#Peaky blinders request

[wonderlanddreamer]

Lean On Me.

[Tommy Shelby × Reader]

Summary - A cute little hurt/comfort one-shot based on this request. When you're hurt during an incident at the Garrison, it's Tommy who notices and takes care of you.

The Garrison was alive with the usual sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of conversation. It was a typical evening, and you moved behind the bar with ease, offering your gentle smile and kind eyes to each patron who approached. Your sweet demeanor had made you a favorite among the regulars, and your presence was often a calming influence in the boisterous atmosphere.

As you refilled a customer's drink, you noticed the door swing open with a force that made it bang against the wall, causing a few heads to turn sharply. A group of men entered, their loud voices and aggressive postures immediately altering the mood of the room. You recognized a few of them as troublemakers who had been thrown out before. A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach, but you continued your work, hoping they would leave without causing any trouble.

Unfortunately, it was not going to be one of those nights. The arguments started almost immediately, escalating quickly into shouts and threats. One of the men grabbed a patron by the collar, slamming him against the bar and causing his drink to spill everywhere. A furious brawl erupted, with fists flying and chairs being overturned. Glasses shattered as they were knocked off tables, and the sound of breaking wood filled the air as a table was flipped over.

You moved behind the bar, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to stay out of the fray. The scene was a blur of violent motion: a man was thrown to the ground, another's face was bloodied by a brutal punch, and someone else wielded a broken bottle like a weapon. The shouts and grunts of pain were deafening, and the air was thick with tension and fear.

Then, you heard the unmistakable crack of a gunshot. The noise cut through the chaos like a knife, silencing the room for a brief, heart-stopping moment. 

A searing pain shot through your side, causing you to gasp. You pressed a hand against the pain, feeling the warmth of blood seep through your fingers. Panic surged through you, but you bit down on your lip to stifle a cry. You couldn't afford to let anyone see you falter, not when the pub was in such disarray. You told yourself it was just a graze, nothing serious. You didn't need to cause a fuss.

The tension in the room was palpable when, suddenly, the door to the side room burst open. Tommy Shelby, flanked by his brothers John and Arthur, strode in with an air of authority that immediately commanded attention. Tommy’s sharp blue eyes scanned the chaos, missing nothing. In his hand, he held a revolver, its presence a chilling promise of violence. John, with a snarl on his lips, grabbed one of the troublemakers and threw him against the wall with a force that made the entire room shake. Arthur, always the most volatile, swung a chair with a roar, smashing it over another man's back. The Peaky Blinders moved with the precision and efficiency of a well-oiled machine, their brutal swiftness clearing out the troublemakers in a matter of moments.

Tommy fired a shot into the ceiling, the deafening crack silencing any remaining resistance. The troublemakers froze, their eyes wide with fear. "Out," Tommy growled, his voice low and deadly. "And if I see any of you in here again, you'll regret it." The men scrambled for the door, tripping over each other in their haste to escape.

The Garrison was left in shambles, but the immediate threat was gone. Tommy turned to survey the room, his gaze hard and calculating. He didn’t notice as you quickly tied a makeshift bandage around your waist, gritting your teeth against the pain, and continued your work.

Time seemed to stretch on forever as you cleaned up the broken glass and righted the overturned furniture. Your vision wavered, and a cold sweat broke out on your forehead. You pressed your hand to your side again, feeling the blood still seeping through the fabric of your makeshift bandage. Each movement was agony, but you forced yourself to keep going, telling yourself it would all be okay once your shift was over and you could go home. You swept the shattered remnants of glasses into a dustpan, the sound of the shards tinkling like a cruel reminder of the night's violence.

Eventually, you faltered faster than you could catch yourself, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain your balance. A strong hand caught your arm, steadying you. You looked up to see Tommy Shelby's piercing blue eyes staring at you, concern etched into his usually stoic features.

"What the hell happened to you?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, the edge of authority unmistakable.

"I-It's nothing, Mr. Shelby," you stammered, trying to muster a reassuring smile but failing. "Just a scratch."

Tommy's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you with a penetrating gaze. Before you could protest, he had pulled your hand away from your side, revealing the blood-soaked bandage. His expression darkened, a storm of anger and worry playing across his features.

"You're bleeding and you didn't think to say anything?" he growled, though there was a softness in his eyes that belied his harsh tone. "Come with me."

He led you to a side room of the Garrison, his grip firm but gentle, ensuring you didn't stumble. The room was small and dimly lit, filled with the scent of whiskey and old wood, a hidden sanctuary from the chaos outside. You winced as he helped you sit down, the pain now impossible to ignore.

Tommy worked quickly, his hands surprisingly deft as he removed your makeshift bandage and examined the wound. His fingers were steady, the touch surprisingly tender for someone known for his ruthlessness. 

"This is more than a scratch," Tommy muttered, his jaw tight with restrained anger. "God damn it, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. "I didn't want to be a bother."

Tommy's expression softened, his steely exterior cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of concern. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You're lucky I pay attention."

He set to work with surprising tenderness, carefully cleaning the wound. The sting of the antiseptic made you flinch, but Tommy's steady presence was oddly comforting. His fingers traced the edges of the wound, ensuring it was free of debris before wrapping a proper bandage around your waist. Despite the sharp focus in his eyes, you could see the undercurrent of tension, the worry he tried to mask behind his composed demeanour.

The room seemed to shrink around the two of you, the dim light casting a warm glow over Tommy's concentrated face. His hands moved with practised ease, but the care in his touch spoke volumes. It was a side of him rarely seen, hidden beneath layers of calculated ruthlessness and unyielding authority.

"There," he said softly, his voice a low, soothing rumble. He met your gaze with those piercing blue eyes, now softened with concern. "You'll be alright. But next time, you come straight to me. Understood?"

You nodded, managing a weak smile. "Thank you, Mr. Shelby."

He tilted your chin up with a gentle hand, his thumb brushing away your tears. "Call me Tommy," he corrected, his voice tender. "And promise me, no more heroics, eh? Leave that to me."

"I promise, Tommy," you replied, your heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something you didn't dare to name. The pain in your side seemed to fade, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest. 

Tommy helped you to your feet, his arm steady around your waist, providing support as you swayed slightly. Each step sent a jolt of pain through your body, but with his strong presence beside you, it felt a little more bearable. His grip was firm yet gentle, a silent promise of protection that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

As you walked back into the main room of the Garrison, the remnants of the earlier brawl were still visible. Broken glass glinted on the floor, and overturned chairs lay scattered about. The other Peaky Blinders were busy restoring order, their expressions a mix of annoyance and grim determination. 

Tommy guided you to a quieter corner, easing you into a chair before resting against the table beside you. He reached for a glass of water, handing it to you with a gentleness that seemed almost out of character for the hardened leader of the Peaky Blinders.

"Drink this," he instructed, his voice softer now, the rough edges smoothed out by genuine concern. "It'll help."

You took the glass, your hands trembling slightly as you sipped the cool water. The liquid soothed your parched throat, and you felt a bit of strength return to your limbs. 

"Why didn't you say anything when it happened?" Tommy asked after a moment, genuine curiosity and concern lacing his words. He leaned in slightly, eyes searching yours for an answer, his brow furrowed with worry.

You looked down at your hands, the glass of water clutched between them. "I didn't want to cause more trouble," you admitted quietly. "I thought it was just a graze, and everyone already had so much to deal with."

Tommy's expression softened, his stern demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. He sighed, shaking his head gently. "You're anything but trouble, sweetheart," he told you, his tone firm yet kind.

Your eyes widened at his words, your heart skipping a beat. You searched his face, looking for any sign that he was merely being kind, but all you saw was sincerity. 

"Thank you, Tommy," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. The words felt inadequate, but they were all you could manage in the moment.

He reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, not from fear but from a profound sense of connection. "Don’t scare me like that again, alright?" he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that intimate moment. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of belonging that you hadn't realized you craved. Tommy's touch was tender, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. You leaned into his hand, finding solace in the simple, yet profound gesture.

"Rest here for a bit," he said after a moment, his hand reluctantly pulling away, though his eyes remained fixed on yours. "I'll have someone take you home when you're ready."

He stood up, but not before softly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. His presence was a shield, a promise that he would protect you no matter what. 

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Tell Me Lies

Tommy Shelby X Wife Reader

Request for @luvlesavyy

Request: What if Thomas found himself in a sticky situation? What if he had to be compelled to pretend that he had betrayed his beloved wife, whom he holds dearly in love with, in order to protect her and their child? What if Tommy received life threatening letters from his gems? He lies to his wife, tells her he cheated on her, all this to keep them away from the harm he can bring to their lives... How would this story end? Would she forgive him after he found the letters, threatening her and her firstborn's lives, in Tommy's office drawer?

(They spent a week apart, and she had constant back pain, Polly said she was pregnant. Now what? Pregnant, with the love of her life, who "cheated" on her. Wonder what she's going to do about it? Will you tell Tommy when you discover the letters?).

Hey love,

Sorry this took so long but I didn't forget about you. I've never been the kind for the silent anger type of thing. Changed a few of the details around but I hope you enjoy this <3 Thanks for being so wonderful!

Warnings: pregnancy, cheating, screaming, passing out, hitting, biting, extreme anger & the usual peaky themes

Tommy was used to the bitter taste of whiskey doing absolutely nothing to calm his nerves. He stares at the telephone wishing that he had just imagined the phone call he had received. He pulled a red package of documents out of the top drawer of his dresser. He had finally been advised to open it. Now that he knows what is being asked of him he wants nothing more than to throw it in the fireplace. 

For the first time, he really felt that he was flying too close to the sun. Everything he had started was for his siblings and aunt, now every day was for his wife and child. 

How could he turn his back on all of them, on you, even for a second? What could he say to you that would keep you away? If he told you the truth, then Polly and Esme would be dragged into it and all of a sudden it would be a family trip to Austria. His stomach gave a lurch and he put his head in his hands. 

He had to lie to you. 

He would have to tell you something horrible so you would let go of him for the week-long mission. Then he could come crawling back with the papers as evidence. Sure, he would spend the rest of his life on the couch in his study, but at least you would be safe, at least you would still be his. 

He could try to refuse. 

How many wives and children would die if he did? Would you want to be married to that man? Looking at the papers in the file it was his own family on the chopping block if he refused.

“Fuck” He swore slamming his hands against his desk. 

______________________________________________________________

“What’s wrong.” You said looking at him with sharp eyes. You could tell just by the way he held himself that he had gone and done something stupid. 

“I have to go away for a bit.” His eyes were focused on you in a way that made it hard to look away. 

“Why?” 

“I can’t tell you.” He said firmly and you could tell your husband wanted you to accept this answer. 

“I’m your wife. Spit it out, Tommy.” You said crossing your arms. You hadn't been in this position since you were dating. Once married in you were at every meeting, involved in every dollar, and every conflict. Okay, you weren't directly involved in every conflict but you helped out in areas that weren't covered with gunfire. 

“Look, something's come up and I need to see to it, I really don't want to -” 

“I don’t care what you want Thomas. Do what’s right and tell me.” The anxiety was starting to bubble up and turn into rage the way it always did. You hated when people lied to you. 

“I got a phone call last night. Someone I may have had an entanglement with has had a child. She’s saying it’s mine.” The words fell between you and you knew something was off. You assumed he was just hiding the juicy details of his affair. Now a child is out there. Whose child would he father? His wife’s or his mistress? 

You stood there feeling a familiar hysteria build up inside you. This time you didn't have to push it down. Charlie was with Esme and the cousins for the night. You could make him pay. 

The feeling started to radiate into your limbs and you were freed from your initial shock. You picked up the crystal vase on the side table beside the couch. You threw it at him. 

Head on where he was sitting at his desk.  He narrowly missed it. His eyes flared with shock. You picked up every single thing you could reach and threw it at him. He stood up and charged towards you and you welcomed it. 

You wanted him to hit you first. You wanted blood. It was your turn to cause trouble. He tried to grab your arms and you smacked his chest as hard as you could. He got his arms around you and you bit into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Hope his mistress likes that scar. 

You screamed at him. You told him every single bad thing you could think of. You told him he was the reason the family was cursed. That his mother killed herself to get away from him. You screamed your own curse on his life. 

You screamed and screamed until you cried. A deep sob that unraveled years of strength. Everything you had done for this family, just to be replaced as Lizzie once said you would be. 

This was beyond anger and betrayal. This was beyond human. You felt your mind become otherworldly and your vision narrowed in. The blackened edges of your vision collided and you weren't screaming anymore. You had dissolved into nothingness and it was blissful. 

______________________________________________

You woke up and he was gone. The family was in complete chaos over the news. Arthur was actually crying on and off, apologizing for his stupid little brother. He and John held the business together under Polly’s direction. 

Polly eventually sat you down and told you the news once everyone had come to say they were sorry and how they would be helping. It was like being a widow at a funeral. 

A pregnant widow. 

“You're joking.” You took in a sharp breath. “And that is not very funny at a time like this.” Your voice was high and she grabbed your face with two hands. 

“It’s not a joke. You’ll be fine.” Her eyes were so intense it put you at ease. 

Esme reassured you and decided to stay with you at Arrow House for a while. The kids were used to being lumped together and they had no problem looking after themselves for the most part. Charlie was 6 so he didn't have a hard time keeping up with his cousins. 

The two of you rot in bed and she did what she could to keep your blood pressure from rising. You could see it in her eyes though, she was pissed as hell and you were sure she would make Tommy feel it too when the time came. 

If he ever came back. Your heart gave a painful clench and while you were alone in the bath there was no one to judge you for crying. It was a soft moment you allowed yourself. It felt shameful, it felt like letting him win. It was stupid but you felt like you were just a girl getting your heart broken again. This time it felt final. Your heart would not survive this. 

But your family loved you. That was obvious from the cooked meals and even Arthur was around helping with the kids at bedtime. You could hear him and John reenacting all the monsters they fought when they had lived on the boat as kids. You even caught yourself laughing a few times at the wild stories.

It was almost a week since that night and you were starting to feel just as betrayed but you had your head back on your shoulders. In the middle of the night, you decided to see if this woman had written him any letters. You weren't sure why but you were obsessed with finding out who this woman was. Why could she steal him away from you so easily when you had done nothing but give him everything?

You went into his study and shut and locked the door. While you turned the latch you wondered where they had sex? Was it here? The office? The backseat of his car? The rage started to bubble up again and a hand went to your stomach. You took some deep breaths thinking about what a divorce would mean. 

His - scratch that, your family would still love you. You would get to pick a new house and decorate it however you wanted. Fill it full of books and do nothing other than look after Charlie and read. You took another big breath and moved over to his desk. 

You pulled open the drawers in his desk and started to pick through everything. You knocked on the bottom of the first drawer when you saw that the woodwork didn't quite line up. You remembered from all your spy novels that it could have a false bottom. You grabbed a letter opener and started to pry it open. 

It came loose with a pop and you pulled out lots of extra copies of passports and documentation for your family. A cold shudder ran through you. You picked up your fake passport to see that he had named you, Arbella Shelby, maiden name Sutherland. You let out a snort as that was a character in a Highlander romance novel you adored. Why would he remember something so stupid when he was plowing another woman the whole time.

You reached into the hidden compartment a little further and pulled out a red envelope. It was made with very expensive card stock. You opened it and read through the document carefully. 

He had been sent away to aid in the assassination of an English spy hiding in Austria.

Your brain hurt and you took another few breaths and kept reading. 

It only got worse. Any outside interference would result in death. Failure to complete the mission would result in his death. Failure to accept the assignment and the government will move forward with prosecuting the remaining members of the Shelby family for acts against the crown. You read down the list of names and ran a finger over your name, following it was the rest of the family. You also noticed that Esme and John’s older kids were on the list. 

He needed to leave without us going to find him. 

He lied to protect you. 

It got hard to breathe and you had to try and remain calm. You let out a weird sort of choking sound then threw up into a plant pot. Polly found you moments later. 

