong," Polly snorted, "Chaplin aye?"

Eden laughed at the pointed look she received from Arthur.

Tommy's gaze dropped to her bandaged hand, the one he squeezed too tightly. Fuck, he was far too drunk and emotions and alcohol never mixed well. He knew he went too far, Freddie ranted to him the next day, sobering him up, it even caught the attention of Polly who then proceed to rant to him after.

He thought the flowers would help soften their inevitable conversation, but then to discover that he wasn't the only one to send them only angered him more and drove him to plot against Luca Changretta.

He was pulled from his thoughts when John started joking around with his woman, muttering a few innocent things in her ear, causing Tommy to mutter a few things below his breath.

"What Thomas? Gonna accuse me of fuckin' the milkman next?" Eden snapped, noting his glare.

Sometimes she felt like she couldn't breathe around another man.

John laughed, "Easy Edie, the man's sixty, could send him into an early grave."

"Fuck off Johnny."

"Though, it might make his day," Polly added, laughing along beside John.

"Don't make me laugh," Arthur chuckled through his pain, trying not to tear his stitches.

"You lot done?" Tommy asked with a face like a slapped arse. He was itching to smoke, but Polly wouldn't let him inside.

"I am," Eden mused, packing up and disregarding any waste, "wait a few days, then I'll be round to take them out and put new ones in."

"Like a wizz, you are," Polly complement the younger woman, whilst gently touching her nephew's injured face.

Eden sent her a smile that was quickly returned.

"Try not to play any more games for a week or so," she wasn't joking in the slightest.

"Where's the fun in that?" John groaned when his aunt's finger caught his ear, "Fuck."

"Thanks, Eden," Arthur rested his hand on her arm, then removed it quickly after feeling his brother's intense stare.

"Take care of yourself... please."

With that she picked up her bag and bid her adieus, purposefully ignoring Tommy and walking through the hallway, yelling up to Ada and Finn goodbye.

She felt Tommy trailing behind her, coat and cap in hand, ready to leave with her.

"I'm walking you home."

She didn't respond, instead, she pulled open the door and walked outside.

"Ignore me all you won't, don't mean I can't see you darlin'" he caught up to her, waiting for her to say something but she didn't. "Christ Eden just speak. You yell enough."

"I leave the yellin' to you," she couldn't help but retort, much to his amusement.

"Talk to me."

"Is there any point?"

He tugged on her arm, stopping her from walking and standing in front of her.

A few people were confused as they walked passed, a black woman and a white man... together? It was like a sin and they couldn't give a damn whether they were sinners.

He caressed the same hand he'd hurt, pressing a kiss to it, whilst keeping their eyes locked.

"How does it feel?"

"...Better now you ain't squeezing it" she whispered.

Tommy winced at the memory, his face displayed regret and his eyes were nothing less than remorseful as he pressed another kiss to it.

"Can we talk?"

"Can you let me be mad?" she asked, trying not to give in.

Tommy leaned in, "...can you let me kiss you? It's been days and I'm starved."

"You're starved?" Eden leaned in.

He nodded, eyes flickering between hers and her lips, "Hmmm."

Eden smirked, then hastily pulled out of his hold, "Then you can starve some more."

"Eden!" he chased after her.

—

"You can go now Thomas," Eden put her key into her door.

"I'll follow you," he said motioning to the door.

Eden thought back to her earlier conversation with Greta, he's got no limitations.

"Fuck –" she was cut off when the door swung open, revealing her mother.

"Mrs Dawkins," Tommy took off his cap and gave her his winning smile, making Eden scoff.

Although Celestine was mad at the man for upsetting her daughter, she did surprisingly think they were a good match, but she tried not to let it show, especially because Cecil wasn't a fan.

"Stayin' for tea Thomas?" she questioned, withholding a smile when she heard Eden gasp, "I know you won't so no to an old lady."

"Don't look a day over thirty."

Celestine chuckled, "Charmer, come in."

Eden shook her head at the smirk on his face.

Tommy waited for her to step into her house before he shut the door behind them.

His senses were pleasantly surprised by the smells drifting to his nose.

Eden placed her nurse's bag down and took off her coat and shoes, watching as he did the same.

"You're not forgiven," she said to him, not yet anyway.

Tommy nodded, "I know"

"Stop smilin'," he just smirked and came closer, "Just come and eat."

He grabbed her by the waist, shooting a glance behind in case her father was near, "You on the menu?"

Eden huffed, pushing him away, holding back a smile and blush.

Tommy chuckled to himself, knowing she was close to letting her grudge go.

He was happy, for many reasons.

One of which, she didn't take off the necklace.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

a/n:

people telling eden to forgive tommy shouldn't come as a surprise guys, this is normal, especially when he's done something fucked up. i don't know whether it was the time period or not but in peaky blinders as a whole (and the fanfics) grudges couldn't be held for long which is a pisstake.

don't worry, eden isn't a pushover, but just so you know, tommy will continue to do and say stupid things... it's tommy shelby. truthfully i don't think he ever deserved a love interest let alone three, considering his mindset but we move.

#eden dawkins #Eden and Tommy #wattpad #fanfic #black girl #black reader #tommyshelby story #tommyshelby and edendawkins #tommy shelby x oc

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