“Breathe.” You let her grip your shoulders and tried to follow her breathing but your vision went dark again and you were out. 

_______________________________________________

When you woke up Polly was pacing the room and shouting at someone in a hushed voice. 

“You should have told us.” She hissed. “What if something had happened to you.” 

“Churchill would have sent the news. Then she would know what had happened.” Tommy answered in a low and steady voice. He sounded exhausted. 

“What if you had failed! They would have shipped us off to jail again.” She snapped. “She almost lost the baby over this mess Thomas.” 

“Only if I had refused the job,” Tommy answered and he sounded so tired. You opened your eyes and watched them stare each other down. 

“Promise me it won't happen again.” You mumbled. 

“I wish I could.” He closed his eyes and looked positively exhausted. 

“Let me talk to Churchill.” Your whisper still conveying your anger. Tommy gave you a big smile. You finally registered how battered his face was. 

“I have papers saying you lot won't be used as collateral again.” He held his whiskey glass up to his cheek. 

“Tommy, if i thought that the family and our children would get killed I would manage to stay away.” You said knowing that tears were starting to spill down your cheeks. Polly took in a breath and you knew she was going to lay into him properly now that you were awake. 

“I’m sorry.” He said simply. His eyes opened and locked on yours. You knew he meant it. Shock crossed Polly’s face.

“I didn't think you knew those words.” She said waving her hand in the air. 

“Okay.” You said not wanting to be apart for a moment longer. There was ringing in your ears and you knew he was sorry. You knew he wouldn't do it again. Tommy was a lot of things, but he never hurt you the same way twice. He always learned from his mistakes. 

You started taking some deep breaths trying to get your head to stop throbbing. Esme came through with a mug of tea and Tommy put his drink down to help you into an upright position. 

“Tea will help with the headache.” She said her eyes darting to Tommy. 

“Esme?” He said calmly.

“What.” She answered looking skeptical. 

“Thanks for looking after her.” He held her gaze and she nodded at him. The rest of the family piled in and discussed the events of the past week. The tea brought the ringing in your ears and the throbbing in your head down to a normal level. 

Charlie came through and climbed up on his father's lap. Tommy’s arm fit around him and he continued talking about what needed to happen moving forward when dealing with Mosley. 

You had hope for his cause. You rested in his arms and found your way back to him out of the darkness that had been threatening to swallow you.

[peakyltd]

Requests

Hii everyone! 

I decided to take requests from people who are interested to do so. I think it will improve my writing and it will keep my creativity going. You can choose a drabble/one shot or a moodboard but in order to do so please read the following: 

Fic (Drabble/One Shot)

You can send in a Peaky character with a prompt or a gif (You could even choose to do both if you think they fit well together), let me know if you want it to be angst/fluff/etc. If you have an other idea for something or even a very detailed request you can send it in as well. Please keep in mind that:

I only write for Tommy, John & Arthur at the moment. Michael can be an exception on this one, depends on the request because I never wrote him before.

I don’t write the same prompts twice.

I can’t guarantee a specific amount of words to any of the requests. It depends on wherever my mind takes me. So that means your fic can be shorter/longer than any other I’ve written. 

Moodboard

Send in a character with a prompt, a word or whatever inspired you. I will add a little blurb to each moodboard. Please keep in mind that:

I only do these for Peaky Blinders characters.

Please add for which one you are requesting! Ex. “I’d like a moodboard with…” or “I’d like a fic with…”

Prompts:

Lists of prompts that could help you out. Of course you can come up with your own prompts! 

Angsty Prompts by writtenonreceipts

Angsty Question Prompts by creativepromptsforwriting

Betrayal Liners by delilahfairchild

Fluffy Prompts by nightprompts

Fluffy Prompts by creativepromptsforwriting

Mix of all kind of Prompts  by make-me-imagine

[call-sign-shark]

Really want to take some Peaky Blinders’ requests with those prompts. Send me a number + a PB character if ya want 🤭

Any Peaky characters except Mosley and Hugues for obvious reasons.

Three Word Sentences

"You are enough."

"Don't you listen?"

"I don't care."

"Dream come true."

"Sing to me."

"Be gentle, please."

"Feel my heartbeat."

"Get over here."

"Listen to me."

"Don't you dare."

"I'm number one."

"Just do it."

"I adore you."

"Talk to me."

"Doesn't mean anything."

"Finally at peace."

"I'm over it."

"You look lost."

"Leave me alone."

"Don't stop now."

"Say my name."

"I hate you."

"Just say it."

"Thanks, now leave."

"Don't do that."

"I feel you."

"Sign me up."

"You don't listen."

"Hello, my love."

"Please, shut up."

[shelbydelrey]

Hey dear! do you still write and accept requests?

Hey anon 🤗 Thank you so much for showing interest in my stories! Unfortunately i'm not taking requests at the moment but i'm still open if to discuss any scenarios you have or just talk about Peaky and life in general 😉

[warnersister]

How the Peaky boys would react to “you wearing a sundress” -> headcannon

(NSFW) but more implied then truly written, but still read at your own risk

Tommy🪖

🪖it was a hot day, and you were rummaging through your clothing chest to try find something suitable to wear to bear the heat outside.

🪖Tommy had headed out early, business to attend to with Alfie Solomons.

🪖he hadn’t meant to wake you, trying to sneak around the bedroom to get dressed and get out of the house: especially after a… long night

🪖but still, you stirred and whined “Tom?” You breathe with a rasped voice “s’alright, back to sleep darling” he instructed but you endured, sitting up and stretching your arms high above your head and Thomas watched as the covers fell to reveal your bare torso and it took all his self control to stop salivating.

🪖you climbed out of bed and threw the slip dress over your head, heading towards your husband who was buttoning his shirt in the mirror

🪖you turned him towards you and swatted his hands away, and he allowed you to finish buttoning his shirt for him, finishing the top button and pulling the collar down to kiss him.

🪖”Solomons is coming by today” Thomas huffed and you looked up at him with narrowed eyes “long meeting?” You ask and he shakes his head “shouldn’t be” you nod “d’you want me to come by later? Bring you some lunch?” You ask and he connects his eyes with yours “y’know y’worry me when you stay in there all day” you continue and he offers a small smile. “I’ll take that as a yes” you say, kissing the corner of his mouth and tapping his chest, ushering him out of the door. “Go on, shoo.”

🪖he smirked and grabbed his cap on the way out, whistling as he went

🪖so there you were, already sweeting with mere silk on your body

🪖you saw a dress with the tags still on, yellow and billowing at the bottom: sundress

🪖you looked it over one before deciding it was the perfect choice for today’s endeavours.

🪖you’d nipped out to the market first, collecting some supplies to make him some soup or whatever you could conjure up.

🪖you even grabbed some sunflowers too; having bought him a vase for his office, thinking it needed some life brought into it, given the volume of lives that were lost in that room.

🪖later in the day you headed to Tommy’s office, assuming that his meeting must be done by now and to feed him.

🪖you’d headed to the Garrison, greeting Harry and having a few wandering eyes following you as you approached the Blinder’s designated room, thinking nothing of it as you turned the door knob.

🪖Tommy couldn’t be mad at your intrusion for the sheer sight of you. His pupils blew out of his head as he looked you over, he’d never seen this dress before. Yet his jaw gritted at the way Alfred fucking Solomons had the same reaction.

🪖”oh I’m so sorry gentleman” you said, pivoting to leave “no no, sweetheart. Alfie was just leaving. Weren’t you?” Tommy asked and Alfie creased his brows but with the eyes his business partner was giving him told him everything he needed to know. “Yeah yeah, just leaving Tom”

🪖Alfie stood, to leave and smiled at you “lovely to see you, poppet” Alfie said, you’d always gotten along with him; you hugged him as he welcomed it, and he grinned at you “you look gorgeous you, yeah? Lovely new dress. Fabulous it is” “fuck off Alfie” “yeah yeah I’m going, bye love”

🪖Tommy looked you over as the door clicked shut with tight lips. “I’m sorry Tom I didn’t think he’d still be here-” “have you had that on all day?” He cuts you off and you raise your brows “the dress?” “Mhm” “oh yeah, found it earlier. Never worn it.” You say, spinning to give him a giddy look at it.

🪖Tommy couldn’t help but smile “c’m ere.” He beckons you over and you approach him “I brought you some lunch-” you begin “nah, got all I need to eat right here” he says and grabs your hips, prompting you to discard your basket on his desk.

🪖he sits back in his seat; opening his legs to pull you to stand between them. He gently takes the fabric between his fingers, then drags his hands so slowly up to your torso, not looking at your face. You fidget anxiously, his hands dragging back down to the hem of the dress.

🪖”dangerous wearing this, love” he says, dipping his hands under the dress to rest on your upper thighs, finally looking at you. You smile. He realises how easily the fabric is lifted, pushing you back to sit on his desk “can’t do this to y’old Tom and expect to get away with it” he says, with a tut, unzipping his trousers and removing his suspenders as he pushes your underwear to the side.

🪖”I’m buying you more o’ these.”

Alfie🧸

🧸Alfie was sat reading the newspaper in his armchair, Cyril asleep beside him when you came into the room.

🧸”so, what do you think?” You asked and Alfie looked up but had to do a double take. A white sundress with frilled straps and tight torso. “Blimey poppet, what’s this then?” He asked, dropping his glasses to the end of his nose to get a better look at you.

🧸”a sundress Alf!” You say, “y’bought it last year, remember?” “Thought I’d remember buying something like this.” He says, standing to his feet, moving to take your hand in his own “give us a spin then darling” he says, turning you as the fabric billowed as you went only for your gorgeous beaming face to return to him.

🧸”now this is fucking fabulous ain’t it darlin’, fucking fabulous. Bloody love it. Suits you nicely” he mumbles as you smile “but y’can’t wear it” he says and your face drops “y’what?” You asks, brows furrowing. “Y’aint givin y’old man heart palpitations and expecting me to let y’out of the house, flower. Not like this” he says sternly, wagging an accusatory finger at you.

🧸”but we’re got to go to the market-” you protest “nah, we ain’t” he says, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder as you yelp. He flips the rim of your skirt up so he gets a great view of your ass, smacking it lightly “Alfie!”

🧸”don’t think I won’t shag y’on these stairs, treacle, now let me get up the fucking stairs, yeah?”

🧸then later in the day when you’d finally manage to coax him off of you and out of the house to the market, there was a hand permanently on your waist. And then at some point you bent over to smell some flowers and Alfie couldn’t help but lean his hips into yours. You yelped “Alfie!” You hissed. “C‘mon love I can’t cope.” He grunts, impatiently prompting the rest of the shopping to go by faster, flipping the skirt of the dress up again when he finally got back to the car.

Arthur🍺

🍺so. Fucking. Antsy.

🍺can’t keep his fucking hands off of you.

🍺left early, didn’t he? Ended up waking you up; banging all the doors shut and all that as he clambered out of the house.

🍺you decided that was your wake up call regardless, knowing full well that if he’d have left in a state such as the one he was in last night then it wasn’t good business. Meaning it’d perk him up for you to visit him and calm down his anger during the day, even if it was only a chat to rectify his emotions.

🍺you’d gotten yourself dressed without a second thought, inly to do a double take and head right back into the house when you felt the sweltering temperatures outside the from door.

🍺you’d rummage through your clothing chest, struggling to find anything suitable for such an occasion, used to the drizzly cool downpour of the indefinite English winter.

🍺then you spotted it; the sundress

🍺Arthur had gone mad for it last year, and it was forgotten about at around Christmas time when it was way too cold for attire like that, but now was the perfect opportunity to wind him up again.

🍺and you were in a teasing mood after the way he’d slammed the front door shut and made a crack in the mahogany.

🍺so you’d slipped it on, it was a lovely shade of pink; baby pink to be exact. Arthur loved that colour on you, made him forget all his troubles and appreciate his woman for a while - especially when he couldn’t get his hands off you. So, giving yourself a once over you spritzed a bit of the expensive perfume Thomas had kindly gifted you the Christmas prior, the one you knew Arthur liked the smell of, and headed out the door.

🍺you decided to stop by the bakery on the way to his office, the bakery with the young cashier who had a large crush on you who Arthur absolutely despised, and you knew it’d get him even more rilled up knowing full well that you’d been in that dress, had leant over the counter while the young lad stumbled over his words and explained what was in every one of them, let you sample the one that the lad knew full well was your favourite, and gave you it on the house with a tip on the hat and a kiss on the hand.

🍺yeah this was turning out to be a pretty good day.

🍺so you waltzed through the building, little spring in your step as you greeted all the turning heads who watched you as you walked.

🍺you knocked on his door “fuck off” and you opened it “sorry Arth, thought you’d want some company” you say in the shyest voice you could manage to muster. His demeanour immediately changed when he heard your voice, his posture settled but when he looked at you his mouth ran dry.

🍺”brought you a bun” you say, taking it out of the bag you’d brought and knew full well he looked at the branding on the paper packaging. His jaw went slack. “Fuck me love, y’tryna kill me?” He asked, taking his cap off his head and shooting his head beneath it. “What do you mean, darling?” You asked, feigning innocence, heading to his desk as you placed the treat in front of him. “You know fucking damn well what. That bastard dress is back again” he says, grabbing your waist with calloused hands to bring you closer to him and he looked you over.

🍺”wearing the nice perfume too, ain’t ya love?” He asked meekly and you nodded “warm day and I couldn’t find anything else. Saw how quickly you’d left his morning so I thought I’d bring you something to eat” you say with a small, innocent smile as you stroked his cheek. He swallowed hard, eyes unwillingly shifting from you to the pastry on his desk.

🍺”y’ve been to that fucking bakery, ain’t ya?” He asked, gritting his teeth “well it’s your favourite-” “and that little bastard was serving wasn’t he?” He asked again, eyes narrowing “who? Daniel-” “yes fucking Daniel that little cock rocket who thinks he can get in your knickers that’s who” he seethed.

🍺then it dawned on him. “And he saw you in this fucking thing” he growled, bunching the pink material in his hands as he huffed “m’sorry Arth. Didn’t think” you reply. Liar. “Nah I think you knew. Knew to tease y’old Arthur didn’t you?” He asked, thumb drawing small circles into your waist. You replied with a small smile “I knew it! Y’little minx!” He chuckled, shaking his head.

����”well!“You exclaim, taking his hands and prying them from your waist as his face dropped “I’ll leave you be. Enjoy your pasty. Love you.” You say, turning to make your leave and he almost growled.

🍺”where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He asked, standing up after you as you walked back through his door, failing to suppress your smirk. He pretty much sprinted after you, grabbing you roughly and throwing you over his shoulder to turn right back around and into his office. “Got all I want to eat right fucking ‘ere. You ain’t leaving this office in this bastard dress” he promises, slamming the office door behind the two of you.

John🥃

🥃bold of you to think you’re even leaving the house with it on.

🥃he’s not like his brothers, he wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye unless Tommy was literally at the door screaming for him, and even then he was quick to reassure you before he sprinted out the house.

🥃no he liked to wake up with you, especially now there were too many kids to count running around the house.

🥃he liked to wake you up with little kisses, grab you at the waist and pull you back into bed if you tried to leave, brush his teeth beside you in the bathroom, help get the kids ready, pick your outfit, and let you tie his tie which usually took a good half hour between all the songs he’d sneak in.

🥃gave him a sense of homeliness.

🥃a bit of normality.

🥃today was no different, he’d woke you up with little kisses, rolling you to sit on top of him, legs either side of his hips as he repetitively kissed you as you giggled and tried to rise for a breath.

🥃”mammy I’m hungry!” A voice came from the doorway and you saw your agitated son pawing at his pyjamas as he looked at you desperately. “Fucking kid interrupting. About to fu-” John mumbled quietly before you were placing a hand over his mouth with wide, warning eyes. He smirked at you. “Alright mate, I’ll come, leave your poor mammy alone” John answered, finally managing to pry your hand away. “Thanks daddy” he says, giddily, as John reluctantly placed you back in bed and rolled out, chucking a shirt on and turning back to you. “Don’t move” he says, wagging a jokingly warning finger at you and you laugh “yes sir” you salute and he smirk.

🥃”right c’mon mate.” John says, grabbing your son and slinging him onto a piggy back to go grab him something to munch on.

🥃you practically jumped out of bed to go grab the new sundress that you bought last week, you hadn’t shown John yet and decided that today was the day you were going to wear it, especially now you had the quick couple of minutes of peace alone.

🥃”right, little’uns eating his breakf- fuck me” you spun around to look at your husband and smiled “what d’y think?” You ask, “g’i us a twirl” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. You did as he said and pivoted around, showing how the dress spun with you.

🥃”it’s a sundress” you say “I can see that flower” he replies, walking up to you to have a good feel of the fabric, gliding his hands from your upper back to your waist as he pulls you into him “y’can’t wear tha’.” He says simply and you giggle “why’s tha Johnny?” You ask and he raises his brows “that little name tells me you know goddamn why gorgeous.” He says “y’cannea wear it cause I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off of ya.” He says, quickly turning to slam the door shut before picking you up and dropping you on the bed, climbing on top of you and leaning in to kiss you hungrily.

🥃you move to take the dress of and he shakes his head “now, now whole point of this dress is that it’s easy access now, ain’t it?” He hums “leave it on I’ll work around don’t you worry ‘bout me.” He says quickly with his tongue protruding to lick his dry lips as he looks you over.

🥃he dips his head under the hem of the dress and eats you like a man starved. “Mammy! Daddy we’re ‘ungry!” You hear from beyond the door and John stops his movement to come back up for air and clamp a hand over your mouth to stop the sounds coming out of it. John huffs, frustrated but clears his throat. “Harriet darlin’ can you reach the milk?” He asks after a minute “I can da’.” Her little voice replies “Toby can you reach the cereal?” “Uh-huh” the other retorts. “Great and Charlie? Bowls and spoons?” “Yeah I know where they are daddy!” The little one says “perfect. Harriet want you to get the milk, the big ‘un I’m not having you using up the fancy shit your mam bought from Camden. Y’here me?” He asks “yeah dad” “Toby, grab the cereal and Charlie get the bowls and lot.” He instructs “okay!” The collective voices come out. “Hannah need you to make sure it’s all gone to plan, alright hon?” He asks “sure thing” then you hear the patter of feel heading down the stairs

🥃”and I swear to god if any of you little shits make a mess y’ll all be up for the fuckin’ high jump!” He announces loudly, before quieting down and turning back to you “where were we?”

🥃and then when you’d finally managed to pry him off of you, he begrudgingly let you wear it “don’t forget we’re going to Alice’s garden party.” You say “what?” He asks, noticing how you’ve dressed all the kids appropriately “y’ain’t going looking like that flower” he says “I sure am. Come in you lot! In the car!” You say, ushering him out the door

🥃he managed to sneak you away one or two times at the party.

Bonnie🥊

🥊Bonnie’s just as bad as John

🥊cannot keep his hands off of you

🥊”’m takin’ y’ to Bonnie Gold’s fight.” Your brother said walking into the room “wear summot nice, that dress I bought you” “why?” “Just get dressed” you nodded at Tommy, not opposed to visiting Bonnie Gold any day.

🥊”is his sister coming?” Bonnie asked his dad hopefully and the man smirked “why?” “J’st wonderin’.” “Yeah well keep y’eyes on the prize” Aberama told him “she is the fuckin’ prize” “try keep y’hands off of ‘er until the fights over, yeah?” He asked and him and Bonnie just shared a knowing smirk.

🥊you put on the sundress Tommy had bought you the other week, deciding it was a nice enough day to have a breeze against your skin, plus you had a pair of lovely shoes to match.

🥊so you rocked up downstairs, dress on and ready to go and Tommy just gave you a once over “poor lads gonna have a fuckin’ heart attack” John said, laughing “shut up John” you reply, as he opened the door to the car for you, offering his hand to help you up. “You look nice” Arthur commented with a raised brow “damn fucker better win this fight”

🥊”Bonnie” Thomas nodded as he entered the building, followed by his brothers, you at the back with John who’d strung an arm over your shoulder. “Mr Shelby” he nodded at him, but was clearly distracted. “Don’t you worry, Bonnie. She’s right ‘ere.” Tommy says, moving out the way for John and you to come into his view. “Hiya, Bon.” You smile “hiya flower” he manages to muster.

🥊yet, his breath had caught in his throat at the sheer sight of you. Your gorgeous face, hair done up nicely, and a fucking milkmaid dress. Some lovely sundress that other men didn’t deserve to see. Bonnie’s jaw clenched.

🥊”right, we’ll leave the two of you for a minute. Aberama, let’s chat” Thomas said, leading the others away “if he tries anything come and fuckin’ find me.” John said, looking Bonnie over once with narrowed eyes before strutting off after the others.

🥊Bonnie smirked looking at you “y’look lovely” he said quietly, approaching you “not too bad y’self Bon” you giggle as his hands wrap around you, leaning down to kiss you gently. “This fuckin’ dress. Y’do it on purpose?” He asks and you crease your brows “do what?” You hum and he sighs “I guess you’re not beautiful on purpose are you darlin’?” He grins, grabbing your hand to drag you into his changing room and lock the door behind you.

🥊he picks you up and you squeal with a laugh, wrapping your legs around his waist as he holds you against the door. He slips his hands under the hem of the skirt and holds your thighs gently.

🥊”this fucking dress” he says, chuffed that he managed to slip his hands all the way up to settle on your waist and you just smiled at him. You could feel him toying with the waistband of your panties and you laugh “Bon we’ve only got ten minutes!” You giggle and he sighs “guess we’ve got to be quick then, ay sugar?” He asks, undoing his trousers and just merely pushing your panties aside.

🥊you lean your head into the curve of his neck, muffling the sounds erupting from your mouth and muffling them with his bear skin and he slid in and out of you. “God ‘m so fuckin’ obsessed with you.” He groaned “y’know what this makes me think of?” He asks and you shake your head in question against him. “Makes me think of a mammy. What a mammy should wear when she’s pregnant ‘nd can’t get into nothin’ else.” He mumbles. “This wha’ya were tryna do t’me?” He asks “tryna get me to make y’a mammy? Cause it’s working darlin’. So well.” You whine at his remark.

🥊and when you both finish you try to pull up from his shoulder but he holds you firmly in place “Nuh uh. You dress like a mammy y’become one” he says and you can’t help but smile at his statement. Eventually, he unwraps you from his waist and lets you down onto shaky legs. A knock comes at the door “five minutes, son. Get your hands wrapped” you hear Aberama say to him followed by leaving footsteps. You smile up at him “c’mon I’ll wrap your hands”

🥊you pull him to where the wrap is, sitting him down on the bench and standing between his legs as you work on protecting his hands.

🥊He was being extremely difficult

🥊trying to wrap a man’s hands when all he wants to do is have them under your dress is an extremely difficult task as he kept groping at your skin rather than letting you work. “D’ya want your hands wrapping or not?” You ask with a huff and he smirks “would rather be doing somethin’ else.” He shrugs, but lets you finish. And when you do he pulls you into a tight hug, leaning against the fabric where your breasts were constricted.

🥊”Bonnie, c’mon lad it’s time” you heard your brother say from beyond the door, knocking on it thrice (sausage roll video lol)

🥊Bonnie groaned from under your dress (you didn’t know when he’d managed to snake his way back under there) but you grabbed his hand and yanked him from his seated position to standing; pulling him towards the door and unlocking it to take him to the ring.

🥊Bonnie pulled the hand that was dragging him, sending you flying into his chest with a force that nearly winded you as he gave you one last kiss. “Bonnie! Go!” You giggled, pushing him away and towards the ring, taking a stand beside your brothers as the match began.

🥊The rounds went by painfully slow for Bonnie; regardless of the fact that he was winning - but in reality it was only a good few minutes of pure fighting.

🥊then when the match was finished, he waltzed over to the Shelby family like he owned the place and offered a blood-filled grin as it dripped down his chin.

🥊”well done Bonnie lad.” Tommy said, lighting a cigarette. “Cheers Tommy.” He replied, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. “Didn’t y’get some money f’this match?” John asked, lighting his own. “Nah he’s got his own trophy right over there” Tommy replied, nodding at you as they all turned to see you chatting with Bonnie’s father.

🥊”just do us a favour” Thomas told him and Bonnie immediately nodded “marry her.” “Don’t have to tell me twice, mr Shelby.” Bonnie told him with a chuckle, heading to grab you to resume your activities.

Isaiah♟️

♟️haha.

♟️again, bold of you to assume that you’re getting fucking anywhere with that thing on.

♟️feel like it’d be a black sundress, one with frills on the sleeves.

♟️you’d gone for a walk with Finn, Tommy having told you both to fuck off for a while while they dealt with some deeper business; so a stroll around seemed to be the choice at hand.

♟️eventually though, Finn had gotten distracted by a sign you’d read that said ‘pretty women here shilling for a good time’ and left you to fend for yourself, opting not to follow your twin into the whore house, yet you weren’t in your own company for long, feeling a cap placed on your head and an arm around your shoulders.

♟️“Hey pretty, what’re you doing all alone?” Isaiah asked, as he feel into step with you, but came to a sudden halt almost lurching you back. “And who let you wear that?” His eyebrows raised as he looked you over. “Why what’s wrong with it?” You asked “nothin’ nothin’. J’st don’t understand why it’s not on my bedroom floor” you smacked his chest and giggled “Isaiah!”

♟️”y’shouldnt have been let out wearing this, love” he said, backing you against the wall of one of the nearby buildings. “Well I was with Finn” you reason “hmm? And where is Finn now?” He asks, taking your chin between his forefinger and thumb, forcing you to look at him.

♟️”in some whore house” you mumble in reply. He scoffs “some brother”. Then he starts again “why don’t we turn my house into a whore house and get that dress off you and into my room?” He suggests and you roll your eyes “such a way with words”

♟️”y’look fuckin’ insatiable” he says, leaning down to kiss that sensitive spot on the crevasse of your neck. “Dunno how I manage to keep my hand off you most of the time, doll” he shrugs “and in this? Fuck y’not gonna be walking anytime soon”

♟️you laugh at him “you wish peaky junior, now I was enjoying a lovely walk before you came along.” You hum, pushing him back by the chest and he scoffs “I’m a Shelby I can fend for myself” you shrug “not while I make you a Jesus.” He retorts, smirking like he knew he’d won. “Whatever, Isaiah” you say, calmly walking away

♟️he laughs loudly, running after you “c’mon Mrs Jesus we’ve business to attend to!” He announces, swiftly placing a hand onto your chest and pressing you back against the wall, lifting you up and placing hungry hands under the hem of your dress “Isaiah!” You scold, “not here!” He rolls his eyes “fine”

♟️and he places and arm under your knees and one to support your head as he carries you bridal-style back to his house. You clutch at his suit jacket and squeal at his action, holding on for dear life until you got to his home.

♟️did not wait until you got to the bedroom

♟️defo had his way with you against the door once it’d been firmly slammed shut and locked

♟️and on the sofa

♟️and the kitchen table

♟️and then bedroom

♟️(you never took the dress off)

♟️and eventually when you’d decided Tommy was probably done with his important business you managed to coax a begrudging Isaiah to the Garrison with you, who’d initially planned to keep you up all night with him but instead you were heading to a pub instead of his bed; which you’d end up in later anyways

♟️”oh she’s alive!” Arthur said sarcastically as you join them, noticing your presence and subsequently you noticed Finn’s. “How long did you last? Two minutes?” You asked and he scoffed “fuck off” “and of course I’m alive, I’m fine. It was Finn who left me alone!” You say, blame bombing your twin who looked at you with evil eyes.

♟️then Isaiah popped his head round “plus I wasn’t alone I was with Isaiah” you say matter-of-factly and Finn grits his jaw “what’ve I said about staying away from my fucking sister you fucking scrubber” Finn growls, landing a pent-up punch to Isaiah’s jaw who stumbled back slightly. “Didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout fucking her did ya?” He retorted and then he was running for the hills with three brothers sprinting after him.

♟️”men.” Polly said with a roll of her eyes

Michael🎱

🎱he wouldn’t be here nor there

🎱loved how it looks on you

🎱but hates the fact that other men see you wearing it.

🎱he makes heart eyes when he sees you in it, believing it to be the typical dress of a wife and mother; so it pretty much feeds into his delusions.

🎱the only time it saw the light of day in public would’ve definitely been when he’d been courting you. When he’d been invited to some garden party of a rich aristocracy down southwards.

🎱what Tommy failed to mention was that the Capitalist had a daughter a few months younger than Michael, of whom was extremely well spoken, and ridiculously pretty.

🎱he’d obviously weaselled his way over to you and the rest was history.

🎱and of course, history tends to repeat itself.

🎱again, you were heading to a garden party: Shelby arranged this time around, to show your initial family that the marriage between yourself and Michael was going well and therefore Tommy’s expansion to a more wealthier estate was worth the investment.

🎱”I’ll meet you there darling, business to take care of.” Michael had told you that morning while adjusting his collar, allowing you to help him straighten the tie you had wrapped around his neck. “Okay” you hummed, he always loved how you’d never pried.

🎱in reality he was off to see a man about a dog, in other terms; kill a man. Kill a man who’d been eyeing you up like a fucking slice of meat the evening prior. Eyeing you like he wanted to eat you like a man starved, as if your husband didn’t have a firm arm wrapped around your waist and oversized number of carats around your finger.

🎱even had the nerve to try talk to you, had groped at your ass and Michael covered your eyes with one hand while he clocked the bloke around the jaw with the other.

🎱never wanted a woman to see him fight, especially his woman.

🎱so he went about killing the man the next day; well he’s probably dead by now. He took his cap calmly to the man, beneath that bridge by the canal, castrated then blinded the man and left him struggling on the ground, having a couple of lesser known Peaky men surveying the area for the rest of the day to make sure no aid was to come to him, and when his struggling stopped they were to sort his body out.

🎱you made your way to the garden party independently, having worn a darling sundress; white and pristine and freshly pressed, accompanied by a sun hat and some subtle shoes; conservative enough for Michael not to complain that you looked like a whore, but skin-showing enough not to overheat in this sweltering weather.

🎱you were there before Michael, embraced by John and given a kiss on the temple by an already tipsy Arthur who was in that sort of mood where a gent gets rather happy when squidgy, it was a fine line with Arthur.. happy to angered

🎱but you entertained him, saying your hellos and greeting the rest of the family you’d married into, patiently waiting for Michael’s attendance.

🎱he was there soon thereafter.

🎱and he was fucking seething.

🎱he took one look at you as his mouth ran dry, grabbed your wrist and dragged you away from the garden getting countless opposing arguments from the likes of Ada and John questioning what he was doing

🎱but nothing could soften the red he saw.

🎱how dare you wear that dress?

🎱practically threw you into the car, you’d never seen him this upset, let alone have it take it out on you; his loving, doting housewife of whom he trophied for every mistake he made, initially he thought you were his punishment from god.. sent an angel for a devil to take care of. But he’d gotten the hang of switching into a loving husband the minute he returned home

🎱but tonight was different

🎱”Michael, darlin-” “how dare you?” He seethed and you silenced yourself “pardon?” “How many fucking times have I told you you’re not wearing this fucking dress in public, hmm? And you wear it around my fucking horny cousin?” He growls and you don’t know how to reply “he looks at you like you’re a fucking piece of meet, sweets.” He tells you, finally looking at you

🎱”undressing you with his eyes. Watched him myself.” “John has a wife-” “John hires prostitutes. Y’think he’d be a better husband?” He asks, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel harder “no-” “no. Cause I’ve never hired a fuckin’ prostitute since we’ve been together, and I work hard for you, y’know. Got no where to take my anger out cause I love you so much.” He says and despite the harshness of his words your heart swells.

🎱”killed a man for you and I show up to you actin’ like a fuckin’ whore?” Your mouth opened agape and he chuckled darkly “think I didn’t kill that bloke? Think I’d leave him safe? Nah, not with my missus I wouldn’t” he confirms, placing a hand on your leg as he speeds back home.

🎱he stops the car and doesn’t move for a minute.

🎱”listen to me very carefully, flower. I’m going to change my bloody shirt, and you’re gonna go upstairs, lay on the bed and wait for me. Yeah?” He asks “yeah o’course Michael.” You say as you get out the car

🎱”and leave that fuckin’ dress on!” You hear called behind you.

Finn🎞️

🎞️Finn is just horny 25/8 icl.

🎞️doesn’t know what does it for him about that dress, but it does something.

🎞️it was a hot day, and the family was in some beer garden, Arthur already off his head drunk and the brothers just enjoying one another’s company after successfully ridding the threat of a rival family, the head now dead and the rest cowering to surrender.

🎞️Tommy told Finn to bring his lady friend, the one who worked at the bookshop along, decided it was time to meet the family, and so he did.

🎞️waltzed into your little hole in the wall, grinning as you peered your head around to see the customer who’d caused the door’s bell to chime, and you broke out into a mighty smile just as he did, him opening his arms for you to rush over and into a bone crushing hug.

🎞️even shared a sweet kiss as he said a gentle “hello pretty”

🎞️he noticed the dress you were wearing was new, initially not noticing it as he was too caught up in admiring you. “What’s this? Is it new?” He asked, taking your hand to spin you around. “It is” you grin, allowing the white flowing material to spin as he made you “it’s lovely” he says, noticing something about it but he didn’t know quite what.

🎞️”why are you here?” You hum with narrowed, suspicious eyes as you leant your chin against his dress “aren’t I allowed to say hello to my favourite girl?” He asks with a smirk “yes but I can tell there’s something. A look in your eyes.” You say and he sighs, defeated “party at the Garrison” he says “when?” You ask “right now” he says and you laugh “Finn I can’t just shut shop at 12 oclock on Thursday!” You say, as he reaches into his pocket, throwing ten whole pounds onto the counter “Finn! Where did you get that much money?” You gasp “don’t worry bout it. Enough for you to close?” He asks and you scoff “I can’t accept ten whole pounds, Finn” you tell him “sure you can cause I’m not having it back” he shrugs, pulling your hand to coax you out the door “okay fine!” You surrender as you relent, allowing Finn to pull you out the door and in turn, you lock your door behind you.

🎞️then when you showed to the party, you were greeted by tipsy cheers and hellos as Finn introduced you to his family, Polly and Ada immediately dragging you away to have a separate conversation as they question you about everything to which you giddily go along with.

🎞️John came to stand with Finn, where he was stood still; drink in hand as he watched you interact with his family. “What’s up, Finn?” He asked, nudging him with his elbow and Finn finally broke out of his trace to smile at his brother. “Nothin’.” He shrugged. “Can’t be about your missus, y’head over heels for her.” John said, and Finn immediately raised his brows in panic “no! no! Nothin’ like tha.” Finn said, shaking his head. “Then what is it?” John asked, looking at you, trying to figure his younger sibling out.

🎞️”dunno. It’s summot about that dress” Finn said, eyes raking over you as he tried to figure out what it was and his brother chuckles “easy access, mate.” John said and Finn creased his brows “y’what?” “Sundresses mate, fuckin’ kill me. Easy access innit? Don’t have to even take the dress off” John told him matter-of-factly, necking the rest of his beer in one. Finn’s eyes darkened and John couldn’t hold in his laugh at the realisation that Finn had settled that that was what it was.

🎞️John claps him on the back “if y’wanna sneak off I’ll cover” he said, but by the end of the sentence Finn had already started after you “cheers, mate!” He said to John “sorry, stealing her” he said to Polly and Ada against their judgement, dragging you away from the conversation and into the Peaky office inside the Garrison.

🎞️you giggle at his actions as he locked the dork “what y’doin sill?” You ask “party’s outside!” You say, as he picks you up and holds you against the door, dropping his hands for them to head under the hem of your skirt “right, ‘nd I’ve just figured out that this dress is driving me fuckin’ crazy” he says “you’re fuckin’ insatiable” he says “d’you even know what that means?” You ask and he shrugs “find me a dictionary later or summot.” He says

🎞️”what’s up with the dress” you ask, as he undoes his trousers “easy access innit?”

Aberama🌞

🌞Aberama is a cultured bloke

🌞by that I mean he’s had many a trips around the sun, and in that time good women are few and far between in his opinion

🌞so regardless of you being substantially his younger, he was positive that you were the woman for him and therefore he had to have you.

🌞recently you’d moved into his vardo with him, having left the urban life behind.

🌞he’d woken up one morning to the sun blaring at him through the unclad opening of the vardo, stretching his arms above his head in a mighty yawn, almost certain it was almost midday by this point; especially after the long trek they’d had to get to this sight the night prior.

🌞he reached his arm over, but the spot in the bed was cold and empty, a lone spot where you should’ve been laid. He creased his brows, shooting up in bed to a sitting potion, realising that you were no longer in the vardo at all.

🌞he groaned. Damn you and your early rising tendencies.

🌞he rubbed his eyes and pulled on a pair of undershorts, smirking at the remembrance of the night prior once you’d arrived. He popped his head out of the doorway, looking left and right but curiously not being able to find any trace of you.

🌞he climbed down the steps and placed his hands on his hips, walking around the side of the wooden structure towards the lake that trickled slowly downstream. And that’s where he found you:

🌞his gorgeous bride.

🌞he’d always told you that he never expected you to conform to the traditional gypsy wife role, never needed you to bear him any more children or do the cooking or cleaning. Hell, you could lay around all day doing nothing and he’d look at you with the same adoration he always does. He didn’t even expect you to want to live in a vardo, yet you’d shown up with a bag and a smile when offered.

🌞 yet you refused, you demanded to help. Demanded to conform. You would cook the rabbit he’d kill (given you’d been a bit sick at the initial sight of it). And you’d kill his clothes, paying no mind to any blood shed on it.

🌞you were knelt against the river bank, ringing some clothes out you just washed then placing them into a small wicker basket, in a dress he didn’t quite recognise.

🌞”what y’doin up, sweetheart? Thought I told y’to relax today” he started, beginning towards you. Your head spun and those wide, innocent doe eyes gleamed back at him “had a big journey last night. No good f’little girls to be working the day after” he said, matter of factly with a stern look.

🌞”just wanted to get these clothes washed” you mumble, placing the final garment in the basket. “And what’s this you’ve got on, hmm?” He asked, as you look at your clothes “oh it’s a dress” “Mm I can see that, darlin. Just never seen it before” he tells you and you stand to give him a little spin. “My sister bought it for my birthday” you said and he grunts, gently grabbing your hips to pull you into him and sway you back and forth along with the breeze, dancing to nature’s music.

🌞”well y’know what these dresses are?” He hums and you shake your head, placing both hands on his chest. “These dresses are the kind that mammys wear. The kind you’d wear when they’re all pregnant and swelled up with little babes.” He says, accusingly. “Kind that little wives wear that are asking for a hiding” he warns

🌞”didn’t mean nothing by it, abe. Just thought it was nice” you admit and he smiles “I know you did, princess. Just an innocent little flower y’are.” He shakes his head.

🌞”but y’ve seen the other mammys around the camp haven’t you? Seen how they’ve dressed. Think you know what you were doin’ to your old man” he teases and you shake your head “m too old to be a da’ y’know. Way too bleeding old. Punishing me ain’t ya? Just asking for a little’un” he tuts and you giggle as he picks you up bridal style and carries you back to the bed where he’d began

🌞”Aberama! The clothes!-” “Can fuckin’ wait” he grunts “got a little’un to put in ya first” he says, dropping you onto the bed and lazily flipping up your skirt to do what he did best.

🌞make your skin fucking crawl.

[thomashelbyswife]

Tommy Shelby serving total cunt in glasses requested by: anon <3

[ikinremu]

i have a feeling tommy’s so talented in bed he can make girls squirt… maybe a fix about that!! please and thank you!

Hi anon!! Thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy <3

Messy

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

! Smut warning !

—> drabble <—

Tags: fingering, oral (f receiving), squirtin, praise

“Tommy-“ You mumbled as his head hovered between your thighs, spread gently by his large, splayed hands, veins running prominently under his skin.

“Trust me, love.” He smirked, eyes flickering briefly over your own, the heat of his breath brushing over your exposed cunt - sopping with anticipation. “You can do that, eh?”

You certainly were capable of that, trusting his touch was no issue. You gave a clear nod of confirmation, thighs twitching beneath the possessive grip of Tommy’s fingers, spreading you apart for his taking.

“Such a sweet fuckin’ cunt, isn’t that right?” He groaned out the words, raising a single, tame brow expectantly as his mouth lingered a mere inch from where he knew you needed him most, “Just begging for me, isn’t it?”

Your fingers found securely into the chair beneath you - the very same chair Tommy worked upon everyday, pinned behind his desk. Though today was different, he simply had to have you exactly where you were. And you certainly hadn’t a thing to complain about.

His tongue swept against your soaked folds, stroking slowly upward, eyes set entirely on you. Instinctually, your back formed a soft arch, pushing your trembling hips against his tongue, drawing a chuckle from his lips.

“I know,” He spoke lowly, “Be patient for me.” He instructed, blatantly amused by the manner in which you pulsed against his tongue, “Let me take my time with this sweet little cunt of yours, mm?”

The taunt shot a shiver down your spine, only fuelling your arousal with the gravelly tone he spoke in. You didn’t quite know if you could be patient; not if it meant being unable to touch him for much longer.

Tommy swept his tongue in small, supple circles round your clit, purposefully teasing as he flicked the tip against the swollen nerve, groaning at the mere taste of you on his lips. It was as though he completely lost himself in your taste everytime his head was buried between your legs, tongue thrusting in and out of your bare, drenched pussy.

“Give it to me, good fucking girl.” He uttered, muffled by the warmth of your cunt, snaking his palms over your ass, the silk of your skirt tickling his knuckles as he squeezed possessively beneath.

Your thighs shook a little against his jaw, struggling to maintain steadiness as his lips suckled softly at your clit, making you writhe in pleasure against his desk chair.

Your thighs twitched around his face as his lips suckled softly at your clit, making you writhe against his desk chair.

“Oh my- Fuck-“

Tommy was perfectly aware of the effect he had on you; he knew what he was doing and he absolutely knew he was good at it. It didn’t matter how ever many times you two were together like this, he’d always have you ruined by the end. Like a cycle - one you didn’t wish to end.

His two thick, skilful fingers pressed together, tracing your pussy in time with his tongue, pushing slowly inside the sopping heat.

“Get them wet for me, that’s right.” He encouraged, the lustful words coming out amidst a heavy groan, feeling you soak his fingertips.

A rather loud, breathy sound escaped your throat as they entered.

He thrust his tongue over your clit so very flawlessly, beginning - only gradually - to pump his fingers inside you, curling against your most sensitive spots at a teasing rate.

You allowed your head to drift back a little, eyelids fluttering like blinds over your vision as his smirk brushed your thighs. His tongue further stimulated your clit, drawn between his wet, pillowy lips occasionally as he quickened the pace of his fingers, stroking them over your g-spot.

“There- Fuck, right there..” You mumbled, nodding desperately, harshly gripping the chair as Tommy directed his focus to the very spot you desired.

You clenched hungrily around him, squeezing his fingers tightly, never quite able to resist seeking more.

The pressure of his fingers combined with the utter pace of his tongue was driving you completely insane, making your chest rise and fall at a shallow pace. His hand, warmed and slick by your skin, caressed the curve of your ass eagerly - as if claiming it as strictly his own.

A familiar sensation possessed your stomach, winding like a tight coil as Tommy worked tirelessly against you, the feeling of a release heating within your abdomen.

“Do you feel that, sweetheart?” He muttered against you, fully conscious of the answer, “You love the way I make you feel, hm?”

It was insatiable.

You nodded, a gentle whine fleeing your mouth as your hips bucked hungrily against the pleasure he provided. A breathy sound followed as you felt yourself near the very brink of your orgasm.

He maintained the pace of both his mouth and fingers, endlessly driven by the feeling of you trembling against him, clenching mercilessly around his thrusting fingers.

Suddenly, your orgasm struck, and he showed no intention of halting, fucking you through the intense wave of your release, fingers curling repeatedly against your g-spot. You let out a particularly loud moan, and without a morsel of warning, your arousal coated his tongue, shooting against his mouth as it sprayed down your thighs.

Your eyes couldn’t resist but widen, a gasp slipping your tongue as the colourless release covered his tongue, a smirk tugging at his lips as he tasted you.

“Fuck, come on my fuckin’ tongue, love, that’s right. Feel it.” He encouraged as your breathing grew far heavier, “Let go for me.”

In utter disbelief, you allowed yourself to melt into the feeling, arousal trickling down your thighs, practically soaking your skin - it was unlike anything you’d felt before.

Tommy knew the feeling was fresh, entirely new to your senses, and he only devoured the taste more.

“Oh my- Tommy..” You whimpered as you came down from the feeling, warm skin dripping with your own release. “I’ve never-“

Tommy pressed his open mouth to your upper thigh, hot and slick, trailing his tongue over you, soaking up the taste. You failed miserably to steady your breath, watching his eyes burn a path to your own as he ran his thumb over your sensitive flesh.

“Just look at that.” He taunted, vacant hand utilising itself by cradling the back of your neck, thumb pressing against it as he soothed you, “Shame, all over my desk chair.” He chuckled. “Made a pretty fuckin’ mess of yourself there, eh sweetheart?”

You truly had, and it was blatantly obvious Tommy was overly pleased by the event, satisfaction painting his lips as he studied your marvelling expression, “Let’s clean you up.”

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! I’m working through a lot of requests so thank you for your patience if you’ve sent one in <3

[fandom-puff]

Smutty blurb idea:

You’ve been begging for attention all day and Tommy finally gives it to you with facesitting and overstim 🥺

🫡🫡🫡 haven’t written for Tommy in AGES!! Enjoy x this turned into a bit more than a blurb lol

Attention

Warnings: contains overstimulation, light sim/sub dynamics, facesitting, oral sex,fem!reader

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

You had read the same paragraph of your novel about six times now, and ‘read’ was being generous; rather, you had skimmed over the print, the words blurring and muddling as your eyes drifted to your husband, Tommy.

It really wasn’t fair, the way he sat at his desk, shirtless, smoking and sipping his whisky as he scanned over his paperwork.

Watching the way his muscles twitched as he moved, you let out a longing sigh, but Tommy had made it quite clear that he had to sort through his paperwork before giving you any form of attention- and he had warned you not to be a brat. Brats don’t get any attention at all.

As the clock crawled forward another half hour, you closed your book, setting it aside as you admired your husband.

“What?” He said, feeling your gaze burn through him.

“Oh nothing,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “Just admiring my husband, and willing him to hurry up so he can ravish me,”

Tommy cracked a small smirk. “I’m almost done, love,” he said gently, knowing how work often got in the way of pleasure.

**

True to his word, Tommy was pulling you upstairs ten minutes later, and you couldn’t keep the grin off your face.

Entering the bedroom, you made to get on the bed, but tommy grabbed your wrist. “Get undressed,” he told you, his hands already coming to the buttons of your blouse as he pressed kisses to your neck.

Your blouse fluttered to the floor, soon followed by your skirt, stockings, bra, and finally, underwear. “There she is,” Tommy hummed, his knuckle tracing the outline of your body. Goosebumps sprung under his touch, and you leaned into the hot firmness of his chest.

“How do you want me?” You breathed, not caring if he wanted you from the front of from behind, so long as he just took you.

“On top,” Tommy smirked, shucking down to his boxers and laying down, head propped against the plump pillows. You nodded, waiting for him to lay down, before moving to straddle his hips. “Not like that, love,” he said, and you cocked your head to the side. You had tried reverse cowgirl a handful of times, but it wasn’t your go to: Tommy liked to grasp and slap and suck at your tits, and you liked to bury your head into his neck as he lifted your hips up and down. But still, reverse cowgirl gave him the opportunity to pay attention to your arse, slapping and grabbing it. You began turning around, but tommy grabbed onto your hip. “No… up here, YN,” he said, and he grinned at your confusion. “Come sit on my face,”

Your face went from confusion to shock, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ shape. Of course, Tommy had licked you out countless times before, and you had sat on his face a few times- but they were mostly so that you could suck his cock at the same time. It had been ages since he had you ride his face.

“Come on, love… thought you’ve been waiting for some attention all day,” you bit your lip for a moment, before shuffling up towards his face, straddling his head.

Tommy groaned lowly at the sight of your cunt, just hovering above his face. Despite your hesitation, it was clear to him that you were desperate for his attention, in more ways than one. Fed up with your hesitation, he grasped your thighs, fingers squeezing at your arse, and pulled you towards his mouth.

As his tongue darted out to lick and suck at your clit, trailing up your slit as he lapped at your wetness. Your hands flew to the headboard as your hips bucked, rutting against his face. Shyness dissipated as hot, addictive pleasure flooded your being, and your cries of pleasure muddled with the lewd slurping between your legs, filling the room as Tommy brought you over the edge.

Your hips jolted and shuddered in his hands as you rode out your high, grinding against his tongue. But Tommy did not relent, and as you began shaking and whimpering and squirming away from him, he grasped your thighs tighter, holding you firmly to his face. He was openly moaning into your cunt now, his nose nudging your oversensitive clit as his tongue prodded into your cunt, drinking in your release like it was his lifeline.

“Tom,” you gasped, “Thomas!” One hand grasped at his hair, your nails scratching into his scalp. “‘S too much,” you moaned, but your body betrayed you, hips continuing to circle against his mouth. “Gonna- tommy-fuck! Gonna come again,” you cried, and tommy moved to suck firmly on your clit, pushing you screaming over the edge once more.

Tommy drew one more orgasm out of your overworked cunt, and if your head wasn’t addled with pleasure, you’d have been embarrassed with how quickly you came. Slowly, almost unwillingly, tommy moved you up from his face, helping you lay down as he moved on top of you. “You okay?” He asked, and you stared up at him, smiling dumbly as you nodded. “Good,” tommy smirked, his hand trailing between your legs, making you squirm. “Because I’m not done yet,”

[hottpinkpenguin]

Hey 😊 if your still taking requests for the peakys. Could I please ask for Alfie Solomons with A "ask me to stay" and D "dark secret" female reader. Thanks 💗💗

A/n: that's a wrap on Peaky Blinders requests from June!!! thx to all the lovelies who participated <3

The Wall Between Them - Alfie Solomons X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2362 Content warnings: Domestic violence, reader murders the abuser, abuse, violence, blood/gore, protective Alfie, can't-be-vulnerable Alfie, trying-his-best Alfie, hints of soft!Alfie?

Her hands shook so violently it was a wonder she didn’t drop the pistol. If anyone had been watching the scene before them, they would have credited a guardian angel for guiding the bullet straight to his chest despite the treacherous wobble of the gun. Her eyes were closed when she pulled the trigger, tears streaming down her cheeks and mixing with the blood from her mouth. 

He fell like a sack of bricks. One minute he was lunging towards her, eyes trained on the pistol. A cold fear seized his heart as he saw the terror in her gaze melt away to black rage. All those whiskey beatings, harsh words and hateful years had backfired on him. Then, in the next instant, he died to the ear-splitting sound of a gunshot. 

The silence that followed was so loud she swore it would crush her. The walls around her seemed to be holding their breath. Was he really dead? Did she really pull the trigger? 

She didn’t let herself exhale until she saw a pool of blood - darker than she’d imagined it would be - staining the floorboards underneath him. She dropped the pistol; it landed with a heavy thud at her feet moments before her knees folded on themselves as if made of twigs. She pitched sideways, letting the hallway wall brace her fall as she deflated under the weight of realization. She knew in that moment that it didn’t matter how many times he’d hit her. The ghastly bruises and scars he’d left etched in her skin, the nights her mind had divorced itself from her battered body and wandered the halls like a ghost, the mangled monster he’d grown into… none of it mattered. All that others would see was a dead husband and a living wife with motive, means, and a guilty conscience. Even dead, that horrid man was imprisoning her.

She knew there was only one person who could get her out of this. And so, she wiped the blood from her rapidly swelling lip, picked up the pistol and slipped it into the deep pocket of her apron, and tied up the escaped strands of hair. It had been almost seven years since she’d seen Alfie Solomons, but she still knew exactly where to find him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Boss, there’s a lady here to see you.” 

Alfie barely heard Jack’s murmured comment above the jeer of the crowd. The Irishman was swaying unsteadily on his feet in the pen after taking a nasty round of hits to his right ear. Alfie could see his ear filling with blood. A busted eardrum, likely. Circling opposite him, the burly Hungarian Alfie knew as The Red Devil was snarling proudly as he surveyed his quarry. 

“Fuckin’ finish him!” Alfie called out, lifting a wad of bills in the air like a signal fire. The fight was fixed of course, and Alfie had fixed it. The Red Devil was turning into quite a lucrative investment, but his penchant for theatrics was tiring to Alfie. He preferred a quick win, efficient and clean. 

“Boss?” Jack edged slightly closer, waiting for Alfie’s orders.

“Hm?”

“A lady, boss. There’s a lady here to see you. Asked for you by name.”

“Didn’t book a whore tonight,” Alfie replied simply, waving Jack off as The Red Devil moved in on the Irishman, holding the dazed man’s head as he drove his knee up into the exposed forehead until the bell rang to signal the end of the fight. The crowd erupted into a mix of appreciative cheers, boos, and cries to settle up or place new bets as another pair of fighters moved to the edge of the pen. 

“Don’t think she’s a whore, boss. Looks like a respectable lady. Bit beat up though.” 

Alfie fixed Jack with an incredulous stare. He wasn’t accustomed to his men pressing him on trivial issues like this. Especially not on a fight night. Jack flinched imperceptibly; he was well-acquainted with Alfie’s anger and bore a nasty half-moon scar the framed his left eye from being pistol-whipped after pressing Alfie’s limits. Alfie almost moved to strike him, until something about Jack’s words and the odd look in his eyes plucked at something. 

“She give a name?”

Jack shook his head, eyes glued to the ground. “No. All she said was you were ol’ friends. Childhood friends, I think she said.”

It couldn’t be. Alfie shook his head as if trying to shake out the thought. But, then again, there was only one person he’d ever met who’d claim him as a friend. 

“Beat up, you say?”

Jack nodded. “Lip’s split and she got a shiner.”

A memory flickered across Alfie’s mind. He hadn’t seen her in years, but the last time he had, she’d had a ring of purple and green bruises around her neck. She’d tried to hide it under a high collar dress, but Alfie had her pressed up against the wall of his office, their lips devouring each other, and he hadn’t missed the way she winced when he let his hand slide down the side of her neck on its way to undo the line of buttons at the front of her dress. He knew who’d done it and didn’t need her to say a damn thing. If she hadn’t begged him on her knees - her goddamn knees - to spare that pathetic man’s life, Alfie Solomons would have gutted him nice and slow. 

He hadn’t seen her since. She’d stopped writing, stopped answering her own front door, stopped going to the butcher shop below where Alfie kept a small apartment. He’d had her on every surface of that apartment, rabid with hunger for anything she’d give him. Then she’d just vanished. Told him she was due to be married, couldn’t carry on with him anymore. Alfie knew there’d been a silent request buried in her words. He’d heard her ask it with her eyes. Ask me to marry you, and I’ll leave him. Alfie cursed himself every day for letting that moment slip by like water on rocks. He wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to love someone now then he was back then, but in his quiet moments he wondered if maybe he could have figured it out with her, if only he’d been willing to take that chance.

“Boss? Boss, what do you want me to tell ‘er?” 

The sound of the bell announcing the start of another match jarred Alfie loose from his reminiscences. 

“Nothin’. I’ll talk to ‘er.”

Jack eyed him with surprise, but quickly smoothed the spark of interest out of his features rather than risk another scar from his mercurial boss. He’d never known Alfie Solomons to pause his dealings for a woman. Something about her must have been special. Jack followed his boss out of the smoky, cacophonous warehouse and towards the back of the building where Alfie kept his offices. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alfie felt his fingers dig into the wood of his desk as she stepped out of the shadowy corner of his office and into the soft halo glow of his desk lamp. Her lip was split, blood dried on her chin, and one of her luminous eyes was swollen shut. Murder ripped through Alfie’s blood at the sight of her. 

“Before you say anything, Alfie, he’s dead.”

Her voice sounded different, thin and strained, like someone had scooped out her soul leaving nothing but an echo behind.

“He sure fuckin’ is.” Alfie was shaking he was so bloodthirsty. He couldn’t look at her and risk losing himself. How could it still be so fresh, he wondered, after seven long years?

“No, that’s not what I meant… Alfie, I-, I killed him. I shot him.”

A different man might have been horrified, or maybe even a little impressed. Alfie was none of that. Instead, he felt himself pitch forward over the lip of a hole of despair. 

His voice cracked when he ordered Jack and the rest of the boys out of the office. Once the door closed behind them, she sank down into one of the leather-backed chairs across the desk from him. Desperate to be close to her lest she splinter to pieces, Alfie rounded the desk to perch against its edge, stretching his long legs away from her in an attempt to give her space. She hardly looked up at him. 

“What did he fuckin’ do to you?” Barely more than a whisper. Alfie was glad the light was too dim for her to see that he was treacherously close to tears.

She looked up at him, shocked. Her one good eye gleamed at him. 

“Alfie, did you hear me? I killed him.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. Alfie was full of tender urges and gentle feelings, but his mouth couldn’t seem to give them words or noise. All he knew was harshness and violence. It was the same wall that had kept him from reaching out for her hand and telling her all the things he felt the last night he’d seen her. Here he was, so close he could smell her lavender soap but his affection locked away so tightly and deeply that he couldn’t force himself to touch it even if he tried.

“Nothin’ he didn’t deserve,” he grunted brusquely after a few moments. He dropped his gaze, unable to tolerate the sight of her face bruised and misshapen. He noticed her hands were trembling in her lap. “What do you need, darlin’?”

She stifled a small sob at the sound of the pet name he’d reserved for her. 

“He’s still-... the body, I- I don’t know… I guess-”

“It’s done. Write down your address.” Alfie handed her a pen and paper, watched as she struggled to mark the street name and number legibly. Her knuckles were bruised, he noted with a twisted pang of pride and pain. She’d been fighting back, he realized. All alone these last seven years. And he’d let her. He’d stopped fighting to get to her. Let her close herself off to him. Let himself close off to her. And now, it wasn’t until she’d been pushed to the brink - maybe past it - that she’d come to him, and only because she knew that when violence and darkness was needed, Alfie could do it. But he couldn’t do the other things, the harder things. Like love her, protect her, tirelessly fight for her. 

She tore off the page and handed it to Alfie. He took it without looking at the writing, strode over the door and excused himself from the office. He thrust the paper into Jack’s hands. 

“Take care of it, Jackie. No loose ends, you hear me? I’ll fuckin’ rip you limb from limb if it ain’t done right.” 

He didn’t give Jack or the others time to argue or ask questions before he slammed the door as a dismissal and strode back to her. He reached for her, needing to feel her warmth under his fingertips just to prove she was here. She flinched instinctively, sending Alfie deeper into self-loathing.

“Do they know-”

“It’s done, darlin’. It’s taken care of.” 

Alfie poured himself a glass of whiskey, drunk it down in one gulp, and poured another. 

“Alfie…” 

Her voice was so soft and yearning it broke Alfie in two. He turned to face her. Gods she looked perfect. 

“It ain’t fuckin’ happenin’ again.” The most solemn promise he’d ever made. 

She recoiled from him as if slapped. It took him a half moment to process why. 

“I ain’t lettin’ anyone hurt you. Ever again, you hear me? I’ll fuckin’ burn the world and every hateful man with it, it don’t matter.” It was all Alfie could find the words to say. 

Finally understanding his meaning, he watched her relax in the chair. She eyed him without saying a thing, a strange expression on her face. 

“I don’t want that, Alfie,” she replied softly. “I don’t want any more death. I don’t want to see someone hurt ever again. I just… I just want…” 

Her words trailed off into the quiet. Neither of them knew where the end of that sentence would lead. The space between them stretched and morphed until it felt like an ocean separating them. Strange, that two people who both wanted so desperately to be with each other could feel so far away.

“Don’t set any fires on my account, Alfie.” She rose from her chair and walked towards him, taking the glass out of Alfie’s hand and downing the whiskey with a wince. “Just ask me to stay.” 

Alfie felt his heart run headlong into that same old wall that always kept them apart. Here she was, the only woman who’d ever mattered, literally giving him the words she wanted to hear. And all that Alfie’s tongue wanted to say was more promises of vengeance, of violence in her name, of destruction. 

She watched him struggle, her gaze even but tired. 

“Ask me to stay, Alfie. That’s all I need.”

The openness those words threatened to expose in Alfie Solomons felt like a lit bomb nestled in the cage of his ribs. He choked on the air in his lungs. Come on, you fucker, he thought viciously as he struggled to press back on the urge to run. 

She watched and waited. Each moment, her shoulders sagged a bit more.

“Stay.”

It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, and Alfie spat the word out as if it had poison between its letters. But was it close enough? 

Her heart thought so. She felt a softness take root there, a shred of hope. 

Yes, it was enough. 

She gave Alfie Solomons a soft smile. The way he crumbled at the sight told her enough about his feelings for her. Even if he couldn’t put them into words, she could see the love that she was so desperate to excavate from wherever he stored away the fragile parts of himself.

“That’s enough,” she told him sweetly, lifting a hand to cradle the side of his face. For the first time in seven years, she let herself relax into a man’s touch as Alfie’s fingers found hers…

[wonderlanddreamer]

i please want a hurt/comfort where mr t. shelby gets buried alive and y/n comes to the rescue plz

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Buried beneath the earth, Tommy's only hope lies in your relentless determination as you push beyond all limits to bring him back.

Warnings: Threats, Violence, Emotional Distress.

Tommy Shelby awoke to a suffocating darkness. His first instinct was to move, but the moment he tried, he felt the crushing weight of the earth pressing down on him from all sides. Panic surged through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He forced himself to take shallow breaths, trying to conserve the limited air and stave off the rising tide of claustrophobia.

Buried alive.

The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer. His hands trembled as he felt the smooth, wooden walls of his coffin, the grain of the timber cold and unyielding under his fingertips.

Tommy's mind raced, a torrent of thoughts and emotions swirling in the darkness. Fear, anger, and despair threatened to overwhelm him, but he clung to a single, stubborn thread of hope. He was Tommy Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders. He had survived worse than this—war, betrayal, the constant dance with death. This was just another battle.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to think logically. He needed to find a way out. His fingers traced the edges of the coffin, searching for any weakness, any sign of escape. The wood was solid and unyielding, the nails driven in with cruel precision, but Tommy refused to give up.

As he struggled, he began to pound on the lid of the coffin, the sound of his fists striking the wood echoing back at him in the confined space. He hoped against hope that someone would hear him. His knuckles split and ached, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

The rhythmic pounding became a metronome of desperation. Each impact sent jolts of pain through his arms, but he welcomed it. Pain meant he was still alive, still fighting. And Tommy Shelby was nothing if not a fighter.

Your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and determination as you stepped into the dimly lit alleyway, clutching Tommy's revolver with a steady hand. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced eerily around you. The air was thick with the scent of damp brick and refuse, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Tommy had told you everything you needed to know��who he was meeting, when he'd be home, and what to do if he didn't return. You'd gone straight to Arthur and John, but waiting around helplessly was never an option.

You were going to find him.

Your normally soft and calm demeanour had been replaced by a fierce resolve. The adrenaline coursing through your veins sharpened your senses, and your eyes scanned every corner of the alley with heightened awareness. You'd tracked down the weakest link among the men who had taken Tommy, a low-level thug named Billy, known for his cowardice. He was the kind who folded under pressure, and tonight, he would break.

Billy was leaning against a brick wall, nervously lighting a cigarette. The flickering flame briefly illuminated his anxious face. He barely had time to react before you grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall, the cold barrel of the revolver pressing into his temple with unyielding force.

"Where is he?" you demanded, your voice low but deadly serious, each word laced with an icy resolve that sent shivers down Billy’s spine.

Billy's eyes widened in terror, and the cigarette slipped from his lips, landing in a puddle with a faint hiss. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, his voice quivering, betraying his fear.

You pressed the gun harder against his head, your anger flaring like a wildfire. "Don't lie to me. Tommy Shelby. Where is he?"

Billy's resolve crumbled visibly, but he still hesitated, his eyes darting around as if searching for a way out. That hesitation earned him a swift, hard punch to the gut. He doubled over, gasping for air, his wheeze echoing in the confined space of the alley.

"Talk!" you barked, your voice reverberating off the alley walls, amplifying your fury. "Or the next one won't be so kind."

Billy wheezed, his face contorted in pain, each breath a struggle. "I-I swear, I don't know!"

You didn't have time for this. You grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to his knees. The rough pavement scraped against his skin as he fell. "Wrong answer," you growled, pressing the revolver against the back of his head, the metal cold and unforgiving. "You have one last chance before I paint this fucking alley with your blood."

Billy's resolve shattered completely, his voice a desperate plea. "Alright, alright! They buried him! Out in the old graveyard, near the edge of town. Please, don't shoot! That's all I know, I swear!"

You released him with a shove, and he crumpled to the ground, whimpering. Stepping back, you kept the gun trained on him, your eyes blazing with a mix of fury and determination, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on your shoulders.

"If you're lying, I'll find you again," you said coldly, your voice a promise of retribution. "And you won't get a second chance."

Billy nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face, mingling with the dirt and grime. "I'm not lying, I swear!"

You turned on your heel, your mind focused on only one thing: saving Tommy. With every step you took towards the graveyard, the weight of the revolver in your hand reminded you of who you were fighting for.

Your breath came in rapid bursts as you sprinted towards the old graveyard, each exhale forming a cloud of vapour in the cold night air. The revolver was clutched tightly in your trembling hand, the metal cold and unforgiving. You had sent a frantic message to John and Arthur, but waiting for them was not an option. Every second counted, and Tommy's life hung precariously in the balance.

The graveyard loomed ahead, shrouded in an eerie silence that was broken only by the rustling of leaves in the wind. The moonlight cast long, ghostly shadows over the tombstones, giving the place an otherworldly feel. As you approached, the silhouette of a man standing over a freshly dug grave came into view. Your heart lurched with a mix of fear and steely determination. Tommy was down there, buried.

You moved closer, trying to stay hidden in the shadows cast by the ancient, crooked trees. The man, however, was vigilant. His eyes caught a glimpse of movement, and without warning, he fired his gun. You ducked instinctively, the bullet whizzing past your ear and embedding itself in a nearby tree trunk. Adrenaline surged through you, and you charged forward, driven by the desperate need to save Tommy.

The man met you head-on, and the two of you clashed violently. You swung the revolver at him, but he dodged with practised ease and landed a punch to your gut, knocking the wind out of you. You stumbled back, gasping for air, but your resolve remained unbroken. You lunged at him again, grappling and struggling with every ounce of strength you had. The sound of your scuffle echoed through the graveyard, a cacophony of grunts, curses, and the dull thud of fists meeting flesh.

Below you, in the suffocating darkness of the coffin, Tommy could hear the muffled sounds of the struggle above. His consciousness was slipping, each shallow breath a battle against the crushing weight of the earth. The faint sounds gave him a glimmer of hope, yet a surge of helplessness washed over him. He wanted to fight, to protect you, but he was trapped, barely able to move, let alone breathe.

"Get the fuck away from her," he thought desperately, his fists weakly pounding against the coffin lid. The fear of losing you gnawed at him, making his already limited air supply feel even thinner, his vision blurring as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.

The fight above was brutal. The man managed to get the upper hand, pinning you to the ground with his weight pressing down on your chest. His breath was hot and rancid against your face as he reached for his gun. Panic flared in your chest, but you fought back with all your might, clawing and kicking, refusing to give in.

Just as the man raised his gun to finish you off, a gunshot rang out, and he staggered back, clutching his shoulder. You looked up to see John and Arthur rushing towards you, their faces grim with determination and their guns drawn. They fired again, and the man crumpled to the ground, his threat neutralised.

John and Arthur rushed to your side, pulling you to your feet with a mix of concern and urgency. "Are you alright?" John asked, his voice tight with worry.

You nodded, your breaths coming in gasps, each one a struggle against the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "Tommy...he's down there," you managed to say, pointing to the freshly dug grave.

Without wasting another second, you dropped to your knees beside the grave and began to dig frantically with your bare hands. The dirt was heavy and unyielding, caking under your fingernails and turning your hands raw and bloody, but you didn't care. You had to reach him.

"Hold on, Tommy!" you called out, your voice shaking with emotion. "We're coming! Just hold on!"

With John and Arthur's help, the hole grew deeper. The three of you worked in a desperate frenzy, scooping away the earth that entombed Tommy. Finally, your fingers brushed against the rough wood of the coffin lid. Your hands were raw and bleeding, but you didn't stop. With a surge of strength fueled by sheer willpower, you pried open the lid, revealing Tommy's pale, dirt-streaked face.

"Tommy!" you cried, reaching in to pull him out. His eyes fluttered open, and he took a gasping breath of fresh air, each inhalation a victory over the suffocating darkness that had threatened to consume him.

"We've got you," Arthur said, his voice choked with relief as he helped lift Tommy out of the coffin. "You're safe now."

Tommy's eyes, though glassy and unfocused at first, gradually locked onto yours. Despite his weakened state, the fierce protectiveness in his gaze was unmistakable. "You shouldn't have come alone," he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper, worry mingling with gratitude in his tone.

"I had to," you whispered back, tears streaming down your face as you helped him out of the grave. "I couldn't lose you."

John and Arthur worked quickly, their hands steady despite the gravity of the situation. They supported Tommy on either side, helping him to stand. His legs were unsteady, and he leaned heavily on them. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling his warmth and the steady beat of his heart against your chest. Relief flooded through you, mingling with the lingering fear and adrenaline.

"We need to get him out of here," John said urgently, his eyes scanning the graveyard for any signs of additional threats. "There could be more of them."

Arthur nodded in agreement. "Let's move. Our car's not far."

You helped them guide Tommy towards the exit of the graveyard, moving as quickly as his condition allowed. Each step felt like progress, a step away from the brink of disaster and towards safety. The cold night air was a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the grave, a reminder that you were alive, that Tommy was alive.

As you reached the car, John opened the back door, and you carefully helped Tommy inside. He winced in pain, his body protesting the movement, but he managed a weak smile in your direction. "You really are something else, darlin’," he said, his voice raspy but filled with admiration.

You brushed a strand of hair away from his face, your fingers lingering on his cheek."I told you, Tommy. I'm not losing you."

Tommy managed a faint smile, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "I know, love. I know."

You could feel the weight of the night's events pressing down on you, but there was a sense of peace now that Tommy was safe. You gently cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the dirt and grime. His eyes closed briefly, leaning into your touch as if drawing strength from it.

"You're my everything," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

Tommy's hand reached up to cover yours, his grip weak but full of warmth. "You saved me," he murmured, his voice thick with gratitude. "You always do."

You leaned in, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, bound by a love that had proven unbreakable, even in the face of death.

"I love you, Thomas Shelby," you said softly, your lips brushing against his in a tender kiss.

He kissed you back, his lips warm and reassuring. "And I love you, more than anything," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

You held him close, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own.

As the car sped through the quiet streets, you held Tommy close, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own. The city lights flickered past the windows, casting fleeting shadows across his face. In the cocoon of the car, with the world outside rushing by, you found solace in each other's arms, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hey, could you maybe write something with Tommy where the girl he likes is a bit of a party girl? How would be react to her wild behaviour? 🥂

Hey Anon,

I LOVE this idea! Thank you for sending it in! Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: heavy drinking, fluff, murder, all the good stuff

He sat there watching her dance recounting all the times he’d been black-out drunk. None of them resulted in him dancing like a whore in public. Or laughing so loud it carried over the music. 

He didn't understand how the same woman that had single-handedly got him out of a bind with not only another crime family but also the police, was the same woman here dancing on a table. 

Just hours previous to the celebration she had shot a man and now she was here dancing like she always did. 

The club was dark but the pink dress she wore would glow even with the lights out. Her hair was messed up and somehow looked even better that way. 

When she got like this he wondered somewhere in the back of his mind if she was worth pursuing. Parties were her thing. He’d met her as an event coordinator and while she complained about how boring his events were they had got along very well. 

Too well. 

She was always bombarded with men offering her drinks, expensive trips, and houses in tropical lands, and yet she always came back to him. She wanted to be by his side even in the cold British rain. 

She danced until the song stopped then let out a loud squeal when Esme poured more champagne into her mouth. 

“WE WONNNNN” She called out with her bejeweled fist in the air. Everyone erupted into loud cheers around her. 

Getting into clubs to celebrate wasn't an issue for a Shelby, but she had an even easier time. She once got dared to leap off a loft railing onto a chandelier. Not only was it official lore woven into the fabric of London, the owner just shook his head and laughed when she did it. 

She was a friend, valuable business partner, excellent lover, but could she be a wife? His stomach twisted at the thought of being with someone else, that was a feeling he hadn’t felt since Greta. A frown fell on his face. 

Would that be something she wanted? He looked for her again dancing and singing her heart out. Would she feel trapped? 

The night wrapped up and she crawled across the backseat of the cab. She slumped against him and smiled up at him brightly. 

“I saved you today.” She slurred happily.

“Yes, you did.” He answered with the slightest bit of a smile on his lips. 

“You owe me.” She said bringing a well-manicured finger up to push his nose.

“Is that so” He grabbed her jaw gently keeping her face tilted up towards him. Her eyes flared and he didn't know what he would do without her. Even if she wasn't incredible at her job, and networking, even if she was just a party girl, he wouldn't want to be with anyone else. “How can I make it up to you?” 

“Stay with me?” There was a deep sadness in her eyes that took Tommy by surprise. 

“That’s the plan.” He whispered.

“Stay with me forever?” She clarified and he smiled. 

“Forever.” He kissed the top of her head and handed her the box that had been on fire since he started carrying it weeks ago. He felt like he shouldn't give it to her when she was drunk. It should be some grand gesture, a proper event with people around. That’s what she would want, but he felt like it was the moment. 

Her eyes went wide. 

“SHUT UP” She took the box and gave him one last look before opening it. 

“Would you -” 

“YES -” She let out another squeal waving her hands animatedly. After lots of hugging and screaming she rolled down the window to shout at the people on the street.

“I”M GETTING MARRIED!!!!!!” She pointed to her finger and laughed as random people waved and cheered for her. 

Tommy just leaned back into his seat and enjoyed the pure joy that radiated off of his soon-to-be wife. After shouting at a few more people when stopped at red lights she rolled the window up and climbed onto his lap. 

She pressed her lips onto his and they enjoyed the rest of the ride back to their London apartment.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Omg pleeeease I need a dark/angsty Tommy fic where he ends up hurting the reader? Like an argument gets too heated and he ends up slapping her or something. Like maybe she was flirting and dancing a bit too much with someone at a party they’re hosting and he gets jealous and drags her to their room, then they start arguing and he gets so enraged that he basically sees red and absolutely slaps the hell out of her (some non con/dub con smut after as well???). Just need some heavy, dark, possessive, violent, scary/mean Tommy Shelby 😫 The darker the better lol

Warnings: noncon, p in v + anal, physical abuse, degradation, threats with a gun, some blood play, misogyny, name calling

Hope you enjoy! Thank you!

Tommy watched from afar, seeing you and Ada drunk, giggling like a bunch of school girls at a table filled with men. He may not be able to control his sister but his wife was another subject. People were beginning to stare, especially the men Tommy needed on his good side for now. The dress you were wearing was skin tight, your panties just barely showing through the thin black fabric. 

Tonight was a prestige dinner with delegates that Shelby Limited was in talks for business deals. The plan was too conversate, find weak spots, understand the patterns of movements, but the only thing Tommy was focused on was you, a long with every other man.

Even Arthur made a remark, a statement that angered Tommy even more. “Y/N’s quite the appeal tonight isn’t she?” Arthur chuckled, taking someone’s glass of whiskey and finishing it himself.

“What are you talking about?”

“Look at her, need to cherish her better brother before another man makes a move.” That was it, that was enough. When Tommy slammed his glass down and started to walk away Arthur pulled him back, pleading and convincing Tommy to just allow you to have fun for a night but he wouldn’t listen. Frowning, Arthur returned to the table, grabbing another drink whilst Tommy tried to keep his compusure. Greeting and checking in with the guests before approaching your flailing, inebriated body.

Three tradesman of London were in attendance, the blatant look of disgust from where they stood at the bookcase, giving your husband a look of disapproval before carrying on in conversation.

“Tommy! My husband, come here!” When you attempted to pull him down by the sleeve of his expensive suit, he pulled back, tucking his hands in his pockets, giving you a stern expression that told you to follow him.

Pouting, you crossed your arms, rolling your eyes annoyed, picking up a bottle of champagne before walking away with him, making flirtatious remarks to random men as you wobbled away until you were in the master bedroom.

Closing the door, you fell onto the floor laughing in a disarray of emotions, your vision blurry and your eyes dilated. Tommy pulled the nearly empty bottle from your hands, tossing it into the corner of the room before grabbing your wrist forcing you up onto your feet.

“What the fuck are you doing, eh? Are you stupid, is that it? You know how important tonight is and you go and fucking wreck it, bidding yourself off to other men when you are a married, taken woman.”

“Relax Tommy, we’re just having fun. What the boys can do whatever they damn well please but because of what’s between my legs I’m expected to just be formal, elegant?” Tommy looked at you with expecting eyes, not understanding where the confusion is. There were important men here tonight and seeing you galavanting around like some whore and being incoherently drunk made his blood boil. 

Biting dowm on his tongue and locking his jaw, he pointed with dictation, sapphire eyes raging with fire as he seethed out the following words.

“Yes. It’s that fucking simple. You can’t even fucking stand up straight.” Scoffing, you tiptoed around the room, holding onto the dresser to keep your warm, sweating body from falling. The room was spinning but that didn’t change the anger from the double standard that was always set against you. You hadn’t thought before speaking, the words simply sputtering out what you’ve held in.

“You should be thanking me for flirting with them, without me you’d have nothing. I’m simply the means to an end to the shit deals you can’t make on your own.”

Tommy cut you off with the back of his hand slapping across your cheek ferociously, silencing you for good. Grabbing for the bruising skin, you looked back at your husband in shock and fear. He’s never, ever layed a hand on you.

When you ran for the door, he was faster, shoving the wooden object closed with his hand and yanking you back by the strands of your hair, pushing you carelessly onto the bed.

His hands tightened around your wrists as he shoved his hardened member upward against your mound.

“I’d have nothing eh? I’ll show you what it’s like to be treated like you’re nothing.” 

Screaming hysterically, you wept as Tommy ripped the expensive gown, exposing the bare, delicate skin of your thighs. Hitting and fighting against his chest to push him away, he simply lifted his hand, slapping you harshly once more to stop the whining. 

You pressed your hand gently against your temple, a headache forming in the core of your mind from the impactful blow. 

Hearing the buckle of his belt, you panicked but were too weak to defend yourself from the man who claimed to be your husband.

“Maybe if you had just listened and weren’t a fucking whore tonight we wouldn’t be in this postion. Someone’s forgotten their place eh?” Pushing the thin laced fabric of your panties aside, he thrusted upward, letting his thick length penetrate you without any lube. Writhing and seething in pain below him, tears prickled at your eyes, not recognizing who was staring at you anymore.

Spitting at his face, he smiled slyly, a dark twisted grin bellowing at what you had done.

Returning the favor he spat back, hitting you once more with a forceful, strong slap that echoed through the room and knocked out your hearing in one ear.

“Don’t forget sweetheart. I own you, you’re my property.” Wrapping his hands around your throat, you struggled for air as he drilled into your dry cunt, shredding open the sensitive skin like a grater would cheese. Blood slowly leaked out from your pussy, the ability to scream non existent as your airway was constricted, bruising as his nails dug into your skin.

When your hands reached up to try to push him away from your neck, desperate for air, he shed himself of his tie, wrapping the fabric around your wrists tightly to the headboard and shoved his underwear in your mouth. 

Slapping your cunt repeatedly, he mocked your whimpers, feeling your walls slowly start to produce your sweet syrup against your will.

“How pathetic, is this what you wanted? Someone likes me cock, who knew my wife was a little fucking whore.” Screeching beneath the makeshift gag, your skin seethed in pain, wanting nothing more for this to be over.

His hands grasped at your breasts, tugging and pulling at your nipples, smitten by how easily your body gave in to him. 

Flipping you over onto your stomach, he spread your ass cheeks, pulling the fatty skin apart finding that tight, untouched hole you’d been denying him for so many years, now he was going to take it for himself.

There was nowhere for you to go, your eyes searched, panicked looking for anything to get you out of these bindings, but there was nothing. 

Aligning himself with your taint, you could feel the rounded head of his shaft resting at your virgin entrance. Every bone and muscle in your violated body tensed when his head pushed through your strained, congested walls. You screamed in agony as he wasted no time burying himself balls deep in your taint.

“Oh fuck…Didn’t know you could feel this good love. My little slave, that ass devouring me cock. About time I reminded you of your place. Nothing but a slut, a mere stupid little bitch.” He moaned in between thrusts as he fucked your anus, pounding your ass up and down on his shaft while holding the cheeks of your ass roughly. The sporadic pain was different than your pussy, far more intensified. It didn’t feel like stinging anymore, the size of his penis sent flames of fire through your hole.  

When he buried his neck into the crook of your neck while he continued to pump relentlessly into you. You fumbled with the bindings while he wasn’t paying attention. 

Realessing a choked sob, you were on the verge of being free, fidgeting with the tight knot with a tremendous effort, working over the fabric through the tears and painful agony, but you weren’t as smooth as you thought. Tommy’s hand shot up, slamming down on yours and pulled you arms behind your back, causing the gag to fall out in the process.

“Help! Help! Ah-“ Striking you in the back of your waeay head, he shoved his fingers between your lips, invading your mouth and pulling at the sides of your lips.

“Shut the fuck up. Listen to me, are you listening sweetheart?” You whimpered through his fingers, nodding your head, squeezing your eyes closed in a pained expression when he thrusted his cock violently with a force of strength and dominance.

“No one is coming to your rescue, you belong to me, and I have the right to use and abuse my property all I want and you will listen, or suffer the consequences as you are right now. Get up.” Tommy pulled you onto his lap, reinserting his lengthy shaft into your soaking wet walls. You mewled from the discomfort, struggling to make eye contact with Tommy. 

His lips connected to your hardened nipples, biting down on the flesh harshly, aiming to draw blood. Slapping you across the face once again, your head whipped to the other side fiercly.

“Ride me. Go on, you claim to be so great in bed to those men out there. Can’t treat your husband the same?” Another backhand, before his hand gripped the fat of your ass cheeks, slamming you up and down on his cock, an immense joy curdling within him from seeing your pathetic tears.

Then an idea struck you, if you’r just get him off surely he’d let you go. A satisfied grin spread across his face when you began to rotate your hips, staring slowly at first before picking up speeding. 

“Ah, fuck, that’s it love. Show me what that worthless cunt can do.” You continued to whine and whimper as you rode his cock, your ass landing on his thighs with each powerful bounce, your breasts flying up and down for his amusement.

You could feel him begin to pulsate, he was close, very close.

Arching your back, Tommy focused in on your pussy devouring his lengthy member with each pivotal motion of your hips. Your walls tightened, constricting his length, and within seconds his seed was filling your tortured void, flooding into your ovaries.

At that moment you moved as fast as lightning, taking the lamp and smashing it over his head to try to escape his bitter soul. Rushing to put clothes on, you ran to the door, thinking that someone would help you but Tommy wasn’t weak and you were nowhere nearly as strong as him. He was quick to recover, but not as quick as you. Throwing on a nightshirt and slipping on the closest thing to work as underwear, you opened the door just nearly out when Tommy pulled on his pants, rolling over the bed and running, rushing toward you, slamming the door closed once again. 

You punched the door in defeat, frightened to turn around until he forced you to, pulling out something you’d never thought he’d use as a threat to you.

“If you think I am playing some sort of sick game, you are sadly mistaken sweetheart. Now get back on the fucking bed, you’ve done enough tonight.” Removing the safety, he pointed the gun directly on the middle of your forehead, the cool metal barrel sending chills down your spine. Is this what your marriage had come to? How were you supposed to move forward from this catastrophic night? Surely people would notice the bruises but then again, no one ever questioned Tommy Shelby, not anyone that gave a shit about their life.

Surrendering you rose your arms, the shaking of your trembling hands visible. The man facing you, you no longer recognized. There was no guilt, or shame, or any type of love present in those venomous, frigid eyes, he really wasn’t joking. Making your way back to the bed, you tucked your head onto the pillow, weeping relentlessly into the case of the feathered object. Tommy layed the gun down on the table, taking a seat beside you. You flinched away from his cold, heartless touch, terrified of what was to come next.

“I need to go back and entertain our guests. You stay here and be good. Can you do that?” He twisted your labia, pinching the sensitive skin, causing you a tremendous amount of pain, reminding you what could happen if you don’t listen.

Nodding with fearful, tired eyes, you watched as Tommy dressed himself, and stayed in your fragile position on the soiled sheets, eventually crying yourself to sleep in the dark room.

[novashelby]

The Storm That Heals Us~ Tommy Shelby x Cancer patient!Reader: Angst

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Triggering topic such as cancer

Word Count: 1,223

Summary: Tommy's wife is diagnosed with cancer and tries to hide it from him because they have a rocky marriage

This was requested by anon a while back. I hope it is okay. I don't do well with the topic of cancer

We’ve only been married a year. They say three is a lucky number. I was supposed to be the lucky number. But truth be told, nothing about our marriage had been lucky. In the midst of all his darkness, I was convinced he married me for emotional convenience. But when Tommy Shelby found out I wasn’t going to be walked on or over, we started fighting more. A hot head and one who hates to be wrong. It’s a bit tricky to figure out which one of us is which. Perhaps we are the same person and that is why we suck together. 

But that is not why it’s unlucky number three. Just last month I was bathing, feeling the warm soapy water encasing my body. When I dragged the sponge over my right breast, something seemed off. Something seemed tender and bruised. Quickly, I threw the sponge in water and felt around with my hand. There was a small lump, but nonetheless a lump. If I was anyone else, I would have assumed a pimple or swollen hair follicle, but I’m not anyone else. It’s the family curse. My great grandmother, my grandmother, my two aunts, and my mother have all found the lump. Thankfully for my mother, she was able to get it treated. But I am doomed for bad luck. That’s what Tommy tells me everytime something happens. “You have that fookin’ luck…that bad luck.” 

As soon I found that fucking lump, I went to the doctor only to get confirmation of what I already knew. I hate to say that the first thing that left my mouth was, “how long?” But the doctor sighed. They always sigh. 

He told me, “Well, it’s small. We’ll remove it and do some radiation treatment-”

“And lose my hair?” I also hate to say that was the second question, but Tommy loves my hair. Sometimes I think what he loves about me is thinning with each day.  

I never told Tommy about the procedure, and one night, when he went to run his hand over my body, I stopped him. It was as if I was repulsed by him. Just as I knew, Tommy didn’t take very kindly to my refusal. He sat up, looking at me before saying, “is this how our marriage is going to be now?” We sat side by side, under the covers on the bed. He replaced my breast in lieu of a cigarette.

“I don’t feel well,” I said, and his response made my blood boil. 

“You never feel well anymore,” he said. “I’m starting to think it’s me. Perhaps we should discuss something that will make you feel better.” There was always a tone of threat. He dealt with his lovers as he did his business partners. 

That was it for that night. 

Which brings me to now. The bathroom floor feels cold against my clammy body. I puked up my dinner which was nothing, but a few biscuits and a glass of milk. Milk is a no-no for my new stomach, I’ve learned. But as I’m on this bathroom floor, I realize. I realize that Tommy will know. He will figure it out. My body will thin out, I’ll be bruised, and my cheeks will sink in. Nevermind my hair that is already falling out in clumps. As I hear his footsteps approach, I try to gather myself to save face, but moving just makes it worse. My body feels like it’s on a merry go round, and I cling to the toilet once more. At this point, as I feel the burning acid climb up my insides, I don’t know what I am throwing up. It is a clear bile. 

As I am hunched over, Tommy walks in and asks, “are you pregnant?” Oh, how easy that would have been. 

I turn to him, face pale. I could see myself in the mirror. My eyes look sunken with heavy bags. “No.”

He sighs. “Have you seen a doctor?” he asks like I am dumb.

I’m blunt. “Yes.”

“Well?” he presses, coming inward, leaning on the bathroom vanity, puffing on his smoke. Always a smoke. Before I can answer him, I beg him to put it out.

“The smell, Tommy-”

“How far along are you?” he asks, disregarding the fact I told him I’m not pregnant. “Funny enough, love, we haven’t fucked in two months. Every night I wait for your comfort. Perhaps you’re going elsewhere for it-”

“I’m not pregnant, Tommy.” My head is boiling at this point and I feel my temper on the verge. I sit up, resting against the toilet, trying to catch my breath. He’s not convinced, I can see it in his face. How he’s half ignoring me. 

“You know,” he starts, pointing a finger my way. “I do fuckin’ love you. You married me, thought you understood the way I am-”

“Tommy,” I plead, closing my eyes. “Please.” But he goes on and on about how I betrayed his trust, but he still loves me and wants to work through whatever it is. 

“But that fuckin’ baby is going-”

“I’m not fuckin’ pregnant!” I yell at him in a tone I never dared to before. It was enough for him to get a bit startled. He is about to say something else when I say, “I found a lump on my right breast.” Tommy pauses mid-smoke, and looks over at me, eyes knitted. “A few weeks ago, maybe a month ago now…I don’t know. They ran a test-”

“You never told me,” he says in this low, depressing whisper that makes me feel like every problem in the world is my fault. Tommy finds his way to the bath basin and sits on the edges. He throws his lit smoke in the sink and runs his fingers through his hair. “And you never thought to tell me?”

“I didn’t want it to be another burden-”

“What?” He turns to me, face like a ghost. He slides to the marble flooring next to me. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. I feel him tenderly grab me by the face, placing me in his lap. His chin rests on my head. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, love, I’m…love, you should have told me?” This was the Tommy I met and agreed to marry. The one who is tender and loving, smooth talking and sweet. I twist in his lap and his hand rests on my cheek. “I’m scared to ask-”

“It’s early enough,” I say, nodding, swallowing the lump down. “But it doesn’t feel any better-”

“No, no it doesn’t,” he agrees, leaning down to place a kiss on my forehead. “God, love, I love you so much. And I just…I've been so selfish. From now, you and I are going to go through this together-”

“Tommy, Tommy, please,” I whisper. “Just lets not act all weepy-”

“I’m not,” he protests, gripping my chin. “I’m taking care of you because if you have forgotten, I am your husband.” Yes, I have forgotten, but at this moment, I forgive it and soak up his affection. I need every inch of tenderness I can get my hands on. And so, I move on and relax into his words. “I love you.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” I say before quickly adding, “I love you, too.” 

[warnersister]

How the peaky boys react when dating a girl with a praise kink (nsfw) -> headcannon

Goes without saying, nsfw warning

Find the request here, sorry it took so long

Tommy🪖

🪖Tommy had you figured out before you’d figured yourself out.

🪖He knew what was going on in your head before your did.

🪖You were working late one Friday at the Garrison, of course many working men joyously engaging in Friday night drinking and drunkenness while their wives whittled wistfully back home.

🪖You weren’t expecting the Blinders tonight, but of course you’d always find room for the Peaky boys in this establishment, regardless if you were chocker with customers that the bar didn’t really have the capacity for. The door chimed and you spun, peering to see if you had the numbers to accommodate the x amount of customers you had walking through your door.

🪖”Evening boys, meeting or drinks?” You ask, readying yourself to go clean the business Roman that was wordlessly their property. “Just drinks tonight, love” Tommy answered with a small smile and you nod, placing your hands on your hips; balled into fists while you ponder around to find their empty table.

🪖You notice a table of rowdy youngsters occupying the usual Shelby spot and you narrow your eyes at them, internally questioning if you had the inner morals to boot paying customers out of their seats.

🪖”Be a good girl and get us a booth please, sweetheart” Tommy asks, well instructs, as he lights up another cigarette.

🪖He noticed the way your eyes darkened at his request and your lips parted slightly. You nodded. “Of course Tommy, give me a moment lads” you say, heading to the young gentleman to ask them to either head to the open seats at the bar or get gone.

🪖"hiya lads, sorry to bother.” You say as you approach the lot who look at you in question “but I’m afraid we need this booth, happy to serve you up at the bar or I’m sure another will open soon” you wince, apologetically. One scoffs. “Why should we? We’re paying customers?” He asks, beginning to instigate somewhat of an issue, when Tommy swoops in “I believe she asked you nicely” he grunts, and it was almost awe-strucking watching how fast the boys scampered out the door with mediocre apologies.

🪖Thomas wanted to test his small hypothesis again, placing a gentle hand on your lower back “such a good lass to your old Tom, aren’t you?” He hums and he watches as your jaw slackens and you swallow on your own saliva, beginning to stumble around a response. “My pleasure, Tom”

🪖And then a few months later, when he’d taken you out a couple of times you were more widely known as Tommy’s girl than you were your own name.

🪖It was again a Friday evening, usual crowd shuffling to their places and so were the boys.

🪖“evening boys” you smile, handing an older man his shandy as he makes his way back to his missus who was still sipping on her gin.

🪖“evening sweetheart” Tommy smiles, leaning across the bar to peck your lips as the rest of the boys head to their normal spot.

🪖business as usual

🪖you begin pouring their beers automatically, following Tommy to the table with umpteen pints and of course an apple juice for John, whom you’d cut off from alcohol.

🪖“good girl” Tommy applauds as you hand them their drinks, quiet enough that the rest of his rough crowd didn’t hear but loud enough for you to become unsteady on your feet.

🪖you didn’t know when you’d agreed to go home with Tommy. You don’t even remember locking the door to the Garrison. But now he had you buried deep beneath him as he rutted into you and there was nothing you really cared about more right now. If there was a problem you can deal with it when you were finished.

🪖he was trying to coax it out of you. Trying to coax out the fact that you revelled in it when he praised you. And it got him off to see that when other blokes such as Harry called you a ‘good lass’ for a decent shift, you didn’t bat an eyelid.

🪖“Come on love, got one more in you haven’t you?” You shook your head at his question, almost hoping that he’d let you rest after your third. “C’mon sweetheart, don’t you want to be a good girl for your Tommy?” He asks and you nod up at him through dazed eyes. “Hmm?” He asks, holding your jaw still with one hand while the other held him up above you. “Please. Please Tommy. Wanna be good for you” you mumble out, and he smirks - rutting into you at yet again, another relentless pace.

🪖”that’s it. Such a good girl f’me. So so good” he praises as your moans progressively get louder as you mewl beneath him.

🪖and eventually, when you’d both calmed down, he looked at you and smirked “good girl aren’t you?”

🪖”shut up Tom.”

Alfie🧸

🧸Eats that shit up, no crumbs, licks the plate clean.

🧸already kind of babies you, he doesn’t mean too. You’re a few years his younger and as your husband he sees it as his job to protect and provide for you while doting and taking care of you like any good man should.

🧸then one night he comes home a bit late from the bakery, readying to apologise when he’d noticed you’d just finished cooking dinner. “Well here I was all soppy and ready to apologise to you, yeah. And no, my good little girls just gone and made dinner!” He says, almost chuffed. You giggle and plate up the food, sitting across from him as he begins to eat.

🧸”what ‘y doing over there, then?” He scoffs “c’mere.” He instructs as you move to sit in his lap and he relishes in the meal you’d prepared “you’re so good to your old man, aren’t you?” He hums “so so good” he exclaims, only trying to show his appreciation but he noticed your pupils dilate at his words. He brushes it off, nothing major.

🧸later in the evening his sciatica was playing up so you wordlessly left the room to go draw him a bath with some new salts you’d bought from your elderly neighbour whom your husband refused to speak to on account of her being ‘a witch’ as he said.

🧸”oh you are a good’un aren’t you, poppet?” He hums, as he enters the room, allowing you to help him undress and get into the bath, afterwards preparing to make your leave and get him some medicine from the cupboard downstairs.

🧸”and where do you think you’re going?“ he questions, and you raise a brow “to get you some medicine” “I need no such thing. Now get in here w’me.” He grunts and you do as he says, never one to turn down a good relaxing soak in the bath with your husband.

🧸”there you are, good girl aren’t you? Always listening to your old man. What did I do to deserve you. So perfect” he rambled, and doesn’t notice the ever hazing glint in your eye and when he finally looks down at you he narrows his eyes and finally realised what that look was.

🧸his praises got you going.

🧸”tell y’what would make y’old man feel so much better,” he hums and you cock your head ready to help his pain ease “if you be a good girl f’me and give us a distraction” he suggests and you see the smirk unveiling under his beard, as he reaches for your thigh to pull you over his lap and to settle atop of him. “Seeing as you asked so nicely” you mumbled into his shoulder, as you began to rock against him.

🧸”there you go, there’s a good girl” he says as you come undone on top of him and collapse onto his chest, stroking your back gently with one hand and holding you close with the other. “Y’want to move, poppet he asks?” And you shake your head, eyes closed as you recover.

🧸 as soon as his sciatica pain eases up, he was going to abuse that little trick as often as he could.

Arthur🍺

🍺poor baby needs just as much praise as you do. Thinks he’s a shitty partner

🍺but god when he found out it was like finding the fucking Magna Carta.

🍺it was his ticket out of everything. Came home drunk? “I’m so sorry, you’re so good for putting up with me” In a fight? “you’re such a good wife for patching me up” literally anything you’re not agreeing on? “Oh my good girl”

🍺he’d found out when you were already buried beneath his, mewling as he took out his frustrations on you rather than the man he was originally destined to kill that day.

🍺”y’better feel good about y’self.” He grunts “man’s life was saved cause of you, you and this fucking insatiability.” He thrusts and you groan “please” you number “hmm? Feel good? Little saint you are, fuckin’ angel. Stopped me killin’ a man. Wanna get me into heaven do y’angel? Huh? That’s where you’re sending me?” He asks and you groan louder.

🍺”yeah, cause you’re such a good girl aren’t you?” And that’s when you let out the most gluteal pornographic moan that almost stopped his movements, instead it pushes the throttle and sends the both of you over the edge.

🍺”god Id’ve spared hundreds of men if it meant I got to hear that from you”

John🥃

🥃The Shelby family were enjoying an afternoon at the Garrison. Given, it was incredibly backed with gang members and people dissimilar; still the atmosphere was was light and full of laughter.

🥃you’d volunteered for the Saturday shift seeing as Harry needed extra help nowadays seeing as the customer numbers were ever growing.

🥃John was flirting with you, as ever. While you just rolled your eyes at his antics and offered him another drink.

🥃”blimey, I need to drop drinkin’ the hard stuff. I’m seeing an angel!” John feigned surprise, as he took his cap off his head to greet you, plopping it onto your own as he leaned in to kiss your cheek sweetly. “And I’m seeing a man who’s had one too many. I’m cutting you off” you warn, wagging a finger at him. “Well I do like a lady who takes care of her man” he smirks, but was cut off by a voice that altered the atmosphere in the bar.

🥃”I am looking for Thomas Shelby” the voice announced, and you felt uneasy; John’s face darkened as he clearly recognised the man who was a stranger to yourself. You look to the rest of his family who have a similar stature to him on their faces.

🥃”get behind the bar flower” John mumbles to you calmly, “that’s a good girl. Stay down there, sweetheart” he coos as you duck your head out of sight and into the small crawl space under the kegs.

🥃As the conversation continued, John looks over the counter to you discreetly. And your large doe eyes look back, and he could see the trust in them. He leans his hip against the oak bar edge, holding his hand over and motions for you to give him your own. You thread your hand with his, and he strokes the back of your knuckled gently; giving it a squeeze as Harry instructs them to take this out of his pub.

🥃John gives you one last reassuring squeeze of the hand before grabbing an empty beer bottle and heading out the door with his brothers. A few minutes, a couple of shouts and a gun shot the three walked back in as if nothing had happened.

🥃John leans over the bar “y’alright now, good lass” he says as you peer back up and get back up from your seat on the bar. He rests his arms against the wood and grins at you. “Let y’old John reward you f’ being such a good girl, hm?” He raises a brow and honestly expects nothing from his advance.

🥃you look at the clock on the wall and decide Harry could fend for himself for a while. You look at John and wet your lips, leaning down and grabbing his collar to bring him closer to you. “Meet me in the back”

🥃He jumped over the bar.

Bonnie🥊

🥊revels in it without really meaning too.

🥊also uses it to his advantage. He doesn’t mean it, honest.

🥊you were knelt in front of him, sitting back to rest on your ankles as you wrapped his hands for his fight. “You’re so good t’me, thank you angel” he thanks, stroking your jaw with his thumb.

🥊he knew what he was doing to you. Trying to get in your head.

🥊since he’d fallen hard and fast he’d decided that you were it for him. You were his and he was yours and nothing else. Especially when you agreed to live out his gypsy fantasies with him and give up the traditional home you were so accustomed too.

🥊and he was convinced you’d make the best mum.

🥊so this little praise obsession of yours was the perfect way to sway you onto his wavelength.

🥊”you’re gonna be great tonight, Bon” you say, smiling at him comfortingly. “M nervous” he mumbles and you shake your head, holding his hands in yours “it’s gonna be fine, just go out there and do your best. I’ll always be proud of you.” You say and he seems to settle slightly. “Y’d be such a good mother, darling” he tells you, moving some loose hair out of your face and behind your ear.

🥊he notices a slight blush on your cheeks, and decides to pry. “BONNIE; TIME!” His dad shouts through the door and you tap his leg, standing up to give him his good luck kiss. Instead, he slowly walks you back until your back hits the wall, two wrapped hands caging you.

🥊 “hmm, would’y like tha’? A mammy?” He asks and you stare up at him with dazed yet wide eyes. “Oh you’d be such a good mammy. So caring, so sweet. Y’so good t’me imagine how good y’d be to a young’un.” He hums, resting one hand on your waist. “So, so good” he bumps his nose with yours. “Then I’d marry y’a.” He continues “be a good wife too. The best. Such a good girl” he coos and you audibly whine and he smiles.

🥊”y’d like that? Gonna let me make y’a mammy?” He hums, ghosting his lips over yours “BONNIE!” His dad reiterates and Bonnie huffs. “Y’can do whatever Y’want to do to me, bon” you reply hazily and he smiles as you lean up to kiss him deeply, pulling away to lean your forehead on his, hands cradling his face. “After your fight.” You nod and he raises his brows “promise?” You smile back “promise.”

🥊fastest knockout he’d ever done.

Isaiah♟️

♟️uses it against you. Purposefully

♟️defo teases you for it

♟️you’d be at the garrison, having gone accompanying your twin brother Finn and expecting to see your boyfriend there eventually when you weren’t in your usual spot at home.

♟️he’d turned up around half and hour after you had, only looking to get a drink defo not looking for you.

♟️he sees you at the bar, yet by your side was some bloke he didn’t recognise. Some six foot slime ball with his hair slicked back so far it looked like it created a permanent surprised upkeep on his eyebrows. His suit was brand new, Isaiah assumed the tag was still tucked into a pocket somewhere for him to return and scrounge in the morning.

♟️and why were you talking back?

♟️you were drinking something dark, presumably the alcohol Isaiah preferred for you not to have.

♟️had he bought it you?

♟️Isaiah stormed his way over, fully prepared to lay out the man talking to you and throw you over his shoulder and lead you straight out of the pub; but the conversation you were having with the boy stopped you.

♟️”what d’y say love, wanna get out of here?” He asked “and for the fifth time. No. My husband will be here any minute. He’s a blinder y’know?” You scoff “well he ain’t here now, is he?” He asked you when Isaiah sweeper in and pressed his gun to the man’s temple “isn’t he?” He asked, cocking it as the man before you swallowed and visibly began to sweat.

♟️”I suggest you take yourself out of this pub, out of Birmingham and fucking away from my woman.” He grunts, and the man immediately scampers. Then Isaiah looks to you, and the relief decorating your face is immediately apparent.

♟️”oh Isaiah I’m so sorry I tried to get rid of him-” you begin and then your boy begins to smile “your husband?” He asked, raising a brow cockily and you begin to rock back onto your heels “just wanted to get rid of him” you mumble, and he wraps hands around your waist and settles them on the small of your back.

♟️”you’re so good to me, aren’t you doll?” He asks, smirk growing “rejecting other men f’me?” He hums and you nod “y’know good girls get rewarded, don’t you?”

♟️or when you’re not behaving as he’d want you too.

♟️”where d’y think you’re going?“ he asks as you open the door.

♟️”Ada invited me for drinks” “y’not going, not safe. Not w’them Italians crawling round” he instructs, expecting you to shrug off your coat and come join him in the lounge. He turns but hears the door click shut. And when he’d looked, you were gone.

♟️he was fucking fuming, livid, murderous.

♟️and when you’d shown back home at 2 in the morning, hiccuping, he was already stood at the door with his arms crossed.

♟️you smiled “hi Isaiah” you giggled, but he didn’t say anything as he walked you backwards and your back hit the wall. “In what fucking world does a woman not listen to her man?” He asked and you were immediately silenced. “Hmm?” He asks “why did you think you could just go out without me, you know how dangerous it is” he says “well-” “good girls don’t disobey their men, d’they princess” and he noticed how you cowered and sunk into your shell.

♟️he threw you over his shoulder and carried you up the stairs, rutting into you in the bedroom more times than you could count telling you how disappointed in you he was and every time you were close to release, he’d stop and tell you why you didn’t deserve it.

♟️he loved torturing you.

Michael🎱

🎱so belittling with it.

🎱loves to use it against you whenever he can because it always means that he wins

🎱the first time he’d sussed this little predicament of yours out was when you were entertaining him while his brother dealt business with your father deep within the Cotswolds.

🎱you’d served him tea and polite conversation, talking about your purity and how much he idolised you.

🎱”and you’ve no husband?” He asked and he placed his cup on his saucer you and you straightened your posture before responding “no, no husband” you confirm and he is forced to stifle his smirk “well you’d make the perfect wife” he tells you and he notices how you swallow harshly “well that comes appreciated, mister gray” you reply and he narrows his eyes.

🎱and then when you were married and doting on him, he’d always remind you of how he impacted you.

🎱he knew just how to get to you. “Dear, go be a good girl and fix me a drink” and you’d do so. “I’ve got to go to London for the week. Be a good lass and don’t leave the house” and you wouldn’t.

🎱and sometimes he’d take you to family meetings. Personally believing that the women shouldn’t really be at these meetings. But a quick slap to the head from his mother soon sorted him out.

🎱and then he walked in on John shamelessly flirting with you, and he knew full well you weren’t meaningfully engaging with his cousin, it’s what you were taught to do from a young age. But still, you were engaging.

🎱”flirting with my woman, John?” Michael grunted, entering the room to which the former rolled his eyes “just showing her what a real man could give her” he winked at you before swaggering out of the room. “Why did you entertain him?” “I didn’t-” “thought you’d promised to be a good girl for me tonight?” And that shut you right up. The desire to be praised overpowering all.

🎱 “how ‘bout you make it up to me tonight, sweetheart?”

Finn🎞️

🎞️for his whole life, Finn has always been overshadowed by his older brothers. So being able to have so much control over you was so addictively intoxicating that he just loved to abuse his power.

🎞️and he’s at that age in his early twenties when his hormones are heightened and all he wants to do is act like a rabbit in a hutch during mating season.

🎞️and sometimes you weren’t up for it.

🎞️not until he figured you out.

🎞️he’d had you going for three rounds. Overwhelmed from how his brothers had been belittling him all day during business meetings and finally finding a vector to take it out on.

🎞️you’d come undone beneath him, very exhausted from the relentlessness of his actions, when he blurted out “fuck you’re so good at this” as he released inside of you. You mewled and whined, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Again” you mumbled and he raised his brows “you sure?” He asked and you opened his eyes as he recognised how your irises had deepened two shades and smiled giddily “well alright then”

🎞️so whenever he needed something or someone to release his frustrations on all he had to do was stroke your cheek and call you “my good girl” and you were pretty much tearing his clothes off.

🎞️and even sometimes when he’s upset he uses it to tell you just how much he appreciates you. When times are particularly hard and when he just can’t cope with situations; he’d let you hold and cradle him and rock him back and forth while silent tears sunk down his face “you’re so good to me” he’d mumble over and over again in a sleepy voice until he’d fallen asleep in your arms and you’d manoeuvred him into a comfortable position as his arms tightened around you.

Aberama🌞

🌞oh god this man is insatiable.

🌞defo calls you his ‘good girl’ and doesn’t give a fuck who hears it.

🌞likes to shelter you from everything in this horrible world, thinks it’s his job to protect and shadow you from anything. You were just a dainty young thing with no clue, someone had to step up and he decided he was the man for the job.

🌞just loved to take good care of you so those for eyes stayed innocent and undamaged. Bare and pure unlike his that were darkened and locked with such an intricately pessimistic past

🌞one day Thomas Shelby decided to pay a visit to the camp and Aberama had beckoned you over and you did as you were told, he motioned for you to lean closer as you approached him. “Need you to stay out of the way for a while sweetheart, can you do that for me, is that alright? Just until he goes?” He asks with sweet eyes. You smile and nod at him “good girl, off you go” and you were off into the woods to pick some berries for a recipe you had an idea for.

🌞eventually he’d come looking for you, find you deep into a bush trying to reach a berry that you’d just had to have but couldn’t quite get too. He’d stayed back for a while, leant against a tree while he admired you. Until he’d felt the masculine desire to aid his lady. Coming behind you and placing his hands on your waist as he leant to grab the berry for you. You’d gasped but turned to see him, smiling brightly at him. “Thank you” “anything for you” he replied, pecking your lips gently.

🌞”always willing to help my special girl” he says “can always count on you can’t I?” And the grin turns into a gaping expression, wide and heavy eyes looking at him and he’d decided he had to have you right then and there.

🌞he’d hiked the skirt of your dress up to your waist and told you how much he appreciated you as you screwed your eyes shut and threw your head back.

🌞then he’d carried your worn out, sleeping figure bridal-style back to camp with your basket selection of berries resting in his arm as he looked down at you lovingly.

[red-riding-wood]

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

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

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

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

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

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

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

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

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

Until he came along and ruined everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined. 

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

“But a king nonetheless.”

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

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

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

“I’m under contract.”

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

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

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

You hated them. You hated them all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

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

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

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @minaethrym